Summary: you realized your neighbor was Red Hood and have been using it to your advantage
Warnings: None
When you graduated from University, you had big dreams about moving to a city like Metropolis. Somewhere that was the opposite of Gotham. Where people looked to the skies in hope of Superman instead of waiting til midnight for the Bat to show up. But when you could not find a job in your field post-grad, you ended up back where you grew up, Crime Alley. You thought going to school would be your ticket out, but instead, you lived in a shoddy apartment building with bad plumbing and a lot of crime.
Your neighbor across the hall was always a mystery. Coming in and out at odd hours. Somehow, you figured out that he was the infamous Red Hood. He denied it, of course, and called you crazy when you confronted him, but you knew you were right. Female intuition and all that. Since you knew the vigilante's identity, you decided you might as well take advantage of it. Because no matter how many times Jason denied it, when you asked for help, Red Hood always showed up.
Thanks to the paper-thin walls of your apartment, you had learned the sound of Jason's heavy footsteps. You jumped off your couch, and before Jason could get into his apartment, you stuck your head out of your door.
“Hey Jason, wanted to let you know I get off at midnight tomorrow, and I would really appreciate an escort home," you say
“And you are telling me that because..." he replies, giving you an incredulous look while you shrug.
“You know why. If the Red Hood is walking me home, no one will think of messing with me. And, isn’t it chivalrous for a man to make sure a lady gets home safe?” You ask rhetorically, giving Jason your best smile before closing the door.
The following day, you clocked out a little after midnight and stepped into the cold Gotham air. You looked around and were greeted with nothing but an empty street, illuminated only by the dim lamp posts. You sighed and clutched your purse a little tighter. You needed to steel your nerves if you were going to walk home. You have done this walk plenty of times and been just fine. Everything would be okay.
Once you start walking, doubt creeps in. Maybe you had gotten it wrong, and Jason wasn't Red Hood. Before your thoughts could spiral, Red Hood stepped out of the shadows in front of you. When he speaks, the voice is not that of Jason, which you had become accustomed to. However, those green eyes told on him. Told you deep down that it was Jason behind that mask.
“I was told you needed to be accompanied home,” the voice behind the mask says.
“And who told you that, hm?” You ask with a smirk, while he stays silent. You giggle softly and start walking again, this time with more confidence and Red Hood at your side.
Jason is helping you bring your groceries inside when you ask for help again.
“There is a bus stop at the end of the street. Whenever I go on my runs, I see this group of assholes that mess with the kids when they get off. They shove them around and take money off them if they have any”.
“You would like me to do what about the situation?” Jason asks, confused, holding the door open for you.
“Well, the Red Hood can’t only beat up criminals and walk me home from work. He should do more to help in his community's daily life. We all know how bad Crime Alley is. If he could help a group of kids get home from school safe, maybe he could start to make an actual difference around here," you say, setting your groceries down on the counter in your kitchen
"Yeah, that isn't really Red Hood's style, though. He is much more worried about taking out the real bad guys," Jason replies, which causes you to roll your eyes.
"Then the Red Hood is just as big an asshole as those guys. 'The real bad guys', those bad guys are very real to those kids. If I could talk to Red Hood, I'd tell him he's just as full of shit as the politicians who promise to make this place better. If he wanted to put his ego in check and actually make a difference, he would do something to help those kids".
The next time you go on a run, you watch the group of kids get off the bus. The fear is written on their faces at what they expect to come. When they step off, no one is there. They all look around in shock; a couple even break out in smiles. You watch them walk in all directions, a newfound pep in their step. When you get back to your apartment, you slip a thank-you note under Jason's door.
It would be rude to ask Jason, Red Hood, for help all this time and not repay him in some way. That is how you found yourself knocking on his door, a fresh pan of homemade brownies in your arms. When Jason opens the door, it is clear you woke him from sleep. He scratches his head and looks at you expectantly.
“I come in peace. I know I've been busting your chops, but I really appreciate all your help lately. I'm sure you do a lot of other stuff behind the scenes, I know nothing about too. So, here is my offering. I made these brownies fresh this morning, I hope you like them!" you smile, extending the tray towards Jason. He takes it, the warm bottom heating up his arms while he visually inspects them. “And since I’m here," you start, continuing through the sound of Jason groaning. "I will be going to the club tonight. The creepy guy who sits on the step always tries to touch me when I get back. I should be home around two if our red friend could do me a huge favor”
When you got back from the club, stumbling and digging through your bag to find your keys, it wasn't until you got to your apartment door that you realized the man was missing from the step. In fact, you hadn’t been catcalled all night.
Your relationship with Jason went on this way. Sometimes you asked for favors, but more so, you started telling him about the things you would see around Crime Alley that you thought he could help with. You knew Jason was a big softie. As much as he was focused on fighting the big evils, he took your words to heart. He was born in Crime Alley, too, and he wanted it to be a better place for the kids who are just like you and Jason.
You knew you played only a small part; you were just a relayer of information, an observer. But you still felt like you were making a big difference in Crime Alley. This was your home, and you wanted it to be safer not only for yourself, but also for all the people and families who also lived there.
Jason still would not admit he was the Red Hood. At this point, you believed he did it just to mess with you. He did not love the fact that a civilian knew his identity. But he did believe you would never reveal it, and you brought him great information. To make it all better, you kept bringing him desserts, and you were getting better each time. So, he decided he was okay with walking you home from work, or busting up the gang that took over the park, or making sure the old lady on the first floor didn’t steal your takeout.
Summary: What happens when Jason stumbles into the wrong apartment after getting injured during patrol? (1.9k) (based on this request)
Tags/warnings: mentions of blood and violence
A/N: English is not my first language and this was not proofread. Enjoy!
masterlist
Jason had forgotten how much getting stabbed hurts.
His previous experiences in this matter hadn't been pleasant – of course not – but his brain had decided to erase some crucial details, such as how invalidating a stab wound can be while trying to climb through a window.
Getting hurt on the job is nothing new for Jason. That and his stubbornness make him asking for help a rare sight. Usually he would just go to a safe house and stitch himself up, but tonight, on top of all of the other things that didn't go according to plan, he got stabbed in a particularly hard to reach area, somewhere near his shoulder blade, making any attempt to treat the wound himself futile.
Going to any member of his family was out of the question, so, in a blood loss induced haze, he sent Roy a series of pretty vague texts, asking him to open his window and wait for him. Once Jason got at his friend's apartment complex, he immediately spotted an open window. As he kept climbing the fire escape, he found himself hoping Lian was already asleep in her room, and not there to witness his favorite uncle barging in the living room with a bloody shoulder.
So here he is, letting out a series of grunts, feeling the cut on his back sting and burn after each of his movements. Once he finally manages to let himself inside the apartment, it takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize that the room doesn't resemble the one where he had spent many nights eating Chinese takeout and watching old action movies.
The space feels cozy nonetheless, just in a different way. Despite the abundance of shelf space, there are many books laying around on the floor and covering the coffee table. The room smells clean, probably thanks to the lit candle casting a warm glow on the wall opposite to it. The couch looks strangely comfortable – even though he has slept on enough couches to know that it's probably just an illusion. But the real star of the show is the rug he's currently bleeding on, leaving behind some droplets of blood that will probably be a pain in the ass to get off.
Well, shit.
Before Jason even has the time to consider bolting from the apartment, a sound coming from the hallway catches his attention.
Despite the source's best efforts to conceal themselves, he's quick enough to catch a glimpse of them and realize the type of mess he has just gotten himself into.
"You can come out. I'm not going to hurt you."
Jason knows that his coarse voice is probably not the most trust worthy, but after a second of consideration, you walk out of the hallway, still holding a baseball in you shaky hands.
"What are you doing in my apartment?" you ask, tightening your grip on the wooden stick, trying to look menacing. At least you tried, Jason thinks.
"Listen, there has been a mistake. I'm currently in the wrong place."
"Clearly," you deadpan, unable to refrain yourself from making a snarky remark.
Jason tries to let out an annoyed sigh, but the motion sends a wave of pain to his injured shoulder, making him wince instead.
That seems to ease you enough to lower the baseball and get a better look at the masked man currently standing in your living room and- wait, are those…?
"Are those bloodstains on my rug?" you ask, going from sounding scared to deeply annoyed.
Before Jason can reply – surely a sarcastic remark about where your priorities lay – he feels himself getting lightheaded. His hand moves to the windowsill, trying to hold himself upright. In a second, he hears the sound of your baseball hitting the floor and sees you approaching him. You take the arm on his uninjured side and place it around your shoulders, slowly leading him to your bathroom.
"What happened to you?" you ask him as you help him sit on the lid of your toilet, before turning to your cabinet and taking out what looks like a well equipped first aid kit.
"Stab wound. On my back, near my left shoulder."
You hum in response, getting closer to him and examining the affected area. By the look on your face, the wound must not look good. You sight, taking a moment to think about your next move, and probably regretting not making him leave your apartment when you still had the chance.
"Alright, can you take off your jacket and the top half of your… what is it? A costume?"
Jason's tempted to reply, but the glint in your eyes tells him that you're just teasing him. So instead he shrugs off his leather jacket, needing you help to peel off the part partially covering his wound. When it's time to take off his top, he realizes it will be difficult to do with his helmet still on.
You seem to pick up on his internal conflict and just say, "You've just bleed out on my rug. I think I deserve to see your face. I won't tell anyone about it, picky promise."
He considers it for a moment before taking off his helmet, immediately followed by the top, hissing when the part damp with blood peels off from his wound. Once he's done, he look back at you, finding you looking right back at him with a strange expression on your face.
Turns out the intruder you where about to beat up – or try to – with your baseball is an attractive one. Really attractive.
His face has a roughness to it that strangely lulls you in, making you wonder what he went through in his lifetime. His eyes are a beautiful shade of green you had never seen on another human, but only in nature, reminding you of the color of a forest after it has rained. His hair are mostly dark, except a white streak that's currently sticking to his forehead, drenched with sweat. His chest and arms, now on full display, look even more impressive than they had underneath the layer of tactical gear. You spot a bunch of scars, some more healed than other, running all over his skin, and you have the strange desire to run your fingers all over them.
"Should I turn around a bit? So you have better access to the wound."
Jason's voice brings you back to reality, reminding you of the situation you're currently in.
"Oh, yeah, right," you mumble, busying yourself with a pair of sterile gloves, desperately trying to avoid eye contact. He just barged into your apartment with a stab wound and wearing tactical gear, for fuck's sake. Get it together!
After pouring some disinfectant of a clean gauze pad, you take a step closer to him, hoping the injury is not as serious as it seems.
"It's going to sting," you whisper for no reason at all. Maybe not to disrupt the comfortable silence that has fallen between the two of you.
The proximity makes it possible for Jason to smell the fruity scent of your shampoo, and he feels like a creep for noticing. Get it together, man!
"Don't think it'll hurt more than being stabbed did," he mumbles back, but he quickly has to bite the inside of his cheek to silence the pained groan that was about to escape from his lips as soon as the disinfectant made contact with his wound.
"So," you begin as you keep cleaning the area, noticing that thankfully the wound it not as deep as you previously thought, "earlier you said that you're in the wrong place. What was your actual destination? 'Cause I have a sneaking suspicion it wasn't a hospital."
Jason considers lying to you, he really does, but there's something about your gentle touch that makes him want to be honest just for once. You're helping him, after all. He owes you this much.
"The destination was my friend's apartment,' he replies after a moment of hesitation. "He was supposed to leave his window open for me."
"What is it with your aversion for doors?" you ask, clearly amused by his initial plan. "And why wouldn't you take a quick glance before sneaking into someone's apartment through their window?"
Jason doesn't like the fact that you're making some really good points, so he tries to divert. "How the hell was I supposed to know that someone else would leave their window open at the exact same time? Who the hell does that in Gotham?"
"People with a busted AC do," you retort, involuntarily applying more pressure while cleaning him up. "And anyway, you've stained my rug."
Oh, here we go again. Back to your precious rug.
"I said I'm sorry!"
"No, you didn't!"
"Well, I am!"
A moment passes.
"Sorry," you both say at the same time. He just got stabbed, you reason, and you're helping him despite having just met him, Jason reminds himself.
"The wound is not as bad as it looked before. I'll secure a clean gauze over it and you should be fine for tonight. But you'll need to get it checked up by a professional."
Your words reassure Jason, but there's a small, irrational part of him that wishes he had an excuse to spend more time with you. It's stupid, he's well aware of that, but he wishes he could give you another reason to keep touching him with such care, to keep you this close to him for just a little longer.
Once you're done and he's dressed again – except for his helmet – you finally ask him who's the friend he initially asked for help. When you hear Roy's name, your face lights up, and you can barely hide your amusement when you tell him he's your next door neighbor. He literally missed Roy's apartment by one, singular window.
Great. Just great.
When Jason looks at his phone, he finds many concerned texts from his friend, and you offer to help him get to his apartment. He's feeling much better now, but he won't pass up the opportunity to linger at your side just a few minutes longer.
Roy's immediate reaction when he opens his door is to question Jason, asking him what the hell those texts were supposed to mean. It seemingly takes him a moment to realize you're there as well, and your reply to his silent question is a simple, "Wrong window."
Putting together the contents of Jason's previous texts and the embarrassed look on his friend's face, he can't help but laugh at him, earning a glare from Jason and an amused smile from you.
"Yeah, okay, keep laughing at me all you want, but I'm the one who got stabbed tonight," he complains, sounding more like a petulant child.
Completely ignoring his friend, Roy thanks you for taking care of him, reassuring you that he's got it from here.
"Oh, and thank your for watching Lian the other night. You're a lifesaver."
"Don't worry about it. I guess I'll see you around. Oh, and tell her I said hi."
And with that you're gone.
Once Jason walks into Roy's apartment and the redhead closes the door behind them, he drops on the sofa, careful not to leave behind any blood stains.
"Well, I guess you just met the neighbor I've been trying to set you up with for weeks," Roy comments while sitting next to Jason. "You sure has hell made a strong first impression, let me tell you that…"
A/N: This was the fic! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, even if it's criticism (as long as it's constructive). I love talking with you angels, so my dms and inbox are always open!
summary: one of jason’s favorite pastimes is putting your things in places you can’t reach so that you have to seek out his help
word count: 0.9k
warnings: jason is taller than the reader (let’s be so fr, he’s taller than most people)
He did it again.
As you dropped yourself from your tiptoes to flat feet, you couldn’t help the huff of irritation that left your lips.
You could practically envision the shit-eating grin that was no doubt on Jason’s face when he finished drying the dishes earlier that day like you asked and conveniently just so happened to leave your favorite mug on the highest shelf possible.
The shelf that you- just so happened- to not be able to reach, no matter how high up on your toes you pushed yourself. Somehow, your poorly-done pottery red and black mug somehow found itself way up there more often than not nowadays.
“Jason,” You tone was clipped as you called into the next room, rounding on your heels to face the doorway just as your six-foot-something boyfriend peeked his head out from around the corner, almost as if he had been waiting there and expecting your call.
His eyes were wide and his expression feigned innocence so well that you almost would have believed it. Had this not been the fourth time in the last week that this very same scenario had happened, that is.
If his clear charade wasn’t the tipoff you needed to confirm your suspicions, it was the fact that he didn’t make a singular comment about you calling him by his full name. Usually when you did, he would automatically be on the defense, whining about how you only ever called him ‘Jay’ or ‘baby’ so something had to be wrong when ‘Jason’ slipped past your lips.
The man didn’t so much as blink as he finished rounding the corner, coming to a stop in front of you and immediately dropping his hands to your hips almost like second nature, “Yeah, sweetheart?” He asked gently, thumbs rubbing unconsciously against the slivers of skin visible at your waist.
You crossed your arms over your chest, clearly unimpressed. For a vigilante raised by the world's greatest detective, he sure wasn’t slick. That much was clear when you watched his gaze dart not-so-subtly to the perch he had set your mug on, and a smug smirk fought its way to be on his lips.
Even as he continued to mindlessly rub soothing circles onto your hips, you remained firm, eyebrows pinched together and lips drawn downwards, “My mug is on the highest shelf. Again.” You spoke, not bothering to keep the accusatory tone to a minimum.
Jason’s lips parted in theatrical shock, swinging his head up to the place you had just mentioned, “God, sweetheart, how did you manage to get it up there?”
Remaining unmoved, you let out a hum of disapproval, eyes narrowing at the way his green eyes snapped to you once more, seeming to enjoy your reaction way too much. You knew him well enough to notice the way he was drinking in every twitch of your eye and muscle tick in your jaw, causing him to attempt to stifle his laughter.
“I didn’t manage to do anything,” You grumbled, hating the way your body was betraying you by slowly melting into his gentle touch little by little, “You always put it up there because you just love when I have to ask you for help.”
He immediately perked up in a way that resembled that of a dog seeking its owner's approval, “You sayin’ you need my help?”
The scowl on your face deepened and you continued to glower at him despite leaning more and more into his warmth with every passing second, “I’m ordering you to get my mug down.”
Jason sent you a wink, “Even better, sweetheart.”
Without breaking eye contact with you- or so much as lifting his heels from off the ground- Jason causally reached one arm up and plucked your beloved mug from its place and delicately delivered it to your hands.
He dropped a quick kiss to the tip of your nose as soon as your hands wrapped around the ceramic, “You’re so cute when you’re mad at me.” His voice was gentle and full of adoration while he gazed down at you as if you hung the stars in the sky.
Ignoring the way he immediately sent butterflies erupting in your stomach at his words, you raised a singular brow his way, “So there was ulterior motive for placing my possessions out of my reach?” You challenged, though there was no bite to your words, “You just like to see me get riled up?”
“Always,” Came his immediate reply, teasing and soft. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“In that case, we’re gonna play a little game of hide and seek with your Red Hood gear.” You poked his chest playfully with your free hand, which wasn’t far away because you had unconsciously moved closer to him, “And I’m going to put it somewhere you can never find it so you can see how it feels.”
Jason’s smile widened, “Now you’re just trying to get me to not go on patrol so I can stay home with you.”
You opened your mouth then closed it, mulling over your thoughts because suddenly, that didn’t seem like too bad of an idea.
He laughed gently, a real laugh that rumbled in his chest and had the corners of his eyes crinkling in the most endearing of ways, “You want me to stay home with you, sweetheart? All you have to do is ask.”
His lips suddenly moved to meet yours in a sweet, unhurried kiss that had those butterflies spurring to life in your stomach once more. Even after all this time of dating, they had never gone away, and you were starting to doubt that they ever really would.
You knew that he would stay by your side tonight if you asked. He would do anything you asked of him.
Except put your mugs on shelves that you can reach. He enjoyed the fallout of his actions a little too much for that.
Summary: the boys are shocked by other men’s behavior
Warnings: shitty boyfriends (scary)
Dick Grayson
You and Dick were out enjoying the rare nice weather in Bludhaven. He took you to your favorite ice cream shop before the two of you walked across the street to the park. You were now parked on a bench, talking about nothing in particular. The subject of conversation wasn’t nearly as important as enjoying the other’s company. Your words slowed when another couple walked by who were clearly having a much worse day than you and Dick. They were arguing, engaged in a screaming match with each other. Dick gave you a quick glance before you both piped down, not having to do much to hear the conversation.
“I just feel like you don’t see me Rich! Everything I do, everything I say is a fucking problem to you!” The woman yells.
“Yeah? Well if you would just shut the fuck up for once, maybe I could fucking think! I can’t do shit with you constantly nagging at me Jessica!” He yells back. Dick’s jaw literally drops and he can’t do anything to stop it. He immediately turns to you eyes wide as the scene plays out before you. Pure disbelief was written all over his face, even your own brows shot up in surprise. The woman slaps her, hopefully soon to be ex, boyfriend before storming off. He stands in stunned silence before looking around at the small crowd of onlookers who gathered to watch the spectacle. He huffs and storms off in the opposite direction of his girlfriend. Once the crowd disbands, Dick starts talking, immediately ready to debrief the whole situation.
“Babe… that was insane. Have you ever seen anything like that in real life? You know I’d never talk to you like that, right?! I think I would rather die,” Dick emphasizes, still in awe about what he just saw. Even when you two argue, you were still the love of Dick’s life. He would never disrespect or yell at you over a disagreement. You smile at your kind-hearted man and press a sweet kiss to his cheek.
“Thank you baby, I know.”
Jason Todd
While at lunch with your friends, you were showing them some of the photos Jason took of you on your date. “So I’m thinking about posting these, but I’m not sure. What do you guys think?” You ask, passing your phone around the table so they could look at it.
“You should def post them girl! They are so cute! Where’d you take these anyway?” Your friend asks curiously.
“Jason took me to this breakfast place last weekend. The photos online looked like it might make for a cute photo op, so I got more dressed up than usual. When we got there, it was literally the perfect scenery so I had him take these,” you respond. Your friends are immediately looking at you, confused looks on their faces. You raise an eyebrow as you look back at them, “What?”
“Are you telling me Jason, your boyfriend, took these stunning photos of you?” Another of your friends asks and you nod.
“Uh yeah? Isn’t that what I just said?” You say confused.
“Wow. I can’t believe it. It is worse than pulling teeth to get my boyfriend to take photos of me,” your friend says. Apparently it is a shared experience because all your friends sitting at the table nod to agree.
“Facts. Even if he does, they are always fucking terrible. The angle is all wrong or I look god awful. I would never post a photo he took of me,” your friend laughs, but the sound is hollow. Clearly, a disguise for some complicated feelings. Your friends eventually get your phone back to you and you can’t help but to shrug your shoulders.
“I guess you guys just need to train them better. He didn’t take super amazing photos at first, I had to give him some pointers. Jason is a more artistic guy than he lets on, and he likes to make me happy so he learned my angles. Maybe I’ll have him teach a class on how to take photos of your girlfriend,” you state, making your friends laugh. Maybe you could also have him teach your friends to not accept the bare minimum, but you kept that part to yourself. You open your phone, going to your messages with Jason to shoot him a quick test.
You: I have offered you up
Jay❤️: I am literally scared to ask
You: To teach other boyfriends how to take good photos of their girlfriends. Apparently this a problem other people have??
Jay❤️: 🤦🏻
Jay❤️: Lack of home training
Jay❤️: Lemme know when
Bruce Wayne
You and Bruce had just finished taking photos and answering press questions before the annual Wayne Enterprises’ charity gala. It was a mission you and Bruce shared to constantly donate, both time and money, to the charities and causes that were important to you. But, this event was the Super Bowl of fundraising. Millions would be raised and sent to charities doing amazing work in and around Gotham.
The event was being hosted in an older building that maintained its old money aesthetic. There were wide, grand stairs that led to the front door. You groaned at the base of the stairs and looked up. Roughly thirty stairs loomed largely before you. “Next time I insist on wearing my brand new red bottoms, remind me these events love buildings with a ridiculous amount of stairs,” you say. Bruce smiles at you and before you can start your ascent, he carefully picks up the train of your dress. Making sure it doesn’t get caught, dirty, and it makes your steps easier.
“You know my offer is always on the table, I’ll just carry you up these. Promise I won’t even break a sweat” he states, standing close to your side just in case you trip or lose your footing. You smirk and look back at him, all the trust he would catch you before you could fall.
“Bruce Wayne! Think of the scandal and gossip you would cause. I can see the headlines now. Crown prince of Gotham breaks every high society rule by carrying beautiful girlfriend up flight of stairs,” you tease with a faux gasp. Bruce shakes his head at your antics which makes you smile. When you two are almost at the top, you hear grunts. Looking back, you find a woman tugging desperately at her dress. It was stuck on something you could not see, maybe a chip in the stairs. She looks at her useless date for help, who is engaged in conversation and walks inside without her. You immediately recognize the look in Bruce’s eye. The silent battle he fights whether to leave you or help her.
“Go, Bruce,” you reassure softly, putting a hand on his chest. “I’m okay, we are almost there anyway. Meet me inside.” He looks grateful, taking your hand off his chest to press a tender kiss to it. You take the last couple stairs to the top and turn around to find Bruce. He is on one knee, delicately removing the woman’s dress from whatever it was hooked on.
The media were already having a field day with this, lights flashing rapidly in Bruce’s direction. You could see the stories the tabloids were going to spin as if you wrote it yourself. One might read “Playboy Back Again!: Bruce Wayne flirts with Mysterious Woman?” Or another one might say, “Wayne to the Rescue: Bruce Wayne Saves Woman from Fashion Emergency." You can’t help but smile and shake your head at yourself. How sad was the world that a man showing basic chivalry was front-page news?
Wally West
Wally was lying on the couch in your apartment, his head in your lap. You were nose deep in your newest read, draped comfortably in a blanket. The quiet atmosphere had a calming effect you both enjoyed. With your lifestyles, you and Wally didn’t get a chance to relax nearly enough. The tranquil environment was disturbed when Wally spoke up,
“Babe, do you think I like you too much?” He asks. The question throws you for a loop and has you immediately putting your book down.
“What?! Why would I think you liked me too much? I actually don’t think it is possible to like your partner too much. Where is this coming from?!” You ask, almost bewildered by Wally saying that. He was definitely clingy and loved to be in your space, but you always found it extremely endearing. It was your whole thing. You would pretend to be annoyed that he wouldn’t leave you alone, he would bother you until you stopped complaining, and then you would be together for hours. Did something happen that Wally thought you were no longer joking?
“When I was hanging out with the guys, I made a joke about you keeping me on a tight leash. They did not find it funny and said I was 'too into you,' and eventually it would 'scare you away,'" he whispers solemnly. Anger is the first thing that overcomes you. Next time you saw Wally's friends, you were going to give them a verbal lashing they would never forget. Then you look at your usually happy boy, whose whole demeanor has deflated. You grab his chin softly so he is forced to look at you.
"Wals, I have never thought you were 'too into me.' One of the reasons I agreed to go out with you was because of how adamant you were about your feelings for me," you reassure, cupping his face, which he affectionately leans into.
"I didn't think it was possible to be too into your partner, either, until they said something, then I got it into my head. I always thought boyfriends were supposed to be obsessed, in a healthy way, with their girlfriend," he states. You smile at him and lean down to press a kiss to his lips.
"And you are absolutely correct, Wally. Nonchalant is in style, and not enough people think it is cool to be unapologetically in love with their partner the way you are, Wals," you affirm.
"That is sad. That is very, very sad."
"I know, baby. That is why you are the only one of your friends in a long-term relationship. Remind them of that next time they try to give you shit for loving your girlfriend," you reply, pressing one more kiss to Wally's lips, who smiles against you.
Synopsis: you did the “hungry orphan” prank where you asked them what they would do if a burglar barged in, but you turn on the camera and ask them something else.
An: requested by @castielispunkrock
DICK GRAYSON
“Hey Dick, what would you do if a burglar tried to break in and rob us?” You asked innocently, trying to hide your camera from his eyes.
“Well first, I’d probably grab him by his collar and slam him down on the floor. Then after I’m done with that, if he tries to get up—I’ll grab a bat and beat the hell out of him!” You were giggling louder with each word Dick was spitting out, something about “punching him til he cries” and “standing ontop of him to show how great he is”
“Okay okay! We get it now.” You prepared your phone and started to record again. “I asked my boyfriend what he would do if a hungry orphan asked him for food.” Dick froze. You did not say that.
“Wait wait wait! That’s not what you said! You said—“ and the video cuts off to his response. You immediately sent that video to the family group chat.
JASON TODD
“Hey Jay, If someone tried to break in and steal from us, what would you do?” Jason was in the middle of chewing on his batburger. Again with these hypotheticals? He thought to himself, but he is your personal jester after all, he has to dance to your whims
“I’d probably just punch them, that usually takes them out immediately.” He shrugged, taking another bite. “But if they didn’t—I’d probably just use your bag to beat the shit out of it.” He answered casually, taking a sip from his soda.
While he was distracted with his food like a fatass you prepared your camera. “Hii! I’m here with Jason, and I asked him what he would do if a starving orphan asked for food.” Jason almost choked on his own food, staring at you with wide eyes. “Hey now—“ he interrupted, food crumbs spitting out of his mouth. “You asked me something completely unrelated!” Before you could send it to anyone, he immediately grabbed your phone and held it above his head.
“You’re not getting this back!” He shouted playfully, making you chase him around the apartment for your phone back. For 2 hours.
TIM DRAKE
Tim just came back from patrol, you could practically feel how tired he was from a mile away. He slowly approached your shared bed before passing out on it immediately. But then you had an idea… the detective could easily be fooled in this state! “Baby? You awake?” You asked with genuine concern.
“Uh huh…” he groaned, burying his face in your stomach.
“What would you do if someone tried to break in right now to kill you?” Tim paused at your question. What a strange thing to ask, he thought. “Well…I’d probably like beat em a whole bunch…then grab them by the leg and throw them out the window..” he yawned, his eyes growing heavy with each word. You almost felt bad for pranking him like this.
“Heyy! I’m here with Tim and I just asked him what he would do if he babysat a sick infant!” It took him a little over 5 seconds to realize what exactly you just said. “Wait…I thought you asked what would happen if—“
DAMIAN WAYNE
You didn’t know how much longer you could take seeing him train without paying attention to you—but then an idea struck your mind. “Daimi!” You called out, waving your hands for him to come closer—to which he did. “Yes beloved?”
“What would you do if someone tried to kidnap me?” Damian paused for a second, thinking real hard about his answer.
“Well first off, I’d cut their hands off.” He grabbed his katana and put it back in his sheath. “If for whatever reason they still try—I’ll grab them by the hair and spin them around before slamming them down—then squash them like a bug.” He answered proudly, having a slight smile on his face.
“Okay okay,” you started the video, “I’m here with my boyfriend and I just asked him what he’d do if he saw a stray puppy on the road.” Damian froze, his expression filled with the highest form of betrayal.
“What? No! I would never do such thing to a puppy, (name)!” He seemed genuinely stressed out, before grabbing your phone and sliding it into his pocket. “You’re not getting this back until you go out to the shelter with me and watch me talk care of puppies!” He exclaimed, pouting aggressively.
• {content} dick only respond to you calling him baby
The apartment was quiet for a Sunday afternoon, save for the rhythmic humming of the washing machine and the faint scent of fresh linen.
You were currently knee-deep in folding the endless mountain of laundry on the bed. You grabbed the next item from the basket, held it up, and instantly stopped, staring at it in absolute disbelief.
It was a pair of Dick’s favorite boxers—or at least, what used to be boxers. At this point, the fabric was so worn down it was almost translucent, and there were two distinct, gaping holes near the seam. They were hanging on by a single thread and sheer willpower.
"Dick, are you serious?" you called out toward the living room, where your boyfriend was currently stretched across the rug doing his afternoon mobility routine. "Dick, come look at these!"
No answer. Not even a rustle of his sweatpants.
"Dick?" you said, a little louder, peeking your head around the bedroom door.
He was flowing smoothly from a deep hamstring stretch into a cobra pose, looking entirely serene and completely oblivious to your existence.
You blinked. You knew for a fact he wasn't deaf—the man had peak-human Bat-family hearing and could spot a footstep on a roof three blocks away. You opened your mouth to yell his name again, but then the realization hit you.
You had called him 'Dick.'
In the three years you’d been together, you almost never called him by his actual name. He was "babe," "baby," "honey," or, on particularly chaotic mornings, "sweetheart." Calling him Dick was practically a foreign language to his subconscious.
A mischievous grin spread across your face. You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms.
"Richard?"
Silence. He shifted into a shoulder bridge.
"Grayson?"
He sighed softly, deepening the stretch, completely locked into his own world.
"Officer Grayson?"
Nothing.
You took a slow breath, held up the shredded boxers like evidence in a court trial, and dropped your voice to its usual fond, affectionate tone.
"Hey, baby?"
Dick’s head snapped up instantly. His bright blue eyes locked onto yours, a warm, easy smile instantly spreading across his face.
"Yeah, sweetcheeks? What's up?" he asked, popping off the floor with effortless agility and strolling toward the bedroom. He leaned into your space, instantly tilting his chin down for a kiss.
You held up the holy pair of boxers right between your faces like a shield, staring at him with an amused, disbelieving look. "Are you serious right now?"
Dick paused mid-lean, blinking at the ruined fabric, then up at you like a confused puppy. "What?"
"First of all, these are going in the trash. Second of all, I just called your name four times."
"No, you didn't," he said smoothly, sliding his arms around your waist anyway. "I would've heard you."
"I said Dick."
He flinched subtly, screwing up his nose as if the word tasted weird. "See? Hearing it now, it doesn't even sound like a real word. Who is he? Sounds like a stranger. I don't know him."
"It is literally your legal name!" You laughed, reaching up to tap his cheek.
Dick gently caught your wrist, tugging you a little closer until your chest was resting against his.
"My name," he corrected softly, his voice dropping into that low, warm register he saved just for you, "is baby. Or babe. I also accept 'hey handsome' if you're feeling fancy."
"You're ridiculous," you murmured, though you couldn't stop the smile tugging at your lips.
"I'm a man conditioned by love," he declared heroically, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. "If you start calling me Dick, I'm going to assume I'm in trouble, or that Bruce is standing right behind me. Neither of those options are good for my heart."
"So if I need to save you from a falling building, I just have to yell 'Look out, babe!'?"
"Precisely," Dick grinned, kissing your cheek before eyeing the ruined boxers in your hand. "And for the record, those are vintage. They're aerated. It's tactical."
"They're going in the trash, baby."
"Fair enough," he sighed dramatically, wrapping his arms around you tighter.
summary: dick is worried about his dick
pairing: Dick Grayson x reader
tags and warnings: tried humor, lot of mentions of dick (his name and literally), suggestive, reblogs and comments appreciated (MDNI), REPOST from old blog!
word count: 856
"Owww…FUCK!"
Dick falls off the bed, landing on his knees with his back hunched over. One arm clutches his stomach as blue eyes squeeze shut, groans leaving his lips.
You immediately scramble to the edge of the mattress, murmuring apologies that Dick couldn't hear amongst the cloud of pain raining on him.
It was never your intention to greet your boyfriend after a long undercover mission with a kick to his nuts. But honestly, who surprises their partner the way he did, especially in a city like Bludhaven?
You had just returned home from work. After locking the front door and placing your bag on the couch, you walk towards your shared bedroom. The sun's last glimmering rays spread across your bed, highlighting the thick, ruffled duvet in streaks of gold.
All you wanted to do was throw yourself onto the bed and forget about all that had happened in the last six hours at work, but unfortunately you were still clad in your work clothes. You begrudgingly pulled yourself up to take a shower , a brief one, just enough to be called a shower before hopping into your Nightwing-themed pyjamas.
The bed sits at the very center of the room, a thick cotton duvet draped haphazardly. You didn't have the time nor the patience to make bed in the morning with how late you had been.
Stifling a yawn, your eyes blurry, you walk over to your side of the mattress. A soft sigh leaves your lips once you sink into the plush of the mattress. Looking at the empty space next to you, a small frown curls onto your face.
Home had been less like home when the human personification of it wasn't here.
Your dear, beautiful, and hot boyfriend wasn't here.
Hasn't been here since the past ten days and would not be here for another four days.
You missed his touch on the expanse of your skin, his warmth emanating from behind, holding you close to his chest; his husky voice whispering praises; and his soft lips that would smother you in kisses and giggles.
You could do this. Just another four more days.
Or so you thought.
The minute you sit on the soft mattress, the duvet seemingly hugs you, pulling you in. It almost takes you a minute before you realize it was not your comforter but a human, as you feel the warmth radiating through the cotton fabric.
A shriek leaves your parted lips, hands and legs flaying back onto the intruder's chest and legs. You could hear the intruder speak, but nothing your mind could comprehend at that moment. Your right leg finally hit something that made your captor fall off the bed, groaning.
Hah!
The way Dick had taught you.
Except said intruder was Dick Grayson—your boyfriend and the man who was not supposed to be home for four more days. He was in a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt, seemingly more at home than you were.
"Dick, what the fuck?" you scream before joining him on the carpet. "Are you okay?" Your hands hang in the air, not sure where to place them.
"Yeah, I will be fine…" He mumbles, standing on his very shaky legs, hand hovering over his groin while his back remains hunched as he moves to the bathroom. "Just give me a minute."
Now, an hour later, the both of you are sitting against the headboard of your bed while he has a cold pack wrapped in a thin cotton cloth placed over his groin. He had been whining about his dick for the past thirty minutes.
Dick was worried about his dick.
"Why would you even think it was a good idea in the first place?"
"I don't know," he mutters, bringing his arm over his eyes. You couldn't help but let out a chuckle, quickly placing a palm over your mouth, considering the subject of your laughter was right next to you. Crystal blue eyes narrow before they squeeze as reality strikes, groaning at every slight movement of his body, his lips finally jutting into a pout.
You move closer to him, cupping his face before placing your lips against his soft ones. The position was awkward with your necks twisted at an angle that would hurt in the long run, but it was not like you could straddle him. You move away before his tongue could slither in.
"Nope, you need to take rest," you say, already sneaking under the comforter. If you guys had continued further, it would have really just left both of you horny with no way of fixing it.
"But, baby," he whines, his hands trying to clutch onto whatever he could of yours, but every movement just made his head fall back against the headboard.
"Let's go to bed, baby," you say, facing him and intertwining your hands. "I promise we can do everything you wish tomorrow."
He agrees reluctantly ,having no choice over the matter and finally slips under the comforter.
Out of all things Dick had imagined happening today to his dick, this was definitely not one of them.
Jason unlocked the front door with a determined look on his face. One that told you that you weren’t going to be able to talk him out of whatever he was about to do.
“Hey Jay.” You smiled as you looked up from your computer.
You furrowed your brows when he didn’t respond. Just looked at you breathlessly as he approached the couch.
“Jay, what’s wrong-?” You yelped when he tore away the computer from your lap, sliding his arm behind you to throw you over his shoulder.
“What are you-ah!” Jason threw you onto your bed and jumped right onto you. Burying his face into your chest.
“Had the worst patrol ever.” He mumbled into your shirt.
You tried wiggling out of his grasp, but his arms just wrapped tighter around you. “Babe, I can’t- I can’t breathe.”
He sighed and rolled over to his side and you finally got to breathe air again. You thought you were free, you thought you could go back to your computer and finish-
His arms came up to your waist again, one leg hooking over yours to push you further into him.
“Jay,” you whispered, “what are you doing?”
He grumbled against your skin, “nothing.”
“You know you can just ask me when you want to cuddle.” You said, “before resorting to violence.”
“This wasn’t violent. And I don’t want to cuddle.” He groaned.
You scoffed, “Oh really? Then what do you call this?”
Jason’s voice was muffled against your skin, “I’m harvesting energy.” He pulled you even closer.
“Oh,” you sighed, “And here I thought you wanted to be close to me because you liked me.”
Jason slapped your thigh and it made you squeak. “Shut up.” He grumbled.
“Fine.” You stated, throwing your head to the side. The motion made him tense.
“What?” He said, trying his best to sound as nonchalant as possible.
You looked up at him, displaying a sly smile. “No kisses for you then.”
That seemed to have caught his attention.
“Wha- why would you- this is absurd!” His voice pitched up by an embarrassing amount. Jason rolled onto you in a millisecond, pinning your hips down with his with a desperate look on his face that he failed to hide.
You smiled, crossing your arms from under him. “Well, kisses don’t nearly provide as much energy as bodily warmth. So I don’t really see the point of it.”
He pouted as well as a 300 pound man could. “You’re being mean.”
You cooed in fake sympathy, “Aww does my baby need kisses? You know you could get one if you say the magic word?”
He groaned in frustration before straightening his posture and clearing his throat.
“…Please.”
You grinned. “Good boy.” Before leaning up to clash your lips against his.
He grabbed you by your waist as his tongue swiped over you teeth, his front teeth biting at your bottom lip.
“Hmpf.” You moaned against his skin before his hands slid under your shirt.
He snapped like a feral animal, swallowing down every gasp of yours against his lips and pushing his hands lower to grip your thighs.
You cherished the moment when he pulled away to let you breathe, before diving right back into your soft plush lips.
In the end he left you breathless. Your hair was disheveled and you swore you could see the glassy stain of your lip gloss against his collarbone before he layed down onto your thighs as if nothing happened.
“Jay?” You gasped out.
He looked up at you with stars in his eyes.
“Yes, my love?”
You smiled at his state, “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”
Jason closed his eyes contentedly, nuzzling his face into your thighs.
you're out with jason todd, either decided to go to the mall or out for a walk together, and the moment you walk past a bookstore you notice his gaze automatically locking on the books on display and his steps slowing down to better inspect them, trying to be subtle about it but accidentally tugging on your hand that he was holding in his by doing so. noticing his obvious interest, you suggest going in.
you stand next to him while he browses the books once inside the store, attentively staring at them and walking very slowly—if anything at all. you also pick up certain books that catch your attention or focus on specific sections that you like, but he seems to intend to check every aisle on the store.
you see his eyes widening as he goes "oh, look what they have" and picks up a book, with a smile showing on his face. he inspects the cover and the back of the book and goes through the pages a few times before turning to you. he tells you about how he's been meaning to read it, what he knows about the book and why he thinks it's interesting, that he's familiar with the author and loves their work and also explains why it is that he likes it so much. he looks adorable rambling to you, his face lighting up as he remembers the details and gesturing with his hands while he explains them to you, it's like all he cares about is talking to you about it rather than the book itself.
it's the same as he keeps going through the rest of the books. he tells you about the books he's read and liked the most and what makes them so good, facts about the making of certain book that he finds interesting, why he hates a specific book or how certain saga fell off after certain book. he makes two steps, stops, picks up a book, remembers all the things he has to tell you about it, keeps walking and then does it again. he gets excited when he sees a new edition of a book he's never seen before or one that he's been looking for, and tells you about the one he owns or which other one he'd like to buy. he picks up a book with a silly drawing on the cover, laughs at it and then he's immediately turning it to you so you can see it and laugh too before putting it back where he found it.
everything that catches his attention at the store, he just has to let you know about. he doesn't need to do it, he could be silent while going through the books, he doesn't have to tell you about his decision to buy certain book or not to, or to tell you anecdotes that seeing a specific book reminded him of, but he'd been meaning to talk about these things with someone, he'd been waiting for the opportunity to show up and it finally has now that he's found someone he trusts enough to tell all these silly things to.
at certain point you stopped paying too much attention to the books for yourself, conforming with walking behind jason and listening to what he has to say instead, but then you hear him saying "look, they have the book you wanted to get", holding it up for you with a soft smile on his face. it seems like the whole time you spent at the bookstore was just a constant reminder of what makes you love jason so much.
you end up walking out of the store with a new book for you, two more for jason and too many feelings for the man who randomly decided to open up to you on a bookstore.
𝜗ৎ this was one of those works that reminds me i don’t actually know english omg i’m sorry if there’s any mistakes,, also i know this probably sucks bc it’s pretty vague so sorry about that too lol
tags:: RE9!Leon (or RE6) x F!reader, relationship established, maybe slightly suggestive, but no warnings in general, just Leon and his huge yummy yummy back hehe
note:: mini post about massaging leon's back, makes me melt ahh🫠 just enjoy and pleasee ignore any mistakes!!
It had been one of those particularly bad days for Leon and his aching back. You could see him groaning softly and sighing heavily as he paced the kitchen, his unconscious hand moving to his lower back, trying to ease the pain concentrated there. And like the good girlfriend you are, you sweetly asked if he wanted a massage.
"You don't need to do this, Honey. I promise—" His groans died the instant your hands roamed his back, trying to help him relax. You were sitting comfortably astride his body, while he lay shirtless with his face pressed into the pillow. His eyes were heavy, and his breathing was slow, letting the air fill his lungs.
You stood there for a few seconds, mesmerized by the beauty of his bent arms, revealing his biceps, and Leon's bare—and damn big—back. There were small, old scars and patches where the skin was as smooth as a blank canvas, making you want to sink your teeth into them. But you decided to leave that for another time, making a mental note.
"Relax, I'll take care of you." you affirmed, humming softly. You had tied your hair back and stretched out your fingers confidently, mentally preparing yourself to help him relax. Your hands first found his tense shoulders, massaging the knots you encountered with your thumbs. Your first reward was a trembling sigh of relief from the man beneath you, his eyelids beginning to close heavily.
Your gaze followed the movement of your hands, tracing the area between his shoulder blades that was too tense. A long, low moan escaped Leon's lips, betraying the relief you were bringing him.
"God, baby..." he murmured, slurring his words as you massaged him with more enthusiasm. "Your hands are magic, fucking good." He was babbling, melting beneath you. His cheek was pressed against the pillow, his eyes closed, his lips parted, his breaths slow and steady. He was a sight to behold.
Maybe that's why you enjoyed this so much, hearing such kind compliments in his husky, sleepy voice. You felt a little warmth rise to your cheeks from the cheeky moans he let out when your fingers found another tense spot on his shoulders.
"Is it really that good?" you asked, slightly shy and eager to hear more of his praise. You got a small, raspy laugh in return, which made you smile foolishly too. This man was something else.
"It's like heaven," he murmured, already slightly sleepy. "You've got a talent, baby—right there..." His praise was cut short as your hands moved down to massage his lower back, the source of pain.
"Yes, yes...slowly—" He moan, frowning and squeezing his eyes shut. He was so cheeky with his sounds. Maybe he was just teasing you and making your face burn on purpose. Anyway, you did your best and gently massaged his lower back.
"Oh, fuuck—yeah, like that..." His raspy voice trailed off, a mixture of pain and relief in his throat as you massaged a little harder. You couldn't help but smile, feeling your silly heart race. A few minutes passed, you murmured about your day in a low voice, your hands still massaging his back—now much more relaxed—and you realized he had fallen into a deep silence. None of his soft "hmms" to let you know he was still listening. Absolutely nothing.
You moved your hands away, staring at him. No movement. You let out a small gasp, leaning forward to try and see his face.
"Oh god, did I kill him?" you whispered in horror, moving your hand to brush aside his thick bangs. You met his relaxed face and received a snore in response. You stared at him again, only to hear another, longer snore.
He fell asleep, fast asleep. You could only let out a small laugh, carefully getting off so as not to wake him, and collapsing down beside him on the bed.
Well, mission accomplished.
just thoughts and more thoughts haha, it's driving me crazy😋 aand credits to @/cursed-carmine (on Tumblr) for the beautiful dividers!! 💞
Thinking about applying sunscreen on Jason Todd's scars.
The first time you did it, it was almost an unconscious action. Simply, after applying sunscreen all over his back, you moved over to his scars, carefully tracing them with your featherlight touch.
The contact made his breath hitcht, which made you immediately stop, worried you had crossed a boundary.
"I'm sorry, Jay," you mumbled, quickly moving your hands away from his body.
You knew how he felt about them, especially the one on his chest, so the feeling of his muscles tensing underneath your fingers made you internally cringe, almost as if you had managed to reopen his old battle scars with just your touch.
A moment went by, during which you nervously held your breath, until Jason wrapped his hand around your wrist, tentatively placing your fingers back where they had been just a few seconds ago.
"It's nothing," he whispered, his voice coarse, trying to downplay his own feeling. "I wasn't expecting that, that's all..."
His words made something inside you break. You know how he feels about himself — you're painfully aware of that. He often confronted you about how he sometimes feels like a monster, and how he doesn't deserve you. Every time you would reasure him, telling him how much you love him and that you're not going anywhere. Still, his wounds run deeper than the surface of his body, and the faded scars on his skin serve as a reminder of that.
A soft smile broke on your face, and this time, instead of retreating, you leaned into his body. After squeezing some more sunscreen on the palm of your hand, you began tracing each scar, casually leaving behind some soft kisses as well.
"I love taking care of you, Jay. Every part of you. And that includes your scars."
After that confession, this became an habit for the two of you. Every time you go to the beach, or simply to the pool back at the Manor, you fall back into this rehearsed routine.
Jason makes sure to apply sunscreen all over your body — more often than not using it as an opportunity to get handsy — and then, after, doing the same, you start applying it on all of his scars, talking about how sensitive the skin is in those areas and how he has to be more careful.
The first few times, Jason had a hard time getting used to it. But by now, he secretly longs for these moments, loving the intimacy of the exchange.
A/N: I crave casual intimacy with this man specifically.
I just realized I haven't been labeling the gender of reader, and though I typically write for female reader, sometimes it ends up being gender neutral, so I'll try to be more mindful of including that in the pairing :)
a tiny drabble based on this request
taglist: @cakeofhorrors @rainyxie @venus-in-roses @ghostieistiredd @jqsjournal @bloodysnow15 @sistinesarchives @freak0nnaleash @leonswifeyall @dhsksjsj @soleiljeteaime @quinnelia @mollyherondale (sorry for the spam today, trying to catch up on requests)
“I thought you said this wouldn’t hurt,” Leon gripes, looking up at you from his position on your lap. You try to dip your head, adjusting the angle of your shoulders so you can avoid the shadow that seems to chase you no matter where you move. Maybe you should invest in a headlight for next time so no hair goes unpunished.
“When did I say that?” You ask, snapping the tweezers between your fingers. He shudders at the sound, already flinching before you even locate the next scraggly hair that will become your next victim.
“When you said, ‘it won’t hurt, Leon, stop being a baby’.” He changes the pitch of his voice in a lame attempt to match yours. “‘It’ll just be a pinch, Leon’.”
“I don’t remember that at all.”
“Of course not,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes before he screws them shut in anticipation of your next strike. “Selective memory.”
You don’t discriminate with the next hair, choosing one that you think will hurt the most, plucking it without warning.
“Ouch,” he groans loudly, squirming, the heel of his palm coming to his brow bone, applying pressure to what he’s making seem like a gaping wound. “You did that on purpose.”
“Oh come on,” you say with a giggle. He tries to sit up, but you place a heavy palm on his chest, pushing him back down. “You dodge bullets for a living, and you think this hurts?”
“It does,” he mutters under his breath.
“Just one more,” you promise, locating two hairs between the heads of his brows. One. Two.
“Holy fuck,” he yelps, limbs flailing as he sits up. “No more.”
“Such a baby,” you coo, pinching his cheek, offering him the hand-held mirror. He snatches it with such an attitude, it rivals that of a teenage girl, and you watch as he inspects his new look in the reflection.
He hums, wiggling his brows, bending them, digging the heads until they meet in the middle and crease the patch of skin between them. After a thorough test drive, he hands the mirror back to you, a smile pricking the corner of his mouth.
“Not bad,” he relents. “But not ‘just a pinch’ either.”
plot! after a flustered dick grayson spends the day distracted on patrol, he meets you on the streets as robin and tries to romance you behind his confident hero persona. when he gently leans in for a kiss, you politely reject robin, confessing that your heart belongs to a shy, awkward boy from school who blushes easily and laughs too loud
⋆˚꩜ series masterlist
All day your words looped in his head in the worst, best way possible. He was kind. He made me feel safe. He was cute. Dick sat through classes pretending to take notes while internally combusting because you hadn’t known it was him. That was the part that wouldn’t leave him alone. You liked Robin, you liked the version of him that didn’t trip over words, that didn’t blush so hard his ears turned red, that didn’t forget how to breathe when you stood too close. You liked the confident one, the capable one, the hero, and that did something dangerous to his heart.
Because what if… what if you could like him too? Not just Dick who laughed too loud and rambled and got shy, but him, all of him. You had seen Robin without knowing it was Dick, you had judged him without bias and you liked what you saw. That realization sat warm and terrifying in his chest the entire afternoon. By the time patrol came, he was distracted enough that Bruce noticed.
“Focus” Batman said sharply as they moved across the rooftops. Dick snapped back into place immediately, flipping cleanly onto the next ledge, but his mind kept drifting back to your smile when you talked about Robin. Cute dimples. He nearly missed a grapple line because of that. Bruce’s eyes narrowed beneath the cowl. “Something you’d like to share?” “Nope” Robin chirped too quickly, landing in a crouch. Bruce grunted in that way that meant I know you’re lying but I’ll allow it for now.
They split at the next intersection, Batman heading toward a warehouse lead, Robin instructed to circle the Narrows perimeter and report back. Dick swung between buildings, wind rushing past his ears, cape snapping behind him, and he let himself breathe. Up here, masked, moving, he didn’t feel awkward, he felt sharp, certain, sure of where his hands would land and how far he could jump. Robin wasn’t unsure, robin didn’t stutter, robin didn’t second-guess whether a girl could ever see him that way, and maybe that was why you liked him.
He landed lightly on a fire escape and scanned the street below out of habit, and then froze, because there you were again. Same street as last night, walking alone, hugging your jacket closer against the wind. His heart kicked into overdrive, but this time it wasn’t panic, it was something steadier, something almost hopeful.
He dropped down into the alley ahead of you and stepped out into the lamplight just as you approached, boots quiet on the pavement. You startled slightly but relaxed the second you recognized the red and green. “Oh,” you breathed, and there it was again, that soft smile. “Hi.” God. That smile. Even through the mask, he felt it like sunlight. He straightened a little, confidence settling over him like a second cape. “Evening,” he said smoothly, pitching his voice into that slightly deeper, playful tone he used as Robin. “You’re making this a habit” You laughed softly. “I could say the same to you.” He stepped closer, not too close, just enough that he could see the way your hair caught the light. “What can I say? Gotham’s full of coincidences.” You shook your head, amused. “Are you patrolling or following me?” He placed a hand over his chest dramatically. “I would never. I’m wounded.” You smiled wider at that and there it was, that ease. You weren't nervous around him, you looked at Robin like you trusted him, like you liked him. He cleared his throat gently. “Heading home again?” You nodded. “Yeah. I promise I’m not trying to create extra work for you.” “It’s not extra work,” he replied quickly, softer now. “It’s… important.”
You studied him for a moment, and something in your gaze felt deeper tonight. Curious. Warm. “You’re very dedicated” you said. “Someone has to be,” he answered lightly, then added before he could stop himself, “Especially when it comes to people who deserve it.” You blinked at that, cheeks pinking slightly.
The wind shifted between you, and without thinking, he reached out, not grabbing, not bold, just offering his hand the way he might help someone over a ledge. “May I?” he asked gently. You hesitated only a second before placing your hand in his. Your fingers were warm despite the cold, the contact shot up his arm like lightning, but Robin didn’t flinch, robin held steady. He adjusted his grip slightly, not possessive, just protective, and started walking beside you. This time your hands didn’t almost brush, they were connected and you didn’t pull away.
“You don’t have to do this every time” you said softly. “I know.” He glanced sideways at you. “I want to.” Your thumb shifted slightly against his glove, barely a movement, but enough that he felt it everywhere. “You’re very kind” you murmured. He smiled under the mask. “I’ve been told.” You laughed quietly. “You have?” “Yeah,” he said, thinking of her words from earlier. “Recently.”
You looked up at him again, studying his face. And he wondered, just for a second, if you saw it, if you recognized something familiar in the curve of his smile beneath the domino mask. But you didn’t say anything. Instead you asked, “Do you ever get tired?” He considered that honestly. “Sometimes.” “Why keep doing it?” He looked ahead at the dark stretch of street, then back at you. “Because when I walk someone home and they feel safe… it makes it worth it.” Your expression softened so much it nearly undid him. “That’s exactly what you did last night.” His heart pounded. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” You squeezed his hand gently. Not tight, just enough. “Thank you.” And Robin, confident, capable, brave Robin, felt his chest swell with something brighter than any spotlight Haley’s Circus had ever pointed at him. Because you liked him, you liked him without knowing, you liked the parts he was afraid weren’t enough. And standing there in the Gotham night, hand in yours, mask hiding the blush creeping across his cheeks, Dick Grayson allowed himself, for the first time, to believe that maybe you could like all of him, not just the hero, not just the boy, but both. And this time, when he looked at you, he didn’t feel like he was pretending.
Robin kept stealing glances at you when he thought you wouldn’t notice. You were smiling at something he’d just said, some light joke about almost tripping over a gargoyle earlier, and he felt that dangerous warmth spreading through his chest again. He slowed slightly as you reached a quieter stretch of sidewalk, the city noise dull and distant. He turned toward you, still holding your hand, and for once the confidence the mask gave him didn’t feel like pretending, it felt like courage, and not the kind used in fights, the other kind, the kind Bruce never taught him how to handle.
You noticed the shift immediately. “What?” you asked softly, head tilting just a little.
He swallowed. His heart was beating so loudly he was convinced you could hear it. “Can I ask you something?” His voice had lost some of its playful edge. It was quieter now. Real.
“Of course.”
He hesitated, not because he didn’t want to, but because he wanted to do it right. He didn’t want to scare you, didn’t want to assume. He stepped half a pace closer, still leaving space for you to pull away if you wanted. His free hand lifted slowly, carefully, giving you every opportunity to stop him. His fingers brushed a strand of hair away from you face, feather-light, asking permission in the gentlest way he knew how.
Her breath caught slightly, not in fear, but in surprise.
“I…” He faltered for just a fraction of a second, then found his footing again. “I’ve really liked walking you home.”
You smiled softly. “I’ve liked it too.”
Encouraged, he let his thumb trace gently over your knuckles through the glove. “And I was just wondering if maybe… I could—”
He leaned in slowly. Respectfully. Not rushing, not claiming, just offering.
And you understood.
Your free hand came up between you, resting lightly against his chest, not pushing hard, just stopping him with the gentlest pressure. Your expression wasn’t upset, it wasn’t uncomfortable, it was soft. Apologetic.
“Oh,” you breathed quietly. “Robin…”
He froze instantly, pulled back half an inch, searching your face through the mask.
“I’m sorry,” you said, voice warm and sincere. “You’re… really wonderful. Truly. And you’ve been so kind to me.”
His stomach dropped, but he forced himself to stay still. To listen.
“But,” you continued gently, “I… I like someone.”
The words hit him like stepping off a roof without a grapple.
He tried to keep his tone light. “Oh.”
“It’s just…” You looked down at your hands, still connected, and then back up at him. “He’s a friend from school.”
His heart stuttered.
You kept talking, unaware you were unraveling him and stitching him back together at the same time. “He’s not… flashy. Or mysterious. He’s not a hero like you.” You smiled faintly. “He’s kind of awkward sometimes.”
Robin’s breath caught.
“He laughs too loud at dumb jokes,” you went on, your voice soft and fond. “And he blushes really easily. And he pretends he’s confident but he’s actually really shy.”
His pulse roared in his ears.
“He’s thoughtful,” you added. “And he cares so much about people. Even when he doesn’t say it out loud.”
Dick felt something fragile bloom in his chest.
“And I think…” You hesitated, almost embarrassed now. “I think he doesn’t realize how wonderful he is.”
Robin couldn’t breathe.
You let out a small, nervous laugh. “He’s probably still too shy to tell me anything. But I don’t mind waiting.”
Waiting.
“For him?” Robin managed, voice quieter now.
You nodded. “Yeah.” Your thumb brushed lightly against the back of his glove in an absent, apologetic gesture. “I want to wait for him.”
The streetlight hummed faintly overhead. Gotham carried on around them. But inside Robin’s chest, everything had gone very still.
You were describing him.
Every word.
The awkward laugh. The blushing. The pretending. The caring too much.
You were refusing Robin, the cool hero, the confident vigilante, the boy you said was cute, because you liked… Dick.
Because you wanted him.
He swallowed hard, fighting the stupid grin threatening to break across his face.
You mistook his silence for disappointment and squeezed his hand gently. “I’m really sorry,” you said again. “You deserve someone amazing.”
He found his voice, softer now. Less performative. “He sounds… lucky.”
Your cheeks warmed. “I don’t know about that.”
Robin tilted his head slightly. “He is,” he insisted quietly. “If someone like you is willing to wait for him.”
You looked at him with that same gentle sweetness you always did. “You’re going to make someone very happy too,” you told him.
Oh, he thought, I already am.
He stepped back properly this time, giving you space, letting your hands slip apart slowly. He didn’t let it feel rejected. He let it feel… understood.
“I hope he doesn’t keep you waiting too long” Robin said lightly, though his heart felt like it might burst out of his ribs.
You smiled softly. “Me too.”
And then you did something that nearly undid him again, you reached up and squeezed his arm affectionately. “Thank you for being honest.”
He almost laughed at that.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Honest.”
You resumed walking, but the air between you had shifted, not awkward, not tense. Just clearer. Softer.
Robin felt lighter than he had in weeks.
You had chosen him.
Not the mask.
Not the symbol.
Not the cool, confident version.
The awkward boy who blushed and laughed too loud and didn’t know how to make the first move.
And for the first time in his life, Dick Grayson didn’t feel like he had to compete with Robin.
And as you walked under the quiet Gotham sky, Robin smiled behind the mask, not because he’d been refused.
summary: jason is the first competent person you’ve gone on vacation with and that only makes you love him more! for my girls who can’t stand being around anyone incapable at the airport and prefer to travel alone <3
warnings! explicit language (at the end)
Today was the day.
It had been a full time job trying to convince Jason to spend time away throwing punches and pulling tiggers at criminals on the streets of Gotham. Bothering him day and night with ‘imagine this’ scenarios and sending him links to TikToks of couple vacation spots.
And the same way Jason needed a break, you did too. Working is exhausting! Being an independent woman with a job had its moments that made you want to disappear! You wanted this vacation and you wanted it with him.
You packed two nights before your morning flight. You taped a checklist to the wall of your shared bedroom with Jason weeks ago, every now and then seeing new checkmarks beside each needed item. His in red pen and yours in green. You made that checklist because you’ve spent enough years with people in your ear asking what they needed to bring the night before or the morning of after telling them a bunch of times. Verbally. Through text messages during the week. Shared notes the second the trip was planned. Somehow it never stuck to everyone else but you.
Now, on the drive to the airport. You gazed out the window, the passing buildings, people walking along the sidewalks. Your mind was only one way thing.
Beautiful and tropical Costa Rica.
The beaches of Guanacaste called your name. The excitement of finding tiny lizards and frogs in your hotel room made your heart beat. Exploring the vibrant city of San José made your leg twitched as you imagined just being there.
The daydreaming was cut short when the car pulled off towards Terminal 3. Ready to take the bags like you always did every trip, you got out of the car with a sigh and rounded the back to the trunk and the sight made you pause.
Jason had gotten out quicker than you did and already had all the bags and suitcases. He caught you staring at him from the corner of his eye like he’d grown two heads as his arm rose to shut the trunk.
“What is it?” He asked, the thud of the trunk shutting brought you back to reality.
“The.. bags..” was all you could managed to say, lifting your hand to point at him warily. Oh no. You must’ve died before your trip!
“Yeah? What about them? I got them all.” Jason raised an eyebrow, jerking his chin behind you at the terminal. “Let’s get moving, baby.”
You turned around and headed towards the terminal, entering through the automatic sliding doors. The airport. Where everyone came during their first day on earth after going to the grocery store and amusement park.
All sorts of people walked by. Families with a crying baby and a bad toddler. Couples where the girl pushed the large and heavy suitcases while her boyfriend followed behind her on his phone. Elders who were just as overwhelmed that they’d stop in the middle of human traffic.
Looking around for the airline, you walked straight towards the checkin kiosks before Jason called out to you.
“Hey! Where you going? TSA is that way.”
Turning around to look at him, you felt like you were slipping into a coma. “W..what? Yeah, I know. I just.. don’t you need to check in?”
“What? No, I checked in on my phone. They let you check in 24 hours before your flight, ya know?”
Before you could even try to register that he already checked in and you didn’t have to help him do everything he could’ve done a day before made you lightheaded. You stepped into the airport and you haven’t felt stressed within the last three minutes.
You haven’t felt stressed within the last four months of this trip being planned and booked!
You followed behind him towards security which was the ultimate test. Sure, he’d been good leading up to this moment but there was no way that Jason happened to be perfect at traveling.. right? At some point, he’d piss you off.
Your eyes lingered on his arm, the way it was stretched out holding the handles of the suitcases together to make them flow along the floor easily. How he had placed your carry on bag on top of the suitcase and how he had his backpack as a carry on hanging onto both shoulders so it wouldn’t bother him!
It all happened so quickly and.. easily. He had your passports together and ready in his hand, letting you know to pull out your boarding pass as the two of you approached the TSA agent.
Now standing in line for the security checkpoint, you stood beside him anxiously. He noticed, of course. He always did.
“Nervous?” He asked with his charming yet teasing grin.
You shake your head, taking in a deep breath and straightening your back. “No, of course not. Are you? Going through TSA is serious. Don’t hold up the line, okay? Put the carry ons first, then our personal items. Take off your belt, remember that. Anything metal should be off and in the basket. Make sure you have anything in your pockets.”
Jason nodded, impressed. “You can be a TSA agent. You’re mean like them too.”
You give him a playful glare before you both step up to the empty spots. You take your personal items bag to help him take off the load and swiftly follow the rules of TSA. Shoes off. Nothing in pockets. Electronics stay in bags now (thank god.)
But then you see him, effortlessly lifting the suitcases and pushing them forward when the agent says so. His hands dig into his pockets, quickly work his belt, and takes off his shoes because they’re above the ankle. How did he even know about that rule? You’d forgotten to tell him and he still.. knew.
You walk through the detector first. Perfect. Nothing was flagged and you watch Jason, waiting for him to have forgotten something in his pocket or for the TSA to yell at him to come back and separate his belongings into different trays.
Nothing. He walks through and meets up with you on the other side as you two wait for your bags. Even then, he has you wait as he grabs them. He’s out of peoples ways, putting the trays onto the stack rather than being the person who just leaves them there and causes congestion. He even helps an elderly lady with her too heavy bag.
“Alright,” he sighs as he comes over to you with all your combined bags. He looks above you at the screen of departing flights.
“Gate 3C. Agh, we got a shit ton of time. Let’s get you something to eat, hm? And before you ask— yes, I’m sure.” He grins, lifting his hand to gently pat your cheek lovingly.
“I’d never make a trip like this hell for you. I’m only here to make sure you have a good time, pretty baby.” Jason brings you into his side as you begin to walk through duty free stores and restaurants. As he hauls all the bags, he makes sure he still has a way to touch you and hold you close.
After eating at some restaurant you both agreed to, Jason makes sure you both are at the gate at least an hour to thirty minutes before boarding for your peace of mind. He’s sitting beside you, reading a book he picked up from the bookstore by your gate, his leg bouncing and his arm draped over the back of your chair.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs, giving you a sideways glance with a smirk before closing his book, keeping his spot with his thumb in between the pages. He lifts his head and turns to see you better. “What’s going through your mind? Talk to me,” he tells you softly.
“Nothing, I..” what could you say right now? You’d just been thinking about what amazing things you must’ve done in your past life to finally deserve the perfect travel companion. Something you’ve been wishing for but was always cursed with people who still needed help to wipe their ass.
“When we get to the hotel room,” you breathe, keeping your voice soft and personal. He raises an eyebrow in interest. “I’m going to fuck you. All night.”
“You look really good right now, ma,” Jason says, nudging your head to the side to have more access to your neck. You laugh softly, tangling your fingers in Jason’s messy head of hair.
“Jay, I literally just woke up,” you mumble, closing your eyes while Jason’s lips kiss up and down the column of your neck. You woke up from your nap to find him cooking dinner.
“Exactly. And you look gorgeous. Is it not evident by the fact that I can’t keep my hands off you? Wanna just fucking eat you,” he says, biting your ear for emphasis, causing you to giggle. You turn to look at him, tugging playfully at his hair.
“Eat me, huh? Is that a promise?” you ask with a smirk.
“Oh, it definitely can be,” Jason smirks back, crashing his lips against yours. He presses you against the kitchen counter, the hard material digging softly into your lower back. You moan in Jason's mouth, holding him close to you. Before Jason can pick you up to put you on the counter, a voice startles the two of you.
“Uhhh, can you not do that here?” Dick says, standing in the doorway, taking a bite of his sandwich. Startled, you jump into Jason's chest for safety. He tightens his arms around you instinctively before letting out a sigh of relief, seeing that it is just Dick. The relief is only momentary for Jason, who shoots dagers at Dick.
“Dude, why the fuck are you in our apartment?” Jason asks. You laugh into Jason's chest at the ridiculousness of the situation.
"Well, I didn't know it was 'our' apartment now. If I knew you had another person here, maybe I would have announced myself," Dick states, walking over to extend his hand towards you. "It seems you know who I am, but I don't know you. I'm Dick," he says, extending a hand towards you. Jason slaps his hand away, but you laugh and shake Dick's hand, introducing yourself.
"I'm Jason's girlfriend," you say with a smile. You had no qualms about Jason not wanting to tell his family about you. His relationship with his family was tumultuous to say the least. You knew how Jason felt about you, and you fully backed his decision not to disclose your relationship to them.
"Wow, you must be doing community service then," Dick jokes, as Jason's face goes red and he shoves Dick.
"Okay, great, you met my lovely girlfriend. Can you now explain why you are in our apartment?!" Jason asks Dick again, raising his voice. You put your hand on his chest, giving him a look. Jason knew you did not like it when he raised his voice, so he took a deep breath.
"Well, Kori and I got into an argument. You're in a relationship now, so you know how that goes. Thought I should give her space to cool off, so I came here," Dick says, scratching at the back of his neck.
“You got kicked out?" you state flatly.
"I mean, that isn't the verbiage I'd use... yes, she kicked me out," he says, dropping his head. You give Jason another look before turning to the oven to check on dinner. Jason huffs as you walk away from him; whatever moment the two of you had long gone.
“For the last time, that still does not answer why you are physically present in my apartment. Why didn't you go to the manor?" Jason asks, crossing his arms.
“Well, your apartment is closer"
“You are full of shit, the manor is closer to Bludhaven”
“Okay! Maybe I wanted to see how my little brother was doing. You don't come around often, and I got to meet your super awesome girlfriend. It is nice to see you happy and not in a constant state of brooding," Dick says quickly.
"He does like to brood," you agree.
"If it isn't too big of a deal, to both of you, I'll sleep here for tonight and be out of your hair in the morning." You can tell Jason's resolve is beginning to crumble. He looks at you for confirmation, hoping to silently communicate with you.
"Jason always makes too much food. You two can set the table for three," you say. Jason nods, accepting your answer, and a big smile overtakes Dick's face. He catches Jason off guard when he wraps an arm around his shoulder.
"Oh, this will be so great. I get to catch up with my lil bro and his super cool girlfriend since they are letting me crash. And, I can tell you every embarrassing story I have about good ole Jaybird," Dick sings. If it were possible, steam would be emitting from Jason's ears.
pairing: dick grayson x fem!reader
word count: 3.7k
description: having been an acrobatic vigilante for most of his life, one would think dick grayson's body has grown used to the strain. and it has, mostly.
that doesn't mean he doesn't have bad days.
tags: fluff! hurt/comfort? but there's very little hurt and it's just the comfort, essentially, grayson overextends himself and needs floor time, a massage, and being cared for makes him clingy (and emotional).
a/n: this idea was given to me by my beloved A WHILE ago and i've finally gotten around to it. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE AND THIS IS FOR YOU! i also have no idea how giving a massage works so if this is really inaccurate please overlook that, please and thank you.
if anyone is into soapghost from cod mw2 (2022), this is heavily influenced by this fic by thirteenbullets on ao3 :)
To call your apartment a sanctuary was a gross over exaggeration but you failed to come up with a better term.
It was small, sure, Blüdhaven didn't often accommodate for luxury. But it's not like you and Dick (and Haley) needed much space anyways.
The light was soft, the radiator did its best, and the space cradled the memory of both of you in every nook and cranny.
There were scuffs on the floor from move-in, a (mostly faded) wine stain on the couch, the lingering smell of shared laundry detergent and the Epsom salts Dick loved to soak in. Your home was constantly lit by warm lamps, photographed memories line the walls, and little knick-knacks can be found wherever you could fit them.
It was the safe haven you longed to return to at the end of every work day.
The click of the door and the clink of keys being dropped onto the countertop is the familiar symphony that announces your return. It makes Haley perk up from where she lay on the couch and she yips with excitement. She pads up to you, whole body wiggling with excitement, as she snuffles at your pants.
You coo and scratch the pit bull behind her ears before toeing off your shoes. A smile tugs at your lips when you see Dick's own sitting neatly beside the door. He was home, then.
If you yearned for the sanctity of your apartment at the end of every day, you craved the presence of your boyfriend even more.
"Dick? I'm home."
You wait for a few moments. No response.
Brows pinching, you drop your bag on the counter and look more closely at your cramped living room. The throw blanket is still over the back of the couch and little is disturbed on the coffee table. The kitchen, similarly, yields no result.
Maybe he wasn't home after all? Did he leave for patrol early?
But, that can't be right… He was supposed to be taking the night off. He'd been complaining about overextended and sore muscles, bruises that hadn't quite healed right, and how even light workouts were straining. His body was practically begging him for a break, which you'd pointed out.
Dick had agreed. Begrudgingly.
It wouldn't surprise you if he'd ignored your advice and went out anyways. He was stubborn like that, always putting the needs of this unforgiving city before his own.
"Dick?" You're not ready to let go of your hope just yet.
Once again, your call is met with silence.
So, it's a pleasant surprise when you nudge open the cracked bedroom door to find your boyfriend… sprawled out on the floor, face down on the carpet.
He's shirtless (much to your delight) and clad in simple gym shorts. The lamp on your bedside table casts him in favorable warm light. His musculature is on display, the shadows sculpting him like a god. It spotlights him so much, in fact, that you can visibly see how much tension he's holding in. His shoulders are hunched, hips twisted slightly beneath him, as if that was the only way for him to get comfortable. Limbs are haphazardly tossed in every direction, almost like he was a rag doll a child had mindlessly tossed to the floor.
He looked completely and utterly worn. But, at the same time, like he can't fully unwind. He was stuck in limbo, a bodily purgatory.
"Hey, baby." You greet, cocking a hip against the doorway.
The noise Dick makes can only be described as complete relief. His shoulders slump just slightly, some of that rigidity melting away. He tilts his head slightly to meet your eyes, his cheek is still mushed into the carpet. The small smile he gives you doesn't quite reach his eyes. To call it strained was generous.
"Hi." Dick murmurs. There's a slight rasp in his voice from lack of use.
Pushing yourself off the door frame, you make your way over to his prone form. You settle, legs folding. It's instinct more than thought that has you reaching out a hand to brush over his shoulder, fingertips skimming across warm skin. Dick's hand, the one closest to you, shifts to rest along your calf. His thumb brushes circles around your ankle bone.
It's a mutual tethering, as thoughtless as breathing. It's habitual.
"Didn't you hear me get home?" There's a tease in your voice but it does little to hide your underlying concern.
The sheepish expression that crosses your boyfriend's face answers your question before his words attempt to. You press your fingers a little more firmly into the tender part of Dick's shoulder, searching for knots. It's an open investigation.
You can read the clues written across his body like it's a case file. Pursuing the metaphorical red yarn leads you to the conclusion of 'over-extension' and 'exhaustion'. Mystery solved, case closed.
"You okay?" You pry.
"I dunno." Dick admits after a short moment of silence. "My body hurts and my brain is just… blegh."
You could tell that much.
"Did you take a bath?"
It was Dick's infamous self-care go-to when he was downtrodden. He luxuriated in your small apartment tub at least twice a week, candles burning and heaps of eucalyptus and lavender Epsom salts poured into the water. Inevitably, you were always encouraged to join.
Your boyfriend sighs and leans his head against your knee.
"No… got home from helping Bruce at the manor. He wanted me to help Damian with some acrobatic things. It was s'posed to be light, y'know? But even that took it out of me. When I got back, I just wanted to lay down… and I just haven't gotten 'round to getting up yet." His words are mumbled into the floor.
So, this was definitely more than just his body hurting.
He'd hinted at it, yes, but you can sense what goes unsaid too.
Dick Grayson is spent.
He's overworked himself physically and mentally, enough to where even pushing himself off the floor seems insurmountable. The late nights, the case work, and the lack of rest have gotten to him. He's past his threshold. (He probably passed it long ago, knowing him.)
There are the gruesome wounds that Dick earns from his second life. The giant scrapes, bruises, burns, broken bones, and the things that warrant you stitching him up while he cracks jokes through gritted teeth on the bathroom counter.
But there were other hurts that hid beneath the surface. The ones that could be ignored or looked over. The strain on his arms and shoulders from being tugged around the city by grappling hook, the ache in his legs from crouching during a stakeout or running across rooftops, and the general wear and tear that came from all the tricky acrobatic stunts he loved to pull. It tended to build up, like steam in a kettle. You can see that the pot is boiling over.
Luckily, you've come up with a solution.
"Alright," You start softly, shifting your hand from his back to card through his mussed hair. "How about this, how about we get you in the bath, then the bed. I can work out the knots in your back, and then we order food and pass out?"
Dick hums, almost purring like a cat, as he presses his head into your hand.
"Mm… just the massage. Too tired for anything else." He mumble. You can feel the vibrations of his voice through your clothes.
You huff, shaking your head. The universal signal of exasperated fondness. Of course he only wants the option where your hands are on him.
"Fine. But I'm getting food in you as well. I know you're probably starving."
Dick makes a noncommittal noise at that which only affirms what you know to be true.
You hate to rouse him from his comfortable (?) sprawled out position on the floor, but you know if you massage him as he is, he'll never get back up.
After combing your fingers through his hair one last time, you nudge his shoulder.
"C'mon, babe, let's get you up."
Dick makes a noise of complaint in the back of his throat, the drama queen. His nose presses more into your knee, face mushed against your pant leg. You give a beat, two, and he doesn't move.
"Richard Grayson," You scold, "I cannot pick you up and move you myself so either you get on the bed or you keep laying here like a miserable lump and I'll just go to bed all alone."
That makes him lift his head fully. He frowns at you, a full on pout, before he pushes himself up (not without a dramatic groan).
"You're so mean to me." He huffs.
Then, he's flopping on his stomach onto the bed. It was comical. His limbs were spread across the comforter like a starfish, easily taking up most of your queen-sized mattress. Dick's face is pressed so deeply into the pillow that you're almost concerned he can't breathe.
You shake your head before you turn away to your dresser. A quick rifling through the top drawer reveals your bounty, chamomile and lavender infused massage oil. This was far from your first rodeo.
It's become a routine in it's own right. He never asks for it explicitly, of course he doesn't. He'd rather waste away in his own discomfort than ask for help. Stubborn. But, you'd learned to read the ask in the way he bats his lashes at you as he drapes himself dramatically over your furniture.
You pad back over to your bed like you're crossing a battlefield, shoulders square. Determined.
Tossing a knee over his hip, you settle across his waist. Dick lets out a breath at the sudden pressure but he doesn't complain. In fact, if anything, he settles a little more into the mattress.
His muscles twitch when you pour a couple quarter's worth of cool oil along the dip of his spine. Your boyfriend's hands slide up the bed to secure a pillow, tucking it under his head and making himself comfortable before your work really begins.
Gently, you trail your fingers through the liquid across his spine. It's quickly warming to his body heat.
"Ready?" You never begin unless you're sure he's comfortable.
Dick gives only a grunt of affirmation. You watch his dark lashes flutter shut as he surrenders his troubles to you.
It had taken months for him to trust you this way.
Dick Grayson was good at performing, has been since he was a child. He was all open smiles and easy charm. Dick was tactfully charismatic; he could guide a conversation for hours and only when you said goodbye would you realize you never got to ask him anything about himself. To be truly vulnerable (utterly, genuinely, terribly) was a big ask.
You know what a privilege it is to have him under your hands like this, honest and known. You will not throw away this gift you've been given.
Palms skimming up to his shoulders, you spread the oil over his skin. The heat of him seeps into you like sunlight. He glows under the warm lamp light. The sheen of the oil illuminates his impressive physique, the rolling hills and dipping valleys of muscle.
At this angle, you could see the crisscrossing network of scars scattered along his body. Most were old, healed and faint. Others were a puckered pink and still in the process of settling. Thankfully, there were no bandages or great wounds to work around (this time).
You work the oil up to his nape, across those broad shoulders, the curves of his arm. Then, you travel down his spine, fingers spanning across his ribs, to the curve of his hips,
You press your thumbs into the dimples at his lower back and he makes a punched out sound. His fingers curl deeper into the sheets. With tenderness, you rub circles into the dips there. You're using hardly any pressure, this was for affection and affection alone. These little dimples were one of your favorite parts of him (among many).
The scent of the oil hangs, suspended, in the air. It beckons memories to nights just like this one. The remembrance serves as a reminder for how sacred this moment is.
You begin with the lower back.
You smooth your hands outward from his spine. There's a lot of tension here. You can feel it without even hardly pressing down.
"Jeez, baby, you're tense." You murmur, more to yourself than your boyfriend.
Dick only makes a small noise in return because you've begun to dig the heels of your hands into his muscle. Slowly, your palms drag across his lower back in sweeping motions, trying their very best to work out the tightness that has made it's home beneath his skin. You brush your thumbs in arcs to find knots and smooth them away.
You're careful not to press too hard. This was supposed to be relieving, gentle. You weren't a professional with the knowledge of deep tissue work after all. Even still, for all your care, Dick squirms beneath you. He breathes out through his nose with a soft, wounded noise with every press of your hands. It must not be comfortable, not yet. He's hurting and the relief is difficult to stay still for. Thankfully, he can't wriggle far with your weight spread across his hips.
Once you've done all you can for his lower back, you shift your focus to his sides.
There was not a ton of deep muscle here for you to work with. You pay special care to it anyhow. You span your fingers across his ribs, rubbing your hands slowly over the skin there. Beneath your hands, you can feel the stuttering rise and fall of his chest.
Smoothing your thumbs up near his spine, you lean down to press a chaste kiss to one of his shoulders. No words need accompany the gesture. They are written in the gesture. I'm here, you're okay, you're doing so well.
Within the dip of his spine, you run your thumbs up and down with the same gentle press you've been using. This is more for comfort rather than release. Even so, Dick gives a shuddering groan. His shoulders tense up for a moment before relaxing completely. The sound drives you to repeat the motion a few more times. He whines, pressing his face deeper into the pillow. Dark raven locks are mussed against the fabric. It's a ridiculously endearing sight.
A determined focus washes over you as you work. The white noise of Blüdhaven fades into the background, your ears are only tuned to recognize the vocalizations of Dick Grayson. You do not feel the sheets under your knees nor the temperature of the room, just the warmth of your boyfriend under your hands.
Finally, you glide your hands to his shoulders.
Everything else had been a warm up for the shoulders. From experience, you know he holds the most weight here. This is where he holds his responsibilities, his duties, his blame, and his determination.
You sweep your hands across the broad expanse of them first. You let him acclimate to the touch while simultaneously giving him a moment to mentally prepare for the work that needs to be done.
The first dig of your thumbs into his shoulders has him bucking up against you.
"Ah-!" He gasps out without meaning to.
He writhes for a moment but he has nowhere to press away from you, only into you. You squeeze your thighs about his hips to ensure he doesn't throw you off. Releasing the pressure, you skim your hands over his shoulders once again.
"Shh. I know, I know. I know this part hurts, Dick, but I can't release anything without using pressure. Relax for me, baby, c'mon."
It takes a moment for him to settle once again, but he does.
He exhales heavily, pressing deep into the mattress once again. His hands are still curled tightly in the sheets and you can see the way his jaw is clenched tight.
Ducking your head, you press a kiss to the clenched muscle in his cheek and let your lips linger. You keep brushing your hands, soothing, across his shoulders.
"Good. You're doing so good." The praise is as gentle as your touch. "You okay for me to keep going or do you need a second?"
Dick lets out a breath. His jaw relaxes under your mouth.
He's quiet a moment before he shifts beneath you. He makes himself more comfortable, hands flexing against the sheets.
"Keep going. Just want it over with." He murmurs.
Your mouth twists but you're determined to give him the relief he needs.
"Tell me or tap my knee if you need a break, okay?"
Only after he nods do you let yourself continue.
On his next inhale, you dig your thumbs into his shoulders. He shudders with a hoarse groan, but he doesn't try to throw you off this time. As gently as you can while remaining firm, you try your best to work out the tension. Your fingers press into that plush muscle and do not relent.
Knots crack under your digits and you wince. You'd known he'd been hurting for a while, he'd been mentioning it, offhanded, for almost a week now. But feeling it in your hands was a whole different ordeal. When Dick is in a better headspace, you make a note to yourself to implore him to seek help earlier.
Dick's shoulders are worked until he's trembling. You can feel it through your thighs where they bracket his waist. Only then do you relent. You've done all you can for the muscle, anyhow.
Your boyfriend, though his muscles are jumping from the released tension, has melted below you. His breathing is deep and his fists are loose in the sheets above his head rather than white-knuckled. However, you've never been one to stop at the bare minimum.
You lean forward, chest almost brushing his back as you focus your attention on his arms. You don't press hard like you did his shoulders, though. This was meant to be the denouement to the whole process, the calm stream after white water rapids.
The rounded curves of his biceps twitch beneath your ministrations. Dick gives a pleased hum when you work his forearms and he sighs when you press your thumbs to the backs of his hands, fingers flexing before they relax. You sweep your touch down, down down over his arms, over his shoulders, to finally settle at his nape.
It was a sweet spot you'd discovered awhile ago and is often where your hand will settle when he crawls into bed with you at night.
He lets out a long exhale when your thumbs rub figures eights there. Idly, you mess with the short hair at his neck as you analyze his back once more. If it weren't so intimate it would be clinical with the way you inspect the swaths of tan skin for any lingering tension that can be melted away by your hands.
You find none. All the stress his body had been grasping has been let go.
A twitch catches your eyes. Dick's shoulders shake once, twice. It takes the third time for you to realize he's crying. He muffles a sniffle into his pillow.
Immediately, you're shifting off of him onto the bed. A lump clogs your throat as a thousand thoughts trample through your mind. Had you done too much? Did you hurt him? Was it too far?
"Hey, hey, hey-" Your hands hover anxiously over him. "Dick. Are you okay-?"
He lifts that wet, blue gaze to your own. A watery smile appears on his mouth and he wipes at his cheek. Instead of answering, he tosses the pillow aside and shifts towards you. His arms wrap around your waist, their warmth molten as he tugs you close. He buries his face into your stomach with a hum. You part your thighs so he can rest comfortably between your legs.
"I'm good. Really good, actually." His words are almost stolen by the fabric of your shirt.
Relieved, you let out a breath and drop a hand to card through his tresses. You lean back against the plush pillows on your bed and it's not lost on you that Dick presses closer to ensure there's no distance between your bodies. You can feel his tears through your shirt.
"It's just…" A pause, a sniffle. "I've been holding all that for a while, y'know? And then here you are… perfect and amazing and working my back and caring for me with all the patience in the world like it's nothing. Dunno why 'm crying but… it just feels good to be cared for like that, y'know?"
"I get it." You assure. When your nails lightly scratch across his scalp, he makes a low and needy noise. He rubs his face against your stomach with a quiet exhale.
Tenderly, you tip his chin up and brush away any lingering tears. Dick turns his face into your palm but you can see the vulnerability painted across his face. The facade has cracked like an eggshell, leaving emotion to spill through.
His eyes are half-lidded, stilly slightly watery, but he gazes at you like you're the world. As far as you're concerned, though, you've got it in your hands.
"But I want you to know… I'll always do my best to take care of you. You deserve everything I have to give and more."
Dark lashes flutter shut and his mouth places another kiss into your palm. You watch him savor every single word and you hope he'll hold onto them forever.
"I love you." He murmurs into your skin.
"And I love you." The response is easy because it's honest.
Guiding his head to rest back against your stomach, you pull your phone from your pocket. You scratch lightly at the hair at Dick's nape and he practically purrs (or makes a human equivalent of the noise).
"Now, take a nap. I'll order something and we can eat in bed. How do you feel about Thai?"
