I'm Rain/Ana (she/her), your personal train conductor, you arrived at:
˗ˏˋ ★ CENTRAL STATION★ ˊˎ˗
If you'd like me to add a stop, just ask: requests open for DCU characters for my 2 week challenge! Prompts are linked, if you want you can always send in your ideas!
༄ .✧° Next stop: Rules ✧ Masterlist °✧.
༄ .✧° A new line has been added: ˗ˏˋ want to be yours so bad! (DG) ˊˎ˗
snippet from my current wip, circus-artist!reader x dick grayson:
“Liar,” Alex interrupted the two of you, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “She thinks Nightwing should have been voted ‘Sexiest Man’ instead of Bruce Wayne last year.”
Dick laughed at that. “Really?”
You felt heat rising up to your cheeks. Your friends could be such traitors sometimes. “Maybe.” You admitted.
jason todd x childhoodfriend!reader. wc: 1.7k. angst. for my 2 week challenge, enjoy!
You were swinging your legs, dangling, off the side of a rooftop. It was nearly sundown and the sun was bathing the city in a golden glow. Sitting here, on your apartment complex building, you decided part of your heart would always live in Gotham. Even if you lived somewhere far away.
“Sorry,” you heard from behind you, breathless. “I got held up.”
You turned around and there he was, Jason Todd. Without meaning to you smiled, and patted the spot next to you underneath the railing, a lot more excited than before.
He ran up to you. There was a new bruise on his leg, one that hadn’t been there this morning in school, but you ignored it. You didn’t want to fight, not today. It felt wrong, somehow.
“Look,” you pointed to the Ferris wheel further away, “they are finally finished!”
“Huh,” he said as he sat down next to you, folding his arms over the lowest bar of the railing, mirroring your position. “I wonder how long it’s going to take for them to take it down after the first attack.”
“Hmm, two days.” You thought about the Christmas market last winter and corrected yourself, “three.”
“I bet it’s two then.”
“You’re such an ass,” you said, but you took his hand and you shook on it.
“So,” he drawled out, nervously hitting the building with the heels of his scuffed up shoes, clearly mustering up the courage for something. “I wanted to give you something.”
“What?”
“I have a gift,” he said, burying one hand in the pocket of his shorts, “a belated birthday present of sorts.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” you reminded him, because you both lived in the same complex. You knew how it was and if you were honest, just having him there had been gift enough.
“It’s kind of stupid, and I made it, so it’s also ugly.”
You took in the way he blushed, clearly embarrassed. The way his eyes wouldn’t meet yours, how the sun made his hair light up in hundreds, thousands different shades of the same colour. He was a miracle to you, a kindness in a place that made you feel like you deserved none.
“I’m going to love it anyway,” you reassured him because you knew that to be true. If he had made it himself it would be impossible not to.
“Close your eyes.”
Obediently you shut them, suddenly aware of the height you were sitting at. But it was Jason next to you, and you trusted him. Gently he pried your hands from the cold metal and folded them together, before softly placing something in it. It was light, cold and a little spikey.
“Can I open them?”
“Yes.”
You looked down at your hands. It was a ring, probably a bit too big for your fingers right now, but you would grow into it. The spikey parts were not ends, but rather wire that was braided together, clumsily, and you could see the way it sometimes bent into other directions, but it was the best thing you had ever gotten. Maybe, just maybe, because it was from him.
“I-” you started, not knowing how to finish the sentence. He made that, for you. He must have sat there, for a while, trying to make it as neat as possible.
“You hate it, don’t you? You don’t have to keep it, it was stupid anyway-”
Before he could take it back, you closed your hand into a fist around it, and took his outstretched one in your right. “I love it. Thank you.”
When he still looked at you in disbelief, you added, “Really, I do. It’s from you, how could I not love it?”
For a second, he tried to figure out if you were lying to him, the way he always did when it came to compliments. Then he intertwined his fingers with yours. “It’s meant to be a promise. One day, when we are out of here, I’m going to ask you something.”
You laughed. “Really?”
“Really. For now it’s just a promise, but I mean it. We are going to stay together forever.”
Your heart glowed, the same way the sun did. Somehow, Jason always knew how to take every part of you and make it brighter. You stretched out your pinky, slipping the ring onto your thumb.
“Promise?”
You knew, even at that moment, at eight years old, that you would remember this face, this moment for the rest of your life. “Promise.”
~*~
It was raining. Of course it was, this was Gotham, and seasons didn’t seem to matter here. Not when it came to this. You were older now, but the view was still mostly the same.
“Happy birthday,” you heard from behind you, and a sad smile spread across your face. He didn’t forget about it afterall, even if he was an hour too late.
“You’re late,” you chided, but turned around to him. He was taller now as well, but not as tall as some of the other boys in your class. Maybe next year. Or maybe he just wouldn’t grow up to be tall.
He made no sound as he walked over to you, footsteps lighter despite his increased weight.
“I can’t stay long,” he said, regret already colouring his voice.
“I know,” you answered, because that’s how it usually was nowadays. Patrol took up all of his free time and the rest was spent in his new school or in his new mansion. It was hard not to feel jealous about it sometimes, but this was Jason, which made it a lot easier again. He made everything a lot easier.
Jason leaned against the railing, but instead of facing the view he faced you.
“How does it feel, you grandmother?”
“Shut up, you’re turning sixteen in a few months as well you know?” You turned around to face him properly.
“Let me enjoy this,” he said, grinning, his mask still obscuring half his face. There was a quiet beep-beep that cut through the air, reminding you that this was just borrowed time.
“I gotta go now,” he pulled out a small bag from one of his hidden pockets. “I’m sorry, there is a lot going on, but I’ll be back on Sunday to make up for it, okay?”
“‘Course,” you replied, swallowing down the thickness in your voice.
“This is for you.”
When he remained standing, despite his alarm, when you didn’t open it immediately, you ached. For a version of the two of you that lived happily together, or maybe fought a lot, but at least they did it together.
You pulled it open and dropped what was inside on the open palm of your left hand. It was a ring. There was no stone attached, and the sliver was clearly self polished, but it was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. He knocked the breath out of your lungs.
“It’s still not much,” he admitted, taking off his mask and looking down on it. “And you deserve more than I can give you. So I’m not going to ask you, because we are still young and that’s apparently stupid, but this is my promise to you. I’ll be there, I’ll wait forever, I don’t care, as long as I have you in my life.”
Tears welled up in your eyes, because he was still the same boy he had been when he was eight, not asking you for anything, but offering everything he had in return. “Good, because if we are both eighteen and you aren’t I’m going to hunt you down and hold you to it.”
“Good,” he pulled your head against his, his forehead leaning against yours, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
You slipped on the ring, which fit a lot better than expected, and took his head in yours.
For a second, the two of you just breathed together, and you suppressed a shudder, your fingers turning icy in the rain.
“I need to go now,” he whispered, not wanting to break this moment.
“I know.” Both of you lingered until you forced yourself to take your hands from his jaw.
“Go and save some lives, Miracle Boy.”
That made him grin, open and honest, something that you hadn’t seen in a while. “Such a stupid name.”
Not to me, you wanted to reply, “chop, chop, I’m sure the big bat is already waiting for you.”
You only watched as he stuck his mask back on and jumped off the roof, basking in the moment for just a second longer before you returned back inside. Not freezing anymore, the warmth of his presence lingering even in his absence.
~*~
Sunday never came. Only a message apologising, saying that something came up, that it was important.
You had been angry at him, had never replied, wanting him to feel it.
Standing here now, in front of his grave, you wished that you had been a bigger person.
Today of all days Gotham remained dry. You could cry at the irony, but you knew that Jason had always liked the sun, a clear sky. You would not rob him of it.
With shaking hands you unclasped your necklace. His ring was on it, because it hadn’t truly fit and you hadn't wanted to lose it.
The ring glinted in the last rays of the setting sun. It was reminiscent of the first day he had made you that promise and you hated all of it. The Joker, the world, Batman. Him.
When you placed it on his gravestone, you started to cry. “I hate you. I hate you, God, I hate you, I-”
Your tears were salty as you broke down in front of a still slab of stone. “I love you.”
With still shaky hands and an even unsteadier voice, you whispered, “I love you and I hate you for it, for making me believe that we could have had a future together. For making me dream, hope, I hate you. I will never forgive you. You promised, Jason, you promised.”
The ferris wheel had taken two days to be deconstructed.
You, you knew, would never recover.
“You promised.”
~*~
Six months later Jason dug himself out alive. His fingers were raw, blood mixed with dirt and there was nothing on his mind except for his one purpose.
He did not notice the ring carefully placed on the stone, still there, because you always made sure of it.
What was a promise if neither believed in it anymore? A memory, maybe, or a thought. It was not, however, a tether.
jason todd x childhoodfriend!reader. wc: 1.7k. angst. for my 2 week challenge, enjoy!
You were swinging your legs, dangling, off the side of a rooftop. It was nearly sundown and the sun was bathing the city in a golden glow. Sitting here, on your apartment complex building, you decided part of your heart would always live in Gotham. Even if you lived somewhere far away.
“Sorry,” you heard from behind you, breathless. “I got held up.”
You turned around and there he was, Jason Todd. Without meaning to you smiled, and patted the spot next to you underneath the railing, a lot more excited than before.
He ran up to you. There was a new bruise on his leg, one that hadn’t been there this morning in school, but you ignored it. You didn’t want to fight, not today. It felt wrong, somehow.
“Look,” you pointed to the Ferris wheel further away, “they are finally finished!”
“Huh,” he said as he sat down next to you, folding his arms over the lowest bar of the railing, mirroring your position. “I wonder how long it’s going to take for them to take it down after the first attack.”
“Hmm, two days.” You thought about the Christmas market last winter and corrected yourself, “three.”
“I bet it’s two then.”
“You’re such an ass,” you said, but you took his hand and you shook on it.
“So,” he drawled out, nervously hitting the building with the heels of his scuffed up shoes, clearly mustering up the courage for something. “I wanted to give you something.”
“What?”
“I have a gift,” he said, burying one hand in the pocket of his shorts, “a belated birthday present of sorts.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” you reminded him, because you both lived in the same complex. You knew how it was and if you were honest, just having him there had been gift enough.
“It’s kind of stupid, and I made it, so it’s also ugly.”
You took in the way he blushed, clearly embarrassed. The way his eyes wouldn’t meet yours, how the sun made his hair light up in hundreds, thousands different shades of the same colour. He was a miracle to you, a kindness in a place that made you feel like you deserved none.
“I’m going to love it anyway,” you reassured him because you knew that to be true. If he had made it himself it would be impossible not to.
“Close your eyes.”
Obediently you shut them, suddenly aware of the height you were sitting at. But it was Jason next to you, and you trusted him. Gently he pried your hands from the cold metal and folded them together, before softly placing something in it. It was light, cold and a little spikey.
“Can I open them?”
“Yes.”
You looked down at your hands. It was a ring, probably a bit too big for your fingers right now, but you would grow into it. The spikey parts were not ends, but rather wire that was braided together, clumsily, and you could see the way it sometimes bent into other directions, but it was the best thing you had ever gotten. Maybe, just maybe, because it was from him.
“I-” you started, not knowing how to finish the sentence. He made that, for you. He must have sat there, for a while, trying to make it as neat as possible.
“You hate it, don’t you? You don’t have to keep it, it was stupid anyway-”
Before he could take it back, you closed your hand into a fist around it, and took his outstretched one in your right. “I love it. Thank you.”
When he still looked at you in disbelief, you added, “Really, I do. It’s from you, how could I not love it?”
For a second, he tried to figure out if you were lying to him, the way he always did when it came to compliments. Then he intertwined his fingers with yours. “It’s meant to be a promise. One day, when we are out of here, I’m going to ask you something.”
You laughed. “Really?”
“Really. For now it’s just a promise, but I mean it. We are going to stay together forever.”
Your heart glowed, the same way the sun did. Somehow, Jason always knew how to take every part of you and make it brighter. You stretched out your pinky, slipping the ring onto your thumb.
“Promise?”
You knew, even at that moment, at eight years old, that you would remember this face, this moment for the rest of your life. “Promise.”
~*~
It was raining. Of course it was, this was Gotham, and seasons didn’t seem to matter here. Not when it came to this. You were older now, but the view was still mostly the same.
“Happy birthday,” you heard from behind you, and a sad smile spread across your face. He didn’t forget about it afterall, even if he was an hour too late.
“You’re late,” you chided, but turned around to him. He was taller now as well, but not as tall as some of the other boys in your class. Maybe next year. Or maybe he just wouldn’t grow up to be tall.
He made no sound as he walked over to you, footsteps lighter despite his increased weight.
“I can’t stay long,” he said, regret already colouring his voice.
“I know,” you answered, because that’s how it usually was nowadays. Patrol took up all of his free time and the rest was spent in his new school or in his new mansion. It was hard not to feel jealous about it sometimes, but this was Jason, which made it a lot easier again. He made everything a lot easier.
Jason leaned against the railing, but instead of facing the view he faced you.
“How does it feel, you grandmother?”
“Shut up, you’re turning sixteen in a few months as well you know?” You turned around to face him properly.
“Let me enjoy this,” he said, grinning, his mask still obscuring half his face. There was a quiet beep-beep that cut through the air, reminding you that this was just borrowed time.
“I gotta go now,” he pulled out a small bag from one of his hidden pockets. “I’m sorry, there is a lot going on, but I’ll be back on Sunday to make up for it, okay?”
“‘Course,” you replied, swallowing down the thickness in your voice.
“This is for you.”
When he remained standing, despite his alarm, when you didn’t open it immediately, you ached. For a version of the two of you that lived happily together, or maybe fought a lot, but at least they did it together.
You pulled it open and dropped what was inside on the open palm of your left hand. It was a ring. There was no stone attached, and the sliver was clearly self polished, but it was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. He knocked the breath out of your lungs.
“It’s still not much,” he admitted, taking off his mask and looking down on it. “And you deserve more than I can give you. So I’m not going to ask you, because we are still young and that’s apparently stupid, but this is my promise to you. I’ll be there, I’ll wait forever, I don’t care, as long as I have you in my life.”
Tears welled up in your eyes, because he was still the same boy he had been when he was eight, not asking you for anything, but offering everything he had in return. “Good, because if we are both eighteen and you aren’t I’m going to hunt you down and hold you to it.”
“Good,” he pulled your head against his, his forehead leaning against yours, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
You slipped on the ring, which fit a lot better than expected, and took his head in yours.
For a second, the two of you just breathed together, and you suppressed a shudder, your fingers turning icy in the rain.
“I need to go now,” he whispered, not wanting to break this moment.
“I know.” Both of you lingered until you forced yourself to take your hands from his jaw.
“Go and save some lives, Miracle Boy.”
That made him grin, open and honest, something that you hadn’t seen in a while. “Such a stupid name.”
Not to me, you wanted to reply, “chop, chop, I’m sure the big bat is already waiting for you.”
You only watched as he stuck his mask back on and jumped off the roof, basking in the moment for just a second longer before you returned back inside. Not freezing anymore, the warmth of his presence lingering even in his absence.
~*~
Sunday never came. Only a message apologising, saying that something came up, that it was important.
You had been angry at him, had never replied, wanting him to feel it.
Standing here now, in front of his grave, you wished that you had been a bigger person.
Today of all days Gotham remained dry. You could cry at the irony, but you knew that Jason had always liked the sun, a clear sky. You would not rob him of it.
With shaking hands you unclasped your necklace. His ring was on it, because it hadn’t truly fit and you hadn't wanted to lose it.
The ring glinted in the last rays of the setting sun. It was reminiscent of the first day he had made you that promise and you hated all of it. The Joker, the world, Batman. Him.
When you placed it on his gravestone, you started to cry. “I hate you. I hate you, God, I hate you, I-”
Your tears were salty as you broke down in front of a still slab of stone. “I love you.”
With still shaky hands and an even unsteadier voice, you whispered, “I love you and I hate you for it, for making me believe that we could have had a future together. For making me dream, hope, I hate you. I will never forgive you. You promised, Jason, you promised.”
The ferris wheel had taken two days to be deconstructed.
You, you knew, would never recover.
“You promised.”
~*~
Six months later Jason dug himself out alive. His fingers were raw, blood mixed with dirt and there was nothing on his mind except for his one purpose.
He did not notice the ring carefully placed on the stone, still there, because you always made sure of it.
What was a promise if neither believed in it anymore? A memory, maybe, or a thought. It was not, however, a tether.
Dick said he only found her hot after 21 which is a crazy thing to think about your love while fucking other women
this is the last ask I'm going to answer about this bc I like to choose personal peace (this is a hobby to me and I don't see the point in letting it stress me!)
If you gen. didn't get it: he wasn't in love with you before (or just very, very repressed about it). Which is why he slept with other people, because why not? And if it's about the finding her hot after she turned 21, then it's just the way it happens: sometimes you see a person differently after not seeing them for a while/after something inside you (or them) shifts, which is what I meant to convey here (and maybe failed at? alas.)
As always: if you don't like something while you read it, just click off! Though I'm always open to discussion (I do like dissecting stuff hehe) + it's kind of fun to go through your fic again :)
I still very much like receiving asks!! Especially if you didn't understand something or just wanna know why I wrote something the way I did <3 Love you guys!!!
tim drake x reader, 18+, no full on smut but uhh mature!!, wc: 0.6k. for my two week challenge!
“Why do you smell so good,” Tim panted against your neck, hands slipping up underneath your top, pushing it up, exposing the skin of your stomach to the colder outside air, goosebumps raising up your arms.
You choked out half a moan as he resumed sucking and licking across the expanse of it, “perfume,” you eventually managed to murmur, very much aware of the fact that the two of you were in a dingy alleyway behind some fire escape.
“I can taste it,” he replied, voice wrecked, "fuck." He wasn't really thinking straight anymore.
You really hadn’t meant for it to escalate to this point but you weren’t exactly complaining either. The leather of his gloves was warmed up by your own skin, but still rough, and it shouldn’t be as hot as it was. You craved more of his touch, of his hands on you.
With one hand tangled in his hair you pulled him up to your mouth again, wanting, needing his lips on yours again. He seemed to agree, hoisting you up by your thighs, pushing you further against the wall, fully sandwiching you between him and the cold.
His tongue in your mouth was dominating, more so than usual, but you were content to melt against him, pulling him closer by the shoulder. It was messy, a little too hard but so good.
“Fuck,” he breathed against your lips, again, after a while, and you could feel the way yours were swollen. Your lipstick must have smudged, because it was half on his face by now. After taking in his fill, he kissed you again, and you could feel the way he was hard, even through his suit, grinding against you.
It was all too much but not enough, and you whined high, wanting more.
“Shh,” he reprimanded against your ear, his breath tickling you, but you didn’t register it properly, only a distant sensation in comparison to the rest. The only thing on your mind was him, the way he was holding you up, the way the red of your lipstick matched the tone of his outfit perfectly. “Wouldn’t want others to hear you, now.”
For some reason that you were not going to dissect right now it made you clench around him harder, a pathetic hitched breath escaping you at the thought of other people seeing you like this, fully dressed but completely exposed, held up by Red Robin.
“Ah,” he said, his voice tilting up in a way he usually reserved only for when he managed to fit in the final piece of one of his cases, “that turns you on, doesn’t it? The fact that other people could see you like this, all spread out, just for me.”
You wanted to kiss him again, just to shut him up, but he stopped letting your hand lead him back to you, just a hair's breath away from your lips, “just look at you whining, after you were the one that send me the filthiest picture just before going out, just before you knew I was patrolling.”
There really wasn’t anything to say, your breaths were still uneven, your heart beating too fast. The eerily white of his eyes seemed to stare into your soul, into the very last corner of your being. You needed his hands on you, his cock in you, just him, closer.
“You knew exactly what you’re doing to me,” he said, grabbing one of your hands to grab his own bulge, “wearing red, posing like that. I was thinking about you the entire time, but that’s what you wanted, right?”
With your still clasped hands, he tore off his mask, and his eyes were dark, his pupil swallowing up almost his entire iris. He looked hungry, a little crazy, a little too obsessed. You could feel the way your wetness drenched your underwear, the way he pushed even closer, “these are the consequences of your own actions.”
You could feel the way he was hitching up your skirt even higher, pulling down your panties, greedy the way he only ever got with you. A shiver ran down your spine, and you arched up into his touch.
If those were the consequences to your actions you could live very happily with them.
(he has the highest sex drive out of all of them and you can pry this from my cold dead hands.) want something different tmr? request something here!
Dick claiming to be in love with his childhood best friend since knowing her but only finding her hot after she turned 21 and also having girlfriends and sleeping with other people? Nasty work
technically he never did lmao (unless I missed a line, but I've re-edited enough to hate it now so I'm not going to check), in the first scene I even wrote "It was the first time that it really hit him: you were his best friend, his closest confidant, but most of all you weren’t his. Not really."
To me personally it's more of a retrospective thing where he is like 'oh god I've loved her but was too stupid to realise.' yk? and there is always the aspect of denial (he is Bruce's son afterall) and not ruining a decade long friendship!
Would y/n also get jealous when Dick would have sex with other women? Especially if they were childhood best friends and she always had a crush on him and he didn’t even find her hot until he was 21
tbh? up to interpretation. I wrote it as more of a very repressed thing, you decided to be done with liking him when he got his first girlfriend, which is also why you were in a relationship in the first place, if that makes sense.
but the beauty of self insert is that you can decide: would you be jealous? or not?
A/N: Maybe OOC. Do let me know what you think. Sorry the title sucks, I had no clue what to write. Comments and Reblogs appreciated.
Bruce Wayne loves showering together. Both of you are standing below the shower head, water droplets dripping across your skin. You reach for the shampoo, lathering it over his hair, threading through each strand while he does the same to you moments later. There is a certain level of intimacy when you bare your bodies for nothing sexual but just love and warmth, to let your lover see every crevice, every blemish, every scar that grazes your skin.
Bruce Wayne loves slow dancing. No, not the ones he does at Galas – Genuine but glazed with calculation, a little performative, courtesy to the audience- but the ones he does at home. His hands are on your waist, yours looped around his neck, while the soft, dim lights illuminate the room, accentuating the curve of your smile as your head tips back in a laugh at something he said. Oh, how he loves your laugh You both are in your pajamas, ready to embrace the sleep slithering at the edges. He loves dancing, he thinks, planting a kiss on your forehead, sweeping you towards the bed.
Bruce Wayne loves solving puzzles with you. Both of you are sitting on the floor of the manor library, cross legged with pieces of a jigsaw puzzle scattered but cohesive – coming together to paint the full picture. There are two bowls – chocolate-covered strawberries and popcorn – on either side of you, along with glasses of dark red wine. Your hair tickles his forehead as you lean while trying to fit the pieces, unaware of the blue warm eyes fixed on you - momentarily stunned. This was one of the reasons he loved solving puzzles in the company of you - seeing you all focused, eyes squinting with your lips pursed - you looked really sexy too.
Bruce Wayne loves going on dates – not the extravagant or planned ones (he likes them too), but the spontaneous ones- like going to the ice cream parlor or walking ace at the local park. He liked the mundane moments – where he could forget about everything else. Right then, it was only you and him.
I really really loved 'Want to be yours so bad'. It was so well written and paced well. Thank you for writing it
-@luviery
ahh omg hi!! I’ve been saving up ‘soft love with Bruce Wayne’ by you for when I have more time to read so it’s crazy that you read my fic first!! and thank you so much <33
jealous!dick grayson x f!reader, wc: 7.9k. best friends to lovers, smut (MDNI!). use of alcohol, swearing, unimportant ocs. p in v, fingering, very soft lmao
everybody look away, I'm embarassed... this is no joke my first attempt at smut so pls be nice (but come annoy me about it!) enjoy!
Look, Dick was not a jealous man.
He really wasn’t.
There were several relationships in his life that reflected that: his friendship with Barbara, his love for his brothers, his admiration for Bruce, despite all of it. None of it was easy, of course, but when it came down to it, he would say he had never truly been jealous of anyone.
Well.
At least until now.
It’s just that your new boyfriend genuinely was annoying, okay?
There was no reason for his annoying behaviour, for tucking your hair behind your ear, for greeting you with a kiss everytime you saw each other, for giving you the first bite of the cake he had ordered for himself.
All while touching you, in one way or another. An arm around your waist, fingers wrapped around yours, a possessive hand on your thigh.
When you had sat him down a little over a week ago, literally pressing him down by his shoulders on to his own couch, Dick had relented easily, smiling up at you, not expecting this. But then, with a giggy smile on your face, you had said the words that sent an ice cold shudder down his spine: Dick, I met someone and I really want you to meet him.
And how could he say no? When you looked at him with your sparkling eyes, the confident tilt of your head, all hopeful and excited about someone who was really just. some. guy. He didn’t understand the appeal: Dick was at least as tall as him, a little broader around the shoulders and for sure funnier. But most of all Dick knew you. He knew all of you.
He had seen the way you had fallen off your bike when you learned when you were twelve, had seen the way you had stood up to your mom for the first time when you were seventeen, how you had turned hot after you came back the summer you were 21, suddenly a lot more confident in your own skin.
And the thing is.
The thing is that this isn’t even the first time he had seen you pine over some crush, some person you always see in the hallways but never approach, but this was the first time that it was real.
It was the first time that it really hit him: you were his best friend, his closest confidant, but most of all you weren’t his. Not really.
~*~
The grip on his shiny little fork tightened but he refused to stab his cake the way he wanted to stab the other guys’ hand that was still laying on your thigh. So obnoxious, who even acted like that? (The couple a table over did, but he pointedly ignored that.)
It’s so stupid, because he really wants you to be happy, and he would happily step aside, if there wasn’t something just a tiny bit off about the guy. There was this gleam in his eyes that Dick didn’t like, but it’s not like he had done anything.
Not yet, anyway.
He stared at the guy in front of him. One day he would slip up and Dick would be there, the way he always had been the past few years. An always steady presence in your life.
~*~
“You look constipated when you make that face by the way,” Tim told him a week later, slurping his too red smoothie from a paper straw.
It was a nice day outside, a warm spring day, and he liked the way you lit up at the flowers that had started blooming, how you liked to get your work done on the floor next to his bed because that’s where the sun shone in in the late afternoon.
The two of you should go to the botanic gardens, just to wander around, just you two without him. Maybe get a nice drink after, too
From where you were walking in front of Dick, he saw the way you laughed, but pretended to turn away from him, and the way he pulled you in, giving you a kiss on the crown of your head.
“Do not,” Dick said, looking at where you were now holding this idiot’s hand in front of him, casually, as if this was normal to you. Horrified, he realised it probably was.
“So do.”
“Do not.”
“So-” but before Tim could annoy him any further, Dick pulled him in a headlock. While Tim complained about his drink you told them to hurry up because you were running late already.
When he looked up at the two of you, the guy had already tucked you under his arm again, but Dick didn’t miss the way he looked over at him, one eyebrow raised, his smile cocky. As if he had won you, as if you were a thing to be won.
Dick only glared back in response, plastering on the fakest smile he could muster.
This guy would be gone in two months, tops, if he kept acting like this.
Dick, for his part, could not wait.
~*~
The first crack had shown just three days after that, when he had refused to help you with cleaning out the dishwasher after not helping you with dinner, then another one when he told you that he didn’t like the way you spent so much time with your friends instead of just with him and yet another after that when he told you that there was no real reason to go clubbing if you aren’t single, right?
Controlling behaviour, you had said, but he’s just like that because we are still freshly together. Dick had to physically roll out the tension of his spine, knowing that you could do so much better. But that was up to you to decide, so he kept his mouth shut.
At least for now.
~*~
“I just-” you ranted, pacing in front of him, the liquid in your glass miraculously still despite the way you moved, “he just pisses me off sometimes, you know?”
Dick hummed in response. The two of you had been dating for three months now, and you had had a fight. At first when you had come over to his place to decompress, you insisted that you didn’t want to talk about it, but now, one glass of wine later, you did not have the same inhibitions. He liked seeing you like this, rightfully pissed off, with your guard down, just honest.
“Like sorry that it stresses me out that the kitchen is completely messy after you cook for me so the gesture feels empty,” you continued, but stopped in front of him, just in arms reach. With one movement he could pull you in by your hips. Not that he’d noticed. “Oh God I sound so ungrateful, right?”
“Nah, you’re good,” he replied, stretching out on his couch, propping one elbow up against the backrest, forcing his dominant arm further away. “It’s just you and me. And I get it, because in the back of your mind you keep thinking about the mess.” He, for his part, would never leave the kitchen that messy, not if it meant stressing you out.
“Exactly,” you said, turning the stem in between your thumb and forefinger, looking at the dark of the liquid inside, “thank you.”
“‘Course, always,” he said, a little too earnestly, but you didn’t seem to notice.
You folded down on the couch next to him, a little calmer now, closer too. “Aside from the sometimes weird stuff, he does these nice things for me, right?”
Dick nodded, willing you to continue.
“But I feel like he always wants something in return, even if it’s just acknowledgements. Sometimes it feels like he doesn’t do them because he wants to, but because he wants me to see him do them, you know?”
“For sure,” Dick agreed, because he had noticed that. He had offered to get up and get a napkin for you once, and when you thanked him, he had still looked expectant until you gave him a kiss. Just a small, innocent moment, but in combination with the rest? Not so insignificant anymore.
“I just,” you started, suddenly a bit shyer than before, so he reached out to curl his hand around your ankle, “I just don’t want to do something I regret just because it’s expected of me, you know?”
“Yeah,” he said, “that would be shit. For you and for him.”
“Exactly,” you said, meeting his eyes again and there you were. Beautiful as always and he smiled a little, automatically. A bit pathetic, Tim had told him once, but he didn't care about that.
“He just-” you cut yourself off, “sorry, I don’t think you want to know that.”
I want to know every detail of your life if you’d let me, he thought, “don’t you remember our pact?”
“‘Course,” you said softly, looking down at the liquid in your glass, “no judgment, only help.”
“Exactly,” he said, tightening his hold on your ankle, “there is no TMI. Remember the time I got food poisoning as Nightwing? I told you about that, and I genuinely don’t think whatever you have going on in your head could be worse than that.”
You grinned, and he liked that expression much more. The tension bled out of his shoulders “Okay, so no judgement.”
With two fingers at his temple he replied, “Scouts honor.”
You snorted because you knew he had never been one, but that didn’t matter. With a determined look in your eyes you drowned the remainder of your glass in one go.
“Going a bit fast,” Dick said, prying the now empty glass from your hands and setting it down safely.
“No,” you said, “I just need the liquid courage.”
He remained quiet, honestly very much curious now.
“Remember when you told me you lost your virginity?” you asked.
So this was about sex then. “Of course. Final year of high school, just before Babara moved away for college.”
“Yeah,” you said. “I promised that if the day ever came I’d tell you too, right?”
“When,” he reminded you.
“If,” you stubbornly corrected, “because I think I'm, like, broken.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just,” you started and Dick noticed how you were picking at the skin next to your nails, but he was too far to take your hand in his, so he just watched you, reminding himself to get you a balm for the abused skin later. “He made me dinner, right?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed.
“And it was good!” you defended him, for some unknown reason, “He lit some candles, and after I told him that the dishes stressed me out he made one comment but got up and washed them anyways. Then we just, you know, gravitated towards my room and kissed.”
You paused, clearly already a bit embarrassed, but continued on anyway.
“And it’s nice, making out, you know? The closeness, the comfort. I like it. He let his hands roam, which was fine, and he touched my tits, which okay, we’ve done before, all alright.”
Dick tried very hard not to imagine you under him, him being the one to touch you like that. You, arching your back a little panting in his mouth, all soft and pliant against him. He was half failing, but then again he wasn’t really trying all that hard.
“And my hands are wandering too, obviously, but the point is:” you blurted out, “I don’t think I can get wet.”
“What,” Dick said, stunned.
You were clearly on a roll now and just continued on, “he fingered me once which was okay, if a little weird, and he made a comment how tight I was which? True? I guess? I just wasn’t that turned on, and this time too, he stuck one finger in me and it was just a bit weird. Like I wasn’t like the Atacama, but I wasn’t wet. So I just don’t think I can be like that, you know?”
Dick was still half frozen. “I mean there is lube,” he started, “but that’s not the point. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but do you get wet when you are alone?”
“Yes.” And fuck, he was thinking about it now. You, alone in your room, two fingers inside yourself. Pause. He needed to stop. He was not getting hard to the thought of you while you were that close.
He forced himself to discard any thought of you, “Well there you have your answer,” he answered, “he is the problem, not you.”
“But why? He did the right things, right? Why didn’t it work?”
“Like what? Kiss you? Fondle your tits for three seconds?”
“I mean yeah,” you admitted, “it wasn’t bad.”
Dick laughed at that. “‘It wasn’t bad’ she says.”
“Don’t laugh,” you said, laughing, throwing one of the small pillows at him that you had given him as a housewarming gift at him. “this is serious!”
“First of all, if your standard for sex so far is ‘not bad’ you still have an entire world out there to explore. I, personally, would be crushed if my partner said that about sex with me,” before you could interrupt him, he continued, “because half the fun is turning them on, you know?”
“Yeah?” you asked, and he could have sworn your eyes were darker than before. Might also just be wishful thinking. Probably was wishful thinking. You were dating some other guy after all.
“Yeah,” he confirmed, still continuing the circles his thumb was drawing on your ankle, “I love to see the want, feel it, you know? Make you squirm for it, beg even.”
If you noticed the switch up in pronouns you didn’t mention it.
He tilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling, forcing himself to think about some faceless blob or even just some memory, but nothing really stuck. Everything always leads back to you. “Nothing gets me harder than hearing the little moans, feel the wetness around my fingers, my mouth. When you just know your partner is just as into it as you are. When you have them begging under your touch.”
“I don’t think I’ve felt that,” you admitted, sounding sad, “ever. Or at least never with him.”
I can fix that, let me fix that, Dick wanted to tell you, please let me fix that. “I mean,” he said, “everyone is different. But you really should get aroused by your partner if you are both into that.”
“Yeah,” you said, but you were clearly distracted. Probably thinning about the way you could get the other man to turn you on. Dick hated it, the idea of you thinking there was something wrong with you, not talking about it. What if you hadn’t opened up today? Would you have just wandered through the relationship like that?
After a moment of silence, the two of you switched topics, talking about anything else. It lingered in his mind, the way you were just not satisfied. The way you were just settling for him of all people.
Still he could see the way you were still working over what he had said. Maybe, just maybe this was doing something to you afterall.
~*~
When a distant friend of yours asked how your relationship was going a week later, you said something about how it just wasn’t the right fit, that it was not meant to be. From where he was standing at your side, you felt the way Dick was watching you. You had been ignoring the look, a little scared to face him, especially because he knew why that was. Why the fit wasn’t good.
The apartment was full, the music loud, but it filled the space. There were a lot of people you did not know, but some that you hadn’t seen in a while as well. It was a goodbye and graduation party from an old friend of yours, moving out for a job opportunity in Star City.
“Man, seeing the two of you makes me really nostalgic,” he said, sitting on the arm chair, looking over where the two of you were sitting on some beanbag couch situation. You were tipsy already, so you could not help how you leaned against Dicks side, indulging the feeling for just a moment. “I can still remember when you refused to wear the uniform skirt in winter.”
“It was cold!” you protested, remembering, “and the guys were allowed to wear long pants, it’s only fair.”
“Yeah,” Dick joined, only paying attention to you, “and you managed to change the rules, so who is the real winner.”
“Eight year old you,” your friend said, “that was fun, dressing up in a skirt for two weeks out of protest.”
“Yeah,” Dick agreed.
You smiled into your cup.
“You know what we should do?” he said, turning to the two of you, eyes too bright, the way they always were when someone had a slightly dumb idea. “We should play truth or dare. As an ode to our high school time together.”
“I don’t know-” you started, but Dick lighted up at the idea, always one for nostalgia, and he pulled you up with both hands on your wrists. “For sure, let’s find some from back then as well!”
Ten minutes later, at the ripe age of twenty-two you were sitting in a circle, an empty beer bottle in the middle of the circle, everyone already at least a bit drunk and giggly. You were squished between Dick and a girl from your math class in your last year that you hadn’t seen in forever.
“Okay,” your friend announced, “as the host I get to start,” and he turned the bottle.
It landed on a girl you didn’t know that chose a dare and swallowed down a shot that looked a bit like the harbour water back in Gotham. You shuddered.
After two more people, one not so secret situationship exposed and one top removed, the bottle pointed towards you.
“Truth or dare?”
“Hm,” you thought, “truth.”
“Which vigilante would you fuck?”
You were suddenly very much aware of the fact that you were 1. a virgin, 2. single again and 3. currently in the presence of Nightwing. You could not, under any circumstance, say Nightwing. Still, you were hyperaware of the way his arm was pressed against yours, warm, steady. So you lied instead. “Flash, probably. The younger one.”
A collective sound of agreement sounded through the round, and you spun the bottle, wanting to move on immediately.
You pointedly did not look at Dick. You would not look at Dick. Still, you could feel him lean down to your ear and whisper a single word against your ear, his breath fanning over your neck, “liar.”
A shiver went through your body. You were fucked.
Oh, you were truly fucked. This was just cosmically unfair.
It had been almost an open secret during high school: you had a big fat crush on your best friend. Everybody knew this, except for Dick Grayson. So when he introduced his then-girlfriend to you, you pushed it down so far you could never reach it again.
He wasn’t interested in you, never has been, never will be, you kept reminding yourself. After the two of them had broken off he had had a few flirtations, but never anything serious, and not once did he look at you.
And it was fine, completely fine. You were over him anyways.
But then last week happened and you could feel yourself falling back into the old feeling. Your heart beating a little too close when he was near, leaning into his touch when he led you through the crowds with a light hand on your lower back.
It was so stupid, because it was Dick, your best friend since you were ten, but then you remembered the way he had said ‘make you squirm, beg for it’ and you realised that you were very much not attracted to your ex boyfriend but very much so to him. You, despite all your accomplishments in your life that begged to differ, were an idiot.
Especially when it came to Dick Grayson.
You could still feel his breath on your neck, even after you had to lick off the length of another friend’s neck. Somehow that one word was more intimate than everything else. Somehow all of everything about Dick was more intimate than your entire past relationship.
At around three am you were mostly sober and slowly getting tired, so when Dick asked you if you wanted to get out of here, you just agreed.
“Do you wanna just crash at mine,” he asked, casually as you sifted through a pile of jackets for your own, “it’s closer.”
“Sure,” you had agreed, because you had not really thought about it except for two words: warm bed.
Now, taking off that same jacket, your eyes wandered towards the sofa the two of you had sat on just a week ago. The way he exposed his throat when talking about how he liked his partner to react to him. He way he had been clearly stuck in some sort of memory or fantasy, eyes too focused on the white on the ceiling. He had to have been thinking about something, someone. You hated the thought of him imagining anyone when you had been right there.
“Do you want to shower? I should have some of your stuff here still,” he called from his bedroom.
“Yeah,” you replied, tearing yourself away from the memory because he was just being a good friend, the same as always. The two of you were good friends, best even. This was fine, this was normal.
“Here you go,” he handed you a few things, “you still remember where the extra towels are, right?”
“Yes,” you called over your shoulder, “this isn’t the first time.”
He laughed in response and you closed the door behind you and leaned against it. Your heart was beating a bit too hard, and you buried your face in your hands, resisting the urge to scream into them.
Then you took a deep breath and moved on.
The shower felt heavenly on your tacky skin and when you stepped out you realised what he had handed you, a pair of shorts you had been looking for for ages at home, as well as the Nightwing shirt Jason had gifted him a few years ago as a joke.
You smiled and pulled it on, a little too big on your frame and went searching for a fresh toothbrush.
After that the two of you switched, him in the bathroom and you here, a bit frozen in his bedroom. Would it be weird to just get into bed? The two of you had shared a bed more times than you could count, but would it be better if you just slept on the couch? Or would that make it even weirder, implying that you weren’t feeling normal?
The water stopped. You needed to think fast.
Which is why, when he emerged out of the shower, shirtless, which was just unfair, you were in the kitchen, filling up two glasses of water, hoping that you could push the choice on him.
“Thirsty?” you asked, gesturing to the second glass on the counter.
“Yes,” he answered, coming over to you. He stood close, which was normal, completely fine. Dick had never cared about personal space once he knew you didn’t mind his closeness, so this was as usual. Completely fine. You were not fully aware that he was within arms reach, that with just one choice you could pull him in.
Everything was as usual. Except for the way it really, really wasn’t.
Despite the fact that you were currently drowning a glass your throat ran dry when you looked over at him, at the way he was leaning against his own counter, his hand tight against the corner of the countertop.
No man alive should be allowed to look that good in his own kitchen, hair wet, eyes dark. You followed a drop of water that ran down from the top of his cheekbone all the way to his collarbone. The way you had licked your friend’s jaw a few hours ago came to him, mixed with the way DIck had breathed against yours.
You needed to get out of your own head. You needed to push down your crush on him again. Further down this time, somewhere you could never reach it again. Otherwise you were going to lose your mind.
The glass of water was a bit unsteady when you placed it down again.
“So,” Dick said, placing his own down close enough that they clinked against one another. The sound rang clear in the too quiet apartment. “Are we going to talk about it?”
“About what?” you asked, slightly panicked.
“Wally West,” he reminded you, “the fact that you want to sleep with my best friend?”
Thank God, you thought, “that was a game.”
“So? I admitted that I had a sex dream yesterday, about a friend of mine. Just because it’s a game doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
“About who?” you asked, suddenly reminded again, completely avoiding his point.
He crowded you against the counter behind you, close, too close. You wanted him closer still. His gaze was too cold when he asked, “do you want to fuck Wally West?”
“No,” you said, distracted, not thinking about Wally at all. “Who did you dream about?”
He groaned and threw his head back, closing his eyes. Your mind wouldn’t go there, you didn’t allow it. Still, you knew how the tiles of the kitchen felt against your skin, so it really wasn’t that big of a stretch. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” you repeated, tense, because who had he been thinking about? Did he have someone in his life you didn’t know about yet? “I’m curious! Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
“I-” he cut himself off, looking down at you, “why didn’t I tell you about the sex dream I had?”
“Yes,” you huffed, but after a second pedaled back, realising what you had said, what you were trying to get him to admit. This was so over every line you had ever drawn. “Actually no,” then the thought of him laying in his bed, alone, at night, hard in his boxers appeared crystal clear. Whose name would he moan? What would he sound like? “Maybe. I don't know.”
“You first,” Dick said, stepping even closer, his bare toes almost touching yours. You could feel the warmth of him, very much aware how close he was, but how he wasn’t touching you anywhere. “Which vigilante would you pick? No lying.”
“You know the answer,” you said, standing in his kitchen in a Nightwing shirt. He reached out and caged you in with both arms. Eyes dark, only looking at you. The way he had back on the couch a week ago, the way he had when you said you were single again.
“Tell me anyway.” And oh. It finally clicked.
There was no one else, not for him either.
the way he leaned down, just that bit, made you want to brush that one stubborn strand of hair behind his ear. Dick was too close but not close enough. You wanted more, you wanted him. Selfishly you wanted all of him, all to yourself.
“Hm,” you pretended to think, head tilting back, as if you had to think about this. There was only one answer and you had known as soon as you had been asked that stupid question. “You know who has always been kind of my type? Red Hood-”
Before you could finish your joke, Dick had lifted you up on the counter, your thighs spread, his hands hot against the exposed skin of your thigh. It felt obscene, the way he looked at you, the way you looked at him. All too much but not enough.
“Tell me,” he leaned in and whispered in your ear, “say it.”
“I think that Green Lantern has always-”
Dick forced himself away from you, and suddenly you were too cold, too exposed. You were still wearing his shirt, legs opened, on his counter.
“Don’t make a joke,” he said, seriously. “Not about this, not this time.”
When you realised the seriousness in his voice, you hopped back down. Took his hand in yours and wordlessly led him to his bedroom. He closed the door behind him, and now it was just the two of you in your own little world.
The lamp on the bedside table was still on, and somewhere in the background you could still hear the rain and bustle of Blüdhaven, but none of it was important, not as important as this. As important as him.
With both hands on his shoulders you made him sit down on his own bed, the way you had always done, ever since you were kids.
When his hands found your hips, automatically, as if he had thought about this before, you straddled him.
The look he gave you was sinful but so very fragile. You took his face in your hands, eyes to eyes, nose to nose, just a tiny bit of distance left between the two of you.
You wanted to destroy that distance.
So you did.
“The only one is you,” you admitted, after ten years, “it’s you Dick, Nightwing, Richard, of course you are my choice. For anything, for always.”
“Good,” he leaned in but paused for a second, and you answered his unasked question yourself. At first the kiss was soft, but as soon as he realised that this was happening, that it was you, his hand travelled up to your neck and it turned heated right away.
Closer, you wanted closer, so you pushed him further down, and he let you. Your foreheads collided, not hard but not soft and you let out a breathy laugh. Dick tilted down your head to give you a kiss on it instead.
“You drive me a bit insane,” he admitted, his hands still on your hips. He was warm against you, the way he always was. Familiar.
“Yeah?” you asked, now fully sitting down on his lower stomach, your face still hidden against his lower face and throat.
“Yeah,” he sounded a bit breathless, a little awed, “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted, “I even dream about you now.”
“Ah,” you whispered against his ear, nibbling softly at his earlobe, “that’s good. I don’t want you to think about anyone else.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you said, facing him again, “you’re mine now.”
“Is that so?” he asked, cocking one eyebrow.
“If you want to play that game I can leave again,” you said, leaning away from his face, climbing down from him, teasing, “I’m sure I can just call someone else instead, like-”
“Absoluetly not,” he said, dragging you down under him in one swift movement. That bodily control should be illegal. He should be illegal. You hated the way you smiled up at him, giving in far too easily.
“I’m yours,” he told you, looking at you too earnestly, “let me be yours.”
You kissed him in response. It was messy, and it took you a second to find a rhythm, but the two of you melted into it. One hand was buried in his hair, and the other clawed at his shoulder, getting him closer. When he finally took the hint and grinded down on you, you moaned loudly. That felt too good, he was just too good. You could not believe that you were here, in his bed, in his shirt. You could feel the way your heart was beating a little too fast.
“That’s embarrassing,” you whispered in between kisses, breathless.
“It’s really, really not,” he said, "remember what I said about liking it?”
“Yeah,” you breathed out as he made his way down your throat and your breath hitched. “Fuck,” you said after a well placed nip, “I couldn’t get it out of my head.”
“Good,” Dick said, “I want to be on your mind.”
“Trust me,” you brought his mouth back to yours, “you are. You really are.”
He leaned back down to kiss your mouth opened underneath his touch to let him slip his tongue against yours. You had never felt as aware of anything as you did in that moment, every single place he touched you, from your mouth, his hand on your jaw, the other between your shoulderblades, his cock hard against your core, your legs tangled together.
You hadn’t noticed time passing, but it must have, because his lips were swollen and his gaze a bit glassy. I did that, you thought, immediately followed by, I want to do more. So by the time he took off your shorts you were embarrassingly wet.
“See,” he teased one finger along your slit, looking at you teasingly, that familiar half smile, half smirk on his face just as infuriating as always, “you are not broken, he was just boring.”
“Yeah,” you admitted, squirming at his too light touch, wanting more, “I guess you were right.”
“Of course I was,” he said, moving down on you.
When he stuck his tongue in your bellybutton you sat up, tensing. “You don’t have to.”
He looked up, a little confused. “You don’t want me to go down on you?”
Why did he say it like that. Why was he like that. Why did you get even wetter at the thought of him. How was he the hottest, kindest, most infuriating person you had ever met, all wrapped up in one package.
“I don’t want you to feel like you have to,” you said suddenly, very aware of yourself. Of the way you weren’t perfectly shaved, of the underwear he had just taken off.
“Hey,” he said, already coming back up, “I want to, okay? But if you don’t feel ready I can wait.”
“No,” you argued, too into your head, even though this was just him. “It’s just, what if I taste bad? What if,” you cut yourself off, what if you change your mind about me?
“With all the love in my heart, I don’t think you could ever taste bad to me. It’s you, I’m going to like it because it’s you.”
You pressed the heel of your hand against your eyes. “Don’t you feel embarrassed saying that?”
He gently pried them away, smile soft, “not if it’s true.”
His lips on you were comforting, but you wanted more, so you licked into his mouth, your teeth purposely grazing his lower lip. “I just don’t want you to change your mind,” you admitted.
“Change my mind?”
“About me, about us, about all of it.”
“C’mon,” he said gently, taking your face in his right hand, “I won’t change my mind about you. I haven’t, for the past decade, right? I’m not going to start now.”
“Promise?” you asked, your throat a bit constricted at the way he was looking at you, full of hope and vulnerability. But most of all love, the same that was reflected in your eyes. It was a bit scary, the seriousness of it all, despite the fact that it has always been there, just unspoken.
“Promise,” he answered and sealed it with a kiss. That, of course, spiraled quickly, because the two of you were still half naked and every so often his erection grinded against you.
When he felt you nipping at his lower lip again, he raised one of his eyebrows, grinning cockily, “look who is eager now.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you said, pushing him back between your legs, with two hands on his shoulders, “show me what you got then.”
“Gladly,” he said, still holding eye contact and lowering himself to where you wanted him most.
At the first lick you moaned and your fingers found his still damp hair. “Fuck, that feels good.”
You could feel him smile against your core before sucking on your clit which was too good to be real so your brain left your head for a second, and he just continued. Your hand tightened in his hair, which he must have liked because and the responding moan should not have felts as good as it did.
Distantly you could hear yourself pant quietly, moaning something when he paused, his hands still on the fat of your thigh and hip.
“Say that again,” he looked up at you, his eyes swallowing up his iris. He looked hungry in a way you had never seen before. Heat licked up your spine at the sight of him. His gaze was focused, the way it usually only was when he was close to cracking a case he had been working on for ages.
“What?” you asked, dumbly, your mind not fully caught up yet.
“Say my name again,” he told you, teasing a finger against your cunt, touch light, clearly just to annoy you.
“Dick,” you breathed out, a mixture between his name and the insult.
“Again,” he ordered you, his finger finally entering you, “keep saying it.”
“Dick,” you moaned when curled it just right, his chest warm where he touched yours, this time meaning just his name. “Fuck,” you swore, wanting more, wanting him to speed up, anything.
“Sh,” he whispered against your ear, getting the hint, “I’m right here, just me, no one else,” he affirmed against your skin.
“Dick,” you said again, more desperate, clinging onto his shoulders, “I want more.”
“As you wish.”
Dick was unfairly good at this, curling his fingers just right, keeping his thumb on your clit, rubbing circles. It was the first time you had ever felt this good with someone, but you wanted more, you wanted him closer.
“Fuck me,” you whispered in his ear, “fuck me, please.”
“Are you sure, I-” and as a response you grinded down on his hand, whining, which made him hide his face in your throat, breathing heavily. He cursed, saying something about how you were not real, and you just continued your movements.
“Okay,” he assured you, fingers still moving, “but it’s going to feel better if you come for me first, okay?”
“I just want you close,” you said, still hanging onto his frame, not fully satisfied yet. “And also one more finger.”
He huffed out a laugh, “needy.”
“Well, yes,” you admitted, shameless, “you just feel so good.”
That made him groan and you smile. Bullseye.
“So you like that? Being told how I like what you’re doing?” you teased, loving the rush of power that cut through you, at the way it made him tense up more against you, breaths more shallow than before, “want me to tell you exactly how good you’re making me feel?”
Dick moaned loudly into your neck which might be the hottest thing you have ever felt, which is saying something considering three of his fingers were currently knuckle deep inside you.
“You’re talking too much,” he complained but you noticed how he didn’t refute the statement. You filed that away under the growing folder of ‘things Dick likes in the bedroom’.
“Then shut me up,” you shot back, and shut you up he did.
With a thorough and lingering kiss he slowed down the tempo before ever so slowly increasing it, dragging it out as much as he could, no matter how much you urged him to hurry up. He licked and sucked at your neck, slowly trying to figure out what you liked, what your weak spots were.
“Please, Dick, just a little more,” you pleaded, because this was not enough, just a little more and surely-
“You want me to go faster?”
“Yes,” you breathed, “just a bit more, please, it’s just not enough.”
He wiped at your cheek and you realised that you had started crying, softly, frustrated and too full of emotion. “But you look so good like this, all spread out on my fingers. I think I could keep you like this forever. So you’re going to have to ask for it, alright?”
“I just said please,” you argued, knowing that it was not enough for him.
“That was hardly anything,” he said, missing your clit on purpose now, which was even worse. You hated him, so much sometimes.
“Tell me where and I’ll do it,” he reassured you, licking up your tears, “I’m all yours. Tell me how much you want me and I’ll give it to you, just beg me.”
“Just,” you panted, “my clit, again.” He still refused, and you tried to change the angle, just a bit, but he pinned you down. “Come on,” you said, half annoyed, fully turned on, “please.” It was not enough, you knew that, but still. He let out a breath at that, “you can do a lot better than that.” His voice was a bit mean, cutting, but his eyes were warm. It should not be as hot as it was.
So you pulled him closer, your grip tight on his hair and asked, so very nicely. “Please Dick, touch me.”
He seemed to consider this, but leaned in close to your ear again, the way he had at the party just a few hours ago. “That sounded a bit sarcastic, do you wanna try again, pretty girl?”
You groaned, frustrated despite his fingers in you. It just wasn’t enough, and the way he continued to miss your clit was driving you a bit insane. So you could not be blamed when your grip on his hair tightened just a bit more, making him look in your eyes while you said, “please, Dick, fuck me like you mean it, fuck me better than anyone else ever could, please.”
His following fuck sounded broken, but you wanted him shattered. Before you could act on it though, he adjusted his position and finally, there it was, what you had asked him for. Your voice broke on another please and he hid his face in your neck again, and his thumb was finally where you had been aching for it.
“Just like that,” you encouraged him, “don’t stop.”
And he did not stop, not until your breaths became more irregular, until the only thing on your mind was a mixture of yes, please, fuck and his name.
With a cracked moan you came on his hand, the one that had helped you learn how to ride a bike, the one that handed you stupid notes in class, the one that had held yours every time yours was shaking.
Even as you were coming down, breaths evening out, you wanted more, you wanted him inside you. “That was so good,” you said, still not fully recovered, “genuinely life changing, but I want you to fuck me now. Please.”
“Give me a second,” he begged, voice strangled, and you wanted to break it. Shatter it to pieces, “that was so hot. I can’t believe that I know what you feel like when you come.”
You laughed a bit at that, but gave him a few seconds to collect himself, but quickly lost your resolution again when he stuck his fingers in his mouth, cheeks hollowing out, looking straight at you.
So you did what any sane woman would do and pulled him down into a kiss.
“Fuck,” you panted against his temple, “why do you feel so good.”
You could feel the way he smiled against you shoulder, “you could sound less surprised.”
“I-” you started that cut off into a moan on his next thrust, “fuck.”
“What was that?”
“You,” you huffed, “are so annoying sometimes.”
“Maybe,” he admitted and groaned when you clenched your core against him on his next trust, “but you love me anyway.”
“Yeah,” you admitted, “I do.”
And with every deliberate roll of his hips you shake a little more, breath hitching, still overly sensitive from your earlier orgasm. His cock was thick and hot, stretching you open, and pulled him closer against you.
You whined on the next trust, somehow already close again. A harsh snap of Dicks’s hips pulls you away from your thoughts, back to where your sweaty skin was pressed against his.
“Look how well you’re taking me,” he said, looking down at where he was fucking into you, “just me.”
“Yeah,” you breathed out, “just you.”
“Good,” he whispers in your ear, “don’t want anyone to touch you ever again.”
Your breath stuttered in your chest and you moaned, close, but not there yet. The statement should feel alarming but instead you just felt safe, at home, protected in his arms. The way you could feel yourself get wetter with every movement, every word.
“‘Close,” you warned him.
“Me too,” he said, and his thrusts were becoming a bit more irregular, and your spine arched up into his touch. Without having to ask his hand wandered between your bodies, circling your clit again.
The way he was poundinng into you, the way he was touching you, the way he was rambling into your ear was just too much, and with a shaky moan you came again.
The way you must have sucked him in even harder, even wetter than before must have done something to him as well, because he followed soon after, with a shattered moan of his own.
“Wow,” you murmured, as soon as you were able to breathe again semi-regularly, “that was so good.”
He let out a breath against your neck. “I haven’t even pulled out yet.”
“Good,” you answered, trying to get your weakened thighs to agree with you, “how long do you need for round two?”
“You’re unbelievable,” he said from where he had helped you straddle him, half amazed, half horrified. It was a rather good look on him, sweaty and spread up underneath you.
“What can I say,” you replied, “I learned from the best.”
That earned you a smile, “that you did.”
“I can’t believe I get to do this now,” you told him, like a secret, laying in his bed after he followed you to the bathroom, leaning against the sink, quietly talking as you peed.
“Kiss me?”
“Yeah,” you cradled his head in your hands, touching his forehead against yours, smiling. “I get to kiss you now.”
The smile he gave you in return was just as radiant. “Who is embarrassing now?”
“You,” you replied easily, “always you.”
Affronted, he pulled away from your grasp, “never.”
You laughed, bright, in the dark of his room. “You were questioning if The Flash was my favorite hero while I stood in front of you wearing a Nightwing shirt.”
He frowned at that, failing to suppress his smile, “In my defense you did say him when asked.”
“Well yes, but you can always tell when I’m lying.”
“True, but still,” he pulled you closer. “I was jealous.”
You laughed, adjusting so that your hands could card through his hair, “I know, you aren’t very subtle at all.”
“I so am,”
“So aren’t.”
And yeah, maybe you were right. Maybe he was a jealous man afterall. Maybe he really was, but only when it came to you.
so so sorry this is so late, I passed out for 16 hours when I came home yesterday, but my thesis is handed in! come tell me how you liked it :)
