➷ ៸៸ dni if . . . you're a minor, trump/ice supporter, pedophile, discriminatory in any way, or just here to be mean and spread negativity
❥ ༉ i like . . . peanuts, star wars, lord of the rings + the hobbit, apex legends, overwatch, marvel rivals, twilight, harry potter + fantastic beasts (not jkr), omori, fallout, detroit: become human, invincible, dc, dead poets society, chess, music, poetry
ෆᵎ someday i'll get you, red baron.ᐟ.ᐟ
➷ ៸៸ i write . . . for most of my likes seen above, x readers, char x char, suggestive content, dark content (i.e., stalker!tim), angst, fluff, poetry, probably original stuff too
❥ ༉ i don't . . . write smut since i'm not very good at it or take requests as of right now
college is driving me insane but my wife (bf) has been getting me into star wars again soooooo dc stuff might be delayed for the sake of a captain rex or anakin skywalker fic
AN UNHEALTHY OBSESSION . stalker!tim drake x gn!reader
𖤐 syn. ..⃗. a peek into tim drake's obsession with you
𖤐 con. ..⃗. 1k words, dark!tim drake, obsessive behaviors, stalking, no use of y/n, not proofread
𖤐 note. ..⃗. i said it was gonna be another dick grayson one next but erm.... writers block hit for all of my other stuff and i love the idea of tim being a little freak oh my lord;;;; this one isnt even that good and kinda choppy but i wanted to get something out :P
At first, Tim didn't really know you. He knew of you. And he knew that every time he saw you on campus, his heart would beat a little faster and his mouth would go dry. It was embarrassing, to say the least, but it was a feeling he couldn't get rid of no matter how hard he tried.
It started simple. He remembered the first time he'd heard your name and never let it go.
It was like the first time he'd heard your name; it became a mantra. It repeated in his mind, bounced all around his skull, until his ears would perk up when he heard even a syllable of your name.
From then on, it only got worse. He'd find you in a crowd in seconds, before even having spoken to you for the first time. He was suddenly friends with all of your friends, and they'd mention a guy named Tim, to which you'd look at them with a quizzical expression— hadn't your other friend just mentioned that same guy yesterday?
Before he even realized, it got to a point where he knew everything about you. From your favorite color to your favorite pair of socks to the best way to photograph you without you noticing.
Tim had always been obsessive. He had a tendency to become completely enraptured by something, and he never let it go until he completed his goal with it. It's what made him such a great detective.
It's what made his attraction to you so easy.
In his mind, you were everything he wanted. You were so attractive, so intelligent, so incredibly you. Part of him felt like all he was ever meant to do was focus on you and only you. You took over his mind in a matter of weeks, and now, you were all he could ever want or need. Even if only through mutual friends or being mentioned in one another's conversations.
But, eventually, that isn't enough for him.
Eventually, he needs to talk to you. Look at you in the eyes. Breathe in your scent like a drug. Be in your presence, your space.
Knowing of you and being just out of reach isn't enough anymore.
It doesn't take long before you finally get to speak to the elusive Tim Drake. The guy your friends mention all the time, the one who's likely the smartest in all of his classes, the one who likes taking naps at every chance he gets, the one who recognizes you when you bump into him on campus.
When you apologize, he smiles. Smiles like he knows you, like he's known you for years. He smiled as if you were a long-time friend and had nothing to be sorry for.
"It's totally cool." He tells you as you help him pick up his folder of notes that he'd dropped. He seems relaxed for someone who just dropped their notes on a windy day. Relaxed like someone who'd planned this entire scenario.
He asks you for your name, and when you answer, his expression changes into one of recognition (unbeknownst to you that he already knew you and the paths you walked to get to class).
"Oh, you're friends with Sasha, right?"
He knew your closest friend. He knew much more than that, but he wasn't about to let that show.
If Tim was anything, he was a calculating individual. He knew exactly how this would unfold; he had planned it meticulously. He'd been planning on how to be your friend for months now. He'd planned everything you could possibly say, responses that fit your personality, the same personality he knew as if it were his own.
It wasn't long before you both got to talking. You couldn't help it, he just seemed so easy to talk to and had so many things in common. Or, at the very least, he knew what things you enjoyed and used that to his advantage in conversing with you. You had been so engaged in conversation that you hadn't even remembered that you were actually heading to your class. You were already late, which was why you'd bumped into him in such a rush. The thought of your lecture just faded from your mind. You would probably send an email to your professor later about how you'd taken an extra long nap or were feeling under the weather.
The mere idea of you missing class just because you were caught up in talking to Tim made him feel absolutely elated.
And after that initial meeting, you exchanged social medias, texted rather often. He matched your texting pattern to make sure you'd have more enjoyment texting him in comparison to any of your other friends. Tim was scientific in his obsession with you. He liked to think of himself as a researcher with you as his focal point of study. All methods of his research served a purpose. They led to you. You and him together in a perfectly planned relationship.
Your every message made him smile, every conversation made him laugh, every expression you'd make with your pretty face made him squeamish with adoration. You managed to fluster him at each interaction, but he made sure to get a hold of himself.
It eventually got to a point where you were starting to consider Tim your best friend. Your mutual friends would question how you guys got so close and it would turn into an inside joke between you and Tim. No one was smart enough to realize that Tim had used them to get to you. And it worked. It was working so well, in fact, that it was only into a month or so of being friends that you'd invite him over to your apartment. It wasn't like he'd never been in the space. Whenever he was on patrol as Red Robin, he'd like to pay you little visits. Just doing his part as a vigilante, is what he'd tell himself. He was being Red Robin.
And now that he was your close friend, it opened doors to becoming a lot more.
It opened the doors to your apartment, your closet, your bathroom, your space in ways that he'd only explored before in secret. Everything was going according to plan. He knew everything about you, inside and out, and it would only be a matter of time before you were his. He'd always been yours and he knew you'd be his no matter what.
i have 3 drafts i started but havent gotten back to cause uni wants me to actually die save me save me save me save me hopefully i will have at least one up by the end of the week
TAKE A CHANCE ON ME . dick grayson x librarian!gn!reader
𖤐 syn. ..⃗. working as a librarian is rather easy, though you hadn't expected one Dick Grayson going out of his way to see you by trailing his little brother to the library
𖤐 con. ..⃗. 2k words, meetcute, fluff, dick flirting but its sooooo cheesy and silly, no use of y/n, not proofread
𖤐 note. ..⃗. this is a prequel pt2 to what can i do (for you) :3 i really hope i did him justice bc im still getting used to writing for dick even tho he was the first oneshot idk man i love this guy bruh
Working at a library was a simple job. You didn't work an overbearing amount of hours, you loved what you did, and you always felt like your workplace was a sort of safe space for you.
It was calm and cozy, every day felt like you were sitting at a fireplace with a book in your hands and a cat perched on your lap. It was your own personal peace, where you just so happened to make money.
You even had regulars who would come to visit rather often, which made falling into a routine easy. You'd recommend books, sometimes help out with finding something specific, and place orders if you didn't have a book in stock. It was nice.
One of your most surprising regulars was one elusive Damian Wayne. The son of the billionaire Playboy, Bruce Wayne.
It wasn't like you thought rich people didn't read, but you'd halfway expected them to have their own personal libraries at their homes, or in Damian's case, the Wayne Manor. Though, he seemed to like this library just fine.
He was kind. Kinder than you'd expect from the youngest son of the richest man in Gotham and kinder than any middle schooler that would come to the library, but as respectful and reserved as you'd expect from any young rich person with manners.
He typically came around at the same time every other day after school, likely the only middle schooler that came to the library after school to actually read instead of play on the computers or partake in the Minecraft club, which was typically overseen by your assistant librarian.
This is why it was so odd to see Damian walk into the library on a Saturday morning, followed by who was likely the most handsome man you'd ever seen in your life.
You did your best not to stare, looking away once he turned his head to look around the library, making it seem as though you were doing something important on your computer. Not that you weren't, you were completing an order for a book someone had requested.
As you finished up, Damian had approached your desk as politely as usual, "Hello." It was short and simple, but it was surely Damian. You looked over at him with a smile, though you were very obviously nervous about the man standing behind Damian, who seemed to have a smile so radiant it could put the sun to shame.
"Hi, Damian. What brings you here today? You're usually only here after school." You asked. You spoke to him, unlike how you spoke to the other younger kids who came to the library. Damian was more professional, as weird as it felt.
His hands clasped together in front of him politely, he glanced over at the man with him with narrowed eyes before turning back to you, "I have a project to do. I held off on continuing my progress with it because my... adoptive brother begged to help me with it. Though I am sure I could do it on my own."
The man behind him, his brother, you now assumed, lifted a finger before adding on, "I didn't beg him, by the way, I just asked a few times." Damian glared at him with a barely open mouth, "You asked me seventeen times and almost cried once."
His brother did his best to laugh it off, waving it off, "He's being dramatic," he told you. You let out a small laugh at their interaction. You had always been fond of sibling relationships; they were often quite sweet to see.
"Anyways, this is my adoptive brother, Richard Grayson." Damian finally introduced. Richard wasn't the name you expected. Said man rolled his eyes before adding on, "Damian, you don't have to mention I'm adopted every time." Damian rolled his eyes.
"Also, you can call me Dick." Richard– Dick– told you with a charming smile. You raised a brow, wondering where that nickname would come from Richard. Damian rolled his eyes once more, "Such a vulgar thing to make people call you." Dick let out a laugh of disbelief, though this was likely something Damian often told him. You laughed a bit in response; this seemed to light up Dick's entire face.
"You have a nice laugh." Dick complimented you. It turned you just a bit bashful before Damian groaned, "Please, do not flirt with the librarian, Grayson."
"I'm not flirting, Damian." Dick told him, still staring at you like you were a painting in a museum, and he was mesmerized by the pure sight of you. You shrank slightly under his gaze, not used to anyone as handsome as him staring at you like a precious treasure.
"Damian," you spoke, wanting to move the focus off of you, "do you need help looking for any specific books for your project?"
"I have to do a presentation on different art movements throughout history. I explained to my teacher that I was familiar with art movements, so she instructed me to conduct research and present facts I hadn't previously known. Do you have any books on obscure details on artistic movements?" He explained to you. You hummed as you turned to your desktop, beginning to type at your keyboard, looking for any books that would fit his descriptions.
You turned the screen to Damian, explaining the details of the books that appeared in as much detail as you knew. Damian listened diligently, nodding as you spoke. You also took the chance to tell him that he could look up academic articles, as they were more specific on these kinds of topics.
Dick watched you interact with Damian, a hint of fondness creeping into him. He felt a sort of affection watching you speak to his little brother like a caring role model. He felt like Damian needed this, someone normal that wasn't a vigilante and still looked out for him in a different way than anyone at the Manor did. Bruce was a good father, he truly was, but he was also Batman. Damian needed at least a bit of normalcy besides school.
Damian nodded and thanked you as you told him where in the Art section he could find a few of those books. In only moments, he was off to search. Dick lingered behind. You looked at him with a small tilt of your head, as if questioning him.
"Thanks for helping him out." He told you, the same charming smile never leaving his face. You nodded, "It is my job." He waved you off, "Not just that, he just... having someone like you in his life is good for him." You raised a brow, unsure of what he meant, but he kept smiling at you in that same sweet way.
Soon after, he trailed behind Damian. Your eyes lingered on him as he walked before returning to your monitor.
✧ ˚ · .
Dick would come around more often after that. He would go pick up Damian from school just to trail him to the library. It made you start to wonder if he had a stable enough job to be picking up Damian at seemingly random times. Some days, Damian hadn't even wanted to come, but Dick had pleaded with him to do so, although he wouldn't admit it– Damian would tell you, and Dick would vigorously deny the accusations.
The initial visits were still based on helping Damian with his project. Damian would do his usual chat with you before going back to the texts he had chosen for his project. Dick would linger. He would always linger.
"Y'know, this is the most I've been to one library, I wonder why." He told you once while Damian was standing at his side. The younger side-eyed him, "Likely because you cannot read all that well, Grayson."
Dick made sure that Damian was out of earshot whenever he wanted to flirt with you after that.
Once the project was done (Damian having gotten the highest score everyone expected him to), it had become typical to see a drained Damian being trailed by the huge puppy that was Dick Grayson, excited to see you. It had gotten to the point where Damian would walk by your desk with a polite wave and retreat to his usual corner of the library while Dick leaned against your desk with a smirk.
"Do you think I could sign up for a library card? I've been dying to check you out." He winked at you. You were baffled that he used such a corny line, yet it made something inside you twist in the best possible way.
"Did you Google that one, Dick?" You asked him. He laughed brightly, as if you somehow said the funniest thing ever, "No, came up with that one all on my own." You smiled back at him, "You can do better than that."
Today had been odd. It only became odd when you saw Dick Grayson waltz into the library alone. No Damian walking in front of him with the most annoyed expression you will ever see on anybody, or Damian trailing behind him, seemingly exhausted by Dick's behaviors.
You raise a brow at him, wondering what his business was being here without Damian. He only smiled at you in response as he approached your desk.
"What brings you here without Damian?" You asked him, your smile a fond thing. You had grown used to his visits, the way he'd sit on the edge of your desk to flirt with you, call you sweet names, compliment the simple and complex aspects of yourself, and ask you about yourself, like he was curious about you, like he wanted to know more about you.
"I am here to ask you on a date, sweetness." He said. It nearly stunned you. He didn't hide; Dick Grayson was practically unable to cower from anything that could possibly scare him. He never hid, but he hadn't been this straightforward. It made your face warm.
For whatever stupid reason, the first word to leave your mouth was, "Me?" He laughed, a doting, affectionate laugh. He laughed like he was full to the brim with an endearment towards you.
"Yes, you, angel." He affirmed. You didn't realize how hard you had been smiling at his words until you felt your cheeks begin to hurt. They'd surely be sore by the end of the day.
"What?" You found yourself giggling– giggling– with bewilderment, "Really?"
He laughed again, his smile tender, "Yes, really. I wanna take you on a date, maybe dinner and a movie, a walk through the park, lunch at a diner, anything you want, as long as it's us."
You felt like you were dreaming– you had to be dreaming. You were full of such warmth that you could likely beat the sun. This was real. Dick Grayson wanted to go out with you. Had it been obvious because of the way he behaved and flirted with you? Of course. And had Damian dropped plenty of hints? In the most sarcastic tone he could likely muster, yes. Yet, a part of you simply couldn't believe it.
"Okay." You agreed, your entire face hot, and your smile never leaving your face, "When?"
Somehow, your agreement made him even happier, which you hadn't thought possible with the way he had already been looking at you. He had to stop himself from leaning over your desk and pulling you into the tightest embrace he could. He told himself to save it for the date.
"Whenever you want. Can I have your number? We can discuss details there, pretty." He told you, his cheeks a pleasant rosy color. You nodded, writing your phone number down on a notepad before ripping off the piece of paper and handing it to him.
He held the paper like he was stranded in a desert and that paper would somehow provide him with an endless supply of water. He gave you a thumbs up that somehow held all of his excitement, and spoke again before leaving, "I'll text you! Probably right after I leave, I can't wait, pretty!"
You couldn't wait either. You only grew more excited as you watched him do a literal flip over a small, unoccupied table. He turned to you once more before walking through the door, winking at you with the brightest smile you'd ever seen on anyone.
You felt breathless. You had to be dreaming. But, you knew you weren't by the way your assistant librarian walked by you with the most astonished expression you'd ever seen.
"Did he just do a fucking flip after asking you out?"
You nodded, a bright laugh leaving your lips. You couldn't wait for him to text you.
𖤐 syn. ..⃗. your depressive episodes are suffocating, but at least the person you've been harboring a crush on came to check in on you
𖤐 con. ..⃗. 2.4k words, mutual feelings, (TW) depiction of a depressive episode and depressive thoughts, insecurity, angst, comfort, no use of y/n
𖤐 note. ..⃗. this one is ROUGH, the depiction of a depressive episode is based on my own experiences
Every day felt difficult. Even if nothing made it so.
It felt like every moment of the day was soul-crushing, built up with pressure from moments that shouldn't really mean anything, but always do. It didn't matter if you woke up perfectly fine or feeling like there was no point in battling the day. Nothing was worth fighting for, it seemed.
Deciding your mood would only worsen if you continued going against the days, you had ultimately taken it upon yourself to simply not face the day. So, you turned your back on it and stayed in bed.
You didn't remember how this started, but it's been weeks. At least, that's what it felt like. You weren't sure how long you'd been stuck in this fit. You felt childish, as if you had nothing to be upset about, but you couldn't help it. It felt like there was nothing you could do to help yourself.
You didn't want to leave your bed, your room, your home. It wasn't even out of comfort. You felt no comfort under your sheets. No matter how warm the blankets were, you felt like you were freezing. You felt cold to the touch; hollow, empty, like a useless shell of the person you usually were.
The days went by unknowingly, at least what you assumed were days. Your curtains shielded you from the bright sun, and your phone died long ago. You couldn't be bothered to charge it after it died. You didn't need it anyway; you found a sunken distraction in watching the blank wall of your room.
The thoughts in your head were ever-flowing. They were the only constant during your episodes besides your worsened mood. All you could think about was how it felt like no one would care for you if you expressed how you felt. How nothing felt worth it. How you had to use the bathroom, but couldn't bring yourself to do anything about it. At least you hadn't drunk any water since you lied down. It wasn't so bad.
You most often wondered if anyone was thinking of you. It wasn't unusual for you to not reply to texts; you often kept yourself busy or too distracted to check who was texting you and why. You pondered if anyone was concerned with your well-being.
A big part of you thought not. Not because it felt good, but because it felt right. No one cared. Why would they if you didn't?
You were stuck, slow-moving like molasses. It felt horrid, but you didn't know how to force yourself out of it. You would likely die in this bed. A pathetic way to go, but fitting for you. Perhaps it was what was meant to happen. You'd stay like this forever and be unable to do anything about it.
It almost scared you when you heard a knock at your front door. Almost. You couldn't bring yourself to even jump over the surprise of the sound. Was it that bad? Someone had come to check on you?
After a few moments of no response from you, there was another knock, followed by a voice calling your name.
"Are you in there?" He followed up.
It was Clark. Of course, it was Clark.
Maybe it was because he was naturally kind to everyone in his life, and as he often told you, "everyone deserves some kindness." Or perhaps it was because everyone around you was sure you both shared mutual feelings for one another. You didn't know why he was there, but your heart fluttered in your chest nonetheless. Which was more than it had been doing for as long as you stayed in bed. The beating had gotten monotonous, and it made you unsure if you were even still alive.
"Um, I'm gonna come inside. I'll fix your doorknob later." He called out to you, followed by a noise that sounded very much like your front doorknob being forced out of place to open it. You wondered how strong he had to be to be able to do that. Probably strong enough to battle depression without someone needing to break his doorknob.
You heard his footsteps wander through your apartment, checking the living room, kitchen, and bathroom before stepping into your bedroom. The door creaked as he entered, and you very barely shifted in your spot, mainly trying to hide under the covers, not that it worked, since you barely moved.
"Hey there, Sweet Pea." He greeted you, his voice hushed and soothing, as if trying to coax you out from under the covers, "Are you okay?"
You liked the way he called you sweet pet names. It made you feel warm. Though the warmth was unwelcome today, you didn't deserve to feel warm in your eyes. You deserved to feel cold under this stupid blanket.
He neared you slowly before sitting on the edge of your bed, facing your back since you lay on your side, your empty eyes boring into your stupid wall.
He hesitated before placing a hand over the blanket, near your shoulder. You shifted, the hand moving off of you, and you automatically felt worse. You didn't know if you wanted him to comfort you or leave. You didn't deserve him, but you craved his worry, his company, him.
"Sweet pea," God, it made tears fill your eyes, "Can I see you? Please?" His voice held a gentle desperation, and it made your breath hitch in your throat. Your throat felt like it was swelling and straining. You wanted to cry out so badly.
This time, when his hand reached for you, you allowed him to pull the blanket from your head. He let it go on your shoulder, not wanting to make you too uncomfortable. He let out a quiet sigh as he caught sight of the tears that quietly began to slip from your eyes. It was as if it pained him to see you this way. You felt worse. You never wanted to make him upset. He was practically sunshine on Earth.
"How long have you been feeling this way, honey?" He asked you. His voice was gentle, as if a hug from the sun itself. It enveloped you much nicer than your stupid blanket ever could. It enveloped you more than you deserved.
You shrugged in response. You didn't want to talk. You didn't want to do anything. You also didn't want to let him leave. You selfishly wanted him to stay, even if you didn't want to talk and barely wanted to move.
"Have you eaten? Used the bathroom? Showered?" He asked, obviously worrying about you. You felt more tears fall onto the pillow beneath your head, his worry making you even more upset. You didn't deserve him. You were only friends, yet he was the only friend to come check on you.
You shook your head in response. You hadn't done any of those. You didn't know how long it'd been since you did, but your stomach was practically screaming at you, your bladder ached, and your hair was greasy. You should get up. You should stop being an idiot about it. Who cares if you were depressed? You had nothing to be sad about. You were pathetic.
"I can make you food." He offered. You shook your head, your sad eyes glancing over to him. His frown made your heart clench horrifically. "Do you have to use the bathroom?" He asked. You thought about it. Your bladder hurt. You hurt. You really had to pee. You didn't want to get up. You shrugged.
It seemed that he knew what you meant because then he suggested, "I can carry you there." Your eyes returned to the wall. Was it that bad? So bad that you had to embarrass yourself in front of the man you liked by letting him carry you to the bathroom because you were too sad?
You shrugged again. Your eyes felt heavy from the tears. Your tears weighed on you. He took your shrug as a go-ahead. He stood from the bed before circling it to move to your side.
He smiled at you, a sympathetic, too sweet for you smile, before crouching beside you, "I'm gonna pick you up now, okay?" You gave him the smallest nod; you could barely muster moving your head too much. His arms slipped under your limp body, picking you up almost effortlessly. Your blanket fell from your body, but you didn't find yourself cold. His strong arms held you with such warmth that you didn't need a blanket. You leaned into his touch, as undeserving as you were of it, and it made him look down at you with the most loving eyes.
He carried you to the bathroom and set you gently on the toilet. He gave you a kiss on the forehead before leaving the bathroom, giving your privacy. You used the bathroom as meekly as you thought you would, almost slipping when raising your pants back up. It made you feel pathetic. It made you feel worthless.
Your slow tears made way for a silent yet horrid sob, tears falling in fat dollops onto your thighs. You pushed your face into your shoulder, covering your mouth to stop yourself from being too loud. You sat on the toilet while sobs wracked through your entire body like terrible waves.
It took you a while before you mustered the will to stand and wash your hands. After you did so, you opened the bathroom door to see Clark there, waiting for you as sweetly as he typically existed.
As soon as he saw your tearstreaked face, he pulled you into possibly the warmest hug you'd ever experience. He leaned down, his head pressing into your hair. You felt bad; it was so greasy.
"What can I do for you, sweetheart?" He asked into your hair, his words a soft murmur. All you could do was cry. You bawled into his chest as he held you. It was all you really felt like you needed. To be held. Held by someone who actually seemed to care. He cared. It meant so much to you that you couldn't help but cry even harder at the realization. You clung to him as if being held by him would save you.
There was no silence as you sobbed into his chest, but you eventually broke the cry-filled quiet with a small voice, "I'm sorry, Clark." Your words were shaky, muffled by his shirt that now had a wet spot from your tears.
"For what, honey?" He asked. You shrugged, "For needing you to come check on me. For worrying you. For being a sad, pathetic loser." Your words made you cry harder, causing your tone to wobble and tear apart.
"Sweetheart, you are anything but. I was worried, of course I was, but you don't need to apologize for that. I'd rather worry and come check on you than let you suffer alone. You don't deserve to be alone. You're worth so much, Sweet Pea. Even if you're sad. You're not pathetic, and you're definitely not a loser." He responded, his words ever so lovely and comforting. You could only cry out a "thank you" as you held onto his shirt as tightly as you could.
You stayed that way for a while, crying into his chest as he held you, occasionally pressing small kisses to the top of your head. You deserved it, he claimed, so maybe you did.
This wouldn't snap you out of your episode, but seeing his care for you definitely healed a piece of you. Your already strong feelings for him were only affirmed with this visit. He was worth it. Worth giving your heart to. Because now, he'd seen all of you, but he still stayed with you in your small hallway, holding you as you cried, whispering sweet nothings that felt like everything to you. And maybe they felt like everything to him, too.
After likely multiple minutes, he spoke quietly into your hair again, "I'm gonna make you something to eat, okay? At least, something small. I need you to eat, honey." You simply nodded into his shirt. You felt his lips curve into a smile against your hair. It made you feel soft inside.
Without notice, he carried you to the living room, setting you down on the couch. Your hands automatically reached for the blanket you had left there, and his reached for the remote. He went to YouTube on your television and found his way to a video he remembered you mentioning. It was one you would rewatch all the time.
"I know you like this one." He smiled at you, as nicely as he always did. Tears filled your eyes again, and he only leaned down to kiss your forehead with a quiet, "Be right back". With that, he retreated to your kitchen, and you felt deep in your soul that you'd find a way to be okay again. You'd heal from this bump because it was worth it. Life was worth it. He was worth it. And maybe you were worth it, too, especially if Clark was taking care of you.
He returned a few minutes into the video. He hadn't made you anything big or extravagant, knowing your stomach may not be able to handle it, but he still cut up some fruits for you to eat. To pair with the fruits, he brought you a glass of water. Was it obvious you hadn't had any in a while? Likely so. He was thoughtful. It made you want to cry again.
As you ate your fruit and watched your video, he sat beside you, letting you lean on his shoulder. It felt nice. Having someone be nice to you. Care for you.
"How long do you think you'll stay?" You asked him suddenly. He turned to you, wrapping an arm gently around your shoulders and kissing your cheek lovingly, "As long as you let me." It made your heart skip a beat.
"I also have to fix your doorknob."
You laughed a bit. The sound was odd to hear since you hadn't heard it in so long. It made Clark smile, letting out a laugh of his own. His laugh was bright, hearty. It made you relax into his side.
You'd probably cry a lot more during your healing process, but at least Clark would be here to fix your doorknob. And likely help you. You couldn't thank him enough. Maybe when you escaped this episode, you'd ask him on a date to solidify your thanks.
GOOD OLD-FASHIONED LOVER BOY . clark kent x gn! reader
𖤐 syn. ..⃗. you weren't exactly the type to go out drinking, but when your friends drag you out, you luckily find yourself in the company of a handsome stranger.
𖤐 con. ..⃗. 2k words, mentions of drinking, meetcute (i think idk but its cute :3), silly fluff ever, no use of y/n, not proofread
Drinking wasn't exactly a fun experience. Especially when it came to drinking at a club.
Everything was sticky and practically meshing together, everyone was loud and on the verge of bursting your eardrums, and too many things were expected of you, whether it be as little as taking a shot or as far as finding a one-night stand. It was all too overwhelming, and you only ever really went out when your friends begged it of you.
So, here you were (unfortunately) in an alright outfit. It wasn't your best, but you didn't really feel like being there, regardless. You put in the minimal effort that your friends would let slide for an event such as going to a bar with them.
As your friends took shot after shot, you partook in a few of them. After around three, you really didn't want to be there.
For most people, drinking was something that loosened them up. It made them all warm inside and willing to do the typical clubbing things, like dancing with strangers and singing songs they barely knew. You felt warm, but that might as well have been due to the number of people at this club rather than the shots you downed.
If anything, you felt uncomfortable, tense, and probably a little nauseous due to the alcohol. You weren't a big drinker.
You felt your stomach swirl and churn as you watched your friends dance with one another. Your friends had chosen a high table near the edge of the dance floor, so you stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do. You didn't want to drink or dance, or even stay. But you felt bad if you were to leave without saying anything, so you stayed.
It wasn't unlike you to put yourself in uncomfortable situations to let your friends feel at ease about taking you somewhere and spending time with you. This was nothing. You could hold out for them.
Stuck in your thoughts, you hadn't even realized the gigantic man who was scooting himself off the dance floor, nervously looking at people who seemed to have been dancing with him. You almost laughed at how he looked between the edge of the dance floor and, who you assumed were, his friends that hadn't even noticed he was slowly moving away from them.
Once he had finally made it to the edge of the dance floor, mere steps away from you, he let out a deep sigh of relief. You let out a small laugh at this, one he surprisingly heard with the music that was playing throughout the club, and turned to you.
He looked sheepish, adorably bashful, as he looked at you. You had never expected someone so large to be able to look so sweet. People as tall as he was were usually intimidating, but something about him felt gentle, welcoming.
It only took him one side step to get close to you. Unlike any man would, he stayed at a polite distance, but one where you'd still be able to hear him when he spoke. And when he did speak, his voice was just as tender as he seemed, likely softer than any wondrous instrument you'd ever hear.
"Hi."
It was simple, but it got your blood pumping. All of a sudden, it felt like you had to be at this club, like it wasn't as bad as it felt mere moments ago. You felt almost excited that you were here, all because it gave you the chance to talk to such a gorgeous man who looked at you as if you were the most precious thing on Earth.
"Hey." You replied, though your voice was admittedly more shaky than you wanted it to be, "Who were you dancing away from?"
You were never one to keep a conversation going, yet right now, you didn't want this barely beginning interaction to ever end.
He laughed a bit nervously, scratching the back of his neck in the most endearing way ever thought humanly possible, before responding, "You saw that?"
His words made you laugh, even if he had only spoken four words to you. You felt like some tween meeting their celebrity crush, even though this was the first time you'd ever seen this guy.
You nodded at him, and he laughed the most delightful laugh, one that could melt ice cream from how bright it sounded. It made your ears warm as if they, personally, were blushing. It was sickeningly pleasing how much you were already fond of this man.
"My co-workers," He answered, gesturing to the group of people he was dancing with, who still hadn't noticed he was gone, "dragged me here. I'm not really... a clubbing type."
You nodded to show your agreement. You weren't the clubbing type either. Though if he asked you to dance, you would say yes in a heartbeat.
You found yourself almost nervously swaying as he spoke. You didn't know what to say, so you awkwardly gave a "Me neither." It made you want to melt into the ground. You probably sounded like a nervous loser in front of this really gorgeous guy. Your heart skipped, and probably tripped over itself, when he laughed again.
"At least I'm not the only one." He smiled at you. He smiled at you, and it turned your entire body into jelly. You slightly leaned against one of the stools of your high table and smiled in return. It definitely looked more
"So, who dragged you out here?" He asked, and the thought of him wanting to continue the conversation made your blood run hot.
You let out a buzzing hum as you look around the dance floor and point out your friends, a slightly larger group than his that danced like madmen. He chuckled as he saw how absolutely fired up they looked while dancing.
"My friends," You started as you returned your attention to him and he stared into your eyes like you were the only person at this club, "They brought me. This isn't really my thing, but I like to make them happy."
His eyes softened, which seemed impossible with how they had already been so soft previously, at your words. Something about your kindness made him feel so delicate. Perhaps it was the Superman in him, or maybe the way you looked awkward yet charming in an odd way. Maybe it was just his sweet heart wanting someone to connect with. It could be all of the above, but all he knew was that he wanted to keep talking to you.
"That's sweet." He told you. You waved him off, wanting to say "It's nothing", but ultimately replying with "Thank you".
"What's your name?" He asked, and you almost squealed knowing he wanted to know more about you, if even as simple as your name. You told him your name and he complimented it, he did so in such a way that it felt different to any other time someone had done it. It made you feel like you'd turn to goo right then and there.
You asked him his name and he smiled as he told you, "Clark Kent." You liked it, of course you did.
"That has a nice ring to it." You smiled at him as if you were about to burst into confetti from the sheer joy you felt talking to such a nice guy at this noisy club. He thanked you as if that was the sweetest thing he'd ever heard, "Thank you so much."
"So, uh, would you... like a drink? No pressure, duh, sorry. Just... asking." He asked before stumbling over his own words. He suddenly seemed more nervous than you. He probably thought he came off more intense than he actually was. It was nice to meet a guy who was self-aware of his height and build, though his face made it hard to believe he'd ever hurt a fly.
You nodded at him, practically beaming, as he smiled at you. He moved back a little to let you pass by him towards the bar. It was rare to meet a gentleman at a club, but it made you feel happy that you came with your friends.
Speaking of which, you heard your friends whooping, somehow louder than the rest of the club, and calling your name. They screamed at the top of their lungs, but the most distinct shout you heard was, "Yes! Get that big ass man!"
You felt your face grow warm with embarrassment as Clark chuckled behind you. He set his hand on the small of your back before quickly retracting it and leaning towards you, "Is that okay?" You nodded in response, and the warmth of his hand returned. His hand was large on your back, and his heat almost entirely encompassed you just by that singular means of contact.
Once you both arrived at the bar, he looked down at you, as if to ask what you wanted. You thought about it for a bit before telling him, and as gentlemanly as you never thought possible, he ordered for you most respectfully. His eyes trailed your drink as it was made, knowing the dangers of drinking in clubs so crowded.
When your drink was done, he handed it to you kindly before paying for it. A small way away, you noticed that your friends had moved from the dance floor back to their high table, and they all had eyes on you. They all made faces at you, ranging from smirks to motions of sex to stupid faces with their tongues sticking out.
Clark seemed to notice this, making him laugh again. You felt drawn to his laugh. It was beautiful, as was he. But it was so much more than his appearance and attractiveness. It was all of him, who he was as a person (at least, from what you knew of him based on this interaction).
"Sorry about them, Clark." You apologized almost timidly, and he waved it off with his hand, "My co-workers would probably do the same if they realized I wasn't with them anymore." That made you giggle a bit, wondering if they had noticed his absence with how they were all on the dance floor.
Deciding against sitting with your friends, you found a smaller high table, one with only two seats, and you sat across from each other. From then on, the night went lovely, though you hadn't expected that when you first decided to come out with your friends. If you had, you probably would've dressed more nicely. When you told him that, he smiled at you with the most enchanting eyes and said, "I think you'd look great no matter what you wore."
You learned a lot about Clark Kent that night, and though it was hard to not melt every time he said something absolutely precious in that treasured voice of his, you listened to everything he said with a devotion you'd never shown in any class throughout your youth.
His coworkers had eventually noticed that he had been gone for the better part of the last two hours, but when they found him with you, all they did was whistle, pat him on the back, and make small comments to him, especially his coworker Jimmy.
By the end of the night, you found yourself being approached by your friends, saying they were heading out. Since you were the designated driver, you had to take them, but that wasn't before Clark nervously (and delightfully) asked you for your number.
You gave it to him and accompanied it with a kiss on his cheek, to which your friends cheered you on.
"Thank you for keeping me company, Clark, and for the drink." You thanked him as your friends waited near the door. He smiled that lovely smile and replied, "I should probably thank you. You're lovely company. I'd love to... hang out with you outside of a club sometime... If you want to, of course." He got a little nervous near the end, but you smiled at him brightly anyway, "Of course I would."
"He has your number already, let's go!" One of your friends called, obviously too drunk to stay awake any longer than needed right now.
You both laughed a bit, but went on to part ways anyway. Hopefully, you'd see each other sooner rather than later. And by the way he looked at you, it was likely you would.
WHAT CAN I DO (FOR YOU) . dick grayson x gn!reader
𖤐 syn. ..⃗. you feel like you're not enough to be dating the dick grayson, but he makes sure you know that you're all he could ever want.
𖤐 con. ..⃗. 1.2k words, established relationship, insecurities, feelings of worthlessness, angst w/ happy ending, fluff, no use of y/n
𖤐 note. ..⃗. inspired by the song from steven universe :3 hope u guys like it it's my first x reader oneshot in a billion years :P
You considered Dick Grayson to be the perfect lover.
He was a warm person, always bright smiles and enthusiastic laughs. He doted on you, always considered you before anyone else, and every time you needed something, whether it be materialistic or as simple as some space, he'd give it to you. He understood you. He knew what you needed before you even had to say the word.
He was the perfect person, really. Not only because he was so good to you, but because he also held flaws. He was his own person and had his own struggles that you could help him with. He was real.
Even so, you often felt too real for him. Too imperfect.
Not only was he your perfect boyfriend, but he was Nightwing, Blüdhaven's protector, previously Robin, and previously leader of the Teen Titans. He was a hero, someone that saved countless lives and put countless criminals away. He was so much more than you.
Not to mention his prior partners. He dated Batgirl, Barbara Gordon, who was not only Batgirl, but continued to be a hero when she was paralyzed by Joker. He also dated Starfire, Koriand'r, who was literally an alien princess. Probably the hottest alien princess anyone's ever seen.
You were just you. A simple Gothamite that just so happened to meet Dick at the library you worked at. It only a took few months of friendship before he admitted his feelings for you in such a devoted way, you couldn't help the way you fell deeper in love with him right then and there.
It had been a little over a year since then. He admitted his secret identity a few months in and was estatic you still wanted to spend your life with him. The only thing that bothered you about him being Nightwing was that you also learned how much more he was worth at your side.
You felt like a nobody. Like someone he shouldn't be wasting his time on.
You never admitted these things to him. You didn't want him to feel bad for being himself. He couldn't help that, so you didn't need him feeling bad for your stupid feelings.
Now, you found yourself cozied up in your shared apartment, thoughts racing about your pointlessness at his side. You couldn't offer him anything. You couldn't fight by his side, or support him with information, or even be as perfect to him as he was to you.
You felt like, at most, you helped patch him up after a particularly painful fight or made him dinner when he got home. But that never seemed like enough. At least, not to you.
Whenever you did anything for him, he'd call you his angel. Tell you that you're the best thing that ever happened to him. That he doesn't know what he'd do without you. It made your insides burn with a feeling you couldn't even begin to describe.
You were knocked out of your thoughts by your boyfriend himself leaning down to press a smiling kiss to the side of your head. He must've gotten home from his day job without you noticing.
A faltering smile was all you could offer him and as usual, he knew all too well that something was up. You felt terrible as you saw his lovely smile turn into a frown at the slightest sign of your distress.
"What's wrong, pretty?" He asked immediately. It felt almost daunting. How much he cared. How much he loved you when you didn't even feel worth it.
"Nothing." You lied through your teeth. He narrowed his eyes at you, as if to say no way you just lied to my face. He leaned against the back of the couch, his dark curls falling to his forehead in the prettiest way you'd ever seen, as he stared at you expectantly.
You averted your eyes, as if you expected to be scolded by him for lying. But, all he did was stare at you, love held tight in his eyes, and wait for you to admit what was wrong.
As much as you didn't want him to know why you were so stressed, you couldn't let him stand there with his eyebrows furrowed, worrying about you so deeply already. You couldn't help yourself from mumbling the question, "What's so good about me?"
He looked at you, eyes now wide and eyebrows raised, as if you had asked him the most ridiculous question in the world. His mouth dropped in shock. He couldn't believe you would ever ask him that. Was he not showing you how worth it you were to him every day? He'd have to up his game!
He immediately hopped over the couch and sat right at your side, staring right into your soul as if you were the most precious thing in the world.
"Pretty, you're my angel. My entire universe. My everything. Everything about you is good, even the parts you think are bad. What's this about? Do I need to up my game at showing you how much I love you?" He smiled at you, leaning in and letting his hand move up to your face to cup your cheek as if you were the most delicate thing on the planet.
You looked at your hands that laid limp on your lap, feeling bad for even thinking this way. You couldn't help it, but you automatically felt like you had to be better for him. Have no insecurities at all.
"I just..." You started, your voice faltering. You barely trusted yourself to voice your thoughts without crying. He noticed this, so he intertwined his other hand with yours. "Dick, you're worth so much more than I am. Why... what's so good about me that I'm your choice?" You told him, vocal cords shaky.
He frowned at you, not because you were upsetting him, but because he wanted to wash all of these worries away.
"I'm worth no more than you, baby. You might not be a vigilante, but you mean so much to me. You're considerate, hard-working, and so so sweet to me. You stay up for me after patrol to check on me, you cook dinner for me, you sometimes even bake cookies, you work practically all week, but you always find time for me, and you see me as a person. Not just Nightwing or Robin or a hero, you met me as Dick and you love me for who I am. You listen to me when I need it and even when I don't. You're attentive. You are everything I could've possibly ever wished for. You are absolutely perfect for me, angel. That's why I choose you and I'll keep choosing you every day." He spoke to you so gently yet passionately. You could feel the love he had for you seeping through every word. It made you feel silly for even thinking those things.
Your eyes were watery by the time he finished speaking, but he took it upon himself to not let a single one fall. He brushed them from your eyes with both hands before cupping your face and pressing the gentlest kiss he could muster to your lips.
He smiled into the kiss when you returned the gesture, your hands now resting on his lap. He pulled away momentarily, "You're also a great kisser." before continuing to kiss you. You laughed into his lips, which made him laugh too.
You felt sure of yourself. After all, Dick Grayson chose you. So, why ever doubt your place at his side? You surely deserved it if he deemed it so and kissed you like you were the only person in the universe.
