Inspired by the fact I haven’t done anything but play Tomodachi recently.
You walked into the living room carrying two mugs of tea and immediately knew something was wrong.
Dick was slouched on the couch like someone had stolen his last cookie. The Switch was still on, paused on the bright, colorful Tomodachi Life screen. His Mii - the one with the perfectly styled black hair and the little mask accessory he’d insisted on - was standing sadly in the middle of the island plaza while your Mii (the one with the cheerleader outfit and the hair you’d spent way too long customizing) was happily chatting with a random islander.
Dick’s lower lip was actually jutting out in a pout.
You set the mugs down on the coffee table and raised an eyebrow. “Okay. What happened?”
He let out the most dramatic sigh you’d ever heard from a grown man who regularly fought crime in spandex.
“She said no.”
You blinked. “Who said no?”
“My wife,” he muttered, pointing accusingly at the screen. “I finally got the proposal event to trigger after a week of feeding her favorite foods, buying her every gift, and making sure our compatibility was maxed out. I even followed what some losers said on Reddit. And she said no.”
You had to bite your lip hard to keep from laughing.
“Dick… it’s a Mii.”
“She’s not just a Mii,” he protested, sitting up straighter, eyes wide with betrayal. “That’s you. I made her look exactly like you - same smile, same little swing when she stands. I even gave her your favourite colour sweater. And she looked me dead in the eyes and said ‘I’m not ready’ with that sad little animation.”
He flopped back dramatically, throwing an arm over his face like a Victorian maiden who’d been scorned.
“I’m in my own game and I still got rejected. This is emotional warfare.”
You finally lost the battle and laughed, climbing onto the couch and crawling into his lap. He immediately wrapped both arms around you like a koala, burying his face in your neck with a pitiful whine.
“Baby,” you cooed, trying and failing to sound sympathetic, “it’s a video game. The Miis have weird algorithms. Sometimes they just say no for no reason.”
“But I worked so hard,” he mumbled against your skin, voice muffled. “I made sure we had all the same hobbies. I gave her a beach ball accessory because you like the ocean. I even made sure our apartment had the fancy red couch you always pick in real life. And she still said no.”
You ran your fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp the way he liked. He melted instantly, a soft little hum vibrating against your collarbone.
“You’re pouting,” you teased.
“I’m not pouting,” he pouted harder. “I’m mourning the future I thought we had in Tomodachi Life. We were supposed to get married, have a little Mii baby with your eyes and my hair, maybe even a dog. Now I have to start the whole relationship over again. Do you know how long the dating phase takes when they keep saying ‘let’s just be friends’?”
You bit your lip again, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “Dick Grayson, you fight actual supervillains on a weekly basis. You’ve been shot, stabbed, thrown off buildings - and you’re this upset because a cartoon version of me wouldn’t marry your cartoon self?”
He pulled back just enough to give you the most betrayed look you’d ever seen on his face. Those big blue eyes were actually glistening.
“Yes. Exactly. Because even pixel-you doesn’t want me. What does that say about real-you?”
You cupped his face with both hands, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “It says that pixel-me has terrible taste and clearly needs better programming. Real-me thinks you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to her.”
His expression softened, but the pout was still lingering at the edges. “Prove it.”
You leaned in and kissed him - slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that made his shoulders relax and his arms tighten around your waist. When you pulled back, his eyes were half-lidded and warm.
“Better?” you asked.
“A little,” he mumbled, chasing your lips for another quick peck. “But I’m still emotionally scarred. I might need cuddles. And maybe you feeding me ice cream while I restart the whole relationship arc.”
You laughed, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re such a dramatic baby.”
“I’m your dramatic baby,” he corrected, grinning now. “Who spent a week trying to get you to marry him in a video game because the real version is still the best thing in his life.”
Your heart did a ridiculous little flip. You kissed him again, softer this time, then rested your head on his shoulder.
“Tell you what,” you said, voice warm with affection. “Tomorrow we’ll restart the game together. I’ll help you max out the compatibility. And when you propose again, I promise pixel-me will say yes this time.”
Dick’s arms squeezed you tighter, a happy little hum escaping him. “Deal. But only if you wear the cheerleader outfit in real life while we play.”
You lightly smacked his chest. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple, “but I’m your impossible.”
Outside, the city hummed on. Inside, Dick Grayson - acrobat, hero, leader - pouted like a kicked puppy over a video game rejection while you curled in his lap and fed him ice cream straight from the tub.
And somehow, it was the most perfect night you’d had in weeks.
a/n : good fics r coming I promise I just need to do these exams tomorrow then I’m free forever 💔
roy harper, dick grayson and you making out sloppy style ˚.✦
Your back was pressed against the wall, Roy’s hands gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear, while Dick crowded in from the side, one palm sliding up your neck to tilt your head exactly how he wanted.
Roy kissed you first, messy and open-mouthed, tongue sliding against yours with zero shame. Saliva slicked your lips, a thin string of it catching when he pulled back just enough to breathe before diving in again. Dick didn’t wait his turn. He leaned over Roy’s shoulder and caught your mouth next, softer at first but quickly turning hungry, licking into you while Roy’s teeth grazed your bottom lip. Their tastes mixed together, something sweet and completely addictive. You could feel the wet heat of their mouths trading off, tongues tangling with yours in a sloppy rhythm that left your chin shiny and your head spinning.
Roy made a low sound in his throat, pressing his body flush against yours so you felt every line of him. Dick’s hand slipped under your shirt, fingers warm on your skin, while his lips moved from your mouth to the corner of Roy’s jaw, kissing him too. It turned into a three-way mess, mouths sliding together, tongues brushing in the middle, saliva dripping down your chin and probably theirs too. The sounds were obscene too, wet smacks and soft gasps filling the tiny space.
Then Roy suddenly pulled back, breathing hard, his freckled face flushed dark under the faint emergency light leaking through the door crack. His eyes looked a little wide, a little scared underneath all that heat.
“We’re still friends, right?” he asked. “I mean… this doesn’t fuck everything up?”
You and Dick both paused, lips still parted and glistening. A tiny giggle bubbled out of you first, then Dick’s followed right after, soft and just a tiny bit condescending in the sweetest way.
“Of course we are,” you said, already leaning back in, pressing a sloppy kiss to the corner of Roy’s mouth.
Dick mirrored you, nipping at Roy’s bottom lip before murmuring against it, “Duh, Roy. Best friends.” His voice had that teasing lilt, making Roy's ears red.
Roy let out a shaky breath that turned into a laugh, but before he could overthink it again, you and Dick were on him together, mouths claiming his at the same time. Tongues sliding wetly, saliva mixing in that delicious three-way tangle once more and Roy melted back into it, hands clutching at both of you like he never wanted to let go.
clark who always wants a little kiss. it’s exactly as it sounds. in coffee shops and on the tram, across the dinner table and right before bed—when you’re sleeping already, sniffling and snoring, briefly woken by a soft pressure—clark loves to take a kiss. they aren’t long kisses, not often more than a princely peck against your lips or cupid’s bow.
you aren’t sure how you survived them at first, new in love and feverish to be adored, you’d sit there waiting to be kissed. how to woo the sweetest girl in metropolis? kiss her over and over. kiss her tired and sick, kiss her crying at a bad movie, kiss and kiss and kiss, even if she isn’t sure she’s allowed to ask for one. you barely have to lift your chin, those first few weeks.
clark doesn’t adore you less over time. it’s not an issue, he falls for you more everyday and in strange ways, fancies your peach fuzz and your rumbly tummy, considers proposing the first time you almost pee your pants laughing on a dizzy walk home. it shouldn’t be a bad thing, but these kisses, they’re getting disruptive. he needs them between sips of coffee, or when you’re face down in a warm pillow, or in the middle of an inconvenient yawn.
we cannot keep meeting like this, he says through a laugh, the water from your shower wetting the top of his head and slicking his curls to his forehead as he leans in to nab a quick one, the curtain held aside by his shoulder. you’re so shocked you let him have it, your sudsy hand pressed against his clothed chest. sorry, he adds, to your owlish blinking. just needed one last one, honey.
your smile makes a liar of him. he takes another kiss with his hand cradling your cheek, water sluicing down his elbow in a great trickle to soak the floor.
i think we should discuss more soft jason, more lovey-dovey jason, more obsessed with his girlfriend jason, cutesy only soft in front of his girlfriend, adorable, kicking my feet against my bed jason, ... basically i need more jason todd....
do you understand how im feeling?
-🍨
i'm picking up what you're putting down alright! jason todd x gn!reader. short fluffy established relationship blurb. reader paints their nails and uses a vanity.
****
"This one is for rejuvenation," you say, sliding the sheet mask out of its packaging. "It has aloe vera and sea minerals."
"What the hell are sea minerals?" Jason asks as you smooth the mask onto his face.
"Dunno, but they're good for you. Stop moving your mouth."
You're atop him, legs straddling his thighs. Jason drums a silent pattern on your hip. You smooth the nose flap and his nose twitches. The flap curls out of place. You sigh.
"Dude."
"Tickles," he says, the word muffled from trying not to move the mask.
"Okay, I'm done. You can talk now."
"I feel rejuvenated already," Jason says, pink lips even pinker in contrast to the ghostly mask.
"You look rejuvenated to me," you say happily.
He grins. Jason always seems to smile more around you.
"So what're we doin' tonight? Besides putting sea minerals on my face."
"Um?" You point to your face, with its own mask. "Not just you. Soon, we'll both be rejuvenated."
"Sorry, sweetheart," Jason says, looking at you like you're the best thing on earth. "After we both get sea-mineralized, are we ordering in?"
"Yeah. I have a coupon for Vinnie's. Can I paint your nails?"
"Sure, baby."
"Yippee!" You leap off the couch and sprint to your and Jason's shared room. You dig through the vanity Jason hand-built and painted for your birthday last year. It's Robin's egg blue, with white accents. He admitted shyly, later, that he'd built it in the hopes that it'd make you want to move in permanently with him.
So a bribe? you'd asked, grinning.
I like to think of it as motivation.
And, well, it worked. You've been living together for almost a year now.
You take out the dark red, almost black polish and return, jumping on the couch. Jason's on the phone, ordering pizza. He gives you his left hand and you tuck yourself against him, opening the polish and starting to paint his nails with the focus of a brain surgeon.
"Uh-huh, yeah, for delivery. Twenty minutes? Alright, thanks." He hangs up. "Ooh, my favorite."
"You better believe it, handsome. Only the best for my favorite boyfriend."
"Favorite?"
You shrug. "Yeah. Don't tell the others."
Jason gently takes the polish and sets it on the coffee table. You're confused—you've only painted two fingers.
"What're you—"
He cuts you off by grabbing your waist with his unpainted hand, pulling you against him and kissing your neck. You squeal in laughter, grasping at his shoulders.
"Jason!"
"I'll show you favorite," he says, pressing ticklish kisses down your throat. He has his painted hand in the air, away from his antics, because he knows you'll pout if the polish gets messed up.
"Uncle, uncle! Please." You pant, delighted, as Jason lets up. You're lying on his lap, and he pulls you in for a real kiss. You pull away from his mouth enough to say, "You know you're the only one for me, Jay."
He hums and kisses you again, rubbing your shoulder. You slacken in his grip, running your fingers through his hair. You twirl one of the silver curls around your finger.
"Much better," Jason says when you break for air.
"I'd never upset my meal ticket," you say, gleeful when he rolls his eyes.
"You're on thin ice, baby."
You lean in for another kiss, ready to make it up to him.
dick grayson absolutely loses his mind when he first lays eyes on you.
you, who exited the elevator while clutching a folder so tightly in your palms that the bottom wrinkled under the pressure. he didn't notice you stepping out of the elevator until it was too late. your body crashed into his, papers from the folder flying around the two of you.
you immediately dropped to your knees, spewing apologies as you attempted to gather the papers back in their correct order and back into the folder.
"i'm so sorry, i didn't see you there," you stated again, first day jitters lighting up your body like fireworks.
dick took a knee beside you as well, handing you a loose paper that strayed near his feet. "don't worry about it, you're all good…"
your head lifted at the found of his voice, eyes meeting his.
yeah, he was a goner.
the meeting he was on his way to momentarily forgotten, his sentence trailing off, eyes wide and focused on your form. he swears he didn't drool at the sight of you (he totally did), but your tailored dress pants and fitted black vest over a white long sleeve caused a fuse to blow out in his brain, the only sign of life being the hearts that were replacing his irises.
he smiled at you in an attempt to regain his composure, the tips of his straight teeth peeking from between the curve. your eyes were the first thing he noticed. bold, beautiful, the depth of colour that sucked him in with no chance of escaping, not that he wanted to.
you held your hand out in greeting, adding your name softly afterwards.
his hand automatically lifted to yours, fingers gently curling around your palm with a gentleness that toed the line of professionalism. he parted his lips to speak, to will a sound to come out of his mouth. ideally, he would have a smooth line to woo you, to see if he could fluster you enough to get you to go to dinner with him.
but no words left his mouth. he was left gaping like a fish.
another time then. he would have to try his luck next time he saw you.
he didn't miss the way your brow furrowed momentarily before smoothing back in place at his silence. he really wasn't leaving the first impression he wanted to. he internally cringed at the thought.
"can you direct me to, uh, mr. richard grayson? these files are for him. from mr. wayne."
"dick is fine,"
"pardon? i mean, i don't know him but i wouldn't call him a dick—"
your confusion only deepened at the sound of his amused chuckle. your hand dropped from his grasp to nudge a stray hair from your cheek before pulling the folder back to your chest. you lifted yourself back up to your feet and dusted your attire off.
he followed, eyes never leaving your face. he couldn't look away. he swore his heart comically beat out of his chest, like he was some loony tunes character seeing the personof his dreams.
well, he was. he was seeing the person of his dreams.
"dick grayson," he held his hand out again in greeting. "no one really calls me richard."
"okay, well, this file is yours then, mr. grayson," you slid the file into his outstretched hand instead, offering him a tight-lipped smile in return. his eyes flickered down your lips, brain short-circuting again.
"grank— i-i mean great, thanks!" he corrected himself quickly. his eyes shut tightly for a moment before opening back up. "thank you for the file. this is great. um. you're doing amazing so far."
he paused for a moment before quickly walking by you and towards the meeting room. embarrassment heated his face like fire.
"grank?" he muttered under his breath in disgust. "what the fuck is my problem."
you turned back towards the elevator equally as confused, muttering under your own breath, "weird."
an: despite literally wanting to write vamp!bruce very badly (it's being written slowly but surely), I am really enjoying these small little blurbs?? might keep these going for a while. let me know if you wanna see more dick x secretary!reader lore or more vamp!jason x reader lore
cw: Jason todd x reader, suggestive, reader is shorter than him, slice of life, domestic, established relationship
1.5k follower event
"Jasonnn," you drag his name out, your voice scratchy and thick with a pathetic little whine at the end.
He sucks in a breath, his body going still. "No."
"You don't even know what I was gonna ask!" you complain, your minor cold making you irritable, and his outright denial only makes it worse.
"I'm making you soup. Go sit your pretty ass down, sweetheart."
His back is to you, shirtless by your request— something about his muscles curing you of life’s hardships.
You’re momentarily distracted by the way his arm moves as he reaches up to grab something from the cupboard, strands of his hair falling delicately over his forehead before he goes back to stirring the soup with a small, pretty frown on his face.
You sneak closer, arms sliding around his waist, face smushed against his bare back. His free hand comes over yours, thumb brushing up and down your knuckles.
"Whatever you want, it’s a no until you finish your food," he tells you like you’re a child. "And you need to rest."
"Asshole," you mutter affectionately. Then, just because you can, you press kisses against his back, trailing up as far as you can reach.
"Fuckin’ menace," he whispers, squinting at his phone while checking the recipe. You smile. He’s trying out a new one—one he didn’t memorize beforehand.
Instead of teasing him about it, you ignore your sore throat and stuffy nose and go looking for a small stool.
Once you find it, you quietly set it behind Jason, step onto it, and wrap your arms around his neck.
He glances back, eyes narrowing. "What are you—"
You kiss his cheek, then his jaw, then suck lightly at the curve of his neck.
You know heat is spreading through his body by the way his breathing quickens and his head falls back, eyes closing.
"Gonna need you to stop, baby."
"Come on," you groan. "Did you know orgasms help clear congestion?"
A heavy sigh leaves him, his free hand running through his hair. "I did not," he mutters dryly.
"So be a good boy and sleep with me." Your lips curve down at how it sounds. You're forced to breathe through your mouth. Your throat burns every time you swallow. The words don’t come out low and sultry.
It was supposed to sound seductive. Instead, you sound like you're dying.
He tries not to laugh. You can tell by the way he's pressing his lips together, but a snort escapes him anyway.
"Don’t laugh.” you glare.
He turns off the stove, and your arms tighten around his neck. "Only if you stop trying to seduce me— cause it ain’t working," he mutters, his eyes catching yours for half a second.
"Fine, fine. but you better make it up to me later.”
“oh, you know i will, baby.”
main masterlist
one day i will write a long fic and it’ll be great. but for now I’m cursed to half ass everything i do
Jason’s friend, you, call him to pick you up after you had little too much to drink at girl’s night, oh and? he’s kinda very in love with you, and likewise. hey be honest can’t you tell i’ve never been drunk *side eye* idk im scared of alcohol chat. it’s nicknames galore here gang. man i might delete this icl
A soft giggle escapes your mouth as you stumble again, heels slipping as you take a step, falling right into a very strong arms. A familiar scent, the gunpowder that never escapes him mixed in, engulfs you as a warm palm is splayed against your lower back, through the thin satin dress, you feel the warmth seep from your skin into his.
“Jay!” You exclaimed giddily, smiling with teeth and everything as you throw your head back, causing your entire body tipping back, Jason’s arms tightening around you. “Careful, careful.” His voice is gentle as he helps you regain your stability, your hands landing on his shoulders to ground yourself.
The bar name-light flickers its neon-self above the pair of you, some generic name you wouldn’t remember in the slosh of Gotham nightlife, but still in the better part of town. You’d sent him your location, obviously, he’s not a possessive friend but it’s…Gotham.
You’re in a dress that Jason immediately identifies as way too thin for this weather, wanting to strip his jacket off and wrap it around you. The only reason you’re a few inches taller than him momentarily is because you’re standing atop a few stair steps as he stands just in front of you at ground level.
“What’re you doing ‘ere?” You drawl sweetly, head swimming in intoxication and cheeks tinted rosy pink, the smell of alcohol apparent. “You called me, sweetheart.” Jason murmurs, glancing around to take note of your surroundings.
“You feel nice.” You sigh as you circle your arms around his neck instinctively, one of his palm still holding you up and the other gently taking your purse from off your shoulder. The stance causes you to lean in closer, your face only inches away from his but he’s too focused on whatever he was doing.
When you’d first met this very man in the Gotham City Library, you were quite taken with him, enamoured even, and when you two fell into the deep traps of friendship, you pushed every whisk of what you felt for him deep, deep into your heart, but the alcohol was certainly loosening you up.
“Oh, yeah?” He asks absentmindedly as he manoeuvres you to get the bag, using the hand that’s not around you to zip open the bag. Your eyes droop with exhaustion and plain sleepiness, your head then swoops down, falling into the crook of his neck, jacket pressing against your forehead. “Hey, we gotta go—” Jason starts.
Jason was, as some might say, an overbearing and overprotective friend. But hey, this is Gotham and he was one of the only good men left. After seeing the darkest horrors of this godforsaken city firsthand, Jason’ll be damned back to hell if he let anything happen to you. So when he practically over-assured you that you should call him if you got too sloshed, that’s exactly what you did.
“You’re warm, Jay.” You mumble against him as your nose slowly lifts off his shoulder and glides up his neck. And he was! Gotham is always so cold and Jason is always so warm! Your arms tighten around him as Jason plucks out the car’s keys from your purse.
“Let’s get in your car, ‘kay? It’ll be comfortable in there—” Jason starts but you let out a content sigh, leaning your entire body weight against him, letting yourself let into his embrace as sleep presses on your eyes.
“And you’re like,” You mumble as your nose bumps into Jason’s ear, causing an steady shiver to pass from Jason’s head to toe, your breath fanning over his ear and down his throat. “Muscular…” Your arms unwrap from him and palms start to map out his shoulders as you lean back with a drunken pout. “…And so big.”
“Quit sexualising me, doll.” Jason chuckles nervously as he gazes across your face, then you lean back a little too much, enough to tip you onto the back of your heels, your entire body toppling backwards again. Jason sighs as his arm around your waist keeps you steady. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?” He nod like he’s trying to convince you, talking slow.
Jason had had been cursing himself for a long time, probably since he first met you. He should’ve walked away, the moment he saw you across the library, giggling while talking to a group of kids around you, he should turned around and taken firm steps out. But he didn’t. What did he do instead? He walked right to you and ask where a book was.
And then you smiled at him, and he smiled back from across the shelves and Jason was done. Then it was the week after that and the next, it was coffee and baked goods, and then here he was, hopelessly, deeply, and irrevocably, in love with you. You smiled at him, and hugged him, and called him your friend.
And to think he might’ve pulled a civilian into his fucked-up life just because he couldn’t help himself to stay out of your presence? The thought keeps him up and night and sources many of his nightmares to say the least. But right now, he was more focused on getting you into bed safely.
Your palms trace their way down his triceps, down to his elbow on each hand and back to his shoulders, pressing against the leather of his jacket. It’s not your fault that you’d always been partial to muscular men, tall muscular men at that. And Jason was all that along with being well read? Whoa.
He’s always had the prettiest eyes, it’s something you loved looking at, a kaleidoscope that traps your gaze and doesn’t let it waver, said eyes now narrowing at you out of concern and worry, classic Jason.
Thoughts in your head were swirling, not arranging themselves in the correct order. He has pretty lips too. Jason’s lips move as he says something but you don’t catch it over a fight that breaks out between three guys down alleyways.
You blink sluggishly as he tried to get your attention again. “Hey. Hey, stay awake for me, doll.” His voice is almost far away when all you can register in your head is how pretty he looks. Your arms go back to their safe place around his neck, his eyes filled with concern. Gosh, you couldn’t even care anymore. All you wanted right now, all that your brain was telling you right now, was to kiss him.
So you do, you lean in, going to close the last few inches and smoosh your lips into his. It takes Jason a moment to register what you’re doing, turning his face to the side at the very last moment, “Nope.” Jason’s voice is strained as your forehead bumps into his temple and a whine escape your throat.
Jason clears his throat, “Not when you’re drunk, c’mon baby.” You perk up at his words, leaning back to look at him properly. “So when I’m not drunk? Then we can kiss?” You pout, rosy cheeks and stray damp hair sticking to your face.
“If you still want to.” Jason nods. This isn’t helping the rate at which his heart is racing, all he can do is hope you can’t hear the thud-thud from his chest. Your mouth stretches into a happy smile, your head tilting as your cheeks become redder, not from the alcohol this time.
“Okay.” You quip as your head swoops back down to his shoulder. Jason takes a moment to compose himself, taking a deep breath of Gotham’s humid night before he whispers into your ear.
“Can I pick you up?” Jason mumbles, one hand still around your waist and one holding onto your purse and car keys. He can came back later and get his bike, he’s definitely not taking you home on that when you’re drunk. He shakes you just a little, prompting your name. “Baby, can I pick you up?”
You nod weakly into his body, honestly you didn’t even care, you just liked being in his arms. It takes a moment for him to manoeuvre you as his free hand slips under your knees, hiking you up into a princess carry, making sure your dress is keeping you covered. Your hands stay around his neck, stealing warmth from his body.
“You’re so pretty, Jay.” You mumble as you manage to blink your eyes open for a moment, catching a glimpse of him under the flickering streetlights and Jason flushes red.
ᯓ★'s P.S. idk this one is soooo messy cause i had the backstory in my head but i did nawtttt want to actually type it into the story and then i couldn’t figure out where to fit it in—ill shut up now. and the ending is lowkey 🤮 because i rushed to finish it
don't forget to comment to reblog if you enjoyed!
← ゛masterlist ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆
taglist꩜ .ᐟ ALL WORKS @hepprine, @apollos-notes, @cenna-luna, @makreadsalot, @solasyra, @vanillakirstein, @arabellas-barbarella-swimsuit12, @lovehadlovelost, @buckybarnesismyhusband, @xxreyofsunshinexx, @amandjslpz, @punkrockrr, @artisticmindsunite-blog
ALL DC WORKS @indigoscribe, @t1mbits, @coastalcowgirlie, @uxavity, @jaydennicole, @shadowviolets, @athenxt, @soggywhore, @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger, @rayaofstarlight, @madi-iii, @kekeanna266, @skin2bone111, @fanficboysarebae, @willow-vixen
JASON TODD WORKS @avengingangel14, @cherrylicious03, @the-ultimate-quokka, @drdeathifying, @queenofviolenceandnerds, @rainystrangerwasteland, @caterppillar, @profoundgreenturtle, @celestills, @only-dot-nicky, @sirenoftheeast, @s0zzbat, @vampiranne, @kiraflowersworld, @living-that-chronic-life, @lagataprrr, @nekkiotine
"I don’t think I’ve seen anyone drunker than I saw you last night."
Creep IX (18+ MDNI)
Summary: Dick panics a little for no good reason then he panics a lot for a really good reason.
Pairing: Nightwing/F!Reader (2nd person POV)
WC: 6,737
TW: Minor blood and injury
A/N: I broke my nail the other day and it was so gross and nasty and fucked up. I keep my nails rlly long bc I can and fuck if that didn't bite me in the ass. It hurted so badly. :( Then I had to record a podcast episode with my mom and aunt. I was talking about Supergirl and kissing my finger like a loser. KNOW WHEN TO CLIP YOUR NAILS!!! I DON'T!!!
Chapter 9: Sit Down. Stand Up
Table of Contents
<Prev // Next>
Waking up next to you in his own apartment—in his own bed—was surreal. You were curled on your side, back clad in one of his shirts, and pressed to his chest. You had your face buried in the pillows and Dick wondered how you could breathe. He sat up a bit, leaning on an elbow, to watch you.
He hadn't been able to sleep much. He’d always had trouble falling and staying asleep, even before he started gallivanting about town every night in a mask. The rush of knowing you were waiting for him back home after patrol was enough to make him antsy. He had hoped the feeling would subside once he got back but it only mounted further. He slept fitfully for the few hours of night that were left. But the giddy excitability had morphed into something a little more anxious.
You knew.
Most of Dick’s reasons for not telling you stemmed from fear. Being in a relationship as a vigilante was never easy. Even when he was dating Kory or Babs, things were rocky. Sure, it made the identity thing easier but it didn’t change the drama of it all. He was still a fighter and a detective underneath the carefully crafted exterior. Turning off that instinct wasn’t just flipping a switch, it was an entire other life he had to hide. Although he was fairly good at masking. He had a lot of practice. But even that still drained him. Hiding a part of himself from the person he loved most was taxing. It took chunks out of him knowing he was lying to you but the further you both went, the more difficult it became to fess up.
Part of him wondered if he wanted you to find out. If he’d gone back for the suit at the mall on purpose but he’d honestly been more concerned with being useful than anything else. He had gotten accustomed to being someone people came to with their problems and, while he advocated strongly for talking out feelings, he was a bit of a hypocrite in that regard. ‘Rules for thee and not for me’ and so on.
It didn’t matter. Not anymore. You knew he was Nightwing. You figured it out all on your own. He should have listened to Barbara when he had the chance. She’d told him not to bother with all the secrets. If he was being honest with himself, he could really use her advice. He hadn’t done something like this since Bea and even that wasn’t completely normal. He just hoped you didn’t also have some weird pirate background or something he’d have to go on a quest for. He was just fine with you being a geeky music nerd who scowled at everything that moved.
You stirred then, moaning out something that wasn’t even words and rolling onto your back. You scrunched your eyes as the sun cast over them and put a hand up to block the light. Eventually, you peeked at him, face still pinched like the morning was an old enemy.
“Hey,” he cooed and smoothed a thumb between your brows. “Feeling okay?”
“My head hurts a little,” you murmured and as you preened into his touch, Dick felt his heart melt. “It’s fine though. I’ve had worse.”
Dick snorted. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone drunker than I saw you last night.”
“Alcoholic, remember? Last night was nothing. You should see me at home on a weeknight.” You sat up slowly, pushing your shoulder blades together before stretching your arms above your head. A few loud pops echoed in his bedroom.
“Do you… Do you remember anything from last night?” He found himself asking and his spine went rigid. He hadn’t thought about that until then. He wasn’t sure he could handle having that conversation twice. Blessedly, you nodded.
“Yeah. I told you I know you’re Nightwing. You cried a little. I cried a lot. I didn’t realize you had self worth issues. I didn’t think pretty people got those.”
He cradled your cheek and gently turned you to face him.
“News flash, hon. Everyone gets those.”
You scoffed a laugh but didn’t pull away like he expected you to. You really were getting used to him. He leaned in to give you a feather soft kiss and smiled against your mouth when you hummed then pressed you back into the pillows and draped himself over you.
“Good morning, love,” he said.
“Good morning, babe,” you replied.
He swallowed as he looked at you. Your voice was a gentle rasp from sleep and you had little crusties in the corners of your eyes but you were beautiful all the same. He kissed you again and you laced your fingers together behind his neck.
“I, uh… I have something kinda awkward to ask,” he started, smoothing his thumbs over your cheeks. “Well, it’s- it’s reasonable but it’s always weird to bring up so I-”
You shut him up with a peck.
“Get on with it, lover boy.”
“Right. Sorry.” He sucked in a breath. “Can you, um, not tell anyone? That I’m Nightwing?”
“Dick, of course I won’t,” you said, half earnest, half incredulous. “That’s- No, I’m not gonna tell anyone. Are you kidding?”
He blew out a sigh the size of Texas and collapsed on top of you, pushing a breathy laugh out of you like a bellows.
“Sorry, just- I have to ask. It’s- I have to ask.”
You combed your fingers through his hair and he nuzzled against your chest.
“Look at me, love.”
He obliged. Anything you wanted, you’d have.
“I’m not going to tell anyone you’re Nightwing,” you affirmed, voice steady and sure. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Okay,” he whispered and focused on the feeling of your heartbeat against his chin. “Okay.”
“I love cuddling but I should get back home. I’ve got some explaining to do to a certain old woman I happen to be related to,” you sighed as you scratched at his scalp, eyes flicking over his features. “Can you take me home?”
He groaned like you’d just asked him to do his homework or clean his room and pressed his face into your boobs again.
“I guess,” he sighed. “Five more minutes.”
You huffed a laugh and carded your fingers through his hair before straining forward to press a kiss to the crown of his head. He smiled against you, listening to you breathe like it was the sweetest sound in the world. He’d forgotten how nice it felt to be in love. To be with the person he loved. You laid there, slipping your fingers through his messy black hair, a hum in your throat of a song he didn’t recognize, and he almost fell asleep again. He wished that he could but he had to bring you home and he wanted to ask Babs if she could meet up so he could stress blabber at her. Something she hated when he did but he was going to burst if he didn’t tell someone about what happened last night and she was the least likely to make fun of him for it and/or get mad. Which said a lot about the company Dick kept.
When you inevitably pushed at his head to get him off you, Dick whined but acquiesced and hauled you to your feet. He shoved your clothes from last night in a bag and told you you could bring his stuff back when you wanted to, if ever.
“I like seeing you in my shirt,” he said, grin so wide it was sliding off his face. “Second best thing I’ve seen you wear.”
“Oh? And what would the first be?”
He shrugged. “Nothing.”
You flustered and stammered out something along the lines of ‘frat boy ass pickup line’ but didn’t protest any further. As he drove you home, you voiced your concerns over seeing GK. Reasonable, sound concerns but Dick was stuck in his head. Overthinking your entire relationship and hoping Barbara would agree to an impromptu meet up at her favorite cafe. Knowing her, there was a good chance she was already there. When he pulled up to GK’s house, he kissed you like he’d never get the chance to again.
“I’ll see you soon,” he murmured against your lips, fingers cradling the back of your head. “Lemme know how it goes, okay?”
You nodded, nose brushing against his as you hummed an affirmative.
“I-” You bit your lip before whispering; “I love you.”
He grinned so wide his cheeks could have ripped.
“I love you too.”
Once you opened the door and headed inside, he dropped his head back and blew out a sigh. He stared at the front door, lingering for far too long. Finally, he pulled out his phone and dialed Barbara. She answered on the final ring.
“What.”
“Well, someone’s cranky.”
Barbara sighed, the sound tinny over the little speakers.
“Sorry, just… Whatever. It doesn’t matter. What do you need?”
“Meet me at River Rock Cafe?”
“You’ll be the one meeting me. I’m already here.”
Called it.
“Cool. Be there in 20.”
Barbara hung up without saying goodbye.
Dick and Babs weren’t on poor terms or anything but their breakup had been hard. They knew each other better than anyone else and, in ways, that tended to fuck them over. The final straw had been Dick’s issues with guilt getting in the way of him being able to be a good boyfriend. It had been a point of contention through nearly every relationship he’d had and after years of trying to ‘fix him,’ Babs had had enough. It wasn’t like she was much better. A workaholic to a fault, partial to depressive spells, and far too stubborn. They were two emotionally fucked peas in a pod. Barbara’s conclusion that their relationship had been built on shared trauma—something Dick didn’t really agree with—was her reasoning as she tearfully told him she couldn’t do this anymore. Needless to say, things were still a little awkward and raw but that didn’t mean they didn’t still care about each other. Babs had been the first one he told about you. She was his best friend, afterall.
As soon as he entered the cafe, he spotted Barbara. Tucked in her usual corner, fingers flying over her keyboard. She leaned over to take a sip of her ginormous iced chai latte. He ordered a cold brew and waited for it to come out before joining her casually, plopping into the chair across from her and biting the straw of his drink. He opened his mouth to speak but Babs put up a hand.
“Gimme a second. I need to focus,” she said, eyes flicking over her laptop as she worked.
Dick waited, used to this, and glanced around the darkened cafe. Barbara had always preferred the dark. From Batgirl, lurking in the shadows, to Oracle, hidden in the clocktower, she’d always been anti-sunshine.
“Okay, sorry,” she sighed and looked up. “Tim and I have been working this… Whatever, it's not important. Well, it is, just… He’s working this case and I’ve been bored, so.”
She shrugged. She didn’t need to say much more.
“Has your back been bugging you?” Dick asked, tilting his chin once towards her wheelchair. “Haven’t seen that old thing in a minute.”
She sighed again and took a drink of her chai before drumming her fingers idly on the varnished table.
“Yeah, the implant is acting up again. I should really go see Leslie but,” another shrug, “I dunno. Being Oracle has felt… right recently. Steph and Cass can handle Batgirl. Plus, I hate surgery and I know I’ll get cut open again and I’m good with… not doing that.”
Dick huffed a laugh and sat back with his hands in his pockets.
“But you’ve been good? Otherwise?”
“Yeah, I’ve been good. Keeping busy at the library, helping Tim with this case. I talked to Kate recently. She’s dating Detective Montoya.” Barbara grinned, impish, and swirled her ridiculously large drink.
“Wow,” Dick deadpanned with a smirk. “Who woulda saw that coming?”
“I woulda. I did. Jason owes me 60 bucks because I saw that coming.” Dick barked a laugh. “So, how are you? Still dating that girl from high school?”
Dick sighed, dreamy almost, and a big sappy smile spread across his face as he swooned your name.
“Yeah, I am.” A beat. “That’s actually why I’m here.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
“First, have I ever told you how wonderful you are? My closest friend. The smart and-”
“What happened?” Barbara groaned, lips pulled to the side like she’d eaten something sour.
“Ouch, Babs! Does something have to happen in order for me to see my bestest most treasured friend of so many years?”
“When you’re swanning around like this then, yeah.”
He stared at her for another beat, searching her emerald green eyes for even a scrap of sympathy. Finding none, he sighed and came clean. He told her about the mall and everything that had happened last night.
“I fucking told you. She’s not stupid and she really likes you,” Barbara seethed, jabbing a finger at Dick. “Of course she found out. You should’ve been more careful. You shouldn’t have gone back for your suit at the mall. You should have just told her.”
“How was I supposed to do that?” He spluttered, throwing up his hands. “‘Oh, by the way, I’m Nightwing. Can I still rail you in this dressing room?’ No! No way.”
“You- Wow. Okay. I’m choosing not to comment on that.” She glanced around the room once. Thankfully, the little corner they were in was deserted. “You could’ve done it a million different ways actually. The identity talk will never come up organically. You have to push for it.”
“Are you saying I should’ve told her?” His voice turned soft, nervous even.
“Are you even listening to me? Yes! You have been pining over this girl for over ten years. Even when we were dating, I’d catch you looking through her Facebook.”
“I did do that, didn’t I?” Dick groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. You did. And I chose not to get mad about it because I trusted you. But now that you have her and we’re over, you’re still fucking around like an idiot instead of letting yourself go all in. Commit, Dick. It isn’t hard.”
“It is though,” he whined as he gave her a pleading look. “Babs, I- I don’t know what to do.”
“I already told you what to do and you didn’t listen. You gotta let yourself be loved, man.” She frowned. “Besides, talking to your ex girlfriend about your current girlfriend is weird.”
“This is different and you know it,” he grumbled and scowled up at her before taking a sip of his cold brew. “Well, the cat’s outta the bag now. She figured it out all on her own.”
“That she did.” Barbara nodded, sagely. “Now, are you gonna continue to be a wuss or are you gonna stone the hell up and feel happy for once?”
“Stone the hell up,” he mumbled.
“And?”
Dick sighed. “And feel happy for once. But I’m always happy.”
“No. You’re not. You need to see a therapist. I know a lady who does therapy for vigilantes in Gotham.”
“I don’t… Well, okay sure. Why not?” Dick shrugged as Barbara scribbled down a phone number on a sticky note.
“Burner phone only. She has enough problems as is. Doesn’t need weirdos getting her info too.”
“Sure,” Dick replied around his straw as he pocketed the note. “Thanks, Babs. I… Thanks.”
She rolled her eyes, a ghost of a smirk on her lips. “Anytime, Boy Wonder.”
You woke up the next day groggy and mad. GK had made you go to bed without any booze and your body was less than thrilled with that. You stared at the flashing numbers of your alarm clock and groaned. You’d need to get ready for work soon. GK had a doctor’s appointment so you’d have to take the bus. On top of that, it would be a late night for you. Today was inventory day. At the end of the night, you, and probably Imani, would have to catalogue each book, check trends on which titles were popular, and go through the requests for new items. Imani, bless her soul, was still too new to know how to do some of the more administrative tasks which meant, after close, you’d be stuck behind a computer while she went around the shelves writing down decimals.
There was nothing wrong with that, per se, but you knew it’d be an incredibly boring night and, if GK was serious about your dry spell—she probably was—you’d be doing it all stone cold sober. Not even a shot of rum in your morning coffee. You hated when GK got like this. One or both of you would do something stupid while drunk and GK would declare cold turkey. It never lasted more than a week but neither of you had ever been arrested before. Well, you hadn’t. You couldn’t really speak for GK. That was to say, there was no telling how long this particular stunt would last given the unforeseen circumstances.
You dragged yourself out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom to get ready. After zoning out enough you started leaking foamy toothpaste from your mouth, you got changed and headed up. GK was sitting at the kitchen table with the newspaper and a cigarette, a packed full ashtray beside her. You raised a brow, a smirk pulling at your lips, but didn’t comment. If it’s not one vice, then it’s another. You dug through the fridge for a quick breakfast as your phone chimed. You had three texts from Dick. Two from earlier in the day and one just then.
Dick: Good morning gorgeous <3
Dick: How’d GK take it?
Dick: Do you work today?
You grinned down at the messages as you poured yourself some cereal and sat across from your grandmother.
You: Good morning love. She took it as I expected she would. She’s declared us a dry household. We’ll see how long that lasts and yes I work today. Gonna be a late night actually.
He responded in an instant. You imagined him lying on his couch with Haley on his chest, a dopey grin spread across his handsome face. You internally cringed at that sappy thought alone.
Dick: Is that a normal thing? Also how late are we talking and are you driving?
You: A. Yes she does this every time something crazy happens when one of us is drunk. B. I’m talking like 1030-11 and C. I’m taking the bus. GK has an appointment.
Dick: Can I pick you up after? I don’t want you taking the bus after dark if I can help it.
You: You’re not gonna ride the bus with me like last time?
The three dots of him typing appeared, vanished, reappeared, re-vanished, until he responded.
Dick: I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.
You: So you’ve told me. Come get me after work. Maybe I’ll let you finger me in the backseat of your car.
Dick: Promise?
You barked a sudden laugh and GK looked up at you, frowning around her cigarette.
“Sorry. Dick said something horny.”
She snorted and shook her head before diving back into her paper.
You: Promise. I’ll see you tonight.
Dick: I love you.
You blew out a breath, trying to keep your reaction internal to spare yourself the explanation to GK but your toes curled in your socks anyway. You’d never been told that by someone who wasn’t related to you, or Hazel. It still felt strange but it was just something you’d have to get used to. There were a lot of things you’d have to get used to with Dick. This was nothing compared to the whole vigilante business. You stared down at those three words, thumbs twitching over the letters slowly as you typed them back.
You: I love you too.
He sent a smiley face and you quickly ate your breakfast, suddenly feeling a few degrees warmer than you wanted.
The bus ride was fine. You listened to Toxicity by System Of A Down on your way into work and counted how many times the tweaker sitting across from you took off his jacket and put it back on. It was close to 30 by the time the bus pulled up to your stop. The start of your shift went as you expected it would. Shelved books, filled holds, helped patrons. Normal shit. Granted, you hadn’t started the unpleasant part yet so there was still time for something terrible to happen. But nothing did. It was an almost boring day. The most exciting thing that happened was when a little kid ran face first into a display and knocked everything off the shelf but that was more funny than day ruining. As the day stretched on, and the sun had set hours ago, patrons slowly began shuffling out until it was just a few stragglers by the time you announced that the library would be closing soon.
When the place emptied, you sent Imani a weary look which she mirrored before she stood to begin the long, agonizing process of inventory. You sighed and opened the requests list on the computer. Periodically, Imani would text you a question or you would ask her what she thought of certain requests. She was a big reader, having dipped her toes in nearly every genre, and had a steel trap memory when it came to author names and book titles. Not to say you didn’t read but Imani was olympic level while you were closer to high school varsity. As the night stretched, you made yourself and Imani chai in the breakroom to keep at least some of the energy up. You both sat at the shitty, wobbly little table and sipped your mugs as you fucked around on your phones.
Dick: How’s work?
You: Lame as fuck. At least my cool coworker is here with me though. We’re taking 15 before we get back into it.
Dick: I see, I see. What is it exactly that you’re doing?
You groaned aloud and when Imani gave you a look you showed her the text.
She hummed and snickered before taking a drink of tea. You explained what exactly you were up to, leaving out no details. You didn’t have a lot else to do on your phone unless you wanted to play Tetris.
Dick: Jesus. That sounds fun.
You: Ha. It’s not.
The rest of the shift carried on about as slow as you expected. Imani texted you a picture of the last aisle of books with three exclamation points. You were almost finished ordering the extensive list of new titles, having completed sorting the ones that were going to be sold at the end of the month. Imani joined you at the desk as you placed the final order and fell back in your chair. You still had a few more things to do before you could leave but Imani didn’t need to wait around for you. You waved goodbye as she clocked out and got to work in the archives room. It was nearly 11 when you texted Dick you’d be done soon and it was almost 11:30 by the time you actually finished.
You locked up and headed out to see Dick—Nightwing, rather—leaning against his car with his arms crossed over his chest. You smiled as you approached and he leaned down to kiss you, planting his hands firmly on your waist to pull you tight against him. You laced your fingers behind his neck and hummed into his mouth. His lips were slightly chapped but he was so incredibly warm, like some kind of human shaped radiator. His hands roamed, sliding up your sides and back down to your ass as he slotted his lips snug against yours. You breathed a laugh when he kissed across your cheek but was barred entrance to your neck with a thick scarf in the way.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” you started, playing idly with his messy black hair. “Is the suit insulated? How are you not freezing in that… spandex?”
He scoffed. “It’s not spandex. It’s a tri-layered, fire-resistent, light-weight kevlar-nomex blend. Made to be flexible but still protect against-”
You put a finger to his lips. “Okay, nerd. It’s special. Got it.”
He huffed out a noise not unlike a kicked puppy and kissed you again, turning you to press you against his car. You gasped as he slid his hand under your jacket and shirt.
“What if someone sees?” You whispered, like there was some villain hiding just around the corner.
“I’m Nightwing, baby. Let ‘em see.”
You giggled as he opened the backseat and pushed you inside, following after you as you scooted back and he closed the door behind him. He helped you shuck your jacket off, stuffing it in the footwell before unbuttoning your jeans and slipping his fingers in your underwear. A gasp punched out of you when he touched your clit—a rasping touch with the texture of his gloves—and he kissed you again. You moaned into his mouth as his other hand slid under your top and pushed it and your sports bra out of the way. You maneuvered your scarf from around your neck and let it fall in a pile on top of your jacket so he could finally access the soft skin of your throat. He wasted no time, kissing his way over your cheek and down your jawline.
“It’s not enough,” he rumbled against your skin and pulled away.
“What is-” you started but he was tugging your shirt and bra up and over your head, tossing them into the front seat before yanking your jeans and underwear down your thighs in one swift motion only to be halted by your clunky boots with way too many buckles and laces. He groaned, staring at the intricate things with a pout and you grinned up at him.
“Hey, watch this,” you said and hooked your arms under your knees, pulling them towards your shoulders. “I borrowed a yoga video from the library just for you.”
He breathed out a giddy laugh and ducked himself between your legs, under the barrier of your pants trapped at your ankles.
“You’re so fucking pretty. I might die.”
“Hopefully not before you make me cum.”
“Never. Never before I make you cum.”
Your laugh was smothered with another searing kiss as his fingers slid up and down your cunt, swirling around your clit enough to make you whine before he slid inside and you huffed out a pleased sigh. He restarted his path from your lips to your neck, nipping at the hollow of your throat as he traveled down to your collarbones and left deep hickeys in his wake all while his fingers pumped slowly inside you. You tangled your hands in his hair, tugging when he’d brush that spot that made you see stars. The car windows were beginning to fog up and you were certain they’d be opaque by the time you finished.
“How’s that feel?” He said, words pressed against your jawline.
You moaned out something that might have been an affirmative but nodded just for good measure. You felt his smile on your throat before he latched on and sucked hard enough to make you cry out.
“Can I fuck you? Please say I can fuck you,” he begged and you nodded again, rapid bobs of your head as he drilled his fingers faster.
“Yeah, p-please,” you slurred and your hands slid from his neck when he sat back on his haunches.
Dick had said something the first night you had sex about doing it in a car. He was right. Car sex wasn’t very comfortable. Your head was jammed at an awkward angle from where you were leaning against the door. Your legs were seemingly everywhere, unable to find a place to rest them plus your pants were still trapped around your ankles. Dick, in all his humongous glory, was about as graceful as a polar bear in a dollhouse. Fumbling around, knee slipping off the seat and into the footwell as he attempted to find a reasonable position.
You laughed. You couldn’t help it and it didn’t matter if his eyes were hidden behind a mask, you could taste Dick’s fear.
“What’s wrong?” The panic in his voice squashed the levity but didn’t obliterate it.
“Nothing,” you reassured, cupping his cheek and struggling to hold yourself up on an elbow. “Just… You were right about car sex sucking.”
His shoulders drooped as the tension bled out of him like you’d struck an artery.
“Yeah, it does,” he replied, a cheeky grin sliding back into place. “I shoulda just taken you to my apartment.”
“You still can,” you said with a shrug. “GK isn’t waiting up for me or anything.”
“I’ll treat you properly in a minute. I wanna make you cum at least once before then. I didn’t get you naked for nothing.” He leaned over you to press a hungry kiss to your mouth. “You look like a proper teenage fantasy right now.”
“Oh? Me naked in the backseat of your car got you going back in high school?”
“Fuck yeah, it did. The boots were thigh high socks, of course, but I’m good at improvising.” He tried again to arrange himself so he could stick his cock in you but he was simply too big. He let out a frustrated noise between a whine and a grunt before he gave up. “Okay, fine. I’ll just be hard on the way home. I’m still making you cum.”
You were at a bit of a loss for words as you let your situation fully sink in. You were currently getting fingerblasted by the city’s own vigilante. Nightwing had his gloved hand in your junk. He also had you naked in his car. Never in your life had you even imagined this would happen. But there you were, steaming up his car and moaning at every touch. He was devious between your thighs, fingers crooked just right, thumb rubbing tight circles around your clit. You slung an arm around his neck and gripped the headrest like someone was trying to steal you.
“Nightwing,” you gasped and he groaned above you before smothering you in a ruthless kiss so sudden your teeth clacked together.
“Say it again,” he growled and nipped at your earlobe.
“Nightwing.”
A shuddering breath tickled your cheek and he kissed you again, swallowing every desperate mewl that spilled out of you. He picked up the pace, hard enough your head was bumping the window with every thrust. Dick had his free hand braced on the passenger seat and you gripped that and the backseat headrest in an attempt to stabilize yourself as best you could. You idly wondered if the car was rocking or if there was anyone nearby to witness the depravity happening inside it. Dick’s windows were tinted but not enough where you couldn’t see through at least a little. If there wasn’t visual evidence then there’d definitely be audible. You were moaning like a pornstar. Every few messy presses of his thick fingers, Dick would kiss you but those intermediate kisses weren’t enough to silence the desperate cries pouring out of you.
You felt it building, deliciously warm in your belly, and your thighs began to tremble and squeeze around his forearm. He sat back and pressed your knee to the side, staring down at where he was inside of you with his lips parted. His tongue darted out once to wet them as he looked up at you. Your chest heaved and rattled with each fast breath you took.
“Yeah?” He said, voice thin and raspy, like he was on the edge of an orgasm and not you.
You nodded, unable to form words with the way your lungs were working overtime. He moved faster, if that was even possible, and a bright cry peeled out of you. Your knee fought against his hold as your legs instinctively tried to clamp shut. A manic little smile spread on his face as you squeezed his fingers hard enough to crack the knuckles and came with a delirious string of moans.
“Oh, fuck,” he groaned and sped up. “One more.”
You gave him an incredulous look but didn’t protest. If he wanted to wear you out in the parking lot of the library, so be it. This was only the precursor. You didn’t know if you were thrilled or terrified of what he had planned when he got you back in his apartment. You watched him as he stared at your drooling cunt, eagerly sucking his fingers in, and decided that you were ecstatic for whatever came next, tonight and every night.
You were dating Nightwing. You felt invincible.
There was something almost boring about patrol that night. Dick had stopped a purse snatcher, busted a couple drug deals, and wrangled a few new leads out of some nameless thugs from said drug deals. It was a welcome change of pace but the irregularity of it put him on edge and was starting to make him antsy. Nothing ever slowed down. Not in Blüdhaven. Not for Nightwing.
He chased after a couple carjackers, watching as the stolen Toyota SUV zigged and zagged through the city’s gridlike streets before eventually ramming into a telephone pole and totaling the poor thing before he could get them to stop. He stayed to make sure the thieves had made it out unscathed and waited for the cops to show up for the arrest. He went and found the woman who’d been tossed out of the car and told her what happened before a series of gunshots rang out and he hopped on his bike to investigate. He found a couple of college students had gotten drunk and ‘borrowed’ one of their dad’s guns. He gave them a stern talking to and made sure they called the father and told him what happened. He was starting to feel more like a babysitter than a vigilante at that point.
Despite the strangely slow night, Dick was still zipping about town looking for the next skull to crack. There was something therapeutic about it, which definitely made him a freak for even thinking that, but it was what he was good at. A night without need for Nightwing simply didn’t exist, but here it was. Sprawling and quiet and… Safe didn’t feel like the right word but it was the only thing he could think of. He stopped at Azad’s Deli for a gyro around 1am and found a nice tall building to watch the city from as he ate.
He was midchew when Babs called.
“‘Sup,” he said around a big bite, a bit of onion hanging out of his mouth.
“Hey, I was wondering if you know anything about local Gotham politics,” she asked and he could hear fast clacks of her keyboard.
“Are you asking me for my help?” He teased after swallowing. “Is there something big bad Barbara Gordon doesn’t know?”
“I’m actually very familiar with all the city officials. Former Police Commissioner's daughter and all that,” she said, not even acknowledging the jab. “I’m looking for another angle. Something I… haven’t thought of.”
Dick hummed and tapped his finger on the side of his cup as he took a sip of iced tea, straw already a mangled mess between his teeth.
“Can I get something a little more specific?”
Barbara sighed like he’d just asked her to peel him a grape.
“What do you know about the new mayor?”
“Other than he’s a douchebag?”
“Other than he’s a douchebag.”
“Well, he’s kind of a womanizer. Very jealous of people with lots of money, despite also being a person with lots of money. I remember him telling me that he and Bruce were very close despite that just… not being true. I don’t think he realized who I was at the time.” Dick tilted his head back and stared up at the sky as he chewed the inside of his cheek. “Matter of fact, he claims he’s close with a lot of people. Oh, he has a private section of the golf course and a vacation home in the mountains. I think he likes to fish?”
“Good. This is good.” More typing. “What do you know about his wife?”
Dick hummed again just as his phone buzzed in his hand. He put Barbara on speaker as he checked the notification. You had texted him.
“Very boring woman. I think she’s cheating on him. Might be the most interesting thing about her.”
You: Hey lover boy
Dick grinned, halfway done with a response, when you sent a picture. He furrowed his brow as he processed what in the world he was looking at. You were sitting in a chair wearing underwear and the shirt you’d borrowed from him, but there was… Was that blood? There was blood on your face. The smile he’d been wearing dropped from his cheeks and shattered when he noticed the ropes.
You: Let’s have a little chat.
Babs might have been saying something, he wasn’t sure, but he gave her a clipped goodbye and abandoned his half eaten gyro on the roof as he made a beeline to GK’s house.
This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. This- You-
His thoughts raced and tangled as he tried to piece together what the fuck was going on. Did someone take you? Well, obviously. Unless you were into tying yourself up and hitting yourself repeatedly in the face.
Nothing he thought of made sense. It didn’t feel real. He had half convinced himself you were playing a prank on him before he made it to GK’s house and saw the front door busted in and hanging off its one good hinge. He drove right into the yard and didn’t bother kicking down the kickstand as he rushed into the house. It was a disaster. Upended furniture, smashed picture frames, cracked TV, and carpet stained. GK was slumped against the couch, blood streaking down her temple. Dick was beside her in an instant.
“G- Ma’am, are you alright?” He asked as she blinked herself into the waking world. Her gaze was unfocused and her glasses were missing. She pawed at his arm, a choked whimper in her throat.
“They took her. They took my chickadee,” she mumbled, eyelids fluttering. Dick tugged out his emergency first-aid kit and pressed a gauze pad to the side of her head.
“Who did?” He tried to keep the hysterics out of his tone but his hands quaked as they helped her sit up.
“Men. I don’t- they took her. I can’t-”
“It’s alright, just… stay here. I’ll call an ambulance.”
“Find her, Nightwing,” she cried and Dick felt his heart splitting in two. “Find my granddaughter.”
He helped her up onto the couch just as Sweetpea came out from hiding. His fur was standing on end, puffed up like a cotton ball. He climbed into GK’s lap and her hand automatically found its place on his back. Dick stood to check out the damage. This wasn’t a robbery. Nothing looked stolen, although it was hard to tell what with everything being out of place. Despite everything being in the wrong spot, something stuck out like a sore thumb. On the door—he’d rushed past it in his haste—was a note, pinned in place with a pocket knife.
Narrows Docks. Come alone. Your life for hers.
Dick felt himself boil with anger but there was no way in hell he would leave you there alone. He waited until the EMTs came to take care of GK and drove faster than he thought was possible to find you. He wasn’t sure what would happen next but one thing was guaranteed. They’d have to mop the guys who took you up off the floor when he was done with them. There wasn’t enough willpower in the world to stop him. He just hoped you knew he was coming.
<Prev // Next>
A/N: LOL get kidnapped idiot. Hard fucking left.
Sorry I'm late!!!! This writer's block is kicking my ass ugughhuhghuhhhh. The same kind of thing happened with my last series. Maybe I'll stick to finishing the story entirely before I start posting. Blah. I still like what I'm writing but I've gotten to the point where I'm sick of looking at it, yknow? Also been in a big Tim Drake mood lately. Love me some Dick (🤪) but Timothy Jackson Drake...... Whew!!!! I Will be finishing this story dw. I will not abandon you. But I think I'll take a break when I'm finished.
Also this is random but, despite all my detailing, I've never worked at a library. I have no clue if inventory is a thing that happens. I just wanted a reason for the reader to have to be at work late so Dick could pick her up. I don't know booty about diddly squat.
Tag list: @sunday-bug @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @chevelledahuman @intergalactic-padawan
You know what I've been thinking about???? Dick Grayson having a shotgun wedding in Vegas. Like they're just out and about on a little vacation, maybe even just in Southern California. And it's late, the weather is perfect, the lights are flashing, Dick is driving in a convertible that he couldn't dream of affording on a detective's salary but thank God for Daddy Warbucks. You just look so pretty in the moonlight as you're just staring out at the road, softly singing along to the "Road Trip Playlist" you created. Everything is just perfect as he pulls up to stop at a nice lookout spot with a perfect view of the ocean and the city. You notice he's staring, like a lot. Which usually means he wants to kiss you, or he's done something incredibly stupid. He would have kissed you by now if that's what he wanted, so you ask him to spill. And he says "I wanna marry you" which is not the concerning part because he says that all the time, so you chuckle and ask "when" as you always do, to which his USUAL reply is "when things settle down" or "when we're both ready" or cheekily "whenever you want" which makes you blush. No, tonight. Tonight, he says, "Right now." That breaks your attention away from the city lights. And as much as Dick jokes around, he never lies. So naturally, you ask, "Like RIGHT NOW, right now?" And he just smiles and says,"Yeah, right now, right now. " And then boom, yall are in the car off to Vegas. You play Marry You by Bruno Mars the whole way there, and you're both buzzing. Because even though it's sudden and spontaneous, neither of you need to ask, "Are you sure?" because you both knew it was bound to happen, so why not right now. You're excited to get a cute white dress and veil from the little boutique. You've got Elvis as your officiant, and the elderly receptionist is your flower girl. You don't even have any rings, but they sold some cheap ones at the boutique that you guys pick up. He gets you an engagement ring so big and gaudy you both can't help but laugh. It's short and sweet, just the two of you. You both can't stop giggling, trying to follow along with the lines but laughing too hard to get the words right. You do silly vows, nothing too deep or sentimental, like promising to give the last fry, or not hog the blanket at night. And when he kisses you, God, when he kisses you, it's like out of a movie. Definitely wouldn't be appropriate in front of a crowd of your closest friends and family. When he finally lets you go, you can't look Elvis in the eye. The receptionist is throwing petals, someone else recorded on their phone and send it to you. Dick carries you out bridal style and takes you back to the car. He has to run back inside, and you think maybe he left something, but instead he comes back out with a "just married" banner and those tincans on a string that hook up to the back of the car. It's hilarious and joyous and pretty insane, but also very two idiots in love coded. You pull up to another place with a honeymoon suit and it's to the nines. I'm talking red velvet walls and carpet, mirrors on the ceiling, giant heart shaped bed with animal print sheets, hot tub in the corner. Chocolate and roses and cheap champagne. It's a night to remember, of course. And when the trip ends, neither of you feel any regret or uncertainty in what you had done. You're back at the manor, trying to console the traditionalists that are Bruce and Alfred by saying you'll have a "real" wedding in the future. Everyone else are losing their minds watching the video, looking at the giant fake rock on your finger that you refuse to take off. Dick promises to get you a real one and you keep telling him there's no need. You both aren't too pressed about having a "real" wedding, but it seems that Bruce and Alfred are planning on being real bridezillas about it lol
Anyways, thought I'd share 😚
@herodedicatedblog
I love you and your beautiful mind! so your getting a big forehead kiss 😘 I tried to get a little bit of everything in there. You gave me so much to work with it was amazing. Also I don't know how I've managed it but this is only the second time I've written for Dick. Its crazy 😂 Please enjoy!
also little bit of warnings: Marriage (Obv), some smut, like the least amount possible, lightest P in V action. Its they're honeymoon they can't help it.
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Dick needed to do a “routine” check in with the titans. You called him a control freak like Bruce and he wouldn’t kiss you for an hour but then invited you to come with (and promised to drive down to Disneyland as well). You weren’t going to say no to a free roadtrip.
So there you were, driving the coastal highway from Jump City down to Los Angeles. Your hair was tangled but you had long given up trying to deal with it in the convertible. Dick had offered to put the roof up and you had denied him. How could you see and smell the ocean like that? This was much better.
You lean your head back slightly, eyes closing as you sing along too loud to the music you could barely hear over the wind. You jump slightly when Dicks hand finds your bare knee, pinky slipping just slightly under the hem of your shorts. You tip your head to look at him, grinning.
“C’mon, baby, sing with me!” you shout, hand curling around his bouncing it slightly against your knee. His head turns to you, eyes hidden by sunglasses but his carefree smile settles comfortably against your skin. His eyes return to the road, following the winding edge. You can’t hear him, or anything really, but you watch his lips move, mouthing the lyrics, with utmost glee.
A few miles later you spot a turn off with a beautiful view of the ocean. You tug at his hand pointing at it and the blinker for the car turns on seconds later, the sound of wind in your ears dying down. He pulls into one of the parking spots. There were only a few other people there, an older couple at the informational sign, kids running back and forth on the sidewalk getting the last of the energy before they had to climb back in the car. You step out of the convertible, stretching your legs and uselessly trying to untangle your hair.
Dick rounds the vehicle with startling speed and picks you up, a shriek escaping you as you cling to his shoulders, quickly followed by laughter when you're set on the sidewalk. Your hands curl together as he pushes his sunglasses up into his hair, his blue eyes finally on display for you. You bump shoulders as you walk over to the informational sign. One of the kids nearly runs into your hip, shouting a sorry, before he chases after the other. Dick wanders away as you read the sign, no doubt stretching and, based on the ooh’s and ah’s coming from the kids, giving a minor acrobatic show.
“Oh my goodness!” a woman with a baby on her hip appears beside you, “Is that your husband?”
You glance at Dick, doing a handstand on one of the parking beams. A smile breaks across your lips when he lands back on his feet, the little boys cheering, “He’s my boyfriend, but yeah.”
“Well, I think he’s the most entertaining thing they’ve seen this entire trip. Thank you for bringing him,” she huffs a laugh, readjusting the baby, “now if I could just get them to stay still for a photo…”
You meet her smile, “Oh, we can help with that.”
Dick keeps the kids eyes following him, as you take photos of the cute family. The mom thanks you both profusely before she shuffles all the kids back into the car. Soon you and Dick are the only ones on the out look. You step close to the fence, eyes on the ocean and setting sun. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath of ocean air. Dick’s arm soon curls around your waist, tugging you into him, hand shifting up and down your waist. You lay your head on his shoulder.
“Dick?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you,” you tell him simply because you can. His hand stills on your waist. You tip your head back up to find him staring down at you with a familiar look in his eyes, “What?”
He doesn’t hesitate, “Marry me.”
You laugh, twisting in his arms to curl your hands behind his neck. His hands settle on your hips tugging you close, “Yeah, hotshot? When?”
“When?” he breathes and you wait for the inevitable when the time is right, something you had accepted as likely never, because when would the time ever be right?
“Yeah, when?”
He’s quiet before he leans down to kiss you hard, a startled muffle leaving you. He pulls away and grins, “Marry me right now.”
You're still off kilter from the kiss but the words throw you even farther, “uhhhh.”
“I’m serious. You’re the love of my life and I keep telling you i’m going to marry you when the time is right and it's feeling pretty right right now.”
You lean far back in his arms, taking him and making sure there wasn't anything wrong with him, “you’re serious?”
“As ever. I love you so much it hurts. Let's put it on a piece of paper and announce it to the world. Marry me,” he grins at you.
You nod slowly, lips turning up, “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
You laugh in pure joy and jump to hug him. He picks you up, spinning you around. When he sets you down he adds, “I’m taking this as a yes.”
“Yes, it's a yes!” you slip from his grip to tug him by the hand to the car.
He laughs with you, letting you pull him along, “Where’re we going?”
“I don’t know, you're the driver,” you climb into your seat, bouncing slightly, “the nearest courthouse?”
“Lame!” He calls out as he starts the car. He backs up and then stops, eyes trained on the green distance to sign.
“Dick?” your eyes follow his line of sight, “Oh.”
“What do you think?” he asks, hand finding your knee again.
“That’s like six hours. Are you still gonna want to marry me by the time we make it there?”
“I’ve wanted to marry you for months. If I change my mind before then, you have every right to knock me out and lock me in the trunk.” He responds by putting the car into gear and pulling back onto the highway.
“You got a deal!” you answer with glee, settling into the long drive to Las Vegas.
*****
The lights of Vegas come into view a little after 1 am, Dick shaking you awake in the passenger seat, “Baby, wake up, we’re almost there.”
Thankfully, you had stopped in Los Angeles to put the convertible top back up, the wind growing cold as the sun went down. Dick voice is low, like the radio, but his words wake you up better than any coffee. Eyes trained on the lights in the middle of the desert.
Dicks hand finds your hand squeezing, “Would you do me a favor and find me a chapel?”
“Would I?” you murmur fond and excited, pulling your phone out and doing some searching quickly, finding a 24 hour chapel and setting the GPS. You hold his hand the entire time.
“Oh no, I need a dress!” you turn to Dick, worried for no reason.
“We’re gonna drive through the strip, yeah? We’ll pick something up for you.”
By the time you make it to the chapel, it's nearly 3 am. The dress you got was a little more skimpy than planned, you didn’t have rings and technically the marriage license bureau was closed.
“Don’t worry nothing about it, hun,” the woman at the chapel reassured you, “We have rings you can choose from as part of the package. We can do a commitment ceremony now and then you can go to the bureau at 8 when they open, bring it back here and we can fill it out like it happened then.”
“Is that legal?” Dick questions as he takes in the rings the woman had on the counter.
“Were you planning on contesting it in court?” she answered flatly.
Dick’s cheek’s pink as you laugh. He mumbles a “no.”
“You two are the soberest walk-in bride and groom we’ve had all day. Are you sure this is what you want?” she looks between you both. You and Dick meet each other's eyes, giddy and oh so in love. You can't imagine thinking you wouldn’t want this.
“It’s the surest thing I’ve ever done,” Dick answers her, eyes still trained on you.
The woman hums, “Cute. Pick your rings please and then we can do the ceremony. Any witnesses?”
“I’d ask if you were both eighteen again but it's too late for me to care much. I’ll witness and Elvis will witness.” she explains.
You and Dick fall into a ball of giggles. You hadn’t planned on the Elvis thing, but it made you both happy nonetheless. You pick out rings for each other, clearly cheap metal. You were both likely to have green fingers by morning.
The woman separates you and Dick, him disappearing into the chapel. She helps put a rented veil on your head. A bouquet of fake roses placed in your hands.
“Now I don’t usually offer this to walk-ins ‘cause they're usually drunk but would you like for Elvis to walk you down the aisle?” she asks as you straighten your dress.
You laugh again, giddy and thrown off before nodding, “Yes, please.”
Dick was going to lose his mind. The Elvis impersonated is by your side soon after, “My, oh my, we got ourselves a pretty lady.”
The mock accent makes you cackle as your hand hooks in his proofed elbow, “Thank you, Elvis.”
“No matter about it.”
The doors to the chapel open. The music plays and you’re led down the aisle. Dick laughs at the altar, eyes a little wet. You almost laugh again when you're handed off to him, a bow tie around his neck, despite actually wearing a loose button up.
The officiant starts his script. You don't really listen, busy wiping your eyes so you can see Dick clearly. He isn’t much better. Your names being said are the only thing that drag you to.
“...to be your husband?”
“I do.” you answer a little weepy. You hadn’t thought you’d be so tearful.
“... to be your wife?”
“I do.” Dick’s voice cracks, his knuckle coming to wipe at your cheek.
“I pronounce you, Husband and Wife. You may kiss the-”
Dick’s lips crash into yours wet and teary. His hand hooks behind you and you bend back with the force of his kiss. You laugh against his lips, kissing back.
And then you're standing straight and being ushered down the aisle, Elvis throwing flowers from a basket. You and Dick kiss again in the entry way laughing and crying together.
“You two are very cute together.” the woman coos. You're sure it wasn’t often she had patrons that were sober and in love, “Now remember, Marriage certificate in the morning. Bring it here. We’ll fill out the proper paperwork and we’ll have your photos and video ready.”
“There’s a video?” you ask, staying close by Dick as you pull off the veil.
“It's part of the package, hun,” She takes the borrowed veil and bouquet. “Okay, go have a crazy honeymoon.”
You laugh again at the absurdity, but Dick’s pulling you to the door as you shout, “Thank you!”
You find a nice hotel just off the strip, one with a surprisingly cheap honeymoon suite, making use of the ridiculously large tub in the room. Your thighs burn only slightly by the time the water's cold, but Dick doesn’t see it as much of a reason to get out. Not when he can touch your bare skin freely while you're in his lap, softened cock still inside you.
“You act like this is the first time we’ve had sex,” you murmur kiss his cheek as his hands grope gently as your waist, hips, and thighs.
“It is the first time we’re having sex… as husband and wife,” he replies with a smirk. His lips find your neck again, kissing marks he’s already left there.
“You know, technically-”
He groans into your neck, “Fine. We'll stay another night and we can christen the bed as husband and wife after breakfast and the marriage certificate stuff. Deal?”
You hum softly in thought, and lift your hips, almost teasingly. His breath hitches at your movement, “I guess, if you want to wait until then.”
Dick laughs against your skin as his hips rise to meet yours, already hardening inside of you again, “God, I love you.”
******
“They got married!” You hear the shout just as Dick opens the door to the manor. Steph’s voice reached across the manor. You grin at Dick, happy that he agreed on your plan to just text Cass as you were pulling into the driveway. It seems the spread of news has already begun.
“Who got married?” A follow up shout comes and it's soon chaos upstairs. You kiss Dick’s cheek before he's moving up the stairs, you moving towards the kitchen.
“Knock, knock,” you enter the kitchen, finding Alfred already working on dinner.
“Ah, miss. You must remind Master Dick that if he changes his schedule, he should inform the people that are not with him.” There’s a taut tone in his voice. You and Dick were supposed to be back two days ago, you're sure it messed with the grocery shopping.
“Sure thing Alfred. But it's kind of my fault. We had some very last minute changes.” you say subtly.
Bruce enters from the dining room. He gives you one of his charming smiles and a nod, “Had a good trip I hope. Did you happen to bring my son with you?”
“It was a great trip Bruce. Thanks for letting us use one of your cars.”
You slide onto one of the stoles at the bar of the island, setting your elbow on the counter and bringing your left hand up, resting your chin on it. Your new sparkly ring (which had actually just started to tarnish) on full display. You watch Bruce’s eyes catch it, even Alfred as he turns to set food out on the island, but neither of the men comment until Dick’s stepping into the kitchen, a cacophony behind him in the hall.
Dick sets his left hand on the counter as he kisses your cheek, “missed you sweetness. Hey Bruce. Alfred, smells amazing.”
“I think not, young man,” Alfred practically scolds. Dick tenses slightly, “Now you tell us honestly, what happened while you were gone?”
He pointedly stares at the band on Dick’s hand. He raises it to tug your hand next his.
“These wedding rings, Alfred. We got married.” Dick says proudly, happiness rolling off him.
“When did this happen?” Bruce asks firmly.
“Uhh,” you and Dick look at each other and you both attempt to answer.
“Three days ago.”
“four days- what do you mean three?”
“It was three.”
“It was four.”
“It was 3 in the morning the next day, so technically-”
“Technically, yeah, okay.”
“Three days ago,” you say together.
Bruce sighs as Alfred huffs, “3 in the morning what kind of-”
“Is this why you went to Vegas?" Bruce interrupts.
Dick’s hands find your shoulders, “Told you he was tracking us and yes. That is why we went to Vegas.”
“Now why on earth would you think well of going to Las Vegas of all places,” Alfred berates and all but drops a dish in the sink, startling you, “A proposal I would understand, by a wedding!”
You glance at Dick by your shoulder. You were starting to get the impression that Alfred wasn’t too happy, nor Bruce, based on his pinched brow.
“Son, I know that sometimes you like to be independent but I would have happily paid for your wedding.”
Dick noses against your temple with a grin, “I know, B, but If I didn’t marry her in that moment, I don't know that I ever would have the chance again.”
“That’s preposterous!” you try not to laugh at Alfred’s mild outrage, “You are in love. You two were always meant to get married and have a life together. You did not need to- to elope!
“Alfred, please!” Dick half begs half laughs. He’d never seen the old man upset of something that was ultimately his choice, and he chose to be a vigilante at the ripe age of 8 years old.
Bruce sighs heavily, “Was it really a wedding or just the ceremony? Maybe we could have a real ceremony here instead or wherever you’d like with all the works. Whatever you want.”
Bruce almost sounds like he’s begging. It makes you just a hint guilty, but then you and Dick look at each other and it vanishes.
“It was a real wedding,” Dick answers, clearly keeping the mishap with marriage license place out of the conversation, lest the debate about legality comes up, “and it was the most perfect wedding I could have asked for. The time was right. We weren’t going to wait.”
You smile dreamy at him, your husband, the perfect guy. You purse your lips in the urge for a kiss which he grants you politely.
“Perhaps a vow renewal then?” Alfred offers. Your head twists and you press your face to Dick’s shoulder as you laugh about their badgering.
“You let Elvis Presley walk your soon to be wife down the aisle?” you hear before you see Jason. Pure glee in his voice as the entire family present spills into the kitchen.
You pull back from Dick to catch a glance of the old camcorder you and Dick bought just to watch the video they gave you on tape. You punch Dick lightly in the stomach and he groans softly, “What?”
“You brought the video?” You can’t hide the embarrassment. As much as you were extremely happy with the wedding you can't say you were ready for everyone to see it. Mostly because you almost flashed the camera (the one you didn’t even know about) in your skimpy wedding dress when Dick dipped you and, upon watching it back, you’d found the way Dick had kissed was not really meant for public eyes.
“We got married. We have to show people sometime.” He murmurs
Steph screeches, “Now that's a wedding dress.” Followed by whistle.
“Elvis Presley!” You and Dick finally break down at Alfred’s offended tone.
VICTIM #1 : jason peter todd. you saw him, you wanted him. quiet boy in the back of the library, too built for a guy with his nose shoved in a battered copy of jane eyre. he thought he knew girls like you, the same shaking tactic worked every time. not this time, you weren’t the girls who tried to win him over with batted lashes. you just had a stronger will than them.
WATCH OUT .ᐟ smut, MANEATER!READER, glasses!jason todd, booksmart!jason todd, he thinks he’s capable of resisting maneater!reader but noooo, riding, marking, thighsman!jason, he also low-key is a tits man, reader chews bubble gum, rich!reader, munch!jason, shy!jason, yes, reader is a player but she really wants jay, body rolls because we all have them and this is size-inclusive, we’re not all skinny bitches, phone sex??? kinda, dirty talk, switch!jay, canonically bi!reader, genius!literate!reader, she's smart, y'all, chance encounters, jason really wants that cookie, glasses kink (reader’s side), panties kink!jason, m.masturbation, seduction, shameless!reader, he quickly becomes obsessed with reader in a sexy way, dw, whimperer!jason, we love a reader who’s a bad person
ADDITIONALS : bad girls (m.i.a)
The librarian took an eyeful of your ass when you walked in. She was on the phone with her loving boyfriend.
You didn't mind one bit. You'd come in for a copy of Sense and Sensibility so you could scoff at the characters, but it wasn't like you'd dress for the occasion. Even if you stuck out like a sore thumb in tiny denim shorts.
The library was pretty much a hunting ground. More often than not you found the best fuck from the boys and girls with their heads in a book. Bars had been filled with men who think they're more well endowed than they are, but the three inch dicks spoke for themselves.
A nerd you had sex with last week sidled up to you, rubbing the back of his neck. The vomit green sweater he had on almost made you retch. Some guys had such terrible fashion choices. "Hey." He murmured, side-glancing you, your nose almost wrinkled. "Remember me? You said you'd call me."
You almost laughed. "I did, didn't I? I guess the bad sex just put me off."
"You said it was amazing." He mumbled, his face flushing. You didn't miss his glance to your tits.
You actually laughed this time, snapping your fingers in his face. "Eyes up here." You smirked, looking him over. Your hand ran down the coarse fibres of his sweater. "Practice how to fuck a girl, then I'll call you." A six foot two hunk of something walked through the shelves behind the guy you were currently talking to.
This guy had your attention. He'd settled himself at a table with Jane Eyre, pushing his glasses up his nose as he opened the book, perusing the front page. Huh. Graphic tee, leather jacket, worn jeans and this guy was musing over a classic.
Your eyes swept him, the lip bite was involuntary but he just triggered that. His jaw was begging for some purple marks, you could lick up that popping vein in his neck. Leather creaked and strained against his biceps— mm, what you wouldn't give to ride those. The pretty flush on his cheeks, they'd bloom a deep scarlet when you get him under you. Not if, when.
Who's this? And did he know he was making your panties wet?
"Bitch." The guy beside you — Mark, or something boring like that — grunted as he walked off.
"This bitch made you call her mommy." You clapped back, eyes still on the fine man across the room. His lips were rosy, you just knew this man ate pussy.
Your heels thunked on the carpet as you strutted over. "Have we met before?" You asked, drawing his attention away from the book. "Could've sworn I've seen you from somewhere." Yeah, the line was overused. That was the point.
"Uh, no, we haven't." Jason replied awkwardly, even more so as your palms rested on the table. He got a full view of you. Your skin had the glow of body oil, your gloss put a magnifying glass to your lips, crisp eyeliner, sunglasses perched on your head — who the fuck wore those to be indoors — chain dangling from your neck. Following the metal led to a clear view of your chest hidden by the lace of a bra peeking over a leopard print cami. You looked like you'd walked out of a Y2K magazine, like all the girls who’d shoved their tits in his face. He wasn’t dealing with that again. "Can I... help you with something?" He had pretty eyes. Where does a man get off, having those eyes?
You pointed to the book about American history beside him. “Can you pass me that?” Of all the god-awful flirting tactics that usually worked, it didn’t this time. He just muttered “sure” and passed you the book, going back to Jane Eyre.
What the fuck? How thick was his skull?
You walked out with frustration bubbling under heated skin. That was the first time a man didn’t stutter at the sight of you. He’d just acted like a book was more interesting than your lips. Fuck him for being that sexy and playing hard to get.
You’d missed his flush when his eyes fixed on your thighs as you exited.
Your stupid Carerra Cabriolet had broken down on the side of the road, when it was fucking boiling out. At least you’d chosen another tank today, it made things a little easier for you when you had your tools out, bent under the bonnet of the car, trying to figure out the problem.
The roar of a bike almost deafened you, until it stopped right beside you. Your eyes locked on faded Levis, biker boots, but those arms were unmistakeable. The tip of your tongue traced the outline of your canine, lips stretching the longer you recognised that build, those god-gifted hands that were tracing the pages of a book just a few days ago.
Would you look at that. The library hottie.
He lifted his helmet off, ruffling his flattened hair so it’d stick up. The black fell in front of mossy green eyes, which took you in. You were the same girl from the library, the one who he accidentally checked out when you walked away. The sun kissed your thighs from its perch in the sky, his gaze trailed up, up, tracing, memorising the black lace of panties peeking above the waistband of your shorts like they did again with your tank top. You seemed to be a fan of that. Your chest rose and fell with every laboured breath. He caught the tongue tracing your canine. Maybe he shouldn’t have stopped.
“Car trouble?” He asked, hooking his helmet on the handlebars of his bike. “That’s some great luck, in this heat.” His eyes followed a bead of sweat trailing down your neck. His tongue ached— fuck, why was it doing that?
“I sure am lucky.” You replied, velvet voice making something in his fingers twitch. And somewhere else that he wouldn’t mention right now. “D’you know your way around cars? I could use some help here.”
He should say no. He should say he didn’t know shit then drive off in his bike, but he wasn’t a liar and he wasn’t gonna strand you out here in high heats. So, yeah, he took his swelteringly hot jacket off — fashion over comfort if he wasn’t Red Hood — slinging it over your car’s trunk. “Yeah. Yeah, I can help.” He was so going to regret this.
Your eyes were still on him. The black highlighting your eyes only making warmth creep up his spine and making its way to his ears, but you didn’t budge. You just stared. His hands hovered by either sides of your waist, eyes tracing the curves, the rolls of your stomach as you bent a little towards him. A soft “fuck” was at the tip of his tongue.
His hands gripped your waist, moving you gently— shit, the callouses on his hands. They were rough on your skin; you weren’t afraid to somehow into that. Maybe all the men who overuse hand cream sensitised you to the guys who actually used their hands. “Sorry, can I just…”
He was keeping talking to a minimum. It made you smile, especially as his black tank brushed your back and his fingers pressed into the skin where your tank rode up. “Sorry.” He mumbled again, looking under the bonnet. His eyes caught the spark plug. “Here.” He gestured to your spark plug. “You’ve got a worn spark plug. Got a spare?”
“Yeah, I do.” You bent down, you felt his eyes slide over your ass, greedy, and down your legs, stopping at your high-heeled boots. Ripping his eyes away from you as you stood up, crisp wing striking again. He didn’t miss the glint in your irises when he took the plug from you, manicured nails scraping his fingers. His soft muttered “thanks” punctuated the replacement of the spark plug, and without another word, he backed off to his bike. Hoping to get away before his brain betrayed him.
“Can I get your number?” Your voice stopped him in his tracks. He tried not to look at your lips, your moving jaw as you chewed on spearmint gum that burned the back of his throat. “In case this kinda thing happens again. I could use a guy who’s good with his hands.” You really would use him.
“I, um, ok.” He swallowed, putting out his hand for your phone. You gave it to him, the freakishly soft pads of your fingers caressing his knuckles this time. He was fucked. But he keyed in his phone number, pressing the ‘save contact’ button and giving it back to you. You read the contact name.
“Jason.” His name slid over your tongue, through his veins, straight to his dick. What was it about you? He swore he was better than this. “Can finally put a name to the face.”
“Yeah, well, I can’t.” He regretted that as soon as it left his mouth. Now he couldn’t avoid making a connection, treating you like you actually meant something in his life. If he let you mean something, you’d distract him, he knew your type.
Oh, he didn’t know shit about you.
Your laugh shot up his spine, your name rang a million times in his brain when you gave it. It rang in the daydream of you on top of him, clothed pussy moving slow, languid, over his cock. It rang every time he moaned your name in that fucked up image. He— he had to stop that. Now. “See you.” He almost tripped over his words, swinging a leg to mount his bike. Your smile was fresh in his head. Your tongue, your teeth that and caught your bottom lip as you watched him drive away.
You’d have him. One way or another.
Your name lit up his phone one random Friday afternoon. A text, a simple one. Your shower stopped working suddenly and you needed his help.
“M’not a fucking plumber,” He muttered, but it was pathetic how quickly he stood up and got his jacket on. Pathetic was how fast his index hooked his keys like he was, line and sinker. Maybe he was your plumber. And mechanic. He could be anything you wanted him to be.
This was either the start of a really bad joke, or highly erotic pornography.
He hesitated before knocking on your door. Ignoring how he’d spent the last five minutes driving above the speed limit. Denial was one of five stages of grief, or its distant cousin: horniness.
He waited. One minute second, two minutes seconds, three— the door swung open.
A silk robe was wrapped around your body. Tied in a knot. Damp hair plastered to your cheeks, valley of your tits covered with cascading droplets that disappeared down the V of the fabric. Very… flimsy fabric that was covering you. Barely. Your no-gloss smile still stole his gaze. How were your lashes curled with no mascara? Your leg peeked out from beneath the silk. His breath hitched. His face flushed. “You came.” You purred.
“You called.” He replied stiffly, stepping in. Kicking off his shoes by the door. Your apartment was… luxurious, but he wasn’t expecting less. He was almost expecting a brothel. But that was stereotyping, he wasn’t a big fan of that. “So, your shower just stopped working?”
“Out of the blue.”
“What makes you think I know how to fix it?”
“A hunch.” The grin you had on made him feel like he ate shit. The defeatist sigh was his white flag.
“Your hunch would be right.” You notched the win on your robe’s belt. You watched his ass as he disappeared into your bathroom. Bingo.
It wasn’t like you were lying about the shower, it had stopped right before you were about to put on a hair mask. It just gave you a very good excuse to call your pet project over.
“Looks like it’s a pipe issue, I got it.” He called over his shoulder. This bathtub was bigger than his single bed. But then again it attested to the difference between la bourgeoisie and la pété thune. Draped over a radiator was your loungewear. Tiny things— rib-knit cami, sleep shorts that probably stopped just short of your ass, matching white panties. In a row, right there.
The panties caught his eye. They were soft, lace at the trim, satin otherwise, fuckin’ gorgeous. You wore those. Just to sleep, you wore those. What the fuck. Why the fuck. Why the fuck was his mouth watering? His tongue heavy? Aching? Begging to circle your clit over the fabric with his tongue just so he could watch the fabric dampen, drench, cling to your cunt? He had to get out of here. Drive off. Start a new life, maybe crash at Dick’s place in Blüdhaven. He’d be safer there.
He found the pipe problem. He fixed it, it was backed up. The panties called his name; since when was he susceptible to that?
“Those were a gift from Victoria’s Secret.” He hadn’t noticed his gaze was fixed on the white fabric draped on the radiator. It snapped back to you. You were leaning against the doorframe, tongue back on your canine. Now that he looked again, he realised it was pointy, like a vampire.
Now that he looked again, he wanted it to drag up his neck.
He looked back at the panties, back to you, tripping over his tongue. “I—I didn’t mean to—” He still stood up, ready to plead guilty and for forgiveness, but your hum stopped his train of thoughts.
You pointed at the panties, tilting your head. “You can keep those.” His brain almost short-circuited. Huh? “I don’t mind.” This was… if you were sane, you’d kick him out. Scream. Maybe get a restraining order.
“I—” Words caught in his throat, “you—”
“Keep them.” You insisted softly, picking up the panties, finger hooking into his belt loops. A sharp tug brought him close, too close for his dick to be comfortable in his jeans. Your fingers slipped into his front pocket of his Levis, tucking the satin panties into them. Never breaking eye contact. Your spearmint breath fanning across his lips. “Never gave you a proper thank you. For saving me twice.”
“You don’t need to do that.” He almost leaned in himself. To get a taste of whatever was on your tongue, to satiate himself while he didn’t have access to your pussy.
Your lips tugged. Into a smile that burned his insides. “Sure?”
“No.” He breathed, and his whole body melted before your lips even captured his. More like devoured. That was a better word for the nasty smack of lips on lips and how your nails carded into his hair. How you pushed your saliva into his mouth with your tongue, forcing his lips apart with a sharp tug to the hair at his nape.
He couldn’t stop the moan. The whine. His hands helplessly grabbed at your thighs, silk bunching up, itching to undo the robe, lips attaching to your jugular, sloppy, open-mouthed, greedy kisses stamped onto your skin.
You got him.
You’d got him, but you pulled him off your neck by the collar of his shirt. “Another time, sweetie.” His head followed the drag of your finger down his jaw, pressing into your finger as it trailed down his chest. “Gotta finish my shower.”
“When?” He rasped, pupils blown. Dick hard. Breath laboured after you pulled all the oxygen he had from his lungs.
You paused, pouting as you mused. “I’ll call you.”
Fuck.
He wished it was you riding him. He had to settle for your panties instead.
The fabric was soft against his palms, even more so against his dick as he fisted it. This wasn't even a measured affair, his sweats were haphazardly pulled down so the waistband collected around his upper thigh. Same went for his boxers, sheets only covering him from the knees down. Everything was silent, too still, save for his frantic breaths, whimpers and faint thwaps of his hand moving up and down his cock.
He needed your cunt to drag up his dick and make it wet, he needed your pussy to suck in his dick, to use it, use him, he needed your mouth by his ear telling him how good he made you feel. He was incomplete without it.
"Fuck, ma, please," He didn't know why he was begging, when you couldn't hear him. You were in your apartment, you couldn't hear him calling out your name to God knows who. Maybe worshipping at your altar was enough to grant him permission to, y'know, come.
Some sick part of him wanted to call you up. Ask you whether he could finally have an orgasm he'd been chasing for the last thirty minutes, it was a twisted thought, but his hand scrambled for his phone on his bedside table. Almost knocking it over amidst his moans.
He’d put you on speed dial at some point. He’d blacked out when he did, apparently, he couldn’t remember when. Sometime between fantasising you on top of him and picturing eating your pussy. The two weren’t mutually exclusive.
His thumb frantically tapped on the green button, knowing it was an ungodly hour of the morning. Knowing you said you’d call him when you wanted to fuck. He just wasn’t pressed to wait.
But you knew it’d happen. You’d been ticking off the hours in your head, laying on your king-size, for when this six-two hunk of a man would crack and call you, desperate for your permission. You’d played the waiting game before.
So you waited again.
Let the phone ring for ten seconds, really dragging it out, letting him delay himself that tiny bit more for an ego trip. He stared at your caller ID the longer his moans grew louder. His hand slowed down because he hadn’t heard your voice yet, he hadn’t asked you—
“Hello?” Your voice, sickly sweet, rang out from the phone. He put you off speaker, slamming the phone to his ear, so close, so ready, whining into the microphone. Your lips curled on the other end.
You could only hear his breathing. His paced up puffs of breath punctuated by needy whines which had your panties soaking through. Gosh, this really was something. “Speak up, Jason.” You sing-songed, prompting a low groan from him.
“Need t’come, ma.” He couldn’t recognise his own voice. Raspy, hoarse, from all the broken sounds he’d been letting out for god knows how long. “Can I—? Please — shiiiit — please lemme, m’so close.”
Your laugh was taunting. It only shot a shiver up his spine. “Oh, Jay,” He could practically hear your smirk through the phone, “you really need my pussy, huh?”
“Fuck, yeah, I do.” He nodded frantically, hand picking up the pace around his cock. Satin dragging against his skin. “Wanna — haah— feel that fuckin’ pussy around my cock, wanna— wanna taste it, m’gonna eat you so good, ma—”
Huh. You’d managed to break this guy in a matter of a week, an incredible feat, even for your standards. Here he was, babbling about going down on you. Your index crept down to circle your clit over your shorts. Your long sigh soothed his ear. “Mhm, Jay, I know, baby— come f’me?” The sugar talking earned you a deep moan from the other end, the shallow breaths and whimper of your name telling you he’d definitely come. His head thudded back against the pillows, covering his dick with your panties so they caught every thick rope of come. He felt so dirty. “Sounded so good, sweetie." That made it feel better. Less pervy.
There was a pause as he caught his breath and composure. “Fuck, ma, when m’I gonna see you?”
You'd never felt like this before.
Jason's tongue dragged over your cunt, almost folding you in half in the effort to make your thighs clamp around his head. His face was buried in your pussy, slurping whatever you had to give him, so much so that saliva mixed with your dripping arousal. He was moaning, moaning, against your clit, bumping it with his nose.
He was too fucked out to be methodical. Too fucked out from fucking his fist with your satin panties for a week when "I'll call you" was a long time coming. You'd finally told him to come over, after seven tortuous days.
He'd narrowly avoided getting a speeding ticket.
He rolled his hips, humping the bed so his dick would get some friction, pads of his fingers sure-fire bruising your skin, they'd be visible for days. You'd be walking around with his fingerprints blooming just under the hem of your shorts. That was hot.
Obscene slurping sounds had you gripping his hair harder as his thumb flicked and teased your clit, two fingers filling you up. "Oh, shiit, Jay," Your eyes rolled back at the intrusion. You were keeping him, for sure.
His fingers were long. Thick. Crooked from being broken one too many times. They instantly brushed your g-spot, he curled them just right, you couldn't help the moan that came when his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked. Stacking one thing on top of another so he could make you feel as good as he did over the phone.
"Look at this—" He stopped to whine against your pussy, vibrations sending your head knocking back against your headboard, "this pretty fuckin' pussy, huh?" He was just babbling at this point, trailing off into incoherence the longer he licked you clean. "Kept me waiting so long, ma, jus' wanna make you feel good."
He'd never felt this bliss before.
Your clit dragged on the base of his cock every time you lifted yourself up and dropped back down. Hard slaps of skin on skin was the soundtrack to Jason grabbing your thighs in a frenzy, pupils blown, unable to look away while letting out the most lascivious moans you'd ever heard in your life as his glasses tilted with every bounce of you on his cock.
This was either the start of a really bad joke or highly erotic pornography.
That question got answered real quick.
He propped himself up, to be able to fuck up into you but also kiss the tits that had been taunting him for ages, sucking your nipple into his mouth like it owed him rent. You couldn't help the grab onto the strands of his hair that desperately needed a trim as he sucked insistently, one hand sliding between your thighs so he could rub his name onto your clit with two fingers. You'd spelled out your name in hickeys that spanned his neck and chest. Lipstick prints spanned his jaw and scarlet smeared over his lips.
His green eyes were desperate, looking up at you. "Fuuuck, ma, s'good," He mumbled incoherently, releasing your tits with a slick pop to run aimless kisses over your neck, "s'warm, feels fuckin'—" The smacks of his hips against yours, the smacks of his lips on your skin, they sent you barrelling to a new high.
Your hand messed up his hair, other leaving red trails across his back. Scarlet that any girl would look at and realise that this man belonged to someone. If they didn't get the hint from the smudged lipstick and hickeys. "Yeah, Jay, you're so good, huh?" You praised, his hips picked up the pace. Your head tilted back, clamping down on him, he swore into the crook of your neck. "I'm— m'coming, baby, come with me, yeah?"
"Uh-huh — shit, I — haah —" It was a wave submerging him that reached you too. A cry of each other's names that would end up with a noise complaint at your door the next morning, considering the headboard had been knocking the wall for the past two hours. He'd come inside you, warmth filling you till you felt it in your throat, hand stroking his hair as his breath shuddered against your neck. You were keeping him, for sure.
He lifted his head from your neck, you reached out to wipe the sweat from his flushed temple. His head followed your hand like it held his will to live.
"You were already planning on getting drunk enough to die."
Creep VIII
Summary:
Pairing: Nightwing/F!Reader (2nd person POV)
WC: 7,754
TW: Alcohol abuse, suicidal ideation, negative self worth
A/N: This one is lowkey kinda sad
Chapter 8: I Might Be Wrong
Table of Contents
<Prev // Next>
The next few days were… weird. Not because anything had happened—not counting finding out your maybe-kinda-not-really boyfriend was Blüdhaven’s very own vigilante, Nightwing—but mostly just because you were too shocked to do much of anything. It wasn’t like you could tell someone what happened, what you figured out. You trusted GK and Hazel and Syd but this was more than trust. This was a secret identity. You’d had to keep secrets before but they were never as monumental. This was uncharted territory for you. This was territory you never imagined yourself ever encountering.
All of this had coalesced into you not ignoring Dick, per se, but keeping your interactions at a minimum. You hadn’t seen him since the mall incident but, given how often you’d been seeing each other lately, you knew it was only a matter of time before he wanted to meet up again and, despite your best efforts, every excuse you practiced sounded flimsier than your old phone. You’d finally gotten a new one. Still a clam shell, much to Hazel’s chagrin, but with a few more bells and whistles than before. Now you could take pictures! Hazel had called you a loser for getting excited about that.
Dick had apologized for flaking on the movie date and promised to take you out for dinner or something but you kept rescheduling. You weren’t sure you could face him, knowing what you knew. Just the thought of seeing him made your whole body vibrate with nervous energy. You felt like a jackass but what else were you supposed to do?
Great dinner! By the way, I know you’re Nightwing and it’s kinda freaking me out. Aren’t the cocktails here delicious?
Yeah. No.
You sighed as you stared down at his last messages to you.
Dick: Is there a reason why things keep falling through?
Dick: If I did something, please just tell me.
You were close to tears just looking at his texts. You were easily the worst maybe-kinda-not-really girlfriend ever. The next decision you’d come to would be a shitty one but you had to give yourself some credit; you had thought about being mature and talking things through with him. Coming clean and being honest. But your insecurities were strong. What if you told him you knew he was Nightwing and he flipped out on you? Obviously he didn’t want you to know. So that meant he didn’t think this relationship was going anywhere. Obviously you were just some quick thing before he started dating Starfire again. And why wouldn’t he? She was a total babe.
In the end, predictably, you took solace in the bottom of a bottle. Hazel had convinced you out of the house when you started acting cagey and by some stroke of luck you managed to wrangle Syd into the whole disaster as well. You were going to a bar. Technically, you were going to a club but potato, potahto. Hazel had come to pick you up, saying ‘there’s no way you’re driving home when I’m finished with you.’ Which was more than a little terrifying but if Hazel was buying, you weren’t going to say no.
Since you were feeling like complete dogshit, you used the tried and true method of dolling yourself up to get motivated to go. It wasn’t like you were going to skip, Hazel simply wouldn’t allow that, but you could at least feel cute while you were drowning yourself in alcohol. You went all out on the makeup, thick eyeliner, heavy mascara, and a deep purple lip to go along with your bold outfit choice. It was fairly cold but you figured once you got a little booze in your system, you’d warm up nicely, so you went with a tube top and leather mini skirt with fishnets and a thick denim jacket on top paired with a pair of platform boots you struggled to walk in. Why not make things harder for yourself? You were already planning on getting drunk enough to die. What were a few more bumps in the road? Hazel picked you up in her lipstick red BMW, blasting Kesha over the booming subwoofers.
“Get in, slut!” She hollered and you rolled your eyes as you climbed in.
You hadn’t even buckled before she was peeling down the street, singing along, loudly and off-key, to ‘Your Love Is My Drug’ and tossing her teased amber hair around. Despite all of Hazel’s flaws, it was hard to not get excited around her. Her personality was infectious in a way that could turn even the loneliest of nights into a party. Hazel had never truly left her party girl lifestyle behind from her college days and, if the glittery pink nail polish and skin-tight neon yellow cocktail dress were anything to go by, she was definitely feeling her past self tonight.
You leaned your head against the window which buzzed with the bass and watched the city lights zip past like streaks of paint. This was a dumb idea, wasn’t it? It wasn’t anything new, really. You got drunk all the time but you were breaking your rule of getting drunk in public. You sighed through your nose and watched your breath fog the glass before wiping it away with your thumb. It wouldn’t be a big deal. You were out with friends. They wouldn’t let you do anything too stupid. You hoped.
It was a Friday night and the club couldn’t have been more packed. The line to get in wrapped around the block but Hazel ‘knew a guy’ and promised she could get you past the line. You told her you didn’t believe her and that you should just find somewhere else to go but she was adamant and there was no stopping Hazel when she had her mind set on something. After finding some place to park, you and Hazel met up with Syd who was already waiting. Hazel grabbed his arm and hauled him after her, ignoring the spluttering complaints he shouted as she marched up to the front. In real time, you watched as the bouncer’s face lit up when he saw Hazel and then the three of you were being ushered inside. You and Syd looked at each other with twin expressions of impressed disbelief before Hazel continued to tug you further inside towards an unoccupied booth.
“You two sit there and look cute. I’ll look even cuter and get us drinks,” Hazel chirped as she tugged the front of her dress down a bit to let her tits spill out that much more before sashaying away with an almost unnatural sway in her hips.
You blew out a sigh and deflated next to Syd. He looked cool. He was wearing a cropped mesh tank top, a studded leather jacket, and baggy black jeans with rivets up the side. He had full raccoon eyes going on and had gelled his mullet back, leaving little black ringlets to curl under his jaw. He had safety pins in his ears. You felt a little underdressed next to him. Syd gave you a small smile when he caught you staring and you returned it, albeit far more weary.
“I like your tattoo,” you said in his ear over the music, pointing down to the cybersigilism branches he had over his top surgery scars.
“Thanks,” he grinned, staring down and brandishing his chest to you.
A long moment of just the booming speakers and crowd noise before you said; “This is stupid. Being here is stupid.”
Syd frowned. “Why?”
You shrugged. “I dunno. I just feel-”
“Drinks are here!” Hazel whooped and set down a tray of selections. “Bartender knows me and hooked me up. I had sex with him once. Okay, it was a couple times.”
“Okay,” you said on a breath as you grabbed a shot of some clear liquor. “What’s- actually. I don’t care.”
You threw it back and a full body shiver wracked you. Tequila. Despite being a functioning alcoholic, straight hard liquor still disgusted you and you would gag like a bitch every time. You were progressively getting more used to it but you knew you still had a few more years before it would stop bothering you. Aging taste buds and all that. You grabbed another shot and downed it before picking up something fruity looking and sipping it as a chaser. Some kind of margarita with a sugary rim. When you reached for a third shot, Syd grabbed your shoulder.
“Maybe you should slow down. We just got here,” he reasoned, sipping a gin and tonic with a creased brow.
You shook your head. “I wanna dance. Gotta do this. ‘Sides, I pregamed before I got here. I’ll be blasted in a minute.”
That didn’t seem to make Syd feel any better if his deep frown was anything to go by but you found yourself losing fucks at a rapid rate and you needed to just move. You slammed the shot, finished the marg, and grabbed Hazel’s hand before tossing a look over your shoulder to Syd.
He held up a hand. “I’ll keep our spot. Go have fun.”
Hazel giggled as she tugged you onto the dancefloor. You could feel the bass thrumming on your feet even through the thick platforms you had on. The beat nearly serenaded you, pulling at your hips and arms like an insistent lover. Every twirl, every shake, every breath was dedicated to the music surrounding you like mountain air. Crisp and muddled all at once. Enough to make you forget where and who you were. You felt in tune with the rhythm like your heart was matching the tempo.
You loved dancing while drunk. It was a sensation unlike any other and there, in the club, you could feel the music in your blood, flying through your veins and swimming in your brain like some kind of parasite. You might as well have been alone. The song felt dedicated to you like it wanted more. Show me. Show me who you are, it said. It begged. And you listened. You obliged. Throwing your very soul out of you as you let the music carry you like a wave out to sea. You felt yourself floating away from it all. Everything lost shape and meaning until you could taste the rhythm on your tongue and feel it on your skin.
Hazel was pressed against you—your tether—laughing in your ear, grinning against your neck. She pulled you side to side, a director in the symphonic cacophony. You giggled when she shouted something but you couldn’t actually hear what she said, only saw her wide smile and the little gap between her teeth. You nodded along as she spoke again then she was pulling you out, back to the table, where she left you with Syd, sweaty and steaming.
“Have a good time?” He asked in your ear.
All you could manage was a nod, chest now heaving overtime as your body caught up with your brain. He offered you a glass of water, which you downed, before Hazel returned with even more booze. You had half a mind to ask what kind of sex god she was to be getting this many drinks this quickly but you decided you didn’t actually give a shit and swallowed down another shot of tequila. Then another. Five shots deep and you couldn’t have been there longer than an hour or so. Whatever. This had been the plan, hadn’t it? Get wasted so you wouldn’t have to think about how Dick Grayson was Nightwing.
Holy shit. Dick Grayson was Nightwing.
The realization came back to you like a punch to the gut and you let your head fall back, heavy and loose on your shoulders, as you let out a groan that neared a wail before it tapered off into a whimper. Hazel laughed like a hyena as she squished herself against you.
“Now, what was that for?” She cooed in your ear and kissed the hinge of your jaw. Hazel always got a little gay when she was drunk. You paid her no mind. Syd, however, also leaned against you, keen to know why you were moaning like a ghost in the club.
You glanced at each of them before pressing the heels of your palms to your eyes and mumbling out, only just audible; “It’s Dick.”
Hazel sputtered an ecstatic laugh and wormed her arms around your waist while Syd leaned an elbow on the table to look at you better. They both stared expectantly and you struggled to come up with some kind of believable lie. You pouted at them for a moment as your mind sluggishly scrambled.
Eventually, you settled on; “He stood me up on our last date.”
Even in your drunken state, your mind ferociously protected his secret. You prayed you’d be able to keep up the charade.
Hazel gasped, exaggerated yet genuinely affronted, with a hand pressed to her chest and Syd shook his head as his lips pulled to the side and he clicked his tongue.
“That fucker!” Hazel squawked, brows low over her bright blue eyes that glimmered in the strobe lights. The display flashed red and everything started to look sexy and ominous all at once. “I’ll beat him to death!”
Syd’s eyes widened. He had only met Hazel once or twice and you could tell the outburst was alarming him. You squeezed his bicep and gave him what you hoped was a reassuring look.
“That’s isn’t necessary, Haze,” you slurred, movements jerky as you laced your fingers with hers before grabbing another shot off the tray. Sure, you needed to tread lightly given the direction of conversation but you also needed to be drunker if you were going to talk about this. “Yeah, he said some bullshit about traffic even though I saw him!”
Oops. Not information you meant to give.
Hazel gasped again but you intervened before she had the chance to say something.
“He had walked in and then, did you hear about that robbery? At the mall? Yeah, same day. He walked in, shots went off, and he left. Left! Can you believe that?”
“But he seemed so… I dunno… Macho,” Hazel said, tilting her head side to side, like the problem was a physical thing in front of her. “He didn’t see you?”
You shook your head and took another shot. Syd gave you a worried look that you ignored.
Hazel made a shrill little chirp and grabbed your forearm with both hands, sounding oddly excited when she said; “He’s cheating on you!”
“What?” You frowned but your brain latched onto that. Was he? No, he was Nightwing. But… What if…? “That’s- that’s ridiculous.”
Your words didn’t convince even yourself but Syd reiterated for you with a scoff. “Yeah, that’s dumb. He’s been texting you, like, non-stop.”
Hazel hummed. “I dunno. I’ve had clients who live, like, completely separate lives with a secret girlfriend.”
Dick was living a completely separate life. That didn’t necessarily mean he was spending time with another woman but if he’d managed to hide his vigilante persona as well as he did, who knew what else he was keeping from you? No, that was stupid. Why would he be taking you out on dates and shit if he didn’t like only you? But Hazel was right. Plenty of guys hid mistresses from their wives. That could be-
“You know what I think?” Hazel didn’t wait for a response. “I think he’s dating Roxy.”
Admittedly, the guess was completely out of left field, incredibly stupid, and held no basis in reality. You knew, deep down, if Dick was secretly dating Roxy, she would’ve told you by now. But at that moment, you saw red. Fury, ancient and scratching and relentless, climbed your throat like some kind of rabid squirrel. If you weren’t already burning from the alcohol, the idea that Roxy was pulling the same bullshit she had on your most recent ex was turning you into an active volcano. Without really knowing what you were doing, you wrenched yourself away from Hazel and Syd and powered through the stumble of your feet to exit the club.
Maybe your friends were calling after you, maybe not. All you could hear was the fast river rapids of blood rushing in your ears, so loud it deafened the club noise around you. Your heartbeat pounded like a drum in your skull as you saw bodies writhing to silent music and open mouths throwing muted words to the ceiling. You shoved your way through the crowd and burst onto the sidewalk, not even acknowledging the chill as you marched down the block. If memory served, Roxy actually lived on this street. In the apartment with the brick flowerbeds. You’d been there plenty of times back when LSD was still in business. The thought of your old band renewed the flames of your rage. By the time you made it to the building, your fury had become a physical thing. It was in your fists, in your chest, and pressed tight against your face.
“Roxy!” You shouted, half stumbling from the force of it. “Get down here, y-you jackass!”
The windows of the building stayed motionless, not a curtain out of place, not a light flickered on, or off, for that matter. A few people passing by giggled at you but they might as well have been invisible.
“Roxy!” You screamed again. Still, nothing. “You’re a fucking coward! You’re a fucking psycho and you ruin everything! I hate you!”
You weren’t even sure what you were mad about anymore, all you knew was that you were livid and for whatever reason, Roxy was who deserved your ire the most.
“Fucking- Get a life! Leave me alone! Fight me!” You shrieked, stomping wildly like a petulant toddler before you started screaming complete nonsense. Garbled words that even you weren’t sure of. You might have called her a ‘twat waffle’ at one point. You weren’t sure.
Once you started yanking on the wrought iron gate, you felt arms locking around your chest and pulling you back. You screamed again and kicked your legs as you were lifted into the air. It was then that you saw the flashing reds and blues and the crowd that had formed. A few people were recording on their phones. A police officer was tugging you away from the apartment. You saw Hazel and Syd in the sea of bodies, pushing their way towards you but it was too late. You continued to writhe in the officer's grip until your head was shoved on the hood of a squad car and you felt the icy cold metal of cuffs click tight around your wrists. You whimpered when they hauled you back to your feet and went limp when they shoved you into the backseat.
You were sitting in the police station. Where in the police station, you weren’t sure. You were in an empty hallway sitting on a bench by a door, tears running down your face and dripping off your chin onto your thighs. You’d ripped your fishnets. Everything that had happened, all the bullshit, and you were upset about your ripped fishnets. Jailtime be damned. Permanent record could get fucked. You really needed to get your priorities in order
You were uncomfortably slumped against the wall, hands still cuffed behind you, and the metal dug cruelly into your wrists no matter which way you adjusted. You toed at a stain on the linoleum with your boots and suddenly realized that your feet hurt really fucking bad. You wished you could be at home. Snuggling Sweetpea on the couch while GK yelled at the idiots on Family Feud for consistently giving terrible answers. More tears burst forth at the conjured thought but you didn’t cry out. You wouldn’t allow yourself, even as drunk as you were, to wail in a pig pen. You didn’t flinch at the call of your name, you were simply too out of it, but lifted your head lazily.
Motherfucking Dick Grayson came jogging down the hallway. Hair bouncing like he was on Baywatch, face pinched in terrified concern, until he skidded to halt in front of you, sneakers squeaking obnoxiously. You couldn’t help but think about how he looked with his mask on.
“What happened?” He asked as he knelt in front of you and automatically began wiping tears from your stinging cheeks.
You told yourself you wouldn’t—you really didn’t want to—but Dick Grayson was on his knees before you, features etched with worry and beauty. What else were you supposed to do? You sobbed. An ugly, wet noise that had your chest and shoulders shaking with the force. You hunched forward like you hurled the sound. You hiccuped and trembled as Dick’s arms curled around you and he held you tight against him so you could soak the shoulder of his jacket with snot and tears.
When he pulled away, you blubbered your answer;
“I went out with Hazel and Syd and we went to the club and I got super drunk and Hazel and I danced which was super fun but then I kept drinking and I couldn’t stop and I started thinking about you and how you- you stood me up and then Hazel said it was Roxy’s fault and I just- I got so mad. I couldn’t stop myself and then I was outside screaming and spazzing out like- like a child and then the cops came and then they arrested me and then I was here and then you were here and- How did you get here? Why are you- I’m rambling. Tell me to shut up. I’m- I’m rambling. I’m so fucking stupid. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m such a-”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. It’s okay. You’re okay,” he hushed, holding you upright as another sob threatened to throw you from your seat. “Your friend called. Syd. Said he got my number from you. I’m gonna get you outta this. I already talked to the arresting officer. I’m getting you outta this.”
“Okay,” you squeaked, head bobbing and making you dizzy. “Okay.”
He helped you sit back up and kissed your forehead before heading back down where he’d come from. You felt like an idiot, watching him leave like a needy puppy, trying—and failing—to suppress a whine when he disappeared around the corner. You sat there for a while longer and wondered when Syd could’ve possibly got Dick’s number from you. Probably when you went to Old Town that one time. Syd was so nice. You were so grateful he was back in your life.
True to his word, Dick got you out of there. You weren’t really all too sure what happened but it happened in a bit of a blur. At least, it felt like it but your sense of time was all over the place so you weren’t sure what to trust. One minute you were being charged with Drunk and Disorderly and crying in the back of a police car, next the cop who’d arrested you was unlocking your handcuffs and Dick was leading your wobbly self down the cracked concrete stairs to his car, holding the plastic bag of your seized items around his wrist. When he offered you his jacket, you gave him a quizzical look, shaking your head like he’d just asked if you wanted to shoot up heroin.
“Should I take you home?” He asked after helping you buckle your seatbelt. You felt like a fucking loser.
You shook your head. You weren’t sure you could face GK. You honestly didn’t want Dick see you like this either. If you could have your way, you’d ask him to drive you to the nearest bridge so you could jump off it but there was no way in hell he’d let that happen.
“Can I take you to my apartment?” You nodded. That felt easier. Well, none of it was easy but you didn’t need to hear your grandma threaten you with rehab while you were lit up like a Christmas tree. GK had little to no tact in these matters. It seemed that Dick would probably be a little more lenient and you were nothing if not avoidant. Especially while drunk. Avoiding things was typically your motive to get drunk in the first place.
You leaned your head against the window as he drove. The city flew past slow and fast all at once. Everything swam like streams of neon. It had started raining. Dick held your hand as you scaled the steps to his apartment and, once you got inside, you threw yourself at him. Your lips smashed together at an awkward angle as your arms flung around his neck. A muffled noise from him pressed into your mouth until he was easing you off him. You looked at him like he’d just hit you and he gave you a pitying frown that made you consider how fast you’d need to be to open his window and jump before he stopped you. You whined a puzzled noise as your lips trembled and you stared at him, eyes wide as dinner plates.
“You’re drunk. I-” He ran a hand through his hair and blew out a sigh. “It’d be taking advantage.”
“No, no, no.” You burst into fresh tears and fisted the lapels of his jacket as you muttered; “You hate me. I knew this would never work.”
“That’s not it,” he huffed and guided you to the couch with a hand on the small of your back. “Come on, love. I’ll get you something cozy to wear, yeah?”
You huffed some kind of affirmative and nodded as you fell into a heap on the couch, legs twisted and sprawled in front of you and hands kneading the cushions. Where was your jacket? You must have left it at the club. You liked that jacket. Hopefully Syd or Hazel grabbed it. Fuck. Syd and Hazel. What a rotten friend you were. You’d ruined the night. Jesus Christ. You stared longingly at Dick’s fire escape but he’d returned before you got the chance to even get up.
“Arms up,” he said and you obeyed like a dog.
He pulled your top off and helped you into a baggy Nirvana tee shirt. Next came your skirt and fishnets, which he shimmied off your legs but you pushed his hands away when he tried to put a pair of pajama pants on you. It was embarrassing enough being this inebriated in front of Dick. You didn’t need him to dress you on top of everything else. Still, you struggled to pull them on but, to his credit, he didn’t offer his help. He was unfairly perceptive at times. He cleaned your makeup off with a warm wet rag before he pulled you into a hug and kissed your cheek.
“I’m gonna make tea and call GK,” he murmured against your temple, thumb rubbing a soothing circle on the small of your back.
“Okay,” you mumbled and reached after him when he left you.
You fell back against the couch again. Suddenly feeling heavy all over. You could hear Dick talking to your grandma on the phone and did your best to tune it out. The idea of talking to her sounded about as good as a shard of glass in your eye. When Dick finally returned, with two steaming mugs of tea, he sat beside you and slung an arm over the back of the couch but kept his distance. You felt something miserable swell and pop in your chest.
“I told her you’re spending the night and left it at that. That was a lot of work, y’know,” he started and when your brow furrowed he scoffed with a grin. “No, not- Getting you out of detention, I mean. It was a lot of paperwork.”
“Oh,” you murmured and picked at a crack in the handle of your mug.
“Wanna tell me what happened tonight?” He asked and while you had already word vomited an explanation to him at the police station, you had a feeling he knew there was more to the story. Which there was. The whole night had been fueled by your anxiety. It was time to fess up.
You blew on your tea and kept your gaze on anything but Dick. You rolled around words in your head, trying to find something to say that wasn’t the whole truth but you were drunk and raw and sick of holding everything back for the sake of others.
“I feel like you don’t actually like me.”
The confession hung in the apartment like thick smoke.
“Why do you think that?”
The half truth was spilling out before you could stop it.
“Because I’m… I’m a loser. And you’re cool and put together and have pretty hair and a nice butt and I-” A sharp inhale. “I’m a washed up alcoholic who lives with her grandma. This was never going to work.”
“You’re not a- I’m not-” His voice turned sharp as care became exasperation. “That’s not a reason.”
“Really? Then why do I feel like this? You’re too good for me, Dick. You could have anyone. Anyone. And you picked me?” A scoff. “It feels like a practical joke that’s gone on for too long. Eventually, I’m gonna fuck this up. Eventually, you’ll see why I’m the worst.”
“I’m too good for you? Babe, I-” He huffed out a desperate little grunt. “You have no idea what I am. Why do you- Why wouldn’t I pick you?”
His answers were starting to piss you off. You weren’t sure what you expected from this conversation. You hadn’t expected to ever have this conversation.
“Because I’m a fuck up!” You bit back a sob and set your tea down before you inevitably spilled it and burned yourself. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in years. And I- I feel like I’m doing something wrong.”
“I’m the- Wait- What would you even be doing wrong? Why do you think that?”
Moment of truth.
You met his eyes, trying for steely but probably coming across more wet cat.
“Because you didn’t tell me you’re Nightwing.”
Your voice didn’t waver even as your lips trembled around the words. The air in the room vanished like it was never there to begin with. Dick’s eyes widened just a fraction before he furrowed his brows.
“What makes you say that?”
You scoffed again. “I’m not stupid, Dick. I saw you come into the mall and leave. I thought you were a fucking coward for a minute there before Nightwing—you—saved me and smiled. Your fucking dimples gave you away.”
“That’s not- Dimples don’t…”
You could see the moment when the fight drained out of him. He rubbed at his cheeks like he could smooth the divots out and shook his head with a sigh.
“Fuck.” He wouldn’t look at you. Like you were a failure of his personified. “I was planning on telling you eventually I just… These kinds of relationships are hard for me. With non-vigilantes, I mean.”
You stared at him in disbelief. You knew he was Nightwing, you’d figured that out all on your own, but hearing him confirm it was something else entirely.
He sighed again, his gaze flicking to yours for only a moment before it returned to his lap.
He sounded small, boyish even, when he said; “This doesn’t change anything, right?”
“I think it changes a lot of things actually,” you said but your voice was a ghost. “I’ve never done something like this before.”
“Do you not wanna be my girlfriend anymore?” He asked and it was probably the first time you’d heard fear in his voice.
“That’s not- wait. I’m your girlfriend?” Your lip curled to the side as you studied him, waiting for the punchline that never actually came. He finally looked up at you.
“Well yeah. That's what I've been telling everyone,” he said, flippantly but maybe a little confused. “Are we not- I don’t…”
“But- When we- Th-That night…” You huffed out a worried and frustrated noise. “I said no labels. You agreed to that.”
Then he looked sheepish and averted his eyes again. He sipped at his tea and flinched when it burned his lip.
“I, uh, may have gotten a little excited.”
You scoffed out an incredulous laugh. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Dick Grayson was excited to call you his girlfriend. You wanted to jump up and down, kiss him until he passed out, and check for hidden cameras like this was still some kind of prank all at once. You weren’t sure what to say. Your mind was a jumbled mess, not to mention drunk too.
“This is-”
“I think-”
“Sorry,” you blurted. “Y-You first.”
“No, please. You first.”
You chewed your lip and struggled to look at him. You hadn’t actually planned what you were going to say, just started talking for the sake of filling the silence. An attempt at alleviating the oppressive atmosphere. You stared at your balled hands, fisting the fleece pajama pants hard enough the fabric creaked. You were warm all over, uncomfortably so, and so goddamn anxious you were scared your heart was going to implode.
“Wh-Why would you keep this a secret from me if you… if you considered me y-your girlfriend?” The question was reasonable and you surprised yourself with the resolve in it. “I mean, that feels like, well… It makes me think… you don’t expect this to go anywhere. Which is fine, I guess but, uh…”
The end of that sentence was a place you didn’t want to explore so you left it at that but still couldn’t look at him. Your hands began to tremble.
Dick was quiet for a long moment and you turned to face the windows as your eyes began to sting. This was it. This was the end. You’d fucked it up. Of course you had. It was inevitable. Now was the part where he told you to leave and blocked your number and you’d never hear from him again.
A sniff. Quiet enough you could have imagined it but then there was another. Then a shaky breath. You turned carefully, like you’d make yourself sick if you moved any faster.
Dick Grayson was crying.
Panic rose in your throat like bile.
He was hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees and his hands pressed over his mouth and nose. Tears spilled lazily down his cheeks and trickled between his fingers. It was a jarring sight. This man—this pillar—driven to tears over you. It was surreal. Part of you felt oddly flattered but a bigger part wanted to take a bath with a toaster. He had no reason to cry over you. You were nobody. He was Nightwing.
“Dick?” You whispered.
“I don’t wanna lose you,” he slurred between tears, voice a wet, brittle thing. “This can’t- Please, don’t- Don’t leave me.”
“No, I-I…” You turned to him fully, thighs pressed tight together and shoulders bunched like you were balled up aluminum foil. “I’m not- I wouldn’t-”
He finally faced you and you felt your heart break all over again. His eyes were puffy, his cheeks splotchy with a ruddy red, and his nose was running. Dick Grayson was an ugly crier. It would’ve been funny if you didn’t feel so terrible about it. You had never really thought about him crying before but you would’ve assumed he’d make that look beautiful too, like he did with most things. It grounded you in an odd way. A strange comfort to know that even the most empyrean of beings could turn into such a dripping, juicy mess.
“I’m not a good person,” he said, with such finality that your booze-addled brain almost accepted it as truth.
“No, don’t say-”
“I’m not,” he asserted, voice crisper if not still raw. “I push people away. I lie. I’ve hurt people I love. I’m not… I’m not good.”
You scootched closer. “Dick, don’t say that. You’re the goodest person I know. You’re- You’re Nightwing, for chrissake.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” he huffed and pulled away when you reached for him. It stung more than you thought it would. “I’m… angry. Deep down. I’m so angry. It- I mask it well. I’ve done it for years but… It’s- I’m selfish. I don’t- I… I’m not a good person.”
You moved closer and, when he didn’t pull away, you slid an arm around his shoulders. He leaned into your embrace like a cat. He pressed his hands to his face and blew out a trembling breath.
“You said I’m the best thing that’s happened to you in years,” he mumbled to the floor. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. My life… It’s a fucking mess. I don’t- My dad, my family, hell, even my friends, they- I love them but- Being me, being Nightwing, it- it’s really hard. I feel like I never get a break. But you…”
He looked up at you and you wiped a tear from under his eye.
“You’re normal. You make me feel normal and- and sometimes that’s all I want. I want a girlfriend and a dog and a job that doesn’t make me feel like I’m carrying the world. The expectations, they-” He fell back against the cushions with a sigh and you followed him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t- You were the one who just got arrested. Well, detained, technically but- Whatever. I shouldn’t be offloading this on you. It’s not…”
“Dick,” you murmured and wiped more of his tears. “Who else would you tell this to if not me? I’m your girlfriend.”
The look he gave you was so earnest, so irrefutably him, that you had to force yourself not to sob. He looked at you like you’d opened a window he’d never been able to reach. Like you were sunlight streaming into the cellar he’d called home for so long.
“Really?” He asked and his voice was hopeful and fearful and giddy all at once.
You nodded. “Really. I- This will take some getting used to but if you’re all in, then… I am too.”
He practically deflated as a breath flew out of him like he’d been holding it for years. He didn’t look entirely convinced but you weren’t sure what it would take to prove to him you meant it. Regardless, he said;
“Okay.” You smiled at him.
“Maybe we’re meant for each other,” you said with a shrug, almost teasing.
“Yeah?” Dick perked up.
You huffed a laugh. “Yeah. I mean, we might be the two biggest idiots in North America. We’re perfect for each other.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m smart as fuck,” he taunted and you watched as his carefully crafted mask slid back into place. You pursed your lips, half ready to acknowledge the shift but you let it go. If he wanted to move on, you could move on too.
“Oh yeah? Then why did you leave me in that mall with a bunch of criminals so you could quick put on a jumpsuit behind a dumpster?”
He sputtered and pink rose on his cheeks. “It is not a jumpsuit.”
“So you did get dressed behind a dumpster?” You tried to bite back a smile for his sake. “My question still stands, Nightwing.”
A sigh left him in a staggering rush as his eyes grew wide. “That’s gonna take some getting used to.”
“And you still need to answer my question.”
He looked around the apartment like an out would appear before him. When no such escape presented itself he sighed and dropped his forehead to your shoulder.
“I wouldn’t be worth anything to you if I got shot. The suit’s made of bulletproof material and I always have a spare in my car.”
“Just, like, in a bag? People have broken into cars for a bag of chips in this city, Richard. That isn’t smart.”
“There’s a locked hidden compartment in the backseat,” he grumbled against your collarbone. “Told you I’m not an idiot.”
You hummed. “Jury’s still out on that one.”
He lifted his head to look at you. He stared at you for a long while before he pushed you onto your back and climbed over you, casting you both in shadow. The blue night outside lit him in soft shapes. Rain filtered light painted gentle geometry over his sharp features. You held your breath as he cupped your face and smoothed a thumb under your eye.
“You realize I’m in love with you, right?” He finally said after a minute of observing you. “Like, madly in love with you.”
“You’ve told me,” you said on a breath and covered your face with your hands as your cheeks burned. “I find it hard to believe. But you already know that.”
“I don’t know how to make you see that,” he murmured and kissed the backs of your hands before he laid on top of you, pushing the air out of you like a bellows. “I’ve tried dates, I’ve tried sex. Hell, I saved your life a couple times.”
“I wasn’t aware of that until recently. And you would’ve done that regardless.”
“Besides the point,” he grumbled and kissed between your brows. “What’s it gonna take, love?”
You sighed, a small, withered thing and cupped his neck with both hands.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m broken.”
“You’re not broken,” he huffed and kissed your cheek. “That’s dramatic. I think you know, deep down, that you’re loved. It’s just hard for you to internalize it.”
“Could be,” you murmured, playing with the short hair over his nape. “Not like you’re any better at being loved.”
He breathed out something like a laugh and kissed your chin.
“Then maybe we are meant for each other,” he mumbled against you. “If only so we can fix each other.”
“Could be,” you repeated and yawned. “Can we save the psychological philosophy for tomorrow? I’m ready for bed.”
“Shit. Yeah. I should be patrolling by now. It’s almost two.”
It was still weird to have that be confirmed. He eased off you but before you could get to your feet he scooped you up into his arms. A strangled gasp punched out of you and you squeezed your arms around his neck. He kissed your forehead and carried you to his bedroom. He tucked you under the covers and kissed your nose. You tried not to whine when he pulled away but one eeked out anyway and he chuckled.
“I have to go but I’ll be back in the morning.”
You huffed out another disappointed noise but Haley hopped into bed and curled up on the pillow next to you with a little harrumph. Your hand reached out to smooth over her short fur. Dick got suited up and you curled onto your side to watch. He got dressed like you would to go to work. Thoughtlessly, automatically. It was strange watching Nightwing come together, piece by piece, in front of you. As he hooked his escrima sticks onto his back, you asked how he got them to stay. He said; ‘trade secret’ with a wink. When he smeared spirit gum on his temples and fit his mask into place, it felt like a whole new being was in the room suddenly. Gloves were the final article and then there was Nightwing. Standing in a one bedroom apartment next to an overflowing basket of dirty laundry and a dresser with a broken drawer.
He leaned over you and, finally, kissed you on the lips. Slow and sweet and desperate to pour every ounce of affection he felt into you. You hummed against his mouth and he cupped your cheek before he pulled away.
“I’ll be back before you wake up,” he murmured and gave you one more quick peck. “Be good.”
You didn’t mention that instead of being good you’d be asleep. Instead, you nodded and squeezed his hand, holding on until he was too far away. You watched him unlatch the window and climb onto the fire escape, then he disappeared into the night and it was just you and Haley alone in a vigilante’s apartment.
“So you knew this whole time and didn’t tell me?” You asked the now snoring pitbull as you smoothed your thumb down her snout.
Haley, unsurprisingly, did not respond and instead kicked her leg and huffed out a little ‘wurg’ as she dreamed.
All things considered, your conversation with Dick went better than you thought it would. Between your drunkenness and the sudden confession session, the night ended on a lighter note. Your emotions were still a tangled mess and it probably would’ve been a good idea to table the entire discussion until neither of you were so frazzled but what happened happened.
‘No point in freaking out over it’ GK would say but you weren’t GK so you were going to freak out about it. Get it done before he came back and so forth. It was shocking to know that Dick had his own self-esteem struggles but you supposed it wasn’t that uncommon of a problem to have. Still, someone like Dick Grayson feeling unsure enough to the point of tears broke your heart in a way you didn’t realize hearts could break.
There was a tension still lingering in the air like decades of smoke build-up that clung to the walls. You felt it heavy in your lungs and coated your body like a second skin. Despite the enormity of your talk, you knew there was still much more to cover before things would go back to any kind of normal. Dick Grayson was a vigilante. He fought crime nightly. He would get hurt. He would get targeted. You were now a weakness to be exploited. You didn’t think it would ever come to that but it was still something worth keeping in mind. This was a whole new game. A game you never thought you’d find yourself playing. One you never realized existed.
Dick Grayson was Nightwing. You were Nightwing’s girlfriend.
You sat with that thought for a moment before a sudden laugh bubbled out of you.
Oh well. You had recently discovered that you were an adrenaline junkie anyway. Let the danger come. It might be fun. You had a vigilante for a boyfriend. What was the worst that could happen?
<Prev // Next>
A/N: the big reveal!!!!!! been waiting to write this chapter for a while lol.
Break next week!! Burn out is kicking my ass so I need a little longer to finish. Only two chapters left btw 🤯
Tag list: @sunday-bug @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @chevelledahuman @intergalactic-padawan
Are your requests open? I have a little idea... I really like the idea of Jason being so big and strong. I just wanna jump on him and cling to him like a koala and knowing he can catch me.
I headcanon Jason likes to randomly scoop reader up. He'll pick you up and squeeze you until you squeal and giggle. He likes to be a little turd sometimes and do it in public just to tease you.
Maybe not a request. I just want to hear your thoughts?
Reader:
...Yes I am 100% on board with this. Also, I want to clarify that I'm thinking of my plus sized folks too. Jason is big and tall and definitely can carry Bruce, Dick, and another miscellaneous hero at the same time. Do not think this man taps out at 150 lbs. He can bench press you. He will if you're into that.
I'd like to think that you finding out that Jason can do all that including lift and carry you around happens by accident. Like maybe you're not getting out of bed and Jason's trying to coax you out and you tell him to make you (not knowing he full well can) and so Jason just. Lifts you up and carries you out of your room.
I don't think he thinks much of it until he sees your flustered reaction and how giddy it makes you that big strong man is carrying you like a delicate flower 🌼 it definitely gives him an ego boost. Like sure, Jason knows logically that his size is attractive and maybe his face too (definitely) but he doesn't really believe it. Because once someone learns about who he is or even sees all the scars on him, they'll run for the hills, right?
WRONG! You desire him carnally.
So anyway. Like you said, Jason would start doing it just to see how you melt because he adores your reactions. He'd spin you around when you share good news or carry you to bed when you're exhausted. He'd throw you over his shoulder when you're being a brat (and that's exactly what you want).
I think it would really thrill him, being able to use his strength in a way besides for violence and you trusting him enough to let him handle you like that. Also, I think Jason has these feral little thoughts sometimes about his partner like how soft they are or how they smell or needing to take care of them or how he's been molded to fight and win and they haven't and it's up to Jason to keep them safe. Part of that is also that it pleases Jason the most when you're tucked into his arms, be it in bed or when he just feels like carrying you.
So definitely YES to Jason carrying you. Extremely dreamy 🥰
A/N: Just a silly little Halloween thing because I almost cried over a tiny baby batman tonight
Divider found here
Jason Todd used to love Halloween.
As a kid, it was an opportunity for free food, of course, and a night when it became a little safer to wander out at night, the streets of Crime Alley as lit and populated as anyone could hope for.
As Robin, it became something even better, when he was still patrolling the streets with a cape and a smile. A few Gothamites started it as a simple joke: “Don’t forget to leave candy out for Robin!”
He’d heard it plenty, said it himself with a cheeky smile, but he hadn’t expected anyone to actually do it. Still, on Halloween night, there were candies and small treats packaged up in ziplock bags, plastic bowls, paper plates, left on fire escapes and rooftops in residential areas. The city that he had grown to love and protect seemed to finally love him back.
Jason still carried those memories with him, like faded postcards, but the magic of the night had long since faded for him. He still patrolled, occasionally letting the Crime Alley kids catch a glimpse of him as they trailed down the streets in their costumes with their pillowcase candy bags. He hoped that it helped at least a little, knowing that he was around to watch over them.
And then there was you. Bright, protective, dedicated you, who had encouraged and poured energy into organizing Halloween block parties. DIY carnival games, building-wide communal candy bowls, loud music, and plenty of eyes on the streets. Jason helped you as best he could in the weeks leading up to it, sitting with you on your kitchen floor on Saturday afternoons, painting banners and decorations, testing kid craft ideas until the counters overflowed with makeshift pumpkins and ghosts and his hands were stained orange.
You wished he could be there to see the end result of all his efforts, see how happy it made the neighborhood families, but you understood he had a bigger responsibility to tackle. Still, his phone buzzed periodically through the night with pictures of smiling faces and clumsy crafting.
That was what Jason was expecting as he paused to take a breather on a rooftop a few blocks from home, pulling out his phone with a preemptive smile.
Instead, there was just a message.
I’m about to do something real cute. Don’t freak out
Before he could respond, he heard a jumbled call from your direction, a group of small voices attempting to yell out in unison.
“Okay…” he muttered to himself, storing his phone safely and heading your way, grappling smoothly across the street before he heard the call again, clearer this time.
“Hey, Red Hood!”
He closed the remaining distance quickly, peeking over the edge of a roof to see you standing on the front step of your building with a megaphone, leading an assembled crowd of kids and their family members in a third call.
“Hey, Red Hood!”
With a fond little head shake, Jason launched himself off the roof, showing off a little for you your audience with a practiced little flip before landing on the curb.
Despite his efforts, he didn’t expect the applause and cheering that followed, whipping his head up in surprise to stare back at the group in front of him.
Of course, he was fond of them, in and out of the suit, doing his best to take care of them. He knew, tangentially, that they liked him too, liked knowing he was out there. They’d wave when they saw him, cover for him if the police ever bothered responding to a call. One of the older ladies in your building even tried to give him a sweater once. But this was… different. This felt weird.
Some of the tension eased from his shoulders when you emerged from the crowd, fixing him with that bright smile he knew so well. This, he could do. You, he knew how to handle.
“You called?”
“Yeah, we did. Thanks for coming! There’s someone here who really wants to meet you.”
Jason was about to ask, rather bluntly, whether you were trying to flirt with him when he spotted the kid peeking out from behind you. You stepped to the side, placing an encouraging hand on the boy’s back. The boy with a red bat painted on his black shirt, a leather jacket, a two dimensional version of his helmet crafted of painted cardboard and rubber bands.
A tiny, baby Red Hood who’d only hit four feet tall on tiptoes.
A mysterious burning started in Jason's eyes.
“Hey, kid,” he said hoarsely, crouching down and doing his very best to appear at least slightly less menacing.
He was rewarded with a shy little wave.
“Strong, silent type, huh? That’s cool.”
The red mask turned up in your direction, and you crouched down too, allowing him to smush his little face against your ear. A warm smile spread across your face as you listened, a hand coming up to press over your chest for a moment before you nodded and cleared your throat.
“Mr. Red Hood, we were wondering if you’re okay with hugs,” you relayed dutifully, course correcting when the kid gave your sleeve a sharp tug. “Me, I mean. I was wondering. Not we. Just me.”
The eye burning was getting worse. He probably needed to give this helmet a deep clean.
“Sure,” Jason said with a nod. “But I think the kid gets one first because his jacket is cooler than yours.”
“Fair enough. What do you think?” you asked the boy, smiling encouragingly at him.
He nodded hurriedly, all but launching himself at Jason like the offer might expire at any second. Jason huffed out a laugh at the impact, patting the kid’s back gently as he clung to him.
“Thanks, buddy.”
He stayed still, letting the hug go on for as long as his new best friend wanted and pointedly ignoring the half dozen phone cameras pointed his direction.
Eventually, baby Red Hood let go of him, whispering his thanks before running back into the crowd, no doubt in search of his family.
Jason took a breath, standing back up to his full height and shifting awkwardly as many of his own neighbors continued to stare back at him.
“My turn?” you asked, stepping into his eyeline again.
“Yep,” he said gratefully, yanking you into his chest on instinct, forgetting for a moment that you were supposed to be strangers and that it was probably really weird to be manhandling you like that.
He changed his grip abruptly, opting for awkward back pats that he kind of hated but seemed the safest.
“Yeah, stop flirting with me, man. I have a boyfriend,” you said, too quietly for anyone but him to hear.
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