of waiting to be consumed by you
ridiculously attractive things they do
including | dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake, damian wayne & roy harper
playing | the first taste- fiona apple
dick grayson- constantly shirtless
Somehow, he always finds an opportunity to take his shirt off whenever possible. He doesn’t do it to stroke his ego by showing his muscles and tan skin (well, maybe he wants to show off a little), but he just overheats way too easily, hence, removing the easiest thing he can get off his body.
It is definitely not uncommon to arrive at your apartment and find him just in sweatpants making dinner, or lounging around, or fixing his gear, or hanging out with his family. Matter of fact, everyone’s used to it already, so no one really bats an eye when Dick’s hands start to go towards the hem of his t-shirt.
He even has learnt tricks and some fancy ways to twirl his body around to make it sillier for those beside him, so at least they get a show of it. His favourite is a one-handed trick that left you completely flustered because he had one hand splayed on your waist while he pulled you to his chest, and with the other, he just took his shirt off with such ease that it almost made you stutter.
jason todd- casual dominance
He takes the lead everywhere he goes with such natural confidence that you just can’t help but ogle at him. There’s a fine line between being a gentleman and what he is, because the first one he considers basic common sense, but the latter is just how he has always been.
I’m talking about covering corners when you near one in the off chance you can get hurt, one hand always on your body when you’re outside, he doesn’t care if he’s holding your hand, you’re holding his arm or he places his in the small of your back. Replaces things for you before they run out, always assertive and direct with you in every context, he doesn’t play with you, ever.
Something he subconsciously started doing was speaking up in your place whenever you gave him “the look”, when everything is too much at the same time and you just want to go home but still have things to do. Ordering at a restaurant but you don’t really feel like talking? Consider it done. At a bookstore but you can’t find what you’re looking for? He’s asking the workers before you can finish your sentence. Jason often thinks he’s not the most incredible person ever, but he’ll always make sure to accommodate you to feel safe everywhere.
tim drake- pays attention
Tim stares A LOT, but not in a creep way, but rather in a “I’m trying to figure you out without you having to tell me” and he always guesses right. A slight change in your routine cannot go unnoticed if he’s nearby, and if he deems the situation appropriate, he’ll ask you about it, making sure everything’s okay.
“You have moved three times in 30 minutes since you sat down on the couch, is it that the cushions are too hard or that nasty fall on the staircases from Wednesday kicking your ass?” kinda observation. Very smooth with it too, since he doesn’t really bring things up until you find on your kitchen counter that one brand of tea you mentioned offhandedly months ago that your mom used to make you as a kid, and now you’re full-on sobbing because ??? how did he remember and where did he find them??
He likes paying attention to you, he finds comfort in being the one to know you best and learning what makes you be you. Long and deep conversations with each other is something you both cherish, but also knowing your body language, how you think and your passions makes him feel completely connected to you.
damian wayne- protective, not possessive
There’s something in the way Damian’s brain works that makes him want to protect intensely everything he loves, those being most of the time his family, the few material things the takes care of, and you. He doesn’t think of you as his or anyone’s for that matter, but that you and him belong together, and he isn’t shy when showing it.
This tendency of his is mostly shown because he cares, he cares so much that his family was confused at first because he’s usually grumpy and avoidant, but now, Damian clings to you the moments he’s with you. He often displays this as latching onto you and asking about you frequently, just enough to tread on the line between annoying and overbearing like “possessive insecure guys, which I’m clearly not” and protective and caring, always falling into the last category.
He likes when you go to him, doesn’t matter what for. A problem, a rant, a cuddle, or just his simple presence, he’s there for everything, holding onto them, protecting whatever you need him for.
roy harper- matches your freak
Roy’s up to do anything, he doesn’t really care if it’s embarrassing or loud, you tell him if he wants to do something and he’s up at 6 am the next day ready for it. You once confided in him that you felt a bit worried at times for being “too much” or “too weird” and even if he never thought of you like that, he spends every day proving that even if you feel that way, he’ll be by your side doing the same thing.
Tik tok trends, cringy dance moves in the kitchen, drunk confessions, not only he matches your freak, but he also corresponds it. Oh, you’re worried you talked a bit loud at the restaurant because you got too excited telling him the new game you’re playing? He’s screeching at the top of his lungs the next second because he thought he saw a bug, whoopsies.
It may feel incredibly silly to bystanders, but him being comfortable enough with you and himself to act that way is just to incredibly attractive that you even worry about yourself for finding that so hot. Meanwhile, Roy’s by your side with a Minecraft t-shirt waiting for you to come out of your thoughts to beat the ender dragon together.
froggi yaps -> i bombed my interview so badly today i really needed this comfort ;-; i feel like these kinda suck but this piece was kicking my butt so badly i just needed to get it out :p enjoy
Dick Grayson:
Dick’s sleeping when you text him, the incessant buzzing on his nightstand cutting into the sleep he desperately needs. It had been a long night last night and he didn’t make it home until seven in the morning, going to bed even later than that.
Still, he forces his eyes open and rolls over, grabbing the phone in his hand. He blinks away sleep when he sees the messages are from you, one after the other, each increasingly more panicked.
He’s on his feet in minutes when he reads them, tugging on the nearest clothes he can find and collecting his keys off his nightstand. Opening his phone to track your location, Dick’s on the road in minutes.
You’re sitting under a tree when he finds you, alone and overheating in the middle of a desolate trail just outside of Bludhaven. He calls your name before he approaches, shuffling carefully towards so as not to scare you.
“Dick?” You blink, exhausted from the heat.
He crouches at your side, pressing a hand to your forehead like you’re sick. He sighs, shaking his head and fighting the urge to hunt down your shitty boyfriend and give him a piece of his mind.
“Fuck, he just left you here like this? Do you even have water?”
You shake your head. “He had the backpack,” you explain. “Said I was too slow…”
Fuck, what an asshole. He never deserved you.
Dick helps you to your feet, keeping an arm around your waist to support you. Your steps are shaky, your breathing uneven—clear signs of dehydration.
It’s a long trip back to the car, ending with Dick carrying you on his back. You’re relieved when he finally sets you in the passenger seat, cranking the air conditioning for you.
He passes you a water bottle from his cupholder. “Here, have this.”
You drink half of it in one go, the water helping the dryness that has your throat swelling.
“How are you feeling?” He asks.
“Tired, sad.” You frown, “I feel dizzy.”
Dick puts the car in drive, peeling away from the parking lot and driving back to the city. “You probably will for a while, with how long you were in the heat.”
It’s silent for a while, the exhaustion setting into your bones and a new sort of tiredness weighing over you. You rest your head against the door of the car, letting your eyes flutter closed.
“Come hang out with me, yeah?” Dick finally breaks the silence. “Need to make sure you’re okay.”
You catch the undertone of it, the part that says: physically and emotionally.
You hum in agreement, letting yourself fall back asleep on the door of his car. Dick waits until he’s sure you’re out cold before leaning over and rubbing a thumb across your cheek.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he mumbles more to himself than anything, “I’ll take good care of you.”
Jason Todd:
Jason’s busy when you call, knee deep in a group of goons in the way of your boss. Still, it’s you calling him, and he doesn’t dare leave you waiting.
“Hello?”
You sniffle into the phone, the distant sounds of gunfire making you raise a brow. “Jay?”
He frowns, fighting his way through the men while talking to you like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “Are you crying?”
It’s a jumble of words that comes next, each one bleeding into the next and filled with sniffles. Jason strains to hear you through the comms piece in his helmet, the gunfire and sounds of violence almost enough to drown you out.
Still, he gets the gist of it. Fuck, he’s going to lose the target. But he can’t just leave you there.
He sighs, “I’ll be there in five.”
You’re pacing when Jason pulls up, soaking wet with the cold rain hiding the hot tears on your cheeks. If only the rain could hide the redness in your eyes and the way your lips have pulled into a pout.
It’s more than a twenty minute drive from where Jason was to the shitty, dingy bar your boyfriend abandoned you at. Jason made the drive in five, in the rain, on his motorcycle.
“T-thanks for coming,” you sniffle out.
Jason looks around, forcing himself to take deep breaths despite the anger surging in his chest. “You sure that ass—he’s not coming back?”
You shake your head. “He said we’re done.”
Jason shakes his head, showing off the fresh red mark under his chin. You frown, reaching up to run your thumb across the bruised skin beneath his stubble. He’s ditched his Red Hood getup, dressed only in his usual cargo pants and a t-shirt. Raindrops slick over his exposed biceps.
“Let me take you home, alright?”
You nod and then he’s ushering you towards his bike, thrusting his spare helmet into your arms. You buckle it over your head, Jason turning around and tugging the strap to make sure it’s tight.
You look at him through the open visor, blinking away the raindrops that cling to your skin. “Jay?”
“Hm?”
“Do you think you could…stay with me for a bit?”
And he knows he shouldn’t, that he has other things to do tonight, an obligation to himself and this city. “Yeah,” he says, “I can stay a while.”
It’s hours later that you’re asleep on Jason’s lap, head resting on the meat of his thighs. He should’ve left a while ago and yet, he can’t bring himself to go.
Still, watching you lay like this in his arms, warm and dry from the rain your boyfriend left you in, anger still swirls in his stomach. How dare he leave you like that? You could've gotten mugged or hurt or worse, and the very thought has Jason clenching his jaw.
Yeah, he’ll have to pay him a visit later.
Wally West:
Wally’s smile dies the minute he picks up the phone and hears you sniffling on the other end of the line. “Hey, what’s going on?”
It’s an unintelligible mess of words that follows, filled with choked sobs and occasional moments of silence. Somehow through it all, Wally manages to get the gist of it: you and your shitty boyfriend got into a fight on the way home, and he abandoned you at some gas station.
Alone. In the middle of the night. With nothing but your phone.
Hot rage sweeps through Wally and before he knows it, he’s running.
One minute, you’re staring at the screen of your phone, sobbing hysterically. The next, Wally West is at your side, looking just as outraged as he is concerned.
“He did what?”
Seeing your teary eyes and the pouty look on your face only makes him angrier. He clenches and unclenches his hands, forcing himself to breathe.
The anger melts away when you wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest, sobbing harder. “I don’t—I don’t know what I did wrong.”
Wally is careful to wrap his arms around you, pulling you flush with his body and kissing the top of your head. It’s been so long since he’s gotten to hold you like this, since he’s gotten to care for you, he selfishly drinks it in.
“Let’s get you home, hm?”
You sniffle, peeling your face back just enough to look at him. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”
“My place, then,” he flashes his best reassuring smile, “don’t worry, doll, I’ll take care of you.”
-
Two hours later and you’re settled on the couch at Wally’s, dressed in his sweatpants and one of his t-shirts. After an hour, he’d finally gotten you to stop crying and instead cuddle up with him on the couch.
Your boyfriend is yet to say anything, to even check in and make sure you didn’t get murdered. It leaves a bitter taste in Wally’s mouth but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a little hopeful, too.
It’s when you fall asleep that Wally snaps a picture of the two of you, your head nuzzled into the crook of his arm. He grins as he types, trying his best not to laugh while he drafts the message to your boyfriend.
He reads it over once before hitting send, nodding in satisfaction.
Don’t worry, I’ll clean up your mess.
Roy Harper:
It’s late and Roy wishes he was asleep, and instead, he’s driving an hour away to some random highway where your boyfriend—hopefully soon to be ex—abandoned you on the side of the road.
His hands are clenched tight on the wheel, thoughts racing a mile a minute. His foot is pressed harshly into the gas, each minute that passes only increases his anxiety. He’d asked you to stay on the phone with him but that was before your phone died and your location stopped updating.
He can only hope you listened to him and stayed put, and that no one else comes across you before he does.
Luck is on his side when he spots you pacing back and forth on the side of the road. His foot is on the brake immediately, slowing the car down to a stop just a few meters ahead of you.
You make a break for the car, settling into his passenger seat like it’s somewhere you belong. And to Roy, it is.
He frowns when he sees the tears in your eyes and the way you’re shaking from the cold night. “You alright?”
You sniffle, “barely. I’m freezing my ass off.”
He nods, flicking on your heated seat. He moreso meant the whole being abandoned in the middle of the night thing, but given your closed off demeanour, decides not to push it.
“I don’t understand what I did wrong,” you say quietly.
Roy drops a hand from the wheel, gently squeezing your knee. “You did nothing wrong, that asshole just never deserved you.” Not like I do.
You blink. Maybe he has a point.
And now that he’s started, Roy’s not sure he can stop. “What kind of man just abandons you, alone, in the middle of the night? Don’t you think you deserve more than that?”
“Roy…”
“Seriously, babe,” the pet name slips out so easily that neither of you notice it, “don’t you want to be with someone who loves you properly?”
“Roy,” you say again, more warning than anything.
“God, I take much better care of you than he ever has.”
“Roy!”
He breathes heavily, the gravity of what he just said sinking in. The silence in the car is hot and tense, broken only by the crackling of the heat coming through his vents. Roy slows the car, pulling over to the side of the road.
For a moment, you’re worried he might leave you, too. But then he’s grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him, touch equally scorching as it is delicate. He’s not even sure what he’s doing until he’s leaning in and brushing his lips over yours, the taste of your chapstick like an old friend.
“All I’m saying,” he says quietly, “is that you deserve someone who takes care of you. Okay?”
“O-okay.”
dc masterlist | navigation
thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
꒰ content ꒱ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Wally West, Roy Harper
JASON TODD
You’re on his back, arms and legs wrapped around him like a very determined koala.
“Sweetheart, get off me,” Jason groans, struggling to keep his balance.
“No! You’re leaving me.” You tighten your grip.
“Baby, sweetheart, listen to me,” he huffs, both hands gripping your thighs to make sure you don’t fall. “I need to get your meds so you feel better.”
“Oh, so now you think I’m crazy?”
“No—you’re sick!” he insists, finally putting you on the couch. He kneels between your legs, looking at you like you’re the bane of his existence.
“In the head?” you ask suspiciously.
“Physically, dumbass,” he says, rolling his eyes. Then he mumbles, “…Probably that too.”
“You can’t leave me when I’m most vulnerable. I’m gonna die all alone.”
He stiffens. Then with a seriousness that unnerves you, he cups your face in his hands and mutters, “Not letting that happen, yeah? You’re the only thing worth living for.”
You blink, heat crawling over your cheeks. “Oh…”
“But I need to get you medicine so you’ll feel better,” he adds quickly. “It’ll take five minutes tops. Okay?”
“I… yeah. Right. Of course.”
His shoulders slump in relief. He pulls you into his arms, one hand tangling in your hair. “I love you, you menace.”
WALLY WEST
Wally learned very quickly that super speed meant absolutely nothing against you. Not when you weaponized those pretty puppy dog eyes.
He’s zipping into his suit faster than you can speak, and yet you’re already standing in the doorway, a pout forming on your lips.
His heart shatters. It’s a simple thing to others. But to him? The fact that you always want to be with him means everything. It means you love him enough to let him see every part of you.
Including the clingy, pouty version that had your exes running the other way.
Wally, however, lives off your love, bathes in it when the world gets too fast.
“Be safe,” you whisper, tugging your blanket around your shoulders like a shield.
It’s only 7 a.m. on a Saturday. And he wants nothing more than to scoop you up and carry you back to bed.
“Always am, babe.” He grins reassuringly, running a hand through his ginger curls.
“You better be,” you mutter softly. “Need more morning cuddles. How else am I supposed to survive?”
“Aww, you need me?”
“Just your body heat and strong arms.”
He’s in front of you in a blur of red. Your eyes widen.
“You totally need me,” he whispers, lips tugging up. He’s always smiling when he’s with you. A reflex he can’t control.
You roll your eyes. “I simply miss my emotional support vibrator.”
He snickers. “Is that all I am?”
His hands tighten your blankets around you before his arms circle your waist, his breath fanning your ear.
You don’t reply. Instead, you soak in his presence and the peace that comes with it.
“I’ll be back.” He kisses the side of your head, already starting to pull away.
You lean into him, head under his chin. “Five more minutes.”
“Sweetheart…”
You look up at him with wide eyes. “Pretty please?”
He swallows. “…Yeah. Okay. Whatever you want, baby.”
DICK GRAYSON
Dick hates stakeouts. Not because they’re boring or uncomfortable. He’s been doing this long enough for it to be as easy as doing a backflip.
The problem is that he’s leaving you half asleep in bed, the rain tapping against the windows while you pretend to be okay.
“Go to sleep, angel,” he whispers.
On the other side of the comms, you shift in bed, blankets rustling through his earpiece.
“I can’t sleep without you.” In your sleepy state, a hint of a whine slips through, and it makes him want to run straight back home.
“I know, I know. I’ll try to wrap this up quickly.”
You let out a soft, tired sigh that goes straight to his heart. His jaw ticks. He needs to speedrun this stakeout.
“Stop being cute, honey.”
“How else am I supposed to get you back home?”
A hushed laugh escapes him. “You only need to say the word, and I’ll finish up here as fast as I can.”
“Come home then.”
“Working on it.”
You groan. “You hate me.”
“I could never.”
You can’t see him, no one can. But hidden behind the domino mask, his eyes soften anyway, affection written all over his face. He looks like a man completely and hopelessly gone.
“Okay. I love you, Dick,” you murmur into your phone, a tiny smile tugging at your lips.
“I love you more.”
“You know damn well this argument will never end.”
“Maybe I don’t want it to.”
ROY HARPER
The fan did nothing to help. You’re pressed up against Roy, limbs tangled together. It’s a sweltering night, the kind of heatwave the news warned about.
Roy groans, shifting slightly. He’s shirtless, the covers thrown aside. You admire him while curling back against him.
He side eyes you. “Trouble…”
“Yeah?” you mumble into his chest, the vibrations making him shiver.
“Can’t you live without cuddles for a day?” He tries wiggling away from you.
“Move away again and I’ll call Lian over too,” you say, arms going around his neck.
He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.
“Don’t threaten me,” he warns, voice low and amused. “I’ll surrender every time.”
“Only because Lian’s the only one clingier than me,” you whisper before your lulled to sleep by the fall and rise of his chest.
Masterlist
Technically, I only promised a wally drabble if the Seahawks won…but I had to write for the others too
Both. He can't find himself choosing between them, he loves having you riding him and in doggy style equally. And usually in the same night he manages to put you in both. It is true that when you two are needy, he tends to bend you over and take you from behind, always making sure to leave marks in your cheeks.
DICK GRAYSON
Surprisingly, boobs. He has enough ass himself, so he enjoys the gorgeous sight of your boobs.
He can’t keep his eyes (or hands, or mouth) off them. When you’re on top, riding him slow and steady, he’s in absolute heaven: head tipped back, blue eyes locked on the way they bounce with every roll of your hips, thumbs brushing over your nipples until you’re gasping his name.
He loves burying his face between them, kissing and sucking marks into the soft skin while you grind down on him, telling you in that low, ragged voice how perfect you feel against him.
Even in other positions he finds a way, pulling you close in missionary just to mouth at them, or reaching around to palm and tease when he takes you from behind (though he’ll flip you over soon enough because he needs to see them again).
Quickies against the wall? His free hand is already sliding under your shirt. Lazy mornings in bed? He’s nuzzling into your cleavage before he’s even fully awake.
JASON TODD
A secret, third option: thighs.
He’s obsessed. Thick thighs, soft thighs, toned thighs, doesn’t matter. The second you’re in his reach, his hands are there, gripping hard enough to leave fingerprints, sliding up under whatever you’re wearing just to feel the warmth and give a possessive squeeze. He loves the way they tremble when he’s got you pinned against the wall, or how they clamp around his waist when you pull him closer.
His favorite view in the world is you straddling his lap, thighs spread over his, rocking slow while he watches the muscle flex with every grind. He’ll drag his calloused palms up and down them endlessly, muttering low and rough about how strong they are, how good they look wrapped around him.
When he takes you from behind, he’s still fixated, hooking a hand under one thigh to lift it, opening you up more, or pulling you back so he can feel them pressed against his hips with every thrust.
And marks? Oh, he leaves them everywhere: bite marks high on the inner thigh where only he’ll see, bruises blooming on the outsides from how tight he holds on when he’s losing control. Lazy nights on the couch turn into him resting his head on one thigh while his fingers trace absent patterns on the other, like he can’t go five minutes without touching them.
HAL JORDAN
Boobs. And he’s not subtle about it.
The ring might make him fearless, but nothing lights that cocky spark in his eyes faster than your chest. Hal’s the type to smirk the second you walk into the room, gaze dropping straight there like he owns the view—and in his mind, he absolutely does.
He’ll pull you onto his lap mid-conversation, hands sliding up your sides until his thumbs are brushing just beneath them, that smug little grin on his face as he murmurs, “Missed these almost as much as I missed you.”
He loves showing them off in private: peeling your shirt off slow, eyes locked on yours while he tells you exactly how perfect they are, how nobody else gets to see them like this.
Possessive as hell—he’ll mark them up with hickeys high enough that only a low neckline would reveal them, a silent claim that makes him grin wider when you try to cover them later.
When you ride him, he’s got both hands full, gripping, teasing, watching them move with every roll of your hips while he talks filthy: “All mine. Look at ya—fuck—made just for me.”
Even when he’s got you bent over, he’s reaching around to palm one, pinching just to hear you gasp his name. Quickies in the cockpit of his jet? He’s got you pressed against the controls, mouth on your chest before he even gets inside you. Hal doesn’t share, doesn’t hesitate, and sure as hell doesn’t hide it. He’s a boobs man, loud and proud, and he’ll make damn sure you never forget who they belong to.
ROY HARPER
Ass. Full stop. And yeah, he’s a pervert about it, unapologetically.
Roy doesn’t just like it, he’s downright devoted. The man’s got a reputation for being a little rough around the edges, and that carries straight into the bedroom.
He loves watching you walk away just so he can grab a handful, smirking as he pulls you back against him with a low, “Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?” His hands are always drifting south, squeezing over your jeans during movie nights, sliding under your skirt at the worst possible moments, whispering filthy praise about how good you look bent over anything.
When things heat up, he’s got one goal: getting you face-down, ass up. He’ll spread you open slow, groaning like he’s starving the second he sees you, then dive in like it’s his last meal.
Roy’s a certified ass eater: messy, enthusiastic, no shame. Tongue flat and dragging, lips sucking, fingers digging into your cheeks to hold you exactly where he wants while you squirm and moan into the sheets. He gets off on the sounds you make, on feeling you shake against his mouth, and he’ll stay there until you’re begging him to stop (or begging for more, he’s good either way).
Even when he finally slides inside you from behind, he’s still obsessed: one hand gripping your hip, the other palming or spanking just to watch it jiggle. He’s the type to pull out mid-thrust, spread you again, and go right back to eating you out like he can’t help himself. After? He’s collapsing next to you, grinning like an idiot, tracing lazy circles on your ass while muttering, “Best view in the world.”
WALLY WEST
Both. And he’s greedy enough to prove it every single time.
Wally doesn’t choose because he literally doesn’t have to. Super speed means he can worship your tits and your ass in the same breath, sometimes literally. One second he’s got you on your back, mouth latched onto your nipple, moaning into your skin like he’s starving; the next he’s flipped you over without warning, hands spreading your cheeks so he can bury his face there, tongue already working like he’s been thinking about it for hours (because he has).
He’ll vibrate his fingers against your clit while he’s sucking on your breasts, then blur down to eat you out from behind so fast you barely register the switch, just the sudden overwhelming pleasure hitting you from every angle at once.
You’ll be mid-gasp from him pinching your nipples and suddenly he’s spanking your ass red, grinning against your thigh because “both deserve my attention, babe.”
Missionary? He’s motorboating like his life depends on it. Doggy? He’s pulling your hips back hard enough to leave handprints, watching your ass bounce while telling you how fucking perfect it is. Cowgirl? Best of both worlds—he’s got one hand squeezing your breast, the other gripping your ass to help you grind harder, eyes flicking between the two like he can’t decide what view he likes more (he never does).
Post-nut clarity doesn’t exist for Wally. He’ll flop down beside you, still catching his breath, one hand lazily cupping your tit, the other tracing circles on your ass cheek, murmuring, “Maybe round three for balance?”
TIM DRAKE
Boobs. Specifically yours. And he’s completely, hopelessly obsessed.
Tim wasn’t exactly inexperienced when you got together, but you were the first person who ever let him really touch, really look, really lose himself in them.
The first time you guided his hands under your shirt, his breath hitched like he’d forgotten how lungs worked. He stared wide-eyed, flushed red from his ears down, fingers trembling as he traced the curve like he was memorizing holy scripture. That moment rewired his brain permanently.
Now? He’s addicted in the quiet, intense way only Tim can be. He doesn’t grope you in public like some of the others (he’s too controlled for that) but the second you’re alone, his hands are magnetized to your chest.
He’ll pull you into his lap during late-night research sessions, nose buried in case files until you shift, and then his focus is gone. Notebook forgotten, he’s sliding both hands up your shirt, cupping you gently at first, thumbs brushing over your nipples while he murmurs, “Just… need this for a minute.” (It’s never a minute.)
He loves the weight of them in his palms, the way they move when you’re on top riding him slow. He’ll mouth at them for hours if you let him: soft kisses, careful licks, sucking marks into the tops where clothes will hide them but he’ll still know they’re there.
When he’s stressed or overworked (which is always), he’ll crawl into bed, rest his head on your chest, and just stay there, hand idly stroking while your heartbeat calms him down better than any meditation app.
And yeah, he gets possessive about it in his own understated way. If anyone else even jokes about your body, his jaw tightens and he changes the subject fast. Because those are his: his to hold, his to kiss, his to bury his face in when the world gets too loud. You were the first person who let him see, touch, feel this, and Tim doesn’t forget milestones like that.
Hey !! First of all I wanted to tell you that I looove your smau! And secondly I wanted to ask if you could do a smau where the reader discover their boyfriend secret identity and because of that they have a fight ?? I don’t know if you did that already but it could be cool. THANK YOUUU🩷
Second Persona
featuring: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Wally West, Roy Harper, Hal Jordan
warning: hurt/comfort, swearing
A/N: Heyyy!! I’m glad you love the smaus, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy reading this too!🩶
Angsty Request: DC characters(Roll the dice if you wanna do multi or just choose a random) reacting to Reader’s insecurity about being average. Like surrounded by so many people who are amazing at so many things, they don’t have anything that makes them “stand out” or “special”
Ordinary
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PAIRINGS: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Wally West, Clark Kent, Hal Jordan, Roy Harper
requests are open
It starts, like most things do, small.
A comment at a party. Someone saying oh, you're with him? What do you do? And you'd answered, and watched their face do the thing — the polite thing, the oh, that's nice thing — before they turned back to the person next to you who cured diseases or broke land speed records or could benchpress a building.
You don't say anything about it. It's fine. It's always fine.
It's just that fine has been accumulating for a while.
DICK
Dick finds out the way Dick finds out everything, which is by paying attention when you think he isn't.
You're at one of Bruce's Foundation galas, standing slightly to the left of where the conversation is happening, and Dick is watching you from across the room the way he watches things that matter to him — not obviously, not intrusively, just present in the specific way of someone who has made you his business.
He sees the moment. The woman is talking about her research. The colleague is talking about his company. The way you smile and contribute, and then go slightly, barely, quiet when someone asks the table what everyone does.
He's next to you before you've finished your answer.
His hand finds the small of your back. Not drawing attention. Just there.
Later, in the car, he doesn't say anything immediately. Dick knows when to wait.
"I'm boring," you say, to the window. You hadn't planned to say it. It just came out.
"You're not boring," he says.
"I'm not interesting. Not like — not like them. Not like any of you."
Dick is quiet for a moment.
"Can I tell you something?" he says.
"Don't."
"I'm going to anyway." He glances at you. "I grew up performing. Literally. I was on a trapeze before I could read properly. And then I was Robin, and then I was Nightwing, and my whole life has been about being something extraordinary in front of other people." He pauses. "You know what I wanted, for years, more than anything?"
You don't answer.
"Someone who was just there," he says. "Not performing. Not proving something. Just — present. Real." He takes your hand. "You are the only person in my life who makes me feel like I don't have to be anything other than Richard Grayson. Do you understand how rare that is? Do you understand what that's worth?"
You don't say anything.
"You're not boring," Dick says. "You're the only real thing I've got. That's not nothing. That's everything."
JASON
Jason is the wrong person to be subtle with, and you know it, which is why you don't try.
You say it flat, one night, while he's cleaning his helmet and you're sitting on the kitchen counter: "I don't know what I bring to the table. With you. In general."
He stops.
Puts the helmet down.
Turns to look at you with the expression he gets when he's deciding how to handle something he wasn't expecting.
"Where is this coming from," he says. Not a question.
"Everywhere." You look at your hands. "You're — you're you. And everyone around us is extraordinary. And I'm just — I'm here. I'm regular. I have nothing that — "
"Stop," he says.
"Jason — "
"I said stop." He crosses to where you're sitting, and he's close now, and his voice isn't angry, but it's firm in the way that means he means it. "You want to know what you bring to the table?"
You look at him.
"You don't flinch," he says. "You know what I am. You know everything — the pit, the Joker, the kill list, all of it — and you don't flinch. You don't look at me like I'm a problem to be managed or a tragedy to be fixed." His jaw is tight. "Do you have any idea how many people have looked at me like that? Every single person who matters to me. Everyone." He exhales. "Not you. Never you."
'That's just — that's just me not being scared of you — "
"That's not just anything," he says. "That's everything. You being unafraid of me is the thing that let me stop being afraid of myself."
He doesn't say things like that often. When he does, he means them the way buildings mean their foundations.
"You're not average," Jason says. "You're the bravest person I know. You just don't have a costume for it."
TIM
Tim approaches it like Tim approaches everything, which is logically, and initially, this is the wrong approach.
"There's no objective metric for being extraordinary," he says when you tell him. "The concept is relative and largely socially constructed — "
"Tim."
"I'm just saying that the framing of the question is — "
"Tim, I don't want a philosophical deconstruction. I feel like I'm not special. I feel like I don't belong in this world you all live in."
He stops.
He looks at you.
Tim Drake, to his credit, knows when he's made an error and corrects it fast.
"You're right," he says. "I'm sorry. That was — I went analytical because I don't know how to handle thinking about you feeling like that.' He sits down next to you. 'Can I try again?"
"Yeah," you say.
"You are the most perceptive person I have ever met," he says. "And I live with people who solve crimes for fun. You understand people — actually understand them, not just analyze them — in a way I've spent years trying to learn and still can't." He looks at you seriously. "You understood me. In like three weeks. That took Alfred years. That took Dick decades. You did it in three weeks."
"That's just — paying attention — "
"So is detective work," Tim says. "You just use it differently. You use it to make people feel known." He pauses. "I have never felt as known by anyone as I do by you. That is not a small thing. For me specifically, that is the largest possible thing."
You're quiet.
"You belong here," Tim says. "You belong with me. Those are the same thing, and they're both completely true."
DAMIAN
Damian doesn't find out because you tell him.
Damian finds out because he's Damian, and Damian notices everything, and files it, and brings it up at a time of his choosing, which is never the time you'd choose.
It's three weeks after a League of Assassins gala, of all things, where you'd spent an evening surrounded by people who could kill with seventeen different household objects, and you'd smiled and made conversation and felt comprehensively unremarkable.
You've mostly moved on. You think.
"You've been doing the thing," Damian says, out of nowhere, not looking up from his sketchbook.
"What thing?"
"The thing where you're present but you've decided you're not significant."
You stare at him.
He looks up. His expression is its usual composed, unimpressed default, but his eyes are doing something different. Something that, on anyone else, you'd call careful.
"I don't do a — "
"You've done it consistently since the Al-Ghul event," he says. "Which I should have addressed sooner. I was determining the correct approach."
"And what approach did you determine?"
Damian puts down the sketchbook. He turns to face you fully, which means this is serious.
"I was raised to believe that worth is determined by ability," he says. "By skill. By measurable superiority." A pause. "I was raised incorrectly."
You blink.
"You have no combat training. No powers. No particular strategic credentials." He says this without cruelty, just precision. "And yet you are the only person whose opinion I seek. The only person in whose presence I do not feel the need to perform capability." He holds your gaze. "You make me want to be better. Not because you've demanded it. Simply by existing as you are. By being decent, and kind, and entirely without artifice."
"Damian — "
"That is not average," he says. "That is exceptionally rare. I have met very few people who could survive my family's world and emerge kinder for it." He picks the sketchbook back up. "You are not ordinary. You are precisely the kind of person the extraordinary cannot manufacture, no matter how hard they try."
He goes back to sketching.
The subject is closed.
Except: you notice, later, that what he's drawing is you.
WALLY
Wally West has a lot of feelings and very little ability to not immediately express all of them at top volume, which is usually either the best or worst quality in a person, depending on the situation.
In this situation, it's the best.
"Okay, no," he says when you finish talking. "Nope. Absolutely not. We're not doing this."
"Wally — "
"You feel average? You? You feel average?" He is already pacing, which at Wally speed means he's basically vibrating in place. "You know what average looks like? I am surrounded by people who move at the speed of light and punch satellites, and I still think you're the most impressive person in any room you walk into. Do you know why?"
"Because you love me and you're biased — "
"Yes, and also because it's true." He stops pacing. He comes to stand in front of you with that Wally energy that's always slightly too big for indoor spaces, warm and earnest and completely unguarded. "You know what I think about when everything gets too fast? When it's too loud and too much, and the speed is more curse than gift?"
You don't answer.
"You," he says. "The way you move through a room like you've got all the time in the world. The way nothing seems to panic you. The way you slow everything down just by being there." He takes your hands. "I need you to understand that I run at the speed of sound and you are the only thing that makes me want to stop."
You look at him.
"You're not average," he says, serious for once, fully serious, the Barry Allen seriousness underneath all the Wally West noise. "You are the stillness I can't make myself. That's not a small thing. That's the whole thing."
ROY
Roy doesn't do speeches. Roy does honesty, which is sometimes messier but always lands harder.
"Yeah, I get it," he says when you tell him.
Which is not what you expected.
"You get it," you repeat.
"I've spent half my life next to Oliver Queen, who is generationally talented and also happens to be a superhero. And then Ollie's best friend is literally the fastest man alive." He leans back. "I know what it feels like to be the regular one. Trust me, I have a PhD in it."
"Then you know what I mean."
"I know what you mean," he says. "And I also know it's wrong." He looks at you levelly. "You know what nobody ever talks about? How hard it is to love people like us. People who disappear at two in the morning. Who comes back banged up and won't explain why. Who carries things they can't put down and take it out sideways?" His voice is even. "Most people leave. They can't handle it. And I don't blame them, it's a lot."
'Roy — "
"You stayed," he says. "That's not average. Staying with someone like me — staying with any of us — takes something most people don't have." He meets your eyes. "You want to know what you bring to the table? You make a life possible. An actual life. Not just a mission. Not just a cover identity." He exhales. "I didn't know I needed that. Turns out it's the only thing I actually needed."
You're quiet for a long time.
"You're not the regular one," Roy says. "You're the one who makes the rest of it worth it. There's a difference."
HAL
Hal Jordan's entire personality is confidence, which he sometimes actually has, which means he knows exactly how it sounds when someone's running low on it.
He hears it in you before you finish the sentence.
"Hey," he says, cutting you off gently. "Come back."
"I'm here."
"You're here, but you're doing the thing where you've already decided something, and you're just telling me the conclusion." He sits down across from you. "Start from the beginning."
So you do. You tell him about the feeling — the accumulation of it, the galas and the team-ups and the moments of standing next to someone extraordinary and being, by comparison, just there.
Hal listens. Hal is better at listening than anyone would guess, given everything else about him.
"You know what I've learned," he says, when you're done, "from having a ring that runs on willpower?"
"What?"
"Will isn't about being extraordinary. It's about deciding something matters and not letting go of that decision." He looks at you. "That's it. That's the whole thing. There's no talent component. There's no special gene. It's just — you decide, and you hold on."
"What does that have to do with me?"
"Because you have that," he says simply. "You have it more than most people I know, and I've literally flown through space with some of the most willful beings in the universe." He tilts his head. "You decided this relationship was worth it. You decided to stay in this world, with all of its chaos and its danger and its complete inability to function normally. You decided, and you held on."
"That's not — that's not the same as — "
"It's exactly the same." His voice is quiet and certain in the way that Hal Jordan rarely is, the way underneath all the bravado. "The ring would choose you. I know it would. It picks the ones who don't quit." He reaches over. "You've never quit. Not on me, not on any of us. That's extraordinary. You've just never called it that."
CLARK
Clark is the hardest to tell, because Clark is Clark, and you spend three weeks not saying it.
He notices at week two. He waits until you're ready.
When you finally say it — quietly, sitting on the apartment floor because you'd slid down the wall and hadn't bothered moving — you say: I just don't see what I am to all of this. What I contribute. What makes me matter in a world full of people who change things?
Clark sits down on the floor next to you.
He doesn't say anything immediately.
Clark is the most powerful being on the planet, and he uses that silence like it's something gentle.
"Can I tell you something?" he says, finally.
"If it's about how everyone is valuable in their own way, I'm going to — "
"It's not," he says. "It's about Smallville."
You wait.
"I grew up knowing what I was," he says. "Knowing I was different. And I spent a long time thinking that the power was the point — that what made me matter was what I could do that no one else could." He looks at the middle distance. "And then I got older, and I met people — journalists, farmers, teachers, ordinary people living ordinary lives — who were good in a way that had nothing to do with ability. Who showed up, every day, for the people around them. Who made things better not by being extraordinary but by being decent."
"Clark — "
"Those people changed my life more than the ability ever did," he says. "Being good is not a small thing. Being kind is not a small thing. Being the person who shows up, who stays, who loves without needing to be exceptional — " He looks at you. "That is the hardest thing I have ever encountered. Harder than anything I can lift."
He takes your hand.
"I have never once looked at you and seen someone who doesn't matter," he says. "I have looked at you and seen the kind of person I try to be. The kind of person I'm not sure I've managed yet." A pause. "You are not less than us. You are, in many ways, the thing we're trying to become."
The floor is still the floor. Nothing has changed technically.
But Clark is sitting on it with you, and somehow that makes the distance between ordinary and everything else feel much, much smaller.
(Wally West, Kon El Kent, Roy Harper, Starfire, Hal Jordan, Barry Allen, Clark Kent)
Synopsis: They're caught dating their friend's sister
Tags: Fluff ♡, a bit suggestive at parts, batfam sister, Nightingale alias
They hadn't meant to keep it a secret for so long, honestly. It's just... how do you tell your friend you're banging their sister? Probably start off by phrasing it better.
"Wally we are in public!" You swatted his hand that was travelling low.
"I'm not doing anything babe!" He feigned innocence but you saw the mischief behind his eyes.
"Uh-huh," You walked further ahead leaving his hand hovering where your waist once was. "Sure you weren't."
"Oh c'mon babe!" He jogged to catch up. Your bags of shopping swinging in his hands.
He settled back into your side with an arm around your waist like it was second nature. It was probably was at this point.
"I'm just saying that if you're tired from shopping I know a few ways to—woah!" Wally's body was tugged after you took a sharp left. It was late on a weekday, so the mall wasn't busy.
You pulled your boyfriend into the empty bathroom, dropping the bags to the floor and pushing him against the wall.
He laughed, "I knew you couldn't resist me."
"Shut up and kiss me."
"On it." The kisses were sloppy and desperate, like any other young couple hidden in a bathroom stall.
Your arms were wrapped around his neck like a viper. Your fingers played with the hairs on the base of his neck.
"You're so hot." He pulled away, just an inch or two to make the comment. His lips were covered in your lipgloss. And you swear there was tears in his eyes.
"Don't ruin this on yourself, babe."
"Okay I'll shut up." He nodded and dove back in for your lips.
At some point during your rendezvous, there was a robbery within the mall resulting in Nightwing—your brother showing up. You hadn't heard the alarms, the shouting or the approaching footsteps. Only realising your relationship was about to be found out when Dick's voice rang through your ears.
"What's going on here?"
You jumped away from Wally at the sound of your brother's voice. You looked up to see him peering over the stall door, head resting on his crossed arms.
"Dick...hi?" You searched your mind for what to say, but you came up blank.
"Hey, bro!" Wally's voice came out as a squeak.
"This is disgusting." You squinted at his remark.
You couldn't tell if he was referring to you being pressed up against his best friend, breathless and flushed—or you making out in a mall bathroom stall.
"I'm not judging your relationship, just your taste in makeout spots!"
"I'm judging your relationship!" A strained voice called out.
"Dick are you standing on Damian!?"
"Red Robin, Nightingale," You and your brother perked up at your father's voice. "Both of you head to The Narrows. I suspect there's a lead in our case there." He ordered.
The whole family was in the Batcave working a case involving Scarecrow.
"I shouldn't need to say this but—be careful." Bruce looked at you both sternly.
The gaze would freak out anyone else but everyone in the cave recognises it as fondness and worry.
"You got it!" You threw a silly salute before heading towards the cave exit, Tim following closely.
"And stick together!" Dick shouted as you vanished into the night.
Gotham could be kinda pretty at night. If you know the right places. You and Tim had split up—even though Dick told you to stick together. It was fine, you could still see each other. Supposedly, Scarecrow had enlisted a group of low-life criminals to transport canisters filled with his newest rendition of fear gas. You were crouched on a rooftop, peering over the ledge, scanning The Narrows for anyone or anything suspicious. It had been 27 minutes and 45 seconds since you arrived...and nothing has happened. Not even a stray cat to coo at.
"Do you want to play eye spy?" You saw Tim freeze and make a confused face at your question through the comms.
"We're on patrol." He deadpanned.
"But I'm so bored!" He sighed as you let your body go limp, half hanging off the building ledge, something you know any of your other brothers would scold you for.
Good thing you were with the one brother who lets you be stupid because he knows somehow you'll always come out successful.
"I'll demote you from favourite brother if you don't play." You threatened.
"I'm not playing eye spy in the middle of patrol Nightingale." He said through his teeth, holding the bridge of his nose.
"I'll replace your position with Damian."
"You wouldn't dare!"
"Oh, I would!" Just as the argument escalated a group of voices emerged from the shadows.
"This is where he said." An older guy, smoker by the sounds of it.
Two younger guys followed him, probably around college graduate age. They slipped into a run-down warehouse.
"There's an open window to the second floor and a back door," Tim informed you, having studied the blueprint beforehand.
"Let's go."
Dick's voice rang in your mind; "Stick together." It was laughable how quickly you and Tim had gotten separated. You hadn't realised the warehouse was designed like a maze. Some thug ambushed you when you entered. They didn't do any major damage—a scratch on the cheek. Worst of all he smashed your comm. You had no way of contacting Tim. Unless you wanted to yell across the warehouse and alert everyone you were here.
You snuck around the building, careful not to make loud footsteps. You're investigation eventually led to a hallway. A hallway you quickly realised reeked of gasoline.
"Shit." You whispered to yourself as the flick of a lighter sounded at the end of the hall.
A trail of fire lit up before you. The flames licked at you costume as you retreated. In the corner of your peripheral you spotted the worst thing you could; explosives.
"Fuck."
The hallway lit up bright and a deadening sound filled your ears. Definitely damaging your eardrums. But you didn't feel the pain of burns or debris crushing you. Instead, you felt a safe embrace that flew you out the shattered window.
"Kon!?"
"Heya babe!" He flashed a smig smile. He settled you onto a nearby rooftop.
"You okay?" His hands cupped your face. His thumb gently grazes over the scratch.
"I'm fine but—Tim!"
"I saw him chasing some guy down an alley amoment ago. He's alright." Knowing your brother wasn't affected by the explosion you could let yourself stare into your boyfriend's lovesick eyes.
"How'd this happen?" He lightly tapped the cut on your cheek.
"Got ambushed by some guy, destroyed my comm. B won't be happy about that..." You grimaced at the thought of returning to the cave.
"Don't worry yourself babe," Kon leaned in and pecked the space between the cut and your eye. "You can always call me—your handsome, super-boyfriend, to cheer you up!"
"What are you doing?" Tim grappled up onto the roof to see something he'd never thought he'd see.
You both stared at Tim like you'd just been caught committing a felony. All you and Kon could do is move your mouths like you were going to say something. But nothing ever came out. Tim didn't need to be a trained detective or a genius to understand the secret he'd just discovered. He really didn't know what to say.
"All I ask is that you never be," He lifted his fingers to form quotations. "cute, in front of me."
"Roy what the fuck!?" You whispered yelled, only wearing a towel as you'd just showered.
Roy was perched on your windowsill. One leg bent and the other aimlessly swinging back and forth.
"Shouldn't be leaving your windows open this late babe," He pointed out before dropping to his feet. "Someone could break in." He sported a stupid grin.
"Roy—"
"You look gorgeous." His eyes raked over your body, watching a few droplets of water slip down your skin.
A calloused hand cupped your cheek and all of a sudden your mind went blank. He stepped closer to fill the space. His hand found your lower back through the damp towel.
"How'd I get so lucky?" He chuckled before swooping in for a kiss.
Your hands fisted the towel. You desperately wanted to get your hands on him, it had been awhile since you two were together. And that was because—
"Dude! What the fuck!?"
Jason was crashing at your apartment. Jason—who although friends with Roy—believed him to be a bad influence and didn't want you two hanging out. Let alone making out. You jumped away from the kiss but Roy pulled you back into his arms. Your knuckles turned white from how tightly you were holding onto the towel, and your sanity.
"Jason get out of my room!" You screamed.
"Why is Roy in your room!?" As his sister, you can confidently tell people that the rumours are true; Jason is a massive drama queen.
"None of your business!"
"I think it is my business why my best friend is in your room, when your only in a towel!"
"Dude," Roy began. Jason just gave a stern look in response. "She's an adult." Roy placed a pile of clothes you had thrown on your bed into your hands. He ushered you back into your bathroom to change.
Their voices were a little muffled but you could make out what they were saying.
"Roy what the hell!"
"Jay—"
"We talked about this!"
"That you don't think I'm a good influence based on my past? Yeah I know we've talked about this—hearing that from my best friend kinda stuck with me!"
It went silent on their end for a moment. The wind came through the open window to fill the void. And your clothes were annoyingly loud in the silence.
"Jason, she's your sister, I get that you're worried for her, but she's an adult. She can make her own decisions." He sighed.
"You know better than anyone how smart she is Jay, trust her—and me—please?"
You crept out of the bathroom, the door squeaking unceremoniously. Jason had his arms crossed, and a sour expression on his face as his gaze flicked between you and Roy.
"You better not fuck this up." That was all he said before exiting your room.
"You let me know and I'll kill him!" He added, shouting from down the hallway.
You shut the door and locked it, sighing. "Where were we?"
The misson had gone south. Like very far down south. So south that Bruce and Dick had sent you away to a safe house and wouldn't let anyone else know where you were south. You hated it. There was absolutely nothing to do and all you could hope for was that Dick would show up and tell you that the coast was clear and you could go home. Glass shattering had your head snapping towards the bedroom so fast you heard a crack. You quickly grabbed your weapons and headed towards the room.
You leaned your ear against the door. There was movement so definitely some kids' stray ball.
"Sunny?" You stood straighter at the nickname and voice.
You swung the door open, your weapons dropping to the floor. There she stood—Koriand'r; your secret girlfriend. Who you hadn't been allowed to call or text this whole time.
"Kori!" You ran to her arms. The Tamaranean lifted you with ease, your body instantly curling around hers like a koala.
"Sunny! Why have you not been speaking to me?" She asked with sad eyes. You gave a nervous laugh.
"Last misson, didn't end so well," her eyes immediately scanned you for any major injuries. "I got out alright—kinda?" She didn't look please to hear that.
"Allow me to assist." She sat you down on the bed.
You winced a little. How exactly do you tell your girlfriend whom you haven't been speaking to for at least two weeks, that you got roughed up and shot at?
"To properly assist I must remove the cloth barrier."
"What?"
Kori was already removing you clothes before you could process what she'd said. You were sat in your underwear. Your bruises and stitches on full display. She gasped.
"Sunbeam! What has happened?"
"Baby it's fine, Dick patched me before dropping me here!"
"What the hell is going on?" Your eyes widened at the sound of your brother's voice.
"Starfire?"
"Nightwing! How dare you!" She got up from crouching in front of you. You took the opportunity to gain some dignity back and put your clothes on.
"How dare I what?" Dick was nothing but confused.
"How dare you hide my lover from me!"
Dick choked on air at the statement.
"Lover!?"
"Kori!" You gasped.
Dick backed up from the angry Tamaranean.
"I just came by to tell you that everything's been sorted, so—"
"So you will give me back my lover?" Her eyes were sparkling with hope now.
Even if you weren't safe to leave you don't think Dick would've been able to deny her to be with you. He was also a little scared of the sudden switch-up.
"Uh, yeah!" She skipped back over to you.
Her hug knocks you both onto the bed. You looked over to Dick and he gave a betrayed look at the fact that you never updated him on your love life. You weren't going to hear the end of this for a while.
Oh shit, he's going to tell Bruce.
"Who's the new girl?" Barry asked.
"This is Nightingale, she is my sister and will be helping out on the case." Barry nodded at Bruce before stretching his hand out to greet you.
"I'm Flash, nice to meet ya!" You shook his hand firmly, giving him a polite smile.
"Nice to meet you too."
A sudden burst of green light brought your attention to the door. Your eyes widened at who emerged from the light. Hal Jordan—your secret boyfriend.
"Well hello." Hal flirted before remembering where he was and clocking who was standing beside you.
"Who's she? New member?"
"Temporary. Nightingale is helping us on our new case." Barry caught Hal up on what he had missed. "She's Bats sister!"
He nodded and gave you a once-over. He knew you were a vigilante, but he'd never seen you in your suits. Damn, you were hot.
"Hal." Bruce called sternly.
"Uh—nice to meet you." He gave a stiff handshake. Trying to act like he'd never held your hands before.
"You too."
"You already know Queen." Bruce motioned towards Oliver, who had a shit eating grin on his face.
"Hey junior."
"Hello Oliver." Bruce gave Oliver an odd look for his mischievous smile.
You gave a small wave to Dinah who sat beside Oliver. She gave a wave and a knowing smile back. Diana and Clark made there way into the meeting room. Shortly after the introductions you all sat down and began discussing the case.
You were stood at the top of the room informing the League of all your collected evidence and leads on the case. Hal knew he should've been paying attention but he simply couldn't pay attention when you looked so good. Your latex suit carved out your figure Hal loved so much perfectly.
"Hal? Hal? Hal!" Barry's voice and shove to the shoulder brought him out of his dream.
"What?" Oliver and Dinah stiffled laughs behind their hands. Barry gave a confused look, whilst Clark and Diana hid small smiles at the exchange. He didn't have to look in Bruce's direction to feel his scowl and glare.
"Sorry, what was the last part?" He scratched his neck.
"I said," You repeated the previous piece of information to him. You tried your best to look him in the eyes and not stumble over your words.
"Got it." He said, although you didn't entirely believe he was actually listening. He still seemed to be distracted by your attire.
"Alright, what was that?" Barry pulled Hal aside after the meeting.
"What was what?" Hal played stupid. He knew exactly what Barry was talking about.
"You know what I'm asking about." Barry settled beside him in the kitchen. He was throwing together a sandwich stuffed with almost everything in the fridge. Hal settled for a coffee.
"C'mon man, tell me." He begged with a mouth full of sandwich. Hal rolled his eyes.
"Okay—but dont say anything." He gave Barry a serious look. Barry only smiled with crumbs on his cheeks. Hal scanned the kitchen, it was just the two of them.
"Okay, me and Nightingale have been seeing eachother for—"
"You're dating Nightingale!?" Barry yelled in shock. Hal felt his eyes twitch at the outburst.
"Hal."
Barry's eyes widened. Hal's body tensed up. He turned around to see you and Bruce in the doorway.
"Damn, good for you."
"Shut up Barry!" Bruce and Hal shouted in sync.
It was another day of sneaking out of Gotham to Central City with the excuse of work. In reality, you're sneaking around with your speedy boyfriend, like college students with strict parents. Except you just have a protective brother who happens to be the colleague of your boyfriend Barry. He'd finally gotten a day off from STAR Labs and thankfully hadn't been much crime activity. It was the perfect time for a date. And maybe a sleepover.
"Stop—I'm trying to focus!" Barry laughed as you poked at him.
Due to you being a public figure restaurant dates were a no. Couldn't risk the paparazzi outing you to your family.
"But you're so cute!" You smiled and wrapped your arms around his neck.
He did his best to watch the boiling pasta. But how could he with such a beautiful woman wrapped around him? One hand stirred with a wooden spoon. It didn't take long for both his hands to settle around your waist though. Barry smiled fondly as your manicured hands cupped his face.
"God, you're so handsome." You purred, biting your lip slightly.
"Is it hot in here?" Barry grinned sheepishly.
"Just kiss me." You demanded in a sultry tone, your nose brushing his. Barry wasted no time diving in to meet your tinted lips.
The simple kiss quickly escalated into more. Since he couldn't treat you to a fancy restaurant date, he did the best he could to improvise by dressing in the only fancy clothes he had. Now his hair was ruffled with you fingers tangled in it. His tie was loose and the top of his shirt was unbuttoned with the collar stood up. You pulled away from the kiss to give your work a once over. He looked at you with a dopey smile. He was flushed all over. The blood rush nearly hid the lipstick marks all over him.
"What are you laughing at?" You giggled even harder at the question. His voice slurred with lovesickness.
"You look drunk."
"Drunk on love." You howl laughed in response. He gripped your hips as you leaned back laughing, your hands resting on his exposed chest.
"C'mere." He quickly lifted you onto the counter. His hands rested very low on your back. Your lips founds his again. And at some point, one of you accidently hit League gadget Barry had left lying around. Caught up in moment neither of you heard it ring. Nor did you see the hologram screen with Batman—your brother appear.
He cleared his throat.
"Oh my god!" You screamed and pushed Barry off you.
Your hands covered the incriminating smudged lipstick. There was no way you were lying your way out of this. Even if he hadn't caught this kiss; what were you doing with Barry? And why does he look like he just fought with Cupid?
"Uh—I—Bats! Didn't see ya there!" Barry stuttered.
"Mhm."
"Bruce?" You piped up. Embarrassment written all over your face.
"Mhm?"
"Can we talk—uhm—later maybe?"
"Mhm."
"Okay—thanks—great talk—bye!" You reached out to shut the device beside you off.
"Your pasta's boiling over." Bruce pointed out before disappearing.
"Oh shit!" Barry cried.
There's was a monster outbreak in Metropolis. Superman was trying to handle to situation as peacefully as possible. He was flying around, trying to tire out the creature so he'd be able to bring them away safely. He swooped around buildings and caught stuck civilians, flying them to safety.
He saved an old lady and her cat, three kids who got separated from their teacher, and a squirrel. There was minimal damage to the surrounding buildings so far.
"Mommy!" A little girl he'd just saved from a falling traffic light ran to her mother.
"Thank you, Superman!" She cried as he hugged her daughter tightly.
"No problem!" He shot back up into the air to continue the fight.
All the civilians were a safe distance away. He was 100% focused, he almost had the creature—a truck was thrown down the streets, towards a woman—towards you. He immediately redirected his attention. Quickly picking you up and flying to a nearby rooftop.
"Honey, are you okay? W-what are you doing here?" His voice quivered as he scanned over you. He instantly noticed the limp in your leg, and there was dry blood on your ankle.
"Uh-I came to the suprise you." You admitted breathlessly from screaming. "Not the kind of suprise I'd hope to give!"
Clark froze, he didn't want to leave you but he didn't want to leave the people of Metropolis to find for themsleves.
"What are you waiting for!? Go!" You shooed him off, but no before he could give you a kiss on the cheek.
"I'll be back!" He shouted as he dived off the building ledge.
"Good luck!"
Clark smiled briefly for the cameras once the fight was over. The creature being ethically dealt with.
"Superman! Superman! Can you spare a moment-"
"I'm afraid I have to go!" He gently removed the microphone that was being shoved into his face. "Take care, everyone!"
He flew off into the sky, discreetly returning to the rooftop he'd left you on.
"Honey! Are you still here?" He called out. He sighed in relief at the sight of you with your ankle bandaged up. Only to freeze at the glare being sent his way. Not be you.
"Batman! What are you doing here?"
"I'd like to know what you're doing with my sister? Clark." He looked to you for confirmation about the situation. He could tell by your guilty expression that you hadn't updated your brother on your love life.
"I believe Ms. Wayne would be better at answering your questions." Bruce turned to face you. You let out a nervous laugh as your brother toward over you.
"Uhm—," You cleared your throat. "Well—you see—uhm—me and Clark are kinda—"
"Get to it."
"Sorta dating?" You told him like it was a question. Something you could backtrack on if he didn't approve.
"I see." That was all he said before he vanished. Claiming he had business to attend to.
"Why'd you leave it up to me?!" You punched Clark's shoulder. He didn't move an inch.
"I'm sorry love," His arms wrap around your waist. "It's not my fault you're keeping secrets though."
Your hands rested on his chest, his heartbeat erratic from the fight, but also you.
"C'mere." One of his large hands found your cheek, pulling you into a sweet kiss.
A/N: Clark Kent is such a "Honey, I'm home!" guy. Hal's my favourite freak I need to write something for him. I need to write more for these characters in general. Currently obsessed with Wally and trying to write something for him rn. I'd love to hear some ideas for these characters!
🍒 you change the autocorrect words in his phone and tell him you feel ugly. || fluff!! smau || ⋆˚࿔ i dont know how else to explain but it’s basically changing (for example) cute to ugly
