#dc fluff

[fallen-jpg]

jason doesn't want any of that wholesome family bs (they stayed for 2 more hours)

part 2 here >>>

[luvlypresley]

The Nightwing "No Pay-Policy"

you slide your card toward the register like it’s nothing, like you didn’t spend the last hour watching dick grayson smile at you across dinner and pretending your knees weren’t weak.

he notices immediately. of course he does. this man has the reflexes of a cat and the dramatic instincts of a theatre kid raised by ninjas.

“hey— hey, hey, hold on.” he’s already halfway out of his chair, eyes wide, voice half-laughing like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “what do you think you’re doing?”

you blink. “...paying?”

dick presses a hand to his chest like you’ve wounded him. “paying? you? for me?” he shakes his head slowly, lips twitching. “that’s cute. wrong, but cute.”

you try not to smile, because he’s being ridiculous, standing there in his leather jacket, hair falling into his eyes like he was crafted to be your weakness. “i just thought I could take this one.”

“no, no, sweetheart.” he steps closer, resting his palms on the counter beside your hand. you can feel the warmth of him, the way he crowds in without being pushy. “that’s my job.”

you raise a brow. “your job?”

his grin softens just enough to make your heart stutter. “yeah. my job. i asked you out. i pay. that’s the rule.”

“that’s not a real rule.” you argue.

“it is in the dick grayson handbook,” he counters, tapping the imaginary badge on his chest. “chapter one: be a gentleman. chapter two: do unnecessary flips. chapter three: pay for dates.”

you snort. “i swear you make half of this up.”

he leans in, lowering his voice like it’s a secret just for you. “only the parts meant to make you smile.”

your cheeks warm and he definitely catches it. His eyes flicker in that smug soft boy way, not arrogant, just unbearably fond.

dick nudges your card back toward you with two fingers, slow and deliberate. “look… i know you can pay. you’re capable, you’re independent, you scare the hell out of me in the best way.” he pauses, blue eyes bright, honest. “but let me treat you tonight. i want to.”

you swallow. “you really don’t like when i try to pay, huh?”

he huffs a laugh, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “i like that you try. i like that you’re thoughtful. but it also makes me wanna wrap you up in my arms and say ‘nope, not happening’ every single time.”

“possessive much?” you tease.

“only when it comes to you,” he shoots back, grinning like it’s the most natural truth in the world.

he takes your card, sets it back in your bag, and presses the tiniest kiss to your forehead before you can argue. “let me do this one. consider it… an investment in more nights like this.”

you look up at him, fighting a smile. “and what do i owe in return?”

dick shrugs lightly, looping his fingers with yours as he hands his card to the cashier. “just keep showing up.”

and the way he says it. Soft, earnest, like you’re the best thing to happen to his week...yeah.

you’re not fighting him on the bill anymore.

hes so cute i wanna eat him

©luvlypresley2025 - do not translate or copy in any way.

[kryptoclark]

have you ever tried this one?

pairing: clark kent x fem!reader

summary: standing ovulation, or whatever they say. (or, in other words, you want clark to fuck a baby into you)

wc: 4.2k

genre/tags: husband!clark, mentions of pregnancy, fluff, smut, p w/lil plot, no protection is used (the fic is based off juno by sabrina carpenter....we're talking babies here), feral!clark, breeding kink, slight praise kink, p in v sex, fingering, dry humping/grinding, making out, big dick!clark ofc

notes from auddie: in celebration of sab's album coming out tn, have this fic inspired by one of my fav songs hehe. this is a little break from my super long beast plot-driven fics and was super fun to write! ...and i need clark as my husband stat.

you don't mean to be staring, but how could you not?

clark's standing at the dresser across from your shared bed, back turned to you, pulling off his shirt – slow and casual, as if he doesn't know what he's doing to you.

he's talking about something mundane – leads at work he wants to pursue, perry's latest rant, jimmy's recent fling – but you can't hear a word of it.

all you see are the deep lines of his back muscles, the slope of his shoulders, the way his biceps flex when he drags the fabric over his head.

he tosses the shirt into the hamper in the corner of your bedroom and finally turns to you, probably to ask why you haven't given any input in the time he's been speaking. it's an odd occurrence, being that he's usually the listener between the two of you.

you feel your pulse spike when his hands move to the buckle of his leather belt, skillfully pulling the material from the loops of his slacks.

"am i boring you?" clark asks, quirking a brow upward at your silence.

it takes a minute for his words to register in your brain, slowly blinking back to his attention, humming absently, "hm?"

his eyes narrow slightly and you can read his expression. he's using his damn super vision to determine if anything was biologically wrong with you. therefore, he'll be quick to know that–

"you're staring," he says, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"no, i'm not," you lie. plain as day.

clark's brow lifts, playing along. "no? you've said nothing for two whole minutes."

"i'm allowed to enjoy the view in my own home," you shoot back, tone pitched too high. too innocent. or, at least, a poor attempt at sounding innocent.

clark chuckles, walking closer to the foot of the bed. he still hasn't bothered to put on a shirt – he knows exactly what he does to you. "you, mrs. kent, are insatiable," he murmurs.

"excuse me," you scoff, trying to appear nonchalant but you know the pounding of your heart betrays you. "you're the one walking around looking like that. shirtless. muscles out. like i'm not supposed to be drooling."

"you're married to me," he reminds you, all calm, climbing up onto the bed. "you've seen it a thousand times."

"and it never gets less rude."

he laughs again and then he leans in to kiss you.

it's supposed to be a sweet kiss to your lips, but the second his mouth brushes yours, you surge forward, grabbing his jaw and pulling him closer.

and clark, the most attentive lover there can be, adapts to your eagerness, allowing you to guide him to lean back against the headboard.

"baby," he murmurs against your lips when you climb into his lap.

"you're literally obscene," you mumble, trailing kissing along his jaw and down his neck. "looking like that everyday," you add, grounding your hips against his lap, already feeling the stirring within his slacks.

clark groans, soft and choked, as his grip tightens around your hips, instinctively squeezing the flesh there. "i was just trying to talk to you about work," he manages, his voice raspier now.

"you can tell me after," you breathe, "i need you right now."

clark kisses you like he's trying to be patient, but you feel the way his hands grip tighter, his breathing grows heavier, like he's holding back because he knows what happens when he doesn't.

and honestly, you're waiting for that patience to snap.

you grind down once in his lap, just to test him. just to see.

he groans, low and rough like you lit a match in his chest.

"jesus, sweetheart," he murmurs against your lips, hands gripping your hips to still you. "what's gotten into you tonight?"

"you," you breathe, rocking once more to make sure he feels your neediness. "just you."

he huffs a laugh, though it comes out strained, like he's working harder than usual to keep his composure. "just me, huh?"

"always you," you whisper, eyes wide and desperate when they meet his. "but-" you bite your lip, hesitant for only a moment before it all rushes out. "i don't know, clark. lately it's like i can't think about anything else. you, your hands, your mouth... the way you feel inside me."

he stills beneath you, chest rising in a deeper breath as his blue eyes search your face. whatever he finds there – probably sheer desperation – makes his jaw tighten, something tender sparking behind his gaze.

"sweetheart..." his thumb brushes your cheek, his voice low, coaxing. "you've been wound up all day, haven't you?"

heat flares in your chest, down to your stomach, pooling between your thighs. you nod, breath shuddering. "it's worse than usual. i-" your voice breaks as you cling tighter to his shoulders, confessing in a rush, "i keep thinking about... about babies. about you giving me one."

it's true that you'd been thinking about this for a while now. it's only natural, after all! you and clark have been married for two years now, building a home, creating a rhythm that feels so solid it sometimes makes your chest ache with how much you love and adore him.

lately, though, it's been impossible to ignore the way your friends keep announcing pregnancies, showing off ultrasound pictures, or casually dropping that they're "trying." each time, a flicker of longing sparks in your chest – one you usually try to dismiss as typical baby fever. until times like this. when it roars up and consumes you whole when clark is right there in front of you, or in this case, beneath you.

maybe its hormones, maybe its timing – hell, you know you'er ovulating right now, your body practically begging for it – but it doesn't feel shallow. it feels like a need. deep, bone-deep need. and clark is the center of all of it: the way he looks at you, the way he touches you, the way you know without a doubt he'd be the most incredible father.

and now, you can't stop fantasizing the face of a child with his matching smile. maybe his deep ocean eyes, if you're lucky.

your words hang in the air, hot and heavier than anything you've ever blurted mid-makeout. but clark doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away. if anything, his expression softens, though his body underneath you goes taut with a different kind of tension.

"baby..." he breathes, this time not in playful endearment toward you but as if the word itself is sacred on his tongue with its other meaning. his hands steady on your hips, grounding you, even as you feel him hardening beneath you. "is that what you want? really?"

your answer is a quiet, desperate "yes," before you can think better of it. "i've been thinking about it for weeks... months even. all our friends, pregnant or trying... it just- clark, it makes me realize how much i want that with you. with our family. i already know you'd be a great father."

his gaze melts, a mixture of awe and something more primal flickering under his long lashes. "yeah, sweetheart? months?" he murmurs, almost to himself. then he swallows hard, voice dropping to a husky growl. "'ve thought it about it, too. more than i probably should."

you suck in a short breath, brows raising at the lowness of his tone and his words. "you have?"

he hums in confirmation, the sound bubbling in his throat. "yeah," he rasps. his hands, once firm on your hips, glide to your belly, fingers dancing over the fabric of your t-shirt. "thought about you swelled up in here," he murmurs, his hand slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to gently caress the skin there.

you shiver at his touch, hips pressing involuntarily into his lap. "clark..." your voice cracks, low and needy, betraying just how much this is all affecting you. your mind is already muddled with a lust-filled haze from ovulation and his words aren't making it any better. the warmth of his hands against your stomach, the idea of him imagining you like this, it makes you ache.

he leans down, brushing his lips over your collarbone, just above the collar of your shirt. each of his kisses are deliberate, teasing. "you want me to make you a mommy?" he murmurs, low against your skin.

his gaze is heated, the grip of your waist nearly bruising from the sheer amount of restraint he's holding inside. he's truly so considerate, gentle in the way he always holds you, despite holding the amount of strength that can easily harm you. but he never does.

to this day, you wonder how he manages it – how someone with the power to move mountains can touch you like you're the most fragile thing in the universe.

but tonight, there's a crack in his usual control, and you can feel it in the way his dingers dig deeper into your waist, the way his breath comes ragged against your collarbone.

he lifts his head and his eyes flicker down to your lips, and then your stomach. you can read his mind clear as day behind his eyes. he's picturing it. you. swollen with his baby, carrying his family. it's as if the image makes something primal twist inside him – and you, too – and when his gaze meets yours again, it's darker. hungrier.

"sweetheart..." his voice is a rasp, reverent and rough at the same time. "i'm trying... trying to be careful." his words are emphasized by the way his hands glides up and down your sides, perhaps in a way that prevents him from squeezing you too roughly.

you cup his jaw, forcing him to look at you, grounding him as much as you're urging him on. "you don't have to be careful," you whisper, lips barely grazing his as you speak. "not tonight."

he exhales sharply with a slight groan. his grip tightens, dragging you flush against him until you can feel the full length of his cock straining between you.

"i need you, clark," you insistent, desperation clear in your tone as you rock against him. "i want all of you. everything. no protection."

your words are basically gas to the fire already brewing simmering within him. his head dips, lips crashing against yours, the kiss much rougher now, full of teeth and need. his hands roam with more urgency, no longer holding back as he palms your ass, dragging you against him.

the kiss grows messy, your breaths tangling together and his tongue hot and insistent against yours. he groans deep in his chest when you grind down against him harder and then, all of a sudden, you're no longer in his lap.

with one fluid motion, clark flips you on your back, the mattress dipping under his weight as he cages you in. your gasp breaks the kiss, but his mouth is persistent, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your jaw and throat.

"clark–" you manage, breathless and clutching his shoulders.

"sorry, sweetheart," he murmurs against your skin, his voice raw. his hands slide beneath your shirt, dragging it upward to your neck, palms warm as they roam up your stomach, ribs, cupping your breasts. "needed you spread out f'me... needed to see you."

he groans as his hands shower attention to your breasts. his thumbs graze your nipples until they pebble beneath his touch. "so pretty," he murmurs, reverent as he rolls the hardened peaks between his thumbs and forefingers. "these'll get so big," he adds, groaning to himself as if imagining it – the growth your breasts will have all to do with the eventual pregnancy hormones.

your breath hitches at the idea, arching into his touch as a shiver runs down your spine. "yeah," you agree with a whisper, nodding.

his lips brush against the curve of one breast, feather-light at first, then harder, trailing wet and teasing kisses down to your nipple. he groans against your skin as he swirls his tongue around the pebble, flicking it with practiced precision, all while keeping his gaze locked on yours.

you whine when he gets rougher, biting and nipping at your breast with more fervor, the sharp pleasure making your fingers tangle in his curls.

"so, so perfect," he says, lips leaving a wet trail of saliva down your chest to circle the other nipple with his tongue with equal reverence. his thumb rolls the previous peak, puffy and wet from stimulation.

you writhe beneath him, the need too much between your thighs. you're sure you're soaked through your panties and pants and it's taking all of you to not rip them off yourself. "clark," you whine impatiently, hips bucking upward against the bulge in his slacks.

"alright, alright," he murmurs, his voice bordering a deep growl. his hands drift from your breasts, gliding down your bare sides, sending shivers down your spine, until they reach the waistband of your leggings. with a quick force, he tugs the material down your thighs and calves, pulling them off your feet and tossing it behind him.

in the meantime, you tug the rest of your shirt up above your head and toss it aside.

he growls low in his throat as he slides his hands up the bare skin of your thighs, reaching the apex. one hand dips between your thighs, making contact with the heat of your core through your panties.

his fingers press lightly at first, teasing over the soaked fabric with slow, deliberate strokes. the friction has you gasping and arching, hips lifting into his hand.

he hums, low and rough as he presses harder, the pad of his finger pushing right against your clit through the cotton of your panties. "oh, sweetheart. you're absolutely drenched," he growls, fingers finally tugging aside the material to expose your core to the air. "all dripping for me already... just thinking about carrying my baby, and you're soaking like this for me?"

you moan, the sound raw and needy as you nod, fingers clutching the sheets as he begins teasing you, brushing over your clit with precise, yet slowly agonizing strokes. "mhm, 'm so wet, clark. i want more," you beg, hips bucking into his hand, desperate for more.

he hums in acknowledgment, but even you can tell his patience is fraying. he makes quick movement in tugging your panties down your thighs, also discarding them somewhere on the floor behind him.

with massive hands, he spreads your legs apart, watching as you core clenches around nothing. his hand returns back to your heat, gathering some of your slick with a drag of his hand.

his fingers slide inside you just enough to tease, pressing against your folds while he drags the pad of his thumb over your clit again and again. each motion is deliberate, savoring your wetness. "don't think 've ever felt you this wet before," he muses, voice a mixture of awe and desire. "feel like i could slide right in without prepping you."

"you can!" you're quick to point out, hips twitching eagerly.

you hear him chuckle lowly before dipping a finger past your entrance. "maybe, but that wouldn't make me a gentleman, would it?"

you whine, arching your back restlessly, fingers clutching the sheets. "please... don't tease me. i'm ready," you insist. "want all of you. now."

his laugh is low, vibrating through your as he leans down, lips brushing against your in a fleeting kiss. "my insatiable wife," he murmurs, teeth grazing your lower lip. "so eager..."

you can't help but whimper, nodding when he leans back to look at you. your eyes round with pure want, and your teeth trap your bottom lip.

"who am i to deny my wife when she's asking – begging me to put a baby in her?" he asks rhetorically, leaning back to finally unbutton his slacks. it's a shock how he'd managed to keep his pants on this long with the way his cock is straining against the slim fabric.

he slides his slacks down, freeing himself at last. the head of his cock glints in the dim light of your bedroom, twitching with need, and you breath hitches.

"all this time..." he rasps, voice rough and low as he wraps a hand around himself, stroking himself lazily. "always careful... condoms, always... and now, i get to have you raw."

you gasp as he leans forward, sliding his fat cock between your folds, slicking himself up with your arousal. he groans, biting his lower lip as he lines himself up with your welcoming center.

you nearly choke on a moan a the swollen head nudges against your entrance, the sensation sending a shockwave through you without that thin barrier you've alway had between you.

your thighs fall apart even more – if that's even possible – welcoming him in, your hands reaching up to clutch at his broad shoulders.

with a low guttural groan, he sinks the head of his cock past your entrance, stretching you inch by inch. the burn is immediate, overwhelming, but so is the delicious flow of pleasure seeping into you at the feeling of him bare inside you for the very first time.

"oh my," he whines, feeling your heat engulf him in a way he never felt before.

your mouth falls open on a broken moan, nails digging into his shoulders and carving crescents into his skin. every inch feels different, raw and unfiltered, his skin dragging against yours with no barrier between you.

clark shudders above you, arms trembling as he braces himself. "sweetheart..." he breathes, almost reverent, forehead pressed to yours. "you're... wow, you're squeezing me so tight. feels like i'm inside you for the first time all over again."

his voice trembles and your walls flutter at his words, clenching around the thick intrusion as your body adjusts.

he groans low, jaw tight, and you can tell he's fighting the urge to slam the rest of the way inside you.

"clark–" you gasp, voice shaking beneath him. "it's so – ah– s'much!"

"i know, i know, baby." he peppers kisses across your cheeks, the corner of your mouth, your jaw, his hips rocking into you just enough to sink another inch inside you. "just breathe, sweetheart."

the stretch makes your thighs quake, toes curling into the sheets as he pushes deeper, inch by inch. when he finally bottoms out, your whimper turns into a cry, arms winding tight around his neck and pulling him closer to you.

your whines have barely has the chance to fade before clark pulls back, his hips grinding slowly, savoring every bare inch of you.

but, through bleary eyes, you notice something shift within him. something in his face changes; his pupils blown wide, lips parted, breath ragged as if your heat alone snapped some final tether insied you.

"gosh," he groans, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in to the hilt, making the headboard slam against the wall. your cry is loud, broken and desperate, and it only spurs him on. "you're... jesus... you'll take every drop i give you, yeah?"

your nails rake down his back, but the words are stolen from your throat when he suddenly hooks your knees, folding you in half with shocking ease. your thighs press against your chest, body bent open beneath him and you're utterly helpless under the strength of his body.

"clark-!" you gasp, eyes flying wide at the intensity of the position.

"mating press," he rasps, rutting into you hard enough to make the mattress squeal beneath your bodies. "that's what you want, isn't it? me breeding you like this?"

the sound you let out is more a sob than a moan and his grin is feral, sweat dripping down his temples as his hips piston into you, faster, deeper, filling you to the brink every time. the slap of skin against skin fills the room as he finds his rhythm, mingling with your cries and his low growls.

"you're gonna get so full of me... my seed inside you, making you a mom... your belly all swollen. oh, you'll be such a good mom," he rambles between grunts, pushing his cock back and forth into your core.

every thrust drags his cock deeper against your sweet spot inside you, your gummy walls fluttering around him, tightening as though your body is begging to be thoroughly bred.

"i'll take of you so well. y'wouldn't lift a finger at all. leave it to me," he continues, lost in his own words, no doubt playing the image of you both with your little family of your own.

your cries break into a scream – your poor neighbors – when his thrusts turn brutal, his cock slamming into you with single-minded desperation. the angle, the force, the sheer intensity of him above you has your body spiraling too fast to keep up.

"clark– wait! 'm going to-"

"cum for me," he grits out, voice rough. "want you to cum 'round my cock for the first time."

the command tears through you, and you tip over the edge, cleching down around him so hard he chokes on a moan. your release gushes hot against his cock, coating him as you tremble beneath him.

"atta girl, sweetheart. you're doin' so well," he pants, his pace going erratic as he chases his own high. "you were made to be bred by me," he rasps.

when you clamp down again against him, your pussy quivering from the stimulation, his hips stutter.

he gasps, slamming himself all the way to the hilt, holding you down in the mating press as his cock pulses deep inside you. the first hot spill makes you moan, the sensation unlike anything before – thick, raw, flooding you in heavy spurts that seems endless.

clark's head tips back with a low moan as he ruts through it, fucking his cum as deep as he can push it. "take it," he pants, breath shuddering. "take every drop, baby. don't waste a single bit."

you whine at the stretch of him, and you feel the sticky warmth that leaks out around his length, only for him to push it back inside you with another sharp thrust.

he stays locked inside you, while he catches his breath, still holding your thighs up. when he looks back down at you, he's met with your fucked-out expression: lashes fluttering, eyes glazed over with unshed tears, and flushed cheeks.

he lets go of your thighs and gently hoists them back down on the bed, making you hiss from the soreness. one of his hands reach up to cradle your jaw, caressing your cheek with his thumb. "was i too hard, sweetheart? 'm sorry."

you shake your head firmly, despite your desirousness. "no, you were perfect," you croon softly, your chest heaving as you catch your bearings.

"you took me so well," he murmurs, voice reverent. "so good f'me," he praises.

you reel from the praise, a soft smile lifting your cheeks. you feel his cock twitch inside you, still half-hard within your walls. as if remembering what this was all about, you glance down at your stomach, noting the belly bulge you sport from his cock nestled deep inside you. you hum softly, reaching to pat your belly.

"we're going to be parents," you coo warmly, glowing at the image of you cradling a little baby in your arms.

"yeah," he agrees, his voice a low rasp. with a cheeky grin, he adds, "as long as my seed takes, that is."

you chuckle softly. "given how much you cum, i'd be surprised if it didn't."

he laughs lowly, leaning down to meet your lips in a sweet kiss, one that's much less rough than the prior ones you shared in the past half hour.

when he leans back, you feel his hands rub up and down the skin of your thighs, gently soothing the aching muscles. "we can never be too sure," he rumbles smoothly, eyes glinting mischievously.

i have a feeling i'm not leaving this bed anytime soon.

"not if i can help it," he murmurs. you hadn't realized you said your thought out loud.

he spreads your thighs out, glancing at the your shared juices coating and gathered at the base of his cock. "think you could go a few more rounds, sweetheart?"

despite your exhaustion, your gaze hardens, more determined than anything. "i said i wanted a baby, didn't i?"

clark grins, slow and boyish, leaning back on his knees, letting his gaze rake over you like he's re-memorizing every curve, every line, every inch of your spent body.

then, you notice it – the way his gaze drifts down and stays there, locked on your navel. your stomach tenses instinctively.

"oh my god," you gasp, eyes widening in realization. "don't tell me you're using your x-ray vision to see through me right now."

he smirks, utterly shameless. "gotta make sure i made it into your womb," he murmurs. his casual confidence makes your already trembling knees go weaker.

you laugh breathlessly, a mixture of disbelief and want, and you press your palms against his chest. "clark kent, you are so full of yourself."

"only when it comes to my wife, mrs. kent," he counter, leaning down to nip at your jaw, fingers tracing lazy circles over your belly again. "ready for round two?"

you swallow, heat pooling between your thighs again despite you fatigue, and nod eagerly. "always," you whisper, voice soft but steady.

"good," he rasps, rolling his hips enough to make your breath hitch. "because i'm not stopping until you're stuffed full of me, sweetheart."

ʚĭɞ reblogs and interaction always appreciated! ʚĭɞ

[fancy-possum]

𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 || 𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

masterlist || please check out my 1k event! || based on this request!

You weren’t supposed to hear it.

You’d come to the manor to surprise Jason after a long patrol — cookies you’d baked earlier still warm in the container, his favourite hoodie of yours draped over your arm like a peace offering. The boys were in the cave, voices carrying up the stairs. You’d paused at the top, smiling, ready to head down when you heard your name.

“…and her,” Jason was saying, voice tight with frustration. “She keeps trying to fix me. Like I’m some broken project. I don’t need her worrying about me every night. It’s exhausting.”

Dick’s voice was calmer. “She cares about you, Jay. That’s not a bad thing.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t want someone who looks at me like I’m one bad night away from falling apart again. I’m not her charity case.”

The words landed like punches.

You stood there, frozen on the stairs, the container of cookies suddenly too heavy in your hands. Your chest tightened, breath shallow. You weren’t supposed to hear that. You weren’t supposed to know that’s how he saw you — as exhausting. As someone trying to fix him when he didn’t want to be fixed.

You turned around quietly and left before anyone could see you.

The next few days were quiet.

You didn’t text him back right away. You didn’t show up at his apartment like you usually did. When he called, you let it ring. You needed space. You needed to stop feeling like you were a burden he tolerated because he felt guilty.

On the fourth day, he showed up at your door.

It was pouring rain. He was soaked, leather jacket dripping, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes wide with something close to panic.

You opened the door in your pajamas, arms crossed. “What are you doing here?”

He looked at you like you’d stabbed him. “You’ve been avoiding me. What did I do?”

You stepped aside, letting him in. Water pooled on your floor as he stood there, dripping, looking lost.

“I heard you,” you said quietly. “In the cave. Talking to Dick. About how I’m exhausting. How I treat you like a project. How you don’t want me worrying about you.”

Jason went very still. The colour drained from his face.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“Yeah,” you said, voice cracking. “I know.”

He ran a hand through his wet hair, looking wrecked. “I was angry. At myself. At the mission. At everything. I didn’t mean it like that. I was just… venting. I didn’t mean you were exhausting. I meant that I hate making you worry. I hate that I come home bloody and you have to see that. I hate that I can’t be the guy who makes your life easier instead of harder.”

You hugged yourself tighter. “It still hurt.”

“I know.” He stepped closer, hands hovering like he wanted to touch you but was afraid you’d pull away. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I know I’m not a project. You’re the best thing in my life. You make me want to be better. You make me want to come home. I was an idiot. I was scared. I push people away when I feel like I’m too much. And I took it out on you. I hate myself for it.”

His voice cracked on the last words. He looked so small suddenly — the big, scary Red Hood reduced to a man standing in your doorway, dripping wet and terrified he’d ruined the only good thing he had.

You swallowed hard. “I love you, Jason. All of you. The angry parts. The broken parts. The parts that come home bloody. I worry because I care. Because losing you once was enough for a lifetime. I don’t want to fix you. I just want to be with you. Even on the bad nights.”

He let out a shaky breath and crossed the distance, pulling you into his arms. He held you tight, face buried in your hair, body trembling slightly.

“I love you too,” he whispered, voice rough. “So much it scares me. I don’t know how to do this right. I get angry and I say shit I don’t mean and I push you away because I’m terrified you’ll finally see how fucked up I am and leave. But I don’t want you to leave. I want you here. I want you worrying about me. I want you baking cookies and leaving notes and making my apartment feel like home. I want all of it. Please don’t go. Please.”

You held him back just as tightly, fingers threading through his wet hair. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re okay. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes red-rimmed and vulnerable. Then he kissed you — desperate and soft all at once, hands cupping your face like you might disappear. You kissed him back, pouring all the hurt and love into it until the ache in your chest eased.

When you broke apart, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing shaky.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’ll do better. I’ll talk to you instead of shutting down. I’ll stop pushing you away. Just… don’t give up on me. Please.”

You smiled, small and teary. “I won’t. I love you too much to give up on you.”

He held you tighter, chin resting on your head, arms wrapped around you like a shield. “I love you more. Even when I’m an idiot. Especially then.”

The rain kept falling outside. In your apartment, with Jason’s arms around you and his heartbeat steady under your ear, the hurt started to fade.

He wasn’t perfect. Neither were you.

But you were choosing each other anyway.

a/n : I was gonna last this a few hours ago but I’ve been reorganising my comics. gulp.

[invincibledc]

Batfam (or just Damian) with a Sweet//Soft Al-Ghul Twin! Reader who loves to cuddle! (Can be during naps or in general. :3)

BATFAMILY X SOFT!AL-GHUL!TWIN READER

When the softer twin loves cuddles.

Y/n and Damian were the same in skills.

Personality? No.

You and Damian are like yin and yang. Moon and Sun, the classic duo that everyone overuses when they want to be different from others.

But you are different from Damian.

You’re too soft.

He’s ruthless.

So maybe that’s why he finds himself being cuddled by his twin sibling who seemed not to have a care in the world.

You had a cuddling problem.

Sleeping in general? You’re sitting by someone and cuddling them.

You’re like some kinda kitten just wanting warmth.

Jason was the first one you cuddled close to, making Damian mad cause first of all… you’re his sibling and second of all, YOU’RE HIS SIBLING?!!

So Damian moved Jason out of the way and hugged you. And Damian doesn’t do hugs.

Tim was once playing on his switch when he saw his preteen sibling walking over before cuddling against him. He froze before he kept playing.

Dick was gushing when you cuddled him, he’d been WAITING for his little sibling to cuddle him. He took so many pictures that he put one as his profile picture.

“Oh yeah, that’s my ex-assassin of a little sibling cuddling me after school.”

Bruce was the last person, he saw how you cuddled with the others in your sleep.

He just didn’t expect his small child to be curled upon his lap as he put data in the bat computer.

Bruce just let out a small smile before continuing to type in a report for the latest crimes that happened in Gotham.

[patientofarkhamasylum]

buffering dick grayson x reader | fluff, suggestive

summary: aftercare with dick after a long night that leaves you a little out of it and him very smug (wc: 0.9k).

Dick says something, and you know this because his mouth moves, sound comes out, and he's looking at you with that patient little tilt of his head. The words themselves, however, fail to make it through the pleasant static filling your skull.

"Hm?" you manage.

"Do you want water?"

You blink at him. This time, the question filters through the haze in scrambled pieces, but you decide you’ve got the general idea and answer with complete sincerity.

"Tomorrow."

There’s a beat of silence, and Dick goes very still.

You frown. Something about his expression isn't right. He's staring at you with his mouth pressed shut and eyes wide, like he's holding something in. You can't figure out what, because your brain is still running at half speed and—

Dick breaks. He folds forward laughing, one hand braced on the mattress, the other covering his mouth, trying and failing to be kind about this. His shoulders shake helplessly, head dropping as the sound spills out of him bright and full and impossible not to love.

Then it clicks.

Oh no.

"No, because I meant yes," you say quickly. "I meant yes now. Right now."

"Right now?" he asks. "You sure? Don't want to sleep on it?"

“Stop,” you groan, covering your face with your hands.

He’s still laughing when he gently pulls them away, eyes shining.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says. “I’m never letting that go.”

"That was a vulnerable moment for me."

"It was a historic moment for me."

You glare at him, but it isn't as intimidating as you think, because his grin only sharpens.

"Okay, okay," he says, holding up three fingers. "How many?"

You stare at him. "You're not serious."

"I asked you a yes or no question and you said tomorrow. I'm doing my due diligence.”

"Three, you absolute—"

"Good. What's your name?"

You tell him, flatly.

"What year is it?"

"The year I become single if you keep this up."

He ignores that completely. "Who's the mayor of Blüdhaven?"

You open your mouth, but pause for just a fraction too long.

Dick doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to.

"I know the answer," you insist. "I was going to say it."

"Sure you were."

"You did this to me." You point at him, accusatory. "This is your fault."

"I accept full responsibility." He bites down on his lip, voice strained with the effort of keeping a straight face. "I am genuinely so proud right now."

You exhale, sinking deeper into the mattress, and your exhaustion must show, because he quiets at once and his expression softens.

He leans in close enough that his breath brushes your cheek. “C’mere, beautiful.”

His hand slides behind your neck as he helps you sit up against him. The movement makes your limbs feel like wet sand, heavy and uncooperative.

"Easy," he murmurs.

He steadies you, one arm around your waist while the other reaches for the water bottle already waiting on the nightstand and brings it to your lips, and you drink obediently. The cold water hits your tongue and you actually sigh.

"There you go,” he says quietly, thumb brushing once at the base of your neck. 

You hum, barely, and he presses a kiss to your temple. He reaches for the nightstand again and grabs a granola bar, unwrapping it and breaking off a piece before holding it up expectantly.

"I can feed myself."

"Can you?"

You open your mouth, and he places the bite on your tongue with a small smirk.

"That's what I thought," he says, but it's gentle.

You lightly flick at his bicep, and he only feeds you another piece.

The room glows amber from the bedside lamp. The sheets are tangled around your legs, the air still warm, the mattress dipping where he sits close beside you. Your body feels pleasantly overused, every muscle loose and humming.

Dick watches your face as you chew slowly, then swallow.

"Sore?" he asks, voice low.

You shake your head. "Just sleepy.”

He studies you for another second anyway, checking for anything you're not saying.

“You sure?”

"Promise," you reply with a little smile.

His expression eases. He sets the granola bar aside and shifts behind you, drawing you fully into him until your back rests against his chest. The blanket comes up around both of you, tucked under your arms with absent practice.

"Proud of you," he murmurs.

You huff out a laugh. "For what?"

"Persevering through adversity."

"You're unbearable."

"And yet," he says, "still your favorite."

You're too tired to deny it properly. His hand slips beneath the blanket to rest on your stomach, palm warm and grounding. The other traces slow shapes against your arm: circles, lines, little absent patterns that make your eyelids heavier by the second.

Beneath your ear, his heartbeat knocks steady and sure.

"You know," you mumble, words starting to slur, "if you tell anyone about this, I'll deny everything."

"Wouldn't dream of it. I'll just treasure the memory forever."

"That's somehow worse."

He tucks his head over yours, and you let your heavy lids fall over your eyes, body sinking deeper into him. His fingers keep moving soothingly over your skin.

Just before sleep takes you, he speaks into your hair.

"Tomorrow," he repeats fondly.

You groan weakly, and his soft laugh follows you under.

navi | m.list | © 2026 patientofarkhamasylum. all rights reserved.

[teklarn]

wait...we're not dating? - j. todd

dcu masterlist | main masterlist

gn!reader x jason todd

summary: for the entire year you and jason have known each other, he assumed you two were dating and had no idea that you weren't.

warnings: none but lmk if i missed something, just jason being oblivious, might be a little ooc

UNEDITED!!!

jason isn't stupid—he knows there's rules that define whether or not two people are dating. but he is just a bit dense.

you'd met on a rooftop about a year ago, a classic vigilante encounter. instant tension, instant bickering between you and jason. he hadn't been entirely smitten. he simply thought you were beautiful, but that didn't mean anything.

not until you two start working together. bruce sends the two of you out on a mission, and you say something along the lines of, "let's make it a date, then." you said it with such an arrogant, cheeky grin.

and because that mission had gone so well, you and jason are consistently sent out together. alone.

because you'd said "let's make it a date!" he began to say it back. just a little joke. he'd say something like, "save the date..." quite bashfully. and you'd snicker and agree.

and that consistency is what makes jason think the two of you have started dating.

every single time the two of you are dispatched on a mission, it's always "save the date" or "let's make it a date" with you.

it happened so effortlessly, in his mind. so seamlessly. he doesn't feel like he needs to perform around you. he's not a blushing mess, he doesn't stutter or even treat you very differently, hence why you don't notice that he thinks the two of you are together.

except for when he stops by and gets little trinkets. maybe a stick of chocolate for valentines day. not flowers, because he wasn't able to gauge whether or not you'd want some.

for your birthday, he got you a small gift. something that reminded him of a childhood story you'd once babbled on about.

he's just a little bit sweeter and a little bit softer around you, compared to when he's conversing with other teammates.

this you notice, and you begin to consider that maybe he has feelings for you. a little crush. but you'd never in a million years consider that he thought you guys were fully dating.

his strange acts of kindness spark a tiny crush inside of you. you're spending more time with him. enjoying your missions with him just a bit more. laughing, smiling. and he begins to feel like home.

you wonder—should you ask him out? he doesn't seem like he's going to make a move any time soon. and, after all, he's been picking up so many small gifts for you here and there. maybe he's waiting for you to do something.

so, one night, you consult his brothers.

"jason likes you. i can tell," dick reassures. "he likes being around you, whether that's as friends or because he likes likes you, i dunno."

"definitely," tim had said. "jason with chocolates in his hand? never seen before. until you."

damian rolled his eyes when you asked. he scoffed and said, "i've been waiting for you to catch on. why don't you just ask each other out already?"

they act like jason is acting so differently. perhaps you just don't know him as well as they do.

one night, on a mission, you gather enough courage to turn to him and ask. "hey..."

"yeah?" he says, tipping his head towards the starless sky.

"i...um...i know we do a lot together. and i don't want to ruin our friendship."

"friendship?"

you nod. did jason even consider you a friend? why did he seem so confused? "yeah. i just...i really like having you around. so don't make it weird, okay?"

he dips his head. "okay...?"

"do you...want to go on a date with me?"

he blinks. once, twice. "are we not on one right now?"

you shrug. "i mean, i would hardly consider this a date." you gesture to the honking cars below, to your feet swinging off the edge of the roof.

"why are you asking me out?" he says, leaning forward.

you're a little stunned. a bit hurt. "because...i like you? because we spend a lot of time together and i think you're fun to be around? i don't know."

jason waves his hands in the air. "yeah, i know. but...why? i mean, we're already dating. if you wanted to go for a date and not have to go on a mission at the same time, you could've just said—"

"i'm sorry, what?"

"you...could've just said you wanted to do something different for our dates?"

you shake your head frantically. "no, no, no. you said that...you just said that we're dating?"

he stares at you like you're the one not making sense. "yeah...?"

"we're not dating, jason."

his mask hisses as he pries it off his face. his brows furrow and his cheeks redden with embarrassment. "we're...not?" he says it so softly, so painfully that you almost want to convince him that you are dating him.

"jason...oh, jason. did you think that all our talk about dates made this a date?" you can barely stifle your laughter. "jason, oh jason...you're so sweet. darling, it's an expression."

"so we're...not dating?"

"how long have you thought that?"

"about a year now." bashfully, jason's shoulders sink. "i thought we were, since you never turned down any of my gifts."

"i just thought that was you being nice. i'm sorry, i never thought to give you anything back. i just...thought you were being nice."

"of course i was just being nice. i...liked having you around."

it sounds silly saying it all aloud, but now that you think of it, jason's loyalty to you was plain as day. he was a reserved person, so it was easy to think he was just being a loner, like usual.

there was time the two of you went undercover. two girls had been ruthlessly vying for his attention. both infinitely attractive. some men, too. and he hadn't even blinked. you assumed he was just playing his part when he scooped you into his arms and wouldn't let go of you the entire night.

the way he listened to you—that gift he'd bought you for your birthday. reminiscent of some stupid childhood story you'd told him on some meaningless, random night. yet he'd remembered.

because that night hadn't been meaningless to him. no night with you had been meaningless.

perhaps he wasn't dense or stupid for thinking the two of you were already dating. perhaps you were in fact the dense one, for not seeing the signs. for not seeing how sweet he was sooner, for how silently loyal he was.

"jason." you loop his hand in yours. his pulse beats steadily. he's not nervous around you. neither are you anymore. "how long did you say we were dating?"

"we're not—"

"how long did you say we were dating for?"

he bites his lip. "tomorrow would've been...uh, our one year anniversary. i didn't know if you wanted me to plan something. you didn't seem to care very much, like the people do in the movies." because you hadn't even known. "i did want to plan something, though. you just never seemed like an 'event' sorta person." he chuckles. "i guess...i guess i know why, now."

"i love surprises," you mutter. "you can still plan something. there's still time."

"but we're not...you said we're not dating." he just seems so damn sad about it.

you shake your head. "what're you talking about?" you grin and rest your head on his shoulder. you can't believe he thought you just didn't like events, you didn't want to cuddle. you just hadn't known.

so you smile, allowing the stench of gotham celebrate the countdown to your first anniversary. the moon hangs high in the sky, and you check your watch. midnight strikes, and you snuggle into jason.

"happy one year anniversary, jay."

[achinglovers]

reader biting jason’s biceps blurb (jason todd look-alike contest in my bedroom tn)

you’re laying together on the couch, watching the new season of a tv show you both love, and you’re laying on his chest, both of his arms wrapped around you. you half watching the show, half focused on jason’s arm right next your face. the way his t shirt strains against his biceps or his muscles twitch when he adjusts his grip around you.

“are you even watching?” he asks, having noticed your gaze drifting away from the tv occasionally.

you don’t answer, keeping your eyes fixed on his biceps, his tanned skin, his muscles twitching again. fuck, you don’t know why, but you’d really like a taste of his arm right now.

the only other time where you’ve resorted to biting his biceps was when you were under him, his hips meeting yours in a steady pace as he whimpered into your neck, and you sunk your teeth into his arm to keep quiet. the neighbors had recently begun complaining, and you didn’t want any conflicts to be created.

“sweetheart? you listening- ow!” before he can finish his question, you’ve already nipped his skin softly. then you sink your teeth in deeper. he says you name in confusion, but doesn’t pull away. you just dig your teeth in a little deeper before pulling them off, placing as soft kiss where your bite mark is now visible on his upper arm.

jason stays silent while you relax back into his chest, your eyes now focusing on the tv show still playing. you let out a content sigh, bringing one hand up to rest along the crook of his elbow. then you hear his voice. “i can’t believe you just bit me.” but you can hear the smirk in his voice, and you know that he didn’t really mind.