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.
When you woke up this morning, your body had been sore. Like you had been through the meat grinder kind of sore but in a good way.
You had looked over at Dick sleeping soundlessly. Half his body on top of you and half on the bed with his messy raven hair falling over his eyes, his long lashes almost brushing his sharp cheekbones.
Yeah, a very good way.
But when you got out of bed and basically limped around the apartment, he gave you the smuggest look ever. Seriously no one had ever looked as proud of themselves as he had.
You wanted to slap him. Or kiss him. You were still deciding.
That didn’t stop you for asking him for help though, since he had been the one to carry you around the apartment and draw you a warm bath. The shoulder massage he gave you in the bathtub wasn’t too bad either. Plus the pancakes he had prepared with a little smiley face on top with chocolate syrup.
But that didn’t take away from the fact that he was an unserious man.
He had known you were supposed to have lunch with your friends today so he had been an exceptional tease last night in bed. Not just a tease, he was also apparently under the impression that you were made of rubber and could bend you however he pleased.
Just because he worked out eight hours a day didn’t mean you did too. You’d be lucky to even squeeze in a workout once a week and he knew that and yet he chose to manhandle you.
Not that you were against it. He was very skilled in the bedroom and the nights where you had to just lay there for him to do all the work were your favourites.
But damn now you were limping on your way to meet your friends. You and Dick walked out of the car, hand in hand towards where your friends were sitting outside the cafe.
And he had the audacity to snicker.
“It isn’t funny!” You huffed out, hands clutching his arm to hold for balance since your legs were way too sore to even walk.
“You weren’t complaining last night,” he replied and pushed his sunglasses up on his nose, looking way too amused.
“Shut up,” you scoffed instead of replying since thats all you could do. He wasn’t wrong.
Once you reached the table, Donna, Wally and Roy immediately greeted you with hugs.
“You okay?” Donna was the first one to speak, noticing your limp.
“Yeah,” you swallowed and sat down on the chair next to Dick’s, shifting a little. “Just walked into a chair.”
“Uh huh,” Roy narrowed his eyes at Dick’s smug face.
“And was the chair named Dick Grayson?” Wally added.
“Wally!” You gasped and looked at Dick for help but he just laughed and draped his arm over the back of your chair.
The rest of the lunch went by with way too many jokes about Dick’s dick and you’d think he’d be offended by it but he was the one initiating most of them.
Like you said, unserious.
✶ JASON TODD
Jason was out running when you woke up. It was your usual morning routine –he woke up before you, gave you a small kiss on your forehead and left for a run then returned an hour later with coffee and sometimes pastries.
This time however, you had told him you were making pancakes so he wasn’t surprised to find you standing in the kitchen wearing his shirt that he discarded last night.
He walked over to you, black tank top clinging to his body due to the sweat like a second skin and if you weren’t sore from last night you would have done something about it.
The minimal clothing you were wearing –Jason’s t-shirt and panties– didn’t do a lot to hide the marks he had left on you last night. Your thighs looked like a crime scene with how many hickeys he had left there.
You waddled over to the fridge to grab the eggs when Jason noticed you.
“What’s up?” He frowned and came up behind you.
“Hmm?” You asked and cracked an egg in the bowl.
“You’re waddling like a penguin,” he pointed out.
“Oh,” you blushed and immediately looked away from him. “You know,” you shrugged.
“Babe what?” He asked and turned you around to steal all your attention.
“Last night,” you said. “You’re not exactly small.”
“Well thanks,” he gave you a confused smile. “Is that why you’re limping?”
“That and my legs being folded like a lawn chair over your shoulders for over an hour yes,” you quipped.
Jason in response let out a cackle.
“Great, hope you’re proud of yourself,” you scrunched your nose and turned back to prepare the pancake batter.
“I mean it does wonders to a guy’s ego,” Jason let out a dramatic breath. “Seven orgasms in one night is my new record.”
“Jason!” You huffed and pushed him away. “You cannot count my orgasms you freak.”
He laughed again and came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle before nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck.
“Seriously though, I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asked, pressing fluttering kisses to the hickeys he had left on your neck.
“No,” you hummed and craned your head back.
“You liked it?”
“Yes,” you breathed as his kisses made their way down to your shoulders.
His fingers busied themselves with massaging your hips, causing you to close your eyes in relief and rest your head back on his shoulders. Which gave him even more room to kiss on your neck.
“Let me make you feel better,” he murmured and turned you around before getting down on his knees.
“Jason,” you said through a shaky breath.
“Yeah?” He looked up at you through dark eyelashes and hooked your thigh over his shoulder. “Is this okay?”
You nodded your head which was all the permission he needed.
It was going to be a long morning.
✶ TIM DRAKE
In hindsight, waiting for your boyfriend to return from his week long mission at the manor probably wasn’t your brightest idea.
He had texted you that he would be back today and would just crash at the manor instead of coming back to your shared penthouse.
But you hadn’t seen him in a week! So it was only fair you drove to the manor and let yourself into the batcave to wait for him.
It had almost been an hour since you made yourself at home on the little beanbag chair with a book in your hands in the Batcave along with Barbara who was perched at the Batcomputer, doing whatever it is that Oracle did.
Tim returned soon along with the rest of the Bats on his Batcycle (Batman wasn’t a very creative person you were beginning to realise).
Damian made a ‘TT’ sound at you before making his way towards the shower area.
Tim on the other hand broke out in a grin the second he looked at you. He didn’t even bother taking off his mask or the suit before he was launching himself at you on the beanbag.
“Tim!” You grunted when his armoured chest collided with yours. “You’re crushing me.”
“Don’t care,” he muttered and pushed his head in the crook of your neck.
“Take a shower you stink!” You said and pushed him off.
“I see how it is,” he raised his head to look at you and if you could see his eyes behind his domino mask, you knew he would be narrowing his eyes at you. “I come back a week later after saving the world and my girlfriend says I stink.”
“You do,” Jason mumbled somewhere behind him.
“Ignore him he’s jealous,” Tim said to you before leaning down to give you a fleeting kiss. “I’ll be back,” he murmured and finally got off the beanbag to go take a shower.
That had been enough of your loving and sweet boyfriend for the night.
Because he was soon coming out of the shower without a shirt and in only a pair of sweatpants. He didn’t even bothering talking to anyone or even debriefing the case like he usually did, he just made his way towards you and picked you up and threw you over his shoulder.
Thankfully everyone else was busy cleaning themselves and only Barbara was present in the Batcave. She shook her head at you like she knew exactly what was happening but didn’t want to be a part of it.
It had been a very long night.
The night for which you were paying now.
Tim’s heavy arm was thrown over your stomach in a tight grip like he never wanted to let you go.
Squinting open an eye, you flicked the bedside lamp on –having no clue what time it was outside due to the blackout curtains being drawn.
You turned over in Tim’s iron grip and looked around the room which looked like it had gotten robbed last night.
Your shirt was thrown on the floor along with your shorts, your bra dangling down the knob of the door –no clue how it got there. And your panties were probably torn in half somewhere. Even the pillows were thrown haphazardly, the covers weren’t even covering you.
Half the reason you woke up was the chill in the room causing goosebumps to rise on your naked body. The only source of heat you had was Tim’s equally as naked body wrapped around you like a koala.
You rubbed your eyes and tried to look at him. The first thing you saw were the red scratches on his chest, glowing against his pale skin and you were sure if he turned around his back would look the same.
“Tim?” You whispered and brushed his hair away from his face.
He only groaned in response and tugged you closer but his grip on your back was beginning to hurt.
“Hey,” you tried again and pushed at his shoulder –which you now saw had a bite mark on it.
Images of Tim’s bicep wrapped around your neck came to your mind but you quickly shook them off. Not the time.
“Tim come on, you’re hurting me,” you winced, which finally caught his attention.
“What?” He asked, voice laced with sleep and somehow deeper like you’ve never heard before. “Where are you hurt?”
“It just feels sore.”
“Fuck I’m so sorry,” he sat up straight in bed and leaned down to pull the covers up.
“It’s okay, you didn’t do anything I didn’t like,” you giggled when he turned around and yep his back looked every bit like his chest. Red scratches all over.
“Your back,” you whispered and reached out to lightly brush your hand over the marks. “What the fuck did we do last night?”
“I think I just missed you too much,” he chuckled. “Turn around let me give you a massage.”
“Yes please,” you moaned and turned around on your stomach to let Tim rub the soreness out of your muscles with his nimble fingers.
The knots in your muscles immediately came loose with each movement of his warm hands on your much colder body. Maybe they taught massaging the pain away at vigilante school or wherever Bruce took all the kids of his he seems to adopt.
His hands went lower to gently rest your calf over his shoulder –much gentler than last night. He pressed soft kisses to your leg as his fingers rubbed all the way to your ankles.
Later when you two went down for breakfast (it was around lunchtime), Cass and Damian gave you a disgusted look. Jason raised an eyebrow at the bite marks on Tim’s forearm while Dick only laughed in amusement. Even Barbara was staring at the hickey on your jaw since apparently Tim had forgotten he was human.
✶ BRUCE WAYNE
You were sitting on the chair in the little breakfast nook when Bruce entered the kitchen. A crossword puzzle was sat on the table next to a plate of toast and orange juice in front of you as you mindlessly scribbled on the puzzle.
Bruce came up behind you and gave you a little kiss on the back of your head before walking over to the cabinets to pull out a mug.
“Oh wait! I made you a yogurt bowl,” you said and hopped off the chair.
Bruce raised an eyebrow and watched you limping towards the fridge in nothing but his old uni sweatshirt. Your hair was falling over your shoulders, messy from a good night’s sleep. And other activities.
His eyes wandered lower to the backs of your knees where he was gripping your legs last night and sure enough there were marks to show it. For a second he was worried but when you turned around and gave him your million dollar smile, he forgot what he was thinking about.
“It has raspberries, nuts, pumpkin seeds, chia seeds. It’s good for your health,” you beamed and set it down in front of your own breakfast on the table.
Bruce joined you in a beat and eyed you as you grimaced a little while sitting down.
“Everything okay?” He asked.
“Yeah,” you said, voice a bit sarcastic which he didn’t miss.
“That’s not convincing,” he frowned.
“You rearranged my guts last night. I think that has something to do with me having trouble sitting down,” you smirked and he immediately blushed.
You heard a sudden noise from behind you and when you turned around to look, Tim was standing there, looking nauseated. “I’ll uh… have breakfast in my room…” he said.
“I didn’t know you stayed here last night,” you said to him.
“I wish I hadn’t,” he gagged and grabbed a cup of coffee before leaving the two of you alone.
Bruce scrunched his nose and turned his face towards his breakfast.
“Oh don’t go all shy now! You were very vocal last night,” you teased and nudged his foot with yours just to watch his ears turn even redder.
“I think we should take a warm bath together to you know, let our bodies heal,” he suggested.
“Uh huh,” you narrowed your eyes. “And no other reason at all.”
“Of course my darling,” Bruce smiled and tugged you out of your chair before picking you up in his arms.
“No other reason at all.”
my first multi part fic ever feeling nervous
didn’t know which photos to use so…
if you couldn’t tell i’ve been extremely tim drake pilled lately thanks to all the requests ive received for him 😭
likes comments and reblogs appreciated, hope you guys enjoy <3
༯ synopsis. fwb dick who gets jealous when your ex tries to get back with you.
warnings. 18+. dick grayson x fem! reader. fwb. neighbors au. he’s jealous and a little insecure. smut. p in v.
dick grayson lives in the apartment next to yours and introduced himself by helping you carry boxes up three flights of stairs without being asked. you’d told him he didn’t have to and he’d just shrugged and picked up two more. by the time you’d gotten everything up he knew your name, your old neighborhood, and that you took your coffee black, and you knew he was annoyingly charming and had a smile that did something inconvenient to your chest.
that was six months ago. somewhere between then and now the friday night bar visits became a standing thing, the easy conversation became something you looked forward to all week, and the line between neighbors and friends and something else entirely got blurry in a way neither of you has bothered to address.
it works. you like that it works.
it’s a friday night. the night you spend with dick unpacking your entire week and then drink to it.
you’re on your way back from the bathroom when you see him. your ex, standing near the bar like he belongs there, and your whole body does that involuntary thing before your brain has even caught up. he spots you before you can redirect. the smile that never quite reaches his eyes. the way he steps into your space too easily, like the last year didn’t happen.
you laugh at something he says because it’s reflex, because it’s easier, your shoulders drawing in without you meaning for them to. he presses his number into your hand with a casualness that makes your skin feel wrong and you smile your most noncommittal smile and walk away.
you slide back into the booth and dick is already looking at you.
he has very blue eyes and a very irritating habit of seeing straight through you with them.
“who was that,” he says.
“my ex.” you reach for your drink. “it’s fine.”
his jaw does something quiet and controlled. “he give you his number?”
“dick—”
“he gave you his number.”
“it wasn’t like that—”
“cool. cool,” he says, and picks up his drink, and smiles the smile that’s all surface, and you know exactly what that smile means.
the walk home is three blocks and dick spends all of them somewhere else entirely.
normally he fills every silence — some joke, some completely unnecessary observation about whatever you’re passing. tonight his hands are in his pockets and his eyes are forward and he says nothing.
“you’re doing that thing,” you say.
“what thing.”
“the thing where you pretend you’re fine.”
“i’m fine.”
“richard.”
“i’m tired,” he says. “it’s been a long week, angel.”
you both know that’s not it.
you make it as far as the hallway outside your apartments before you stop.
he’s already reaching for his keys and something about the set of his shoulders, the careful performance of it, makes you reach out and catch his arm.
he turns.
you kiss him.
it takes him exactly one second and then his keys hit the floor and his hands are on your face and he’s kissing you back with something desperate and unguarded that he’s been keeping very carefully under wraps all evening. a low groan muffled against your mouth, his fingers curling into your jaw, walking you back against the wall without breaking it.
when he pulls back he’s breathing harder than usual.
he looks at you for a moment. then he bends and picks up his keys and opens his door and picks you up like it’s nothing, carrying you inside, kicking the door shut behind him.
later he has you underneath him and there’s nothing easy about it tonight.
he pushes in slow and the stretch of him makes your breath stutter, thick and girthy, the flushed red tip of him pressing through your plushy folds and sinking into your gummy walls inch by inch until you’ve taken all of him and your walls are fluttering around the fullness of it.
his jaw is tight. his eyes on your face.
“why do you want him back,” he says. low and rough.
“i don’t—”
he snaps his hips forward and the words evaporate entirely.
“hm?” he pulls back and drives in again, his cock dragging against your walls, you feel, oh, so full and overwhelmed all at once. “why him.”
“dick i’m not—i—”
your eyes shut. the pleasure too much, the words bleeding into a moan.
“eyes on me,” he says quietly.
you open them.
and that’s when you see it. something vulnerable in his expression, unguarded and unusual, the kind of thing he’d never let you see if he were thinking straight. something that’s been sitting underneath all of this for a long time.
“why do you want him,” he murmurs, hips rolling and pressing deep, the head of his cock nudging that soft spot inside you that makes your toes curl, “when you have me.”
it’s not cocky. it’s almost like he’s desperate to hear the answer. desperate to hear you say he’s enough. that what you have with each other is enough.
heat builds low in your belly, your body sensitive from the drag of him, your walls clenching greedily around his girth every time he pulls back.
your mouth opens. what comes out is a garbled mess of his name and something that isn’t words at all.
“yeah,” he breathes, forehead dropping to yours. “that’s what i thought.”
something releases in him after that. his pace picks up and you stop trying to think at all, hands gripping his shoulders, your slick walls taking him over and over until the heat that’s been building low in your belly crests and you come apart underneath him with a broken sound, clenching tight around him. he follows shortly after, hips stuttering, a low groan muffled into your throat as he spills into the condom, his whole body shuddering through it.
afterward he’s on his back and you’re tucked against his side.
“i can make carbonara from scratch. i remember how you take your coffee. i’ve sat through every terrible film you’ve picked on a friday night without a single complaint.” he’s quiet for a second. “i’ve been your boyfriend for six months. you just haven’t called me that yet.
you look at him.
“maybe i should,” you say quietly.
he’s very still for a moment. then his hand finds yours and laces with you. warm and calloused and big.
“it was nothing,” you say. “tonight. with him. i don’t want him back. i never did.”
the breath that leaves him is slow. like he’s been holding it since the bar.
“obviously i don’t want him,” you say. “i want you. i’ve wanted you for a while.”
he turns his head to look at you. really look.
“yeah?” he says softly.
“yeah,” you say.
he brings your hand up and presses his lips to your knuckles, and settles back against the pillow.
the city hums outside. the lamp stays on.
“friday nights,” he says eventually. “same booth.”
“same booth,” you agree.
“except now i’m going to hold your hand across the table and if your ex shows up again i’m going to be very annoying about it.”
you laugh softly and his mouth tilts into a smile.
summary: falling in love with each other was easy—a little too easy. after a series of dates and getting to know the other better, it was only a matter of time, right? no longer able to hold it in, dick finds himself desperate and decides that tonight will not end until he gets to walk home with a kiss, from you.
notes: 4.1k words…. fluff!! with a side of nasty kissing, dick is absolutely fed up and DESPERATE, reader has never had a boyfriend before so dick is the very first guy you’ve ever been with. so many feelings and love and yearning you guys are so obsessed with each other its genuinely DISGUSTING. but dick is like way worse because at least half of this is him yearning for you,,,, also a lot of making out...dick literally eats ur face. all the dialogue is later in gomenasorry. written with black reader in mind >0<
Dick Grayson was on a mission. Tonight’s date, he decided, was going to be extra special than usual. Why, you ask? Because tonight, he was going to secure his kiss from you—poor, unsuspecting, you.
Tonight marked the 8th date you guys have gone on ever since your first meeting at a late-night convenience store around the corner of his apartment, where the once peaceful environment was interrupted by a measly burglar waving his gun around with arrogance and the demand of money.
It was the one night when Dick wasn’t in costume and was nursing a severely bruised body from a villain he had encountered two days earlier. The situation irritated him even more than he already was—Bruce was still chewing his ass out over a case that he was working on; he still needed to go to work with his bruised body because he can’t exactly let them know what violent activities he’s up to at night and his injuries—now this.
So it’s an understatement when saying the burglar was dealt with easily and quickly, as Dick was able to disarm him before the man could even take another step towards another innocent customer—someone Dick learned later was you.
The anticlimactic moment ended with the man scrambling out of the store with much less confidence than before, the store clerk shakily thanking Dick with the promise of free items of his choice tonight and the next time he comes in. Accepting the gratitude, Dick was ready to go home with the multitude of free items in his grocery bag--until he spotted you.
Standing near the entrance, dressed in sweatpants about twice your actual size with a hoodie you were equally drowned in, Dick found you absolutely radiant. He wasn’t someone who believed in love at first sight beforehand, but now? Certainly, this is what it means.
It took him a few seconds of silence and staring at you with an open mouth, like a goldfish for him to realize that you were speaking to him, and just like the store clerk. you were thanking him profusely for saving you from the gun that was previously pointed to you. Dick can't remember what happened after that. But he does remember walking out of the store a happy man, your phone number having found its way into his phone.
Back in the present, Dick knew that maybe 8 dates was a little too much to come to this decision; after all, for him it was only on date number 2 that he knew he wanted you, badly. But he knew he had to be patient, especially after you revealed that you’ve never been in a relationship—or on a date at all. It was for this reason that he decided to take things slow and wait for a sign that you wanted him too.
By now, he’s reached his limit.
Every other date you’ve had prior to this had been more casual: going out for coffee, the arcade, movie nights at his place (more often yours because he absolutely adores your cat, mocha), grocery shopping together, and going for a stroll in Melville Park to walk Haley, his adorable pitbull you fell in love with.
Tonight, Dick took you to a nice restaurant with tables reserved on its rooftop. He knew you weren’t someone who frequented fancy restaurants too often, so he found a solid one just in between fancy and casual.
Dinner was going well, and you were absolutely perfect. He’d told you beforehand to come wearing a blue outfit, and the dress you wore had surpassed his expectations so much that he considered dropping down on one knee right then and there before ever asking you to be his girlfriend, if it wasnt apparent just how much it affected him seeing that colour on you with his lovesick gaze the entire night.
The dress you’re wearing is dark blue silk, the kind of colour that shifts like midnight water under the lighting of the restaurant's stringed lights. It drapes across your frame in a way that seems deliberate, highlighting your curves, and Dick feels his mouth dry at how it complements your brown skin—like the colour was meant to be worn by you, and you alone.
The glow of your upper body lets him know of the shea butter you’d rubbed on yourself, your legs that slip through the slit sharing the same glow.
The matching gold jewelry you wear and the updo you’ve done with your curls make him fight demons he never even knew he had, wanting to jump over the table to show you how much he loves you.
It truly doesn’t help how much he’s reminded of his Nightwing costume every time he looks at you.
He finds himself murmuring more compliments than usual because he can’t contain how much it moves him. The blue that once belonged only to his suit now belongs to you too, and he adores it—adores you—in a way he can’t keep from showing.
Dick finds himself craving dessert earlier than usual.
But he knows he has to act accordingly; he can’t afford to scare you away. So he does what he’s best at and eyes you with a disgustingly lovesick, yearning look as if he’s some schoolboy with his very first crush for the entire night as you guys chat over dinner.
He pays even closer attention to you than ever (if that’s even possible), maintaining intense eye contact with every word delivered in the air, squeezing your manicured hand (that has the nails he paid for) while you excitedly share the plot of the most recent book you read last weekend, and feeding you some of the food he’s ordered (you protested against stealing his food, but he insisted, claiming, “It’s my duty to feed you.” how do you even respond to that?).
Overall, dinner was perfect. He thinks this is the best date you guys have been on so far, as after dinner he surprises you with tickets to the movie he remembers you wanted to see when it came out.
What a coincidence that today happens to be its release date, and the happy squeal it pulled from you once he revealed the surprise made the rest of his year, he thinks. It’s something he could listen to on repeat for hours and never get sick of.
As the night got darker and you got tired, Dick knew it was time to take you home. As much as he’d love for this night to continue, he doesn’t want to keep you up later than you’re used to.
It brings you both to his car, pulling up into the neighbourhood of your apartment complex, the car filled with a comfortable silence as you gaze out to the passing buildings. His jacket covers your previously bare shoulders during the car ride after he’d noticed the goosebumps rising on your skin (he wouldn’t quit sulking at the fact that you didn’t tell him anything about you being cold and forced you inside his jacket desite your protests).
Parked in front of your building, you unbuckled your seatbelt and grabbed your purse, ready to thank him for tonight once again and wish him a goodnight—before you were surprised with him unbuckling himself and turning off the engine. He paused his actions when he spotted your questioning stare.
“What? You thought I was gonna let you walk up there alone? Absolutely not,” Dick huffed, quickly circling around the car to open your door and making space for you as you stepped out. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t walk you to your door? I need to make sure you make it inside safely, you know.”
Normally you would’ve been your own ride home (he’s never liked it but agreed if it made you happy), but Dick insisted that he’s the one who drives you home this time.
Dick walks you into your building, already knowing his way around from past visits, and unlocks the lobby’s door with his own copy of your keys, then leads you further into the elevators with a hand on your back that’s still covered by his jacket.
It’s almost pathetic how during the entire elevator ride, the two of you are stealing glances at each other—oblivious of the other person’s nervous shifting. Dick knows that it’s tonight that he gets that kiss from you.
At last, when having reached your door, it’s as though the once simmering tension has announced its presence, and settles in the air between the two of you. As you turn to face him with your back to your door, he gives you a soft smile that lets butterflies rise in your stomach, the warm orange lighting that complements his tanned skin doing nothing to help.
If anything, it makes whatever you’re feeling worse, and you don’t know if you can keep acting oblivious to your true feelings.
“I had a really great time,” his voice snaps you out of your thoughts, your full attention back on him, “And I really loved our conversations tonight. I'd love to do something like this again, with you.” His tone at the end has a hopeful implication. He hopes he doesn’t come off as too desperate, but part of him can’t get himself to care.
He thinks now would be the perfect time for that kiss, but he doesn’t want to pressure you. Dick knows it would kill him to ruin what you guys have, and this might be the most nervous he’s ever been in his entire life.
“Yeah?” You ask with a hint of shyness, holding your hands behind your back. “Thank you, Dick. I had a really great time with you tonight, too. The movie made me really happy and...I’m glad you remembered that small detail.”
Dick feels his heart practically melting at the sound of your voice. Your obvious nervousness only boosts his confidence in what he plans on doing, and he can’t get over how much he loves your voice. You’re so adorable. He thinks to himself.
His next smile is a lot more dorky, cheeks warm with his dimples coming out to reveal themselves. It’s your favourite feature on him, right after his blue, blue eyes, you think. You both feel like high schoolers again with a pathetic crush. “Nothing you tell me is ever small.”
He’s taken aback by how fond he let that come out of his mouth, but he decides it’s worth it when your eyes avert down to your feet—flustered. It’s his favourite look on you.
But he knows just like this isn’t enough. This thought leads him to slowly reach for your arms behind your back, gently uncrossing them while his hands trail down to hold your own. He searches your eyes for any discomfort before intertwining them, when having found none, his calloused palms swallow your smaller, softer ones. The contrast does nothing but make his heart beat faster.
It’s when you look up at him with wide, glimmering dark eyes filled with hope and a drop of insecurity that it clicks—you are the woman he wishes to share his life with.
You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t have a crush on him. It was impossible not to, with his easygoing grin that you’ve observed goes toe to toe with the sun itself. With each action done with careful consideration of you, with each compliment given, with each laugh he’s pulled out of you, with each dinner cooked together, with each night spent on his fire escape with shoulders touching– each day learning about what makes you, you.
It was too easy falling in love with Dick Grayson.
And that scared you.
Similarly to Dick, it was around the third date that you knew you wanted something blooming between you.
Love. What a strange concept for a girl who’s never fallen in love.
You find that the only reason why you hadn’t initiated anything further with him is because you’re unsure if this is how the process goes. Along with the slight insecurity of slipping up if you did, with Dick having more experience than you did. Soon those worries disappeared, because Dick had done nothing but soothe them.
Every moment where you felt as though you needed to initiate anything physical beyond what you were used to, he noticed, and every anxious thought was blown away with a simple reassuring smile.
He never said more than a quiet, “It’s okay,” because to him it was always about your comfort before anything.
He’s never made you feel forced to do anything, content to lead you through each encounter until you found the moment you were ready.
You realize as soon as he holds your hands in his—he’s the one for you.
Dick chuckles softly at the look in your eye and squeezes your hands gently. His blue eyes, nearly swallowed up by his dilated pupils, are fixed on yours, studying your reaction with an intensity that makes you want to squirm. He can feel how warm your skin is and his heart feels like it could pop out of his chest.
With a deep breath, Dick takes another step closer, now only inches apart. He lifts a hand to lift your chin ever-so-slightly, making you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. Dark eyes meet blue.
You swallow thickly as your eyes remain locked on each other, feeling his other hand move down to your waist. His expression is so vulnerable and raw as he looks down at you, and you think you might throw up from nerves alone. Your eyes water as these thoughts circle through your mind.
It doesn’t take detective skills to read you like a book. He can tell what you’re thinking. He knows the reason you’re unsure as you begin shaking in his arms. His thumb traces slow circles against your jaw, coaxing you to relax. He hopes you can’t hear how fast his heart is beating, how he’s memorizing the sound of your soft breaths.
The two of you are the only ones in the hallway at the risk of being seen by neighbours, but neither of you can find it in you to care.
"You okay?" He murmurs softly, searching your face with those impossibly blue eyes. There's no teasing now–just genuine care and something achingly tender beneath it all. "I can... we can stop if—"
(But the way he lingers shows he really doesn’t want to stop.)
"No!" you interject louder than intended to, freezing when you realized ust how loud that came out. A surprised laugh bubbles out of him at your sudden outburst, the sound warm and so fond. That adorable reaction just makes him squeeze you a tiny bit closer.
"N—no, I... this is okay. I'm okay." You finish softly, heart aching for more. You’re incredibly greedy when it comes to his touch, and you don’t feel a drop of shame for it.
"Good," he murmurs, leaning in until his forehead brushes yours—so close you can feel his breath against your lips. His free hand lifts to cradle your cheek now, thumb sweeping beneath your eye to catch that traitorous wetness before it falls.
"Because I really wanna kiss you right now," he admits in a whisper, grinning that stupid lopsided grin that makes your stomach flip. "But only if you really want me to."
Your heart almost stutters to a stop, and your gaze is consumed by nothing but want. Your pupils were almost as blown as his, and the way the wind blows, tussling at his wavy hair, drives you crazy. You melt against him as your foreheads touch, letting out a shaky breath.
It’s as you lose yourself in the pool of his impossibly blue eyes that you realize death doesn't scare you if it's by drowning in his eyes.
You lean into his warm palm, memorizing the sweet scent of his cologne. You give your answer in a hushed tone, as though sharing a secret that's to remain between the two of you alone. "I really wanna kiss you, too."
It sends a shiver down his spine. Holy smokes, he thinks to himself. You look like a dream.
The world seems to melt away as he gazes down at you with an intensity that is both gentle and smoldering. Dick can feel your breath on his lips, and it drives him insane.
"Damn," he mutters roughly, his voice suddenly raw with emotion, "you're going to be the death of me."
It's the only time he'll use the Lord's name in vain.
Just like that, he can't hold back any longer. The dam breaks, and he closes the last meager distance between the two of you, capturing your mouth in a deep, starved kiss.
A cut off gasp is swallowed by his lips, your eyes tightly shutting closed as your lips lock with his— and you feel alive. This is your very first kiss, and it's one you will never forget.
Dick’s arms circle your waist completely, pulling you flush against his body as his one hand slides up your spine until his fingers thread into your hair, tilting your head back as he kisses you with everything he has.
If it weren't for his arms holding you up, your knees would have buckled. He can feel how your body shakes with nerves and anticipation against his lips, and he can’t resist brushing his tongue over your bottom lip, groaning at the rewarding whimper he gets.
The smack of your lips is nasty; after each smack comes the sound of a deep groan which then triggers a breathy whine. Your blood is rushing to your head, and you think you might die. You’re suddenly immensely grateful for living on a nearly empty floor.
DIck groans low in his throat when he feels your grip tighten on his dress shirt, like you’re terrified he might pull away. As if he would ever want to. His tongue teases along your bottom lip again—asking without words.
His other hand drops from your chin to squeeze your hip possessively, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp against his mouth.
"Sweetheart," he murmurs between feverish kisses, voice wrecked already, "c'mon, open up for me."
That tone—half praise and half demand—sends a bolt of heat straight through you. Holy shit. You’re embarrassed at the mewl that escapes you at the pet name. Please call me that again, please, please—
It's almost instantaneous that you open your mouth, giving his tongue access. The pleased chuckle that escapes him makes your entire body flare up in warmth. It felt good, getting his approval.
Dick takes full advantage of your obedience, the kiss turning downright filthy as he explores your mouth, his tongue coaxing against yours in the most distracting way. He groans again, a hungry, guttural sound that reverberates through his chest. He has to have more of you.
"Dick—" you whine against his lips as the smacking of lips circles around the small, dark quiet hallway. You find out just how easy it is to forget your surroundings when Dick Grayson is all-consuming in your mind, and on your lips.
The sound of his name on your lips grows his greed, wanting to own every gasp and whine and whimper you make. When your tongue brushes against his, something ignites in him, some feral, possessive feeling that makes his skin burn. You're so cute; he feels like a starved animal.
He pulls away with a wet sound, breathing heavily against your lips and resting his forehead against yours. He can feel your heart racing. He presses one last desperate peck to your lips.
"God," he mumbles raggedly, "you're doing things to me, sweetheart."
"I d-didn't do anything," you pant quietly, catching your breath as a string of drool remains between the two of you—your eyes half-lidded.
Dick stares at your face, taking in your flushed cheeks, the way you pant, and that adorable little strand of drool—God, he is so obsessed with you it isn't even funny.
His hands roam your body, one still gripping your hip and the other sliding up to cup your cheek, his calloused thumb tracing your kiss-swollen bottom lip, wiping away the wetness. You resist the urge to take his thumb in your mouth where it sits against your lip.
"Baby, look at you," he murmurs, gaze darkening as he looks down at you. "I could eat you alive right now." His comment makes you squawk. "Please don't," you sigh weakly, a protesting frown on your lips.
"I won't," he murmurs between nips and pecks along your jaw, "not unless you ask very nicely." He punctuates it with a slow drag of his teeth against your pulse point before pulling away just enough to see the reaction on your face.
His fingers tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear as his expression softens into something warmer—something more like home. "But I should probably get going before I actually do something reckless."
Oh. Yeah.
"You should..." You realize sadly that as much as you wanted to stay out longer with him, you couldn't risk getting in trouble with your roommate. "I wish you didn't have to," you murmur sadly, looking down at your heels.
His face falls for a second, reading the disappointment in your tone instantly. Dick pulls you back into a tight hug, pressing his lips to the top of your head before sighing dramatically.
"Ugh, don't look at me like that," he whines, squeezing you lightly as he rests his chin on your head. "You're gonna make me stay. And then I'll have to explain to your roommate why I'm camped out on your doorstep like some lovesick stray."
You couldn’t resist the giggle at his comment, equally wrapping your arms around him. You’re overwhelmed and also not whelmed (heh, yj ref) enough by his scent. “I would've let you stay the night like usual, but she just came back from vacation. Sorry, Dick.”
He only sulks above you, letting out one last dramatic sigh. He’s as dramatic as ever. “It’d be easier if I could just bring you back to mine,” Dick huffs enviously. “If only life were so easy.”
“You talk like I won’t just see you soon, silly. I promised Haley treats.”
“So you only like me for my dog?”
“Crap, you caught me...” you grin, unbothered
He lets out an undignified squawk, your laughther following up with the dramatics.
“To be fair, she’s super adorable. I can’t resist her eyes; she’s just a baby!”
“I’ll have you know, I was the one who trained her. Her cuteness is a direct reflection of me.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “Fine, fine. Maybe I like you a little too.
Dick beams instantly, smug as ever. “I knew it.”
He pulls back just enough to cup your face again—and this time, there's no joking in those stupidly blue eyes. Just something painfully sincere.
"But I’ll see you soon? Like… really soon?" His thumb traces the apple of your cheek hopefully.
You nod eagerly, returning his hopeful smile with a tender one of your own. “Yeah...I’d like that.” You confess quietly, holding his hand against your cheek.
His smile brightens immediately, boyish and so unfairly charming. You hate him. "Good," he murmurs, pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead before finally—reluctantly—stepping back.
Dick walks backwards to the elevator like an idiot, unable to tear his eyes away from you. "And hey," he adds with a grin that promises trouble, fingers tapping against his chest where his heart is still racing. "You did this to me."
You can’t resist a laugh at his antics, pulling out your keys from your purse as he gets closer to the elevator. You grin like a lovesick teenager—you both do. “I sure did, Golden Boy. Call me when you get home?”
“Always,” he promises, taking a moment to admire your glowing figure under the warm lighting. He stuffs his hands in his pockets to keep himself from walking back over and hauling you into his arms again.
It’s when you unlock your door and give him one last smile that he dramatically blows you a kiss, his heart warming even further when you playfully catch it.
Dick’s grin softens one last time, pausing as the elevator doors open. “Goodnight, baby.” He tells you. You parrot after him. “Goodnight, Dickie.” Only you know how much that nickname makes his heart flutter.
And then—just like that—you disappear into your apartment.
(you only realize minutes later thanks to your roommate that you completely forgot to hand back his jacket. when mentioning this to dick he only laughs and tells you to keep it as a souvenir.)
dont forgot to like & reblog! thank you for reading. <3
Characters: Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne.
Synopsis: They are having a heated argument.
DICK GRAYSON
When his parents died, he grieved for a while, but eventually, he just... kept going. No regrets, no looking back.
He always managed to move on from bad things.
Or at least, that’s what he told himself while stuffing the candy you’d bought together onto the highest shelves — shoved all the way to the back where you wouldn’t notice them, even if you tried to reach.
That way, you’d have no choice but to talk to him.
He’d already lost count of how long you’d been ignoring him. The only thing he knew for sure was that he couldn’t stand sleeping alone.
Not again.
After the fight, he’d said maybe the two of you should take a breather. Cool off before things got worse.
So when he came back later, apology already rehearsed in his head, breakfast tray balanced carefully in his hands, he walked into the bedroom almost excited.
What Dick hadn’t expected was for you to take his words that seriously.
When he said take a breather, he meant maybe thirty minutes. An hour, tops. Just enough time to calm down before saying something unforgivable.
Not... whatever this was.
Not you refusing to talk to him altogether. Not sleeping on opposite sides of the bed. Not acting like the two of you were suddenly strangers trying to rethink your entire relationship.
The breakfast went untouched.
So did the small pout on his face.
You didn’t even let him sit beside you when he tried to talk.
He ended up sleeping on the couch.
The next day was fucking miserable. His mood was awful, and everyone in the manor could feel it hanging in the air.
Grayson didn’t act like this. Even with his half-assed “I’m fine,” it was obvious he was anything but.
And when he finally got back to the apartment that night, exhausted and emotionally wrung out, he went straight for the bed, practically collapsing on top of you like he needed the contact to survive.
You pushed at him weakly, nowhere near as firmly as you had the past few days.
He let out this quiet, bitter little laugh but still refused to let go.
“Baby, stop,” he mumbled softly.
Even when you tried to shove him off again, he just held you tighter, burying his face against your neck like he was starving for you.
“Please,” he whispered, completely drained.
JASON TODD
Jason could be such a fucking asshole sometimes — selfish, cold, always running his mouth before thinking twice. It was easier for him to let people hate him than let them get close enough to actually understand him.
Not that he acted that way around kids or women. Around them, he kept himself restrained. Distant. But the second he felt cornered — exposed in any way — those sharp looks and cruel words came out like second nature.
A defense mechanism. The only one he’d ever really had.
You knew that.
You knew about his mother leaving him behind like he was nothing. Knew how, for one brief moment, Bruce Wayne had made him feel wanted — safe — only for Jason to end up feeling abandoned all over again.
Trust didn’t come easy to him. Neither did vulnerability. Loving you probably scared the hell out of him.
So instead of fighting back, you swallowed the hurt along with your pride. You waved your hand dismissively, avoiding his eyes as you muttered a quiet, “Forget it,” before turning around and walking away.
And somehow, that felt worse.
Jason swallowed thickly as he watched you leave.
You didn’t yell at him.
Didn’t demand an apology.
Didn’t ask him to take back a single thing he’d said.
You just… left.
Like you were tired.
After everything he’d thrown at you, all you wanted was for him to forget it.
But he couldn’t.
Because after that, something changed.
You still talked to him. Still answered when he spoke. But there was distance in you now — something careful, almost detached — and Jason noticed every second of it.
It made his chest ache.
And, if he was being honest, it scared him enough to make him paranoid.
TIM DRAKE
This time, the fight started over something stupid.
You’d turned off Tim’s alarm so he could finally rest on his day off. In your head, it was a small act of care — something gentle.
Tim didn’t see it that way.
He had deadlines, reports, a million things waiting for him, and when he woke up hours later, disoriented and exhausted, the soft good morning kisses you pressed against his face quickly turned into frustration.
“No, because this isn’t about whether I should rest or not,” he snapped, shoving himself out of bed. “It’s about the fact that you don’t get to interfere with my work. You don’t get to decide when I stop.”
You frowned, trying not to react to the sharpness in his voice. “Tim, you hadn’t slept in two days.”
“Yeah? And just because you don’t have the same responsibilities I do doesn’t mean you get to make choices for me.”
The words hit harder than he intended.
Your expression changed immediately. Hurt. Shocked.
“Tim.”
But he was already too angry, too exhausted, too worked up to stop himself.
“Mind your own business, and I’ll mind mine.”
And after that, neither of you were exactly kind to each other.
The argument ended with Tim slamming the front door hard enough to shake the walls.
The second he got into the car, regret settled heavy in his chest.
Because Tim overthought everything.
Every failed relationship. Every mistake. Every moment where he’d been too distant, too busy, too emotionally unavailable. The thought looped endlessly in his head until he felt sick with it.
You’re ruining this too.
You’re going to lose them too.
By the time he sat down in front of his computer, he couldn’t focus on a single thing. His leg bounced anxiously under the desk while his mind tortured him with scenario after scenario of you getting tired of him. Leaving him. Finding someone softer. Easier to love.
Someone better.
The anger faded quickly, leaving behind only exhaustion and this horrible, crushing sadness.
So when he finally came home hours later, all that was left of his pride was exhaustion.
Quietly, almost nervously, Tim slipped into bed beside you.
He turned toward you carefully, watching your face in the dim light for a second with this small, hopeful look in his eyes. Like maybe if he stayed close enough, you’d roll over and pull him into your arms. Maybe you could both pretend the fight never happened until morning.
But you didn’t move.
You just turned your back to him.
And suddenly the room felt unbearably cold.
Tim bit down hard on his lip the second he felt tears gathering in his eyes, embarrassed by how fast they came. Still, he couldn’t stop them. They slid silently down his cheeks while he stared at your back, trying not to make a sound.
When you still didn’t turn around, the quiet sniffles eventually broke into shaky, uneven crying.
Because that was the moment it really hit him.
You weren’t going to comfort him this time.
Please.
Please kiss his swollen eyes and tell him you’re still here.
DAMIAN WAYNE
To everyone’s surprise, Damian Wayne was actually a good boyfriend.
It sounded absurd to anyone who only knew him from a distance. With the way he carried himself — sharp tongue, permanent scowl, an attitude that pushed people away before they could even try getting close — nobody expected him to be soft with someone he loved.
But he was.
Painfully so.
Damian was romantic in a way that caught you off guard. Quietly sentimental. The kind who noticed insignificant details you'd mentioned months before.
There was something unbearably delicate hidden beneath all that hostility.
And little by little, you had managed to reach it.
You peeled back every layer he tried so desperately to hide behind until you finally touched the vulnerable parts of him nobody else got to see.
At first, it felt like a victory.
Like warmth blooming inside your chest.
Being trusted by Damian Wayne felt sacred. Intimate. You thought you understood him now — the things he feared, the things he buried, the things he struggled to say out loud.
You were wrong.
Because somehow, Damian always found a way to shut you back out again.
One wrong moment, one careless outburst, and suddenly every wall you thought you’d broken down was standing taller than before.
You pressed your lips together tightly, forcing yourself not to say something impulsive.
The silence in his bedroom felt horrible.
Cold.
Suffocating.
“What’s wrong, Damian?”
He didn’t answer.
“Damian,” you tried again, irritation slipping into your voice this time.
The entire day had been fine. More than fine, actually. He’d left his classes early just to spend time with you. You’d gone out to eat together, watched a movie back at the manor, stayed curled up against each other for hours.
And then suddenly he changed.
Short answers.
Dismissive looks.
Ignoring you whenever you spoke.
The worst part was that he’d done it in front of your friends.
Having your boyfriend act cold and irritated toward you in front of your classmates was humiliating.
“I already told you. Nothing.”
“Then why are you talking to me like this?” you asked, frustration finally bubbling over. “If something upset you, how am I supposed to fix it if you won’t talk to me? We’re together, Damian. We’re supposed to work things out.”
He laughed quietly under his breath, but there was nothing amused about it.
“God, you’re irritating.”
You stared at him silently.
And there it was again.
That look.
Distant. Closed off. Like he’d shoved you outside the walls all over again.
“Do you genuinely believe something is wrong with me?” he asked mockingly. “I have far more important matters to deal with.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
“Fine.”
The second the word left your mouth, Damian hesitated.
Barely.
But you noticed it.
“What?” you asked flatly.
You grabbed your backpack from the floor and walked toward the door of his room.
Damian watched you the entire time without speaking.
Because what was he supposed to say?
That he hated how your friends interrupted the date the second things started feeling intimate? That it bothered him watching you laugh with them while he sat there feeling invisible? That he’d wanted your attention to himself for once?
It was supposed to be his time with you.
His moment.
The bedroom door shut softly behind you.
And suddenly the room felt unbearably empty.
Damian sat down at the edge of the bed slowly, his chest tightening with every passing second until it became difficult to breathe. His eyes burned.
You hadn’t even tried to stop him from pushing you away this time.
You just left.
Eventually, he collapsed face-first onto the mattress, burying himself beneath the blankets like hiding would somehow make the ache in his chest disappear.
He didn’t know how long he stayed there.
Minutes.
Maybe hours.
At some point, he grabbed his phone.
Your chat was still open.
Damian stared at your contact silently while his thumb hovered over the call button. His stomach twisted painfully with nerves.
Call them.
Don’t call them.
Call them.
Before he could think too hard about it, he pressed the button.
The ringing nearly made him sick.
Once.
Twice.
By the third ring, you answered.
“Hello?”
Damian froze.
Your voice was soft. Careful.
And suddenly, all at once, the anger drained out of him, leaving behind nothing but this awful ache in his chest.
He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Because right then, curled up alone in his bed with tears stinging his eyes, Damian could only think one thing:
Who was he without you?
BRUCE WAYNE
Why are you arguing with this man? Leave the old man alone; he has enough problems already.
• I admit it, I just wanted to write about Tim being a whiny crybaby. oc tim (?
Also, as you know, I don't speak English and it's translated thanks to technology :) I've had this in drafts for months ()
Inspired by the fact I haven’t done anything but play Tomodachi recently… masterlist
You walked into the living room carrying two mugs of tea and immediately knew something was wrong.
Dick was slouched on the couch like someone had stolen his last cookie. The Switch was still on, paused on the bright, colorful Tomodachi Life screen. His Mii - the one with the perfectly styled black hair and the little mask accessory he’d insisted on - was standing sadly in the middle of the island plaza while your Mii (the one with the cheerleader outfit and the hair you’d spent way too long customizing) was happily chatting with a random islander.
Dick’s lower lip was actually jutting out in a pout.
You set the mugs down on the coffee table and raised an eyebrow. “Okay. What happened?”
He let out the most dramatic sigh you’d ever heard from a grown man who regularly fought crime in spandex.
“She said no.”
You blinked. “Who said no?”
“My wife,” he muttered, pointing accusingly at the screen. “I finally got the proposal event to trigger after a week of feeding her favorite foods, buying her every gift, and making sure our compatibility was maxed out. I even followed what some losers said on Reddit. And she said no.”
You had to bite your lip hard to keep from laughing.
“Dick… it’s a Mii.”
“She’s not just a Mii,” he protested, sitting up straighter, eyes wide with betrayal. “That’s you. I made her look exactly like you - same smile, same little swing when she stands. I even gave her your favourite colour sweater. And she looked me dead in the eyes and said ‘I’m not ready’ with that sad little animation.”
He flopped back dramatically, throwing an arm over his face like a Victorian maiden who’d been scorned.
“I’m in my own game and I still got rejected. This is emotional warfare.”
You finally lost the battle and laughed, climbing onto the couch and crawling into his lap. He immediately wrapped both arms around you like a koala, burying his face in your neck with a pitiful whine.
“Baby,” you cooed, trying and failing to sound sympathetic, “it’s a video game. The Miis have weird algorithms. Sometimes they just say no for no reason.”
“But I worked so hard,” he mumbled against your skin, voice muffled. “I made sure we had all the same hobbies. I gave her a beach ball accessory because you like the ocean. I even made sure our apartment had the fancy red couch you always pick in real life. And she still said no.”
You ran your fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp the way he liked. He melted instantly, a soft little hum vibrating against your collarbone.
“You’re pouting,” you teased.
“I’m not pouting,” he pouted harder. “I’m mourning the future I thought we had in Tomodachi Life. We were supposed to get married, have a little Mii baby with your eyes and my hair, maybe even a dog. Now I have to start the whole relationship over again. Do you know how long the dating phase takes when they keep saying ‘let’s just be friends’?”
You bit your lip again, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “Dick Grayson, you fight actual supervillains on a weekly basis. You’ve been shot, stabbed, thrown off buildings - and you’re this upset because a cartoon version of me wouldn’t marry your cartoon self?”
He pulled back just enough to give you the most betrayed look you’d ever seen on his face. Those big blue eyes were actually glistening.
“Yes. Exactly. Because even pixel-you doesn’t want me. What does that say about real-you?”
You cupped his face with both hands, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “It says that pixel-me has terrible taste and clearly needs better programming. Real-me thinks you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to her.”
His expression softened, but the pout was still lingering at the edges. “Prove it.”
You leaned in and kissed him - slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that made his shoulders relax and his arms tighten around your waist. When you pulled back, his eyes were half-lidded and warm.
“Better?” you asked.
“A little,” he mumbled, chasing your lips for another quick peck. “But I’m still emotionally scarred. I might need cuddles. And maybe you feeding me ice cream while I restart the whole relationship arc.”
You laughed, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re such a dramatic baby.”
“I’m your dramatic baby,” he corrected, grinning now. “Who spent a week trying to get you to marry him in a video game because the real version is still the best thing in his life.”
Your heart did a ridiculous little flip. You kissed him again, softer this time, then rested your head on his shoulder.
“Tell you what,” you said, voice warm with affection. “Tomorrow we’ll restart the game together. I’ll help you max out the compatibility. And when you propose again, I promise pixel-me will say yes this time.”
Dick’s arms squeezed you tighter, a happy little hum escaping him. “Deal. But only if you wear the cheerleader outfit in real life while we play.”
You lightly smacked his chest. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple, “but I’m your impossible.”
Outside, the city hummed on. Inside, Dick Grayson - acrobat, hero, leader - pouted like a kicked puppy over a video game rejection while you curled in his lap and fed him ice cream straight from the tub.
And somehow, it was the most perfect night you’d had in weeks.
a/n : good fics r coming I promise I just need to do these exams tomorrow then I’m free forever 💔
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.
꒰ 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
