𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄
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IN WHICH… dick grayson (not jealous) makes the fundamental mistake of introducing you to his family - specifically, his brothers.
desc; dick grayson x fem!reader, dick grayson is down BAD, ft. platonic!jason todd, platonic!tim drake, fluff, dick grayson yearning so hard he is crashing out . based on this request.
richard grayson is not a jealous man.
tall, attractive, a total babe. he knows what he is, what he wants, what he has. dick grayson lacks for very little. dick grayson doesn’t have a jealous bone in his body. that’s what he tells himself, at least. what could he possibly have to be jealous about?
dick once told you he doesn’t get jealous because he knows you’re his. it doesn’t matter if every single person in the room looks at you with wide eyes and hanging jaws. he knows you don’t want them - he sees it in the way you lean back, eyes searching for him in the crowd. dick knows you’re his, knows that he’s the one to take you home, lie next to you, kiss you. besides, he could kick everybody’s ass. he considers it a mercy that his attention is redirected to other crimes.
speaking of mercies, he thinks, as his eyes drift to your sleeping form. you’re slumped against the window in the passenger seat, breath misting the glass ever so slightly. it’s warm outside, but the ac is blasting, courtesy of your boyfriend. dick finds it hard to concentrate on the road sometimes, when he’s with you. it’s absurd - bruce wayne’s eldest, batman’s first robin, nightwing himself… melts at the sight of you. his eyes flit to you, and he stifles a laugh. you’re so deep in sleep, you haven’t even realised that your mouth is hanging wide open. if he didn’t know you, he’d think you were dead, honestly - corpselike, and so still, even with the gentle swerves of the car. smiling gently, he pushes your head back till it rests on the seat, breathing deeply, eyes back on the road. it’s bad. he’s down bad. anyone can see it, but dick knows it. he can’t imagine life without you, not anymore. life before you doesn’t exist in his mind - you’ve always been there, right? a you-shaped hole in all his memories, a space created only to be filled by you. the thought of either of you separating never crosses his mind, and he won’t let it, either.
oh, dick grayson is not a jealous man. he can’t allow himself to be.
it’s almost dark when you finally reach gotham, the final embers of the sun fading into near blue. the car pulls into the driveway, and you wake to your boyfriend’s gentle voice in your ear.
“hey, sleepyhead,” he whispers, smiling tenderly at you. as you open your eyes, you think you might melt on the spot. his dark hair is tousled, unstyled. you like it like this, without the gel, fluffy and soft. absentmindedly, you reach a hand to ruffle through it. dick’s eyes flutter shut for a moment.
“hi,” you mumble back. rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you turn to look at him. a grin makes its way across your face as you stare at your boyfriend. if it were anyone else, you’re pretty sure it would have passed the threshold of ‘creepy’ and into downright unsettling. but it isn’t anyone else, it’s him, always him, and you can’t compel yourself to tear your eyes away.
˙⋆✮
with the exception of a few brothers, you’d pretty much met the entire wayne brood. bruce, naturally, was the first. the others, you met over time, either on patrol in bludhaven or when one of dick’s siblings happened to show up at his door (much to his chagrin, especially when it was to interrupt a date night). naturally, considering you’d become acquainted with half the family, you weren’t really nervous. after all, you’d knocked the harder ones out of the park - bruce actually enjoyed your company, as far as you could tell, and even damian toned his usual bite down. not dramatically, but just imperceptibly enough. or maybe you’d just become used to him.
dick, on the other hand, was a bundle of nerves. not outwardly, of course - he had a persona to keep up, an aura of lax. but internally? dick was a mess.
the only people you hadn’t met were jason, and tim. he knew you’d get along with his family, hell, you practically managed to tame damian, but jason? tim? tim and jason together? oh, dick wasn’t worried about conflict. he knew you’d all get along. that was the problem.
but he doesn’t get jealous…right?
˙⋆✮
richard grayson curses the day he was born. he thinks that life has been some big, huge, cruel joke played specifically on him.
it’s been an hour and a half. the longest hour and a half of dick’s life, the most agonising, torturous, slow hour and a half possibly in existence. an hour and a half of sitting at the table, across from his girlfriend - not by his own choice, either - fidgeting with the food on his plate. an hour and a half of gritting his teeth. an hour and a half of watching two of his brothers flirt shamelessly with you.
you have no fault in this, dick knows that. he doesn’t blame you. part of him doesn’t blame his brothers, either. there’s something about you that draws people in, physically. he can’t blame tim for the way he hangs on to your every word, eyes not leaving your animated face for a second. he can’t blame jason for leaning in closer every time you laugh. he knows the effect you have - hell, it’s half of what drew him to you in the first place. he can’t blame them for that.
what he can blame them for is the way they do it. you’re oblivious. how could you know their game? how would you see the quick smirks jason sends his way when you laugh at one of his jokes? you couldn’t know how tim looks at dick pointedly every time you nod earnestly at something he shares. dick isn’t jealous. he’s being protective. sure, he wants to be near you, but he just wants to spend time with his girlfriend - you know, the one he brought to meet his family.
asshole, dick thinks, as jason ‘accidentally’ clamps his hand on yours.
“sorry,” he smiles sheepishly. “miscalculated,” and his hand brushes over yours, settling on the butter dish. you wave it off.
dick doesn’t. he catches jason’s eye, the latter practically gloating. he tries not to rise to it. he knows they don’t mean any actual harm, family exists to piss each other off but it’s nothing personal. still, dick can’t stand it. he isn’t jealous - he just can’t stand that he’s not next to you. he wants to hold your hand at dinner and put the food on your plate himself. he wants to be close enough to smell your perfume, close enough to smell it on his shirt the next day, on his skin, in his nose. he wants to sit next to you and for you to turn to him and ask if everything’s alright like you always do.
and that’s another thing. you haven’t spoken a single word to dick in forty-five minutes. forty. five. minutes. tim’s been keeping your attention, dick doesn’t know how, he’s never seen tim talk this freely before, but he is. and in the spaces that tim takes to breathe, jason butts in, complimenting you. your hair, your nails, your clothes.
dick is aghast. aghast. mortified. practically on the verge of threatening his own life. he thinks he might actually explode if he has to sit opposite you any longer. fine, tim’s talking to you, but would it kill you to look at your boyfriend? just say hello? just a hi? you okay? i miss you baby?
peeling his eyes away, he looks around the table for any sign of solidarity. it doesn’t help that half of the family is away. actually, the only others are bruce and barbara. the latter does her best not to make eye contact, practically red in the face. he looks at bruce. surely bruce has something to say, but as dick turns his gaze, even bruce looks away. his face is stern, but anyone who knows the man well could read that expression. and dick knows him well.
bruce is laughing at him. in his own sick, stern, nonchalant way…bruce wayne is laughing at him.
unable to bear it any longer, dick slumps onto the table in front of him, the plate of food half-picked and pushed away. he lets out a dramatic groan, ears reddening only slightly when he realises he’s cut through the conversation dancing over the table.
you clear your throat softly. “you okay, baby?”
oh, those three words. three magic words, and dick shoots straight up with a grin, eyes meeting yours. you look so concerned, he can’t even be mad - the past hour or however long floods from his mind. he can practically see rose petals and jazz music surrounding you in his vision. he fixes his lips to respond, but before he forms a sentence, he hears another voice speak.
“ah, he’s fine. so, tell me more about this…”
the rose petals wither. the jazz comes to a screeching halt. dick grayson’s eyes narrow and he can’t even swivel his head to look at the agitating source of the noise (jason). you’re still looking at him, though around you the conversation lingers on, eyes pleading with your boyfriend, a silent, are you sure, in your gaze. dick nods, and you smile, turning back to tim. dick doesn’t know what to do. barbara is basically in silent stitches, bruce is…occupied, and everyone else is gone. so dick does the only thing he can.
he pouts.
˙⋆✮
patrol in gotham is different to bludhaven. not that either is easy, but you know your city. bludhaven is as familiar to you as the back of your hand - every alley, every building, even the street lamps start to commit to memory after a while.
gotham is different. it’s darker, gloomier. gotham has something thicker in the air, something more foreboding. it’s as if the city is sentient, as if the life thrums with something neither good nor bad. gotham is alive, and you don’t know how to feel about it.
patrol tonight is quiet. you hadn’t intended to join, especially considering it was your first time in the city, but you saw dick pouting at dinner, and could you really trust your boyfriend to pout around the crime filled streets? not that he couldn’t handle himself.
you suppress a laugh as you cast your eyes to the right of you. crouched on the rooftop, dick’s hair flutters softly in the breeze. it’s dark here, save for the orange glow of the undercity, and the soft light illuminates his face. he looks…godly, you think. handsome.
you bite your lip, adjusting your suit slightly. dick hasn’t spoken to you, but you know he isn’t angry. actually, you know exactly why he’s sulking right now. dick never admits to being jealous, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. you saw his eyes practically shoot into the back of his head at dinner. you saw his mouth drop in shock when you laughed at tim’s joke, or asked jason to pass you the jug of water. you know dick’s jealous - you can see it in his form, how he grips the edge of the roof harder, his fingertips turning white. how he grits his teeth, or how he avoids looking anywhere but down. dick is seething with jealousy, and, twisted as you are, you’re enjoying it. it’s not your fault that your hot, sexy, loving boyfriend looks ten times better when he’s pouting adorably in the corner.
still, you’re not a sadist, so you shuffle closer. “babe…” you start, speaking softly.
dick’s shoulders tense, but he doesn’t turn away from the frankly empty streets below. “yeah? you need anything?”
you tilt your head to the side. okay. so maybe he was a little pissed. not like that would stop you, or him, for that matter. you’d had fights before, like any normal couple, but you both always ended up crawling back to each other. in fact, nine times out of ten you couldn’t even make it to the end of the argument. you were a sap, and honestly? dick was too.
“just miss my boyfriend,” you sigh. “he won’t talk to me.”
no sooner have the words left your mouth, before dick turns to you. his jaw is dropped, beneath the mask his eyes are wide. you’re pretty sure you can hear the breath leaving his lungs.
“are you serious?” he whispers. you bite your lip in an effort not to laugh.
“we’ve been out for hours, and you won’t even talk to me,” you feign innocence. you won’t smile, not just yet. the comm in your ear crackles slightly. not much activity now, given the night has started to quiet down, so you know you can take the liberty of teasing him.
he laughs, bitterly. “i’m talking to you now, right? i’m talking to you. see, actually, when i talk to you, i actually talk. you on the other hand…” he trails off when he sees your quirked brow. he sighs. “just forget it, babe. we’re good.”
on any other occasion, you would have pushed it more, teased him for a few more minutes. but your poor, sweet boyfriend looks so dejected that your heart actually skips a beat. you feel a swell in your chest, and before you know it, you’re wrapping your arms around his back, nuzzling into his neck.
“awww,” you mumble, pressing kisses on the back of his head. to your relief, dick doesn’t pull away. he leans into you. you’re pretty sure you can feel his heart stutter for a second.
you continue. “i’m sorry, baby. didn’t mean to ignore you. i just wanted to make a good impression on your brothers.”
dick snorts. “you made a good impression, believe me.” he turns around, falling into your embrace (and away from the edge of the roof). something clatters in the process, probably a rock, and in the distant inner city, a siren blares.
he mumbles against your shoulder. “i hated not being around you.”
you blink, half-shocked, running your hand between his shoulder blades. you feel him flex under your touch and you press your lips together, trying to take him seriously despite his preening. “you were…dick, baby, you were right in front of me?”
you hear him groan, but before he can answer, your comm sputters to life. a muted, gravelly voice rings in your ear, and dick’s, too.
“loverboy’s got his panties in a twist.”
jason.
dick groans again, guttural, tortured, right into your neck. the sharpness of his distress takes you by surprise, and you can feel his voice in your throat, feel his genuine displeasure as he rips his comm out and throws it halfway across the roof. it lands with a small clink, and you roll your eyes.
“you know you have to get that later, right?”
he looks up at you, and you melt. the words die in your throat at the sight of richard damn grayson, on his knees, face turned up towards you, swollen bitten lips, watery eyes. for a moment, the world stops, or you feel like you’ve lost your breath. you don’t know if you want it back, not if it means you could stare at this for a while longer.
“are you crying?”
“no,” he practically whines. “not exactly,” he whispers after a pause, and your heart skips another beat. before you can help yourself, your lips fall on his.
dick kisses you, and it’s unlike anything you’ve felt before. he’s never kissed you like this - desperately, deeply. he’s something more than hungry, or starved. his hands wrap themselves around you, in your hair, your neck, against your jaw, the small of your back. he’s warm. he smells like heaven, he kisses like you’re the only thing in the world. your comm starts crackling again. without breaking from dick, you rip it from your ear, tossing it away until you hear soft clatters on the concrete.
dick pulls away for a second, and you stutter at the harsh cold that appears in his wake. you go to kiss him again, but he pulls back for a second, placing a finger on your lips. that asshole. he’s smirking.
“you know you have to get that later…right?” he mimics you, and you sigh, shaking your head.
“i’m not…shut up,” the words die on your lips the minute he finds yours again, your mouths melding together again.
gotham is quiet tonight. dark night fades into deep blue, soft pinks painting the far horizon. a siren blares in the distance, the sound of boots hitting the concrete somewhere. from far behind the two of you, the comms crackle, static electricity begging to hum back to life.
richard grayson isn’t a jealous man? yeah right.
divider by @enchanthings !
