Warnings: Oral sex (f receiving, filthy), begging, praise, Bob being obsessed with you, strong language, emotional breakdown, vulnerable freak behavior, implied mental health strain, tenderness so intense it might melt your bones
The door shut with a soft click.
You didn’t hear his usual greeting. No muttered “hey” or keys tossed into the bowl. Just the sound of his boots squelching on the entryway tile, the faint dripping of water.
Your brows furrowed as you stood up from the couch. “Bob?”
He looked up at the sound of your voice—and your heart clenched.
He looked wrecked.
Soaked through, hoodie clinging to him, rain dripping from the ends of his curls, his jaw tense, his eyes red-rimmed and distant. His bag dropped to the floor with a dull thud, and he just stood there, breathing unevenly.
You crossed the room in a heartbeat.
“Oh, baby.” You tugged the wet hoodie over his head, feeling how cold and damp his skin was underneath. “Why didn’t you call me? You’re soaked.”
His mouth barely moved. “Didn’t wanna talk.”
Your hands cupped his jaw, grounding him. “Are you hurt?”
He shook his head, slow and heavy. “No.”
“Then come with me. You need to warm up.”
His grip found your hand, and it was tight, like he needed to feel you were real. You led him to the bathroom silently, already reaching for towels and turning the water on.
As the steam started to fill the room, he pulled you back gently. “Will you shower with me?”
You turned, soft and steady. “Of course.”
His lips brushed your temple. “I don’t wanna be alone.”
You didn’t need to be asked twice.
Clothes fell to the floor. Skin met steam. He stepped in first, head bowed, water running down the long line of his spine. You joined him, wrapping your arms around him from behind.
For a while, he just stood there—letting the heat soak into his skin, his shoulders shaking as he exhaled hard through his nose.
You pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades. “Wanna talk about it?”
He turned slowly, his eyes soft and too full.
“I just—I tried to keep it together today. I did everything right. Followed orders. Bit my tongue. Kept everyone safe. And still…” He stopped, chest heaving like the words physically hurt. “Still, I got blamed. Still got the fucking side-eye. Like I was one second away from snapping.”
You moved closer, your hands sliding over his chest. “You didn’t snap.”
“I wanted to.” His voice cracked. “I wanted to scream, baby. You have no idea how loud it got in my head. But I didn’t. I kept it in. And now it’s just—sitting there. Like a bomb I forgot how to disarm.”
You reached up and ran your fingers through his wet curls. “You’re home now. You can let go.”
His eyes searched yours.
Then: “Can I… eat you out?”
You blinked. “Bob—what?”
He stepped forward, forehead against yours. “I wanna eat you out to feel better.”
A startled laugh escaped you. “I think a blowjob is supposed to do that, not the other way around.”
“I don’t care.” He kissed your cheek, then your jaw. “I just want you. Right now. Please.”
You could feel the need in his voice. The way his hands gripped your waist, how his body was shaking—not with cold, but with want. With something desperate and aching and heavy.
“Okay,” you whispered, cupping his jaw.
He kissed you once—soft and deep, a promise—and then reached behind you to turn the water off.
His hands didn’t leave your body for even a second. He grabbed a towel, quickly wrapped it around your shoulders, and then one around his waist, then scooped you into his arms like you weighed nothing.
You clung to him, wet and warm and breathless.
He carried you down the hall, rain still tapping faintly on the windows, the hallway dim and gold-lit.
And then he laid you on the bed.
Gently.
Reverently.
The towel was peeled off your body with slow, wet fingers. His eyes drank you in, pupils blown wide, tongue sweeping across his bottom lip as he knelt at the foot of the bed.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “You don’t even know.”
Then he pushed your thighs open and lowered his mouth.
The first drag of his tongue made your hips jerk.
“Bob—!”
He groaned. Groaned. Deep and hungry. His arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you spread wide as he devoured you. Long, slow strokes of his tongue, then little flicks that made your toes curl.
“I needed this,” he mumbled against your soaked folds. “I needed you.Fuck—baby. You taste like heaven.”
Your head hit the pillow, your fingers clutching the sheets, thighs trembling.
“You’re so good to me,” he panted. “Let me stay right here. Let me take care of you.”
He latched onto your clit, sucking softly, and your whole body arched. His name spilled from your lips like prayer, like pleading. He didn’t stop—tongue pressing flat, then circling, teasing, relentless.
“You’re gonna come for me, baby. Please. I need it. I need to feel you fall apart.”
Your fingers tangled in his curls, guiding him, anchoring him to your body.
“You’re doing so good,” you gasped, hips lifting to meet his mouth. “Fuck, Bob—don’t stop, don’t stop—”
Your fingers twisted in his wet curls like lifelines, your thighs trembling around his shoulders, but Bob didn’t need encouragement. His mouth was starved, not for release, but for you. Every stroke of his tongue was reverent, every kiss to your core more tender than the last, as if his sanity hinged on making you fall apart in his mouth.
He moaned against you, deep and guttural, and the vibrations made your whole body jolt.
“You taste like you were made for me,” he murmured, barely pulling back, his voice already wrecked. “I needed this—needed you. Needed something that feels good. That feels real.”
He flattened his tongue and dragged it up your slit slowly, ending with a soft suck to your clit that had your back arching off the bed.
“Oh my God, Bob—” You grabbed at the sheets, breath coming in little gasps.
“I’ve been in my head all day,” he said between kisses, voice breaking as he licked into you again, tongue circling like he could memorize your flavor. “Couldn’t hear anything but him. Couldn’t breathe. And then I came home and saw you—” He kissed your thigh, then dove back in, wet and slow. “And it all stopped.”
His mouth moved with long, lazy precision—like he wasn’t trying to make you come fast, like he was savoring every moment of you. He buried two fingers inside you, curling them slowly, just enough to make your breath hitch.
“I’ll stay here all night,” he whispered. “I’ll live here if you let me.”
You let out a whimper and choked on a laugh. “You’re insane.”
He groaned, eyes dark and glassy as he looked up at you from between your thighs.
“For you? Absolutely.”
His lips sealed around your clit again, sucking soft and slow as his fingers curled deeper. You felt yourself climbing—shaking, unraveling under his hands, his mouth, his love.
You were already so close, and he knew. His strokes got slower. More deliberate. He licked through you like a man possessed, one arm snaked around your waist to pin you down as you began to tremble.
“I can feel you shaking,” he groaned, mouth slick and shiny. “C’mon, baby—let me have it. Let me taste you.”
“Bob, I’m gonna—”
“That’s it. Come for me,” he begged, voice wrecked. “Please. I need it, sweetheart. I need you.”
Your orgasm ripped through you so hard you nearly sobbed—hips arching, walls clenching, hand flying to your mouth to muffle the moan that tore free. He didn’t stop. Not when you came, not when your thighs closed around his head, not even when you whimpered from the overstimulation.
Because Bob Reynolds didn’t want to stop.
Not until you were shaking. Not until you were breathless and flushed and glowing with the kind of pleasure no mission, no Void, no darkness could touch.
And even then—he pressed one last kiss to your core before resting his cheek against your thigh, holding your hips like they were home.
You were panting, tears stinging your lashes, heart thudding like you’d just run a mile.
He didn’t say anything right away.
He just looked up at you, eyes wide and soft and filled with something unbearably tender.
Then he whispered:
“I don’t want to be anywhere else but here.”
You sat up slowly and cupped his face, your thumbs brushing the corners of his mouth. “You don’t have to go anywhere. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
His lashes fluttered. His eyes were glassy again—but not with darkness this time.
With relief.
You tugged him gently up your body, the towel falling from his hips as he followed, his chest pressed to yours, skin to skin. He kissed your collarbone, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.
“I love you,” he breathed, hoarse and trembling.
“I love you too,” you whispered back.
And then, into the quiet…
“…You still think a blowjob would’ve worked better?”
You burst into laughter, swatting his bare shoulder.
But the look in his eyes—soft, alive, adoring—said everything.
Okay, need your thoughts oh great writer! (Don’t know if you’ve heard of Spideytorch or care for it, I dont mind) but I always thought it’d be a fun idea for a Peter in batfam au to think of Johnny as an alien at first. So they believe Peter is dating a similar species like tamaraneans. I think it would just cause some funny scenarios
outside of putting shoving peter into dc aggressively, i pretty much exclusively read spideypool/deadman BUT i see your vision anon,,,
peter: yeah, so, uh, this is my boyfriend, johnny
peter gestured to a humanoid figure engulfed in flames. no one wants to think about the logistics of their relationship. it happens anyways. peter must be good friends with burn cream. everyone (except dick) exchanges a look. Yeah, that's Dick's son alright.
dick, wondering if having a type can be genetic: hello, uh, johnny. so... when'd you guys, uhhh, meet?
johnny, bursting out laughing for some reason: oh, i guess you could say we met on another planet
had peter been on any off-world missions? no. evidently this proved otherwise, which was concerning.
bruce: there's no report of you going off-world. when did you go to an alien world?
peter, tilting his head in confusion: i haven't?
damian, deadpan: but you are dating an alien, are you not? we must prepare appropriately to be welcoming, peter.
Peter, flabbergasted: i'm not dating a—?
johnning, wheezing: —ALIEN!! Holy— *wheeze* they think— they think you're getting, ohmygod— alien dick!
johnny, turning serious all of a sudden: no offense, Mr. Grayson.
dick, narrowing his eyes: hm.
johnny, sweating: theres a disturbance in the force
peter beating johnny with a rolled up newspaper: first *wack* impressions *wack* MATTER *wack* *wack* *wack*
You kknow those fics where spiderman ends up in Gotham, or the ones where the JL (Justice League) finds that Batman is a dad and ends up meeting the batfam?
Well, what about a fic where the JL meets Spiderman, but not in the way where he ends up in the DC universe (in one way or the other) in the middle of a JL meeting or the Watchtower, but like as a batkid
Let me explain, Gotham is still Bat territory, the JL dosen't really know what happens there if Bruce dosen't tell them; so they don't know about Peter arrival in Gotham and the fact he became a vigilante there, and they don't know that Bruce adopted him (or Dick or Jason did) and that he became part of the batfam.
So when they meet him is like at random, for example the JL needs help in some chemical thing or something and Batman propose to ask help to one of his kids, and the JL is like: "Tim? Wasn't he good with tech and logistic stuff like Victor? (Cyborg for those who don't know)"
And Batman confused: Not Tim, Peter
JL: Jason?! Wasn't he more interested in literature (because for those who don't know, Jason full name is "Jason Peter Todd")
And Batman is just confused, for then to realize that the JL never met his new son Peter Parker, aka Spiderman who comes from who knows where and that is a genius in chemestry, biology and engineering. So he calls him and the zeta-tube activates saying Spiderman code and from them comes out this chill guy (in spiderman suit because he just finished patrolling with Duke) with a smootie and greets them like is the most normal thing and the JL is just shocked because Bruce adopted another meta
A question for all those who like Marvel x DC crossovers, more specifically the Spider-Man in Gotham ones.
Can you explain the lack of Christmas content? And no, I'm not talking about Christmas specials or Head-canons. I'm talking about the fact that both Bruce and Peter are Jewish.
Yes, I know it's not canonically confirmed, and no, I'm not talking about beliefs because I know Batman is an atheist.
But as far as upbringing goes, there have been references from both sides and it makes me think. I know a lot of people like the MCU Spider-Man to appear in crossovers.
But I remember this and since it's 3:30 in the morning I think, can you imagine?
An 8-year-old baby Peter Parker showing up on Dick Grayson's doorstep one day, explaining that an ex-girlfriend of his, Mary Parker his mother, died 2 weeks ago and with a DNA test in hand? It should also be added that he did all of this by himself, he cried for his mother for a week, then went to get a DNA test (don't ask how), then tracked down all the information on his father along with his address (also don't ask how), and then got a bus ticket to Bluehavens.
Richard Grayson only knows two things, well three.
1. His baby is a copy of him as a child with the soul of a mini Tim inside, they'll probably be best friends when they meet.
2. This adorable, little boy wearing overly baggy, worn out clothes, an inhaler in his other hand that doesn't hold the DNA test, and the most adorable doe eyes you've ever seen is his son, his baby, his little flying Grayson and his beloved little bird, screw everything else, he's his, even if he wasn't his biological son, that simple fact just reaffirms everything else.
3. He'll have to explain to Bruce after all the lectures he got from him as a teenager, and all his teasing about it when Damian showed up, that he got an ex pregnant when he was 19 and went to New York incognito.
I sweat a little, it's best to introduce him during the family Christmas (or rather Hanukkah) dinner, at least he knows he'll be happy to be a grandfather.
"Oh, by the way," Peter said over breakfast two weeks later.
They had come a long way during that time, and since he was a smart kid, just like Tim, it didn't take long for him to figure out his secret identity, which made certain things easier.
"I'm Jewish, my mother and uncles raised me celebrating Hanukkah, but I have no problem celebrating Christmas with your family, Dad, I just wanted you to know."
Still a little disoriented from lack of sleep after a night of patrol, it took him a little while to register the information, after it reached his brain, his movements to eat his pancakes stopped, he finally opened his eyes to look at his son and let out a big sigh of relief.
Now he would not only show up to Hanukkah dinner with a grandson for Bruce but one he could connect with based on one of his favorite holidays from when he was a child like him.
(Later at work he would realize how Peter had addressed him)
