Dick is used to doing everything on the move, so he doesn't even notice that his behavior is not "normal".
When his mom was teaching him history, he was hanging upside down from the trapeze, trying to do a new routine.
When his dad was teaching him math, he was calculating the angles of his jumps and spins in the air.
Language? He practiced a new language on the trapeze with his parents, associating new words with the routines. If he made a mistake (either with routine or with language), they would start over so he could learn correctly.
He likes to read, but not while sitting. He usually reads while hanging upside down or swinging.
When Bruce receives the same message from his teachers for the fifth time in a row, saying that his son ward is "brilliant, a genius, but lazy", Bruce doesn't understand, since Dick always has his schoolwork done. How could he be lazy?
That is until he discovers that nine-year-old Dick is doing his homework while doing six other things at once, including practicing jumping routines, learning a new language and also planning a strategy to contain the Penguin.
Bruce: Chum, you have ADHD.
Dick: Why do you think that? *he says while hanging from the chandelier, with a math book in one hand and a device he just built that only he knows what it does in the other hand, until a second ago singing a song in a language Bruce didn't even know the little boy could speak*
brat!dick grayson who “forgets” to wear a shirt around the apartment on purpose, knowing exactly how your eyes track the sweat sliding down his abs after a workout. He stretches in the doorway, arms overhead, back arched just enough to make his waist look obscene. “Oops,” he says, voice innocent. “Laundry day.”
brat!dick grayson who teases you all day with mirror selfies, each of them with less clothing, until he sends you a video of him cumming with your name on his lips.
When you get home, he’s sprawled on your bed in your panties, cock straining the lace. “They fit better on me,” he says, voice syrupy. “Don’t you think?”
brat!dick grayson who whines and pouts when you ignore him.
He crawls into your lap while you’re reading, grinding slow. “Pay attention to me.” You don’t look up. He nips hard at your neck. “Please?” Still nothing. He huffs, slides to the floor, and starts mouthing at your thigh through your jeans. “I’ll be good. I promise, baby, just do something with me.”
brat!dick grayson who cross dresses when he wants to piss you off, because he know how much you like seeing him in that dark red tight dress that doesn't even covers his ass, a black thong and a cute black bra.
He waits for you in your shared room, legs tucked under his ass and cock straining all the fabrics obscenely. You look at him, up and down and roll your eyes. "I always forget I'm dating a bitch in heat."
Dick tries to not whimper at the degradation and just says: "C'mon, you don't want a taste?"
brat!dick grayson who gets even harder when you deny him. After telling him no, he could probably just cum in his dress.
brat!dick grayson who tries to earn your strap by showing you the buttplug he's been wearing all day, with a red rhinestone at the end.
"I'm sooo stretched, baby. I could take you raw." He says, plopping in your lap after dinner, licking your neck and biting your ear.
That snaps something in you, you have to test the audacity of your boyfriend, right?
"Mmh, yeah? D'you think you can?" You tease, touching him for the first time in the day, your hand sliding up to yank the dress down and free his pierced nipples. You take one between your fingers, twisting it slightly.
"Uh huh!" He nods eagerly. "I'm ready for you, baby!"
brat!dick grayson who ends up in all fours in the bed, like almost every time, though this time there's no opened lube in the nightstand.
You take a look at the buttplug, twisting it to test his sensitivity. Dick arches his back in that moment, trying to repress a moan.
“Thought you were ready,” you say, voice low and mean.
You pull the plug out in one smooth tug. He gasps, hole clenching on nothing, ass pushing back instinctively.
“I am—”
You don’t let him finish. You line up and thrust—one brutal push, no pause, burying the strap to the hilt.
He screams, back bowing, hands fisting the sheets. “Fuck—fuck—too much—”
You grip his hips hard, pull out slow, then slam back in. The rhythm is punishing from the start, hips snapping and the harness grinding against your clit with every stroke.
His bratty edge crumbles fast. The cocky tone vanishes after the third thrust. By the tenth, he’s a mess.
Moans turn into whines (high and pathetically desperate). He’s babbling, voice cracking with every slam.
“Please—aahh!—baby—fuck—so deep—”
You lean over him, one hand fisting his hair, yanking his head back.
“Still think you’re in charge?” you growl against his ear.
“No—no—yours—I’m sorry—please—”
You reach around, pinch one pierced nipple hard. He sobs, pushing back into every thrust, hole clenching tight around the strap.
“Thought you could be a brat all day,” you mutter, pounding harder. “Tease me. Wear my panties. Beg like a slut.”
He’s crying now, tears streaking his cheeks, moans loud and wrecked. “Sorry—I’m sorry—love you—please don’t stop—need it—”
You flip him onto his back, hook his legs over your shoulders, and drive in deeper. His eyes roll back, mouth open on silent screams. His cock is untouched, leaking steadily, flushed dark.
“Come like the needy little brat you are.”
He does—hard, untouched, spilling across his stomach and chest with a broken wail, hole clenching so tight you feel it in your core. You keep going because the sight is too beautiful to stop, his sweaty forehead, flushed neck decorated with his own cum, his mouth wide open... it's the most gorgeous you've seen him.
Only then do you slow, pull out gentle. He’s limp, voice gone—just soft whimpers and shivers.
You unbuckle the harness, toss it aside and pull him into your arms. He curls into you immediately, face buried in your neck, still trembling.
includes! dick grayson x reader, ex-hero!reader, reader struggles with apathy if you squint, fluff, dick doubting his status as a bf?, comfort, some kissing nothing crazy, butt joke
a/n: for the pacing of the backstory I had a little young justice in mind! the reader is stated to be meta but no powers are talked about except flight. in my head i imagined someone similar to superman, but nothing's been stated! so have fun with that bit of creative freedom
wc: 1.9k
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
Dick Grayson loves in a way that makes it seem like he’d always known how to. Like it was second nature. Dick Grayson loves everyone in a way unique to them. Some receive kind words. Others, a pat on the back or even a few witty remarks thrown their way. Anyone could tell you, Dick Grayson was like this with everyone. But, not with you. With you, he loves in every way he knows how. He believes that’s the least you deserve.
From loud acts of service, gift giving, and words of affirmation… to something softer–to brushing the hair out of your face whilst you sleep, light hands that linger on your back in public, and knees that brush together when you sit side by side. Dick Grayson aspires to give you everything. It’s the least he could do.
He knows that you’ve chosen the civilian life, away from the dangers of superherodom. Even if you said it was ‘just a leave of absence’, Dick knows you. He knows you enjoy it now. After all, you have a regular family, who still calls every Friday to make sure you’re alive and kicking. Not like him, where his family jumps through the same hoops he did every midnight, stopping criminals under the moon’s eerie shadow, taking the blows that other people couldn’t— so that other people wouldn’t. He had people who counted on him to be a superhero— to be Nightwing. But, so did you.
In your own way, you had people who counted on you to be safe. You had a family who would mourn beyond repair if you passed. You weren’t Superman. Or Batman, or even Nightwing. You’d said it yourself, “the world won’t miss me as a hero.” Perhaps, you were right. You weren’t insanely skilled like the others. You weren’t an A-class detective, or a crazy good martial artist or acrobat. In fact, you were probably the closest thing to normal a meta could get. And between you and yourself, your drive wasn’t there. You didn’t have what they did. Sure, you liked helping people. But, that only gets you so far. You didn’t have it– that selflessness to sacrifice everything, every day of your life–you just didn’t have it.
You tried to stay with the heroes and work to their schedules. You tried to care like them, you really did. But it was draining. You didn’t know if it was joy they took in helping people the way they did. But you for sure didn’t. You thought maybe you needed a breather. Some time away from ‘the life’. Maybe it was your upbringing, your normal family. You had a life planned before you got your abilities. Before you made the decision to step out of normalcy and do something extraordinary. And maybe deep down, that plan is what made being a hero tiring.
Besides, you thought you could help more people with your feet on the ground. Which you did. You helped the common bystander everyday. Young kids, the elderly. The ones that you would have missed from above the clouds. And it felt–normal. Now, people remember your name when you pass by. Your real name, not the nom de guerre you’d chosen for yourself so many years ago. You’ve long left the superhero's life to the professionals. The true professionals. The ones that poured their whole heart and soul into it.
You hardly speak with the people you once considered teammates, or the mentors you had. It wasn’t anything personal, of course. Just the way people grow apart with time and space. Eventually, you began leaving larger and larger pieces of that past behind— except for him.
Dick often wonders if you’ll someday let him go too. Let him go to find a normal guy. One that doesn’t somersault over rooftops every night. Or one that doesn’t track in Bludhaven’s pains with him whenever he steps into your home. He wonders if he’s too super for you, as ironic as that sounds.
“Too super?” you chuckle, the movement making Dick’s head bop comedically up and down against your stomach.
It’s long past midnight and the two of you find yourselves snuggly suited against each other under the same old plush blanket you brought with you from your family home. Dick had wordlessly slung through the window of your living room at the crack of dusk, asking that he spend the night. Seeing the look in his eyes as he peered down at you, how could you say no? (not that you were going to, anyways.) You’d asked him about patrol, to which he only muttered “Tim’s got it…” into your shoulder.
You’re many things, but stupid is not one of them.
Which is how you find yourselves here. On your bed, you lay flat on your back with a single pillow under your head. Dick lays between your legs, head heavy against your stomach as his hands mindlessly fiddle with the hem of your sleep shirt. Your hands rake through his hair as he speaks, like a calming vice. After his unannounced drop-in, you knew something was up, that his mind was busy. Usually he’d call or at least leave a message or two. Dropping from your window typically wasn’t what he’d usually go for either. At least, not with your apartment. The apartment that he had a set of keys for.
Instead of diving right into it, you decided to soothe him into the conversation. It was early enough that delivery still ran and it just so happened both of your stomachs were empty.
It hurt you to see Dick the way he was. Distant. Almost as if he was searching for a way to bring up his thoughts without soiling your good mood. In the past, he’d hate for you to see him down. That it wasn’t like him, he’d say. That he shouldn’t bother you with whatever’s been bothering him, that you had enough to worry about. Which was silly, you told him. As a partner, it's one's unspoken duty to understand and relate to what the other’s going through and to help them grow through it.
He chuckled at your poetic, ‘ironically altruistic’ monologue.
You rake your hands through his hair again soothingly, prompting him to continue.
“I mean… I know you’re taking a break from… that life. But,” he inhales sharply, “But, you’re — we’re together. And I know that can’t be easy for you.”
“Dick…”
“I know you’d never ask me to leave Bludhaven behind and I know it’s not easy worrying about someone all the time. Each morning, worrying that the sun might rise without them— without me, this time.”
“Love.”
His voice comes out in a whisper, soft and hesitant, as if telling you his thoughts would immediately make them true. He tries to speak as if he’s practiced this speech a thousand times before, but the single crack in his voice gives him away. “W…wouldn’t you want it easier? Knowing your boyfriend would be back in one piece every day?”
When he comes to a halt, you take it as your cue. “Dick, you’re talking like a crazy person.” you sit up without so much as moving his head. “I said I was taking a break from being a superhero, not from my boyfriend.”
Dick opens his mouth to speak, but is stopped when he sees how softly your eyes peer down at him. “I know I’ve been… rather solitary after I put the team on hold. But it’s expected. The others and I, we work on a different timing now.” Dick’s moved to sit up now, his eyes hasn’t left yours since. “And between you and I, the team and I were never exactly besties.” you chuckle, remembering the awkward stages of you joining the other heroes.
You joined far later than the rest and, if memory serves, Dick was the only one truly trusting of you (maybe due to the fact that you were previously acquainted) even after you’d proven yourself time and time again. You blamed yourself for that. You knew you never came off as the most trusting person in the world, or the most open. So truly, you couldn’t blame the others.
“But you, Dick. Nothing is going to change when it comes to you.” You search for his hands on his lap, holding them in yours. “On the job or not, I’m always going to love you the same. I’m going to continue to love you— the way you care, the way you manage to make a quip out of everything, the way you smile, and even the way you frown. You can count on that, okay?”
He nods slowly.
“And I told you that if you ever—ever, needed me out there, I’ll be there, suited up and waiting. No question.” you raise a hand to stroke at his cheek, slightly bruised and red under your fingers. From the night prior, no doubt.
“And for the record, I notice everything you do, Dick. The gifts, the wordless praise— all of it. I want you to know that you don’t have to prove anything to me. I wouldn’t leave you— or this. Not for anythi–!”
Dick cuts you off with the press of his lips on yours. You make a sound of surprise before leaning into it. The kiss is searing and needy. Messy and sweet. A desperate clash of teeth and tongue, like he’s been holding it back for far too long.
When your arms find their place interlaced behind his neck, the wall he’s built comes crashing down. With a sound not unlike a sob placed right against your lips, you practically feel his emotions wash over the kiss. His shoulders slump as he pulls you impossibly closer, flush against his chest.
In the passing moments, gentle whispers of praise and I love you’s are shared in the little air between you two. Quiet groans and the sound of shuffling bounce off the walls of your bedroom and with each shared breath, it was like he was consuming you. And you, him. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think your souls had opened up completely to each other and morphed into one.
After what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, he pulls away to meet your gaze. He looks ethereal, you think. With the way your nightside lamp shines across the planes of his face, contouring the lines of his jaw and cheekbones just right, to the depth of ten oceans hidden behind his glassy eyes and to the way his lips are all red and puffed out from you sucking on them— what would ever make you want to trade him in?
Loving Dick Grayson was a road of ups, downs, twists and turns where you did acrobatics you were sure you’ve never learned before in your life. Loving him meant being patient and ready to listen to all his qualms and long awaited emotional speeches. But in return, you can count on Dick Grayson to love you in ways no one else could.
“For the record,” he mocks your previous choice of words, “I happen to like giving you love. It’s what I do best.” He wraps his arms tightly around your waist, leaning in to meet your lips again. You playfully tug him back by his collar.
“Mmm… I dunno. You make some nice glazed buns.”
“Me?" he doesn’t even try to fight the stupid grin forming on his face. "Or the bread?”
“Funny.” You capture his lips again. This time in a kiss much more delicate than the first. Dick lets out an adorable noise into your mouth when your hands sneak down to grope whatever flesh of his butt you could manage from his seated position below you. “‘Mm I knew it was me.” he mumbles through your repeated attacks at his bottom lip.
𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒
a/n: sorry if its ooc again ;( consider this my writing practice. I think I might have jumped into the fanfic writing arc a bit late in life.
Do ever think that the villains of Gotham dread the day they accidentally kidnap or harm a BatBoys partner?
Obviously, it isn't well known at first, but rumours get around, and eventually, someone does do it.
Like, Two-Face rounds up a bunch of people to become hostages to ensure his safe retreat, and suddenly, Red Robin is less talkative. And it takes Batman's arrival to peel his side-kick off the goon who's a bloody mess on the floor. Two-Face watches, slightly terrified, as Red Robin stalks over to you and crouches down next to you. Dent makes sure none of his men venture close to your area or workplace from now on.
Red Hood leaves Penguin's newest base in flames and carnage, carrying you out of the front doors while the villain is hanging from the chandelier in cuffs, blue and purple and bleeding. Batman has to rescue him before the flames get too close.
Nightwing lacks wit and a charming smile in the fight against Harley. And you're tied up to the chair she's using as a shield from Nightwing's glaring gaze. She cuts your bonds, and you walk away unscathed. Harley's boys are laying in piles, broken and groaning. She surrendered almost immediately when you called out "Look out, Babe!" She says hi to you on the streets sometimes.
Aged-Up Robin (Damian) is the worst. Most villains hate going up against him normally, but when you're tied up with the rest of the hostages - they surrender almost immediately. Because not only is Robin carving his way through floor after floor of goons, but Batman can't control him. Robin has broken his leash, feral, and not even Batman can call him back. By the time Robin gets to you, the villain has you free and begging for you to calm him down.
a/n: headcanons again!!!! i litr have finals in 3 days but dick grayson is unfortunately all i think about so. kieran i'll get to your request i promise ♡
i refuse to believe that dick would be a trust fund baby so law student!dick grayson who has wanted to do this since he heard elle woods talk. one day, bruce sat him down and reminded him he was allowed to have career options besides being robin, and it just clicked.
law student!dick grayson who you met at college; the golden boy who was friends with everyone, but who sits in front of you in the campus library in the evenings, poring over his law textbooks, eyebrows scrunched, clicking his pen frantically.
law student!dick grayson who knew he didn't have time to date, he simply couldn't. but when you looked at him and smiled politely, logic flew out the window. when you, frustrated with studying, dropped your head on the table and groaned under your breath, he couldn't help but ask you if you wanted to go for a quick coffee run with him. and when you looked up startled before smiling gratefully and nodding, he knew he was a goner.
law student!dick grayson who is so good, it's as if he's making up for all the bad in the world himself. even after reminding him that you don't mind that he cancelled date night, you'll still find flowers delivered at your door every morning for at least a week.
law student!dick grayson whose ambition knows no bounds; in his first semester, he'd made a list of all the policies he's going to change and new ones he'll introduce, and it keeps getting longer. realizing how many people he could help gets him high like nothing else.
law student!dick grayson who's just as interested in your degree as he is in his, no matter what it is. for him, something that you're dedicating years of your life to has to be worth knowing. when exam season comes, he asks you to teach him what you're learning, and he asks questions as if he's in a lecture.
law student!dick grayson who works himself to the bone, and forgets that he belongs to himself, and not just his work. who needs to come home to you at the end of each day to ground himself, to do a better job tomorrow.
— i hold my love for you just beneath my linea alba.
summary : dick has always wondered why you take so many pictures of him wearing less clothes than he usually does. when he comes round to help you study for your final, he finally understands why.
note : i saw someone on tiktok once use their boyfriend to put labels on his muscles to study and i was like yessss that's the dream, except i don't do biology so maybe once i get a boyfriend we can just do it for fun !!!
requested !
pushing open the door to your dorm room, dick swung his bag from his shoulder and directed it to your bed, where it landed amongst some stuffed animals with a thump.
"afternoon, darling," you heard his voice near your ear, a pair of muscular forearms coming into view as they came to wrap around your shoulders. his lips were soft against your skin as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. "tried to get here as soon as i could. my professor just kept going on and on."
"hey, don't worry," you replied, swivelling in your chair to meet his lips shortly. "i'm just glad you're here."
dick stood to his full height, taking a few steps back, his hand fleetingly running over your hair. "where do you want me?"
as you turned back around to your desk, rummaging around with pens and journals, you gave your order. "you can just sit on the bed."
"we are studying, aren't we?" your boyfriend came back with a chuckle, the springs in your stupid uni mattress creaking under his weight.
with a playful scoff, you shook your head in response. "yes, you heathen." finally, after a few hours now of study, you stood from your desk, a new roll of masking table bangled upon your wrist, as well as a notebook in your grip and a black sharpie.
holding out the notebook to dick for him to take, you busied yourself with trying to find the beginning of the tape. "first things first, i need you to take off your shirt."
notebook in his grip, his thumb barely pushing open the front page, dick's dark eyebrows raised. "this study session is sounding more and more promising by the minute."
this time, you actually laughed, your fingernail finally catching the end of the tape. "i'm being serious! you'll see what i'm trying to do in a second."
with one movement, dick's pale blue polo was disappearing over his head, discarded near his backpack near a teddy, revealing to your room a toned, tanned set of abs — a set that neither you nor your room had seen in a few weeks, having been so carried away with revising for your upcoming exams.
as you perched on the duvet in front of him, dick found the notebook again, eyes running over the sharpie title — bio revision.
he flipped open to the first page, and his blue eyes widened again, finding an image of himself printed out and glued onto the paper. it was a picture you'd taken of him over spring break, his skin glistening with salt water and sun, his smile glinting all the same; but lines were drawn, annotating the muscles along his torso, though the arms had been cut off.
"what have we got here?" he chuckled, the corner of his mouth curling up as he peered up at you over the top of the book.
"it says on the front of the book," you grinned in return, a rip searing through the air as you tore a piece of masking tap from the roll. "this is my biology revision."
you shuffled a little closer, just inching near his lap, though not daring to cross the boundary onto it. "i want you to read from the book, and ask me where a muscle is. i'll stick a piece of tape onto it, on you, and label it. you get to tell me if i'm wrong or right."
"do you get a kiss for every correct answer?" dick hummed, cocking his head to the side playfully.
but you only laughed dismissively. "that would be too often, could get a bit... distracting. maybe if i get a whole page?"
"sure thing. you ready?"
"let's do it," you smiled, ready with your uncapped black marker and strip of tape.
the dwindling summer sun shone in through your blinds, casting a golden sheen over your boyfriend's face and torso — you'd never seen him so serious, as he skimmed over your notes, a focused crease forming between his brows, the notebook held in one hand, nimble fingers folding the pages back.
"where would you find the deltoids?"
immediately your palm found the curve of his shoulder, smooth, toned skin. you pressed the scrap of masking tape to where his muscle bulged slightly, at the plushness just below the end of his collarbone. his flesh goosebumped as you softly pressed the tip of your sharpie to the tape.
you could feel dick's gaze on you as you leaned into him, his sweet breath against your cheek, and when he spoke, it was soft. "looks good to me."
"how about the pectoralis major?"
a laugh brushed past your lips, and you pulled away to rip another piece of tape from the roll, to place it slightly below the deltoid, where his skin was toned, a muscle separated from its twin by his sternum. it was somehow both plush and firm, depending on if he flexed it with a lopsided smile.
"i think this one looks good to me," you laughed mischievously, pressing down slightly harder than before when labelling the tape, just to see the way his flesh reacted to your touch — after a few weeks without you, he was probably enjoying this just as much.
"easy, tiger, i thought you didn't want any getting distracted," dick smiled back, his tone playfully condescending. you knew and he knew he would never mind getting to mess around with you; but, simultaneously, you knew and he knew how much acing this test would mean to you.
feigning a sigh, though your lips still tingled with a smile, you pulled away, your weight falling back on your calves, which sat curled beneath your body. as dick's eyes fell back on his page, you tore a new piece of masking tape from its roll.
"where would you find... the linea alba? that's something i've not heard of before." when dick turned to you, there was something hopeful glinting in his eye, and you had to bite down on your bottom lip to contain that stupid smile.
your eyes trailed down his bare torso, to the set of abs he presented.
acting sort of as a mini sternum for his abdomen, each ab was divided by a soft lining of tissue, but where they began to soften up near his belly button, you carefully patted down the strip of tape.
once again, you leaned in, pen in hand, to mark your answer on the small barrier between you and his skin.
when dick spoke again, it was without that layer of flirtation it usually was — you loved that, despite having been together since halfway through first year, he still flirted with you like he was trying to impress you enough to take you on a first date — but this time he seemed soft, earnest. "i think that's where i love you."
with a hum, you glanced up. "what do you mean?" you asked, dotting the i on linea.
clicking the cap back on your sharpie, you moved back slightly, dick's full face coming into view. he was looking down his stomach, free hand placing itself gingerly over his abdomen.
"when i look at you, or when you say something — when you do anything — i feel it all in here." his hand made a circle, hovering over his flesh. "and it's warm and comfortable. and then it spreads here when we touch. when i have you in my arms or when you kiss me." his hand moved up, a finger dancing a line inches from his skin. you knew, as you followed, that he was running up to his serratus anterior, which you could label in a moment.
the route in which his fingers took, moved back up to his sternum, a middle finger landing square in the middle, where it separated the pecs. "and when you say my name, looking into my eyes and smiling the way you do, i feel it here. it's heavy but, like... it's not dragging me down. i have the strength to carry it with me because i know you'd want me to do that."
he finally looked back up at you, something puppy-like to his features, eyes soft, awaiting your beck and call, although he was right here in front of you.
and you couldn't help it, your mouth turned up in a smile that would hurt your cheeks if you held it long enough, lips closed together, but the pull would soon separate them, revealing teeth that glowed with your emotion. "oh, dick," you managed to sigh, before discarding your marker to the floor, and pushing dick back against your pillows.
somewhere, you could hear your hard work clutter to the floor, pages flipping all about, joining your sharpie — but all that mattered was your kind, loving boy right here, right now.
fingers found his dark hair, thick and silky, and fingers found the firm flesh that enveloped his trapezius, the heel of your palm brushing carefully along his clavicle.
as you looked down at him, the longing only seemed to grow stronger, and he owned a smile that warmed his cheeks — and his chest, you could feel it below you.
• Dick Grayson is the worst sick person. Not because he’s grumpy, oh no, he’s still sunshine incarnate, but because he refuses to admit he’s sick until he’s practically horizontal.
• You catch him trying to sneak out in full Nightwing gear with a fever of 101°F. He’s swaying like a tree in a hurricane and insists, “I’m fine, babe. Just a little warm. Gotham’s warm. I’m just adapting.”
• You physically block the door and threaten to hide his escrima sticks in the dumpster if he doesn’t get back in bed. He pouts. You win.
• Once he’s finally in bed, he becomes the clingiest, most dramatic patient ever. He wraps himself around you like a koala and mumbles, “Your body heat is the only medicine I need.”
• You try to get up to make soup. He groans like you’ve just betrayed him. “Don’t leave me. I’m dying. I need one last kiss.”
• “You’re not dying, you’re congested.”
• “Same thing.”
• He insists on watching old cartoons with you while buried under a mountain of blankets. You catch him mouthing the theme songs between sniffles.
• You spoon-feed him soup, and he dramatically sighs after every bite like you just saved his life. “You’re an angel. A god. A culinary genius.”
• “It’s literally canned chicken noodle, Dick.”
• “But it tastes like love.”
• He tries to convince you to cuddle him even though he’s a walking biohazard. “If you get sick, we can be sick together. Think of the bonding.”
• You eventually give in because he looks at you with those big blue puppy eyes and says, “Please?” in that soft voice that makes your heart do somersaults.
• He falls asleep with his head in your lap, snoring softly, and you run your fingers through his hair, smiling because even sick, he’s still your favorite person in the world.
• The next morning, you wake up with a sore throat and a very smug Dick Grayson whispering, “Told you it’d be romantic.”
