⋆ starring: Dick, Jason, Roy, Wally, Kyle, Bruce, Hal
⋆ cw: nsfw 18+ mdni, f!reader, established relationships, fluff, crack, oral mention, mention of throwing up (but as a joke), reader is sick (nothing serious)
⋆ a/n: happy late new year!! i hope everyone spent the holidays wonderfully<3
p.s i wrote these while i was actually sick so excuse any typos
characters: wally west, roy harper, conner kent
summary: your brothers find out you’re dating their best friend
content/warnings: fem! batsis! reader, fluff, angst (?), comedy, kind of suggestive in roy’s
author’s note: i know it’s been a million years since i’ve written here but i’m glad to be back with this fic
WALLY WEST
You suppose your injuries could have been worse. Hell, they have been worse, so six broken ribs and a fractured wrist aren’t really anything at all. What’s worse to you is being bed-ridden in the hospital, bored out of your mind. Jason, Tim, and Damian have already visited, bringing food (Jason), a Nintendo Switch (Tim), and Alfred the Cat (Damian, having snuck him through security and the front desk). From what you’ve heard from several frantic phone calls and your brothers, Dick’s on his way, having been on the other side of the country when this all happened.
There’s a knock on your door before it swings open, balloons and flowers obscuring the face of the person holding them. Still, there’s a light, familiar scent of lingering cologne and you grin. “You didn’t have to bring all this, Wally.”
“I did, actually,” he says, setting everything up around your room in the blink of an eye. The balloons rest on your right while the flowers, now in a pretty glass vase with water, are to your left on your side table. He sits beside you, clasping your hand in his and wearing a somber expression. “It’s my duty as your boyfriend.”
“You are so unserious.” But you can’t help but giggle as Wally tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “Thanks for coming, though.”
He scoffs, “As if I wouldn’t.” He reaches down into the backpack he dropped on the floor and fishes out his laptop, holding it out to you. “I also thought we could watch something to pass the time.”
“Yes, please, I was getting so sick of watching The Young and the Restless on the TV.” You slide over the best you can in your bed, inviting Wally in. He slots in beside you, and you rest your head on his shoulder as he cues up Netflix.
You’re halfway through a movie, Wally planting a kiss on your forehead, when Dick bursts in with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. He’s a little out of breath, words coming out in a rambling string, “I’m so sorry it took so long to get here! Are you okay? Tim told me what happened—”
You both freeze before Wally launches himself out of the bed and into the chair beside it, but it’s too late. Dick pauses, eyes darting from you, to Wally, and back. Another beat of silence, then Dick shrieks, “Why were you in bed with my sister?”
“Dick, be quiet, we’re in a hospital,” you hiss as Wally scrambles to explain, “Dick, I swear, we were—”
“When?” Dick’s voice is softer but turns sharp, cold, and you feel your stomach drop.
“When what?” you ask.
“When were you going to tell me?” He’s staring at Wally, whose mouth opens and closes but no words come out.
Dick inhales deeply and then turns to you. “How long?”
“Five months.”
Dick nods, pinching the bridge of his nose and he finally says, “You know, I’m not even mad that you two are together. It’s weird to see, yeah, but I’m more angry that you two didn’t feel like you could tell me.”
You and Wally exchange glances. You both hate this, hate hurting Dick. Wally’s hand finds yours as you say, “We didn’t mean to hurt you, Dick. It’s just… we didn’t know where this was going— if it was going anywhere when this first started. We thought it would be better that no one knew, just in case nothing happened or if it ended badly, then it wouldn’t burden you or the team.”
“But you can,” Dick says. “We’re a team, I’m your brother.” He looks at Wally. “And your best friend. We share these burdens, all the good and the bad.”
“We know,” Wally pipes up. “And we should have told you but we made what we thought was the right decision at the time.”
Dick’s silent again and Wally, voice soft and careful, says, “I really love her, man.” You’ve heard Wally say it before, say it a hundred times, and it still makes your heart flip.
Dick considers the two of you and sighs again. “No more secrets.”
You two nod. “We promise.”
“And no making out in front of me, I don’t think my heart could take that.”
You make a face. “Trust me, Dick, neither of us want to do that.”
“Well—” You shoot Wally a glare before he can get any further and Dick snorts. You turn back to him. “Want to watch with us?”
“Sure, as long as you restart from the beginning.”
Wally groans, “Oh, come on!”
ROY HARPER
Roy’s hands are everywhere — your waist, your hips, your thighs — as the elevator ascends towards your floor. He has you pressed into the wall, your lower back pressing into the railing though your discomfort is dulled by the heat surging through your body.
The elevator chimes and the door slides open. You nudge him away from you, and you roll your eyes playfully when you’re met with his pout. “Come on, big guy, it’ll be more comfortable in my apartment.”
Roy asks, “Sure you don’t want to just do it here?”
“Fairly certain.” You drag him out and towards your apartment, fumbling with the keys at Roy insistently nips at your neck, grip firm on your sides.
As soon as you push the front door open, Roy’s kicking it closed. He crowds you against it, lips slotting against your again. You can’t stop the small noise that bubbles up in your throat as his tongue slips into your mouth, your hand flying to his hair.
A voice sounds from behind you, shocked and indignant. “What the fuck is this?”
Your heart rate spikes for a second at the intrusion but you’d know the voice anywhere. The two of you separate and you spot Jason in your living room as he stands slowly out of the armchair he’d been occupying. You can’t help but shout back, “What the hell are you doing in my apartment, Jason?”
“You gave me the spare key, remember? And this isn’t about me!” Jason storms towards the two of you and you step in front of Roy as he snarls, “What the hell, Harper?”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Hood, we’re all adults here,” Roy fires back.
“She’s my sister! Of all the women in the world, you chose to fuck with her?”
“I’m not fucking around!” Roy snaps. “And don’t talk about her like she’s not here.”
Jason looks over at you. “Why him?”
“Because he’s sweet and funny and a really good kisser.” Jason makes gagging noises in response though he’s seemed to calm down from his initial reaction.
He glances between you, sizes Roy up and sighs heavily. He levels Roy with a steely look and says, “You hurt her, and I’ll make you wish you were dead.”
“And that would be totally fair of you,” Roy says quickly, his hand cautiously coming to rest on your waist. “But I won’t.” His eyes meet Jason’s with a look that’s crystal clear: I love her.
Jason’s scowl stays on his face but his shoulder has dropped and his body relaxes. “Fine.” He turns on his heels, stalking off your hallway. When you call after him, asking where he’s going, Jason replies, “To bleach my eyes.”
CONNER KENT
Tim feels like shit. He hasn’t been able to kick the bout of flu he received while on a mission up in Maine, sniffling and coughing and suffering through body aches. He swears he’d rather take a kick from Bane than ever feel like this again. What’s worse is that, mentally, he’s fine — sharp as ever — but physically, he can barely stand without getting dizzy.
Bruce forbade him from going on patrol tonight, for everyone’s sake. Tim knows he’s one sneeze away from Damian strangling him with his cape, as he so vividly described to Tim. Alfred’s on duty downstairs in case Tim thinks about sneaking out to do work or down to the Cave but honestly, Tim doesn’t think he can make it to the door. So, here he is, stuck in his bedroom, huddled under mountains of blankets and tissues. His laptop is propped on his legs, and he’s been passively watching shows and movies.
After getting bored of whatever crime drama he had been mentally picking-apart, Tim clicks out of the streaming service and onto a different application. He had wired into the Manor’s security system so that he could monitor the common areas from his room if he pleased. He’s gotten some good blackmail material on nearly everyone, from Dick drinking milk straight from the carton and putting it back, to Jason and Damian rough-housing and breaking a centuries-old vase and then blaming it on some freak accident, to Bruce tripping over the foyer rug when he was half-asleep. Tim’s got receipts at his disposal for strategic deployment when need be.
He flips through each room. Nothing really exciting given that everyone is out. The Cave is empty, the hallways are empty. The most interesting thing is that Alfred seems to have dozed off on the sofa while watching something on Masterpiece Theater.
Tim’s about to close out of the feed until he sees movement on the front porch. He doesn’t look in time to see but it’s easy to follow whoever it is into the foyer. Tim’s body, despite the aches and pains, winds itself tight, ready to race downstairs and strike. Two figures come into focus.
Tim sees you first, draped in a leather jacket that looks too familiar. He frowns. You had told everyone that you would be out of town for the weekend so you couldn’t go on patrol. And yet, here you are at the Manor.
You’re speaking to the other person just out of frame but soon, they come into focus. Dark hair, broad shoulders, and a shit-eating grin. Tim blinks at the screen once, twice, because it can’t be his best friend. It can’t be Conner Kent, who’s smiling at you like that.
Tim’s fingers move on their own, pressing a button to turn on sound. You’re speaking softly, but the state-of-the-art microphones catch everything with ease. “Everyone should be out, except Alfred, and he knows,” you tell Conner as you slip your shoes off.
“That’s good, ‘cause I’ve been waiting all night to do this.” Then, with abject horror, Tim watches as his best friend pulls you in by the waist and kisses you. On the mouth. With passion.
Maybe if he was feeling better, he would have thrown open his door and flown down the stairs to confront the two of you directly. Maybe he would have yelled at Conner because you’re his sister. Maybe he would have argued with you because that’s his best friend. Instead, Tim clicks another button, leans close to his computer so the mics pick up sound loudly and clearly, and mentally apologizes to Alfred for waking him up.
“You know there are cameras all over the Manor, right?”
BONUS: DAMIAN’S THOUGHTS ON YOUR BOYFRIEND
WALLY WEST
Damian doesn’t get it. You’re intelligent and capable, and yet you chose Grayson’s goofy friend — Wally West, Kid Flash — who can never sit still, makes horrendous jokes and who sometimes (and only within Dick’s eye and earshot) calls Damian “kiddo” and ruffles his hair before sprinting off at the speed of light. Still, he supposes that because he’s Grayson’s friend, he could be… acceptable. 4/10, and that’s very generous.
ROY HARPER
How could you have chosen someone who looks disheveled half the time and chooses to willingly hang out with Todd? He’s far too chaotic and reckless to be deserving of you, his beautiful and talented older sister. Damian’s still wracking his brain for a reason… did you lose a bet? Is Harper paying you? At least he has a car and a mortgage. 2/10.
CONNER KENT
Damian believes that anyone who associates with Drake should stay far away from you, much less hold your hand and kiss you and take you on dates. He can’t believe that Drake’s arrogant, hot-headed friend is the object of your affection. He’ll have to speak with Drake about keeping his unworthy friends away from you in the future. To Damian, the only redeeming quality about Conner Kent is that Jon likes him. 1/10.
TL;DR: No one is worthy of you and Damian will help you find a suitable partner.
Summary: You're not answering his calls and he assumes the worst
Content/CW -> gn! reader, general anxiety/panic, reader is sorta sick, mentions of a heart attack in a joking manner
— requested by nonnie <3
froggi yaps -> i am not sure if i am sick rn or just sleep deprived but either way i am with you on this one nonnie <3
Wally:
You’re dead. Or on fire. Or Dead and on fire. Okay, well, not actually, but Wally can’t help but think you are when his call goes to voicemail for the umpteenth time. His texts, a sporadic barrage of messages, have yet to go through on your end.
He takes a deep breath, combing his hands through his hair. It’s fine. He’s fine. You’re fine. You’re probably just busy, that’s all. Nothing to worry about. It’s fine.
It’s not fine, is all Wally thinks when he’s ditching his job at Terrifitech and running to your apartment. He can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong, very wrong, and he’s not sure he could live with himself if something happened to you.
The apartment is eerily quiet and dark, the usual warmth you carry nowhere to be found. Wally frowns, brows knitting together as he slowly creeps through your apartment.
Your bag is on the counter, shoes on the mat, phone ditched on the coffee table along with your keys. Well, that explains that. All of your things are here, but where are you?
He finds his answer in the bedroom, cocooned under every blanket in the house and curled in a ball drooling. The ball of anxiety that had been turning supersonic in the pit of his stomach screeches to a halt, dissipating as quickly as it built.
He leans on the doorway, grinning. You look peaceful like this, untouched and entirely unbothered by the world around you.
Wally creeps towards you on the balls of his feet, nestling himself next to your mountain of blankets. He taps your cheek gently.
“Baby?” He hums, “you alive?”
You offer a noise that sounds more alien than human, shifting uncomfortably under the covers.
He leans in close, brushing his lips over your forehead. “You been sleeping all day, doll?”
You nod, the movement sluggish with your exhaustion.
He laughs, the sound like bottled sunshine. “Are you feeling okay?”
You roll over, blinking your eyes open slowly. Wally’s hovering above you, the early evening light coming through your window casting a halo around his head. You reach and twine a strand around your finger.
“Wasn’t feeling good,” You frown. “I had a headache so I was trying to sleep it off.”
“A headache?” He puffs out his chest, “this guy bothering you?”
You dissolve into a fit of giggles, hitting his arm playfully. “You’re silly.”
He rubs a hand over your forehead. “I’m in love with you.”
“I love you too.”
“You really did have me worried sick, baby.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugs, “a heart attack a day is good for the soul.”
You tangle your fingers on the back of his neck and tug him into you, bringing his lips to yours.
Roy:
Roy checks his phone for the dozenth time, his lock screen coming up blank. All of his phone calls—six to be exact—went entirely unanswered, your voicemail greeting him every time.
He tries to keep himself calm, to focus on the armored truck he’s been tracking through the city, but he can’t. All he can think about is you, more specifically, why you’ve gone radio silent.
One more call. Surely you’ll pick up now.
He holds his breath while the line rings. Once, twice. Four times. Voicemail. Your voice greets him but it does nothing to soothe the ache in Roy’s chest. Something’s not right.
He’s quick to abandon the target, ducking away from his duties to hunt you down instead. Lucky for him, your place isn’t too far of a trip from where he was to begin with, and you always forget to leave your window locked, much to his dismay.
Today, though, he’s grateful for your unlocked window.
The room is dark when he steps inside, the only light being the slivers that sneak in through your curtains. Through the dim lights, he can just barely make out your form buried under the covers. Roy leases a sigh of relief at the sight, the pounding in his chest fading.
He’s quiet sneaking around your room, discarding his gear and crawling into the bed next to you. He’s careful not to wake you, burying his head into the nape of your neck and breathing in your scent. Of course, he’s not as discreet as he’d hoped.
You blink yourself awake, cupping your hand over his. “Roy?”
“Shh, sorry baby, you can go back to sleep.”
“What’re you doing here?”
“Was worried about you, y’weren’t answering my calls.”
“Oh, what time is it?”
“A little after seven.”
You gasp. “I’ve been asleep for four hours, I-I wasn’t feeling good and then I went to lay down and—I’m sorry.”
You can feel him smile against your skin. “You’re fine, baby. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“Roy?”
“Hm?”
“Can I go back to sleep now?”
He laughs, kissing the top of your head. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
dc masterlist | navigation
thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
꒰ content ꒱ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ roy harper x batsis!reader, crack, suggestive, jason & dami
That gorgeous, stunning, beautiful art of Roy is by zestynestyyy on Instagram!! go show them some love 💞
“He’s mine!”
Jason froze as those words tumbled out of your mouth. Roy’s entire existence was on the line here, and you wielded that power with a drunken, carefree grip.
“Sister.“ Damian addressed you, horror marring every inch of his face.
Roy stood behind you, using you as a shield. He was the one who found you: slurring your words, clothes that fit too tightly, lipstick smeared from—
No, he didn’t want to know. Best not to tempt his jealousy while being cornered by two rabid, infested bats.
“I found her like that, man,” Roy explained as he shifted his weight around. “She’s the one clinging to me.”
“He’s victim-blaming me right now,” you mumbled. His warmth hovered over your back, not quite touching, but close enough that you felt his presence like a steady heartbeat.
Jason glared at Roy, his eyes saying more than words ever could.
Damian tsked. “Now is not the time for silence, Todd. We must eliminate any suitors of hers.” A metallic scrape pierced the air, loud and sharp, as Damian unsheathed his dagger.
“Fuck me,” Roy muttered, his hands came to rest on your shoulders. You leaned back into his embrace, and a soft, happy sigh escaped you.
“Later, when they leave,” you promised. At that, Damian lunged, and Jason followed to grab the seething 13-year-old before he stabbed the archer.
Roy’s breath caught, mostly from your words. The threat of death was nothing compared to how vocal and affectionate you were being. “Not what I meant,” he told you. Your brows furrowed, and you turned so you were face-to-face. Or in this case, face to chest.
“Damian, chill the hell—”
“Unhand me, Todd!"
“Oh. Too bold?” you asked Roy while paying your brothers no mind.
He tilted his head, and a red strand fell against his forehead. “In front of those two? Yeah.”
Heat thrummed under your veins as your eyes trailed his biceps that strained against the fabric of his shirt.
“Fine, I’ll take you on a date first.” You swayed a bit. All your thoughts were consumed by the man with really nice arms.
You briefly wondered what other nice body parts he had.
At your words, Roy’s lips parted, and both brows rose in surprise. He assumed it was the alcohol filling your head with lust, but now you're talking about something real.
You're not messing with me, are you, trouble?” His voice was low and rough, sending shivers down your spine.
“No, I'm very serious about this date that will take place in my bed,” you slurred your words.
His lips twitched upward in amusement.
Not even the loud crash that sounded through the room managed to tear his gaze away.
“Jesus—the little shit bit me!” Jason yelled a bit hysterically.
“He will never have my blessing” Damian said dismissively.
“How ‘bout this?” Roy said to you. “I take you out to dinner wherever you like, then you can take me “out” to your bed. Sound good?”
You perked up as Jason sputtered.
“Harper—"
“I’d love that.” You grinned. “But we have to seal the deal with a kiss.”
Roy looked at Damian and Jason warily, both of them lying on the floor from their fight. Jason looked far too eager to unleash Damian if Roy touched you.
summary: roy harper — who has been crushing on you since forever — is finally brave enough to woo you. the problem? you have crippling anxiety and can't seem to understand why he wants to hang out with you so bad.
content: college au, gn!nerdy!reader x popular guy!roy, fluff, reader is anxious and oblivious, reader is mentioned to have hair long enough to be braided (but you could skip that part), the writer doesn't know how archery works and has never been to a ren faire </3
a/n: this fic is the first chapter to a short multi-part story i came up for roy !! i just love the premise of a shy nerdy/geeky reader being paired up with an outgoing popular guy roy. please let me know if you want part 2 to come out sooner 😼 + thank u to the lovely @lechelovestoyap for beta reading this and listening to my yaps 🫦
wc: 2.5k
part one | part two | part three | part four
As a college student, you've been confused about a lot of things. Staring at your study material for hours at a time, trying to comprehend what you're learning and feeling a sense of regret over choosing your major wasn't a rare occurrence — but that was the beauty of education, you always find an answer in the end, no matter how confused you started off.
But this? You're still confused about this.
You're not in Roy Harper's league — you've told yourself this multiple times tonight, but here he was, leaning against the house with his body facing yours, looking at you like you're some sorority girl guys like him seem to love. Why the hell was he talking to someone like you?
"Hey, y'listening?" He asked, his smile dropping just a little as he noticed your lack of enthusiasm.
"Yeah — Yeah." You stuttered, clearing your throat to compose yourself. "Sorry, it's just… the music here's too loud. There's too many people." It was why you retreated to the backyard in the first place, drinking your punch while you waited for your friends to tell you they were about to leave.
You're not meant for house parties, no matter how many times you try to go through them for exposure therapy. For one, you had no clue how to talk to the average college student outside of your own circle of nerds and geeks. Apart from that issue, no one ever wanted to talk to you, so you never had the chance to practice social interaction anyway.
Roy was an exception, for whatever reason.
He chuckled, nodding as he crossed his arms, his gaze still on you. You seriously just want to choke him and ask why he's here, giving you the time of day. "Yeah, damn right. Don't get me wrong — I like partying, but when everyone's making out and getting freaked out, I leave."
"Really?" As soon as that word comes out of your lips, you feel like a dickhead. Great! Now Roy goddamn Harper — one of the most popular guys on campus — was going to think you see him as some hedonistic asshole.
Thankfully, he just shrugged it off with that stupid annoying agitating definitely-not-charming smile of his. "I like to have fun, but I also like to be alone, y'know. Guys have social batteries too."
"Right," you said dryly, taking a sip out of your fruit punch.
At the sudden quietness, Roy's smile slightly dropped again. "Hey, y'know… If I'm bothering you—"
You immediately spat out the fruit punch you were drinking onto the grass. "Oh my gosh — No. I'm—" You paused, taking a deep breath to gather yourself, "Look, I appreciate your company. I don't want you to go away. I'm just… I'm really awkward, Roy."
He's staring at you with a raised eyebrow; you just continued talking. "I… uh, don't know how to talk to people. I have zero conversational skills. I swear I don't actually hate you or anything." I'm also confused why you're here with me instead of hanging with your friends, you wanted to say, but held back.
"Uh, no biggie." He eventually said, biting back a chuckle. Slowly, he straightened up, leaning closer to you. "What can I do to make you talk?"
You were left agape in genuine surprise. He seriously, seriously could not be this eager to talk to you. "I…" You blink a few times, looking at him as a smirk slowly appeared on his face, "I like talking about my interests, I guess."
His eyes darted down to your t-shirt for a second. It's an old, thrifted tee that just says TALK NERDY TO ME. It's not exactly party attire, but your other shirts were at the laundry. It was the only clean shirt you had left.
An imaginary light bulb lights up next to Roy's head after he read your shirt. "Well don'cha say." He mumbled before clearing his throat. Roy then bows down, offering you his hand. "I have a proposition. In an attempt of trying to crack open thy stubborn shell, I hereby am offering my esteemed companionship to the Renaissance Faire next weekend. Pray tell, what say you, my liege?"
You look at him like he's grown a second, radioactive head. "Roy...?"
"Please," he said, remaining bowed down.
You're trying to deny him, you really are. But unfortunately for you, he's successfully winning you over — it's cute, even though you wouldn't let yourself admit that. "…Fine." You sighed, crossing your arms. "How'd you know there was Ren Faire?"
He stands up straight again, giving you a bright smile. "My roommate's friend's a volunteer who's gonna be working there." He answered, "Thought you'd like going to some nerdy place like that."
Before you could answer with a smartass reply, a voice makes your body jump. "Hey!" The two of you turned around to see one of your friends — who was clearly a little tipsy — waving her hand at you. "We're gonna head home now!"
You gave her a nod before turning to face his smirking face again. "Of course I would." You said, rolling your eyes at him, "But since you're the one who's so insistent on getting to know me, you're driving me there."
Roy mirrored your eye roll, nodding his head, "Yeah, yeah. Sure thing, babe."
You gag, immediately punching his arm before walking towards your friends. "Yeah — don't even think about calling me that. You're not my type." You told him, meaning every single word … or at least you think so.
You could hear that low, resonant chuckle once again. "Fine." he said, slipping his hands into his pockets, "See you next week!"
You tousled your hair a little to give it a more worn out look. You made sure the braids were intact — hopefully strong enough to last the entire day. After making sure your hair looked good enough, you stepped in front of your mirror, shifting your focus to your outfit. You're dressed as a wee traveller, clad in linen fabric that came in beige and other earthy tones. Your clothes were accessorized with a potion belt, a satchel, and the coolest thing you own — a hooded cape.
As a finishing touch, you took out the fake elf ears you had stored in your drawers. You finally look like someone straight out of some random D&D campaign. Perfect for your day at the ren faire.
Despite the feeling of nervousness that came from the thought of hanging out with Roy, you're excited. It's been a while since you've dressed up for an event you actually like. As you were busy with your touch-ups, your phone buzzed.
[9:47 am] Roy Harper: Hey hey hey
[9:47 am] Roy Harper: I'm outside!!!
You take one last look at yourself, taking a deep breath.
You're going out with Roy Harper. It's not a big deal.
When you walked outside, you saw him leaning against his car. Roy's wearing an old off-white shirt, tucked into a pair of tight brown pants with matching leather boots. A red leather vest compliments the brown tones and his orange hair — you could tell he put in a lot of effort to look cool.
Your eyes widened in admiration when you saw the quiver on his back. The arrows were peace-tied, and the bow you just noticed he'd been holding was strung with yarn. "Do I look cool or what?" He grinned, taking a step back to let you judge his outfit.
You feel your earlier nerves calm down a little. Maybe there was a nerdier side of Roy that you never knew existed. "…Yeah. You look cool, Roy." You smiled softly.
He reciprocates the smile, feeling a little giddy at your compliment. "Anyway," Roy walks over to the door of the passenger side of his car, opening the door for you. "Let's go."
As soon as you hear a medieval rendition of Shakira's Hips Don't Lie being blasted on the hidden speakers, you feel like yourself again.
The Renaissance Faire is the same as it ever was. People were dressed as if they were storybook protagonists — from elven rogues clad in black with sheathed daggers, to knights with shining armour that would've taken months to finish, everyone put in tons of effort into their appearance. There were even some who painted their skin a different colour, attaching prosthetics to cosplay as an Orc or a Tiefling.
While you were busy walking around, searching for the artisan marketplace, Roy's left walking a few steps behind you. His eyes and mouth remained slightly agape as he took in the surroundings and the lively atmosphere of the fair — he felt like he's been dropped straight into Middle Earth.
"You good?" You asked, seeing the way he slowed his steps.
"I'm in tip-top shape." He answered, turning around and walking backward as he took in his surroundings. "That guy's costume is sick!"
"It sure is," you agreed, putting your hand on his biceps to pull him away. When your fingers wrapped around the muscle, you swore you lost your breath. Of course it's hard — you're well aware of the fact that he's built, but feeling the muscle for yourself? It made your legs weak for just a second.
When you reach the art markets, you're already sure that you were gonna spend the next few hours walking in circles here. You bit your lower lip, thinking of what to purchase. More dices? Cool looking overpriced crystal necklaces? Handwoven baskets for you to hold as you skip through an imaginary enchanted forest?
As you looked around, you found a stall that sold sparkly dice sets that were perfect for your growing collection. While the starry resin captivated you, Roy got a little sidetracked.
"Thank you!" you chirped, taking your new dice set from the seller. After you kept it in your pocket, you noticed a growing crowd near the archery range. From a distance, you could hear the crowd gasp in sync, eagerly watching the landing point of the arrows.
You'd planned to watch from a far, having no interest to be pushed around and swept up by the enormous crowd. However, you immediately pushed those plans aside when you saw him, standing at the far edge of the archery range, the last contestant in line.
Roy was now holding a longbow you assumed he rented prior to the competition. His focused face lit up as soon as he saw you push past the crowd, trying to get a better look at him. He gave you an excited wave, feeling the thrill of having you watch him compete.
It's his turn now. The earlier excitement evaporates in a millisecond; Roy's in focus mode once again, taking a deep breath before he draws his arrow, narrowing his eyes to get a clearer shot.
You're unsure of what to expect; was Roy even sure of what he's doing?
Slowly, the archer breathed out, letting go of the arrow and putting your worries to rest. "BULLSEYE!" the announcer cheered, jumping with excitement. The crowd erupted in applause, no doubt fueling Roy's already-large ego.
You're left breathlessly grinning, looking at Roy with nothing but pure shock written on your face. "What?!" you squealed, pushing your hair back in disbelief. Roy just shrugged, giving you a smirk.
Then it was the second round. It was fifteen yards away now. Some of the lesser skilled archers earner lower points, missing the bullseye by a far distance. Roy, however, never ceased to impress you and the crowd.
Once again, he hits bullseye. He keeps the smirk on his face as the roar of the crowd temporarily deafens him with their cheers. Roy brushed off some imaginary dust from his shoulder before turning to face you again. You were the only person in the crowd he wanted to see.
You're biting your nails when the last round comes. The target was now twenty five yards away, with Roy's points almost being tied with another archer's. You felt as though the game went by too quickly, with most of the contestants earning lower points because of the distance.
The other archer's arrow lands a centimeter or two away from the bullseye, still accumulating a good amount of points. As the audience's attention focused on Roy, the atmosphere suddenly felt heavy — as if Earth's gravitational pull suddenly doubled.
You could hear your heart palpitating as you watched Roy pull the arrow back.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Let go.
Thud! bullseye!
You jumped so high you almost ripped your pants. "Let's go!" You whooped, your legs immediately moving to run over to him. "Dude, you were amazing!"
"Was I?" he jested, grinning so brightly his teeth could've blinded you. "But that was nothing, though."
You punched his arm, making him let out a short 'oof!' "Stop trying to be humble, you sound stupid." You snorted, watching him rub his arm with a playful pout. He's bad at concealing his own excitement about the win.
Roy was awarded his prize money not long after, alongside a cheap plastic gold medal. He smirked, nudging you to show off the held the medal up. He was always vying for your attention; it was both endearing and annoying. You just rolled your eyes, pulling out your phone to snap a picture of him.
Deep in the adrenaline of triumph, the two of you had a celebratory drink at the 'tavern' nearby. "On the house," the bartender, a man painted green, said, "You did a real good job, winner."
"Thanks, man." Roy smiled, taking the drinks from the counter and bringing them over to you. "Conyberry Mead, said to be the go-to drink for celebratory occasions."
"Oh really?" You raised an eyebrow as you took a sip out of your drink.
"No. I made that up," he said bluntly, sitting down next to you. "I did pretty well, huh?"
"Of course you did," you replied, putting the tankard down on the table. "You don't need to hear me tell you that."
He laughed, shrugging nonchalantly. "Of course I didn't. I just wanted to hear you say it."
You kick his shin, making him laugh again. The two of you were then caught up in conversation, discussing other activities you could do together. Suddenly, loud and upbeat bardic tunes drifted in from outside, lively enough to halt your conversations, and loud enough to capture your attention.
In the town square, couples danced together joyously, their arms linked as laughter rippled through the air. At the sides, the crowd clapped in time with the beat — you could already feel your body mindlessly swaying to the song.
While you watched them dance, you felt Roy's gaze on you, his eyes wordlessly asking a question you already knew. "Please?" He pleaded, reaching out to tug your arm like a child asking for a toy.
"Well," you took a deep breath, pulling him towards the dancing crowd, "Guess I should give the winner some sort of prize."
Your arms linked, and the two of you immediately began dancing to the beat, spinning and twirling. You were the loudest pair there — bursting out into fits of laughter whenever you almost stepped on each other's feet. The clapping crowd urged you on while the music seemed to get louder. The two of you were in your own worlds now, laughing and pushing each other around as if you were the only people there.
In the midst of spinning in circles, you couldn't help but think that maybe Roy's not as bad as you thought he was. He's successfully rolled a natural twenty on your charisma check.
Guy Gardner/Reader, Wally West/Reader, Roy Harper/Reader, Matt Murdock/Reader, 2.1K
a/n: my partner is ginger i hold no ill will against gingers this is in good fun
cw: flirting, nudity (Matt's part), playful discrimination against gingers, gn!reader (no description of features/clothing)
masterlist ao3 requests
PREVIEW:
Too bad your man doesn't like your opinion. Guess it's up to him to change your mind.
Guy Gardner/Reader, Wally West/Reader, Roy Harper/Reader, Matt Murdock/Reader
Guy Gardner:
"What?" Guy asks in abject, offended disbelief. "Who told you that?"
He doesn't seem to be enjoying the particulars of the statement that you just regaled him with—but that's okay. You didn't expect him to—after all, it's not his fault that he happens to be a ginger. Everything else, however, does happen to be his fault.
This is why you offer him nothing but idle smirk as you stand your ground opposite him on the kitchen island, folding your hands over each other. He leans a determined hip on the marble, scowling—though the manifestation of a smile at the challenge you're lobbying at him seems to be making quick headway.
"No one did." You reply back smartly, staunchly. Defiantly—the way his smile grows in size indicates just how much he likes it. "I just know because of interacting with you."
"Me?" His eyes widen, those thick eyebrows tick up his forehead, a wide hand splays over the span of that chest. "I'm a fuckin' paragon of virtue."
"Oh?" Your laugh comes immediately and unbidden at this blatant lie. "Big words, big guy."
His hackles rise, his shoulders spread, he takes a daring step forwards to you across the space that elapses between you both. He likes 'em with a little bit of fight in 'em. And the fact that you haven't provided verbal or physical retreat means he's happy to keep invading closer and closer.
"You know it—"—Guy rolls his head on his neck, in slow, languid swivel, "I got my education and everything."
You chuff in good cheer as he comes closer and you have to bid crane your neck up to him. "And they couldn't teach you any manners while they were there?"
He makes a scoff that clearly demonstrates his opinion on the subject. "Who needs manners when you're a classy fella like me?"
For good measure, he leans in closer to make sure that you're face-to-face with the broad span of his chest that is barely restrained by the tight green shirt he wears. God, it fits him so well. That smug look on his face as he watches you appraising the goods is also excellent complement as well.
You finally tear your eyes away from the appealing display, cocking up your brow. "What's your definition of class?"
Another step advanced, a smile that makes protracted growth. Oh, how happy he is to answer your question.
"Someone who makes sure to tell you how good you look." To provide example, his eyes take dedicated appraisal of your body, lingering on the parts he finds most visually interesting.
"Depends on how you say it, Guy." You say, your tone dry enough that he can't resist meeting the cant of your eyes.
"Never heard you complain." He offers in sly reply; another step that is made so that you are close enough to grasp. "Mebbe it's someone who's always tryin' to make sure they got your best interests at heart."
"Oh," You snort at this very elegant spin, "Is that what you call it?"
"Yeah," he agrees, his hand already taking familiar place upon the slope of your hips. Pulling you close into an embrace that you know very well.
"Someone who knows how to sweep ya off yer feet." Guy concludes, holding you with a significant stare—before he leans down to kiss you.
And it's wicked, the way that his teeth nip at your bottom lip so that he can summon the noises he likes from you—the way that his hands are already roaming around your body, trying to ensure that you are thoroughly flustered when you pull away.
And when you do, you're heaving for breath that you must take great instance to cycle through your body. He doesn't care—he's the cat who ate the canary, and intends to go back for seconds.
"Mmmm." You hum as you feel him pulling you back to again. "I guess you have a point."
Guy seems to be happy that you agree with the notion.
Wally West:
"Don't trust gingers?" Wally offended voice seems to be threatening octaves he hasn't attempted since prepubescence. You can't smother the smile that's already making tracks across your face as you watch him dart across the perimeter of the room to take closer audience to you.
"What did we do to you as a people?" He asks, stately representative on behalf of Derided Gingers International—and the glare that sparks across his face is clear that he's determined to have this out with you. Which, you already knew was going to happen the second you lobbied this statement at him.
You point an accusatory finger at him that he zeroes in on with disdainful regard.
"Sneaky. Mischievous." You arch a brow at him, daring him to say otherwise—his focus is riveted upon the next point of your argument. "Always have to have the last word."
He opens his mouth, decides that the profanity-laden first response will not suffice, and opts for something more diplomatic.
"That could describe anyone." He returns in rebuttal, holding his hands out to you at this crime that you've committed against him. This willful, hateful prejudice that attacks him to the core.
But you are unmoved. Even if those baby blues seem to be rife with a desperate need for appeasement. You won't succumb to them—yet.
"In my experience," You grin in dry fashion, "It describes you pretty well."
He makes a noise of appalled offense, and crosses his arms in stalwart manner across his chest. "I don't have to have the last word."
You can't resist your laugh as you gesture between you and Exhibit A. "Then what do you call this?"
"Call it—"—Wally searches the foreground of his thought for proper wording and comes away satisfied—"—Having a dedicated debate."
"Where you have to be the final speaker?" You ask with no small amount of amusement running undercurrent in your voice. Wally hems and haws for the span of a second, looking at the ground before giving you what he considers a winning smile. And damn him if it doesn't fit him oh-so-handsomely.
"And if there's a problem with that?" Wally asks with a cheeky smile, taking jaunty stride towards you.
"You're just proving my point." You reply. But the smile isn't chased away at this—he knows that he has a way to worm back into your good graces.
"But I do it so well, don't I?" He asks, and the look that he gives you is dashing, playful—most immoral indeed. But you don't stop him as he inches into the boundary of your space that you allow him to enter. After all, when he regales you with the pleasure of his presence, you know better than to turn him away.
"You do." You finally concede on his behalf as he drapes longing, needful arms around you. "But you didn't convince me."
"Maybe," His eyebrows wiggle in flirtatious manner, "I don't need to speak to do that."
"Oh, brother." You roll your eyes to the ceiling as he presses a slow, loitering kiss on the edge of your jaw.
"Don't you mean," He grins into the shell of your ear, "Oh, Wally?"
Roy Harper:
"You're right." Roy seems otherwise nonplussed at your assertion that you've supplied to him. "We're a superstitious, cowardly lot."
"Exactly." You find yourself relieved that he takes no opposition to what you've told him—so you decide to take further refuge in audacity. "And you don't clean up after yourselves."
"Yeah," Roy also agrees as he lounges in steep recline on the couch, "We indulge in that terrible sin of sloth."
"And wrath." You offer, recalling some rather intense moments of combat in patrols past. He also finds himself unmoved at the continual barrage you are providing to him.
"And greed." Roy says, and it's here that he begins to make significant movement across the couch to you.
Not that you would stop him, when he makes such impressive flex of those biceps across the cushions. When his thighs make such defined flex against those sweatpants—in addition to other…lower assets called into such mouthwatering definition as he shuffles closer to you.
But his statement does draw you up short in confusion.
"Greed?" You ask mildly as he continues to mosey on along your way. "Greed for what?"
"Greed for our partners—"—He drawls as he finishes crossing the meridian of the couch to you—"—And for their kisses."
"Oh?" You inquire as one of those great, muscular arms drapes across the back of the couch—and finds familiar settlement across the span of your shoulders. "Is that so?"
"And lust." He informs you. It's quite interesting how he seems to have energy in reserve for the way that he sidles up with impressive speed.
"Is that so?" You ask, and there's the ghost of restrained smile that is making passage on his face as he looks at you. As he seems to be making rather steadfast regard of the nuances of your mouth.
"Oh, lust." Roy agrees with your statement, letting you see the gleam of those teeth as he continues to admire you.
"Terrible, terrible lust for them." He continues. "And if it isn't sated—"—His hand encourages you to look at him, to see the hunger that is displayed in his eyes—"—Watch out."
You laugh across the terrain of his lips. "Thought you were slothful."
"Not with you. With you—"—He takes deep, circuitous breath to appreciate your scent, your proximity—you—"—Think I can engage in that sin of pride."
"Pride over what?" You tease, already knowing that you'll be most pleased with his answer.
Roy doesn't disappoint. "Pride I got such a babe in my arms."
And with the way that he pulls you to him in passionate kiss, you find that you're more swayed to his argument than you expected to be.
Matt Murdock:
"Frankly, I find the stereotype insulting." Matt says from where he lounges on the span of your bed, in state of delicious undress. Unfortunately, you can't appreciate it as much as you wish, for you've summoned the more litigious side of your naked lover.
And he seems to be on the good-humored warpath to discuss with you, so you prop yourself up on elbow as he begins cross-examination.
"To be judged for something I can't even see." He says, and there's a crooked smile that tells you it's all in good fun—if you play along.
"Unfortunately though," You return in retort to him, "You fit all the aspects."
Matt makes wry noise at the fact that you would commit such prejudiced statement against him—his eyes stare in your general, reproachful direction.
"Aspects that are based on slander and centuries of discriminatory practices?" He demands, and you chuckle at the heated note that bleeds into his voice.
"Aspects that you fit to a tee." You return, finding yourself instinctively moving across the diameter of the mattress to him. Trying to soothe that offended smile on his face into something more reconciliatory.
"Such as?" He asks, awaiting for you to provide proper thesis. But the smile seems to grow as he hears you approach, as he reaches out to find the incline of your arm and rub a calloused thumb into it.
"A need to be incorrigible." You provide to him, and he makes dubious laugh at this.
"Something that could be attributed to my lawyering." He replies without missing a beat. Still his arm continues to coax its way up your shoulder, making a shiver of goosebumps dart up you.
"The desire to find loopholes in any argument made." You incline your head to visually analyze him through the span of your lashes, though he can't see it.
He appears unmoved at this reasoning. "That could be my tenacity."
"The overarching desire to be morally just in any situation." You declare in progression of your argument.
"My personal code I abide by, perhaps?" He asks, his knuckle drifting over the pulse in your neck. How warm and welcome his hand is here.
"The lingering guilt—"—You proceed forward, and then pause in sudden realization—"—Wait."
"What?" Matt asks, his hand taking protracted analysis of your cheek. "Change of heart?"
"Yes—actually." You say—his eyebrows jump up in surprise, waiting to hear your hypothesis.
"It's not that you're ginger—"—You lean forward to him in conspiratorial manner so he can hear the smile in your inflection—"—It's that you're Catholic."
Matt laughs long, loud, and clear—and you can't resist joining him.
"Well," Matt closes in to find your mouth, "We can't all be perfect, can we?"
Perhaps not—though the way his mouth fits against yours certainly is.
🍒 multiple dc characters and what the title says. || food play(?), not smut, just me being delusional again, maybe saliva. || ⋆˚࿔ i watched so many videos for this and done my research. edit: i wrote for dick and it was such a beautiful part but then it got deleted… i am so lazy rn but i promise i will make a whole fic with this concept just for him soon!!
₊⊹ BRUCE WAYNE
He refused, at first. But when you begged him to do it, he couldn’t say no anymore. He was sitting on the couch, shirtless, and watching you choose the sushi you wanted to eat off of his arm. He couldn’t get the concept of it. Why was it so hot for you? He didn’t question anything.
“Okay, give me your arm now.” With your command, he flexed his arm in front of you. Frowning as you placed the sushi on his biceps, he was unaware of the smile that spread on his face. “Oh, Mr. Wayne this is the most delicious looking sushi I will ever eat.”
“Because of me?”
“Why else?” You held his arm from beneath. “Don’t be shy, Bruce, show me those muscles.” You pressed a small kiss on his skin. When he clenched his muscles, you were ready to eat.
He watched you take the sushi into your mouth with a great amount of pleasure that he never thought something like this would give. “How was it?” He asked once you finished chewing.
“Delicious.”
Now, he could see the appeal in this.
₊⊹ DIANA PRINCE
“Sushi?” She asked, looking at you with wide eyes. It might not be the first thing she thought she would hear when she came home, but you were sure even though she was perplexed, she was pleased to hear it. “Of course, we can try.”
Diana sat on the chair as you stood up behind her. Her arm was stretched right in front of you, put there like it was a delicious dessert to devour. You carefully placed the sushi on top of her arm, balancing it so it wouldn’t fall down.
“Can I eat on you, too?” She asked before you could bite. You looked at her with your mouth open, your eyes mimicked your lips and opened wide.
“Yeah, why not?” Your shocked face turned into a silly laugh. You held her arm and got yourself closer to her. Before you took the whole sushi into your mouth, you took a glance at her. Your lips made contact with her warm skin. As you bit the sushi, a small part of rice fell onto her arms. You licked a long stripe along her arm to eat it.
Diana was smiling and looking at you with awe as she watched you chew. You nodded and sat on the chair next to hers. “Delicious.”
“Is it?” She asked, you nodded again. “It’s my turn, then.”
₊⊹ HAL JORDAN
“This is once again a weird trend, isn’t it?” He asked as you helped him take his shirt off. You shook your head as you threw the shirt away, on somewhere you didn’t care to look. But Hal’s eyes followed it and as it made a small sound when it landed, you saw him roll his eyes. “I don’t even know why I said yes.”
“Because you actually want to do it.” You said while pulling his arm towards you. You slapped his muscles once, watched it move with the force, then placed a small kiss. “Okay, now sushi.”
You got off of his lap to get a sushi with your chopsticks. Very slowly, you placed it on his arm. The sushi rose on his arm when he flexed it. “Do I stay like this?” He asked. His other hand snaked around your waist, pulling you closer as you sat on his lap.
“Yes, yes.” You kissed his cheek. “Now lemme eat.”
He sighed and threw his head back as you leaned on to bite the sushi off of his arm. Your lips touched his skin, his hand on your waist held you tighter and the taste of sushi made everything a hundred times better.
You chewed your sushi and looked up at him. His eyebrows were raised, mouth was crooked with a smirk. “So?”
“Hmhm,” You murmured before swallowing what you were chewing. “So good.”
₊⊹ ROY HARPER
Roy didn’t know if he had agreed to something that fast. The moment the words left your mouth, he was nodding like a mad man. He was so excited to feel your lips over his biceps in a moment like that. He was so eager to be your plate.
You rubbed his arm before you put the sushi on it. He had a smirk on his face that made you smile to yourself. Before placing the sushi on his tattooed muscles, you left several kisses. The sushi sat upon his arm like it belonged there. As you were attempting to eat it, Roy stopped you with a hand on your forehead, pushing you away.
“No soy sauce?”
“Right.” You whispered. Taking the sauce on the table, you poured a little bit of it on the sushi. Now, he looked satisfied.
He extended his arm out for you to better bite it. As your lips swallowed the sushi, a few drops of soy sauce run down his arm. You chewed fast to be able to lick it off of his skin before it spilled on the couch.
“Wow,” he said. you were licking the trail of the sauce. “I never knew you liked sushi this much.”
“It’s just I like you more.” You pecked his arm before giving him sushi to eat.
