đŹđźđŠđŠđđ«đČ: you and jason go with damian to the beach
đ°đđ«đ§đąđ§đ đŹ: FLUFF!!, 1.2k words, reader is a freak AND freaky for jason, but its okay bc jason is freaky for reader too #theyârebothfreaks, uhhh i think thats it?, boobs, intimacy, damian is a kid and their son, lets ignore the messy writing im super duper tired sorry for the grammar + spelling mistakes
The sun is blazing hot above the three of you, and despite thatâ and the added weight of three heavy bags and a beach umbrellaâ Jason doesnât break a sweat.
On his left arm; a bright pink bag packed with tinfoil-wrapped sandwiches and cold cans with perspiration clinging to the metal. Next to the pink, is a blue one with the towels, and the last is your white tote-bag (also on his left arm), where you carry all of your stuff. On his right arm, he carries the umbrella.
You had tried to grab something, but Jason just took it back without a struggle while you pulled and tugged. He just raised his brow like are you really trying?
You obviously let him win.
Damian is walking further ahead, inspecting the beach with sharp eyes. Heâs dressed in a bright green swimsuit you bought him and a white shirt. Jason is practically the same, except his swimsuit is a boring dark red and his shirt is sleeveless.
The wooden pier feels hot under you, despite wearing flip flops. And pesky grains of sand are stuck to the soles of your feet and slowly rising up your ankles. But you donât mind, it all fades away the second the scent of sea salt hits your nostrils.
You eye Jasonâs bulging biceps and moisten your lips. He flexes them once, rearranging the weight of the food bag. Youâre positive youâre going to faintâ and not because of the heat.
You quickly set up camp near the shore, and youâre grateful that itâs practically empty. While Jason has gotten more comfortable about his scars around you (and Damian), heâs not exactly ready to parade them around.
Damian crosses his arms and stares at the beach umbrella, a blue-and-white striped thing you bought for only ten bucks.
âYou set it up quite poorly, Todd.â
He huffs. âThen why donât you do it yourself?â
âI would.â He sniffs. âBut Iâm going into the water.â
You bend over and begin rummaging through the white bag while the other two bicker. You straighten up with a smile.
Both of their faces fall when they see what you have in your hands.
âPlease no,â Damian says.
Jason pats his back. âYou canât fight her, kid.â
âBut surelyââ
Jason slowly shakes his head.
Damian sighs and looks down at the sand. âFine. But if it gets into my eyes Iâm reporting you to Father.â
You grin and click the bottle open. The younger boy looks positively terrified.
It takes two eternally long minutes, according to Damian, to soap him up with white sunscreen. His taut back, his arms, white streaks on the smooth apples of his cheeks, and more gentle touches wherever scars are. He grumbles something and rushes off toward the water.
You and Jason watch him dive in headfirst. Slowly, you turn to him. âYouâre not escaping, mister.â
You get rid of your shirt and shorts, standing only in your bikini.
Jasonâs jaw drops slightly, but he catches himself almost instantly.
âWell,â he says after a beat, âthat hardly seems fair.â
You raise an eyebrow. âTo who?â
âTo me, obviously.â
He turns around and you squirt a fat dollop of cream onto your palm, applying it directly to the middle of his back. Then you start rubbing it in with slow, soothing motions as your fingers coat the scars and place a kiss under his earâ where the cream hasnât reached yet.
He goes still for a moment. You pretend not to notice.
Jason turns around again, and you have to go slightly onto your tiptoes to reach his shoulders and arms. You take your sweet time with his biceps, rubbing and admiring them.
Jason snorts. âIâm going to start charging you for staring.â
You roll your eyes. âYou're enjoying this.â
âMaybe a little.â
His laughter dims a little when your attention drifts lower, lingering over old scars and hard muscle alike. The quiet is comfortable, with only the soft sand of lapping waves crashing against the shore and the occasional squawk of a seagull.
But then comes his face, and his smile slips away when you tell him to crouch down.
Youâre far more careful here, using only the pads of your fingers to spread the sunscreen without risking getting any in his eyes, nose, or mouth. Youâre so focused that you donât notice where his eyes have strayed.
To be completely fair, Jason really tried not to look. He stared at the thin strings of your bikini, but his gaze followed the red downward...
And yeah. Oh.
âThatâs it!â You smile proudly.
Jason realizes heâs somehow fallen onto his knees. The burning sand scratches at them, and his skin feels slightly sticky and warm with sunscreen. Heâs only half-aware.
âJason?â You gently lift his chin. âWhatâs wrong?â
Whatâs wrong? The sun is right behind your head, a halo of gold crowning you. Youâre looking at him with those eyes and wearing that bikini. And he knows itâs not a coincidence that itâs the same shade of red as his suit and swim trunks.
âOh,â he says. His wide green eyes staring up at you, loose strands of hair falling on his forehead.
Your smile widens. âOh?â
âYou planned this.â
âI have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.â
âLiar.â
You sink to your knees right in front of him, and link your hands behind his neck. âI knew youâd love this bikini.â
Jason shakes his head once and kisses you anyway. Itâs slow and hungry, like eating a juicy peach and trying to get all of the flavour right against your taste buds.
Your lips are sun-chapped but taste like those artificial strawberriesâ probably from the ice cream you and Damian got at the pier earlier. Sweet, his sweet girl.
He groans and his hands fall to your waist. Big, rough hands that rub against your soft skin, brushing away the scratching sand. You lean further into him.
âThis is disgusting.â
Itâs practically impressive how quickly you and Jason separate.
Still panting on your knees, coated in hot sand and streaks of Jasonâs sunscreen smeared across your chest and thighs.
Damian is drenched, looking like a very angry cat. âAre you two finished being embarrassing?â
He huffs. âI may forgive you if you come into the water with me.â
You get up, briefly clutching Jasonâs shoulder so you donât lose your balance. He smirks again.
âYou stay.â
Jason snaps his eyes toward Damian.
âStay here and take care of the fort.â
Jason raises an eyebrow. âThat's your job, Robin.â
âI'm delegating.â
âPretty sure that's not how that works.â
âFather delegates constantly.â
Jason opens his mouth, pauses, then sighs. âFair point.â
You smile Jason goodbye and grab Damian by the hand, running so the soles of your feet donât burn as you jump into the crystalline water.
Thatâs when Jason sees it. And his brain, traitor that it is, briefly stops functioning.
Red Hoodâs symbol is printed on the back of your bikini bottoms in a brighter shade of red.
Jason closes his eyes. âYou're unbelievable.â And insane, and he wouldnât have it any other way.
He watches you splash Damian, while Damian loudly insists he isn't having fun. The lie becomes significantly less convincing, when Damian starts splashing back.
Your hand rises above the water, gesturing for Jason to join you.
His smile widens and rushes in.
You end up on Jasonâs shoulders, chasing Damian. Slowly, of courseâ the water is dense, but Jason is strong and Damian allows himself to be chased around.
It becomes Jason's favorite beach day. (Damian's too, though neither of them will ever admit it).
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đč cw: cmbyn, fluff, lil bit of angst, i believed i was a poet for a sec, suggestive, food play?, english is not my first language, first fic
đč wc: 4.2k
âCall me by your name, and Iâll call you by mine,â the TV murmured in front of you, casting the soft glow of the scene over your face and the ceramic mug held in your hands.
The sound of heavy rain droplets hitting the windows accompanied by the actorsâs soft-spoken dialogue reached your ears like a slow-paced melody.
Your chest rose and fell as you breathed in the pleasant mix of scents: chamomile from the steam of your tea and lavender from the candle youâd lit; its flame, the moonlight, and the screen illuminating the otherwise dark apartment.
A wool-knitted blanket draped over your naked thighs, your bare feet sticking out and hanging off the edge of the sofaâs cushion, maintaining a comfortable balance of warmth and coolth in your body.
It was the perfect calming ambiance, almost romantic even.
But your attempt to indulge in the tranquility the atmosphere offered was futile. Your heart doesnât allow you to do so when heâs not with you.
Fortunately, or unfortunately âyou havenât decided yet, youâre used to it.
Youâve learned to go through your nights alone, feeling the overwhelming presence of his absence during dinner, the emptiness that takes up too much space on the opposite side of the bed, and hearing the strident silence at the lack of his voice.
Youâve learned to endure the mundanities of life with a heart full of worry, to read while your mind subconsciously prays for his return, and to bathe pitying the water that touches a skin that only wants to be touched by him.
Because loving Dick Grayson means fearing for Nightwing.
Fearing that heâll return with a wound so deep, itâll leave him in pain for days.
Fearing that heâll return with a scar not physical, but thatâll take his peace of mind for the rest of his years.
Fearing him not returning at all, swallowed by the city and dragged away into a place so far away, impossible for you to reach.
Not tonight though, because when you hear the window slide open, you knew that she had granted you another day of him. BlĂŒdhaven had been merciful enough to let him go home to you, and kind enough to leave him untouched.
You watched silently as he crawled in through the window, a cold breeze entering alongside him uninvited, making its way into your living room until it caressed your shoulders so gently it made up for the chill that ran down your spine.
The breeze carried with it a sprinkling of fine droplets that settled on your carpeted floor seconds before his feet did.
He stood in front of the window, his lean figure backlit by the reflection of the moon, carving shadows across his muscles and frame. His black locks twirled around the strong gusts of wind, moving fluidly through and around them.
White eyes stared at you intensely from the black domino mask, the contrast reminiscent of the brightness of the moon in a dark sky akin to tonightâs.
Electric blue ran across his chest like a dangerous river, standing out against the black spandex of his skintight suit, the symbol was the center of attention.
There, he appeared powerful, unreachable, and untouchable.
Godlike.
The illusion vanished when he took a step closer, closing the window behind him, the warmer lightning allowed your eyes to revel in the golden tan of the visible skin from his neck to his lower face.
Your gaze then traced his jawline and the slope of his nose, the outline of his features so delicate, you believe the lines were drawn by the skillful hands of a very passionate artist.
Finally, your stare settled on his smile. The pearly white of his teeth has its own unique shine, more discreet than that of a starâs, but brighter than the moonlightâs. The reddish tone of his lips might as well be your favorite color, and you are certain you wonât find it in any place other than his mouth.
And at that moment âjust like every time he looks at you, that smile stared back at you with a love so ardent, it made your heart melt.
âHey, beautiful.â
âHi, Nightwing.â
You hadnât noticed that his hands were busy holding something that he covered with a jacket âto protect it from the rain, you assumedâ until he carefully placed the object on the coffee table âjacket and all, right next to where youâd just set your mug.
Before you had time to react, Dick was already sprawled on top of you, wrapping his arms around your waist as his dank chest pressed against your dry one.
Nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, he took an exaggerated sniff and then sighed in delight.
âMm, I missed you,â his voice was muffled where his mouth was pressed against your skin.
âWhy are you sniffing me like a dog?â You laughed, scrunching up your nose.
âWoof, woof,â he barked, playfully biting into the sensitive skin of your neck.
âDick!â You gasped, slapping his shoulder.
âSorry,â his lips pressed sweetly onto the mark heâd just left, your body relaxing until you saw him looking up at you with eyes full of mischief.
You were about to warn him about whatever he planned on doing, but his actions were faster than your words and he stuck out his tongue to lick a long stripe from the bottom of your neck up to the back of your earlobe.
âStop acting like a dog!â
âSorry, you just make my animal instincts come out,â he snorted.
You rolled your eyes, doing your best to pretend that he didnât manage to get you all hot and bothered with his weird teasing.
Not like you were tricking anyone though, especially not Dick.
He continued leaving a trail of sloppy wet kisses along your neck and collarbones. His hands slid under the blanket that covered your legs, calloused palms caressed your thighs in slow movements, higher and higher until they reached your ass to give it a light squeeze.
Because you knew he was about to get all cocky about successfully completing his mission of making you embarrassingly horny, you decided to not give him any time to tease.
âUgh, get off me!â You tried pushing him away, but Dick âin all his stubborn natureâ didnât budge. âYouâre all wet and sweaty, itâs disgusting.â
âI love it when you make me all wet and sweaty,â he breathed into your ear.
You groaned at his words, throwing your head back in annoyance while he just laughed his stupidly sexy laugh against your flushed cheek.
âWhatâs that?â You shifted the focus of the conversation because curiosity was eating you alive.
âWhatâs what?â He pulled away with a confused expression, you simply nodded towards the jacket and whatever it was hiding still sitting on the little table.
Dick immediately brightened up, his eyes widened comically, and he sat up so fast, you feared for his neck.
He reached for the jacket and threw it carelessly somewhere on the floor, revealing a slightly crumpled, white, rectangular box.
He grabbed it carefully âcomplete opposite of the treatment heâd given the jacketâ and placed it on your lap.
âOpen it.â He whispered his command in a tone so sweet, it made your teeth ache.
Your hands followed his words before your mind could process them, because you trusted him so much, your body had grown accustomed to simply obeying whenever it heard his voice.
As you lifted the lid, something sugary and deliciously mouth-watering filled your nostrils, you smiled at the pleasant scent.
Inside, there were at least ten neatly-cut cake slices; each its own layered combination of fluffy sponge, flavored mousse, buttery frosting, and decorative ingredients like fruits or grated chocolate.
âWhat are these?â The question left your lips in the form of a surprised, breathy murmur. It was a stupid question, the cake slices probably looked at you deadpan when you asked it, but by the way Dick had handled the box with so much care, you knew it was much more than just cake.
âWedding cake samples.â Your eyes immediately shot up to look at him when he answered.
Dick was already staring at you, his smile was shy now, less playful and confident, but still as beautiful. You saw the rosy, pink blush slowly coloring all of his neck and cheekbones without asking for permission.
âYou know, since the date is approachingâ Well, we still have a year and two months, but time flies and all thatââ he abruptly cut himself off again, âNot that weâre under any pressure! We have a lot of time for all the planning and stuff!â
âDick.â
âI thought we could do something like date nightâ or date morning since itâs already like 2:00 a.m.,â he corrected himself with a nod.
âDick.â
âWe donât have to choose right now, there are a ton of other bakeries that offer different options for the cakeââ he was talking so fast, he had to take a deep breath and clear his throat, âfor our wedding.â
You could never get over how much you love Dick Grayson. Youâve been together for years and he still makes you nervous just by looking at you.
Still makes butterflies fly in your belly with his compliments, heat pool between your legs when he flashes you a smirk, and your heart beat out of your chest every time he says âI love youâ.
And you could never get over the fact that he loves you.
When you saw him open his mouth to continue his rambling, you leaned into him, cradling his face with both hands and pressing your lips against his before he could speak.
He didnât hesitate to kiss you back, his shoulders relaxing as his hands settled gently on your waist, feeling the smile of your lips on his as you kissed him.
Pulling away slowly, you giggled at the sight of him desperately chasing your lips, baby blue eyes pleading through his dark lashes.
The sight was adorable, and you felt a hint of pride thinking about how only you get to see him like this.
Shy, pathetic Dick Graysonâs a rare sight; unimaginable for the rest of the world, reserved just for you.
âI think tonightâs the perfect time to start with wedding preparations,â you smiled, tenderly caressing his cheekbones with your thumbs.
Dick beamed up at your words, his cheesy smile highlighting those prominent dimples that make him look unfairly adorable.
âSo itâs a date?â
âItâs a date.â
Dick went for a quick shower with the promise of not making you wait for long; in the meantime, you read through the names and descriptions of the different flavor options heâd brought.
âChocolate and hazelnut sponges layered with nutella buttercream and coffee mousseâ, âVanilla sponge with fresh fruits and vanilla butter creamâ, âOreo sponge layered with strawberry mousse and Oreo buttercreamâ, so on and so forth.
âThree minute shower,â Dick panted, clumsily pulling up his grey cotton sweatpants as he rushed out of the bedroom, âNot even Wally is that fast.â
He plopped down on the empty space next to you, not even trying to hide his excitement as he reached for you with one arm and for the box with the other.
âDick,â you stopped him, âwhat are we gonna eat with?â
âWhatâ Oh, youâre right!â He jumped off the couch and rushed to the kitchen.
He returned with a silver fork in his fist and a cheeky grin on his face, you couldnât help but giggle at the sight.
It was ironic, how he knows he can kiss you and see you out of your clothes whenever he wants to, but he still does little things like this, bringing only one fork to share, as if heâs just a boy crushing.
He placed his hand on one of the backrest cushions to support his weight as he jumped over it, landing perfectly on the spot heâd already claimed.
âShow off,â you rolled your eyes at his theatrics.
âHey, Iâm an acrobat!â He circled your waist with one muscular arm and effortlessly lifted you up to set you on his lap. âI deserve to brag about my skills every once in a while.â
You bit back the smirk that threatened to break on your lips when you heard the hiss he made as you wiggled on his lap, pretending to get comfortable as you took the fork from him.
âAre you wearing anything under those sweats?â
âNo.â
âI can feel it.â
âGreat, thatâs your dessert.â
âIâm pretty sure that cake counts as dessert.â
âGood, then itâs the main dish,â he winked and you turned your blushing face away from him.
âWhat should we try first?â you asked, squinting your eyes at the rectangular-cut slices in the box.
âYouâre the one who calls the shots, babe.â Dick pressed a soft kiss to your jaw, staring at you adoringly even when you werenât aware he was doing it. âYou choose.â
âHmmâŠâ humming as you contemplated the variety of cake options sitting inside the box, a slice with a moist, yellowy sponge and creamy white frosting caught your attention âmainly because of the cute little flowers that adorned it. âThis one,â you pointed at it.
ââLemon Elderflower,ââ Dick read the name as you grabbed a small piece with the fork and lifted it to his mouth.
He willingly opened his mouth for you to feed him the pastry and then closed his plush lips around the fork as he took the bite, eyes never leaving yours.
You then retreated the fork from him to grab another piece of the chosen slice and take a bite of your own, all while Dick was still chewing with a thoughtful expression âdeciding whether he liked it or not.
When the strong citrusy flavor hit your tongue, your neutral expression automatically morphed into one of absolute disgust.
Dick watched with an amused smile, entertained by the way your chewing slowed and your lips pursed. You saw him raise his eyebrows as he put in his best efforts not to laugh.
Until you gagged, and he couldnât hold back anymore âdidnât even try to. He let out a loud, unapologetic laugh at your suffering.
You glared at him through glassy eyes, your face probably tomato-red, and he extended his cupped hand to your chin for you to spit it out âan act of kindness in the midst of your humilliation.
âI donât like that oneââ you coughed, your words came out in an embarrassing, high-pitched rasp as you looked around for anything that could help you clean your tastebuds.
âReally?â Dick chuckled. âI wouldâve thought you loved it.â
âYouâre not funny, Richard.â
âI respect your opinion, but I like to think I have a great sense of humor. Maybe youâre just a bit dramatic,â he shrugged, mocking smile still on his lips as he took a tissue from the Kleenex box that sat atop the low-slung table to clean his palm.
You shot him a deathly glare over your mug as you gulped down the remains of your now cold tea.
He simply smiled his characteristic teasing grin and reached for the fork between your fingers. âOkay, now itâs my turn toââ
âNo!â You moved the fork away from his reach so fast, both of you flinched. Dick looked concerned for a second.
âWoahââ
âI have an idea!â You interrupted him, coughing after you nearly choked on your drink. âClose your eyes.â
That made him smirk, but he did as he was told.
âIs this foreplay?â
âShut up and concentrate.â You knew he couldnât see the evil grin plastered on your lips, but you still hoped he couldnât feel it. âYou have to guess the flavor.â
âOkayâ,â his mouth opened when he spoke, and you didnât hesitate to take the chance to shove the forkful of cake into it.
He had to chew only once before his face contorted in the same way yours did minutes ago.
âIS THAT CRANBERRYâ?!â Now it was your turn to laugh your head off.
âCorrect!â You cheered, patting his shoulder. âGreat job, youâve earned another bite!â
He caught your wrist before the fork could get anywhere near his mouth. Gripping it firmly, the veins on his forearm popped out.
âDonât even think about it.â
You had to bite your lip at that, his tone was stern and his voice deep. You love it when he gets all bossy like that.
But you rather tell yourself you only obeyed because you have a soft spot for the man or whatever.
âIt isnât that bad!â You argued, chewing on the piece heâd rejected.
âLemon Elderflower isnât that bad.â
âWhatever,â you rolled your eyes, digging the fork into a different slice you didnât bother checking the name of, âwe need to get serious, these are important wedding decisions.â
Your mouth opened, ready to be the judge of whatever flavor you had randomly picked, and just as you felt the sweet treat graze your lips, Dick snatched it with his own mouth âlike a street dog stealing a sausage.
âDick!â Your brows furrowed. âWhy did you do that? That was mine!â
âOh, yeah?â You saw the grin forming and immediately clocked that he was onto something.
âYesââ
Dick grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you towards him with a fast, sudden movement. His lips caught yours in a hungry kiss.
It was unexpected but definitely not unwelcomed.
Your palms found their place on his naked chest, steadying yourself on top of him and feeling the rapid beat of his heart under your touch.
Dick parted your lips with his tongue and you allowed him to do so without putting any resistance. His tongue slipped into your mouth, and with it the piece of cake that was in his. Neither of you chewed on it âlike an unspoken agreement, both understanding that the fun of this game lies in passing the food from one mouth to another.
Your tastebuds reveled in the buttery taste of frosting and perfectly-baked dough while your tongue seeked more of the taste of him.
The wetness of yours and Dickâs saliva seeped into the chocolatey sponge, making it lose its structure and crumble inside your mouths.
The luscious consistency of the buttercream was messier to work with, some of it slipping out of your lips between open mouthed kisses. You didnât care though, if anything, it made it hotter. You felt Dick lick some of it off the back of your front teeth with the very tip of his tongue, making you moan at the delicious sensation, his lips tastier than any cake.
Your nails dug into the skin of his pecs, scratching softly, and you swallowed his whimper along with some syrupy chocolate.
Dick started pulling away slowly, and now you were the one desperately chasing his lips, as if you were under a spell that made you believe you needed his kisses to live.
Although, now that you think about it, a spell isnât necessary, you do need his kisses to live.
Staring into each otherâs eyes, Dick and you fell into a comfortable silence as you both tried to regain your breath.
The moment shifted from passionate and steamy to softly intimate in a matter of seconds, so smoothly you couldnât tell when it changed.
Dickâs face was still so close to yours âyou felt the hot puffs of air from his breathing touch your nose, and you took this moment as an opportunity to admire him, something that you consider part of your nightly routine by now.
The honeyed light from the candleâs glow painted shadows on his face in precise strokes, so detailed you could appreciate the dark reflection of his lashes on his tan skin if you looked close enough.
His black hair smooth like silk, you want to do nothing more than run your fingers through it as he falls asleep on your lap. It was like the perfect frame for the prettiest photograph.
Crystal blue eyes so full of life, you would believe it if he told you the ocean itself was trapped inside them; you could practically see the waves, moving so elegantly and dangerously at the same time, just like he does.
His lips were swollen, remnants of white frosting delineated the edges and tiny crumbs of chocolate sponge had made their home on the corners. They looked like your favorite candy, one you would never get tired of eating. His lips always caught your eyes first.
âSoâŠâ Dick started, grinning from ear to ear at your lovestruck expression. âWhat did you think?"
âHuh?â You blinked, shaking yourself out of your trance.
Dick poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, looking very, very proud. ââBout the cake, baby,â He cleaned off some frosting off your cheek with his thumb. âDid you like the flavor?â
Oh, this smug bastard. He knew the flavor of the cake was the last thing youâd cared about, too entranced with his kiss to even think about it.
âIâ it was great.â You nodded, knowing it wasnât convincing at all. âI think itâs my favorite actually.â
âReally?â Dick asked, looking really satisfied with himself, pinkie finger caught between his teeth as he smirked. âWhat flavor was it?â
Okay, so thatâs totally not fair. And ugh, you wanted to kiss that cocky smile off his face so bad.
You realized youâd been quiet for too long when he started chuckling, body shaking with laughter at the sight of your dumbfounded expression.
You felt heat rise up to your cheeks and immediately tried to defend yourself, you knew you werenât the only one that was turned on.
âOh, please,â you scoffed, âI can feel your little friend all excited under me.â
âMy âlittle friendâ will have you moaning my name until you canât take it anymore, so I say be nicer to him,â he gently nibbled your lower lip, smirk not faltering for a second.
His dirty, unfiltered words made you even more flustered âif that was even possible. Hiding your face in the curve of his neck, you muttered a quiet âI hate youâ that both of you knew you didnât mean at all.
You missed the way Dickâs smile softened when you buried your face into his neck, and how his own blush had appeared on the apples of his cheeks when he felt your warm ones brush his skin.
But you didnât miss the tender touch of his lips on your temple, or the feeling of his fingers tracing patterns on your lower back.
And you certainly didnât miss the vulnerability in his voice when he whispered âI love you, I canât wait to be your husbandâ so lovingly, tears pricked your eyes, but you didnât let them spill.
You didnât rush to say it back. Instead, you let yourself bask in the comforting feeling of his arms holding you, knowing youâll cherish the memory of those words forever.
You thought about the day you met, how his bright smile was enough for an introduction; the first time he kissed you, how his eyes stayed close after you pulled away, confessing he was scared that he was dreaming and heâd be forced to wake up; the first time he made love to you, how he cried into your chest telling you how much he loved you; when he proposed, so nervous he forgot his speech and simply dropped on both knees, extending the ring to you as if he was offering a sacrifice to a goddess.
You thought about that night, when he slipped in through the window, barely alive, still masked, Nightwing still a stranger to you. And then he said your name, and you recognized that voice in an instant. Blood was spilling everywhere, cascading out of his body and running like a river through your floors, copper scent giving you a headache.
You thought about how you begged him through sobs to not close his eyes, to keep looking at you as your shaky hands tried to clean up his wounds to no avail, because the blood kept spilling, drenching him and staining you.
âWhen you least expect it, Nature has cunning ways of finding our weakest spot,â the movie spoke from behind you.
Your life was never the same after that night, fear has never been more present, and you know youâll probably never know peace of mind again.
But it takes just one look at him to remember how his love makes everything so worth it.
Because you are so hopelessly and irrevocably in love with Dick Grayson. You will be forever.
You let the first tear drop, shyly running down your skin and softly landing on his.
âI love you too, I canât wait to be your wife."
this is probably shit but it's my first fic so be kind girly pops!! also, ignore this fuckass layout, i don't know how to use dividers and can't even add a title
tysm for reading!! likes, comments, follows, and reblogs are so so appreciated!!
please do not copy, translate, repost, or feed my work to ai (especially this!!)
When you woke up this morning, your body had been sore. Like you had been through the meat grinder kind of sore but in a good way.
You had looked over at Dick sleeping soundlessly. Half his body on top of you and half on the bed with his messy raven hair falling over his eyes, his long lashes almost brushing his sharp cheekbones.
Yeah, a very good way.
But when you got out of bed and basically limped around the apartment, he gave you the smuggest look ever. Seriously no one had ever looked as proud of themselves as he had.
You wanted to slap him. Or kiss him. You were still deciding.
That didnât stop you for asking him for help though, since he had been the one to carry you around the apartment and draw you a warm bath. The shoulder massage he gave you in the bathtub wasnât too bad either. Plus the pancakes he had prepared with a little smiley face on top with chocolate syrup.
But that didnât take away from the fact that he was an unserious man.
He had known you were supposed to have lunch with your friends today so he had been an exceptional tease last night in bed. Not just a tease, he was also apparently under the impression that you were made of rubber and could bend you however he pleased.
Just because he worked out eight hours a day didnât mean you did too. Youâd be lucky to even squeeze in a workout once a week and he knew that and yet he chose to manhandle you.
Not that you were against it. He was very skilled in the bedroom and the nights where you had to just lay there for him to do all the work were your favourites.
But damn now you were limping on your way to meet your friends. You and Dick walked out of the car, hand in hand towards where your friends were sitting outside the cafe.
And he had the audacity to snicker.
âIt isnât funny!â You huffed out, hands clutching his arm to hold for balance since your legs were way too sore to even walk.
âYou werenât complaining last night,â he replied and pushed his sunglasses up on his nose, looking way too amused.
âShut up,â you scoffed instead of replying since thats all you could do. He wasnât wrong.
Once you reached the table, Donna, Wally and Roy immediately greeted you with hugs.
âYou okay?â Donna was the first one to speak, noticing your limp.
âYeah,â you swallowed and sat down on the chair next to Dickâs, shifting a little. âJust walked into a chair.â
âUh huh,â Roy narrowed his eyes at Dickâs smug face.
âAnd was the chair named Dick Grayson?â Wally added.
âWally!â You gasped and looked at Dick for help but he just laughed and draped his arm over the back of your chair.
The rest of the lunch went by with way too many jokes about Dickâs dick and youâd think heâd be offended by it but he was the one initiating most of them.
Like you said, unserious.
â¶ JASON TODD
Jason was out running when you woke up. It was your usual morning routine âhe woke up before you, gave you a small kiss on your forehead and left for a run then returned an hour later with coffee and sometimes pastries.
This time however, you had told him you were making pancakes so he wasnât surprised to find you standing in the kitchen wearing his shirt that he discarded last night.
He walked over to you, black tank top clinging to his body due to the sweat like a second skin and if you werenât sore from last night you would have done something about it.
The minimal clothing you were wearing âJasonâs t-shirt and pantiesâ didnât do a lot to hide the marks he had left on you last night. Your thighs looked like a crime scene with how many hickeys he had left there.
You waddled over to the fridge to grab the eggs when Jason noticed you.
âWhatâs up?â He frowned and came up behind you.
âHmm?â You asked and cracked an egg in the bowl.
âYouâre waddling like a penguin,â he pointed out.
âOh,â you blushed and immediately looked away from him. âYou know,â you shrugged.
âBabe what?â He asked and turned you around to steal all your attention.
âLast night,â you said. âYouâre not exactly small.â
âWell thanks,â he gave you a confused smile. âIs that why youâre limping?â
âThat and my legs being folded like a lawn chair over your shoulders for over an hour yes,â you quipped.
Jason in response let out a cackle.
âGreat, hope youâre proud of yourself,â you scrunched your nose and turned back to prepare the pancake batter.
âI mean it does wonders to a guyâs ego,â Jason let out a dramatic breath. âSeven orgasms in one night is my new record.â
âJason!â You huffed and pushed him away. âYou cannot count my orgasms you freak.â
He laughed again and came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle before nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck.
âSeriously though, I didnât hurt you, did I?â He asked, pressing fluttering kisses to the hickeys he had left on your neck.
âNo,â you hummed and craned your head back.
âYou liked it?â
âYes,â you breathed as his kisses made their way down to your shoulders.
His fingers busied themselves with massaging your hips, causing you to close your eyes in relief and rest your head back on his shoulders. Which gave him even more room to kiss on your neck.
âLet me make you feel better,â he murmured and turned you around before getting down on his knees.
âJason,â you said through a shaky breath.
âYeah?â He looked up at you through dark eyelashes and hooked your thigh over his shoulder. âIs this okay?â
You nodded your head which was all the permission he needed.
It was going to be a long morning.
â¶ TIM DRAKE
In hindsight, waiting for your boyfriend to return from his week long mission at the manor probably wasnât your brightest idea.
He had texted you that he would be back today and would just crash at the manor instead of coming back to your shared penthouse.
But you hadnât seen him in a week! So it was only fair you drove to the manor and let yourself into the batcave to wait for him.
It had almost been an hour since you made yourself at home on the little beanbag chair with a book in your hands in the Batcave along with Barbara who was perched at the Batcomputer, doing whatever it is that Oracle did.
Tim returned soon along with the rest of the Bats on his Batcycle (Batman wasnât a very creative person you were beginning to realise).
Damian made a âTTâ sound at you before making his way towards the shower area.
Tim on the other hand broke out in a grin the second he looked at you. He didnât even bother taking off his mask or the suit before he was launching himself at you on the beanbag.
âTim!â You grunted when his armoured chest collided with yours. âYouâre crushing me.â
âDonât care,â he muttered and pushed his head in the crook of your neck.
âTake a shower you stink!â You said and pushed him off.
âI see how it is,â he raised his head to look at you and if you could see his eyes behind his domino mask, you knew he would be narrowing his eyes at you. âI come back a week later after saving the world and my girlfriend says I stink.â
âYou do,â Jason mumbled somewhere behind him.
âIgnore him heâs jealous,â Tim said to you before leaning down to give you a fleeting kiss. âIâll be back,â he murmured and finally got off the beanbag to go take a shower.
That had been enough of your loving and sweet boyfriend for the night.
Because he was soon coming out of the shower without a shirt and in only a pair of sweatpants. He didnât even bothering talking to anyone or even debriefing the case like he usually did, he just made his way towards you and picked you up and threw you over his shoulder.
Thankfully everyone else was busy cleaning themselves and only Barbara was present in the Batcave. She shook her head at you like she knew exactly what was happening but didnât want to be a part of it.
It had been a very long night.
The night for which you were paying now.
Timâs heavy arm was thrown over your stomach in a tight grip like he never wanted to let you go.
Squinting open an eye, you flicked the bedside lamp on âhaving no clue what time it was outside due to the blackout curtains being drawn.
You turned over in Timâs iron grip and looked around the room which looked like it had gotten robbed last night.
Your shirt was thrown on the floor along with your shorts, your bra dangling down the knob of the door âno clue how it got there. And your panties were probably torn in half somewhere. Even the pillows were thrown haphazardly, the covers werenât even covering you.
Half the reason you woke up was the chill in the room causing goosebumps to rise on your naked body. The only source of heat you had was Timâs equally as naked body wrapped around you like a koala.
You rubbed your eyes and tried to look at him. The first thing you saw were the red scratches on his chest, glowing against his pale skin and you were sure if he turned around his back would look the same.
âTim?â You whispered and brushed his hair away from his face.
He only groaned in response and tugged you closer but his grip on your back was beginning to hurt.
âHey,â you tried again and pushed at his shoulder âwhich you now saw had a bite mark on it.
Images of Timâs bicep wrapped around your neck came to your mind but you quickly shook them off. Not the time.
âTim come on, youâre hurting me,â you winced, which finally caught his attention.
âWhat?â He asked, voice laced with sleep and somehow deeper like youâve never heard before. âWhere are you hurt?â
âIt just feels sore.â
âFuck Iâm so sorry,â he sat up straight in bed and leaned down to pull the covers up.
âItâs okay, you didnât do anything I didnât like,â you giggled when he turned around and yep his back looked every bit like his chest. Red scratches all over.
âYour back,â you whispered and reached out to lightly brush your hand over the marks. âWhat the fuck did we do last night?â
âI think I just missed you too much,â he chuckled. âTurn around let me give you a massage.â
âYes please,â you moaned and turned around on your stomach to let Tim rub the soreness out of your muscles with his nimble fingers.
The knots in your muscles immediately came loose with each movement of his warm hands on your much colder body. Maybe they taught massaging the pain away at vigilante school or wherever Bruce took all the kids of his he seems to adopt.
His hands went lower to gently rest your calf over his shoulder âmuch gentler than last night. He pressed soft kisses to your leg as his fingers rubbed all the way to your ankles.
Later when you two went down for breakfast (it was around lunchtime), Cass and Damian gave you a disgusted look. Jason raised an eyebrow at the bite marks on Timâs forearm while Dick only laughed in amusement. Even Barbara was staring at the hickey on your jaw since apparently Tim had forgotten he was human.
â¶ BRUCE WAYNE
You were sitting on the chair in the little breakfast nook when Bruce entered the kitchen. A crossword puzzle was sat on the table next to a plate of toast and orange juice in front of you as you mindlessly scribbled on the puzzle.
Bruce came up behind you and gave you a little kiss on the back of your head before walking over to the cabinets to pull out a mug.
âOh wait! I made you a yogurt bowl,â you said and hopped off the chair.
Bruce raised an eyebrow and watched you limping towards the fridge in nothing but his old uni sweatshirt. Your hair was falling over your shoulders, messy from a good nightâs sleep. And other activities.
His eyes wandered lower to the backs of your knees where he was gripping your legs last night and sure enough there were marks to show it. For a second he was worried but when you turned around and gave him your million dollar smile, he forgot what he was thinking about.
âIt has raspberries, nuts, pumpkin seeds, chia seeds. Itâs good for your health,â you beamed and set it down in front of your own breakfast on the table.
Bruce joined you in a beat and eyed you as you grimaced a little while sitting down.
âEverything okay?â He asked.
âYeah,â you said, voice a bit sarcastic which he didnât miss.
âThatâs not convincing,â he frowned.
âYou rearranged my guts last night. I think that has something to do with me having trouble sitting down,â you smirked and he immediately blushed.
You heard a sudden noise from behind you and when you turned around to look, Tim was standing there, looking nauseated. âIâll uh⊠have breakfast in my roomâŠâ he said.
âI didnât know you stayed here last night,â you said to him.
âI wish I hadnât,â he gagged and grabbed a cup of coffee before leaving the two of you alone.
Bruce scrunched his nose and turned his face towards his breakfast.
âOh donât go all shy now! You were very vocal last night,â you teased and nudged his foot with yours just to watch his ears turn even redder.
âI think we should take a warm bath together to you know, let our bodies heal,â he suggested.
âUh huh,â you narrowed your eyes. âAnd no other reason at all.â
âOf course my darling,â Bruce smiled and tugged you out of your chair before picking you up in his arms.
âNo other reason at all.â
my first multi part fic ever feeling nervous
didnât know which photos to use soâŠ
if you couldnât tell iâve been extremely tim drake pilled lately thanks to all the requests ive received for him đ
likes comments and reblogs appreciated, hope you guys enjoy <3
jason todd x fem!reader
summary: jason can't seem to understand why you keep talking about "your" wedding
contains: fluff, established relationship, pet names
word count: ~600
You and Jason laid in bed, morning light shuffling in through the blinds and illuminating the soft bedding. Jason had one arm around your waist as his head was tucked into the crook of your neck, eyes shut contentedly. Your eyes were open, staring blankly at the page of your book as you listened to Jasonâs soft breathing mix with the morning birdsongs that rolled in with the light.Â
âJay?â you whispered quietly, testing to see if he was awake.
âHm?â he grunted in reply, nose nestling further into your neck.
You kept quiet for a moment, hesitant to bring up such a topic before finally asking, âDo you ever think about what you want your wedding to be like?â
Jason was silent and you felt his arm subtly tense around you. You started to worry you had crossed some line you didnât know existed before he replied, âWhat do you mean?â
âI mean like how many people, what type of cake, the venueâŠthat stuff. How do you picture your future wedding?â
You felt Jasonâs brow furrow against your skin. âIâm still confused,â he mumbled, lips brushing ur neck and placing a soft kiss there.
You pursed your lips, puzzled at how he could be confused by such a question. âWhat are you confused about? When I picture my wedding I know I wantââ
Jason abruptly sat up straight, causing you to stop speaking and stare at him in confusion. He was really starting to freak you out.
âWhy do you keep saying it like that?â he asked, looking at you with a mix of annoyance, confusion, and a hint of hurt.Â
âSaying it like what?â
Jason looked away for a moment, letting the sunrays filtering in illuminate his features. His scars were highlighted and when his eyes met yours again, you could see them so clearly, their mix of green and blue capturing you before he spoke again.Â
âSaying âyour weddingâ or âmy weddingâ. Why do you keep doing that?â
âUmâŠâ you paused, laughing nervously. âWhat am I supposed to say, Jay?â
âDoll,â he brought his hand up to cradle your face. âThereâs not gonna be a âmy weddingâ or a âyour weddingâ...only âour weddingâ. Iâm not getting married unless itâs to you, princess.â
âOh.â Your face flushed and your eyes widened, a soft smile breaking out across your lips before you buried your face in Jasonâs chest in embarrassment.Â
Jason laughed, bringing his arms up to envelope you and leaning down to place a kiss upon your head. You were consumed by his intoxicating scent - the expensive cologne Dick had bought him for Christmas, gunpowder from last nightâs patrol, your favorite shampoo he swore he never used, and the fresh smell of clean linen sheets.Â
âYeah, âohâ.â He smiled as you brought your head back up to meet his. Jason kissed you softly and sweetly, still sluggish from sleep. âWhat, were you planninâ on marrying someone else?â
Your eyes widened as you pulled back. âNo! No, of course not! I justâŠdidnât know if you wanted that.â
He looked at you with a gentle, lovesick expression on his face. âI never thought I did either, doll.â He paused which made your heart pick up nervously again. But he just brought his hands to yours and raised one to kiss it tenderly. âUntil I met you.â
You flushed again, swatting him away playfully. âWho knew you were such a romantic, Todd?â
âAlways have been,â he pulled you back into his arms. âJust hadnât met the right girl until now.â
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im so bored so sharing my headcanons about dick and roy (mdni):
Dick Grayson, in my opinion, is not a man of one night stands. Maybe, sometimes he lets himself do whatever he wants that night and finds himself in the middle of a one night stand. But I donât think this is a common occurrence. I think he would love the intimacy love brings. He would want to get to know you before moving things to bed. Sex would mean more to him when he knows what you like, dislike, how you like it⊠It would mean more to him because he wouldnât have to think if he is hurting you or not when he already knows you. He would be so delicate about you and his sex life. And also, aftercare would be crazy soft with him. Better yet, I think he would love praising you while aftercare. Even the cringiest things would come out of his mouth. So, he would like to know you better before having sex with you (or anyone).
Roy Harper, on the other hand, would not mind it as much as Dick. He would go to a hotel with someone he met at a bar, have the best night ever, and leave as if nothing happened. I think intimacy would come into the conversation when he actually knows you, not if you are a one night stand. He is distant but still he would make you feel like you are the only person in the world by how he fucks you. As I said, intimacy would only mean something if he knows you, so no aftercare if you are a one night stand (sadly). I think he would sneak out while you are asleep because he wouldnât know how to deal with it. On the other hand, aftercare with him if you are in a relationship would be the best thing ever, only beaten by the sex he offers. He would be soft, yet still be filthy. He would whisper things into your ear and make you lean onto him. + I think he would not have one night stands as much as he used to after having Lian.
đč cw: cmbyn, fluff, lil bit of angst, i believed i was a poet for a sec, suggestive, food play?, english is not my first language, first fic
đč wc: 4.2k
âCall me by your name, and Iâll call you by mine,â the TV murmured in front of you, casting the soft glow of the scene over your face and the ceramic mug held in your hands.
The sound of heavy rain droplets hitting the windows accompanied by the actorsâs soft-spoken dialogue reached your ears like a slow-paced melody.
Your chest rose and fell as you breathed in the pleasant mix of scents: chamomile from the steam of your tea and lavender from the candle youâd lit; its flame, the moonlight, and the screen illuminating the otherwise dark apartment.
A wool-knitted blanket draped over your naked thighs, your bare feet sticking out and hanging off the edge of the sofaâs cushion, maintaining a comfortable balance of warmth and coolth in your body.
It was the perfect calming ambiance, almost romantic even.
But your attempt to indulge in the tranquility the atmosphere offered was futile. Your heart doesnât allow you to do so when heâs not with you.
Fortunately, or unfortunately âyou havenât decided yet, youâre used to it.
Youâve learned to go through your nights alone, feeling the overwhelming presence of his absence during dinner, the emptiness that takes up too much space on the opposite side of the bed, and hearing the strident silence at the lack of his voice.
Youâve learned to endure the mundanities of life with a heart full of worry, to read while your mind subconsciously prays for his return, and to bathe pitying the water that touches a skin that only wants to be touched by him.
Because loving Dick Grayson means fearing for Nightwing.
Fearing that heâll return with a wound so deep, itâll leave him in pain for days.
Fearing that heâll return with a scar not physical, but thatâll take his peace of mind for the rest of his years.
Fearing him not returning at all, swallowed by the city and dragged away into a place so far away, impossible for you to reach.
Not tonight though, because when you hear the window slide open, you knew that she had granted you another day of him. BlĂŒdhaven had been merciful enough to let him go home to you, and kind enough to leave him untouched.
You watched silently as he crawled in through the window, a cold breeze entering alongside him uninvited, making its way into your living room until it caressed your shoulders so gently it made up for the chill that ran down your spine.
The breeze carried with it a sprinkling of fine droplets that settled on your carpeted floor seconds before his feet did.
He stood in front of the window, his lean figure backlit by the reflection of the moon, carving shadows across his muscles and frame. His black locks twirled around the strong gusts of wind, moving fluidly through and around them.
White eyes stared at you intensely from the black domino mask, the contrast reminiscent of the brightness of the moon in a dark sky akin to tonightâs.
Electric blue ran across his chest like a dangerous river, standing out against the black spandex of his skintight suit, the symbol was the center of attention.
There, he appeared powerful, unreachable, and untouchable.
Godlike.
The illusion vanished when he took a step closer, closing the window behind him, the warmer lightning allowed your eyes to revel in the golden tan of the visible skin from his neck to his lower face.
Your gaze then traced his jawline and the slope of his nose, the outline of his features so delicate, you believe the lines were drawn by the skillful hands of a very passionate artist.
Finally, your stare settled on his smile. The pearly white of his teeth has its own unique shine, more discreet than that of a starâs, but brighter than the moonlightâs. The reddish tone of his lips might as well be your favorite color, and you are certain you wonât find it in any place other than his mouth.
And at that moment âjust like every time he looks at you, that smile stared back at you with a love so ardent, it made your heart melt.
âHey, beautiful.â
âHi, Nightwing.â
You hadnât noticed that his hands were busy holding something that he covered with a jacket âto protect it from the rain, you assumedâ until he carefully placed the object on the coffee table âjacket and all, right next to where youâd just set your mug.
Before you had time to react, Dick was already sprawled on top of you, wrapping his arms around your waist as his dank chest pressed against your dry one.
Nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, he took an exaggerated sniff and then sighed in delight.
âMm, I missed you,â his voice was muffled where his mouth was pressed against your skin.
âWhy are you sniffing me like a dog?â You laughed, scrunching up your nose.
âWoof, woof,â he barked, playfully biting into the sensitive skin of your neck.
âDick!â You gasped, slapping his shoulder.
âSorry,â his lips pressed sweetly onto the mark heâd just left, your body relaxing until you saw him looking up at you with eyes full of mischief.
You were about to warn him about whatever he planned on doing, but his actions were faster than your words and he stuck out his tongue to lick a long stripe from the bottom of your neck up to the back of your earlobe.
âStop acting like a dog!â
âSorry, you just make my animal instincts come out,â he snorted.
You rolled your eyes, doing your best to pretend that he didnât manage to get you all hot and bothered with his weird teasing.
Not like you were tricking anyone though, especially not Dick.
He continued leaving a trail of sloppy wet kisses along your neck and collarbones. His hands slid under the blanket that covered your legs, calloused palms caressed your thighs in slow movements, higher and higher until they reached your ass to give it a light squeeze.
Because you knew he was about to get all cocky about successfully completing his mission of making you embarrassingly horny, you decided to not give him any time to tease.
âUgh, get off me!â You tried pushing him away, but Dick âin all his stubborn natureâ didnât budge. âYouâre all wet and sweaty, itâs disgusting.â
âI love it when you make me all wet and sweaty,â he breathed into your ear.
You groaned at his words, throwing your head back in annoyance while he just laughed his stupidly sexy laugh against your flushed cheek.
âWhatâs that?â You shifted the focus of the conversation because curiosity was eating you alive.
âWhatâs what?â He pulled away with a confused expression, you simply nodded towards the jacket and whatever it was hiding still sitting on the little table.
Dick immediately brightened up, his eyes widened comically, and he sat up so fast, you feared for his neck.
He reached for the jacket and threw it carelessly somewhere on the floor, revealing a slightly crumpled, white, rectangular box.
He grabbed it carefully âcomplete opposite of the treatment heâd given the jacketâ and placed it on your lap.
âOpen it.â He whispered his command in a tone so sweet, it made your teeth ache.
Your hands followed his words before your mind could process them, because you trusted him so much, your body had grown accustomed to simply obeying whenever it heard his voice.
As you lifted the lid, something sugary and deliciously mouth-watering filled your nostrils, you smiled at the pleasant scent.
Inside, there were at least ten neatly-cut cake slices; each its own layered combination of fluffy sponge, flavored mousse, buttery frosting, and decorative ingredients like fruits or grated chocolate.
âWhat are these?â The question left your lips in the form of a surprised, breathy murmur. It was a stupid question, the cake slices probably looked at you deadpan when you asked it, but by the way Dick had handled the box with so much care, you knew it was much more than just cake.
âWedding cake samples.â Your eyes immediately shot up to look at him when he answered.
Dick was already staring at you, his smile was shy now, less playful and confident, but still as beautiful. You saw the rosy, pink blush slowly coloring all of his neck and cheekbones without asking for permission.
âYou know, since the date is approachingâ Well, we still have a year and two months, but time flies and all thatââ he abruptly cut himself off again, âNot that weâre under any pressure! We have a lot of time for all the planning and stuff!â
âDick.â
âI thought we could do something like date nightâ or date morning since itâs already like 2:00 a.m.,â he corrected himself with a nod.
âDick.â
âWe donât have to choose right now, there are a ton of other bakeries that offer different options for the cakeââ he was talking so fast, he had to take a deep breath and clear his throat, âfor our wedding.â
You could never get over how much you love Dick Grayson. Youâve been together for years and he still makes you nervous just by looking at you.
Still makes butterflies fly in your belly with his compliments, heat pool between your legs when he flashes you a smirk, and your heart beat out of your chest every time he says âI love youâ.
And you could never get over the fact that he loves you.
When you saw him open his mouth to continue his rambling, you leaned into him, cradling his face with both hands and pressing your lips against his before he could speak.
He didnât hesitate to kiss you back, his shoulders relaxing as his hands settled gently on your waist, feeling the smile of your lips on his as you kissed him.
Pulling away slowly, you giggled at the sight of him desperately chasing your lips, baby blue eyes pleading through his dark lashes.
The sight was adorable, and you felt a hint of pride thinking about how only you get to see him like this.
Shy, pathetic Dick Graysonâs a rare sight; unimaginable for the rest of the world, reserved just for you.
âI think tonightâs the perfect time to start with wedding preparations,â you smiled, tenderly caressing his cheekbones with your thumbs.
Dick beamed up at your words, his cheesy smile highlighting those prominent dimples that make him look unfairly adorable.
âSo itâs a date?â
âItâs a date.â
Dick went for a quick shower with the promise of not making you wait for long; in the meantime, you read through the names and descriptions of the different flavor options heâd brought.
âChocolate and hazelnut sponges layered with nutella buttercream and coffee mousseâ, âVanilla sponge with fresh fruits and vanilla butter creamâ, âOreo sponge layered with strawberry mousse and Oreo buttercreamâ, so on and so forth.
âThree minute shower,â Dick panted, clumsily pulling up his grey cotton sweatpants as he rushed out of the bedroom, âNot even Wally is that fast.â
He plopped down on the empty space next to you, not even trying to hide his excitement as he reached for you with one arm and for the box with the other.
âDick,â you stopped him, âwhat are we gonna eat with?â
âWhatâ Oh, youâre right!â He jumped off the couch and rushed to the kitchen.
He returned with a silver fork in his fist and a cheeky grin on his face, you couldnât help but giggle at the sight.
It was ironic, how he knows he can kiss you and see you out of your clothes whenever he wants to, but he still does little things like this, bringing only one fork to share, as if heâs just a boy crushing.
He placed his hand on one of the backrest cushions to support his weight as he jumped over it, landing perfectly on the spot heâd already claimed.
âShow off,â you rolled your eyes at his theatrics.
âHey, Iâm an acrobat!â He circled your waist with one muscular arm and effortlessly lifted you up to set you on his lap. âI deserve to brag about my skills every once in a while.â
You bit back the smirk that threatened to break on your lips when you heard the hiss he made as you wiggled on his lap, pretending to get comfortable as you took the fork from him.
âAre you wearing anything under those sweats?â
âNo.â
âI can feel it.â
âGreat, thatâs your dessert.â
âIâm pretty sure that cake counts as dessert.â
âGood, then itâs the main dish,â he winked and you turned your blushing face away from him.
âWhat should we try first?â you asked, squinting your eyes at the rectangular-cut slices in the box.
âYouâre the one who calls the shots, babe.â Dick pressed a soft kiss to your jaw, staring at you adoringly even when you werenât aware he was doing it. âYou choose.â
âHmmâŠâ humming as you contemplated the variety of cake options sitting inside the box, a slice with a moist, yellowy sponge and creamy white frosting caught your attention âmainly because of the cute little flowers that adorned it. âThis one,â you pointed at it.
ââLemon Elderflower,ââ Dick read the name as you grabbed a small piece with the fork and lifted it to his mouth.
He willingly opened his mouth for you to feed him the pastry and then closed his plush lips around the fork as he took the bite, eyes never leaving yours.
You then retreated the fork from him to grab another piece of the chosen slice and take a bite of your own, all while Dick was still chewing with a thoughtful expression âdeciding whether he liked it or not.
When the strong citrusy flavor hit your tongue, your neutral expression automatically morphed into one of absolute disgust.
Dick watched with an amused smile, entertained by the way your chewing slowed and your lips pursed. You saw him raise his eyebrows as he put in his best efforts not to laugh.
Until you gagged, and he couldnât hold back anymore âdidnât even try to. He let out a loud, unapologetic laugh at your suffering.
You glared at him through glassy eyes, your face probably tomato-red, and he extended his cupped hand to your chin for you to spit it out âan act of kindness in the midst of your humilliation.
âI donât like that oneââ you coughed, your words came out in an embarrassing, high-pitched rasp as you looked around for anything that could help you clean your tastebuds.
âReally?â Dick chuckled. âI wouldâve thought you loved it.â
âYouâre not funny, Richard.â
âI respect your opinion, but I like to think I have a great sense of humor. Maybe youâre just a bit dramatic,â he shrugged, mocking smile still on his lips as he took a tissue from the Kleenex box that sat atop the low-slung table to clean his palm.
You shot him a deathly glare over your mug as you gulped down the remains of your now cold tea.
He simply smiled his characteristic teasing grin and reached for the fork between your fingers. âOkay, now itâs my turn toââ
âNo!â You moved the fork away from his reach so fast, both of you flinched. Dick looked concerned for a second.
âWoahââ
âI have an idea!â You interrupted him, coughing after you nearly choked on your drink. âClose your eyes.â
That made him smirk, but he did as he was told.
âIs this foreplay?â
âShut up and concentrate.â You knew he couldnât see the evil grin plastered on your lips, but you still hoped he couldnât feel it. âYou have to guess the flavor.â
âOkayâ,â his mouth opened when he spoke, and you didnât hesitate to take the chance to shove the forkful of cake into it.
He had to chew only once before his face contorted in the same way yours did minutes ago.
âIS THAT CRANBERRYâ?!â Now it was your turn to laugh your head off.
âCorrect!â You cheered, patting his shoulder. âGreat job, youâve earned another bite!â
He caught your wrist before the fork could get anywhere near his mouth. Gripping it firmly, the veins on his forearm popped out.
âDonât even think about it.â
You had to bite your lip at that, his tone was stern and his voice deep. You love it when he gets all bossy like that.
But you rather tell yourself you only obeyed because you have a soft spot for the man or whatever.
âIt isnât that bad!â You argued, chewing on the piece heâd rejected.
âLemon Elderflower isnât that bad.â
âWhatever,â you rolled your eyes, digging the fork into a different slice you didnât bother checking the name of, âwe need to get serious, these are important wedding decisions.â
Your mouth opened, ready to be the judge of whatever flavor you had randomly picked, and just as you felt the sweet treat graze your lips, Dick snatched it with his own mouth âlike a street dog stealing a sausage.
âDick!â Your brows furrowed. âWhy did you do that? That was mine!â
âOh, yeah?â You saw the grin forming and immediately clocked that he was onto something.
âYesââ
Dick grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you towards him with a fast, sudden movement. His lips caught yours in a hungry kiss.
It was unexpected but definitely not unwelcomed.
Your palms found their place on his naked chest, steadying yourself on top of him and feeling the rapid beat of his heart under your touch.
Dick parted your lips with his tongue and you allowed him to do so without putting any resistance. His tongue slipped into your mouth, and with it the piece of cake that was in his. Neither of you chewed on it âlike an unspoken agreement, both understanding that the fun of this game lies in passing the food from one mouth to another.
Your tastebuds reveled in the buttery taste of frosting and perfectly-baked dough while your tongue seeked more of the taste of him.
The wetness of yours and Dickâs saliva seeped into the chocolatey sponge, making it lose its structure and crumble inside your mouths.
The luscious consistency of the buttercream was messier to work with, some of it slipping out of your lips between open mouthed kisses. You didnât care though, if anything, it made it hotter. You felt Dick lick some of it off the back of your front teeth with the very tip of his tongue, making you moan at the delicious sensation, his lips tastier than any cake.
Your nails dug into the skin of his pecs, scratching softly, and you swallowed his whimper along with some syrupy chocolate.
Dick started pulling away slowly, and now you were the one desperately chasing his lips, as if you were under a spell that made you believe you needed his kisses to live.
Although, now that you think about it, a spell isnât necessary, you do need his kisses to live.
Staring into each otherâs eyes, Dick and you fell into a comfortable silence as you both tried to regain your breath.
The moment shifted from passionate and steamy to softly intimate in a matter of seconds, so smoothly you couldnât tell when it changed.
Dickâs face was still so close to yours âyou felt the hot puffs of air from his breathing touch your nose, and you took this moment as an opportunity to admire him, something that you consider part of your nightly routine by now.
The honeyed light from the candleâs glow painted shadows on his face in precise strokes, so detailed you could appreciate the dark reflection of his lashes on his tan skin if you looked close enough.
His black hair smooth like silk, you want to do nothing more than run your fingers through it as he falls asleep on your lap. It was like the perfect frame for the prettiest photograph.
Crystal blue eyes so full of life, you would believe it if he told you the ocean itself was trapped inside them; you could practically see the waves, moving so elegantly and dangerously at the same time, just like he does.
His lips were swollen, remnants of white frosting delineated the edges and tiny crumbs of chocolate sponge had made their home on the corners. They looked like your favorite candy, one you would never get tired of eating. His lips always caught your eyes first.
âSoâŠâ Dick started, grinning from ear to ear at your lovestruck expression. âWhat did you think?"
âHuh?â You blinked, shaking yourself out of your trance.
Dick poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, looking very, very proud. ââBout the cake, baby,â He cleaned off some frosting off your cheek with his thumb. âDid you like the flavor?â
Oh, this smug bastard. He knew the flavor of the cake was the last thing youâd cared about, too entranced with his kiss to even think about it.
âIâ it was great.â You nodded, knowing it wasnât convincing at all. âI think itâs my favorite actually.â
âReally?â Dick asked, looking really satisfied with himself, pinkie finger caught between his teeth as he smirked. âWhat flavor was it?â
Okay, so thatâs totally not fair. And ugh, you wanted to kiss that cocky smile off his face so bad.
You realized youâd been quiet for too long when he started chuckling, body shaking with laughter at the sight of your dumbfounded expression.
You felt heat rise up to your cheeks and immediately tried to defend yourself, you knew you werenât the only one that was turned on.
âOh, please,â you scoffed, âI can feel your little friend all excited under me.â
âMy âlittle friendâ will have you moaning my name until you canât take it anymore, so I say be nicer to him,â he gently nibbled your lower lip, smirk not faltering for a second.
His dirty, unfiltered words made you even more flustered âif that was even possible. Hiding your face in the curve of his neck, you muttered a quiet âI hate youâ that both of you knew you didnât mean at all.
You missed the way Dickâs smile softened when you buried your face into his neck, and how his own blush had appeared on the apples of his cheeks when he felt your warm ones brush his skin.
But you didnât miss the tender touch of his lips on your temple, or the feeling of his fingers tracing patterns on your lower back.
And you certainly didnât miss the vulnerability in his voice when he whispered âI love you, I canât wait to be your husbandâ so lovingly, tears pricked your eyes, but you didnât let them spill.
You didnât rush to say it back. Instead, you let yourself bask in the comforting feeling of his arms holding you, knowing youâll cherish the memory of those words forever.
You thought about the day you met, how his bright smile was enough for an introduction; the first time he kissed you, how his eyes stayed close after you pulled away, confessing he was scared that he was dreaming and heâd be forced to wake up; the first time he made love to you, how he cried into your chest telling you how much he loved you; when he proposed, so nervous he forgot his speech and simply dropped on both knees, extending the ring to you as if he was offering a sacrifice to a goddess.
You thought about that night, when he slipped in through the window, barely alive, still masked, Nightwing still a stranger to you. And then he said your name, and you recognized that voice in an instant. Blood was spilling everywhere, cascading out of his body and running like a river through your floors, copper scent giving you a headache.
You thought about how you begged him through sobs to not close his eyes, to keep looking at you as your shaky hands tried to clean up his wounds to no avail, because the blood kept spilling, drenching him and staining you.
âWhen you least expect it, Nature has cunning ways of finding our weakest spot,â the movie spoke from behind you.
Your life was never the same after that night, fear has never been more present, and you know youâll probably never know peace of mind again.
But it takes just one look at him to remember how his love makes everything so worth it.
Because you are so hopelessly and irrevocably in love with Dick Grayson. You will be forever.
You let the first tear drop, shyly running down your skin and softly landing on his.
âI love you too, I canât wait to be your wife."
this is probably shit but it's my first fic so be kind girly pops!! also, ignore this fuckass layout, i don't know how to use dividers and can't even add a title
tysm for reading!! likes, comments, follows, and reblogs are so so appreciated!!
please do not copy, translate, repost, or feed my work to ai (especially this!!)
summary : Your boyfriend has a new haircut.. not only were you not expecting it, you didnât expect to find it so.. hot?
masterlist â DC Masterlist â ac : @/twalxx
You were halfway through making dinner when the front door clicked open. The smell of garlic and herbs filled the apartment, the low hum of the radio playing some old rock song in the background. Youâd had a long day â work, errands, the usual Gotham chaos â but coming home to cook for Jason always made it better. He usually got back from patrol around this time, still wired but softening the second he saw you.
You turned, wooden spoon in hand, ready to greet him with a smile and maybe a quick kiss.
Then you saw him.
Jason Todd stood in the doorway, kicking off his boots, hair still slightly damp from whatever heâd done to it. The usual messy, slightly-too-long style was gone. In its place was something sharper, cleaner â a baby mullet. The sides were trimmed close, the back longer, just enough to curl at the nape of his neck. The white streak stood out even more now, bright against the dark, freshly cut hair. It made his jaw look sharper, his eyes more intense. He looked⊠dangerous. Hot. Like the kind of man who could ruin your life in the best way.
You stared. Openly. The spoon slipped from your fingers and clattered into the pot.
Jason raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. âWhat? Alfred finally convinced me to get it cut. Said I looked like a stray dog. You hate it?â
You shook your head slowly, mouth dry. âNo. I⊠God, Jason. You lookâŠâ
He stepped closer, still in his Red Hood jacket, the leather creaking as he moved. The new haircut made him look taller somehow, broader, the sharp lines of his face even more striking. You couldnât stop staring at the way the longer pieces in the back brushed his neck, the way the sides were faded just enough to show the strong line of his jaw.
You reached out before you could think, fingers threading through the longer hair at the back of his head. It was soft, freshly washed, still a little damp. Jasonâs breath hitched as you tugged gently, testing the length.
âGod,â you whispered. âYou look so good. Like⊠stupidly good.â
His smirk widened, but there was a flush creeping up his neck. âYeah?â
âYeah.â You stepped closer, pressing your body against his, one hand still in his hair. The other slid under his jacket, palm flat against his chest. âI canât stop looking at you. The mullet⊠itâs hot. Really hot.â
Jason groaned softly, hands settling on your waist, pulling you tighter against him. âYouâre gonna make me blush, baby. Itâs just hair.â
âItâs not just hair,â you murmured, tugging again, harder this time. His head tilted back slightly, exposing the line of his throat. You leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to the skin just below his jaw. âIt makes you look⊠dangerous. Like you could throw me over your shoulder and carry me off somewhere.â
He laughed, low and rough, but his hands tightened on your hips. âMaybe I will. If you keep pulling my hair like that.â
You smiled against his neck, nipping lightly. âPromise?â
Jasonâs breath stuttered. He walked you backward until your back hit the counter, lifting you easily onto it. Your legs wrapped around his waist without thinking, pulling him closer. His hands slid under your shirt, palms warm against your bare skin as he kissed you â deep, hungry, full of all the want he usually kept so carefully controlled.
You kept one hand in his hair, tugging gently as you kissed him back. The new cut gave you something to hold onto, something to grip when he pressed closer, grinding against you just enough to make you gasp into his mouth.
âI love your hair like this,â you whispered when you broke apart for air. âItâs so soft. So easy to grab.â
Jasonâs eyes were dark, pupils blown. âYouâre gonna kill me tonight. I can already tell.â
You grinned, tugging again, harder. His head tilted back with a low groan, exposing his throat. You leaned in, sucking a mark just below his ear, then another on his collarbone, leaving little bruises that would peek out from under his shirt tomorrow.
He let you. He always let you.
His hands roamed your body â sliding up your back, down your sides, gripping your thighs as he pulled you closer. Every touch was reverent but hungry, like he couldnât get enough of you. You kept playing with his hair, running your fingers through the longer pieces in the back, scratching lightly at his scalp.
âYouâre so fucking pretty,â you murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth. âMy handsome boyfriend with his new haircut. I canât stop touching it.â
Jason laughed breathlessly, the sound turning into a groan when you tugged again. âKeep doing that and dinnerâs gonna burn.â
You glanced over at the stove. The pasta was still simmering, but you didnât care. You kissed him again, deeper, grinding against him as your fingers stayed tangled in his hair.
âLet it burn,â you whispered against his lips. âIâm busy.â
He groaned, hands sliding under your thighs as he lifted you off the counter, carrying you toward the bedroom without breaking the kiss. You wrapped your legs around his waist, still playing with his hair, tugging gently every few seconds just to hear the little sounds he made.
When he laid you down on the bed, he hovered over you, eyes dark and soft all at once. âYou really like it, huh?â
âI love it,â you said, reaching up to run your fingers through it again. âIt makes you look⊠dangerous. Like you could ruin me and Iâd thank you for it.â
Jasonâs breath hitched. He leaned down, kissing you slow and deep, one hand braced beside your head, the other sliding under your shirt to rest warm against your stomach. âThen maybe I will,â he murmured against your mouth. âRuin you. Just a little.â
You smiled, tugging his hair again as you pulled him closer. âPromise?â
He did.
The rest of the night passed in a haze of kisses and touches and soft laughter. Jason was everywhere â hands on your waist, lips on your neck, body pressed against yours as he moved with that effortless grace he always had. He let you play with his hair the whole time, tugging and scratching and holding on as he kissed you senseless.
When you finally fell asleep, tangled together under the sheets, Jasonâs head was on your chest, your fingers still loosely threaded through his new haircut.
He was exactly where he wanted to be.
And you? You were right there with him.
a/n : my eyeliner ran out I donât feel like myself Iâm gonna cry
Jason kicked the apartment door open with his boot, the hinges groaning under the force as he stomped inside, shaking rain from his leather jacket. The scent of ozone and Gothamâs damp streets clung to him, but he still took the time to hang his coat on the rackâexactly how youâd scolded him to a hundred times before. The jacket slumped over the hook, the weight of the hidden knives in its lining making it sag just a little. He ran a hand through his damp, dark hair, flicking water onto the hardwood floor as he toed off his boots, leaving them in a messy heap by the door. Typical.
The apartment was warm, the air thick with the scent of vanilla and cinnamon, and there you were, standing at the counter in that stupidly cute apronâthe one with the little red cherries that heâd teased you about when you first bought it. Your back was to him, hips swaying slightly as you mixed dough, flour dusting your forearms. Jason paused for a second, just watching.
âDaddyâs home,â he drawled, voice rough from the cold, as he slinked up behind you. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and he pressed a kiss to the curve of your shoulder. The heat of him seeped through the thin fabric of your shirt, and you could feel the smirk against your neck before he even spoke.
You huffed, rolling your eyes so hard it almost hurt. âUgh, donât call yourself that, itâs creepy,â you groaned, but the way your voice hitched when his fingers traced the waistband of your shorts betrayed you.
Jason chuckled, the sound vibrating against your spine. âWhatâre you making, baby?â he murmured, chin digging into your shoulder as he peered over you. His hands were already wandering, slipping under the apron. One palm splayed flat against your stomach, the other sliding lower, lowerâ
âCinnamon rolls,â you managed, voice squeaking when his fingers found the hem of your shorts. âI wanted aâa sweet treat.â The words came out breathy, your grip tightening on the spoon as his thumb brushed against the inside of your thigh.
Jasonâs grin was wicked. âWhy?â he purred, voice dripping with false innocence. âHereâs a sweet treat right here.â His hand cupped you through the fabric, his fingers pressing just enough to make you gasp, your knees threatening to buckle. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing.
You jerked backward, bumping your hip back into him with a laugh that was half-gasp. âJay!â you yelped, swatting at his arm, but he just held on tighter, his laugh dark and amused.
âAm I wrong?â he challenged, nuzzling your neck.
âYes, you are,â you huffed, but the way your pulse jumped under his lips gave you away. You forced yourself to focus, shoving an elbow into his ribsâonly for him to absorb the hit like it was nothing. âI wanted a pastry. So I went to that new bakery downtown, but Jesus Christ, they might as well have asked for my firstborn in exchange for a muffin.â You mimed strangling someone, flour puffing up from the dough as you gestured wildly. âTwenty bucks for a single cinnamon roll. Who do they think they are? A regular muffin for twenty bucks. What, did Superman himself spit in the batter or something?â
Jason snorted, pulling his hand back, letting go of you. He reached past you to turn on the sink, water splashing as he washed his hands, his movements efficient, practiced. âShouldâve used my money,â he said, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
You shot him a glare over your shoulder, cracking an egg into the bowl with more force than necessary. âI donât want your dirty money.â
Jasonâs eyebrows shot up, his expression mock-offended as he grabbed a dish towel, drying his hands with slow, deliberate movements. âExcuse you, thatâs hard-earned money.â
You scoffed, mixing the egg into the dough with aggressive strokes. âA nine-to-five is hard-earned money. Punching a guy in the throat until he pisses himself, then taking a cut of his drug profits? Thatâs not earning a living, Jason. Thatâs stealing a living.â
He barked out a laugh, tossing the towel onto the counter before snagging the apron youâd left draped over a chair. It was ridiculously small on himâyour apron, made for your frame, barely tied around his waist, the straps straining against his chest. He looked like a goddamn linebacker in a frilly half-apron, and the absurdity of it made your lips twitch despite yourself.
âSemantics,â he said, adjusting the ties with a smirk. âBesides, I do have a nine-to-five. Itâs just⊠flexible hours.â He wiggled his eyebrows, then grabbed the wooden rolling pin from the drawer, twirling it between his fingers like a baton. âNow give me something to do, or Iâm gonna start distracting you again.â
You groaned, but you couldnât help the way your chest warmed. God, he was impossible. âFine,â you muttered, shoving the bowl of dough toward him. âKnead this. Then roll it out. And donât mess it up.â
Jasonâs grin was all teeth. âYes, chef.â
The kitchen fell into a comfortable rhythmâyou stirring the frosting with a spoon, the metal clinking against the bowl, while Jason tackled the dough with surprising focus. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, forearms flexing as he pressed the rolling pin into the soft, buttery layers. The veins in his hands stood out, the faint scars on his knuckles a reminder of exactly how those hands usually spent their time.
You watched him for a second, the way his tongue peeked out just slightly as he concentrated, the way his dark hair fell into his eyes. A small, fond smile tugged at your lips. âLook at you, good boy,â you murmured, almost to yourself, before turning back to the frosting.
Jasonâs movements froze.
His head snapped up, eyes locking onto you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. For a second, he just stared, his expression caught between amusement and something far more dangerous. Then, like heâd been caught doing something he shouldnât, he bit down on his lower lip, teeth pressing into the flesh hard enough to leave a mark. His cheeks flushedâactually flushedâand he quickly looked back down at the dough, but not before you caught the way his shoulders tensed, like he was physically holding back a reaction.
He smeared the melted butter over the dough with more force than necessary, the sugar and cinnamon clinging to the golden surface. Then, with practiced ease, he rolled it all into a tight cylinder, his fingers pressing into the seams to seal it. âOkay, Iâm done,â he announced, âNow what?â
You set the frosting aside, wiping your hands on your apron before grabbing a baking pan from the shelf above the stove. The spray can of non-stick hissed as you coated the metal, the chemical scent sharp and artificial. You coughed, waving a hand in front of your face, and Jasonâs eyebrows twitched like he wanted to laugh, but he held himself back. For now.
The knife was next, the blade glinting under the kitchen light as you started slicing the dough into even, spiraled rolls. Jason watched, arms crossed, his weight shifting from foot to foot like he was itching to interfere. You placed each roll onto the pan with deliberate care, lining them up like little soldiers.
Finally, you slid the pan into the oven, the heat hitting your face as you shut the door with a clank. âNow we just wait for them to bake.â
Jason didnât hesitate. He was already yanking at the apron strings, âGreat. Iâll go take a nap.â
You turned, hands on your hips, and frowned at him. âYouâre not done.â
Jason paused mid-stretch, his arms still raised, his expression shifting from smug to confused in half a second. âWhat? What else is there to do?â His voice was laced with that toneâthe one that said he was this close to rolling his eyes.
âFrosting.â You grabbed a small bowl from the cabinet, the porcelain cool against your fingers.
Jasonâs eyebrows shot up. âYou already made frosting.â He gestured wildly at the counter, where the first bowl sat, thick and creamy. âEnough to give someone diabetes.â
You shrugged, setting the new bowl down between you. âYeah, but that frosting is for whoever we share the rolls with.â You tilted your head, your smile turning innocent. Too innocent. âI want my rolls to have different frosting on them.â
Jason just stared at you. His brain was visibly short-circuiting, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. âWhat the hell does that evenââ
âTake your pants off.â
The words hung in the air between you, light and casual, like youâd just asked him to pass the salt. Jasonâs entire body went still. His dark eyes locked onto yours, searching, disbelieving. âTake my pants off?â
You nodded, holding up the tiny bowl, swirling it slightly. âYeah. For frosting.â
A beat of silence. Then another. Jasonâs expression cycled through confusion, skepticism, and then amused. His lips twitched. âYou wanna take myââ He stopped, swallowed. âYou wanna use my cum as frosting?â His voice was half-laugh, half-gasp, like he wasnât sure if he should be turned on or concerned for your sanity. âLike, spread it on the cinnamon rolls?â
âYes.â You nodded, dead serious. âAnd then I eat them.â
Jasonâs breath hitched. His gaze flicked down to the bowl, then back up to you, his pupils blown wide. For a second, he just stood there, his mind clearly racing. Then, like a switch had flipped, his hands were already moving, fingers fumbling with his belt buckle, the metal clinking as he yanked it free. The button of his jeans came next, the zipper following with a sharp hiss.
You grinned, watching him, your voice dripping with satisfaction. âGood boy.â
jason todd using your lap as a pillow
tw: not proof read, this is just fluff
pairings: boyfriend!jason todd x female reader
You herd Jason's keys jingle at the front door of your small apartment. You paused the tv, looking over as your boyfriend walked through the front door, kicking it closed with his boot as he took his helmet off. He dropped his keys into the ceramic bowl near the front door, kicking his boots off as he made his way into your shared living space.
He was clearly exhausted. His suit was dusted in dirt and you knew he most likely had some cuts and bruises under his clothes. His gloves creaked as his fingers flexed, his jaw tense. He hadn't made eye contact with you yet. His helmet fell to the countertop with a clatter as he finally looked to where you were, snuggled up on the couch. His eyes softened as he looked over you, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You look cozy." His voice was low when he finally spoke.
"You okay, baby?" You asked softly, tilting your head. You knew it had been rough on him recently with patrols and all. Then again, Gotham was never gentle. The past week had taken a toll on him though. It seemed like he was out every night, fighting off some goons, coming home to you bloodied and bruised.
"Yeah," he said as let out a slow exhale, peeling off his gloves and tossing them onto the kitchen stool. His knuckles were red and angry, a couple of them split open, the blood already dried on his cuts. He flexed his fingers once more, wincing slightly. "Just another day in paradise."
You frowned a little as you grabbed the blankets that were currently draped over your legs, haphazardly tossing them on the arm of the couch. You hated seeing him like this, so gloomy and fatigued. "C'mere, pretty boy." You said softly as you patted your lap. He hesitated only for a second before making his way over to you. He laid down on the couch on his stomach, his large frame taking up most of the space as he wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his head in your lap. You threaded your fingers through his hair, combing through the knots his helmet left. Jason let out a soft sigh as his eyes fluttered closed, and he could finally put his guard down and feel safe now that he was in your arms.
â end note: i feel like this isn't that great, i just really wanted to write something fluff for jason <3
â if you liked this fic then i would really appreciate it if you liked, or commented, or reblog it! thanks for reading! â
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IN WHICH... i've mentioned before that jason likes to fuck in mating press...let's talk about it
MDNI 18+ â SMUT BELOW THE CUT
warnings: smut duh, basically porn wo plot, piv, rawđ«Ł, rough!jason, belly bulge, afab, f!reader, breeding ig idfk, ur both sluts, uh yeah
wc: 659
a/n: first smut writing kinda nervy...
Jason's had you in a mean mating press for what feels like forever, the mattress digging into your back, your legs tossed over Jason's shoulders as he drills into you. Your fingernails claw at his back, leaving behind nasty scratch marks that are sure to be there in the morning.
"Oh, fuck, Jay," you whine, tossing your head back to dig into one of the only pillows remaining on the bed. Your tits bounce softly in his face, moving in tandem with his thrusts.
He groans, the sound throaty and hoarse as his hips plap against yours. His fingers tangle in the sheets beside your head, the strain on his arms making them flex beautifully.
Jason's bigâthis is a known fact. His cock stretches you so deliciously, filling you up so deep in this position. Jason loved to fuck like thisâevery time he had you, it was his go-to. Not only did he like to see your face as he elicited sweet mewls from your lips, but he also loved to see the head of his cock nudging against your stomach from the inside.
So, he glances down to your belly, seeing the unmistakable bulge of him rutting into you. He presses a hand down on the spot, making you garble a moan. "Ahâ oh, god, Jay, that feels soâ mmmph." Your eyes roll back in your head.
He chuckles softly, pausing his thrusts to grind his pelvis against yours. "Yeah, it feels nice, baby, hmm? You can't even get a sentence out," he coos, groaning softly as he feels every thrust against his hand.
You can't seem to shut up, moans tearing from your throat even as he's barely moving. But alas, he picks back up the punishing pace, pounding into you rough and deep.
A string of drool escapes your mouth as your head digs into the pillow. "C'mon, baby, give it to me," he urges, removing his hand from your belly and using it to push your legs further back. "Fuckâ she's squeezing me so tight. She loves this, doesn't she, baby? Pretty pussy's gushing all over me."
"Oh, Jay," you whine. Soft trembles begin to wrack your legs, the pleasure overtaking your body. "Harderâ"
He obliges and speeds up, his fat tip nudging your cervix with every thrust. "I know, baby, I know. Look at me," he orders.
You only whimper, mouth in an "O" shape, head thrown back. He growls softly, his hand gripping your cheeks until you finally meet his eyes. "Fuck, yes. That's it, baby. Such pretty eyes, even when I'm fucking you stupid."
"Ahâ! Jay, m'gonna cumâ" you moan, legs shaking persistently.
He groans, head falling to your neck. He sucks warm, wet kisses into the flesh, surely leaving a mark. "Good girl. C'mon, cum for me, baby. Soak me."
His hand snakes down to slot between your sweaty bodies, thumb quickly finding your clit and rubbing tight, firm circles on the sensitive nub.
"Oh, fuck, fuckâ I'm cumming," you wail, making sure to look into his eyesâyou know he loves that, he always says it feels more intimate.
At the same time as you, Jason also releases with a soft, teary-eyed moan, planting his hot, sticky load deep inside you. Almost immediately it begins to seep out around his cock, creating a sticky, stringy mess as he shallowly fucks his cum back into you.
Slowly, he pulls out, watching as his creamy seed trickles out of your sweet, puffy pussy. "So good for me, ma. Always so good. My pretty baby..." he whispers, sniffling. You wipe away a stray tear with your thumb, smiling up at him.
Yes, Jason, your big, tough Jason, cries during sex. Sometimesâlike tonightâit's only a little. Other nights it's a full-on sob. He's your broken boyâyour broken boy who so happens to fuck like a pornstar.
He smirks, eyes glued to your messy, pulsing cunt. "So...now you gonna let me lick it out of you?"
â this does not canonically happen in the âalmost saidâ series, i just wanted to write him and reader making out LOL
summary đ jason gets back beaten, bloody, bruised. You help patch him up but heâs not thinking straight. Youâre in between his legs, then your hands are on his chest, his stomach, his ribs. Heâs really not thinking straight. Why? Because he kisses you.
tags đ MDNI!! childhood best friend!jason todd x fem!reader , semi-smut , hesitant!jason Todd , horny!jason , making out on the couch , bruised and injured!jason , friction seeking , soft grinding , built up tension over the years , first time.
wc đ around 1k
Jason lets himself into his own apartment like he's breaking into someone else's life. Key in the lock. Twist. Push. The door swings open and the first thing he smells is youâthat shampoo, the one with the stupid flowers on the bottle, the one he pretends not to notice every time he's in your bathroom.
The second thing he sees is the first aid kit on his coffee table.
Open.
She's here.
You're in his kitchen, humming something he doesn't recognize, filling a bowl with warm water. You don't turn around when he shuts the door. You don't flinch. You just say, "Sit down, Jason. You look like hell."
He should argue. He should say I'm fine and you shouldn't be here and go home like he always does.
Instead, he sits.
The couch cushions groan under his weight. His ribs scream. He ignores them.
You come out of the kitchen with the bowl of water, a stack of clean cloths tucked under your arm, and that look on your faceâthe one that says I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed, but also I'm going to fix you because you won't fix yourself.
You set the bowl on the coffee table. Kneel in front of him. Your knees press into the rug he bought at a thrift store three years ago.
"Jacket off," you say.
"Bossy."
"Jacket. Off."
He shrugs out of his leather jacket. It lands on the floor with a heavy thunk. His henley underneath is stainedâblood, rain, something that might be motor oil. He doesn't remember and he doesnât care.
You don't comment. You just pick up a cloth, dip it in the warm water, and start cleaning the blood off his knuckles.
Your touch is light. Careful. The kind of careful that makes his chest ache.
"You missed study group again," you say quietly.
"Had a thing."
"You always have a thing."
"It's called crime. It doesn't take weekends off."
You don't laugh. You just switch to a clean cloth, dip it again, and start working on the cut above his eyebrow. He hisses when the antiseptic hits.
"Hold still."
"You're not my mom."
"Thank God for that."
He almost laughs. Almost. The sound gets stuck somewhere in his throat, right next to all the words he can't say.
You work in silence for a while. Clean the cuts on his face. Butterfly bandage on the one above his eye. You move to his hands next, turning them over in yours like you're reading his palms, like you're looking for something he's hidden in the lines.
His hands are shaking.
He doesn't know if it's the blood loss or you.
"You should let me do this more often," you murmur, dabbing at a gash on his thumb. "You're terrible at taking care of yourself."
"I'm fine."
"You're bleeding on my rug.â
"That's my rug."
"It's our rug now. Iâm in this apartment more than you are."
He looks down at youâkneeling between his legs, your forehead furrowed in concentration, your fingers wrapped around his. You're wearing his hoodie again. The gray one. The soft one. It's too big for you. The collar keeps slipping off your shoulder.
He wants to bite that shoulder.
The thought hits him like a freight train. Where the hell did that come from?
"You're staring," you say without looking up.
"You're in my personal space."
"You're always in mine. Consider it even."
You finish his hands and move to his torso, sitting on the couch next to him. You lift the hem of his henley and he lets youâhe lets youâbecause he can't remember the last time someone touched him like this. Like he's worth fixing. Like he's not already broken beyond repair.
The bruises on his ribs are purple and black, blooming across his skin like bad flowers. You press your palm against them, gentle, testing.
"Does this hurt?"
"No."
"Liar."
"It doesn't hurt much."
You make a soundâsomething between a laugh and a sighâand reach for the antiseptic again.
And somewhere between the third rib and the fourth, between the warm cloth and the careful bandage, between your thumb brushing his sternum and his breath catching in his throatâ
He kisses you.
It's not gentle. It's not planned. It's not any of the things he's imagined late at night when he can't sleep and the voice in his head wonât stop and the only thing that shuts it up is the thought of you.
He's wanted this for so long that wanting has become a part of him. Like breathing.
It's desperate. It's stupid. It's brainless. Brainless because this shouldnât even be happening. Heâs pushing it too far. Pushing the boundaries heâs set for himselfâfor you two.
His hands come up to cup your face before he even realizes he's moved. His fingers are in your hair, in the soft strands he's dreamed about for years, and you make a sound against his mouthâsurprised, maybe, or relieved, or something else entirelyâand then you're kissing him back.
You taste like coffee. You taste like home.
He doesn't know who moves first. Maybe him. Maybe you. Maybe both of you, at the same time, like magnets finally giving in.
You're on your back on the couch.
His couch. Our couch, apparently.
He's on top of you. His weight presses you into the cushions and you don't complainâyou pull him closer, your fingers digging into his shoulders, his back, the waistband of his jeans.
"Jason," you breathe.
He swallows the sound. He wants to swallow all of them. Every gasp, every sigh, every whispered version of his name he's been collecting like stolen coins for fifteen years.
His mouth finds your jaw. Your neck. The spot below your ear that makes you shiver.
"You're hurt," you manage, even as your head falls back against the armrest.
"I don't care."
"You shouldâ"
"I don't care."
He kisses the words out of your mouth. His hands are everywhereâyour hips, your waist, the bare skin where his hoodie has ridden up. You're warm. You're so warm. He's been cold for so long, cold since the warehouse, cold since the pit, cold since he clawed his way out of a grave that should have been his forever.
You're the first thing that's made him feel hot in years.
Your legs wrap around his waist. He groansâactually groans, like some kind of animalâand drops his forehead to your shoulder.
He's hard.
He's been hard since the moment you knelt between his legs, since your fingers wrapped around his and you looked up at him with those eyesâthe ones that see too much, that have always seen too much. He's been hard since you lifted his shirt and touched his bruised ribs like you were touching something sacred.
He wants you.
God, he wants you.
He wants to push his hoodie off your shoulders. He wants to find out what sounds you make when he kisses lower. He wants to bury himself inside you and forget, for one single moment, that he's ever been anything other than thisâa boy on a couch with a girl he's loved sinceâfuck he canât even count how many years.
But he can't.
He can't.
"This is insane," he mutters.
"Probably."
"You're supposed to be patching me up."
"You keep interrupting."
He laughs. Actually laughs. The sound is ragged and broken and nothing like the laugh he used to have, before everything, before his life went to shit.
But it's a laugh.
And it's yours.
He kisses you again. Slower this time. Less desperate, more something elseâsomething he doesn't have a name for. Something that feels terrifyingly close to I've been in love with you since fourth grade.
Your fingers thread through his hair. You scratch lightly at his scalp and he makes a sound he'll deny later.
"We should talk about this," you whisper.
"We really shouldn't."
"Jasonâ"
"Later." He kisses the corner of your mouth. "We can talk later. Right now I justâ"
I just want to feel something that isn't anger. Hatred. Hurt.
I just want to forget, for five minutes, that I'm the Red Hood.
I just want you.
He doesn't say any of it. He just kisses you again, and you let him, and somewhere outside the rain keeps falling.
For the first time in weeks, he doesn't hear it.
He pulls back just enough to look at you.
Your lips are swollen. Your cheeks are flushed. Your eyes are dark and heavy and wanting in a way that makes his chest ache.
Something in him snaps him back to reality and all he can think is: what the fuck am I doing?
"Jason," you whisper again. "What's wrong?"
Everything.
Nothing.
I'm in love with you and I don't deserve to touch you.
I've killed people. I sell drugs. I have nightmares every night and sometimes I wake up not knowing where I am.
You deserve someone who isn't broken.
You deserveâ
"I can't," he says. His voice is wrecked. He doesn't recognize it. "I can'tânot like this."
"Like what?"
He gestures vaguely at himself. At the bruises. The cuts. The blood still drying on his shirt. "Like this. I'mâ" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "I'm covered in shit. I haven't slept in two days. I smell like a dumpster."
"I don't care."
"You should."
"I don't." You reach up and touch his faceâhis split lip, his bruised cheekbone, the cut above his eyebrow that's started bleeding again. "I don't care about any of that."
"I do."
He shifts his weight off you, just enough to put some space between your bodies. His erection is still pressing against his jeans, aching and obvious, and he knows you can feel it. He knows you know.
But he can't.
Not because he doesn't want to. God, he wants to. He wants to take you apart on this couch, on this rug, on every surface in this apartment. He wants to memorize every inch of you. He wants to make you forget every other person who's ever touched you if thereâs any.
But he doesn't deserve that.
He doesn't deserve you.
You sit up slowly, your hand still on his face. Your thumb brushes his cheekbone, gentle, questioning.
"Talk to me," you say.
"I can't."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
You're quiet for a moment. The rain taps against the window. The clock on his wall ticks. He can hear his own heartbeat, too loud, too fast.
"Jason," you finally say. "I've known you since we were nine."
"I know."
"I sat with you in the cemetery when your mom died.â
His throat tightens. "I remember."
"I was there when you came back. When you couldn't remember your own name. I sat in Bruce's manor for a year, waiting, because he told me to stay away, and I listened, and I've regretted it every single day since."
"Don'tâ"
"Let me finish." Your voice is firm. Steady. The same voice you used when you were twelve years old, looking Bruce Wayne in the eye and telling him you'd find him if he hurt Jason. "I've been in love with you for years. Years, Jason. And I've watched you push everyone away. I've watched you become the Red Hood. I've watched you do things that make me sick. And I'm still here."
"Why?"
"Because I choose to be."
He stares at you.
You stare back.
She chooses, he thinks. She knowsâshe knows what I am, what I've doneâand she still chooses.
Why?
Why would anyone choose this?
"Look at me," you say softly. "Really look at me."
He does.
Your hair is a mess from his fingers. Your lips are pink and swollen. There's a bruise forming on your collarbone where he got too eager, where his mouth pressed too hard.
He did that.
And you're not running.
"I want this," you say. "I want you. Not the version of you that hasn't killed anyone. Not the version of you that isn't broken. You. The one who reads Jane Austen and beats up drug dealers and cries during It's a Wonderful Life even though he pretends he doesn't."
"I don't cry duringâ"
"You sobbed, Jason. I was there."
He almost laughs again. Almost.
"I can't give you what you deserve," he says.
"That's not your decision to make."
"It is."
"It's not." You lean forward and press your forehead against his. Your breath is warm on his lips. "I'm not asking for forever. I'm not asking for a proposal or a white picket fence or any of that shit. I'm asking for this. Right now. You and me on this stupid couch."
"It's not stupid."
"It's ugly."
"It's vintage."
You smile. That real smile. The one that scrunches your nose and makes his heart stop.
"Jason," you whisper.
"Yeah?"
"Kiss me again."
He should say no. He should stand up and walk away and lock himself in his bedroom until you give up and go home.
But he's so tired of saying no.
So he kisses you and this time, it's slower.
Less desperate. More something else. Something that feels like coming home after a long war. Something that feels like the first good night's sleep in years.
Your hands slide under his henley, flat against his stomach. His muscles jump at your touch. He's bruised and battered and tender in ways he doesn't want to admit, but your palms are warm and soft and he doesn't pull away.
He doesn't want to pull away.
He wants to live here, in this moment, forever.
Your fingers trace the lines of his abdomen. The old scars. The new bruises. The skin that's been cut and stitched and cut again. You touch him like he's something beautiful, something worth cataloging, something worth keeping.
"You're staring again," he murmurs against your mouth.
"I'm admiring."
"Same thing."
"It's really not."
He kisses you harder, deeper, and you fall back against the cushions. He follows suit. His body presses yours into the couch. His hips settle between your legs. You can feel himâall of himâand you arch up into the contact like you're trying to fuse your bodies together.
He groans.
It's an embarrassing sound. Desperate. Needy. The kind of sound he'd never make in front of anyone else.
But you're not anyone else.
You've never been anyone else.
"I wantâ" you start, but he cuts you off with another kiss.
"I know."
"I want more."
"I know."
He wants more too. God, he wants more. He wants to strip off every layer of clothing between you. He wants to feel your skin against his, your legs around his waist, your nails down his back. He wants to hear you say his name like a prayer, like a curse, like the only word that matters.
But he can't.
Not tonight.
Not like this.
He pulls back just enough to look at you. Your chest is heaving. Your pupils are blown. Your lips are parted and wet and perfect.
"I can't," he says again.
"Why?"
"Becauseâ" He swallows. Forces the words out. "Because if I start, I'm not going to be able to stop. And I'mâ" He gestures at himself. At the blood. The bruises. The exhaustion carved into every line of his face. "I'm not going to do this for the first time when I look like I got hit by a damn truck."
"The first time?"
He freezes.
Shit.
"I didn't meanâ"
"You said the first time." Your voice is soft. Teasing. Curious, maybe. "Like there's going to be a second time."
He should deny it. He should say I misspoke and forget it and this was a mistake.
But you're looking at him like thatâlike he's something worth waiting forâand he's so tired of lying.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "Maybe."
You smile.
It's not your real smile. It's something softer. Something shyer. Something that looks like a promise.
"Okay," you say.
"Okay?"
"Okay. Not tonight." You reach up and touch his face again, tracing the line of his jaw, the curve of his cheek. "But not never."
đŐ. .Ő𩯠â whereas Tim Drake had his eyes on you from the very first week of the semester, he never expected his college best friend to start dating youâ the person heâd wanted all along. So now heâs praying for your (ex) boyfriendâs downfall, because God forbid a man openly plots to have you for himself instead.
cw: yearning, strangers to lovers, one-sided love, requited love, slight manipulation, mr. steal your girl(?), Tim wants reader so badly, HAPPY ENDING, fluff, irrelevant OCs, slowburn, reader is in a relationship, NO CHEATING INVOLVED, tim respectfully plays the waiting game, he is more of a plotter than a messy person.
lwk listened to girlfriend by avril lavigne & boyfriend by justin bieber on loop. wc: 16k
The first time Tim had met you, it was not anything special.
There was no dramatic collision in the hallway, no moment where time seemed to slow and the world sharpened around your face.
You were simply there, seated a few rows ahead of him in a lecture hall that smelled faintly of dry erase markers and iridescent lights, flipping through your notebook with absentminded focus and a laptop that had an open tab of a clothing brand, another piece of shirt that would compliment you.
Tim knew you both had taken a class together in the first semester, one of those general education requirements that pulled students from every major into the same crowded room.
It had been easy not to notice you then, easy to let you blend into the background of rustling backpacks and low conversation before the professor began to speak while he completely zones out.
What registered first was familiarity.
When he walked into the classroom and spotted you again in the second semester, a quiet recognition settled in his chest, the subtle surprise of realizing someone else had survived the same academic gauntlet and ended up here too.
It was rare to see a familiar face that was not tied to his major, rarer still for it to be someone he vaguely remembered for reasons he could not immediately place.
He remembered your handwriting from group work signs in sheets, the way you always underlined titles twice, the fact that you asked questions that were thoughtful without trying to impress anyone.
Someone who arrived a few minutes early and claimed the same seat near the aisle. Someone who sighed softly when the professor went off on a tangent, who laughed under your breath at jokes that barely landed. Tim noticed these things without meaning to, the same way he noticed patterns everywhere else in his life. None of it felt important at the time.
You were just another student, another name on the roster, another presence in a room full of them.
If anyone had asked him then, he would have said meeting you meant nothing at all.
Just a coincidence.
Just shared schedules and overlapping paths.
But it kind of changed when he started to interact with you.
It was never anything important, never anything that felt like the start of something. Small comments exchanged before class, a quiet complaint about an upcoming exam, a brief conversation about how unbearable the assigned readings were. Mundane things. Things he would not have remembered on any other day.
And yet, he found himself listening.
He listened when you talked about how you always forgot to bring a charger and lived in a constant state of low battery panic. He listened when you mentioned grabbing coffee after class, not as an invitation, just as information offered into the air. He listened to the way your voice softened when you spoke about things you liked, even when the topic was painfully ordinary compared to.. well, Timâs night life.
Somehow, you had decided to sit next to him through these lectures.
You went on about your weekend plans, part time jobs, a professor you could not stand.
Tim told himself it was nothing.
He was just being polite.
Just filling the silence like everyone else did.
But somewhere along the way, he realized he was paying attention in a way he did not with anyone else.
He remembered details he did not need to remember.
The brand of pens you preferred, the way you tapped your fingers against the desk when you were thinking and the way you slightly lift your shoulders when you laughed, like you were surprised by your own amusement.
The conversations never lingered long.
They ended when class began, when one of you packed up your things, when life naturally pulled you in separate directions.
Still, he caught himself replaying them afterward, cataloging your words as if they held weight simply because they had come from you.
It unsettled him, a little.
How something so ordinary could start to feel significant.
That was when it started, when he began to have this small, itsy bitsy, nothing serious kind of crush on you.
âIt was just proximity,â he told himself, over and over, as if repeating it enough times would make it true. As if that alone explained why he started waking up earlier than he ever had before, setting alarms he did not need, just so he could take his time.
Why he stood in front of his closet longer than usual, choosing something awfully comfortable yet still deliberate, still stylish in a way that looked effortless if no one thought too hard about it.
He paid attention to things he normally did not.
Made sure his hair did not resemble a birdâs nest, fingers combing through it until it sat just right. He actually showered in the morning now, instead of the night before, letting the hot water wake him fully as he went through the motions with more care than necessary.
He chose a scent that lingered without being overwhelming, something clean, something he thought you might notice if you were close enough.
And then there was the mirror.
Heâd lowkey snap outfit flicks.
Sometimes, it would be little videos or photos perfectly timed to show off how his clothes fit just right, and the fact he could fit your aesthetic, or match your outfits like what couples usually do (you guys barely interacted more than 15 minutes and he doesnât even have your instagram, because heâs a wimp to ask, even though he had found you on Instagram easily).
Everyone likes a guy that could dress and match them, right? Right.
Heâd pick a song that matched the vibe as well, something cool but casual, and post it to his Instagram story, followed by hundreds of thousands of people since heâs famously one of Bruceâs adopted sons, which comes with perks and downsides (this was one of the downsides), but without making a big deal out of it.
Then, of course, heâd save those stories to his highlights, making it easy for you to stumble across them whenever you felt like it. All so you couldâwhether you wanted to or notâ notice just how cool and awesome his fits were.
Yeah, he was a total D1-plotter, and he wasnât even the slightest bit ashamed of it.
Because, reallyâ if girls could do it, why couldnât guys?
He has a second account as well, only followed by his close friends, his annoying older brothers and Damian too, but he absolutely could not wait for you to eventually be added to his spam account.
One that had more outfit flicks saved neatly in his highlights. Another filled with his friends getting up to shenanigans he would never post publicly on the main, the kind of moments meant only for people he trusted.
Mixed in between were appearances from his brothers, candid shots and blink and you miss it videos that felt oddly domestic for someone like him, and then there were the miscellaneous things. Late night thoughts typed in tiny text, blurry city lights, half eaten food, dumb memes, moments that did not need context to matter.
And because Tim is a show-off, heâs definitely bringing his skateboard to ride around campus today, so he could catch your attention, most likely talk to you, compliment your outfit of the day, ask for your Instagram, and uh, talk about how long heâs been skateboarding and if he could do a kickflip, which he abso-flipping-lutely could do one.
Not only that, he also had a highlight of videos of skateboard tricks too on his spam account, clean landings, a few near wipes, proof that he actually knew what he was doing and was not just carrying it around for show.
And boom.
There yaâ go.
Simple as that.
A small plan with a big hope: to get a little closer, one casual skate session and maybe even one date with you.
Before he knew it, Tim was out of his apartment, cruising down the sidewalks with the breeze tugging at his jacket, the familiar hum of wheels against concrete keeping his mind sharp. Up ahead, something, or rather, someoneâ caught his eye. A familiar figure, moving at their own pace, completely unaware of him approaching.
âYo, Miro!â
Tim called out, his voice cutting through the morning air with an easy confidence.
He stopped smoothly, catching his skateboard with one hand and tilting it casually within his hold, like it was no effort at all.
âHey, man!â
Miro greeted him with a laugh, already extending his hand.
Tim understood immediately, muscle memory kicking in as they went through the usual handshake without missing a beat.
Their knuckles met first, fingers bumping, followed by their fingers interlocking for a brief second, It ended with a solid dap up before Tim tugged Miro in for a quick side hug, shoulders knocking together in an easy, comfortable way that spoke of routine and familiarity rather than anything forced.
âYou freshened up today, bro, tryna impress someone?â
Miro pulls away with a raised brow, clearly noticing the way Timâs hair sat a little too neat to be accidental, the whole look pulled together in that effortlessly intentional way. And then there was the scentâ something clean, subtle, and lingering just enough to be noticed when he stepped closer.
Tim scoffed, rolling his eyes as he shifted his grip on the skateboard. âWhat? Nah,â he said a little too quickly, which absolutely did not help his case.
He shrugged like it was nothing, like he always looked this put together, like the extra effort not been deliberate at all.
But the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying him.
âCanât a guy look good for himself?â He added, tone light, defensive in that way that meant Miro had hit a nerve that made Miro whistled a teasing tune, nudging his shoulder against Timâs own.
He leaned back on his heel, pretending the conversation was amusing rather than mildly exposing, even as the smell of his cologne hung in the air, undeniable proof that, yeahâ he had definitely freshened up for a reason.
âYouâre such a liar, Tim. Is it that girl youâve been tellinâ me about in your class?â
Timâs shoulders deflated.
âYeah,â he admitted, voice dropping just a notch, âsheâs the pretty girl Iâve been telling you about.â He confirms, glancing away for half a second, jaw tightening like he was bracing himself. âI wanna ask her out, but Iâm flippinâ nervous.â
Miro immediately cooed in mock sympathy, dragging it out just to be annoying. âAww,â he teased, pressing a hand to his chest. âLook at you. Tim Drake, nervous over a girl.â
Tim shot him a look, equal parts warning and embarrassment. âDonât,â he muttered, shifting his weight, skateboard tapping lightly against the pavement. âThis is serious.â
Miro just grinned wider, clearly enjoying this far too much. âNah, I get it,â he said, still not letting go of the teasing tone. âSheâs got you down bad.â
Tim huffed, rubbing the back of his neck.
Miro was more than just some random guy he talked to in passing that happened to be going in the same direction, but he was an actual friend.
They had shared a computer science class in their first semester, ended up sitting next to each other by chance, and somehow never stopped talking after that. What started as borrowing a charger and comparing notes had turned into easy conversations, inside jokes, and a familiar presence that made long lectures more bearable.
Miro is also the kind of friend who notices things.
And if anyone was going to call him out for putting in extra effort, for being nervous in a way he rarely was, it was Miro and most likely Steph.
Which made admitting it out loud both easier and infinitely more embarrassing.
âAre we still going out for drinks with Steph, Zinnia, and Ezra?â Tim asked, a little too quickly, very obviously changing the topic before Miro could dig any deeper into his small crush.
âMhm,â Miro hummed, an entertained smile tugging at his lips at the sudden change of topic as he nodded along. âThough Ezra said heâs bringing his girl to meet us, even though he doesnât want to.â He shook his head, a small frown settling in. âDonât get why Ezraâs ashamed of her. Itâs cool if he brings her along, yâknow?â
Tim frowned at that, brows knitting together. âAshamed?â he repeated, tone sharper than he intended. He shifted his skateboard under his arm once more, jaw tightening.
âThatâs⊠weird, I didnât know he had a girl.â
âRight?â Miro pitched his voice, pulling a drink from the side of his bag. âLike, either youâre with someone or youâre not, hiding her just makes it worse and yahâ I didnât know either.â
Tim nodded slowly, the thought sticking with him longer than he expected. The idea of being embarrassed by someone you chose to be with rubbed him the wrong way.
He exhaled, forcing his expression back to neutral.
âYaâ think itâs like a situationship? I thought he was still hung up with yaâknow who.â
Miro snorts at that.
âNah,â Miro said immediately, waving it off. âEven though Ezra keeps talkinâ about how many people heâs getting and all that, heâs been telling me sheâs a keeper and that heâs moved on from that big olâ crush.â
Tim hummed at that, thoughtful, eyes briefly dropping to the pavement, letting Miro run his mouth to fill the silence between them as he took a swig of his bottled water. âMan, how does Ezra do it?â Miro muttered, kicking a pebble. âDude has the charisma that could probably rival Nightwing.â
Miro scoffs, but Tim raised a brow at his own words, the comparison landing heavier than he expected.
His older brotherâs vigilante name had a way of doing that, slipping into conversations uninvited and lingering longer than necessary, becoming a symbol to Gotham and his charm that had women posting forums about how they bet he looks good underneath that mask.
Dick had always been like that, though.
Effortless charm, easy smiles, and the kind of presence that pulled people in without trying.
âI would pay to see Nightwing and Ezra going toe to toe,â Tim mused, lips quirking up as the image formed in his head.
He already knew how it would end.
Ezra would lose.
Badly.
Even with a pretty face, it did not come close to Dick Grayson, which he could honestly admitâ it was a fact that everyone and their mama knew.
That was just an unfair comparison.
Dickâs face is literally a public service at this point, plastered across magazines and billboards, the undisputed #1 lethal face card of the Wayne family, according to Reddit, Twitter, and an article that had statistics, polls, and the golden ratio of their face displayed on Gotham Gazetteâs ranking on the Wayne family.
It was the kind of face that launched headlines, sponsorships, and unnecessary levels of public adoration.
Tim shook his head, half amused, and half resigned.
It was wild growing up next to that kind of genetic overachievement that did things to a person. Still, he could not deny it. If charisma were a competition, Nightwing would win without even realizing he was playing.
Tim was fine with that.
He was perfectly content sitting at number three on Gothamâs Gazette ranking, unofficially crowned âpretty boyâ by the internet and whatever unhinged ranking system people had cooked up that week.
A pretty boy should be with a pretty girl.
And youâre a pretty girl.
âHey, donât bail on us again,â Miro nudges his shoulder into Timâs.
Tim stumbled half a step, scoffing as he steadied himself. âI donât bail,â he protested automatically, even though they both knew that was a lie.
âYou and Steph bail way too much,â Miro continued, pointing at him. âYou guys gotta stop studying for once and live a little.â
Tim sighed, eyes flicking away as he adjusted his grip on the skateboard. âAlright, alright,â he conceded. âWeâll live a little.â He paused, then added more quietly, âNo promises, though.â
Miro grinned, clearly taking that as a win anyway.
Even if he did not know the exact reason why Tim and Stephanie were always the first to cancel, always the ones juggling too much, there was a reason for it.
One neither of them could ever say out loud.
The weight of responsibility sat heavy on their shoulders, the unspoken duty of protecting the city of Gotham shaping their choices long before plans with friends ever could.
âHey, after classes wanna go grab lunch?â Miro offered, grinning like he already knew the answer.
And he did.
âYeah,â he accepts, like it was the simplest decision in the world. âIâm down.â
Obvious, really.
If you thought Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne would obtain your phone number, then you were dead wrong.
He was far too much of a wimp to ask.
Instead, he stuck with the casual approach, offering a compliment on your outfit as he watched you walk in dressed cutely. You always tended to dress up a bit more on Fridays, he had noticed that over time. A little extra effort, a little more intention, like you already had plans waiting for you once the day was over.
Most likely going out with your friends, since your Instagram did not show any highlight of a significant other. No tag in your bio, no initials tucked beside your name, no subtle hints hidden in your profile picture.
Tim had noticed all of it, cataloged it without meaning to, filed it away like evidence he was not supposed to be collecting.
âHey, Tim.â You greet, âyou look nice today.â
âHey, UH, um,â he started, the words tripping over each other as soon as you sat down beside him. He froze for half a second, watching you turn toward him, grinning with clear amusement at how flustered he suddenly was.
He cleared his throat. âThanks, your outfit looks really nice too,â he managed, finally meeting your eyes. âGoing somewhere?â
The question hung there, casual on the surface, but his heart was already racing ahead of it, waiting to see what you would say.
ââThank youâ cat got your tongue?â you teased playfully, your smile only widening as you spoke. âBut yeah, Iâm gonna be with a few of my friends at the shopping center.â
The way your mouth curved when you smiled did something to him, a quiet rush of satisfaction settling in his chest. Tim felt his chest loosened as he nodded along, listening closely, like every word mattered. âThatâs nice,â he softly replied. âAnything particular youâre getting?â
You perked up at that, launching into a small tangent about something you had been eyeing for a while, hands moving as you spoke and pulled out your phone to show an image of models wearing the products youâve been looking for. Tim listened, really listened, mentally noting every detail even though he did not need to.
âA red scarf?â he repeated, brows lifting slightly.
He paused, eyes flicking over you for half a second longer than necessary. âThat would⊠look good on you,â he added, softer now. âCompliments you a lot.â
Tim had a red scarf in his closet, itâs the exact same brand and color of a burgundy red from the picture youâve shown.
He got it last year from Kon.
Perhaps, he could wear that scarf when he goes out for drinks with the others later tonight?
Yeah.
âReally, you think so?â you asked, and Tim could have sworn your eyes twinkled as you fiddled with your necklace, fingers brushing the chain in a way that felt unintentionally devastating and he could tell that youâre imagining the red scarf on you.
âYeah,â he repeated, a little more certain this time. His voice softened, earnest without trying to be. âI do.â
He shifted slightly in his seat, forcing himself to hold your gaze even as his heart picked up speed.
âThank you.â You were grinning brightly, flustered from the way you stopped fiddling on your necklace and decided to prop your hand against your chin, glancing away from Timâs gaze to his skateboard thatâs settled beside the space youâre in, settled on the nose and tail of the board, displaying the deck that only had stickers filled every corner of the space, leaving no room.
âYou skate?â
Timâs face lit up immediately, the nerves easing just a bit. âYeah,â he admits, almost too quick, shifting the board with his foot so it leaned closer into view. âFor a while now, actually.â He glanced at you, catching the interest in your eyes on the stickers.
âMost of these are from places Iâve been or people Iâve met,â he explained, a little sheepish. âI keep telling myself Iâll stop adding them since itâs already filled, but I never do.â
He straightened when he realized he was rambling, clearing his throat. âUhâ do you skate too? Or just appreciating the aesthetic?â There was a hint of a smile there, something softer, hopeful.
Your eyes flicked back up to his, amused, and the way you leaned in just a bit made his chest tighten.
âKind of, but it never stuck around.â You shrugged, âitâs definitely fun, I enjoy longboards to cruise, but nothing crazy.â Tim positively hummed at that, a plan forming within his mind.
âWell, if you donât mind, you should definitely ride along withââ
The door swung open.
The professor walked in with an announcement that cut straight through the low hum of conversation, immediately pulling everyoneâs attention forward and shutting Timâs offer down mid sentence. He froze, mouth closing just as quickly as it had opened.
You glanced at him, lips tugging into a small, pitying smile that made his chest ache a little. You leaned closer, whispering, âtell me after?â
Tim nodded, just once, trying not to smile too hard as he turned back toward the front. âYeah,â he murmured.
âAfter.â
The lecture dragged on in a blur of slides and half-heard explanations, Timâs focus slipping every time his mind circled back to you.
He replayed the moment over and over, the way youâd leaned in, the quiet promise in your voice. Tell me after.
He told himself he wouldnât forget.
That heâd wait, that heâd bring it up when the second class ended.
Except class ended too fast.
People stood, bags zipped, chairs scraped against the floor. Someone asked him a question about notes and someone pointed out his skateboard asking whereâd he got it from. And by the time Tim looked up again, you were already halfway out the door, glancing back once with a small wave before disappearing into the hallway.
He lifted his hand too late.
And just like that, the moment was gone.
Hours later, he was sitting at the bar with Miro and Steph at a circular booth table, nursing a drink he hadnât touched much, wearing that red scarf you mentioned, to fight the cold outside but a reminder he served himself of his failure today.
The place was loud enough to blur the edges of the day, music humming low, glasses clinking around them.
âI literally had the perfect opening,â Tim was saying, frustration leaking into his voice despite how casually he tried to sound. âShe told me to tell her after. After. And then I justâ didnât.â
Steph stared at him, unimpressed, twirling around a lock of her blonde hair. âYou didnât⊠what? Ask her to ride with you?â
For half a second, a wildly inappropriate image flashed through Timâs mind.
He immediately shut it down.
âNo,â he groaned, dropping his head back against the booth. âI forgot. It just completely flew over my head. By the time I realized, she was gone.â
Miro blinked at him. Once. Twice. âTim,â he said slowly, âyouâre telling me you fumbled a clean invite because you got distracted and didnât even ask for her socials?â
âYes,â Tim snapped, then sighed, rubbing his face. âYes. That is exactly what Iâm saying.â
Steph shook her head, already laughing. âThatâs actually tragic.â
âIâm actually mad at myself,â Tim muttered, staring into his glass like it had personally betrayed him. âI had a planâŠâ
Miro snorted, not even trying to hide it.
âCongrats, dimwit.â
Tim shot him a look, but the bite wasnât there. He exhaled instead, shoulders slumping as the frustration finally settled in. âNext time,â he wished quietly, more to himself than to them.
Steph raised her glass, eyebrow arching as she clinked it lightly against the table.
âYou say that every time.â
Tim winced, glaring at her at the comment, but before he could utter a word in his own defense, someone finally joined them.
âHeyy!â
Zinnia slid into the booth next to Steph, grinning like she hadnât just shown up late. âSorry, it took me a bit of time to get hereâ I just saw Ezra and his girl outside talkinâ bout something. They should be coming in any moment now.â
Miro waved a hand dismissively over the thrum of the music. âNah, youâre good!â he called back, already shifting to make room.
Tim leaned back against the booth, the tension easing just a bit as the table filled out again, though his thoughts stubbornly lingered on everything he hadnât said earlier that day.
Yeah, he wonât mess up next time.
âYo!â
A familiar male voice grabbed Timâs attention, pulling his focus toward the entrance. His head turned automaticallyâ only for his eyes to widen, just briefly, at the figure standing beside Ezra.
âSorry we were late,â Ezra started, a hand lifting in apology. âMy girl was fixing herâ ow!â
You nudged his side hard, sharp enough to shut him up. Your lips dipped into a brief frown before a smile slid into place, easy and practiced, like nothing had happened at all.
âSorry, sorry, I was joking! There was traffic.â
Timâs brain short circuited.
You.
Here.
With Ezra.
The room felt a little louder all of a sudden, the music pressing in as he stared a second too long before catching himself.
His grip tightened around his glass, disappointment settling heavy in his chest, quiet and unwelcome, as the realization hit him all at once.
Fucking hell.
âYeah, traffic has been bad, but Iâm glad to meet Ezraâs friends!â You smiled before introducing yourself easily, shaking Miroâs hand when he offered it, your smile warm and polite. Then you slid into the circular booth, settling in beside Zinnia like you belonged there, like this was natural, adjusting your blue scarf.
Wait, blue scarf?
âI like your nails, theyâre cute!â You complimented Zinnia, seeing the cute charms on them as she flashes them to you for a closer look.
âThank you! I got them done atââ
You nodded along, laughing at something funny with Zinnia when Steph mentioned something.
And then your gaze lifted.
It locked onto Tim.
For half a second, everything stalled.
The disappointment didnât disappear, but it shifted, tangled with something sharperâ surprise, maybe, or hope he didnât want to name. Your expression softened when you recognized him, brows lifting just slightly, a smile tugging at your lips like you were pleasantly caught off guard.
Tim swallowed, forcing himself to straighten, to look normal, to look unfazed. His mouth curved into something that resembled a smile, even as his thoughts scrambled.
Of all places.
And of all people.
You had to date fucking Ezra.
âTim, I didnât know youâre friends with Ezra!â You exclaimed, eyes bright with genuine surprise as you glanced between him and Ezra.
Ezra hummed thoughtfully, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he glanced between you and Tim. âYou know Tim?â he asked you, watching you nod your head, explaining you have a class with him.
âEzra and I have been friends for a while,â Tim replied to your unanswered question. âMiro was the one who introduced us.â
Miro grinned, clearly proud to have brought them together.
âYeah, small world, isnât it?â
Tim thinned his lips, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.
âYeah,â he mumbled. âA small world.â
Steph leaned in, curiosity bright in her eyes. âSo how long have yâall been together? We didnât even know Ezra was talkinâ to someone,â she said lightly, like it was just friendly banter.
Tim took a slow sip of his drink, gaze dropping to the glass. He wondered, distantly, if youâd take that to heart, if it stung even a little to realize his friends hadnât known about you.
âOh, we just recently made things official,â you answered easily. âTwo weeks ago, maybe? Weâve been dating for like a month and a half, but weâve known each other for a while as friends.â
âThatâs cool,â Miro comments, leaning back. âCongrats on the new development.â
âYeah,â Steph added, smiling at you. âHappy for you guys.â
Tim forced himself to follow suit, lips curving into something polite. âYeah. Thatâsâ nice.â His voice came out quieter than he meant, so he cleared his throat and took another sip, mostly to give himself something to do.
Ezra draped an arm along the back of the booth behind you, casual, like it was second nature.
Tim noticed the way you didnât lean into it immediately, just a half second pause before settling.
He hated that he noticed.
Hated more that it gave him hope.
âSo,â you dragged the âoâ, turning slightly, eyes landing on Tim again. âYou come here often?â
The question caught him off guard.
He blinked once, then nodded. âUh. Yeah. With them,â he said, gesturing vaguely at the table. âItâs kind of our usual spot.â
You smiled, warm and familiar, the same one from earlier that day, like nothing had changed.
Timâs chest tightened.
He told himself to get it together.
You were taken.
Ezra was his friend.
This was a dangerous territory.
Still, as the conversation carried on and the night settled in, Tim couldnât shake the quiet, persistent thought that kept circling back.
A mischievous, devious glint sparked in his heart.
He was late.
But not too late.
Donât get him wrongâ Tim wasnât about to earn the label homewrecker, and he wasnât about to turn you into a cheater or make Ezra one either.
He wasnât like that.
He wouldnât let Ezra cross that line, wouldnât let things unravel in a way that hurt people for the sake of his own feelings.
But that didnât mean he couldnât be patient.
He would keep things clean.
Honest.
If anything were to happen, it would be because feelings shifted on their own, because choices were made freely, not because he forced them into the wrong shape. Heâd wait, pick apart a relationship piece by piece.
Be there in the spaces where Ezra wasnât paying attention.
If the door ever opened, even just a crack, Tim would step through only when it was right.
Until then, heâd play the long game.
âHey,â he called, saying your name just loudly enough to catch your attention.
You turned toward him, brows lifting in question.
âYou donât mind tutoring me, do you?â he asked, tone easy, almost sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck. âI know the current subjectâ youâre better at it than I am. Would you be okay with that?â
It was harmless on the surface. Academics, it was reasonable. He wasnât asking for anything that crossed a line, wasnât pushing for something personal.
He only requested help.
Even though his grade was perfectly fine and he understood the subject well.
You nodded.
âSure! I donât mind. We can probably do it over the weekend, does tomorrow work?â
Tim hummed in response, already running through his schedule in his head. Tomorrow he had things to take care ofâ leads Dick had asked him to follow up on, work that mattered, work that usually came first.
Normally, he wouldnât hesitate.
This time, he did.
âYeah,â he said after a beat, decision made. âThe weekend works.â
Dick would understand, he always did.
âYouâre not getting turnt?â Miro asked you, tilting his head with a grin, clearly assuming your plans lined up with the rest of the group.
Tim stayed quiet, lifting his glass, listening a little too closely to your answer. It was honestly a good thing heâd never mentioned your name around Steph or Miroâ not yet, anyway. He knew it was only a matter of time before they caught on.
You canât really hide anything from the batsâ.
âIâll still drink!â You laughed, shaking your head with a smile. âNot too much, though, since I do knowââ you nudged your head gently against Ezraâs side, âthis guyâs going to get blackout drunk, and someone has to drive us home.â
Ezra laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. âYeah, yeah, donât remind me. Someoneâs gotta keep me in check.â
Tim watched the exchange quietly, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips.
Zinnia frowned playfully. âGirl, donât even worryâ I rarely drink, so if you need a ride, Iâve got you. Same with Tim.â She points at him. âHeâs not lightweight, so he can handle his shit.â
Tim glanced at her, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he nodded slightly.
It wasnât just about handling his drink; heâd be there to make sure you got home safe, no matter what.
âYeah, I know Ezra can be a handful,â Tim smirks, voice steady but quiet. âSo I donât mind taking you homeâ if he doesnât mind, of course.â
Tim looked over at Ezra, eyes steady as he waited for his response.
Ezra just shrugged, flashing that easygoing grin.
âWhatever works. As long as you donât make me miss out on all the fun.â Ezra begins to lift himself out of the booth, ready to hit the bar.
Tim smirked slightly, already knowing this was his way of giving a reluctant okay.
You caught Timâs glance and smiled softly, a subtle acknowledgment passing between you both.
Steph nudged him sharply on the elbow, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. âCome on, Tim, poolâs waiting,â she teased, tugging him toward the center of the bar.
Tim sighed, rolling his eyes, but the smile tugging at his lips said otherwiseâ he wasnât really complaining.
The night blurred after that.
Tim didnât remember much.
Actually, that was a lie.
He remembered a lot.
Every laugh, every glance, and every quiet moment tucked between the noise.
He watched you from the edge of the group, eyes quietly tracking as you went head-to-head against Ezra, Miro, Steph, and Zinnia at the pool table. You had the confidence, cockiness, and a tongue that had sharpness when you landed another ball within the hole effortlessly.
Your fingers absentmindedly fiddled with the little stick of your too many cocktails, a subtle sign of nerves or excitementâ Tim couldnât tell which.
When Zinnia fired off a sharp remark at Ezra that made you laugh, you bit down on your bottom lip, and Tim caught the small, almost shy gesture.
Then, after a few more drinks, it was clear youâd taken Zinniaâs offer to heart, leaning a little too heavily on the idea that either she or Tim would be willing to give you a ride home.
You got along with everyone easily.
âSheâs cuteâ hicâ isnât she?â Ezra slurred slightly, clearly well into his drinks, following Timâs gaze toward you with Zinnia. He watches you nudge Zinniaâs arm playfully, teasing you with a wide, mischievous grin.
âYeah, sheâs getting pretty close to Zinnia easily, and everyone else.â Tim plainly comments, still looking at them without a glance to Ezra, his voice calm and steady. There wasnât an ounce of jealousy in his toneâ just quiet admiration, watching you from the circular booth, fully aware that Ezra was the one lucky enough to be in a relationship with you.
A sharp thud echoed against the table, but Tim barely flinched. It was most likely just Ezra slapping another drink down with a bit too much enthusiasm.
âMake sure you treat herââ Tim started, his words trailing off into a loud snore that cut through the noise.
He furrowed his brow and finally looked over, only to see Ezra face-planting straight onto the table, completely out cold.
âYouâre kidding,â Tim muttered under his breath.
It was to be expected.
And that usually meant it was time to wrap things up.
The night finally caught up to everyone all at once.
Zinnia was the first to react, leaning forward to check on Ezra, pressing two fingers to his neck like she was taking a pulse.
âHeâs alive,â she announced. âBarely.â
Steph laughed, grabbing her purse. âAlright, thatâs our cue. Someone grab his keys before he wakes up and tries to prove heâs invincible.â
Miro slid Ezraâs drink out of reach to make sure it doesnât spill and shook his head.
âTold him to pace himself, which he never listens to.â
Tim stood, slipping his jacket on as his eyes searched for you without thinking. You were still by the pool table, gathering all of the numbered balls and organizing things back to its place.
He approached calmly, not making it a big deal. âHey,â he said gently, catching your attention. âLooks like your boyfriendâs officially done for the night.â
You blinked, glancing past him to where Ezra was being carefully propped upright by Miro and Steph, his head tilted down. âOh⊠wow,â you laughed softly, a little dazed.
âYeah, that tracks.â
Tim smiled, easy and reassuring. âZinnia said she could give you a ride, orââ he paused, just enough to make it sound casual, ââI can, if you want. Whatever youâre more comfortable with.â
No pressure.
âHm, it just depends which way you guys are going,â Tim nodded, offering a simple explanation without overthinking it. âWell, if it helpsâ Iâm heading toward the school. My apartmentâs pretty close to it, so Iâm willing to give you a ride over there.â
You straightened a bit, visibly perking up. âSweet, my apartment is around the school too!â
Tim internally screams.
âOhânice,â he replies. âThat works out then.â
Zinnia shot him a look, one that spoke of an understanding, before turning her attention back to Ezra, who was already half-asleep again. âAlright, that settles it,â she declared. âYouâre with Tim.â
Steph hummed approvingly.
âResponsibility buddy system. Love to see it.â
Tim shrugged like it was nothing, beginning to walk towards the exit with you.
âIâll make sure she gets back safe.â
âAlright, bye Tim! And it was nice meeting youââ Zinnia called out, already half-turned as she wrangled Ezra on her shoulder with Miro that also offered their farewells.
âYes, I hope to see you guys soon!â You chuckled.
âText us when youâre home!â Steph added, waving.
Tim lifted a hand in a brief wave, an easy smile in place.
âNight.â
It was just the two of you now.
âYou good?â he asked gently. âNot too dizzy?â
Outside, the cool air hit sharper, the night quieter than the bar had been. You walked side by side toward the lot, steps a little unsteady but determined. Tim matched your pace without comment, subtly positioning himself closer to the curb, like it was instinct.
âYeah, Iâm good,â you said with a small laugh. âI didnât drink too much, but definitely donât put me behind the wheel.â
Tim huffed softly, amused. âYeah, thatâs probably for the best.â
He unlocked his car and held the door open for you without making a big show of it, waiting until you were settled before closing it gently. Once he slid into the driverâs seat, he adjusted the mirrors out of habit, movements easy and familiar.
âSeatbelt,â he reminded lightly, already pulling out of the lot once you were ready. âI would hate taking my midterms just to get taken out by bad decisions.â
You chuckled, shaking your head before buckling in and taking his phone when he offered it to you, the screen still warm in your hands as you typed in your address. Tim glanced over just long enough to confirm the route, nodding once before his attention returned to the road.
âAlright,â he said easily. âGot it.â
The car filled with a comfortable quiet, the city lights slipping past the windows. Tim kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the console, occasionally tapping along to the low music playing through the speakers.
Every so often, heâd glance over, just to make sure you were alright, that you hadnât drifted off.
âI couldnât help but notice youâre wearing a blue scarf instead of red,â Tim remarked, eyes flicking to the fabric with a curious tilt.
You blinked, a small âohâ slipping out as your expression shifted. âYeah, they were sold out of red,â you admitted with a slight frown. âThere were only a few colors left, so I went with blueâ itâs a safe, neutral choice.â
Tim glanced over at you, then at the scarf, a soft smile tugging at his lips.
âBlue works,â he said easily. âLooks good on you. Kinda brings everything together.â
He paused, eyes flicking back to the road before adding, a little quieter, âBut honestly? Red would definitely look better.â
He lifted a hand briefly, tugging at the edge of his own scarf. âSo if you want,â he offered, tone casual like it wasnât a big deal at all, âIâm willing to trade with you.â
You glanced at him, a small, surprised smile tugging at your lips. âTrade scarves?â you asked, amusement shining in your eyes.
âItâs the same brand and everything?â
âYep,â Tim popped the âpâ with a playful grin, clearly enjoying the way you practically lit up in your seat.
âWell, if itâs the same brand, I guess that makes it official,â you grinned, reaching out to tug lightly at the end of your blue scarf.
Tim chuckled, the sound easy and warm.
âGuess it does.â
Then, you unfold the blue scarf, leaving it on your lap while Tim lends you the red scarf, his gaze still forward.
âI just realizedâ I donât have your number, or your socials. And since weâre supposed to study togetherâŠâ
You smiled, holding out your phone expectantly.
Timâs eyes flicked up, a small spark of surprise and something else, shining through.
He quickly pulled out his own phone, unlocking it as he met your gaze before focusing it back on the road, conveniently the light turning red.
âGuess Iâm going to have to fix that.â
You grinned, tapping your screen as you handed Tim your phone.
Tim took it, fingers moving swiftly but deliberately, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his focused expression.
Once he was done, he handed it back with a small smile.
âThere. Now youâve got me on speed dial.â
You laughed softly, slipping your phone back into your pocket.
âIf you already follow Ezra on Instagram, youâll find me pretty easily,â Tim added with a sly grin, his voice casual but carrying a hint of something more.
You raised an eyebrow, amused.
âIs that your way of making sure I canât avoid you?â
He shrugged, still smiling.
âMaybe, or Iâm making it easier for us to actually hang out.â
You chuckled, shaking your head but clearly entertained.
âClever move, Iâll hold you to that.â
When Tim finally reached your apartment, (10 minutes away from his own) he waited until you were safely within before pulling away, but the night lingered in the airâ a promise of what could come next.
Especially when heâs finally lying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling with a dazed look, his fingers tracing the soft fabric of the blue scarf youâd exchanged.
His phone buzzes suddenly, breaking the quiet.
He glances down to see a new notificationâ
You have a new follower!
Timâs lips twitched into a small, knowing smile as he unlocked his phone, the familiar username lighting up the screen.
Months.
It took months to get to where Tim was now.
Tim had grown bolderâ maybe even too bold.
What had started as small gestures and subtle attentions had slowly shifted into something more confident, more intentional.
His friends began to notice.
The way he lingered a little longer in conversations with you, how his smiles held a different kind of warmth, how his presence seemed to quietly claim space beside you.
Ezra, distracted and careless, unwittingly gave too many openings, moments where his attention drifted, words left unfinished, or promises forgotten, leaving cracks wide enough for Tim to slip through with ease.
He started painting himself in a better lightâ not because he wanted to manipulate, but because he genuinely believed you deserved someone better.
Tim wasnât one for games or deception; he was honest, sometimes brutally so.
He just couldnât stand the idea of you falling for Ezraâs careless promises and half-truths.
âStrange, you say heâs doing homework? We were playing a game for a couple of hours with Miro,â Tim remarked one afternoon, a hint of frustration slipping into his voice.
When you were in the library together, you often found yourself venting to himâ about Ezra being late, canceling plans, or how you had to keep asking to meet his other friends, always feeling a little on the outside quite disappointed after being friends for a long time.
Tim listened quietly, letting you speak without interruption, his expression softening.
âYouâre really patient, I donât know how you put up with that,â Tim commented, leaning casually against his chair.
Inside, he was quietly cheering for every one of Ezraâs slip-ups, each missed call, every forgotten promise, because it made this whole thing disgustingly easy.
An unspoken opening formed, clearing the path for a clean break.
Timâs voice softened, almost careful.
âYou deserve better than that, you know.â
Him.
Give him a chance.
You are on his spam account, a secret corner of Instagram where he quietly follows you and posts things meant just for you to notice. He shares Instagram stories that catch your eye, knowing youâll like them. Each post is carefully chosen, like a subtle message only you can understand.
He often checks your Instagram Notes, the little snippets where you share song lyrics. When he sees a song from a particular artist you like, he posts a track from the same artist onto his notes as well. Itâs his way of connecting without saying a word, hoping youâll see it and send that tiny heart reaction that means everything to him.
When he uploads videos of himself skating, you donât hesitate to comment or message him, teasing him to do a kick-flip. After a few tries, he finally nails it and sends you a video just to show off. It feels like a private celebration, something between the two of you.
Every time you spend time together, no matter how casual the hangout, he posts a photo or a story of the both of you, or how you always show up in his spam posts.
Steph caught on pretty quickly to how much time Tim had been spending with you.
Her brow raised the moment she noticed his hand brushing against yours and how you didnât pull away.
Later, during patrol, she didnât hold back.
âHey, Tim,â her voice crackled through the comms, sharp and teasing. âYouâve been awfully cozy with someone lately. Whatâs going on?â
Tim hesitated for a moment, then grinned.
âDonât know what youâre talking about,â he replied, though the tone didnât quite convince.
Stephâs laughter came through, warm and knowing.
âYouâre lying, isnât she still with Ezra?â
Tim shrugged, a small smirk tugging at his lips.
âItâs not like sheâs married, Spoiler.â
Spoiler gasps.
âRed Robin, you dirty dog! You better not cause any drama in the friend group, or become a homewrecker!â
âOh trust, I wonât.â
Thereâs a pause, just long enough to make it sting, before Tim snickers softly into the comm. âBut she wouldnât say no to seeing her favorite band, would she?â
Another sharp, scandalized gasp crackles through the line.
âTim!â
He can practically hear the glare through the static. He grins anyway, fingers tapping idly against the console as if he hasnât already crossed several invisible lines.
âWhat,â he says, faux-innocent. âItâs just a concert, friends do nice things for each other.â
If Tim were your boyfriend, he would never let you goâ always keeping you close, his arm draped around yours like you belonged there.
Heâd notice when youâre cold, slipping his jacket over your shoulders without a word, making sure you stayed warm.
Heâd never leave you alone in a crowd, always by your side, a quiet but constant presence.
And sometimes, heâd act like he already was, like the time he absentmindedly picked lint off your sweater, his fingers brushing your skin with a tenderness that felt surprisingly intimate and the look you gave him absolutely melted him.
The way you looked at him, the softness in your eyes, it was enough to make him forget everything he told himself about waiting.
He nearly wanted to break his own morals, screw the friendship he had with Ezra, to kiss you right then and there.
But he held back, swallowing the urge, knowing some lines shouldnât be crossedâ at least not yet.
âSo,â Miro said, smirking as he nudged Timâs shoulder lightly, âyouâre not trying to steal Ezraâs girl, are you?â
Timâs lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes flicking away quickly, avoiding Miroâs gaze.
He didnât answer right away.
The silence between them spoke volumes.
âYouâre kidding.â
And eventually, it leads to Tim explaining himself. Not all at once, not cleanly, but enough for Miro to understand whatâs really been going on.
Miro goes quiet as it sinks in.
Too quiet and blocking everything out.
He pushes his chair back, standing abruptly, muttering that he needs to go before he says something he canât take back.
Tim barely has time to react before Miro is already heading for the door. The last thing Tim catches is a sharp glare thrown over his shoulder, disbelief written plainly across his face.
It wasnât until two days later, they were on call together.
âYouâre respecting her boundaries though, right? She doesnât know you like her?â Miro asked through FaceTime, sprawled across his bed, reading glasses perched low on his nose as he watched Tim demolish his food after the debrief once heâs fully explained the entirety with Miro opening his ears once again.
Tim didnât look up right away.
He chewed, swallowed, then shrugged like it was obvious.
âOf course I am.â
He finally glanced at the screen, expression calm in a way that felt rehearsed. âShe doesnât know. Iâm not⊠crossing anything.â
A beat. Then, quieter, more certain, âIâm just being there.â
He took another bite, unfazed, like he hadnât just admitted to hovering in the margins of your life, waiting for the moment youâd realize he fit better than the person you were already with.
âYo, thatâs genuinely the most insane thing youâve ever done, Timothy Jackson Drake.â
Miro snorts, laughter bubbling out of him as Tim rolls his eyes, completely unbothered.
âItâs not insane,â Tim says, tone flat, defensive in the way only he can be. âIâm not doing anything wrong.â
Miro lifts a brow behind his glasses. âYou are actively emotionally investing in your best friendâs girlfriend, if that doesnât say anything wrong then I donât know what does and youâre lucky you explained yourself before I wouldâve had Ezra blasted you.â
Tim scoffs, reaching for his drink. âIâm being supportive.â
Another laugh from Miro, sharper this time. âYouâre being strategic.â
Tim doesnât correct him.
âFuckâs sake, bro, how long have you been plottinâ on her?â Miro exclaims, shifting to sit straighter on the bed.
Tim huffs, dragging a hand through his hair. âIâm not plotting.â
Miro just stares at him through the screen, unimpressed.
ââŠOkay,â Tim concedes after a second, quieter. âI donât know. Longer than I should have.â
He picks at the edge of his bowl, jaw tightening. âLong enough to know she deserves better. Long enough to know I could be that, if I was given the chance.â Tim huffs, stabbing his fork through his food. âEzra has the most unbelievable girlfriend in the world and he doesnât even know it.â
âThatâs not an answer, Tim.â
Tim looks away.
âSince the bar.â
A beat.
âTHE FUCKINâ BAR?â
Miro yells, nearly dropping his phone as he jolts upright.
Tim winces.
âLower your voice.â
âYou met her at a bar,â Miro hisses, eyes wide, âand instead of doing the normal thing, like moving on or being a decent human being, you decided to emotionally annex your best friendâs girlfriend?â
Timâs jaw tightens. âI didnât know sheâd end up with him.â
âThat makes it worse!â
Tim finally looks back at the screen, expression serious, almost stubborn.
âTo be fair, I knew her before the bar,â Tim says, pointing at the screen with his fork. âShe was the girl I told you about, from my class. The one I wanted to ask out.â He picks his food and eats it.
Miro just stares, disbelief spilling out in half-formed sounds. âIâ I genuinelyâ whatâ how could youâ is that why you stopped talking about âpretty girlâ?â His eyes widened, everything clicking to him.
âThat was her!?â
Tim doesnât answer right away.
He drops his gaze to his plate, letting go of his fork into his bowl.
âWell,â he mutters, almost to himself, folding his arm to lean closer to his propped up phone. âSheâs going to be mine eventually...â
Miro goes dead silent.
ââŠTim,â he says carefully, âyou sound clinically insane.â
Miro exhales slowly, scrubbing a hand down his face like heâs trying to reset reality, carefully not breaking his glasses. âYou cannot say shit like that and then act normal,â he mutters. âThatâs not confidence, thatâs a manifesto.â
Tim shrugs, too casual for someone who just admitted to mentally claiming his best friendâs girlfriend. âIâm not acting on it, not directly.â
âTimothy.â
âIâm waiting,â Tim corrects, voice steady. âThereâs a difference.â
Miro lets out a sharp laugh once more. âYouâre waiting for what? Him to screw up?â
Ideally, yes. It would make things quicker, but no.
It was more of you making comparisons, how you should be treated versus asking how you should be treated.
âFor her to realize,â Tim says finally. âIâm not forcing anything.â
Miro watches him for a long second, expression shifting from disbelief to something more serious. âAnd if she doesnât.â
Tim looks back at the screen, eyes calm, unsettlingly sure.
âShe will.â
Then Miroâs eyes flick to the top of his screen, his brow knitting together as confusion twists into disbelief, watching him immediately shoot up from his bed and readjusting his glasses.
ââŠNo FUCKING way,â he murmurs.
Tim frowns.
âWhat.â
Miro doesnât answer right away.
He just stares, scrolling once, then twice, like heâs hoping the information will change if he looks again.
âZinnia just texted me that Ezra broke up withââ
âYES! FUCK YES!â
The shout explodes out of Tim before Miro can even finish the sentence. Timâs chair screeches back as he shoots to his feet, fist clenched, grin sharp and unguarded in a way Miro has never seen before.
Tim drags a hand through his hair, pacing now, adrenaline buzzing under his skin. âI meanââ He stops himself, forces a breath, tries to reel it back in.
âI mean, that sucks, for him. Send my condolences.â
Miro blinks at the screen. âIâve never seen you happier than that time when Taco Bell put the Quesarito back on the menu.â
Tim scoffs, trying and failing to wipe the grin off his face.
âThat was a big deal.â
âThis is bigger,â Miro says flatly.
Tim exhales, finally sinking back into his chair, fingers drumming against the table like heâs trying to ground himself. âI shouldnât be happy,â he admits, quieter now. âI know that.â
Miro tilts his head.
âBut you are.â
Tim doesnât deny it.
âI am.â He grins, sharp and a little reckless, like heâs daring the universe to stop him now.
âWait, you gotta ask Zinnia why they broke up,â Tim points out, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. âOr, like, why Ezra broke up with her instead of the other way around?â
He ran a hand through his hair, frowning slightly. Tim had always assumed his plan would play out the other way that eventually youâd be the one to walk away.
So hearing that Ezra was the one to end it caught him off guard more than he expected.
Miro shook his head, amusement flickering across his face. âYou make it sound like youâre some kind of relationship expert or something.â
Tim smirked, leaning back in his chair.
âWell, Iâve been watching this mess long enough to know where itâs headed.â He glanced at his phone, eyes sharp. âBut stillâ gotta know if he knew, or if he just gave up.â
Miro sighed, shaking his head again.
âMan, youâre way too invested.â
Timâs grin didnât falter. âMaybe. But when you know what you want, you donât just wait around forever.â
Tim could see Miroâs face up close, the way his fingers jabbed at his phone with a mix of urgency and hesitation. He was most likely texting Zinnia right now, trying to get the details Tim needed.
âSaid âthey were better off as friends,â ended it mutually, but I think that reason is bullshit.â
Tim glanced up as his phone buzzed, a familiar caller ID.
âStephâs callingâ Iâm gonna add her to the call.â
Miro didnât look away from his screen.
âFine by me,â he muttered, fingers still flying over his phoneâs keyboard.
Within seconds, Stephâs face popped up on the screen, her eyes sharp and curious.
âAlright, spill. Zinnia is texting me that Ezra broke up with his⊠ex girlfriend now! Congratulations to Tim, condolences to Ezra. Whatâs happening?â
Miro filled Steph in, catching her up on the last bit of the conversation.
âZinniaâs saying Ezra broke up with her to stay âfriends.â Do you buy that?â
Steph made a disgusted face, pressing her phone against the mirror as she swiped through her makeup wipes.
âThatâs absolute bullshit.â
Miro paused.
âDo you know the actual reason, Steph?â
Tim watched as Steph hesitated, her brow furrowing in thought.
âNo, Iâm not really sure,â Steph replied thoughtfully. âUsually when people say that, it means one of three things:
1. Theyâve lost feelings but donât want to hurt the other person,
2. Theyâre scared of commitment, or
3. Theyâre interested in someone else.â She raises each of her fingers, going through the reasons.
âAre you asking Zinnia right now?â Tim asked, eyes fixed on Miroâs screen.
Miro nodded, then his screen froze for a moment, the lag dragging out the tension.
âWhen I pressed her, she said itâs ânunyaâ business,â he explained after the lag had passed, âbut honestly, she admitted she doesnât really know.â
Tim let out a slow breath, his eyes never leaving the screen.
âHmâ okay.â
The next time Tim sees you, heâd ask about what happened between the both of you.
Which was a few days later, when he finally found a quiet moment to ask. You were in his apartment, sprawled at opposite ends of the couch, a new season of a rom-com playing on the screen. You had mentioned wanting to watch it weeks ago but never had the time until now.
How did that happen?
Well.
Tim: Hey, is it alright if we study at my place?
Tim: the libraryâs is too noisy
Girlfriend (soon): ???
Girlfriend (soon): itâs a library?? How can it be noisy??
Girlfriend (soon): arenât we on spring break right now??
Tim: cmon
Tim: donât make me say it
Tim: fuck, could you pretty please come over to my apartment?
Tim: and hangout?
Tim: I miss our weekly study sessions
Tim: Iâll even beg on my knees?
Girlfriend (soon): alright alright
Girlfriend (soon): Iâll come over, no need to beg on your knees
You were already five episodes in, curled into the corner of his couch, while Tim sat at the other end with his laptop balanced on his knees. His eyes stayed fixed on the screen, a case file pulled up and neatly organized, which he excused as getting ahead on work for his criminal justice class.
He looked focused, intent, the soft glow of the laptop lighting his face.
Too focused, maybe.
Every now and then his fingers paused over the keyboard, attention drifting back to the sound of your laughter or the way you shifted closer without realizing it.
The episodeâs credits rolled and automatically skipped to the next one.
You stretched, shifting on the couch, eyes still on the screen.
âIâm kind of surprised,â you spoke casually, breaking the comfortable quiet. âYou havenât asked me why we broke up.â
Timâs fingers stilled on the keyboard.
For a split second, his gaze stayed on the laptop, jaw tightening just enough to give him away.
Then he looked over at you, expression carefully neutral.
âI didnât want to pry,â he slowly dragged, making it sound reasonable, which it honestly didâ he didnât want to pry it out of you.
But his laptop screen had long stopped updating, the case file forgotten as his full attention settled on you now, waiting to hear what youâd say next.
âDo you want to know?â You asked, raising a brow towards him.
Tim shrugged.
âOnly if youâre okay with sharing it.â
Please do.
âHe broke up with me because he couldnât give me what I deserved.â
Oh.
âHe realized he was unintentionally hurting me,â you explained, voice drifting as you stared up at the ceiling. âMissing things, forgetting dates, always prioritizing other parts of his life. Heâs overwhelmed right now, so he decided to break it off and just be friends. Instead of trying to work through it.â
You let out a dramatic sigh, sinking further into the couch, the weight of it settling in now that youâd said it out loud.
âReallyâŠ?â Tim murmurs, brow furrowing.
He doesnât quite connect the dots yet, doesnât realize just how hectic Ezraâs life must be right now.
Geez.
âAnd,â you add, almost as an afterthought, âhe also lost feelings for me. Apparently heâs been falling for one of my guy volleyball friends.â
What.
âExcuse meââ Tim chokes, coughing as he straightens up on the couch, suddenly very alert.
You laugh, gazing at Tim with a glint in your eyes.
âYeah,â you said with a small shrug. âI actually set them up on a date two weeks from now. Weâre happily just friends since the dating scene with each other wasnât working. We only tried dating because he had this big, obvious crush on my friend, and I guess it turns out he never really got over it.â
You glanced back at the screen like it was no big deal, but Tim stayed frozen beside you, thoughts spiraling too fast to catch. The breakup had not been about distance or effort or timing.
It had been about someone else.
He did not need to calculate, wait, or maneuver at all.
Are you fucking serious.
You kept talking, unaware, filling the space with idle rambling about schedules and volleyball practice and how awkward it all felt in hindsight.
Tim barely heard you.
He shifted the laptop onto the coffee table before he could stop himself, and the couch dipped under his weight as he moved closer.
Too close.
You cut off mid-sentence when his presence suddenly crowded yours. Your eyes widened as Tim leaned in, bracing his hands on either side of your head, caging you in without quite touching. You pressed back instinctively against the cushions, heat rushing to your face, heart kicking hard against your ribs.
Tim froze too, just as startled by the proximity as you were, breath shallow, eyes locked on yours.
You were frozen there, Tim hovering above you, caught between your legs, his arms braced on either side of your head as if heâd accidentally cornered himself. The air felt thick, charged with the kind of tension neither of you dared to acknowledge out loud.
Then you broke it.
You grinned up at him, slow and mischievous.
âDid you get a haircut?â You hummed, lifting a shy hand to gently brush a lock of his hair back behind his ear, but it didnât last long because of his position.
âYour face-framing pieces are shorter than the last time I saw you.â Your fingers lingered for just a second too long.
Tim forgot how to breathe.
His hands stayed planted on the couch, but every muscle in his body went rigid, pulse thundering loud enough he was sure you could hear it. Of all the things he had planned for, all the conversations heâd rehearsed, this was not one of them.
He swallowed hard, gaze dropping to your mouth before snapping back to your eyes, completely undone by how easily youâd closed the distance.
Tim was a wimp though, and slowly pulled away from you, sliding back to sit upright.
He ran a hand through his hair, cheeks flushing hotter by the second.
âYeah, I got a haircut⊠yesterday,â he mumbled, avoiding your gaze. âI didnât think youâd notice.â
He could practically feel the heat pooling at the back of his neck, spreading in a way that made him painfully aware of every second that had just passed.
You grinned, swinging yourself upright and sliding your knees to sit right in front of him with a playful bounce on the cushion, you gave his shoulder a gentle shove.
âAww, are you flustered?â you teased, voice light and full of mischief.
Timâs eyes flickered up to meet yours, a mix of surprise and something softer lurking beneath the surface. He rubbed his shoulder where youâd nudged him, trying to play it cool but clearly caught off guard.
âMaybe a little,â he admitted, voice low and a bit shaky.
You leaned in just enough to close the space between you, your smile widening.
âI knew it.â
Tim swallows, his breath hitching in a way he definitely does not mean for you to notice. His gaze drops for half a second, then lifts again, steadier this time, like heâs forcing himself to stay present.
âYouâre enjoying this,â he says, not accusing, just stating it softly.
You hum in response, eyes flicking between his, unbothered by how close you are now. The rom-com keeps playing in the background, the laugh track distant and ironic, like it belongs to another room entirely.
âMaybe,â you reply, just as quietly. âThough, I just like looking at your shirt âBig Dick Back in Townâ? Really?â Tim grins, shrugging with a slight raise of a brow.
âWhatâs wrong with that?â
You could only shake your head.
His shoulders relax a fraction, his hands easing against the couch instead of gripping it so tightly.
âYou arenât sad about the breakup?â he asks, studying your face.
âNope.â You pop the p, grinning wide.
âWeâre grown adults. We had a whole four-hour conversation about everything. About what it meant, what issues were there, about our friendship. So weâre fine and it was three and a half months anyway,â you shrug, like itâs the simplest thing in the world.
Three and a half months was way too long by Timâs definition.
âWell, three and a half months is a pretty long time.â Tim commented, watching you nod, understanding where Tim is coming from. âThatâs true, but I donât regret being with Ezra. There were good moments in that short-lived relationship, and honestly, half the time it just felt like we were friends more than anything romantic. So it doesnât really feel like a waste, you know?â Tim hummed, quietly understanding with a so-so motion with his hand.
âThen, it mustâve been⊠not a serious relationship?â
You snapped your fingers, then a grim expression took over your face. âYeah! Or⊠well, I think so. It definitely hurt when he didnât show up for a lot of things a boyfriend shouldâveâ but honestly, he wasnât as invested in it as I was.â
You sighed softly, shaking your head a little as if trying to shake off the lingering disappointment.
Tim hesitated, biting the inside of his cheek, debating whether he should say what was on his mind.
Fuck it.
âDoes that mean⊠youâre officially available?â
You raised an eyebrow at the question, a teasing smile tugging at your lips, making Tim suddenly self-conscious.
âYouâre making me sound like Iâm some kind of product you can pre-order.â You snort, waving your hand. âGo aheadâ someone can preorder me, Iâm the only item on the shelf, limited availability, guaranteed to arrive before Valentineâs Day.â You shake your head in disbelief.
Tim chuckles, a little breathless.
And he doesnât know what came over for him to say thisâ
âWell, lucky me, then. I guess Iâd better place my order before someone else beats me to it.â
He winks, trying to sound casual but failing spectacularly as his smile widens.
You grin, nudging him lightly.
âOh, sure, youâre joking⊠right?â
Tim raises an eyebrow.
âYou wanna kiss me and find out?â
He watches as the room falls into a heavy silence.
He can almost feel the air holding its breath between them besides the Netflix series.
Time seems to stretch endlessly as he waits, watching your mouth open slightly but no words come out.
Your face completely blue-screens, and Tim canât help but smile at how utterly caught you are.
Tim burst into laughter, clearly amused by the shock on your face.
He noticed the telltale signs of your flustered reaction: how you suddenly went quiet, how both your hands flew up to hide half of your face, even if he could see it in your eyes of your uncontrollable smile that youâre trying to get it under control, and the clear way that youâve scoot back.
He reached over to nudge your shoulder too but you slap it away playfully, hearing him laugh harder.
âDonât get any closer to me!â
âRelax, Iâm just messing with you.â
But the way you couldnât quite meet his eyes told him you werenât entirely sure if he was joking or not and that made the moment even better.
He watched you struggle to keep your composure, the way you would try to hide your facial reaction from him every time he nudged you or threw out a cheeky comment.
The quick, sharp shove to his shoulder made him laugh quietly, but he could see the way your eyes sparkled with a mix of irritation and something softerâ something that told him you secretly enjoyed the attention just as much as he did.
In fact, thereâs an entire day where the two of you just âhung out.â And though it started off as just the two of you, you eventually ended up meeting the rest of the group later that night, a couple of weeks after the breakup, like it was the most natural progression in the world.
Though, obviously, Tim had already labeled it as a date in his head.
The rest of the day melted into wandering downtown, poking around trinket shops you always insisted on visiting before any hangout. You had mentioned it back at his place while you were on Episode 10, and he had gone along without hesitation.
At some point, you kept bumping into him, drifting a little too close to the curb every time you laughed or got distracted by a shop window.
Tim caught it after the third time, lips twitching as he reached out to steady you.
âDo you always walk like this,â he teased, lightly tugging you back toward the sidewalk, âor is this a special performance just for me?â
You scoffed, swatting at his arm. âI walk perfectly fine. Youâre just standing in my way.â
âUh-huh,â he murmured, clearly unconvinced.
The next time you veered off course, he didnât even bother commenting. He simply draped his arm around your shoulders, easy and natural, guiding you away from the curb like it was instinct.
His hand rested warm and secure against your upper arm, like it had always belonged there.
You glanced up at him, putting on your most innocent look. âWow, so now youâre supervising how I walk?â
âSomeone has to,â Tim said easily, a crooked grin pulling at his mouth. âYou keep drifting like youâre aiming for traffic, starting to think you planned this just to get my arm around you.â
That wiped the smug look right off your face.
You went quiet, lips parting like you had a comeback ready, only for nothing to come out at all.
Tim noticed, of course, and his grin widened just a touch as he kept you tucked safely at his side.
You were still very much in control of where you wanted to go, which was not surprising at all. Somehow, that freedom led you straight into another store and Tim barely had time to read the sign before realizing where you were.
PopMart.
He slowed to a stop, glancing around at the walls lined with blind boxes and glossy displays. âOf course,â he muttered under his breath. âI shouldâve known.â You were very much who youâre expected to be, one to feed capitalism and spend money on these lilâ guys.
You, meanwhile, had already zeroed in on a display, eyes lighting up as you leaned closer as if youâve been waiting for this day.
Tiny figurines were lined up behind the glass, all sharp details and dramatic poses.
The Gotham City Series.
âOh my god,â you breathed, pointing. âLook at them.â
Tim stepped closer, folding his arms as he followed your gaze. Vigilantes in miniature, capes frozen mid-swoop, masks carved with ridiculous precision, in a display box with all twelve figures.
Then he saw it.
Red Robin.
You stared a second longer, squinting thoughtfully.
âThis oneâs kinda cute.â
Tim coughed.
âKinda?â
You glanced back at him, grin turning mischievous.
âWhat? You seem defensive.â
âIâm not,â he said too quickly, shifting his weight. âJust saying. If youâre ranking them, that oneâs objectively⊠fine.â
You hummed, clearly unconvinced, eyes drifting back to the figure.
âWait, Red Hood might be cuter.â
Oh hell no.
âAbsolutely not.â
You blinked at him, amused.
âWhat do you mean absolutely not?â
âHeâs wearing a helmet,â Tim shot back, gesturing vaguely at the tiny figure. âYou canât even see his face. Thatâs not cute, thatâs⊠just anonymous and ugly.â You laughed, clearly enjoying this.
âMysterious can be cute and you donât even know heâs ugly!â
Tim scoffed.
âWell, he for sure doesnât look like Prince Charming, thatâs a traffic cone with trauma.â
You burst out laughing, and Tim tried very hard not to look too pleased with himself as he watched you reach for a blind box, silently hoping youâd pick the right one.
Not even a minute later, you were already drifting toward another section of the store.
This one was⊠different.
Rows of small figurines stared back at you, each one wearing the same expression of pure misery. Angry little side-eyes and sad, hollow looks.
Not a single smile among them.
Tim slowed beside you, taking them in. ââŠWhy do all of these look like theyâre judging me?â You crouched slightly to get a better look, eyes lighting up.
âOh my god, Tim! Theyâre all so cute!â
He glanced at you, then back at the figures.
âThey all look the same.â
You read a little note they have on the figures, glued to the glass and the artist of them. âTheyâre called Hironos, theyâre supposed to look like that. And look at that one!â
Tim leaned in despite himself, following where you pointed. In the back of the display box sat one figure giving a particularly nasty side-eye, a tiny castle perched on its black hair. It was crouched low, bound in rope, dressed in a black-and-white uniform that was unmistakably prison-striped and bandages on its knee.
âReally?â Tim asked flatly.
You nodded without hesitation.
âHe looks like you.â
Tim stared at it.
Then at you.
âHeâs literally wearing a prison outfit.â
âYeah,â you said easily. âExactly, you belong in prison with the way youâve been treating me.â
Tim snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. Then, without missing a beat, he swung his arm back around your shoulders, pulling you close until your noses were almost touching. The warmth of his breath brushed against your skin as he leaned in just slightly, voice low and amused.
âUnbelievable,â he murmured. âI took you out this morning, with your favorite drink in hand and your food too, and now Iâm already getting sentenced?â
You smirked, feeling the subtle heat of the moment settle between you, both of you caught somewhere between playful and something much more electric.
Without hesitation, you slipped under his arm, catching him off guard as you picked up a box, turned toward the register with the two boxes in hand.
Tim blinked in surprise, a slow, impressed grin spreading across his face as he watched your smooth escape.
âWill that be all for today?â the cashier asked, glancing between you and Tim, pulling up the total and placing them in a bag.
Tim mouthed âdonât let her pay,â making the cashier smile knowingly.
âYes, thatâll be all,â you replied with a smile, already reaching for your cardâ only to see Timâs phone beat you to the card reader, the screen glowing as he swiftly completed the payment and your head snapped back towards him, eyes wide with shock.
He just grinned, completely unfazed.
âTim, what theâ!â
He, of course, wasnât about to let you pay.
The cashier chuckled, handing over the bag, while you were too busy scolding Tim to reach for it yourself. Tim just laughed and grabbed the bag, dodging your playful slap on his shoulder.
âYou guys are cute, have a nice day!â The cashier called after you, still smiling.
You completely ignored the cashierâs playful comment, but Tim caught it and that knowing smile didnât escape him.
It was clear someone had already picked up on the way you two fit together, especially with the subtle, unplanned ways you matched, whether it was your similar jacket colors or the way you moved in sync like a practiced duo.
âYou absolutely didnât need to do that!â You exclaimed, narrowing your eyes and pointing at him with mock exasperation.
Your brow furrowed as you crossed your arms, the frustration genuine but softened by the teasing edge in your voice.
âI have my own money, you know. I donât need you to pay for me every time.â
Tim just shrugged, that familiar, cocky grin tugging at his lips, clearly enjoying the moment and you.
âI know, I know. Just return the favor later tonight, or when we grab something to eat,â he mentions with a teasing glint in his eyes.
He handed you the branded bag, watching as you rolled your eyes in exasperation at his good deed.
âSo,â he added, voice playful, âare you going to open up those blind boxes, or are you just going to stare at the bag all day?â You huffed, nodding reluctantly. âIâll open them, but maybe we should find somewhere to eat first. Itâs way more fun to do it with food.â
Tim grinned, clearly pleased with the suggestion, and didnât hesitate to drag you toward a nearby restaurant heâd heard good things about. As you walked, you could already feel the excitement building, blind boxes, a good meal, and friends later onâ the perfect combo for a day like this.
After about twenty minutes of scanning the menu and deciding on your orders, you caught the waiterâs attention and placed them with a few quick questions about the specials. Drinks arrived shortly after, glasses clinking softly as you both settled into the cozy booth, the warm buzz of the restaurant wrapping around you like a comfortable blanket.
The conversation flowed easilyâ small laughs, shared stories, and that quiet, familiar rhythm you both fell into when no words were wasted.
Finally, when the plates were still moments away, you reached into the bag and pulled out the first box: the Gotham City Series. The crisp packaging caught the low light, hinting at the tiny surprise waiting inside. Timâs eyes flicked up to yours, curiosity and anticipation mirrored in his expression.
With a quick breath, you tore open the box and reached inside, your fingers brushing over the tiny figure waiting to be revealed. You pulled it out slowly, turning it over to admire the fine details: the sharp mask, the cape, the laptop, and carefully sculpted utility belt.
âHeâs so cute!â
Timâs grin widened as he watched you, feeling a sense of warmth and a tad-but of jealousy from that compliment, clearly impressed. âNice one,â he compliments, voice low. âRed Robin suits you.â
You shot him a playful glance, pretending to mull it over seriously before setting the figure down on the table. âPlease, you wish you were Red Robin.â
He is Red Robin.
âBetter than Red Hood,â Tim shot back with a smirk.
You laughed, shaking your head, then reached into the bag for the next boxâ the Mime Hirono series.
âWhich one do you want?â
You hummed, pointing at a few figures you found adorable, âbut I would be fine with any of them.â You smiled, peeling the tab.
The anticipation between you only grew as you peeled back the packaging and the plastic, ready to see what surprise awaited inside.
You gasped softly as you pulled out the next figure, a tiny Hirono with a delicate feather perched on his head, wearing a makeshift newspaper kite strapped like a backpack. A thin rope was tied to his leg, the other end secured to a small bolt embedded in the ground beneath him.
The little guy looked calm and relaxed.
âI changed my mind, this one looks like you.â
Tim watched as you flipped the tiny figure toward him, slowly turning it a full 360 degrees to show off every detail.
âIs it because I have black hair and pale skin?â Tim teased, raising an eyebrow.
You shrugged casually, a sly smile tugging at your lips. âYeah, and blue eyes too,â you added, pointing to the Hironoâs faintly dark blue eyes, contrasting with Timâs lighter shade.
âWait, he has a lilâ card and it says Patience!â You cooed, taking a picture of your new âbabyâ, talking about your collection of them on your shelves, making this one your 17th Hirono.
Or your 17th âchild.â
Tim will never admit this, but he honestly found your love for blind boxes, specifically Hironosâ or the trinkets, veryenduring.
Later that evening, once the sun had dipped below the horizon and the city lights began to flicker on, you found yourselves back at the bar with the usual group.
The familiar buzz of conversation and clinking glasses filled the air, but surprisingly, there was no awkwardness between you and Tim.
There was no awkwardness with Ezra eitherâ in fact, when you saw him, you greeted him with a warm, genuine hug that felt natural and unforced.
Still, Ezra wasnât blind to what was unfolding around him.
His eyes caught the subtle details, the way Timâs arm casually settled around your shoulders, the slight protective tilt as if claiming his space beside you. He noticed how you leaned in without hesitation, your body relaxing against Tim as though it had always belonged there.
Ezra caught the quick, knowing looks shared between you two: the brief smiles exchanged over inside jokes, the gentle teasing that seemed to flow effortlessly, and how you would slap Timâs shoulder playfully.
Even Zinnia noticed, her raised eyebrow and subtle side glance betraying her surprise at this sudden shift.
Then, when it was just Ezra and Tim left at the table, the tension thickenedâ both of them knowing what was coming next. Ezra let out a low, bitter sigh, raising his glass to take a shot. This time, it was noticeably less than last time, his movements sharper, more controlled.
âIt doesnât matter to me anymore,â he begins, voice rough but steady, âsince weâre no longer together. But donât lie to me.â
His eyes locked onto Timâs, piercing and unyielding, searching for any trace of dishonesty beneath the surface.
Tim felt the weight of that gaze like a physical pressure, the room shrinking around them. The air buzzed with unspoken accusations and simmering resentment, the calm before the storm.
âYouâre going to have to be honest, Tim,â Ezra continued, voice low but edged with anger. âBecause if you think Iâm just going to let this slide, youâre wrong.â
Timâs jaw tightened, eyes narrowing as he met Ezraâs intense gaze without flinching. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, but he wasnât about to back down or give in to the silent demands.
âHonest?â Timâs voice was steady, edged with a controlled fire. âIâm not here to stir things up or hurt anyone, but yeah, I like her. I have for a while.â
Ezraâs eyes darkened, hurt and anger flashing through them like lightning. âYou decided to not tell me anything about it whatsoever? What the fuck, Tim? Donât tell meââ
His gaze was sharp, filled with a mix of hurt and a desperate need for honesty. It wasnât just about the breakup anymore.
This was about trust, respect, and everything tangled in between.
Tim swallowed, feeling the weight of Ezraâs stare like a physical force. âI will tell you,â he replies, voice quieter than usual but unwavering. âI like her, I have for a while before you two got together. But this wasnât some calculated move to take advantage of what was between you two.â
âSo youâre saying you didnât break us apart?â
Tim shook his head firmly, his words deliberate and honest. âNo. Absolutely not. You did that yourself,â he gestures toward Ezra with a pointed look. âI cared about both of you too much to ever create some stupid cheating situation. Thatâs not who I am, and I never wanted to be the reason you two ended.â
Ezraâs voice tightened, the anger barely held in check. âSo you were just⊠there for her? The fuck, waiting for your chance?â
Tim met the accusation head-on, his jaw clenched but his eyes sincere. âYes and no, I didnât plan for this to happen. I hated watching her hurt, hated seeing you both drift apart. I tried to stay out of it because I respected you, but eventually, it became clear things werenât going to work due to your own personal reasons, but yeah.â
Ezraâs jaw tightened as he studied Tim, the tension thickening the air between them. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice quieter but still edged with frustration. âI messed up our relationship. I got overwhelmed and missed things I shouldnât have not only in a relationship, but as friends. I had leftover feelings for⊠and new feelings.â He hesitated, letting the words hang, making Tim furrow his brow. âBut this⊠waiting in the shadowsâ it doesnât make it any easier to accept, even if it wasnât a serious type of relationship.â
Tim nodded slowly, his expression softening just a bit. âI get that, which youâre valid to feel that way. Iâm not trying to make this easier or pretend Iâm some hero, but I was there because I care about her and about both of you. I never wanted to be the cause of your breakup.â
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of everything settling between them.
âJust to clarify, we never did things romantically while you were both together. We hung out a lot, yes, I will admit. Thereâs some things Iâve done that could be interpreted as a move, but I knew to be patient and respect your relationship.â
Ezra finally let out a slow breath and shook his head, a reluctant acceptance in his eyes.
âWell, Iâm just glad you explained yourself,â Ezra speaks, his voice rough but sincere, âand that youâre giving her what I couldnât. I wasnât the person she needed, and maybe I never really was.â He ran a hand through his hair, eyes searching Timâs. âAnd yeah, we were truly better off as friends.â
Tim softened, nodding slowly.
âIâm glad. You two already talked about it, right?â Tim asked, though he already knew the answerâ it was more about hearing it from Ezra.
Ezra gave a slow, firm nod.
Ezra smirked, a teasing glint in his eyes as he raised his glass. âYeah, treat her better than I did, you two already look good together.â He downed the shot in one smooth motion. âYouâre matching with her, but not dating her yet? You gotta get on that, Timothy.â
Tim rolled his eyes but couldnât suppress the small smile tugging at his lips. âI will,â he promised, taking the shot Ezra poured for him without hesitation.
âI already thought you had plotted for this moment.â
Tim snorts, âman, I didnât plot shit.â Yeah, he absolutely did.
As the night wore on, the crowd inside the bar began to thin.
Zinnia and Steph were the ones supporting Ezra this time.
The guy really knew how to relax once the drinks kicked in, but he was definitely a lightweight. He leaned heavily on them, laughing more loudly than usual, his steps unsteady as they guided him through the cool night air.
Tim and Miro watched them, snorting before they see each other off.
âWell, it was nice seeing the both of you,â Miro warmly told, glancing between you and Tim with a relaxed smile.
You agreed, nodding your head with excitement on your grin.
Tim also nodded, but instead he extended his hand.
Miro laughed, understanding immediately. His muscle memory kicked in as they went through the usual handshake without missing a beat while you watched.
Their knuckles met first, fingers bumping, followed by their fingers interlocking for a brief second, It ended with a solid dap up before Tim tugged Miro in for a quick side hug, shoulders knocking together in an easy, comfortable way that spoke of routine and familiarity rather than anything forced.
âAlright, see yaâ man, drive safe.â
âWill do,â Miro replied with a wave as he turned and walked away.
You both started walking toward Timâs car, the night air cool around you.
âThat was cool,â you commented, glancing over at him. âI never realized you only do that handshake with Miro, not the others.â Tim smiled, eyes on the path ahead. âYeah, itâs kind of our thing. Something that just stuck between us.â
You hummed in affirmation.
âWhy? You want us to have our own handshake?â
You immediately shook your head. âNo, no, Iâm okay. I was just thinking it was cool, thatâs all.â Tim glanced over with a playful smirk. âCome on, donât act like you donât want one. We can have our own handshakeâ something small, nothing crazy.â
You hesitated, pretending to consider it but clearly curious.
âJust a little one,â Tim added with a grin. âNothing complicated. What do you say?â
After a moment, you finally smiled and nodded.
âAlright, fine. But just a small one.â
Timâs grin widened.
âDeal.â
You both paused right in front of his car, determined to get this handshake just right. Even though it was a small, simple one, the timing and coordination still mattered.
You stumbled a bit, struggling to remember the steps, and Tim couldnât help but laugh softly at your concentration.
âItâs okay,â he said, patient. âWeâll get it down eventually.â
Tim noticed the way your hand slightly shook when he reached out to hold your hand during one of the handshake steps. Your hand felt soft and smooth in his graspâ delicate in a way that made him instinctively careful.
His own hands were rougher, marked with calluses from everything heâd been through, but he wrapped his fingers around yours gently, mindful of the contrast.
His thumb brushed lightly over your skin, and when his eyes met yours, there was a quiet spark between youâ an unspoken connection that caught him by surprise.
Even as you stumbled over the handshake, fumbling to remember the steps, Tim realized it wasnât about the routine anymore. It was about the moment, the warmth of your hand in his and the closeness you shared.
He knew the handshake would take practice, but he didnât mind at all.
After about fifteen minutes, you finally got it down.
The first couple of tries came with one or two small mistakes, but you were confident enough to try again.
âOkay, okay, one more time and then we go home,â you laughed, a determined smile lighting up your face.
âAlright, one more,â Tim agreed easily, but there was a flicker of mischief in his eyes you didnât notice.
You focused intently on the handshake, your fingers carefully following his as you moved through the steps again.
The rhythm was growing familiar, the motions less awkward.
Just as you reached the moment where your hands were supposed to part, Timâs grip shifted without warning.
Both of his hands slid from your fingers down to your waist, wrapping around you with a steady, firm hold.
Before you could react, he pulled you closer in one smooth, deliberate motion.
You stumbled slightly, your breath catching as your body pressed against his.
The sudden closeness sent a warm rush flooding through you, your heart quickening in surprise.
You could feel the solid strength of his arms holding you, his fingertips gently pressing against your back, grounding you. Your skin tingled where he touched you, and the soft scent of his cologne filled your senses.
Timâs eyes locked onto yours, the usual teasing glint replaced by something softer but still filled with that playful spark.
His grin widened into that little shit smirk he wore when he knew exactly the effect he was havingâ when he knew he had you a little off balance in more ways than one.
For a moment, the handshake was forgotten.
The world around you blurred as you both stood there, caught in the electric tension and unexpected intimacy. You felt the steady beat of his heart against yours, the subtle rise and fall of his chest so close to yours.
Tim watched you freeze, your eyes wide as you stared up at himâ disbelief, surprise, and a flicker of irritation crossing your face as you tried to process how he had completely messed up the handshake by pulling you in so suddenly.
You stumbled against him, caught off guard, and he couldnât help but notice the way you struggled to hold back a mix of shock and mild frustration.
But then his mischievous grin grew wider, that confident smirk that he knew always managed to catch you off guard in the best way. You found your gaze flickering from confusion to something softer, as if despite yourself, you were charmed by him.
He held you close for just a moment longer, feeling the warmth of your body pressed against his, the electric charge in the air thickening.
Tim knew exactly what he was doing, pushing your buttons, teasing you, and drawing you in closer, and he loved every second of watching you fall, even if just a little bit, under his spell.
His voice dropped to a low murmur, almost too quiet to hear but impossible to ignore.
âI like the way youâre looking at me right now.â
You lean in slightly, your voice soft but teasing, though your eyes betray you completely.
âOh yeah? And how exactly am I looking at you?â
Timâs grin deepens, amused by how effortlessly you fell into his trap and the way he falls for your doe eyes, hypnotizing him.
âLike youâre waiting to find out what itâs like to kiss me.â
You freeze for a moment, the weight of his words settling between you like a spark ready to ignite.
Your breath catches, and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You try to steady yourself, but your heart is pounding loud enough that youâre sure he can hear it.
With a half-smile, half-challenge, you meet his gaze again and whisperâ
âMaybe I am⊠but youâre the one who has to make the first move.â
Timâs eyes gleam with that mischievous light, and without breaking eye contact, he inches just a little closer, the space between you shrinking.
The playful tension hangs thick as the moment stretches, charged and electric.
âI guess⊠I will have to make the first move.â
Without a word, he closes the space between you.
His lips meet yours with a softness that takes your breath away, like the gentlest brush of a feather. The kiss deepens, warming and steady, spreading a quiet fire through your chest.
His hand left from your waist to lift to cup your jaw while you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers light but sure, tilting your face just enough to hold you still in this suspended moment. You feel the subtle press of his body, the heat from him seeping into your skin, blending with the rapid beat of your heart.
Time seems to slow, the world narrowing to just the two of you. That kiss speaks volumesâ unspoken feelings, careful restraint, and raw, tender promise all wrapped in the softness and intensity of this perfect, unforgettable moment.
He does not pull away.
If anything, he leans in closer, like the space between you is unbearable now that he knows what it feels like to close it.
The kiss deepens with a quiet urgency, not rushed but full of need and patience. His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers curling there as if he is afraid you might disappear if he lets go. There is a faint hitch in his breath against your lips, something almost desperate slipping through the careful control he usually keeps wrapped tight around himself.
He kisses you again, slower but heavier, like he is trying to tell you everything he has been holding back for months. Every near moment and every time he stopped himself. You can feel it in the way he lingers, the way his thumb presses softly at your skin, grounding himself while still wanting more.
For a second, his forehead rests against yours, breaths mingling, his eyes closed like he is steadying himself. Then he goes back in, softer now but no less intense, like he is savoring this instead of rushing it. Like he knows this is something precious and he refuses to waste it.
There is yearning in every movement, his pupils that are enlarged, a heat that consumes his own being, a quiet desperation that says he has waited, that he has earned this, and that now that he finally has you here, he is not letting the moment go.
âIâve wanted to do that,â he murmurs quietly, like admitting a secret he has been carrying far too long. âFor longer than I shouldâve.â
His thumb brushes along your jaw again, pausing for just a beat, like he is silently checking that you are still here with him. When you do not pull away, his voice drops, softer and more intimate than before.
âTimâs girlfriend,â he murmurs, the words careful, almost reverent. âIt kind of has a nice ring to it, donât you think?â
You hum thoughtfully, lips curving as if you are genuinely considering it, a teasing lightness in your voice even though your eyes give you away.
âReally?â
âYes. Really.â His voice is steady, sincere, even as he leans closer again, like the distance between you is already too much. âYou should give me a chance, youâre all I need.â His breath brushes your lips as he adds, quieter, more certain, âIâd never let you go from me.â
Your lips graze his as you speak, the words barely a whisper.
âAre you begging me?â
Timâs eyes lock onto yours instantly, something intense and unguarded flashing through them. Your hand comes up to his cheek, warm and sure, pulling him back in before he can answer.
If anything, he leans into your touch, like your hand on his cheek is permission he has been waiting for. His breath stutters, warm against your lips, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low, honest, completely stripped of teasing.
âYes,â he says quietly. âI am.â
His forehead rests against yours, eyes still locked on you, searching your face like he is afraid this moment might slip through his fingers. His hand comes up to cover yours where it cups his cheek, holding it there, grounding himself.
âI donât care how it sounds,â he admits, voice rough with feeling. âI want you, Iâve wanted you, and Iâm asking now.â
He leans in just enough that your noses brush, his words spilling softly against your lips.
âLet me be completely yours, please.â
Your breath catches, heart pounding as you meet his intense gaze.
Then, you answered him without words, pulling him closer and capturing his lips once more.
Your fingers tangled in the strands at the nape of his neck, gently tugging him forward as he melted into the pull, falling deeper into the irresistible pull of your own magnetic kiss.
Beneath the shadowed skyline of Gotham, a shooting star streaked across the night, briefly igniting the darkness with its fleeting, brilliant light.
And Timothy Jackson Drake is completely yours.
a/n: HEHEHEHEEHE. now how we like thattttt, I lwk wishedâŠ. I had the balls to make Tim messier in this fic, but my boy is just a D-1 plotter and just nudging like âoh, how could you be so patient with himâŠâ âyou deserve betterâŠâ âthat was all on you, not me.â (To Ezra) type of thing, which he wasnât lying!! It was literally the matter of time before they cut that relationship off!! AND I made him such a lilâ shit truly. I hope you guys caught that Hirono moment!!! I decided to use âPatienceâ because it truly fitted Tim, a man that yearns is a man that EARNS.
THIS TOOK FOREEVERRRR to finish, please interact with this fic since that would mean a lot to me!! Happy holidays everyone!!
cw: bicep biting, teasing, male whimpering, dry humping, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, talking you through it, hair pulling, he's described as big, back scratching, creampies, not proofread.
â Featuring how sexy Dick Grayson is for his pretty girl.
boyfriend!dick who muffles your moans with his bicep whenever you're staying over at his father's, cooing, "You need to be quiet" so his family won't find out how dirty you are, as if he isn't the one fucking into you so hard the headboard's slamming against the wall.
+ Bonus points: Whenever you finish, and he pulls back to see drool on his arm along with the teeth marks, he knows he did well.
boyfriend!dick who can spend hours teasing you before getting to work, with light brushes of his fingers up your thigh, light kisses to your lips, and rubbing the tip along your slit, but pulling back once you start begging him to just fuck you already.
Eventually, you wear each other down; you're moaning out his name & he's struggling not to finish in two minutes.
boyfriend!dick loves when you go down on him, fists clenching against the sheets as he struggles not to guide your head, biting down the sweetest moan every time you swirl your tongue around his blushing tip.
After he finishes in your mouth, he'll always wipe your lips clean & whisper how pretty you are in the shakiest, hottest tone known to man.
boyfriend!dick who tends to get a little needy & sometimes ends up dry humping you till he's creamed his boxers instead of just fucking you like he'd originally planned. Noting "it felt too good to stop" while letting out a choked laugh & burying his face in your throat.
He'll always joke about it afterwards. But it's kind of obvious at the moment how embarrassed he feels about it.
boyfriend!dick likes to finger you after a blowjob, scissoring you open on long fingers so he can stare at the wetness pooling on your skin while telling you just how sexy it looks to him & licks you clean after each orgasm.
He likes to give you at least two orgasms per one of his.
boyfriend!dick has grown used to your nails sinking into his back every time he bottoms out; he's even grown to like how every few thrusts bring the sweet sting of your nails scratching at him in sync with sharp moans.
boyfriend!dick who is well aware just how endowed he is & always takes it slow to let you adjust, making sure to whisper sweet little praises in your ear.
boyfriend!dick who has made himself well acquainted with your clit, happily goes down on you every time you're being bratty or not in a good mood, knowing his tongue can be an instant mood booster.
He always moans at the feeling of your nails scratching at his scalp, pulling & begging for more, loving the sensation of feeling your pleasure through the sharp tugs.
boyfriend!dick who has a bad pullout game & ends up accidentally filling you up more often than he'd like to admit. He's so embarrassed when he pulls out and sees his seed spilling out, but your fucked-out expression always makes him feel better about it.
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dick grayson absolutely loses his mind when he first lays eyes on you.Â
you, who exited the elevator while clutching a folder so tightly in your palms that the bottom wrinkled under the pressure. he didn't notice you stepping out of the elevator until it was too late. your body crashed into his, papers from the folder flying around the two of you.Â
you immediately dropped to your knees, spewing apologies as you attempted to gather the papers back in their correct order and back into the folder.Â
"i'm so sorry, i didn't see you there," you stated again, first day jitters lighting up your body like fireworks.Â
dick took a knee beside you as well, handing you a loose paper that strayed near his feet. "don't worry about it, you're all goodâŠ"Â
your head lifted at the found of his voice, eyes meeting his.Â
yeah, he was a goner.
the meeting he was on his way to momentarily forgotten, his sentence trailing off, eyes wide and focused on your form. he swears he didn't drool at the sight of you (he totally did), but your tailored dress pants and fitted black vest over a white long sleeve caused a fuse to blow out in his brain, the only sign of life being the hearts that were replacing his irises.
he smiled at you in an attempt to regain his composure, the tips of his straight teeth peeking from between the curve. your eyes were the first thing he noticed. bold, beautiful, the depth of colour that sucked him in with no chance of escaping, not that he wanted to.
you held your hand out in greeting, adding your name softly afterwards.
his hand automatically lifted to yours, fingers gently curling around your palm with a gentleness that toed the line of professionalism. he parted his lips to speak, to will a sound to come out of his mouth. ideally, he would have a smooth line to woo you, to see if he could fluster you enough to get you to go to dinner with him.Â
but no words left his mouth. he was left gaping like a fish.Â
another time then. he would have to try his luck next time he saw you.
he didn't miss the way your brow furrowed momentarily before smoothing back in place at his silence. he really wasn't leaving the first impression he wanted to. he internally cringed at the thought.
"can you direct me to, uh, mr. richard grayson? these files are for him. from mr. wayne."Â
"dick is fine,"Â
"pardon? i mean, i don't know him but i wouldn't call him a dickâ"Â
your confusion only deepened at the sound of his amused chuckle. your hand dropped from his grasp to nudge a stray hair from your cheek before pulling the folder back to your chest. you lifted yourself back up to your feet and dusted your attire off.
he followed, eyes never leaving your face. he couldn't look away. he swore his heart comically beat out of his chest, like he was some loony tunes character seeing the personof his dreams.
well, he was. he was seeing the person of his dreams.
"dick grayson," he held his hand out again in greeting. "no one really calls me richard."Â
"okay, well, this file is yours then, mr. grayson," you slid the file into his outstretched hand instead, offering him a tight-lipped smile in return. his eyes flickered down your lips, brain short-circuting again.Â
"grankâ i-i mean great, thanks!" he corrected himself quickly. his eyes shut tightly for a moment before opening back up. "thank you for the file. this is great. um. you're doing amazing so far."Â
he paused for a moment before quickly walking by you and towards the meeting room. embarrassment heated his face like fire.Â
"grank?" he muttered under his breath in disgust. "what the fuck is my problem."Â
you turned back towards the elevator equally as confused, muttering under your own breath, "weird."
an: despite literally wanting to write vamp!bruce very badly (it's being written slowly but surely), I am really enjoying these small little blurbs?? might keep these going for a while. let me know if you wanna see more dick x secretary!reader lore or more vamp!jason x reader lore