2006

he's right where he wants to be

pairings: bruce wayne x reader; dick grayson x reader; jason todd x reader; tim drake x reader; clark kent x reader; conner kent x reader

warnings: conner and dick's parts are suggestive

a/n: just a little reminder that my requests are open :) it may take me a little while to get to them (if they're full-length fic reqs) due to work and starting college again. also thank you guys so much for 100 followers!!

"There you are." A strong arm hooks around your waist and yanks you into a solid chest. Bruce tilts his head down just enough for his voice to filter right into your ear. "I thought I told you to stick by my side."

Bruce had finally agreed to let you join a patrol with him. He'd been hesitating for a while because he hadn't wanted to force you into this part of his life just because you're dating him. Sure, you were a vigilante before the two of you got together, but you had given it up for a bit. He hadn't wanted to pressure you. Turns out he didn't need to worry at all! You're excited to be back in action, and you've been giving him the runaround all night, much to his chagrin.

"Maybe you did, but a girl needs to stretch her legs every now and then," you murmur. It's been so long since you've seen Gotham from the rooftops. You'd forgotten what it's like to look down and see across the city. It's a rush of power and adrenaline that sets your blood buzzing in your veins. "I'm sure you understand. Don't you, Br—Batsy?"

Bruce huffs under his cowl and loosens his grip on your waist. "I do, but that doesn't—"

"Then you'll forgive me for this," you cut him off. In the blink of an eye, you slip out of his grip and disappear into the night. Bruce watches in stunned silence for half a second before his gaze narrows on your form, now three buildings away.

Oh, it's on.

As he grapples across the city, he finds that he's not as angry as he should be. Batman should be angry that his new partner is treating patrol as a joke.

But Bruce Wayne loves you too much to want to damper your fun.

He's content to spend his night chasing after you, if only to have you back in his arms by sunrise. His boots hit the roof of the next building with a thud, and he realizes something phenomenal. He's exactly where he wants to be.

FaceTime! featuring Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake

Sum: Just some fluffy FaceTime moments with the batboys. Warnings: Mild swearing in Jason's, fem! reader. mdni.

𑣲. Dick Grayson ᯓᡣ𐭩

"Are you on top of a building?" You ask, leaning closer to the screen as if that will somehow help you see past Dick's face and the glowing stretch of Blüdhaven behind him. He looks unfairly good for someone halfway through patrol - black hair windblown across his forehead and the domino mask hiding those blue eyes.

"Yeah, so, like - hold on." He flips the camera around and immediately starts walking, boots scraping lightly over concrete while the screen swings between buildings.

"You live there," he says, pointing down toward one apartment tower, and then turns toward another. "And there's my place. Wait - " The camera flips back to him, his masked eyes narrowing slightly as he thinks. "Have I seriously never taken you up here before?"

"Must've been one of your other girlfriends," you tease, sinking deeper into your chair as you tug the sleeves of his sweatshirt farther over your hands.

mdni › bedroom physics ⋆˚࿔

⋮ ⌗┆cw: premature ejac :: flustered nerdjo :: facial's :: blowjobs :: cum play :: fingers in mouths :: sweet aftercare :: embarrassment kink :: established relationship

“fu-fuck you’re so good to me…”

the moan that left his mouth was pure sin and shamelessly slutty, trapped within the confines of his gaming chair and that illegal mouth of yours. at least in his books it should be. 

his grip tightened on the armrests, knuckles whitening, and whimpers escaped that he would be caught dead making in front of anyone else.

except you.

only you.

you only got that luxury of hearing him so pathetic, the way he pleaded for more of that addictive destruction. it was almost masochistic. 

he watched that pretty head of yours bobbing between his thighs; the wet pulls and sucks were sloppy, just how he preferred. the way you took it all without complaint, jerking to accommodate what couldn’t fit. “mmph–” your lips stretched around his veined girth, slickened in saliva. reminding him he was in the middle of speaking before that moan.

“right–” satoru’s shaky hand loosened on your hair, attempting to focus as if you weren’t dismantling every system in that huge brain of his. “i–i uh, got—mmph!” he bit down on his cracked lips, adams apple bobbing when you swirled that tongue around his tip. how you sucked only the sensitive crown, giving him those teasingly innocent eyes. you just stared, waiting patiently like you weren’t trying to laugh or moan; he couldn’t decide. nails digging steadily into his thighs. 

the fogged lenses barely hung on his nose; a bead of sweat formed between his brows. god, you were torturing him, and he loved every second. 

“i—hnghh—went to the advanced physics convention yesterday…”’

“and won first place–” 

his reward? faster sucks; that made your jaw ache and eyes gloss. effectively deep throating his dick like he wasn’t farrr bigger than average. every nerve ending on his body activated, his hips bucking off the chair with a broken cry. 

he was babbling now, nonstop between those pathetic sounds. you didn’t stop, even when you felt the drool pooling down your chin, dropping right on those perfect tits. a moan vibrating his dick, his grip almost painful now in your hair. trying not to be an ass and fuck your mouth senseless. 

“oh my god–hah–you’re so fucking pretty”

“wider…you can take more…”

“slow down–sweets, m’gonna—”

dick grayson- constantly shirtless

Somehow, he always finds an opportunity to take his shirt off whenever possible. He doesn’t do it to stroke his ego by showing his muscles and tan skin (well, maybe he wants to show off a little), but he just overheats way too easily, hence, removing the easiest thing he can get off his body.

It is definitely not uncommon to arrive at your apartment and find him just in sweatpants making dinner, or lounging around, or fixing his gear, or hanging out with his family. Matter of fact, everyone’s used to it already, so no one really bats an eye when Dick’s hands start to go towards the hem of his t-shirt.

He even has learnt tricks and some fancy ways to twirl his body around to make it sillier for those beside him, so at least they get a show of it. His favourite is a one-handed trick that left you completely flustered because he had one hand splayed on your waist while he pulled you to his chest, and with the other, he just took his shirt off with such ease that it almost made you stutter.

jason todd- casual dominance

He takes the lead everywhere he goes with such natural confidence that you just can’t help but ogle at him. There’s a fine line between being a gentleman and what he is, because the first one he considers basic common sense, but the latter is just how he has always been.

I’m talking about covering corners when you near one in the off chance you can get hurt, one hand always on your body when you’re outside, he doesn’t care if he’s holding your hand, you’re holding his arm or he places his in the small of your back. Replaces things for you before they run out, always assertive and direct with you in every context, he doesn’t play with you, ever.

Something he subconsciously started doing was speaking up in your place whenever you gave him “the look”, when everything is too much at the same time and you just want to go home but still have things to do. Ordering at a restaurant but you don’t really feel like talking? Consider it done. At a bookstore but you can’t find what you’re looking for? He’s asking the workers before you can finish your sentence. Jason often thinks he’s not the most incredible person ever, but he’ll always make sure to accommodate you to feel safe everywhere.

tim drake- pays attention

Tim stares A LOT, but not in a creep way, but rather in a “I’m trying to figure you out without you having to tell me” and he always guesses right. A slight change in your routine cannot go unnoticed if he’s nearby, and if he deems the situation appropriate, he’ll ask you about it, making sure everything’s okay.

“You have moved three times in 30 minutes since you sat down on the couch, is it that the cushions are too hard or that nasty fall on the staircases from Wednesday kicking your ass?” kinda observation. Very smooth with it too, since he doesn’t really bring things up until you find on your kitchen counter that one brand of tea you mentioned offhandedly months ago that your mom used to make you as a kid, and now you’re full-on sobbing because ??? how did he remember and where did he find them??

He likes paying attention to you, he finds comfort in being the one to know you best and learning what makes you be you. Long and deep conversations with each other is something you both cherish, but also knowing your body language, how you think and your passions makes him feel completely connected to you.

damian wayne- protective, not possessive

There’s something in the way Damian’s brain works that makes him want to protect intensely everything he loves, those being most of the time his family, the few material things the takes care of, and you. He doesn’t think of you as his or anyone’s for that matter, but that you and him belong together, and he isn’t shy when showing it.

This tendency of his is mostly shown because he cares, he cares so much that his family was confused at first because he’s usually grumpy and avoidant, but now, Damian clings to you the moments he’s with you. He often displays this as latching onto you and asking about you frequently, just enough to tread on the line between annoying and overbearing like “possessive insecure guys, which I’m clearly not” and protective and caring, always falling into the last category.

He likes when you go to him, doesn’t matter what for. A problem, a rant, a cuddle, or just his simple presence, he’s there for everything, holding onto them, protecting whatever you need him for.

roy harper- matches your freak

Roy’s up to do anything, he doesn’t really care if it’s embarrassing or loud, you tell him if he wants to do something and he’s up at 6 am the next day ready for it. You once confided in him that you felt a bit worried at times for being “too much” or “too weird” and even if he never thought of you like that, he spends every day proving that even if you feel that way, he’ll be by your side doing the same thing.

Tik tok trends, cringy dance moves in the kitchen, drunk confessions, not only he matches your freak, but he also corresponds it. Oh, you’re worried you talked a bit loud at the restaurant because you got too excited telling him the new game you’re playing? He’s screeching at the top of his lungs the next second because he thought he saw a bug, whoopsies.

PAIRING: Richard 'Dick' Grayson x Reader

SYNOPSIS: When he hears the love of his life get kidnapped over his comm line, Dick finds her in the nick of time, bruised and bloody, but still breathing.

NOTE: This was so fun to write

MASTERLIST

"Oh, what do I have here?" She grins, clicking the little device in her ear on, like she's seen Dick to a hundred times.

It's a minute before she gets a response, the telltale 'click' over the other side indicating someone's joined the frequency.

"Did I leave it with you again?" He groans. "I've been looking for that, Bruce is gonna have my head if he finds out I found the comm after I made him replace it."

"Maybe if you didn't shuck your suit off on the floor the second you come home, and actually put it away properly, you wouldn't be losing things all the time." She shakes her head, coming to a stop at the bus stand, squinting her eyes to read the posted schedule for the next bus on route.

"The longer I spend doing that, the less time you get with me later." There's a cheeky smile on his face that she can practically hear. "And you weren't complaining about it last night, babe."

"I'd rather that than hear you sulk about it the next day." She huffs out an amused laugh. "I'll leave it on my desk when I get home. You can crawl through the window like a creep and get it when you start your night life tonight."

"Creep?!" He exclaims. "Says the woman that leaves her windows unlocked on purpose! And mopes when I don't stop by to say hello!"

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Dick swings around in his favourite chair in the cave, right in front of the computer next to the impromptu gym mats. He's smiling ear to ear as he banters, and he half wishes there was a visual aid to go with it. It's only been a couple hours since they saw each other, but he's already missing her presence.

"You're making things up." Her voice comes in his ear.

He scoffs playfully. "I've never told a lie in my life, scouts honour!"

"You were never part of the scouts!" Her giggle makes his heart settle. "And even if you were it's not like you-...uh...hello?"

Dick's smile falters. "Everything alright?"

She doesn't answer him. "Can I help you? See what?"

There's a beat of silence, Dick starts to feel uneasy. He sits up in his chair, calls her name a little more seriously.

"No, I'm good...I said I'm good. What the fuck?!"

Immediately he snaps to attention, is on his feet not even registering he stood up. "Hey, talk to me, what's happening? Sweetheart?"

"Get away from me! I don't want...stop!"

Dick calls her name out, hand pressed to his ear and rushes to the computer, trying to pull out where the signal is coming from. Dread sours in his gut, franticness taking hold.

"I...Dick? Dick!" She screams, tinny across the line and he stops breathing.

"Stay on the line." He orders, heart hammering. "I'm coming, okay? Run, I'll be there, I'll find you."

A telltale sound of a scuffle echoes through the other half of the comm, a struggled, grunts and a shriek that's cut off midway. He shouts her name, it echoes in the cave. "Are you there? Talk to me!"

The line goes staticky.

A crunch.

The line goes dead.

"Shit!" He says tightly, watching the computer flash red.

'Signal Lost.'

Panic clutches him for a moment, roots him on the spot because he just heard the love of his life be...taken? Kidnapped? He knows where she was going, what route she was going to take so all he has to do is start there and he'd find her. He would. He has to.

Dick is zipping up his suit and grabbing his escrima sticks when Bruce and Damian find him in the cave, alerted by all the noise. Tightly, he gives them a run down because as much as he needs to act now, he recognises that having them with him increases his chances of ending this nightmare quicker.

'Hold on.' He thinks as he revs his bike, takes off out of the cave. 'Hold on, I'm coming.'

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Two days. Forty eight hours she's missing. Two entire days that Dick has been putting everything he has into finding her.

It's a warehouse, the stupid cliché it always is, someplace near the dock shoved in an abandoned corner where people think the water will protect them from the eyes of Gotham's protectors.

There's half a dozen men in the building, and if you asked him, Dick could not tell you how they went down. It's a blur with his one track, slightly panicked mind. He couldn't tell you any of the plan Bruce had told him and Damian, couldn't dictate where their entry point.

All Dick knows is that one moments he's racing on his bike towards the ocean, and then next he's kicking down the door to a dingy room in the back.

He lays eyes on her and for one moment, a single few seconds that he won't admit to anybody, he feels rage beyond anything he's ever experienced before. It's dark and filthy and laps at his ankles like a distorted siren's song he can't decipher the garble of. His concern is enough to wipe it away almost instantly, the relief crashing into him making his heart pound.

She looks terrible.

Slumped over in a chair, wrists tied behind her back tightly and a blindfold digging into her cheeks. Bruises bloom over exposed skin, her hair is matted on one side with bloody that is hers. He sees the cuts marring her skin, and a deeper gash on her leg that's half scabbed over.

"Hey!" His voice cracks, and Dick is on his knees in front of her immediately, hands cupping her face. "I'm here, it's okay, I'm here now." He says frantically.

Static crackles in his ears when she flinches away with a choked gasp. He blinks away the red at the corner of his vision, focuses on the moment even though his heart drops. It's not about him.

"It's just me. You're safe I swear, I've got you, honey. You're okay."

She's trembling as the ropes around his wrists fall away and the blindfold comes off. It takes a second for her to adjust to the light again, but the second her vision clear and see's Dick kneeling in front of her, worry, relief and grief swimming in his expression, something in her breaks.

A sob pushes past her lips, horrible and scared. She's kept it together for the past two days, but it's all spilling out now at the sight of him, and the relief that hits her like a truck. It's entirely overwhelming.

He whispers her name, heartbroken, and then his arms are around her, crushing her close. Dick talks in a hushed tone, soothing and reassuring. Telling her he's here now, that she'll be okay, that he'll take care of her. Never again, he tells her with such conviction that it makes her cry harder.

Damian's near the exit, standing guard, and Dick is grateful for the privacy. He knows Bruce will take care of the logistics of cleaning up whatever this operation was. Right now his priorities are only in making sure his girl is okay.

"Can you stand up?" There's so much gentleness in his voice. Mindful of the injuries he can see, Dick helps her stand through her hitched breaths and shaky inhales, clutching onto her and taking almost all of her weight. "There you go. We're going home, okay? It's over."

Swallowing roughly, she manages a nod. Fuck this warehouse, and fuck those people. She never wants to see them again, doesn't want to stay here any longer than she has to now that she's calm enough to claw back some of her coherency.

The first steps makes her wince, aggravates the gash in her calf.

He inhales sharply beside her, and then she goes weightless as Dick pulls her into his arms, carrying her out to the Batmobile.

Too tired to argue, she leans back against his shoulder and squeezes her eyes shut.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"This might sting." It does, Dick cringes with her in sympathy as the antiseptic touches the torn skin around her wrists from the rope. "Sorry."

"Not your fault." She mumbles, eyes trained on the ceiling, right next to the bright lights. Bandages wrap around various parts of her body, two gashes stitched close by Alfred. The bruising inspected was deemed surface level, just nasty in colour, and she holds an ice back to her cheek as Dick fusses over wrapping her wrists and forearms.

Guilt is heavy in the lines of his shoulders; it's evident in the way his eyes are frantic to find her every time he turns away, but equally as quick to flicker away from holding her gaze when they do.

The only thing punctuating the silence is the rustle of fabric and the slight squeak of the stool every time Dick moves. When he's done securing the bandage, he brings her hand up and presses the back of his against his forehead, bowing his head, taking a second to breath.

She watches him tiredly, doesn't interrupt the thoughts clearly racing through his mind for a moment. Shoulder's rising and falling steadily, it's only when his grip tightens around her hand that she speaks.

"You found me." And he sits up to pay attention to her instantly. "You can stop acting like I'll dissapear."

"You did disappear." He says after a beat. "And I was too late."

And with that it all come spewing out. Dick's never been one to tuck his heart away.

"I'm sorry." A hoarse whisper. "I'm so sorry. I should've gotten to you sooner. They hurt you, and when I saw you slumped over in that chair I thought..." He can't even verbalise the thought, it's too painful, so he sucks in a long breath instead. "You should've been safe."

Unable to hear him beat himself up any longer, she moves her hand to cup his cheek, tilting his head up until he meets her eyes.

"I don't blame you, Dick. You can't be everywhere at once." She says, a weak smile. "And you did save me, so there's no point in entertaining 'what if's' right? I knew you'd come."

"Always."

The immediacy of his reassurance makes her smile widen.

"Then that's all anyone can ask of you." She intertwines their fingers, softens when he looks up and his eyes are watery. "Come here."

Dick melts into the hug, holding on like he's frightened she'll slip through his fingers. She shifts to relieve the pressure on her leg, and pulls him forward until he's laying next to her, settled in the medbay cot that's definitely far too small to fit two grown people.

The fabric on her shoulder is suspiciously wet, and all she does is rub his back soothingly with a hand slipping under his shirt to palm at the warm skin, tears prickling her own eyes.

It's a good few minutes before he settles down and builds his composure back enough to pull his face away. His eyes are red-rimmed and his nose is flushed, but Dick looks down at her with such love and reverence it's devastating.

She meets him halfway when he tilts his head down to kiss her softly. "I hope you know I'm not letting you out of my sight." He says against her. "At least for the next five years."

It makes her crack a smile. A real one. "I can live with that."

"Good." He kisses her again, a little more firmly before settling back down at her side. "'Cause you're stuck with me. I'm loving you forever."

"A burden I must carry." He smiles, pulls her to his chest carefully.

It's not okay right now, but it will be. It's a brand new day tomorrow, and it'll come with its own challenges when it comes to dealing with the fallout of this experience, but knowing that they're in this together make it much more bearable.

His lips pressed to her forehead, she lets her eyes shut and basks in the feeling of safety he brings her.

Reblog, Like and Comment! Requests Are Open!

dick grayson

The keyhole squeaked and the doorknob jingled to show that someone was trying to pry the old door open. That someone was your boyfriend, who was bringing in the groceries for the week from your favourite shops and was wrangling too many bags into his arms that he was stumbling around the entryway.

Dick let you know that he had arrived with a simple call out to your name and the usual “I’m back!”, going quickly to the kitchen to put said bags away from his hands. He went automatically to the room you were in to properly greet you with a hug and if he’s lucky, even a kiss, but he stood in the doorway confused as he stared at the living room.

Colourful fabrics and props were all spread on every surface available, the biggest being the suspiciously shaped Nightwing suit without the logo on the chest hanging in a chair; currently, you were struggling to put blue tape around twin escrima sticks. “Am I interrupting something or…?” he questioned as he jumped over a scrap blue fabric and you turned in surprise at his arrival “Hi! You welcomed back excitedly, as if this was just a normal activity for you. “Did you know your suit is the lightest out of all the bats?” you explained with a smile.

He just stared at you while skipping over fabric pieces, looking for an explanation with a sheepish smile on his matching yours. “So, you know how the convention on Gotham is next week? My friends and I decided to go as vigilantes” you finished while moving your brows up and down, “you wanna help recreate your costume with 5-buck tape?” you asked as you rose your makeshift sticks. “Hell yeah, gimme a second to put the cold food away and I’m showing you all the cool things my suit has” he replied with an excited sparkle in his eye.

jason todd

“Jason, baby, can you lend me your work jacket for a few please?” were the first words he heard when he was about to enter the living room after entering through the window once again. More curious than anything, he advanced towards the area you stood in just to see you set up with your camera and a background against a wall.

What piqued his interest and made him almost drop his helmet was your attire: an almost perfect replica of his red hood suit, holsters and fake guns matching where he kept his on his real costume. Softly leaving his remaining gadgets on the table, he drew near while you stood in the middle of the room with a proud look on your face as he inspected (and definitely checked you out in the meanwhile) the costume, waiting for his reaction.

He finally stood in front of you, mouth agape and dumbstruck expression plastered on his face, and just hugged you gently around your waist as he stared at his logo on your chest, something the tiniest bit possessive taking over for a second. “I can give you anything you ask me too. My jacket, my heart, you already own everything of mine” he breathed out, almost if you had casted a spell over him “can I ask the reason of this or do I enjoy the view in silence?” he whispered out, finally looking at you in the eye.

“Thought it’d be cool, no other reason to cosplay as my very incredible boyfriend” you smiled coyly as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Brought back to reality, he seemed to regain his conscience, and he pulled you into his arms, picking you up and carrying you to some other place of the apartment while kissing every inch available.

tim drake

Tim’s spare red robin suit was perched on a hanger as you measured the length of the different gadgets wrapped around it when the owner of said suit entered the room and your movements came to a halt while waiting for a response. However, he looked so drained from patrol that night that he barely spared a glance in the direction and he fell face down into your bed.

Your hands were stuck in place mid-air, still with the measuring tape and notebook full of notes as you heard him complaining that you were too far away and to come to bed with him, when he also stopped for a second. His head, previously in between your cushions was now turned towards you with wide eyes looking through all your faux discrete-ness.

Staring competition taking place, Tim quickly scanned what surrounded you until he muttered “are you… measuring my suit for a cosplay or am I just misreading your notes in my brain?”. Completely caught like a deer in headlights, you lowered your notebook as you replied with a hopeful smile “if I told you I am would you help me find good props for it?”.

“I’ll 3D print you as many as you want if you don’t like the ones we find or I’ll just glue the safety on some of the older models but we’re getting you the best red robin cosplay the world has ever seen” he replied, yawning as he finished talking “now come over to bed please babe, I’m dying to cuddle already. I’ve been here for 5 minutes, and I have contained myself from clinging onto you, you should be proud because it’s my new record” Giggling and thanking him, you went over to bed, lying beside him to fall asleep.

damian wayne

Damian Wayne went into a very reasonable panic when he saw that his katana, usually hanging beside your flowery paining was missing, and activated detective mode to fully inspect the apartment. Halfway done, he heard you moving around in your room, so he tried to make less noise as to not to disturb you and your “nap”.

Problem was, the only place remaining to look into was said room, so he pried the door open very slowly, reducing the creaking to a minimum. Despite having found himself in a lot of weird situations, he could confidently say that one of the ones he never thought possible was to see his partner posing with his missing katana in front of a mirror, headphones on and dressed in an incredibly detailed robin cosplay.

He pushed the door fully open, now startling you through the music playing faintly and making you scream and jump in place, gripping his weapon and fully stumbling forwards to who you thought was an intruder into your room. Damian, completely amused by the whole ordeal, just lowered the edge of the swords pointing at him as his eyes ogled over the details of your costume.

Once the blade was pointing again to the ground, he raised one single eyebrow containing his wide grin while you stood flustered and looked annoyed at his interruption. “While your reaction time was excellent, sweetheart, your position could improve. Move your arm to hold the back to create more force on impact, and let your footing be a bit looser. There you go, beloved” he corrected as he moved behind you to reposition your body, warm hands on yours felt even through the layers of the costume. “Now, please, care you show me a bit closer your costume, yes?”

roy harper

“On a scale of 1 to 10 how suspicious is it if I asked you to show me the very basic basics of a bow” you asked Roy as he finished cooking dinner for the two of you. “A solid 1 considering I saw a cosplay of my arsenal suit in your closet a week ago, when do you have time for a one-on-one session with the absolute CEO of archery?” he replied as he stole a French fry off of your plate.

“You forgot to hide the mask when I came over a couple weeks ago and I just wanted to see when you’ll finish or ask for my help for something. Almost started a bet by the way” he joked as you looked over your plate feigning annoyance. “At least you could pretend to act surprised” you mumbled while you crossed your arms and looked away to add more drama to it all.

“Sweetheart, I love you, but you can’t hide a secret for shit” he reached over the table to uncross your arms himself gently, moving your face to look at him again as he placed his thumb on your chin to ease the movement. “Plus, it’s really fucking hot to think you spent weeks designing a cosplay of my suit. I’ve been waiting and I’m starving. Can I take pics when you’re done? Is it too creepy if I keep one in the pocket of my suit?” he rambled while he looked intensely in your eyes, finally done with your dramatic act.

⤷ dick grayson

• {content} dick only respond to you calling him baby

The apartment was quiet for a Sunday afternoon, save for the rhythmic humming of the washing machine and the faint scent of fresh linen.

You were currently knee-deep in folding the endless mountain of laundry on the bed. You grabbed the next item from the basket, held it up, and instantly stopped, staring at it in absolute disbelief.

It was a pair of Dick’s favorite boxers—or at least, what used to be boxers. At this point, the fabric was so worn down it was almost translucent, and there were two distinct, gaping holes near the seam. They were hanging on by a single thread and sheer willpower.

"Dick, are you serious?" you called out toward the living room, where your boyfriend was currently stretched across the rug doing his afternoon mobility routine. "Dick, come look at these!"

No answer. Not even a rustle of his sweatpants.

"Dick?" you said, a little louder, peeking your head around the bedroom door.

He was flowing smoothly from a deep hamstring stretch into a cobra pose, looking entirely serene and completely oblivious to your existence.

You blinked. You knew for a fact he wasn't deaf—the man had peak-human Bat-family hearing and could spot a footstep on a roof three blocks away. You opened your mouth to yell his name again, but then the realization hit you.

You had called him 'Dick.'

In the three years you’d been together, you almost never called him by his actual name. He was "babe," "baby," "honey," or, on particularly chaotic mornings, "sweetheart." Calling him Dick was practically a foreign language to his subconscious.

A mischievous grin spread across your face. You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms.

"Richard?"

Silence. He shifted into a shoulder bridge.

"Grayson?"

He sighed softly, deepening the stretch, completely locked into his own world.

"Officer Grayson?"

Nothing.

You took a slow breath, held up the shredded boxers like evidence in a court trial, and dropped your voice to its usual fond, affectionate tone.

"Hey, baby?"

Dick’s head snapped up instantly. His bright blue eyes locked onto yours, a warm, easy smile instantly spreading across his face.

"Yeah, sweetcheeks? What's up?" he asked, popping off the floor with effortless agility and strolling toward the bedroom. He leaned into your space, instantly tilting his chin down for a kiss.

You held up the holy pair of boxers right between your faces like a shield, staring at him with an amused, disbelieving look. "Are you serious right now?"

Dick paused mid-lean, blinking at the ruined fabric, then up at you like a confused puppy. "What?"

"First of all, these are going in the trash. Second of all, I just called your name four times."

"No, you didn't," he said smoothly, sliding his arms around your waist anyway. "I would've heard you."

"I said Dick."

He flinched subtly, screwing up his nose as if the word tasted weird. "See? Hearing it now, it doesn't even sound like a real word. Who is he? Sounds like a stranger. I don't know him."

"It is literally your legal name!" You laughed, reaching up to tap his cheek.

Dick gently caught your wrist, tugging you a little closer until your chest was resting against his.

"My name," he corrected softly, his voice dropping into that low, warm register he saved just for you, "is baby. Or babe. I also accept 'hey handsome' if you're feeling fancy."

"You're ridiculous," you murmured, though you couldn't stop the smile tugging at your lips.

"I'm a man conditioned by love," he declared heroically, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. "If you start calling me Dick, I'm going to assume I'm in trouble, or that Bruce is standing right behind me. Neither of those options are good for my heart."

"So if I need to save you from a falling building, I just have to yell 'Look out, babe!'?"

"Precisely," Dick grinned, kissing your cheek before eyeing the ruined boxers in your hand. "And for the record, those are vintage. They're aerated. It's tactical."

"They're going in the trash, baby."

tw: smut | MDNI 18+

“i know, baby. just a few more inches.” dick coos softly into your ear, his large hand clamping onto your hip as he slowly inches his cock into you.

“you said just the tip.” you practically whine out, still tired from dick waking you up and turning you onto your side.

“i know,” he grunts, filling you up with his cock, his hips stammering a bit. you just felt too good. “i’m a liar, huh?”

whimpering out softly. dicks cock hitting just right. leaving you speechless, all you can do is nod as your hands grip onto his sheets.

“i’m sorry, baby.” you can feel the amused smirk on dick’s lips. you knew your boyfriend was anything but sorry. he was having the time of his life.

“i just couldn’t help myself,” he slowly slides out of you. his hand gently grips your shoulder and pushes you to lie on your back. you blink up at him slowly as you feel dick grip your hips, and gently thrust back into you.

“you’re too gorgeous.” he whispers, keeping his pace slow, his hands wrapping around your waist. nestling himself into you. “fuck.”

sitting up, he pulls your hips up to his, arching your back perfectly as he continues to move inside you faster.

“you just feel so perfect, squeezing me just right.” he holds your hips harder, lifting your back off his bed, thrusting his cock in you sharply.

closing your eyes shut, you let your body go lax, letting dick do whatever he wants in this moment, putting all your trust into him.

“open your eyes, baby.” dick starts to slow down his pace, a silent warning that he’ll stop if you don’t listen. “let me see those pretty eyes.”

you instantly cave in, opening your eyes. you couldn’t let him stop, not when he was making you feel amazing.

“there she is.” he smiles, leaning down to peck your lips. pulling away, dick continues to move his hips slowly, just to mess with you. his favorite thing to do was to tease and taunt you, how long did it take to mess with you until you whined or complained? he liked riling you up.

“dick, faster—“ you grumble, breathing heavily as you stare up at dick, watching as a smile forms on his lips again. “that’s not how you ask me for things.”

“dick, can you move faster, please?” you ask, hoping your asshole of a boyfriend actually listens.

“hmm, there we go,” he moves faster, pulling you in closer to him. leaning back down, “that’s all you had to do.” his whispers against your shoulder gently before taking a bite.

gasping from shock, your hands grip onto his sheets harder, your cunt squeezing against his dick. your legs shaking as the pressure continues to build up. the feeling of dicks tongue swirling around the bite; trying to soothe the aching feeling was hot. you physically felt hot, it made butterflies swirl around in your stomach.

“go ahead, baby, let go.” dick groans out, his teeth letting go of your shoulder as he buries his face against your neck, moving as fast as he could to make sure you got off. “i’m right behind you.”

dick sinks his teeth in again, taking a small bite of your skin in the crook of your neck. getting another whimper out of you, your body stiffens, and tears spill out as you cum for dick. he releases your throat from his mouth, his lips pressing kisses against your bitten skin as he whimpers and grunts.“just five more minutes, baby. then we’re finished.”

he moves faster, it’s a little sloppy, a sign that he’s so close too. with in a few more pumps, you feel dick come inside you with a harsh breath, his blue eyes staring into yours with adoration.

summary: dick is worried about his dick pairing: Dick Grayson x reader tags and warnings: tried humor, lot of mentions of dick (his name and literally), suggestive, reblogs and comments appreciated (MDNI), REPOST from old blog! word count: 856

"Owww…FUCK!"

Dick falls off the bed, landing on his knees with his back hunched over. One arm clutches his stomach as blue eyes squeeze shut, groans leaving his lips.

jason has suffered for two hours too long at the party. how dick managed to get him here is still a mystery. he hasn’t been to a proper house party since…well never. being a masked vigilante your whole life does that to you.

he’s been standing against the wall for most of the night, nursing the same drink and pretending he’s actually interested in whatever roy is talking about. he isn’t. in fact, the only reason he’s still here is because of you.

you’re one of dick’s friends. sickly sweet—annoyingly sweet, actually. the kind of person who smiles at everyone and makes him feel warm and fuzzy when he can manage to hold a conversation with you.

jason doesn’t really know you. sure he’s stalked your insta a few times and memorized your birthday, but he doesn’t officially know you. you’ve talked before. usually just passing each other in dick’s apartment or at some stupid family dinner. nothing worth remembering.

except jason remembers everything. he remembers the way you smile when you see him. the way you always say hi, even when he gives you some half-assed response. he remembers your laugh—god, how could he forget it.

it’s stupid because what would someone like you see in him? you’re pure sunshine and he’s jason. so he keeps his distance. or, at least, he tries to. the universe doesn’t like to side with jason, though. which is probably why, three seconds later…thud. you walk directly into his chest.

ᯓ★ pairings: Dick Grayson x reader

ᯓ★ in which: you dye your hair cherry red, and Dick completely loses it!

ᯓ★ a/n: we all know he has a thing for red heads, so it’s about time someone wrote this

You hadn't really thought it through. You just wanted a change, saw the box of dye in the drugstore aisle with a glowing 'cherry red' label, and spent two hours over your bathroom sink with rubber gloves and plastic wrap.

So when you walked into the kitchen, Dick was standing by the counter, halfway through taking a massive gulp of orange juice straight from the carton. He looked up. His eyes locked onto your head.

And well, his brain instantly short-circuited.

The orange juice went entirely down the wrong pipe. Dick immediately doubled over against the counter, clutching the edge with both hands, coughing and wheezing like a dying engine. He slapped a hand over his chest, hacking so hard his eyes started watering, but as he looked back up at you, a dark, furious flush spread from his collar all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Are you dying?" you asked, leaning against the doorframe. "It's just hair."

Dick held up one finger, still coughing violently into his elbow, his shoulders trembling. He sucked in a ragged breath, pointed a shaking finger at you, tried to speak, choked again, and thumped his chest with a fist.

"You—" he squeaked out, his voice cracking horribly on the syllable. He squeezed his eyes shut, mortified, his face turning an even brighter shade of crimson than your hair. "What did you—why—"

"I dyed it," you said.

He stared at you, his pupils completely blown out. He rubbed the back of his neck, unable to keep his eyes on your face for more than two seconds at a time before darting them down to the floor, over to the fridge, and back up to the vibrant red strands framing your cheeks. He looked like he was fifteen again and had just gotten caught staring at his middle school crush.

"Cherry," you offered.

"Cherry," he squeaked again, clearing his throat aggressively to fix his register. "Right. Cherry. Yeah. It's... wow."

He dragged a hand down his face, completely failing to hide the goofy, flustered grin breaking across his mouth or the heat burning through his cheeks. He took a tiny step backward, bumped his hip directly into the edge of the kitchen island, and winced, shuffling his feet like a nervous teenager.

"You look like you're having a panic attack," you said, tilting your head.

"I'm not!" Dick blurted out, his voice swinging wildly high. He clamped his mouth shut, cleared his throat again, and crossed his arms over his chest to hide his twitching hands. "I'm not having an attack. It's just... you look really pretty. Like, really, really pretty."

He immediately blinked, realizing what he'd said, and looked down at his socks, his face practically glowing red.

"Thanks," you smiled.

"Yeah. Welcome," he mumbled to the floorboards. He tried to grab the orange juice carton again, missed the handle entirely, knocked it onto its side, and spent three full seconds panicking to pick it up before setting it back down with both hands. "I'm gonna... go into the other room now."

He turned on his heel, took two steps toward the living room, tripped over absolutely nothing, caught himself on the doorframe with a loud thud, and practically scurried down the hallway without looking back.

You heard a second thud from the living room, followed by a muffled string of words that sounded suspiciously like Dick trying to convince himself that he was a smooth, functional adult.

When you rounded the corner into the hallway, he was leaning against the back of the couch, his forehead pressed directly into the throw pillows. His shoulders were shoved all the way up by his ears.

"Dick?"

He jumped like he’d been hit with a stun gun, spinning around so fast he nearly lost his footing on the hardwood. His face had not cleared up at all. If anything, the redness had migrated down his throat and into the collar of his t-shirt.

"Hey!" he squeaked, his voice cracking again. He quickly dragged both hands through his dark hair, leaving it sticking up in messy tufts. "Hey. What's... what's up? How are you?"

"We were just talking ten seconds ago," you said, stepping into the room.

"Right! Right, yeah. Old habit." He let out a nervous, breathless laugh that ended in a tiny, quiet cough. He immediately stuffed his hands into his front pockets, then pulled them out, then crossed his arms, then shoved them back into his pockets like he didn't know what his limbs were for anymore. "Just... taking in the room. The decor. Good living room."

"Are you okay?"

"Never better," he said, his eyes wildly darting anywhere except your face. He stared intently at the lamp on the side table, then at the rug, then at the left corner of your forehead, before slamming his gaze back down to his own sneakers. "Just... processing. The colors. The visual impact."

"It's just hair dye, Dick. I can wash it out if you hate it."

"No!" He blurted it out so loud and fast his voice echoed off the ceiling. He took a hasty step toward you, realized he was invading your personal space, panicked, and took two fast steps backward, backing straight into a floor lamp that rattled violently against the wall. He caught the lampshade with both hands, his knuckles white.

"Don't wash it out," he said, much quieter this time, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. He looked at you through his eyelashes, his face burning. "Please don't. It looks... ridiculous. On you. I mean—not ridiculous! Good ridiculous! Stunning! You look stunning, and it's making my brain turn into soup."

You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk pulling at your lips. "Brain into soup, huh?"

Dick groaned, dropping his head back against the wall with a soft thump. "I am ruining this. I am thirty seconds away from forgetting my own middle name." He peeked at you through one open eye, a helpless, totally wrecked little smile fighting its way onto his face. "Can you... stand over there for like five minutes so I can get used to how pretty you look right now?"

"You're ridiculous," you laughed.

"I know," he whimpered into his shoulder, completely unable to stop the blush from soaking through his skin. "I really, really am."

i love this guys🥹😋

Main masterlist

Thinking about jason todd who:

Tilts his head with a smirk, his muscular arms crossed over his chest when he watches you complain about something. Finding your anger - when it's not directed at him - very adorable.

Doesn't just take the food when you offer it to him. Say it's like a peeled orange or a chip, without breaking eye contact he would lean down - holding your wrist gently to keep in place. Before taking a bite of the food straight from your fingertips. His lips purposefully brushing your skin just to see you flustered - often biting down gently too.

Says your name out of nowhere to grab your attention whenever you're standing near him. Carefully, his rough, calloused hand would catch your chin. A wicked smirk on his face as he caresses your bottom lip before closing the distance to place a long, lingering kiss.

Loves it when you hug from behind him. Your arms wrapping around his waist providing a grounding presence he only gets from you.

Has secret piercings you only ever find out about when you're making out. Like just imagine, you're kissing him passionately. Your tongue sliding over his as you explore his mouth when you stumble on a slight indent on his tongue. You look up at him, breaking the kiss with a confused expression. "Jay... you had a tongue piercing? Why didn't i know about this?"

Loves carrying you like it's nothing. Carefully throwing you up over his shoulder like a potato sack and walking away with you when you get into a heated argument with someone and you need saving. (or to save the other person)

Ok that's it. I'm rusty and I don't have motivation, sorry yall :(

⤷ dick grayson

• {content} dick loves your new pilates set

The apartment was quiet, save for the hum of the AC and the upbeat track playing from your phone. You were in the middle of your core routine—holding a high plank on the mat when the front door unlocked and clicked shut.

Dick walked in holding the leash, Haley trotting happily in front of him after their morning walk. He was wearing a simple fitted grey t-shirt and sweatpants, looking soft, messy, and thoroughly domestic.

He leaned down to unclip Haley’s leash, but the moment he unbent and looked up, his eyes locked onto you.

He froze dead in his tracks. Haley trotted right past him toward her water bowl, but Dick didn't move an inch. His blue eyes dragged slowly over your new, skin-tight pilates set—a deep slate-blue top with cross-back straps and matching shorts that showed off every inch of your legs.

A slow, wicked smirk crept onto his face. The lazy morning mood vanished in an instant.

"Well," Dick purred, tossing his keys into the entry bowl with a loud clink. "That is a very dangerous sight to come home to."

You didn't break your plank, though a knowing smile tugged at your lips. "I’m on a timer, Grayson. Go wash your hands."

Instead of heading to the sink, he sauntered across the living room with that slow, effortless grace. "Hands are fine. What is this outfit?"

"Just a new set," you panted, switching your weight to one hand to start a series of side-plank dips. "Now move, you're blocking my light."

Dick chuckled, dropping straight to his knees on the edge of the mat. He didn't interrupt your form—not yet. He just sat back on his heels, resting his forearms on his knees, his eyes darkening as he watched your core and back muscles flex with every move.

"It's distracting," he murmured, his voice dropping into a thick, low register.

"It's activewear."

"It's a hazard," he corrected smoothly. He reached out, resting one large, warm palm flat on your calf. His calloused fingers trailed agonizingly slowly up the back of your leg, sweeping over the exposed skin of your thigh until his thumb hooked into the hem of your shorts. "I was going to make coffee, but you’re making it very hard to focus on breakfast."

You finally dropped out of the plank onto your hip, catching your breath as you looked up at him. "It’s just clothes, Dick."

"It fits like a second skin," he whispered, leaning in until his chest was inches from yours. He smelled like crisp morning air and his signature fresh cologne. "And it’s making me want to do things that have absolutely nothing to do with pilates."

His other hand came up, two fingers hooking into the front strap of your top, tugging just enough to feel the tension while his thumb stroked the bare skin of your collarbone.

"I still have ten minutes left on my video," you warned softly, though your pulse was already racing.

Dick smirked, his hands sliding down to your waist to pull you effortlessly off the mat and right into his lap. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, his breath hot and heavy against your neck.

「 MCU 」 𓂃 ★ peter parker guesses the flavor of your chapstick . ★ genre / themes 𓂃 kissing ˶ fluff ˶ established rs ˶ drabble ˶ sfw .

peter is currently horizontal on your bed, which is a position he finds himself in more often than he’d like to admit these days. one of your pillows is half under his head, the other is being slowly crushed under his shoulder, and you’re sitting cross-legged beside him with that little tube of chapstick still in your hand, ensuring that the label is covered by two of your fingers.

“guess the flavour,” you’d said, like it was some big challenge and not just a flimsy excuse to get his mouth on yours.

he’s already on his third try.

he leans up, catches the back of your neck with one hand, and kisses you slow. not the polite kind of kiss. nah, he’s past that. it’s the kind where he licks across the seam of your lips first, tastes the sweetness of the flavor there, then does it again because he’s above pretending he doesn’t want to. your mouth opens under his and he takes the invitation, tongue dragging lightly over your bottom lip before he deepens it. he stays there longer than necessary, just feeling the way you melt a little more against him with each kiss.

when he finally pulls back it’s only far enough to murmur against your mouth.

“…strawberry?”

you huff a laugh. “wrong.”

he knows. he knew the second he tasted it. it’s not strawberry. but admitting that would end the game, and peter is many things but he is not a man who willingly ends a good thing early.

so he goes for it again.

this time he doesn’t even pretend to be efficient about it. he tilts your chin, licks into the corner of your mouth, traces the soft curve of your upper lip with the tip of his tongue like he’s mapping it. the chapstick is still there, faintly sweet and a little sticky, and he chases it until you’re making that quiet sound in the back of your throat that always does something stupid to his heart (dick). he kisses you properly after that, deep and unhurried, one hand sliding up into your hair just so he can keep you close a second longer.

when your lips break apart this time his voice is just a tiny rougher. kissing you doesn’t come without side effects after all.

“cherry?”

“peter.”

“what? it’s a fair guess.”

you’re smiling that soft, knowing smile that means you’ve already clocked exactly what he’s doing. he doesn’t care. he leans in for a fifth time before you can call him on it, licking over your lips again but it’s a bit slower this time, like he’s making an effort (no, he’s not). the flavour is something warm and a little tropical, maybe mango, maybe something else entirely, but the exact answer is less important than the way your breath hitches when his tongue sweeps across your bottom lip once more and his teeth dig in just a little bit, tugging as he pulls back.

when he does, it’s just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“coconut?”

you laugh under your breath, the sound warm against his mouth. “you’re so doing this on purpose.”

“nu uh. i am not,” he lies, already leaning in again with that stupid smile on his face. the one you love oh so very much. “scientific method. gotta be thorough.”

his next kiss is even less subtle. he licks into your mouth properly this time, slow and deliberate, tasting the last traces of the chapstick like it’s the only thing that matters. one of his hands finds your waist, thumb stroking idle circles over the soft fabric of your shirt. he leans you back into the bed so you’re on your back and he’s only slightly above you. his hand moves further into the back of your head, fingers only lightly gripping the hair there. he doesn’t pull away until his lungs start complaining, and even then he only goes far enough to brush another soft lick across your lower lip.

“…passionfruit?”

you’re laughing properly now, pushing lightly at his chest even as you lean into him. “it’s mango. you suck at this game.”

peter makes a thoughtful noise, like he’s considering the data. then he leans down anyway, already angling for another kiss.

“huh. weird. i think i need one more sample just to be sure.”

thought of this concept while i was applying my mango chapstick earlier LMAO

⏾⋆.˚ pairings: Jason Todd x reader, Fatson Todd x reader

⏾⋆.˚ summary: Jason needs your kisses and cuddles to have sweet dreams, but Fatson keeps getting in the way, and it’s making Jason very jealous.

⏾⋆.˚ warnings: none just fluff!

The soft, low hum of a lullaby had barely left your lips before a deep, aggrieved groan vibrated straight through the mattress, causing the edge of the duvet to shift violently.

You paid it absolutely no mind, carefully tucking the tiny, frayed edge of the blanket right up beneath a round, plush chin. You smoothed down the tiny felt tuft of white hair on the plushie's forehead, pressing a ridiculously sweet, gentle kiss right between its wide, embroidered safety-button eyes.

"Sleep tight, baby," you cooed softly, patting the absurdly sphere-shaped body. "You’ve had a big, long day of being perfect."

"You have got to be out of your fucking mind."

Jason’s voice came out as a low, gravelly rasp from the far right side of the bed. He was lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling with an expression of betrayal. His broad shoulders were tense, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, and his lower lip was pushed out in a pout so profound it looked almost painful on a man built like a brick wall.

"Don't speak so loudly," you whispered sternly, casting a sharp look over your shoulder at him. "He's trying to wind down for bed. You know how sensitive he gets after eight o'clock."

Jason snapped his head toward you, his dark brows furrowing into a deep, furious line. "It’s a blob," he hissed, pointing a giant, scarred finger at the cuddled bundle in your arms. "It’s a literal stuffed doll, sweetheart. It doesn't have a sleep schedule, it doesn't have feelings, and it certainly isn't sensitive."

You immediately gasped, quickly cupping two fingers over the plushie’s embroidered ears to shield him from the harsh words. "Jason! Do not talk about him like that right in front of his face! He is a delicate boy!"

"He is polyester fill and cheap felt!" Jason groaned, throwing his hands up in the air before flopping them back down onto the mattress with a loud, dramatic thump. He rolled onto his side, propping his heavy head up on one giant hand, glaring at the plushie nestled securely against your chest. "I cannot believe I’m getting sidelined by that thing. Look at him! He doesn't even have neck features! He’s just a ball with legs!"

"His name is Fatson," you corrected him instantly, drawing the blanket up higher over the round plushie shoulders. "And you will address him with the proper decorum."

"Fatson," Jason repeated, his tone dripping with utter disbelief. He dragged a palm down his face, dragging his fingers over his heavy jawline. "You bought him off some shady internet listing that literally called him 'fat hood', and now he’s somehow usurped my rightful position in this bed?"

"When I ordered him, he was listed as 'fat hood', yes," you admitted smoothly, giving Fatson’s plush tummy a loving little squish. "Because the creators lacked vision. But the second he arrived in the mail, soft and squishy and perfectly round, I knew his true identity. He became Fatson. And he has been the light of my life ever since."

"I am standing—well, lying—right here!" Jason whined, his voice pitching up in a way that he would fiercely deny to anyone else in Gotham. He dragged himself a few inches closer across the bed, the mattress dipping under his broad frame, though he still kept a cautious, pouting distance. "I am your actual boyfriend! The guy who buys you late-night takeout! The guy who lifts heavy boxes! I am six-foot-two and made of muscle, and you're cuddling a stuffed potato!"

"Fatson doesn't steal the covers," you noted reasonably, resting your cheek against the plushie’s squishy head. "Fatson doesn't come home at two in the morning smelling like gunpowder and motor oil. Fatson doesn't kick in his sleep."

"I kick once because I’m having a dream about beating up the Riddler, and suddenly I’m worse than a plush toy?" Jason scoffed, his blue-green eyes narrowing with intense jealousy as you leaned down to plant another loud, smacking kiss on Fatson’s plush cheek. "Okay, now you're just doing that on purpose to drive me crazy."

"Doing what? Giving my sweetest boy his bedtime affection?" You stroked the soft material of Fatson’s little red felt helmet hood. "He works hard, Jason. He holds down the bed all day while we're gone. He deserves a loving home."

Jason let out a long, dramatic huff, throwing his head back onto his pillow and rolling onto his back again, staring up at the ceiling fan with a scowl that could wilt fresh flowers. He crossed his arms over his chest, his bicep bulging against his dark t-shirt, resting in supreme, petty silence for all of four seconds.

"I’m your sweetest boy. Not him. He doesn't even look like me," Jason muttered bitterly into the quiet room. "My chin isn't that round."

"It's an artistic interpretation," you replied softly, adjusting the blanket so Fatson’s tiny felt feet didn't get cold. "It captures your core essence. Round, soft, slightly grumpy, but overall completely harmless."

"Harmless?!" Jason sat bolt upright at that, looking utterly scandalized. "I am a Crime Lord. I’m the Red Hood! I strike fear into the hearts of Gotham's underworld! I am a dark, brooding lethal weapon!"

"Shh!" you hissed, glaring at him over your shoulder. "You’re going to wake him up! Look at him, he was just settling down!"

Jason looked down at the plushie. It sat there, totally inert, staring straight ahead with its black bead eyes and a perpetually stitched-on neutral line for a mouth.

"He's not asleep!" Jason yelled in a harsh, forced whisper, leaning over toward your side of the bed. "He's not awake either! Because he is cotton stuffing, babe! He doesn't have a nervous system!"

"You're just jealous," you said simply, pulling Fatson closer into your arms, tucking your chin over his round little head. "You're jealous that Fatson gets prime cuddle real estate without having to do any of the emotional heavy lifting."

"I am not jealous of a lump of fabric," Jason snapped, though his body language betrayed him entirely. He scooted even closer, his large frame practically invading your half of the mattress now, his chest just inches away from your back. "I just think it's ridiculous that I'm lying over here on the cold, lonely side of the bed while you're pouring all your warmth and affection into something that came out of a vacuum-sealed plastic bag."

"If you're nice to Fatson," you offered generously, "I might let him share a sliver of the blanket with you."

"I don't want a sliver of the blanket from Fatson," Jason grumbled, though his hand subconsciously reached out, hovering over the soft duvet. "I want my partner."

"Fatson says he's open to sharing, but only if you apologize for calling him 'that thing'."

Jason stared at you like you had completely lost your mind. "You want me to apologize to a doll?"

You just held his gaze, unblinking, casually patting Fatson's back in a steady, soothing rhythm.

Jason let out a groan that sounded like a dying engine, rubbing his knuckles over his face in defeat. He leaned down until his nose was just inches away from the plushie's tiny felt face.

"...Fine," Jason muttered, his voice dropping into a deep, grudging rumble. "I'm sorry I called you 'that thing', Fatson. You're... a very structurally sound lump of stuffing."

"And?" you prompted softly.

Jason gritted his teeth, his cheeks flushing a faint, adorable pink in the dim light of the bedside lamp. "And... your white streak looks very handsome."

You tried. You really, truly tried to keep a straight face. You squeezed your eyes shut, bit the inside of your cheek, and buried your nose right into Fatson’s soft, velvety head to muffle the sound. But watching a giant, ruthless vigilante gravely apologize to a tiny, spherical plush toy was simply too much for your body to handle.

A small, choked noise escaped your throat, followed immediately by a sharp snort.

Jason froze. His eyes narrowed as he leaned in closer, catching the way your shoulders were violently trembling. "Are you... are you laughing at me?"

"I can't help it," you giggled, finally catching your breath. Very carefully, with exaggerated gentleness, you placed Fatson onto the nightstand right next to the lamp, pulling the edge of a stray coaster over his tiny feet. "There. Fatson’s asleep now."

You turned back around, flipping over to face Jason properly.

Before he could grumble another word, you slid across the sheets and threw your arms around his neck, tucking yourself directly against his chest. Jason didn't hesitate for a single second; his heavy arms immediately wrapped tight around your waist, hoisting you flush against him like he’d been starving for the contact all night. He buried his face right into the crook of your neck, letting out a long, heavy sigh of absolute relief.

"Finally," he muttered, his voice muffled against your skin as his big hands smoothed down your back. "Felt like I was waiting in line at the DMV over here."

"You are such a big baby," you teased gently, running your fingers through the thick, soft dark hair at the nape of his neck, catching the faint texture of his own white streak.

"I am not a baby," Jason grumbled softly, though he nuzzled deeper into your warmth, resting his heavy chin on your shoulder.

"You were jealous of a seven-inch doll named Fatson."

"I wasn't jealous," he lied smoothly, his broad chest rising and falling against yours in a steady rhythm. "I was just enforcing proper bed distribution rules. He was taking up valuable real estate."

"He weighs four ounces, Jay."

"Four ounces of pure evil," Jason corrected, though his grip on you was loose and comfortable now, his thumbs lazily rubbing circles into your waist through your shirt.

You smiled softly into the dim quiet of the bedroom, tilting your head back just enough to look at him. His eyes were half-closed, long dark lashes casting soft shadows over his cheekbones, the faint line of his jaw finally relaxed.

You leaned up and pressed a sweet, lingering kiss to his cheek, right over a tiny scar near his jawline. Then another one to the bridge of his nose. And finally, a soft, warm kiss right against his lips, holding it for a long beat until he hummed softly in approval, leaning into the contact.

"What's all this for?" Jason murmured, his eyes fluttering open, glistening with a soft, affectionate light in the dark.

"Just making sure my actual favorite boy gets his bedtime routine," you whispered back, tracing the line of his cheekbone with your thumb. "Since Fatson gets all the credit."

Jason hummed, a small, triumphant smirk spreading across his face as he tightened his hold around your waist, pulling you so close there wasn't a single breath of space left between you. He pressed his forehead against yours, his warm breath fanning across your lips.

"Good," he murmured lazily, his voice thick with rising sleepiness. "Because I actually need cuddles and kisses to have sweet dreams, you know. It's a medical condition."

"A medical condition, huh?" you laughed quietly, kissing the corner of his mouth once more. "Did Alfred diagnose that one?"

"It's a very rare ailment," Jason insisted, closing his eyes contentedly as he tucked you under his chin, wrapping the heavy duvet over both of your shoulders until you were completely cocooned in his heat. "Only cured by staying right here all night."

"Well, we wouldn't want to risk your health," you murmured, resting your hand flat against his chest, listening to the steady, comforting thrum of his heart beneath your palm.

Jason let out a deep, satisfied sigh, his body melting completely into the mattress as he finally got his way. On the nightstand, Fatson sat quietly in the dark, but in the center of the bed, wrapped up in the arms of the biggest pouty baby in Gotham, you closed your eyes and let the quiet warmth wash over you both.

a/n: I love this fic sm!

⤷ ゛The tik tok trends escalates literally, when the batboys have a partner that's their complete opposite ˎˊ˗

COMPLETE OPPOSITES OF THEIR PARTNER (you'll see if it fits you), fem!reader, fluffy

ℳ: just an idea that popped into my mind. YES I AM AWARE THIS MIGHT NOT BE THEIR CANNON TYPE. Sue me this is fanfiction. I hope you guys like it <3

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He yawns heavily, rubbing his hips in a circle onto his pillow, feeling the pre-cum drip from his slit into his boxers, soaking the fabric and wetting his pillow case. Whatever, he has more.

"Can you jus' like.. y'know." Tim rolls over, holes in his ratty black boxers—clinging tight to the firm, fuzzy thickness of his thighs. The sun filters in through his bedroom curtains worn-thin, his forearm hugging the pillow to his waist. Stomach-down, ass half-up, lazily peering back at you through bleary, squinted vision.

"Take care of me?" He grunts, muffled into the pillow. The bedsprings groan under his weight, alongside his own, continued sluggish jerk of his hips; half-assed and heavy with sleep. Tim's eyes crack open to shoot you this pleading look through girlishly luscious lashes, deep blue eyes still glazed with look of somebody halfway to dreamland. He could cum like this, he has before. It's just so much better when you make him cum.

"Don't care what you do, baby." Tim sighs, a tired sound that he makes when sleep hasn't fully fulfilled the deep bone tired feeling he has, nuzzling happily into his pillow as the blankets tangle amidst his legs, his boxers ride up when he shifts, tight circles around the tops of his thighs, shifting once-again, bed letting out another anguished creak. His smile is content, eyes not even half-lidded; simply slipped shut in his state of bliss.