Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne giving their girl the princess treatmentā¦
warnings : only slightly suggestive in these? tooth rotting fluff, the boys are whipped for their girl, female reader, mentions of feet, golden retriever type boyfriends fr
Taglist : @i-dearbambi-dxx | please let me know if you want to be tagged in any of my ongoing works!
note : my first time ever writing a request >.< actually had a lot of fun writing this and will defo do more in the future :)
Bruce Wayne has zero ability in restraint when it comes to spoiling his girlfriendāyou. If thereās anything he sees you looking at, humming in consideration of buying at all, heās whipping out his card and heās buying it without hesitation.
āWhatās this?ā You ask, shrugging off your outdoor coat and handing it to a patiently waiting Alfred in the foyer. The butler takes your coat and folds it in his arms, his greying brows raising with intrigue at the expensive designer box in Bruceās hands.
Bruce holds the box out for you to take, and you do so without hesitation. Though, you give a suspicious look to him before delicately removing the lid and pushing aside the crinkling tissue paper inside.
You gasp as you reach in and reveal the backless designer dress you had stared at for a millisecond yesterday at the store.
āBruce!ā You squeal, eyes sparkling in adoration for the gift. Alfred wordlessly takes the box from your hands as you fly forwards to wrap your arms around Bruceās midriff. Bruce only chuckles, fondness in his expression, pure adoration for your reaction and you in general.
āDo you like it?ā Bruce leans down and presses a lingering kiss to your temple. His fingers, calloused and blemished from the years of his work as Batman, trace patterns into the skin under your shirt. You do your best to conceal a shiver at the touch, but nothing can slip past the detectives trained eye.
You hum. āI love it. You didnāt have to buy that for meāit must have cost a fortune.ā
An ironic statement considering Bruce Wayne is the richest man in Gotham. A billionaire philanthropist sitting pretty on a wealth dating back several generations.
Bruce shakes his head and presses his lips again to your skin, this time lower and nearing your mouth. āMoney doesnāt matter,ā he assures, his voice lowering to a husk. āYouāre worth every penny Iāll ever spend.ā
You tilt your head back and lift yourself onto your toes, lips gently colliding with his. He reciprocates immediately, his fingers digging into your waist while he holds you steady. Then, he breaks the kiss and glances over at the box that Alfred is still holdingāwhere heās still standing nearby and not at all looking embarrassed by the affection.
You follow his gaze and rest your head to his chest. āI should try it onāmake sure it fits.ā
Bruce reaches over and takes the box from Alfred with a small āthank youā.
He turns his steely blue eyes down to meet yours, and you try not to shudder under the intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes sharpen in that way heās plotting something.
āYou absolutely should try it on,ā he encourages after a beat, his smile turning deliciously wicked before he adds: āthen we can see how it looks on my bedroom floor.ā
Dick Grayson is constantly on the move. Heās never known the ability to stay in one place; his thoughts are constantly running in overdrive with plans for the future. And thatās not limited to his role as a leader or vigilante, it also shows in his relationship.
āThis was wonderful,ā you say with a breathy sigh, closing your eyes as the golden sun sets over the horizon. The final rays of light glow upon your face, a warmth that feels like the sky itself is placing kisses across your skin. āThank you for planning this, Iāve had an amazing time.ā
Dick bumps his shoulder into yours, his hand moving from behind him to rest on your thigh. His thumb moves in small circles, a soothing motion that simply makes you melt at the touch.
āIām glad youāve enjoyed yourself,ā he admits, his smile as beautiful as the sunset itself. āI was thinking of a shopping date tomorrowāand then we can watch that new movie you were talking about last week. I was also thinking dinner at that new Italian place that opened up last month.ā
You turn to look at him, amusement barely concealed in your fond smile. āAnother date? Dick, youāre going to go bankrupt if you keep spending your money on me like this. You know Iām perfectly happy with lazy days with you.ā
Dick leans his head down and nuzzles his nose against yours, his lips brushing your own. You lean into him and chase the kiss, but his hand reaches up and holds you in place. He knows if he kisses you now he wonāt be able to stop, and thereās still more to this night that he planned. Instead, he rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes.
āI know, but youāre my girl and I want to spoil you,ā he admits. He doesnāt sound ashamed by that at all, and the genuineness in his voice melts your entire body into a puddle. āLet me enjoy spoiling you. Please.ā
You pretend to hum in thought. āAlright. But youāll have to let me spoil you at some point, okay?ā
Thereās a woosh of air and suddenly youāre on your back on the picnic blanket, one hand braced next to your head while the other settles onto your hip. His legs cage you in, and he swoops his head down to press a deep, loving kiss to your lips. You reciprocate without hesitation, a hum vibrating your throat at the unfiltered taste of him. And just as youāre turning to goo underneath him, just when that familiar fire is sparking low in your stomach, he pulls away and steals all the warmth with him.
āYou existing is enough for me,ā Dick says, his voice low and husky and absolutely addicting.
You reach your hands up and thread your fingers through his thick, dark locks. If he were a cat, youāre sure he would have started purring, just from the way his eyelids droop at the pleasant sensation.
And then Dick is no longer above you. He tucks himself at your side and pulls you into a hug, ensuring the both of you are angled in a way to see the sky perfectly. āAre you ready for the show?ā He asks.
You try to look at his face for clues, but find nothing. So you look back to the sky curiously, just as the first star shoots across the darkening background. You gasp in delight at the sight, awed by the series of stars that follow.
āShooting stars,ā you whisper, your hand reaching to rest on Dicks chest. He encases your hand with his own, his thumb rubbing gentle circles across the your fingers.
āMake a wish, baby,ā Dick tells you, his head tilting to the side to gauge your reaction.
āI donāt need to wish for anything.ā
Dick hums, a little confused. āYou donāt?ā
You roll to the side and lift yourself so youāre sitting on his lap, legs straddling him and pinning him to the floorānot that heād fight to be above you, he loves every angle of yourself that you give. You lean down and press your lips to his, devouring him before trailing kisses down his jawline. He groans at the tingling feeling each kiss leaves behind on his skin, craving more.
You stop and lean back, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. āEverything Iāve ever wished for in the pastāthose wishes were all granted the moment you came into my life, Dick Grayson.ā
A shooting star flies across the skyline behind you, and in that very same moment Dick makes the wish that this moment will last forever.
Jason Todd is quiet with his displays of devotion. Heās always felt things more strongly than others, and maybe itās because he missed some vital development points during his teen yearsābut his devotion to Gotham, his home city, his love for the people seeps into his love for you.
Itās early evening when you arrive home from work. Sweaty, exhausted, rosy cheeked and desperate for a shower; you lock the door behind you and kick your shoes off into a messy heap. You donāt even bother heading to the lounge room at the end of the hall, because youāre so tired and desperate to just collapse in bed and sleep for the next twelve hours.
But as you enter your bedroom, fingers fumbling with the button on your jeans, you pause in the threshold and blink slowly at the bouquet of flowers placed neatly on your side of the bed. A beautiful arrangement of red and pink roses, tied at the stems with a red ribbon that looks utterly perfect. You shuffle further into the room and scoop the bouquet from the bed, a knowing smile on your lips.
Then, footsteps approach from behind, and two buff arms encase you from behind. Your back presses into a solid chest, and you tilt your head until youāre staring up into the adoring, beautiful eyes of your boyfriend, Jason.
āWas work okay?ā Jason asks, his lips brushing against the crown of your head.
You hum and close your eyes, basking in the warmth of his love. āIt went,ā you answer shortly, not wanting to discuss your gruelling day as a waitress. Instead, you lift the bouquet higher to draw Jasonās eyes to it, and you watch in delight as he briefly looks away from your face and to the flowers.
āDo you like them?ā He whispers, leaning down again and kissing your forehead once more. Needy and uncertainty disguised as lazy confidenceāyouāve been with Jason long enough to know his tells; the way his eyes crinkle at the corners with worry, the way his lips twitch downwards in an effort to not frown.
āI love them,ā you tell him honestly. Without fully breaking free from his hold, you manage to swivel in his arms so youāre standing chest-to-chest. Heās looking down at you still, and you take advantage of the position and brush your nose against his. āIām going to need more vases, though.ā
Jason raises a brow. āMore vases? You already have an entire cupboard dedicated to them,ā he points out, confused.
You stifle a laugh and pull from the embrace, slipping your hand into his and tugging him out of the bedroom. He follows without question, eyes wide with curiosity as you lead him into the kitchen.
You pull open the cupboard under the sink to reveal very empty shelves, where you like to store the glass and ceramic vases. At the back corner is a cobweb and a tiny spider weaving in the middle, making the most of the vast empty space. You gesture to the shelves with an amused smile, watching as Jasonās face drops in realisation.
āOh. Where did they all go?ā
You resort to staying quiet as you squeeze his hand and take him on a tour around the apartment. There you point out the ceramic vase and flowers on the centre of the coffee table, and then to the glass vase with flowers on the decorative table underneath the window. The bookshelf next to the hallway has two more vases filled with flowers, looking just as fresh as when Jason had presented them to you two days ago.
But youāre not done, even as realisation starts to dawn on Jasonās face. You lead him to the bathroom, where another vase is perched next to the sink, where lilies spill out over the top. Next, you show him to the bedroom, where a vase and flowers are sitting pretty on your dresser, by your vanity table next to the mirror, and one sitting on the window.
You slowly turn to look at Jason, your smile teasing and easy. āHmāI wonder where my vases have all gone?ā You ask with a teasing lilt.
Jason huffs a laugh and pulls you back to his chest. āOkay, I get it. I buy you too many flowers. If youāre expecting me to apologise then youāre out of luck.ā
You conceal a snort of laughter and shake your head. āApologise? Jason, this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. I canāt imagine ever being upset at the fact that Iāve run out of vases.ā
You lean up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. He presses back into you, his eyes sliding shut at the warmth of your mouth against his. He pulls away briefly to gaze down at the roses in your hand.
āTheyāll die if we donāt put them in some water,ā he mutters, sounding sadder than youād ever expect a large man such as himself to be at flowers. āMaybe we can put them in a jug for now and I can get some new vases tomorrow?ā
You hum in thought. Then, you turn your gaze to your bed and a bright idea sparks behind your eyes.
āI need to take a shower,ā you tell him, lifting the bouquet up for Jason to take. He does without hesitation, but he doesnāt look any less confused about it. You continue, āwhy donāt you decorate the bed for when I finish up? I hear roses always look pretty as petals scattered on sheets.ā
Jason opens his mouth to say something, then he immediately shuts his mouth again. The apples of his cheeks morph into a shade of red, and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards into a boyish smile. He gives a firm nod and presses a kiss to your mouth once again, then gently pushes you away so you can go and shower.
āGo shower, baby. I can handle a little bit of decoration. But donāt take too long, yeah?ā
Tim Drake canāt exist longer than a few minutes without needing to be in some form of contact with you. Whether itās through texting updates about his dayāincluding asking about yours, even if youāre doing the most basic, mundane of tasksāor draping his body over yours. There is no scale, because heās simply content to be with you regardless.
āYour muscles are so tightā¦ā
You strain through a hum of agreement as Tim works his long fingers into the arch of your foot, his thumbs pressing hard and tender to roughly soothe out the tension thatās been bothering you for the better part of your day. You fight a groan at a particularly sensitive spot, one that feels both painful and like instant reliefālike pressing on a bruise repeatedly and not learning your lesson that itās sore.
Even though it was Tim who insisted you sit down and let him ease the stress from your muscles, you still feel riddled with guilt at the fact that youāve indirectly pulled him away from one of his many detective cases.
āYou donāt have to do this,ā you remind him softly, brows scrunching together as he starts a circular motion beneath your toes. It takes every ounce of your strength to not openly whine at the sensation. āI can just go and soak in the bath like I usually do.ā
Tim shoots you an accusing stare, like heās offended at the very suggestion. āLike you usually do?ā He echoes back, scandalised by the mere thought. He doesnāt ease up with his ministrations, but instead presses firmer into your foot. āYouāre telling me you deal with this a lot?ā
You watch as he lowers your left foot and begins showing the same amount of attention and care to the right. He dollops a generous amount of lotion onto his pale hands, rubs the cream to spread it evenly, then begins the circular motions to your other foot. The entire process is Heavenly and unmatched, and you question why youād never recruited him for foot massages before now in the first place.
āSometimes,ā you answer softly, a soft sigh leaving your lips as he digs the pads of his thumbs into another tense spot. With every motion you can feel the discomfort roll its way out your foot. āI donāt want to pester you with how busy your job is.ā
Tim tuts and shakes his head, his black hair brushing his pale forehead. āUnbelievable,ā he grumbles, like your selflessness is an inconvenience to him, āI canāt believe this whole time youāve let yourself be uncomfortable when Iām literally right here and capable of helping you.ā
You slyly lift your left foot and poke his cheek with your toe, hoping for him to grumble some more. Instead, Tim catches you by the ankle and begins pressing gentle, tender kisses up to the middle of your shin.
āTimāā you whine, attempting to tug your foot back so make him stop.
But Tim doesnāt let go, and instead he starts pressing kisses to your right leg for good measure. An even distribution of love and attention for every inch of your bodyāthe very body he worships and would be damned if he had to live a day without.
āLet me take care of you,ā Tim mutters, his nose nuzzling into your skin.
Damian Wayne shows his love in the most oddest of ways. Through his childhood of being raised in the League, he had to learn that attachment to others could be exploited and used against him. But after meeting his girlfriendāyouāseveral years after moving to Gotham City to live with his father, he threw himself in the deep end in exploring how to show affection and unlearning the negative repercussions of forming attachments.
āBeloved,ā Damian calls out, his voice as sharp as the blade he has hidden at his side, āwhere are you going?ā
He stands in the threshold from the corridor to the lavish foyer, his dark brows furrowed against tanned skin. He watches as you finish buttoning up your autumnal jacket, mind running with replays of the conversations he has held with you over the past few days in search of an explanation for why youāre leaving. But when he finds no such recollection, his heart skips a beat.
You peer up at him through long lashes, your lips tugging into a gentle smile at the sight of his tight expression. āMy friends planned a last-minute shopping trip,ā you explain softly, offering the reassurance he refuses to admit he needs. āIām about to head out to meet with them. I think weāre getting lunch, too.ā
Damianās shoulders drop a fraction with relief, but his posture remains steadfast in the way it was vigorously trained to be as a child. āI see,ā he mutters, his hand already reaching to his pocket to retrieve the black leathered wallet. The motions are familiar as he flips it open and slips out the credit card with ease, his eyes waiting and expectant of you.
You blink at the offer and sigh. āDamiāyou donāt have to give me your card,ā you remind him, your gentle hand reaching up to touch his wrist and direct it away. āYou spoil me so much already.ā
Damian frowns. āI fail to see the issue with that,ā he counters, clicking his tongue at your refusal. āIs it wrong for me to provide for you?ā
āNo, no itās not. Itās cute. But I donāt want you thinking you have to give me your card every time I go out with my friends,ā you say, closing the gap and standing almost chest-to-chest with him. You guide your hands up his arms until they loop around his neck, silently prodding him to lean down until your lips brush close to his. āYou already pay for everything when itās just us. I can fund my own spending habits when Iām with my friends.ā
Damian shakes his head and then brushes his nose against yours. You inhale his scent, heart fluttering at the scent of his cologne. āI donāt think I have to,ā he corrects without missing a beat, his green eyes boring into your own. Itās then that you feel his fingers brushing the skin of your cheek, a motion thatās loving and adoring. āI want to, my love. Let me spoil you.ā
Arguing with Damian has always been futile, so you relent without putting up a fight or attempting a logical argument.
Instead, you suggest the next best thing that you can possibly think of as repayment for his generosity:
āThen perhaps Iāll visit that one store you like so much?ā
Thereās an obvious pause on his behalf, an extra second taken as he visibly composes himself. His lips curl up at the corners, his eyes creasing. āWhat time can I expect you home?ā He asks, the question feigning pure innocence.
Your eyes sparkle. āEarly evening,ā you murmur in promise, now standing on your toes to reach up and fully press a kiss to his lips. āDo you want your gift before dinner or after?ā
Damianās forehead presses to yours, and you feel his shuddering breath across your face as he visibly restrains himself. His fingers flex into your hips, a sign that heās fighting himself to not force you to stay with him.
Instead, he pulls back and firmly places his credit card into your hand, his long fingers closing yours around the plastic. Then he guides your hand to his mouth and kisses each finger, like heās willing his love into your digits.
āThere is no limit,ā Damian reminds you, his voice uncharacteristically soft. āIād like a full show of everything when you come home.ā
āEven the boring parts?ā You tease.
āMy love, there are no such thing as boring parts where you are concerned.ā