Fanfics and Art

Just as he looked up, a dark figure with a dazzling smile and a domino mask jumped at him, throwing him off balance before he tried to take a swing at Nightwing. "Really? Can't you go one week without getting mugged or something?" He asked with a crooked smile, trying to sound exasperated but clearly failing as he easily dodged the sloppy punch.

"You say that like I'm trying to get into trouble." You pouted, arms crossing over your chest as you watched him easily knock out the drunken man with a few hits and unnecessary moves just to look cool. Showing off never hurt after all. "I'm starting to think you are. If you miss me that much, you could just call for me instead of this." He pointed down at the guy who was now face hugging someones tossed out take out with a pained groan. You just rolled your eyes. No comment.

"Need a ride?" He asked, smug and clearly enjoying himself as he opened his arms. A ride, in this case, was a 5'10 flamboyant vigilante in spandex that stretched over his pecs in a way that felt almost vulgar to look at. Your lips curled up in a reluctant smile as you pushed off the wall to walk up to him

"Always"

Before you knew it, his arm had wrapped around your waist, and you were in the air as he traversed the dark streets of Blüdhaven with ease and flair. It took only minutes until you both landed on the fire escape ladder outside your window, and he princess-carried you inside.

"M'lady, your chambers", he said with a dramatic bow and a thick, pretentious accent as he carried you to your bed. You rolled your eyes because, of course, he wouldn't just drop you off and leave like a good vigilante. He had to make a big deal out of it and linger longer than necessary because, well, you were cute. Like, really cute and missing the opportunity of spending a few more minutes with his favorite troublemaker was something he would regret otherwise.

A cheeky little smirk grew on his face as he approached the bed, and he suddenly started to waver. Knees wobbly and swaying as he grunted: "Oh no, my strength is dwindling! I can't keep..." He promptly toppled forward, landing on the bed with a pained groan and with you underneath him. Drama queen.

His broad frame covered your body like a human-shaped blanket, giving you no escape from the pile of muscles that was currently pressing you into the mattress like dead weight. "Ugh, oh my god, wing! Get off of me, you fatass!" Your protest had little effect, though, even as you tried to push him off with zero success.

One exaggerated gasp later, the head of dark, silky locks lifted to give you an indignant glare. "Excuse you, this is pure muscle mass, you uncultured swine!" He had all but the dramatic intensity of an outraged woman clutching her pearls before he decided to try and become even heavier.

He did make sure you could still breathe even as you struggled, but that didn't stop you from putting on a performance yourself now. You dramatically gasped for air, hand reaching out to nothing and nobody as you succumbed to your lack of oxygen (alledgedly). "I-i can't breathe... help! I..... blegh..."

Your tragic passing was followed by his lifting his head again, hands reaching for your shoulders to shake you. His attempts were unfortunately in vain as you stayed still beneath him. "Nooo! You can't just die like this! You were still so young! I can't live a life without you in it!" He cried before a devious idea entered his mind.

"I know, maybe I can revive you with a bit of CPR..." you could hear the smug, mischievous tone lacing his voice, and you could imagine what he was up to, but... he wasn't really going to, was he?? You could feel your pulse spike as he slowly lowered his face down towards yours, breath ghosting over your lips. Your breath hitched, eyes squeezed shut, before his lips covered yours and... he reanimated you by blowing air into your lungs.

The betrayal. You started coughing at the sudden invasion of hair being forced through every pipe in your face, while Nightwing just started to cackle, obviously more than satisfied with his little prank. "You're alive! It worked!" He cheered, rolling off of you to lie down beside you, a fat, smug grin playing on his lips.

"That was so unnecessary!" You hissed, glowering down at him while he stretched on your bed like a lazy cat. "I think that was very necessary. Can't let you die on my watch!" He answered, looking as innocent as a puppy who had just destroyed your favorite pair of shoes. When he looked at your face, though, seeing the soft shade of pink dusting your cheeks, his smirk turned downright wicked. He wiggled his eyebrows and leaned in a bit, his voice low and teasing. "Or are you disappointed you didn't get a real kiss?" Queue the kissy face that was met by another glare from you.

"That's it. Youre getting it." The pillow under your palm was quickly thrown in his face, pushing down as if to smother him. His muffled voice came through the thick layers of fabric and cushion, but was more a muddled mess than anything coherent as he pretended to struggle. "Nuh-uh, you're gonna have to die now, too. It's called revenge!"

Surely enough, he 'died', body limp on your bed before you pulled the pillow away. "Oh no. He's dead. Whatever will I do?" You said in the most monotone voice ever, poking his face while still being grouchy about not getting what you wanted. Well... if he didn't give you what you wanted, then you'd just take it yourself.

You looked down at him for a moment, at that pretty face with those plush lips. "Guess I'll have to reanimate you." The way you said it was decidedly too nonchalant for what came next. You leaned down just like he did, one arm boxing him in under you as you took your sweet revenge.

This had been going on long enough after all. Random visits in the dead of night, bad pick up lines and a little bit too touchy to be nothing but a platonic hero and damsel in distress dynamic.

Enough was enough; your suffering would end here and now.

Your heart was thrumming behind your ribcage as you could feel his breath against your lips. It was suddenly all too real, and yet it felt too right to stop. Closing the last bit of distance, you finally kissed him, not as a joke, not teasing, not pulling away too early. Just a kiss, warm and soft and sweet as it lingered.

There was a small part of you that worried he would push you away, telling you you were crazy and taking this way too far. But instead, you felt his gloved fingers on your face, brushing over your skin before cupping your cheek. His arm snaked around your middle, and with one easy pull, you were fully on top of him, straddling his hips without your lips parting.

You could feel the soft ridges of his hard muscles formed through the thin fabric of your shirt as you pressed up against him. Fingers buried in his hair, threading through before curling in, gently pulling on it. Nightwing groaned softly into your mouth before rolling you over, hovering above you, a breathless grin curling his kiss-swollen lips.

"Last time I checked, that's not how CPR works", he grins, and yet there is something tender in the way he looks at you, affection with a hint of something more.

"I don't hear you complaining," You quickly retorted, one hand still lingering in the nape of his neck, idly drawing tiny circles against his skin. "True. I almost wanna do it again"

"Just almost?" You ask, the question more rhetorical than requiring an actual answer. Something shifted, the playful teasing faded into something warmer, softer. Like he knew as much as you did that neither of you could pull away anymore now.

You were out of ideas until one fateful day. The two of you were outside, talking about god knows what, when he pulled out his pack again. You still glared at it like it had personally offended you, and Enjin just grinned at your reaction before sticking a cig between his lips.

What a waste, you thought before that same old line dropped again. "You should stop smoking." Your scrowl was met with the same reaction as always: a light chuckle, easy and bright, before spinning up his usual answer. "Nah, I like smoking. Besides, I got no motivation to quit."

A shrug, a flick of his lighter to light his bone, thats all there ever was to it.

However, at this point, you were fed up with him. There were so many better ways to use his mouth than to smoke it up like an exterminator trying to wipe out a colony of cockroaches.

Maybe he just needed a demonstration, a motivation to quit. He did say that himself. So you did the unthinkable and reached out to snatch the cigarette from his fingers.

"Hey! What are-" Enjin was so ready to get mad, nobody got between him and his guilty pleasure without consequences, but he was abruptly interrupted by your lips pressing against his own.

That wasn't on his bingo list.

It took a second for his brain to process what was happening. It wasn't like he didn't like this outcome. Fuck no. This was just incredibly unexpected. He had been eyeing you and your pretty little ass for a while now, but was smart enough to keep that to himself until now.

Unfortunately for him, though, the kiss was over before he could even start to properly enjoy it. He was just staring at you now, stunned and at a loss for words. He was tempted to just not say anything and try his luck to get some more of that, but he was quickly denied by your words.

"You taste like shit", was all you had to say, pulling a face at him. The message was clear: 'Quit smoking, asshole'. After that, you just left him to ponder over what happened.

The next time he pulls out his pack around you is with an almost cautious, deliberate slowness. Man is prepared this time, but still suspicious if you will do your little assault again. As soon as the cig is on the ground, his hands are already on your hips, and this time, man is enjoying himself.

After that, your routine has been established. He was fully aware he wasn't going to be smoking around you anytime soon, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make if he got that sweet taste of your lips again. Hell, he was deliberately sacrificing his precious smokes just to get a kiss from you.

This went on for a while, with him still smoking on occasion when you weren't around. At some point, he even had the audacity to push his limits when you were on a mission with him, Ryo and Rudo. You had always kept your back and forth between the two of you, but now Enjin was pulling out his pack with that stupid, smug, shit-earing grin on his face.

He was daring you.

Of course, glowering at him only fueled his amusement and your frustration as he made a show of pulling one out of his pack. Ryo and Rudo were just silently questioning what the hell was going on with you two as they stood on the sidelines of your staring contest.

"Enjin." You snarled in a warning tone while he just shrugged like absolutely nothing was wrong. "What?" What my ass, he knew full well what he was doing. The cigarette was snatched from his lips before it was broken into two and tossed on the ground.

At this point, your two companions were staring at you with an open mouth because you didn't just dare to take Enjin's favorite thing in the world. Crazier was that his grin had only grown wider as he leaned down with an expectant look on his face. "Aw, c'mon. Where's my compensation?"

You just had about enough with this guy. He wanted compensation? Fine, you'll give him something to compensate. This time it wasn't just one cig, you pulled the whole pack from his hand, stomped on it to enjoy the brief moment of his face falling before you grabbed his collar and pulled him in for a firm kiss. This wasn't a peck anymore; this was tongue and teeth while his fingers dug into your skin, pressing your body against his own.

"Really?" Ryo simply said, clearly annoyed with both of you as she covered Rudo's eyes, who had been staring, mouth agape. "Get a room, for fucks sake"

What followed this incident was a flood of rumors among the cleaners that you two lovebirds were a thing, and everyone wanted to know. Enjin, ever the charming gentleman, didn't bother giving anyone a decisive answer. "Ask her if you wanna know" was all he'd say with a shrug and a very satisfied grin. The guy was preening under the assumption that he was all yours, and it showed.

You, on the other hand, made a point out of denying every single rumor that would come your way. "I don't date smokers!" That was your stance, and you continued saying it as if to let Enjin know, without telling him, in the most non-subtle way, there was.

It was grating on your nerves because you did like him, you liked the way his entire face lit up, unabashedly happy when he knew he saw you and knew he could trade another kiss from you for a stupid little cigarette. He had gone so far that he offered you his whole pack, or what was left of it, in return for another make-out session. It was costing him dearly, but, man, it was worth every penny he wasted.

Until one night, he lingered in the common room, unable to sleep because his mind kept wandering to you, to what he could have, what he desperately wanted. Being a notorious night owl yourself, you had found your way there again as well, finding him lounging on one of the long, old sofas. His eyes found yours, a smile curling his lips.

"Hey," he said, quietly, though in the silence of the night, it still sounded loud. He leaned back before he held up another pack, waving it as an invitation. Enjin's eyes softened a bit as you got closer, taking the bait from his hands before settling on his lap. The moment he had you close enough, his hands found your hips, pulling you a little closer.

"Its empty, you smartass." You scowled, feeling a little tricked, though it's hard to complain when he looked at you like that. Warm, content, soft in ways that were unusual for him.

"I never said it was full," he teased, his smirk growing a little wider before his head tilted a bit. "Its the last one." His large hands slipped beneath your shirt, fingers gently caressing your bare skin in lazy, affectionate motions.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, i cant afford this stuff anymore." A shrug was all he gave you while his golden eyes were locked on yours. "I quit."

He watched your reaction closely with anticipation shimmering in his eyes. He had hated that you were so adamant about this, the one thing he clung to to get all the fucked up shit on the ground out of his system. But he couldn't deny that you were better. You weren't just relief and a bad habit, you were more and if that's what it took to have you hed try. Even if he knew himself that he might not last.

"Y'know, that's a lifetime of smokes I'm trading in. What you got for me?"

You scoffed, shaking your head over the fact that he was still hitting you with lines like this even now. "We got the whole night to find out." Your arms wrapped around his neck as his expression visibly lit up at the prospect of having you to himself for the whole night and then some.

A few curse words later, he dragged you down the hall to his room, impatient as he was. He had waited long enough to get his hands on you, and every moment wasted now felt like an eternity.

____ Skip to the next line for SFW content____

Enjin was drunk on you fast; he didn't lie when he said he was down bad for you. His hands grew feverish as he pulled off your shirt, his mouth moving from your neck to your chest, leaving soft bitemarks in its wake. This man lived to make you moan now as every new noise he pulled from your lips only fueled him more.

You practically tore off his own oversized tee because at this point you were growing impatient yourself and, god, what a sight he was. His slender yet muscular physique that was littered with the massive tattoos that covered his arms, chest and back.

Your pants flew onto the floor, and his lips back onto yours as his hand now began to explore the sensitive heat between your legs. His fingers were clumsy with need and impatience, but still attentive and skilled in their own right as they dragged over you a few times before slipping inside. One could almost think he was the one getting fingered with how he moaned as you invited him in, hot, wet walls swallowing him up, asking for more, more, more.

You could feel the way his twitching dick tented his sweatpants, hips dragging forward into nothing yet seeking friction anyway. Your knee had the kindness of granting him some release as you began to rub against him in gentle motions.

Bad idea because Enjin didn't last a minute before he threw pants and boxers on the floor before lining himself up with your entrance.

"Are you ready?" He panted even as his tip already pressed against you, even when you could feel how little restraint this man had left. He was down bad, not an asshole.

"Yeah." That's all it took, all he needed to hear before he pushed forward in one strong stride to fill you up to the brim. He took a second to adjust to you, a hot shiver running up his spine from the pleasure coiling in his gut, before he pulled back again to start a slow, heavy rhythm thrusting into you.

His hands were everywhere, fingers digging into your skin like your flesh was heaven on earth, and his touch was the prayer and worship your body deserved.

His thrusts grew quicker, though no less precise, as his tip bullied your sweet spot into making you moan for him in ways that drove him crazy with desire. One of his hands had the mercy to move from your hips to the aching spot that was begging for attention from him, his thumb dragging over the wet, plump swell.

At this point, you were so close your fingers dug into his ass, giving his thrusts even more impact in a desperate attempt to find the climax you both chased. "Fuck, don't... I'm so fuckin' close..." he groaned, the movements of his hips were growing erratic and uncoordinated as if to prove his own words.

"Do it then", you gasped in a mix of frustration, need, and the feeling of an orgasm just seconds out of reach. "Fill me up"

Those words send Enjin over the edge once and for all. He toppled forward, his hand catching yours, fingers lacing together as he reached even deeper like this, his dick swelling even more, making you reach your climax as well. Your walls had him in a chokehold, waves of pleasure milking him of every drop as he spilled inside of you with a shuddering moan.

________ Continue SFW here________

Needless to say, you spent the night in his room, curled up in his arms right where you belonged. He was in no hurry to wake up or let you leave, even when the sun rose higher and higher over the horizon.

That wouldn't change even as time went on. It would be an exaggeration to say that he was clingy, but he also didn't make a secret out of how much he liked touching you, kissing you. What did it matter if you had an audience when he had you in his arms, when the taste of your lips would call his name.

He lived for it, fished for it in ways that were far from subtle, but what else were you going to do but comply? You were just an intern who didn't want to get into trouble and, if you were honest with yourself, you didn't mind skipping coffee duty for lounging in his office.

Peculiar was how you never got scolded for slacking off. It happened in the beginning, but somehow didn't last long. The people who did try to put you back in your place seemed to suddenly disappear soon after and an eery silence had begun to befall the office whenever you were around.

It only got stranger from there on out. You got less and less requests and spent more and more time in Homelanders office where he'd sit across from you with that smug, satisfied grin that seemed to be bolted to his face at this point. A bit of chit-chat, an invitation for lunch were all fine and dandy at first. But then a small velvet box with a golden keychain of his face marked the start of a series of extravagant gifts that would grow increasingly outlandish and peculiar. The man had no subtlety.

Like the one you were holding right now. It was a beautiful golden locket in the shape of a heart. The front looked meticulously handcrafted with intricate designs and patterns and tiny diamonds embedded in the delicate craft. Your heart was in your throat as the words that you probably should say by now got stuck in your throat as you stared down in disbelief at the wildly overpriced jewelry.

"I knew you would love it," he beamed, clearly enjoying your reaction, especially since he could tell that his gift had succeeded in making your heart rate speed up. "Open it," he said firmly, leaving no room for discussion. The way he said it almost made you scared of what you might find inside, but what could be more over the top than this?

The answer was a picture of him sitting perfectly centered in the locket. The other side had a few letters engraved spelling 'from Homelander'. This wasn't just a gift, it was a claim, a plea and an offer all in one.

"Let me get that for you. Those tiny clasps are so fidgety!" It was just another excuse, even when he tried, and miserably failed, to play it off as something akin to chivalry or attentiveness. He was beside you before you could blink, pulling the red gloves off and placing them on the desk next to you. He wanted to feel you under his fingertips.

Homelander pulled the locket out of its case while standing so close behind you that you could feel his breath in your neck. The gold glinted softly in the sunlight streaming through the floor-length windows of his office before he pulled the necklace around your throat and fixed the little, delicate clasp, so the locket hung just below your suprasternal notch. He made no attempt to hide how much he enjoyed touching you, his fingers lingered far too long on your bare skin, tracing your collarbone, your shoulder down your arms before they finally settled on your hips.

"You do like it, right?" His voice rang low right next to your ear, a mix of uncertainty and neediness creeping into his voice. It made a shiver run down your spine with how his lips brushed over the shell of your ear. Of course, he needed to hear you say it, no matter how sure he was, he needed those pretty little words that would drip from your lips like milk and honey. And Homelander was an impatient man, fingers digging further and further into your skin the longer he had to wait for an answer.

"Of course. It's beautiful!" You eventually said to end his suffering and your own. At this point, you couldn't say no to him anymore. No, you were long past the point of no return. It was evident in every inch he pushed, greedy for more, more, more of you and that disgustingly sweet feeling you brought with you.

Like right now, as he pulled you closer after hearing the words he had longed for enough to spend a fortune on a fucking necklace, you, the underpaid intern he had no business with. And yet his chest brushed against your back as his chin settled on your shoulder, his hands still just grazing your skin right beneath the hem of your shirt, slowly traveling from your hips to your stomach.

"Good." His voice was now reduced to a quiet, satisfied rumble that traveled over your skin when his lips brushed your neck. He wasn't even trying to be subtle anymore, not like he ever was. That deep inhale like he was taking in the delectable fumes of his favorite drug.

Perhaps someone smarter would have taken the signs more seriously, would have had more of an issue with the blatant overstepping of boundaries he never cared to even consider. Someone who would see his presents as ways to own you, to bind you to him and never let you go. But you only smelled the muddy stench of desperation that clung to him, that oozed out of every pore of his body and covered him in moments like this.

So utterly needy.

Your hand lifted almost automatically, fingertips brushing over his temple before they ran into those pristine golden strands. You could've sworn you heard him moan at the feeling, the sound so soft it was embarrassing for America's greatest hero. And he hated it. He hated you, he hated this feeling, he hated needing you so badly it made his blood boil and made him do things like lasering the face off anyone who even looked at you wrong.

But he melted anyway, he would every damn time without fault. As long as you ran your pretty little fingers through his hair like he was more than a vile psychopath who murdered people on a whim, he would buckle and bend for you.

His lips brushed over your neck again, parting to let his sharp fangs graze over the soft, pliable skin, asking without words before sinking them in just enough to leave a mark when you didn't pull away or tell him to stop. Possessive little shit. He knew he was, but god forbid he would ever feel an ounce of regret over this. You were his and everyone had to know.

And, more importantly, he was yours. All yours. He knew before you ever so much as had a hunch and everyone else knew the day your supervisor was found as a splatter of red in her office after reprimanding you for slacking off in his office.

He did it for you, of course. Not because anyone standing between him and you made him irrationally angry. No. Never. He was a great, benevolent hero who had just taken it upon himself to shield you from the incompetence of those lowly creatures. So him biting your neck was really only there to do just that. The sick, elating satisfaction of claiming you had nothing to do with that, and he'd stop if you asked. Probably.

His fingers had found purchase on the bare skin just under the hem of your shirt, lightly gripping skin just before he stirred a little. His lips brushed over your collarbone, your throat, your sternum before that bothersome fabric obstructed his pathway down. He nudged the soft curve of your bosom in a silent request that seemed to occur more often than not when he was this close to your chest.

You weren't quite sure when it had started to truly manifest, this habit of his, or maybe it was a ritual at this point. Whether it was solely a soothing practice or something sexual wasn't clear to you either, and the lines between nurturing and arousing seemed to blur so easily with him.

Nevertheless, you began to unbutton your shirt to reveal the soft hills resting in your bra before you resumed the gentle caress over his neck. Homelander was quick to burry his face in the comforting warmth between your breasts, breathing in your scent, this one right there specifically before his teeth grazed your skin.

Pointy canines nipped at your breast gently a few times before they found that little, delicate piece of fabric that held the formfitting cups and everything inside together and tore it into two with one distinct pull. His gaze was fixed on the way those womanly apples spilled over your ribcage with a peculiar kind of hunger even as you tugged on his hair enough to pull a displeased whine from his lips for destroying another piece of lingerie over his obsession.

Hed buy you a new one. Like last time. Like next time. Maybe you should invest in bras with front facing clasps to escape this vicious cycle...

Because nothing and nobody could stop the Homelander from this. A soft, low groan escaped him as the peaks of your breasts were already getting ready for him. He licked his lips before he dragged his tongue over the bouncy slope and swallowing your nipple whole in his mouth.

Another needy moan rumbled in his throat as he started sucking in long, deliberate drags like he was nursing from you while his free hand cupped your ribcage just below your tit. He shifted slightly, adjusting to this new position while his stiff length rubbed against your leg.

But he didn't move, didn't push, didn't ask for more because this was enough. This was all he wanted. He had a blissed out expression as he suckled your nipple, occasionally dragging his tongue over the stiff heap before going back to the steady, rhythmic motion.

You could feel the heat slowly coiling in your gut, how every motion of the wet warmth on your sensitive flesh made it worse. But you didn't have the heart to pull away and take what you wanted. No, you could be patient for now, giving him the care he so desperately craved while running your fingertips over the short stubs of hair at the nape of his neck.

It had taken him all but one look at you to realize that, that you were meant to be, and every second spent with you after just felt like proof that he was right. You just couldn't see it yet. But he help you, he always did, he always would.

He never even got mad when you came to him, telling him that you were head-over-heels for your best friend, his little brother, Tim. What did you even see in him? He was a scrawny fucking nerd, Tim didn't even look at you the way he did.

But Dick was a patient man. He would listen so patiently and give you advice and make you feel so secure. Not counting the fact that everything he said was utter bullshit that would never work in persuading Tim. Like dressing all proper and wearing pretty make-up and stuff like that. Didn't hurt that he, himself, loved to see you in those things, all dressed up and pretty just for Tim him.

He never said a word when you asked him to see if Tim felt the same for you. Of course, he would ask for you. Not like the answer would have mattered because he'd lie to you about it anyway. Just like he'd lie to Tim about how he needs to stop being so fucking delusional, someone like you would never go out with a loser like Tim. That was just laughable.

No, a flower like you belonged next to someone like himself. Someone tall and muscular and handsome, someone who knew how to take care of you the proper way. And if that took a few little white lies... nobody had to know. It would only upset you anyway.

So he bit back a fat, smug smile when you had called him about Tim suddenly having a brand-new girlfriend that wasn't you. He just picked you up, taking you to his place and giving you all the reassurance you needed. You'd be fine. You'll get over him. And once you do, you'll finally see that you were just so adorably dumb for ever looking at someone other than Dick. You silly little idiot. Don't you worry, he loves you like this too. His dumb fucking idiot, crying in his arms so pretty over someone as unimportant and mundane as Tim while he was right there.

He had to suppress a snort at the thought.

Dick was so very patient for you though. He would let you have your little heartbreak, your pathetic sobstory that you hiccupped into his tear-stained shirt. He would let you have all of it while he rubbed your back and hushed you softly. Holding you like this was reward enough already and for now he could sate his obsessive feelings for you with that.

"Shh, you're too pretty for him anyway," He murmured shamelessly into your hair as his fingers threaded through the messy strands. "Tim doesn't deserve someone like you. Let him have his bimbo. You'll find someone way better. Promise."

It was a promise, Dick would make sure of that. You would never look elsewhere after your silly little mistake. No, your eyes would clear of tears and look right into his and see everything he was already seeing in you. And you'd be his, utterly and undoubtedly his.

"Tell you what, why don't you stay here for a bit?" he asked and immediately hated himself for being so damn impatient for a moment, scolded himself for the slip-up but still couldn't stop himself from continuing. "I can take proper care of you here, pamper you a bit while you try and forget about that..." That piece of shit that had dared to make you whimper like this, who never even deserved to be graced with your presence, someone who only sullied your radiance."... that idiot. You can sleep in my bed too," he added, all too eager to get his hands on you. Down boy. He was so close, he couldn't screw it up now. "I can sleep on the couch if you want to too." Fuck those words tasted ugly on his tongue, like chewed-up vomit. But everything in due time.

For now, he'd cup your puffy face in his calloused hands, wiping away your tears and biting his cheek so hard it started to bleed when you agreed. "I don't mind sharing a bed with you," you had said, all trusting and pliant for him.

See? You were already learning, you were so good for him.

He pressed a small kiss to the top of your head, acting like it was the most natural thing in the world, so you wouldn't question it, no need to freak out over a bit of affection from your future husband. He would kiss you in so many more places soon enough.

He already dreamed of it, of how plush your skin would feel under his fingertips, how amazing your sweat would taste when his teeth would sink into your neck, how much your pretty cunt would drool over his- fuck he was getting hard.

"Are you hungry? We could order pizza for you?" Yes, pizza. Pizza was good. Pizza was safe. Pizza wouldn't get him hard as a rock while he held you as you cried.

He always figured that a guy like him would never score someone worth keeping around. Hell, he sometimes wondered if he was someone worth sticking around for. But you did like it was easy. Jason wasn't easy. But he loved you and, despite everything, he didn't push you away when you cuddled up to him on his couch or slept in his bed. It was both torture and a blessing.

Were you that oblivious, he wondered when he gently poked your cheek after you fell asleep on his chest. Didn't you hear his heart pounding against his will? Or did you like to tease him, play with him? Was this all just a joke to you?

Jason was haunted by his feelings for you every time you hung out, and it felt like every time you pushed him further until he snapped and pressed a frustrated, firm kiss to your lips. He expected you to get mad, to slap him across the face and tell him to piss off. He was ready for it, he thought, though deep down he was just hoping. Hoping you wouldn't. Hoping you saw more in him than the broken, violent mess others made him out to be.

"Took you long enough," is what you said, a smug smirk curling your lips up as you wrapped your arms around his neck, looking up at him like you've been waiting for this moment for months.

The wave of relief he felt almost outweighed the unbearable frustration with you for pulling his damn leg with this shit for this long, just waiting for him to snap. Needless to say, he felt very inclined to pin you to the bed, tickling you while leaving sweet little bite marks on your neck.

You deserved it.

The funny thing was that nothing really changed after that. Sure, you were making out on the couch instead of watching the explosions of the action movie that was rolling on TV, but that was as far as you would go. When your hands would start to wander, aiming to get his shirt off and bask in the mouthwatering sigh of your muscular man, he would stop you. His large hand grabbing your wrist so fast it was as if his life was on the line. He'd tense at his own reaction, stammering.

"Uh... not yet..." is all he'd say. So you waited. Understanding. Patient. A week should be enough, right? Wrong. Maybe a month. Or two. But nothing. Same reaction every single time. But what were you supposed to do? Staying celebrate forever was not an option when you had Jason Todd right in front of you.

He was hiding something, not just the things that he didn't talk about, but something more concrete and tangible than thoughts and nightmares. And he wanted you too. You weren't stupid, he loved getting handsy with you, slipping fingers under your shirt like you wouldn't notice. So you decided to take matters into your own hands.

One fateful night you waited for him to fall asleep and moved your hand to the base of his shirt, carefully pulling it up. Maybe this was a bad idea, you wanted to respect his boundaries, but you were also getting desperate. Was he hiding some ugly ass tattoo or battle scars he found ugly? You had to find out.

Your eyes were glued to the skin that was slowly being revealed, the moonlight allowing you to see the bare minimum. A few faint scars littered his skin that came to no surprise, but what made your eyes widen was the thick, clean length of a scar far bigger than any other on his body, like someone had cut him open from his pubic bone further and further up as you tried to find the end of it.

You didn't come much further as a familiar hand grabbed your wrist, again. A pair of glowing green eyes staring you down with a mix of anger and betrayal. But you could see more than that; you knew him by now. Insecurities, fears, shame. They all brewed like a storm behind his glare.

"What are you doing?" He growled, his voice low and hoarse from sleep and emotion. He looked like he was just waiting for you to say something about what you saw, questions that he was terrified of even hearing, much less telling you about.

After all, what would he tell you? That he died and got cut open like a corpse? That he clawed his way out of his own coffin like a maniac? You would never look at him the same.

"C'mon, Jay... i just wanna see you..." You whispered, strained but gentle and most importantly without letting go or pulling back this time. He still hesitated though, no back nor forth, just staring at you like he could read your mind or willed you to back off if he just glared at you hard enough.

A sigh escaped you, eyes narrowing in a mix of empathy and stubbornness before you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his scar. One. Two. Three. So gentle and loving like it was something precious instead of another proof of how messed up he was. Jason didn't protest despite how defensive he had acted. Now every tender touch and kiss slowly broke down his walls, his iron grip loosening, letting you do whatever it was you wanted to do.

And you wanted him, all of him, every ugly, fucked up part there was, and you were gonna love it anyway. Finally, your hands pushed up his shirt all the way before pulling it off entirely so you could run your hands over his taut muscles. His breath hitched both from the uncomfortable feeling of being exposed like this and the heat your fingers left on his skin.

Sooner rather than later, the latter of those two won and all that pent-up desire fueled his actions. The way he practically tore off your shirt, how his hands greedily began to grab at your flesh and how his teeth seemed to try to devour you whole. This was what you had wanted from the start and both of you seemed to forget why he ever hesitated in the first place.

"Mmm... jus' a lil... longer..." he murmured into your ear when you stirred in his arms, his voice rough and weirdly familiar. His nose and lips brushed against your bare shoulder as he tightened his grip on you. The guy was awfully clingy for a one-night stand, you thought, but you had no chance to take a glimpse at your mystery lover since you couldn't remember whatever heinous things you committed to with a nigh stranger.

That's when his hands began to wander again, not greedy nor hungry, at least not yet, but exploring the softness of your skin, the curve of your chest and back down your abdomen. Lazy kisses were now pressed against your shoulder with a low, hoarse hum.

Okay, you thought, that's it. You turned around and looked up into a pair of killer baby blues that stole hearts everywhere they looked. A small, cheeky smile curled his lips upwards as you realized you didn't sleep with just any old frat boy himbo. You slept with the ultimate frat boy himbo. Dick Grayson. The guy that everyone loved and who had a long track record of breaking hearts and beds alike.

You had a few courses with him, though calling you friends would have been an exaggeration. You got along well though he had a habit of not showing up to class, or criminally late, and asking for your notes with a sheepish smile and a promise he would make it up to you.

Seems like he did just that last night, judging by how certain body parts feeling rather sore. And he seemed very satisfied with himself as he looked down at you, eyes sparkling warm and sweet before he had the audacity to lean down and kiss you square on the lips, soft and slow.

"G'morning, baby. Sleep well?"

At this point you wondered if you missed something, if you had somehow forgotten more than just a steamy night. Like, for example, a full-fledged confession of sorts or a meaningful heart-to-heart, anything that could explain why he didn't ask you to get dressed and get lost. That's what you expected from cocky college boys, but Dick was in no hurry to get rid of you just yet.

"Ye-yeah." Your voice broke, hoarse from screaming over music at the party (or his name while he pounded into you, who knows). You cleared your throat, trying to swallow away the roughness of your throat. "I think I'm a bit hungover, though," you admitted to him without outright saying that you didn't remember a thing from last night. He didn't have to know just yet.

What you didn't know, on the other hand, was that Dick had just been waiting for an opportunity like this. You weren't just a sight for sore eyes (especially now) but you were smart, sweet and kind enough to help him out every time. He loved the slightly crooked handwriting and the occasional rough doodle on the sides of the pages. You were just cute! So he may or may not have had an eye on you for a bit, but you had always managed to resist his charming smiles and slip right through his fingers. Damn you and your responsible attitude.

But last night he got to you when you were drunk, hanging on your friends' arm and nagging them about the noise, the music, the party, everything. He had just been delighted to pluck your cranky ass from your friend and get you somewhere quiet. The initial plan had been to be a gentleman and take care of you to show off how good of a guy was, but then you kissed him and every thought had left his mind.

Dick was not complaining. Not last night nor right now. How could he when he got you in his arms? Now he just had to get you to stay, just a little longer, here with him. Maybe you would think a little more of him, like about what a lovely boyfriend he would make. But he was getting ahead of himself.

"You got a headache? I can get you something for that." He answered you with an easy smile, planting a kiss on your head before he slipped out of bed to get you painkillers and some water. "I can make us breakfast too! I promise you, I make the best pancakes you ever had."