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home advantage
soccer player!jason todd x fem!reader
summary: watching your boyfriend score the winning goal makes you incredibly proud but also unbearably horny.
tags: athlete au, early but established relationship, reader tries to care about soccer but keeps getting distracted, teasing, fluff, post-game smut (fingering, protected piv, multiple orgasms), soft!jason but he's a tiny bit cocky
wc: 2.3k
before jason, you never would’ve chosen to spend a saturday night watching soccer. now, only a few months into dating him, you’ve already spent several of them in the stands watching him play for gotham.
you’re still not a huge fan of the sport, exactly, but you really like jason, and that’s been enough to make you pick up more than you expected. you don't understand what makes one formation better than another and probably couldn't explain half the rules without jason filling in the gaps, but you're starting to recognize when his team is playing well and when he's definitely going to complain about the referee afterward.
tonight’s an away game, but only about an hour outside the city. you would’ve gone if your shift hadn’t ended too close to kickoff for you to make the drive. before he left, jason told you that you could watch from his apartment if you wanted. “i’ll come straight home after,” he added, trying not to sound too hopeful.
you agreed before you could pretend to think about it, which is how you end up curled into the corner of his couch a few minutes before kickoff, one of his spare jerseys hanging loose over your pajama shorts. the fabric smells faintly of his detergent and cologne, tempting you to pull the collar closer every so often just to breathe it in.
jason appears on-screen during the starting lineup, already slightly flushed from warming up. he shakes out his arms, rolls his neck, and glances toward one of his teammates with an easy smile. then the whistle blows, and it vanishes.
throughout the game, the camera keeps cutting back to jason. he’s shoulder to shoulder with another player one moment and sprinting after the ball the next, waving his teammates forward and shouting things you can’t make out over the crowd. his expression stays focused through all of it, and by halftime, his hair is plastered to his forehead.
you try to follow what's happening—there are passes and penalties and several moments where the commentators become very excited for reasons that escape you—but mostly, you watch jason. you watch the muscles in his legs flex when he sprints and the sweat shining along his throat whenever the camera catches him breathing hard. you watch another player slam into him and stumble sideways from the impact while he barely breaks stride.
at one point, jason lifts the bottom of his jersey to wipe the sweat from his face, exposing his stomach and the dark trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts. the camera cuts away way too quickly, and you glare at the wide shot of the field in disbelief.
“oh, come on,” you mutter at the television, offended that the broadcast apparently has no sense of priorities.
the camera finally finds him again with only a few minutes left and the score still tied. a second later, jason sends the ball into the back of the net. you’re on your feet before you even realize it, grinning as the stadium erupts around him. his teammates swarm him, grabbing at his shoulders and shouting into his face while he laughs beneath the stadium lights.
pride swells warm in your chest. you’ve come to know how quickly he starts picking apart his own performance, and you love seeing him celebrate before he can overthink everything he could’ve done better.
when his teammates finally let him go, jason drags both hands through his damp hair and tips his head back, his chest still heaving beneath the jersey clinging to his skin. the sight goes straight between your legs. you shift against the cushions and press your thighs together, but the friction only makes it worse.
the last few minutes of the game barely register after that. gotham holds the lead until the final whistle, making jason’s goal the one that wins them the game. by then, though, you’re mostly wondering how long it’ll take him to get home.
✮⋆˙
the lock turns sometime after midnight, and you’re halfway across the room by the time jason steps inside.
he’s changed out of his uniform into dark athletic shorts and a black v-neck t-shirt, his duffel hanging from one shoulder. a bruise is beginning to darken just above his knee, and exhaustion sits heavily around his eyes, though neither makes him any less attractive.
“hey,” he starts, then his eyes drop to the jersey you're wearing. “is that mine?”
you glance down at it, smoothing a hand over the number as if you need to check. “maybe.”
“i like seeing you wear my number.” his gaze lingers for another second. “looks better on you anyway.”
you answer by wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him, his bag hitting the floor as his hands find your waist. his hair’s still a little wet from the shower, and he smells like soap, but you can’t stop thinking about the way he looked during the game: sweat-soaked and running on adrenaline, his jersey plastered to his stomach tightly enough to show every line of muscle beneath it.
“congratulations,” you tell him when you pull away. “i’m really happy for you.”
a boyish smile crosses his face. “you watched all of it?”
“of course.” your hand slides down his arm, lingering over the thick curve of his bicep before you give it a small squeeze.
he kisses you again, softer this time, then leads you toward the couch. once you’re settled beside him, he stretches one arm along the back behind you. “so, what’d you think about the game?”
you look at him, meaning to give him a real answer, but your eyes drift to the chest hair peeking just above the neckline of his shirt, then lower, where the cotton pulls tight across his chest. by the time you meet his eyes again, you have no idea what you were about to say.
“i thought you...” your eyes dip again. “you looked good.”
jason blinks, amusement creeping into his expression. “you watched the whole game, and that’s all you got?”
“well, you did.”
his smile turns smug. “even all sweaty?”
especially then, you think, and your expression must give you away because jason tilts his head, studying you like he already knows the answer. heat floods your cheeks, and you narrow your eyes at him.
“you’re being annoying,” you mutter.
“that’s not a no.” he leans closer, one hand settling at your waist.
you kiss him before he can tease you again, drawing a low sound from his throat as his grip tightens. when you move closer, he pulls you onto his lap, your knees coming to rest on either side of his hips, hands bracing against his shoulders.
one of his hands slides up your back while the other rests on your thigh, thumb tracing absent circles over your bare skin until goosebumps rise beneath his touch. his lips move to your neck as he adjusts you on his lap, bringing one thigh between yours. when you rock against him, the loose fabric of your pajama shorts slips aside, leaving the damp cotton of your underwear pressed against his leg.
he laughs quietly into the crook of your neck. “you’re already this worked up?”
“since the game,” you admit, a little breathless.
he pulls back just enough to look at you. “seriously?”
you arch an eyebrow. “you thought i was lying when i said you looked good?”
his eyes darken at that, and the hand on your thigh slides higher, stopping right at the line of your panties. “can i?”
"please," you say, guiding his hand the rest of the way. his fingers slip past the fabric, and his breath hitches against your neck.
"oh, fuck," he groans before pressing one finger inside you, then another once you've adjusted. jason curls them slowly, the heel of his palm dragging over your clit with each movement. you grind against his hand, chasing each stroke of his fingers. when he presses even deeper, your next breath breaks into a low moan that he catches in another kiss before his mouth trails back to the hollow of your throat, open-mouthed and messier this time.
your fingers slide into his hair and tug, and his teeth graze your pulse. "jay—"
"i've got you," he murmurs against your skin.
the next curl of his fingers sends you over. you come with a sharp cry, your thighs closing around his wrist as your body trembles against him. he works you through it, slowing only when your hold on his hair begins to loosen.
when he finally draws his fingers from you, he tastes them with a quiet hum. your legs are still shaking, but the sight of him has your hands reaching for the hem of his shirt. "i want this off."
jason leans back without argument, letting you drag it over his head. your hands are on him immediately, palms flat against his chest before sliding down his stomach. every muscle tightens beneath your touch.
you kiss him again and let your hand drift even lower, palming him through his shorts. he stills beneath you for a second before pressing into your touch, one hand slipping beneath his jersey to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple until neither of you has much patience left.
“i’m taking you to bed,” he says, his voice rough. “i want more room.”
you nod, and jason rises from the couch with you still wrapped around him. one hand grips beneath your thigh while the other presses flat against your lower back as he carries you down the hallway.
he kicks the bedroom door open and sets you near the edge of the mattress, kissing you until you fall back against it. the jersey comes off first, followed by your shorts and underwear, all of it left somewhere near the foot of the bed.
jason pauses between your knees, his hands resting on your thighs as his gaze drags slowly over you until you can feel it like a touch. you hook your fingers into the waistband of his shorts, and he helps you tug them down before kicking them aside. his cock slips free, the weight of it settling against his stomach.
your teeth catch your bottom lip as your legs fall open wider, and before you can reach for him, he dips down and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. "hang on," he murmurs, reaching into the nightstand for a condom.
once he’s rolled it on, he settles between your legs and braces one hand beside you. the other wraps around himself, dragging his head through the slick between your thighs. you’re still sensitive from his fingers, and the contact makes your hips jerk beneath him.
his eyes meet yours as he lines himself up at your entrance. you curl a hand around the back of his neck and draw him down into a kiss as he pushes inside. the stretch draws a shaky breath from you, your hands sliding to his shoulders, nails digging in as he fills you. once his hips meet yours, he pauses, his mouth brushing the corner of yours.
“tell me you’re okay,” he whispers.
“i am.” you wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close. “keep going.”
he draws almost all the way out before easing back inside, slow enough to let you feel every inch. the initial tightness begins to ease as he moves again, replaced by warmth spreading through you with each thrust. your hands travel down his back, fingertips tracing the raised scars scattered there before gripping his ass and pulling him closer.
jason groans and picks up the pace, each movement harder than the last, his breathing ragged in your ear. his free hand grips your hip and tilts you upward, and the change in angle makes your heels press harder into his back.
“right there,” you gasp, your head falling back against the pillow.
jason keeps the angle and drives into you, hitting the same spot with every roll of his hips. his chest presses heavy against yours as you bury your face in his neck, the pleasure building again. he kisses your temple and doesn't let up, each movement pushing you closer.
you come again with his name spilling from your lips, clenching hard around him. jason curses under his breath, his rhythm faltering, hips stuttering as he follows you over the edge.
he buries himself fully inside you, shuddering against you as his weight settles carefully over your body. his breathing gradually slows against your shoulder while your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck.
eventually, jason shifts just enough to meet your eyes. he looks spent, his expression softer than usual. "this might be the best part," he murmurs.
you cup his cheek. "better than winning?"
“yeah.” his arms tighten around you. “i could get used to coming home to you.”
he pauses after saying it, like the thought slipped out before he could stop it. before he can take it back, you pull him down into a slow, sleepy kiss and feel him smile against your mouth.
he doesn't move for a while after that. just stays pressed against you, his heartbeat steady against yours until he nudges his nose against your cheek. "c'mon, let's clean up."
when he starts to get up, you catch his arm. "wait."
he turns to you. "what?"
you press your teeth gently into his bicep. he looks down at his arm, then back at you, and the confusion on his face melts into a tired, helpless laugh. "did you just bite me?"
"i've been thinking about doing that all night too."
he shakes his head, still laughing as he leans down to kiss your forehead. "yeah. definitely the best part of my night."
a/n: watched two world cup games and immediately had to make it about jason todd bc i'm annoying <3 also if any of the soccer stuff is wrong... no it isn't!
bruce wayne x wife!reader ⸝⸝⸝ bruce is really, really in love w you <3 fluff, suggestive-ish (wc: 531)
bruce wayne has known you for a long time now. he’s memorized you in every light, every season, every quiet little state of being. still, sometimes, you hit him like something brand new.
one morning, you’re sitting at the kitchen island in one of his shirts, half awake, eating strawberries straight from the carton. bruce stops in the doorway.
you glance up eventually. “what?”
“nothing,” he says.
“you’ve been standing there forever.”
he walks over, bends down, and kisses your temple like that explains anything.
you watch him suspiciously as he pulls away to pour his coffee. “you’re being weird.”
“you’re very beautiful.”
the way he says it is so solemn that you nearly laugh. “you’re just now figuring that out?”
“no.” he looks at you again, softer this time. “but knowing and getting used to it are apparently two very different things.”
you have to look away before he catches your shy smile. which is ridiculous, really. you’re capable of facing gotham’s worst and keeping its best-kept secret, but one painfully sincere compliment from your husband is enough to crack your composure.
♡⸝⸝
at galas, he’s somehow worse.
he’s already seen you get ready. he was the one who zipped up the dress while you fastened your earrings in the mirror. yet halfway through the evening, without fail, he looks up from an important conversation and finds you across the room.
you’re laughing at something he can’t hear, and his attention drifts further from the person in front of him with every second he watches. then your eyes meet his, and he doesn’t stand a chance.
his expression betrays him just enough for you to catch the exact moment he loses the thread of what he’s saying. you give him a second to recover, but he never quite does. taking pity on him, you cross the floor to put him out of his misery.
when you reach him, you adjust his tie. “close your mouth, handsome.”
“it’s not—”
“it was a little,” you correct, entirely too pleased with yourself.
he lets it go, too distracted by your perfume and how close you’re standing to remember whatever excuse he was about to give anyway.
♡⸝⸝
but it’s in bed, with all of his attention fixed on you, that you undo him completely.
you’re tangled together, everything warm and unhurried, when bruce stops mid-breath, his hands going still against your skin.
you open your eyes. “what’s wrong?”
he doesn’t answer. instead, his thumb finds your jaw, tracing it slowly, and the question dies between you. your heart does something stupid because he’s forgotten to be careful with his face. he’s looking at you like he still can’t believe the world made someone like you and then, for reasons he may never understand, let him keep you.
his thumb lingers at the curve of your face before he leans down and presses his mouth to the place where your neck meets your shoulder. you breathe his name into the dark and pull him closer.
afterward, he stays there, his forehead resting against yours while you both catch your breath. when his eyes open again, he’s still looking at you with that same wonder.
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something about the sound of you
jason todd x reader
summary: falling asleep on facetime with him when he’s away on a mission <3 soft, but a tiny bit angsty because jason is emotionally constipated (affectionate) and reader misses him a lot.
Your phone lights up at 2:47 AM with a FaceTime call. Jason.
You were already awake. You've been awake for hours, lying in the dark with the fan on, doing that thing where your mind won’t settle, but sleep won’t come either. Just existing in the gap between. You haven’t heard from him in days, and your thumb hits accept before the first ring is done.
It takes a second for the call to connect, for the black screen to resolve into a dark room—a safehouse, maybe, or a motel. The only light is the glow of a joint between his fingers, flickering softly against his face.
His eyes are low and glassy from the smoke. They’re pretty in a way he'd hate you for noticing, lashes casting long shadows down his cheeks.
"Hi,” he says. His voice is rough, scratching raw against your ear through the shitty phone speaker.
“Hey.” You pull the blanket up over your shoulders and tuck yourself against the headboard. You’re mirror images of each other now, propped up in separate beds in separate cities. “You okay?”
It's a stupid question. You know it the second it leaves your mouth. He looks exhausted. It shows in his shoulders, in how stiff he is. Every muscle is locked in place because letting go means maybe not being able to pull himself back together.
Whatever this job is, it’s clearly eating him alive.
His jaw shifts. For a second, it looks like he might say something sharp. Instead, he takes a hit, holds it, then lets it go slow.
"Yeah," he says through the exhale, smoke curling up past his face. “No. I don't know."
He pauses, and all you can hear is his breathing. It’s deliberate, measured. A pattern you’ve come to recognize: him trying to manually override his own nervous system. He does it after nightmares, after patrol, after those long silences that mean he went somewhere in his head that he can’t easily get back from.
“Can’t sleep,” he adds eventually, like a concession.
You don’t push or ask why. He won’t give you that. Not yet anyway.
The line goes quiet, and usually you can sit with it. But after the last few days, it’s harder, and a quiet me neither slips out before you can swallow it back.
That’s when he really looks at you. His gaze catches on the old shirt you’re wearing, his shirt, then drifts over the rest of you: messy hair, bitten lips, the dullness of your skin.
A frown pulls his brows together, the edge in his voice softening. “What’s going on?”
You hesitate. You didn’t want to tell him this stuff; you tried to tuck it away for a reason. Because how do you tell him you’re having a hard time without him when he’s out there risking his life every day? It feels like adding weight to someone already carrying too much. It feels ridiculous.
But those hazy, steady eyes stay on you, patient, waiting, and they pull the truth right out.
"It's just a lot right now," you finish after a while, sounding more vulnerable than you meant to.
"Yeah." He taps ash off the joint somewhere offscreen. "I know exactly what you mean."
And the knot in your chest finally starts to loosen. You can’t believe you almost didn’t tell him. Of course he didn’t dismiss you or downplay your feelings. He never has. For all his stubbornness, all the pulling away and going quiet, he’s never once made you feel small for needing him, even when you’d convinced yourself he would.
The next drag he takes is slower. Not so desperate.
"That helping?" you ask.
He glances at the joint, then back at you. "Not really."
He holds your gaze for a long moment. You can almost see him deciding whether to say it. When he does, it’s quiet, almost boyish: “Keep talking.”
The weight of that settles beneath your ribs, steady. Jason Todd, who would rather bleed out in an alley than admit he needs someone, is asking you to keep talking because maybe your voice is doing what the smoke can’t.
So you do.
You tell him about the book you've been trying to finish, how you keep rereading the same page because your brain won't hold the sentences. You tell him about the rain earlier, how it smelled. You tell him about the stupid thing that made you laugh three days ago that you saved to tell him and then forgot until right now.
He doesn't interrupt. The joint burns down between his fingers, forgotten, and his blinks start getting longer. He sinks lower against the pillows without seeming to realize it, the camera tilting with him until he's on his side with one hand resting on the mattress. Close to the phone, close to you.
You keep going. You tell him you miss him. You tell him the bed's too big without him.
His eyes flutter closed, and his breathing slows, deepens, losing that tight, controlled edge. He doesn’t open them again.
You smile, small and soft. He’s finally asleep. Truly asleep—the kind that doesn’t come easy, the kind that never seems to stay.
You don't hang up, just turn the brightness down, set the phone on the pillow beside you, and close your eyes to the sound of him breathing. It’s not the same as having him here. Not his weight on the mattress, not his arm heavy across your waist, not his heartbeat under your ear.
But it’s him, alive and still yours, even from miles away.
You fall asleep twenty minutes later, and the call runs until morning.
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buffering
dick grayson x reader | fluff, suggestive
summary: aftercare with dick after a long night that leaves you a little out of it and him very smug (wc: 0.9k).
Dick says something, and you know this because his mouth moves, sound comes out, and he's looking at you with that patient little tilt of his head. The words themselves, however, fail to make it through the pleasant static filling your skull.
"Hm?" you manage.
"Do you want water?"
You blink at him. This time, the question filters through the haze in scrambled pieces, but you decide you’ve got the general idea and answer with complete sincerity.
"Tomorrow."
There’s a beat of silence, and Dick goes very still.
You frown. Something about his expression isn't right. He's staring at you with his mouth pressed shut and eyes wide, like he's holding something in. You can't figure out what, because your brain is still running at half speed and—
Dick breaks. He folds forward laughing, one hand braced on the mattress, the other covering his mouth, trying and failing to be kind about this. His shoulders shake helplessly, head dropping as the sound spills out of him bright and full and impossible not to love.
Then it clicks.
Oh no.
"No, because I meant yes," you say quickly. "I meant yes now. Right now."
"Right now?" he asks. "You sure? Don't want to sleep on it?"
“Stop,” you groan, covering your face with your hands.
He’s still laughing when he gently pulls them away, eyes shining.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he says. “I’m never letting that go.”
"That was a vulnerable moment for me."
"It was a historic moment for me."
You glare at him, but it isn't as intimidating as you think, because his grin only sharpens.
"Okay, okay," he says, holding up three fingers. "How many?"
You stare at him. "You're not serious."
"I asked you a yes or no question and you said tomorrow. I'm doing my due diligence.”
"Three, you absolute—"
"Good. What's your name?"
You tell him, flatly.
"What year is it?"
"The year I become single if you keep this up."
He ignores that completely. "Who's the mayor of Blüdhaven?"
You open your mouth, but pause for just a fraction too long.
Dick doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to.
"I know the answer," you insist. "I was going to say it."
"Sure you were."
"You did this to me." You point at him, accusatory. "This is your fault."
"I accept full responsibility." He bites down on his lip, voice strained with the effort of keeping a straight face. "I am genuinely so proud right now."
You exhale, sinking deeper into the mattress, and your exhaustion must show, because he quiets at once and his expression softens.
He leans in close enough that his breath brushes your cheek. “C’mere, beautiful.”
His hand slides behind your neck as he helps you sit up against him. The movement makes your limbs feel like wet sand, heavy and uncooperative.
"Easy," he murmurs.
He steadies you, one arm around your waist while the other reaches for the water bottle already waiting on the nightstand and brings it to your lips, and you drink obediently. The cold water hits your tongue and you actually sigh.
"There you go,” he says quietly, thumb brushing once at the base of your neck.
You hum, barely, and he presses a kiss to your temple. He reaches for the nightstand again and grabs a granola bar, unwrapping it and breaking off a piece before holding it up expectantly.
"I can feed myself."
"Can you?"
You open your mouth, and he places the bite on your tongue with a small smirk.
"That's what I thought," he says, but it's gentle.
You lightly flick at his bicep, and he only feeds you another piece.
The room glows amber from the bedside lamp. The sheets are tangled around your legs, the air still warm, the mattress dipping where he sits close beside you. Your body feels pleasantly overused, every muscle loose and humming.
Dick watches your face as you chew slowly, then swallow.
"Sore?" he asks, voice low.
You shake your head. "Just sleepy.”
He studies you for another second anyway, checking for anything you're not saying.
“You sure?”
"Promise," you reply with a little smile.
His expression eases. He sets the granola bar aside and shifts behind you, drawing you fully into him until your back rests against his chest. The blanket comes up around both of you, tucked under your arms with absent practice.
"Proud of you," he murmurs.
You huff out a laugh. "For what?"
"Persevering through adversity."
"You're unbearable."
"And yet," he says, "still your favorite."
You're too tired to deny it properly. His hand slips beneath the blanket to rest on your stomach, palm warm and grounding. The other traces slow shapes against your arm: circles, lines, little absent patterns that make your eyelids heavier by the second.
Beneath your ear, his heartbeat knocks steady and sure.
"You know," you mumble, words starting to slur, "if you tell anyone about this, I'll deny everything."
"Wouldn't dream of it. I'll just treasure the memory forever."
"That's somehow worse."
He tucks his head over yours, and you let your heavy lids fall over your eyes, body sinking deeper into him. His fingers keep moving soothingly over your skin.
Just before sleep takes you, he speaks into your hair.
"Tomorrow," he repeats fondly.
You groan weakly, and his soft laugh follows you under.
𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆! your car breaks down and you meet your best friend's brother, jason.
𝘁𝗮𝗴𝘀! afab!reader, tension, no warnings otherwise!
𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁! 4213
the sun beat beat down against the back of your neck. burning in a way that boiled you from the inside out. the way only the rays of the mid-day sun could flame.
your baby had smoke coming out of the hood, one more kilometre away from practically bursting into flames with you behind the wheel.
this wasn't the evening you had envisioned for yourself. after a hard morning of classes, and long hours spent at the library with your gaze focused on your laptop screen — all you wanted to do was lay down and do nothing.
it was a friday evening, the first friday evening without an obligation.
the past month had been a flurry of papers, readings, assignments, papers, presentations, more papers. for once, you had one evening to yourself.
all those plans went to waste as the taste of smoke that curled up from your car invaded your senses.
you had texted a please of rescue to your best friend twenty minutes ago.
you were no car expert, and you had no desire to begin poking around under the hood of your car.
through the sounds of the birds singing in the trees, you finally heard the familiar rumble of tim's own car. a loud engine that rattled the pavement under it's tires. the white car pulled to a stop just behind yours.
his boot stepped out first, crunching the gravel below.
"please, just do this for me," you heard tim's grumble of annoyance. he ducked his head out of the car, phone raised to his ear. his knuckles were wrapped tightly around the device, bordering white with exertion.
you turned your face back towards your car out of privacy. the conversation seemed to be bordering tense.
the only indication of him coming closer was the continued thumping of his boot against the pavement. out of the corner of your eye, you could see the tips of his shoes stop just beside you.
"yeah, yeah. yes, bro, oh my fucking god. i'll see you soon," he muttered, his clipped tone becoming increasingly more annoyed before sliding his phone into his back pocket.
he smiled at you in greeting before leaning his head to inspect the undercarriage. his eyes roved over your battery, your transmission, before analyzing another part that you couldn't name.
you were utterly lost.
"how is this thing still going," he grumbled softly.
you frowned at his words, hand coming up to slap his shoulder.
"don't talk about shark like that," you scolded. shark was special to you. she was reliable (for the most part). she was a constant. she had been with you since your first year of university, after you had saved up 3 summers worth of money to purchase her off your neighbour's hands.
"listen, shark is beautiful, but constantly fucking you over," tim pointed out, waving a trickle of smoke out of his face.
"she's getting old, is all. she's fine," you defended weakly, though your voice held a hint of defeat.
"jason's on his way, he said he'll take a look," tim responded, turning around to rest his backside against shark's side. his arms crossed over his chest as he craned his neck to the side to gaze at you.
"jason? like your brother jason?" you asked, planting yourself beside him.
tim hummed in confirmation.
"i've never met this brother," you added hesitantly.
"he likes to keep to himself. got a small shop. doesn't take too many clients, but sells a lot of parts to other people. i think. i don't know," tim shook his head, pinching his nose slightly. "he'll bring the tow to get shark to the shop."
just as tim finished explaining, the sight of the bumbling tow truck came into view.
"go wait in the car," tim said, nodding his head in the direction of his own car.
"oh, but don't you want me to—" you began, furrowing your brows towards the tow truck that was backing into the space in front of yours.
"no, i'll handle it," he stated, turning to face his brother as his brother stepped out of the car.
your world stopped as you saw jason over tim's shoulder.
god, he was beautiful.
your mouth dried up, the bustle of nature quieted down, and tim's presence ceased to exist. he was large. comically so, yet he moved like he didn't know how much space he took up.
his brows seemed permanently furrowed, shoulders tense like the weight of the world constantly rested on his shoulders. though it didn't take away from his beautiful features. jet black strands with streaks of white in the front that flopped over his forehead, a strong set jaw that framed a plump lower lip.
"let's make this quick, shithead," his voice rang out, deep and smooth. your knees almost buckled under you. it was then that jason had noticed you, half hidden behind tim's frame. he barely blinked in acknowledgment, eyes shifting back to tim within a second of landing on you.
why hadn't tim let you meet jason before this?
you had been introduced to his other siblings at some point or another, even had established your own friendship with some of them. but jason, jason was a different ballgame. the way your breath thinned when you saw him scared you.
tim glanced at you over his shoulder before returning his attention back to jason. his eyes narrowed slightly at his brother, "dude, you owe me for covering your ass last week, stop being an asshole,"
their conversation faded when you finally opened tim's passenger door, sliding your body into the seat. their sibling squabble wasn't of interest to you. curt bickering over small shoves; side eyed glares and quick quips over memories that didn't include you. normal brothers is what they were. you were tired and annoyed — and the sight of jason did something to you, something you weren't ready to admit — and tim's desire to push his brother's buttons did nothing to help. your skin felt tight over your bones, a flush settled under your skin and threatened to restrict your airways. your jeans were sticking to your thighs under the piercing rays of the sun. the warmth felt unforgiving in this moment, cooking you from the inside out.
the road in front of you stretched for kilometres, a long-winded gray road that led nowhere, that led to home.
a short time later, tim opened the driver's side and slid into the seat.
"gonna drive you to the shop, jason said it's an easy fix," he explained, turning the car on and pulling out of his spot. your car had been hooked up to jason's tow truck, your heart sank at the sight.
"did he say what happened?" your voice was hoarse from lack of use.
"nothing to worry about," he responded, a finality in his tone — one that you had decided wasn't worth the questioning. your car would get fixed, you were sure. then yourself and shark could be on your way.
﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒
jason's shop was small.
quaint.
it was messy, yet clean at the same time. it was a dizzying paradox. the shelves of his shop were meticulous, not a spec of dust could be seen on any surface. though, his belongings overtook the area. his toolbox lay discarded on the floor next to the post-lift, with an assortment of tools laying scattered across the area. they each seemed placed with purpose — like each was there for easy access.
the melodic beat of a rock song was playing in the back, some old one from the 80s that you recognized instantly. though, the familiar tune did nothing to drown out the silence that stretched between you.
jason was under the hood, back on a trolley that was rolled under shark. his shirt had ridden up, exposing a sliver of his muscles stomach. the smooth patch of skin. you were sat beside of work bench, a small metal chair that froze the back of your thighs — a stark contrast to the sweltering heat you were stuck in only an hour prior.
tim had left shortly after dropping you off — he, himself, had papers, assignments, exams to study for just as you did.
your voice rang out into the air, introducing your name to the man under your car. the clanging of metal paused for a singular second, and the only sound heard was a guitar solo playing quietly through the speaker.
…okayy…
his lack of response unnerved you. you weren't comfortable in this silence. your teeth gnawed into your lower lip, your eyes raking down his lower half. dark blue jeans, faded with use, paired with brown boots with scuffed toes.
"so, what exactly is wrong? tim didn't tell me," you attempted again, leaning forward in your seat. his legs shifted, knees falling apart, as he changed the angle in the undercarriage. your eyes raked up the inside of his muscled, jean-clad thigh and sand filled your throat.
"when was the last time you got an oil change?" his muffled voice rumbled back, ignoring your questions.
"uhhhh, the previous owner did one before i bought it?" you recalled, brows furrowing with retrieving the information from your memory.
"which was when," he continued. a particularly loud clang erupted from beneath the car and you heard jason swear under his breath.
"since tim and i's first year?"
"the fuck?" he pushed the trolley from under the car, head lifted to regard you in shock. his features were even more pronounced in the dim lighting. the blazing sun was setting, coating the shop in a twilight. the overlight light fought to burn bright enough to light up the room, but fell short. you almost struggled to form another thought as you watched the cut of his jaw clench.
"what…?" your voice came out smaller than you intended it to. you cleared your throat quickly, masking it with a soft cough. "my car runs fine." there it was. your voice was steady. clearer. how you usually sounded. irritation laced your mind, fogging up your senses. you could have been home right now.
"you haven't changed the oil since you got this car?" he repeated. his tone disbelieving. a small pit of dread formed in your chest. you hadn't changed the oil, no, you didn't know that you had to.
your head shook before you even knew you were committing the action.
jason's only response was a huff — a puff of breath and a shake of his head as he rolled himself back under your car. his arm reached out, fingers curling around a tool — you didn't know which — that lay off to the side. you were amazed at how seamlessly he moved underneath your car. how he was able to grab each tool without hesitation, how he knew where each tool lay placed on the floor. it was a harmonious dance between himself and his tools.
the silence ate at you again. it was loud.
eventually, he wheeled himself out from below your car again, abs flexing through the imprint of his shirt as he pushed himself up. a small streak of grease lined his cheek, cutting a contour down his cheekbone. his hair stuck to his forehead, the white streaks mostly hidden by the black on top of his head.
"my cigarettes are beside you, do you mind?" his head nodded towards the pack of marlboro reds and a lighter neatly placed on his work station beside you. you nodded, the items laying heavy in your palm before tossing them to him — one after the other.
he shoved one in his mouth before glancing up at you again. his brow raised. "need me to step out? or?"
"oh! no, no, you're good,"
"want one?" an extra cigarette was pinched between his fingers, extended out towards you.
"no, thank you. i don't smoke," you declined politely, your hands settling under your thighs. your mind wandered to the situation at hand. the state of your car was unknown. tim had said there was nothing to worry about, but jason wasn't giving you a reason to believe otherwise. his tools were clanging around down there, creating all sorts of noises that were unfamiliar to you.
jason's eyes wandered to the clock on the wall, lips forming an 'o' around an exhale of smoke. the grey cloud streamed out of his lips and curled into the air. your nose wrinkled slightly at the smell, though, you didn't comment.
"shop's closed now, darling, gotta come back tomorrow," he inhaled around the cigarette again, eyes flickering over to you. his arms were perched over his bent knees. a position of leisure.
"what? no? what about my car?" you protested, back straightening instantly.
"it'll get finished tomorrow," his smokey words floated towards you.
"you were down there for an hour and a half? what the fuck takes that long?" you stood up in frustration, your hands flailing before your chest.
"car shit takes that long. like i said, shop is closing. your car'll be done tomorrow," he pushed himself up, height towering. imposing. his shoulders practically blocked out the little yellowed lighting the room already had.
"how am i supposed to get home then?" you snapped, going over to your car to retrieve your wallet from the glove compartment. your car had been lifted onto the post-lift so that jason could work comfortably underneath. you stood on your tip toes, sprawling your body across the height to reach into the consol and grab your belongings.
jason couldn't help the way his gaze lingered on your back, over the brown tank top that you wore that accentuated every dip and curve that had his mind spiraling for the past two hours. down to the jeans that hugged your figure like it was made for you. he tried to ignore the way your backside pushed out against the protrusions of your car, unknowingly displaying yourself in for his eyes to see — and hopefully only his eyes.
when you finally turned back around, his eyes snapped back up to meet yours.
"call your boyfriend to come and pick you up," jason stated flatly, turning his back to you as he began to reorganize his tools. his ears were tuned to your movements, though, tracking every sway of your hips as you shuffled in spot.
a scoff left your mouth before you had the chance to catch it.
jason paused momentarily, reigning in his silent victory. you didn't have a boyfriend. but he knew you'd call tim, he would retrieve you and jason would finally be able to breath again.
you had to bite your tongue. the weight of the situation was pressing down on you, threatening to push you into the earth's crater with every passing moment. it wasn't just your car — no, your car was minuscule in the grand scheme of things. it was life. it was school. it was your job. you didn't have time to deal with a broken down car, you didn't have the funds to repair it either.
suddenly, you felt slightly shameful at the sudden burst of attitude you had just given jason. this was his job, not his life. the inconveniences of your life had nothing to do with him. his shop hours were his shop hours, and you would just have to come back to deal with your car in the morning.
"well?" he turned to regard you with a raised brow, his eyes shifting up to the clock again. he couldn't be in your presence for another second. his senses were invaded by you. the sweet scent of your perfume that wafted through the air had been torturing him the second you had sat down in his shop. the sight of tim giving you a hug before he left had his nostrils flaring — something he wasn't particularly proud of.
but he couldn't stay away from you either. and he knew it too.
"yeah, no, that's fine. what time should i be here tomorrow," you blew a soft breath out of your mouth, smoothing a hand over the top of your head.
"anytime after nine is good," jason's muscles bulged from where they lay across his chest. the tight black t-shirt he wore scrunched against his biceps. you tried to hide your eyes wandering down his arms, down the sleeve of tattoos littering his arms. a few small birds in flight stood out from the rest.
cute.
you nodded in agreement, pulling out your phone. "okay. and the address of this place?"
he told you, his leg crossing over the other. he remained leaned against his work table, head cocked to the side. his bottom lip was pulled between his teeth. he told you slowly, words enunciating around each number and letter.
you nodded, giving a small polite smile as you moved to leave. "see you tomorrow then, jason, thank you for your help."
he dipped his head slowly, eyes never yours as he watched you leave.
by the time you had made it outside, your phone call to tim had already been declined. his contact picture — a picture of him asleep in his bed with a facemask on — stared back at you, the brightness blinding you in the setting sun.
you let out a sigh and looked around. jason's shop was in the middle of fucking nowhere. with navigation pulled up on your phone, you began to slowly walk in the direction of your home.
﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒
the road felt endless. not a person around for kilometres. you were unsure if that was a good thing, or a bad thing. the rumble of a car in the distance unnerved you. you wrapped your arms around yourself tighter, pushing yourself further away from the road while remaining on the walking path. your head remained high, giving the illusion of confidence.
a car slowed to a roll beside you, old and black, dark on the inside. you kept walking, your eyes shifting to the vehicle out of caution.
"get in," a gruff voice called out. a familiar voice. your brows ticked downwards before your head snapped towards the vehicle.
jason.
he was the last person you had expected to see. his car followed your pace, tires crunching over the cracked road. it was eerily quiet out, dark in a way that left you unsettled. once the sun had dipped below the horizon, a chill blanketed the city, extinguishing all traces of sweltering warmth that the daytime had brought.
"i'm almost home, i'm good," you called back, continuing to walk, flashing him a smile that he knew was made of plastic.
"i didn't know i had asked you a question," he quipped back. his car remained in a slow roll beside you. "i'm telling you to get in."
"and i'm telling you that i'm fine," you attempted again, shaking your head.
your name on his tongue stopped you in your tracks. he hadn't referred to you by your name yet, only nicknames that felt like a punch to the chest everytime he said them. but the syllables — your name — in his voice affected you more than any "darling" or "sweetheart" that had left his lips so far.
he didn't say anything further. letting your name linger in the air between you. you knew what words were meant to follow. and you knew he wasn't going to say them again.
"fine," you breathed out and stepped towards his car. jason leaned over the consol, shoulder muscles shifted under the strain. he opened the door for you from the inside, his gaze remained fixated on you until you settled with the seatbelt securely before he drove off again.
the only way to describe the atmosphere in jason's car was… awkward.
"you didn't have to do this, i was fine to walk," your voice was more clipped than you had intended, your shoulders shifted behind the seatbelt digging into your neck.
"don't think timbo would like it very much if i let the pretty lady walk home while it's dark out," he gave you a sidelong glance. "especially since her car is still in my shop."
"i can handle getting home just fine," you huffed, your arms crossing over your chest.
"never said you couldn't," his chin tilted slightly. his gaze remained fixed on the road ahead, eyes scanning the street.
you didn't know what else to say. your heart was beating so hard, you were sure jason could see it thumping out of your chest.
jason's appearance seemed calm — burdened, even. because he had refused to admit that he had secretly hoped tim declined your call so he could drive you home. rescue you, he had rationalized. he hadn't let you get far before he began following you. no, he was making sure you were safe.
you had the survival skills of a leaf, he had learned. you hadn't noticed him once. your eyes shifted between your phone and the road ahead, never once at the car that had been trailing you for the past 15 minutes.
and now that you were in his car, he was losing his mind. his grip was steadily tightening on the wheel with the force of his restraint. his back molars were threatening to crack with each clench of his jaw. you were killing him and you had no fucking idea.
you were infuriating. and you were kind. it pissed him off. the sight of your face, beautiful and angelic. he could see the fire that sparked in your eyes, and the glow that radiated under your skin. he was sure there was a fucking halo hovering over your head as well.
and you were sitting there. in his car. shoulders visible from your tank top. your skin on display. goosebumps raised your flesh, allowing him to see the visible sign of chill and the way you were fighting to hide the shivers that wracked your body. why the fuck weren't you wearing a jacket?
he couldn't stop the puff of annoyance that left his mouth. his arm reached into the backseat, fingers curling around a sweater he had left discarded in the backseat.
your brows furrowed when he dumped the sweater in your lap.
"what—"
"wear it. you're cold," he cut you off, his eyes flickering between you and the sweater.
you didn't fight this time, letting yourself be enveloped in the warmth of jason's sweater. the sweater was 3 sizes too big. but so warm. you continued to murmur directions to your home to him, letting the silence overcome you again.
the ride was coming to an end, and you were unable to tell if you wanted to stay in his presence or be as far away from him as possible. the conflict was eating at you. his car slowed in front of the building, the streetlights illuminating only a small patch of the otherwise dark street.
"well, thank you for the ride," your lips pressed together as you shot him a shy glance.
he nodded slowly, his fingers pressing the button of your seatbelt. the click echoed through the car. he placed the seatbelt back in it's rightful place near the door, his steady arm brushing against the front of your shoulder.
you tried not to let your breath stutter, but the pitiful sound escaped you regardless. if he had noticed, he didn't let on.
you were sure you were going to have a heart attack. his proximity was dizzying. you didn't even know him, yet his presence affected you to an embarrassing degree.
god, you were pathetic.
his arm shifted to the door handle, body leaning over the consol once again — across the front of your chest — to push it open. his fingers moved with precision. with a level of care that contradicted how much strength he visibly had. up close, you could see each freckle that dusted his cheeks and his nose; the slope of his nose that had a bump right at the bridge; and the dip in his cupid's bow that twitched with every word he spoke.
you were mesmerized.
jason's eyes met yours, face inches from yours. nose inches from yours. he gave you a languid blink before his gaze flickered down to your lips. his tongue darted out to wet his own before they snapped back up to meet yours.
his irises had dilated in size, sucking you into the black void.
"don't worry about it," jason murmured back. he was so close that you could feel his breath dust your cheek.
his gaze flickered down again, calculating. it would be so easy to kiss you, to taste you like he had been wanting to all evening. but he wouldn't.
he pushed the door open slightly before sitting back in his seat. another shudder crawled up your spin from his lack of warmth, despite his sweater covering your body. you pulled it off slowly, setting it in it's place in the backseat again.
see you tomorrow, pretty girl," he murmured as you climbed out. you froze momentarily before stepping out and turning to face him. your upper body ducked so you would be eye level with him.
You think the one bed trope is unrealistic. so naturally wally proves you wrong | cw: wally west x gn!reader, kinda suggestive
1.5k follower event
"Wally, no." You glare at the redhead.
"Wally, yes," he retorts with an infuriating grin. He's lying on the only bed the two of you have because he "accidentally" booked a room with one queen sized bed.
He isn't an idiot. He knew exactly what he was doing. And this is the result of a brief comment you'd made.
"If you're trying to prove a point, it's a really shitty point."
"Hey, now, you started it," he grins, cracking open your book— the one you said was stupid because the one bed trope isn't all that realistic.
"Why do you even care so much?" you ask, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. His eyes dart to you, brows furrowing as if the distance bothers him.
"Maybe I just wanted to sleep with you," he says, like it’s the most casual thing in the world.
"For research purposes," he adds as an afterthought when he sees your eyes widen.
Ignoring the warmth rising to your cheeks, you grab a pillow and place it smack dab in the middle.
"Come on, I’m not the worst guy to sleep with," he jokes. His fingers tap relentlessly against his thigh, almost blurring from the speed as he waits for you to speak.
Your eyes roam over his face, stalling at his lips for just a moment. But Wally notices. Of course he does. He rarely misses anything when it comes to you.
"I never said that," you say weakly. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe normally with the way he’s looking at you.
He opens his mouth. Immediately, you grab the pillow and push it over his face, not hard, but enough to muffle his voice.
"What’re you doing, babe?" he asks, voice faint. You can still hear the amusement in that cursed pet name.
"Silencing your horrible takes and even worse attempts at flirting."
"Oh, you wanna see me flirt?" he teases. His hand wraps around your wrist, thumb brushing over your pulse point, making your heart stutter.
"Wally," you warn.
He easily peels the pillow off and tugs you closer until you're practically on top of him, your face so close you can see every freckle. His hands settle on your hips, keeping you there.
"Say my name like that again, pretty please?"
He’s smiling. You’re glaring. It’s how this game always goes.
Except this time, your defenses are crumbling from the proximity.
But you refuse to admit defeat so soon.
"Stop playing with me." You wiggle in his hold.
"Not playing, baby. I’m proving a point, and going after what I want," he says easily, as if that isn’t a confession. “shooting two birds with one arrow.”
You blink. “that’s not how the saying goes. it’s with one stone.”
“well stones are boring.”
“and arrows are cooler?” you raise a brow.
"Not the point. just admit i was right about the one bed," he nudges. His green eyes are so earnest, so alive. It’s jarring to have someone look at you like that.
"Fine… just stop being…" Your throat goes dry, and you lick your lips. "…like this."
"Like what?" He’s staring at your lips now. Your fingers curl into his shirt.
His nose bumps against yours. Every single thought flies out of your head.
"What?" you whisper.
He chuckles, eyes crinkling. His arms slide around your waist, pulling you into a hug. "And you said this shit wouldn’t work," he whispers, smiling like you’re both in on some secret.
It steals your breath away, just like everything else he does.
"Well," you swallow, your voice softer now, "maybe we’re the exception."
He kisses your cheek. "Hell yeah, we are," he whispers.
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Note: This originally was supposed to be a multiple character post but I thought maybe Tim deserved some love for himself instead.
It started on a standard shopping trip, Tim dreading the time away from home after the longest week of patrol in his time being a vigilante. But he'd promised to take you to the new department store at the mall a week ago, and to get out of the bat cave for once.
Either way, there's a Wayne Industries gala coming up that Bruce is definitely expecting both of you to attend, so it's a perfect excuse to be shopping either way. And Tim knew better to go back on a promise with you.
Not after last time.
Stepping inside you immediately realize exactly how busy the place is. Droves of mothers with their kids, a few pairs of elderly couples walking around and a lot of already exhausted, and overly worked employees trying to make the growing line at the cash register disappear as quickly as possible.
You two stay away from the crowd as best as you can. Making your way towards the store directory by the front entrance. Taking in the map slowly as Tim rubs at his eyes with a lazy yawn and a sip of the ice coffee you'd bribed him with to stay awake.
"Y'know, Bruce could have just gotten a tailor to make you a dress. It beat having to come out this early and be elbow to elbow with half the city."
"Tim... It's 1pm on a Saturday. Babies are awake right now," you gesture to a mother calming her whining infant in a stroller, "you said, and I quote. I got this."
He shrugs with a half-hearted groan, taking your hand as you find the right area on the map.
Soon you're stepping off the escalator to the second floor, walking towards the women's section sign at the back corner of the store. Tim's making his plastic cup crinkle in trying to get the last few drops of his drink. Draining it completely with a long suction of air before you grab it from his hand. He gives you a glare, not malicious but one that says 'how dare you' in the softest of ways.
"It's empty, babe."
"There's still a little left." You fight the urge to shake his arm as he weakly tries reaching for it before you swivel it farther from his reach. He gives you another look, even more betrayed than the last.
"You hate me," he whines, hand letting go as you step to the one empty counter. Dropping his cup in the trash before he can try grabbing it again.
"I'm sorry you had to find out this way."
"Wow." He draws out the vowel, it's the only letter he knows apparently. You smile and walk back to lace your arm around his.
"I'll get you another coffee on the way home."
"Nooo."
"Yes! We can go to Bat Burger too. Get you a Red Robin meal." He tilts his head back, looking at you. Seemingly more awake as he squeezes your arm. His head turns to look into your eyes with that puppy dog stare.
"Only if you get a Red Robin meal too."
"Tim." He replies with your name and that cute little smile that makes your heart skip a beat, like you haven't been together for a while now and you should have definitely gotten past the puppy love stage. But he's cute... And you can't help yourself.
"You know I like the spicy Night-Wings."
"So you do hate me." You laugh, stopping at the beginning of the clothing section. An older woman lifting her head from feeling a sweater a few tables away as Tim grins now.
"We don't ever need to worry about having a baby, you act like one enough for the both of us to worry about."
"Damn, and here I thought you loved me."
"You just said I hated you ten seconds ago!"
"You know how dramatic I am."
"What're you, your brother now?" His nose wrinkles with an even more dramatic sigh, head falling onto your shoulder as he leans against your side with enough weight to make you stabilize him with a hug.
"Ew, don't compare me to Dick. But like... That's at least fifty percent of the reason we're together."
"Oh my God, Tim..."
"Oh this is giving me memories," the older woman speaks, gaining both your attention as she walks over with her shopping basket on her arm, "my husband and I used to be like this right after we got married. Enjoy the newly wed bliss while you can. The years fly by in no time."
"Ma'am, we're-" you cut Tim off before he can say anything else.
"Any advice on keeping my husband happy?" You ask, Tim standing up straighter as he side eyes you quietly. His hand sliding from your arm to around your waist as she speaks.
"Keep his belly full and hands holding onto you. You look like you have the last part under control already."
"I feed him everyday, so I guess there's no need to worry then." She smiles with a fond nod, wrinkles collecting at the corners of her eyes before turning and heading towards the escalators.
You keep walking, Tim trailing behind you before you finally end up in the right section as you start combining through dresses in silence. The early 2000's music playing over the store's sound system fills the emptiness as you look for something to wear.
Tim's being unusually quiet, still plastered to your side. Head tilted to lean into you. Before you know it his arms wrap around you and his head rests on your shoulder. Watching you with the quiet intensity only he could provide. You start to feel his touch turn more tender than usual, your hands stop on a long hold gown as you look at him.
His expressions turned gooey and sentimental. Clearly lost in deep thought before you snap your fingers in front of his nose, gaining his attention. His grip is stronger on your waist as he stands straight.
"What-" he blinks, looking at you, thumbs rubbing gently at your waistline, "did you ask me something?"
"No... Fix your face."
"Wha- that's really mean to say about your husband, you know." You flick his forehead, not even making him flinch at the sudden tap.
"One, I'm always a little mean to you. Two, you're being clingy." He huffs, kissing behind your ear as he mumbles against your skin. The vibration makes a good chill go up your spine.
"And I'm always clingy." He rebuttals, arms tightening further with a tender squeeze against your abdomen. Nuzzling up to you without a care in the world before you fidget. He loosens his grip as you turn and speak.
"What's your problem? You're being more clingy than usual." He shrugs, fingers messing with the hem of your shirt.
"I can't be affectionate with my wife?"
"You know I was just being nice with that old lady."
"So you don't want to be my wife?" You sigh through your nose, hands moving to go area his neck, pulling him closer.
"Babe, you know I want to be with you in any and every form... But we also know your brain is definitely only working at half capacity right now." He groans, mumbling something under his breath.
"Fine, but we're talking about this later at Bat Burger."
"Deal." You turn back to browsing through the dresses before he mumbles something, just loud enough for you to hear.
"And we're both getting Red Robin meals. No stupid Night-Wings..."
You get home from work on your birthday—why is Wally naked?
CW: nudity, not proofread, possibly OOC Wally, short
This is a little late birthday gift for @froggibus, I love u bae, u revived my enjoyment for OW and I promised that I would write this! (admittedly for Warren but I didn't trust myself writing him...)
Work killed you today, on your birthday too!
You had to leave early despite your boyfriend's pleads for you to stay in for the morning. That continued until you left the door, to which he contested but only after kissing your face several times over.
The work. The amount of sheer work. Is the universe trying to annihilate you? You walked back to your shared apartment with Wally, and rubbed your eyes from the sheer exhaustion. Texting him wasn’t doing you any good either, he wasn’t even responding to your recent messages. You’re an adult, you don’t need constant attention from your partner, but you deserve it, don’t you? Especially today.
So your plan is to ignore him and go to sleep, it’s that easy.
When you unlock the door, you step through the threshold and remove the jacket, tossing it on the coat rack and fumbling your shoes off. Not realising your gaze was fixated on the ground, an echoing ‘POP!’ causes you to jump and let out an equally loud yelp; snapping your gaze up, you see the man himself—your ginger speedster—Wally West.
There he stands in all his glory. Naked glory.
Your confused “ummm” dragged out along with your eyes down his face to his body. Frantically he tosses the loud party popper aside and with both hands on his hips. His grin prideful and toothy, his hands balled into fists while resting on his hips presents himself in a heroic fashion as if personally saving your birthday—which he kinda is—with the body of an Adonis!
Dramatically sighing, the speedster stepped over to you, you couldn’t help but huff at his shameless flaunting and roll your eyes as his dick hangs out.
“Guess who’s here to save your lame, busy birthday, babe!” He prompts loudly now standing directly in front of you.
“And why the nakedness?”
“I was supposed to wear some frilly pink apron, but it got back ordered so…full nude!” He spreads his arms proudly.
You’re only just noticing the changes made like cooked food on the counter, your favourite too. It’s not helped by the fact that there’s a bundle of various metallic, helium balloons and the mess on the counter accompanying it—surely from the home-cooked meal.
Despite the blatant display of his exposed body, you drift to stare at everything, “Why all this?”
“Because it’s your birthday. All this is to celebrate your day, honey.” he nods like he’s preaching an unarguable word. When your face flushed and a flattered smile bloomed on your face, he grinned before looking down at his member, then back up at you. “So uh…how about you get to eating, I’ll clean up, and then you can lick some frosting off of my body huh?”
You couldn’t stop the instinctive unamused brow from raising, but since his communicated a playful wag in return, a bashful laugh is let out from your lips and you step forward, placing a smacking kiss on his cheek. “You better hold up your end of this deal, Wally." you smile, already walking past him to the table, not before swatting his ass, making him jump, practically through the roof “holy shit—ow!”
"That's what you get for the dumb party popper." you huff with a giggle.
Your birthday was going to be a pleasant one, thankfully your naked boyfriend is here to ensure that happens, right?
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