#((drabbles))

When character is angry:

Snapped

Spat

Snarled

Hissed

Barked

...or sad:

Choked

Mumbled

Managed

Croaked

Murmured

...or if they're feeling nervous:

Stammered

Babbled

Rambled

Muttered

Squeaked

...and even when flirting:

Coaxed

Purred

Teased

Hummed

you groan, eyes still closed, fumbling until you manage to answer.

“—oh thank god you’re alive,” utahime blurts the second the call connects. “where the hell are you? you vanished last night and you haven’t answered your phone once. do you have any idea how worried—”

“utahime,” you mumble, voice rough, tongue thick. “slow down. please. I’m alive. I think.”

you crack one eye open, bracing yourself for the familiar sight of your dorm ceiling. you must’ve blacked out and gone home on autopilot. again.

it wouldn’t be the first time you ditched a party early, curled into your own bed, and slept it off.

except… this isn’t your room.

you push yourself up slightly, the movement sending your head spinning. navy-blue sheets wrinkle beneath your palms. it was definitely not yours. your breath catches as your gaze lands on a broad back in front of you.

his white hair spills messily over a pillow. he groans when you shift, arm instinctively tightening around the space you’d been occupying.

your stomach drops.

then there’s movement on your other side. a quiet, low sound—half sigh, half groan. you turn your head slowly, dread pooling in your chest when you find long black hair fanned across the same navy sheets. geto’s face is peaceful in sleep, lashes resting against his cheeks like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

utahime is still talking, her voice fading into static as realization hits you all at once.

you’re not just in a bed.

you’re in their bed.

“utahime,” you whisper, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers. after long pause from you, she urged another "what is it?" obviously curious of what you had to say.

“I think I fucked up last night.”

a/n: may or may not continue writing this

' being loved by satoru gojo ' giggling squealing kicking my feet warnings : idfk fluff , gojo being head over heels for you

taking a break after a long day of training and instructing a bunch of stubborn teenagers, you and shoko were sitting in the staff room---discussing things that gojo has done for you that seemed totally normal.

to you.

"satoru left a mission halfway through one time because i said i missed him." you shrug.

shoko nearly choked on her coffee, "he did what?"

you didn't understand why shoko was reacting. i mean, that was totally normal. ...right?

she places her mug down, eyeing you suspiciously. "how often does he carry your bags?"

"all the time."

"open doors?"

"yeah?"

"buys you things?"

"well, obviously."

every one of your answers to her questions, shoko grew more and more confused. she knew that you two were dating, but she always assumed he didn't really get attached to people. well, not like that at least.

shoko clears her throat, "you know he doesn't do any of that for the rest of us, right?" she lowers her voice. "last week i asked him to pass me a pen and he threw it at my head."

"what?" you gasp---and that's when the flashbacks hit you.

gojo automatically ties your shoelaces even though he knows you're more than capable.

gojo carries you when you're tired.

gojo remembering your coffee order.

gojo giving you his jacket before you can even say that you're cold.

gojo dropping everything when you call.

each memory gets progressively more embarrassing because of your obliviousness. so, after the break with shoko, you went looking for gojo for confirmation.

finding him on the field, watching and instructing yuji and megumi while they train together, you approach him.

"do you really do all those things because you love me?"

gojo blinks, "well hello to you too," he chuckles deeply, turning to face you. "explain, sweetheart."

you huff, "like.. everything! you tie my shoelaces, you buy me things without asking, you carry me when i'm tired---"

"who else would i do it for?"

"...shoko says normal boyfriends don't carry spare hair ties." your lips purse together, turning your face away.

gojo tilts his head to the side, placing his index finger under your chin to guide your face back to his. "normal boyfriends are losers."

okay eat this up before i move onto my rin itoshi mini series

cw: toji loves your bush!! soft sweet toji but he’s also a freak.. mdni, oral f!receiving, praise, mentions of shitty exes. wc: 1.1k, art creds ruu_sugu on x

toji fushiguro is a filthy man, but he is a man in all the ways a man can be one, his fingers are calloused, dirt tucked beneath his nails after hours of labor, sweat clinging to his porcelain skin, a nasty scar cutting across his lip that catches the light whenever it tilts into a cruel smirk. he’s cocky, full of attitude, cruel and rough around the edges, but always soft where it matters, and always soft with you.

he’s a man in every sense, he takes you however you desire yourself to be, dolled up or all natural, he doesn’t give a damn, he loves you regardless, and that follows straight into the bedroom.

he doesn’t care if you haven’t showered that day, doesn’t care if you just got back from a run, he’ll peel your leggings off with rough fingers and drag you over his face without a second thought, letting you settle there, your cunt warm and soaked with want, coating him in it. the desire is evident when he pulls back for a breath, his face glistening with your juices.

he doesn’t even care if you’re on your period, he’ll eat you just the same, filthy and unbothered, spit mixing in as his tongue laps at your pussy, pushing into you like he’s starved. the first time he did it, went down on you like that, it shocked you, none of your past boyfriends ever would, they’d always made a face, called it gross, something to avoid, and toji had only scoffed at that, muttering that they were a bunch of fuckin boys, that a real man takes care of his woman no matter what.

toji is a man, but more than that, he’s your man, and despite the sharpness in his attitude, the bite in the way he speaks, he’s a hopeless romantic underneath it all, and when toji fushiguro falls in love, it’s all-consuming, unwavering devotion.

so when he walks through the door of your shared home, limbs heavy and tired, muscles aching, worn down and scuffed up, faint streaks of dirt along his skin and dried blood still clinging to his jaw and split lip, he barely pauses to shut the door behind him. he’s already moving, already looking for you, needing to bury himself in your warmth, to inhale your sweet scent and fall asleep with you tangled around him, limbs locked together tightly.

the bathroom door is cracked open, steam curling out, the steady sound of water hitting tile filling the space, his bruised knuckles tap against the wood, and your voice, soft as honey, drifts through it, warm and familiar, making his cock tighten in his pants from your words alone, “toji? come in, baby.”

“yeah, yeah… i’m comin, doll.” his voice is low, rough, dragging, the kind that settles deep in your chest and pulls heat low in your stomach every time.

his fingers hook around the shower curtain, pushing it aside, already expecting to strip down and pull you close under the hot water.

instead, he stops.

his eyes land on the razor in your hand, the way you’re about to drag it through your bush, and his expression twists, his hand shooting out to grab your wrist, stopping you mid-motion.

“the hell are you doin’?”

you blink at him, brows lifting slightly, “shaving..?”

his jaw tightens, something irritated flashing across his face as he yanks the razor from your hand. “yeah? well quit that shit.”

you huff a little, rolling your eyes, “why, it makes it easier for you, trust me, i know i let it go too long, it’s just annoying to deal with, don’t start, my dumbass ex used to bitch about it enough.”

that does it.

toji lets out a low, annoyed sound, snapping the razor clean in half before tossing it somewhere behind him, already stepping in, already stripping, clothes gone in seconds. his body is all hard lines and muscle, scars and strength, something you’ve traced a hundred times with your hands, and mouth.

his hands find you again, gripping your waist, pulling you into him, his face dropping into the crook of your shoulder, making himself just a little smaller to fit against you.

“you’re a real idiot, y’know that?” his voice is quieter now, still rough, but softer where it presses into your skin, his breath warm even under the spray of water.

his mouth moves after that, dragging down your body, slow and unhurried, savoring it, the feel of you, the way your eyes are laced with something dark as you watch him, it drives him crazy. his hands spread across your waist, holding you steady as he lowers himself, resting his forehead briefly against your stomach. water runs down his back in uneven trails, dark hair clinging, almost blue under the fluorescent light.

“those guys you dated before me,” he mutters, voice dipping lower, rougher, “they ain’t men. just a bunch of pathetic fucks who don’t know what to do with a woman.”

his grip tightens slightly, grounding you to his touch, bordering on something possessive.

“good thing you got me now.”

the words settle heavy as he drops further, pressing kisses along your soapy inner thighs, slow at first before his teeth catch lightly, a sharp nibble etched into your skin, making you jolt.

“should track ‘em down for even thinkin’ they had a right to you,” he adds under his breath, not quite joking, not quite serious either, before his focus shifts completely.

he moves in between your thighs, nudging closer, the bridge of his nose brushing against your folds, his breath warm against you.

“but right now…” his voice comes out rough, worn at the edges from whatever mission he just came back from, “i’ll show you how its supposed to be done.”

“t-toji…” your voice breaks into a small whine when his mouth finally closes around your clit, gentle at first, sucking just enough to pull a reaction from you.

he huffs out a quiet chuckle against you, low and pleased, his tongue sliding out to trace slow circles, dragging upward from your hole before dipping back down, a finger pressing inside you briefly, just to feel the heat of your cunt, spreading you open and teasing.

his actions aren’t rushed, his mouth working at your core, slow and unhurried, finding new ways to please you with his tongue, on his knees, face and mouth buried in your needy pussy, exactly where he wants to be.

it’s obscene, the way he buries himself between your thighs, hands keeping you open, mouth moving against you with intent, water running down his broad back while your nails press faintly into his skin, leaving crescent marks, soft mewls spilling from your lips, quiet at first, then less controlled as his tongue works you open.

“fuck… that’s it,” he murmurs against you, voice muffled but clear enough, “just like that… don’t need to change a damn thing.”

his mouth moves again, kisses scattered between slow licks, tongue pressing in, then dragging up through you and through the hair you were about to get rid of, like he’s proving a point, nearly making out with your bush.

your fingers tangle in his hair, gripping tight as your body reacts, your thighs shifting, your breath turning uneven as he keeps going, steady, focused, pulling everything out of you piece by piece.

by the time he finally looks up, you’re already wrecked, chest rising and falling, the bathroom thick with steam, his gaze heavy, pupils blown wide as he locks onto your desperate state, a crooked grin pulling at his mouth.

“only dumbasses worry about shit like hair,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes still on you, “so quit thinkin’ about it… i ain’t one of ‘em.”

note: this is lwk dookie but i have another toji fic in the works..

masterlist - kofi - emergency commissions

Bruce Wayne:

It had been a long day. Bruce was exhausted and dragging his feet up the stairs when he heard it.

"Leave it alone mother!" Damian yelled.

"Dami, honey-" You tried to reach out to him but his swatted your hand away. You gasped in pain- He was usually good with controlling his strength or holding back so the sharp pain shocked you.

His hand hoovered in the air, mouth open, eyes wide- He couldn't even find the words to apologise when Bruce appeared in the doorway. You immediately hid your hand behind your back.

"Babe!" You smiled, blinking away the tears that had gathered due to the pain. "I didn't expect you home until-"

"Damian." His voice was low and gravelly. "Did I see what I saw or was I hallucinating due to exhaustion?" The tone Bruce used, Damian had never heard that from him. Ever.

"Father- I-" He swallowed, looking up at him.

The way Bruce's shoulders loomed over him. He wasn't Bruce Wayne, or Batman. He was worse. He was Batman without the mask.

"Apologize. Now." There was no room for argument.

"I'm- I'm sorry Ummi." Damian turned to you. "I didn't-" Bruce cleared his throat and you swore you saw the boy shiver. "I should have controlled my anger better- I'm sorry."

"Now, go to your room. I'll be there in a while." Bruce stated and Damian all but ran out of the study. Once he was gone, Bruce's shoulders dropped and he sighed. "What was the reason?"

"He was annoyed that I was babying him by rechecking his injuries from yesterday's patrol." You explained as Bruce wrapped himself in a hug with you.

He hummed against your neck. "Did he hit hard?"

"It was an accident." You downplayed it.

"Yes but still. He should have had better control. He's growing up- Getting stronger. He needs to be careful and I'm not raising a boy that thinks this behaviour is okay- No matter the circumstances." He explained and you nodded.

"I know. Just... Just be gentle. He's never done anything like this before." You pulled back a little, touching Bruce's face.

He smiled against your palm. "I'll try."

Damian was sitting on his bed, head cradled in his hands when he heard the door open then close. He watched Bruce pull up a chair and sit infront of him.

"Father I-" He began but Bruce put his hand up to stop him.

"Damian, I'm disappointed to begin with." Bruce stated simply, tiredness obvious in his voice. "I did not raise you to disrespect my wife."

Damian's eyes widened. You were his mama. Not just- Not just Bruce's wife. Right?

"No patrol for two weeks. And you will tend to your mother until her hand heals." Bruce explained, "If anything like this happens again-"

"It won't." Damian interjected. "It won't. I swear."

Dick Grayson:

"Honey-" You sighed, "You know last night was important for your dad. He got the key to the city. We were there to show support and-"

"Dad's gotten keys before too!" Your son whined, "I missed out on a once in a lifetime kind of party last night. I was the only one who didn't go- I'm going to become a social outcast!"

"John-" You tried again.

"Jesus fuck mom! You don't understand!" He yelled and you blinked in shock.

He'd never spoken to you that way, let alone with that language.

"John. Room. Now." Dick's voice carried through the house.

John's spine straightened rigidly. Dick was the fun parent. Jokes, adventures, always the the person to lighten the mood. So, for him to use a tone he's never experienced before, John shrank away from the voice alone.

He tried to shuffle behind you, his hand reached to grab your wrist to safety- for protection when Dick walked into the kitchen.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" He asked and John shook his head. "Good. Go. Now."

"Yes, sir." John swallowed and quickly left.

"What the hell was that?" Dick whispered to you. "How can- What?"

"I don't know." You looked down, your eyes full of absolute sadness.

"Are you okay, baby?" He cupped your face and made you look at him. You nodded, a deep frown on your face. "My girl." He sighed, pulling you into a hug and rubbing your back. "I'll talk to him. This can't happen again." He whispered into your hair. "Either he gets his act together or he's spending summer with Bruce instead of his little trek through East Asia."

John was nervously pacing his room when Dick entered. His eyes skitted to the door that closed behind his father. He'd never seen Dick upset- Even remotely so. So this was jarring for him.

"Dad-" He began but Dick wagged a finger at him, earning complete silence.

"Do you have any idea how much my wife does for you?" Dick asked slowly. "One party, John. It was one party. You have privlidge beyond words- You get to experience life that most people don't even get to dream of and you yell and curse because you missed one party?"

"I'm sorry- I am! But-" John tried, earning a chuckle from Dick. Uh oh.

"But?" He raised a brow, an eerie smile on his face. "You're defending your behaviour?"

"No!" A deep unsettling feeling gathered in John's stomach.

Dick's gaze narrowed. He hated that he had to use his body language reading skills on his own child but he had to. "Apologize to your mother and mean it. If I have even an inkling that you're not in it 100%, you're spending the summer with grandpa Bruce."

"Yes, sir." John nodded numbly, watching his father leave his room.

Jason Todd:

Jason took off his boots by the door when he heard the commotion. He could hear you and your daughter arguing. She was a teenager now- So, naturally, the world was against her and she was against her mom for everything.

"Woah- Where's the fire?" He joked, entering the lounge, kissing your cheek.

"I found this in her room." You sighed, showing Jason the domino mask, along with some gear. "She's the new vigilante."

"Why were you in my room in the first place?!" She yelled. "It's an invasion of privacy!"

"Okay- First- Let's not yell." Jason tried to mitigate.

"I was there to pick your laundry. Not snoop." You said again. "And we've already had this discussion multiple times. I have told you- I don't want you in this life."

"Dad!" She looked to Jason, "Can you tell mom to not be such an uptight bitch?! I'm doing good in this city!"

You sucked in a sharp breath. "Calliope-"

Whereas, Jason had gone dangerously still. "What did you just say?" He looked at her, his green eyes pulsing a glow.

"I didn't mean-" She backtracked, colour draining from her face.

"Not the question. What did you just call my wife?" He repeated.

Maybe the scary part was that Jason never raised his voice. But his scars and eyes glowing did the fear for him.

"A bitch." She swallowed, looking down.

"Right." Jason folded his arms. "For worrying about you- For picking up after you- For having reasonable concerns. For loving you enough to not want you to get hurt. And this is how you behave?"

"I'm doing real good." She argued back.

"Let me say this once because if I have to repeat it, there will be cosmic consequences. Do you understand?" Jason said softly and she nodded once, "Good. Now, you will never be a vigilante in this or any city. If you want to do good, use your trust fund to give back to the community. Secondly, if you ever speak to your mother- and most importantly, to my wife that way again, you will go to your Uncle Damian's at Nanda Parbat for every vacation and holiday. You know. Since you want to be a vigilante so bad. You should have the proper training."

"Yes, dad." She nodded, horrified.

"Good. I'm gonna go shower." He kissed your temple again then turned to his daughter. "Apologize to your mother and when I come down for dinner and there's even the tiniest bit evidence that she's still upset or hurt- Like I said. Cosmic consequences."

Tim Drake:

"Babe?" Tim called out, dragging his feet to your shared bedroom. "I can't even start to explain how bad today was-" He entered the room, loosening his tie. "Tell me why the board is so-" He paused, you were sitting on the bed, wringing your fingers togther, eyes full of tears. "Uhh- What happened? Someone die in one of your books again?" He teased.

You sniffed, wiping your tears. "No- It's nothing." You gave him a weepy smile. "Sorry I-"

"Don't. Don't do that. Tell me what happened?" He caressed your cheek gently.

"Something Teddy said. It's really nothing- Just my insecurities." You brushed it off but alarm bells were already ringing in his head.

"What did he say?" He asked softly, already knowing that right after this conversation, he'd be going to his son's room.

"It's stupid. Kids say stupid things." You tried again.

"He's 22. So... no. What did he say?" He asked again.

You sighed deeply. "He's been stuck on this Tort Law assignment and I guess he was just frustrated- I said I could help and he-" You bit the inside of your cheek, "He said that if he wanted to ask help from a dropout, he'd ask."

"Right." Tim rubbed at his temple. "Okay. Um- Yeah-" He stood up and left the room.

Teddy was in his room, still hunched over his desk, trying to work out the assignment. He heard the door open then close, he didn't pay much mind to it until Tim cleared his throat.

"Oh, hey dad. What's-" He looked over his shoulder and paused. Tim looked... off. "Is everything okay?"

"I don't know. You tell me." He smiled and sat on his son's bed. "Anything interesting happen today?"

"Uh- No? Why?" Teddy's brows furrowed.

"No? Really? Then you didn't behave rudely to your mother?" He asked, the smile still there.

Teddy groaned and rolled his eyes, swivelling his chair to face Tim. "I didn't say anything wrong. She doesn't understand what I'm studying-" He doubled down.

"Funny. Because she was my tutor in college. That's how we met." Tim shrugged. "And if my wife hadn't gotten pregnant, she would've had a degree right now instead of a rude and ungrateful son."

Teddy suddenly felt very sick. "What?"

"Yup. She was your age. Whole life planned. And you know what she did? She picked you. And she's picked you ever since that day. And you?" He let out an exhaled laugh, "Today, I come home to find out that you took one of her biggest sacrifices and threw it back at her because you were frustrated."

"I didn't know." Teddy said shamefully.

"It's not about knowing. You shouldn't have something so cruel to begin with." Tim corrected. "You made her cry."

Teddy blinked and looked at Tim. "Mom cried?" His voice was tiny. "I- I didn't- Fuck-" He shot out of his chair, stumbling, almost falling, running to the door. "I'm sorry- I'm sorry-" He ran out of the room to find you. "Mama! I'm so sorry!"

Damian Wayne:

"Absolutely not. Your father will flay you alive." You shook your head, going back to your book.

"Mom, please. It'll be fun!" Alfred begged, "Come on."

"Honey- It'll be your funeral." You laughed and turned the page.

"Please!" He whined again, "It'll be fun. I've never seen Baba flip out."

"And for good reason." You rolled your eyes and looked up from your book. Damn, those puppy eyes. "Ugh- Fine. But I'm not saving you when he goes all Demon's Head on you."

"Ah! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!" He said gleefully, giving you a hug and running off.

You sighed. This was going to be a disaster but a part of you wanted to see how it would play out. So, here you were, sitting in the study, Alfred setting a camera on the shelf.

"Okay, ready?" He whispered with giggles.

"I still don't approve." You said, "But I won't lie- I am curious..."

Alfred smiled brightly then straightened up. He took a big breath in and then yelled. "Shut up, mama!!"

Before he could even react, a ninja's star wizzed past his ear, lodging itself in the wall.

"Baba!" He squeaked, "You-"

"You dare speak to my wife like that?" Damian growled, "You dare to disrespect the woman that gave you life?"

"Baba! Wait! I can expla- ah!" He dodged the next ninja star. "Wait! Mama!"

"You will not intervene me disciplining him-" Damian whipped his head at you.

"I'm not, my love. Carry on-" You said lazily, watching with amusement.

"Mama!" Alfred yelped, dodging another attack from Damian. "It was just a prank! Just to get a reaction from you!" He scrambled away on the floor.

Damian went still, his gaze narrowing. "You wished for my wrath for a video?" He took one look around and caught the phone propped between books. He threw a ninja star at it, breaking the phone into pieces.

"Mama! Please!" Alfred begged.

"Nope. I told you it was a bad idea." You laughed, then turned a page.

"You chose to not listen to your mother?" Damian hissed.

"Okay, my bad! My very bad! This is escalating too fast!" Alfred ran between the shelves.

"Apologize. Now." Damian's voice carried in the shadows.

"I'm sorry- I'm so sorry- Mama!! Help me!" He cried out.

You sighed softly and put your book aside. "My love?" You said sweetly and Damian hummed. "I think he learned his lesson."

"He did not." He huffed. "Come out. Now. I won't attack you anymore." Alfred shuffled out in full view. "So, you decided to not listen to your mother and then disrespect her for a prank to get a reaction out of me?" He nodded weakly. "You do know that if it had been anyone but you, the first start would have lodged itself in your heart. Yes?"

Alfred gulped. "Yes, Baba."

"Good." Damian nodded. "Now- You will write a 3000-word essay explaining that you understand what you did was wrong. And then you were clean the training room of the assassins."

Alfred's eyes bugged out of his head. "The assassins' training room?" He whispered. "But that's-"

"Quite big. I'm aware." Damian smiled. "Should take just enough days as your spring break?"

"Should've listened to me." You said softly as he groaned and left the study.

.

.

.

Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne giving their girl the princess treatment…

warnings : only slightly suggestive in these? tooth rotting fluff, the boys are whipped for their girl, female reader, mentions of feet, golden retriever type boyfriends fr

Taglist : @i-dearbambi-dxx | please let me know if you want to be tagged in any of my ongoing works!

note : my first time ever writing a request >.< actually had a lot of fun writing this and will defo do more in the future :)

Based on this request

Bruce Wayne has zero ability in restraint when it comes to spoiling his girlfriend—you. If there’s anything he sees you looking at, humming in consideration of buying at all, he’s whipping out his card and he’s buying it without hesitation.

“What’s this?” You ask, shrugging off your outdoor coat and handing it to a patiently waiting Alfred in the foyer. The butler takes your coat and folds it in his arms, his greying brows raising with intrigue at the expensive designer box in Bruce’s hands.

Bruce holds the box out for you to take, and you do so without hesitation. Though, you give a suspicious look to him before delicately removing the lid and pushing aside the crinkling tissue paper inside.

You gasp as you reach in and reveal the backless designer dress you had stared at for a millisecond yesterday at the store.

“Bruce!” You squeal, eyes sparkling in adoration for the gift. Alfred wordlessly takes the box from your hands as you fly forwards to wrap your arms around Bruce’s midriff. Bruce only chuckles, fondness in his expression, pure adoration for your reaction and you in general.

“Do you like it?” Bruce leans down and presses a lingering kiss to your temple. His fingers, calloused and blemished from the years of his work as Batman, trace patterns into the skin under your shirt. You do your best to conceal a shiver at the touch, but nothing can slip past the detectives trained eye.

You hum. “I love it. You didn’t have to buy that for me—it must have cost a fortune.”

An ironic statement considering Bruce Wayne is the richest man in Gotham. A billionaire philanthropist sitting pretty on a wealth dating back several generations.

Bruce shakes his head and presses his lips again to your skin, this time lower and nearing your mouth. “Money doesn’t matter,” he assures, his voice lowering to a husk. “You’re worth every penny I’ll ever spend.”

You tilt your head back and lift yourself onto your toes, lips gently colliding with his. He reciprocates immediately, his fingers digging into your waist while he holds you steady. Then, he breaks the kiss and glances over at the box that Alfred is still holding—where he’s still standing nearby and not at all looking embarrassed by the affection.

You follow his gaze and rest your head to his chest. “I should try it on—make sure it fits.”

Bruce reaches over and takes the box from Alfred with a small “thank you”.

He turns his steely blue eyes down to meet yours, and you try not to shudder under the intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes sharpen in that way he’s plotting something.

“You absolutely should try it on,” he encourages after a beat, his smile turning deliciously wicked before he adds: “then we can see how it looks on my bedroom floor.”

~*~*~

Dick Grayson is constantly on the move. He’s never known the ability to stay in one place; his thoughts are constantly running in overdrive with plans for the future. And that’s not limited to his role as a leader or vigilante, it also shows in his relationship.

“This was wonderful,” you say with a breathy sigh, closing your eyes as the golden sun sets over the horizon. The final rays of light glow upon your face, a warmth that feels like the sky itself is placing kisses across your skin. “Thank you for planning this, I’ve had an amazing time.”

Dick bumps his shoulder into yours, his hand moving from behind him to rest on your thigh. His thumb moves in small circles, a soothing motion that simply makes you melt at the touch.

“I’m glad you’ve enjoyed yourself,” he admits, his smile as beautiful as the sunset itself. “I was thinking of a shopping date tomorrow—and then we can watch that new movie you were talking about last week. I was also thinking dinner at that new Italian place that opened up last month.”

You turn to look at him, amusement barely concealed in your fond smile. “Another date? Dick, you’re going to go bankrupt if you keep spending your money on me like this. You know I’m perfectly happy with lazy days with you.”

Dick leans his head down and nuzzles his nose against yours, his lips brushing your own. You lean into him and chase the kiss, but his hand reaches up and holds you in place. He knows if he kisses you now he won’t be able to stop, and there’s still more to this night that he planned. Instead, he rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes.

“I know, but you’re my girl and I want to spoil you,” he admits. He doesn’t sound ashamed by that at all, and the genuineness in his voice melts your entire body into a puddle. “Let me enjoy spoiling you. Please.”

You pretend to hum in thought. “Alright. But you’ll have to let me spoil you at some point, okay?”

There’s a woosh of air and suddenly you’re on your back on the picnic blanket, one hand braced next to your head while the other settles onto your hip. His legs cage you in, and he swoops his head down to press a deep, loving kiss to your lips. You reciprocate without hesitation, a hum vibrating your throat at the unfiltered taste of him. And just as you’re turning to goo underneath him, just when that familiar fire is sparking low in your stomach, he pulls away and steals all the warmth with him.

“You existing is enough for me,” Dick says, his voice low and husky and absolutely addicting.

You reach your hands up and thread your fingers through his thick, dark locks. If he were a cat, you’re sure he would have started purring, just from the way his eyelids droop at the pleasant sensation.

And then Dick is no longer above you. He tucks himself at your side and pulls you into a hug, ensuring the both of you are angled in a way to see the sky perfectly. “Are you ready for the show?” He asks.

You try to look at his face for clues, but find nothing. So you look back to the sky curiously, just as the first star shoots across the darkening background. You gasp in delight at the sight, awed by the series of stars that follow.

“Shooting stars,” you whisper, your hand reaching to rest on Dicks chest. He encases your hand with his own, his thumb rubbing gentle circles across the your fingers.

“Make a wish, baby,” Dick tells you, his head tilting to the side to gauge your reaction.

“I don’t need to wish for anything.”

Dick hums, a little confused. “You don’t?”

You roll to the side and lift yourself so you’re sitting on his lap, legs straddling him and pinning him to the floor—not that he’d fight to be above you, he loves every angle of yourself that you give. You lean down and press your lips to his, devouring him before trailing kisses down his jawline. He groans at the tingling feeling each kiss leaves behind on his skin, craving more.

You stop and lean back, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. “Everything I’ve ever wished for in the past—those wishes were all granted the moment you came into my life, Dick Grayson.”

A shooting star flies across the skyline behind you, and in that very same moment Dick makes the wish that this moment will last forever.

~*~*~

Jason Todd is quiet with his displays of devotion. He’s always felt things more strongly than others, and maybe it’s because he missed some vital development points during his teen years—but his devotion to Gotham, his home city, his love for the people seeps into his love for you.

It’s early evening when you arrive home from work. Sweaty, exhausted, rosy cheeked and desperate for a shower; you lock the door behind you and kick your shoes off into a messy heap. You don’t even bother heading to the lounge room at the end of the hall, because you’re so tired and desperate to just collapse in bed and sleep for the next twelve hours.

But as you enter your bedroom, fingers fumbling with the button on your jeans, you pause in the threshold and blink slowly at the bouquet of flowers placed neatly on your side of the bed. A beautiful arrangement of red and pink roses, tied at the stems with a red ribbon that looks utterly perfect. You shuffle further into the room and scoop the bouquet from the bed, a knowing smile on your lips.

Then, footsteps approach from behind, and two buff arms encase you from behind. Your back presses into a solid chest, and you tilt your head until you’re staring up into the adoring, beautiful eyes of your boyfriend, Jason.

“Was work okay?” Jason asks, his lips brushing against the crown of your head.

You hum and close your eyes, basking in the warmth of his love. “It went,” you answer shortly, not wanting to discuss your gruelling day as a waitress. Instead, you lift the bouquet higher to draw Jason’s eyes to it, and you watch in delight as he briefly looks away from your face and to the flowers.

“Do you like them?” He whispers, leaning down again and kissing your forehead once more. Needy and uncertainty disguised as lazy confidence—you’ve been with Jason long enough to know his tells; the way his eyes crinkle at the corners with worry, the way his lips twitch downwards in an effort to not frown.

“I love them,” you tell him honestly. Without fully breaking free from his hold, you manage to swivel in his arms so you’re standing chest-to-chest. He’s looking down at you still, and you take advantage of the position and brush your nose against his. “I’m going to need more vases, though.”

Jason raises a brow. “More vases? You already have an entire cupboard dedicated to them,” he points out, confused.

You stifle a laugh and pull from the embrace, slipping your hand into his and tugging him out of the bedroom. He follows without question, eyes wide with curiosity as you lead him into the kitchen.

You pull open the cupboard under the sink to reveal very empty shelves, where you like to store the glass and ceramic vases. At the back corner is a cobweb and a tiny spider weaving in the middle, making the most of the vast empty space. You gesture to the shelves with an amused smile, watching as Jason’s face drops in realisation.

“Oh. Where did they all go?”

You resort to staying quiet as you squeeze his hand and take him on a tour around the apartment. There you point out the ceramic vase and flowers on the centre of the coffee table, and then to the glass vase with flowers on the decorative table underneath the window. The bookshelf next to the hallway has two more vases filled with flowers, looking just as fresh as when Jason had presented them to you two days ago.

But you’re not done, even as realisation starts to dawn on Jason’s face. You lead him to the bathroom, where another vase is perched next to the sink, where lilies spill out over the top. Next, you show him to the bedroom, where a vase and flowers are sitting pretty on your dresser, by your vanity table next to the mirror, and one sitting on the window.

You slowly turn to look at Jason, your smile teasing and easy. “Hm—I wonder where my vases have all gone?” You ask with a teasing lilt.

Jason huffs a laugh and pulls you back to his chest. “Okay, I get it. I buy you too many flowers. If you’re expecting me to apologise then you’re out of luck.”

You conceal a snort of laughter and shake your head. “Apologise? Jason, this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. I can’t imagine ever being upset at the fact that I’ve run out of vases.”

You lean up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. He presses back into you, his eyes sliding shut at the warmth of your mouth against his. He pulls away briefly to gaze down at the roses in your hand.

“They’ll die if we don’t put them in some water,” he mutters, sounding sadder than you’d ever expect a large man such as himself to be at flowers. “Maybe we can put them in a jug for now and I can get some new vases tomorrow?”

You hum in thought. Then, you turn your gaze to your bed and a bright idea sparks behind your eyes.

“I need to take a shower,” you tell him, lifting the bouquet up for Jason to take. He does without hesitation, but he doesn’t look any less confused about it. You continue, “why don’t you decorate the bed for when I finish up? I hear roses always look pretty as petals scattered on sheets.”

Jason opens his mouth to say something, then he immediately shuts his mouth again. The apples of his cheeks morph into a shade of red, and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards into a boyish smile. He gives a firm nod and presses a kiss to your mouth once again, then gently pushes you away so you can go and shower.

“Go shower, baby. I can handle a little bit of decoration. But don’t take too long, yeah?”

~*~*~

Tim Drake can’t exist longer than a few minutes without needing to be in some form of contact with you. Whether it’s through texting updates about his day—including asking about yours, even if you’re doing the most basic, mundane of tasks—or draping his body over yours. There is no scale, because he’s simply content to be with you regardless.

“Your muscles are so tight…”

You strain through a hum of agreement as Tim works his long fingers into the arch of your foot, his thumbs pressing hard and tender to roughly soothe out the tension that’s been bothering you for the better part of your day. You fight a groan at a particularly sensitive spot, one that feels both painful and like instant relief—like pressing on a bruise repeatedly and not learning your lesson that it’s sore.

Even though it was Tim who insisted you sit down and let him ease the stress from your muscles, you still feel riddled with guilt at the fact that you’ve indirectly pulled him away from one of his many detective cases.

“You don’t have to do this,” you remind him softly, brows scrunching together as he starts a circular motion beneath your toes. It takes every ounce of your strength to not openly whine at the sensation. “I can just go and soak in the bath like I usually do.”

Tim shoots you an accusing stare, like he’s offended at the very suggestion. “Like you usually do?” He echoes back, scandalised by the mere thought. He doesn’t ease up with his ministrations, but instead presses firmer into your foot. “You’re telling me you deal with this a lot?”

You watch as he lowers your left foot and begins showing the same amount of attention and care to the right. He dollops a generous amount of lotion onto his pale hands, rubs the cream to spread it evenly, then begins the circular motions to your other foot. The entire process is Heavenly and unmatched, and you question why you’d never recruited him for foot massages before now in the first place.

“Sometimes,” you answer softly, a soft sigh leaving your lips as he digs the pads of his thumbs into another tense spot. With every motion you can feel the discomfort roll its way out your foot. “I don’t want to pester you with how busy your job is.”

Tim tuts and shakes his head, his black hair brushing his pale forehead. “Unbelievable,” he grumbles, like your selflessness is an inconvenience to him, “I can’t believe this whole time you’ve let yourself be uncomfortable when I’m literally right here and capable of helping you.”

You slyly lift your left foot and poke his cheek with your toe, hoping for him to grumble some more. Instead, Tim catches you by the ankle and begins pressing gentle, tender kisses up to the middle of your shin.

“Tim—“ you whine, attempting to tug your foot back so make him stop.

But Tim doesn’t let go, and instead he starts pressing kisses to your right leg for good measure. An even distribution of love and attention for every inch of your body—the very body he worships and would be damned if he had to live a day without.

“Let me take care of you,” Tim mutters, his nose nuzzling into your skin.

~*~*~

Damian Wayne shows his love in the most oddest of ways. Through his childhood of being raised in the League, he had to learn that attachment to others could be exploited and used against him. But after meeting his girlfriend—you—several years after moving to Gotham City to live with his father, he threw himself in the deep end in exploring how to show affection and unlearning the negative repercussions of forming attachments.

“Beloved,” Damian calls out, his voice as sharp as the blade he has hidden at his side, “where are you going?”

He stands in the threshold from the corridor to the lavish foyer, his dark brows furrowed against tanned skin. He watches as you finish buttoning up your autumnal jacket, mind running with replays of the conversations he has held with you over the past few days in search of an explanation for why you’re leaving. But when he finds no such recollection, his heart skips a beat.

You peer up at him through long lashes, your lips tugging into a gentle smile at the sight of his tight expression. “My friends planned a last-minute shopping trip,” you explain softly, offering the reassurance he refuses to admit he needs. “I’m about to head out to meet with them. I think we’re getting lunch, too.”

Damian’s shoulders drop a fraction with relief, but his posture remains steadfast in the way it was vigorously trained to be as a child. “I see,” he mutters, his hand already reaching to his pocket to retrieve the black leathered wallet. The motions are familiar as he flips it open and slips out the credit card with ease, his eyes waiting and expectant of you.

You blink at the offer and sigh. “Dami—you don’t have to give me your card,” you remind him, your gentle hand reaching up to touch his wrist and direct it away. “You spoil me so much already.”

Damian frowns. “I fail to see the issue with that,” he counters, clicking his tongue at your refusal. “Is it wrong for me to provide for you?”

“No, no it’s not. It’s cute. But I don’t want you thinking you have to give me your card every time I go out with my friends,” you say, closing the gap and standing almost chest-to-chest with him. You guide your hands up his arms until they loop around his neck, silently prodding him to lean down until your lips brush close to his. “You already pay for everything when it’s just us. I can fund my own spending habits when I’m with my friends.”

Damian shakes his head and then brushes his nose against yours. You inhale his scent, heart fluttering at the scent of his cologne. “I don’t think I have to,” he corrects without missing a beat, his green eyes boring into your own. It’s then that you feel his fingers brushing the skin of your cheek, a motion that’s loving and adoring. “I want to, my love. Let me spoil you.”

Arguing with Damian has always been futile, so you relent without putting up a fight or attempting a logical argument.

Instead, you suggest the next best thing that you can possibly think of as repayment for his generosity:

“Then perhaps I’ll visit that one store you like so much?”

There’s an obvious pause on his behalf, an extra second taken as he visibly composes himself. His lips curl up at the corners, his eyes creasing. “What time can I expect you home?” He asks, the question feigning pure innocence.

Your eyes sparkle. “Early evening,” you murmur in promise, now standing on your toes to reach up and fully press a kiss to his lips. “Do you want your gift before dinner or after?”

Damian’s forehead presses to yours, and you feel his shuddering breath across your face as he visibly restrains himself. His fingers flex into your hips, a sign that he’s fighting himself to not force you to stay with him.

Instead, he pulls back and firmly places his credit card into your hand, his long fingers closing yours around the plastic. Then he guides your hand to his mouth and kisses each finger, like he’s willing his love into your digits.

“There is no limit,” Damian reminds you, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I’d like a full show of everything when you come home.”

“Even the boring parts?” You tease.

“My love, there are no such thing as boring parts where you are concerned.”

For the past four hours, you’ve sat sprawled covered in a mountain blankets—hunched in an uncomfortable position that you know will give you a lethal neck pain the next day—Playing on your nintendo switch.

For four hours straight.

Nonstop.

Tomodachi life.

And at this very point, every time you take a moment to blink, the vision of your tomodachi island is burnt and etched into the lids of your eyes. And that is not an exaggeration.

“Babe.” Sukuna’s gruff low voice echoes as he leans his large frame against your wood door.

“Hm?”

Your attention does not leave the illuminating screen once.

“The hell have you been doing for the past 4 hours? Last time I checked, couples are supposed to spend time together and do couple stuff, you know.” He huffs, crossing his large muscular tattooed arms together.

“I’m busy doing something,” You answer in an unamused tone.

He scowls, “What could you possibly be doing that has your undivided attention—for four hours straight. Have you even considered blinking?”

You peek up at him through the top of your switch and pat the empty spot next to you on the bed.