you slide your card toward the register like it’s nothing, like you didn’t spend the last hour watching dick grayson smile at you across dinner and pretending your knees weren’t weak.
he notices immediately. of course he does. this man has the reflexes of a cat and the dramatic instincts of a theatre kid raised by ninjas.
“hey— hey, hey, hold on.” he’s already halfway out of his chair, eyes wide, voice half-laughing like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “what do you think you’re doing?”
you blink. “...paying?”
dick presses a hand to his chest like you’ve wounded him. “paying? you? for me?” he shakes his head slowly, lips twitching. “that’s cute. wrong, but cute.”
you try not to smile, because he’s being ridiculous, standing there in his leather jacket, hair falling into his eyes like he was crafted to be your weakness. “i just thought I could take this one.”
“no, no, sweetheart.” he steps closer, resting his palms on the counter beside your hand. you can feel the warmth of him, the way he crowds in without being pushy. “that’s my job.”
you raise a brow. “your job?”
his grin softens just enough to make your heart stutter. “yeah. my job. i asked you out. i pay. that’s the rule.”
“that’s not a real rule.” you argue.
“it is in the dick grayson handbook,” he counters, tapping the imaginary badge on his chest. “chapter one: be a gentleman. chapter two: do unnecessary flips. chapter three: pay for dates.”
you snort. “i swear you make half of this up.”
he leans in, lowering his voice like it’s a secret just for you. “only the parts meant to make you smile.”
your cheeks warm and he definitely catches it. His eyes flicker in that smug soft boy way, not arrogant, just unbearably fond.
dick nudges your card back toward you with two fingers, slow and deliberate. “look… i know you can pay. you’re capable, you’re independent, you scare the hell out of me in the best way.” he pauses, blue eyes bright, honest. “but let me treat you tonight. i want to.”
you swallow. “you really don’t like when i try to pay, huh?”
he huffs a laugh, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “i like that you try. i like that you’re thoughtful. but it also makes me wanna wrap you up in my arms and say ‘nope, not happening’ every single time.”
“possessive much?” you tease.
“only when it comes to you,” he shoots back, grinning like it’s the most natural truth in the world.
he takes your card, sets it back in your bag, and presses the tiniest kiss to your forehead before you can argue. “let me do this one. consider it… an investment in more nights like this.”
you look up at him, fighting a smile. “and what do i owe in return?”
dick shrugs lightly, looping his fingers with yours as he hands his card to the cashier. “just keep showing up.”
and the way he says it. Soft, earnest, like you’re the best thing to happen to his week...yeah.
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summary: What happens when they get a call that their beloved partner is out drunk?
warnings: mentions of vomiting and drinking, gn!reader (I think?) pet names, a lil angsty in Tim’s part, but overall just fluff and crack lol
a/n: Hellooo I hope everyone’s doing well<33 I’ve been kinda out of it mentally but I’m back!
Starring: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne
Dick Grayson
The phone rung at about 3 am, waking Dick from his slumber.
He grunted as he rolled over to the side of his bed, reaching his arm out to grab the telephone.
“Hello?” Dick said groggily.
His mind snapped out of his sleepy state the minute he heard your voice.
And by the way you were slurring your words, you were definitely drunk.
“Ok baby just tell me where you are and I’ll come pick you up.” He hastily said, already putting his coat and shoes on.
You struggled to get the name of the bar you were at. But when you finally did, Dick wasted no time and immediately drove over to your location.
He got out of the car and immediately spotted you, sitting on the curb and looking up at god knows what.
Dick slowly approached you, trying not to startle you.
You were in your own world, admiring the night sky up above in your intoxicated state.
“[name]? You okay?” He called out to you.
You looked over to him, smile widening immediately.
“Dick!” You squealed.
Of course, jumping from your position so suddenly was a bad idea, especially when you had just inhaled 4 rounds of vodka shots earlier.
You stumbled backward, your balance completely lost.
Dick quickly caught your wrist and pulled you toward him before you could hurt yourself.
“Careful there.” He flashed a grin at you.
“Hello boyfriend.” You giggled hazily as you burrowed your face into his neck.
He chuckled as one of his arms slipped beneath your knees to pick you up.
“What are you doing out so late baby?”
You groaned into his shoulder, sliding one arm behind his neck.
“M’friends left me alone.”
Dick scoffed at that, kissing the top of your head as he began walking off to his car.
“You should’ve called me earlier.”
Dick’s touch was the only familiar thing to you right now. You couldn’t help yourself as you hummed against him and closed your eyes.
When he finally arrived to the car, Dick carefully opened the backseat door with his elbow.
“Cmon hon, we’re here.” He brushed a hair from your face before noticing you had already drifted off to sleep.
Dick smiled softly as he gently lowered you onto the car seats, your body already curling up the moment you touched the smooth leather.
He later drove you back to his apartment, making sure you were okay before tucking you into bed, your soft snores later blending into his as he held you while the both of you slept.
Oh, and he WILL take care of you during your hangover in the morning.
Jason Todd
When you called him suddenly in the middle of the night, drunk, he swears he felt his heart stop beating.
He was always prepared for the worst situation possible, and for some reason he was blaming himself already if anything had happened to you.
You were blabbering on about some random dude at the bar while Jason rushed out of his apartment, holding the phone by his ear tightly.
He quickly revved up his motorcycle and rushed over to the bar you were at, his mind clouded with worry as the cold Gotham wind blew against his skin.
Jason arrived at the location you mention you were at in a hurry, yanking his helmet away immediately.
The door bust wide open, making everyone’s heads bar turn towards the tall muscular man standing at the entrance. He ignored everyone’s stares and immediately marched over to you.
You were giggling hysterically at a joke a guy you met earlier told you when Jason tapped your shoulder and said your name.
As soon as you spotted your boyfriend, your smile grew impossibly wide and you got up to clumsily wrap your arms around his neck.
When he noticed you weren’t hurt or in any real danger, any tension from his shoulders released.
“It’s dangerous to be out so late, doll.” He said, hugging you tightly.
“Stop bossing me around, Jay.” You murmured.
He scoffed and threw you over his shoulder as you yelped at the sudden action.
Jason shot one last dirty look at the man you were talking to before walking out the door.
His boots clanked as he strut to his bike, setting you down on the seat swiftly.
“You’re gonna have to hold on tight yeah?” He said, handing you a helmet.
“Hm.” You huffed.
Jason made sure you were okay before also stepping onto the motorcycle and turning it on.
Your fingers clutched at his jacket before he drove off into the night.
He wakes up in the morning with you clinging onto him like a koala, then has to hold your hair up while you throw up the alcohol from the earlier night.
Tim Drake:
Tim was hunched over at the batcomputer, typing away for a case he was working on for weeks when he finally looked at the clock.
He immediately woke up from his sleepy state, remembering you were supposed to be here ages ago. It was now 3:16 am, way too late for you to still be out.
Tim immediately checked his phone, seeing a couple missed calls from you.
He cursed under his breath, trying to call you back yet getting no response.
Thankfully, he never went anywhere without knowing your location, even if you might not know that he had it yourself.
Tim hastily pulled your location out and made his way to you, scurrying over with one of the cars from the manor.
You were supposed to be at some frat party your friend had invited you to, and knowing you, you probably had one too many drinks.
He slammed the car door shut, immediately walking into the house whose front door was unlocked. In Gotham??
The loud music baring from the stereos and the colourful lights hit him like a bullet to his head, covering his ears and making his only mission finding you.
He searched high and low, upstairs, downstairs, in the basement, before he heard your voice shouting from the kitchen.
You were crawling on the marble countertop, drinking up a couple shots effortlessly.
His eyes widened as he pushed through a crowd of people to get to you, gaze locked on your form the whole time.
“Baby?” He brushed his hand against your arm.
You looked over to see his your boyfriend, your face displaying a shocked expression.
That shocked expression soon turned into an annoyed one.
You slowly got down from the countertop, tripping over to him.
“What’r you doing here Tim?” You slurred.
His brows furrowed, “What do you mean? You called me?”
You groaned, because of him or the alcohol, you don’t know.
“You were supposed to be here 2 hours ago! You promised you’d pick me up! But I guess your stupid work is more important than me.” Your body stumbled backwards before you clutched onto the countertop.
His face changed into something completely different, a guilty look in his eyes.
“Fuck. I forgot about that. Sorry.”
You rolled your eyes, walking away from him and back to the discarded shots.
“Doesn’t matter, I have a new boyfriend now!” You laughed giddily.
Hu huffed, “What?!”
You gestured to the half empty vodka bottle you were holding, fingers already reaching over to pour some in a glass. His brows furrowed.
He swore you lost your mind when you started talking to the bottle.
“-Isn’t that right? You’d never leave me like Tim.” You cooed at the glass bottle, clutching it against your chest like a madwoman.
“Alright. That’s it.” Tim spoke up, prying the bottle away from your hands and picking you up over his shoulder.
“Hey! Put me down!” You yelled.
He ignored your demand, fighting through the crowd of people in an attempt to get through the front door.
When he finally made it, you were slumped over his shoulder, body finally giving in to your tiredness.
He brought his car keys out of his pocket, unlocking the door and placing you into the passenger seat.
“You’re mean.” You murmured.
“I love you too.” He smiled, before driving back to the manor.
Tim tucked you into bed and before he could think about leaving to go deprive himself of more sleep, you pulled at his wrist harshly and he fell into the white sheets next to you.
“You owe me an apology tomorrow. And breakfast.” You whispered drunkenly against his raven hair.
He gave into your touch, arms engulfing your body.
“Whatever you say, baby.”
Bruce Wayne
Bruce had finally made it home from patrol, ready to fall asleep in his bed.
Though when he saw your contact ringing on his phone, he immediately snapped out of his tired trance.
It was one of your colleagues who called him, saying that you might have had a little bit too much to drink at the company gala tonight.
Bruce wasted no time before getting dressed, heading out of the manor doors.
He declined Alfred’s offer to drive him and immediately got into his car, speeding off in a second.
Bruce pulled into the parking lot ten minutes later. Hastily getting out of the vehicle, he straightened his posture and headed into the tall fancy building.
He immediately spotted you, loud warm laugh vibrating against the walls of the ballroom. You slammed a hand down onto your table, making it shake a little.
Your trusted colleague, on the other hand, made all efforts to try to keep you from knocking over anything and also to keep you from drinking any more champagne.
She let out the biggest exhale ever when she saw Bruce standing in the middle of the room, helping you get up immediately and leading you toward him.
“Please take her home.”
She gave you a small smile before letting you stumble forward to his chest.
You looked up, eyes widening in shock as he slid a hand around your waist.
“What’s wrong honey, had a little too much to drink?” He smiled.
“Huh-wha? Honey?” You blushed.
“Hm?” He chuckled in confusion.
“Who… who are you?” You tilted your head as you slurred your words.
“Your husband.” He gave you an honest look.
Your eyes widened even wider when the word “husband” left his mouth.
You gasped softly, “I have… a husband?”
Bruce laughed as he took your hand into his, bringing it up to your face.
“See?” He gestured to your wedding ring.
“Oh my god.” You ogled the shiny piece of metal.
You looked back at him, scanning his face intently.
“If you’re my husband, what’s your name?”
His hand brought yours up to place a small kiss upon your knuckles, grinning at your question.
“It’s Bruce, darling. You really don’t remember me?”
You shook your head, oblivious as ever.
He sighed, leading you out the building slowly.
When you got to his car. You stopped him before he could usher you into the backseat.
“Bruce?” You whispered.
“Yes?” He curiously said.
“Can I give you a kiss?” You pleaded with your eyes.
He laughed softly as he lowered his head to make it easier for you to access his lips.
You laughed giddily as you placed a small peck on his cheek, then immediately crawled into the backseat.
“I think I like having a husband.” You muttered to yourself, loud enough for Bruce to hear it.
He will definitely make fun of you for this in the morning.
Tysm for reading! Reblogs & comments are appreciated <3
IN WHICH... after a fight with your boyfriend, you force him to sleep with a pillow between you. here's how he handles it.
featuring: dick grayson, jason todd, bruce wayne, damian wayne, and tim drake.
warnings: fluff, crack, f!reader, established relationship (wife!reader for bruce, gf!reader for everyone else), EXTREME mommy kink!tim—dni if this is "too freaky" for you!!
inspired by this ask
dick grayson:
dick definitely would be upset and would try at least 3 times to ditch the pillow.
but each time he yanks the item from between you and tucks it under his head, you yank it right back and lodge it between your bodies.
he gives up on removing it after attempt #10.
you're turned on your side away from him, seeming way too unbothered for his liking. he's probably pissing you off even more, but attention from you is all he wants.
he pokes your shoulder repeatedly, arm draped over the barrier pillow. "baby, baby, baby, baby," he repeats with each poke.
he grins big and wide when you finally turn over your shoulder, glaring at him. "do i need to get a bigger pillow?" you scoff.
"no. this one's perfectly fine," he chirps. "though i'd prefer no pillow at all. i can't feel my baby up like this!"
you roll your eyes. "you don't deserve to feel me up, richard. go to sleep." you shuffle closer to the edge of the bed, juuust far enough that he can't reach you.
he groans dramatically, flopping down on his side with a huff. "fine, whatever. you don't love me, i get it. goodnight, i guess."
he falls asleep with a big, babyish pout on his face, his lip jutted out like a toddler's rather than a 20-something year old's.
his spirits are definitely raised in the morning, though, because he wakes up to his body being draped over the stupid pillow barrier, head nestled against your chest.
jason todd:
jason would take it much worse than dick. he'd feel personally offended, undoubtedly.
he'd glare daggers at the pillow separating his body from yours, wishing he could burn it to ashes with just his eyes. his arms are crossed over his beefy chest like a child told no to dessert.
finally, he tears his eyes from the pillow and onto your sweet body. your beautiful, worship-worthy body. "can i touch you yet?"
"no, jay! that's the whole point of the pillow. no cuddles allowed, i'm angry with you."
he grumbles. "no cuddles isn't the same as no touching. can't i at least hold your hand, ma?"
"no."
"ma, please?"
"jason peter," you snap, giving him the look. "i said no. goodnight."
his eyes remain trained to your back, watching it rise and fall as you breathe. "...night."
you feel much worse about how you spoke to him when you wake up the next morning. his side of the bed is cold, and the pillow in the middle looks as if it hadn't moved once since it was placed.
you get up, padding to the kitchen where jason is flipping pancakes at the stove. his shoulders are slumped, head swaying as if it's too heavy for his neck. he lets out a deep sigh. you frown.
your arms wrap around yourself as you approach. "jay?" you call softly, standing beside him at the stove. no touching, not yet. he doesn't look at you, so you tilt your head to get a look at his face and oh...
his eyelids droop with exhaustion, eyes a bit red from straining to stay awake. his under-eyes are dark bags. his lips are chapped. "baby? what's up with you?"
alas, he looks at you, his lips don't smile, eyes don't soften. he holds out your plate of pancakes and you accept it. "i did not sleep."
"...why?"
he looks at you as if it's obvious. "well, i did not have you to hold, and i can't guarantee your safety without holding you. i tried to sleep, but then i had a nightmare that i'd...lost you. every time i shut my eyes i saw the same thing as the dream. so, i decided to just stay awake."
you've never felt like a shittier person. you throw your arms around him, feeling him slump against you. you vow to never but him on a touch ban again, no matter how angry he makes you.
bruce wayne:
personally, i feel like bruce just...wouldn't even put up with it lol.
unlike how dick and jason kept the pillow and respected the rule (to an extent), bruce would just laugh in your face when he comes in for bed.
he stands at the foot of the bed, looking at your scowling face and the fluffy pillow at your side. "what's with the barrier?"
you huff. "no touching, bruce. i'm not in the mood."
he places his glass of water on his nightstand, casually crawling into bed and tossing the pillow across the room.
"bruce!" you glare, but you can't do much when he snakes his beefy arms around your waist and tugs you close until your back meets his chest. "i said no touch—"
"—i know what you said, darling. and—no offense—i don't give two fucks," he chuckles, the sound low and deep in your ear. fuck, why does he sound so good when you're so upset? "if i want to hold my wife, i'm going to hold my lovely wife."
you grumble, fighting his grip, but to no avail. "bruceeee," you groan.
"g'night, honey," he only croons, kissing your jawline so sweetly. "i love you."
moments of silence pass.
"i said i love you," he repeats, pinching your waist.
you squirm. "ughhhuh, i love you, too."
"good girl," he grins into your neck, holding you closer. "get some beauty sleep, i'll have alfred prepare you a spectacular breakfast tomorrow morning—y'know, as my apology."
true to his word, you wake up to his arms still locked around you like chains. however, the delectable scent of pancakes, waffles, berries and cream, eggs, and coffee wafts into the bedroom.
"ugh, i hate you, you promising, handsome bastard," you grumble, relaxing into his arms with the assumption that he's still sleeping. "i can never stay mad at you."
you feel lips curl into a grin against your shoulder. "yes, yes, you hate me," he mumbles sarcastically. "my wifey hates me and my lovely arms and the breakfast i make her."
"you didn't make anything. alfred made it."
"i made him make it. lovable by association, honey."
damian wayne:
when damian's told that you'd be sleeping with a pillow between you, your sweet baby's signature scowl is tainted with unshed tears. you feel bad, but your anger from the fight overpowers your remorse.
"a...pillow barrier?" he mumbles. "really, habibti?"
you nod. "a pillow barrier. i'm so upset with you, dami. i don't wanna cuddle."
he nods his head once. "i'll try to cope," he sighs, climbing into bed and throwing the covers over his head.
all of damian that shows is a little peek of jet-black hair from under the sheets. despite yourself, you have to bite back a smile. so cute.
"night, damian," you murmur.
his voice is muffled by the comforter. "goodnight, habibti. i love you oh so dearly, my world."
you're glad that he's hiding under the sheets, that way he can't see your grin breaks through—can't see your walls cracking. "i love you too, dami."
dami. the nickname makes your boyfriend smile. dami rather than damian, that's progress.
what you don't see is damian tossing and turning for hours until the clock strikes 2 am. he just can't sleep without his beloved woman in his arms, without your hair tickling his cheek as you drool into his neck.
so, he crawls out of bed and into the cool nighttime chill of the manor. if you won't cuddle him, he shall find a replacement. he returns to the bedroom a bit later with alfred the cat tucked under his arm and titus trailing lazily behind him.
he reunites with the warm blankets, holding alfred close under his chin. titus climbs into bed, sprawling comfortably over damian's legs.
you awaken the next morning the most adorable sight. your dami, arms (and legs) full of his cherished pets.
his hold on the cat is tight, the animal purring softly into damian's neck. titus has since inched his way up the bed, his head level with damian's—the dog is nearly spooning your boyfriend, doggy drool coating his sleep shirt.
well, at least he found a way to get his fix of drool and warmth. your walls finally crumble, and you reach over the pillow to stroke your knuckles against his cheek. that wakes him up.
he peels one eye open, grinning at the gooey look on your face. "what? i needed something to hold."
tim drake:
mommy kink!tim is activated almost instantly, and he tears each and every one of your walls down until you forget why you were even upset with him in the first place.
his face falls when you announce the pillow's presence. "what?!"
"you heard me, tim. pillow stays."
"no...no, no, no, no," he whines softly, feeling helpless. he tosses his phone haphazardly onto his nightstand, flopping onto the bed. "please, no."
you huff. "i'm upset, tim! i can't cuddle with you tonight, i just can't."
"mommy, please!" he begs pathetically, shoving the pillow out from where it's lodged between your bodies. he nuzzles up into your side instantly. his dark locks brush your cheek. "can't sleep without my mommy...need her to hold me, and love me, and tell me i'm a good boy."
you arch a brow. "but you're not a good boy."
he whimpers, eyes drilling shut in regret at your words. "o– okay, then to tell me i'm a bad boy. that i'm such a bad boy and don't deserve my mommy's affection."
"okay, fine. you're a ba—"
"—no! i change my mind. don't tell me any of those things," he whines, big blue eyes looking apologetically up at you through thick lashes. fuck, the eyes. "i'm so so so sorry, mama. i wasn't a good boy, but i can be! a good boy, that is."
you run a hand through his hair, and he whimpers—loud and desperate for more touch. "you promise you'll be good? you're not lying to mommy so she'll cuddle you?"
he keeps his eyes on yours, so melty and gentle. "i'd never lie to you, mommy. i swear."
"okay, then. if you say you can be a good boy, timmy, then i'll cuddle you tonight. but don't make me mad again, understand?"
"understand, mommy," he coos, smiling happily now that he's won you over. he snuggles into your chest, sighing contentedly. "thank you."
a/n: anyone peep the reference at the end of bruce's headcannons?🫣
summary: dick fixes things around the house and pretends he isn't waiting for you to notice. you always do.
tags: domestic fluff, love languages (acts of service, words of affirmation), praise, pet names, emotional intimacy, dick needs reassurance
wc: 1.1k
There’s a certain way Dick acts when he’s done something for you and is waiting for you to notice. He likes to think he plays it cool, but subtlety has never been his strong suit, least of all with you.
One afternoon, you walk into the kitchen and find the cabinet door that has been hanging crooked for the past month sitting perfectly flush on its hinges. You open it, close it, then open it again. It no longer scrapes against the cabinet beside it or makes the low, miserable groan you had started to accept as part of your daily life. It swings the way it’s supposed to and clicks shut with a clean, satisfying sound.
Dick's standing at the counter eating an apple, doing his best impression of casual. When you glance at him, he takes a very deliberate bite and looks out the window.
“Did you fix this?” you ask.
“Hm?” He turns as though he had forgotten you were there. “Oh. The cabinet? Maybe.”
You open and close it once more. “It works really well now.”
His eyes flick toward you before returning quickly to the window. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Dick lowers the apple slightly, and you bite back a smile as you cross the kitchen and stop in front of him. His eyes are doing that thing they do when he wants your praise but refuses to ask for it, bright and watchful and a little too fixed on your face.
“You did a good job, baby.”
Dick grins. He sets the apple down and places his hands loosely at your hips, his thumbs brushing over your shirt. “It was bothering you.”
“I know.”
“So obviously I had to fix it.”
You run your fingers through his hair, pushing a few strands away from his forehead. They fall right back, so you smooth them away again. “You take such good care of me.”
Dick doesn’t answer. His smile stays, but it changes, growing softer and less certain. His gaze drops to where his hands rest against your hips. You’ve seen this before. Tell him he’s handsome and he laughs. Tell him he’s clever, capable, impressive, and he soaks it up without shame. But tell him he’s good to you, and suddenly he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
You slide your hand from his hair to his cheek. “Look at me.”
He does.
“I mean it,” you say softly. “You’re always looking out for me.”
Dick leans into your palm. “I try.”
You rise onto your toes and kiss his forehead, then one cheek, then the other. Dick closes his eyes for each one, leaning into every kiss as his arms settle more securely around your waist. When you scratch lightly at the nape of his neck, he lowers his head until his forehead rests against your shoulder. You fold your arms around him and hold him there.
Everywhere else, Dick is so capable, so sure of himself. He throws himself from rooftops without hesitation, walks into danger smiling, and makes impossible things look effortless. Then he comes home to you and folds himself into your arms, still carrying the cruel lie he learned far too young: that being loved meant being useful, and that he was only enough when he had something to give.
You comb your fingers gently through his hair. "You’re such a good husband," you murmur.
For a moment, Dick doesn’t move. Then his arms tighten around your waist, and he presses his face more firmly into your shoulder, as though he can hide what the words have done to him. But you feel the unsteady breath he lets out against your neck. You feel his fingers curl into the back of your shirt.
You kiss his temple. “You are.”
Dick stays there for a few more seconds before finally lifting his head. His expression is painfully open, all his practiced confidence stripped away.
“You’re really happy with me?” he asks.
The question breaks your heart a little because he asks it so quietly, as though the answer could be anything but yes.
You cradle his face in both hands. “So happy.”
“Even when I’m annoying?”
“You’re always annoying.”
His mouth falls open. “Wow.”
You kiss the tip of his nose. “And I still adore you.”
The mock offense fades from his face, which you keep between your hands. “You make this place feel like home,” you tell him. “You make every bad day easier. You know when I need to laugh and when I just need you to sit with me. You listen to me. You’re patient with me. You notice things I don’t even know how to ask for.”
“Baby.”
“You love every part of me, even the parts I’m still learning how to love myself.”
“Always.” The word leaves him so quickly, with such certainty, that your throat tightens. Dick may wonder whether he is enough for you, but never whether he loves you.
He lifts you onto the edge of the counter and settles between your knees. You go willingly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he buries his face against you again. He draws you close until there’s no space left between you, and you rub slow circles between his shoulder blades.
You stay that way until his breathing evens out and the last of the tension leaves his shoulders.
After a while, his voice comes muffled against you. “I fixed the bathroom door too.”
You smile into his hair. “Did you?”
“The lock works now.”
“You’ve been busy.”
“And the towel rack was loose, so I tightened that.”
You lean back to look at him. “Are you fishing for more compliments?”
“No.” He looks almost offended by the accusation, which would be more convincing if he weren’t fighting a smile.
You kiss him, slow and sweet, one hand holding his cheek while the other stays curled in his hair. When you pull away, Dick follows your mouth for another kiss. You give him that one too, then another when he chases you again.
“Very impressive, handsome,” you murmur against his lips.
His grin returns in full, and he looks more like himself again.
You shake your head. “You are shameless.”
“I also re-caulked the tub.”
You laugh and bury your face against his neck. Dick holds you closer, pressing a kiss into your hair. “I love you,” he murmurs.
You turn your face just enough to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I love you too.”
Dick’s gaze slowly drifts toward the hallway. “So, about that tub.” He looks back at you. “Want me to run you a bath?”
You stare at him. Of course. Dick can’t go five minutes without finding some new way to take care of you.
“Only if you get in with me,” you say, and you barely finish the sentence before Dick is pulling you off the counter.
a/n: not entirely sure how i feel about this one ngl, but the idea was too cute not to share. also! i’m thinking of finally starting a taglist 😋 if you’re interested in being added, pls comment here and lmk whether you wanna be tagged for all characters or only specific ones! i currently write for bruce, jason, dick, tim, and clark. i’ll make a dedicated taglist post soon, but i figured i’d start here <3
After a long night of patrol/training, you find your boyfriend passed out. Naturally, you take this as an opportunity to execute another prank; setting up a fake Uno pile, fanning out a hand directly into his sleepy grip, and waking him up insisting it’s his turn.
characters: Jason Todd, Wally West, Dick Grayson, Roy Harper, Damian Wayne, Conner Kent x Reader
Jason Todd
The plan was foolproof. While Jay was out cold on his side of the bed, you quietly shuffled the deck, set up a random discard pile right on the duvet, and expertly fanned out four cards to slip straight into his massive, relaxed palm. You smoothed down the blanket, took your seat, and nudged his chest.
"Jay. Baby. Come on, it’s your turn. You’ve been taking forever."
You pout, “I’m getting impatient. And you’re just sleeping.”
Jason grunts, his brow furrowing as his brain painfully tries to boot back up. His fingers automatically clamp onto the cards. He blinks heavily, squints at the bright green and red cards in his grip, and you can see the sheer confusion hit him—followed immediately by the stubborn refusal to admit he was passed out.
He forces himself to sit up, dragging a hand aggressively down his face and rubbing his eyes with his sleeve, refusing to give up and lay back down. Voice raspy and deep as hell, he stares intensely down at his hand, shifting the cards around in slow motion.
"I wasn't sleeping, I was thinking," he lies, his voice totally shot. He leans forward, bleary-eyed, meticulously scanning your fake pile. "What's... what's on top? Is that a green?" He stubbornly forces his heavy eyelids open, carefully picks a green card out, and slaps it down like a grandmaster. "There. Go."
Wally West
Wally was sleeping so deeply he was practically drooling on his pillow. Perfect. You fanned out five cards, tucked them gently between his fingers, and made sure the discard pile looked legit right in frost of him. You tapped his arm with a tired sigh.
"Wally. Hey. Lay a card down, you're holding up the game."
Wally snaps his eyes open, completely disoriented. He looks down at his hand, blinks twice, and panic immediately sets in—he thinks he blew his turn and lost his streak. He refuses to go back to sleep. He forces himself up onto his elbows, shaking his head like a wet dog to fight the massive wall of tiredness, completely buying into the trap.
"Wait, wait, sorry baby, my bad, my bad," he stammers out, his voice a pathetic, sleepy whine. He squints hard at his cards, shuffling them back and forth with clumsy fingers, his forehead creased in absolute, intense concentration. "Did you... did you play a yellow? Sweetie, tell me what color it is, my eyes are blurry." He stubbornly sits there, fighting for his life against sleep, until he finally drops a Yellow 2 and looks at you with absolute, half-awake seriousness. "Okay, hit me."
Dick Grayson
Dick was dead to the world after patrol, curled on his side. You carefully laid out a trick hand, slid six cards into his palm, and set up the fake table right on the mattress. You leaned down and whispered right in his ear.
"Dickie. Stop slacking, it's your turn."
He lets out a heavy, groggy sigh, his eyelids fluttering open. He stares blankly at the cards in his hand for a long three seconds. Instead of falling back asleep, he complies, because of course, he has to trust his amazing girlfriend. He grunts, forcing himself to sit halfway up and propping his head on one hand, completely committed to staying awake for the "match."
He holds the fan of cards up right in front of his face, squinting so hard one eye is basically closed. "I'm not slacking..." he mutters, his voice super thick and raspy. He carefully reorganizes his hand, tapping a card against his chin in deep thought while fighting off a yawn. "Is that a Blue 4? Okay. Don’t rush me. Hold on." He meticulously selects a card, lays it down with dramatic focus, and squints up at you. "Your turn sweetie.”
Roy Harper
Roy had taken a "five-minute nap" that turned into two hours. You placed a stack of fake played cards on the blanket, carefully placed a fan of seven cards into his grip, and shook his shoulder.
"Roy. Wake up, you're up."
Roy grunts, a dry, scratchy sound, and blinks open two bleary eyes.
“Up for wha— oh right.” He looks down at the cards, and you can practically hear his brain trying to load at 1%. But Roy isn't a quitter. He groans softly, forcing himself to sit up against the headboard, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with his palm to snap out of it.
"...What was played?" he rasps out, his voice totally rough. He stares intensely down at his cards, fanning them out with heavy, slow movements, totally convinced he's mid-game. He stubbornly stays upright, blinking against the room light, carefully picking out a Red 6 and laying it on the pile. "There. Back to you."
Damian Wayne
Damian would never admit to being caught off guard, which made him the ultimate target. While he was dead asleep post-training, you delicately slid four cards between his fingers, placed the deck down, and crossed your arms.
"Damian. Hurry up, it's your turn."
His eyes instantly open, sharp even through the haze of sleep. He looks down at his hand, and for a split second, total confusion flashes across his face. But his pride won't allow him to back down or drop the cards. He immediately sits bolt upright, rigid as a board, holding his hand close to his chest so you can't peek.
He squeezes his eyes shut for a second to force the drowsiness away, squinting severely at his hand. "I am well aware," he lies in a low, crackly morning voice. He takes an agonizingly long time analyzing his four cards, fighting every urge to crash back onto his pillow, just to make a "calculated" move. He solemnly lays down a Wild card with absolute precision. "Blue. Proceed."
Conner Kent
Conner was passed out hard, snoring softly. You quickly set up the illusion—cards scattered, a neat discard pile, and five cards tucked firmly into his fingers. You poked his shoulder.
"Con, come on, stop taking so long."
Conner groans, shaking his head, his heavy eyelids barely parting. He looks down at his palm, and the utter panic of someone who thinks they fell asleep mid-hangout hits him. He forces himself up, sitting on the edge of the bed, dragging both hands over his face to force his brain awake.
"Shoot— sorry, I was just... thinking," he stammers out, completely tricked. He holds his cards up, squinting heavily through his messy hair, intensely analyzing the hand. He shifts the cards around between his thumbs, completely locked in. "Wait, what's the number on top? A five?" He hovers a card over the pile, double-checking it with dead seriousness before dropping a Draw Two with a smug, sleepy grin. "Boom. Draw two. Try and keep up."
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When you woke up this morning, your body had been sore. Like you had been through the meat grinder kind of sore but in a good way.
You had looked over at Dick sleeping soundlessly. Half his body on top of you and half on the bed with his messy raven hair falling over his eyes, his long lashes almost brushing his sharp cheekbones.
Yeah, a very good way.
But when you got out of bed and basically limped around the apartment, he gave you the smuggest look ever. Seriously no one had ever looked as proud of themselves as he had.
You wanted to slap him. Or kiss him. You were still deciding.
That didn’t stop you for asking him for help though, since he had been the one to carry you around the apartment and draw you a warm bath. The shoulder massage he gave you in the bathtub wasn’t too bad either. Plus the pancakes he had prepared with a little smiley face on top with chocolate syrup.
But that didn’t take away from the fact that he was an unserious man.
He had known you were supposed to have lunch with your friends today so he had been an exceptional tease last night in bed. Not just a tease, he was also apparently under the impression that you were made of rubber and could bend you however he pleased.
Just because he worked out eight hours a day didn’t mean you did too. You’d be lucky to even squeeze in a workout once a week and he knew that and yet he chose to manhandle you.
Not that you were against it. He was very skilled in the bedroom and the nights where you had to just lay there for him to do all the work were your favourites.
But damn now you were limping on your way to meet your friends. You and Dick walked out of the car, hand in hand towards where your friends were sitting outside the cafe.
And he had the audacity to snicker.
“It isn’t funny!” You huffed out, hands clutching his arm to hold for balance since your legs were way too sore to even walk.
“You weren’t complaining last night,” he replied and pushed his sunglasses up on his nose, looking way too amused.
“Shut up,” you scoffed instead of replying since thats all you could do. He wasn’t wrong.
Once you reached the table, Donna, Wally and Roy immediately greeted you with hugs.
“You okay?” Donna was the first one to speak, noticing your limp.
“Yeah,” you swallowed and sat down on the chair next to Dick’s, shifting a little. “Just walked into a chair.”
“Uh huh,” Roy narrowed his eyes at Dick’s smug face.
“And was the chair named Dick Grayson?” Wally added.
“Wally!” You gasped and looked at Dick for help but he just laughed and draped his arm over the back of your chair.
The rest of the lunch went by with way too many jokes about Dick’s dick and you’d think he’d be offended by it but he was the one initiating most of them.
Like you said, unserious.
✶ JASON TODD
Jason was out running when you woke up. It was your usual morning routine –he woke up before you, gave you a small kiss on your forehead and left for a run then returned an hour later with coffee and sometimes pastries.
This time however, you had told him you were making pancakes so he wasn’t surprised to find you standing in the kitchen wearing his shirt that he discarded last night.
He walked over to you, black tank top clinging to his body due to the sweat like a second skin and if you weren’t sore from last night you would have done something about it.
The minimal clothing you were wearing –Jason’s t-shirt and panties– didn’t do a lot to hide the marks he had left on you last night. Your thighs looked like a crime scene with how many hickeys he had left there.
You waddled over to the fridge to grab the eggs when Jason noticed you.
“What’s up?” He frowned and came up behind you.
“Hmm?” You asked and cracked an egg in the bowl.
“You’re waddling like a penguin,” he pointed out.
“Oh,” you blushed and immediately looked away from him. “You know,” you shrugged.
“Babe what?” He asked and turned you around to steal all your attention.
“Last night,” you said. “You’re not exactly small.”
“Well thanks,” he gave you a confused smile. “Is that why you’re limping?”
“That and my legs being folded like a lawn chair over your shoulders for over an hour yes,” you quipped.
Jason in response let out a cackle.
“Great, hope you’re proud of yourself,” you scrunched your nose and turned back to prepare the pancake batter.
“I mean it does wonders to a guy’s ego,” Jason let out a dramatic breath. “Seven orgasms in one night is my new record.”
“Jason!” You huffed and pushed him away. “You cannot count my orgasms you freak.”
He laughed again and came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle before nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck.
“Seriously though, I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asked, pressing fluttering kisses to the hickeys he had left on your neck.
“No,” you hummed and craned your head back.
“You liked it?”
“Yes,” you breathed as his kisses made their way down to your shoulders.
His fingers busied themselves with massaging your hips, causing you to close your eyes in relief and rest your head back on his shoulders. Which gave him even more room to kiss on your neck.
“Let me make you feel better,” he murmured and turned you around before getting down on his knees.
“Jason,” you said through a shaky breath.
“Yeah?” He looked up at you through dark eyelashes and hooked your thigh over his shoulder. “Is this okay?”
You nodded your head which was all the permission he needed.
It was going to be a long morning.
✶ TIM DRAKE
In hindsight, waiting for your boyfriend to return from his week long mission at the manor probably wasn’t your brightest idea.
He had texted you that he would be back today and would just crash at the manor instead of coming back to your shared penthouse.
But you hadn’t seen him in a week! So it was only fair you drove to the manor and let yourself into the batcave to wait for him.
It had almost been an hour since you made yourself at home on the little beanbag chair with a book in your hands in the Batcave along with Barbara who was perched at the Batcomputer, doing whatever it is that Oracle did.
Tim returned soon along with the rest of the Bats on his Batcycle (Batman wasn’t a very creative person you were beginning to realise).
Damian made a ‘TT’ sound at you before making his way towards the shower area.
Tim on the other hand broke out in a grin the second he looked at you. He didn’t even bother taking off his mask or the suit before he was launching himself at you on the beanbag.
“Tim!” You grunted when his armoured chest collided with yours. “You’re crushing me.”
“Don’t care,” he muttered and pushed his head in the crook of your neck.
“Take a shower you stink!” You said and pushed him off.
“I see how it is,” he raised his head to look at you and if you could see his eyes behind his domino mask, you knew he would be narrowing his eyes at you. “I come back a week later after saving the world and my girlfriend says I stink.”
“You do,” Jason mumbled somewhere behind him.
“Ignore him he’s jealous,” Tim said to you before leaning down to give you a fleeting kiss. “I’ll be back,” he murmured and finally got off the beanbag to go take a shower.
That had been enough of your loving and sweet boyfriend for the night.
Because he was soon coming out of the shower without a shirt and in only a pair of sweatpants. He didn’t even bothering talking to anyone or even debriefing the case like he usually did, he just made his way towards you and picked you up and threw you over his shoulder.
Thankfully everyone else was busy cleaning themselves and only Barbara was present in the Batcave. She shook her head at you like she knew exactly what was happening but didn’t want to be a part of it.
It had been a very long night.
The night for which you were paying now.
Tim’s heavy arm was thrown over your stomach in a tight grip like he never wanted to let you go.
Squinting open an eye, you flicked the bedside lamp on –having no clue what time it was outside due to the blackout curtains being drawn.
You turned over in Tim’s iron grip and looked around the room which looked like it had gotten robbed last night.
Your shirt was thrown on the floor along with your shorts, your bra dangling down the knob of the door –no clue how it got there. And your panties were probably torn in half somewhere. Even the pillows were thrown haphazardly, the covers weren’t even covering you.
Half the reason you woke up was the chill in the room causing goosebumps to rise on your naked body. The only source of heat you had was Tim’s equally as naked body wrapped around you like a koala.
You rubbed your eyes and tried to look at him. The first thing you saw were the red scratches on his chest, glowing against his pale skin and you were sure if he turned around his back would look the same.
“Tim?” You whispered and brushed his hair away from his face.
He only groaned in response and tugged you closer but his grip on your back was beginning to hurt.
“Hey,” you tried again and pushed at his shoulder –which you now saw had a bite mark on it.
Images of Tim’s bicep wrapped around your neck came to your mind but you quickly shook them off. Not the time.
“Tim come on, you’re hurting me,” you winced, which finally caught his attention.
“What?” He asked, voice laced with sleep and somehow deeper like you’ve never heard before. “Where are you hurt?”
“It just feels sore.”
“Fuck I’m so sorry,” he sat up straight in bed and leaned down to pull the covers up.
“It’s okay, you didn’t do anything I didn’t like,” you giggled when he turned around and yep his back looked every bit like his chest. Red scratches all over.
“Your back,” you whispered and reached out to lightly brush your hand over the marks. “What the fuck did we do last night?”
“I think I just missed you too much,” he chuckled. “Turn around let me give you a massage.”
“Yes please,” you moaned and turned around on your stomach to let Tim rub the soreness out of your muscles with his nimble fingers.
The knots in your muscles immediately came loose with each movement of his warm hands on your much colder body. Maybe they taught massaging the pain away at vigilante school or wherever Bruce took all the kids of his he seems to adopt.
His hands went lower to gently rest your calf over his shoulder –much gentler than last night. He pressed soft kisses to your leg as his fingers rubbed all the way to your ankles.
Later when you two went down for breakfast (it was around lunchtime), Cass and Damian gave you a disgusted look. Jason raised an eyebrow at the bite marks on Tim’s forearm while Dick only laughed in amusement. Even Barbara was staring at the hickey on your jaw since apparently Tim had forgotten he was human.
✶ BRUCE WAYNE
You were sitting on the chair in the little breakfast nook when Bruce entered the kitchen. A crossword puzzle was sat on the table next to a plate of toast and orange juice in front of you as you mindlessly scribbled on the puzzle.
Bruce came up behind you and gave you a little kiss on the back of your head before walking over to the cabinets to pull out a mug.
“Oh wait! I made you a yogurt bowl,” you said and hopped off the chair.
Bruce raised an eyebrow and watched you limping towards the fridge in nothing but his old uni sweatshirt. Your hair was falling over your shoulders, messy from a good night’s sleep. And other activities.
His eyes wandered lower to the backs of your knees where he was gripping your legs last night and sure enough there were marks to show it. For a second he was worried but when you turned around and gave him your million dollar smile, he forgot what he was thinking about.
“It has raspberries, nuts, pumpkin seeds, chia seeds. It’s good for your health,” you beamed and set it down in front of your own breakfast on the table.
Bruce joined you in a beat and eyed you as you grimaced a little while sitting down.
“Everything okay?” He asked.
“Yeah,” you said, voice a bit sarcastic which he didn’t miss.
“That’s not convincing,” he frowned.
“You rearranged my guts last night. I think that has something to do with me having trouble sitting down,” you smirked and he immediately blushed.
You heard a sudden noise from behind you and when you turned around to look, Tim was standing there, looking nauseated. “I’ll uh… have breakfast in my room…” he said.
“I didn’t know you stayed here last night,” you said to him.
“I wish I hadn’t,” he gagged and grabbed a cup of coffee before leaving the two of you alone.
Bruce scrunched his nose and turned his face towards his breakfast.
“Oh don’t go all shy now! You were very vocal last night,” you teased and nudged his foot with yours just to watch his ears turn even redder.
“I think we should take a warm bath together to you know, let our bodies heal,” he suggested.
“Uh huh,” you narrowed your eyes. “And no other reason at all.”
“Of course my darling,” Bruce smiled and tugged you out of your chair before picking you up in his arms.
“No other reason at all.”
my first multi part fic ever feeling nervous
didn’t know which photos to use so…
if you couldn’t tell i’ve been extremely tim drake pilled lately thanks to all the requests ive received for him 😭
likes comments and reblogs appreciated, hope you guys enjoy <3
༯ synopsis. fwb dick who gets jealous when your ex tries to get back with you.
warnings. 18+. dick grayson x fem! reader. fwb. neighbors au. he’s jealous and a little insecure. smut. p in v.
dick grayson lives in the apartment next to yours and introduced himself by helping you carry boxes up three flights of stairs without being asked. you’d told him he didn’t have to and he’d just shrugged and picked up two more. by the time you’d gotten everything up he knew your name, your old neighborhood, and that you took your coffee black, and you knew he was annoyingly charming and had a smile that did something inconvenient to your chest.
that was six months ago. somewhere between then and now the friday night bar visits became a standing thing, the easy conversation became something you looked forward to all week, and the line between neighbors and friends and something else entirely got blurry in a way neither of you has bothered to address.
it works. you like that it works.
it’s a friday night. the night you spend with dick unpacking your entire week and then drink to it.
you’re on your way back from the bathroom when you see him. your ex, standing near the bar like he belongs there, and your whole body does that involuntary thing before your brain has even caught up. he spots you before you can redirect. the smile that never quite reaches his eyes. the way he steps into your space too easily, like the last year didn’t happen.
you laugh at something he says because it’s reflex, because it’s easier, your shoulders drawing in without you meaning for them to. he presses his number into your hand with a casualness that makes your skin feel wrong and you smile your most noncommittal smile and walk away.
you slide back into the booth and dick is already looking at you.
he has very blue eyes and a very irritating habit of seeing straight through you with them.
“who was that,” he says.
“my ex.” you reach for your drink. “it’s fine.”
his jaw does something quiet and controlled. “he give you his number?”
“dick—”
“he gave you his number.”
“it wasn’t like that—”
“cool. cool,” he says, and picks up his drink, and smiles the smile that’s all surface, and you know exactly what that smile means.
the walk home is three blocks and dick spends all of them somewhere else entirely.
normally he fills every silence — some joke, some completely unnecessary observation about whatever you’re passing. tonight his hands are in his pockets and his eyes are forward and he says nothing.
“you’re doing that thing,” you say.
“what thing.”
“the thing where you pretend you’re fine.”
“i’m fine.”
“richard.”
“i’m tired,” he says. “it’s been a long week, angel.”
you both know that’s not it.
you make it as far as the hallway outside your apartments before you stop.
he’s already reaching for his keys and something about the set of his shoulders, the careful performance of it, makes you reach out and catch his arm.
he turns.
you kiss him.
it takes him exactly one second and then his keys hit the floor and his hands are on your face and he’s kissing you back with something desperate and unguarded that he’s been keeping very carefully under wraps all evening. a low groan muffled against your mouth, his fingers curling into your jaw, walking you back against the wall without breaking it.
when he pulls back he’s breathing harder than usual.
he looks at you for a moment. then he bends and picks up his keys and opens his door and picks you up like it’s nothing, carrying you inside, kicking the door shut behind him.
later he has you underneath him and there’s nothing easy about it tonight.
he pushes in slow and the stretch of him makes your breath stutter, thick and girthy, the flushed red tip of him pressing through your plushy folds and sinking into your gummy walls inch by inch until you’ve taken all of him and your walls are fluttering around the fullness of it.
his jaw is tight. his eyes on your face.
“why do you want him back,” he says. low and rough.
“i don’t—”
he snaps his hips forward and the words evaporate entirely.
“hm?” he pulls back and drives in again, his cock dragging against your walls, you feel, oh, so full and overwhelmed all at once. “why him.”
“dick i’m not—i—”
your eyes shut. the pleasure too much, the words bleeding into a moan.
“eyes on me,” he says quietly.
you open them.
and that’s when you see it. something vulnerable in his expression, unguarded and unusual, the kind of thing he’d never let you see if he were thinking straight. something that’s been sitting underneath all of this for a long time.
“why do you want him,” he murmurs, hips rolling and pressing deep, the head of his cock nudging that soft spot inside you that makes your toes curl, “when you have me.”
it’s not cocky. it’s almost like he’s desperate to hear the answer. desperate to hear you say he’s enough. that what you have with each other is enough.
heat builds low in your belly, your body sensitive from the drag of him, your walls clenching greedily around his girth every time he pulls back.
your mouth opens. what comes out is a garbled mess of his name and something that isn’t words at all.
“yeah,” he breathes, forehead dropping to yours. “that’s what i thought.”
something releases in him after that. his pace picks up and you stop trying to think at all, hands gripping his shoulders, your slick walls taking him over and over until the heat that’s been building low in your belly crests and you come apart underneath him with a broken sound, clenching tight around him. he follows shortly after, hips stuttering, a low groan muffled into your throat as he spills into the condom, his whole body shuddering through it.
afterward he’s on his back and you’re tucked against his side.
“i can make carbonara from scratch. i remember how you take your coffee. i’ve sat through every terrible film you’ve picked on a friday night without a single complaint.” he’s quiet for a second. “i’ve been your boyfriend for six months. you just haven’t called me that yet.
you look at him.
“maybe i should,” you say quietly.
he’s very still for a moment. then his hand finds yours and laces with you. warm and calloused and big.
“it was nothing,” you say. “tonight. with him. i don’t want him back. i never did.”
the breath that leaves him is slow. like he’s been holding it since the bar.
“obviously i don’t want him,” you say. “i want you. i’ve wanted you for a while.”
he turns his head to look at you. really look.
“yeah?” he says softly.
“yeah,” you say.
he brings your hand up and presses his lips to your knuckles, and settles back against the pillow.
the city hums outside. the lamp stays on.
“friday nights,” he says eventually. “same booth.”
“same booth,” you agree.
“except now i’m going to hold your hand across the table and if your ex shows up again i’m going to be very annoying about it.”
you laugh softly and his mouth tilts into a smile.
summary: falling in love with each other was easy—a little too easy. after a series of dates and getting to know the other better, it was only a matter of time, right? no longer able to hold it in, dick finds himself desperate and decides that tonight will not end until he gets to walk home with a kiss, from you.
notes: 4.1k words…. fluff!! with a side of nasty kissing, dick is absolutely fed up and DESPERATE, reader has never had a boyfriend before so dick is the very first guy you’ve ever been with. so many feelings and love and yearning you guys are so obsessed with each other its genuinely DISGUSTING. but dick is like way worse because at least half of this is him yearning for you,,,, also a lot of making out...dick literally eats ur face. all the dialogue is later in gomenasorry. written with black reader in mind >0<
Dick Grayson was on a mission. Tonight’s date, he decided, was going to be extra special than usual. Why, you ask? Because tonight, he was going to secure his kiss from you—poor, unsuspecting, you.
Tonight marked the 8th date you guys have gone on ever since your first meeting at a late-night convenience store around the corner of his apartment, where the once peaceful environment was interrupted by a measly burglar waving his gun around with arrogance and the demand of money.
It was the one night when Dick wasn’t in costume and was nursing a severely bruised body from a villain he had encountered two days earlier. The situation irritated him even more than he already was—Bruce was still chewing his ass out over a case that he was working on; he still needed to go to work with his bruised body because he can’t exactly let them know what violent activities he’s up to at night and his injuries—now this.
So it’s an understatement when saying the burglar was dealt with easily and quickly, as Dick was able to disarm him before the man could even take another step towards another innocent customer—someone Dick learned later was you.
The anticlimactic moment ended with the man scrambling out of the store with much less confidence than before, the store clerk shakily thanking Dick with the promise of free items of his choice tonight and the next time he comes in. Accepting the gratitude, Dick was ready to go home with the multitude of free items in his grocery bag--until he spotted you.
Standing near the entrance, dressed in sweatpants about twice your actual size with a hoodie you were equally drowned in, Dick found you absolutely radiant. He wasn’t someone who believed in love at first sight beforehand, but now? Certainly, this is what it means.
It took him a few seconds of silence and staring at you with an open mouth, like a goldfish for him to realize that you were speaking to him, and just like the store clerk. you were thanking him profusely for saving you from the gun that was previously pointed to you. Dick can't remember what happened after that. But he does remember walking out of the store a happy man, your phone number having found its way into his phone.
Back in the present, Dick knew that maybe 8 dates was a little too much to come to this decision; after all, for him it was only on date number 2 that he knew he wanted you, badly. But he knew he had to be patient, especially after you revealed that you’ve never been in a relationship—or on a date at all. It was for this reason that he decided to take things slow and wait for a sign that you wanted him too.
By now, he’s reached his limit.
Every other date you’ve had prior to this had been more casual: going out for coffee, the arcade, movie nights at his place (more often yours because he absolutely adores your cat, mocha), grocery shopping together, and going for a stroll in Melville Park to walk Haley, his adorable pitbull you fell in love with.
Tonight, Dick took you to a nice restaurant with tables reserved on its rooftop. He knew you weren’t someone who frequented fancy restaurants too often, so he found a solid one just in between fancy and casual.
Dinner was going well, and you were absolutely perfect. He’d told you beforehand to come wearing a blue outfit, and the dress you wore had surpassed his expectations so much that he considered dropping down on one knee right then and there before ever asking you to be his girlfriend, if it wasnt apparent just how much it affected him seeing that colour on you with his lovesick gaze the entire night.
The dress you’re wearing is dark blue silk, the kind of colour that shifts like midnight water under the lighting of the restaurant's stringed lights. It drapes across your frame in a way that seems deliberate, highlighting your curves, and Dick feels his mouth dry at how it complements your brown skin—like the colour was meant to be worn by you, and you alone.
The glow of your upper body lets him know of the shea butter you’d rubbed on yourself, your legs that slip through the slit sharing the same glow.
The matching gold jewelry you wear and the updo you’ve done with your curls make him fight demons he never even knew he had, wanting to jump over the table to show you how much he loves you.
It truly doesn’t help how much he’s reminded of his Nightwing costume every time he looks at you.
He finds himself murmuring more compliments than usual because he can’t contain how much it moves him. The blue that once belonged only to his suit now belongs to you too, and he adores it—adores you—in a way he can’t keep from showing.
Dick finds himself craving dessert earlier than usual.
But he knows he has to act accordingly; he can’t afford to scare you away. So he does what he’s best at and eyes you with a disgustingly lovesick, yearning look as if he’s some schoolboy with his very first crush for the entire night as you guys chat over dinner.
He pays even closer attention to you than ever (if that’s even possible), maintaining intense eye contact with every word delivered in the air, squeezing your manicured hand (that has the nails he paid for) while you excitedly share the plot of the most recent book you read last weekend, and feeding you some of the food he’s ordered (you protested against stealing his food, but he insisted, claiming, “It’s my duty to feed you.” how do you even respond to that?).
Overall, dinner was perfect. He thinks this is the best date you guys have been on so far, as after dinner he surprises you with tickets to the movie he remembers you wanted to see when it came out.
What a coincidence that today happens to be its release date, and the happy squeal it pulled from you once he revealed the surprise made the rest of his year, he thinks. It’s something he could listen to on repeat for hours and never get sick of.
As the night got darker and you got tired, Dick knew it was time to take you home. As much as he’d love for this night to continue, he doesn’t want to keep you up later than you’re used to.
It brings you both to his car, pulling up into the neighbourhood of your apartment complex, the car filled with a comfortable silence as you gaze out to the passing buildings. His jacket covers your previously bare shoulders during the car ride after he’d noticed the goosebumps rising on your skin (he wouldn’t quit sulking at the fact that you didn’t tell him anything about you being cold and forced you inside his jacket desite your protests).
Parked in front of your building, you unbuckled your seatbelt and grabbed your purse, ready to thank him for tonight once again and wish him a goodnight—before you were surprised with him unbuckling himself and turning off the engine. He paused his actions when he spotted your questioning stare.
“What? You thought I was gonna let you walk up there alone? Absolutely not,” Dick huffed, quickly circling around the car to open your door and making space for you as you stepped out. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t walk you to your door? I need to make sure you make it inside safely, you know.”
Normally you would’ve been your own ride home (he’s never liked it but agreed if it made you happy), but Dick insisted that he’s the one who drives you home this time.
Dick walks you into your building, already knowing his way around from past visits, and unlocks the lobby’s door with his own copy of your keys, then leads you further into the elevators with a hand on your back that’s still covered by his jacket.
It’s almost pathetic how during the entire elevator ride, the two of you are stealing glances at each other—oblivious of the other person’s nervous shifting. Dick knows that it’s tonight that he gets that kiss from you.
At last, when having reached your door, it’s as though the once simmering tension has announced its presence, and settles in the air between the two of you. As you turn to face him with your back to your door, he gives you a soft smile that lets butterflies rise in your stomach, the warm orange lighting that complements his tanned skin doing nothing to help.
If anything, it makes whatever you’re feeling worse, and you don’t know if you can keep acting oblivious to your true feelings.
“I had a really great time,” his voice snaps you out of your thoughts, your full attention back on him, “And I really loved our conversations tonight. I'd love to do something like this again, with you.” His tone at the end has a hopeful implication. He hopes he doesn’t come off as too desperate, but part of him can’t get himself to care.
He thinks now would be the perfect time for that kiss, but he doesn’t want to pressure you. Dick knows it would kill him to ruin what you guys have, and this might be the most nervous he’s ever been in his entire life.
“Yeah?” You ask with a hint of shyness, holding your hands behind your back. “Thank you, Dick. I had a really great time with you tonight, too. The movie made me really happy and...I’m glad you remembered that small detail.”
Dick feels his heart practically melting at the sound of your voice. Your obvious nervousness only boosts his confidence in what he plans on doing, and he can’t get over how much he loves your voice. You’re so adorable. He thinks to himself.
His next smile is a lot more dorky, cheeks warm with his dimples coming out to reveal themselves. It’s your favourite feature on him, right after his blue, blue eyes, you think. You both feel like high schoolers again with a pathetic crush. “Nothing you tell me is ever small.”
He’s taken aback by how fond he let that come out of his mouth, but he decides it’s worth it when your eyes avert down to your feet—flustered. It’s his favourite look on you.
But he knows just like this isn’t enough. This thought leads him to slowly reach for your arms behind your back, gently uncrossing them while his hands trail down to hold your own. He searches your eyes for any discomfort before intertwining them, when having found none, his calloused palms swallow your smaller, softer ones. The contrast does nothing but make his heart beat faster.
It’s when you look up at him with wide, glimmering dark eyes filled with hope and a drop of insecurity that it clicks—you are the woman he wishes to share his life with.
You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t have a crush on him. It was impossible not to, with his easygoing grin that you’ve observed goes toe to toe with the sun itself. With each action done with careful consideration of you, with each compliment given, with each laugh he’s pulled out of you, with each dinner cooked together, with each night spent on his fire escape with shoulders touching– each day learning about what makes you, you.
It was too easy falling in love with Dick Grayson.
And that scared you.
Similarly to Dick, it was around the third date that you knew you wanted something blooming between you.
Love. What a strange concept for a girl who’s never fallen in love.
You find that the only reason why you hadn’t initiated anything further with him is because you’re unsure if this is how the process goes. Along with the slight insecurity of slipping up if you did, with Dick having more experience than you did. Soon those worries disappeared, because Dick had done nothing but soothe them.
Every moment where you felt as though you needed to initiate anything physical beyond what you were used to, he noticed, and every anxious thought was blown away with a simple reassuring smile.
He never said more than a quiet, “It’s okay,” because to him it was always about your comfort before anything.
He’s never made you feel forced to do anything, content to lead you through each encounter until you found the moment you were ready.
You realize as soon as he holds your hands in his—he’s the one for you.
Dick chuckles softly at the look in your eye and squeezes your hands gently. His blue eyes, nearly swallowed up by his dilated pupils, are fixed on yours, studying your reaction with an intensity that makes you want to squirm. He can feel how warm your skin is and his heart feels like it could pop out of his chest.
With a deep breath, Dick takes another step closer, now only inches apart. He lifts a hand to lift your chin ever-so-slightly, making you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. Dark eyes meet blue.
You swallow thickly as your eyes remain locked on each other, feeling his other hand move down to your waist. His expression is so vulnerable and raw as he looks down at you, and you think you might throw up from nerves alone. Your eyes water as these thoughts circle through your mind.
It doesn’t take detective skills to read you like a book. He can tell what you’re thinking. He knows the reason you’re unsure as you begin shaking in his arms. His thumb traces slow circles against your jaw, coaxing you to relax. He hopes you can’t hear how fast his heart is beating, how he’s memorizing the sound of your soft breaths.
The two of you are the only ones in the hallway at the risk of being seen by neighbours, but neither of you can find it in you to care.
"You okay?" He murmurs softly, searching your face with those impossibly blue eyes. There's no teasing now–just genuine care and something achingly tender beneath it all. "I can... we can stop if—"
(But the way he lingers shows he really doesn’t want to stop.)
"No!" you interject louder than intended to, freezing when you realized ust how loud that came out. A surprised laugh bubbles out of him at your sudden outburst, the sound warm and so fond. That adorable reaction just makes him squeeze you a tiny bit closer.
"N—no, I... this is okay. I'm okay." You finish softly, heart aching for more. You’re incredibly greedy when it comes to his touch, and you don’t feel a drop of shame for it.
"Good," he murmurs, leaning in until his forehead brushes yours—so close you can feel his breath against your lips. His free hand lifts to cradle your cheek now, thumb sweeping beneath your eye to catch that traitorous wetness before it falls.
"Because I really wanna kiss you right now," he admits in a whisper, grinning that stupid lopsided grin that makes your stomach flip. "But only if you really want me to."
Your heart almost stutters to a stop, and your gaze is consumed by nothing but want. Your pupils were almost as blown as his, and the way the wind blows, tussling at his wavy hair, drives you crazy. You melt against him as your foreheads touch, letting out a shaky breath.
It’s as you lose yourself in the pool of his impossibly blue eyes that you realize death doesn't scare you if it's by drowning in his eyes.
You lean into his warm palm, memorizing the sweet scent of his cologne. You give your answer in a hushed tone, as though sharing a secret that's to remain between the two of you alone. "I really wanna kiss you, too."
It sends a shiver down his spine. Holy smokes, he thinks to himself. You look like a dream.
The world seems to melt away as he gazes down at you with an intensity that is both gentle and smoldering. Dick can feel your breath on his lips, and it drives him insane.
"Damn," he mutters roughly, his voice suddenly raw with emotion, "you're going to be the death of me."
It's the only time he'll use the Lord's name in vain.
Just like that, he can't hold back any longer. The dam breaks, and he closes the last meager distance between the two of you, capturing your mouth in a deep, starved kiss.
A cut off gasp is swallowed by his lips, your eyes tightly shutting closed as your lips lock with his— and you feel alive. This is your very first kiss, and it's one you will never forget.
Dick’s arms circle your waist completely, pulling you flush against his body as his one hand slides up your spine until his fingers thread into your hair, tilting your head back as he kisses you with everything he has.
If it weren't for his arms holding you up, your knees would have buckled. He can feel how your body shakes with nerves and anticipation against his lips, and he can’t resist brushing his tongue over your bottom lip, groaning at the rewarding whimper he gets.
The smack of your lips is nasty; after each smack comes the sound of a deep groan which then triggers a breathy whine. Your blood is rushing to your head, and you think you might die. You’re suddenly immensely grateful for living on a nearly empty floor.
DIck groans low in his throat when he feels your grip tighten on his dress shirt, like you’re terrified he might pull away. As if he would ever want to. His tongue teases along your bottom lip again—asking without words.
His other hand drops from your chin to squeeze your hip possessively, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp against his mouth.
"Sweetheart," he murmurs between feverish kisses, voice wrecked already, "c'mon, open up for me."
That tone—half praise and half demand—sends a bolt of heat straight through you. Holy shit. You’re embarrassed at the mewl that escapes you at the pet name. Please call me that again, please, please—
It's almost instantaneous that you open your mouth, giving his tongue access. The pleased chuckle that escapes him makes your entire body flare up in warmth. It felt good, getting his approval.
Dick takes full advantage of your obedience, the kiss turning downright filthy as he explores your mouth, his tongue coaxing against yours in the most distracting way. He groans again, a hungry, guttural sound that reverberates through his chest. He has to have more of you.
"Dick—" you whine against his lips as the smacking of lips circles around the small, dark quiet hallway. You find out just how easy it is to forget your surroundings when Dick Grayson is all-consuming in your mind, and on your lips.
The sound of his name on your lips grows his greed, wanting to own every gasp and whine and whimper you make. When your tongue brushes against his, something ignites in him, some feral, possessive feeling that makes his skin burn. You're so cute; he feels like a starved animal.
He pulls away with a wet sound, breathing heavily against your lips and resting his forehead against yours. He can feel your heart racing. He presses one last desperate peck to your lips.
"God," he mumbles raggedly, "you're doing things to me, sweetheart."
"I d-didn't do anything," you pant quietly, catching your breath as a string of drool remains between the two of you—your eyes half-lidded.
Dick stares at your face, taking in your flushed cheeks, the way you pant, and that adorable little strand of drool—God, he is so obsessed with you it isn't even funny.
His hands roam your body, one still gripping your hip and the other sliding up to cup your cheek, his calloused thumb tracing your kiss-swollen bottom lip, wiping away the wetness. You resist the urge to take his thumb in your mouth where it sits against your lip.
"Baby, look at you," he murmurs, gaze darkening as he looks down at you. "I could eat you alive right now." His comment makes you squawk. "Please don't," you sigh weakly, a protesting frown on your lips.
"I won't," he murmurs between nips and pecks along your jaw, "not unless you ask very nicely." He punctuates it with a slow drag of his teeth against your pulse point before pulling away just enough to see the reaction on your face.
His fingers tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear as his expression softens into something warmer—something more like home. "But I should probably get going before I actually do something reckless."
Oh. Yeah.
"You should..." You realize sadly that as much as you wanted to stay out longer with him, you couldn't risk getting in trouble with your roommate. "I wish you didn't have to," you murmur sadly, looking down at your heels.
His face falls for a second, reading the disappointment in your tone instantly. Dick pulls you back into a tight hug, pressing his lips to the top of your head before sighing dramatically.
"Ugh, don't look at me like that," he whines, squeezing you lightly as he rests his chin on your head. "You're gonna make me stay. And then I'll have to explain to your roommate why I'm camped out on your doorstep like some lovesick stray."
You couldn’t resist the giggle at his comment, equally wrapping your arms around him. You’re overwhelmed and also not whelmed (heh, yj ref) enough by his scent. “I would've let you stay the night like usual, but she just came back from vacation. Sorry, Dick.”
He only sulks above you, letting out one last dramatic sigh. He’s as dramatic as ever. “It’d be easier if I could just bring you back to mine,” Dick huffs enviously. “If only life were so easy.”
“You talk like I won’t just see you soon, silly. I promised Haley treats.”
“So you only like me for my dog?”
“Crap, you caught me...” you grin, unbothered
He lets out an undignified squawk, your laughther following up with the dramatics.
“To be fair, she’s super adorable. I can’t resist her eyes; she’s just a baby!”
“I’ll have you know, I was the one who trained her. Her cuteness is a direct reflection of me.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “Fine, fine. Maybe I like you a little too.
Dick beams instantly, smug as ever. “I knew it.”
He pulls back just enough to cup your face again—and this time, there's no joking in those stupidly blue eyes. Just something painfully sincere.
"But I’ll see you soon? Like… really soon?" His thumb traces the apple of your cheek hopefully.
You nod eagerly, returning his hopeful smile with a tender one of your own. “Yeah...I’d like that.” You confess quietly, holding his hand against your cheek.
His smile brightens immediately, boyish and so unfairly charming. You hate him. "Good," he murmurs, pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead before finally—reluctantly—stepping back.
Dick walks backwards to the elevator like an idiot, unable to tear his eyes away from you. "And hey," he adds with a grin that promises trouble, fingers tapping against his chest where his heart is still racing. "You did this to me."
You can’t resist a laugh at his antics, pulling out your keys from your purse as he gets closer to the elevator. You grin like a lovesick teenager—you both do. “I sure did, Golden Boy. Call me when you get home?”
“Always,” he promises, taking a moment to admire your glowing figure under the warm lighting. He stuffs his hands in his pockets to keep himself from walking back over and hauling you into his arms again.
It’s when you unlock your door and give him one last smile that he dramatically blows you a kiss, his heart warming even further when you playfully catch it.
Dick’s grin softens one last time, pausing as the elevator doors open. “Goodnight, baby.” He tells you. You parrot after him. “Goodnight, Dickie.” Only you know how much that nickname makes his heart flutter.
And then—just like that—you disappear into your apartment.
(you only realize minutes later thanks to your roommate that you completely forgot to hand back his jacket. when mentioning this to dick he only laughs and tells you to keep it as a souvenir.)
dont forgot to like & reblog! thank you for reading. <3
