fallnlov

[fallnlov]

Sleeping Beauty

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem! Reader/ Red Hood x fem! Reader

Word count: 2.5k

Synopsis: Jason sees you unmoving on the floor, his worst fear almost brings him to the edge.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), established relationship, lovestruck! Jason, CW food mentions, one suggestive joke, CW anxiety, CW blood and death mention, fluff!

A/N: I don't know if this trope has been done before for him but it's too perfect for Jason!

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Jason Todd Masterlist

*I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms and copy pasted on any AI software*

Jason feels lighter as he pulls his bike towards the driveway, the shared driveway that he can't wait to shovel snow off of its pavement once winter comes. He can't even fathom that he wants to do such a thing when he doesn't even like winter, or shoveling snow for that matter. But the mundanity of the act has him feeling normal, feeling like he's just another person bringing takeout to a normal home with its very normal façade, a regular door and even more regular windows. It's a…good feeling, a warm one that brings him hope for whatever the future holds.

For once he doesn't feel like the red hood in the quiet street that's filled with equally normal houses with their normal families residing inside. For once he can just be Jason Todd, not a vigilante, not a gun for hire or anything in between. There's no blood coating the soles of his boots as he steps around the freshly poured concrete that you've etched yours and his initials into and inside a crudely drawn heart. “It's tradition,” you said with a shining smile. He smiles at the sight of it, remembering how much you giggled while you drew it on the wet concrete like you're etching his and your names on a tree.

The house isn't as grandiose as the Wayne Manor, but just like the manor, it's home to him.

Jason pats for his keys, noticing the lack of weapons on his person that he's so used to that it's second nature for him to check them. He has no weapons on him, except for a small knife you've given to him as an anniversary present that you said brings out his eyes as a joke. He always brings it wherever he goes. When some people would have their loved ones pictures in their wallet, Jason has this as a reminder of you. Whenever he's nervous or worried, he runs his thumb across the leather handle, letting the small notches in it ground him. The blade never pierced flesh nor will it ever be marred by blood since it's a reminder of you. On his driveway, he's just someone who's just bringing home takeout after hauling boxes upon boxes of things into the new home.

Bruce and his brothers helped with the big move at first, but with the bat signal raised up high in downtown Gotham, they had to go before Jason could even repay their help with greasy takeout. When he tried to come with, Dick stopped him with a strong hand on his shoulder, saying that he should let them take care of the situation. For once, he's happy to oblige. He smiles at the thought of not having that sense of urgency anymore. The weight inside his stomach slowly fades in time, it weighs like a boulder, pleading for him to don the suit and rush towards the signal with his guns. But as he looks up at the starry sky, the bat signal flickers out completely— another mission accomplished. If not then Oracle would've called him for backup as a last resort. Since his phone is as silent as the street that he now lives in, he exhales shakily, fists furling and unfurling out to rid him of that awfully familiar weight.

The people of Gotham are in safe hands while he's out here with you.

Grabbing the plastic bags of warm noodles and dimsum, he fishes out the ring of keys inside his pockets. As he walks quietly on the cobblestones, the doormat that you've chosen greets him at the door. It has the cliché ‘Welcome!’ sign on it, for once he likes clichés.

After a bout of reminiscing and smiling to himself like some love sick fool, he unlocks the door with a click. Silence hangs in the foyer, the queen sized mattress is still standing against the wall, waiting to be carried upstairs. He makes a mental note to haul it upstairs lest the two of you sleep on the floor tonight.

The scent of lavender wafts around him, for sure coming from a scented candle that's lit somewhere. The smell coincides with the scent of his old books that are temporarily placed on the dinner table while the pieces of his bookshelves are still in its box. A soft smile appears on his lips at the thought of you two struggling to put it together as he crosses the shared space with silent footsteps.

“Sweetheart, I'm home.” Jason calls out in the dimly lit home. He's met with the quiet ticking of the wall clock. The lack of lights makes his skin stand on edge, especially when you always had the old apartment lit back when you two still lived downtown. And you always reply back to him the second he enters the place, always quick with a first aid kit in hand or a peck or two.

“Hey, where are you?” He asks the air as he toes off his shoes, placing them neatly beside yours. “They didn't have the chicken you wanted but they did give us extra fortune cookies.” Still nothing on your end. “Babe?”

Honing in on the faint groans of the house, he concentrates, ears twitching and picking up nothing that could involve you. There's no light clacking of your footsteps, nor your voice as you mumble a song that's stuck in your head.

“You could be upstairs,” Jason tells himself to avoid the awful biting feeling. First he'll sweep the whole downstairs, an old habit. Looking towards the kitchen, he finds it eerily empty. Save for the warming kettle that looks like you left on the stove with the fire still on. Your mug and his own are sitting beside it, the tea bags are as dry as a bone inside the ceramic. The kettle shrieks just as he places the takeout on the counter, shutting the stove off, he has an awful feeling gnawing at his chest. Worry slithering from the back of his head down to the pit of his stomach.

Jason's hand doesn't tremble as he takes the knife from his pocket, brandishing the blade as he stalks his own home. Heart pounding in his chest, rattling his ribs and blood flowing in his ears. His mind draws the worst, your blood sticking to the new couch, ichor dripping all over the walls. Then a struggle, a lamp knocked down, glass shards everywhere— a gun to your head. And your screams, yelling for him before you're shut up for good.

He fights those thoughts as he enters the living room, boxes littered around while you're nowhere in sight. The grip he has on the knife tightens, the handle digging harshly into his palm.

Just as he rounds the corner, he sees your feet sticking out from behind the couch, laying on the carpeted floors— unmoving.

Eyes widening and frantic, heart plummeting down to his stomach, his worst nightmare comes to life. Jason stands there for a moment as if he doesn't trust his own eyes, frozen at the sight. Then he inhales, waking himself back to reality, walking closer until you're in his sight.

You're curled around a couch pillow, eyes closed, body relaxed. Looking like how he left you— an oversized shirt, and a pair of comfortable sweats. There's no drop of blood on you, but that doesn't always mean you're alright. Jason kneels, a shaking hand reaching to feel for your pulse. The second his index feels the light thump of your heartbeat, he exhales loudly in relief.

“Oh thank fuck.” He almost drops his whole body on you from the sheer relief. Tucking the knife back inside his pocket, you stir in your sleep. “Gave me a fucking scare.” Whispering, he grasps your bicep gently, not waking you up, but just to feel your warmth. Making sure that his cruel mind isn't playing tricks on him again.

“Mm-hmm.” Mumbling, and as if you're sensing his presence above you, you crack an eye open. Meeting with his bright emerald eyes that seem to light up in the dim room, relief swimming in the shining embers. “Hey,” your voice crackles with sleep. “I fell asleep.”

“You did.” Chuckling breathlessly, Jason carefully cleans the gunk from the corner of your eye. You feel how clammy his palm is against your cheek, hand gravitating towards his nape, nails scratching mindlessly at the scruff. “Was the floor more comfortable than the couch?”

Craning your neck towards the plump green couch, you scrunch your nose. “I didn't want to ruin it.”

“Babe, c’mon, why did we buy it then?” He pokes your cheek, and you grab his wrist, acting like you're about to bite it as he plays tug of war with you. “We're bound to ruin it anyway.” he winks, and you pause, flustered as you pull at his finger to take a gentle bite that has him laughing.

“It looks too perfect, and the floor is nice and cold.”

“I should adjust the thermostat then.” Before he could move away, you tug at his hand, wordlessly inviting him to rest on the floor beside you. With a fond smile, he obliges.

When he lies down with a groan, you immediately turn towards him, hand grasping at his collar to pull him closer. “There, you look like you need the rest.”

“Why?” His thumb traces the side of your face. “Do I look that tired?”

Shaking your head, you fight a yawn. “No, you look like you've seen a ghost, Jay. Are you okay?”

Sniffing, Jason cups your cheek, feeling your warmth ebb through his palms. “I just thought… nothing, it's stupid.”

Your brows furrow, concern prevalent on your face. “Your hand's cold, and you're breathing heavily. It's either our house is haunted or you carried the mattress up by yourself.” Palm placed on his chest, you feel his quick heartbeat that's slowly steadying under your touch. “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Just tell me what to do.” Voice shrinking, you pat his heart. “Do you want me to stay like this?”

Nudging your nose with his own, Jason closes his eyes, lashes fluttering as he breathes you in. You smell like his cologne and the lavender candles you lit. You're breathing, alive and holding him gently. “Please stay.” That's all he wants.

“Okay, I'll stay.” Whispering, you move closer, chest to chest, fingers moving strands of hair from his eyes. “And whatever it is, it's not stupid.”

Humming, his lips brush along the space between your brows, then he traces down to the bridge of your nose. Kissing you softly like a fallen flower petal grazing along your skin.

Smiling through his affectionate kisses, you brush his hair away from his eyes again, giggling when the strand falls back down on his eyelids. “You need a haircut.”

Eyes half lidded, green peeking through, the corner of his lips curls into a light smile. “Do you want to do it for me?”

“Me?” You gasp out, and he throws his leg over yours, embracing you as if his arm over your waist wasn't enough. “I might ruin your hair, Jay bird. I don't trust my hand eye coordination when it comes to scissors. Especially with your nice hair, I might end up giving you a mohawk.”

“I could rock a mohawk.” You grin at the thought. “Your coordination is fine, babe.” Blowing his bangs off his face for emphasis, he draws hearts around the plush of your bare hip. “You did hit me with an encyclopedia dead on.”

“That was one time!” Mouth agape and feigning offense, you lightly smack his chest, scars peeking above the hem of his shirt. Scars that you've lovingly traced with your lips and fingers. “I thought you were a burglar! And in my defense, it was dark out, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He chuckles, a palm cupping the back of your neck, placing affectionate pecks over the corner of your eye. “You got me good though, hit me right on my noggin.”

Laughing, you bite your lip at the memory. “I'm sorry, good thing you were wearing your helmet back then.”

“Yeah, good thing.” Keeping you close, his muscles relax even more, the fear that encapsulated him is just a dull ache in his stomach now.

Your knuckles brush along the curve of his jaw, the same worried look returns to your pretty face. “Jay—”

“I thought you got hurt.” Blurting it out, he frowns at the recent memory. “The house was dark and you left the kettle on. Then I saw you… and I—” inhaling, he gives you a strained smile. “I feel better now though, you don't have to worry too much.”

“Oh, Jason.” Lifting yourself up by your elbows, you gaze at him softly as he holds onto your waist like it's his lifeline. “I didn't mean to—”

“It's not your fault, that's just how my mind works I guess. Seriously, it's fine.”

Taking his hand, you place his palm right on your beating heart. “Worrying is part of my job, handsome.” You beam at him, staring fondly and leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose. “I'm sorry for leaving the kettle on. I promise to not forget next time, and I promise to keep the place lit. And then whenever I take a nap, it'll be on our too perfect couch.” He sighs, eyes gazing up at you with reverence as he nods and pulls you down towards him. “I'll try to lessen your worries.”

“Thank you,” tugging you down, he hides his face on the crook of your neck. Arms wrapped around you like a cocoon. You rest on his chest, cheek pressed right on his heart as you rub reassuring circles all over his clavicle. “I don't mind you sleeping on the floor. Your poor back might feel it though.” You can feel his smile against your skin.

Moving a smidge away, you grin at him, eyes shining with mischief. “Yeah, I might need a massage actually.”

“From me?” He raises his brows, a smirk playing on his lips. “I would but I don't trust my hand eye coordination.” Pinching your sides, he lets out a quiet laugh.

Giggling, you poke his cheek playfully. “You don't need that to give a massage though.”

“Maybe for shit massages.” The chorus of laughter echoing from the living room drenches the whole house in warmth. “Say please?”

You roll your eyes, moving down to press a brief yet saccharine kiss right on his smiling lips. “Please?”

“You really want that massage huh?” He pats your cheek, then his hand crawls to your nape, gently kneading. “Do you still want that massage even if I didn't get you your orange chicken?”

Tilting your head, you shake your head with a grin while squeezing his cheeks together. “I'd say that it's a good bargain.” You were on the floor for a second, then the next you're lifted up, legs wrapped around his hips as he carries you. “Jason!” Squeaking and grinning, you wrap your arms behind his head for leverage.

“What?” He asks innocently, mirroring your giddy smile as he brushes his lips against your cheek. “I'm going to give you that massage.” It's a ruse to get you off of the harsh floor, but you let him when his hold is much more comfortable than the floor.

“Better be a damn good massage then.” You say before you're dropped on the couch, bouncing gently as you stare up at him lovingly.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

[fallnlov]

Can we get hubby!Dick Grayson thoughts pretty please?

yes!! yes we can!!! dont know if im in domestic mood because of the damian fic, but lets go at it!!! (this is kinda short, so sorry)

husband!dick grayson

-- it wouldn't take long for dick to ask you to marry him, but it would take forever for you to actually get married. you would probably get engaged before the year one mark, maybe a little after... but you would have to at least get to year five before you officially tie the knot. he's just scared because he's had two prior engagements.

-- but when you guys finally get married, you better believe it'll be just like day one again

-- dick will stay a puppy in love for as long as he loves. he will make sure you guys never truly leave your honeymoon phase

-- flowers at every date, dancing in the rain, anything and everything that you would see in a cheesy romcom

-- dick loving you is LOUD. it's not stolen glances or whispered conversations late at night. it's running through crowded streets as if you two are the only people there.

-- he has a way of making you feel like you're the only one in the room. because to him you are.

-- he makes sure you understand you are his world. you are his person.

-- but with all the love he gives, you sometimes still have to dig to see every part of him

-- he's scared to let you love him through his hardest moments, though you do love him, weather his face is bloody and tear stained or will a stupid smirk as you wake him up with a kiss in the morning.

-- speaking of kisses, this man love's to kiss you everywhere.

-- everywhere he can, he will, place a light delicate kiss. your nose, your eyes, the corner of your mouth, your ears, every single mark on your skin. he has kissed, and will kiss again.

-- he loves physical touch. so. so. much. it's almost overwhelming.

-- he just want's to make every day memorable. every day an adventure.

[fallnlov]

NIGHT SHIFT

⋆⭒˚.⋆ jason todd x f!reader

⋆⭒˚.⋆ as a waitress, you’re used to strange encounters. this one might just be the strangest

⋆⭒˚.⋆ 2.8k

⋆⭒˚.⋆ mentions of violence, guns, blood

⋆⭒˚.⋆ “ppl who celebrate fictional-” FUCK THAT HAPPY BIRTHDAY JASON TODD

the dreaded night shift.

a pain enough as it is. but in gotham city? unpredictable, dangerously so.

you have been working at the diner for a few months now, needing the money because being a struggling art student doesn't exactly keep a roof over your head.

it wasn't the most glamorous job, the clientele ranged from rowdy teenagers to the elderly to low level thugs, but it kept you afloat long enough to continue your studies.

you had only worked the graveyard shift a handful of times, but each time was its own unique experience.

the most recent one you worked was about a week and a half ago, where you heard at least two rounds of gunshots before you saw the batmobile speeding past the restaurant.

another time, a guy was thrown through the front window. no one was hurt, well except for that guy. the diner reopened in a record 4 days time. apparently the owner has a window guy.

so the job was eventful, to say the least

tonight was relatively quiet, not a lot of customers, except for your regular, harold. a nice man in his late 50s, who always only orders a black coffee and a slice of apple pie. but other than him, it hasn't been busy.

the only downside of a somewhat peaceful shift is how excruciatingly slow time seemed to move during that shift. you kept yourself busy with some cleaning until eventually it was time to close up.

you let out a sigh as you finish tidying everything up, moving to lock the front door and putting up the closed sign. the only thing left to do was to take out the trash. which you had to do through the back entrance, through the alley. its the part you hated the most.

you gathered all your stuff before begrudgingly moving to the back. you take off your apron before grabbing the two large garbage bags, you push open the door with your foot and walk as quickly as you can to the large dumpster. you muster all your strength to toss the bags in there, shuddering in disgust after.

you turn to rush back in the diner when you hear it.

a noise, you stop in your tracks.

in a city like gotham, it's never really a question between fight or flight. because the answer is almost always flight. so you book it.

when you're in reach of the door handle, that's when you hear a loud groan, making you freeze again.

flight. flight. your curiosity is not worth this, you chant in your head.

another groan.

fuck.

"hello?" you're an idiot.

"is someone out here?" absolutely stupid.

your question is answered by a hiss in pain. you contemplate your next action. maybe you should look for another job. you let a deep sigh as your feet move before your brain makes the logical decision to go back inside. you follow the sound of the shuffling clothes.

a little past the dumpster you can make out a pair of boots. you move closer and confirm that its the source of the sound. you almost tip toe, before you gasp in surprise.

the red hood.

the red hood slouched against an alleywall, gripping his leg in pain.

"oh fuck." you let out involuntarily. his head shoots up and before you know it you're staring down the barrel of a gun.

"holy shit." you exclaim as your arms come up in surrender, "this is so uncalled for. i just wanted to help."

he eyes you over once, or you assume he is. you can't tell with the helmet. he lets out another hiss as he lowers the gun, though your nerves are not easing up. you hesitate before speaking up, "are you hurt?" you cringe at yourself, "well yes, obviously. but like, are you gonna be okay? or do you need to go to the hospital or anything?"

he shakes his head, "n-no hospital." he coughs out.

you nod, "okay, no hospital. i don't think you can stay here though. cause you look like you're in a lot of pain. unless someone is picking you up."

another shake of his head.

you glance back at the door, huffing out a breath. "i hope i dont regret this." you mutter under your breath, you think he heard you anyway. "can you- uh get up or move at all?" he stares at you. "theres a first aid kit inside, i can help you or at least try."

he doesn't answer.

"i mean i can bring it out here but-" you’re cut off by a loud thunderclap followed by a heavy downpour. you jump in surprise and quickly crouch down. "okay. we need to head inside right now." you tell him before pulling on his arm. he groans as he struggles to his feet, almost falling over before you steady him. you pull his arm over your shoulder to help him walk to the door.

"jesus fucking-" you curse as his weight is rested upon you. "just a little more." you whisper, mostly to yourself. finally, you make it inside, but you lose your footing slightly and feel him slip out of your grasp.

he tries to catch himself on a nearby table but falls to the floor with a groan anyway. you gasp, scrambling to close the door before grabbing a chair and helping him back up. "oh fuck, sorry."

he flops in the chair with a whine, head slumping forward. quickly, you search for the first aid, flipping through the cabinets and drawers.

when you finally spot it, you let out a sigh of relief, you grab it and make your way back to the injured vigilante. "got it. now, where exactly are you hurt?"

he gestures to his thigh. you nod to yourself. you're not quite sure where to start. you kneel down to inspect his thigh. he takes his hand away and you can see how his pants were completely saturated with his blood. you suck in a breath, opening the kit. "i need to get a better look. can i- uh cut your pants?" he nods, "go 'head."

you take the scissors and carefully cut a slit through the material. once you've done so you can see his wound more clearly, "this is a stab wound."

"you don't say." he quips, making you look back up at him quizzically. you ignore him and reach for the gauze and gently put it over his wound and apply slight pressure, making him hiss through his teeth, doubling over in pain as he instinctively put his hand on your arm to steady himself. his face is now very close to yours, you can feel the heat of his skin. he turns to meet your eyes.

you mutter a quick apology. after a minute or two, and changing the gauze, the bleeding seemed to have slowed down.

you reach for your half empty water bottle on the table. you open it pour it over his thigh to clean his wound. after a few passes with a towel, you've managed to somewhat clean his injury.

"okay i dont have anything for stitches so i’m just gonna try wrap and bandage it."

"great."

you're not sure how long it takes you to patch him up, but it feels like you've been here for ages. you're washing your hands when you hear him stir. he hasn't said much to you apart from the occasional comment. you watch as he sits up, reaching for the side of his helmet. you hear a click before he slowly takes it off.

you're met with a head of dark hair, though the front tuft of his hair is white. your brows furrow in intrigue then in confusion as you notice he's wearing a domino mask.

fuck. he's... attractive. you shake the thought from your head. there's no way you're crushing on a vigilante.

you don't say anything but move closer, though you avoid eye contact as you reach down to clean up the first aid kit. you can feel his eyes follow you.

"why are you helping me?"

his voice rings out, making you jump slightly. you turn to face him. "would you rather i let you bleed out in the rain?" you say, softer than you intended.

"either you're really brave or plain stupid." he remarks. your head tilts, "definitely somewhere inbetween." you retort back, pressing your lips inbetween. “also i’m worried you’ll hunt me down now that i know what you look like.” you gesture to his helmet sitting on the table.

his brows tighten in confusion, “you don't know what i look like or who i am.” he grunts.

your lips curl, “okay, i may not know your name or anything but it wouldn't be difficult to pick you out of a lineup. your hair’s a dead giveaway.”

he stays silent, you're worried you've upset him but he bows his head again and lets you continue to treat him.

"you do this often?" red hood asks, gesturing to his injured leg and the bandages in your hand.

"what? treat the wounds of vigilantes? almost exclusively." you can see a slight tug on his lips at your comment. "you seem experienced."

you shrug, "i took a class."

his lips curl upward as he looks at you. "you looked scared before."

"thought you were a rat or like, a murderer." you admit, "murderer is probably worse, right?"

you're shocked as you hear the red hood let out a chuckle, "a rat?"

"hey! have you seen those things? they're humungous. like they're mutated or something. it’s a valid fear, i hate rats."

he shakes his head at you, "yeah fair. i expected you to be a little more freaked out."

"who says i’m not?"

"you hide it well."

"figured you already got stabbed tonight, don't need a sobbing waitress on top of all that."

he breathes out a laugh, "how thoughtful."

it’s quiet for a moment before you decide to speak again. "so the person who stabbed you isn't gonna come looking for you here right?"

"probably not."

"like 100% not or-"

"he’s not gonna come. trust me."

does that mean he's dead? you decide the less you know the better.

"you work here?" he gestures around the room. you hum, "the outfit give it away? or do i just have that tired waitress look about me?"

"nah, you look great." he pauses, "i mean- you know considering you had to haul my ass all the way inside."

"right."

his eyes dart around the room, his gun is resting on the table, he doesn't even remember putting it there. he sees you eyeing it uncomfortably before quickly putting it away in his thigh holster.

"you always work this late?"

"not always. i actually wasn't supposed to work tonight but the other waitress got mugged last night, so she's a bit banged up. had to take her shift."

you heard him curse under his breath, "did they catch who did it?"

"i dont think so."

hood shook his head, "you need to be more careful. especially if you're alone out this late. or get a better job."

you scoff, "i can't afford to go look for another job. i'm already under a mountain of stress with school and I'm not about to add jobhunting to that load."

red hood stares at you blankly, his lips parting as if he wants to say something but he stays silent for bit. "what are you studying?"

you blink at him, taken aback at his interest. "graphic design. third year."

he hums, eyebrows raising. "so like logos and stuff?" you shrug, "sure, i guess."

while the mask covers a good portion of his face, his eyes pierce through persistently, captivating in a strange way. his gaze is unwavering, almost as if he's studying you, trying to read you. it feels wrong to break eye contact, you're not sure why, but you do anyway.

"you always wanted to do that?"

"not sure. there's a lot I've always wanted to do."

"so why not do it?"

your eyes narrow at him, "because it's gotham. you either gotta be born into it or cheat, lie, and scam your way to the top for opportunities like that."

you see him purse his lips, head tilting toward you. "yeah, i would advise you not to keep the wrong people company.”

"ive lived here my whole life, i stay out of trouble."

"you do realize what you just did tonight, right?" he points to the door. you put your hands up in mock surrender, "you got me there but still, saved your ass."

"hmm, saved is a strong word." he counters, clicking his tongue. your eyes widen, "no, it’s the correct word. who's not bleeding out anymore? exactly.”

you can see him fighting off a smile, hanging his head as he shakes his head in amusement. "so you always wanted to be a waitress?"

"oh definitely. that and saving red hood's smart ass." you retort. "glad i could fulfill one of your wishes then." he says, leaning back in the chair, carefully stretching out his injured leg.

"so you admit i saved you."

"your word against mine, sweetheart."

the nickname jolts something inside you, maybe it's the lack of affection you'd been nursing for the past year, maybe your nerves are still somewhat shaken after everything that's happened tonight.

maybe it's him.

no. this is the red hood, gun wielding, masked vigilante.

"so what's good here?"

his voice snaps you out of your thoughts, your eyebrows pinch together in question. "the diner." he clarifies. "oh. well the coffee is mediocre at best and the food is mostly reheated slop so. very few things that are actually fresh." you say leaning back in your chair, “but i swear by the blueberry pancakes.”

“blueberry pancakes?” he questions with a chuckle. you nod back eagerly, “trust me. best thing on the menu.”

he hums, his eyes refuse to leave you. you look away for a second, still feeling his stare on you.

you clear your throat,

“sounds like the rain’s easing up.” you mutter, drumming your fingers against your thighs. you look back to him once more, eyes widening as you realize, “fuck, do you want something to drink?” you don't wait for his answer, quickly getting up and walking over to the front to grab him a bottle of water.

as you walk back, you're already unscrewing the cap and reaching out to hand it to him. to your surprise you return to an empty room. your eyes widen as you look around the room.

the chair is empty, his helmet on the table is gone too. it’s eerily quiet, like he was never even here.

your head tilts in confusion at the notepad that sits atop your bag. you always left it in your apron, which was on the counter. you go to pick it up. a note, in handwriting you don’t recognize,

thank you.

— r.h.

you heave a sigh, a small smile tugging at your lips.

a week later you're still working at the diner, your normal dayshift.

you still think about your encounter with the red hood, finding yourself keeping an ear out anytime the news was on. sneaking a look at the newspaper headlines every time you pass the news stand on your way to work.

you're not sure why you can't shake him, he's probably already forgotten about you.

you're balancing two plates when you hear the bell, indicating someone has entered the diner. putting the plates down and grabbing the coffee pot, you see someone take a seat at the counter through your peripheral. “i’ll be right with you, sir” you call out to him.

“here you go, harold.” you smile at the man as you refill his coffee. quickly, you walk over to the other side of the counter where your newest customer is sitting. you grab a clean mug and set it down. “what can i get you, sir?” you ask as you pour his coffee, not really looking at him.

“i’ll have the blueberry pancakes.”

you freeze at the voice. your gaze shifts.

his eyes are the first thing you notice, his head is covered by a hoodie but the front of his hair peeks through, confirming your assumptions.

your mouth is slightly agape, staring at the man in front of you. he sees the recognition on your face, a small grin forming on his lips.

you're knocked out of your stupor by the call bell, an order to pick up. you shake your head as if to come back to your senses. he’s still there.

“blueberry pancakes?” your hope your voice didn't come out shaky. he nods, "someone recommended them.”

“well, good choice then.”

“counting on it.”

“will that be all?”

“i think so. for now.”

“okay, i’ll have that right out for you...” you drag it out, head tilting in waiting. he smirks, “jason.”

you can't fight the smile on your lips, “jason.” you repeat.

to him, his name never sounded any sweeter.

[fallnlov]

The Way, Way Back (2013)

[fallnlov]

Dick Grayson

𝜗ৎ Tying a bow on his bicep!

word count | 445

tags: fluff

Sunlight poured down on the both of you as Dick peppered your face with kisses. The golden hue made you look even more goddess-like in his opinion.

His black hair was wild and messy, and his smile was downright mischievous as he tugged on your hair.

The two of you had decided to have a makeshift picnic. There was no anniversary, birthday, or anything monumental—he had just wanted to smother you with love.

He knew being in a relationship while also being a vigilante came with the terror of not knowing if he’d come home. So he made it his personal mission to always make time for you.

“Knock it off, Dick,” you laughed, swatting his hand away. Your joy sounded like a siren song—slowly luring him in and further proving his theory that you’d be the death of him.

He pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, his hand playing with the strap of your red tank top.

“What?” he said innocently, looking down at you.

You were both sprawled on a picnic blanket. He was feeding you strawberries—which you had rolled your eyes at.

You shook your head in exasperation. He tugged on your hair again, which was half pulled up with a pink lacy bow. He pulled the end piece, causing it to unravel. Your hair came tumbling down, framing your face.

“Dick,” you groaned, though you were smiling softly.

“I like it down,” he muttered. His fingers threaded through your long hair reverently, as if you were all he needed.

He picked up the lacy ribbon with his other hand and grinned.

You raised a brow, already knowing what he was thinking.

He tried to tie it around his bicep, and you snorted.

“You are the most ridiculous man I’ve ever met,” you stated, though you moved to help him tie it properly. Your fingers looped the ribbon easily, shaping the bow around his upper arm.

Once you finished, he grinned and pressed his lips to yours softly.

“I’m your ridiculous man,” he muttered against your lips, pulling away and leaving you wanting more of his softness.

“Plus,” he added, flexing his bicep, “now everyone knows I belong to the most gorgeous girl in the world.”

Even after all these years, he still managed to make your face heat up.

“Damn right you do,” you muttered, hiding your face in his chest. His arms circled your waist, holding you close, and you could feel his chest shaking from laughter.

After a while, he slyly moved your head so it tilted up. Your brows furrowed—until you let out a groan when you saw a strawberry in his hand.

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s romantic!”

Masterlist | Jason Todd’s version

[fallnlov]

Every second counts BatBoys (dick, jason, tim, damian) x gn!reader

* 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

synopsis: silly scenarios/hc where the two of you are married and they love reminding/showing you that yay!

notes: implied nsfw (dick, jason, tim, got lazy w damian) MDNI, all aged up, OOC BUT IDC NO MORE!!!11

a/n: will disappear for a while lol im trying to shit out every draft i have piled firm believer jason whines

thank you for reading ily

1.1k-ish words, not beta read, UNEDITED

* 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Dick Grayson * 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

He loves to show off the ring, everywhere he goes, wearing it even in the most inconvenient times, he needs everyone to know about his marital status, even if you're hidden from the public. Meetings means him constantly tapping the metal against the desk until someone coughs and finally congratulates him.

Nightwing suit not stopping nothing too, he's wearing that band outside the suit just praying to whatever deity it doesn't slip off or he will die in this fight before he tells you anything. Ever since the rings he would always fidget with it, lets him remind himself a small tangible reassurance, that he’s married to the most amazing person ever and he's not letting you go.

You looked over his shoulder, humming trying to see what’s gotten him so into newspapers reading suddenly. “Dick, what are you looking at…?” Oh man the grin on his face was blinding, he shoved the paper to your face pointing to a printed out picture of him leaping off a roof but the main directive was, oh who are you kidding, its the ring, the news was talking about a metal band on Nightwings right ring-finger. “Look! They noticed you!” With a mirrored softer grin you nodded letting out air "Guess they did."

Oh yeah he also loves to hold hands now, right-on-right, the clanking sounds is like music to his ears. Makes him extra freaky in bed, good god someone save you. One hand supporting your thigh, the other holding your right hand. Sweaty slick covered skin, heavy panting, and the clanking of rings every thrust he made on impact was like candy to him. 

Jason Todd * 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Jason is addicted to calling you by his last name, makes hiding you even more fun.

He’s been meaning to do that since the first ever date he had with you, his fantasies of abusing the word makes him internally giddy that he's actually married to you. If some stupid villain threatens him to say his spouse’s name, all he has to say is “Todd.” They're not finding you anytime soon, let alone with Jason now sharing his last name with you. Someone has to kill him before they get a single dent on you as corny as it sounds. 

“Todd.” he called out trying to find you around the apartment, he found you all drowsy and sleepy drinking the last can of whatever energy drink was left on the fridge, then he called out to you again, firmer this time. “Todd.” You slowly looked at him with a whispered, confused "Huh. Why’re you calling me that." You still forget you now shared a last name with him. 

The bedroom is definitely filled with rambled out praises and his last name. He groaned, breath hot tickling on your skin as he babbled out in broken praises “Yeah? Ah— so good. C’mon Todd.” Each thrust up making his head fall back, half lidded eyes looking at you as you bounced. “Todd.” a whimper. 

Tim Drake * 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

This freak loves marking you up, sexually or not he's doing it. Matching keychains, matching clothes, clothes or jewellery from him is a must, he will always find a way for you to bring him around tangibly, and so does he.

The rings just heightened this thing about him more, seeing you wear it makes him absolutely dizzy his head repeating the same 6 words ‘oh my god they’re my spouse.’ He could look at you with a deadpanned expression maintaining eye contact but the crimson that spreads through his face and ears was definitely readable. Loves to throw a fit when you forget it too.

He glared at you right hand as you tried to dry your hair in front of the fan. You could feel eyes boring through your skin.

“Where’s your ring.” 

“Its on the bathroom counter top”

“Well get it.”

“Tim let me dry my—”

“I said. Get. It.”

You just sighed, surrendering out of pure fondness to your stubborn husband, shuffling your way to get the ring back on your finger, you missed the feeling anyways. 

Has he mentioned the time his brain short circuited after seeing you lay shirtless on the couch, bites all over your stomach from last night still bright on your skin while your right hand wearing the ring laid righttt next to his favorite bite from last night, now he did. One round isn't enough; he has to make you last till dawn. 

Damian Wayne * 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

On everyone's soul you have to physically cut off Damian's tongue for him to stop calling you his spouse. One moment he's calling you by your full name the next he's being all sappy. His defense being ‘What? It is easier to say.’ yeah… surely. Without being too forward with his feelings he uses the term as a reminder to both him and you—mostly him—that it’s more than a long term thing, that bonds will deepen between you more, and his stomach flutters at the reminder.

Either way he's also been really into kissing suddenly. It's been tradition ever since, before any one of you leaves for work goodbye kisses are a must. 

You were late for your day job, running around the apartment trying to get all your stuff before they locked you out. “Dami!” you called out while crouching as you tried to slip your shoes on, his head almost popped out almost immediately from the room over, walking over to you. “Going already?” You looked up at him still crouched down fitting the last shoe “Yes, I'm going already, I'm late.”

He just did his signature tsk before he crouched down with you, his steady hands a complete contrast to yours as he helped. Witch a quick stand—helping him up as well—you kissed his forehead already on your way to stride out the door, a hand shot up quickly clamping onto your wrist pulling you back. now chest to chest with a glaring Damian he spoke up barely audible “You missed.”

“What?”

Then he pulled you into a slow kiss full of overwhelming warmth and affection, oh he loves loves you. 

[fallnlov]

❆ WE'LL TRY AGAIN TOMORROW

PAIRING : dick grayson x gn!reader

ONESHOT REQUEST : dick won't remember and as much as it hurts, you keep showing up.

A/N : i like hurt/comfort.... but everytime i write it i crave to remove any comfort taglist : @6000-fandoms , @heartfully10 , @mistbornwithawritingproblem

masterlist

      GOTHAM didn’t rest. It breathed, heavy and haunted, through broken windows and behind closed doors that once knew laughter. Time moved strangely here— not forward, not back. Just… around. Circling the same ache.

     Days blurred. Weeks bled. And still, his eyes hurt more every time they found you. If they found you at all.

     Once, they burned. Bright. Sharp. Certain. Now, they flickered. Like dying neon in an alley too tired to keep glowing.

     You stopped counting the glances. The near-recognitions. The almosts. It wasn’t the forgetting that broke you, not really. It was the pauses. The stutters in his soul. The way your name seemed to catch on the edge of his tongue like it remembered the taste but not the story. The way he turned toward your laughter as if it were an old song, one he couldn’t place but still hummed under his breath. The way his body moved before his mind caught up. Reaching, looking, waiting.

     You told yourself it didn’t matter anymore. That he wouldn’t remember. That you were done hoping. A well-known lie.

     You lie every night you walk through the gate of Wayne Manor, hoping this time will be different. That tonight will be the night memory comes home.

     Bruce had another theory. Tim too. A sliver of science, a shard of something they couldn’t quite name. A chemical? A spark? A memory half-alive? Whatever it was, you followed it. Even if it led you deeper into the dark.

     You moved through the Manor like a ghost. Like something half-gone. You knew the way the wood groaned under careful feet. The scent of lavender oil and leather-bound grief. The dust on old photographs, each frame a memorial.

     And he was there. Not the boy you loved. Not quite. But someone wearing his skin, standing in his bones.

     You moved too close. Muscle memory. The kind of nearness your body refused to unlearn. You brought him offerings: off-brand cereal, cheap soda, static on the radio. Pieces of a life he once called his. You cooked eggs wrong, on purpose. You adjusted the dial. You held his hand when the needles came, and you disappeared when they didn’t work.

     Which was always.

     The kitchen is quiet. The air heavy, like something grieving. You stood by the sink, glass in hand, trembling just enough to betray yourself. The faucet dripped. The clock ticked. And then—

     “Hey.” The word barely arrived, but it hit like thunder.

      You didn’t have to turn. But you did. He stood there. Like the world wasn’t ending. Like you weren’t coming apart right in front of him.

     “Hi,” you answered. Small. Careful. A whisper with a history.

      He shifted on his feet. Eyes flicked to yours, then away. Fingers folded into themselves.

     “I just… wanted to say thank you.”

     It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t sure. It felt stolen… like something he didn’t know he had the right to say.

     “For what?”

     “For… everything.”

      A breath. Then quieter:

     “I know this hurts. All of it. I can see it. I feel it. And still — you show up. Like it’s easy. Like I matter.”

      He looks down, voice splintering.

     “And I don’t know how to live with that. But I’m trying.”

     Your lungs forget how to work. Because even without memories, he still knows how to break you apart with kindness. And it’s cruel how even his broken pieces still fit into yours.

     You tried to speak. Failed. Tears came. Not quietly. Not politely. The kind that knew their way down your face too well. And he didn’t speak again. He didn’t offer lies or apologies.

     Instead, he stepped forward. One foot, then the next. As if every inch was sacred. As if you were something holy.

     When he reached you, his arms wrapped around your breaking body with the precision of someone who had done it a hundred times before. But he had. Maybe his bones remembered. Even if his mind didn’t.

     You folded into him. Grief, loud and shameless. He held you tighter. His hand moved to your hair. His voice, low and ghost-soft:

      “I’ve got you. I’m coming home.”

     And you believed him. Not forever. Not even for long. Just enough. 

    Later, you sat on the kitchen floor. Back against cold tile. Legs tangled like stories not yet told. He sipped the awful soda. Made a face. You laughed— wet, worn, almost real.

    “Still bad?” you asked.

    “Worse,” he said. A ghost of a smile passed over his lips. Pale but true.

    You handed him a napkin. He took it like it meant something. A beat. The world slowing.

    “Do you ever feel like it’s still there?” His voice was quiet. As if afraid the answer might disappear if it came too loud. “Like… not gone. Just… buried?”

    You nodded. Because it was. In the way he looked at you sideways. In the press of his thumb against your wrist, like instinct. In the silence that felt like an old conversation with no words needed.

    “Sometimes I dream about you,” he confessed. “I don’t know it’s you. Not until I wake up. But I feel it. Like warmth I forgot I needed.”

   You swallowed that ache like broken glass.

    “What do we do in the dreams?”

     He didn’t think long. He didn’t have to.

     “Nothing,” he said. “Just… exist.” A pause. “But I’m never alone.”

     And that was it, wasn’t it? Not fireworks. Not grand speeches. Just being. Just stillness.

     A quiet kind of love. The kind that survives the end of the world.

    There were no experiments tonight. No wires. No charts. No blood drawn. Only silence. Only the slow weight of him resting his head on your shoulder. And you, leaning into it like it could hold you steady.

    “We’ll try again tomorrow,” you whispered.

     He didn’t speak. But he nodded. And that was enough.

[fallnlov]

— Just Like That

includes: Hal Jordan, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd & Wally West

summary: your boyfriend refusing to dance with you was a wake up call—it's time to come home to the man you truly love (or, you break up with your boyfriend for them)

cw: part 2 of just dance, breakups (we are not sad abt it trust), first kisses, love confessions, some yelling, pining & yearning, wholesome i swear

—this was requested as a part 2 of Just Dance, req can be found here

froggi yaps -> eek ive been soo excited to write this one!! dedicated to everyone who has had a partner who just absolutely sucked the life out of you and ruined all your fun </3 this is your sign to dump them (jk, mostly) bcs life truly gets better on the other side <3 enjoy!

Hal Jordan:

It takes everything Hal has to not run into that apartment and drag you out to his car.

He can’t help it. When it comes to you, he can’t help himself. But tonight, he sits his ass down and takes deep breaths because no matter how badly he wants to help you, he knows you need to do it yourself.

It’s been five minutes but feels like hours since you called him, your voice quiet and pleading, asking him to come and pick you up. 

“I’m doing it tonight,” you’d whispered. “I’m leaving him, and I need a getaway driver.”

Hal had been out the door, still tugging on his shirt, before you could finish your plea. Now, parked on the curb outside your boyfriend’s apartment, a million thoughts race through his head.

When you come running outside, a bag in your hand and a grin on your face, all of his thoughts melt away. Your smile—actual joy in your face for the first time in months—is all it takes to have him smiling right back.

You hop into his car and immediately throw your arms around him, the familiar scent of your shampoo making his head spin. “Thank you for coming,” you bury your head into his shoulder.

His touch is needy, desperate—holding you the way he’s yearned to do all these months. He’d gotten a taste of it last week, the way your body had brushed his while dancing left him high and dizzy and in a frenzy for more.

“Anytime.” He pulls away, putting the car in drive. “You never told me, what made you decide to finally do it?”

“Honestly?” Your tone is sheepish as you fiddle with the handle of his glovebox, “you. I was so sad the other night—and he didn’t even care. And then you got up and you danced with me and I just thought: this is what love should be.”

For a moment, you’re embarrassed at your confession. While you’ve spent dozens of drunken nights with him, told him hundreds of embarrassing stories and crushes you’ve had, you worry it’s too much too fast.

Lucky for you, Hal Jordan thrives on too much, too fast.

He pulls over, brown eyes serious. “You broke up with him for me?”

You barely nod, the gesture so slow and subtle it would be almost unreadable to anyone but your best friend. 

You stay entirely still when he grabs the back of your neck and pulls your face to his, his lips on yours. You melt into him, all of the confusion and twistiness you’ve felt for him pouring out and burning you from the inside out.

His calloused fingers on the sensitive skin of the back of your neck ground you, collect the parts of you that threaten to fall away and make you whole again. 

You’re drunk on him when he pulls away.

“How about we get a drink?” He asks.

“S-sounds good to me.”

Dick Grayson:

It’s a slow night in Bludhaven for Nightwing when he sees you toss a garbage onto the curb, your boyfriend stumbling out after it.

“And don’t ever call him that again!”

He suppresses a laugh at hearing you yell—it’s a sound he’s never heard before, at least, not like that. He’s heard you yell in excitement, in mock anger after losing a game of Mario Kart, but never has he heard you yell with such conviction. 

Your boyfriend yells something back, the only words Dick can make out from here are ‘crazy’ and ‘bitch’. A wave of anger rolls through him, every muscle in his body tensing like he’s heading into a fight, and then his phone is buzzing.

There’s a moment of serenity for Dick at seeing your contact picture, at knowing you just literally kicked your boyfriend to the curb and you’re already calling him. 

Your contact pops up but Dick doesn’t even bother to answer. Instead, he’s knocking at your window, crouched down on your fire escape in the dead of night.

Your eyes widen in shock from where you lay in bed, scrolling tiredly on your phone. You’re on your feet in an instant, unlocking the latches and letting him into your room.

“That was fast,” you note.

“I was in the neighborhood,” he shrugs and pulls off his domino mask, resting it on your nightstand. “What was that all about?”

A sigh passes through your lips. “I was hoping you didn’t see that.”

“I’m Nightwing, I see everything.”

You roll your eyes, dissolving into a fit of giggles when Dick mimes being shot and falls back into your bed. This is exactly why you called him, Dick has always made moments like these feel lighter, easier to carry.

“He was mad about what happened last week. Y’know….with us and the dancing.”

Dick’s eyes turn steely. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“What? No!” You shake your head frantically. “He just said some mean stuff about you and-and our friendship. And then I broke up with him.”

He doesn’t know what to be more shocked over: that you finally broke up with him, or that the last straw was your boyfriend saying bad things about him.

“What did he say about me?”

“That you’re a ‘slutty playboy’ who has ‘never had to work for anything in your life.’” You crack a smile at that, eyes flitting up the length of his Nightwing suit. “That you’re too attached to me.”

The last part is said quieter, a mumble on your lips, like you’re too afraid to speak it. It’s an unfortunate truth. One that Dick isn’t fond of other people—least of all your boyfriend—noticing.

It’s not lost on Dick the way your eyes light up hopefully when you say it, like a part of you wishes it's true. 

You mistake his silence for sadness. “I don’t believe any of that, I hope you know. I-I told him to get the fuck out and never speak about you like that again! You mean so much to me and I would take a thousand million days with you over one more second with him and I—”

He stands up from your bed, cornering you against the wall you were just pacing in front of. You look at him through your lashes, your mouth falling open innocently, and that’s when he kisses you.

His mouth moves against yours perfectly, naturally, like it’s a dance he’s rehearsed a thousand times. He holds you softly, his fingertips just barely gripping your waist while he touches you. 

You’re flustered when he pulls away, all the words you previously spoke hanging in the air. “Dick, I—”

His hands stay put on your waist, fingertips drumming to a beat only Dick can hear. His eyes are focused entirely on you, solid and warm, looking at you like you’re the first thing he’s ever seen in colour.

“So,” he breaks the silence, a grin rising to his cheeks, “a thousand million days, huh?”

You playfully hit his shoulder. “Shut up.”

Jason Todd:

For all the times you’ve come home and found Jason in your house—injured, reading, crashing in your bed—he’d never expected for you to do the same.

But here you are.

You’re curled in a ball in his bed, scrolling through some social media site on your phone. He blinks, wondering if he’d somehow gotten dosed with something when he was out taking care of business earlier.

He rubs at his eyes but you remain there, your back turned to him and definitely clad in one of his sweatshirts. He’s quiet to open the door, not wanting to startle you even though you’re the one that broke into his house.

“Hey,” he undoes a couple of his holsters, letting them drop to the floor. “Not that I mind the company, but is everything okay?”

You turn to him with wide eyes, shock evident on your face. “You’re home!” You rise to your feet, running up to him and wrapping your arms around his muscled torso. Jason lets out a sound of surprise but slowly folds his arms around your back, rubbing gentle circles on the fabric of your—his—sweatshirt.

“I did it today,” you mumble into his shirt, inhaling the scent of blood and his deodorant. “I broke up with him.”

It’s Jason’s turn to be shocked, his mouth falling open. “Actually?”

You nod.

Jason’s been with you through a decent amount of breakups but he sees none of that usual sadness on your face. There’s no slight frown, no tear streaks on your face. That light in your eyes—the one he’d seen a glimpse of at the club—is back, and glowing. 

“Did something happen?”

“I just realized he wasn’t what I wanted anymore.” You risk a hopeful glance to Jason, “I don’t want someone that doesn’t know me. That doesn’t know I love to dance, or what my favorite song is. I want something real.” 

I want you. The words go unspoken but Jason reads them in your eyes, in the way you look at him, in the way you showed up at his house and waited up for him until the ungodly hours of the morning.

He breathes your name, his pulse suddenly unsteady. He dips his head down, lips hovering so fucking close to yours. It’s less of a kiss and more of the two of you falling together, that insatiable pull between you finally snapping into place.

Jason’s body falls over yours, walking you back to the bed. Your thighs meet the fabric of his comforter and then you’re falling over, Jason tumbling with you.

You pull away giggling, his face resting against your collarbones. “Trying to get me into your bed already, hm?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

Wally West:

Wally’s enjoying a rare night at home when you come banging on his door. 

“I did it,” is all you say when you walk in, hanging your bag by the door like it belongs there.

He cocks his head at you, eyebrows raising. “Did what?”

Your eyes are wide and filled with that wild light Wally’s missed so much. There’s a strange sort of smile on your face—confused, happy, dizzy. For a minute, he allows himself to hope that by ‘it’, you mean you finally kicked that asshole to the curb.

You suck in a breath. “I broke up with him,” you level him with a serious look, “for good this time.”

Wally feels like he’s dreaming—it was only a few nights ago that he’d been pining over you, holding you close and dreading when you went back to your boyfriend. 

“What?”

He almost chokes on the word, adrenaline—or is it excitement—rushing through his chest. He searches your face, looking for any kind of sadness, but all he finds is that familiar spark in your eyes.

“We were arguing about what happened at the club and—ugh, it was so impulsive but I just…decided I was done.”

“Just like that?”

You nod, raiding his fridge and stealing a can of pop. You crack it open, downing around half of the can in one go. Wally hates—loves—how comfortable you are at his place, how you settle in and help yourself like you’re meant to be there. Because in his eyes, you are.

“Just like that.” Your eyes meet his, the way his eyes soften on you sends a whirlwind of butterflies into your tummy. “It’s silly, but when we were dancing the other night, I just felt so alive. I haven’t felt that way in forever, but singing with you, dancing with you, being with you—well, not in that way. Or yes in that way—”

Wally cuts you off, his lips suddenly on yours. The words die on your lips, replaced by the electricity radiating off of him. It takes you a moment to register what happens, to remember to shut your eyes and kiss him back.

“Sorry,” he says, but the wicked grin on his face doesn’t match his apologetic words.

dc masterlist

tysm for reading, have a great day! /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡

[fallnlov]

Finally finished this piece after months of reworking. Far from perfect, but I’m glad it’s done. Inspired by the amazing Bruno Redondo, Dan Mora, and especially Dexter Soy.

[fallnlov]

Patch Me Up

PAIRING: Richard 'Dick' Grayson x Reader

SYNOPSIS: Dick noses into the crook of her neck, lips pressing against her jugular as she straights up, runs a hand through his hair, nails scraping his scalp just the way he likes. "All done." A quiet voice, so sweet he could listen to it on loop till the day he dies. "Lets get you to bed now. I don't want you toppling out of the stool and ruining all my hard work."

NOTE: I'm taking requests!

"Easy, pretty girl." The timbre of his voice immediately puts her at ease, and the umbrella she's clutching as a weapon lowers immediately. With a familiar crooked smile, voice as lilting and playful as always, Dick Grayson peers up at her with a smile from his place on the ground.

Nothing about this was funny. The thump of a body hitting the floor that woke her up, to the impromptu 'weapon' she found herself with as she snuck down the hall to investigate. It all scared the shit out of her thank you very much. A potential intruder in the dead of night was nothing to scoff at, and ultimately she'd much rather bring the potential fight out than wait for it to come to her. Something her boyfriend had taught he a couple months ago. First move always has the advantage.

Said man was now looking up at her like breaking into his girlfriend's apartment was the everyday norm.

"Dick!" She exclaims, glaring down at him while willing her heart to calm its erratic beating. "What are you doing, it's the middle of the night!" For a moment, she honestly thought she'd have to fend someone off in her own home. Blüdhaven was no Gotham, but it certainly wasn't a Metropolis either. Better to be overprepared and paranoid than underprepared and vulnerable. "You scared me."

He laughs, snapping her attention away from her thoughts. The sound is oddly wispy. Slightly stuttered, like he can't catch his breath. "Just wanted to see my girl. I missed you." The boyish and honest way he cocks his head makes her heart skip a beat. Strands of messy, windswept dark hair curling over his brow

With a sigh that loosens out the residual adrenaline, she crouches down next to him. "You saw me this morning." Soft fingertips reach out to brush his hair out of his eyes, which flutter shut with a non-committal hum as Dick leans into the touch with a kind of reverence that makes her heart do despicable things.

"Exactly, it's been too long. I'm getting withdrawal symptoms already." He cracks open an eye, and it's only then that she notes the hint of exhaustion in the lines of his face. It's well crafted under the banter, the teasing and the lilt of his voice, but as someone who's been by his side during the highs and the lows, it has gotten a lot easier to decipher the small details of his expressiveness and connect them to emotions he tries to keep her from seeing.

Something's wrong, but she can't put her finger on it.

One of her hands slides down the side of his neck, past his shoulder, and travels down to grab onto his arm affectionately. She bites back a huff of laughter when he flexes beneath her touch, waggling his brow. "You're hopeless." She whispers quietly. "You think-..." The sentence trails off at the feel of something damp at his side. Pulling away, her eyes widen a fraction at the smear of red on her palm, glistening in the moonlight that shines through the window.

Dick puts his hands up quickly in surrender. "I was about to tell you-"

"Is it bad?" She cuts him off, worry replacing the amusement from before. "Let me see." Leaning closer, she stops when he cringes away.

"Nothing I haven't lived through before." He tries to smile, but it comes out strained, and now that he's shifted further under the window, she kicks herself for not noticing the pallor of his skin, for writing off the cold sweat on his forehead from the activity it took to get here.

Only Dick Grayson would sit down on her living room carpet actively bleeding out but ignoring it in favour of greeting and trying to make her laugh. This man's priorities were fucked. The flirting was always welcome though, just not when it came hand in hand with nasty surprises that she's certain will grant her either grey hair or a premature heart attack in the near future.

With a sheepish look, her boyfriend wisely takes her orders to follow her seriously, pushing himself to his feet with a soundless grunt and minimal sway.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"Why didn't you go to Leslie?"

"You were closer." Dick says mildly, thumb tracing idle circles into her hipbone where his hand gently holds onto her. "And you know I love playing favourites." The other one is curled around the edge of the kitchen table next to him. His posture is relaxed but the knuckles are white from clutching tight. He holds back a wince as the needle digs into his skin, the tug of his flesh as it's stitched back together by careful, capable hands.

"The only thing you love doing is threatening me into an early grave." She huffs, trying to ignore the seeping warmth that spreads through her at the casual contact. She's standing between his legs, leaning down and stitching up the four inch gash that he'd been trying to play off as a 'scratch'. Helping him peel off the Nightwing uniform had revealed a wound that left her thanking God that she had enough experience with things like that to know what to do.

Now sat in a comfy pair of sweatpants, Dick sits shirtless on one of her kitchen stools, watching her work. It would have been unnerving, being stared at, if she hadn't been the one patching him up for the past four years.

The last stitch is tied off and she finally lets herself breath. "I need to wipe it clean and then I'll wrap it." Dick doesn't protest, merely pushes out a long sigh and drops his forehead to rest onto her shoulder while she reaches for the antiseptic behind him.

Dick breathes in slowly, lets the scent of her wash over his senses and dull the edge of pain that's been clinging to him ever since that thug got a lucky swing in with that stolen knife. Who knew the knives in illegal weapon shipments came pre-sharped.

His shoulders slump forward, he trusts her to take him weight as his body betrays his exhaustion. It's been...well, it's been a rough night. Bouncing from crime to crime, he's been following chatter in the alley to a new emerging gang that's trafficking weapons from somewhere across the sea. The harbour he'd found himself at had brought about a pretty long and draining confrontation, and by the end of it all he wanted to do was go home and collapse.

That was before he got stabbed, obviously.

Caught off guard, he hisses a sharp breath through his teeth at the sudden stinging in his side. The hands wrapping him gentle, the soft apology that falls from her lips is more than enough to soothe him. Warm hands wind gauze around his torso, the fingertips brushing his skin leaving goosebumps in it's wake despite the dire circumstances. He can't help it. Everything about her is electric. Her voice, her touch, the way she laughs, the way she pushes back against him when he tries to rile her up.

She knows the little game of push and pull too well, the banter, the teasing. A beacon in the gloomy night, a lighthouse he can look to to find his way back on home on days like this, when dragging himself out of the dark seems a task insurmountable in of it itself.

Perfection personified, it's like they'd been handcrafted purely for the goal of loving each other.

Dick noses into the crook of her neck, lips pressing against her jugular as she straights up, runs a hand through his hair, nails scraping his scalp just the way he likes.

"All done." A quiet voice, so sweet he could listen to it on loop till the day he dies. "Lets get you to bed now. I don't want you toppling out of the stool and ruining all my hard work." She squirms at the silent huff of laughter against her skin, goes to him easily when strong arms wind their way around her waist to tug her close.

"Thanks baby." He mumbles, soft and genuine. He trails soft kisses down her neck, presses them against her shoulder, a blantant display of love. "I'll be good as new in no time."

A hum, a gentle tug of his shoulder. "Up." She demands, but he can hear the smile in her voice. Summoning up the last dredges of his strength lurking beneath the sluggishness, he straightens up slowly, meeting her eyes, lips pulling into a smile so real and devastating it makes her forget where they are for just a moment.

And a moment is all he needs. One second she's on the ground, then next she's being swept off her feet and into his arms.

"Dick!" She gasps, winding an arm around his shoulders to steady herself. "You can't- I just-"

"I thought you wanted to go to bed?" He says innocently.

"Yeah but you're side is-"

"The one closest to the door?." The cheekiness makes its usual appearance, and it's not like she's willing to squirm out of the grip he has on her and risk hurting him. "A little scratch isn't going to make me forget tradition, pretty girl."

"Tradition." She repeats in disbelief, watches him nudge open the bedroom door with his foot.

"I always carry you to bed." He insists. "It counts."

"You're crazy." Is all she can come up with as he deposits her onto the mattress, crawls in next to her.

"About you? Always."

Dick's always loved like it's easy, and right now it's hard to not feel it. Laying on his chest, listening to the strong beat of his heart. Legs tangled together under the sheets, the warmth of skin on skin and the arm firmly tucked around her waist. All of it screams protection, his way of showing he cares. The lips that press against the crown of her head seal the deal and really, she cannot find it in herself to come up with a single complaint when all she feels is peace. The worry from before melts away, contentedness takes it place.

"I love you." He whispers in the dark. A confession that never makes her stop feeling special no matter how many hundreds of times he's said it.

She hides a soft smile against his chest, and knows by the slight rumble she hears that he's felt it, has understood that she's wordlessly conveyed the same by pressing closer.

The pain in his side recedes, is replaced with warmth and a domestic sort of happiness. Dicks eyes flutter shut, and the last thing he can think about is how he's going to swing by and start keeping the ring tucked away in his room's safe in his pocket as soon as he can.

Reblog, Like and Comment! Requests Are Open!

(26/08/2025)

[fallnlov]

"it's my defense mechanism" "suffering from delusions of grandeur" "two corpses, everything's fine" "communism was just a red herring" "one plus two plus two plus one" "i didn't know it was *that* free" "i know because i was there" "i thought men like you were usually called a fruit" clue (1985) was so ahead of its time

[fallnlov]

𓂃₊ ⊹HIS BEST ASSET

dick grayson x fem!reader | ≈2k words ────────────────────────

જ⁀➴ You accidentally find out your boyfriend is a vigilante… In your defense his ass is really remarkable. ━━ Content Warnings: Mention of attempted assault, mild language, canon-typical violence, suggestive dialogue. Mostly humor, fluff. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ |masterlist|

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It’s almost midnight when you’re finally done with work. The sky is dark and the stars are glimmering as you lock the door behind you. It’s a beautiful night, one you could admire on a blanket somewhere in the meadow on a date night with your boyfriend - but that’s the last thing on your mind after the long day you had. Having stayed for the second shift, after one of your coworkers called in sick, left you completely drained and desperate for your bed.

And apparently hungry, you realize as your stomach rumbles.

You start walking, itching to take out your headphones and listen to some music, but you’re in Gotham. And it’s really fucking late. You’d rather hear your surroundings.

Normally, when coming home at night, you’d call a taxi or get an uber, but it was just your luck that you left your debit card at home and spent the rest of your cash on the lunch and snacks during the day. You tried to contact your boyfriend as well, see if he was still up and willing to come pick you up, but you didn’t get any response to your texts.

To be fair, Dick did go to sleep early, he rarely showed any signs of life after 11 pm.

A chill runs down your spine when you suddenly hear a yelp somewhere behind you. It came from quite far away, but it makes you quicken your pace regardless. You’re not interested in finding out who made that sound and why. Curiosity killed the cat.

A few minutes later you’ve almost made it to your apartment, you’re meters away and can already see the building, when someone grabs your arm forcefully and drags you into a dark alley. Your voice gets stuck in your throat, you’re unable to scream for help, and that’s the most terrifying part. You struggle trying to get away… but then you feel a sharp object against your ribs and you freeze. Your eyes fall shut and you mentally prepare for-

Next second you’re completely fine. Well, physically at least. The person who attacked you is no longer near you. It’s like it never even happened. Your heart is pounding and for a moment that’s the only sound you hear. You take a deep breath and open your eyes bracing yourself for… you don’t exactly know what, but definitely not a masked guy in spandex.

You blink.

“…Batman?” You swear the corner of the masked man’ lips twitches before he schools his expression.

You don’t know much about the vigilantes running around Gotham. Your fascination with all kinds of heroes ended back in middle school along with braces and bad music taste. The only one you actually know is Batman, because he’s the original; first one to care for the city when no one else did. Well “know” is a bit generous, it’s more that you know of him, when you were younger you kept up with all the information that newspapers shared, but it’s been years so they’re most likely outdated. And that would explain the suit change. Because you don’t remember Batman wearing latex. And didn’t he have horns and a cape…?

“Well, not exactly, no.” He starts before he clears his throat and when he opens his lips again, his voice is much lower. “I prefer to go by “Nightwing” but close enough.”

You’re pretty sure you heard that name before, maybe when you were mindlessly skimming through newspapers or maybe some person said it somewhere. Either way it felt familiar. But that’s all you could really say about him. You rarely paid any attention to things related to crimes happening in Gotham. If you did you probably wouldn’t be able to sleep from paranoia.

“Right-” You lick your dry lips. You still feel out of it. Your body is probably in some kind of shock because you feel like you watched that situation play out on a screen - not in your life. “Um- thank you uh- Nightwing.”

Your voice is shaky and it feels like there’s sand in your throat. You take few deeper breaths willing yourself to calm down and move.

“You’re welcome um- civilian.” He says with a small smile playing on his lips. “You’re safe now, I’ll make sure you get safety to your- wherever you’re going to.”

When he turns around, away from you, you can’t help it, it’s an automatic reaction at this point. It’s like your body knows something you don’t. Your traitorous eyes find his backside. In your defense it’s a really nice one. You blink confused by your own action, feeling guilt churning in your guts. Why would you just check out some random person especially when you have a loving boyfriend you’re obsessed with. A boyfriend with the greatest back known to man.

But hold on… Why is this ass so familiar-

“Dick?” You blurt out before you can rethink what you’re doing and second guess yourself.

The man falters. He freezes in a place for a whole few seconds and a strangled, full of surprise, sound leaves his mouth like he was definitely not expecting you to say that. Because in all honesty, why would you. It takes him a moment longer to pull himself together. He clears his throat.

“Uh- I don’t know who that Dick person is but I can assure you, I’m not them.” He says feigning confidence in that familiar way you got to know from months of dating him.

He sounds the same way anytime he accidentally forgets to bring clothes, when he’s staying over at yours, assuring you it slipped his mind, which ends up with him either almost completely naked in your bed or him in your clothes. And coincidentally, he loves both of those options.

You do too, but you won’t admit that to his face. He’s already too smug for his own good.

But that ass… The longer you’re looking at it, the more you’re convinced you know it. You spent almost 8 months admiring it. Hell, you’ve seen it in all editions; bare, in boxers, in jeans… You know the firm muscles and the roundness of it. You probably know it better than your own pockets at this point.

“Your high pitched voice is very convincing” You say now a hundred percent sure it’s your boyfriend in that tight costume. You don’t let yourself think about the logistics and what all of that means yet. Maybe you’re actually in shock. “Cmon-“

A beat. He slowly turns in your direction looking like he’s trying to think of a way to bluff and gaslight you-

“How the hell did you even realize? I’m wearing a mask!” Okay no, he’s not. That man couldn’t lie to you if his life depended on it. “And I was changing my voice!”

He sounds almost petulant. You kind of want to coo at him.

“Well, you can’t mask that ass. And that spandex doesn’t hide anything.” You say unapologetically. You feel at ease now, it’s always like that when he’s around. Comfort and banter define your relationship.

“Okay, first of all, it’s a high quality- don’t you dare laugh at me!” He huffs as a giggle breaks through your lips in the middle of his sentence, but you just can’t help it after hearing the defensiveness in his tone.

Dick always gets weirdly passionate and protective of the most ridiculous things. You love teasing him about it; getting under his skin is awfully effortless for a person with so many siblings. Maybe they weren’t bullying him enough.

“Is that really the part you’re focusing on?” You raise your brows in amusement. That feeling quickly disappears after you see the wicked smirk slowly pulling at his mouth and the spark in his eyes - it always foretells trouble.

“Why, you want me to bring up the fact that you recognized me by my ass?” A dimple appears as he smiles with that dirty smile of his. It should be forbidden to look this good while doing such simple things. Your life is simply unfair.

A freaking dimple.

“Can you blame me? It’s a really good one.” You shrug, not a hint of shame in your voice.

By now you’ve learned to be more bold thanks to Dick, because that man wouldn’t know modesty if it hit him right in the face. He consistently touches and kisses you at the wrong moments, when there’s too many people around, his hand often ends up sneaking up your skirt to play with the waistband of your underwear, just pulling and snapping it against your skin when he loses interest in what others have to say. Sometimes he’s gonna grip your thigh as if that’s acceptable in public settings, your complaints about not being a stress relief toy weren’t helping - so you just… embraced it.

And besides he’s your boyfriend, you have the right to look whenever you want to.

“Oh is it? Tell me more.” Two black boots halt, toe-to-toe with yours and you feel his hot breath tickle your neck. You feel a bit dizzy from the proximity. “You know, that’s attractive - that my girl is able to recognize me by that part. I’m just kind of disappointed it wasn’t because of my big-”

Your hand clap over his lips and you feel your cheeks go warm. Because yeah, you might be pretty much used to his touchy feely tendencies, but there’s nothing that can ever prepare you for his dirty mouth. He loves using that fact against you - saying stuff that makes you flustered out of blue. It amuses him to no end to whisper something naughty in your ear during family dinners or even when doing grocery shopping.

He lets out a quiet chuckle against the palm of your hand and then, that motherfucker, shamelessly licks it while looking you straight in the eyes. You take it away scowling and ready to tell him how disgusting he is, but he beats you to it.

“So… does your boyfriend know you go around checking out vigilantes’ asses?” He asks coyly and puts his hand on your hip. His dark hair is disheveled, cutting across his forehead in tousled waves. Gods… he’s so stupidly attractive.

Your boyfriend and his stupid sexy smirk. And his stupid sexy ass.

“Mhm, I don’t have a boyfriend.” You shrug biting down your smile. Dick gasps and lays his hand over his chest clutching it tightly, as if you physically attacked him.

“You wound me, sweetheart.” He says with a pout on his lips. He looks so kissable… “On serious note, we have to work on your awareness because I’ve been basically stalking you since you left your work and eliminating… some potential issues and you didn’t even notice.”

Oh. So that were those yelps along the way. It explains a lot.

“You’ve been wha- you know, never mind. I’m too tired and hungry to have that conversation.” Like clockwork an involuntary yawn escapes your lips. For a moment, between your life being threatened and finding out your boyfriend runs around the city fighting bad guys, you almost forgot how exhausted you were. “Tomorrow, yeah?”

He nods and pecks your forehead, you let out a soft sigh. The question if he’s coming to sleep at yours is at the tip of your tongue, but he’s already looking around, clearly ready to continue his patrol.

“I’ll wait until I see the light in your window, kay baby? And expect a good breakfast and handsome companion in the morning.” He takes a step back creating space between you. Then he turns around and starts walking towards the building to… climb it… because apparently that’s what your boyfriend does at night. “How am I gonna explain this to Bruce and the rest of my family… We had a rule for that. No revealing the identity until at least a year of relationship… How am I supposed to tell them she discovered my biggest secret because of my ass?”

Dick mumbles to himself but he’s still close enough for you to hear. You tilt your head confused.

“Wait what do you mean by Bruce and the rest-” Your mouth falls open as the realization hits you.

“…Shit.”

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[fallnlov]

congrats on 1000 followers!!! 🎊💘🥳

could i ask for "love letter" with sodapop?

────۶ৎ love letter (sodapop curtis' ver.)

Sodapop Curtis had never been good at hiding things. Not his smile, not his laugh, not the way his eyes lit up whenever he saw you walking toward him down the street. He wore his heart wide open, and you had known for a while now that you were his whole world.

But you didn’t expect him to fumble through his pockets on a golden Tulsa evening, hands shaking like he’d been caught doing something wrong, when all you’d done was wander down the outskirts together after work.

Finally, when you reached the little patch of field by the old oak tree, he stopped. His hand tightened around yours.

“C’mere,” he said, tugging you off towards it. The grass was high, swaying in the summer breeze, and the sky was pinking up with streaks of orange. His face looked almost nervous, though his grin wouldn’t quit.

“What’s this about, Soda?” you brushed your hair out of your face. “You’re actin’ like you’re about to tell me some real big secret.”

“’Cause I am,” he said, eyes darting everywhere but yours. “Well, not a secret exactly. More like—somethin’ I gotta say before I bust.”

You tilted your head, watching him. His fingers fiddled with something small, something that glinted when the light caught it.

He caught your gaze and let out a shaky laugh, all boyish charm and clumsy nerves. “Aw, darlin’, I didn’t plan this out right. Darry’d probably say I shoulda saved up for somethin’ fancier, but I couldn’t wait no more. I can’t.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he dropped onto one knee. His jeans pressed into the grass, and you felt your breath catch.

He started by saying your name, and his voice cracked in that soft, tender way he had when he got serious. “I know we’re young. Sixteen ain’t supposed to be the time you start makin’ promises like this. But you’re all I think about. You’re everythin’ I ever wanted, and I swear, every day I wake up, I’m more sure than the last. I can’t imagine… hell, I don’t even want to imagine a world where you ain’t mine.”

The little silver ring in his hand wasn’t anything fancy—it looked like it might’ve been bought at a pawnshop or maybe even borrowed—but it gleamed in the sunset, catching the orange fire of the sky.

“I ain’t got much to offer,” Soda admitted, his words tumbling out, desperate and sincere. “I got my job, I got my folks’ old house, I got this dumb smile—” he grinned up at you, lopsided, before sobering again. “But if you’ll marry me, I swear to you, you’ll always have someone who’d give you everythin’ he’s got. And I mean everythin’, baby. You already got my heart. Always had it.”

For once, Sodapop Curtis was still. He didn’t fidget, didn’t try to charm his way out of the silence that followed. He just knelt there in the grass, wide brown eyes locked on yours, waiting for the world to end or begin depending on what you said.

For a second, you just stared at him. The sight of Sodapop Curtis—grease-stained jeans, sunshine smile faltering with nerves, eyes wide and hopeful—kneeling there in the grass like his whole future hung on your next word—it about broke your heart in the best way possible.

Tears stung your eyes before you could stop them. “Soda,” you whispered, your voice shaky but certain, “of course I’ll marry you.”

And then his laugh burst free, big and bright, that sunlit grin you loved more than anything. He scooped you up into his arms before slipping the ring onto your finger—clumsy, almost dropping it twice—and spun you around until you squealed.

“I knew you would! I knew it! Oh, baby, I swear I’ll make you the happiest girl alive, you’ll see. I’ll work twice as hard, get us a place one day, somethin’ small but ours, and-” He cut himself off just to kiss you, quick and desperate, like he couldn’t wait another second.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered, almost in awe. “Always gonna be mine.”

And you knew he was right, not because of the ring, not because of the words, but because he had already wrapped you into his wide-open, reckless, tender heart, and you’d never wanted to be anywhere else.

[fallnlov]

The Way, Way Back (2013)

[fallnlov]

❆ HOME

PAIRING : dick grayson x fem!reader

ONESHOT : you and dick are best friends, just with a shared home and no boundaries, and everyone thinks your dating... its perfectly normal

masterlist

     The sound of the door creaking open at exactly six p.m. wasn’t surprising. What was surprising, maybe, was how you never invited your best friend over for dinner, and yet— somehow— he still showed up like clockwork. Like some kind of well-dressed stray who knew there’d always be food and zero resistance.

     You didn’t even bother looking up as you heard the familiar thump of shoes being kicked off, followed by the exaggerated groan of someone throwing themselves dramatically onto your couch like it personally betrayed them.

     “Hey,” he called, already making himself too comfortable. “Feels good to be home.”

      Home. Right.

      You peaked out to him, noting how he already scrolls on his phone in front of him. Paying no mind to the smell of food leaking from the pan sizzling on the stove. “Call this home one more time and I might just start asking for rent.”

      He dropped his phone like you’d insulted his honor. Both hands went up in surrender, a smirk blooming so big it reached his eyes. The smug little thing.

      “You wouldn’t,” he said, already up and strolling into the kitchen like he owned a timeshare in your apartment. To be fair, he kind of did.

      “I absolutely would,” you replied, even though you both knew you wouldn’t.

      “You like having me here too much.” And just like that, your mouth betrayed you, twitching upward in a smile you didn’t authorize.

      “Don’t flatter yourself,” you muttered, because pretending to be annoyed was easier than admitting he was right.

      He leaned beside you, shoulder brushing yours like he was trying to remind you he still knew how to be charming in close quarters. That same cologne he always wore— warm, woodsy, and annoyingly comforting— wrapped around you like a second hoodie.

      “You made stir fry,” he observed, clearly pretending this wasn’t the third Tuesday in a row he’d crashed your dinner plans.

      “I did.”

      “With mushrooms?”

      Your eyebrow twitched. “You don’t like mushrooms?���

      He sighed like you'd personally betrayed him. “I tolerate mushrooms. For you.”

      “Oh, the humanity. What a sacrifice.”

      “You’re worth the suffering.”

      The words landed with more weight than either of you intended, hanging in the air like an emotional pause neither of you felt brave enough to break. So, naturally, you stirred the pan like it was a distraction instead of a lifeline.

      “You staying after patrol tonight?” you asked, like your heart wasn’t tap dancing somewhere behind your ribs.

      He shrugged, already pulling two bowls from your cabinet like the well-trained intruder he was. “Unless you’re kicking me out.”

      “You say that like you don’t still have socks in my drawer.”

      You found him exactly where you left him: halfway upside down on your couch, head hanging off the cushion like gravity was a personal challenge, one sock missing, popcorn bowl resting dangerously on his stomach.

      “I think I can see the ceiling’s soul,” he announced.

      “That’s probably mold,” you replied, stepping over his legs like he was a poorly placed rug.

      “I’ve stared into the abyss,” he said solemnly, shifting so his face could peek at you from beneath the coffee table. “And the abyss definitely needs better lighting.”

      You dropped a blanket on his face. He just squirmed, peaking his eyes out once again.

      “Stop existential-crisis-ing on my furniture,” you said, heading into the kitchen. “You’ve been upside down so long your brain’s gonna leak out your ears.”

      “Bold of you to assume I have any left.” He sat up with the grace of a soggy noodle and promptly spilled half the popcorn.

      “You’re a menace.”

      “I’m your menace.”

      “Unfortunately”.

      You returned with two mugs of cocoa, because of course he’d emotionally blackmailed you into making it, and handed him one without ceremony. He took it like you were offering him treasure, cradling it with both hands and sighing like a grandma in a cardigan commercial.

      “Thanks,” he said, blowing on the steam. “I mean it. You're, like, the coziest person I know. You’re like if a weighted blanket became sentient and made sarcastic comments.”

      You raised an eyebrow. “Wow. My heart. So touched.”

      “Don’t get so emotional on me,” his cocky smirk annoyed you, just like the pang it caused in your heart.

      You threw a mini marshmallow at him. He caught it in his mouth like a trained dolphin, which was both deeply annoying and a little impressive.

      And then time passed. Not much, just enough for the cocoa to cool and the night to feel quieter than it had before. Outside, it had started raining, a lazy, drizzle-type rain that didn’t seem like it planned on stopping. It tapped against the windows like an old friend, and neither of you moved to break the quiet.

      Finally, as you both stared at the movie you’d barely been watching, you said it.

      “You could just stay.”

      It wasn’t a dramatic moment. Just... there. Casual. Like offering a second slice of pizza or calling dibs on the good blanket.

      He only blinked, looking over at you.

      “Like— stay the night? Or stay forever and inherit your apartment when you mysteriously disappear under suspicious circumstances?”

      “You sleep here so often, I’m pretty sure the building owners thinks we’re co-tenants.”

      “They’re not wrong.”

      “Exactly. Just crash here. It’s gross out. And your socks are probably wet. And you used my good blanket, so you kind of owe me.”

      He made a long, thoughtful humming sound. “Well, I am a very considerate guest. Wouldn’t want to bring wet socks into my own apartment.”

      You didn’t even flinch. “I will launch you out the window.”

      He held up his hands. “Okay, okay! Staying. I’m staying. Consider me officially horizontal and not moving.”

      “Good.”

      “Also, I call the couch.”

      You stared at him. “You are on the couch.”

      “I called it. There’s a system.”

      You rolled your eyes and got up to grab another blanket— mostly for yourself, but also because you knew he’d steal it in the night if you didn’t establish dominance now.

      As you tossed it over your shoulders and sank into the armchair, he settled deeper into the cushions like a content cat, cocoa mug balanced on his chest.

      And just before you hit play on the movie again, he murmured, eyes half-closed, “You’re the best, you know.”

      You didn’t answer right away. Just smirked and threw another marshmallow at his forehead.

      “Yeah, yeah. Go to sleep before I change my mind.”

     Jason arched an eyebrow as he dug into the container of noodles with the grace of a raccoon raiding a trash can. “So,” he started, mouth half-full, “how’s your girlfriend?”

      Dick didn’t look up from where he was flicking a stray grain of rice off his lap. “Which one?”

      Jason gave him a flat look. “Don’t be cute. You know who.”

      “She’s not my girlfriend.”

      “Oh, right. My bad. Your roommate with benefits minus the benefits but with shared custody of a couch and emotional codependency.”

      Dick sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Why does everyone assume we’re dating?”

      Jason snorted. “Because you live at her place and keep her coffee stocked?”

      “I do not live at her place.”

      Jason counted off on his fingers. “Your toothbrush is in her bathroom, your shoes are by her door, you’ve been wearing that hoodie for three days and I’m ninety percent sure it’s hers, and when I called your phone last night, she answered.”

      “I was in the shower,” Dick argued weakly.

      Jason pointed his chopsticks at him like a sword of truth. “And she said— and I quote— ‘Nightwing’s busy using all my hot water, try again in ten.’”

      Dick muttered something under his breath and reached for the takeout box Jason had clearly claimed but was too tired to defend. “It’s not like that.”

      Jason raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Then what is it like?”

      Dick opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “We’re just close.”

      “You sleep on her couch.”

      “It’s a nice couch.”

      “You replaced her shower head.”

      “It had terrible water pressure.”

      “You refill her snacks before she even notices they’re gone.”

      “I eat most of them,” Dick said, like that helped.

      Jason laughed, low and smug. “You are so far in denial, man, you’re practically leasing property in Egypt.”

      Dick didn’t respond right away. Just chewed slowly and stared at the skyline like it owed him answers.

      “She doesn’t look at me like that,” he mumbled eventually.

      Jason gave him a long, unreadable look. “And you’ve never looked at her like that?”

      Dick’s silence said enough.

      A gust of wind rattled the fire escape beside them. Somewhere below, a car alarm wailed into the night and got ignored like all good Gotham car alarms.

      After a moment, Jason leaned back, arms stretched behind his head. “You know, I’m not saying you have to date her.”

      “Thanks.”

      “I’m just saying,” Jason continued, ignoring him, “you already do everything but date her. Might as well make it official and start paying joint taxes.”

      “Shut up,” Dick muttered, chucking a balled napkin at his head.

      Jason caught it one-handed and grinned. “Just saying. You’re one good ‘accidental forehead kiss’ away from a rom-com ending.”

      Dick blinked. “That’s not a real thing.”

      Cause if it was a real thing, he would have already tried it.

[fallnlov]

Imagine a Dick Grayson x reader where Bruce accidentally walks in on them

YES, MY LOVE? ( Dick grayson! )

summary: Dick has a broken leg, a beautiful girlfriend, and a nice bed in a house where no one is around, so why shouldn't he enjoy his moment in the spotlight?

pairing: Dick Grayson x fem!reader

cw: smut ( p in v), get caught.

open request - Dick masterlist

The manor was completely silent. Everything was wrapped in soft shadows, with the moon filtering through the hallway's enormous windows and the night breeze caressing the heavy curtains.

You'd received a message from Dick during the day asking you to come to the mansion to keep him company while he rested. He was tired of sitting alone, staring at the ceiling, counting nonexistent cracks, and complaining about "the sad temporary death of his nightlife." So why would you say no to your poor boyfriend with a broken leg?

You crossed the entrance without making a sound, went straight up to his room, and when you opened the door you found him lying on the bed, with an open book on his chest, the cast resting on several pillows and the face of a dramatic martyr.

"As far as I can see, you're alive, darling. How lucky you are." You said from the doorway, taking off your jacket.

"Barely. You don't know what it was like to watch three documentaries in a row about antique furniture restoration. I'm about to ask Alfred if I can rearrange the bookcase by color."

You approached, giggling, and carefully climbed onto the bed, lying down beside him. "So you need me to keep you from leaving your life as a security guard and becoming a decorator?"

"Exactly. My righteous soul is in danger," he replied, turning slightly toward you with that soft smile that seemed innocent as he rested his head on your chest. "And besides... I missed you."

You stroked his jaw, and he closed his eyes for a second, as if that simple gesture was what he truly needed to heal. Your lips found his in a slow, leisurely kiss, until you felt his hands clutch your waist with a mischievous smile until you pulled away. "I missed you too, Dickie."

He groaned faintly, as if hearing that nickname weakened him more than any wound on the battlefield. "Don't call me that if you're not going to stay all night," he said, hiding his smile in your collarbone, his voice vibrating against your skin.

"I have to go to college tomorrow" you sighed, your fingers playing with his hair.

Dick pulled away just to look at you, his brow furrowed slightly and his expression a mixture of Greek tragedy and subtle emotional blackmail.

"You can skip it. For a noble cause. You can say your boyfriend is slowly dying of boredom and needs constant company to survive."

You laughed softly as he gently pulled you towards him again, cradling you against his chest. "You're very persuasive for someone who's immobilized in one leg."

“I’m using the only thing I have left: my charm,” he replied in a deep voice, kissing the top of your head. “Don’t leave me tonight, i beg you, im young, vulnerable and horny”

You rolled your eyes, but clung to him with the same need. Dick had that dangerous ability to persuade; the way he touched you made you dizzy, the way each touch felt as natural as breathing. At some point, between laughter, soft kisses, and wordless promises, you both ended up under the sheets, sharing the warmth of a moment that seemed eternal. You couldn't help but think the force he used while he tried to move with his leg in a cast was ridiculous, but even that was adorable in its clumsiness. And you couldn't help but help him settle in while he gently pulled you on top of him, as if nothing could hurt him more tonight than the distance between you.

"Dick, are you sure there's no one here?"

"Trust me," he replied with absolute certainty, running a hand down your back. "We have the mansion to ourselves. It's a blessing from the universe. As if Gotham were saying: Today, Dickie, today is your turn to be happy."

You kissed him again, deeper this time. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he caressed your waist, his breathing mingling with yours. Your legs were on either side of his hips, the heat between you slowly rising like a tide. His hands, firm but gentle, gripped your waist, slowly guiding you to continue grinding his clothed cock, which you could feel growing at the friction of your panties.

"You look beautiful," he murmured, his voice husky from the closeness, while his fingers went up just below your shirt, trying to remove it and let him see your songs moving to your rhythm.

Your smile curved at the sight of him so exhausted. You slowly lowered your torso until his lips found yours again. The kiss was hungrier, deeper. Your hands moved up to his already ready cock, feeling his muscles tense beneath your fingers.

"You're killing me," he murmured through gritted teeth, his smile barely trembling as he felt his cock sink into your wetness. "What a beautiful way to die."

"sure no one's there, right?" you whispered against his ear, a playful smile on your lips. "I don't want them to see me riding on your cock."

"I told you..." Dick whispered, smiling against your neck as he held you against him, not wanting you to move yet, both of you in his bed, sharing the warmth under the sheets. "No one's home. Alfred's in the cave, and Bruce left tonight. He never comes around."

His lips moved down your collarbone, and you chuckled, stroking his messy hair. His leg was in a cast, yes, but that hadn't stopped him from moving his hips toward you with that signature "I've been through worse, this isn't going to slow me down" look.

His hips found a rhythm of their own, slow but determined, grinding against you with clear purpose. That smile of his settled on his face.

"Look, I'm hurt, huh?" he murmured against your skin. "You could show me some mercy."

"More mercy than this?" you replied, unable to stop yourself from laughing softly, your voice barely trembling from everything you were feeling. "I'm riding you with my tits in your face. I can't do much more..."

Dick's laugh was drowned in a deep sigh. His fingers gripped your waist tightly, as if he needed to anchor himself to you so he wouldn't lose his mind.

The room, once silent save for broken whispers, was now filled with rapid breathing, wet thuds, and the creaking of the bed as the heat grew between you. It was a moment suspended in time, so intimate that it hurt to think it might end soon.

Dick's lips found yours in a hungry, almost desperate kiss, while his body, still limited, surrendered completely to what you allowed him to do. "Keep squeezing my cock baby, I'm gonna cum, shit," he murmured, his voice breaking, his forehead resting against yours.

Your hips began to move with more urgency, as if each touch sought to satisfy all the pent up needs of all those days of waiting. Dick looked at you as if you were all he needed to stay whole, as if the pain in his leg were just background noise compared to the comfort of having you like this, so close, so devoted. His fingers trembled slightly against your skin, but they didn't stop clinging to you, guiding you, seeking more of that connection that seemed to envelop them completely.

"Don't stop," he murmured, his voice hoarse, against your neck. "Please... don't stop."

"Dick, are you awake?" Bruce's deep voice cut off abruptly.

Both of you froze in that instant even though you had both had the best orgasm since you started dating, still feeling his thick threads of cum filling your soaked pussy, your first reaction was to cover yourself with the sheet up to your head, leaving Dick with his head resting against your chest, letting out an exhausted grunt.

Bruce didn't move for a couple of long seconds. "...You should be resting," he said at last, in that serious, dry tone he used when he was suppressing the urge to lecture.

"I was resting," Dick replied without lifting his head from your breasts, still hidden in the sheets.

"And no lock on the door."

"Whose fault is that?"

Bruce took a deep breath through his nose, as if he were doing mental yoga to keep from setting the mansion on fire. "Finish ruining the bed," he said, turning toward the hallway. "But we'll talk tomorrow."

Clic.

The door closed firmly.

Silence.

Dick stood there, leaning against you, completely motionless.

"Richard?"

"Yes my love?"

"I'm gonna kill you"

[fallnlov]

THATS SO PERFECTTT UGH IM IN LOVE

hii!! could i ask for a sodapop fic where it's reader's birthday but she doesn't really care about it but soda wants her to have the best day of her life so he tries his best to take her to anywhere she likes.. to do anything she loves.. things like that!!

x 🫂

— happy birthday ୨୧

i’m so sorry for the delay on this one - it took me a while to think of some ideas but i think this is pretty good <3 tysm for your request! hope you like this one, it’s quite long ♡

the outsiders brainrot has been hitting hardddd today there’s something different about it today! feeling a lot of love for johnny specifically and i have a request in my inbox for him 🥹 keep your eyes peeled for that

requests are open! ♡

You don’t know what triggered it, and you don’t know when it happened either. When opening birthday presents became a tedious task or when the birthday cake turned bitter, but you weren’t upset about the change. It wasn’t at the fault of anybody; not a problem caused by family troubles (greasers had always been prone to their fair share of family problems but you got lucky, you suppose). You figured you’d just got older - though you were only seventeen as of today.

As always, the door to the Curtis household had been open and in you sauntered looking straight for Soda. When you didn’t see him immediately, you’d taken a seat and waited for the ‘Happy birthday’s to start rolling in, and as you thought, in they came. Two was first to say it, energetic and sweet as ever and then it was Pony and Darry after they’d dressed and made breakfast. Everyone followed after that and all took their servings of eggs and bacon from the fryer in the snug kitchen.

“No Soda today?” you asked, trying your hardest to seem nonchalant. You may not have cared for your birthday, but it’d be nice to have him here for breakfast at least.

Steve shrugged, “maybe he just wanted a lie-in. He’s been taking on extra shifts lately.” He scoffed down another egg.

“He’ll be out soon, Y/N. Promise. He wouldn’t miss your birthday, even if you hate it,” Pony reassured you best he could, a smile on his face. Johnny nodded along with his words, and Darry placed a hand on your shoulder.

Around ten minutes passed, and the dishes were collected up and everyone had moved themselves into the sitting room, draped over the couch and laying on the floor. Floorboards creaked down the hall and you lifted your head in curiosity.

In rolled Soda, beautiful as ever but somehow more angelic today. You smiled at him and he returned it with no hesitation.

“Don’t you look nice today, Soda.” you drawled, not taking your eyes off him and someone snorted behind you. Dallas.

“Could say the same about you, sweetheart. Get your shoes on.” You raised an eyebrow. You were pretty comfortable here, and even if Sodapop looked ready to go out you were sure he’d only been awake maybe ten minutes.

“My shoes? Why do I need my shoes?”

“I’m takin’ you out. Your birthday, remember? Can’t go anywhere without shoes. They’re by the door.”

“I know where my shoes are. Let’s just stay here today. I’m comfortable, and you need breakfast.” You’d beg if you had to. Your birthday wasn’t a big deal anymore. You couldn’t remember the last time it was - but you remembered your seventh birthday party. A big affair, memorable and other girls were jealous, even if you were a greaser girl. Not good enough to keep the good birthday vibes going though.

“We’ll eat when we’re out. Please, babe. Put your shoes on.” You sighed, raising yourself from the couch and almost knocking Johnny over in the process. Oops. You forgot he was leaning on you.

You’d been driving for five minutes, the radio crackling and Soda’s hand in yours. Ironic, you thought. Job’s fixing cars and his radio’s broken.

“Where we going, Pepsi-Cola?” He smiled at your choice of nickname, a name so dear to him.

“I was thinkin’ the diner. Get you something to eat and then maybe we go to the drive-in after. Hey, you’re old now. Older than me.”

“Don’t be mean to me, Soda! It’s my birthday.” You pinched his arm lightly.

“You ain’t ever cared about that before. I think Darry’s making you a birthday cake today while we’re out, and Two-Bit and Dally are gonna try and steal you some things.” You smile at this. You don’t have a dysfunctional family by any means, lucky pull, but you know you’d choose your found family over anything else. By Two-Bit and Dally, Soda means Two-Bit, Dally, Johnny and Ponyboy. Wherever Dally goes, Johnny’ll follow and then so will Pony. You’re glad they have their own trio, and you know that Soda is happy that Pony isn’t left out because he’s the youngest by a while.

“I’m glad you guys make an effort. My parents would if they thought I’d care. They know it’s no use wasting money on things I won’t care about. Not when we need it.”

Soda had parked by the diner by this point, and he looked at you as if you had no head. You began thinking you really did have no head.

“Of course we make an effort, Y/N. You’re one of us. We love you. I love you.” He emphasised the I, and you knew he meant it. He only told you it multiple times a day. It felt it’s truest today.

“Gee, thanks, babe. I love you too.” Soda knew you meant it too.

— back to my masterlist