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#dc comics imagine
superhero--imagines · 6 months
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He’s literally obsessed with you - With the Bat Boys
A/N: trying out these fucking ugly banners again because y’all seem to like them and I need the internet-good-writer validation points.
Dick Grayson
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* He’s a simp bro
* Just because he’s hot doesn’t mean he isn’t hiding a whole horde of daddy and mommy issues isn’t into you
* He trails after you like a lost puppy and he would kiss the ground you walk on if it didn’t make you a little concerned
His breath brushes against your calf, a tender kiss placed on your knee.
He’s done this enough for you to know it’s not sexual.
“I can do it myself Dick,” you murmur, cheeks hot as you watch him kneel on the ground, his nimble fingers working to untie your shoes.
“I know you can.” His eyes sparkle when he looks up at you with a smile. “But I want to do this for you.” He grins when you hide your shy smile behind your hand, setting your shoes to the side and placing a soft kiss on your ankle.
Jason Todd
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* He’s in between terror and bliss
* Jason doesn’t understand how you meant so much to him so fast
* It’s simultaneously thrilling and terrifying how much you occupy his thoughts and time
* But for better or worse, he can’t seem to let you go
He can’t tell what’s warmer, the heat from your body or the heat radiating off from his face.
Here he is, face bright pink with the heart of a sixteen year old boy in a man’s body, falling in love for the first time.
And you’re asleep.
You’ve turned his whole world upside down, and made a mess of his mind—and now you’re getting the best sleep of your life using his chest as your personal pillow.
And he has no room to complain since he’s enabling you, wrapping his arms around you rto keep you pressed securely against his chest.
Because the only thing scarier than holding you close, is having you somewhere he can't reach.
“I can't believe you made me fall in love like this,” he murmurs, pressing a sweet kiss to your hair.
Damian Wayne
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* He really embodies “hard to the world, but soft for my girl” vibes
* This man has never done a chore in his life, but if you’re feeling out of it or overwhelmed, watch him at your doorstep with a broom and apron
“Damian I support you in anything you choose to do,” you start, “but do you know how to use a washing machine?”
“Of course I do my love, I’m not a savage.” But the fact that he’s putting dish soap in tells you otherwise.
He’s a little confused, but he’s got the spirit.
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angelltheninth · 2 months
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Saw your inbox opened and I have never touched the ask button so fast in my life lol!
May I request smut scenario for Dick x fem!reader x Jason where the boys got hit by Ivy's sex pollen and fem!reader (also a hero) being a good friend *helped* them with their problems *cough* pls? And then, at the end, maybe confession of romantic feelings between them UwU? Your choice in choosing kinks!
Srroy if my English sounds weird. It's not my native language.
This reminded of of the Harley Quinn episode but more kinky.
Pairing: Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader x Jason Todd
Tags: nsfw, smut, friends to lovers, confession, threesome, sex pollen, double creampie, friendly competition, degradation, praise, dirty talk, neediness, grinding, clit stimulation
Word count: 1.1k
A/N: Definitely not something I would ever want to happen. Nope.
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All three of you have been warned about the pheromones and their effects. This mission should have been over and done with quickly, but your recklessness made it a bit more... hard. For Dick and Jason in particular. They took the hit for you, they were the ones who were keeping you sandwiched between their hard bodies and hard cocks, Dick kissing your lips, Jason behind you, both of them grinding their hard cocks against you.
"Careless." Dick mumbled against your lips, his hand shoved down your pants and rubbing your pussy over your panties. "I'm sorry."
"I'm not." Jason laughed behind you, his gloved hands on your hips, his hips unapologetically grinding against you, "You're too sweet for this. Helping us out and all. But fuck... I can't say that I'm sorry. Just keep between us. I don't wanna see Dick's dick."
"Go fuck yourself." You sucked on his middle finger as soon as he put it up to Jason.
"Nah. She's doing a great of job of that. Aren't you sweetheart?" You groaned when Jason slapped your ass playfully. "Fuck. That was a nice sound. Sorry but I'm not waiting anymore. Unlike rule boy over there, I ain't gonna pretend I don't wanna fuck you." Jason's hands pushed his pants and your leggings down, his cock rubbing, gathering wetness between your pussy lips and smearing it across his cock. "Wet little pussy, all ready for me."
You were looking forward, into Dick's beautiful blue eyes but your hips bucked down against Jason. You were conflicted between the two men, you always were. Being with them felt good, having their attention felt good, now it was your turn to make them feel just as good.
"I can help you both." You whimpered as you pressed your lips against Dick's. "I can take both your cocks." You weren't so sure, just Jason's felt so thick, but you'd make them fit. They were the ones suffering.
"You're welcome to try." Jason was always so cocky when talking to you. He wanted to fuck you way before this. Dick on the other hand was more reserved.
His face was pink with blush, his eyes almost guilty as they looked at you. He wanted you too, but was afraid to say anything.
"It's okay. You- ah!" Before you could tell him anything Jason decided to be a jerk and push his cock inside you. "Jason, you fucking idiot." He laughed at your insult. You could call him any name under the sun as long as you kept taking his cock like you did. The fast slapping noises made it hard to focus but you forced yourself to.
You grabbed Dick's cheeks and pulled him in for a rough kiss. "I-"
"Don't apologize. If... if Jason gets to fuck me, then you should too." You tried to convey to him how much you wanted him too.
"Yeah, Dick. Come on, are you really gonna make a lady beg? Look at her!" Jason's barking laughter echoed loudly in your ears as you felt his hands grab your thighs and pull you up, your back leaning against his chest. You almost screamed at how deep his cock was hitting at this changed angle, his balls slapping against you with every thrust. "Bet you anything she's thought about this. She's squeezing so much, like a fucking slut. But if you don't want her then I'll use her up all on my own."
His words definitely got under his frienemy's skin. Dick pressed to your front, his cock pulsing over your clit, his hands slipping to your ass. "I can't. Not unless I say this." He leaned forward and ghosted his lips against yours. "I love you. I've always loved you, ever since I first saw you I wanted you."
"I love you too." His blush spread further as he rolled the tip of his cock over your clit and then pushed it against your already full pussy. "It's okay. It's okay, I'm gonna be okay." You were reassuring the two of them as much as yourself.
Jason's lips found your neck, leaving hard little kiss marks on it. Suppose you shouldn't neglect the man who was currently making your mind go blank. He sighed into your kiss, tongue pushing into your mouth with clamming force. Those kisses weren't nearly as forgiving as Dick's, Jason demanded you pay attention to him.
"You should hear it too. Jason, I- oh my god, oh fuuuu-!" You couldn't get a word in when Dick started fucking you too, two hard cock filling you at once, fighting for your attention, the pulsing, clenching wetness of your cunt. So Dick could be petty too. "Love you."
"The feeling is mutual." Of course Jason wasn't the best with words, with feelings. But he claimed to be the best at this. "Are two cock's enough for you? Or are you greedy for more? I wonder how many you could take? One. In. Every. Hole."
"Stop talking to her like that. She's not just some bitch you get to fuck." Dick growled at him and pulled you more towards him. "Come on baby. Tell him."
You wished you could deny what Jason said. Because you didn't want any cocks that weren't theirs. That was the truth. But you couldn't catch enough of a break between one cock and the other fucking your pussy. So you couldn't deny it. Jason laughed while Dick started you wide eyed and with his mouth parted in shock. His cock twitched inside you, his hold getting more and more possessive.
"I won't let them. No one else will fuck you. No one." You rarely saw him snap like this.
"Seems like she likes it. Maybe we need to make her see who she belongs to." And naturally Jason was encouraging this. Both men started fucking you faster, harder, your pussy filled to the limit and more. Your arms wrapped around Dick's shoulders to keep yourself grounded but Jason's arms still held your legs open. "We can do it inside right pretty girl? You want our cum in your pussy?"
"Y... Yes. Yes! Anything for you." You moaned, your hips moving on their own, no control or care, your mind swimming with pleasure. "I want your cum."
"Both our cum. At once." Dick repeated against your lips as he pushed in one final time, Jason giving it a few more good pumps, in and out, Dick's cum dripping down and soon joined by his, a torrent of warmth flooding your abused hole. Your vision went white, body boneless against Dick's, legs limp in Jason's hands as you shook and twitched. "Shit. Are you okay?"
"Holy..." Jason chuckled, "She came so hard she passed out." You groaned weakly, not enough strength in you to tell him to shut the hell up. "You did good." His lips pressed one side of your neck, the action soon mirrored on the other side by Dick. They kept kissing you until you were strong enough to move, to talk, to tell them you loved them both so much.
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pluvialpoet · 5 months
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how to disappear
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Summary: a reunion ten years in the making serves as a reminder that absence doesn’t always make the heart grow fonder- especially when history has a tendency to repeat itself 
Pairing: dick grayson x fem!vigilante!reader
Requested: no
Warning: nsfw!!! (18+ MDNI), porn with plot, lovers to enemies, unprotected sex, implied breeding kink, choking, angst, minor barbara gordon slander (for the plot, I swear)- do not read if you are not comfortable with the warnings listed above!!!
Word Count: 12,874
masterlist
Light reflects off the crystals that hang from the chandeliers above, and like a moth drawn to a shiny flame, you bask in the warmth of their glow. For as beautiful as the crystalline teardrops twenty-two feet overhead are, they dull in comparison to the- equal parts blinding and mesmerizing, simultaneously gorgeous, yet gaudy- diamonds that dangle from earlobes, rubies that rest against décolletages, and the pearls placed upon dainty fingers in an over the top display of money, power, and status. It’s the epitome of wealth, and though meant to allure, you find yourself disgusted by the flashy exhibitions of greed and corruption.
Every smile is artificial. Every laugh is humorless and diluted. Any feeling beyond complete and utter misery is a hoax. Yet, they play their parts. Each and every one of them continues to mingle, boast, and feign genuineness, but it’s obvious what they are, even beneath their disguises, you recognize the vultures circling the fresh carnage of the innocent- with blood on their talons and a hunger that’s never truly satiated. Do they even know what they’ve done? Do they even care? Given a chance to make amends, would any of them take it?
Revulsion counters amusement as you watch the elite interact with one another. It’s pathetic. In a room full of affluence, not a single person knows pleasure beyond material possessions, and that’s an injustice in itself. Amongst thieves, you’re the honesty that rivals them all- and that’s a scary revelation, all things considered.
Taking advantage of the large crowd, you continue to bump elbows with the rich- literally- as you weave your way through the opulent mass. A tight-lipped smile is granted when you pass an older woman, and an even wider flash of teeth catches your attention from a man around your age. Mimicking the gestures seal your fate, damning you- even if only temporarily- to this game of confusion, a game in which approval and disgust are indiscernible. Having had years to grow accustomed to the tricks of this elitist trade, it’s almost impossible to recall a simpler time. Back when you still thought there might be a modicum of authenticity behind the action, back before you were close enough to spot the invisible strings controlling the marionettes, you believed- and even hoped- that you had it all wrong. There was a time, long, long ago, when you were desperate to believe that there was still some good left in these people, but you grew out of your naivety. Now older, and wiser, you won’t make the same mistakes you once made. Under the influence of optimism, your purpose became convoluted. Not anymore.
Without anyone to dissuade you from reaching out- to challenge you from swiping a few bejeweled tennis bracelets, engagement rings, or even one or two watches and calling it a day- a thrum of urgency spreads through your fingertips. It’s an impulsive electricity you can’t deny. Besides, it’s not like social dynasties would crumble if a few diamonds went missing. If only it were that easy…
Wealth doesn’t doom these poor, unfortunate souls, but their greed- coupled with the blood on their hands- paints a distinguishable target on their backs. If you look closely, it’s impossible to miss that they’re all cut from the same cloth. A hundred different reflections of the same privileged archetype imitate the same gestures, mannerisms, and movements to a tee. An amateur would operate under the guise of distraction- causing a small scene and offering their apologies before making off with their prize- but you’re not an amateur. Not anymore. Not by a long shot. 
A few women- four or five, at most- nurse flutes of bubbling booze a few feet away. The sound of their laughter is a little too joyous to be feigned and when one of them waves a manicured hand towards a waiter, signaling another round of drinks, you start to put the pieces together. Perhaps, the ladies in your sights are the most genuine in attendance- even if they’ve lost themselves to their cups. Matching their demeanor is child’s play. Once equipped with a half-empty glass from a server on their way back to the kitchens, you stumble towards the group, plastering on the same elated- intoxicated- grin, and hope that they’re inebriated enough to be welcoming towards a newcomer. Masking the bitter taste of insincerity with a sip of prosecco, a greeting rises from the mix, but it never has the chance to come to fruition because a large hand wraps around your wrist- effectively halting your heist before it even really had a chance to begin.
You should’ve known better.
As you turn to glare at the idiot who dared to put their hands on you, your breath catches.
Two birds die from the blow of one stone, and he takes advantage of your stupor- finding that you’re more pliant in your daze- leading you away from the women you intended to rob, and into the crowd. More witnesses make it less likely for you to cause a scene. At least, that’s his logic, anyway.  While it’s not exactly flawed, it’s not all that accurate, either, but for old time's sake, you’ll play along. His hold on you remains firm, and he reaches for the flute in your hand with his other, placing it on a tray and discarding the prop. Your surprise begins to morph into anger- especially when he pulls you closer towards him as the orchestra starts to play a tune. Remembering the steps forced upon you as a child is muscle memory, and you glare daggers up at him- though, they don’t pierce nearly as deeply as the blue of his irises.
“Nice hair,” Dick revels in your obvious frustration of being thwarted, his lips curling into a smirk when your frown deepens, and he asks, “I thought you were blonde, last I saw you?”
“I was,” For the sake of maintaining appearances, you don a phony expression of your own and respond with as much benevolence as you can muster- even though you’re filled with animosity- as he leads you through the steps of the dance. “And you didn’t have a five o’clock shadow,” You note, allowing yourself a split second to take in everything that’s changed since the last time you saw him, before pressing your lips together tightly with a huff.
“Things change.” 
 As if he needed the reminder…
Chance has never meddled in your relationship. Coincidence doesn’t exist within the realm of precision both you and Dick operate from. Everything has always been on purpose, calculated and planned, never left blindly to fate or possibility- which is why this meeting isn’t an accident. As if he can feel you about to pull away, he flexes his fingers against you, tightening his grip and holding you in place. Ten years later- ten years too late- he’s found you. Not destiny, not a fluke, but with his own intention, and you wish that he would’ve just stayed away.
“What are you doing here, Dick?” As you abandon your costume, your smile falls away to reveal genuine loathing as you force the question from behind gritted teeth. Still, despite your obvious disdain, he doesn’t let you go. “Last I checked, you were in San Francisco- and more recently, Blüdhaven. You’re not supposed to be here.”
“You keeping tabs on me?” His amusement contradicts your revulsion, and a shallow breath purges the threat of an outburst. Dick has always had a way of getting under your skin, of pushing your buttons and doing everything he possibly could to make you tick, but the sudden onslaught of such juvenile taunting fills you with a fire not even he can extinguish- not anymore. Despite his charming exterior, the steady flow of his breath, and the easy grin of confidence that was once impossible not to mirror, dampness swells where your palms meet, and you feel the rough, raised reminders that he’s kept busy during your time apart- that he’s evolved into a stranger despite how familiar he still seems- and you wonder if he can feel it too, if he can tell just by touch, that you’re not the same girl he once knew.
“I keep tabs on everyone who might get in my way,” Your eyes narrow accusatorially, and the corner of his mouth twitches. “You’re not special.”
“That’s not what you said the last time we-“
“Yeah, well, the last time was when we were teenagers, and a lot has changed since then.” Any attempt to remain cordial flies out the window when he dares to mention the last time- like it hasn’t plagued you for a decade. Not even he possesses the antidote to the venom your words carry, and he winces slightly as your rebuttal shakes. He clears his throat softly, the sound filling the lull where an apology should sound, and he takes a look over your shoulder before meeting your eyes again.
“Any chance I can convince you not to go through with whatever it is you’re planning?” It brings little joy to watch his smile dissolve into something more serious. His face hardens, and you notice lines and creases that you aren’t well acquainted with- unable to distinguish battle scars from the divots of age- and you quickly shake the thought away. Instead, you stare at him blankly, not revealing an answer. Though, he takes your lack of conversation as a reply, and with a heavy sigh, he shakes his head, “Yeah, I figured.” 
He dares to express melancholy. Stunned by his nerve, after everything, not even shame or regret could rattle his courage enough for him to reconsider such a crestfallen expression, and the discouraged twist of his lips and the downcast slant of his eyes are so pronounced and dramatic that you’re unable to discern whether or not this is part of a ruse, or his genuine reaction.
“Did you think that would work?” Your skepticism is muddled with ridicule, a mocking scoff filling the line meant for his counter. It’s almost laughable- the nerve he has to look dejected by your questioning. To be fair, it’s been a while since he’s danced this dance- a routine once familiar, consisting of bite and bark, push and shove, before simultaneous defeat and victory-  but he’s smart enough to know that that’s not how this works. “I mean what did you think would happen, birdy? I’d take one look at you, all grown and handsome, and reconsider my plans?”
Even in heels, he’s taller than you remember. He’s always been pretty- all mesmerizing eyes, slightly crooked smile, and sunkissed skin- but not even he was immune to the awkwardness brought forth by puberty. There was a time when he thought his shoulders were too broad, his ears too big, and the angular structure of his face too sharp and strong for a boy. It didn’t look right. Features that were admirable on their own, looked out of place on his face- or so he feared. You always thought he was beautiful- especially when he didn’t know it.
Now, Boy Wonder is all grown up, exuding confidence and oozing charm. He knows he’s attractive, but he doesn’t parade his arrogance- not anymore. His early twenties were a never-ending roller coaster of trying to find himself, his purpose, and where he fit into the grand scheme of things. Conflicted by right and wrong, tempted by lust and surrender, divided by good and evil, he’s had a lot of time to awaken from the grogginess inflicted by nightmares of freedom and liberation. Still, his eyes are just as mesmerizing, his teeth are straight- but his smile is still crooked- and he’s truly grown into himself. The man before you is a boy evolved- still a bird, but with a different set of wings. Robin is an old friend, a fond recollection of a different time, and though the stranger before you mimics the familiarity you’ve longed for, he’s not Robin, anymore- he’s Nightwing.
“Look, they’re anticipating for you to strike,” His warning is low and hushed, but even in whispers you’re able to detect his plea. Call it concern, or at the very least interest in serving justice as quietly as possible, but his timbre urges you to reconsider- if not for his sake, then for the sake of those around you. He really doesn’t want to cause a scene. “Security has been tripled, and you’ve grown sloppy-“
“Did you ever consider that the trail I was leaving behind wasn’t for anyone else but the one person I wanted to find me?” There’s no affection behind the way your fingers thread through the dark tresses at the nape of his neck. Without any fondness, without passion, or care, the action is mindless, meaningless, and merely muscle memory. There’s no repressed feelings you wish to convey, no animosity you’re trying to diffuse. With no hidden agenda, the gesture serves no purpose- except to unintentionally torture you both. Old habits die hard, and something undefined urges you to reach for him. He flushes, and the sight is so droll that you can’t bring yourself to stop. His lips part once, twice, three times, trying to produce an answer, but he’s at a loss. When you cock your head to the side, he tenses. “Of course, you didn’t,” You purr, and he clears his throat softly. 
Dick’s no stranger to berating. He knows what it feels like to be chastised, scolded, and reprimanded. This exchange feels similar. The only difference is that you don’t raise your voice, your eyes don’t darken and you don’t threaten him- not with words, at least. If anything, the remark feels like a gentle rebuke, but the sting left from the impact of your insult brands him with shame. You’ve always seen right through him. Easily able to discern real from fake- truth from falsity- under both his domino mask and the hardened mask of his stoic expressions, you’ve always had a knack for exposing his most vulnerable self- welcoming his flaws, humility, and weaknesses to light. Even though he’s not the same kid he was when you first crossed paths, he feels just as naive and guileless as the boy he once once. 
“You and the bat were never really known for considering every angle,” Spoken so thoughtfully, he’s almost able to forgive the verbal assault. As intended, the blow lands- precise, heavy, and unforgiving in the center of his chest- and the muscles in his jaw tighten with thinly veiled frustration. It seems, that in the moment he needs his voice the most, it evades him. He swallows consonants and vowels, a jumbled mix of letters that sit heavy atop his palate, and focuses on maintaining his composure- though, his steps are a beat behind and his footing seems, suddenly, unsure. You’ve struck a nerve. Whether or not you intend to wound, the damage is already done. Picking at scabs that should’ve scarred a long time ago cause his insecurities to bleed- a punch more lethal than brute strength and weaponry combined. 
Blindsided by the truth, he feels utterly defenseless.
“Can I ask you something, Dick?” Your brows barely pinch together, your voice calm and steady as something softens in your gaze. Dick should know better than to let his guard down- especially when you lean in, and your lips brush against his ear, “If you’re the hero, here to save the day, does that make me the villain?” 
“No, you’re not-“
“How about this, which is the lesser of two evils- knowing that you’re protecting a corrupted establishment because it’s what you believe to be morally correct, or taking back what was wrongfully stolen and returning it to its rightful owners?” As you tilt your head to the side, he hates the way that you look up at him through your lashes. It’s not a demure move. You’re demanding an answer, and a look like that- a look meant to allure, tempt, and bait- would have a weaker man spilling his deepest darkest secrets. With a sharp inhale, he reminds himself that the tricks up your sleeve aren’t new. He knows all of the cards you’re going to play- albeit, he’s unaware of the order in which you’re going to play them- and he won’t allow history to repeat itself. Purposely, your thumb caresses the back of his hand- the touch feather-light, but far from hesitant or accidental- and his breath hitches. Dick doesn’t undermine the small, sinister smile that threatens to spread into a victorious grin when he fails to answer your question. Perhaps, he doesn’t know the answer. Or, perhaps, he’s just distracted. Either way, your voice fills the absence of his own. “We’re not on different sides of a playing field, Grayson. You and I aren’t on opposite ends of a spectrum, we’ve always been right in the middle- dancing on a thin line.” 
Prompted by the soothing symphony of strings, Dick twirls you- delicately extending his arm and leading you into a spin before pulling you back in- and it’s fitting, the push and pull between you so familiar it almost feels as choreographed as the steps of the waltz you’re dancing.
History repeating itself, just one more time.
“We both know you’re not here to turn me in, because if you were going to, you would’ve done it by now.” Your arrogance causes something to snap within him. Clarity comes rushing back as he breaks free from your spell. Without meaning to, his grip on your hand tightens.
“Look, I understand why you’re doing this, but-“
“No, you don’t.” Like a switch being flipped, your façade shatters- revealing a face so unbridled with emotions that not even a mask could obscure. He’s defensive. Tired of grappling for control over the situation, he tastes power as he parts his lips with a clever retort, but you don’t allow him the space to get a word in. “Did you know that last year, the city council held a vote to refurbish a few run-down parks on the south side of Gotham with the hopes of restoring the communities destroyed by violence, or increasing the GCPD budget?” The heat behind your accusation pokes and prods at his curiosity, coloring him intrigued. Admittedly, he’s not the most up-to-date on Gotham’s politics, but something this large shouldn’t have slipped under his radar- or the watchful eyes of those who swore themselves to protect the beloved city.
It’s deeper than that, though.
Your frustrations, however warranted, seem to extend beyond such an injustice. Between the lines, amongst all the words you haven’t said, there’s a decipher hidden in every twitch, gesture, and glare. From the way your eyes narrow, to the sharp exhale and tightening grip of your fingertips. To sweaty palms and clenched teeth, all the way to flared nostrils- there’s something just beneath the surface that he can’t crack. Too much time has passed for him to unscramble tacitness when he no longer understands the codes in which you speak, and, unfortunately, he needs you to paint a clearer picture than the vague abstract before him.
“When it came down to it, do you think that the citizens of the south side had a say in the matter?” Dick’s smart. He’s not just a pretty face or a nice body- he’s actually got brains to match. You know- deep down- that sooner or later, shapeless pieces will fall into place to reveal the completed puzzle, but you need him to come to the conclusion all on his own. It would be easy to simply reveal your motive, and while a straightforward approach may have been less complicated than the mental gymnastics you’re forcing him to perform, it wouldn’t have been as impactful. Dick needs to understand, and to understand, he needs to feel- the same anger, outrage, and upset you felt. “Do you think the people on the other side of the tracks were given a chance to speak in front of the council?” 
“They can’t segregate who speaks publicly-“ The gears are turning- some slower, some faster, and others completely out of control as he struggles to make sense of your elusiveness. When the current song fades out, a scattered round of applause takes its place before a new song begins. Hardly anyone else is dancing, save for a handful of couples who look just about as miserable as you and Dick- without the coordination or grace, the two of you share. It takes him too long to jump to the conclusion, and you tire of waiting for him to put the pieces together on his own. He always did work better with a helping hand- though, the quality of his work declined greatly whenever your hands were involved.
“You’re right,” Your agreement further confuses him, until an additional explanation provides the last bit of clarity he’d been seeking. “But they can change the date, time, and venue of the meeting without alerting the other parties involved, parties that spent weeks building the foundations of a strong claim, and vote on the matter without them being present- subsequently, granting them access to funnel more funds back into their pensions.”
“That’s not possible,” His argument is backed by disbelief instead of reason, denial influencing his refusal to accept such an absurdity, even in spite of proof, and every ugly, undesirable, nasty feeling you’re not supposed to have swirls together in the pit of your stomach at his incredulity.
How can he still be so blind? How, after all of the evil that he’s witnessed, how can he deny the truth in favor of possibility? He may be a man grown, but he still lives in a delusional state of boyhood- where he still clings to hope and the prospect of good intentions even when the jury has already delivered a conviction.
“Why not?” You seethe, simultaneously demanding an answer without allowing him the chance to speak. Unfortunately, whatever’s been brewing amongst your insides finally bubbles over and your own reluctance to accept an outcome where he doesn’t justify your point of view sharpens the words at the tip of your tongue until they’re as lethal as any weapon. “Because good old Commissioner Gordon wouldn’t let that happen?”
It’s resentment- the concoction without a name- but it’s also envy, pain, and perhaps a bit of fear. At the very least, it’s petty, to bring her into this and force him to pick a side, but it’s been corroding your logic- eroding a place in your chest that’s been dormant ever since he last filled it with life and meaning- and you watch his demeanor shift when his lips part to defend her. You can’t bear whatever praise he’s sure to dole out in her defense, especially when she’s just as guilty as the rest of them, as far as you’re concerned. Before he has a chance to tear you to shreds with his ire, you interrupt.
“Look, just because the commissioner has a heart, doesn’t mean that the animals working for the force do.” Without any conviction, you start to claw at the mire on either side of you, closing you in. “It’s always been bad, but it’s gotten a lot worse.” He can’t argue with that. Worse doesn’t even come close to how downright doomed Gotham is now that someone’s poisoned most of the police force. The one group of people who are supposed to remain impartial to power and abide by the laws they’re sworn to uphold, have turned their backs on the people who needed them most, and the people hurting- the ones without flashy jewels or the stomachs for caviar and champagne- don’t have anyone looking out for them. 
Not the way they used to, anyway. 
“You don’t get to come here and lecture me about what’s right and what’s wrong, just because she asked you to.” Bittersweet tips towards bitter and a sour taste settles in your mouth at the suggestion that she had even the slightest part to play in your reunion. “You’re a few years too late for that, birdy.” This time when the song ends, you take a step back- though, his thumb brushes against the back of your hand before you pull away, the phantom of a silent prospect lingering even when the warmth of him is gone. Once, it was what you sought. He was what you sought. Years of desolation turned your desire for that same heat- tender touches and gentle caresses against skin- into favor of bleakness. You don’t regret pulling away from him, not as much as you did back them. This time, it’s warranted- a choice you make unobstructed by what you’re feeling, now that you know the outcome of what was fated to happen between the two of you.
“I appreciate the dance,” You swallow, your throat tightening with words you won’t allow yourself to say. Instead, a retort finds you, though it feels foreign as you speak it into existence. “Maybe we’ll do it again in a couple of years,” 
Without waiting for a reaction, you head off down the same way you came, and this time, without any intervention, he lets you go.
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The bathroom door shuts behind you, and the sounds of lively chatter and the hum of instrumentals fade away until you’re consumed by a silence so stark that it buries you. It doesn’t feel real. The soft tapping of your heels against the glossy marble floors cuts through the nothingness- even the slightest echo in the void registering as an alarm, coaxing panic and fear from the rusted, forgotten cells you banished them to long ago- and when you finally take a look in the mirror, you don’t recognize the face that stares back at you.
Your reflection is plagued by guilt, and haunted by ghosts of the past. Well, one ghost, in particular.
Running into Dick Grayson was something you’d prepared for. Since the day you last parted, you always knew that there was a possibility your paths could, and inevitably would, cross again. It was destined to happen, and you were doomed from the start. He makes you reckless. He makes you sloppy and distracted and forgiving. He makes you weak. Back then, before everything that drove a wedge between the two of you, you had a bit of a soft spot for him. He was the only other person in the world who truly understood the life you lived because he was living a different version of the same life. Both protégés, both headstrong and zealous- attributes recognized as both strengths and faults- and both dancing a choreographed routine in the shadows cast by the bat and the cat. The two of you were fated. It was only a matter of time before you started pulling your punches, and he started letting you get away.
The chase was always the best part- second only to the capture.
Still, it’s been years since he left. You’re not the same girl he once knew, and he might as well have been a stranger. More than a decade apart will do that to two people. For everything that’s changed, one thing remains the same- the chase and the capture are unavoidable.
With a shaky exhale, your chest tightens. Resting your palms on either side of the expensive stone washbasin, you attempt to focus on regaining your composure- but another heavy intake of breath punches your lungs. You haven’t come this far just to let him swoop in and gain the upper hand. You’re done pulling your punches. Flipping the golden faucet on, you allow trickling water to interrupt the unbearable silence that surrounds you- a lull so loud it sounds like buzzing static without the interruption of something mundane. With a few more deep breaths, in and out, you begin to fumble with the clasp on your clutch, opening the small bag to retrieve a tube of lipstick. The color has started to fade from your lips, and you use the moment of stillness to touch up your makeup. If nothing else, maybe your reflection will look less distraught with a signature swipe of dark red. You long for a sense of familiarity that you can control.
Above the trickling from the luxurious spout, the door squeaks- or perhaps, it cries- as it’s pushed open, revealing a mirage basked in artificial light and a custom-tailored suit. As your fingertips graze the fixture responsible for the steady stream of distraction, a thud sounds, and seconds later, the unmistakable click of a lock latching into place seals your fate. A wave of emotion- a tsunami of feelings- brings forth a myriad of everything, all at once. Just as you suspected you always would, you’re drowning- caught in a riptide of your past and present, finally merging in a deadly current that threatens to pull you below the depths of your worst fears and direful imagination. You swallow thickly as you close your eyes. It fills your mouth with delusions of saltwater.
This isn’t supposed to happen- at least, not like this, it’s not- but the one thing you’ve been running from has finally caught back up to you. Now’s the time to set the record straight. No more ties. No more draws. Tonight, the victory is yours- regardless of his intervention. He’s taken too much from you to take this too, and you’re done letting him.
“I already told you that this is pointless,” You don’t even look at him. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of meeting his overbearing stare. A swirling sea of darkening blue attempts to sail back to shore- pleading to find refuge within familiar comforts and intimacy- but you cast your gaze back to your reflection, focusing on fixing the corners of your lipstick and leaving him afloat. “You’re not going to stop me.” The promise is backed by conviction- though, you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince him, or yourself.
The muscle in Dick’s jaw flexes as he grits his teeth- forcing ivories to clench and grind against each other, creating a perfect, white prison to cage the words he wishes to speak. Stifling his emotions is conventional. It’s a routine he’s perfected through years of reluctant practice. Though uncomfortable and daunting, the void in which he sentences all that’s repressed is secure. It’s safe- if only in the sense that it’s familiar.
You’re familiar- rather, you were once familiar- but he can’t cross a bridge that’s been burned, molten ash still ablaze amongst the rubble, and expect to be welcomed back with open arms. Not after everything that’s changed. Not after everything that’s happened.
Not after what he did.
“I need a list of names,” The determination in Dick’s voice contradicts everything he feels inside. His face hardens- a mask, a shield, protection- and he stands a little taller, fixated on resolving the one problem he could actually solve. “Names of the officers involved in whatever this is,” He clarifies with an uneasy edge to his voice- like he already knows he’s bit off more than he can chew, but he can’t stop himself from going back for seconds, thirds, and fourths.
For all that’s changed, Dick remains the same. A phantom- a spirit, a memory, a ghost- of the boy you once knew disappears just as quickly as your imagination teases familiar red, yellow, and green. He’s not the same. You know it to be true, and yet, you find yourself distracted by glimpses and figments from a different life entirely.
“Grab a pen,” A scoff, an eye roll, and the gentle shake of your head, disbelief and credence existing in tandem- contradicting each other when your eyes finally meet his. “It would be a shorter list if you started with the people who aren’t guilty of committing some type of fraudulent activity.”
You’re not a bad person. Despite varying beliefs, you’re not evil. Mayhem doesn’t bring you joy. Confrontation doesn’t get you off. There’s little pleasure to be found in being the itch that people can’t scratch. You’ve never sought out violence or peril, and you seldom plan on causing either. Just like Dick- just like Bruce- you operate under a different moral code, but a moral code, nevertheless. Even if the only thing it provides is an excuse to justify why you do what you do, you still hold yourself to a standard. Unlike the vile, chaos-thirsty cravens that would happily light the match and watch the world burn, you’re selfless- bound to your morals, if nothing else.
What you do, the sacrifices you make- everything that you’ve lost and everything you’ve fought for- is fueled by benevolence. You’re in a position to fight for those who can’t fight for themselves, to speak up for those who can’t speak for themselves. The power to defend those who have had their rights stripped from them- those who have had their power stolen by greed corruption and profit- is in your hands. You’ll be damned if you let anyone stand in your way and prevent you from doing what you know is right.
Through the reflection in the mirror, you recognize the face that stares back at you. Gone is the fear and doubt that mangled your features unrecognizable. With a heavy sigh, you unclip the earrings that dangle from your earlobes- and the buzzing sound of static fades away completely.
You know what you have to do.
The sound of your heels against the tile might as well have been deafening in contrast to the silence that follows your remark. As you cross the room, your resolve sharpens. Dick Grayson has taken so much from you, you won’t let him take this, too.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me-“ You feign saccharine, your tone phony and filled with counterfeit regret, as you reach for the locked door handle, but Dick blocks the latch, stepping in front of you before you have a chance to wrap your hand around the lever. He knows exactly what buttons to press and genuine annoyance, anger, and frustration fill the space where your poor imitation of remorse once occupied. Through gritted teeth, you command him, lowly, “Move, Dick.”
“You know I can’t do that, sweetheart,” He says it so easily, with a sorrowful sigh and undisputed repentance, that you almost buy the sincerity he’s trying to sell. Unfortunately, for him, you’re not in the market for his misery. He’s a few years too late. Dick can turn his charm up to ten thousand- he can say all the right things and plead with his perfect crystalline eyes- but you won’t risk everything you’ve fought for for a few crocodile tears. You know, now, that you’re better than that. One way or another, you’re getting out of this bathroom- and if you have to go through him to do so, then so be it.
“And you know I’m not above fighting you, right?” He’s entirely unprepared for your snark, the bite that fuels your reply nearly nipping his sense of control straight from the palm of his hand. It’s obvious that this isn’t the same game that it once was, but something much more dangerous. “The dance wasn’t enough?” With your arms across your chest, you challenge, and he hates the way you’re looking at him- like your eyes are piercing straight through him instead of actually looking at him. If you bothered to look closely enough, you’d be able to decipher all of the blatant emotions he’s never been the greatest at hiding. One look and you’d see him- and his heart beating proudly on his sleeve. It’s why you don’t spare him a glance. “You still feeling nostalgic for old times? Because this feels awfully familiar, doesn’t it?”
“What are you going to do with the money?” He asks, fighting to keep his voice stern. His poker face was never the best- or, maybe you could just read him better than most people could. Still, as he stands before you, he grapples with his devotion to whatever this competition is. This clash will never see a winner- only two losers- and he knows it. You do, too- but unlike him, you’re not willing to back down without a fight.
“Give it back to those who rightfully deserve it.” He doesn’t deserve your honesty. He has no right to the truth, but you don’t have it in you to scheme an elaborate lie. However gratifying it might’ve been to feed him false information and watch him fly in circles, you’re too exhausted for mental gymnastics. Like clockwork, you give, and he takes- his stare narrowing, almost accusatorially.
“And who are you to decide who rightfully deserves it?” There’s an edge to his question- like he can’t fathom justice without his divine intervention- and it’s grating, the way he can make you feel so small, and worthless with a single sentence. His arrogance is astounding. Who was he to seek vengeance against Slade Wilson? Who was he to target Heartless? Who was he to sentence Tony Zucco to his death- by placing him behind bars, and granting other enemies easy access to the crime lord, which ultimately led to his demise? The self-righteous guilt trip nearly gives you whiplash from how fast it makes your head spin. He’s no different than you are- no better or worse, since you operate on the same playing field. He doesn’t get to act like he is. Someone needs to knock him down a few pegs, and you’re happily up for the challenge.
“Who are you to try to stop me?”
“Someone who knows you,” He replies, instinctively. “Someone who’s a friend, not a foe.”
“Hmm,” With a bitter laugh, your stomach churns- twisting, clenching, and swirling with swells of irritation, regret, and sorrow- and although it’s a familiar discomfort, it’s been years since you’ve felt the threat of splintering cracks, chipping away at the stone-cold facade of your exterior. Come to think of it, the last time you felt this way was when Selina had told you that Dick left for San Francisco. The reminder fills you with a bitterness you’ve long tried to suppress, and as it bubbles to the surface, so do all of the repressed thoughts and emotions that’ve haunted you for years.
For a moment, you ache- chasing forgotten remembrance plagued by wistfulness. Then, you burn.
“Friends call every once in a while, and if they can’t make it to a phone, they send a postcard to let you know that they’re still alive and well.” Vexation forces your eyes to narrow, the color of your eyes morphing into something much more bleak. With a heavy exhale- filled with frustration and a semblance of humility- you remind him, “Friends don’t disappear into thin fucking air without letting you know why- especially, after those friends, were always a little more than just friends.” There’s a darkness behind your eyes that Dick’s not familiar with, and a weight settles in the hollow emptiness of his chest before sinking deeper and deeper into the pit of his stomach. His jaw clenches and he swallows thickly- the tastes of bile, rue, and shame all indiscernible from one another as he forces them back down.
He knows you’re right.
While his absence was abrupt, it had nothing to do with any ill will towards you. There was never a falling out- no crossing a line of no return or being pushed past a point that shattered a shared fantasy. Though the bullet posed no real threat of death by passing through his arm- beyond the phantom agony of lead tearing through flesh, and the hot, wet feeling of crimson pouring from the wound- a part of Dick Grayson did, in fact, die that night, at the hands of the Joker. The Clown Prince of Crime set off a domino effect when he fired at the young Boy Wonder, inevitably altering the course of his life forever. Acts of violent intent seldom harm a single soul, and as if it were fated, you became another casualty from an attack that was never meant for you.
When Bruce fired Dick, he was angry. Back then, thoughts of hanging up the cape never, ever, crossed his mind. Back then, he was content with fighting crime alongside his mentor, and never really considered what would happen next- or if there’d even be a next, or an after. He felt betrayed, abandoned, and filled with cynicism. As selfish as it was, you weren’t even really an afterthought in the downfall of his life caving in and swallowing him whole. He needed time to heal- time to rebuild- and prioritize who he was when he wasn’t hiding in the shadows left behind by a cape and cowl. Years passed, and with time to reflect, Dick’s bitter resentment morphed into a new kind of devotion to himself, and the few that started to look to him for guidance.
Before the Titans, he never really considered himself to be a leader. He spent most of his life abiding by rules and plans- roles and paths- that were set for him by another. Had he been hungry for control before, his first real taste solidified an insatiable appetite for the very thing he felt himself deprived of for too many years. Though, he’d come to learn that there was an ugly side to the power he wielded. Some days, the responsibility felt like a burden, and others, he felt like his guilt and uncertainty would swallow him whole. He bottled up all of his doubts, packed them somewhere deep inside the closed-off caverns in his heart where darker demons haunted, and forced them elsewhere- out of sight, and out of mind, but never truly gone.
It’s not fair that, somehow, you’ve come to possess the key that matches the lock on his Pandora’s box. Every emotion, every feeling, and every thought meant to be suppressed and banished to a place where they couldn’t torment or harm him, refuses to go gently when one simple, magnetic look threatens to release them from their cages of skin and bone. The most daunting realization of all, however, is that he’s the one to blame- for everything.
For all of it.
Selfishly, he’s hoped for an ember amongst the carnage he’s created. He’s held onto some convoluted idea of hope that whatever was once alight could be reignited again if he fully committed himself to an apology, but he failed to acknowledge the amount of ashes he’d have to sift through for a hint of a spark. There’s too much disappointment, too much duplicity, regret, and time passed between the two of you for things to ever revert back to even a semblance of what they once were.
He looks to you now, and he sees it- your anger is a mask for your pain. It’s so faint he almost misses it, but your lip threatens to wobble. Beyond the wrath you try to convey with the narrowed glare of your eyes, he watches as thinly veiled yearning mingles with what’s left of the color of your irises- simultaneously faint, yet prominent to the only other person who knows what it’s like to push away the person you love. What Dick and you shared wasn’t love, but it could’ve been and that’s what you’re both mourning- what could’ve been.
“You and I aren’t friends, Dick.” He hates the finality behind your conviction. It’s so cold, and void of the warmth he associated with you once upon a time. A split second threatens to expose the façade, and you blink back tears instead of allowing them to fall- swallowing emotion and banishing it elsewhere. Feelings have no place here. Instead, you grit your teeth, clenching them together so tightly that your jaw begins to ache. He watches you struggle to commit to the act- because that’s what your rage is, an outlet for your passions- and as you take a step closer toward him, his breath hitches. “Now, get out of my way,”
Toe to toe, you meet his gaze, and no matter how hard you try to fight it, despite your best efforts to disguise what you truly feel, Dick sees right through you- recognizing the parts of you that you try to mold and shape into something else. After all, he’s your greatest weakness- and you’re his. You always have been, and he always will be.
He dares to move. This close, he resists the urge to reach out for you and never let you go again, but this isn’t about him. It’s about you. Hesitantly, he raises his hand, his eyes never leaving yours as the shaky tips of his fingers graze your chin with a tenderness you’ve sought since the last time you felt it. The air is tense, passed back and forth by sharp breaths and thundering pulses- intimate with warmth and affection that mimics that of a simpler time- and when his palm rests against your cheek, cradling it with such gentle endearment in the face of betrayal, you let him. Dick’s throat bobs, and he pours everything he can’t bring himself to say into such a delicate touch. Every apology he wishes he had the courage to speak aloud, every declaration of devotion he was too afraid to voice, and every inevitable truth he attempted to ignore lingers, and you can feel it- in every shy stroke of his thumb across your cheek.
“You’re not going to distract me,” A single tear merges with the pad of his thumb- a testament to your resilience, but no match for the broken, battered, beaten bond you share with the man before you- and your certainty begins to dwindle. There’s a string that ties you to him- an invisible thread strong enough to stitch the two of you back together when you should remain apart- but you’re destined for him, the same way he’s always been destined for you.
It was foolish to believe any differently.
“I’m not trying to distract you,” Barely above a whisper, he pleads, desperate to make you understand, “I’m trying to apologize.”
He hangs his head with defeat, his shoulder slumping forward as he peers down at you. He’s never known such cruel torture. Such sick and twisted suffering is self-inflicted. The past erodes his future, but he can’t stop himself from resurrecting his demons. Foolishly, he invites them to haunt him further- and you’re no exception. His tightrope is stretched taut, and it’s a long way down. How much longer can he balance between anemoia and actuality before tipping one way or the other? It’s insanity- repeating the same act and hoping for a different outcome- but Dick can’t bring himself to accept that this time won’t be different. If nothing else, the possibility that this never-ending game could crown two winners is enough for him to play the martyr, and suffer whatever repercussions might follow after barring himself whole. What more does he have to lose, if not everything he’s already lost, again?
It would be so easy to reach past him and turn the lock in your favor, granting your escape. Hell, with the way he’s looking at you now, you know that he wouldn’t even put up a fight. He’d let you waltz right past him, slipping through his fingers for the umpteenth time because he knows that this time won’t be the last. It never is. Visions blurred by uncertainty flash before your eyes- infinite possibilities, each with consequences and punishments, rewards and sacrifices- but the unknown doesn’t elicit the same adrenaline-filled excitement that it once did. Maybe because this time, Dick isn’t fighting back. Surrendering his shield, he abandons resistance- instead, entrusting you with the vulnerability that spills from his heart, blood crimson against his fingers as he squeezes it with each thump and thud- crumbling before you, and submitting everything he has to give to you. Even if he can’t bring himself to support your cause.
You lean in closer, drawn to him- the same way you always have been, and likely, always will be- and your palm hovers over his chest. For a second, it’s unclear whether or not you’re going to reach out for him or push him away, but when your hand meets the fabric that covers hard muscle, you know you’re done for- because in the same ways he’s willing to fall before you, you’re willing to fall before him, too. Over and over again. Repeatedly and infinitely.
“Well, you have impeccable timing,” Your reproach is close enough for him to taste. It wavers against his lips and slips past his tongue, allowing him to savor parts of you he hasn’t been allowed to indulge in for so long. There’s no mistaking the invitation of your reprover, and Dick’s palm rests against your lower back, coaxing you closer towards him as his nose brushes against yours. It’s dizzying, and your arms find their way around his neck to steady yourself when he rests his forehead against yours with a soft sigh. The irony of the situation isn’t lost upon you- even when the two of you have ceded to one another, you’re still fighting to see who will give in first. As if he’s come to the realization at the same time, a large hand- rough and callused, but soft and tender in the way that it trembles against your cheek with anticipation- encourages you to tilt your head back, and you follow his lead. You hold your breath as your lips part, and Dick surges forward, slotting his mouth against yours in a kiss that’s fueled by the release of years of pent-up longing, need, and want. The gesture is foreign, yet familiar. Reminiscent of the past, yet entirely new. Everything you remember and everything you’ve ever dreamed of merge together in this moment and bring life to what had only ever been fantasy before his lips found yours once more.
It’s exhilarating.
“I missed you,” The affirmation rumbles against your skin, warm with fervor and urgency, and it’s completely unnecessary- considering that each movement acts as a balm to soothe wounds of time, fear, and doubt- but he vows with each breath, relying on words to convey what his actions can not, and vice versa. Masks are off. Shields have been abandoned. Capes remain long forgotten at the door. This is no longer about duty or morality. No, this moment is about two people seeking confirmation for what they’ve always known to be true- that a love unspoken, but never absent has always existed between them. Two people- not vigilantes or heroes- two hearts, beating to guide the other back, are bare, open, honest, and raw without the theatrics of a chase or the pretense of a game. Surrender invites you to balance on the edge of a precipice, and you’re the first to lose your footing.
Desperation is an influence, and his lapels wrinkle with the severity of your hold. Through the haze of everything unknown, he’s the only thing that’s clear, and you reach for him- blindly, but intentionally- clawing at the fabric that keeps him from you. Clashing teeth and bruising grips don’t elicit pain, not when real suffering exists in the absence of the other, and you allow him to paint you violet, blue, green, and red with desire, becoming the embodiment of his want. Your only regret is that the evidence of this divine crime will eventually fade away to nothing more than a memory- another ache that will never dull, a moment so unique that it can never be replicated. As you rejoice, you mourn.
“Sure you did.” His blazer drops to the floor as you follow your script, hardly taking a moment to realize that the page you’re reading from is blank- without word or direction- as you venture into unknown territory. Even when you don’t mean to be, you’re combative. Even when you don’t want to be, you’re still on edge. This is different. This already feels different than before, and maybe it’s because there’s a lot more at stake now that both of you have already lost one another, but for as overdue as this homecoming is, something subconsciously prolongs it further.
“No, really, I-“ He begins, ready to mold rhetoric and force it to take on a form that would allow you to see just how much you mean to him, but that would make this real, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for this to be real yet- because if this is real, if this isn’t just a cruel imitation of memory like so many variations before or a concocted fantasy so vivid you can feel yourself shaking, then that means you can lose it all, again. Just like last time. Within your grip, one minute, slipping through your fingers the next.
“Don’t.” Fear sounds different when there’s a bite to it. It could almost pass as annoyance, if you’re able to keep your voice just steady enough, and he mistakes the command for irritation, rather than the timidity it actually is. Whatever you’ve intended and he’s interpreted gets lost along the way, and he takes a hesitant step back. It’s impossible not to lunge for him as he retreats, but you remain still- your breath hitching when he holds both hands out to you, surrendering his palms while he shows he meant no harm.
“Can I…”
“You don’t have to ask,” You silence his fears quickly, closing the space between you before you even realize that you’ve taken a step. This self-sacrificial eagerness to light yourself on fire just to keep him warm has always been one of your greatest downfalls, but a most ardent gesture, and with ash on your tongue and soot in your lungs, you strike a match the minute he begins to second guess himself. “Just pretend it’s like before.” The suggestion sounds just as unsure as you are, but with a heavy breath, you encourage, “Pretend that nothing’s changed…pretend that we’re still…” You can’t even bring yourself to say it, because the kids you were back then are gone. They’re never coming back. You can’t avenge them or try to seek vengeance for what they’ve lost. It’s over for them, but this is just the start of this new beginning for the two of you. “Just for tonight.”
He moves promptly, gathering the skirts of your dress in one hand, fisting the fabric- a blue so dark he mistook it for black, or perhaps it was, until his fingertips were close enough to paint the illusion with light, making it appear different than it was- without any regard for creases or lingering proof of your affair. Support rests at your back, his chest firm and protective as you lean into the rippling muscle, and Dick continues to illuminate shadows of the past with each touch- eager to help you forget all of the agonies suffered at his hands in favor of remembering glimpses of peace. He’s ready to give you more than just a taste. Now, he wants to gorge you with the pleasure he’s reserved.
His hands shake- not with hesitancy, but anticipation, and when you catch his eye in the mirror, you shiver. You’ve never seen a blue so dark it looks black- until now. Without warning, he mouths at your neck- kissing, sucking, biting, any part of you he can get his lips on- reacquainting himself with parts of you that were once so familiar, and you allow him to explore. Blindly, you reach for one of his hands, taking it in your own, and he begins to intertwine his fingers with yours, but you gently guide his hand where you want it most- and he lets you, following your lead just as impulsively. You jolt at the first brush of his fingertips between your legs, even though you were expecting it, and he lets out a few ragged breaths against the back of your neck. It’s paradoxical, the chills that contradict the flush of your skin, but this relationship has never really made sense before. Why should that change now?
Almost as if he’s in a trance, Dick is overwhelmed by the twists and turns of the evening, but the whiplash is starting to subside in favor of something much more exhilarating. He never thought he’d have this again. He believed moments like these to be lost to time, and he wasted years grieving memories he could never replicate, only to feel the weight of your body against his once more. It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s everything he never knew he wanted or needed until it was stolen from him, swiped right out from under his nose by his own negligence. He won’t make the same mistakes this time. No, this time, he’s going to do it right. He’s going to-
“Fuck,” When you grow tired of his stalling, you force his hand, again. This time, when your fingers meet his wrist, you press your palm on top of his- coercing him to mimic the shape- and maybe you’re the one in control, or maybe he finally rises to the occasion, but with a newfound determination, he cups your cunt- a choked sound catching in his throat when he feels how wet you are. You briefly wonder how something so vulgar can sound so pretty, but you already know the answer- it’s him. It’s always been him. Had it been anyone else, the effect would cease to exist, but it’s Dick, and that desire- that pull that you can’t ever deny- will always bind you to him.
You can’t help yourself from rutting against his palm, and he presses himself further into your back, allowing you to feel the hard outline of his cock against your ass. The hand that isn’t between your legs rests on your arm, and when he tries to hold your hand, you don’t deny him. There’s just too much fabric for you to hold in just one hand and some of it drapes over his forearm, but you manage to keep most of it from obscuring his movements. It’s a strange angle, and both of you are fumbling to make it work, but you crane your neck in search of him, and he answers your call with an eager kiss. Your tongue caresses his, savoring the feeling and committing it to memory, just in case-
He swallows your surprised gasp when he nudges your panties aside and begins to circle your clit. With just a bit of pressure, a crease forms where your eyebrows pull together, and you untangle your hand from his hold to brace yourself against the counter. It’s been a while since someone else has touched you, and it’s been even longer since the last time Dick had, but it’s so much better than evocations of pleasure. You swear figments are tangible. Spurred on by the reaction his touch has coaxed from you, he’s torn between making the moment last as long as possible or picking up the pace. He settles on the latter, considering that if this is heading the way he hopes it’s heading, he’ll have all the time in the world to make it up to you, but right now, he’s on borrowed time. You both are. With the reminder looming overhead, he adjusts his hand so that he can continue to work your clit while lining up a finger with your pussy. You’re so wet, and warm when he curls his middle finger inside, and he can’t remember why he ever left in the first place. What persuaded him away from Gotham when you were always right here? Would you have waited for him? Would you have followed him if he asked you to? He supposes none of that matters now, but he can’t help but wonder…
He adds a second finger, and even though your body gives little resistance to the intrusion, you groan at the feeling. His fingers are so long, reaching that spot inside of you that your fingers are just too short to reach, and they’re thick enough for you to feel yourself stretching around him with each thrust- not enough to cause pain, but an ache that serves as a reminder that it’s been too long since the last time you’ve had him like this. You vow not to let another ten years pass before you let him have you, again.
He continues a steady pace, curling his fingers in such a way that sweat begins to glisten across your chest, and when a third finger threatens to join his others, you wrap your hand around his wrist- abruptly halting his movements.
“N-not enough time,” He doesn’t even get the chance to ask before you supply him with an answer, but he nods in understanding once you offer an explanation. He’s already reaching for his belt, unbuckling the clasp and roughly shoving his slacks down before you have a chance to catch your breath, and you’re grateful- if the speed in which he undresses is any indication of his own eagerness- that he’s just as desperate for you, as you are for him. Taking a moment to adjust your skirts so that you don’t have to hold them, you bunch them above your hips and lean forward, resting your forearms against the counter while Dick frees himself from his boxers, and when you look back in the mirror and catch sight of his cock behind you, you can’t help but swallow thickly.
He strokes himself a few times, smearing the pre-cum beading from his slit down his shaft as he prepares to take you. This doesn’t feel like last time. As he reaches for your waist and lines himself up with your cunt, this doesn’t feel like last time at all. This is new, and different and everything he’s wanted ever since the last time he had you in his grasp. This time, he won’t let you get away. With as much self-restraint as he can manage, you feel the tip of his cock against your opening, slowly splitting you open, and your back arches. Your own strangled cry prompts a groan from him he sinks into you, inch by inch until his hips are flush against you. You’re so full that you’re not sure if it’s too much or not enough.
“I’ve got you,” Dick assures, his grip on your hip tightening when he feels you struggling to accommodate him. He tries to be a gentleman. He tries to give you a few minutes to adjust- even though he wants nothing more than to take what’s right under his nose, what’s always been his- but his restraint snaps when he feels you begin to rock back against him.
“Move,” You command, and he doesn’t have to be told twice. With your permission, he’s happy to follow orders and obliges with a sharp thrust upwards. The sound you make is a mix between a sob and a moan, and his fingers flex against your hip as he repeats the action.
“I forgot…” Through clenched teeth, he confesses, and you don’t think anything of the admission, too lost within your own feelings to attempt to decipher his. Instead, he wraps an arm around your waist, offering thick muscle to serve as a buffer between your body and the stone he has you pressed up against- relying on intimate gestures to make up for words lost in translation. Even now, when you’re not on the same page, you still know. Somehow, you know, and he does, too. Every time. Without fail. Always. Your head rolls back to meet his shoulder, and your fingertips claw at the back of his neck awkwardly, with transparent desperation to pull him closer. Within reach isn’t close enough. Near is too far. With a muted gasp, you push back to meet his next thrust, and he hisses softly before elaborating, “I’m so sorry if I made you forget.”
“Dick-“ Realization begins to splinter the mirage of bliss, and you manage to say his name with enough caution to serve as a warning. You don’t want to think about the past. Not right now. Not when you can see your future so clearly in the foggy reflection of the vanity. He wraps his hand around your neck, encouraging you to bare your throat to him and he licks at the vein that calls out to him.
“I won’t let you forget, not this time.” He vows, bucking his hips faster and faster as you whine in his hold. In some sick twisted way, he loves that he’s the only one who has this power over you- that he’s the only one who could ever elicit such a reaction- and it’s a testament to how much the two of you care for one another; the influence both of you have over one another. “This time, I want to remember.”
It’s going to be impossible not to.
“I-“ He can barely get a word out with how good you feel around him, and he takes a breath before trying again. “I know you want to pretend, but fuck…I can’t.” Dick wraps his arm around you, guiding your back to rest against his chest, and one of his large hands splays across your stomach, where he can feel himself inside of you. “I really did miss you,” Somehow he manages to find his voice. “Not just like this, either,”
“I-I missed you, too.” You don’t seem certain, not with the way you stutter, but your reply is genuine. It only appears dubious because Dick’s palm begins to press against you, and you all but choke on your confession. He can’t help himself, but neither can you.
“I’m close,” He rasps, brokenly. “Shit,” His thrusts begin to falter, and his eyes meet yours in the mirror. “Are you-“
“Yes!” You yelp when his fingers start circling your clit, and he doesn’t relent, even when he feels you start to tremble beneath him. You’re overwhelmed by him, in the best way possible, and as eager as you are to chance your release, a part of you never wants this moment to end. “Dick, please d-don’t stop,” Your muscles grow taut, and when his thrusts lose their precision, you know that he’s almost there. “Just like before,” You encourage him, clenching hard when he bites your shoulder and your orgasm washes over you. “J-just like before.”
He knows what you’re asking for. He understands what you’re practically begging for, and in a fleeting moment of clarity, he catches a glimpse of the faded scar on your arm- his only regret being the fact that an implant still stands in the way of what he truly wants with you- but the thought disappears as quickly as it materializes.
A few seconds more and he grunts against your neck, pulling your hips to meet his and spilling himself inside of you. It’s even better than you remember and your body shakes with aftershocks of pleasure. Luckily, he’s there to keep you upright. Your vision starts to blur and the only sound you’re able to make out is both of you struggling to catch your breaths. With a heavy sigh, he pulls out, and you can feel his cum start to leak from you, but you’re too disoriented to clean it up. Instead, you lean forward, relying on the countertop for support as you hang your head and try to come back to your senses.
Dick leaves a trail of soft kisses down the back of your neck and his forehead is both warm and damp when it meets your shoulder, resting comfortably against your skin while he takes a minute to catch his breath, and these sensations- these tiny little reminders that he’s here, this moment is present and real- ground you. Where your mind is a mess, reeling with indecision, emotions, and thoughts you can’t yet process, your body is at ease.
As your eyes flutter shut, greedy gulps of air fail to satisfy your lungs, and you swallow thickly, allowing pressure to build up in your chest until you simply can’t take it anymore. Darkness saturates all that you can see, and you’re caught in a void- trapped, without any light to guide you back home. The gentle caress of his touch along your arm brands you, flush enough to make you burn with reminders of this fleeting moment- when embers of devotion inevitably fade into ashes- and you stiffen in his hold, not that he’s coherent enough to notice.
He seems to be in his little world as he tucks himself back into his pants and presses another gentle kiss to your shoulder before wrapping his arms around you. Violent delights really do have violent ends and it’s not fair that you let it get this far without thinking about the consequences of your actions. None of this would’ve happened if you just let yourself love him- without fear, without judgment, without regret- and if you had just been honest with yourself all those years ago, this mess would’ve never spiraled so far out of your control.
Whatever repercussion await you, you’ll brave. Regardless of what happens next, you know that you have to tell him the truth- even if it kills you. The thought is often more daunting than the action itself, but as you turn yourself around in his arms so that you’re facing him, you’re petrified.
“I’m sorry,” The magnitude of your apology isn’t supported by the handful of letters that arrange themselves as they slip past your tongue. There has to be a better way to express your remorse, but if one exists it evades you. Over and over again, the same words come to mind and it’s not fair that you know exactly what you want to say, but you just can’t find the right words to absolve your shame. At your inability to voice your regret, frustration overwhelms you. Your lips part, ready to divulge your sins, but only a pathetic, meek sigh comes out. Why is this so difficult? You know the answer, and yet, you play the part of the fool- leaning on ignorance as a crutch for what you can’t bring yourself to brave. He deserves it, doesn’t he? The truth- not something partial, but whole. Transparency is the only piece left of a nearly complete puzzle, the only thing keeping this tragic tale of two lovers who break each other’s hearts only to stitch them back together again from reaching its inevitably doomed end. When your lip begins to tremble, Dick reaches for you, pulling you into his chest and embracing you in a hold that’s absolutely suffocating. You don’t deserve his kindness. You don’t deserve his love or affection- his tenderness or his forgiveness.
You don’t deserve him.
“Me too,” He sighs into your hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head before resting his head on top of yours. You can hear his heart- how steady it beats- and the sound rivals the racing of your own where it threatens to burst straight from your chest, and your eyes flutter shut, savoring the gentle lull of his own serenity before you poison his relief with your own disruption. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how difficult it may be, you know that you have to tell him. With a breath, you prepare for carnage.
“No, Dick, I-“
“Dick? Are you in here?” Barbara’s voice seeps through the wooden barrier that separates the two of you from the rest of the world- from reality- and as soon as she calls out to him, the illusion of tranquility is broken. Of course, it’s her. Of course, she’d be the one to interrupt you before you had the chance to speak, and of course, it would be her that drives a wedge further between the two of you with one simple revelation, “They’re getting away!”
It’s almost impossible to miss the sounds of commotion that follow her declaration. Faint screams and chaos replace the background of symphony strings and he turns to you then, a divot dividing the smooth skin of his forehead while his eyes narrow. Blue is black. Dark, and unmistakable. The muscle in his jaw looks like it’s about to burst with the severity of his clenching and his nostrils flare with a shallow exhale. It’s excruciating to watch him slip back into consciousness after being caught up in a dream, but a nightmare unfolds before you, twisting your stomach into knots so intricate they threaten to snap. You can’t breathe, and when you gather enough courage to finally take a step forward, he takes a step back. He’s never looked at you with so much hostility before, and you open your mouth to explain, to shower him with honesty and desperate pleas to make him understand that this wasn’t meant to happen like this, but no sound comes out. Not even a sigh. Not even a huff. Not even a pathetic, broken whimper. Nothing.
Unfortunately, Dick’s left to draw his own conclusions- to fill in the gaps in which your silence fails to atone for your crimes- and he paints a picture so drastically different from the truth, relying on his interpretation to establish a story so vivid he believes it to be real- even if it’s a figment of his own imagination, a product of his own devastation. Dispelled doubts come rushing back, and he allows them to influence the narrative- since you still can’t seem to find your voice- and everything left unsaid becomes louder in the silence. He mistakes your tears for guilt, instead of recognizing the regret and shame that mingle with saltwater. As gutted as he is, he looks to you for an explanation, but you can’t bring yourself to justify what you’ve done- even if it wasn’t your intention. Distracting him was part of the plan. Keeping him occupied was your mission, but confessing your true feelings and allowing yourself to fall back in love with him- not just the idea of what it would be like to love him- wasn’t part of your job description.
The second your paths crossed again, you were done for. It was never about seeking vengeance or getting even for the hurt that he caused you, because the minute that Dick waltzed back into your life, you knew you were doomed- because he makes you reckless. He makes you sloppy and distracted and forgiving. He makes you weak- and you let him. Every single time. Always and forever. Infinitely.
When he looks at you, he looks past you and towards your belongings on the counter. No. You shake your head, vehemently encouraging him to look away. If his eyes would just meet yours, if only for a second, you know you could save this. If not for the sake of putting broken pieces back together you could at least salvage fragments amongst the wreckage, but he doesn’t spare you a glance. No, no, no. His attention is solely on the expensive stone behind you, and when you reach out for him, your fingertips shaking as you grasp his bicep with all of the strength you can muster, he shakes you off of him.
Everything splinters.
When he reaches for your earring, you know that this is the end. It’s all over. A new moment will erase everything you thought you knew about pain, heartbreak, suffering, and betrayal. This moment, as it unfolds before you, will plague you until you meet your demise, because the second that he dares to bring the jewel up to his own ear, the exact moment that he hears Selina’s command through the gravely static of the earpiece you discarded earlier in the evening, you know that any hope for a future together vanishes- ripped straight from your fingers before you even had the chance to hold onto it and guard it with your life.
Even with his back towards you, you can see his face harden in the reflection of the mirror. Through the thin material of his crumbled dress shirt his shoulders tense and when he finally looks up to meet your stare through the glass, all traces of red, green, and yellow are gone. A piece of him- the piece of him that you’re most familiar with- dies, sprawled out and oozing across the marble. It’s too late to try to revive him. All that’s left in the wake of his slaughter is blue and black.
Blue and black, forevermore.
There’s nothing left for either of you here. Not anymore. Hope begins to decay, and the hollow hole in your chest that only he could ever fill begins to die from rot. Nothing will ever be the same. Not after this. Perhaps the final thought passed back and forth between a glare is the last thing you’ll ever share- beyond moments of destruction and beautiful chaos- but it’s clear to you both, that not all ghosts are meant to be resurrected.
Some ghosts should just stay ghosts.
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a/n: hey, I’m raen and I’m down bad for this man lol…anyway, I’ve been working on this story for months. I literally poured bits and pieces of my soul into this (so if you wouldn’t mind interacting or providing feedback I’d be forever grateful) but I just wanted to write a tale of doomed lovers who care about each other in such a way that it leads to their downfall. I wanted this to hurt, and I hope it did- in the best way possible! I’m not above begging, so please, please, please feel free to send some feedback- as this is my first time writing for Dick and I would love to hear what people think! that being said, requests are also open! check out my request guidelines before submitting! and if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! 
everyone who requested to be tagged: @js-favnanadoongi @kalulakunundrum @1lellykins @octodog17 @novelizt @nesta-houseofwindfantasy @corgiqween576 @whiteglovemanor @godcreatoreli @lassmich1 @consternat1on @deffnotnia @haloney @iananiko @noodlesketchbook @thescarletcryptid @obsessedwthdilfs @vanice-e @taintedmaroon @holybatflapexpert @whatismypurpos @heylookwhoitis @corpseflower6 @heavenlym0chi @lokiwannacry @boywondergrayson @tetzoro @oiztsy @naf3211
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Send me some feedback, or request to be added to my taglist! (please specify which taglist you’d like to be added to- character or general) !Requests: OPEN!
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k2ntoss · 8 days
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currently thinking about dad!jason having a little bit of a dad bod......... i would literally jump at him like fr, he wouldn't let himself go all the way dad body but just get a bit thicker and slightly chubby i'm foaming at the mouth i just mmmmmmmm
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fandomnerd9602 · 6 months
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Harley finishes handcuffing herself to Y/N...
Y/N: when you said you wanted rings, I thought you meant something else
Harley: I couldn't afford one.
Y/N: i have a job, baby. Check my pocket
Harley fishes through Y/N's pocket and finds a small velvet box...
Harley: ohmygosh! Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!!!
Y/N: you've made me the happiest...now please get me out of these handcuffs.
Harley: not with I want to do next (winks)
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moonlit-imagines · 3 months
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Headcanons for dating Wally West
Wally West x reader
warnings:
a/n: i was debating whether or not y/n is on the team or not n for this im going for y/n being a regular civilian but now im debating making dating hcs for a hero too 🤭
prompt: anonymous: “But if you're still taking requests (and speaking of fast haha), I would absolutely love if you could do a lil' something about Wally West ♡. I love that track star to bits and we're entering my favorite season ever : spooky season (or autumn for people who aren't chronically online like me). So if you'd be tempted to write some fluff/domestic stuff in autumn with Wally, I would be over the moon! 🦊”
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wally is so annoying (in the best way!!)
you aren’t too used to the whole idea of dating a metahuman, every day is like an adventure
and for a speedster? you’d be surprised how hard it is for him to find the time
but he makes time
*doorbell rings*
“you’re twenty minutes late” -you
“in flash-time that’s early” -wally, holding a half-eaten box of chocolates “i got a little hungry”
on his “days off,” you could usually find the two of you on the couch with a variety of snacks scattered across the coffee table and crumbs peppering the cushions and floor
“the dog will get them” -wally
“hate to break it to you, but i don’t have a dog” -you
“should i get you a dog?” -wally
he was always so goofy
and affectionate, very affectionate!
he loved to give you cheek and forehead kisses, so many so fast
“how many was that?” -you after noticing repeated pressure on your cheeks
“going on a hundred. i’m trying to beat my record!” -wally
it always ended up tickling and you’d laugh until you fell over
“wally!! wally, come on!!” -you
you’d always get bummed whenever he got called for a mission
especially because it always happened in the middle of something (dinner, a movie, study date, etc.)
then when he came home he’d be a wreck and then you’d be a wreck because you’d see him like that
then he’d have to calm you down and you’d have to help him feel better
“you dont have to do that, im fine! i swear!” -wally while you panic and try to take care of him
being invited to the cave!
meeting the team!
“just because youre meeting a half-kryptonian clone, a martian, an atlantean, some girl with a bow and arrow, and batman’s sidekick doesn’t mean you get to think any of them are cooler than me, kapeesh?” -wally
“oh yes, i know you’re the coolest” -you
the team loves you!!!
“wow, wally, thanks for proving your s/o isn’t imaginary” -artemis
“youre welcome” -wally
“do you want to come bake with me?!” -m’gaan
“please say yes, y/n. i’m so hungry. so so hungry” -wally
“let’s do it!” -you
starting to camp out at the cave while wally is on missions
also once some more dangerous people figured out wally’s identity, you got your own access code to the cave. EMERGENCIES ONLY
you used it to surprise wally once and got a stern talking to from batman. never again
you dont really spend too much time with the team, but you get invited to most of their friendly outings!
and you talk up a storm with the others trying to learn about their lives, which sometimes makes wally a liiiittle jealous
but you want to live vicariously through these interesting people bc ur life is a liiiittle boring
“can you tell me what atlantis is like? what it feels like to be underwater and how your fighting style differs on land?” “what’s your favorite dish to make on mars? do you like communicating this way or the telepathic way more?” “why do you always wear sunglasses, man?” (you know this one dick is like wally’s bestie) -all you
seeing wally less than usual when things start to heat up in his hero life :(
causes some strain and you get so so sad :(
but he always calls you when he can and tries to make up for it
and somewhere down the road when he retires you’re able to spend all your time with him and he makes up for lost time like he promised
ok i’ll stop there. happily ever after.
taglist: @ravenmoore14 // @summersimmerus // @azazel-nyx // @simsrecs // @xoxobabydolls // @ravenstrueluv // @cicatraize // @captainshazamerica // @bad4amficideas // @evilcr0ne // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @elenavampire21 // @jade-178 //
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mangoisms · 9 months
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circle k (back to you)
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summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.
━ chapter one: on my way to circle k
━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader
━ word count: 4.3k
━ warnings: none
━ masterlist
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The Slurpee machine is broken again. 
It isn’t that big of an issue, not particularly world-ending, no, especially since you get regularly held at gunpoint (or knifepoint) and occasionally used as a hostage. 
But for you, working the night shift from eleven PM to seven AM, you kind of need the sugar boost. The Slurpees are easier on your stomach than the coffee is. Even if they do stain your mouth. 
You sigh, continuing to stare at the machine; it whirs and sputters strangely and you set aside the cup to shut it off. You’ll also need to file the paperwork for it to be fixed. That seriously blows. 
You get it unplugged just as the gust of wind hits. 
You stumble. Shelves groan in protest. Several rows of granola bars and trail mix are sent flying. 
Oh, great, who is it now—
You hear your name in a question, from a very familiar voice. 
You spit out a mouthful of your hair. “Flash?”
Sure enough, in the flesh, the Flash grins at you, blue lightning fading from his body. He spreads his arms as he exclaims your name again.
In a blink, he is there, arms wrapping around you, lifting you off the ground as he squeezes the life out of you. Another blink and you’re on the ground, looking at him, his hand on your shoulder. 
“Look at you, kid. It’s good to see you. I can’t believe you’re still working here.”
A stupid grin forms on your lips. “It’s not the same here without you eating up our inventory.”
He laughs. “I bet!”
You shake your head, fixing your hair and your shirt. Flash notices the state of the granola bars and trail mix, sends you an apologetic smile, and in the next blink, they are back on the shelves, neatly arranged. 
“So, what brings you here? If you can answer that.”
He waves a hand, flitting around, emptying the sausage grill and making himself several hot dogs. 
“One of the rogues got a little, shall we say, ambitious and wanted to try his luck here. Just trying to snatch him up before Batman finds out.”
“Let me guess—Trickster?”
He points a hot dog loaded with mustard and ketchup at you. “Bingo.”
“It’s dripping.”
“Aw, shit.” He shoves the rest of the hot dog in his mouth, grabs a napkin, and starts dabbing at the spot of mustard on his suit. 
You watch him, amused, but also morbidly fascinated as usual at seeing him eat so much. When he finishes the hot dogs, he goes for the pizza. It makes sense when you think about it, that a guy who can run faster than the speed of light should need to eat so much, but it’s been a while since you’ve had the pleasure of watching him refuel. Six months, actually, since you returned from Keystone City. 
You scratch your head. “I’m not sure why Trickster would want to come here. Batman, I think, is a worse punishment than you—”
“Agree, even if that’s also a little insulting to me.”
“Oh, you know what I mean. You’re avoiding him, aren’t you?”
Flash nods. “This is true. Carry on.”
“Well… Gotham already has a joke-themed guy. I don’t think Joker is going to take too kindly to someone encroaching on that. Unless he’s back in Arkham. Though he might’ve escaped again…”
“Y’see, that’s what I thought. It’s gonna sound bad, too, but I’m kinda hoping those two take care of each other, then I can get Trickster back to Iron Heights without any issues. But—”
You crack a smile, guessing his next words immediately. “When is it ever that easy?”
You had once believed the Flash to be just about infallible. After all, he is the Flash. This is the guy who, like you said, can run faster than the speed of light. He can canvas a city in under a minute. That’s how he takes care of Central City and Keystone City. (Well, the addition of the other Flash and Kid Flash probably help, too, but you know.)
But it’s not that easy. It’s why, you think, Metropolis has issues, even when they have Superman. 
No rest for the wicked and all. 
“Well, it’s still good to see you,” you say, a tad more hesitantly this time. Unsure if you can say that. 
Flash looks back at you, sending you a warm smile. “It’s good to see you, too. How’s school?”
“No classes now. Financial aid doesn’t cover the summer, so.”
He frowns. “You’re still on track to graduate next year, though, right?”
You pause, surprised he remembered you saying that. “Yeah, yeah, I am.” 
Flash nods, worries assuaged, then his gaze strays to the Slurpee machine, its lights turned off. “Aw, it’s not working?”
“Not today, sorry.”
He purses his lips, head tilting as he looks at the counter where the machine and your abandoned cup are. 
“Wait a second,” he says, then the food that was in his hands is on the counter and he’s gone with arcs of blue lightning following him, a tingly feeling spreading through your fingertips and toes, like when you used to be a kid and dragged your hands across those old TV screens, feeling the static. 
True to his word, in the next second, he is in front of you, two Slurpees in hand. One blue raspberry and another cherry. 
You grin as he proudly presents the blue raspberry Slurpee to you. 
“Thanks.”
He winks. “My pleasure.”
He collects his food again then gestures to the front with his head. Sipping at the ice-cold Slurpee, you follow him, sliding behind the counter.
“Time to head off?” you guess, ringing up the food he already ate, then the rest of the stuff. 
He slips out a few bills from a hidden pocket at his hip. “Yeah, I need to go before—”
“Flash!” The door opens roughly. You balk as you see who it is. “Seriously? You can’t just run off. You’re just as bad as Impulse sometimes, I swear.”
Red Robin stands there, hands on his hips, scowling, doing a good impression of a teacher scolding a student, which is really weird for you, since you’ve always held a good dose of fear and respect for the Bats and this doesn’t really… go on par with that. And also, you’re pretty sure Flash is older than him. 
Flash frowns. “Now that’s seriously uncalled for. I’m much better than he is. We were done talking, weren’t we? You’d call me if you found anything and it’s not like it would take me time to get there, would it?”
Red Robin doesn’t respond to that, mostly because he’s looking at you now. You’ve never seen him up close — any of them up close. Black fair falls sharply over his forehead, a black domino mask hiding his eyes. Not like a normal one; this one allows for more coverage under his eyes, going down to his nose, the end of which curves in a way reminiscent of a bird. But under the bright fluorescents of Circle K, everything else is easy to make out. Pale skin, a sharp jaw, a soft-looking mouth. 
Great. He’s hot. And something else… something that niggles at you. Familiar in a way that bothers you because you’ve never seen him in person. Not like this. 
You swallow nervously, giving him a half-hearted wave. The action jars him and he looks away from you quickly. 
“Hey, don’t be mean to her,” Flash chides. “Seriously. Look at her. You’ve made her nervous.”
“Flash.”
He shoots you a troublesome grin. “Nah, don’t worry about him, kid. He’s harmless.”
“Flash,” Red Robin hisses out, his voice sounding stranger than before, modulated, in a way. 
You compose yourself, giving Flash a look. “You know better than that. Perception means everything.”
“That is true,” he says. “But believe me. If fear worked as well as they’d like it to, Gotham would be the safest city in the country.”
A long-suffering sigh. Red Robin is turned away now and by the movement of his arm, pinching the bridge of his nose, exasperated. 
“Hey, I’m not wrong,” he says to him, even despite you silently waving for him to drop it. “Look, fear is fine and all. But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with nurturing relationships with the people you protect. That’s what I did with you, isn’t it, kid?”
“Yeah, but I’m also not, you know, from there…”
He collects his change. “Which is why it’s even more embarrassing that these guys make you nervous and I don’t.”
Red Robin huffs. 
Flash shrugs, smirking. “Just food for thought. I’ll see you around, yeah, kiddo? Gotta get going before this guy gets annoyed enough to just tell Batman about me and then I’ll really have problems.”
Then he’s gone, blue lightning arcing in his wake. Red Robin sighs again and leaves without a word or backward glance. 
You stand there for a minute, unsure if that really happened. But the signature Slurpee cup of blue raspberry, already sweating because the June heat in Gotham is unbearable and the AC is not up to task, assures you very much that that did just happen.
A little unsteady, you take a seat on the stool, shaking your head and dragging the cup to you. 
At least you got to see Flash again.
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You don’t see him again, which is what you expected. 
What you don’t expect is the appearance of Red Robin the next night. 
You’ve grown up in Gotham City. Like anyone else, you have a healthy dose of fear and respect for the vigilantes that prowl the shadows. You also, unlike Vicki Vale or any journalist or obsessive conspiracy theorist, have absolutely zero interest in interacting with them. 
Usually, interacting with them means you are in grave danger. 
(You had to unlearn some of that during your brief tenure in Keystone City; the Flash was a little bit different from them. Maybe more than a little bit…)
So, when Red Robin shows up at Circle K at half past one in the morning, you are… a tad wary. 
It doesn’t help that he seems awkwardly frozen, too, as your voice catches in the middle of your perfunctory Hi, welcome in as you realize who it is. 
For a minute, it is painfully, painfully quiet. 
“Is there something—”
“Do you have any—”
You both stop. You purse your lips. Red Robin is… blushing a little bit? Holy shit.
“Go ahead,” he says, clearing his throat after. His voice still sounds off like yesterday—modulated.
You grimace. “Sorry, I was just asking if there was something going on? Should I lock down the shop or hide or something?”
He looks briefly confused. “No? I mean, no… Everything is fine. I was just wondering if you guys had any, uh—” he seems to falter, scrambling a little bit “—hot… chocolate?”
Hot chocolate in June? What a weirdo.
You keep your face straight, though. 
Flash might’ve let you off the hook when it came to formalities but you’d be an idiot to think you could get away with that with these guys. 
He exhales the briefest laugh at something, then—you, you realize, your expression, which should be perfectly polite, what the hell. He turns his head away as a smile curls his lips. That niggling feeling—which began as soon as you realized he was here—strengthens. You push it away for a second.
“I know. Late night. Don’t like coffee, so it’s a good alternative.”
How did he—? 
Must be the detective thing.
You apologize anyway. 
“Sorry. My, uh, friend’s like that, in a way,” you say, your tongue again moving faster than your brain can grapple with. He won’t care about the fact that your friend, Tim, is like that, too. Well, Tim likes the occasional energy drink if he’s staying up late because he doesn’t like coffee. Not this hot chocolate business. But maybe? Doesn’t sound like a bad idea, actually. Probably better than Red Bull, even if he doesn’t drink it often, maybe once or twice a month. And, anyway, it’s not the point. This guy doesn’t care. He probably couldn’t care less. You’re just trying to show him—oh, it doesn’t matter. This entire thing has gone straight to shit. All because he managed to read your judgment.
“Oh?” It’s a question but it’s a bit strangled. See? He doesn’t care. Poor guy. Probably trying to think of a way to get out of this. Well, you’ll do him one better. 
“Uh, yeah… he’s—well. Doesn’t matter. Yeah, the machine is working. It’s over there.” 
“Thanks.”
You nod and glance away, leaving him to cross to the other side of the store. You can’t help but watch him go, watching the way the heavy black cape swishes with his movements, boots soundless on the shitty tiled floors. He disappears behind the shelf, but his head is visible. A head of dark, dark hair that seems… familiar to you.
Ugh. What is with you?
It’s Red freakin’ Robin. You’ve glimpsed him and the others briefly. Shadows in the night, swinging from buildings, jumping from rooftops. Anybody who lives in Gotham long enough has seen the same. Doesn’t mean you know him enough to be this way, to be so bothered by something that won’t even come to mind.
You shake your head briefly. 
You should think more on why he’s even here.
Though, it seems obvious, given what happened yesterday night.
Flash has a way of getting beneath your skin and inciting the most childish tendencies. You imagine his little comment about trust between vigilante and citizen bothered Red Robin.
Well, rest assured, you understand the position they are in. You enjoyed the way Flash visited you but they can’t afford that. Perception is gold. It is true, in some ways, that if it were as effective as they wanted it to be, Gotham would be less crime-ridden than it currently is. 
(But that was also a conundrum with the corrupt government. So long as the systems were in place, crime would always happen, and it would take more than the Bats to fix that.)
Either way, they cannot afford for that mask to slip—metaphorically and literally.
There is a level of trust, you think, between the Bats and the people but… it’s not the same kind Flash fosters with his own. 
You feel obligated to let Red Robin know that, with that, he has no obligation to do anything out of the ordinary. 
So, that’s what you do when he comes back over to the counter, two small cups of hot chocolate in hand.
“You don’t have to do this, you know.”
He turns forward with a five dollar bill in hand. “I can’t just not pay—”
“I’m not talking about that.” 
He is paying. You are moderately appreciative of what they do but not that appreciative. 
“So, what else is it that I don’t have to do?”
You gesture between you two. “This. Come here to try and prove the Flash wrong.”
“I’m not—”
You try to level with him. 
“It’s cool, man. He can be annoying. Annoying enough that he could make anyone want to prove him wrong. I get it. But he’s also a little bit of a doof when it comes to matters of the public. Though I’m betting he was trying to aggravate you more than anything. Either way, I get it. You have an image to keep up. Do what you have to do.”
“So, you don’t want me to come back?” Not an accusation. A genuine question.
You blink. “That’s not what I said. I don’t mind. I’m just… letting you know.”
“What do you know about it, anyway? Upholding an image? You seem very confident on the do’s and don’ts, despite being a civilian.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You guys actually refer to us non-vigilantes as civilians? Like, unironically?”
He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you with the emotionless white lids of the domino mask, lips pressed in a line.
You smile and roll your eyes, finally taking his five and opening the register. “I’m majoring in communication with a concentration in PR. Did an internship at Quickstart Enterprises last semester working with their PR department. You can say I know a thing or two about it.”
“What year?”
“Just finished my third. Starting my final in the fall. Look, I’m not saying you have to take my advice, I just wanted you to know. That’s all. I’m not holding it against you.”
“I’ll take it under advisement.”
You slide his change to him. “That’s all I ask.”
He picks up the cups, says, “Keep the change,” and then, he’s gone, dark cape fluttering, his figure swallowed up by the darkness of the night. 
The only traces of his presence is the door slowly closing and the change still sitting on the counter.
These hero-types and their dramatic exits. Honestly. 
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You meet the Flash in your second week of work at Circle K.
The stipend from QE covered your housing and groceries but didn’t allow for much options regarding the latter. At least not the fresh produce kind. 
So, you picked up a job at Circle K. Part-time only, which worked well with the schedule you had at QE. You typically worked evenings—not the graveyard shift you do now, which you took only because it paid better during the night—so from seven to eleven. 
The Flash was different from the Bats in that regard. While Signal worked during the day, the rest of them worked during the night. 
Flash told you he liked sleep, so he would take care of things during a reasonable hour in the evening to accommodate that, which meant you were beheld to his presence. 
Frequently.
And the first time…
You have no idea what to make of the superhero currently raiding the sausage grill.
A larger part of you is suspicious, hoping that the Flash isn’t about to come up to you and say something arrogant about not being required to pay. A lot of the cops you get say something to that effect. It takes so much willpower in you to not roll your eyes. 
But another part of you right now, the Tim part of your brain, is fascinated. Wants to ask some geeky questions about his power. Presumably, the fact that he is the fastest man alive means he has to eat a lot to sustain it, right?
Well. That one is a bit self-explanatory. At least if the way he’s stuffing his face tells you anything.
Suspicion wins out, though.
Keystone City is a nice enough city. Central City, across the river, is the same. They aren’t Gotham, that’s for sure, and sometimes you don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse. 
It’s mostly that Keystone City is situated in Kansas and across the Mississippi, in Mississippi, is Central City. These regions of the country, historically conservative, make you a bit tetchy. Not at all helped by the fact that for a very long time, Keystone City was suspended in the fifties. Or rather, what they thought were the fifties. Time passed normally outside of it until the Flash fixed everything.
It gives Keystone an aesthetic old-timey vibe to it but with all the modern luxuries of the late 2010s, like phones and, you know, civil rights. 
But things have been okay, for the most part. The people you encounter here at Circle K are amiable enough. (Well, except for the cops you get. You could go without dealing with those idiots.)
Though, admittedly, between work for QE and here and trying to keep yourself fed and (mostly) rested, you haven’t gotten out much.
The Flash, though… you haven’t directly encountered him. Not in your few weeks here. Sometimes when walking to the subway, you feel the sharp gust of wind, commonly associated with him as he makes his way through the city faster than a speeding bullet, glass windows and cars rattling dangerously in the aftermath of his path. On the news, when he takes down whichever rogue woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and in the newspaper. But nothing beyond that.
People speak fondly of him, for the most part. Rumors are solid sources of information but you just can’t help but be a little bit suspicious. There is such a thing as too good to be true, after all…
You reach for your half-empty cup of blue raspberry Slurpee. Though it’s the beginning of September, summer takes longer to leave the midwest, you’ve learned, and the summers here are loads worse than ones you’ve experienced in Gotham. 
Before you can even get your mouth around the red straw, a breeze hits and you blink, finding the Flash in front of you, depositing mostly empty cartons of hot dogs onto the counter, with a few of them still full. On their way to being empty, though, as he crams more into his mouth. A cup of cherry Slurpee finishes it off.
The Flash points a half-eaten hot dog at you. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”
You narrow your eyes. “I’m sorry?”
“No, no, not like that. You’ve just got this suspicion to you. This… paranoia. A paranoia that can only belong to someone from Gotham,” he says, nodding to himself. 
Well, that’s—
Hm.
A bit embarrassed to be caught out like that—because it isn’t the first time—you attempt to make up for it.
“I’m from Metropolis, actually.” 
Best to stay on the east coast. Even you couldn’t pass as someone from the west coast, like Star City or Coast City or something. 
Flash grins at you. “Liar.”
You aren’t used to this kind of playful banter. Certainly not from a literal superhero, from someone who regularly saves the world with the likes of Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman and more. You don’t think you expected the cold brutality the city gets from the Bats back home but… you didn’t expect this, either.
To get a much-needed sense of normalcy, you scan one of the hot dog cartons, adding them up on the screen.
“Was it that obvious? I wasn’t trying to be… I mean, I was, but, you know, I didn’t, um…”
You stop, cringing. Very eloquent and more than a little annoying, given your career choice. Can’t be like that when you get put on the spot. Even if it’s by a superhero. Especially if it’s by a superhero. Journalists are even worse, anyway…
“Relax, kid,” he laughs. “To tell you the truth, it was hard to miss but I’m sort of geared for that kind of thing, what with my choice in career.”
“Right.” You scan the Slurpee and take a drink of yours while he fiddles with some zipper in his suit. A deep red, with a purple tinge, a silver Flash symbol on his chest, and a cowl, but with the top free, showing off a shock of red hair, and his eyes still exposed. Pretty green.  
“But I do have an unfair advantage,” he goes on. “I see a similar look every time I have a League meeting.”
You blink. “The League…?”
“You should know. Your caped crusader, Batman. Of course, that’s also because he doesn’t like me—and the feeling is mutual, trust me—but, you know. Schematics. He sits right across from me and that’s all I get, this classic brand of Gothamite suspicion on top of the usual wordless Batman disapproval.”
“Should you be telling me that?”
He hands you a twenty. You pop open the register to break it. Another breeze hits and the empty cartons of hot dogs are shoved into the trash, with him eating the last one and on his way to finishing the large cup of cherry-flavored Slurpee. 
“I mean, what are you gonna do?”
“I don’t know,” you say lightly, calculating his change. “I could go to the press. Breaking News: Strife within the League. Tenuous relations between Batman and the Flash.”
“Oh, really?”
“That’s the press. A common dislike will absolutely turn into that in their headlines. They would take it and run.”
“That is true. You a journalist?” 
“Oh, no. Communications, with a concentration in public relations.”
Flash thinks on it for a second, finishing his hot dog, then the Slurpee. You partially expect him to get angry. It would be a justified reaction. He doesn’t know you and you don’t know him. You can admit that some of what you just said is a bit… imperious. Who are you to lecture him, right?
“You aren’t wrong,” he finally says, repeating his earlier words as the last hot dog carton and Slurpee cup disappear from the counter—thrown in the trash. 
“But,” he presses, accepting the change from you—a few dollars—then dropping it into your tip jar. “I know you aren’t going to take that to the press.”
“How’s that?” 
He points at you. “Because I don’t think you’re the kind of person to do that.”
“You’re appealing to my morals?”
“Yes. Is it working?”
“Not much work to be had,” you admit. “I was never going to. I was just…”
“Being nice and telling me I should watch what I say,” he finishes, grinning. “Which is true. All true. I just couldn’t help myself. What’s your name, kid?”
You tell him. He extends a hand.
“It’s nice to meet you. Welcome to Keystone City. Hope you enjoy your stay.”
A bit bemused, you nod politely and say, “Thanks.”
Before he can say anything else, he visibly tenses, lifting a hand to the Hermes-like wings at his ears, then, in the next blink, he is gone, off to stop someone or something, leaving you with a sharp gust of wind that rattles the windows and knocks the candy from the shelves under the counter onto the ground.
Well, then.
Talk about a first impression. 
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psychostxr · 1 year
Text
𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐬𝐭 | close one
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PAIRING. wally west x female! reader
WORD COUNT. 0.6k
WARNINGS. suggestive, wally and (y/n) are of age
KEYS. (y/n) - your name e.g. paige, sam, etc.            (l/n) - last name e.g. cole, thomas, etc.
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"You're such a cheat!" you exclaim, twisting your body to lay on your stomach across the floor in your bedroom.
Wally sits beside you, his grip on the game controller tightening.
Wally laughs. "I think you're just bad as this game."
Pouting, you watch the redhead beat your character, his fingers pushing buttons at the speed of sound. Suddenly smirking, you lift yourself, kneeling beside Wally. His gaze is locked on the TV screen, ignoring your stare. Lifting your chin, you move closer to Wally's ear and lightly nibble.
"Aah!"
Wally groans at the sensation, dropping the controller from his hands. He gently pushes you off him, watching you with a face as red as his hair.
You giggle. "You're cute when you're flustered."
Crawling over Wally, you straddle his waist. His hands trail over your sides, resting on your hips.
"You're a sore loser. You know that?"
"You're the one that's dating this sore loser."
"Touché."
Your hands cup Wally's cheeks, and you pull him toward you into a kiss. Your eyes close peacefully, your tongue tracing his lower lip for permission. Wally's eyes flutter close, allowing himself to get lost in your taste.
Wally tugs you closer by the waist as the kiss gets more heated, more sensual, needing to feel you closer each second. The hand on your waist suddenly disappears, slipping under your shirt to trace nonsensical patterns on your skin.
Pulling away from Wally, you grab the ends of your shirt and pull it over your head, tossing it on the floor. Wally's breath hitches at the sight of you, his gaze flickering back and forth from your face and the valley of your breasts.
"You like what you see?" you tease.
Wally looks up at you, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
"And what if I do?"
"Maybe you'll get a closer look."
Reaching to unclasp your bra, you nor Wally hear the keys jingling in the front door and the woman that walks inside. Her heels clink against the tiled floor, dropping her bag on the counter.
"(y/n), honey, I'm back!"
Your eyes widen.
"Oh my god!" you whisper, scrambling off Wally's lap.
"I thought you said she wouldn't be home?"
"Well, she obviously changed her mind."
"(y/n), are you here?" you hear your mother call.
Grabbing your shirt, you quickly put it back on.
"Yeah, I'm in my room!"
"What am I supposed to do?" Wally questions.
"Take out my workbooks. Make it look like we were studying," you whisper.
Wally grabs a few books from your bag, scattering them on your bed while hiding your gaming equipment. Your mother's footsteps creak against the stairs as you tidy yourself to look like you didn't come out of a makeout session. The door to your room opens, and you and your boyfriend quickly sit on the bed, watching your mom enter the room with surprise.
"Oh, I didn't realize you had company?"
Wally waves at your mom. "Hi, Miss (l/n)."
"Hello, Wally." She looks between the two of you, glancing at the books on your bed. "Are you two studying?"
"Yes!" you exclaim, internally cringing at your keen tone. "Wally was just trying to teach me science. You know how smart Wally is."
"Well, I'll leave you to go back to studying," your mother says, "It's nice to see you again, Wally."
"You too, Miss (l/n)."
The moment your mother closes the door behind her, you fall back against the bed, hand clutching your chest.
"That was a close one," you mutter.
Wally looks down at you. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we have a problem."
You sit up. "What?"
"She knows."
Tilting your head in confusion, Wally points at your books. Eyes scanning the books, you realize there's no science book in sight.
"Shit."
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stephstars08 · 1 month
Text
Boyfriend
Jason Todd x Reader
Warnings: Adult Language, Mention of Stealing, Alcohol, Sexual References, Sexual Contact, Sexual Themes, Implied Smut, Jealousy, Reader Being Taken Advantage, Angst, Nudity, Fluff, Buzz Driving, and Maybe Some Grammar Errors. (Sorry if I forgot any!!)
Summary: Jason met Y/N five months ago and ever since that night he became so intrigued with her. He knew she was different from all the other girls so it didn’t take long at all for him to fall for her. But the only problem for Jason is that Y/N keeps getting back together with a fuckboy. Jason tries all he can to get her to realize that he could be a better boyfriend than her on and off again ex. But one night he finally gets the opportunity to make it clear.
Inspired Song: Boyfriend by Dove Cameron
Word Count: 1,916
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Jason and Y/N have been best friends for about five years now. Y/N is also a vigilante but is more of an Anti-hero since she’s more on the bad side of the law than the good side of the law. The only time she was on the good side of the law is if someone wronged her.
How Jason and Y/N met was one night where Jason caught her stealing a prized sliver necklace for the most expensive jewelry shop in Gotham. She was stealing the necklace for someone in exchange for money which is what she does with a lot of crooks or mob bosses. Since Jason was so intrigued with Y/N he let her go and that’s how their story started.
Two months ago Jason let Y/N move into his apartment with him since she’s been having issues with her on and off again boyfriend, Rex. Jason has hoped that Y/N would forget that asshole and realize he could be a much better boyfriend but he’s had no luck. It always pisses Jason off when she goes back to that asshole.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Y/N and Jason were out at a Gotham nightclub with Roy since he just came into town for a visit. Jason was having a good time till Mr.Asshole showed up. Y/N was out on the dance floor grinding her ass all over Rex’s dick. Jason was standing at the bar with Roy glaring out at them.
“You glaring at them isn’t going to break them up.” Roy told him. “I can’t believe she keeps going back to that fuckboy.” Jason hissed looking away from the dance floor and grabbed his beer from the counter and took a big swing of the beverage. “Maybe if you actually make a move on her she won’t keep going back to that fuckboy.” Roy told him which made Jason slam the beer bottle back down on the counter. “Don’t you think I have fucking tried. It’s not that fucking easy.” Jason told him with anger in his voice. “Says the ladies man.” Roy said with a harsh laugh which just continued to piss Jason off. “You know what Roy.” Jason started as he could feel his blood boil. “Start minding your own fucking business.” Jason snapped and walked passed him. “Jason!” Roy called out to him over the music but Jason ignored him and kept on walking.
Jason had to squeeze his way through crowds of people to get to the men’s bathroom with was at the back of the nightclub. A couple of girls whistled at him but he just rolled his eyes and kept on walking. Getting laid would definitely help him but the girl he wants is grinding all over a different man.
When Jason walked into the bathroom he was relieved that no one was in there. He walked over to one of the sinks and turned on the cold water. He leaned over the sink and splashed the cold water on his face. Jason has only had two beers and one shot of whiskey but he could feel a small buzz coming. He turned the water off and stood back up. He grabbed a bunch of paper towel and dried his face off. He was hoping the cold water would cool off his anger and jealousy but it didn’t. He knew if he stayed he was going to do something he will regret in the morning so he’s just going to go back out there, tell Roy he’s calling it a night and go back to his apartment.
After Jason threw the paper towels in the trash can he walked out of the bathroom and back into the crowds of people. As Jason squeezed his way back to Roy the same girls called out to him again but again he ignored the again by rolling his eyes and walking. Jason looked around for Roy but he was nowhere to be found but he did see Y/N standing at the bar by herself so he walked over to her.
“Hey.” Jason said getting her attention. “Where is Roy at?” Jason asked her. “He met some horny chick so they left to go fuck at her place.” Y/N answered grabbed a shot and chugged it. She hissed at burning sensation in her throat from the whiskey.
“What about Rex?” Jason asked trying to show that he gives a fuck about that fucker. Y/N slammed the shot glass down on the counter which made Jason jump a little since he wasn’t expecting her to do that. “He fucking ditched me.” Y/N hissed. This isn’t the first time that Rex had ditched Y/N so that’s why Jason wasn’t surprised but he was pissed if even more now. “Why did he ditch you?” Jason asked trying his best to hide his anger the best he could. Let’s just say the only reason why Jason hasn’t beat the living shit out of Rex yet is because he knows Y/N could do it herself if she wanted to. “He wanted to go back to his place to hook up but I told him I didn’t want to leave you hear by yourself so he got pissed off and left.” Y/N explained to him.
“Listen-“ Jason started but she immediately cut him off. “Don’t fucking say it Jason!” Y/N hissed looking away from him. “Don’t say what?” Jason asked in confusion. “You stupid fucking pity speech.” Y/N snapped looking back at him. “I’m tired of hearing the same shit every fucking time.” She added which now set Jason off. “Well I wouldn’t keep telling you that shit if you would open your fucking eyes and stop going back to that fuckboy!” Jason said finally letting out the anger and frustration he’s been holding in. “Everytime you two break up I always see him fucking around with other girls. After he get’s ditched by them he goes running right back to you because he knows you’ll take him back.” Jason told her in stern tone. He was about to say more but he stopped himself when he saw tears forming and in Y/N’s eyes.
“It’s because I don’t know how to say no to him.” Y/N said with frustration in her voice. “I’m never going to learn my fucking lesson.” Y/N added looking away from Jason again. “Y/N, you are beautiful and you can find a much better boyfriend than Rex.” Jason told her which made Y/N scoff. “And who the fuck would that guy be?” Y/N said in annoyance wiping the tears from her eyes. “Maybe me.” Jason blurted out which quickly made Y/N look back at him. “What?” Y/N said in shock. “Oh fuck it.” Jason mumbled to himself.
He grabbed one of Y/N’s arms and pulled her body close to his. Before Y/N could say anything he smashed his lips onto hers. Y/N felt her whole body go into shock but she couldn’t pull away because the kiss felt so right. The kiss quickly turned into a make out session. Jason let go over her wrist and put his hands on her hips while her eyes wrapped around his neck. They broke the kiss when they needed air. They rested their foreheads against one another’s as they started to catch their breaths.
“How about we continue this in private.” Y/N said looking at him with lust in her eyes. “Where do you want to go?” Jason asked looking back at her with lust filled eyes. “How about your bedroom?” Y/N said as her lips curved into a smirk. Jason smirked back. “Let’s go.” Jason told her.
They left money for the drinks on the counter and walked out of the nightclub hand and hand. They got onto Jason’s motorcycle and he sped his way back to his apartment for a night he’s been waiting for since the first night he laid eyes on Y/N.
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The next morning Jason woke up with the best feeling in the world but it quickly faded away when he saw the other side of his bed empty. “Fuck!” Jason hissed. He pulled his bed sheets off his naked body and stood up. He walked over to his dresser and first pulled out a pair of boxers. He slipped on the boxers and then grabbed a black t-shirt out of the drawer. After he put on the t-shirt he walked out of his bedroom.
When he walked down the hall he stopped in front of Y/N’s room she wasn’t in there but he did notice the clothes she was wearing were laying on the end off her bed. Jason let out a heavy sigh as he ran a hand through his messy hair. Jason was a bit nervous that Y/N is thinking that what happened between them was just a drunken one night stand.
Jason walked into the living room to see no one in there. Roy must still be at his one night stand’s house. When he heard a noise coming from the small kitchen he knew Y/N must’ve been in there. Jason walked to the doorway of the kitchen to see Y/N pouring herself a cup of coffee. Jason knew she must’ve taken a shower since her hair was wet. He didn’t realize that he was just standing there staring at her till she said something to him.
“Want a cup of coffee?” Y/N asked him in a curious tone. “Oh yeah.” Jason answered walking towards her. He watched Y/N pull out a mug from the top cabinet and poured coffee into the mug. She handed the mug over to him. “Thanks.” Jason said carefully taking the mug and took a sip of it after blowing on it. “No problem.” Y/N told him. Jason set his mug down on the counter after taking a couple more sips. “So um how are you feeling?” Jason asked her. “I don’t have a hangover. I just had a buzz.” Y/N told him which made him feel a little bit relieved. “Me too.” Jason said and put his cup of coffee down on the counter.
Silence fell between the two till Y/N’s phone started to ring on the counter. When Y/N saw the caller ID she let out a groan and declined the call. “Who was that?” Jason asked since she declined the call before he could see the caller ID. “Who do you think?” Y/N said with annoyance. “Are you going to go back to him?” Jason asked with jealousy in his voice avoiding eye contact with her. He didn’t even try to hide his jealousy since they did just have sex about eight hours ago. “Well, it depends.” Y/N told him looking at him. Jason looked back at her with a confused look in his eyes. “Depends on if you meant what you said to me last night in the nightclub.” Y/N told him which made Jason’s lips curve up into a smile. He took one of her hands and held it. “I meant ever word I said to you last night.” Jason told her which made her smile.
She walked closer to him, leaned in and connected her lips with his’s for a soft kiss. Y/N put her other hand on his cheek and stoked it gently with her thumb which made him lean into her touch. “You can be a better boyfriend than him.” Y/N told him. “Damn fucking straight.” Jason said which made her giggle. She leaned in again and connected their lips for another sweet and soft kiss.
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lesbianbarbaragordon · 5 months
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Well, if you wanted honesty (that's all you had to say)
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He slumps against you now, once everything is set and done, leaning his sweaty forehead against your shoulder. His bangs, wet cold from the rain outside, tickle at your back. You don’t think much of it when you settle a hand on his back, nearly cradling him. He needs the comfort just as much as you do. pairing: tim drake x reader warning: brief mention of anxiety medication, implied panic attack word count: 1.6k
Red Robin would have been more lucky had he landed on your neighbor’s apartment just next door instead of yours.
You are majoring in journalism at college, despite how much your mother would have wanted you to become a doctor, so you have few first aid knowledge or even the cool head to deal with the shock. 
So really, he would have been better off slipping through her window and not yours, but it’s a friday night and you declined her invitation to go out around an hour ago, so you know he would have just found an empty apartment.
He has you, and only you, for better or for worse.
It’s a terrible, gruesome sight; a dark silhouette in the shape of a man slumped against the wall and a trail of blood following from the window.
You’re alone in your apartment, clad on some old pajamas and a messy bun. There’s an empty ramen cup on the coffee table leftover from your dinner and some trashy reality show playing in the background. You’d rather die a hundred times over before having a vigilante see you like this, uncared for and wide open, and the embarrassment still lingers even after the horror has long since settled in.
It’s silly, and stupid, and so so inconsequential in the mortal scheme of the scene playing out right in the middle of your living room, but you’ve been infatuated with Red Robin since he was just Robin, and a decade worth of daydreams crashes hard against your predicament. You didn’t want to meet him like this.
It takes you half a minute to adjust. Your hands are shaking when you lean against the sink of the bathroom, looking through your cupboard in search of your anxiety meds. If you’re already barely useful to Red Robin as you are, you’re definitely useless on the verge of a panic attack. By the time you are back to Red Robin’s side it’s easier to breathe and you bring a first aid kit with you. You hope you don’t look as terrified as you feel.
Red Robin is breathing through his mouth, clutching both hands to a belt buckled around his hips. A big puddle of red has started pooling around him on the floor, and it takes you a minute to realize the red around his belly is darker than his suit. You grab at his hands and take a deep breath, thinking your words over.
“I need to see the wound.” He is eerily quiet and tense to the touch. He doesn’t trust you and you don’t trust him either. Despite your fondness for him over other vigilantes you don’t know him, he showed up uninvited and you are scared. This is a situation of wary hospitality, some sort of leap of faith between the both of you.
Slowly he relents, perhaps because he’s too tired and hazy to put up a fight, or maybe because he sees good faith in your eyes. Whatever the case, you get to work.
The belt doesn’t come off easily and at some point you just settle on cutting it off. Red Robin weakly gestures to one of the pockets, where you find more first aid supplies; a medical needle, stitches, painkillers and some sort of dark lump that reveals itself to be a retractable tourniquet when you accidentally press a bottom. 
The implication that he has to carry around a travel size tourniquet makes you dizzy, thinking about just what kind of job he expects to take on, but you don’t dwell on it because you have already taken a dose of your meds and another one would be no use.
His suit is skin tight and he has to help you lift the shirt to see the wound. His body is sticky with sweat and the blood doesn’t make it any better. For a fleeting moment you think about calling emergencies, what do heroes do when they get hurt? Surely you would have seen more of Batman’s cryptic team during your childhood at the hospital if that were the case. Perhaps some sort of private clinic for vigilantes, paid for by the Justice League? Maybe they just dropped in unannounced at a stranger’s house expecting patching up and it was like one of those things everyone knew but no one mentioned.
“Believe me, this is a first.”
There’s a slight smile teasing at his words and despite the situation you shudder, followed up by an intense blushing in your cheeks and ears. God, did you really say that outloud?
“I just-” you stop in your tracks for a minute, focusing on the blood in your nails and fingers, “this doesn’t make any sense,” you admit, frowning slightly.
Red Robin leans his head against the windowsill, letting out a shudder. His shoulders relax the slightest bit, you hear the beating of his heart and his ragged breaths. He’s in pain, awake perhaps only because he can’t afford to fall asleep on a stranger. You never thought you’d find yourself here.
“It doesn’t make any sense to me either,” he whispers in the end. You can’t tell if he’s looking you in the eyes because of his domino mask, and there’s resentment in your mind for a second because he barged in, seeing you at your most vulnerable, while you can’t even know the color of his eyes. It feels a little unfair and it makes you understand, in a way, all those criticisms of secret vigilantes and superheroes whose identities the public doesn’t know.
But you don’t entertain the thought, because even if just from the remains of your childhood wonder, there’s the littlest of belief in Batman and Robin.
Red Robin tries to guide you, but he slips in and out of consciousness throughout and you can’t remain stagnant while he’s out of it. He tells you he’s bleeding from a bullet wound and that his communications were cut short before he had to run for it and look for shelter. By the time he realized, he was alone, half delirious and in desperate need of medical aid. He doesn’t tell you why he went to your place, exactly, and you have half your mind to know it wasn’t a mistake. Bats don’t make reckless decisions, especially not Red Robin, but you bite your tongue and hold it in. Distrust would do neither of you any good.
Thankfully the bullet pierced cleanly all the way through and you don’t have to look for bits or pieces to take out. By the time you’re done disinfecting Red Robin’s taken a few painkillers and he doesn’t sound as in pain, if not a little hazy from blood loss. The staple you got earlier from his belt saves you the trouble of sewing the wound, the bleeding has already stopped and you can comfortably work on it while he drinks some cold water from the fridge, hissing whenever you place a new stitch.
Sweat dots your brow once you’re done, letting out a heavy sigh. Red Robin is much the same, cold to the touch and yet hot when he breathes against your neck. As time passed he leaned closer and closer to you, whispering and instructing, sometimes even leaning on you for support when a sudden wave of weakness hit him and he was left stumbling.
He slumps against you now, once everything is set and done, leaning his sweaty forehead against your shoulder. His bangs, wet cold from the rain outside, tickle at your back. You don’t think much of it when you settle a hand on his back, nearly cradling him. He needs the comfort just as much as you do.
The TV sets an eerie light on the both of you, and in the quiet of the room you help Red Robin stand up and settle on your couch. His white bandages a contrast against the colorful cushions and a blanket you hand him without a word.
“I’ll leave in the morning,” you hear him say sleepily once he’s tucked in, looking at you almost shamefully. You come to a full stop on the doorway, just about to leave for the corridor and then your bedroom, ready to settle for sleep just as much as Red Robin. Now that everything is over, you are uncharacteristically sore for the one that hasn’t been shot.
“I know,” you say, after taking a moment to drink him in. You know his face from photos, or at least what you’ve seen over the years of ever changing masks and cowls. His youthful cheeks that were once Robin’s baby features are gone, replaced by a sharp jaw and cutting features. He’s grown up much like you, even if he’s felt like an eternal teen boy heartthrob crush for your high school years.
You don’t know what to make of it, of him, of this or even of you, of the you that’s resurfaced today even if just for the smallest of moments or the quiet bond that’s bloomed between you. Because it means something to you, and luckily it’s the same for him.
“Don’t stain my cushions,” you say, the slightest hint of amusement in your voice. “Even if you’re Red Robin, i’ll foot you the bill.”
He blinks owlishly at you, hit by your shamelessness into quiet bafflement.
“Goodnight,” you say at last, leaving before he gets out a word.
In the morning he’s gone just like he said, and yet you are surprised to see a single note on the counter.
‘I’ll bring you new cushions, thanks for the help’.
It’s signed only with ‘Red’, but you didn’t expect much else. It makes you wonder though, when exactly he’ll bring over those new cushions.
an: i'm soso sleepy rn i'd elaborate on my process but its rlly late and i have class tmrw, i hope everyone enjoys this mwah !!!
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jacelion · 3 months
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Kara is smothering Y/N with kisses.
Y/N, laughing: Stop, I can't breathe!
Y/N takes off, super speeding into the city. Kara follows, both of them laughing all the way.
Kara: Get back here! I'm not finished!
You make your way to Kara's apartment. Kara zooms in the window, tackling you to the floor.
Kara: Now, where were we?
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Wear what you want I can fight
A/N: Surprisingly this one won so here you go, just did the boys I thought fit the best. Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoy 💖
Dick Grayson
You can feel his gaze on you as you secure your accessories.
“Do I look bad?” You ask, meeting his eyes in the mirror.
He fidgets.
“N-no, of course not.” It’s true, you could never look bad, not to him — not even when you woke up with drool dripping from the corner of your mouth and smeared across your chin.
“I thought you were going to wear that blue outfit though? The one with all the sparkles.” You flush at the mention. The blue outfit had been your first choice, but—
“It’s kind of…revealing, don’t you think?”
The corner of his mouth twitches up.
“Baby, you know you can wear whatever you want right? I can fight”
Jason Todd
Jason gives out a lie wolf whistle when you walk into the room, an eyebrow quirked up as his eyes shamelessly roam over your body.
“Wow, you’re trying to turn everyone on, huh?”
You roll your eyes. You’re wearing a turtleneck sweater and a pair of modest black pants—not anything eye catching, let alone revealing.
You smile when he walks closer, his arms wrapped around your midsection and his lips pressed against your temple.
“Don’t worry babe, dress as slutty as you want—I can fight.”
Duke Thomas
He covers his mouth the second you step out. Shoulders trembling as he purses his lips.
“Hot right?”
He can’t hold it in anymore. The laughter tumbles out of his mouth is barks and howls, he laughs so hard tears fall from the corners of his eyes.
“Where’d you even get a Pokémon onesie?”
“Is it to promiscuous? I mean, I know you can fight babe, but I’m not trying to get in the middle y’know?”
Another wave of laughter.
Damian Wayne
“Damian,” you hiss his name, calling his attention down to you. Your lavender ensemble sways around you. A moment prior you’d been happy with it—that was until you noticed everyone else attending the gala was wearing white and black. “Why didn’t you tell me this ball had a dress code?!”
Damian doesn’t even flinch, plucking two champagne glasses from a waiter nearby.
“You look good in it.” Like that’s all there is to the matter, you look good in this outfit and you like it so what does it matter what the dress code is? “Drink.” He presses the champagne flute into your hand, and since it can’t get any worse, you down it all in one gulp, grabbing the second one to sip from.
“Trust me beloved,” his eyes narrow at the participants that were eyeing you with snickers earlier who immediately flinch away when his gaze flits to them. “No one will dare criticize you—not if they know what’s good for them.”
A/N: As always please leave a like, reblog, or comment if you enjoyed and stay tuned for my next poll to pick what blurb I do!
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angelltheninth · 7 months
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Hi I have a request. I like the idea of big, strong men being totally weak because the 🐱 is so good, so can we please have some writings of Bruce and Clark whining and moaning cuz their s/o is riding them expertly to the point that they can’t even remember their own name if they tried
Bruce was a bit more of a challenge for this one but I always like a challenge.
Pairing: Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent x Fem!Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, cock riding, edging, overstimulation, whimpering, restrains, orgasm delay
A/N: Subby Clark is easy to write, subby Bruce not so much.
BRUCE
He will only whimper if you make sure he has no other way of taking control over the situation. The man has to be restrained to the bed, handcuffs around his wrists and be edged for hours on end, the tip of his cock so fucking wet with cum you can barely even see it among the white beads if it.
Eventually you will let him come but he needs to beg for it, set his stupid pride aside for once and admit when he's been beaten, when he's at someone else's mercy. Bruce's cock twitches with need whenever you pull out and on that latest one you hear it, a whimper from his lips, a sign that he's admitted defeat and is allowed to come.
CLARK
Will whimper very easily for such a big, tough man. Literally the strongest person on the planet and he can't win against the way you use your pussy on his cock. Might as well be his new Kryptonite at this point because he's on his knees as soon as he knows he can eat you out.
He is a very loud man when it comes to expressing his pleasure, you had to get soundproof walls because of it. He always whimpers when you edge him, even at the mention of the act his cock is already hard and ready to go. Thanks to his stamina he can last for a very long time but his cum shots always end up being a lot to take.
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k2ntoss · 1 month
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red hood, big guy that carries guns on every single pocket he has EXCEPT for that one pocket that he keeps full of cat treats so everytime he goes into an alley and finds a stray (or not) cat he kneels and feeds it so it's pretty common to see him with his arm extended at a cat while he goes "pstpstpst here, kitty kitty" with his softest voice
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fandomnerd9602 · 2 months
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Bryce Wayne, the Batwoman, introduces eight year old Damian to Y/N…
Y/N: so you have a son? Besides the ones I knew about?!
Bryce: his father and the League of Shadows took him when he was born. It was before you and I met.
Damian: so are you and my mom like a thing?
Y/N: yep. I’m a Kryptonian superhero too.
Damian: ever killed bad guys?
Y/N: all the time
Bryce: babe!
Damian: Y/N, you’re cool! can you adopt me?!
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For @wildcardjgambit
Fan Cast: Hayley Atwell as Bryce Wayne
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moonlit-imagines · 1 month
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Robin and the Stray (Part 1)
Dick Grayson x reader
warnings:
a/n: you already know this is based off of an oc and you already know im gonna write it like its just your average y/n. i dont even know if yall hate this or not but TOO BAD (im kidding please start paying attention to this blog again i long for the days i mattered)
prompt:
part 2
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Gotham City, all the way back when you were kids. Didn’t feel like it, though. Not when you two were up all night off on adventures—more like missions—and occasionally crossing paths. Batman and Robin weren’t too fond of you and Catwoman giving them headaches from time to time with your heists and all that fun stuff. But sooner or later they cracked and started letting you two off the hook.
The flirting was just playful at first, a literal get-out-of-jail free card, if you will. But somewhere down the line, you started to mean it. You liked your time spent with Robin, and every once in a while you’d even let him catch you.
Nights that you and Selina split up, the Bat and the Bird had to do the same. That’d when you got him alone. And after a while, you’d just end up on a random rooftop teasing him in some silly, flustering way. A cute comment here and there to let him know you were still interested. Jumping across rooftops and crawling up fire escapes to keep him on his toes while you talked. Although you were still strangers out of these costumes, you still managed to drop a little personal detail every once in a while to bond. Part of you worried if he was only letting you escape to trick you into some false sense of security, lately you’ve been returning stolen goods to him just to see him again.
And night after night there were new encounters, only in these you weren’t really doing anything wrong. Just pouncing around and watching the city, almost like you were on patrol. You could tell him you were just watching over Gotham while he was elsewhere.
It was funny how awkward he was at first when you met. But it’d been some months since the Cats got out of the bag, and Selina was starting to warm up to Batman, too. It was kind of cute. Robin seemed so much more confident talking to you nowadays, he flirted back and laughed with you and pretended you got away when Batman asked where you went (oh, and Catwoman also got away!).
There was one particular night that you’ll never forget. This one night where you’d just snuck out to be in the city, secretly hoping Robin was out, too. All suited up in your catlike garb roaming the streets and rooftops of Gotham, and hours went by without a sighting of your special guy. You sat at the ledge of a rooftop overlooking Downtown Gotham—a bit too close to GCPD, but maybe that was where you needed to be.
It wasn’t long before Robin saw a figure concerningly close to the edge of a high building, and he could just barely make out those cat ears on your head. He awkwardly split off from Batman, who warned him not to do anything stupid. They had just put away a D-list villian and, let’s face it, they’re the most annoying ones to deal with and Batman now had to wash ketchup and mustard out of the crevices of his armor.
Robin met you up top, cheeks warming when he saw your immediate smile when you turned around, he gave you the same one. “Do you want to get a pizza?” He asked you with a shrug and a tilt of his head. You furrowed your brows just barely. “I guess not?”
“I mean—sure. But you want to go now? Like, dressed like this?” You sort of giggled, leaning into the idea just a little.
“Why not?” Robin asked you, eyes gleaming with just a bit of boy wonder. “Gotham’s seen weirder.”
“How’s that gonna affect your ‘image,’ huh? A good boy like you hanging out with the likes of a cat burglar, what would dear old Jim Gordon have to say?” You kept teasing him, but it seemed he was set on the idea. “You don’t even care, do you, Birdy?”
“I don’t, actually.” He said, extending his gloved hand to you. You accepted his help off the ledge and got to your feet.
“Got a place in mind?” You asked him as he walked off without an answer. “Okay, Batman.” You crossed your arms and walked behind him, only half-amused with his manners. But he was still cute the way he acted like Batman in those bright colors and tight pants. At least they’d been tweaked over the past few months, you couldn’t tell if he’d hit some kind of growth spurt or he just really liked tight clothes.
“See that sign over there?” Robin pointed down the street, a bright neon sign displayed the word “PIZZA” in red lettering, encased in a yellow circle you assumed was also pizza. “Twenty-four hours. You’ll be glad to know they do their best work in these hours.”
“You mean ‘vigilante hours?’” You joked, nudging him with your elbow.
“Something like that.” He nudged back. Suddenly, he leaped off the edge of the building—which actually wasn’t that tall if you were used to this sort of thing—and used a grapple gun to break the landing.
“Wow. We’re doing this, huh.” You equipped a whip and secured it to the neighboring building, descending yourself in a much more anticlimactic way—but still impressive if you weren’t used to this sort of thing. “Show off.”
“Had to do it one of these days, you’re always one-upping me.” He said walking forward, just a casual stroll down the streets of Gotham in costume, ignoring any pedestrians or nearby residents that may be up this late. Part of you hoped that you’d run into trouble just to see how it’d feel to fight side by side, show him you’re more than just mischief, you’re a bit kickass, too.
After a few minutes of chatting, the pair of you made it to the pizza shop. Robin opened the door for you where the bell above the door chimed when you entered. The employees watched as two masked freaked walked inside and casually asked what they could get for you. You shrugged when Robin looked at you for your preference, letting him pick for you. Then he pulled out a couple twenty dollar bills from his pocket and told them “keep the change.”
“Got any more of those for me?” You batted your eyes and tilted your head.
“You want to get paid for this date?” He chuckled, wondering if he should make his next joke, but he knew you had a sense of humor. “Wouldn’t that make you a hooker?” You broke into laughter that he joined in on and tapped him on the arm.
“Hey, whatever you wanna call me. As long as I get a couple bucks, what’s the harm?” You joked back and Robin thought to himself how nice your genuine laughter was, not just those careful little chuckles and giggles were. Your true smile was goofy and brilliant to him. Lost in the moment, your order was called up and the two of you left the shop with a hot box of pizza.
“Hold this real quick?” Robin handed the box off to you, then grabbed your waist and grappled to a nearby rooftop as you squealed from surprise.
“What ever happened to a gentlemanly warning? I could have dropped the pizza!” You told him as he took it back.
“Looks good to me.” He peeked in and brought it to another ledge. “I take it you like the view?”
“What do you mean?” You walked closer and took a seat.
“I always see you sitting or standing on the edge of these buildings. You just brooding?” He raised a brow.
“That’s more of a Batman thing.” You took a piece of pizza and took a bite.
“Then tell me why you’re always hanging out on tall buildings.”
“I like looking around, is that a crime?” You asked with a mouthful of cheese and bread.
“No, but breaking and entering is. And stealing, of course.” He took a slice and sat beside you. Below your dangling feet was just another street of Gotham City, a street he protected and you would just watch. Nothing special about it, especially since there were no museums or penthouses here.
You sat with your hands at your sides, leaning forward a bit to get a better view of the ground. It was then that you felt a gentle touch, Robin’s hand on yours. You glanced at him from the side and he saw as your lip curled slightly. If you didn’t know any better, you might have seen him blush. It was strange in a way, feeling so drawn to someone without a name. “Robin” had a nice ring to it, though.
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