#ler!dickgrayson

[justkiddingguys]

could you maybe pretty pls write a batfam fic pretty please with a cherry on top your hcs are so good maybe something with lee damian???

please?

GRAYSON.

A/N: SORRY CHAT i havent posted anything since the hc’s because I LIED im not a real writer /hj. ANYWAYS oh Damian Wayne, they could never make me hate you. He’s my little baby child and I would give him everything ever in the world. Also I’m a sucker for Damian angst so SORRY but that’s what you’re GETTING. (It’s mild trust) (It turns to fluff I promise.)

Warnings/Content: THIS IS NOT A FUCKING SHIP I WILL KILL ANYONE. ANYONE WHO SUGGESTS AS MUCH. Tickling. MILD Angst. LMK if I missed anything :D

One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. Of course Damian is above jabs and crosses. It’s strength training. Repetitive motion, building callouses, burning the old muscle. That’s what he keeps reminding himself. His father’s way of training was so much more… gentle. Sometimes it made him feel inadequate. Like he wasn’t doing enough if it didn’t look flashy, if it wasn’t backbreaking or risky. He decides to add a couple different types of punch to his routine. That won’t hurt, right?

He really does try to stick to simple strengthening punch combinations, but once he goes in with an uppercut, muscle memory starts kicking in. His grandfather’s disapproving face. The sound of a kick when it pushes into flesh. Muscle versus fat versus bone.

Eyes on your surroundings—

Hand on his shoulder—

Grab flip jump… get flipped? …Grayson.

He slowly comes back from his memory-induced state, lying on his back. In his trance, he’d grabbed Dick, who had placed his hand on his shoulder, and attempted to flip him over his shoulder, only to get himself flipped in turn. And of COURSE Damian was good enough to recover from that. He just… chose not to for the time being.

“Hey little wing,” Dick smiles widely, amused at the position. However, his eyes carry a hint of concern. His brother had been more in the zone than usual, which was saying something.

Damian scoffs at the childish nickname. “What do you want Grayson?” he glowers. Here it comes— the big long Dick Grayson spiel of how he’s concerned, how Damian needs a break, how if he ever wants to talk-

“Nothing, just bored,” Dick smiles. His carefree Dick Grayson smile. Not a lecture or concern in sight. This is a relief to Damian. Or… it should be a relief. Not having to sit through another infantilizing, obnoxious session of worry. A silly talk of… affection and care and love.

He can’t help but feel a little… disappointed? Dick always had something to say when he was upset. He brushed it off and cleared his throat. “Right,” Damian agreed and nodded.

Dick nods nonchalantly and goes to sit on the bench, pulling out his phone. This continues to confuse Damian. He huffs and goes back to hitting the bag.

His jabs and crosses start to feel like thoughts and feelings. One. Two. One. Two. Grayson doesn’t care. One. Two. Why would he? One. Two. One. There’s nothing to care about anyways. One. Two. Chafing knuckles, fraying wood. One, two, two one five one two— Hands around his body, staying him… hugging him.

That’s when Damian realizes why he’s so aggravated. Dick’s arms feel like warm water on aching, freezing muscles. His irritation melts like butter in the sun. It only lasts a second though, before he squirms out, saving his pride.

“What are you doing, Grayson?” he questions reproachfully. Dick just smiles. “You were getting kind of intense,” he says gently. Damian tries to ignore the way his care makes him feel soft.

“I am training, Grayson, it’s meant to be intense-“ Damian is cut off by the slightest gasp when Dick reaches for his side, trying to wrangle him into another hug. The touch sets Damian’s nerves on fire, sending heat to his face. He flinches away on instinct.

This makes Dick furrow his brows. “Are you hurt there? I thought you were supposed to be off duty this week,” Dick crosses his arms. Damian huffs out a breath. “I am not hurt,” he scoffs. Dick doesn’t take that answer, of course. He quickly grabs Damian’s arm, holding it up, pulling Damian against him gently with his leg. His fingers tenderly prod into the spot he’d grabbed, feeling for bruising or fractures.

Damian lets in a sharp breath and jerks away, unable to hide a small smile. Damn his sides. “Don’t touch me, Grayson,” he growls, trying (and failing) to sound threatening with a nervous smile making its way onto his features.

Dick finally comes to the same revelation that Damian had had minutes prior: The boy wants touch, but he wouldn’t be caught dead allowing it. When he flashes that stupid, evil grin, Damian’s stomach flutters with anticipation.

“Grayson,” he starts, backing up. “Yes, wing?” Dick asks innocently, stalking him slowly. “Grayson, you’re being unreasonable,” Damian pleads halfheartedly. “I haven’t done anything yet,” Dick smirks. “RICHARD—“

Dick tackles Damian to the mat. Damian would never admit it, but he absolutely let it happen.

During his half-hearted struggles, Dick has managed to seat his stupid bodyweight on Damian’s hips. That sets a new wave of dread through Damian, who has no time to protest before he feels ten fingers pinching and wiggling in his lower sides.

The screech Damian let out was unholy. “Wahahait WAIT Grahayson nonononoHO STOHOP!!” he squealed. This was utterly undignified. And both of them reveled in it.

“What’s wrong, baby bird? Does it ticke?” he asks, using the t-word without a second thought. Dick keeps his tickles consistently rough. He smiles down, sparing the boy the humiliation of having to say he likes the torment. The thought of coherently allowing soft tickles is like drinking acid to the poor boy’s mind.

“GRAHAYSON” Damian gasps and giggles, his face increasingly warm. “Uh oh… I think it might be time to move up a spot,” Dick smiles affectionately. His fingers wander up to Damian’s muscular ribs.

Damian’s hands, which had been loosely resting on Dick’s wrists, came up to cover his face. This was nice. It felt… normal. Caring. But so embarrassing. His snickers from the fingers in his ribs were muffled against his arms.

“Are you hiding from me?” Dick teased. Damian felt so silly, but he couldn’t do anything but nod and squirm. His raised arms were his downfall.

“I love you, little wing,” Dick cooed, and wiggled his fingers into his armpits.

“PFFFFNHNHN YOHOU ARE HOHOOOORIBLEHEHEHE!” Damian cackled, feeling very much the opposite.

Dick’s fingers are too nimble, too fast, too mean. Damian can’t think. He snorts and screams and twists and giggles. Dick just smiles affectionately.

His fingers continue to bully the boy for a while, until his laughs become silent. Quickly, the older boy lets up. Damian quickly crawls himself away, curling up on the mat and giggling with aftershocks. Dick crawls over to him. Damian remains in a defensive pose, but Dick just pulls him into his lap, stroking the tickles off of him.

He’s too tired to protest. He lays into his big brother’s chest. They sit like that for a while, just letting themselves calm down.

“I love you, wing.”

“Screw you, Grayson.

… I… love you too.”