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sillygoose067 · 2 months ago

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I Know Love

"I know love when it hits, when it hits, when it hits Yeah, I know love, yeah" - I Know Love by Tate Mcrae

Synopsis: When Dick catches you admiring his latest magazine cover, he’s all teasing grins and smug charm, but you’re not jealous—you know exactly what it’s like to fall for him. Playful banter turns into tangled limbs and lingering kisses, a reminder that no matter how irresistible he looks on glossy pages, it’s you he comes home to.

The apartment was quiet, the golden glow of the kitchen light casting a warm hue over the countertops as the faint scent of something savory filled the air. You stirred the simmering pot on the stove absentmindedly, the rhythmic clatter of the spoon against the sides filling the space. Every so often, your gaze flickered toward the magazine resting on the counter—the one you had definitely not meant to linger on this long.

And yet, there he was.

Dick Grayson, Gotham’s golden boy, striking a pose that could make anyone stop and stare. The fully unbuttoned white shirt highlighted every muscle, the perfect shadows cast just right to make him look both dangerous and irresistible. His smirk was captured mid-twist, exuding a confidence that sent shivers down your spine, even though you’d seen this look a million times before. He always looks good, you thought, biting your lip as you traced the edge of the page with your fingertips. But something about seeing him like this—glossy, untouchable, and gracing the pages of a magazine meant for the whole world to admire—made your stomach flutter.

Not because you were jealous. No, not at all. You were proud—so proud. Gotham might have its "Billionaire Playboy Wayne Heir", but you were the one who got to experience him up close, the softness behind the bravado, the boyish laughter, the way he melted into you when no one else was watching.

Just as you exhaled a dreamy sigh, the front door clicked open.

You panicked.

With a squeak, you snatched the magazine off the counter and spun around, shoving it into the nearest drawer. The sound of boots being toed off and a heavy sigh of exhaustion echoed from the doorway.

“You home?”

His voice was warm, familiar, and filled with that casual ease that made your heart flutter every time. You turned, trying to act nonchalant as he stepped into the kitchen, his presence instantly filling the space. He looked tired but good—his sweat-soaked hair clinging slightly to his forehead, his jacket slung lazily over one shoulder.

You smiled, stirring the pot as if you hadn’t just been caught red-handed. “Mm-hm. Just finishing up dinner.”

Dick’s sharp blue eyes flicked to the drawer you had so suspiciously lunged for a moment ago. A slow, knowing grin crept onto his lips as he stepped closer. “What was that?”

“What was what?” you asked, feigning innocence.

“That thing you just very obviously hid.” His grin widened as he leaned in, resting a hand on the counter beside you, effortlessly caging you in.

Your heart did a little flip. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh?” He quirked an eyebrow, his fingers already reaching toward the drawer.

You gasped, trying to block him, but he was faster. With a smooth motion, he plucked the magazine from its hiding spot and flipped it open, his own face staring back at him. His smirk was immediate. “Ohhh, this is what you were up to?”

Your face burned. “Dick—”

“You were admiring me, huh?” He grinned, teasingly flipping through the pages. “Damn. I do look good.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “You always look good, but this is different!”

“Oh? Different how?” He leaned in again, his nose brushing against your temple, his voice dipping just enough to make your stomach twist. “Go on, tell me.”

You turned your head slightly, your breath hitching as you met his gaze—so close, so playful. “Just… you look really confident here.” Your fingers nervously toyed with the hem of your shirt. “And everyone’s talking about you.”

His smirk softened into something more genuine. “But you’re the only one I care about.” His knuckles brushed along your jaw before he leaned down and kissed your forehead, his lips lingering. “You do know that, right?”

“I know,” you whispered, smiling as you tilted your head up, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw. “I’m just proud of you.”

His expression melted into something tender before he sniffed the air and grinned. “Something smells good.”

You perked up. “It’s almost ready! Go freshen up, and we can eat.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a playful salute before stealing another kiss—this time on your cheek—before heading toward the bathroom.

By the time he emerged, fresh and relaxed in a soft tee and sweatpants, you had already set the table. He practically moaned when he took his first bite, making you laugh. “God, I love you.”

You giggled. “That good?”

“The best,” he said, flashing you a grin before shoveling another bite into his mouth. “You spoil me.”

You shrugged playfully, nudging his foot under the table. “I hope Alfred never hears this conversation-- And you deserve it.”

The meal stretched on with easy conversation, the two of you falling into that comfortable rhythm that made your apartment feel like home. Afterward, he insisted on doing the dishes while you wiped down the counters, occasionally splashing water at you like a child.

When the chores were finally done, you stretched with a yawn. “Bed?”

Dick grinned, waggling his eyebrows. “Thought you’d never ask.”

You barely had time to settle into the pillows before WHUMP—Dick flopped onto you dramatically, pinning you beneath him.

“Dick!” you wheezed.

He grinned, resting his full weight on you like a lazy cat. “Mmm. Comfy.”

“You’re crushing me.”

“Shh,” he mumbled into your shoulder, pressing a kiss there. “Just let it happen.”

You huffed, trying (and failing) to push him off. But then he started peppering kisses along your jaw, your cheek, your nose—little presses of warmth that sent soft shivers down your spine.

Your protest melted into a quiet giggle. “You big dork.”

“Your big dork,” he corrected, nudging his nose against yours before pressing a longer, slower kiss to your lips.

The weight of him pressed down over you, solid and there, like he belonged against you and nowhere else. His arms were snug around your waist, his legs tangled with yours under the blankets, completely unconcerned about the fact that he was definitely squishing you.

You huffed, shifting slightly. “Dick, I need to breathe.”

A muffled grumble was his only response, his face buried against the curve of your neck. “Breathing’s overrated.”

“I don’t think so.”

He let out a dramatic sigh, finally loosening his grip just enough for you to adjust. But instead of rolling off you, he stayed close, nosing along your jaw like he was committing the feel of you to memory. “Mmm. Better?”

It was so unfair how effortlessly he could send heat curling through you with something as simple as that. His lips brushed your skin—soft, teasing, there just long enough to make your stomach flutter. The way he moved, lazy and affectionate, was completely intoxicating.

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. “Better.”

But he didn’t stop.

His fingertips traced slow, featherlight circles along your waist, dragging his touch up your spine in a way that made your breath catch.

“Dick—”

“Shhh,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your shoulder now. “Too sleepy for anything, just… lemme be close.”

Your heart squeezed at that, your frustration melting away instantly.

Because that was him—as much as he could tease, as much as he could turn up the heat and make you flustered beyond belief, he was just as easily this: your drowsy, touch-starved, ridiculously affectionate boyfriend who wanted nothing more than to exist in your space.

So you let him.

You ran your fingers through his hair, nails grazing his scalp in the way you knew he loved. Sure enough, he let out a soft hum of appreciation, nuzzling deeper into your touch.

“Love that,” he murmured.

“I know,” you teased gently, continuing to card your fingers through the silky strands.

His breathing slowed slightly, growing heavier, and for a moment, you thought he might actually drift off.

Then, he shifted, just enough to press another lazy, lingering kiss to your collarbone. “Love you.”

Something warm and unbearably fond unfurled in your chest.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

He let out a soft, content sigh, his arms tightening around you. “Good.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple. His skin was warm, his body completely relaxed against yours, and his breathing had evened out into that slow, steady rhythm that meant he was on the verge of sleep.

But just as you were about to close your own eyes, he stirred again.

“…Love you,” he mumbled, softer this time, like he just needed to say it again before he let sleep take him.

Your chest ached in the best way.

You turned your head, brushing a kiss to his forehead, his nose, his cheek, taking your time like he had all the time in the world.

“Love you too,” you murmured against his skin.

Finally, he stilled completely, letting out one last sleepy breath before slipping under.

And as you lay there, wrapped in him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, you realized something—this moment, this feeling, was what love was supposed to be. Warm, easy, and safe.

And with that thought, you let yourself drift off too, perfectly content in the arms of the man who was yours.

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