CHAPTER 1 — You never imagined that your potential new co-star—and your character’s love interest—would turn out to be the person you hated the most.
!!: angst. fem!reader. no use of y/n. enemies to lovers. no-capes + fame au. second person narrator. reader's pov (dick is not ooc, it's just reader's perception of him at the beginning of the story, give it time). +2.7k words.
A/N: It's finally here!!! thank you to my beloved moots, @fancy-possum for explaining me everything I needed to know about the audition process, and @jxn3 for proofreading and editing this. And thank you for 400 followers. As always, comments and reblog as most appreciated.
[serie masterlist] ; [prologue] [next chapter]
The first time you saw Dick Grayson was at the cinema, when you were eleven years old. Your father, extremely happy that his daughter had developed an interest in his favourite movie saga of all time, had decided to take you to the cinema to watch the latest movie of the franchise.
It was not a secret that Bruce Wayne in the leading role was fantastic, the best decision the casting directors could have made for the main character, but the real newness was Dick Grayson's first appearance on the big screen.
That day, you came out of the cinema with the dream of becoming an actress self-confirmed, and a new crush: Bruce Wayne’s adoptive son, who became Hollywood's greatest promise from that day on.
An innocent crush at eleven was nothing compared with the wave of obsessive fangirls Dick had once he turned sixteen. All the teenage girls were divided into two groups: The ones madly in love with Justin Bieber, and the ones who were head over heels for Dick Grayson.
You, of course, were part of the second group. Because the guy was handsome, talented, rich, and also only one year older than you.
At eighteen, your parents started letting you send auditions for small roles or parts in commercials. If you were lucky enough, you were contacted to be an extra in a very small production. No lines, or more than ten seconds on screen, but it was better than nothing.
At twenty-two, you were finally noticed by a big production, giving you a supporting role with some lines in just one episode of a series.
And at twenty-five, you finally started to be known in the industry. Your life changed, you had a reputation as an actress: you were famous now. And who would have told you that one year later you would have met your first crush ever and be completely disappointed by him?
You had seen Dick on the red carpet. With a wide, white, and charming smile and a perfectly tailored deep navy blue suit. He stood tall in front of all the cameras, while being showered by the flashes. It was impressive how much time he could hold it without blinking, even though the lights were blinding him. It was probably the years of practice, of growing up in front of cameras, that he must be used to them by now.
He looked ethereal, and you felt out of place. You had won your place in that industry with your blood, sweat, and tears. You deserved your spot at that award show. But seeing him so natural, just like the other actors, actresses, movie directors, and important figures around you, made you feel strange.
A weird feeling of not belonging, of not being good enough to step on the same floor they were walking on, settled in your heart, making it feel heavy.
And you had been so excited of just greeting Dick, telling him how much you admired him as a person and as an actor, but before you could you heard it .
“They have offered me another role for this movie that’s going to be filmed somewhere in France. It’s been so long since I did a proper audition, I kinda miss it.”
It was nothing bad, just Dick Grayson, the talented actor you had followed your entire teenage years, confessing to his friends that it had been a while since he did his very last audition. Just him confirming the power the title ‘Bruce Wayne’s son’ holds in the industry, and how that leads to gifted roles.
No. Dick Grayson was not overrated. The guy was talented, and you couldn’t deny how much work and time he devoted to his projects. But he never had to fight to be recognized, to be chosen.
It wasn’t that line he said that affected you the most; it was the laughs and the stupid comments he and his friends made of every single movie presented at the event. Every harmful comment would be excused with an ‘it was just a joke’, but they were grown adults, not stupid teenage boys anymore. And when the film you starred in was announced, and one scene of your character played on the screen, one of his friends said “At least she’s hot.” and Dick dared to laugh.
You hadn’t seen him laugh directly. Your eyes had been fixated on the enormous screen the entire time. But the three boys were right behind you, and all those stupid interviews you had watched at 15 made you recognize his laugh almost instantly.
The comment hurt, because they were implying that your effort hadn’t been enough. That you weren’t talented. That you didn’t belong. And Dick’s laugh meant that he agreed.
The man who had been your idol for over a decade was agreeing with someone who had just mistreated you without knowing you were right in front of them.
Dick could be the best actor in the world, but he definitely wasn’t the person you expected him to be.
The film market was oversaturated with sequels to films that had already been made. It was strange to see an original story on the billboards. This also meant that looking for new actors for leading roles was not happening at all.
You weren’t complaining, but the fact that your manager wasn’t finding any offers for you to audition for, or any business calling you to reinterpret an old role for a sequel, was frustrating.
But there was someone who was strangely absent and had been for the past year, just like you. Dick Grayson hadn’t shown up in any new movie or come back to play any of his characters in any sequel. He was alive, of course. Paparazzi had seen him around Gotham during winter, and in his house in Los Angeles during summer.
It was obvious that his absence was making more noise than yours, and it was also evident that he was the one who chose to take a break while you tried to find new projects to work on, with no luck.
Until you received a call from your manager.
“I have an offer for a movie that is expected to come out in two years, around June. It's a rom-com and the description for one of the female characters fits perfectly with you.”
You jumped out of excitement when you heard your manager’s words on the other end of line. You had been waiting a whole year for this moment, and it was finally happening.
“Do you know what the movie is going to be about?” You asked, biting the skin around your nails, a strange fixation you have had since you were small.
“As far as I know, it’s going to follow the catastrophic love story between Alexandra and Charles. She’s a frustrated and unknown writer who self-publishes her books under a pseudonym, and Charles is a man who’s a regular at the cafe she works at and is also a huge fan of her books, without knowing she’s the writer.” Your manager explained.
“Cliché. I love it.”
“You need to send the audition tape next week. I’ll send you all the details via email.”
You nodded alongside your manager’s explanation. You couldn’t keep your smile to yourself; it was big and shiny, full of happiness.
You were going back to acting, you were going back to your work, your favourite thing. And a rom-com no more, no less. Since you were a child, you had always said how much you would love to work in a rom-com, and this one was your opportunity. You were going to get that role.
You spent the entire week preparing your self-tape, and you even called one of your best friends to help you with it. By Wednesday, it was sent, and now everything was up to the casting director and their team.
Some weeks later, your manager called you to inform you that the in-person casting was going to be that same Friday. This was it, you were going back to the big screen.
You weren't unfamiliar with the casting process; in fact, it had a weird feeling of mystery and thrill to it that you enjoyed. So when you arrived at the building the casting for the rom-com was going to be held, you didn’t feel nervous at all, just happy to have this opportunity and determined to do the best you could.
“Good morning.” The casting director, a middle-aged woman seated in the center of a large table, greeted you with a warm but professional smile. Seated next to her were the other people working on the casting team, the writer and the director of the movie himself.
You shut the door with a soft click behind you once you had fully stepped into the room, and smiled at everyone. It was important to show a positive mindset in this kind of process, as if you had to show yourself as a professional and confident person, without coming across as too rude or arrogant.
“We would like to see you perform a scene of the script that had been sent to you a couple of weeks ago. Do you have it here?” The woman asked, pushing her glasses back in place with her index finger.
“Yes.” You smiled and picked up the script you’d printed out before coming here.
“Then, please, go to the second act. Now, on the self-tape you read for Shiera, the protagonist’s best friend. However, on the callbacks, they had chosen you as a potential option to play the main role, Alexandra.” The woman explained, her eyes moved from the script in her hands to you, standing in the middle of the room.
You nodded, keeping the smile on your face as professional as possible, you couldn’t show how excited you were to have reached the final stage of the casting process for the lead role in the film.
“Now, the actor that is going to play Charles should’ve been here twenty minutes ago…” The casting director’s eyes narrowed. Her eyes were locked to the door, looking hard enough to burn a hole through it if she could.
That was when the door flew open with a loud thud.
His eyes were bluer than they appeared on the screen; his hair was longer than usual, his skin was tanned, and he certainly looked as strong as he was. He had an apologetic yet charming smile on his face, and in his right hand he clutched the movie script far too tightly.
Dick Grayson had walked into the same room where you were auditioning for what could be your next movie.
“Hello, good morning, sorry I’m late. The traffic in Los Angeles is horrible.” He closed the door and took off his jacket with an over-the-top ego, placing it carelessly over an empty chair. He was acting like he owned the place. If the first impression you had of him a year ago hadn’t been the best one, this did definitely not fix the image you had of him.
The movie director sighed but put his professional smile back on when he looked at Dick, now standing too close to you.
“Good morning.” He then looked at you. “Meet Richard Grayson, he is going to play Charles in the movie, and we would like to see how you both would work together.”
You could feel your heart racing. Maybe it was because the man next to you apparently didn’t know anything about social distance and was standing way too close to you. You could step away, just one step to your left, but it would seem rude, or the director could sense it as you being uncomfortable next to him and directly dismiss you as an option for Alexandra’s role.
Maybe Dick wasn’t your favourite person in the world, and working with him didn’t sound appealing at all, but this was the best opportunity that had been given to you for the past year, and you weren’t going to let a man ruin this for you.
“The plan was for you two to play some scenes from the second and the third act, but we’re going to skip to the first scene in the third act, since Mr. Grayson has made us lose twenty valuable minutes of our precious time.” That passive-aggressive remark didn’t seem to affect Dick, as his charming and confident smile didn’t waver at all.
Both of you turned to the page the director had ordered, then turned your bodies to look at each other.
Having Dick in front of you, this close, felt unreal. He was taller than you had expected, and the smell of his Jean Paul Gautier cologne filled your nostrils.
Then he looked at you, and his blue eyes met yours. They were a very distinctive shade of blue—not light enough to look gray, but deep enough to be compared to the sea. Trapped deep within those irises were the ghosts of the past: a sadness and a longing masked by an overwhelming personality.
“Action!” the director said.
“I just don’t understand, Alex. He’s clearly trying to steal your work. Can’t you see it?” Dick, now deep into Charles’ character, said. The pupil in his eyes had dilated, and his body and voice had completely folded into a way that perfectly captured the character’s frustration.
“He’s helping me. It’s not my problem that you are suspicious of everyone, Charles. God! You’re frustrating sometimes.” You played Alexandra’s character with so much ease, like a double skin.
“I’m not suspicious! I know for a fact that that guy is not going to do anything good, and you are giving him access to the novel you've been working on for years.” Dick read the lines, but it sounded so natural coming from his mouth.
“I trust him. Why can’t you trust me?"
“I trust you, I just don’t trust him.”
“Then you're either jealous or you’re lying to be and in reality you really do not trust me at all.”
“I– Alex, I’m not jealous, he's just–.”
“You are jealous.”
“I might be, yes. Listen to me, Alex. Stop talking to that guy, stop this, everything you have with him. Let me be the one.”
“Are you going to help me find a way to get my book published?” You read with the same feeling of disbelief Alexandra would pour into that sentence.
“I would do anything for you just to see you happy.”
You raised your eyes from the script and looked at Dick, who was already looking at you intensely.
“Stay like that for a minute.” The director whispered from the table.
Both of you obeyed. Your chest rose with every deep breath you were taking, and your eyes were moving rapidly, scanning every inch of his face. On the other hand, Dick looked calm, but his eyes sparked a curiosity that couldn’t go unnoticed.
Your bodies were still closer than they should. You could’ve moved away, but you didn’t, and he hadn’t made the effort either.
“That’s everything, thank you to you both.” The director said, leaning back on his chair.
The chemistry read was over. The next call you would receive this month would be the last one, the one that would finally tell you if the role was going to be yours or not.
“Thank you.” You said while picking up your things.
The director smiled and told Dick to stay.
Once you had gathered your things, you turned to look at Dick, and he smiled at you. A weird, sincere smile that reached his gorgeous and soft eyes. The guy’s beauty really was breathtaking; it was such a shame his personality was so rotten.
“It was nice meeting you, I’m Dick.”
His voice was somehow nice, and it had a really warm tone hugging every word coming out of his mouth. You swallowed your pride as you held the sharp response forming in the back of your mind, so instead you mimicked his smile and told him your name.
“It was nice meeting you too, Dick.”
Except it wasn’t, and if you ended up getting the role, then you would have to deal with a spoiled, self-centered nepo baby who had been handed this role on a plate, just like the other characters he has played throughout his career.
'because my head is full of poison and my heart is full of doubt'
Wally West x supes!reader
synopsis: Training in the Watchtower was going fine until your powers got out of control... good thing Wally is around.
-> hurt/comfort, brief panic attack, supes!reader lore mentioned (lab rat) (yes ik that trope is overused but it fits) short drabble
a/n: the title was inspired by the song 'the cure' by olivia rodrigo. sadly the fic doesn't have a lot to do with the actual song, it's just my interpretation of the song mixed with the situation the reader is in. i think it fits
Your chest heaved with every step you took, and you felt your throat closing as if something was clawing at it.
You ran through the halls, tears slipping.
After tripping and falling, you sat down against a wall.
You looked angrily at the concrete, until a hole burned through it. You only managed to scare yourself more.
The people in the white robes had taken everything from you before Clark had found you. They took your family, your future, your normalcy, and the most important thing; your humanity.
At least that's what you thought. Seeing what you could do with your... new abilities scared you. You were no longer a normal human. And those scientifics had made sure to remind you. Every. Single. Day.
One of the only things that kept you anchored, (apart from your new family) was Wally. Hapiness and sarcasm rolled up and stuffed inside a person. He was always there for you. Didn't matter the time or day.
When you were with him, you could't help but wonder if he could be capable of leaving you too.
Today had been a rough training day. Clark took you to the Watchtower, to make sure you could train properly. Some other JL members were also there, some had brought their sidekicks with them.
At a point in trying to test your reflexes, you ended up hurting yourself. When you lost control after that, you ran.
The unfamiliar halls of the Watchtower reminded you vaguely of the sterile lab walls. And now, sat and trying to breathe, you think about the people that were in the training room with you.
What if you had hurt any of them?— but the thing that really took up the worry in your mind— What if you had hurt Wally? What if he was scared of you now?
Without realizing, you were hyperventilating. Back in the day, emotions like anxiety were a weakness you got punished for. Uncounciously, you fear for the worst. For your punishment.
Suddenly, you see a blur, and a pair of strong arms are wrapped around you. A messy, red hair is close to your face as you try to breathe.
You wrap your arms around him too, and slowly— but surely— You get your breath back.
After a while, he sits down next to you on the floor, shoulder to shoulder.
“You okay?” he asks, you only shake your head. “M'sorry” is all you manage to mumble and get out of your chest. You want to tell him. Everything. The way you feel and why, but you can't bring yourself to do it.
“Don't be sorry for nothin'” he scoffs “You did nothing wrong”
He tugs you closer to him, sliding one arm over your shoulders. “You don't have to talk if you don't want to” he whispers “We can just sit in silence. No explanations needed” You almost wanted to cry again just from the gentleness in his voice. You aren't used to it.
HIIIII I don't think I've sent a request to you so I'm really excited because I LOVE the way your dividers look!!! could I possibly get red and black punk esq dividers? and maybe with trash like crushed cans & cigarette buds? if not I get that, just a general punk theme would be soso nice <3 tysm in advance if you do this!! <3
hiii there!! and thank you so much lovely! I’m so glad you like them so much!! 🥰
so I went with the crushed cans/cigarettes grungey theme and kind of ran with it, so I hope that’s okay. ♥️
please like and credit if you use, reblogs are appreciated! thank you! 💕
–batfam x batsis!reader(platonic obviously) headcanons
Synopsis: you got into a fight at your new school. Your family reacts in a... variation of ways.
A/n: first time writing hcs... the reactions of the characters are based off my version of batsis!reader I have in mind from other fics I've already written. English is not my first language. Enjoy!!!
Bruce Wayne
When he got the call that his daughter had gotten into a fight, he was taken by surprise.
Bruce could've expected this from his other kids (Dick and Jason) when they were your age. (Because Tim was just a few months older than you). But he didn't expect you, out of all people, to actually get into a fight.
He knew you could fight. He'd seen you in the manors training room late at night, practising punch combinations and hitting the punching bag like your life depended on it. He was aware of your ability at that. But, usually, fighters like that did not go around getting into fights if it wasn't strictly necessary. He knew this better than anyone.
When he entered the principals room, he took in your appearance. Messy hair, a bloody nose, split knuckles... then he looked at the other kid, and felt something strangely like pride swell in his chest before forcing himself to stay serious. The boy looked as if he'd been to hell and back. His eye was black, both his nostrils were still bleeding, and his face was full of bruises. Some still forming.
You looked unbothered, but it gave you away the fact that your hands were still shaking. From adrenaline and hitting repeatedly.
He sat next to you, and gave you a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.
After getting out of the building, you explained to him the situation. He understood, and assured you it was all right. He only warned you to not get caught hitting someone next time.
Jason Todd (and Dick)
In normal circumstances, you wouldn't just have dropped by Jason's apartment without telling him. But staying in the manor meant having to deal with Dick asking a shit ton of questions, Tim's silent worried gaze and Damian's witty comments.
And you really didn't want to patch yourself up alone.
You knew Jason would not force you to speak. He would help you clean the blood, and offer a place to stay if the outside world was too loud. That is all you needed at the moment.
You stood outside and knocked on the door. You heard rustling inside, muffled voices. The door slid open.
A red-headed man stood holding the door open, with a beer in his hand. For a moment, you stood staring at each other. You realised then, that you didn't even brush your hair nor clean your own blood from your face.
To not make it awkward any longer, you spoke to the guy.
"Is Jason home?"
"Uhm yeah- wait a sec"
He looked back to the couch, and Jason looked to the door. When he saw you, he stood up and walked to the door.
"What happened to you, kid?" He scoffed "you look awful"
You didn't respond, and he could recognise himself for a moment in you. The same quiet regret and stubbornness.
"Come in"
.....
"So let me get this straight" The guy hanging out at Jason's, Roy, spoke, "Bat adopted another kid"
You were sat on the kitchen counter, Jason was bandaging your bloody knuckles.
"Is that your blood?" Jason asked, ignoring Roy. You looked at your other hand.
"Ehhm- I don't think so" you srhugged "It's probably from the other guy's nose"
"Well shit" Roy mumbled "you beat him up good, huh?"
"Well, at least I tried to" you replied "But yeah, I guess so"
Jason finished bandaging your knuckles, then desinfected a really ugly looking bruise on your cheek.
"Does B know?" Jason questioned.
You scoffed, "Who do you think the school called, huh? Damian?"
"Okay, fair"
Roy laughed a bit, and Jason just glared at him.
From the kitchen table, Jason's phone rang.
Roy looked over to see who was calling, and turned with a smirk "It's good ol' Nightwing"
"Pass me the phone" Jason walked to where Roy was standing.
He pressed the green button on the screen, and Dick's voice was heard trough the speaker in Jason's beat up phone.
"Hi, Jay" his usually happy voice was laced with worry "Is-" he said your name with a empathic voice. Big brother worry "- by any chance at yours? Do you know where she is?"
Jason responded immediately "I have no idea" he knew better than to just give you away like that. If you had come to his apartment out of all places, you probably did not want to be found.
Still, Dick was asking out of pure courtesy. "Yeah, sure. I know she's there. Bruce tracks everyone's phones." he hesitated for a moment "I just wanted to ask if she was okay"
Dick ended up convincing Jason to let him in. Of course he did.
He gave you a big hug and asked if you were okay. Kinda offended you didn't seek him first, but deep down understood you.
You ended up watching a movie with them (Roy too because he had nothing else to do)
— You were Tim's hardest mystery to solve, until you gave him the ultimate clue.
!!: request! gn!reader. villain!reader. 1k words. Not proofread. English is not my first language.
[dc masterlist]
Three nights, five different places.
Five opportunities.
Five fails.
Tim was losing his mind.
Never in his life has he had trouble with a case. He had always been smart, a prodigy. Catching the clues quickly and connecting the dots with an impressive ease no one could match.
For god’s sake, he was Timothy Drake. He was a child when he figured out Batman’s identity. He had been Robin for a long time before becoming Red Robin. There wasn’t anything that could stop him, there weren’t any challenging mysteries he couldn’t solve.
Except one.
You.
You, who somehow always emerged victorious. You, who seem to be reading his mind every single day. You, the mastermind behind Gotham’s latest tragedies. You, who loved to see Red Robin falling into madness whenever he realized he had absolutely nothing to work with to solve this case.
To solve you.
You didn’t have a signature, nor a name for Gotamites to refer to you. You were simply the mystery behind the mist, the doubt behind the unknown. Only Tim knew you existed. He knew you were the one behind it all, not The Joker or The Riddler, like Gotham Gazette has theorised.
You were way smarter, too discreet.
And it drove Tim mad.
He had seen you a couple of times because you had wanted to be seen. He had fought against you because you had chosen to stay and make your life more interesting and risky.
But it has been three days. Three catastrophic days that had led Tim to absolutely nothing. He wasn’t moving forward with this case. He was hating every second of it. But he was determined. He was going to find you, one way or another.
“There’s absolutely nothing.” Tim complained again.
The map was unfolded on the immense table of the batcave, with every single annotation anyone could make in a map. Tim’s Zesti Cola—the one keeping him awake tonight—was placed on top of the map, on top of Arkham Asylum.
“This doesn’t make any sense.” Bruce said, scanning the map for the tenth time now.
Tim was helpless. He had sought help to solve this because he was completely stuck, and Bruce was his best option.
There wasn’t any pattern you followed, and if you did then it was a fucking dissaster and it was impossible to understand.
Or so he thought.
He looked at the map again. You had struck almost every place in the city, except one: Crime Alley. It seemed you had never dared to venture into Crime Alley. This could be for different reasons, you were either waiting to make it the next place to act on, or you were just keeping yourself safe.
“I’m leaving.” Tim said, finishing his drink and throwing it to the bin before leaving the batcave.
He knew where to find you. And he could swear up and down he was not wrong now, you were going to be there.
You had caused too much damage to the city in these three nights. Beautiful disasters led by you that gave you immense satisfaction, plus Red Robin's beautiful desperate face. You deserved a break. You needed to plan the next big thing now that you were done with the small but effective projects.
Your suit covered yourself perfectly. Completely black with a hood that covered your eyes.
Yes, you used batman’s strategy: use the darkness to hide. You had to give the old man some credit for that.
But, unlike the vigilante, you were no good. You loved the fact of being a myth, a bad omen. You loved to be feared by Gotham and you loved the idea of being followed by Red Robin.
That’s why you didn’t even flinch when you heard him landing behind you. You had been waiting for this moment, you had planned this moment.
“Here you are.” Tim said.
He was fully suited up as Red Robin. His domino mask covering his face and his Bo staff on his right hand.
“Took you long enough.” You teased, keeping your voice low and your back facing him.
You had been expecting him. You had left clues, even if it didn't look like it, and Tim had finally figured them out.
“What is your plan now?” You started turning around, really slow. It was frustrating.
Your head was down so the hood of your suit covered your eyes, but the wide smirk you wore was fully visible for the vigilante in front of you.
“Do you want to fight? Or are you planning on tying me up and asking me some stupid questions?”
Tim stayed silent. He wanted to talk to you, before taking you to the police. He wanted to know the why’s and the how’s of all your horrible plans that had led to Gotham’s almost destruction. If you were willing to cooperate he wouldn’t use violence. However, if you were going to withstand, then he'd have to dip into some punches.
“I want to get information.”
“So you want me to spit out everything I know, the details of every single plan I’ve thought of.”
“Yes.” His grip on his Bo Staff tightened.
“And why would I do that? I thought you were smarter.” Your smile widened. It was shameless, it was crude, it was disgustingly hypnotizing.
“You're destroying the city.”
“They were just minor damages.” Now your body was fully facing him.
“You call hacking the entire hospital system minor damages?”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I am not. You are dangerous.” Tim’s voice was harsh.
Your smile changed. It went from a mocking smile to a more serious and threatening one.
“If you want to catch me, then you’ll have to try harder the next time, Timothy."
You raised your head fully, the hood was no longer covering your face and Tim could see it perfectly. You were giving him the ultimate clue.
You were giving him your identity in exchange for finding out his.
Anyone could think you were being reckless. Giving a vigilante this information this easily. But this was all part of your plan, and you had never failed, not even once.
It took just one flick of the street light for you to disappear completely without leaving any trace.
You were always one step ahead. Even if Tim thought he had won advantage over you, he will always be wrong.
Summary: Wally's dreading his bet with Kyle to read more this year until he meets the cute librarian that changes his life for the better
Word Count: 3k
Content/CW -> flirting, some book references, injury/blood, (some) hurt/comfort, Wally being Wally, friends to lovers
— requested by my 🐞 anon
froggi yaps -> lovelovelove librarian reader!!! was very tempted to have them be saved by the flash but i just Cannot see Wally divulging his secret identity that quickly </3 anyway enjoy!
The Minotaur roars, the little boy stabbing the remnants of its own broken off horn into its ribs. It flails, clawing at its chest, before it begins to turn to ash. The beast crumbles, blowing away like sand.
The shrill ring of a countertop bell snaps you out of your book. You dog ear the page, the last four paragraphs of the chapter disappearing behind the cover.
You cast your gaze up, following the pasty hand that had rung the bell and taken you out of the—quite honestly well-written—children’s book you’d had your nose buried in.
The man flashes you a charming smile, dimples punctuating his freckled cheeks. “Hi.”
He’s tall and lean, dressed in blue jeans and a t-shirt. A mess of red hair hangs over his forehead, and despite the way he pushes the strands away, they tumble back into his eyeline.
“How can I help you?”
“I’m looking for a book.”
A dry laugh falls from your lips. “Well, you’re in the right place. Just any book?”
“Yes—well, no. Not really.” He cards a hand through his hair, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know. Can you tell I don’t come here often?”
“Only a little,” you grin.
His cheeks warm, a pink hue creeping up his neck and into the tips of his ears. The man tilts his head at you, hair following suit.
“Wally,” he extends a hand.
You take his hand in yours, smiling and offering him your name in return.
“So, Wally,” you test it, the name easy on your tongue. “What brings you to the library for what I assume to be the first time ever?”
Your heart beats in your throat while you examine his face, looking for any sign of annoyance at the jab. Instead, he offers you a playful eyeroll.
“Third time, I’ll have you know.” He blows a harsh puff of air through his lips, “it’s for a challenge.”
“A challenge?”
“My friends don’t think I have enough patience to read,” he explains. “So I’m here to prove them wrong.”
You consider him. The over-abundance of energy he expends by shifting his weight to either leg, the slight ramblings that make talking to him a little easier. You could easily see why anyone would make that assumption.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Let’s find you something to read,” you shuffle aside, pushing past the little gate that separates the counter from the rest of the library. “Are we thinking fiction, or non-fiction?”
There’s a weird sort of smile on his face. “Fiction, definitely.”
You lead him down the aisles of books, Wally following just a little behind you. He’s careful to keep his strides short, trying not to impose.
“What’s your poison?” You ask.
“Huh?”
“Romance, fantasy, horror,” you risk a glance over your shoulder, “what’re you interested in?”
“Scifi,” he says quickly. “Or fantasy. As long as it’s got a kickass plot.”
You snort, nodding at his suggestion. You lead him away from the counter, from the rows upon rows of nonfiction, and deep into the fiction section.
You duck into an aisle, rifling through a section of books until you find the one you’re looking for.
“Here.”
You thrust the book into Wally’s arms, waiting patiently while he reads over the synopsis. His brows furrow, lips pursed while his finger traces over the lines.
“It might sound a little boring but I promise, once it gets into the action, you won’t want to put it down.”
He nods, tucking the novel under his arm. “Good enough for me.”
Wally follows you all the way back to the desk, talking enthusiastically about his friends and the challenge that led him here in the first place.
“—and Kyle, the asshole, said if I could read 12 books this year, he’d give me 50 bucks.”
Of all the people you talk to in a day—children looking for new reads, seniors looking for someone to listen to them—Wally is by far the most interesting. He has a way of speaking that captivates you, leaving you hanging onto every word.
You set Wally up with a brand new library card, scanning through the book for him. “So,” you smile at him, “I guess if you’re on a reading kick, I’ll be seeing you often?”
His smile is like sunshine. “I’m about to be your new best friend.”
You try to hide your shock when Wally is back the next afternoon. He has the book clenched in his hands, waiting patiently behind the mom and her daughter that you’re currently helping.
You send them away with a stack of books and a smile, looking beyond them to the redheaded man swaying awkwardly. “Wally?”
His head perks up, that easy confident smile covering his face. “Hey.”
You glance at the book in his hands, the cover familiar. “Don’t tell me you hated it.”
“Huh?” He follows your gaze, green eyes widening, “what? No, no. I loved it. You were right.”
“You…finished it already?”
He nods.
“Well, you’re certainly giving your friends a run for their money.” You take the book from his hands, “that asshole Kyle isn’t gonna know what’s hit him.”
And something like sunlight falls across his face, not because you’re unintentionally making fun of Green Lantern, but because you remembered. You listened to his rambling.
“But—” You hold up the book for him to see, slipping through the gate behind the counter. “You don’t have to return these to me directly. We have a dropbox for books.”
You show him to the bookslots at the front door, slipping it inside. “See, then you don’t have to wait around for me to be free.”
“But what if I want to see you?”
You pause, hand stilling midair. A sudden heat rushes up your neck, butterflies drifting around the hollow space in your stomach. Your eyes meet his.
“Then I guess you’ll just have to keep reading.”
You help Wally find more books to check out, giving him a stack of three this time. Surely that will keep him company for at least a week.
You’re returning back to the main stretch of navy coloured carpet when Wally speaks up, walking side by side with you now.
“What’s your favorite genre?”
“Hm?”
“Romance, fantasy, horror,” he grins cheekily, parroting your words from yesterday. “What are you interested in?”
“Oh well,” you say, suddenly too aware of how close he is, how much attention he’s paying to you. “I like a bit of everything.”
“So, what’s your favorite book then?”
Back at the counter, you slip away behind the desk and take his stack of books. “Finish these first, and then we’ll talk.”
“Deal.”
Four days later and Wally returns, slipping his stack of books into the dropbox and coming trotting up to the desk. It’s a rainy day, streaks of rain drops dripping down the windows and painting brilliant patterns.
“I see those slowed you down a bit.”
He feigns hurt, dramatically clamping a hand over his chest. “Slowed me down? You underestimate me.”
You raise your eyebrows in question.
“You weren’t here yesterday, or the day before.”
You blink. He waited two days to return the books just so he could see you?
“There are other librarians, you know.”
He leans against the counter, propped up on his elbows. “But then how could I thank you for your kickass recommendations?”
“You really are something.”
“You love it.”
Maybe you do, just a little bit.
You fall into a routine easily from here, Wally coming in every few days with an armful of books and a head full of thoughts. He tells you all about his latest reads while you browse the shelves, collecting him a new pile of books.
You’ve come to look forward to the days Wally comes, livening up the library that had begun to feel dull day after day. Your coworkers tease you about your ‘book boyfriend’, how they’ve seen him duck his head in from time to time to see if you’re working.
After the third or so time of him coming in only to frown at your absence, you slipped him a copy of your schedule, folded in the pages of one of his new books.
He works his way through all of your scifi recommendations, slowly drifting into fantasy. He was hesitant at first when you strayed away from his usual books of dragons and elves and barefooted people who lived in underground houses.
When you pulled the children’s book off the shelf and thrusted it into his arms, Wally had raised an eyebrow.
“This is for kids.”
“This is what I was reading when we met,” you explained. “You’ll like it, I swear.”
He was skeptical, eyebrows drawn together in that way they always do when he’s considering something. Still, he’d taken the book from you in his pile and when he returned a few days later, there was an incredulous smile on his face.
He sits himself on the counter, watching as you sort through a cart of books. “You were right.”
“I always am.”
“He was so funny,” he talks with his hands, drawing abstract pictures in the air, “and the scene with the casino? Insane.”
You can only grin while he talks animatedly about the book he just read, filtering through the stack you have behind the counter. From what you’ve come to know about Wally, he’s not much different from the character from the book—funny, sarcastic, loyal to a fault.
You knew he would like it from the day you met him, it was just a matter of getting him to read it.
Finally, you finish sorting your book cart, interrupting his tangent. “Does this mean you’re ready to read the rest of the series?”
Six days. Wally doesn’t come back for six days. It’s the longest you’ve gone without seeing him since you met, the longest it’s ever taken him to read four books. Kids books, at that.
The days melt into one another, the spring rain hasn’t let up and the dreary weather along with Wally’s absence is getting to you.
The door opens, a yellow umbrella greeting your eyes and for a minute, you dare to hope. And then the umbrella gets tucked away and a handsome man with dark hair steps into the library, meticulously drying his shoes.
You freeze at the sight of him, at the stack of books in his hands. The ones you’d given to Wally almost a week ago. You watch as he dumps the pile of books into the dropbox.
As if sensing your gaze on him, he offers you a wave, sauntering up to the counter. “Hey, you’re Wally’s friend, right?”
His green eyes are warm, like soft grass in spring. He rests an arm on the counter, the gesture easy and fluid.
“Yeah, yeah.”
You take him in. The cut of his jaw, his muscular build, his slightly damp dark hair that somehow still looks perfect. He’s tall, only slightly shorter than Wally. You blink. What are they feeding these men?
“I’m Kyle.”
Your mouth falls open slightly. Kyle. This is asshole Kyle?
“Is…is Wally okay?”
“Yeah he’s just,” he cringes, nose crinkling, “out of town right now. He asked if I could return these for him.”
You try to hide your disappointment. “Oh, do you know when he’ll be back?”
A flash of guilt behind those eyes and then, “hopefully soon.”
You nod, going quiet. Thoughts of the days before Wally showed up, days punctuated with mildewed pages and time passing like molasses. It’s as though your life has been cleaved in half—the half before you met Wally, and the half afterwards.
“Hey, so, do you think he’s actually reading these?”
“What?”
“These books, I mean you probably know better than anyone.” He flashes a smile, “Wally’s actually reading them?”
“He is.” You focus on the collar of his shirt, a stray thread hanging loose, “I think he’s definitely read more than twelve, too.”
He laughs. “So Wally told you about the bet?”
“50 bucks, Wally definitely got the better end of the deal.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right about that. He gets my money and gets to talk to his cute librarian.”
Your heart catches in your throat. Not because he called you cute, but because he said his cute librarian. Like a part of Wally belongs with you.
“Sorry,” he says. “Too much?”
“No,” you shake your head, unable to hide your smile. “No, it’s…it’s good. It’s really good.”
It’s five more days before you see Wally. It’s late by the time he stumbles in, dressed in track pants and a baggy sweatshirt, his brilliant eyes punctuated with undereye bags.
You’re wiping down the counters, stopping in your tracks at the sight of him. “Wally?”
“Sorry, I—” He stops to keel over, resting his hands on his knees and taking deep breaths. “Sorry I’m late.”
He looks up, eyes meeting yours and the cloth falls from your hand. There’s a gash on his forehead, his lip is split and fading bruises paint his face in shades of purple and yellow.
“Jesus, Wally.”
You rush to his side without thinking, a hand rubbing a particularly dark bruise along his jaw. He relaxes into your touch, wincing when he tries to force a smile.
“What happened?”
He cringes. “Just had an accident at work.”
“Where do you work, a boxing ring?”
Wally laughs, a small stream of blood trickling from his nose. He tries to wipe it before you see but your eyes widen at the sight of the blood. You grab his sleeve and pull him over to the counter. You’re lucky it’s late, your coworkers having left you to close the library on your own.
You duck away behind the counter, rooting through the drawer of emergency supplies you keep. “Should be around here somewhere,” you mumble to yourself.
“Seriously, don’t fuss over me.”
“It’s not fussing, it's—here!” You stand up, hoisting the small bag of bandages above your head triumphantly.
You get to work dabbing the wound on Wally’s forehead with an alcohol wipe. The man doesn’t even cringe at the pain, staying perfectly still. One of your hands rests on his cheek, steadying yourself against him.
You press a bandage over the wound on his forehead, smoothing it down softly. “There, that’s a little better.”
“You know, I heard it heals faster if you kiss it better.”
You’re not sure what prompts you to do it, if it’s the worry that burns in your chest or if it’s pent up energy from how much you’ve missed him. But you find yourself leaning in, lips brushing the surface of the bandaid.
Wally’s blushing. “Thanks,” he says quietly.
“Don’t mention it just—” You look at him seriously, “next time you disappear, warn me before you show up all mangled.”
He scoffs. “Mangled? You should see the other guy.”
You shoot him a look, Wally instinctively raising his hands in surrender.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.”
“Whatever,” you tuck the bag away. “Let’s grab you some books, yeah?”
He nods, lips pressed together in a tight smile.
He’s quieter today, clinging closer to you as you make your way down the aisles. The library is beyond closed now, Wally having helped you lock the doors before following you to the books.
He holds out his arms and lets you dump book after book into them.
“So what is your job?”
“I work in…security.”
“Security? That’s vague.”
“Trust me,” his eyes meet yours, “it’s better if it’s vague.”
You drop a final book into his arms before ushering him back to the counter, scanning through his stack as quickly as you can.
You glance up at Wally. “I met Kyle, by the way.”
“Oh, so he did return the books.”
“Mhm, he seems sweet.”
“Sweet?” Wally takes a beat to calm himself down, jealousy roaring in his chest. “Yeah, I’m sure he gets that a lot.”
You clock the tension in his jaw, the thinly veiled hurt behind his eyes. Handing him his stack of books, you let your hand linger over his.
“Don’t worry, I prefer redheads.”
Your words linger in Wally’s mind for days. Every time he pauses his reading, they echo in his mind. Even when he’s running, trying to clear his mind and throw himself into his work, they bubble beneath the surface.
He feels your touch on his hand. Don’t worry, I prefer redheads.
He can’t even think of you without getting flustered, feeling like a dorky teenager all over again. He reads this stack of books the fastest, his body completely healing while he does.
He returns to you two days later, sunset just beginning to break outside the window. You’re facing away from him, the pink glow from the window casting an ethereal haze over you.
Wally swallows, dumping his books into the dropbox. You perk up at the noise, turning around and smiling at him. His heart flutters at the sight.
“Back so soon?”
“What can I say?” He beams, “I missed you.”
Your eyes widen, unsure whether he’s being serious or if it’s that signature Wally flirtation you’ve grown so used to.
“Missed me?”
He hums, coming up to lean against the counter the way he always does.
“That’s a new one.”
It’s silent for a beat, Wally’s gaze piercing into you. You look away, focused instead at the perfectly healed skin on his forehead.
“That healed quickly.”
“I said it would heal faster if you kissed it better.”
Your eyebrows raise.
He takes a deep breath and then, “go out with me? Please?”
You’re taken aback, blinking at him in disbelief. Weeks. It’s been weeks of going back and forth with Wally, sharing books and thoughts.
You smile. “I was beginning to think you’d never ask. Where are we going?”
“I recently came into some extra cash, so…anywhere you want?”
You lean across the counter to kiss his cheek, pink dusting the skin where your lips just were. Thank you, Kyle.
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