my reader inserts are fem, they will however have no faceclaim !
get to know the ringleader!
dani. taurus. eighteen. she/her. mexican american. dr pepper. matt girl. malcolm todd. role model. gold jewelry. blue. hair dye addict. rauw alejandro. dc and marvel fan. madison beer. cabin 7.
Heartbreak isn’t loud — it’s quiet, creeping, and cruel. You thought letting Dick Grayson go would break you. You never imagined it might kill you.
▸ PAIRING: Dick Grayson x F!Reader
▸ WARNINGS: so many reader insecurities (it's that kind of angst), hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, probably non-canon compliant things bc im new to this world, reader gets extremely hurt, hospital scenes
▸ WORD COUNT: 7.2K
▸ A/N: this is actually the first dick fic i ever wrote but didn't post until now! i seem to have a thing for exploring insecurities in relationships when im writing a new character (see clark and bucky). i love him so much, he is sooo loverboy. tom taylor's is also such fine shit jfc. i hope you enjoy <3 if you do, all likes/comments/reblogs are appreciated :)
The movies always describe heartbreak as devastation. A tragedy. A travesty. They talk about the feeling of their hearts being ripped out of their chest, beating bloody until they cease completely. They speak of the way their hearts stop suddenly, abruptly; a flare of panic only momentary before everything stills.
What they don’t tell you is that that’s not at all how heartbreak works. Heartbreak is oftentimes dramatized for the sake of entertainment. An exaggeration of the moment a heart splinters into a million pieces, parts that are impossible to glue back together into a whole.
Real heartbreak occurs quietly. It chips at you slowly; small cracks at first until you can no longer ignore the gaping wound in your chest. The missing center behind your ribcage. By the time you realize what has happened, the hole is too big to fill. The chasm impossible to bridge. They don’t tell you that it sneaks up on you, the curl of a cold-blooded snake around your neck that restricts your ability to breathe, to function. It hisses in your ear, a gentle whisper that only gets louder when the puncture isn’t tended to.
Before you know it, the serpent has bared its teeth and sunk its poison into you.
You didn’t think you would experience heartbreak with Dick Grayson. The man is loyal, loving. He anticipates your needs before you can even determine what’s missing. Raised to be observant and thoughtful, Dick is a fierce protector of those he cares about. You happen to be lucky enough to be one of them.
You’ve seen how he is with his family, his friends, the people that he chooses to protect with his body, mind, and soul. There is not a thing he wouldn’t do to keep those he cherishes safe, even if it means sacrificing himself.
Because of all this, Dick has to juggle one too many priorities. Not only are they things he already planned on doing, but he also has to account for the emergencies that crop up from time to time. Given that this is Blüdhaven, time to time means all the time.
You’re used to it. Coming in second, that is.
Your relationship with Dick is relatively new. Your dates aren’t life or death. So when he has to up and leave in the middle of dinner, it’s something you’ve grown accustomed to. The moment his phone vibrates on the table, you set your expectations.
The first vibration, he ignores.
The second one, his eyes flick down to his device before he refocuses on you.
Third time’s the charm. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly after you finish recounting your day. “Let me just check and make sure it isn’t anything urgent.”
But you already know the answer to that. It’s always urgent. It’s the city. You can’t blame him for it. Corruption is the norm in Blüdhaven; it bleeds through every crack and corner. From the police commissioner to the mayor, to the elites. Dick is ambitious, he thinks he can rid the city completely of its decrepit moral compass.
The flicker of guilt that passes through his baby blues is the first sign. Then comes the sour curl of his lips when he realizes that he can’t disregard the threat alert from Oracle. Then comes the sympathetic look when he finally turns back to you.
It’s that look that you can’t stand. That’s the one that always gets to you. Because you don’t want him to pity you.
So you plaster a smile onto your lips and nod. “Go. The city needs you.”
Apologies automatically fall from his lips as he places a chaste kiss on your forehead, presses his credit card into your hands, and takes off. His dinner sits cold on the pristine white tablecloth.
And you wonder if there will ever come a time when Blüdhaven will no longer need Nightwing. Or Dick Grayson.
Maybe then you’ll have a chance at coming first.
In his defense — and perhaps it comes from months of making excuses first for him as a friend and then as a lover, he does try. He tries to make time for you, slipping you into the little gaps he has in between investigations, philanthropic work, and patrols. It’s how you met him in the first place.
Your job at the community center allowed you some governmental access which you used to help him take down a few bad apples in the mayor’s office. Small-time fry. But then he started doing more work for the people, building affordable housing and programming to help the city’s children, and you started seeing more of this elusive Dick Grayson.
At first, you had been starstruck. The man is renowned all throughout the city — a savior to the good, a menace to the bad. The more time you spend with him, the more you learn about the Dick that he doesn’t show to the outside world.
It’s the man who is weary down to the bone, cutting off one evil head only for two more to grow. It’s the man who bears the city’s burdens on his shoulders, carrying the weight of a million expectations with the limited resources that he has. It’s the man who slinks back into your arms after a long day and curls himself around you like it’s the only place he is meant to be.
Falling in love with Dick had been all too easy. It’s like taking a nosedive off a cliff, knowing you’ll land in a wide-open ocean with a life jacket.
When you find out that he also spends his nights as the masked hero Nightwing, he had been wary of how you would react. It’s ridiculous to think that you would feel anything other than pride when you see him in full gear for the first time.
For some reason, Dick feels… further once you learn this fact. He already felt unattainable before —untouchable — as this generous, intelligent billionaire, heir to the famous Wayne family. Now that you know he is also a crime-fighting superhero, you feel those buried feelings of insecurity rise to the surface. The creeping voices clawing into your skin to question how you could ever be an adequate partner for him.
How could you — someone so normal, so average — compare to the living legend Dick Grayson?
Of course, once the Nightwing gates are open, you also see the people he surrounds himself with. Martians. Kryptonians. Shapeshifters. Trained assassins. And Barbara Gordon — how do you even begin to describe Barbara Gordon?
Between Kori and Barbara, you were convinced that Dick had a thing for redheads. Dick reassured you that he really didn’t have a particular preference. No, no preference in terms of hair, but you can clearly see the pattern — all of his exes are skillful. Powerful. Hot.
Gorgeous in a way that takes your breath away. Not only that, they’re fierce and bold and intelligent. They are out there saving the world day in and day out, whether it’s through ultraviolet energy projections or hacking into the most secure servers on the planet.
That monster inside of you peeks around the corner with its talons out, ready to pierce through your fragile heart once more. You hate yourself for even thinking this way. It’s part of his job, these are his friends. You should feel lucky that you were even introduced to them.
But that feeling has taken root and consumed your heart. Insufficient. Inadequate. Incapable. Who are you compared to all this greatness?
It’s why you keep your head down, why you keep your mouth shut even as the fissures begin to appear in your heart. You disregard them, brush them off as a temporary blip in your confidence. You tell yourself that you’re lucky Dick’s even giving you the time of day. You can’t be another burden for him to bear. You should be making his life easier.
So when he apologizes, you wave off his concern and tell him to go out there and save the world, Boy Wonder, because that’s what he does. The world comes first. You come second. It’s how it’s always been. It’s how it should be.
The deeper you try to bury these feelings, these insecurities, the greater the cuts you slice inside your heart. You’re carving it out slowly, an excruciating process as you try to preserve what’s left of your emotions.
Dick makes it up to you each time with flowers, with butterfly kisses, with the gentle touch of his hand. He promises you that next time will be better. He keeps his word. A few dates over the course of a few weeks, uninterrupted time, undivided attention. You’re on cloud nine by the time he drops you off at the doorstep, lingering for a fraction longer, enough time for you to invite him in to stay.
He does. Every time.
There are nights he returns to your side in uniform. His suit ripped, blood coating his skin crimson. These are times you’re reminded that he’s mortal. Human. You’re reminded that you could so easily lose him in all the work that he does.
Nothing makes you feel more powerless than knowing that all you can do is help him tend to the aftermath. Your hands shake when you dab the antiseptic, when you wipe off all the red, when you wrap up the gauze around his body.
You’re different from Barbara who guides him, who serves as his eyes and ears, and maps him a solution and exit each time. You’re different from Kori who fights alongside him with powers that he doesn’t have. You’re different from Bruce, Jason, Tim, and Damian, who know him in such intimate ways, moving in sync as he works through the city.
You are someone watching from the sidelines. A character that could be so easily removed from his story, and nobody would blink twice.
The thought pains you, but you suck it up and deal with it anyway. It’s easy to let these thoughts go when Dick murmurs saccharine sweet phrases into your neck. It’s easy to forget your place when he marks constellations across your body when he feels like having your company.
You didn’t think it could get worse. You can only help. Right?
But you’re proven wrong the one time you’re all gathered at the Wayne Mansion. It’s a family dinner. The mood is light, the drinks are flowing, the food is delicious. Laughter ripples through the table and, for once, you aren’t overthinking your place at the table.
That is, until an alarm sounds and everyone is immediately on high alert. They all seem to know what to do, whipping into action quickly while you sit there frozen.
Dick gears up and then stiffens when he remembers you still at the dinner table, watching them all in awe and surprise. He looks at Alfred who is also preparing to help with the potential invasion of the mansion, then looks at you. “Stay here, okay? I’ll come get you when it’s safe.”
You open your mouth, ready to offer your assistance, but stop when you look around the room. How can you possibly even think about helping these heroes? They are the heroes of the story. You are the damsel in distress.
“Okay,” is all you manage to say.
True to his word, Dick returns a few hours later. You’re right where he left you. He looks relieved to see you untouched, immediately coming up to you to inspect you. “Are you okay?”
Even when the worst is happening, his concern is on you. You’re adding more weight to his already hefty load.
“I’m okay,” you reassure him. “Is everyone else okay?”
He softens and nods. “Yeah, they’re okay. Let’s get you home, yeah?”
Dick’s kisses should’ve chased away those worries as they always have, but the feeling persists. It’s an itch you can’t scratch. An invisible scar you can’t heal. The feeling festers and grows, sprawling into this ugly hopelessness inside of you.
It doesn’t disappear when Dick picks you up from work the next day, chattering on about the programs he is hoping to stand up with the help of the new mayor.
It doesn’t disappear when the two of you run into Barbara outside of his apartment, telling him that there’s work to be done with Blockbuster.
It doesn’t disappear when Dick shoots you an apologetic look, asking for a rain check on your movie night — even when he’s already carrying the bags of popcorn and treats.
The more you think about it, the more you consider where you stand with Dick. He’s already so busy with everything else. The last thing you want to be is another item on his checklist, another to-do to cross off. He already has enough on his plate, you don’t want to make it harder for him by adding another thing for him to complete.
So you do what you thought was best.
“I don’t think this is working out, Dick.”
Dick’s gaze falters, a shudder in his confidence. “What— why would you say that?”
“You’re very busy. You have a lot of things going on. I don’t think a relationship is a good idea right now.” Not for you, you add in your mind. This is for Dick, you remind yourself. This is to help him, the only way you know how.
He’s quiet, lips pinched together as he frowns. The two of you were supposed to get lunch together, but you thought it best to sever it clean before the two of you sit down for what would likely be an awkward meal. So here you two are, standing in front of a restaurant. People mill about, barely paying you any mind. Some pause to look at Dick in admiration, but he is only looking at you.
“Is this what you want?” His voice is lower when he asks this.
No. But, of course, you don’t say that.
“Yes. I think this is what’s best.”
A part of you wants him to resist, wants him to fight for you. That selfish part of you begs him to beg you to stay, to tell you that he wants this as much as you do. That he cares about you as much as you do him.
But the responsible voice inside of you wants him to agree and walk away.
Luckily – or not, he agrees with the latter. So the two of you hug and part ways. You walk away with shoulders held high and the tears streaming down your face. You don’t let him see it. You never want him to see it.
And that’s the day you walked away from Dick Grayson.
It may be dramatic to say that there is your life before Dick and a life after him. You never thought you would ever consider romance to be the end-all-be-all of your life — and it isn’t. But Dick Grayson is something special, isn’t he? He isn’t just any romance.
He is the romance.
The type that sticks to you, a permanent fixture like he’s been tattooed and engraved into an everlasting mark on your skin. He clings to you like a persistent memory. No matter how many drinks you swallow, how many things you do to keep busy, you can’t seem to shake the thought of him when you’re alone.
The nights are the worst. The world inside your head is too quiet, even in a city like this one. Even when there are sirens blaring from every corner of your apartment and neon lights glare into your bedroom, you’re left to pick apart the decision you’ve made, constantly turning it over in your mind to determine whether it was the right one.
There are nights when you find yourself reaching for your phone, your thumb hovering over his contact. It would be easy to call him, to ask for him back. You miss him, incredibly so. It would be so simple to send him a text saying as such.
I miss you. What are you doing tonight?
Thinking of you, are you thinking of me?
I made a mistake. Will you have me again?
You try not to think about him, but the ask is akin to asking you not to breathe. Thinking about Dick comes naturally to you. It’s in the places you frequent, the ghost of him is the only constant lurking in the shadows. It’s the voice inside your head, calming you down when the city gets too much. It’s the absence that you feel the most — the sudden quiet when you don’t have him talking to you about his day, about his family, his friends, his ambition. The silence when he isn’t peppering you with follow-up questions about your week, sincerity and genuine curiosity entwined into his every syllable.
And just as you’re swirling into this black hole, your phone lights up with an email reminder. A date the two of you were supposed to have. Movie tickets booked weeks ago because you had been so excited to see it, Dick had purchased the tickets immediately. With everything that has happened, you completely forgot to cancel it.
However, instead of wallowing, you decide to go for it anyway. You’ve been cooped up in your home for too long, burying yourself under this mountain of self-despair. Quality time with your friends helped, but it didn’t cease the voices at night when you’re alone.
The movie is good, it could’ve been better if you didn’t have this empty seat next to you. The theater is full and yet there is this one gap that sticks out like a sore thumb on opening night. Your mind is half on the movie and half imagining what it would be like to be here with Dick.
He would get popcorn ahead of time, with extra butter, just the way he knows you like it. He would get sweet tea, not cola, because he knows how you don’t like to pair bubbly drinks with airy snacks. He would let you hold onto the bucket and take it as an opportunity to reach closer to you whenever he grabs a handful, even sliding an arm around you to tuck you into his side. When the popcorn is gone, he would hold your hand, squeezing whenever he thinks you need the extra support.
It’s an almost miserable experience. It’s pathetic how far gone you are for him that you can’t even enjoy time by yourself anymore.
But as they say, heartbreak is supposed to get easier with time. Eventually, you won’t remember what his touch felt like, the warmth of his body next to yours. You won’t think about him every time you pass by the basketball court he used to frequent to keep the neighborhood kids company. You won’t cry when you realize how many people you’ve gotten to know and lost in the process. You won’t think about him and you’ll remember that you can be perfectly content on your own again.
You try not to fall under the weight of your worries as you step out of the theater. Everyone else filters out in pairs or groups, and you’re left standing there alone in the golden light that casts a glow across the rain-streaked sidewalk. You’re waiting for a cab. A cab that you will soon learn won’t find you.
Not when you feel the breath down your neck.
“Aren’t you a pretty little bird?”
The unknown voice has you jumping, but not too far when a firm grip wraps around your bicep. Your eyes flash to betray your fear as you take in the masked assailant. He looks familiar, like a photograph hung somewhere in the back of your subconscious. Maybe one of Dick’s files that he tends to strew across your coffee table.
“You’re Grayson’s girl. I’ve seen you around with him. Blockbuster’s going to want to see you.”
“I’m not— we’re not—” together, you want to say, but you don’t get a chance to finish your words when the man zaps you out cold.
By the time you wake, there is a dull throbbing on your side where you’ve been electrocuted. The room smells of wastewater but looks relatively clean. You must be near the sewage plant. There is no one in the room and your eyes quickly dart around. What would Dick do in this moment?
Your hands are tied up with a rope behind your back, feet against the legs of the chair. You systematically go through your surroundings. A shelf with all sorts of items. Books, random paraphernalia, and a glass bottle at the top. An idea pops up in your head, the films you watch finally coming in helpful; it might not be one that Dick approves, but he’s not here to scold you right now.
Based on the distance and the weight of the chair, you scooch your way towards it. You use your shoulder to bump the shelf, rattling it with the little force you have. You can hear the bottle stumble a bit, but it’s not quite there yet.
Another hard push with your limited movement has it finally dropping on its side, rolling down the shelf until it lands, split in pieces, on the ground next to you. Now, you have to carefully drop yourself onto the floor, making sure you’re not getting the shards on your skin. There is no graceful way to do this, so you just tip yourself over. With your face pressed against the cold cement floor, your hands wriggle around behind you to grasp a piece of the glass, slicing the tip of your finger in the process, but at least you have this.
Slowly, you use the jagged edge to cut through the rope. It’s an arduous process. The entire time, you’re praying that maybe — on the very off-chance — Dick is still keeping track of you. That he’ll notice your disappearance. Maybe he’ll come to your rescue. It’s a naive thought, but it’s the hope that you cling to.
When your wrists are finally free, you get to work on your ankles. Another slice on your leg in your hurry to break free before your captors return. You don’t know where you are or how you plan to escape, but that tiny window looks promising.
You’re halfway up the wall, standing on your chair, struggling to unlock the window when the front door swings open. You whip around and see the imposing figure duck into the room. Fuck. It’s Blockbuster. He is the man who’s been out for Dick’s blood for as long as you can remember.
And now he has you, trapped in this room. His broad frame takes up nearly half the width of the space. You fiddle with the lock faster, praying for some miracle that you can escape in time.
But the man doesn’t even give you a chance — his thick arms wrap around your torso before he lifts you up and throws you back onto the ground. If you didn’t know any better, you swear you hear bones cracking. The pain that shoots through you is fast, blistering, blinding. It’s hot-white and has your vision spotting.
“Where do you think you’re going, pretty bird?” Blockbuster rumbles in vile amusement. “You’re not leaving this room. You’re not leaving this space until I get some answers.”
“Answers about what?” You spit out, the liquid coming out in a smattering of red on the grey floor.
“Grayson. I want to know his weaknesses, his vulnerable points. I want to know everything there is to know about him to destroy him.”
The wide smile that stretches across his face has your stomach churning in disgust. He crouches on the floor, leans towards you, close enough that his platinum hair brushes against your face.
“Or maybe you’re it. Maybe you’re his only weakness. Maybe I already have the pretty bird in my hands to take him down.”
“He’s not going to let you get away with this, or anything. He’s going to destroy you before you even come close to him.”
Blockbuster laughs, the sound booming. “This bird’s got claws. I can see why Grayson likes you. Don’t worry, pretty. I’ll break each one before you leave today. I’ll make sure you can’t sing for him anymore. I’ll make you squawk.”
The threat settles in deep in your gut and your heart plummets six feet under.
Then it begins. The beating, the brutalizing. You’re on the ground, against the wall, and flying through the air. Your face, your ribs, your hair, your legs, your arms. It goes on and on for what feels like hours. The only light you see is the one that hangs overhead, but even that begins to fade as your eyes struggle to stay open. Your chest heaves with heavy breaths, strained wheezes slipping past your lips in your desperate attempt to stay alive. The glass bits you were so adamant on avoiding before are now affixed to your skin like glitter.
Your vision goes between white and red and pitch black. When you start to lose consciousness, he jolts you awake again. The only sounds ringing in your ear are his questions, now a jumbled blur of words, and a cacophony of foul laughter.
You’ve never been religious but in those final moments, you pray. You pray for a savior. You pray that you’ll survive this. You pray that Dick doesn’t have to see you in your final moments.
Despite all that has happened, you like to hope that Dick still cares — and when Dick cares, you know he would live with this weight for the rest of his life. The last thing you want to leave him with is another burden to carry.
Your ears start ringing from the abuse you’ve undergone. At some point, the pain no longer flares, it ebbs and flows as your body grows numb. Not a single part of you untouched. You don’t think the man even has questions anymore; he only takes ill gratification in the fact that he has destroyed something of Dick’s.
You swear you hear a different voice, a different sound. No longer your screams or his laughter. A curse, a thud, a yell. Your brain can’t fully comprehend it, not when your senses can no longer be trusted. Not when they barely work. In the spread of red, you see glimpses of blue and black.
You hear your name. You hear it before you feel a gentle touch, a brush that’s barely there on your head.
Then it all goes black.
“We need you to let her go. Sir, we are trying to help.”
“You don’t know what she’s gone through—”
“We will work to diagnose all her injuries. For now, we need you to let us do our jobs.”
“I’m surprised she’s still breathing. The damage she’s taken…”
“Let’s just get through this and let the family know.”
“Sir, this is family only—”
“I am her family,” Dick’s voice snaps back. You’ve never heard him raise his voice like that before.
Then you hear someone else, more stern, still warm. Bruce. “If you’ll allow my son to stay with her, she doesn’t have family in the area. I’ll handle the paperwork, if you’ll lead me.”
“Sweet girl, I’m so sorry.”
“No, I’m not leaving.”
“Dick, you need to eat at least. You can’t help her like this.”
“I’m the reason she’s here to begin with. I’m not leaving her.”
“How’s she doing?” The deep baritone, you think it’s Bruce.
Dick’s voice frays at the edges, like he’s barely keeping it together as he inhales. You can feel his eyes on you. “Better. Doctors think she’ll be fine but she doesn’t have the energy yet to be fully conscious.”
“She’s a strong one. She’ll be fine, Dick.”
A pause. You wonder how Dick looks, if he’s been eating— “I don’t think I can ever forgive myself if she isn’t.”
“I should’ve been there with her, you know. We bought those tickets weeks ago. I thought she refunded them when she broke up with me. Didn’t think she’d go alone to such a late showing.”
A sigh. More high-pitched. Maybe Barbara. She’s been worried sick about him based on how many times she has come to visit. Her voice is more familiar than others. “You can’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have known that would happen.”
“It’s Blüdhaven, of course, something like this would happen. I should’ve expected this, that’s my entire job.”
“Babs sent me here to deliver this. Can you please just eat first? Everyone’s worried about you.”
There’s the rustling of a plastic bag. You hope that Tim picked up Dick’s favorite Thai spot downtown, the one with the pad see ew he likes. Hopefully, that’ll cheer him up. “Thanks, but I’m good for now.”
“Dick, you’re not doing anyone any favors by punishing yourself. What would she say if she saw you like this, huh?”
“Well, she can’t really say anything now, can she? Because of me.”
“Stop blaming yourself. It’s Blockbuster’s fault. She wouldn’t want you to do this.”
“Should’ve been me in this bed.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. God, I’ll do anything — I’ll give up anything. Just please wake up. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“I can’t do this without you. I need you to wake up, pretty girl. Need to see those eyes again. Need you looking at me again.”
“I swear I’ll do better. I’ll work harder. Please. Don’t take her away from me.”
When your eyes finally flutter open, you feel as if it’s been years since you’ve seen the light. The bright fluorescent lamps above blind you as you groan and turn away. Crust nearly keeps your eyes shut but you reach up to brush them away, only to wince at the searing pain by your side.
“Hey, pretty girl, easy. Don’t move too fast. You’re hurt.”
Dick. You slowly turn to the side to find him there. Then you briefly analyze your surroundings.
White. All white. Hospital. The only splashes of color are in the flower arrangements sitting at the end of your bed. Large and wild. Alive.
You’re alive.
Christ, you’re alive.
But Dick — he looks disheveled, the most you’ve ever seen him at least. There’s certainly more than a day’s worth of stubble peppering his jaw, his blue eyes shadowed by the circles surrounding them. His hair is a mussed-up mess, like he’s been running his hand through it nonstop for days.
He’s fast to approach, gentle to touch. You swear you see the slight tremble in his fingertips as he brushes your hair away from your face. His eyes search yours, drinking you in like he is memorizing every inch of you. Old habits die hard, you suppose. He’s probably cataloging your injuries as if the doctor hasn’t done that already.
“Hey, Dick,” you smile weakly, the stretch painful. Your throat feels dry, your voice comes out grainy. There’s a stiffness around your neck, which you soon realize is a brace. It hurts to breathe, let alone speak. “What day is it?”
Dick scrambles to grab the glass of water at your bedside table. He eases the rim between your lips, letting the cool liquid slowly pour between your chapped lips. “Easy, not too much. Not too fast,” he whispers, then adds, “Been four days.”
“Hmm, that’s a while, huh? Hope my boss doesn’t fire me for missing work that long. God knows we’re understaffed.”
Your attempt to laugh falls short when you feel the piercing twinge in your stomach, and it comes out as a raspy cough instead.
Dick’s eyes widen and you shake your head to reassure him. You don’t like the way his forehead creases in concern, how dim his usually bright eyes are. Dick forces a smile at your poor endeavor at humor. “No, I’m sure you’ll be fine, sweetheart. Called in for you.”
“Good. What a waste of PTO though.”
“Sweet girl,” Dick breathes out, closer this time as he leans forward and presses his lips against your temple. You barely feel it, still slightly numb under the bandage wrapped around your head. His breath is shaky when he exhales. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve been there.”
You roll your eyes, but it only makes your head ache. “Don’t be silly. Why would you have been there? It wasn’t as if we had plans.”
“We were supposed to go together. We—” Dick chokes on his words as he sits on the chair next to your bed, bringing your hand up to his face and flattens the back of it against his cheek. “I’m sorry. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am that I wasn’t there.”
“You were, Dick. You came for me. I knew you would.”
“I wasn’t fast enough.”
“You were as fast as you could be.”
“I didn’t get him. I wanted to, but you were there and you were hurt and I needed to get you to the hospital first. He escaped and—”
“You’ll get him next time.”
“I let you get hurt.”
“You didn’t do anything except save me.”
Dick’s lips quiver as he inhales again, as he looks at you.
“I love you.”
Then you hear another sharp gasp. Yours.
“I love you. I should’ve told you that a long time ago, pretty girl. I love you so much. I shouldn’t have let you walk away. I should’ve fought harder for you. I just— I thought you deserved better than me. Someone who could treasure you properly. Hopefully, someone who loves you as much as I do, even if I don’t think it’s possible.”
Your throat is tight. Whether it’s the tears or from the injuries you’ve sustained, you’re not entirely sure. Your question is only answered when you taste the saltiness on your tongue, your fingers reaching up to touch the wet mess rolling down your face.
“But I can’t let you go. People think I’m selfless, but god — I’m so fucking selfish when it comes to you. Never want you to leave my side again. I want you close so I can protect you, keep you safe, love you proper. I want you to know how much you mean to me. I want to remind you of it every day. I took it for granted before, but never again. I love you. I’ll do it right this time, if you’ll let me. If you’ll still have me.”
“Dick…”
“God, look at me babbling away when you should be resting,” Dick huffs, disgruntled with himself. “I’m sorry. I’ll get the doctor. I should’ve done that first.”
“Stay.”
“I have to—”
You reach for his fingers again, intertwining them. It’s been a while since you’ve had his big hands up close. These hands always remind you that you’re safe, that you’re his. Gentle, a contradiction against the harsh touch of Blüdhaven. “Just for a little while.”
Dick glances between the door and your joint hands in conflict. He caves in to you, because — of course, he does. He’s never been one to deny you when you want to touch him. It’s his weakness. If Clark had his Kryptonite, he had you.
“For a little bit,” he murmurs reluctantly, “but I want them to check on you right after this, okay? I have to make sure you’re good.”
For a while, the two of you let the silence seep in. It wraps around you like a blanket, warm and steady. The worries of the past few days — even the past few weeks — seem to melt away as you let your eyes slide close once more, your head pressing back into the pillow. Dick’s fingers twitch in your hand and you give him a squeeze to assure him you’re okay.
“I was scared,” you admit quietly. You can’t meet his eyes. Not for this. “I wasn’t scared of Blockbuster. I was scared of what would happen if you found me a minute too late. If I didn’t make it.”
“Wh— why would you be scared of that?”
“Because I know you’d blame yourself. You already have, even though you saved me. I didn’t want to be another weight to carry. Another burden on your shoulders.”
There is a fracture in Dick’s voice when he says your name. Like a prayer. Like a desperate plea. “You could never be a burden. I— I don’t know what I would’ve done if I didn’t make it in time. I don’t even want to think about that.”
“Might make things easier for you,” you try to tease, but the joke lands bitter on your tongue. “One less thing to worry about. I guess I already was when I ended things.”
Dick is quiet for a moment, you can’t even hear him breathe. So you turn to look at him again, curious eyes finding his slumped shoulders. “Don’t even joke about that. That’s not something I’m entertaining. I’m never not worrying about you,” he mutters, “kept tabs on you even after you broke up with me. I wanted to make sure you always had someone looking out for you, even if it’s someone you didn’t care about anymore.”
You frown then. “Why would you think I don’t care about you?”
His head tilts in question then, brows furrowing. “Isn’t— I mean, isn’t that why you ended things? Because you weren’t interested in me anymore. I wasn’t a great boyfriend, I know that. I should’ve done more. That’s on me. I just thought, you… didn’t care about me anymore. Maybe you found someone else.”
“Dick, oh my— no, not at all. I just—” your teeth sink into your bottom lip, the truth hanging on the tip of your tongue but you refuse to let it slip.
He looks at you with such earnest eyes, ones that urge you to continue.
How can you say no to him? How could you think for one second you could let him go?
“I thought it would be easier for you, if we broke up,” you admit quietly and are immediately answered by the deepening of his frown, “you have so much going on. Between Nightwing, Blüdhaven and Gotham, and all the community outreach you were doing, it just didn’t seem like you had time for a relationship. It’s not as if I was helping you in any way, I can’t really do that. Not like the others. So I did what I thought was best.”
The look on Dick’s face now, you don’t think you ever want to see again. He looks absolutely crestfallen. His lips slightly parted, eyes carrying the sort of melancholy that comes after a loss. “You— fuck, you thought that breaking up would be easier for me? How can you— what would even make you think that? I know I’ve been busy and I haven’t been the best boyfriend, but god, you— you never made things harder. Ever. If anything, I feel so much lighter with you around. I feel as if I could breathe again. When this city chokes out the last of me, I know I’ll at least have you. And god, I wasn’t perfect, I was a terrible boyfriend, but you put up with me. I don’t know why you did for as long as you did, but— I didn’t know that’s how you felt with me. I wish you’d told me.”
A laugh of disbelief escapes him, rising from his chest with acid on his tongue.
“You were always so patient. I thought— I thought that’s all you wanted from me. A few dates here and there. I didn’t want to ask more of you, didn’t want to scare you off. I can be intense, overwhelming. I know I can certainly be, and I didn’t want you to think I was being too demanding.”
“Dick, you’re… unbelievable. Do you know how much I admire you? Everything that you do? Sometimes, I don’t know what you see in me. When you have all these incredible people around you, when you’re doing all these incredible things. I didn’t think I’d be… enough.”
Dick stands then, cupping your face in his hands. His eyes are wild, alive now. It’s as if he’s been electrified in the last few moments of your conversation. “You are more than enough. You’re everything. Every day I see how hard you work, how much of your heart you put into this city and its people, and it reminds me of why I want to protect this city. It’s because of you. I want you safe, I want you happy here — with me. God, I fucking love you, you know that. I’m going to remind you of it every day. If you’ll let me have you again, I promise you — you’ll never have a doubt in your mind ever again when it comes to where you stand with me. You’ll see what I see in you.”
You crack another small smile, cheeks aching. You’re probably ripping open a couple of stitches, but it’s worth it when Dick breathes a sigh of relief. “Love you too, Dick.”
The smile he offers you is magnificent. The kind that you memorize, print, and tuck away for safekeeping on a rainy day. He presses another kiss to your forehead, then your hand. Firm this time. More confident. He hesitates before he leans to brush his lips against yours.
And it feels like homecoming.
“I’m going to put a tracker on you from now on. I’ll drop you off at work and pick you up. I’ll install new security measures in your office and our apartment—”
“Our?”
He freezes then flushes, pink tinging his neck. “If you want. I mean, I think you’ll be safer there. I know we haven’t been together long but I’ll feel better if you’re with me. We can spend more time together, I don’t have to let you go at the end of the day. If you’re not comfortable, I’ll set up a separate room for you first — not to say I won’t be crashing in there every night, but—”
“Dick,” you reprimand teasingly. “I’ll think about it. That’s a big move.”
“Right, yeah. Of course. You don’t have to. I’ll implement new security cameras and sensors at your place. I’ll booby trap some of the windows so no one can break in. We’ll upgrade your—”
“Dick,” you say again, softer this time. “Your offer isn’t a bad thing. I just… I have to think about it. I love you, I do. It’s just been a lot.”
He nods solemnly and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head. Always working. Always looking for a solution.
“It’s not a no, baby.”
The pet name has him perking up, his eyes illuminating for the first time in a while since you’ve seen him. Crystal blue staring right back at you.
“And Dick—”
“Yeah?”
“Probably time to get the doctor. I might’ve split open a few stitches.”
“Oh, shit yeah.” He jumps to his feet, ready to run out when you call for him again. He pops his head back in, gaze curious, happy, concerned.
Your lips tug into a smile. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, pretty girl.”
dick is flying to (taglist): @catclaw1 @lunexiax @esunarint @lunaryoongie @alli0-0 @avgdestitute @parker-barnes-af @onecojg @lynnidc @winnichu173 @c3liaaaaa @my-drvidess @fruitypebsworld @smorgasbrods @ruptureedspleen @take-it-on-the-run @a-very-fictional-girl @eiaf4uwn @vivianna2392 @w1nchesterfiles @ae1szn @its-pomegranite @athenxt
Content/CW -> fem! reader, one (1) suicide joke, lowkey a crack fic, this is my first smau be nice to me pls
— requested by the lovely @royalkaline
froggi yaps -> this is my first time writing a smau 🥺 pls let me know if you guys have any advice for the formatting etc!! hopefully this is still enjoyable <3
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thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
I noticed it wasn’t popping up in general tags and felt bad for the other young Nolan enjoyers. Context: this post.
I have another Bsf’s Older Brother AU in the works with Nolan, like 10k words worth of smut, so this is an introduction to the dynamic. this needs to be proofread. I’ll come back and fix any mistakes.
and I tried out a new theme?? I’ll try to make it Acheron based soon
warnings: none… I really wanted to write smut but I’m not horny enough to do it.
Word count: 5k
The living room is quiet as the warmth of the baby bottle heats up your palm while you watch Mark. Currently, he sits on the carpet while changing the babbling baby Oliver on a towel, a new diaper and wipes in hand.
His face is pulled into a grimace the entire time while you sit on the couch, covering your nose. Even with it becoming a daily chore, nothing will ever make the half-Viltrumite get used to the process of baby changing nor you, the regular civilian.
The dark-haired male sighs in relief as he tosses the used wipes in a small plastic bag beside him along with the used diaper, finally finished with the daunting task. The brown-eyed hero rises to his feet while you protect your nose still, palm pressed against your nostrils. He whistles idly while trudging around the couch into the kitchen, dirty bag in hand, and he casually tosses it in the trash.
You then immediately point at the sink, disgruntled, and he grins at the silent message for him to wash his hands; there's no way you're letting your best friend touch anything after dealing with baby waste.
All the while, the giggling infant still lies on his back on the fluffy towel. Oliver effortlessly sits up without any assistance and turns on his side, chubby arms raised, and a small smile on his face. His round eyes shine with mirth as he silently begs to be picked up.
He’s so darn cute, you can’t take it.
The adorable baby already has your heart captured when you lean forward and grab him, babbling incoherent nonsense—the kind of baby talk Mark seems to be the only one who understands.
The soft pressure of Oliver’s tiny finger pokes and prods at your cheek, a habit he usually does to Mark, and it makes you giggle as well.
You finally lift the warm milk to his lips, but he’s already taking the bottle from your hands eagerly. The purple-skinned baby easily holds the bottle with both hands and enthusiastically drinks his milk while relaxed in your hold.
The couch dips with extra weight, and Mark is already by your side again as he laughs at the adorable sight. He then slowly pulls the bottle from Oliver’s eager mouth, and the poor baby lets out a disappointed whine.
He stares up at his brother with sad eyes at having his yummy nutrients abruptly taken, and your heart melts even more.
Mark boops Oliver’s nose, then slowly takes the baby out of your grip, mildly offending you because you just got to shower him in love and feed him; the older brother is obviously obsessed with caring for his little brother.
The male holds Oliver with one arm as he gently returns the bottle with a smile, keeping an eye on how much Oliver is drinking as he eagerly takes the bottle back. “You gotta slow down with the Milk, tiger. We don’t want you to choke, y’know?”
You automatically huff, and Mark lifts his head with a sheepish smile; he'll return him in a minute...
Or a couple.
Oliver is his baby brother, at the end of the day. Let him be obsessed, okay?
You point at him spitefully, making sure the next words sting in the harshest way.
“I hope his first full sentence is saying you suck."
He fakes a gasp with all his dramatic flair, as if you swore, and cups the side of Oliver's head, shielding one ear to his chest as well. The dark-eyed male leans closer to you with a growing smile, "Careful! He'll actually do that!"
You snort, "And I hope he does!"
Mark laughs. Oliver, sensing the joyous atmosphere, lets go of his bottle and laughs excitedly as well, cooing and clapping his hands. The near-empty bottle plops onto his tummy and bounces off, almost touching the ground, yet you intercept the timed event by grabbing it midair.
Mark continues bouncing the giggling baby in his arms, and his eyes crinkle as he smiles at your reflexes. "Instead of having him say his big bro sucks as a full sentence, how about saying your name and how you're the best?"
You triumphantly wave the bottle as you back next to them waving the bottle, "Damn right I am-"
"Language." He gets the nagging from his mother, definitely.
You snort again as Mark takes the bottle from you, "Darn right I am."
You peer down at the smiling baby who raises his hands to poke his big brother's face. The little guy tugs Mark's cheek, and Mark winces with shaky laughter. "Is the milk making him stronger or is it his genes?"
You give the bottle back to Oliver for him to fiddle with instead of his brother's face, "The milk."
He snorts in turn as he watches Oliver automatically latch onto the bottle. His gaze softens as a relaxed smile grows on his face at the sight.
The air soothes into a peaceful silence as the both of you fondly watch the giggling baby hold the bottle effortlessly and drink the last of its contents.
Your cheek finds his shoulder, and Mark leans more into your warmth as you pipe up quietly.
"...you'd make a great dad."
Mark immediately chokes on his spit looks at you as if you swore again. Heat rises to his face as he stutters out a repsonse, failing actually, and you cut him off with a laugh.
"I don’t mean thinking about having babies right now, doofus. I meant because of how well you naturally take care of Oliver," you look down at the baby, who tosses the emptied bottle away this round. It actually hits the floor this time, and you automatically laugh.
You crouch down in front of him as Mark smiles down at the giggly baby, content with the small havoc he's reigning. "I, uh... never thought about having a kid of my own," he readjusts Oliver, and his little head lies on his shoulder rather than his bicep.
"Eve and I didn't really think that far into the future," your grip on the bottle accidentally increases at the mention of his girlfriend.
You almost forgot he was taken.
Mark silently watches as you stand up and walk towards the kitchen to clean the used bottle, back facing him so your grim expression isn't readable.
You turn on the faucet as you stare at your distorted reflection on the knob, "I get it, I get it. Superhero on call and whatnot." You glance over your shoulder with a teasing smile as you rinse the bottle, "That dorky little Invcible Inc. got you in a chokehold too."
He raises a brow with a grin, pretending to be offended.
"Hey, we both decided on that name." Eve and him.
"And you're both dorks, so now what?" Which is true, two adorable dorks—one goofier than the other.
Mark laughs in response, and Oliver joins in, sleepily giggling as you turn off the faucet and dry off the bottle with a small shake. "And you're not?"
You open one of the cabinets stationed with the baby’s utensils, as if you yourself are part of the family as well with how it flows to you naturally, then shelf the now-cleaned bottle upside down on a paper towel. "Hell-“ you immediately correct yourself, “Heck no, I'm not."
Almost forgot to watch your language again.
Mark lets out a small laugh through his nose as he rises with the dozing off baby in his arms, "Not a dork, but equally as cringey.” An indirect jab at your self-censor in front of the baby.
You roll your eyes as you close the cabinet; even his comebacks suck. You then watch as Mark walks towards the stairs carefully, watching his step and also checking if his pace hasn’t woken up the napping baby. Your eyes follow him as he disappears with quiet footsteps.
A sigh the breaks from your mouth.
You love Eve, you truly do, but a strong part of you wishes you had gotten to him before she did.
Just a passing thought… or maybe one that’s been festering for a couple months. Who knows?
Mark returns and leans over the railing playfully with a finger to his lips, shushing you as if you were loud the seconds he had been gone—mirth in his cute eyes and a grin painting his features. "He's fast asleep. That milk really did him in."
You walk up towards him with crossed arms and a brow raised, and he smiles down at you more. "Or it was you hogging him and playing with him the entire time I was here that did him in."
The dark-haired male descends the last few steps with a snort, "Hey, I wasn't hogging him."
"You wouldn't even let me feed him."
He rounds the railing with a shrug, still smiling. "Not the entire time, no."
You uncross your arms with a smile and squint your eyes at him as he approaches you, "But enough time to say it was hogging."
The hero snorts again in humor with a shake of his head. A couple of hairs get displaced, and he pushes them back, "He's my brother. It's not hogging when I do it."
You roll your eyes and walk past him, and he follows you to the living room. You pick up the remote as you sit down, and he plops right beside you, closer than he should, but you never minded how affectionate he could be.
With flair, you place your free hand to your chest as you wave the remote. "So it's classified as hogging when I do it?"
He outstretches his arms wide and plops one behind you, muscles rippling under his shirt and shirt stretching around his broad shoulders. You avert your gaze from the sight flusteredly annoyed; you hate how easy it is for him to be hot with the face of a kicked puppy.
God, you hate him.
He hums and stares at the TV. "Pretty much."
You tap the remote on the armrest with a small rhythm, trying to distract yourself from the warmth of the guy next to you—a guy you have a small, very teensy attraction to. "Ugly much."
His eyes shine as he immediately laughs, perturbed. "Are you calling me ugly? What kind of counter even is that?"
You flip through channels without sparing him a glance. "The kind that I use," you turn your head with a smug smile, "because there's nothing pretty about hogging your adorable brother to yourself."
"In fact,” you twirl the remote, acting as if you’re lost in thought, when you scrunch your face, eyebrows dramatically furrowed, “he's a thousand times cuter than you."
The boy looks at you in disbelief and laughs, leaning towards you with a grin, "What?” He then tries to correct you as he grips the back of the couch, “You mean we're on the same level."
You lift one hand high, giving him a visible example of what’s in your thoughts; a measuring medium between the cuteness of the two.
”Oliver is this cute," hand outstretched over the both of your heads. Then you point at the carpet with the remote in your other hand as the ultimatum decorates your tone—no room left for argument, "Aaand you're that cute."
The dark-eyed hero scoffs through his nose, laughing as crosses his arms in defeat. "Wow. Can't believe you said that—demonstrated that too."
You go back to flipping through channels with a grin, cheeky and self-satisfied. "You're welcome. You never would've known how cute you are thanks to me."
Mark shakes his head wryly—yes, he should be so thankful to the person who called him ugly. "Cute as the carpet, you mean."
You lift a finger in correction.
"I was actually pointing at the floor-"
An unexpected laugh immediately breaks itself from your lips as Mark plops his head on your shoulder and snakes his arms around you, squeezing you consequently after such an insult.
His warm eyes stare at the flashing colors across the screen, his expression one of amusement rather than offense. "Now you're saying all that to be a dick," he then expresses a pout, yet the delight at the banter decorates his tone.
And you don’t disagree; you’re such a mean best friend to him. "Oh, no. I definitely am."
He laughs through his nose in agreement as more of his weight relaxes on you. "Oh, yeah. You definitely are."
You lean on the armrest, not minding how warm and heavy his body is on yours. "And if I'm a dick, then that makes you what?"
"The bestest friend you've ever had, actually."
With every little bit of conversation, the hero instinctively pulls you closer to his lap as to not deal with the strain of leaning over your shoulder. The both of you barely notice the change in position, you fully sitting on his lap, as the banter continues.
You hum with a tilt of your head, playfully keen on not agreeing. "Maybe second at best."
Something worthy of watching almost flashes onto the screen until you pass the News channel—the sounds of roaring debris falling and guttural screams. Mark perks up and immediately cups his hand over yours, bigger and hot, forcing your thumb to go back to the Breaking News.
Well, what do you know. Another crisis.
You turn your head to him in expectation, and his brows furrow as he burrows his face into your shoulder, keen on wanting to keep his brief moment of peace for a second.
He closes his eyes. “Cecil’s people will deal with it.”
Your eyes soften, already detecting the creeping exhaustion in his voice, then nod. The dark-eyed boy buries his face more into your shoulder, almost trying to drown out the sounds emitted from the television.
Looking back at the screen, the News Broadcast seemed as if it were something out of an action movie—the worst thing real life could be compared to.
An explosion of orange and yellow, black smoke whirling into the air… an indiscernible limb flying into the air. Right as that happened, you feel the pressure of Mark’s thumb pressing on the TV’s power button; he doesn’t want to see or hear anything at all.
It’s quiet for a moment, and you can see him internally debating whether he should leave or not.
Before you open your mouth to reassure him, his phone rings. The dark-haired male loosens his hold around your waist, and you’re finally aware that you’re perched on his thighs—embarrassingly.
Silently, you slide off. Mark has always been too affectionate with you for his own good, and there were times where you had to warn him about the implications of being so touchy, best friend regardless.
Yet, it takes two to tango; you’re partially in fault for letting it happen—for liking it.
You give him the space he needs as you settle beside him; the caller ID has him furrowing his eyebrows.
“It’s Eve.”
You watch a he picks up the phone then sigh, a weight perching itself on his shoulders as he hunches over. He confirms over the phone he’ll be coming to the location soon—a client that’s no doubt in the happening of that News Broadcast.
You go back to leaning on the armrest with a small, sympathetic smile. “Sorry, Mark. Invincible Inc. is calling your name.”
He already looks done when he places his hands on his thighs, sighing while getting up from the couch. “Yeah. I’ll be back.”
And with that, a gust of wind hits your face as he zips through the door with a slam and a shut.
You sigh and stand up.
Right when you do so, Mark’s older brother is coming down the stairs with a fussy Oliver on his hip. He’s dressed comfortably, and his muscles casually flex as he pushes his hair back—clearly tired from being woken up.
The whimpering baby on his hip desperately surveys the living room in search for Mark then starts sniffling, hands raised to you as Nolan reaches the last step.
You coo at the baby as you walk up towards the two. You crouch a little to meet Oliver’s gaze as you take one his hands, the small fingers wrapping around your index as he stares at you with his lower lip wobbling. “I’m sorry, Oliver. He just left.”
You glance up at the taller male with a confused smile as you stand upright—bigger frame and baggy pants sitting low on his hips. “Mark just put him to bed too. He started crying already?”
Nolan looks down at you, his light eyes still caked with sleep, then looks around the living room. “He was making that noise in his sleep.”
The older male walks past you while rubbing the whimpering baby’s back, almost ignoring your presence. “I’m presuming it was a nightmare.”
You nod and watch as he sits on the couch. Staring at him from behind, he looks exactly as if Mark spontaneously grew a couple inches—it’s like the family only knows one haircut.
The older male places Oliver on his knee and gently bounces him while observing the whimpering baby’s expression—trying to discern as much as he could from a little being that could barely speak, really. You soon follow right after but lean over the back of the couch instead, elbows on the edge while staring over his shoulder.
Playfully, you stick your tongue while staring down at Oliver, and his watery eyes instantly lighten up. You then act as if you’re eating his brother’s hair, hands scooping up air fills with makeshift utensils, and he giggles in response, raising his hands to you.
Nolan averts his eyes and turns his head frowning, and you immediately look away with an innocent smile, propping your chin on your wrist.
“With that expression, I’m guessing you did something crude behind my head?” Accusation in his voice.
Your hand reaches out to touch his head, a similar petting you do to Mark at times, and he easily snatches your wrist, the grip iron tight as his fingers wrap around your wrist wholly.
He’s not touchy like Mark—party killer.
You hum, “If sticking my tongue out is, then yes.”
The light-eyed male’s grip lessens. “Taunting, is what that’s considered to be.”
You gradually pull your hand out of his grip and lean over his shoulder more, voice higher and cooing, as you stare down at the now happy, giggling baby, “Yet Oliver liked it.”
And his pitched, happy coos agree with you!
You flit your eyes to him, voice normal again with a teasing smile. “What does that say about you, huh?”
The male raises an eyebrow, confused at how easily entertained a baby could be from a stupid gesture, then he closes his eyes in reluctance—it’s a baby after all; they’re entertained by anything.
He readjusts the giggling toddler as he sits up straighter, possibly to distance himself from you. “I don’t find stupidity funny.”
“What if laughed at you then?”
He promptly opens his eyes to glare daggers into you, but you’re already walking around the couch to plop beside him. The light-eyed older brother huffs through his nose, and you grin more at seeing how his shoulders tense—either holding back from shoving you or containing his annoyance.
Nolan never liked you that much… or any of Mark’s friends for that matter; he’s only natural with his family.
Oliver giggles as you wiggle your fingers over his tummy and kicks his feet. The older brother watches with an impassive face, yet his natural frown begins to soften at the sight.
His baby brother is happy again, at least.
And yet a vein immediately pops in his neck at feeling you lean towards him with a smug smile, casually taking a jab at him. “Oh, so you can smile.”
He can’t do this; you’re effortlessly annoying. Mark can’t come back quick enough, can he?
…
Both you and the older brother stand over the sleeping baby’s cradle, lying on his back and tucked in tightly. The mobile slowly spins above him as you watch Nolan’s knuckles brush across the napping baby’s cheek.
You had to cover your mouth from such gap moe; big scary older brother caressing his baby brother?
You could die from adorableness on the spot.
The taller male detaches his hand slowly, as if he’s hesitant to leave the infant alone, then stands upright. He walks towards the dresser and immediately starts playing with the baby monitor, tinkering and adjusting the volume to test if it’s set correctly and can display the crib wholly in its viewpoint.
You uncover your mouth with a grin, eyes crinkling as you stare at his back. Your voice is a hushed whisper as you walk towards the preoccupied male.
“You’re so cute. All dad-like just like how Mark is.”
Nolan’s ears become pink as you stare at the back of his head. His broad shoulders stiffen then his eye twitches as his thoughts run.
Mark is long gone, so why the hell are you still here?
The male glares over his shoulder as he slowly places the baby monitor back on the dresser gently, “When are you leaving?”
You cover your mouth to shield your snort at his quick dismissal—wouldn’t wanna wake up baby Oliver.
You point at him as you step to be beside him, discreetly eyeing how thick his arms are. “Ouch? I’m Mark’s bestie. We’re friends by default then.”
Ignoring your presence again, he smoothly walks past you and towards the door. A creeping exhaustion mixes with the annoyed lilt in his tone. “That’s not how friendship works.”
You shrug as you watch him, “Okay. Acquaintances.”
He scoffs. “I don’t want to get acquainted with you neither.”
You follow him into the hall and tilt your head, faking hurt as your voice drips with disappointment, “You’re so mean.” You shake your head with a playful sigh, acting as if the next words pain you. “Mark and Oliver clearly won the friendly department, so heartbreaking the gene passed over you.”
You point at him with a grin as he descends the stairs with silent creaks, leaning over the balcony with your index raised high, “You won the HR department—cold and ruthless.”
The older brother holds himself back from rolling his eyes as he departs from the last step, rubbing his chin in thought of your stupid quip. “That’s a great win. Actually,” he turns around and looks up at you as he nears the door, “it’s relevant too.”
The annoyed male crosses his arms as he glares up at you from the lower floor. “I’m HR, yes? Employees are given advice for their performance.”
He gestures to the door with his head, “I’m giving you this piece of advice: leave my house and don’t come back.”
You immediately laugh at his comment.
He is such an asshole.
You slowly descend the stairs while holding onto the railing, and part of him hopes you fall. Would he ever catch you? That’s up to how harsh his mother is going to scold him if he doesn’t.
Your voice melts into a singsong cadence as your eyes sparkle with amusement. “It’s your head when Mark comes back, and I’m not here, you know.”
He unlocks the door and watches as your foot finally touches the last step—as if he’s waited eons for you to be on your way.
The light-eyed male bites back a sneer as he leans his shoulder on the doorframe after your comment. “You act as if he can actually do something against me.” His younger brother, who always holds back, pitted against him? Please.
You stop in front of him and place your hands on your hips as you stare into his eyes, grinning. “Well, he has something you don’t, and it’s clearly amicableness.”
Nolan raises an eyebrow with that usual frown, “Amicable?”
You gesture to yourself with a smile, as if you’re the best example for the word. “Very friendly, barely starts shit-“
“I know what it means.” Immediately he cuts you off, no hesitation. His brow twitches; you still don’t take the invitation to leave, and he’s close to picking you up and tossing you out.
You gesture to him with a confused expression, “Okay, so why do you sound confused?”
He uncrosses his arms with a neutral tone. “Since you’re anything but that adjective. An instigator is more accurate.”
You cross your arms instead with an amused smile, “You’re such an asshole.” You then turn around and face the house’s interior, back facing the open door and a resolution shinning in your eyes, “And just for that I’m not leaving.”
He huffs through his nose and leans his head back to the stare ceiling, internally groaning.
Amazing. Who knew he could actually catch headaches this fast, headaches at all, from just conversing with his brother’s best friend?
You turn around and place a hand on his tensed arm, veins striking across his biceps and arms. “Okay, I’ll stop teasing you. I’ll go, I’ll go.”
Good riddance, is his first thought.
He then ignores how his heart flutters when you playfully squeeze his firm muscles right before you step out of the door.
And when you came back the next day, it was the same situation again: Mark leaves, he’s left alone with you, and you continuously bother him.
Though this time it’s a bit more personal… and he’s trying his hardest to say he doesn’t care about your ramblings. He’s said it multiple times, but you obviously like hearing the sound of your own voice with how you run your mouth.
He’s definitely going to throw you out of his house one day.
You lazily lie on your back on his couch, back in the same place as yesterday, as if you’ve lived here for years, legs absentmindedly draped over his thighs. He would’ve shoved them off if he had the energy, but he honestly stopped caring after the nth time he tried to make you shut up.
Your head rests on the armrest as you stare at the ceiling. “You think they’re made for each other?”
He scrolls on his phone, susceptible to doomscrolling like any other earthling, and barely catches what you said. His tone is one of boredom as his thick fingers rub against your thighs wordlessly. “It would help if you said who the ‘they’ are.”
You sit up with a small frown, pursing your lips, then huff irritated. “You were ignoring me this whole time?”
Of course he was.
The older brother doesn’t look up from his phone, white light reflected in his light eyes. “Of course I was.”
You go back to laying on your back with a huff as you cross your arms, peeved at having to repeat yourself after rambling for nearly a half hour. “Mark and Eve, dingbat.”
The dark-haired male snorts at how you dare to insult him and grips one of your thighs, ready to swing them off his lap; you are the last person to be calling someone a dingbat.
“My input doesn’t mater. If he likes her and she likes him, then it’s none of my business.”
You nearly pout at how quickly he shuts the conversation down, yet you continue. A confession then melts out of your chest as you uncross your arms with a groan. “Don’t tell him… but I liked him before he was even dating Amber, man.”
He doesn’t lift his gaze from his phone, not giving a damn to spare you any of his attention. “Is this where I’m supposed to be shocked at the confession?”
You quirk a brow, almost feeling exposed. “Oh. So you always knew?”
His thumb swipes on some short form content, searching for something relevant to his interests as his fingers absentmindedly knead your thighs just to have something to play with. “I’m actually more surprised you two aren’t doing anything behind everyone’s backs.”
You furrow your brows.
What?
Oh. Ohhh.
Wow, he thinks he’s sooo funny.
You nearly lift your foot to kick him, offended. “Do I look like a cheap, friends with benefits person to you?”
He continues scrolling, and you swear you can hear the smirk in his tone despite his face showing no emotion.
“My brother touches you like you are.”
You actually raise your leg to kick him, and, instead of shoving you off to the floor, he immediately wraps an arm under your waist, and effortlessly pulls you to sit up on his lap. You stare at him unamused while he stares at you equally unamused, hand gripping your side.
You don’t back down as you squint him, a hint of challenge shining in your depths. “You can let go of me now.”
The older male clicks off his phone while glaring back at you, half annoyed and half biting into the challenge. “You’re playing this card after trying to get violent?”
You shrug, acting nonchalant as his hand readjusts its hold on your side to keep you balanced—how sweet, you think.
Yes, that’s sarcasm ringing through your head, but, undeniably, part of you feels a spark of heat blossoming from him being this intimate for once.
You stare down at him from over your nose, head haughtily tilted back as your voice melts into a tease. “What card?”
His fingers flex into your side more, and you want to get mad at how easily you feel yourself heat up when his thumb runs circles onto the area—he knows what he’s doing to you, there’s no way he isn’t.
“Pretending to be unaffected.”
You change your position to settle on his lap more, and he doesn’t protest when you readjust yourself to straddle his lap. The warmth of your thighs heat up his body as your legs prop on either side of his.
You and sitting on the Grayson’s laps, huh?
You hum as you lower your head. “By your comments or sitting on your lap?”
The light-eyed male tosses his phone on the couch and places his hands on your hips, staring deeply into your eyes intent on not wavering from the heat sparking between you two. “Both.”
You stare at him for a moment.
And he stares back with the same fever.
He is such an asshole, but he’s such a hot asshole. Having his father’s name and looking as if he’s an older version of Mark? You hate him so bad.
He hates you too—genuinely. You’re annoying. You come to his house uninvited. You always insult him.
He can’t stand you.
And the next thing you know is that the muscles of his arms dig into your back when they’re wrapped tightly around you as you’re feverishly kissing one another. He smells good, like clean laundry, he’s big and overpowering, and his lips feel way better than you expected.
More reasons to hate this dude.
The light-eyed male’s hands, big and strength beyond comprehension, squeeze the fat of your hips and wander to your thighs as the both of you meet peck after peck. The temperature rises as you feel in real time his body heat increase, and there was something else gradually increasing down south as well.
Your fingers cup his cheeks, and he pulls you even closer against him, any scant between you now nonexistent.
Every time you pull away for another breath, he pulls your foggy mind back down to kiss him—your mind barely functioning from how shallow each break between is.
The veins across his arms ripple as he effortlessly picks you up and manhandles your legs to wrap around his waist. Your arms wrap around his neck and tug on the shorts hairs at the back of his head as he rounds to the stairs without breaking a sweat, urgent kisses just as consistent.
And when you come out of his room the next day in nothing but hickies and his shirt hanging off your sore frame, hair wild, Mark drops his bowl of cereal and stares at you as if his father came back.
All the while his older brother emerges from the room and disappears down the hall to check up on Oliver.
love at first sight (requested!)
husband!jason todd x fem!reader
mentions: established marriage, fluff in the shower, uhh consent, soft makeout sesh is, lowkey a bit self indulgent SORRY
(.... this looks wrong considering my last post buuuut anyway!! this was a bit self indulgent because you dont know the struggles i face when i scrub my back 😭)
—————————————————————————
there was a saying that said marriage can truly change someone— and jason was an example
he always thought he was going to stay the way he was— an aggressive, short tempered man who ran around the city wearing a mask and carrying unresolved trauma— and that nothing would change it. until he met you
jason read about love at first sight and had always told himself there was a reason it only happened in books. but the moment his eyes landed on you for the first time, his heart believed it for a second.
and when he saw you walk down the aisle in that beautiful dress, that’s when jason peter todd became a believer. because he’s convinced that if he saw you in any other alternate universe, it would always be love at first sight, and that sliding that ring in your finger was the only decision he’s never proudly regretted
however, jason’s train of thought was interrupted when you called out for him from the shower. “jay?” you exclaimed from the running water
he turned to the bathroom door. “yeah?” jason called out from the other room, but immediately remembered you wouldn’t be able to hear him from the bathroom. jaosn walked towards the bathroom, opening the door and feeling the slight steam greet him along with the sounds of the water running.
“forgot your detangling brush again?”
“no— uh, i need your help”
“what’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“can you join me so—"
you didn’t need to tell the man twice because the moment the words ‘join me’ left your lips, jason closed the door and immediately started to take his clothes off— you could tell by hearing the sounds of fabric shifting before dropping to the ground
the glass door slid open, feeling a curl of steam drift out into the bathroom as jason stepped in. once he slid the glass door shut, warmth immediately clung to his skin with water now beading over his shoulders
you turn around to face him with a small smirk on your lips and an all-knowing eyebrow raised. “you’ve been waiting for me to say that, haven’t you?”
“since the moment you walked in the bathroom” jason responded with no hesitation with a mirroring smirk, hands settling instinctively at your waist like always. he knew that he could always walk in and join you in the bathroom. still, he never did— not without asking you once. it seemed small to anyone else but to jason, it mattered. you mattered
then, his voice softened into a soft murmur. “you called for me?”
“mhm. mind if you help me with my back?”
“like i’d say no to you, now turn around”
biting your bottom lip to hold your smirk from widening, you turned around to face your back to jason. his hands left your waist — a warmth that you already missed and a warmth that the warm water can’t compensate for— to brush your hair to your shoulders, making him lean in to place a gentle kiss on your nape before reaching for your body wash
he squeezed a good amount before placing the bottle down and finding his hands on your back before starting to work in slow, deliberate circles across your back. he didn’t rush, he never did. and for someone who once met everything in his life with force, jason handled you like something meant to be kept
“pressure okay?” he asked quietly, his voice closer as it sounded softer by the steam and the close proximity. you just hummed quietly in approval, shoulders relaxing under his touch. yet despite your answer, he adjusted anyway— just slightly
there was silence between you two but a comfortable one, just the sounds of the steady rhythm of water hitting tile and jason’s hands moving across your skin, making your breathing even out as you leaned back into him without thinking
jason dipped his chin for a second for his eyes to trace your composure, to see the way you relaxed against him, to see the way you trusted him so easily. for a gesture that was simple to you, it was everything to him
after lathering your back with soap and rinsing it down with water, jason murmured an “all done” before his hands slid back to your waist— where they belonged
you turned around to face him, arms now sliding around neck. god, the way you looked at him with so much love made him feel like he was undeserving to be looked like that— to be looked at like that by you
“thank you” you smiled softly, leaning in to give him a soft kiss on his lips to which jason happily reciprocated, feeling the water droplets slide.
“thank you” he whispered back after your lips pulled back, but still close enough for your breaths to hit one another and for the water to hit both of you. that made you raise a small eyebrow
“for washing my back?”
“for choosing me”
your gaze softened more than it could. “always” you murmured back, eyes still on his. and without looking down, jason’s hand slid from your waist to his neck to reach for your hand, bringing your knuckle — your ring— to his lips
your hand gently slid from his hand to cup the side of his face, to which jason instinctively leaned with his emerald eyes giving you a look with such softness and love— a look that he thought he wasn’t capable of giving, let alone feel
and like magnets, both of you leaned in for another kiss. and this one lingered— not rushed or teasing, just slow and certain, like neither of you had anywhere else to be. jason exhaled softly against your mouth, a quiet breath that almost sounded like relief.
because this— you— was the only place he ever really let his guard down, and jason couldn’t remember the last time he had his guard up, not since he met you
a changed man he was, indeed.
—————————————————————————
masterlist! ⤷ 1k event !
(a/n: help i almost wrote bottle as bottole and i thought it said butthole LMAO also atla has been rotting in my head all day... esp aang holy shit... katara i applaud you because she saw the vision before ANY OF US ever did)
pairing: ex!dick grayson x afab!reader, endgame!wally west x afab!reader
summary: you knew that moving on from a breakup would hurt, you just didn't expect your ex, dick grayson, to move on so soon and publicly to boot. little did you know that someone was watching out for you and is willing to do anything to make you smile.
content: ex! dick grayson, asshole dick grayson, angst, hurt, wally comforts you, banter and flirtation with wally, pining wally, observant wally, self-deprecation talk, wally fully believes in the power of food being healing, love confession,
wc: 7.1k
heart to heart valentine collection | buy me a coffee | general masterlist
There was a time when Dick Grayson fit into your life as if it had always been waiting for him.
You remembered it in fragments, the way memories tended to surface when you didn’t invite them.
Moonlight through your bedroom window, pale and soft, painting his bare shoulders silver as he lay on his side facing you. The city hummed beneath the tower, distant and alive, while the two of you existed in your own quiet world. His hand rested at your waist, thumb tracing lazy circles as if he had nowhere else he needed to be. As if there wasn’t a city that demanded him, or a symbol stitched into his suit that he carried even when it wasn’t on his chest.
You remembered laughing until it hurt. The kind of laugh that pulled a sound from your chest before you could stop it. Dick always loved that laugh. He used to say it made everything feel lighter, like for a moment the weight of being Nightwing slipped off his shoulders.
You mornings together was your preferred way to start the day. Sharing burnt toast and strong coffee, others were spent with gentle hands and bandages after missions. Conversations whispered into skin, secrets exchanged in the dark that felt safe simply because they were yours.
You remembered thinking, This is it. This is what it’s supposed to feel like.
The memory shattered the moment you opened your eyes.
The tower ceiling stared back at you, sterile and unfamiliar. Your room felt too quiet now, too empty. His jacket wasn’t draped over the chair anymore. There was no warmth lingering in the sheets, no sleepy voice teasing you for staying up too late.
That life belonged to another version of you.
And Dick Grayson belonged to someone else.
The last mission had been brutal — not the worst you’d ever faced, but draining in a way that left exhaustion sitting heavy in your bones. You worked well with the team, always had, but something felt… off.
It took you longer than you cared to admit to realize why.
Dick was there, and fought and covered civilians. He moved with the same precision he always did. He checked in over comms, just like he did with everyone else.
But he wasn’t fighting with you.
There was no familiar pressure at your back, no instinctive trust that someone was watching your blind spots because you watched theirs. No silent coordination born from knowing how the other person moved, thought, or reacted. You didn’t realize how much you’d relied on that unspoken connection until it was gone.
He hadn’t abandoned you. You knew that. He still cared — as a teammate. As a friend?
But the space between you felt cavernous. And fighting alone, even in a crowd, felt lonelier than you expected.
You stood under the spray of the shower longer than necessary, letting the water pound against your shoulders, hoping it would wash the memory of the mission, and the announcement that came after, from your mind.
Everyone had been so happy for them, Dick and Kori. Official. Public, almost aggressively so.
The way she glowed at his side, radiant and unapologetic in her affection. The way his smile came easy around her, unguarded in a way you hadn’t seen directed at you in a long time. They looked good together, like couple that belonged on the front page of a magazine or whispered about in awe.
It shouldn’t have hurt. You were broken up, and this was inevitable.
But your heart didn’t seem to care about logic.
You shut off the water, wrapped yourself in a towel, and stared at your reflection until the redness around your eyes faded enough to pass as exhaustion instead of heartbreak. You dressed quickly, deliberately. If you stayed in your room too long, you’d think too much.
You just needed food. Something solid, something normal.
The common room lights were dimmed when you stepped inside. Late evening, the tower winding down, and for one fleeting moment, you thought you might be safe.
Then you saw them. Kori sat curled against Dick on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, her laugh bright and unrestrained as he murmured something into her ear. His arm was slung easily around her shoulders, fingers resting at her waist like they’d memorized the shape of her already.
Arms that had once held you. Something in your chest twisted painfully.
Dick’s eyes lifted instinctively, catching yours across the room. For a split second, something flickered there — surprise, maybe guilt — but you didn’t give him the chance to figure it out.
You turned on your heel and headed back the way you came. You didn’t hear him call your name. You didn’t want to.
“Hey— wait up.”
Wally’s voice cut through your thoughts like a jolt of electricity, familiar and grounding. You slowed but didn’t stop, side-eying him as he fell into step beside you.
“You wanna hang out?” he asked lightly. “Maybe grab a snack? Get outta the tower for a bit?”
You huffed out a breath, arms crossing instinctively as you kept walking. “This isn’t because you feel bad, right?” you said. “I know this has got to be awkward for you.”
While Dick had insisted on keeping it quiet about any kind of relationship the two of you had, Wally was the exception to the rule. So while the rest of the team had no clue about any history between you and Dick, Wally has insider information. It wouldn’t be a far guess to say that he might just actually pity you, which is why you couldn’t help but ask. Not that you were really in a position to refuse a friend anyway.
Wally stopped short enough that you were forced to glance back at him.
“No,” he said immediately, cutting you off before the words could sink too deep. His tone was gentle, but firm. “It’s not about that.”
He jogged a step forward, falling back into stride beside you. “I can’t get a late-night treat with my friend and teammate now? And if it coincidentally means we leave the tower for a bit,” he added with a shrug, “well… who cares?”
He nudged your shoulder with his own, just enough that you stumbled slightly before catching yourself.
A small smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it. You sighed, the tension in your chest loosening just a fraction. “Fine,” you said quietly. “But you’re buying.”
Wally grinned, flashing you a wink as he turned toward the exit. “Wouldn’t dream of letting you pay.”
And for the first time that night, as the tower doors slid open and the cool air brushed against your skin, it felt like you might be able to breathe again.
⚡︎𓅩
You noticed it without meaning to. You’ve been trying to give the happy couple their space, but it seems like the universe is determined to keep shoving them into your face. So, of course, you notice Kori’s new fashion accessory.
Dick’s jacket was draped over Kori’s shoulders. It sat heavily on Kori’s shoulders, the fabric too large for her frame, sleeves hanging past her wrists as she laughed at something Dick murmured under his breath. The emblem on the back curved with her movement, catching the light as she shifted closer to him. Dick didn’t even look down when she tugged it tighter around herself — his arm came up automatically, settling at her waist like the two gestures belonged together.
Like this was normal, like it had always been allowed. Your fingers tightened around your cup.
It shouldn’t have mattered. It was just a jacket. A piece of fabric. Something practical, something replaceable.
But it wasn’t. Not to you.
The memory came without warning.
You were still flushed from the mission, sweat cooling too quickly against your skin as you stepped into the hallway outside the lockers. Your hands trembled faintly as adrenaline bled off, exhaustion settling deep into your bones. Dick stood beside you, already half out of his suit, laughter soft as he recounted something stupid Roy had said over comms.
You’d been cold.
You remembered hesitating before reaching for his jacket, fingers brushing the sleeve tentatively. “Hey,” you’d said lightly, trying to keep it casual. “Can I—?”
He’d looked down, surprised. Not upset, not angry, just…caught off guard.
“Oh,” he’d said, gently pulling it back before you could fully shrug it on. “Careful.”
You’d laughed, embarrassed. “What?”
“I just—” he’d smiled apologetically, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t want you to accidentally rip it or stain it or something. You know how that suit fabric is.”
You remembered nodding immediately. Too quickly.
“Oh. Yeah. Of course,” you’d said. “That makes sense.”
He’d kissed your temple instead, warm and familiar, arm sliding around your shoulders like that was supposed to make up for it.
At the time, you’d believed him.
You’d told yourself he was being practical. Protective or possessive even. That it didn’t mean anything deeper than caution and habit. You’d told yourself love didn’t need symbols, that the way he held you when no one was watching mattered more.
Now, watching Kori wear it openly and proudly, you understand. It had never been about stains, or rips, or carelessness.
It had been about visibility. He hadn’t wanted the team to know.
Not fully, not unmistakably. Not in a way that couldn’t be explained away as a coincidence or convenience. Loving you had lived in private spaces, in shadows, in rooms with doors closed and lights low.
Kori wore his jacket in the middle of the room. No hesitation or apology.
Dick didn’t flinch or glance around. He didn’t look uncomfortable. He just let it happen.
Something inside you sank quietly. It wasn’t jealousy — not really. None of this was Kori’s fault. It was clarity. The kind that arrived too late to change anything, but early enough to hurt.
You’d spent so long being careful with him. Making yourself smaller. Accepting less because you thought that was the price of loving someone who carried so much weight.
And now you saw it plainly.
He hadn’t been protecting the jacket.
He’d been protecting the story he told everyone else.
You took a slow sip of your drink, gaze drifting away before the ache could sharpen further. Across the room, Dick laughed at something Kori said, his hand resting on her back without thought.
You didn’t look again.
Because you didn’t need to.
You finally understood what you’d lost — and what you’d never really had.
But now there’s Kori tugging the jacket tighter around herself, smiling up at him. Dick’s hand rested at her waist without hesitation, easy and familiar.
You swallowed and turned away.
“Hey.”
Wally’s voice cut in gently, and you startled just enough to feel silly about it.
“Sorry,” you said automatically.
“For what?” he asked, already grabbing a drink from the fridge and sliding it toward you. “Existing in the same room as… people?”
You huffed a quiet laugh. “Something like that.”
He followed your gaze, took in the scene, and then looked back at you — really looked. The slight tension in your jaw. The way your shoulders had drawn in on themselves.
He didn’t comment. Instead, he leaned against the counter beside you. “You eat yet?”
“No.”
“Cool,” he said, nodding once. “Same. Tragic, honestly.”
You smirked. “You say that every time.”
“And every time it’s true.”
The banter was familiar and easy. It helped more than you wanted to admit.
⚡︎𓅩
It happened again a few nights later.
You were on patrol, moving across rooftops, when a familiar neon glow caught your eye. A café window, warm and inviting, steam fogging the glass.
Dick sat inside, with Kori across from him, chin propped in her hand as he spoke, eyes bright with attention. He smiled in that open, unguarded way — the one he used to reserve for late nights with you, when the world felt smaller.
Your feet slowed before you could stop them.
“Don’t,” you muttered to yourself.
Wally, your new patrol partner, ran back towards you when you saw you were stuck, having noticed immediately. “What?”
“Nothing,” you said quickly, forcing your pace to pick up again.
He glanced through the window, understanding dawning. The rest of the patrol passed in near silence.
Not the uncomfortable kind. Just… quiet. The city stretched out beneath you in a scatter of lights and distant sirens, wind rushing past as you and Wally moved from rooftop to rooftop. Normally, he filled the air with commentary, bad jokes, half-finished thoughts that tumbled out of him faster than he could filter them.
Tonight, he didn’t. He stayed close, matching your pace, eyes scanning the streets while occasionally flicking sideways to check on you. You appreciated the lack of pressure more than you could say.
By the last stretch of your route, your feet were aching, and your shoulders felt heavier than they should have.
Wally let out an exaggerated groan.
You blinked, glancing over. “Are you dying?”
“Slowly,” he said, hand dramatically over his heart. “Tragically. From starvation.”
“You ate before patrol.”
“And, why are you keeping track of that? Who are you, my doctor?”
You snorted softly. “I feel like that’s more like a dietician.”
“Come on,” he said, nudging closer. “There’s this place I love. Best late-night snacks. Open all hours. We could swing by?”
Spend the night replaying the scene you saw, or hang out with Wally? An easy choice. You shrugged, the effort minimal. “Sure. Why not?”
His eyes brightened. “Really?”
“It’s food,” you said. “You don’t need to sell it.”
“Excellent.” He paused. “Can I carry you?”
You raised a brow. “Excuse me?”
“Just for speed,” he clarified quickly. “We’ll get there faster. Less walking. You look, don’t take this the wrong way, tired.”
You hesitated — then nodded. “Okay. Yeah. That’s… fine.”
He grinned. “Great.”
He barely gave you time to brace before he scooped you up, one arm under your knees, the other steady at your back. The city blurred into streaks of color and light, the wind cool against your face, his grip solid and careful.
When he slowed, you felt the shift immediately.
You glanced around — and frowned.
“This is the tower.”
“Mm-hmm.”
You looked up at him. “Wally.”
“Yes?”
“This is your room.”
“Correct again.”
You stared at him, unimpressed. “You said favorite snack spot.”
He opened the door and gestured grandly inside. “Yes. My favorite late-night snack spot. It has everything I love and is open at all hours.”
He stepped inside, smug as anything, heading straight for the kitchenette.
You stood in the doorway for a beat, then followed, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Effective, I’d argue,” he countered, rummaging through a cabinet. “There’s a difference.”
He tossed you a packet of something chocolate-coated, a bag of chips, and a water bottle. “Here.”
You caught it. “What is this?”
“Protein bar, allegedly. I have to be a good influence and provide something nutritious.”
You squinted at the label. “This is barely food.”
“Manners, that is no way to treat a gracious host.”
You laughed despite yourself and wandered closer as he grabbed a couple more things.
“So,” you said, leaning against the counter. “Why do you get a whole suite with a kitchenette, anyway?”
He puffed up slightly, raising three fingers. “Seniority. Pension. Hero benefits.”
You give him a deadpan stare. “You’re in your twenties.”
“Mentally? I’m at least seventy.”
You laughed again, softer this time.
He shrugged, more genuine now. “Actually, it’s the speed thing. Easier to have my own stuff than accidentally blow up the communal kitchen at three in the morning. Trust me.”
“That makes sense,” you admitted.
He nodded. “See? Practical.”
He turned and promptly fumbled the protein bar, dropping it against his chest where it smeared something sticky and dark across the front of his suit.
“Oh— come on,” he groaned. “Rude.”
He peeled the top half of the suit down in one smooth motion.
Your brain…just kinda…stopped.
His skin was warm gold under the lights, muscles defined in a way that made no effort to be subtle about the work they did. Broad shoulders, strong arms, a chest that made your thoughts go pleasantly blank.
You were aware, distantly, that you were staring.
You were also aware, slightly less distantly, that you had stopped breathing.
“Uh.”
His eyes flicked up and caught yours.
Something shifted between you, like the air before a storm breaks. The room seemed to shrink, narrowing to just the space you both occupied. Your skin prickled with awareness, heartbeat suddenly loud in your ears.
His eyes darkened slightly, pupils expanding as they held yours, and you watched his throat work as he swallowed. His chest rose with a slow, deliberate breath, like he was trying to steady something inside himself. Neither of you moved, caught in that fragile moment where possibility hung suspended, electric and dangerous.
Then there was a knock, and the door slid open before either of you could react.
Roy leaned in, eyes immediately taking in the scene: you standing far too close, Wally shirtless, snacks scattered, the air very clearly Not Normal.
“Well,” Roy drawled, leaning against the doorframe, grin slow and wicked. “What’s happening here?”
You and Wally looked at each other.
Whatever had been building between you snapped — not gone, just… scattered.
You both started talking at once.
“It’s not—”
“He just—”
“We were just—”
“He spilled something—”
“She was tired—”
You stopped and blinked before closing your eyes and taking a step back.
“Goodnight,” you said flatly, and turned and walked out.
Behind you, you heard Roy’s laugh and Wally’s very distressed, “Roy—!”
You didn’t stop walking until you were back in your own room.
And only then did you sit on your bed, heart racing, face warm, and whisper quietly to yourself:
“Oh no.”
⚡︎𓅩
It wasn’t just that Dick was affectionate. It was that he was affectionate everywhere.
The tower’s common spaces had always been neutral ground — places where masks slipped just enough to breathe, but not enough to expose anything fragile. Or at least, they used to be. Now, it felt like every room carried the echo of something you no longer belonged to.
You saw it in passing moments first.
Dick’s hand was resting at the small of Kori’s back as they walked down the hall, guiding without thinking. Fingers brushing her wrist when he laughed, lingering just a second longer than necessary. The way he leaned into her space openly, shoulder pressed to hers, head tipped close as if the rest of the room didn’t exist.
You tried not to stare.
You tried not to remember how many times you’d reached for him like that and felt him subtly shift away. How often he’d murmured, “Later,” or “Not here,” as if affection were something private, something that needed to be rationed carefully.
You had told yourself it wasn’t rejection.
You had told yourself he was just cautious. Guarded. That loving him meant understanding the weight he carried.
Now he laughed freely, loud and unrestrained, pressing a kiss to Kori’s temple without hesitation as she teased him about something trivial. The room reacted; smiles and easy acceptance, and something inside your chest tightened painfully.
You looked away, but reflections betrayed you.
In the glass of a display case, you caught the way his arm curved around her waist, familiar and intimate. You saw the way she leaned into him, trusting and unafraid, his hand settling there as it had always belonged.
You felt… smaller.
Not jealous — not exactly. Just painfully aware of how much you’d minimized yourself to fit beside him. How gently you’d loved him, careful not to ask for too much, careful not to make him uncomfortable.
Careful not to be a burden.
It hurt in a way that was dull and sharp all at once, like pressing on a bruise you hadn’t realized was there.
You busied yourself with gear checks, adjusting straps that didn’t need adjusting, focusing on routine. Anything to avoid watching the way he touched her so easily.
When the mission call came through, you welcomed it with something like relief.
Action was easier than feeling.
—
The mission was chaotic from the start.
Smoke and shouting as more concrete collapses.
You moved without thinking, instincts honed from countless hours in the field. When the opening appeared, you took it — pivoting, feinting, striking with precise timing.
Dick, however, followed through perfectly.
Your move.
The mission ended successfully. The team gathered for a quick debrief, adrenaline still buzzing.
“Nice work, Nightwing,” Roy said. “That move saved our asses.”
Dick smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Figured I’d try something new.”
Your stomach dropped. You stared at the floor, jaw tight, pulse roaring in your ears.
Wally looked at you, really looked, and saw it. The stiffness in your posture. The way you folded inward.
He remembered Dick talking about that move months ago. How impressed he’d been, how proud.
“Hey,” Wally said softly, stepping closer. “You wanna grab food? Before Roy demolishes everything edible in a five-mile radius?”
You blinked, pulled from your thoughts. “What?”
He hooked an arm around your shoulders, not tight, not claiming — just there. “Come on. I’m starving, and you look like you could use a break.”
You hesitated, eyes flicking toward Dick without meaning to. He was already being pulled into conversation, attention elsewhere.
Wally noticed, he always did.
“Hey,” he murmured, nudging you gently. “I got you.”
You exhaled slowly, tension easing just enough to let you move.
“Fine,” you said. “But if you eat my fries—”
“Whoa, whoa,” he laughed. “I’m not a monster.”
As you walked away together, Dick glanced up, catching sight of you leaving — Wally’s arm around your shoulders, your head tilted toward him as he animatedly complained about Barry.
Something twisted in his chest that he steadfastly ignored. For the first time since he could remember, you didn’t look back.
⚡︎𓅩
The tower’s living room was loud in a comfortable way.
Soft music hummed from speakers tucked somewhere out of sight, low enough to blend into the background rather than demand attention. Someone had stretched out across the couch like they planned to stay there all night, boots kicked off without ceremony. Laughter drifted freely, unguarded, the kind that only existed on nights when no alarms screamed, and no one was counting down the minutes until the next emergency.
It should have felt safe.
You stood near the edge of the room, a warm mug cradled between your hands, letting the noise pass through you instead of into you. You nodded when someone glanced your way. Smiled when it was expected. You were present in the way one learned to be present when absence would be noticed.
Dick stood across the room, Kori sat beside him, close enough that her thigh pressed against his, his jacket draped over her shoulders like a promise.
“Dick,” Kori said brightly, nudging his arm. “Tell them the joke you said the other night.”
You couldn’t stop yourself from focusing on the conversation, despite knowing that it would most likely lead to your heartbreak again.
Dick blinked, looking slightly confused. “What—?”
“The one about the—” she laughed, waving her hand vaguely as she was unable to continue the background details. “The story. It was funny.”
The room leaned in, anticipation flickering easily from face to face.
Dick’s eyes flicked toward you.
Just for a second.
Your breath catches, afraid of what that look might mean. You didn’t move, you didn’t react. You simply lifted your mug and took a slow sip, gaze unfocused, fixed on nothing in particular.
“Oh,” Dick said, a chuckle slipping out as understanding clicked into place. “That one.”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Okay.”
And then he told it. Your story.
Your voice, stripped of its softness. Your timing sharpened for laughs instead of honesty. A moment that had once lived quietly between you and a close friend — something vulnerable, something shared late at night when trust sat heavy and real between you — reduced to a punchline.
You remembered that night with startling clarity.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, lights low, the two of you laughing so hard you’d cried, a mixture of grief and laughter. How you’d confessed something small but meaningful about a close friend long since gone.
A moment you shared because you had felt safe only because of who you were telling it to. How you’d smiled afterward, warmed by the certainty that it mattered, comforted by your companion, and wanting them to carry this treasured memory with them too.
Now it was just… content.
A story told without context. Without care. Dick told it well; he’s a great storyteller.
The room erupted in laughter.
Someone wiped tears from their eyes. Someone else shook their head, already repeating the best part under their breath.
You stood perfectly still.
You felt it happen inside you, the moment something disconnected.
It was subtle, like a wire loosening, like a door closing softly instead of slamming. The ache didn’t spike. It emptied. The warmth drained out, leaving behind a numb, hollow space where feeling had once lived.
You didn’t laugh or flinch. You didn’t even look at him. You simply… stopped being there.
And it was almost as if Dick felt it.
Not immediately, but as the laughter stretched on, something in his chest began to tighten, an unease threading through the easy moment. His eyes found you again, instinctively searching for the familiar reaction he’d always been able to count on.
A smile or an eye-roll.
That look you used to give him; fond, conspiratorial, like the two of you shared something just beneath the surface.
Instead, he found nothing. Your eyes were distant, polite. Empty in a way that felt wrong and hurt.
Gone.
The laughter faded unevenly, as if people sensed the shift without understanding it. Dick’s voice trailed off at the end of the story, landing awkwardly in the space that followed. He shifted, tugging at the hem of his sleeve, suddenly unsure of where to put his hands.
His gaze locked with yours.
For half a second, memory surged: moonlight through your bedroom window, your laughter muffled against his neck, the way you used to look at him like he was home.
Then he saw it. The absence.
Whatever fragile thread still connected you, whatever hope he’d held that you could exist in each other’s lives without pain, disintegrated in that instant. Like paper catching flame, burning faster than he could reach for it.
Your eyes slid away.
You turned your body slightly, a subtle motion that somehow landed heavier than any argument ever had.
Dick’s heart stuttered.
“Hey—” he said suddenly, pushing himself upright, already stepping toward you. “Wait—”
He didn’t get the chance, because Wally was already there.
Not rushing or dramatic, despite the way Dick was experiencing it. He didn’t insert himself into the moment or raise his voice. He simply appeared at your side, like he’d been standing just outside the edge of your world, waiting for the exact second you needed a way out more than you needed answers.
Dick saw him before he registered anything else.
Saw the way Wally angled his body slightly toward you, shielding you from the rest of the room without making a show of it. Saw the way his expression softened when he looked at you; not concern exactly, but familiarity. Understanding.
Wally didn’t touch you right away; instead, he held out his hand.
Open and patient, a clear invitation, not a demand.
“Come on,” Wally said quietly, leaning in just enough for you to hear him. His voice didn’t carry—it wasn’t meant to. “You promised me a rematch.”
You blinked, eyes unfocused at first, like you were surfacing from somewhere far away.
“I did?” you asked, voice faint but steady.
He smiled, small and easy, the kind of smile that came from shared moments instead of charm. “Mm-hmm. Loser buys snacks.”
Dick took a step forward, his mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Because you were looking at Wally now.
And then — without hesitation — you reached for him.
Your fingers slid into his hand naturally, like muscle memory. Like this was something you’d done before, something your body recognized even if your heart hadn’t fully caught up yet. Wally’s hand closed around yours with quiet certainty, thumb brushing your knuckles once in a way that was achingly gentle.
Dick’s breath caught hard in his chest.
That wasn’t a first touch. It wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t careful. It was familiar. It was the kind of intimacy that came from repetition — from trust built slowly, from presence earned over time.
And suddenly, Dick understood.
This hadn’t started tonight. This hadn’t even started recently.
While he’d been absent in all the ways that mattered, someone else had been showing up. Someone else had been learning the shape of your silences, the weight of your tiredness, the moments when you needed to leave before something broke.
Wally turned slightly, guiding you with him. You followed without looking back. The room seemed to tilt.
Dick stood frozen, watching your joined hands swing gently between you as you walked away — not hurried, not dramatic — just decided.
You weren’t running from him. You were choosing something else.
The doors slid shut behind you with a soft hiss, sealing the sound of laughter and music inside.
Dick remained where he was.
For the first time, it wasn’t heartbreak that settled into his chest.
It was understanding.
He hadn’t just lost you romantically. He had lost access to you; to your touch, your reactions, your presence in his life. The loss wasn’t theoretical anymore.
It was real and it was final.
⚡︎𓅩
The hallway was quiet, the door sliding shut behind you with a soft hiss that felt louder than it should have.
You walked a few steps before realizing your hand was still in Wally’s.
The warmth of it grounded you. Steady and real, pulling you back from the numbness that had settled over you moments before. Your fingers tightened briefly before you let go, clearing your throat as you slowed to a stop.
“Sorry,” you murmured. “I think I spaced out back there.”
Wally stopped immediately. “No worries,” he said easily. “Happens.”
You leaned back against the wall, exhaling slowly as the adrenaline — emotional, not physical — began to ebb. The quiet wrapped around you, gentle and forgiving.
“Hey,” you said after a moment, trying for lightness. “You know you don’t have to… rescue me every time, right?”
He tilted his head. “Rescue?”
You gestured vaguely behind you. “You know. The dramatic exits. The timely distractions. You going full hero mode around me all the time must be exhausting.”
You smiled, small and self-deprecating, like it was a joke you’d rehearsed enough times to make it sound casual.
Wally didn’t smile back.
Instead, his expression softened into something serious and intent in a way that made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
“Hey,” he said gently, stepping closer just enough to keep your attention, not that he didn’t have it already.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Talk about yourself like you’re a problem I have to manage.”
You blinked.
“I don’t mind,” he continued, voice quiet but steady. “Not for a second. I’m not tired, I’m not obligated. I’m here because I want to be.”
His gaze held yours, unflinching.
“I care about you,” he said simply.
The words landed softly, but they knocked the breath from your lungs all the same.
Something shifted in your chest. Warmth bloomed where there had only been emptiness before. Gratitude, yes — but something else too. Something that made your pulse stutter, that made you see him differently all at once.
You looked at him, really looked, and felt it. Wally, who was looking at you intensely, saw it the second it reached your eyes.
His breath hitched, just barely. A slow smile spread across his face; not triumphant or smug, simply tender. Like he’d been hoping for that look without expecting it.
For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. Then Wally straightened slightly, clearing his throat.
“So,” he said, voice deliberately lighter. “Snacks?”
You laughed, the sound real and surprised, and nodded. “Yeah, snacks.”
“Good,” he said, already turning. “Because I’m starving, and I refuse to have this moment derail my nutritional needs.”
You fell into step beside him, the silence between you no longer empty; just full of things neither of you were quite ready to name yet.
And for the first time in a long while, the ache in your chest didn’t feel like something you had to carry alone.
⚡︎𓅩
The debrief room was louder than usual.
People talked over one another, adrenaline still buzzing from a mission that had gone better than expected. Roy leaned back in their chair, boots propped on the table. Garth was already arguing over credit for a distraction that hadn’t actually been planned.
You sat near the end of the table, tablet balanced against your knee, half-listening while scrolling through post-mission data. This part always felt strange—being surrounded by people dissecting a fight that already felt distant, like it belonged to another version of you.
“…and honestly,” Wally said suddenly, voice cutting through the noise, “the whole thing only worked because she spotted the second location before anyone else did.”
The room quieted. You looked up, startled.
“Wait,” Donna said. “You found it?”
You opened your mouth to clarify, but Wally, already committed, kept going.
“Yeah,” he said, gesturing vaguely in your direction. “She basically mapped the entire pattern on the fly. I mean, she could probably predict weather systems if she wanted to.”
You stared at him.
“No, I can’t,” you said quickly, cutting in before the attention could crystallize into something heavier. “Obviously, the weather’s gotten to Wally.”
A few chuckles rang out through the room before the looks shifted back to Dick and Cyborg for finishing details. The room relaxed again, conversation sliding easily back into overlapping voices and half-formed jokes. Someone changed the subject. Someone else complained about paperwork.
Wally blinked, realization dawning, a sheepish expression on his face. “Okay, yeah, that was—”
“—dramatic,” you finished dryly, smiling as you shrugged. “I just noticed something off in the data. Anyone could’ve.”
Crisis averted. Or so you thought.
You leaned slightly toward Wally and mouthed, What the fuck?
He winced, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Yeah,” he murmured back, lowering his voice and leaning into your space. “Sorry, I got carried away.”
You raised a brow as if to say ‘oh really?’
“But,” he added quickly, earnest now, “you were great. If you hadn’t caught that second location, we would’ve screwed the whole mission.”
You laughed quietly, the sound warm and genuine, and reached out without thinking—your fingers brushing his knee in an easy, familiar gesture.
“Next time,” you said softly, “try not to make me sound like a wizard.”
“No promises, Dumbledore,” he replied, grinning.
The exchange was small, casual, and comfortable.
It didn’t slip past Dick.
He watched it from across the table—the way you leaned toward Wally without hesitation, the way you touched him like it was nothing, the way Wally’s attention never wavered from you. There was no tension or uncertainty in it.
Just ease.
The meeting wrapped up a few minutes later, chairs scraping as people stood and filtered out in loose groups. You gathered your things and fell into step beside Wally, already mid-conversation about something inconsequential.
“Hey.”
Dick’s voice made both of you stop. Wally turned, surprised but not uncomfortable. “What’s up?”
“I’ll catch up with you later,” you murmur to him, touching his arm to grab his attention. You could think of 50 other locations you’d rather be than in the same conversation with just Dick and Wally.
He nodded immediately. “Yeah. Definitely.”
You smiled at him, soft and unguarded, before heading off down the corridor.
Wally watched you the entire time, only turning away once you disappeared around the corner.
“Feels like it’s been a while since we’ve hung out,” Dick said, attempting casual. “Just us. You know?”
Wally considered that for a moment. “Yeah,” he said honestly. “It has, sorry about that.”
Dick’s shoulders loosened slightly. “It’s fine, I’ve been busy too. I was thinking maybe we could—”
Wally grinned, clapping a hand to his shoulder. “Yeah, with her. Don’t really wanna disappoint her, so I gotta head out now. But we’ll definitely hang out soon! Maybe we’ll do a boys’ night!?”
Before Dick could respond, Wally was gone—a red blur vanishing down the hall in the direction you’d gone.
The room didn’t stay quiet. Someone snorted. “Wow.”
Roy leaned back against the table. “You guys notice how often those two hang out now?”
“On missions, too,” Donna added thoughtfully. “They’re always paired.”
Cyborg chimed in, teasing. “Guess Dick and Kori really inspired love to bloom around here.”
Laughter followed, but Dick didn’t laugh.
Something twisted sharply in his stomach, nausea creeping in slowly and unwelcome. The room felt too warm, too loud. He stared at the doorway where you both had disappeared, chest tight with a realization he hadn’t wanted to make.
Whatever was happening between you and Wally had been growing quietly—right under his nose—while he’d been elsewhere, assuming you’d still be there when he looked back.
He swallowed hard. For the first time, the loss didn’t feel only like heartbreak.
It felt like a consequence.
⚡︎𓅩
Another month passed.
It wasn’t marked by anything dramatic; no declarations, no lines crossed, no moments that demanded names. Just time, shared and unspoken and steadily meaningful.
You and Wally fell into a rhythm without ever acknowledging it as one.
Late-night patrols that stretched longer than necessary. Coffee runs that turned into conversations about childhood, fears, and things neither of you talked about easily. Sitting side by side on rooftops, legs dangling over the edge, watching the city breathe while the world felt smaller and calmer than it had in a long time.
You learned how he liked his coffee — sweet enough to be suspicious. He learned the exact way you went quiet when you were thinking too hard. You learned that he always ran faster when you were tired, and that he always positioned himself just slightly closer when you looked overwhelmed.
He learned when to joke, and more importantly, when not to. Somewhere along the way, you realized you felt… safe again.
Not the fragile kind. The steady kind. The night it finally happened was unremarkable in the best way.
Patrol ended early. The city was quiet, streets slick from earlier rain, lights reflecting like constellations below. You sat on the edge of a rooftop, boots resting against concrete, the cool air settling comfortably against your skin.
Wally stood nearby, stretching, then dropped down beside you with an exaggerated sigh.
“Wow,” he said. “Peaceful. Suspiciously so.”
You smiled. “Don’t jinx it.”
“Right. Sorry.” He mimed zipping his lips.
Silence settled — not awkward, not empty, just unsure as to how to start.
You glanced at him without thinking and caught the way he was already
looking at you.
Wally gave no indication he was startled; he just kept looking, something you couldn’t believe was obvious in his eyes. Your breath hitched before you could stop it.
Wally noticed. Something in his expression shifted. It softened, deepened, like he’d been holding something back and finally decided to stop.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
You turned fully toward him, giving him a small smile. “Hey.”
He rubbed his palms together once, nervous energy bleeding through despite his usual ease. “Can I… say something?”
Your heart thudded painfully in your chest. “You just did.” You couldn’t help yourself from saying.
The look Wally gives you makes you laugh and helps break the uncomfortable tension that was in the air. “I think this is one of those moments you told me about that isn’t right to joke.” He teases you, throwing back your argument you told him.
“Yeah,” you said, giving him a sheepish smile and a shrug. “Sorry, I was nervous.”
“Yeah, I get that.” He murmurs back to you. The nervous energy is gone, and instead, a tension lingers in the air. He looks you in the eyes, then awa,y before looking back and slowly leaning in. His arm reaches out and grabs your hand, holding it gently in his grasp, his thumb rubbing against your knuckles.
He took a breath before letting it out slowly starting.
“I’ve been trying not to,” he admitted with a small, self-aware smile.
“Because I didn’t want to mess anything up. Or rush you, or make things weird.”
Your chest tightened.
“But,” he continued, eyes never leaving yours, “somewhere between the third late-night snack run and the fifth time you fell asleep during movie night… I realized I was already way past that point.”
You laughed softly, more breath than sound.
“Wally—”
“I care about you,” he said, gently cutting in. “Not in a teammate way. Not in a ‘I’ll always have your back’ way — although, yeah, that too.” He swallowed. “I mean… I like you. A lot. And it’s more than friendship, and I didn’t want to keep pretending it wasn’t.”
The words settled between you, warm and terrifying and real. You stared at him for a long moment.
Then you exhaled, shoulders relaxing as if something you’d been carrying finally found a place to rest.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” you admitted quietly.
His eyes widened. “You were?”
You nodded. “Yeah. Because I’ve been trying to tell myself it was just comfort. Or gratitude. Or… anything but this.” You smiled faintly. “But it’s not, and it hasn’t been for a while.”
You looked at him fully now, letting him see it.
“It’s more than friendship for me, too, Wally.”
The relief on his face was immediate — bright and unguarded, like sunlight breaking through cloud cover. He laughed, soft and incredulous.
“Wow,” he breathed. “Okay. Wow.”
You laughed too, the sound lighter than it had been in months.
He hesitated, just for a second, then asked quietly, “Can I…?”
You nodded before he finished.
He leaned closer, his gaze unwavering. As he hesitated, breath hitching in the space between you, the air thickened with unspoken words. Then, with a soft determination, he closed the distance, pressing his lips against yours.
The kiss was tentative at first, a sweet brush that ignited a spark, before deepening into something more, a shared promise that lingered in the cool night air.
Neither of you rushed it because neither of you needed to.
The city hummed below, indifferent and vast, while something small and meaningful settled into place between you.
And for the first time in a long while, the future didn’t feel like something to brace for.
It felt like something you were allowed to want.
⚡︎𓅩
a/n: everyone say thank you to olivia rodrigo for inspiring this! this was originally 3k and was like a little drabble, but then? i just? couldn't stop? and now we have this pretty little baby.
this fic could also be named "wally showing he cares by making sure you eat",
as always, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated. here’s a kiss from me to you 💋
tip jar | masterlist | comment here to be on the collection taglist
pairing:mechanic!jason todd x bimbo!reader
category:mechanic au, grumpy x sunshine, dc comics, romance, slice of life, slow burn, action, banter, soft tension, competent reader, strong female lead, quick scene of SH (nothing graphic!), foul language
dividers:enchanthings
a/n: finally got around to make the masterlist, hope it makes it easier for yall to find the full au now <3 btw, my asks are open if youd like to request your own idea for an update to this series hehe
