synopsis: dick grayson's girlfriend is not supposed to mean anything but she does mean a lot to damian wayne and the rest of the batfamily.
tags: platonic!damian wayne x reader, platonic!talia al-ghul x reader, platonic!jason todd x reader, platonic!batfam x reader, dick grayson x reader
notes: talia al-ghul hate will not be tolerated! i love her. she loves her son. she loves jason as a son (that kiss did not happen). she respects dick. she is a complex woman and mom, and will always be treated that way in my blog.
When Damian Wayne moved to the United States, he had not expected much from this country, its people, and most importantly, his father.
Admittedly, Damian felt lost. A part of him could not settle in Gotham.
Small things like the smell of his mother's shawl, her curt but everlasting love for him, the distinct scent of bakhoor in the interior fragrance that was used around the grand halls, and even the sound of everyday phrases that he associated with home were gone in an instant. And no matter how much he tried, he could not replicate that feeling here, in Gotham.
But Damian is good at adapting. He is sufficiently prepared to fit in without compromising his standards, integrity, or values. He will stand out in the glory of being an Al-Ghul and Wayne, but he will also blend in with the chaos of Gotham seamlessly. That makes him a good heir and a good Robin. A great Robin, actually. Saving lives. It's an honour.
In doing so, he gets closer to Talia in an unspoken way. Seas and lands apart, he gets to remember Talia in every life he saves, in every deed he fulfills with Bruce Wayne's ideologies and Talia Al-Ghul's heart, no matter how many did not understand her.
Sometimes he wishes to see her. But Damian understands what has happened. Bruce having his custody, Damian being away from the League... they are choices that occurred for reasons. Painful, but Damian survived.
He always will.
So he lives. Damian goes on as Robin. He becomes the notoriously respected heir of the Wayne family. He is beloved and feared in ways that only make sense to him.
But things change. He meets you, Dick Grayson's girlfriend. Biomedical and c-suite extraordinaire. A genius who tinkers with gadgets for fun. Someone who is calm, extremely loving, but distant with set boundaries, and silent.
Someone who sees Dick for who he is. That is what the family realized early on. Dick, who is burdened in ways that he tries not to show and succeeds, has you now. He does not pretend with you. He does not have to be the beacon of light he tries so hard to be, soft and unwavering in his cheerfulness and compassion. He is the heart of his teams, his work, and the people who look up to him and the flash of blue that BlĂźdhaven looks forward to, as hope, fear, and myth. But you are the center of his life, his world.
Damian tried to be agitated with you. You made Dick happier, cheerful in a different way that was frankly grating. It irritated and flustered Damian because it felt endless. So he tried his usual ways of antagonism, unintentional, something that came to him easily.
A civilian would back away. You should have, but you just calmly looked at him, smiling at an apologetic Dick. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer like he could shield you from Damian's words.
You didn't need it, though. You were hardly intimidated by the tiny Robin, and that further angered Damian.
But one day, he showed up at your home, an apartment that Damian found frankly mediocre. Dick simply wanted to spend time with him, and your place happened to be close, a haven Dick would willingly choose all the time.
Damian did not expect the bakhoor scent, the fairy lights, or the way you listened to Dick speak endlessly about everything, even patrolling. Dick's escrima sticks were next to your files. And the smell of hearty food that was vegetarian. It made Damian's eyes water slightly because Wayne Manor was home. But this... it felt like home, too.
And then Damian came back again. He stayed over and was surprised the next morning to find a cereal dispenser with different vegetarian brands. Dick sauntered into the kitchen, grinning. "Yeah, she ordered stuff that you might like. Try them out. She is gonna turn the kitchen into a buffet spread for you if that makes you happy."
Then, Dick softened and bent to look at Damian properly. "Give her a chance, Dami. She does not do words well, but she listens. She loves meâall of us. In the way she knows."
Damian stiffly nodded. Because he knows what it is like to be curt with words, to struggle with a language that was not his, and to be told that formality in words is wrong, too complex, and a disadvantage to achieving meaningful connections. So Damian does what he never expected. He softens. He softens at the anticipation of connection, drifting at the threshold of something unknown but not unwanted.
Today, he walks with you at the book fair happening at Gotham Academy. You are in your work clothes, calling Dick.
Your voice is calm, even when you bristle at the contact with the crowd. "I am here with Damian. Take your time. It's okay, Dick. I like your family, especially Damian. I love you too. Bye. Don't forget to remove your shoes before you walk inside. It's a warning. Don't call me sweetheart. Not like that."
Damian hates how he perks up at the way you say that you like him. He hates how he leans into your side, as you keep a hand on his shoulder, leading you to the many tables.
"Do you have a favourite genre?" You ask.
Damian looks up at you. "I prefer to be well-versed with all types of literature."
"Very well." You say. "Not many your age have that mindset. Good."
Damian's ears turn slightly red. You do not notice, thankfully. He clears his throat and asks, "Do you have a preferred genre in literature?"
"I like mysteries," You admit. You look a little shy as you say that.
"Mysteries?" Damian arches an eyebrow. "That is... fitting with the choice of a life partner you made."
You look at him, repeating his words. "Life partner."
Damian bristles. Panic closes his throat for a second, because he miscomprehends your mischievous tone as something far more drastic. Something where you may not want Dick as your partner for life.
You notice how Damian's throat works. You notice the way he bristles and gets lost in his thoughts. You explain calmly. "I always refer to Dick as my boyfriend. Hearing the phrase life partner makes me feel different."
"Do you take objection to that phrase?" Damian asks.
You shake your head. "No. I like it. A partner in life. Dick is exactly that."
"You are that for him, too," Damian stiffly adds, not wanting you to forget the fact that you give more than you are his partner, too. The one who takes the weight of being a girlfriend to Richard Grayson and Nightwing.
"Am I, Mr. Wayne?" You tease, and Damian jerks his chin in agreement.
He says earnestly. "You are. Grayson's..."
"authentic, observably so. More than what was seen from him before," Damian says.
Your facial expression softens. "Then I am doing my duty well."
Duty. That word means so much to Damian. He sees duty as a shackle, a vow, and a location for memories.
But for the first time in a while, he comes to see that word as synonymous with love. Right now, he sees it, because the way your voice curls around that word can only be seen and heard with love. The way the word inflects with your voice and the calmness of your face... that is love.
"Is what you have with Grayson a duty?" Damian questions as his feet take him forward to a table in the corner. Your hand shifts from his shoulder to holding his, steady and firm. Like a responsible adult who is with a child.
It hits Damian ferociously and embarrassingly that he feels like a child right now. With peers his age glancing at him curiously and teachers surprised by the way he lets you hover with fewer imposed limits, he feels like the age he is. Usually, he would loathe that, but with you, he does not. He basks in it, and he knows he will be embarrassed and angry, and he also may take that combination of feelings out on you in the coming days in the form of cutting words, something he wants to prevent desperately.
"A duty where we make each other happy and," You say. "As you say, authentic."
"Because having the space to be authentic with someone is sometimes all that you want, Damian," You add.
Damian nods, but he does not fully comprehend. The concept of that is baffling, because acceptance from another person for being authentic seems irrational. It feels laughable to be seen by someone.
You stay silent as you both stand before the table spread with literature, some of which you recognize and some of which you don't. Damian peers at the covers, the blurbs on the back, and runs his fingers through the spines.
He watches you look at some of the books with a wistful expression on your face. He does not understand why, so he questions in his proud voice. "Do you want to indulge in purchasing a novel?"
"I think I have enough for now. Do you want to?" You ask.
Damian stares at you. "Why are you gazing at the works with such longing then?"
You still. Your face contorts into something calculating but not inauthentic. You seem to weigh your options and choose your words carefully. "I was reminded of my childhood."
"I enjoy reading. The public library used to have really old books," You explain. Damian nods. He knows that you grew up near Crime Alley.
"It is always surprising to find memories in inanimate objects," You continue speaking. A tinge of sentiment hits your tone. "The courtesy of nostalgia."
Memories. Damian's mind goes to the League, his mother, his grandfather, and the many moments that hurt even bodily, even now.
"Was your childhood acceptable?" Damian questions and regrets it immediately. Growing up near Crime Alley. The answer to his question is quite clear.
"By the standards of Gotham? No. By the standards of survival? Yes. I got by," You admit. "I was the ticket out of my neighbourhood for my family."
Damian bristles as you refuse to say the phrase that haunts, something he could tell alone from the way you spoke right now. The golden child.
"I studied well. If I worked hard, I would be okay. That is what everyone said about me. I would be able to get my parents out of the neighbourhood. I could be something that saved them." You say, your eyes going back to the books.
"That is unfathomable pressure," Damian comments, but he feels, deep down, that the pressure you try not to mention is fathomable to him. Because he knows that pressure, just differently. His eyes also go back to the books.
He does not like the way his eyes wander and land on one particular work. Not a fictional novel. It is a large book buried under multiple paperbacks, but its spine is visible. The title stutters something within Damian. A medical text. Allopathic. Sharp pain fills him.
"Damian." Your voice is sharp as your hand lands back against his nape. You notice how he stares at the book, but you don't say anything. You are not here to demand answers. You are here simply to accompany him, and this little boy, who has seen so much of the world's realities at such a young age, wants to share something; you will listen. But you won't force him to do anything.
"I want to purchase that," Damian murmurs, the pride in his voice intact but the beligerent elegance gone. His voice is gravelly as if he is holding back.
"Then, we will buy it," you say, nodding at the guy behind the table. You pay, and Damian does nothing except watch. He should stop you from paying, from tapping his nape in a soothing rhythm, and from treating him the way you do. But he does not. Instead, he leans into your side and places his hand in your free one, as you take the paper bag with the wrapped book.
You do not laugh at Damian for picking such an old book. The spine is a little cracked. The papers dusty. The corners earmarked and folded. You do not say why a child of his age wants to read something so dense, something out of the science syllabus of Gotham Academy.
You just hold the bag and his hand. You lead him down the fair and make him sit down in a makeshift coffee stand with tables and chairs. You don't leave him. You sit opposite him, not asking him to eat or drink anything. You let him have choices, silently but present, and Damian feels the weight of that. He feels gratitude and relief. He feels odd, having that.
Then, in a low voice, he admits. "My mother studied medicine."
You blink.
"I was reminded of her," Damian says.
"University of Cairo," Damian adds. "She is brilliant. Much like is expected. But she outdoes the expectation of brilliance every time."
Moments pass by before you say something. Before you find the correct words to use.
"That is an expectation you have for yourself, too," You say. "And that expectation is not only about fulfilling a legacy but also about missing her."
Damian's throat closes. It feels clogged, for lack of a better word, to explain the sensation. He does not indulge in something as pathetic as flailing his arms and legs to compose himself. That is what a child without proper lessons on containment would do.
And that is not what Damian Al-Ghul Wayne would do. He composes himself. He stills. He inhales. He exhales. His being hinges on the name Al-Ghul. He thinks clearly: Damian Al-Ghul. That is still his name, a small voice murmurs within him.
He nods, as he likes the familiarity of the name Damian Al-Ghul. He nods once again as he feels the liking extend to the name Damian Wayne as well.
"I do," He murmurs afterward. His sentiments, morals, and thoughts may not fully align with either the Wayne or the Al-Ghul legacy, but he does love. As much as he is a weapon, Robin, and a boy trained to dispose of that emotion, he is a boy with a family that is founded on love as much as the rest of everything.
"It is okay to miss her," You say softly, far too gently. It springs an ache in Damian. His eyes water, and his head bends automatically to hide his eyes.
It is okay. The phrase reverberates in his ears. And silence fills the surroundings. Duty. It is okay. The words blend together almost harmoniously, making Damian feel like he is allowed to be a child. A rarity for him.
Duty. It is okay.
"I can hold onto my mother in an acceptable manner," Damian says in a soft voice. "It is a duty I cannot abandon, because... it is important to me."
Damian does not say he misses her, loves her, or that he would always love her. Those truths are far too precious to be uttered right now. But he does admit his duty. Not the duty of obligation, legacy, or spite. But because of love. Simply because of love.
Damian looks at the paper bag. He does not see duty that comes from pain, but he sees duty that comes from authenticity. From love. From something he sees in you, with the way you are with Dick, Damian, and anyone you deem dear.
So, Damian relaxes his shoulders. With his posture perfect, he lifts his head and looks at you expectantly, as if you are a life raft he can hold onto to steady and safe the next part of the conversation.
You smile at him. "Perhaps a milkshake would be a good treat before we explore the tables again?"
Damian nods, a hint of a smile peeking on his lips. "I would like that."
"I will be back," you say, and your words sound like a promise that spans forever.
Damian nods again, and he notes in his mind that soon, he will buy you a book as well. A novel you will like. Mystery plot and prose that would entertain you. After all, this is a duty he wants to take on.
A/N: I am so excited to write this little series, because I love the idea of the batfamily having someone very emotionally nuanced and a civilian, who happens to Dick's girlfriend, to be there for them while also learning to love herself. And the someone happens to be the reader aka you hehe. This was very inspired by my hangout with my nephew.
includes 𧺠slow burn,, sfw,, meddling elderly neighbors,, mutual pining,, living next door,, lian being our icon, idol, and legend
previous part - au masterlist
you have no idea what four-year-olds like.
none.
zero.
you are standing in the middle of a mall on a saturday afternoon, staring at a wall of aggressively pink plastic, and questioning every life decision that led you here.
âokay,â you mutter to yourself. âfour years old. thatâs⌠practically five. which is basically a small adult.â
a toddler zooms past you, shrieking with joy and holding a slime-covered dinosaur upside down.
âor not.â
you press your lips together and inhale slowly.
this was your idea. inviting lian over to your place. not royâs. yours.
you didnât want her to feel like she was being inspected in her own home. didnât want her to sit on royâs couchâhis acceptable but very bachelor-coded couchâand feel like some stranger was evaluating her territory.
your apartment was neutral ground.
also objectively nicer.
not that you would ever say that out loud⌠but you actually did say that out loud. right to roy's face. but a man has to be able to handle the truth and he did.
still, that decision came with consequences.
youâve spent the entire day in full domestic overdrive. deep cleaning like youâre preparing for a royal inspection. baby-proofing cabinets you didnât even realize were dangerous. googling âare houseplants toxic to childrenâ from your laptop. scrubbing your bathroom until it gleamed. spraying home perfume⌠opening all the windows because the perfume became aggressive. reapplying it in a more moderate dose because you didnât want lianâs first memory of you to be âthe dizzy lady who smells like a candle store exploded.â
and then there was the cooking.
you havenât cooked like this in years.
three courses. the way your mom used to back in new england. roasted vegetables with actual seasoning. proper chicken baked with lemon and herbs. a simple dessert that required baking ingredients you suddenly realized you did not have.
you paused mid-measure and blinked at the empty flour jar.
of course. of course this would happen.
you assumedâperhaps unfairlyâthat lian was used to takeout boxes and roy hovering over a stove looking like a competent handyman but a complete culinary nightmare.
you wanted something warmer. more nutritious. more⌠homey.
which is how you ended up at the grocery store.
which is how you realized, halfway through the baking aisle, that you have absolutely nothing to give lian.
no small welcome gift. no âiâm excited to meet youâ token.
you froze.
then abandoned your cart and ran.
now youâre here, in toy chaos. you donât even have your phone. you left it at home next to the stupid flour jar, so thereâs no quick search for âwhat do four-year-olds safely play with?â
you squint at a box that says ages 3+ in bold letters.
three plus means four is fine⌠right?
right?
you flip it over.
warning: choking hazard. small parts.
you immediately put it back like it burned you. ânope.â
you refuse to be the woman who sends roy into cardiac arrest on your first official meeting with his daughter.
you stand there, overwhelmed, when suddenly⌠mrs. florence.
you exhale in relief.
when retirement got too boring, mrs. florence decided she needed âstructure and mild dangerâ in her life.
so she got a part-time job. as mall security.
which means somewhere in this building, a five-foot-tall woman with soft cheeks, perfect pearls, and thick-rimmed glasses is patrolling in a uniform with a baton.
itâs still the most ridiculous sight youâve ever witnessed.
and yet it's real.
you scan the mall corridors until you spot her near the escalators, standing with authority that absolutely no one questions.
âmrs. florence!â you call.
she turns and her entire face lights up.
âwell, if it isnât my favorite girl,â she beams.
you jog over, slightly out of breath.
âi need help,â you admit. âwhat do four-year-olds like?â
her eyes narrow just slightly.
âfour-year-olds in general?â she asks carefully.
you hesitate.
âyeah⌠yes. totally in general.â
mrs. florence gasps like youâve just handed her front-row tickets to a romance revival.
âoh,â she breathes. âoh, we are so back.â
you flush. âwe were neverââ
âdonât you dare lie to me in my uniform,â she scolds gently. âyou are meeting lian!â
she looks around, then decisively hooks her arm through yours.
âiâm on break,â she announces, even though youâre fairly certain she just decided that.
âmrs. florence, your postâŚâ
âcan survive five minutes without me. love cannot.â
you donât even try to argue.
she escorts you straight to the childrenâs goods store like a general leading a mission.
ânow,â she says thoughtfully, scanning shelves with alarming precision. âlian is clever. good with puzzles. coordinationâs excellent. competitive streak from her father.â
you smile involuntarily.
âsheâs been talking about wanting her own camera,â mrs. florence continues. âone of her aunts is a photographer or so i heard. she thinks itâs the height of sophistication.â
your eyebrows lift. âa real camera?â
âoh heavens, no. but they make those little instant print ones. durable and safe.â
you stare at the display she points to.
small, colorful instant-print cameras with simple buttons and rounded edges. age-appropriate. perfect.
your shoulders relax for the first time all afternoon.
âthatâs it,â you say softly.
mrs. florence nods with satisfaction.
âand sheâll need a place to keep her masterpieces.â
you grab a strawberry shortcake photo album from a nearby shelf without hesitation.
it feels right.
thoughtful, but not over-the-top. excited, but not trying too hard.
mrs. florence watches you with unmistakable approval.
âsheâs going to adore you,â she says.
your stomach flips.
âi just⌠want her to feel comfortable,â you admit quietly.
âshe will,â mrs. florence says firmly. âchildren can smell sincerity.â
you pay, thank her profusely, and head toward the exit.
on your way out, you pass a clothing store. something in the display window catches your eye.
you slow.
thereâs a t-shirt hanging front and center.
you stare at it for a long moment.
a small, private smile curves your lips.
interesting.
roy has faced down alien warlords, assassins, and more than one apocalyptic timeline.
but nothing prepared him for coming over to his next-door-maybe-girlfriendâs place with his four-year-old daughter.
the morning is chaos.
heâs in the bathroom, leaning too close to the mirror, squinting like it personally offended him.
âthereâs no way that was there yesterday,â he mutters, zeroing in on a single, traitorous nose hair. âunbelievable.â
snip.
he exhales like he just defused a bomb. âiâm so gross.â
âdaddy!â
right. lian.
he bolts from the bathroom to the living room, skidding slightly on the hardwood. lian is perched on the coffee table like a tiny empress, pink brush clutched in her fist, hair already half-brushed on one side and aggressively tangled on the other.
âyou said sit still,â she reminds him, very serious. âi sit. for like⌠ever!â
âitâs been thirty seconds.â
âlong!â
he huffs a laugh and takes the brush from her. âokay, okay. letâs make you presentable.â
he runs the brush through her hair once. just once because it looks smooth enough. he clips a single butterfly clip on the side. purple. cute. perfect.
âprincess-level,â he declares.
âmore,â she says immediately.
âiâll be right back.â
he sprints to the bathroom again, grabs deodorant, swipes one armpitâ
âdaddy!â
back to the living room.
âyes?â
sheâs staring at herself in the reflection of the blank tv screen. âit fall.â
the butterfly clip has indeed fallen.
he brushes again. another clip. blue this time. then he adds two more. yellow. pink.
ânow weâre talking.â
âmore,â she repeats, squinting critically at her own head.
but heâs already halfway back to the bathroom, swiping deodorant on the other armpit while trying to remember if he flossed. did he floss? does that matter? it matters. everything matters. this is the first time youâre meeting his daughter.
he jogs back into the living room and stops dead.
lianâs hair is no longer hair.
it is⌠a butterfly sanctuary.
clips. everywhere. you can barely see black between neon plastic wings. they stack and overlap like some kind of toddler crown.
she beams at him. âi did help.â
he presses his lips together to keep from laughing. âyou absolutely did.â
âwhy you runninâ?â she asks, head tilting, making the entire butterfly ecosystem wobble dangerously.
âiâm not running.â
âyou runninâ,â she says flatly. âyou go vroom. back anâ forth. like zoom.â
âthatâs notâ weâre going to see someone important so iâm just a little on edge.â
she narrows her eyes at him.
âyour face is weird,â she announces.
âthanks.â
âitâs like when you gotta poop but you donât wanna.â
he chokes on air. âthat is not what my face looks like.â
she shrugs. âlittle bit.â
he doesnât have time to fix her hair. thereâs no undoing the butterfly situation without starting over, and theyâre already late. he crouches in front of her instead and adjusts the straps on her little denim overalls, tugging them snug over her pink tee.
âthere. perfect.â
she looks down at herself, satisfied. âi look fancy.â
âyou look extremely fancy.â
he takes her hand and leads her to the door.
they make it halfway before she stops walking.
roy turns. âwhat?â
lian cocks one eyebrow at him in a way that is disturbingly familiar.
âyou sure?â
âyes?â
she points at his chest.
he looks down.
he is completely shirtless.
âoh, come onââ
roy spins back into the apartment in full panic mode. âokay. okay. shirt. obviously. shirt is good.â
he starts pacing toward his bedroom, then the closet, then back again, muttering. âbutton-down? too much. hoodie? too casual. leather jacket? absolutely not. why do i own this many black shirts?â
lian stands in the middle of the room, hands on her hips, watching him with a deadpan expression that does not belong on a four-year-old.
after a long, dramatic sigh, she toddles off to his room.
he barely notices until she returns, dragging a white compression shirt and the red sweater he usually ties around his shoulders.
she holds them up triumphantly.
âyou wear this when you see your lady friends.â
he freezes.
âthat isâ i donâtâ lianââ
âyou do,â she nodded sagely. âis fancy but not taxeda.â
âtuxedo?â
lian nods.
his eye twitches. there are so many things he wants to say. instead, he presses his lips together, fighting the urge to defend himself against a preschooler.
he crouches down, takes the clothes, and kisses her forehead.
âthank you. but letâs save the embarrassing insights for old man ollie, okay?â
her grin is wicked. âokay.â
roy pulls the compression shirt on, then drapes the red sweater over his shoulders, tying it loosely.
she studies him.
âbetter,â she says.
âyeah?â
âyou look less poopy.â
when he finally knocks on your door, his heart is pounding in a way that has nothing to do with physical exertion.
the door opens.
you smile wide when you see lian.
thereâs a flicker of nerves behind your eyes. the carefulness. the fear of saying the wrong thing. of scaring her. of doing this wrong.
lian doesnât give you the chance.
she gasps.
âyou match me!â
you blink. âwhat?â
she points enthusiastically. âover-alls! i got pink shirt. you got yellow shirt! we twins!â
you look down at your outfit and laugh. âoh my gosh, youâre right. we kind of are.â
roy finally sees it.
the yellow tee under your denim overalls is not just any yellow tee.
itâs a keystone city flash merch.
keystone flash.
wally west.
another ginger hero.
roy just stares.
you catch the look and a grin slowly spreads across your face.
âroy,â you say sweetly, âmy eyes are up here.â
he blinks hard and drags his gaze away from your chest. âiâ thatâsââ
lian tugs at your overalls. âi like yellow. itâs happy.â
you crouch down to her level. âit is happy. pink is happy too.â
she nods solemnly. âbest colors.â
roy is still mildly short-circuiting when you step aside. âdo you two want to come in?â
he almost forgets how to walk.
lian does not. she marches in like she owns the place. her eyes go wide. her mouth drops open. sheâs not shy about it at all.
âwhoa!â
roy hisses under his breath, âinside voice.â
âi am inside,â she whispers loudly.
she turns in a slow circle, taking everything in. the colors. the soft lighting. the art on the walls.
âyou got paintins,â she announces.
âi do,â you say.
she squints at one critically. âthey not as good as mine.â
roy closes his eyes. âlian.â
âbut,â she continues generously, âi can make you some. to fix it.â
thereâs a split second of silence and then you laugh. warm and bright.
âplease do,â you tell her. âiâd be honored!â
roy melts a little.
he can see the exact moment you stop being afraid of messing this up.
because lian isnât fragile. sheâs just⌠lian.
meanwhile, his gaze drifts back to your shirt.
you notice. again. heâs not even subtle.
you grin at him. âstill up here.â
he drags a hand down his face. âyou did that on purpose.â
âmaybe.â
lian wanders further into the living room, spotting the couch.
âcan i sit?â she asks suddenly, voice syrup-sweet.
royâs eyes snap to her.
polite. very polite. suspiciously polite.
he knows his daughter. sheâs buttering you up. she probably saw something that she would like to play with during her inspection and now she is buttering you up to get it.
roy doesnât know if he should facepalm or feel proud. so he does both.
you smile at the little girl. âof course you can.â
you even reach out to help her up, but she scales the couch herself like a determined raccoon.
she bounces once. twice. then settles.
she pats it.
âi like this couch.â
you laugh. âyeah?â
âmhm. itâs pretty and squishy.â
you glance at roy with a teasing look. âlike father, like daughter.â
he groans quietly.
âyou remember how much you liked this couch, right?â you add.
heat crawls up his neck.
âi got it all sweaty,â he mutters.
âyou did,â you agree, entirely too amused.
lian gasps. âyou did?!â
âit was an accident.â
she leans down, smelling the cushions with exaggerated seriousness.
âi donât smell it.â
âbecause itâs clean,â you reassure her, smiling.
she nods, satisfied, then leans back dramatically against the cushions like sheâs testing royalty-level comfort.
you clap your hands together lightly, drawing their attention.
âokay,â you say, smiling at lian. âthe foodâs still heating up. but in the meantime⌠i might have something for you.â
lian gasps like you just announced christmas came early.
âfor me?!â she spins to roy, eyes huge. âdaddy. she say for me.â
roy presses a hand to his chest dramatically. âwow. just for you? no mysterious second gift for devastatingly handsome single fathers?â
you arch a brow. âwere you good this year?â
he pretends to think about it. âdefine good.â
lian squints at him. âyou forgot armits.â
roy immediately raises his arms to take a sniff, another wave of panic washing over him. you burst out laughing.
âet tu, brute?â roy shakes his head at lian with her all too proud grin. then he softens and turns to you. âyou didnât have to, you know.â
âi know,â you say gently. âi wanted to.â
you disappear into the kitchen and come back with a small, neatly wrapped box.
lian vibrates in place.
âfor me, for me, for me,â she chants under her breath.
âgo ahead,â you encourage.
she rips into it with zero hesitation. paper flies. roy instinctively gathers the scraps before they can hit the floor.
the second the lid liftsâ
the squeal that erupts from lian could shatter reinforced glass.
it is high. it is piercing. it is legendary. somewhere in the distance, a car alarm probably goes off.
roy winces and then laughs helplessly. âyep. definitely her grandmotherâs spirit animal.â
because even if sheâs not biologically related, no one in a three-block radius would question her being black canaryâs granddaughter right now.
lianâs eyes flood with stars.
âitâs a cam-cam!â she shrieks. âlike auntie donnaâs!â
she launches herself straight into royâs lap so hard he nearly tips backward.
âdaddy! show! show me!â
he catches her automatically, heart in his throat for entirely different reasons now.
âokay, okay,â he says, voice thick with laughter. âfirst ruleâdonât drop it.â
she clutches it like sacred treasure.
he guides her fingers to the button. âyou point it. then you press here.â
he angles it toward her face. âtest shot.â
click.
the camera whirs.
lian gasps as a small square photo begins to slide out.
âitâs cominâ! itâs cominâ!â
she practically hyperventilates watching it develop, bouncing in royâs lap. as the image slowly reveals her wide-eyed, butterfly-crowned faceâ
she screams again.
âthatâs me!!â
roy canât stop smiling. âyeah, bug. thatâs you.â
she snatches the photo, then the camera, then spins toward you.
âscoot!â she commands.
you blink. âwhat?â
âscoot together! i take one!â
roy freezes. you freeze.
lian narrows her eyes.
âyou gotta be close or it not fit.â
the two of you shuffle closer on the couch, shoulders brushing. too close. heat creeps up your neck. royâs ears go red.
âokay,â you say faintly.
lian squints through the viewfinder, tongue poking out in concentration.
click.
the flash goes off.
roy blinks spots out of his vision while lian stares at the emerging photo like itâs a miracle being born.
the image develops slowly.
itâs a little blurry. the colors are slightly washed. you can tell she tilted the camera at the last second.
but there you are. blushing. smiling. close.
lian beams. âi did it.â
âyou did,â you agree softly.
roy swallows hard.
the rest of the afternoon unfolds in small, glowing pieces roy knows heâll replay in his head later.
like the moment lian insists on showing you how to use the camera properlyâdespite having owned it for exactly seven minutes. she climbs onto your lap to âteach,â her tiny hands guiding yours dramatically. you listen like sheâs giving a ted talk, nodding solemnly, asking thoughtful questions. roy watches from the couch, stunned by how naturally you fold yourself into her world.
and the moment lian drags you to the coffee table to draw in the strawberry shortcake album margins. you end up with a pink crayon streak across your cheek. roy points it out between laughs. before he can finish teasing you, lian climbs onto him and deliberately swipes pink across his jaw too. ânow you match,â she declares. you and roy lock eyesâboth trying and failing not to laugh.
or the moment lian stumbles mid-twirl. you catch her without hesitation. she clings to your shirt for half a second before bouncing back up. roy sees the instinct in youâthe immediate protectiveness, the steady handsâand something deep in his chest shifts permanently.
eventually, you notice it.
the restless bounce in lianâs knees. the way her words get faster. the giggles tipping into chaos.
âshe needs to burn it off,â you murmur knowingly.
roy nods. âyeah. thatâs the pre-zoomies phase.â
âfield trip?â you suggest.
lian gasps. âoutside?!â
âoutside,â you confirm.
she grabs her camera immediately. âi docu-bent!â
the playground is empty when you arrive. no other kids. but lian doesnât care.
âmonkey bars!â she declares.
you and roy exchange a look.
âweâre too big for monkey bars,â he says.
âcoward,â you reply lightly.
five minutes later youâre both awkwardly attempting them anyway.
roy drops down halfway, grunting. âi used to do this one-handed.â
âsure you did,â you tease from the next bar over.
lian swings effortlessly beneath you both like a victorious gremlin. then she jumps down to grab her camera and snap pictures.
then the slide.
you go first while roy pretends heâs too dignified.
lian pushes him anyway.
he yelps all the way down. you laugh so hard you nearly miss your own turn.
the swings are worse.
all three of you pumping your legs, hair flying, lian screaming with delighted abandon while you and roy laugh until your stomachs hurt.
by the time you return to your apartment, flushed and breathless, the energy has softened into something warm and drowsy.
âtea time,â you announce.
lianâs eyes widen again.
you lift her up easily, holding her against your hip so she can see the higher shelves.
âthese are herbs,â you explain, pointing. âchamomile. mint. lavender.â
âlav-in-der,â she repeats carefully.
âwhat sounds best for tonight?â
she considers deeply. âmint. âcause itâs mint and choco icecream!â
âexcellent choice.â
you let her pick her ceramic mug. she examines them all with dramatic seriousness.
âyour daddy always uses the star one,â you inform her, pointing to the ginger tea mug.
lian nods, still deep in her thoughts looking over your collection.
to everyoneâs surprise, her choice lands not on a pink or strawberry one. she claims a simple ceramic mug with a handdrawn caterpillar on it.Â
you sit her carefully on the counter, steadying her as you measure herbs and pour hot water. she watches like itâs a sacred ritual. then you let her help cut the strawberry pieâtiny hand over yours on the knife.
roy watches from the couch.
heâd meant to join you, but his phone buzzed. vigilante gig.
he steps aside briefly, voice low. quick research. quick update. âiâm off duty tonight.â
he means it more than usual.
when he hangs up, he doesnât rejoin you immediately.
he just stands there.
watching you and lian laugh over uneven pie slices. watching the way you steady her when she wobbles. watching her lean into you without hesitation.
he wishes he could be off duty more nights.
maybe all of them.
tea is warm. pie is sweet. conversation slows. so much so that lianâs words begin to slur. her head droops against royâs chest mid-sentence.
âanâ then⌠i took a pitchur of⌠of the swing anââŚâ
sheâs out.
roy brushes hair from her forehead carefully. some strands managed to get out of the butterfly trap.
âitâs time,â he murmurs, though he doesnât sound convinced.
you nod, but thereâs something reluctant in your smile too.
lian is fully asleep by the time you reach the door.
her butterfly clips are slightly crooked, one dangling dangerously near her ear. roy adjusts them automatically, careful not to wake her. she sighs softly against his shoulder, fingers still loosely hooked in the collar of his compression shirt.
you open the door for him.
he steps into the hallway.
and then⌠he lingers.
you linger too.
the quiet feels different now. softer yet charged.
he clears his throat.
âso.â
âso,â you echo.
thereâs a beat where he looks like heâs about to say something serious.
instead, he squints at your chest.
you blink. âroy.â
âiâm sorry,â he says defensively. âi justâ i have to ask.â
âask.â
he gestures vaguely at your yellow tee. âyou didnât know who arsenal was.â
you tilt your head. âcorrect.â
âbut you know the flash.â
âwell. yes.â
his jaw drops. âhow is that fair?â
you fold your arms, trying not to smile. âthe flash is iconic.â
âiâm iconic.â
âyou broke my window.â
âthat was one time. and i fixed it afterwards!â
you step a little closer, lowering your voice teasingly. âmaybe you should run really fast in bright primary colors if you want better merch recognition.â
he scoffs. âi have colors.â
âred and⌠slightly darker red?â
âitâs tactical red.â
you laugh softly.
he studies you for a second, something vulnerable flickering behind the mock offense.
âso you just,â he says, quieter now, âwalk around repping speedsters but not archers?â
âi walk around repping good hearts,â you reply easily.
that knocks the wind out of him a little.
âand you,â you add gently, âare harder to google.â
he blinks. âyou googled me?â
you shrug, suddenly shy. âeventually.â
âeventually,â he repeats, like heâs filing that away forever.
thereâs a warm silence.
he shifts lian slightly higher in his arms.
âthat wasâŚâ you start.
âyeah,â he says, softer than before. âit was.â
âwe should do it again.â
âiâd like that.â
he hesitates only half a second this time before leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek.
you still.
then you let out a quiet, breathy chuckle. âthatâs very bold of you, harper.â
his eyes widen slightly. âtoo much?â
instead of answering, you step forward and press a kiss to his cheek in return.
âjust enough.â
his breath catches.
âtomorrow morning?â he asks, almost hopeful.
âtomorrow morning,â you confirm.
he nods, smiling in a way that feels brand new.
âgoodnight.â
âgoodnight, roy.â
he walks down the hallway with lian asleep in his arms and your laugh still echoing in his ears. suddenly, a prominent thought starts nagging. itâs persistent and confident and absolutely unavoidable so he has to reply out loud.
âyeah-yeah,â he mutters, opening his door. âoff duty nights, here i come.â
as always, special ty to @angelsspotinthecorner for being an angel and my proof reader!!
noir special for 300 is on its way too but i started overthinking it so i'm going to let it breathe for a while without rush. girl next door is like my comfort fic to write đĽšđŠˇ
Tags: fake dating, miscommunication, mutual pinning, idiots in love, suggestive, accidental love confession, hurt/comfort, bit of yearning
based on order #4 & 29 from the event iâm doing
and ty to @lechelovestoyap for looking over this, ilyyy <3
Thereâs something so unsettling about how easily Roy grabs your hand. Itâs not the hesitation of a friend. Or the unease of a stranger. No, his hand swallows yours whole, the cold metal of his rings biting into your skin. And every time someone glances your way, his green eyes narrow.
Itâs so unlike his usual casual demeanor. Youâre used to him cracking a joke every ten minutes.
âMânot the suit type,â he mutters, leaning down to whisper in your ear, his voice rough against the room bathed in gold and shimmer. The gala he forced you into.
âThen whyâd you ask me to come?â you hiss, just as uncomfortable as he is.
Not even Jason attends the galas Bruce hosts, but for some reason, Roy wants to be here. The question nags at the back of your mind, begging to be answered. Why ask you to be his fake date when youâre sure his heart belongs to someone else?
Someone he told Dick was his life.
Youâd heard it a second too early. They hadnât known you were standing there, and before they could notice, youâd scurried away, your heart pounding painfully against your ribs. Ever since then, youâve avoided him like the plague.
âThought weâd try somethinâ new. Dickâs always raving about these things,â he replies easily, tugging you closer.
The we warms your heart despite every reasonable thought.
âYeah? Why drag me along? Donât you have plenty of options?â you grumble, looking away.
If you look at him, really look at him, youâll lose all restraint. The way strands of ginger hair stick out despite his effort. The sharp line of his jaw. The broad set of his shoulders under the suit. You want to trace your fingers along him, memorize the shape of him.
Youâre so not ready for that.
But it happens anyway when his thumb brushes over your knuckles. Goosebumps erupt across your skin.
âWell, baby, youâre the only one whoâd go along with it,â he jokes.
You pull your hand away like youâve been burned. The words hit you harder than they should. It should have been gentler, after all you'd known. Yet you can feel the walls pressing in, his warmth slowly suffocating you.
You let out a quiet laugh because otherwise youâre sure youâll cry. âWow. I feel so special.â Your voice is sharp and bitter.Â
He reaches for you again, his hand hovering midair before stopping. âThatâs notââ
âIâm convenient, is that it, Roy?â You turn to face him fully. His brows lift in surprise, and a few nearby guests glance over, already whispering.
âTroubleââ
âDonât call me that,â you whisper yell. âAnd donât act like youâre not just using me to get what you want.â
His hands settle on your shoulders, steadier now. He doesn't argue.Â
Instead, he quietly ushers you toward an empty room. The murmurs follow. Across the hall, Dick shoots Roy a look before flashing you an overly bright smile.
When youâre finally alone, the silence feels heavy, and you glance at him, knowing you shouldn't.Â
He looks unfairly good. The suit hugs his broad shoulders, his tie slightly loosened like he canât stand feeling restrained. He runs a hand through his hair, making it messier, and you long to reach up and smooth it back into place.
âWhat I meant,â he says slowly, like heâs handling something explosive, âis that youâre the only one I trust.â
âYouâve got plenty of people,â you reply
âYouâve got Dick. Youâve gotââ You swallow. âWhoeverâs your life.â
âYou,â he says immediately, brows furrowing. âIâve got you.â
Youâre in love with an idiot. That has to be it.
âWe arenât actually together.â
He throws his hands up. âYou mentioned Dick and meâand him and I arenât together.â
âThatâs different, and you know it!â
âWhat the hellâs gotten into you today?!â He crowds you enough that youâre forced to look up, his eyes boring into your own, jaw clenched with frustration. His hands come down to your hips, pulling you closer.
Your throat bobs, the fire being doused by whatever heâs doing.
He seems to realise it too and swears under his breath, trying to take a step back, but you don't let him.Â
Filled with need and desperation, you grab his tie and pull him until your lips hover over his. You give him a moment to stop you, but when his eyes widen, and his large hands slide up to your waist, you kiss him.
He doesnât waste time, his lips moving against yours, fast and hungry, like he wants to devour you too. The taste of him is smoky and minty, and you gasp when he grinds against you.Â
He mutters your name every time he pulls away for air, as if he canât bear a single second of not being fully consumed by you.
âRoy,â you whisper, eyes fluttering closed when his lips move over your neck, his nose brushing the sensitive curve there.
His heartbeat thuds so closely you can feel your own in sync with his. âFuck, I love you,â he groans against your jaw, pressing tiny kisses there.
You still. And he feels the exact moment your heart stutters.
"Shitâm'sorry."
"Why're you apologising?" you ask.
He looks away. "Thought you hated me or something."Â
"Wish I could," you mutter, softly. But even that softness didn't stop the wounded look on his face. His hands fall against his sides.
"Yeah? How'd I fuck up this time?" He gives you a wry smile, leaning his head down close to you.Â
"Well, can you even be in love with two people at the same time?"
âAlright, thatâs enough,â he says, voice rough. âWhateverâs going on in that head of yours, spit it out. Cause this is the second time tonight youâve said something, and I havenât got a clue what you mean."
Your cheeks heat up. "You called someone your lifeâŚI'm guessing you love them," your words came out slowly as embarrassment crept over you. Nothing like his own confession earlier, but this meant you cared.
Understanding passes through his face, and his lips tug upwards. "You were jealous."
"Roy."
"You were so jealous over aâ
You glare. "Roy."
"âkid," he finishes.
You peer at him. "Sorry, what?"
"I was talkin' 'bout Lian." He explains, his previous emotions wiped away by a cocky look.
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh." He snickers and then leans in to kiss your jaw, then the bridge of your nose.Â
"There's no one else I'm in love with, baby," he whispers, then kisses your lips while you were too caught up in your revelation.Â
You put your hands on his chest, stopping him.
"Wait, so why ask me to be your fake date to a gala?"Â
He shrugs. "Wanted to be with you in any way I could," his fingers brush your hair back, then go to cup your jaw.Â
"Guessing you love me too?" he asks.
You stay silent, feeling like you are drowning in a sea of emotions. His eyes search yours.
Finally, you whisper, âYeah⌠I do.â
âKnew it,â he mutters, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead before letting his lips find yours again.
"No, you didn't, you thought I hated you," you mumble against his lips.
He doesnât answer, but when his hands slide under your thighs, and you wrap your legs around his waist as he kisses you, it says everything you need to know.
masterlist
i donât really like this but i hope you guys enjoy anyway!! :)
â . selina kyle x gn!reader; there are two beds, but she insists on sharing one with you.
#. fluff. main masterlist.
"Selina, go to your bed," you murmur, trying to push her off the mattress as gently as possible. "This is too small for the two of us."
"Shhh, we can figure it out." She hugs you from behind, trapping your arms under hers before your elbows can dig into her ribs.
"This is a single bed, Selina. My single bed." You bury your face in the pillow. She keeps shifting, searching for a position that might offer some relief â or at least one you two can tolerate.
"What's yours is also mine. Isn't that how a marriage works?" She buries her face in your hair, demanding half of the pillow. "Oh, and I want some of the blanket too."
"We're not married," you huff, but you can't stay mad for much longer â not when her hands sneak under your shirt, nails grazing your warm skin.
"But we might as well be."
She pulls the blanket up, covering herself as well, and a few snuggles later, the two of you are squeezed into the tiny bed â all while Selina's bed, on the other side of the hotel room, remains completely empty.
"I'm going to file for divorce."
Š sozzoe. do not copy, post as yours, translate, or use my work for any AI purposes.
Summary: Lara's birthday is coming and you decide to surprise her.
No warnings, i guess. Just pure, tooth-rotting fluff. SFW.
Words count: 1306
English is not my first language.
There were two days left until your girlfriend's birthday. Five days ago, you left under the pretext of visiting your parents for a week. But that wasn't the case. Right now, you were in the abandoned catacombs under Varanasi.
You and Lara were both archaeologists. You met on one of your joint expeditions and had been together for almost a year. You thought hard about what to give Lara, as it was her first birthday that she would celebrate with you. Of course, you wanted to do everything to make her feel special on this day.
Lara told you about her most memorable birthday, which her dad had organised for her when she was a child. You still remember the sparkle in her eyes as she recalled it, how passionately she talked about that little "expedition" in the basement of Croft Manor. And you also remember how that sparkle faded at the end of the story when she said it was the best birthday of her life. Now Lara didn't attach much importance to her birthdays, limiting herself to cozy get-togethers with Jonah, and once with Sam and Roth.
So you came up with this idea - to give Lara the artefact she once mentioned. She said how much she wanted it and had almost gotten it, but the temple collapsed at the very last moment.
The Eye of Shiva â a precious stone that fell from a statue of Shiva in India.
You couldn't know for sure if the stone had survived, even Lara didn't know. So there was a risk that this expedition would be in vain. However, by a "magical" (although, maybe the stone really did have some magical power?) coincidence, you find Shiva's Eye unharmed in the lower tiers of the temple, stuck between the collapsed boards.
Time was running out. It was already the day before Lara's birthday when you were on your way home. The trip promised to be long, and you still had to buy a festive package for the mineral. The perfect gift for the perfect girlfriend, yeah?
You arrive in England late in the evening, terribly nervous, because it was already almost 11 PM. You had to get home before midnight.
You managed to pop into a gift shop, and choosing the wrapping took up some of your precious time, because you wanted to make Lara so happy. You choose a small dark blue velvet box with a shiny bow of the same colour. Inside the box is a small cushion on which the mineral looks perfect.
And now, on the doorstep of Croft Manor, you try to catch your breath so you look less out of breath. After all, you were visiting your parents, not some ruins in India, right? When your breathing becomes more even, you finally open the door. Before you is a view of an empty living room, illuminated by the warm light of the fireplace. The time is 11:57 PM. You made it just in time.
Approaching Lara's office, you see her silhouette sitting on the floor with her back to the door, sorting through endless papers and photos. As usual. But how glad you are to see her, even if you'll later scold Lara for working so late, overworking again.
The clock strikes midnight. You tiptoe into the room and, leaning down, you gently hug Lara from behind.
"Happy birthday, darling"
You feel Lara flinch with surprise, but she recognises your touch and your voice from a thousand others.
"Oh, you're back, sweetheart!" Her joyful voice is like music to your ears. Lara quickly gets to her feet and rushes to hug you. You hug her tightly in return. "You have no idea how much I missed you" She whispers.
Lara pulls back slightly, her arms still wrapped around you. Her gaze involuntarily slides over your face and she notices a hint of dirt on your skin. Although in the dim light it was difficult to see. Lara runs her thumb over your cheek, wiping away the dust. Her eyebrows furrow slightly in confusion.
"Where did you get the dirt on your face? Look at yourself, you look like you've been on an expedition, not visiting your parents." Lara chuckles as you gasp at her words. You didn't want her to find out before it was time.
"Uh, I- never mind!" You quickly wipe the remaining dirt from your cheek. "I have a present for you."
Lara raises her eyebrows in curiosity. She clearly didn't expect you to arrive at midnight with a gift. You take off your backpack and reach inside, pulling out a dark blue velvet box and handing it to her.
Lara, without even taking the box, almost starts to thank you, but you urge her to open it at first.
Lara unties the bow and carefully pulls the lid of the box up, while you nervously fiddle with the edge of your shirt in anticipation. The little box finally opens, and at that moment, Lara's eyes widen.
"The Eye of Shiva... but how- where did you get it? The temple..."
Lara looks at you with that knowing look when the puzzle in her head has been solved. However, her face still clearly shows surprise. "You weren't visiting your parents, were you?"
You look at the floor, awkwardly twisting from side to side. You didn't want to deceive your girlfriend, but you wanted to surprise her so much.
"Well... sort of..."
"'Sort of'?" Lara's surprised voice sounds louder. "That... That was very dangerous! Going on an expedition alone, and to ruins at that, where everything could collapse at any moment!"
From the tone of her voice, you can tell that she is very worried. You can't help but feel guilty for deceiving Lara. Not when you know how much she fears losing her loved ones. You just stare at the floor, your arms behind your back.
A brief silence hangs between you and her before Lara throws herself into your arms. Her grip is strong, perhaps too strong, but you don't mind at all. You hug her back.
"You're such a crazy girl," Lara's trembling voice is muffled against your shoulder. "My crazy girl."
You let out a soft huff of laughter, giving her a tight squeeze, knowing that she liked the gift. Lara pulls away, and you could swear you saw tears glistening in her eyes, but she quickly blinks them away.
"Just no more surprises like that, okay? If anything, we'll only go on expeditions together."
You smile, deeply appreciating her concern for you. Her love for you was literally palpable.
"I just wanted to make you feel special."
You say softly as your hand gently caresses Lara's cheek.
"You make me feel special every day, my dear. I appreciate this gift immensely, but with you, I don't need much to be happy."
You pull Lara into an unexpected but infinitely tender and loving kiss. She responds willingly, and you feel butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you feel the softness of her lips against yours.
When you finally pull away, Lara's eyes are filled with adoration and boundless love.
"I like this kind of surprise much better."
Her gentle whisper is like a caress to your ears. You cannot resist the urge and plant another soft kiss on her cheek. Lara looks as if she has fallen in love with you all over again, although you know she will surely scold you again for putting yourself in such danger. But you don't mind at all. Not when Lara is standing in front of you, head over heels in love.
Lara insists on helping you clean up, and soon you will be sleeping peacefully in each other's arms. You fall asleep thinking about how many surprises await your beloved girlfriend, because there was a whole day ahead.
This is my very first work soo criticism is welcomed!! (but maybe don't judge too hard okay) Hope you enjoyed this :3
in which you let your best friend live out her dream, sacrificing yours in the process, however, someone comes along and changes your whole night.
tags: very heavily inspired by charlotte la bouffâs storyline from princess and the frog. kind of a little bit angsty at the start but it gets fluffy and sweet.
the whole night was supposed to be perfect. your fatherâs foundationâs gala, all of gothamâs elites there.
and him. michael. son of an ex supermodel and a millionaire. and your crush since you were like ten.
problem is, your best friend, sophia is also here tonight. and she likes michael too, in a more soft, shy way.
and right now youâre doing her makeup in your room. your dress is pink and pretty, hers is a soft pale blue. âgod, soph, you look gorgeous.â you mumble softly as you finish her eyeshadow.
and she does, sheâs stunning. you pull her out of the chair excitedly and spin her around.
just five minutes later, youâre both there, at the gala, you greeting people with soft kisses to the cheek and gentle hugs, while sophia trails behind you like a quiet cat following a golden retriever.
and thatâs when you see him, michael. you sigh dreamily, looking at him with nothing but adoration, and then glance back at sophia, ready to leave her alone, but her face makes your heart slow.
sheâs looking right at michael, eyes sparkling, clearly lovestruck.
you sigh and then bite your lip, conflicted. sophia is your best friend, youâll do anything for her, so thatâs why you gently nudge her, and encourage her to approach him.
before she can say anything, michael is in front of the two of you, a soft smile on his handsome face. you bite your lip, watching proudly as sophia introduces herself.
itâs a bittersweet feeling, watching the person you love get along so well with your crush, but sophia deserves to be happy, and youâre too nice to deny her that.
you slip away silently, eyes glistening with sparkling tears. you manage to find a balcony overlooking gotham.
such a strange city, it looks so beautiful, but the things happening on the streets below you are horrific.
you donât even realise that youâre crying until you hear someone clear their throat behind you.
you turn slowly, only to be met with a tall boy, about your age, maybe a bit older. he has black hair, slightly curly with a streak of white at the front. he has gorgeous eyes, and an even more gorgeous face. you recognise him, but from where, youâre not sure yet.
âoh, iâm sorry,â you say lightly, sniffling and dabbing your under eyes gently. he shakes his head and passes you a little folded napkin.
you accept it with a soft breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. biting your lip, you pull out your little compact from your clutch, and check your reflection.
yet another little embarrassed laugh leaves your lips.
âgosh, i look a mess.â and you do, to be honest. mascara running down your cheeks, lip gloss faded, a light, sad pout on your lips.
âyou look pretty, just a littleâŚâ he tries to find the right word, âdisheveled?â
another soft sigh/laugh leaves your lips.
âwhat happened anyway? you get dumped or something?â his words make you shake your head. once youâre all cleaned up again, you pass him the napkin back, and put your mirror away.
âworse, i let my best friend have the guy i like.â it sounds stupid when you say it out loud, barely an issue, but it hurts your heart nonetheless.
âjeez. i mean you looked like a nice person, but thatâs a little too nice, huh?â you nod slowly.
âiâm jason, by the way. jason todd.â
thatâs where you recognise him from.
âwayneâs boy.â you mumble. he nods.
you introduce yourself, not that youâd need to. he knows exactly who you are.
âso⌠you really gonna spend the whole night moping?â he says, voice a little more teasing than before. âi mean, you look gorgeous, itâd be a shame for you to stay hidden up here like a locked up princess.â
you sigh, and look up at him. his eyes have this little glint in them. he smiles slightly, soft, calm. and he slowly reaches out his hand.
âBabe?â You shouted as you entered you and your boyfriendâs shared apartment.
Dick poked his head up from where he was napping on the couch at the sound of your voice. âOh! Hey baby!â He replied, with a wide smile on his face now that youâre back home from work.
Hastily, you kicked you shoes off and ran over to him â Dick could already tell something was up, youâd always scold him for not putting his shoes neatly on the rack whenever he came home, never in a million years would he think youâd be guilty of it too! â You flopped down onto his lap and wrapped your arms around his long, muscly torso, cupping his face in your hands and giving him two passionate kisses on each of his cheeks that made a loud mwah! sound and left light marks from your lipstick.
Gosh, if this was how you wanted to spend the rest of the evening, Dick would gladly be subjected to your sweet affection for as long as your heart desired.
âWhatâs got you all giddy?â He asked, though the words were slightly muffled by you squeezing his cheeks together, in return making him look a bit like a fish â the thought made you giggle to yourself.
âGuess!â
âOkay⌠let me thinkâŚâ
A large grin appeared on your face as he played along with your childish games, he would do anything, anything in the world to see you smile like that all the time, and knowing that he caused it made it all the better.
âYou saw this handsome face and was like oh my god my boyfriends so good looking Iâm gonna smother him in kisses.â
âBabe! Be serious!â You squeeled as you swatted a playful smack to his chest, though what he suggested may or may not happen every once in a while, but he doesnât have to know that.
âJust tell meâŚâ His voice trailed off as his mouth made its way to your neck, his breath tickled, making you laugh which in return he gave what for you what felt like a million gentle kisses from just under your ear all the way down to your collarbone. âPlease.â He adds, this time with an adorable pout.
âI got the promotion at work!â
âNo way! Oh my god, Iâm so proud of you!â
You grinned even wider at his last five words. He was proud of you. Your boyfriend was Nightwing for gods sake! A vigilante who spends his nights fighting criminals and helping the people of BlĂźdhaven, was your boyfriend and he was proud of you!
You buried your face in his neck to hide how red and flustered you were becoming at the simple phrase Iâm so proud of you.
âCâmon, letâs go out to dinner and celebrate, that sound good?â
You left one more loud kiss on his forehead before declaring; âYeah, that does sound good.â
âIâm home, honey!â HAL JORDAN says, stepping through the door with a relieved expression, happy to finally be home with you. Before he can open his arms, though, youâve already thrown yourself against him.
He leans against the wall for support and, freeing one arm from your tight grip, he gently ruffles your hair. âMissed me?â
You notice it immediately: the tease so full of love, almost a statement rather than a question. It makes you roll your eyes and, at the same time, want to smile in the truest way you know how.
âCome on, you were counting the minutes. Just be honest,â he insists, fingers threading through your curls as his lips brush your nose, trailing down your cheek, but stopping just short of your mouth.
You stare at him for a few moments, hoping he'll give in â it doesn't happen. Of course not. You're facing the strongest will in the universe; itâs up to you to give in.
It's a small whisper, a âyes, Hal, I missed youâ made just for him. He smiles, and you canât help but mirror him.
âI know you did,â he murmurs against your lips, finally kissing you. His ring glows, illuminating your hair in the Lanternâs green, and you feel him melt a little, just a little.
I missed you more, he thinks.
main masterlist | Š sozzoe. do not copy, post as yours, translate, or use my work for any AI purposes.
â . diana prince x goddess!reader; of all your faithful, diana is the one you love most.
#. features aphrodite. main masterlist.
âWhat do you observe so closely on Earth, my sister?â Aphrodite approaches you, a knowing look in her eyes; it has been a while since she last witnessed the effect of love on one of her own.
âI observe the one I appreciate, my sister. She approaches my temple in the ancient capital of our faith.â You lean closer to the window, your lips softening into a smile. She climbs the staircase, entering your space of worship; she kneels before the large marble statue, battered and wounded by time, wars, and other human afflictions. Yet, she still loves it, and still adores it.
âTell me her name.â
âYou know her name. You helped create her.â
âYet I only know it by anotherâs mouth, not by your heart,â Aphrodite says, and the winds stir on Olympus, carrying Diana's prayers to your ears. Her words fill you with new life â her faith, so unwavering and magnificent, numbs you to all the loneliness of the celestial.
You hesitate for a moment; are you worthy of her name? Of her love, of her devotion? You doubt greatly, but where does reason lie, if not on the other side of the scale?
âDiana,â you whisper, and on Earth, the Amazon trembles. She bows further before your statue, her face pressed against the marble of your feet â she knows that, somewhere far away, you are listening to her.
Aphrodite knows; you love Diana. The evidence is everywhere: in the tone of your voice, in the tilt of your head, in the trembling of your fingers. Every fiber of your body reveals to the goddess that, through your veins, runs one of her gifts. The revelation delights her, and in silence, she blesses your love.
âWell, I think I should stop interrupting you now. She longs for your comfort, and it does no good to let a troubled heart suffer,â Aphrodite says, turning away to leave you alone with the prayers of the Amazon.
When the door behind your sister closes, a new one opens beside you; passing through it, the marble beneath Diana's hands becomes flesh, and her heart swells with joy.
âDiana, the one Aphrodite gave me the gift of loving. What a marvel it is to be in your presence, my beloved.â You extend your arms to her, and Diana dives into your embrace. She laughs, radiant and unburdened, as her prayers are finally answered.
Š sozzoe. do not copy, post as yours, translate, or use my work for any AI purposes.
At that usual Alfred politeness that always put you at ease, you gently grabbed his wrist and pulled him with you up to you room. âDonât worry, just follow me.â
âI think youâll find I can navigate this manor fine just by myself, Missâ He says, not without a small chuckle though and with grandfatherly smile.
âI can assure you whatever it is, your secret is safe with me.â
Eventually you got to your room, but before opening the door gave a warning; âLook, you canât tell anyone about this, Alfred. Okay?â
You were still abit hesitant to let him in your room and see what you were hiding, but this was Alfred youâre talking about! The most trustworthy man on the planet! The man that has been in your life as long as you can remember! The man who is so loyal that heâs been working for the same family for years!
At that thought you opened the door⌠and nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
Itâs in that state where you always use the excuse âI swear itâs clean but it doesnât look it because Iâve got too much stuffâ when Bruce insists you try to tidy your room instead of Alfred. Your bed (that was far too big for one teenage girl to sleep in every night) was just as unmade as it typically was. Your desk still messy with yet-to-be-completed algebra homework, with your school uniform resting on the chair. Clothes were strewn all over the floor rather than in your wardrobe (yet you still had the audacity to insist that you have nothing to wear).
Normal. Usual. Nothing he wasnât used to.
âWell, Miss, if this is your way of asking me to help tidy your room, than I best go back to cooking dinner and recommend that you just ask next ti-â
âMeowwwwwâ
A straining silence settled over the room as you freeze and Alfred tried to figure out if what he heard was really what happened.
ââŚOk so⌠Iâm really sorry okay! But on the way home from school i saw this adorable stray little kitten and I couldnât just leave it there to suffer! You know I wasnât raised like that!â You put your head in your heads and flop down on your bed as you continue to ramble at light speed âSo I took it back home with me and itâs been living in my room the past few daysâŚâ
Just as Alfred is about to reply to your reason, he feels an odd sensation down by his foot â It seems the kitten was already quite fond of him.
âSee! Look! He likes you!â You gave an awkward chuckle to try and delay the inevitable conversation he was going to have that you had to tell your father about this.
The sweet, little thing made its way up to your bed, jumped and curled up in your lap, its black fur fuzzy beneath your palm as you stroked him gently.
Meanwhile Alfred was still at a loss for words.
Just as he thought of something to say your bedroom door was pushed open; âSister I require your- is that a cat?â Your younger brother, Damian asked.
âDamian! I told you, you canât just barge into my room like that!â
He scoffs at that. âI didnât barge, beside I have every right to go into my own sisters room when she has been hiding a pet from me and acting suspicious for the last week!â
It seems you werenât as subtle as you thought. Thatâs the thing though; with living in a house full of some of the greatest detectives in the world, you could never get away with things like this â you could only hope your father didnât notice, as for your siblings, well, thatâs a completely different story, you didnât even have a single worry as to what your other brothers would think, Dick would be all over the tiny fuzz ball that was the cat, Tim would probably be too deep in a case to even notice the thing if you put it right infront of him, and Jason⌠well he was never around the Manor much, but you quickly put that thought aside, forcing yourself back to the present.
âMaster Damian, Miss (Name), perhaps itâs a good idea to tell your father about this⌠uh⌠situation, heâs going to find out one way or anotherâ
Your eyes widened at that, you had no idea how you would convince your father to let you keep it; heâd likely insist that itâd be best if he was given to one of the shelters that Wayne Enterprises sponsored. âBut, Alfred, What if-â
âNope! No buts, no what ifs, youâll have to tell him at dinner tonightâ Then he walked out the room, leaving you and Damian in a thoughtful silence, both scheming ways to convince your father to let you keep him.
Later when Alfred announced dinnerâs ready, the cat follows you down (unbeknownst to you).
*:ｼďžâ§*:ｼďžâ§
âWhy canât we keep him!? Itâs not like you canât afford it!â You whined clutching the kitten tight to your chest as it purred soothingly.
âItâs not about that (name), between patrol, school and studying itâs the fact that you wonât have time for it, weâve already got two that Damian bought home, we donât need another.â His demeanour was completely calm, a broad contrast to your own whiny attitude, but he had gotten used to it by now.
âBut Dad! Pleaseeeeeeeeeeâ
âYeah, Bruce, why not let her keep it, sheâll make time for it, wonât you, (Name)â Dick asks, joining the argument, to which Bruce gives him a pointed look for adding fuel to the fire.
âYeah, I promise, I will!â
ââŚFine.â
What! Did he just say yes?
Everyone at the dining table shared shocked glances, surprised by Bruce giving in so easily.
âExcuse me?â You gasped out, still in shock at how he just completely changed his mind.
âI said fine, you can keep him.â
âReally!?â
âWhat are you going to name him?â Steph excitedly exclaimed from her chair opposite you.
Thatâs a good point. What are you going to name him. Heâs black, fluffy, and has the most adorable, golden eyes⌠A name pops into your head, itâs perfect!
A smirk slowly made its way onto your face. âBatman.â
a/n: ahhhhh first time posting kinda nervyyyy, also sorry for any mistakes i can never bring myself self to reread my writings fully or I cringe and then chicken out of posting lollll, anyway hope you enjoyed ;)
Summary: Reader joins the team as a new field medic, utterly unimpressed by Dickâs charm. The more she brushes him off, the harder he falls ⌠literally. He starts slipping during patrols, messing up acrobatics, and everyone thinks heâs cursed. Turns out, heâs just distracted.
requests are open
dividers by @cafekitsune
Dick Grayson had never fallen during a simple rooftop crossing.
Until tonight.
"ROBIN!" Oracle's voice cracked through the comm. "What happened? Your tracker just dropped three stories!"
"I'm fine," Dick groaned, pulling himself out of the dumpster he'd landed in. "Just... missed my footing."
"You never miss your footing."
"First time for everything." He tried to sound casual, but even he could hear the embarrassment in his voice.
The truth was, he'd been distracted. Specifically, distracted by the memory of the new field medic's completely unimpressed face when he'd tried his signature smile on her earlier that evening.
This was becoming a problem.
Week One: The Introduction
"Team, this is Dr. Y/N L/N," Batman said during the briefing. "They'll be our primary field medic moving forward. Extensive trauma training, emergency medicine certification, and combat medical experience."
You gave a brief nod to the room, your expression professional and utterly neutral.
Dick turned on the charm immediately, offering his most winning smile. "Welcome to the team. I'm Nightwing, but you can call me Dick."
"I'll stick with Nightwing, thanks." You didn't even blink. "Is there a medical bay I should familiarize myself with?"
"I can show you around," Dick offered, standing up. "Give you the grand tour... "
"Agent A already sent me a facility map. I'm good." You turned to Batman. "When's the next scheduled patrol? I want to understand the typical injury patterns."
Dick felt his smile falter. "Did you just... turn down a tour from Nightwing?"
"I turned down a tour from someone I just met. I prefer to orient myself." You glanced at him. "No offense."
"None taken," he lied.
Across the room, Jason was grinning. "Oh, this is going to be fun."
Week Two: The Attempts
Dick prided himself on being charming. It was practically a superpower. He could talk down villains, charm civilians, and had once convinced Poison Ivy to redirect her murder plants through sheer charisma.
But you? You were immune.
"Coffee?" he offered, appearing at your elbow in the med bay.
"Have some, thanks." You gestured to your already-full mug without looking up from your inventory.
"I meant, can I get you better coffee? There's a great place in BlĂźdhaven... "
"The coffee here is fine."
"Lunch?"
"Ate already."
"Dinner?"
"Will eat later."
"Do you ever actually stop working?" Dick asked, slightly desperate now.
"When the work is done." You finally looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "Was there something medical you needed, Nightwing? Or are you just here to interrupt my supply count?"
"I, no. Just being friendly."
"Mm-hmm." You went back to your inventory. "Friendly noted. Goodbye."
Dick left, feeling like he'd just been politely but firmly dismissed.
In the Cave, Tim looked up from his computer. "Strike out again?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You've been here for twenty minutes. You only come to the Cave during the day when you're trying to run into the new medic."
"That's not, I'm just being welcoming!"
"You brought flowers yesterday."
"Those were, those were a welcome gift!"
"Dick, you brought roses. A dozen red roses." Tim didn't even try to hide his amusement. "That's not a welcome gift. That's a declaration."
"They didn't even keep them! Said they were allergic and gave them to Barbara."
"Actually," Barbara's voice came through the speakers, "I'm enjoying them very much. They're on my desk. Very pretty."
Dick groaned.
Week Three: The Falling Begins
It started small.
A stumble during training. Missing a handhold on a building. Taking a punch he normally would have dodged.
"You're off your game," Batman observed after Dick took a hit that left him with bruised ribs.
"Just tired."
"You're never tired." Bruce studied him. "What's going on?"
"Nothing. I'm fine."
He wasn't fine.
He was distracted by the way you'd rolled your eyes when he'd tried to flirt during the post-patrol debrief. By the little smile you'd hidden when Damian made a sarcastic comment. By the fact that you treated everyone on the team with the same professional courtesy except him⌠with him, you seemed actively annoyed.
It was driving him crazy.
"Nightwing, focus!" Batman's warning came too late.
Dick missed the grapple point, his line sailing past the building ledge. He scrambled, catching himself on a fire escape, but not before wrenching his shoulder.
"Dammit."
"Med bay. Now." Batman's voice left no room for argument.
Of course, you were on duty.
"Let me guess," you said, not looking up from your tablet. "Dislocated shoulder?"
"How did you... "
"You're holding it at a specific angle, and you grunted when you came through the door." You finally looked at him, gesturing to the exam table. "Sit."
Dick sat, trying not to wince.
"This is the third injury this week," you observed, gently examining his shoulder. "That's unusual for you. Your file says you're one of the most skilled acrobats in the world."
"Having an off week."
"Mm-hmm." Your hands were gentle but professional as you manipulated his shoulder, checking the joint. "This is going to hurt. On three. One... "
You popped it back in on 'one.'
"OW! You said three!"
"People tense up if you count all the way. Better to do it fast." You were already wrapping his shoulder. "Ice for twenty minutes, then heat. No patrol for forty-eight hours."
"I can't take two days off... "
"Yes, you can. Doctor's orders." You met his eyes firmly. "You're no good to the team injured. Rest, recover, come back at full strength."
"Has anyone told you you're kind of intimidating?"
"Yes. Frequently." You almost smiled. "It helps with patient compliance."
"I bet." Dick watched you work, noting the efficiency, the care, despite your brusque manner. "Can I ask you something?"
"You can ask. I may not answer."
"Why are you so... resistant to me?"
Your hands paused for just a second. "Resistant?"
"Everyone else on the team, you're friendly with. Professional, but friendly. With me, you're... different."
You finished the wrapping before answering. "You want the truth?"
"Please."
"You're not taking me seriously." You started putting away supplies. "Everyone else treats me like a medical professional. You treat me like someone to flirt with. To charm. Like, my purpose here is to be impressed by Nightwing instead of doing my job."
"That's not, I don't think that."
"Don't you?" You turned to face him. "First day, you offered to show me around instead of assuming I could handle it. You bring me coffee, flowers, and constant interruptions. You're not trying to work with me, Dick. You're trying to date me."
"Would that be so bad?"
"It is when I'm trying to establish myself on a team of legendary vigilantes and one of them won't stop flirting long enough to see me as a colleague." Your voice was firm but not unkind. "I'm good at my job. Really good. But I can't do my job if you're always in the way."
Dick felt his stomach drop. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize... "
"Now you do." You softened slightly. "Look, you seem nice. Under the charm offensive, there's probably a good person. But I need you to respect my position here first. Can you do that?"
"Yes. Absolutely. I'm sorry."
"Apology accepted." You gestured to his shoulder. "Now go rest. Forty-eight hours, minimum."
Dick left feeling worse than when he'd arrived.
Not because you'd rejected him, because you were right.
Week Four: The Change
Dick stayed away from the med bay unless injured.
He stopped with the coffee and flowers and surprise visits.
He treated you like a colleague in briefings, asking professional questions about injury protocols and medical supplies.
And somehow, that made the falling worse.
Because now he wasn't distracted by trying to impress you.
Now he was distracted by actually seeing you.
The way you stayed calm under pressure during a crisis. How you'd held an injured civilian's hand while treating them, murmuring reassurances. The dry humor you showed once people stopped putting you on a pedestal. Your competence, your dedication, the way you'd stood up to Batman himself about proper medical protocols.
You were amazing.
And Dick was falling. Literally.
"That's the fifth time this month!" Jason said after Dick face-planted during a training exercise. "Are you dying? Is this a tumor? Should we call Constantine?"
"I'm not cursed!"
"Then what's wrong with you?" Tim demanded. "You just tripped over nothing. You don't trip over anything. You're a Flying Grayson!"
"I'm just distracted!"
"By what?" Damian asked suspiciously.
Dick didn't answer.
"Oh my God," Barbara said. "It's the medic, isn't it?"
"NO!"
"It absolutely is." Jason started laughing. "You're so hung up on them that you forgot how to walk!"
"I didn't forget, I just... " Dick groaned. "Yes, okay? Yes. I can't stop thinking about them. And it's affecting my performance. Are you happy?"
"Delighted," Jason said. "This is the best thing that's happened all month."
"You need to fix this," Tim said, more seriously. "You're going to get hurt. Really hurt."
"I know. I just don't know how."
"Have you tried," Barbara suggested, "actually talking to them? Not flirting. Not charming. Just... honest conversation?"
"After I spent three weeks being exactly what they accused me of being? Why would they want to talk to me?"
"Because, despite your recent bout of gravity-related incompetence," Damian said dryly, "you're not actually an idiot. Apologize properly. Then listen."
Week Five: The Fall
The patrol went bad fast.
What should have been a simple robbery became a hostage situation, which became a firefight, which became Dick chasing an armed suspect across Gotham rooftops.
He was focused. He had this. The suspect was tiring, and Dick was closing the distance,Â
Then his mind flashed to you. To something you'd said in the last briefing about proper wound packing. To the way you'd smiled, actually smiled, when Cass had made a joke.
His foot hit the ledge wrong.
The suspect's gunshot went wide.
Dick's grapple line missed.
And then he was falling. Really falling. Three stories into an alley.
He hit hard. Heard something crack. Felt pain explode through his leg and ribs.
"NIGHTWING DOWN!" Oracle's voice was sharp with fear. "Medical to Crime Alley, coordinates transmitting... "
Everything went fuzzy.
He woke up in the med bay, pain radiating through his entire body.
"Don't move." Your voice. Calm, professional, but was that worry underneath? "You have three cracked ribs, a fractured tibia, and a concussion. You're lucky you didn't break your neck."
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"You should be. That was a stupid fall." You appeared in his line of sight, checking his pupils. "What happened up there?"
"Got distracted."
"By what?"
"You."
You went very still. "Excuse me?"
"I was thinking about you. About something you said. About the way you smiled at Cass. And I missed my footing." He tried to laugh, but it hurt. "Pathetic, right?"
"Dick... "
"I know. I know you said you needed me to respect your position. And I have been. Or trying to. But I can't stop thinking about you, and it's literally making me fall off buildings."
You were quiet for a long moment.
"You're on pain medication," you finally said. "We'll talk about this when you're lucid."
"I'm lucid. Drugged, but lucid." He caught your hand. "I'm sorry. For everything. For treating you like a conquest instead of a colleague. For not respecting your boundaries. You were right about all of it."
"Okay."
"But I need you to know, I'm falling for you. Have been since day one. And I don't know how to stop. I don't want to stop. Even if it means I keep literally falling off rooftops."
"That's the concussion talking."
"It's not. It's me. Dick Grayson. Not Nightwing. Just... me. The guy who apparently forgets how to walk when you're around."
You studied him for a long moment, then sighed.
"You're an idiot."
"Yeah."
"You fractured your leg because you were thinking about me smiling."
"Pretty much."
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
"I know."
You sat down on the edge of his bed, carefully avoiding his injuries.
"For the record," you said quietly, "I don't actually hate you. I was just trying to establish boundaries."
"I know. You were right to."
"And you did respect them. This past week, you've been nothing but professional."
"Tried to be."
"It was... nice. Getting to know you as a colleague instead of as Nightwing the Charmer." You smiled slightly. "Turns out under all that, there's a pretty decent person."
"Just decent?"
"Don't push it. You're still on probation." But you were smiling now. "Though I admit, the whole 'literally falling for me' thing is kind of flattering. Stupid, but flattering."
"So what now?"
"Now you heal. Properly. No shortcuts, no early patrol returns. Six weeks minimum."
"That's forever."
"That's the doctor's orders." You squeezed his hand gently. "And when you're healed, and when you can prove you're not going to fall off any more buildings... maybe we can try this again. The getting-to-know-you thing. Properly this time."
"Like a date?"
"Like colleagues who might become friends who might become something more if you can manage to stay vertical." You stood up. "But first, you recover. And you prove to me that you can be around me without losing all sense of spatial awareness."
"Deal." Dick grinned, then winced. "Ow. Smiling hurts."
"Good. Maybe it'll teach you not to fall off buildings." But you were checking his vitals, adjusting his medication, your touch gentle despite your words.
"Can I ask you something?"
"You can ask."
"What made you change your mind? About maybe giving me a chance?"
You were quiet for a moment. "You apologized. You actually listened to what I said and changed your behavior. And then you were honest about how you felt, even though it made you look ridiculous." You met his eyes. "That's not charm. That's real. I can work with real."
"Even if real includes falling off buildings?"
"Especially then. At least I know you'll always need a medic." You headed for the door, then paused. "Get some rest, Dick. I'll check on you in a few hours."
"Hey, Doc?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For everything."
"Just doing my job." But you smiled. That real smile that had gotten him into this mess in the first place.
Worth it, Dick thought as the pain meds pulled him under. Totally worth it.
Even if he did have to spend six weeks off patrol.
Some falls, he decided, were worth the landing.
Six Weeks Later
"Okay," you said, reviewing Dick's chart. "Full mobility restored, strength testing normal, no lingering effects from the concussion. You're cleared for patrol."
"Finally!" Dick hopped off the exam table, carefully, you noted with approval. "I thought I was going to go crazy."
"You did go a little crazy. I have reports of you reorganizing the entire med bay supply closet. Twice."
"I was bored!"
"You also updated all our medical protocols and created a new injury database."
"I said I was bored."
"That's not bored, Dick. That's productive." You signed off on his clearance. "You did a good job. Actually useful."
"So I'm not just a pretty face?"
"You're not just anything. You're complex. Annoying sometimes, but complex." You handed him the clearance form. "Try not to fall off any buildings this time."
"I make no promises. You're standing very close right now, and it's very distracting."
"Dick."
"Kidding! Mostly." He took the form, then caught your hand. "So, about that date?"
"Persistent."
"You said when I was healed and could prove I could be around you without falling. I'm healed. And I'm standing perfectly steady. See? Both feet on the ground."
"So you are." You studied him. "Friday night. Seven PM. And Dick?"
"Yeah?"
"This is not you taking me out to impress me. This is us getting to know each other. As equals. Understand?"
"Absolutely. Totally. One hundred percent." He was grinning now. "Can I at least open doors? Or is that too chivalrous?"
"Doors are fine. Just don't make a production of it."
"Noted. Casual door opening only."
"You're impossible."
"But you like me anyway."
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. "Jury's still out on that. Don't make me regret this."
"I won't. I promise. No charm, no games. Just me."
"Good. Because that's who I want to get to know." You squeezed his hand once, then let go. "Now get out of my med bay. I have actual work to do."
"Yes, ma'am."
As he left, you heard him crash into a doorframe.
"I'm okay! That was the building's fault, not mine!"
You laughed, shaking your head.
Dick Grayson. Former Flying Grayson, current Nightwing, future... something.
This was either going to be the best decision you'd ever made or the most complicated.
Probably both.
But watching him trip over his own feet one more time on the way out, then catch himself with perfect acrobatic grace and shoot you a sheepish grin?
Yeah.
Definitely worth it.
Even if you'd probably spend the rest of your career patching him up.
Some patients, you thought with a smile, were worth the extra paperwork.
These Wolves Keep On Scratching At My Heart [Isaac Lahey/Reader] 6/?
Summary: Growing up as a human in the Hale pack wasn't easy, but you wouldn't have traded it for anything. When you're twelve, a fire takes away most of your family, except for your father and two of your cousins. You're adopted by a kind deputy and officially become a part of the Stilinski family since your father can't care for you and your cousins have fled town. You think life can't possibly get any more complicated until you're eighteen and your brother's best friend gets bitten by a rogue alpha out in the preserve.
Word Count: 6.2k
Author's Note: A lot of really terrible stuff has happened in my life since I last updated this fic, but this is honestly a comfort fic for me to write. So, thank you to everyone who gives this the time of day and encourages me to keep going. Y'all are amazing and I couldn't do this without y'all.
Fic Masterlist // Read On AO3
Chris studied you for a moment before he took a step outside, closing the front door behind him.Â
âYou have thirty seconds to get off my property before I shoot you,â he warned. âYou really donât want to mess with me. Especially not tonight.â
âIâm human,â you snapped, not wanting to give him time to lay out any more threats. You werenât scared of Chris Argent. But if he shot you here and now, then it would leave Derek and your dad without anyone to care for them. It would leave Stiles without a sister and the sheriff without a daughter. It would leave Jackson without a best friend and confidant. You had so much to lose, but you knew you couldnât let anyone lose you as well.Â
Chris froze before looking you up and down as if trying to figure out if you were telling the truth or not.Â
âI thought you were a Hale,â he remarked, disbelief in his tone.Â
âI am a Hale,â you clarified for him. âBut Iâm human. So, go ahead and shoot me if you want. But Iâll die. I wonât heal.âÂ
You let Chris process the information for a moment longer before you spoke again.Â
âSo, we need to talk,â you resolved for him.Â
Chris glanced back at his house before he shook his head.
âNot here,â he decided. âLet me grab my keys. Go wait in your car and then follow me.â
You nodded your head, starting to feel trepidation leak through your confidence. Confronting Chris had felt like a great plan just moments before, but now you were about to follow him somewhere where the two of you would be alone. Deaton had trained you in defense and offense and everything in between, but you still didnât know everything. If Chris decided you werenât worth the trouble, what was to stop him from killing you and dumping your body out in the preserve for Derek or your dad to find?Â
You climbed behind the wheel of your jeep and waited for Chris to reappear.Â
You considered for a moment that he was going inside just to grab a weapon. But when he stepped back outside, wearing a coat and pocketing his cell phone. He waved to you as he approached his car. You watched him get into the driverâs seat and start up the engine.Â
You didnât have to wait long before Chris was pulling out of the driveway.Â
You let your jeep roll forward as you followed him, keeping enough distance between your car and Chrisâ that you could still get away if you felt like you were in danger.Â
Half an hour later, you were starting to regret your plan. Chris had taken you down one back road and then another before getting onto the highway leading away from Beacon Hills.Â
âWhere the hell are we going,â you muttered to yourself. You briefly thought about texting Stiles or maybe even Derek that you were following Chris Argent out of town and if you didnât come back by morning, to send the sheriff to collect your body. But you kept your phone in your pocket, instead focusing on the signs you passed as you followed Chris.Â
Chris took an exit that promised three gas stations, two fast food restaurants, and a diner.Â
Chris pulled into the parking lot for the diner and took a spot near the back where the glow from the streetlights didnât quite reach.Â
It wasnât bad enough you were one town over from Beacon Hills, but now Chris was getting out of his car in the darkest corner of the parking lot and obviously expected for you to follow.Â
You decided to park three spots over from Chris. You didnât want him to think you were scared of him, but you also didnât want to be a complete and total idiot either.Â
If only your dad could see you now.
Chris was already waiting for you at the door by the time you were parked and halfway across the parking lot.Â
Chris held the door open for you and let you walk inside first.Â
There was a waitress leaning against a table by the door. She had her phone in hand, typing out a text to someone, as she spared you a quick glance.Â
âSit wherever you want,â the waitress offered before laughing at whatever was on her phone.Â
âCome on,â Chris urged, brushing past you and approaching the booth in the corner farthest from the door.Â
You got a moment to glance around the diner, spotting one older gentleman at the counter and no other customers. You wondered for a moment if Chris knew this place would practically be deserted at this time of night. Maybe he had scoped out places to hold clandestine meetings in the middle of the night and this establishment won top spot.
You had to fight down the urge to grin at the thought of Chris testing each booth for comfiness or parking lots for mysterious vibes.
Chris slid into the side of the booth facing the door, with his back to the wall. You joined him at the table, sitting across from him.Â
âSo, youâre human,â Chris prompted when you didnât say anything. âWhy get me out of the bed in the middle of the night for that? I would have figured it out sooner or later.â
âItâsâ,â
âWhat can I get for you two?âÂ
You glanced up at the waitress standing beside the table. She had an order pad in one hand and pencil in the other, ready to take your order.Â
âGet whatever you want,â Chris offered, gesturing for you to pick up the menu in front of you.Â
The waitress chuckled, gifting Chris with an appreciative look. âNice dad you got there,â she commented.
It took you a beat too long to realize she was talking to you.
âOh, yeah,â you agreed with a laugh you hoped didnât sound too uncomfortable. âHeâs the best.â
âIâll take coffee,â Chris said, shooting you a begrudgingly amused look. âAnd eggs with a side of bacon.â
âAnd you?âÂ
âPancakes,â you decided, barely taking a moment to look at the menu. âAnd coffee too. Please,â you added at her skeptical look.
âSure, kid,â she agreed before turning and approaching the kitchen.Â
You waited until you were sure she was out of earshot before talking.Â
âI couldnât wait for an answer,â you told him. âI needed to know if your family had anything to do with what happened to my family.â
Chris stared at you, his brow furrowed in confusion.Â
âMy family?â Chris checked, as if he thought he must not have heard you right.Â
You reached into your pocket and pulled out the small bag of mountain ash you kept on you now. It wasnât much, but it would be enough to get your point across or maybe save your life if you ran into the alpha terrorizing Beacon Hills.Â
âYou know what this is?âÂ
Chris studied the bag in your hand before his eyes narrowed in thought.Â
âMountain ash,â he answered, sounding wary.Â
âAnd you know what it does,â you said, figuring it was a safe bet if he recognized it.Â
âIt protects from the supernatural,â Chris confirmed, finally meeting your eyes. âHow the hell did you get your hands on it?â
âI know a guy,â you told him, fighting the urge to smirk.Â
You poured the mountain ash on the table, watching Chrisâ expression.Â
âIf I werenât human, then I wouldnât be able to do this, right?â You drew your finger through the mountain ash before moving it in a circle in the air above it. You let your hand hover over it for a moment, visualizing where you wanted it to go. The ash disappeared, appearing in a ring around the syrup caddy.Â
âOkay,â Chris conceded, keeping his focus on the mountain ash. âSo, youâre human. Iâm still not clear on why you had to come to my house in the middle of the night just to tell me that.â
âHere you go, sweetie,â the waitress interrupted, placing a plate of pancakes in front of you. There was a whipped cream smiley face drawn on the top one with a cherry where the nose would be. âAnd for your dad,â she said, setting Chrisâ food down in front of him. She turned and grabbed two cups of coffee from where she had set them on the table behind her. âHere you go. Just get my attention if you need anything else.â
âWill do,â Chris promised with a charming smile.Â
The waitress snorted, seemingly not impressed with Chris, before she walked away, humming a tune you swore you recognized.Â
âI had to tell you that, because I want you to know that the night of the fire, I wasnât the only human in that house.â
Chris had been in the middle of stirring a pack of sweetener into his coffee. He carefully set it down before leaning forward. When he spoke again, his voice was lowered, as if he wanted to make sure no one else overheard.Â
âWhat does any of that have to do with my family?â
âDo you know the only reason I escaped the fire? The only reason Iâm alive right now?â
Chris shook his head before reaching for his coffee and taking a sip. âI have a feeling youâre going to tell me.â
âMy dad,â you informed him. âMy dad threw me out of a second story window because our house was on fire. And Iâve wondered for years why he never followed me. Why did I survive when everyone else died? Why would my father choose to drop me and leave me all alone in the dirt with a broken arm? Why didnât he save himself?âÂ
You didnât want to mention that your dad was the only other survivor of the fire. Your trust in Chris was low enough that you couldnât be sure he wouldnât try to visit the care home and make an easy kill of your father.Â
You let your finger run through the mountain ash barrier before looking up at Chris.Â
âBecause he couldnât,â Chris realized with a grim expression. âBecause someone trapped him inside.â
âHunters trapped him inside,â you corrected him. âAnd who are the only hunters who know about the Hales? The only hunters who have taken up residence in this town? The same hunters who shot and nearly killed my cousin last night?â
Chris shook his head, pushing his plate away from himself. âI had nothing to do with that.â
âThere were kids in the house when it went up in flames,â you reminded Chris. âIt wasnât just wolves. There were children. Humans and wolves. My family,â you stressed. âKids who were younger than me burned to death because of people like you.â You couldnât help but think of Cora. Fierce and mischievous and a total pain in the ass, but wholly innocent. And now she was gone because people like Chris decided she had to die. âMy family never hurt anyone. And maybe you had nothing to do with it, because you like to think youâre a true follower of your precious code, but Iâm willing to bet you know someone who thinks the code is a joke. Someone who wouldnât think twice before setting fire to a house and trapping everyone inside as long as they got to kill a house full of wolves.â
You brought your fork up and scooped up some of the whipped cream.Â
âTell me, Chris,â you started before taking a bite. âHow well do you know your family?â
Chris studied you across the table for a moment before glancing away. You knew he had been caught off-guard by the change of topic. Whatever he was thinking of, whoever it happened to relate to, could bring you one step closer to figuring out what the hell happened to your family that night.Â
You were halfway through your pancakes before Chris finally responded.Â
âMy family had nothing to do with that fire,â he swore. âI would know.â
You snorted, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. You really fucking hated hunters, but you especially hated the ones who had their heads stuck in the sand, refusing to look around and see the corruption around them.
âWould you?âÂ
Chris didnât seem to have an answer to that.Â
âItâs getting late and itâs a school night,â he redirected, looking at his watch. âYou should get home.â
You didnât want to let Chris get away without admitting to something, but you hoped he would at least think about what you had to say. Maybe, if you were lucky, he would even think twice before trying to shoot someone you cared about.Â
âOne more thing,â you said before taking one last sip of your coffee. âIf Derek dies because of you or any other Argent in this town, then Iâll do whatever I can to kill you.â
Chris arched a brow, gifting you with a skeptical look. âLook, kid,â he started to say before you cut him off.Â
âI donât have much family left because of people like you. Maybe it wasnât an Argent who killed my family, but I have no doubt now that hunters targeted them. Iâm not going to lose anyone else,â you insisted. âI canât.â
Chris sighed, watching you for a beat too long. He looked conflicted and oddly upset. âIâm only here to hunt the alpha. As long as Derek stays out of my way, I wonât have any reason to go after him.â
âDerek is off-limits,â you demanded, unwilling to back down. Derek was also after the alpha and you had no doubt he would end up crossing paths with Chris again. âIâm not losing anyone else.â
Chris shook his head before he moved to stand. He stared down at you, something sad and nearly wistful entering his expression. âGet home safe, kid,â he told you before dropping a twenty on the table.Â
You rolled your eyes, helpless against the urge to piss him off. You got the feeling Chris only saw you as a kid who was way out of her league. But you had been forced to grow up after losing nearly everything in just one night.Â
âWhat? No tip?â You pushed your luck as you used your left pointer finger to draw a line through the mountain ash still encircling the syrup caddy. You willed it back into its container, satisfied when it disappeared from the table.Â
Chris muttered something under his breath before opening his wallet again. He grabbed a five dollar bill and placed it beside the twenty.Â
âSmartass,â Chris muttered before walking away, leaving you alone at the table.Â
You opted to finish your coffee, watching Chris through the wall of windows that made up the front of the diner. His steps were slow, cautious, before he turned towards your jeep. You felt a spike of panic shoot through you when he stopped by your car. You thought for a moment that he would slash your tires so you were stranded at the diner. Maybe he would race back to Beacon Hills and kill Derek before you could get back to warn him.Â
You watched as Chris stood by your car, his back to the diner so you couldnât see what he was doing. After what felt like forever, he walked to his car and then hesitated by the driverâs side door. You noticed him glance back at the diner, as if he was unsure if he should leave or not.Â
Finally, after what seemed like quite the deliberation, Chris got into his car and left.Â
âYou alright? Pretty crummy of your dad to just up and leave you here at this time of night.âÂ
You startled, forgetting for a moment you werenât really alone.Â
You glanced up at the waitress, finally reading her nametag.Â
âIâm fine. We drove separate cars. But thanks, Jay.âÂ
Jay watched you for a moment before she sighed. âIâll be back with your receipt,â she promised before she grabbed the cash off the table and walked away.Â
You didnât have to wait long before she was back. She was carrying a to-go box and drink in her hand.Â
âHere,â she said as she set them down in front of you. âSomething for the road.â
âThanks,â you told her as you started to slide out of the booth. âAnd the receipt?â
Jay winked at you before she walked back towards the front, not bothering to answer your question.Â
You were relieved to get back to your car and see all four of your tires unharmed. There was a slip of paper tucked into the passenger side door handle.Â
You opened the door so you could set the to-go box and drink inside your car. You turned and grabbed the piece of paper.Â
It was the receipt from the diner. Chris must have grabbed it on his way out the door.Â
You flipped it over to see there was a note on the back.Â
âfor the next time youâre in troubleâ was written above a phone number.Â
You tried not to laugh at the idea that Chris Argent would be on the list of people you would call if you were ever in trouble. Maybe if you truly had no one else to call, but you hoped it would never come to that.Â
You rounded the front of your car and climbed into the driverâs seat. You stared down at the receipt for a few moments before you caved and programmed the number into your phone. You put him under âChief Asshole,â in case the sheriff ever got hold of your phone and wondered why you had Chris Argentâs phone number.
Although, you couldnât deny that the idea of your dad arresting Chris was pretty funny.Â
You stashed your phone in the center console before taking a peek at what Jay had given you.Â
There were four slices of pie inside. It looked like Jay had given you a slice from each of the pies that had been displayed on the counter. One apple, one cherry, one lemon, and one chocolate.Â
Written on the inside top of the container was a phone number with a note scrawled beneath it.Â
âIn case you ever need some help.â
You glanced back at the diner through your windshield, catching sight of Jay watching your car idle in the parking lot from the front window.Â
You raised your hand in a wave, unsure if she could even see you, before pulling out of the lot.Â
You didnât know why all the adults in your life suddenly decided you needed help or saving. But there was a small part of you that couldnât deny after being on your own for so long, it was nice to get a little assistance.
Even if it was assistance you never planned on taking.Â
You thought for a moment about visiting Derek and splitting the pie with him, but exhaustion was slowly creeping up on you. If you went by the house tonight, there was every chance you might fall asleep there.
You would be lucky if the sheriff didnât notice your absence, but falling asleep at the old house was just asking for trouble.Â
By the time you got home, your dad was half-asleep on the living room couch and Stiles was in his room with the door closed.Â
You moved the pie from the container to a plate before taking a picture of Jayâs note and number on your phone. You buried the container beneath a pasta box and emptied salad bag, hoping your dad didnât suddenly get the urge to dig through the trash.Â
If he asked about the pie, then you would just have to lie and say it came from somewhere else.Â
You trudged up the stairs, your eyes feeling heavy and thoughts heavier.Â
You couldnât prove that hunters, much less the Argents, had anything to do with the fire. It wasnât so much intuition as the look on Derekâs face when he spoke to Scott. Derek knew more about the fire than he let on, but you didnât want to push him.Â
Derek had already run from Beacon Hills once. What was going to stop him from doing it again?Â
Once you made it to your room, sleep was clawing at you, begging for your defeat. But you couldnât let it win just yet.Â
You walked over to your window, thinking of the mountain ash ring you had protecting the house. Derek had probably come by thinking he could find refuge in your room until you got home from school. He wouldnât have been able to get into the house, much less your room, though.Â
If it came down to it, you would much rather Derek know he had a safe place to hide if shit hit the fan. With Argents and a rogue alpha in town, you figured it was only a matter of time before Derek would need somewhere to lay low.Â
Mind made up, you held your hand out, palm towards the ceiling. You closed your eyes, seeing the mountain ash protecting your house. It lit up gold in your mind, shining so bright that it nearly hurt your eyes.
You envisioned part of the ring breaking away before reforming, leaving only your bedroom unprotected. Derek wouldnât be able to get into the rest of the house, but he would at least have somewhere to spend his time besides the ruins of your childhood home.Â
When you opened your eyes, there were a few grains of mountain ash in the palm of your hand. You curled your fingers in towards your palm so you were making a fist and thought about the container in your pocket. You opened your hand to see the mountain ash gone, returned to the small bag.Â
You did your best to keep acting like everything was fine and normal over the next few days. You antagonized Stiles and visited Derek and had lunch two more times with Boyd. You kept an eye on Scott and didnât get too close to Allison, because you didnât really trust her. You made plans to hang out with Jackson and did your best not to fail your classes.Â
But the highlight of your week, to your surprise, was when you got to go to health class.Â
It wasnât because of Coach Finstockâs brilliant teaching methods, but because of Isaac Lahey.Â
Isaac had always been a little quiet, but you realized it was because he kept his walls up. There was a look in his eye when he watched others. It was like he was waiting for them to hurt him.Â
You didnât understand why he was so distrustful of others.Â
But you were lucky.Â
Some time between your second and third classes as a married couple, Isaac had decided to let a little bit more of his personality shine through around you.Â
You grew to love the way the left corner of his lips ticked up when he was smirking. You loved his witty commentary about the class and your classmates. His favorite target was usually Finstock and every time you laughed, you could have sworn his eyes brightened just a bit. Whenever he remarked about Finstockâs latest insult concerning Greenburg, who wasnât even in the class, or your other classmates, he always looked at you for your reaction.Â
You didnât know why it gave you such a thrill that he was so invested in you. It made something in your gut flipflop, a mix of nerves and anticipation.Â
It took you just four classes with Isaac to realize you were crushing on him. Hard.Â
It wasnât even really because he was attractive. There was no doubt that he was hot. Beautiful, you thought, in a way you could almost think of as angelic. But there were secrets lingering just behind his every expression and you wanted to know more.Â
You found yourself trying to spot him in the hallway between classes or during lunch. You wondered what he did after school and if he had any friends.Â
When you werenât obsessing over your current crisis, your thoughts tended to turn towards Isaac. It was new and exciting, but terrifying at the same time. You didnât know what to do with any of it and you feared you would fuck something up between the two of you.Â
You werenât looking forward to the end of the project, because you were worried Isaac wouldnât want to talk to you anymore.Â
That dread was why you worked up the courage to turn in your seat so you were facing Isaac halfway through making a poster advertising your pet psychology practice you decided to name âPavlove.â
âSo, I was thinking,â you started, tapping the end of your marker against the desk. It was a nervous habit, but you couldnât deny that you were really worried. Losing your family and stressing over your dad and training to be an emissary had done nothing to prepare you for the first time you really started to fall for someone.Â
You had crushes before. Innocent, stupid crushes that went away after a few weeks.Â
But this was the first time you wanted to make something actually happen.Â
âThat dangerous, huh?â Isaac asked, glancing to where you were still tapping the marker.Â
âSorry,â you said, sheepishly stilling the marker. âI was just thinking that if youâre up for it, we should exchange numbers.âÂ
You waited for a moment, trying to gauge his reaction.Â
If only Jackson could see you now. He would have the time of his life making fun of you as payback for all the times you teased him for caving to Lydiaâs demands.Â
âYou knowâŚfor the project?â You tried, hoping you didnât sound too idiotic. You were in completely new territory and a little terrified you would push him away.Â
âOkay,â Isaac conceded with a shrug of his shoulders. You noticed him wince, but he played it off as if he were trying to stretch, before he grabbed your notebook.Â
He uncapped his pen and then wrote a number down on the inside cover of your notebook.Â
âHere,â he said, gifting you with a tiny, sincere smile. âText me anytime. For the project,â he added.Â
âStilinski!â Coach Finstock called, making you startle hard enough you nearly dropped the marker still in your hand.Â
âYes, Coach?â You looked up to see he was standing right by your desk, studying the poster you were only half-finished decorating.Â
âIt needs more glitter,â he observed before walking away, leaving you to stare at his back as he retreated.Â
âHe just doesnât see your vision,â Isaac assured you. âI think it looks perfect so far.â
âThanks,â you said, carefully not looking at Isaac. Your cheeks felt flushed and you were mortified at the thought that he might be able to tell.Â
Or worse, he might know he was the reason you were feeling so flustered.Â
The next night, you were still trying to figure out what to text Isaac. You were in the back of the sheriffâs cruiser, since you lost rock, paper, scissors to Stiles. The winner got to choose dinner and sit in the front passenger seat, leaving you to stare down at your phone while you absentmindedly ate curly fries.Â
You werenât really paying attention to what your dad and Stiles were talking about. You were still trying to figure out if it was pathetic to text Isaac so soon or rude that you hadnât made good use of his number yet.Â
âA murder?!â Stiles exclaimed, flailing so hard in his seat that you looked up just in time to see a few fries hit the windshield.Â
âSon,â the sheriff sighed as he started up the cruiser. âMaybe I should drop you two off at home.â
âNo way,â Stiles argued, leaning forward in his seat. âYouâve got to get over there right away.â
You rolled your eyes. Stiles was forever curious about the sheriffâs job, but you werenât eager to see a dead body.Â
Your dad looked up at the rearview mirror, meeting your eyes. He arched a brow in question, waiting for your answer. You reluctantly nodded your head, letting him know it was okay.Â
Stiles let out a whoop of excitement when the sheriff turned on the siren and lights, speeding towards the scene of the latest crime in Beacon Hills.Â
There was already an ambulance and another police cruiser waiting in the parking lot of Video 2C by the time you got there.Â
You were intent on staring at your phone some more in the hopes that you would think up a good enough opening text to Isaac so you wouldnât have to get a glimpse of the crime scene. But when the sheriff stopped the car right by the ambulance, you managed to catch sight of who was sitting in the back of it before you could look away.Â
âOh my God,â you breathed.Â
Jackson and Lydia were both sitting in the back of the ambulance.Â
Your dad was already out of the car after giving you and Stiles a stern warning to stay put. But there was no way you were going to sit and wait when your best friend was hurt.Â
âStiles,â you said as you tried to open the back door even though you knew it was useless. The back doors of the cruiser only opened from the outside. âYouâve got to let me out.â
âYou heard Dad,â Stiles responded, turning in his seat to look at you. âIâm already on thin ice after getting Derek arrested.â
âLike youâre not dying to get out there and find out whatâs going on,â you shot back.Â
Stiles bit his lip, sending a wary look at your dad.Â
ââIâll give you the rest of my fries,â you promised him. âIâve barely had any. Thatâs practically a full order,â you tried to entice him.Â
Stiles groaned before reaching for the door handle. âDamn it,â he muttered before he got out of the car and let you out.Â
âThanks,â you made sure to tell him before you were rushing towards Jackson.Â
He was glaring at the paramedic standing in front of the couple, his jaw clenched so hard you were surprised his teeth hadnât cracked yet. Lydia was staring at the ground, making no effort to answer any of the paramedicâs questions.Â
âJackson,â you called, ignoring the way your dadâs shoulders slumped at the sound of your voice.Â
Jacksonâs head shot up, seeking you out. His eyes finally landed on you as you approached, relief softening the fury he was wearing to mask his terror.
âWhat the hell happened?â You asked once you were at his side. You had to resist the urge to reach out and pull him into a hug. You knew when Jackson got like this, he didnât want anyone around him to see the fallout. He definitely didnât want anyone fussing over him.Â
âIt was some kind of animal,â Jackson explained before shooting another glare at the paramedic who was trying to get a shock blanket around his shoulders. âSomething big,â Jackson described, moving to put his arm around Lydiaâs shoulders when she shivered.Â
There was no doubt in your mind that Jackson had a run-in with the alpha. The alpha must have murdered someone, but let Jackson walk away. You were grateful the alpha spared your best friend, but why target the video rental store? What was so special about it?
âThey said there was a murder. But youâre okay? Youâre not hurt?âÂ
Jackson looked whole and mostly unscathed.
âThe guy who works here,â Jackson confirmed, shaking his head. âIâm fine,â he insisted when he noticed you trying to search for any hint of an injury. âIâm fine,â he yelled, setting his focus on the police officers investigating the scene. âIâm fine and I want to go home and this is fucking bullshit,â he snapped, continuously raising his voice until most of the people in the parking lot had turned to look at him.Â
âJackson,â your dad greeted as he drew closer. âI know you want to go home, son, butââ
âBut nothing,â Jackson refuted, throwing the blanket off his shoulders and standing. âThereâs no reason you can keep me here. So, Iâm going the fuck home and you and your rent-a-cop buddies can try and do your jobs.â
âHey!â Stiles blurted, shooting you an incredulous look.Â
You knew what he was thinking. Once again, he was questioning why Jackson was your best friend.
You caught the startled look on the sheriffâs face and reached out to brush your hand against Jacksonâs arm.Â
âJax,â you whispered softly enough that the only people who would hear you were you, Jackson, and the sheriff.Â
Jacksonâs shoulders tensed for a moment before he let them drop.Â
âLet me get one more statement and then you can go home,â your dad promised. âIâm not trying to keep you here. But someone was killed here tonight and you might be the only person who can help us catch whoever murdered him.â
Jackson muttered something under his breath but let your dad get his statement.Â
âHey, Lydia?â Stiles called, trying to get a response out of her.Â
Lydia didnât even look at Stiles. She kept staring at a point on the ground, absorbed in whatever had captured her thoughts.Â
âWhatâs going on with her?â Stiles asked one of the paramedics.Â
âSheâs in shock,â the paramedic responded. âShe probably got a look at the crime scene. Pretty gnarly stuff in there,â he said, nodding towards the video place.Â
âAlright, kids,â the sheriff addressed you and Stiles. âTime for you two to go home.â
âIâm not going anywhere until Jackson gets to leave,â you protested.Â
âIâm leaving,â Jackson assured you, but he kept his gaze on the sheriff, as if daring him to argue. âI should get Lydia home.â
Your dad nodded his head, but he didnât look too pleased.Â
âGo straight home after dropping her off,â the sheriff told Jackson before nodding towards his car. âAnd you two, letâs get going.â
On the way home, your thoughts were occupied with Jackson. You had been so wrapped up in your crush on Isaac and trying to threaten Chris Argent and making sure Derek survived that you had yet again let your friendship fall by the wayside. If you had been with Jackson, maybe you could have protected him. Maybe you could have done something.Â
Or maybe, if you were on the alphaâs hit list as one of the last surviving Hales, he would have had to watch you die too.Â
You didnât know, but the distance between you and Jackson felt like it was being carved out a bit at a time. Lies and omissions and avoidances were mounting up and overshadowing your friendship.Â
You didnât want to lose Jackson, which meant you had to be a better friend. It was a promise you had made just days ago, but one you had been really shitty at keeping.Â
Once the sheriff left and Stiles went to bed, you snuck out of the house. You had your backpack slung over one shoulder and a small duffel bag in your hand. If you were lucky, Stiles was already passed out and the sheriff wouldnât be home for the rest of the night.Â
You parked down the street from Jacksonâs house and grabbed your stuff out of the passenger seat. The sensation of being watched washed over you, prompting you to stop on the sidewalk outside Jacksonâs neighborâs house and take note of your surroundings.Â
You couldnât hear or see anything, but you still felt like there was something heavy pressing down between your shoulder blades.Â
You hurried towards Jacksonâs house and started scaling the trellis his parents had put up beneath his window when you were in middle school. It had been a while since you made good use of it, but you were glad when it held steady.Â
You attempted to keep your balance as you let go of the trellis to knock lightly on Jacksonâs window. You waited for one moment into the next before trying again, adding a little more weight to your knock.Â
Before you could try to knock a third time, Jackson hastily drew back the curtains. He gifted you with an irritated look and pointedly didnât open his window.Â
âCâmon, Jax,â you pleaded, knowing that even if he couldnât hear you, he would understand you.Â
You put your hand back on the wood of the trellis when you felt yourself begin to tip back. Your hand caught on a thorn from one of the roses twined around the trellis, tearing into your finger deep enough to make it bleed.
You jerked your hand away, unthinking about the precarious situation you were putting yourself in as you rocked back on your heels. Before you could worry you were about to plummet to your death, or at least another broken arm, Jackson grabbed the collar of your shirt and reeled you closer to him.Â
âThanks,â you told him, glancing briefly at the ground. You had managed to keep hold of your duffel bag, but your dignity had definitely suffered.Â
âYouâre a moron,â Jackson accused, but there was a hint of fondness in his tone when he said it. âGet in here,â he sighed as he reached out to help tug you forward into his bedroom.
Hockey Player!Jason Todd who was chosen for the American Olympic hockey team and takes it very seriously- much to his older brotherâs dismay. He doesnât focus on the other athletes who arenât on the hockey team. Except for Dick who inserts himself into anything he is doing when he isnât focused on snowboarding.
Hockey Player!Jason Todd who isnât happy when Dick drags him down to the rink on a day when the team isnât competing. He could be doing other things but instead he is being forced to watch a sport he has no interest in.
âCome on Jay! It will be fun! Donât you want to see other athletes?â He had said, pulling Jason into the ice rinkâs entrance.
âNo.â Jason told him gruffly.
He soon gave up fighting his brother since once Dick Grayson got his mind set on something nothing could stop him.
Hockey Player!Jason Todd who sits in the stands to watch the womanâs short program with a scowl and crossed arms as the announcers talk about the first group of skaters up. He watches as the other skaters leave the ring, leaving you in the center of the rink alone. The announcer tells everyone about your program and where you are from. Jason is pleasantly surprised to learn that you also are from Gotham like they are.
Hockey Player!Jason Todd who hears the music start, a light bubbly melody, and watches you start skating. He blinks in surprise as you complete what the announcer says is a âtriple toe loopâ. You are calm but also seem to be egged on by the roar of the crowd that is cheering for you. He is very familiar with that feeling over his years as Gothamâs best left wing forward.
Hockey Player!Jason Todd who is sucked into your routine. He canât help but be impressed by the jumps and spins you pull off. You are strong and grateful in a way Jason is in awe of. He can see the effort you put into each movement and respects it. When the music comes to stop, leaving you with your arms out wide and a heaving chest, Jason mourns that you are only given two minutes to preform.
Hockey Player!Jason Todd who vows to get your number after he wins a gold medal.
A/N - Yes, I watched Womenâs figure skating and this idea struck me like a frisbee to the temple. Also the song reader is skating to is Lover Girl by Laufey.
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