summary: you and wally’s relationship gets discovered by your siblings
warning: none
pairing: batsis!reader x wally west. batsis!reader x batfam.
a/n: PLEASE let me know if damian’s arabic is wrong, i used google translate. i had a wayyy longer version of this typed out but it was just long random scenes that i couldn’t tie together. dividers by: @cafekitsune. requested by anon!
“Stop being so loud!” Tim hissed as him and Damian hopped into your sitting room window at two in the morning. “I thought you were meant to be the stealthy one.”
Cass slipped in behind them, her fingers to her lips. She was already moving further into your sitting room, with every intent to see her beloved sister, but did not want to interrupt your sleep.
“Shut up Drake.” Damian retorted. “Ukhti allows me into her apartment at any time. She won’t be mad at me. You, on the other hand-“
“I think she’ll be mad at all of us if we break her stuff by acting like bulldogs.” Jason interrupted, sick of the brother’s bickering.
“Or maybe she’ll be mad because we’ll interrupt her ‘beauty sleep’” Dick grinned. “She takes that very seriously-“
“So do you Grayson. And heavens knows you definitely need it.”
“Hey!”
Tim opened his mouth to shush his brothers again, but was cut off by Jason’s voice coming from the kitchen.
“What. The. Fuck.”
Dick, Cass, Tim, and Damian looked at each other before walking to the kitchen, all of them stopping in the tracks when greeted by a sight they weren’t sure what to make of.
Wally West. Shirtless. Only wearing boxers. Standing in front of your open fridge, glass of water in hand.
Wally’s mouth was slight ajar, like he also couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Four out of the five people he feared the most just caught him red handed (the fifth was Bruce.)
There’s about ten seconds of a very terrifying and weird silence. Then it burst from three voices shouting at once.
Cass looked a mixture between stunned and slightly happy. One of Cass’ greatest skills is her ability to read body language, and she had observed you and Wally getting closer the past few weeks. She already had her unspoken suspicions, and was slightly pleased with herself.
Damian was immediately on the defensive. “How dare you dress like this in Ukhti’s home, West! You should have more respected for her and for yourself-“
Tim was asking questions that nobody gave him answers to. “When did this start? Was it right after her birthday gala? Because that means Bart was right. Does Bruce know? Does anybody know? How serious is this? A friends-with-benefits or a real relationship-“
Jason didn’t seem to believe what was in front of him, as if somehow convinced that you were on the unaware side. “Does she know that you’re standing practically naked in her kitchen? Why are you in her kitchen? Please say she was bandaging you up or something. Or that you needed food-“
But Wally wasn’t listening to them. He was staring at Dick, and Dick was staring right back at him. Neither of the two spoke. But Wally’s gut was already eating him.
He broke bro code. And he should’ve told Dick ages ago. But he kept pushing it off, because you always wanted to push it off. It wasn’t that you two didn’t want Dick to know, but it was sorta fun keeping the secret.
Well, it was a secret. Until Bruce found out a month ago.
You were in the medical room of the Tower, carefully wrapping your arm in a bandage after receiving a nasty slash from Poison Ivy’s thorns. Wally had joined you while you were half way through the act, wanting to make sure you were okay.
Wally was always more risky in public than you were. He trailed soft kisses up your arm, lingering on your neck, and then smiling against your cheek when you tutted at him.
“I’m trying to make sure I don’t bleed to death here Wally.” You snipped, but with no bite to your words. There never was when it came to Wally. He grinned back at you, his slender fingers going over yours as he helped you guide the bandage (you definitely did not need guidance, which to Wally, made the whole thing better as it had a better chance to annoy you.)
That lasted for a few seconds before a deep, unfortunately familiar voice came from behind.
“I’d appreciate it if you gave my daughter some space while she was recovering, Flash.”
Wally jumped about a foot in the air, leaping away from you as if you were burning hot as he turned around to look at his literally biggest fear.
“Yes, sir.” Wally got out immediately. “I was just- just seeing how . . . how she was doing after the-“
You rolled your eyes. “He was only checking on me, Batman.” You didn’t know how much Bruce had gathered, but reaction can tell him everything. It was pointless anyway, Wally had given him enough reaction to figure every detail out.
Bruce hummed, his cape still tucked around his shoulders to look more intimidating towards the young male.
“I’d like it if my daughter was more honest with me.”
You paused, looking at your dad. Wally stared you, making it clear that he’d follow whatever story you pulled. But you just sighed, and shrugged. You were too tired to lie anymore. Plus, you could tell from Bruce’s face that he already had you and Wally figured out.
“I’m sorry we hid it from you.” Wally blinked at your words. He’ll always find the silent conversations you and your father have very unsettling.
“How long have you known?”
“I’ve been suspecting for about two weeks now.”
You raised your eyebrows. “And you’ve only just come to us now? That’s surprising for you.”
Bruce was quiet for a moment, and then decided to make you feel a bit more guilty. “I was waiting for you to come to me.”
You pursed your lips. “I was going too. I just . . .” You looked at Wally. “We wanted to keep to ourselves. Just for a bit.”
Bruce nodded.
And then, after Wally got threatened (only a little) by Bruce, which he did expect, the awkwardness sort of disappeared. Because Bruce wanted to perform a little experiment of seeing how long it would take your siblings to catch on.
So then you and Wally’s constant unspoken fear of being caught vanished, and it turned more into a game. It was like pushing a limit to see how much your siblings would simply not notice or look past.
You and Wally had to dodge Damian the most, as the boy had a silent preference for you, especially when it came to missions. Damian liked being paired with his older sister for patrol or mission because you and his techniques worked well with each other, and you two often had the same line of thinking.
So it would happen a couple of times where Damian would go searching for you, only to walk into the meeting room to see you and Wally standing very close together. And for a second he thought he heard you giggling.
Damian cleared his throat to announce his presence. “Ukhti. It’s patrol time together.”
You and Wally sprung up, taking a step or two away from each other. You nodded quickly, swallowing your smile down.
“Let’s go, then.” You let Damian go in front of you, taking the chance to glance at Wally to give him a small wave.
Later on a rooftop, Damian spoke. “What were you and West doing?”
You hummed. “Just looking at the vent plan of a warehouse where a suspected drug dealer operates. Might be big bust, so Flash and I are studying the case.”
Damian nodded, satisfied with your words.
You were surprised you manage to dodge Tim as long as you did. The closest he got was when he caught you in the Batcave at 7 am in your pyjamas. You were hunched over the Batcomputer, watching the security footage of the camera placed outside your bedroom wall. He watched you for three seconds before speaking, making you whip your head back at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” You said, a second too early. “Just thought I heard something last night. Wanted to double check.”
Not completely unusual. Tim narrowed his eyes before just nodding.
“Alright.”
When you left, he watched the last couple of hours from that camera himself, but didn’t see anything noticeable.
Little did Tim know you spent the last hour wiping the footage of Wally scaling your wall last night, and making sure that the footage matched up to the last second so that you wouldn’t be caught.
Cass was the hardest to lie to or avoid. She was so perceptive, and you could never fully tell how much she knew or what she didn’t know. Plus, she might be the one you were feeling the second most guilty about lying to her.
You and Cass are close. She’s your only sister, and you hers. You two often sleep in each other’s rooms when one of you finds it difficult to drift off for various reasons. And sometimes during these sleepovers you end up whispering into the darkness to each other. Secrets you wouldn’t trust with anyone else.
You don’t like lying to Cass about anything, and she’s the hardest to lie to. She can tell straight away by your body language if you’re hiding something, and she knew you were.
She could feel how your shoulders relaxed when Wally was mentioned, but tensed right back up again if she asked what you thought of him. She could see the slight clenching of your jaw when you tried to appear casual, claiming you “never gave him much thought. He’s just one of Dick’s friends.”
And now each one of them are realising that all those little lies you told, the situations you carefully avoided, all lead back to the ginger man standing in your kitchen half-naked.
As silence fell upon the group again and the voices were replaced with wide-eyed stared at each other, the weird atmosphere was interrupted by someone else moving.
Your footsteps were heard from the hall, your slippers softly slapping against the wood before you entered the kitchen, rubbing at your eyes.
“Wally? You said you were grabbing a snack ten minutes ago. I thought you were supposed to be the fast-“ But you stopped short when you saw your siblings packed together on one side, and your secret boyfriend on the other side.
And then the chaos started again, just now with your voice added in.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because I don’t have to disclose every detail with my siblings! I can have my own life for once.”
“Out of all the people you go for-“
“Hey!” That one was Wally, the first word he’s spoken this whole time.
After few more shouts, a particularly loud one echoed through the room. A voice who could silence the room with one command because he was a natural born leader, and an inspiration to everyone currently in the room. “Stop it. All of you.”
Dick Grayson. The only one who hasn’t spoken yet, but it looked like everyone was just remembering that he was there too, and that his opinion could really make or break the whole thing.
You and Wally exchanged a glance out of pure habit and familiarity when you noticed Dick, and it was that move that made him pause.
When presented with an unknown situation, you had looked towards Wally. And Wally had done the same. His two best friends had found their own language with each other that didn’t need to be spoken to be heard. Dick blinked, and looked towards his four younger siblings beside him.
Damian opened his light to protest against Dick unspoken command, but Dick stopped him with a look. He huffed before following Cass out of the kitchen, presumably going back outside to go home after opening their can of worms.
“Dick, we-“ You started.
“How long?” His words were simple, and you couldn’t gauge if he was happy or furious. But you didn’t hesitate.
You tsked. “That’s your first question?”
Dick’s eyes darted between the two of you, and you really thought you were about to fight this guy. Until his face broke out in a smile.
“Thank God!” He exclaimed, his arms laughing over both of you. “I was getting sick of the heart eyes you two were making at each other. So who manned up and said it first?”
Wally blinked. “You aren’t mad?”
Dick laughed. “Why would I be mad?”
You scoffed. “Maybe because you’ve gotten so weird over any boy that interacts with me, claiming that you need to threaten their collarbones.”
“That’s completely different.” Dick said, like it was obvious. “Those were guys I didn’t know. But of course I trust you, Walls. You’re my best bro.” His smile faltered. “But yeah, if you do hurt my sister, I will break your
collarbones.”
“Noted.” Wally muttered, but grinned back at his friend. You rolled your eyes beside them.
A few minutes later, Dick was crawling back out your living room window.
“Please just text me next time you decide to bring the whole family into my apartment.” You chided, before disappearing back into your bedroom.
Dick turned to Wally. “She’s your drama queen to deal with now, I guess.”
Wally smiled, “wouldn’t want it any other way.”
Dick nodded. “Happy for you man. I wish we could’ve had this conversation with you wearing some more clothes, but I guessed it worked out.”
“Thanks man.”
And with that, Dick joined his siblings in the batmobile to drop them off to the Cave before returning to his own girlfriend.
Wally crawled underneath the covers, sliding his body around yours where you were already texting Bruce.
You: They just figured it out. Three weeks and nine days. Not too bad.
Bruce: Noted. Thank you for indulging my experiment.
You: No problem. It was quite funny.
Wally watched your face as you stared at Bruce’s next messages for quite some time.
Bruce: Agreed. You should sleep now. Extend my good night wishes to West.
Bruce: I love you.
You put your phone away on your nightstand before curling into Wally. There was a minute of silence before:
“I really thought Dick was going to scalp me for a second back there.”
You hummed before mumbling, “I wouldn’t lower my guard around him.”
Wally didn’t get a chance to question your words before he heard your slow and steady breathing next to him, your thoughts safe and relaxed after the event of the evening.
Summary: You get hit with a love spell. Naturally, the first person you seek out is Jason Todd.
Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader
Word count: 4.5k
Warnings/tags: love spell (so potentially mild dubious consent but all the feelings are reciprocated), lovesick you, lovesick jason, repressed jason, LOTS of cuddling/lovie stuff, needles, magic, pining, happy ending.
the divider
Jason's having a good night.
He made himself an indulgent lasagna, and now he's got leftovers for tomorrow. He's off from patrol tonight, which, he must admit, was nice of Cass to offer.
Yeah, Jason actually feels pretty normal. Feels like any young person would. Hell, he might put on a movie he won't pay attention to, or finally adopt a cat, just to keep the normal streak going. That's what young folks do, right?
(He can think of some other things young people do, things that Jason won't allow himself to dream of.)
Knock knock.
Jason sighs. Well. The streak was good while it lasted.
He gets up, shuffling over in his sweats. He undoes the four locks and opens the door to reveal... you.
"Uh, hey," he says, cracking the door wider. "Everything okay?"
It's late. You shouldn't be out now, even if the sun hasn't gone down yet.
Jason frowns when you sway in the doorway and don't respond.
Then you flash him the sweetest smile he's ever been on the receiving end of. Wow. Sure, Jason's seen you flash your pretty teeth before. But not like this. And not at him.
"Hi, Jaylove. Hi."
"Uh." He watches you walk right past him, into his apartment. He shuts the door. "Hi... What's goin' on? You alright?"
You turn to face him. "Why wouldn't I be? After all, you're here."
"What?"
You walk to him and take his hands in yours. Jason's eyebrows rise.
"Hey...?" Jason says, looking at your joined hands. You lace your fingers together.
"My prince," you say happily. "Your eyes are beautiful. Like emeralds. And you have a beautiful mouth. Your whole face is beautiful. I'd like to paint you."
"Are you on drugs?" Jason releases your hands to hold your face. He gently pushes your eyelids up to inspect your pupils. You just smile.
"I feel high when you touch me," you say. "Just being near you is drug enough."
Yeah, Jason's now feeling a healthy amount of paranoia. It's not that you don't stop by or that you're not nice. No, you're the sweetest creature Jason's ever had the pleasure of meeting.
But wanting to touch him? Thinking he's beautiful? Calling him your prince? Either you're drugged or he's died again and found paradise.
Then again, he probably wouldn't still be in Gotham if this were paradise. You'd definitely be here, though.
"Right. Your eyes are fine." Jason lets go of your face. "You sure you didn't take anything? Drink anything? Run into anyone?"
"I drank tea," you say, gazing up at him. "And I petted a fat orange cat. Don't you want a cat?"
"I surely do. You drank tea?"
"Mmhm. It was almost as amazing as you."
Jason nods and takes your hand. "Okay. We're going to the Cave."
"How come?" you ask, but you don't protest as he leads you out and into the elevator.
"Because I wanna make sure you're okay," he says, pushing the button labeled one. You're definitely not okay, but he doesn't want to worry you.
"Oh." You lean against Jason's arm. He stiffens and looks down at you. You just burrow into his side. "'Cause you love me?"
Breath catches in his throat. You can't mean that. Do you even know what you're saying? No, impossible.
You look up when he's silent for too long. "Jay-Jay? Didja hear me?"
"Yeah," he says slowly. "Yeah, I did."
You look at him, big eyes sweet. "Don't you love me too? I love you."
Jason swallows hard. "I, um, don't think you're in your right mind."
Your lip quivers. Oh, God. No, please don't cry, please don't—
"You don't love me?" you ask, tears welling.
"I do love you," Jason says quickly, panicking at your distress. "I do. Shit. Please don't cry, honey. I do love you."
You frown, cheeks wet. "You're just saying that! You hate me!"
Jason shakes his head. "No, no! Oh, never, I could never hate ya, honest! I was just... um, this is the first time we've said it to each other, y'know? I do love you. Have for a long time now."
He strokes your cheek with his thumb, soaking up your tears. You sniffle but accept this, nodding.
"Oh. I'm sure I've told you that I love you before. I love you so much, Jason. I'll never love anyone the way I love you."
God, this is fucking torture. As the elevator reaches the ground floor, Jason takes a deep breath, lets you link your fingers with his, and leads you out to the street. The universe is intent in never granting him a normal night. Noted.
There's no way you're in your right mind. Jason's figured this from the start. But that doesn't make the way you look at him, like he's anybody worth looking at, any less painful.
He pulls out his phone, shoots a quick text to Dick. ETA 10 min.
Dick responds two seconds later. What's up?
Possible Code 12.
Jason pockets his phone, running through potential reasons for what did this to you. Ivy's not wreaking havoc tonight, as far as he knows.
Meanwhile, you're in another world, humming and holding his hand. Jason's thought about this many times, holding your hand and taking you for rides, you adoring him, hugging him, kissing him. He's nothing if not a masochist.
"Okay, sweetheart," Jason says, and you immediately turn to him, like a flower showing its face to the sun. Jason is no one's sun, though. He's more like the worm under your boot.
"Hm?" you ask, stroking his arm. Jason does his best to be normal about it.
"We're gonna, um, go to the Cave. You okay on my bike?"
You glance at his bike, and there's a tinge of apprehension on your face. Jason reaches for your shoulder, stops, then forces himself to touch you. You're not going to recoil from him, not in this state. And he's not doing it for himself; he's only touching you so that you'll let him take you to the Manor and figure out what's what.
He's not a bastard for holding your shoulder, right? He's doing it just so that you'll be safe.
(It doesn't matter. Jason knows he's a bastard for being in your life at all.)
You lean into him when he touches your shoulder.
"Never been on your bike, Jay," you say.
"I know. But I swear to you that you're safe. You know I'd never let anything happen to you, right? Never."
You nod. "Yeah. You always look out for me. 'S part of why I love you so much."
Good God. Jason's going to be a ball of self-hatred for the next millenia over this.
He puts his spare helmet on you, helping you fit the chin guard underneath.
"Okay?" he asks.
You give him a thumbs-up. Jason smiles and puts his own helmet on.
"You gotta hold on real tight, okay? As tight as you can. Don't worry 'bout hurting me."
"Mmkay!"
He helps you mount the bike first, then follows. As soon as he's on, you wrap your arms around his middle and smush your helmet into his back.
How long has he dreamed about this? Taking you on late-night rides, feeling you pressed against him, squealing as he floats through traffic (he'd never speed the way he does when he's alone; Jason doesn't give a shit about his own body, but your safety matters).
"The bike is loud, so I'm not gonna hear you if you say something, but if you want me to stop, tap my shoulder three times, okay?"
"Okay, Jaylove." You squeeze him in what's clearly a hug. "Ready."
Jason's not sure he is. It's been a long time since anyone's touched him, much less someone he's head over heels for. You're so trusting, it makes him ache. Jason's just glad he's the first jerk you laid your eyes upon instead of the magic you're under pushing you into the arms of someone dangerous.
He starts up his bike. Jason's had guests on his bike before, mostly his brothers and, once, the old lady who runs the tea shop down the block.
He's never had a lovely thing like you snuggled up to him, clinging to him. Jason feels rabid. He feels like he needs to be shot and put out of his misery.
He follows all of the road rules so you won't be scared. You don't tap his shoulder or shake, so Jason figures you're fine. He's good. He's being good for you.
Jason slows as he goes down the ramp to the Cave entrance. He stops at the mouth of the Cave and dismounts first, pulling off his helmet.
"You alright in there?" he asks, offering his hand.
You wrap your arms around his neck and Jason wobbles as he recalibrates and snakes an arm around your shoulders instead and helps you off that way. He removes your helmet. You blink at the new light, then look at him, moony-eyed once again.
"I was kinda scared," you admit. "But I trust you, Jaybee. Always."
"Got you here in one piece, didn't I?" he says, winking at you.
"Uh-huh!"
Jason sees what you're going to do before you try. He sees the way you look at his lips, how you rear back, ready to leap and kiss him.
He redirects you immediately, preferring that to making you cry again. He hates it when you cry. Your soft mouth lands on his jaw instead.
Jason smiles, strained. You're annoyed at the fact that you missed, and Jason can see that you're about to try again when Dick and Tim come into view.
He's never been more thrilled to see his brothers.
"Fellow bretheren," Jason says. He knows his voice is thin. "Funny seein' you here."
You're briefly distracted and wave to be polite. But then you force Jason's left ear to your level and catch the lobe between your teeth.
Holy fuck. Jason nearly buckles at the sensation. He's never understood the ears as an erogenous zone before—now he gets it. He's ashamed of how heat pools in his gut as you nip his ear.
Jason balances you with an arm around your waist, gingerly trying to both hide his reaction and separate you. He accomplishes neither. Tim's eyebrows are at his hairline; Dick's mouth is open, no doubt ready to make a smart-ass comment.
"Well, it's nice to see you two so... affectionate," Dick says, holding back a grin.
Jason rolls his eyes. "I need you to run tests. They showed up to my door like this, all over me."
"Yeah, that is weird," Tim says.
"Thank you very much for that, Timbit," Jason grumbles. You kiss under his ear and weave your fingers through his hair. Jason manages to get your hands off, but your mouth is still firmly planted on his neck. He clears his throat. Normal!
"I dunno, Jason," Dick says. "It's not that weird. People fall in love every day."
And, okay. Jason can do teasing. He can even do borderline psychotic remarks. That's part of having siblings. He's made a few in his day. They've all stabbed or shot each other.
But now Dick is just being cruel.
Jason scowls. "Take their blood so we can fucking get this over with. They're clearly under a love spell."
His scathing tone surprises Dick, but it really startles you. You've moved away from his ear (Jason is both relieved and disappointed) and return to cradling his arm. You're alarmed by his reply.
"Jaylove?" you ask. "What happened? Are you mad?"
Jaylove? Jason sees Tim mouth. He forces himself to focus on you, be gentle for you.
"Hm, no, not mad at ya, sweetheart. Sorry 'bout that. But we need to run some medical tests on ya, 'kay? Can we do that?"
"Sure," you chirp, linking your arm with his.
Dick and Tim slip into Work Mode. Jason appreciates that. His nerves are frayed. He senses a self-destructive episode coming on after you're cured. Maybe he'll throw himself into a bar fight tonight.
"Symptoms?" Tim asks, going to the computer.
"Being in love with me," Jason says dryly.
"Besides that. Any physical symptoms like dizziness or nausea? Recklessness?"
"No, didn't notice any sickness. Not reckless; they did everything I said." Jason swallows, says the next part quietly, fearfully. "Probably jump into the Hudson if I asked."
Tim nods sharply. Dick prepares to draw your blood. Again, you're apprehensive. But Jason soothes you, pets you, and you're leaning into him like a cat in its favorite patch of sun as Dick takes your blood.
"I wanna get married," you say as red fills the second vial.
Dick shoots him a sympathetic look. Jason looks away.
"Soon, honey," Jason says, ignoring how his stomach's a pit.
He didn't think about love or relationships when he came back. Didn't care, not when he had revenge to plot.
But after all that was over, after he met you, after he found a reason to keep living, Jason started thinking about it.
And what he realized is that he's never getting married.
By choice? Yes, sure. Jason loves pretending he has a choice in anything. Sure, he chooses to abstain from marriage, like normal people out there do. But really, he avoids attachment because it wouldn't be fair to anyone. He knows he's not made for that. His death made him unsalvageable. It's a miracle he's here at all. How dare he ask for more?
And inside, he chokes on a vine of hatred for everyone else who can find someone. Who's capable of loving and being loved. It even, to Jason's shame, has reared its head at you, whispered in his ear about how you're not damaged, so of course you'll find someone one day. Of course you'll leave him eventually. It would be stupid of him to hope otherwise.
"When?" you ask as Dick starts on the third vial. You don't even notice. Dick could probably drain you dry as long as Jason's in front of you. "When can we get married?"
"How 'bout next month?" Jason says without thinking. He would. He'd marry you tomorrow.
You think about this for a moment, then nod. "Yes, that would be good. I've always wanted a fall wedding."
"Yeah? I always liked the idea of marrying in the spring. All the flowers."
"No," you say. "Pollen's out. You'd be sneezing your head off."
Jason laughs, then wants to cry, because you know that he's allergic to pollen.
"Yeah, y'right," he says, voice thick. "Fall wedding's better."
"Alright, all done!" Dick says, forcefully cheerful. He removes the needle and puts a Bandaid on the inside of your elbow. You rest your head on Jason's arm. Jason tries not to boil himself in a fire of misery. You probably won't even remember this.
Dick watches you both, then tugs your hand. "Hey, you mind helping me fill out some info? For the tests."
Your mouth shrivels. You look at Jason, and he can't believe he's your North Star, magic or not.
"I don't wanna leave Jason," you say.
"He'll be right here," Dick says quickly. "Won't leave your sight for a second. But I need your help."
"Just for a minute?" you ask.
Dick nods. "One minute."
You sigh and turn to Jason. "I'll be right back."
Jason nods, tries to smile. "Sure. I'll be here."
He'll be here. Forever and ever and ever...
Wait a second. Tea. Jason jolts.
"Tim. They said they drank tea. Could be something there."
"On it," Tim says. "Dick, we need a mouth swab."
"Right." He turns to you. "Can I—"
"No," you say, and march back to Jason. "You said a minute."
Jason would laugh at the pout on your face, the way you plop yourself next to him and curl around him like he's a new toy. He would laugh. If he could find the humor.
Dick looks at him. Jason sighs.
"Honey?" You hum. "We just need one more test, yeah? Q-tip on your tongue. Not the most pleasant, but it'll be quick. Promise."
"Okay," you say immediately, hugging his arm.
Jason knows it's a spell, or maybe a lab-made chemical. But he's still awed by how quickly you acquiesce. How you show no worry when Dick approaches because Jason's right there, patting your hand.
Dick swabs your mouth. You cough three times after, most of your body on Jason.
"Interesting how they're not lustful," Dick says.
"What," Jason says.
"Okay, the ear thing was..." Dick shrugs. "But it's not mindless. It's actually the most reasonable love spell I've ever seen. Like, their desires for you don't feel manufactured, they feel—"
"Don't," Jason snaps. "Don't fuckin' say it."
Dick holds up his hands. "It was just an observation. You've seen Ivy's pollen doses. This one seems different."
"Fine. Ivy's taking a break from the orgies. Doesn't mean this is real."
Jason's not stupid enough to hope.
"It can't be Ivy," Tim says, and Jason almost startles. He forgot Tim was there, so wrapped up in you. "No reports of Ivy attacks. And the substance, whatever it was, wasn't inhaled. It was injested."
You wrap your arms around Jason's neck and smush your face against his. You're warm and smell good. Jason feels feral.
He holds you with a hand on your back, mind turning.
"Sweetheart," he says. You hum. "You said you drank tea after work. Where exactly did you go?"
"Dunno," you say, spacey. "Went into a tea shop that's never been there before. And an old lady invited me in. She said I looked so sad. And I was, Jaybee! How did she know?"
"I don't know, honey," Jason says quietly, even though he has a suspicion. He's never letting you walk home alone again.
Tea shop. That's what he gets for trying to be a good Samaritan. How dare she drug you?
"Hm. Well, she gave me a tea sample, said it would make all my problems disappear. Then I petted her cat named Darcy. Like that book you like!"
God, Jason just wants to hug you tight and kiss your face. It's awful of him to think of you as cute in your state, he knows.
"Track their routes," Jason says. "They take two different ones home. One crosses Bank Street, the other goes over the bridge."
"I'd call you a stalker but I really have no right," Tim says, fingers flying over the keyboard.
"No shit," Jason mumbles, letting you play with his fingers.
"Jason," Dick says quietly. He glances at you, then at his brother. "If it's too much, we can sedate them."
"No. We don't know how it'll react to the tea. It's not Ivy's brew."
Dick frowns. He knows Jason's right. Jason knows he's right.
"Okay, I got something. Magic signatures from a building on Tenth Street," Tim says. "And I think I'm onto an antidote."
"I'll check it out," Dick says, going to suit up. He looks at Jason. "Are you-?"
Jason nods. "I'm fine. Go."
So Dick does. Tim is able to make an antidote within the hour. He gives it to Jason who injects it into your neck. He feels guilty even though this is what’ll cure you. You wince at the pinch but you don't so much as whimper, endlessly trusting.
"They'll probably crash soon," Tim says, out of your earshot. "I don't know if you should risk the bike."
Jason sighs. Tim's right, and it makes him all the more agitated that his brothers have been helpful and even kind of nice during the whole thing.
You're going to crash soon. Jason has no choice but to bring you up to the Manor.
"Come on, sweetheart," he says, taking your hand and standing.
"Where're we goin'?" you ask, yawning.
"Goin’ t’bed, honey. Aren't ya tired?"
"Hmm. Mmhmm."
"Yeah, thought so."
Jason leads you up the stairs and out of the Cave. He helps keep you steady as you trip up the stairs. He's tempted to just carry you, but he feels like that might be overkill.
Once at the top of the stairs, Jason stops. Swallows.
He hasn't been up here in a while. He slept in his room once after he returned, after a nasty encounter with Scarecrow.
"Wanna sleep in your bed, Jay," you mumble, cheek against his arm.
Jason sighs. "Yeah. Okay, love."
You go to his room. It's clean, as usual—Alfred never let it get dusty. Jason had hoped that if you ever saw his room it would be in much different circumstances. Normal circumstances.
But, well. Here you are.
"Hmm, 's nice," you say as Jason pulls back the bedspread and helps you out of your shoes. You start to take off your pants and he panics.
"Uh! Uh, baby, maybe keep the pants on. You might get cold."
You frown in confusion. "Doesn't feel cold."
"Yeah, but, whew, Alfred blasts the AC! Jus' keep 'em on."
Jason cannot handle seeing you in your underwear. He draws the line there.
"'Kay," you say, and flop onto the sheets. You wiggle around, getting comfortable.
Jason sits in the fat armchair in the corner of the room. Immediately, you sit up.
"Why're you over there?" you ask, eyes wide.
Oh, boy.
"Oh. I was, um, gonna read for a bit. I'll come in in a while."
Your lip trembles. No—
"Don't leave me, Jaybee. Don't leave! Stay with me. I love you!"
Jason rubs his forehead. "Honey—"
"You hate me! You do! I annoy you." Tears gather in your eyes.
Jason hurries to the edge of his bed, climbing in in his jeans and socked feet.
"No, no, love, we covered this. I don't hate ya, hm? Where'd ya get a silly thing like that?"
You quiet as he scoots in beside you. Then you throw most of your limbs over him. Jason stiffens.
"Just got scared," you say, and kiss his chest. "Promise you won't leave?"
Jason breathes in. Breathes out.
"Yeah. I promise."
And he stays.
You wake up with a faint headache and a dry throat. Sunlight peeks through the blinds. You feel warm and safe and well-rested, despite the slight pains.
You stretch, expecting air. Instead, you touch skin. You open your eyes.
Oh. You're in a bedroom.
No, scratch that. You see framed pictures of the Bats, books on shelves.
You're in Jason Todd's childhood bedroom. With the aforementioned tucked under your arm and leg.
You jerk away so hard, you land on the carpeted floor below.
Jason's up instantly, head poking over the bed. His eyes widen.
"Shit! Y'alright? C'mere."
He gets up and practically scoops you into a standing position. Your brain short-circuits: big strong man strong big good nice. Then you recover.
"Um," you say. "Uh. Hmm. Hi."
Jason smiles tightly. "Hey."
"What... how-?"
"Right. How much do you remember?"
You try to think. You remember walking home, drinking tea, an affectionate orange cat. You remember hands on your face and your stomach swooping on a motorcycle and a gentle voice. So gentle.
"You were magicked," Jason says quickly. "It was a, uh, tea shop. Dick's checking it out. You, um, came to me and I took you here and you got an antidote and you didn't want me to, um, leave. So, yeah. Sorry."
You tilt your head. "Why are you apologizing, Jason?"
He sighs. "Just 'cause."
You have no idea what that means. But you feel like Jason's telling you a very condensed version of what happened.
"What was the magic?" you ask.
He winces. "Love spell. You thought you were... in love with me."
Jason says it like he's the one who charmed you. Like he's ashamed of it.
"Oh," you say. Well, you certainly didn't need a spell for that to happen.
"Yeah." Jason's staring at your and his shoes by the door. "But everything's fine now. I can take you home. Dick and Tim'll take care of the tea shop witch."
He doesn't wait for a response, darting to the door and slipping into his shoes. You rush forward and close the door as Jason opens it. He looks at you in confusion.
"Jason," you say softly. "What happened?"
"Whaddya mean? I told you."
"Jason. I've known you for three years. You think I don't know when you're not telling me something?"
He looks at his feet. One of his socks has a hole in the toe.
"There's nothin' to tell," he mumbles. "Magic stuff. Happens all the time. Business as usual."
You frown. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Jay. I admittedly don't remember a lot."
Jason's expression is relief but there's a heaviness to his shoulders. "Well, 's for the best, really. Magic messes with your head."
"Did I make you uncomfortable, Jason? Not letting you leave and—God, I can't imagine how I was on the spell."
He shakes his head fervently. "No! No, no, my God, no. You didn't—you could never—I mean, I wasn't... fuck. No. You didn't make me uncomfortable."
"If you're sure," you say.
He nods. "Hundred percent."
Jason doesn't sound like he's lying. You're pretty good at detecting it, especially when it comes to his feelings.
So why is he acting weird?
Well, duh. A love spell. You probably freaked him out, especially since you really do love him.
"I hope we can still be friends," you offer.
Jason turns to the door.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "'Course we're still friends."
It shouldn't make you ache. Jason's perfectly in the right to not reciprocate how you feel. How can he reciprocate something he doesn’t even know exists?
"You, uh..." Jason scratches the back of his neck. He faces you once more. "You said last night that you were sad. When you were coming home. I just wanted to say, y'know... you can talk to me. 'Bout anything."
This will make all of your problems disappear, she had said. It'd tasted like kombucha—you hadn't had a lot of faith.
Jason begins to open the door. You slide in front of him and slam the door shut with your back. He steps back in surprise.
"Wh—"
"I have to tell you something!" you blurt.
Jason stills. "Okay."
"I adopted you a cat," you say.
He squints. "What?"
"Well, she's still at the shelter but I put her on reserve. Of a sort. I have a friend who works there. She's black and white and likes to cuddle and has two different colored eyes but she can't see very well. Her name is... whatever you want to name her. Because she's yours. And I think you'll love her."
He nods slowly. "I, uh, thanks. Thank you. I was thinking about adopting a—"
"I was sad last night because I kept thinking about how you're gonna love this cat I got you but you'll never love me, and how that's the fucking worst feeling in the world."
You've stunned him silent. Shit.
Seconds tick by. A minute. Two minutes.
"Okay," you say, wanting to jump out of Jason's two-story window. "I'm gonna go drop off the face of the Earth now. Bye."
You open the door. Jason closes it by caging you against it.
And then he kisses you.
Jason pours everything into the kiss. He's not a perfect kisser but it's good. It's magic. He holds your face completely, shuts out the entire world. Kisses the breath out of you.
Yes, you could go on. It's fantastic. It's fireworks. It's sunbeams.
And actually, it feels like the most normal thing in the world, kissing Jason Todd.
Summary: The one where you learn firsthand that Jason Todd sleeps in the nude.
Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader
Word count: 2.7k
Warnings/tags: best friend jason, awkwardness, nudity, reader hardcore thirsting over jaytodd, love confessions, humor (attempts at it, anyway), silliness. inspired by this post!
the divider
There's been a huge (blessed) development in the drug ring case that you and Jason are working on. You can hardly sleep now.
Normally, you'd call or text Jason, even though he's usually already in the know. It's possible that you just like having an excuse to call him, but who can confirm such a thing?
But it's late, probably too late to call, considering Jason doesn't answer his phone unless it's pinged directly to his helmet after a certain time, courtesy of his family being "a buncha jackasses" (his words, obviously).
But maybe it's not too late for a visit. After all, Jason patrols late, and has insane insomnia. He very well could be awake at this late hour. And he's never minded you dropping by before.
In truth, you haven't seen Jason in a few days and you feel restless now when you go longer than a day without seeing each other. You're not quite sure why that is.
So here you are, disabling the window alarm on Jason's apartment. Partly for a case, partly for your own benefit.
It takes a few minutes but you manage to open the window without anyone calling the police or whacking you with a broom. You slide open the window mostly soundlessly. Then you wait. The room remains dark and quiet.
You're pretty proud of yourself actually. It's not that you're green when it comes to spycraft, but you're certainly no Batman.
Still, you've managed to sneak into Jason's apartment without waking him. The Red Hood. You peek in to check if he's really asleep.
And he is, dark hair stark against the white pillow. It sticks out in messy tufts. You can't see past Jason's neck and his freckled arms, illuminated by the orange streetlight outside. You put your laptop bag on the floor.
He's sleeping on his stomach, facing away from you, but you're very endeared by how he's curled up under his sheet, hands tucked under his pillow. If you went really close to his face, you could count his eyelashes. Jason has such pretty eyelashes.
That's a perfectly normal thought to have about your best friend, right? Boys have pretty eyelashes. You're just making an observation.
You're bewildered by how cold the room is, surprised that Jason can withstand such a temperature. Maybe it's a Pit thing.
You watch him for a moment longer. Guilt pools in your gut. Are you really going to wake him when he's probably just gone to bed in the last hour? It takes Jason so long to fall asleep, you know that.
...
No, you should let him sleep. You can work on the case in the morning.
You bend down to get your laptop bag. In that time, the light flicks on.
You flinch, turn around, and find yourself staring down the barrel of a gun.
Said gun is held by an extremely naked Jason Todd.
"Oh my God!" you say at the same time Jason realizes his mistake.
"What the fuck!" he shouts, grabbing a pillow to cover himself.
But not before you get an eyeful of your best friend's, er, weaponry.
"Why are you naked?" you shout, gaze darting everywhere. Good Lord, it's seared into your retinas. You're never getting the image of Jason's dick out of your brain.
"Why are you in my apartment?" Jason snaps back.
"No, my question is way more urgent," you say.
"No the hell it's not! You broke in! I'm allowed to be naked in my apartment!"
"Okay. Alright. I came because there's been a development in our case. I thought we could work on it together but when I realized you were asleep for real, I decided to leave."
Jason rolls his eyes. "You know I'm a light sleeper. I just went to bed. I was up late.”
Realization strikes you. Could it be...?
"Oh my God. Do you have someone here?" you ask, voice sinking to a whisper.
"I have you here," Jason says irritably.
"No, like—" You make a hole with one hand and stick a finger into it. "Y'know..."
"Jesus, no!" Jason's face twists in disgust. "C'mon!"
"Okay, chill out, Jay-Jay. It'd be fine if you did. I can keep a secret," you say, shrugging. People have sex. You know that. You've never thought about Jason having sex, but you suppose it's possible. Why not? Just because you've never had sex and you always hoped that Jason would be your first doesn't mean that he would. If he's moved on in his life, then you should too.
Jason scoffs. "Yeah, okay. You think anybody would get into bed with a headcase like me?"
Hope rekindles. You're not behind. Jason's right there with you, virginity firmly intact.
He puts the safety back on the gun, squishing the pillow against himself with his elbow. You watch in fascination at his multitasking. Jason starts to turn around to put the gun behind the headboard before clearly thinking twice about mooning you.
"So... why are you naked?" you ask, respectfully keeping your eyes north of the equator.
"If you must know, I sleep in the nude. Now turn around."
You don't turn around. "In the nude?"
Jason's eye twitches. "Yes, nude. It's better for your body and it's more comfortable and I don't—"
You pull a face. "Who says in the nude? How old are you, a hundred?"
"That's what you're harping on?" Jason asks. "You broke into my apartment!"
You hold up a finger. "I didn't break in, I disarmed the alarm like you taught me."
"Yeah, which was only for emergencies. This isn't an emergency. Now turn around!"
So you turn around. You hear the pillow fall and the image returns. You recite the alphabet backwards. When that doesn't work, you think about the time you helped Jason on a mission in the sewers and couldn't get the smell out of your suit for a week.
Yeah, that'll do it. You shudder.
"Can't believe you just broke in," he mumbles. "Raised in a fuckin' barn, swear to God."
"Okay, I'm sorry. I'm truly, honestly sorry, Jaybee. From the bottom of my heart. Can I look now?"
"If you dare."
"Are you decent?" you ask.
"Too easy of a joke," he says. "Yeah, the jewels are covered."
You turn slowly. Jason's got red (ha) boxers on, so you turn all the way.
Huh. Well.
You've never really thought much about what Jason's got going on underneath his armor. Certainly, you've assumed that he's got a good physique and a lot of stamina, considering what he does. You've always assumed that. But Jason's Jason. Your best friend, Jason. Your best friend, Jason, who came back really tall, yeah, and with a deep voice and a super pretty face...
Well, anyway. He's Jason. That's all.
But now? Now you get to look in depth, and... whoa.
Jason's broad, stocky, heavily muscled with a soft layer of fat on top. His arms are huge, hands proportionally big. His pecs are full with pink nipples the same shade as his lips. That's a fact you're never forgetting. Your belly flutters.
Okay, what the fuck! No. This is peak creepy behavior, leering at your best friend like this, even if he does have shoulders you could sink your teeth into and thighs you'd happily get crushed between. No! Bad.
...You look some more. He's covered in scars. This is the first time you've seen his autopsy scar in person. It's white, noticeable but healed, like most of his scars. There's a dusting of dark hair from his chest to his belly button. It thickens as it dips beneath his—
Mm, nope. Not thinking about that again.
"Hello-o."
Your eyes dart back to his face.
"Are you listening to me?" he asks, forehead crinkled.
"What? Yes. Sorry. Yes." Your cheeks burn.
Something crosses Jason's face, too quick for you to read. But then his expression stones over. He glances at the dresser across from the bed.
"If you gimme a sec, I'll put a shirt on so y'won't have to look at all this," he says, gesturing roughly to his body.
You blink, lost in Jasonland. "Huh?"
"I know the scars are pretty gnarly. Lemme find a shirt."
Jason goes to the dresser and digs through the top drawer. His wide back is strung tight with tension, you can tell. You hurry to him, blocking the drawer with your arm. Jason looks at you, brows rising.
"Can I help you?" he asks.
"Um."
Words. You remember words, don't you?
"You..."
You haven't been physically close to Jason in a long time. He smells like soap and detergent and is all-encompassing. Your brain feels like slush. Don't stare at his pecs.
"I didn't—I'm not grossed out by your scars, Jason," you finally manage to say.
Jason raises an eyebrow. "Sure. You're just grossed out by everything else about me." He sighs wearily, like he's practiced this speech every night in the mirror. "Look, it's fine. I know I'm really—"
"No, it's not fine! I can't bear having you think I'm repulsed by your body, Jason. That's just not true," you say.
"Well, you were starin' pretty hard, so—"
"But it wasn't—I wasn't staring in disgust, I was—I..."
Jason crosses his arms. His pecs are pushed up as he does so. His stomach looks so soft. But you know he's strong. Way stronger than you. Strong enough to wield his strength against you, if you wanted him to. Strong enough to be gentle with you, too.
You wonder if he's still ticklish.
"You're doin' it again!" Jason says, and this time he really does look hurt. Fuck. Fuck! You're a shitty best friend.
"No!" You lock eyes with him. "No, no! I mean, yes, I was looking at you. But I wasn't looking in a bad, judgy way. I was, uh, taking in your physique. Because you have a... a very nice body. I've never seen you without clothes so I was looking at you. Sorry."
Yeah, you'll just go die in a hole after this.
Jason squints at you for a long moment. You start to shift in place. Sweat beads on your forehead. You lick your lips, hoping Jason can hear your honesty.
"Are you messin' with me?"
"Huh?" You shake your head. "No, why would I—"
"You're really telling me that you find this," Jason gestures to his body, "Good looking?"
This is worse than any physical torture. You'd prefer Batman beating you up on a roof to being here.
You rub your temple, cheeks aflame. "Oh my God. Yes, Jason, you're a good looking guy. Can we move on?"
"No, 'cause I think you're lyin', and I don't like it. You're always honest with me."
"I am being honest," you say, suddenly more annoyed than anything. Because what the fuck? "Are you kidding me? There's a whole forum dedicated to the Red Hood and how much people want you to step on them. And that's without seeing your face! I have eyes, Jason, of course I find you attractive."
And that should be the end of it. Jason's already slack-jawed like a dead fish. But no, you keep going.
"You make me nervous and I thought I had a lid on it because we knew each other as kids but it's becoming clear that I very much don't, and that probably has to do with the fact that you're the only guy I've been close to, and I never got over you. And now I'm gonna go drown myself in the Hudson. Good night."
You go to slip out the window. Maybe it'll shut on your head and knock you out. That would be a divine gift.
It doesn't, though. The universe isn't so kind. Instead, Jason catches your arm and keeps you rooted to your spot. His hand is cold. You wonder if the rest of him is warm.
"Wait, wait. Just hang on."
You groan. "Dude, I'm fucking mortified over the last five minutes. Please let me keep some of my dignity," you say without looking at him.
"Now when have I ever done that?" You can hear the smile in his voice.
And suddenly, the miserable reality of never being more than friends with Jason Todd comes crashing down. It's too late. You've always been too late.
You sag in his grip.
"We can just forget this ever happened," you say quietly. "Chalk it up to idiocy."
"Mm, yeah, we could. 'Cept I don't think you're an idiot. And I want you to hear what I have t'say first. Will ya look at me?"
Mopily, you look at him. His hand drops.
"I—"
"You've never slept naked," you say before he can get a word out. "That's new. Otherwise, I would've known, and then I would've used the door."
Jason rolls his eyes. "Can I speak?"
You cross your arms. "Yeah, okay."
"First of all, I don't think it's necessary for me to disclose that I sleep in the nude." You open your mouth to argue. "But I know it was a mistake. I'm not mad about that. Okay?"
You nod. "Okay."
"I won't lie and say I'm not surprised at your... reaction. I don't really... I've never... I'm not Dick or Bruce, y'know? I wasn't told my whole life what a handsome boy I am. And dying and returning didn't really help with that stuff either."
"I think you're handsome, Jason," you say quietly. "Honest."
He coughs and looks away, a tiny blush on his cheeks. "Yeah, uh, think you've made that pretty clear. For the record, I think you're really beautiful. Always thought so."
Your eyes widen. "Really?"
"Well, yeah. I mean... yeah."
"You're just saying that 'cause I saw your vein cane," you say, grinning.
"Don't call it that."
"How about—"
"No."
You're both quiet.
"How 'bout pork swor—"
"No!"
You smile, eyes squinty. Jason glares.
"Don't nickname my thing," he says.
You nod solemnly. "You're right. It's your thing. You should choose its name."
He shakes his head. "Sucha weirdo."
"Hey, I've never been with a guy. I don't know the rules of thing-naming."
Jason tilts his head. "Never?"
"Never."
"Why?"
You shrug. "Never found anyone I liked enough, I guess. I've pretty much had my heart set on you, Jason."
His face softens. "Oh."
"Yeah."
"Well, uh, me too," he says. "You're it for me, honey. I just never... I mean, really, I never thought it would actually happen with you. Not then, not now."
"Huh. You really should've flashed me earlier. We could've sped things up exponentially."
"Yeah, why didn't I think of that," Jason says dryly.
"Dunno! We all know you're more than a pretty face."
His face reddens. You grin.
"Are you shy?" you ask, dancing on your toes.
"No. Shut up."
"You're shy! I make Jason Todd shy! Oh, this is wonderful. I should break into your apartment regularly."
"It's just new for me!" he says. "Lea' me alone."
You cozy up to him, confidence renewed by the mutual confession. You wrap your arms around his neck. Jason looks at you, hands slowly coming to rest on your waist. The rest of him is warm.
"Just teasing you, Jaybee," you say.
"Hmm." He slowly nudges your cheek with his nose. "Like y'always do?"
"Like I always do," you say sweetly. "But for the record, if we ever share a bed in the future, you're gonna have to keep the soldier in his tent."
Jason lets go of you, exasperated. "Oh, for—y'know what? Your visitation privileges are revoked. Get outta my apartment."
You put on the saddest face you can muster. "You're kicking me out? Into the cold?"
"It's eighty degrees."
You sigh loudly. "Okay, fine. Date tomorrow?"
"Seriously?" Jason asks, sounding genuinely surprised.
"Seriously! Why wouldn't I be serious?"
"You really wanna date me?"
"Never been more sure of anything in my life."
Jason's relief is palpable and bittersweet. You'll spend the rest of your days letting him know just how spectacular he and his pectorals are.
"Okay," he says, shy again. You don't tease him this time.
"Great!" You close the distance between you and peck him on the cheek. His blinks in surprise.
"I'll give you a proper kiss on our date," you say, winking. "Bye, Jasey-Daisy."
"Bye, honey. Don't break into anyone else's apartment on your way home."
"Never," you say, climbing out the window. "You're the only one for me, Toddy!"
summary after telling him you made a playlist that reminded you of him, you accidentally send him the wrong one
content 1k words, fluff, suggestive, lotta lana del rey, reader has no idea how tech works (me)
based on this request
“How do I send this shit?” you mumble, tapping aimlessly on your phone. “It’s not working,” you complain, your voice filtering through his comms.
Jason had found a way to connect your phone to his helmet, which meant you were now free to bother him whenever you wanted. It was a power you wielded with absolutely no regard for his sanity. The constant random messages popping up on the screen inside his helmet would've driven anyone else crazy.
Just yesterday, part of his vision was filled with:
You know if anyone would have a Jane the Virgin situation, it'd be you
Theres a easier way tho
I could take one for the team and get you pregnant
I'll be strong for you
It's hard rasing a kid on your own
To all of that, he'd simply replied, It's raising, then went right back to patrol like you hadn't just offered to impregnate him.
"Sweetheart, there's a send button," he replies with the patience of a saint. Gunshots erupt in the background and there's a curse thrown carelessly.
You’re attempting to send him the playlist you had made. It was a mix of songs perfectly curated to ones that reminded you of your best friend. There was a lot of dad music, a touch of heavy metal. You were tempted to throw in a love song, but dealing with the aftermath of doing so held you back.
"Don't sweetheart me, the fucking thing isn't loading now," you groan, tapping aggressively.
"You know, that doesn't make it go faster, right?" He grunts. There's a loud boom from his side.
"Says the guy who broke my TV because he thought hitting it would bring it back to life," you retort, squinting at your phone screen. You go to turn the brightness down.
"'M still better at technology than you," he says, then shouts, "Robin, I said on my left!"
You hear Robin's voice, but you can't make out the words. Something insulting, probably.
"Little shit can't even listen to basic instructions."
"Me or Damian?" you ask without missing a beat.
"Both."
Once the playlist loads, you tap the send button without much thought. "Kay, I did it, listen to it now," you demand, lying back down on your bed.
"Sure thing, doll. Lemme just stop the Joker from turning Gotham into his playground."
"Gotham's already his playground," you mumble.
For a while, you're quiet, listening as Jason occasionally shouts orders through the comms. It should be unsettling. The gunfire, the crashes, the constant danger he's in. Instead, it lulls you to sleep. He's here, breathing, and on call with you like he didn't want to part either.
"You done yet?"
"I'm putting it on. Happy now?" His hoarse voice brings you out of your thoughts. It's deeper than it was before. Nicer, too.
You grin, sitting up as your blanket pools around your hips. "Only if you come over too."
"Demanding little thing," he scoffed. But you know he's already on his way.
A few minutes pass. You can hear the distant hum of his motorcycle through the comms.
Then he clears his throat. "Baby making music?"
Horror crashes over you. You snatch your phone off the bed so fast it almost slips from your hands. "Shit,' you whisper, frantically searching for what you sent.
And lo and behold, it's that playlist, not the one you'd carefully curated for Jason. "Jay, I can explain—
"Fucked my way up to the top reminds you of me?" There's laughter in his voice now.
"No!"
"Guilty as sin?" He snorts.
"Oh my god, Jason, stop." Your hands are covering your warm face, phone lying on your bed. You're never living this down.
He pauses. "There's a lot of Lana Del Rey,"
You swallow, your fingers curl around your blanket. "Well," you start quietly. "Don't get it twisted, you're pretty Lana Del Rey, but your dad? He embodies a Lana Del Rey song—
"Stop talkin' about Bruce like that," he groans.
"Your dad's hot."
"You're trying to change the subject."
"Your older brother's also hot." You muster up the courage to add, "and don't call me that."
"Doll," His voice isn't teasing anymore. It's lower, like that comment about Dick took away all the humor.
"I've run out of age appropriate family members," you swallow. Except Jason. But you couldn't exactly say that. "Does Kate count? Bruce's exes? cause they're fine as hell too."
He grumbles under his breath. "Open the fucking window."
"You're here?" You freeze, voice coming out breathless.
The window snaps open with a sharp bang. The sound travels all the way to your room. You close your eyes. Why did it feel like you were in trouble?
The thump of boots echoes through the room. When it finally stops, you open your eyes to find Jason leaning against your doorframe, arms crossed in a way that makes his muscles more defined under the fabric. He’s taken off his helmet, his hair slightly damp, strands falling messily over his forehead.
And his eyes.
They’re on you, fierce and darker than what you're used to, like he’s a second away from hauling your ass straight to Arkham. It sends a pleasant feeling through you.
You laugh nervously. "Heyyyy, you're not still mad about me finding your brother—what the fuck are you doing—
He stalks over to you until he’s standing right in front of you, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to keep eye contact.
"You're acting weird," you tell him, trying to keep yourself still.
"That playlist—
"Was a random one I accidentally sent!"
He tilts his head. “So. You wanna play me the right one now?"
He shifts, sliding onto the bed beside you, his shoulder bumping yours as he settles in. You grimace. No way he’s had time to shower, but you don’t move away. Not when he’s this close.
You give him one of your wired earbuds.
Your head bumps his when he puts his on. You bite back a smile at sharing earbuds with him.
You hit play on your phone, sneaking a glance at him, trying to read his reaction.
He’s already looking at you. Then he rolls his eyes and looks away.
“Can’t believe I remind you of a Radiohead song.”
“Would you prefer fucked my way up to the top?”
masterlist
once again i’m not sure what i wrote
also yk cola by lana del rey? i was gonna add in the “my pussy taste like pepsi cola” line in and have jason be like “damn, does it?” but idk it didn’t feel like him. 100% something roy would ask tho
Synopsis: Jason has already moved in without you expecting it.
A/n: haven't written in a while so kinda rusty. Did yall miss me?
Jason todd masterlist
Main masterlist
------------------------------
It started out with the small things.
Jason would often come over to your apartment with a bag full of books in hand and a big grin spread across his face - insisting that it was your weekly reading session - despite it being almost every night.
Then when he would leave the next morning, taking the books with him, you'd find his leather jacket hung on the chair. Proceeding to get your phone to text him about it, only for him to respond with 'I'll be back anyway, keep it for the time being,'. He'd leave it again the day after with another jacket, this one more worn than the other one.
But it wasn't just his clothing that he left at your place - it started being his ammo, earpiece, files and his red hood mask (that he'd take back despite leaving the rest).
Before you knew it, he had moved in without ever saying the words.
It happened so gradually that neither of you could pinpoint the exact moment. One day there was a spare toothbrush sitting beside yours.
A week later, half your refrigerator was occupied by the energy drinks he insisted weren't terrible for him. The freezer contained emergency ice cream. The cabinet above the stove somehow became a graveyard for protein bars and instant coffee packets.
Now you were here, sitting on the couch, head resting on his chest - memorizing his heart beat - before looking up at him.
"You know Jay, you've been coming over more often."
Jason looked down, quirking a brow. "Is that a problem?"
"No it's not it's just," you sit up, gesturing to the countless gadgets adorning the coffee table. "Your stuff has been tagging along too."
Jason blinks blankly at you, leaning in as a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "You just have better counter space than I do, but I can take it all back if it's really a problem."
"It's just, if your stuff is already here why don't we... make it official?"
"...Aren't we already official? Or are we already jumping into marriage. I mean I always thought I was the one that was going to propose but this works -"
You cut him off by placing a finger to his lips, face flushed as you smack his chest. "That's not what I meant," you hiss, but he simply tilts his head. Smiling up at you.
"Oh yeah? Then what do you mean?"
Clearing your throat, you comb a hand through your hair. "What I meant is if you wanted to move into my place... That way you don't always have to go back and forth, making it official instead of coming over for a "hang out"."
Jason stared at you for a moment. For once, he didn't have a quick comeback ready. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again.
"...Oh."
You folded your arms, huffing slightly. "That's all you have to say?"
"No, I just - " He rubbed the back of his neck, looking genuinely caught off guard. "I thought that's what I was already doing."
"What?" you whispered.
Jason gestured vaguely around the apartment.
"The toothbrush. The jackets."
Your eyes shifted to the chair by the door.
"The coffee that tastes like motor oil."
"It does not -"
"It absolutely does."
He continued, ignoring the interruption.
"The ice cream. The books. Half my clothes are here. Roy keeps asking why I never sleep at my own apartment anymore." you watched as a grin slowly spread across his face, eyes falling to the floor as if he was reminiscing about all the times he has actually slept over.
"I figured I'd accidentally moved in like... three months ago."
A laugh escaped you despite yourself. "Jay, that's not how moving in works."
"It worked pretty well so far."
He looked around the living room as though seeing it for the first time. His tablet sat charging beside yours. His muddy boots that were near the door. One of his hoodies - that you loved to wear - draped over the arm of the couch. There was even a mug in the kitchen that everyone knew was his. You weren't entirely sure when it had become normal.
Neither of you had discussed it. It had simply happened.
"...So are you serious? About calling this place ours?" Jason asked carefully after a moment. Fingers idly tracing circles on your thighs. "You know you can still change your mind, right?"
You shook your head firmly. Hands rising to cup his face. "I'm not changing my mind Jay, I want you to move in."
"Does this mean I get to have a drawer?" He muttered, his teasing tone finally returning.
"Jay," you laugh, "You already have three, plus half of my closest and surprisingly the whole freezer."
"What?" he gasps as if he were offended. "My ice cream needs their valuable space."
Reader have no idea that they're dating the batboys for a quite some time already, although reader does hope for it, they just thought that the batboys being so nice to them, while the batboys waiting for reader to be ready to do couple stuff, they just thought reader is shy 😭
I been thinking this for a while now
Reader: what you mean we're dating?!?!
Batboys: we've been dating for a while now???
“I like you so much, and you don’t even know it.”
Sorry lowkey disappeared again.Im having my daughter next month,scared asf💔💔.My fanny is gonna be DESTROYED.also random does anyone else hate podfics.Like it will have the perfect plot and then say” podfic” like turn that shit off omg.
Batboys x Reader: clueless Reader
Bruce Wayne
The “exclusive relationship” was IMPLIED, apparently
•Bruce thought things were very clear.
• In his defense:
•you spend most nights at the manor
• he takes you to galas
•Alfred refers to you as “Mr. Wayne’s partner”
•Bruce literally kisses you goodbye before meetings
•So naturally he assumes:
yes, this is my significant other.
•Meanwhile you’re spiraling internally every day.
•Because Bruce Wayne is:
•holding your hand
•buying you things
•resting his forehead against yours when tired
•But he’s never technically said:
“Will you be my partner?”
•So your brain goes:
Maybe he’s just emotionally confusing.
•The realization happens because someone at a gala says:
“You and your boyfriend make a lovely couple.”
•You laugh awkwardly.
“Oh..we’re not-“
•Bruce looks over immediately.
“…Not what?”
•You stare at him.
“Dating?”
•Silence.
•Bruce blinks once.
“..We’ve been exclusive for eight months.”
“EIGHT??!”
•You almost choke on your drink.
•Bruce is now deeply confused.
*“You sleep in my bed.”
“AS A FRIEND.”
“I kissed you.”
“PEOPLE KISS CASUALLY SOMETIMES-“
•Bruce just stares at you like your operating system is corrupted.
• Then realization slowly dawns on him.
“…You genuinely didn’t know.”
• You hide your face immediately.
“I thought you were being nice because you liked me as a person.”
•Bruce physically has to sit down.
•Because somehow this is more stressful than fighting Bane.
⸻
Dick Grayson
Actually devastated you didn’t know
•Dick is the MOST affectionate naturally.
•So this misunderstanding gets BAD.
•This man:
• calls you baby
•kisses your forehead
•cuddles you constantly
• takes you on dates
•says “missed you”
•introduced you to the Titans
•And you STILL think:
He’s probably just emotionally open.
•Dick genuinely thinks you’re just shy about labels.
•One day he casually says:
“My girlfriend’s coming over later.”
•You:
“Oh? Who?”
• Dick laughs.
•Then stops laughing.
“…You.”
•You stare at him.
“Wait.”
•He stares back.
“WAIT.”
“You didn’t know we were dating?!”
“I THOUGHT YOU WERE JUST REALLY FRIENDLY.”
•Dick falls backwards onto the couch dramatically.
“I HELD YOUR FACE AND TOLD YOU I ADORED YOU.”
“YEAH BUT YOU’RE DICK GRAYSON. YOU SAY THINGS.”
•He’s losing his mind now.
“I TOOK YOU ON ROMANTIC ROOFTOP DINNERS.”
• “I THOUGHT YOU WERE TESTING LOCATIONS.”
•He actually laughs so hard he can’t breathe.
•Then immediately crawls across the couch to grab your face.
“Okay,” he says, still laughing,
“just so we’re SUPER clear now-”
•Kisses you directly on the mouth.
“Boyfriend. Dating. Romantic. In love with you.”
•You’re bright red.
•Dick thinks this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to him.
⸻
Jason Todd
• Jason absolutely assumed you knew.
•Because from his perspective:
•you wear his hoodies
•you sleep at his place
•he threatens people for disrespecting you
•you’ve made out multiple times
•Clearly:
Relationship.
• But you’re an overthinker.
•So every time something romantic happens you internally go:
Don’t assume. Don’t ruin the vibe. Stay calm.
•The realization happens when Roy casually says:
“So how long have you two been together now?”
•You immediately answer:
“Oh we’re not together-“
•Jason:
“…What.”
•Roy:
“…WHAT.”
•You panic immediately.
“I MEAN-unless-“
•Jason is staring at you like his soul just left his body.
“Baby.”
“DON’T BABY ME RIGHT NOW.”
“I literally told a guy at a bar you were my girl.”
“I thought that was… metaphorical.”
•Jason actually puts his hands over his face.
“How are you alive.”
•Then he starts laughing.
HARD.
“Oh my god,” he says between laughs,
“you really thought I was just casually obsessed with you.”
•You hide in your hoodie immediately.
His hoodie.
•Jason notices. Smirks.
“You know normal friends don’t share apartments keys either, right?”
Silence.
“…oh my god.”
⸻
Tim Drake
•Tim honestly can’t blame you because he ALSO never formally asked.
• But he thought the relationship progression was obvious.
•You:
•have toothbrushes at each other’s places
• share passwords
• nap together
•hold hands constantly
•went to a wedding together
• Tim categorized this as:
Relationship Acquired.
•You categorized it as:
Extremely emotionally intimate friendship.
•The moment happens because Kon asks:
“Wait, did you never ask them out officially?”
•Tim pauses.
“..I thought I did.”
• You immediately look over.
“You WHAT.”
•Tim starts mentally replaying every interaction you’ve ever had.
“I said ‘you’re my favorite person.’”
“THAT ISN’T A CONFESSION.”
“I BOUGHT YOU FLOWERS.”
“AS A FRIEND???”
•Tim puts his head in his hands.
“This explains SO MUCH.”
“LIKE WHAT?”
“WHY YOU LOOKED PANICKED EVERY TIME I HELD YOUR HAND.”
•You whisper:
“I thought I was imagining things…”
• Tim looks up immediately.
“…Wait, you LIKE liked me?”
“YES???”
⸻
Damian Wayne
Actually offended you thought he behaved this way platonically
•Damian is NOT naturally affectionate.
•Which means from his perspective, this should have been EXTREMELY obvious.
• He:
•seeks you out voluntarily
•touches you first
•allows prolonged physical affection
•lets you hold Titus
• says “beloved”
•In Damian Language this is basically a marriage certificate.
•Meanwhile you:
He’s just… intense.
• The realization happens when you say:
“You’ll make someone really happy one day.”
•Damian stops walking.
• Slowly turns around.
“…Excuse me?”
“What?”“What do you mean ‘someone’?”
•You blink.
“Your future partner?”
•Damian stares at you in complete disbelief.
“Beloved. We are together.”
You laugh nervously.
“Wait, seriously?”
He looks genuinely disturbed now.
“You believed I was behaving this way PLATONICALLY?”
“YOU NEVER ASKED.”
“I ALLOWED YOU IN MY PERSONAL SPACE.”
“…that’s fair actually.”
•Damian pinches the bridge of his nose.
“I have called you ‘my love’ repeatedly.”
“I thought you were being poetic.”
Long silence.
Then:
“…Father was correct. You are catastrophically oblivious.”
Hello dear! Would you write a smau with batboys where they freak out when discovering they are in the hospital? It doesn't need to be anything serious like, reader may just have a cold idk 😛
The thing would be the reader not bothering telling their partner because they don't believe he would care because of past experiences while the batboys are like "OF COURSE I WANT TO MAKE YOU COMPANY IN THE HOSPITAL???? I LOVE YOU?????"
Thank you very much <3
Why didn't you tell me
featuring: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Duke Thomas, Bruce Wayne
jason todd x reader, fluff, alcohol, language, suggestive, crack-ish
You were sat on a closed toilet seat in a cramped bathroom stall inside a dingy bar your friends had dragged you to for a girl’s night out. You were practically pushed into the car because apparently according to your friends you had been ghosting them ever since you moved in with your boyfriend.
Not your fault that you were beginning to enjoy the quiet evenings you and your boyfriend shared more than going out to a cheap, loud bar and drinking too much tequila to the point you couldn’t see straight.
No you preferred to be at home, curled up on the couch with your Jason, a book in his hand that you read together with the lights dim and lavender scented candles all around you.
You enjoyed your boyfriend rolling his eyes at you grumbling something about fire hazards as you lit yet another candle. You enjoyed him huffing and puffing when you flipped the page a bit too fast because of course he read with all the punctuations, of course he took a three second pause at every comma. You enjoyed watching him make you two dinner while you sat on the counter, swinging your legs.
Now you were hidden away inside the bathroom, ringing him for the third time, praying he would pick up.
“Jay?” you mumbled as soon as he picked up.
“Hey doll,” he replied, lazily.
“Where were you?” you slurred.
“Just finishing up something at the batcave. What’s up?”
“Can you pick me up? I don’t want to be here anymore,” you said with a pout, voice barely audible.
“Baby what’s wrong? You’re not enjoying yourself?”
“No a guy keeps hitting on me even though I told him I have a big scary boyfriend,” you huffed.
“Not that you’re scary, you’re very cute. A cutie patootie, my baby, my heart you’re the smallest person ever,” you rambled on, making him let out a chuckle.
“Where are your friends?” he asked.
“They’re not good people Jay!” You exclaimed.
“Really? Why’s that?” he drawled in an amused tone.
“They told me it doesn’t matter if I have you, when I’m drunk I get a pass to,” you halted mid sentence and cupped your hand over your mouth as if to whisper a secret, “make out with other people,” you finished in a hushed tone.
“What?” he scoffed.
“Yes! As if being drunk means you can kiss anyone! I don’t want to kiss anyone but you Jay,” you breathed out making him chuckle again.
“My girl’s loyal even when she’s hammered,” he replied, still laughing softly.
“I am NOT hammered,” you defended yourself but the slur in your voice betrayed you.
“Sure angel. Share your location with me I’m coming to get you,”
“Okay but I’m hiding in the bathroom because that man is outside and he’s so short! He doesn’t know I like tall boys, tall boys who read and… and ride motorcycles and have huge biceps and a kissable mouth and… and are named Jason Todd,” you finished and this time he let out a full blown cackle.
“God I love you,” he replied, still laughing. “Come outside when I call, no sooner okay? I don’t mind waiting,”
“Yes yes, I’ll see you,” you smiled, hanging up the phone and walking out of the bathroom to your friends.
Fifteen minutes later, you walked out of the bar after Jason called to let you know he was here. You spotted your car right away with him leaning on the door, arms folded over his chest looking every bit like the ‘scary boyfriend’ you had mentioned earlier. You smiled and stumbled towards him immediately putting your arms around his neck.
“I missed you,” you mumbled into his chest as you felt his hand brushing your hair out of your face and put it in a ponytail, securing a black hair tie around it that he always wore on his wrist.
“Missed you too gorgeous,” he replied, cupping your face to examine your eyes. “You’re drunk out of your mind aren’t you? How many drinks did you have?”
“Umm, I lost count after drink number eight,” you replied, still leaning on him.
“Oh angel,” he sighed and opened the passenger side of the door for you, helping you in the seat as he fastened the seatbelt around you.
He quickly got to the driver’s seat and started the car, giving you occasional glances as he drove. A hint of an amused smile prominent on his lips.
“What?” You asked when he looked at you for the fiftieth time.
“Nothing baby, nothing at all,” he said, looking back on the road, biting the inside of his cheek to hide a smile.
Within ten minutes, Jason was pulling up in the building’s parking lot, parking at your designated spot. He walked around to your side of the car and helped you out, grabbing your purse and tugging down your skirt that had ridden up way too high.
“Don’t pick me up!” you said the second you felt his hands on your thighs. “I’m not drunk I can walk.”
He pulled his hands back and raised them to show you that they were nowhere near your thighs. He put one arm around your waist and held you way too tight, the other holding your purse as he led you to the elevator.
Once he managed to get you inside, he immediately lifted you up, dragging you to the bedroom despite your protests.
He carefully sat you down on the seat next to the window and walked towards the dresser to grab your sleep shirt (which was really one of his shirts that had mysteriously gone missing one day until he found you sleeping in it and never asked for it back) and shorts.
He kneeled in front of you, undoing the knots of your thigh high heels and rolled his eyes at your huffs.
“You already look like a wet dream then you go ahead and wear stuff like this and wonder why every guy wants you,” he grumbled under his breath.
“Do you not like it Jay?” You asked in a low voice, trailing your feet –that was now free, up his chest to his jaw and poking his cheek with it.
He grabbed your feet and put it back down, smacking your thigh lightly. “Behave,” he ordered.
“Are you telling me what to do Jason Todd?” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Do I need to remind you that you’re on your knees in front of me right now?”
He rested his forehead on your knees and put his hands on your thighs, rubbing his palms up and down the bare skin.
“I wasn’t complaining angel, I want you to walk all over me in your high heels,” he replied, unbuttoning your skirt.
“Jay…” you breathed out, grabbing ahold of his hair and pulling his head up. “I want you-”
“Not while you’re drunk, now get up,” he interrupted and stood up straight, taking you with him.
“I’m not drunk!” you protested as you felt him tug your skirt down. “You’re already taking off my pants, take off yours too so you can take me right here,” you offered.
He cursed under his breath and gestured for you to raise your hands so he could take off your top.
“Don’t say things like that,” he muttered, bending down to help you in your sleep shorts.
“Just so you know a lot of guys would beg to fuck me right now,” you rolled your eyes, admitting defeat as he put a shirt over your head.
“And I’d be right behind you, breaking their necks,” he replied, cupping your face to plant a kiss on your lips.
“Jayyyyy,” you whined, fiddling with the clasp of your bra under your shirt as you tried to take it off but your hands shook in a drunken haze, throwing you off balance.
“Whiny girl,” he clicked his tongue and unbuckled your bra with practiced ease, helping you take it off from underneath your shirt.
“I’ll suck you off you don’t need to do anything to me,” you offered again, grabbing the front of his shirt.
He sucked in a harsh breath and leaned down to pick you up again, walking you both towards the bathroom.
“You’re trouble,” he said, setting you down on the counter.
“You can teach me a lesson,” you giggled when he glared at you while rummaging through the drawers under the sink.
“Close your eyes,” he instructed and pulled you forward until you felt him touch a makeup wipe to your face, wiping away your makeup.
“You’re so nice to me,” you mumbled, wrapping your thighs around his waist.
“Someone has to,” he whispered, eyes narrowed in concentration as he focused on wiping away the highlighter from your nose. “What is all this stuff?” he muttered, grabbing a fresh makeup wipe to wipe your eyeliner.
Once he was done wiping your face, he pulled you out of the bathroom and in the living room couch, grabbing a bottle of water with some pills from the kitchen and set them down on the coffee table.
“Take this,” he said, pressing the pill in your palm.
“I don’t want to,” you whined.
“Sweetheart it’s just water,” he sighed.
“I’ll take it if you fuck me,” you negotiated.
“Shut up and take it.”
“Just like that,” you breathed out, smirking.
He sighed and grabbed your cheeks between his thumb and fingers, causing your lips to part so he could drop the pill on your tongue, handing you the water bottle. You rolled your eyes and took a sip, gulping the pill down.
“I’m tired,” you told him, resting your head on the back of the couch and closing your eyes.
“Hey! Don’t fall asleep just yet,” Jason said, booping your nose.
“Why not?” you whined again, throwing your body on top of his on the couch, resting your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes again.
“Baby,” he sighed. “Come on pretty, you’ll wake up with the worst hangover if you sleep right now and then you’ll yell at me.”
“Well everything thats wrong in my life is your fault,” you replied, snaking your hand under his shirt to rest it on his hard abs.
“Come again?” he scoffed in disbelief.
“You won’t fuck me, you won’t let me suck you off and you won’t let me sleep. What do I do?”
“You sit there like a normal person until you sober up a bit so I can put you to bed,” he replied, taking the hair tie out of your hair.
“How about I sleep on you right now,” you said, voice suddenly turning slow, alarming him.
“Babe!” he exclaimed. “Don’t sleep.”
“How do you plan on keeping me up?” you giggled, resting your cheek against his.
“You’re a pain in my ass,” he murmured in your neck.
“You love me still.”
“More than I probably should actually,” he nodded his head. “Tell me how tonight went.”
Your head shot up from his shoulder as you grabbed his face to plant a kiss on his lips before your eyes widened.
“There were so many guys! They all kept asking me if I wanted to go back to their place and I told them all that I already have a place with my boyfriend but they laughed at me and said I was lying because you weren’t with me,” you huffed out.
“Like! Sorry dumbass my boyfriend is the fucking Red Hood who protects idiots like you?” You added, rolling your eyes. “He told me I didn’t have to tell you a thing and that he and I could have a good time like! You show me the best time Jay! His dick is probably half as big as yours, he wouldn’t know what to do with all this if it hit him in the face,” you murmured the last part, grabbing Jason’s hand and putting them on your ass.
“Not that it would, it’s only meant to hit you in the face,” you reassured him with a wet kiss on his cheek.
“You’re such a weirdo,” Jason laughed, rubbing his hands on your hips and pulled you close to his chest. “My weirdo.”
“And you’re my heart.” You replied, putting your palm over his chest. “My whole entire heart, I would tattoo you on it if I could. I should probably tattoo your name on my forehead.” you said, excitedly.
“Do that,” Jason agreed, hands travelling up your back to slowly rock you.
You two stayed quiet for about fifteen minutes as you sat, straddled on Jason’s lap while he rubbed his hands up and down your back.
Suddenly, you pushed yourself off of his thighs, getting on your knees in front of him and looked around the living room for something. Jason raised his eyebrows in confusion as he watched you grab the old keychain from under the coffee table, holding up to him.
“Jason Peter Todd, please do me the honour of being my wife,” you beamed up at him as he watched you with pursed lips and amused eyes. “Husband. Shit I messed it up,” you sighed dropping your hands.
“You know what? Let’s get you to bed after all,” Jason replied, picking you up as you wrapped your arms around his neck.
“But will you please marry me?” You asked again, kissing his cheek.
“Sure sweetheart,” he replied, setting you down on the bed as he got in beside you and pulled the covers up to your face.
“When will we get married?” You pressed, draping your leg over his hips.
“One day,” he hummed. “Real soon,”
“Why?” you suddenly frowned.
“Why will I marry you?” he asked, making you nod in response.
“I thought you didn’t wanna get married? What changed,” your voice turned extremely low with your eyes holding so much sincerity in them that Jason’s heart ached.
“Well a year ago a little freak walked into my life and turned me upside down,” he whispered, tightening his arm around your waist.
You giggled and kissed the corner of his mouth, resting your head on his pillow. “Can we get married tomorrow?”
“Whenever you want doll,” he smiled.
“Tomorrow then,” you sighed, closing your eyes.
“If your head hurts in the morning, it’s not my fault okay?” he checked, pulling you close to him.
“Okay,” you reassured, you and him both knowing it was a lie and that he would end up staying in bed with you for hours next morning, hearing you grumble and complain about your head hurting.
“Good night trouble,” he murmured against your hair.
“Good night my heart.”
my first ever fic repost feeling like a proud mum
likes comments and reblogs are appreciated, hope you enjoy! <3
Big tsundere vibes, will come up with a “logical reason” on why he HAS to come with you to your doctors appointment. He HAS to stay close to you on the sidewalk. He MUST stay within your perimeter because "anything could happen..." Very common when he first started catching feelings, over time, he was more honest.
Has a BITCH FIT if he wakes up alone in bed and you’re gone. Mr. Grumpy quietly standing at the entry way of the kitchen as you cook breakfast. Groggy and sleepy. In the end, he has you back in bed with him, wrapped tightly in his arms (and one leg). Gives grumpy kisses before he passes out again but you're not leaving anytime soon.
Your conversations don't end if you need to use the bathroom or have to shower. He’s sitting on the toilet as you wash your hair, chatting about his weird dream last night all to venting about Bruce being an ass (again). He’s a chatterbox with you because of how well you listen and how safe you make him feel to express himself. That's very precious to him.
Casually plays with your hair when waiting in line. Twirling your hair or brushing his fingers through your scalp. This isn’t PDA, at least not intentionally, he doesn’t think about it as that. He just fidgets a lot and playing with your hair happens to calm him down, nothing more....(bombastic side eye)
Randomly puts his hands in your pockets, either your hoodie or your jeans, it’s the best feeling ever to Jason yet it makes you flustered that someone needs THIS MUCH physical contact with you. Especially someone as tough and edgy like Jason who keeps to himself from everyone!
When cuddling, Jason likes to listen to your heartbeat as you hold him. It's his favorite song that he can listen to for hours. No one has ever made him feel this way. He occasionally glances at your sleeping face and it only fills him with determination to protect you. You weren't someone with superpowers, mastery of martial arts, or special abilities like others he had known. But you've kept him more safe than any hero he's ever met.
summary: you're on your period and they help you through it
word count: dick - 0.9k, jason - 0.8k, tim - 0.8k
warnings/tags: sfw, fem!reader, established relationship, fluff, comfort, use of pet names, no y/n, mention of stalker tim
dick grayson
The day hadn't started out badly. You woke up to the smell of pancake batter cooking in the apartment, pulling you out of bed towards the small kitchen where Dick stood watching over the stove. He had made you an array of pancakes, eggs, and bacon, leaving you to think it was the start to a wonderful day. How wrong you were.
When you arrived at the local Blüdhaven coffee shop you worked at, you were met with a line out the door, because unbeknownst to you, your boss had advertised a sale for students if they showed their university card. There was no rush hour today—the entire day was the rush. Throughout the chaos, you managed to have hot coffee spilt all over you, the whipped cream can explode everywhere, having to push through the cramps that made you want to curl into a ball, and the one bathroom break you could manage, you realized you bled through your pants.
It was safe to say that now the shop was closed, you were ready to drive home and fall asleep in Dick’s arms after the absolute hell of a day you had. You clock out and walk out the door of the shop, locking it behind you, then toward your car. Your bag gets carelessly thrown somewhere in the back, but as you put the keys in the ignition and turn, your car makes a sad starting sound before giving up.
“No.” You try again, but this time, your engine doesn’t even rumble. “No, no, no.” Your head falls against the steering wheel as you hold back the flood of tears that threatens to fall. You take a couple of deep breaths before grabbing your phone, which had died an hour before closing, and get out of the car to walk home.
Every step you take feels like you're walking through quicksand. You’re definitely not being vigilant enough to be walking alone in Blüdhaven at night, but you were left with no other choice, so you keep one hand on your pepper spray as a safety precaution. You make it about a block before a shadow follows behind you, but you're too tired to even notice it, until you feel a gloved hand grabbing yours to spin you around.
“What’re you doing walking home alone?”
You glance up, coming face to face with those familiar ocean blue eyes staring down at you behind the domino mask with concern. “I had the worst day,” you mumble, not even trying to cover the bone deep exhaustion in your tone.
His gaze softens slightly, but the tension in his shoulders is still evident. “You know it’s not safe to walk home alone. Where’s your car?.”
“It wouldn’t start.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“My phone’s dead.”
“Oh.”
You gesture to the jacket you had tied around your waist, “I also bled through my pants,” then lift your arm to show where the skin is still red and painful to the touch, “And got hot coffee spilt on me.”
His gaze follows your every motion, his eyes narrowing when he sees the angry spot on your arm where the coffee burned you enough to still have lingering pain. “Let's get you home, okay baby?”
“What about being Nightwing?”
“The city can wait, you’re more important to me.”
His hand runs along the small of your back as he gestures you forward in the direction of the apartment. Neither of you talk, only the faint sounds of sirens and cars driving break up the silence as Nightwing personally sees you home safely.
It's about 15 minutes until you're unlocking the door and slipping inside the cozy apartment. Haley greets both you and Dick at the door, circling your feet in excitement, waiting for you to pet her. Kneeling down, you scratch the spot she loves behind her ear as Dick walks out of the hallway and into the bedroom. You hear drawers being opened and shut followed by the sound of water filling in the tub.
Giving Haley one last kiss to her head, you stand, following the noise coming from the bathroom, just to see him knelt before the bathtub checking the temperature of the water. “What’re you doing?”
“Getting you a bath ready.” He’s still in the identifiable black and blue suit, sweat dried to his skin making his skin shinier than usual. Glancing at the counter you notice the sweatpants and hoodie that lay there perfectly folded, waiting for you to put on after the bath.
“You didn’t need to do this for me,” you whisper, feeling a deep bubble of guilt crawling up your throat. His job involves him getting punched, shot, stabbed, and a hell of a lot more than what you experienced today, and yet, he’s the one filling the bathtub for you.
Hearing the shift in your tone, he turns his head to face you, then slides the mask off his face so you can see the earnest look in his gaze, “Love, you had a bad day, please let me take care of you.” He turns the faucet to the tub off, then walks till he is standing before you.
“You probably had a bad day too.”
He trails his hands up your waist, stopping when they rest on your cheeks. “My pretty girl,” he whispers, “Don’t worry about me. I’m here to make your day better, okay?”
You barely nod, but his gaze caught the movement. You look back at the tub, then back up at him. “Can you stay?”
His dimple pops as he smiles at you, as he leans down to press a kiss to your temple. “Anything you want.”
jason todd
You're laying on your couch, arm tossed over your forehead trying to deal with the headache your period has brought on while also trying to ignore the cramps attacking your stomach. Your phone rests on the floor as you debate calling Jason. You know he’s busy with his double life right now, and you don’t want to bother him, but you also feel so sick that you don’t think you can make it to the medicine cabinet for pain killers.
You come to the conclusion you can’t deal with this anymore when you feel a tear fall from the corner of your eye and into your hair. You reach for your phone, pressing the favorited contact, and wait not so patiently for his rough voice to fill the speakers. It takes a few rings but he finally answers.
“Hey baby, I’m kinda busy right now.” You hear him breathing heavily into the microphone and assume he answered through his helmet comms that he linked for your contact.
“Jay,” you sniffle quietly, “Everything hurts, I can't get to the medicine, the lights are so bright and—”
“Woah, okay, what happened?”
The sounds of yelling and punches hitting their mark fill the silence between the gaps of talking. “I started my period and everything hurts, Jay. I'm sorry to bother you.”
“No, don’t apologize.” Another punch. “I’ll be there in ten.”
Your voice is hesitant, “Are you sure?”
“Ten minutes,” he repeats more roughly this time, knowing you can doubt yourself when you're on your period and wanting to shut that down immediately.
“Yeah okay, ten minutes. Just be safe, please.”
“Always am.” If you had felt better, you would laugh at the sheer lie that is, but your headache sends a shooting pain through you, so instead you let Jason hang up the phone.
True to his word, you hear his three knocks at the door ten minutes later before he lets himself in with the key you gave him. His gaze falls onto you, looking like death reincarnate laying on the couch, and drops all his gear on the floor as you watch the tension leave his body as he switches from Redhood to your Jason.
He walked toward the kitchen to grab the pain medication from the cabinet, then knelt on the floor next to the couch helping you sit up to take the pills. His right arm is wrapped around your waist holding you up, while his left arm draws mindless patterns on the thigh of your sweatpants in hopes of distracting you from the pain.
“Come on, baby. I know it hurts but you gotta sit up to take the meds.”
Your head drops to his shoulder as he grabs your water bottle and holds the straw in front of you. Taking a drink of water, then the recognizable pills, you finally got down what is your last hope at making it through the rest of the night without pain.
Jason gently pries your head off his shoulder to analyze you with his trained eyes, “Now, what all is hurting?”
“Mainly my head and my cramps, but my body also just aches.” Your voice feels harsh even in your own body right now. His calloused hand that now rests against your face, while his thumb makes a slow sweeping motion across your cheek is the only thing keeping your grounded right now.
He nods along as you reply, “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”
“Knew you were busy.”
“I’m never too busy for you. Have I not made myself clear enough about that in the past?” His voice has a lilting sense of anxiety to it, like he's worried you don't understand that he would drop anything for you, even if it caused bigger problems for him.
“No, you have I just—”
“Just nothing. You call me when you feel like shit, okay?”
You nod slowly, still clutching your stomach as the pain medication works its way down to the problem.
“Words, baby.”
“I’ll call you next time.”
“Good,” He leans in and places a gentle kiss against your brow, “Now, let’s watch a cheesy romcom while the medicine does its job.”
You nod, “That sounds really lovely right now.”
Jason turns the TV onto the shitty romcom that he knows you love, and even though he finds the whole plot cheesy and overrated, he’d watch it a million times over just to see the smile it brings to your face—especially when the tear tracks of pain still linger on your cheeks. He carefully lays you back down on the couch, making sure you're comfortable, before moving to rest behind you. His arm wraps around your waist, a comforting warmth that works against knots in your lower stomach, and you hear the quiet whisper against your ear, “I love you.”
“I love you too, Jay.”
tim drake
Your eyelids feel heavy as you keep re-reading the same sentence of your book over and over again, each time the words becoming more jumbled together. You sigh, losing all interest in reading the novel right now, bookmark the page and toss it onto the opposite end of the bed. You would text Tim to come over to take a nap with you, but he texted you this morning saying he was going to be busy with Bruce doing “bat stuff.” Whatever that meant.
You lean back against the pillow that molds to your body, as you debate what you should do. You probably shouldn’t take a nap considering Tim gets onto you about how you always stay up late and then complain about being tired the next morning, only for the cycle to continue, but you already feel yourself falling deeper into the mattress into sleep.
You faintly register the weight running across your face, causing your nose to scrunch slightly and lift your hand enough to gently push it away to leave you to rest. It comes back again, this time a gentle feeling scratching at your scalp and followed by a quiet whisper.
“Honey.”
“Mmm.”
You roll over, lifting the cover enough to slip it over your head so you can go back to sleep, but this time you feel an unmistakable weight land on top of you.
“Time to get up.”
“Timmm, let me sleep,” You grumble into the pillow beneath you.
“No, you finally got onto a good sleep schedule. I don't want you to ruin that.”
“You have no room to talk, Mr. All Nighters.”
He laughs quietly and pulls the comforter off your face, leaving you face to face with your boyfriend hovering over you. His hair has fallen slightly over his forehead, permanent bags linger under his eyes, and he's wearing the old Gotham University hoodie that you wear more than him.
“My work requires all nighters, yours requires early mornings.”
“Yeah, whatever you say, Red Robin,” you say through a yawn. Lifting your arms to wrap around his neck and pull him down to press a kiss to his jaw, you whisper against his skin, “Missed you.”
“I missed you too.” He pulls back to hover over you again while his blue eyes scan your face with that analytical gaze of his. It's the same one he uses when going over his code, looking for any flaws in his work. “How’re you feeling?”
Your brows pull together in confusion. “Uh… I guess my stomach aches a little. Is something supposed to be wrong with me?”
“Your period.”
You shake your head no. “I’m not on my period.”
“You start today.”
You slide out from under him to rest against the headboard of the bed, while he follows to sit in front of you. You’re reaching for your phone to pull up your tracking app because you could’ve sworn you wouldn’t start for another couple of days. “How do you know when I’m supposed to start my period?”
His cheeks turn a soft shade of pink as he tugs slightly at the strand of hair on the nape of his neck as he admits, “I track it.”
You slowly lift your gaze from your phone to meet his gaze, “You track my period?”
He nods sheepishly.
“I don't even know why I’m surprised, that's mild compared to some of the things you’ve stalked me on.”
“I do not stalk you… I just always want to make sure you’re okay.”
You smile at him. “And I love you for it, baby.”
You bring your attention back down to your phone, and sure enough, your tracker has a big predicted today staring back at you. “Okay, you were right, but I haven't started yet, so I might be late.”
“Oh, well I brought you some stuff anyway,” he says as he grabs a grocery store bag you now realize was there the entire time. He starts going through each item in the bag and explaining the reasoning behind each item he bought and the research that shows how it helps with period symptoms. He even bought you a new heating pad after you were complaining about yours being broken last month.
You didn’t even realize tears were in your eyes, likely due to the hormones coursing through your body, until they fell down your cheeks and Tim was pulling you against his chest.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
Your sob is slightly muffled against his hoodie, “This is just so sweet, Timmy.”
“You liked it that much?”
“I love it.”
He pulls you back enough so he can cup your face, his thumbs gently brushing away the hot tears collecting on your cheeks. “How about we open this candy and watch our show?”
You just nod in agreement and watch as he sets everything up around you both. He opens the three different candies—one sour, one chocolate, and one fruity—because he was unsure which you'd want. Then he turns on the TV to the show you’d been watching together and bundles under the covers with you, keeping you tucked against his chest. Much to your dismay, when you went to the bathroom an hour later, you did in fact start your period.
A/N: took me forever to write this because my summer classes are taking so much out of me, but I finally got it finisheddddd!! also olivias new album is so insanely beautiful and such a work of art (if you haven't listened to it yet, please go do and let me know)
jason was completely drained from patrol as usual, so what does he do ?
take it out on you of course, let you fuck the energy back into him while you ride the thick of his cock nice and hard, taking it all the way down to the hilt.
he couldn't be bothered to change let alone take off his mask, pants tugged down to his knees as he laid back on your shared bed.
you couldn't exactly complain about it either, whenever jason wore the mask it did something to you, made you a little rabid for him and him the same for you. he found himself always being a little rougher whenever he wore it, his touch too hard and his words too mean.
no, you weren't fucking jason, you were fucking red hood.
you sat on top of him with his thick cock stuffed all the way inside your pulsing cunt. you were so wet he practically slid in, all perfect and drooly for him, your slick dripping down to his balls. he let his head fall back watching all your pretty bare skin as you began to fuck yourself on him, completely naked while he was still dressed. you began bouncing as hard as you could, he watched his cock disappear and reappear with each movement and lewd squelch.
you took it so well, taking his hard length inside you inch by inch. a sharp hiss escapes his lips and you imagine his eyes closing for a moment, head tilting back against the bed headboard. his hands find your hips quickly and his fingers dug hard into your flesh with the familiar grounding friction of his calloused touch. jason grabs at you hard and forces a faster pace, making you gasp out and grab at the solid of his muscle for balance.
"easy baby—", his words are low and muffled through his mask.
but you don't want easy. you want it raw, rough and real, feeling the satiating throb deep inside you as you squeeze your sopping cunt around him. jason grunts, a hand reaching for your face roughly, making you stare down at his mask all wide eyed and frozen.
"behave."
you almost cum right there, but you swallow and nod, listening to his word like it's law, then you feel him begin to move. even with his face covered you could feel his gaze intense, tracking your every movement. he takes his time with each filling, hard thrust of his cock his hands flexing on your hips, forcing you steady.
his hand on your jaw stays there, keeping your gaze on his mask, if you look carefully, manage to focus your eyes you can see your reflection, faint and blurred and dyed red.
you see what he sees, your own reflection.
your own face staring back at you, lips parted and mouth held agape with his big hand.
his hips speed up with each upward thrust to meet yours, chasing the friction.
hes forcing you to ride him harder, faster, chasing the building pressure low in your belly. his thumb traces a hot path along your hipbone, his grip tightening possessively. the rhythm between you is relentlessly now, pushing up into you with powerful thrusts that steal your breath and make you cry out softly. you feel the tension coiling tight within him, mirroring the near unbearable tightness building inside you.
even when you feel yourself so close to release your eyes stay focused on the little smudge of your red reflection on his mask, you rode him faster, leaning back as your tits bounced with you.
you hear him groan at the sight.
he's as desperate for release as you now, bobbing you up and down as if you were no heavier than a flesh light, letting out little huffs and grunts. his other hand slides from your jaw down between you two to seek out your pretty clit, resting his thick fingers on your thigh while his thumb comes to stroke at the twitchy nub in tight hot circles making you jump and squeeze around him at the simple action.
“that’s what you were missing—"
"pussy's so fuckin' tight around me— so wet—”
you feel your orgasm getting closer, eyes rolling back as he slots in and out of your lulling body. the sheer size of him causes an ache inside your core that arches your back, clutching and clawing at the skin of his muscled abdomen, he feels you gush around him, all soaked and perfect and moaning and crying for him, melting with every of pull of his cock only to fuck it back in.
you can faintly see your fucked out face in the reflection of his mask and that's what does it. it has you fall forward onto him, laying across his hard body limp, face flushed into the crook of his neck but he persisted through your muffled cries and glossed over eyes.
your glistening wetness dripped down his cock every time he lifted your hips, and the way your mouth hung open, releasing moan after moan, it was driving him wild. fuck he was close, he could feel his balls tighten from the feel of your fucked out cunt as he kept thrusting up into you, balls deep. he felt your pussy twitch and squeeze, poor thing all tired out practically sopping around him with your wet heat.
he managed to ram into you once more, the ridges and veins of his cock rubbing harshly against your velvety walls as your pussy sucked at him greedily. you both held quiet listening to the wet squelches in harmony with the fleshy smacking of his balls relentless against your cunt.
"dirty girl—"
"letting me fuck you like this with my mask on—"
"bet you get off on it—" ,he lets out a lazy half groaned laugh before rearing back his hips for another brutal thrust, this time, he hit you deep, pressing into the cervix, causing your vision to blur momentarily. you were a pathetic mess, eyes watering, spit dribbling from your lips and soaking through his dark shirt while as you whined loudly.
when jason cums you swear you see stars, you feel him paint your walls with thick, creamy release, his cock humping into you weakly with a few more stuttered thrusts.
"my pretty girl", he lets out a lazy huff of laughter as he strokes your face and hair roughly, petting you all sweet like, cooing and coaxing to help you calm down,
"fuckin' pathetic—"
he laughs lazily at your fucked out state, pure bliss behind your eyes and lets his hands squeeze and flex around your ass, feeling how you were still shaky and twitchy from the high, trying to get comfortable over him.
hmo jason todd finding out reader sleeps with one of his shirts pls ;; like maybe he comes over unexpectedly and catches them curled up on the couch wearing one that's way too big for them, or maybe he notices one of his old shirts mysteriously disappeared and finally discovers it's because reader sleeps with it every night because it smells like him </3 i just know he'd act all smug about it at first but secretly be sooo soft over the fact that reader misses him that much (´꒳`)♡
The apartment always felt a little too quiet after midnight, the kind of stillness that made the hum of the refrigerator sound like a physical weight in the room. You were curled on the edge of the worn out velvet sofa, the cheap fabric scratching gently against your bare shins, with a blanket thrown carelessly over your knees. You were exhausted, the kind of bone deep fatigue that comes from staring at a screen for too long, but sleep remained just out of reach,, a frustrating half-inch away.
With a soft sigh, you reached down and pulled the hem of the faded, oversized gray cotton t shirt lower over your knees, burying your nose into the stretched out collar.
It smelled like leather, stale coffee, and the sharp, unmistakable metallic tang of Gotham’s rain. It smelled like Jason.
The shirt was massive on you, the shoulder seams dropping halfway down your bicep, the fabric thin and softened by years of rough washes and rougher wear. It was an old Blüdhaven University athletics tee he’d probably stolen from Dick a lifetime ago, one that had mysteriously gone missing from the bottom drawer of his dresser three weeks out. He’d grumbled about losing it for a solid ten minutes before forgetting it entirely, moving on to some new grievance about Bruce or the rising price of ammo. You had stayed entirely quiet during his search, your heart doing a guilty little flip against your ribs while the shirt sat safely tucked beneath your own pillows.
You didn’t mean to keep it. Not at first. But when Jason went away on business,, the kind of dangerous, off the grid business that left you staring at a silent phone for days on end,, the apartment felt entirely too large. The bed felt too cold. Having the shirt was like keeping a small, physical piece of his presence anchored to your space, a sensory promise that he would actually come back.
You closed your eyes, letting the familiar scent soothe the anxious knot in your stomach, finally feeling the heavy pull of sleep beginning to drag you under.
A sudden, sharp click from the front door broke the silence.
Your eyes snapped open, your heart immediately leaping into your throat. In Gotham, an unexpected sound at 2:00 AM usually meant a trip to the emergency room, or worse. You froze, your muscles tensing as you prepared to dive behind the counter, your eyes darting to the heavy ceramic mug on the coffee table to use as a makeshift weapon.
The door swung inward with an agonizingly slow creak, letting in the damp, cold air of the alleyway. A tall, broad silhouette filled the frame, the yellow streetlights from outside catching the sharp edge of a dark leather jacket.
The figure stepped into the dim light of your kitchen, pulling off a heavy helmet with a tired, fluid motion. A shock of white hair caught the ambient glow of the microwave clock.
Jason.
You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, your shoulders dropping in a massive wave of relief. "Jason," you breathed, your voice rough with sleep. "Jesus, you scared the hell out of me. You weren't supposed to be back until Friday."
He paused, hanging his helmet on the back of the kitchen chair with a heavy thud. He looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes prominent in the shadows, his jaw shadowed with a few days of dark stubble. But as his eyes locked onto you sitting on the couch, his entire posture shifted. His brow furrowed, his gaze dropping from your face, down to the collar of your shirt, following the faded, cracked lettering across your chest, all the way down to where the hem pooled around your thighs.
A slow, dangerously sharp smirk began to pull at the corner of his mouth.
"Well, well, well," Jason drawled, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through the quiet room. He took his time walking over, his heavy boots clicking softly against the linoleum before hitting the carpet. He stopped right at the edge of the sofa, towering over you with his hands tucked casually into his jacket pockets. "Look what we have here. I spend three days tracking a lead in the Narrows, and I come back to find a thief in my living room."
Your face caught fire instantly, a furious heat rushing up your neck and pooling in your cheeks. You instinctively pulled your knees closer to your chest, trying to bunch the fabric up, but it only made the situation worse, stretching the shirt tight enough to display the familiar university logo perfectly.
"I'm not a thief," you mumbled, looking anywhere but at his smug face.
"Oh, really?" Jason leaned down, resting his forearms on the back of the sofa, bringing his face dangerously close to yours. The smell of the actual rain and leather on him immediately overwhelmed the faded scent of the cotton. His blue eyes danced with absolute amusement. "Because that looks an awful lot like the shirt I spent an hour looking for last month. The one you swore you hadn't seen. The one you claimed the laundry mat must've swallowed."
"It's comfortable," you shot back, your voice entirely unconvincing as you buried the lower half of your face back into the collar, realizing too late that the action only proved his point.
Jason let out a low, dry chuckle, the sound rich and self satisfied. He reached out, his large, calloused fingers catching the excess fabric at your shoulder, giving it a playful, teasing tug. "Comfortable? Sweetheart, it looks like a tent on you. You're practically drowning in it. If you wanted to borrow something, you could've just asked. Didn't know you were running an special operation out of my closet."
"I didn't steal it to start a opperation," you grumbled, swatting his hand away. You shifted on the cushion, turning away from him to hide your burning face. "Just go take a shower. You smell like gunpowder."
"Hey, don't change the subject," Jason said, his voice dripping with an insufferable level of smugness as he walked around the couch, throwing himself down on the opposite end. He stretched his long legs out across the coffee table, leaning his head back against the cushions while keeping his eyes entirely locked on you. "Come on, confess. How long have you been hoarding my laundry? Is there a secret stash under the bed? Do I need to start counting my socks?"
"It's just the one shirt, Jason," you snapped, though there was no real anger behind it, only the intense mortification of being caught red handed.
"Why this one, then?" he pressed, his smirk widening. He crossed his arms over his chest, clearly enjoying the way you were squirming. "There are plenty of nicer blankets in the closet. You’ve got your own sweaters. Why are you sleeping in something that looks like it went through a woodchipper?"
You bit your inside lip, the playful banter suddenly dying in your throat. You looked down at your hands, your fingers twisting into the soft, worn out hem of the shirt. You could lie. You could tell him it was just the first thing you grabbed from the drawer, or that your own pajamas were in the wash. But looking at him,, seeing the faint, fresh cut along his cheekbone and the heavy exhaustion he was trying so hard to mask behind his usual arrogant bravado the lie felt useless.
"Because it smells like you," you said softly, your voice barely louder than a whisper.
The smug, teasing grin on Jason’s face instantly vanished.
The silence returned to the apartment, but it wasn't the cold, empty silence from before. It was thick, heavy with an unexpected vulnerability that caught him entirely off guard. Jason froze, his arms still crossed over his chest, his eyes widening just a fraction as the words processed through his brain. The playful, arrogant lines of his face completely softened, the sharp Gotham vigilante melting away to reveal something incredibly raw underneath.
"What?" he asked, his voice losing all of its gravelly mockery, dropping into something quiet and tentative.
"It smells like you," you repeated, forcing yourself to look up and meet his gaze, determined to own the confession despite the heat still lingering in your cheeks. "When you're gone for days, and I don't hear from you, and the news is talking about rogue activity in the Diamond District... the apartment gets really empty, Jason. And I get tired of staring at the ceiling. Sleeping in this... it makes it feel like you're actually here. Like you're safe, and you're coming back."
Jason stared at you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. For a man who always had a sarcastic comeback or a witty insult lined up, he was entirely speechless. His chest tightened, a strange, profound ache blooming behind his ribs at the realization of just how much your universe revolved around his safety,, how much you missed him when he disappeared into the dark. He spent so much of his life feeling like a ghost, a dead boy walking through a city that had forgotten him, that the simple fact that his scent on a piece of old cotton could bring someone comfort felt entirely overwhelming.
Slowly, without a word, Jason uncrossed his arms. He shifted his weight on the couch, sliding over the cushions until there was no space left between you.
He didn't say anything about the shirt. He didn't make another joke. Instead, he reached out, his massive hands surprisingly gentle as he caught your waist and pulled you into his lap. You didn't protest, sliding your arms around his neck, burying your face directly into the crook of his shoulder.
He wrapped his large arms tightly around you, burying his face into the crown of your hair, inhaling deeply. He felt massive, warm, and entirely solid against you, the steady, rhythmic thud of his heartbeat pressing against your chest,, a thousand times better than any old t-shirt could ever be.
"You're an idiot," he murmured against your hair, his voice incredibly soft, entirely stripped of its usual armor. His grip tightened around you, pulling you so close it felt like he was trying to merge your two frames together. "You could've just told me."
"You would've teased me," you mumbled into his jacket.
"Yeah," he admitted, a faint, genuine smile tugging at his lips as he rubbed his hand in slow, soothing circles up and down your back, feeling the thin fabric of his own shirt under his palms. "I probably would have. But I would've left a fresh one behind, too."
He pulled back just enough to look down at you, his thumb coming up to gently trace your jawline, his blue eyes incredibly warm in the dim light. The arrogance was gone, replaced by a quiet, fierce devotion that he only ever showed behind closed doors.
"I'm sorry I was late," he whispered, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "The tech took longer to crack than I thought. But I'm back. I'm safe."
"I know," you said, leaning into his touch. "I can hear your heart."
Jason let out a soft, breathy laugh, leaning down to press a warm, lingering kiss against your forehead, then your temple, before finally resting his lips against yours in a slow, deep kiss that tasted like a homecoming. When he pulled away, he shifted, adjusting your position until you were tucked securely against his side, your head resting on his chest while his arm remained wrapped securely around your shoulders.
"Go to sleep, sweetheart," he murmured, his fingers gently tangling in your hair. "I'm not going anywhere."
Wrapped in his arms, surrounded by the actual warmth of him, the heavy fog of exhaustion finally claimed you. You let your eyes close, your fingers loosely clutching the fabric of his leather jacket, finally drifting off into a deep, uninterrupted sleep, knowing that the man who owned the shirt was exactly where he belonged.
request reader who acts as a healer for the team, and their ability on paper [and seemingly in practice] is just that they can heal anybody, no matter the damage or cause, except their power actually works by stealing the wound and inflicting it upon themselves. they can take any pain, mental, chronic, sometimes even emotional depending on circumstances and the degree of it. no one knows until they take on something far too bad: losing a limb, breaking their spine, guts spilling out, etc.
content gn! reader x dick grayson, healer! reader, reader gets hurt, self-sacrificial healing, severe injury, fall injury, temporary paralysis/loss of mobility, blood, medical trauma, pain transfer, guilt, panic, near-death fear, angst with comfort
masterlist
word count 8.2k
Dick Grayson knew how to fall. Better than anyone, maybe.
There was an art to it. A language. A thousand tiny choices made in the narrow breath between losing the line and hitting the ground. Turn the shoulder. Tuck the chin. Roll through the impact. Trust the body. Trust the air. Trust the hands that had taught you how to fly before you were old enough to know that gravity was not mercy, only law.
Dick knew falling. He knew the split-second sweetness of empty space. The rush of wind against his face. The world turning around him in ribbons of light and shadow. He knew how to make falling look like flying, because that was what the Graysons did.
They fell beautifully.
Until they didn’t.
That was the first lesson.
The second was that someone always had to catch what was left.
Dick had built a life out of becoming that someone. He caught teammates before they hit concrete. Caught civilians before buildings collapsed. Caught the Titans when they spiralled, caught Bruce when he vanished too far inside the Bat, caught Jason’s anger when nobody else could hold it without bleeding, caught Tim’s exhaustion before it became a body bag, caught Damian’s sharp edges and pretended they did not cut.
He smiled. He joked. He opened his arms and made himself the net. It was easier that way.
People trusted nets. People did not ask if nets were tired.
You did, though.
That was one of the first things that unsettled him about you.
You always asked.
“Shoulder?” you said, appearing beside him before he had even fully made it through the medbay doors.
Dick looked down at the red line slicing through his suit, just under the joint. “Hello to you too.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Is it the shoulder?”
“It is deeply rude that you know that from ten feet away.”
“It’s my entire thing.”
“Your entire thing is being bossy and magical.”
“My entire thing is healing idiots who think flirting counts as a treatment plan.”
He gasped and pressed his uninjured hand to his chest. “You think I’m flirting?”
“I think you’re bleeding on my floor.”
“That’s not a no.”
You gave him a look.
Dick smiled.
It was easy with you.
That was the problem. Most things with you felt easy, even when they weren’t. Even in the aftermath of horror, with sirens in the distance and smoke still clinging to everyone’s suits, you had a way of lowering the temperature in a room. You came in with steady hands, soft eyes, and a voice like warm water over bruised skin.
You were the Titans’ miracle.
Not that you liked being called that. Gar had tried once, dramatically, from a medbay cot after you healed three cracked ribs and a bruised spleen.
“My angel,” he had declared, one hand thrown over his forehead. “My saviour. My divine little first-aid kit.”
You had thrown a roll of gauze at his head.
Vic had laughed for a full minute.
Kory had kissed your cheek in gratitude.
Raven had watched you with that quiet, knowing look of hers.
Dick had watched too. He watched more than he should have.
He watched the way your face tightened for half a second after you healed someone. The way you always turned slightly away before taking a breath. The way you flexed your fingers like you were shaking off static. The way you insisted on cleaning up alone afterwards.
At first, he thought healing took energy. That made sense. Every power had a cost. Every body had limits.
You told them yours was fatigue.
Dick believed you.
Not because he was careless.
Because he wanted to. Because after years of watching good people stay hurt, there was something dangerously addictive about watching wounds vanish under your hands.
When Raven came back from a mission with psychic backlash clawing through her mind, and you pressed your fingers to her temples until her breathing evened out, Dick did not ask why you spent the next hour sitting alone in the dark.
When Gar twisted his knee badly enough that the sound made everyone in the room wince, and you healed him before the panic really hit, Dick did not ask why you limped afterwards.
When Kory took a blast meant for a child, and her skin split gold-bright across her ribs, Dick did not ask why your own hand shook as you helped her sit up.
He noticed. But noticing was not knowing.
That was what he told himself later. Over and over. Like repetition could turn guilt into absolution.
He noticed. He just didn’t know.
Not yet.
The night everything changed began with rain.
Blüdhaven rain was different from Gotham rain. Gotham rain fell like a verdict. Cold, black, heavy with memory. Blüdhaven rain came down silver beneath neon signs, slicking the streets until every alley looked like it had been painted in oil. It turned rooftops treacherous, fire escapes slippery, windows into mirrors.
Dick loved it anyway.
It was his city. Bruised, stubborn, trying. A little ugly in the right light. A little beautiful in the wrong one.
The Titans had come because the call was too big for one vigilante and too strange for local police. A new metahuman trafficking ring had gotten its hands on alien tech and old magic, which was never a combination that suggested anyone involved had made good life choices.
By midnight, the docks were burning. By twelve-thirty, three warehouses had partially collapsed. By one, the sky above Blüdhaven was full of drones shaped like metal wasps, each one armed with sonic emitters strong enough to rupture glass and destabilise inner ears.
“Tell me again why crime can’t be normal,” Gar shouted over comms.
Dick flipped over a drone, brought both escrima sticks down, and sent it sparking into the rain-slick rooftop. “You want normal crime?”
“I want crime that doesn’t make my teeth vibrate.”
“You have teeth right now?” Vic asked.
“I have emotional teeth.”
“That tracks,” you said over comms.
Dick smiled despite himself. Your voice always did that to him. Cut through the noise. Found him.
“You’re supposed to be behind the barricade,” he said, ducking under a burst of sonic fire.
“I am behind the barricade.”
“You’re too calm.”
“I’m very calm behind the barricade.”
Raven’s voice came in, flat as ever. “They are not behind the barricade.”
Dick exhaled sharply. “Of course they’re not.”
“I’m near the barricade,” you corrected.
Kory flew overhead, a streak of orange through the storm. “Friend healer, there are many injured civilians near the west warehouse.”
“I see them.”
Dick’s attention snapped toward the west side of the docks.
Through the rain, he saw you moving below.
Not at the barricade. Not near the barricade. Running straight toward the worst of the damage, because apparently, self-preservation was not included in the miracle package.
“Absolutely not,” Dick said.
“You sound like Bruce.”
“That was cruel and unnecessary.”
“You’ll live.”
“Not if you keep sprinting into active combat zones.”
“Then stop watching me and stop the drones.”
A drone screamed toward you.
Dick moved before thought could catch up. He launched himself from the rooftop, grapple line firing, body arcing low through rain and smoke. The drone’s emitter pulsed once. Pain stabbed through his ears. His vision blurred.
He released the line. Dropped. Twisted.
His boot connected with the drone hard enough to crack the metal shell. It spun away and exploded against the side of a warehouse in a shower of blue sparks.
Dick landed in front of you, one knee down, rain streaming off his hair.
You stared at him.
He looked up with his best smile. “Hi.”
Your eyes narrowed. “That was incredibly dramatic.”
“I’m a performer.”
“That was incredibly stupid.”
“I’m also Batman-adjacent.”
“Unfortunately accurate.”
Behind you, a civilian groaned.
Your expression shifted instantly.
There was the healer.
The softness vanished into focus. You moved past Dick and dropped beside a woman pinned beneath a collapsed beam. Her leg was crushed at an angle that made Dick’s stomach turn. Her breathing came in panicked sobs.
“Hey,” you said gently, all teasing gone. “Look at me. Not the leg. Me.”
The woman grabbed your wrist with shaking fingers. “I can’t—I can’t feel—”
“I know. I’ve got you.”
Dick watched you place both hands over the injury.
He watched your shoulders rise as you inhaled.
Then the woman gasped.
The beam shifted. Dick lifted it enough for Vic to pull her free.
Her leg was whole. Bruised, but whole.
She started crying.
You smiled at her.
Then, very subtly, your left knee buckled.
Dick caught it.
Not much. Just one hand at your elbow, enough to steady you.
You went stiff beneath his touch.
“You okay?” he asked.
You smiled too quickly. “Fine.”
There it was. That word.
Dick hated it when Bruce used it. Hated it when Jason spat it through bloodied teeth. Hated it when Tim said it without looking up from a laptop.
He hated it most from you.
Because you made it sound kind.
Another drone shrieked overhead before he could say anything.
The docks trembled.
Raven’s voice cut through comms. “Nightwing, the central warehouse is rigged. There are people inside.”
“How many?”
“Too many.”
Dick looked up. The central warehouse stood at the edge of the pier, half its roof torn open, old brick walls glowing with intermittent blasts of alien-blue light. Through the broken windows, he saw movement.
Civilians. Hostages.
The structure groaned. Then the upper floor exploded outward.
Kory shouted. Dick ran.
You called his name.
He ignored you.
He heard you following anyway.
Of course he did.
Inside, the warehouse was chaos.
Smoke. Screaming. Sprinklers raining dirty water from cracked pipes. Drones buzzing between support beams like insects. Civilians huddled behind shipping containers while armed traffickers tried to retreat through a back exit.
Nightwing moved through them like a blade wrapped in blue light.
Strike. Dodge. Flip. Disarm. Smile, because fear spread faster when people saw the hero afraid.
“Exit to the south!” he shouted. “Go! Go now!”
Kory blew a hole through a side wall for evacuation. Vic ripped open jammed doors. Raven shielded a group of children from falling debris. Gar, currently a gorilla, blocked a collapsing beam with both massive hands and yelled, “I would like everyone to appreciate my core strength!”
You were everywhere you should not be. Healing a burned firefighter. Pressing a hand to a child’s forehead. Closing the wound across a police officer’s side. Calm, quick, relentless.
Too relentless.
Dick saw your face pale. He saw the way you pressed one hand briefly to your ribs after healing the officer.
Something in him tightened.
Then the floor screamed.
Not cracked.
Screamed.
The alien tech at the centre of the warehouse pulsed, drawing power from the old magical sigils carved beneath the concrete. The combination sent a shockwave through the building.
Every support beam lit blue.
Raven’s shield shattered. Kory slammed into a wall. Gar lost his grip.
The ceiling began to come down.
Dick saw it happen in pieces.
A family trapped near the upper catwalk. A little boy separated from his mother. The metal walkway beneath them twisting loose.
No time for the grapple. No time for a plan.
Just the fall.
Dick launched himself upward, using a stack of containers as steps. His boots hit metal. His body moved on instinct, rainwater and smoke and adrenaline turning the world sharp.
He grabbed the boy first and tossed him toward Kory, trusting her to catch him.
She did. Of course she did.
The mother screamed as the catwalk tilted.
Dick caught her wrist.
For half a second, they hung there over open air.
“Don’t look down,” he told her.
She looked down.
They always looked down.
A support cable snapped. The catwalk dropped. Dick twisted, threw the woman upward with everything he had, and felt Vic’s metal hand close around her coat.
Then the world gave way beneath him.
Falling was supposed to be familiar.
This was not.
The sonic emitters went off all at once.
His inner ear shattered into static. The building spun wrong. His grapple fired but missed the broken beam by inches. His fingers closed on nothing. His shoulder clipped metal hard enough to tear a shout from his throat.
Then he hit a lower catwalk.
Pain cracked across his back.
He bounced. Fell again.
He tried to turn. Tried to tuck.
Couldn’t.
There were too many angles. Too much debris. Too much noise.
The ground rushed up.
For the first time in years, Dick Grayson did not know how to fall.
He hit concrete.
And everything stopped.
At first, there was no pain.
That was how Dick knew it was bad. Pain was information. Pain told you what was damaged and how much time you had before the body started making executive decisions without you.
No pain meant the body had gone quiet. No pain meant the damage had passed language.
He stared up at the broken ceiling. Rain fell through the hole in the roof, silver and soft against his face.
Someone was screaming his name. Maybe several someones.
Dick tried to move.
Nothing happened.
Not his legs. Not his right hand. His chest moved, barely. Breath scraping in shallow and wrong.
Ah. That was bad.
A shadow fell over him.
You.
Your face appeared above his, wet with rain, streaked with soot, eyes wide with a terror that did not belong on you.
“Dick,” you said.
He tried to smile. He wasn’t sure if it worked.
“Hey,” he breathed.
It came out broken.
Your hands hovered over him, trembling.
That scared him more than the fall. You never trembled.
“Don’t move,” you said.
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
Your face twisted.
Bad joke. Wrong moment. Classic Grayson.
He tried to lift his hand to touch your face.
Nothing.
Your eyes flicked down.
You saw.
He saw you see.
“Talk to me,” you said.
“Can’t feel…”
He stopped.
Your lips parted.
He did not want to finish the sentence.
He had spent his life moving. Flying. Running rooftops. Dancing along edges so narrow most people could not stand on them without shaking. His body was not just a tool. It was memory. Family. Language. A living echo of the Flying Graysons.
He could not feel half of it.
“Dick,” you whispered.
The building groaned around you. Distantly, Kory shouted for you both. Vic cursed. Raven’s power surged dark and bright somewhere behind the smoke.
You cupped Dick’s face. Your hands were warm despite the rain.
“I’m here,” you said.
He believed you. That was the danger.
“Don’t,” he managed.
Your expression shifted.
He was not Bruce. He had not figured it out fully. Not yet. But something old and instinctive in him understood the shape of sacrifice when it leaned too close.
You had looked pale after healing people. You had limped after fixing Gar’s knee. You had hidden your hand after Damian broke his wrist on a mission with the Supersons. You had smiled through it all.
“You’re hurt,” he said.
You shook your head. “You’re dying.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t.”
Your eyes filled. “Dick—”
“Please.”
That word hurt more than the fall. Please was not a word Nightwing used often in the field. Please belonged to civilians, to scared children, to moments too human for masks.
Your face broke. Only for a second.
Then you leaned down and pressed your forehead to his.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
His heart lurched.
“No,” he said, or tried to.
Your hands slid beneath his shoulders.
And then the pain came.
Not his.
Yours.
He knew because it came with your scream. It tore through the warehouse, raw and animal and absolute.
Dick’s body snapped back into itself. Sensation flooded his legs. His fingers. His lungs. Pain, yes, but normal pain. Bruises. Strains. Things he knew how to name.
His spine straightened. His ribs expanded. His right hand clenched.
He gasped and rolled onto his side, coughing through smoke.
For one impossible second, relief hit him.
Then he saw you.
You were on the concrete beside him, twisted at the same angle he had been. Your back arched unnaturally. Blood spread beneath you. One of your legs lay still, too still. Your hand curled against the ground, fingers shaking like they were trying to remember how to move.
Your mouth opened. No sound came out.
Dick’s world narrowed.
“No,” he said.
It did not sound like him.
He crawled to you, hands skidding in water and blood.
“No, no, no.”
Your eyes found his.
You looked relieved. Relieved. Like seeing him move was worth what had happened to you.
Something terrible opened inside him.
“Why would you do that?” he choked.
Your lips moved.
He leaned closer.
“Caught you,” you whispered.
Dick broke.
Not loudly. Not at first. The sound that left him was small. Fractured. A child’s sound buried under a man’s voice.
He gathered you into his arms with shaking hands, trying not to jostle your spine, trying not to touch anywhere wrong, trying not to look at the blood, the angle of your body, the proof.
The proof.
He had fallen. You had become the fall.
“Kory!” he screamed.
The name tore through his throat.
Orange light flashed.
Kory landed beside him hard enough to crack concrete. Her eyes went wide when she saw you.
“Oh, beloved healer,” she breathed.
Dick looked up at her, wild. “We need medevac.”
Vic’s voice came through comms, tight with horror. “Already calling it.”
Raven appeared from the smoke, her hood torn, shadows curling violently around her.
She looked at you. Then at Dick.
Her expression went white.
Not pale.
White. Like she had felt something nobody else could.
“She took it,” Raven whispered.
Dick stared at her. “What?”
Raven’s voice shook. “The injury. She took it from you.”
The warehouse seemed to tilt.
No. No, he knew that. He had seen it. He had felt his body become whole as yours broke.
But hearing it made it real in a way his mind had been refusing to allow.
Gar, shifted back into human form, stumbled toward them. “What do you mean took it?”
Raven swallowed. “Their power doesn’t erase wounds.”
Dick looked down at you.
Your eyes were half-closed now.
No.
No.
No.
“It transfers them,” Raven said.
No one spoke. Even the burning warehouse seemed to go quiet.
Dick pressed his fingers to your throat.
Pulse there.
Fast. Weak. Too weak.
“Stay with me,” he said, voice shaking. “Hey. Look at me. Come on, look at me.”
Your eyelids fluttered.
He smiled because he did not know how to do anything else with terror.
“There you are,” he whispered. “Stay with me, okay? I’ve got you.”
Your lips twitched faintly.
“Net,” you breathed.
“What?”
“You’re… always the net.”
Dick’s vision blurred.
“Yeah,” he said, voice breaking. “Yeah, baby. I’m the net. So you don’t get to fall through. You hear me?”
Your eyes closed.
Dick’s smile vanished. “No. No, no. Open your eyes. Open your eyes.”
Kory knelt beside him and placed one glowing hand carefully against your shoulder, not healing, not touching the wound, just there.
“Dick,” she said softly.
He shook his head. “They’re not dying.”
“No,” Kory agreed, though her voice trembled. “They are not.”
Dick looked down at you in his arms.
He had caught you.
Too late.
But he had caught you.
And he would not let go.
Titan Tower’s medbay had seen bad nights.
This was worse.
The room was full of people trying not to fall apart loudly.
Kory stood by the window, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her glow dimmed to a low, anxious pulse beneath her skin. Gar sat on the floor with his back against the wall, knees pulled to his chest. Vic kept running diagnostics, jaw clenched, his human eye red. Raven stood in the corner with her hood up, shadows tucked close around her like grief with teeth.
Dick sat beside your bed and held your hand.
He had been told to leave twice.
He had not.
The first time, a nurse tried gentle concern.
The second time, Donna tried command voice.
Neither worked.
Finally, Raven had looked at everyone and said, “Let him stay.”
So he stayed.
You lay still beneath white sheets and too many wires, your body strapped carefully to prevent movement. Spinal stabilizers ran along your back. An oxygen line curved beneath your nose. Your face looked wrong without expression. Too empty. Too quiet.
Dick kept staring at your mouth. Waiting for it to quirk. Waiting for you to make a joke about his bedside manner. Waiting for you to open your eyes and call him dramatic.
His suit was still on. Torn, wet, stained with your blood and his own, though technically the blood was all yours now in the ways that mattered. Someone had thrown a blanket over his shoulders.
Probably Kory. Maybe Donna.
He did not remember.
He remembered your scream. He remembered your body twisting. He remembered Raven saying, It transfers them.
His hand tightened around yours. Your fingers did not move.
“Dick.”
Donna’s voice came from the doorway.
He did not look up.
“How long?” he asked.
She was quiet for a second. “The doctors don’t know.”
He nodded once.
Meaningless.
His gaze stayed on your face.
Donna came closer. “They said the injury may not behave like a normal spinal trauma. Their body processes transferred wounds differently.”
“May,” Dick repeated.
“Yes.”
“May not.”
“Yes.”
He laughed once. It was ugly.
Donna’s hand settled on his shoulder.
That almost undid him.
Dick bowed his head over your hand.
“I should have known,” he said.
Donna did not answer.
He hated her for that. Loved her for it too.
“I noticed things,” he continued, voice low. “After they healed people. I noticed.”
“Dick.”
“I noticed and I let it go.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have.”
Donna squeezed his shoulder. “That is Bruce talking.”
His head snapped up.
She looked at him steadily.
“You are allowed to be hurt without making guilt useful,” she said.
Dick stared at her.
Then he looked back at you.
“Useful is all I’ve got right now.”
Donna’s expression softened.
Behind them, Gar made a broken sound.
“I let them heal me last week,” he said.
Everyone looked at him.
He stared at the floor. “My knee. It was nothing. Like, yeah, it hurt, but it wasn’t—” His voice cracked. “It wasn’t worth that.”
Raven closed her eyes. Kory turned away sharply.
Vic’s metal hand curled into a fist. “They healed my neural interface after Psimon fried half my systems.”
“They helped me after Trigon,” Raven said quietly.
Silence fell.
Not empty.
Crowded.
Every person in the room was remembering.
Every hand you had held. Every wound you had closed. Every time you had smiled afterward and said you were tired.
Only tired.
Dick felt sick.
Not because you had lied.
Because all of them had been relieved enough to believe you.
The door opened again.
Clark Kent stepped in, rain-dark hair mussed, glasses absent, Superman suit visible beneath a jacket he had clearly thrown on in a hurry.
He looked around the room once. Then at you.
His face changed.
“Oh,” he said softly.
That was all.
Just oh.
Dick wanted to stand. Wanted to say something. Wanted to be Nightwing, team leader, eldest brother, person who knew how to make everyone breathe again.
He couldn’t.
Clark came to the other side of your bed.
“I came as soon as I heard,” he said.
Dick nodded.
Clark’s eyes lowered to your still hand in Dick’s grip.
“They healed me yesterday,” Clark said.
Dick’s breath caught.
“Kryptonite burn,” Clark continued quietly. “They looked pale afterwards. Bruce noticed. He told them to rest.”
A horrible laugh escaped Dick. “Of course he did.”
Clark looked at him with infinite gentleness. “Bruce didn’t know either.”
Dick shut his eyes.
He could imagine Bruce finding out. The silence. The rage. The way he would turn terror into protocols and guilt into surveillance. The way he would blame himself first, hardest, longest.
Dick had learned from the best. Unfortunately.
“Can you hear anything?” Dick asked.
Clark’s face tightened.
Heartbeats. That was what Dick meant.
Clark nodded. “Their heart is steady for now.”
For now.
The phrase lodged under Dick’s ribs.
He looked down at you.
“Good,” he said, like the word had weight, like saying it could make it true. “That’s good.”
Clark stayed for a while.
So did everyone else.
One by one, though, they drifted out. Not far. Never far. Titans did not abandon their own. They lingered in hallways, in waiting rooms, in corners with vending machine coffee and red-rimmed eyes.
Eventually, only Dick remained.
He was good at vigils. He hated that too.
Hours passed in monitor beeps and the low hum of machines.
Your hand was warm in his.
That became his whole world.
Warm meant alive. Warm meant here. Warm meant not yet.
Near dawn, your fingers twitched.
Dick nearly came out of his chair.
“Hey,” he said, leaning forward. “Hey, I’m here.”
Your eyelids fluttered.
He forgot how to breathe.
Then your eyes opened. Unfocused at first. Cloudy with pain and medication.
Then they found him.
You smiled. Barely.
It devastated him.
“Hi, pretty bird,” you rasped.
Dick made a sound between a laugh and a sob.
“You’re not allowed to be charming right now,” he said.
Your brow furrowed faintly. “M’dying?”
“No.”
“Then I’m allowed.”
His mouth trembled.
You blinked slowly, gaze shifting around the room. “Tower?”
“Yeah.”
“Everyone okay?”
There it was. First question.
Not, Am I okay? Not, What happened?
Everyone.
Dick had never loved and hated anything more.
He leaned closer.
“No,” he said.
Your eyes came back to him.
“They’re not okay. I’m not okay. You scared the hell out of us.”
Your expression shifted with slow understanding.
Then memory returned.
He watched it happen.
The warehouse. The fall. The choice.
Your eyes filled. “Dick—”
“No.” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard and tried again. “No, don’t. Don’t say you’re sorry. Don’t make it easier. Please don’t make it easier.”
You went quiet.
He pressed your hand to his forehead.
His shoulders shook once. Only once.
“I watched you become the fall,” he whispered.
Your breath hitched.
“You were—” He stopped, unable to finish. “You were on the ground. Like me. Because of me.”
“Not because of you.”
“You took my injury.”
“Yes.”
The honesty punched the air out of him.
No deflection. No lie. No, I’m fine.
Just yes.
Dick lifted his head. His eyes burned.
“How long?”
Your gaze slid away.
His stomach dropped. “How long have you been doing that?”
You were quiet.
Too quiet.
Dick understood before you answered.
“All of it?” he asked.
Your mouth trembled.
“Most of it,” you whispered.
Dick stood so fast the chair slammed backward.
You flinched.
He froze immediately.
Regret flashed through him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” He pushed both hands through his hair and turned away, pacing once before spinning back to you. “It’s not okay. None of this is okay.”
Your face had gone pale.
He forced himself to lower his voice. “You took Gar’s knee.”
There was something old in them then. Older than your face. Older than your smile.
“I heal faster than most people.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
“That sounds like something Bruce would say.”
A weak breath of laughter escaped you.
Dick did not smile.
The laugh died.
“I didn’t want you to know,” you said.
“No kidding.”
“Dick.”
His name in your voice hurt.
He came back to the chair slowly and sat down because standing made him want to run through walls.
You turned your head toward him.
The movement was tiny. It still cost you. He saw the pain ripple over your face.
“Don’t,” he said quickly.
You stilled.
He hated this. He hated all of it. The bed. The machines. Your body trapped under injury. His body whole because yours wasn’t.
“I need to know why,” he said.
“You know why.”
“No.” His voice came out sharper than intended. “No, I really don’t.”
Your eyes searched his face.
He let you see it. All of it. The fear. The anger. The betrayal. The love he had been carrying like a secret too fragile to name.
You looked away first.
“I didn’t want anyone to choose pain,” you said.
Dick stared at you.
“Everyone I work with is the same,” you continued. “The League. The Titans. The Outlaws. All of you. If I told you what healing costs me, you’d refuse unless you were unconscious or dying. Maybe even then.”
“Yes,” Dick said. “Because we’re not monsters.”
“You’re martyrs.”
He went still.
You looked back at him. Softly, exhaustedly furious.
“You are,” you said. “Every single one of you. You’d let yourselves bleed out if it meant I didn’t have to feel it. You’d call that noble. I call it stupid.”
Dick let out a stunned laugh. “You cannot be serious right now.”
“I am extremely serious.”
“You are lying in a medbay because you took a broken spine from me.”
“And I’d do it again.”
The room went silent.
Dick’s face crumpled before he could stop it.
You saw. Of course you saw.
Regret passed over your features.
“Dick—”
“No.” He shook his head. “No, don’t say that.”
“I can’t lie to you anymore.”
“That’s not fair.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get to almost die for me and then tell me you’d do it again.”
“I love you.”
Dick stopped. Everything stopped.
The monitors kept beeping. Somewhere outside, someone walked down the hall. Rain tapped lightly against the Tower windows.
But inside Dick, every moving part went still.
You looked terrified now.
Not of death.
Of him. Of what he would do with the truth.
Your eyes glistened.
“I love you,” you said again, voice breaking. “And I know that’s not an excuse. I know it doesn’t make lying okay. I know it doesn’t make taking the choice away okay. But it’s the reason.”
Dick could not move. He had imagined hearing those words from you more times than he would ever admit. Usually in softer places. A kitchen at two in the morning. His apartment. A rooftop under a kinder sky. Your hand in his, your smile warm enough to make the world feel less like a thing that constantly needed saving.
Not here. Not with your spine braced. Not with your blood still dried under his fingernails.
“You can’t say that,” he whispered.
Your face went blank.
Dick realised what it sounded like and reached for you immediately.
“No. No, that’s not—” He sat on the edge of the chair, one hand hovering near yours. “That’s not what I mean.”
You looked at his hand.
He waited.
This time, he waited.
After a moment, you moved your fingers weakly toward him.
Permission.
Dick took your hand like it was made of light.
“You can’t say you love me like that,” he said, voice shaking. “Like it means your life is automatically worth less than mine.”
Your eyes filled again. “I don’t think that.”
“You do.”
“I don’t.”
“You do,” he said, gentler now. “Because I know that trick. I invented that trick. I perfected that trick. I have a whole family of emotionally repressed vigilantes who could give a TED Talk on that trick.”
A watery laugh escaped you.
Dick’s thumb moved over your knuckles.
“I know what it looks like when someone calls self-destruction devotion,” he said.
Your smile faded.
He swallowed hard. “I know because I do it all the time.”
You looked at him for a long moment.
Then you whispered, “Yeah.”
He laughed once, and this time it was almost real. “Rude.”
“Accurate.”
“Still rude.”
Your fingers twitched against his palm.
He lowered his head until his forehead rested against your hand.
“I love you too,” he whispered.
Your breath caught.
He held onto you tighter.
“I love you,” he said again, because now that the words were out, he could not bear to let them stand alone. “I love you so much I don’t know what to do with it. And I am so angry at you that I can barely breathe.”
You made a small sound.
He lifted his head.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
“I know.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know.”
“I only wanted you alive.”
His face twisted.
“I know,” he said.
That was the worst part. He knew.
There was no cruelty in what you had done. No malice. No carelessness.
Only love. Misdirected. Secretive. Devastating love. The kind that looked too much like his own.
Dick leaned forward and pressed his lips to your knuckles.
Your eyes closed.
He stayed there.
When he spoke again, his voice was softer.
“We have to tell everyone.”
Your eyes opened. Fear flickered.
“They already know some of it,” he continued. “Raven felt it. She told us what happened.”
You looked toward the door.
Dick followed your gaze.
Through the small window, shadows moved in the hallway.
The Titans.
Waiting. Hurting. Loving you.
Your mouth trembled. “They’re going to hate me.”
Dick shook his head immediately. “No.”
“They should.”
“No.”
“I lied to them.”
“Yeah,” he said. “And they’re going to be upset. They’re going to be scared. Gar is probably going to cry on you, so prepare emotionally for dampness.”
Despite everything, your lips twitched.
“Vic is going to pretend he’s fine and then build you seventeen medical devices,” Dick continued. “Raven is going to stare into your soul until you confess every symptom you’ve ever hidden. Kory might actually lift a car.”
“She wouldn’t.”
“She might. For emphasis.”
Your smile faded, but some of the terror went with it.
“And you?” you asked.
Dick breathed in.
“I’m going to stay mad for a while,” he admitted.
You nodded.
“But I’m also going to stay.”
Your face cracked open.
He leaned closer.
“I’m not leaving because this is hard,” he said. “I’m not leaving because you scared me. I’m not leaving because you made a bad choice trying to save me.”
Your eyes searched his.
“I need you to promise me something,” he said.
“Dick…”
“No secret healing. Not with us. Not anymore.”
Your jaw tightened. “Emergency circumstances—”
“We’ll define them.”
“You sound like Batman.”
“I know. I’m devastated too.”
A weak laugh.
His heart nearly buckled under the sound.
“I mean it,” he said. “You have to tell people what they’re agreeing to.”
You looked down. “I know.”
“And you have to let us take care of you afterwards.”
“That’s harder.”
“I know.”
“I’m bad at it.”
“Baby, you are catastrophically bad at it.”
You huffed.
He smiled faintly, then sobered. “But we’re going to practice.”
“We?”
“Yeah.” His thumb brushed your hand. “We.”
Your eyes glistened.
“Okay,” you whispered.
It was not enough.
But it was a beginning.
Dick could work with beginnings.
He was a circus kid. A vigilante. A Robin. A Nightwing. A man who had lost the ground and learned to trust the air anyway.
Beginnings were just another kind of leap.
The Titans entered one at a time. Gar cried first, obviously. He tried very hard not to, which made it worse. He stood beside your bed with his arms crossed, lower lip trembling, eyes too bright.
“I’m mad at you,” he said.
Your face softened. “I know.”
“I’m, like, really mad.”
“I know.”
“And sad. And mad. And also really glad you’re not dead, which is making the mad part complicated.”
“That sounds complicated.”
“It is.” His voice cracked. “You took my knee.”
Your eyes lowered.
Gar wiped his face with his sleeve. “It was just my knee.”
“Gar…”
“No, it was. It hurt, yeah, but I would’ve been fine. It wasn’t worth you hurting.”
You looked at Dick. He said nothing.
This was yours to answer.
You swallowed.
“At the time,” you said carefully, “it felt worth it to me.”
Gar looked stricken.
“I know that doesn’t make it okay,” you added quickly. “I know I should have told you. I’m sorry.”
Gar sniffled. Then he leaned down very carefully and hugged the top of your head.
Dick almost told him to be careful.
He did not.
You closed your eyes.
Gar whispered, “You’re not allowed to die. I already decided.”
“Okay,” you whispered back.
“Cool.”
Then he backed away, crying harder.
Vic came next.
He did not cry. He brought a tablet.
“I’ve got three ideas,” he said, voice too controlled, “for a biofeedback system that can warn before a transfer exceeds safe neurological load.”
“I would’ve let you help,” he said quietly. “Sometimes. Maybe. But I would’ve wanted to know when helping me hurt you.”
Your eyes filled again.
“I know,” you whispered.
Vic nodded once.
Then he set the tablet on your bedside table like an offering.
Raven came after him.
She stood beside your bed, silent and pale, shadows moving slowly around her wrists.
You looked nervous.
Raven looked at you for a long time.
Then she said, “You took more than injuries.”
Your face went still.
Dick’s attention sharpened.
Raven’s eyes did not leave yours. “Emotional pain too. Psychic pain. Fear. Grief.”
You swallowed.
“Sometimes,” you said.
Dick felt like the floor had dropped again.
Of course. Of course there was more.
Raven’s expression tightened. “Mine?”
You closed your eyes. The silence answered.
Raven inhaled sharply.
Dick started to reach for her, but she lifted one hand.
You opened your eyes. “Only when it was too much. Only when I thought—”
“That I couldn’t survive it?” Raven asked.
You flinched.
Raven looked away.
For a moment, she was very young.
Then she stepped closer and placed two fingers lightly against your hand.
“I understand why,” Raven said. Your tears spilled over. “But do not do it again without asking me.”
“I won’t,” you whispered.
Raven nodded.
Then, after a pause, she added, “You are loved for more than your usefulness.”
You broke then. Quietly. Completely.
Dick stood, but Raven was already there, leaning carefully over you, touching your forehead with hers.
Not a hug. Not exactly.
Something quieter. Something sacred.
Kory came last.
She tried to be gentle.
Kory’s gentleness had always been a force of nature trying to fit through a doorway.
Her eyes shone bright green as she took your hand.
“My beloved friend,” she said, voice trembling, “you have carried pain alone when you had an army.”
You gave a wet laugh. “When you say it like that, it sounds very stupid.”
“It was,” Kory said.
Everyone blinked.
Kory’s chin lifted. “It was brave. It was loving. It was also stupid.”
Gar made a tiny sound. “She said the thing.”
Kory ignored him.
She leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
“You will not do this alone again,” she said.
You nodded, crying too hard to speak.
Dick watched them surround you.
Not crowding. Not demanding.
Just there. A net, woven from people who loved you enough to be angry.
For the first time since the warehouse, something inside him loosened.
Not healed. Not yet.
But held.
Recovery was slow. Not as slow as normal spinal trauma, because your body was strange and stubborn and apparently determined to give medical science a migraine.
But not fast either.
Feeling returned in fragments. Left foot. Right toes. Thighs. Hips. Pain followed each return like lightning learning your name.
You hated it.
Dick loved every sign because it meant you were still there, still fighting, still coming back.
He also hated it because every gasp from you felt like punishment.
He spent most days at your bedside.
At first, he tried to make himself useful. He brought food. Adjusted pillows. Read medical updates. Ran interference when too many worried heroes wanted to visit. Smuggled in snacks Alfred absolutely did not approve of but definitely knew about because Alfred knew everything and permitted crimes selectively.
Then you caught him reorganising the medbay supply cabinet at three in the morning.
“Dick.”
He froze with a roll of bandages in each hand.
You stared at him from the bed, unimpressed. “What are you doing?”
“Inventory.”
“This is not your medbay.”
“Organisation helps.”
“You alphabetised antiseptic.”
“Antiseptic deserves respect.”
“You need sleep.”
“So do you.”
“I was asleep until you started stress-cleaning gauze.”
He looked down at the bandages. Then back at you.
“You were in pain.”
Your expression softened.
He hated how easily you saw through him.
“I’m often in pain right now,” you said gently.
His hands tightened.
“Don’t do that,” you said.
“Do what?”
“Make my pain your failure.”
He laughed once, humourless. “Kind of hard not to, considering.”
“Dick.”
He looked away.
You sighed. “Come here.”
He put the bandages down and came to your bedside.
You patted the edge of the mattress.
He gave you a look. “Absolutely not.”
“Sit.”
“I could hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
“I’m not risking your spine because you want cuddles.”
“I do want cuddles.”
His expression flickered.
You smiled faintly. “That one got you.”
“Cruel.”
“Effective.”
He compromised by dragging the chair close enough that his knees touched the bed. You reached for him, and he gave you his hand.
It had become familiar now. His hand in yours. Your pulse under his fingers. Your life, stubborn and warm.
“You’re doing the thing,” you said.
“What thing?”
“The smile.”
Dick blinked. “I’m not smiling.”
“The inside smile. The fake one. The one that says, ‘I’m fine, don’t look too closely, I’m very handsome and emotionally functional.’”
He stared at you. “You think I’m handsome?”
“You heard the rest.”
“I prioritised.”
Your mouth twitched.
Dick’s smile came easier this time. Realer.
Then it faded.
“I don’t know how to stop seeing it,” he admitted.
Your thumb moved weakly against his hand.
“The fall?” you asked.
He nodded.
Your face gentled.
“When I close my eyes,” he said, voice low, “I see you on the floor.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.” He leaned forward. “I’m not telling you so you apologise. I’m telling you because we said no more hiding.”
You absorbed that.
Then nodded slowly.
“Okay,” you whispered. “No more hiding.”
His throat tightened.
You looked down at your joined hands.
“I still feel it sometimes,” you said.
Dick went still.
“The fall,” you clarified. “Not the full injury anymore. But echoes. Like my body remembers impact that wasn’t mine.”
Dick could not speak.
You continued, because apparently both of you had chosen emotional destruction as a bonding activity.
“I don’t regret saving you.” He closed his eyes. “But I’m starting to understand that not regretting it doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt you.”
His eyes opened.
You looked at him, open and tired and honest. “I’m sorry for that part.”
Dick breathed in carefully.
Then out.
“I don’t regret being alive,” he said.
Your lips parted.
“I need you to know that. I don’t regret it. I don’t wish you hadn’t saved me if the alternative was dying in that warehouse.”
Your eyes filled.
“But I hate that you paid for it alone,” he continued. “I hate that I didn’t get to say yes. I hate that you thought love meant making yourself the place pain goes to disappear.”
You nodded, tears spilling silently.
“I’m learning,” you whispered.
He kissed your hand. “Me too.”
You studied him. “What are you learning?”
Dick huffed softly. “That apparently I have control issues.”
Your brows rose.
“I know. Shocking. Alert the media.”
“Front-page news.”
“And,” he continued, “that being the net all the time is not actually the same as being loved.”
Your expression changed.
He swallowed. “I think I liked being needed because it felt safer than being wanted.”
You went very still.
Dick looked down at your hand.
“If people need you, you have a job. A role. Something to do. Something to offer. You can earn your place over and over.” His mouth twisted. “But being wanted? Just because you’re you? That’s terrifying.”
Your voice was soft. “Yeah.”
He looked up. Your eyes were wet.
“I know,” you said.
And there it was.
The mirror. Two people who had made themselves useful enough to avoid asking if they were loved.
Dick smiled sadly. “We’re a pair, huh?”
“A disastrous one.”
“Hot.”
You laughed. This time, it did not sound broken.
Dick felt the laugh settle into his chest like sunrise.
He leaned closer, giving you time to refuse.
You did not.
His lips touched yours softly. Carefully.
There was nothing dramatic about it. No collapsing warehouse. No blue fire. No scream. Just his hand in yours, your mouth warm beneath his, and the quiet, astonishing fact that you were both still alive.
When he pulled back, your eyes were closed.
“Was that okay?” he asked.
Your eyes opened slowly. “You’re asking after?”
“I panicked.”
“Adorable.”
“I can do better.”
“I know.”
He smiled.
You tugged weakly at his hand. “Again.”
This time, he laughed before kissing you.
The first time you stood again, everyone cried.
Gar denied it. He was lying.
Vic recorded the whole thing and claimed it was for medical documentation. Also lying.
Kory hovered with both hands out like she intended to catch you, the bed, Dick, and possibly the entire Tower if necessary. Raven stood nearby, pretending calm while her shadows formed nervous little curls at her feet.
Dick stood in front of you.
Not behind. Not beside.
In front, hands open.
A net. But not the only one.
“You’ve got this,” he said.
You glared at him. “If I fall, I’m haunting you.”
“Reasonable.”
“As a poltergeist.”
“Mean, but fair.”
“I’ll move all your cereal into different boxes.”
Gar gasped. “That’s evil.”
“I contain multitudes.”
Dick’s grin trembled.
You saw. Your expression softened.
“Hey,” you said quietly. He focused on you. “I’m here.”
He nodded.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “You are.”
You took one step. Your knees shook.
Dick did not grab you. It took everything in him. Every instinct screamed. Every memory of your body broken on concrete rose up sharp and hungry.
But he did not grab you. He let you choose the step. Let you own the balance. Let you move.
You took another.
Then another.
Then your strength failed.
Dick caught you.
So did Kory.
So did Vic.
Raven’s shadows braced your legs.
Gar cheered and cried openly this time.
You ended up laughing against Dick’s chest while everyone crowded in, careful and loud and ridiculous.
The pain had gone somewhere. The fear had too.
Not away. Never fully away.
But spread out. Held by more hands.
That was the secret none of you had known at first.
Pain did not become lighter because one person carried all of it.
It became survivable when everyone carried a piece.
Later, after the others left and you were back in bed, exhausted but smiling, Dick sat beside you and traced idle circles over your palm.
“You caught me,” you said.
He looked up.
“In the warehouse,” you continued. “After.”
His face sobered. “I was too late.”
“No.” You squeezed his hand. “You caught me.”
Dick swallowed hard.
“You caught me too,” he said.
Your smile faded into something tender. “I broke all your rules when I did.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m trying not to romanticise that.”
“Good.”
“But I did catch you.”
His mouth curved despite himself.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “You did.”
You looked at him in the soft medbay light. “Now what?”
Dick leaned back in his chair, still holding your hand. “Now we learn how to do the next part without almost dying.”
“Sounds improbable.”
“We can try.”
“Are there snacks?”
“Definitely.”
“Then I’m in.”
He laughed.
There it was again. That bright thing. That impossible thing.
Joy, growing stubbornly in the aftermath.
Dick Grayson still knew how to fall. He always would. But now, when he looked at you, when he felt your fingers threaded through his, when he remembered the warehouse and the scream and the terrible miracle of being saved, he understood something he had spent his whole life avoiding.
Catching someone did not mean never falling. Being loved did not mean never hitting the ground.
Sometimes love was the hand reaching down afterwards. Sometimes it was the person who stayed through recovery. Sometimes it was telling the truth when the lie would be easier. Sometimes it was a whole team gathered around a bed, furious and crying and refusing to let one person become the only place pain could live.
And sometimes, impossibly, it was you.
Alive. Healing. Learning. Smiling at him like the world was still worth saving.
Dick lifted your hand and kissed your knuckles.
“I love you,” he said.
Your eyes softened. “I love you too, pretty bird.”
His heart stumbled. “Still not over that nickname.”
“You love it.”
“I do.”
You smiled wider.
Outside the Tower windows, Blüdhaven glittered beneath the rain.
summary : it’s date night with Jason Todd! However.. you’re a lightweight. This means he’s now got to look after a drunk and goofy you.
masterlist ノ DC masterlist
The date had started innocently enough.
Jason had taken you to a new cocktail bar in the Narrows — one of those trendy places with fancy drinks and low lighting. He’d been in a good mood, smiling more than usual, hand on your lower back as he guided you to a quiet booth in the corner.
“Try this one,” he said, sliding a bright pink drink toward you. “It’s supposed to taste like strawberries.”
You took a sip. “Oh my god. It does. It’s like juice.”
Jason smirked. “Careful. It’s stronger than it tastes.”
You waved him off. “I can handle it. It’s literally juice.”
Famous last words.
Three drinks later, you were giggling.
Four drinks later, you were declaring your undying love for the bar’s playlist.
Five drinks later, you were trying to convince Jason to dance with you in the middle of the bar.
“Baby, no,” he said, laughing as he gently pulled you back into the booth. “You’re going to regret this tomorrow.”
You pouted, leaning heavily against his side. “But the music is so good! And you’re so pretty. Have I told you how pretty you are?”
He flushed, ears going pink. “A few times tonight. Come on, let’s get you home.”
You protested, but your legs had other ideas. The world tilted when you stood up. Jason caught you easily, one arm around your waist, the other holding your bag.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice warm. “Lean on me.”
You did. Happily. He smelled like leather and gun oil and the faint citrus of his aftershave. You nuzzled into his neck as he half-carried you out of the bar.
“Jason Todd,” you declared loudly to the bouncer, “is the best boyfriend in the whole world. He’s so strong. Look at him carrying me like I weigh nothing. I love him so much.”
The bouncer smirked. Jason’s ears burned redder.
“Alright, drunk princess,” he muttered, adjusting his grip on you. “Time to go home.”
The cab ride was an adventure.
You kept trying to climb into his lap. He kept gently pushing you back into your seat with a fond laugh.
“Baby, seatbelt,” he said, clicking it into place for the third time.
“But I want to sit on you,” you whined. “You’re warm. And comfy. And you smell nice.”
He groaned, running a hand over his face. “You’re going to kill me.”
You beamed. “In a good way?”
“In the best way.”
When you finally got home, Jason carried you up the stairs like you weighed nothing. You kept kissing his neck and jaw the whole way, making happy little noises.
“Jason,” you whispered against his skin. “You’re so pretty. Did you know that? Like, really pretty. Your eyes are so green. And your arms are so big. I love your arms.”
He unlocked the door, still holding you. “You’re going to be so embarrassed tomorrow.”
“Worth it,” you said, nuzzling closer.
Inside, he set you down gently on the couch and knelt to take off your shoes. You tried to help but mostly just tangled your fingers in his hair.
“Stay still, baby,” he said, laughing softly. “Let me take care of you.”
You pouted. “But I want to take care of you.”
“You can take care of me tomorrow when you’re sober,” he promised, kissing your knee. “Right now, it’s my turn.”
He helped you to the bathroom, holding your hair back while you brushed your teeth (with his help). Then he carried you to bed, helping you into one of his hoodies because “you always steal them anyway.”
You curled up against his chest the second he lay down beside you, legs tangling with his.
“Love you,” you mumbled, already half-asleep. “So much. Even when you’re all grumpy and broody. You’re my favorite person.”
Jason’s arm tightened around you. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, voice soft. “I love you too. More than you know. Even when you’re drunk and calling me pretty in public.”
You giggled. “You are pretty.”
“Go to sleep, drunk princess.”
You did, safe in his arms.
The next morning, you woke up with a pounding headache and the distinct feeling that you had done something embarrassing.
Jason was already awake, sitting up against the headboard, reading a book with one hand while the other stroked your hair.
“Morning,” he said, voice amused. “How’s the head?”
You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “I called you pretty in front of the bouncer, didn’t I?”
“Multiple times. And told him I was the best boyfriend in the world. And tried to climb into my lap in the cab.”
You whimpered. “Kill me.”
He laughed, the sound warm and fond. “Never. You were adorable. And very honest.”
You peeked up at him. “Did I say anything else embarrassing?”
“You told me you loved my arms. And my eyes. And that I smell nice.” He kissed your forehead. “I liked all of it.”
You hid your face again. “I’m never drinking again.”
He chuckled, pulling you closer. “We’ll see about that. But for now… water, painkillers, and breakfast in bed. Sound good?”
You nodded, curling tighter against him. “You’re the best.”
He smiled against your hair. “Only for you.”
Jason Todd might be the Red Hood — violent, guarded, carrying the weight of the world.
But with you?
He was the man who carried you home when you were drunk, held your hair while you brushed your teeth, and made you breakfast the next morning while teasing you gently about your drunken declarations.
And you?
You were the luckiest person in Gotham.
a/n : self indulgent because im a lightweight and miss some booze
For the first time in many months that you have been here, it wasn’t raining in Gotham. The sun wasn’t completely out but it was visible behind white clouds this time instead of the usual darkness it was cloaked in.
It was truly a beautiful sight and you weren’t surprised to see the people enjoying the day having a picnic in the central park.
It was somewhere around noon when you asked Linda if you could go to the library to do research for work –to check archives on the founding families.
Your coworkers didn’t exactly understand why you went to such lengths for work but the research to you was the best part about being a journalist.
Maybe it was because of your degree and the fact that you had studied to be an investigative journalist and not a magazine reporter. But internet searches for basic information that everyone could see at any time they wished for wasn’t what you wrote and that's why your editor liked your work and gave you this story.
So you told your editor that you had to go to the library for work and she wasn’t one to say no when she knew this is what brought in the publicity.
You had decided to leave your coat at the office today due to the weather, only wrapping your green scarf around your neck as a form of protection against the Gotham cold.
You had chosen a striped off shoulder fitted button down today and it kept moving lower and lower. With a huff, you pushed it back in its place before making your way towards the front desk where the librarian was sitting.
She directed you towards the founding family archives aisle at the end of the hall, encased in a large dusty glass shelf. You almost scoffed at the showcasing of it all. Rich people –doesn’t matter how many centuries old, would never change.
Kane, Wayne, Cobblepot, Elliot, Arkham –the names engraved in gold on the spines of the books gleamed as you took it all in.
Below this shelf was a category of newer Gotham families which included the Falcones, Maronis, Bertinelli. Your eyes however specifically caught the Maronis and the Falcones.
You had heard about them even before you came to Gotham when you had read old newspapers to prepare yourself for the city you were moving to. They were the Italian-American families who basically ruled the criminal underworld but they did it in a way that no one ever traced it back to them. Making it impossible for the police to arrest them.
You wanted to expose them, you wanted to trace everything back to them if you could. This is what you had spent four years in university for, not writing what ice cream flavour Dick Grayson likes.
Lois’ voice rang through your head as you eyed these surnames. And despite yourself, you plucked out three books. The Waynes of course along with the Maronis and Falcones with it.
Even if you ultimately decided against putting your writing on these websites, at least you could do research about it. There was no harm in reading about the families of your city. Just to be aware of where you were living, complete curiosity and nothing else.
Tucking the heavy books under your arm, you glanced around for a place to sit.
Your heels clicked against the wooden floors with each step you took and you cringed at yourself when people gave you glares. You tried to make your steps softer right when Jason’s eyes met yours. He was in the back holding a cardboard box –filled with books you were sure. A worker was standing on a ladder, setting the books on the shelves as Jason handed the books to them.
He gave you a questioning look to which you scrunched your nose at in acknowledgment.
You began wandering around looking for a seat again when your gaze landed on a familiar mop of black hair, hunched over the desk.
Your jaw dropped in disbelief as you watched Dick Grayson perched on a chair reading something –or pretending to anyway you were sure.
He was wearing a black sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. A pair of glasses sat neatly on his nose, hiding the deep blue of his irises you had come to like. His hair was parted in the middle, black waves curling behind his ears along with a couple of short strands falling on his forehead.
It was criminal how he made the simplest clothes look good. The man was wearing a black sweater for heaven’s sake, it shouldn’t have made him look as attractive as it did.
You made your way towards him, stopping just beside his seat. “Are you following me?” You whisper-yelled.
“Shh,” Dick held up a finger without even looking up from whatever he was reading. “I’m just about done.”
Oh.
He really was reading.
You felt your face flush in embarrassment at his response. You felt a bit foolish at that, yes he was annoying but he wouldn’t just come to the library to see you –public library at that.
Mumbling a quiet apology, you walked over to the adjacent table and sat down.
Within minutes, your desk was already cluttered with notes and open books, sticky notes everywhere along with multiple highlighters and pens while you began jotting down everything you deemed important in your notebook.
You made sure to keep the Falcone and Maroni books hidden under the sheets of paper in case Jason or someone else saw them.
It was thirty minutes later that Dick finally made his way to you.
“Hey,” he chirped, snatching the pen you were writing with out of your grasp.
“Dick-” You began and watched him as he effortlessly leaned back on the desk next to you. “I’m working! Give it back,” you hushed.
“What are you working on?” he smiled and pushed his glasses up his nose with his middle finger and you fought the urge to either slap him or kiss him.
You were still deciding.
“Your family history,” you murmured and took your pen back from his hands.
“Do you always have that stick in your hair,” he tilted his head to the side and looked at you.
“I could shove it somewhere else if you want,” you quipped, ignoring his eyes as you continued typing on the library computer.
“Kinky,” he smirked. “For the record, I wasn’t stalking you.”
“Yeah I got that, sorry,” you muttered with a faint blush covering your cheeks.
He absolutely was stalking you.
He had come here because he remembered you mentioning to him that you were going to be at the library in your drunken state when he drove you home. He told himself that it was only because he didn’t want you to stumble upon anything that could compromise him or his family. Like Jason’s death certificate that Tim had worked so hard to bury.
“No need to apologise princess.”
“Don’t call me princess,” you grumbled.
“Apologies. My queen,” he corrected himself, earning a sharp glare from you in response.
“I will strangle you,” you narrowed your eyes at him and saw that his glasses were now pushed over his head.
“Can you even reach my neck?”
“Do you want a demo? I can do this right here if you want,” you challenged.
“So what I’m hearing is that you’re into choking and also voyeurism. Feisty sweetheart but I think I can manage,” he replied.
“Dick!” You exclaimed a bit too loudly which caused people around you to shush you.
You cringed at your own tone and looked around to murmur an apology. With your head turned to the side, you didn’t notice when Dick leaned down close to your face. It was only the scent of his pine cologne that you realised he was just inches away when he whispered in your ear.
“We’re at a library please, where are your manners?”
Swallowing the string of curse words along with a very creative list of insults, you decided to ignore him.
“It’s fine if you don’t want to speak to me, I can read your mind,” Dick stated.
“Good, at least you know how murderous you make me,” you muttered under your breath.
“What was that? How horny I make you?” He repeated.
“A chocolate bar would make me horny before you could,” you scoffed at him –completely lying through your teeth and the chuckle he gave you in response told you that he was also aware that you were lying.
He leaned down again, this time even closer than the last that your cheek almost brushed his when he rasped in your ear.
“Really?” He drawled –breath fanning over your neck and causing goosebumps to rise. “Because, I’ve noticed how you cross those pretty legs in your little skirts.”
The pen in your grip was begging for mercy with how hard you were gripping it. Surprised that it wasn’t broken yet.
He pulled away with a lopsided smile on his face. Your breath came out shaky when you saw the look in his eyes. A red flush took over your entire body settling deep in the pit of your stomach making a foreign yet pleasant feeling rise between your legs.
You didn’t dare cross them though, he wouldn’t get to win even if it meant you digging the heels of your wedges into the carpet to stop yourself from getting wetter than you had been in a hot minute.
He didn’t need to know that.
“That is inappropriate,” you swallowed, trying to sound professional but the waver in your voice betrayed you.
“Is that why you’re blushing?” He clicked his tongue.
“I’m not blushing, it’s the anger that’s making my face red.”
“Sure,” he laughed and folded his arms over his chest, causing your eyes to land on his veiny forearms.
You shook your head again and continued working which seemed a lot harder now with how close Dick was and how good he smelled and how muscular his arms were.
“Do you even have a prescription for glasses?” You asked, intent on changing the subject.
“No, I'm trying out something new,” he responded. “How do I look?”
He looked like he would look absolutely delicious between your thighs while he wore those glasses and gave you the teasing look he always did but you wouldn’t tell him that.
“Like my eighty year old neighbour,” you muttered, pushing at his stomach so he would get off and let you work.
“Your geriatric neighbour is ridiculously hot and sexy? Thats weird,” he chuckled.
“Ha ha,” you rolled your eyes and wheeled your chair back so you could pick up the pen that you had accidentally dropped.
“I’m having a party tonight, come over,” he said suddenly.
“You know, Richard,” you began, resting your chin over your folded hands. “Some of us work for a living, it’s Tuesday tomorrow. I have work.”
“Shoot I forgot, I do too.”
“You have work?” You raised an eyebrow and eyed him.
“Yeah,” he shrugged. “I have to be in Blüdhaven for a couple of days for a youth center I’m building.”
“You’re what?” You asked in surprise.
“Don’t act so surprised,” he frowned.
“Right I’m sorry,” you reiterated, remembering that he was a known philanthropist in Blüdhaven.
In truth, Dick had been doing a lot of travelling between Gotham and Blüdhaven lately. He went to Blüdhaven every night right at the time for patrol and drove back to Gotham at four in the morning just so he could be present to see you.
Which was causing him to lose hours and hours of sleep and even though he was okay with functioning on coffee and occasional naps, it was getting a lot. And commissioner Sawyer had specifically needed Nightwing today, so he had to stay.
“Do you need me, I could stay?” He asked, eyes somehow filled with something like hope but even he wasn’t aware what it was for.
“Oh no,” you replied quickly. “We don’t have an interview scheduled for a few days, I’ll send Bruce an email when we decide on a date.”
“You have my number,” he reminded you.
“Texting isn’t professional,” you frowned.
“You care too much about being professional,” he pointed out.
“And that’s wrong how?” You asked.
“Just something I noticed,” he shrugged.
“Can you notice that I have to work and you’re not letting me?”
“Aw, am I a distraction for you sweetheart?” Dick cooed.
“Yes,” you huffed.
“Kiss me about it.”
You rolled your eyes at him and leaned down to grab your lip gloss from your purse. All this back and forth with him was enough to cause all the product from your lips to disappear and if there was one thing you couldn’t live without, it was your lip combo.
Unscrewing the tube, you looked at yourself in the little compact mirror you had and swiped the pink gloss across your lips with determination.
Beside you, Dick was short circuiting.
He gripped the edge of the desk as his eyes stayed on the way your lips glistened with each swipe of the gloss.
And he tried, he really tried to stop his mind from conjuring up lewd images of you and him in a very inappropriate positions but it was all futile.
He imagined kissing you. His hands fisted in your hair, pulling out the stick that held that perfect bun together. How your glasses would fog up with the pants that’d leave your mouth while he sucked marks all over your neck.
And he would be so deliberate with them too. The gap between your collarbones that always taunted him with your fitted shirts that were never buttoned to the top.
He would suck a hickey right there in the middle to show everyone.
He imagined how your lips would taste after he would lick off the pink gloss covering them. How your tongue would feel gliding against his fighting over dominance because something told him you would do that. That you wouldn’t let him win even when he had you underneath him and he wouldn’t want it any other way.
He saw you on your knees next. Between his legs in nothing but your heels and black stockings with the lace hem that you had on the first time he saw you. His thumb running across your lower lip, smearing the gloss you had just put on before he pushed himself in your mouth.
A groan almost left his mouth right there as he imagined how warm it would feel.
The idea of you snapping at him, digging your nails into the flesh of biceps in anger mixed with pleasure while he moved inside of you teasingly slow just to watch that vein protrude on your forehead that you always had every time you were annoyed with him, it turned him on more than he would ever admit it.
“Dick?” You snapped your fingers in front of his face, causing him to snap out of his trance.
“Yeah?” He asked, blinking quickly.
“I asked if I can include the information about the youth center in the article?”
“Sure,” he replied quickly but his eyes still stayed glued to the way your lips –now shiny– moved with every word you said. “I can offer you more information if you want.”
“That would be great, thank you,” you replied.
“Anytime,” he mindlessly murmured as he watched you push your glasses up your nose. “I have to run,” he abruptly said and before you could even ask, he was gone.
-
It had been a long week for Dick. The mission commissioner Sawyer called him for lasted longer than he had anticipated and with the way he had been neglecting his body lately, he felt the impact of it.
He was now sprawled all over the silk sheets in his apartment in Blüdhaven, taking the much needed rest.
It must have been at least seven hours since he fell asleep sideways on his bed –not even caring enough to put himself to sleep properly, when Tim called his cell.
“Hello?” He gruffed, rubbing his eyes.
“Hey we tracked a drug trade from the Penguin at the iceberg lounge, we could use the help if you’re up for it?” Tim asked.
“Yeah sure,” Dick agreed because no matter how tired, battered and bruised he was, he would never turn down anyone who needed his help.
As he got up and made his way to the bathroom for a shower, he couldn’t help but think about you. And it scared him because he missed your company, missed the scent of your citrus perfume and your sharp tongue always ready with a comeback to put him in his place.
He let the water cascade down his sore body when he thought about your lips. Always covered in that damn lip gloss. Your lips that never smiled at him like they did at everyone else. Maybe he was fine with being that exception.
Admittedly, he was surprised (and a bit hurt) by how your first interaction went. He liked to think himself as a likable person, he had friends –lots of them and everyone who had ever spoken to him always had something nice to say about him. He was still friends with his exes, that’s how friendly he was.
It had stemmed from the fact that he was Nightwing and he wanted the citizens of the city he was protecting to like him not fear him.
Maybe it was his charm or maybe he was just that handsome, he didn’t know but he had a certain quality about him that people found hot.
He was named Gotham’s sexiest man alive three years in a row after all, it was bound to get to his head a bit.
So when you rolled your eyes at his flirty remarks instead of smiling or blushing, he was taken aback.
He could admit that your whole dynamic started out as him wanting to get a reaction out of you. But with the way it morphed into the comfort of friendly banter was even better according to him.
Because he could now be around someone who didn’t just want him for something he wasn’t ready to give. It was the media that had fueled the way people saw him along with his looks.
Sure he could talk big but that was mostly from his early Nightwing days when he learned to use his charm on people to get information out of them.
Which was why he now found it easier to be around you. You didn’t constantly touch him as a way of hinting at things. You didn’t slip in ‘hints’ or even show that you wanted him like that. You hadn’t even been aware of the fact that the person whose nose you just broke –the person flirting with you was Dick Grayson. You were just simply uninterested.
And Dick loved it. He loved watching you scrunch your nose in annoyance every time he made an innuendo or flirted with you. He liked the fact that the only response to his cheeky comments was a glare.
Yes he was attracted to you, only a fool wouldn’t be. But he simply didn’t want to sleep with you once and forget about it, that he knew for sure.
As he turned off the shower and got dressed, spraying an unhealthy amount of his expensive pine cologne, he imagined what it would be like to actually take you out on a date. He let his mind wander for a bit before he realised it was a very long shot and dropped it.
He didn’t know when his attraction had turned into something more but he wasn’t dwelling on it.
In fact he was looking forward to seeing you –one week away from you had given him new ideas to irritate you.
Even now, a good four hours later as he sat on the stairs in the batcave, he thought about what you were doing. It was getting relentless and he needed to tone it down.
“Nightwing, Red Hood, Batgirl and Robin. Surround the Iceberg lounge. Red Robin stay in the security room, Spoiler you’re with me,” Bruce’s voice commanded with a tone of authority only Batman could muster.
Everyone silently agreed as they got up and ready to leave for the patrol.
It was already 11 pm and Dick’s lack of sleep was catching up to him but he had to stay attentive.
He stayed perched on the rooftop of the adjacent building as he kept his eyes in the alleyway where the two gangs were exchanging crates.
“Nightwing, update?” Oracle’s voice came in through the comms.
“I can see them,” he responded and as he squinted his eyes to see better, his eyes landed on someone crouched behind the nearby wall, taking pictures.
He tapped something on his domino mask and suddenly his vision was clear. The familiar beige trench coat along with the tight bun and glasses told him all he needed to know.
“Robin, watch the east exist. I have to go,” he said in the comms.
“Where are you going?” Oracle asked.
“There’s a very stupidly brave girl I have to take care of,” he sighed and leapt off to the rooftop closer to you.
Meanwhile you were crouched down behind the half brick wall in your tight skirt, having come here directly from the office.
You had a digital camera in your hands that you had borrowed from Andy as you kept taking pictures, making sure to include the sign of the iceberg lounge in the background.
There were at least twenty men and five of them were circling around keeping watch while the rest traded items.
And you weren’t completely defenceless! You had a can of pepper spray in your purse along with 911 on speed dial.
The books you had found in the library had added nothing to your research, they were completely useless.
So you took it upon yourself to research through old newspapers, criminal databases in the library computers and going to cheap bars where petty criminals hung out to ask around.
The first two articles for the Wayne family story you were working on were already written and edited –it barely took you a day. And since Bruce Wayne was intent on cancelling every single appointment this last week, you had too much free time on your hands.
Taking a step forward to get a clear look, you began clicking your camera again. But before you could conceal yourself enough, your foot collided with the metal trash can, causing it to echo a sound.
Your eyes widened as panic began to set in but before you could even turn around to run, someone grabbed your waist from behind.
The scream you were about to let out got caught in your throat as another hand clamped around your mouth. You were pulled flush to someone’s body as they walked you backwards to a parked truck and hid behind it.
“Let me-” you tried saying but everything came out muffled through the palm over your mouth.
“Shh,” the person whispered in your ear and this time you obeyed.
Because the sound of heavy footsteps filled your ears, causing your eyes to widen in fear but the person keeping you flushed to their body just pushed you two further into the side of the truck.
“Man must be a stray,” a gruff voice spat. “Don’t be taking too much time, the Bat will be just ‘round the corner.”
The sounds of the footsteps faded soon and the person holding you walked you two forward until you were leaning over the edge of the overpass and suddenly leapt off with you still in their arms.
You tried screaming but the hand holding your mouth shut was making it impossible. You clenched your eyes shut and tried to think of ways to get out of this situation, you had studied this in uni. Self defence would be easy if you could just find an opening. Or land for that matter.
You two quickly landed on your feet and the second you felt the grip loosen on your body, you whirled around.
“Nightwing?!” You exclaimed.
“What the fuck are you doing here!” He roared.
You flinched at the tone of his voice and took a few steps back, watching his chest rise and fall in that spandex suit.
“I’m a journalist, I’m following a lead,” you said with every bit of confidence you could muster.
“Are you aware that every single man there has a gun!” He snarled again.
“I’m prepared, I have pepper spray,” you scoffed, reaching into your bag but before you could even pull it out, Nightwing grabbed your wrist.
He twisted your hand around your back and used it as leverage to push your body into the wall –his front flush against your back.
“See how easy it was?” He gritted through his teeth into your ear. “If I had a gun you’d be dead.”
You swallowed and tried to wiggle out of his grip but he didn’t relent. “Let me go!” You tried.
Nightwing stayed in that position for another minute before finally loosening his grip on you.
You turned around again and watched him with glossy eyes.
“You’re a magazine journalist, go home.”
“You don’t know what kind of journalist I am,” you challenged. “I have every right to follow a story. More than you actually, you're a vigilante that’s literally illegal!”
Dick tried, he really did. Maybe it was the exhaustion or maybe because he missed you or maybe he finally had enough of you that he snapped.
He grabbed your face roughly in his gloved hands and pushed you against the wall –this time you were facing him.
“I’m getting really tired of you,” his deep voice echoed through clenched teeth.
“What-”
“Shut. Up,” Dick grumbled and got impossibly close to your face. “You have a car right?”
“Y-yeah,” you swallowed as your hand came up to grasp his gloved one which was gripping your face.
“Get inside and drive home and if I see you around here one more time I won’t be this gentle,” he murmured –a stark contrast to the way he was screaming a few minutes ago.
It scared you even more, how calm he sounded.
You nodded your head and he finally released your face. And before he could get his hands on you again, you took off running towards your car. You gave him one last glance behind you before driving away.
It was safe to say you would rename your cat.
we don’t agree with the manwhore dick grayson agenda in this household
likes reblogs and comments are appreciated! hope you enjoy <3
Includes: Wally West, Dick Grayson, Barry Allen & Michael Carter
Summary: he accidentally hurts you while sparring
Content/CW -> gn! reader, minor injury, mentions of blood (Dick's), guilt, crying, hurt/comfort, mild angst
froggi yaps -> im sorry i know i should be writing more neglect week fics but </3 i missed wally so much i needed a quick break to write this. ty to my pookie bear for helping me pick the characters + write them <3
Wally West:
Wally’s buzzing, the energy that lives under his skin surging through his veins like lightning. He bounces around on the balls of his feet as the two of you circle the mat.
You get a couple jabs in, all playful with no real intent behind them. Wally jabs back, kicks out at you, spins so he’s standing behind you. The energy crackles and burns under his skin. You spin, punching out at him. Wally catches your wrist and blocks.
He goes to throw a punch, that familiar lightning bubbling up inside of him. It’s a split second too fast, a tad too strong and yet, he doesn’t react fast enough to stop it.
His fist collides with the side of your jaw. You hit the mat. Hard.
Wally drops to the floor with you, panic surging in his chest when you don’t open your eyes. He taps your face, “baby? Baby, look at me.”
You don’t move, limp in his arms, head lulled to the side. He cups your cheek, thumb smoothing over the spot where he hit you.
“C’mon, c’mon.” Tears burn at his eyes as he pulls you into his lap, arms under your legs and shoulders, ready to pick you up. “Don’t do this to me, sweetheart.”
And just before he can lift you up, your eyes are fluttering open and Wally’s breathing a sigh of relief. The tears he was holding back slip from his eyes, hot and heavy on his freckled cheeks.
“Thank god,” he tugs you into his chest, burying his face in your shoulder.
“Wally?” You groan, rubbing the side of your face, “did you—you knocked me out.”
“I’m so fucking sorry, doll, I didn’t mean—“
You lean in, pressing your lips to his, swiping at his tears with your thumb. “I know, Walls.”
“I love you, I—I’d never ever hurt you.”
“Wally,” you clasp his face between your palms, “I’m okay. It’s okay.”
He breathes a sigh of relief, relaxing under your touch. “I think I’m done with sparring for like, forever now.”
You giggle slightly. “Such a drama queen.”
Dick Grayson:
A million thoughts race through Dick’s head when his fist collides with the side of your face. He’s at your side in an instant, catching you when you stagger back and helping lower you to the mats.
You rub at the side of your face, laughing humorlessly. “Nice one.”
Dick, unfortunately, doesn’t see what’s so funny about the situation. His lips are drawn into a frown, brows creased together as he examines you for any signs of injury.
His hands are all over you, cupping your face, tilting your head every which way to make sure he hasn’t accidentally maimed you. He’s never intentionally gone for your head during sparring, never once did the thought ever cross his mind. Your wires just got crossed.
He threw a jab and you ducked and before he knew it, his fist had connected with your face.
“It wasn’t meant to be,” he says finally. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I really didn’t mean to.”
You shrug, “we’re sparring, Dick. It was bound to happen eventually. Let’s keep going.”
“You’re taking at least a five minute break first.”
“What? I’m—” You pause, words dying on your tongue when you feel a hot trickle of blood drip from your nose. Swiping it on the back of your hand, you quiet your voice, “...fine.”
“Yeah, fine.” He shakes his head, jumping to his feet to grab a towel.
He presses it carefully to your face, pinching the soft part of your nose. You lean into his touch, the stinging in your face that radiated to your nostrils suddenly making sense now.
“Dick,” you say quietly, voice muffled by the blood-stained towel.
He looks at you, eyes stormy.
“It’s okay, I’m not upset with you.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you look like you’re five seconds away from crawling into a hole and dying?”
He sighs, “because—fuck, I hurt you, sweetheart, and I don’t like seeing you hurt.”
You rest a hand over his, “I guess I need to punch you in the face so that we’re even, then.”
Something sparks behind his eyes. You shake your head a little too quickly, stars blossoming in your peripheral vision.
“No,” you say. “Absolutely not.”
Barry Allen:
Barry has always hated sparring. He hates the brutality of it, hates how cocky his usual sparring partner—none other than Hal Jordan—gets. Most of all, he hates hurting people that don’t deserve it, even if it is just for practice.
He’s never hated it more than he does right now, watching his fist connect with your face.
He watches it all in slow motion. The jab he intended to throw towards your shoulder, your attempt to dodge it, the unfortunate mix up that leads to his knuckles colliding with your cheek.
Barry’s catching you before you even have a chance to stumble back, hands soft on your hips, keeping you upright. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”
Time speeds up again, you rub at the aching spot on your face.
“I really didn’t mean to, I swear, I was aiming for your shoulder and—”
You spin in his arms to face him. “Barry.”
His head is hung low, eyes teary and ashamed. You reach up to cup his face, “Barry, look at me.”
He glances up, looking like a kicked puppy. “I hurt you…”
“I’m fine, Barr.”
He shakes his head, the image of his fist colliding with your face replaying in his mind. His hands tighten on your hips, head falling into the crook of your neck.
“I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry.” Barry kisses gently at your shoulder, “I’d never hurt you on purpose.”
You sigh, knowing you’re not going to get anywhere anytime soon. “I know, Barry. I know.”
You hold him for a while, letting him cry into your shoulder.
Booster Gold:
The sound of his fist hitting the underside of your jaw echoes in Michael’s ears. The sound of you hitting the mat follows, loud and hard and something that’ll probably never leave the back of his mind.
His brain short circuits. He freezes. For all the times you’ve sparred, he’s never managed to even land a hit on you before, let alone one this hard. He watches you hit the mat, watches you bounce then draw yourself back into a sitting position.
You look up at him from the ground, wiping a trickle of blood dripping from where you bit your lip. You rub at your aching jaw, the spot that’s sure to hurt for the next week minimum.
Booster’s neurons start firing again. He steps towards you, reaching a hand to help you up and you flinch. Something cold floods his chest, even after you clasp your hand around his and let him haul you to your feet.
You’re afraid of him now.
“I-I’m so sorry, are you—” All of that usual bravado is drained from his voice like the colour from his cheeks. “Are you okay?”
You nod, “just a little dizzy, might need to sit out a minute.”
His voice cracks. “I think we should call it there for today.”
You look up, tilting your head at your boyfriend. “Are you…crying?”
He shakes his head but you see the way his eyes are glistening, see the stray tear that drips down his cheek. You reach up, swiping a thumb at it. He shrinks beneath your touch, tries to withdraw from you only for you to catch his hand.
“I hurt you,” he says plainly.
“I’m fine.”
“I-I hit you.”
“You didn’t mean to.”
He shrinks even more, broad shoulders folded in on themselves. You wrap your arms around him, pulling yourself closer to him.
“How about we stop with the sparring for today?” You mumble against him.
“Yes, please.”
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thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
omg could you please please please make an alternative ending for you latest smau after you post part 2? Basically just an alt version where dick regrets loosing his partner 😮💨 texts when he gets to her apartment to talk it out and he finds it empty and then finding out she's getting married or something like that
the people yearn for the angst 😔
It's totally fine if you don't work on it tho!! no pressure
☆ Identity Problems (Alt. Ending) ☆
When secret identities and civilian partners don't mix: featuring Dick Grayson
cw: cursing, harassment (sort of?), angst, no reconciliation, "unhappy" ending, gn! reader (but it is mentioned they wear perfume), mentioned reader x someone else, low-key depressed dick, desperate dick grayson
AN: I had so much fun making this, hopefully your happy with my interpretation of your request. I'm always of the opinion that men need to grovel more, and that the angst that comes with that is always the best! x
Part 1 (read this first so that the story makes sense!)
