𝙰𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚎 ꫂ ၴႅၴ

wherever the wind blows ˚. ᵎᵎ

[guppybibi]

𝑵𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑎 𝑅𝑒𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑟? ༄.°

𝓐𝑏𝑏𝑖𝑒 ⸝⸝ ©𝟸𝟶𝟷𝟶 ⸝⸝ 𝒽𝘦𝘳𝘴

˗ˏˋ𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑎, 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑎ˎˊ˗

chronic lightheaded daydreamer ~ cherub cheeks ~ lalaloopsy doll ~ dainty & doomed ~ #gogojuiceaholic ~ sungka enthusiast ~ steven meek's headache ~ damian wayne's angel 𑣲

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-personal posts & stuff

[guppybibi]

ong why is school so busy

[guppybibi]

guys skool is unfortunately STILL busy ong

[guppybibi]

IZZ MY BIRTHDAY:DD

[guppybibi]

Simon who doesn't know how to ask for your affection!

It's not that he thinks it's stupid for a grown man like him to ask for something so...childish like cuddles and kisses. What is he? A five year old? He rarely got hugs and kisses from his own mum, he doesn't need it.

It's not like he'll die without it. He'll just wait for you to initiate, like you always do.

Except you're way too busy right now, too caught up in whatever you're doing to even notice he's been standing there and staring at you for the past five minutes.

He's been debating the whole time if he should just ask you for a kiss, but his feet and mouth refused to cooperate with him, leaving him hanging there to stare at you.

"Hm? Did you need anything?" You ask, finally noticing him as you wonder how long he's been there. Must've been a while.

He shook his head instinctively, but his lips formed a thin line and his face held a displeased look. It looked like his words were trapped in his throat.

Luckily for him, you could read him like a book now. It wasn't easy since it didn't come with some sort of manual or tutorial, but it was definitely worth it since you knew that this meant he wanted a kiss from you.

"Do you want a kiss?" You ask again, looking up at him expectantly.

God, you don't think you've seen anyone nod that fast.

(dis was written in like five minutes i havent written for cod in a good while i havent refreshed yet dis is bad)

[guppybibi]

10k notes for this is crazy gang

[guppybibi]

Five Times Simon Riley Almost Said "I Love You" + bonus :3

1. After a nightmare

You slowly stir when you feel the mattress dip beside you. Simon thinks you're asleep, not surprising considering you're playing the part fairly well.

He had quietly checked every window after another nightmare and made sure to sleep on the side of the bed closest to the door. And when he crawls back into bed, you mumble. "Is everything okay?" he blinks, mainly because he didn't expect you to be awake, partially because your voice sounded so soft like that.

"...Yeah." he huffs out, getting comfortable before taking your hand in his. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, his gaze lingering for a moment. "You know I-"

"-should go back to sleep."

2. Getting groceries

You two have been in this aisle for approximately seven minutes. Arguing over cereal over all things. Apparently the cereal he chose was too bland, and apparently yours was too sweet.

"You're impossible." he rolls his eyes, but it lacks any real bite to it. In response, you stick your tongue out at him and blow a raspberry. The audacity. Except he stares for a second too long, and he doesn't know if the fluorescent lights above them were frying his brain but he almost cracks a smile.

"I-you.." he paused. "Forgot the milk."

3. Before Deployment

He was already dressed, mask on and gear ready. You fix the collar of his jacket, fingers staying a moment too long. His voice is quiet, not the usual—the heavier kind. "If anything happens.."

"No." You don't let him finish. "Listen–" you shake your head even more firmly. "No." He sighs, at your stubbornness and because he knows that you're both lying to each other.

He rests his forehead against yours. "I lo—" Except duty calls, and it always wins. "Lock the doors after I leave."

4. In the hospital

It wasn't anything life-threatening, thank goodness.

A concussion, broken ribs, probably a stab wound somewhere. What mattered the most to you was the fact that he was still there, even if he was still half-asleep from the medication.

"I love you." you whisper, thinking he wasn't awake. Then— "I know." Not because he doesn't feel it, god knows he does so much that it hurts. But because if he says it back, it can be another thing he can lose.

5. The ring

Not a proposal. Just browsing around on the rare occasions where you and Simon could actually go out together. He stopped walking when he sees you trying on rings as a joke.

"They suit you." The salesperson laughs. Simon can't stop staring, because all he can see is years. Gray hairs. Sunday mornings spent on the porch. A life he was never supposed to survive long enough to have.

He reaches for your hand silently, thumbs tracing the silver band of the ring. "Let's-" his throat tightens when he feels the coldness of the metal. "...go home."

Bonus!

It wasn't anything dramatic.

Just a small cardboard box, some paperwork. In it were dog tags, a stained folded mask, the watch you had bought him last Christmas.

Price clears his throat, snapping you back to reality. "He wanted you to have these." he says, not looking at you. How could he?

You see it. Inside the box, there was a receipt. Months ago, way before he even got deployed. From the jewelry store you went to. Just one item, paid in full, never collected.

a/n: ok i wrotr this like half asleep yolo u guys have this idk i hate this format

[guppybibi]

ong why is school so busy

[guppybibi]

𝓢𝑢𝑔𝑎𝑟 𝓣𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 #2

.ᐟ DICK GRAYSON was a handful of things. A hero. A liar. A hopeless romantic. He loves you so deeply that it may have been the cruelest part of it all—because every apology is sincere, and every flimsy excuse hides a secret he isn't ready to confess. The problem wasn't whether he loved you or not, it was that love alone wasn't enough compared to the truth.

.ᐟ CONTENT: established relationship, secret identity, umm idk, communication issues, hurt/comfort??, not proofread, dick has a secret, idk how to tag this wc: 3.3k

.ᐟ a/n: may or may not have ended it there bcus i can only add 10 pix on mobile,,,did not proofread this at all idk if its all over the place

The very first rule of being Nightwing was to always expect the unexpected.

And the second was to apparently panic when your beloved girlfriend starts texting you like she was e-mailing the staff that the plumbing was broken.

The city glowed quietly from beneath him, lights, traffic, small time crimes he should probably be attending to. Except Dick had been preoccupied with an even greater emergency.

While some stores were probably getting robbed, his stomach was getting twisted into pretzel knots as he reread your dry message for the fifteenth time in the last five minutes.

Dick wasn't proud to admit that he had been analyzing the sentence construction like a fifth grade English teacher. He groans, running a hand across his face. “I'm going to lose my mind.”

Because your message didn't have the usual heart emoji, didn't have a silly emoticon nor the extra letters you added when you were tired. Hell, there wasn't even a period at the end of it.

Maybe you were tired, you probably had a long day after all. Maybe he was just overthinking. His thumbs hovered over the message button.

There's something I need to tell you.

He stares at it.

Before reluctantly deleting it.

It's fine. There was still tomorrow. Tomorrow, he'll fix it. Not talk about it—fix it. Like he always did. Tomorrow, he'll make time for you, take you out for a nice dinner, apologize properly, maybe pay your little brother a visit.

Because tomorrow always comes.

Then, he hears a faint scream from the block. Right. Nightwing duties. He puts his phone away, gracefully jumps off the rooftop and heads towards the sound of the scream.

By the time Dick had gotten back to his own apartment, it was already 4:00 AM. Saying he was exhausted would be an understatement, it felt like every inch of muscle in his body was aching.

Still, he had to plan for tomorrow.

He has gotten you approximately twelve bouquets in the last month. (Which was mildly concerning considering it was only the 20th.) And he was also on a first name basis with the florist now..So, flowers must've been getting boring, he had to spice things up.

Flowers were repetitive.

Chocolate is so overdone.

Jewelry was overkill.

Every option felt sincere, but none of them felt right. His lips curled down slightly, it didn't make any sense. These things usually worked. You weren't materialistic or anything, in fact you were the opposite.

You never cared about the flowers, or the chocolates, or even the jewelry. You always cared about the thought and effort behind them. I guess it just didn't help that they were full of thoughts of apologies, constant reminders of every mistake he had made.

Dick frowned, and threw a pillow over his face. The thought wasn't exactly romantic when he dwelled on it. Most boyfriends probably didn't have a favorite apology florist…Most boyfriends probably didn't need to have a favorite apology florist.

He stares at the message for a moment before gently tossing his phone onto the nightstand. It's fine. All he needs is a few hours of sleep. Then he’d go see you.

Tomorrow.

The word has never failed for him before, it was one of the few things Dick could trust. But for the first time tonight, he wasn't entirely sure if he believed it.

There was a knock on your door the next morning. You smile to yourself, instantly wondering what kind of flowers Dick had sent you this time. Roses for romance? Your favorite? Some random flower you don't know the name of but apparently mean sincere apologies?

You anticipated it every time, especially now as you walk towards the front door to open it. And instead of being greeted by a bouquet of flowers on your doorstep, or even the delivery man—who you felt like you've been seeing more often to be honest.

Instead, it's Dick standing there. No flowers or chocolate in hand, just him. Which should've been normal.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. You were looking at him as if preparing for a bouquet to magically pop out of his hands like some circus magic trick.

He looked exhausted.

Not the cute kind of exhausted, not even the “I stayed up all night” kind. It was the kind of exhaustion that crawled into your veins and weighed heavily on your body. He has a new bruise, you notice. Well, you try not to.

“Hey,” Somehow, he actually sounds nervous this time. You blink. This was throwing you off. No flowers, and now he seemed nervous? Did someone swallow your boyfriend whole and wear his skin?

Dick Grayson wasn't supposed to be nervous. He was supposed to be charming and incredibly easy to talk to. Yet here he was, standing on your doorstep looking like the concept of sleeping was nonexistent to him.

“Hi,” you reply. “Well,” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “This is already going worse than I imagined.” Despite yourself, a small laugh escapes you. And for a brief moment, something close to relief flashes across his face. Like he was afraid you wouldn't laugh at all.

“Can I come in?” he asks, and you step aside without a word. He lingered at the doorway for a moment before entering, glancing at the excessive amount of flowers his apologies accumulated over the past few weeks of missed date nights and promises.

“So…” he clears his throat. “I had this whole speech prepared actually.” You raise a brow, not exactly surprised. He could've hired a whole mariachi band and you would barely bat an eyelash. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.” He nodded. “What happened to it?”

“I saw you.” You blink, which made him retreat slightly and rub the back of his head sheepishly. “I-I mean…” he lets out an embarrassed laugh. “My brain just sorta got left behind when you opened the door back there.”

“That's new coming from you.” He visibly winced at your words, having no flowers or chocolates to hide behind this time. You couldn't help it, letting a small laugh escape your mouth.

Dick smiles, pearly whites peeking through his lips, clearly less flashier than usual. “There it is,” he mutters under his breath, almost like he was savoring it for himself. “Huh?”

“You.” Even now, with the dark circles resting under his eyes and nerves practically spilling out of him, he managed to stay charming. So much so that you were beginning to think that Dick had no idea how to not be charming.

You choose to set it aside for now. He was here to talk and that's it. He wasn't getting away with this by sweet talking to you again. “Coffee?” you ask while he trailed behind you, like a puppy who had been away from home for too long. “Please.”

You couldn't remember the last time you and Dick sat like this. In complete silence, aside from your occasional tapping on your cup and the refrigerator humming in the background like it was the only thing keeping you two sane.

Dick let out a slow breath, holding his untouched mug of coffee like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. “I've been trying to figure out what to say all night.” You looked up. “I'm starting to think I'm not as good with words as I thought.”

He rubs the palms of his hands on his jeans, deciding to cut straight to the point. “I don't want this to be another apology.” You don't say anything, but the silence stretches for long enough for Dick to wonder if he started this out wrong. “Although I know I definitely owe you one—more than that actually.”

“Then why are you here?” you ask, seeing that he wasn't here for just anything this time. He doesn't respond immediately, glancing down at his hands for a moment. “Because I'm starting to think I've been trying to solve everything except the actual problem.”

At least he was on the right track, you thought. “What do you think the actual problem is then?” You throw the question like a knife, and Dick knew it was a dangerous one. “Well, I've realized I haven't been here enough. And I’ve been trying to make up for my mistakes instead of trying to prevent them.”

“Close,” you shook your head. “That's a part of it. But not everything.” He blinked a few times, like he was only realizing now that the root of this problem probably ran deeper than he had initially thought.

“Dick,” you start. “I don't care about the flowers. Not really.” He opens his mouth, but you continue. “I did at first, but lately…I’ve been starting to care about why you kept giving them to me.”

“I love them, really. But overtime I started seeing them as warnings.” He visibly raises a brow, clearly surprised. “Warnings for canceled plans, missed dates, promises that you would make it up to me next time. And next time would rarely ever come.”

Dick swallows, because it never crossed his mind that you felt this way. Truthfully, now that he thought about it, it probably felt like he was throwing flowers at a wound he created himself.

“I didn't know.” he admitted quietly, looking down at his lap again like the answers for this were there. The words sound pathetic leaving his mouth. “I know,” you pause. “That's the problem.”

Because neither of them ever spoke about this, between the heart to heart talks that always drifted whispered sweet nothings—every conversation ended up feeling like hollow romance.

“How long?” You tilt your head. “How long have you felt like this?” he asks, genuinely wanting to understand. You? You almost laugh. Because you had stopped counting at the seventh bouquet.

“Long enough that whenever someone knocks on my door—” You smiled at him sadly. “I never expect to see you anymore. I expect to see gifts, chocolates, flowers—hell, even the delivery man.”

His lips part, only to close again when no charming words come out. There wasn't an excuse in the world to make this any better, any less heartbreaking. Because you were completely right.

Somewhere along the way, he started to become easier to find in between the lines of apology messages and bouquets of flowers than he was in person. “I thought I was making it better.”

Your smile doesn't go away. “I know.” And that may have been the worse part. “Do you know why I never said anything? Never complained?” He shakes his head, listening intently for your answer.

“Because every time I wanted to be upset,” you glance down at your cup, the coffee sitting inside forgotten. “Presents already showed up at my doorstep, or you had already sent me three paragraphs…or you held me until I forgot what I was upset about to begin with.”

“You made me feel better.” you tell, you’d give him that at least. He knew very well how to soothe your heart. He just never realized that it would keep hurting if nothing changed. “But you never made anything better.”

Dick looked at you, really looked at you this time. The tired smile, the quiet in your voice, the exhaustion he had mistaken for patience. How did he miss it? A man as perceptive as him should've noticed earlier.

“I thought if I showed you that I loved you enough,” he let out a quiet laugh. “I would eventually make up for every time I let you down…which is a lot more often than I thought now that I look at it.”

“Love isn't the problem, Dick.” you reply. “It never was.” Because if there was one thing you didn't have to question? It was that Dick never failed to love you. “I never needed to know if you loved me or not.” you pause. “I just needed you there.”

It was a painfully simple distinction. One that he had managed to miss for months. He had spent so much time on trying to prove his love for you, that he had forgotten it could be measured in presence as well.

He sat quietly for a bit, letting your words settle before he spoke. “What were you thinking whenever I canceled?” You smile faintly. “At first, I was worried. Then I figured you were just busy. Eventually, I always anticipated that you would cancel.”

You look off to the side for a moment, debating if you should mention this as well. But it had been gnawing at your mind, and you had to get it out there somehow. “It wasn't just the cancelled plans either.” He finally looked at you again. “It was the bruises. The cuts. The excuses.”

He stiffened instantly. The excuse flashing in his mind almost immediately. It sounded ridiculous then, somehow it sounded even worse now.

“You tell me stupid excuses like how ‘gravity doesn't make exceptions’.” He recalls that excuse, it was stupid and half-assed because he was rushing. “I laughed.” You continue. “Because I wanted to believe you.”

“I wasn't asking because I wanted a perfect, detailed explanation.” You meet his eyes, feeling a strange sense of relief now that what had been weighing on your chest was out there. “I was asking because I was worried.”

“And every time you deflected it with a laugh..” you press your lips together. “It felt like you were telling me not to worry about a part of your life I clearly wasn't welcome to.”

He lets out a shaky breath. “I thought..” He runs a hand across his face, stopping for a second. “I thought I was protecting you.” That was what he had been telling himself at least. Every lie. Every canceled date. Every half-assed excuse. It was for your protection.

“From what?” you reply instantly, and Dick freezes up almost immediately. Again. Because he couldn't respond with anything without getting dangerously close to the truth he wasn't ready to admit just yet. “...Everything.”

You shake your head. “No.” Your voice was quiet, but absolutely certain. “You were trying to protect me from you.” He laughs, it was quiet, maybe even bitter. “Maybe I was.”

“You can't just decide what I can handle without asking me.” He lets the silence settle between you two again. “...I don't know how to be both.” he admits, and you frown in return. “Both what?”

He looks away, unable to meet your eyes. “The person you deserve…and the person I have to be.” Then, he feels your hand on his. Not necessarily holding, just…there. “Dick…I never asked you to be perfect.” He closed his eyes for a moment and nodded. “I know.”

“I just wanted to be a part of your life. Even the ugly parts—especially the ugly parts.” He lifted his head slowly, and he knew what you meant. Bad days, stress, nightmares.

Yet all he could think about were the rooftops, the cuts and bruises, the torn domino masks shoved into his pockets, all before sunrise. “If I told you the truth…” he hesitates, the words getting stuck in his throat. “Would you still want to be a part of it?”

“I can't promise that I'll understand everything immediately. But I can promise I'll listen.” Dick nodded, it should've been simple. Two words. I'm Nightwing. Yet somehow, they got caught in his throat harder than any punch he’s taken.

It didn't mean simply telling you the truth, it meant trusting you with a part of him he’d spent years convincing himself no one should carry. And for the first time…A selfish part of him wanted to stop carrying it alone.

He leaves your apartment after that. No grand goodbye. No lingering embrace. Just the soft click of the door being shut behind him. The walk back felt quieter than usual. And for once, he wasn't thinking of flowers or apologies. Your words simply replayed in his mind.

I just wanted to be a part of your life.

He doesn't recall when he’d suited up, couldn't remember which rooftop he had landed on, doesn't remember when he’d put on the mask. He’d gone through this so many times that his body no longer needed his mind to catch up.

A police siren wailed from somewhere down below. Then came the unmistakable sound of glass shattering. Dick doesn't hesitate, he stopped doing that years ago. His body moved before his mind did.

Jump.

Leap.

Land.

He felt the wind rushing past his ears, as he disappeared into the maze of neon lights down below. Somewhere between those rooftops, Dick Grayson disappeared as well.

And Nightwing took over.

Nightwing was easier. Criminals didn't ask where he had been. They didn't worry. They didn't ask him to let them in.

They threw punches. Dick knew how to take those at least. A fist slammed into his cheek before he could even finish the thought. “You know,” he hissed, avoiding another punch. “People usually start with a ‘hello’.”

The fight didn't last much longer after that. It never really did.

Within minutes, the supposed-to-be robbers were on the pavement, unconscious and regretting every life decision that led them here.

He leaned against the wall of an alley, catching his breath. His fingers drifted to the bruise blooming on his cheek. And almost instinctively, his mind drifted for excuses too.

He closed his eyes. None of them felt right anymore. He reached for the phone in his pocket, pulling it out swiftly. Normally, he would wait until the morning. Until he could think of a somewhat believable excuse. Until the bruise would fade enough to become hopefully less noticeable.

Tonight…he couldn't bring himself to do that as his thumb hovered over your contact.

Sorry about today.

Nope. Delete.

I got hurt.

Nope, too much. Delete.

I'm okay.

I just wanted to let you know.

He stared at the screen, such a small message. Yet, it felt more compared to all of those paragraphs he’d sent you these past few months. And for once, he wasn't texting you to make you feel better. He was texting you simply because you deserved to know.

The first thing Dick did when he got back to his apartment was peel off his domino mask, placing it on the marble counter with a soft thud. He stood and stared at it for a moment. Beside it, his phone buzzed. Your reply, most likely.

He doesn't reach for it, not yet at least. Instead, he stepped towards the sink and felt the water run over his hands, washing away the familiar dirty mix of grime and blood. He lifted his head up, his reflection staring back at him. A fresh bruise, some cuts here and there, exhaustion settling beneath his eyes. And something echoes in his ear.

Even the ugly parts.

And somehow, looking away had never been harder.

Eventually, he had to force himself to. With a quiet sigh, he reached for his phone and unlocked the screen to find your reply waiting for him.

I'm glad you told me.

Keep safe ❤️

A sad smile tugs at the corners of his lips. You didn't ask for an explanation, nothing. You were simply glad that he was being honest with you now, if only you really knew how much of the truth he was holding back.

He opens the drawer to tuck away the domino mask, in that same drawer laid dozens more. Some tattered, some bloodied, others torn apart so badly that they were barely recognizable. Dick wasn't entirely sure why he kept them.

Each one marked another night of him making it home, alive and in one piece. Each one also marked another night of him keeping the truth away from you.

The drawer closed shut with a click. It was a lot easier than opening his mouth had ever been. And for the first time? He hated it.

[guppybibi]

guys I totally have everything planned and under control TRUST

(im just exhausted and unmotivated from school idk gang) but i already have plans for operation: living the teenage dream too. just no time to write it and as im writing this i lit have no energy but napping makes me even more sleepy so idk?? i only have energy to doomscroll

[guppybibi]

im 2.6k words in guys pls wait for me

[guppybibi]

Simon Riley & Bunny!Reader 🐰🎀 (not proofread lmao)

~ this indicates a timeskip!

Simon already had enough on his busted up plate, and taking care of his precious dog, Riley, was one of these responsibilities. He didn't need anymore excess baggage, he barely took care of himself for Christ's sake.

But the look Riley currently has on her face makes it difficult to resist, the option of looking away and ignoring her being erased. "I ain't gettin' ye a bloody bunny, girl." He cooed gruffly, but ohh no Riley stood firm and refused to move.

Simon took a look, and another look, yep Riley saw a bunny. A bunny, the furry creature stared right back at Riley all bug-eyed with its lil tongue sticking out with an itty bit of drool. It's cute, Simon could say that but nothing more. Riley was already a hassle to care for, so getting another pet? A hard no.

But Riley really wouldn't budge, basically stuck like a rat in a trap. Whining reached Simon's ears and it was no doubt Riley, attempting to convince him to get the bunny. "I said no, girl. Ye can't always get what you want." He tuts, already seeing dismay form on Riley's face. "Maybe soon eh? But not now, I don't have the time for more responsibility." He negotiates, if he had a soft spot, Riley would surely take first place.

After their agreement, everything seemed to go as usual. At first, Simon was convinced that Riley forgot about the bunny but no, every single time they past by the adoption center, Riley would greet the bunny with a loud bark which would make it squeak and flinch..

Poor bunny, no? We should take her and care for her!..These would be Riley's words if she could talk, thank god she wasn't able to because Simon wasn't too sure if he could bear constant yaps from her. He didn't really get what the bunny had that made Riley so tied & twisted up around her tiny paw, maybe she knew something he didn't.

Sighing through his nose, Simon finally decided that today was the day to adopt the bunny. It was going to happen sooner or later anyways so might as well get a head start on it.

And there wasn't anything wrong with it, it spent most of it's days eating, sleeping, and accompanying Riley with her backyard adventures. Simon would actually admit that he grew fond of the fluff balls presence. Except there was one thing about it that made multiple speculations arise in Simon's thinking.

It was too intelligent for its own good. Too smart for Simon's comfort that he simply couldn't let down his guard around it. Okay, maybe he shouldn't call it 'it' now. Yeah, he's gonna call it Bun to keep it short and sweet.

What exactly did he mean by 'too smart' though? Well Simon could always see the little things in everything, mannerisms, habits and all of that. That's what years of risky military service does to a person apparently, makes you wary of a literal bunny. God, how did he feel uneasy about something so small? He was quite literally your predator in this enclosed space, same with Riley although she obviously wouldn't dare to lay a finger on your precious fur.

Alright, back to explaining. Bunnies aren't dumb creatures, contrary to popular belief. They're usually of equal intelligence to cats & dogs. Yet Bun here was somehow..a lot more observant? Simon wasn't sure if that was the right word for it but the way Bun watched his every move like a hawk was too uncomfortable..

He should just sleep this off, he might be overthinking this. He probably is, hopefully. Turning off the lights & getting into bed which Riley is already in, much to Simon's surprise, Bun were there too. The bunny is just taking over everything, isn't it? Whatever, he's getting his shut eye no matter what.

~

What the hell was in his bed. No no, not what. Who the hell was in his bed? The one with floppy ears and a twitchy pinkish nose? The one with such supple skin and cheeks as bright as a rose? Whoever it was, wasn't supposed to be here! Bun wasn't anywhere to be found either—Wait. The fucking person on his bed was the bunny. How does this even happen.

Simon is the absolute definition of shell-shocked right now, eyes gouging out of his head at the very sight of the human bunny lying fast asleep in front of him. He couldn't just..throw it out either since Riley would be devastated about the bunny being gone..What the fuck does he do.

Should he wake you up? Do you even know you had the ability to turn into a human this whole time?

[guppybibi]

im so srry 4 da delay on everything im writing TwT currently not in a very good state mentally and physically n im starting to get rlly busy w school

[guppybibi]

guys I totally have everything planned and under control TRUST

(im just exhausted and unmotivated from school idk gang) but i already have plans for operation: living the teenage dream too. just no time to write it and as im writing this i lit have no energy but napping makes me even more sleepy so idk?? i only have energy to doomscroll

[guppybibi]

guys I unfortunately am unable to write bcus...school so have baby me idk

[guppybibi]

𝓢𝑢𝑔𝑎𝑟 𝓣𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔

.ᐟ He loves you—to the moon and back, to the ends of the Earth, and from the bottom of his heart. DICK GRAYSON is everything you could ever ask for—handsome, kind, attentive, charming. But when every single heart to heart conversation dissolves into soft touches and sweeter yet empty words, you couldn't help but wonder: is he really being honest with you, or is he only telling you what you want to hear?

.ᐟ CONTENT: established relationship, hurt no comfort (yet), miscommunication, flowers cant fix everything, barely proofread wc: 1.8k

.ᐟ a/n: decided to split this so this is part 1 <3 feeling very tired everyday from school :') defi wont be able to write as often also promoting my personal acc guys EMZ: @berrygabi

𝓑𝑢𝑡 𝓑𝑎𝑏𝑦 𝓘𝑓 𝓨𝑜𝑢 𝓝𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝓜𝑒…

The thing about Dick Grayson is that he always knew what to say.

And for the longest time, you believed that was one of the things you loved about him.

Your phone buzzes on the countertop. You don't have to look to see who it is. Still, a smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you go pick it up. Sure enough, you're greeted with a wall of texts from Dick.

Your eyes skim through it.

There was an emergency.

He was sorry and felt terrible.

He’ll make it up to you.

Somewhere between the third paragraph, you find yourself chuckling. Not necessarily because it was funny, just because it was so him. You could practically hear his voice from the other end.

A few hours later, there's a knock on your door. You don't even bother checking who it is. Dangerous? Sure, but worth the risk—especially when it was his arms you're running into. “Dick!”

The two of you embrace, and only when you pull away do you look at him clearly. The bag of takeout in one of his hands, the bouquet of your favorite flowers in the other, and a bruise near his cheekbone that you almost miss from the sheer charm of his smile.

Your smile falters instantly. “Dick, what happened to your face?” You reach out and lightly brush your fingers over the blooming purple like he was bruised fruit. “Turns out gravity doesn't make exceptions.” He shrugged, still smiling as he gently led your hand away from the mark.

You laugh, and decide to brush it off. Accidents happen all the time, right? He slips his shoes off when you lead him inside, taking the takeout to set everything up.

As soon as everything is laid out on the table, Dick slides a container full of your favorite food towards you. He didn't need to be asked twice. Of course he remembered, whether you had mentioned it once or a million times.

“Eat up,” he says, carefully nudging it closer. “I bet you were surviving off of caffeine again.” Underneath the teasing comment, a hint of worry flickers in his eyes. With a hand on your chest, you gasp dramatically. “I'll have you know that I was also surviving out of spite.”

“Ah. A balanced diet.” He nods. “I only expect the best from my girlfriend after all.” You narrow your eyes before taking a bite of your food. The television hums quietly in the background, playing some sitcom you left on while the two of you eat.

You swat his hand away from your container for the third time this whole dinner because Dick claims your food apparently tastes better. (What can you say? You have great taste.)

“What about you?” you ask after a moment. “How was your day?” Dick pauses briefly. Not long enough for you to suspect anything, just long enough for him to think and swallow his food.

“Busy,” he answers with a shrug. “Nothing special.” You hummed in acknowledgement. “Busy doing what?”

“Just the usual.” And before you could press further, he's already looking back at you. “How about you?” he asks. “Is that coworker of yours still annoying?”

The conversation shifts effortlessly. So effortless that you don't even realize that you’ve stopped talking about him entirely.

Another thing about Dick Grayson was that he never failed to make it up to you.

Whether it was just a night over your place or an important dinner he missed, he’d always make it up to you.

Missed movie night? The first thing you see the next morning is breakfast—still hot, sitting prettily on the table. Late to a date? A handwritten apology note tucked into your purse when you weren't looking.

Somehow, Dick always knew how to smooth things over. And somehow, you always let him.

Dick had texted you that he wouldn't be able to do dinner tonight. Again. You laugh it off, because the three paragraphs were more than enough, yet he still sent you another bouquet of flowers. Roses, to apparently spice things up while he wasn't there.

The news played in the background, something about Nightwing or whatever. You picked up your phone to call your friend.

“Hey,” she answers, clearly glad to hear from you. “Wanna know what showed up at my apartment today.” There's a pause. “Let me guess,” You glance at the bouquet sitting nicely at your coffee table. “Flowers again?”

You don't laugh instantly this time. Not when you catch the indifference in your friend's voice, like she's seen and heard this countless times before. “Alright,” you chuckle. “In my defense, they're different flowers this time.”

“That does not help your case.” she sighs. “How many times has he even canceled this month?” You start counting jokingly just to play along.

Until everything starts adding up at least. You weren't laughing when you started noticing the patterns.

The flowers.

The paragraphs.

The promises.

The “I'll make it up to you.”

Over and over again.

“He's just busy.” The excuse slips out of your mouth automatically, because it was true. He was busy. “I know,” your friend says gently. “But does it make it hurt any less?”

You glance down at the bouquet, still on the coffee table like a promise. Then, at another bouquet resting in a vase on the kitchen counter. From when he had to miss date night with you.

They were beautiful. They always were.

You try not to dwell on it. You swear you do. Because your friend wasn't wrong, and neither were you. Dick was busy. You knew that. Everyone involved in his life knew that.

So, you push the conversation to the back of your mind.

The next week, your family gathers to celebrate your little brother’s birthday. The house filled with noise, decorations hung from the walls, relatives gossiping, and your little brother had spent the entire time vibrating from excitement.

Not just because it was his special day, but because Dick was coming too.

“Did you tell him about the cake?” That was the fourth time he had asked you that. Yes, you've been keeping count. “Yes.”

“And the new video game?” You nod again.

“And that I beat my high score?” You laugh. “Yes, I told him.” Your brother grins victoriously before running off to bother someone else.

The fondness in your chest hit instantly.

Your family adored Dick. Your parents thought he was a gentleman. Your relatives thought he was a nice and charming young man. And your little brother thought he was the coolest person to walk the planet.

You look down at your phone. No messages, no calls. You aren't worried. Dick promised that he’d be here, that he wouldn't miss it for the world. And Dick always kept his promises, right?

An hour passes, then another. Every so often, your little brother would run to peek out the front door.

“When’s Dick getting here?”

“Soon.”

The first few times, you believe it. The next few times, you're trying to.

By the time the cake is brought out, your stomach began twisting itself into uncomfortable knots. Then, your phone buzzes. An all too familiar sound.

Your heart sinks before you even open it, because you just know. A wall of text greets you. There was another emergency.

He was sorry.

He felt terrible.

He’ll make it up to you and your little brother.

He promises.

You stare at the screen for a moment before locking your phone. Your little brother, ever the observant one, notices immediately. “Is he here?” The excitement in his voice makes something in your chest twist harder.

“I'm sorry, kiddo.” You force a smile. “Something came up.” The anticipation in his grin slowly slips away. “Oh.” Just one word, just a syllable. Yet it conveyed disappointment more than anything else.

Your brother looks away first. “That's okay.” And maybe it was, it should've been. But as everyone gathered around the table to sing, you couldn't stop glancing towards the empty seat that was meant for him.

By the end of the night, people slowly start leaving and saying their goodbyes. Leftover cake and food gets packed away, decorations get taken down. The house slowly settles into silence.

You help clean up. You smile when you're supposed to. You tell your family that something came up and Dick was sorry, all of them were looking forward to seeing him after all.

You help your little brother bring his presents up to his room. You brush your hands together when you bring up the last of the gifts. “Do you think Dick forgot?”

“No.” Your answer was instant. Because you know he didn't. Dick remembers everything.

Birthdays.

Anniversaries.

A tiny detail you mentioned months ago.

Your brother nods before shrugging. Not angry, just disappointed.

Later that night, in your car after you've said your goodbyes. You stare at the message, rereading it for what felt like the fifth time tonight. Something in you tells you that you've read this before.

Not this exact message, but pieces of it.

Your thumb hovers over the screen, and before you know it—you're scrolling upwards.

Weeks, months before. Paragraph after paragraph. Different situations, different dates. But the apologies are starting to blur together.

And for the first time, you don't reply immediately.

The drive home was quietly peaceful. Until you step through your front door, and the first thing you see is yet another bouquet and an intricately wrapped present for your little brother.

You stare at it for a moment, absentmindedly kicking off your shoes. Beautiful flowers, because you always loved the effort and not the item itself. A thoughtful gift, probably something amazing that would make your little brother forget his absence.

A perfect apology. The kind that would've made you smile. Tonight, all it does is make your chest ache. And when you gaze down at the flowers again, you couldn't tell why looking at them only made you feel so tired.

Your phone buzzes in your hand.

Dickie 💙

Did you get home safe? <3

Another buzz.

Dickie 💙

I know tonight wasn't what I promised. You don't have to tell me it's okay.

But at least talk to me, pretty girl

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, staring at the message. Then at the little blue heart next to his name, then back to the flowers. You type something out, then delete it. Too safe.

You

Yeah, just got home

You hit send, and almost immediately a typing bubble appears. Then disappears, appears, and disappears again.

Dick 💙

Good ❤️

You stare at the message and at the heart at the end of it. At the flowers and present sitting at your table again. Somehow, your apartment felt full and empty at the same time.

You carefully place your phone face down on the counter. The flowers remained exactly where they were. Not in a fancy vase, not even in a glass like where you would usually put them.

For the first time, you went to bed without smelling them.

[guppybibi]

will damian guide me or not on my 1st day of skool lets find out guys

[guppybibi]

Diary of a Forgotten Girl

.ᐟ All that remains of BRUCE WAYNE’S daughter is everything she left behind: her belongings, her room, and a diary no one knew existed. And inside of it, she's still there, alive—in ink, in pages, and in quiet entries.

.ᐟ CONTENT: OOC (?), angst, implied character death, neglected batsis!reader, sunshine!reader, kinda damian centered, grief, post-death wc: 2.3k

.ᐟ a/n: ty all sm for 1k+ followers! <3 :D srry if i didn't include every1 in the batfam, it was easier for me dis way. and i didnt want to mischaracterize them.

The ride home from the funeral was painfully silent save for the soft tapping of rain on the fogged up window and some light jazz playing on the radio, just loud enough so the silence doesn't drive anyone crazy or swallow everyone whole.

No one spoke. No one dared to.

Not when Bruce’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. Not when they had to stop when the traffic light turned red. And not even when the manor that seemed even gloomier than before came into view, gates already open. As if it was waiting.

Except this time, they weren't greeted by your warm open arms.

The large menacing doors of the manor opened easily. What wasn't easy was what they had to face. Damian still, foolishly half expected you to come running over to them, ready to smother him in kisses just to annoy him. But now, only the cold wind from the inside greeted them all.

Nothing was out of place. No signs of trouble, no chaos. Everything looked normal. Too exact. Too still. And that was what made it even more unbearable.

They see it in the ghosts of your everyday routine.

Your sneakers resting on the shoe rack, almost like you’ll slip them on any second to tell Bruce you're going out with your friends he never got to know because he never asked.

Your favorite mug neatly tucked in the cupboards. Almost like you’ll reach for it later because you wanted to have some hot cocoa to battle the cold weather.

Everything simply felt…paused.

Like you weren't gone, just delayed, got into traffic, running a bit late.

Maybe because some part of them still wanted to believe you’d enter the manor any moment now—coming back from school, or maybe a late night out with some friends.

And then, without uttering a single word, Damian turned to the grand staircase and made his way to the East Wing of the manor—where your room rested.

You and Damian had never been particularly close. Well, that's what he says at least whenever someone asks. But it was undeniable that the two of you were closer than either of you admitted.

Through shared blood, the same dark hair, and even the same stern resting face—even though you were, in every possible way, the complete opposite.

The closer Damian got to your door, the heavier the silence weighed down on his shoulders. His hand hovering over the doorknob before his mind betrays him for a brief moment.

You call his name, either for help or just to irritate him. You, laughing way too loudly at a joke he never found funny. And how you always leaned closer to him like you had no concept of personal space.

Although, on some nights, he’d let you rest your head on his shoulder. As long as you made sure not to tell anyone the next day.

His hand finally closed around the doorknob. The coolness of the metal is like a sharp sting against his skin when it reminds him of how cold your hand felt the last time he got to hold it.

The door eased open easily, slow and quiet—like it was trying not to disturb anything.

The curtains were hung exactly how you did them, your bed fixed in that rushed manner. Everything sat where it belonged, untouched and unchanged.

Damian stepped in, not closing the door behind him. It was already too suffocating. He hesitates, because for the first time, he had no idea what he was doing here. His feet simply brought him up here with no clear purpose.

Damian stood still in the doorway. His eyes moved around on their own.

Polaroids of you and your friends taped onto the wall, certificates and awards he never knew about on the shelves. He’d seen them countless times before without truly seeing them.

His eyes shift to your desk. He could almost picture you sitting on it, back hunched like a shrimp as you complained about your back aching.

Looking closer, he spots something laying on the desk. At first, he didn't register it as anything important. Probably just clutter, another ordinary object. And for a moment, a part of him wanted to leave it that way.

As if that meant you were still going to come back to it.

It was a notebook, small and unsuspecting enough to be overlooked, but worn down to suggest that it's been with you for a while. There wasn't anything particularly special about it, yet he couldn't get his eyes off of it.

He approached the desk, and up close that's when he realized it wasn't just some notebook. It was your diary. His expression doesn't change much, because it was just a diary.

People kept diaries all the time, it wasn't anything unusual. Still, there was still something about it he couldn't ignore.

His fingers twitched at his side as he told himself that it was irrelevant. Just words on paper. Nothing more.

And yet, Damian opened the diary.

The pages rustled beneath his hand. For a second, nothing has changed. Just words on a page waiting for someone to read them.

“Damian.”

His eyes snapped to the doorway where Dick stood, the voice stopping him mid-breath. Meanwhile Dick’s gaze instantly drops to the diary in Damian’s hands. “What's that?”

Damian doesn't answer immediately, but his grip on the diary gets noticeably tighter. His eyes don't meet Dick’s, instead fixed onto the page. “It's nothing.”

His words were final, like the decision had already been made. Dick notices the way Damian holds the diary closer to his chest, as if it was an attempt to protect you from the world for the last time.

“It doesn't look like nothing.” Dick slowly steps into the room. Damian doesn't answer, letting the silence stretch. “Damian.” He calls, softer this time. “Let me see.”

Damian didn't move right away. His grip on the diary remained strong, curled tight against the cover as he refused to let go. A pause.

Then he let his hold loosen, only slightly. Just enough for Dick to be able to read the written words. The page settled between them, and there it was. Your neat and familiar handwriting. Too familiar.

September 17

Dear Diary, today was a good day. I just wish I had someone to tell. But everyone was busy, even Alfred. It's fine. I do hope tomorrow is even better.

Neither of them spoke. The silence stretched uncomfortably until they heard faint footsteps echoing from the hallway—gradually getting louder as they got closer.

Tim appeared first, too quickly for them to even bother closing or hiding the diary. His eyes swept over the room instantly, taking everything in. The stillness. How everything in your space looked frozen in time. The tension between Dick and Damian.

Then his gaze drops to the diary.

“You found something.”

He stepped closer, eyes focused on the item Damian was holding. It didn't take long for him to realize it was a diary. Your diary. His expression tightens slightly, but he continues to approach.

And as if on cue, footsteps followed to the doorway. “What's that?” The air shifted when Jason entered, clearly not waiting for an answer.

And just like that, they found themselves gathered around your diary. All of their eyes linger on the first page, and before Damian could flip over to the next one.

“...You think she’d want this?”

Damian didn't look up, as if he couldn't be bothered to. But his hold tightens. “You're free to leave if it bothers you.”

Jason presses his lips together, clearly far from pleased. And yet he couldn't find it in himself to leave.

No one moves. Still, Damian’s fingers hesitate to move to the next page. As if he was letting the weight of your first entry sink in first before whatever came next.

Then footsteps could be heard coming from the hallway again, heavier and full of grief this time. They didn't turn, didn't have to. They knew.

Bruce stood in the doorway, his gaze sweeping over the room. But not analytically like Tim’s, and not sharply like Jason. Just…steadily, taking everything in and remembering.

“Read it.”

Bruce didn't have to look twice to know it was your diary they discovered. He’d seen it before. A couple of years ago when he caught you scribbling on it once like a little schoolgirl that tried to hide their secret crushes from everyone. He remembered letting you be.

He found it endearing. Now though, that memory felt different. A part of him wished he asked about it, and maybe you would have shared it with him.

Damian nodded slightly as his fingers moved to turn to the next page.

September 20

Dear Diary, today was just a little more different than usual.

I had breakfast with Alfred because apparently dad already headed to work early. Anyways, Alfred’s pancakes are always delicious. He’s got to teach me the recipe some time!

He's like a grandpa to me, but he's got a whole manor to run. Still, he tries to make time for me and I try to make time for him too.

And I never really liked my dark hair, I’ve always wanted to dye it. Probably blonde. I think that’d bring out my eyes. But Alfred always tells me that my hair is like Gotham’s sky, mysterious and beautiful in its own way. So I guess I should keep it.

And when I got home dad was there surprisingly. He asked me about my day and I told him that it went nicely, though I don't think he really heard what I said.

It's okay though. He’s busy and has a whole company to run. Not to mention the nightly activities, but he doesn't know that I know. So it should be our little secret.

October 2

Dear Diary, today was normal.

It was a weekend, but I had a buttload of homework. :( And Tim was around so I figured, why not do some work together? It's like efficient family bonding.

I slipped into Tim’s room with all my stuff when he didn't respond to the first three knocks I gave. He was working on another case, no surprise there. I got into the space next to him and he said “Hey.” to me. I think that was acknowledgement.

We worked for a while in silence, not the bad kind. The usual.

I actually managed to do most of my work, so yay me!

October 14

Dear Diary, today was sorta weird…

Jason was home today. He was in the kitchen, having some tea while reading a book. That was good, I liked books. We could talk about that!

I said “Hi.” first though, before sitting across from him. But he just looked at me and nodded, and that may have been a smile on his face. I'm not too sure.

It was quiet for a while. The noise was mostly just me trying to talk about books accompanied with Jason’s grunts of acknowledgment. That's fine, at least he was listening. I mean, I hope he was. I don't know.

At some point I don't remember, I just stopped talking. He left a little after that, but I noticed that he looked tenser than before.

I don't think I said or did anything wrong, but it felt like I did.

October 29

Dear Diary, today was really nice! :D

This time, Dick was home! And I ended up hanging out with him in the living room. We decided to watch a movie together like old times and he even let me pick!

I ended up choosing one of our old favorite movies, just to reminisce. It was nice. Dick kept making jokes that made me laugh.

It feels easy being around Dick. It's been lonely ever since he moved out, and after that it's felt like he keeps me at an arms length.

Anyways, I hope we do this again sometime.

The pages stilled under Damian’s hands. The more they read the smaller the room felt, the more suffocating.

No one moved or said anything for a moment. Jason only lets out a quiet breath as the brothers share a look. They didn't know. “I thought she was okay.” Dick says under his breath, practically a whisper.

And no one responds to him, because they thought the same.

November 3

Dear Diary, today was nice.

It was just me and Damian today.

I saw him doodling something in the library alone, so I decided to keep him some company! I sat near him and before I could even mutter out a word he told me to be quiet.

…Rude. (Affectionate) I silently watched him sketch for a few minutes, and whenever I leaned to close he told me something about personal space. But he never moves away himself.

So I stayed.

I think he's gotten used to my presence, maybe even fond of it…Hopefully. And sometimes, he lets me rest my head on his shoulder. He never mentions anything about it after. So neither do I.

I think that's just our sibling thing.

November 17

Dear Diary, today could've been better honestly.

I mean, nothing really happened. I just wanted to hang out with somebody, but it was just my luck that everyone was busy. I understand though, and I tried keeping myself entertained but nothing has really stuck.

I think I just need a change of scenery. So I'm going out tonight by myself. :) #Independent

Just for a walk, I won't go too far. I know it's late, and it could be dangerous. But it's fine, I’m not helpless.

Oh—and I also made sure to give Damian a goodbye kiss on the forehead before I left even if he says he hates it. He'll probably complain about it later.

Damian's thumb hovered over the page, as if he was waiting for something. Then he turns it, again, again, and again. All blank, of course they were. What did he expect?

You never came back after that.

The city had taken you in the quietest, most ordinary way. All it took was one moment.

And all of them thought there would be more time.

[guppybibi]

wowie u guys liked this

[guppybibi]

i hope u guys r ready

for absolutely nothing bcus ive only written the first part

[guppybibi]

guys damian wayne x me propaganda

[guppybibi]

me on my wedding day when it should've been damian