Hjp my love đ ⢠Tomarry/Harrymort stan4life. ⢠multifandom, multishipper. ⢠pro/dark/comshipper, pro-fiction. ⢠love rare/problematic ships. ⢠SI & OCxCanon & crossover lover ⢠just reblog whatever Iâm hyper-fixated on or random shit ⢠20, any prns âď¸ â˘ I think weâre all one good fic from being into virtually any ship/kink.
Proship has never meant anything except a combination of three ideas:
Ship and let ship (your ships don't harm me and vice-versa) and YKINMK (your kink is not my kink, and that's okay; my kink stories don't harm you and vice-versa)
Harassment over fiction is not acceptable
Censorship of fiction is not acceptable either
Any other definitions are made by antis, not proshippers, and are an attempt at revisionism to justify harassment based on false claims.
Yeah.
Antis like to claim that the "pro" means "problematic", but nope. "Pro" (for) is simply the opposite of "anti" (against), and all that "proship" really means is "Let everyone ship what they want, everyone mind their own business".
OLD Black Widow script from 2005, for the canceled Lionsgate movie.
After some digging, I found David Hayterâs old script written in 2005 for a Black Widow movie that was planned for production by Marvel and Lionsgate. This film project was canceled after the failure of then-recent female action titles like Ultraviolet, Aeon Flux, Elektra, and others.
Itâs an interesting read, I uploaded it to make it a bit easier to find.
Disclaimer: to the best of my knowledge, this script and its writer are not attached to a future Marvel Studios Black Widow film, and no future Black Widow film has yet been announced for release.
authors note: Okay, so this fic came to me while writing about clint's daddy issues. Just Tony having a younger, hotter boyfriend who's also a super soldier. Which is great on paper, but when you get down and dirty, it makes Tony feel old. Like, sure, he still got it, but years have caught up to him and suddenly he's drained after just one round when before he could go up till three. So yeah, hope you guys enjoy the fic!
synopsis: Having a super soldier boyfriend wasn't an easy walk in the park. Sure, the perks outweigh the drawbacks, but when it comes down to having sex, it just highlights the wedge between them. Tony was pushing 50, and you, with the serum, were barely 30.
WARNING: 18+ SMUT AHEAD
The headboard slammed against the wall with a sharp crack. Tony's fingers scrabbled for purchase on your shoulders, his legs wrapped tightly around your waist as you thrust into him with a relentless, super soldier rhythm.
"Fuck," he choked out, his head thrown back against the pillows. The arc reactor cast a frantic, blue light across his heaving chest, highlighting the strain in his neck and the blissful agony on his face. "Slow down, youâŚyou animalâŚ"
You couldn't. Not when he was clenching around you so perfectly, not when his broken moans were the sweetest sound you'd ever heard. You were on your second round, and while your body was still humming with energy, his was already reaching its limit. You could feel it in the tremor of his thighs, the way his breath hitched in short, desperate pants.
"Almost there," you grunted, angling your hips just so, hitting that spot inside him that made him see stars. "Come on. Give me one more."
He cried out, a raw, ragged sound as his orgasm tore through him, his body arching off the bed. Cum painted his stomach, and the sight of him completely wrecked and lost in pleasure, was enough to push you over the edge. You buried your face in Tony's neck, groaning his name as you cummed inside him.
Tony lay motionless, chest rising and falling in a rapid, shallow rhythm. His eyes were closed, his face pale.
"Tony?" You reached out and brushed a damp strand of hair from his forehead.
He didn't open his eyes. "I thinkâŚI think I saw the afterlife for a second there. It was surprisingly boring."
A small smile touched your lips. "You okay?"
"Peachy," he breathed, the word barely a whisper. "Just need a minute. Or a week. Definitely a week."
You watched him, your chest swelling with a fierce, protective love. He was so beautiful like this. Vulnerable, sated, and completely yours. But you also knew the look that was beginning to settle on his face.
You shifted onto your side, propping your head up on your hand. "Don't start."
One eye cracked open. "Start what? I'm not starting anything. I'm just decompressing. A man is allowed to decompress after being practically fucked into a new dimension."
"I can hear the gears turning from here. You're thinking about how you're in your fifties and I'm, well, this." You gestured vaguely to your own still perfect physique.
He finally opened both eyes and the vulnerability there made your heart ache. "Can you blame me? I feel like I've been hit by a truck. A very persistent, very well endowed truck. And you look like you could go for round three right now."
You leaned in, kissing him softly, a stark contrast to the raw intensity from moments before. "But I want you."
"You have me," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "But for how long? One day you're going to wake up and realize you're shacked up with a relic. An old man who can't even keep up with his boyfriends stamina."
You felt a surge of anger, not at him, but at the cruel voice in his head that told him these lies.
You moved then, shifting to hover over him. You framed his face with your hands, forcing him to look at you, to see the truth in your eyes.
"Listen to me, Tony Stark. I don't care about how long you last during sex. I don't care if we do it everyday or only once every month. You know why?"
He shook his head.
"Because I care about this. I care about you. Every laugh line, every gray hair, every scar. I want the man who built an arc reactor in a cave. I want the man who saved the world half a dozen times and still burns his pop tarts. I want Tony Stark. All of him."
You kissed him then, a deep kiss that wasn't about starting another round, but about reminding him exactly who he was to you.
When you finally pulled back, his eyes were shining. The self doubt had been replaced by awe or just the profound, overwhelming reality of being loved. "You're too much."
"Good," you growled, nipping at his jaw. "You deserve too much. You deserve everything."
You settled back beside him, pulling his body flush against yours. He was still trembling, overstimulated and exhausted, but he melted into your embrace. His head found its place on your chest, right over your heartbeat.
"Just give me a minute," he mumbled into your skin. "Or ten. Maybe twenty. And some Gatorade. And possibly a full IV drip."
You laughed. "Whatever you need old man."
Tony pinched your side, but there was no heat in it. "Watch it, supersoldier. Even if I'm older, I still know how to pack a punch." Silence befell the room, but when you thought he might have drifted off, he spoke so softly you almost missed it.
"I love you."
You held him tighter, pressing another kiss to the crown of his head. "I know, Tony. I love you, too."
My grandma just called and, among other things, said âYou have hips. Thatâs good! Men like hips!â and then she interrupted herself to say âWomen like hips. People of your preferred gender like hips. I can never rememberâÂ
And I was like âThanks grandma! My preferred gender is none of them, no thanks.â and she was like âOkay, no one will comment on your hips!â very self satisfied, like âaha, I have figured it outâ
I think like half her grandkids are some variety of not-straight and she canât always remember which is which but she is the epitome of like âsheâs a little confused, but sheâs got the spirit!â
I told my grandma that Iâd told my friends about what she said and that some of yâall had said you wished she was your grandma, and she said âWell, you can never have too many grandkids!âÂ
So likeâŚconsider her your honorary grandma* I guess?
*if you want an honorary grandma, that is
Update on my grandma: I told her my hair was standing up, but instead of straight line it was diagonal and she said âThatâs okay, youâve never been straight!â and then laughed so hard at her own joke I thought she was going to drop the phone
the first time tony makes peterâs suit, he spends the entire night workshopping it.
heâs got only about a gazillion original failsafes, including the old ones programmed into the iron man suit. over 576 webshooter combinations, an integrated training protocol, a voice modifier for âenhanced interrogationâ, scanners for criminal databases, heartbeat sensors, heat scan sensors, a drone, a tracker, a heater, a parachute. and thatâs just barely scratching the surface.
tony stark thought of everything the kid could have possibly encountered, and made a function for it. he was sure that he hadnât missed a thing.
theyâre working together and tony asks him how his suit was holding up, if it needed any repairs or anything. heâs opening the door up. and peter starts rapid-firing ideas for the suit that never even crossed tonyâs mind. which is crazy. because everything crosses tonyâs mind.
the kid thinks outside of the box, he applies concepts to situations in unique ways, inventive ways. heâs scrappy, even in the most top-of-the-line tech. using the given materials to come up with a solution to a hyper-specific problem on the fly.
tony will make the next suit to match that qualityâ intuitive.
for now, heâs having a blast sharing the lab with a kid so smart. peter never runs out of things to say, and tony never runs out of things to improve.
HIIII! me again lol, i hope you're having a good time with your requests, you're very talented please don't rush and take your time we appreciate it a lot đ
sooo hear me out on jealous!nightwing bc it's been eating my head for days. let's say he has a boyfriend with ungodly levels of rizz WITHOUT EVEN TRYING, he's just THAT guy. that obvs boosts dick's ego but he's also gnawing at the bars of his enclousure bc he knows his bf has a LIINE behind him and man does not care at all (bonus if his siblings absolutely notice when Dick is jealous but won't admit it bc he tries so hard to be nonchalant abt it (he's not tho) ) đ
have u watched that episode of teen titans when robin has to go on a date with a girl who's dad is a villain and starfire kinda infiltrates bc she's jealous? yeeah something like that, some silly little thing where reader is practically obligated to go on a date with a villain's daughter or whatever and Dick is about to combust and wither away from jealousy when the girl tries to kiss reader or smth.
i yap way too much so sorry, hope u like the request, if not interested just ignore. bye! đŠˇ
JUST PART OF THE PLAN
Nightwing/Dick Grayson x Male Reader
authors note: Nightwing has become my current obsession, like he's just that boy. Not only is he hot, but he is literally the blueprint for robin and has a whole ass story apart from being Bruce's adopted kid. I think he would be that jealous enough to storm in there (after the reader gets the info, of course, 'cause he's that good) and just steal him away. So I wrote it in 'cause it's also hilarious.
Dick was very aware of the effect you had on people. A waitress lingering a little too long at the table. A civilian thanking you for helping them and blushing hard enough to rival a stoplight. A hero from another city clapping you on the shoulder and laughing a bit too warmly.
Dick would smile. Beam, even. Because, yeah, that was his boyfriend, and he had impeccable taste. You were his, and everyone else could look, but they couldn't touch.
That was his mantra. It worked. Until it didn't.
The mission, on paper, was simple.
Black Mask had a daughter, Persephone, who was less of a criminal mastermind and more of a spoiled socialite with a penchant for dating dangerous men. She was the key to getting close to her father's latest financial scheme, and you, with your uncanny ability to charm the literal pants off anyone, were the perfect bait.
"It's just dinner," you said to Dick, adjusting the tie of the ridiculously expensive suit Bruce had fronted for the occasion. "I get the info then we go home. I'll even bring you back dessert."
Dick had waved you off with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Go get 'em, tiger."
He thought he'd be fine. He really did. He sat in the Batmobile, a block away from the ridiculously opulent restaurant, monitoring your comms and trying to focus on the mission parameters. He lasted about twelve minutes.
"Wow," your voice came through the comms, laced with that easy, genuine charm that made Dick's stomach flip. "You have a point about the architecture, Persephone. The Art Deco influences are really subtle butâ"
"She's touching his arm," Tim's voice crackled over a separate, secure channel. "She's been touching his arm for the last five minutes."
Dick's jaw tightened. "I'm aware, Tim."
"And she just laughed like he told the funniest joke in the world. He just said the word 'subtle.'"
"I'm. Aware."
"He's smiling his 'I'm listening to you and you are the most interesting person in the world' smile," Steph cut in, sounding far too gleeful. "You know the one that makes you want to confess all your secrets."
Dick's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. He was the one who got that smile. Not some mob boss's daughter.
The mission was supposed to be the focus, but Dick's brain was stuck on a loop. He could picture it perfectly. The way your eyes would crinkle at the corners. The way you'd lean in, giving her your undivided attention, making her feel like the only person who mattered. It was a superpower, and right now, Dick hated it.
Then came the line that made him see red.
"You know," Persephone's voice drifted faintly through your open mic. "My father can be very difficult, but I think a man like you can be up for the challenge. We could be very....."
This was the moment. You had to play your part, to give her just enough to think she had you, and just enough to get what they needed. You leaned in, mirroring her posture, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"A man like me is always up for a challenge," A slow, charming smile gracing your lips. "But a partnership like that, it's built on secrets, isn't it? Shared ones."
Her eyes gleamed with triumph. "Exactly," her fingers tracing patterns on the white tablecloth. "My father moves his money through a series of shell corporations. The final transfer point is the key. It's a data haven in the Caymans, but the access codes change every hour. Only he and I have the current one."
It was working. You had the location. You just needed the final piece.
"An access code?" you mused, acting impressed. "That's incredibly secure. Smart man." You let your gaze drop to her lips for a fraction of a second, a calculated move. "I bet you're the only one who can keep up with him."
"I am," she purred, emboldened by your attention. She leaned in even closer, her voice a mere whisper. "The code is based on a phrase. Something only he and I would know. 'Alecto's rise.'"
"She gave it to him!" Tim's voice hissed in Dick's ear. "We have it. 'Alecto's rise.' That's it, we can move in."
"Get him out," Bruce's commanding tone cut through. "Now. Mission complete."
That was all Dick needed to hear. The mission was complete. You had the code. He didn't even wait for backup before he was already out of the Batmobile, pulling the domino mask over his face. He exploded through the restaurant's ornate doors, ignoring the shouts of the staff.
Dick's hand clamped down on your shoulder, spinning your chair slightly as he appeared beside you. He didn't give Persephone a second glance. He just hooked a finger under your chin, tilted your head up, and claimed your mouth in a searing, possessive kiss.
It was a branding. A public declaration. A desperate, messy, perfect kiss that screamed mine. His other arm wrapped around your waist, lifting you slightly out of your chair and pressing you against him.
When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, your eyes wide with shock and arousal. Persephone sat frozen, her perfectly painted lips slightly parted in utter disbelief.
Dick's chest heaved as his blue eyes burned into yours. "We're done here." He grabbed your hand, his grip firm and unyielding, and pulled you away from the table.
The ride back to the cave was silent. You didn't push, just watched him with an amused, fond look that made the knot in his stomach loosen, just a little. The second the Batmobile's engine shut off in the cave, you were on him.
You straddled his lap in the driver's seat, your hands framing his face. "Okay," your thumb stroked his cheekbone. "Spill."
Dick deflated, the aggressive, jealous front crumbling away. "I hate it," he mumbled into your shoulder, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist. "I hate seeing them look at you like that. Like they have a chance."
"They don't," you said, simply. "I'm yours, Dick. You know that."
"I know," he sighed, the fight draining out of him. "But tonight, when she said that, I just saw red." Dick pulled back to look at you, a sheepish grin finally breaking through. "Was it obvious?"
"To me? Always," you leaned in to press a soft, gentle kiss to his lips. "To them? Let's just say I think your little performance has given the entire family enough blackmail material to last a decade."
Dick groaned, burying his face in your neck again, but this time he was laughing. "I'm gonna kill them."
"No, you're not," you ran your fingers through his hair. "You're too busy being a possessive, jealous idiot who's secretly smug that his boyfriend is the most charming man on the planet."
He lifted his head, his blue eyes shining with adoration. "Well," he pulled you in for another, much slower kiss. "Can you blame me?"
You smiled against his lips. "Not at all. Now, about that dessert I promised youâŚ"
tagged (because you commented it): @stvrw1tch @rebelioussavant
You know what? You were so done.
After what felt like the hundredth time you cried on the living room floor, curled up against the couch cushions with swollen eyes and an aching chest, you finally lifted your head and glared at the framed photograph sitting on the coffee table.
It was one of Dickâs favorites.
You remembered the day clearly now, which honestly pissed you off more. The two of you had been out on the pier after patrol, exhausted and sweaty and delirious from lack of sleep. Dick had wrapped his arm around your shoulders while laughing at something stupid Wally said, and Roy had snapped the picture before either of you noticed.
Dick loved that photo because, according to him, âYou smiled like you forgot the world sucked for a second.â
You hated it now. Not because the memory was fake. That was the problem. It wasnât fake. Thatâs what made this hurt so much.
You stared at Dickâs smiling face. Beautiful blue eyes. Stupid perfect grin. The same mouth that told you he loved you while conveniently forgetting to mention youâd originally been his emotional rebound after Kory left him.
âHe fucked up,â you muttered bitterly to yourself. âHe fucked up and Iâm the one acting like my life ended.â
You shoved yourself upright off the floor, wiping your face aggressively with the sleeve of your hoodie. Your entire body ached from days of crying, rotting in bed, ignoring texts, and replaying memories until you made yourself sick.
Sure, you didnât want Dick dead.
And if he really was falling apart like Kory said, well, that sucked. But it wasnât your responsibility to hold together the man who shattered you. He had Bruce. He had the Titans. He had a family that worshipped the ground he walked on.
You? You had yourself, and honestly? You missed him. You missed being Y/N instead of whatever miserable shell this was.
âWhat the fuck am I doing? Iâm not Bella Swan.â
That actually made you snort a laugh. A real one. Slightly hysterical, maybe, but still.
The sadness didnât disappear overnight. But rage? Rage was useful. Rage got you off the floor. Rage made you shower for the first time in days. Rage made you throw away the cold takeout containers piling in your kitchen. Rage made you open the curtains and let sunlight into your apartment again.
You started going out again.
You hit the gym hard enough to leave your muscles screaming. You started reconnecting with friends outside the hero circle. You started sleeping without checking your phone every five minutes for Dickâs name lighting up your screen.
And eventually? The ache dulled. Not gone. Never gone, but survivable.
Dick showed up at your apartment three weeks later. You opened the door wearing sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, looking mildly annoyed more than heartbroken.
âHey.â
You leaned against the doorway. âWhat do you want?â
His throat bobbed nervously. âCan I come in?â
âNo.â
âRight. Okay.â
Dick looked exhausted. Too thin. Dark circles under his eyes. Hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets like he was trying to physically hold himself together.
âI miss you.â
You stared at him without reacting.
âI know I donât deserve another chance. I know I hurt you. I know I lied to you and destroyed your trust, but I swear to god, Y/N, I love you. I love you. Not Kory. Not anyone else.â His voice cracked slightly.
âAnd Kory wanted me to tell you she never knewââ
âDick, I genuinely do not care anymore.â That visibly stunned him. âIâm serious. Kory doesnât owe me anything. She didnât betray me. You did.â
âI know.â
âAnd honestly?â You crossed your arms. âYou coming here to swear you arenât secretly in love with your ex anymore isnât exactly helping your case.â
His face crumpled. âThatâs not what I meantââ
âI know what you meant.â Your voice stayed calm. âBut you still donât get it. I was with you for three years. Three years, Dick. And at no point during those three years did you trust me enough to tell me the truth. You decided for me. You decided what I could handle. You decided Iâd stay if I never found out.â
His eyes watered immediately. âI was scared.â
âAnd I was in love with you. Do you understand how humiliating that feels now?â
Dick looked like heâd rather you hit him. âI do love you,â he whispered desperately. âPlease believe that much.â
âI do believe you,â you admitted. âThatâs the fucked up part. You know, I spent weeks thinking my life was over. Crying over you. Missing you. Wanting you back so badly it physically hurt.â Your expression hardened slightly.
âAnd then one morning I realized something. Youâre not the center of my universe. I loved you a lot. Maybe part of me always will, but Iâm finally starting to feel like myself again. And I donât want to lose that by trying to glue together something already broken.â
âY/NâŚâ His voice cracked apart completely now. âPlease.â
âNo.â
Dick looked utterly destroyed standing there in your hallway, eyes red, shoulders slumped, heartbreak written all over his face. You softened just slightly. âI donât hate you, Dick.â
His expression broke further somehow.
âThat almost makes this worse.â You gave him one last look before stepping back and closing the door of your apartment.
Is there a possibility for a âJust how do I tell him?â Like time passes and how the team feels like about it not being right and Corey (bless her heart I love her â¤ď¸) is the one who talks and gets both sideâs unbiased and some how brings them both to terms about their feeling for each other.
JUST HOW DO I TELL HIM? PT. 2
Nightwing x Male Reader
LINK TO PART ONE AND PART THREE
authors note: So....this fic might've taken half a year or more to come to fruition, but let me explain. I didn't see this blowing up as much as I thought, and when that happens, I shut down. Like, my mind goes blank on how I can make the 2nd part be as juicy as the first, so yeah. That's why I suck at series. Anyways, thanks for the idea and hope you enjoy!
Dick left the first voicemail ten minutes after you walked out.
âHey. Itâs me. I justâplease call me when you get this. I want to talk. I love you.â
You didnât return his call. The second voicemail came an hour later.
âI know youâre angry. You have every right to be. Iâm not asking you to forgive me. Just...just hear me out. Please.â
Still nothing.
By midnight, desperation took the reigns.
âHey...itâs me again. Iâm sorry for calling so much, I justâI keep replaying your face when you left and I canâtâfuck.â A sharp inhale. âPlease. I canât do this without you.â
Dick slept maybe an hour that night, phone clutched in his hand like a lifeline. When morning came and there was still no missed call, no text, something in him splintered.
The team noticed almost immediately.
Dick skipped breakfast. Skipped briefing. And when he did show up, he was sharp edged and volatile, snapping at anyone who spoke too slowly or stood too close. Wally tried to joke it off once, just once, and Dick rounded on him so fast the room went dead silent.
âYou done talking?â Dick snapped. âBecause if you have another joke in you, now would be a great time to shut the hell up.â
By the third day, heâd stopped eating entirely. Coffee and adrenaline were the only things keeping him upright. His patience was gone, his temper frayed so thin it snapped at the smallest provocation. Training dummies were left in pieces. His knuckles were split and raw, blood smearing the wraps because he forgot (didnât care) to change them.
On the fourth day, Bruce finally stepped in.
âYouâre not cleared for patrol tonight.â
Dick laughed, but it was harsh and humorless. âExcuse me?â
âYouâre distracted. Youâre irritable. You missed three tactical cues in training.â Bruceâs voice was firm. âThat gets people killed.â
Dickâs jaw clenched. âSo thatâs it? You bench me because my personal life imploded?â
âThis isnât about your personal life. This is about your judgment.â
Dick stepped closer, fists clenched. âFunny. You never seemed to have an issue when your judgment was compromised.â
Bruceâs eyes hardened. âEnough.â
âNo,â He shot back, anger finally spilling over. âYou donât get to pull rank now. Not when you taught me to bury everything and keep moving like nothing hurts. This is on you too.â Dick turned and left, rage and shame twisting together until he couldnât tell them apart.
Meanwhile, you were doing just as badly.
You ignored his missed calls. Deleted the voicemails without listening to them and called it self-preservation. Reasoned that if you heard just a word, that it would only drag you back into something already poisoned. Your plan was to keep ignoring him until the heartbreak lessened into something more bearable, but then Kory showed up.
You recognized her flaming hair though the peephole immediately.
âY/N,â she said softly, after you opened the door against your better judgement. âMay I come in?â
âNo.â
Her expression faltered. âPlease, I only want to talk.â
You laughed, brittle. âOf course you do.â
âDick is hurting.â
âThatâs unfortunate.â
Kory blinked. âI may not understand everything that happened, butââ
âYou donât,â you snapped, anger flaring hot. âAnd forgive me if I donât want the woman my boyfriend was in love with mediating our breakup. I don't care what happens to him anymore. And if he's as broken as you claim he is, maybe you should go back to him. Seems on brand."
Kory flinched as if you'd slapped her, the green in her eyes dimming with hurt. It was almost enough to make you feel guilty.
Almost.
âItâs not like that,â she said, her voice barely a whisper. âNot anymore. What I felt for Dick, it was real, but it was also a lifetime ago. We remain good friends, nothing more. However, what he feels for you is real. He loves you, Y/N. That's why he's a wreck. Heâs not eating, not sleeping. Heâs picking fights with everyone. Heâs going to get himself killed out there.â
A bitter laugh escaped your lips. âAnd thatâs supposed to be my problem? He made his choice. He lied. Let him deal with the consequences.â
âIs that what you really want?â Kory challenged, her voice gaining a sliver of strength. âTo wait for a call from Bruce? To hear that the man you loveâyes, you still love himâdied because you were too proud to answer the phone?â
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. You hated her for it. Hated that she could see through the brittle armor youâd built around yourself. Hated that she was right.
âJust go, Kory,â your voice cracked. âPlease.â
She looked at you for a long moment, her expression softening with something like pity. She gave a slow, sad nod. âI hope you find what youâre looking for in this silence. I really do.â
She turned and walked away, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence of your apartment. You slammed the door before sliding down the wood. The tears youâd been fighting for days finally broke free. You werenât just mourning a relationship. You were mourning the fool who had believed it was real in the first place.
Back at the manor, Dickâs confrontation with Bruce had left him hollowed out. Heâd stormed to the gym, needing the violence, the mindless repetition of hitting something until his muscles screamed and his lungs burned. Heâd gone through three bags, his movements sloppy and fueled by a self-loathing so profound it was a physical ache.
"Master Richard. A moment, if you please."
Dick didn't turn. "Not now, Alfred."
"Now," Alfred insisted, stepping closer. He held out a glass of water and a clean towel. "Your hands require attention before you do permanent damage."
Dick looked down at his knuckles, raw and bleeding through the frayed wraps, before grabbing the towel and water.
"This cannot continue," Alfred stated. "Your self-flagellation is achieving nothing but ensuring you are too injured and exhausted to function, should the city actually require its protector."
"He's right, you know," a new voice said from the doorway. Jason was leaning against the frame, arms crossed, looking unimpressed. "You're putting on a real performance. The tragic, fallen hero. It's a bit much, even for you."
Dick's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. "What are you doing here?"
"To tell you to get a grip," he said, pushing off the doorframe and walking in. "So he left you. Boo hoo. You fucked up. We get it. But you're taking down the whole team's efficiency with your moping. Wally's walking on eggshells, Bruce is in full Bat-dad mode, and frankly, it's boring."
Dick's jaw tightened. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" Jason countered, getting right in his face. "I know what it's like to have the person you care about look at you like you're a monster. I know what it's like to screw up so bad there's no coming back from it. The difference is, I didn't have a dozen people hand holding me through it. You fucked up. So either fix it or accept the consequences and move the hell on. ThisâŚthis is just pathetic."
For the first time in days, a different emotion cut through the haze of grief and shame. Pure, unadulterated rage. "Get out." Dick snarled.
"Make me."
It was Bruce who intervened, stepping between them. "Enough. Both of you." He looked at Dick, his expression unreadable. "Jason is right about one thing. This behavior is unproductive. You have two choices, Richard. Go and seek him out. Or let him go. But this limbo is over. Today."
authors note: Okay, so I just got this random idea while re-reading my Nightwing fanfics. What if dick initially dated you to get over Kory, but then he fell hard and couldn't bear to tell you because it would surely destroy your relationship. And because I like Angst, what if the reader found this out in the worst way possible: through Wally and his jokes. I present to you the finished product!
synopsis: When a joke from Wally reveals the truth, that Dick only asked you out as a rebound after Starfire dumped him, everything you thought you had with him shatters in an instant.Â
The television was on low in the corner, casting a soft glow over the room, and half-finished takeout boxes littered the table. You were curled up next to Dick on the couch, his arm draped casually over your shoulders, and the steady rise and fall of his breathing grounded you.
Wally leaned back in his chair, smirking around a mouthful of pizza. âMan, this is surreal,â he said, flicking his gaze between you and Dick. âNever thought Iâd see the day you two became, yâknow, domestic.â
You smiled faintly, nudging Dick with your elbow. âWhat can I say? Heâs convincing.â
âConvincing?â Wally barked out a laugh. âConvincing is one word for it. I still remember when this all started. Thought for sure you werenât gonna last. I mean, hell, you were just his rebound after Starfire dumped him.â
Your smile faltered instantly. The room tilted, voices dimmed, and all you could hear was that one word echoing in your head. Rebound. You turned slowly toward Dick. He wasnât laughing. He wasnât smirking. He wasnât even denying it. His expression froze in a flash of guilt, lips parted like he wanted to say something but couldnât.
"...A rebound? Is that what I am to you?â
Wallyâs grin collapsed, his eyes widening as he realized. âWaitâoh, crap. You didnâtââ
âY/Nââ Dick started, but the look in your eyes silenced him.
You stood abruptly, shrugging his arm off like it burned. âGod, this isâthis is perfect. All those nights you told me I was special, all those words you whispered when it was just us. Were they just lines you practiced after she left you?â
âNo! No, itâs not like that. Please, just listenââ
âWeâve been together for years, Dick!â Your voice rose, trembling with fury. âYears! All that timeâevery day, every mission, every night in your damn bedâyou couldâve told me the truth! But I had to find out through Wally. So tell me. Who else knows that I was just a rebound? Who else did you have the decency to tell, other than me?!"
âNo one,â Dick swore. "When I asked you out, yes, I was a mess. I was trying to move on after Kory and I broke up, but youââ He took a shaky breath. âYou became everything. It changed.â
âChanged?â You barked out a laugh. âIt changed? So what, Iâm supposed to clap my hands and be grateful that your little experiment grew on you? That you realized, hey, maybe this one isnât so bad?â
âI know it was wrong. I shouldâve told you. I shouldâve been honest from the beginning, but I was scaredââ
âScared of what?â you snapped. âOf me leaving? Of me realizing I wasnât your first choice? God, Dick, do you know how pathetic that makes me feel? To know I was just a stand-in until you figured your shit out?â
âYou were never a stand-in!â Dickâs voice exploded, louder than youâd ever heard it, before breaking into a plea. âYes, it started like that. Yes, I was broken after Kory. But then you came in, and you, god, you made me laugh again. You made me feel alive. Youâre not second best, you never were. You became everything, Y/N. You're the love of my life!â
You shook your head violently. âDonât say that. Donât you dare try to sweet talk me now. Because every memoryâour first kiss, our first date, the first time I told you I loved youâtheyâre all tainted now. Iâll never stop wondering if you were just pretending. If you were just trying to drown her ghost in me.â
âI wasnât! I swear on everything I am, I wasnât. I looked at you and it stopped hurting. I looked at you and I realized I didnât want her back. I fell in love with you, deeper than I ever thought I could. Thatâs the truth.â
Your chest ached, splitting in two, but anger still surged through your veins. âThen why didnât you tell me, Dick? Why didnât you trust me enough to know the truth?!â
âBecause I couldnât risk losing you! I couldnât stand the thought of you looking at me the way you are right now. I couldnât stand you walking away. So I kept it to myself. It was selfish and wrong, but I swear to god, Y/N, I never saw you as a rebound. Not then, not now. Youâre it. Youâre the one.â
You let out a hollow laugh, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. âYou think that makes this better? You think telling me now erases years of lies?â
âThen let me fix it!â Dick was practically begging now, blue eyes shining with desperation. âHate me, scream at me, do whatever you have to, but donât walk away. Donât throw us away because I was too much of a coward to admit how it started. Please. I love you. I love you more than anything, more than anyone. Iâll burn the world down to prove it.â
You stared at him, at the man youâd trusted with every part of yourself. The sight of him pleading shouldâve softened you, but all you felt was rage and betrayal.
âAll I see when I look at you right now is a liar. A coward who didnât have the guts to tell me the truth. You strut around like youâre this big hero, but when it comes down to it, youâre just as pathetic as every other man whoâs too afraid of honesty.â
You shook your head, breath shuddering, tears streaking hot down your face. âI canât look at you anymore. I canât even stand to breathe the same air as you right now.â
The finality of your words crushed the last bit of hope in his eyes. Quickly, you grabbed your jacket and stormed out, the door slamming so hard behind you that the sound echoed in the hollow silence left behind.
HELLOOO I'M THE ANON THAT REQUESTED THE LAST DICK GRAYSON AND INSECURE READER OMG YOU DID SUCH A GREAT JOB I LOVE HOW YOU WRITE đđ
MAYBE I'M JUST SHARING SOME IDEAS, but last night i saw a movie quote that reminded me of them so much that goes "cause i love you, and no offense but you're wrong, you're wong about us being on different paths we're not on different paths you're my path, and you'll always gonna be my path." I just thought it fits them, ALSO MAYBE JUST BRAIN STORMING HERE, i don't know what ideas you have for the next part (if you're doing one)
what if dick post break up begins to like- clear his phone but stumbles across a picture that probably one of his brothers took of reader just staring at him like this
and he can SEE in the reader's eyes that he loooved him so much he just couldn't bear it in his heart and that ended up destroying them both. IDK JUST SAYING.
AGAIN YOU DID SUCH A GREAT JOB I HOPE YOU HAVE FUN WITH YOUR REQUESTS BYE BYE đĽ°
OUT OF YOUR LEAGUE PT. 2
Nightwing x Male Reader
LINK TO PART ONE
authors note: OH MY GOODNESS. My heart and head because you just gave me motivation and ideas for the next part. Dick cleaning out his things and finding the photo (something silly that his brothers printed out to show how gross dick and reader are). Immediate sadness and more anger because (for dick) this whole argument is stupid. Then comes in bruce and has a talk with dick (kinda on your side because dick can be hardheaded and only thinks of his own side.) Bruce telling dick to talk with you and fix things because it's clear as day that you both love each other (bruce being open because maybe he talks from experience.) Anyway, thanks for the ideas!!!
The room was a disaster. Shattered glass littered the floor, books lay strewn with bent spines, and the dresser sagged where his fist had splintered it. Dick sat among the wreckage, his chest heaving from the storm that had torn through him. His knuckles throbbed beneath the makeshift bandages Alfred had wrapped hours ago, but he couldnât feel anything beyond the hollow ache where you used to be.
When the anger finally ebbed into exhaustion, he forced himself upright.
Cleaning felt mechanical, something to keep him from sinking into the silence. He swept glass into a pile, stacked books that now looked too worn to stand proudly, and shoved the broken dresser drawers against the wall. The room still reeked of rage, every splinter and crack mocking him, but at least it looked less like a warzone.
As he reached for a pile of scattered papers near his bed, something slipped free from a drawer half hanging off its hinges.
Dick froze.
It was a photo. Tim had printed it, he remembered, gleefully tacking it to the fridge until Dick tore it down in mock annoyance. In the picture, he was caught mid sentence, mouth open, hands gesturing wildly, but the real focus wasnât him.
It was you.
The camera had caught you looking at him, your expression soft and unguarded, brimming with a love so raw it felt like a punch to the chest.
His fingers trembled around the photo. This whole fight was senseless. Stupid. You loved him, that much was evident. and yet you had walked away, convinced he deserved someone better. As if there could be anyone else but you.
âDamn it,â he whispered, his voice breaking as he pressed the photo to his chest. âWhy canât you see it? Why canât you see youâre everything?â
The door creaked behind him. âBecause sometimes love isnât enough when doubt gets in the way.â
âDad, don't start," Dick muttered, dragging a hand across his face. âI donât need a lecture right now.â
âYou donât,â Bruce agreed. âYou need perspective.â He stepped further into the room, his footsteps quiet over the shards of glass. âYouâre so focused on your pain, youâre not seeing his.â
Dick scoffed under his breath, tossing the photo down onto the desk.
âWhatâs there to see? He left, even when I told him he was enough. That I love him, and still, he walked out."
âJust because you tell him heâs enough doesnât mean he believes it.â
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âInsecurities,â Bruce said simply. âYou canât erase them with love, Dick. You canât fix what someone sees when they look in the mirror. And sometimes, itâs not about what you said, itâs about what the world says to him. And whether you realize it or not, people do flock to you.â
Dick frowned. âThatâs ridiculous. I donât ask for that. I donât even want it.â
âI know you donât,â Bruce's tone is gentler. âBut it doesnât change the fact that it happens. People are drawn to you, Dick. Always have been. You walk into a room, and the energy shifts. You smile, and people want to be near you. Itâs who you are. You make people feel seen and thatâs admirable. But for someone already struggling with their own worth, that can be suffocating.â
âThatâs insane,â Dick muttered, running both hands through his hair. âIâd neverâheâs it for me. He knows that.â
Bruce tilted his head slightly. âDoes he? You think youâre showing him enough just because youâre saying it. But love doesnât always translate through words, Dick. Especially when someoneâs fighting demons you canât see. You say heâs enough, but do you slow down long enough to let him feel it? Do you notice how often he steps back to give you space when people crowd around you? How he lingers near the edges, watching?â
Dickâs breath hitched. The memory of the gala surfaced: the crowd, the laughter, the way youâd slipped out without a word.
âI didnât mean to make him feel like that. I never wanted him to think he wasnât enough. I justâŚI donât know how to make him believe it. That heâs the only one I want.â
Bruce looked at him for a long, quiet moment before speaking. âYou canât make him believe it. You can only remind him. Show him. Over and over, until he starts to see what you see. Thatâs how you build trust around insecurities. Itâs not one grand gesture, itâs consistency.â
Dick nodded weakly, his voice breaking. âI hurt him.â
âAnd you can fix it. You both love each other. Thatâs obvious. Donât let pride get in the way of that.â Bruce paused, the weight of his own past lingering in his next words. âYou donât want to look back one day and realize you lost someone because you were too stubborn to understand their fear. Trust me on that.â
Hello! Omg it's been a while since I placed a request, i think i may be a bit rusty
I was thinking of a more angsty nightwing request since there's so much smut and almost no angst or fluffy stuff đ
What about a reader who's also like- a vigilante. He's Dick's bf and always patrol together. We all know Dick's probably the finest man on DC's universe, so therefore reader feels so out of his league, specially if you know Dick's ex gf is Starfire (she's such a sweetheart i love her). Reader hasn't had anyone, Dick is his first boyfriend, his first love and first everything. Maybe reader starts to back off after an event triggered this insecurity which kinda ends like "you're all I ever had, I just want to have the same effect in your heart as you do in mine."
i don't know if this is enough but i hope you like it, bye bye!
OUT OF YOUR LEAGUE
Nightwing x Male Reader
LINK TO PART TWO
authors note: Oh, I love the way you think! But what if instead of dick and the reader talking things through and ending with fluff, the reader's insecurities cause him to break up with dick because "surely dick deserves better and couldn't love you like he did with starfire." Dick falls into anger and snaps at everyone, while you disappear. Bruce steps in.....Oh, the ideas and cliffhangers. Hahaha!
Patrolling with Nightwing was the one place you felt like his equal. With the city lights flickering below and the adrenaline sharp in your veins, it was easy to forget the rest of the world existed. Up there, in the shadows, you werenât anyoneâs second choice. You werenât the quiet partner who didnât shine as brightly.
But when the masks came off and the light of day returned, the world tilted back into a harsh reminder of who he was.
Dick Grayson. Golden boy. Acrobat turned hero. Heir to Bruce Wayne.
The kind of man people didnât just look at, but desired. He lit up every room he walked into, not just because of his looks, though God knew he had those in spades, but because he radiated something untouchable. People wanted to stand closer to him, to brush their hands against his arm, to make him laugh, if only for a second.
And it wasnât just strangers. His past followed him too. You knew about Kory, the alien princess with a heart of gold and fire in her veins, who loved him once and still carried a piece of his story in hers. She wasnât a ghost haunting him; she was a sun that no one could deny, dazzling and unforgettable.
Next to her, you felt like little more than a shadow: plain, quiet, and fumbling through your first relationship while Dick had already lived a lifetime of love and loss.
It was in those moments, off the rooftops and back in the world of light, that doubt sank its teeth in. You could stand beside him in battle, sure, but could you ever really stand beside him. The man who had the worldâs eyes, who was raised by Gothamâs legend, who had once been loved by someone brighter than the stars themselves?
That voice in your head whispered cruel things when you lay beside him at night, when he was asleep and tangled in the sheets with you. Youâd stare at his faceâsoft, peaceful, unguardedâand wonder what he saw when he looked at you. Did he ever compare? Did he ever wish he could have the fire and beauty of what he once had, instead of the quiet, unsure love you offered?
You tried to bury it, to silence it by reminding yourself of the way he held you tighter when nightmares crept in, the way he kissed you like you were air after a long night, the way he laughed with you, never at you. But no matter how many times you replayed those moments, the shadow of his brilliance never seemed to fade.
And lately, that voice had sharpened into something harder to ignore.
It happened the night he needed to make an appearance with Bruce. It wasnât a gala exactly, more of a high society fundraiser, the kind of thing Bruce used to attend with a practiced smile and polite detachment. But Dick wasnât Bruce. He was light where Bruce was shadow, warmth where Bruce was stone. People gravitated toward him like moths to a flame.
You watched from the edges of the crowd, your glass untouched in your hand. He looked infuriatingly perfect in that suit. Navy fabric cut to his frame like it had been designed just for him, hair effortlessly swept back, smile dazzling under the soft lights of the hall.
And he worked the room.
Laughing, listening, shaking hands. Men in pressed suits leaned in too close; women with eyes like fireflies touched his arm, their laughter bright and easy. Even Bruceâstoic, untouchable Bruceâstood just slightly in Dickâs orbit, letting his adopted son soak in the attention.
You told yourself it was fine. That he was just playing the part, just doing what Bruce needed him to do. But your chest tightened anyway, like someone had reached in and twisted your heart in their fist. Because Dick fit there so easily. He belonged among the polished, the admired, the wanted. And youâŚdidnât.
And when one of the men laughed, resting a hand a little too casually at the small of Dickâs back, and Dick didnât shrug it offâjust smiled, because he was polite, because he was goodâyou couldnât breathe.
Placing your glass on a nearby surface, you slipped out before either Bruce or Dick could see the storm in your eyes.
The air outside was sharp, colder than you remembered, biting at your lungs as you inhaled, desperate for relief. You didnât call Alfred to come and pick you up. While you enjoyed his quiet company, the inevitable questions: âIs everything alright, Master [Name]?â in that knowing tone would unravel you completely. And you couldnât do that.
Not now.
So you walked. Past the glittering cars lined at the curb, past the city blocks that blurred into one another. Your hands were shoved deep into your pockets, jaw clenched against the words clawing up your throat.Â
You donât belong there. You donât belong with him. You never did.
By the time you reached your apartment, your legs ached, but the storm inside hadnât passed. It only grew heavier. You shut the door behind you, leaning against it like it might hold you together, but the silence only pressed harder against your ribs.
With shaking hands, you desperately tugged at the suit you'd worn to match Dick's, the tie and jacket fell into a heap at your feet before you let yourself drop to the couch.
Your phone buzzed in your pocket. Once. Twice. Then again and again, a constant vibration that set your teeth on edge. You didnât need to look to know who it was. He was probably smiling at first, wondering where youâd gone. Then worried. Then frantic. His persistence was both beautiful and cruel.
You pulled the phone out and placed it face down on the counter, the glow of the screen bleeding faintly across the surface. Notification after notification lit up in rapid bursts, like the heartbeat you were trying so hard to ignore. You made no move to quell them. Instead, you sat still, your hands gripping the fabric of the couch until your knuckles turned white.
Determination was setting in quickly, sinking into your bones like ice.
You told yourself the truth. This couldnât last. Not because Dick had done anything wrongâhe was perfection incarnate, even in his flawsâbut because you couldnât bear the weight of being the one who didnât measure up. Watching him in that ballroom tonight had torn the veil from your eyes.
He belonged in spaces like that.
Among people who knew how to glide through crowds with poise and grace, who had names etched into history books, who wore confidence like a second skin. People who could touch him on the arm, laugh with ease, and look like they belonged there beside him.
Your phone buzzed again, longer this time, a call instead of a message. The sound filled the apartment, impossibly loud. You let it ring. It stopped. Then started again almost immediately, like he could feel you slipping away and was fighting to hold on.
Tears burned at the corners of your eyes as you stood and began pacing. It didnât help. Every direction you turned, his presence stared back at you. His jacket tossed over the armchair. His favorite mug on the counter, the one he always left half-full of coffee because heâd been too distracted kissing you to finish it. A stack of his comics spilling out of your bookshelf. It was your apartment, but it was littered with Dickâs belongings, soaked with his warmth.
The weight of it crushed you. You stumbled into your bedroom, shutting the door behind you as though it might cut off the ache. Curling into the bed, you dragged the sheets over your head, muffling the world, muffling the phone still buzzing beyond the walls. The scent of him clung to the pillow, rich and familiar, making your chest hurt all the more.
Determination was the only thing keeping you together because if you broke now, if you sobbed into the phone and begged him to come home, youâd never have the strength to end it when you saw him.
So you cried quietly, muffling each sound, allowing yourself to shatter in the dark so that when the sun rose, you could be cold.
You had to be cold.
Morning arrived too quickly, the dawn pressing its pale fingers through the blinds like a cruel reminder that time never waits. You dressed without looking in the mirror, pulling on clothes with mechanical precision. You didnât touch your phone.
The drive to Wayne Manor blurred past you, familiar streets rendered strange under the haze of your resolve. When you knocked, Alfred answered within seconds, his gaze sharp and all knowing as it swept across your face.
âMaster [Name],â he greeted softly, the warmth in his voice laced with concern. âYou lookââ
âIs Dick here?â
A pause. Alfredâs eyes lingered on you, but his gentlemanly grace kept him from pressing. âHeâs upstairs. Just getting ready.â With a faint motion, he opened the door wider. âCome in.â
You stepped inside, the Manorâs familiar grandeur suffocating in its silence. The polished wood, the portraits staring down from the walls, the immaculate halls, it all pressed against you like a weight. You couldnât help but wonder how you had ever convinced yourself you belonged in this world at all.
When you reached his room, the door was half open, and you could hear him moving inside, humming under his breath. The sound cracked something inside you, a reminder of nights when youâd lain in bed together, when his warmth had been enough to quiet every storm. But you shoved it down, forcing your expression into something cold and unreadable.
He turned when you entered, and his face broke into a smile so bright it nearly knocked the breath from your lungs. âHey!â His voice was full of relief. âI was just about to call you again. Whyâd you leave without saying goodbye? You had me worried sick.â
He moved to pull you in, to press a kiss to your forehead, but you stepped back. His hands froze midair. The smile slid off his face.
âWhatâs wrong?â
You swallowed hard. The words burned your throat, but you forced them out. âI want to break up.â
Dick blinked, a frown tugging at his mouth before he gave a short, disbelieving laugh. âOkay, sure. Real funny. Now tell me whatâs actually going on.â
âIâm serious.â
The laughter vanished. His face paled, his lips parting as though heâd misheard you. âWhat?â His voice cracked. âNo, youâno, you donât mean that. Why? What happened? What did I do?â
âYou didnât do anything,â you said quickly, desperate but firm. âItâs not you, itâs me. I justââ
âDonât,â he snapped, voice sharp as a whip. The brightness in his eyes was gone, replaced by something wounded. âDonât you dare give me that itâs not you, itâs me garbage. Iâm not buying it. You canât walk in here and demand we break up without giving me any sort of explanation. Everything was fine. We were happy.â
Your lips trembled, but you pressed them into a thin line. You couldnât tell him the truth, couldnât tell him about the crushing insecurities, the endless comparisons, the gnawing certainty that you would never be enough.
âIâm sorry,â you whispered, voice cracking. âDick, believe me when I say that I want the best for you. It may not look like it, but youâll thank me one day when youâve moved onââ
âIs there someone else?â he whispered, the question so low you almost missed it. âTell me the truth. Please. Just, donât lie to me.â
You staggered back a step, horrified. âNo! God, no, Dick, itâs not that. Thereâs no one else.â
âThen why?!â His voice cracked as the dam broke, anger flooding in to shield the hurt. âWhy are you doing this? You say you love me, you swear I didnât do anything wrong, so what the hell changed? What arenât you telling me?â
You shook your head, tears stinging hot in your eyes. âNothing changed. Thatâs the problem. Youâreââ You cut yourself off, biting the words down hard.
Youâre too perfect. Too good. Too much for me.
But he caught the hesitation, his eyes narrowing through the tears.
âYou donât think youâre enough." Your silence was answer enough. âOh my god,â he breathed out, stumbling back a step as though youâd physically struck him. âThatâs it, isnât it? Youâre so caught up in your own head that youâre throwing this away. Throwing us away because what? Because you donât think you measure up?!â
âDonâtââ
âNo, Iâm not letting you twist this into some noble sacrifice.â His voice rose, shaking. âYouâre not protecting me. Youâre not setting me free. Youâre breaking me. Do you understand that? Youâre breaking me!â
You felt your eyes burning from the unshed tears, yet you remained strong. âAnd what do you want me to say, Dick? That every time I see you, I wonder how someone like you could ever want someone like me? That when people look at you, they see a god, and when they look at me, they donât see anything at all? That last night, when I watched them swarm you like you were the only star in the room, I realized you belonged there, and I never will?â
âYou think I give a damn about them?â He jabbed a trembling finger at his chest. âYouâre the one I want. You. The one I wake up next to. The one I trust my life with. The one who makes me feel like Iâm more than just some acrobat with a famous last name. And youâre too blind to see it.â
âI canât be what you deserve.â
His voice cracked into a near-scream. âYou already are!â
You shook your head, unable to let his words take root. âI canât do this anymore.â
âNo,â Dick said, his voice breaking as he lurched forward. âNo, you donât get to walk away like this. Donât you dare! Weâre not done! Donât you turn your back to meââ
But you were already moving. You yanked his bedroom door open and stepped into the hall, his voice chasing you like fire.
â[Name]! Look at me when Iâm talking to you!â His shout cracked through the manor, echoing off the walls.
Your heart clenched, but your legs carried you forward, faster and faster, until you reached the front door. You wrenched it open, the cold air of outside rushing against your face, and stepped out without hesitation. The door shut behind you with a heavy thud that reverberated through the house.
Dick froze at the sound, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with disbelief.
For a heartbeat, the manor was so quiet it hurt, every second stretching into eternity. Then his shoulders trembled, and a guttural sound tore out of his throat. He stumbled back into his room, every muscle taut with rage and grief, and then the storm broke.
His fist slammed into the dresser, wood splintering beneath the force. He seized the nearest lamp and hurled it against the wall; glass exploded into shards across the floor. A framed photo of the two of you followed, the image cracking as it fell, splitting the smiles you once shared.
His body shook with each crash, each break, as though destroying the room might somehow drown out the echo of the front door slamming shut. Finally, Dick's strength gave out. He collapsed onto his knees amid the wreckage, his breath coming in ragged gasps, tears stinging his eyes.
Really NEED Nightwing x Cat burglar male reader fanfic đđ
(like batman and Catwoman type of thing)
TANGLED IN THE NIGHT
Nightwing x Male Reader
The rooftop tiles beneath your boots were slick with rain, but you danced across them like the city was made for you. Laser grid disabled. Museum skylight popped like a soda can. Diamond necklace tucked into your bag like a trinket. You could hear the alarms begin to trip two buildings over, exactly where you planted a decoy.
The night was going well until you heard him.
"Back again, cat-boy?"
You didnât need to look to know the voice. Low, sharp, cocky as hell with a lilt that made your spine spark. Nightwing. You smiled to yourself.
"Canât resist shiny things," you replied smoothly, turning just in time to see him land a few feet away. God, even soaking wet, he was annoyingly hot. The suit clung to his chest in all the right places. "And here I thought you liked chasing me."
"I donât chase criminals. I catch them."
"You must be doing it wrong, then." you said with a wink, flipping backwards over a ledge as he lunged. His grappling hook caught the corner where your hand had just been.
"You're cocky tonight."
"Comes with the territory." You darted across a fire escape, hearing his footsteps follow. "What's the matter, Wing? Starting to enjoy our little meetups?"
He didnât answer. But you saw it. The brief flicker in his eyes when you turned to face him. The way he hesitated before grabbing your wrist. He couldâve cuffed you, yet he didnât. âYou're making this harder than it has to be.â
âYou like it when I make it hard.â
There was a pause.
Rain kept falling. His hand was still on your wrist, and he wasnât letting go. "Youâre playing a dangerous game."
You leaned in slightly, smirking. "So are you, pretty boy. And between us? I think you like losing to me.â
His jaw twitched. That perfect, square jaw you occasionally fantasized nibbling on. "I donât lose."
You raised an eyebrow. "Then why havenât you turned me in?"
That did it. His grip tightened, but not painfully. "Because..." His voice cracked softly before he caught himself. "Because I donât know what youâd do if I did."
You stared. The playful smirk slipped from your lips for a second. A flash of sincerity. "And that scares you?"
He didnât answer. Instead, he tugged you forward.
You crashed into him, chest-to-chest, and for a split second you thought he might punch you or kiss you. It was neither. He whispered, âDonât make me regret this.â and let you go.
No cuffs. No threats.
You blinked. "Wait, you're letting meâ"
âGo.â he interrupted, backing away toward the opposite ledge. âBut next time you wonât get that luxury.â
You tilted your head. âNext time? Already thinking about me again?â
âShut up.â he muttered, vanishing into the shadows with one last smoldering glance. You stood there for a second, grinning like a man who just won the damn lottery.
âGod, I love him.â
And with that, you disappeared into the night. Diamond still in your bag and a new ache in your chest.
synopsis: Meeting your boyfriendâs ex was never easy, especially when sheâs a literal goddess. But turns out sheâs way more charming than you anticipated and your new friendship with her starts to drive Dick a little nuts.
You had expected to feel a little awkward meeting his ex. After all, how often does someone casually meet the woman who used to date the guy youâre currently in love with. Especially when that woman was the embodiment of alien royalty, radiant warmth, and god-tier beauty?
What you hadnât expected was how nice she was.
âSo you are Y/N,â Starfire said, floating slightly off the ground as she smiled at you with a kind of sunshine-bright sincerity that made it impossible to dislike her. âIt is a pleasure to finally meet the one who makes Grumpy-Wing less grumpy.â
You laughed a little. âIâuhâthanks? Itâs great to meet you too.â
And it was. But damn, she was everything. Kind, smart, powerful, beautiful. You'd seen the pictures of her and Dick back in their early days: smiling, shoulder to shoulder, picture-perfect in ways that belonged on magazine covers and cheesy soap operas. Even now, years later, they moved around each other like they still shared an orbit.
Not romantic, not anymore, but familiar.
And as the three of you moved through the Titan Tower that weekend, helping out with some team reconvening for a threat that thankfully didnât escalate, you couldnât help the thought that rooted in your head like poison ivy.
Why did you guys even break up?
They had chemistry. A history. Years of shared battles, shared glances, and emotional highs and lows. And you? You were just the guy Dick was currently dating. The guy who sometimes stumbled through fight choreography, who needed more coffee than sleep, and who couldnât fly, unless you counted being thrown by a meta.
You didnât voice it.
Of course not.
You smiled and teased, joined in the banter, but the seed had been planted. Every time she touched his arm affectionately or burst into laughter at something he said, it watered itself.
And Starfire? She was always so genuine with you.
âYou are most humorous,â she beamed after you cracked a joke. âDick never laughs that way. It is endearing.â
You blinked. âThanks. I think.â
One afternoon, while Dick was busy coordinating with Cyborg, you and Kory found yourselves lounging on a terrace overlooking the bay, bathed in sunset light and quiet.
âYou seem troubled,â she said gently, sipping something fizzy from a glass she probably made sparkle with her fingers.
âNope,â you said. Then: â...Okay, maybe.â
She tilted her head. âIs it the comparison?â
You froze. She was looking at you with those big green eyes, not with judgment, but understanding. That made it worse somehow.
âIâwhat?â you asked, a bit too fast.
She smiled. âIt is a natural thing. I have known Richard since he was very young, but that is no threat to what you share. If anythingâŚâ she leaned in a little, voice low, mischievous. âYou and he are very hot together. It makes me wish I had taste in better timing.â
You stared.
âI mean it,â she went on, her smile widening as she leaned back. âYour dynamic is delightful. You challenge him. He softens around you in ways he never did before. And aesthetically? Glorious. Your hair alone could inspire three songs.â
You snorted. âAre you flirting with me?â
âI am complimenting,â she said innocently. âUnless you are open to being flirted with. In which case, yes.â
That was how you and Kory became best friends and when Dick began to act funny. Not in the ha-ha kind of way. No, youâd take goofy knock-knock jokes over what he was doing now.
First it was subtle. He started appearing in rooms he had no business being in. Youâd be lounging in the common room, listening to Koryâs latest intergalactic mishaps, and suddenly Dick would appear with a clipboard, muttering something about âinventory checks.â
âIn the living room?â youâd ask, raising a brow.
âImportant living room supplies,â heâd mutter, shuffling cushions and trying very hard not to glare at your legs draped across Koryâs lap.
Then it escalated.
If Kory threw an arm over your shoulders in the hallway, Dick would suddenly need to âdiscuss patrol assignments.â If you so much as laughed too long at her joke, heâd swing by like a vulture in a domino mask, kissing your temple in a move so obviously territorial, it practically growled.
Kory noticed. Of course she did. She was a warrior, a princess, and now, your best friend. She took great delight in making your boyfriend squirm.
âHello, Dick,â she would purr every time he showed up mid-conversation. âWe were just discussing how your partnerâs biceps have grown. He is becoming so sturdy.â
Dickâs eye would twitch. âGreat. Love that.â
It all came to a head one evening while you and Kory were testing out her new âEarth-style fashion experiment.â Somehow, this translated into you wearing a sleeveless mesh top and Kory bedazzling your boots while perched upside down on the couch.
Dick walked in.
Paused.
Looked at you.
Then said, âCool. Whenâs the drag show?â You and Kory wheeze with laughter. âOh come on,â Dick huffed, folding his arms. âYou two are literally one hair braid away from running off together.â
Kory beamed. âDo you give us your blessing?â
âIâwhat?! No, thatâs notââ He pointed at you, then her, then back again. âYouâre doing this on purpose.â
You stood up, sauntered over, and poked his chest. âDoing what, Grayson? Having fun without you?â
âYouâre flirting.â
âShe started it.â
âAnd he is adorably receptive.â
Dick groaned. âUnbelievable. My boyfriend and my ex-girlfriend are best friends and now theyâve unionized against me.â
You grinned and leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. âHey. Iâm still yours, yâknow.â
He tried to stay mad. Really, he did. But the tips of his ears turned red, and his lips twitched upward despite himself. âYeah. I know.â
Kory stood as well, looping an arm around each of your shoulders. âDo not worry. I will not steal your boyfriend,â She paused. âUnless you break his heart. In which case I will destroy you and then marry him on a moon garden beneath three suns.â
âThatâs oddly specific.â
âSheâs been planning it.â you said seriously.
Kory winked. âI even have the dress picked out.â
synopsis: Meeting your boyfriendâs ex was never easy, especially when sheâs a literal goddess. But turns out sheâs way more charming than you anticipated and your new friendship with her starts to drive Dick a little nuts.
Tangled in the Night
REQUEST: Really NEED Nightwing x Cat burglar male reader fanfic (like batman and Catwoman type of thing)
(SMUT) Damn, That Ass
synopsis: Being a hero is hard enough without having to constantly pretend you arenât ogling your partnerâs perfect ass every time he moves. Unfortunately, X-ray vision doesnât come with an off switch and Nightwing doesnât come with bad angles.
Out Of Your League, Part 2
REQUEST: What about a reader who's also like a vigilante. He's Dick's bf and always patrol together. We all know Dick's probably the finest man on DC's universe, so therefore reader feels so out of his league, specially if you know Dick's ex gf is Starfire (she's such a sweetheart i love her). Reader hasn't had anyone, Dick is his first boyfriend, his first love and first everything. Maybe reader starts to back off after an event triggered this insecurity which kinda ends like "you're all I ever had, I just want to have the same effect in your heart as you do in mine."
Flirting? What's That?
REQUEST: Nightwing x male reader where reader is an alien that has recently moved to Earth. Nightwing attempts to flirt with him but he just kinda stares at him and smiles awkwardly. Nightwing thinks he's making him uncomfortable so he stops but really, it's just cause reader is still trying to get the hang of English and is still learning human customs/phrases. He didn't want to assume anything.
I'm Just That Good Of A Tutor
REQUEST: tamaranean!male/gn reader x nightwing?! maybe theyâre new to earth (as a figure to help or wtv!) and arent familiar with english, so that âlearning foreign languages through lip-to-lip contactâ comes in.
Just How Do I Tell Him? and Part Two and Part Three
synopsis: When a joke from Wally reveals the truthâthat Dick only asked you out as a rebound after Starfire dumped himâeverything you thought you had with him shatters in an instant.Â
Just Part Of The Plan
REQUEST: sooo hear me out on jealous!nightwing bc it's been eating my head for days. let's say he has a boyfriend with ungodly levels of rizz WITHOUT EVEN TRYING, he's just THAT guy. that obvs boosts dick's ego but he's also gnawing at the bars of his enclousure bc he knows his bf has a LIINE behind him and man does not care at all (bonus if his siblings absolutely notice when Dick is jealous but won't admit it bc he tries so hard to be nonchalant abt it (he's not tho) )
I Got an Eye for These Things
REQUEST: could I request a Dick Grayson x male!reader whos very into fashion? He finds joy in dressing Dick up with his own spare clothes, occasionally even comments about how âun-chicâ his Nightwing suit is because âitâs too plain, needs more colorâ but doesnt nag him to change in nonetheless. And reader wouldnât even be ashamed of wearing feminine attire if he feels like it. One day heâs all spikes and leather jackets, and the next Dick could get startled by the sight of a random girl in pink frilly clothing suddenly appearing in his room until said âgirlâ waves and calls him over with the familiar deep voice heâs grown accustomed to (reader is just trying on the new clothes he ordered)
Hiii I love your writing sm!!! I wish I could've found you sooner. đŤśđđđŤśđ𫶠Do you plan to write more platonic Jason and child reader? Would love to see Jason step more into that fatherly roleđĽş
SHOULD WE REALLY TRUST HIM WITH A KID? PT. 2
platonic! jason toddďš child male reader
LINK TO PART ONE
authors note: the floodgates opened because why do I imagine Jason easily stepping in to fill in that father role to child! reader whenever bruce is too busy on the streets or out in Wayne enterprises. Like, sure, Alfred is there doing his best, but the reader can't form that bond with the butler as easily as the others. And Jason sees and understands why the reader feels such alienation because he went through it when bruce first took him in....Anyways, consider this kinda of a continuation of my platonic Jason fic.
Jason and fatherhood weren't synonymous. After everything that happened to him and would come in the future (because Jason wasn't stupid as to believe that Gotham would gift him peace), the idea of him parenting was outrageous. Ludicrous. So, when you, a child no more taller than his knee reached out to him for safety and comfort, he was puzzled. You and Dick made more sense, but him?
Dick was the safe option. Had that golden retriever energy people always talked about, the kind that made children cling to his legs and old ladies pinch his cheeks.
Jason was, well, Jason. Sharp edges, bigger temper, and resting murder face.
Yet somehow, in the month since Bruce brought you to Wayne Manor, your tiny shadow followed him more than anyone else. Not constantly, you weren't clingy, and honestly, that would've been easier to understand. No, you simply appeared near him, silent as a ghost.
Curled at the opposite end of the couch while he read.
Sitting near his boots while he cleaned guns at the kitchen counter (unloaded, heavily supervised by Alfred, and very much hidden the second your eyes wandered over).
Standing outside his bedroom door at three in the morning after nightmares you refused to make noise about.
You never asked for anything. That was the worst part. A two year old should ask for things: juice, toys, attention, comfort. However, you asked for nothing at all and Jason hated that.
Bruce tried to be that constant for you. Jason would never deny that. He tried so hard it was almost painful to watch. He read books on childhood trauma. Sat through appointments. Spoke softly. Kept his hands visible. Never forced contact. Never raised his voice around you if he could help it.
But Bruce was also Batman and Batman belonged to Gotham.
Meetings dragged Bruce out during breakfast. Patrol stole him after dinner. Wayne Enterprises demanded his face at galas, boardrooms and charity events. The League called when worlds cracked open. Gotham screamed and Bruce answered.
And maybe that was why, somewhere along the line, Jason stopped acting like your attachment to him was temporary and started treating it like responsibility. Not Bruce style responsibility. God, no. Bruce had schedules. Specialists. Emotionally constipated speeches delivered in the hallway at two in the morning.
Jason hadâŚJason methods. Questionable methods. Effective, but questionable.
For example, bedtime.
Alfred had tried lullabies. Dick had tried picture books. Bruce had tried sitting quietly in your room until you fell asleep, which mostly resulted in you staring at him suspiciously from beneath the blanket like he was a stranger offering tax advice.
Jason discovered completely by accident that you fell asleep best when he talked. Not softly humming. Not reading gentle little stories about bunnies and moonlight.
Talking.
So that was how Dick found him one night sitting beside your bed, back against the wall, telling you about the time he punched a man in the face for being disrespectful to a cashier at a twenty four hour convenience store.
âAnd listen,â Jason said, one hand moving as he spoke, âI gave the guy a chance. I did. I said, âApologize to the lady.â Very reasonable. Very mature.â
You watched him from beneath your blanket, eyes heavy but focused.
âAnd then he said something stupid.â
From the doorway, Dick whispered, horrified, âJason.â
He glanced back. âWhat?â
âYou cannot tell a toddler bedtime stories about assaulting people.â
Jason scoffed. âItâs not assault if thereâs a moral.â
âThat is not how laws work.â
âThe moral is respect service workers.â You yawned and Jason immediately lowered his voice. âAnyway, he learned respect real fast.â
Dick made a pained sound. âBruce would have an aneurysm.â
âBruce dresses like a bat and jumps off rooftops. He lost the right to judge bedtime content.â
âThat is, unfortunately, difficult to argue with, but still.â
You shifted under the blanket, tiny fingers reaching out until they found Jasonâs sleeve. Then your eyes closed. âSee?â he muttered. âWorked.â
Dick leaned against the doorway. âHe fell asleep because he likes your voice.â
âHe fell asleep because my storytelling has range.â
âYou described a gas station fistfight.â
âWith structure.â
âJason.â
âIt had a beginning, middle, and end. Besides, it worked, didn't it?â
And that was what mattered.
Jason knew his parenting looked questionable from the outside. He knew teaching a toddler the phrase âsnitches get stitchesâ was probably not developmentally recommended. In his defense, you didnât repeat it (because you didnât speak). Also in his defense, Damian had said it first.
Jason simply reinforced the lesson.
Tim had looked horrified upon overhearing it. âYou cannot teach the toddler prison rules.â
âTheyâre life skills.â
âHe still eats crayons occasionally.â
âAnd yet he understood the concept immediately. Gifted child.â
Maybe Jason wasnât the best role model. Actually, no, objectively he definitely wasnât. He had anger issues, unresolved trauma, and a tendency to solve most problems with his fists. Bruce looked one inconvenience away from a migraine every time Jason took you anywhere unsupervised.
Still, you were sleeping better now. Eating more. Laughing sometimes. And every time you reached for him without fear, tiny hands grabbing onto his sleeve like Jason was something safe and permanent, something in his chest twisted painfully.
Because that was the thing Bruce understood all along, wasnât it? Once a kid looked at you like you were safety, it was over. Jason finally got it now. Not the adopting every traumatized kid in Gotham part, that was still insane, but the feeling itself. The helpless, terrifying need to protect.
Dick watched Jason carefully pull the blanket higher around your shoulders and smiled softly. âYouâre good at this, yâknow.â
Jason snorted quietly. âNo, Iâm not.â
âYou are.â
Jason looked down at you curled against his side, asleep with one tiny fist still tangled in his sleeve. Maybe his methods were questionable. Maybe his bedtime stories involved gas station fistfights, but you trusted him. And maybe that counted more than doing everything perfectly.
ââŚYeah,â Jason muttered, resting a protective hand against your back. âOkay. I kinda see why Bruce keeps adopting kids now.â
synopsis: Bruce was no stranger to taking in kids and raising them as his own, but this one was different. It was biologically his. He expected the child to bond with Dick more (because let's be honest, he could be kind if he wanted), but not Jason. Never Jason.
The rumor spread fast. Gotham had a new Wayne. It wasnât unheard of, Bruce adopting another child was practically a yearly headline, but this one wasnât adopted. This time, the kid was his.
His biological son.
A toddler. Barely two.
Jason wasnât supposed to care. He really wasnât. But after three texts from Dick, a phone call from Alfred, and a voicemail from Bruce himself asking him to âcome by if you have time,â he was curious enough to drag himself to the manor.
The house felt the same: cold but familiar. The kind of silence that made you feel small. Except this time, the silence was broken by the sound of soft sniffles echoing from the sitting room. Stepping inside, Jason found Bruce, seated on one of those massive armchairs like a painting come to life, and, on his lap, sat a tiny boy.
The kid was cute in that fragile way newborns were: delicate wrists, long lashes, rosy cheeks that still had the fullness of babyhood, but instead of wonder in his eyes, there was fear. He flinched at the smallest sounds. The tick of the clock, the creak of floorboards, even Tim whispering softly to Alfred made him whimper and hide his face in Bruce's suit jacket. Damian stood in the corner, arms crossed, glaring like the toddler had personally offended him.
Jason leaned against the doorframe. âSo the rumors are true.â
Bruce looked up, shoulders tensing. âJason.â
âRelax, B,â He said, holding up his hands. âI didn't come here to fight.â He gave a low whistle, eyes flicking between the billionaire and the trembling bundle in his lap. âBut I will say I'm surprised. Didnât think you had it in you to make another one. Whatâs his story?â
Bruce exhaled, slow and heavy, the kind of sound that already carried too many sleepless nights behind it. His gaze fell to the little boyâwho clung to him tighter as if he understood he was being talked aboutâand something in Bruceâs expression cracked.
âHe was left here.â
Jason frowned. âLeft. What do you mean, left?â
Bruceâs tone was low, steady, but there was a tremor beneath it: anger, regret, maybe both. âShe showed up three nights ago. Came right to the gate.â He paused, eyes unfocused as if still seeing it. âShe had him in her arms. No car seat. No bag. Just him. She said it was mine.â
Jason blinked. âAnd you just believed her?â
âShe gave me the DNA test that confirms he's mine. After that, she handed me his birth certificate and..." He trailed off, eyes hardening. "Told me if I didn't want him, she'd 'let the system deal with it.' Her words, not mine.â
Jason looked at the kid properly then. And yeah, he could see it now. Underneath the cute cheeks and soft curls, the boy looked worn. There were faint bruises along his arms, the kind you got when you were grabbed too hard. His hair was uneven, like someone had cut it in a hurry. His eyesâthose big, dark eyesâwere dull in a way no toddlerâs should be.
âChrist, BâŚâ Jason muttered, disbelief flickering to disgust. âHe looks like heâs been through hell.â
Bruce didnât disagree. He adjusted his hold, careful not to jostle the child, who whimpered when the fabric shifted. âThe doctor said heâs underweight. Mild dehydration. Nothing permanent, butâhe doesnât like noise, or touch. And he doesnât speak. They think he mightâve stopped trying to because no one ever answered him.â
Jasonâs chest tightened. âHow old is he?â
âTwo and a half,â Bruce murmured. âHis nameâs Y/N. I donât know if she gave it to him or if it was something a nurse chose.â
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the faint ticking of the clock. Y/N peeked up from Bruceâs jacket, eyes darting warily toward Jason.
Seeing this, Jason crouched down, resting his arms on his knees. âHey, kiddo,â he said, voice gentler than anyone in the room expected. âYou gonna keep hidinâ in there forever, or you gonna say hi?â
Y/N blinked at him. His little chest rose and fell fast, uncertain, but when Jason gave a small, exaggerated wink, something flickered behind those tired eyes. A spark. Jason smiled faintly. âYeah, thatâs it. I see you.â
And then, out of nowhere, a tiny giggle.
Everyone froze.
Tim looked up from the corner of the couch. âDid heâ?â
âYes, Master Timothy,â Alfred said softly, wonder slipping through his composure. âHe did.â
Y/N giggled again, like the sound surprised him, too. Then, to everyoneâs shock, he reached out, small hands stretching toward Jason.
Jason blinked, then chuckled. âWell, canât say no to that.â He moved closer, slow, like approaching a wild animal, and let the boy grab at his jacket sleeve. Y/N's fingers curled around the leather, knuckles still pale, but his breathing steadied. He tugged, weak but determined, until Jason was close enough to touch.
Damian scowled. âClearly, he has no taste.â
Jason shot him a look. âDonât be jealous, demon spawn.â
âWhy would I be jealous of aââ
âDamian,â Bruce interrupted before the bickering could start, still watching the toddler with wide eyes. âHe likes you.â
Jason glanced down at the kid still tugging curiously at his jacket zipper. âYeah, Iâm getting that impression.â
The little boy laughed again when Jason exaggeratedly tugged the zipper up and down, making a âvroooomâ sound. Soon, the boy was giggling so hard he had to hide his face in Jasonâs chest. And just like that Jason was done for. From that day forward, the toddler followed him like a shadow.
If Jason sat on the couch, there he was, crawling up beside him.
If Jason tried to leave the room, tiny footsteps trailed behind.
If Jason disappeared for more than a minute, thereâd be little sniffles echoing through the hall until he came back.
Jason swore he wasnât good with kids. He wasnât soft, not like Dick or Alfred. But every time the little guy hid behind his jacket when strangers came around, or reached up for him to carry him instead of Bruce. Jason couldnât say no. Everyone noticed this, but that didn't mean they approved.
âJason,â Dick said one morning, watching as the boy waddled across the living room straight to Jasonâs lap, ignoring everyone else. âYouâre good with him, but maybe donât encourage too much attachment.â
Jasonâs smile dropped. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âHe needs stability,â Tim added carefully. âAnd youââ
âAre what? The screw-up? The âbad influenceâ?â Jasonâs tone sharpened. âY/N's not scared of me. Heâs scared of everything else. That kid flinches when someone raises their voice or moves too fast. You think me hanging out with himâs the problem?â
Damian, ever blunt, muttered, âHe shouldnât get used to people who might leave.â
Jason turned, jaw tight. âI ainât leaving."
Dickâs expression softened, but his voice stayed careful, the kind that made Jason want to throw something at him. âWeâre not saying youâd do it on purpose, Jay. But you know how it goes. Youâve got your own life, and Bruceââ
ââcan barely keep up with one kid, much less five,â Jason snapped. âYeah, I know. Believe me, I remember.â
Tim flinched. Damian frowned, about to say something sharp, but one small sound cut through the tension like a knife: a quiet whimper.
The boy had pressed his face into Jasonâs shirt, tiny fingers fisting the fabric. Jasonâs anger melted instantly. He shifted the kid higher into his arms, murmuring, âHey, hey. Itâs okay, little man. Iâm not mad.â
âJayâŚâ Dick sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. âWeâre just worried about him.â
âThen be worried about the right things,â Jason said, voice low now. âHe doesnât talk much. He doesnât laugh unless Iâm around. You donât see the way he shuts down when people get too close. He needs someone who wonât scare him off just by existing.â
Done with this conversation, Jason stood up with Y/N in his arms and began to walk in the direction of the kitchen. He didnât need to look back to know the others were staring: Tim with that furrowed brow like he wanted to apologize but didnât know how, Dick chewing on guilt, Damian pretending not to care but clearly affected.
In the kitchen, the air was quieter. Alfred glanced up from the stove, calm as ever. âArgument, Master Jason?â
Jason huffed a humorless laugh, settling the kid on his hip as he opened the fridge one handed. âYou could say that.â
âAh.â Alfred didnât press. He rarely needed to. âWould the young master care for some warm milk?â
Jason looked down at the boy, who was still half hiding in his jacket. âYou want that, kiddo?â The toddler peeked up, gave the smallest nod, and whispered yes. Something in Jasonâs chest went soft and tight all at once. âYou got it, champ.â
Alfredâs eyes warmed, though he kept his expression composed as he poured milk into a small cup. âHeâs quite attached to you.â
Jason leaned back against the counter, bouncing the kid gently in his arms. âYeah, I noticed. Guess I donât exactly mind.â
âNor should you,â Alfred said, handing over the cup. âChildren often know far better than adults whom they can trust.â
Jason gave a small, crooked smile. âYou saying Iâm trustworthy, Alfred?â
âIâm saying,â Alfred replied, with that dry fondness only he could manage, âthat perhaps Master Bruce isnât the only one capable of fatherly instincts.â
Jason nearly choked on a laugh. âFatherly? Me?â
But then the toddler reached up, tiny fingers brushing against Jasonâs jaw, smiling sleepily as he sipped his milk. The laugh faded, replaced by a look he didnât let anyone seeâsomething gentle, almost protective. âYeah, well,â he murmured. âGuess thereâs a first time for everything.â
synopsis: Bucky isn't a small man by any means, he can bench press cars and run miles without breaking a sweat, so it stuns him when his normal sized boyfriend manhandles him with ease.
Bucky always thought of himself as heavy. Metal arm, muscle stacked on muscle, years of training leaving him as if carved from steel. He was used to people stepping aside when he entered a room, used to his presence being something to brace for. What he wasnât used to was you. All soft grins, stubborn hands, and an annoying habit of dragging him around like he didnât outweigh you by at least seventy pounds.
Tonight was no different.
It usually began with you tugging his sleeve when he brooded too long at the kitchen table. Heâd grumble something about being heavy, about âbreaking you in half if I sit on your lap.â But you ignored him, hooking a hand around his wrist and dragging him toward you anyway.
âCâmon, Buck. Sit.â youâd command, patting your thigh like you were coaxing a stubborn cat.
âIâm not a damn lap dog.â Bucky muttered. But the way his eyes softened when you tilted your head, daring him, gave him away. So heâd let himself be pulled into your lap. And every time, he froze for a second, bracing as if youâd collapse beneath him.
You just rolled your eyes. âRelax. Youâre light.â
That earned you an incredulous snort. âLight? Doll, I weigh half a small car.â
âMaybe to anyone else. To me?â you wrapped your arms around his waist, squeezing tight, âyou feel like nothing. Like you were made to fit right here.â
That always did it. Buckyâs shoulders slumped, his whole body softening against yours. Heâd hide his face in your neck, muttering something about how insane you were, but his metal hand always ended up curled protectively around yours.
Other times, youâd surprise him by scooping him up bridal style when he least expected it. The first time, he nearly jumped out of your hold.
âPut me down!â Bucky barked, struggling out of sheer panic.
But you just adjusted your grip and kept walking, smirking at his wide-eyed disbelief. âYouâre not heavy, Bucky. Honestly, you feel lighter than the groceries.â
âThe groceries?â
âYup. Youâre just a feather with an attitude.â
And though his ears turned red, his arms looped around your neck all the same.
