Yo…this is my first post on tumblr.. but here’s the Damian Wayne and he’s little precious kitty Alfred that I drew today!! 💞😼 ( you have no idea how many times I erased Damian’s face over and over again 💀)
I'm starting to feel like they've put a mask on my face that I'm not sure belongs to me. I have been told I'm tireless. Not for nothing, you're the one who can move mountains. Sometimes I feel something is consuming me. The energy inside me is untamed. Untameable. As if the entire universe was pulling me from infinite directions. This effort devours me.
the crucial thing to understand about dick grayson is that he is the #1 child labor fan. he's had a job since he could walk and by god will he keep having one. world's most employed ten year old.
𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆! jason finally fixes your car, but he has to make sure it still runs properly as well. for your safety, right?
𝘁𝗮𝗴𝘀! afab!reader, tension, inaccurate car information, time skips
𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁! 4871
𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁! find it here <3
the familiar musk of jason's shop filled your nostrils once again.
your thighs were frozen to the thin metal chair that remained beside jason's work station. the rusted legs creaked under your weight, threatening to break with each movement.
you tried not to let your mind wander this time.
the events of the prior night plagued you through visions. his arms — the way they flexed with each turn of the wheel, the way his body leaned closer to yours as he retrieved his sweater from the back seat.
his words stuck to your back for the rest of the night. "see you tomorrow, pretty girl," landing and ironing itself to your skin.
you recalled his scent — vanilla musk, mint, and the faintest hint of the cigarette he had smoked earlier that clung to the tips of his hair.
in front of you was a familiar scene. dark wash jeans, and a black t shirt. brown boots. body laid supine on a trolly underneath your car.
"how long do you think this will take?" you asked, cringing slightly from the chair's loud screeching.
"tryna get away from me that quickly, darling?" he called back. you hear the smirk in his words. smug bastard. "i'm just getting started down here."
"tim said that you said it would be an easy fix,"
jason's only response was a hum of confirmation. he hadn't lied — it was an easy fix. but he couldn't bring himself to let you leave just yet. he couldn't. he was selfish, he knew, he wanted to stay in your presence just a little longer. because you… you were off limits. you would go back to your life — school, work, tim, your friends. jason didn't believe that he needed to fit into your life alongside those factors.
"that it wouldn't take long?" you continued after his lack of response.
"that was before i saw what a mess your car is,"
"shark is reliable," your voice rang back defensively. your car was beautiful. a 99 chevy cavalier. perfect for you.
"you named your car 'shark'?" his lip curled above his top teeth. of course you had named your car. you had seemed like the type who would. the name was cute, jason would admit, you were cute, but denying it was easier than admitting it.
"yeah," your tone was flat, defensive. "it's grey, and strong — therefore, a shark."
"right," jason agreed for your sake. the name of your car didn't change his life in any way. he rolled himself out from the undercarriage and stood in front of the hood of your car.
he took a moment to inspect and assess. seeing him in his element was mesmerizing. his calculating gaze showed care and experience. his eyes roved over each part, and how they worked together.
"come here," his voice called out, head nodding invitingly. your feet were moving over to him before your brain even realized it was happening. he was a magnet, one that you didn't think you could stay away from even if you wanted to.
"see this?" he murmured as he stepped to the side to make room for you. you nodded. his finger remained pointing to a part on top of your engine. "that big thing is your engine. and this is your valve. it's leaking and is what is causing problems."
you nodded again in understanding, leaning your upper half closer to inspect it. jason tried to keep his gaze on your car as well, and keep from wandering down your back. but fuck you were so close to him. and the smell of your perfume was flooding his senses. his fingers hovered on the small of your back, fingers brushing the hem of your tank top — black this time, and just as tantalizing.
"the good thing is, your engine is fine," he explained. his words were so close to your ear, and you were aware of his proximity to your back. the way his "want me to show you how to fix it?"
your head tilted back over your shoulder to regard him. his face was so close to yours, close enough to cause your breath to hitch in your throat.
"yeah? so i can take your job?" the corner of your lip twitched upward.
jason's expression softened fractionally, his eyes roving over your face. "you think that's how this works?"
words died in your throat. his gaze on you almost stopped your heart. your lips parted to respond, a witty response ready and shaped under your tongue. yet all you could do was press your lips back together and turn back towards the car. jason was entranced by the curve of your mouth. his own mind was short-circuting, just the same as yours. at the sight of your lips pressed together, he took that as a sign to step up closer behind you.
"okay," he murmured, his arm circling you. his biceps caged you in, pressing against your shoulders. "we are gonna take this rag and wrap it around here,"
his voice was breathy against your ear, but still low and controlled. his weight against your back was grounding, yet completely debilitating. every ridge, every crevice of his chest pressed into you.
"and then, we're gonna pull," a loud pop followed the end of jason's sentence. your eyes remained on your engine under the valve, scanning, questioning.
jason's own gaze remained fixed on your face. your fascination, your concern, was evident on your features. your brows dipped slightly as your mind worked around the inner workings of your car — he was speechless by the sight.
clearing his throat, he let go of your hand and removed himself from behind you. "and, she's all fixed up,"
you immediately felt the loss. a steady chill crawled up the back of your spine. his chest had been so warm and solid against your back. a small part of you was upset at how easily jason fixed your car. you almost wished there was more wrong in order to spend more time caged in by his arms.
"thanks for fixing her up," you turned to face the front of him, gaze lifted to meet his. his height was towering, no matter the size of your own body. he commanded space. took it up without meaning to — without even wanting to. he was inescapable, a large mass that captured your attention. "how much do i owe you?"
"don't worry about it," his response was short. dismissive. nonchalant. his arm reached by your head, unhooking the hood of your car and letting it shut.
"jason." you stated, disbelieving. "i'm serious."
"so am i,"
"just tell me how much i owe you,"
"nothing. was a favour for your boyfriend," he shrugged, his expression remaining unchanging.
"he's not my boyfriend," your face contorting into a look of disgust. tim was the last person you would choose to date. especially when there was someone else on your mind, someone who happened to be standing in front of you.
"right, well, still a favour for the piece of shit,"
you gave him a look at his choice of words to describe tim. there were a few beats of silence between the two of you.
"shop policy is that we need to test run the car," he gave you a sidelong glance, his hand brushing over the hood. "make sure it's running properly."
"you do this with all your clients?" you raised a brow, unconvinced.
"can't let you go unless i know you're safe in that thing," he ignored your question, "in good conscious."
"do i get to drive?" you raised a brow.
"in your dreams," his voice muttered. he had already opened the passenger door of your car, hand gestured for you to get in.
"it's my car and i don't even get to drive," you snarked, slipping by him, your back brushed against his chest again briefly.
"as long as you're with me, you don't have to touch the wheel again," jason's voice was barely above a breath, words uttered as he shut the door after you got settled.
he hoped you hadn't heard.
he hadn't even known why he said those words. he didn't mean them. he didn't know you, and he didn't want to know you.
you were tim's friend, not his.
﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒
the front of your hood burnt the bottom of your thighs.
how you ended up in the meadow on the outskirts of town was beyond you.
jason was perched beside you, arms folded as he gazed at the over grown grass.
"this place is quite far from town," your voice drifted into jason's ears alongside the gentle breeze that swayed the grass.
he nodded, his eyes fixed ahead.
you left it at that, following his gaze ahead. there was peace in the view. an endless expanse of green that contrasted with the cut of the sharp blue sky.
"i come here quite often," he responded after a while of silence, turning to gaze up at you.
"peaceful," you added. you didn't feel the need to add more, he understand what you were implying with your words. "do you ever go sit in the field?"
he shook his head, "i like to watch from here,"
you pushed yourself off the hood of your car, feet landing on the road below. rocks crunched under the sole of your shoes, dust settling into the ankles of your jeans. "well then, let's go,"
"no," he shook his head, shifting against the hood. he looked down, knowing that if he continued to look into your eyes he would give in. jason felt himself wanting to give him, wanting to do whatever you wanted. and it was terrifying him.
you rolled your eyes at his response, "come on, jason,"
he fixed his gaze back ahead, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth. it wasn't that he didn't want to — god, he fucking wanted to. he couldn't allow himself to. you were dangerous.
you took his silence and nodded slowly. "well, i'm gonna go and enjoy myself. and you can stay here, loser,"
you smirked at him, nudging his arm before you turned around and took off running into the grassy area.
the sun cut down through the wind, warming your shoulders. you weren't gonna let jason's reluctance stop you.
jason watched you run, watched the way your arms swung by your side. his body subconsciously pushed off the hood, moving to follow you into the sun. you felt like his sun, and he couldn't help but want to orbit around you.
he let out a soft huff, his nails biting into his palm for a moment.
"fuck," he muttered under his breath before he took off running after you. it felt good, but he wouldn't admit that out loud to you. it was scary how natural this feeling was for him, how easily this path to you opened for him to chase.
it was scary how fast jason caught up to you. the head start you had was diminished in seconds. he kept a steady pace just behind you, not yet matching your pace, just watching.
the smile you flashed over your shoulder was blinding. jason almost tripped over his feet at the sight. your teeth beaming with genuine joy, your tongue peeking out from behind the top row. and then your laugh. a breathless laugh from the belly that punched into his chest.
"tag!" your hand reached back to swat at his arm, while you stumbled over the grass in the process. you righted yourself and cut immediately to the left.
you took off sprinting again in the opposite direction. the melody of your laugh continued to fill jason's void, and he followed without a second thought.
he chased after you, breath barely puffing out of his chest. he wanted to prolong this moment for as long as he possibly could, to preserve this memory in locket and wear it around his chest — he didn't even know if he would see you again after this.
all he was supposed to do was to fix your car, as per tim's instructions. that was all. it was only a favour. nothing more. yet, it felt like everything to jason in this moment. how quickly his life had been changed within a couple of days was something he was unable to comprehend.
his arm circled around your waist, lifting you up into his chest and spinning you around to carry your momentum. you gasped through a shriek, legs kicking into the air at how suddenly you were airborne.
"got you," his chest rumbled against your back. his other hand latched onto your thigh to steady you back on the ground.
"jason, oh my—" your hands gripped his arm as the world suddenly spun off it's axis. your foot caught in a hole, your body stumbled forward. the ground was approaching faster than you could process, than you could react. your eyes shut as you braced yourself for impact. you could practically feel your body hitting the ground, the grass catching between your fingertips and sticking under your nails. you were already cringing at the thought. that was gonna be a pain to get out later.
only, you didn't hit the ground — not really. your bottom did, but not as hard as you had anticipated. the back of your head was cushioned, along with your upper back. you realized it was jason by the way his knees thudded against the dirt, bracketing your thighs. jason was practically straddling you. his hand crunched beneath your head before the arm around your upper back pulled you up, hovering your body a few inches off the ground.
your eyes were wide and wild, gazing up at him.
he was so close.
again.
you had seen him up close before, the two of you had shared a few moments in a proximity that was closer than you should have been, but none of those times compared to this.
he was right there.
small freckles dusting his nose, blue irises that carried hints of green, and complete and utter perfection.
and for, jason, god he was speechless. it was instinct on his end, really. his hands moved on their own — thrumming with the desire to protect you. he would let his arms take the brunt of any pain if it had meant you would never see harm.
was he that pathetic? that you had managed to have him under your thumb within such a short time of knowing you? clearly, he was.
your fingers instinctively curled into the collar of his shirt, keeping him close. your chest was expanding with breaths that never quite sat right in your lungs, leaving you more dizzy than anything else — or was that because you were close enough to smell jason's natural musk?
jason lowered your body slowly — hand slipping from under your head, arm uncurling from your upper back and letting you rest on the grass. the green blades framed your head like a halo. angel. you were his angel.
he followed you down, unable to put space between your bodies. his hands rested beside your head, further bracketing you beneath him. his eyes roved over your form in concern.
"you okay?" he murmured softly. he checked for injuries, anything, he angled his head to gaze at your ankle — the reason why you had fallen in the first place. it looked fine to him, thankfully.
you nodded slowly, lips parted in slight shock, eyes still transfixed on his face.
"need you to say it. are you in any pain?" he repeated, gazing back into your eyes. "does your ankle hurt at all?"
"i'm okay," you swallowed thickly. "my ankle is fine."
he accepted your answer, visibly relaxing. "good."
"sorry," you blurted out, anxious from how close he was. from how you could count each and every single one of his eyelashes as they were attached to his eyelid.
"for what?" his voice was barely above a whisper. the breeze flowed through the grass, kissing over your cheeks and sending hair fluttering across your forehead. he brushed the strand back, memorizing the texture under his thumb. he knew why you were apologizing, and it was unnecessary. though, he recognized your words are more instinct than a genuine apology.
your brain blanked, subconsciously pulling him closer by the collar. closer. closer. it wasn't close enough.
jason followed willingly. it would agonize him to deny you right now, to deny himself.
his head dipped down, the tip of his nose brushed against yours. his shaky breath fanned across your lips.
"angel…" he whispered, eyes squeezing tightly. it was as if the darkness behind his lids could stop him, stop his desire for you. stop the fire that was spreading up his neck — one that could only be extinguished with the press of your lips.
he wanted it so badly, wanted you. he knew you would taste good under his tongue, that you would mold perfectly with him. his fingers dug into the ground, denting the dirt with the force of his restraint.
and when your hands slid up from his collar and onto his neck, jason knew he was done for. he was gone. completely at your mercy just by the touch of your fingertips. his neck burned at the spots where your skin met his. he was ready to carve his heart out of his chest and hand it to you with his own hands. his chest plating armour, his protection, his walls that had shielded the parts of himself that he refused to show the world melted instantly with a flash of your smile.
"jay…" your voice was barely above the wind in his ears, but it cut through nonetheless, grounded him back to the moment where your chin was tilting up towards his mouth.
oh god, no
he cleared his throat and slid onto his back beside you. the clouds, bright and blinding against the warm blue, were the most interesting thing jason could look at right now. though his eyes were desperate to settle back onto you.
he wouldn't give in. not yet at least. maybe not ever. you would never be his.
a spiked ball made it's way down your throat, forcing, shoving, tearing down any words that were about to leave your mouth. the pressure between the two of you was bordering on unbearable.
you were so close to kissing him. so close. his distance was necessary. you never should have gotten that close to jason — close enough that you had felt the cool air from his nose brush your cheeks. though, feeling him pull away stabbed your heart deeper than you cared to admit.
"hey, jason?"
he hummed in confirmation
"what were you doing under my car for so long?"
"what do you mean?"
"well, it was the valve that was leaking right? you said that's under the hood. why were you under my car for as long as you were? you were also inside, like under the steering wheel. what was that?"
jason remained silent. he didn't have a good enough excuse that didn't make him sound like a fucking idiot. after finding the initial cause of your car problems, he found another, and then another. and then it turned into him fixing whatever he could with the equipment that he had on hand — anything to keep you in the shop a little longer. just a little longer.
"you know, just stopping some fluid leaks, making sure nothing was rusting. the oil pan gasket is down there, and your transmission," he kept his eyes trained on the sky, hand resting under his head. the same hand that was under yours. the same one that was just gliding through your hair and oh how he wanted to grab onto the strands and— "oh, and your exhaust. that needed to be touched up. i actually put some paste on there so it should be good for now, but you'll need to come in again soon for me to actually fix it—"
"jason,"
"yeah," his own rambling had caught him off guard, but the way his heart was practically beating out of his chest was getting increasingly harder to ignore. his heart was still beating wildly out of his chest from almost kissing you.
"what the hell does any of that even mean?"
"basically, you had more work that needed to be done than just the valve,"
"what?" you sat up, your lips jutting out in a exasperated pout. "why didn't you tell me? you have to let me pay you."
"like i said earlier, i owed tim," he responded, propping himself on his elbow to face you. the sun floated just above your head, bathing you in its ethereal glow. the rays caught on your hair, glittering the wild strands that were mussed from the grass.
"yeah but not for all of that,"
"well. if you wanna repay me so bad, then you can,"
you nodded in relief. "okay. how much do i owe you then?"
"i want you—"
the shrill of your phone ringing in your back pocket cut jason off abruptly. in a way, he may have been relieved that he never got to finish his sentence. you. i want you. he wouldn't have been able to take them back, no matter how much he may have meant it.
too much. way too soon.
"hey," you pressed your phone to your ear. your fingers absentmindedly picked at the strands of grass beneath your feet.
"what time are you coming over?" tim's voice rang through the speaker. loud. jason cringed at the sound.
"huh?" you shifted, sitting up a little straighter. right. tim and you had plans tonight. dinner tonight at the manor, upon bruce's insistence. on days that you and tim had planned to hang out, you usually ended up in the manor. it was more comfortable for you guys rather than your shitty apartment.
"b's asking, alfred's already started on dinner," tim says, you cam practically see him shaking his head. "so, what time should i tell him? also, why is your location off. i tried to check if you were at home and it says 'location not found'"
"oh uh, i don't know. i'm on a walk right now, i'll be there in 'bout an hour?" you were distracted. jason was just laying there still, beside you, pretending not to listen but you know he was. the twitch of his nose when tim had mentioned bruce had given him away.
"''kay, perfect, see you, and fix your location," tim waited for your own farewell before hanging up the phone. you let your phone drop into your lap, falling back into the electrically charged quiet that seemed to continuously engulf yourself and jason.
"tim?" jason mumbled.
you nodded, a thick glob of saliva catching in our throat. "dinner at the manor tonight."
right. jason knew that. dinner at the manor tonight, as bruce had said in the family group chat.
he knew he had to drive you back, to let you go. you car was fixed now. it was over. your car was fixed, and you were gonna go back to your life now. the dream bubble, the rose coloured world that jason had been fantasizing with you was now grey.
but he wouldn't complain. he would let you go. and maybe, he would get to see you again.
﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒
the manor had been bustling upon your arrival. you still felt like you were in a daze from your earlier encounters with jason.
he was… different. not what you had expected.
your first impression of him might have been skewered by tim, and the front that jason put up. the glares, the stone mask that he wore — you saw the softness that lay beneath it all.
you were currently at the dinner table — seated beside tim — though you could still feel the grass tickling your ankles and jason's steady weight on your chest. you had been so close to kissing him, barely a centimetre between you.
"so your car is alright then?" bruce's voice brought you back from your dream.
"hm? oh! yeah, it's all good," your shoulders squared, spine snapping straight. the smile that plastered across your face felt gooey. "jason—"
"—littlewing?" dick's voice rang out in shock, his gaze fixed above your head. a lull settled over the room as the rest of the party's attention followed dick's. you slowly turned your head, your breath catching at the sight.
speak of the devil.
jason. he had stood in the entryway of the dining hall — the same navy blue jeans, leather jacket stretched taut over his strong form.
everyone's gaze were on him, but his were on you.
"jason! what a pleasure," bruce smiled, standing in greeting.
"why are you here?" tim blurted out.
"for dinner?" jason deadpanned.
"yeah, but why?"
"i'm part of the family, aren't i? do i need a reason to show up for family dinner?"
"how did you know this was happening,"
you elbowed tim hard enough that he flinched. his fork clanged against his plate at the force of his knee hitting the table.
"i'm in the groupchat, dumbass," jason's eyes narrowed at tim, a scowl forming across his mouth.
"—yes! you are, no you don't need a reason, and we are so happy you're here," bruce's voice cut in quickly, breaking the squabble. his tone directed at tim. he stood up as well to welcome jason into the room.
"come sit, littlewing, alfred already set up a seat for you," dick's words barely registered in your mind. jason had looked different, smaller, younger. dick's hand patted the space next to him, across from you, the only empty seat. until now, that seat had always remained empty — set up with a plate, cutlery, and a glass — but empty. now you knew why.
he took his spot, sliding comfortably into the seat and letting dick clap his shoulder in friendly greeting. jasons eyes shifted from dick, to bruce, and then to you. darker, pupils dilated, head tilted slightly to the side as he took in your appearance again. outfit less casual, your hair done in a way that he could tell you put effort into — though he thought your hair would have looked nice regardless how you wore it.
jason's gaze was hungry. devouring, though it wasn't because of the food that was being served in front of him, but because of you.
dinner continued without a hitch. the dymanic didn't change when jason arrived, it molded around him — like he had always been there.
the conversion flowed between everyone, changing constantly from someone's interjection. the only thing that didn't change was jason's focus on you. when he spoke, when he wasn't speaking. it wasn't the whole time, but it was enough for you to notice it. to feel it burning into your face from where he sat directly in front of you.
eventually, after the second course of dessert, you excused yourself to the washroom.
a break was needed.
while you had developed close relationships with all of tim's family members, they still managed to overwhelm you very easily.
the washroom was a moment of repreive in the chaos that was confined within the walls of the manor. you could still hear the arguments, the debates, the loud voices that knew how to speak above one another.
you took your time on the way back, slow measured steps that followed the dark lines of the mahogany flooring. you didn't hear the footsteps behind you, didn't sense the presence that lingered too closely behind you for just a second too long before wrapping an arm around you.
a large hand covered your mouth, the other pulling your body into the opened doorway beside you. once your back was against the wall, you realized.
jason.
he was close again. body pressed up against yours intentionally. he was warm in a way that was devastating — a warmth that you so desperately wanted to sink into, but you knew you couldn't.
"what are you—" your voice muffled against his hand, palm sliding against your cheek and cradling your head.
"i should have kissed you earlier," his words cut you off, hanging in the space between your mouths. his gaze was fixed on your lips, centimetres away from yours. "i should have. i need to. been thinking about it since i met you, angel, fuck."
he was practically pleading. his whispered words were shaking between his lips.
please. please, let me kiss you.
"we… jason, we can't," your voice was just as soft, hands exploring up his arms and onto his shoulders. broad and thick under your palms. the desperation was burning the room, a fever beginning to heat up your spine.
"we… yeah," his forehead softly hit yours, eyes shutting tightly. his nostrils flared with restraint. his other hand tightened it's grip on your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer to him.
"they're gonna be looking for us, we need to—"
"fuck. i can't. i'm sorry," jason murmured, his snapping open to gaze at you one last time, there was a hint of apology swimming in his eyes, deep and longing beneath the surface.
summary: In Dick's defense, proposing is terrifying.
tags: Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, Panic, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Comedy, Vomiting, Dick Grayson Is Not Having A Good Time
a/n: I saw this in a TikTok post about funny engagement stories and immediately thought of Dick
You had your date at the Grand Canyon planned for several weeks. The two of you had been busy and stressed with work lately, so you were looking forward to spending a quiet weekend together even more than usual.
The only problem was that Dick had been acting incredibly nervous all morning.
When your alarm went off at seven, he was already gone. According to him, he hadn't been able to sleep all night. At four in the morning, he had apparently decided to do something productive and cleaned half the house instead (carefully enough not to wake you). Things only got stranger after that. At breakfast, he burned his scrambled eggs so badly that the smoke alarm almost went on. A few minutes later, he reached for the sugar and somehow managed to pour salt into his coffee instead. When you pointed it out, he stared at the mug for a solid five seconds before dumping the whole thing into the sink.
You had asked him more than once what was wrong. Each time, he'd smiled a little too quickly and blamed it on the weather.
"The weather?" you repeated as the two of you loaded your bags into the car.
"Yeah."
"Dick, it's sunny."
"Exactly."
You narrowed your eyes at him. He immediately looked away. That was suspicious.
Dick Grayson was many things, but subtle was not one of them.
For the first hour of the drive, he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, checked his phone every few minutes, and nearly missed two exits because he seemed completely lost in thought.
At one point, you caught him glancing at you. Then at the road. Then at you again.
You figured you wouldn't get a real answer out of him, so you let it go. Turning your head, you looked up at the bright blue sky above you. Only a few fluffy clouds drifted lazily across it. A small smile tugged at your lips.
"Look at the sky," you said.
Dick's head snapped up so fast you thought he might actually break his neck. "Oh God, what's wrong with the sky?!" he asked, panic flashing across his face.
You blinked. For a moment, you were too stunned to respond. "Dick," you said slowly, trying not to laugh, "there's nothing wrong with the sky."
His shoulders immediately sagged with relief. "Oh."
A beat passed.
"Wait, why would you think something was wrong with the sky?"
Yeah, the whole drive had been weird.
When you finally arrived, the view was magnificent. The walking trail was surprisingly quiet, with only a handful of people scattered along the route.
Dick, however, wasn't paying much attention to the scenery. His hand was clammy in yours the entire time. You had never seen someone sweat this much without actually exercising.
After about thirty minutes of walking, you emerged onto a beautiful overlook. Almost immediately, you noticed a couple standing near the edge. You stopped in your tracks and grabbed Dick's arm, pulling the distracted man to a halt.
"Look," you whispered. "I think he's proposing." At that exact moment, the guy dropped to one knee. The woman immediately covered her mouth as he pulled a ring box from his pocket.
Good thing you were standing far enough away not to disturb them. Still, you couldn't help leaning closer to Dick and whispering,
"Who the hell proposes at the Grand Canyon? I hate it."
Silence.
You frowned. That wasn't the reaction you expected.
Out of the corner of your eye, you watched the color drain from Dick's face. Instantly. His expression shifted from nervous to absolutely horrified. A strange choking sound escaped his throat.
"Dick?"
His eyes were wide. Very wide.
"Dick?"
Without a word, he dropped your hand, spun around, and sprinted toward the nearest bush. A second later, the unmistakable sound of someone violently throwing up echoed across the overlook.
You stared.
The nearby squirrels probably stared too.
"...Holy shit."
Maybe the weather really was getting to him, you thought.
Completely unaware that a engagement ring was currently burning a hole in his pocket.
Sometimes, fanfiction is carefully plotted out stories, with plot points and call backs and themes that all tie it up in a meaningful and exciting way.
And sometimes fanfiction is, ‘Watch me do a fucking KICK FLIP off this cool sentence!! Also here's some sex'
summary: the justice league thinks bruce has lowkey lost his mind when he hosts a pool party at the manor, but hey, who are they to turn one down?
cw: swearing, silly siblings
a/n: shoutout to @/ragingbookdragon, i read their pool party fic in the first few months of getting tumblr and it was so fire. idek why im writing this tbh it's winter in australia rn.
You told your dad a pool party would be fun, and after a significant amount of convincing him, he relented.
The first time Bruce announced the idea at dinner, the entire table went silent.
“So kids, me and your sister were talking, and I’m planning on hosting a pool party.”
Jason blinked. “You mean like… socially?”
“Yes.”
Damian slowly lowered his fork. “Why?”
Bruce sighed deeply. “It’s for the start of summer.”
Tim looked up from his coffee. “You’re willingly inviting the justice league into the manor.”
“Correct.”
“Voluntarily.”
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m beginning to regret sharing ideas with you people.”
The League thought Bruce had finally snapped too.
Hal laughed for like five straight minutes when Clark told him.
“Bruce?” Hal wheezed. “Hosting a POOL PARTY?”
Diana smiled knowingly though. “It was probably Y/N’s idea.”
Clark nodded instantly. “Absolutely Y/N’s idea.”
Pre-planning for the pool party starts like it’s a military operation. Bruce genuinely makes spreadsheets. Colour-coded ones.
Barbara somehow gets dragged into organising RSVPs because apparently nobody else is “capable of answering messages like functioning members of society.”
“I need final numbers by Friday,” Barbara says into the Justice League official WhatsApp group chat (look me in the eye and tell me they wouldn't have one c'mon)
Wally replies instantly: put me down for 3
Barbara: Why three.
Wally: idk im hungry
The family group chat, on the other hand, becomes unbearable within hours.
Dick: Can I invite the Titans?
Bruce: They were already invited.
Jason: Can Roy bring his weird grill
Bruce: No.
You: Do you think we can hire one of those huge inflatable water slides
Bruce: Also no
Costco shopping day is genuinely catastrophic.
Alfred takes you, Steph, and Cass because Bruce “doesn’t trust the boys to grocery shop responsibly.”
Which is fair because Dick once bought jalapenos and cream cheese to make jalapeno cream cheese takis but actually forgot the takis (my brother did this once)
“Guys we need mozzarella sticks.”
“My dear Stephanie,” Alfred says calmly, “we already have three boxes.”
“Okay but what if people want MORE mozzarella sticks?”
You and Cass disappear for twenty minutes and come back with enough chips to survive the apocalypse.
Alfred looks at the trolley.
Looks at both of you.
Then simply sighs in tired acceptance.
Cass records Steph trying to lift the giant catering-sized tub of potato salad and immediately dropping it.
“WHY IS IT SO DENSE?”
“Because,” you laugh, “it’s potato salad.”
You and Alfred spend the night before the party making food together in the manor kitchen.
Sandwich platters. Fruit trays. Sliders. Pasta salad. Desserts. Mocktails. Fancy lemonade. Literally everything imaginable.
Meanwhile outside Dick and Tim are in charge of chairs, lights, and decorations.
Dick tries making things aesthetic.
Tim tries making things practical.
They argue the entire time.
“The fairy lights go HERE.”
“Nobody cares about fairy lights.” ("nobody cares about TIIIM Drake" type shit)
“You have no vision.”
“You spent forty minutes arranging cushions.”
“Because pillow decor matters, Timothy.”
Jason gets assigned floatie duty because Bruce refuses to let him near “anything expensive or explosive.”
Unfortunately, Jason takes the floaties VERY seriously.
There are giant flamingos, sharks, an inflatable Batmobile, a dragon the size of a sedan.
He’s outside sweating with an industrial air pump muttering angrily.
“If one more damn inflatable swan deflates I’m ending it all.”
Damian gets stuck wrangling the house pets into the manor before guests arrive.
Which sounds easy until you remember: Titus exists, Ace exists, Alfred the cat exists, and Elizabeth exists
Damian walks into the kitchen carrying a lot of leashes and visible irritation.
And finally everyone starts showing up, getting the party started.
The driveway becomes ridiculous.
Cars everywhere.
Bikes everywhere.
Somebody parked a spaceship nearby
Alfred starts tweaking at the sight of the horrific parking jobs the fucking Justice League of America have done.
The energy shifts instantly once everybody arrives.
Music starts booming through the speakers, of which you are in full control of because everyone agrees you have the best music taste (and spotify premium).
People jump in the pool immediately. Conversations overlap everywhere. Somebody’s laughing every five seconds.
Kori and Donna end up securing the hot tub and camp there for a significant amount of time until Dick successfully bribed them out with food
Bruce stands near the patio watching everyone anxiously for a moment before you walk over handing him a drink.
Jonathan and Damian screw off to play Cheese Vikings
Chicken fight is going on and shit hits the fan in the water.
Jason spends most of the party throwing people (mainly Damian) into the pool
Bruce spends most of the afternoon yelling about running and sunscreen and it drives him up the wall.
"STOP RUNNING."
Nobody listens.
"I MEAN IT."
Still nobody listens.
The sunscreen situation becomes a coordinated operation.
Bruce, Diana, and Dinah have all agreed that nobody is escaping.
Nobody.
You try.
Naturally.
"I'm literally fine."
"No."
"Dad."
"No."
Ten minutes later Bruce is physically holding your face still while applying sunscreen.
The water gun war starts because of you (Bruce confiscated Damian's nerf guns moments prior to this)
It always starts because of you.
You, Tim, and Steph form an alliance.
A dangerous one.
Mostly because all three of you are unbelievably annoying together
Steph shoots first.
Tim immediately follows.
You get Bart directly in the shoulder.
"BETRAYAL."
"You were never on the team."
The backyard descends into war.
Then Steph makes a horrible decision.
A truly horrible decision.
She sprays Bruce.
Silence.
Bruce slowly lowers the martini he was holding.
Everybody freezes.
Steph immediately realises. "...Oops."
Bruce disappears into the main garage.
Nobody likes that.
Nobody likes that at all.
Three minutes later he returns carrying a garden hose.
The screaming is immediate.
"OH MY GOD."
"WHAT THE FUK HE'S GOT THE HOSE."
"RUN."
Bruce absolutely hoses down every single person involved.
Including you.
"DAD."
"Consequences."
"I WASN'T EVEN THE ONE WHO STARTED IT."
"You were encouraging her."
In the kitchen, you and Cass slather vegetable oil over the melon so you guys can play Greased Watermelon and that was a complete flop when Jason tried to take the melon away from Roy and in an attempt to score, threw it out of the pool and it cracked.
Your earring falls in the water (rip)
Whenever any water games were going on, everyone would get scared and scream in terror when Arthur, Garth or Kaldur entered the pool lmao
"Can we boycott Atlanteans from water games"
"Yo I lowkey second that"
You threw a beach ball at Hal and lied and said it was Barry so for the remainder of the day he had a vendetta against the poor man.
You, Dinah, Steph, Diana, Cass and Lois end up playing volleyball for a short while but Diana absolutely volleymogged everyone (#amazonianthingz)
Eventually Bruce makes the mistake of asking you to order more food.
Specifically because the heroes have somehow consumed enough food to feed a village.
"Can you order more pizzas?"
"Sure."
Your brothers gather around to listen because nobody trusts you to make phone calls normally.
"Hi, yes."
"..."
"How many pizzas?"
You look around.
"How many people are here?"
Dick starts counting.
Gives up halfway.
"Like fifty?"
"Sixty."
"Seventy if Wally and Uncle Barry eat."
"Fuck okay," you tell the employee. "Hi! Can I please get twenty pizzas?"
Silence.
"Yes."
"Two zero."
"Twenty."
The employee genuinely thinks it's a prank.
"No ma'am, I swear this is real."
"Yes, people are actually going to eat all of that."
"No, I'm not hosting a school."
"Can I get 4 barbecue, 3 vegaterian, 4 meat lovers, 2 Hawaiian and a couple of pepperoni please"
"Thank you, that'll be to 1007 Mountain Drive, Crest Hill, Bristol Township."
Bruce genuinely spazzes out trying to get you, Dick and Jason to stop jumping out of the second floor window into the pool.
"Do you kids not value your lives."
"Chill out Bruce we jump from skyscrapers like every night"
Your siblings get on your nerves normally, but today it was particularly worse when Tim decided to run upstairs to your room and use a spare bikini of yours to catapult grapefruits at Damian from your balcony and you get your dad to yell at him.
"TIMOTHY STOP USING YOUR SISTER'S CLOTHES TO SLINGSHOT FRUIT AT YOUR BROTHER"
"SORRY BRUCE"
At one point Titus ends up escaping the manor when the door to outside is left open and goes and steals food and you have to stop him from jumping in the pool.
"DAMIAN COME GET YOUR DOG"
Bruce considers the day a total disaster because his blood pressure was through the rood, but everyone else thinks it was a success.
He'll probably get pressured into doing this again next year or some shit.
But it was definitely worth it seeing the smiles on everyone's faces <3
A/N: So much of this shit was based off me and my family and extended family. I am always put on food duty when it comes to parties at my house no lie.
in which... this was the story of how dick lost you.
꒰ contents ꒱ dick grayson x fem!reader. dual pov. major angst. no use of y/n. major character death. profanities. blood and wounds. brief kissing. reader’s vigilante name is nyx. established relationship. italics galore. dick grayson crashing out (again). the author is very sorry. 5k words. prologue to my fic one last hug, please?
✎ᝰ. a letter from jj . . . actually fell to my knees with tears. here it is my friends, the long awaited fic. this work has gone through about fifty seven rewriting sessions, major back and forth editing cause i realised how badly structured my previous fics were (thank you mother rebecca ross for your writing wisdom🙏🏻) and this might be the longest and most time-consuming fic i've ever written. i hope you enjoy and has prepared you tissues and sad playlist beforehand. i hope you enjoy🤍
As soon as you got the alert, you knew it was going to be another night of cancelled plans and unattended dinner reservations.
Tonight’s plan was originally for you to go on a date with Dick, yet Blüdhaven had other plans for the two of you. You were a little upset, and you could tell Dick was, too. For it was to be the first date that you have since your engagement and a small break from everyone's hustling and bustling about the wedding planning.
Alas, it was another date night lost to the city’s safety.
Suits’ on, gear up, steal a few kisses, part ways— Nightwing goes to one side of the city, while Nyx goes to the other. Just the same old story replayed all over again. And you didn’t mind it, not if it meant keeping innocent civilians safe.
You just wished the alert would go off some other night that was not a date night. Which, unfortunately, happens more often than either of you appreciated.
“You, Grayson,” You patted his spandex-clad chest, glaring playfully at his eyes that were covered by his domino mask, and demanded, “have to promise take me dancing on our next date.”
Your eyes playfully casting a longing glance at the pretty blue dress on the bed that you’ve picked out for tonight’s supposed date, along with your fiancé’s dashing black suit.
His brows rose, a lilt of an annoyingly charming and amused smirk lips, glittering with a tell you couldn’t decipher. “Yes ma’am. I promise…” He paused only for a moment, then cheekily added, “… Mrs. Grayson.”
Butterflies.
You rolled your eyes, a flustered smile taking place on your mouth, though hidden under your mask. “Yet.”
“Ehh, it’s a month away, so we’re practically already married now." He grinned, and it sent the butterflies to fly around your ribcage— you could look at that smile and never be bored of it.
“That’s not how it works.”
“It is, ‘cause I said so,” How could he look so endearing, but so infuriating at the same time?
You were not impressed.
(Lies, you absolutely were impressed.)
Nevertheless, you rose to your tiptoes and nuzzled his cheek, just on the corner of his lips, a move that would’ve been a kiss hadn’t your mask been in the way.
When you pulled away, you couldn’t help but laugh at the unimpressed look he's got on. “Oh, put the pout away, Gray, I’ll kiss you properly later.”
“How about you kiss me properly now?” He blinked innocently, when he knew damn well that he was anything but.
Embarrassingly, you complied without a fight; removing your mask, and tiptoed again to plant a quick, but proper kiss to his lips, pulling a pleased sigh from his throat. His arm instinctively winding around your waist.
Foreheads touching, his gloved hand threads through your hair, “Careful out there, okay?” he whispered, breathless from your kiss. Even through the white filters of his mask, you could feel his stare, his unspoken need for you to assure him that you’d be careful. “I gotta take my girl dancing still.”
You nodded, lips twitching ever so slightly. “Always.”
Inside the filthy walls of the warehouse where you were slumped in, there were only two coherent thoughts that circled inside your increasingly dizzying mind.
One: While the date for today is inevitably cancelled, the next few dates will have to, unfortunately, suffer the same fate, too. Due to all the physical souvenirs you’ve acquired tonight.
And two: that you should've expected the thug—one of Penguin's, if you remembered correctly— to pull out a gun before the bullet embedded itself in your guts a second later. You were not proud of that. You were better than this.
Though, you kept thinking about the dinner you missed— if today hadn't turned out the way it did, you'd probably already be home from the restaurant by now.
Curled up on your bed with Dick, while he teasingly calls you ‘Mrs. Grayson’ just to see the flush on your cheeks.
And how you'd correct him that it wasn't your name yet. And that he'd have to wait patiently until the wedding to call you that.
The image of him pouting brought a small upturn of your lips.
Inhaling sharply, you winced then after, the rancid smell of oil, rust and iron had penetrated your nose for a while, each second making breathing feel impossible.
Or maybe it's because of the blood loss.
Right, there was a bullet hole in your stomach. Right under where your hand laid, bare as you've discarded your gloves, pressed firmly on your wound.
As if to remind you, your comm went off, and the voice of the one you loved reached you. “Nyx?”
Eyes closing momentarily with relief, you exhaled, shuddering and sharp. “‘Wing?”
“Hang in there, baby.” he panted, like he was running, or grappling over to your location. If you hadn't known him, you wouldn't have been able to detect the fear in those syllables. “I'm almost there.”
But you did know him. Better than anyone.
Breathing out a chuckle, you immediately regretted it when the small action brought a tenfold amount of pain through your body, replacing your laugh with a groan.
“Love?” He sounded panicked.
“You make me sound like a damsel in distress.” you mumbled instead, lips pulling to an unconscious smile. Love. You loved it when he called you that.
A breath of a laugh was pulled from Dick's throat, light, beautiful. It made you forgot, for a moment, that you were hurt. “You are.” he replied, though his voice faltered before he added on a: “You're my damsel in distress, though. So, it’s okay.”
You smiled lightly, then after, bit on your lower lip to stop a pained whimper from flowing out your lips as another wave of pain shoots up your stomach.
Your eyes prickled, and you shut it tightly. “Gosh, I should've punched them harder.” You swallowed thickly, the words coming out more sulkily than you intended.
“It’s okay.”
Seconds went by in silence. The throbbing pain came and went, and gradually, your eyes grew heavy.
The words ‘I'm tired’ were just at the tip of your tongue, your fiancé, as though he'd read your mind, hurriedly said to you, “Stay awake, my love. Please.”
Eyes drooping in protest, you slowly nodded, but soon realised that Dick couldn't see it. “Mhm.”
“Good, that's good.” You heard him breathe. “Please keep your eyes open. I'm gonna be there in a minute.”
“Thirty seconds.” you countered quietly, feeling the midnight chill slowly curl into your skin through your suit. Though, you refused to tell him to worry him even further.
Casting your eyes down, you caught a glimpse of the ring on your finger, the diamond that shone as it reflected the dim yellow light overhead. Still shining, even amongst the pool of blood that continued to flow, seeping between your fingers, staining the silver band a dark crimson.
He went along with it seamlessly. “Fifteen.”
“Did you know...” you said, suddenly abandoning the previous subject, “Spoiler called me Mrs. Nightwing last time we patrolled together?”
His chuckle was quiet through the comm, you noticed. “Did she?”
“Uh-huh.”
The doors of the warehouse bursted open. And you would've let out a cheer if you were able. So, you settled with keeping the relief in your mind.
From a distance, you heard your name being called repeatedly, desperately. Not Nyx. Your given name.
Dick was here.
It took everything in you to pull the strained “Here,” from your throat. You could only hoped that it was loud enough for him to be able to find you.
You didn't notice when your eyes had closed, yet the next second you hear someone's knees slamming against the dirty concrete floor beside you, they snapped back open.
His mask was discarded, and you've never been happier to see those crystalline pair of blue eyes staring back at you.
“Hey,” Dick whispered gently, placing a gentle hand on your cheek, his thumb brushing back and forth in a soft caress. “I'm here. I'm gonna get you out of here, yeah?”
The whisper was soft as a fallen feather.
(You missed the way his face rumpled and a tear flowed down his cheek when his eyes fell to the unmistakable wound under your bloodstained hand.)
You could've cried.
Blinking to clear your vision, you briefly saw Dick reach for his comm, saying something about ‘an emergency’ and ‘medic’ and you hear a response from someone on the other line, but the words faded when your eyes zeroed in to the gash on his shoulder, beneath his torn suit. Then your gaze drifted to another wound on his side.
He's hurt.
Swiftly, your eyes lifted back to his face, where you saw the patches of blue and purple that were scattered across his paling face.
He's hurt.
Even then, he was as beautiful as ever.
“You're hurt.” you croaked, your half-lidded eyes glued to his wounds and bruises as he was with your own.
But Dick shook his head. “I'm okay, sweetheart. Stay with me, okay? I'm gonna get us home.” Not giving you a chance to protest, he carefully snaked his hand around your shoulders, the other slipping beneath your knees as he tried to haul you in his arms with a grunt; muttering an apology every time you whimpered painfully.
Making a move to stand, he stumbled, hands tightening his hold on you, letting out a low, pained groan—you faintly realised he didn't mean to let out from the way his arms stiffened—that had your brows pulling in concern.
“Dick-”
Somewhere between your consciousness, you thought, he wouldn't be able to grapple along with you in his arms when he's just as injured as yourself…
“I’m fine.” he insisted stubbornly before repeating it once more in panted breaths, trying his best to keep you in his trembling arms without toppling over. “I’m fine.”
You weren't sure if he was trying to convince you or himself.
He took one step after another, holding back his own pain for your sake. And each step settled you deeper into a conclusion.
You weren’t going to make it out of here alive.
It wasn't that cataclysmic realisation, perhaps you already knew even minutes before.
Precisely five stuttered steps later, you start, whispering weakly, “Dick,” attempting to get his attention, your hand slipping from the bullet wound.
The man blinked, repeatedly, no replies slipping out his mouth, nor did he faced you like you wished he would. You knew he'd heard you, but he was ignoring you. It made you sad.
You longed to see those eyes, just in case it was going to be the last time you'd be able to.
“Please look at me.”
His throat bobbed as he gulped, responding with a quiet desperation that split your heart in two. “I can’t. I have to- I have to hurry.” he took another wobbling step towards the exit, continuing to mutter about help being here soon.
You called his name once more, finally, he relented, and turned his head towards you. “Stop.”
His eyes widened, wild, like you’d just said the most unforgivable thing, like you’d betrayed him with your words.
“What do you mean?”
The single sentence trickled out of his lips slowly, and hesitant. You knew he regretted the words as he said it when all you did was give him a look in response. Brows knitting together, he blinked, a brief flicker of realisation in those blues. Then shook his head resolutely.
“No.” he rasped, voice thick, how it usually would when he was about to cry.
Your lips parted for a... a what? You didn't even know what. Words of comfort? A wake up call that announced that you were fading in his arms?
The words died on your tongue; not that you had any that were well-thought-out.
So, you stayed quiet. If only for a moment. A moment where you had to hear him struggle to drag you and himself out of this damn place. Every groan, every whimper, every sign of ache that managed to bleed through the cracks of control and focus he had— all of it shattered your heart.
Until you couldn't take it anymore.
With what little strength you had left, you used to cup his cheek and lead his eyes to you, “My love...” Your brows arched as you plead. He'd only hurt himself even more if he went on. “Stop...”
His eyes told you everything he couldn't say out loud as they met yours.
Don't say it.
An apologetic smile crossed your lips. “I'm not gonna make it-”
“Don't.” He cut you off sharply, his eyes welling with tears despite the glare he pinned you. You supposed you deserved that.
Not a second later, his expression dropped, softening, though not in a way that you were used to seeing; the lovely, warm softness that made him glow, no.
He looked desperate. Defeated. In the way that you couldn't fix because you were the cause of its appearance.
As much as you hated yourself for hurting him, you didn't wish to take it back even if you could.
Because despite your desire to console him, the last thing you wanted to do was lie to him in your final moments; it didn’t matter if it was to comfort him. You weren’t going to give him false promises to remember.
You felt his chest rumble under your head as he heaved a mournful sigh, his back collapsing against one of the many pallet shelves, sliding down with you in his arms slowly, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” He punctuated the words with a featherlight kiss to your forehead. He tenderly slid his palm below yours, unavailingly trying to staunch off your blood, the blue of his gloves slowly tainted with your red.
You wondered why he was sorry; the hurt had dwindled, replaced by a dull ache. But still, you said: “It’s okay,” as your eyes trained on him, studying his sullen features for what seemed like the millionth time.
There's no telling whether you felt betrayed or thankful when your memories brought you back to the day he proposed to you at the beach. The day you felt like you were soaring high when he went down on one knee and asked you to be his forever as the setting sun painted the sky an array of beautiful colours, as if it was putting on a show to celebrate your love.
You remembered thinking that you'd always been his, even long since before he asked. Just as he was yours.
You remembered the way his blue eyes held the uncertainty they did, the way his voice shook when the question ‘will you marry me?’ flowed from his precious lips, like there was ever going to be a world where you would turn him down.
The way those same eyes, and the same pair of lips shifted to the most lovely look of joy you've ever seen on anyone upon your answer. The way he swept you off your feet and twirled you around, with your laughs, incoherent words through your squeals, and tears all muddled together into the perfect melody.
Dick looked much different now, yet all the same.
He was badly hurt, and so were you. And if there was even the slightest chance where one of you is to make it out of here, you wished it was him.
“You’re gonna be okay…” Some sick part of you were glad, happy that between the two of you, you were the one who got to leave first. You were incredibly selfish to think that, but you couldn’t help it. There was never a day that you could pass without Dick, and you didn’t think you could live with him not being next to you.
Your lover slid his arm behind your neck to bring you closer, and placed his chin above your crown, his mouth pressing on your head.
“Don’t talk like that,” You heard him mumble against your hair. “Please hold on a little longer for me, okay? Please, I just– I really want to see you walk down the aisle, in that pretty white dress you picked out, I want you to hear the vows that I wrote down for you,” he rambled, as though his words could make you stay. To save you.
“I want to be your husband.”
The shattered sob finally broke through his composure.
Hastily reaching for his comm again, his voice bore frustration and plead as he spoke. “B- Goddamn it, anyone! Please.” His chest was heaving, panic, exhaustion, pain, all swirling together, the breaths exiting his lungs as time ticked by.
You’ve never heard his voice carry such agony.
The crackly response sounded distant in your ear, you didn’t catch it, but you were conscious enough to recognise Jason’s voice. You heard him speak to you, “Hang in there, sis.” before his comm line went out, and the silence took over.
It dragged on for a while, only wisps of shallow breaths could be heard echoing throughout the space.
You hadn’t taken your eyes off of him once. Silently admiring as life slowly slipped away from you.
“I love you.” you told him, trying to put all the love you could into those three words, fingers twitching in an attempt to grab hold of his hand.
His palm trembled. “I love you.” he muttered your name lovingly. He removed his hand from your wound and took your hand, bringing it to his lips, his eyes dropping closed. “Please stay for me. Please.” he kept pleading, the streams of his tears falling down to your palm.
Only then did you let yourself give in to the tiredness that was pulling at you relentlessly.
The last thing you saw was the most beautiful shade of blue you’ve ever seen before it went dark, a serene smile etched on your features.
The first thing Dick woke up to was the aches that spread through his whole body, along with the feel of someone holding his hand in theirs; larger, calloused, almost entirely enveloping his.
It wasn’t you.
And then it was the voices; hushed, careful, overlapping with the beeps of a monitor. He could make out three (or was it four?) voices conversing with one another.
None of them were yours.
He managed a weak twitch of his hand. A small movement that stilled every voices in the room, creating a silence that felt wrong, stifling.
Disoriented, he called for you still, dry and broken syllables stringing together to form your name.
“Dick…?”
It wasn’t you that answered, it was Bruce.
Finally, he had enough energy to crack open his lids, wincing as he did, as the stark white light of the medbay stung his eyes.
Trying to squint through the blinding light, he repeated to call for you. Where were you? You—
You were hurt.
Your blood on his hands, so, so much of it.
I love you.
His eyes flew open as he jolted up from the bed, your name a heaved gasp from his throat as wild blue eyes scanned the room for you.
A few pairs of hands gripped his shoulders, coaxing him to lay back down, synchronised voices chastising him, worried, but he barely paid attention.
He fought against those hands, ignoring every stab of pain that erupted throughout his body. “No-!” He whirled to his left, locking eyes with his father. “Bruce- Bruce, I need to see-”
“Dick, you should lay down.” Bruce interjected, lightly and cautious. He looked tired, older. The pity in his eyes were clear even as his hand was still trying to push him back.
But he hadn't let go of Dick's hand with the other. If anything, he squeezed his hand tightly.
The younger man shook his head, eyes still frantically searching for you amongst his family who are scattered around the room. Though his lids screwed shut as his head began to pound. “No- no, where's-”
“Christ, just lay the fuck down, Grayson, you're busted up pretty bad.” barked a voice to his right.
He turned away from Bruce, now seeing Jason standing the other side of the bed. Opposed to his harsh tone, his hardened green-tinted eyes were red, but unlike Bruce's, Jason's eyes lacked the pity.
Rather, they were filled with a mix of anger and rare sadness staring back at Dick's blues.
“Jay, is she okay?” His tone changed to urgency, searching those green eyes for an answer before his words could give it.
Slowly, his little brother's eyes softened, his calloused hand squeezed his shoulder, and for once, he didn’t pull his hand away.
“I’m sorry.”
Dick faltered, his breath catching in his throat. “What?”
Jason’s face twisted. His rough façade crumpling as if looking at him brought him pain. “I’m sorry,” he repeated once more, words wavering like ash in his mouth, his hand on Dick’s shoulder tightening just as Bruce’s had.
“Jason, what?” He had rarely ever seen Jason lose his composure like this. The last time he’s seen his little brother cry was when the boy was thirteen and freshly adopted by Bruce, when he got too overwhelmed from the crowd of paparazzis that was chasing them both one time.
When he realised that that chaos was the world he stepped into.
There was only one reason Dick could think of that would evoke this reaction from him—
“She’s gone.”
The following silence fell heavily, yet deafening at the same time.
“No,” Dick lets out a disbelieving whispered. “No, no, no,”
He shook his head, swallowing thickly. His brain wracked for a reason, a possibility, an iota of a chance. Because there was never going to be a world where you’re not there by his side. He couldn’t think of that scenario, and he didn’t want to.
“No, that- that’s impossible. We were almost out. You got me out. There has to be a mistake. You got me out of there and- I survived and she has to survive, too, I can’t-”
His words got choked up in his throat.
You had to be okay. You had to have survived like he did. He was going to be wed to you. A month from now. You were going to make him the happiest man to ever exist, and he would love you. He will love you. However long or short time he had left of his life, if he had been broken and all he could do left was to love you, he would. He made a promise to you. And to himself, too.
He couldn’t make do on his promises— his vows if you were gone.
It was then he realised that he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t fucking breathe.
He tried to pull the air forcefully to fill his lungs. But a strangled sound wrenched itself clear from his chest instead.
He was sobbing. Loud, raw and crippling sobs were blocking his airways, reserving his breaths to sharp little shards of glass that penetrated his throat.
Dick felt like his mind hadn’t aligned with his heart or actions. His own voice didn’t feel like it belonged to him.
This time, someone—Bruce or Jason’s, he couldn't tell— wrapped their arms around his shoulders and gently coaxed him forward to their embrace, and Dick leaned weakly against them, his wails still holding power over him.
Then came the gentle pats upon his back that told him who it was.
Jason hadn’t hugged him in a long time. Ordinarily Dick would’ve grinned with joy, tease him until Jason threatened to punch him, only if it hadn’t been under these circumstances.
“No,” His voice a rasp, as though he’d gone years without speaking a word. “No, she can’t, Jay. We were supposed to get married- twenty-seven days. I was gonna marry her in twenty-seven days. She’s not- she can’t leave me now, Jason.” His words dissolved to tired gasps, tears continued to run down his face.
It’s ironic. The last time Dick had been in this scenario, it happened in this very room. Difference was: years ago, it had been you who held him in your arms as he cried his heart out, mourning over the loss of Jason, his brother who he couldn’t save.
Now, it was Jason who held him as he mourned over you.
The familiar saccharine scent of your apartment entered his nose the moment he pushed the door open. More prominent upon his absence. It made Dick want to turn away and run back to the manor.
It’s been a month since he’d been here; since your funeral.
It didn’t feel real. The past month of your absence felt like he was floating though a bad dream. Time passed by without him noticing.
His family—mostly Alfred— insisted that he should stay at the manor for a while. When he agreed to stay, Stephanie and Cass went back here to pick up Haley and brought her over to the manor.
They hadn’t wanted him to be alone. And Dick didn’t think he’d be able to return here without you. For a split second he had the idea to never step foot in this house again, preserve the space that you left as it was.
But he quickly shoved the idea down after a few weeks, mustering up the courage to go back home.
He almost laughed at the thought. Home. It wasn’t really a home anymore, was it? His home was you.
A quiet whine from Haley had him snapping out of his thoughts. Reminding him that he was still standing at the doorway, his feet rooted on the spot, as if afraid to take a step inside.
He looked down at her, tucked in her carrier, a touch of a smile appearing for the first time in weeks. “Okay, let’s go in, shall we?” he whispered softly, earning a huff of agreement from her.
When he finally entered, he shut off his mind for a bit, letting his limbs move on their own accord; remove his coat, hang it next to yours; slip off his shoes, place them next to your on the rack; crouch down and let Haley out of her carrier.
The sweet pittbull has always been a cheery one. But today, she was quiet, timid. Trailing after her dad at his feet as he walked further into the house.
Dick didn’t spend much time gazing around. He passed the living room, and the kitchen, and instead made his way over to the master bedroom.
He thought the smell of the house was bad enough, but as he opened the bedroom door, the smell of your favourite perfume hits him like a punch that made him physically recoil.
Inhaling a deep breath, bracing himself, he forced his legs to move.
He walked mindlessly around the room, eyes roaming and catching every detail like he hadn’t lived here, made a thousand memories here for two years.
He caught the sight of the book on your bedside table, the one you were reading together, the photobooh strip sticking out between the pages. He wasn’t much of a reader, but he wanted to go wherever your mind had drifted with you, so he’d often ask you to read together.
His gaze then stopped at the bed. Where the blue dress and suit laid were out nicely on the sheets side by side.
Stepping towards it. his fingers gently brushed over the satin fabric of your dress. And the memory came rushing, your voice echoing in his head.
“You, Grayson, have to promise to take me dancing on our next date.”
He never got to take you dancing like he promised.
The revelation had him dropping to his knees at the end of the bed, fingers clutching tightly to your dress, and pulling it to his chest like he would’ve held you.
“I’m sorry.” A loud sob tore through his heart, the wound opening and flooding his senses with the same grief he’d done so well to ignore. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I'm so fucking sorry.”
It finally made sense, the mysterious letter.
Dick, it wrote in his very handwriting, the second that you read this, I only have one request: tell her the truth. Tell her that you love her, that you have loved her as long as you’ve known her. Please don’t waste your time, any other second Tell her that she’s beautiful every day and night. Love her with everything you have. Cherish every memory you have with her. Make her smile on her bad days, like she always did with you. Give her the happiest memories to remember. You might think that you’re not enough for her, and the truth is, I agree. But she doesn’t think that. She’ll call it bullshit, just like when we’re you’re being self-depricating. She deserves all the good there is in the world and you are the one who can give them to her. The person that she wants to share her happiest days with. Believe me, she told me that herself.
Don’t ever let her go. Don’t make her cry. Don’t push her away even on your worst days. You were meant to be together. Again, don’t waste another moment where she doesn’t know how you feel. Eventually, this letter would make sense. But for now, tell her how you feel.
The letter had no sign-off. At first he thought that you were pranking him. “You told me to give this back to you.” you’d said, with the same furrow of your brows that told him that you weren’t lying.
He let you walk him through the scene. You’d explained it all perfectly from memory, how he knocked at your door the night before, and that he seemed sad and he cried in your arms.
The memories he didn’t recall having.
But something in his gut strongly told him to listen to what the letter has said; that it was all true that you loved him like he loved you. That he shouldn’t spend any second longer without telling you how pathetically he yearned for you.
So, he did. That night he pushed through his fear and laid his heart bare to you.
It turned out to be one of the best desicions he’d ever made.
At the present, though your love story ended the way it did, he had no regrets, loving you fiercely as he was able to. And to feel the love you gave him in return.
He’d go through it over and over again for you if he had to.
Heartbreak isn’t loud — it’s quiet, creeping, and cruel. You thought letting Dick Grayson go would break you. You never imagined it might kill you.
▸ PAIRING: Dick Grayson x F!Reader
▸ WARNINGS: so many reader insecurities (it's that kind of angst), hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, probably non-canon compliant things bc im new to this world, reader gets extremely hurt, hospital scenes
▸ WORD COUNT: 7.2K
▸ A/N: this is actually the first dick fic i ever wrote but didn't post until now! i seem to have a thing for exploring insecurities in relationships when im writing a new character (see clark and bucky). i love him so much, he is sooo loverboy. tom taylor's is also such fine shit jfc. i hope you enjoy <3 if you do, all likes/comments/reblogs are appreciated :)
The movies always describe heartbreak as devastation. A tragedy. A travesty. They talk about the feeling of their hearts being ripped out of their chest, beating bloody until they cease completely. They speak of the way their hearts stop suddenly, abruptly; a flare of panic only momentary before everything stills.
What they don’t tell you is that that’s not at all how heartbreak works. Heartbreak is oftentimes dramatized for the sake of entertainment. An exaggeration of the moment a heart splinters into a million pieces, parts that are impossible to glue back together into a whole.
Real heartbreak occurs quietly. It chips at you slowly; small cracks at first until you can no longer ignore the gaping wound in your chest. The missing center behind your ribcage. By the time you realize what has happened, the hole is too big to fill. The chasm impossible to bridge. They don’t tell you that it sneaks up on you, the curl of a cold-blooded snake around your neck that restricts your ability to breathe, to function. It hisses in your ear, a gentle whisper that only gets louder when the puncture isn’t tended to.
Before you know it, the serpent has bared its teeth and sunk its poison into you.
You didn’t think you would experience heartbreak with Dick Grayson. The man is loyal, loving. He anticipates your needs before you can even determine what’s missing. Raised to be observant and thoughtful, Dick is a fierce protector of those he cares about. You happen to be lucky enough to be one of them.
You’ve seen how he is with his family, his friends, the people that he chooses to protect with his body, mind, and soul. There is not a thing he wouldn’t do to keep those he cherishes safe, even if it means sacrificing himself.
Because of all this, Dick has to juggle one too many priorities. Not only are they things he already planned on doing, but he also has to account for the emergencies that crop up from time to time. Given that this is Blüdhaven, time to time means all the time.
You’re used to it. Coming in second, that is.
Your relationship with Dick is relatively new. Your dates aren’t life or death. So when he has to up and leave in the middle of dinner, it’s something you’ve grown accustomed to. The moment his phone vibrates on the table, you set your expectations.
The first vibration, he ignores.
The second one, his eyes flick down to his device before he refocuses on you.
Third time’s the charm. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly after you finish recounting your day. “Let me just check and make sure it isn’t anything urgent.”
But you already know the answer to that. It’s always urgent. It’s the city. You can’t blame him for it. Corruption is the norm in Blüdhaven; it bleeds through every crack and corner. From the police commissioner to the mayor, to the elites. Dick is ambitious, he thinks he can rid the city completely of its decrepit moral compass.
The flicker of guilt that passes through his baby blues is the first sign. Then comes the sour curl of his lips when he realizes that he can’t disregard the threat alert from Oracle. Then comes the sympathetic look when he finally turns back to you.
It’s that look that you can’t stand. That’s the one that always gets to you. Because you don’t want him to pity you.
So you plaster a smile onto your lips and nod. “Go. The city needs you.”
Apologies automatically fall from his lips as he places a chaste kiss on your forehead, presses his credit card into your hands, and takes off. His dinner sits cold on the pristine white tablecloth.
And you wonder if there will ever come a time when Blüdhaven will no longer need Nightwing. Or Dick Grayson.
Maybe then you’ll have a chance at coming first.
In his defense — and perhaps it comes from months of making excuses first for him as a friend and then as a lover, he does try. He tries to make time for you, slipping you into the little gaps he has in between investigations, philanthropic work, and patrols. It’s how you met him in the first place.
Your job at the community center allowed you some governmental access which you used to help him take down a few bad apples in the mayor’s office. Small-time fry. But then he started doing more work for the people, building affordable housing and programming to help the city’s children, and you started seeing more of this elusive Dick Grayson.
At first, you had been starstruck. The man is renowned all throughout the city — a savior to the good, a menace to the bad. The more time you spend with him, the more you learn about the Dick that he doesn’t show to the outside world.
It’s the man who is weary down to the bone, cutting off one evil head only for two more to grow. It’s the man who bears the city’s burdens on his shoulders, carrying the weight of a million expectations with the limited resources that he has. It’s the man who slinks back into your arms after a long day and curls himself around you like it’s the only place he is meant to be.
Falling in love with Dick had been all too easy. It’s like taking a nosedive off a cliff, knowing you’ll land in a wide-open ocean with a life jacket.
When you find out that he also spends his nights as the masked hero Nightwing, he had been wary of how you would react. It’s ridiculous to think that you would feel anything other than pride when you see him in full gear for the first time.
For some reason, Dick feels… further once you learn this fact. He already felt unattainable before —untouchable — as this generous, intelligent billionaire, heir to the famous Wayne family. Now that you know he is also a crime-fighting superhero, you feel those buried feelings of insecurity rise to the surface. The creeping voices clawing into your skin to question how you could ever be an adequate partner for him.
How could you — someone so normal, so average — compare to the living legend Dick Grayson?
Of course, once the Nightwing gates are open, you also see the people he surrounds himself with. Martians. Kryptonians. Shapeshifters. Trained assassins. And Barbara Gordon — how do you even begin to describe Barbara Gordon?
Between Kori and Barbara, you were convinced that Dick had a thing for redheads. Dick reassured you that he really didn’t have a particular preference. No, no preference in terms of hair, but you can clearly see the pattern — all of his exes are skillful. Powerful. Hot.
Gorgeous in a way that takes your breath away. Not only that, they’re fierce and bold and intelligent. They are out there saving the world day in and day out, whether it’s through ultraviolet energy projections or hacking into the most secure servers on the planet.
That monster inside of you peeks around the corner with its talons out, ready to pierce through your fragile heart once more. You hate yourself for even thinking this way. It’s part of his job, these are his friends. You should feel lucky that you were even introduced to them.
But that feeling has taken root and consumed your heart. Insufficient. Inadequate. Incapable. Who are you compared to all this greatness?
It’s why you keep your head down, why you keep your mouth shut even as the fissures begin to appear in your heart. You disregard them, brush them off as a temporary blip in your confidence. You tell yourself that you’re lucky Dick’s even giving you the time of day. You can’t be another burden for him to bear. You should be making his life easier.
So when he apologizes, you wave off his concern and tell him to go out there and save the world, Boy Wonder, because that’s what he does. The world comes first. You come second. It’s how it’s always been. It’s how it should be.
The deeper you try to bury these feelings, these insecurities, the greater the cuts you slice inside your heart. You’re carving it out slowly, an excruciating process as you try to preserve what’s left of your emotions.
Dick makes it up to you each time with flowers, with butterfly kisses, with the gentle touch of his hand. He promises you that next time will be better. He keeps his word. A few dates over the course of a few weeks, uninterrupted time, undivided attention. You’re on cloud nine by the time he drops you off at the doorstep, lingering for a fraction longer, enough time for you to invite him in to stay.
He does. Every time.
There are nights he returns to your side in uniform. His suit ripped, blood coating his skin crimson. These are times you’re reminded that he’s mortal. Human. You’re reminded that you could so easily lose him in all the work that he does.
Nothing makes you feel more powerless than knowing that all you can do is help him tend to the aftermath. Your hands shake when you dab the antiseptic, when you wipe off all the red, when you wrap up the gauze around his body.
You’re different from Barbara who guides him, who serves as his eyes and ears, and maps him a solution and exit each time. You’re different from Kori who fights alongside him with powers that he doesn’t have. You’re different from Bruce, Jason, Tim, and Damian, who know him in such intimate ways, moving in sync as he works through the city.
You are someone watching from the sidelines. A character that could be so easily removed from his story, and nobody would blink twice.
The thought pains you, but you suck it up and deal with it anyway. It’s easy to let these thoughts go when Dick murmurs saccharine sweet phrases into your neck. It’s easy to forget your place when he marks constellations across your body when he feels like having your company.
You didn’t think it could get worse. You can only help. Right?
But you’re proven wrong the one time you’re all gathered at the Wayne Mansion. It’s a family dinner. The mood is light, the drinks are flowing, the food is delicious. Laughter ripples through the table and, for once, you aren’t overthinking your place at the table.
That is, until an alarm sounds and everyone is immediately on high alert. They all seem to know what to do, whipping into action quickly while you sit there frozen.
Dick gears up and then stiffens when he remembers you still at the dinner table, watching them all in awe and surprise. He looks at Alfred who is also preparing to help with the potential invasion of the mansion, then looks at you. “Stay here, okay? I’ll come get you when it’s safe.”
You open your mouth, ready to offer your assistance, but stop when you look around the room. How can you possibly even think about helping these heroes? They are the heroes of the story. You are the damsel in distress.
“Okay,” is all you manage to say.
True to his word, Dick returns a few hours later. You’re right where he left you. He looks relieved to see you untouched, immediately coming up to you to inspect you. “Are you okay?”
Even when the worst is happening, his concern is on you. You’re adding more weight to his already hefty load.
“I’m okay,” you reassure him. “Is everyone else okay?”
He softens and nods. “Yeah, they’re okay. Let’s get you home, yeah?”
Dick’s kisses should’ve chased away those worries as they always have, but the feeling persists. It’s an itch you can’t scratch. An invisible scar you can’t heal. The feeling festers and grows, sprawling into this ugly hopelessness inside of you.
It doesn’t disappear when Dick picks you up from work the next day, chattering on about the programs he is hoping to stand up with the help of the new mayor.
It doesn’t disappear when the two of you run into Barbara outside of his apartment, telling him that there’s work to be done with Blockbuster.
It doesn’t disappear when Dick shoots you an apologetic look, asking for a rain check on your movie night — even when he’s already carrying the bags of popcorn and treats.
The more you think about it, the more you consider where you stand with Dick. He’s already so busy with everything else. The last thing you want to be is another item on his checklist, another to-do to cross off. He already has enough on his plate, you don’t want to make it harder for him by adding another thing for him to complete.
So you do what you thought was best.
“I don’t think this is working out, Dick.”
Dick’s gaze falters, a shudder in his confidence. “What— why would you say that?”
“You’re very busy. You have a lot of things going on. I don’t think a relationship is a good idea right now.” Not for you, you add in your mind. This is for Dick, you remind yourself. This is to help him, the only way you know how.
He’s quiet, lips pinched together as he frowns. The two of you were supposed to get lunch together, but you thought it best to sever it clean before the two of you sit down for what would likely be an awkward meal. So here you two are, standing in front of a restaurant. People mill about, barely paying you any mind. Some pause to look at Dick in admiration, but he is only looking at you.
“Is this what you want?” His voice is lower when he asks this.
No. But, of course, you don’t say that.
“Yes. I think this is what’s best.”
A part of you wants him to resist, wants him to fight for you. That selfish part of you begs him to beg you to stay, to tell you that he wants this as much as you do. That he cares about you as much as you do him.
But the responsible voice inside of you wants him to agree and walk away.
Luckily – or not, he agrees with the latter. So the two of you hug and part ways. You walk away with shoulders held high and the tears streaming down your face. You don’t let him see it. You never want him to see it.
And that’s the day you walked away from Dick Grayson.
It may be dramatic to say that there is your life before Dick and a life after him. You never thought you would ever consider romance to be the end-all-be-all of your life — and it isn’t. But Dick Grayson is something special, isn’t he? He isn’t just any romance.
He is the romance.
The type that sticks to you, a permanent fixture like he’s been tattooed and engraved into an everlasting mark on your skin. He clings to you like a persistent memory. No matter how many drinks you swallow, how many things you do to keep busy, you can’t seem to shake the thought of him when you’re alone.
The nights are the worst. The world inside your head is too quiet, even in a city like this one. Even when there are sirens blaring from every corner of your apartment and neon lights glare into your bedroom, you’re left to pick apart the decision you’ve made, constantly turning it over in your mind to determine whether it was the right one.
There are nights when you find yourself reaching for your phone, your thumb hovering over his contact. It would be easy to call him, to ask for him back. You miss him, incredibly so. It would be so simple to send him a text saying as such.
I miss you. What are you doing tonight?
Thinking of you, are you thinking of me?
I made a mistake. Will you have me again?
You try not to think about him, but the ask is akin to asking you not to breathe. Thinking about Dick comes naturally to you. It’s in the places you frequent, the ghost of him is the only constant lurking in the shadows. It’s the voice inside your head, calming you down when the city gets too much. It’s the absence that you feel the most — the sudden quiet when you don’t have him talking to you about his day, about his family, his friends, his ambition. The silence when he isn’t peppering you with follow-up questions about your week, sincerity and genuine curiosity entwined into his every syllable.
And just as you’re swirling into this black hole, your phone lights up with an email reminder. A date the two of you were supposed to have. Movie tickets booked weeks ago because you had been so excited to see it, Dick had purchased the tickets immediately. With everything that has happened, you completely forgot to cancel it.
However, instead of wallowing, you decide to go for it anyway. You’ve been cooped up in your home for too long, burying yourself under this mountain of self-despair. Quality time with your friends helped, but it didn’t cease the voices at night when you’re alone.
The movie is good, it could’ve been better if you didn’t have this empty seat next to you. The theater is full and yet there is this one gap that sticks out like a sore thumb on opening night. Your mind is half on the movie and half imagining what it would be like to be here with Dick.
He would get popcorn ahead of time, with extra butter, just the way he knows you like it. He would get sweet tea, not cola, because he knows how you don’t like to pair bubbly drinks with airy snacks. He would let you hold onto the bucket and take it as an opportunity to reach closer to you whenever he grabs a handful, even sliding an arm around you to tuck you into his side. When the popcorn is gone, he would hold your hand, squeezing whenever he thinks you need the extra support.
It’s an almost miserable experience. It’s pathetic how far gone you are for him that you can’t even enjoy time by yourself anymore.
But as they say, heartbreak is supposed to get easier with time. Eventually, you won’t remember what his touch felt like, the warmth of his body next to yours. You won’t think about him every time you pass by the basketball court he used to frequent to keep the neighborhood kids company. You won’t cry when you realize how many people you’ve gotten to know and lost in the process. You won’t think about him and you’ll remember that you can be perfectly content on your own again.
You try not to fall under the weight of your worries as you step out of the theater. Everyone else filters out in pairs or groups, and you’re left standing there alone in the golden light that casts a glow across the rain-streaked sidewalk. You’re waiting for a cab. A cab that you will soon learn won’t find you.
Not when you feel the breath down your neck.
“Aren’t you a pretty little bird?”
The unknown voice has you jumping, but not too far when a firm grip wraps around your bicep. Your eyes flash to betray your fear as you take in the masked assailant. He looks familiar, like a photograph hung somewhere in the back of your subconscious. Maybe one of Dick’s files that he tends to strew across your coffee table.
“You’re Grayson’s girl. I’ve seen you around with him. Blockbuster’s going to want to see you.”
“I’m not— we’re not—” together, you want to say, but you don’t get a chance to finish your words when the man zaps you out cold.
By the time you wake, there is a dull throbbing on your side where you’ve been electrocuted. The room smells of wastewater but looks relatively clean. You must be near the sewage plant. There is no one in the room and your eyes quickly dart around. What would Dick do in this moment?
Your hands are tied up with a rope behind your back, feet against the legs of the chair. You systematically go through your surroundings. A shelf with all sorts of items. Books, random paraphernalia, and a glass bottle at the top. An idea pops up in your head, the films you watch finally coming in helpful; it might not be one that Dick approves, but he’s not here to scold you right now.
Based on the distance and the weight of the chair, you scooch your way towards it. You use your shoulder to bump the shelf, rattling it with the little force you have. You can hear the bottle stumble a bit, but it’s not quite there yet.
Another hard push with your limited movement has it finally dropping on its side, rolling down the shelf until it lands, split in pieces, on the ground next to you. Now, you have to carefully drop yourself onto the floor, making sure you’re not getting the shards on your skin. There is no graceful way to do this, so you just tip yourself over. With your face pressed against the cold cement floor, your hands wriggle around behind you to grasp a piece of the glass, slicing the tip of your finger in the process, but at least you have this.
Slowly, you use the jagged edge to cut through the rope. It’s an arduous process. The entire time, you’re praying that maybe — on the very off-chance — Dick is still keeping track of you. That he’ll notice your disappearance. Maybe he’ll come to your rescue. It’s a naive thought, but it’s the hope that you cling to.
When your wrists are finally free, you get to work on your ankles. Another slice on your leg in your hurry to break free before your captors return. You don’t know where you are or how you plan to escape, but that tiny window looks promising.
You’re halfway up the wall, standing on your chair, struggling to unlock the window when the front door swings open. You whip around and see the imposing figure duck into the room. Fuck. It’s Blockbuster. He is the man who’s been out for Dick’s blood for as long as you can remember.
And now he has you, trapped in this room. His broad frame takes up nearly half the width of the space. You fiddle with the lock faster, praying for some miracle that you can escape in time.
But the man doesn’t even give you a chance — his thick arms wrap around your torso before he lifts you up and throws you back onto the ground. If you didn’t know any better, you swear you hear bones cracking. The pain that shoots through you is fast, blistering, blinding. It’s hot-white and has your vision spotting.
“Where do you think you’re going, pretty bird?” Blockbuster rumbles in vile amusement. “You’re not leaving this room. You’re not leaving this space until I get some answers.”
“Answers about what?” You spit out, the liquid coming out in a smattering of red on the grey floor.
“Grayson. I want to know his weaknesses, his vulnerable points. I want to know everything there is to know about him to destroy him.”
The wide smile that stretches across his face has your stomach churning in disgust. He crouches on the floor, leans towards you, close enough that his platinum hair brushes against your face.
“Or maybe you’re it. Maybe you’re his only weakness. Maybe I already have the pretty bird in my hands to take him down.”
“He’s not going to let you get away with this, or anything. He’s going to destroy you before you even come close to him.”
Blockbuster laughs, the sound booming. “This bird’s got claws. I can see why Grayson likes you. Don’t worry, pretty. I’ll break each one before you leave today. I’ll make sure you can’t sing for him anymore. I’ll make you squawk.”
The threat settles in deep in your gut and your heart plummets six feet under.
Then it begins. The beating, the brutalizing. You’re on the ground, against the wall, and flying through the air. Your face, your ribs, your hair, your legs, your arms. It goes on and on for what feels like hours. The only light you see is the one that hangs overhead, but even that begins to fade as your eyes struggle to stay open. Your chest heaves with heavy breaths, strained wheezes slipping past your lips in your desperate attempt to stay alive. The glass bits you were so adamant on avoiding before are now affixed to your skin like glitter.
Your vision goes between white and red and pitch black. When you start to lose consciousness, he jolts you awake again. The only sounds ringing in your ear are his questions, now a jumbled blur of words, and a cacophony of foul laughter.
You’ve never been religious but in those final moments, you pray. You pray for a savior. You pray that you’ll survive this. You pray that Dick doesn’t have to see you in your final moments.
Despite all that has happened, you like to hope that Dick still cares — and when Dick cares, you know he would live with this weight for the rest of his life. The last thing you want to leave him with is another burden to carry.
Your ears start ringing from the abuse you’ve undergone. At some point, the pain no longer flares, it ebbs and flows as your body grows numb. Not a single part of you untouched. You don’t think the man even has questions anymore; he only takes ill gratification in the fact that he has destroyed something of Dick’s.
You swear you hear a different voice, a different sound. No longer your screams or his laughter. A curse, a thud, a yell. Your brain can’t fully comprehend it, not when your senses can no longer be trusted. Not when they barely work. In the spread of red, you see glimpses of blue and black.
You hear your name. You hear it before you feel a gentle touch, a brush that’s barely there on your head.
Then it all goes black.
“We need you to let her go. Sir, we are trying to help.”
“You don’t know what she’s gone through—”
“We will work to diagnose all her injuries. For now, we need you to let us do our jobs.”
“I’m surprised she’s still breathing. The damage she’s taken…”
“Let’s just get through this and let the family know.”
“Sir, this is family only—”
“I am her family,” Dick’s voice snaps back. You’ve never heard him raise his voice like that before.
Then you hear someone else, more stern, still warm. Bruce. “If you’ll allow my son to stay with her, she doesn’t have family in the area. I’ll handle the paperwork, if you’ll lead me.”
“Sweet girl, I’m so sorry.”
“No, I’m not leaving.”
“Dick, you need to eat at least. You can’t help her like this.”
“I’m the reason she’s here to begin with. I’m not leaving her.”
“How’s she doing?” The deep baritone, you think it’s Bruce.
Dick’s voice frays at the edges, like he’s barely keeping it together as he inhales. You can feel his eyes on you. “Better. Doctors think she’ll be fine but she doesn’t have the energy yet to be fully conscious.”
“She’s a strong one. She’ll be fine, Dick.”
A pause. You wonder how Dick looks, if he’s been eating— “I don’t think I can ever forgive myself if she isn’t.”
“I should’ve been there with her, you know. We bought those tickets weeks ago. I thought she refunded them when she broke up with me. Didn’t think she’d go alone to such a late showing.”
A sigh. More high-pitched. Maybe Barbara. She’s been worried sick about him based on how many times she has come to visit. Her voice is more familiar than others. “You can’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have known that would happen.”
“It’s Blüdhaven, of course, something like this would happen. I should’ve expected this, that’s my entire job.”
“Babs sent me here to deliver this. Can you please just eat first? Everyone’s worried about you.”
There’s the rustling of a plastic bag. You hope that Tim picked up Dick’s favorite Thai spot downtown, the one with the pad see ew he likes. Hopefully, that’ll cheer him up. “Thanks, but I’m good for now.”
“Dick, you’re not doing anyone any favors by punishing yourself. What would she say if she saw you like this, huh?”
“Well, she can’t really say anything now, can she? Because of me.”
“Stop blaming yourself. It’s Blockbuster’s fault. She wouldn’t want you to do this.”
“Should’ve been me in this bed.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. God, I’ll do anything — I’ll give up anything. Just please wake up. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“I can’t do this without you. I need you to wake up, pretty girl. Need to see those eyes again. Need you looking at me again.”
“I swear I’ll do better. I’ll work harder. Please. Don’t take her away from me.”
When your eyes finally flutter open, you feel as if it’s been years since you’ve seen the light. The bright fluorescent lamps above blind you as you groan and turn away. Crust nearly keeps your eyes shut but you reach up to brush them away, only to wince at the searing pain by your side.
“Hey, pretty girl, easy. Don’t move too fast. You’re hurt.”
Dick. You slowly turn to the side to find him there. Then you briefly analyze your surroundings.
White. All white. Hospital. The only splashes of color are in the flower arrangements sitting at the end of your bed. Large and wild. Alive.
You’re alive.
Christ, you’re alive.
But Dick — he looks disheveled, the most you’ve ever seen him at least. There’s certainly more than a day’s worth of stubble peppering his jaw, his blue eyes shadowed by the circles surrounding them. His hair is a mussed-up mess, like he’s been running his hand through it nonstop for days.
He’s fast to approach, gentle to touch. You swear you see the slight tremble in his fingertips as he brushes your hair away from your face. His eyes search yours, drinking you in like he is memorizing every inch of you. Old habits die hard, you suppose. He’s probably cataloging your injuries as if the doctor hasn’t done that already.
“Hey, Dick,” you smile weakly, the stretch painful. Your throat feels dry, your voice comes out grainy. There’s a stiffness around your neck, which you soon realize is a brace. It hurts to breathe, let alone speak. “What day is it?”
Dick scrambles to grab the glass of water at your bedside table. He eases the rim between your lips, letting the cool liquid slowly pour between your chapped lips. “Easy, not too much. Not too fast,” he whispers, then adds, “Been four days.”
“Hmm, that’s a while, huh? Hope my boss doesn’t fire me for missing work that long. God knows we’re understaffed.”
Your attempt to laugh falls short when you feel the piercing twinge in your stomach, and it comes out as a raspy cough instead.
Dick’s eyes widen and you shake your head to reassure him. You don’t like the way his forehead creases in concern, how dim his usually bright eyes are. Dick forces a smile at your poor endeavor at humor. “No, I’m sure you’ll be fine, sweetheart. Called in for you.”
“Good. What a waste of PTO though.”
“Sweet girl,” Dick breathes out, closer this time as he leans forward and presses his lips against your temple. You barely feel it, still slightly numb under the bandage wrapped around your head. His breath is shaky when he exhales. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve been there.”
You roll your eyes, but it only makes your head ache. “Don’t be silly. Why would you have been there? It wasn’t as if we had plans.”
“We were supposed to go together. We—” Dick chokes on his words as he sits on the chair next to your bed, bringing your hand up to his face and flattens the back of it against his cheek. “I’m sorry. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am that I wasn’t there.”
“You were, Dick. You came for me. I knew you would.”
“I wasn’t fast enough.”
“You were as fast as you could be.”
“I didn’t get him. I wanted to, but you were there and you were hurt and I needed to get you to the hospital first. He escaped and—”
“You’ll get him next time.”
“I let you get hurt.”
“You didn’t do anything except save me.”
Dick’s lips quiver as he inhales again, as he looks at you.
“I love you.”
Then you hear another sharp gasp. Yours.
“I love you. I should’ve told you that a long time ago, pretty girl. I love you so much. I shouldn’t have let you walk away. I should’ve fought harder for you. I just— I thought you deserved better than me. Someone who could treasure you properly. Hopefully, someone who loves you as much as I do, even if I don’t think it’s possible.”
Your throat is tight. Whether it’s the tears or from the injuries you’ve sustained, you’re not entirely sure. Your question is only answered when you taste the saltiness on your tongue, your fingers reaching up to touch the wet mess rolling down your face.
“But I can’t let you go. People think I’m selfless, but god — I’m so fucking selfish when it comes to you. Never want you to leave my side again. I want you close so I can protect you, keep you safe, love you proper. I want you to know how much you mean to me. I want to remind you of it every day. I took it for granted before, but never again. I love you. I’ll do it right this time, if you’ll let me. If you’ll still have me.”
“Dick…”
“God, look at me babbling away when you should be resting,” Dick huffs, disgruntled with himself. “I’m sorry. I’ll get the doctor. I should’ve done that first.”
“Stay.”
“I have to—”
You reach for his fingers again, intertwining them. It’s been a while since you’ve had his big hands up close. These hands always remind you that you’re safe, that you’re his. Gentle, a contradiction against the harsh touch of Blüdhaven. “Just for a little while.”
Dick glances between the door and your joint hands in conflict. He caves in to you, because — of course, he does. He’s never been one to deny you when you want to touch him. It’s his weakness. If Clark had his Kryptonite, he had you.
“For a little bit,” he murmurs reluctantly, “but I want them to check on you right after this, okay? I have to make sure you’re good.”
For a while, the two of you let the silence seep in. It wraps around you like a blanket, warm and steady. The worries of the past few days — even the past few weeks — seem to melt away as you let your eyes slide close once more, your head pressing back into the pillow. Dick’s fingers twitch in your hand and you give him a squeeze to assure him you’re okay.
“I was scared,” you admit quietly. You can’t meet his eyes. Not for this. “I wasn’t scared of Blockbuster. I was scared of what would happen if you found me a minute too late. If I didn’t make it.”
“Wh— why would you be scared of that?”
“Because I know you’d blame yourself. You already have, even though you saved me. I didn’t want to be another weight to carry. Another burden on your shoulders.”
There is a fracture in Dick’s voice when he says your name. Like a prayer. Like a desperate plea. “You could never be a burden. I— I don’t know what I would’ve done if I didn’t make it in time. I don’t even want to think about that.”
“Might make things easier for you,” you try to tease, but the joke lands bitter on your tongue. “One less thing to worry about. I guess I already was when I ended things.”
Dick is quiet for a moment, you can’t even hear him breathe. So you turn to look at him again, curious eyes finding his slumped shoulders. “Don’t even joke about that. That’s not something I’m entertaining. I’m never not worrying about you,” he mutters, “kept tabs on you even after you broke up with me. I wanted to make sure you always had someone looking out for you, even if it’s someone you didn’t care about anymore.”
You frown then. “Why would you think I don’t care about you?”
His head tilts in question then, brows furrowing. “Isn’t— I mean, isn’t that why you ended things? Because you weren’t interested in me anymore. I wasn’t a great boyfriend, I know that. I should’ve done more. That’s on me. I just thought, you… didn’t care about me anymore. Maybe you found someone else.”
“Dick, oh my— no, not at all. I just—” your teeth sink into your bottom lip, the truth hanging on the tip of your tongue but you refuse to let it slip.
He looks at you with such earnest eyes, ones that urge you to continue.
How can you say no to him? How could you think for one second you could let him go?
“I thought it would be easier for you, if we broke up,” you admit quietly and are immediately answered by the deepening of his frown, “you have so much going on. Between Nightwing, Blüdhaven and Gotham, and all the community outreach you were doing, it just didn’t seem like you had time for a relationship. It’s not as if I was helping you in any way, I can’t really do that. Not like the others. So I did what I thought was best.”
The look on Dick’s face now, you don’t think you ever want to see again. He looks absolutely crestfallen. His lips slightly parted, eyes carrying the sort of melancholy that comes after a loss. “You— fuck, you thought that breaking up would be easier for me? How can you— what would even make you think that? I know I’ve been busy and I haven’t been the best boyfriend, but god, you— you never made things harder. Ever. If anything, I feel so much lighter with you around. I feel as if I could breathe again. When this city chokes out the last of me, I know I’ll at least have you. And god, I wasn’t perfect, I was a terrible boyfriend, but you put up with me. I don’t know why you did for as long as you did, but— I didn’t know that’s how you felt with me. I wish you’d told me.”
A laugh of disbelief escapes him, rising from his chest with acid on his tongue.
“You were always so patient. I thought— I thought that’s all you wanted from me. A few dates here and there. I didn’t want to ask more of you, didn’t want to scare you off. I can be intense, overwhelming. I know I can certainly be, and I didn’t want you to think I was being too demanding.”
“Dick, you’re… unbelievable. Do you know how much I admire you? Everything that you do? Sometimes, I don’t know what you see in me. When you have all these incredible people around you, when you’re doing all these incredible things. I didn’t think I’d be… enough.”
Dick stands then, cupping your face in his hands. His eyes are wild, alive now. It’s as if he’s been electrified in the last few moments of your conversation. “You are more than enough. You’re everything. Every day I see how hard you work, how much of your heart you put into this city and its people, and it reminds me of why I want to protect this city. It’s because of you. I want you safe, I want you happy here — with me. God, I fucking love you, you know that. I’m going to remind you of it every day. If you’ll let me have you again, I promise you — you’ll never have a doubt in your mind ever again when it comes to where you stand with me. You’ll see what I see in you.”
You crack another small smile, cheeks aching. You’re probably ripping open a couple of stitches, but it’s worth it when Dick breathes a sigh of relief. “Love you too, Dick.”
The smile he offers you is magnificent. The kind that you memorize, print, and tuck away for safekeeping on a rainy day. He presses another kiss to your forehead, then your hand. Firm this time. More confident. He hesitates before he leans to brush his lips against yours.
And it feels like homecoming.
“I’m going to put a tracker on you from now on. I’ll drop you off at work and pick you up. I’ll install new security measures in your office and our apartment—”
“Our?”
He freezes then flushes, pink tinging his neck. “If you want. I mean, I think you’ll be safer there. I know we haven’t been together long but I’ll feel better if you’re with me. We can spend more time together, I don’t have to let you go at the end of the day. If you’re not comfortable, I’ll set up a separate room for you first — not to say I won’t be crashing in there every night, but—”
“Dick,” you reprimand teasingly. “I’ll think about it. That’s a big move.”
“Right, yeah. Of course. You don’t have to. I’ll implement new security cameras and sensors at your place. I’ll booby trap some of the windows so no one can break in. We’ll upgrade your—”
“Dick,” you say again, softer this time. “Your offer isn’t a bad thing. I just… I have to think about it. I love you, I do. It’s just been a lot.”
He nods solemnly and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head. Always working. Always looking for a solution.
“It’s not a no, baby.”
The pet name has him perking up, his eyes illuminating for the first time in a while since you’ve seen him. Crystal blue staring right back at you.
“And Dick—”
“Yeah?”
“Probably time to get the doctor. I might’ve split open a few stitches.”
“Oh, shit yeah.” He jumps to his feet, ready to run out when you call for him again. He pops his head back in, gaze curious, happy, concerned.
Your lips tug into a smile. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, pretty girl.”
dick is flying to (taglist): @catclaw1 @lunexiax @esunarint @lunaryoongie @alli0-0 @avgdestitute @parker-barnes-af @onecojg @lynnidc @winnichu173 @c3liaaaaa @my-drvidess @fruitypebsworld @smorgasbrods @ruptureedspleen @take-it-on-the-run @a-very-fictional-girl @eiaf4uwn @vivianna2392 @w1nchesterfiles @ae1szn @its-pomegranite @athenxt
