Hii, hope you are doing alright, just wanted to request of Optimus and Ratchet getting to know about menstrual period while reader is blushing/angrily trying to explain to them that no she isn't dying.
HUMAN FUNCTIONS
[TFP] Optimus Prime & Ratchet & Human!Reader
[⚠︎]: menstruation, blood
...
-
It’s the worst day of your life.
Painfully the worst.
Almost literally, because you’re counting the cramps that have been squeezing your soul since morning.
You woke up at the base without a single damn sanitary pad among your things. You didn’t even know it was coming, thanks to your irregularity.
Toilet paper? Oh, what a sad, tempting option—if only there had been any in the stalls. Apparently, the last roll ran out last night and no one bothered to replace it.
You searched all over the base and the only thing you found was an old damp roll covered in mold. And there was no way you were putting that between your legs.
Luckily, almost no one was at the base, except for Ratchet and Optimus, who were busy enough not to notice you.
You want to cry, too sensitive to keep dealing with this shit.
And now you’re resigning yourself to sacrificing some poor piece of fabric, or maybe one of your underwear, just so you don’t stain Optimus when he can take you to the store.
You’d walk, but you doubt you’d survive those long kilometers under the Jasper sun.
You try to be as quiet as possible when you slip into the main hall, not wanting to alert Ratchet, ready to dash from one hallway to another with your ass and thighs full of blood. Damn the abundance of day one.
You barely register it, too focused, when a pair of soft but thunderous steps approach you from behind.
In a second, there’s a pit in your stomach and your balance vanishes, replaced with that horribly familiar wave of vertigo.
“You are bleeding.” You recognize Optimus’s voice through the dizziness, and you frown, unusually angry at him. Why the hell does he pick you up like this? You’re in pain, now you’re dizzy, he should be more considerate right now. Still, you don’t say anything, immediately trying to focus on the new situation.
You can see worry in his optics, almost alarm, as he angles your body so that your backside is fully visible to him. Ratchet, who had been absorbed in his work, rushed over quickly.
His optics widen faster than you’ve ever seen. “You’re hemorrhaging.”
“No-” you try to explain, but your voice doesn’t cut through their concern. They’re not yelling, but the heavy seriousness in the air gives you a good idea of the quiet panic they’ve already fallen into.
“How did you get this injury?” Optimus’s question barely makes sense as he moves you around the room like a doll, making your dizziness worse.
Ratchet hurriedly prepares a table, and you hear him mutter something about calling June.
“It’s a fresh wound.”
“Why did not you tell us?”
“You’re still losing blood.”
Soon you’re laid out on the massive operating table the bots use, with a light strong enough to blind you beaming down on you.
“I know it’s a delicate area, this will be uncomfortable.” That’s when you feel Ratchet’s digits invading your shorts and you scream.
“Ratchet!!” Your shriek stops him, and they finally focus on you. “I’m not hemorrhaging, it’s not a wound. And don’t touch me!”
Both bots stare at you in disbelief, and Ratchet snorts. “The blood loss is making you delirious, stay still.”
“No!” You scoot back, not letting them strip you of your shorts. “I’m not dying. I’m fine, I’m just menstruating.”
“?”
“?”
“It’s a natural process human women go through.”
Ratchet and Optimus exchange a look, and the tension in their faceplates finally eases. "I apologize if we frightened you, little one, we had no idea humans went through something like this. We thought you were injured." Optimus explained gently.
“Humans. Always something new every day.” You hear Ratchet grumble under his breath as he puts away the tools he was about to pull out. “How are you not dying if you’re losing blood?”
“I don’t know.”
Both raise a brow ridge at you.
“Sorry, I’m not a doctor, guys.” You defend yourself weakly. “I just know it happens every time.”
“If I may ask, why?” It’s the first time you’ve seen Optimus with such curiosity. Ratchet joins him in silence.
“Because it’s not blood from a wound.” You sigh, thinking. “It’s… biological. Look, we have a uterus. Every month, if we’re not pregnant, the body prepares like we are, and when nothing happens… the uterus cleans itself or something. It sheds a lining, and that comes out through… well, down there. Blood, tissue, all of it. It hurts, it causes swelling, mood swings. It looks like I’m dying, but I’m not.”
The silence that follows is so heavy you almost want to hide. You feel angry, sad, uncomfortable, embarrassed, until Ratchet lifts his optic crest slightly.
“A biological renewal process…” his voice is low, as if filing the data into his endless medical archive. “Painful and constant. What an absurd burden for such a small organism.”
Optimus nods, looking at you kindly. “Now we understand, little one. Thank you for sharing this information with us.”
You blink, surprised. You expected weird looks or signs of discomfort. Instead, you only see understanding.
Ratchet crosses his arms. “So what you need isn’t a medic, but… specific tools to manage it?”
“Pads. Or tampons.” You admit, desperate for either.
“Understood.” Optimus lowers his hand near you, offering it calmly. “I will take you to get what you need.”
Ratchet growls, but it’s not annoyance: “If it happens again and you don’t have anything on hand, tell us. That way I don’t end up prepping an operating room for what’s just… biology.”
You can’t help but laugh, even if it sounds tired. For the first time all day, the tension in your chest eases a little. “Thanks, Ratchet. You’re the best.”
Ratchet just grunted and turned his back to you. What a grouch!
Toyformers: Figures In Disguise | Various! Mini! Transformers x Reader
I'm aware that I'm not the first person to come up with this idea, nor will I probably be the last, but DAMN. This idea just got me hooked, idk what to tell you!! Anyways, the continuity is kept vague, so imagine them looking like your favorite TF media/designs. If your favorite TF media/designs don't have a toyline, pretend that they do!
Synopsis: You've been a Transformers fan for a while, and started collecting toys of your favorite characters out of love for the franchise. Gradually, you've expanded from your favorites to the rest of the cast; before one day you finally get the one toy you were missing to complete your collection. Unfortunately, your good day turns slightly less good when you realize that these little guys are actually sentient.
Content: GN pronouns, human! reader, the bots are toy sized, reader lives alone, i'm personally not a toy collector so this might not be accurate to how real collectors behave, slight crack vibes, im just having fun lmao
Today is a good day.
You feel like you should use a bigger word considering what you have in your hands, but honestly, it doesn't matter. Great, fantastic, pleasant, whatever. What matters is that you finally got what you wanted, and that meant today is good.
Yeah, that's right. After ages of saving up, you had enough money to get the very last toy for your Transformers collection. Which, sure, sounds like a super nerdy thing to be excited over—but come on! You deserve to be excited!
You've been collecting Transformers toys for years now, and you've been a fan for even longer. What can you say? The franchise just has you hooked. Hooked enough to save and spend your money over and over again on figurines of your favorite characters. Time went on, and you figured, why not get the rest of the cast?
Which leads you to now. Walking back to your house carrying a plastic bag, the final piece for your collection carefully tucked inside.
There's a noticeable pep in your step as you open the door and lock it behind you. Immediately heading to your room, you carefully reach in the plastic bag and pull out... Him.
Optimus Prime. Yup, ironically enough, you were saving him for last. There wasn't any real reason, other than it felt oddly fitting for the big guy himself to complete your unfinished set.
Unboxing the toy, you can't help the beaming smile that grows on your face as you hold him in your hands. Is it too dramatic to say that you're cradling him the way one cradles a sacred idol? Or perhaps a precious gem that you intend on treasuring? Probably. But you can't deny that there's something reverent in your touch as you place him down with the rest of the figurines on their dedicated desk.
Yes, dedicated desk. These guys have their own desk that you use to display them. The entire thing is covered with your figurines, one side belonging to the Autobots, and the other, the Decepticons. All lovingly handled and placed with the care of an artist painting their muse onto a canvas.
Setting down Optimus between Bumblebee and Ratchet, you take a step back and bask in your fully completed Transformers toy collection. The surge of pride and satisfaction fills your every vein. You're pretty sure this is how Greek sculptors feel like after finishing a statue.
Grabbing your phone, you snap a few photos that afterwards, you deem good enough to share online. Might as well share your excitement with everyone else, right? You type out a caption for your post and begin to make your way out your room.
Buuut not without casting one last glance to your toy-filled desk. Gotta get at least one more dopamine hit before you go.
The missing piece in your puzzle. The last one to arrive.
Your gaze sweeps over every Autobot, Decepticon, even the niche characters you managed to snag, and your chest puffs out in fulfillment—before your eyes land on Optimus Prime.
Your pause mid-step, lingering in the doorway.
... For a second, a brief second, there's a fragile silence in the air. Like the entire room went still, holding its breath. Waiting. Watching.
........
Then you turn around and step out, shutting the door behind you. Oblivious to the earlier tension in the room, if there even was any. Pocketing your phone, you idly think about what to eat for dinner later. Something affordable, probably. OP wasn't exactly cheap, after all!
In the meantime, you settle on your couch and turn on the TV for some mindless entertainment. Sighing contentedly, you lean back into the cushions and relax.
Today really is a good day.
....
Back in your room, the tiny finger of Optimus Prime twitches.
----
Noise is what wakes you up.
Weirdly enough, it's not the sound of your show (which has long since been replaced with some kind of reality TV episode your grandma would watch), nor is it the low buzz of your phone telling you your order is on its way. What actually woke you up was the soft thunk of something hitting the floor.
You strain your ears, wondering if the sound was a sleep-induced auditory hallucination. Did it come from outside? But it can't have been—it was so close. A pin dropping in silence, so to speak.
It almost sounded like... It came from your room.
...Wait.
Your room.
Adrenaline zaps you awake. If that weird sound didn't send you into high alert, that realization did.
Because that means someone could be in your room. With your figurines.
Oh HELL no.
You don't care if it's a thief or a stray animal that somehow got into your home. If they even put a singular FINGERPRINT on the toys that you PAID FOR, you are committing a murder.
But wait. Let's not get too overzealous here. On the chance that there is a thief in your room right now, you can't just burst inside unarmed. You love your collection, but you also love not dying.
Slowly, you get up from your couch, making sure to grab your phone and put it on silent. You sneak away, trying to find some kind of weapon to use. A kitchen knife will have to do. Do you know how to use it? Not really, but maybe your fight or flight instincts can take over from there.
Hefting the knife in one hand, and your phone in the other, your thumb hovers over the final number for the police if things go wrong. You might be a bit paranoid right now, but you also don't really care.
Creeping towards the door to your bedroom, you listen in. You don't really hear...
Inhaling deeply to calm your nerves, you brace yourself.
No wait- there is something. Voices. A lot of them. And apparently, they're getting into an argument. But they sound... Distant?
They're definitely inside your room, but these guys must be the quietest fighters ever or something, because wow. You're not sure how someone can yell a death threat and sound so small.
Here goes nothing.
Bursting through the door, you point the knife in your hands in what you hope is a threatening manner, scowling hard.
"If you even put one hand on those figures, I swear I will fucking-"
Then you stop. The rest of the threat chokes in your throat as you survey the scene.
Your toys. The Transformers. They're...
They're moving.
They're all frozen now, staring up at you with wide painted optics. But you saw their heads swivel in your direction when you burst in. Not to mention the fact that they're all scattered throughout the room right now; some on the floor, some on your bed, some are on the other separate desk that you use for storing non-transformer things.
They all look like they're in the middle of a battle. A toy sized battle. In your room.
Moving by themselves.
"Um," One of them speaks up. Your eyes snap towards... Optimus Prime. Who seemed to have frozen in the middle of fighting Megatron, who's gaze flickers from you to him.
You stare at them all, speechless. Autobot, Decepticon, even the niche characters– you look at them and they look at you.
What?
"Please don't be alarmed," Optimus tries to assure you. Hearing his deep voice come from a toy made out of plastic is surreal. "We mean no harm to you. We-"
He glances around and realizes how contradictory his words are. And for the first time... You see Optimus Prime falter.
He looks up at you.
"We will explain."
...Oh boy.
This is the type shit I be doing instead of homework dawg wtf 🥀🥀 THIS MIGHT BE THE MOST I'VE EVER WRITTEN IN TWO DAYS I'M GONNA BE FOR REAL.. WHAT THE HELL ARE THESE ROBOTS DOING TO ME!!
Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed! I might write a part 2? If you guys r interested?? Because I do have more ideas... Idk, I keep seeing concepts floating around for the bots being toys, but they're mostly drabbles/headcanons. So I put a one shot into the mix, because why not!! This was mostly a warm up to get back into writing on here as well, soo... Ok I'm rambling at this point!! HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED RAHHH RAHHH on the off chance u want more erm... Idk reblog or ask about it in my inbox bcs ill happily yap
When secret identities and civilian partners don't mix: featuring Dick Grayson
cw: suggestive themes, cursing, mentioned fear of death, suspicions of cheating (which no one does), gn! reader (though it is mentioned that they wear a dress)
NOTES: this pic involves strippers and the sex industry! please read at your own discretion! also apologies for any typos, or issues, I am very sleepy and will fix it later AND AS ALWAYS, REBLOG REBLOG REBLOG PLS PLS xx mwah
---
Anyone who knew you, knew Dick Grayson, and vice versa. But most importantly, they know that he’s your best friend and that you’re his.
You’d first met him in high school, and what initially started as academic competition, ended in you both graduating side by side with matching smiles.
There’s truly nothing you didn’t know about Dick Grayson — hell, you even knew he was Nightwing.
He didn’t know everything about you though.
Dick was never one to judge. He always tried to understand that beneath every hard decision, there was a reason — one that some might not be able to talk about. Sure, he might’ve not understood certain things to a personal level, but he always tried and he never judged. It’s truly an admirable feature, one that you loved too.
Despite this, you knew better than to tell him about this. He’d never look at you the same, and you’re not sure what you’d do without him — I mean, sure, you can get by, you’re independent but Dick isn’t someone replaceable.
No. He’s carved a permanent hole into your heart, and you’re not sure how you’d ever fill it if he found out. Maybe you love him, though you never much let yourself fantasise about anything more…
I mean, who’d want to date someone who is part of the sex industry?
Not the Dick Grayson, the Nightwing.
You’re not ashamed of what you do. You’ve come to terms with it, and you’ve made quite a big name for yourself in the industry.
All those nights dancing and the occasional client who wanted a bit… more than just a lap dance, definitely paid well. Well enough for you to put yourself through university, and build enough ‘fuck you’ money to retire three times over, that’s for sure.
And yeah, occasionally, to numb down the stress of dealing with inebriated men, you would go out and buy yourself a nice little something — but you were never careless with it.
You’d only been in the industry for two years, and you’d made more money than you ever had in your entire life — more money than you could make even after you’re a qualified ER doctor. So given that you’ve paid off every single debt you’ve ever owed, it was hard for you to step out of the door.
But you promised; you’d leave as soon as you’re qualified. By then, your personal investments would be blooming, you’d have to rip out at least a fifth floorboard to hide your money, and you’d be making an honest living as a doctor.
Though, sometimes, the universe loves to ruin things for you.
You hadn’t seen Dick in about a week and a half, and he had invited you over to the manor for dinner with the rest of the family and to catch up on everything.
So, yeah, your stomach dropped a bit when you heard the familiar name of your club come so casually out of his mouth. He might as well have slapped you across the face when he said it.
Red Siren.
“W-what? Sorry, sorry, uh, repeat what you just said?”
Dick looks at you, sitting beside him on the couch, and repeats himself,
“Okay, so basically, Jonathan Crane is Scarecrow’s real name — spoiler alert — and a few of our contacts have said that he frequents the Red Siren a lot.”
You can’t help but stare at him a bit transfixed. Jonathan Crane… whoever that is, is Scarecrow… and he frequents your club.
“… Okay, and…?”
Jason flashes you a wide toothy grin from the chair across the room,
“So, we’re gonna see if we can put him down.”
Dick flashes Jason a raised eyebrow at the words ‘put him down’ but doesn’t correct him. Tim speaks from behind the couch — behind you — dragging a jolt out of you at his sudden presence.
“He’s been laying low for a while, which is bad news, so essentially, we’re trying to get him before he can release whatever he’s cooked up this time.”
Fuck, you’re realising where this is going.
“So, I’m guessing this warrants someone a trip to the Red Siren then?”
Maybe not — I mean, surely they’re just gonna ambush the guy outside, right? You’re stuck between trying to keep a poker face and trying to remember if you’ve ever had a client named Jonathan before Dick shakes his head beside you.
“Something like that, we’re mostly trying to contact his favourite dancer there, her name is Vi.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
There wasn’t much meaning to your codename — it was mostly given to the receptionist on a whim and based entirely on one of the characters in Arcane — but right now, you think you’re going to throw up all over the manor floor.
“Aye, you good?”
You look at Jason and suddenly an even worse realisation slaps you across the face; you’re sitting in a room with some of the best detectives — amateur or not — and you’re losing more and more colour in your face.
“Yeah! Sorry, I’ve actually been feeling a bit nauseous and it’s hitting me a bit hard right now.”
Damian scoffs at you from the floor where he’s settled up against Titus near Jason’s chair, mostly absent from the conversation.
“You’re overworking yourself at the hospital, and now look, you’re about to be a patient there.”
You give a sarcastic ‘ha ha’ to Damian who smirks at you before petting Titus behind his ears.
Glancing at the watch on your wrist, you read a late 11:24 pm. You’ve definitely stayed longer before but it’s also not a suspicious time for you to leave — and that, you need to do immediately.
“Actually, speaking of patients, I’ve got an earlier shift tomorrow so I’m gonna head off early tonight.”
The boys all nod and you make your way to Jason and give him a side hug from his place on the couch, and simultaneously reach down to mess with Damian’s hair, to which the boy scoffs at — you catch his smirk anyway.
Tim gives you a soft smile before hugging you, and before you can turn towards Dick, he gets up from his place on the couch.
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
You really wish he wasn’t being chivalrous right now like he always is, but you’re not going to argue with him. You just need to get out of here quickly and cleanly, and the longer you’re delaying your trip home, the longer you can feel the detectives staring holes into your skin.
You nod and the two of you start your walk outside, he opens the door for you and leads you through before you break the silence,
“Tell Bruce I said bye, and tell Alfred thank you again for the dinner please?”
He nods, “Of course, you’re gonna be okay on the drive home? If you’re tired, can I drive you?”
You shake your head at the offer — maybe a little too quickly — and follow up with the best excuse you can think of.
“No, that’s fine… might hit the… 24-hour liquor store on the way home.”
You can’t help but want to punch yourself — that’s your best excuse? Jeez.
“Are… are you okay? Or… is there something you want to talk about —“
You shake your head quickly again, a fake laugh slipping through your lips.
“No, no! One of my coworkers is moving hospitals, so I’m gonna buy her a bottle of overpriced whiskey to celebrate.”
Dick smiles down at you with a soft ‘ah’ at your explanation, and you fumble with your keys before unlocking your car. You reach up and hug dick, whispering a soft goodnight into his ear before sitting in your car.
He stays out the front of the manor until you’re out of his view before heading inside, and you can’t help but hold your breath until you no longer see him in your rearview mirror.
You’re fucked.
>>>
It’s been about a week since that conversation with Dick and the anxiety in your stomach hasn’t eased up once. They usually keep “intel”-based information to a minimum around you — for the sake of your protection — but you can’t help but remember his name.
Jonathan Crane.
Apparently, you’re the Scarecrow’s favourite dancer, and you’re not sure how to take to that — hopefully, it doesn’t go south for you, but… surely, if it meant to, then it would’ve by now.
You start to undress in the girls’ room, slipping on a glittery, black set.
“Hey baby, I missed you.”
You look back at one of your coworkers — Roxi — who’s worked alongside you ever since you started. She comes over and wraps her arms around you, before pressing a kiss to your cheek. You giggle, and she sits herself next to your usual vanity before pulling her makeup bag out of her backpack.
“Thank god you’re here tonight,” you sigh out, and she giggles while smearing some of her concealer on in a rush. The two of you girls start chattering about mindless things going on in your personal lives while getting ready for your dances.
You loved Roxi, she was the first dancer you met when you first started — although she had experience in the industry unlike you, she was also new to this club so you both bonded together. Though, all of the girls here are sweethearts and if anything, are part of the reason you don’t hate it here.
The intercom system chimes before the receptionist’s voice fills the girls’ room, “Roxi babe, your bookings are running late and Vi, Tommy is coming in to see you at 10:30 pm!”
Roxi and you both threw thumbs up into the air for the camera to catch and the intercom chimes again with a gentle, “Thank you ladies!”
You glance at the time; it’s 8:55 pm.
“Tommy’s your big tipper, aye?” Roxi’s voice sounded muffled from beside you and when you glanced over, she was leaning about an inch away from the mirror to do her eyeliner. You giggled at her expression before nodding.
“Yep… I always have mixed feelings about the guy but hey, can’t complain when I make my goal for the night.”
Roxi scoffs before mumbling, “Amen to that, Sister.”
>>>
There wasn’t all that much time before Tommy’s booking to dance, but you still managed to snag the stage and get yourself some cash — though before you’re able to count it, the intercom sounds.
“Vi, Tommy’s here for you.”
You stuff your cash into your locker before locking it up and shoving your shoes back on. You head to reception and Tasha sits there.
She hands you a discreet, black folder, and from the weight of it, you can tell it's a thick stack of cash, and you can’t help but smile. He’s booking you for a lot longer than he normally does, but you can’t complain — you’ve already hit your goal for the night with this cash, even without doing any extras in the room.
“He’s booked you for a longer dance, he’s waiting in room 7 for you babe.”
After shoving the cash into your locker, you go to the allocated room.
Tommy… Well, he’s an odd one. He’s clearly a man of science, that much you can tell — it’s in the way he looks at your body, not in lust or love but in curiosity; like he wants to see how far he can bend your limbs or how hard he can push your resolve. It never quite feels like it’s just a dance with him, but it was bearable, so you’d never turn him down.
Pushing the door open to the room, you find Tommy sitting on the lounge, his eyes already on you — the lightest shade of blue you’d ever seen in a pair. His hair was tussled like he’d been running his hands through it too much, and he was wearing a white button-down with black dress pants.
“Same arrangement as last time?”
You smile at him before stripping out of your clothes immediately. You can always appreciate that he doesn’t waste your time; you nod and walk over to him. The thing about this arrangement is that he’s very particular with the way he wants things, and you’re not entirely sure why, but it’s an easy job, and you can’t complain.
He doesn’t like it if you speak without being spoken to, he doesn’t grope or touch you too much, and when he does… it’s not to enjoy it per se but more to observe the area he’s touching and the reactions his touch has to your skin. He demands that you strip naked before making your way to him, and he prefers you close, on his lap.
The first time you met the guy, you were both confused and thankful for the dance; for one, he had given you thousands of dollars, yet for two, he didn’t seem like he enjoyed any bit of it the way most men would — and to your shock, he came back and kept coming back. And to think that the first dance, he was tipping out orders left and right on how he wanted you.
Creepy, you’ll give him that, but genuinely one of the easiest and best clients you’ve had.
You crawl over to him and waste no time in straddling his lap. To your surprise, he runs his hand from the centre of your stomach, up the middle of your sternum, and rests it gently around your neck. His gaze is glued to the goosebumps forming on your skin at the feather-soft sensation, and he focuses on seemingly nothing else.
Just then, he adds more pressure around your neck before locking eyes with you and whispering, “How about we play a different game?”
—
Tommy was a lot of things, but a hitter hadn't been one of them… not until tonight anyway.
Of course, that’s not how it started. He had asked for his usual arrangement, and that mainly consisted of a nude lap dance and the occasional touch of fingers. Usually, you would charge extra if someone wanted to touch you because you weren't the biggest fan of when people would actually put their sweaty hands on you, but the way Tommy touched you… didn’t feel perverse. It felt observant – as if he was trying to gauge what type of reactions you’d give him based on the nature of his touch. It was freaky but ultimately harmless, so you stopped charging him extra after the third time he’d done it. There was really no point in charging someone extra for something when he wasn't even putting his hands on any of your intimate areas but rather your sternum and neck – to you anyway.
This time, he was clearly more impatient. The first hour and a half of the booking consisted of the normal nude dance, and it was only after you’d sat beside him that he asked if he could do something new to you. Given he was a regular, you agreed if it was something reasonable, and that’s when he asked if he could slap you.
“I won’t be too harsh, and of course, I’ll pay extra,” just as the words barely left his mouth, he pulled out a stack of cash from his trousers – what looked to be at least five thousand easy. As much as you loved money, you weren't going to charge that much for slapping, but before you could blurt out a reasonable price, he interrupted with a firm, “I insist.”
Needless to say, as the booking went on, the five thousand dollars quickly felt reasonable. You don’t know if you had ever been slapped that hard or if you had ever slapped anyone else that hard before. Your face was vibrating with immense pain, and before you could even ask the reception whether you’d be able to take an extended break, she gasped as you approached the desk.
“What the fuck happened in there? Are you okay?”
At the concern in her eyes, you can’t help but let your eyes well up a bit. A shaky nod and the slight tremble in your bottom lip have her immediately insisting you go home, and that she’d cancel your bookings for the night.
You’ve honestly never been more grateful for her. Back in the girl’s room, you shove your sweatpants and hoodie back on before grabbing your bag and heading out the back door. It’s just a shame you couldn’t say goodbye to Roxi, but you know she would understand.
>>
The next morning had come quicker than expected, and so had the swelling of your face. You’d called out of the next few night shifts – you weren’t too fond of working with a swollen face, or putting makeup on said face – and your boss was more than understanding about the situation, ending the conversation with a simple, ‘Just let me know when you’re ready to be rostered again’.
You had also called out of school today too – the plan was to spend the day at home, icing your face and hoping the swelling would go down a reasonable amount – you weren’t too fond of the idea of making up an excuse about why you looked the way you did – especially since your classmates were future doctors… they would know the difference between the aftermath of a punch and a slap.
A soft hiss left your lips as you pressed the ice pack to your face, scrolling on your phone as you lazed about on the couch. A notification showed up at the top of your phone – a phone call from Dick. You answered the phone and put it on speaker.
“Hey Dick, what’s up?” His response came through smoothly, his brothers could be heard faintly in the background.
“Haven’t seen you in a bit, the boys and I are gonna go bowling, you down?”
The truth is that you would love to go with Dick, you really do miss him and his brothers too… but given the state of your face, it’s best that you don’t. Dick would ask too many questions and you know you’d stumble over your words and then next thing you know, Dick finds out that you’re a stripper and everything hits the fan.
“I would love to but uh, sorry Dick, I’m just going through it right now. Cool if I cancel?”
It was a lot easier to tell him that you ‘weren’t feeling it’ because technically it wasn't a lie, and it's a lot easier to give an excuse that's somewhat true than to lie to him – he’d see right through you.
“Yeah, of course, are you okay? Do you need anything?”
God, it’s irritating how sweet he is. It really makes dating hard for you when all you can think about is how Dick pulls out chairs for you and opens the doors and is just an annoyingly sweet person and the man you’re on a date with just told you his cock size as if that makes his surface-level personality cuter. Spoiler alert; it does not.
“I should be okay. Thanks for thinking of me, I’ll get in contact and make plans with you guys another time, ‘k?”
The phone call ended smoothly after a vague promise of laser tag and pizza, and you went back to icing your face. You did really miss Dick, and the boys but unfortunately, your actions (and Tommy’s) have consequences. The show on the TV drones on and you find your eyes getting a little heavy…
…
A series of knocks at your door wakes you up, you groan at the wetness in your hand and a sleepy glance down shows a melted ice pack. Another knock snaps you out of your daze, and you groggily wake up and wander your way to the kitchen. With the makeshift ice pack slapped into the bin, you head to the front door and look through the peephole – a worried Dick is checking his watch before knocking at your door again, the vibration soft against the tip of your nose.
Looking back, you unlock the deadbolt and open the door. A sleepy smile graces your face when Dick’s eyes look up from his watch at you.
“Hey, I brought you some takeou– What happened to your face?”
Fuck. You forgot about that.
Your hand instinctively goes up to cup your cheek – almost as if you’re also just realising the state of your face – fuck, quick, think of something. You bite your bottom lip as you stare into his icy gaze. You can tell he’s already analysing every single micromovement on your face. You part your lips to mutter a half-assed excuse before he puts his hand up to interrupt you.
“Don’t you dare lie to me.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Well, obviously, you’re still going to have to lie to him. He’s just going to know that you’re lying to him, and then he’s either going to rip it out of you or he’s going to pretend like he believes you until he eventually figures it out himself.
“I-I… I can’t tell you.”
If his eyebrows could furrow any lower into his eyes, they would. He slightly tilts his head in question before his gaze widens slightly.
“Because someone’s told you that you can’t or… because you don’t want to.”
You soften a bit at the suggestion in his statement – he’s just worried about you, and he’s probably assuming the worst – you weren’t the biggest talker about your love life with Dick, not because you didn’t want to be but because you preferred him over anyone else you had ever dated and you didn’t really want him to know that he ruined your dating life.
“I’m not ready to tell you. I’m sorry, but I am… safe, so don’t worry about that.”
You knew immediately that a part of him was wondering if it was worth breaking your trust to find out on his own, but you knew that he would never do that to you. The guilt would eat him up before he could get the courage to apologise.
You stare at one another for what feels like a lifetime. Not that you mind too much. His eyes remind you of the sea - so beautiful, enigmatic yet dangerous. He breaks the silence with a breath through his nose, before muttering a soft yet defeated, “Fine.”
You nod and he holds his arm up, showcasing a plastic bag with Chinese script scattered haphazardly across the front, he flashes his best attempt at a grin - moreso for your sake instead of his before saying, "Now, can you please let me in? I brought your favourite."
You scoot to the side and he squeezes past you, making his way inside and heading straight for your couch where the TV was stuck on the “Are You Still Watching?” phase. He glances at the TV and makes what could only be described as a noise of utter betrayal.
"Are you fucking kidding me? First, you won't tell me why it looks like Killer Croc slapped you with his tail and now you're watching OUR show without me? When you think you know a guy..."
You can't help that he makes you laugh and you sit a bit too close to him but if he notices, he doesn't say anything and wraps an arm around you behind the couch. He leans in and you feel the gentle press of faint lips against the side of your face before he gently whispers, "I'm worried about you... If you need anything at all, don't you dare keep it to yourself."
You nod and don't turn towards him, it is the only thing you can do not to sob every confession out. You know that he's not just going to let this go, but you're thankful he at least pretends like he's not going to bring it up again — realistically, he's going to find out eventually and seeing your wounded face like this does nothing but add more fuel to his already raging bonfire.
You naively hope he forgets. You wouldn't wish harm on Dick, but maybe if he hit his head on his next patrol – maybe – he’ll forget about this.
That morning, Dick had left far quicker than you had woken up. The only evidence that he was ever there was an unopened text message on your phone saying he had to leave for patrol. It felt oddly like he was apologising as a one night stand or something but you shook the thought from your head before it could sting.
—
It had been a few weeks since Dick caught the state of your face and surprisingly, he hadn’t brought it up – aside from the brief check in afterwards on a Facetime call – so you had been thankful for that. You hadn’t seen Tommy again at your night job either so thankfully, you didn't have to worry about that happening again – although, given the trouble that he caused slapping you around like a stripper’s ass; you’ll be declining his offer next time.
School had been a bit hectic lately with all the noise about Scarecrow coming back around with his newest fear gas but you were able to scrub in on some of the emergency surgeries that popped up throughout the weeks. You feel guilty to admit that the only reason your peers and yourself had been able to scrub in on some pretty gnarly surgeries is because of Gotham’s aggressive nature.
You were popping back into your night job tonight for a couple duo dances with Roxi – you decided that you’d be taking a break from doing personal dances for a while
—
In the midst of all the chaos, all the girls started running towards the back exit. Roxi was quick to burst into the girls’ room, and drag you by the hand with a quick, ‘we have to go’, and that was enough to have you quickly abandoning your heels and ripping your robe off the back of the couch.
As you ran into the crowd of girls all scattered towards the exit, Roxi lost her grip on your hand. A slight panic rose in you but you knew that she had to be somewhere ahead of you in the crowd of dancers and that you’d find her outside. You turned the corner, and slammed into something – someone – and before you could fall back, gloved hands grabbed you by the biceps and hauled you up and against a solid chest.
Your heart hammered in your chest as you shot your hand up so fast to see who was gripping onto you so hard – your breath was ripped out of your lungs when you realized that Jason – no, the Red Hood – was staring down at you from his red helmet. Before you could open your mouth, he had quickly dragged you into the room he had emerged from originally.
“Jas– Red Hood? What are you doing here–”
He turns around after slamming and locking the door shut, his hands reach up to his helmet and a faint hiss is heard before he pulls it off to reveal Jason, in a domino mask.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
Your mouth gapes at him before stammering out, “I-I just dance here, I–”
Your words seem to choke somewhere between your oesophagus and rising bile, but he’s heard enough. He huffs a sigh through his nose and his hand comes up to drag down his face.
“Fuck me dead… he doesn’t know, does he?”
At the mention of Dick, sweat starts to manifest itself at the nape of your neck.
“Jason, you can’t tell him! He’ll neve–”
Jason holds up his hand and that effectively stops you from spewing out anymore nonsense. It’s done. Dick has to know and you’re fucked. You’ll lose Dick, and probably the whole family – hell, you might even go to jail? Who knows.
“It’s not my place to tell him something like that… but, he will find out. We’re investigating this place, and you’re bound to come up somewhere… you know that right?”
You hadn’t realised tears were streaming down your cheeks until Jason cupped your face in his hands, his helmet now placed on a table in the room. His gloves didn't really absorb your tears and more so, pushed them around your cheeks but the love was there. You looked at him and his frown was obvious.
“Do you… do you think of me… differently.”
A soft laugh left his lips as he shook his head down at you. He let go of your face, but gently tucked your hair behind your cheeks, ever so careful of your piercings.
“Of course not. You’re still my best friend.”
A soft hue of pink makes its way across your cheeks. This is the first time Jason’s ever outwardly admitted you’re his best friend.
“Wow. Am I higher or lower than Roy?”
A soft ‘ugh’ comes from him as he drops his hands to his hips and throws his head back towards the ceiling.
“Higher, don’t you dare tell him.”
A mini salute makes its way out of you,and Jason grabs his helmet off the table. You’re suddenly very aware of the fact that your robe is open and quickly cover up – although, to Jason’s credit, he’d never once looked anywhere he shouldn't have.
“And as high as you are on the rank, I can’t lie to Dick about this. Of course, I’d never say anything to him but he will find out.”
You nod, and he’s got his helmet back on. “Head out the back, Nightwing is at the reception.”
Looking down at you again, he nods and silently slips out of the room first. You wait a couple seconds before leaving after him and heading out of the building. The positive is that Jason would never say anything but there's no doubt in your mind that the cameras of this place will be checked as soon as they’re discovered.
You pray they’re still as grainy as when you first got a peek of them many months ago.
—
You’re sitting on the floor of your apartment in front of your open floorboard counting all the cash you have to potentially disappear off the face of the planet. Not really, but the option is growing more attractive by the minute.
You had found Roxi by the alleyway near the brothel, and she had unceremoniously suggested that you both ‘got the fuck out of there’ to which you had agreed. She was kind enough to let you borrow some spare clothes that she had in her car, and for the first time ever, you’d exchanged numbers with one another.
You couldn't shake the anxiety that was clawing at your back… Jason was right. That whole strip club was under investigation for a criminal responsible for thousands of deaths, there was no way they wouldn’t check the cameras.
“You plannin’ on running away?”
The modulated voice sends a hot flash of fear that runs down your spine. You spin around to see Jason shutting your window, his red helmet mocking you despite its lack of expression.
“Fuck, you scared me. What are you doing here?”
He tugs his helmet on, leaving it on your couch before coming to stand over you, eyes on the cash and the loose floorboard.
“Wanted to give you an update, and get some info from ya’.”
You sigh, and put the floorboard back into place, before pushing your carpet over it. Jason plops down on your couch, patting the spot next to him like you’re a child about to get a scolding. It takes a lot of effort but you sit down beside him, gaze down at your lap.
“You okay doll?”
You can only manage a nod, and Jason reaches a gloved hand out, gently caressing your right cheek, nudging you to look into his green eyes. His domino mask is gone now, and his expression is filled with worry, and affection.
“Talk to me.”
Your bottom lip whimpers and before a single tear can fall, you’re hugging Jason. He tenses up before wrapping his arms around you, rubbing your back. The gentlest ‘shh’ and ‘it’s gonna be okay’ make their way into your ears, past the sounds of your sobs.
Although it was only a few minutes, he held you tightly through it until you leaned back on the couch, eyes red, and sniffling. This time, however, Jason was thigh to thigh with you, his hand on yours on top of your knee.
“Doll, you’re my best friend, please tell me that you know I would never see you differently?”
You nod. It’s all you can manage, and Jason leans close, before pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head. You know he means it, as close as you are with Dick, Jason’s always been the one to know your darkest secrets… now including this one.
“What questions did you need to ask?”
He hums before gently letting go of your hand, the cold air rushing to your knuckles. He reaches into his leather jack, before pulling out a small photograph.
“Do you recognise his face?”
You’ve barely managed to analyse the photo before you’re bursting into tears again, nodding shakily.
Tommy – no – Jonathan Crane, Scarecrow, stares back at you. Jason nods, understanding, before wrapping his arms around you again.
—
It took a while for you to be able to describe what had happened in the private lap dances to Jason but he never rushed you, and eventually, you told him all he needed to know, and after insisting he was okay to stay if you needed company a couple more hundred times, followed by you insisting that you’re fine, he finally left through the window that night.
It’s only a week later when your phone starts buzzing profusely as you're heating up your kettle for your two minute noodles. One glance at your phone has you grabbing it from the counter before quickly unlocking it and reading Jason’s texts.
‘Heads up, Dick just reviewed the footage and he’s left the manor’
‘Not sure yet but I’m pretty sure he’s headed to your place doll’
‘Tried to stop him and calm him down but he’s pretty heated, I’m sorry doll’
‘Getting my helmet and heading your way’
You stare at the texts for what feels like a minute before responding to Jason.
‘Thanks Jay, but I think Dick and I need to have this conversation. Don’t worry about me, thanks for all your help again x’
His response is quick.
‘I won’t push but if you ever need me there, just call me ok? Please’
You respond with a quick ‘will do’ before switching to the location app on your phone. A little blue dot is seen going across the highway about 10 over the limit and rising, and a quick glance at surrounding buildings lets you know that he’s about 5 minutes from yours.
A sigh leaves your lips and you throw your phone on the counter, exhausted. A hand reaches out and turns off the kettle mid boil as you stare longingly at your noodle packet.
‘This is gonna have to wait.’
—
Your door shakes with the knocks that come from it, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think Killer Croc was out to get you. You rip the door open with as much fury, the abrupt knocking having sent you into an adrenaline rush.
“Are you fucking serious?”
Dick stands there; washed out grey shirt with the word ‘Gothamites’, plaid pants and black slippers, staring at you with rage and something else you can’t quite read in his eyes… disappointment? Disgust?
“What are you talking about?”
You watch the way his jaw tenses into stone, watch the way his tongue prods at his cheek in anger. He starts towards you, and instinctively you move back away from him. His hand reaches out to his side and you flinch just before it reaches out to the door and slams it shut behind him.
“Don’t you play fucking dumb with me! Why the fuck would you be a stripper?”
The fear at the sight of him rots into something colder; anger. He wants to judge you, right.
What a fucking joke.
“Oh, fuck you, Dick! Not all of us have daddy’s money to pay for everything! Don’t act like you’re above me, you might not be the dancer but I’m sure you’ve stepped into a club too, asshole!”
He rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair, tugging slightly. He scoffs and it turns into a bitter chuckle, none of his actions are helping the genuine rage boiling in your fists.
“What the fuck are you talking about–”
The next words rip out of you before you can catch the leash.
“Fuck you! I did what I could to pay my bills so don’t–”
Your voice rises, matching his tempo, the anger has left your knuckles and it's licking at your palms.
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.
“No, fuck you, you were targeted by the Scarecrow! Why the fuck wouldn’t you say anything?”
You have no idea what it’s been like. What I’ve done… How could you? Too busy being the perfect Golden Child.
“How the fuck was I supposed to know that was Scarecrow? I was just at work–”
How was I supposed to know that freak was a villain? He could’ve killed me. He’s burned his touch into me.
There’s a slight shimmer in Dick’s eyes, you’re not sure if it’s tears or hatred. You’re going to stick with the latter.
“If you needed money, you could have come to me–”
You roll your eyes, it always seems to be about money.
“Fuck you, Dick, I don’t need you to fucking baby me–”
“Baby you? I’m- I’m not trying to do that, I just want you safe.”
Laughable. Safe? You mean, ‘tameable’?
“No, you want me modest, so that you can avoid another scandal in your life–”
“You are not a fucking scandal, you’re my girl, I don’t care if you want to–”
Your breath hitches just when you’re about to fire another insult, and you lose your thought.
His girl?
The next sentence that comes out of you, doesn't leave harsh and cold like you mean it to. It leaves bruised and battered, and with a lump in your throat.
“Don’t fucking call me that.”
Dick’s eyes soften, and your cheeks sting. He sighs at the sight of your tear-streaked cheeks, and suddenly it sets in for him. He didn't mean to come here and yell. He didn't mean to make you flinch, he never wanted you scared…
He was just horrified, and you didn't understand that. Didn't understand why. Not because you were foolish – no, far from it – but because, you thought he was judging you. That he actually gave a fuck about your being a dancer.
Well, he did. But not in a weird way, he thought it was cool, and he cared because it stung to know that somewhere along all these years, he’d given you a side of himself, a piece of himself, that made you think he wouldn’t love you if you were a dancer.
But that was far from the truth. The Scarecrow was going to kill you that night that he raided the club, he was minutes away from poisoning you in the private room. He didn’t know it then, and how could you have known at all?
He can’t help it, his face is just as wet as yours, his bottom lip quivering.
Come on Dick, talk dammit.
He gulps down his fear, and rushes to get his next sentence out before it rips its way through him again.
“Baby… you don’t get it, I–”
“Leave.”
A soft gasp almost leaves his lips, and he tries to speak again, only for your small hands to push at his chest. It’s only when he’s pushed back that he realises you’ve opened the door behind him, and before he can reach, the door shuts in his face.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ 𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 - the state of being free from external control, influence, or support, allowing individuals to act, decide, and function alone.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Dick Grayson x fem!reader / reader is living alone and managing 100 things basically /
A/n: So uhm..I lost some of my drafts for 'Complicated', but I promise I'll finish it too!
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"I don't think I'll have the time for that...Sorry guys."
You mentioned to your friends through the phone sitting in front of you.
That was the third time in a row now that you have said 'no' to your closest people from university asking you to see you tonight.
It wasn't that it was intentional or that you wanted to refuse them, but it was kind of unavoidable - even now as the conversation was going on, your coffee was at the side and more than two textbooks were wide open on the space in front of you.
"You think you'll be able to make it for Thursday then?"
The question rose in the air as your silence gave the answer away. Not long after, your call with them ended. You sighed, setting your pen down and getting off the desk. You needed to move around a bit and take your mind off this for a second.
Leaning against the window-wall of your apartment, you took in the atmosphere. The bat-signal up, shining, in dark of the evening. You looked down from the high floor to see a few police cars and officers, talking to people.
Something was surely happening. Sliding the window door to the side, you stepped out in the terrace. You could hear it now too - the police sirens, the chaos in between people, the loud speakers. You looked around to try and realize what's happening.
While looking, you must've been a bit lost in your thoughts, because you barely realize the movement happening next to you. Quickly turning to the side after being straddled, you almost immediately recognize the figure in front of you.
Noticing how you took a step back, the man shifts slightly, a warm smile spreading on the only part of his face you were able to see. The black bodysuit with a vibrant blue bird emblem stretching across his chest. Fuck.
"Sorry, that was kid of sudden, but I'll ask you to step inside and lock that window door." His tone was gentle, not commanding, only suggesting, regarding of it being important enough for a command.
A bit hesitant, you took a few steps back and nodded. That was the policy in Gotham - the protectors tell you, you listen. You haven't seen Nightwing from so up close before and you definitely didn't expect it to feel like this - regarding of the apparently problem that was going on close to you, the sense of danger didn't step near you. Was that what it was like?
Locking the barrier after stepping inside, he 'flew' to the next building before your eyes. The sirens didn't stop, but your heart was at ease, surprisingly.
────୨ৎ────
Keys, headphones, wallet- you should have everything with you. Triple checking your items while grabbing your coat and stepping out of your apartment, you locked the door.
Busy streets, full of people. The city was as shiny as ever.
Reaching the front stairs of your university, you look at your belongings for a second. And it may be true that you should always have your eyes on the road.
"Careful there." You hear the ring of a deeper voice as you feel a hand on your upper arm.
Sopping, you look at him, and fortunately or not, you feel like you've seen him before, but you can't quite recall. He flashes a gentle smile before you can even respond.
"Sorry, for grabbing you like that, but you were going to run into the-"
"Yes, I saw, thank you..." You respond quickly, not moving an inch.
He released your arm, still smiling when he introduced himself. "Richard Grayson, but you can call me Dick."
You raise an eyebrow and he stops you with a chuckle before you can say anything. "Yes, I know how it sounds."
You chuckle back, finally relaxing a little, phew, so he was normal.
"Well, Dick, thank you for, uh, saving my life here."
"You're welcome," He turned to the school behind both of you. "You're majoring here?"
You nod your head, following his gaze. "Indeed. I don't think you do though, I've never seen you here."
"That's right," He waved a hand off at the question. "It's been a while since I studied at uni. I work at the station house."
"Oh, you're a policeman?" Your eyes open more.
"Something like that." He pulled out his phone before your response could even form in your head. "Could I...?"
You took a second to understand what he meant before taking typing in your number on his phone. "... I'll have to go to class, but-"
"What time do your classes end?"
"At four?"
"I'll text you when you're done. My shift will start soon so I'll go, but we'll call, don't worry."
And with the quick interaction it ended. Going back to your classes, there was a flutter in your heart throughout the whole day.
────୨ৎ────
"Soooo, what has gotten you so lost in your thoughts?" Three of your friends sat at the round table with your coffees.
You loved time for lunch like this. They happened almost every single day and honestly they were one of your favourite parts of the day - finally being able to complain about everything and just don't care.
It's a bit hard to imagine your life here without the small things happening like, if you're honest. Maybe you should appreciate them more.
"Sorry... Finals are killing me these days." You take a sip of your drink before placing it back next to your textbooks that are open in front of you.
"It seems like something else entirely is killing you." Ayla said from the opposite of you. "You keep checking your phone. Expecting bad news?"
You take a second to register the words and think about your response. Do you mention to them the two strange interactions you had in the past day? It's not unusual for you guys to talk about stuff like that, so why not?
"Bumped into a guy on the way here...gave him his number and yeah." You said, a bit too quickly for your liking.
"You're saying it like you didn't want to do it. Did he harass you?"
A chuckle escapes your lips, before looking at them sarcastically.
"No, no." You waved a hand off at them. "Just... Is it even worth trying again at this point? The last three times were awful and all of you knew."
All three of them nodded. Not only with you, but with them too your past relationships had been a rollercoaster of emotions and you were tired of it. Tired of being lied to.
"I think you have to be more positive. Not all men would disappoint you." Maeve said smilingly. Of course she would say that, there wasn't a day where she wasn't as joyful as the sun. That's why you loved her.
"It's easy for you to say, you're engaged, and we still have a year left in uni!" You threw the words back at her, not judging. Just an observation.
"What can I say? Some people are just lucky." She stretched her arms back and leaned her back on the chair, smirking.
Thirty minutes later, as you were sitting in a lecture, you actually thought about it.
Could your friends be right?
Is it worth trying after so many times of broken promises? After so many empty words? After so many fake feelings?
As if by command your phone lit up. You couldn't even hear what your professor was saying as you checked the notification.
'Hey, it's Dick from earlier :) Mind if I take you out to dinner tonight? If you're free ofc'
You smiled to yourself as you read the message. Okay, maybe it could be better this time, who knows?
Just in case, you took a few minutes to reply back.
'I'd love that actually.' You send back.
'Perfect! Send me your address, I'll pick you up. Dress up for a restaurant, but be comfortable 🙂↕️'
You chuckled, then quickly got your face back into normal, forgetting for a second you were still surrounded by people.
After sending you his address, you flipped your phone back around with his phone down. He chose the place, texted you and told you he'd pick you up.
Maybe that wouldn't be so bad after all.
────୨ৎ────
Fixing the last strand of your hair in the mirror, you made sure you were ready. Honestly, there wasn't much you needed to check if you've gotten, right? All cards, phone, chapstick- yeah everything is here.
Looking at the clock on the wall, you checked the time. 7:03p.m. Dick should have been here already.
You sat on the edge of the bed to check your phone once again if you hadn't missed the message. It's fine, he was just a little late, nothing scandalous.
Then after two more minutes of thinking you still decide to step outside to wait for him. Would be better, right?
When the minutes reached ten, you saw the black car slowing down to the right in front of you on the street. The cold air hit you for a second before the man you were waiting for exited from the driver's seat.
And goddamn.
The loose jeans and light blue dress shirt suited him better than anyone you've seen, in real life, for that matter. His hair was a bit out of place and you could swear his breathing was a little heavy.
He was probably nervous, right?
"I apologize for being late, I had, uhh, an emergency come up and-"
"It's okay, it's okay. You're not even that late." You waved off his apology with your hand. It really was fine.
"You look incredible, by the way." A smile turned up on his face, the kind of one that made you very interested in the ground currently.
"Thanks..." The two of you got into the car without further explanation to be in time for the reservation.
And oh boy, was it worth it. The place was beautiful. No, not beautiful. It was magnificent. For a moment you couldn't take your eyes off the atmosphere and decorations.
The waiter quickly led you to the table, placing two menus on it and leaving you two decide. With the options spread out in front of you, Dick broke the silence first.
"So, how is uni going for you right before the break?" He asked with a smile. Gosh, that smile didn't leave his face often, did it?
"Packed with exams, last minute projects and annoying teachers." You said, only half jokingly, because to a big extent, it really was like that.
"I can only imagine." He replied back to you with a chuckle.
"Trust me, you don't want to. I bet being a hero is way more interesting than what I do."
At your words Dick froze for a moment. He opened his mouth to speak and shut it again before actually questioning what you said.
"Hero....?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at you.
"Ahm...Yeah? You're a policeman, right?" You said a bit skeptically. Did you say something wrong for him to react like that?
"Oh! Oh-! Yes, yes, of course." He laughed a bit. "That's my job. Helping people."
You nodded carefully, still a bit straddled by his reaction, but you decided to move on from it anyway.
You could admit, conversations with Dick were so easy to flow. He was interested in anything you were saying, despite not having untested in them himself.
The food was tasty, the wine was wine-ing, you looked good, you felt good and it was...better than you expected.
"Honestly, tell me more about yourself, I'm talking the whole evening here." You told him, picking up your glass as you leaned forward on the table.
He shrugged, before replying to you casually. "I like hearing you talk. But sure, what do you wanna know?"
"Your favourite color, favourite food, got any siblings. I don't know, anything."
"Blue, andouille sausage pizza and yeah. A few."
You raised an eyebrow at his casual response back. You switched the positions of your legs beneath the table, placing you glass back down. "A few?"
"Yep. A few."
...
At this point the night was almost over. Your plates and glass were empty, it was getting quite dark outside and you had both already gone through a million topics that you couldn't even imagine talking about on a first date.
So you decided to share it.
"Do you know, that's one of the best first dates I've ever been on." You mentioned, looking through the window walls of the high-floored place in which the restaurant sat.
"Only one of? I'm offended."
"Okay, the best one." You rolled your eyes at his sarcastic comment. "But seriously, compared to other ones, this one is just.. perfect."
He smiled before crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Yet you haven't seen anything."
You furrowed your eyebrows for a second. What does he even mean by you haven't seen anything yet-.
Oh. Oh.
Yeah, the way every day in today's time apparently ends. 'No one does that on the first date' my ass. All of them do it. That's what they all want.
He raised his cup from the table.
"To the perfect night."
Fuck it and the negative thoughts. You were having a good time.
"To tonight."
────୨ৎ────
The ride home was spent in silence. But not that awkward kind of one where all your thinking about is if you should say something.
But that soft, gentle one that you swear you haven't experienced in a good while.
He opened the door for you at the arrival and you thanked him. His eyes were fully on you, before he got a notification and immediately looked at his phone.
His Express turned serious almost the exact same second and you couldn't help but be curious. "Everything okay?"
"Hm? Oh yeah, yeah. Don't worry about it."
You nodded at his reassurance, though it didn't do much to your thoughts.
Stepping on the pavement right in front of your house, he pulled you into a hug, before quickly placing a kiss to your forehead.
You were straddled for a second. Well, that was definitely in a rush.
"I'll text you again tomorrow." He said at the same speed as his actions.
"Are you sure? You can come in for a little if you want or-"
"Positive." His sweet voice interrupted yours. He flashed you one last smile before getting back into his car. "Goodnight, sleep well. And close your windows, Gotham is dangerous."
"Yeah.. Goodnight."
Watching the car disappear in the dark street for a few seconds, you looked up, straddled by a noise.
Shit. The alarm.
Well, definitely time to go back in.
Turning on the lights and taking off your purse and accessories you were finally home.
The night wasn't exhausting, no. The complete opposite. It relaxed you - took your mind off things and you wished it could have been longer.
But that thought led you to something else. Why did he react like that to his phone? What could have possibly switched his mood and attention so fast?
Was he lying to you too? Maybe he was married, or a stalker or- who knows??
Grabbing back your phone, you texted your friends.
"Hey, can we guys meet tomorrow at the cafe. I wanna tell you something."
pairing husband!dick grayson x wife!assassin!reader
summary in which you try to keep your husband on his toes as to prevent him from ever being killed. your method? by making him go through your rigorous training, of course
It all began when your beloved husband came home with blood soaking his suit and his feet tripping over each other in a way they never did, even when he was drunk. Moonlight spilled in from behind him as the chilly air mussed his hair. If he weren’t on death’s door, you would’ve taken the time to admire him.
Your knees wanted to give out at the sight of him trying to grin. Even now, even in so much pain, he tried to reassure you. So you helped him, laying him on the couch and rummaging through the cabinet for supplies. A sharp, chemical smell wafted through the apartment. You didn’t flinch. Nor did your hands tremble when you stitched his wounds.
Once you finished, you tucked him into bed and gazed at him, checking for the rise and fall of his chest. It was then that you noticed a chain around his neck, his wedding ring looped through it. This foolish man. He should know better than to carry something so precious out there.
Instead of scolding him like you wanted to, you curled up against him, fingers carding through his hair. You didn’t dare think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been home. And when morning came, he would surely try to calm you.
No, you couldn’t let it go this time. You would not let him distract you with his kisses. He needed to be reminded of just how dangerous this world was.
———
When the clock struck eight the next morning, you flung the curtains open. Sunlight poured in relentlessly, making Dick groan. He threw an arm over his eyes, his beautiful features twisting in discomfort from the movement.
“Sweetheart, the absolute love of my life, could you perhaps not agonize your very amazing husband today?” His voice was low and rough with sleep.
You hummed, bustling around the room for the medication you’d prepared for him. All night, your mind had whirled with ideas of how to make sure he was properly trained. He fought to save. That was the problem. You needed him to fight to survive.
You appeared beside the bed with the pills and a bottle of water. Looking at his injuries, you steeled your resolve. “Take these,” you demanded.
He shifted, opening one eye. Slowly, he sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist. The sun painted his skin in soft gold. He looked at you with half-lidded eyes and fondness.
You held out the pills and water.
He rolled his eyes and took them, letting his fingers linger against yours. When he went to swallow them without the water, you cleared your throat loudly.
He paused, eyeing you.
“Isn’t there something you need to do before taking them?” you asked.
He tilted his head. “Oh yeah,” he said with a grin, and gestured for you to come closer. You leaned in, brows furrowed. what—
He kissed your cheek. “Thank you for taking care of me, sweetheart,” he murmured, like the idiot he was. Then he swallowed the pills, and you closed your eyes in disappointment.
“This is worse than I thought,” you said gravely. “You took the poison.”
“Huh?”
“Poison, Dick. That was poison,” you explained calmly.
There was a beat of silence.
“When did my sweet wife get a sense of humor?” he chuckled, eyes crinkling in that careless way that irritated you. Most people wouldn’t describe you as sweet. Dick, though, had always been a little weird.
“Dick,” you said flatly.
He faltered slightly, scanning your face. “Hang on… have I been neglecting you? Because if this is a cry for help, I can clear my schedule.”
Heat flooded your cheeks. “What?!”
“Honey, you don’t have to go to these lengths,” he said softly, reaching for your hand. “You can have whatever you want. I’m yours, remember?”
You grumbled. How was he making you flustered with a few words? The fact that his wife had poisoned him was somehow the least of his concerns. If your dosage was right, he had about thirty minutes before he started throwing up.
You grimaced.
Dick, naturally, took that as confirmation of marital failure. “Baby—”
You shot him a look and reached into your pocket, pulling out the antidote. “Take it.”
He stared at it. “Is that poison?”
“Oh, now you hesitate?” you said sharply. It seemed that with you, he lost all sense of self-preservation.
He closed his mouth and obediently took the antidote. Embarrassment crept across your cheeks. This wasn’t for attention. You just didn’t need him to know the real reason for your worry, poorly disguised as a murder attempt.
Admitting that would only make things worse.
———
Later that evening, you forced Dick to rest, his soft snores coming from the bedroom while you begrudgingly facetimed two very annoying redheads for help.
“This is serious,” you cut through their bickering.
Roy stopped mid argument. “That’s never a good sentence coming from you.”
Wally leaned into the frame, squinting. “Is he actually dying or is this just you being weird again?”
“Neither,” you said flatly. “This is training.”
Roy’s brows furrowed. “Training for what?”
You hesitated, then decided it didn’t matter what they thought. “So he doesn’t get himself killed.”
There was silence.
Then, Wally slowly spoke. “So let me get this straight. To make sure he doesn’t die, you’re gonna try to kill him?”
Roy snorted, which turned into wheezing. “He probably thinks this is foreplay.”
You glared. “What terrible taste he would have to consider this foreplay,” you said. “There is not nearly enough blood.”
Wally closed his eyes. “Yeah, okay. We’ll help— but only so you don’t accidentally kill him.”
“Hell yeah,” Roy grinned.
You sighed. The things you did for love.
masterlist
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