incoming letter ⋮ i wish i knew you wanted me .ᐟ ꒱
ⵌ to whom it may concern . . .
massive tease!dick grayson x oblivious and insecure!reader golden retriever!wally west x black cat!reader
ⵌ s u m m a r y . . .
dick "we've been a thing for a hot minute. catch up lol" hydrogen bomb vs wally "HUH? WE'RE A THING? IT WORKED?" coughing baby
ⵌ c o n t e n t s . . .
[ songfic ] bad habit by steve lacy ; bullet point imagine format ; i held myself hostage and beta'd
⟢ no gendered pronouns, no y/n, no detailed description of reader's body
⟢ dick's reader ruminates and is self-conscious and clingy but not overwhelmingly self-deprecating ; dick uses a petname over text [ baby bird ]
⟢ wally's reader is standoffish and blunt but not cruel
⟢ reader is unaware of their alternate identities
ⵌ w. c. . . .
dick 1.5k ⋮ wally 1.5k ⋮ combined w.c. 3k
ⵌ p.s. . . .
well, actually, i came up with the concept first, then remembered this song while i was writing, so &hellip it's inspired retroactively. had to backtrack to fit lyrics appropriately, so they do jump around a bit &mdash hopefully it feels natural to read .ᐟ
༝༚༝༚, ℬ ᨐฅ
Dick Grayson
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ︵ . . . who could tell there was something between the two of you before you even knew
✦ he was nice to you one time and from then on you clung to him like sweet on a clementine
he revels in the citrus taste of your need to be near him,
refreshed by your naïveté in this jaded-ass town
✦ seeing as you weren't aware of your own blossoming romance, of course he has to be the leader and take initiative, guide you in the right direction (into his arms)
// no, you're not too good for me . . . funny, you come back to me
✦ sometimes metaphorically — learning your preferences at record speeds so he can tell you exactly what food you're in the mood for and the best places to grab the best bang for your (his, lol you're not paying) buck; memorizing your schedule and fixing his around yours so he can coincidentally be in the area should you need a lift; random texts sprinkled like cinnamon powder throughout the day to remind you to unclench that jaw and relax your shoulders because he knows you're doing it (he's correct)
✦ sometimes literally, with a palm at the small of your back;
fingers smoothly curling around your wrist when you've been separated from him in a large crowd and feel a panic coming on, his thumb swiping over your knuckles while he mouths, 'it's okay. i'm right here'
✦ at the club, shaking his shoulders and hips, hooking his fingers at you, a "come hither" gesture beckoning you out onto the dancefloor with his waggling eyebrows because you've been hunched over the same drink for a hot minute and he wants to see you move tonight. wants to jump and drink and scream the words to every banger that blasts through the speakers
hours pass. your breath heavies and your movements feel like they're pushing through molasses, sweat trickling down your neck. clavicle. further down your chest … damn, he has gotta get you out more often
or have you dance just for him in the privacy of his own bedroom, that'd be good too
darkened, half-lidded eyes observe you salaciously, his bottom lip tucked in as he watches you twirl with your hands above your head. your languid movements falter for a moment when you see that he's watching you …
you timidly shrink under his gaze. 'aht-aht' he tuts, taking your hand and spinning you around once more, your laughter spilling out and reaching him even over the music. your cares fall to the wayside now, the both of you pulling out all the corny moves in this high-profile establishment — the shopping cart, the sprinkler, the robot. top-tier classics, obviously
✦ you look carefree for once
✦ it's nice
✦ takes everything in him not to grab your face, shake you and say "kiss me kiss me kiss me, you dork"
✦ or to grab your ass to deter all the onlookers waiting for a moment to steal you away. technically you're still free game, and it's against his arbitrary made-up rules to intervene until you realize you're his
buuuuut he believes in you
you'll figure it out
eventually
✦ he might be enjoying this a little though
the whole spoiling you stupid in every single way possible, dropping hint bombs and watching you unwittingly absorb the impact, not realizing that something inside you changes every time. not right away. not entirely
// i turn it on, make it rowdy . . .
✦ the one-sided barrier comes crashing down since his lips always find the top of your head or shoulder; when hands clutch and drag you so that you're situated comfortably in his lap like a beloved teddy bear, even around your friends ; ankles crossing around yours underneath restaurant tables. comfortable did not remotely begin to describe your intertwining existences
✦ on the rainiest, most miserable of nights, your thumbs are hovering over the keyboard, fixing to shoot him a text. you rock back and forth, eyes puffy and snot dribbling down your philtrum, deciding if you're willing to triple text him
except he's the one that texts you first, several times, as if he's reading your mind
[ thinkin abt u at work, baby bird, sorry i didnt respond before ]
[ im the worst ikik vote me off the island just vote just vote ]
[ hope you're free in, erm ]
[ an hour-ishhh maybe ]
[ i want street tacos and slushies ]
[ gonna blow up ur toilet </3 but its ok im loaded ill buy you a new one lol ]
✦ it'll be so late … but you'd never sleep again if it meant you would be pulled back into dick's orbit where you belong. his baby bird. snug in the palm of his hand
// . . . then turn around
✦ you've gotten so accustomed to the weight of his presence in your life, you felt like you might float away without his reassuring distinctive scent and clear-sky-over-the-lake eyes. you re-read previous text exchanges that last for hours when you miss him, as if a part of your heart is gone
the ache hits harder when he doesn't respond for days
what does he do again? he said he works for the city … that could mean anything
// . . . and carry on
he always comes back with an apology and a promise to make up for lost time
you always forgive him
✦ wayward anxious thoughts crawl into your brain when dick mingles with other people you consider to be equally good-looking and socially adept
( coworkers, siblings, entire friend group )
( your shy ass is cooked )
✦ plus, he goes away for extended periods of time; sometimes without notice, sometimes at the most bizarre hours
✦ sometimes returning with bruising around the neck, light scratches around his shoulders and back if he's wearing a tank top
✦ it's quite challenging not to let your imagination run wild
who else does he stay up late texting?
what other wallflowers is he luring into a clumsy waltz all night?
who else gets to prettily perch on his lap while his calloused fingertips rake through their scalp?
who else's heart screams until its throat is raw beneath their ribcage at the mere possibility of him loving another?
✦ … oh
✦ a reckoning occurs. a not-comfortable one. an exciting one. a horrible one.
✦ who else … falls in love
with their best friend?
it feels marvelous
you're gonna be sick
[ can you come over sometime this week? i've got some heavy stuff on my mind ]
[ wanna see u now. cool beans? ]
✦ he shows up to your place holding a netted bag full of fruits from the farmer's market he passed on the way
he wears with a fitted black shirt and gray sweatpants and two perfect dimples which bracket an easy-going smile
he looks like a sexy superhero. or is that the rose-colored glasses from your crush on him talking
✦ half an hour passes. the table next to the couch is covered in curling peels of fruit, crumpled-up napkins, and glasses half full. you'd eaten in pleasant silence, his legs tangling around yours as you lounge opposite ways
✦ . . . it's time
✦ 'so —'
✦ 'i … have feelings for you —' you force yourself to blurt out. you successfully look him in the eyes for three whole seconds before you can't take it anymore, suddenly finding the fringe of this decorative pillow far more interesting
'i really like you. sorry if this, uh, feels like it's coming out of nowhere. kinda finding this out recently myself, haha'
✦ aww. you're babbling. you don't know how adorable you are, do you
✦ 'you don't have to reciprocate or anything, i love our friendship the way it is and i would never want to jeopardize what we have now especially because it's probably a silly little crush but i think it's fair that you're aware of —'
✦ he laughs, his smile seeming to light up the entire space around him, even in broad daylight
// you can't surprise a gemini pisces
✦ 'yeah?, he retorts. 'you finally catching up with me?
'i've known for a while
'why do you think i'm so sweet on you?
'all those dates, my hands and lips all over your body in public ... i already claimed you, was waiting for your pretty ass to notice
// fuck around, get tongue tied
✦ 'i - but - you - dates - eh???
'nonononono -'
'nonononono?' he mocks playfully, admiring you through his long lashes with a smirk
'you're sweet to everyone! kind, charming, thoughtful, irresistible'
'mm, i like this. keep goin'.'
✦ a projectile pillow is thrown in his direction. curse his superior reflexes for smacking it out of the way
✦ 'i … i would've made a move earlier if i knew i could be with you. i would've taken a stab at it, even if it scared me'
' nah, i always would've made the first move. i've made multiple, actually. in fact, i turned it into a game to see how long i could pursue you for until you figured out that i was ... well ... pursuing you.'
'ughhh, why didn't you just tell me? i'm … mad that you didn't. i kept moping around, thought you were too good for me'
'it was more entertaining not to, so i bit my tongue for almost, what, three months? it was pretty brutal. BUT i promise to be more
// but i'm not hidin'
'straightforward from now on.
✦ 'and don't talk like that' he scolds, flicking at your knee
'ow ??? what was that for ???'
'that was for talking shit about the person i love. you're the one too good for me and i'm not letting anybody say otherwise, including you. ditch that bad habit'
'...yeah. okay.'
'great!'
'now. kiss me, dork'
Wally West
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ︵ . . . who thought you hated his stinkin' guts the first time the two of you meet
⟢ intimidating hot people are his type though so. be it far from him to not at least take a crack at it
⟢ compliments, letting you have the first bite of his meals and favorite snacks,
attempts at reeling back on his infamous inside-thoughts-turned-outside-rambling, purposefully facing you and including you in the conversation when you get talked over or can't find an opening to jump in
timidly throwing an arm around your shoulder before regretting it and hesitantly pulling it back because you didn't look happy about it. well, you didn't look mad about it either. god you're really hard to read/p>
// please say to me if you still want it; i wish you wouldn't play with me . . . i wanna know
⟢ he paces back and forth, taps his foot at the speed of light, writes out everything he can about you so he 1) doesn't forget, ever and 2) can come up with more creative ideas on how to show how much he likes you so you'd be more comfortable around him. then he can ask you out, with increased chances of you saying yes with enthusiasm and not like you're being held hostage
let's see -- not much for physical touch, not really a talker, you're a bit picky when it comes to gifts, you struggle with accepting favors, and the relief that slacks your body is palpable when you're about to have alone time after a long day ... he's running out of steam here. how can he connect with you in a meaningful and non-invasive way?
⟢ [ wallace ],
you ping him randomly one day. oh shit haha nice. wait. when and how did you get his number?
[ you'll go to the event with me tonight right ]
⟢ he stares at his phone, slack jawed and wide eyed
[ofc i would love nothing more!!!!!]
nope. far too many exclamation points. bring it back, big guy.
[ yeah, ofc! would be more than happy to :) ],
he responds with unsteady thumbs.
⟢ later, he picks you up from your place. 'you look. wow. you look really ... really nice.' he has stars in his eyes as he gives you a once, twice, thrice over
a warm, genuine smile from you. wow.
'thanks', you mumble bashfully, cheeks heated, glancing down and running your hands over your already pristine clothes
⟢ in his car, you politely ask him about his day over the soft pop music drifting from the radio. he stutters through it at first -- idiot, come on, get it together -- but every once in a while at a red light, he catches you out of the corner of his eyes and sees you have your attention completely on him. his breath hitches, and he prays you can't see his face turn firetruck engine red under the passing streetlights. you continue asking more questions, urging him to elaborate while deflecting anything he asks you; you give simple, short answers and turn them back on him with earnest curiosity. he takes note of this but doesn't push. enjoys conversing with you and it gets so much easier
he wants everything to feel this easy with you but
he feels like he keeps messing it all up
⟢ wally pulls up to the venue, gets out to make a beeline for your door, opens it up and offers his hand like a prince charming
his heart buckles. it was only for a second, why does his palm feel naked?
you're standing right there, so why does he miss you so much?
⟢ your hands make a couple more passes over your outfit before you casually link your arm around one of his
⟢ he freezes
⟢ uhhhhhhhhhh . uh . the . uhhh
⟢ ' can't wait to introduce you to my friends, ' you quietly declare, leaning your head against him. your eyes flutter closed for a moment, and he swears he feels your grasp on him tightening ever so slightly
⟢ 'oh yeaH?' his voice cracks. his free hand finds the back of his head and he scratches nervously
// it's okay — things happen for reasons i can't ignore
⟢ 'mhm. i've been telling them about the sweet, annoying, loud, hot, weird guy i fell for,' you continue, pulling him along so that you're heading towards the venue's entrance at a meandering pace. 'i talk about you all the time without even realizing it and they always make fun of me for it
' though i think they're just happy i'm finally dating '
' … yes, wallace, why are you confused. we're together … right? '
⟢ he sputters in pure disbelief, abandoning your linked arm. he throws his hands up. paces. he gestures wildly between yourself and him. he puts a finger in the air like he's about to make some sort of strongly-worded statement before putting it back down. his head lolls back, hands settled on his hips, and he exhales for a long time out of his nose
⟢ ' i
' have been
'TRYING-
your head tilts to the side
⟢ ' to figure out how to make you like me, or even, like, breathe in my direction
' FOR WEEKS-
⟢ ' stop yelling '
his voice softens as he comes close to you, mere inches apart, searching your eyes with desperation in his own. 'and you mean to tell me that ... that we're ... together? like' -- he connects the sides of his two pointer fingers -- 'this?'
no one else would've picked up on the twinkling in your eyes under this cloudless night sky except for him, nor the way the corners of your mouth twitch &mdash you're holding back a smile. he wishes you wouldn't but he'll earn it someday
his breath slows as he watches you watch him back
⟢ ' wally,' you say after what feels like an eternity. he hopes you don't catch his hands clenching closed at you suddenly calling him by his nickname.
'i know it doesn't seem like it because i'm not bouncing off the walls like you. but i get butterflies in my tummy every time we're together. you always extend so much kindness to me, always making me a part of your life even in the smallest ways
'i guess i've been a loner for so long, i forgot to reciprocate the affection … but in my head, i thought you were going out of your way like that because you …'
⟢ 'wanted. me.' your gaze falters. you shuffle your feet and hide your hands behind your back
⟢ 'romantically.'
⟢ he stares at you. he squints
⟢ 'i wish i knew
... you'd felt like this!'
a Certified Wally Smile breaks out on his face, the one that makes his bountiful freckles flourish with the way they stretch over his cheeks.
he laughs, tucking a finger under your chin and bringing you closer to him. your bodies touch, gingerly.
'i thought i was never gonna make a breakthrough with you ... but i guess i did? at some point?'
⟢ 'somewhere between you feeding me treats everyday and the little touches that last just the right amount of time, i suppose.' you nod. wally lets pride quietly bloom inside of his chest as you confirm that his efforts weren't pushing you away
// you always knew the way to wow me
'... and,' you add warmly, sliding your hands and arms around his shoulders, touching your forehead to his, 'the way you let my voice be heard. even if you're the only one listening'
⟢ he can't breathe. his hands, gaining a consciousness of their own in the midst of wally's internal chaos, find your waist and squeeze with tender devotion. his eyes crinkle, smile softens subtly. 'can i ... make it official then? since we're here?'
⟢ he sways your bodies back and forth. you smell the fresh mint on his breath and scrunch your nose with a tiny smile, thinking of him carefully combing his gelled hair back, shaving, and downing an entire tin of Altoids before rushing out of the house. you want to kiss him badly, but you won't say it. not tonight
⟢ ' mhm ' you purr
⟢ ' uhh. ahem. '
' would you. will. can uhh. right so, so what i wanted to ask is. that. i want to. your '
' you have ten seconds '
' do you. wanna go steady. with me '
' are you 80 years old. ask like a normal person '
' i am. trying- '
' you quite literally already know the answer '
' mayipleasebeyourboyfriend.please. '
' mmmm gotta think about it '
' HEY '
' ok ok geez yes '
// go stupid, go crazy;
⟢ he fist pumps and shouts, taking victory laps
// it's biscuits & gravy
⟢ he tells any and all passersby that the two of you are in love and dating
⟢ it's embarrassing but quite sweet nonetheless. you adhere to his side for the evening, opting to tentatively hook a single finger around his instead of hanging off of him like before now that other people are perceiving you
eventually you'll love him more brazenly — you would never want him to question your affections for him
but from what you've gathered from all your stolen glances at him, seeing him beam like a beacon in the night …
// . . . i know i'll be in your heart 'til the end
𓏵 ┊ no AI is ever used for any reason in the crafting of my works as i am fully against generative AI in creative fields & endeavors
𓏵 ┊ all rights reserved to tumblr user @bijouxmisu. do not repost, translate, modify in any way nor feed my works to AI. thank you in advance for your compliance
summary: dick fixes things around the house and pretends he isn't waiting for you to notice. you always do.
tags: domestic fluff, love languages (acts of service, words of affirmation), praise, pet names, emotional intimacy, dick needs reassurance
wc: 1.1k
There’s a certain way Dick acts when he’s done something for you and is waiting for you to notice. He likes to think he plays it cool, but subtlety has never been his strong suit, least of all with you.
One afternoon, you walk into the kitchen and find the cabinet door that has been hanging crooked for the past month sitting perfectly flush on its hinges. You open it, close it, then open it again. It no longer scrapes against the cabinet beside it or makes the low, miserable groan you had started to accept as part of your daily life. It swings the way it’s supposed to and clicks shut with a clean, satisfying sound.
Dick's standing at the counter eating an apple, doing his best impression of casual. When you glance at him, he takes a very deliberate bite and looks out the window.
“Did you fix this?” you ask.
“Hm?” He turns as though he had forgotten you were there. “Oh. The cabinet? Maybe.”
You open and close it once more. “It works really well now.”
His eyes flick toward you before returning quickly to the window. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Dick lowers the apple slightly, and you bite back a smile as you cross the kitchen and stop in front of him. His eyes are doing that thing they do when he wants your praise but refuses to ask for it, bright and watchful and a little too fixed on your face.
“You did a good job, baby.”
Dick grins. He sets the apple down and places his hands loosely at your hips, his thumbs brushing over your shirt. “It was bothering you.”
“I know.”
“So obviously I had to fix it.”
You run your fingers through his hair, pushing a few strands away from his forehead. They fall right back, so you smooth them away again. “You take such good care of me.”
Dick doesn’t answer. His smile stays, but it changes, growing softer and less certain. His gaze drops to where his hands rest against your hips. You’ve seen this before. Tell him he’s handsome and he laughs. Tell him he’s clever, capable, impressive, and he soaks it up without shame. But tell him he’s good to you, and suddenly he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
You slide your hand from his hair to his cheek. “Look at me.”
He does.
“I mean it,” you say softly. “You’re always looking out for me.”
Dick leans into your palm. “I try.”
You rise onto your toes and kiss his forehead, then one cheek, then the other. Dick closes his eyes for each one, leaning into every kiss as his arms settle more securely around your waist. When you scratch lightly at the nape of his neck, he lowers his head until his forehead rests against your shoulder. You fold your arms around him and hold him there.
Everywhere else, Dick is so capable, so sure of himself. He throws himself from rooftops without hesitation, walks into danger smiling, and makes impossible things look effortless. Then he comes home to you and folds himself into your arms, still carrying the cruel lie he learned far too young: that being loved meant being useful, and that he was only enough when he had something to give.
You comb your fingers gently through his hair. "You’re such a good husband," you murmur.
For a moment, Dick doesn’t move. Then his arms tighten around your waist, and he presses his face more firmly into your shoulder, as though he can hide what the words have done to him. But you feel the unsteady breath he lets out against your neck. You feel his fingers curl into the back of your shirt.
You kiss his temple. “You are.”
Dick stays there for a few more seconds before finally lifting his head. His expression is painfully open, all his practiced confidence stripped away.
“You’re really happy with me?” he asks.
The question breaks your heart a little because he asks it so quietly, as though the answer could be anything but yes.
You cradle his face in both hands. “So happy.”
“Even when I’m annoying?”
“You’re always annoying.”
His mouth falls open. “Wow.”
You kiss the tip of his nose. “And I still adore you.”
The mock offense fades from his face, which you keep between your hands. “You make this place feel like home,” you tell him. “You make every bad day easier. You know when I need to laugh and when I just need you to sit with me. You listen to me. You’re patient with me. You notice things I don’t even know how to ask for.”
“Baby.”
“You love every part of me, even the parts I’m still learning how to love myself.”
“Always.” The word leaves him so quickly, with such certainty, that your throat tightens. Dick may wonder whether he is enough for you, but never whether he loves you.
He lifts you onto the edge of the counter and settles between your knees. You go willingly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he buries his face against you again. He draws you close until there’s no space left between you, and you rub slow circles between his shoulder blades.
You stay that way until his breathing evens out and the last of the tension leaves his shoulders.
After a while, his voice comes muffled against you. “I fixed the bathroom door too.”
You smile into his hair. “Did you?”
“The lock works now.”
“You’ve been busy.”
“And the towel rack was loose, so I tightened that.”
You lean back to look at him. “Are you fishing for more compliments?”
“No.” He looks almost offended by the accusation, which would be more convincing if he weren’t fighting a smile.
You kiss him, slow and sweet, one hand holding his cheek while the other stays curled in his hair. When you pull away, Dick follows your mouth for another kiss. You give him that one too, then another when he chases you again.
“Very impressive, handsome,” you murmur against his lips.
His grin returns in full, and he looks more like himself again.
You shake your head. “You are shameless.”
“I also re-caulked the tub.”
You laugh and bury your face against his neck. Dick holds you closer, pressing a kiss into your hair. “I love you,” he murmurs.
You turn your face just enough to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I love you too.”
Dick’s gaze slowly drifts toward the hallway. “So, about that tub.” He looks back at you. “Want me to run you a bath?”
You stare at him. Of course. Dick can’t go five minutes without finding some new way to take care of you.
“Only if you get in with me,” you say, and you barely finish the sentence before Dick is pulling you off the counter.
a/n: not entirely sure how i feel about this one ngl, but the idea was too cute not to share. also! i’m thinking of finally starting a taglist 😋 if you’re interested in being added, pls comment here and lmk whether you wanna be tagged for all characters or only specific ones! i currently write for bruce, jason, dick, tim, and clark. i’ll make a dedicated taglist post soon, but i figured i’d start here <3
you are a creative person ! these are gifts i think you would craft with your own hands for the two special guys in your life
ⵌ c o n t e n t s . . .
can be read romantically or platonically
ⵌ w. c. . . .
dick 1.7k ⋮ wally 1.5k ⋮ for both .341 ⋮ final 3.5k
ⵌ p.s. . . .
are you making all of these or are these just specific ideas for specific kinds of artists &hellip hmm &hellip anyway, i didn't mean to make some of these so very long, my apologies. i intended for them to be short blurbs but i just kept typing and typing and typing ...
༝༚༝༚, ℬ ᨐฅ
Dick Grayson
1. clay ( or wood! ) ✦ custom chess board with matching pieces
i think a part of him misses his little matches with bruce he was forced to do when he was younger. he wouldn't admit it out loud, that he actually enjoys a quick game of chess … but if he had his own nightwing or titans themed one he might pick it back up a couple times a week
2. traditional wet media ✦ gouache or oil portrait
who wouldn't be beside themselves to receive a beautiful portrait as painted by someone that believes they have no bad angles? someone who notices the minute details you don't realize are there, but they do because they love looking at you and couldn't help but permanently capture your essence on canvas
the ceruleans and cobalt strokes dancing together in his eyes ; the jet black curls, softly cascading down the sides of his olive-toned temples ; haley being cradled, staring majestically off into the distance ; the light reflecting off of his totally-accurate-not-exaggerated muscles. it's perfect no notes it's going above his bed
3. crochet ✦ scarf or some fingerless gloves with a mitten hatch
the way alfred cannot get his man to bundle up during the colder seasons. "master dick, *please* don a scarf before venturing out into the cold streets of gotham, i *beg* of you."
"no thats ok :) don't need it :)"
alfred shoots you an exhausted look. you can't help but giggle while mentally planning a design with his measurements in your head
you get to work on something warm and functional, your fingers working deftly like parts of a well-oiled machine. you space out while watching your favorite pastime or listening to music or a podcast, and before you know it you have something in your hands that'll keep that birdbrain well-insulated because … well …. how could he turn down something you made for him?
he couldn't. he would never. he wears your gift without needing to be reminded. you earn a single knowing nod from alfred and a batch of your favorite baked goods
4. floral arrangement ✦ an ikebana arrangement.
something simple, perhaps with dark colored flowers accompanied by more delicate brighter flowers. on nights that he returns home late from work, shoulders slumped, pain wrapping its tendrils around his body, he sees the vase. he leans in, eyes closed, fingers gingerly tracing over the petals. peace and warmth blossom in chest before he begins to decompress for bed
5. paper craft ✦ jar full of origami paper star nightwing symbols
with some faffing and fussing and many a pinterest tutorial, you've successfully mastered creating little paper stars — except they're shaped like nightwing symbols. yeah. hell yeah.
once you're really confident you can do it with your eyes closed, you fill an entire jar full of 'em. navy blue, baby blue, black, shimmering gold. your fingertips feel raw and your wrists are about to snap off but you don't feel it until some time after the 150 mark. you glance at yourself in the mirror. you flex. you could lift a car with those guns
jar filled, pretty ribbon tied around the top, and gift tag with sweet message written, you hand it over to him. he holds it very preciously, turning it around in his hands as if it's filled with literal magic
"do i even wanna know how long this took you?" he asks, happiness crinkling his eyes and showcasing his dimples
"a kajillion and a half years," you quip. "i almost thought about writing little messages on each one but i'll be damned if you undo all of my hard work just to read my chicken scratch, grayson"
he laughs, setting the jar down on a surface where anybody and everybody who enters his space can see it. "i wouldn't dream of it, i promise. all the little nighty stars will stay perfectly intact as long as i'm around"
sometimes he comes up to it and shifts it around to watch the gold stars twinkle. maybe he makes a silent wish in his head for every nighty star he can see. maybe he takes them out one by one and counts them like sheep when sleep escapes him. maybe he wakes up surrounded by paper stars and painstakingly puts them all back
6. olfactory craft ✦ custom solid cologne
you sign up for a new workshop at the community center after seeing a flyer for it at the coffee shop. it's not something you would've regularly picked up, but there's something about the cologne that dick's been wearing as of recent that inspires you to make something similar but unique for him
you feel like an alchemist as you melt shea butter and wax, experimenting with the combination of essential oils. something sexy, something musky, undertones of floral or aquatic would suit him. something with ingredients that won't dry his skin out. something that hopefully won't remind him of his middle school days of dousing himself in old spice, hoping to become irresistible to the ladies
out of all the containers, you find one in a sleek, matte black colorway and have his initials engraved on the side in a very serious-looking font
you do have to tell him it is not lip balm and that it in fact goes on his body instead. he excitedly starts dabbing it onto his neck, wrists, collarbone, behind the ear —
"it smells soooo good wow wow wow. shit. i should put this down before i use the whole thing —"
7. doll making & felting✦ haley plushie hand warmer or a needle felt plush of her
haley is an incredible and very cute muse. she must be immortalized
it's hard to decide how though, there's a lot of great ways to portray the little pooch. like sewing a hand warmer made of upcycled socks and stuffed with rice would be useful for him, an adorable reminder of his beloved companion and that someone out there wants him to stay safe and warm wherever he is
he often lies tummy down, taking deep, slow breaths, settling the warm haley doll on the middle of his spine or the back of his legs to soothe any aches
but a needle felt plush doll … yes, time consuming but to make a soft replica of the three-legged pitbull … why, something like that could bring a grown man to his knees, holding her with care in the middle of his hands as he holds back tears and all sorts of "AWW"s and "SHIT THAT'S SO CUTE"s fall out of his mouth
( bonus points for also making a tiny removable felt bitewing mask and cape )
8. food stuffs ✦ beverage crafting and baking can be creative argue with the wall
earl grey infused french hot chocolate ;
he probably has some variety of coffee every day — why not switch it up and introduce him to a new concoction? something sweet, warm and nostalgic with a hint of elegance and so many added health benefits from the tea (including but not limited to increase in alertness and energy, reduction of anxiety and stress, and supporting bone health*)
the hot chocolate itself is special because of the way it's prepared — giant bars of dark chocolate chopped into tiny shards by hand ; milk, cream and sugar carefully whisked to silky perfection in which the lone tea bag will simmer before the shreds of chocolate are slowly added
the ingredients integrate in harmony into a rich, thick liquid suited for royalty or a very, very tired vigilante who could use a pick me up. the scent of it alone invades his nostrils from the porcelain tea cup. one sip in and he feels damn near as though all his bones are already patching themselves up
powdered and jelly-filled heart shaped donuts ;
once you learn how to make donuts, they're pretty easy and fun to make
once you realize you can make them into fun shapes, you are unstoppable
the hardest part of it all is waiting for the dough to rise, second only to wanting to eat them fresh out of the piping hot oil. they only take a couple minutes for each side before you pluck them out. powdered sugar clings to each one before they're pipe-filled with some delicious fruit jam that you also handmade fresh that week
"this is the real reason i left the bludhaven police department, if you were ever curious," he jokes, leaning against your bedroom entryway, snacking on a donut with powder and jam smattered across his lips. "because my coworkers wouldn't stop stealing these li'l things. it was absolutely ridiculous. and who am i gonna call about it — the cops ???"
cherry tiramisu ;
you promised to make some of your famous homemade cherry tiramisu when you discovered, to your shock and horror, that dick grayson had Never had it before. no tiramisu. Ever. criminal
he hovers around you like a hummingbird, watching your every move as you get to work. you wanted it to be a surprise but since it's new for him, he wanted to very closely observe. for science research, of course. the kind of science research that has him quickly dipping a finger into the pot of cherries, lemon and sugar and sticking it in his mouth
you shoo him away. "you're just as bad as wally. go over there until i'm done before you inhale all the ingredients. or burn yourself."
"waiting for food to cool down is a psyop, trust"
"GO AWAY, RICHARD, YOU'RE SMOOTH PISSING ME AWF"
"ok ok fine, i'll behave. but i'm right —"
you whip, peak, fold and dip before it's time to start the fun part — layering! ladyfingers, mascarpone, cherries. ladyfingers, mascarpone, cherries. lady—
"ladyfingers? is that really what they're called? hahahahaha no way"
"dick, PLEASE"
the completed confectionery goes into fridge jail for about 5 hours. you prefer it to chill overnight but he keeps asking "is it done yet. is it chilled. now? yeah? yes" so you choose the slightly shorter option
you use a fancy, cursive capital 'D' stencil to create an alabaster silhouette, which sits proudly in the middle of the generous layer of chocolate powder — his own little bat signal in the middle of a dessert that definitely needs help being devoured
Wally West
1. clay ✦ key tray or tic tac toe board with cute food game pieces
we all know he misplaces his belongings … often. can't really fix that for him but you can sculpt a sweet little key tray for him to keep by the front door ! even has a pretty glaze finish to make it catch the light so he'll be more likely to use it
or a tic tac toe board to keep his hands busy — one shaped like a waffle, while the game pieces are blueberries and pads of butter. or a charcuterie board with pretzels and cheese blocks. hopefully the glaze on these will remind him these are fake instead of tempt his impressively perma-empty tummy
2. traditional animation ✦ flip book
a tactile piece of art for him to flip through and be utterly fascinated with, both in regards to the mere concept of being able to hold a cartoon in his hands and the fact that you have patience to create something like this. for fun. the flip book you give him features him running, arms pumping like there's no tomorrow. it's secretly his favorite, not that he can easily choose
3. crochet ✦ bucket hat
it's not that he won't put the sunscreen on. it's that he keeps neglecting to do so, much to everyone's chagrin
"yeah yeah i'll get to it in a sec"
he does not. and then complains that he looks like a tomato cryptid by the end of the day
it's not like anybody can catch him while he's zooming around like a hyper puppy, so you gift to him a fun bucket hat to at least keep him cool under the burning sun. it's a brightly colored little number that suits his hair color and skin tone. he tugs on it, pats it on top of his head, rests it on top of his face while he lies down in the shade, won't stop showing it off to anyone within earshot
"ooh i should put some sunscreen on while i'm at it —"
4. floral arrangement ✦ an ikebana . . . but with pipe cleaners.
no tea no shade but we do not trust wally to maintain the life of multiple living flowers. the pipe cleaners are neat-o though, fun and bendy while still looking realistic … if you stand back far enough
you might have to make him more because he tangled and ruined the last bouquet while he was absentmindedly fidgeting with it. maybe it became a casualty because he zoomed past it to answer an emergency call. he looks genuinely remorseful, bottom lip jutting out. you don't really gaf because it's just pipe cleaners. he watches you make another batch. you make two pipe cleaner flower crowns this time, one for him one for you, much to his glee
5. upcycled prop ✦ monster energy gun
wally has been banished to the shadow realm from drinking anymore energy drinks after The Incident. should've been banished earlier but he swore up and down he could handle it, that it would improve his performance. raise your hand if you knew that was a bad idea
you cringe at the thought of all those empty cans going to waste, so you did what you do and slaved over your desk with duct tape and hot glue and made a decorative rifle out of them
it is. *thee* coolest thing he has ever seen and cannot stop laughing at it. he pretends to shoot it at donna and roy, who play along with their hands up in surrender. they feel like they're babysitting a toddler playing pretend ( they are )( it'll be good for his interpersonal development )
he takes a lot of snapchat pics with it. he look very badass. good job, wally
6. traditional dry medias ✦ completed sketchbook full of your messy, raw art
you never understood why he watched you scribble in this garbage sketchbook. they were garbage. on purpose. unfinished doodles, smudged charcoal before you learned how to stop it from doing that with hairspray, ideas jotted down, anatomy sketches, thumbnails … the book itself is barely holding itself up with all the beatings it took
he thinks they're all masterpieces, the scribbles and whatnot. well, it's not that he thinks they're literal art, but … something about watching your disorganized, chaotic thoughts spill out onto the pages with such practiced control that speaks to him
one day, you make it to the last page and are about to toss it somewhere to the side before realizing … this would be better in his hands. he'd definitely appreciate this more than you
"whattt you're really givin' this to me ??? you don't want it anymore ???"
"it's all done. no more pages to scribble on," you reply simply, shrugging. "onto the next one. you can keep that as one of your little souvenirs."
he holds it up like simba
"this," he murmurs with utter reverence, "is my magnum opus of shit that's not mine. i will guard it with my LIFE"
" ok buddy "
7. upcycling ✦ decorated altoid wallet
he's a collector of things, a bit of a sentimental klepto, if you will. surely, it's not the same as him bringing home an artifact from his many adventures at work but altoid wallets are so much fun. it still reeks a bit of cinnamon mints, which to him is a nice little added bonus
it's a shrine of scintillating trinkets and random treasures, some of them being yours that you've decided to part ways with for him to have forever that he takes out to admire or adds onto
8. food stuffs ✦
iced banana latte matcha with cold foam and intricate latte art ;
it is nothing short of imperative that you use the matcha set you were recently gifted. making matcha is such a calming ritual, and you get the idea to spread the joy to wally after learning that matcha can assist in combating some adhd symptoms* since coffee doesn't necessarily do anything for him
but what flavor of matcha for the speedster? the options are never-ending if you're a crafty bug ( you are! ) but after much much deliberation, you decide he may enjoy a banana-flavored matcha, as bananas are not only rich in nutrients but they also famously filling due to them slowing the digestion process and being high in fiber*
the banana, brown sugar and whipping cream immediately get fucked in your fancy mini blender. your hands automatically flow through the matcha process; scraping the powder around in the sifter over the chawan, expertly maneuvering the whisk to combine the tea and water; syrup and oat milk are then poured into a large cup full of ice, the banana blend following suit. the matcha layer comes last, and you take a deep, deep breath
your hand hovers over the beverage, a dollop of cream patiently sitting in your spoon. you so very badly want to make an elaborate design. but you settle for doodling a sweet little fat ass kirby — complete with puffy, blushy cheeks
protein cookie dough chunks ;
you take ( very irritated ) note that wally cannot physically stop himself from sampling your cookie dough on baking days, no matter how hard you smack him with the spatula. "wally, you're gonna eat all the dough before i can even make any cookies. then you're gonna whine that there's no cookies because there's no dough. and then you're gonna get sick from eating raw dough because we're americans and our eggs are bombs"
"… perchance" he says, thoughtfully. unthoughtfully, actually
quick fix: cookie dough chunks that are edible on purpose and chock full of protein. baking soda, peanut butter, vanilla protein powder, greek yogurt, dark chocolate chunks, sea salt. it seems pretty straightforward to the untrained eye, but you do have to experiment with how much of what goes into the concoction so that it mimics the texture and taste of cookie dough to temporarily trick the goofball's brain
that way he can have his bowl of Wally Chow to blast through and also hopefully gain some kind of meaningful nutrients from while you peacefully guide the real rolled-up balls of raw cookie dough into the oven
pistachio cinnamon rolls ;
he seems like a sweets for breakfast guy. you could make pancakes with syrup and call it a day but you're a crafty cook and we gotta spice this hoe up. you're making pistachio cinnamon rolls drizzled with cream. most certainly they take longer than pancakes, and more time to prepare. but the end result is more than worth it
the light dusting of flour on the counter top ( and your apron. and your cheeks ) keeps the dough from sticking to it while you evenly spread the pastel green filling all around. the scent of it already begins to draft up and around you as you roll the flat mass into a log and begin slicing them. the aroma only grows stronger as rolls bake, painting the air of your home in soft hues of sugary brown and earthy green
looks a little fancier when you throw some leftover toasted pistachios on top of the cream cheese glaze
he bites down and hums happily, the tasty, gooey pastry treating his taste buds to an experience like no other
Both ( i am very tired. these are much shorter. i'm sorry/you're welcome )
1. eye color bracelets
inspired by the tiktok trend, you haul ass to a local art supply store and dig through the colorful beads. emeralds, embers, golds for wally. indigos, onyx, and silvers for dick. an easy project making friendship bracelets. they clip easily around the boys' wrists
now wouldn't it just be so funny if they happen to surprise you back with their own bracelets for you in your eye color? you take cute pics of your hands showing off your new bling, arranging your hands and fingers in a multitude of heart poses
2. physical mixtape cds
they both bow to your impeccable taste in jams. you did forget they need some sort of apparatus to play the cds on though so dick buys a used cd player at a pawn shop and wally fixes it up. it sucks a little bit but it does work. for a while. at some point you begrudgingly just send them spotify playlists over text
3. polaroid scrapbook
so many memories. dick compliments your eye for the rule of thirds and catching everyone in the perfect light. for a rare moment, wally is quiet with admiration as the three of you flip through
4. custom calico critters made to look like them
dick and wally will not stop making their little dudes fight. guys come on thats not how you play toys grow tf up ugh
5. brown butter chocolate chip banana bread mug cake
apparently if you don't know what to get the man in your life as a gift, the consensus states that you make him banana bread. the way to their heart is their stomach, etc. etc.
that being said, everything is tastier with chocolate chips and everything is cuter in a mug
6. homemade face, hair and hand masks
spa niiiight. you apply face masks to each other while blasting aforementioned mixtapes and talking shit. nothing like a hot gossip sesh with the 6 foot tall, muscular, deep-voiced girlies
7. customized matching game controllers
so you can wreck them stylishly at switch and pc games
𓏵 ┊ no AI is ever used for any reason in the crafting of my works as i am fully against generative AI in creative fields & endeavors. all rights reserved to tumblr user @bijouxmisu
𓏵 ┊ do not repost, translate, modify in any way nor feed my works to AI. thank you in advance for your compliance
ⓘ ﹏ pearl chain divider by @uzmacchiato ノ lace fringe divider by @kthice .ᐟ 🦢
source for the earl grey tea health benefit claims
https://myhealthopedia.com/earl-grey-tea-20-health-benefits-side-effects/source for the matcha health benefit claims
https://biologyinsights.com/is-matcha-good-for-adhd-the-science-explained/
source for the banana health benefit claims
https://www.healthline.com/nutrition/11-proven-benefits-of-bananas#may-fill-you-up
Pairing: Dick Grayson x fem!forensic lab tech!reader
Summary: Since you started working at the CPPD as a forensic lab tech, you've grown to think of Barry and Wally as family. Wally has the fantastic idea to set you up with his friend Dick Grayson, and is shocked to learn that you already know Dick. Rather than being the love story Wally envisioned, it seems you and Dick may not play well together.
Warnings/Word Count: angst!, found family trope, discussions of past belittlement, brief case details, apologies and groveling from Dick, fluff and comfort, hea guaranteed (this time...). pretend Blüdhaven and CC are closer than they are. 4.1k+ words, requested
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The lab is quiet when you enter, two lone lamps alight on the desks tucked in the far corner of the room. Shifting the tray of cups to your other hand, you turn on the dim overhead lights that circle the room so you can see to navigate past the devices and examination tables.
“Barry?” you call when you reach your desk.
Silence. Sighing, you set the drink you got him on his desk, then walk out of the lab again to find your favourite coworker. Since you started working as a forensic lab tech for the Central City Police Department, you’ve become a part of Barry’s family. In fact, you had dinner with his family just last weekend and received no less than fifteen memes from Wally over the weekend. Rather than a career, you found a life in Central City.
“Looking for Allen?” one of the officers in the bullpen asks when you rise to your tiptoes to look around. “He’s on his way back from a scene.”
“Thanks,” you reply.
Back in the lab, you work on some reports you didn’t finish last week and clean the microscope Barry prefers. Within ten minutes, you’re squinting against the bright overhead lights when Barry returns.
“Why is Wally asking me what time you get off work on Friday?” Barry asks.
“Because of you,” you reply, blinking to adjust your vision. “You introduced us and we got close, so we hang out now. I have this weird thing where I don’t stay on my phone while I’m at work and he gets impatient waiting for me to answer.”
Barry sighs as he slides an evidence box onto a sterile metal table. “I told him 6.”
“I get off at 4,” you remind him.
“Yeah, but we have that… that thing,” he murmurs.
“Oh!” you exclaim, nodding. Barry asked you to stay late to look at something he found during a fight with Captain Cold and Fridays tend to be the least busy day for the lab. “Right. Thank you.”
“Allen, we need you,” a detective says, standing in the doorway. He glances at you, seems to weigh his options, then points and adds, “You too.”
“She has a name,” Barry points out.
“I know her name,” the detective snaps. “But we just got a call from Blüdhaven PD asking for help with a case, so I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“BPD asked for assistance?” you clarify. “I thought they were pretty shut off and didn’t like collaborating.”
“They usually don’t,” the detective agrees, leading you through the station. “Apparently they caught a scene this morning nearly identical to that museum robbery here last month.”
“The unsolved one?” Barry checks.
“Yeah. We never recovered the stolen items, and no one came close to identifying a suspect. It was — pardon the pun — colder than Captain Cold.”
“Not exactly a pun,” you murmur to Barry. “What do you need us to do, Detective?”
“I’m hoping they’ll have evidence the two of you can use to finally figure out what’s going on.”
“BPD is willing to let us dig in their scene?” Barry wonders. “This must be worse than you’re letting on.”
The detective slows at the door, frighteningly somber as he admits, “It isn’t good.”
Wally whistles as he walks, reading the message from Barry before he notices you haven’t even viewed everything he sent you yet. He’ll have to ask you why you’re ignoring him the next time you see each other. He knows you aren’t really ignoring him, but it’s more fun this way. If Barry didn’t warn you what you were getting into by becoming Wally’s friend, it’s clearly Barry’s fault.
Wally slows when he turns onto a side street, his whistles dying as no fewer than fifteen cop cars come into view. The Blüdhaven Museum of Art is taped off, and patrol officers won’t let the press within a hundred feet of the sidewalk. More interesting, Wally finds, is the presence of a CCPD car. It’s not a terribly long way from Blüdhaven, but police collaboration between the departments hasn’t occurred ever that Wally can remember.
“Interesting,” Wally muses to himself.
He continues down the sidewalk, watching the officers and the suit-clad men he presumes are detectives mill about. Only when he sees two familiar figures wearing paper suits exiting the building does he pause again. He should have known that if the CCPD got involved in this, they’d send their best. You and Barry are talking to each other as you carry your field tool kits to the large white van at the curb.
“Barry!” Wally calls, waving excitedly.
You smile and take Barry’s case so he can duck below the yellow tape and meet Wally on the other side of the street. After stowing your things in the van, you follow Barry’s path and join them.
“Hi,” you greet.
“Oh, now you pay attention to me?” Wally demands. “I thought you were too good for me.”
“I was at work, Wally,” you remind him. “And I don’t have the same infallibility as Barry. You don’t want me to get fired for looking at a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle saying ‘cowabummer’ in the Backrooms, do you?”
“So, you did look at it!” Wally exclaims, pointing at you.
“Dude, that was a guess,” you mutter. “Did you actually send me that? Where did you find something like that?”
“Don’t hate my reaction meme game, I’m just a humble playa,” Wally responds, lifting his hands in surrender.
“I… I’m so tired,” Barry utters.
“Wait,” Wally demands. “I just had an idea.”
“You’re about to be more tired,” you warn Barry.
“I age fifteen years every time he has an idea,” Barry groans, looking up at the clouds above you.
“No, this is my best idea yet,” Wally defends.
“That’s what you said when you encouraged me to hunt someone for sport,” you remind him.
“I’m going to set you up on a date,” Wally announces, completely ignoring your previous comment.
“Pass,” you and Barry say together.
“What? Why do you care?” Wally asks Barry.
“Kid,” Barry sighs, and, somehow, that says it all.
“Okay, so the guy I have in mind is great. He’s a cop here in Blüd, and he’s genuinely a great guy. His name’s Dick Grayson,” Wally continues. “He’s from Gotham and—”
“Stop,” you interrupt, raising a hand. Softly, you explain, “I know Dick.”
“Oh!” Wally bounces in place, clapping his hands together. “So, you’re already together?”
“Uh, no,” you mutter, rubbing your opposite arm. “We… We don’t exactly get along.”
“What? How is that possible?”
“Wally,” Barry says. He shakes his head, then taps your arm to encourage you to get back to work. Alone with Wally, he offers, “Sometimes a statement is reason enough. Don’t push your friends away by trying to do something they don’t want.”
“Right,” Wally agrees.
He watches Barry return to the van and whisper something to you. You smile and nod, then get back to work. How can you be so close with Barry and Wally, and their Flash and Kid Flash counterparts, but not get along with Dick Grayson?
“Dick,” Wally says when the call connects. “Can I come back over? … Yes, I know I just left, but we need to talk.”
“We only realized it mirrored your museum case because of the VICAP report,” the head detective for the Blüdhaven Police informs you. “Was yours just the one?”
“Just the museum,” the CCPD detective answers. “Our lab techs know more about the methods and actual process of the crime.”
“This isn’t our first case with this MO.”
“There have been others?” Barry asks, glancing toward you to confirm that he didn’t know. Wally was here last night when the museum was broken into but didn’t find anything. He hadn’t mentioned any other similar break-ins, even after the museum job in Central City last month.
“We didn’t really piece it together right away,” the detective explains. “The other burglaries were in residential areas or small businesses, but the way he gets in, the pattern inside, it matches.”
“So, it’s a true serial offender,” you add. “Not just someone targeting museums.”
“If they started with homes and small businesses and have graduated to museums, this may not be the end,” Barry realizes. “What are the odds he’s gearing up for a bigger job?”
“Which is why we need to apprehend this criminal,” the Blüdhaven detective replies.
Your supervisory detective looks at you to ask, “Did you put the case info in VICAP?”
“I did,” Barry interjects. “A museum theft of that magnitude with no evidence left behind felt practiced, so I wanted to see if there were similar cases. They didn’t have anything for us at the time.”
“I’m sorry, I should have brushed up on the reports.”
You look at Barry, silently communicating that this is the first time a detective has ever apologized to you. “Is there evidence from the other break-ins?” you inquire.
“There is,” the detective affirms. “I can call the detective who worked the first couple and have him walk you through what we found.”
“That would be great,” Barry responds. He takes you back to the van and mutters, “I thought this would be a quick yep, it’s the same guy and we’d be back home.”
“It’s weird,” you hum. “No heroes know anything about this?”
“I’ll ask around, but nothing I know of. Wally texted me last night about the museum but it’s the first I’ve heard.”
“Can you help me look for something?” you request. “It’s just a hunch.”
“Most great discoveries start with a hunch.”
Wally barges into Dick’s apartment without knocking, slams the door behind him, and simply says your name as he stares at Dick.
“What about her?” Dick questions, brushing his fingers through his hair.
“So, you do know her,” Wally confirms. “Tell me everything, Robbie.”
“Not much to tell.” Dick stands and walks toward the kitchen as he lists, “We met on the job; she was a cop, a really good one. Then she left to work at CCPD, and we haven’t spoken again since.”
“She was BPD?” Wally clarifies. “And she just left? You don’t know why?”
Dick slows, staring at a line in the countertop. He tells Wally a lot — he is his best friend, after all — but Dick hasn’t told anyone what happened between you and him. Not that he doesn’t care or hasn’t thought about it. The memory of your face when you left the final time, the way you looked like you wanted to say more but knew Dick wouldn’t listen, has haunted him nightly since then.
“Because of me,” Dick admits quietly. “She left and locked herself in a lab because of me.”
Wally sighs and falls backward over Dick’s couch. Dragging his hands down his face, he requests, “Elaborate, pretty boy?”
“Okay, one, stop listening to Jason,” Dick calls from the kitchen. “And two, why does it matter? You trying to get with her?”
“Nope.”
“You only answered half the question, Walls.”
“And you didn’t answer mine at all.”
Wally pushes himself up to glare at Dick. They look at each other for several breaths, waiting for the other to give up. It’s a no-win game because they’re both stubborn. Yet Dick drops his shoulders and sighs.
“I said something I shouldn’t have,” Dick remembers, looking out the window rather than watching Wally’s reaction to his confession. “I… I made her doubt herself and her abilities. She went from being an incredible cop to second-guessing everything she knew because of me. The next morning, I found out she’d quit the force here and went to CCPD to work with Barry.”
“And you haven’t spoken to her since you said whatever it is you said?” Wally checks.
“No. I wanted to reach out. I should have.”
“Yeah,” Wally agrees flatly. “But you’re stupid.”
Dick doesn’t argue. He’s beat himself up for that night so many times that there is very little Wally could say now to make him feel worse.
“But,” Wally begins slowly, “if you still believe in her and what she can do, maybe you could show her that now.”
“How?” Dick wonders.
“Oh, you don’t know? She and Barry are here in town working a case with your pals at BPD.”
“Which case?”
“The museum robbery.”
Dick’s phone buzzes in his pocket, a text from the head of the detectives distracting him from Wally. Wally’s idea that you could help and Dick could apologize might not be so far-fetched.
“I have to go,” Dick murmurs, reaching for his coat.
“If you get married and have babies, you gotta name one Wally!” Wally calls after him. Alone in Dick’s apartment, he wonders, “What snacks does the Boy Wonder keep stocked?”
Dick arrives at the Blüdhaven Museum of Art in record time. He scans the crowd outside until he spots you. You’re smiling at Barry as you compare something on your matching clipboards, and Dick suddenly realizes the extent of what he did. He didn’t just lose the joy of seeing you every day; he missed seeing how you’ve grown, all you’ve learned, and how excited you get when you figure something out. You were on track to be a better detective than Batman, and you trusted Dick — he ruined both aspects of your relationship in a single night.
You look up while Dick lingers by his car, your smile falling as you wave at him. Grumbling to himself, Dick approaches you, Barry, and the team from CCPD.
“I’m Detective Dick Grayson,” he greets. “I worked the first three burglaries in what we think is the same case.”
“Residential and small business burglaries?” a detective checks.
“Yes, sir. We were able to confidently decide that the crimes were connected and very likely perpetrated by the same suspect but never identified him or her.”
“This museum robbery looks just like the one in Central City,” you offer. “Any idea why your guy left Blüdhaven for a night?”
Dick blows out a breath and admits, “No clue. If you want, I can take you to the first scene and show you the physical evidence we collected.”
You look at Barry, hoping that he’ll agree to go so you don’t have to be alone with Dick Grayson. It’s been a while, but the hurt of what he said to you back then is still there, burrowed just beneath the surface so that every time you think you’re better, it pricks you again.
“You should go,” Barry encourages. “If there’s anything to find, you can find it. I’d like to look into the cameras and how they were deactivated.”
“I… Okay,” you answer, your shoulders slumping as you step toward Dick. “I’ll let you know what I see.”
Dick smiles at you again, then follows you toward his car. He silently hopes that you’ll start some sort of meaningless conversation, but you look out the window and remain silent. When he parks outside an inconspicuous home in a nice neighborhood several miles from the museum, you exit the car and pull a fresh pair of gloves on.
“I can wait outside, if you want,” Dick offers after he explains the situation to the homeowners.
“Whatever you want,” you respond with a shrug.
Dick slumps further, if that’s possible, and follows you into the house. You accept the tablet he offers you, comparing the CSI report to what you see before you now.
“How many homes?” you ask.
“Uh, five total,” Dick answers. “I worked the first three, then another detective took over and worked the other two, as well as the three businesses that were targeted.”
“All identical to this one?”
“Essentially. The other reports are in that folder if you want to check. Good chance I missed something.”
You look at the next report, then return his tablet and squat to look at a vent on the wall.
“I’m sorry,” Dick says suddenly.
“For what?” you ask as you jostle the side of the vent cover.
“I never should have said that about you. It wasn’t true.”
You still, forcing yourself not to turn and look at him. Rather than responding, you shrug and try to focus on determining if this was tampered with.
“Maybe… maybe I was threatened by what you could do and lashed out. Or I was trying to protect you and said it all wrong. Whatever the reason was, it doesn’t really matter because I said it and I knew it would hurt you. I truly didn’t mean it.”
“Detective Grayson,” you interrupt as you stand. “It’s fine. I’m happy in the CCPD lab. I’m happy in Central City. I’m happy with Barry and Wally and the other friends I’ve made.”
Dick nods, swallowing so hard it hurts his neck. “So… you and Wally?” he questions.
“No. Just me. And just Wally.” You finally look at him, your expression flat as you ask, “Remember how you said I wasn’t great at playing with others? Turns out, you were right.”
“No, no, I wasn’t,” Dick insists, stepping forward and trapping you in the corner between the wall and the upholstered chair beside you. “I was selfish and angry and upset that you didn’t see me and everything I couldn't say!”
You try to move backward but collide with the wall. “What is that supposed to mean?” you question quietly as something shifts in your eyes.
“Excuse me?” the homeowner calls from the kitchen. “Could I get you anything, detectives? Water, a snack?”
“Uh, no thank you, ma’am,” Dick answers, backing away from you. “I think we have what we need.”
“We do,” you agree. “I’m sorry for the intrusion but thank you for letting me look around. I actually have one question if you don’t mind?”
“Of course,” she replies.
You point to the vent and ask, “Has that been loose in the past? Or was it worked on prior to the break-in?”
“No, it’s never been loose that I or my husband have noticed. He does work around the house quite often, and we actually painted in here recently, and it was secure when we taped it off.”
“Okay, that’s helpful. Thank you again.”
She nods and waves as you slide into Dick’s car, the silence settling between you heavier than it was before.
“I’ll run the tests on this,” Barry assures the lead detectives, holding up the small metal scrap you collected from the air vent cover. “Shouldn’t take too long, if you have a lab I can use.”
An officer exits the conference room to show Barry to the lab, leaving you and Dick alone against the back wall. Within a few minutes, the day’s briefing is over, and you are free to go to the hotel room CCPD paid for in case anything in the case broke during the night.
“Wait,” Dick requests when you’re dismissed.
You hesitate, but listen, lingering a few feet away from him until you’re the only people in the room.
“Please come over,” he says. “I want to apologize, to tell you more. Please.”
“You already apologized,” you remind him.
Dick steps forward and reaches for your hand, then drags his palm along his pants instead. “Please,” he begs softly, something broken beneath the single word. “Please come over. We can- we can just talk.”
“Fine,” you agree.
Dick rushes around his living room, fluffing pillows and gathering the empty cans and snack wrappers Wally left strewn across the coffee table. He’s being incredibly awkward; your heart betrays you by finding it endearing and your face betrays you further by showing it with a smile. You lift your hand to hide it and wait until Dick disappears into the kitchen to speak.
“How are your brothers?” you inquire, tapping a blanket on the back of his couch.
“Annoying,” Dick grumbles. “But fine.”
“Gotham still standing?”
Dick chuckles as he returns, wringing his fingers together. “Mostly.” He nods, watching you closely. He’d forgotten how well you know him. Despite him pushing you away and keeping him from learning anything more about you, you remember.
“And the night shift?” you check. “Staying safe?”
Dick sighs, nodding as he leans on the back of the couch, mere feet from you.
“Can I tell you something?” you murmur.
“Anything,” Dick encourages, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I regretted not becoming part of your life when I had the opportunity,” you confess. “I spent a lot of time wondering if things would have been different if I’d become your friend after I found out you were Nightwing instead of just promising not to tell anyone.”
“Why… why didn’t you?”
You shrug, pinching the soft blanket between your fingers. “I think that I was scared I’d end up losing you.”
“And I pushed you away,” Dick sighs. “I was wrong, I need you to know that. And I don’t know what made me say it, but I don’t think that. You were never anything but kind to me, and you clearly have a way of making friends with everyone you meet. I mean, Wally and Barry are surprisingly picky about who they let close and you’re part of the family, so you do play well with others.”
“Thank you,” you murmur. “But you aren’t the only one that pushed. I was scared of what being around you made me feel so I kept you at arms’ length. I do think we could have been friends if I wasn’t so immature about it all.”
“You weren’t immature. I'm the one that resorted to bullying because I was scared of my own feelings.”
“You know Wally tried to set me up with you?” you ask, smiling when your eyes meet. “He told me all about this friend of his that would change my world and show me what it was like to fall in love.”
Dick chuckles, suddenly closer to you when he says, “He sells me well.”
There’s a press conference in progress on the front steps of the precinct while you’re bent over a microscope searching for signs of arsenic poisoning in a hair sample. You and Barry found the proverbial smoking gun that cracked the arduous case of the serial burglar in a metal scrap that not only hinted at the age of the suspect but ultimately identified him as a member of an armed ‘anti-history’ group. You weren’t even aware that ‘anti-history’ was a thing, but working in a police department teaches you weird things about people and the lengths they’ll go to.
Barry is chronicling the evidentiary findings for the press, and you were more than happy to let him be the one to go out there while you remain in your dim haven.
“You’re still too good at what you do,” someone says from the doorway.
Straightening, you move away from the microscope and blink twice before you can make out Dick Grayson’s features.
“Well, when my beauty and talent are hidden from the public and my adoring fans can’t distract me, it’s easier,” you play along.
Dick chuckles as he walks into the lab, focused entirely on you and not the array of devices or evidence bags organized on the tables.
“As one of those fans, I’ve gotta ask,” he hums, “who’s that easier for?”
You smile at Dick when he stops at your side. He brushes his fingers over your temple, then along your jaw.
“How’d you find me?” you whisper.
“I’d say I followed my heart, but someone told me where the lab was,” he replies.
You’re still smiling when you push yourself against him and kiss him. He responds immediately, as if he expected this to happen when he left Blüdhaven this morning. The soft texture of his sweater and the way his hands effortlessly find your waist make you think maybe he did.
“FINALLY!” Wally screams, scaring you and Dick apart.
You raise a hand to your chest as you take a deep breath, staring at Wally as he rushes forward to hug both you and Dick.
“I take full credit, by the way,” Wally cheers.
“But we already—” Dick begins.
“Mm-mm, no. You’re welcome.”
Dick looks past Wally, holding your gaze as he says, “Thank you.”
Wally steps back, talking about how Barry has a female journalist eating from his palm as you step forward and lean against Dick’s side.
“I’m really sorry,” Dick whispers.
“Stop apologizing,” you murmur, tipping your chin toward him. “Show me how good I am at playing with others?”
Dick smiles and meets you halfway, finding an easy rhythm with you as you kiss. When Wally realizes that you aren’t listening to you, he yells, “You’re welcome!” once more and then groans when Dick waves for him to leave.
⋆˚࿔ Summary: you and your best friend Dick have an amazing time at the boardwalk, and at the end of the night, he asks you a very special question!
The salty ocean breeze hits your face before the noise even does.
Biking down the boardwalk with Dick Grayson is, basically, an exercise in trying not to stare at him and accidentally crashing into a trash can. He’s riding just half a pace ahead of you, one hand lazily hovering over his handlebars while the other points out every ridiculously over-priced funnel cake stand and neon sign blinking to life in the fading twilight.
"I’m telling you, the ring toss is rigged," Dick calls over his shoulder, “I couldn’t win because it’s impossible!”
"Or you’re just bad at it," you laugh, standing up on your pedals to catch up to him as the boardwalk opens into the main carnival pier.
"Me?" He gasps with dramatic, highly offended flair, pulling his bike to a smooth stop right beside the bike racks. "The disrespect."
The next few hours turn into a complete blur of bright lights, cheap arcade music, and Dick’s laugh echoing over the roar of the wooden roller coaster.
You stop by a dessert stand, splitting a massive waffle cone of vanilla ice cream—mostly because Dick insisted on getting three scoops and then immediately realized he couldn't eat it fast enough before it melted over his fingers. You end up laughing so hard at him trying to salvage the situation that he playfully smears a tiny dab of ice cream right onto the tip of your nose, ducking out of reach before you can swipe at him.
After wiping off your nose, you drag him along the pier to the game booths. he stops dead in his tracks in front of the high-striker strength tester, eyeing the top tier prize hanging at the back of the booth: a plush, dark-brown teddy bear almost as tall as you are.
"Dick, no, those mallets weigh like twenty pounds. You can’t —"
"Watch and learn," he winks.
He barely even strains. With one smooth, effortlessly clean swing, the mallet hits the pad, the metal marker rockets straight up the tower, and the bell lets out a deafening CLANG
The booth operator looks exhausted as he hands over the massive bear. Dick immediately turns and practically buries you in brown faux-fur, laughing as you wrap your arms around the oversized plush.
By the time the crowds start to thin out, the sky has turned a deep, velvet purple. The grand finale of the night is the Ferris wheel—the old, towering structure sitting right at the edge of the pier, overlooking the dark expanse of the ocean.
You lug the giant bear into the swinging metal cart, squishing it between the two of you. As the wheel slowly lifts your car into the air, the noise of the boardwalk fades into a gentle, rhythmic hum below. The cool night air hits your face, and for a second, you’re just taking in the view of the glowing boardwalk stretching down the coast.
When you turn around, you realize Dick isn't looking at the ocean at all.
He’s looking at you. The multicolored lights from the Ferris wheel reflect softly in his blue eyes, casting a warm glow over his face.
"Have fun tonight?" he asks softly, resting his elbow on the back of the seat, his fingers brushing against the top of your shoulder.
"Duh," you smile, squeezing the giant bear's paw in your lap. "Best night in a long time, honestly."
Dick rubs the back of his neck, letting out a quiet, breathless laugh that sounds surprisingly nervous.
"Good," he says."Because, to be totally honest with you... I’ve been wanting to take you out like this for like months. Not just as best friends."
Your heart does a sharp, sudden flip against your ribs. "Dick..."
"I mean it," he continues, his gaze fixed on yours, steady and warm. "I love spending time with you. I love making you laugh. And I mean what I’m tryna say is… will you be my girlfriend?”
The Ferris wheel sways gently in the breeze at the very top of the arc, the ocean sparkling far below. You look from his expectant, hopeful smile down to the giant teddy bear wedged between you, and back up to him.
"Yes, oh my god, Dick yes!!”
Dick lets out a bright, relieved laugh, his hand sliding down to lightly wrap around yours.
Before you can say anything else, he closes the small distance left between you. His hand moves up to cupping the side of your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin, and then his lips are on yours.
The kiss is soft. When he slowly pulls back, his blue eyes are bright, a soft, giddy smile playing on his lips as he rests his forehead gently against yours.
"Best night ever," he whispers, nudging your shoulder playfully as the Ferris wheel finally starts its descent.
Summary: Dick has a plan: watch a horror movie, wait for you to get scared, and finally get those cuddles he's been dreaming about. It's a great plan. Right up until the movie starts.
Contents: fluff, established relationship, reader struggles to initiate physical affection, soft!Dick Grayson, horror movie date, mentions of Insidious (2010), mild spoilers for Insidious, kissing, not beta read
pt.1, pt.3
1.3k
You and Dick haven't been dating for long, about a month officially. Due to both of your lives being pretty busy, especially at the moment, you haven't had the time for actual dates yet, except the one you had a few weeks ago and the casual coffee dates when you were on your lunch break.
You told him from the start that you struggle with physical contact. That you often don't feel comfortable, are scared to seem clingy and he said to take your time. But the longer it took, the more he realised that you weren't necessarily uncomfortable being around him or when he initiated closeness, it was more that you didn't know how to ask for it.
So, he decided to show you that it was okay to ask for his affection, that it was okay and normal to cuddle up, hold hands, whatever.
And clearly, the solution is a horror movie. One with jumpscares that are scary enough to make you curl up to his side. It is, in Dickss professional opinion, foolproof. Dicks research for the perfect horror movie begins and ends on the first website that pops up. On the screen, a ranking of the top 10 scariest jump scares. Some of the movies seemed too scary to still have a romantic date night, so he chooses the second to last movie, Insidious.
He arrives at your apartment, a plastic bag hanging from his hand filled with drinks and snacks.
“You really did bring the whole convenience store.” You say as you hold open the door.
Dick grins and steps in, heading towards your small kitchen.
“I wasn't sure what you would like.” He lifts the bag onto the countertop, “I got chips, chocolate, microwave popcorn and your favourite soda.” He proudly holds the bottle up.
“That's so sweet, thank you.” You stand in the doorway, hand folded in front of your hips. You look at him through your lashes, unsure what to do next.
Dick notices, he puts the bottle down at the counter, takes a step forward and closes his arms around you.
“You don't even know how much I looked forward to tonight.” He turns his head and kisses your cheek, then the top of your head. He lets go of you again, you kinda wish he didn't leave and almost reach out again.
Dick starts looking through the cabinets for bowls. You observe him opening the microwave, taking a quick look at the back of the microwave popcorn before shrugging and putting it into the microwave. Then he opens the bag of chips, filling it into a light pink plastic bowl you usually use for baking, not eating out of.
“I like how at home you feel already.” you say, light sarcasm lacing your words.
He turns and just grins, again.
“Am I not supposed to?”
You are about to answer, but the microwave starts beeping.
Thank god.
After snacks are ready and Dick gets you to get your fluffy blanket, you're all set for the movie. Dick didn't want to tell you what you were going to watch, so now you're curious.
“So, what are we watching?”
“Insidious.”
"Didn't think you would be a horror fan?” You say, eying him from the side.
“Are you kidding, I love horror.” Definitely did not.
You grab a pillow and place it between your arms. You have already seen the movie, but didn't have the heart to tell him, he seems way too excited for it.
The grin on his face grows wider after every new ghost and every new scary revelation. He really did seem to be a horror enthusiast.
As you reach for the popcorn, you notice his eyes on you.
“What?” you ask, stuffing your mouth with popcorn.
“The movie is scary, right?” His eyes are weirdly hopeful.
“I don't know, I'm too distracted by Specs.” You joke.
You hear Dick scoff. "You're looking at other men?” He dramatically puts a hand to his forehead and leans onto the soft pillows behind him. That makes you chuckle and pet his thigh. You feel him freeze up and take your hand back again, your eyes now forced on the screen.
Really smooth, Grayson.
He wanted to show you that it is okay to initiate affection, not scare you away. Why did the universe want to see him on the ground so badly?
He looks over at you again, you seem lost in thoughts and he doesn't know if he should say something or just chill and wait for the inevitable jump scare that would solve all his problems without having to use embarrassing words.
After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Dick picked up the conversation again.
“That kid is really creepy, ew.” He said, brows furrowed together.
“You can't say that.”
“Yes I can. If I found out that my child astral projects I would, I don't know, call someone more qualified than these two.” Dick gestures to the TV where the wanna be ghost busters did something stupid again.
You just give him a laugh as a reply.
After about half the movie, the conversation died out again and you are now intently looking at the screen.
He watched you for a second, then turned around to the screen again, when, suddenly, a red faced something appeared behind the character's face.
He practically jumps up. His arm around you now, clinging to you with shock written on his face.
You turn to him, trying to hold back a laugh.
“Dont you dare laugh at me.” He looks at you with fake anger in his eyes.
That breaks you and it takes a minute for you to stop and to breathe normally again.
“The jump scare really got you, huh?” Your hand finds its way to his back, stroking it in a mocking way. “Poor big, buff, scared Dickie.”
A pout forms on his face.
“I got surprised!" He turns his head away, still trying to recover from whatever that was.
“Need me to kiss it better?” You say.
He turns back on that. His eyes slightly wider than normal and mouth having difficulties closing. You could feel your own heart racing, you said it more as a joke but hearing yourself actually say it? You are kinda scared that he will react the same way he did when you touched his thigh early that evening, not wanting to make him feel obligated to do anything he didn't want.
“That would be nice.” His voice is more like a breath than anything.
You hesitate. Should you, really? But he looks so hopeful now, so excited.
You sit up a bit, shift closer and slowly bring up your hands to his face. You hold him for a moment, then realise how weird it probably is to just look at him like that and pull him down.
It's not like you have never kissed before. You did, plenty of times. But Dick was always the one to bring it up, to make the first move and the one to end it. The fact that it was your first time actually in charge made him feel all fuzzy inside. He knew he wanted to make you feel more comfortable, but he didn't know how much he needed the reassurance as well. He melts into your touch, almost whining when you pull him even closer.
When you finally stop, you are pressed against the pillows behind you, Dick draped over you. One of his hands found their way to your waist, the other busy stroking your cheek. His eyes are dazed as he looks down on you.
“Worth it.” He breathes out.
He drops himself on your chest, enjoying the closeness. You begin to nervously play with his hair.
“You know, I only picked this movie for this to happen.”
“You picked it so you would get scared and kiss me?” You say, in slight disbelief.
“Well, I planned on you being the scared one.” His confession makes you chuckle. You wrap your arms around him, lean forward a bit and kiss his hair.
a/n: this is a crack fic, the reader is both oblivious and too smart... like figures out everything except for the fact that her Dick Grayson can't be the Dick Grayson she has found out about...
dividers by @cafekitsune
Dick Grayson had a secret.
Well, several secrets. But the relevant one right now was that his girlfriend of two months had absolutely no idea he was Nightwing. Or anything about his private life.
This was intentional. Healthy, even. You were a normal civilian with a normal job and a normal life, and dating you was the one piece of normalcy he had.
What wasn't intentional was discovering that you were obsessed with unmasking the Bat-family.
"Dick! DICK!" You burst into his apartment, laptop in hand, eyes wild with excitement. "You need to see this."
"Hello to you too, babe." He looked up from his case files—civilian case files, he'd learned to hide those very carefully. "What's going on?"
"I found a new forum. Well, not new—it's been around for three years—but new to me. And Dick, they have theories." You sat down next to him, already pulling up browser tabs. "Look at this analysis of Nightwing's fighting style. Someone broke down footage from seventeen different encounters and compared it to known martial arts disciplines."
Dick leaned over, his stomach sinking as he recognized one of the breakdowns. It was... actually pretty accurate.
"That's cool," he said carefully. "But isn't this kind of thing a little invasive? These are real people."
"Real vigilantes," you corrected. "Who operate in public. This is public information." Your eyes were shining with that particular intensity you got when you were excited about something. "Besides, I'm not trying to expose them or anything. I just think it's fascinating. Like a puzzle."
"A puzzle."
"A really complicated, really interesting puzzle." You pulled up another tab. "Look at this thread about Batman's possible identity. Someone did a financial analysis of Wayne Enterprises' R&D spending and cross-referenced it with Bat-gadget appearances."
"That seems like a lot of work."
"It's thirty-seven pages. I'm only on page twelve." You were already scrolling. "Oh! And there's this whole section on Robin—well, the Robins, plural. The theory is there have been at least four different ones."
There had been five, but Dick wasn't about to correct you.
"Why are you so interested in this?" he asked.
"Are you kidding? They're superheroes, Dick. Real-life superheroes in our city. Don't you want to know who they are?" You looked at him like he was crazy. "Don't you wonder what kind of person decides to dress up in a costume and fight crime?"
"I mean, sure, but—"
"I think Nightwing is someone local. Mid-twenties to early thirties, probably. The way he moves—he has formal training. Gymnastics, maybe? Circus background?" You were pulling up video footage now. "Look at this flip. That's not just martial arts. That's acrobatic training from childhood."
Dick's mouth went dry.
You'd just described him perfectly.
"That's a pretty specific theory," he managed.
"I know! And get this—someone on the forums thinks they saw Nightwing at a coffee shop in Blüdhaven. Out of costume, obviously. They said he had the same build, same hair color, similar mannerisms." You were scrolling through comments now. "Of course, half the comments are calling them crazy, but what if they're right?"
"What if they are?" Dick asked carefully. "Would you want to know?"
"Are you kidding? Of course I would! Can you imagine? Finding out someone you pass on the street is secretly Nightwing?" You grabbed his arm excitedly. "Actually, that gives me an idea."
"What idea?"
"We should do a stakeout."
"A what?"
"A stakeout! A Bat-watch!" You were already pulling up maps of Gotham. "There are patterns, right? Areas where Nightwing patrols more frequently. If we stake out those areas, we might see him. We could try to follow him, see where he goes—"
"That sounds dangerous."
"We won't get close! We'll just observe from a distance. Take notes. Gather evidence." You looked at him with puppy-dog eyes. "Please? It'll be fun. Like a date, but with more vigilante watching."
"That is not a normal date activity."
"Dick, we once spent three hours at that antique store looking at old medical equipment. Normal left our relationship a long time ago."
He couldn't really argue with that.
"One stakeout," he heard himself say. "But if it's dangerous, we leave immediately."
"Yes! Oh my God, this is going to be amazing!" You kissed him quickly. "I need to prepare. Make a list of locations, times when Nightwing is most active, equipment we'll need—"
"Equipment?"
"Binoculars, obviously. A camera with a good zoom lens. Snacks. Coffee. Oh, and I should make an evidence board!"
"An evidence board."
"To track patterns! Don't look at me like that, this is basic detective work."
"You're not a detective, babe. You're a graphic designer."
"A graphic designer with excellent research skills and a PowerPoint addiction." You were already typing. "This is going to be so fun!"
Dick watched you, already lost in planning your "Bat-watch," and wondered if this was karma for all the times he'd teased Tim about his conspiracy theories.
This was going to be a disaster.
A hilarious, terrible disaster.
Dick came over to find your apartment transformed.
There was a literal cork board on your wall covered in photos, string, and sticky notes.
"Is that... is that Bruce Wayne?" Dick asked, staring at a photo of his adopted father.
"Possible Batman candidate," you said, not looking up from your laptop. "I know, I know—billionaire playboy doesn't fit the profile. But it's the perfect cover, right? Everyone assumes he's too busy partying to be Batman."
"Bruce Wayne is not Batman."
"That's exactly what someone would say if they were trying to protect Batman's identity." You added another note to the board. "Plus, the timeline works. Batman appeared around the same time Bruce Wayne returned from his 'world tour.' Suspicious."
Dick was going to have a stroke. Or laugh. Possibly both.
"What else do you have up there?"
"Oh! Okay, so—" You jumped up excitedly. "This section is Nightwing theories. I've narrowed down possible occupations: athlete, stunt performer, circus performer, or someone with serious military training."
You'd literally listed his actual background.
"And this section is Robin theories. The current one, at least. I think he's a teenager, probably fifteen to seventeen. Still in school, which explains why Robin appearances drop during exam seasons."
You'd just profiled Damian perfectly.
"How long have you been working on this?" Dick asked weakly.
"Since yesterday. I got kind of obsessed." You grinned sheepishly. "I know it's a lot, but Dick, this is fascinating. These people are real. They're out there right now, and nobody knows who they are."
"Maybe they want it that way."
"Maybe. But don't you wonder? Like, what's Nightwing's real name? What does he do when he's not fighting crime? Does he have a family? A girlfriend?"
"Why do you assume he has a girlfriend?"
"I don't. Could be a boyfriend. Or multiple partners. Or no one." You shrugged. "But he's got to have a life outside the costume, right? He's a person."
"Yeah," Dick said softly. "He is."
You looked at him curiously. "You okay? You've been weird about this whole thing."
"Just worried about you getting too invested. These are real people doing dangerous work. Following them could put you at risk."
"I'm not going to do anything stupid," you promised. "I just want to observe. Maybe get a good photo. Gather some evidence."
"For what?"
"For the forums! Do you know how much credibility I'd get if I posted an actual clear photo of Nightwing? I'd be a legend!"
"Or you'd be painting a target on your back."
"Dick." You took his hands. "I appreciate you worrying, but I'll be careful. I promise. This is just for fun."
He wanted to tell you. Right there, looking at your evidence board with his face probably somewhere in those photos, he wanted to just admit it.
I'm Nightwing. You're dating him. You don't need to stakeout anything because he's literally standing in your apartment right now.
But the words stuck in his throat.
Because what if you were only interested in Nightwing? What if finding out he was just Dick Grayson, boring civilian, ruined the mystery?
"Okay," he said instead. "But I'm coming with you on this stakeout. For safety."
"Deal!" You kissed him. "Tomorrow night? I've identified three high-probability locations."
"Can't wait," Dick lied.
You'd chosen a rooftop in Blüdhaven with a clear view of the area Nightwing patrolled most frequently.
Dick knew this because it was his usual route.
"Okay, so according to my research, Nightwing usually passes through this area between 10 PM and midnight," you said, setting up your camera. "We should have a good vantage point here."
"You brought a telephoto lens."
"I told you, I want good photos!" You were adjusting settings, completely in your element. "Oh, I also brought snacks. There's coffee in the thermos, and I made sandwiches."
"You made sandwiches for a vigilante stakeout."
"It's still a stakeout! People get hungry on stakeouts!"
Dick couldn't help but smile. You were so excited, so genuinely enthusiastic about this. It was adorable.
It was also absolutely going to expose his secret identity if he wasn't careful.
"So what's the plan if we actually see him?" Dick asked.
"We observe. Take notes. Maybe try to track where he goes?" You looked at him. "Why are you so nervous?"
"I'm not nervous."
"You're doing that thing with your hands. The fidgety thing."
"I don't have a thing."
"You absolutely have a thing." You took his hand. "Relax. This is supposed to be fun. We're just two normal people hoping to catch a glimpse of a superhero."
One normal person and one superhero pretending to be normal, Dick thought.
They sat in silence for a while, you watching the streets below through your camera, Dick wondering how he was going to get out of this.
"There!" You suddenly grabbed his arm. "Did you see that? Someone just grappled between buildings!"
Dick looked. Sure enough, someone in a dark costume was moving across the rooftops.
But it wasn't him.
"That's not Nightwing," he said immediately.
"How do you know?"
"Wrong build. Nightwing is taller. And he doesn't move like that."
You lowered your camera, looking at him suspiciously. "You seem to know a lot about how Nightwing moves."
"I've seen him before. Around."
"When?"
"Just... around. He saved me once. From a mugging."
This was technically true. Dick had saved himself from a mugging while in costume. It counted.
"He saved you? And you didn't tell me?" You were looking at him with new interest. "What was he like?"
"Uh... tall? Dark hair. Very acrobatic."
"Did you talk to him?"
"Briefly. He asked if I was okay, I said yes, he left."
"What did he sound like?"
Dick realized, with growing horror, that he was about to describe his own voice.
"Normal? Maybe a little deeper than usual. Hard to say, it was a stressful situation."
"Was he nice?"
"Very professional."
"But nice?"
"Yeah. Nice."
You were smiling now. "You have a crush on Nightwing."
"What? No!"
"You totally do! You got all flustered describing him!"
"I did not get flustered—"
"Your voice went up an octave!"
"That's just—I'm not flustered, I'm—" Dick stopped. "Wait, am I being jealous of myself?"
"What?"
"Nothing. Never mind."
You laughed, kissing his cheek. "It's okay. Everyone has a crush on Nightwing. He's a superhero. It's allowed."
"I don't have a crush on Nightwing."
"Sure you don't." You went back to your camera. "Oh! There's someone else. Is that him?"
It was actually Red Robin, but Dick wasn't about to explain that.
"Different costume," he said. "Red and black, not blue."
"There's more than one?" You were already zooming in. "Oh my God, I need to update my evidence board."
This was getting out of hand.
By hour three, you'd seen Red Robin, Batgirl, and someone who might have been Spoiler.
No Nightwing, because Dick had very carefully texted the group chat to avoid this area tonight.
Taking the night off. Personal stuff. - Dick
Personal stuff = girlfriend stakeout? - Tim
SHUT UP - Dick
This is hilarious - Jason
I want updates - Steph
Focus on patrol - Bruce
"I can't believe we didn't see Nightwing," you said, packing up your camera. "We saw literally everyone else."
"Maybe he had the night off."
"Vigilantes don't get nights off."
"Maybe he was patrolling a different area."
"Or maybe he somehow knew we were here and avoided us." You looked at him suspiciously. "You didn't tip him off, did you?"
"How would I tip off Nightwing? I don't have his number."
"I don't know, you seem weirdly knowledgeable about vigilante stuff."
"I just pay attention to the news."
"Mm-hmm." But you were smiling. "Well, this was still fun. Even if we didn't see your crush."
"He's not my—you know what, never mind."
You laughed, taking his hand as you headed back down from the roof. "Same time next week?"
"You want to do this again?"
"Are you kidding? This was the most exciting date we've had in months!" You squeezed his hand. "Plus, I have three new theories I want to test."
Dick was definitely going to have to tell you.
Eventually.
Maybe.
You'd dragged Dick on four more stakeouts, each one more elaborate than the last.
Probably not.
You'd also expanded your evidence board to include:
Possible Nightwing sightings (12)
Potential secret identity candidates (47)
Fighting style analysis (6 pages)
A color-coded timeline of all Bat-family appearances
It was impressive and terrifying in equal measure.
"I've been thinking," you said during stakeout number five. "What if Nightwing is someone famous?"
"Why would he be famous?"
"Think about it—he moves like a performer. What if he's an athlete? A gymnast, maybe?"
Dick, who was literally a former Olympic-level gymnast, froze.
"That's a big assumption."
"Is it though? Look at this footage." You pulled up a video on your phone. "That's a perfect aerial. You need serious training for that. Years of training, probably starting in childhood."
"Lots of people train in gymnastics."
"Not like this. This is professional level. Maybe even circus level." You were scrolling through more footage. "The way he moves—it's not just gymnastics. It's acrobatics. Performance acrobatics."
Dick's mouth went dry.
"There aren't that many people with that kind of training," you continued. "And in Gotham? Even fewer."
"I'm sure there are more than you think."
"Actually, I looked into it. There were several circus families that used to perform in Gotham, but most of them moved away or disbanded years ago." You pulled up your notes. "The Flying Graysons were the most famous—a family of acrobats. But they died in a tragic accident over a decade ago."
Dick's chest tightened at the mention of his parents.
"That's awful," he managed.
"It is. Their son survived though. He was adopted by Bruce Wayne and completely disappeared from public life." You looked thoughtful. "He'd be the right age now for Nightwing, actually. Mid-twenties."
"You think Bruce Wayne's adopted son is Nightwing?" Dick tried to keep his voice steady. Thank God you still believe it was just the same name, but he had no connection with them.
"I don't know. Maybe? The skills would line up. And Bruce Wayne is still on my possible-Batman list, so..." You shrugged. "It's a theory. Hard to prove though—the kid's been kept completely out of the spotlight. No social media, no public appearances. I can't even find a recent photo of him."
"Maybe that's intentional. Maybe he just wants privacy after losing his parents."
"Maybe." But you didn't sound convinced. "Or maybe Bruce Wayne is protecting his identity because he's training him to be a vigilante."
Dick desperately tried to redirect. "That seems like a big jump from 'traumatized orphan' to 'crime-fighting vigilante.'"
"Is it? Think about it—lose your parents to crime, get adopted by possibly-Batman, have the perfect skill set..." You were getting that excited look again. "It actually makes perfect sense!"
"Or he's just a regular person living a quiet life."
"You're awfully defensive about this theory."
"I'm not defensive, I just think jumping to 'everyone connected to Bruce Wayne is a vigilante' is a stretch."
"But am I wrong?"
Dick didn't answer.
You studied him carefully. "You're being weird again."
"I'm not being weird."
"You are. You get all tense and fidgety whenever I get close to something." Your eyes narrowed. "Dick... do you know something about this?"
"About what?"
"About Nightwing's identity. About Bruce Wayne. About—" You gasped. "Oh my God, do you work for Bruce Wayne?"
"What? No!"
"That would explain the weird hours! And why you know so much about him! And—"
"I don't work for Bruce Wayne," Dick said firmly. Which was technically true. He didn't work for Bruce. He worked with him. As Batman and Nightwing.
There was a difference.
"Then why are you being so weird?"
"I'm not—okay, yes, maybe I'm being weird. But not for the reasons you think."
"Then what reasons?"
Dick ran his hand through his hair, stressed. "I just... I think maybe you're getting a little too deep into this. These theories about people's private lives—"
"Are just theories. I'm not going to actually do anything with them." You touched his arm gently. "Dick, this is just for fun. I'm not trying to expose anyone or put anyone in danger. I'm just... curious. Is that so bad?"
"No," he said quietly. "It's not bad. I just worry about you."
"I know you do." You kissed his cheek. "But I'm careful. I promise."
Dick wanted to tell you right then. Wanted to explain that your "wild theory" about the Flying Grayson survivor was sitting right next to you. That you didn't need to investigate because you were dating the answer.
But the moment passed, and you went back to your notes, and Dick stayed silent.
Dick had decided to tell you.
He'd planned it perfectly. Dinner at your place, a serious conversation, maybe a demonstration of his abilities.
What he hadn't planned for was walking into your apartment to find you standing in the middle of your living room, arms crossed, looking simultaneously furious and vindicated.
"We need to talk."
Those four words. Never good.
"Okay..." Dick set down the takeout he'd brought. "What's going on?"
"I figured it out." You pointed at your evidence board, which had somehow quadrupled in size overnight. "All of it."
Dick's stomach dropped. "Figured what out?"
"You're Nightwing."
The words hung in the air.
"I—what? That's—"
"Don't." You held up a hand. "I know. And before you try to deny it, let me show you my evidence."
You walked to the board, and Dick saw that you'd reorganized everything. Photos of him—civilian him—were now connected with red string to photos of Nightwing.
"I started thinking about what you said last night. About me getting too deep into people's private lives." You pointed to a photo. "You were defensive. Really defensive. And you're never defensive unless something matters to you personally."
"That doesn't mean—"
"So I thought: what if it matters because you're the person I'm investigating?" You pulled up a video on your laptop. "This is footage from last month. Nightwing stopping a robbery downtown."
Dick watched himself on screen, taking down three armed men.
"Now watch this." You pulled up another video—this one from your phone. "This is you, at the gym last week. I was filming to show you your form on those pull-ups."
It was him, in a tank top, doing a complex gymnastic routine on the bars.
"Same body type. Same height. Same movement style." You played them side by side. "And look here—" You zoomed in on Nightwing's exposed forearm. "That scar. From the motorcycle accident you had two years ago."
Dick instinctively touched his left arm, where that exact scar was.
"And then there's this." You pulled up a photo of Nightwing from behind. "Your hair. Nightwing's hair is black, but in certain lights—" You zoomed in. "You can see dark blue. Like someone dyed it. Like someone with naturally dark auburn hair might dye it to be less distinctive."
Dick's hair was indeed dark auburn-brown, which he did dye darker for the Nightwing persona.
"That's—that's circumstantial—"
"There's more. Your schedule." You pulled up your calendar, which apparently you'd been using to track his comings and goings. "Every time there's a major Nightwing sighting, you're mysteriously unavailable. Every time Nightwing takes a night off, you're suddenly free."
"Lots of people work weird hours—"
"Dick." You looked at him directly. "Last week, I mentioned that Nightwing had been spotted with a shoulder injury. The next day, you showed up with your shoulder wrapped, claiming you hurt it at the gym."
Oh. Oh no.
"And the final piece—" You pulled out your phone. "I called the crime lab this morning. Asked if Dick Grayson was working today. They said there's no one by that name employed there."
Dick's heart stopped.
"You lied about where you work. You lied about your schedule. You've been lying about everything." Your voice cracked slightly. "Who are you really?"
Dick stared at you, at your evidence board, at two months of careful deception unraveling in front of him.
"You're right," he said quietly. "About all of it."
You let out a breath. "So you are Nightwing."
"Yes."
"And your name isn't just 'Dick'?"
"It's Dick Grayson. That part's true. But I don't work at the crime lab—well, I do sometimes, consulting for the GCPD, but it's not my main job. My main job is..." He gestured helplessly. "Being Nightwing."
"And Bruce Wayne?"
"Is Batman. And my adoptive father. And yes, before you ask—I'm the Flying Grayson survivor. My parents died when I was eight. Bruce took me in." The words came pouring out now. "I became Robin when I was nine. Then Nightwing when I was eighteen. I've been doing this for seventeen years."
You sat down heavily on your couch. "Seventeen years."
"Yeah."
"You've been a vigilante since you were a child."
"Bruce gave me a choice. I wanted to help. I wanted—" His voice broke. "I wanted to make sure what happened to my parents didn't happen to anyone else."
You were quiet for a long moment, processing.
"Why didn't you tell me?" you finally asked. "We've been dating for two months."
"Because everyone I tell becomes a target. Everyone I care about gets hurt." He sat next to you, careful to leave space between you. "I've lost people. I've seen what happens when villains find out who I care about. I couldn't—I can't lose you too."
"So you just lied?"
"I was protecting you."
"By lying to me for two months? By letting me waste time investigating something you could have just told me?" Your voice rose. "I made an evidence board, Dick! I dragged you on stakeouts to find yourself! How is that protecting me?"
"I know! I know it's messed up! But you were so happy with your theories, and you liked Nightwing without knowing he was me, and I—" He took a shaky breath. "I liked being normal with you. Being just Dick. Not Nightwing, not Robin, not Bruce Wayne's ward. Just... me."
Your expression softened slightly. "Dick..."
"I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner. I should have trusted you." He looked at you directly. "I love you. I've loved you since you almost hit me with your car. And I was terrified that if you found out who I really was, you'd leave."
"Why would I leave?"
"Because I'm not normal. I'm a vigilante with more trauma than most people can handle. I disappear for days sometimes. I come home bleeding. I've died before—twice actually—and I'll probably keep putting myself in danger because I can't not help people." His laugh was bitter. "I'm not exactly boyfriend material."
You grabbed his face, forcing him to look at you. "Dick Grayson. You're an idiot."
"I know."
"I just spent three months investigating you. Building evidence boards. Dragging you on stakeouts. Creating spreadsheets." You smiled despite yourself. "Do you really think finding out you're Nightwing is going to scare me off?"
"It should."
"Well, it doesn't." You kissed him firmly. "I'm mad that you lied. We're going to have to work on the trust thing. But Dick—I fell in love with you. Not Nightwing. You. The guy who brings me coffee in the morning and lets me ramble about my theories and does terrible impressions of Batman—"
"One time—"
"—and helps old ladies with their groceries and cries during animated movies." You stroked his cheek. "Finding out you're also a superhero? That's just... extra."
"Extra?"
"Bonus Dick. It's great. But it's not why I love you."
Dick felt something tight in his chest finally release. "You still love me?"
"Of course I still love you, you absolute disaster." You pulled him into a hug. "Though we're taking down some of these evidence photos. It's weird dating someone while having surveillance photos of them on your wall."
"That's fair."
"But I'm keeping the board."
"Why?"
"Because I figured out Nightwing's identity through detective work! That's impressive! I want proof!"
Dick laughed, really laughed, pulling you closer. "You're incredible."
"I know." You pulled back to look at him. "Now show me. Do the thing."
"What thing?"
"The Nightwing thing! The flips! I want to see it!"
So Dick did a standing backflip in your living room, landing perfectly in front of the couch.
"Okay, that's really hot."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." You pulled him back down next to you. "My boyfriend is Nightwing. This is insane."
"Good insane or bad insane?"
"Good insane. Definitely good insane." You kissed him. "Though you're going to have to tell me everything. And I mean everything. No more secrets."
"Deal. But first—" Dick pulled out his phone. "I need to warn my family that you figured it out."
"Your family?"
"The other vigilantes. My brothers and sisters." He started typing. "They're going to want to meet you."
"Because I figured out your identity?"
"Because you're the first person who did it through actual detective work and not, like, walking in on me in costume." He smiled. "They're going to be impressed. And possibly intimidated."
"Good." You leaned against him. "Now tell me everything. And I mean everything. Start with how an eight-year-old becomes Robin. Because that seems like terrible parenting on Batman's part."
"Oh, it absolutely was..."
And Dick told you everything.
About his parents. About Bruce. About Robin and Nightwing and the complicated, dangerous, wonderful family he'd found in the vigilante community.
You listened to all of it, asking questions, holding his hand, occasionally declaring "That's insane" or "Bruce Wayne needs therapy."
But you stayed.
You stayed through all of it.
And when Dick finally finished talking, the sun starting to rise through your windows, you just smiled and said:
"Well. This explains why you're always late."
And Dick knew, absolutely knew, that you were going to be okay.
More than okay.
Perfect.
Even if he did have to live with a six-foot evidence board documenting his secret identity.
summary: Dick missed your date night, and now he’ll do anything to make it up to you.
warnings: kinda angsty but not rlly, est. relationship, fighting, reader has boundaries!!, no pronouns or description of reader, not proofread, desperate Dick (we love yearners am I right), good ending
a/n: sorry for not posting this week I’m gonna lock in now :p
It was half past 3 when you heard the front door unlock, the familiar shadow of your boyfriend standing in the hallway.
He was still in his nightwing suit, his hair messy with some strands sticking to his forehead.
Dick walked into the living room, not expecting you to be sitting on the couch awake, your face illuminated by the dimmed golden light of a nearby lamp.
"Oh, hi baby. What are you doing up? Should get to bed" He said, slowly discarding his suit by the couch.
You looked at him dead in the eyes, unimpressed.
"You’re late."
His brows furrowed.
"What?"
"You’re late", You repeated, "Richard."
Dicks forehead creased further and his heart hammered. He could sense that you were furious and honestly, you being mad at him was one of the things Dick, Nightwing, couldnt endure. Ever.
"Whats wrong? What am I late for?" he asked.
You scoffed. "Seriously? Take a guess!”
He sighed shakily as he looked around, ok, TV, kitchen, pans, blown out candles on the dining table- shit.
Date night.
His eyes widened as he came to the realisation.
“Babe, I am so sorry.” He stumbled forward to the couch, kneeling down infront of you.
“I swear I didn’t mean to be late. I know this meant a lot to you and I’m so sorry I missed our dinner.” He looked up at you, hands wandering over to the side of your thighs, grounding himself while still keeping his grip respectful.
All you gave him was an unmoved look.
“That’s not an excuse.” You said firmly.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry baby. Patrol was really rough tonight, I must’ve forgot.”
You turned your head away from him.
“Baby. I swear I’ll make it up to you. Please.”
Looking at him like this, on his knees, begging for your forgiveness did bring you a little satisfaction, you couldn’t lie, but you weren’t going to forgive him that easily.
You pushed his hands off of your thighs as you got up from the couch.
“I’m tired. Stay on the couch tonight.”
Dick looked at you, baffled. Usually his pleading would have already gotten you to forgive him and he would be wrapped around you in your bed right now, kissing you and mumbling apologies on your ear.
“Wha-”
You slammed the door before he could say anything else.
But Dick was never going to let you stay mad at him that easily.
The morning sun peaked through the blinds and onto your face as your eyes fluttered open.
You looked to the other side of the bed, seeing it empty as expected. Dick was probably still asleep in the in the living room.
Rubbing the gunk away from your eyes, you got up and made your way the bedroom door.
The emptiness of the living room immediately caught your attention.
You would be lying if you said you were happy he wasn’t here. A part of you wanted you to forgive him and smother him with kisses, but the rational part of your brain was still mad.
Deciding to take your mind off of your situation, you settled on grabbing a book and snuggling up on the couch.
About half an hour had passed when you heard a click coming from the front entrance, making your way to see who it was.
You were greeted by the image of your boyfriend stumbling through the door frame with his hands full with shopping bags he got from god knows where.
You crossed your arms as you waited for him to notice you.
“Oh shit. Didn’t know you were awake.” He blurted out.
“Yeah. Care to explain?”
Dick set the bags down, before ruffling through one. Your brows furrowed as you saw him take out a beaten up boquet and hand it to you.
“They, uh… got ruffled up on the way, sorry.”
You still took them, tucking them under your arm.
Dick started to speak, one hand going up to rub the back of his neck.
“Look babe. I’m really sorry I missed our dinner yesterday. It… slipped my mind.”
You scoffed.
“Slipped your mind? Babe we’ve hardly spent any time together during the last few weeks! You promised you’d be here! I spent the whole evening making dinner yesterday and you didn’t even show up! And now tell me how it could ‘slip your mind’!”
Dick was speechless.
“You know what. I can’t deal with this right now.”
You discarded the flowers in a vase before storming off to your room.
Dick stood still in the corridor.
“Fuck.”
The soft evening breeze blew against your hair as you fumbled with your keys, trying to unlock your buildings entrance.
You had earlier decided to go out with some of your friends to a bar, wanting to get out of the house a little (and also away from Dick), and now you were exhausted, wanting nothing but to go home and lay on your bed.
Your footsteps echoed against the marble floor as you made your way to the elevator, finally getting in and pushing your floor’s button.
You really didn’t want to face Dick right now, he’d probably try to talk you out of being mad at him. But lately, you’ve been trying to set up more boundaries, so as much as it hurt you to do it, you wouldn’t let go that easily.
The elevator doors opened again and you walked over to your apartment, pushing the keys into the lock and finally trudging through the door.
The instant smell of home cooked food and the soft jazz music playing in the background took you by surprise. You took your shoes off, placing them by the entrance as you made your way to the kitchen.
“Dick?”
Your boyfriend was in your kitchen, wearing an apron too small for him and currently taking out an oven tray filled with the most mouth watering meal you’d seen in a while.
You stopped dead in your tracks as you gazed at the sight in front of you.
“What’s all this?”
Your voice quickly caught his attention and his head shot up to look at you, a smile forming on his lips.
“Hey babe. I know you’re still mad but.. I decided to make you dinner, since you worked really hard yesterday.”
Your eyes softened “Hm.”
“Just… go sit down yeah?” He narrowed his arm toward your lower back, as if testing you. When you didn’t pull back, he wrapped his arm around your waist and gently guided you to the dining table.
Later, he came back serving everything, including the roast, some pasta, drinks, and some side dishes he prepared all by himself. Now you know what all the shopping bags were for.
“Wow.” You blinked at him.
His head was lowered, fingers fumbling at the sides of his apron.
“Yeah… uh, enjoy your meal.” He was about to turn around when you cut in.
“Dick.”
You said, getting up from your chair.
Your footsteps felt heavy as you marched over to him, opening your arms.
“Come here.”
Immediately, Dick collapsed into your chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you.
“I hate when you’re mad at me.” His voice wavered.
You raked your nails through his dark locks.
“I know, baby. I was a little harsh, but it really hurt me when you didn’t show up.”
Dick sighed into your chest before bringing his head back up.
“I’m really sorry, [name]. I mean it. I promise I’ll focus on our relationship from now on, okay?”
Your shoulders released tension at his words.
He brought his nose to yours, “I love you. I’m sorry I hurt you.”
His eyes were watery as he looked into yours.
“I love you too Dick.” You said, leaning in and brushing your lips against his.
