When Life Gives You Tangerines 🍊 Pt. 1
Bart Allen x ☆ Wayne!Reader
Part 1 (here) Part 2
One mission briefing, one stubborn tangerine, and Bart Allen’s complete inability to play it cool.
A/N: Multi-part! Just Bart, fumbling through life trying, failing, maybe succeeding at romancing you! In other tragic news; uni has started and I’m nothing but a big old ball of stress, so this is shorter than I wanted it to be :,( Hopefully this works as an intro into the dynamics at play! This is moreso focused on Barts perspective but it’s still second-person
(Part 2 for the Roy fic is in the works, maybe next week?) I lied, so sorry
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You were half-assedly listening to whatever was coming out of your oldest brother’s mouth. Nightwing stood at the front of the meeting room, arms crossed, jaw tight, running through stealth formations with all the warmth of a brick wall.
Yep. He and Batman definitely butted heads again. Your dad and Dick’s relationship wasn’t at its best; you gave up trying to keep up with why this time.
“Minimal exposure. Eyes open. No detours,” Dick said, flipping through holographic slides with as much enthusiasm as he had trying to explain why Batman always ‘disappeared’ when Catwoman was involved.
(It took you a few years to really understand yourself, only then did you understand Dick’s emotional detachment to the whole ordeal— no one wants to know about their dad’s situationship like that.)
You sighed through your nose. Whatever. You’d skimmed the mission file before you even walked in; you didn’t need a live-action audiobook version mixed in with Dicks passive aggressiveness today.
Your focus was instead on the tangerine in your hands. The citrus smell cut through the stale air as you dug your nail into the peel. The goal was to finish before Dick wrapped up and threw everyone straight into drills. A stupid little game you gave yourself every briefing, mostly to stay awake.
Around you, the team was just as checked out; Cassie fiddling with her lasso absently, Jaime muttering occasionally to the scarab, Virgil slouched so far back you wondered if his chair might slide out beneath him, and Gar, unlucky soul, sat closest to Dick, pretending to look engaged even as his notepad filled with doodles.
And then there was Bart Allen.
Slouched forward, elbow on the table, chin resting in his palm. To anyone else, it might have looked like the speedster was zoning out, caught in a rare moment of stillness. But his green eyes were locked dreamily on you.
The way your brows furrowed when the peel left that stringy white stuff (google says its called pith), the absent little huff you gave when you had to dig in harder and a spurt of juice got on your fingers, and the flick of your wrist as you dropped a strip of the peel onto a napkin. He caught it all, noting every detail like it mattered more than the mission briefing ever could.
Despite being a Wayne, child to one of the world’s greatest detectives, little sibling to two others, you were blissfully ignorant. Oblivious to the stares, to the quiet longing in his eyes across the table, and to the fact that Bart hadn’t heard a single word of your brother’s instructions. Not one.
He’d been watching you the whole time. Not the slides, not Nightwing pacing at the front, not the mission details. Just you and your fingers working at that tangerine. It was like gravity; his eyes couldn’t pull away.
And the worst part? You weren’t even trying!
He’d fought time itself, faced alien invasions, saved the world even, and yet, the way you pressed your thumb into the peel with your brow furrowed in quiet determination was what had his pulse running faster than a dash across the world.
He leaned even more forward onto his elbow, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. Totally inconspicuous. Totally casual. His gaze was on your lips, how they were pursed slightly, and how badly he wanted to kiss them.
If he did it now, would he taste tangerines? No, you hadn’t eaten any yet, you were just finishing peeling… he wouldn’t mind either way, he just wants to kiss yo—
Then, without warning, you looked up.
His brain stalled. Heart skipped. Oh, crap.
He froze, caught in the act, a wider smile snapping into place too quickly; bright, nervous, and impossible to hide.
You tilted your head slightly, lips curving upward in a small, curious smile. Not teasing, not mocking, just… amused. Like you’d caught him simply zoning out in the middle of your brother’s boring lecture.
And maybe that’s all it was to you. But to Bart? It felt like standing too close to the sun.
Oh man, they’re smiling at me :) They’re so pretty— wait, why are they smiling like that? Am I smiling weirdly? Oh, shit, I’m staring— Why’d she look to Dick and back?
“Kid Flash.”
His stomach dropped. Nightwing’s voice had that sharp edge, the one that said I’ve been calling you for a while now. Bart snapped his head toward Nightwing, blinking like a deer in headlights. “Uh— yeah?! Present! Listening the whole time!”
The silence broke in a wave of laughter. Jaime muttered something under his breath that made Virgil snort, Cassie smirked behind her hand, and Gar leaned back in his chair, grinning like this was the best part of the meeting (which it probably was).
And you? You actually giggled.
It was soft, almost airy, the kind of laugh that slipped out before you could stop it. That alone made his ears burn and his chest squeeze tight, and yet… that little sound stuck in his head more than Dick’s entire briefing.
“Really? That’s great.” Nightwing arched a brow, arms folding across his chest. He looked every bit the exasperated older brother. “Repeat the last thing I just said.”
Bart’s stomach did a nosedive. Of course Dick would do that to him, of course he would. His brain scrambled, desperate to find anything— fallback points? Coordinates? Stealth? He said stealth earlier, right?
For a moment, he was just opening and closing his mouth like a puppet, completely lost on what he could say that would salvage this moment. He wanted to say something that could maybe make you look at him in a way other than amusement, something that said: “Wow, Bart’s so cool, and handsome, you should totally date him and kiss him forever—”
“Oh, uh… it was… something about…” He swallowed, panic buzzing in his veins faster than any sprint. “Stealth?”
…
The silence that followed was brutal. Virgil muttered a low “god,”, Cassie pressed her lips together, shaking with suppressed laughter. Jaime groans rubbing his face as secondhand embarrassment flooded him, and Gar had his head down, shoulders shaking.
Nightwing’s voice cut clean through the room. “Uh, huh,” he said, tone dry as Gotham concrete, “Or maybe I should assume there’s something across the table that’s more interesting than the briefing?”
This is where you properly tune in, looking up at the two. First at Dick, then at him. Your brow furrowed for half a second, gears turning, before your expression cleared with sudden realization.
Bart’s whole body went rigid. Oh no. Oh no, no, no— he couldn’t have been more obvious even if he’d tattooed I like you across his forehead.
“Oh!” you said brightly, like everything had perfectly fallen in place in that very moment.
Bart’s heart stopped as heat flooded his whole body. You’d figured it out. You knew. Oh god, you finally knew. Part of him wanted to run laps across the globe just to burn off the panic; part of him wanted to scream with joy.
Would you reciprocate? God what if you rejected him in front of everyone? He’d had to travel back into the past again with a whole new Time Machine—
But you were anything but predictable. You promptly split your tangerine neatly in half, sliding one piece across the table toward him. It could work as a metaphor for what you just did to his heart; split his hopes and panic in two.
“You should’ve just said you were hungry,” you said, casually, like that explained everything. “Speedster metabolism and all, right?”
Bart’s brain short-circuited.
Ah.
You thought… he wanted the tangerine.
Not you. Just the fruit.
“Oh,” he croaked, voice cracking on the single syllable. He grabbed the offered fruit like it was a lifeline, forcing a wobbly grin onto his face. “Uh— yeah. Totally. Thanks.”
He stuffs the whole half into his mouth, not bothering to pull it apart to eat normally, wanting to do something with his mouth other than make a bigger fumble. The citrus burst sweet and tart on his tongue, but it tasted like humiliation.
Nightwing didn’t say anything, but the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth said enough. Bart couldn’t prove it, but he knew deep down that what Nightwing did was an attempt at sabotage.
He and Tim, your doting older brothers, were nowhere near helpful when it came to you. Bart had learned that the hard way.
At first, he thought Tim was on his side. His dear friend Robin. The one who always seemed a little more relaxed, less big-brother-guard-dog than Dick. Tim even used to chuckle at Bart’s rambles of how perfect you were, which Bart had taken as a good sign— approval, even.
Yeah. That lasted all of five minutes.
Tim’s version of sabotage was quiet, methodical. Every time Bart worked up the nerve to invite you to grab food, Tim somehow swooped in with “important case files” only you could help him with. Every time Bart caught you alone after training, Tim appeared out of nowhere with some excuse to drag you off.
Always so casual, so polite, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. And if Bart dared to glare? Tim just blinked back with that calm, innocently aggravating face that said clear as day: no one will believe you.
And then there was Dick. He had the authority, and he weaponized it. Mission assignments that somehow never put Bart and you together. Training exercises where Bart's attempts at conversation got cut off mid-sentence with a sharp “focus.”
One time, Dick had even slid himself between you two at the table during a debrief, leaning back in his chair with that smug older-brother smirk that screamed, Don’t even try it.
It was sabotage.
Pure, calculated, Bat sabotage.
Bart tried to laugh it off, tried to make it sound casual. Totally fine. No big deal.
But his voice cracked halfway through the laugh, he could feel the heat crawling up his neck, blooming across his cheeks, not subtle, not cool, not fine.
Still, he forced another laugh, like that might erase the first one. It didn’t. Bart knew every single person at the table could see straight through him.
Everyone but you, of course.
You’d grown up pursued by classmates with shy crushes, family friends who tried too hard, and strangers who only cared about your last name.
It had started when you were barely old enough to understand what “dating” even meant, and it never really stopped. Notes shoved in lockers, people tripping over themselves to impress you, whispers about what it would mean to be with a Wayne.
After a while, you stopped taking any of it seriously. It was easier to treat it all like static, background noise you could ignore. Compliments and lingering stares slid right past you, in one ear and out the other.
The only time you ever really noticed was when it crossed the line, whether with words or actions. Those you caught immediately. Everything else? Filtered out without a second thought.
So Bart’s stare? His nerves? His laugh cracking on the edges? It didn’t even register.
To Bart, however, it was his entire heart on display, invisible to the only person who mattered.
You just smiled like you’d done a good deed, popping another piece of tangerine into your mouth without a second thought. Oblivious. Cheerful. Completely unaware that Bart Allen had just died and been resurrected by citrus in the span of thirty seconds.
————————————
The meeting ended with Dick clapping his hands once, sharp and final. “Alright, gear up for some drills. Y/N, a word.”
Your head snapped up mid-bite of tangerine. For a second, you froze, then let out an audible groan and sagged back. “Ugh. What?! Why— oh.” You pause, half-turning in your chair. “Is this about the—”
The words died in your throat the second Dick’s brows lifted, interest sparking like he was ready to drag the full confession out of you right here in front of everyone.
You clamped your mouth shut immediately. “... Never mind,” you muttered, shaking your head as you decided not to out whatever silliness you recently got into.
Dick didn’t push, but the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth said he’d file it away for later. Great. Just great.
You busied yourself with the napkin, gathering up the scraps of peel a little too carefully, then stood. Before leaving, you risked a glance at the table, one look at your so-called friends, and regret hit instantly.
Cassie’s grin was way too sharp, like she was already writing her commentary in her head. Virgil gave you a lazy two-finger salute, pure mockery. Gar mouthed good luck in the most dramatic way possible, and Jaime just shook his head, lips twitching like he’d seen this show before (which he had, you did a lot of things under your family's nose, which more often than not came to bite you in the butt.)
You rolled your eyes and let out a sigh that was half annoyance, half resignation, before pushing your chair back with a scrape. Clutching the tangerine and napkin like a shield, you trudged after your brother, muttering pitifully to yourself. The door slides shut behind you, sealing both your fate, along with Barts.
For three blissful seconds, the room was silent.
And then it erupted.
Cassie leaned forward first, chin in her hand, grin wicked. “So… hungry, huh?”
Bart groaned, sliding down in his seat until his forehead thunked against the table. “Don’t. Just— don’t.” His voice came out muffled, but the misery was clear enough.
“Metabolism and all,” Virgil chimed in, pitching his voice to make it syrupy in a passable impression of you. He batted his lashes for effect, earning a snicker from Jaime. “They basically fed you like a stray cat, dude. Next thing we know, they’re setting out a bowl for you outside their dorm.”
“Knowing Bart he’d be there on his hands and knees” Jaime adds, swivelling on his chair to face the speedster better, “you can’t even deny it, man”
Gar’s laughter bubbled out of him as he shoved Bart’s shoulder. “You should’ve seen your face, man. Bright red, like cartoon-level red.”
Bart muffled something into the tabletop. He didn’t care what it was. Anything to drown out the sound of his friends dismantling his dignity piece by piece.
“Well, we can’t really blame him for his reaction.” Jaime chuckled, shaking his head. “Zoning out in front of Nightwing? That’s next-level unlucky.”
Gar grinned widely. “Down bad during a mission briefing. I mean… priorities, I guess.”
Bart let out another muffled groan into the table. His ears were red.
Cassie huffs a laugh, smirk still sharp. “Count yourself lucky Tim wasn’t here. Dick just embarrassed you. Tim would’ve went for humiliation”
“Mmhmmm,” Virgil said, pointing at him with a grin. “You know he’d go all deadpan— ‘He’s not zoning out, Dick. He’s staring at Y/N’.”
Jaime nodded, amused. “And then Dick would double down. Because if Tim handed him ammo like that? Game over, man.”
Cassie gave a small shrug. “You’d be toast. No escape.”
Gar smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Seriously, Kid. Lucky break today. Only had to face one Bat brother instead of two.”
The table continues to laugh, entertained at his expense. Bart groaned again, wishing the ground would swallow him up, because clearly there was no way to win here.
And yet, even through all the teasing, his mind wouldn’t let go.
The way you tilted your head, meeting his gaze.
The way you’d smiled when you split the fruit.
The way you’d giggled, soft and unguarded, when Dick called him out.
God. He was so screwed.
