dick grayson x reader fluff, non sexual showering, language, suggestive
The steam from the shower wafted around you, creating a fog that you couldn’t see through. With closed eyes and your head tipped back, you let the hot water cascade down your tired body, making you let out a soothing sigh.
“Hi,” you heard Dick say. He peeked his head through the shower curtain next and looked at your blurred figure.
“Hi?” You replied, opening one eye to look at the shit eating grin on his face.
“Can I join you?” He asked with a smile he reserved for when he was trying to seduce you.
“Sure,” you replied and backed away a bit, making room for him.
He pulled the shower curtain back, revealing his already naked body like he wouldn’t have cared if you said no or maybe he just knew you too well and had known you wouldn’t turn him down.
His sweet grin turned into a full blown yelp the second he stepped under the shower. He jumped back and almost hit his head on the wall, making you let out a laugh.
“What the fuck!” He bellowed.
“What?”
“You practicing for going to hell or something?” He questioned. “The water is fucking boiling.”
“Don’t be dramatic its fine,” you rolled your eyes.
“Turn it down,” he said, firmly.
“No, you can leave,” you offered.
“I’m already wet I don’t want to leave please turn it down just a bit angel, you’re literally red right now,” he coaxed.
“Fine,” you huffed and turned the shower knob to the right to make the water a bit cooler.
“Thank you,” Dick said and stepped under the spray of the water –still wincing, and put his hands on your waist.
“Good?” You checked.
“Manageable,” he grumbled, grabbing your shampoo from the shelf. “This isn’t healthy.”
“Your face isn’t healthy,” you replied, sticking your tongue out at him.
“Is that why you keep sitting on it?” he smirked, earning a smack to his chest in response.
He squeezed some of the shampoo on your palm and leaned his head down, gesturing for you to rub it in his hair.
“Your hair is getting long,” you murmured, rubbing your fingers through his scalp.
“Do you want me to cut it?” he said softly, too busy moaning at the way your hands moved through his hair.
“No I like it like this,” you replied, gripping the inky black hair in your palms.
“Freak,” he chuckled standing to his full height.
“I didn’t even say anything!” You protested, closing your eyes shut when Dick began rubbing the shampoo in your hair.
You felt him kiss your forehead, each of your closed eyelids, your nose then finally your lips before he rested his head on your shoulder, letting out a soft hum.
You grabbed your lavender scented body wash –that he loved an unhealthy amount, and began rubbing it on his back while he hummed in response and planted kisses on your shoulder and collarbone and wherever his lips could reach.
“I love when you don’t have work,” he mumbled. “Quit your job.”
“So you can be stuck to me like a koala all the time?”
“Mhmm,” he let out, planting one last kiss on your jaw before straightening.
“Tempting,” you smiled.
“I can offer you many services,” he almost whispered, planting kiss after kiss on the side of your throat, your collarbones and your jaw.
“Is this why you crashed my shower,” you mused, gripping his hair.
“Maybe,” he smirked, tracing his fingers down your spine.
“Dick,” you whispered, your hand finding the tap behind him in an attempt to turn the water a bit warmer without him noticing.
“Tell me what you want,” he said in a husky voice laced with need, continuing his attack on your neck.
“FUCK!” he screamed and jumped back again, glaring at you.
“Get back here!” You protested when you saw him get out of the shower and grab his towel to wrap around his waist.
“You’re a demon!” He yelled.
“Dick come on! I’m sorry,” you giggled turning the shower off and wrapped a towel around your torso, following him towards the sink.
“Just for that, you’re not getting anything for a week,” he huffed.
“Like you can go that long without touching me,” you challenged.
“Don’t test me,” he narrowed his eyes and turned to leave.
“Where are you going?” You asked.
“To get dressed?” He offered like it was the most natural thing.
“Do you not moisturise after you shower?”
“Uh no?”
“You heathen! Come back here,” you ordered and like the obedient boyfriend he was, he made his way back to you.
“Is this necessary,” he asked when he saw you pump some pink body lotion on your palm.
“Yes! Hot water dries your skin,” you replied, rubbing it over his hard chest and abs.
“You just wanna feel me up,” he smirked and looked down at you.
“I wouldn’t need an excuse for that,” you replied, rubbing the lotion on his biceps. “You’re so large, I use all that for both of my legs.”
“Are you complaining?”
“No but-”
“That’s what I thought,” he smiled again and took the body lotion from you, grabbing the edge of the towel to unwrap it from your body.
“My turn.”
HES SO!!! hes so!!! SO!!!!
likes comments and reblogs are appreciated, hope you enjoy <3
Synopsis: The Bat-family realizes that Dick may have finally found the love of his life, after all this time, after introducing so many girls to his family.
Dick Grayson.
A name that carried weight in Gotham's high society.
Why?
Simple. He was the first son of billionaire philanthropist Bruce Wayne—the adopted child of Gotham's most infamous playboy.
Bruce had never exactly been a family man, and he certainly wasn't known for settling down. At least, that's what the newspapers had been saying since the first time he stepped into the public eye.
Dick remembered watching him arrive at galas with a different woman every time.
At first, it confused him. It wasn't like his parents.
Bruce Wayne didn't have a great love story.
Dick never said anything about it. It wasn't really his business. After all, the closest thing he knew to love was the memory of his parents.
Mary Lloyd and John Grayson.
The way they'd fallen hopelessly in love despite coming from rival circus families within Haly's Circus.
It was a story they loved telling him, and he never got tired of hearing it, no matter how many times they repeated it.
Maybe it was childish curiosity.
Maybe he just wondered if one day he'd feel the same thing they always talked about with such happiness in their eyes.
When Dick turned fifteen, he realized getting a girlfriend wasn't exactly difficult.
Girls gave him Valentine's cards and boxes of chocolate. He accepted them all with the same polite smile.
Then, at sixteen, he met Liu.
The woman who manipulated him.
The woman who used him.
The woman he blamed for his commitment issues.
Because yes, Richard John Grayson was terrified of commitment.
Long-term relationships.
The routines that came with being part of a couple. And because of that, none of his relationships ever lasted.
Just a few names from a list his family knew all too well.
Sometimes, a quiet voice would whisper in the back of his mind.
Maybe you're like Bruce.
Maybe some people just aren't meant to be loved. So Dick did the only thing he knew how to do.
He ignored the ache in his chest and kept moving forward. Saying "I love you" had never been difficult for him.
Showing affection wasn't difficult either.
That was just who Dick Grayson was.
What was difficult was waking up next to the same girl more than twice.
The panic.
The suffocating feeling.
The fear. It always came back.
Everyone in the manor knew it.
Until one day, the girls stopped showing up.
"Maybe he just started seeing someone recently," Tim said, trying to be the voice of reason. "Give him time. He'll introduce her eventually."
Two months.
Three.
Four.
Eight.
Eight whole months passed without a single update about Dick's love life.
Naturally, the manor became suspicious.
Had they investigated?
Absolutely.
Bruce had even used the Batcomputer.
"Bruce, are you sure about this?" Tim asked for what felt like the tenth time.
"Of course he's sure. Just hurry up and find something," Jason said, bouncing his leg impatiently. "I know he's hiding something."
"I already told you, I hacked his phone. There's nothing there."
"That's exactly what's suspicious," Stephanie argued. "He hasn't talked to a single woman in months. Maybe his last relationship actually affected him."
Damian rolled his eyes.
"Please. He dated her for two days. He probably doesn't even remember her name."
The room turned toward him.
"How do you know that?"
Damian shrugged. "I asked."
"I think he's fine," Cass murmured.
"Master Bruce," Alfred interrupted as he entered the room. "I believe you should leave Master Dick alone."
"Unless that's exactly what he wants us to do!" Jason exclaimed. "What if it's not Dick? What if it's a shapeshifter pretending to be him?"
"I knew it," Stephanie added, pointing dramatically. "Aliens again!"
"That's ridiculous," Damian interrupted. "If it were an alien, I would've known already."
"Maybe you hacked the wrong phone."
Tim looked offended.
"Then you do it. Besides, it's impossible. Dick uses Wayne Enterprises software. The same security system as the Batcomputer."
Bruce remained silent, considering the situation.
Jason frowned. "He's got a point. Maybe he's using a second phone."
"Wait." Damian pointed at the screen. "What's that purchase?"
Tim squinted. "Custom mugs?"
Jason leaned back in his chair.
"Have you considered the possibility that he's gay?"
Nobody answered.
"Not that there's anything wrong with that," Jason added quickly. "I'm just saying."
"That's not the point," Stephanie said. "The point is he hasn't dated anyone in almost a year."
(...)
"What are you writing?" Damian glanced over Dick's shoulder.
Dick I never stop writing
"A letter."
"A letter for what?"
Damian stretched his neck to get a better look. Was he quitting his job?, Working a case?
Several days had passed since the family's secret investigation, and Dick had acted completely normal.
Dick looked up.
A shy smile appeared on his face.
"A love letter."
Then he pressed a finger to his lips. A silent request to keep it secret.
Damian stared.
The honesty caught him completely off guard.
And, annoyingly, he couldn't get any more information.
A love letter?, To who?, Dick seeing someone? Reconnecting with someone?
Unfortunately, Damian couldn't find out.
Love letters.
Was there anything more romantic than that? As a child, Dick had received countless letters.
Pink paper. Hand-drawn hearts. Lipstick kisses pressed onto the page. By fifteen, he'd stopped reading them.
There were simply too many. Letters from girls he'd met once. Girls he'd never met at all.
At first, though, he'd read every single one. Even when he didn't return their feelings.
He told himself it was out of politeness. Out of curiosity.
Nothing more.
Definitely not because he liked reading the beautiful ways people described love.
Definitely not because some small part of him hoped one of them might truly love him.
Really love him.
Not because of Bruce's money.
Not because he had a perfect smile.
But because they liked Dick.
The boy who still believed he could one day love someone as deeply as his parents had loved each other.
As time passed, he started calling himself stupid for believing that.
"Will you be my boyfriend?"
The blonde girl looked embarrassed.
Dick glanced past her and noticed her friends watching from the corner.
Cheerleaders.
He smiled.
"Sure. Why not?"
And just like that, the cycle began.
Dick laughed softly at the memory.
Who would've thought he'd eventually become just as hopeless as those girls, sitting here writing a love letter?
Damian gave him a strange look.
(...)
Warm sunlight filtered through the manor's windows.
Dick groaned and buried his face deeper into whatever he was cuddling.
"Love, stop..."
A sleepy laugh escaped him.
"That tickles."
He snuggled closer.
"I don't want to get up yet."
"Love..."
The soft kisses suddenly became wet licks.
A strong dog smell hit his nose.
Dick's eyes flew open.
Jason was standing over him with an expression of complete disgust. Beside him, Haley wagged her tail happily.
The silence was painful.
Dick had fallen asleep in the manor's living room.
Haley remained blissfully unaware of the chaos she'd caused by waking up her owner.
Because clearly this wasn't Dick's fault.
Not at all.
Definitely not his desperate need for physical affection.
"I..."
Dick had absolutely no idea how to explain himself.
"Full access to the weapons room and fifty percent of your allowance for the next year."
"Forty."
Jason stared.
"Deal."
Dick immediately raised both hands in surrender.
A small price to pay if Jason agreed to forget this ever happened.
(...)
The sound of keyboard keys filled the study.
Bruce sighed.
Dick sighed back.
Eventually, Dick's hands stopped moving.
"Just say it." Bruce didn't even look up.
Years of experience had taught him to recognize Dick's dramatic sighs.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Dick."
Silence.
"There's something you want to say."
"I don't know what you're talking about, Bruce."
Bruce waited.
Eventually, Dick cracked. "It's just..."
He hesitated.
"Do you ever get that feeling? When everything's going well, but you're still nervous?"
Bruce looked up.
"Nervous?"
"Yeah. Like... anxious. Like something bad is about to happen. Like everything's going to disappear. Or you'll wake up and realize it was all a dream."
"Dick."
Blue eyes focused on him.
"Relax."
The answer came calmly.
"You'll be okay."
And for the first time in a long time, Dick actually believed it.
He felt calm.
A little embarrassed, he looked away.
Then, almost shyly, he admitted:
"She's my girlfriend."
Perhaps the synopsis is wrong, and it wasn't the family but Dick who realized it. Wow medítenlo.
As always, thank you technology for existing and translating it.
── ★ ˙🛋️ ‧₊˚ a day in the life with . . .⠀╱⠀dick grayson ᵎᵎ
a sprinkle of 🐇 ⋆˚꩜｡ they're basically married, living together and still somehow pining.. stupidly in love and annoyingly cute about it. romcom energy!!! mutual obsession, love as competition (they're both winning), domestic fluff, he fell first but she fell sideways and hit her head LMAO anddd soft!dick grayson + clingy!dick grayson basically
a love letter⠀❤︎⠀all of these r in order like a lil ditl convo with dick !!! timestamps included for realism and bc im a professional (lie) making these are lowkey so corny but whateva we move onnnnn 😭😭
⤷ You always know how to act when Dick can’t reach out for help.
warnings: angst/comfort, non-sexual nudity & intimacy, depressed nightwing for the win
a/n: ughhh I feel like shit idk what this is
You watched as the door unlocked, right when you were about to start getting ready for bed. Dick stepped into the apartment, hair messy, with inky strands clinging to his forehead.
“Hi Dick.” You coaxed out.
He looked at you with pain in his eyes. The kind of pain he didn’t talk dare to acknowledge. “Hey.” Dick mumbled, walking past you.
Your brows furrowed as you watched him walk into the bathroom, hearing the shower turn on immediately.
It pains you to see Dick this way, it would pain anyone.
You trot over to the bathroom door, knocking lightly. “Dick? Can I come in?”
The water rained against his hair as he heard your soft voice from the other side of the door. He felt his chest tighten, gripping the water handle harder.
After a few more seconds of silence, you heard a small sound come from inside the room.
“Yes.” He said. It was barely audible, most people wouldn’t have heard him.
You immediately opened up the door. The first thing you saw was his hunched over figure in the blurry glass of the shower.
“Dick…”
You didn’t say anything further when you heard a small sniffle come from him. It made your heart ache.
“Is… it okay if I come in?” You asked.
His voice cracked as he spoke, “Y-Yes.”
You sighed as you changed out of your clothes, dropping them to the floor one by one.
The glass door slid open as you dipped one foot into the water that accumulated in the shower, then the other.
Dick went to turn to look at you before your arms wrapped around his torso, keeping him in place.
“It’s okay Dick.” You whispered against his muscled back, “It’s okay.”
His shoulders immediately dropped, letting you hold him. Tears started falling down his cheeks as you peppered kisses along his back, whispering praises in between.
“I love you baby.”
“It’s okay, you can let go of your tears. I got you.”
“You mean so much to me, don’t forget that..”
He absolutely snapped at your last sentence, spinning around to hug you tightly and press his face in your chest. You felt fat streaks of tears drip onto your skin as you brought your hands up to thread your fingers through his hair.
“Whatever’s wrong,” you placed a kiss on top of his head, “We can figure it out together.”
Summary & CW: Gala fic, best friend’s brother, fake dating, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, a little bit of miscommunication, happy ending :)
Pairing: Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader & (platonic) jason todd x reader
Word Count: 2.2k
A/N: Another piece out the Kiln! This one kind of ran away from me, but I’ve missed writing for Dick and I loved this idea sm. Thank you to the anon who requested it!
•───────•°•♡•°•───────•
You were on your thousandth fake laugh of the night.
Dick’s arm was around your waist as you spoke to another elitest that Bruce had the misfortune of inviting. For the life of you, you couldn’t remember his or his wife’s name. They had been talking both your ears off about their new philanthropy for fifteen minutes. Your lovely date warned you this might happen, since everyone had the incorrect preconception you both might put a good word in to Bruce.
After another “Oh” and nod, you rubbed a small circle in between Dick’s shoulder blades.
Leaning into his ear, you planned your getaway. “I’ll be right back.”
The moment the whisper landed in his ear drums, he turned to you, eyes glazed with concern. A silent question if you needed him to go with you.
With a slight shake of your head, he accepts your need for escape with grace.
Dropping a small kiss to your cheek, he smiles so bright it put the stars to shame. “I’ll see you in a second Darling.”
It takes your grandest efforts to focus on the goosebumps rising on your waist, when his arm unwraps from you.
Waving a small farewell to the couple who couldn’t didn’t know when to stop talking, your heels click away as quickly as possible. The galas were nice, you’d been to a few. The only thing was that they got overwhelming fairly quickly. Everywhere you turned someone’s eyes were on you and it got to be a bit much. You weren’t usually in the limelight, dancing around the room on the arm of this town’s finest bachelor.
Your eyes float over the attendants of the gala while you try to escape the ballroom. A grimace fights it’s way on your face when you see Tim. Unfortunately for him, his little stint as CEO of Wayne Enterprises never went forgotten. He had a minimum of three large investors around him at all times.
It’s like the gates to heaven opened when you finally walk out the double doors. It took weaving around a few corners until you find one of Bruce’s ten offices to sit in.
Tonight had done disastrous things to your heart.
Two weeks ago the Gotham Gazette published an article that made you want to crawl under your desk, and never come out.
On the front page was a picture snapped of Dick bringing you coffee on your break.
Vicky Vale took it and ran. By noon there was thirty articles on Dick Grayson’s new girlfriend.
In two hours you went from being a nobody, to having your face on every newspaper that trended in Gotham.
It was a nightmare.
At first, Bruce had thought of ten contingency plans to put the rumors to rest. However, when Tim- lovely stupid Tim- reminded him of the articles that had started resurfacing about Batman’s identity and connecting them to the Wayne’s, he faltered.
It was almost comical how they proposed the idea to you, of keep the news circulating for a few weeks. Tim made a very extensive powerpoint. Alfred brought you and Dick chocolate pretzels and tea when they sat you on the couch.
Then there was Bruce,
He was sitting next to Jason on the loveseat, ready to talk him off the ledge.
It wasn’t a matter of convincing you and Dick.
No, It was convincing your best friend to let his brother fake date you.
Jason was, well… territorial about people he cared about.
You were the person whose couch he’d crash on before reconnecting with his family. You were the person who helped get him a job. You were the one who made him hot chocolate when he woke up screaming in the middle of the night.
So it was safe to say he didn’t love the idea of you getting entangled with his brother, especially Dick.
At the proposal, he gave you a look that cut right through you.
No matter how hard your tried to hide it, he knew about your crush on the acrobat. It was next to impossible to not have one on him.
Your ripped from your inner turmoil when the door clicks behind you.
“What’d Dickface do now?”
Turning around to lean on the desk you found, Jason’s got a painting of unimpressed across his features.
“Nothing.” There’s an attempt at an accepting smile when you breathe out your answer.
A single raise of his eyebrow explains how much he believes you.
“It’s nothing Jason, really.”
He knew everything there was to know about your life. You told him about every shitty shift, every guy, every small tidbit of drama with your friends, but you couldn’t tell him about this.
How were you supposed to tell him that it killed you when his brother held you close for show? That your heart broke every time he called you darling. That every kiss on the cheek had tears building behind your eyes.
That none of it being real made you want to move from Gotham and forget any of this ever happened.
“Talk to him.” He says it so simply, it pisses you off. There’s a tiny shrug of his shoulders when he watches your face fall. It was frustrating just how easy Jason could read you.
Crossing your arms with a scoff, your eyes narrow in his direction. “That’s rich coming from you.”
“It’s your gospel.” He threw his hands up before his voice went up three octaves. “Talk about your feelings, Jason. You won’t get anywhere with them bottled up.”
“I do not sound like that.”
The silence in the room spoke volumes.
“You’re an asshole.”
“Never claimed to be a saint.”
Your eyes are about to roll out of your head as the study door opens again. The oxygen you were trying to breathe in gets lost somewhere on the way to your lungs when you see him.
He was as devastatingly charming as he was five minutes ago. His tie is loose from where he was wrestling with it after the second conversation. The black curls were perfectly in place, landing in smooth coils on his forehead. His dress shirt was pulled snuggly against his chest.
You wanted to kill him, or kiss him. Whichever opportunity presented itself first.
“See,” he starts by placing the flute of champagne on a side table. “It isn’t going to look good when my date and brother come out of a private room, alone.”
If you didn’t know any better, there was something along the lines of jealousy lingering in his tone. His jaw tightens for a second before he comes to your side, walking past Jason without so much of a glance.
“She was my best friend first dickhead.” Jason mocks his older brother, but there’s no real heat behind it. He’s already stepping toward the door, picking up the champagne he abandoned.
“Yeah well, she’s my girlfriend now, so deal with it.” Dick sticks his tongue out at him playfully while his arms find their home around your waist, pulling you closer to him.
He doesn’t miss the way you tense next to him. His grip loosens instantly, completely misinterpreting your reaction.
Jason rolls his eyes at both of you. But right before he closes the door behind him, he gives you a pointed look. Reminding you what he said earlier.
Talk to him.
The moment the door shuts, Dick’s whole body turned in your direction.
You make a valiant effort to not meet his gaze right away. Looking at the panels of the roof, desperately hoping they’ll find the words you want to keep locked away.
“What’s wrong?”
Finally looking at him, a sad smile pulls at your mouth.
The words don’t leave you right away. There’s a quiet hum you allow when your eyes fall to his tie. Alfred would have a stroke if he saw how loose it had been pulled.
Your arms uncross and your touch climb up his chest. A shiver overtakes him when he feels your nails through the dress shirt. Wrapping your fingers around the knot, you straighten it, pulling the fabric further up to the collar.
His gaze hasn’t left your face once, concern practically dripping from it.
“Darling really,” he moves his grip to place both hands on your biceps. “What’s wrong?”
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
“Calling you what?”
You finally get the courage to roam his features again. Worry is still laced between his eyebrows and it only deepens when he sees annoyance appearing between yours.
“What’re you playing at?” His fingers drop from your arms and you hate the way it hurts. “There’s no one around, you don’t have to keep the act up. Jason knows in case you forgot.”
“I didn’t.” He rushes out, startled at fire in your frame.
“Then what the fuck was that display for.”
He flinches at the outburst, but you’ve had enough.
Your nails are digging crescent marks into your palms. It was embarrassing. There was no way he didn’t know about your crush on him. He could see it in the way your eyes lingered on him a little to long. The way your body leaned in without question. The way you flushed a little deeper when he said something sweet.
These past two weeks have been exhausting. You never thought the world was cruel enough to do something like this, to play a montage of what could be.
“I’m,” he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the act. “I’m not acting.”
The air depleted from the room immediately.
“Then you’re being mean.”
You were holding your breath, not allowing yourself hope. There was no way any of this was genuine.
“How am I being mean?” His expression drops, aghast.
“Dick,” you huff out his name, almost as if his name will hold the weight of everything in your heart. “You can’t not know about how... how I-,” You huff out frustrated, not wanting to admit it. “And you’re acting like… this.”
Your hands are moving animatedly in front of you, acting as some sort of shield against the world when you continue. “If it’s some pity thing, you don’t have to do it. We’re doing this to keep your dad’s name from the papers. In public is one thing, but when we’re behind closed doors or with your family I- I don’t get it.”
His face crumbles at your words. The lack of response is deafening. There’s nothing you would wish for more than to erase the past three minutes of your life, to just have let this go.
Why did you listen to Jason?
“For someone so incredibly smart, you can be so dense.” He looks amused, and now your face flushes with anger.
“Excuse me?”
“Why do you think I asked Jason what your coffee order was? Why do you think I’ve been coming to join you on your break or walk you home from work every day?” He’s bordering on exasperation. “Because I’m bored? Because I wanted to play with you?”
Now it’s your turn to exploit your right on remaining silent.
This was some sick dream, it had to be. You were going to wake up in ten minutes in your bed and stuff your face in your pillow. It couldn’t be true- there was no way.
“I’ve been in love with you for the past year.”
“Dick.” Your name lands like a warning.
“No- Dick nothing, let me finish.” He cuts you off. “I didn’t say anything because you’re Jason’s best friend. He didn’t want you involved in any of this and I had to respect that. But after these past two weeks, I- I can’t pretend anymore.”
You’re speechless. The untrusting part of your brain doesn’t want to believe him, half-convinced this is a setup. That this is some coup just to break your heart and laugh in your face.
But then you see it.
The desperation mixed in with those ocean blue of his eyes. The anxious rise and fall of the chest of a man who just laid himself bare.
“You like me…”
The words sound foreign coming from your mouth.
“Yes.” The affirmation is breathless.
“And you’ve been driving halfway across town to walk me home from work,” You can’t quite hide the shock while digesting the information. “For a year.”
“Glad you’re catching on.”
Your hands land on his chest again, pulling the fabric between your fingers. When he sees the smile you’re biting back it clicks in his head that you’re teasing him. He flushes under the dim lamp. The pads of his fingers rest on your lower back, edging you closer to him as yours inch up his shirt toward the collar.
When his forehead lands on yours, you decide to swallow the comment about how sweaty he is. It’s kind of endearing that he was as nervous as you.
You couldn’t believe that there was a world where Dick Grayson was troubled by a girl. Especially when it was you.
His nose nudges yours and butterflies start exploding in your stomach.
“Please.” Is all he whispers. The smell of mint, alcohol, and just him infecting you from all senses.
Ending his misery, you mold your lips against his. It was everything you could’ve hoped for and more. His lips were soft and moved slowly against you. You could get drunk on the taste of him alone. He pulls back for barely a second to catch his breath and you can feel the smile against your lips.
“Do you want to know a secret?”
“Obviously.” He mumbles against your cupid’s bow, and you mirror the grin.
Heartbreak isn’t loud — it’s quiet, creeping, and cruel. You thought letting Dick Grayson go would break you. You never imagined it might kill you.
▸ PAIRING: Dick Grayson x F!Reader
▸ WARNINGS: so many reader insecurities (it's that kind of angst), hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, probably non-canon compliant things bc im new to this world, reader gets extremely hurt, hospital scenes
▸ WORD COUNT: 7.2K
▸ A/N: this is actually the first dick fic i ever wrote but didn't post until now! i seem to have a thing for exploring insecurities in relationships when im writing a new character (see clark and bucky). i love him so much, he is sooo loverboy. tom taylor's is also such fine shit jfc. i hope you enjoy <3 if you do, all likes/comments/reblogs are appreciated :)
The movies always describe heartbreak as devastation. A tragedy. A travesty. They talk about the feeling of their hearts being ripped out of their chest, beating bloody until they cease completely. They speak of the way their hearts stop suddenly, abruptly; a flare of panic only momentary before everything stills.
What they don’t tell you is that that’s not at all how heartbreak works. Heartbreak is oftentimes dramatized for the sake of entertainment. An exaggeration of the moment a heart splinters into a million pieces, parts that are impossible to glue back together into a whole.
Real heartbreak occurs quietly. It chips at you slowly; small cracks at first until you can no longer ignore the gaping wound in your chest. The missing center behind your ribcage. By the time you realize what has happened, the hole is too big to fill. The chasm impossible to bridge. They don’t tell you that it sneaks up on you, the curl of a cold-blooded snake around your neck that restricts your ability to breathe, to function. It hisses in your ear, a gentle whisper that only gets louder when the puncture isn’t tended to.
Before you know it, the serpent has bared its teeth and sunk its poison into you.
You didn’t think you would experience heartbreak with Dick Grayson. The man is loyal, loving. He anticipates your needs before you can even determine what’s missing. Raised to be observant and thoughtful, Dick is a fierce protector of those he cares about. You happen to be lucky enough to be one of them.
You’ve seen how he is with his family, his friends, the people that he chooses to protect with his body, mind, and soul. There is not a thing he wouldn’t do to keep those he cherishes safe, even if it means sacrificing himself.
Because of all this, Dick has to juggle one too many priorities. Not only are they things he already planned on doing, but he also has to account for the emergencies that crop up from time to time. Given that this is Blüdhaven, time to time means all the time.
You’re used to it. Coming in second, that is.
Your relationship with Dick is relatively new. Your dates aren’t life or death. So when he has to up and leave in the middle of dinner, it’s something you’ve grown accustomed to. The moment his phone vibrates on the table, you set your expectations.
The first vibration, he ignores.
The second one, his eyes flick down to his device before he refocuses on you.
Third time’s the charm. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly after you finish recounting your day. “Let me just check and make sure it isn’t anything urgent.”
But you already know the answer to that. It’s always urgent. It’s the city. You can’t blame him for it. Corruption is the norm in Blüdhaven; it bleeds through every crack and corner. From the police commissioner to the mayor, to the elites. Dick is ambitious, he thinks he can rid the city completely of its decrepit moral compass.
The flicker of guilt that passes through his baby blues is the first sign. Then comes the sour curl of his lips when he realizes that he can’t disregard the threat alert from Oracle. Then comes the sympathetic look when he finally turns back to you.
It’s that look that you can’t stand. That’s the one that always gets to you. Because you don’t want him to pity you.
So you plaster a smile onto your lips and nod. “Go. The city needs you.”
Apologies automatically fall from his lips as he places a chaste kiss on your forehead, presses his credit card into your hands, and takes off. His dinner sits cold on the pristine white tablecloth.
And you wonder if there will ever come a time when Blüdhaven will no longer need Nightwing. Or Dick Grayson.
Maybe then you’ll have a chance at coming first.
In his defense — and perhaps it comes from months of making excuses first for him as a friend and then as a lover, he does try. He tries to make time for you, slipping you into the little gaps he has in between investigations, philanthropic work, and patrols. It’s how you met him in the first place.
Your job at the community center allowed you some governmental access which you used to help him take down a few bad apples in the mayor’s office. Small-time fry. But then he started doing more work for the people, building affordable housing and programming to help the city’s children, and you started seeing more of this elusive Dick Grayson.
At first, you had been starstruck. The man is renowned all throughout the city — a savior to the good, a menace to the bad. The more time you spend with him, the more you learn about the Dick that he doesn’t show to the outside world.
It’s the man who is weary down to the bone, cutting off one evil head only for two more to grow. It’s the man who bears the city’s burdens on his shoulders, carrying the weight of a million expectations with the limited resources that he has. It’s the man who slinks back into your arms after a long day and curls himself around you like it’s the only place he is meant to be.
Falling in love with Dick had been all too easy. It’s like taking a nosedive off a cliff, knowing you’ll land in a wide-open ocean with a life jacket.
When you find out that he also spends his nights as the masked hero Nightwing, he had been wary of how you would react. It’s ridiculous to think that you would feel anything other than pride when you see him in full gear for the first time.
For some reason, Dick feels… further once you learn this fact. He already felt unattainable before —untouchable — as this generous, intelligent billionaire, heir to the famous Wayne family. Now that you know he is also a crime-fighting superhero, you feel those buried feelings of insecurity rise to the surface. The creeping voices clawing into your skin to question how you could ever be an adequate partner for him.
How could you — someone so normal, so average — compare to the living legend Dick Grayson?
Of course, once the Nightwing gates are open, you also see the people he surrounds himself with. Martians. Kryptonians. Shapeshifters. Trained assassins. And Barbara Gordon — how do you even begin to describe Barbara Gordon?
Between Kori and Barbara, you were convinced that Dick had a thing for redheads. Dick reassured you that he really didn’t have a particular preference. No, no preference in terms of hair, but you can clearly see the pattern — all of his exes are skillful. Powerful. Hot.
Gorgeous in a way that takes your breath away. Not only that, they’re fierce and bold and intelligent. They are out there saving the world day in and day out, whether it’s through ultraviolet energy projections or hacking into the most secure servers on the planet.
That monster inside of you peeks around the corner with its talons out, ready to pierce through your fragile heart once more. You hate yourself for even thinking this way. It’s part of his job, these are his friends. You should feel lucky that you were even introduced to them.
But that feeling has taken root and consumed your heart. Insufficient. Inadequate. Incapable. Who are you compared to all this greatness?
It’s why you keep your head down, why you keep your mouth shut even as the fissures begin to appear in your heart. You disregard them, brush them off as a temporary blip in your confidence. You tell yourself that you’re lucky Dick’s even giving you the time of day. You can’t be another burden for him to bear. You should be making his life easier.
So when he apologizes, you wave off his concern and tell him to go out there and save the world, Boy Wonder, because that’s what he does. The world comes first. You come second. It’s how it’s always been. It’s how it should be.
The deeper you try to bury these feelings, these insecurities, the greater the cuts you slice inside your heart. You’re carving it out slowly, an excruciating process as you try to preserve what’s left of your emotions.
Dick makes it up to you each time with flowers, with butterfly kisses, with the gentle touch of his hand. He promises you that next time will be better. He keeps his word. A few dates over the course of a few weeks, uninterrupted time, undivided attention. You’re on cloud nine by the time he drops you off at the doorstep, lingering for a fraction longer, enough time for you to invite him in to stay.
He does. Every time.
There are nights he returns to your side in uniform. His suit ripped, blood coating his skin crimson. These are times you’re reminded that he’s mortal. Human. You’re reminded that you could so easily lose him in all the work that he does.
Nothing makes you feel more powerless than knowing that all you can do is help him tend to the aftermath. Your hands shake when you dab the antiseptic, when you wipe off all the red, when you wrap up the gauze around his body.
You’re different from Barbara who guides him, who serves as his eyes and ears, and maps him a solution and exit each time. You’re different from Kori who fights alongside him with powers that he doesn’t have. You’re different from Bruce, Jason, Tim, and Damian, who know him in such intimate ways, moving in sync as he works through the city.
You are someone watching from the sidelines. A character that could be so easily removed from his story, and nobody would blink twice.
The thought pains you, but you suck it up and deal with it anyway. It’s easy to let these thoughts go when Dick murmurs saccharine sweet phrases into your neck. It’s easy to forget your place when he marks constellations across your body when he feels like having your company.
You didn’t think it could get worse. You can only help. Right?
But you’re proven wrong the one time you’re all gathered at the Wayne Mansion. It’s a family dinner. The mood is light, the drinks are flowing, the food is delicious. Laughter ripples through the table and, for once, you aren’t overthinking your place at the table.
That is, until an alarm sounds and everyone is immediately on high alert. They all seem to know what to do, whipping into action quickly while you sit there frozen.
Dick gears up and then stiffens when he remembers you still at the dinner table, watching them all in awe and surprise. He looks at Alfred who is also preparing to help with the potential invasion of the mansion, then looks at you. “Stay here, okay? I’ll come get you when it’s safe.”
You open your mouth, ready to offer your assistance, but stop when you look around the room. How can you possibly even think about helping these heroes? They are the heroes of the story. You are the damsel in distress.
“Okay,” is all you manage to say.
True to his word, Dick returns a few hours later. You’re right where he left you. He looks relieved to see you untouched, immediately coming up to you to inspect you. “Are you okay?”
Even when the worst is happening, his concern is on you. You’re adding more weight to his already hefty load.
“I’m okay,” you reassure him. “Is everyone else okay?”
He softens and nods. “Yeah, they’re okay. Let’s get you home, yeah?”
Dick’s kisses should’ve chased away those worries as they always have, but the feeling persists. It’s an itch you can’t scratch. An invisible scar you can’t heal. The feeling festers and grows, sprawling into this ugly hopelessness inside of you.
It doesn’t disappear when Dick picks you up from work the next day, chattering on about the programs he is hoping to stand up with the help of the new mayor.
It doesn’t disappear when the two of you run into Barbara outside of his apartment, telling him that there’s work to be done with Blockbuster.
It doesn’t disappear when Dick shoots you an apologetic look, asking for a rain check on your movie night — even when he’s already carrying the bags of popcorn and treats.
The more you think about it, the more you consider where you stand with Dick. He’s already so busy with everything else. The last thing you want to be is another item on his checklist, another to-do to cross off. He already has enough on his plate, you don’t want to make it harder for him by adding another thing for him to complete.
So you do what you thought was best.
“I don’t think this is working out, Dick.”
Dick’s gaze falters, a shudder in his confidence. “What— why would you say that?”
“You’re very busy. You have a lot of things going on. I don’t think a relationship is a good idea right now.” Not for you, you add in your mind. This is for Dick, you remind yourself. This is to help him, the only way you know how.
He’s quiet, lips pinched together as he frowns. The two of you were supposed to get lunch together, but you thought it best to sever it clean before the two of you sit down for what would likely be an awkward meal. So here you two are, standing in front of a restaurant. People mill about, barely paying you any mind. Some pause to look at Dick in admiration, but he is only looking at you.
“Is this what you want?” His voice is lower when he asks this.
No. But, of course, you don’t say that.
“Yes. I think this is what’s best.”
A part of you wants him to resist, wants him to fight for you. That selfish part of you begs him to beg you to stay, to tell you that he wants this as much as you do. That he cares about you as much as you do him.
But the responsible voice inside of you wants him to agree and walk away.
Luckily – or not, he agrees with the latter. So the two of you hug and part ways. You walk away with shoulders held high and the tears streaming down your face. You don’t let him see it. You never want him to see it.
And that’s the day you walked away from Dick Grayson.
It may be dramatic to say that there is your life before Dick and a life after him. You never thought you would ever consider romance to be the end-all-be-all of your life — and it isn’t. But Dick Grayson is something special, isn’t he? He isn’t just any romance.
He is the romance.
The type that sticks to you, a permanent fixture like he’s been tattooed and engraved into an everlasting mark on your skin. He clings to you like a persistent memory. No matter how many drinks you swallow, how many things you do to keep busy, you can’t seem to shake the thought of him when you’re alone.
The nights are the worst. The world inside your head is too quiet, even in a city like this one. Even when there are sirens blaring from every corner of your apartment and neon lights glare into your bedroom, you’re left to pick apart the decision you’ve made, constantly turning it over in your mind to determine whether it was the right one.
There are nights when you find yourself reaching for your phone, your thumb hovering over his contact. It would be easy to call him, to ask for him back. You miss him, incredibly so. It would be so simple to send him a text saying as such.
I miss you. What are you doing tonight?
Thinking of you, are you thinking of me?
I made a mistake. Will you have me again?
You try not to think about him, but the ask is akin to asking you not to breathe. Thinking about Dick comes naturally to you. It’s in the places you frequent, the ghost of him is the only constant lurking in the shadows. It’s the voice inside your head, calming you down when the city gets too much. It’s the absence that you feel the most — the sudden quiet when you don’t have him talking to you about his day, about his family, his friends, his ambition. The silence when he isn’t peppering you with follow-up questions about your week, sincerity and genuine curiosity entwined into his every syllable.
And just as you’re swirling into this black hole, your phone lights up with an email reminder. A date the two of you were supposed to have. Movie tickets booked weeks ago because you had been so excited to see it, Dick had purchased the tickets immediately. With everything that has happened, you completely forgot to cancel it.
However, instead of wallowing, you decide to go for it anyway. You’ve been cooped up in your home for too long, burying yourself under this mountain of self-despair. Quality time with your friends helped, but it didn’t cease the voices at night when you’re alone.
The movie is good, it could’ve been better if you didn’t have this empty seat next to you. The theater is full and yet there is this one gap that sticks out like a sore thumb on opening night. Your mind is half on the movie and half imagining what it would be like to be here with Dick.
He would get popcorn ahead of time, with extra butter, just the way he knows you like it. He would get sweet tea, not cola, because he knows how you don’t like to pair bubbly drinks with airy snacks. He would let you hold onto the bucket and take it as an opportunity to reach closer to you whenever he grabs a handful, even sliding an arm around you to tuck you into his side. When the popcorn is gone, he would hold your hand, squeezing whenever he thinks you need the extra support.
It’s an almost miserable experience. It’s pathetic how far gone you are for him that you can’t even enjoy time by yourself anymore.
But as they say, heartbreak is supposed to get easier with time. Eventually, you won’t remember what his touch felt like, the warmth of his body next to yours. You won’t think about him every time you pass by the basketball court he used to frequent to keep the neighborhood kids company. You won’t cry when you realize how many people you’ve gotten to know and lost in the process. You won’t think about him and you’ll remember that you can be perfectly content on your own again.
You try not to fall under the weight of your worries as you step out of the theater. Everyone else filters out in pairs or groups, and you’re left standing there alone in the golden light that casts a glow across the rain-streaked sidewalk. You’re waiting for a cab. A cab that you will soon learn won’t find you.
Not when you feel the breath down your neck.
“Aren’t you a pretty little bird?”
The unknown voice has you jumping, but not too far when a firm grip wraps around your bicep. Your eyes flash to betray your fear as you take in the masked assailant. He looks familiar, like a photograph hung somewhere in the back of your subconscious. Maybe one of Dick’s files that he tends to strew across your coffee table.
“You’re Grayson’s girl. I’ve seen you around with him. Blockbuster’s going to want to see you.”
“I’m not— we’re not—” together, you want to say, but you don’t get a chance to finish your words when the man zaps you out cold.
By the time you wake, there is a dull throbbing on your side where you’ve been electrocuted. The room smells of wastewater but looks relatively clean. You must be near the sewage plant. There is no one in the room and your eyes quickly dart around. What would Dick do in this moment?
Your hands are tied up with a rope behind your back, feet against the legs of the chair. You systematically go through your surroundings. A shelf with all sorts of items. Books, random paraphernalia, and a glass bottle at the top. An idea pops up in your head, the films you watch finally coming in helpful; it might not be one that Dick approves, but he’s not here to scold you right now.
Based on the distance and the weight of the chair, you scooch your way towards it. You use your shoulder to bump the shelf, rattling it with the little force you have. You can hear the bottle stumble a bit, but it’s not quite there yet.
Another hard push with your limited movement has it finally dropping on its side, rolling down the shelf until it lands, split in pieces, on the ground next to you. Now, you have to carefully drop yourself onto the floor, making sure you’re not getting the shards on your skin. There is no graceful way to do this, so you just tip yourself over. With your face pressed against the cold cement floor, your hands wriggle around behind you to grasp a piece of the glass, slicing the tip of your finger in the process, but at least you have this.
Slowly, you use the jagged edge to cut through the rope. It’s an arduous process. The entire time, you’re praying that maybe — on the very off-chance — Dick is still keeping track of you. That he’ll notice your disappearance. Maybe he’ll come to your rescue. It’s a naive thought, but it’s the hope that you cling to.
When your wrists are finally free, you get to work on your ankles. Another slice on your leg in your hurry to break free before your captors return. You don’t know where you are or how you plan to escape, but that tiny window looks promising.
You’re halfway up the wall, standing on your chair, struggling to unlock the window when the front door swings open. You whip around and see the imposing figure duck into the room. Fuck. It’s Blockbuster. He is the man who’s been out for Dick’s blood for as long as you can remember.
And now he has you, trapped in this room. His broad frame takes up nearly half the width of the space. You fiddle with the lock faster, praying for some miracle that you can escape in time.
But the man doesn’t even give you a chance — his thick arms wrap around your torso before he lifts you up and throws you back onto the ground. If you didn’t know any better, you swear you hear bones cracking. The pain that shoots through you is fast, blistering, blinding. It’s hot-white and has your vision spotting.
“Where do you think you’re going, pretty bird?” Blockbuster rumbles in vile amusement. “You’re not leaving this room. You’re not leaving this space until I get some answers.”
“Answers about what?” You spit out, the liquid coming out in a smattering of red on the grey floor.
“Grayson. I want to know his weaknesses, his vulnerable points. I want to know everything there is to know about him to destroy him.”
The wide smile that stretches across his face has your stomach churning in disgust. He crouches on the floor, leans towards you, close enough that his platinum hair brushes against your face.
“Or maybe you’re it. Maybe you’re his only weakness. Maybe I already have the pretty bird in my hands to take him down.”
“He’s not going to let you get away with this, or anything. He’s going to destroy you before you even come close to him.”
Blockbuster laughs, the sound booming. “This bird’s got claws. I can see why Grayson likes you. Don’t worry, pretty. I’ll break each one before you leave today. I’ll make sure you can’t sing for him anymore. I’ll make you squawk.”
The threat settles in deep in your gut and your heart plummets six feet under.
Then it begins. The beating, the brutalizing. You’re on the ground, against the wall, and flying through the air. Your face, your ribs, your hair, your legs, your arms. It goes on and on for what feels like hours. The only light you see is the one that hangs overhead, but even that begins to fade as your eyes struggle to stay open. Your chest heaves with heavy breaths, strained wheezes slipping past your lips in your desperate attempt to stay alive. The glass bits you were so adamant on avoiding before are now affixed to your skin like glitter.
Your vision goes between white and red and pitch black. When you start to lose consciousness, he jolts you awake again. The only sounds ringing in your ear are his questions, now a jumbled blur of words, and a cacophony of foul laughter.
You’ve never been religious but in those final moments, you pray. You pray for a savior. You pray that you’ll survive this. You pray that Dick doesn’t have to see you in your final moments.
Despite all that has happened, you like to hope that Dick still cares — and when Dick cares, you know he would live with this weight for the rest of his life. The last thing you want to leave him with is another burden to carry.
Your ears start ringing from the abuse you’ve undergone. At some point, the pain no longer flares, it ebbs and flows as your body grows numb. Not a single part of you untouched. You don’t think the man even has questions anymore; he only takes ill gratification in the fact that he has destroyed something of Dick’s.
You swear you hear a different voice, a different sound. No longer your screams or his laughter. A curse, a thud, a yell. Your brain can’t fully comprehend it, not when your senses can no longer be trusted. Not when they barely work. In the spread of red, you see glimpses of blue and black.
You hear your name. You hear it before you feel a gentle touch, a brush that’s barely there on your head.
Then it all goes black.
“We need you to let her go. Sir, we are trying to help.”
“You don’t know what she’s gone through—”
“We will work to diagnose all her injuries. For now, we need you to let us do our jobs.”
“I’m surprised she’s still breathing. The damage she’s taken…”
“Let’s just get through this and let the family know.”
“Sir, this is family only—”
“I am her family,” Dick’s voice snaps back. You’ve never heard him raise his voice like that before.
Then you hear someone else, more stern, still warm. Bruce. “If you’ll allow my son to stay with her, she doesn’t have family in the area. I’ll handle the paperwork, if you’ll lead me.”
“Sweet girl, I’m so sorry.”
“No, I’m not leaving.”
“Dick, you need to eat at least. You can’t help her like this.”
“I’m the reason she’s here to begin with. I’m not leaving her.”
“How’s she doing?” The deep baritone, you think it’s Bruce.
Dick’s voice frays at the edges, like he’s barely keeping it together as he inhales. You can feel his eyes on you. “Better. Doctors think she’ll be fine but she doesn’t have the energy yet to be fully conscious.”
“She’s a strong one. She’ll be fine, Dick.”
A pause. You wonder how Dick looks, if he’s been eating— “I don’t think I can ever forgive myself if she isn’t.”
“I should’ve been there with her, you know. We bought those tickets weeks ago. I thought she refunded them when she broke up with me. Didn’t think she’d go alone to such a late showing.”
A sigh. More high-pitched. Maybe Barbara. She’s been worried sick about him based on how many times she has come to visit. Her voice is more familiar than others. “You can’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have known that would happen.”
“It’s Blüdhaven, of course, something like this would happen. I should’ve expected this, that’s my entire job.”
“Babs sent me here to deliver this. Can you please just eat first? Everyone’s worried about you.”
There’s the rustling of a plastic bag. You hope that Tim picked up Dick’s favorite Thai spot downtown, the one with the pad see ew he likes. Hopefully, that’ll cheer him up. “Thanks, but I’m good for now.”
“Dick, you’re not doing anyone any favors by punishing yourself. What would she say if she saw you like this, huh?”
“Well, she can’t really say anything now, can she? Because of me.”
“Stop blaming yourself. It’s Blockbuster’s fault. She wouldn’t want you to do this.”
“Should’ve been me in this bed.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. God, I’ll do anything — I’ll give up anything. Just please wake up. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“I can’t do this without you. I need you to wake up, pretty girl. Need to see those eyes again. Need you looking at me again.”
“I swear I’ll do better. I’ll work harder. Please. Don’t take her away from me.”
When your eyes finally flutter open, you feel as if it’s been years since you’ve seen the light. The bright fluorescent lamps above blind you as you groan and turn away. Crust nearly keeps your eyes shut but you reach up to brush them away, only to wince at the searing pain by your side.
“Hey, pretty girl, easy. Don’t move too fast. You’re hurt.”
Dick. You slowly turn to the side to find him there. Then you briefly analyze your surroundings.
White. All white. Hospital. The only splashes of color are in the flower arrangements sitting at the end of your bed. Large and wild. Alive.
You’re alive.
Christ, you’re alive.
But Dick — he looks disheveled, the most you’ve ever seen him at least. There’s certainly more than a day’s worth of stubble peppering his jaw, his blue eyes shadowed by the circles surrounding them. His hair is a mussed-up mess, like he’s been running his hand through it nonstop for days.
He’s fast to approach, gentle to touch. You swear you see the slight tremble in his fingertips as he brushes your hair away from your face. His eyes search yours, drinking you in like he is memorizing every inch of you. Old habits die hard, you suppose. He’s probably cataloging your injuries as if the doctor hasn’t done that already.
“Hey, Dick,” you smile weakly, the stretch painful. Your throat feels dry, your voice comes out grainy. There’s a stiffness around your neck, which you soon realize is a brace. It hurts to breathe, let alone speak. “What day is it?”
Dick scrambles to grab the glass of water at your bedside table. He eases the rim between your lips, letting the cool liquid slowly pour between your chapped lips. “Easy, not too much. Not too fast,” he whispers, then adds, “Been four days.”
“Hmm, that’s a while, huh? Hope my boss doesn’t fire me for missing work that long. God knows we’re understaffed.”
Your attempt to laugh falls short when you feel the piercing twinge in your stomach, and it comes out as a raspy cough instead.
Dick’s eyes widen and you shake your head to reassure him. You don’t like the way his forehead creases in concern, how dim his usually bright eyes are. Dick forces a smile at your poor endeavor at humor. “No, I’m sure you’ll be fine, sweetheart. Called in for you.”
“Good. What a waste of PTO though.”
“Sweet girl,” Dick breathes out, closer this time as he leans forward and presses his lips against your temple. You barely feel it, still slightly numb under the bandage wrapped around your head. His breath is shaky when he exhales. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve been there.”
You roll your eyes, but it only makes your head ache. “Don’t be silly. Why would you have been there? It wasn’t as if we had plans.”
“We were supposed to go together. We—” Dick chokes on his words as he sits on the chair next to your bed, bringing your hand up to his face and flattens the back of it against his cheek. “I’m sorry. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am that I wasn’t there.”
“You were, Dick. You came for me. I knew you would.”
“I wasn’t fast enough.”
“You were as fast as you could be.”
“I didn’t get him. I wanted to, but you were there and you were hurt and I needed to get you to the hospital first. He escaped and—”
“You’ll get him next time.”
“I let you get hurt.”
“You didn’t do anything except save me.”
Dick’s lips quiver as he inhales again, as he looks at you.
“I love you.”
Then you hear another sharp gasp. Yours.
“I love you. I should’ve told you that a long time ago, pretty girl. I love you so much. I shouldn’t have let you walk away. I should’ve fought harder for you. I just— I thought you deserved better than me. Someone who could treasure you properly. Hopefully, someone who loves you as much as I do, even if I don’t think it’s possible.”
Your throat is tight. Whether it’s the tears or from the injuries you’ve sustained, you’re not entirely sure. Your question is only answered when you taste the saltiness on your tongue, your fingers reaching up to touch the wet mess rolling down your face.
“But I can’t let you go. People think I’m selfless, but god — I’m so fucking selfish when it comes to you. Never want you to leave my side again. I want you close so I can protect you, keep you safe, love you proper. I want you to know how much you mean to me. I want to remind you of it every day. I took it for granted before, but never again. I love you. I’ll do it right this time, if you’ll let me. If you’ll still have me.”
“Dick…”
“God, look at me babbling away when you should be resting,” Dick huffs, disgruntled with himself. “I’m sorry. I’ll get the doctor. I should’ve done that first.”
“Stay.”
“I have to—”
You reach for his fingers again, intertwining them. It’s been a while since you’ve had his big hands up close. These hands always remind you that you’re safe, that you’re his. Gentle, a contradiction against the harsh touch of Blüdhaven. “Just for a little while.”
Dick glances between the door and your joint hands in conflict. He caves in to you, because — of course, he does. He’s never been one to deny you when you want to touch him. It’s his weakness. If Clark had his Kryptonite, he had you.
“For a little bit,” he murmurs reluctantly, “but I want them to check on you right after this, okay? I have to make sure you’re good.”
For a while, the two of you let the silence seep in. It wraps around you like a blanket, warm and steady. The worries of the past few days — even the past few weeks — seem to melt away as you let your eyes slide close once more, your head pressing back into the pillow. Dick’s fingers twitch in your hand and you give him a squeeze to assure him you’re okay.
“I was scared,” you admit quietly. You can’t meet his eyes. Not for this. “I wasn’t scared of Blockbuster. I was scared of what would happen if you found me a minute too late. If I didn’t make it.”
“Wh— why would you be scared of that?”
“Because I know you’d blame yourself. You already have, even though you saved me. I didn’t want to be another weight to carry. Another burden on your shoulders.”
There is a fracture in Dick’s voice when he says your name. Like a prayer. Like a desperate plea. “You could never be a burden. I— I don’t know what I would’ve done if I didn’t make it in time. I don’t even want to think about that.”
“Might make things easier for you,” you try to tease, but the joke lands bitter on your tongue. “One less thing to worry about. I guess I already was when I ended things.”
Dick is quiet for a moment, you can’t even hear him breathe. So you turn to look at him again, curious eyes finding his slumped shoulders. “Don’t even joke about that. That’s not something I’m entertaining. I’m never not worrying about you,” he mutters, “kept tabs on you even after you broke up with me. I wanted to make sure you always had someone looking out for you, even if it’s someone you didn’t care about anymore.”
You frown then. “Why would you think I don’t care about you?”
His head tilts in question then, brows furrowing. “Isn’t— I mean, isn’t that why you ended things? Because you weren’t interested in me anymore. I wasn’t a great boyfriend, I know that. I should’ve done more. That’s on me. I just thought, you… didn’t care about me anymore. Maybe you found someone else.”
“Dick, oh my— no, not at all. I just—” your teeth sink into your bottom lip, the truth hanging on the tip of your tongue but you refuse to let it slip.
He looks at you with such earnest eyes, ones that urge you to continue.
How can you say no to him? How could you think for one second you could let him go?
“I thought it would be easier for you, if we broke up,” you admit quietly and are immediately answered by the deepening of his frown, “you have so much going on. Between Nightwing, Blüdhaven and Gotham, and all the community outreach you were doing, it just didn’t seem like you had time for a relationship. It’s not as if I was helping you in any way, I can’t really do that. Not like the others. So I did what I thought was best.”
The look on Dick’s face now, you don’t think you ever want to see again. He looks absolutely crestfallen. His lips slightly parted, eyes carrying the sort of melancholy that comes after a loss. “You— fuck, you thought that breaking up would be easier for me? How can you— what would even make you think that? I know I’ve been busy and I haven’t been the best boyfriend, but god, you— you never made things harder. Ever. If anything, I feel so much lighter with you around. I feel as if I could breathe again. When this city chokes out the last of me, I know I’ll at least have you. And god, I wasn’t perfect, I was a terrible boyfriend, but you put up with me. I don’t know why you did for as long as you did, but— I didn’t know that’s how you felt with me. I wish you’d told me.”
A laugh of disbelief escapes him, rising from his chest with acid on his tongue.
“You were always so patient. I thought— I thought that’s all you wanted from me. A few dates here and there. I didn’t want to ask more of you, didn’t want to scare you off. I can be intense, overwhelming. I know I can certainly be, and I didn’t want you to think I was being too demanding.”
“Dick, you’re… unbelievable. Do you know how much I admire you? Everything that you do? Sometimes, I don’t know what you see in me. When you have all these incredible people around you, when you’re doing all these incredible things. I didn’t think I’d be… enough.”
Dick stands then, cupping your face in his hands. His eyes are wild, alive now. It’s as if he’s been electrified in the last few moments of your conversation. “You are more than enough. You’re everything. Every day I see how hard you work, how much of your heart you put into this city and its people, and it reminds me of why I want to protect this city. It’s because of you. I want you safe, I want you happy here — with me. God, I fucking love you, you know that. I’m going to remind you of it every day. If you’ll let me have you again, I promise you — you’ll never have a doubt in your mind ever again when it comes to where you stand with me. You’ll see what I see in you.”
You crack another small smile, cheeks aching. You’re probably ripping open a couple of stitches, but it’s worth it when Dick breathes a sigh of relief. “Love you too, Dick.”
The smile he offers you is magnificent. The kind that you memorize, print, and tuck away for safekeeping on a rainy day. He presses another kiss to your forehead, then your hand. Firm this time. More confident. He hesitates before he leans to brush his lips against yours.
And it feels like homecoming.
“I’m going to put a tracker on you from now on. I’ll drop you off at work and pick you up. I’ll install new security measures in your office and our apartment—”
“Our?”
He freezes then flushes, pink tinging his neck. “If you want. I mean, I think you’ll be safer there. I know we haven’t been together long but I’ll feel better if you’re with me. We can spend more time together, I don’t have to let you go at the end of the day. If you’re not comfortable, I’ll set up a separate room for you first — not to say I won’t be crashing in there every night, but—”
“Dick,” you reprimand teasingly. “I’ll think about it. That’s a big move.”
“Right, yeah. Of course. You don’t have to. I’ll implement new security cameras and sensors at your place. I’ll booby trap some of the windows so no one can break in. We’ll upgrade your—”
“Dick,” you say again, softer this time. “Your offer isn’t a bad thing. I just… I have to think about it. I love you, I do. It’s just been a lot.”
He nods solemnly and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head. Always working. Always looking for a solution.
“It’s not a no, baby.”
The pet name has him perking up, his eyes illuminating for the first time in a while since you’ve seen him. Crystal blue staring right back at you.
“And Dick—”
“Yeah?”
“Probably time to get the doctor. I might’ve split open a few stitches.”
“Oh, shit yeah.” He jumps to his feet, ready to run out when you call for him again. He pops his head back in, gaze curious, happy, concerned.
Your lips tug into a smile. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, pretty girl.”
dick is flying to (taglist): @catclaw1 @lunexiax @esunarint @lunaryoongie @alli0-0 @avgdestitute @parker-barnes-af @onecojg @lynnidc @winnichu173 @c3liaaaaa @my-drvidess @fruitypebsworld @smorgasbrods @ruptureedspleen @take-it-on-the-run @a-very-fictional-girl @eiaf4uwn @vivianna2392 @w1nchesterfiles @ae1szn @its-pomegranite @athenxt
;🐾 when dick catches an infection and has to stay at wayne manor , alone. with the unfortunately beautiful maid his father hired as extra help.
dick woke up feeling like someone had grated his throat. haley’s tail wagged gently across his torso , her warm tongue licking his chest now and again.
‘ .. shit , what time is it ?’ he turned over , reading the digital clock on his nightstand. 09:23. the sun, seeming out of place with the light rain that beaded on his window, teased him through the half-opened blinds. he could swear he closed them the night before. maybe haley got at them.
he struggled out of bed , reaching the bathroom gradually. after a quick shower , he brushed his teeth and pulled on some pyjama pants , striped with blue and white.
he’d just made it out of the bathroom when a hollow knock sounded against his door. his silver pup darted across the room , pawing at the light-washed wood. dick picked her up , one arm holding hayley against his chest while the other opened the door.
you stood there , surprised by his bare , shirtless stature before your eyes. bruce told you his boy would be at the manor for a while but nothing could have prepared you for the man that frowned back at you.
‘didn’t think bruce would ever let alfred retire.’ he thought out loud , causing you to shake your head with a chuckle.
‘alfred is still here , he just requested some extra help. i’m y/n. and you must be the oldest bat boy. master richard grayson ?’ you confirmed.
‘yeah. dick’s fine. this is hayley. sometimes bitewing. but she doesn’t - uh - bite.’ he scratched between her ears , hayley barked in your direction , a goofy smile forming on her face.
you smiled , revealing the box of medication you’d been holding behind your back. ‘mister wayne informed me that you have a cold. here.’ dick took the medicine from your hand , his comically larger fingers entirely swallowed yours.
‘do you mind if i take your temperature ?’
he swallowed , shaking his head quickly as you took a thermometer out of the small pocket on your white apron. he had to bend down slightly so you could reach his forehead. you pushed his hair to the side hesitantly.
after two beeps his temperature was displayed on the device. ‘your pushing 103 degrees master r - dick.’ you sighed , stepping back. ‘i recommend you get some more rest. if you need something i can get it for you.’
‘it’s okay , i mean - i am. i’m okay , ’ he stumbled over his words , ‘could do with stretching my legs anyway. but thank you.’
he proceeded out of the doorway , moving you out of his way by the waist. you froze momentarily , blush burning your cheeks. ‘uh .. of course. breakfast is on the table.’
‘thank you , love. can i call you that ?’ at least one of you had to keep things professional. and you took it upon yourself to do so.
‘whatever you prefer , master grayson.’ you managed through a flustered breath , eyes following his figure down the stairs.
you lingered there for a second , unsure about what had just come over you. and then you returned to your duties , hoping the grayson boy didn’t mean trouble.
🐈⬛ ;; *sc𝓻𝓻𝓻atch* hey feline , i apologise for mistakes i haven’t proof read this. i really have a thing for helplessly awkward men. like fuck if you keep stuttering i’m gonna eat you. anyways. should i open a tag list .. ?
