#rooftop confessions

[hanimanny]

ROOFTOP CONFESSIONS #1

Dick Grayson is the nicest man you’ll ever meet. 

In the world of deep dark vigilantism and brooding bird people, Dick Grayson shows up like a shiny gold star that could clean all of Gotham of its gloomy fog. 

Dick Grayson is the nicest man you’ll ever meet. 

Unless he’s with you, that is.

“Aren’t you tired of the Spandex, boy wonder?” you preen, dancing on the edge of the roof. 

Dick scoffs, and his face morphs into something akin to a frown. “Not a single original thought out of that pretty head, huh?” 

“Wouldn't you like to know, boy scout?” you pout, jutting your lip out. Dick has half a mind to not reach out and hold your jaw in place, eyes squinting through the domino mask as he takes half a step towards you. 

You mimic him, taking a taunting step closer. 

Despite all the years of knowing him, of fighting him through his boy scout (shorts) era, his intermittent identity crisis period, and currently the fully fledged Nightwing, you still can’t get enough out of riling him up. 

You laugh at his threatening stance.

“Oh, relax, no one can hear us,” you excuse, but Dick takes a step closer regardless. 

“I can definitely hear you.” Tim’s voice cuts into the intercom, and you roll your eyes. 

“Suck it, I didn’t listen to you bitch and moan about this stupid quest“

“mission” 

“mission, just for you to ruin my free time. I'm doing this out of the kindness of my heart.”

Dick raises his eyebrow at you. “We’re here to take down one of the biggest drug rings in Gotham right now,” he reminds you. 

“And yet, cocaine and meth are still roaming free on the streets,” you sing, and you can practically hear Tim tweak over the intercom. 

“Let’s just hurry up so I can get back to my day job.” 

“You’re an unemployed villain.” Tim deadpans. 

“recovering villain” Dick corrects like he’s doing God's work. 

“First, I like to think of myself as an anti-hero,” you hum, ignoring the fact time just outed you as unemployed (you’re hiding from the law). “Second, my day job is bothering Dick at his day job,” you add thoughtfully. 

“That reminds me, you have to stop showing up to the precinct; you’re literally on the top 10 most wanted criminals list in Bludhaven.” Dick looks at you as you roll your eyes and wave dismissively. “All I’m hearing is that I’m a very sought-out person, so you should be lucky.” 

“Yeah, sought out for crimes committed against society,” Tim interjects again. 

You don’t dignify Tim with a response; that’s the least you can do for his whiny butt. 

“I’m just saying, if I’m still in the top 10, then the Bludhaven criminals need to step up; I haven’t been active in years.” 

“Please don’t jinx anything; the precinct struggles enough.” Dick exasperates, stepping closer to the edge of the roof, with you following suit. 

“I’m helping, aren’t I?” You smile, and although Dick would normally admit your grin brings him weak to the knees, the mischievous glint in your eyes sets off alarms in his head. 

“Don’t do anything stupid, Sunshine.” Dick warns.

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you, Boy scout.”

[aventurineswife]

Stealing Moments from Time

Summary: When Ekko decides to use his Zero Drive to craft the "perfect" day for you, things don’t go entirely as planned. Between chaotic time travel mishaps, watery disasters, and a rooftop confession, you realize that imperfection might be what makes everything perfect after all.

Tags: Ekko x Reader, Fluff, Crack fic, Time Travel Shenanigans, Banter, Rooftop Confessions, Found Family Vibes, Light Angst (Happy Ending), Humor.

Warnings: Mild language, Brief mention of getting wet/messy (falling into water), Ekko being a lovable dork, Reader teasing Ekko.

You squinted at the contraption on Ekko’s workbench, tilting your head as if a different angle might make it less intimidating. “Okay, so you’re telling me this thing can reverse time?”

Ekko grinned, leaning casually on the edge of the bench, his goggles perched on his forehead. “Not just reverse time, perfectly recalibrate it. It’s a work of genius, really. I mean, look who made it.” He gestured to himself, smug as ever.

You folded your arms, raising a skeptical brow. “Right. Because last time you tested it, you didn’t accidentally erase three hours and get stuck reliving Vi slapping you on repeat.”

His grin faltered for a second, but he quickly masked it with a laugh. “That was… a minor calibration issue.”

You snorted. “Minor. Sure. So, what’s the big plan now, Dr. Clockwork? More experiments?”

“Not exactly,” Ekko replied, his tone turning softer. He straightened and stepped closer, rubbing the back of his neck. “Actually, I was thinking I could, uh, use it for something else today.”

Your teasing expression melted. “Oh? Like what?”

Ekko hesitated, his hands fidgeting with his work gloves. “I thought maybe we could… hang out? Somewhere that isn’t the workshop or a battle zone. Y’know, like normal people.”

“Normal people don’t time travel for fun, Ekko,” you quipped, but your heart fluttered at his sudden nervousness. He wasn’t usually like this—so unsure of himself.

“Yeah, but normal’s boring, isn’t it?” He finally met your gaze, his usual cocky smirk making a triumphant return. “So what do you say? I can use the Zero Drive to make sure our day’s absolutely perfect. No awkward moments, no bad jokes—”

“Wait, you think your jokes are bad?” you interrupted, feigning shock.

“Focus!” He grabbed your shoulders gently, shaking you with mock urgency. “I’m trying to be romantic here!”

You burst into laughter, swatting his hands away. “Alright, fine, time boy. Where are we going?”

Ekko beamed, grabbing his goggles and securing them over his eyes. “You’ll see. Just trust me.”

Ten minutes later, you were both soaked, standing ankle-deep in the murky water of Zaun’s lower levels.

“Trust me, he says,” you muttered, glaring at Ekko as water dripped from your hair. “It’ll be fun, he says.”

“Okay, in my defense,” Ekko started, holding his hands up in surrender, “this wasn’t supposed to happen. The platform was stable a second ago!”

“Sure it was,” you deadpanned, wringing out the hem of your jacket.

“Alright, alright,” Ekko said, fiddling with the Zero Drive on his wrist. “I’ll fix it. Just give me one sec.”

He pressed a button, and a blue glow surrounded him. With a flash, he disappeared—and a second later, the platform reappeared, solid and dry.

“See?” Ekko said, grinning as he popped back into existence. “Problem solved!”

You blinked. “Uh, not quite.”

He frowned. “What do you—”

A loud splash interrupted him as you shoved him off the platform and into the water.

Ekko resurfaced with a gasp, his goggles askew. “Oh, you’re dead,” he growled, but the laugh bubbling in his throat betrayed him.

“Catch me if you can, time wizard!” you shouted, already running up the rickety staircase.

Ekko grinned, shaking his head. “Oh, it’s on.”

The rest of the day was a chaotic blur of laughter, near-misses, and Ekko occasionally rewinding time to avoid disaster. By the end of it, you were both sprawled out on a rooftop, watching the lights of Piltover twinkle above.

“That,” you said between breaths, “was the most fun I’ve had in… forever.”

Ekko turned to you, his eyes soft. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, smiling. “But next time, no time travel, okay? Just us.”

Ekko chuckled, resting his head on his arms. “Deal. But only if you promise to stop shoving me into gross water.”

“No promises,” you teased, leaning closer.

He smirked, reaching up to flick your forehead lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.”

“Yeah,” Ekko said quietly, his voice losing its usual bravado. “Yeah, I do.”

Your cheeks flushed, but before you could reply, he spoke again.

“Now, uh, don’t make this awkward, but I may have rewound this moment a couple of times to get it right,” he admitted sheepishly.

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “Ekko!”

“What?!”

“That’s so cheating!”

“Hey, I told you, I wanted it to be perfect!”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, but you couldn’t hide your smile. “You’re lucky you’re cute, time boy.”

Ekko grinned. “Yeah, I know.”

And for once, you let him have the last word.

[pose4photoml]

Rewatching this episode- 🤗

[fanficsfic]

ONLY YOU, DARLING, ONLY YOU

inspired by “Dark Red” by Steve Lacy

It’s almost 1 AM when Y/n pushes open the apartment door with shaking hands. She doesn’t slam it. That would feel too final. But the click of it shutting behind her is loud in the silence she leaves behind.

She doesn’t make it far. Just three flights up, barefoot, breath clouding in the chill air. The rooftop.

The wind bites her arms. Her heart’s still racing from the fight — if you can even call it that. It wasn’t screaming or slamming doors. It was worse.

The quiet kind. The kind where the person you love pulls away and you can feel them slipping through your fingers like water.

She isn’t expecting him to be there.

But of course, Wilbur’s already on the rooftop.

Sitting on the edge with his knees pulled to his chest, his fingers curled around a glass bottle that’s sweating in the cold. He doesn’t look at her at first — just stares out over the city, the lights below reflected in his tired eyes.

“You were leaving.”

His voice slices through the dark. Soft. Accusing. Hurt.

She doesn’t answer. Not right away.

“I needed air,” she finally says.

He turns then. Slowly. His eyes land on her like a storm building.

“Don’t lie.”

She shifts her weight, hugging herself. “You were ignoring me, Wil. What was I supposed to do? Sit there and pretend everything was fine while you shut down again?”

“You were going to leave me.”

That’s not a question. It’s a fear dragged out into the open.

“Wilbur—”

“Something bad is about to happen to me.”

The words fall from his lips like he’s been holding them in all night, and now they’ve clawed their way out. “I feel it. In my chest. In my fucking bones.”

Y/n’s breath catches.

“And it’s not just anxiety or paranoia or whatever label people want to slap on it. It’s you.” He looks at her now, finally, and his voice trembles. “It’s the thought of waking up and you’re not there. Of losing you.”

Her eyes sting. But she stands her ground.

“You keep pushing me away. How am I supposed to hold on when you won’t let me in?”

Wilbur’s quiet for a beat. His fingers tighten around the neck of the bottle. Then, without looking at her, he speaks again — softer this time.

“I think of you so much, it drives me crazy.

The wind kicks up, tousling his hair. He finally stands, shaky, like gravity hits him differently all of a sudden. And when he walks toward her, it’s slow, careful — like she might vanish if he moves too fast.

“Every hour I’m not with you feels like shit. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t focus. Everything I do, you’re there. And it terrifies me.”

He stops a foot in front of her.

“Because if I’m this far gone and you leave…” He breathes out hard. “It’ll destroy me.”

“Wil—”

“Don’t give me up.”

His voice cracks. “Please. Don’t give up on me. I know I’m a mess and I get cold and weird and hard to read but I love you, and I would do anything—anything—just to keep you.”

His hands come up, hesitant, then cradle her cheeks like she’s something fragile.

“I belong with you.” His thumbs brush her skin, eyes locked on hers like this is his last chance.

“Only you. My girl. Only you, baby.”

Y/n’s heart feels like it might explode. She didn’t expect this — not from him, not tonight. But now it’s here, raw and bleeding and desperate in the way only Wilbur can be when he finally lets himself feel it.

She closes the space between them, grabbing the front of his hoodie like an anchor.

“I don’t want to give you up,” she says, voice shaking. “But I can’t do this alone.”

“You’re not.”

It’s a promise. One he folds into a kiss, soft at first, then messier, rougher, full of everything they’ve been holding back.

And when he pulls away, he doesn’t go far.

Foreheads pressed together. Breaths mingling.

He whispers like it hurts to say:

“Please don’t leave me.”

Y/n cups his face now, grounding him.

“I’m still here.”

His eyes flutter shut, and he exhales shakily, like he can finally breathe again.

“I’ll get better,” he mumbles, barely audible. “Just don’t give up on me. I don’t want anyone else. Ever. Not in this life. Not in the next. It’s always been you.”

And then softer, almost reverent:

“Only you, darling. Only you.”

[makebelieveanything]

Don’t Look Down

Shout out to the lovely @andreil-minyasten for encouraging me to write something and share it with you all, and for the engaging prompt. It’s my first mini foray into the world of fan fiction and drabble, so be kind. Any mistakes are my own. 

Prompt: “You can have my heart if you have the stomach to take it.”

It’s been two years since Neil met Andrew, since he decided to stop running and let someone have his back, his trust, and if he was being honest his heart. It had taken over two years for him to figure it out, but Neil knew now, on a fundamental level, that his heart truly did belong to Andrew. It had never belonged to anyone else; Neil’s unsure it had ever been his own to begin with.

That was the crux of the problem though, Neil realized his heart belonged to Andrew; he also recognized that was the very reason Andrew continued to remind Neil, “210% Josten,” and, “I hate you,” which is what Andrew had thrown  at him before escaping up to the roof. Consequently it was also Neil’s justification for not following him.

They shared a bed most nights now, Andrew curling up against the wall, the meager inches of space a single dorm bed allowed left between them as an invisible barrier. Their hesitant touches had moved past an obligatory, “yes or no,” except for the days when shadows lined their irides. Other small things evolved over the years: Neil knew exactly how much sugar to put in Andrew’s morning coffee; Andrew cut up fruit in his bowls of ice cream so Neil would have something to share with him while they watched TV; their clothes had intermixed so thoroughly that the closet was now separated by clothing type rather than owner.

On most days Neil could withstand the sharp words, understanding they were Andrew’s best way of divulging he felt something. On most days Neil was content with the plateau of familiarity they’d reached after years of patience and missteps. Today was not most days.

Today Neil was antsy, aggravation and fear running electric surges down his skin and through his finger tips, niggling at his resolution, coercing him to run now before he fell over the edge and couldn’t come back. Today’s shadows were not the product of nightmares riddled with blood and death, nor were they triggered by the desire to escape; they were specters of old insecurities, haunting his confidence and slowly deteriorating Neil’s resolve.

Neil was on a mission. Instead of slipping on his running shoes and taking off around the block like he itched to, Neil grabbed his phone and an extra sweatshirt as the sun began to drop below the horizon and marched himself up the stairs to the roof. Neil knew Andrew heard him the minute the door swung open, but the blonde continued to face forward, legs dangling off the ledge, heels knocked against the brick siding in a rhythmic drumming.

Neil sidled up beside Andrew, but sat with his back to the roof’s edge, draping the sweatshirt over the ledge between them. Neil settled his head back, his eyes gazing up along the side of Andrew’s arm and catching the occasional flutter of his golden hair in the evening breeze. Neil was about to throw himself off an emotional ledge, he had no compunction to dangle his physical body over one as well.

Read here on A03.

“I can hear you thinking,” Andrew said, continuing to stare at the horizon, a half spent cigarette dangling from two fingers.

“Truth for truth?” Neil asked in response, hoping reinstating their original deal would re-instill some of his wavering confidence. When Andrew didn’t answer right away, Neil tilted his head to catch Andrew staring at him, his face an open book for someone who recognized how to read it. The slight furrow in his brow was an indication of his confusion, but the meager tilt of his head in Neil’s direction a clear invitation to continue; Neil had always been excellent with languages.

“I need to know what this is,” Neil said.

“This is nothing,” Andrew replied automatically, not even bothering to clarify Neil’s meaning.

“Don’t lie to a liar,” Neil shot back.

“I told you a long time ago, I’m not your answer,” Andrew said, his hazel eyes reverting back to the sunset as he brought the cigarette to his lips. The plume of smoke floating up into the pink hued sky mingled with the wisps of evening clouds.

“I’m not someone you need to protect anymore; I don’t need you to fix me. I can take care of myself just fine. I don’t need you,” Neil retorts, his anxiety filtering through his words sharp as knives. They had always been a balancing act, one stiff breeze away from carving each other into pieces. “I don’t need you Andrew, but I want you,” Neil said.

Andrew’s honey colored eyes turned to Neil’s, his cigarette hanging limply in his hand. “No you don’t,” Andrew responds.

“Oh, so now you know my thoughts now? Tell me, when did you become an expert on interpreting my feelings when you can’t even voice your own.” Neil knew he was being harsh, he knew the green that started to bleed into Andrew’s gaze was a spark of anger, his self preservation rising up to eviscerate Neil’s assumptions.

So Neil said the only thing he could think of, the challenge rising in his own eyes to match Andrew’s, “You can have my heart if you have the stomach to take it.”

A few agonizing seconds pass before Andrew responds, “And what happens when you decide giving it to me was a mistake?”

“It’s always been yours, Andrew, you can run from it if you like, but I’m done running,” Neil replied.

When no response was forthcoming, Neil pushed himself up from the wall, turning one last time to see Andrew’s body silhouetted against the sky, the pastel hues catching against his blond hair, the softness blurring along his broad shoulders a direct contrast to the deep, endless, black of his t-shirt and arm bands.

Neil makes it as far as the door, his hand on the cold handle when he hears Andrew speak.

“Neil.”

“Yes?” he asks, unwilling to turn around, afraid of what he’ll encounter in Andrew’s face if he looks.

“Neil,” Andrew says again, a hint of something softer coloring his vowels.

Neil turns, and finds himself bracketed against the door, Andrew’s arms splayed on either side of his head; the sheathed knives enclosed in the ever present armbands  scant millimeters away from Neil’s cheeks, yet Neil remains frozen. Andrew leans in, his forehead stalling so close Neil could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the smoke lined breath from his lips ghosting over Neil’s own like a caress.

“You already have mine too,” Andrew whispers against Neil’s skin before pressing a soft kiss to his lips, sealing his promise into Neil’s mouth.

[hanimanny]

ROOFTOP CONFESSIONS #2

“Who let you wear Boy Scout short shorts?” you scoff as you sift through old pictures of his boy wonder days. 

Lying leisurely on his lap, as his feet dangle off the side of the building, you laugh haughtily at a photo of him reaching out for the camera trying to stop said photos from being taken. 

“It was a dark time.” Dick sighs, seemingly deep in thought as he indulges in your reminiscing.

“All of Gotham is dark,” you remind him, flipping to another photo. 

“Well, aren’t you a smart cookie?” Dick sasses, reaching to pinch your cheek absentmindedly, his eyes washing over the Blüdhaven skyline. 

“The smartest”, you hum thoughtfully. 

You land on a photo where Dick is sitting cross-legged on a gravelled rooftop, his legs bandaged and patched, his face forming something in between a pout and a frown. You're also in frame, sticking tightly in the corner with a wide, satisfied smile on your face. 

No doubt, you two just had a showdown, and it’s clear who was victorious. 

“even at 13, i still beat your ass” you laugh, shoving the photo into Dicks perfectly chiselled face. 

He rolls his eyes, taking the photo in hand. 

He looks at himself, looking puffed out and defeated—probably racking up a detailed story to retell to the big bats. He remembers that fight clear as day. 

the way he chased you from rooftop to rooftop. How easily you evaded his precise attacks, and how much you pissed him off with your stupid big mouth. how he procured many injuries that day, but the moment he tripped over some stupid gravel, you stopped fighting and danced over to him. Half expecting to get the lights knocked out of him, half thinking you were going to give him some witty commentary on furries. 

He didn’t expect for you to bend down to his fallen height and pull out a packet of Scooby-Doo bandages.

Then you spent the next 10 minutes patching his scraped knees, as if you hadn’t sucker punched his jaw to the next dimension just a few moments before. 

Dick smiles at the memory, looking down on his lap. 

He thinks you haven’t changed one bit. 

Then his eyes land on another photo in your hand, and before you can hide it from him, he snatches it with the precision of a trained vulture. 

“YOU DICK! GIVE THAT BACK.” You make a point of using his name and the insult. 

Dick extends his hand far beyond your reach as he tuts, “No thanks, sunshine; I think I’m going to frame this one.”

You pounce on him, but he easily dodges your attack, moving away from the edge of the roof. 

“You better give that back, boy scout, or I’ll push you off the roof,” you threaten, clenching the rest of the photos in your hand as if they wronged you in every possible way. Dick laughs. “It’s not the first time you’ve done that.” 

You lunge at him again, but there’s no real effort to hurt him. Dick pulls his arm away, sticking it high enough in the air, far away from you. 

the photo? You’re beetroot red in the face, on the edge of a random rooftop. Your mask is fully off, and your hair is messy from the rapid rooftop winds. Nothing much else, although your lip gloss seems to be smudged, and the younger version of Dick is squeezed into the corner of the frame, in full Robin attire (mask and all), face littered with glittery pink kisses and a dumb, sickly smug smile.

[hanimanny]

ROOFTOP CONFESSIONS #3

To be fair, he should’ve seen this coming. 

It started with him chasing you; after doing some not-so-legal things, you’re back to the cat-and-mouse routine you both easily fall into. 

That is, until you found out who told on you. 

Then the roles were reversed, and Dick had never seen a more murderous glare than this moment; being caught in his silly lie. 

Which finds him here now, after a 2-hour goose chase; where you threw multiple things trying to cut his head off, and a few (many) obscure insults later, you’re both tuckered out.

“Stay still so I can stab you.” You puff out but make no actual move to hurt him. Dick used the wall behind him to support his staggering form, ignoring your threats like they’re just whispers in the wind. 

Your hands are on your knees as you try to catch your breath. 

“Stupid boy scout narc! If,” you huff pathetically, “if you wanted to see me on your off time, you could’ve just asked.” 

Dick looks at you incredulously. Why would he deliberately go to the big bats and rat you out on your most recent not-so-legal activities? Because he knew Batman would send him off to either catch you or otherwise warn you to stop. 

No way would he go out of his way to do that.

…

Yeah, so he definitely did that. But how else could he contact a no-contact, relapsed villain? It’s not like you know each other's identities (you do, but keeping a secret from the bats is harder than you think), and you can’t just share phone numbers all willy-nilly like that. 

“I’m serious, Dick.” Oh shit, he’s in trouble. “I was so close to being off radar,” you groan as you stretch your back, hearing 4 satisfying consecutive cracks. 

“Then why’d you steal all that food like a grungy robin hood?” he questioned, learning to walk again, as he strides closer to you. 

“Ever heard of homeless orphans?” you sass, crossing your arms defensively. 

He humours you, “Maybe, it rings a bell or two.”

You scoff, “Yeah, well, someone has to feed those kids. They look like poor Victorian children—a breath away from catching the bubonic plague.”

Through his domino mask, Dick’s eyes soften as he approaches you as you would approach a feral dog. 

“Stealing isn’t the way to go.”

“Well, look at you, being an upstanding citizen.” 

You lean into his touch. Despite wanting to poke his eyes out moments earlier, you can never resist him. 

“Yeah, I’m ashamed of all the good deeds I do,” you giggle, and Dick rubs circles on the back of your hand. 

“I’ll figure something out.” Dick says it like he promises he’ll do something, and you wholeheartedly believe him. 

“You always do, boy scout.” You reach to pinch his cheek, which he fails to sway away. 

There’s a silence that settles between you two, the beats of your hearts still loud from the chase. 

Then you break it. 

“You’re still a narc.”

With knee him straight in the stomach. 

Which, to be fair, he should’ve seen coming. 

[neverlust-seek-truth]

Worst Aim

She threw her words like darts. Aiming at all the parts. Alas her aim was off. For her intention was false. She never understood the grave. They always seemed misbehaved. Her flaw was she listened to talk.