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tumblr dot com

shark vs the universe
KIROKAZE

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@unreasonablerobin
Get in loser, we're going shopping!
It's me, @unreasonablerobin, you're favourite corner of tumblr.com! I'm 18, Irish, and on Wednesdays I wear pink.
WELCOME —to Robin's Mall
We've got some drop-dead gorgeous shops to visit!
godslayer — ft. mydeimos
your husband is a king who knows little else outside of being a warrior. that is the truth you cling to until slowly, month by month, he makes his way into the cavity of your chest and refuses to leave
word count. ❤︎ 18.2k words — i know, i know. but plssss give it a chance plsss
before you read. ❤︎ female princess/queen reader ; crown prince/king mydei ; arranged marriage ; NOT canon universe + NOT canon compliant - royal/historical au ; mentions of war and politics ; slow burn + falling in love ; lots of bickering LOL ; reader has a (king) father and is implied to no longer have a mother ; sexual harassment but mydei saves reader ; reader drinks alcohol + gets drunk in one scene ; jealous mydei ; fingering ; nipple play ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; hand jobs ; cockblocking LOL sorry ; blood and injuries (mydei gets stabbed) ; love confessions and cheesy bantering
commentary. ❤︎ IT IS FINALLY HERE MY GOD. my god. BIG THANK YOU TO @osarina for not only beta reading this fic and fixing WAY too many grammar errors (LOL) but for literally listening and helping me work through every struggle i had with this fic and being 70% of the reason i even finished it. you are my biggest inspo forever ily dearly
You do not remember most of your wedding to Lord Mydeimos.
On the day of your wedding, the beginning of your ceremony goes by like a blur, and you pay little attention. It’s not until Kremnos’s royal advisor steps forward does your reality sink in. You watch wearily as he faces the crowd of people—enough of the Kremnoan commoners have gathered to witness the ceremony, and you feel more like a spectacle than a bride.
Omg this is so beautiful wtf
Webs of Pain. chapter five: a ghost of the past
summary | while the memory of you haunts your family, you haunt yourself. in the meantime, roy just keeps falling deeper and deeper in your web, dragging you with him; a reunion seems to bring everything crashing down.
pairing | platonic batfam x spider!batsis!reader. roy harper x reader. platonic! lian harper x reader
warnings / tags | angst, hurt/comfort, y/n is mentioned as a female. literal death, experimentation, consequences of being brought back to life. reader has severe depression and many scars from what joker and scarecrow did to her. mentions of torture because she has a backstory of how she ended up like that.
reader has fangs, is quite literally half spider while looking completely human. there is an age gap between roy and her.
word count | 4.8k
authors note | hi there!! english is not my first language so there might be some mistakes :) please vote <3
this is NOT a yandere series, but it has dark themes that you already saw on warnings.
bruce is 45. dick is 26. cass is 22. jason is 21. reader is 21. tim and steph are 19. duke is 18. damian is 14. roy is 29
taglist | @fanficeatsandenjoys @p1nkh3artz @oliemolliever @totallynotuseful @astraeasworld @lettucel0ver @lorosette @diseasedclitoris @c4xcocoa @wisefuncherryblossom @1abi @fennecspage @cxcilla @oliviaewl @shqyou @tuabuelaenvinagrexd @mei-simp @ihavenomuse @iminlovewithjasontodd @dr7girl @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @ren1sawesome @wpdarlingpan @strabunny @tiffyisme3760 @hanbee41 @jsi8d8f9foewnsn @notfuntimes @iglb12 @po55um @coffeemin @nisarelle @mazixxss @chiizuluvr @bbmgirll @homeless-clown @jjoppees @frogwizard13 @jeshomie @amandjslpz @marinefreaakk @invinciblewaffles @krys0210 @snake-in-a-flower-crown @mosseetrees @bogioto @dubidumzy @fire-0-lily @wendee-go @drenix004 @inayouboo
previous. next.
YOU HAUNT BRUCE.
OMG I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS!!
i know you get déjà vu
pairing: current boyfriend!wally west x afab!reader, ex!dick grayson
summary: dick is pretty sure he's in hell. your new relationship with wally is public, and dick is confronted with the reality of his own making; you moving on and being happy, in the arms of his best friend.
content: you and wally are dating, happy, and in love! yay! dick is miserable, and his thoughts focus primarily on you and the new relationship. dick is probably ooc, kori is out on mission and isn't around when everything is going down (i forgot until i was writing tags), dick is always watching, wally is our sweetheart!, implied sexual content, breakup conversations
wc: 7.8k read part 1 here
Dick is almost sure he’s in a version of hell.
It’s not dramatic, not in the way people usually mean it. There’s no fire, no chaos, no immediate danger. Everything around him functions exactly as it should. Missions run smoothly. The team laughs. The city keeps moving.
But everywhere he goes, you’re there, you and Wally, and it’s unbearable.
There was a time when seeing the two of you together would have made him smile. Wally had always been easy to be around. Loud, bright, relentless in a way that balanced out the darker parts of the job. And you… you had always fit into the spaces Dick didn’t even realize were empty.
Back then, the idea of you and Wally spending time together felt natural. Now it feels like punishment. Because it’s not just that you’re together. It’s that everyone knows.
GUILTY AS SIN | steve harrington
PART ONE | PART TWO (coming soon)
My bedsheets are ablaze I've screamed his name Building up like waves Crashing over my grave
You can't stop thinking about Steve Harrington when having sex with your boyfriend.
pairing: steve harrington x reader words: 7k contains: (18+ smut!! minors dni) porn with a plot, female masturbation, oral (fem receiving), p in v, protected penetrative sex, dirty talk, pet names, reader being a bit of a perv and listens to steve having sex, lots of fantasying about steve, best friend/roommate!steve, use of y/n, female reader, she/her pronouns for reader, emotional cheating (i guess??), inclusion of ronance because why not!! eddie is also alive and well and also bi!!
author's note: it is finally here!! i've been banging on about this fic a lot and i'm glad that part one is here. you guys have been just as excited about this fic as me so i’m so happy that i’m finally sharing it as i thought of this idea in january!! full transparency, this was meant to be just one part fic but then i realised that i wanted much more of a story and sooooo here we are!
rec account: @moonstone-recommends
to be added to my 18+ taglist | masterlist | requests page
“Oh—fuck—I’m so close, babe. Tell me you’re close, tell me you’re—”
You wished you could say you were. You wished your moans falling from your lips were genuine—that you were right there with your boyfriend but you’d be lying. You weren’t even close.
“Yeah, super close,” you tell him in a not so breathless voice.
James was too busy chasing his release to even notice.
You felt his cock twitch inside of you and you knew it was over before it had even begun for you.
This was soooo delicious, pls tag me in pt.2!
Whatever you say Teach
Summary: Damian gets in a fight at school, and his favorite teacher has to set up a meeting with a parent or guardian. Bruce Wayne is away on a mission and Alfred isn’t picking up the phone, so Damian’s eldest brother has to attend a parent teacher conference. Only to find out that he has history with his little brother’s English Lit teacher.
Pairing: Dick Grayson/Teacher Fem!Reader & (PLATONIC) Damian Wayne/Fem!Reader
Content Warning: No use of Y/N, Second Person, cursing, second chance romance, yearner dick, angst, fluff, mentions of bullying and boys saying inappropriate things, Dick’s day job is being a P.E. teacher (I don’t believe in cop!dick propaganda, no matter how fine he looked)
Word Count: 11k
A/N: DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME!!! Please never get back with an ex, I have been there, done that, and got the t-shirt. Let me tell you it was NOT worth it. This is only acceptable because it is Dick Grayson. I usually hate second-chance romance, but it came to me while I was writing this and felt like it fit. Anyway, enjoy my lovelies <3
“Can anyone tell me the significance of the crew changing how they refer to Charlotte from her name to Ms. Doy-”
Some chalk had dusted over your hand where you had been writing the question on the board when you hear someone landing a punch behind you. Whipping your head around you see quite the scene laid out in your classroom.
Damian Wayne is standing over Jordan Hawthorne.
The classroom had gone silent collectively holding their breath at the sight. Jordan Hawthorne was, from your understanding, the grade bully. You had called home weekly, practically being on a first name basis with his mother. The school never did anything about him, frustrating you to your wits end. His parents were huge donors for the school, essentially allowing him to do whatever he pleased. He was bigger than most of his classmates along with an insufferably large attitude, and Damian was… small. He was probably the smallest boy in your class and Jordan loved that. He had a knack of picking on the kids who wouldn’t stand up for themselves, the quiet ones. You watched him like a hawk in your classroom when you noticed how he chose his prey. You didn’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable in your classroom, this was school not a war zone. No one should feel unsafe here.
While Damian didn’t get along with most of the kids in his grade he had never outright acted on that dislike. He would sit quietly in his chair, raising his hand when he knew the answer or had a question. On all of his assignments there were impressive sketches of different animals in the margins, you would always write an “amazing” or “beautiful” next to the drawings while grading. Despite his eloquent perspective of life, he was still a little boy who wanted some praise for his skill. It was your job as his teacher to harbor and stimulate creativity. A quick glance at him after handing back assignments confirmed your suspicion, there was a rare genuine smile at the fact that someone had noticed him. While being relatively quiet and unassuming, everything he said and did was done with purpose. Which meant something had happened here. Damian never acted without a cause.
You still had the chalk in hand when you recovered from the shock, and Jordan Hawthorne was glaring at Damian from where he had landed on the floor.
“You’re dead meat kid.” He growled and Damian only put his fists up.
When he props himself up with his hand, you finally snap back into reality and rush to where they are in the center of the classroom. The class has circled around them, and some pulled out their phones to record as though this is primetime TV.
You push past the congregation of children and unfortunately, neither of the boys saw you coming. They were in their own little world of battle and just as you stepped in between them, Jordan had swung as hard as he could. Punching you right in the stomach.
You were not getting paid enough for this.
It hurt more than you let on. All the wind had been knocked out of you, but you were able to disguise the impact from pain to exasperation. You took a deep breath and see the wide eyes of all your students and order the boys,
“Hallway, both of you. Now.” You lift your gaze around the classroom at the stunned expressions of your remaining students, “The rest of you, sit down and start on the homework.”
And for the first time in your three years of teaching, there was no pushback. No complaints or groaning from students. There was just the quick shuffle of footsteps and chairs squeaking from being dragged across the floor then, silence. Peace and Quiet.
The boys follow out of the classroom, flanking you from each side. You walk to the social studies classroom across the hallway, where there’s a teacher’s aid. She’s an undergrad student trying to get some teaching hours with Mr. Horn, but she helps out around the school too. You open the door and pop your head in with a cautious smile.
Mr. Horn wasn’t particularly kind when his lessons were interrupted. He was super old and believed you should only speak when spoken to, so you wait until he finishes his question to the class and turns to look at you. He has an eyebrow raised prompting you to talk.
“Hi, sorry to interrupt.” The apology was useless, but he still appreciates the sentiment. “Could I borrow Sophie for a moment? I have to walk two students down to the office and need someone to watch my class while I step away.”
“Ah yes, of course.” He doesn’t seem too upset about the interruption, realizing that it was something that couldn’t wait. He looks at Sophie from her spot at the back of the classroom and cocks his head in your direction. She nods with a gentle smile on her face and makes her way out the door.
A bashful smile is on your face while thanking her for the help. She laughs it off with an “Of course!” then walks into your classroom. Sighing you look back at the perpetrators of your quickly bruising stomach.
“Come on you two.” Is all you offer them before you turn around and start the trek to the front office. There’s an echo of two sets of steps following your path and you finally drop the mask. Noticing that there are no eyes that can see your face, it contorts in pain. And as tempted as you are, you don’t bring your hand to your stomach, not wanting to give away how much it actually hurt. The bruise is already forming under the white button down you wore today. You just continue taking deep breaths until you make it to the office.
It takes about five minutes to make it all the way across the Academy. Within the first couple of days here, you learned that it’s not difficult to get lost here. It’s all the same gothic architecture that they refuse to put signs on. The only exceptions to that were the classroom numbers on the doors, which makes it too easy to miss the office in your opinion. It took you about three weeks of working here to finally learn your way around.
You pull open the door of the office, and the boys walk in single file. The secretary greets you with a smile, about to ask why you’re in the office and then sees the boys in front of you. Jordan was a regular here, so she picked up on the unsaid by his presence alone.
“Dawn’s not in a meeting right now so you can walk ‘em right in.” She informs you.
“Thank you, Nancy.” You say with a smile.
On your first day, Horn told you to make sure to get on Nancy’s good side. She knew everything about everyone at this school. Having her on your good side meant protection from the Dean, Dawn. Since everyone knew that Nancy knows everything, Dawn would trust her on her opinions on faculty. Which meant you always smiled a little wider and sometimes would get an extra pastry from your favorite cafe, when you knew you would run into Nancy that day.
You walk to the end of the skinny hallway to where the door to Dawn’s office is cracked open. You stand at the entrance and knock on the wooden door frame, and she looks up from her desktop with a calculated smile. She had long red hair and was in her mid-40s. She always wore pantsuits, she had the same one in four different colors and would rotate them. You avoided interacting with her as much as possible because she had a weird vibe to her, she always looks at you like you were a puzzle she hadn’t figured out yet.
“Good morning, Miss,” She addresses you. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this lovely visit!”
“Good morning, to you too! Unfortunately, I don’t come bearing the best news.” You tell her with an embarrassed half-smile. “I have a Mr. Hawthorne and Mr. Wayne out here with me, they um… got in a fight in my classroom.”
She closes her eyes and throws her head back in the same breath. This was the worst part of the job, and you don’t envy her for having to sit through it. “Yes, of course, send Mr. Hawthorne in first. Just make sure to pick up the witness report from Nancy on the way back.”
You nod and step out of the office. Hearing what the Dean said, Jordan walks into the classroom with a smug look on his face. The face of a kid who knows mommy and daddy will get him out of trouble. The door shuts behind him, and you look down at an anxious Damian Wayne sitting in the hallway. His feet don’t quite reach the floor from the chair, and his legs are swinging back and forth, betraying his carefully neutral exterior. You stand next to him in silence just looking at him while he has a staring contest with the patterned office carpet.
“It was unnecessary for you to take the punch for me. I could handle the brunt of it.” He says without looking at you.
“I know,” You try to think of how to word this to him, not wanting to damage the fragile ego he claims is indestructible. “But I don’t like fighting in my classroom.” You place a hand on his shoulder, and he finally tears his eyes from the floor and looks up at you.
“What happened?” You ask him with a gentleness you usually reserved for the children at the orphanage you volunteered at on Sundays.
“Hawthorne said some inappropriate words to Sarah, and you know how she is.” He gestures with his hands, motioning that her personality should be obvious. “She lacks the ability to stand up for herself. What he said was vile and she was uncomfortable. She asked him to stop and he continued. He kept taunting her and she looked on the verge of tears. So, I…”
“Hit him.” You finish the story for him.
“Yes.” He confirms unapologetically.
You exhale while processing the story. You’re trying to figure out your next words to him. In all honesty, you are secretly proud of him. You hated when boys get nasty in your class. It happened more often than you’d like and you tried your best to catch it and put a stop to it, but you couldn’t catch them every single time.
However, you can’t tell your student that you’re proud of him for laying out another one of your students without risking a write-up from your supervisor, despite how much he deserved it. Your only concern now was that you would have to drag poor Sarah into this. She was very shy and would rather swallow a knife than open up. You would have to approach her carefully.
“I’m not sorry.” He cuts into your thought process.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be.” You hold his gaze. He doesn’t look apologetic at the fact that he hit the Hawthorne boy, but there’s a glimpse of worry lingering in his eyes. You’re not entirely sure where it’s from and you don’t get the chance to find out when Dawn opens the door and motions for Damien to join them inside.
“Go on.” You tell him lifting your hand from his shoulder. He nods and gets up, walking around you to go inside. He sits down and right before Dawn closes the door, he looks at you once more with that same flicker of anxiety and then the door closes.
Walking back to Nancy’s desk to pick up the report and regret not calling out sick this morning. This was only the beginning to a very long day.
° ❀ ⋆ . ೃ࿔ * : ・ ° ❀ ⋆ . ೃ࿔ * : ・
Sighing to yourself during your free period you start to fill out the witness report. You’ll have to submit it to the headmaster and call a parent or guardian to set up some form of a parent-teacher conference. Along with your stomach, your head’s been aching all day. For some odd reason, the divorced couple that lived next to you seemed to think that a Sunday night was the perfect time to have reconciliation sex. Safe to say that the headboard slamming into your shared wall at three in the morning was not the alarm you were expecting to wake up to.
Your eyes keep coming in and out of focus and you decide after filling out the date and time of the report, to place the pen back in the cup at the top of your desk. There was no point in filling out the form if you could barely concentrate. Elbows propped on the desk you drop your head in your hands and feel your fingers drag along your face. Peeking through your hand to check the time on the desktop, you bite back a groan seeing that it’s not even noon. It’s been the longest day of the year so far and it’s only 11:52.
You move to pull open the bottom filling cabinet. You might as well try to get in contact with the parents to set up the conference. Looking through the letter dividers, you find Damian’s first and flip it open. You read through some pages before finding the contacts. Scanning through them you notice there’s a father, a legal guardian, some brothers, but no mother. Damian had told you some stories of his mom, and you assumed she was still present in his life, but that didn’t seem to be the case anymore. You had never read through the school ordered file before, you usually never did. There was more to a student than what Gotham Academy records had to say, but this did help piece a fraction of the Damian Wayne puzzle together. You start going down the line of contacts for Damian, to make the first call.
You pull the office phone that lies on your desk closer to you and dial nine to get an outside line. The first number you dial is the phone number that belongs to his father, Bruce Wayne. You’re hunched over your desk on the phone praying he doesn’t pick up. You’ve had the luxury of speaking to him once before when Damian won an award for his essay on animal rights and it was nothing short of awkward. Whether they realize it or not, Bruce and Damian are very similar. The press liked to paint Bruce Wayne as a reckless, playboy, billionaire, and maybe it was because you are his son’s teacher, but he was nothing like that.
Speaking to him felt like pulling teeth, it was so uncomfortable. He stood tall and remained quiet the whole night. Barely saying more than three-word sentences. You’re sure that once you can have a good conversation with him that he’s good company, but this wasn’t going to be the type of conversation you were hoping for.
By some miracle, it seems that someone was listening to your prayers today and Mr. Wayne did not pick up the phone, you let out a breath of relief when the voicemail recording begun playing in your ear. So, you moved to the next contact, Alfred Pennyworth.
He was one of Damian’s other legal guardians, but you’d never met him or heard of him. And apparently, the universe wanted to keep it that way because Mr. Pennyworth doesn’t pick up his phone either.
Does anyone in this family answer the phone?
You try to call the third contact listed on Damian’s information sheet and freeze, staring at the name of his eldest brother.
There’s no way.
It couldn’t be.
Richard’s a pretty common name, right? And so is Grayson.
Because there’s no fucking way that your Richard Grayson is Damian’s older brother.
He can’t be.
You immediately regret cashing in your prayer for the day, you would have a million conversations with Bruce Wayne if it meant you didn’t have to make this phone call. You weren’t sure how many Richard Graysons there were in the tristate area, but you knew one, and with your luck he would be the one on the other end of the line. You avoided thinking about the way your brain was engraving the phone number to memory; while your fingers cautiously pressed the numbers that created a portal into the years of your life you tried to scrub away in the shower.
Please Don’t Pick up. Please Don’t Pick up. Please Don’t Pick-
“Hey, this is Dick”
Fuck.
Of course, he had to be the person in the family to pick up the phone. Tears well up in your eyes instantly recognizing his voice. How could you not? You used to drift off into sleep while it whispered sweet nothings in your ear every night.
“Hello, this is Richard Grayson correct?” You slap your forehead, fuming that fate has decided to drag this man back into your life after it cost you everything to remove him.
“Yes,” He confirms and you fight every urge in your body to hang up on him. “And who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”
“Hi, I’m Damian’s English Literature teacher at Gotham Academy.” You do everything to avoid saying your name. “I am trying to contact one of his guardians and neither of the others listed have answered. Do you have a moment?”
He pauses for a brief moment, and you wish the ground would swallow you whole at your desk. Holding the office phone against your ear, you drop your forehead to the cold surface of the worn desk and close your eyes. During the short silence you begin to contemplate what you’re doing with your life.
“Yeah, I do, just give me a second.” There’s muffled speaking while he excuses himself from a conversation. “Um- out of curiosity.” The color drains from your face at those words, begging to any god or star in the sky listening that he doesn’t recognize you. “Who are the other contacts listed?”
“Oh yes-” You sit up catching your breath, this was a question you would answer gladly. Looking back at the paper to list off, “I have a Bruce Wayne and an Alfred Pennyworth as his father and legal guardian.”
“Ahhh, yeah. That checks out. They’re… away at the moment. I’ve been taking care of the rascal by myself.” He sighs in a way that indicates taking care of Damian Wayne was a full-time job. “Anyway, what did the little monster do now?” He sounds so casual almost as if he’s kicked back on a desk chair pushed back to the point it’s about to tip over.
You squeeze your eyes shut as tight as they physically can, grateful no one else is in the room. This conversation, his voice, him- it’s bringing too many memories back. Flashbacks of a life you tried to forget. Flashbacks of a life you buried when you left Blüdhaven.
“Damian got into a physical altercation with another student today in my class” there’s a slight pause in between each word while you choose your words carefully, since it technically wasn’t a fight. “It’s Academy policy that I have to meet with the student responsible for beginning the physical altercation’s guardian to discuss his behavior. Since Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth were not available at the moment, I would have to set up a time to meet with you.” The speech comes out robotic, making this call more than enough times in your career here to last you a lifetime. “Unless you can get in touch with Mr. Wayne or Mr. Pennyworth, we can set up a time with them instead?”
You bite your fist struggling to not sound too hopeful with your pathetic attempt of finding an out. This would be a really big fat “fuck you” from the universe, having to hold this meeting with him. You could have been struck with any other typical Gotham luck: you could’ve gotten robbed, kidnapped by Poison Ivy, held at gun point, but no. You had to have a conversation with the man you moved cities to get away from.
“No, I can come to the meeting!” He sounds way too enthusiastic about this, especially considering you just told him that his little brother decked someone. “I can be there around three-thirty today if that works? That’s when school usually gets out right?”
“Yup!” You sounded too perky for your liking. “That works for me, I’ll jot it down in my calendar.”
“Perfect see you then!”
“See you then Mr. Grayson.”
You hang up the phone rougher than the headmaster would probably like, but screw that. It’s his policy that’s making you meet with the man who taught you that heartbreak could make you physically ill.
You spend the rest of your free period dreading this meeting that you forget to fill out the witness report and talk to Sarah. You usually left Jordan’s parents to the Dean or Headmaster because they were such important donors. It was also his fifth strike in the month which meant they would have to deal with it anyway. You end up handling everything during your lunch, one of the firsts you’ve spent alone. The boys were both in lunch detention which meant the little Wayne would not be joining you today.
Damian usually spent his lunches with you because he didn’t like any of the kids in his classes. He was reserved, never spoke much with anyone. Over the course of the year, he slowly started speaking to you more, opening up. You let him tell you what he was comfortable sharing, making sure to not pry with him. On days he didn’t feel like speaking during lunch, you would pull the screen down and put on a nature documentary that you knew he would enjoy. It was a little thing you would do to let him relax, and he’d never tell you how that made your classroom feel more like home than the manor did some days.
After deciding you would talk to Sarah tomorrow to ask her about what happened, and walking to the office to submit the witness report to Nancy, you make it back to the quiet corner of school where your classroom lies. When the door shuts behind you, you slide down to the cold floor and stare at the tile lined ceiling.
You’re sure that somewhere the hands of fate are laughing at you, puppeteering this cruel plot. That just when you had barred Richard Grayson from your mind, he had to make an infamous comeback.
The bell rings which brings the lunch period to a close, along with your pity party. You stand and brush off your clothes with a deep breath and plaster the wide teacher smile you mastered in all those volunteer hours during undergrad.
When the students start filing into your classroom, you throw yourself into your lesson about the girl who left everyone she loved and knew behind to start the life she wanted for herself. Your students would never know that you chose this book every year because you saw more of yourself in her than you cared to admit.
° ❀ ⋆ . ೃ࿔ * : ・ ° ❀ ⋆ . ೃ࿔ * : ・
03:27 p.m.
This is the only time it would’ve been convenient for you to have a villain roaming around destroying Gotham, and of course it doesn’t happen. The Joker must have some sick sense of humor, because not even the devil could construct this type of Hell you found yourself in.
Damian is sitting at desk in front of you, in the scary statue-like way he does when you know he’s had a bad day. You keep bouncing your foot and your heels are clinking on the floor while staring out the window.
Why did it have to be Dick?
“I’m sorry that you had to stay after hours for me.” Damian whispers into the void of the classroom.
“What?” You turn to look at the boy genuinely confused. He’s looking at the desk purposefully avoiding your gaze.
“I told you earlier that I wasn’t sorry for hitting Jordan and I’m not. But you are tapping your leg impatiently on the floor, indicating that you want this to be over, and that is my fault. It is my fault that you are here this late.” He pauses and looks up to meet your eyes, and you see a slight crease in between his brows, and it hits you.
He thinks you’re upset with him.
“For that, I am sorry.” He confirms.
“Oh Damian,” You stand from your desk and make your way to crouch in front of his. “I’m not upset with you.”
“You’re not?” He looks cautious, as if he’s being lured into a trap. The doubtful look on his face pulls at your heartstrings.
“No, what Jordan said and did was wrong and while I can’t condone physical violence as your teacher,” you pause with a wicked glint in your eye. “I can tell you that he had it coming.”
When he internalizes your words and the hidden message in it, he smirks. This poor boy had spent all day thinking you were upset with him, that’s why he looked nervous in the office. Behind that mature attitude he had, he was still just a ten-year-old boy at the end of the day. So, when he smirks at you, you made sure to smile back. You smile back letting him know your room would always be open for lunch.
You stand back up letting the unsaid hang in the air and turn to walk back to your desk and before you can sit down, the door to your classroom swings wide open and there he is.
Your ex-boyfriend.
With a bouquet of flowers in hand.
The same bouquet he bought you the first time he took you to dinner.
The breath traveling out of your nose gets caught in your nostrils when your eyes land on him. He’s as devastatingly handsome as the day you left him. You tried to tell yourself his beauty would fade with time, the way every guy does when you break up with them. But no, like some cruel twist of luck, he was beautiful. The unkept raven black hair with the lightening blue eyes you spent hours staring into, took you right back to all the nights you tried to forget from college.
“Why did you bring flowers Grayson?” The catalyst for this meeting asks disgusted from his spot at the desk.
“I always bring flowers on a first date!” He responds with the boyish charm that made you fall in love with him at nineteen.
“This isn’t our first date.” You look at him through the narrow slits of your eyes.
You were going to have to start giving yourself more credit. On the inside you were nothing but an anxious bundle of nerves, but you were doing pretty good at not revealing it. You had his attitude to thank for that. Being annoyed at Dick was easy, almost as easy as loving him.
“Well, I know that sweetheart,” You flinch at the old pet name. “But it’s our first date in a while.”
“Dick, this isn’t a date.” You snap at him.
He doesn’t get to do that. Not now. Not after everything.
“Whatever you say Teach.” He gives you a playful look that almost undoes you on the spot. Trying to keep your cool, you glance down at the shell-shocked little boy that followed both of you with the same intensity that some would watch a Wimbledon match. Hie eyebrows looked just about ready to fly off his face while his left nostril was scrunched up, connecting the dots that there may be some history here.
“Damian sweetie,” you try to regain control of the situation. “Can you wait outside while I talk to your brother for moment? I’ll call you back inside in a couple minutes.”
“Only a couple?” He asks with only one eyebrow raised now.
“Yes, only a couple.” You confirm.
“Okay.” He nods and walks slowly, still glancing suspiciously between you and Dick while stepping out.
When the door shuts behind him you let out a breath and shift your eyes to Dick. Looking at him was almost the same as looking at the sun, it was a sweet temptation that once satisfied, burned within seconds. You move your gaze to the flowers shifting your position to lean against your desk. It felt safer than looking right at him.
“When did you realize it was me?” You ask him, addressing the elephant in the room. The faster you got this over with, the faster you could continue with the conference and go home.
“Come on,” He scoffs, “You can’t really think I didn’t recognize your voice from the second you said my name.”
You meet his eyes abashed, ignoring the thunderous ache in your chest that his striking blue irises brought upon you. “Dick that was like the first thing I said!”
“Yeah, I know.” He shrugs his shoulders in a way that expresses it should’ve been obvious he knew it was you. That it would be crazy if he didn’t recognize you from a phone call where you didn’t even say your name.
You pinch the bridge of your nose trying to ground yourself with the quick burst of pain, coming to the conclusion that Dick Grayson was going to haunt you for the rest of your life.
“So, when did you get this gig?” He looks around waving the flowers. “I thought you were still in Blüdhaven-”
“No.” You cut him off so simply that he stops dead in his tracks. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to ask me about my life. You don’t get to know anything anymore. Not after everything.”
He looks taken aback and a sprinkle of defensiveness pools in his posture when he straightens, “Do I need to remind you that you were the one that ended it?”
You square your shoulders pushing off the desk and narrow your eyes again, “Do I need to remind you why?”
He sighs your name in a broken plea. And just like that, you’re taken back to the run-down college apartment all those years ago where your heart shattered into a million pieces.
° ❀ ⋆ . ೃ࿔ * : ・ ° ❀ ⋆ . ೃ࿔ * : ・
It was your two-year anniversary with Dick. Money was a little tight, so you agreed to have a small dinner at his place. You usually hung out at your apartment and preferred to cook there, but he had just fostered Haley. He hadn’t spent a night away from her yet and was nervous about leaving her alone for too long.
The little diva was making figure eights between your legs while you cooked dinner and prepped the key lime pie you were going to make for desert. She had almost tripped you three times already, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to scold her when she looked at you. She had mastered those puppy eyes that turned you into mush. She looked so happy when you shifted your attention to her, that you forgot to reprimand her and tossed some food into her mouth instead.
Turning back to the electric stove you turn the knob of the back left burner to high. There’s a rustling of keys and a smile creeps on your face that he’s finally home. Haley stops pacing in between your legs and dashes toward the door clawing at his door frame. Since moving in, Haley seemed to be on a personal mission in securing that your boyfriend does not get his security deposit back. You’d warned him about getting a dog in the apartment, but he brushed it off.
Dick finally manages to open the front door and Haley leaps at him, knocking the breath out of his lungs. He squats down to her level while she barks and licks his face. In the breaks of his laugh, he manages to get out an “I missed you too” and “easy girl” in an attempt to calm down the energetic puppy. After a minute of him petting her fur, she seems to be more relaxed while rolling over on the floor and he finally shifts his gaze to look up at you. He swears he fell in love all over again.
Your hair was pulled back into a bun that was falling apart around the hair tie, there were patches of flour on your cheek and forehead, you had an apron that he bought you for Christmas last year that had stains everywhere, and he doesn’t think he had ever seen a more gorgeous sight. There was something so magical in the domesticity of coming home to you and Haley. It was a type of love he never thought he’d get to experience again after his parents passed. A type of love he’d never had living with Bruce and Alfred.
He never considered himself a selfish person, until he met you. You were his full moon on a dark night. The elixir that brought him back to life every night when he lost his will on the streets. The princess he thought only existed in fairytales. He never wanted to share with anyone.
He had a habit of staring at you drinking in all your beauty at once, like it would be the last time he’d be lucky enough to lay his eyes on you. He soaked up everything you said, everything you did, every part of you, and he stored it deep in his heart. He worshipped you like you were the only god that mattered in this universe.
Dick truly believed the warmth in your eyes could melt all of the snow January brought to Blüdhaven. Stood in his kitchen with your arms crossed leaning against the counter, you had a smile he was convinced could bring world peace. He was a goner before you’d even said hi.
If you weren’t in college and he wasn’t lying to you about being a vigilante, he would’ve gotten down on one knee that night. He would’ve asked you to marry him. He would’ve made a fool of himself by writing you a sonnet declaring his love. He’d tell you how you restored his faith in the world, how you gave him something to fight for in the nights he put his life on the line, how you gave him something worth living for. He was so drunk in love he’d considered yelling how much he loved you form every rooftop in Blüdhaven.
He hadn’t told you about the double life he hid in the shadows. It ate at him every time you looked at him with narrowed eyes, knowing he was leaving something out of the stories he’d rehearsed. He never wanted to bring you into it. If you found out about him, you would never be safe again. He couldn’t do that to someone he loved, not after Jason. He prayed that you would give him more time, so he could figure out how to explain it all to you without outing Bruce. When you asked about the bruises and cuts, he’d brush it off and say he was clumsy or he pushed himself to hard at the gym. You weren’t convinced but you let it go, and he’d thank the stars for giving him an ounce of mercy.
“Hello, my love” his eyes were sparkling. “Dinner smells amazing.” He stood to his full length and walked over to you, while Haley was jumping and clawing at his jeans.
“Only the best for you.” It came out more sultry than you planned, but Dick seemed into it. He crossed the short space from the door to the kitchen and made his way toward you. He trapped you against the counter with his arms encaging you. Haley was still barking at both of your legs, but you tuned her out getting lost in each other’s presence. Dick always looked at you like it was the first time he had seen you. There was so much adoration in his eyes that you weren’t convinced you deserved.
A flush creeps onto your cheeks when he leans into you and stops a hair from your lips. You feel his breath on your face, and you can smell the cinnamon gum he had definitely been chewing on the drive over. The spark in the air is electric as the favorite part of your day approached. It was the same routine every night Dick came home, you had gotten used to it, but he had an addicting air to him you could never quit. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes, and you know it’s because he’s testing you. To see if you’ll break first and lean in, you always do.
After counting to fifteen you scoff and push off the counter into him. When your lips meet, you get your first breath of fresh air all day. Blüdhaven’s pollution evaporated when you shared a breath with Dick Grayson. The world melted away and you would die happy if the world came crashing down then. You’d never been kissed the way he had. He was soft and gentle, but desperate. He kissed you in a way that made you feel loved not lusted after. The spark lit on fire every time he touched you, the world had drenched you in gasoline and Dick was the match.
He pulls away too soon for your liking and his breath comes out heavy. He’s giving you that Dick Grayson grin that lights up the sky, and you notice his pupils are blown.
“I missed you today.” He tells you in a low voice that sends a shiver up your spine.
“I missed you too, Grayson.” His arms wrap around you and every threat the world had was nonexistent in his arms. He made you feel safe, at home, at peace with life. Nothing would hurt you in his arms.
He opens his mouth to say something, but you hear the water bubbling from the pot on the stove. You turn your head to see the water boiling and wordlessly break free from your favorite place on Earth. You grab the pasta you’d made from scratch on the counter and slowly drop it into the pot. You’re about halfway done with placing the pasta in the pot when you feel strong arms around your waist.
Apparently, Dick wasn’t satisfied with the kiss and was greedy for more. He hummed quietly in your ear when you told him you’d made crab ravioli for your anniversary. He littered kisses on your neck and shoulders. He held his lips against your skin for a second too long while taking you in. Your favorite place in the world was in his arms, and his was in the crook of your neck. His chin fits perfectly on your shoulder almost as if it was made for him. You felt the smile on your neck when you realized he finally felt like he belonged somewhere.
There had to be a god somewhere that knew the world was going to rip the carpet from your feet and gifted you this last bit of peace. When you finish with the pasta you wipe your hands on your apron and lean against him, your head falling on his chest. He flinches when your head falls back and lets go of you, sucking in a painful breath through his teeth.
Whipping your head around your eyes swim in worry. “What happened? Are you okay? Did I do something?”
He starts shaking his head trying to mask the pain with a smile while dropping his hand that clenched his shirt. “No, no, I’m fine. Sorry” He extended his arms out to you so he could hold you again.
You swat them away and your fingers hover over the wrinkles on his shirt where his hand previously was. “Take it off.”
“Jeez, take me to dinner first.” He tries to lighten the mood with a joke.
Your eyes were as hard as a diamond, and your jaw clenched. “Dick, I’m not playing. Take off the shirt.”
His hands hesitate at the hem of it. A flicker of anxiety he tries to hide behind another smile, but you know him too well for that to work.
“Darling, really. I’m oka-”
“Do I have to take it off for you?” He hears the seriousness when you cut him off and freezes. “Dick, you have all of three seconds to take the damn shirt off.”
Your eyes meet his and it couldn’t be more obvious how much he really doesn’t want to do this, but you’re tired. He comes back multiple times a week with bruises that are black and blue. He’s so sore that he can barely move. You tried asking questions, but he would always brush it off and say he got hurt at practice. He was a P.E. teacher at the high school nearby and the gymnastics coach. You knew there was more to the story, but you let it go, trusting that he’d tell you someday. But you couldn’t wait anymore, if he wasn’t ready after two years he’d never be. Your patience was stretched thin and your worry clouded your judgement.
He sees the relentlessness in your body language and sighs in defeat. His arms cross at the bottom of his shirt and pulls it off in one fluid motion. You could tell by the slight crease in his eyebrows; it was harder for him than he let off.
Your hand flies to your mouth in horror at the sight in front of you. There was a huge gash lining his chest from his left shoulder to the bottom of his right ribcage. He’s already gotten it checked out because it’s been cleaned out and there’s butterfly stitches all around it. You knew this was recent because he didn’t have this last night in bed and the bruises were still pink, not having enough time to fade to the inevitable purple.
“Dick…”
“It looks worse than it is, baby. I promise.”
“Worse than it is?!” He winces at the sudden raise of your voice. “Richard Grayson, you look like someone tried slicing you in half.”
His mouth is opening to make some pathetic excuse when you beat him to it.
“When- How did this happen?”
Behind his eyes you can see he’s fighting a battle with himself, debating what he should tell you. You stare at him, eyes wide waiting for an explanation on why he has gash the size of your arm across his chest.
“Sweetheart I-” he cuts himself short, just looking at you, helpless.
“Dick, tell me the truth.” Your voice is deadly. “All of it: the scars, the bruises, the pain, this- Where do they come from?”
He swallows a lump in his throat and looks around the empty apartment in hopes of a ghost coming to save him. The defeated expression you know too well from your previous fights is etched on his face when he meets your eyes.
“I- I can’t”
“What do you mean you can’t?” Your response is instant.
“I can’t tell you where I got them.”
“Why?” Betrayal flashes across your features and your shoulder square, defensive. “I’m your girlfriend, I’m not going to judge you. I’m here for you. I’ve always been. But I can’t be here for you if you don’t let me.”
He looks so distraught and for the first time in your life, you see tears lining Dick Grayson’s eyelids in frustration. Frustration you don’t know the source of. His mouth parts and shuts multiple times in the same minute, not being able to find an explanation that is both believable and will keep you safe.
“Dick, I need the truth.” There’s a finality in your voice that you hope doesn’t have to come into fruition. “You have to be honest with me, or-” you take a deep breath steadying yourself for what you hope is an empty threat. “Or I leave.”
“No- Please no. Don’t do this.” He crosses over to you in one step and grabs your biceps looking at you with nothing but pain reeking off his figure.
“Then don’t make me make that choice. I don’t want to, but I will.” You’re both crying now, a river of tears pooling at the floor beneath you that you would rather drown in than leave. You couldn’t imagine living a life without Dick Grayson, but you wouldn’t settle for less than the truth. You wouldn’t stay with half of a man.
“I can’t tell you.” It comes out in a whisper. He rests his forehead against yours, as if it’ll transfer the information he can’t spill from his lips. His eyes are shut, not being able to meet the inevitably of yours.
“Then, I can’t stay.” You close your eyes for one last moment against his forehead. Absorbing every last piece of the man you thought you’d marry.
It took everything in you to break free from him. You didn’t look at him when you turned back to the stove and turned it off. You didn’t turn to him when you took your apron off and hung it over the barstool under the counter. You didn’t turn to him when you grabbed your purse from the coffee table.
You pet Haley one last time with tears flowing freely form your eyes and kissed between her eyes. She licked your chin, happy that you had turned back to her, not knowing you weren’t coming back.
You stand back up and look at him one last time. Your heart crumbles when you meet his eyes and he makes one last pathetic attempt with an “I love you” from across the room.
“I love you too,” it comes out more pained than endearing. “But I love me more.”
And you opened the door to a life you’d never wanted to believe could exist. A life without Dick Grayson. You sobbed the whole way home, hating yourself for your standards.
° ❀ ⋆ . ೃ࿔ * : ・ ° ❀ ⋆ . ೃ࿔ * : ・
You shake your head at the memory and look back at him with eyes blazing. “No Dick. You lied to me. You lied to me for years.” The sentence comes out heavy, all those years of weekly therapy went to shit the moment he walked into this classroom, and you hate him for it. You hate that he still has this level of control over you. “I didn’t even know you had a brother, or that you were related to Bruce Wayne of all people?!” You throw your hands up in the air laughing to yourself. “You told me you were an orphan.”
“Well, if we are getting into the nitty gritty, I am technically still an orphan. I was never adopted. I’m still just Bruce’s ward.”
It takes all the self-restraint you have to not rip those flowers out of his hand and beat him over the head with them. You just stare at him, no words, no expression, just an empty stare. For the years you spent together it was one of the few things you’d learn that would unsettle him. Dick Grayson could not sit in silence.
Leaning into it, you begin to drown in each other’s existence. Everything you never said, everything he kept from you. Coming to the surface about to break free when he sighs and looks beyond you at your desk. He sees the book that you’re reading with the class and there’s a cautious smile on his face.
“The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle? Again?”
“Yeah, it’s a good book for the kids. I read it with all my classes.” There’s a twinge of insecurity in your tone. You sometimes forgot that he also kept those memories from your relationship, that you weren’t the only one burdened with reminders.
When you and Dick dated you read this book at least twice a year. It was your favorite book when you were younger. Your mom used to read a chapter every night before tucking you into bed. He had read it with you a couple of times when he realized how important this book was to you. And deep in your closet buried with your skeletons, there’s a shoe box full of memories that kept the annotated copy he wrote for you. It was the best present you had ever gotten and when you started throwing everything out, you couldn’t bring yourself to toss it.
“I guess some things never change.” He looks at you with the smile still painted on his face and no judgement in his tone.
He was dressed completely normal, but there were still remnants of your relationship in his clothing. He was wearing relaxed fit jeans which he only started buying when you two were dating because you told him you liked how they fit his ass. He wore a grey T-shirt that clung to his biceps a little tighter than you knew he considered comfortable because you told him once as a joke, you liked having his arm on display. And lastly, there was a silver chain that hung from his neck. He had both gold and silver, and preferred gold, but you told him one day that you thought the silver brought out the blue in his eyes and he never went back.
There was a lump in your throat you couldn’t swallow no matter how hard you tried. He looks frozen in a time where you truly believed that Dick Grayson would have done anything for you. Anything but tell you the truth.
I guess he was right, some things never change.
“Mhm.” Was the only sound you could manage when you look back at him.
“Listen, about everything that happe-” His eyes soften.
“Dick not right now. We’re at a parent-teacher conference and if I keep your brother outside any longer, he’s going to break down my door.” You see Damien’s eyes peeking through the skinny window of your classroom door and attempt to get this conversation back on track.
“Then when?” His eyes have a deep desire in them that roots you to the stone floor. You didn’t realize it but over the course of the conversation he had gotten closer to you, his fingers had made their way to your wrist. He wasn’t holding on tight, but you found yourself incapable of breaking free from his grasp. Your skin was ablaze at the light touch near your hand and you leaned into it, into him.
“I’m busy tonight but-” You faltered. You were not busy tonight. You had no plans, but this was too much for you today. This was as much of Richard Grayson you were willing to put yourself through at the moment.
“Tomorrow then?” He was on the verge of begging, you’re sure if you told him to get on his knees and ask, he would. “We can meet at the park. Around five?”
“Dick,” you sigh, “I’m not sure abo-”
“I’ll tell you everything- I’ll bring Haley.” He stumbles on his words that you almost didn’t understand him. It took you a second to remember that Haley is his pitbull and not some random girl he brought up for no reason.
Unfortunately, just like you knew everything that would undo Dick Grayson, he knew everything that undid you.
“Okay,” You resign “five it is.” You lie to yourself by claiming the only reason you agreed to this was for Haley, you missed going on walks with her and playing with her.
And Dick, for the first time in a couple of minutes let himself breathe. He was breathing as if his head had broken the surface after jumping face first into the deep end. His hand falls away to his side, hope radiating off his body.
Glancing back at the door you see a tuft of black hair that’s beginning to get restless. You move past your ex-boyfriend toward the door without another word of your plans, ignoring the way your wrist goes cold at the absence of his fingers. Your hand hesitates over the doorknob before letting Damien back inside.
What the hell did you just agree to?
° ❀ ⋆ . ೃ࿔ * : ・ ° ❀ ⋆ . ೃ࿔ * : ・
You glance down at your wrist while sitting on the bench.
04:58 p.m.
You got to the park ten minutes ago after sitting restlessly on your couch for an hour. You’d been anxious the whole day while at school and in your apartment. You couldn’t think of anything else. You couldn’t even get through the lesson today and just gave the kids a free day to work on anything they’d like. Your best friend had called you yesterday after work for a “catch up” call and you conveniently left out that you were meeting up with your ex-boyfriend.
After the breakup, his name was forbidden to speak around your friends and family. They hated him. Your mom flew up from where she retired in Florida to Blüdhaven the first weekend after the breakup, since you hadn’t left your bed in three days. Your best friend did the road trip from where she went to university in Central City the weekend after that.
If they found out that you had agreed to meet with the man who destroyed your whole outlook on life, they’d slap you into another dimension.
You stand up moving your purse to your shoulder getting ready to leave after concluding that this is an awful idea and you shouldn’t have agreed to this, when a familiar grey pitbull jumps at your hip with more force than you anticipated. She knocks you onto the dirt path of the park. You land in a side plank on your left forearm, so you can avoid hitting your head.
“Haley No-” The familiar voice comes a little too late.
You sit on the floor while she laps at your face and barks so loud you think you’re going to suffer from temporary hearing loss. She’s running circles around you and jumping over you in such a happy way that the innocence of the scene brings a smile to your face. She’d doubled in size since you last saw her as a baby. Your heart strings are being plucked like a guitar while she catches her breath, looking at you with those big blue eyes you’d missed.
You finally pull your eyes away from her and see… Nightwing?
You shake your head and stand up so fast you get a head rush. You stumble while balancing yourself, and the vigilante reaches out to help you stabilize.
“Hi, um, I’m sorry- I’m waiting for someone.” You rush out. You don’t know what you’re apologizing for, but you want him gone. If he was near, trouble was bound to find his way to him. You were already going to have to deal with Dick, you didn’t want to handle this too.
After living in Blüdhaven, you had become quite familiar with the vigilante. He had saved you a couple times on your late night walks back from the library. You’d almost gotten mugged like seven times in the years you lived there and he had shown up every time. He never stayed long but made sure you were safe before sending you on your way. You weren’t sure what he was doing in Gotham, but you didn’t really care.
“Darling,” he says quietly and your body freezes in recognition. “it’s me.”
Your jaw drops to hell.
You were going to kill him.
Dick Grayson was Nightwing.
You’re not sure how long you were standing there just staring at him when he laughs nervously.
“Please say something, I’m starting to freak out.” He scratches the back of neck, a nervous tick he hadn’t managed to outgrow, even after all the years you were separated.
You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. In through your nose and out through your mouth, just like your mom taught you. Then you did the only thing that made sense to you.
You back handed him as hard as you could.
“Okay” he groans rubbing his cheek. “I deserved that.”
“Oh, you most certainly did Richard. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Um-” Through the domino mask you can see his eyebrows rising to his hairline. His hand still cradling his cheek from the slight sting.
“What was so difficult of telling me about this all those years ago? Hm?” You feel the rage about bubbling over the cauldron you’d been stirring all day. You had tried to keep your emotions in check, taking deep breaths when they anxiety threatened to take over.
This being his big secret pissed you all the way off.
He slowly reaches for your arms after they started flailing while yelling at him. He holds them so gently, it doesn’t seem to fit the crime fighting persona in front of you. He looks scared that you’re going to strike him again, and you want to, but don’t. He guides you to the bench you were just on and takes a seat next to you. Haley jumps on your lap and you take the distraction for your hands, petting her back.
“Let me explain.” He says softly.
“Oh, I will, don’t worry. And this better be all off it, Grayson. The whole truth.”
He seems to find your exasperation at him funny, and he lets out a laugh. For a second, you think he’s genuinely laughing at this, at the pain that fucking suit caused you for years and then you see it in the way he cracks his knuckles.
He’s nervous. A nervous Dick was not a common sight, and you take another deep breath trying to calm down. Not only for your sake, but for his.
You look around and see that the park is deserted, and you realize you should probably stop referring to him by his full name. You had just revealed his secret identity multiple times in the past minute. Thankfully for both of you, you were positive the trees and flowers would keep his secret if you asked nicely.
You take yet another deep breath while it was his turn to look around at the park making sure no one else was listening in. And against your better judgement, you grab his hand. He stops looking around and turns to you. You keep your gaze on Haley petting her softly.
It was a small attempt at grounding him, a small comfort you would allow yourself. From the corner of your eye, you see him sit up little straighter, bracing himself. Then he starts talking.
Once he had started, he couldn’t stop. It all came pouring out. Some of it you knew, The circus, his family, the Flying Graysons. Then he got into how Bruce Wayne took him under his wing, literally, when his parents were killed. How he grew up as Robin, how Bruce was Batman. Spending his whole life hiding his secret identity. When he finally broke free from Bruce’s shadow, wanting to make a name for himself with the Titans and then in Blüdhaven. How he fought with Bruce over the years and was replaced as Robin by his adoptive brother, Jason Todd. How Jason died and why they never forgave themselves. How it scared him from ever potentially putting someone in that kind of danger.
“When you and I were together, I wasn’t talking to Bruce.” The earnest look in his eyes is almost too heavy for you to hold. “I didn’t know how to tell you without throwing him under the bus too. I couldn’t do that to him, no matter how upset I was with him. I also didn’t want to do that to you.”
He pauses and takes a couple of breaths. You hadn’t said anything to him while he laid himself bare for you. Just nodding and the occasional squeeze of his hand.
“I didn’t want to put you in a position of constant danger. You would be leveraged against me if any of my or Bruce’s enemies found out about you. I wanted to keep you a secret, to keep you safe. I know that’s not my choice to make for you, but I was scared, scared you’d get hurt, scared you’d leave me once you found out and-”
“Dick honey. You’re rambling.” You cut him off.
He sighs and drops his head to your shoulder. The smell of his shampoo almost suffocates you and your eyes well up. You had been biting back tears through the whole tragedy of his childhood, but the shampoo you used to wash your hair with on nights you ran out of yours is what pushed you to tears.
He feels the shake of your shoulder from crying and lifts his head and wipes the tears instantly. Haley had long fallen asleep on your lap, so you two hadn’t been interrupted by her barking for attention.
“Don’t cry, please. I promise I’m okay.” He tells you while his gloved fingers swipe tears from your cheeks.
You give him an incredulous look, “Dick you are many things, but okay is not one of them.”
He laughs, actually laughs. “I know, but I just don’t know what else to say.”
“You could apologize?” You suggest with a slight humor and slight truth in your tone.
He sighs and drops to the floor in front of you. He props himself up in between your legs, on his knees. The sun has long been set, and you’re thankful for it. If someone walked by and saw Nightwing kneeling in front of you at a park, you weren’t sure you could explain it. He takes both of your hands in his and holds them against his chest.
“I am sorry for lying to you. I am sorry for not telling you sooner. I am sorry for causing you all this heart ache. I don’t want you to think that my suffering takes away from yours. I have spent every moment in the wake of this relationship mourning you. I will always love you and that will never change. I thought about you every day and every night. If you’d give me the chance to prove myself, I’d like to try again.”
Your brain shuts down. You try to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. Dick doesn’t let you get a word in regardless of what you wanted to say.
“I’ll be honest, I’ll go to therapy, I’ll introduce you to my family, I’ll take you on first dates. We can take it slow, start over, do it from scratch. I’ll do it all again, better this time. I’d do it all in every lifetime if it meant I got to spend this one with you.”
You’re still speechless but you try to focus on his words, repeating them felt easier than making up your own sentence.
“We can take it slow? Start over?” You ask hesitantly.
“Yes, whatever you want, however you want.” He nods his head, confirming he’d do anything for you.
You sit on the bench and contemplate what this will do. What it would mean to get tangled up with Richard Grayson again. Your therapist would kill you for one, but it might be worth it. A part of you hated how weak you were against him, how he could turn up and you’d give everything up for him. Even when he broke your heart, he still managed to be the reason it was still beating. After years being tortured with the ghost of him, this was a very bad idea. But sometimes, all a girl needed was a really bad idea.
“Okay.” You exhale. “We can try again,” His eyes widen under the mask. “But you get one chance. That’s it. If you screw this one up, there’s not another one.”
Dick starts crying and drops his head onto Haley’s back in relief. He couldn’t believe his efforts weren’t in vain. That you would be willing to try again with him. He knew you weren’t lying, that this was his last chance to get it right. He wouldn’t mess it up this time, he wouldn’t let himself even entertain the idea of fucking up. He knew life with you and without you and he would do everything in his power not to relive those pain ridden years again.
So, when he looks up at you, he sees the girl he fell in love with all those years ago for the first time. Her guard was still up, and her eyes weren’t trusting yet, but it was something along the lines of it. Hope that they could eventually make it work. Hope that their paths crossed for the final time and they’d walk the rest of this life together.
You brought your forehead against his and his hands found their place in your hair. He steals the breath straight from your lungs and you wouldn’t admit it, but you’d suffocate on the spot if it meant your dying moments were with Dick. You sit in that position leaning against him for a couple minutes with tears flowing, repeating sweet nothings to each other.
And when he kisses you in that devastating way that only Dick Grayson does, you can finally breathe again.
Omg this was so beautiful!!
8K FOLLOWERS MINI EVENT
playing darts with roy harper ╱ suggestive ˚.✦
It's almost 1 a.m. in the crappy bar Roy always chooses for Saturday hang outs. You are tipsy, he is tipsy and you two just spend fifteen minutes making out a corner after going out for a smoke. The rest of your friends are focused on their own conversations, already used to your behavior when you are slightly drunk and together.
"Babe, look," Roy calls, wrapping one of his big arms around your waist. "There's darts."
"Mmh, yes, Roy. Darts," you answer, paying attention to taking a sip of your lemon vodka.
"D'you wanna play?" He pulls you tighter against him, his nose brushing the top of your head.
"I don't know how," you say with a little pout, looking up at him.
"Babeee, I teach you every night we go out," Roy groans, dropping his cheeks in the top of your head.
You giggle, turning in his arms so you're facing him. He takes your drink from your hand so you can rest your arms on his shoulders, your chest brushing his and your nails tickling the hair on his neck.
Roy’s grin goes lopsided and lazy, the kind that means he’s already half-gone on you more than on the beer. He ducks his head so his mouth is right against your ear, voice low from too many cigarettes and too much wanting.
“Then let me remind you, yeah? Proper lesson tonight, no cheating with the house rules.”
Hes impossible but sexy, a dangerous combo, and the way you write every little action of him?? Gorgeous, i can almost feel him teaching me how to play darts
Imagine, Kyle being incapable of forgetting the eyes of the woman he knows no other features of.
Every time he closes his own eyes, he sees hers, peeking between the swaying strands of her hair. The rest of her visage is always hidden; by her mask, a shadow or a blur created in his mind. Debris and blood, green constructs, and slashing daggers always prevented Kyle from discovering the rest of her face.
Every time he picks up a pencil, a pen, or a brush, his hands craft her eyes on instinct. Her eyes on the face of another woman, a man or a child. No matter who or what he is drawing, he somehow always ends up staring at her eyes.
However, it's just eyes without a face. Always. He could rack his brain for hours, and not a single other feature would come to mind. Just her skilled hands, trained feet, and her eyes. Her haunting eyes.
One fortunate day, he was on his way to get a coffee. Something to keep his eyes open. Dark circles had become more prominent ever since he took the ring. As he stepped around the corner, he bumped into a woman.
"Oh–" He extended his arms out to catch her. "—I'm so sorry!" He apologised.
His hands rested on the curves of her waist, holding her up as she readjusted to be stable on her feet.
"I'm sorry, I really should've been looking." He spotted the paper cup laying on the pavement with coffee dribbling out. "Uh let—let me buy you a new coffee!"
The woman lifted her head up from watching the flowing liquid. Your hair swept out of your face, and his eyes blew wide. Those beautiful, haunting eyes gazed at him. Finally, the rest of the image was complete; your nose, cheeks, brows, and lips. His hand twitch with movement, making a ghost sketch of your face.
"Oh—you don't have to—" You smiled and shuffled out of his grasp.
"Please," He begged. "I insist."
"I suppose I have a few minutes to spare." You felt blood rush to your face.
The eyes that haunted him day and night were no longer eyes without a face.
A/N: tumblr won't let me put my banner at the top of this for some reason. It keeps telling me it doesn't support this type of media?? Is this happening to anyone else? I gave me the same message when I was reblogging some stuff.
film noir ft. roy harper
roy harper x fem!reader — part 1
you are the only licensed female private investigator in the city. men underestimate you. police mocks you. clients hesitate before saying your name. you solve the cases anyway. during one of your most dangerous investigations, you cross paths with a dockside urban legend—they call him red arrow.
cw: it's 1940s,, drug abuse mentioned,, themes of a female professional fighting for a right to work
masterlist
this might be one of the coolest things ive ever read!!! your writing is always incredible but Roy + Noir? that absolutely takes the cake
your use of language here and the different comparisons you make and how they all tie into the 40s noir theme just adds to the ambience 🥺you make me feel like i AM the PI
I'm obsessed with the noir aesthetic!! Can't wait for more!!
The Vigilante Next Door
navigation , dc navigation
Summary: Reader is Dick's new neighbor who keeps accidentally almost discovering he's Nightwing. He's climbing in through windows, she brings over cookies at the worst times, she hears weird noises, at night while she hacks away (FBI or Interpol). Dick is losing his mind trying to keep his secret while also being very attracted to her. BUT what he doesn't know is that both of them are vigilantes, and she falls in love with Nightwing while patrolling, and he is falling in love with the real her.
requests are open
dividers by @cafekitsune
Dick Grayson was having a very bad night.
The drug bust had gone sideways, he'd taken a knife to the ribs (shallow, but painful), and now he was bleeding on his fire escape at 3 AM, trying to remember if he'd locked his window or if he'd have to break into his own apartment.
That's when he heard it.
Humming.
Someone was humming on the fire escape next door, the apartment that had been empty for months but apparently now had a tenant.
Dick froze, pressing himself against the wall, trying to become one with the shadows. Through the window of the neighboring apartment, he could see her.
You were sitting at a desk, multiple monitors glowing, typing away with the kind of focused intensity he recognized. Your hair was pulled back, you were wearing an oversized hoodie and glasses, and you were... beautiful. Distractingly beautiful.
Also, those looked like law enforcement databases on your screens.
Before Dick could process this information, you stood up, stretched, and walked directly toward your window.
Dick did the only thing he could think of: he dropped off the fire escape entirely, catching himself on the level below and swinging into his own window with perhaps less grace than usual due to the whole "bleeding from the ribs" situation.
He landed in a heap on his living room floor.
"Smooth, Grayson," he muttered to himself. "Very smooth."
The next morning, Dick ran into you in the hallway.
Literally ran into you. You were carrying a box of what smelled like fresh cookies, he was running late for work, and the collision resulted in cookies everywhere.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" You immediately crouched down to help pick up the scattered cookies.
"No, no, that was totally my fault. I wasn't watching where I was going." Dick knelt down too, and that's when he got a good look at you.
It was definitely the girl from last night. Same face, same hair, but without the glasses and somehow even prettier in natural light.
"I'm your new neighbor," you said with a warm smile, extending your hand. "Apartment 4B. I was actually bringing these over to introduce myself. Guess that plan is literally crumbling."
Dick laughed and shook your hand. "Dick Grayson, 4A. And these cookies look salvageable. Five-second rule?"
"I like your optimism." You grinned. "What do you do, Dick Grayson from 4A?"
"I'm a cop. Blüdhaven PD." The cover story rolled easily off his tongue. "You?"
"Data analyst for a consulting firm. Lots of late nights staring at computer screens. Very boring."
Dick thought about the law enforcement databases he'd seen. "I'm sure it's more interesting than you're making it sound."
Something flickered in your eyes, amusement? Recognition? "Maybe. What about you? Do you like being a cop?"
"It has its moments. Lots of night shifts, though. If you ever hear weird noises coming from my apartment at odd hours, I'm probably just getting home from work."
"Good to know. Same here, I keep weird hours. We'll be the problem neighbors who make noise at 3 AM."
"As long as we're only bothering each other, I think we'll be fine."
You smiled, and Dick felt something warm in his chest that had nothing to do with his still-healing stab wound.
"Well, Dick Grayson, since the cookies are ruined, can I buy you coffee sometime? As an apology for the collision I'm definitely going to claim was your fault?"
"I'd like that," Dick said, probably smiling too much. "How about tomorrow morning?"
"It's a date. Well, not a date-date. A neighbor-coffee-thing."
"A neighbor-coffee-thing. Got it."
You headed back to your apartment, and Dick watched you go, wondering why his new neighbor had law enforcement databases on her screens at 3 AM and why the universe had decided to give him a crush on someone who lived directly next to his secret identity.
This was going to be complicated.
Nightwing was tracking a human trafficking ring when he literally crashed into her.
Well, she crashed into him, technically. He was about to drop down on the warehouse when a figure in purple and black swung past him, planted both boots in his chest, and sent him sprawling across the rooftop.
"What the—" He rolled to his feet, escrima sticks already in hand.
Huntress stood across from him, crossbow trained on his chest. "Nightwing. Didn't expect to see you here."
"Clearly, since you just kicked me in the chest." Dick took in her appearance... the costume, the weapon, the confident stance. Huntress. He'd heard of her, but they'd never worked together. "I'm guessing we're after the same shipment?"
"If by shipment you mean the fifteen girls being held in that warehouse, then yes." She lowered her crossbow slightly. "I've been tracking this ring for three weeks. This is the hub."
"I know. I've been tracking them for two months." Dick moved to stand beside her, looking down at the warehouse. "Want to work together? Or are you going to kick me again?"
He could hear the smile in her voice. "Depends. Can you keep up?"
"I think I can manage."
Working with Huntress was... intense.
She was skilled, efficient, and absolutely ruthless with the traffickers in a way that made Dick a little nervous. Not killing them, but definitely not holding back either.
"You're pretty good," Dick said as they zip-tied the last trafficker for the police.
"Pretty good?" Huntress turned to him, and even through the mask he could tell she was raising an eyebrow. "I just took down six guys while you were handling four."
"I was being gentle with them."
"Gentle. Right." She holstered her crossbow. "You're not bad yourself, Nightwing. For someone who plays by the rules."
"I don't always play by the rules."
"Could've fooled me." She moved closer, and Dick was suddenly very aware of how tall she was, how her costume fit, how her voice had a teasing quality that made his pulse quicken. "Maybe I'll have to teach you how to loosen up sometime."
"I can be loose. I'm very loose."
"That sounded better in your head, didn't it?"
"So much better."
Huntress laughed, a real laugh, warm and genuine, and Dick felt that same flutter he'd felt with his neighbor. Which was ridiculous. They were completely different people in completely different contexts.
"Same time next week?" Huntress asked. "I've got intel on a weapons shipment."
"It's a date," Dick said, then quickly added, "A vigilante team-up date. Not a date-date."
"Smooth, Nightwing. Very smooth." But she was smiling as she grappled away into the night.
Dick watched her go and wondered why he was suddenly attracted to two women who were both completely unavailable for entirely different reasons.
Dick was beginning to think the universe hated him.
In the past week alone:
Incident 1: You'd knocked on his door at 2 AM because you'd heard "concerning noises" (him limping home from patrol with bruised ribs). He'd answered shirtless, still sweaty, and had to convince you he'd just been doing a really intense home workout. "At 2 AM?" you'd asked skeptically. "I keep weird hours. Cop schedule, remember?" You'd looked at him, really looked at him, your eyes tracking over his chest and the bruises he couldn't hide, and something had shifted in your expression. "Right. Of course. Just... try to keep it down? I'm working on a big case."
Incident 2: He'd been climbing back into his window after patrol, and you'd been on your fire escape with a cup of tea, laptop open, working on something that looked suspiciously like surveillance footage. You'd looked up just as he was halfway through his window. "Late night at work?" you'd called over. Dick had frozen, halfway through the window in his Nightwing suit, and thank god it was dark and you couldn't see details. "Yeah! Just getting home. You?" "Can't sleep. Thought I'd get some work done." You'd squinted at him through the darkness. "Are you okay? You're moving kind of stiff." "Just sore from the gym!" "You go to the gym a lot." "I'm very dedicated to fitness!" "Clearly!"
Incident 3: You'd brought over cookies again (you were always bringing over cookies, and Dick was starting to associate the smell of chocolate chip with minor panic attacks about his secret identity). He'd answered the door with a black eye he'd forgotten to cover up. "Dick! What happened to your face?" "Uh... walked into a door?" "A door." "A very aggressive door. In a doorway. That I didn't see." You'd reached up and gently touched his cheek, and Dick had nearly forgotten his own name. "You should be more careful. For a cop, you're surprisingly accident-prone." "I'm working on it."
Now, Dick was trying to get into his apartment quietly at 4 AM when he heard your door open.
You stepped out in pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt, garbage bag in hand, and stopped when you saw him.
"Oh! Dick. Hi. Late shift?"
Dick looked down at himself, civilian clothes, thank god, but definitely disheveled and possibly bleeding through his jacket from the cut on his arm. "Yeah. Really late shift. Lots of paperwork."
"Paperwork that fights back?" You nodded at his jacket where blood was definitely starting to show.
"I... cut myself on a filing cabinet?"
"A filing cabinet."
"They're very dangerous. OSHA nightmare, really."
You set down your garbage bag and walked over to him, all pretense of buying his story gone. "Dick. I'm not an idiot."
His heart stopped. "I don't—"
"You're either the clumsiest cop in Blüdhaven, or you're into some kind of underground fight club, or..." You paused, studying him. "Or you're going to keep lying to me, and we're going to keep doing this awkward dance where we both pretend I believe you."
Dick didn't know what to say. You were looking at him with those sharp, intelligent eyes, and he realized you'd probably never believed his excuses. Not even once.
"I can't tell you," he said finally, honestly. "I want to. But I can't."
You nodded slowly. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay. Everyone has secrets, Dick. I'm not going to push." You picked up your garbage bag again. "But maybe let me at least look at that arm? I've got a pretty well-stocked first aid kit. Data analysis can be surprisingly hazardous."
It was a terrible idea. He should say no. Should keep the distance between Dick Grayson and his nighttime activities.
"I'd like that," he heard himself say instead.
Your apartment was exactly what he'd expected: organized chaos, multiple monitors on a custom desk setup, books everywhere, and yes, a suspiciously well-stocked first aid kit that looked more suited to field trauma than paper cuts.
"Sit," you ordered, pointing at your couch.
Dick sat.
You cleaned and bandaged his arm with the efficiency of someone who'd done this before. Many times before.
"You're good at this," Dick observed.
"I told you. Data analysis is dangerous work." You met his eyes, and there was something there, a shared understanding, maybe. A mutual recognition of secrets kept. "There. Try not to fight any more filing cabinets."
"I'll do my best."
You walked him to your door, and Dick paused in the doorway. "Thank you. For not... asking questions."
"Thank you for not asking why a data analyst has medical supplies and works at weird hours staring at what definitely looks like surveillance footage."
Dick's eyes widened slightly. So you knew he'd noticed. Of course you had.
"We're both terrible liars," he said.
"The worst," you agreed. "Coffee tomorrow? Our actual neighbor-coffee-thing that we keep rescheduling?"
"I'd really like that."
"Good. It's a date. Not a date-date—"
"A neighbor-coffee-thing. I remember." Dick smiled. "See you tomorrow."
As he walked back to his apartment, Dick realized he was in so much trouble. Because he was falling for his neighbor who was clearly hiding something, while also developing feelings for his vigilante partner who he only knew through masks and banter.
The universe definitely hated him.
"You're distracted," Huntress observed as they staked out a drug shipment from a rooftop.
"I'm not distracted."
"You've been staring at that same window for five minutes. The bad guys are in the other building."
Dick snapped his attention back to the correct warehouse. "Sorry. Just thinking."
"About?"
"Complicated stuff."
Huntress laughed. "Let me guess. Girl trouble?"
"How did you—"
"You have that look. Kind of mopey. It's cute." She nudged him with her shoulder. "Want to talk about it?"
This was surreal. Getting relationship advice from Huntress while on a stakeout.
"There's this woman," Dick started. "She's smart, funny, beautiful. We have coffee sometimes. She lives next door to me."
"Sounds perfect. What's the problem?"
"I can't tell her about... this." He gestured at his costume. "And I don't know if I can have a relationship built on lies."
Huntress was quiet for a moment. "You know, I have the same problem."
"Yeah?"
"There's this guy. He's... he makes me laugh. Makes me feel normal, like I'm not just the vigilante, you know? Like I could actually have a life outside of all this." She sighed. "But he doesn't know the real me. And I don't know how to tell him without ruining everything."
"Maybe he'd understand."
"Maybe. Or maybe he'd run screaming." She turned to look at him. "What about your neighbor? You think she'd accept the vigilante thing?"
Dick thought about your well-stocked first aid kit, your late nights, your databases, the way you'd never once actually believed his excuses.
"I think she might have secrets of her own," he said slowly.
"Then maybe you both need to take a leap of faith."
Before Dick could respond, the warehouse doors opened, and the shipment arrived. They sprang into action, moving in synchronized harmony that came from weeks of working together.
Huntress was incredible in action, graceful, lethal, and efficient. And the way she moved, the way she fought, there was something familiar about it that Dick couldn't quite place.
After they'd wrapped up the bust and were sitting on the rooftop again, Huntress pulled off her glove and held out her hand.
"Friends?" she asked. "Real friends, not just work partners?"
Dick took her hand, and even through his glove he could feel...
Wait.
There was a small scar on her thumb. A distinctive scar in the shape of a crescent moon.
Dick's brain stuttered to a halt because he'd seen that scar before. This morning. When you'd handed him his coffee and he'd noticed the unusual mark and you'd told him you'd cut yourself on a broken mug in college.
Huntress had the same scar.
Huntress, who talked about having a normal life with a guy who didn't know about her vigilante activities.
Huntress, who lived in Blüdhaven and worked weird hours.
Huntress, whose voice, now that he was paying attention, sounded remarkably similar to...
"Oh my god," Dick said.
Huntress, you tilted your head. "What?"
Dick started laughing. He couldn't help it. The universe wasn't cruel. The universe was hilarious.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing. Everything. I just..." He pulled off his own mask and watched your eyes go wide. "Hi, neighbor."
Your jaw dropped. "Dick?"
"Surprise?"
"You're Nightwing. You're... all those injuries, the weird hours, the 'filing cabinets'..." You smacked his arm. "You let me feel bad about not believing your excuses!"
"You're Huntress! You've been kicking my ass in the field and bringing me cookies in real life!"
"I have not been kicking your ass—"
"You literally kicked me in the chest the first time we met!"
"That was tactical!"
You were both laughing now, the absurdity of it all hitting you simultaneously.
"So," Dick said, catching his breath. "When you said you had a guy you couldn't tell about the vigilante thing..."
"I was talking about you, you idiot."
"And when I said I had a neighbor I was falling for..."
"Also me." You shook your head. "We're both terrible at this."
"The worst." Dick reached out and took your hand, the one with the scar that had given you away. "But I think we can figure it out now. No more secrets?"
"No more secrets," you agreed. "Although I have to say, this explains so much. I thought I was going crazy with the noises from your apartment."
"I thought you were going to figure me out when I came home bleeding that one time."
"Dick, I figured you out the second week. You're not as sneaky as you think."
"What! When did you—"
"You left your escrima stick on the fire escape. I saw it when I was having tea."
Dick groaned. "And you didn't say anything?"
"I have secrets too! Speaking of which..." You pulled out your phone and showed him your screen; it was full of files on the trafficking ring you'd both been investigating. "I'm not actually a data analyst."
"Shocking revelation."
"I work for Interpol. Undercover. I've been tracking these rings internationally."
"That's actually really impressive."
"I know." You smiled at him. "So. Now that we both know everything... want to get coffee tomorrow? As a real date this time?"
"Not a neighbor-coffee-thing?"
"Definitely a date-date."
Dick pulled you closer, and kissed you right there on the rooftop overlooking Blüdhaven, and it was perfect. No masks, no lies, just him and you and the truth finally out in the open.
"I've wanted to do that for weeks," he admitted when you broke apart.
"Which version of me? The neighbor or the vigilante?"
"Both. All of you. Every version." He kissed you again. "Though I have to say, the cookies really sealed the deal."
You laughed against his lips. "Good to know the way to Nightwing's heart is through baked goods."
"Among other things."
Six Months Later
Dick woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of you talking to someone in the living room.
"—so then he tried to tell me he got the black eye from walking into a door," you were saying, clearly on the phone. "A door! And I'm supposed to just accept that?"
Dick smiled and got out of bed, padding into the living room where you were sitting on the couch, his couch, in his apartment that you'd basically moved into three months ago.
"Who are you talking to?" he asked, dropping a kiss on your head.
"Oracle. We're comparing notes on how oblivious our respective Batboys are."
"I resent that. I figured you out eventually."
"You figured me out because of a scar, not through actual detective work."
"Detective work is noticing details. The scar was a detail!"
You pulled him down for a proper kiss. "Good morning to you too."
"Morning." He grabbed his coffee cup. "What's on the agenda today?"
"Well, I have a meeting with Interpol at ten, we have that team-up with Batman and Oracle tonight to take down that arms dealer, and I promised I'd bring cookies to the Titans tomorrow for their meeting."
"You're going to spoil them."
"They love my cookies. Especially Gar."
"Everyone loves your cookies." Dick settled onto the couch next to you. "I still can't believe we're actually doing this. Living together, working together, fighting crime together."
"Having a completely normal, healthy relationship?"
"I was going to say 'tempting fate' but your version is better."
You laughed and curled into his side. "You know what the best part is?"
"What?"
"No more sneaking around. No more lies. No more pretending the weird noises at 3 AM are from a filing cabinet."
"I maintain that filing cabinets can be very dangerous."
"Dick."
"Fine. Yes. This is much better." He kissed the top of your head. "I love you. Both versions of you. The Interpol agent and the vigilante and the neighbor who brings me cookies."
"I love you too. The cop and the vigilante and the guy who is genuinely terrible at lying about his injuries."
"I'm working on it."
"Please don't. It's endearing."
Dick's phone buzzed with a message from the Titans group chat. Gar was asking if you were really bringing cookies tomorrow, and could you make the chocolate chip ones again?
"See?" Dick showed you the message. "Spoiled."
"They're heroes. They deserve cookies." You grabbed his phone and typed back a response. "Besides, someone has to balance out all your protein shakes and kale smoothies."
"Those are healthy!"
"Those are crimes against taste buds."
"You're terrible."
"You love me."
"I really do," Dick agreed, pulling you closer. "Even if you did kick me in the chest the first time we met."
"That was tactical!"
"Sure it was, neighbor."
You kissed him to shut him up, and Dick decided that having a vigilante girlfriend who lived next door and brought him cookies was actually the perfect ending to the weird, complicated, wonderful story of how you'd found each other.
No more secrets. No more close calls.
Just the two of you, fighting crime and falling in love, exactly as it should be.
Bonus Scene - The Group Chat:
Nightwing: So funny story about my new neighbor Oracle: This is going to be good Red Hood: Is this the one you wouldn't shut up about? Red Robin: The one who brings cookies? Robin: I fail to see what is amusing about baked goods Nightwing: She's Huntress Oracle: WHAT Red Hood: YOU'RE KIDDING Red Robin: That's actually hilarious Robin: I do not understand the humor Nightwing: I've been patrolling with her for weeks, and she's ALSO the neighbor I've been falling for Oracle: Dick. Only you. Red Hood: Did you literally fall for the same person twice? Nightwing: ...yes Red Robin: That's the most Dick Grayson thing I've ever heard Nightwing: I hate all of you Oracle: No, you don't Nightwing: No, I don't Red Hood: So did you tell her? Nightwing: I figured it out from a scar on her hand Oracle: A SCAR Red Robin: Not even through detective work Nightwing: DETECTIVE WORK IS NOTICING DETAILS Robin: This is pathetic Nightwing: You know what? I'm leaving this chat Oracle: No, you're not Nightwing: No, I'm not Red Hood: Bring her to the next family dinner. I want to meet the woman who kicked you in the chest Nightwing: How do you know about that??? Red Hood: She told me. We're friends now. Nightwing: WHEN DID YOU TALK TO HER Red Hood: She has a sense of humor unlike SOME people Nightwing: I'm blocking all of you Oracle: You've said that before Nightwing: THIS TIME I MEAN IT Nightwing has left the chat Oracle has added Nightwing to the chat Oracle: Nice try Huntress has been added to the chat Huntress: Hi, everyone! Dick's told me so much about you! Red Hood: OH THIS IS GONNA BE GOOD Oracle: Welcome to the family! Huntress: Thanks! I brought cookies Robin: ...acceptable Red Hood: I like her already
ᯓ➤ matching for christmas ⊹܀˙
← ʙᴀᴄᴋ. ⋮ ⌞ jason todd ✘ reader ⌝ .ᐟ .ᐟ
ৎׅ ׄ synopsis ⋮ You get kidnapped and branded by the joker on christmas. The bat-family sees Jason unravel. word cnt. 14.6k
cw ›››› torture, branding, suicidal language, violence, blood, gore
Good god I'm going to cry
They're so hot
Let The Light In
Wally West x Green Lantern!Reader
Synopsis: You've got a lot of problems. Firstly, you're Hal Jordan's accident daughter, you're a Green Lantern, you are incapable of understanding that people can care about you, and you have a fear of unknown feelings. Most notably though, Wally West makes you feel strange. And you hate it.
W.C: 7.2k
Tags: Angst ✮, daddy issues, kinda bad dad Hal, arguing, emotionally mature Wally, emotionally immature Reader, planning/threatening to run away, reader is referred to as 'stargirl'
To say you hate it here would be an understatement. You really fucking hate it here. As a matter of fact, you actually can't stand being in Mount Justice surrounded by all these optimistic flesh bags of hope—especially not when your "dad" (if you dare call him that) was here.
I'm making this a series
Maybe 4?
Koriand'r x Dick Grayson x Reader x Wally West
Synopsis: Your loving, idiot of a boyfriend has invited two of your friends over for a foursome!
W.C: 2.7k
Tags: Smut ❀, Wally x Reader + Kori x Dick (pre-established relationships), Sub!Reader, Sub!Wally, Dom!Kori, Dom!Dick, foursome, wlw + mlm, fingering, anal, p in v, oral (f + m receiving), tribbing, dacryphilia (Dick), maybe ooc Dick I'm so bad at writing him...
"What do you mean you invited them over for a threesome?!" Heat rushed to your face as a screech escaped you.
knocking on love’s door!
summary: damian wayne is at a total loss in the matters of love and winning over your heart, so much so that he dreadfully ends up on each brother’s doorstep seeking love advice.
pairing: damian wayne x fem! reader (featuring dick, tim & jason)
content: flufff, absolute chaos and only one bat brother comes out on top in teaching damian the ways of yearning, not that he needed help for that in the first place.
28, 1013 Parkthorne Avenue (Grayson’s Blüdhaven Residence)
“You—” Dick’s grin is barely repressed, chest puffed in pride of being the first confidant Damian thought of. “—seek dating advice?”
Damian makes a non-committal shrug. “I admit that I may harbour feelings towards her that differ from my usual disdain to the average person.”
Dick’s laugh escapes his lips, but quickly conceals itself into an overly serious nod when Damian’s glare pierces through him.
“And you… travelled all the way to Blüdhaven to ask me for help?”
Damian would much rather be stabbed with a jagged-edged blade than admit that. There was always a price to pay for relying on others, especially when it came to his tooth-grinning brothers.
This is adorable omg😭😭
I PROMISE I HAVEN'T LEFT THIS ACCOUNT FOR DEAD! I'M JUST SLOW!
one day I’ll finally write that ridiculously elaborate fanfiction that I’ve been carefully constructing in my daydreams for months and then you’ll be sorry. you’ll all be sorry.
Me with Wally West x Green Lantern!Reader