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rewatched this fucking rollercoaster of an episode for the first time in four years..... i still have every single spitfire line ingrained into my mind............
i cried for an hour straight....
I NEED MY BABIES BACKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Heartbreak isnât loud â itâs quiet, creeping, and cruel. You thought letting Dick Grayson go would break you. You never imagined it might kill you.
⸠PAIRING: Dick Grayson x F!Reader
⸠WARNINGS: so many reader insecurities (it's that kind of angst), hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, probably non-canon compliant things bc im new to this world, reader gets extremely hurt, hospital scenes
â¸Â WORD COUNT: 7.2K
⸠A/N: this is actually the first dick fic i ever wrote but didn't post until now! i seem to have a thing for exploring insecurities in relationships when im writing a new character (see clark and bucky). i love him so much, he is sooo loverboy. tom taylor's is also such fine shit jfc. i hope you enjoy <3 if you do, all likes/comments/reblogs are appreciated :)
The movies always describe heartbreak as devastation. A tragedy. A travesty. They talk about the feeling of their hearts being ripped out of their chest, beating bloody until they cease completely. They speak of the way their hearts stop suddenly, abruptly; a flare of panic only momentary before everything stills.Â
What they donât tell you is that thatâs not at all how heartbreak works. Heartbreak is oftentimes dramatized for the sake of entertainment. An exaggeration of the moment a heart splinters into a million pieces, parts that are impossible to glue back together into a whole.
Real heartbreak occurs quietly. It chips at you slowly; small cracks at first until you can no longer ignore the gaping wound in your chest. The missing center behind your ribcage. By the time you realize what has happened, the hole is too big to fill. The chasm impossible to bridge. They donât tell you that it sneaks up on you, the curl of a cold-blooded snake around your neck that restricts your ability to breathe, to function. It hisses in your ear, a gentle whisper that only gets louder when the puncture isnât tended to.Â
Before you know it, the serpent has bared its teeth and sunk its poison into you.Â
You didnât think you would experience heartbreak with Dick Grayson. The man is loyal, loving. He anticipates your needs before you can even determine whatâs missing. Raised to be observant and thoughtful, Dick is a fierce protector of those he cares about. You happen to be lucky enough to be one of them.Â
Youâve seen how he is with his family, his friends, the people that he chooses to protect with his body, mind, and soul. There is not a thing he wouldnât do to keep those he cherishes safe, even if it means sacrificing himself.Â
Because of all this, Dick has to juggle one too many priorities. Not only are they things he already planned on doing, but he also has to account for the emergencies that crop up from time to time. Given that this is BlĂźdhaven, time to time means all the time.Â
Youâre used to it. Coming in second, that is.Â
Your relationship with Dick is relatively new. Your dates arenât life or death. So when he has to up and leave in the middle of dinner, itâs something youâve grown accustomed to. The moment his phone vibrates on the table, you set your expectations.Â
The first vibration, he ignores.Â
The second one, his eyes flick down to his device before he refocuses on you.
Third timeâs the charm. âSorry,â he says sheepishly after you finish recounting your day. âLet me just check and make sure it isnât anything urgent.â
But you already know the answer to that. Itâs always urgent. Itâs the city. You canât blame him for it. Corruption is the norm in BlĂźdhaven; it bleeds through every crack and corner. From the police commissioner to the mayor, to the elites. Dick is ambitious, he thinks he can rid the city completely of its decrepit moral compass.Â
The flicker of guilt that passes through his baby blues is the first sign. Then comes the sour curl of his lips when he realizes that he canât disregard the threat alert from Oracle. Then comes the sympathetic look when he finally turns back to you.Â
Itâs that look that you canât stand. Thatâs the one that always gets to you. Because you donât want him to pity you.Â
So you plaster a smile onto your lips and nod. âGo. The city needs you.â
Apologies automatically fall from his lips as he places a chaste kiss on your forehead, presses his credit card into your hands, and takes off. His dinner sits cold on the pristine white tablecloth.Â
And you wonder if there will ever come a time when BlĂźdhaven will no longer need Nightwing. Or Dick Grayson.Â
Maybe then youâll have a chance at coming first.Â
In his defense â and perhaps it comes from months of making excuses first for him as a friend and then as a lover, he does try. He tries to make time for you, slipping you into the little gaps he has in between investigations, philanthropic work, and patrols. Itâs how you met him in the first place.Â
Your job at the community center allowed you some governmental access which you used to help him take down a few bad apples in the mayorâs office. Small-time fry. But then he started doing more work for the people, building affordable housing and programming to help the cityâs children, and you started seeing more of this elusive Dick Grayson.Â
At first, you had been starstruck. The man is renowned all throughout the city â a savior to the good, a menace to the bad. The more time you spend with him, the more you learn about the Dick that he doesnât show to the outside world.Â
Itâs the man who is weary down to the bone, cutting off one evil head only for two more to grow. Itâs the man who bears the cityâs burdens on his shoulders, carrying the weight of a million expectations with the limited resources that he has. Itâs the man who slinks back into your arms after a long day and curls himself around you like itâs the only place he is meant to be.Â
Falling in love with Dick had been all too easy. Itâs like taking a nosedive off a cliff, knowing youâll land in a wide-open ocean with a life jacket.Â
When you find out that he also spends his nights as the masked hero Nightwing, he had been wary of how you would react. Itâs ridiculous to think that you would feel anything other than pride when you see him in full gear for the first time.Â
For some reason, Dick feels⌠further once you learn this fact. He already felt unattainable before âuntouchable â as this generous, intelligent billionaire, heir to the famous Wayne family. Now that you know he is also a crime-fighting superhero, you feel those buried feelings of insecurity rise to the surface. The creeping voices clawing into your skin to question how you could ever be an adequate partner for him.Â
How could you â someone so normal, so average â compare to the living legend Dick Grayson?
Of course, once the Nightwing gates are open, you also see the people he surrounds himself with. Martians. Kryptonians. Shapeshifters. Trained assassins. And Barbara Gordon â how do you even begin to describe Barbara Gordon?
Between Kori and Barbara, you were convinced that Dick had a thing for redheads. Dick reassured you that he really didnât have a particular preference. No, no preference in terms of hair, but you can clearly see the pattern â all of his exes are skillful. Powerful. Hot. Â
Gorgeous in a way that takes your breath away. Not only that, theyâre fierce and bold and intelligent. They are out there saving the world day in and day out, whether itâs through ultraviolet energy projections or hacking into the most secure servers on the planet.Â
That monster inside of you peeks around the corner with its talons out, ready to pierce through your fragile heart once more. You hate yourself for even thinking this way. Itâs part of his job, these are his friends. You should feel lucky that you were even introduced to them.Â
But that feeling has taken root and consumed your heart. Insufficient. Inadequate. Incapable. Who are you compared to all this greatness?Â
Itâs why you keep your head down, why you keep your mouth shut even as the fissures begin to appear in your heart. You disregard them, brush them off as a temporary blip in your confidence. You tell yourself that youâre lucky Dickâs even giving you the time of day. You canât be another burden for him to bear. You should be making his life easier.Â
So when he apologizes, you wave off his concern and tell him to go out there and save the world, Boy Wonder, because thatâs what he does. The world comes first. You come second. Itâs how itâs always been. Itâs how it should be.Â
The deeper you try to bury these feelings, these insecurities, the greater the cuts you slice inside your heart. Youâre carving it out slowly, an excruciating process as you try to preserve whatâs left of your emotions.Â
Dick makes it up to you each time with flowers, with butterfly kisses, with the gentle touch of his hand. He promises you that next time will be better. He keeps his word. A few dates over the course of a few weeks, uninterrupted time, undivided attention. Youâre on cloud nine by the time he drops you off at the doorstep, lingering for a fraction longer, enough time for you to invite him in to stay.Â
He does. Every time.Â
There are nights he returns to your side in uniform. His suit ripped, blood coating his skin crimson. These are times youâre reminded that heâs mortal. Human. Youâre reminded that you could so easily lose him in all the work that he does.Â
Nothing makes you feel more powerless than knowing that all you can do is help him tend to the aftermath. Your hands shake when you dab the antiseptic, when you wipe off all the red, when you wrap up the gauze around his body.Â
Youâre different from Barbara who guides him, who serves as his eyes and ears, and maps him a solution and exit each time. Youâre different from Kori who fights alongside him with powers that he doesnât have. Youâre different from Bruce, Jason, Tim, and Damian, who know him in such intimate ways, moving in sync as he works through the city.Â
You are someone watching from the sidelines. A character that could be so easily removed from his story, and nobody would blink twice.Â
The thought pains you, but you suck it up and deal with it anyway. Itâs easy to let these thoughts go when Dick murmurs saccharine sweet phrases into your neck. Itâs easy to forget your place when he marks constellations across your body when he feels like having your company.Â
You didnât think it could get worse. You can only help. Right?
But youâre proven wrong the one time youâre all gathered at the Wayne Mansion. Itâs a family dinner. The mood is light, the drinks are flowing, the food is delicious. Laughter ripples through the table and, for once, you arenât overthinking your place at the table.Â
That is, until an alarm sounds and everyone is immediately on high alert. They all seem to know what to do, whipping into action quickly while you sit there frozen.Â
Dick gears up and then stiffens when he remembers you still at the dinner table, watching them all in awe and surprise. He looks at Alfred who is also preparing to help with the potential invasion of the mansion, then looks at you. âStay here, okay? Iâll come get you when itâs safe.â
You open your mouth, ready to offer your assistance, but stop when you look around the room. How can you possibly even think about helping these heroes? They are the heroes of the story. You are the damsel in distress.Â
âOkay,â is all you manage to say.
True to his word, Dick returns a few hours later. Youâre right where he left you. He looks relieved to see you untouched, immediately coming up to you to inspect you. âAre you okay?â
Even when the worst is happening, his concern is on you. Youâre adding more weight to his already hefty load.Â
âIâm okay,â you reassure him. âIs everyone else okay?â
He softens and nods. âYeah, theyâre okay. Letâs get you home, yeah?âÂ
Dickâs kisses shouldâve chased away those worries as they always have, but the feeling persists. Itâs an itch you canât scratch. An invisible scar you canât heal. The feeling festers and grows, sprawling into this ugly hopelessness inside of you.Â
It doesnât disappear when Dick picks you up from work the next day, chattering on about the programs he is hoping to stand up with the help of the new mayor.Â
It doesnât disappear when the two of you run into Barbara outside of his apartment, telling him that thereâs work to be done with Blockbuster.
It doesnât disappear when Dick shoots you an apologetic look, asking for a rain check on your movie night â even when heâs already carrying the bags of popcorn and treats.Â
The more you think about it, the more you consider where you stand with Dick. Heâs already so busy with everything else. The last thing you want to be is another item on his checklist, another to-do to cross off. He already has enough on his plate, you donât want to make it harder for him by adding another thing for him to complete.Â
So you do what you thought was best.Â
âI donât think this is working out, Dick.â
Dickâs gaze falters, a shudder in his confidence. âWhatâ why would you say that?â
âYouâre very busy. You have a lot of things going on. I donât think a relationship is a good idea right now.â Not for you, you add in your mind. This is for Dick, you remind yourself. This is to help him, the only way you know how.Â
Heâs quiet, lips pinched together as he frowns. The two of you were supposed to get lunch together, but you thought it best to sever it clean before the two of you sit down for what would likely be an awkward meal. So here you two are, standing in front of a restaurant. People mill about, barely paying you any mind. Some pause to look at Dick in admiration, but he is only looking at you.Â
âIs this what you want?â His voice is lower when he asks this.Â
No. But, of course, you donât say that.Â
âYes. I think this is whatâs best.â
A part of you wants him to resist, wants him to fight for you. That selfish part of you begs him to beg you to stay, to tell you that he wants this as much as you do. That he cares about you as much as you do him.Â
But the responsible voice inside of you wants him to agree and walk away.Â
Luckily â or not, he agrees with the latter. So the two of you hug and part ways. You walk away with shoulders held high and the tears streaming down your face. You donât let him see it. You never want him to see it.Â
And thatâs the day you walked away from Dick Grayson.
It may be dramatic to say that there is your life before Dick and a life after him. You never thought you would ever consider romance to be the end-all-be-all of your life â and it isnât. But Dick Grayson is something special, isnât he? He isnât just any romance.Â
He is the romance.Â
The type that sticks to you, a permanent fixture like heâs been tattooed and engraved into an everlasting mark on your skin. He clings to you like a persistent memory. No matter how many drinks you swallow, how many things you do to keep busy, you canât seem to shake the thought of him when youâre alone.
The nights are the worst. The world inside your head is too quiet, even in a city like this one. Even when there are sirens blaring from every corner of your apartment and neon lights glare into your bedroom, youâre left to pick apart the decision youâve made, constantly turning it over in your mind to determine whether it was the right one.Â
There are nights when you find yourself reaching for your phone, your thumb hovering over his contact. It would be easy to call him, to ask for him back. You miss him, incredibly so. It would be so simple to send him a text saying as such.Â
I miss you. What are you doing tonight?
Thinking of you, are you thinking of me?
I made a mistake. Will you have me again?
You try not to think about him, but the ask is akin to asking you not to breathe. Thinking about Dick comes naturally to you. Itâs in the places you frequent, the ghost of him is the only constant lurking in the shadows. Itâs the voice inside your head, calming you down when the city gets too much. Itâs the absence that you feel the most â the sudden quiet when you donât have him talking to you about his day, about his family, his friends, his ambition. The silence when he isnât peppering you with follow-up questions about your week, sincerity and genuine curiosity entwined into his every syllable.Â
And just as youâre swirling into this black hole, your phone lights up with an email reminder. A date the two of you were supposed to have. Movie tickets booked weeks ago because you had been so excited to see it, Dick had purchased the tickets immediately. With everything that has happened, you completely forgot to cancel it.Â
However, instead of wallowing, you decide to go for it anyway. Youâve been cooped up in your home for too long, burying yourself under this mountain of self-despair. Quality time with your friends helped, but it didnât cease the voices at night when youâre alone.Â
The movie is good, it couldâve been better if you didnât have this empty seat next to you. The theater is full and yet there is this one gap that sticks out like a sore thumb on opening night. Your mind is half on the movie and half imagining what it would be like to be here with Dick.
He would get popcorn ahead of time, with extra butter, just the way he knows you like it. He would get sweet tea, not cola, because he knows how you donât like to pair bubbly drinks with airy snacks. He would let you hold onto the bucket and take it as an opportunity to reach closer to you whenever he grabs a handful, even sliding an arm around you to tuck you into his side. When the popcorn is gone, he would hold your hand, squeezing whenever he thinks you need the extra support.Â
Itâs an almost miserable experience. Itâs pathetic how far gone you are for him that you canât even enjoy time by yourself anymore.
But as they say, heartbreak is supposed to get easier with time. Eventually, you wonât remember what his touch felt like, the warmth of his body next to yours. You wonât think about him every time you pass by the basketball court he used to frequent to keep the neighborhood kids company. You wonât cry when you realize how many people youâve gotten to know and lost in the process. You wonât think about him and youâll remember that you can be perfectly content on your own again.Â
You try not to fall under the weight of your worries as you step out of the theater. Everyone else filters out in pairs or groups, and youâre left standing there alone in the golden light that casts a glow across the rain-streaked sidewalk. Youâre waiting for a cab. A cab that you will soon learn wonât find you.Â
Not when you feel the breath down your neck.
âArenât you a pretty little bird?â
The unknown voice has you jumping, but not too far when a firm grip wraps around your bicep. Your eyes flash to betray your fear as you take in the masked assailant. He looks familiar, like a photograph hung somewhere in the back of your subconscious. Maybe one of Dickâs files that he tends to strew across your coffee table.Â
âYouâre Graysonâs girl. Iâve seen you around with him. Blockbusterâs going to want to see you.â
âIâm notâ weâre notââ together, you want to say, but you donât get a chance to finish your words when the man zaps you out cold.Â
By the time you wake, there is a dull throbbing on your side where youâve been electrocuted. The room smells of wastewater but looks relatively clean. You must be near the sewage plant. There is no one in the room and your eyes quickly dart around. What would Dick do in this moment?Â
Your hands are tied up with a rope behind your back, feet against the legs of the chair. You systematically go through your surroundings. A shelf with all sorts of items. Books, random paraphernalia, and a glass bottle at the top. An idea pops up in your head, the films you watch finally coming in helpful; it might not be one that Dick approves, but heâs not here to scold you right now.Â
Based on the distance and the weight of the chair, you scooch your way towards it. You use your shoulder to bump the shelf, rattling it with the little force you have. You can hear the bottle stumble a bit, but itâs not quite there yet.
Another hard push with your limited movement has it finally dropping on its side, rolling down the shelf until it lands, split in pieces, on the ground next to you. Now, you have to carefully drop yourself onto the floor, making sure youâre not getting the shards on your skin. There is no graceful way to do this, so you just tip yourself over. With your face pressed against the cold cement floor, your hands wriggle around behind you to grasp a piece of the glass, slicing the tip of your finger in the process, but at least you have this.Â
Slowly, you use the jagged edge to cut through the rope. Itâs an arduous process. The entire time, youâre praying that maybe â on the very off-chance â Dick is still keeping track of you. That heâll notice your disappearance. Maybe heâll come to your rescue. Itâs a naive thought, but itâs the hope that you cling to. Â
When your wrists are finally free, you get to work on your ankles. Another slice on your leg in your hurry to break free before your captors return. You donât know where you are or how you plan to escape, but that tiny window looks promising.Â
Youâre halfway up the wall, standing on your chair, struggling to unlock the window when the front door swings open. You whip around and see the imposing figure duck into the room. Fuck. Itâs Blockbuster. He is the man whoâs been out for Dickâs blood for as long as you can remember.Â
And now he has you, trapped in this room. His broad frame takes up nearly half the width of the space. You fiddle with the lock faster, praying for some miracle that you can escape in time.Â
But the man doesnât even give you a chance â his thick arms wrap around your torso before he lifts you up and throws you back onto the ground. If you didnât know any better, you swear you hear bones cracking. The pain that shoots through you is fast, blistering, blinding. Itâs hot-white and has your vision spotting.Â
âWhere do you think youâre going, pretty bird?â Blockbuster rumbles in vile amusement. âYouâre not leaving this room. Youâre not leaving this space until I get some answers.â
âAnswers about what?â You spit out, the liquid coming out in a smattering of red on the grey floor.Â
âGrayson. I want to know his weaknesses, his vulnerable points. I want to know everything there is to know about him to destroy him.â
The wide smile that stretches across his face has your stomach churning in disgust. He crouches on the floor, leans towards you, close enough that his platinum hair brushes against your face.Â
âOr maybe youâre it. Maybe youâre his only weakness. Maybe I already have the pretty bird in my hands to take him down.â
âHeâs not going to let you get away with this, or anything. Heâs going to destroy you before you even come close to him.â
Blockbuster laughs, the sound booming. âThis birdâs got claws. I can see why Grayson likes you. Donât worry, pretty. Iâll break each one before you leave today. Iâll make sure you canât sing for him anymore. Iâll make you squawk.âÂ
The threat settles in deep in your gut and your heart plummets six feet under.Â
Then it begins. The beating, the brutalizing. Youâre on the ground, against the wall, and flying through the air. Your face, your ribs, your hair, your legs, your arms. It goes on and on for what feels like hours. The only light you see is the one that hangs overhead, but even that begins to fade as your eyes struggle to stay open. Your chest heaves with heavy breaths, strained wheezes slipping past your lips in your desperate attempt to stay alive. The glass bits you were so adamant on avoiding before are now affixed to your skin like glitter.Â
Your vision goes between white and red and pitch black. When you start to lose consciousness, he jolts you awake again. The only sounds ringing in your ear are his questions, now a jumbled blur of words, and a cacophony of foul laughter.Â
Youâve never been religious but in those final moments, you pray. You pray for a savior. You pray that youâll survive this. You pray that Dick doesnât have to see you in your final moments.
Despite all that has happened, you like to hope that Dick still cares â and when Dick cares, you know he would live with this weight for the rest of his life. The last thing you want to leave him with is another burden to carry.Â
Your ears start ringing from the abuse youâve undergone. At some point, the pain no longer flares, it ebbs and flows as your body grows numb. Not a single part of you untouched. You donât think the man even has questions anymore; he only takes ill gratification in the fact that he has destroyed something of Dickâs.Â
You swear you hear a different voice, a different sound. No longer your screams or his laughter. A curse, a thud, a yell. Your brain canât fully comprehend it, not when your senses can no longer be trusted. Not when they barely work. In the spread of red, you see glimpses of blue and black.Â
You hear your name. You hear it before you feel a gentle touch, a brush thatâs barely there on your head.Â
Then it all goes black.Â
âWe need you to let her go. Sir, we are trying to help.â
âYou donât know what sheâs gone throughââ
âWe will work to diagnose all her injuries. For now, we need you to let us do our jobs.â
âIâm surprised sheâs still breathing. The damage sheâs takenâŚâ
âLetâs just get through this and let the family know.â
âSir, this is family onlyââ
âI am her family,â Dickâs voice snaps back. Youâve never heard him raise his voice like that before.Â
Then you hear someone else, more stern, still warm. Bruce. âIf youâll allow my son to stay with her, she doesnât have family in the area. Iâll handle the paperwork, if youâll lead me.â
âSweet girl, Iâm so sorry.â
âNo, Iâm not leaving.â
âDick, you need to eat at least. You canât help her like this.â
âIâm the reason sheâs here to begin with. Iâm not leaving her.â
âHowâs she doing?â The deep baritone, you think itâs Bruce.Â
Dickâs voice frays at the edges, like heâs barely keeping it together as he inhales. You can feel his eyes on you. âBetter. Doctors think sheâll be fine but she doesnât have the energy yet to be fully conscious.â
âSheâs a strong one. Sheâll be fine, Dick.â
A pause. You wonder how Dick looks, if heâs been eatingâ âI donât think I can ever forgive myself if she isnât.â
âI shouldâve been there with her, you know. We bought those tickets weeks ago. I thought she refunded them when she broke up with me. Didnât think sheâd go alone to such a late showing.âÂ
A sigh. More high-pitched. Maybe Barbara. Sheâs been worried sick about him based on how many times she has come to visit. Her voice is more familiar than others. âYou canât blame yourself. You couldnât have known that would happen.â
âItâs BlĂźdhaven, of course, something like this would happen. I shouldâve expected this, thatâs my entire job.âÂ
âBabs sent me here to deliver this. Can you please just eat first? Everyoneâs worried about you.â
Thereâs the rustling of a plastic bag. You hope that Tim picked up Dickâs favorite Thai spot downtown, the one with the pad see ew he likes. Hopefully, thatâll cheer him up. âThanks, but Iâm good for now.â
âDick, youâre not doing anyone any favors by punishing yourself. What would she say if she saw you like this, huh?â
âWell, she canât really say anything now, can she? Because of me.â
âStop blaming yourself. Itâs Blockbusterâs fault. She wouldnât want you to do this.â
âShouldâve been me in this bed.â
âIâm sorry, sweetheart. Iâm so sorry. God, Iâll do anything â Iâll give up anything. Just please wake up. Iâm sorry. Iâm so sorry.â
âI canât do this without you. I need you to wake up, pretty girl. Need to see those eyes again. Need you looking at me again.â
âI swear Iâll do better. Iâll work harder. Please. Donât take her away from me.â
When your eyes finally flutter open, you feel as if itâs been years since youâve seen the light. The bright fluorescent lamps above blind you as you groan and turn away. Crust nearly keeps your eyes shut but you reach up to brush them away, only to wince at the searing pain by your side.
âHey, pretty girl, easy. Donât move too fast. Youâre hurt.âÂ
Dick. You slowly turn to the side to find him there. Then you briefly analyze your surroundings.Â
White. All white. Hospital. The only splashes of color are in the flower arrangements sitting at the end of your bed. Large and wild. Alive.Â
Youâre alive.Â
Christ, youâre alive.Â
But Dick â he looks disheveled, the most youâve ever seen him at least. Thereâs certainly more than a dayâs worth of stubble peppering his jaw, his blue eyes shadowed by the circles surrounding them. His hair is a mussed-up mess, like heâs been running his hand through it nonstop for days.Â
Heâs fast to approach, gentle to touch. You swear you see the slight tremble in his fingertips as he brushes your hair away from your face. His eyes search yours, drinking you in like he is memorizing every inch of you. Old habits die hard, you suppose. Heâs probably cataloging your injuries as if the doctor hasnât done that already.Â
âHey, Dick,â you smile weakly, the stretch painful. Your throat feels dry, your voice comes out grainy. Thereâs a stiffness around your neck, which you soon realize is a brace. It hurts to breathe, let alone speak. âWhat day is it?â
Dick scrambles to grab the glass of water at your bedside table. He eases the rim between your lips, letting the cool liquid slowly pour between your chapped lips. âEasy, not too much. Not too fast,â he whispers, then adds, âBeen four days.â
âHmm, thatâs a while, huh? Hope my boss doesnât fire me for missing work that long. God knows weâre understaffed.â
Your attempt to laugh falls short when you feel the piercing twinge in your stomach, and it comes out as a raspy cough instead.Â
Dickâs eyes widen and you shake your head to reassure him. You donât like the way his forehead creases in concern, how dim his usually bright eyes are. Dick forces a smile at your poor endeavor at humor. âNo, Iâm sure youâll be fine, sweetheart. Called in for you.â
âGood. What a waste of PTO though.â
âSweet girl,â Dick breathes out, closer this time as he leans forward and presses his lips against your temple. You barely feel it, still slightly numb under the bandage wrapped around your head. His breath is shaky when he exhales. âIâm so sorry. Iâm so, so sorry. I shouldâve been there.â
You roll your eyes, but it only makes your head ache. âDonât be silly. Why would you have been there? It wasnât as if we had plans.â
âWe were supposed to go together. Weââ Dick chokes on his words as he sits on the chair next to your bed, bringing your hand up to his face and flattens the back of it against his cheek. âIâm sorry. I canât begin to tell you how sorry I am that I wasnât there.â
âYou were, Dick. You came for me. I knew you would.â
âI wasnât fast enough.â
âYou were as fast as you could be.â
âI didnât get him. I wanted to, but you were there and you were hurt and I needed to get you to the hospital first. He escaped andââ
âYouâll get him next time.â
âI let you get hurt.â
âYou didnât do anything except save me.â
Dickâs lips quiver as he inhales again, as he looks at you.Â
âI love you.â
Then you hear another sharp gasp. Yours.Â
âI love you. I shouldâve told you that a long time ago, pretty girl. I love you so much. I shouldnât have let you walk away. I shouldâve fought harder for you. I justâ I thought you deserved better than me. Someone who could treasure you properly. Hopefully, someone who loves you as much as I do, even if I donât think itâs possible.â
Your throat is tight. Whether itâs the tears or from the injuries youâve sustained, youâre not entirely sure. Your question is only answered when you taste the saltiness on your tongue, your fingers reaching up to touch the wet mess rolling down your face.Â
âBut I canât let you go. People think Iâm selfless, but god â Iâm so fucking selfish when it comes to you. Never want you to leave my side again. I want you close so I can protect you, keep you safe, love you proper. I want you to know how much you mean to me. I want to remind you of it every day. I took it for granted before, but never again. I love you. Iâll do it right this time, if youâll let me. If youâll still have me.â
âDickâŚâ
âGod, look at me babbling away when you should be resting,â Dick huffs, disgruntled with himself. âIâm sorry. Iâll get the doctor. I shouldâve done that first.â
âStay.â
âI have toââ
You reach for his fingers again, intertwining them. Itâs been a while since youâve had his big hands up close. These hands always remind you that youâre safe, that youâre his. Gentle, a contradiction against the harsh touch of BlĂźdhaven. âJust for a little while.â
Dick glances between the door and your joint hands in conflict. He caves in to you, because â of course, he does. Heâs never been one to deny you when you want to touch him. Itâs his weakness. If Clark had his Kryptonite, he had you.Â
âFor a little bit,â he murmurs reluctantly, âbut I want them to check on you right after this, okay? I have to make sure youâre good.âÂ
For a while, the two of you let the silence seep in. It wraps around you like a blanket, warm and steady. The worries of the past few days â even the past few weeks â seem to melt away as you let your eyes slide close once more, your head pressing back into the pillow. Dickâs fingers twitch in your hand and you give him a squeeze to assure him youâre okay.Â
âI was scared,â you admit quietly. You canât meet his eyes. Not for this. âI wasnât scared of Blockbuster. I was scared of what would happen if you found me a minute too late. If I didnât make it.â
âWhâ why would you be scared of that?â
âBecause I know youâd blame yourself. You already have, even though you saved me. I didnât want to be another weight to carry. Another burden on your shoulders.â
There is a fracture in Dickâs voice when he says your name. Like a prayer. Like a desperate plea. âYou could never be a burden. Iâ I donât know what I wouldâve done if I didnât make it in time. I donât even want to think about that.â
âMight make things easier for you,â you try to tease, but the joke lands bitter on your tongue. âOne less thing to worry about. I guess I already was when I ended things.â
Dick is quiet for a moment, you canât even hear him breathe. So you turn to look at him again, curious eyes finding his slumped shoulders. âDonât even joke about that. Thatâs not something Iâm entertaining. Iâm never not worrying about you,â he mutters, âkept tabs on you even after you broke up with me. I wanted to make sure you always had someone looking out for you, even if itâs someone you didnât care about anymore.â
You frown then. âWhy would you think I donât care about you?â
His head tilts in question then, brows furrowing. âIsnâtâ I mean, isnât that why you ended things? Because you werenât interested in me anymore. I wasnât a great boyfriend, I know that. I shouldâve done more. Thatâs on me. I just thought, you⌠didnât care about me anymore. Maybe you found someone else.â
âDick, oh myâ no, not at all. I justââ your teeth sink into your bottom lip, the truth hanging on the tip of your tongue but you refuse to let it slip.Â
He looks at you with such earnest eyes, ones that urge you to continue.Â
How can you say no to him? How could you think for one second you could let him go?
âI thought it would be easier for you, if we broke up,â you admit quietly and are immediately answered by the deepening of his frown, âyou have so much going on. Between Nightwing, BlĂźdhaven and Gotham, and all the community outreach you were doing, it just didnât seem like you had time for a relationship. Itâs not as if I was helping you in any way, I canât really do that. Not like the others. So I did what I thought was best.â
The look on Dickâs face now, you donât think you ever want to see again. He looks absolutely crestfallen. His lips slightly parted, eyes carrying the sort of melancholy that comes after a loss. âYouâ fuck, you thought that breaking up would be easier for me? How can youâ what would even make you think that? I know Iâve been busy and I havenât been the best boyfriend, but god, youâ you never made things harder. Ever. If anything, I feel so much lighter with you around. I feel as if I could breathe again. When this city chokes out the last of me, I know Iâll at least have you. And god, I wasnât perfect, I was a terrible boyfriend, but you put up with me. I donât know why you did for as long as you did, butâ I didnât know thatâs how you felt with me. I wish youâd told me.â
A laugh of disbelief escapes him, rising from his chest with acid on his tongue.Â
âYou were always so patient. I thoughtâ I thought thatâs all you wanted from me. A few dates here and there. I didnât want to ask more of you, didnât want to scare you off. I can be intense, overwhelming. I know I can certainly be, and I didnât want you to think I was being too demanding.âÂ
âDick, youâre⌠unbelievable. Do you know how much I admire you? Everything that you do? Sometimes, I donât know what you see in me. When you have all these incredible people around you, when youâre doing all these incredible things. I didnât think Iâd be⌠enough.â
Dick stands then, cupping your face in his hands. His eyes are wild, alive now. Itâs as if heâs been electrified in the last few moments of your conversation. âYou are more than enough. Youâre everything. Every day I see how hard you work, how much of your heart you put into this city and its people, and it reminds me of why I want to protect this city. Itâs because of you. I want you safe, I want you happy here â with me. God, I fucking love you, you know that. Iâm going to remind you of it every day. If youâll let me have you again, I promise you â youâll never have a doubt in your mind ever again when it comes to where you stand with me. Youâll see what I see in you.â
You crack another small smile, cheeks aching. Youâre probably ripping open a couple of stitches, but itâs worth it when Dick breathes a sigh of relief. âLove you too, Dick.â
The smile he offers you is magnificent. The kind that you memorize, print, and tuck away for safekeeping on a rainy day. He presses another kiss to your forehead, then your hand. Firm this time. More confident. He hesitates before he leans to brush his lips against yours.Â
And it feels like homecoming.Â
âIâm going to put a tracker on you from now on. Iâll drop you off at work and pick you up. Iâll install new security measures in your office and our apartmentââ
âOur?â
He freezes then flushes, pink tinging his neck. âIf you want. I mean, I think youâll be safer there. I know we havenât been together long but Iâll feel better if youâre with me. We can spend more time together, I donât have to let you go at the end of the day. If youâre not comfortable, Iâll set up a separate room for you first â not to say I wonât be crashing in there every night, butââ
âDick,â you reprimand teasingly. âIâll think about it. Thatâs a big move.â
âRight, yeah. Of course. You donât have to. Iâll implement new security cameras and sensors at your place. Iâll booby trap some of the windows so no one can break in. Weâll upgrade yourââ
âDick,â you say again, softer this time. âYour offer isnât a bad thing. I just⌠I have to think about it. I love you, I do. Itâs just been a lot.â
He nods solemnly and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head. Always working. Always looking for a solution.Â
âItâs not a no, baby.â
The pet name has him perking up, his eyes illuminating for the first time in a while since youâve seen him. Crystal blue staring right back at you.Â
âAnd Dickââ
âYeah?â
âProbably time to get the doctor. I mightâve split open a few stitches.â
âOh, shit yeah.â He jumps to his feet, ready to run out when you call for him again. He pops his head back in, gaze curious, happy, concerned.Â
Your lips tug into a smile. âThank you.â
âAnytime, pretty girl.â
dick is flying to (taglist): @catclaw1 @lunexiax @esunarint @lunaryoongie @alli0-0 @avgdestitute @parker-barnes-af @onecojg @lynnidc @winnichu173 @c3liaaaaa @my-drvidess @fruitypebsworld @smorgasbrods @ruptureedspleen @take-it-on-the-run @a-very-fictional-girl @eiaf4uwn @vivianna2392 @w1nchesterfiles @ae1szn @its-pomegranite @athenxt
Pairing: Damian Wayne x Batsis!Reader
Summary: In which you support Damian at his soccer match
âYouâre quieter than usual." you noted casually while driving, one hand resting against the steering wheel of your Rover Sport.
Damian glanced out the window for a moment before sighing softly.
âI simply dislike finals.â
âYouâre nervous?â
âA little.â
You smiled immediately. âDamian, youâre literally the best player on your team. The other striker's got nothing on you.â
âThat doesn't guarantee victory.â
âNo,â you agreed, âbut it definitely helps.â
That earned a small smile from him.
You reached over at the red light to squeeze his hand once. âYouâre gonna do amazing. I believe in you.â
Damian looked down at your joined hands briefly before nodding. âThank you"
The second Damian stepped onto the field, you could already tell he was calmer.
You sat near the front row of the stands, yelling support loud enough to mildly embarrass him.
âTHATâS MY BROTHER!â
Damian glanced toward the stands after making a clean interception, expression softening almost immediately when he saw you cheering.
One of his teammates laughed. âYo Damian, your sisterâs your biggest fan.â
âShe is very enthusiastic,â Damian replied.
And you absolutely were.
You clapped for every good pass, stood up every time he got the ball, and nearly lost your mind when his team scored the winning goal.
By the end of the match, Damianâs team won 3â1.
The second he walked over afterward, very sweaty and flushed from running around for an hour, you grabbed both sides of his face dramatically.
âYou guys WON!â
Damian laughed softly. âYes. I was there.â
âYou played so well.â
âYou cheered very well.â
Later that day, the two of you sat in your car, parked outside Big Belly Burger, a chicken one for you, and veggie one for him. The fries balanced between you, with several sauces on the dashboard top, while Damian scrolled through messages from his teammates.
You stole one of his fries.
Damian noticed immediately and pushed the container closer toward you anyway.
âYou know,â you said between bites, âIâm very proud of you, and you should be very proud of yourself.â
Damian looked over, his expression softening in that rare way it only ever did around family.
ââŚIâm glad you came, even though you were a bit loud.â he admitted.
You smiled immediately. âObviously I came. You're my little brother.â
Damian rolled his eyes fondly before handing you your drink.
And for the rest of the drive home, he looked a lot less nervous than before.
a/n: yes this is directly inspired by Batman and Robin #5
when ur reading fanfic and one character was cooking and the other comes up to them and they start making out and everyones like starting to take their shirts off and the author STILL hasnt mentioned anyone turning off the stove
Young Justice has always been more than a show. Itâs a reminder of who we were, who we became, and who weâre still trying to be.
Every character carries a lesson cleverness, strength, joy, rebellion, kindness, heart. They grew, they stumbled, they healed, and they kept going. And somehow, we grew with them.
Maybe thatâs why YJ stays with us. Not just as nostalgia, but as a story about identity, courage, and the bonds that shape us forever.
Mira and Zoey were always astounded at Rumiâs ability to NEVER have her roots show. They always speculated on what Rumiâs natural hair color looked like, how and why sheâs been dyeing it purple and doing it so good, and so secretly, for so long.
For Mira, dyeing her hair was her first act of freedom. When she was young in her family, it was the ONLY act of freedom and self expression that she was lucky to have. Since meeting Rumi, it has become a competition. How long can you keep your roots completely hidden, how many people they can fool into thinking that itâs their natural hair color. They have the benefit of having their hair dyed since they were really young, and having more photos of them with dyed hair than not.
Until one day, after the events of the movie, Huntr/x is chillin in the tower.
Mira: *looks in mirror to see roots growing* damn Rumi you win this week.
Rumi: win what?
Mira: the hair competition
Rumi: weâre having a hair competition?
Zoey: youâve been having a hair competition. For a few years now. You havenât noticed?
Rumi: what are we competing about?
Mira: who can hide their roots the longest. How do you do it, by the way?
Rumi: these⌠are my roots?
Zoey: ok but like what dye do you use? And how do you dye it so fast and secretly?
Rumi: Iâve never dyed my hair.
Mira and Zoey: *flabberghasted and quickly making the connection that her demon side gave her colored hair* YOUVE HAD NATURALLY PURPLE HAIR ThE WHOLE TIME??!?
No bc I've thought about this so much. I love the idea of Mira turning it into a competition.
Mira would definitely comment on it when they first meet and try to talk to Rumi abt dye and shit, and Rumi would be like âI-uhâ bc she doesnât know shit abt it and is terrible at coming up with convincing lies. And sheâd get saved by the bell or smth, but then after do crazy research just to be convincing to Mira when they talk abt it. She even buys a bottle of dye to keep in her bathroom just for the illusion, even if itâs gathering dust.
Mira would try to have a âdye dayâ or smth with Rumi, but ofc they donât need to dye Rumiâs hair, so they just do Miraâs. Rumi is trying not to look like an idiot bc no matter how much research you do, itâs a different matter to actually do it
And then when Rumi being a demon is revealed, they donât even think abt her hair until Mira tries another dye day, and Rumi just looks at her funny.
Rumi: You know I donât actually dye my hair, right?
Mira: Oh, shit, wait.
Zoey: I KNEW you couldnât have been that good at keeping your roots in check. You barely remember to feed yourself most of the time.
Mira: I just thought it was one of your image control thingsâfaults and fears and all that
And then when Rumi is cleaning out her bathroom, or perhaps the girls are all getting ready in it, and Mira is looking for smth and sees the old hair dye and starts laughing, and the girls are like âwhat??â and Mira pulls out Rumiâs old âhair dyeâ and itâs just purple shampoo.
pairing husband!dick grayson x wife!assassin!reader
summary in which you try to keep your husband on his toes as to prevent him from ever being killed. your method? by making him go through your rigorous training, of course
It all began when your beloved husband came home with blood soaking his suit and his feet tripping over each other in a way they never did, even when he was drunk. Moonlight spilled in from behind him as the chilly air mussed his hair. If he werenât on deathâs door, you wouldâve taken the time to admire him.
Your knees wanted to give out at the sight of him trying to grin. Even now, even in so much pain, he tried to reassure you. So you helped him, laying him on the couch and rummaging through the cabinet for supplies. A sharp, chemical smell wafted through the apartment. You didnât flinch. Nor did your hands tremble when you stitched his wounds.
Once you finished, you tucked him into bed and gazed at him, checking for the rise and fall of his chest. It was then that you noticed a chain around his neck, his wedding ring looped through it. This foolish man. He should know better than to carry something so precious out there.
Instead of scolding him like you wanted to, you curled up against him, fingers carding through his hair. You didnât dare think about what wouldâve happened if you hadnât been home. And when morning came, he would surely try to calm you.
No, you couldnât let it go this time. You would not let him distract you with his kisses. He needed to be reminded of just how dangerous this world was.
âââ
When the clock struck eight the next morning, you flung the curtains open. Sunlight poured in relentlessly, making Dick groan. He threw an arm over his eyes, his beautiful features twisting in discomfort from the movement.
âSweetheart, the absolute love of my life, could you perhaps not agonize your very amazing husband today?â His voice was low and rough with sleep.
You hummed, bustling around the room for the medication youâd prepared for him. All night, your mind had whirled with ideas of how to make sure he was properly trained. He fought to save. That was the problem. You needed him to fight to survive.
You appeared beside the bed with the pills and a bottle of water. Looking at his injuries, you steeled your resolve. âTake these,â you demanded.
He shifted, opening one eye. Slowly, he sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist. The sun painted his skin in soft gold. He looked at you with half-lidded eyes and fondness.
You held out the pills and water.
He rolled his eyes and took them, letting his fingers linger against yours. When he went to swallow them without the water, you cleared your throat loudly.
He paused, eyeing you.
âIsnât there something you need to do before taking them?â you asked.
He tilted his head. âOh yeah,â he said with a grin, and gestured for you to come closer. You leaned in, brows furrowed. whatâ
He kissed your cheek. âThank you for taking care of me, sweetheart,â he murmured, like the idiot he was. Then he swallowed the pills, and you closed your eyes in disappointment.
âThis is worse than I thought,â you said gravely. âYou took the poison.â
âHuh?â
âPoison, Dick. That was poison,â you explained calmly.
There was a beat of silence.
âWhen did my sweet wife get a sense of humor?â he chuckled, eyes crinkling in that careless way that irritated you. Most people wouldnât describe you as sweet. Dick, though, had always been a little weird.
âDick,â you said flatly.
He faltered slightly, scanning your face. âHang on⌠have I been neglecting you? Because if this is a cry for help, I can clear my schedule.â
Heat flooded your cheeks. âWhat?!â
âHoney, you donât have to go to these lengths,â he said softly, reaching for your hand. âYou can have whatever you want. Iâm yours, remember?â
You grumbled. How was he making you flustered with a few words? The fact that his wife had poisoned him was somehow the least of his concerns. If your dosage was right, he had about thirty minutes before he started throwing up.
You grimaced.
Dick, naturally, took that as confirmation of marital failure. âBabyââ
You shot him a look and reached into your pocket, pulling out the antidote. âTake it.â
He stared at it. âIs that poison?â
âOh, now you hesitate?â you said sharply. It seemed that with you, he lost all sense of self-preservation.
He closed his mouth and obediently took the antidote. Embarrassment crept across your cheeks. This wasnât for attention. You just didnât need him to know the real reason for your worry, poorly disguised as a murder attempt.
Admitting that would only make things worse.
âââ
Later that evening, you forced Dick to rest, his soft snores coming from the bedroom while you begrudgingly facetimed two very annoying redheads for help.
âThis is serious,â you cut through their bickering.
Roy stopped mid argument. âThatâs never a good sentence coming from you.â
Wally leaned into the frame, squinting. âIs he actually dying or is this just you being weird again?â
âNeither,â you said flatly. âThis is training.â
Royâs brows furrowed. âTraining for what?â
You hesitated, then decided it didnât matter what they thought. âSo he doesnât get himself killed.â
There was silence.
Then, Wally slowly spoke. âSo let me get this straight. To make sure he doesnât die, youâre gonna try to kill him?â
Roy snorted, which turned into wheezing. âHe probably thinks this is foreplay.â
You glared. âWhat terrible taste he would have to consider this foreplay,â you said. âThere is not nearly enough blood.â
Wally closed his eyes. âYeah, okay. Weâll helpâ but only so you donât accidentally kill him.â
âHell yeah,â Roy grinned.
You sighed. The things you did for love.
masterlist
comment to be added or removed from the taglist <3
thinking about CATWS for the 38475th time today and:
Natasha must have gotten so close to Clint so quickly for all the hydra agents in SHIELD not to have taken their chance to bring her onto their side. The greyest of grey characters was left out of the nefarious plot. She wasn't trusted with the dark secrets. She wasn't asked to do what they knew she had done so well for the Red Room. They saw her and this bizarre connection with Clint Barton, the circus archer, and were like, no, this agent with a history of operating nefariously under mind control will not be able to serve us well.
"Thank you for your cooperation." @waltermis - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
