Pairing: Dick Grayson x GN Informant! Reader
Summary: Finally, you knew.
Tags: Pining, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Confession
A/N: Aaannnd we're done! Feedback? Criticisms? Lemme know what you think once you're done reading!! š„ŗš
Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 (end)
4
It went on for a while, your staring match. It was only when the end credits rolled, five minutes later, that you said something.
āDick,ā you slowly blinked. āI think I know what you want to tell me.ā
āOh?ā He lazily smiled.
You spoke with a strange softness in your tone. It almost sounded pitying. He wouldāve hated it had it not come from you. āBut then again, I might be confused.ā
Dick shook his head. āYou're probably not.ā
āRight.ā
With nothing left to lose, Dick lowered his hand to rub your hip and looked deep into your lovely eyes, which widened and widened until they burst with realisation.
āWhy me?ā You breathed.
Dick raised an eyebrow. āWhy not?ā
āI don't know, because you have aĀ thousandĀ friends you get along with and a thousand people who would want to be with you like this, so why are you here kissingĀ meĀ right now instead of them?ā
ā...I don't know.ā
āWell, that's encouraging,ā you licked your lips, but Dick with how close you were to him, he could almost feel the blood rushing from your wrists to your cheek bone.
It drove him wild.
Dick took a deep breath, bracing himself. āAll I know is that when my nights end and I go to bedā¦I always want to be here in your arms instead,ā he continued, biting his bottom lip when you took a sharp intake of breath. āI've wanted that for a long time. Maybe,āĀ definitely,Ā āsince I first met you.ā
āOhā¦that's crazy.ā
āāThat's crazyā?ā Dick couldnāt help but chuckle at the phrasing. āThat's all you have to say?ā
āWell, what am I supposed to say to that?ā You spluttered, incredulous, and he just held you tighter, cruelly wondering when exactly you would force him to let go and making sure to commit the feeling of your body against his to memory. To cherish every timeĀ heĀ got to touch you like this for as long as he lived.
āI don't know, I'm sorry. It's justā I just couldn'tĀ resistĀ you anymore,ā Dick huffed. āAnd just to be clear, I donāt mean that platonically.ā
āNo, this isnāt platonic at all,ā you shuffled around but didnāt leave. Not yet. āItāsā I'm not really like your exes.ā
āNo.ā
You lightly snorted despite the sombre mood that had befallen the both of you. āYou don't need to say it that quickly,ā Dick hummed, bemused. āWell, your exes are soā¦differentĀ from me. Batgirl, who turned into Oracle ā the well-established data handler and coordinator behind nearly every successful vigilante case in this state and worldwide. Orā orĀ StarfireĀ ā the gorgeous warrior princess who leads or assists nearly every successful space travel mission. Theyāre your exes, right?ā
Dick blinked then smiled despite feeling like he was screaming inside. This was how you were rejecting him? Really? āHow do you know all of that?ā
āI wouldn't be a good informant if I didn't know my stuff,ā you said with the undertone of mischief in your voice. āAnyway, back to my point. They are not like me at all. I don't know why you would be into meā¦if you are actually into meā¦ā
āI am.ā
You swallowed audibly. āWell, I don't know why you would be when you were dating them or yoā youāre in-between dating them or whatever.ā
āYouāre implying that liking someone makes any sense in the first place,ā Dick knocked his forehead into yours and stunned you silent. āBy all rights, I should like Wonder Woman. She's in the league, so we understand each other, not to mention sheās talented and stunning. But I don't. I could like Donna, she's been my friend for ages and she's so attractive in so many ways. But I don't. I could like Raven, who I'm close with as well and who has a look that's out of this world and a way about her that draws anyone in. But I donāt.ā
You listened along, and Dick grasped your hands too, unable to stop his mouth from telling you everything thatās been on his mind forever. From telling you how he feltĀ all this time.Ā āI could like a grocery store clerk who I get along with and banter with. I could like any of the people I hooked up with at bars or clubs. I could like the rich kids at galas with parents who obviously want me to be with them. I could like anyone in this universe for any number of reasons, but I don't. I likeĀ you.Ā I...IĀ loveĀ you.ā
Dick made sure you saw his devotion to you through his touch, through his verbal conviction.
You looked like your breath had been taken away, so he kept going. If only so you could gain it back.
He grinned. āAnd obviously you're pretty and funny and cute and reliable and caring andĀ good. You have a hundred different great qualities, but it's not really about that. Itāsā when I'm around you I feel the need to be as close to you as possible, and I haven't felt that since I dated my exes. Actually, I'm actually not sure it felt the same way with them as it does with you. Sometimes I kind of ā not trying to be weird, even though it is ā I kind of want to sit inside of your pocket and just stay in there. Thatās how down bad I am,ā Dick sighed, leaning back and feeling his momentum near its end. āIām sorry for hiding this from you for so long. I just didnāt want to ruin the flow of things, you know?ā
Youā¦were you even breathing anymore? He didnāt know. All Dick knew was that he had your hands in his, had cracked open his chest, and was prepared to hear you pass judgment with a smile on his face.
āItās OK,ā you eventually said, blessedly still in his arms. āThat wasn't weird, that was nice. Iām justā¦I need to processā¦all of...that.ā
Dick nodded. āSure, take your time.ā
āYeah,ā you nodded back.
Dick bit his lip then decided to say this regardless. āFeel free to reject me, because I did just turn up one night and kept you from sleeping andāā
But you shook your head. āNo, it's cool. Iām happy you told meā¦I donāt blame you for hiding this, I like to go with the flow sometimes, as well. Being friends with you has beenā¦nice. And, I mean, hugging you like this has been just as nice. I just hadnāt thought this meant anything elseā¦ā
āIām sorry,ā Dick dropped your hands.
You shook your head again, gripping his fingers. āDon't be. I don't know how to explain it yet, but you make me...feelĀ things I've not felt for anyone before too.ā
ā¦
What?
Dickās heart was in his throat as it jumped to conclusions. āāFeel things?āā
āNow that I think about it...ā you nervously avoided his eyes. āI think I have some feelings for you, Dick.ā
He froze completely still, statues moved more than he did in that moment.
There was no way.
āItās not like Iāve been harbouring them!ā You quickly defended, gaze darting away immediately once yours met his. āIf anythingā¦Iāve been avoiding seeing you in that way since the very beginning. I tried not to take what you said or did seriously since everyone said you were a people-person. But I guess it didnāt work. I never considered itā¦butĀ nowĀ Iām considering it. You know?ā
There was noĀ way.
āDoes that mean...?ā Dick mumbled, dazedly.
āYeah, I think it meansāā
āDoes this mean we can kiss?ā Dick blurted out, excited beyond comprehensible thought.
āWhat?ā You stared, alarmed, and he froze.
Dick immediately backtracked, throwing the question back. āNo! What? I didnāt say anything.ā
You clearly hadnāt been expecting that. āā¦You want to kiss?ā
ā...You don't want to?ā Dick withered.
You paused. Then, āIā¦doā¦butā¦ā
āDoes that mean you,ā Dick interlocking your fingers together as he looked at your face for signs of falsehood and found none. There was noĀ fuckingĀ way! āActually, like me too?ā
āā¦Iām not sure,ā you admitted, which was fine.Ā MoreĀ than fine, he could work with this. This was amazing, this was a miracle, you were everything. Oh man, Dick loved you so damn much he could cry.
Dick joked, trying to make things light despite his heart slamming against its cage so it could be with its rightful owner. āThat makes sense, you friend-zoned me so hard I was honestly impressed.ā
āYou did that to me too,ā you pouted. āYou said early on that we were friends, and I thought you werenāt open to dating, so I don't want to hear judgment from you, sir.ā
āI guess it's kind of karma.ā
āWell, not really, since I'm not sayingā¦no.ā
Dick choked, gaped like a fish and then tried to force out the words around a smile. āThen itās karma forā¦making you wait and not being completely transparent from the start. I just had no idea you were even interested.ā
You huffed, playing with his fingers. He played back. āWell, of course not. I was intimidated by you guys. All of you in the Titans are pretty attractive for the most part, soā¦ā
āYou're saying I blend in?ā Dick teased with warm cheeks at the fact that you just basically admitted that you found him was attractive after all this time.
You denied it, but not in a bad way. āOh, no. Youāre the worst. Donāt you remember how tense I was around you the first few times we hung out? Havenāt you noticed that I barely let you touch me at all until recently?ā
āIā¦have,ā it had been disappointing.
āExactly. Why do you think that was?ā
Dick connected the dots, and boy, oh, boy. He might leap for joy if you werenāt careful. āYou're saying it was because you found meā¦hot?ā
You seriously nodded. āExtremely so, yeah. More than anyone else. I didnāt want to get attached, so I avoided it,ā a familiar tingle greeted him in his stomach. Dick knew he could be charming in all the right ways, but it hadnāt mattered unless you thought so too. And to know that you did?
āThatās great,ā Dick grinned, and you just stared into each other's eyes until you wore matching smiles. Dick could not believe this and neither could you. āSo, you really think I look good?ā
You raised an eyebrow. āDick, youāre gorgeous. Iām oblivious, not blind.ā
āOh yeah?ā
āYeah.ā
Dick couldnāt hold back a shit-eating grin and you looked away in a poor attempt to hide a similar expression. He wouldāve called you out on it had he not beenĀ vibratingĀ with glee.
āThis is by far the most disorienting confession I've ever experienced,ā you admitted a beat later.
āSorry, I should have brought flowers,ā Dick wanted to get up, but he feared breaking whatever spell had given him this once-in-a-lifetime magical fortune. āI was just tired, you know, of not saying anything andā andĀ nowĀ the relief is just making me even more tired.ā
You laughed, meeting his eyes again with something warm, something tender, something he hadnāt ever seen before. āWhy donāt we sleep then? Itās late.ā
āMmm,ā Dick repositioned you to lie on your side and slid down right next to you. He slotted his legs between your warm ones, feeling more content than he had felt in a long time as he squeezed your interlocked fingers and dropped them over your bodies. He then turned your jaw towards him, kissed the top of your forehead before Dick gently tucked your head beneath his chin. āI need you to make me a promise.ā
āPromiseā¦what?ā
āI need you to promise that you won't be gone when I wake up. Promise you wonāt go on that date with him.ā
āThatās a given. I...was never that interested in him, it was just...he reminded me of you, I guess.ā
The man who couldnāt manage to CC him in an email reminded you of Dick?
āReally?ā
āReally,ā you yawned cutely, it shoved the slight offense from his mind. You were so cute and you were willing to give him a shot. Dick was so damn lucky he wanted to scream it off of the rooftops. He probably would later. āDo you still want me to promise?ā
āI do. I might sleep in for a bit, not too long, promise me youāll stay?ā Dick shut his eyes in apprehension.
āIt is my house, I donāt plan on leaving.ā
Dick made a noise of protest.
āI promise,ā you passively agreed.
āI don't believe that,ā Dick shifted back just a bit so you could see each other and playfully asked. āWhere's your pinky?ā
āMy pinky is here, sir!ā You returned with the same energy, releasing a hand only to hold your pinky up ready between you.
āRight, soldier, show me your pinky. Extend it, yes, and curl it with mine. Yes, good job!ā You laughed along, and Dick loved how easy it was to make you do so. It had always been easy. āHowever,ā he pushed. āI still don't think I believe you.ā
āWell, that's unfortunate, sir. What could I possibly do to convince you?ā
This was cheeky, but. āLay one on me.ā
You blinked, surprised. āā¦What?ā
āYou heard me,ā Dickās voice lowered, punch-drunk as he greedily tapped his lips while staring at yours. All soft and plump and tasty. āLay one on me.ā
āI-I don't think that's very professional, sir.ā
Dick laughed. āWell, sometimes it's fine to go a bit off-the-book, soldier.ā
You leaned in, staring at his in return. āā¦And this will seal the promise?ā
āCertainly,ā you hesitated and for a second, Dick was going to take it all back, go slow instead of full speed ahead.
When you whispered, āAnything you say, sir.ā
Before Dick could move in first, you closed the short distance between the pair of you and pressed your lips against his. He could not even begin to describe the euphoria the sensation gave him, all he knew is that it was something he would never forget.
Dick tightened his hold on your pinky finger as he kissed you right back, over and over and over again until you were out of breath and pulled away to catch it. He let you go for a beat, panting like he had taken you for a ride instead of kissing you a little, and oh, he already couldnāt get enough.
āDickāā Dick slotted his lips between yours this time, slowly separating from your mouth before sucking on your bottom lip. He lapped at the plush flesh of your soft lip between his, intoxicated by the feeling of it in his mouth. He had been right all those times. You tasted as sweet as you sounded.
āDick,ā you repeated, quiet.
āYes?ā
āIs this? Do youā¦?ā Dick couldnāt help himself from pressing in again before you could form a complete thought. He used his other arm to hold your jaw as he kissed you some more, gentle as he went so as to not scare you away but firm enough that you felt all the passion he had hidden from you all this time.
āDo you believe me now?ā You gasped the question against his lips when he kissed the corner of your mouth.
āI believe you nowā¦mon ami,āĀ Dick relaxed, bringing you close so you could rest, whispering the term like a pet name.
āYou better,ā you replied just as gently, flustered like it was.
And when he woke up, finding you in his arms holding his fallen heart in your hands, he felt completely at peace.
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ā”. ⤷ do i look like him? your husband, dick grayson, is finally facing his greatest fearābecoming like his father and mentor, bruce wayne.
ā¤ļøāāāā āādick had spent most of his life running from shadows, not the ones lurking in gotham's alleys or festering in its streets, but the ones cast by a man in a cowl, whose code was so rigid it broke the people trying to live beneath it. from the day bruce wayne took him in, all cold silence and sharper expectations, dick swore he'd be different. as robin, he was all quips and momentum, a flash of color beside the brooding monolith that was batman. but eventually, he outgrew the cave and the man who built it. so he ran. to blüdhaven. to nightwing. to freedom.
to you.
he left gotham behind. the old suit, his parents' grave, the shadows, the weight of someone else's war. in blüdhaven, he built something new from scratch. he carved his name into the skyline with blood, sweat, and shattered ribs. he earned his place in the hero community, not as a symbol of fear, but of hope. and in time, he became his own man. one shaped by the past, but not defined by it. a man more empathetic, kinder, more open to change and to love.
a man nothing like the one who raised him.
at least, that's what he believed. he thought he'd buried it all with his sixteen-year-old self. thought he'd escaped the shadow. until the moment his teenage son, his first child, stood in the doorwayāfists clenched, fire in his eyesāand looked at him the same way he once looked at bruce.
he felt like a ghost wearing his dad's skin.
"why won't you let me do this?" your son snapped, fury barely held behind wet eyes. "i've trained for this since i was ten! you and mom do this every nightāwhy can't i?ā
dick stared at him and saw himself. not the grown man with graying hair and a healed shoulder dislocated too many times, but the snappy, sarcastic kid yelling at his father in the cave, demanding independence and then stomping off to prove it, no matter the cost. his first instinct was to raise his voice. to shut it down. to protect. but the words caught in his throat and sat heavy in his chest like a weight he'd carried for too long.
his son, god bless his heart, just fifteen, couldn't possibly understand what dick was seeing in those familiar blue eyes. the same shade, the same fire. the same burden. the pressure of being the one who holds it all together. dick had carried it for yearsāfor his brothers and sisters, for the titans, for gotham, for blüdhaven, for everyone. and now, for his wife. for his children.
all he wanted was to say it plainly. honestly. desperately. to say something raw like "i can't let you go on some reckless solo mission because you're still my kid. because if something happens to you, i won't survive it. because i remember what it felt like to be you. and i remember what it felt like to fight him. and i would rather you be furious with me, hate me for a while, than make me bury you".
but dick didn't say any of that.
instead, he said what bruce would've said.
"you're not ready."
the bedroom door slammed so hard the walls shook.
dick just stood there, staring at the door. his hands were fists. his jaw locked. and inside, something cold and hollow opened. a distant memory. he was fifteen again. standing in the cave, bruised and bloodied from a patrol gone wrong.
"i could've handled it if you just trusted me!"
"you disobeyed orders." bruce's voice, always so calm and void. "you endangered yourself and others."
"i saved people."
"you got lucky."
"god, i hate you sometimes!"
he had meant it. in that moment, standing across from the man who had raised him like a weapon, he had meant it. now, decades later and carrying the same weight on his shoulders, dick finally understood the look bruce gave him thenāthat flicker of something beneath the stoicism. not anger. not disappointment. just pure fear.
that night, you found your husband sitting in the kitchen, mask off, elbows on the table, hands laced tight. guilt clung to his shoulders like a cape. the nightwing gear still clung to him, peeled halfway down. sweat clung to his skin, dried blood crusted his knuckles. but it wasn't the wounds that kept him there, silent, staring at his hands like they didn't belong to him. it was the words echoing in his head.
he'd told his son he wasn't readyāfor something he was born to do. he'd doubted the very skills he helped shape, all because of fear.
you walked in quietly and sat across from him, your hand reaching out to gently brush a strip of bloodied gauze from his wrist. he didn't flinch. didn't look up.
he said softly. "he called me batman."
you stood, moved around the table, and sat beside him. your fingers slid gently through the damp baby hairs at the nape of his neck. and even in the middle of this stormāguilt thick in his chestāhe smiled, just a little, at your touch. you were still his wife. his partner. his best friend. even now, even here, you made his heart race like a lovesick teenager.
but he didn't say anything else for a long time. just sat there. your kept your fingers in his hair, grounding him. letting him come back to himself. you'd learned a long time ago that dick didn't always need answers. sometimes, he just needed silence. someone who would sit with him while the storm passed.
but tonight felt different. he'd cracked in a way you hadn't seen in years.
"i saw the look in his eyes," he said finally, voice rough. "like i used to look at bruce. like he was done listening to me. like i was the enemy."
you leaned your head against his shoulder, careful not to jostle the deep bruise blooming along his collarbone.
"you're not bruce," you whispered.
he let out a bitter breath of a laugh. "no. but i sounded like him."
you were quiet for a beat, then said softly, "you sounded like a father who was scared out of his mind."
his jaw clenched. he looked down again at his bloodied hands, flexing them like they might tell him something he didn't already know.
"i told him he wasn't ready. but he is. i know he is. i trained him better than that. i just⦠i saw him in that suit, and it was like watching a gun get cocked and pointed straight at my heart."
your chest tightened. you knew exactly what he meant.
"you've seen too many endings," you said gently. "so now you try to stop the beginning."
dick thought about jason and tim, about damian and barbara. and stephanie. then cass and duke. every name. every person he'd loved. he thought about every single loved one who died in the field. he didn't respond, but his hand found yours under the table, squeezing tight.
you let the silence hold for a few moments before adding, "you're allowed to be scared, dick. but you don't get to let that fear speak for him. you don't get to be the voice that tells him he's not enough."
his jaw tightened, just slightly. but you saw it. the flicker behind his pretty eyes. you knew where his mind had gone. back to the cave. the day bruce told him he didn't want him as robin anymore. as if he hadn't bled for that mantle. as if his heart hadn't been stitched into every patrol. and then he left the manor. and him.
he swallowed hard, eyes glassy. "i know. i just⦠i don't know how to fix it."
"you show up," you said simply. "not as batman. not as nightwing. not even as his mentor. just as his dad."
dick exhaled slowly, eyes flicking to the window, where the faintest hint of dawn was starting to glow at the edges.
"i'll talk to him in the morning," he murmured.
you nodded, brushing your thumb along his jaw. "good. and in the meantime⦠let me clean your knuckles, hotshot."
he finally gave you a real smile. "god, I love you."
"yeah," you said with a soft laugh. "i know."
a pause. and then you looked at him again with those wise eyes of yours. the same eyes his daughters have. bright. steady. unshakably kind. the ones your oldest son lacks.
"you know," you said gently, "maybe becoming like him isn't the curse you always thought it was. maybe it just means you finally understand what it costs to love someone who's trying to follow the path you walked."
his breath hitched. because there it wasāthe truth he'd been circling, avoiding, choking on. he understood now, in a way he never could when he was sixteen, storming out of the cave with his pride in pieces. bruce hadn't just been controlling. he'd been terrified. terrified of losing the boy he'd let himself love.
and now dick was terrified, too.
of watching his son make the same mistakes.
of not being fast enough to stop them.
of burying what he loved most in the world.
you reached up and cupped his face.
"i don't think you're him," you whispered. "but even if a piece of you isāmaybe that's not the worst thing."
"maybe."
that weekend, your son didn't speak to him. gave short answers. the cold shoulder. avoided training sessions. refused to look him in the eye. dick tried to ignore the tightness in his chest. he never thought the day would come when he'd relate so much to his old man. not when he had once sworn to do everything differently. brighter. softer. freer.
fuck it. for the first time in decades, that understanding made him pick up his phone. it made him get in the car and drive to that manor. the one he'd been avoiding ever since alfred died. the cave was quieter than he remembered. fewer screens. fewer weapons. a little dustier around the edges, like its master had finally allowed age to creep in. bruce stood at the long table beneath the glass cases. the suits. memorials.
dick walked up beside him, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. they didn't need to. the silence was familiar now. not hostile. just worn in, like an old jacket.
finally, bruce broke it.
"how is he?"
dick smiled, just a little. "still too brave for his own good."
bruce hummed.
"he's a grayson."
dick looked at the empty robin suit. it's been some good years since damian used it.
"he's a wayne too."
bruce's lips curved into something barely there. almost a smile. but there was something else in his eyes now.
"you came here for something," he said quietly. "not just to talk about your son."
dick nodded. hands in his pockets.
"i thought i'd never turn into you," he said, voice soft. "i used to resent you for how you handled me. how little you trusted me. and you know, the control. the rules. the silence."
bruce didn't move.
"i spent my whole life trying to be the opposite of you. trying to unlearn you."
"and?" bruce asked.
he looked down.
"and now i get it."
that made bruce turn his head.
"i understand what it feels like to watch your kid put on a suit and go out into the night," dick continued. "i understand the panic. the need to keep them safe. the instinct to push them away just so you don't have to lose them."
he thought about jason dying in a warehouse. thought about his own son dying aloneācalling, no, praying for his dad to show up and save him.
"i was so hard on you, dad."
there was a long silence between them. then bruce stepped forward.
"you were right to be."
dick blinked.
"i wasn't what you needed. i didn't know how to be."
he looked at his oldest son. and this time, really looked.
"i tried to raise you like a soldier. but you were always something more. something better."
silence.
"batman should have been more like nightwing."
dick swallowed hard.
"you said that once. i didn't believe it then."
bruce's eyes softened. "do you now?"
he nodded.
"i do."
they stood there. until bruce finally said in a quiet voice.
"i'm proud of you."
it wasn't loud. but it was true. and for dick, that was enough. when they walked side by side out of the cave, it wasn't just father and son. it was two fathers, finally meeting each other in the middle. no costumes and no masks this time. the next morning, when your son came to the kitchen, still defensive, still full of heat, dick tossed him a commlink.
"you're coming with us tonight," he said. "full patrol. you lead."
the boy blinked, shocked. "you serious?"
dick nodded. "but you're going to listen. you screw around or disobey orders, and you sit the next month out. you want to be in this world? you earn it. every step."
the kid's eyes lit up the same way dick's had once. you smiled from the doorway, your youngest daughter hanging from your hip, watching as father and son found their balance again.
dick had spent his whole life fighting not to be bruce.
but maybe being a little like him, while still holding on to the warmth bruce never learned to show, wasn't the worst thing.
Hii!! I just found your blog and I ate it all up in like an hour. Your writing is sooooo good that I can't miss the chance to send a request
This idea has been bugging me for a few days so could you do Dick Grayson x Reader in
Dick, patrolling as Nightwing, find reader on top of a crane. He thought she was going to jump and obviously went to try to stop her. Reader that was just trying to save a kitten, now has to deal with this guy in spandex who thinks she's suicidal.
I just thought the misunderstanding could be funny
-š
PLEASE DON'T! ( Dick grayson! )
summary: Dick's sense of salvation is too high and he almost ends up killing the "damsel in distress"
pairing: Dick grayson x fem!reader
open request - Dick masterlist
The night in Blüdhaven was cold, with a sharp wind blowing through the rusted structures of the industrial district. From the ledge of an old warehouse, Dick watched an abandoned construction site a few blocks away, a steel skeleton with an immense crane sticking out like an accusing finger on the horizon.
Everything seemed normal. At least, until something caught his attention, a reflection, a slight movement at the tip of the crane, almost imperceptible from that distance.
He frowned, focusing his night vision goggles. Then he saw her: a human figure, small at that height, perched right at the end of the crane's metal arm, kneeling. His heart raced. It was in a perilous position, barely stabilized against the wind. It didn't look like a worker, or someone wearing safety gear.
"For the love of God, no..." he muttered, already casting the grappling line.
He leaped between structures, crossed two rusty roofs, and propelled himself nimbly toward the construction site. He shot up the building's unfinished levels like lightning, avoiding loose beams and twisted planks. Everything indicated this was going to end very badly; he had to get up there fast.
The whistling of the wind intensified as he reached the upper platform. The metal creaked softly, accompanied by the occasional squeal of rusty machinery. The crane extended about 20 meters above their heads.
And there you were. Kneeling at the edge, your body leaning dangerously over the void.
"Wait! You don't have to do this..." he shouted, his voice cutting through the air like a dagger.
"AH!!!" you exclaimed, startled, turning your head with your eyes wide open. The shock made you stagger, and your knee barely slipped on the wet beam. You gritted your teeth and gripped the metal with both hands, feeling the wind blow hard from the side.
"Everything has a solution! We can talk about it, but don't have to make any drastic decisions." Nightwing was already on the beam, moving forward like lightning.
"WHAT?!" you yelled back, completely confused, as you tried to balance yourself with one hand outstretched toward the little ball of fur meowing up ahead.
Nightwing didn't stop. He was already close, his steps firm on the metal, his cape rustling in the wind, his face filled with concern. "I know it seems like there's no way out, but you're not alone in this! You can tell me what's going on, I swear I'll help you!"
"Are you crazy or what's wrong with you?!" you screamed, half furious, half terrified, while you tried to keep the kitten in sight without scaring it away.
Dick stopped dead in his tracks, breathing heavily, his senses on high, his heart racing. āI thought you were going to jump! From down below, it looked like youāā
"What? Jump? I'm saving a cat!" you responded indignantly, your voice trembling with adrenaline and the cold. "Do you think i look suicidal?"
"I don't know! You're on top of a crane fifty meters above the ground with a fucking cat at midnight! Yeah, it seems crazy!"
"You thought I was going to jump... And your first reaction was to yell at me?"
"...Yeah, well. I'm not exactly a therapist, okay?
"Of course!" you snapped, clutching the wet cat to your chest, who was meowing as if he wanted to get out of this mess as quickly as possible. "Do you think it's a good idea to yell at someone you think is about to jump?! Did you want me to fall down in fright?!"
"I didn't think you were going to do an Olympic sized jump in fright!" he defended himself, still panting from the effort of climbing halfway across the city to get there. "I thought I was saving a life. I'm sorry for wanting to prevent a tragedy!"
"And you almost caused a second one!" you pointed at him with your chin. "This cat almost jumped in fear when he heard you. And so did I!"
There was a brief silence.
The wind blew hard, causing both of them to stagger slightly on the metal structure. The cat meowed again, as if reminding them that they were still fifty meters above the ground, having this argument as if it were a couple fighting in a square.
Dick sighed, lowering his voice. āOkay. I was wrong. Can I make up for it by bringing them down alive?ā he asked, calmer now, carefully approaching the beam.
"That would be a good start" you replied, still hugging the cat like it was a bomb with legs.
Dick pulled a second harness from his belt, maneuvering with precision. His movements were fluid, efficient, and confident. As if he moved through the air every day. Well⦠technically, he did.
The descent was fast, but smooth. They glided down through the wind and the noise of the distant city, their hearts still racing with adrenaline.
When you both hit the ground, Dick let out a small sigh of relief. You, for your part, barely let go of the cat, hugged it once more before leaving it on the floor, where it ran off into the darkness with an offended meow.
"Well," Dick commented, looking back at the direction the feline had gone. "I guess that was a 'thank you.'"
"I took it more as a 'I hope they both twist their ankles.' but hey, he survived."
"And you too..."
"Close enough." You shook off your clothes with a brusque gesture and looked at him for the first time since they'd come down. No more shouting, no more beam, no more wind. Just you, him, and the disaster. "You should practice your approach."
Dick ran a hand through his damp hair and let out a laugh, half relieved, half nervous.
"Well... it was intense, you know what? Are you more of a coffee or tea person?" he pointed at you with a crooked smile. "I think we deserve one. Together. I mean, to cool off the adrenaline... you know."
You stared at him silently. He maintained that confident little smile, as if it were impossible for anyone to say no. How wrong he was.
"Coffee or tea?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Is that the best you can get after almost yelling at me from a crane fifty meters up?"
And without giving him a chance to respond, you turned around and started walking, still feeling nervous but with no intention of showing it.
Dick stood there, watching you walk away. āFine,ā he muttered. āI deserve it. But it was a good tryā¦ā He paused. The wind picked up again. āā¦Wasnāt it?ā
can you do some Jason Todd as a husband headcannon pls !! i just know that when heās healed , heās hauling his partner and getting TF out of Gotham , and popping out babies (GIRLDAD) and a nice job in a low-key town and maybe becomes a househusband šš¤(for real iām 100% sure he would) but at the same time he is The Jason Todd . Hot , mysterious , emotional but also not , a big fat nerd in a brick body .
you know your daddy's home.
pairing: jason todd x fem!reader.
warnings/tags: fluffy, pre established relationship. my silly drabble about raising a daughter with jason todd. girl dad jason todd. husband jason todd.
author's note: hey babe i turned it into a drabble! hope you don't mind it!
"look, mommy! i'm batman!ā
you suppressed a chuckle as you watched your five-year-old daughter standing tall on the couch, wearing a paper mask poorly shaped like batmanās cowl. the little girl came home from school, talking non-stop about the vigilant and refusing to take off her paper mask, even during lunch time, excitedly repeating what her teacher had said about nowday heroes.
"gotham needs me!"
she was trying to make her voice deeper as she jumped onto the floor. the cats, startled by the noise on the wooden floor, bolted away in a stampede.
"you're too pretty to be batman, baby girl".
your husband jason said as he stepped out of the bathroom. the scent of soap and shaving lotion lingered in the air as he walked down the hallway in just his sweatpants. his scars seemed more visible, glistening under the light as drops of water trailed down his bare back and chest.
ābut how do you know what he looks like? he's always wearing a mask!ā her childish voice rang out indignantly.
he picked her up effortlessly with one hand, while the other gently tugged the paper mask aside to look into her bright blue eyes ā blue like his had been before the lazarus pit. her nose, mouth and ears were just like yours, a glimpse of you both in her youthful face.
"he sounds ugly, like a very old sad man. unlike you, princess".
"i'm not a princess, i'm vengeance!"
you laughed behind the stove.
"well, vengeance," he said, walking toward the apartmentās kitchen with her tiny legs wrapped around his hips "you can save gotham after eating your vegetables," he added with a smirk, putting her on the high chair.
she looked at him with wide eyes, as if heād just handed her a death sentence.
"broccoli?"
"broccoli".
you placed the plate of food in front of her, the broccoli standing out between the rice and meat like a tiny, green nightmare. she looked up at you with pleading eyes, silently appealing to your good side.
you stroked her hair gently.
"if you donāt eat, i'll have to tell batman that his sidekick isnāt eating properly. you can't patrol without eating broccoli," he said, pulling out the chair to sit beside her. that was more than enough. with a disgusted expression, she began to eat, occasionally poking at the broccoli.
"hi, jay," you said, placing your hands on his broad shoulders and giving him a light massage. he softly kissed your left hand before looking up at you.
"howās my other girl doing?" he asked with a smile, his lips still lingering against your hand. your daughter was so focused on hating the broccoli that she didnāt even notice the display of affection. normally, she wouldāve made a gagging noise, followed by a dramatic, ābleh!ā.
"she's missing you a lot" you said kissing the top of his head. a familiar scent makes you pause for a moment.
ā¤ļøāāāā thinking about jason peter todd's weird fascination with you, his dadās best friend and a legendary member of the justice league. you were a living myth, walking beside bruce wayne like an equal and, sometimes, more than one. he grew up watching you move through gotham like a storm disguised as a hero, sharp and untouchable. you fought side by side with his old man, but you never carried the same weight of darkness. oh, no. you smiled. you laughed. you stayed human.
ā¤ļøāāāā and, even as soft and sweet as he remembers, you still the most capable person in every room you stepped into. even at those hollow, miserable galas, when the wayne manor stank of wealth and fake guests, youād show up like sunlight cutting through stained glass. you never played politics. you never pretended. and when you noticed him, the teenager with a rough past trying too hard to be brave and mature, you didnāt condescend. you didnāt ignore him. you saw him.
ā¤ļøāāāā you offered small things. advice, praise, quiet conversations in corners when no one else cared to ask how he was doing. things that shouldnāt have meant so much. but they did. they still do. you slowly became his ideal, his unreachable fantasy, long before he understood what that even meant. he looked for glimpses of you in every single girl he dated in his teenage years. and in his adult life too. but none of them were ever you.
ā¤ļøāāāā they were too young. too unsure and insecure like young girls often are, still searching for who they were, while you had always seemed so certain, so fully formed, like youād stepped out of some myth he was never meant to truly touch. he wanted that certainty. that power. that stability. he wanted your lovely hands and voice guiding him, praising him, touching him, telling him how good he was doing. god, he wanted you to use that same commanding tone that used to keep him focused in the field and now it just makes his dick throbb.
ā¤ļøāāāā and even now, years later, after the grave, the pit, his death, he sees you and feels something raw twist in his gut. you look older, sexier, your cheekbones cut cleaner now, your gaze even steadier. he sees faint lines around your mouth when you laugh too hard, the way a few gray hairs peek through from stress, ones you sometimes try to hide with a bit of dye. he's twitching in his jeans just watching you walk across the damn room.
ā¤ļøāāāā he wonders if youāve noticed the way he looks at you now. he wonders what youād say if you caught him staring like that, if you realized that the boy you once mentored, once patched up and encouraged, now wants to get on his knees for you. wants to bend you over and see if those laugh lines deepen when you scream his name because his cock feels just a little too good while bullying your cervix.
ā¤ļøāāāā jason's gotten off to the thought of it more times than heāll ever admit. your voice in his ear, soft and knowing, whispering, "thatās it, baby. just like that." you calling him a good boy while he falls apart on your tongue. he wants a chance to prove to you that heās a grown man now, a man who can make you laugh, who can protect you, who can make you cum over and over until youāre nothing but a sobbing mess. nothing like the civilian loser you married years ago, the one you settled for.
ā¤ļøāāāā and jason would be so good to your kids, a patient, cool stepdad. and unlike your man, heād be strong enough to protect them. heād work hard to be a good role model. he imagines himself tying their little shoes, helping with homework he barely remembers, listening to them ramble about cartoons and school drama like it matters. jason would even sit through every terrible school play and every parent-teacher conference. all for you.
ā¤ļøāāāā he thinks about your age constantly. not in a mocking way. but in a worshipful way. youāve seen shit in your many years as a vigilant. fought gods and aliens. you donāt flinch from violence, donāt coddle him. youāre smarter than any woman, any girl, heās ever met, tougher than most men heās fought. you donāt need anyone, and thatās exactly why he wants to be the one you choose. the one you look at.
ā¤ļøāāāā and if you ever let him close enough, heād show you exactly what kind of man heās become. what kind of man you helped shape. heād thank you for every soft word and firm lesson with his mouth between your strong legs, making out with your sweet cunt, or with his cock buried deep inside, with his hands gripping your hips like you belong to him. heād call you "maāam" or "ma", soft and reverent in your ear, even as he pounded hard into you. he'd kiss every inch of your body, and made you feel like a giggling, breathless highschool girl all over again. you just had to give him a chance.
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divider by: cafekitsune & omi-resources
word count: 1.8k
synopsis: You cheat on your boyfriend Jason with the Red Hood
a/n: To my anon who requested this hope you liked it! I had to rush through editing so apologies for any grammar errors y'all might find.
warnings: 18+ mdni, use of the words whore & slut, a little rough.
Jason Todd had been tailing a weapons deal all night, dressed in full Red Hood gear, helmet and all. The scum heād come to intercept were already zip-tied and unconscious in the back of a stolen van. Meanwhile, you had told him you were going out with your girlfriends and had stopped texting him about an half hour ago much to his worry, so instead of going home like he planned he decided for Red hood to make a pass by the club you had went to.
Which was why he was leaning against his bike, by the alley across the street watching the people entering and exiting. He straightened up as you stumbled out giggling with your friends and he huffed both annoyed and amused at the sight. You were in the middle of saying something, hands waving animatedly when you suddenly paused at the sight of him.
You said something to your friends before you began staggering towards him.
āReeeeed!ā you sangāsangāas you stumbled closer, high heels clacking on the wet pavement, your dress slightly askew and hair tousled from what looked like a hell of a night out.
Jason froze. āY/N?ā
You beamed, oblivious to his tension. āYouuuu know my name,ā you hiccuped, staggering toward him with a grin that could short-circuit every neuron in his brain. āGod, its not fair that your voice this hot.ā
He coughed, straightening. āYou shouldnāt be here. Itās late. And dangerous.ā
You only grinned, as you staggered closer hand clutching his arm as you pressed yourself up against him. āMhmm good thing I have a big bad crime lord to keep an eye on me.ā
Jason cleared his throat unsure whether he should be amused or offended that you were flirting with himāwell Red Hood.
You, meanwhile, were utterly unbothered.
In fact, you leaned closer, pressing up on your toes like you were about to tell him a state secret. āYou know,ā you whispered conspiratorially, breath warm against the edge of his helmet, āI think about you. Like⦠a lot.ā
Jason swallowed. āIs that so?ā
You giggle. āMhm hm,ā Your wandering fingers begin to trail up under his shirt, smile growing as you felt his muscles tense. āAll those hard muscles, that sexy voice, youāre like every bad decision Iāve ever wanted to make all rolled into one.ā
Jason sucked in a slow breath, jaw tightening behind the helmet. The feel of your fingers skating up his abdomen sent a jolt through him, and he hatedālovedāhow easily you could fluster him like this. Especially dressed like that. Especially talking like this.
You took advantage of his frozen state, your grin downright wicked as you nudged him backward, step by step, deeper into the alleyās shadows. His back hit the brick wall with a dull thud, but he didnāt resist. He just watched you, tense beneath the armour, like a predator unsure if he was about to pounceāor be devoured.
Your fingers slipped out from beneath his shirt, nails grazing down his chest plate before trailing lowerālower stillāuntil they flirted with the waistband of his tactical pants.
āY/Nāā His voice was a warning. A plea. A prayer. He wasnāt sure which.
āJust relax, Hood⦠no oneās gotta know,ā you purr, voice velvet-draped sin, your smile all teeth and temptation.
Jasonās jaw clenched, his breath catching as your fingers danced at the edge of his restraintāand his patience. He had fought crime lords, torn through ambushes, taken bullets without blinkingā¦but you? You were something else.
The second your fingers brushed against him, Jason snapped.
In one fluid, furious motion, he spun you, pressing you up against the cold brick wall. His chest pressed hard into your back, the weight of him pinning you effortlessly in place. One gloved hand flattened against your stomach to hold you still, and the alley suddenly felt claustrophobic with heat and tension.
āIs this what you want?ā he growled against your ear, voice rough and ragged. āTo be bent over in a filthy alley and be taken by a criminal like some cheap whore?ā
You let out a soft, breathless noise in answerāneedy, achingāand pushed back into him deliberately, rubbing back against him. The sound he made in response was low and guttural, somewhere between a curse and a prayer.
The hand not holding you still began to unbuckle his belt as he unzipped himself just enough to set his throbbing length free. Then he gripped the hem of your dress and shoved it up with no patience at all, his fingers trailing fire against your bare skin. You felt the sharp tug as something tore, heard the hiss of his breath as his hand disappeared into his pocket of his jacketāwhere he stashed your now-ruined panties like a trophy.
The cold air brushing your exposed pussy had you whining, your voice breaking into a desperate whimper. āPlease,ā you breathed, unable to hold back. āPlease.ā
One gloved hand reached for your throat while the other wrapped around his hard length, lining himself up before thrusting into you in one smooth motion. You were dripping wet and offered no resistance as he slid inside you with ease, your eyes rolling back as a low groan rumbled from his chest. He was was so long and thick that he filled up every inch of you.
A loud whine tore past your lips and his hand moved to muffle your mouth as he pulled out. āYou gotta be quiet doll, you donāt want everyone hearing me ruin you now do you?ā
You tried to say something through his hand, but he chose that exact moment to thrust sharply back into you. Whatever words you had died in a needy moan as your cunt clenched down around his cock. The last of his restraint snapped at the sensation, and he began pounding into you in earnest.
Part of him knew how wrong and fucked up this wasāyou were technically cheating on him with the Red Hood. But at the same time, he was the Red Hood. So were you really cheating? The complication of it all only made him thrust into you harder,Ā taking you rougher than he usually did.
He mightāve felt guiltyāmightāveāif not for how much you seemed to love it. His hand shifted from your mouth, gloved fingers curling at your lips. You didnāt hesitate, taking them in eagerly, sucking around them, gagging and drooling as he pushed them deeper.
āThatās it, doll. Take everything I give you,ā he groaned, voice low and cooingāa gentle contrast to the brutal pace of his thrusts. āSuch a good girl, lettinā me use your holes.ā
The sounds echoing through the alley were utterly obsceneāfrom the wet squelch of your pussy to the sharp slap of skin on skin, and the broken moans spilling past your lips as you begged for more.
āMmmfāfeels⦠sāgoodāfuckā¦ā you mumbled around his fingers, the words wet and barely coherent, spit trailing down your chin where his hand kept your mouth stretched open.
āLook at you⦠so fucked out on my cockā He groaned, āYouāre such a little slut taking it so well.ā
The bruising grip around your waist shifted to your clit, his fingers rubbing fast, harsh circles that made your hips jerk as you cried out. But with his cock still buried deep inside you and his strength anchoring you in place, there was nowhere to goāno escapeāas he worked you toward your orgasm.
It hit you hard and fastāyour head falling back, your entire body tensing before collapsing into trembling aftershocks as stars danced across your vision. He kept pounding you through it, relentless, until he finally followed, burying himself deep as he came with a broken curse, emptying himself inside you.
For a long moment, the only sound that filled the silent alley was the sound of both your heavy, ragged breathing as you both fought to catch your breaths and calm your racing hearts. Your palms pressed flat against the brick wall, still trembling, while his body remained close behindāforehead resting against your shoulder, chest rising and falling against your back in rhythm with your own.
Neither of you spoke. Not at first.
Then, finally, the quiet was broken by the low rasp of Red Hoodās voice, āYou know,ā he drawled, still breathless, āI donāt think your boyfriend would approve of what we just did.ā
You let out a breathless, incredulous laugh, your head tilting back just enough for your eyes to find him over your shoulder. āOh no,ā you murmured with mock concern, āyou think heāll be mad?ā
Red Hood huffed as he carefully began to pull out of you, his cum immediately dribbling from your well-used hole. āWell, he certainly wonāt approve.ā
You turned to look at him, your eyes wide with faux innocence, lashes fluttering like you hadnāt just been thoroughly fucked against a brick wall. āReally?ā you said, voice light, teasingādangerously sweet. āEven after the mind-blowing orgasm we both just had?ā
Jason froze. āWhat.ā
You tilted your head, your grin only growing. āI know itās you, Jason.ā
Silence.
He blinked, eyes searching yours, as if heād misheard. āWhat⦠howāā
āBaby,ā you cut him off with a laugh, soft and incredulous. āYou seriously thought I wouldnāt figure it out?ā
Jason just stared at you, lips parting slightly. You could see the moment it fully registered, the sharp shift behind his eyes as his mind caught up.
āYou knew this whole time?ā he asked, almost in disbelief.
You huffed and rolled your eyes as you tug down your dress. āI wouldnāt cheat on you, Jason. Come on. Iāve known for months. Youāre not exactly subtle.ā
His mouth opened, but you kept going, voice now edged with affection and amused exasperation. āYou leave your gear everywhere. Under the bed? Really? Thatās your big secret hiding spot?ā
Jason let out a groan and dragged the helmet off his head, revealing sweat-mussed hair and a flushed, stunned expression caught somewhere between impressed, exasperated, and undeniably aroused.
āYou are such a menace,ā he muttered as he pulled you in, his voice low and full of something torn between amusement and affection.
Your hands came up to cup his face, fingers brushing along his jaw, thumbs stroking gently across flushed skin. His eyes flicked shut at the touch, just for a secondālike he couldnāt help but melt into you, even after everything.
āYeah,ā you murmured, a soft smile tugging at your lips, ābut Iām your menace.ā
Your lips met softly, a gentle contrast to everything that had come before. When you finally pulled away, your expression shifted into something sheepish.
āYouāre gonna have to carry me,ā you mumbled, still breathless. āI donāt think my legs are working after how hard you fucked me.ā
He snorted, the sound low and amused, as he smoothly lifted you into his arms without so much as a grunt of effort. āWe still have all night,ā he said, glancing at you with a wicked glint in his eye. āAnd trust me⦠you wonāt be walking properly for a week.ā
And with that, he carried you off to his bike, so he could take you back to the apartment to get started on round two.
jason who drives fast but never when you're passenger. not that he's a careless driver normally, he just cares much more about what could happen to you than what could happen to him. normally he's the type who accidentally runs a red light because he misjudged the distance and thought he could pass a yellow. maybe he's went over a couple curbs here and there when turning, and maybe his stops aren't the smoothest either. what could he say? it's not like he ever took a drivers ed class. however, when his everything is sitting right next to him, how could he not be careful? he's slowing down into his stops, eases into his turns, and doesn't speed before the yellow light could turn red. he takes passenger princess literally in the way he makes sure you're comfortable and cared for.
he was much more precautious about his motorcycle. jason hesitated for months to finally let you on. he originally wasn't going to let you on at all, but unfortunately for him, he's susceptible to your pleading and gave in eventually. he gave you a lecture about the proper clothes and making sure your helmet was on at all times beforehand, setting a clear rule that could not be broken. there's nothing he's more serious about than your safety. he keeps your arms wrapped his torso and gently taps your thigh when he feels you're not hugging him tight enough. he even got a custom helmet made to fit you perfectly, despite him rarely letting you join him. that's not to say he doesn't like it when you're with him. he likes feeling you behind him, likes the way your hair is tousled by the wind and helmet combo. but best of all he likes the way you smile afterward, a toothy grin with stars in your eyes and adrenaline still coursing through your veins. he loves making you happy most of all, and if a late night ride on his motorcycle does the trick, he can be persuaded.
āāāā everybody knows that i'm a good boy, officer...
ā¤ļøāāāā pairing: dick grayson x officer!reader.
ā¤ļøāāāā summary: āāas the newest cop on blüdhavenās force, you hated masked freaks. nightwing, the masked freak himself, wants nothing more than your delicious, sweet approval. and maybe your naked body.ā
ā¤ļøāāāā The first time he saw you, he had just taken down two armed robbers outside a liquor store ā easy work, nothing fancy. A normal friday night for him. Dick was still catching his breath, escrima sticks holstered, the night wind tugging at his suit as he turned toward the flashing lights of the approaching squad car.
He muttered something to Oracle about the cops in the area and cut his comms. The flashing lights bathed the street in red and blue, casting just enough glow to catch the look you gave him ā bored, patronizing, and vaguely amused. But the moment the window rolled down, he got hit with your full pretty face. And rude tone.
"Sweetheart, I know times are hard and stuff, but solicitingās still a crime in this part of town."
Nice.
Your partner let out a strangled noise beside you. She leaned toward you like she could physically stop the words from coming out of your mouth, but it was far, far too late. You didnāt flinch. Just blew a bubble with your gum and popped it. Dick glanced down at himself ā the skintight suit, the very iconic symbol across his chest ā then looked back up at you.
"I literally just stopped a robbery."
You shrugged, unimpressed. "Cool. And I just filed a report. We all have hobbies."
To his credit, Dick didnāt get mad. Just gave you this slow, stunned little laugh, like he wasnāt sure if he was offended or intrigued.
"Wow. And here I thought I had a decent relationship with the BHPD after all these years."
You smiled sweetly, razor-sharp. "Oh, donāt get me wrong. I have nothing against sex workers."
Your partner in the passenger seat looked like she wanted to crawl into the glove compartment. She pressed a hand to her face and whispered, horrified, "Oh my God⦠thatās Nightwing."
You didnāt even flinch.
"Night-who?" you said, glancing at her like sheād just made up a word. "Why would I know his stage name?"
She turned to you, pale. "Heās, like⦠famous. National superhero famous."
Yeah, he fucking was. Thank you very much.
He took one last look at you ā still lounging behind the wheel, smirking like you hadnāt just verbally curb-stomped a national hero. The other cop couldnāt even meet his eyes. Poor woman looked like she wanted to dissolve into her seat from secondhand embarrassment.
"Have a good night, officer," he said, voice clipped but smooth.
Then he turned on his heel, tapped his comms. "Oracle, remind me to review Blüdhaven precinct relations tomorrow," he muttered, raising his escrima stick and firing the grapple line. "Preferably before I set myself on fire again."
The line snapped taut, and he vanished into the night sky.
ā¤ļøāāāā Of course he kept tabs on you after that night. You called him a hooker, straight to his face, and somehow looked obscenely hot while doing it. What was he supposed to do after that? Move on?
He was a simple man. A simple man with a morally flexible sense of privacy and way too much access to high-end surveillance tech. At the moment, he had four tabs open on the BHPDās internal database. When Babs and Tim asked, he muttered something about "tracking a person of interest in the department."
Which, technically, wasnāt a lie. You were very interesting. You had a sharp mouth, a mean stare, perfect lips, and the kind of tits that made even the Nightwing suit feel a little tight.
"Yeah," he mumbled to himself, eyes fixed on your ID photo. "Thatās the suspect. Definitely her."
He kept digging. It wasnāt enough to memorize your patrol schedule and ID badge, no, he had to go deeper. He found your Police Academy files. Graduated top of your class. Commendations in firearms, tactical response, and, of course, disciplinary reports for "insubordination" and "excessive sarcasm."
Then came your field test footage. Blurry body cam recordings. One of you talking down a suspect at gunpoint with zero backup. Another of you pinning a guy twice your size to the hood of a cruiser.
Very sexy of you, officer.
So he kept in close contact with the BHPD ā closer than he needed to, if anyone was being honest about it. It had been years since Dick hung up the badge. But as Nightwing, he still had full access to department files, incident reports, internal memos, almost everything. All the tools of his former life, right at his fingertips.
And lately? Heād been using them for one very specific reason. You.
Every report you wrote, every arrest logged under your badge number, every disciplinary note with your name at the top, he read them all. More than once. It wasnāt intel gathering anymore. It was something else.
Something worse.
And you looked at him like he was a freak, every single time he showed up at a crime scene near your precinct. Last time, there was a body on the floor, half a dozen uniforms already securing the perimeter, and you crouched low, gloves on, examining blood spatter like it was just another tuesday. He tried to offer something helpful, something sharp, something detective-y.
You didnāt even look up.
"Sure thing, doll," you said, tone dry as bone. "Let me know if you wanna borrow a flashlight."
Then you stood, brushed past him, and kept working. He was still standing there ten seconds after you walked away, jaw tight, pride stinging, wondering what the hell was wrong with him that that turned him on. The dismissal. The uniform. The way your hips moved when you walked.
Jesus, he hadnāt been that hard in months.
Later that night he found himself alone in his apartment, right after patrol, hand wrapped tight around his cock, jerking off with embarrassing urgency to the mental image of your thighs straining against those uniform pants. He moaned softly, his thumb touching his leaking tip.
Dick could almost see it when he closed his eyes with a tiny whimper.
You, officer, climbing into his lap in the backseat of your cruiser, straddling him like you owned him. Belt undone, holster still strapped to your thigh. His hands cuffed behind him, helpless to do anything but take it.
Youād ride him so fucking hard, your pretty little pussy gripping him tight, warm and soaked around his cock. One hand tangled in his black hair, yanking when he got too mouthy, the other braced against the fogged-up glass of the squad car window as your hips slammed down, again and again, using him like he was yours.
Heād choke on a groan, eyes rolling back, biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, because you wouldnāt let him finish until you were done. Until you were shaking on top of him, breathless and spent, nails dragging down his chest.
He came faster than he wanted to. Pathetic, really. He groaned your name like a fucking prayer, teeth sunk into his own wrist to keep quiet, while hot, messy cum spilled over his fist, his stomach, his shirt ā hips jerking up off the mattress, desperate for more.
Desperate for you.
He looked up at the ceiling with a sigh, hands still sticky with his own cum like some desperate, horny teenager whoād never even touched a woman.
⣠cowboy bebop au; neo-noir space western crackfic, loosely follows the plotline of the anime; animal(s) with human-engineered intelligence; science fiction
⣠cw: angst, romantic and existential; begrudging friends to lovers; eventual smut; graphic depictions and themes of violence; mentions of death; nightmares, cop corruption; stress crying
⣠MDNI
⣠Word Count: 6.5 k
⣠Ch. 2 Summary: Dick and Jason welcome pick up meet a mysterious girl who knows more than she lets on, with a connection to their father. As they make room for each other on the Bebop spacecraft, Dick tries to make the best of a mess youāve dragged him into, despite Jasonās disapproval. You desperately need a goddamn nap and some food. As for Haley, the grey dog with three legs... she just hopes that youāll buy her some of the name-brand dog food for her next meal.
⣠Authorās Note(s):Ā
ā [Spike Spiegel, I see you in everyone Iāve ever loved.]
ā This chapter is more personal than I wanted it to be, but I am too tired to edit. Maybe itās more dialogue heavy than Iād like it to be but hey, Iāve never written a plot this complex before.Ā
ā Mysteries abound! What the hell is everyone hiding? And whoās going to betray who? How badly does Dick wanna fuck you? Stay tuned to find out, babes!
One foot in front of the other, you chant to yourself. Youāll be there soon. The light is just in the distance, there has to be shelter over the next hill. You keep forcing yourself forward, but it was as if your arms and legs were stuck in a thick sludge. Time felt like a dense, gelatinous ooze and the more you tried to pump your legs, the farther the light seemed to drift. You donāt know where you are, but you know that the darkness around you is expansive, only more so the longer you try to run toward the light. Keep running. No matter how long you ran, you never got tired, the threat of darkness seemingly fueling your determination to keep moving.
.āāĖ.āā¾ aboard the Bebop, somewhere in the Solar SystemĖā½āāĖ.ā
Two brothers sat idly on a scratchy sofa, face aglow by the televisionās blue light. The obnoxious clang ofĀ a cowbell ricochets off of the titanium spaceship, intermittently punctuated by static; no guarantee of service when youāre near the asteroid belt.
āStop chewing on the cable, Haley,ā whistles the shorter, leaner brother, snapping his fingers to call attention to a three-legged, pitiable creature. He lounges back in an insufficiently sized loveseat, eyes scanning the screen with a lit cigarette hanging in the balance, right between his lips. Occasionally, he sneaks a glance over the coffee table to see his brother, larger and bulkier and reclined in what was usually his own sofa of choice. Streaks of hair, tussled vivid white under the harsh fluorescents framed a rugged face, mouth set in a firm line as he focused on the screen, sulking about their predicament chained up in his lab.
Judy, the buxom blonde of Big Shot (For the Bounty Hunters) stood clad in plaid, lewd squeals grating against the eardrums. The grey dog whines and hides its snout under its remaining front paw, canine distress now joining the cacophony. On the TV, Judy is unceremoniously pushed aside by her gratuitously violent costar, voluptuous curves rippling in the wind, barely contained by minimal clothing. Punch starts rattling off active bounties, mug shots scrolling through the screen as he shoots off his pistol, aimless.
āAll 300,000 bounty hunters in the star system and not a single one oā ya coffee-boilers has caught our mighty fine dame of the āourā¦ā
When the mugshot wrap ends on a glowering face framed by ginger hair, the younger brother starts muttering under his breath.
āCoulda had her.āĀ
Irritation floods the man on the loveseat, and he takes a slow inhale. He slams his thumb on the remote controlās power off button, and the Bebop living room is plunged into darkness, lit only by the flaming end of a cigarette.Ā
.āāĖ.āā¾ .šŖĖā½āāĖ.ā
Waves of pounding pressure in your skull. That was the first thing you were aware of when you came to, mouth desert dry and muscles aching with a frozen soreness. Goosebumps rupturing on your skin alerted you to the frigidness shaking your bones. Fighting against your eyelids, crusted shut by the most unrestful sleep, the blur in front of your eyes slowly focuses under the glow of a lamp somewhere in the corner of the room. A weight on your ankle is the second, coherent thing you noticed; a cuff chained to the steel bed frame, igniting a spark of fear. Somber tension reverberated throughout the halls, eeriness bounding off of the metal walls.
Sitting up way too fast, a dizzy rush unsettling your head, you whip your eyes down, making sure that all of your appendages were intact, that you were clothed in the garments you put on this morning ā Was it even this morning? How long have I been out? Your spine skitters under your skin, and you taste the bitterness of unfamiliarity.Ā
Or was it bile? Where the fuck am I?
Panic creeps up alongside every thump of your heart, fighting to overtake reason even though you do everything in your power to focus ā assessing your surroundings, reflexively locating an escape route, something to break the shackle. Your gun! You look around the room, seeing your keys and jacket laid out neatly on the solid steel table in the middle of the room. The most important three items, though, were missing. No gun, no rolls of film in sight, no wallet. Bile makes its way up your esophagus as hyperventilation threatens to overwhelm you. You look at the cold metal table, bright medical lights blaring down on it from above. A few tools were lined on a tray next to your belongings: you spy a scalpel and surgical tongs. Fuck. The bile is clawing its way out now. You couldnāt reach any weapons.Ā
Stupidly, you yank at the chain a few times with all your might. Skin straining against the thick metal of your shackles, your rigorous yanking only leaves you groaning, an anklet of bruises that were sure to cause you hell when you got out of here. If you got out of here. Maybe if you could pull on the chain with your arms? Was the bed frame attached with nails or was it welded? Fuck. You felt the tears sting your skin as they escaped, a desperate sob along with them.
Water, you needed water. You couldnāt scream yet. Your eyes dart around the room, up the walls, tracing the ceilings. There was only one entrance, and maybe a vent behind that industrial shelf? You could crawl through it, probably⦠There was no way out, though, if you couldnāt get that fucking shackle off of your ankle.
There was a nightstand next to you, with a reading lamp, a cup of water, and some painkillers. Outside your room, you could hear the sniffling of a dog, its snout making whiny little sounds as the sound of blunt nails scratching metal mixes with the general discomfort of the entire situation.
Youād have to face it.
So you scream, every last bit of energy you have left in you put into a brokenly vicious, bloodcurdling scream.
ā. *. ā
āThis is your fault, Richard,ā Jason growls at his older brother, āI am not the one who deviated from the plan and brought some stranger along. A stranger who has a gun and enough contraband to send us to Pluto.ā The steam from Jasonās ears was palpable, almost reminding Dick of their father when he was seething but trying to keep a lid on his temper. He keeps his hands busy, cleaning both Dickās and his guns with practiced precision and muttering under his breath, āFucking PLUTO, Richard.āĀ
āOkay, okay, I get it,ā Dick attempts to assuage his brother, āIām sorry, but what was I supposed to do? Leave her there? We donāt even know what Ivy threw at her, she could have died, Jason.ā Hands on his hips, giving his brother the āI know best by virtue of seniorityā look and waiting for an answer, cigarette in one hand while the other gestured his own frustration.
āYou drop goons like maggots on the daily and this is the one person you want to save?ā Jason makes no effort to hide his scorn as he glides the microfiber cloth over the barrel of the gun he was cleaning. Your gun.
Quite honestly, Dick doesnāt really know yet why he threw you over his shoulder and back into the safety of the Bebop. Dick and Jason had been a team for years, never letting eyes pry into their partnership, carefully evading ISSP and the Syndicate alike. He had no idea who you were, but he didnāt want to admit to recklessness.Ā
āFirst of all, sheās not a maggot. Donāt be rude. She helped me escape, technically. Second, sheās got a fuckton to answer for when she wakes up.ā Maybe turning the conversation toward the more interesting matter at hand would distract Jason from being mad at him, Dick reasons. āI donāt know about you, but arenāt you even the least bit interested in whatās on those rolls of film?ā
āNope,ā Jason makes sure his voice sounds sufficiently clipped. āNot interested in being executed by ISSP firing squad. None of those pigs can aim, itād take too many shots to kill me and Iād rather it be done in one go.ā
āWhatās done is done,ā Dick says, allowing a note of contrition through his words. āBut better we have her than ISSP, no? And how does she know dad?ā Both brothers had combed through your belongings, and found your medical emergency contact card that stated, neatly in print: āIn Case of Emergency, contact Bruce Wayne at ISSP.ā
Ā Jasonās scowl deepens, but he doesnāt answer. Instead, he focuses on wiping the fingerprints from each gun and knife laid out on the coffee table in front of him, his back aching from the lumpy old loveseat.Ā
āFuck if I know,ā he says stonily, a white streak of hair falling over his eyes as he concentrated on running a cloth over the trigger. āAll I do know is that Iām calling ānot itā on calling Dad about this.ā
āHuh?ā Dickās stony face morphs into one of slight bemusement.
āYou know we have to call him. And it aināt gonna be me, Richard.ā
Dick snorts, coming to sit down next to Jason and reassembling his own gun with practiced dexterity.Ā
āDo we know what she got dosed with? Is it contagious?ā Dickās mind flashes back to the moment Ivy blew a handful of dust into your face, the fluidity with which your body collapsed āĀ your head wouldāve split open if he hadnāt lunged to ensure your skull would hit his hand instead of the pavement. It wasnāt an active decision so much as a reflex. He hadnāt inhaled enough of that powder to feel anything other than a slight headache and dizziness, but heād recovered in less than a few hours. You, on the other hand, had slept through the night and through breakfast. Dick had made sure to check in on you every so often, just to make sure you hadnāt died on them.
Ā āI took a look at the shit Ivy threw at her ā itās a neuromuscular blocker; paralyzes the victim for a few hours depending on dosage. But this one didnāt seem to be particularly high in concentration,ā he pauses and looks pointedly at Dick, āSo you can monitor her condition. Sheāll need lots of fluids and food when she gets up,ā he looks down at his watch, āWhich should be soon.āĀ
Only a few seconds later did a blood curdling scream rip its way through the Bebop.
āLET. ME. OUT!ā Dickās eye twitches as your screeches repeat, gradually increasing in volume by the demand. Jason figures that his capacity for tolerating his brotherās antics knows no bounds. āONCE IāM FREE IāM GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS.ā Your threat echoes down the hall, reverberating off of the metal walls of the spaceship. Your sonic assault continues for several minutes.
āMake sure you ask her where she got this little number,ā Jason adds calmly, holding up your gun and looking at it with the tiniest hint of admiration.Ā
āWhat do you mean? I have to question her?ā Dick seems to doubt himself for a moment, your wails disturbing the mundane peace of the Bebopās living room, a profound intimidation keeping him from seeing the pretty girl in Jasonās lab.
āIām not the one who brought her here,ā Jason runs a hand through the white streak in his hair, āand honestly what I did hear during yesterdayās bust doesnāt make her sound like a walk in the park.āĀ
āFair,ā Dick doesnāt refute his brother. He turns the conversation toward more pressing matters. āShe has to stop eventually, right?ā he reasons while wiping down one of his switchblades before clipping it back into his left-hand pocket. Itās not like you could keep screaming forever, youād lose your voice eventually. Haley hides her snout under a large paw and whines, ears cowered as your screams continue.
āI HAVE ENOUGH C4 IN MY SHIP TO FUCK UP THE NICE HANGOUT YOU GOT HERE!ā Another ear splitting screech follows.
āJustā,ā Jason closes his eyes, breathing through his nose and pointing angrily toward his quarters, where they had you resting on a bed in his lab. āJust go deal with it, I have enough of a headache as is.ā Jason grits through his teeth, huffing through his ruffled feathers and silently cursing his luck as he stands up and disappears into his bedroom, leaving Dick to rummage through the fridge for something suitable to give someone whoād just been turbo-dosed by an anesthetic nerve agent. Haley continues to whine, desperate for an end to your distress.
Dick mindlessly wonders if Jason could possibly recreate it in his lab on the second floor of the Bebop; itād come in handy. Then they wouldnāt have to expend so much energy chasing after violent goons with bounties on their heads and arsenals that only the worst kinds of people possessed.
ā. *. ā
You crouch into a defensive position on your bed the second you hear the hydraulics of the steel door slide open, the hoarse scream dying in your throat.Ā
āQuiet, please!ā a manās voice breeches the entrance before his form, deep, and friendly,Ā āYouāre scaring Haley.ā The handsome guy who had intruded on your bust strolled into the room, his boots colliding with the steel floor and doing nothing to calm your nerves. You scoped him, trying to take note of everything, anything you could use to your advantage. You had to escape.Ā
āWhat the fuck am I doing here? Uncuff me.ā Your voice was vicious under its hoarse strain. As threatening as you could muster in your weakened state.
In his hands was a tray lined with a sandwich, an apple, and a glass of water. No metal utensils for you to grab and use.Ā
The man was muscular, much larger than you, but you think you could last long enough in a fight with him to escape; especially if you could get your hands on that scalpel. Youād just have to dodge him, dodge every attack until he tired himself out. You clocked the knife in the pocket of his pants, holster under his jacket.Ā
āCanāt do that just yet, sweetheart,ā he flashes you an apologetic smile, placing the tray on your night stand. You look at the food and drink apprehensively, eyes flitting back and forth across the room. āItās not poisoned,ā the guy says gently, lifting the glass and waterfalling a sip into his own mouth.Ā
You look up at him, watch his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows, readying yourself to smash his nose in if he comes any closer.
āLet. Me. Go.ā You demand again, slower. Hoping to God you sounded menacing enough that heād think at least twice before touching you.
You keep conducting your desperate, pointless search, head swiping back and forth as you look around as you try to find yourself a weapon - maybe if you broke the ceramic lamp in a really specific way? The glass of water?Ā
āI wouldnāt,ā the man says again, amused. You whip your gaze toward him again.
āWhy am I here? What happened to me?ā Oh god, you were going to hurl. A few breaths in. A few breaths out. Breathe, you reminded yourself. An anxious weight pulls under your chest.
āYouāre safe. Youāre on the Bebop. We took you here after you got dosed with a paralyzing agent by Poison Ivy.āĀ
You knew better than to trust a good-looking man who assured your safety.Ā
āWhy didnāt you take me to a hospital? Are you perverts? Oh my god, Iām gonna be murdered by perverts,ā you wail, near hysterics.
āWhat? No! You just got dosed with a strong anesthetic ā youāll recover,ā he explains. āProbably will be groggy and sore.ā He sounded patient, confident in his ability to handle himself. He didnāt seem threatened by you at all as he recounted the events of the past 36 hours to you.Ā āIt was hardly acceptable to bring you into a hospital, I figured you wouldnāt want people to find out about your contraband.ā He flashes a winning smile at you, seemingly proud of himself for thinking that far ahead.Ā
You just stare. Stone still.Ā
Fuck, were they going to rat you out? Slit your throat and take the rolls of film for themselves? It wouldnāt be the first time someoneās tried.
You let yourself slowly pick up the glass of water, eyes never leaving him as you sip, desperate to quench the dry burn in your throat. The man stood there the whole time, just looking at you with such patience that it made you want to start screaming again. After a beat, you ask:
āIf youāre not a pervert, then why am I chained up here?ā You could tell he was ISSP, or maybe former ISSP, by the way he fired a gun, the way he shifted his weight before pulling the trigger. You remember telling yourself to take note of that as the both of you tried to escape from the basement of Cāest La Vie. Maybe you could persuade him to call Bruce to vouch for you.
āI mean, we couldnāt exactly let you loose once we treated you, could we? You had some interesting items in your possession that Iām sure youād rather stay out of the wrong hands.āĀ
You could tell he wanted more information, so you kept your mouth shut, trying to think of ways to keep his mind off of the illegal trove caught under your possession.
āWhat did you say your name was, again?ā you start, sipping slowly at your water and calculating your chances of getting out of here alive.Ā Ā
āIām hurt you donāt remember, baby,ā he runs a hand through his hair, kind of scratching the back of his scalp, a sad excuse for a smolder shot your way.
You sort of sniff, lip curling in menace instead of a response.
āAnyway, my name is Dick,ā he continues. āYours?ā
āYou took my wallet, you know who I am. Now let me fucking go.ā
You have a hard time containing your rage when his grin just grows.
āIāll let you go once youāve answered a few questions,ā Dick offers.
āFine, what?ā You practically snarl at him, secretly glad for more time to search for a weapon. Keep him talking.Ā
āWell, first, why does such a pretty girl carry around her death warrant? Second, I lost a pretty penny because you stuck your nose in my business. Thirdāā Heās cut off as another pair of boots approach your direction. Your head whips toward the door when you hear its telltale hydraulic breath of air. A burlier, taller man with a streak of bright white hair against black, stalks into the room, your gun in one hand, a mug of tea in the other. He couldnāt have been much older than the present company, grey mutt excluded.
āThird,ā the man finishes for Dick, āhow do you know our father?ā He tosses what you recognize to be your emergency contact card you thought youād hidden deep in your wallet. āHi, Iām Jason,ā the stranger waves to you, coming to tower over Dick.
āYouāre Bruce's sons?ā Your eyes flit between the two brothers, the way youāre giggling is a little off-putting to them given your state. Your ankle cuff clangs as your body wracks in fitful laughter. āIād have gone with āRichard,ā by the way,ā you shoot at Dick, wiping a mirthful tear from the corner of your eye.
āWhat's so funny?ā Dickās eyebrows furrow, lip pouting though you donāt think he meant to.
āAnswer the damn question, girlie,ā Jason commands, a little more threatening than his brother, though you donāt think he really means it.
āThought youād be quicker on your feet is all, considering youāre the spawn of Bruce Wayne.ā You have a hard time getting the words out amidst your giggle fest. Both men look at you like they couldnāt quite process what was happening.Ā
āLook, Iām not the one chained to a bed with no hope of escaping. Now, how do you know Bruce?" Jason demands again.Ā
āHeās my handler,ā you shrug, struggling to regulate your breath. Slowly, drawing out the action as much as possible, you sip from the glass Dick had sent next to you.
āWhat do you mean āhandlerā?ā The agitation tightens around Jasonās eyes, and you decide itās best to take him seriously. You heave a sigh, figuring that the only way you could possibly get out of this situation is to reveal more about yourself. Just enough to get out of the situation, but no more. Your situation was tenuous, and it was impossible to ignore the adrenaline pumping through you with each beat of the heart; steady thunder within a body sore and in need of recuperation.Ā
āLook, Iād rather not get into it. Quite frankly Iām not allowed to. Just call him yourself, tell him my name ā heāll vouch,ā you offer. At least youād hope heāll vouch; this was a unique situation. āYou can let me get back to my business and you can get back to yours.ā
āWhat makes you think that weād trust someone associated with ISSP?ā Jason questions again.Ā
āHeās ISSP,ā you nod toward Dick, whose eyebrows furrow in confusion. āI can tell by the way you shoot a gun ā all technique, no raw intuition.ā
Dickās eyes narrow; at once struck by the acuity of your attentiveness and simultaneously displeased at the critique.
āWhat do you mean, āno raw intuitionā?ā he asks, sour note reverberating off of the metal walls of the room.
āYouāre justā¦ā you eye him up and down, this time taking a moment to process hisĀ
āOh, come on, spit it out,ā Dick crosses his arms.
ā...stiff.ā
You just leave it at that, snooty and shrugging as if you hadnāt wounded Dickās pride.Ā
Jason grunts in frustration.
āFucking Christ, focus, Richard.āĀ
āYeah Richard,ā you mock Dick, figuring youād better get on the good side of the larger one; heād be harder to fight off. Jasonās demeanor loosens just a tad, seemingly amusedĀ as he looks between the two of you with a raised eyebrow. You think that despite being adoptive brothers, they looked strikingly alike standing next to each other.
Truth be told, you had a feeling that Dickās devil-may-care affability was a carefully constructed faƧade, the way the hairs on the back of your neck raised when you first met him on that sidewalk with the three-legged mutt. It was a gut feeling confirmed when the two of you laid eyes on each other under Cāest La Vie. And ever since, your nerves had been alight with a sense of foreboding ā not end-all-be-all foreboding, but a feeling that you were hurling toward something inevitable. And no matter how much you tried to quash it down, it kept fighting its way to the surface.Ā
āCall Wayne, I wonāt say anything else until you do.ā Your tone is resolute.
āAlright,ā Dick agrees smoothly, āWeāll call him right now.ā He turns toward Jason and nods a silent command at him, and Jason, sticking his tongue out at his brother in annoyance, walks over to the two giant computer screens taking up the space of one wall. You hear a few clicks of a keyboard, before a female AI stilted voice calls out:
āCalling: Bruce Wayne, Chief Director, Inter-Solar System Police.ā
Silence, save for the dial tone and Haley panting. All eyes were glued to one of the gigantic screens, waiting for an answer that you prayed would get you out of this situation. No weapon in sight, no way out.
āDick, Jason āĀ whatās going on?ā
Bruce Wayne is a formidable figure, imposing in size, but ever so polite. You hated his guts.Ā
No one has uttered a peep.
āWhatās going on?ā He repeats his question with the authority befitting his rank, eyebrows arched just the slightest bit when his eyes land on you.
āYeah, nice to see you too, Bruce,ā Jason mumbles to his adoptive father, stone cold.Ā
āBruce, hi āĀ sorry we havenāt called in a minute,ā Dick starts off⦠pausing to figure out how he wants his words to come out.
āWell, lads,ā you sneer, looking between the brothers, āwhich one of you geniuses wants to explain to Daddy what happened?ā You try to keep yourself calm, stop the panic just as it tries to force its way to your tongue.
Jason raises his palms, shrugging like his job was done and he was off the clock. He makes his way to the exit, a childish smile on his face as he taunts his elder brother. āYou can deal with this one, Richard.āĀ
āI am going to ask you one more time,ā the man on the screen says patiently over the metal of Jasonās boots clanking on the floor. Too cool and ready to strike, he says with finality, āI am not going to ask you a third time. Whatās going on?ā
Would he admit he knows me? Or would he deny association? You felt your cheeks flush with an anxious anticipation.
āYou tell me, Bruce,ā Dick crosses his arms in a defensive stance, āShe has an ID that lists you as an emergency contact. Says sheās your handler and that youāll vouch for her.ā
Bruce just glowers in thought, eyebrows furrowing expressively āĀ a habit that clearly transcend genetic inheritance. You wait, nerves pounding in your skull, the suspense of meeting your end dangling right in front of your nose. Too much time passes before he speaks.Ā
āDick,ā Bruce sighs, tone much more genuine and somber, āSheās doing work for ISSP.ā
Dick freezes, and even in the dim glow of the fluorescence, you see the stiffness that contours his silhouette.
āWhat work?ā Dick barks, causing you to jump.
āThatās classified, son.āĀ
āWhat fucking work, Bruce?ā He moves closer to the screen, gripping the computer in both of his hands, a stoic panic radiating from his shadow, plunging you even deeper into the hopelessness of your situation. You keep your mouth shut, watching the scene play out.
āClassified. Iām not even supposed to acknowledge her existence.ā You couldnāt believe your eyes, but the Big Scary Pig might actually be speaking earnestly in the three years that youāve known him. āBut itās not what youāre thinking,ā Bruce adds, as if it was a secret between the two of them.
Dick just stands there, stone still. You were facing his back, but you didnāt need to see his face to feel the tension in the air.
Finally, he just scoffs at his father, shaking his head as if trying to clear unwanted thoughts flooding into his brain. You knew what that felt like.
āFine. She says you can vouch for her ā can you?ā Dick turns back to you, giving you a sardonic, hard look before turning back to his father, the harshness in his features still apparent as he returns Bruceās severe glower.
āSheās my responsibility, yes. You can trust her,ā Bruce confirms in a measured tone, clearly not wanting to upset his son. Despite the viciousness of your hatred toward Bruce, your heart was going to jump out of your throat from relief.Ā
āSee? Now let me go, lunkhead,ā you pipe up loudly. Your ankle was bruised underneath the metal of the cuff: a result of your attempts at escaping.
Dick just lifts one pointer finger, and you falter. āNot quite yet,ā he says.
āBut ā ā you start protesting, only for him to cut you off.
āWhat about the rolls of film sheās carrying on her?ā Dick asks bluntly, letting annoyance seep into his tone as he stares down his father. You freeze.
āShe is authorized by ISSP for possession of the film. You need to let her go. Do not interfere with her mission. I cannot say anything else.ā
Dick shakes his head, annoyance having grown into a simmering anger.
āIf sheās ISSP, why is she out bounty hunting?ā
Bruce gives another sigh of frustration, like he was dealing with a petulant child.
āShe is not an agent. She is under a classified contract. Stop asking any more questions, Dick.āĀ
āThey donāt pay me,ā you add, a falsely serene stroke of venom lacing your words. āA girlās gotta survive somehow,ā you shrug when Dick swings around to look at you in disbelief.
āHer mission is not on record. I need your discretion, son.ā
Being called āsonā only seemed to enrage him.
āGotta give me something in return, old man,ā Dick attempts to bargain.
āHer interactions with Jason will be off record. Jason will have immunity,ā Bruce offers, his figure looming on the screen, intimidating to nearly everyone he encounters. Nearly. āThatās all I will give you.ā
āFine.ā Dick moves a finger to hover over the keyboard.
āOh, and, son?ā Bruce calls his son to a pause with a dead serious demeanor.
āHm?ā Dick looks like heās about ready to clobber his father all the way to Pluto, about to hit the disconnect button.
āIf for some reason this conversation ever comes to public light, I will deny it ever happened.ā The line goes dead before his finger could smash the āend callā button, plunging the room into a dimmer tension than before.
āYeah, whatever. See ya, old man.ā
ā. *. ā
āOh, thank god.ā
An almost sensuous sigh of relief escapes you breathlessly the second Dick unlocks the cuff around your ankle. You massage the ache, bruises already getting nasty and puce on your skin. Dick plants himself at the end of your bed, twirling the cuffs in his hands, deep contemplation seeming to have taken over his attention.
āKeys.ā Your hand is out, palm up in petulant demand. The handsome man sitting at the end of your bed, makes no move to go and fulfill your command. Instead, he just looks at you, takes you in under the scrutiny of his deep blues. That foreign exhilaration in your nerves light aflame again, and you donāt know what to make of it.
āKeys and the rest of my shit. Now.ā You are getting impatient. Desperate to get the fuck away from here and back to your own business. Maybe check yourself into a motel and get a hot shower. You could splurge. A treat for having endured this fucking episode from hell.
āWell, you see,ā Dick laughs, more nervousness pouring into his cheeks the more he grasped the gravity of the situation at hand. āYou can stay here until youāve recuperatedā¦ā
āWhere are my keys, Dick?ā
āIt got kinda damaged⦠when we were chasing Poison Ivyā¦ā Heās ready to flinch in defensiveness, afraid youād deal him the same hand you dealt the goon back at Cāest La Vie.
āNo, my baby!ā you wail, attempting to get up from the bed. No can do; you collapse back down on the bed, struggling to sit as your vision blurs and a dizziness takes over.
āWoah, take it easy.ā You feel a pair of hands ease you back to rest in a comfortable position. Warm, large hands. āYou canāt be going anywhere in this state, anyway. Itās gonna take a minute to fix your baby given the damage. Time and a hell of a lot of Woolongs.ā
You wanted to cry. God, you were going to cry. Cry and humiliate yourself even further in front of these two.
āHow much money?ā Do. Not. Fucking. Cry. You command yourself internally, silent prayer that things wouldnāt get worse.
āYou donāt have enough. We checked through your bank statements.āĀ
You just let out a wail, face drooping into your palms.Ā
Dick sits there, awkwardly bringing the plate with the sandwich and apple closer to you, placing it gingerly on the bed in front of you.
āFinish your food.ā His request is so soft, as if he was fearful of your next reaction. āIāll be back with your stuff and Iāll show you around. Come on, Haley Time for a walk.āĀ
You donāt let a tear fall, but you do follow Dickās instructions, vision only focusing when you see him exit the room, his trusted dog hobbling after him.
ā. *. ā
After he returns your possessions ā inspected by you, with everything intact ā and shows you to the guest quarters of the Bebop, Dick slumps onto his familiar lumpy couch, an exhale of exhaustion sinking into his bones as he flicks open his lighter. He squares his shoulders and gets ready to explain the situation to Jason, who was perched over a portable microscope and labeling samples from the shit Ivy had used to incapacitate you. Dozens of slides neatly lined the coffee table. Too organized. Meaning Dick was in for a conversation with an agitated former drug lord. Fucking fantastic.
āWe need to let her stay for a bit, to rest up,ā Dick starts with the least offensive topic first.
āObviously.ā Jasonās voice is clipped, like he was biting his tongue, not wanting to tearĀ Dick a new asshole until he heard the whole story. āWhat else?
āSheās working on something for Bruce.ā Dick takes a drag of his cigarette and exhales before he continues. āOff the books.āĀ
āAre you fucking me? Sheās ISSP?ā
āKeep a lid on it, she wonāt report you. You have immunity.ā Another drag before he whistles for Haley. āAnd sheās not an agent. Contracted hire.ā
āFor what?ā
āOld man wouldnāt say. Classified. But he vouches for her. Says we can trust her,ā Dick muses over this influx of new information, brain processing with heightened clarity with every hit of nicotine hitting his lungs. Jason grumbles, the same bemused expression gracing his rugged features as he scrutinizes his brother.
āWhat else? Spit it out, Dick.ā
āWe need to convince her to stay,ā Dickās request pushes through the plume of secondhand smoke. Haleyās wagging her tail next to the couch, ready to appease each and every direction Dick threw at her to the best of her ability. āGrab me a Pippu, girl, go on!āĀ
Jason carefully sets down the slide he was labeling, then turns off his microscope light before he addresses his brother with measured impatience.
āAnd why the fuck would we want ISSP anywhere near us? I thought we had an agreement.āĀ
Dick just shrugs, unable to find more complex words to articulate his compulsions.
āShe knows something our father doesnāt want us to know.ā Dick just shrugs, unable to find more complex words to articulate his compulsions. āPlus, she needs a place to stay before she can pay for the repairs on her cute little ship, if weāre gonna be practical about it.ā
Jason considers the whole damned situation, cursing Dick under his breath. Always disturbing their blissful Bebop peace. Nearly three years since theyād teamed up. Not a day goes by where Jason wasnāt grateful for his partnership with Dick, but fuck if they hadnāt gotten into some rotten situations because his older brother couldnāt resist a pretty face.
āYou said you wanted to fix up a ship, learn how to reconstruct the newer models. Fix up hers. Itās rumored to be quite faaast.ā Dick dangles that last part mockingly in front of Jason, knowing that his younger brother couldnāt avoid a fast number like the one you owned.With resignation, the white streaks in his hair follow his exasperatingly slow shakes of his head, annoyed with himself because he knew that Dickās decision would be immovable.
āIām trusting you on this. She better not try anything when sheās here or Iām dropping you both off on Pluto.ā
Dick feigns sarcastic horror at the threat, silently relieved. Not a day went by where Dick didnāt thank his lucky stars for his brother. Haley comes back with a can of soda between her rather menacing teeth, placing it next to Dickās leg on the couch; cool condensation of the metal almost seeping through his pants and onto skin. He gives his dog an appreciative scratch behind the ears, and she settles her head on her front paw, readying herself for a snooze.
Meanwhile, under the steaming beat of water against your skull, you rub your skin harshly. Red and raw all over, tears indistinguishable from the scald of the shower, you let yourself drown in self-pity, just for the duration of the shower. You think about your situation, chained to ISSP as a disposable assassin, doing their dirty work for them, leaving their hands scott free. And for fucking what? The question is one youāve struggled to answer since Bruce had pulled you out from one prison and into another. Bruce had what you wanted. The only purpose you could latch onto, held as a bargaining chip by the fucking cops. So long as you completed this mission, heād give you what youāre looking for.Ā You think about stupid things youāve read in books, like transience, the ephemeral. Dreams ā you had a fixation. The in-betweenness of your life, everything and everyone simply a pathway to the next stop, but what youāre looking for is never there.Ā
Itās the same feeling youād felt since you were defrosted, taken in by Deathstroke. The despair that could wrench right at the heart because of avoided inevitabilities. Seeing two lovers who were destined never to touch ā that was how you described this particular sadness.Ā
By the time youād emerged from the steam, cheeks plump and red, reality started seeping back in, demanding that you move, continue on with the necessary motions. Immediately, a distraction lays down in front of you, like a black cat begging you to halt in your path, give it a little scratch on the chin.
āGRAYSON!ā You use your revived strength to inject as bloodcurdling a scream as you could into the night. āRICHARD DICKLESS GRAYSON. REPORT TO MY QUARTERS!!!ā
āYou know thereās an intercom system in every room, babe.ā You hear his voice over through the speakers in the sealing. āIāll be there in a second.ā
Youād have to admonish him for the pet names.
He calls your name, and itās the first time you really register his voice. It sends a shiver to your nerves, right to the edge of your fingertips.
āI need a towel.ā
āYou can have one if you let me sneak a peek at the goods, pretty girl.ā
āIām not in the mood, Grayson,ā you warn him. All you wanted to do was sleep for a few days. Reset your body. He doesnāt wither under your stare, despite your expectations.
āCanāt blame a guy for trying,ā he just offers a crooked smirk.
āYouāre a pervert. I knew it.āĀ
Dick just chuckles, all boyish charm as fetches your towel. He swears he catches the quickest flash of red ink on the smooth skin of your back before you slam the door in his face.
divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto
word count: 2k
synopsis: The goddess of love. The god of war. A love that even death couldnāt end.
a/n: Still working through requests! Workās been kicking my ass lately, and for some reason, my brain decided to spiral into a Greek mythology mood. A little different from my usual writing and sorry if it feels rushed.
On the marble steps of your rose-draped temple, you the goddess of love stood still as stone, watching the sun bleed across the sky. It set in streaks of gold and crimsonācolours that once reminded you of warmth, of flushed cheeks and tangled limbs, of whispered promises spoken beneath starlight. Now, they only reminded you of blood. Of his blood.
Jason.
The name still ached when it crossed your thoughts, still clung to the edges of your immortal heart like the scent of a dying flower. Jason, the mortal born so beautiful even the gods were jealous. Jason, whose laugh rang like bells in your ears. Jason, who looked at you not with awe, but affection. Not like a deity, but a woman.
The two of you had danced in fields of lavender, lay beneath silken skies, whispered secrets into each otherās skin. you, divine and eternal. He, gloriously human. And though you both knew the tragedy of that pairing, you dared to hope. Dared to love. For he was promised by the head of the pantheon, Bruce the God of night and Justice that he would be ascended to godhood.
But mortals die. Even beautiful ones.
Before he could be ascended, he fellābrutally beaten and cut down by a jealous god who dared believe that, in his absence, you might turn your affections elsewhereāyou wept until rivers rose and gardens withered. The earth mourned with you, the skies dulling to ash, as though the heavens themselves recognized the injustice of his death.
The other gods whispered that youād gone mad. That you were foolish to mourn so deeply for a mortal man.
But none of them had known Jason like you had.
The centuries passed like mistāsoft, aimless, unbearably hollow. No touch warmed your skin. No glance stirred your spirit. No heart called to yourās the way his once had.
And for that arrogant god who thought you so fickle, so shallow, as to discard the truest love you had ever knownā¦You made him pay for his foolishness.
Death, you decided, was far too kind. Instead, you wanted him to suffer eternal torment and cursed him with a mania so strong he would never know peace. Never to know what the warmth of love would feel like yet forever aching for it, forcing him to search for it like a man in a desert parched for water.Ā
He burned offerings at temples you never visited. Tore open his own chest seeking your favour. Begged the stars, the sea, the windāto return what he had destroyed.
But love had turned its back on him.
Because he had defiled it.
His passion became prison. His desire, disease. And you watched from afarāsilent, unblinkingāas mania bloomed like a vine around his soul and slowly choking away the god he once was because compared to you, he was nothing. Seldom was a force stronger than love and he scorned the very embodiment of it.
No god dared to go against your punishment. The gods, in all their hubris, had all forgotten that love and war were not so different. Passion. Devotion. Ruin. Your soft beauty and lilting laughter had made them forget that beneath the silks and sweetness, you too were considered to be apart of the deities of war. Just as capable of wrath as you were of love. Your's was the battlefield of hearts, and you had long since learned that loveāreal loveāwas worth waging war over.
Yet, no amount of vengeance could fill the hole left in your heart, forcing centuries you grieved. Because even with your enemy broken, it did not bring him back.
Jason was gone.
Your temples faded into shadow. The world moved on, colder now, more empty. You wandered through centuries draped in sorrow, a goddess without purpose. Love came and went in mortals like tides against the shoreābrief, fleeting, insubstantial.
Until one day, the earth rumbled with a new name.
The mortals whispered it in fear. One unlike the other gods. A scarred brute, they said, who neither sought glory nor revelled in carnage for sport. He did not charge into battle for honour or conquest. He moved like a storm driven only by rage and something darkerārevenge.
They said he was mad. That vengeance had hollowed him out and filled the void with fury.
It was in the smoke-choked ruins of a battlefieldāwhere the sky split with thunder and the ground ran slick with bloodāthat the gods gathered. They came not with swords drawn, but with questions. To see for themselves the new god born of vengeance and death. To witness if he would be friend or foe. To determine whether he was to be welcomed⦠or destroyed.
And then he stepped through the haze.
You staggered.
Your breath left you.
Because it was him.
Jason.
But not the Jason you had knownānot the boy who pressed wildflowers into your hands or traced constellations across your bare skin with laughter in his eyes. That boy had been soft in the ways only mortals could be. He had lived with wonder in his heart and warmth in his touch.
That boy was gone.
Death had stripped him bare. It had carved the softness from his bones and replaced it with steel. It had turned his heart into something fiery and full of anger. Whatever mercy had once dwelled in him had long since been buried beneath the weight of pain.
He had been reborn in divine fire, not as the son of justice he was meant to become, but as something else entirelyāsomething terrible, something untouchable. The boy you had loved was now a deity of war, the God of Death and Vengeance.
He hadnāt remembered his past at first. Not fully. Dreams came in shardsāflashes of golden fields, of laughter and soft hands, of a voice that called his name with devotion. Yet, the sight of you brought forth more of the shattered remains of what life he once had lived.
You whispered his name, no louder than a breath, the one word filled with shock and reverence. The gods fell silent. None dared speak as you stepped forwardātoward the once-mortal, the boy who had been your undoing, the man death had remade. You didnāt wait. Didnāt care what it meant or how he came to be.Ā
You crossed the blood-soaked earth barefoot, unflinching. The ruin of war clung to your feet, but you moved as if drawn by fate, as if the threads of your soul had never stopped pulling toward his.
Your gaze devoured him, taking in the new divine version of him. Your hand lifted, trembling, and you pressed your palm to his cheek. He was taller now. Armoured. Broad-shouldered and blood-streaked, his golden skin was no longer unmarkedāburns curled along one arm trailing up to his neck, a jagged scar traced up from cheek to brow, and his once-gentle mouth was a hard, unsmiling line. His eyes, once the soft shade of summer storms, now burned like steel in winter.
His jaw tightened beneath your touch.
Among the gathering of gods stood four figures, two of which who had once considered Jason as family.
At the forefront stood Bruce cloaked in shadows and silence. His face betrayed nothing, but the air around him felt taut, like a bow pulled too tight. He had not spoken since Jason stepped through the smoke. He only watched.
It was said Bruce had found Jason in the ruins of a battlefield long agoāan orphaned mortal with enough fire, he dared to steal the wheels of Bruceās midnight chariot. It was this fire that made Bruce choose to raise him as his own bringing him to Olympus where he eventually met and fell in love with you.Ā
Dick, Bruceās eldest son, the god of light and duality, also once a mortal ascended to godhood stared at Jason with a gaze was bright with disbelief.
Beside him stood Tim, god of foresight and knowledge, lips pressed thin. His brilliant mind, always quick to calculate, struggled now to reconcile the impossible. His eyes flicked between Jason, you, Bruce, and Dick as if trying to read a history long before his time.
And then there was Damian, youngest and most volatileāgod of wrath and beasts. His green eyes narrowed, not in malice, but suspicion. Like Tim, he had never truly known Jason. Not the boy with a crooked smile or the mortal brother with a quick temper and a quicker wit. Jason existed to him only in fragmentsāin stories passed down in whispers.
And the figure standing before him was no story.
This was the god who ravaged lands, who left cities smouldering in his wake, who painted rivers red with blood. The war-born storm whose fury bent steel and scattered armies.
Not one of them said a word. Because in that moment, they knew, only you would be able to reach him.
āI thought Iād lost you,ā you whispered, your thumb brushing gently over the jagged scar that marred his cheek like a bolt of lightning etched into flesh. āHe took you from me.ā
āHe did,ā Jason rasped, voice low and raw, torn from somewhere deep inside him. āThat man you remember⦠heās dead. I remember little of himājust flashes. But one thing has never left meā¦ā His gaze darkened, steel-hard. āā¦I want the head of the god who killed me.ā
You didnāt hesitate.
āHeās yours, if you want him,ā you said, voice calm, almost casual in its finality. āThough I already ensured he would suffer eternally for the pain he caused you and I.ā
Jasonās eyes slid past your shoulder, lingering on the looming figure of Bruceāthe god of night and justiceāhis divine father. There was a flicker of something in Jasonās gaze, some buried expectation, as if Bruce might protest or claim otherwise.
But Bruce said nothing.
Only his jaw clenched, ever so slightly, as he looked away.
Jasonās focus returned to you. āYou would give him to me so freely?ā
āI would rip out his heart and place it in your hands if that is what you wished,ā you answered without pause, your voice low, unshaking. āI would die for you. I would give you anything you desire.ā
Something shifted behind his eyes. A storm, held back for centuries, calmed at the edge. Never would it be fully gone but something about your presence was stilling it. And in that moment, with warās fire in his blood and your hand on his face, Jason realized one thing. He had been reborn not just by rage, not only by deathābut by the echo of a love so powerful, it had called him back from the ashes.
His expression cracked. Just barely. A flicker of the man he had been.
āThe man you once knew is gone,ā he said quietly.
You lifted your chin, defiantly, beautifully. āThen Iāll love what rose in his place.ā
His eyes flickered, but his tone remained cold. āIām not gentle anymore,ā he warned, voice darker now, coiled tight with the weight of all heād become. āI donāt feel softness. I donāt remember how to be⦠that.ā
āThen be war itself,ā you said fiercely, āIāll still love you.ā
Because while you had loved him at his most radiant, this version, forged through pain and fury, was no less worthy. He was not the sameābut neither were you. Love had never asked for perfection. Only truth.
His handsābloodstained, tremblingārose slowly, hesitantly, as though he feared you were a mirage. He caught your wrists, holding them with reverence, with desperation. Then his forehead touched yours, and in that simple gesture, something ancient and sacred passed between you. Something that neither time nor death had managed to sever.
A goddess born of love.
A god reborn of war.
And in his arms, when he finally pulled you close, the goddess of love found her heart againānot in beauty, not in peace, but in ruin and rage, in the bloodied hands of war itself.
They had taken him from you once.
But not again.
You had crossed eternity to mourn him.
Now, you would cross it again to stand beside him.
Because whether mortal or divine, broken or whole, he was still yours.
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beyond the cowl | chapter 02 | batfamily x isekaide!reader
masterlist | chapter 01 | chapter 03.
synopsis: āāyou're just a normal twenty-one-year old girl trying to navigate life with a shitty job and a useless degree. life isn't easy, and between expensive therapy sessions and the constant feeling of failure, you suddenly wake up in a body that wasn't yours, with a past that wasn't yours. now, in another dimension, you're dealing with the fact that you're a crucial part of the caped crusade that shaped bruce wayne's life. you're the second robin, the former girl wonder, and the vigilant gotham needed so much.ā
warnings/tags: +18. roy harper being hot. swearing. batfamily group chat. 2.5k words.
You eat your dinner in total silence, a little surprised that Alfred knew about your deadly olive allergy, your plate the only one carefully cleared of them. The food in front of you was so fancy your broke ass couldnāt even pronounce the name of it, so you decided to keep your mouth shut and take in the room and the people around you instead.
Everything screamed old money. From the antique chandelier overhead to the kind of silverware that probably cost more than your rent, it was like stepping into a museum you had no business being in. The people, too ā elegant, composed, practically born knowing which fork was for the salad. Even Damian, the demon spawn, knew how to use the cutlery in front of him. You stuck out like a sore thumb, but no one said anything.
They probably assumed your last concussion was the one to blame for your lack of manners.
Fine by you. A win is a win, right?
Just hours ago, you were feeling miserable at your dead-end job in another reality and now here you are, eating mystery French cuisine in Wayne Manor, pretending you werenāt hyper-aware of every awkward move you made.
You reached for your glass and nearly knocked over a tiny spoon. Why was there a spoon that small? Was it decorative? Symbolic? Rich people were weird.
Across the table, someone cleared their throat.
You glanced up and instantly regretted it.
Bruce Wayne was looking at you. Not judging, exactly. Just⦠observing. Like you were some kind of puzzle he hadnāt decided whether to solve or ignore.
You froze halfway to sipping your water. "What?" you asked, maybe a little too defensively. You were absolutely shitting yourself. It was horrible not knowing what kind of relationship the two of you had. You had no idea how to act around him, and that uncertainty clung to you like sweat.
He raised an eyebrow. "Nothing. Just⦠havenāt seen someone look at a bouillabaisse like it personally insulted them."
"Thatās a bouillabaisse?" you muttered, looking down at the bowl. "Thought it was a seafood crime scene."
There was a pause. Then, from your left, a quiet snort followed by full-on laughter from Dick. Your lips twist into a smile as you take another bite. Making handsome men laugh is your specialty, especially as a barista. Or, well⦠It was. In your actual life. The one you went to sleep in.
Across the table, Bruce, actual billionaire, actual legend, actual Batman, you have to remember, looks at you again. "We should discuss your new position at Wayne Enterprises," he says, as if that sentence makes any kind of sense.
Your brain short-circuits. "My what now?"
Without missing a beat, he slides a black folder toward you. It lands by your plate with a soft thump, heavy with something terrifying. Responsibility.
"This outlines your role, department assignments, project overviews, and benefits package. Alfred mentioned you prefer early mornings. We can accommodate that."
You stare at the folder like it just sprouted fangs. Position? Projects? Benefits?
What position? Youāve been here, what ā a day? Half a day? You woke up in a room you didnāt recognize, in a reality that isnāt yours, wearing silk pajamas and the weight of a whole new identity.
Youāre just a barista. You donāt belong here. But youāre in this body, her body, and no one seems to notice the swap. Dick raises his glass in your direction with a crooked grin. "Damn. Look at you, finally putting that business degree to use."
Your head jerks toward him. "How do you even know I have a business degree?"
What the hell?
You didnāt have a business degree.
Your dumbass majored in History.
"Uh, because we grew up together?" he laughs. "And we were in the same econ class. You slept through most of it and still got a better grade than me. I never let it go."
You force a smile, nodding slowly, trying not to show the full-body panic crawling up your spine. "Right. College."
You have zero memory of that. But clearly, in this version of reality, you and Dick Grayson went to college together. Shared classes. Possibly beers. Maybe even notes. You were part of his world long before this dinner, before this moment, and now you have to play along like this isnāt all brand new.
You open the folder, half expecting gibberish or maybe Monopoly money. Instead you saw real documents. Real salary. Health insurance. Stock options.
"What the hell is happening," you mutter under your breath, not even pretending anymore.
Damian, still buttering his roll with all the menace of a Bond villain, doesnāt look up. "Youāre being absorbed into the machine," he says flatly. "Welcome to capitalism."
You turn your head too fast to glare at him and a sharp sting blooms at your temple like a firecracker going off under your skin.
"Shit," you mutter, hissing as your hand flies up instinctively. Your fingers brush gauze and medical tape. Thereās a bandage there, snug, slightly crusted at the edge with dried blood. You hadnāt even noticed it until now. Dickās chair scrapes back before you can process much more. "Easy," he says, already moving toward you. "Let me take a look."
You blink up at him. He crouches beside your chair, all calm focus, like this is routine, like heās patched you up a hundred times before. Maybe he has. Maybe she has.
His hand is warm and steady as he gently brushes yours aside. "Youāre supposed to let me know when it starts hurting again," he says, voice low. A quiet scolding. Gentle, but real.
You donāt know what to say. You didnāt even know it was hurting. You didnāt know you had a horrible head wound until ten seconds ago. Dick crouches beside you, eyes scanning your face with the kind of attention that makes you feel like maybe she, the version of you that belongs here, is someone important to him.
"Come on," he says gently. Before you can ask where ācome onā is, he helps you up with one hand at your elbow and starts guiding you out of the dining room, quietly, without making a scene. Bruce barely glances over, Alfred gives a slight nod, and Damian doesnāt bat an eye.
Apparently, this is normal. Youāre normal here. The hallway is cooler and quieter, the buzz of dinner fading behind you. Your footsteps are unsteady, and Dick notices. He slows his pace, staying close.
"Youāve had worse," he says, trying for lightness, but you can hear the edge of worry behind it.
You glance up at him. "You keep track of my injuries?"
He smiles, not his usual cocky grin, but something softer. "Somebody has to."
He leads you into a small sitting room tucked at the end of the corridor, high ceilings, dark wood, old books. Itās quiet here, thick with the kind of hush that only mansions seem to have.
"You wanna sit?"
You nod, and he helps you lower onto the edge of a leather sofa. Then he disappears briefly into the adjoining room and comes back with a first aid kit tucked under one arm.
He kneels in front of you again, opening the kit with practiced fingers.
"Still canāt believe you walked away from that fall," he murmurs, peeling off the tape with gentle precision. "Youāre tough. But stubborn as hell."
You laugh, dry and confused. "That does sound like me."
He pauses, looking up. You meet his blue eyes, and for a moment it feels like he sees you, not just the version of you that belongs here, but you.
"Youāre different," he says quietly. Not accusing. Not suspicious. Just noticing.
You panic. "Different how?"
He shrugs a little. "Not in a bad way. Just⦠quieter. Youāre usually mouthier."
You almost smile. "Iāll try to insult you more next time."
Dick grins and tapes a fresh bandage in place, his touch careful. "There she is."
He stands, brushing his hands on his jeans, then looks down at you with a fondness that leaves you breathless.
"Sit tight, little wing. Iāll bring you some water."
There it is again, little wing, and it hits just as hard the second time. You nod, trying not to look like youāre unraveling from something as simple as kindness. He leaves the room, and youāre alone. Sitting in someone elseās life, wearing someone elseās name and skin, trying to breathe through the ache in your head and the weight in your chest.
What the hell are you supposed to do now? Keep pretending? Keep lying to these people and yourself? But, hey, little did you know, the worst was yet to come.
Dick didnāt just hand you a glass of water. He handed you a phone.
"Itās finally ready. B asked me to give this back to you," he said, holding it out.
Your phone.
Except it wasnāt your cracked Android with the glittery case. No. This thing was sleek, matte black, probably bulletproof, the kind of phone that could hack into satellites or call the president.
You took it hesitantly, like it might detonate.
"Thanks," you said, holding the high-security tech brick like it was a cursed object. Then, awkwardly looked at his pretty face, "I mean it. Thanks for⦠uhm, everything, Dickie."
The nickname slipped out so naturally it startled you. Like muscle memory. Like youād been calling him that your entire life.
Dick looked at you with the softest blue eyes and a shy smile that made your stomach twist. There was something unbearably gentle in the way he looked at you, like he was watching someone heād nearly lost. It was so much love, it made you want to look away.
"Sleep tight, girl wonder".
"You tooā¦"
You wait for him to leave before unlocking the phone, praying thereās not some retina-scan protocol youāre about to fail.
It opens. The wallpaper itās a selfie, your face⦠Well, her face, laughing in the sun, sunglasses perched on her head like life is just a montage of beach days and brunch. In the background, the water is crystal clear, turquoise, and absurdly picturesque. You can see Stephanie Brown striking a dramatic pose behind you, half-submerged and very sun-kissed.
You blink at the photo like it might shift into something you do recognize. But it doesnāt. Itās just this happy, glowing version of you, surrounded by beauty, friends, wealth, and none of it feels real. None of it feels like you. But you decided to dig it deeper. You slide to the Messages app like it might slap you andā
Wow.
The sheer number of messages waiting for you was actually insane. Wild, even. Especially considering your only friends in your real life were your mom and your older sister, and neither of them even texted that often.
You hesitated, then opened the family group chat.
Jason: hey quick q @yn
Jason: can i borrow like 5k
Jason: u rich now
Jason: also u still owe me from that one time i saved ur life from ur own bad decisions
Steph: Which time? Be specific.
Tim: Can we not start this again? Iām literally trying to sleep.
Cass: ā¦.
B: Donāt lend Jason the money.
You scrolled, already snorting, until you found your last contribution to the chaos:
You: fuck off jason r u allergic to an honest day of work or smth
Jason: or smth
Yeah. That tracks. You back out of the group thread and scroll through your private messages. Dickās texts are frequent and sweet, full of check-ins and bad jokes. Heās clearly your soft spot, and itās mutual. You two clearly shared something special.
Dick: Stop flirting with death and answer your phone.
Dick: Just ate an entire pie. Alfred is judging me.
Dick: Miss your dumb jokes. Come home soon.
Then thereās Bruce, and heās somehow the driest and weirdly affectionate person alive.
Bruce: Iāve reviewed the patrol reports. Acceptable.
Bruce: I left your favorite tea in the study. Drink it. You need rest.
Bruce: Proud of your work last week. Youāve grown.
And then you stare at the most recent one like itās a hallucination. Things went downhill fast. Because thereās Roy Harper. And the Titans group chat, nice. Apparently, you were part of another superhero team. Because being Bruce Wayneās ward and part of this weird āvigilant cultā wasnāt enough existential horror. No. You were also a titan.
Fuck.
And again⦠Thereās Roy Harper.
Roy: Thinking about you in that stupid little outfit you wore to training. I hate you.
Roy: Look what you did to me.
Roy: Youāre gonna have to fix this, doll.
You tap the attached file before your common sense can kick in and your soul immediately leaves your body. Thatās a dick pic. A nice one.
There is a literal dick in your phone. Right there. Center stage. No warning. Roy Harper. Fully committed. Your eyes go wide. Your face drains of color. You sit frozen, paralyzed by a full-frontal crisis. And as if the universe hadnāt humiliated you enough, you watch in horror as the typing bubble appears.
Roy: I can see you online, pretty girl.
You let out a strangled sound somewhere between a dying bird and a scream. And it didnāt stop there, God clearly wasnāt giving you a single moment of peace. Because right after the unsolicited anatomy lesson from Roy Harper, your new phone started ringing.
In a panic, you answered it without even checking the name. Your voice came out small and uncertain.
"Hello�"
"Yo, I need to crash at your place. Iām in the Narrows and some dickhead just broke two of my fingers. Iām sleeping there tonight," Jason Todd said casually, like he was asking to borrow sugar, over the sound of definite gunfire, someone screaming, and what mightāve been a Molotov cocktail.
You froze. "Wait, whatā?"
"Donāt worry, Iām fine," he cut you off, breathless, followed by a bang that sounded way too close to his face. "Your place still got the fire escape window unlocked?"
Your place?
You lived at Wayne Manor now. Right?
"Jason, Iām literally in the manor."
"Yeah, I know," he grunted, like you were the idiot here. "Iām breaking into your apartment. Just figured Iād let you know in case you left a taser in the fruit bowl again."
Another bang. Another yell.
Then, almost as an afterthought:
"Oh, and I saw your new photoshoot in Vogue. You look hideous, by the way. Like someone deep-fried a socialite. Bye."
Click.
You stood there, phone still pressed to your ear, staring into the abyss.
Royās nudes. An apartment you didnāt know existed. A Vogue spread?!
im still amazed by how much kindness and support ive received here. it truly means the world to me. thank you to everyone who sends dms, shares ideas, reblogs, leaves comments... you make the whole writing process feel so meaningful and rewarding. im really grateful for you. š§š»āāļøāā”ļø
ļ¹ā āācause when you know you know. part 1.
āļ¹ā paring: fem!reader x dick grayson.
āļ¹ā summary: you've always had dick grayson's heart in your hands, since you were just sixteen.
āļ¹ā warnings/tags: dick grayson x fem!reader. reader is an awkward dork. fluffy. dick is yearning. spiderwoman!reader. best friends to lovers (?). these two mfs are the same person in different fonts. reader is a mix of tom hollandās spiderman and the comics. rip uncle ben. the amazing divider was made by @bernardsbendystraws, thank you!. some spiderman: homecoming lore. āļ¹ā MASTERLIST. NEXT.
WAYNE GALAS WERE ALWAYS THE SAME ā stiff, over decorated affairs where assholes shook hands and smiled fake smiles over champagne. At sixteen, Dick Grayson knew the routine like the back of his hand. He also knew how to blend into the background when he wasnāt in the mood to charm the crowds. It was from that vantage point, leaning casually against a marble pillar, that he first noticed you.
You stood a few steps behind Tony Stark, looking wildly out of place among Gothamās elite. Wrapped in a simple blue dress that couldnāt quite decide if it wanted to be fancy or modest, you shifted your weight awkwardly from foot to foot, clutching a small purse like it might save you from drowning in a sea of tuxedos and designer gowns.
Dickās lips quirked into a small smile. Adorable.
Tony Stark, of course, was in full showman mode, gesturing animatedly as he spoke with Bruce Wayne. The two billionaires were discussing the latest partnership between Stark Industries and Wayne Enterprises ā a massive clean energy project meant to transform both Gotham and New York. The media was already drooling over it.
"ā¦game-changer for the East Coast, Bruce," Tony was saying, his voice easily cutting over the soft hum of the orchestra. "Your tech, my tech ā itās like peanut butter and genius. Together, unstoppable."
Bruce nodded, ever the composed businessman. "It sounds promising. If we can get the logistics right."
"And we will," Tony said with his usual effortless confidence. Then, spotting Dick nearby ā or maybe just looking for an excuse to brag ā he turned slightly and gestured toward you.
"And speaking of genius," he said, "Iād like you to meet my brilliant intern. Absolute prodigy. Iām basically babysitting her before someone smarter steals her."
You blinked, startled by the sudden attention, and gave Bruce a stiff little wave, your fingers curling awkwardly halfway through. Dick had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
Bruce, gentleman as ever, extended his hand. "Itās a pleasure to meet you."
You hurried forward, shaking his hand a little too quickly. "Um ā thank you, Mr. Wayne. Itās, uh, an honor to be here."
Tony clapped a hand on your shoulder, nearly knocking you off balance. "Kidās working on tech thatāll make arc reactors look like antique junk. Donāt let the nerves fool you ā sheās the real deal."
Bruce raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Is that so? Iād love to hear more about your work sometime."
You flushed bright red, mumbling something about polymer synthesis and energy conductivity ā something brilliant that Dick couldnāt entirely follow, but he caught enough to be impressed. And amused. You were so obviously genuine ā completely different from the polished, self-important guests around you.
Bruce mustāve picked up on your nerves too. With a small, reassuring smile, he glanced to the side.
"Allow me to introduce my son," he said, motioning to Dick. "Dick Grayson."
At the mention of his name, Dick pushed off the pillar and approached with an easy, charming smile ā the kind that made Gothamās elite swoon. But the second your eyes met, you visibly froze like you werenāt sure whether to shake his hand, run away, or throw up.
"H-hi," you said, voice quick, bright ā and unmistakably thick with a Queens accent. "Itās, uh, real nice to meetcha."
Dick grinned wider, immediately charmed. "Pleasureās mine," he said, reaching out.
You hesitated for a beat, then took his hand. Your grip was surprisingly firm, even if your face was screaming pure panic.
Tony almost chuckled. "Sheās from Queens," he explained. "You know ā where people actually say what they mean and donāt take an hour to do it."
You gave an embarrassed little shrug. You looked like you want to throw up.
That earned a real laugh from Dick, warm and easy. You smiled too ā a real smile this time, the kind that crinkled your eyes and hit him somewhere he hadnāt expected. Bruceās phone buzzed discreetly in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, then gave a small, apologetic nod. "If youāll excuse me," he said. "Duty calls."
He slipped away, leaving you, Tony, and Dick standing awkwardly together by the marble column.
Tony, never missing a beat, gave Dick a mock-serious look. "Why donāt you two go mingle? God knows she needs more friends."
You groaned under your breath. "Oh my god, Mr. Stark, please donāt."
Dick just laughed again. He fell easily into step beside you as Tony wandered off to schmooze with some politicians. You walked stiffly at first, hyperaware of every move you made in the ridiculously fancy heels Stark had bullied you into wearing.
"So," Dick said, shooting you a grin as he offered you a glass of sparkling water from a passing tray, "Queens, huh? That explains the accent."
You accepted the drink with a sheepish smile. "Yeah. Born and raised. Itās pretty different from all this⦠you know, money and marble columns."
Dick laughed. "Trust me, youāre not missing much. All it means is you get invited to boring parties like this one."
You laughed too ā a real, snorting laugh that made a couple of nearby socialites glance over disapprovingly. You barely noticed.
"So, whatās it like working for Iron man?" Dick asked, tilting his head in that way that made his hair fall a little into his eyes. He probably practiced looking that effortlessly cool in the mirror.
You shrugged, taking a sip of your drink. "Kinda like babysitting a genius toddler with unlimited money and no fear of death."
Dick barked a short laugh. "Sounds about right."
You hesitated, then added, "But seriously? Heās been good to me. Not a lotta people would take a chance on some random kid from Queens."
Dick raised an eyebrow, interested. "Random? Cāmon, Stark made it sound like you were about to solve the energy crisis or something."
You snorted again, feeling a little more at ease. "I mean, maybe. Eventually. If I donāt blow up a lab first."
He grinned at that, the easy kind of grin that made you feel like you could tell him anything. So, without really thinking, you shrugged and said, "Plus, I kinda get it. I grew up pretty rough, yāknow? Not a lotta money. Lost my folks when I was little."
You said it so casually ā like you were talking about the weather ā that it took a second for Dick to process.
His smile softened, the cocky edge fading just a little. "Yeah?" he said, voice a little lower now, a little more real. "Me too."
You blinked, surprised. "Wait, really?"
He nodded, tapping two fingers against his chest lightly. "Orphan club. Lifetime membership."
You gave him a crooked smile. "Guess that makes us, like, trauma buddies or something."
Dick chuckled, but there was a warmth in his eyes now that hadnāt been there before. "Guess so. But hey," he added, nudging your shoulder lightly, "at least youāre smart enough to build your way outta Queens."
You shrugged again, feeling your face heat. "Yeah, well. Youāre the one who looks like he belongs in a magazine."
Dick gave you a mock-offended gasp. "Are you saying Iām just a pretty face?"
You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. "Iām just sayinā, you definitely got the rich kid smile down."
He laughed, full and bright, and for a second it felt like the two of you were the only ones in the whole stupid, glittering ballroom.
SIX MONTHS PASSED WITHOUT you or him even noticing. Long-distance friendships were supposed to fade, or at least get awkward. Yours didnāt. Despite being hundreds of miles apart ā you in New York, Dick in Gotham ā you and him texted, called, and memed at each other like your lives depended on it. Some nights you stayed up until 3 AM talking about everything and nothing at the same time. School drama. Terrible cafeteria food. The best ways to take down a guy twice your size when you were stuck in a tight suit.
It didnāt take long before the truth slipped out.
You were Spiderwoman. He was Robin.
The discovery was a complete accident ā a FaceTime call cut short when you had to swing off mid-conversation to stop a robbery, your phone falling out of your pocket mid-swing, the screen still open as Dick watched wide-eyed.
You expected him to freak out.
Instead, he just texted:
"dude... that's so sick. also ur form was trash lol. weāre training next time ur in gotham."
When Homecoming season rolled around, you werenāt even planning on going. Crowded dances werenāt really your thing. But then Tony Stark, with his usual flair for the dramatic, said something like, āKid, you gotta have at least one normal high school experience before you get arrested by the feds or something,ā and signed you up himself.
The only problem?
You didnāt have a date.
Which is why, two weeks later, you stood frozen on the sidewalk outside Midtown Tech, wearing a dress that you had panic-ordered online, while Dick freaking Grayson leaned casually against a rented black car looking like heād just stepped out of a fashion magazine.
Sleek suit. Easy smile. Blue eyes that sparkled when they landed on you.
You gawked. He whistled low under his breath.
"You clean up nice, Queens," he said, offering you his arm.
You shoved his shoulder lightly, face burning. "Youāre literally Bruce Wayneās kid. You clean up by existing."
Still, you took his arm.
Inside the gym ā decorated with cheap streamers and a truly tragic DJ ā heads turned immediately. Whispers broke out like wildfire.
"Wait⦠is that Bruce Wayneās son?"
"Heās so hot in person. I just saw an article about The Flying Graysons-"
"Eww, isnāt that weird ass chick from the Decathlon Team?"
Enhanced earring. Sometimes you hate that. You spotted Ned across the room near the snack table, eyes wide as saucers. He threw you the most aggressive thumbs-up you had ever seen.
You nearly burst out laughing.
Dick, of course, noticed everything ā the stares, the whispers ā and just tightened his hold on your arm, leaning down to murmur in your ear: "Theyāre just jealous they didnāt think of asking you first."
You rolled your eyes, grinning. "Shut up, Gotham."
"You love me," he teased, winking.
You tried to play it cool.
Tried to act like your heart wasnāt punching itself in the face.
Instead, you just said, "Whatever, rich boy. Letās dance before I regret this."
And somehow, with Dickās hand wrapped around yours and the gym lights flickering overhead, you realized you were having the best night of your life ā cheap decorations, judgmental classmates, bad punch and all. No crimes, no tight suits, just the arms of your best friend around you.
SOME YEARS LATER...
NEW YORK CITY SMELLED LIKE hot dog stands, wet pavement, and cheap coffee. It was comforting, in a weird way ā grounding, like an old song you never forgot the words to. It smelled like home.
You had just finished your doctorate at Empire State University ā biophysics, the degree that had nearly broken you with sleepless nights and endless labs. Four years of undergrad, another six buried under papers and research grants, all while swinging through the city rooftops under a different name.
You were proud, sure. But pride didnāt pay rent, which meant you were still picking up gigs at the Daily Bugle, still hustling freelance science writing jobs, still showing up at FEAST with boxes of canned goods, just trying to help where you could.
You huffed, adjusting the box in your arms as you kicked open the back door. Aunt May had been working at FEAST full-time now ever since she retired, and somehow, you always found yourself drawn back here too. Helping people ā it was kind of your thing. Always had been.
What you didnāt expect was to walk into the kitchen and see himā
Leaning casually against the counter like he owned the place, grinning like he hadnāt just crossed two state lines without so much as a warning.
"Hey, trouble."
You blinked, nearly dropping the box.
"Dick?!"
He flashed that damn movie-star smile at you ā the one that shouldāve come with a warning label. "Miss me?"
"What the hell are you doing here?" you cried, laughing as you dropped the box on the table and practically launched yourself at him.
Dick caught you without hesitation, his arms wrapping around you in a warm, easy hug. You hadnāt realized how much you needed it until right now. Twelve years. Twelve years of growing up side-by-side, saving cities, teasing each other over coms, late-night phone calls just to vent about patrol. And yet somehow, seeing him in person after a few months apart hit you harder than you expected.
You pulled back. "You idiot! Youāre supposed to call before you show up in my city."
"What, and ruin the surprise?" he teased, ruffling your hair ā which earned him a murderous glare from you. "Besides, I figured Aunt May could use some extra hands around here."
May appeared in the doorway at that exact moment, wiping her hands on her apron. Her face lit up when she saw Dick. "Richard, honey! Itās so good to see you!"
"Richard," you snickered under your breath, watching Dick grimace in horror as May pulled him into a hug.
"Sheās the only one allowed to call me that," he grumbled as he shot you a look over Mayās shoulder.
You grinned. God, youād missed him.
There was a way Dick fit into your life that no one else could replicate ā like he was the missing piece to a puzzle you hadnāt even realized was incomplete. Maybe it was the history. Maybe it was the fact that you understood each other in ways that no one else ever could ā the grief, the pressure, the guilt that came from trying to save people and knowing it would never be enough.
Maybe it was just him.
Because somewhere along the line, Dick Grayson had gone from Gothamās golden boy to Nightwing ā the heart of Blüdhaven, the hero everyone loved. He wasnāt just a sidekick anymore. He was the blueprint.
Kids in Blüdhaven wore Nightwing shirts and told stories about how heād saved their dad or helped their aunt or dropped off Christmas gifts at the shelters. He was the hero people wanted to be ā not just because he was good with his fists, but because he never stopped believing the world could be better.
You were proud of him in a way you couldnāt even put into words.
And looking at him now ā a little older, a little more worn around the edges, but still him ā you realized how much he still made you feel like you werenāt alone in any of it. He was your best friend and your family.
You saw May kissing his left cheek before going back to the main room, it was time to serve lunch.
"So," he began, leaning against the counter with that casual drawl he used when he was trying way too hard to sound chill, "howās your thing with MJ going?"
His tone was careful ā soft ā like he knew exactly how much of a train wreck your love life had been lately. How you always ended up back at square one: alone.
You shrugged, shooting him a half-hearted smile.
"Eh. Howās your thing with Babs going?"
You tossed the question back at him without missing a beat, raising your brows pointedly.
Dick mirrored your shrug, lips twitching.
"Eh."
There was a brief pause ā the kind only two people who knew each other too well could slip into without it feeling awkward ā and then you smirked.
"Well, thereās your problem. Youāre into gingers."
He snorted. "Youāre into gingers."
You pointed at him like you just cracked the code of the universe.
"Exactly. Thatās why we both have commitment issues. Everyone knows gingers are secretly evil."
Dick barked a laugh, shaking his head.
"Evil and dangerously attractive. Itās a lose-lose."
"Honestly," you sighed dramatically, "itās not our fault we keep getting attached to soulless, beautiful monsters."
He grinned wide, that stupidly charming Nightwing grin.
"Soulless monsters ā sounds like half the people we fight too."
"At least fighting bad guys doesnāt leave me crying into a tub of ice cream at two a.m."
Dickās eyes twinkled with mischief.
"I guess you forgot your little friend Felicia Hardy in this sentence."
You gasped, smacking his arm ā not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your point.
"That was one time and she tricked me!"
"Uh-huh," Dick said, smirking as he rubbed his arm dramatically. "And then she ghosted you and stole your watch. And your wallet".
You groaned.
"I told you that in confidence, you traitor."
He grinned even wider, clearly enjoying himself.
"Youāre lucky Iām your best friend and not, you know, selling these stories to the tabloids."
You gave him a half-hearted glare before letting out a snort.
"Yeah, because Nightwing Reveals Spiderwoman Got Played by Cat Thief would really earn you some credibility."
Dick shrugged, unbothered. "Might finally knock me off GQās āSexiest Heroes Aliveā list. Honestly, itās getting exhausting."
You laughed, the sound bursting out of you before you could stop it. God, you missed this. The easy rhythm of you and Dick ā how he could drag you out of any dark place with just a few dumb jokes and a mischievous glint in his eye.
"But come on now, sexiest hero alive," you teased, nudging him lightly with your elbow. "Why are you truly in New York?"
Your face ached from how much youād been smiling. It was almost enough to make you forget the three broken ribs healing under your shirt and the nasty wound stitched up on your left thigh. Almost.
Dick just shrugged, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a half-smile.
"Nothing at all," he said lightly. "Just missed you."
You squinted at him, unconvinced.
"Missed me enough to leave your city to crumble without Nightwing?"
"Donāt be dramatic," he said, rolling his eyes fondly. "Timās covering me this weekend. Blüdhavenās in good hands."
You studied him again ā really studied him ā noticing how his bright blue eyes suddenly dipped away from yours, shyness creeping into his expression. Dick sighed, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, like he was bracing himself.
"Itās May fourth," he said quietly.
You froze for a beat. Of course.
You didnāt need him to say anything else. You knew exactly what that date meant.
Uncle Benās death anniversary.
You were so burried into your Spiderwoman's stuff last night that you forgot all about Ben, you didn't even noticed how sad May was this morning. A lump formed in your throat. The pain was still there, buried deep. It always was. Even with all the miles between you and that night, the guilt, the regret ā it never quite left. You thought you had it under control, thought you had it buried in the same corner where you stashed all your unresolved issues. But not today. Not with Dick here, looking at you like that.
You were about to say something, anything, to push the conversation somewhere else. But Dick stepped closer, the usual teasing smirk gone. His gaze softened, his voice quiet, steady.
"You still blame yourself, donāt you?"
The question hit harder than youād expected, like heād plucked the thought right from your mind. You met his eyes for the first time since heād dropped that bomb. The guilt, all of it, was there ā clear and raw. You didnāt need to say a word.
He sighed, stepping closer, until his body was just a breath away from yours. His hand brushed against your arm, the touch warm, gentle.
"Hey," he murmured, his voice low and comforting. "You canāt save everyone. Iāve been doing this long enough to know that."
You almost laughed at how ridiculous it sounded coming from him. Dick Grayson ā Nightwing, a hero, a Titan ā was the one who saved people, who did the impossible. He was the one who made sure no one fell through the cracks. He was everybody's safety net.
"Iām not like you," you whispered. The words sounded bitter in your mouth. "Iām not like him. I couldāve done more, shouldāve done more. Iā"
"Stop," Dick interrupted, his voice firm but caring. "You did everything you could. But you canāt do it all, especially not alone."
You looked up at him, his blue eyes meeting yours, soft with understanding. There was no judgment in his gaze ā only the kind of acceptance that made your chest tighten. Heād seen your worst moments. And somehow, even in those, he still cared.
He was always there, wasnāt he? Even when it felt like the whole world was crashing down around you, he was the constant you could rely on. He didnāt need to say a word ā he just was.
"Iām sorry," you muttered, shaking your head. "I shouldāve been better, Dick. He deserved better. He would be aliveā"
Dickās hand moved to your shoulder, his grip solid, like he was holding you together in a way no one else could.
"You donāt have to carry that on your own," he said quietly. "And you donāt have to keep punishing yourself, either. Ben wouldnāt want that."
You clenched your jaw, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. But the dam was breaking. Slowly, painfully, the tears you didnāt realize were there started to well up. And Dick ā always, always there ā pulled you into his arms without hesitation.
"Hey," he whispered into your hair, his voice soothing, "Youāre not alone. Iām here, alright? And so is May. Weāre all here."
You clung to him for a second longer than you probably shouldāve, your hands gripping the back of his shirt like it was a lifeline. Maybe it was. You hadnāt realized how badly you needed this. You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your forehead into his shoulder, trying to swallow the emotion threatening to spill over.
Eventually, you pulled back, just a little, blinking away the tears. Your chest felt lighter, like the weight of the years had shifted just a little.
"Thanks," you said, voice thick. "I really needed that."
Dickās thumb brushed carefully along your jaw, grounding you. You stared up at him, the breath catching in your chest, and for a long moment, he just looked at you ā like he was memorizing you, seeing every crack, every bruise, and not turning away.
Then, without a word, he leaned in and pressed a soft, steady kiss to your forehead. Just like many others he gave you in these past twelve years. He lingered there, letting the touch say all the things neither of you could voice out loud.
When he finally pulled back, he dropped another kiss, featherlight, to the tip of your nose ā the smallest, softest thing ā and it broke something inside you in the best way. It wasnāt romantic, not in the big, sweeping way movies liked to show. It was better. It was pure, steady, real. The kind of love that had nothing to prove and nowhere to go. It just was.
You closed your eyes for a second, breathing him in ā the faint smell of his cologne, the leather of his jacket, the clean sweat of someone who lived moving, fighting, surviving. When you opened your eyes again, he was still there, hands steady, smile small and genuine.
"Youāre such an ugly crier, Webs," Dick said, voice full of teasing warmth as he wiped your cheeks with his thumbs. "Is that snot? Seriously?"
You let out a wet, broken laugh. "Fuck off ā my uncle died, you asshole."
"I know, I know," he said, his grin tugging at the corner of his mouth even as his eyes stayed soft, careful. He cupped your face between his hands like you were something fragile and precious, his thumbs brushing away the tears and ā yeah, maybe a little snot too. "Youāre allowed to cry. Even if you do it⦠extremely unattractively."
You hiccupped a miserable sound and buried your face in his shoulder. Dick just laughed under his breath and tucked you closer, like he could shield you from the whole damn world if you let him.
"Youāre the worst," you muttered thickly into his neck.
For a minute, you just breathed together. No words. No expectations. Then you heard the familiar shuffle of footsteps and Aunt Mayās voice coming from the kitchen doorway.
"Well, isnāt this the cutest thing Iāve seen all week."
You jerked upright, immediately wiping your face. Dick just threw an arm lazily around your shoulders, pulling you into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Hey, May," he said brightly, like you werenāt two seconds away from crumbling.
Aunt May just smiled knowingly, walking over to kiss your temple and then ruffle Dickās hair, making him squawk in protest. "Always good to see you, honey. But next time, you know, call first".
"Yes, maāam," he grumbled, fixing his hair like some offended cat.
"Come on, you two," she said, already turning back toward the kitchen. "Thereās leftovers from dinner. You can eat and then help me serving lunch. We have new people here needing help and Miles is really anxious about meeting your friend".
Ah, Miles. He's a great kid and hero. Dick's probably gonna like him. Dick squeezed your shoulder gently. "Race you to the table, ugly crier."
You elbowed him hard in the ribs, but you were laughing. Really laughing. Later that day, standing in front of Uncle Benās grave, the city felt quieter and worst than usual. Maybe it was just the way your heart was beating ā slow, heavy, a little cracked around the edges. You stared at the headstone until the words blurred, the lump in your throat too thick to swallow.
Without a word, Dick stepped closer and pulled you against his side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. His fingers found yours easily, lacing them together like they belonged there, like they always had. He squeezed your hand and then, without any hesitation, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
It was so soft it made your eyes sting all over again.
You leaned into him, letting his strength anchor you, feeling his heartbeat steady against your side. The sun dipped lower, the air turning cooler, but neither of you moved. You could always hear his heartbeat, even when he wasn't in the same room as you. Nice part of having powers. You have the sound memorized in your head.
Dick didnāt rush you. He didnāt tell you it was time to go, or that you had to be strong, or that Ben was in a better place. He just stayed ā solid and silent and sure ā holding you. He spent the whole evening there with you, never once letting go of your hand. May was in front of you, mourning in her own way. In silence.
When the city lights finally started to blink on in the distance, you turned your face into his shoulder and whispered, voice cracking, "Thank you."
Dick just squeezed your hand tighter, pressing another kiss to your hairline.
"Always, Webs," he murmured against your hair. "Always." like they belonged there, like they always had.
Warnings/tags: stepcest, suggestive content, damian being a dramatic king.
Synopsis: Tim and his stepsister hate each other. That's a fact, a reality since she was forcibly moved to the room next to his and he was, in return, forced to play babysitter for her. They argue and fight to the point the family prefers to clear away from them. Damian thinks they bring the worst out of each other....until he accidentally comes across the darker, more dangerous truth.
A secret that could destabilisize the family as a whole.
He sees it embarrassingly late.
Damian Wayne prides himself on his superior skills above the average people. His fighting, his intelligence, his lineage. He means it when he claims to be the best of all his brothers. The Demon's heir. The son of the Bat.
And yet, he missed something so painfully obvious. Something that was there, right in front of him all this time. Barely concealed. Something he should've seen from the beginning.
It doesn't make him feel better knowing he's not the only one. That everyone else missed it as well. In fact, it only deepens his shame and rage because of how stupid they've all been. Them, a supposed family of world-class detectives and strategists, even the oh-so-called world's greatest detective, somehow failed to notice this. A major, concerning affair going on under their roof.
The worst part? The embarrassment lasted little, for it was quickly replaced with anger and a really strong need for revenge. But not for himself. No. For the person who had been so unfairly wronged by this.
His half sister. His only blood sibling.
They've never been on the best terms, and granted, a great part of it has been his fault. He's not ashamed to admit it. Not anymore. They've been taking turtle steps to fix the gap between them. He's had to prove himself, and while their relationship isn't as close as he wishes, they've advanced a lot since then. They bicker, hang out sometimes and she doesn't look at him with hatred in her eyes anymore. They're good now. And he's come to feel responsible for her, because they're the only ones who understand the weight of the legacy they carry in their veins. Plus, as her brother, it's his duty to look after her, even if she's older.
So, how could he miss this? How could he let this happen? How the hell did a whole family of great detectives fail so spectacularly?
It started slow, after his sister's freaky accident that landed her on an hospital fighting for her life. It was a waking call for all of them, he guesses. As soon as she came back home, Father determined the four of them were to move to the east wing of the manor, where Damian and the others had always lived. His stepmother was to sleep in the same room as her husband for the first time, and her eldest daughter was moved to the room next to Drake's. Father claimed it was to "strenghten familial bonds" and keep Ukhti* close to them as she recovered.
But Damian and the others knew the underlining reasons. It was surveillance. A strategic move, assigning each of them a "handler". Who better to watch Mrs Wayne than her own husband? Who better to handle those unsufferable twins than Damian himself? And of course, Father trusted Drake to keep an eye on his daughter.
Tim Drake. The dutiful, loyal, genius, perfect Tim Drake. The oh-so-obedient Robin, who never fails, never falters, and always knows what's best. Father's trusted soldier.
That fucking Tim Drake.
Damian should've murdered him long ago.
Everything was normal at first. Well, besides that his stepmother and the girls made it very clear they didn't want to be there, sharing space with the rest of the family, and showed their discontent by sabotaging their daily routines to the point of near madness, disrupting the order completely. His stepmother purposedly displaced stuff in Father's office and their bedroom, while Ukthi went out of her way to annoy Drake, which more often led to loud fights. All in foolish hopes that everyone would get so sick of them that they would be sent back to their former rooms.
Naturally, it didn't work, because Father doesn't bend, and so when they realised Father wouldn't relent, their antics gradually stopped.
But what didnāt stop⦠was them. Tim and his Ukthi.
When they weren't arguing for the whole hallway to hear, they were annoying each other by stealing clothes, changing the locks of their bedroom's doors, even getting physically violent sometimes. She played her obnoxious music and pressed the speaker against the wall they shared while he was working, and he locked her in the bathroom while she was showering after turning the lights off.
"She's a pain in the ass, a damn brat who can't stand not getting her way." Tim said. "Someone has to put her in her place."
"He's unsufferable." She snapped. "I hope he trips down the stairs and breaks his neck."
It became routine. The status quo. The sky is blue. Gotham is corrupted. Tim and his sister hate each other.
Looking back to it, Damian only feels dumber for not having picked on the clues.
The tense silences between arguments. The stolen clothes. The bathroom lock-ins. The music blaring through shared walls. The outright shoving. The bruises that everyone chalked to their wrestling.
How many of those had nothing to do with wrestling at all?
He should've known. From the moment Drake got too involved in her life, beyond what Father even asked him to do. Tracking her movements, standing too close to her when they argued about how she shouldn't go out so late or hang out with certain people. Grabbing her by the arm, fingers digging in just a little too tightly. Looking at her with an intensity that didnāt match the conversation. When both one of their bedroom's doors was slammed closed and they didn't come out until dinner.
They should've all known.
Like when they got a call from a kidnapping incident she had been involved. Sheād been missing for hours, and when they finally found her, Drake practically shoved Thomas aside while he was helping her, as if his presence was a nuisance. He cradled her face in both hands, checking for injuries, whispering something only she could hear. And he didnāt stop until she said, more than once, that she was fine. He glared at whoever tried to intervene, as if he only he was allowed to handle her.
"Geez, he's taking his bodyguard job too seriously. He knows Bruce won't kill him if she has some scratches, right?"
Like when she wears his shirts sometimes and Drake doesn't so much complain. Just stares. His gaze lingering a bit too long. Sometimes, his lips would twitch in a way that looked suspiciously close to a smile.
Like when they're alone in the kitchen or the hallway, and there's no arguing. More like bickering. But they're standing too close to each other, and they speak in hushed voices. Breathing a little too heavy.
Staring too long, too directly. The air around them impregnated with something he can't name.
It always feels like they're on the edge of doing something.
But Damian didn't find out by these painfully clear signs. He didn't pick up on the hints they barely hid and put them back together eventually, as a detective would. Oh no. He found out because it was thrown at his face.
It wasn't his fault. The door should've been fully closed. His ukthi had gotten injured during practice and had to stay at home, resting by doctor's orders. And as expected, Drake was assigned to stay behind and make sure she actually followed the orders, as her unofficial babysitter.
He remembers Alfred commenting in passing that Drake was going to stay with her anyway, that he told Father about it before he was even asked. Insisted, even. Damian had thought it weird, but didn't question it.
Damian wasn't even supposed to return to the manor yet. He forgot something and had to retrieve it. It would be just a quick trip. Come, take it and leave again. But on the way, he decided to also check on his sister too, see how she was doing.
Except her room was empty. And Drake's door was half-open. Voices came from his room.
And so, in his curiosity, and an instinct that something was off, he approached just enough to overheard.
He heard her voice first. Saying something he couldn't discern.
Then Drakeās.
"Can't I be worried? You could barely walk when I picked you up, and you'll have a scar from it."
He sounded annoyed, as usual when he spoke to her. But something in his tone was off. It sounded vastly different than Damian ever heard. Almost soft. More personal.
"You're just mad that someone else left a mark on me".
...what?
He then heard Tim scoff, muttering.
"The only marks you should have are mine."
What the hell?
He then took a step forward, quietly to not be heard, to get a glimpse of them in the room. See what was going, a sense of mysterious dread creeping up to him. Already sensing something was wrong. Very wrong.
She was laying across Drake's bed, legs stretched out, with the injured one resting on his lap. His fingers ghosting over the bandage, gaze dark and a frown in his lips, as if the sight offended him.
Meanwhile, she was looking at him with a smile. Not a fake or guarded one. It was almost...soft. Fond, even.
She sighed and nudged his side, making him snap out of it to look back at her. His stance inmediately changed when their eyes met, visibly relaxing.
She tilted her head at him.
"Are you mad at me?"
He blinked at her, then exhaled slowly and shook his head, leaning in closer until their faces were inches away. An innapropiate distance.
"I'm always mad at you," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "It's like you live just to make my life difficult."
She chuckled, quiet and natural. Her eyes still fixed on his own with a mischievous glint.
"You wouldn't want me any other way."
He huffed, but his lips quirked up in the softest smile Damian ever saw from him.
A soft, gentle smile. From Tim Drake. Directed at her.
What was happening??
"I'll neither deny nor confirm that statement."
And then, he committed the most outrageous act of treason. The biggest offense to their family Damian ever witnessed. An insult, a spit to the concept of honour and loyalty.
He kissed her.
Right there. On his bed. With his arms caging her against him. Without a drop of doubt or hesitation. As if it was normal.
As if it wasn't the first time.
And she didn't try to fight back or push him away. No. She let him do it. Even worse, she wrapped her arms around his neck and cut the distance between their bodies. Her fingers grasping his hair and his neck simultaneously, letting out a content sigh as the bastard's hands grabbed her healthy leg and put it around his hips.
Damian forced himself to turn away from that horrendous scene before he could see anything worse. What he saw already would definitely haunt him for the rest of his life.
His mind was running at hundred, no, a thousand per hour. Trying desesperately to process and understand what he just saw. What had just been going right behind everyone's backs. Behind his back.
As the shock passed once the realisation settled in, it came the anger. The righteous, murderous rage. He saw red, visualising all kind of creative ways he would spill Drake's blood all over the same bed he defiled his sister in under their noses.
Because Damian knew, just by seeing them, hearing them, that it hadn't been their first time. That they already had done worse than kissing. At that moment, all the hints that he foolishly brushed aside for months came at him like bullets, painfully hitting him over and over as the picture of the cold truth formed in his head. Forcing him to acknowledge what he missed right in front of him all this time. Suddenly, it all made horrible sense.
How dare he?, he thought. How dare this bastard, this unworthy worm, touch his Ukthi like that? Like he had any rights? Like someone like him was worthy of her?
Damian's blood sister, a legitimate member of the Wayne lineage, an heiress, for god's sake. If anything, Damian believed nobody was worthy of her. She carried the Wayne blood in her veins. She deserved someone who matched her standing. Preferably, someone he, Stepmother and Father approved of first.
He was filled with thoughts of storming into that room and kill Drake right there, but he composed himself. Took time to think. Ukthi would most likely be upset if he did that, and such thing would ruin the progress they've made. Besides, the blood would ruin her clothes and the sheets Alfred took so much care in cleaning.
Drake wouldn't die. Not yet. Instead, Damian ran to his own room to reflect. Come to terms with the secret he just uncovered.
He's sharpening his sword, an activity that usually helps his mind relax, but now it's not enough to curve the storm in his head and heart. He keeps thinking on what he should do now. Tell Father and his wife, Ukthi's mother? This affair with Drake has clearly been going on for a while, probably shortly after the arrangement with the bedrooms. It's an insult such thing has been hidden from the family, but if he exposes it now, it would mean not just punishment for Drake, but also shame for Ukthi. Despite everything, Damian can't be mad at her. Of course not. It must've been all Drake's fault, who corrupted her and took advantage of Father's trust to manipulate her into giving herself to him. That must be it. Therefore, it's not fair she goes throught the public embarrasment because of that bastard's undeserving greediness.
That means it falls upon Damian to not only keep this secret, but handle the situation accordingly. He won't bother Father with it. He has far much more pressing matters at the moment, and this affair will definitely shake him enough to distract him from his already demanding duty. Telling Stepmother is not an option either, less she takes matters into her own hands and murders Drake herself. Not like Damian would stop her, but regardless, the worm can't die. Yet.
No, this is his duty. As the blood son, he shall be the one who avenges his sister's honour and saves her from the malicious snake.
He just has to wait. Sooner or later, one of them are bound to make a mistake. Drake might be a prodigy, but he's not perfect. He's made mistakes before. He'll make them again. And Damian will be there to enact his revenge. Make him pay for his crime.
For now, he'll wait and observe. Watch their interactions in a new, much darker light. Biting his tongue with their "accidental" touches. Holding himself back when Drake's face leans in too close. Rolling his eyes at the family's foolish blindless to all of it.
Sooner or later, Drake will learn the consequences of taking what's out of his reach.
Ukthi: "Sister"
a/n: I know next to nothing of Arabic, so I searched up how people refer to their sisters and this one seems to be the most common. If it's wrong, pls let me know.
this would be part of the Tales of Bats and Wolves universe, but it fits my au for any of my Bruce Wayne's daughter aus in general, unless said otherwise.
remember, if you don't like, don't read or comment. nobody is forced to interact with this
@cybergoth1 (here's your sneak peak š hope you enjoy! btw i blame you for my motivation to write more morally questionable pairings, so expect more in the future)
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