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!! 🥺🙏 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.

“Dick,” you slowly blinked. “I think I know what you want to tell me.”

“Oh?” He lazily smiled.

You spoke with a strange softness in your tone. It almost sounded pitying. He would’ve hated it had it not come from you. “But then again, I might be confused.”

Dick shook his head. “You're probably not.”

“Right.”

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.

“Why me?” You breathed.

Dick raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“I don't know, because you have a thousand friends you get along with and a thousand people who would want to be with you like this, so why are you here kissing me right now instead of them?”

“...I don't know.”

“Well, that's encouraging,” 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. “All I know is that when my nights end and I go to bed…I always want to be here in your arms instead,” he continued, biting his bottom lip when you took a sharp intake of breath. “I've wanted that for a long time. Maybe,” definitely, “since I first met you.”

“Oh…that's crazy.”

“‘That's crazy’?” Dick couldn’t help but chuckle at the phrasing. “That's all you have to say?”

“Well, what am I supposed to say to that?” 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 time he got to touch you like this for as long as he lived.

“I don't know, I'm sorry. It's just— I just couldn't resist you anymore,” Dick huffed. “And just to be clear, I don’t mean that platonically.”

“No, this isn’t platonic at all,” you shuffled around but didn’t leave. Not yet. “It’s— I'm not really like your exes.”

“No.”

You lightly snorted despite the sombre mood that had befallen the both of you. “You don't need to say it that quickly,” Dick hummed, bemused. “Well, your exes are so…different from me. Batgirl, who turned into Oracle – the well-established data handler and coordinator behind nearly every successful vigilante case in this state and worldwide. Or— or Starfire – the gorgeous warrior princess who leads or assists nearly every successful space travel mission. They’re your exes, right?”

Dick blinked then smiled despite feeling like he was screaming inside. This was how you were rejecting him? Really? “How do you know all of that?”

“I wouldn't be a good informant if I didn't know my stuff,” you said with the undertone of mischief in your voice. “Anyway, back to my point. They are not like me at all. I don't know why you would be into me…if you are actually into me…”

“I am.”

You swallowed audibly. “Well, I don't know why you would be when you were dating them or yo— you’re in-between dating them or whatever.”

“You’re implying that liking someone makes any sense in the first place,” Dick knocked his forehead into yours and stunned you silent. “By all rights, I should like Wonder Woman. She's in the league, so we understand each other, not to mention she’s 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 don’t.”

You listened along, and Dick grasped your hands too, unable to stop his mouth from telling you everything that’s been on his mind forever. From telling you how he felt all this time. “I 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 like you. I...I love you.”

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. “And obviously you're pretty and funny and cute and reliable and caring and good. You have a hundred different great qualities, but it's not really about that. It’s— 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 – not trying to be weird, even though it is – I kind of want to sit inside of your pocket and just stay in there. That’s how down bad I am,” Dick sighed, leaning back and feeling his momentum near its end. “I’m sorry for hiding this from you for so long. I just didn’t want to ruin the flow of things, you know?”

You…were you even breathing anymore? He didn’t 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.

“It’s OK,” you eventually said, blessedly still in his arms. “That wasn't weird, that was nice. I’m just…I need to process…all of...that.”

Dick nodded. “Sure, take your time.”

“Yeah,” you nodded back.

Dick bit his lip then decided to say this regardless. “Feel free to reject me, because I did just turn up one night and kept you from sleeping and—”

But you shook your head. “No, it's cool. I’m happy you told me…I don’t blame you for hiding this, I like to go with the flow sometimes, as well. Being friends with you has been…nice. And, I mean, hugging you like this has been just as nice. I just hadn’t thought this meant anything else…”

“I’m sorry,” Dick dropped your hands.

You shook your head again, gripping his fingers. “Don't be. I don't know how to explain it yet, but you make me...feel things I've not felt for anyone before too.”

…

What?

Dick’s heart was in his throat as it jumped to conclusions. “‘Feel things?’”

“Now that I think about it...” you nervously avoided his eyes. “I think I have some feelings for you, Dick.”

He froze completely still, statues moved more than he did in that moment.

There was no way.

“It’s not like I’ve been harbouring them!” You quickly defended, gaze darting away immediately once yours met his. “If anything…I’ve 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 didn’t work. I never considered it…but now I’m considering it. You know?”

There was no way.

“Does that mean...?” Dick mumbled, dazedly.

“Yeah, I think it means—”

“Does this mean we can kiss?” Dick blurted out, excited beyond comprehensible thought.

“What?” You stared, alarmed, and he froze.

Dick immediately backtracked, throwing the question back. “No! What? I didn’t say anything.”

You clearly hadn’t been expecting that. “…You want to kiss?”

“...You don't want to?” Dick withered.

You paused. Then, “I…do…but…”

“Does that mean you,” Dick interlocking your fingers together as he looked at your face for signs of falsehood and found none. There was no fucking way! “Actually, like me too?”

“…I’m not sure,” you admitted, which was fine. More 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. “That makes sense, you friend-zoned me so hard I was honestly impressed.”

“You did that to me too,” you pouted. “You said early on that we were friends, and I thought you weren’t open to dating, so I don't want to hear judgment from you, sir.”

“I guess it's kind of karma.”

“Well, not really, since I'm not saying…no.”

Dick choked, gaped like a fish and then tried to force out the words around a smile. “Then it’s karma for…making you wait and not being completely transparent from the start. I just had no idea you were even interested.”

You huffed, playing with his fingers. He played back. “Well, of course not. I was intimidated by you guys. All of you in the Titans are pretty attractive for the most part, so…”

“You're saying I blend in?” 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. “Oh, no. You’re the worst. Don’t you remember how tense I was around you the first few times we hung out? Haven’t you noticed that I barely let you touch me at all until recently?”

“I…have,” it had been disappointing.

“Exactly. Why do you think that was?”

Dick connected the dots, and boy, oh, boy. He might leap for joy if you weren’t careful. “You're saying it was because you found me…hot?”

You seriously nodded. “Extremely so, yeah. More than anyone else. I didn’t want to get attached, so I avoided it,” a familiar tingle greeted him in his stomach. Dick knew he could be charming in all the right ways, but it hadn’t mattered unless you thought so too. And to know that you did?

“That’s great,” 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. “So, you really think I look good?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Dick, you’re gorgeous. I’m oblivious, not blind.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Dick couldn’t hold back a shit-eating grin and you looked away in a poor attempt to hide a similar expression. He would’ve called you out on it had he not been vibrating with glee.

“This is by far the most disorienting confession I've ever experienced,” you admitted a beat later.

“Sorry, I should have brought flowers,” Dick wanted to get up, but he feared breaking whatever spell had given him this once-in-a-lifetime magical fortune. “I was just tired, you know, of not saying anything and— and now the relief is just making me even more tired.”

You laughed, meeting his eyes again with something warm, something tender, something he hadn’t ever seen before. “Why don’t we sleep then? It’s late.”

“Mmm,” 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. “I need you to make me a promise.”

“Promise…what?”

“I need you to promise that you won't be gone when I wake up. Promise you won’t go on that date with him.”

“That’s a given. I...was never that interested in him, it was just...he reminded me of you, I guess.”

The man who couldn’t manage to CC him in an email reminded you of Dick?

“Really?”

“Really,” 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. “Do you still want me to promise?”

“I do. I might sleep in for a bit, not too long, promise me you’ll stay?” Dick shut his eyes in apprehension.

“It is my house, I don’t plan on leaving.”

Dick made a noise of protest.

“I promise,” you passively agreed.

“I don't believe that,” Dick shifted back just a bit so you could see each other and playfully asked. “Where's your pinky?”

“My pinky is here, sir!” You returned with the same energy, releasing a hand only to hold your pinky up ready between you.

“Right, soldier, show me your pinky. Extend it, yes, and curl it with mine. Yes, good job!” You laughed along, and Dick loved how easy it was to make you do so. It had always been easy. “However,” he pushed. “I still don't think I believe you.”

“Well, that's unfortunate, sir. What could I possibly do to convince you?”

This was cheeky, but. “Lay one on me.”

You blinked, surprised. “…What?”

“You heard me,” Dick’s voice lowered, punch-drunk as he greedily tapped his lips while staring at yours. All soft and plump and tasty. “Lay one on me.”

“I-I don't think that's very professional, sir.”

Dick laughed. “Well, sometimes it's fine to go a bit off-the-book, soldier.”

You leaned in, staring at his in return. “…And this will seal the promise?”

“Certainly,” you hesitated and for a second, Dick was going to take it all back, go slow instead of full speed ahead.

When you whispered, “Anything you say, sir.”

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 couldn’t get enough.

“Dick—” 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.

“Dick,” you repeated, quiet.

“Yes?”

“Is this? Do you…?” Dick couldn’t 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.

“Do you believe me now?” You gasped the question against his lips when he kissed the corner of your mouth.

“I believe you now…mon ami,” Dick relaxed, bringing you close so you could rest, whispering the term like a pet name.

“You better,” 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.

Dick Grayson had many friends, yes.

But he had never had one as remarkable as you.

⇦ Part 3

MASTERLIST

-

♡. ⤷ do i look like him? your husband, dick grayson, is finally facing his greatest fear—becoming like his father and mentor, bruce wayne.

❤︎──── ❛❛dick 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 doorway—fists clenched, fire in his eyes—and 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 night—why can't i?”

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 years—for 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 then—that 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 ready—for 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 storm—guilt thick in his chest—he 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 was—the 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 is—maybe 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 alone—calling, 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.

maybe it was growth.

maybe it was love.

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

-🍓

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.

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!”

you suppressed a chuckle as you watched your five-year-old daughter standing tall on the couch, wearing a paper mask poorly shaped like batman’s 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.

“but how do you know what he looks like? he's always wearing a mask!” 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 — 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 apartment’s 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 he’d 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 don’t eat, i'll have to tell batman that his sidekick isn’t 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.

"how’s 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 didn’t even notice the display of affection. normally, she would’ve made a gagging noise, followed by a dramatic, “bleh!”.

"she's missing you a lot" you said kissing the top of his head. a familiar scent makes you pause for a moment.

"you're using my shampoo again, aren't you?"

"maybe?"

──── think i need someone older, just a little bit colder...

❤︎──── pairing: jason todd x older!reader.

❤︎──── summary: ❛❛there's nothing sweeter than you, his dad’s best friend.❞

warnings. +18. age gap. jason todd loves milfs. mommy kink. jason is whipped. switch!jason. headcanon. fem reader. reader is bruce's best friend. smut. reader is a mom. ©velvet-milk.

❤︎──── thinking about jason peter todd's weird fascination with you, his dad’s 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.

❤︎──── 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, you’d 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 didn’t condescend. you didn’t ignore him. you saw him.

❤︎──── you offered small things. advice, praise, quiet conversations in corners when no one else cared to ask how he was doing. things that shouldn’t 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.

❤︎──── 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 you’d 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.

❤︎──── 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.

❤︎──── he wonders if you’ve noticed the way he looks at you now. he wonders what you’d 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.

❤︎──── jason's gotten off to the thought of it more times than he’ll ever admit. your voice in his ear, soft and knowing, whispering, "that’s 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 he’s a grown man now, a man who can make you laugh, who can protect you, who can make you cum over and over until you’re nothing but a sobbing mess. nothing like the civilian loser you married years ago, the one you settled for.

❤︎──── and jason would be so good to your kids, a patient, cool stepdad. and unlike your man, he’d be strong enough to protect them. he’d 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.

❤︎──── he thinks about your age constantly. not in a mocking way. but in a worshipful way. you’ve seen shit in your many years as a vigilant. fought gods and aliens. you don’t flinch from violence, don’t coddle him. you’re smarter than any woman, any girl, he’s ever met, tougher than most men he’s fought. you don’t need anyone, and that’s exactly why he wants to be the one you choose. the one you look at.

❤︎──── and if you ever let him close enough, he’d show you exactly what kind of man he’s become. what kind of man you helped shape. he’d 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. he’d call you "ma’am" 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.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

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.

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.

──── everybody knows that i'm a good boy, officer...

❤︎──── pairing: dick grayson x officer!reader.

❤︎──── summary: ❛❛as the newest cop on blüdhaven’s force, you hated masked freaks. nightwing, the masked freak himself, wants nothing more than your delicious, sweet approval. and maybe your naked body.❞

WARNINGS. dick wants your pussy so much he looks fucking stupid. 18+, jerking off. authority kink on his part. he loves a hot woman in uniform. flirting, charming nightwing. female reader. officer reader. ©velvet-milk.

❤︎──── The first time he saw you, he had just taken down two armed robbers outside a liquor store — 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 — 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 soliciting’s 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 didn’t flinch. Just blew a bubble with your gum and popped it. Dick glanced down at himself — the skintight suit, the very iconic symbol across his chest — 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 didn’t get mad. Just gave you this slow, stunned little laugh, like he wasn’t 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, don’t 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… that’s Nightwing."

You didn’t even flinch.

"Night-who?" you said, glancing at her like she’d just made up a word. "Why would I know his stage name?"

She turned to you, pale. "He’s, like… famous. National superhero famous."

Yeah, he fucking was. Thank you very much.

He took one last look at you — still lounging behind the wheel, smirking like you hadn’t just verbally curb-stomped a national hero. The other cop couldn’t 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.

❤︎──── 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 BHPD’s internal database. When Babs and Tim asked, he muttered something about "tracking a person of interest in the department."

Which, technically, wasn’t 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. "That’s the suspect. Definitely her."

He kept digging. It wasn’t 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 — 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? He’d 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 wasn’t 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 didn’t 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 hadn’t 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.

You’d 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.

He’d choke on a groan, eyes rolling back, biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, because you wouldn’t 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 — 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 who’d never even touched a woman.

What the hell had you done to him, officer?

ᴀɴ ᴜɴᴛᴇɴᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴄᴇ!

Ch. 1 here

❣ Dick Grayson x F!reader

❣ 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 you’ve dragged him into, despite Jason’s disapproval. You desperately need a goddamn nap and some food. As for Haley, the grey dog with three legs... she just hopes that you’ll buy her some of the name-brand dog food for her next meal.

❣ Author’s Note(s): 

→ [Spike Spiegel, I see you in everyone I’ve ever loved.] → This chapter is more personal than I wanted it to be, but I am too tired to edit. Maybe it’s more dialogue heavy than I’d like it to be but hey, I’ve never written a plot this complex before.  → Mysteries abound! What the hell is everyone hiding? And who’s going to betray who? How badly does Dick wanna fuck you? Stay tuned to find out, babes!

Greek God AU | Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 2k synopsis: The goddess of love. The god of war. A love that even death couldn’t end. a/n: Still working through requests! Work’s 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.

beyond the cowl | chapter 02 | batfamily x isekaide!reader

masterlist | chapter 01 | chapter 03.

synopsis: ❛❛you'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.❞

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 couldn’t 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 — 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 weren’t 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 hadn’t 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… haven’t seen someone look at a bouillabaisse like it personally insulted them."

"That’s 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? You’ve been here, what — a day? Half a day? You woke up in a room you didn’t recognize, in a reality that isn’t yours, wearing silk pajamas and the weight of a whole new identity.

You’re just a barista. You don’t belong here. But you’re 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 didn’t 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 isn’t 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, doesn’t look up. "You’re 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. There’s a bandage there, snug, slightly crusted at the edge with dried blood. You hadn’t even noticed it until now. Dick’s 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 he’s 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. "You’re supposed to let me know when it starts hurting again," he says, voice low. A quiet scolding. Gentle, but real.

You don’t know what to say. You didn’t even know it was hurting. You didn’t 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 ‘come on’ 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 doesn’t bat an eye.

Apparently, this is normal. You’re 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.

"You’ve 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. It’s 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 can’t believe you walked away from that fall," he murmurs, peeling off the tape with gentle precision. "You’re 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.

"You’re 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. You’re usually mouthier."

You almost smile. "I’ll 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. I’ll 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 you’re unraveling from something as simple as kindness. He leaves the room, and you’re alone. Sitting in someone else’s life, wearing someone else’s 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 didn’t just hand you a glass of water. He handed you a phone.

"It’s finally ready. B asked me to give this back to you," he said, holding it out.

Your phone.

Except it wasn’t 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 you’d 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 he’d nearly lost. It was so much love, it made you want to look away.

"Sleep tight, girl wonder".

"You too…"

You wait for him to leave before unlocking the phone, praying there’s not some retina-scan protocol you’re about to fail.

It opens. The wallpaper it’s 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.

It looks like Bali. Or the Maldives. Or some other place you’ve only seen on travel vlogs during your break at the café. Who knows. You were too broke in your actual life to even understand that kind of luxury.

You blink at the photo like it might shift into something you do recognize. But it doesn’t. It’s 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 and—

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? I’m literally trying to sleep.

Cass: ….

B: Don’t 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. Dick’s texts are frequent and sweet, full of check-ins and bad jokes. He’s clearly your soft spot, and it’s 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 there’s Bruce, and he’s somehow the driest and weirdly affectionate person alive.

Bruce: I’ve 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. You’ve grown.

And then you stare at the most recent one like it’s a hallucination. Things went downhill fast. Because there’s Roy Harper. And the Titans group chat, nice. Apparently, you were part of another superhero team. Because being Bruce Wayne’s ward and part of this weird ‘vigilant cult’ wasn’t enough existential horror. No. You were also a titan.

Fuck.

And again… There’s 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: You’re 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. That’s 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 hadn’t 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 didn’t stop there, God clearly wasn’t 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. I’m in the Narrows and some dickhead just broke two of my fingers. I’m sleeping there tonight," Jason Todd said casually, like he was asking to borrow sugar, over the sound of definite gunfire, someone screaming, and what might’ve been a Molotov cocktail.

You froze. "Wait, what—?"

"Don’t worry, I’m 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, I’m literally in the manor."

"Yeah, I know," he grunted, like you were the idiot here. "I’m breaking into your apartment. Just figured I’d 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.

Roy’s nudes. An apartment you didn’t know existed. A Vogue spread?!

"What the actual fuck is my life," you whispered.

tag-list: @rosescarlettx, @btsloveer07-blog, @rainbowstar, @xingyunny, @mikyapixie, @sheep-from-rad, @fandomly-obsessed, @migilore, @natsukicookies, @candlewitch-cryptic, @socialmess-jery, @mona1704, @dieforcoffee26, @stupouid, @astrelz, @dind1n, @cxcilla, @mimi-sanisanidiot, @ceridwyn3, @sunako50, @lilithquillete, @rainbowstar, @ninihrtss, @dind1n, @blondwhxrewrites, @rosiita-fresita, @lovely-maryj, @vxsire, @navs-bhat, @notwhoy0uthink, @capswife, @siriuslyobsessedwithfiction, @nickey-diano, @eyeless-kun, @corvoqueen, @electronicmuffinstudentmake-blog, @irenehart02, @0sunnyside01, @mapletree999999999, @iamapotatoe, @smithieandy, @skcj24, @melaninqueen04

﹟— ❛❛cause when you know you know. part 1.

☆﹟— paring: fem!reader x dick grayson.

☆﹟— summary: you've always had dick grayson's heart in your hands, since you were just sixteen.

☆﹟— 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 holland’s spiderman and the comics. rip uncle ben. the amazing divider was made by @bernardsbendystraws, thank you!. some spiderman: homecoming lore. ☆﹟— MASTERLIST. NEXT.

WAYNE GALAS WERE ALWAYS THE SAME — 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 wasn’t 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 Gotham’s elite. Wrapped in a simple blue dress that couldn’t 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.

Dick’s 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 — a massive clean energy project meant to transform both Gotham and New York. The media was already drooling over it.

"…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 — it’s 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 — or maybe just looking for an excuse to brag — he turned slightly and gestured toward you.

"And speaking of genius," he said, "I’d like you to meet my brilliant intern. Absolute prodigy. I’m 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. "It’s a pleasure to meet you."

You hurried forward, shaking his hand a little too quickly. "Um — thank you, Mr. Wayne. It’s, uh, an honor to be here."

Tony clapped a hand on your shoulder, nearly knocking you off balance. "Kid’s working on tech that’ll make arc reactors look like antique junk. Don’t let the nerves fool you — she’s the real deal."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Is that so? I’d love to hear more about your work sometime."

You flushed bright red, mumbling something about polymer synthesis and energy conductivity — something brilliant that Dick couldn’t entirely follow, but he caught enough to be impressed. And amused. You were so obviously genuine — completely different from the polished, self-important guests around you.

Bruce must’ve 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 — the kind that made Gotham’s elite swoon. But the second your eyes met, you visibly froze like you weren’t sure whether to shake his hand, run away, or throw up.

"H-hi," you said, voice quick, bright — and unmistakably thick with a Queens accent. "It’s, uh, real nice to meetcha."

Dick grinned wider, immediately charmed. "Pleasure’s 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. "She’s from Queens," he explained. "You know — where people actually say what they mean and don’t 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 — a real smile this time, the kind that crinkled your eyes and hit him somewhere he hadn’t expected. Bruce’s phone buzzed discreetly in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, then gave a small, apologetic nod. "If you’ll 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 don’t you two go mingle? God knows she needs more friends."

You groaned under your breath. "Oh my god, Mr. Stark, please don’t."

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. It’s pretty different from all this… you know, money and marble columns."

Dick laughed. "Trust me, you’re not missing much. All it means is you get invited to boring parties like this one."

You laughed too — a real, snorting laugh that made a couple of nearby socialites glance over disapprovingly. You barely noticed.

"So, what’s 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? He’s been good to me. Not a lotta people would take a chance on some random kid from Queens."

Dick raised an eyebrow, interested. "Random? C’mon, 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 don’t 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, y’know? Not a lotta money. Lost my folks when I was little."

You said it so casually — like you were talking about the weather — 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 hadn’t been there before. "Guess so. But hey," he added, nudging your shoulder lightly, "at least you’re smart enough to build your way outta Queens."

You shrugged again, feeling your face heat. "Yeah, well. You’re the one who looks like he belongs in a magazine."

Dick gave you a mock-offended gasp. "Are you saying I’m just a pretty face?"

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. "I’m just sayin’, 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 didn’t. Despite being hundreds of miles apart — you in New York, Dick in Gotham — 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 didn’t take long before the truth slipped out.

You were Spiderwoman. He was Robin.

The discovery was a complete accident — 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. we’re training next time ur in gotham."

When Homecoming season rolled around, you weren’t even planning on going. Crowded dances weren’t really your thing. But then Tony Stark, with his usual flair for the dramatic, said something like, “Kid, you gotta have at least one normal high school experience before you get arrested by the feds or something,” and signed you up himself.

The only problem?

You didn’t 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 he’d 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. "You’re literally Bruce Wayne’s kid. You clean up by existing."

Still, you took his arm.

Inside the gym — decorated with cheap streamers and a truly tragic DJ — heads turned immediately. Whispers broke out like wildfire.

"Wait… is that Bruce Wayne’s son?"

"He’s so hot in person. I just saw an article about The Flying Graysons-"

"Eww, isn’t 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 — the stares, the whispers — and just tightened his hold on your arm, leaning down to murmur in your ear: "They’re just jealous they didn’t 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 wasn’t punching itself in the face.

Instead, you just said, "Whatever, rich boy. Let’s dance before I regret this."

And somehow, with Dick’s hand wrapped around yours and the gym lights flickering overhead, you realized you were having the best night of your life — 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 — 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 — 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 didn’t 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 — it was kind of your thing. Always had been.

What you didn’t expect was to walk into the kitchen and see him—

Leaning casually against the counter like he owned the place, grinning like he hadn’t 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 — the one that should’ve 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 hadn’t 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! You’re supposed to call before you show up in my city."

"What, and ruin the surprise?" he teased, ruffling your hair — 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! It’s so good to see you!"

"Richard," you snickered under your breath, watching Dick grimace in horror as May pulled him into a hug.

"She’s the only one allowed to call me that," he grumbled as he shot you a look over May’s shoulder.

You grinned. God, you’d missed him.

There was a way Dick fit into your life that no one else could replicate — like he was the missing piece to a puzzle you hadn’t 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 — 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 Gotham’s golden boy to Nightwing — the heart of Blüdhaven, the hero everyone loved. He wasn’t just a sidekick anymore. He was the blueprint.

Kids in Blüdhaven wore Nightwing shirts and told stories about how he’d saved their dad or helped their aunt or dropped off Christmas gifts at the shelters. He was the hero people wanted to be — 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 couldn’t even put into words.

And looking at him now — a little older, a little more worn around the edges, but still him — you realized how much he still made you feel like you weren’t 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, "how’s your thing with MJ going?"

His tone was careful — soft — 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. How’s 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 — the kind only two people who knew each other too well could slip into without it feeling awkward — and then you smirked.

"Well, there’s your problem. You’re into gingers."

He snorted. "You’re into gingers."

You pointed at him like you just cracked the code of the universe.

"Exactly. That’s why we both have commitment issues. Everyone knows gingers are secretly evil."

Dick barked a laugh, shaking his head.

"Evil and dangerously attractive. It’s a lose-lose."

"Honestly," you sighed dramatically, "it’s not our fault we keep getting attached to soulless, beautiful monsters."

He grinned wide, that stupidly charming Nightwing grin.

"Soulless monsters — sounds like half the people we fight too."

"At least fighting bad guys doesn’t leave me crying into a tub of ice cream at two a.m."

Dick’s eyes twinkled with mischief.

"I guess you forgot your little friend Felicia Hardy in this sentence."

You gasped, smacking his arm — 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.

"You’re lucky I’m 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 GQ’s ‘Sexiest Heroes Alive’ list. Honestly, it’s 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 — 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 you’d 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?"

"Don’t be dramatic," he said, rolling his eyes fondly. "Tim’s covering me this weekend. Blüdhaven’s in good hands."

You studied him again — really studied him — 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.

"It’s May fourth," he said quietly.

You froze for a beat. Of course.

You didn’t need him to say anything else. You knew exactly what that date meant.

Uncle Ben’s 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 — 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, don’t you?"

The question hit harder than you’d expected, like he’d plucked the thought right from your mind. You met his eyes for the first time since he’d dropped that bomb. The guilt, all of it, was there — clear and raw. You didn’t 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 can’t save everyone. I’ve been doing this long enough to know that."

You almost laughed at how ridiculous it sounded coming from him. Dick Grayson — Nightwing, a hero, a Titan — 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.

"I’m not like you," you whispered. The words sounded bitter in your mouth. "I’m not like him. I could’ve done more, should’ve done more. I—"

"Stop," Dick interrupted, his voice firm but caring. "You did everything you could. But you can’t 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 — only the kind of acceptance that made your chest tighten. He’d seen your worst moments. And somehow, even in those, he still cared.

He was always there, wasn’t he? Even when it felt like the whole world was crashing down around you, he was the constant you could rely on. He didn’t need to say a word — he just was.

"I’m sorry," you muttered, shaking your head. "I should’ve been better, Dick. He deserved better. He would be alive—"

Dick’s hand moved to your shoulder, his grip solid, like he was holding you together in a way no one else could.

"You don’t have to carry that on your own," he said quietly. "And you don’t have to keep punishing yourself, either. Ben wouldn’t want that."

You clenched your jaw, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. But the dam was breaking. Slowly, painfully, the tears you didn’t realize were there started to well up. And Dick — always, always there — pulled you into his arms without hesitation.

"Hey," he whispered into your hair, his voice soothing, "You’re not alone. I’m here, alright? And so is May. We’re all here."

You clung to him for a second longer than you probably should’ve, your hands gripping the back of his shirt like it was a lifeline. Maybe it was. You hadn’t 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."

Dick’s 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 — 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 — the smallest, softest thing — and it broke something inside you in the best way. It wasn’t 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 — 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.

"You’re 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 — 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 — yeah, maybe a little snot too. "You’re 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.

"You’re 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 May’s voice coming from the kitchen doorway.

"Well, isn’t this the cutest thing I’ve 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 weren’t two seconds away from crumbling.

Aunt May just smiled knowingly, walking over to kiss your temple and then ruffle Dick’s hair, making him squawk in protest. "Always good to see you, honey. But next time, you know, call first".

"Yes, ma’am," he grumbled, fixing his hair like some offended cat.

"Come on, you two," she said, already turning back toward the kitchen. "There’s 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 Ben’s grave, the city felt quieter and worst than usual. Maybe it was just the way your heart was beating — 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 didn’t rush you. He didn’t 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 — solid and silent and sure — 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.

©cybergoth1, 2025

Pairing: Tim Drake x Bruce Wayne's daughter

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.