Happy For Your Haircut

“So, as much as I love our usual rendezvous,” Wally says nonchalantly, kicking off his shoes at the door like he owns the place. “And trust me, I really do. Writing articles, getting kidnapped, evacuating a city. Thrilling stuff, really.”

You’re half listening to him, staring at the screen of your computer with wide eyes and a slack jaw. The message stares back at you, piercing through you and sending a wave of cold fear through your chest. This isn’t the usual crazy person sending you a conspiracy, or hero trying to get back at a friend.

This is new, this is vicious. 

“—but anyway, I thought we could both use some chill time so I, uh, I brought you something.”

Your head snaps up when he gets a few feet away, eyes narrowing on the familiar figure of the speedster. He’s grinning ear to ear, a Nintendo DS clenched in each hand. He extends a white one to you. 

“You can keep that, by the way. Consider it like an apology gift.”

You’re still silent, the message you’d just read rotating in the back of your mind. The Flash can’t protect you forever. It’s one line, six words and yet, chills walk the length of your spine. Whoever sent it knows, whoever sent it has been watching you.

“Hello? Am I muted or something?” He dips his head down to look at your computer, “what were you working on?”

It’s just as he goes to read it that you quickly close the tab and shut down your computer entirely, swallowing back your fear and focusing back on the speedster. You shakily take the device from him, running your fingers along the cold edges in an attempt to soothe yourself.

You blink, looking up at him. “I haven’t played on one of these in forever.”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” He holds up a bag in his other hand, the familiar logo of your favorite convenience store greeting you. “And I brought snacks. I know, I’m the best ever.”

He’s not sure what he expects you to say to that—a thank you, maybe a playful roll of your eyes? What he’s not expecting is for you to stand up and wrap your arms around his torso, nodding against the warmth of his chest.

It’s only now that you realize he’s changed into plain clothes, jeans and another old band t-shirt that hugs his frame perfectly despite looking about as old as your computer. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly, Wally closing his arms around you and squeezing.

He almost makes a joke about the sudden affection but decides against it. You’re unpredictable—it’s one of the things he’s come to love about you—and he wouldn’t dare jeopardize the future of his hugging chances with you.

He’s grinning that same sunshiney grin when you pull away, holding up one of those translucent game cartridge holders. “I hope you like Mario Party.”

Twenty minutes later and you’re both settled on your couch, an old dvd playing on your boxy tv while you and Wally yell at each other over Mario Party. 

“That is so not fair!” 

You scoff, “you’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first.”

Wally looks at you over the brim of his red DS, green eyes unimpressed. “Maybe,” he admits. “It was still a cheap shot.”

“Just play better, Flas—Wally.”

He blinks. “Oh, speaking of that.”

You pause the game, dropping the DS into your lap to focus on him completely.

He smiles sheepishly. “GL wants to apologize. For the whole attempted kidnapping misunderstanding thing.”

“He sent me an email.”

“He—he did? Did you answer?” You shake your head.

“Fair enough,” he says. “He does feel really bad about it, he’s not usually so…forward.”

“...forward.”

“Kidnap happy, whatever you want to call it.”

That gets a laugh out of you, Wally’s cheeks pinkening at the sound. You can’t help but think he looks cute like this—dressed in plain clothes, getting his ass kicked at Mario Party on your couch, a slight pout on his lips.

You freeze. When was the last time you had a connection like this, the last time you thought someone was cute? You’ve been locked up in your house for so long, you can’t even remember. Something electric sparks in your stomach, erupting like butterflies.

“I finished your article.”

His eyes widen. “The Arsenal one?”

You can’t help but smile at his reaction. “Do you want to see?”

He nods eagerly, following you to your desk and waiting patiently in the seat that’s kinda sorta become his since he’s been coming over. It takes a few minutes for your computer to boot up, the fans whirring to life.

The screen flickers on, Wally looking away while you type in your password and open your documents folder, pulling up the article. He grins wickedly while he reads it, rubbing his hands together like a cartoon supervillain.

“This is perfect but—”

You frown. But what? 

“You don’t have to post it, not if you’re worried about a repeat of…that.”

You shrug weakly, “it’s just a guy with a bow and arrow.”

Wally cracks up, hair bouncing as he shakes his head from side to side. Just a guy with a bow and arrow. He’ll have to tell Roy about that one next time he sees him.

“Plus,” you say a little quieter this time, suddenly interested in the dust collecting between the keys on your keyboard, “I know you’ll come if I call you.”

Wally’s cheeks go from pink to red real quick. So you do trust him again, good to know.

It’s two days before you finally post the article, a bit of pride swelling in your chest when you do. Wally’s gonna be so happy to see it, you can practically see that sunshiney smile on his face.

You’re considering texting him when your computer dings with the familiar sound of your inbox, your flip phone forgotten in your pocket. You open the message eagerly, wondering if it’s Wally already saying something about the article.

Your smile falls immediately when you see what it is. It’s a different email than before—the other one blocked—but it’s unmistakably the same sender.

Don’t ever block me again. I will keep making emails as long as it takes. I’m not upset, just disappointed. Why don’t you answer me? I just want to be with you, is that so much to ask? It’s the Flash, isn’t it? I won’t let him get between us…

You swallow, immediately blocking the email address and turning off your computer. Nausea twists at your stomach. It’s only an email, you tell yourself. It can’t hurt you. But something dark blooms in the corners of your mind, the small possibility that maybe, whoever this person is, they’d go beyond an email.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts at the familiar whoosh of Wally arriving, kicking his shoes off in the same place he always does. You breathe through your fear, forcing your face to be neutral before he makes it up the stairs.

It’s not a big deal. It’s just two emails. Wally doesn’t need to know, it’s only going to make him concerned when he has enough on his plate to worry about.

He rounds the corner, flashing you a smile. “I think that was the best thing I’ve ever read.”

“You think so?”

“I don’t think Arsenal would agree, though.” He chuckles, shaking his head, “his daughter seems to think it’s funny.”

“He has a daughter?” Wally nods, popping what looks to be a piece of pepperoni into his mouth. “Yeah, said she was gonna show it to all her friends, too.”

“Wait—isn’t he like your age? How old is his daughter?”

“Like Robin’s age? Ish.”

You pause, doing the math in your head. Arsenal has a daughter, a teenage daughter. You’re not sure why but it had never really dawned on you before that most of these heroes have real lives, beyond what you see and what you write about them.

Something sinks in your chest. Does Wally have a family? Was the apartment he took you to just a safe house, and he was really lying about just moving? Your head spins, the stupidity and embarrassment of your crush sinking in.

Of course it was a safehouse. Why would a superhero be dumb enough to take you to their personal home?

Wally pokes your side. “Hello? Houston, are you there?”

You swallow. “Do—do you have any kids?” 

Wally catches the slight edge in your voice, the quieter tone, the way you can’t meet his eyes. He frowns, clinging onto your line of thinking like a safety rope, ready to tug you out of the pit you’ve dug for yourself.

“Nope,” he smiles—a peace offering. “It’s just me.”

The storm in your stomach dies. “Yeah, me too,” you say, like he isn’t at your house almost every single day.

Wally staggers over to your couch, flopping on it like he belongs there before whipping out his DS from the pocket of his jeans. He flicks it open with one hand, a grin on his face like he’s just done something majorly impressive.

You get the memo, grabbing your own DS off of your desk and settling in opposite of him on the couch. “More Mario Party today, or did you bring something else I could kick your butt in?”

He holds up another game cartridge, the black and white checkered background all too familiar to you.

“Mario Kart?” You laugh, “okay, it’s your funeral.”

Wally scoffs. “You realize I’m the fastest man alive, right?”

“Not in Mario Kart.” 

“Mhm, you’ll see.”

You smile smugly, loading into the game. “You know, ‘The Flash Sucks At Mario Kart’ would make a pretty good article name…”

He gasps, pressing a hand to his chest like he’s been wounded. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You raise a brow. Try me.

Two hours into your Mario Kart marathon—tied equally for Grand Prix wins with Wally—you’ve almost entirely forgotten about the horrible message you’d read when he first came over.

The sun is sinking outside, the Gotham rain having blotted it out for most of the day anyway. You stretch out your limbs, feet brushing the side of Wally’s thigh as you do.

“Oh, they wanna meet you, by the way.”

You pause your game. “Who does?”

“Arsenal and Green Lantern. Well, you guys already met but….you know what I mean.”

You blink. “Like, kidnapper Green Lantern and—and ‘Arsenal uses aimbot’ Arsenal?”

He recognizes that look in your eyes immediately, like a cornered animal, ready to fight or flee or pull off some creative combination of the both that only you could think of.

Tread lightly, he thinks.

“Yeah, those are the ones.”

“And…they want to meet where exactly?”

Wally cringes. In all the time you’ve been spending together lately, you’d acted so…normal that he’d forgotten your gripes about the outside world. 

“I’m sorry, Wally.” You shake your head, “but it just—it doesn’t feel safe, or a good idea. There’s so many things that could go wrong out there and—”

“You know I have your back, right?”

And he says it so genuinely that it stops you in your tracks. You look at him, eyes slightly wet and vacant. He has your back. 

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he shrugs. “But we could meet at my place, you could even scope it out first. No phones, none of that. And…y’know, it might be nice for you to talk to people who aren’t crazy. Other than me, I mean.”

“Same diff.”

He scoffs but the smile tugging at the corners of his lips betrays him. Always so quick with the comebacks, always so quick on your feet. Yeah, he thinks. You’ll do just fine with his friends.

It’s two days before Wally manages to wrangle you, Kyle and Roy. Surprisingly of the three, you were the easiest to get back to his house.

“So it’s not a safehouse,” you say the minute you end up back in his living room.

He blinks, confused. “Uh, no? Why’d you think that?”

“I just didn’t think a superhero would take someone back to their real house, that’s all.”

“I…didn’t think of it like that.”

You only nod, going about your sweep of his house. No cameras, no wires, nothing to track you with. Smart devices disabled, wifi double encrypted, webcams taped over.

Wally watches you snoop around his apartment like an electronic sniffing dog, pulling out devices he forgot he had and examining them closely. Usually, he’d be agitated from someone digging through all of his things, taking them apart and reassembling them, but with you he almost finds it…cute?

It’s over an hour before you’re finally satisfied, settling back in on the comfort of his sectional and pulling out your DS. 

“Want something to drink?” Wally calls from the inside of his fridge, “I’m having a root beer.”

You nod, “I’ll have one too, please.”

In a flash, he’s setting an iced cold can of it next to you and settling in on the opposite end of the couch. “They should be here any minute.”

You pause your game, taking a breath and digging your nails into your palms. They’re just people, you try to tell yourself. Except they’re not. They’re superheroes, real life people with real life superpowers who real life hate your blog.

“I swear they’re really nice,” he says. “Well, okay, not really. GL is kind of a dick and Arsenal…is also kind of dick. You know what? Just pretend I didn’t say anything.”

You shake your head idly, examining your can of rootbeer for any signs of tampering, The lid is intact, the can is immaculate, there’s no residue anywhere on the shiny metal. For all intents and purposes, it’s safe to drink.

You crack it open and take a sip, setting the timer in your head for 30 minutes. If there’s anything in it, you’ll know by then.

And then the doorbell is ringing and your ears are perking up, Wally rushing to the door to greet them. You trail after him slowly, cautiously smoothing a hand over the t-shirt you decided to wear today.

He opens the door and the two men—still in costume—enter like they own the place. Green Lantern grins and gives Wally a harsh pat on the back, Arsenal clasping his hand with the other redhead’s and pulling him into a bro hug.

You try not to roll your eyes.

“Hey,” Green Lantern greets you, a shy smile on his face. “I’m glad you could make it.”

You swallow and nod, doing your best to not show your concern.

“I’m sorry, by the way. For the whole misunderstanding.” He rubs the back of his neck, “although you did kind of taze me in the first place.”

You slip a hand into your pocket and pull out the bedazzled weapon. “With this thing?”

His mouth falls open, hands raised in surrender. “Is that—did you decorate your taser?”

You smile proudly, turning it over in your hands so he can properly see the array of stickers. 

“Well, that’s a first.” Arsenal says from over his shoulder, suddenly at his side. 

“I just…really like stickers.”

“And misinformation, apparently.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m guessing you didn’t like my article?”

Wally peeks at you from around the back of his head, offering you an encouraging thumbs up. “Hey, at least you weren’t accused of being 5’9’.”

Arsenal snorts. “Fair enough.”

The conversation flows easily from there, each minute bringing some relief to the tension that’s been eating away at you all day. Despite their heroic feats and dorky costumes, they actually seem like pretty nice people. Nicer than the Bats, at least, whose interactions with you typically consist of some sort of yelling.

At some point, someone suggests playing Mario Kart on Wally’s wii—one of the many devices you’d inspected during your sweep of his apartment. Wally sets it up, passing around the remotes.

You only grin wickedly, knowing what’s about to come to the men around you. 

“You’re cheating,” Green Lantern says after your third consecutive win. “You have to be cheating, right?”

You shake your head.

“Maybe you just suck, Ra—GL.”

Green Lantern shoots Wally a look but says nothing.

The minute Wally closes the doors behind them, you breathe a sigh of relief. You can’t remember the last time you’d been around so many people for so long, and your social battery is beyond drained.

It’s only when Wally drops you off in the comfort of your home, both of you slightly wet from the Gotham rain, do you remember what waits for you on your computer. 

You pause, barely reaching a hand out to him as he goes to leave. “Um, Wally?”

“Hm?”

“Can I…can I show you something?”

Nerves chew away at your stomach lining like rats chewing a wire. Your breathing feels shallower, heart hammering at your ribcage. He’s going to be upset you kept this from him.

“Of course,” he smiles warmly, following you up the stairs and to your desk.

The usual chair he sits in is still there, a permanent fixture in your life—much the way he is—now. You settle in and boot up your computer, your usual writing application popping up first by default. Wally fixes you with a toothy grin when he sees your most recent work.

Your mouth falls open when you open your inbox only to see fifteen new messages from a similar email. Another burner account. 

You open the top one, letting Wally read it. His face twists into disgust, confusion, anger and finally, concern. You click on the next one and the one after that and the one after that until you’ve made your way through all of the emails for the day.

“How long?” His voice cracks. “How long has this been going on?”

“A week,” you say quietly. “Maybe a little longer.”

“And you’re just showing me now?”

You frown at his change in tone. “I-I didn’t want to give you anything more to stress about.”

“This is—it’s—fuck.” He tugs at his hair, rising from his chair and pacing the room. “I knew you had some crazies on your blog but this is like, next level.”

“Wally, can you…is it okay if you stay over tonight?”

His face goes blank, something close to a blush creeping over his neck. “Yeah,” he swallows, throat bobbing. “I think I could do that.”

You’re up in an instant, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. “Thank you.”

He finally gives into his urges, brushing his lips over the top of your head. “Anytime.”

(Alt Text: BBL or Buttpads: The Truth About Nightwing)

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Wally:

“Honey, I’m home!” Wally calls, rounding the corner of his apartment with a bag of pastries in one hand and a tray of coffee in the other.

He freezes in his tracks when he sees you, mouth going slack and coffee teetering in his hands. When he’d left you this morning, sound asleep in his bed, looking like you belong there, you certainly hadn’t been dressed like that.

“W-what are you wearing?” He swallows, looking you up and down.

Heat rushes to your face, embarrassment fluttering in your chest. Wally sets down his bounties before he accidentally drops them and goes back to staring, looking at the pair of Flash boxers that are definitely his.

“Sorry! Um, you kinda wrecked my underwear last night and I didn’t want to just be around the house naked so I borrowed something but I can take them off if you—”

“No!” He says it a little too quickly, grinning ear to ear. “Keep em on, you look hot.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I-I do?”

You certainly hadn't considered the plain baggy tee and men’s boxers you swiped from him would make you look hot of all things, especially not with sleep still in your eyes.

Wally’s in front of you in an instant, hands roaming your hips. “Mhm.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, lips ghosting over your ear, “gonna have to rip your underwear off more often.”

Dick:

Dick’s home early from patrol, the moon still out. You should be asleep and yet, here you are: puttering the house for chores, a load of laundry in the wash and a rack of dishes in the dishwasher.

“Sweetheart?” He calls, kicking his shoes off at the door. “You’re still awake?”

You round the corner with a sleepy smile, happy to see him, only for his mouth to fall open when he sees you. You’re completely shirtless, dressed only in a pair of Superman boxers that look all too familiar to him.

“Hi, baby,” you smile. “How was patrol?”

He swallows, throat bobbing, before grinning like an idiot. “Good, what’s with all this?’

You look down at your figure, specifically the red coloured waistband of the boxers you’d swiped from Dick. “Oh, I just threw something on while I do laundry.”

He reaches for you, beckoning you into his arms so his hands can roam the expanse of your sides. He breathes you in, enjoying the feeling of your bare skin beneath the callouses of his hands.

“You look so sexy in my underwear,” he murmurs in your ear, lips teasing the side of your neck. “Need to give me a warning next time.”

“Mhm, or what?”

He smirks against your skin, whispering something so diabolical into your ear that it sends heat between your legs. 

You blink. “Yes, sir.”

Hal:

“Is this okay?”

Hal leans back against the couch, still half-asleep. “Is what okay?”

You gesture to your outfit, or more accurate, lack thereof. Dressed in his boxers and a wifebeater you stole from his closet, your own clothes in the wash, you can’t help but feel a little shy in front of him.

“I’m confused.”

You blink. “The clothes. I borrowed your clothes.”

If Hal wasn’t awake before, he certainly is now. He blinks, brown eyes suddenly wide and taking in the sight of you. His underwear. You’re wearing his underwear, and fuck, they look like they were made for you.

You tilt your head slightly, pursing your lips to fight your smile. “Hal? Earth to Hal?”

“Fuck, sweetheart, don’t look at me like that.”

You prop a hand on your hip. “Or what?”

You have no time to react before he’s engulfing you in his arms and pulling you into his lap, snaring you against his chest. He kisses the side of your neck, early morning stubble rubbing against your skin.

“Or I’m gonna have to take those off of you.”

Barry:

Barry’s not sure what he’s expecting when he wakes up, hair a mess and sleep still in his eyes, but it’s certainly not you, standing at his bedside with a coffee in your hands, dressed in his underwear.

“Good morning,” you say sweetly.

He swallows, pushing himself up in bed and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “G’morning.”

“How did you sleep?”

“Good, good.” He looks you up and down before locking his vision on the sun streaming through his window, doing his best to ignore the way his plane-printed boxers sit on your figure. “I don’t mind but…are you wearing my underwear?”

Your mouth falls open, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine, really.”

“I went to make you coffee and I—I accidentally spilled a bunch on myself and I didn’t want to just be naked…I’m sorry, this must be so weird for you.”

“Seriously, don’t be.” He reaches a hand for you, waiting for you to take it before tugging you into the bed and wrapping you up in your arms. “You look hot,” he mumbles into your ear.

“Mhm?”

He nods into you, pressing himself closer until you can feel his morning wood. “Mhm.”

Roy:

You’re gone when Roy wakes up, the warmth of your figure nestled into his side long gone. He frowns, sitting up and tossing the sheets to the side. It’s a small apartment—two bedrooms, comfortable enough for him and Lian when he has her. You can’t have gone far.

He finds you in the small closet that houses his laundry machine, curled up on the floor with a deep frown on your face. You’re so twisted up that you don’t even notice him come in, or notice the way he’s staring at your choice of attire.

Boxers, his boxers, under the baggy t-shirt he’s gone to bed in. 

Roy squats to the floor in front of you, reaching a gentle hand to rest on your shoulder. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You blink, looking up at him with tired eyes. “My cramps are so bad right now.”

The gears turn in the backs of his mind. Something clicks. “Is that why you’re in my underwear?’

“I bled through mine,” you nod solemnly. “But I found a tampon and—and mine should be clean any minute now.”

Roy leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Keep em as long as you need, baby, but let’s get you off the floor, hm?”

You hum in agreement, letting Roy’s arms fall around your body and lift you off of the floor. “I love you,” you murmur.

He kisses the side of your head. “I love you too.”

Kyle:

Kyle’s beat when he walks through the door, ready to collapse in his bed and sleep for the rest of his life if he can. The mission he’d just returned from was gruelling, his entire body aching and stiff.

He stops in his tracks when he opens the door and finds you asleep in his bed, wearing his boxers and hugging his pillow like it’s a person. A smile comes to his face. Oh, this is too cute.

Kyle pulls out his phone and snaps a few pictures before flopping into the bed next to you and tugging your back into his chest. You blink awake slowly, unfurling your limbs like a cat stretching out in the sun.

“Babe?” You ask, voice still heavy with sleep.

He kisses your shoulder, “hi, baby.”

You smile sleepily, resting a hand over his. “I missed you so much.”

“Mhm, is that why you’re wearing my underwear?”

You nod. “Wearing your shirt, too. Wanted to smell like you.”

Kyle flushes at that. Wanted to smell like you. Like his smell is comforting to you or something.

He presses another kiss to your shoulder. “You’re real cute, you know that?”

“Dork.”

John:

You’re awake. That’s the first thing John notices when he reenters his apartment, fresh off his cigarette break, and finds you leaned against the counter in front of his french press. The second thing he notices is the grey fabric clinging low on your hips, the Calvin Klein waistband sticking out like a sore thumb.

He pauses, admiring the way the sunlight pours through the window and makes you glow. “G’morning, love.”

Your head perks up, a smile on your face. “Hey, you’re back.”

He closes the distance between the two of you, spinning you around so that your back is leaning against the counter and your chest is facing him. He slides his hands down your sides, thumbs tracing your hips.

“Don’t think these are quite your size, love.”

You roll your eyes at his teasing. “Well, my underwear have mysteriously disappeared., and I don’t think you mind the view.”

“It’s a lovely view,” he smirks, tugging you closer. “Shame about your underwear, though. I’m sure they'll turn up.”

You shake your head, laughing at his antics. “You think so?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

You tilt your head up, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “I guess I’ll just have to keep wearing yours, then.”

Guy:

“It’s not that bad.”

“You’re bleeding like a stuck pig,” Guy sighs, tugging your shirt over your head.

You freeze. “Did you just call me a pig?”

“It’s a metaphor or whatever.”

Your eyes roll at your boyfriend, currently fretting over the injuries you sustained on a mission together. Nothing but some cuts and bruises thankfully, but a lot of blood to go with it.

“Here,” he says, turning on the shower. “Get in.”

You hesitate for a minute, shimmying out of the rest of your dirt clothes.

“What? Do you need me in there with you or something?”

“You wish.”

Guy retreats out of the bathroom, not wanting to push you when you already seem to be in a mood, and you climb into the warm water of the shower. You take your sweet time getting clean, frowning at the sight of Guy’s 3-in-1 body wash, shampoo and conditioner.

It’s when you climb out of the shower that you realize your mistake: your clothes are tattered and bloody, and you don’t have any spares.

Guy’s sitting on the couch, flipping through the tv and eating cold strips of steak with his hands when you emerge from his bedroom. He narrows his eyes, examining the outfit you’re wearing.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” He flashes you a toothy grin, looking like he’s going to eat you. “Those are my underwear, yeah?”

You nod, somewhat embarrassed. “My clothes are dirty, so…”

Guy pats his lap, beckoning you to come sit with him. He traces a hand up your thigh, rubbing at the spot where the fabric of his boxers meets the skin of your leg.

“Can wear em as long as you want, doll, so long as you look so damn good in them.”

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