When the mask slips ââË.â
PAIRING : Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader
SUMMARY : When the vigilante life feels exhausting, you're there to make it bearable.
TW : self doubt, depression, insomnia, hurt/comfort, mentions of physical injuries, exhaustion, cuddling, established relationship, use of petnames.
A/N : I am feral for Dick Grayson. That's it. That's the note. I freaking love him so much he deserves a hug he deserves ALL THE LOVE IN THE WORLD AND I LOVE HIM SM someone put me in a straitjacket he got that elder sibling syndrome that hits too close to home UGH my BABY đ„ș (younger than him btw)
Might be worth mentioning I am very new to DC, and English isn't my first language, so forgive me for any possible out-of-character moments and grammatical mistakes, thank you! Happy reading <3
divider credits : @hyuneskkami
Dick is tired. So damn tired. His legs feel numb and his arms feel like they're just uselessly hanging on. He tugs off his suit- the material sticking uncomfortably to his skin as he tosses his domino mask on the table.
It was another one of those nights- kicking ass and getting ass kicked- it became a routine now; dragging himself to stand under the steaming hot water of the shower and throw on whatever clothes he had laying around before he left- he's utterly exhausted. He crawls into bed, turning over restlessly under the sheets- shutting his eyes to drift off into merciful slumber but damnit, he just can't sleep.
His eyes squint open slightly when he hears you enter the bedroom- door creaking a little and then shut close, footsteps softy hitting the floor as you get into bed.
"Hey..." he mutters, voice a little hoarse as he shifts to give you more space to lay down beside him. He's about to ask you what you're doing still up so late when he feels your soft fingers brushing through his messy hair- a result of the harsh, unforgiving winds of gotham from patrol.
You hold him close to your heart, letting his head rest on your chest, and Dick melts letting out a sound somewhere between a low whine and a relieved sigh. The sound of your heartbeat dull in his ears giving him a sense of comfort. An anchor to reality. His eyes flutter shut breathing in your scent- home. You smell like home.
"Y'know," He chuckles, surprised he even has the energy to do that now, "thought I'd be used to it by now" he shifts his head a little, arms tightening around you- not firm, but just enough. Just enough so he's physically reminded you're still here.
" 's never enough. I just.... give and give and I-" he pauses, exhaling deeply. He doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't want to even think about it, if he's being honest. Just wants to be here- in your arms. safe. loved. wanted.
"shh 's okay, baby" you coo, cradling his head closer, his breath warm across your collarbone. He swallows, furrowing his brow a little, voice coming out barely above a whisper, "don't leave.... please"
" 'd never dream of it" you murmur, lips brushing his forehead in a gentle kiss.
His breath gets caught in his throat- he's in his sweatpants and tank top- muscles still aching from patrol as Nightwing- his back hurts, his head aches, but god does he feel like a little kid again. Like he's back in his mother's arms. Before everything. Before all of it. And he never wants to let go- thinks its kind of selfish- just wanting to stay like this forever, but yeah maybe he wants selfish. Maybe he deserves some selfish after all these years. And you let him be.
You know he doesn't need you to protect him- he can take care of himself just fine- that's what he tells himself when he stumbles into your shared apartment on nights he felt too guilty to wake you up- let you know he's hurt, he needs help- no, he doesn't wanna get you all worried- he's Nightwing, for God's sake. He's supposed to save people, keep them safe, reassure them.
not enough. never enough. will it ever be enough?
The questions swirl around in his mind on sleepless nights when he's physically exhausted from fighting out there all night but his mind can't shut up.
Luckily, you're there for him on nights like those. Nights like this one.
It doesn't take long for his breathing to slow down, chest rising up and down in that familiar rhythm- until he's asleep in your arms- passed out- so, so tired.
He looks peaceful like this, you think. He looks younger- not as Nightwing, but as the boy behind the domino mask he puts on every night and pretends he's enough for Gotham- for Bludhaven- for the world. Not the pretty face-vigilante on posters and billboards but the man in your arms, bruises still blooming on his knees and arms as he wraps himself around you- like he's scared you'll slip away if he loosens his hold on you- like he's seen too much- done too much- and you're the last fragment left in his life that reminds him of any sort of normalcy or comfort- too precious to be lost. sacred.
You feel your heart ache as you hold him close- a feeling you can't quite place. Something you can't name.
And you just want to have him like this in your arms- forever.
For however long this world lets you relish in his presence.
You don't realise the tears that wet your eyes until you're blinking them back.
Maybe you don't say it to each other yet, but you can tell.
From the lazy mornings you have your leg still draped over his, sheets still warm from the night before, sunlight seeping in through the curtains as he has you pressed close to him.
On rainy days he comes home dripping like a wet dog and gets the water droplets all on you as he shakes his head- and you squeal, smacking his arm for getting you both cold now- rolling your eyes, that smile he loves to see on your face so much painted on your lips cause you can't get mad at him.
On the walks down to the ridiculously overpriced cafe he still insists you go cause "its got your favourite flavour of cheescake!"
On afternoons he stares at you with hearts in his eyes, absent-mindedly nodding along to your rambling- probably about some jerk from work or a stupid character arc from that corny book you're always glued to.
On Friday nights you huddle close on his stupidly small couch- technically you could get a bigger one, but the smell of your perfume mixed with his cologne and the memories of fighting over popcorn still linger- and secretly you just want an excuse to be close to each other.
You loved him so much, it hurt.
Because you knew the price of loving Dick Grayson- unfinished breakfasts as he rushes out with a quick kiss to the cheek because he had some emergency meeting with Bruce again.
Forgotten dates because he was too busy kicking ass in some dark Gotham alleyway.
Days he'd just disappear sometimes- too tired to explain where he ran off to- and the never ending fear of whether you'd see him with a broken arm in your bed- or a bullet wound in his side- or if you'd even ever see him again.
But this was fine. for now, atleast. Because you knew he'd always come back home.
And even if it was hard, even if he didn't one day? you're never gonna be ready for that day to come, really- but you'd always love him. Quietly. Softly. In your own way.
Maybe that's why he fell so hard for you- the ray of light in his miserable, crappy life; a slither of hope for his fading sanity.
All his, forever and only his.
