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꒰ content ꒱ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Wally West, Roy Harper
JASON TODD
You’re on his back, arms and legs wrapped around him like a very determined koala.
“Sweetheart, get off me,” Jason groans, struggling to keep his balance.
“No! You’re leaving me.” You tighten your grip.
“Baby, sweetheart, listen to me,” he huffs, both hands gripping your thighs to make sure you don’t fall. “I need to get your meds so you feel better.”
“Oh, so now you think I’m crazy?”
“No—you’re sick!” he insists, finally putting you on the couch. He kneels between your legs, looking at you like you’re the bane of his existence.
“In the head?” you ask suspiciously.
“Physically, dumbass,” he says, rolling his eyes. Then he mumbles, “…Probably that too.”
“You can’t leave me when I’m most vulnerable. I’m gonna die all alone.”
He stiffens. Then with a seriousness that unnerves you, he cups your face in his hands and mutters, “Not letting that happen, yeah? You’re the only thing worth living for.”
You blink, heat crawling over your cheeks. “Oh…”
“But I need to get you medicine so you’ll feel better,” he adds quickly. “It’ll take five minutes tops. Okay?”
“I… yeah. Right. Of course.”
His shoulders slump in relief. He pulls you into his arms, one hand tangling in your hair. “I love you, you menace.”
WALLY WEST
Wally learned very quickly that super speed meant absolutely nothing against you. Not when you weaponized those pretty puppy dog eyes.
He’s zipping into his suit faster than you can speak, and yet you’re already standing in the doorway, a pout forming on your lips.
His heart shatters. It’s a simple thing to others. But to him? The fact that you always want to be with him means everything. It means you love him enough to let him see every part of you.
Including the clingy, pouty version that had your exes running the other way.
Wally, however, lives off your love, bathes in it when the world gets too fast.
“Be safe,” you whisper, tugging your blanket around your shoulders like a shield.
It’s only 7 a.m. on a Saturday. And he wants nothing more than to scoop you up and carry you back to bed.
“Always am, babe.” He grins reassuringly, running a hand through his ginger curls.
“You better be,” you mutter softly. “Need more morning cuddles. How else am I supposed to survive?”
“Aww, you need me?”
“Just your body heat and strong arms.”
He’s in front of you in a blur of red. Your eyes widen.
“You totally need me,” he whispers, lips tugging up. He’s always smiling when he’s with you. A reflex he can’t control.
You roll your eyes. “I simply miss my emotional support vibrator.”
He snickers. “Is that all I am?”
His hands tighten your blankets around you before his arms circle your waist, his breath fanning your ear.
You don’t reply. Instead, you soak in his presence and the peace that comes with it.
“I’ll be back.” He kisses the side of your head, already starting to pull away.
You lean into him, head under his chin. “Five more minutes.”
“Sweetheart…”
You look up at him with wide eyes. “Pretty please?”
He swallows. “…Yeah. Okay. Whatever you want, baby.”
DICK GRAYSON
Dick hates stakeouts. Not because they’re boring or uncomfortable. He’s been doing this long enough for it to be as easy as doing a backflip.
The problem is that he’s leaving you half asleep in bed, the rain tapping against the windows while you pretend to be okay.
“Go to sleep, angel,” he whispers.
On the other side of the comms, you shift in bed, blankets rustling through his earpiece.
“I can’t sleep without you.” In your sleepy state, a hint of a whine slips through, and it makes him want to run straight back home.
“I know, I know. I’ll try to wrap this up quickly.”
You let out a soft, tired sigh that goes straight to his heart. His jaw ticks. He needs to speedrun this stakeout.
“Stop being cute, honey.”
“How else am I supposed to get you back home?”
A hushed laugh escapes him. “You only need to say the word, and I’ll finish up here as fast as I can.”
“Come home then.”
“Working on it.”
You groan. “You hate me.”
“I could never.”
You can’t see him, no one can. But hidden behind the domino mask, his eyes soften anyway, affection written all over his face. He looks like a man completely and hopelessly gone.
“Okay. I love you, Dick,” you murmur into your phone, a tiny smile tugging at your lips.
“I love you more.”
“You know damn well this argument will never end.”
“Maybe I don’t want it to.”
ROY HARPER
The fan did nothing to help. You’re pressed up against Roy, limbs tangled together. It’s a sweltering night, the kind of heatwave the news warned about.
Roy groans, shifting slightly. He’s shirtless, the covers thrown aside. You admire him while curling back against him.
He side eyes you. “Trouble…”
“Yeah?” you mumble into his chest, the vibrations making him shiver.
“Can’t you live without cuddles for a day?” He tries wiggling away from you.
“Move away again and I’ll call Lian over too,” you say, arms going around his neck.
He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.
“Don’t threaten me,” he warns, voice low and amused. “I’ll surrender every time.”
“Only because Lian’s the only one clingier than me,” you whisper before your lulled to sleep by the fall and rise of his chest.
Masterlist
Technically, I only promised a wally drabble if the Seahawks won…but I had to write for the others too
featuring: jason todd, wally west, dick grayson, tim drake, bruce wayne
contains: fluff, crack, established relationship, basically gender neutral reader (wally says “ma’am” once), kind of suggestive (wally)
a/n: me vs not making fun of bruce wayne in text fics
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summary : that trend where guys pretend to plank till failure and end up whimpering for people online.. only, it’s your boyfriend. And he’s actually whimpering.
masterlist , DC Masterlist
You were on the couch scrolling through your phone when Wally decided to become a social media star.
“Baby, watch this,” he said, already dropping to the living room floor in nothing but gray sweatpants. “There’s this trend where guys plank until they fail and post it. The comments are wild. Girls go crazy for it.”
You raised an eyebrow, setting your phone aside. “And you want to do it… why?”
He grinned up at you from the floor, already in plank position — forearms down, body straight, muscles flexing. “Because I’m fast. And strong. And I look really good doing it. Obviously.”
You laughed, sitting up to get a better view. “Alright, speedster. Impress me.”
Wally started strong.
He held the plank like it was nothing, core tight, shoulders steady, that cocky grin still plastered on his face. “See? Easy. I could do this all day.”
You leaned forward, elbows on your knees, watching the way his back muscles shifted under his skin. “You’re showing off.”
“Obviously,” he said, voice steady. “For you. Only you get the VIP view.”
Thirty seconds in, he was still cocky.
“Bet I can beat the record,” he boasted, breathing even. “Those guys online are amateurs. I’m the Flash. I got this.”
You smiled, biting your lip as you watched his arms start to tremble just slightly. “Keep talking, West. We’ll see how long that confidence lasts.”
One minute.
Wally’s grin faltered. His breathing picked up. “Okay… maybe not as easy as I thought. But still fine. Totally fine.”
Two minutes.
His arms were shaking now. A small bead of sweat ran down his temple. “Fuck… why does this hurt so much? I run at Mach speeds and this is what gets me?”
You couldn’t stop smiling. “Because you’re using muscles you don’t usually use for running, genius. Keep going. I’m enjoying the show.”
He huffed a laugh, but it came out strained. “You’re evil. You’re enjoying this way too much.”
Three minutes.
Wally’s whole body was trembling. His breathing was ragged, little grunts escaping him with every second he held on. “Okay… okay, this is harder than it looks. My arms are burning. My core is on fire. Why did I think this was a good idea?”
You leaned closer, resting your chin on your hand. “Because you wanted to show off for your girlfriend. And it’s working. You look really good like this.”
He whimpered.
Actually whimpered.
The sound was small, desperate, and ridiculously hot. His hips dipped for half a second before he forced them back up, arms shaking violently.
“Baby— fuck— I can’t— I’m gonna—”
Four minutes and twelve seconds.
Wally collapsed with a dramatic groan, face planting into the carpet. He rolled onto his back, chest heaving, sweat glistening on his skin, arms spread out like he’d just run a marathon.
“I’m dead,” he panted. “Tell my mother I loved her. Don’t tell the Justice League I went out doing something stupid for clout.”
You laughed, sliding off the couch to straddle his waist. He groaned again — this time less from pain and more from the way you settled on top of him.
“You lasted longer than most guys on the trend,” you teased, running your hands over his chest. His skin was warm and slick with sweat, muscles still twitching from the effort. “And you made the cutest noises at the end.”
He covered his face with both hands, mortified. “I did not whimper.”
“You whimpered,” you said, grinning. You pried his hands away and leaned down, kissing him softly. “It was adorable. And hot. Very hot.”
Wally’s hands settled on your hips, thumbs stroking the skin under your shirt. “You’re never letting me live this down, are you?”
“Nope.” You kissed him again, slower this time, savoring the way he melted under you. His hands slid higher, slipping under your shirt to rest warm against your bare back. The touch was comforting, but there was heat in it too — the way his fingers pressed into your skin, the way his hips shifted just slightly under you.
“You’re evil,” he murmured against your lips. “Making me do that and then sitting on me like this. I’m trying to recover and you’re making it very hard to think straight.”
You rocked against him once, teasing, and he groaned, head falling back against the carpet.
“Baby,” he warned, voice rough. “You keep doing that and this is going to turn into something else entirely.”
You smiled innocently, but your hands were already tracing the lines of his abs, feeling the way they tensed under your touch. “Maybe I want it to.”
Wally’s eyes darkened. He flipped you suddenly, pinning you beneath him on the carpet. His body was warm and heavy in the best way, sweat-slick skin pressing against yours.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispered, kissing you deeply as his hands roamed your body.
He kissed down your neck, sucking lightly at the sensitive skin, then lower, pushing your shirt up so he could mouth at your chest. Every touch was reverent but hungry, like he couldn’t get enough of you.
When he finally pulled back, both of you breathing hard, he rested his forehead against yours.
“I love you,” he said, voice rough. “Even when you make me do stupid trends and then tease me about it.”
You laughed softly, fingers threading through his hair. “I love you too. My dramatic, whimpering, incredibly hot boyfriend.”
He groaned, burying his face in your neck. “Never letting me live that down.”
“Never,” you agreed, kissing his shoulder. “But I’ll make it worth your while.”
Wally held you like that for a long time — bodies tangled on the living room floor, his head on your chest, your fingers in his hair. The city hummed far below, but in your apartment, everything felt warm and safe and silly and perfect.
He might be the fastest man alive.
But with you, he was perfectly happy to slow down and let you win every single time.
a/n : sorry for disappearing for ages.. I been gone..
Angsty Request: DC characters(Roll the dice if you wanna do multi or just choose a random) reacting to Reader’s insecurity about being average. Like surrounded by so many people who are amazing at so many things, they don’t have anything that makes them “stand out” or “special”
Ordinary
navigation , dc navigation
PAIRINGS: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Wally West, Clark Kent, Hal Jordan, Roy Harper
requests are open
It starts, like most things do, small.
A comment at a party. Someone saying oh, you're with him? What do you do? And you'd answered, and watched their face do the thing — the polite thing, the oh, that's nice thing — before they turned back to the person next to you who cured diseases or broke land speed records or could benchpress a building.
You don't say anything about it. It's fine. It's always fine.
It's just that fine has been accumulating for a while.
DICK
Dick finds out the way Dick finds out everything, which is by paying attention when you think he isn't.
You're at one of Bruce's Foundation galas, standing slightly to the left of where the conversation is happening, and Dick is watching you from across the room the way he watches things that matter to him — not obviously, not intrusively, just present in the specific way of someone who has made you his business.
He sees the moment. The woman is talking about her research. The colleague is talking about his company. The way you smile and contribute, and then go slightly, barely, quiet when someone asks the table what everyone does.
He's next to you before you've finished your answer.
His hand finds the small of your back. Not drawing attention. Just there.
Later, in the car, he doesn't say anything immediately. Dick knows when to wait.
"I'm boring," you say, to the window. You hadn't planned to say it. It just came out.
"You're not boring," he says.
"I'm not interesting. Not like — not like them. Not like any of you."
Dick is quiet for a moment.
"Can I tell you something?" he says.
"Don't."
"I'm going to anyway." He glances at you. "I grew up performing. Literally. I was on a trapeze before I could read properly. And then I was Robin, and then I was Nightwing, and my whole life has been about being something extraordinary in front of other people." He pauses. "You know what I wanted, for years, more than anything?"
You don't answer.
"Someone who was just there," he says. "Not performing. Not proving something. Just — present. Real." He takes your hand. "You are the only person in my life who makes me feel like I don't have to be anything other than Richard Grayson. Do you understand how rare that is? Do you understand what that's worth?"
You don't say anything.
"You're not boring," Dick says. "You're the only real thing I've got. That's not nothing. That's everything."
JASON
Jason is the wrong person to be subtle with, and you know it, which is why you don't try.
You say it flat, one night, while he's cleaning his helmet and you're sitting on the kitchen counter: "I don't know what I bring to the table. With you. In general."
He stops.
Puts the helmet down.
Turns to look at you with the expression he gets when he's deciding how to handle something he wasn't expecting.
"Where is this coming from," he says. Not a question.
"Everywhere." You look at your hands. "You're — you're you. And everyone around us is extraordinary. And I'm just — I'm here. I'm regular. I have nothing that — "
"Stop," he says.
"Jason — "
"I said stop." He crosses to where you're sitting, and he's close now, and his voice isn't angry, but it's firm in the way that means he means it. "You want to know what you bring to the table?"
You look at him.
"You don't flinch," he says. "You know what I am. You know everything — the pit, the Joker, the kill list, all of it — and you don't flinch. You don't look at me like I'm a problem to be managed or a tragedy to be fixed." His jaw is tight. "Do you have any idea how many people have looked at me like that? Every single person who matters to me. Everyone." He exhales. "Not you. Never you."
'That's just — that's just me not being scared of you — "
"That's not just anything," he says. "That's everything. You being unafraid of me is the thing that let me stop being afraid of myself."
He doesn't say things like that often. When he does, he means them the way buildings mean their foundations.
"You're not average," Jason says. "You're the bravest person I know. You just don't have a costume for it."
TIM
Tim approaches it like Tim approaches everything, which is logically, and initially, this is the wrong approach.
"There's no objective metric for being extraordinary," he says when you tell him. "The concept is relative and largely socially constructed — "
"Tim."
"I'm just saying that the framing of the question is — "
"Tim, I don't want a philosophical deconstruction. I feel like I'm not special. I feel like I don't belong in this world you all live in."
He stops.
He looks at you.
Tim Drake, to his credit, knows when he's made an error and corrects it fast.
"You're right," he says. "I'm sorry. That was — I went analytical because I don't know how to handle thinking about you feeling like that.' He sits down next to you. 'Can I try again?"
"Yeah," you say.
"You are the most perceptive person I have ever met," he says. "And I live with people who solve crimes for fun. You understand people — actually understand them, not just analyze them — in a way I've spent years trying to learn and still can't." He looks at you seriously. "You understood me. In like three weeks. That took Alfred years. That took Dick decades. You did it in three weeks."
"That's just — paying attention — "
"So is detective work," Tim says. "You just use it differently. You use it to make people feel known." He pauses. "I have never felt as known by anyone as I do by you. That is not a small thing. For me specifically, that is the largest possible thing."
You're quiet.
"You belong here," Tim says. "You belong with me. Those are the same thing, and they're both completely true."
DAMIAN
Damian doesn't find out because you tell him.
Damian finds out because he's Damian, and Damian notices everything, and files it, and brings it up at a time of his choosing, which is never the time you'd choose.
It's three weeks after a League of Assassins gala, of all things, where you'd spent an evening surrounded by people who could kill with seventeen different household objects, and you'd smiled and made conversation and felt comprehensively unremarkable.
You've mostly moved on. You think.
"You've been doing the thing," Damian says, out of nowhere, not looking up from his sketchbook.
"What thing?"
"The thing where you're present but you've decided you're not significant."
You stare at him.
He looks up. His expression is its usual composed, unimpressed default, but his eyes are doing something different. Something that, on anyone else, you'd call careful.
"I don't do a — "
"You've done it consistently since the Al-Ghul event," he says. "Which I should have addressed sooner. I was determining the correct approach."
"And what approach did you determine?"
Damian puts down the sketchbook. He turns to face you fully, which means this is serious.
"I was raised to believe that worth is determined by ability," he says. "By skill. By measurable superiority." A pause. "I was raised incorrectly."
You blink.
"You have no combat training. No powers. No particular strategic credentials." He says this without cruelty, just precision. "And yet you are the only person whose opinion I seek. The only person in whose presence I do not feel the need to perform capability." He holds your gaze. "You make me want to be better. Not because you've demanded it. Simply by existing as you are. By being decent, and kind, and entirely without artifice."
"Damian — "
"That is not average," he says. "That is exceptionally rare. I have met very few people who could survive my family's world and emerge kinder for it." He picks the sketchbook back up. "You are not ordinary. You are precisely the kind of person the extraordinary cannot manufacture, no matter how hard they try."
He goes back to sketching.
The subject is closed.
Except: you notice, later, that what he's drawing is you.
WALLY
Wally West has a lot of feelings and very little ability to not immediately express all of them at top volume, which is usually either the best or worst quality in a person, depending on the situation.
In this situation, it's the best.
"Okay, no," he says when you finish talking. "Nope. Absolutely not. We're not doing this."
"Wally — "
"You feel average? You? You feel average?" He is already pacing, which at Wally speed means he's basically vibrating in place. "You know what average looks like? I am surrounded by people who move at the speed of light and punch satellites, and I still think you're the most impressive person in any room you walk into. Do you know why?"
"Because you love me and you're biased — "
"Yes, and also because it's true." He stops pacing. He comes to stand in front of you with that Wally energy that's always slightly too big for indoor spaces, warm and earnest and completely unguarded. "You know what I think about when everything gets too fast? When it's too loud and too much, and the speed is more curse than gift?"
You don't answer.
"You," he says. "The way you move through a room like you've got all the time in the world. The way nothing seems to panic you. The way you slow everything down just by being there." He takes your hands. "I need you to understand that I run at the speed of sound and you are the only thing that makes me want to stop."
You look at him.
"You're not average," he says, serious for once, fully serious, the Barry Allen seriousness underneath all the Wally West noise. "You are the stillness I can't make myself. That's not a small thing. That's the whole thing."
ROY
Roy doesn't do speeches. Roy does honesty, which is sometimes messier but always lands harder.
"Yeah, I get it," he says when you tell him.
Which is not what you expected.
"You get it," you repeat.
"I've spent half my life next to Oliver Queen, who is generationally talented and also happens to be a superhero. And then Ollie's best friend is literally the fastest man alive." He leans back. "I know what it feels like to be the regular one. Trust me, I have a PhD in it."
"Then you know what I mean."
"I know what you mean," he says. "And I also know it's wrong." He looks at you levelly. "You know what nobody ever talks about? How hard it is to love people like us. People who disappear at two in the morning. Who comes back banged up and won't explain why. Who carries things they can't put down and take it out sideways?" His voice is even. "Most people leave. They can't handle it. And I don't blame them, it's a lot."
'Roy — "
"You stayed," he says. "That's not average. Staying with someone like me — staying with any of us — takes something most people don't have." He meets your eyes. "You want to know what you bring to the table? You make a life possible. An actual life. Not just a mission. Not just a cover identity." He exhales. "I didn't know I needed that. Turns out it's the only thing I actually needed."
You're quiet for a long time.
"You're not the regular one," Roy says. "You're the one who makes the rest of it worth it. There's a difference."
HAL
Hal Jordan's entire personality is confidence, which he sometimes actually has, which means he knows exactly how it sounds when someone's running low on it.
He hears it in you before you finish the sentence.
"Hey," he says, cutting you off gently. "Come back."
"I'm here."
"You're here, but you're doing the thing where you've already decided something, and you're just telling me the conclusion." He sits down across from you. "Start from the beginning."
So you do. You tell him about the feeling — the accumulation of it, the galas and the team-ups and the moments of standing next to someone extraordinary and being, by comparison, just there.
Hal listens. Hal is better at listening than anyone would guess, given everything else about him.
"You know what I've learned," he says, when you're done, "from having a ring that runs on willpower?"
"What?"
"Will isn't about being extraordinary. It's about deciding something matters and not letting go of that decision." He looks at you. "That's it. That's the whole thing. There's no talent component. There's no special gene. It's just — you decide, and you hold on."
"What does that have to do with me?"
"Because you have that," he says simply. "You have it more than most people I know, and I've literally flown through space with some of the most willful beings in the universe." He tilts his head. "You decided this relationship was worth it. You decided to stay in this world, with all of its chaos and its danger and its complete inability to function normally. You decided, and you held on."
"That's not — that's not the same as — "
"It's exactly the same." His voice is quiet and certain in the way that Hal Jordan rarely is, the way underneath all the bravado. "The ring would choose you. I know it would. It picks the ones who don't quit." He reaches over. "You've never quit. Not on me, not on any of us. That's extraordinary. You've just never called it that."
CLARK
Clark is the hardest to tell, because Clark is Clark, and you spend three weeks not saying it.
He notices at week two. He waits until you're ready.
When you finally say it — quietly, sitting on the apartment floor because you'd slid down the wall and hadn't bothered moving — you say: I just don't see what I am to all of this. What I contribute. What makes me matter in a world full of people who change things?
Clark sits down on the floor next to you.
He doesn't say anything immediately.
Clark is the most powerful being on the planet, and he uses that silence like it's something gentle.
"Can I tell you something?" he says, finally.
"If it's about how everyone is valuable in their own way, I'm going to — "
"It's not," he says. "It's about Smallville."
You wait.
"I grew up knowing what I was," he says. "Knowing I was different. And I spent a long time thinking that the power was the point — that what made me matter was what I could do that no one else could." He looks at the middle distance. "And then I got older, and I met people — journalists, farmers, teachers, ordinary people living ordinary lives — who were good in a way that had nothing to do with ability. Who showed up, every day, for the people around them. Who made things better not by being extraordinary but by being decent."
"Clark — "
"Those people changed my life more than the ability ever did," he says. "Being good is not a small thing. Being kind is not a small thing. Being the person who shows up, who stays, who loves without needing to be exceptional — " He looks at you. "That is the hardest thing I have ever encountered. Harder than anything I can lift."
He takes your hand.
"I have never once looked at you and seen someone who doesn't matter," he says. "I have looked at you and seen the kind of person I try to be. The kind of person I'm not sure I've managed yet." A pause. "You are not less than us. You are, in many ways, the thing we're trying to become."
The floor is still the floor. Nothing has changed technically.
But Clark is sitting on it with you, and somehow that makes the distance between ordinary and everything else feel much, much smaller.
(Wally West, Kon El Kent, Roy Harper, Starfire, Hal Jordan, Barry Allen, Clark Kent)
Synopsis: They're caught dating their friend's sister
Tags: Fluff ♡, a bit suggestive at parts, batfam sister, Nightingale alias
They hadn't meant to keep it a secret for so long, honestly. It's just... how do you tell your friend you're banging their sister? Probably start off by phrasing it better.
"Wally we are in public!" You swatted his hand that was travelling low.
"I'm not doing anything babe!" He feigned innocence but you saw the mischief behind his eyes.
"Uh-huh," You walked further ahead leaving his hand hovering where your waist once was. "Sure you weren't."
"Oh c'mon babe!" He jogged to catch up. Your bags of shopping swinging in his hands.
He settled back into your side with an arm around your waist like it was second nature. It was probably was at this point.
"I'm just saying that if you're tired from shopping I know a few ways to—woah!" Wally's body was tugged after you took a sharp left. It was late on a weekday, so the mall wasn't busy.
You pulled your boyfriend into the empty bathroom, dropping the bags to the floor and pushing him against the wall.
He laughed, "I knew you couldn't resist me."
"Shut up and kiss me."
"On it." The kisses were sloppy and desperate, like any other young couple hidden in a bathroom stall.
Your arms were wrapped around his neck like a viper. Your fingers played with the hairs on the base of his neck.
"You're so hot." He pulled away, just an inch or two to make the comment. His lips were covered in your lipgloss. And you swear there was tears in his eyes.
"Don't ruin this on yourself, babe."
"Okay I'll shut up." He nodded and dove back in for your lips.
At some point during your rendezvous, there was a robbery within the mall resulting in Nightwing—your brother showing up. You hadn't heard the alarms, the shouting or the approaching footsteps. Only realising your relationship was about to be found out when Dick's voice rang through your ears.
"What's going on here?"
You jumped away from Wally at the sound of your brother's voice. You looked up to see him peering over the stall door, head resting on his crossed arms.
"Dick...hi?" You searched your mind for what to say, but you came up blank.
"Hey, bro!" Wally's voice came out as a squeak.
"This is disgusting." You squinted at his remark.
You couldn't tell if he was referring to you being pressed up against his best friend, breathless and flushed—or you making out in a mall bathroom stall.
"I'm not judging your relationship, just your taste in makeout spots!"
"I'm judging your relationship!" A strained voice called out.
"Dick are you standing on Damian!?"
"Red Robin, Nightingale," You and your brother perked up at your father's voice. "Both of you head to The Narrows. I suspect there's a lead in our case there." He ordered.
The whole family was in the Batcave working a case involving Scarecrow.
"I shouldn't need to say this but—be careful." Bruce looked at you both sternly.
The gaze would freak out anyone else but everyone in the cave recognises it as fondness and worry.
"You got it!" You threw a silly salute before heading towards the cave exit, Tim following closely.
"And stick together!" Dick shouted as you vanished into the night.
Gotham could be kinda pretty at night. If you know the right places. You and Tim had split up—even though Dick told you to stick together. It was fine, you could still see each other. Supposedly, Scarecrow had enlisted a group of low-life criminals to transport canisters filled with his newest rendition of fear gas. You were crouched on a rooftop, peering over the ledge, scanning The Narrows for anyone or anything suspicious. It had been 27 minutes and 45 seconds since you arrived...and nothing has happened. Not even a stray cat to coo at.
"Do you want to play eye spy?" You saw Tim freeze and make a confused face at your question through the comms.
"We're on patrol." He deadpanned.
"But I'm so bored!" He sighed as you let your body go limp, half hanging off the building ledge, something you know any of your other brothers would scold you for.
Good thing you were with the one brother who lets you be stupid because he knows somehow you'll always come out successful.
"I'll demote you from favourite brother if you don't play." You threatened.
"I'm not playing eye spy in the middle of patrol Nightingale." He said through his teeth, holding the bridge of his nose.
"I'll replace your position with Damian."
"You wouldn't dare!"
"Oh, I would!" Just as the argument escalated a group of voices emerged from the shadows.
"This is where he said." An older guy, smoker by the sounds of it.
Two younger guys followed him, probably around college graduate age. They slipped into a run-down warehouse.
"There's an open window to the second floor and a back door," Tim informed you, having studied the blueprint beforehand.
"Let's go."
Dick's voice rang in your mind; "Stick together." It was laughable how quickly you and Tim had gotten separated. You hadn't realised the warehouse was designed like a maze. Some thug ambushed you when you entered. They didn't do any major damage—a scratch on the cheek. Worst of all he smashed your comm. You had no way of contacting Tim. Unless you wanted to yell across the warehouse and alert everyone you were here.
You snuck around the building, careful not to make loud footsteps. You're investigation eventually led to a hallway. A hallway you quickly realised reeked of gasoline.
"Shit." You whispered to yourself as the flick of a lighter sounded at the end of the hall.
A trail of fire lit up before you. The flames licked at you costume as you retreated. In the corner of your peripheral you spotted the worst thing you could; explosives.
"Fuck."
The hallway lit up bright and a deadening sound filled your ears. Definitely damaging your eardrums. But you didn't feel the pain of burns or debris crushing you. Instead, you felt a safe embrace that flew you out the shattered window.
"Kon!?"
"Heya babe!" He flashed a smig smile. He settled you onto a nearby rooftop.
"You okay?" His hands cupped your face. His thumb gently grazes over the scratch.
"I'm fine but—Tim!"
"I saw him chasing some guy down an alley amoment ago. He's alright." Knowing your brother wasn't affected by the explosion you could let yourself stare into your boyfriend's lovesick eyes.
"How'd this happen?" He lightly tapped the cut on your cheek.
"Got ambushed by some guy, destroyed my comm. B won't be happy about that..." You grimaced at the thought of returning to the cave.
"Don't worry yourself babe," Kon leaned in and pecked the space between the cut and your eye. "You can always call me—your handsome, super-boyfriend, to cheer you up!"
"What are you doing?" Tim grappled up onto the roof to see something he'd never thought he'd see.
You both stared at Tim like you'd just been caught committing a felony. All you and Kon could do is move your mouths like you were going to say something. But nothing ever came out. Tim didn't need to be a trained detective or a genius to understand the secret he'd just discovered. He really didn't know what to say.
"All I ask is that you never be," He lifted his fingers to form quotations. "cute, in front of me."
"Roy what the fuck!?" You whispered yelled, only wearing a towel as you'd just showered.
Roy was perched on your windowsill. One leg bent and the other aimlessly swinging back and forth.
"Shouldn't be leaving your windows open this late babe," He pointed out before dropping to his feet. "Someone could break in." He sported a stupid grin.
"Roy—"
"You look gorgeous." His eyes raked over your body, watching a few droplets of water slip down your skin.
A calloused hand cupped your cheek and all of a sudden your mind went blank. He stepped closer to fill the space. His hand found your lower back through the damp towel.
"How'd I get so lucky?" He chuckled before swooping in for a kiss.
Your hands fisted the towel. You desperately wanted to get your hands on him, it had been awhile since you two were together. And that was because—
"Dude! What the fuck!?"
Jason was crashing at your apartment. Jason—who although friends with Roy—believed him to be a bad influence and didn't want you two hanging out. Let alone making out. You jumped away from the kiss but Roy pulled you back into his arms. Your knuckles turned white from how tightly you were holding onto the towel, and your sanity.
"Jason get out of my room!" You screamed.
"Why is Roy in your room!?" As his sister, you can confidently tell people that the rumours are true; Jason is a massive drama queen.
"None of your business!"
"I think it is my business why my best friend is in your room, when your only in a towel!"
"Dude," Roy began. Jason just gave a stern look in response. "She's an adult." Roy placed a pile of clothes you had thrown on your bed into your hands. He ushered you back into your bathroom to change.
Their voices were a little muffled but you could make out what they were saying.
"Roy what the hell!"
"Jay—"
"We talked about this!"
"That you don't think I'm a good influence based on my past? Yeah I know we've talked about this—hearing that from my best friend kinda stuck with me!"
It went silent on their end for a moment. The wind came through the open window to fill the void. And your clothes were annoyingly loud in the silence.
"Jason, she's your sister, I get that you're worried for her, but she's an adult. She can make her own decisions." He sighed.
"You know better than anyone how smart she is Jay, trust her—and me—please?"
You crept out of the bathroom, the door squeaking unceremoniously. Jason had his arms crossed, and a sour expression on his face as his gaze flicked between you and Roy.
"You better not fuck this up." That was all he said before exiting your room.
"You let me know and I'll kill him!" He added, shouting from down the hallway.
You shut the door and locked it, sighing. "Where were we?"
The misson had gone south. Like very far down south. So south that Bruce and Dick had sent you away to a safe house and wouldn't let anyone else know where you were south. You hated it. There was absolutely nothing to do and all you could hope for was that Dick would show up and tell you that the coast was clear and you could go home. Glass shattering had your head snapping towards the bedroom so fast you heard a crack. You quickly grabbed your weapons and headed towards the room.
You leaned your ear against the door. There was movement so definitely some kids' stray ball.
"Sunny?" You stood straighter at the nickname and voice.
You swung the door open, your weapons dropping to the floor. There she stood—Koriand'r; your secret girlfriend. Who you hadn't been allowed to call or text this whole time.
"Kori!" You ran to her arms. The Tamaranean lifted you with ease, your body instantly curling around hers like a koala.
"Sunny! Why have you not been speaking to me?" She asked with sad eyes. You gave a nervous laugh.
"Last misson, didn't end so well," her eyes immediately scanned you for any major injuries. "I got out alright—kinda?" She didn't look please to hear that.
"Allow me to assist." She sat you down on the bed.
You winced a little. How exactly do you tell your girlfriend whom you haven't been speaking to for at least two weeks, that you got roughed up and shot at?
"To properly assist I must remove the cloth barrier."
"What?"
Kori was already removing you clothes before you could process what she'd said. You were sat in your underwear. Your bruises and stitches on full display. She gasped.
"Sunbeam! What has happened?"
"Baby it's fine, Dick patched me before dropping me here!"
"What the hell is going on?" Your eyes widened at the sound of your brother's voice.
"Starfire?"
"Nightwing! How dare you!" She got up from crouching in front of you. You took the opportunity to gain some dignity back and put your clothes on.
"How dare I what?" Dick was nothing but confused.
"How dare you hide my lover from me!"
Dick choked on air at the statement.
"Lover!?"
"Kori!" You gasped.
Dick backed up from the angry Tamaranean.
"I just came by to tell you that everything's been sorted, so—"
"So you will give me back my lover?" Her eyes were sparkling with hope now.
Even if you weren't safe to leave you don't think Dick would've been able to deny her to be with you. He was also a little scared of the sudden switch-up.
"Uh, yeah!" She skipped back over to you.
Her hug knocks you both onto the bed. You looked over to Dick and he gave a betrayed look at the fact that you never updated him on your love life. You weren't going to hear the end of this for a while.
Oh shit, he's going to tell Bruce.
"Who's the new girl?" Barry asked.
"This is Nightingale, she is my sister and will be helping out on the case." Barry nodded at Bruce before stretching his hand out to greet you.
"I'm Flash, nice to meet ya!" You shook his hand firmly, giving him a polite smile.
"Nice to meet you too."
A sudden burst of green light brought your attention to the door. Your eyes widened at who emerged from the light. Hal Jordan—your secret boyfriend.
"Well hello." Hal flirted before remembering where he was and clocking who was standing beside you.
"Who's she? New member?"
"Temporary. Nightingale is helping us on our new case." Barry caught Hal up on what he had missed. "She's Bats sister!"
He nodded and gave you a once-over. He knew you were a vigilante, but he'd never seen you in your suits. Damn, you were hot.
"Hal." Bruce called sternly.
"Uh—nice to meet you." He gave a stiff handshake. Trying to act like he'd never held your hands before.
"You too."
"You already know Queen." Bruce motioned towards Oliver, who had a shit eating grin on his face.
"Hey junior."
"Hello Oliver." Bruce gave Oliver an odd look for his mischievous smile.
You gave a small wave to Dinah who sat beside Oliver. She gave a wave and a knowing smile back. Diana and Clark made there way into the meeting room. Shortly after the introductions you all sat down and began discussing the case.
You were stood at the top of the room informing the League of all your collected evidence and leads on the case. Hal knew he should've been paying attention but he simply couldn't pay attention when you looked so good. Your latex suit carved out your figure Hal loved so much perfectly.
"Hal? Hal? Hal!" Barry's voice and shove to the shoulder brought him out of his dream.
"What?" Oliver and Dinah stiffled laughs behind their hands. Barry gave a confused look, whilst Clark and Diana hid small smiles at the exchange. He didn't have to look in Bruce's direction to feel his scowl and glare.
"Sorry, what was the last part?" He scratched his neck.
"I said," You repeated the previous piece of information to him. You tried your best to look him in the eyes and not stumble over your words.
"Got it." He said, although you didn't entirely believe he was actually listening. He still seemed to be distracted by your attire.
"Alright, what was that?" Barry pulled Hal aside after the meeting.
"What was what?" Hal played stupid. He knew exactly what Barry was talking about.
"You know what I'm asking about." Barry settled beside him in the kitchen. He was throwing together a sandwich stuffed with almost everything in the fridge. Hal settled for a coffee.
"C'mon man, tell me." He begged with a mouth full of sandwich. Hal rolled his eyes.
"Okay—but dont say anything." He gave Barry a serious look. Barry only smiled with crumbs on his cheeks. Hal scanned the kitchen, it was just the two of them.
"Okay, me and Nightingale have been seeing eachother for—"
"You're dating Nightingale!?" Barry yelled in shock. Hal felt his eyes twitch at the outburst.
"Hal."
Barry's eyes widened. Hal's body tensed up. He turned around to see you and Bruce in the doorway.
"Damn, good for you."
"Shut up Barry!" Bruce and Hal shouted in sync.
It was another day of sneaking out of Gotham to Central City with the excuse of work. In reality, you're sneaking around with your speedy boyfriend, like college students with strict parents. Except you just have a protective brother who happens to be the colleague of your boyfriend Barry. He'd finally gotten a day off from STAR Labs and thankfully hadn't been much crime activity. It was the perfect time for a date. And maybe a sleepover.
"Stop—I'm trying to focus!" Barry laughed as you poked at him.
Due to you being a public figure restaurant dates were a no. Couldn't risk the paparazzi outing you to your family.
"But you're so cute!" You smiled and wrapped your arms around his neck.
He did his best to watch the boiling pasta. But how could he with such a beautiful woman wrapped around him? One hand stirred with a wooden spoon. It didn't take long for both his hands to settle around your waist though. Barry smiled fondly as your manicured hands cupped his face.
"God, you're so handsome." You purred, biting your lip slightly.
"Is it hot in here?" Barry grinned sheepishly.
"Just kiss me." You demanded in a sultry tone, your nose brushing his. Barry wasted no time diving in to meet your tinted lips.
The simple kiss quickly escalated into more. Since he couldn't treat you to a fancy restaurant date, he did the best he could to improvise by dressing in the only fancy clothes he had. Now his hair was ruffled with you fingers tangled in it. His tie was loose and the top of his shirt was unbuttoned with the collar stood up. You pulled away from the kiss to give your work a once over. He looked at you with a dopey smile. He was flushed all over. The blood rush nearly hid the lipstick marks all over him.
"What are you laughing at?" You giggled even harder at the question. His voice slurred with lovesickness.
"You look drunk."
"Drunk on love." You howl laughed in response. He gripped your hips as you leaned back laughing, your hands resting on his exposed chest.
"C'mere." He quickly lifted you onto the counter. His hands rested very low on your back. Your lips founds his again. And at some point, one of you accidently hit League gadget Barry had left lying around. Caught up in moment neither of you heard it ring. Nor did you see the hologram screen with Batman—your brother appear.
He cleared his throat.
"Oh my god!" You screamed and pushed Barry off you.
Your hands covered the incriminating smudged lipstick. There was no way you were lying your way out of this. Even if he hadn't caught this kiss; what were you doing with Barry? And why does he look like he just fought with Cupid?
"Uh—I—Bats! Didn't see ya there!" Barry stuttered.
"Mhm."
"Bruce?" You piped up. Embarrassment written all over your face.
"Mhm?"
"Can we talk—uhm—later maybe?"
"Mhm."
"Okay—thanks—great talk—bye!" You reached out to shut the device beside you off.
"Your pasta's boiling over." Bruce pointed out before disappearing.
"Oh shit!" Barry cried.
There's was a monster outbreak in Metropolis. Superman was trying to handle to situation as peacefully as possible. He was flying around, trying to tire out the creature so he'd be able to bring them away safely. He swooped around buildings and caught stuck civilians, flying them to safety.
He saved an old lady and her cat, three kids who got separated from their teacher, and a squirrel. There was minimal damage to the surrounding buildings so far.
"Mommy!" A little girl he'd just saved from a falling traffic light ran to her mother.
"Thank you, Superman!" She cried as he hugged her daughter tightly.
"No problem!" He shot back up into the air to continue the fight.
All the civilians were a safe distance away. He was 100% focused, he almost had the creature—a truck was thrown down the streets, towards a woman—towards you. He immediately redirected his attention. Quickly picking you up and flying to a nearby rooftop.
"Honey, are you okay? W-what are you doing here?" His voice quivered as he scanned over you. He instantly noticed the limp in your leg, and there was dry blood on your ankle.
"Uh-I came to the suprise you." You admitted breathlessly from screaming. "Not the kind of suprise I'd hope to give!"
Clark froze, he didn't want to leave you but he didn't want to leave the people of Metropolis to find for themsleves.
"What are you waiting for!? Go!" You shooed him off, but no before he could give you a kiss on the cheek.
"I'll be back!" He shouted as he dived off the building ledge.
"Good luck!"
Clark smiled briefly for the cameras once the fight was over. The creature being ethically dealt with.
"Superman! Superman! Can you spare a moment-"
"I'm afraid I have to go!" He gently removed the microphone that was being shoved into his face. "Take care, everyone!"
He flew off into the sky, discreetly returning to the rooftop he'd left you on.
"Honey! Are you still here?" He called out. He sighed in relief at the sight of you with your ankle bandaged up. Only to freeze at the glare being sent his way. Not be you.
"Batman! What are you doing here?"
"I'd like to know what you're doing with my sister? Clark." He looked to you for confirmation about the situation. He could tell by your guilty expression that you hadn't updated your brother on your love life.
"I believe Ms. Wayne would be better at answering your questions." Bruce turned to face you. You let out a nervous laugh as your brother toward over you.
"Uhm—," You cleared your throat. "Well—you see—uhm—me and Clark are kinda—"
"Get to it."
"Sorta dating?" You told him like it was a question. Something you could backtrack on if he didn't approve.
"I see." That was all he said before he vanished. Claiming he had business to attend to.
"Why'd you leave it up to me?!" You punched Clark's shoulder. He didn't move an inch.
"I'm sorry love," His arms wrap around your waist. "It's not my fault you're keeping secrets though."
Your hands rested on his chest, his heartbeat erratic from the fight, but also you.
"C'mere." One of his large hands found your cheek, pulling you into a sweet kiss.
A/N: Clark Kent is such a "Honey, I'm home!" guy. Hal's my favourite freak I need to write something for him. I need to write more for these characters in general. Currently obsessed with Wally and trying to write something for him rn. I'd love to hear some ideas for these characters!
