#dick graysonxreader

[chthonia27]

A game of cat and mouse.

Dick Grayson x F!reader.

Content: A secret admirer’s love knows no bounds.

Word count: 1.2k

The city lights shone brilliantly in the dark of night, perched on a rooftop was the ex boy wonder, Nightwing. The harsh wind of winter blew in his hair, messing the strands of onyx out of their rightful place. He looked down to his escrima sticks, twirling it in one of his hands before gazing out to the city once more. It was nothing new, he thought. As much as he adored doing what he did, he couldn’t deny it was rather tiresome most nights, and as skilled as he was, he was always subjected to a few injuries at best. He wiped the dried blood from his lip, graciously given to him from the previous wannabe villain gang. He couldn’t help but grimace at the thought, so many criminals were emerging from seemingly no where, with no real motive other than wanting to be thorns at his side.

Once more, he swung into action. Slithering in and melting into the shadows, stealthily taking out any targets presented. He knew he should be focusing, knew he shouldn’t be distracted, but all he could think about was her. The newest member of the Young justice, the most stunning woman he’d ever met, plagued his mind frequently. Her beauty was that of a siren, her voice the sweetest melody he’d been blessed to hear, and her eyes. Oh her eyes. He would dream of gazing into them during some not to innocent moments. He adored her, loved her even. She was perfect in his eyes, a dream turned reality for him. Not even the endless teasing from his teammates could deter him from clinging onto her, hovering around her whenever he could despite her protests. She was a bit of a loner, charismatic and seductive, yes. But she often chose to isolate herself whenever possible. Whether that was after missions, during patrols or during team building missions. So! He had to improvise somehow, right? He couldn’t ever get more than a few words out of her, usually laced with snark and sarcasm. It was a game to him, multiple bouquets of flowers stuffing her room, to lavish jewels, beautiful hand written love letters to trinkets he believed she’d indulge in. He never signed a name to his gifts, having to stifle a laugh and play coy whenever he’d catch wind of her frustration with her mystery gift giver.

But alas, he couldn’t afford to be thinking about her. Not while he was currently dodging bullets and taking down men left and right. It was a constant, vicious cycle. One he’d been tangled with his entire life. Always having to perform, however that translated to. Circus or battlefield, it was draining regardless. Gods knew he deserved a break, a long vacation with the holder of his heart in a far away paradise. A man could dream. Soon enough, he finished his patrol gracefully, with many criminals that roamed the streets of Gotham now behind bars. Dick grappled back to Mount justice, entering the cave with haste, his eyes searching for her. He entered the common room, where his team was situated. Friends he’d fought with almost all of his teenage years, people for whom he’d led and supported. That’s besides the point, they aren’t the main focus currently. Prior to returning, he’d managed the energy to buy another gift. An ethereal set of diamond necklaces, adorned with pearls that sat snug between the stones. A pretty red ribbon to secure the jewellery box and he was set! Admittedly, he’d spent many thousands on her, and this little habit of his has only started two weeks ago. Had he gone overboard? Of course not! How else would he acquire the love of such a beauty? He called out to his team, “Evening, guys!”, leaving the room before anyone could respond. Tiptoeing around the cave, he reached her room. Leaning his head against the door, he listened for any sounds or presence of life on the room, smirking victoriously when he confirmed she wasn’t inside. He set her gift on her bed and took in her space. Her room reeked of goth, the tall black canopy bed with intricate engravings, the velvet black curtain drape of the bed adding a sense of both privacy and comfort. Her furniture vintage and Victorian looking, and candles accompanied by roses adorned every surface in view. So elegant, so her. Taking a rose, he placed it on top of the jewellery box, once more given with an unsigned identity. Sneaking out of her room, he went about his own nightly routine, showering and dressing himself before doing his hair. Always well kept, especially in her presence. It was rather cute, really. How he’d try to impress her every way possible, always so put together for her. Entering the kitchen, he took out many ingredients and began cooking, taking advantage that most teammates were now preparing to enter the night’s embrace, leaving the only two insomniacs alone. A romantic dinner, for a hopeless romantic.

While he worked on dinner for the two, a nightly routine for the night owls, he hummed softly. His favourite part of the day, coming home and being able to spend time with her, wether he was the one cooking or not, her presence was enough to satiate the longing in his heart. Most of the time. Like clock work, she emerged from her room and graced Dick with her presence. Her stunning hair wet from her shower, and an almost tired look in her gorgeous eyes. His breath hitched when he caught sight of her. She belonged in a painting, he was sure of it.

“What’s on the menu tonight, master Grayson?”, she teased with a smirk that sent shivers of lust down his spine. “Carbonara, doll.”, his smooth voice rung out easily. She hummed in acknowledgment and sat down on the kitchen stool, chin in hand as she watched the man work. She had to admit, he was a sight for sore eyes. Muscles rippling under his shirt, his hair messily attractive after his bath, and his cologne wafting through the kitchen subtly in a way that almost made her want to kiss and mark him. Almost. But there was another pressing matter at hand, one she’d been dying to figure out.

“Dick.”

“Yes?”

“Is it you?”

Now that caught him off guard. Did she know? Had she seen through his attempts at secrecy? “Is what me?”, he said nonchalantly, a skill he’d adapted over many years living alongside his brothers. “The gifts. Is it you?”, her voice firm yet quiet. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, doll. You’ve been receiving gifts? Should I be jealous?”, he casually shot back as a smirk tugged at his lips and sighed internally as she seemed to have bought it. He prepared her plate, giving her a generous amount of the food he’d made, and sat a wine glass down next to it, pouring only the finest wine he’d come across. A perk of being adopted by a billionaire, he supposed. Being able to decipher and build upon an extensive knowledge of the most refined beverages.

“Cheers, love.”

My very first writing piece! Please let me know what you think or anything that could be improved! I hope you’ve enjoyed! :3

[aspiratinganxiety]

Can I request the sleepover head canon ?💕

Of course you can, baby doll! I am sorry it took me so long to get to it… 

Anyway, I am writing these headcanons as though the reader and the character are already in an established relationship. Rather than offer a play by play of what sharing a night with this character looks like, I’m instead breaking down how the topic of overnight stays developed or effects the relationship between the reader and their partner.

If you were wanting platonic interactions or some first time sleeping over imagines, please let me know! Also, I tend to write female insert characters unless otherwise directed or inclined. 

If you’d like this same prompt with a male s/o, please tell me.  

Also, I ran out of steam before getting to Damian. I may very well come back to add him to this post. For now though, it is 3:17 am, and your girl is tired. 

Now, this prompt is the letter S from @imagine-mcu​‘s alphabet of headcanon prompts. Thank you, imagine-mcu. I am grateful for the access to this resource, and I hope you don’t mind that I am using it for DC materials 😂   

Dick: 

-Listen, you are positive that you’re not the first girlfriend whose home Richard Grayson has quietly annexed. There’s a method, okay? A foolproof strategy designed to optimize the amount of time he has with you at every opportunity. 

-As far as he’s concerned, it is the only logical way to progress in a relationship that he deems serious. His line of work is perilous, dammit. He’s a patient man, but he’s not a friggin’ saint. Tiptoeing through the awkward do-si-do of “should I stay or should I go?” every single time the two of you wind up fooling around in one or the other’s apartment is a waste of effort that could be geared toward activities that are much, much more fun.

-Even before you outright know that he’s Nightwing (you heavily suspect), Dick’s begun the invasion. First, he always wants to stay at your place. Works for you. Sleeping in your own bed is a gift, and he has a lot less to worry about in terms of hygiene maintenance.

-Why fight an agreeable tide? 

-And that’s just what he counts on for Phase 2. He wants to keep a change of clothes and some extra toiletries around your place now that it’s the go-to. 

-Some pajamas. 

-Maybe a jacket and a pair or three of socks. 

-Oh, yeah! He forgot to mention that Bruce sometimes calls him into the WE office on short notice to contract with the sub-company under his name. Could he have a sliver of your closet for a suit? He does’t want it to get wrinkled in the drawer you cleared out for his things.  

-Sure, normal enough… except that you’ve only been dating for a month n’ a half. Exclusively for a scant three weeks (Your last boyfriend lived out of a duffel bag that you kept by the shoe rack in your front room for 9 months before you even let him have the drawer).  

-Whatever. You and Dick both keep tight schedules, and it’s not as though anything is feeling rushed or overwhelming. Just the opposite: you feel like you can’t spend enough time with him! 

-You quickly make a habit of using his man-smell soap for a change of pace on occasion. Or a spritz of his cologne here and there when it’s been a busy week and you miss him, even though it’s only been 4 days since he was last there. 2 days since your lunch date. 

-Shut up.

-You haven’t quite mapped out the rest of the moves that he put into play, but before you know what’s happening, nearly all of the space in your weensy, Tupperware container of an apartment is divided equally between you and your boyfriend of less than three months. 

-All of this to say that Dick’s sleepovers don’t feel like sleepovers, they’re just Tuesdays. Or Saturdays. Or Wednesdays. Whatever the hell day he shows up, lets himself in with the spare key that you didn’t so much as hesitate to have made for him, and goes about eating all of your Frosted Flakes.

Jason:

-Sleepovers are rare for Jason toward the beginning of your relationship. Not just because he accidentally punched you in his sleep once, though that did put the kibosh on overnight visits for a while. The predominant reasoning that he cited when apologetically declining one of your invitations involved his hours being flipped completely around. Most nights, when sleepovers are meant to be happening, Jason is hard at work sussing out the details of a case or running a patrol. 

-Simply put, he felt like there was no reason for him to be skulking in and out of your place in the dead of night, disrupting your rest, just because he’s chosen to live one doozy of an unorthodox life. 

-However, this noble resolve deteriorates quickly.   

-Jason’s dedication and the singular advantage of being the only full-time vigilante in the whole batfamily also means that he’s out of the country on lengthy, long distance assignments more often than any of the others. 

-The nights Jason gets home from these missions had proven to be the best time for you to arrange overnight stays. Days, sometime weeks of being completely out of contact with one another has a way of asserting all of the comforts and satisfactions that you find in your partner’s company, both physically and emotionally. 

-He’s real weak to the line, “But baby, I’ve missed you so much!” too…

-10/10.

-It’s super effective!

-Look, it’s not like you pressed when you got the impression that he didn’t want to have you over or be at your place because he needed space to work through something risky or complicated. 

-You’re not stupid or some spoiled, manipulative brat. 

-Jason’s life is hard, painful, and incomprehensibly dangerous. He’s not looking to change one damn thing about that either. His lives exactly as he wants, minus some small tweaking here and there where old ghosts are concerned. 

-You understood this from day one.

-Unfortunately, it took a much longer time for him to figure out that you didn’t give a single fuck about missed sleep or nosy neighbors assuming he was a drug-dealer and filing complaints because he buzzed in at 4 o’clock in the morning. With the way that he lived…

-No, because of the way that he lived, you wanted to capitalize on every single moment that he could bear to spend with you. 

-Some people went lifetimes never knowing a love like the one you had for Jason. Hell would be seeing a snowstorm if you were gonna’ let the idiot continue to rob you of his presence because he was afraid of inconveniencing you. 

-Once that was through his thick, self-depreciating skull, the need to orchestrate sleepovers was no longer necessary. 

-You moved in together, renovating the loft he owned in the Cauldron district to be a bit more Welcome Home! and a lot less Marks with Bodyguards Cost Extra.

Tim:

-Oh, Tim. 

-Sweet, wonderful, awkward, angel-baby Tim. 

-The first time he slept over at your house, it was January. He passed clean out on your living room floor during a power-binge of Stranger Things that he had been apologetically procrastinating since the season release in October. 

-You didn’t have the heart to wake him, not even when he started to drool, snore, and suddenly sit bolt upright, shouting?

-His proclamations made zero sense: something abstract about Scarecrow robbing some guy named Oswald of his prized Wyandotte laying hens.

-A cursory attempt to talk to him indicated that he was still, to your horror, fast asleep in spite of sitting perfectly straight on his own and lecturing you about the dangers of yellow scented candles. 

-You settled him back down on your nest of blankets and flipped the TV off, loosely praying that this was some kind of fluke and you wouldn’t have to worry about your boyfriend accidentally leaping off of your balcony in a state of gibbering semi-consciousness. 

-You messaged him in a panic when you woke the next morning to find him missing, terrified that he slept-walked into traffic while you caught some rest on the floor beside him. You detailed the entire scenario for him, omitting nothing to spare his pride. (The man had scared you nearly to death. His ego wasn’t exactly your top priority when he said he’d snuck out because he liked sleeping in his bed better than he liked your floor.) 

- “Sexy, right?” he replied with a winky face.

-It wasn’t, he hadn’t, and he hasn’t ever since. The explanation: ”It only happens sometimes when I’m way too tired and I’ve had way too many energy shots.” 

-Even so, that first experience proved to be surprisingly indicative of the bizarre occurrences that would befall you when Tim ended up sharing a night with you.

-First the sleep talking, then staying up all night crouched over his laptop like some kind of gremlin while you slept not three feet away, arguing about the benefits of avoiding blue light in order to actually let your brain power down, and, finally, physically wrestling you to keep you from putting his phone in your nightstand drawer so that he would just lay the F down and go to bed.

-Tim does his best to gracefully make it seem as though your bickering is all in good fun despite your very real frustration with his lack of ability to focus on spending time with you and disengaging from his crippling responsibilities to both Wayne Enterprises and the endeavors of the Batman himself.

-You’re honestly still working on it, but he does forfeit all internet capable devices after 9 pm while in your home. 

-At first, it was out of obligation and only at your explicit request. Now though, having garnered some of the soundest, most rejuvenating sleep of his life every other week or so at your place, he tosses the phone in the drawer himself as you get ready to tuck in.

-Tim doesn’t know if it’s the regular sex or the down pillow-top on your mattress, but he can fall into blissful, dreamless unconsciousness in under half an hour by your side. 

-Perhaps it’s the near ritualistic way that you insist on sharing a cup of chamomile tea before heading toward your room? Maybe the laundry detergent or the weight of your too fluffy comforter?

-Regardless, shortly after he’s eagerly relinquishing his tech in favor of a solid night’s sleep and some quality time with you, an uptick in his demeanor and proficiency appears.

-You find it endlessly endearing that he needs a measurable statistic in order to justify asking you if he can stay over every week, rather than biweekly. As though you need data to be convinced to spend more time with him. 

The lovable idiot...  

[hopesoldcomicblog]

For the love of God shut up-(Dick Grayson x reader)

A.N. Dick slowly begins to fall for the new, elusive and sacarstic vigilante in Bludhaven who seems to have no problem with killing. Hilarity ensues. (Y/n)-your name (Y/v/n)- your vigilante name Enjoy!!!

* *

You were sitting on a rooftop overlooking Bludhaven, the lights of the sitting reflected on the waterfront bringing a sense of warmth to the dark and dirty city. You looked towards the docks, you had been waiting for a shipment to Come through all week and an anonymous source had tipped you off that it was coming tonight. So instead of being a normal collage student partying with your friends like literally everyone else was doing on a Friday night you had donned your vigilante costume, loaded your guns and set out on a stake out. Your (e/c) eyes peered through binoculars as you waited in silence for the boat to dock. Your heard a series of silent footsteps behind you. You didn’t need to turn around to be able tell who it was. “You need to work on your stealth. I heard your footsteps from the second you landed on the rooftop.” “And a good evening to you to miss (y/v/n).” Your theory was confirmed when your heard his voice. Great, Nightwing had decided to crash your quiet night of stake out. “I assume you’re her for Falcone’s new shipment too. I’ve been here all night and there hasn’t been anything so far.” You stated coldly. You didn’t need him to be here, you could do fine on your own. You had taken down bigger and badder people in the span of your career you didn’t need to babysat by someone who disapproved of your methods. “Hey no need to be harsh, pal.” His voice curled around that word and you could see the award winning smile forming. You turned your head and continued watching the docks and you watched the boat roll in. You sighed happily. Finally some action, you lept off the building and began your way to the docks, hiding in the shadows. A series of footsteps mimicked yours, he was following you. great. You made it to the docks quickly, ignoring your shadow that was practically radiating justice that was twirling around behind you. You waited in the shadows keeping an eye on who was there and what the shipment was. A silence fell between the two of you as you waited. Your (h/c) fluttered in the small breeze of Bludhaven waterfront. There wasn’t much space between the two of you, you could feel the heat radiating off of him. He pressed closer you rolled your eyes behind your mask and continued to wait in your new hiding spot. A few minutes passed and Falcone emerged from the inside of a luxury car that had just driven up. You took this moment as your chance to jump. You pulled out one of your guns, clicked the safety off and took aim. Shortly before firing you were tackled to the ground causing you to miss your target and hit the wall behind Falcone giving yourself away. Nightwing pinned you to the ground and wrestled the gun from your hands as Falcone’s men shot at the two of you. “Nice one Dickhead you gave away our cover.” You said as pushed him off of you and took cover behind a storage container. You could hear Falcone getting away. “(Y/v/n)-” he reached his hand out in order to help you up. You pushed it away and stood up yourself. “Because of you Falcone got away. Because of you I might have missed my chance to actually bring that fucking bastard to justice. Fuck you nightwing. Fuck you.” You screamed as you jabbed your finger at his chest. He stared back at you intently. “(Y/n) listen.” He explained calmly. He had called you by your real name, not your vigilante name. “What did you call me?” You stared back at the man who apparently knew your secret identity. “How do you know my name?” You demanded quietly back turned away from him. “I’m a detective. It’s what I do, but anyway (y/n), I mean (y/v/n) you can’t just kill people for the sake of bringing them to justice. Some of these people are sick and some of them need treatmen-” “Some of them are who deserve to burn in hell for all eternity. I’m just helping in getting them there.” You said coldly as you pulled sprinted away leaving nightwing alone at the docks shivering in the cold winter air of Bludhven.

*

After the Falcone incident you didn’t see Nightwing for a few weeks. Bludhaven had been slow, well slow for Bludhaven. You had decided to spend the night in, Nightwing could handle it if it was worse than just a few muggings and petty crimes. Resigning yourself to your couch alongside take out and Netflix. You ate your takeout and petted your cocker spaniel in a delightful amount of peaceful silence. And then your silence was shattered. “Hey (y/f/n), nice place you got yourself here.” You shrieked. You grabbed the closest weapon (in this case it was a dinner knife) spun on your heels. Your fear and shock was replaced by mild anger and well deserved annoyance as you realized who it was. “Did daddy never teach you about knocking or did he forget to teach you manors while you beat in henchmen’s skulls?"You sigh. You see the smirk that at this point should probably be copy righted form."so I assume you came here to talk about a case and not to just break into my apartment, terrify my dog and annoy me to the point where I’m seriously considering stabbing a dinner knife through that mask of yours.” You put a hand on your hips and awaited a serious answer. You got laughter. You frowned in response, you picked up your plate and put it away in your kitchen. “I came to talk about Falcone. He’s on the move again, I think I’ve tracked him down to the west side. He’s dealing a new type of drug. Calling it poison apple.” He explained. You snickered at the corny name.“I know, real creative right? Anyway as I was saying. I assume that’s what he was doing down at the docks a couple weeks ago.” You listened as he explained, glaring at the traitor that is your dog as she sniffs up Nightwing’s spandex covered leg. “Thanks for the info Nightwing. I can handle it from here.” “I’m not telling you this so you can bring Valcone to justice.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m telling you because I think we should team Up. You have a better understanding of how that area of Bludhaven works and I’ve got a plan that can bring him to justice.” “So do I. It’s called a gun.” You throw back, you can practically see him grimace. “Anyway pretty boy I think I’ll be fine without you. Thanks for the info, now kindly get the fuck out of my apartment. ” “Wait, (y/n) hear me out. He’ll kill you if you go after him tonight.” He speaks, his voice almost full of something close to worry. “Thanks for the concern Boy Wonder, but I think I’ll be fine. Plus we both know you don’t want to ‘team up’ with me for the sake of actually taking him down. You want to babysit me and make sure that I won’t kill the bastard.” His posture straightened, demeanor changing. “Killing him does not solve the problem it just causes another one. You can’t just use violence as a way to deal with problems.” “Last I checked you use violence every night to deal with problems.” You were walking away from him, you sat back down on your couch. He followed you of course. Fucking asshole. You sat down in the chair near you, sure go ahead and just make yourself at home dickhead. “That’s different. I don’t, I don’t kill. Killing is wrong, it takes a life from the world and doesn’t give a person a chance to change. It doesn’t-” you grabbed him by the hem of his costume, you could see him bracing for a punch. You felt him flinch when you pulled him into a kiss. It was rough and your fists balled the material of his costume tighter. He was obviously taken off guard by the kiss but he melted into it soon.

The kiss was rough, tongues melting together. Teeth bumping and biting. Full of wet slips of tongues and teeth. Eventually you pulled away and during the span of that hell of a kiss he had somehow landed on top of you. His hair was a mess and he was breathing heavily, a blush was on his cheeks. He looked a like a hot mess and you were sure you did too. “Please. For the love of god. Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” You sighed as you brushed your (h/c) hair from out from in front of your eyes. “Make me.” He muttered as he peppered a string of kissed to your jaw. “God, even when you’re about to get laid you’re annoyingly as hell.” You sighed as you shifted positions as to not feel quite so crushed under his weight. He pulled away quickly. “Who said anything about sex?” He looked mildly confused and quite frankly fucking adorable. “I did. But only if we do it on the bed in the other room because this position of fucking wrecking my spine.” You said as you pressed a kiss to his neck and sat up leading him to the other room. “And the bedroom has better lighting, Grayson” you say with a smirk watching panic slip onto his face. “That’s right I know, you’re not the only detective. And besides, you’re not as subtle as you think Dickie boy.”

* “I knew you fucking set me up. I trusted you and you fucking went behind my back to get Falcone and take him in yourself.” You scream. You’re both in your apartment. The past few nights had gone very differently than you were expecting. “Excuse me? I’m the one who went behind your back? Says the one who literally barged into a restaurant shooting at civilians!” He shouts back. His voice was raw and his face was red. You both had discarded the masks. “They were the bad guys Dick. How many times must I tell you this? They were going to kill innocent people and stopped them. I thought that’s what you cared about your fucking asshole?” You stated calmly. You turn your back to him and return to your kitchen. You pull a glass and a bottle of whisky from the cupboard. He follows you and you can hear him sigh. “(Y/n) you can’t just solve all your problems with violence and drinking. It’s not healthy.” He says. His blue eyes staring back at yours. You take a drink of your whisky. “Fucking watch me you son of a bitch.” You say defiantly. “Anyway only one guy died and it was because he was being stupid. The rest were just wounded and if I truly wanted them dead. They would be.” “God, you’re just so fucking full of it (y/v/n).” He says, his words full of mild defeat. You both know this conversation is going nowhere and is a hopeless cause that won’t amount to anything. “Please define 'it’ I need you to be a little more specific, Nightwing.” You purr back. You walk right by Dick and back into the living room. “Anyway, it has been a pleasure having you over Dickhead but a vigilante needs their beauty sleep, so kindly get the hell out of my apartment.” You say gesturing out the window. “Awww (y/n)”, he purrs grabbing your arm and pulling you close. “Don’t play like that.” “God, is it okay for me to blame everything wrong with your personality on Bruce or shall I bone it on the childhood trauma?” You counter. Words leaving your lips. “ gonna go with blamin-” Unfortunately you’re unable to continue your sentence as it is rudely interrupted by Dick pressing his perfectly pink lips to yours. The kiss is long and it almost distracts you from the click that you recognize as the sound of metal hand cuffs. He pulls away, his fingertips dancing across your jawline. “In the wise words of a certain crime fighting vigilante 'for the love of God, shut the fuck up’” Dick muttered with a smile before pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek and diving out the window leaving a slightly dazed (y/v/n) handcuffed to the window holding a slip of paper with a set of sloppy numbers written in glitter blue gel pen.

[thepuckishrogue]

The Batboys in: “I’m late.” Take Two.

Kay, so I’m gonna remove the links in this post since I think it’s keeping it from showing up in the search results. I’m still getting notes on every other Batboy fic I wrote despite it almost being a month since I posted the first one. More so than wanting people to be able read and enjoy this--which I totally do of course--but I’ll be damned if I typed all those tags in for nothing; that shit’s tedious af and for some reason the prediction deal isn’t working so I had to type them all the way in. #firstworldproblems, amirite?

Also! I’ve swapped the original version for the one one AO3 (which is, imo, better) so If you’re rereading this and notice anything different that’s why.

A/n: Sorry this took so long guys! I had a hard time coming up with two new ideas that stayed in theme with my last fills without repeating myself. Inspiration struck this morning and now we have this.

Also! I’m posting all of my Batboy stories over on AO3. Follow the link in my profile to check it out if you’re that way inclined.

Taglist {you want in on some of this sweet, sweet tagging action just hit me up}:

@aspiratinganxiety @hellohollands

Prompt: “I’m late.”

Presented For your consideration/entertainment:

Whole [Dick Grayson x Reader]

You all click together, like the fitting of a puzzle’s pieces into place.

No Words Needed [Older!Damian Wayne x Reader]

In raising your daughter, he’s finding himself.

Whole [Dick Grayson x Reader]

“Come on Missus Grayson—just give us one last, biiig push.”

“I can’t,” you sob, as you dig your head back into the pillow underneath it. The thing is soaked through from a mixture of sweat and tears, and it sticks uncomfortably to your equally wet, exposed skin.

Doctor Thomas and her nurses both assure you that you can, you must, but it’s the man that holds your hand—or rather, allows you to crush his under your punishing grip—that gives you the strength that you need. He tells you of all the love he has for you and praises your strength, but it’s the reminder that the son you’ve waited nearly ten months to meet is just one push away that sees you through.

Aside from the morning sickness that never really abated, your pregnancy had been blessedly incident free. Of course that isn’t to say that you didn’t have the typical complaints of any expecting mother—night sweats were terrible as were swollen ankles, and having to pee every five minutes was hardly ideal—but it wasn’t anything that you couldn’t handle. It wasn’t until you were a week past your due date that things started to get dicey. Worried, you and Dick had rushed to see your obstetrician, but the woman assured you that you were still within the realm of normalcy. When another week passed she told you that, despite its name, Naegele’s rule wasn’t an absolute. By the middle of the third week she’d set the date for a Caesarean. The thought of being cut open wasn’t exactly enticing, but apparently it was what you needed to kick start the labor process. Contractions hit you not long after settling into your private suite at Gotham Memorial and soon after your extended family was being cleared out of the room and your legs were up in stirrups.

Through it all Dick hasn’t left your side once, nor has he complained despite your cursing him and vowing to never ever let him touch you again. His free hand is gentle as it wipes away sweat from your brow and his smile unwavering in the face of your pain-fueled wrath. Even now as you lie panting and red faced he still looks at you like you’re a goddess incarnate, perfection made flesh.

Thomas' urging to push is becoming more of a demand now as is the painful pressure in your lower half. Scraping the very bottom of your reserves you bare down with a guttural sound that’s caught somewhere between a scream and a groan. That’s it, you think as oxygen rushes back into your lungs under a noisy inhale, I have nothing left to give…

And then you hear it—the first sounds that your child, your precious little boy, contributes to the outside world.

His cry is keening as it dips and warbles under its own force, and yet it’s still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

Praises and cheers rise up from the doctor and her crew, but you can barely hear them over your own happy sobs. For his part, your husband drops down into a crouch though he doesn’t release your now limp hand. Instead he pulls it to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of it; you’re not surprised to feel the warmth of his tears against your skin. You have just enough strength left in you to listlessly roll your head towards him and give him a quivering smile.

“We did it,” you say, voice tired and a touch hoarse.

Wiping at his eyes, Dick shakes his head. “No, you did it, love. My biggest contribution to this whole deal was given months ago.” His quip earns laughs from the other side of the room and an eye roll from you.

“You’d better be glad I love you, Richard John, because that was terrible.” You’re joking, of course; there’s no real venom behind your words and he knows it.

His only reply is one of those heart-stopping smiles that has surely played a part in leading you to this moment in time. He rises up to his full height again before bending over to place a kiss on your forehead, then your nose, then both of your cheeks, and finally a chaste press of lips against lips. He lingers in your space after pulling away, allowing his head to rest lightly against yours. No words are exchanged, none are needed. The love you share is a tangible thing in that moment—palpable and cloying, it fills your every sense to leave you on the verge of tears yet again. The scene is made whole when your son is finally cradled against the beat of your heart.

“He’s so perfect. How is he so perfect?” Dick’s words are little more than a whisper as he regards the little bundle.

Hands that usually move with deft confidence and precision tremble now as he reaches out to touch the shock of raven-hued hair that is already flecking out at the thin tips in an attempt to curl. As in response to his father’s touch, the baby’s eyes slowly slide open revealing irises that are the deepest blue; an indigo to rival that of his father’s sapphires as your favorite shade of the color. He blinks up at the man a few times before staring wide eyed, but unfocused, little snuffling noises escaping him all the while. There so much love in Dick’s gaze as looks between you and what you’ve created together, pure and endless love magnified by the diamonds of his tears that have once again started to fall. Now it’s his turn to squeeze at your hand for support.

“Hey there little guy,” he starts after a thick swallow, “you’re late.” He chuckles a bit then, a watery sound, before continuing. “Not gonna lie—you had us worried there for a second, but my god, look at you now… There’s so much that I want to show you, but first I think Doctor Thomas needs to take you for a bit. Don’t worry though, she’s good people. I love you. I love you so, so much.” A gentle peck to the round of his little shoulder punctuates the declaration.

You mumble your own words of adoration before brushing your lips against the babe’s forehead. You reluctantly hand your son over then, making the doctor laugh a bit. She assures you that the testing won’t take too long and then she’s whisking him away beyond the heavy oak door with the nurses on her heels. As the soft click of the lock catching sounds, the full weight of your fatigue settles over you. Like a puppet whose strings have been cut, you slump back heavily into the still damp pillow and let your eyes flutter close. Dick’s still joined to you by the hand, and despite the sweat that slicks the shared grip, you find the contact comforting. Tiredness has seeped into your everything and just as you’re ready to fully give in to sleep’s beckoning call he speaks, though his words are lost to you.

A slurred “Mmm?” is all the reply you can manage.

“Thank you,” he says again.

You’re too drowsy to produce anything that goes beyond the basic hum you’d given him before, though you do manage to open your eyes, if only just. Your lackluster response earns a huff of laughter and another forehead kiss; he mumbles something—possibly I love you, it’s spoken too softly for you to be sure—against the wrinkle of your brow before continuing.

“All I ever wanted after my parents… I just, I always wanted a family. I know I have Bruce and Alfie and my siblings, and they’re my family too but this…” His words trail off into a wondrous sigh. “When I found you it was like finding a piece of myself that I didn’t even know was missing and now we have a son, our son, and I just—I didn’t know it was possible to feel this full. So yeah—thank you love, really.”

There’s so much that you want to say in response to that, but sleep-addled or no you’re not sure that you’ll be able to express what’s in your heart as clearly as he has. Thankfully three words, even spoken at a whisper against his lips, are an excellent start.

No Words Needed [Older!Damian Wayne x Reader]

"I’m late! I’m late! For a very important date! No time to say ‘Hello’, goodbye! I’m late! I’m late!”

The voices that sing in unison are at two different ends of the spectrum. One, a child’s soprano—reedy and full of the enthusiasm and unbridled joy that only toddlers seem to be able to harness—the other a man’s baritone, unrefined by training, but no less melodious for it.

Even people who know him personally would be surprised to varying degrees by such a display from the youngest Wayne child—well, man now—but if you hadn’t known that Damian was capable of something more than the cool aplomb that swathed him like a second skin you never would have agreed to see him again after that first date; and that’s saying nothing of marring him and starting a family.

Of course he’ll always have his barriers. Like China’s Great Wall or the pyramids of Giza, they’ve been built to withstand the ages. The only way to really get through to the heart of him is by his leave and that’s a thing rarely granted. You’re still not sure what he saw in you that he deemed worthy enough to be allowed in, but by god are you grateful. He’s a maze, full of looping halls and meandering branches and false ends. His love language is just as nuanced, often times being at odds with itself, but over the years you’ve learned to navigate it and all its intricate minutiae. You know when to push and when to let things go; and defusing disagreements between him and the other Wayne men is an art that, while not mastered, definitely falls under your purview.

This acquired knowledge is what tells you to slip away from the den’s doorway rather than entering the room as you had planned. Because while he shares more of himself with you than anyone else, there are still parts that remain cast in shadow, hidden and tucked away from any eyes that would pry. You know that it stems out of a lack of trust—not for you, but rather himself.

Damian’s early childhood is a fractured wasteland, made so by traumas survived and the twisted parental failings of his mother. It’s only through the passage of time and the loving support of those that truly care for him that he’s been able to reconcile with it all, but even then only just. It’s still a delicate balance for him, keeping his past from tainting his present and swallowing his future whole, but he pursues that precious equilibrium with the same dogged determination that drives his every action—more earnestly even, given all that there is to lose.

To that end he pours every ounce of himself into giving your daughter everything he never received during his own formative years—love, stability, acceptance, and care all in their purest forms—and in doing so you’ve seen him change. Heal. Move just that little bit closer to being whole.

It’s a beautiful thing to watch and you find your heart aching in the best of ways every time you’re allowed to bear witness to it.

But even after years of emotional growth he still occasionally takes issues with anyone, even you—especially you—seeing him in what he considers to be a vulnerable state. Most days he’s able to pull himself back from the edge of the abyss that is his insecurities, but today isn’t one of those days. You can see it in the slight way his shoulders tense and in the stiffening of his spine. He doesn’t turn towards you, nor does he allow his voice to waver as he continues to sing in time with the child in his lap and the harried rabbit on screen, but you’ve long since learned how to read between his lines.

Please don’t, comes his simple, silent plea.

Don’t worry, I won’t, you say with a pat on the door’s frame that’s just loud enough for him to hear.

Damian does spare you a glance then, and his eyes are smiling even as his lips continue to echo the song.

Thank you, ruuhi. I love you.

You smile softly back. Of course, qalbi. I love you too.

A/n: Dami would totally teach his s/o Arabic and they’d use endearments from said language do not fight me on this. Or square the fuck up, it’s whatever lol.

All Arabic that appears in this fill was sourced from the interwebs so if it’s wrong blame that lol.

Ruuhi = My soul Qalbi = My heart

[dove-among-bats]

Peaceful

HHHEEEEERRRREEEESSSS ANGSTY!!!

“Is everyone ready?” He asked, and, getting the confirmation he needed from his team, gestured forward. The cobbled together team leapt into action, Robin and Red hood worked together to take down the patrolling guards down the left hallway, working down it, while Kid flash and Red robin took the right. Nightwing crept forward down the middle hallway, and with the help of the girl with him, took them down quietly and effectively until they reached the entrance to the main room. The princess leaned forward and around the corner, catching eye contact first with Red hood, then shifting and catching contact with Kid flash, before looking back and nodding at him that they were good to go. He darted forward to the chair in the middle of the room, his fingers working quickly to untie the ropes keeping Batman immobile as his team kept a constant lookout. Batman groaned, his body falling forward into Nightwing’s arms as the ropes came undone, “Geez, what have you been eating lately” he grunted, lifting him up as best he could, R.R made his way over quickly, undoing the cap from a small vile and holding it under his nose, which made him cough “where am I?” he snapped, trying to straighten his back, but slumping back forward into Nightwing “In some sort of warehouse on the water front” RR placed a hand against Batman’s chest to help support him “we were all knocked out by some sort of gas, then woke up to find you gone, we gathered Kid and Princess and tracked you here” he explained “uh, guys?! We have a bit of a problem here!!” Kid Flash shouted, signaling the goons that were pouring in, Robin and Red hood leapt into action, and Princess NightBooty whistled and started taunting the goons away from the center of the room, taking them out two at a time with her swift kicks and punches. Nightwing glanced back at Batman “are you okay to walk?” he asked him, only for Bruce to stand up straight and nod “I am, let’s deal with these brutes” he said, turning on his heel and leaping into the fray, which elicited shouts from the goons, after that it seemed to blur together, Until a scream seemed to bring him out of the haze of battle. He whipped his head around to see a goon pull his knife from NightBooty’s gut, he let out an enraged yell, throwing one of his escrima stick at him and striking him in the head, knocking him out as he sprinted towards her as she crumpled. Catching her in his arms before her body struck the floor. “Babe? Babe you okay?” he asked her, clutching her body close as he tried to stop the flow of blood, she let out a breathy laugh “Y..Yeah, I’m fine, I’ll be…Be fine, just a flesh wound” she stuttered out, whimpering as she curled in on herself as Kid rushed his way over “It’s going to be alright, I promise” he said, hurriedly handing her to Wally, who rushed off as soon as she was secure in his arms.

Dick let a small smile lay on his lips as he gazed down at (Y/N)’s peaceful face, she was alright, and she would never get hurt again. He cleared his throat as he looked up “(Y/N) was an amazing person, she was kind, and funny, and she was way too loyal for her own good. And I loved her, so, so much” he trailed off, passing by the cursed box that held his love, and placed a single (F/F) in her hair, before sitting down next to his family and listening to the kind words of her friends and family. But still, no matter how glad he was that she wouldn’t ever get hurt again, there was still that ugly nagging in the back of his head ‘you couldn’t save her, why didn’t you save her’ he shook his head lightly, blinking hard and looking back at the podium, where Tim was saying something about how, even if Dick had only been dating her for a while, he already thought of her as a sister. It seemed to blend together after that as Dick thought of the scenarios in which he could have saved her, sure, he put up a front so the others wouldn’t worry about him, but he knew they did, and he knew they had reason to. It was his fault after all.

HEHEHEHEEHEH

yes, there will be a part two (this is going to be fuuunnn)

Tagging; @batlog @cait-writes-stuff @rent-a-bat

was the angst good? I sure hope soo~