The Mask (Dick Grayson X Reader)

The Mask (Dick Grayson x Reader)

Prompt: “Wanna hang out on the rooftop? It’s nice tonight.”

Requested: Yes

At midnight you laid on the couch in your apartment, the light from the television illuminating the otherwise dark room. It seemed like Saturday took forever to arrive, and now that it was upon you, you were celebrating by not sleeping. Watching a show you had already seen before in its entirety, and eating a half empty tub of ice cream seemed, also, like a good idea.

Mentally, you kept denying it, but you weren’t up to see if dying of sleep deprivation could actually happen to you, you were awake and waiting for him. ‘Him’ being a certain vigilante who had been dropping by your apartment for a month and a half, knocking on the window by the fire escape, and spending hours with you until he was called away to finish his nightly work as a hero of Blüdhaven. You never asked his real name or begged to see his face, only hoped one day he would be comfortable enough to show you who he was. For now, you called him Nightwing.

Sure enough, there came a tap on the glass, bringing you away from the television, and over to the window. Undoing the latch, you pushed up the wooden frame, coming face to face with your beloved crimefighter.

“Hey,” you said in a breathy voice, taking in the rush of cool, salty air, “right on time.”

“I pride myself on my punctuality,” he said, a smile creeping onto his face. There was a pause in the conversation as the two you stared at one another, though his mask obscured the view of his eyes there was still so much to take in about him. The sharpness of his jaw, full lips, a curved nose, and of course, the famous Nightwing suit. One that every one of Gotham and Blüdhaven was familiar with. “Wanna hang out on the rooftop? It’s nice tonight.” He said motioning towards the top of the apartment complex. With a smile, you nodded your head, taking his extended hand as he assisted you onto the fire escape.

The two of you sat perched on the edge of the building, overlooking the neighborhood. The whistle of the soft breeze between buildings soothing away any stress the day might have brought. No words were exchanged between either of you, mutually choosing to quietly enjoy the nice weather that was so rare in Blüdhaven. It must have been at least ten minutes of silence before Nightwing spoke.

“This is why I like Blüdhaven more than Gotham,” he said, his voice soft and calm, “Not that I have anything against Gotham, I practically grew up there, but here it’s just,” a pause of thought, “different.” You hummed in agreement.

“You grew up in Gotham?” You asked after a bit, curiosity laced in the tone of your voice. Nightwing turned his head towards you, seemingly surprised you caught that part of what he said.

“Uh, yeah, pretty much.” He confirmed, nodding his head. There were a few bits of information about him you clung to. He referred to Robin, Red Robin, and Red Hood as his brothers. He also talked briefly about the Batgirls that wander around Gotham as well. There had been mention of teammates outside of the ones in Gotham, but secret identities were important to these people, so you didn’t push. You were afraid you’d ask too much one day, resulting in Nightwing never coming back to visit you.

Still, you wondered who it was under the mask. What his name, his real name, was. What he did when he wasn’t doing his job as a vigilante. He knew so much about you- your name, what you did for a living, where you lived.

“I know so little about you,” You didn’t mean to say it out loud, or maybe you did, either way, Nightwing heard your remark, and dropped his head a bit, a huff leaving his mouth.

“My father might kill me,” he said, his voice sounded a little defeated, or tired. Carefully he reached up to his mask, pulling the blue and black cover away from his face. With nothing to obscure the view of his face, blue eyes now visible to you, he was now entirely familiar.

You had seen his face before. You had thought it even when the mask was still on, that the man in front of you looked eerily similar to someone you’ve already seen.

Nightwing looked back at you, waiting for some response, but instead, you continued to gaze at him, eyebrows furrowed in deep thought.

“I have seen you before,” you said, turning on the edge of the building to face him better. He moved as well, making it so you could see his face completely.

“Gotham Times loves writing about my brothers and my father,” he said, rolling his eyes, “myself included.”

Gotham Times. Where would he have a slot? There was the sports section, the charity sections, ads, the political section took up half the issue, business section, celebrity section- oh.

You definitely knew who the man sitting in front of you was. He was right, a picture of him usually accompanied one of Bruce Wayne. He had been in a spotlight in Gotham since he was a little kid.

“Wait, you’re-” you were going to blurt out what you had pieced together when he cut you off.

“It’s a nice night, windows are open, people can hear,” he said, a finger to his lips, telling you to quiet down. Nodding, you grabbed his hand, pulling him up from the ledge and back down the fire escape to your apartment. Once both inside, you slammed the window shut and turned to him.

“Richard Grayson,” you sighed out, a smile plastered on your face. He nodded.

“My friends call me Dick,” he replied, you raised an eyebrow, “seriously,” he let out a soft laugh. The light from the television still was the only source of light in the room, illuminating one side of Dick’s face. He looked as if he was still waiting for you to say something. You frankly didn’t know what to say;

'Thanks for telling me who you are?’

'You’re beautiful?’

'Does this mean all the Wayne Family are superheroes?’

The latter of which you felt you knew the answer to deep down.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, subconsciously taking a few steps toward him, “for taking off the mask. Now that I see you without it, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you.” Dick smirked, looking down at the mask he held in his hand.

“It’s not as unbelievable as you think,” he whispered. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to hear what he had said, but standing so close to him you could hear even the shallowest of breaths. His eyes slowly came up to meet yours, the blue color of his eyes seemed magnified in the lighting of the room. It took a moment to build up the courage, but after, you held your breath and leaned forward, your mouth coming to meet his. His skin was still cold from sitting on the rooftop, but it felt nice against your warming skin. The kiss was soft and quick, the two of you leaning back ever so slightly to meet eyes again. A look that said, 'Should we do that again?’, which was answered by the sound of the mask he had been holding hitting the hardwood of the floor, and his arms coming around your waist to pull you closer. The kisses that followed were much longer, though still soft, and exactly what you wanted it to be, and what he needed it to be.

Preface

Hi, it's jasxontxdd! This is gonna be the blog where I post all my writing, my masterlist will be here as well. You can contact me on either blog, it doesn't matter.

I hath changed my name. Feels good.

Babybird Part Two (Batmom Reader)

Momma is home and she is angry. Reader’s superhero name in Whitehawk. Enjoy. I love feedback.

There was a drastic change in the winds from the desert to Gotham city- the most notable being that Gotham’s wind was bitter and tasted of salt, and the winds of the desert were hot and dusty. You found that you didn’t particularly care for either as you hid your face in the high collar of the thick winter coat you had slipped on. Unfortunately, there were many places you would rather be than the city or the desert for that matter, but Gotham was where duty called- where your emotions told you to go, and with the loss of your son so fresh, you couldn’t bear to ignore how you felt.

Despite it being well past midnight, there were still handfuls of people pushing their way between others, weaving in between cars and buildings, and hailing taxis. Though the sheer amount of people walking far too slow was insufferable, you were grateful that the crowds of people gave you something to blend into. Something to hide in. As you shuffled amongst the groups of Gothamites, you were simply a citizen, not someone who was supposed to protect the masses.

You slipped into the bar you had been searching for, immediately bright neon green and blue lights leaked into your vision, giving you pause. When the interior of the bar became visible to you, the search for the man that brought you there in the first place began. Pushing past the drunks, half-naked women and men, and waiters, there was suddenly a pull on your hips, to which you quickly glanced down, ready to slap a hand away, but it was merely a red velvet rope. You had reached the back of the bar. A shout came from the left of you, capturing your attention rather rudely- but what else could you expect from a place like the one you found yourself in.

The man who had yelled stood well over six foot, and his suit hugged tightly to his broad shoulders, the sleek pistol in his pocket glistened in the dim lights of the room. Surely, most would be intimidated by a man such as that, but you found his presences merely an annoyance. A dog sent to retrieve you? You scoffed but had no choice but to trail after the man, heels stomping on the ground loudly.

The guard came to a stop in front of dark green curtains that concealed the meeting room, refusing to enter, much to your satisfaction. Shoving aside the material, your nose scrunched up at the smell of cigars. A burning sensation that left your eyes watering slightly, and throat covered in a dissatisfying taste. The man, short and pale, sat slouched in his extravagant chair, embroidered with lavish looking jewels, and lace. It was a shame that such a lovely piece of furniture was in the hands of such a vile man.

“Such a rarity,” the Penguin squeaked, “that a Bird comes willingly into my cage.” Indeed it was, you supposed, but you were desperate. “It is bold, my girl,” he said in a groan. You weren’t fond of being mocked, but there was no time, and this was no place, to mouth off with the indignant man. You took a seat in a much more dull chair beside him, elbows placed on the table with your chin in your palm.

“I will transfer the money, and you give me the information, that was the deal, correct?” you said, wanting to get out of the wretched bar as soon as you could, even if that meant skipping over the details. Cobblepot hummed, inhaling through the cigar he held between his red-stained fingers.

Before you had thought of entering the bar in the first place, you had sent a letter, proposing the money for the information you desired. Weeks later, you received a letter in return- he had accepted if you agreed to meet with him. And there you sat, a frown gracing your lips.

“To the point? Well, do you not know any better?” he said, leaning back. You did, but you had to move fast before the information went stale.

“Actually I do, so if I were you, I’d be careful,” you said hotly. You were in a hurry, not stupid. Smarter than the man you sat next to, but not to underestimate him either- he was anything but an idiot. The man laughed bitterly.

“The money?” he inquired, an eyebrow raised. You rolled your eyes, rummaging through the coat pocket for your phone, where you then confirmed the transfer. You showed the old man the information quickly, before shoving the phone back into its previous place. Penguin nodded quietly.

You waited for him to speak, a hand clenching the wooden side of the table. More smoke poured from his mouth, the smell harsh.

“The Blackbrick factory filled to the brim with his...goons. Maybe the blonde was there with him, I don’t frankly care. He looked mad as ever, stupid as well. No idea what the fool was up to, but it seems to me that you don’t care about that. What do you care so much about?” Penguin said, a dark eyebrow raised. He was crossing a line, and beyond that line were things you didn’t wish to discuss- especially with Oswald. When no further words were exchanged, he continued. “Who knows when he will move again if he even will. But the man is erratic, and the Big Bat seems- lazy. As of late. Good for me, not for you. And whatever you are planning on doing tonight, I sincerely hope it ends with the Joker disappearing for good.” And with that, you began the trek to Blackbrick factory.

It was hard to see from your vantage point in the rafters of the factory, but it would have to make due. There was a surprising lack of hiding places to take cover in the building and an absurd amount of thugs that wore masks similar to the clown himself. Cocky, you thought, he had done no such thing before you had left the city. Apparently Batman’s lack of attention as of late upset Joker.

The man, face painted white, marched across his makeshift stage, above the mass of thugs. He was wailing about something hysterically, none of which you could hear, and you didn’t particularly want to. His voice brought a growl out from the back of your throat. Harley stood behind him, her finger twirling in a blonde curl, a laugh of her own echoing off the stone walls. You stared intently at the two, like an animal hunting its prey. But your attention was quickly brought upward, to the opposite end of the room from where you were, on a separate vantage point.

Yellow, green, and red. Those were the colors that you saw that were so incredibly familiar, and painful. For what felt like an unreasonable amount of time, you couldn’t breathe. The air refusing to come out of your lungs, distracting you from the burning at your eyes. A pounding feeling at your chest and weak muscles came over you and weren’t sure if it was from the lack of oxygen or the feeling of utter despair. It couldn’t be. He was gone.

The colors moved in flashes as the small figure swung about the room. Closer and closer to you until he rammed directly into you, distracted by the thugs that were becoming rowdy, and excited by the words of the Joker. Before you could think about what you were doing, you grabbed the person roughly and proceeded to grapple back out of the factory- forgetting about what you had gone there to do. The child, you guessed from the sound of his voice, struggled against you, and eventually wiggled out of your hold, but you were already on the roof, away from the thugs.

You stared at him, eyes scanning over his suit- his Robin suit. He was small, but not as small as Dick and your son had been. It wasn’t hard to be larger than Jason, anyway, the boy had been malnourished his whole life.  He was older, maybe thirteen. Fourteen. The usual Robin age. As you stared at him, and he stared back wordlessly, your blood began to boil all over again. Not at the boy, but at the man you knew was responsible for him. Another one? Another child brought into the fight? Had he learned absolutely nothing? You wanted to scream but that would have brought unwanted attention. You had been so involved in your own thoughts you barely heard the words Robin spoke to you.

“A-are you, Whitehawk?” he said, voice unsteady. You relaxed the stare when you realized he was scared. You nodded. You wore your old suit that had been used back in the days of fighting alongside Batman. It had long since been retired, as you gave up crimefighting a year before you met Jason. The occasion called for a proper suit, however. But now you figured you weren’t going to get to use it. The boy's eyes visibly widened under his mask.

“Wait, you’re back? When did you get home?” he spoke to you as if he knew you. Naive. Bold. Young. You decided to humor the boy.

“A few hours ago, but I am not staying,” you said, and he frowned. He sat on the corner of the roof, peering through a broken window as to not lose track of the Joker.

“That sucks. We could use help here, with Batgirl and all,” he said, trailing off. You cocked your head to the side.

“What about Batgirl?” You inquired.

“Can’t be Batgirl in a wheelchair. She is Oracle though, and that’s cool.” Robin said. For the second time that night, the air got caught in your throat.

“What?” You choked out, hands balled into fists. Things only get worse in Gotham, you thought grimly. Robin glanced up at you, now his confusion mirroring yours.

“You don’t know? Nobody told you?” he questioned, sounding perplexed.

“Know what, Robin?” you said, voice cracking. He paused, rubbing at his nose with the back of his hand.

“Joker shot her,” he spoke quietly, and you felt tears slip down your cheeks, under your mask. “He paralyzed her.” For a moment you felt guilty, but for what? Leaving Gotham without taking the kids with you? They would never willingly leave, they have a fascination with the city that you don’t share. A connection. You only harbor hatred for the grim place. The anger which you had felt all night somehow managed to get hotter. You knew coming back was a mistake, but it was too late to leave. Another child as Robin, Barbara paralyzed, and the Joker still breathing. You were stuck in Gotham now.

You had previously had second thoughts about offing the Joker, but you felt clear certainty now. You would choke the life out of him with your bare hands if you had to, and if anyone tried to stop you, they would regret it.

“Go home, Robin. I’ll take care of the factory.” You demanded, picking yourself up off of the cold roofing. Robin stood up as well.

“I don’t know, Boss said I need to be here,” he said, his voice unsure. You moved to where he stood, shoving him back slightly, away from the edge.

“Go, now. If it was so important he would be here.” You growled, readying your grapple again, finger on the trigger. But before you could pull it back, your shoulder was roughly yanked back, pulling you away from the edge roughly. You angerly steadied yourself, hurriedly pulling a throwing knife out of your utility belt. The black mass that stood in front of you, leering over, frowned at you. Robin stood behind him, cowering down slightly.

“I am here, (Y/N),” Batman spoke harshly. He was using his intimidation voice, which annoyed you to no end. You tightened your grip on the knife.

“Not the fight I was expecting,” you spoke slyly, “but I’ll take it.”

1 AM (Tim Drake x Reader)

Request: Yes   Prompt: “Do you ever get a meme stuck in your head?”  Words: 710

Note; This is such a cliche Tim fanfic, but I wanted to write something ridiculous so here it goes.

“Tim,” you drawled out, sprawling dramatically across the mattress, “please come to bed.”

The laptop that sat on the desktop was on a low brightness setting, yet the light that it emitted was still far too bright for one in the morning. Tim sat hunched over it, a hand running through his hair. Shakily he held up an empty mug.

“I just finished my coffee.” Tim pulled out another textbook from his bag. You wondered how he managed to carry so many books at once without snapping his back in the process. With a loud sigh, you turned your back to Tim, attempting to block out the sleep-disturbing light. When that didn’t work, you kicked the blanket off your legs, forcing yourself from the bed and over to Tim.

“Timothy Drake,” he always hated it when you called him that, “come to bed,” forcing yourself between him and his desk, you plopped down onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders lazily. It was his turn to let out an exaggerated sigh.

“I have to finish this project,” he said, “and I’ve got too much energy to sleep.” His reasoning was valid, but not enough to convince you.

“Cuddle me,” you stated, your hand creeping up to close the laptop.

“I think technically, I am right now,” he pushed your hand away from the computer. You buried your face into the crook of this neck, a tactic that usually worked on him when it came to getting something that you wanted. In this case, it was not sleeping alone.

“No, in the bed. Tim, you need to sleep.” Your voice was audibly tired and on the verge of being a whisper.

“I just drank coffee, I won’t be able to-” he trailed off as he noticed you begin to drift to sleep. Slowly, with a feeling of defeat, Tim shut the laptop, cloaking the room in darkness. Wrapping an arm around your back, and hooking the other under your legs, the young vigilante hoisted you up, carrying you over to the unmade bed. Carefully, he lowered you, as to not wake you up. Once you were situated, Tim climbed over you, coming to lay beside you.

After the room went silent, and it seemed like you had both fallen asleep, Tim let out yet another loud sigh.

“You’re still awake?” You groaned, flipping over so you could face him.

“I told you I-”

“Drank coffee, a-huh, I know.” The room went quiet again, though it wasn’t a silence of peace and quiet nor sleep, it was awkward.

“Do you ever get a meme stuck in your head?” Tim asked, rather loudly for such an ungodly hour. After a slight pause, you pushed yourself up on one elbow to look your boyfriend over.

“What?” You asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Do you ever get a meme stuck in your head?” He repeated, the question sounded genuine. The combination of being awake at one in the morning, and having drank eight cups of coffee was becoming an obviously bad decision. “Like, the same one just repeats over and over in your head, and you can’t get it out, or stop thinking about it. Like a song gets stuck in your head, but a meme instead.” Tim continued to blabber on,  as you watched him give deep thought to the words he spoke. The boy was actually troubled by what seemed to be a situation he was in.

“I don’t know,” you said, voice cracking slightly.

“I can’t stop thinking about Kermit the goddamn Frog!”

There was a loud thump on the wall beside Tim, coming from the other side of it. Damian’s room.

“Drake, go to sleep!” The preteen yelled from his room, sounding rather furious.

“He can hear us?”

“Very old house, even thinner walls- yes, I can!” Damian yelled back. There was an abrupt silence, you weren’t sure if it was awkward or not. For a brief moment, you naively thought that maybe that would be the end of the long night, but of course, when was a night in the Wayne Manor ever over?

“Tell me about a different meme so I can stop thinking about this one.”

Master List:

Updated on 1.24.19

Some of these are from my other blog @jasxontxdd

Jason Todd:

- Overprotective (2) (3) (4) (Dad!Jason)

- Meeting Jason Todd (Jason x Reader)

- Babybird (2) (Batmom)

-I Got You (Jayroy)

Dick Grayson:

- The Mask  (Dick x Reader)

Tim Drake:

- 1 AM  (Tim Drake x Reader)

Damian Wayne:

- A Little Company (Batmom)