Leon never expected to come home to find you asleep on the kitchen counter.
Yet there you were.
Your head rested on folded arms, a half-finished cup of coffee beside you and a note scribbled on a napkin that simply read:
“Waited for you...”
A tired laugh escaped him.
After weeks away on a mission, he'd imagined a dramatic reunion. Maybe you'd run into his arms. Maybe he'd finally get one peaceful evening without some new disaster showing up.
Instead, you were drooling on his countertop.
Perfect.
Leon quietly set down his duffel bag and walked over. Even asleep, you looked exhausted. You'd probably stayed up far later than you should have waiting for him.
His chest tightened.
No matter how many monsters he fought or impossible situations he survived, coming home to you always felt unreal.
Then—
Carefully, he brushed a strand of hair from your face. Your nose scrunched, then your eyes slowly opened. For a second you stared at him blankly.
“Leon?” “Hey, sweetheart.”
You shot upright so fast the coffee nearly spilled. “Oh my God, you're actually here!”
Before he could answer, you launched yourself at him. Leon caught you automatically, laughing as your arms wrapped around his neck.
“Missed you too.” “You were gone forever.” “It was two weeks.” “Forever.”
He couldn't argue with that. You buried your face against his shoulder, and he felt the tension he'd carried for days finally begin to disappear. Being here with you, and safe. That was all he wanted. After a moment, you pulled back and narrowed your eyes.
“You look tired.” “I am tired.” “You need food.” “Yeah yeah but I just got here—” “And a shower.” “You're very bossy for someone who fell asleep waiting.”
You gasped dramatically. “I was resting my eyes.” “On the counter?” “It was strategic.”
Leon laughed again, the sound softer this time. God, he'd missed this. Missed you. Without warning, he leaned down and pressed a kiss on your lips. The teasing immediately died on your lips. Your expression softened.
“So...” you murmured. “You're staying for a while this time?” Leon wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer. “As long as they'll let me.” “Good.”
Home would always be wherever you were. ❤️
You smiled. And finally after weeks in hell, Leon Kennedy felt completely at peace. Because no matter where the job took him, no matter how dangerous the world became—
neighbor!dilf grayson who helped you to build a wardrobe once and now he can't stop thinking about you. (+18) ˚.✦
neighbor!dilf grayson who saw you move in to the apartment in front of him and how you were struggling to carry an ikea box. he offered to help you without any doubts.
neighbor!dilf grayson who when he took a good look at you was completely dumbfounded by how pretty you look. gorgeous eyelashes, beautiful curls and lovely voice. you were also very polite and nice, offering him a beer after you two ended building the wardrobe. he accepted, of course, and asked you about your life and interest like a real gentleman.
neighbor!dilf grayson who that night jerked himself off to the thought of you.
neighbor!dilf grayson who starts timing his morning runs to match the exact minute you leave for work, just so he can accidentally hold the lobby door for you and watch the way your skirt brushes your thighs when you jog to catch the elevator.
neighbor!dilf grayson who hears you humming through the thin walls at night and presses his ear to the drywall like a creep, hand already down his sweatpants, imagining it’s your mouth around him making those sounds.
neighbor!dilf grayson who borrows your mail by mistake (totally on purpose) just so he has an excuse to knock on your door at 10 p.m. in nothing but low-slung sweats and a smile. He hands over the envelope, fingers brushing yours, and watches your pupils blow wide.
neighbor!dilf grayson who starts calling you sweetheart in a low, rough voice that makes your knees buckle. First time was accidental (he was half-asleep, handing you a package). Now he says it every chance he gets, watching you bite your lip and try not to melt.
neighbor!dilf grayson who hears you drop something heavy in your apartment at 2 a.m. and is at your door in thirty seconds, hair tousled, voice gravelly with sleep: “You okay in there, baby?” You open the door in an oversized t-shirt and nothing else, and he has to grip the doorframe to keep from pinning you to the wall right then.
neighbor!dilf grayson who finally snaps the night you knock on his door at midnight, eyes red from crying over some asshole who ghosted you. He pulls you inside without a word, sits you on his counter, and kisses you slow and deep until you’re gasping his name into his mouth.
neighbor!dilf grayson who doesn’t let you speak for the first ten minutes. Just kisses you like he’s starving (slow, filthy, tongue stroking yours until your hands fist in his shirt and you’re trying to climb him right there on the counter). He tastes like whiskey and the mint gum he chews when he’s thinking about you too hard.
neighbor!dilf grayson who lifts you off the counter like you weigh nothing, hands under your thighs, and carries you to the kitchen island. Sets you down, spreads your legs wide and drops to his knees without a word. Rips your panties off with his teeth. The first swipe of his tongue is so gentle you sob, the second is so rough you see stars.
neighbor!dilf grayson who eats you out like it’s his last meal on earth (slow licks, then fast flicks, then sucking your clit until your thighs clamp around his head and you’re grinding against his face). He growls “come on my tongue, baby” and you do, back arching off the marble.
neighbor!dilf grayson who stands up, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and kisses you so you taste yourself on him. Then spins you around, bends you over the island and fucks you from behind with one hand fisted in your hair and the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. He leans over you, mouth at your ear: “This what you needed, sweetheart? Someone who knows how to take care of you?”
neighbor!dilf grayson who pulls out just to flip you onto your back on the couch, hooks your knees over his shoulders and slides back in so deep you feel him in your throat. He fucks you slow now, eyes locked on yours, watching every expression like he’s memorizing it. When you come again he swallows your moans with a kiss and keeps going until you’re begging.
neighbor!dilf grayson who carries you to the shower, pins you to the tile, and fucks you standing up (water pounding down your back, his hand between your legs rubbing tight circles until you’re coming again, legs shaking so hard he has to hold you up). He comes inside you with a low groan after he practically beg you to let him stay inside.
neighbor!dilf grayson who wraps you in his robe after, carries you to his bed to cuddle. He lasts five minutes before he's fucking you lazily on your side. One arm under your neck and his cock dragging in and out like he's savoring every second.
neighbor!dilf grayson who kisses your shoulder, your neck, your tears, and tells you “no one’s ever gonna hurt you again” right as you come one last time, clenching around him so hard he follows you over.
neighbor!dilf grayson who, when you’re both wrecked and trembling, pulls you into his chest, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back, and murmurs, “Stay the night, yeah?”
How could you say no to him?
a/n: this has been sitting on my drafts for too long, i've changed the concept like four different times but i'm happy how this FINALLY turned out
NOTES: this pic involves strippers and the sex industry! please read at your own discretion! also apologies for any typos, or issues, I am very sleepy and will fix it later AND AS ALWAYS, REBLOG REBLOG REBLOG PLS PLS xx mwah
---
Anyone who knew you, knew Dick Grayson, and vice versa. But most importantly, they know that he’s your best friend and that you’re his.
You’d first met him in high school, and what initially started as academic competition, ended in you both graduating side by side with matching smiles.
There’s truly nothing you didn’t know about Dick Grayson — hell, you even knew he was Nightwing.
He didn’t know everything about you though.
Dick was never one to judge. He always tried to understand that beneath every hard decision, there was a reason — one that some might not be able to talk about. Sure, he might’ve not understood certain things to a personal level, but he always tried and he never judged. It’s truly an admirable feature, one that you loved too.
Despite this, you knew better than to tell him about this. He’d never look at you the same, and you’re not sure what you’d do without him — I mean, sure, you can get by, you’re independent but Dick isn’t someone replaceable.
No. He’s carved a permanent hole into your heart, and you’re not sure how you’d ever fill it if he found out. Maybe you love him, though you never much let yourself fantasise about anything more…
I mean, who’d want to date someone who is part of the sex industry?
Not the Dick Grayson, the Nightwing.
You’re not ashamed of what you do. You’ve come to terms with it, and you’ve made quite a big name for yourself in the industry.
All those nights dancing and the occasional client who wanted a bit… more than just a lap dance, definitely paid well. Well enough for you to put yourself through university, and build enough ‘fuck you’ money to retire three times over, that’s for sure.
And yeah, occasionally, to numb down the stress of dealing with inebriated men, you would go out and buy yourself a nice little something — but you were never careless with it.
You’d only been in the industry for two years, and you’d made more money than you ever had in your entire life — more money than you could make even after you’re a qualified ER doctor. So given that you’ve paid off every single debt you’ve ever owed, it was hard for you to step out of the door.
But you promised; you’d leave as soon as you’re qualified. By then, your personal investments would be blooming, you’d have to rip out at least a fifth floorboard to hide your money, and you’d be making an honest living as a doctor.
Though, sometimes, the universe loves to ruin things for you.
You hadn’t seen Dick in about a week and a half, and he had invited you over to the manor for dinner with the rest of the family and to catch up on everything.
So, yeah, your stomach dropped a bit when you heard the familiar name of your club come so casually out of his mouth. He might as well have slapped you across the face when he said it.
Red Siren.
“W-what? Sorry, sorry, uh, repeat what you just said?”
Dick looks at you, sitting beside him on the couch, and repeats himself,
“Okay, so basically, Jonathan Crane is Scarecrow’s real name — spoiler alert — and a few of our contacts have said that he frequents the Red Siren a lot.”
You can’t help but stare at him a bit transfixed. Jonathan Crane… whoever that is, is Scarecrow… and he frequents your club.
“… Okay, and…?”
Jason flashes you a wide toothy grin from the chair across the room,
“So, we’re gonna see if we can put him down.”
Dick flashes Jason a raised eyebrow at the words ‘put him down’ but doesn’t correct him. Tim speaks from behind the couch — behind you — dragging a jolt out of you at his sudden presence.
“He’s been laying low for a while, which is bad news, so essentially, we’re trying to get him before he can release whatever he’s cooked up this time.”
Fuck, you’re realising where this is going.
“So, I’m guessing this warrants someone a trip to the Red Siren then?”
Maybe not — I mean, surely they’re just gonna ambush the guy outside, right? You’re stuck between trying to keep a poker face and trying to remember if you’ve ever had a client named Jonathan before Dick shakes his head beside you.
“Something like that, we’re mostly trying to contact his favourite dancer there, her name is Vi.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
There wasn’t much meaning to your codename — it was mostly given to the receptionist on a whim and based entirely on one of the characters in Arcane — but right now, you think you’re going to throw up all over the manor floor.
“Aye, you good?”
You look at Jason and suddenly an even worse realisation slaps you across the face; you’re sitting in a room with some of the best detectives — amateur or not — and you’re losing more and more colour in your face.
“Yeah! Sorry, I’ve actually been feeling a bit nauseous and it’s hitting me a bit hard right now.”
Damian scoffs at you from the floor where he’s settled up against Titus near Jason’s chair, mostly absent from the conversation.
“You’re overworking yourself at the hospital, and now look, you’re about to be a patient there.”
You give a sarcastic ‘ha ha’ to Damian who smirks at you before petting Titus behind his ears.
Glancing at the watch on your wrist, you read a late 11:24 pm. You’ve definitely stayed longer before but it’s also not a suspicious time for you to leave — and that, you need to do immediately.
“Actually, speaking of patients, I’ve got an earlier shift tomorrow so I’m gonna head off early tonight.”
The boys all nod and you make your way to Jason and give him a side hug from his place on the couch, and simultaneously reach down to mess with Damian’s hair, to which the boy scoffs at — you catch his smirk anyway.
Tim gives you a soft smile before hugging you, and before you can turn towards Dick, he gets up from his place on the couch.
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
You really wish he wasn’t being chivalrous right now like he always is, but you’re not going to argue with him. You just need to get out of here quickly and cleanly, and the longer you’re delaying your trip home, the longer you can feel the detectives staring holes into your skin.
You nod and the two of you start your walk outside, he opens the door for you and leads you through before you break the silence,
“Tell Bruce I said bye, and tell Alfred thank you again for the dinner please?”
He nods, “Of course, you’re gonna be okay on the drive home? If you’re tired, can I drive you?”
You shake your head at the offer — maybe a little too quickly — and follow up with the best excuse you can think of.
“No, that’s fine… might hit the… 24-hour liquor store on the way home.”
You can’t help but want to punch yourself — that’s your best excuse? Jeez.
“Are… are you okay? Or… is there something you want to talk about —“
You shake your head quickly again, a fake laugh slipping through your lips.
“No, no! One of my coworkers is moving hospitals, so I’m gonna buy her a bottle of overpriced whiskey to celebrate.”
Dick smiles down at you with a soft ‘ah’ at your explanation, and you fumble with your keys before unlocking your car. You reach up and hug dick, whispering a soft goodnight into his ear before sitting in your car.
He stays out the front of the manor until you’re out of his view before heading inside, and you can’t help but hold your breath until you no longer see him in your rearview mirror.
You’re fucked.
>>>
It’s been about a week since that conversation with Dick and the anxiety in your stomach hasn’t eased up once. They usually keep “intel”-based information to a minimum around you — for the sake of your protection — but you can’t help but remember his name.
Jonathan Crane.
Apparently, you’re the Scarecrow’s favourite dancer, and you’re not sure how to take to that — hopefully, it doesn’t go south for you, but… surely, if it meant to, then it would’ve by now.
You start to undress in the girls’ room, slipping on a glittery, black set.
“Hey baby, I missed you.”
You look back at one of your coworkers — Roxi — who’s worked alongside you ever since you started. She comes over and wraps her arms around you, before pressing a kiss to your cheek. You giggle, and she sits herself next to your usual vanity before pulling her makeup bag out of her backpack.
“Thank god you’re here tonight,” you sigh out, and she giggles while smearing some of her concealer on in a rush. The two of you girls start chattering about mindless things going on in your personal lives while getting ready for your dances.
You loved Roxi, she was the first dancer you met when you first started — although she had experience in the industry unlike you, she was also new to this club so you both bonded together. Though, all of the girls here are sweethearts and if anything, are part of the reason you don’t hate it here.
The intercom system chimes before the receptionist’s voice fills the girls’ room, “Roxi babe, your bookings are running late and Vi, Tommy is coming in to see you at 10:30 pm!”
Roxi and you both threw thumbs up into the air for the camera to catch and the intercom chimes again with a gentle, “Thank you ladies!”
You glance at the time; it’s 8:55 pm.
“Tommy’s your big tipper, aye?” Roxi’s voice sounded muffled from beside you and when you glanced over, she was leaning about an inch away from the mirror to do her eyeliner. You giggled at her expression before nodding.
“Yep… I always have mixed feelings about the guy but hey, can’t complain when I make my goal for the night.”
Roxi scoffs before mumbling, “Amen to that, Sister.”
>>>
There wasn’t all that much time before Tommy’s booking to dance, but you still managed to snag the stage and get yourself some cash — though before you’re able to count it, the intercom sounds.
“Vi, Tommy’s here for you.”
You stuff your cash into your locker before locking it up and shoving your shoes back on. You head to reception and Tasha sits there.
She hands you a discreet, black folder, and from the weight of it, you can tell it's a thick stack of cash, and you can’t help but smile. He’s booking you for a lot longer than he normally does, but you can’t complain — you’ve already hit your goal for the night with this cash, even without doing any extras in the room.
“He’s booked you for a longer dance, he’s waiting in room 7 for you babe.”
After shoving the cash into your locker, you go to the allocated room.
Tommy… Well, he’s an odd one. He’s clearly a man of science, that much you can tell — it’s in the way he looks at your body, not in lust or love but in curiosity; like he wants to see how far he can bend your limbs or how hard he can push your resolve. It never quite feels like it’s just a dance with him, but it was bearable, so you’d never turn him down.
Pushing the door open to the room, you find Tommy sitting on the lounge, his eyes already on you — the lightest shade of blue you’d ever seen in a pair. His hair was tussled like he’d been running his hands through it too much, and he was wearing a white button-down with black dress pants.
“Same arrangement as last time?”
You smile at him before stripping out of your clothes immediately. You can always appreciate that he doesn’t waste your time; you nod and walk over to him. The thing about this arrangement is that he’s very particular with the way he wants things, and you’re not entirely sure why, but it’s an easy job, and you can’t complain.
He doesn’t like it if you speak without being spoken to, he doesn’t grope or touch you too much, and when he does… it’s not to enjoy it per se but more to observe the area he’s touching and the reactions his touch has to your skin. He demands that you strip naked before making your way to him, and he prefers you close, on his lap.
The first time you met the guy, you were both confused and thankful for the dance; for one, he had given you thousands of dollars, yet for two, he didn’t seem like he enjoyed any bit of it the way most men would — and to your shock, he came back and kept coming back. And to think that the first dance, he was tipping out orders left and right on how he wanted you.
Creepy, you’ll give him that, but genuinely one of the easiest and best clients you’ve had.
You crawl over to him and waste no time in straddling his lap. To your surprise, he runs his hand from the centre of your stomach, up the middle of your sternum, and rests it gently around your neck. His gaze is glued to the goosebumps forming on your skin at the feather-soft sensation, and he focuses on seemingly nothing else.
Just then, he adds more pressure around your neck before locking eyes with you and whispering, “How about we play a different game?”
—
Tommy was a lot of things, but a hitter hadn't been one of them… not until tonight anyway.
Of course, that’s not how it started. He had asked for his usual arrangement, and that mainly consisted of a nude lap dance and the occasional touch of fingers. Usually, you would charge extra if someone wanted to touch you because you weren't the biggest fan of when people would actually put their sweaty hands on you, but the way Tommy touched you… didn’t feel perverse. It felt observant – as if he was trying to gauge what type of reactions you’d give him based on the nature of his touch. It was freaky but ultimately harmless, so you stopped charging him extra after the third time he’d done it. There was really no point in charging someone extra for something when he wasn't even putting his hands on any of your intimate areas but rather your sternum and neck – to you anyway.
This time, he was clearly more impatient. The first hour and a half of the booking consisted of the normal nude dance, and it was only after you’d sat beside him that he asked if he could do something new to you. Given he was a regular, you agreed if it was something reasonable, and that’s when he asked if he could slap you.
“I won’t be too harsh, and of course, I’ll pay extra,” just as the words barely left his mouth, he pulled out a stack of cash from his trousers – what looked to be at least five thousand easy. As much as you loved money, you weren't going to charge that much for slapping, but before you could blurt out a reasonable price, he interrupted with a firm, “I insist.”
Needless to say, as the booking went on, the five thousand dollars quickly felt reasonable. You don’t know if you had ever been slapped that hard or if you had ever slapped anyone else that hard before. Your face was vibrating with immense pain, and before you could even ask the reception whether you’d be able to take an extended break, she gasped as you approached the desk.
“What the fuck happened in there? Are you okay?”
At the concern in her eyes, you can’t help but let your eyes well up a bit. A shaky nod and the slight tremble in your bottom lip have her immediately insisting you go home, and that she’d cancel your bookings for the night.
You’ve honestly never been more grateful for her. Back in the girl’s room, you shove your sweatpants and hoodie back on before grabbing your bag and heading out the back door. It’s just a shame you couldn’t say goodbye to Roxi, but you know she would understand.
>>
The next morning had come quicker than expected, and so had the swelling of your face. You’d called out of the next few night shifts – you weren’t too fond of working with a swollen face, or putting makeup on said face – and your boss was more than understanding about the situation, ending the conversation with a simple, ‘Just let me know when you’re ready to be rostered again’.
You had also called out of school today too – the plan was to spend the day at home, icing your face and hoping the swelling would go down a reasonable amount – you weren’t too fond of the idea of making up an excuse about why you looked the way you did – especially since your classmates were future doctors… they would know the difference between the aftermath of a punch and a slap.
A soft hiss left your lips as you pressed the ice pack to your face, scrolling on your phone as you lazed about on the couch. A notification showed up at the top of your phone – a phone call from Dick. You answered the phone and put it on speaker.
“Hey Dick, what’s up?” His response came through smoothly, his brothers could be heard faintly in the background.
“Haven’t seen you in a bit, the boys and I are gonna go bowling, you down?”
The truth is that you would love to go with Dick, you really do miss him and his brothers too… but given the state of your face, it’s best that you don’t. Dick would ask too many questions and you know you’d stumble over your words and then next thing you know, Dick finds out that you’re a stripper and everything hits the fan.
“I would love to but uh, sorry Dick, I’m just going through it right now. Cool if I cancel?”
It was a lot easier to tell him that you ‘weren’t feeling it’ because technically it wasn't a lie, and it's a lot easier to give an excuse that's somewhat true than to lie to him – he’d see right through you.
“Yeah, of course, are you okay? Do you need anything?”
God, it’s irritating how sweet he is. It really makes dating hard for you when all you can think about is how Dick pulls out chairs for you and opens the doors and is just an annoyingly sweet person and the man you’re on a date with just told you his cock size as if that makes his surface-level personality cuter. Spoiler alert; it does not.
“I should be okay. Thanks for thinking of me, I’ll get in contact and make plans with you guys another time, ‘k?”
The phone call ended smoothly after a vague promise of laser tag and pizza, and you went back to icing your face. You did really miss Dick, and the boys but unfortunately, your actions (and Tommy’s) have consequences. The show on the TV drones on and you find your eyes getting a little heavy…
…
A series of knocks at your door wakes you up, you groan at the wetness in your hand and a sleepy glance down shows a melted ice pack. Another knock snaps you out of your daze, and you groggily wake up and wander your way to the kitchen. With the makeshift ice pack slapped into the bin, you head to the front door and look through the peephole – a worried Dick is checking his watch before knocking at your door again, the vibration soft against the tip of your nose.
Looking back, you unlock the deadbolt and open the door. A sleepy smile graces your face when Dick’s eyes look up from his watch at you.
“Hey, I brought you some takeou– What happened to your face?”
Fuck. You forgot about that.
Your hand instinctively goes up to cup your cheek – almost as if you’re also just realising the state of your face – fuck, quick, think of something. You bite your bottom lip as you stare into his icy gaze. You can tell he’s already analysing every single micromovement on your face. You part your lips to mutter a half-assed excuse before he puts his hand up to interrupt you.
“Don’t you dare lie to me.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Well, obviously, you’re still going to have to lie to him. He’s just going to know that you’re lying to him, and then he’s either going to rip it out of you or he’s going to pretend like he believes you until he eventually figures it out himself.
“I-I… I can’t tell you.”
If his eyebrows could furrow any lower into his eyes, they would. He slightly tilts his head in question before his gaze widens slightly.
“Because someone’s told you that you can’t or… because you don’t want to.”
You soften a bit at the suggestion in his statement – he’s just worried about you, and he’s probably assuming the worst – you weren’t the biggest talker about your love life with Dick, not because you didn’t want to be but because you preferred him over anyone else you had ever dated and you didn’t really want him to know that he ruined your dating life.
“I’m not ready to tell you. I’m sorry, but I am… safe, so don’t worry about that.”
You knew immediately that a part of him was wondering if it was worth breaking your trust to find out on his own, but you knew that he would never do that to you. The guilt would eat him up before he could get the courage to apologise.
You stare at one another for what feels like a lifetime. Not that you mind too much. His eyes remind you of the sea - so beautiful, enigmatic yet dangerous. He breaks the silence with a breath through his nose, before muttering a soft yet defeated, “Fine.”
You nod and he holds his arm up, showcasing a plastic bag with Chinese script scattered haphazardly across the front, he flashes his best attempt at a grin - moreso for your sake instead of his before saying, "Now, can you please let me in? I brought your favourite."
You scoot to the side and he squeezes past you, making his way inside and heading straight for your couch where the TV was stuck on the “Are You Still Watching?” phase. He glances at the TV and makes what could only be described as a noise of utter betrayal.
"Are you fucking kidding me? First, you won't tell me why it looks like Killer Croc slapped you with his tail and now you're watching OUR show without me? When you think you know a guy..."
You can't help that he makes you laugh and you sit a bit too close to him but if he notices, he doesn't say anything and wraps an arm around you behind the couch. He leans in and you feel the gentle press of faint lips against the side of your face before he gently whispers, "I'm worried about you... If you need anything at all, don't you dare keep it to yourself."
You nod and don't turn towards him, it is the only thing you can do not to sob every confession out. You know that he's not just going to let this go, but you're thankful he at least pretends like he's not going to bring it up again — realistically, he's going to find out eventually and seeing your wounded face like this does nothing but add more fuel to his already raging bonfire.
You naively hope he forgets. You wouldn't wish harm on Dick, but maybe if he hit his head on his next patrol – maybe – he’ll forget about this.
That morning, Dick had left far quicker than you had woken up. The only evidence that he was ever there was an unopened text message on your phone saying he had to leave for patrol. It felt oddly like he was apologising as a one night stand or something but you shook the thought from your head before it could sting.
—
It had been a few weeks since Dick caught the state of your face and surprisingly, he hadn’t brought it up – aside from the brief check in afterwards on a Facetime call – so you had been thankful for that. You hadn’t seen Tommy again at your night job either so thankfully, you didn't have to worry about that happening again – although, given the trouble that he caused slapping you around like a stripper’s ass; you’ll be declining his offer next time.
School had been a bit hectic lately with all the noise about Scarecrow coming back around with his newest fear gas but you were able to scrub in on some of the emergency surgeries that popped up throughout the weeks. You feel guilty to admit that the only reason your peers and yourself had been able to scrub in on some pretty gnarly surgeries is because of Gotham’s aggressive nature.
You were popping back into your night job tonight for a couple duo dances with Roxi – you decided that you’d be taking a break from doing personal dances for a while
—
In the midst of all the chaos, all the girls started running towards the back exit. Roxi was quick to burst into the girls’ room, and drag you by the hand with a quick, ‘we have to go’, and that was enough to have you quickly abandoning your heels and ripping your robe off the back of the couch.
As you ran into the crowd of girls all scattered towards the exit, Roxi lost her grip on your hand. A slight panic rose in you but you knew that she had to be somewhere ahead of you in the crowd of dancers and that you’d find her outside. You turned the corner, and slammed into something – someone – and before you could fall back, gloved hands grabbed you by the biceps and hauled you up and against a solid chest.
Your heart hammered in your chest as you shot your hand up so fast to see who was gripping onto you so hard – your breath was ripped out of your lungs when you realized that Jason – no, the Red Hood – was staring down at you from his red helmet. Before you could open your mouth, he had quickly dragged you into the room he had emerged from originally.
“Jas– Red Hood? What are you doing here–”
He turns around after slamming and locking the door shut, his hands reach up to his helmet and a faint hiss is heard before he pulls it off to reveal Jason, in a domino mask.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
Your mouth gapes at him before stammering out, “I-I just dance here, I–”
Your words seem to choke somewhere between your oesophagus and rising bile, but he’s heard enough. He huffs a sigh through his nose and his hand comes up to drag down his face.
“Fuck me dead… he doesn’t know, does he?”
At the mention of Dick, sweat starts to manifest itself at the nape of your neck.
“Jason, you can’t tell him! He’ll neve–”
Jason holds up his hand and that effectively stops you from spewing out anymore nonsense. It’s done. Dick has to know and you’re fucked. You’ll lose Dick, and probably the whole family – hell, you might even go to jail? Who knows.
“It’s not my place to tell him something like that… but, he will find out. We’re investigating this place, and you’re bound to come up somewhere… you know that right?”
You hadn’t realised tears were streaming down your cheeks until Jason cupped your face in his hands, his helmet now placed on a table in the room. His gloves didn't really absorb your tears and more so, pushed them around your cheeks but the love was there. You looked at him and his frown was obvious.
“Do you… do you think of me… differently.”
A soft laugh left his lips as he shook his head down at you. He let go of your face, but gently tucked your hair behind your cheeks, ever so careful of your piercings.
“Of course not. You’re still my best friend.”
A soft hue of pink makes its way across your cheeks. This is the first time Jason’s ever outwardly admitted you’re his best friend.
“Wow. Am I higher or lower than Roy?”
A soft ‘ugh’ comes from him as he drops his hands to his hips and throws his head back towards the ceiling.
“Higher, don’t you dare tell him.”
A mini salute makes its way out of you,and Jason grabs his helmet off the table. You’re suddenly very aware of the fact that your robe is open and quickly cover up – although, to Jason’s credit, he’d never once looked anywhere he shouldn't have.
“And as high as you are on the rank, I can’t lie to Dick about this. Of course, I’d never say anything to him but he will find out.”
You nod, and he’s got his helmet back on. “Head out the back, Nightwing is at the reception.”
Looking down at you again, he nods and silently slips out of the room first. You wait a couple seconds before leaving after him and heading out of the building. The positive is that Jason would never say anything but there's no doubt in your mind that the cameras of this place will be checked as soon as they’re discovered.
You pray they’re still as grainy as when you first got a peek of them many months ago.
—
You’re sitting on the floor of your apartment in front of your open floorboard counting all the cash you have to potentially disappear off the face of the planet. Not really, but the option is growing more attractive by the minute.
You had found Roxi by the alleyway near the brothel, and she had unceremoniously suggested that you both ‘got the fuck out of there’ to which you had agreed. She was kind enough to let you borrow some spare clothes that she had in her car, and for the first time ever, you’d exchanged numbers with one another.
You couldn't shake the anxiety that was clawing at your back… Jason was right. That whole strip club was under investigation for a criminal responsible for thousands of deaths, there was no way they wouldn’t check the cameras.
“You plannin’ on running away?”
The modulated voice sends a hot flash of fear that runs down your spine. You spin around to see Jason shutting your window, his red helmet mocking you despite its lack of expression.
“Fuck, you scared me. What are you doing here?”
He tugs his helmet on, leaving it on your couch before coming to stand over you, eyes on the cash and the loose floorboard.
“Wanted to give you an update, and get some info from ya’.”
You sigh, and put the floorboard back into place, before pushing your carpet over it. Jason plops down on your couch, patting the spot next to him like you’re a child about to get a scolding. It takes a lot of effort but you sit down beside him, gaze down at your lap.
“You okay doll?”
You can only manage a nod, and Jason reaches a gloved hand out, gently caressing your right cheek, nudging you to look into his green eyes. His domino mask is gone now, and his expression is filled with worry, and affection.
“Talk to me.”
Your bottom lip whimpers and before a single tear can fall, you’re hugging Jason. He tenses up before wrapping his arms around you, rubbing your back. The gentlest ‘shh’ and ‘it’s gonna be okay’ make their way into your ears, past the sounds of your sobs.
Although it was only a few minutes, he held you tightly through it until you leaned back on the couch, eyes red, and sniffling. This time, however, Jason was thigh to thigh with you, his hand on yours on top of your knee.
“Doll, you’re my best friend, please tell me that you know I would never see you differently?”
You nod. It’s all you can manage, and Jason leans close, before pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head. You know he means it, as close as you are with Dick, Jason’s always been the one to know your darkest secrets… now including this one.
“What questions did you need to ask?”
He hums before gently letting go of your hand, the cold air rushing to your knuckles. He reaches into his leather jack, before pulling out a small photograph.
“Do you recognise his face?”
You’ve barely managed to analyse the photo before you’re bursting into tears again, nodding shakily.
Tommy – no – Jonathan Crane, Scarecrow, stares back at you. Jason nods, understanding, before wrapping his arms around you again.
—
It took a while for you to be able to describe what had happened in the private lap dances to Jason but he never rushed you, and eventually, you told him all he needed to know, and after insisting he was okay to stay if you needed company a couple more hundred times, followed by you insisting that you’re fine, he finally left through the window that night.
It’s only a week later when your phone starts buzzing profusely as you're heating up your kettle for your two minute noodles. One glance at your phone has you grabbing it from the counter before quickly unlocking it and reading Jason’s texts.
‘Heads up, Dick just reviewed the footage and he’s left the manor’
‘Not sure yet but I’m pretty sure he’s headed to your place doll’
‘Tried to stop him and calm him down but he’s pretty heated, I’m sorry doll’
‘Getting my helmet and heading your way’
You stare at the texts for what feels like a minute before responding to Jason.
‘Thanks Jay, but I think Dick and I need to have this conversation. Don’t worry about me, thanks for all your help again x’
His response is quick.
‘I won’t push but if you ever need me there, just call me ok? Please’
You respond with a quick ‘will do’ before switching to the location app on your phone. A little blue dot is seen going across the highway about 10 over the limit and rising, and a quick glance at surrounding buildings lets you know that he’s about 5 minutes from yours.
A sigh leaves your lips and you throw your phone on the counter, exhausted. A hand reaches out and turns off the kettle mid boil as you stare longingly at your noodle packet.
‘This is gonna have to wait.’
—
Your door shakes with the knocks that come from it, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think Killer Croc was out to get you. You rip the door open with as much fury, the abrupt knocking having sent you into an adrenaline rush.
“Are you fucking serious?”
Dick stands there; washed out grey shirt with the word ‘Gothamites’, plaid pants and black slippers, staring at you with rage and something else you can’t quite read in his eyes… disappointment? Disgust?
“What are you talking about?”
You watch the way his jaw tenses into stone, watch the way his tongue prods at his cheek in anger. He starts towards you, and instinctively you move back away from him. His hand reaches out to his side and you flinch just before it reaches out to the door and slams it shut behind him.
“Don’t you play fucking dumb with me! Why the fuck would you be a stripper?”
The fear at the sight of him rots into something colder; anger. He wants to judge you, right.
What a fucking joke.
“Oh, fuck you, Dick! Not all of us have daddy’s money to pay for everything! Don’t act like you’re above me, you might not be the dancer but I’m sure you’ve stepped into a club too, asshole!”
He rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair, tugging slightly. He scoffs and it turns into a bitter chuckle, none of his actions are helping the genuine rage boiling in your fists.
“What the fuck are you talking about–”
The next words rip out of you before you can catch the leash.
“Fuck you! I did what I could to pay my bills so don’t–”
Your voice rises, matching his tempo, the anger has left your knuckles and it's licking at your palms.
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.
“No, fuck you, you were targeted by the Scarecrow! Why the fuck wouldn’t you say anything?”
You have no idea what it’s been like. What I’ve done… How could you? Too busy being the perfect Golden Child.
“How the fuck was I supposed to know that was Scarecrow? I was just at work–”
How was I supposed to know that freak was a villain? He could’ve killed me. He’s burned his touch into me.
There’s a slight shimmer in Dick’s eyes, you’re not sure if it’s tears or hatred. You’re going to stick with the latter.
“If you needed money, you could have come to me–”
You roll your eyes, it always seems to be about money.
“Fuck you, Dick, I don’t need you to fucking baby me–”
“Baby you? I’m- I’m not trying to do that, I just want you safe.”
Laughable. Safe? You mean, ‘tameable’?
“No, you want me modest, so that you can avoid another scandal in your life–”
“You are not a fucking scandal, you’re my girl, I don’t care if you want to–”
Your breath hitches just when you’re about to fire another insult, and you lose your thought.
His girl?
The next sentence that comes out of you, doesn't leave harsh and cold like you mean it to. It leaves bruised and battered, and with a lump in your throat.
“Don’t fucking call me that.”
Dick’s eyes soften, and your cheeks sting. He sighs at the sight of your tear-streaked cheeks, and suddenly it sets in for him. He didn't mean to come here and yell. He didn't mean to make you flinch, he never wanted you scared…
He was just horrified, and you didn't understand that. Didn't understand why. Not because you were foolish – no, far from it – but because, you thought he was judging you. That he actually gave a fuck about your being a dancer.
Well, he did. But not in a weird way, he thought it was cool, and he cared because it stung to know that somewhere along all these years, he’d given you a side of himself, a piece of himself, that made you think he wouldn’t love you if you were a dancer.
But that was far from the truth. The Scarecrow was going to kill you that night that he raided the club, he was minutes away from poisoning you in the private room. He didn’t know it then, and how could you have known at all?
He can’t help it, his face is just as wet as yours, his bottom lip quivering.
Come on Dick, talk dammit.
He gulps down his fear, and rushes to get his next sentence out before it rips its way through him again.
“Baby… you don’t get it, I–”
“Leave.”
A soft gasp almost leaves his lips, and he tries to speak again, only for your small hands to push at his chest. It’s only when he’s pushed back that he realises you’ve opened the door behind him, and before he can reach, the door shuts in his face.
You could ask life-altering questions while curled against Benjamin Poindexter’s side in sweatpants, halfway through bad takeout and an even worse movie.
Dex sat stiffly beside you on the couch, one arm around your waist while his attention flicked between the TV and the apartment windows every few seconds.
Always scanning, always calculating.
You tilted your head up at him suddenly. “Can I ask you something?”
“You just did.”
You snorted softly.
His mouth twitched faintly.
That tiny almost-smile felt like winning the lottery every time.
You poked his chest lightly. “Hypothetically.”
“I don’t like hypotheticals.”
“I know, but answer anyway.”
Dex sighed dramatically, which was impressive considering his face barely moved.
“What?”
You thought about it for a second before asking casually, “If all the people you’ve ever loved were in one room…”
The second the word loved left your mouth, his attention snapped fully onto you.
“…would you still pick me?”
Silence.
The movie continued playing in the background, some loud action scene neither of you cared about anymore.
Dex stared at you like the question itself confused him.
“Pick you for what?”
You laughed. “You know. Like… first. Most.”
His brows pulled together slightly.
You suddenly felt embarrassed.
“It’s stupid, never mind.”
“No.” His grip around your waist tightened immediately. “Explain please. ”
You looked down at your hands. “I don’t know. That girl you uh.. Stalked before..? your therapist, people you cared about before me…” Your voice softened. “If everybody was there, would I still matter the most?”
Dex went completely still.
Thinking-still.
That intense kind of silence where you could practically hear his brain locking onto every word.
“You think I’d hesitate?”
Your eyes lifted to his carefully.
“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly.
Benjamin Poindexter looked genuinely disturbed by that answer.
He leaned back slightly, studying your face like he was trying to understand how this insecurity had managed to exist without him noticing.
Then he said, very flatly:
“There isn’t a room.”
“What?”
“There isn’t a room full of people I love.”
You blinked.
Dex’s gaze never left yours.
“There’s you.”
Your heart stuttered.
“Ben—”
“No, listen.” His voice stayed calm, but there was something frighteningly sincere underneath it. “Well.. Uh Julie mattered to me because she made me feel normal for only a while. My therapist mattered because he kept me functional. But you—”
He stopped abruptly, jaw tightening.
You waited quietly.
Dex wasn’t good at feelings. Every vulnerable sentence looked like it physically hurt him to say.
“You’re different,” he finished quietly.
The room suddenly felt too warm.
You stared at him. “Different how?”
His eyes flicked away for half a second before returning to you.
“You’re the first person and the only one I’ve ever loved without pretending to be someone else first.”
That hit so hard your chest hurt.
Dex continued before you could speak.
“When I’m with you, I don’t calculate every word.” His fingers flexed against your waist unconsciously and his eyes narrowed as he speaks. “I don’t wonder when you’ll realize there’s something wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“There is.”
You opened your mouth immediately, but he shook his head.
“I know there is,” he said quietly. “But you stay anyway.”
Emotion clogged your throat instantly.
Dex leaned closer without even realizing he was doing it.
“So no,” he murmured. “If everyone I’ve ever cared about was standing in one room…” His eyes softened in that rare, devastating way only you ever got to see. “I’d still walk straight to you.”
Your eyes burned.
“That was disgustingly romantic,” you whispered.
“I was being serious.”
“I know.”
He looked offended by your smile. “Stop that,”
“Because you basically just confessed your undying love like a Victorian man dying of tuberculosis.”
Dex stared blankly for two seconds.
Then—miracle of miracles—you saw him trying not to smile.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re obsessed with me.”
“I am, so what?” he answered immediately.
No hesitation.
No embarrassment.
Just the truth.
And somehow that made your face hotter than anything else he could’ve said.
You buried your face against his shoulder with a groan while he quietly pulled you closer, arms wrapping around you with certainty.
Benjamin Poindexter never raised his voice at you.
He got sharp sometimes. Quiet and distant. His jaw would lock up so hard you thought his teeth might crack, but yelling? That wasn’t Dex. Dex controlled himself with brutal precision because he knew exactly what happened when he didn’t.
Which was why the second it happened, the entire apartment went dead silent.
“Can you just stop talking for one second?!”
The words hit harder than they should have.
You froze in the kitchen doorway, still holding the glass of water you’d brought him.
Dex stood near the table, shoulders tight, breathing uneven. There were dark circles under his eyes, his FBI jacket half-unzipped, hands trembling faintly from exhaustion. He’d barely slept in two days. Barely eaten. Every muscle in his body looked wound too tight.
But the second he saw your face—
He broke.
“No—”
The anger vanished instantly, like someone ripped it out of him.
His expression collapsed into horror.
“No no no…”
The glass shook slightly in your hand as Dex stumbled toward you too fast, panic flooding his features.
“I didn’t mean that.” His voice cracked immediately. “I didn’t—I wasn’t yelling at you, I just—”
He swallowed hard, eyes already watering.
You’d seen dex kill a man without blinking.
But this?
This destroyed him.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, quieter now. Desperate. “Please don’t look at me like that.”
You hadn’t even realized you looked hurt until he said it.
Dex grabbed both sides of his head like he was trying to physically stop himself from unraveling.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated shakily. “I’m so fucking tired and everything’s loud and I—I took it out on you and I swore I’d never do that.”
His breathing became uneven.
Then the tears started.
Not dramatic nor manipulative. Just terrified.
He looked at you like he genuinely believed one wrong move would make you leave.
“Please say something,” he whispered.
The glass barely made it onto the counter before he caught your wrists carefully, almost afraid you’d pull away.
“I didn’t mean it,” he kept saying, voice breaking more each time. “I don’t want to hurt you. I would never hurt you.”
“Dex—”
“I know what I sound like when I lose control—I didn't mean it I swear” A tear slid down his face and he looked furious at himself for it. “I know what I am when I get like this.”
Your chest tightened.
Because beneath the exhaustion and panic, there it was—
Fear.
Not fear of being alone.
Fear of becoming someone dangerous to you.
Dex lowered his head suddenly, gripping your hands tighter.
“I’m trying so hard,” he said quietly, crying now without even hiding it. “I’m trying so hard to be good with you.”
That did it.
You pulled him into you immediately.
His entire body jerked in surprise before he folded against you like he was holding himself together by threads alone. One arm wrapped around your waist so tightly it almost hurt while the other covered his face.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled against your shoulder over and over again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
You ran your fingers through his hair carefully.
“You scared me for a second,” you admitted softly.
Dex let out a broken sound that was halfway to a sob.
“I know.”
“But I’m not leaving.”
He went still.
Then he finally looked at you, eyes red and wet, like he didn’t quite believe what he heard.
“You’re not?”
You shook your head gently.
Dex stared at you for a long moment before pressing his forehead against yours, breathing shakily.
“Don’t be nice to me right now, slap me, punch me...” he whispered painfully. “I don’t deserve it. You're being too kind to me.”
Your thumb brushed under his eye.
“Good thing I decide that. Not you.”
For the first time all night, his shoulders finally loosened.
Dex stands too close to you without noticing. Not in a romantic way at first — more like your existence automatically registers as the safest position in the room.
Benjamin Poindexter does that thing where he quietly stares at you when he thinks you’re focused on something else. Not creepy exactly, more like he still can’t fully believe that you’re real and loving him.
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