[cosmogyrais]

꒦‧₊ ꒷ ani's fic rec blog ๑ ꒱

𖥻 ᘍ dean winchester’s fav girl —— theodore nott’s calm —— clark kent’s kryptonite —— fanfic obsessed ᘊ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ ˖ ࣪⭑

reblogging all the fics i love ! ｡ﾟ೫ ‧₊ i also write ꕤ masterlist

[trowneyy]

𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

⤷ dick grayson

• {content} dick only respond to you calling him baby

The apartment was quiet for a Sunday afternoon, save for the rhythmic humming of the washing machine and the faint scent of fresh linen.

You were currently knee-deep in folding the endless mountain of laundry on the bed. You grabbed the next item from the basket, held it up, and instantly stopped, staring at it in absolute disbelief.

It was a pair of Dick’s favorite boxers—or at least, what used to be boxers. At this point, the fabric was so worn down it was almost translucent, and there were two distinct, gaping holes near the seam. They were hanging on by a single thread and sheer willpower.

"Dick, are you serious?" you called out toward the living room, where your boyfriend was currently stretched across the rug doing his afternoon mobility routine. "Dick, come look at these!"

No answer. Not even a rustle of his sweatpants.

"Dick?" you said, a little louder, peeking your head around the bedroom door.

He was flowing smoothly from a deep hamstring stretch into a cobra pose, looking entirely serene and completely oblivious to your existence.

You blinked. You knew for a fact he wasn't deaf—the man had peak-human Bat-family hearing and could spot a footstep on a roof three blocks away. You opened your mouth to yell his name again, but then the realization hit you.

You had called him 'Dick.'

In the three years you’d been together, you almost never called him by his actual name. He was "babe," "baby," "honey," or, on particularly chaotic mornings, "sweetheart." Calling him Dick was practically a foreign language to his subconscious.

A mischievous grin spread across your face. You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms.

"Richard?"

Silence. He shifted into a shoulder bridge.

"Grayson?"

He sighed softly, deepening the stretch, completely locked into his own world.

"Officer Grayson?"

Nothing.

You took a slow breath, held up the shredded boxers like evidence in a court trial, and dropped your voice to its usual fond, affectionate tone.

"Hey, baby?"

Dick’s head snapped up instantly. His bright blue eyes locked onto yours, a warm, easy smile instantly spreading across his face.

"Yeah, sweetcheeks? What's up?" he asked, popping off the floor with effortless agility and strolling toward the bedroom. He leaned into your space, instantly tilting his chin down for a kiss.

You held up the holy pair of boxers right between your faces like a shield, staring at him with an amused, disbelieving look. "Are you serious right now?"

Dick paused mid-lean, blinking at the ruined fabric, then up at you like a confused puppy. "What?"

"First of all, these are going in the trash. Second of all, I just called your name four times."

"No, you didn't," he said smoothly, sliding his arms around your waist anyway. "I would've heard you."

"I said Dick."

He flinched subtly, screwing up his nose as if the word tasted weird. "See? Hearing it now, it doesn't even sound like a real word. Who is he? Sounds like a stranger. I don't know him."

"It is literally your legal name!" You laughed, reaching up to tap his cheek.

Dick gently caught your wrist, tugging you a little closer until your chest was resting against his.

"My name," he corrected softly, his voice dropping into that low, warm register he saved just for you, "is baby. Or babe. I also accept 'hey handsome' if you're feeling fancy."

"You're ridiculous," you murmured, though you couldn't stop the smile tugging at your lips.

"I'm a man conditioned by love," he declared heroically, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. "If you start calling me Dick, I'm going to assume I'm in trouble, or that Bruce is standing right behind me. Neither of those options are good for my heart."

"So if I need to save you from a falling building, I just have to yell 'Look out, babe!'?"

"Precisely," Dick grinned, kissing your cheek before eyeing the ruined boxers in your hand. "And for the record, those are vintage. They're aerated. It's tactical."

"They're going in the trash, baby."

"Fair enough," he sighed dramatically, wrapping his arms around you tighter.

[cosmogyrais]

john logan masterlist ᝢ ˚. ♡ upd: 08/11/26

𓂃 ·˚ ༘ remember to like & reblog all posts! tumblr strives on reblogs ˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶ off campus masterlist

ଘ seven steps, one word by @fezrus

₊ ꒷ ʚ from an irritated "oh, fuck!" to a confident "fuck it", your entire relationship with John Logan can be mapped out in seven specific exclamations of his favorite four-letter word.

ଘ unprofessional conduct by @puckingcuckbunny

₊ ꒷ ʚ The Briar hockey team treats the sports medicine clinic like their personal emergency room, John Logan treats it like a second home. But the team can't confirm nor deny your relationship... well until now

ଘ too pretty to keep secret by @rinvvii

₊ ꒷ ʚ Dating John Logan in secret would be easier if he knew how to act normal around you. Unfortunately, Logan is hopelessly in love, terrible at hiding it, and one affectionate comment away from exposing your entire relationship.

ଘ too pretty to keep secret pt 2 by @rinvvii

₊ ꒷ ʚ Dating John Logan in secret would be easier if he knew how to act normal around you. Unfortunately, Logan is hopelessly in love, terrible at hiding it, and one affectionate comment away from exposing your entire relationship.

ଘ the logan arrangement by @jadeittic

₊ ꒷ ʚ the rules are strict—you must date for two months, you must act convincingly in public, and whoever catches feelings first automatically loses.

ଘ on thin ice by @folkloure

₊ ꒷ ʚ figure skater!reader has some issues with her skating partner. logan gets protective over you.

ଘ back to you, always by @/folkloure

₊ ꒷ ʚ you and logan avoid each other after a fight, dean and allie come to the rescue.

ଘ one of many days by @utopeian

₊ ꒷ ʚ You’re avoidant, Logan’s anxious. Somehow, you both make it work.

ଘ number twelve by @edawgz

₊ ꒷ ʚ JOHN LOGAN was a firm believer that love at first sight was fake, then he saw you get checked into the boards at full strength. That was enough to convince him you were his soulmate.

ଘ i said "i love you". you say nothing back by @alierecss

₊ ꒷ ʚ the arrangement was simple: keep it casual, don't catch feelings, don't ask for more than what's on the table. 338 days later, you're starting to think simple was never really an option with john logan.

ଘ caught by @iceyngi

₊ ꒷ ʚ You're studying at your boyfriend's house when he decides it's time to fix a leaking pipe.

ଘ falling for you (literally) pt 2 by @/iceyngi

ଘ just visiting by @loveyoubunchies

₊ ꒷ ʚ After submitting your transfer application to Briar U, your best friend, Hannah, invites you to spend a weekend on campus. There you catch a glimpse of what your life could be like. Unfortunately you aren’t ready to put down any roots at Briar before application decisions are out. It’s also unfortunate that John Logan is a persistent person you come to learn

ଘ date night? by @kaiwithlove

₊ ꒷ ʚ where you decide to prank logan by pretending to be excited for a date he never planned. unfortunately, your boyfriend's response to being pranked is to take you on the most thoughtful, romantic date of your life.

ଘ jealou$y pt 2 by @puckmegirl

₊ ꒷ ʚ john logan claims that he doesn’t do jealousy. he thinks he’s above such petty feelings. but what happens when his girlfriend gets hit on at a house party?

ଘ logan is never letting you alone at a party again ! by @ririsaltar

ଘ best friends by @roughpenalty

₊ ꒷ ʚ logan’s best friend (reader) gets drunk at the boys house party… he helps you to his bed & ends up struggling with his feelings for you more than he anticipated tonight.

ଘ drive safe by @broodingboysimp

₊ ꒷ ʚ When you borrow Logan's truck for a late-night rehearsal, a drunk driver changes everything - and Logan spends the worst hours of his life learning exactly how it feels to almost lose someone he loves.

ଘ the water tower by @garrettsgrahams

₊ ꒷ ʚ You and John have spent every summer together since high school, but something about this one feels different.

[cosmogyrais]

off campus masterlist ᝢ ˚. ♡ upd: 08/11/26

𓂃 ·˚ ༘ here you'll find all of the characters i have read about from off campus ˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶ main masterlist

₊ ꒷ ʚ JOHN LOGAN

₊ ꒷ ʚ DEAN DI LAURENTIS

[sc3ptre]

i’m begging like on my hands and knees for more i would’ve done that sober please please please it was like so amazing you are so talented keep it up!!

I hate being sober

Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x childhood best friend!reader

⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-66

☆ Read part 1 here!!

a/n: Big thank yous all around for your patience. I hope you guys enjoy this part! Let's all be responsible readers and keep some tissues nearby. Don't blow your snot on your shirts and keep your underwear on!!

Classification: Smut +18 | Alcohol consumption at a college party (background), confrontation, insecurity and anxiety around sexual performance and orgasm, references to a past bad relationship, emotional vulnerability, fear of rejection or disgust from a partner, overthinking and anxiety in romantic/sexual communication, sensory deprivation, mild nipple play, oral sex, conversations during sex/talking you through it and praise, unprotected p-in-v, creampie, mild cum play??, multiple intense orgasms, crying during sex and aftercare and past references.

Word count: 14 k

Divider by me ;)

Hockey boys disappeared.

You wished you had known that before you let Dean slip out of your place two nights ago.

They didn’t do it intentionally, never maliciously either but the season swallowed them whole. They vanished into six a.m. skates and afternoon lifts, into physical therapy appointments that patched together bruised shoulders and strained knees. Into mandatory media interviews the athletic department insisted would make the team more marketable, more approachable and into lectures they attended only long enough to collect notes before hurrying off to practice again, then came the exams they'd postponed because hockey had always come first until suddenly it couldn't.

Their schedules folded in on themselves until entire days disappeared without warning.

You only ever seemed to find them again at parties, ones Allie and Hannah practically dragged you to, insisting fresh air, loud music and cheap drinks counted as emotional healing.

Your skin had been buzzing ever since that night, an awareness sitting right beneath the surface no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. Every time you opened your dresser, the tangled pile of Agent Provocateur lace shoved unceremoniously into the back of your drawer stared back at you like evidence from a crime scene. You'd stuffed it in there without folding a single piece, too flustered to deal with it afterward, yet you still couldn't bring yourself to move it somewhere less obvious.

Then there were Dean's texts, you answered them eventually, right after rewriting each reply sufficient times to make yourself question your own sanity. Was starting a sentence with a capital letter too serious? Did ending it with a period make you sound annoyed? Was “okay” different from “ok”? You caught yourself deleting perfectly normal messages simply because they looked too eager before sending something shorter that felt even stranger.

You hadn't mentioned that night once.

You tried not to think too much about the kiss or what had come before and especially not how it had ended. He'd watched you pull your pajamas on without a trace of impatience, giving you the privacy of looking away whenever your eyes met before inevitably finding you again, you kept your focus away from the memory of the gentle press of his lips against your forehead before he'd left, so tender you could still feel the warmth after he’d stepped away. You'd looked completely wrung out, limbs heavy, emotions stripped bare, too tired to pretend you were anything but vulnerable and he'd treated you like something precious instead of fragile.

You hadn't reached for him.

Even now, the memory made your fingers twitch uselessly at your sides. If you'd caught his wrist and tugged him back for even another minute, would anything feel different now? Or would you still be dissecting text messages like they were evidence in a court case, wondering how you had become shy after years of knowing each other better than anyone else?

“So that's what it feels like,” you breathed, the words escaping before you realized you'd spoken them aloud as your heeled boots scraped lazily against the sidewalk.

A few steps ahead, Allie stopped so abruptly she nearly caused a collision. She turned on her heel, her brows knitting together as she looked first at Hannah walking beside you, checking whether she'd heard the same thing, before her attention landed squarely on you.

“That's what what feels like?” she asked, curiosity overtaking whatever conversation you three had been having.

You could feel another exchange of glances pass between them, so quick most people would've missed it. Hannah's eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, Allie's mouth pulled into a thin line before she gave the smallest shrug in return.

Years of friendship had made you fluent in conversations that didn't require words. If you had to guess, it translated roughly to “Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe it was too soon to drag her to a party.” You pretended not to notice. Instead, you let your gaze drift down the street.

Cars lined both curbs, squeezed bumper to bumper beneath the streetlights, while clusters of students spilled across lawns and sidewalks with red cups already in hand. Music pulsed from somewhere ahead, bass so heavy it vibrated faintly beneath your feet and every few seconds another burst of laughter erupted from the overcrowded house at the end of the block where people continuously filtered through the front door, the party breathing them in and out.

You let out a quiet sigh, wondering whether turning around now would actually be more awkward than simply going inside.

Hannah spoke first, her voice light. “We don't have to stay long,” she reasoned, slipping her hands into the pockets of her jacket as she smiled at you. “There's free booze. Let's just treat it like a pregame, then we can head back to the apartment, order something greasy and play poker.”

“No offense, girls,” you replied with the ghost of a smile, “but I'm not stripping naked in front of you two tonight. Sorry to disappoint.”

Allie snorted. “I think she means the normal kind of poker.”

You looked at her with exaggerated disbelief. “We're in college, Allie. There is no other kind.”

A laugh escaped Hannah while Allie rolled her eyes so dramatically you were surprised they didn't disappear into the back of her head permanently.

“Okay…” Allie muttered under her breath, drawing the word out as she pointed an accusing finger at you. “Pessimist.” Then her entire expression brightened again, optimism returning with alarming speed. “Let's not waste good outfits by turning around prematurely. One hour.” She held up a finger. “Two, tops.”

“And no boys–” Hannah added.

You watched Allie's head whip toward her so quickly a strand of hair stuck briefly to her lipstick. “What?” she protested.

Hannah ignored her entirely, keeping her eyes on you instead. “We'll keep them at bay.”

“Who's we?” Allie demanded, her eyes widening in horror. She turned toward Hannah, raising both eyebrows in an elaborate series of expressions that looked suspiciously like she was trying to negotiate exceptions without saying them openly.

“Yeah,” you chimed in before Hannah could answer, “let's not be rash.”

Both of them looked at you at once and you blinked innocently. “I mean…” you amended, scratching lightly at the side of your neck. “Talking's fine, right?” Your shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “If Tucker came up to me, I wouldn't ignore him.”

“You like Tucker?” Hannah asked carefully, the question so gentle that it almost sounded like she was testing the ice before stepping onto it. Her eyes narrowed, though the corner of her mouth betrayed the beginning of a smile. “Though he's not the demographic I'm worried about.”

Your head snapped toward her. “No, I–” You stumbled over the words, making a vague gesture in the air between you. “It was just an example. He's a boy–” You caught yourself. “Man.” The correction did absolutely nothing to restore your confidence as both of them continued staring at you expectantly. You winced. “Okay, it was a bad example,” you admitted, ducking your head.

Before either of them could capitalize on it, you slipped neatly between them and continued walking toward the house, hoping physical distance would somehow end the conversation…It didn't.

“Surprised you didn't use Dean,” Allie remarked quietly.

Your entire body locked up and your next step faltered before stopping altogether. Slowly, you turned back to face them, your expression caught somewhere between horrified and deeply offended. “Let's pick another word.”

Allie blinked. “…What?”

You shrugged awkwardly, refusing to elaborate for a second before mumbling, “‘Use’ just sounds wrong.”

“Since when?” Hannah laughed, looking genuinely confused.

“I meant ‘use him’…” Allie's grin spread wider the second she realized what could’ve happened inside your head. “As in ‘use him as an example’.” She pointed at you dramatically. “Though if you're into that dominatrix shit, I'll just ask you not to do it in the apartment.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “And much less with Di Laurentis. I doubt his ego could handle physically being under a woman and–”

Your eyes widened a little more with every passing sentence. Your mouth opened twice, each time thinking now was the moment you'd interrupt, only for Allie to barrel cheerfully into the next thought before you could squeeze a single word in.

“…he'd probably have trouble performing or something. I don't remember Six Flags having a ride where you stand in line for forty minutes just to leave disappointed. He'd spend more time advertising himself than actually delivering and fuck forbid he finds a captive audience…we'd never hear the end of how 'life-changing' he thinks his d–”

“Allie,” you finally managed weakly, which thankfully made her rant stop.

A few steps away, Hannah made a strangled sound that was half laugh, half cough. “Okay!” she wheezed, trying and failing to compose herself. “I think we'll all stay away from boys tonight.”

A huff of laughter escaped you, the tension finally cracking. “So if Garrett waltzes in,” you asked, “you're just going to keep that man away?” Your eyebrows lifted knowingly. “If what slips through the thinnest walls ever made is any indication, I'd like to see that work in your favor.”

Hannah didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed. “Well, that's different,” she replied with unmistakable pride. “We're together.”

“Better wrap up your French lesson then, Madame,” Allie declared, already marching ahead with exaggerated determination. She shook her head dramatically, muttering loud enough for both of you to hear. “We? Who's we? Far as I know this is still a free country…” She threw one hand into the air in theatrical protest without ever slowing her pace, leaving you and Hannah exchanging an amused glance before following after her.

You grimaced before leaning slightly toward Hannah, lowering your voice as though the woman in question might somehow overhear you from halfway up the walkway. “I think we should start putting the news on as background noise,” you reasoned with complete sincerity.

A laugh escaped Hannah before she bumped your shoulder lightly with hers as the two of you started walking again, unhurried despite Allie steadily increasing the distance between you.

“College is torture enough,” Hannah sighed. “Let's at least wait until we get this semester's grades.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “And gauge exactly how much pain we actually deserve…smart idea.”

Hannah breathed out dramatically. “Or the worst I've ever had.”

You laughed under your breath just as Allie's voice carried across the front lawn. “Are you guys coming or what!?” She stood on the porch with one hand on the doorway of the open front door, the music spilling out around her while impatiently waving both of you over.

“Yeahhh…no,” you replied, motioning toward the overflowing house in the distance, the one she'd insisted would be a good idea in the first place. “I think this one already beats it.” You let out a long, defeated sigh as you and Hannah finally caught up to Allie, meeting her expectant stare. “Poor choice of words again, babe.” You told her, pressing your lips into a thin line.

Allie rolled her eyes with exaggeration, muttering something under her breath that was completely swallowed by the music pouring from the open front door before disappearing inside. The bass had grown strong enough to rattle the loose wooden steps with every beat.

You stepped through the doorway last.

Warm air, thick with perfume, sweat, beer and something unmistakably fruity from whatever jungle juice someone had mixed in the kitchen, hit you instantly. Every room seemed packed wall to wall with students, some danced with complete disregard for personal space while others shouted conversations directly into each other's ears. Plastic cups littered every available surface, laughter rose above the music in uneven bursts and somewhere upstairs someone cheered so loudly, it briefly overpowered the speakers.

“…Or what,” you echoed quietly to yourself as the front door swung shut behind you.

The phrase lingered in your head while your eyes swept over the crowded rental. You spotted Hannah and Allie weaving confidently through the bodies ahead of you, Hannah reaching back once to make sure you were still following before the crowd swallowed her hand again.

“I'm gonna get us something to drink!” you called over the music once you'd caught up.

Allie answered with an enthusiastic thumbs-up that quickly dissolved into dancing with whoever happened to be beside her, already swaying to the beat without a hint of self-consciousness. Hannah, meanwhile, had her phone out before you even finished speaking, her attention dropping to the screen with a smile you recognized instantly as she typed what was almost certainly a message to Garrett letting him know the three of you had made it there safely.

You smiled back at everyone who greeted you on the way through the house, returning waves and quick hellos even when you barely recognized the faces. If you acted normal for a while longer, maybe your brain would eventually believe that this was just another party, another late night. No tangled thoughts or awkward tension sitting beneath your skin, no constant awareness of a pair of hands that had learned you with impossible patience only two nights earlier.

You kept searching for the kitchen instead, hoping the simple task would occupy your mind before it drifted back to your bedroom, to the mirror the two of you had stood in front of, to the way he'd looked at you through your own reflection, the quiet praise, the tenderness and how he'd made you feel seen by expertly opening the walls to your own pleasure.

By the time you reached the kitchen, you were relieved by the mundane sight of overcrowded counters. You pulled it open, grabbed three cans of soda and decided they were probably the smarter choice, experience had already proven that alcohol loosened your tongue far more than your common sense appreciated.

You cracked yours open, taking a long sip as the cold, fizzy sweetness settled pleasantly in your throat, cooling the nervous warmth that had been building there all evening. For a moment, you simply stood there, your eyes wandering over the crowded kitchen. People leaned against countertops with red cups in hand, someone laughed loudly, making the room glance over and two strangers debated mixers in front of the freezer.

Then your gaze caught on the one face you had hoped not to see, your ex.

His eyes found yours in the same instant, his posture straightening automatically. You recognized that look, that subtle shift that always came a second before he decided on his next move which was toward you.

Instinctively, you took a step backward, only to bump into a cluster of people reaching for drinks behind you. Someone muttered a quick apology without looking up, another squeezed past with a bag of ice and before you could sidestep out of the way, the kitchen had filled in around you completely. There was nowhere left to retreat.

He threaded through the crowd anyway, slipping between shoulders and conversations with determination until he stopped in front of you, wearing the careful expression of someone approaching a frightened animal he believed he could still coax closer. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

“Let’s make that a little longer then, wouldn’t that be nice?” you replied with a smile that never quite reached your eyes.

He exhaled through his nose, already looking faintly irritated in that familiar way that told you he'd remembered one of the things he'd disliked most about dating you, your sarcasm. “Come on, don’t be like that–”

“Don’t be like what?” you cut in flatly.

He hesitated, his rehearsed opening clearly unraveling. “I just meant…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m trying to apologize here, okay?”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Great fucking job you’re doing,” you noted with a careless shrug. “Fantastic timing too, just like in the cafeteria.”

He sighed heavily, rubbing a hand across his face as though he could erase the last few weeks with the gesture alone. “I know I fucked up, okay? I tried to text you–”

“You’re blocked.” The interruption came so automatically you barely thought about it.

He paused for half a second before giving a slow, unimpressed nod. “I figured.”

“Good.” You took another sip of your soda before looking back up at him. “I was worried guessing would use up the rest of your brain cells and you wouldn’t have any left by the time exam season came around.”

A dry, humorless laugh escaped him. He glanced around the kitchen instinctively, checking whether anyone had overheard the exchange before his attention settled back on you. “This is all just a fucking game to you, huh?” His eyes dragged over you with thinly veiled annoyance.

“Isn’t that what made you leave?” You shot back, “Only one of us hates losing badly enough to flee.”

“Fuck you,” he bit out sharply. “I didn’t flee.”

“You didn’t stick around to try either.” You stepped forward to press a finger firmly against the center of his chest, the contact making him stiffen. “I fucked you.”

His jaw flexed so hard you thought you heard his teeth grind together. Slowly, almost unconsciously, he took a step backward, your finger slipping away from his shirt.

“Don’t text again,” you finished, your voice suddenly much quieter than before. “I think you’ve wasted enough of each other's time.”

He stared at you for another second, searching your face for something that wasn't there anymore, then he looked away first. Without another word, he turned, disappearing back into the crowd until the moving bodies swallowed him entirely.

You remained where you were, blinking slowly as your pulse settled, willing the humiliation from the cafeteria and the anger sitting hot in your chest to dissolve together into something less exhausting. They stubbornly refused.

Your eyes dropped to the soda can still clutched in your hand. You frowned at it as if it had failed you before lifting it for another long drink, the carbonation stung pleasantly at the back of your throat. You swallowed, exhaled through your nose and muttered under your breath, “I fucking hate being sober.”

“No you don’t.” The voice reached you immediately and it made every muscle in your shoulders relaxed before your brain had even caught up. You turned around so quickly a few drops of soda sloshed over the rim of the can. Relief settled into your chest the second you saw him.

Dean stood just a few steps away, both hands shoved into the pocket of a dark hoodie thrown hastily over a wrinkled Briar hockey T-shirt. A baseball cap sat low on his head, hair escaping around the edges and there were faint shadows beneath his eyes that spoke of too many early practices and not nearly enough sleep. He looked nothing like someone who planned on staying at the party and despite looking completely worn out, seeing him made the crowded kitchen feel infinitely less suffocating.

“Get me out of here,” you sighed, the words leaving you in one long breath. “Please.”

Dean's eyebrows lifted in genuine surprise before one corner of his mouth curled upward. The tiredness hanging around his eyes didn't disappear but it softened beneath a grin he was clearly trying and failing to suppress. “Is that begging I hear?”

Your eyes narrowed sharply. “Make yourself useful, Di Laurentis.”

He nodded with exaggerated thoughtfulness, accepting the challenge as he reached over to pluck the two unopened soda cans from your hands, balancing them effortlessly in one hand. “Front jean pocket,” he instructed, nodding toward your right side. “On your right.”

Your gaze followed the gesture before immediately flicking back up to his face, then, despite yourself, it drifted lower to his jeans. You looked back up at him with unmistakable suspicion and slowly shook your head. “I'm not putting my hand in there,” you decided, lowering your voice instinctively beneath the music. “It's inappropriate…and there's a…” Your eyes darted downward again before returning to his. “…lump.” Doubt colored the last word.

Dean stared at you for a beat before an incredulous laugh escaped him. “Those are my car keys,” he clarified, amusement bleeding into every syllable. “I figured you should wait in my car.” His grin only widened the longer he watched realization dawn across your face. Tilting his head slightly, he studied you with obvious delight. “You think I'm hung like that?”

You straightened, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking embarrassed. “There was a point where we bathed together before it got weird,” you reminded him matter-of-factly. “I think I know exactly how hung you are.”

His eyebrows climbed. “Seen it recently?”

You snorted. “Your pants don't leave much up to the imagination.”

“Trust me,” he replied with effortless confidence, giving a small shake of his head. “They do.” He nodded once more toward his pocket. “Front pocket. Go on.”

You groaned quietly. “You saying ‘go on’ doesn't somehow make this better, you pervert,” you whisper-yelled, stepping closer so your complaint wouldn't carry past the people milling around the kitchen.

Dean mirrored the movement, leaning down until the two of you were close enough that neither of you had to raise your voices. Around you, the party rolled on without a second glance. Someone behind you was arguing over whose turn it was at beer pong, another group erupted into cheers from the living room and a couple squeezed past carrying more drinks, nobody spared the two of you so much as a curious look.

Dean's eyes lingered on your face, taking in the fake indignation you weren't quite managing to sell.

His smile softened, more playful than teasing. “Don't let those fingers stray, then,” he murmured, his tone light, you couldn't tell whether he was trying to fluster you or simply enjoying how easily you flustered yourself. “I'd hate for you to get distracted.”

You reached forward, hooking a finger through one of Dean's belt loops and giving it a small tug that drew him a step closer without either of you thinking much about it. The movement brought him within arm's reach, the familiar scent of clean detergent, cedar and the lingering bite of cold night air clinging to his hoodie crowded out the smell of beer and cheap liquor filling the kitchen.

You intentionally looked everywhere but at his face as you slipped a cautious hand into his front pocket, determined to keep your attention fixed on finding the keys rather than on the warmth radiating through the denim beneath your fingertips. Your fingers searched carefully until they brushed cool metal.

The two of you stood almost chest to chest now, neither acknowledging just how little space remained between you. “New perfume?” he asked conversationally, though the amusement in his voice was impossible to miss. It was probably the safest compliment he could give you, anything more direct and there was a decent chance you'd retaliate by driving a knee into somewhere he valued quite highly.

Then again, he thought with private amusement, doubling over from the pain would technically put him even closer to you.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, refusing to look at him as you heard him unsuccessfully swallow a laugh. Your index finger finally caught the loop of the keychain and with a victorious little huff you pulled the keys free before quickly retreating a full step as though distance alone could erase how aware you'd just become of him.

You held the keys up between two fingers. “Couple of lumps you've got in there.”

Dean stared at you for half a second before slowly shaking his head. “Poor choice of words.”

You pointed vaguely in the air between the two of you. “Yeah, say that to Allie.”

His brows pinched together. “…What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” You answered far too quickly before he could pry further. Gesturing toward the crowded rooms beyond the kitchen, you added, “I don't care if they drink, just make sure they have a driver home. We drove here.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he replied with an exaggerated nod and a mock salute. “Garrett's with them anyway. I'll tell him.” Moving to the side, he tipped his head toward the hallway in a silent gesture for you to go first. You squeezed back through the crowd, Dean falling into step close behind you without needing to be asked.

“Alright,” you muttered, fishing your phone out as you carefully navigated around a couple dancing in the middle of the hallway. “I'll text them too.” Your thumbs were already opening the group chat. “Seeing my fuckass ex is enough of an excuse to call it a night.”

Dean's expression, playful until then, quieted as he glanced back toward the kitchen you'd just left before looking down at you, his pace never slowing to make sure you never had to push your way through the crowd alone.

“He's here?” Dean asked, every trace of amusement now fully gone. His shoulders straightened instinctively as his eyes swept back toward the kitchen over his shoulder. “Where?”

You caught him halfway through turning, already reading exactly where his mind was headed. Before he could take a single step, you reached out, your fingers slipping into the waistband, lightly catching against his jeans to tug him back in the opposite direction. “Not the mission,” you reminded him.

Dean's attention dropped briefly to your hand before he let himself be redirected without resistance, falling back into step behind you. “I'm willing to make an exception,” he muttered, though there wasn't much conviction behind it anymore. After a beat, his voice softened. “Did he talk to you?” The concern sat plainly beneath the question.

You hummed in acknowledgment. “And I talked back.” You shrugged as if it had cost you nothing, even if your heartbeat hadn't entirely settled yet. “He won't invade Troy tonight…problem solved.”

By the time you reached the main room again, you rose onto your toes, scanning over the sea of heads for Hannah and Allie. “I saw them over there last.”

Dean followed your gaze before nodding. “They went out back. I'll go find them.” He jerked his thumb toward the street outside. “My car's up there.”

“No detours,” you warned, pointing a finger squarely at his chest. “I'm serious.” You didn't have to explain which detour you meant.

Dean looked at you for a second before lifting both hands innocently. “I'd say I'll keep my eyes down,” he replied, “but then we'd come face to face.” He punctuated the joke with the most exaggerated, insincere shrug imaginable, very intentionally mocking your ex's height.

You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you. “Face to nose if he's wearing his lifts,” you corrected.

“Told you he wasn't that tall,” Dean added, unable to resist sounding just a little smug as he began walking backward toward the sliding door leading outside, keeping his eyes on you until someone bumped into his shoulder and forced him to glance away.

“Yeah, well,” you mumbled as you headed toward the front door instead, weaving between conversations and dancing bodies, “one pair of fakers we were.”

The cool night air met you the second you stepped outside, washing away the suffocating warmth and noise of the packed house. You drew in a deep breath, the distant bass now muffled behind closed walls and doors instead of vibrating through your ribs. Following Dean's directions, you walked up the street beneath the glow of scattered streetlights until you found his car parked along the curb. You unlocked it with a press of the key fob, climbed into the passenger seat,and shut the door behind you. The silence that settled around you felt almost foreign after the chaos inside. You leaned back, letting your head rest against the seat, absently turning the unfinished soda can between your hands while condensation dampened your fingertips.

It wasn't long before the driver's door opened. Dean slid into the seat beside you, shut the door with a solid thud and for a moment neither of you said anything, both simply appreciating the quiet. The two of you sat without moving, facing the windshield as warm orange streetlights painted long streaks across the hood of the vehicle.

“Forgot how to drive?” you asked quietly, turning your head toward him. The question died when you realized he was already looking at you. He hadn't been watching the street ahead at all.

“Forgot I can't read your mind?” he countered, one eyebrow lifting.

“We both know you can,” you replied just as quietly, the corner of your mouth threatening the smallest smile. “Just won’t advertise it.”

Dean held your gaze for another second, searching your face as though deciding whether to challenge that. Instead, he looked away first. He reached for the ignition, started the engine and shifted the car into drive. It wasn't surprising in the slightest when he drove toward your apartment without asking where you wanted to go.

The drive passed in comfortable silence, it didn’t beg to be filled but still acknowledged some conversations deserved better than red lights and passing traffic. Every now and then your eyes drifted toward him, only to find his attention fixed on the road, one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel while the other tapped absentmindedly against the stick shift in time with a song only he seemed to hear.

He glanced at you once at a stoplight, offering a faint, reassuring smile before looking ahead again.

When he parked on campus, neither of you commented on the fact that he killed the engine immediately instead of lingering in the driver's seat. You climbed out together, your footsteps falling into an easy rhythm as you crossed the silent pathways toward your building.

The night air had cooled further, carrying the scent of damp grass and distant rain and Dean stayed close without crowding you, matching your pace while occasionally glancing your way as though weighing a dozen different openings to a conversation he hadn't quite found yet.

You unlocked your apartment door and stepped inside. He followed a second later, pulling the door shut behind him until the click of the lock left the apartment wrapped in familiar silence.

“Not much of a talker these days, I see.” The words carried no accusation. If anything, there was relief in finally saying them aloud after days of carefully skirting around the obvious.

Your replies had shrunk from paragraphs to sentences, then from sentences to a handful of words. Phone calls that once stretched lazily into the early hours now barely lasted a few minutes before one of you found an excuse to hang up. You wandered farther into the living space, slipping your jacket off your shoulders and draping it over the back of the couch.

Beneath it, the fitted top you'd worn out suddenly felt much less out of place than it had at the party. At home, there was no reason to pull the fabric loose or check how much skin it revealed. Hiding from Dean had never really been an option and after everything the two of you had shared, it felt pointless to start now.

“Not much of anything lately,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes as you smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from the hem of your top.

Even without looking, you could feel his gaze settle on you. It carried none of the hunger that had unsettled you in front of your bedroom mirror days before. Instead, it was patient, concerned, impossibly attentive and that made it even harder to meet. Warmth crept across your skin anyway, a shiver tracing lazily up your spine under the weight of being so thoroughly seen.

Dean took a couple of measured steps forward, stopping before the space between you disappeared entirely. He tilted his head slightly, trying to catch your eyes and finding only your profile. “Did he get into your head?” he asked gently.

The question lingered for barely a heartbeat before you shook your head and finally looked up.

Your eyes found his. “No,” you answered. “You did.” The words came out quietly, stripped of frustration or blame. They weren't meant as an accusation, they mostly sounded like the first honest thing you'd managed to say all week.

“Well,” he breathed, the corners of his mouth lifting into an easy smile, “think I should've gotten first dibs on it before anyone else anyway.” As he spoke, he closed the remaining distance between you with unhurried confidence, leaving barely enough room for a breath to pass between your bodies.

“Funny,” you answered dryly, though the effort it took to keep your expression straight was entirely wasted. Your lips betrayed you, twitching upward despite your best attempts. You rubbed absently at your eyebrow before letting out a sigh, trying to smooth away nerves that refused to settle. “I don't know how to talk to you anymore,” you admitted, the confession falling somewhere between frustration and vulnerability.

It explained the clipped texts, the shortened calls, every conversation that had ended long before either of you had actually wanted it to. Dean's expression softened as he gave the smallest shake of his head, his voice matching the gentleness in his eyes. “That's okay.”

“No, it's not.” Your gaze dropped to your heeled boots, suddenly fascinated by the floor beneath them.

“You're doing it to me,” he replied with certainty. “I would know.” He stepped forward until there was nowhere left for the distance between you to exist. “Look at me.”

The request carried none of the sharpness of a command. It was patient, warm, spoken with the confidence that you'd meet him there eventually. Slowly, you lifted your eyes just as his hands came up to cradle your face, his palms warm against your cheeks, his thumbs resting lightly close to your ears. “It's okay,” he repeated, searching your face as though he intended to make you believe it through persistence alone.

You exhaled through your nose. “Of course you'd think that.”

“Mhm.” The sound vibrated quietly in his throat as he leaned in, brushing the tip of his nose gently against yours. The tiny gesture stole another reluctant smile from you. “Though if you ever say you're not much of anything again,” he murmured, “I'm afraid we're gonna have issues.”

Your hands rose instinctively, settling against his biceps, feeling familiar muscle beneath the soft fabric of his hoodie. “Don't we already?” you asked, smiling properly now.

“My only issue,” he replied without hesitation, “is that I haven't kissed you in two days.” His thumbs brushed lightly across your cheeks. “What's yours?”

“I already told you.” Your smile lingered as he began guiding the two of you backward through the apartment with tiny, measured steps, never pushing or assuming. Every movement left you room to stop him if you wanted to, though you never did.

“And I know you have a close second,” he said quietly.

You hesitated, swallowing once before admitting the thought you'd spent days trying to bury. “…It's embarrassing when the wanting shows.”

Dean's expression softened further. He shook his head once. “And the only person who ever made you feel ashamed of that isn't here anymore.”

Your fingers tightened around his arms without thinking. “It's gonna take a while to unlearn that,” you whispered.

“I can wait,” he answered. There wasn't a trace of impatience in his voice, only certainty. “I happen to know that what comes after is worth a lot more than passing time.”

Your breathing caught slightly. “What comes after, Dean?” you asked, your hands holding him a little tighter as though the answer might slip away if you didn't.

He leaned down until his lips barely grazed yours, close enough for every word to be felt as much as heard. “You.” The single word lingered between your mouths before he continued softly, “Everywhere else it can wait. Until that happens, you cum first.” A teasing smile slowly returned to his lips. “Still think my choice of words is poor?”

A quiet laugh escaped you, so warm it dissolved the last remnants of tension sitting in your chest. “Not if you prove it to be right.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. His mouth found yours with restrained hunger, patient for only the first heartbeat before deepening the kiss. One hand slipped from your cheek to the place where your jaw met your neck, tilting your face upward to meet him fully, while your own fingers disappeared into his hair, threading through the soft curls at the back of his head as every uncertain conversation from the past two days quietly gave way to something the two of you had always understood better than words.

Your tongues moved together with an ease that made the last two days of awkwardness feel impossibly far away, every hesitant thought dissolving into this. Your fingers gradually slipped from his hair, lingering there for a heartbeat before finding the front clasps of your top instead.

You worked at them absentmindedly, your attention never truly leaving him until the kiss eventually broke with a soft, audible pop, though neither of you moved very far.

Dean rested his forehead lightly against yours, his breathing still uneven as his eyes searched your face rather than wandering elsewhere. “Do you need anything?” he asked, his voice low enough that it barely disturbed the silence filling your room. Even as you continued undoing the clasps, he never looked away from your eyes. “Tell me what I can do.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, heat pooling low in your belly at the intensity of his gaze. You finished with the last fastening and shrugged the fabric from your shoulders, letting it slide carelessly to the floor beside your feet. Your breasts spilled free, nipples already tight and aching from the cool air and the weight of his stare before folding your arms loosely across yourself more out of habit than discomfort. “I was hoping you had a plan.”

Dean nodded, his expression turning thoughtful. His gaze drifted around your room instead of lingering on you, as though sorting through possibilities rather than impulses. The lingerie crossed his mind only briefly before he dismissed it, that had helped once but it wasn't something he wanted either of you to rely on.

He pressed a gentle kiss against your forehead before turning away entirely and walking toward your dresser. Pulling open the top drawer, he began looking through it with surprising confidence, as though he vaguely remembered where things belonged from years of friendship spent around you.

“Sure…” you nodded, watching him with growing amusement as you bent to unzip your boots, kicking each one aside before slipping out of your skirt and underwear as well, letting them pool at your feet, leaving you completely bare before him. “Make yourself right at home.”

“We can argue about it later,” he answered without looking over his shoulder, continuing his careful search. “You'll tell me how forward it was of me and I'll agree with whatever punishment or compensation you decide on afterward.” His hand paused before finally lifting a long, narrow scarf from beneath a folded sweater. “This'll do.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “For what?”

Turning back toward you, he crossed the room at an unhurried pace, stopping within arm's reach. The teasing had disappeared from his face, replaced by the same patience he'd shown you all evening.

Holding the scarf loosely in one hand so you could see it clearly, he asked, “Do you trust me?”

You tilted your head, studying him, trying to read whatever idea was taking shape behind his eyes. “I don't think I've ever had to ask myself that.”

“I need you to ask now,” he replied gently. “Do you trust me?” He let the question sit between you before adding, “And if you don't like where this is going, we stop. Immediately…at any point.” His certainty wasn't performative, it was calm, leaving no room for doubt about whether he meant it.

You held his gaze for another moment before answering, your voice barely above a whisper. “I trust you.” A faint smile softened your features. “It's not something I've ever questioned.”

He waited a beat before speaking again, giving you every opportunity to change your mind.

“Turn around.” The instruction was patient, offered rather than imposed. He didn't repeat it when you hesitated, didn't fill the silence that settled between you.

His eyes simply remained on yours as you swallowed, searching his face one last time before slowly turning your naked body away from him until your back faced his chest. You felt him move closer, heard the faint rustle of fabric as he stretched the scarf carefully between both hands. It rested gently over your eyes, the material impossibly soft against your skin before he drew the ends behind your head and tied a secure knot with care.

His fingers lingered, checking that nothing tugged uncomfortably. “Is this too tight?” he asked.

You instinctively shook your head before remembering he would probably request for it to be spoken. “No,” you managed softly.

His hand settled lightly against your hip, the simple contact making your breath catch. With the gentlest pressure, he guided you back around until you faced him once more. Deprived of your sight, every other sensation sharpened, from the warmth radiating from where he stood, to the rhythm of his breathing and the subtle creak of the floor beneath shifting weight.

You heard the soft thud of fabric landing somewhere nearby once he peeled off his hoodie and t-shirt, followed by another low rustle before his footsteps returned. His hands found yours gently, wrapping loosely around your wrists before guiding them upward until your palms rested against the warmth of his bare chest.

He didn't move them any further, leaving the choice entirely to you. Tentatively, your fingertips traced across firm muscle, learning the shape through touch alone. Your confidence grew by degrees, hands exploring broader paths over his shoulders and chest, your nails lightly grazing the contours beneath his skin before drifting lower over the firm lines of his abdomen, pausing briefly at his navel before following the faint trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans.

Your fingers came to rest just above the button. “I want these off,” you breathed.

Dean couldn't help the smile that spread across his face, though you only heard it in the warmth that colored his reply. “You think you're in a position to make demands?”

“That's exactly what I think, Di Laurentis.” You nodded once beneath the blindfold, a small smile tugging at your own lips. “If you want me to play the game, you're going to have to comply a little sooner.”

A quiet chuckle escaped him before it faded just as quickly. When he spoke again, his voice had lost almost all of its teasing edge. “I don't think this is us playing around anymore.” You felt him lean in, his breath brushing against your forehead as he spoke. “I hate that we used that as an excuse.” The frustration threaded through his words was unmistakable, directed inward rather than at you, carrying the weight of every feeling the two of you had hidden behind jokes because admitting them outright had always seemed far more frightening.

You couldn't help but smile at the memory, warmth creeping into your expression. There had been something absurdly innocent about the two of you back then, trusting each other so completely that curiosity had outweighed embarrassment, stumbling into questions neither of you had been old enough to answer, only to leave them hanging for years.

“We were getting too curious,” you murmured, a quiet laugh escaping with the admission.

“Isn't that what's happening now?” he asked, his voice carrying the faintest hint of amusement.

You tilted your head beneath the blindfold, the smile on your lips widening. “You know how to tie your own laces now, don't you?” you teased. He laughed softly before leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. Your hands rose instinctively, finding the sides of his face, your thumbs brushing lightly along his jaw as you returned the kiss with an ease that had finally replaced the uncertainty of the past few days.

His tongue brushed yours, drawing a soft moan from your throat as heat pooled heavier between your thighs and while you kissed, his hands worked open the button of his jeans. You heard the metallic rasp of the zipper, followed by the rustle of fabric as he shoved them down his hips along with his boxers. He kicked off his shoes and stepped out of the rest of his clothes, leaving him gloriously bare. The heat of his body radiated against yours and you could feel the hard length of his cock brushing against your stomach, hot, heavy and already leaking at the tip.

His strong hands slid down your sides, then gripped your waist, lifting you effortlessly as a surprised yelp escaped you, quickly dissolving into a breathless laugh. Your legs wrapped around his hips as you kept kissing, mouths moving together in perfect sync while his muscles flexed beneath your palms as he carried you across the room, the thick head of his erection nudging teasingly against your inner thighs with every step.

He knelt carefully onto the bed, the mattress dipping under your combined weight and gently laid you back against the pillows. Your legs fell open shamelessly, knees bending and parting wide to make room for him. The cool air kissed your dripping pussy, making you acutely aware of how soaked and ready you already were.

Dean settled between your spread thighs, hips brushing the sensitive skin of your inner legs as his lips left yours to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along the corner of your mouth, your cheek and down the sensitive column of your throat. Then he pulled back, leaving you waiting in the dark, blindfolded and aching.

You reached for him, fingers tracing and caressing every inch of his face from his cheekbones, the slight stubble on his jaw and the curve of his lips, trying to paint his expression in your mind.

His nose nudged affectionately against yours and you felt the warmth of his breath mingle with your own, the thick tension between you crackling like electricity.

He swallowed. “Can I kiss you?” His voice was hesitant, it didn't belong to the confident grin he usually wore. The uncertainty made your brows draw together for the briefest moment before your expression softened into a small, helpless smile.

“I think we're beyond you asking,” you replied, your heartbeat quickening as the silence stretched comfortably between you.

Dean's eyes lingered on your face, before landing on your lips for only a moment before lifting again. “Not on your mouth, Y/n,” he specified shamelessly.

You swallowed hard and nodded softly against the pillows, chest rising and falling faster as you heard the mattress shift under his weight.

His warm lips finally landed on your shoulder, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss there before trailing lower. They brushed along your sternum, then settled between your breasts, his hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin. When his mouth closed around one peaked nipple, you gasped sharply. The wet heat of his tongue swirled around the stiff bud, flicking and sucking with just the right pressure, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Your back arched instinctively, pushing more of your breast into his mouth as slick arousal coated your outer lips.

The hand not supporting his weight traced a feather-light path from your knee upward, fingers grazing the soft skin of your inner thigh before reaching the neglected breast. He cupped its full weight, massaging slowly, rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger while he continued devouring the other, gauging every reaction, squeezing harder when your breathing turned ragged and gentling when you whimpered, learning exactly how you liked to be touched.

When the first nipple was glistening and throbbing from his attention, he switched sides. His mouth claimed the other peak with the same hungry reverence, sucking deeply while his fingers continued to knead the slick, sensitive flesh he’d just left behind, all while low, needy sounds spilled from your throat.

Satisfied, Dean let his tongue drag lower, licking a slow, wet trail down the underside of your breast. He pressed lingering kisses along your ribs, then your stomach, each one audible and intentionally placed, his lips brushed over your navel, teasing the sensitive skin there before venturing even lower. He took his time, kissing the crease where your thigh met your pelvis, then settling fully between your spread legs.

Your heart thundered so loudly in your ears that the rest of the world felt distant. Blindfolded and trembling with need, every other sense was amplified, the heat of his breath against your dripping pussy, the faint scent of your arousal mixing with his and the slight tremble in his hands as he gripped your thighs. He was clearly trying to pace himself, wanting to savor you without rushing, refusing to give your doubts any room to surface.

A broken moan tore from your lips the moment his mouth finally sealed around your swollen clit. The wet heat, the perfect suction and the slow swirl of his tongue, were nearly too much, your hips jerked upward, fingers fisting the sheets as pleasure spread outwards.

He reached up, finding your hand where it gripped the sheets and laced his fingers through yours, squeezing once. The simple touch pulled you back into the moment when your mind threatened to drift.

“Tell me what you like,” he murmured against your pussy, the low vibration of his voice making your clit throb.

Your mind reeled. No one had ever been this patient with you, this attentive, this unwaveringly focused on what you needed instead of how quickly things could move forward. It felt unfamiliar, so much so that part of you didn't quite know what to do with it and the comparison arrived before you could stop it. Your ex had tried a handful of times but his enthusiasm had always faded the moment your body didn't respond on the timeline he expected. He would pull away with a shrug, muttering excuses about not enjoying it or not liking the taste, always making it sound like a matter of preference while leaving the weight of it squarely on your shoulders.

Every abandoned attempt had left you feeling increasingly self-conscious, wondering whether there was something wrong with you, whether you simply asked too much by needing patience instead of urgency.

Your throat tightened around the words before they ever had a chance to leave it. You wanted to explain why his patience mattered so much, why every careful pause and every moment he gave you without expectation made something in your chest ache but the memories felt too tangled, too embarrassing to lay bare.

“I wouldn’t know,” you breathed, voice shaky.

Dean didn't ask what you meant, he didn't press for details you clearly weren't ready to give, nor did he try to fill the silence with speeches that would only skim the surface. He pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss right over your clit, then answered calmly, “Feel it. I know you can.”

He accommodated, strong hands sliding under your ass to tilt your hips slightly, giving himself better access. His tongue flattened and licked a long, slow stripe from your entrance up to your clit, gathering your wetness and savoring it with a quiet hum of approval. The sound was so genuine it made your cheeks burn.

He repeated the motion again and again with broad strokes that coated his tongue and lips in your slick arousal, then circled your clit with the tip of his tongue, learning the exact pressure that made your thighs twitch. He sucked the swollen nub gently between his lips, holding it there while his tongue flicked it softly. The suction was warm and rhythmic, never rushed or demanding and when your breathing grew uneven, he eased off enough to drag his tongue back down, licking through your folds and pressing the flat of his tongue against your entrance, tasting you deeply.

His saliva mixed with your own arousal, dripping down over your ass and soaking into the sheets beneath you. He kissed your pussy like he was kissing your mouth, slowly and attentively, alternating between gentle licks, soft sucks and lazy swirls of tongue that explored every inch of your most sensitive regions.

The blindfold made it impossible to predict where his tongue would go next, keeping your body in a constant state of anticipatory tension while Dean kept your hand firmly in his, thumb stroking soothing circles over your knuckles whenever he felt you start to tense or overthink.

Every so often he would pull back to press a tender kiss to your mound or the crease of your thigh, murmuring soft, wordless sounds of encouragement against your skin before diving back in. The sensations were overwhelming in their gentleness, relentless patience that made your pussy feel swollen and pulsing under his mouth.

After another slow, savoring pass of his tongue through your folds, he moved lower and pressed the tip of his tongue against your entrance. He circled the tight ring of muscle first teasingly, before pushing inside, gently but insistently. The thick of his tongue slid into you, stretching you open in the most intimate way possible. He fucked you with it in slow, shallow strokes, curling and thrusting, coating himself in the fresh rush of slick that leaked around his mouth while his nose pressed firmly against your clit with every forward motion, rubbing in time with the rhythm of his tongue.

Your skin grew damp with sweat, a light sheen covering your chest and stomach, nipples tightened into painful peaks, aching in the cool air. Your hips rolled and twitched against his face, thighs trembling as they tried to close around his head only to fall open wider again.

Your breathing turned into soft, broken whimpers that even you could tell sounded strained and uncertain. Dean noticed and slowed his movements but didn’t yet stop, still fucking you gently with his tongue, still licking up every drop of your arousal like he couldn’t get enough.

“Mngh…Dean–” you barely managed, his name catching on a shaky breath before your voice gave out entirely. His head lifted rapidly as he pulled away, concern replacing concentration as he searched your expression for any hint of discomfort. Every trace of certainty vanished from his posture, his brows drawing together as he studied you.

One of your hands reached down blindly, grabbing at his shoulder and pulling him upward. Your chest heaved as you struggled to steady your breathing, each inhale feeling a little too shallow to quiet the thoughts racing through your mind. Words crowded against one another, half-formed confessions and old fears tangling together until you couldn't tell where one ended and the next began.

Your other hand shook as it slid down your body, covering your throbbing, soaked pussy, clit pulsing hard under your palm, slick, swollen and too painfully sensitive to keep going. You still weren’t anywhere close to coming and all you could think about was saying the wrong thing, about ruining the fragile safety he'd spent so much time building around you. More than anything, you were terrified of disgust, that subtle withdrawal, the excuses and the feeling of being left unfinished.

Your voice came out small and fragile. “I’m sorry. I’m–fuck, I’m so sorry.”

His hand found your cheek, palm warm against your skin as his thumb brushed slowly beneath the blindfold. He studied your face in silence first, as though making sure you were really listening before he spoke and when he did, there wasn't an ounce of frustration in him. “You don't apologize,” he said firmly, thumb stroking gently across your cheek once more before coming to rest beneath your jaw, encouraging you to keep your chin up. “Not to me.”

One hand stayed wrapped tightly around his arm, fingers digging into the firm muscle as if you were afraid he might pull away despite his words. Your heart hammered so loudly in your ears that you barely registered his words at first. “It just takes really long–”

“Hey…” Dean nudged your face gently with his palm, guiding you back to the present until your racing thoughts quieted. “I would’ve sucked you clean off the bone if you hadn’t pulled me up,” he smiled.

The moment you registered his words, you let out a shaky sob that melted into soft laughter, the tension in your chest finally easing.

“We can try again some other time if you want–”

You were already eagerly nodding before the words had fully left his mouth.

He chuckled, the sound low and breathy against your skin. “Yeah? Did you like it? Was that okay?” His fingertips traced feather-light paths along your sides, your ribs and the curve of your waist, keeping the connection gentle but constant, which he knew you needed.

“Overwhelming,” you breathed, still feeling the lingering slick between your thighs as it cooled and the heavy pulse of your swollen clit against your palm.

“Mmm…Yeah?” His voice dipped with interest.

“Overwhelming’s good,” you continued softly. Your body felt flushed and sensitive all over, like it needed that intensity just to begin learning how to let go. “I like feeling you close.”

“How close?” he teased, his nose brushing slowly along the side of your jaw, warm breath tickling your skin.

“Really fucking close,” you whispered, guiding his face until his lips met yours in a deep, slow kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, tangy, slightly sweet and undeniably intimate, nothing like you had imagined. Dean moved his tongue against yours with the same patience he had shown between your legs, licking into your mouth with quiet groans of pleasure that vibrated through your chest.

“Tastes like fucking heaven,” he rasped when you finally parted for air.

Your nails dug into his shoulders as you pulled him closer, until your chests pressed together, skin hot and slightly damp with sweat as the hard length of his cock rested heavily against the soft inside of your thigh, twitching every time you moved.

You smiled against his lips, letting out a teasingly doubtful hum. “Careful there…might be disappointed when you go.”

“Doubt it. If there is one, you’re going there too.” The smug happiness in his voice made you laugh, the sound light and breathless. He responded by pressing a flurry of soft kisses all over your face, cheeks, nose, forehead and the corner of your mouth, while his cock dragged teasingly along your inner thighs, leaving a faint trail of precum on your skin.

Your laughter quickly faded into quiet, needy moans, inciting your own hand to apply pressure against your still-throbbing pussy, fingers slipping through the mess of slick there in an attempt to relieve the area. Dean lifted his upper body slightly, looking down between you as he stilled the accidental roll of his hips and you moaned again at the loss of friction.

“I could get closer,” he breathed, voice rough with want. “Want me to do that?”

Your legs parted wider in silent invitation as you nodded against the pillow, heart racing.

“Let me see you,” he spoke softly. It wasn't a command, more of a gentle suggestion, one he waited patiently for you to consider. You slowly moved your hand away, exposing your glistening, swollen pussy to him once more while you tried to picture the expression on his face, the way his eyes would darken with hunger and affection. “Do you have condoms?” he asked carefully.

“Closer, Dean,” you echoed, voice small but sure. “I want you as close as you can get right now.” You paused, ears straining for any change in his breathing. “I’ve never…” You trailed off, taking a deep, steadying breath. “I’m clean. I take my birth control–”

“Me neither.” His forehead dropped against yours, breath warm on your lips. “I just want you to be sure.”

You swallowed, nodding as your hands roamed up and down his arms and across his broad shoulders, feeling the tension and warmth of his muscles. His pulse jumped under your touch. “I would want it to be with you,” you confessed, bare and vulnerable.

He went still above you, the words knocking something loose. “I've always wanted it to be with you,” he breathed, the honesty in his voice wrapping around you like a second skin.

With a deep, measured breath, he wrapped his hand around the thick base of his cock, stroking it once before pressing the blunt, leaking head right against your slick entrance. Hovering over you, he braced his forearm beside your head, eyes remaining locked on your face as he pushed in leisurely until he sank deep in one long, continuous thrust.

Both of you moaned openly, lips falling slack at the intense sensation. He filled you completely, stretching your walls around his girthy length, stealing the breath right from your lungs. At the same moment, he reached up and gently tugged the blindfold away, letting you finally see him, your eyes glassy with overwhelmed tears as they met his, the eye contact undoing you more than the fullness between your legs.

You whimpered, voice breathless. “I hate that you might be right.”

“About?” he chuckled softly, staying buried to the hilt while he gave you time to adjust, eyes tracing over your face like he was trying to memorize it.

“Thinking highly of your dick…” You swallowed hard, your pussy fluttering and clenching around the solid invasion. “It sure is there.”

“Focus on it then,” he grinned, that cocky yet tender expression making your chest tighten. His gaze dropped to your lips, then back up as though he couldn't settle on one place to look.

“Not much else I can do,” you admitted, voice shaky, the words barely making it out whole.

Dean leaned down, catching your mouth with his, searching and wanting to swallow the shakiness right out of you. Only when you softened against him did he begin to move, shallow at first, drawing back only a few inches before sliding back in, letting you feel every inch of him dragging along your sensitive inner walls. Each time he bottomed out, his pelvis pressed firmly against your clit, sending sparks of sharp pleasure through you. Your body rocked beneath him with every careful thrust, the wet, intimate sound of your joined bodies filling the room alongside your shared breathing.

“Talk to me,” he murmured, eyes never leaving your face as he kept an unhurried pace, rolling into you repeatedly. He watched for every flicker, every little crease between your brows and twitch at the corner of your mouth, searching for the exact angle and depth that made your expression soften with bliss instead of tension. “What’s on your mind?”

“You,” you answered immediately, the most honest thing you could say.

His smile deepened with satisfaction but he wanted more than what was at the surface, what he knew you thought he wanted to hear. His thumbs brushed tenderly across your temples, easing your mind. “What’s around it?”

“How…” A moan interrupted you as he rolled his hips just right, cock stroking a spot inside you that made your toes curl. “Just how much I’ll want you to believe me when I say this was good…once it’s over. I know it will be.” Your breathing came in heavy pants now, chest rising and falling against his. “Even when…when I won’t–”

“If,” he corrected gently but firmly, still thrusting steadily as the head of his cock dragged deliciously along your walls on every withdrawal, then pushed back in deep. “That’s if you don’t.” He paused, “Listen to me, I don’t think there’s anything you’d tell me that I wouldn’t believe.”

“Well…I need you to be sure,” you pressed, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from spilling. Vulnerability sat raw in your throat, each word feeling like it cost you something you couldn't get back. Your nails dug crescents into his sides, holding on like he might disappear the second you finished the thought. “Please, be sure.”

“Certain,” he nodded, then leaned down closer, forehead nearly touching yours, eyes locked so you could see the sincerity burning there. “I’m right here with you, now and after this.”

He maintained the thrusts long and measured, pulling almost all the way out until only the swollen head remained inside you, letting you feel the stretch as he sank back in again, its slick glide was audible with every meeting of your bodies. Sweat beaded along his collarbone and dripped onto your chest as he held himself above you, muscles flexing with control.

His pelvis kissed your clit on every downstroke, rubbing in slow circles when he stayed buried deep, grinding the sensitive bundle of nerves until your thighs trembled around his hips.

When your brows creased a little too tightly, he adjusted the angle, tilting his hips until the sensation smoothed your expression again. He watched your eyes and mouth, learning your body in real time, focused entirely on making this feel safe and good rather than chasing his own end, he simply wanted to be connected to you.

Your walls hugged him tightly, fluttering with every push, your wetness coating his shaft and easing each deep slide while you could feel the way his cock throbbed inside you, the subtle twitch it gave when you clenched around him. He drew his cock back slowly so you could feel every ridge and vein dragging along your inner walls before sinking back in.

Your breath hitched sharply, as if that alone told him everything he needed to know, he repeated the motion, slower this time letting you feel the full drag and press of him. He pulled out almost completely on the next stroke, just the swollen tip resting inside you, before sliding back in with one smooth thrust that forced a whimper from your throat, strokes that let you savor the way your pussy stretched around his thickness, the way your walls fluttered and clenched trying to keep him inside.

Your hands roamed his back, nails lightly scoring his skin as another deep thrust made your feet arch and when your brows drew together in concentration, he moved again, tilting his hips, changing the depth. Near the end of a dragging stroke, he reached down and hooked one hand behind your knee. He lifted your leg slowly, draping it over his hip and higher along his side, opening you up further, the new angle letting him press deeper. He rolled his hips upward on the next thrust, driving his cock into you with a smooth, upward grind that rubbed directly against a spongy pillow inside while his pelvis continued to crush against your clit.

Your whole body reacted at once, back arching hard as a broken moan spilled from your lips.

“Right there, mmh?” he cooed, voice low and warm, repeating the exact same rolling motion. “Try that for a bit?”

You nodded quickly, eyes falling shut as you surrendered to the sensation. His cock stroked along that perfect angle with every upward push, the head pressing right where you needed it most, pussy clenching tightly around him and soaking his cock even more with every grind.

Dean kept watching you, even as your eyes stayed closed. He studied the way your head tilted back against the pillow, the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the way your lips trembled on every moan. He adjusted the angle of his hips in tiny increments, searching for the rhythm that would keep those creases of wonder on your face. The emotional weight of his attention made your throat tight, he wasn't just fucking you, he was tuned in completely, making sure you felt safe and cherished in every stroke.

“M–middle,” you moaned, voice breaking on the word.

Dean adjusted accordingly, angling his cock exactly where you needed him but before he could even settle into the new position, a raw, wanton moan tore from your throat and your back arched sharply off the bed as your eyes opened.

“Breathe,” he instructed gently, locking eyes with you and giving a slow, reassuring nod. His thumb brushed over your parted lips. “Breathe,” he repeated, “Focus on what you know.”

He kept moving in that centered, precise rhythm, strokes that dragged his thick cock along the same devastating path inside you.

“Mmpppff,” Your eyes fluttered shut as the pleasure built higher, one hand dug into his shoulder, nails biting into his skin while you struggled to draw full breaths. You tried to focus only on the slick drag of his cock entering and leaving your pussy, the way your walls stretched and clenched around his girth, the constant wet sounds of your bodies meeting.

“There you go. That's it,” he husked, bending lower to press a soft kiss to each of your closed eyelids. The new angle drove him even deeper, he pressed forward, settling his weight fully over you and nudging his face into the crook of your neck. Your moans became continuous, loud and broken, spilling from your open mouth without pause.

Dean groaned against your neck, low and desperate sounds vibrating through your skin and making you even hornier. His own unfiltered whimpers and heavy breathing mixed with yours as the position allowed you to breathe him in, sweat, skin and sex, chest heaving beneath his weight.

For several thrusts, no sound came out of you at all. Your mouth hung open in a silent cry, breath caught somewhere between your chest and your throat, refusing to let go. The pressure inside you coiled tighter than you'd ever known, winding higher with every drag of him, every muscle in your body drawn taut and ready to snap.

It was new, unfamiliar with an edge of fear threading through it, a building intensity you had no name for or memory to compare it to. Your fingers curled hard into his shoulder, keeping yourself against a feeling that seemed too big for your body to hold.

A sudden, sharp gasp tore from your lungs, followed immediately by a sob that shook your entire frame. The orgasm crashed over you, deep, vaginal and violently intense, unlike anything you'd known your body capable of. Your pussy clamped down hard around his cock in rhythmic contractions that squeezed him in waves as pure ecstasy ripped through you. For one disorienting second you didn't know whether to cry or laugh, caught between the shock of it and the sheer relief of finally breaking. You sobbed openly, tears spilling down your temples and into your hair, a startled laugh bubbling up right alongside them.

“Mmhnhgh…fuck, fuck, fuck!” you cried, voice wrecked and trembling as the pleasure kept rolling through you in devastating pulses. Your walls fluttered and pulsed wildly around his thrusting cock, soaking him even more.

Dean groaned deeply at the sensation, his hips stuttering for a moment before he forced himself to keep moving, drawing out every last tremor of your orgasm. A quiet laugh escaped him, disbelieving and reverent, the sound punched loose from his chest before he could stop it. He stared down at you, eyes wide, drinking in the sight of your face gone soft and open, tears streaking your temples and lips parted around broken breaths. You looked undone in the most beautiful way he'd ever seen and for a second his vision blurred, his head going light with it.

He blinked hard, jaw tight, willing himself to hold it together as your walls kept squeezing him greedily, refusing to let him go.

He fucked you through it with careful, deep strokes, prolonging the pleasure until your body trembled beneath him. You felt impossibly wet, your arousal and his precum mixing and leaking out around his cock with every thrust.

The first orgasm had barely begun to fade when his pelvis ground harder against your swollen clit with each rolling thrust. The added stimulation pushed you straight into a second, clitoral orgasm that blindsided you, entirely different from the first and brighter too now as many sensations arrived all at once for your mind to sort through. Your thigh quivered violently against his side as bright pleasure exploded outward from your clit, blending with the deep, pulsing contractions still rippling through your core. You cried out again, fresh tears streaming down your face as the dual sensations overwhelmed every nerve in your body.

Your vision whited out for several seconds, your entire body locking up and then shaking apart in his arms. Sobs mixed with desperate moans as wave after wave rolled through you, leaving you raw and shattered in the best possible way.

Dean bent down and kissed away your tears, the salt of it lingering on his lips. “That's how you're supposed to feel,” he hushed against your temple, voice rough with awe and restraint.

“Nnngh, can’t–” you managed, lips parted, chasing words that wouldn't come.

“I know, I know,” he soothed, voice thick. “Gotta let it happen.”

Dean kept thrusting for as long as he could, fucking you through the tail end of your orgasms. His hips snapped forward a few more times, chasing his own release, less controlled than anything he'd let himself be before.

With a wanton whimper, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, harder than he ever remembered coming, raw and unguarded, shaking with the force of it. Thick, warm pulses of his cum spilled deep inside you, flooding your pussy with heat that made you shudder, your oversensitive body twitching around him as his cock throbbed and jerked against your walls.

He stayed inside you, breathing heavily against your neck, neither of you speaking and just letting the last tremors settle.

After a moment he pulled back reluctantly, until there was just room between your bodies for both of you to look down and watch. He gave a few shallow, unhurried thrusts, fucking his cum deeper into you, the creamy mixture leaking out around his cock with every small movement. You were both transfixed by the filthy, intimate sight, watching each slow slide, neither of you willing to look away until his cock finally stopped twitching.

With one final thrust he stilled completely, buried deep inside you and let his forehead drop to your shoulder.

Neither of you moved.

The room went quiet except for your shared, rasped breathing and underneath it, the faint hitch of his breath catching, over and over in quiet little hiccups he couldn't smooth out no matter how he tried. You ran your hands slowly up and down his back, soothing the tremor still running through him and caught the small, wet sniffle against your skin, proof that he'd cried too, that this had undone him just as much as it had undone you.

You finally felt like you could breathe again. Every muscle in your body went limp as you melted into the mattress, utterly spent, tears still drying on your cheeks and Dean's warm weight pressing you down in the most comforting way possible.

You kissed while stubbornly blinking back tears, holding yourselves together until you simply couldn't anymore. Time dissolved into something shapeless, measured only by slow breaths, racing hearts and bodies pressed together. The sheets twisted around your limbs and for the first time, your body didn't feel like something you had to apologize for.

When Dean finally moved, he did it with an achingly slow pace. He kissed you deeply, tongue dancing with yours while he began to pull out, as though the press of his lips could somehow stop the inevitable. You whimpered softly into his mouth at the feeling, his thick cock sliding from your sensitive, cum-filled pussy in one continuous, wet glide.

A thick trickle of your shared release followed, leaking slowly down your folds and onto the sheets. The sudden emptiness left you aching and strangely bereft, even as his tongue continued to stroke gently against yours through the loss.

Whatever this was afterward, it was unlike anything you'd ever experienced.

“Stay right here,” he murmured against your lips once they parted.

Dean eased himself out of bed shortly to start the shower, testing the water with the back of his hand until the temperature was just right before returning for you. He wrapped an arm around your waist and picked you up bridal style, carrying you into the bathroom and taking your weight without making you feel incapable.

Then guided you beneath the warm stream. Steam gradually filled the room while he took his time cleaning you, soapy hands moving with care over every inch of your skin, washing away sweat and the evidence of your shared pleasure, pausing every so often to brush a kiss against your shoulders, the back of your neck, the curve of your spine, or inside of your wrist.

He slipped away for a moment with a parting kiss, only to strip the bed and remake it with fresh sheets before returning the instant he heard the water stop.

You couldn't help but stare as he stepped into the bathroom doorway. A clean towel was already waiting in his hands, along with clean underwear and a pair of pajamas he'd unearthed from your dresser, and with obvious satisfaction, one of the hoodies he'd been insisting had mysteriously disappeared months ago.

Another towel hung dangerously low on his own hips, barely clinging to the sharp cut of his pelvis. Droplets of water still clung to his skin, tracing slow paths down the defined lines of his abs and the deep V that disappeared beneath the towel. The sight made your breath catch all over again, his body glistening, relaxed and impossibly attractive in the soft bathroom light.

Dean noticed your gaze and gave you a small, knowing smirk but said nothing. He set the clothes aside and got to work, drying your skin carefully section by section, working moisturizer into every inch of you with soothing strokes and helping you into the soft fabric of your clean underwear and pajamas. Then he carried you back to the freshly made bed despite your quiet insistence that you could walk.

After fluffing your pillows and tucking the blankets around you, he finally took a moment to dry himself off and pull on his boxers. Only then did he return to your bedside, lean down and press a gentle kiss to the crown of your head before lingering there for a moment, as though reassuring himself that you were comfortable and finally at peace.

“I'll go raid your cabinets for something to eat,” he said quietly, palm moving slowly over your hair in absent, soothing strokes as he looked down at you. His thumb brushed lightly against your temple before his hand slipped away.

It was far too late to order food and even if somewhere nearby was still open, you doubted you had the energy for anything more substantial than a few bites. A tired smile tugged at your lips as you gave him a small nod but the moment he stepped away from the bed, your chest tightened unexpectedly, eyes following him across the room as though distance alone suddenly felt wrong.

Dean noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye but kept walking toward the bedroom door. “If you hear something heavy drop,” he said over his shoulder, a teasing grin returning now that the weight of the evening had begun to lighten, “that's probably just me hiding from Hannah and Allie if it comes down to it.”

A quiet chuckle escaped you as you turned your head toward the clock resting on your bedside table, the glowing numbers confirming just how late it had become. “Doubt they'll be back tonight,” you murmured, your voice rough with exhaustion.

Dean paused with one hand resting against the doorframe. Instead of leaving, he turned back to look at you properly. His teasing expression faded as he searched your face, trying to read what you needed without making assumptions but he knew tonight had been overwhelming in more ways than one. Maybe you wanted to be alone now, to untangle your thoughts in private before either of you tried putting words to everything that had changed between you.

He wouldn't force that conversation tonight if you weren't ready. “I can go,” he relented, the offer sincere enough that you knew he'd leave without hesitation if that was what you wanted.

Your hands fidgeted restlessly with the edge of the blanket gathered over your lap, smoothing wrinkles before twisting the fabric between your fingers again. You gave the smallest shake of your head, so slight it was nearly impossible to notice.

“I'd rather you didn't.” The words came out quietly. Your gaze drifted away from him, settling instead on the dark window across the room where your reflection stared back faintly against the glass.

You drew in a slow, steadying breath. If there was ever such a thing as good timing, you doubted either of you had managed to stumble across it tonight, then again, maybe there never would've been a perfect moment for this. All you knew was that you were tired of keeping parts of yourself hidden from him.

Dean remained exactly where he was. He didn't move closer, didn't interrupt or rush to fill the silence stretching between you.

“I think I love you,” you admitted at last, it felt strangely fragile once spoken.

Your eyes finally lifted to meet his as you blinked quickly, trying to keep the fresh sting of tears from spilling over, you'd already cried enough for one night.

Dean's expression didn't morph into surprise. Instead, he nodded once, his head tilting and his answer arriving with a tenderness that marked you more than if he'd been shocked. “I know that.”

A breathy laugh escaped you, your head shaking as you smiled weakly. You should've known he’d say that. The two of you had said those words before, they'd existed between you for years in birthday cards, sleepy phone calls, goodbye hugs and reassurances before exams or after bad days, less frequently as you'd grown older, perhaps but they had never truly disappeared.

This was different, though, you'd hoped he'd hear it in your voice. “No…not like that.” You swallowed, clearing your throat before trying again. “The…the other way.” The confession sat awkwardly on your tongue, still too new to fit comfortably. “It's probably going to take me a while to figure out that one too.” You let out a self-conscious laugh that barely qualified as one. “I just thought…I'd give you a heads-up.” Your fingers tightened around the blanket. “In case…you have time to stick around for that too.”

Your eyes dropped back to your hands, unable to bear watching disappointment if it appeared.

For a long second, the room remained perfectly still, then Dean smiled. It was far from the teasing grin he wore so effortlessly, a smile touched with years of memories only the two of you shared.

“I know, baby,” he ventured.

His fingertips tapped absently against the doorframe as scenes from years ago drifted through his mind of the two of you, younger and convinced you were being impossibly sneaky, sitting shoulder to shoulder in playgrounds you'd long since outgrown after the sun had gone down, hiding behind climbing frames and plastic tunnels simply because they gave you somewhere to be alone together.

Memories of fingers laced together in the dark, shared laughter muffled into sleeves and the first time your mouths had met almost by accident, followed by another and another, both of you pretending each one had been just as thoughtless as the last since acknowledging it felt far more frightening than simply letting it happen again.

“I never thought we'd grow out of it,” he admitted, his eyes never leaving yours. “You've never been an enigma to me…Of course, I have time,” he murmured. “I've loved you for as long as I can remember. For you, I’ve always had time.”

He smiled softly and everything inside you slid into place.

Oh, love. The nostalgia returned with childlike wonder. How long had it been waiting for you to find your way back to the playground?

a/n: Comments, likes and reblogs really do mean the world and help more than you know! More stories will be added to the archive soon, so stay tuned for new content. Thank you so much for reading! 🤍

Taglist for pt2: @frenchfry101 @myhipsterparadise-blog1 @nchye @harryskissies @valepao06-blog @astoldbydanid @freyaviesposts @smol-grandpa @freezing82 @bluc1a @honethatty12 @elleyaps @m21-k

[cosmogyrais]

steve harrington masterlist ᝢ ˚. ♡ upd: 08/11/26

𓂃 ·˚ ༘ remember to like & reblog all posts! tumblr strives on reblogs ˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶ stranger things masterlist

ଘ you missed the memo by @suprclark

₊ ꒷ ʚ your best friend shows up at your house after breaking your heart a little, only to fix it a lot. turns out the boy you thought you lost is actually the boy who’s been in love with you this whole time.

ଘ my man on his willpower by @/suprclark

₊ ꒷ ʚ your fake boyfriend breaks up with you for extremely stupid reasons, and you spend a few miserable days realizing you actually liked being his girl. turns out fake dating is very bad for your sanity but great for finally getting the boy who’s been in love with you the entire time.

ଘ just a scuffle by @roseyreveries

₊ ꒷ ʚ Steve comes knocking at your door bruised and bleeding. You have no clue what he’s gone through but your focus goes straight to ensuring Steve is okay anyways. Good thing you planned to be a nurse after graduating.

ଘ on his willpower by @headkiss

₊ ꒷ ʚ when visiting your friend robin in hawkins turns into an indefinite stay, you decide to entertain yourself by getting under steve’s skin. it turns out different than you expect. maybe better.

ଘ the four steps between (best) friends and lovers by @stevebabey

₊ ꒷ ʚ Long-time best friends, it's not a surprise that it's you Steve comes to when he needs a fake girlfriend. One little white lie, one perilous family dinner, one evening of pretending to be a couple.

ଘ knight next door by @graywrenhart

₊ ꒷ ʚ The single dad next door is running late and in desperate need of a knight in shining armor. Preferably one who knows about ballet buns.

ଘ accidentally on purpose by @/graywrenhart

₊ ꒷ ʚ A prank war between you and Steve backfires when a thunderstorm washes away your paint, leaving behind an accidental love confession scribbled across his car.

ଘ wrapped around your finger by @vamptales

₊ ꒷ ʚ you’ve been a brat all day, steve has had enough.

ଘ under the fireworks by @tinfoileddd

₊ ꒷ ʚ You and Steve make good use of an abandoned field, the bed of the truck, and the emptiness in Hawkins on the Fourth of July.

[cosmogyrais]

stranger things masterlist ᝢ ˚. ♡ upd: 08/11/26

𓂃 ·˚ ༘ here you'll find all of the characters i have read about from stranger things ˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶ main masterlist

₊ ꒷ ʚ STEVE HARRINGTON

₊ ꒷ ʚ LUCAS SINCLAIR

[starl1ghtgr4yson]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀𝓸𝐧 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞

.☘︎ ݁˖. in which Dick Grayson tries to guess the flavour of your lip gloss, and keeps getting it wrong!

.☘︎ ݁˖. warnings: none, just light fluff and kissing!

It started as a harmless, slightly silly game during a rare quiet evening in the Manor. You had bought a set of fruit-flavored lip glosses on a whim, and after applying a generous swipe of a sweet, shimmering formula, you challenged Dick to a blind taste test.

He had taken to the "rules" with suspicious enthusiasm.

"Okay, close your eyes," you instructed, sitting cross-legged opposite him on the couch.

Dick leaned in obediently, eyes shut, a handsome, lopsided grin pulling at his lips. He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing gently against your jaw, and leaned in to press his lips against yours. The kiss was soft, deliberate, and just a fraction longer than a simple taste test strictly required.

He pulled back, lingering close enough that you could feel his warm breath. He tapped his chin, putting on a show of deep, intense concentration.

"Strawberry?" he guessed.

"Not even close," you laughed, shaking your head. "It’s watermelon. Try again."

He leaned right back in, capturing your lips once more. This time, the kiss had a bit more weight to it, his touch sliding from your cheek down to the back of your neck, fingers tangling gently in your hair. He parted his lips slightly, tasting you properly, pulling you in until your chest was pressed against his.

When he finally broke the kiss, he looked down at you with heavy-lidded, innocent eyes. "Hmm. Still hard to tell. Raspberry?"

"Dick," you said, brow furrowing as you studied his face. "It tastes explicitly like artificial melon. How are you getting raspberry?"

"Hey, my palate is refined for Gotham takeout, not cosmetic fruit," he defended, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Give me another try. I’ll get it this time, promise."

You reapplied a fresh layer of a different flavor—this one distinctly vanilla—and sat back. "Alright. New one. Go."

He didn’t hesitate. Dick pulled you into his lap this time, his hands settling firmly on your hips. He leaned down and kissed you deeply, taking his time, making a slow, thorough work of tasting every drop of gloss on your lips. By the time he pulled away, your heart was hammering against your ribs, and your lips felt warm and thoroughly kissed.

He rested his forehead against yours, breathing softly. "Cherry?" he asked, sounding entirely sincere.

You blinked, staring at him. Vanilla was practically screamingly obvious. There was no way a trained acrobat, detective, and sharp-eyed hero couldn't distinguish vanilla from cherry.

You narrowed your eyes, watching the subtle glimmer of mischief in his blue eyes and the slow, satisfied smirk spreading across his face.

"You're doing this on purpose," you accused, poking his chest.

Dick’s smirk widened into a full, unabashed grin, his arms tightening around your waist to pull you closer. "I don't know what you're talking about. It's a very difficult test."

"You knew it was vanilla the second you kissed me, didn't you?"

"Maybe," he admitted, unrepentant, trailing a kiss down to the corner of your jaw. "But if I got it right on the first try, the game would be over. And why would I stop a game where the punishment for losing is getting to kiss you again?"

You tried to hold a stern expression, but the warmth in his eyes made it impossible. "You're terrible."

"Terrible, but effective," Dick hummed, his lips brushing against yours once more. "Now... what's the next flavor?"

-> short fic but it’s cute so it does the trick!

Taglist: @leovaldez0924 @newangelle @pxrcyjcksons @rani1028 @maradcrs @purelypersistentribe @cecillia-stuff @sarahskywalker-amidala @starrydustedwinter @brucewayneisavirgin @idkwhattosaynowsorry @sexy-sadie-6505 @steadyclarityparadox @fireriyu

[owlluvrrr999]

it’s not about need, it’s about want

dick grayson x fem! reader

cw: fluff, explicit language

summary: for my girls who don't know how to accept being spoiled by themselves or others. dick grayson's ur bf who is here to reassure you.

masterlist!!

“how about this one?” dick grunted behind you. you stop the cart and turn back, seeing him holding a beautiful lamp. a colorful stained glass shade and a gold stand. you stare at him momentarily, how his dimples were more prominent under the light of the plenty of other lamps that filled and lined the aisle you’d been walking down. he looked proud of his find, knowing you’d love it.

his gut was right. you did love it. a stained glass lamp had been a constant in your ‘apartment inspo’ pinterest board. 

taking in a deep breath and smoothing the expression of adoration for the lamp, you shake your head and turn back. “nope. i already have a lamp.”

dick looks confused and baffled almost immediately. “that old thing? babe, it has a massive stain on the shade and every time i plug it into the wall it sparks. that means it’s going to explode soon. explode! doesn’t your life matter to you?” he was dramatic but he was also right, you’d had that lamp for years. 

“it still works. that’s all that matters, i don’t need a new one.” you stand your ground and instead of his shoulders slumping, dick’s shoulders roll back and his chest puffs out in confidence. you wanted that lamp, he’d be damned if he left it there for another boyfriend to buy for his girlfriend! besides, he knew you’d brush it off and say you can come back for it another time but what if it wasn’t there another time?

he keeps ahold of the lamp and follows you as you turn into the next aisle. you hear the rattling, stopping to whirl around. a raised eyebrow, “dick. i told you. i don’t need another lamp. the one i have is fine. i’ll get a new one until—“

“until that one blows up your entire apartment complex into smithereens?” dick finishes your sentence. you were going to say 'until it stops working' but he wouldn’t be dick if he didn’t take things to another level. “i’m getting it for you. it’s exactly what you’ve been wanting.” he continues, moving towards the cart to put the lamp inside. 

“stop, i said i didn’t need it— dick, seriously, i have a lamp already,” he quickly cuts off your voice with a sharp look he gives you. very rarely do you see him get like this, you go quiet and sigh. already feeling the hints of vulnerability creeping up between you, it still made you anxious.

“why do you do that?”

“do what?”

“not let me buy you what you want.” 

there’s a silence after his words. swallowing the lump in your throat, suddenly feeling unhealed wounds begin to open. pressing your lips together and looking away to avoid his gaze, you shake your head and shrug. your voice comes out quiet in effort to hold back the tears you knew would soon form. “because i don’t need this stuff.”

“it’s not about what you need, it’s about what you want.” dick’s volume is gentle but his tone is serious. the one he gives you when he wanted you to just hear him. to understand him and where he was coming from. you owed him that, he always listened to you in ways you never felt so seen. 

“you have everything you need. a roof over your head, water, food, and a boyfriend who is here to give you everything you want and more.” he explained, adding the last part for some comedic relief, a smirk tugging at his lips. “it’s okay to want. it’s okay to want to update your decor, to want another pair of shoes, to want to be spoiled. baby, that’s what i am here for. i want you to be happy, i want you to never worry about price tags or if you have enough space for your new purchase. that’s for me to worry about and fuck, am i the happiest when i swipe my card and you have nothing but bags full of stuff you couldn’t help but get.” 

dick cups your cheek, bringing you in as he presses his lips to your forehead. a linger kiss before wrapping his arms around you and making sure you pressed tightly against him. “whatever you want is on me. it’s always on me, just how i like it.”

[srenique]

if the shoe ever fits

summary: growing up with dick grayson meant you never got bored. it also meant you'd get your heart broken.

or you and dick realise you're in love with each other.

contains : tooth-rotting fluff !! mdni, plot was plotting so it's very long, childhood bsf!dick, implied smut, kissing, making out, jealous gf, body shaming, angst, little babies at the start, mentions of death, the foster system, reader is adopted by Clark, pining, blind besties, we love dickie he's a sweetheart, spiceeee, Bruce is like a third father to reader, adopted kent!reader, brief background Jay but hot Jay, jealousy from reader, hurt/comfort, drinking, Dick remembers his Romani heritage and makes Romani dishesss, this isn’t a ‘jump into love’ thing, etc etc.

inspiration : love, rosie + invisible string (t.s), low-key WILDFLOWER (b.e) specifically the line “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me so I kept it to myself” !

twelve.

His parents weren't dead, right? They were just... sleeping. For a very long time.

Little DICK GRAYSON'S feet swung back and forth, heels scuffing the polished tile floor. He could see his face in it, blotchy and swollen with dried tears. The lady who picked him up had given him her handkerchief, now crumpled and snotty in his clenched fist.

He heard the adults talking. The foster system would take months to filter him through it. Too many kids were orphaned in Gotham. That meant there were other children like him, but he couldn't see any. Only serious looking adults who shoved pitiful glances down his throat.

"Wait here, sweetheart." A woman's voice didn't make him look up. He didn't want to see more sympathy. He did see lights, flashing, reflecting off the floor from a pair of grubby blue sneakers. They had purple bows on them. Huh.

You had your hair up in pigtails, odd. Weren't they easy to pull? Why would someone purposely do their hair like that? The boys from his school were mean, they liked pulling girls' hair. You had a packet of gummy bears in your hand, too, you were munching away happily; he wondered if you knew you'd be here a while.

He didn't notice two flying saucer eyes staring back at him, he was too focused on the gummy bears. He hadn't eaten anything for hours, but it was rude to beg for food, wasn't it? So he kept his mouth shut.

The packet rustled as it was held closer to him, beaded bracelets clinking on your wrists. Rainbow. With some charms. All mismatched. But he saw your face, and you were smiling like you'd known him for your whole life, not a second.

"Want some?" That was all you said. "I can't finish it by myself."

A pause. Then a toothy grin, digging for the gummy treasure and stuffing his mouth with it. You didn't care that he did, you just did the same.

"I'm Dick." He said through a mouthful of gummy bears. You gave your name back, same grin, your canimes pointy. Like a vampire.

You tilted your head. Didn't your mom and dad say that was a bad word? "Kids are mean."

He wanted to ask more questions, like what did that mean, where did you come from, and are your parents gone too, but a man walked in. He was tall. Freakishly tall, but he wore glasses and walked like he'd trip over his own feet. That man knelt in front of you.

"Hey, honey." He murmured, smiling. You looked at him in fascination. You'd never seen a man that tall before. Did they make men who almost touched the ceiling? "My name's Clark, I'm here to take you home."

Something about this man helped you trust him. He looked like a warm hug in a person, so you took his hand. You mud-tracked the floor as you approached the door, and he thought he'd never see you again. Maybe you never cared.

You turned around and waved. It made him happy.

He felt weird, going to school in a custom made Prada backpack. All of the bags he had before had Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on them. At least the butler Alfred got him a TMNT pen.

That was cool.

"If anyone tries to upset you, Master Dick, don't be afraid to give me a ring." Alfred said. He sounded weird, you didn't find many people with Alfred's accent in Gotham. But he was a nice guy, he made Dick's favourite food for dinner on his first night: pizza with little mushrooms on them with dino nuggets on the side. Handmade. "I'm sure your father will be busy at work."

"Will Dad be at dinner?" Dick asked. He'd only seen Bruce once. Alfred had picked him up from the foster centre-thing, and Bruce had only been a passing sight as Alfred led him to his bedroom.

He had a fun time so far. His bed was bouncy, he had a huge TV to play video games on, Alfred always kept dino nuggets in the house, the banister was slide-material. But the house was empty. Like a void. If a void had echoes.

"I'm afraid not." The old man sighed, shaking his head. "He has a investor's meeting that will run late, if the punctuality of the attendees are anything to consider."

Alfred always used such big words.

With a strong pat on the back, he was ushered out. "Off you pop, young sir. Remember, at the first sign of trouble—"

"Call you, I got it." He grinned, hopping out of the Royce. The kids at the gate were gaping at it. "Thanks for the ride, Alfie!" The door slammed shut.

Alfred tsked, amused. "He might be more difficult than Master Bruce was." He had potential.

Dick jogged up the steps to Gotham City Middle School (it was spelled in huge letters on a sign). It looked huge, but murky. He couldn't see his face in the floors, and the doors had dents in them.

Why didn't his dad pay to enrol him in a fancy-schmancy private school?

"Hey, it's you!" It was you, equipped with the same blinding smile he'd seen a week ago. He thought he'd never see you again. You lived in Metropolis now, but it didn't have a middle school. But your new dad got you there very fast.

It was nice to have a friend. "Heya, bear." He teased, rocking back and forth on his heels. "How's the new digs?"

"So cool." You raved, sparkles in your eyes. "My new dad even has a dog. What about yours?"

"My dad has a mansion."

"Woah."

sixteen.

Bruce would never notice. Right?

Dick was all giggles, stupidly large bedroom tilting on an axis as he shoved you inside, shushing you. "Shush, bear. Respectfully. Alfred'll hear us." The man had the hearing of a bat. No pun intended there. None at all.

"Come on, there's no way Alfred can catch us." You flopped on the bouncy bed, rolling in the European goose downs with crushed velvet covers. Dick was so rich.

He produced a bottle of whiskey from his zip up. "Alfred has super hearing." He sat down on the bed, unscrewing the bottle cap. "C'mon, bear, today's the day we become adults."

You rolled to face him. "We're sixteen." But you sat up anyway.

"Humour me." His glance wasn't poisonous, scooching to face you. "Bottoms up?"

"You first." You retorted, wrinkling your nose. Only grown ups drank alcohol. Your dad would not be happy. "Wait, are you sure about—"

It was too late, Dick had thrown his head back and taken a gulp. His heart skips, slows, cheeks flooded with cherry.

Then he coughs. Splutters, even. It burns.

"Oh, golly—" You slapped his back to help him, brows knitted. "Are you ok?"

He's banging his chest with a fist, hacking; the whiskey felt like someone flicked a lighter and dropped it down his throat. His body felt tingly, there was a roasting pit in his stomach— woah.

The world tilted again, giggles bubbling from his throat. Why was he woozy? The lights stung his eyes, his vision swam and floated, ooh, you looked so pretty. "I'm a-ok." He hiccuped, covering his mouth when he handed over the bottle. "T—Try some, it's so good." His spine felt like jelly, head nestling into marshmallows. Pillows. Not marshmallows.

The rim of the bottle touched your lips, golden liquid sliding down your throat, scorching following after. Clapping your hand over your chest, wheezing, the burn suffocated you.

Your brain started floating, like it suddenly weighed a feather, and everything seemed funny. Dick’s room having a whole couch was funny. The large paintings Bruce had purchased on auction were hilarious— how were paintings worth more than you’d make in one lifetime? Why weren’t comedies about how you’re breathing in what you couldn’t see?

How did anyone know air wasn’t out to get ‘em?

The ceiling ended up in your direct line of sight, Dick’s hiccuping head lolling onto your shoulder. “We’re drunk, right?” You whispered loudly.

“I think so.” He whispered back, sniffling. “We drank a tiny bit, m’not sure why.” He pouted, woozy blues staring straight up at you. “You’ll be my best friend forever, right?”

You held up your pinky. He took it.

Swoosh.

Sunlight stung Dick’s brain, the unmistakeable figure of a seventy-something, very amused butler halo-ed in the window. “Master Dick, it is almost noon.”

Oh no. He’d been caught.

With Bruce’s whiskey.

A bony eyebrow was raised. “And, it seems, you have grown a taste for Master Wayne’s Bruichladdich.” He was so busted. You were so busted. “I will arrange a hangover cure, and I will drive the young miss sleeping beside you home later. I have already informed her father where she is.” He paused. “I hope you behaved yourself, Master Dick.”

Huh—

Dick pouted, throwing the covers over his head. You were still peacefully slumbering, crushed velvet cupping your chin. “I hate you.” He mumbled, half-heartedly. Alfred was his grandpa at this point.

Alfred smiled. “The feeling is mutual.” He left the room, shutting the door beside him. Dick’s head popped up from under the covers, turning to you. Your eyelashes fluttered when you breathed, your lips were parted, apples of your cheeks rosy from the whiskey.

He couldn’t stop a smile. Which instantly dropped; why was his belly warm?

eighteen.

Seeing you give a speech as valedictorian was the happiest moment of Dick’s life so far.

It had been weeks of sucking on a lollipop while you slaved over books, whining, pouting, scratching your head in his lap which brought you to the stage with a sash over a black gown. You deserved this. He’d screamed and whooped from his seat, clapping while holding a large bouquet of flowers which Alfred plucked from his arms when they almost went flying.

Everyone looked like they were cosplaying Batman.

Mr Kent had been sat beside him, Lois holding his arm as tears welled up in his eyes — “that’s my baby, she’s so smart,” — which was the first time he’d seen Mr Kent cry. His dad had been watching from the back. He’d showed up from a board meeting just in time to watch his gangly son skip up on stage and receive his certificate.

He’d even blown a kiss to the cheerleaders in the audience. Maybe the kid was more like him than he thought.

Bruce had been keeping an eye on you and Dick the entire time. He noticed things. Whenever he cracked a joke, he checked if you were laughing. He clung to your every word. Stuck by your side like a leech, even when the certificate ceremony was over. His son wasn’t good at hiding it, his earlier point may be disproven.

“Are you proud of your son, sir?” Alfred asked him, both of them standing at the edge of the party like two mismatched security guards. “He’s done exceptionally well.”

“Straight As. It’s commendable.” Bruce replied, his eyes trained on you. He first thought you’d be a distraction to Dick and his work as Robin. A better term to describe you was a help, not a hindrance. Seeing you strive for greatness made Dick spur himself on. Maybe he’d reserve a seat for you in Wayne Enterprises, as long as you wanted one. “The girl. Dick likes her.”

Alfred guffawed a little. “Young love, Master Bruce, young love." There was an opportunity to goad. Bruce would never clap back. "Not unlike you and Miss Kyle, I might say.”

Bruce adjusted the lapels of his coat, stiff. Low blow. “That’s different, Alfred.”

“So you deny that you spent an awfully long time with her in your office at work?”

“Alfred.”

Dick knocked the wind out of you, sweeping you off your feet in a bear hug when all your friends stopped congratulating you. He was probably more ecstatic than you were. “Hey, congrats!” Goofy-grinned, tomato-faced, a firework ready to go off. He was such an idiot. Your idiot. “You were really inspiring. I had an irrational urge to be a better man."

"Ugh, anything but that." You rolled your eyes playfully, fingers digging into his shoulders. You were not falling today. "Do I even weigh anything to you?"

"No."

"Ass."

"Thank you." He put you down, cocking his head. His eyes gleamed, as it did when he had something up his sleeve.

Oh, no. He was thinking. "What?" You deadpanned, crossing your arms. "You're thinking again, that's never a good sign."

"Chillax, I was gonna suggest that we sneak out. You think so low of me." He opened his gown a little like he was showing a fucking gun, your eye catching on to the massive gummy bear packet bursting from his pocket. It was holding on to dear life. "I wanna be a Scrooge and gatekeep these."

Huh. "So, you have a point." You mused. "Where, though?" You already knew. Every day without fail, you two had hung out under this massive oak tree planted by GCHS alumni years back. It was the one place in school that wasn't gross.

"Aw, you know where."

Shade blanketed both of you, Dick shined anyway. Fuck, he did, with the jokes you laughed at even when you didn't get his silly references. He loved niche movies, his favourite pastime was gatekeeping them.

The sweet packet lay half open, rested on his leg, gummies hoarded in his cheeks like nuts in the cheeks of a squirrel on the branch above you. Puffed out, unintentionally pouting. He was so greedy sometimes.

He swallowed the mouthful. "So. Met U, huh? Sounds fancy." You were moving close to home, he knew that was going to happen. Clark lived in Metropolis, and better ground zero for alien attacks than ground zero for every felony known to man. He'd go too, but he'd be spoiled for choice. Where were you supposed to start in a city that big?

"Yeah, I got in that course for journalism. And Dad got his boss to agree to get me an internship while I'm there. Might help me pay off student debt." You decapitated a bear with your teeth. "And you?"

A pregnant pause. He'd never thought about that, he just... he always thought he'd be Robin. Learning from Bruce, saving the city, taking a job at WE so he could pay some bills and keep close to his dad. Can't choose your cards if you don't know 'em all, so. "Well, I got a course in Business at Hudson University. And they have a place on the, uh, on the basketball team. For me."

Pride choked you. You knew he'd worked so hard, more than the mental sense, physically, psychologically. You'd cried whenever he showed up to school with a black eye. He'd cried whenever you got your heart broken by some dumb boy in your maths class, just cause you were. He needed to escape.

You traced his slender fingers with yours. The knuckles that were purple two weeks ago. "I'm gonna miss you, Dickie." Your voice split, dread stabbed him. No. No, that wasn't goodbye. It would never be goodbye, you'd both grow old, still friends, still being mean to each other and sharing Ben and Jerry's till you got diabetes. Sitting foward, he cupped your cheeks, panic radar going off.

"Hey, shh, no, we're still gonna talk. Don't be like that." He assured, his own words fluctuating between registers. "We're gonna find cool apartments and call every day to complain about work and life and guess what? We'll never change." He held up his pinky, grinning. "Promise. Scout's honor."

You wrinkled your nose. "You're not a Boy Scout."

"Just stop and smell the flowers, bear."

You sighed, shifting so you laid over him, he melted into it like butter. Arms winding round you, tucking your gown so it wouldn't ruin your pretty dress, he was a self appointed protector of it. You chose it cause it looked like the one from How To Lose a Guy in 10 Days. His lips blessed your temple, taking in the shampoo you religiously stuck to all these years. Some name he couldn't remember, it disappeared into the haze of the sun.

It was rarely sunny in Gotham. Thank fuck rare occurred today.

nineteen.

It'd been an unreasonably long day. The laptops at the library kept crashing, you spilled coffee all over your favourite jumper, and the dry cleaning line was so long. Where was Lady Luck when you needed her? For fuck's sake.

The clock was your ultimate nemesis. Why did it have to tick so slow? An hour was an eternity, dragging your face through metaphorical mud until you face planted on your bed, your own tiny laptop open, your unfinished assignment lobbing insults at your existence.

Proofreading was hell. What was the point of grammar mistakes? It could read just fine, who cares if you used who's instead of whose? You shouldn't have become valedictorian, you set the bar too high too early. There'd be less margin to fail if you'd dropped out of high school.

A green circular button floated onto the screen, pulsing. Video call from dickie !!, coming five minutes late. You could let him go, or you could be a bitch about it, it was more entertaining to be a bitch.

Click. His voice crackled through the speaker. "Hey, there's my future Pulitzer winner." Dick's starlet smile blinded you from the screen, even though the grain of a crappy camera. Strands of the silky insult he liked to call his hair fell in front of his eyes — huh, he'd grown it out, it looked... nice — and his Gotham Knights hoodie swallowed him up.

"You're late." You pouted, rightfully. "You left me alone for five whole minutes with my assignment. I think it's alive." No kidding. At this point you wake up in a sweat cause it found you in your dreams.

"I'm sorry I can't rescue you from it, bear, sounds horrible." He chuckled, leaning forward. "How's the new digs? Any foul smells, unexplainable substances, posters of the Lorax?"

You raised a finger. "We've talked about this, the Lorax is a hero. He speaks for the trees, and sustainability is a massive problem in today's socioeconomical landscape."

"English, sweetheart." Ker-thunk. Your heart missed a beat. Had he ever called you sweetheart before? No, he’d been calling you bear after the first five seconds of knowing him. Plus the occasional shortcake, if he felt saucy. He always felt saucy, he was the human embodiment of fettuccine alfredo. “I’m kidding. I agree.” He shrugged. “Still.”

You snorted. “You’re so fruity sometimes.”

“I like to call it adapting to the seasons. It’s almost the summertime.” He grinned a shit-eating grin. A pretty grin that made your heart hurt. “Bruce and Alfie say hi. I went to go visit them last weekend, Bats doesn’t like saying it, but he misses you.”

“It’d be awkward if he didn’t.” You giggled, resting your hand on your chin. It was strange, going to university every day and not seeing Dick making leaps and literal bounds beside you. A part of your life was painfully missing. “When are you coming to visit? It’s boring without you here.”

“The moment the private jet is free, I’m there.” He leaned closer, the screen was too huge of a barrier for him. How was he able to be so far away from you for so long? Maybe his brain chemistry was altered. “I promise.” He hadn’t broken one yet, and you trusted him with your whole heart. He was gracious enough to keep his word, at least.

You really shouldn’t question what made you swoon. If memory served you correctly, a skinny little boy with spiky hair and a disproportionately toothy grin was who you first met. He’d grown into the hoodies, his biceps were like basketballs — you exaggerated on that one — he was taller, confidence in spades, he’d grown a striver — always putting in the extra mile to prove himself — but he looked fully proved now. Was it wrong to look at your best friend that way? Maybe, it felt close to objectification.

“I want visual proof.” You retorted, grinning, fighting off the down-bad case of tomato-cheeks. “Once you’re here, then we’ll talk.”

“Hard bargain.”

“Hard? That’s generous.” You joked. The screen could swallow you up if it wanted, all you wanted was to feel close to Dick again. A larger-than-two-hundred-mile wedge between you and him was less than ideal, when threads had woven your hands together, separation didn’t feel great. Your smile thawed. “I’ve gotta get back to my assignment, it’s… due tomorrow.”

He hummed, nodding. “I’ve gotta go too, I have some plans for tonight.” He shrugged, checking his phone. Roy had invited him to some frat party happening in a different dorm, but they were basically orgies between the frat boys and sorority girls, party scenes at Hud U were pretty wild. His business major had been taking his soul out of him, chewing it up and spitting it out, maybe some rest and recuperation was warranted, y’know? He needed some fun.

“See you.” You said before clicking the hang up button, leaning back in your chair. Your assignment frowned at you. “I hate you.” You mumbled.

It hated you too.

twenty three.

Dick’s graduation, your turn to scream like a maniac. Front row, hands cupping your mouth and screaming, all so he’d flush red right before he got on stage. The astronomical effort it took him to make his face its normal shade right before he accepted his graduate certificate was downright embarrassing. Like, c’mon. You didn’t have to do that.

He liked that you did, though.

He knew after this would be a life of doing coffee runs for Bruce and working his way up the Wayne Enterprises food chain, the leg up didn’t do shit. Only cause being the boss’ son would make life hard for him there, while you’d already taken up your position, interning at the Daily Planet. Coffee runs, mostly, but Clark convinced Perry to let you audit in interviews.

You sometimes sent Dick silly selfies at work, the occasional mirror selfie in the break room — it had really good lighting — and he checked every single one of them. You really had the corporate/reporter look going for you, flared pants, badge, pretty blouse.

It was kinda hot.

…

Oh, no—

Your arms strangled his neck, body colliding with his at the speed of light, woah, he had to hug you in response and take a couple steps back to avoid falling. “Oh, hey, silver bullet, slow down.” He chuckled, spinning you around before setting you on the floor. “I’m not a bowling pin.”

Did you care? Probably not, you were humming with the energy of a honeybee. “What?” He blinked. “You’re nonverbal, you’ve planned something, haven’t you?”

You shoved a box in his hands, wrapped in the fanciest wrapping you could find, white with some gold detailing. A lumpy package, with two protruding ends— the fuck could this thing be? His throat swelled at the thought of you getting anything for him at all, so his nail slid under the tape, releasing the paper and unfolding it. He couldn’t damage your hard work.

An electric blue teddy, in the shape of a gummy bear. Little smile, wide puppy eyes, little paws holding a framed Polaroid in its hands, of the two of you, the night of your high school graduation. Cups of shitty beer raised that you used to think was the holy grail. “Oh, bear.” His wrist caught a tear before it fell. “You didn’t— you shouldn’t have—” His arms flew around you, kissing your cheek and your temple. Of course, you almost fell over, he was massive and made your knees fight to avoid keeling.

You hugged him back, the fur of the bear pressing against your back, your dress ruching between his slender fingers. He couldn’t let you go, he didn’t want to, but after this he’d be in Gotham, slaving at Wayne Enterprises while you took on the journalism world with a mighty sword (your pen). He’d be the corporate slug with a night job and you’d accept a Pulitzer or Nobel on a world stage, but wasn’t that how it was meant to end?

Yeah. That’s how it should end.

The day was spent in Hudson’s high street, roaming around with cones of melting ice cream clutched to your chests. Walking hid reality, it stretched the day until it snapped. You’d already been to a couple of thrift shops, your clothes he’d swiped his credit card for hanging in bags from his arms.

Look at him. He was made to carry shopping bags.

“Let’s go to LV, or, I don’t know, Giorgio Armani, I can get you something from there.” He offered, like it was nothing, nodding to the part of Hudson reserved for the luxury shops that showed the massive difference between your wealth class and his. “I really wanna spoil you.”

What? No, you couldn’t take that much money from his bank account. Even if it wouldn’t make a dent. “I can’t do that, it’s too expensive. Plus, thrift shops have the best stuff for cheap. Great way to trend recycle.”

You were something else. In the best way.

He pouted, plush bottom lip jutting. “You don’t ever let me spoil you. It’s the last time we get to pretend to be young and stupid, at least let me splurge on you, bear.”

“No.”

He folded like wet paper. “Your loss.” His hand rested on your opposite shoulder, lips brushing the crown of your head with a hum. “I’ll miss you, sweetheart.”

There he went again. Sweetheart.

Your nose wrinkled. “You make it sound like I’m dying.”

“Well, you’re not dying, I know that, but you’ll live in Metropolis, and I’ll be in Gotham, and I won’t be able to see you everyday.” He sighed. The sun was disappearing below the horizon.

You stopped walking, standing in front of him. Your eyes were beautiful— stop that. “We’re still gonna be best friends. We promised, right?”

You held up your pinky. He took it.

That promise hadn’t changed. You could never let go of him— it would be cruel if you did, letting go of the one thing that made you what to go to school every day. He was your little ball of sunshine — not little anymore, he was big, tall, hot, even — uh, um, where were you? Oh, right.

His shoulders unravelled. “Yeah.” He breathed, kissing your forehead. “‘Course, yeah, you’re right.” His arm slung over your shoulders again. “C’mon, we’re going to Louis Vuitton anyway. No arguments.”

“But—”

“Nope!”

twenty five.

Your FaceTime was blooping, your face on the screen flashing back at you, waiting for Dick to pick up. Two years on and you both made waves that overlapped— he advanced quickly in Wayne Enterprises, proposed a few too many business deals, got ‘em signed, was promoted from coffee boy to VP in record time.

“Keep it up and you’ll be CEO,” Bruce had said. With a blank expression. He was... so emotional.

You’d written a demo piece for Perry on, guess what, Wayne Enterprises and the work on sustainability over the past two years. Coincidentally, Dick was the one who proposed that plan — your advocation for the Lorax inspired him — so Gotham's carbon emissions reduced by 5% and revenue grew by 10%, so Dick was essentially a hero.

Plus, it gave him an excuse to visit you.

Dick's face popped up on the screen. "Hey, hey." He grinned, chin resting on his palm. He looked... so happy. Like he had a great year, which he did. "How's my favourite journalist?"

"I'm great." You giggled, cause your article about him decided to blow up, which meant payday. You took the liberty to buy more groceries than you usually did. Ok, yeah, you found joy in the little things. "The article on your work has been blowing up, the numbers are doing so well. People are finally seeing how valuable you are." The way I do, you added in your brain. You held your tongue, though.

He raised a perfect eyebrow. “Credit yourself, y’know. I did the deed, sure, but you wrote the article.”

You rolled your eyes, making a yapping motion with your hand. He didn’t have to be modest, he could just sit tight and take a fucking compliment, but hey, we can’t get what we all want. “There you go again. Really, Dickie? You revolutionised corporate sustainability and reduced Gotham’s emissions by five percent. Five. Do you know how much carbon dioxide enters Gotham’s air every day?”

Gotham was so polluted even the stars had booked it.

All throughout your rant, you didn’t catch the goofy smile. That’s cause he was doing it… internally. To save face. “Hey, look, I’m just trying to give you your flowers. You could win a Nobel.”

“You should win a Nobel.” You set down your pen. “You proved that you’re not a nepo baby.”

“I am a nepo baby.”

“Dick.”

“Is that meant in a my name context or an insult context?”

“Both.” You deadpanned.

“Right.” He cleared his throat, checking the time. “Well, I better be off, I’m sorry, it was a short chat today, but I’m going out tonight. Bruce gave me the day off today for good behaviour.”

You snorted. “It’s work, not prison.” But you waved him off, shaking your head with a giggle. “Go, have your fun. You deserve it.”

“Cheers, bear.” He pointed at you. “You’ll be ready for next week, right?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be. Now go.” You ushered, cutting the call on his cute-ass pout, setting the phone down. Dick, rose from his chair, finding the mirror by the door and checking himself. The hair looked good, his navy shirt was ironed to perfection, the cream trousers were a little dangerous for a food date, but no matter. She’d like it.

He flicked his hair out of his eyes one last time, checked if the guyliner wasn’t too obvious but subtle enough to make his eyes look sexy enough, smoothed down his pants— yep, looked perfect. He clicked his tongue, smiling to himself. “Don’t mess this up, Grayson.”

He pulled out his phone, dialling a number and holding the phone to his ear, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, Morgan. Yeah, I’m heading out right now, will you be out in five minutes?” The response made him laugh. “I’ll wait all night if I need to, sunshine. Alright, see you in a moment.” He pressed the red button, grabbing his keys and a bouquet, shutting his front door.

Click.

Dick showed up next week in Metropolis. Sure, the drive was long cause he was impatiently waiting for when he'd see you, but long nonetheless. He was biased.

Hauling his suitcase out of the cab, muttering to keep the change, he forked out a small pile of fifty dollar bills and gave it to the very puzzled cabbie, who drove off with plans to spoil his wife formulating in his head.

"Dickie!" You gasped, sprinting, and he was ready, catching you as you launched yourself onto him, arms secure around your waist as he spun you around. His laugh was loud, his suitcase fell over, but he finally felt at home.

You were home.

A lady watching turned to her husband. "What a lovely couple." She muttered, heading on her way.

"Hey, bear." He grinned, setting you down and propping his suitcase back up again. His cheeks hurt from all the smiling, but no matter, he'd keep at it till they fell off. He was a self proclaimed masochist. "How's my favourite girl?"

"She's amazing, now come on, I wanna show you my new coffee machine." You grabbed his hand, dragging him through the street to your apartment building.

You really were happy with the simple things. His eyebrows raised.

"Say no more."

Ok, the coffee actually was incredible. And you followed the instruction manual by the letter, imagine the wonders you could perform without it.

"Huh. Didn't expect it to taste this good." He shrugged, sipping the beverage. "Or maybe the coffee at WE programmed me to like coffee anywhere else. No offence meant, of course, to you."

You nodded in agreement, sipping your own. "No, I see what you mean, the coffee at the bullpen tastes like balls dipped in ass and lathered in pickle juice."

Woah. Weirdly specific— wait, hold on.

How did you even know what that tastes like—

He nodded. Slowly, like he knew which corner of your high functioning brain you pulled that from. "Sure. Yeah. Totally normal but accurate description." A pregnant pause. "Have you... had balls that were dipped in ass and lathered in pickle juice? Out of curiosity." And out of a strong urge to fill in the blanks of your life when he wasn't here.

"No." You shrugged. "But if the coffee at the Planet had a description, that would be it."

"Fair enough."

You pointedly sipped your coffee, watching him check his phone with the same stupid smile he had when his high school, tenth grade, on-and-off girlfriend Tracy Mathers texted him. "You're seeing someone.” The words felt sick in your mouth. They’d felt like poison

He jumped, the very expensive phone almost clattering to the floor. "Hm, what?" He blinked. How did you know? Were you psychic? Did you develop some sixth sense working at the Planet? It would make sense, you needed to have one to be a reporter. "Huh? How'd you know?"

"I can read minds." You said solemnly, then shrugged. "Donna told me. Why didn't you say anything?"

His demeanor changed. He looked like a lovesick puppy, tongue tripping over words, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, Donna knew cause I met said someone through her, and, well, I wanted to see if this was going anywhere, if she could handle, y'know, my night job."

Nightwing was a huge part of his life, of course, sometimes he'd be abroad for missions Bruce would assign him, Bruce's VP was a pretty fucking good cover. "Yeah, of course." Your voice warmed. "Is she nice? What's her name?"

"Morgan. Morgan McAdams— what are you doing?" He'd made the mistake of telling you her full name, cause you were already on Instagram, scrolling for her profile. You know, reconnaissance. You found her profile immediately, wow.

You didn't know Dick had game like that, she was stunning. Vogue pretty— oop. Yeah, she'd been on the cover of Teen Vogue at seventeen. When you were seventeen you were on the cover of your high school's theatre production flyers.

Wait. Why were you comparing?

"She's hot." You mused, nodding. Was she handcrafted by a man's wet dreams? She was perfectly proportionate, to the point where the creator of the golden ratio would burst out crying. Her red hair almost reached her ass, just the right amount of freckles smattered her nose and it slapped you in the face. Her clover green eyes looked like gemstones in the light of one of the pictures, taken at a wedding, not hers. She was perfect.

Yeah, you could see why Dick was seeing her. “You have to tell me how you pulled this off.”

“How I pulled this off?” He scoffed. “I’m charming, and charismatic, I dress nicely—” He checked his current clothes to see if he was well dressed enough to make that claim. Yes, he was. “Yeah, I dress nicely. And I love spoiling a lady, I’m not a heathen.”

“Frat boy you was a heathen.” You muttered into your coffee, which he caught, that was the point, but he snapped his fingers jokingly.

“Hey, what happens in sorority houses stays in sorority houses.” Frat boy him was a heathen, god. “I swear, you know my darkest secrets.”

“I’m sorry for knowing what goes on in your life, dear best friend since we were twelve.” You snorted over your mug.

“I do.” He chuckled, then straightened up, the I wanna propose something posture. “I want her too meet you. I want… Morgan… to meet you. Cause I want your approval, and I’ve asked Bruce to come to the dinner as well.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And he’s actually coming? He agreed? By himself.”

“After some puppy dog eyes and recruiting Tim and Alfie to be a part of the convincing team, yes.” He chuckled. “Dark days when my puppy eyes don’t work on him anymore.” The answer was that was probably puberty.

“Dark days.” Dark days, indeed.

“He’s seeing someone?” Lois gasped through a mouthful of pancakes for dinner Clark made. “That’s it, I’m getting my baseball bat.”

“I hid it at the Fortress, honey.” Clark said softly, his wife had threatened assault too many times he was being cautious, setting a plate in front of you with a kiss to your hair. “Here you go, sweetie.” He winked at the glare Lois shot him, chewing. She couldn’t be mad, though, the pancakes were divine. Fuck her husband and his perfect cooking. “And if Dick chooses to date someone, that’s his business, Lois.”

Lois waved her hands around wildly, hand almost catching the sugar pot. Clark put it farther away. “But, they— they’re, y’know, remember their graduation from university?” That affair had Jimmy bawling his eyes out from the corner.

“I remember, but he’s a twenty five year old man.” Clark blinked at his words, reaching up to adjust the glasses he’d left on the counter. His hand hovered by his eyes. Oh. “Golly, I’m old.” He muttered under his breath.

Lois rolled her eyes, reaching across to grasp your hand. Why were they treating it like your heart was broken? You were fine. This didn't affect you. Dick could date, he always had. "He doesn't get it, hon."

"I get it—"

"Smallville, respectfully, I'm comforting our daughter." Lois smiled, her hand wrapping around his, lifting it to her mouth to soothe the blow. "Look, Dick's an idiot, but he's a smart idiot, he'll come around."

Clark was going to say something about the noun and the adjective contradicting each other, but he held his tongue. "Look, sweetheart, how do you feel about this?"

You took a deep breath, your lips tugged into a smile and shrug. "I'm fine. By what he's told me, she's nice and he's happy, I'm fine as long as he is." At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Clark and Lois shared a look. Words were quieter than face in this case, your smile didn’t reach your eyes. Your eyes crinkled when you smiled, it didn’t this time. Your pancakes were left untouched. You hesitated before you said you were fine.

They didn’t like that. Clark had raised you for thirteen years, this was the first time he’d seen you genuinely upset about a boy. You were his best girl, it hurt his heart to see you like this.

“Stay the night.” He said finally, abnormally large hand resting on your shoulder, squeezing, your hand instinctively rested on top. His father-side was rearing its head; he couldn’t leave you alone when you were hung up over your best friend. “It’s late. I’ll set up the guest bedroom for you.”

As he left for the guest bedroom, Lois sighed. “I know that boy’s trained by Batman or whatever, but if he hurts you, he’ll find my foot so far up his—”

“Honey.” Clark interjected firmly, popping his head out from the guest bedroom. It almost made you laugh. “Behave.”

Lois shrugged dramatically. “What? I’m just being honest.”

You held back on the bear hug this time.

Dick stepped out of his car, that stupid, immaculate crisp black fitted shirt and blue jeans, a chain hanging from his neck, enough to look hot but not sleazy. A couple of decorative rings hugged the fingers of his left hand, which he reached out to open the passenger side door.

You first saw a Louboutin.

Black, sleek, red sole, stiletto heel hitting the pavement with a soft click as the longest leg you’ve ever seen emerged from the car, and there she was, in all her glory. Morgan. Her hair was tossed behind her, those earrings were probably worth more than your paycheck, a purse hung from her arm. Fuck, even her smile was perfect. Her lips were painted scarlet, lips that she placed on Dick’s as a sweet thank you, manicured nails carding into his hair.

He melted.

His body melted after two seconds, eyebrows twitching, like he couldn’t believe someone that perfect was entertaining him. Like how you wondered how someone like him could even talk to you. God, when did this all go so wrong?

“Thanks.” She whispered, pecking his lips one more time and wiping some lipstick off him with her thumb before turning to you. “Oh, this must be the famous bear!” She laughed, a weirdly in tune laugh.

Dick hurriedly stepped forward, his hand on Morgan's waist. "Uh, yeah, bear, you know Morgan, Morgan, this is—"

"Oh, handsome, I know who this is, I'm such a huge fan." She beamed, hugging you. Huh. She was so nice. "I've read all your articles in the Daily Planet, they're so fascinating, especially your articles on Superman and global issues. It inspired me to speak out more on my Instagram."

Checked out. She had posted a lot of stuff about world problems on her account, Tim had reported back to you about it. After his Internet deep dive, of course, he needed to see whether this girl was legit.

You weren't... participating in this. To be clear.

"No one looks that way without a tit job," Had been Jason's unhelpful comment. It was his way of trying to cheer you up, he just got a smack to the nape from Steph.

"T—Thank you." You stammered out, arms still outstretched from the hug. This felt so... weird. You couldn't find flaws. No personality flaws so far, no physical flaws, clearly, she was nice and sweet and loved your best friend.

And he loved her.

Dick yanked the suitcases from the trunk. "Tell me the lift was fixed." He begged, his puppy eyes almost made you blush in front of his girlfriend. Maybe they did still work.

"Yeah, it was. Don't get your panties in a twist."

"I won't, they're silk." He joked, carrying both suitcases inside.

You blinked. Were they really?

Morgan took your arm in hers, babbling happily. "This is the first time I've been to Metropolis, the air's so clean here, we should totally go shopping together tomorrow, that would be so fun—"

Your heart sunk to hell.

“Do we like her?” Jason whispered in your ear, folding his arms across his chest, not taking his eyes off Morgan, who was yapping to a mildly traumatised Bruce, who made polite conversation back. He hated too-long conversations. Yeah, she was objectively hot, Jason'd be a hater not to admit that, but it didn’t feel right. Not to Tim, not to Alfred, or Barbara, she filled the you-shaped hole.

Whether she was sweet or not, that was good reason to hate her.

Jason was another reminder that time ticked on. He’d been a skinny, overconfident kid who thought he could take on the world in red spandex, the little brother you never knew you’d have but loved. His resurrection came with the added perk of a whole, like, seven inches to his height and an overload of protein, he had to bend down so you could ruffle his hair. Then again, it wasn’t a dysfunctional Wayne family without exceptionally tall men.

Tim would have his time too.

How had Jason been convinced to attend this thing anyway? Dick had asked just Bruce to come and meet Morgan, and with him came Jason. Luckily, Jason wouldn’t actually be there for the dinner, he just had some work in Metropolis.

He shuddered to think what work meant in Jason’s dictionary.

“She’s Dick’s girlfriend.” You forced, in the same stance beside him, just more… rigid. An incredible feat, by the way.

“Great observation. Not my question.” He shot back immediately, glancing to you. “Do. We. Like. Her?”

You wanted to say no, she was horrible, no one should like her, but she’d made breakfast for you that morning, had lent you her expensive leave in conditioner, and had bought you a YSL dress as a ‘first meeting’ present. You couldn’t say anything bad. “Yes.” You mumbled, head hanging.

His eyes narrowed. So, he didn’t like Morgan.

Everyone over the past few days had been treating the situation like you and Dick had broken up with each other, broken up with a man who was never yours. He was a grown man with his own autonomy, you had no stake to claim. If only you did.

“Dinner’s ready.” Dick called from the kitchen, the aroma of sarmale, made pita bread and zacusca floating into the living room. “C’mon, guys, can’t let it get cold.”

“That’s my cue to leave. Dickhead gets annoying about food.” Jason patted your shoulder, squeezing it. “Text me if you need me to bail you out.”

“It’s not prison, Jay.” The laugh jumped out of your mouth.

“Might as well be.” He didn’t say a word that sounded vaguely like patronising you, or like people thought you were crying over ice cream. He just bowed his head for your hand to ruffle his hair.

You didn’t miss the chance. “Stay safe.”

“You know it.” The moment the door closed, you felt alone again, feet dragging you into the kitchen, where Bruce was sitting himself as far away from Morgan as possible, meaning that you sat in front of her.

Absolute silence. “So,” Morgan chirped as Dick served the food, “Mr Wayne, I wanted to know more about your company, it seems so interesting.”

“I don’t share details about my company if the public doesn’t know them first.” Bruce said simply, stacking on the tension as he started eating with his knife and fork. “You understand, it’s a privacy concern.”

”Oh, that’s fine.” Morgan giggled, taking Dick’s hand mid sentence, his cheeks flooding red. Her eyes landed on you. “How long have you and Dickie been friends, hon?”

You choked through a bite of pita and zacusca, swallowing it down with the aid of Bruce’s hand patting your back. “We’ve been, um, best friends since we were twelve.”

“Oh, how cute!” She gasped, turning to Dick. “You’ve been friends for that long?”

Dick nodded, clearing his throat. “Yeah, we—” His phone started ringing— his secretary, Eddie. “Sorry, I’ve gotta take this.” He excused himself, heading into another room.

“Holding a friendship that long is impressive. Wow, I would’ve gotten sick of you by now.” That…

That comment didn’t sit right with you. The way Bruce’s forehead creased a little, it didn’t sit right with him either, but there was no malice to prove, she looked like she meant it as convo grease, but it wasn’t the tone, it was the you. The you echoed in your head.

Dick came back in, breaking the silence with his soft footfalls. “Sorry, work call.” He grinned, unaware of what just happened. Blissfully. He chuckled. “Where were we?”

“The food is delicious, Richard.” Bruce muttered, now not bothering to address Morgan directly. He didn’t know if her words were a dig at you, but he wasn’t taking chances, any insult thrown at you was personal to him. His hand reached under your table to briefly pat your knee.

Morgan hummed in agreement, turning Dick’s chin to face her, his lips fell apart, like he was transfixed. “Your dad’s right, you did an amazing job.” Her lips met his, not a chaste kiss, cause, you know, his dad was right there, a full, I’m trying to eat your mouth kiss that had everyone’s eyebrows raising, including Dick’s as his pretty lashes fluttered and lids fell shut. Bruce swallowed down the last mouthful, standing up abruptly, the chair screech breaking the kiss.

“It’s late.” He said stiffly. It was seven in the evening. “I should go to the hotel, thank you for dinner, it was lovely, meeting you, Morgan.” He briefly kissed Morgan’s hand as a gesture of feigned goodwill, taking his jacket, laying his hand on your shoulder, squeezing. “Dear.”

You laid your hand on top of his, smiling gratefully. Thank you. “Bruce.”

He picked up his jacket, promptly leaving, Dick blinking in surprise, the corner of Morgan’s mouth turning down for the first time.

Dread filled you.

Three weeks since and you’d been on around three outings with them, the third wheel on a dysfunctional car, watching Morgan hug Dick’s arm to her like he was candy on her pinky finger. He wasn’t a possession, he was the sweetest man you knew, and he hung onto her every word.

Jason knew he hung onto Morgan’s every soft syllable with the intensity he used to do with you. Bruce knew he hugged her the same way he hugged you at your college graduation. Clark knew he held you in the same gaze he held Morgan. Alfred understood that, deep down, Dick Grayson wished it was you instead. Even if he didn’t know it.

Tim had done a secret scan for any love toxins. None. She’d just enchanted him with sweet words and adoring eyes.

You’d been zoning out on this ‘date’, staring out the window of the cafe while Morgan traced her name on Dick’s hand with her scarlet manicure, at least he felt like the only guy in the world. That’s all you wanted, as long as he felt special, it was enough for you.

You didn’t mean to love him, you kept that close to your heart.

“Hey, bear.” Dick’s honey-soaked voice pulled you out of your haze, no one else could do it. He was staring expectantly, interested, insistent on keeping you in the loop and flow of the drifting conversation. “How’re your articles going?”

“They’re ok, just writer’s block.” You muttered. The block was him. Clark, so far, had been finishing your pieces for you so Perry wouldn’t be on your ass, suggesting a co-write credit. Losing control of your work life would just make you spiral.

When did you give so much of yourself to your best friend?

Even he seemed out of it, overwhelmed by Morgan’s every affection, transfixed with every touch of her fingers to his chin, it felt like you were peeking in on something you shouldn’t. A window of his life you wished would never have existed. Maybe if you knew sooner.

You’d turn back time, but that wouldn’t erase your memories of this.

She’d been launching subtle, snide comments for those few outings, like I love your charity shop clothes; God, he spends so much time with me, doesn’t he? I hope it doesn’t bother you, like she knew what was ringing in your head, the calling to devote your life to loving your best friend.

You’d been nonverbal. His calls came everyday, but sometimes you responded with some work excuse or family excuse, like dinner with your dad and Lois or that Perry needed you to work a story. Every time you’d been out with Morgan and Dick, you’d texted Jason to bail you out, just like now.

He delivered on that promise.

Get me out of this, you typed out to him beneath the table, five seconds later, you got a call, Jason’s name flashing on your screen. Your thumb pressed the green button, phone lifting to your ear.

“I’m dying,” He drawled, words drier than the Sahara, you had to hold back a laugh, “no, seriously, I’m on the floor, there’s an icicle about to hit me, Grey’s Anatomy style, come save me.” He could at least be a little more convincing.

You choked back a giggle. “On my way.” You glanced up to Dick. “Sorry, it’s Jason, he needs me.”

Dick’s brow furrowed; that was the third time Jason had needed you when he was out with you. Jason wasn’t the problem, it was the excuse being repeated. “Again?” He asked, eyes saddening, but he pulled out his wallet. “Don’t worry about your bill, I’ll take care of it.”

You opened your mouth to protest, Morgan’s hand hovering over his wallet, as if was about to say no, his hand dodged hers. “No. No arguing, I always take care of the bill.” He sighed. “You’ll be here for the birthday dinner, right?”

You’d never miss it. “Of course.” You assured, smiling at them both before hurrying out. “You almost made me laugh, Jay.”

“You asked for bail, not for five star acting.” He chuckled. “Enjoy your day, wren.”

“Thank you, again.”

You’d cried before Dick’s birthday dinner.

You’d depuffed, cried some more, depuffed again so he couldn’t tell, spent the night before with Clark so he could emotionally support you with Krypto as backup, Lois coming armed with as much Ben and Jerry’s as she could.

Like how Dick used to do with you, but this heartbreak was one he couldn’t solve. You finally saw why people treated it like you were dying, pieces of you died the more Morgan chipped away at you.

Bruce had stopped coming to see Dick when Morgan was around, Jason didn’t address her, Tim gave her death glares, Babs gave Dick himself death glares, and all the while no one said a word about what the problem was. Had he done something?

But the dinner was going well, there’d been polite conversation, where he was gauging your reactions, weighing them out, trying to use systematic deduction to figure out why you were pulling away. You’d never done that. Every time you were upset, you talked it out, never stayed mad at him for more than two hours. Bile burned his throat at the mere thought.

“Hey, thanks.” He grinned stupidly when Morgan handed him a gift— a Cartier watch gleamed from beneath a glass casing. A Cartier watch which Dick already had in his closet, he’d worn it on his third date with her. The thought was forced down, she’d cared, that’s all that mattered. “Wow, this is— it’s gorgeous, Morgan, thanks, baby.” He pecked her lips, of course she made it anything but chaste. His eyes were closed, hers half open.

You had your gift in your lap, about to present the lumpy, small package when the food arrived— your food a larger portion than you’d anticipated, Morgan’s eyes locked onto it. You braced.

“Wow, that’s a lot of food.” Her tinny laugh stabbed you. “You sure you don’t want to share it? I mean, you seem like you wanna cut down on your intake.”

That was your last straw.

There was a clatter as your fork clattered to the table— and Dick’s. He was wide eyed, staring straight at Morgan, at her sweet smile, but it was poisoned. Fuck, how didn’t he see that before? She was staring straight at you, at your horrified face, at the colour draining from your cheeks, anger flooding into his—

You stood up, rushing out, black tears streaming down your face, mascara smudging onto your wrist as you rubbed them away.

He was mortified, standing up too, putting on his jacket hurriedly. “That was disgusting.” He fumed, taking out his wallet, leaving cash on the table, enough to cover the meal and the server’s tip. “Fucking disgusting.”

She scoffed, like nothing was wrong, laying her hand on his. “Dickie, I didn’t—”

“You did, don’t bullshit me, Morgan.” He adjusted the lapels of his jacket. “I won’t let you insult my best friend like that.”

“You’re throwing a tantrum over her feelings?” She snapped back, standing up.

“Oh, yeah.” He put on his scarf. “I’m throwing a big tantrum, Morgan. It’s not her feelings, you — you body shamed her — forget it. We’re done.” He left, the glass for swinging beside him, sprinting to his car and getting in, driving to you.

How long had this been going on? How long had he not noticed? Everyone else had, he was too busy being a lovesick puppy for a girl who hated you. Who could hate you?

He’d been out of it the whole time dating Morgan, leaning into every touch because blinking once made him see you, not his girlfriend. Another blink and he’d gone back to seeing her cherry-lipped smile. Maybe he’d been hallucinating. He hadn’t been, there were signs that he shook off because one girl treated him like he was God’s gift to women.

The car ride mulled over his thoughts, his shaking shoulders, knuckles blanching at the wheel until he stopped outside your apartment. Rushing up the steps, knocking hurriedly on your door. “Bear? Bear, please, let me in.” He found your spare key, unlocking the door and entering, finding you against the kitchen counter, a present held in your hands.

Fuck.

"Bear, sweetheart, I'm so sorry, I had no idea." He pleaded, hands stopping short of your face, dropping. You didn't yell. Or step back, you just looked into his eyes with glassy ones. And held out his present, wrapped in his Nightwing blue, lumpy, small, rectangular in its essence.

His heart tore into two.

"Happy birthday, Dickie." You mumbled, oh, your voice was small. Your body was shrinking in on itself, he'd never seen you like this before. And you still had it in you to wish him a happy birthday. You needed to yell at him. Be angry, throw curses and insults, kick him out, give him the silent treatment, but you wouldn’t. You physically couldn’t.

"I—I broke up with her, ok?" He stammered, eyes darting between the gift and you, the gift and you, back, forth, up, down. "We're over, I couldn't stand her saying that to you—"

"Happy birthday." You said firmly, insisting on giving him the present, so he took it. The wrapping paper fell away, a fluffy blue teddy bear in his hands, Polaroid between its little paws, of the two of you on the night of the launch of his economic sustainability plan. The bear was shaped like a gummy bear. Just like the one from his college graduation.

"Want one?"

He was a blur. The bear wobbled on your kitchen island, warm hands covering your cheeks, hot lips on yours, open mouthed, breathing the oxygen in from your lungs, he needed it to stop feeling dizzy when you were around. Your hands flew to his waist, his shirt bunching under your fingers, head spinning, reacting instinctively.

Fuckin’ finally.

Every insistent, desperate press of his lips stacked up to outdo your daydreams, small, sharp moans coming out between him stealing your thoughts and locking them away. Thoughts were future you’s problem.

“I love you,” He shuddered in a breath against your lips, arms hooking under your thighs, lifting you up, almost moaning when your legs locked around his waist, your hands burying into his hair, hips rolling forward into his. Lordy, this was surreal. Were you really kissing the boy you used to share gummy bears with?

He felt the pressure hit the right place, a breath sucked into his lungs as his lips broke from yours, sloppily burning down your jaw and your neck, tongue soothing over every kiss, hand shifting to grab your ass, other palm encouraging you to grind on him by pressing on the small of your back. “I—I’m sorry,” He sat you on top of the kitchen counter, panting against your shoulder.

His hair was messy. His cheeks were flushed, pupils wide, staring up at you through his lashes. “I just— shit, bear, this is a long time coming, you’re so fucking pretty, I—I get it if you don’t—”

You moved forward to silence him with your lips, he melted, even before you kissed him again, his hands taking yours, guiding your fingers to the buttons of his shirt.

Your body was warm the next morning. The covers were toasty, like they were weighted, dragging you further into sleep. The weighted part was Dick’s arm, thumb brushing up and down your stomach, tracing your name into his skin. It was the only word that mattered right now, gazing down at you, bathed in soft sunlight.

His nose traced a line from your pulse to y the slope of your shoulder, mouth open, kissing hearts into your skin, tickling you with a gentle brush of his knuckles to your side.

“Mm, stop. M’trying to sleep, Dickie.” You mumbled, swatting his arm, still revelling in the beautiful ache in your thighs and the hum of your body. He held you so highly.

He laughed, kissing the corner of your mouth, tilting your head with a thumb on your chin, lips dragging across your skin to kiss you slow, deep, a hum swallowed by your lips. “No can do, sweetheart. I need a repeat of last night.”

“We had five rounds.”

“My lucky number’s six.”

© 2026 all rights reserved - nxbodysangel. do not modify, repost, plagiarise or claim my work as your own without permission.

author’s notes — enjoy, my loves! if you spot some parallels, lmk!

[cosmogyrais]

This was probably one of the cutest things I’ve ever read🥹🥹

[moonologyy]

SORRY I DID NOT SEE THE VISION !

pairing: dick/reader

synopsis: dick grayson didn’t remember much when he was in high school, it was irrelevant since he was one of Gotham’s vigilantes and the only thing he prioritized in his life. Yet, when he stares blankly with his jaw-dropped to the floor, widening his eyes at the much-better-version of yourself than the one back in high school. Where you had braces on, thick glass frames, acne-prone skin and the fidgeting between your fingers with a timid personality. He can’t but think: When did you get so hot?

tw: bullies, profanity, dick grayson goes to gotham academy, traits mentioned (acne, glasses, braces and timid personality), fire fighter! reader, fluff, arranged marriage mentioned, dick is just so down bad, and sorry there’s not even a kiss lol. (maybe part 2? idk)

Sorry ya’ll there’s no smut in this LMFAO. pure fluff.

wc: ~7k

After his parents’ deaths, the world fell silent for Dick Grayson. The laughter, the lights, the thrill of the trapeze were all gone in an instant. What remained was the ache of loss and the hollow echo of what used to be.

Then came Bruce Wayne, a man who understood that kind of emptiness all too well. At first, Dick didn’t know what to make of him or why someone like Bruce cared. Over time, though, the walls began to crumble and he came to an understanding why.

He became a father.

He wasn’t a good father in a traditional sense, failing at communication, affection, and letting go. But, he wasn’t a bad father either— giving his love through protection, trust, and a purpose.

Bruce’s morals, his discipline, and his relentless drive became the framework Dick built himself upon. Even if he never said it out loud, part of him was always trying to live up to the man who had saved him from the darkness.

Dick genuinely saw him as a father.

Dick Grayson also became an older brother, layered with affection for each of his siblings, even when it hurts. He naturally saw himself as both a brother and a caretaker, the one who made sure everyone else stayed standing even when he could barely keep himself upright.

It was an emotional weight to carry, one that never seemed to ease no matter how many times he told himself he was fine. Some nights, he felt the responsibility pressing down like armor he couldn’t take off. Yet he wore the armor anyway, because that was who he was. The one who checked in, who listened, and who patched up the cracks when things started to fall apart.

He was the glue of the family and its heart.

He was Dick Grayson, the first Robin.

Before his brothers came along into the picture, it was just Bruce and Dick— Batman and Robin.

Robin was the embodiment of pride.

It was an important piece of his life when he was a teenager, consuming him entirely and shaping him into who he is now. That pride drove him to push past fear, past pain, past doubt— but it came at a cost. He learned to hide tears behind a grin, to swallow hurt so no one could see, to carry the world on shoulders that were still too young to bear it, he became a protector to a city.

Unfortunately, some of his Robin persona would bleed into his teenage life, the one that became a protector to a city.

Yikes.

It was bound to happen.

“Hey! Leave them alone!”

High school was atrocious, specifically Gotham Academy— a prestigious academy crawling with teenagers who spoke with silver spoons in their mouths and thought the world owed them everything on the tip of their fingers. Dick, of course, could never let injustice slide, even if it was just hallway politics and cafeteria scuffles. He had the instinct to protect, to step in, to right wrongs… which made him stand out in ways he didn’t always want.

It wasn’t anything bad. In fact, people complimented him for standing up to the bullies in the hallways. It made Dick more charming to everyone else who had been bystanders, too scared to step in, or faculty that would comically arrive before anything went sideways.

The attention wasn’t something he sought, but it came naturally, a side effect of doing what he felt was right. With that, he would be admired by everyone else in the school which felt good, hoping they could take his figure and become someone that stands up, but it also reminded him that some part of him would always feel compelled to protect, to act, even when no one asked him to.

“Seriously, Wartz! Leave them alone!”

Dick Grayson pushed the teenage boy away from another victim he’d latched onto this week— a new student at Gotham Academy. He wasn’t blind; he knew the hallways and the student body like the back of his hand. It was quite simple to spot who was new, who was unsure of themselves, who hadn’t yet learned how to navigate the social minefield of the academy.

“Tch, mind your business, Grayson! You should know better than to defend the impure blood of their family!” Wartz snarled, his eyes piercing through your fear-stricken figure, shuffling uncomfortably under his gaze that made you feel smaller than before.

Dick glared at Wartz, standing in front of you to block his view with folded arms. “Why does that matter to you? In fact, aren’t you tired of picking on people everyday?” Wartz deepens his frown, the look in his eyes had this rage, which he’s never seen before, it was clearly personal.

“That tainted blood you defend is utterly unworthy of this esteemed academy, or the company their father commands in partnership of my inheritance to my company.” Dick narrowed his eyes, his voice having a hint of detestation against you for no absolute reason, what does that have to do with you?

“They flaunt wealth as though it were their own, when in truth they are destitute, mere children of a mother of a whor—!”

“Enough,” his voice cuts through the air like a whip, the words hit the hallway like shards of glass, sharp and cruel. Dick’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching without him realizing it. The bully froze, eyes narrowing at him, clearly unused to being confronted so directly. “You’re done, there’s no need to continue. Back off from them, or I'll make sure you regret it.”

A hush fell over the nearby students, some staring in awe, others whispering behind their hands. Dick felt a mix of satisfaction and irritation— not at the kid he’d just defended, but at the fact that cruelty like this even existed in a place supposedly for the privileged, the educated, the supposedly refined society of Gotham.

“Are you threatening me?”

He clenched his fists, biting down his teeth with a glare that doesn’t shake Dick’s confident stance.

“No, I’m just warning you.”

Dick shrugs, glancing at you for a second.

The new student, you blinked up at him through your thick glass frames, eyes wide with a mix of fear, relief, and hesitant gratitude. Dick offered a wink and a small, reassuring smile.

Even as he smiled, the feeling sat heavy in his chest. It was the same dull ache he always felt when he saw how cruel people could be, a quiet anger that never really left him. No matter how many times he stood up for someone, the unfairness still found a way to press down on him, reminding him that some things in this world never changed.

Waltz clicked his tongue.

“Fine, you’re lucky my father won’t hear about this.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, sauntering down the hallway to either attend his class, or skip it entirely. Dick couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the weak attempt of the intimidation act. What was his father going to do? Call Batman to handle him?

Dick snorts at the thought.

Yeah right.

Dick turned fully to face you, the exasperation on his face softening into a warm, easy smile. The shift was almost disarming; one second he looked ready to throw a punch, and the next he carried that same charm everyone was talking about. The tension in your shoulders began to ease without you realizing it, your heartbeat slowing as his calm voice and steady presence seemed to smooth away the chaos left behind from the confrontation.

You were a timid person with a quiet voice, acne-prone skin, which was normal when puberty hits you like a semi-truck. Your teeth were held in line by brightly colored braces, and your thick glass frames sat far too large on your face, sliding down your nose every now and then. Even with all of that, there was something quietly earnest about the way you carried yourself, a nervous energy that made you easy to overlook but impossible to ignore once someone paid attention.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden attention of his gaze. “Uh… thanks,” you murmured, your voice barely above the noise of the bustling hallway that’s moving on from the confrontation between Richard “Dick” Grayson and Keith Waltz, it was nearly an everyday thing to always find Keith and his goonies trying to get lunch money from someone, or torment another individual in the hallways.

(Like he doesn’t have money to afford his own food and something better to do...)

Dick shrugged, brushing it off like it was nothing, though the corner of his mouth tugged upward in that endearing, familiar grin that seemed to light up his entire face. “Don’t mention it. Waltz tends to be a pain in the ass, so don’t be afraid to ask if you ever need help,” he reassures, his tone casual but kind. The faint laugh that followed sounded genuine, warm in a way that made it hard not to smile back. “I’m Richard Grayson, but you can call me Dick.”

You blinked at him, momentarily thrown off by the introduction. The name didn’t make sense to you, and your confusion must have shown because the corner of his lips extends across his face, amusement flickering in his bright blue eyes as if he’d seen that reaction a hundred times before.

“How do you even get Dick… from Richard?”

Hah!

That joke would never get old with him.

“Wow, we just met, don’t you think that’s moving a bit too fast?” Dick playfully jokes with a wink, his grin stretching wide enough to make his cheeks ache, bright teeth flashing under the fluorescent lights.

You immediately choked on your words, caught off guard by his humor and the effortless charm that came with it. Heat crept up your neck and into your cheeks as you tried to steady yourself, forcing your voice not to stumble. Especially from an unexpected dirty joke.

“Anyway,” Dick started, tilting his head slightly, his tone shifting to something more curious, “it seems like Waltz has a grudge against you. What’s up with that?” He paused, catching himself, and quickly lifted a hand as if to backtrack. “If it’s personal, you don’t have to answer. I get it.”

“Ah, well…” You bit your lip lightly, eyes flicking anywhere but his. “I don’t mind telling you, it’s quite different with me when it comes to Keith…”

Your hands wouldn’t stay still. You picked at invisible dirt beneath your nails, then tugged at the edge of your sleeve, doing anything to distract yourself from the weight of his gaze.

Finally, you spoke again, voice barely above a whisper, quiet enough for only Dick to hear. “I’m in… an arranged marriage with him. It’s to merge the company’s market expansion and the financial benefits of our economic growth, so he kind of blames me for it…”

Your words trailed off, the weight of them hanging between you, fragile and uncomfortable.

Dick blinked. Out of everything that could have been said, he hadn’t expected that.

“I see,” he responded softly, frowning. “Do you want to be—”

You shook your head before he could finish, already knowing what he was going to ask.

“No, I don’t want to be in this arranged marriage with him!” You protested, wincing from the slight volume of your voice. “But my father and his father… they’ve made this contract for us to be engaged at eighteen.” You sighed miserably, adjusting your glasses that slid on the tip of your nose.

“Then, how is it your problem? It’s not like you signed it.” Dick pointed out, watching the cognitive in your head shift altogether, slowly nodding your head, pinching your brows together that clearly haven’t thought of that reason.

“That’s a good point, but that’s something you do not need to worry about at all— instead could you help me find class A302?” You asked nervously, glancing anywhere but his blue gaze.

Dick, of course, begged to differ.

This was exactly the kind of thing he would worry about later on.

“Yeah, sure! I don’t mind. I’m actually in A304, so we’re neighbors. If you need help finding your next class, I can do that too. Or —here— do you have your schedule on you?”

You nodded and dug into your blazer pocket, handing him your semester schedule. He scanned it quickly, his smile widening as he took in the classes you were taking.

Some were simple, some difficult, the kind he wouldn’t dare attempt.

Then he noticed something. “Hey, I actually have two classes with you after your first period. I can show you them right after, but follow me.”

Without meaning to, Dick became your tour guide around the academy. He pointed out hallways corresponding to your schedule and highlighted areas that could be helpful, like the library, tutoring rooms, and even the meditation center. His easy confidence and natural guidance made everything feel less intimidating, even as your chest still fluttered a little from being near him.

Dick didn’t remember much about high school, only fragments that lingered like old photographs. He had been sharp with numbers, a quiet prodigy in mathematics, and joined enough sports teams to explain away the bruises and cuts he couldn’t tell anyone about. Between classes, he would talk with Barbara or a few of his civilian friends, trying to pretend he was just another normal kid. He always stepped in when someone was being pushed around because he couldn’t stand to watch it happen. Dick also remembered, to his quiet embarrassment, how many girls used to stare at him from across the hall.

He would return a kind smile and slowly turn down any advancements, flattered but not interested.

What he did remember clearly was you. The new student with the too-big glasses and shy smile, the one he had shown around on your first day. It was not a grand moment or anything cinematic, just small and quiet conversations between classes, shared smiles in the hall, and a sense of familiarity that grew before he even realized it.

Out of everything from that time in his life, you were the one thing that never faded.

Even if a lot of guys in the locker room nudged him, grumbling about how his charm had half the girls at Gotham Academy wrapped around his finger, Dick never paid much attention to it. Their conversations always seemed to circle back to girls, specifically who they thought was the most attractive in the student body.

“Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t think Erza S. isn’t someone you’d bang,” one of them said, earning a chorus of snickers. Dick exhaled quietly, knowing to not join in. He had more important things to worry about than locker room talk.

Vigilante stuff, ya’know?

“I agree, but I think Nana’s more my type,” another chimed in.

“Nah, no way!” someone countered.

“Bro, she’s a lesbian.”

“I like girls too, so I’m a lesbian as well,” another joked.

Dick cringed, tugging his shirt on and shaking his head.

Then your name came up, tossed carelessly into their conversation, mentioned alongside a few others who shared the same traits. Acne-prone skin that caught the harsh light of the hallways, thick glass frames that constantly slid down the bridge of your nose, braces that glinted whenever you tried to smile, and that soft, hesitant voice that never seemed to rise above the noise. You were quiet, polite, and always seemed to linger at the edges of a crowd, clutching your books a little too close to your chest.

What stood out most, though, was the small smile you always gave him in the hall. It wasn’t the kind born from confidence or boldness, but something shy and genuine— like you didn’t quite believe you were worth noticing, yet offered kindness anyway. Dick had always found it endearing in a way he couldn’t explain, which made hearing your name in their mouths feel all the more wrong.

“Nah, I wouldn’t even go near them,” one of the boys scoffed, his voice dripping with mock disgust. He leaned back against the locker, crossing his arms as a few others snickered in agreement. The laughter was low and mean, the kind that crawled under Dick’s skin. It wasn’t loud, but it carried that cruel, familiar tone he’d heard too many times before— the kind that made his hands curl into fists without him realizing it.

“I don’t know, all of em’ are not all that—”

“They’re like a pity fuck.”

“The only thing you could do is probably have their face down and ass—”

The sound of metal cut him off. Dick’s locker slammed shut so hard the echo cracked through the room, the sharp noise slicing through every voice at once.

He didn’t speak right away, but the look he gave them said enough. Every snicker, every whisper, died in their throats as he turned, eyes cold and unflinching.

“As Captain, I’m not surprised,” Dick finally speaks, his tone calm but laced with venom. “The way you talk about women is probably the reason none of them want to be around you, let alone respect you.”

One of the guys scoffed under his breath, muttering, “Relax, Grayson. We were just joking.”

“Yeah, like what we always do—”

“Are you being serious?”

Dick’s head tilted slightly, his expression unreadable. “A joke?” he repeated, the word dripping with disbelief. “You think degrading someone behind their back is funny? That’s your idea of a joke?”

The boy’s smirk faltered, but Dick wasn’t done. He stepped closer, closing the distance with quiet authority. “Let me make this very clear. You don’t talk about women like that. You don’t talk about anyone like that.” His tone dropped lower, steady and cold. “Say something like that again, and I’ll make sure you can’t talk for a week. And you’ll be off this team before you can even blink.”

No one dared to move. The air felt heavy, thick with the weight of his words and the silence that followed. Dick grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and walked out without another glance. The door shut behind him, leaving the locker room filled with the kind of quiet that came from guilt, fear, and shame all tangled together.

Dick Grayson always defended the ones who couldn’t speak up for themselves, the ones too afraid or too tired to fight back. He stood up for the people others whispered about in hallways, the ones treated like they were invisible. You had been one of them once, and maybe that was why he’d stepped in so quickly without thinking.

You were kind. You were gentle in a way that most people in Gotham forgot how to be. You smiled at him in the halls, asked how his day was, shared your notes when he was too distracted to take his own. He liked you for that— for the softness you carried in a city that hardened everyone else.

But that was all it was.

Dick knew he didn’t see you the way you might have seen him. You were a good friend, someone he wanted to protect, but the spark— the pull that turned care into something deeper wasn’t there. It wasn’t your fault; it never was. He respectfully saw you as a great friend, someone he could trust and protect in his life.

He also had too much on his plate to even think about dating. Between late nights, constant training, and the unspoken weight of who he was expected to be, there was never any room for something as simple as that. Relationships meant vulnerability, attention, time and those were things he couldn’t afford to give. Not when his life was already divided between two worlds, both demanding too much of him.

And the life he had built in high school eventually faded into obscurity, slipping away like a chapter he could no longer revisit.

He graduated at the start of summer of both of your last year, surrounded by familiar faces and the excitement that came with leaving everything behind. His friends laughed, took pictures, and made promises to stay in touch that everyone knew would fade with time. You were there too, smiling through the heat of the afternoon, your gown slightly wrinkled, your hands clutching the diploma like it meant more than it really did.

For a moment, he allowed himself to take it all in—the sound of laughter, the smell of fresh grass, the sunlight catching on the golden tassels. It was supposed to be an ending, but for Dick, it didn’t feel like one. It felt like something he was quietly slipping out of, like he had already stepped into another life long before the ceremony even ended.

The last thing Dick Grayson had heard from his old civilian friends was that one of them had already gotten married to their high school sweetheart and moved to Metropolis, while another had gone on to become a lawyer in Star City. A few had scattered across the country, chasing careers, families, or dreams that had nothing to do with Gotham. Every once in a while, he would stumble across a social media update or a holiday card addressed to Wayne Manor, but the connection felt faint, like voices echoing from another lifetime.

He was happy for them, genuinely.

It softened his gaze every time he received a postcard, each one signed with a name that tugged at the corners of his memory, pulling him back to hallways and classrooms that felt like a lifetime ago. The handwriting, the short updates, and the familiar tone— they all reminded him of faces he hadn’t seen in years.

Eventually, one name stood out more than the rest.

Yours.

He hadn’t heard much about you after graduation, only fragments passed through a friend of a friend.

Don’t get him wrong, you and Dick had exchanged numbers after graduation, promising to stay in touch.

You’d hung out a few times that summer with the rest of your friends, the nights filled with laughter and nostalgia that made it hard to imagine you’d all drift apart.

“I’ll text you when I get settled,” you’d said one night, sitting on the hood of his car as the city lights glimmered in the distance.

“You better,” Dick had teased, giving you that half-smile that always felt effortless. “Don’t forget about me when you’re out there traveling the world or whatever it is you’re planning.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Traveling the world is a huge stretch, Grayson. I’m just… trying to do something that matters, especially now that the whole arranged marriage with Keith Waltz is finally off the table.”

Dick raised a brow, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah? That mess finally over?”

You hesitated, lowering your voice a little. “My dad got word from… someone. Apparently, there were some shady things going on in Keith’s family company. Fraud, money laundering and among other stuff that could’ve ruined everything if it came out. It wasn’t exactly public, but my dad got the evidence he needed to cut the deal off without raising suspicion.”

Dick’s brows furrowed, though he stayed quiet, listening.

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. “It’s strange, though. He said it came from a ‘reliable source’ someone who knew exactly where to look. He never told me who, but I think…” You looked at Dick then, searching his face. “I think it was them. Batman and Robin. I don’t know why, but it makes sense. They always seem to know everything that happens in Gotham’s upper circles.”

Dick tried not to react, but you caught the faint twitch of his jaw, the careful neutrality that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You smiled faintly, though there was a touch of disbelief. “If that’s true, then I owe them more than I can ever repay. They probably have no idea what they saved me from.”

Dick’s voice softened. “Maybe that’s what they wanted. Just to make sure you had a choice.”

You looked away for a moment, your expression thoughtful. “Then I guess I’m finally free to figure out what I actually want.”

For a second, Dick didn’t say anything, but there was something in his gaze— quiet understanding, maybe even pride, which man have said enough.

But time had other plans. The calls turned into texts, the texts turned into the occasional birthday message, and then—

Nothing.

Dick got pulled deeper into his vigilante life, changing into Nightwing and his nights automatically were swallowed by missions and the endless rhythm of Gotham’s and Blüdhaven’s chaos, while you buried yourself in your studies, chasing the kind of future you’d chosen for yourself. There was no fight, no falling out— it was just the slow, quiet drift of two lives moving in different directions.

What was once an easy friendship became rare texts, missed calls, and eventually silence. It wasn’t bitterness that lingered between you, it was only a distance— gentle, unspoken, and inevitable, like the fading warmth of a summer memory.

So when Dick Grayson found himself standing outside his Blüdhaven apartment in the thick summer heat five years later at twenty-three, it almost felt surreal. The air shimmered with the haze of gasoline and sunlight, his shirt clinging to his back as he stood among the other tenants. Someone had accidentally ruptured a gas line in the basement, forcing everyone to evacuate until the fire department cleared the area. Dick sighed, running a hand through his hair, the sweat at his temple catching the light.

The wail of sirens broke through the idle chatter, growing louder until the familiar red fire engine pulled up to the curb. Firefighters jumped out with practiced movements, unloading equipment and shouting to one another as they worked to assess the leak. Dick watched absently, his attention drifting, until a familiar voice called out orders. It was firm but calm, carrying over the noise. Something about it made him pause, his head turning toward the source.

He frowned slightly, trying to place it, but brushed it off. He’d heard hundreds of voices, seen hundreds of faces in his line of work. Still, for some reason, that one stuck.

You, on the other hand, froze the second you spotted him in the crowd. Dick Grayson— older, broader, hair a little longer but still with that same steady presence that could pull the air out of a room. You felt your breath catch for a second, your helmet still tucked under your arm as your team moved around you.

He hadn’t noticed you.

Not yet.

And honestly, you weren’t sure if you wanted him to— not like this, covered in ash, your uniform clinging to your skin in the summer heat. But part of you couldn’t help but feel that familiar flicker of something. Recognition. Nostalgia. Maybe even longing. You shook your head quickly, forcing yourself to focus on the task at hand.

“Check the basement line and shut off the gas supply,” you called to your team, your voice firm and measured, carrying authority with every word. It was a far cry from the timid, hesitant tone you’d had in high school, the voice that barely carried across a hallway. Now it was steady, practiced, professional— the voice of someone who knew exactly what needed to be done in a high-stakes situation.

Still, despite the urgency around you, your eyes kept flicking back toward him, drawn by something you couldn’t quite name. He looked older, muscular, and had the kind of presence that made people take notice without even trying. Yet, there was something familiar in the way he carried himself, the ease of his stance, the quiet alertness in his posture.

Five years had passed, and somehow, the threads of your lives had intertwined again in the middle of chaos. It was startling and strange, seeing him here like this, unaware of your presence, while you felt a sudden, unspoken pull to step forward.

You gotta focus on the job.

Dick shifted his gaze across the scene again, trying to locate the source of the voice. His instincts were on high alert, scanning everyone moving with purpose among the fire trucks and hoses. There was something about the way they gave orders, the subtle confidence that didn’t demand attention but earned it anyway. It nagged at him, a thread of memory he couldn’t quite grasp.

The firefighters worked efficiently, guided by the clear instructions from the unknown leader. Dick watched as they secured the ruptured line, shutting off valves and checking pressure readings. The hiss of escaping gas slowly faded under their methodical movements. Within minutes, the danger was contained, and the crowd of evacuated tenants began to murmur with relief.

Dick exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair, eyes still scanning the organized chaos. Part of him wanted to turn away, dismiss the feeling, but another part couldn’t shake it. That voice, the authority, the calm, and the strength— was pulling at something deep inside him, like a memory of a hallway long ago, a shy smile, a familiar presence he had known once.

The last firefighter double-checked the valves and gave a nod. “We’re in the clear! Start ventilating,” another voice called out.

Dick shifted his weight on the sidewalk, watching the firefighters quickly ventilate the entire apartment before securing the ruptured gas line after half an hour. The hiss of escaping gas had stopped, and the tenants were beginning to trickle back into the building. He was about to head up to his apartment when a voice cut through the residual noise.

“Hey.”

He looked up, scanning the street before it landed on a familiar pair of eyes.

Dick’s eyes narrowed as he studied you, trying to place the voice, the stance, the energy. It was familiar, like a shadow at the edge of a memory, but he could not yet pin it down. The confidence you carried, the way you moved as if you owned the space around you, the authority in your tone— it all tugged at something deep inside him.

You took a step closer, and for a moment his heart skipped. There was a pull there, a quiet recognition he could not name. He could sense that he knew you, had known you, but the years and the changes had blurred the lines.

“You’re Dick Grayson, right?”

He blinked, taken slightly off guard. “Yeah… that’s me. And you are…?”

You gave him a small, bright, teasing smile that tugged at something deep in his chest. There was a warmth in it, a hint of familiarity that he couldn’t place, and for a moment, he felt the old pull of recognition stirring in his mind.

“I think you would remember me if you saw my face,” you said softly, your tone carrying a quiet certainty that made him pause.

Dick studied you carefully, searching for any hint that might trigger the memory. Your confidence, the way you carried yourself, and the authority in your voice all felt familiar like a ghost from years ago. But your face and presence did not click immediately.

You stepped closer and the pull of recognition grew stronger. Something about you, the way you moved, the tone of your voice, and the energy around you was impossible to ignore.

Then the shy smile you wore appeared.

Holy shit.

Ohmyfuckinggod.

“YOU?!?!”

Dick pointed with the look of disbelief, yelling your name across the entire block, his voice carrying over the buzz of returning tenants and lingering sirens.

He did a double take.

A triple take.

You cracked a small, amused grin, tilting your head slightly in a way that made you even more striking. Your eyes danced with a hint of mischief as you watched his reaction, clearly enjoying the way he was struggling to process just how much you had changed.

He froze, jaw dropping, eyes widening as if the world had suddenly stopped around him. Every feature, every movement, radiated a confidence and poise he had never seen before. This was the person he had known long ago, transformed into someone brighter, stronger, and impossibly captivating that couldn’t make his eyes tear away.

An image of your high school image appeared in his head, comparing the massive change you’ve gone through.

Sorry, he did not see the vision. The braces, the thick glass frames, the acne-prone skin, the way you used to fidget between your fingers, the timid personality— all of that had vanished. In its place was someone confident, radiant, and impossibly captivating. You stood tall with your straightened back in a relaxed posture, your skin was practically glowing in the sun, in fact, there’s not a spot of acne blemishes on your face (which means you’ve been taking care of yourself), and there was not a timid thing about you now.

And—and!

You had muscles.

Muscles that could make him stay in the kitchen all day, whipping up gourmet meals, scrubbing every nook and cranny of a house, and somehow pull off being a full-time housewife in a pink apron without breaking a sweat.

DUH, of course you had muscles?!

It made sense because your profession demanded strength, endurance, and constant training. Gear that weighed fifty pounds somehow felt light in your hands, and you moved with a fluid efficiency that came from years of practice.

Dick‘s mouth suddenly went dry, caught off guard by the sudden, striking change. He couldn’t stop staring, his chest tightening as he tried to process just how beautiful you looked, especially in your uniform. (Dick thinks the uniform is doing something to him) Every confident step, every movement, made it clear that this wasn’t the timid high school version of you he remembered. This was someone else entirely— someone impressive, commanding, and impossibly attractive.

God, you’re rewiring his head.

He couldn’t stop the thought that shot straight through his mind: When did you get so hot?

“You… you look… different,” he finally managed to croak, his voice low and rough. “Stronger, confident… wow.”

You were a cute friend he had.

You laughed, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Different, huh? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Now, you’re his hot friend.

A hot friend that he wants to catch up.

And maybe be more than friends.

He swallowed hard, trying to find words that didn’t come. “I… I mean, you look amazing. Really. I—”

More than amazing.

“You no longer wear glasses…?”

You’re absolutely breathtaking.

“Oh, I wear contacts for work now. My glasses are at home.”

All the sudden he could look at you up and down all day.

Is he drooling?

Get a grip! You’re a man.

“Wow, you truly— you look—”

He’s just a man.

A dog that Haley would find disappointing.

You couldn’t help but snort, shaking your head. “Thank you, Dick. I guess five years can do some things.” He could only nod, still struggling to process the person standing in front of him.

He had completely blue-screened, his mind frozen at the sheer sight of you.

He blinked, still staring a little too long for it to be socially acceptable, to the point that he forgot to reply back to you as well. “Yeah! Yeah, clearly,” he frantically replied, voice tripping over itself. “You look— wow. I mean, you’ve always looked— uh, not that you didn’t before! I just mean— holy—” He coughed, dragging a hand through his hair like that would help untangle the words in his brain.

You laughed, the sound soft but teasing. “Relax, Dick. I get what you mean.”

“Right, right,” he muttered, staring at the ground for a second before looking back up— big mistake.

He should’ve known.

You stood there, haloed in sunlight, and for a moment, Dick forgot how to breathe. The light didn’t just touch you, it adored you, tracing every line of your face as if it wanted to paint you in jewels. The glow along your skin, the faint sheen of sweat catching the summer light, the way your eyes reflected warmth and clarity— it was almost celestial. Ethereal. You didn’t look like someone he’d gone to high school with; you looked like something dreamt up by a poet who had run out of words.

Your smile didn’t help either.

It wasn’t just pretty; it was radiant and alive, the kind of expression that could make the world seem softer just by existing. Every detail struck him all at once— the curve of your lips, the steadiness in your eyes, the quiet confidence in the way you held yourself. You had grown into something untouchably captivating, the kind of beauty that didn’t demand attention but effortlessly owned it.

“Hello?”

Dick felt his throat tighten, heartbeat thundering in his ears. You weren’t also just beautiful. You were luminous, unreal in a way that made everything else blur around you.

He envied Damian for his artistic talent, for the way his little brother could capture something like this on a canvas.

“Dick…?”

Because standing there, Dick wished he could paint you— every curve of light, every gleam in your eyes, the way the sun seemed to worship you.

“…Hello, Earth to Dick Grayson?”

Dick quickly snaps back, the heat returns back into his cheeks and the back of his neck. (Utterly embarrassing on his part) “Sorry! I didn’t mean to zone out, it’s just… you kind of hit me with a plot twist here. You went from the quiet person I knew to…I don’t know, a model?”

You didn’t take him seriously from that compliment, laughing with the sound filled with warmth and light, brushing through the tension between you. “A model? Hardly,” you teased, wagging your pointing finger in front of his face.

“I just grew up a little, that’s all.”

Dick rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks still burning. “Yeah, well— whatever you did, it’s working. Seriously, you look…” He trailed off, catching himself before he said something he’d regret, but the thought slipped through anyway.

A goddess.

Not a model.

You looked like something divine, and it was genuinely unfair.

Five years does a lot to a person, which clearly affected you.

“Captain, we should get going!” one of your teammates yelled, starting up the fire truck that roared to life, its engine growling and sirens wailing, vibrating through the pavement and making the windows rattle.

You were captain?

God, of course you were.

A police officer and the captain of your fire department?

Match-made in Blüdhaven.

Dick felt his chest tighten, the thought knocking the breath out of him. His palms were sweating again, and he tried to discreetly wipe them on his pajama pants. This wasn’t supposed to fluster him. He’d fought assassins, stopped bombs, and stared down Gotham’s worst without breaking a sweat.

Yet here he was, losing composure as if a woman had just flashed her naked ankle in the 1800s to him.

He blames it on your fire fighter uniform.

“W-wait, is your number still the same?” Dick blurted out before he could stop himself.

You glanced at him, entertained from the flustering man, a confident-booster for yourself when a small smirk tugged at your lips. “Yeah, it hasn’t changed. You still have yours too, right?”

Dick swallowed hard, nodding, trying not to let how flustered he was (he’s failing miserably). “Yeah, still the same. Good. That’s… good.” He gave an awkward thumbs-up, his smile stiff and way too enthusiastic.

Ohmygodhesgoingtokillhimself.

You blinked, and then burst out laughing, the sound light and genuine that made Dick want to levitate. “You haven’t changed at all, have you?” you teased, shaking your head once more. “Still the same dork from Gotham Academy that I used to know.” He rubbed the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly.

Is it obvious that he absolutely has hearts in his eyes?

He’s going to be your dork soon.

Is he plotting right now? Absolutely.

No shame, no game.

There’s a reason why he’s not afraid of humiliation.

(God, he’s so corny.)

He barely managed a breath before you turned toward your team, you gave him a final small familiar smile before climbing into the truck. “Text me later, okay?”

He nodded again, still frozen for a heartbeat, then managed a shaky, “Yeah… I will.”

As the truck drove away, Dick stood there, heart pounding, replaying the encounter over and over in his mind. Five years of distance had vanished in an instant, and now he had a million questions— and no idea where to start.

He was definitely still a dork.

And if he looks at his appearance, he truly is a dork.

He only wore Batman pajama pants and a white tank top.

That made it worse, feeling the rush of blood go to his cheeks, warming them up in this already awful summer heat.

Well, at least you might’ve focused on his arms a little too hard, giving him something to cling to besides the embarrassment threatening to swallow him whole. At that point, he might as well embrace embarrassment and desperation.

Lord knows he has somewhat a humiliation kink.

Dick: [address attached]

Dick: We have a reservation at 7:00 PM tonight

You: no hello? how are you?

Dick: Hello, how are you?

You: okayy

You: i think you’re meant to send that to someone else

Dick: 7:00 PM

Dick: No, I beg of you

Dick: Please come to the reservation

Dick: Dress up really nice too

You: what exactly are you planning?

Dick: I’m trying to become your one and only housewife [deleted message]

Dick: Is it wrong to ask a friend to dinner?

You: Dick, this establishment seems more of a romantic dinner date than a friendly dinner

Dick: Yeah, you’re right.

Dick: I can’t hold it in anymore, can we go on a date.

Dick: Please. I’ll treat you to anything.

a/n: that’s another wrap to another dick grayson oneshot!! inspired by: when did you get so hot? I literally had to hop on and do it, except have the reader go through a freaking massive glow-up. Anyways, did we enjoy the fact that you guys are a fire-fighter? I lowkey think this can go well as a male!reader too, because I don’t think I mentioned any pronouns? Maybe, unless I am wrong— but I won’t tag it as male reader anyway just in case. Anyways, lmk your thoughts xx also do we prefer small texts or these big texts for long chapters/oneshots?

[vianawaits]

When She Knows Me

Summary: You and Jason are taking a bath after a couple of months dating and you begin to reminisce on some of your firsts with him. Part 2 of When She Sees Me

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Content Warning: they’re naked, implied suggestive content at the end, fluff, domestic Jason supremacy, cursing, second person, no use of Y/N

A/N: This was fueled by my minion goldfish obsession, three spoonfuls of nutella, and my belief that Jason Todd struggles with vulnerability. As always my lovelies, I hope you enjoy <3

•───────•°•𐃯•°•───────•

You weren’t sure if it was the warm water of the bath, the glass of wine, or the fingers tracing patterns on your arm, but you’d never felt more at peace in your life.

On the way back from one of the most awful shifts, you’d ever had the displeasure of working, Jason called you. No one was more excited than him when the hands of the clock lined up at the five. His fingers always hesitate for two minutes before clicking on your name. He’d wait the gruesome one hundred twenty seconds before dialing to give you what he deemed, a substantial amount of time to pack up.

The call always came when you had stepped no more than three feet out of the concrete building that you worked in. He asked you the same questions without fail: How are you? How was work? Did you eat a good lunch? etc. Usually, it was fine, normal, and there were some funny stories you’d tell him from the office sprinkled in, however, today was a little different. You’d practically had your asshole ripped in half and handed to you on a platter to eat. The project assigned to your team, that you had completed entirely by yourself, had been edited by some of your coworkers. They forwarded it to your boss without telling you and he scrapped the whole project because of their changes. Now, you had until Friday to redo the whole thing from scratch because the OneDrive crashed, wiping all the work you’d done in the past week.

You hadn’t realized how long you’d been complaining about it until you reached the subway station, barely giving Jason any time to talk before you lost service. A heavy sigh escaped you when the call failed. You told yourself you would call him when you got off on your stop. The subway stunk of piss and you were trying to zone out on the ride home, but some guy was bothering every occupant of the train for a lighter. The stop for Seventeenth Street couldn’t come any faster. When time finally ceased to suspend you in this dingy train, you practically ran out the doors before they’d finished sliding open.

After climbing the faded green stairs out of the subway, you dialed Jason’s number again. After five pathetic rings, it went to voicemail. He was probably taking a shit or on his way to the manor before patrol, you reminded yourself. Thankfully, the walk to your apartment was a little less than ten minutes from the station. Walking the same blocks you’d been walking for years should’ve been mundane, but it wasn’t it was oddly comforting. These blocks had seen you put yourself through college, watched you walk back from mind-numbing breakups, witnessed you get your spark back, and caught you falling in love again.

The world could feel like it would end tomorrow, but the liquor store would always have its neon sign letting you know that it was open when you passed by, and Mrs. Walker would always be outside sweeping the sidewalk before she closed her pottery studio for the day. Some days she’d stop you for a conversation and some she would offer you a smile that reminded you that there was more to the world than the imbeciles you called coworkers.

Soon enough the brick wall of your apartment building came into view allowing you to finally relax. Your shoulders dropped the tension they’d been carrying since your boss embarrassed you in his office. Greeting the doorman, Tom, he had the same smile he always did while opening the door.

You were way to exhausted for it to be a Wednesday, usually this feeling didn’t begin to settle in your bones until Thursday night or Friday morning. The elevator door opened and your feet dragged you through the double doors, grateful you didn’t have to share it with anyone. Your finger pressed the button for the third floor lighting it up, and you fell back on the wall.

Catching your reflection in the mirrored roof, you saw the exhaustion etched into the blurry picture above. Hair falling out of the previously tight bun from this morning, mascara smudged under your eyes, and the dry-cleaned shirt from this morning was now wrinkled. Selfishly, you hoped Jason was still home. He typically had patrols on Wednesday and ran late, but you needed him tonight. Considering he hadn’t called you back or sent you a message meant he was probably enroute to the manor. He’d text you when he arrived and you would probably sleep like shit until the inevitable tap of the window confirmed that he was safe before joining you in bed.

The familiar ding of the elevator, tears you out of your reflection and you drop your head back to a normal angle before stepping out. Your eyes lock on your door as you manage to pick your feet up just enough to get you to the door. Clinging onto the gold sixteen nailed onto your maroon door like it’s a lifeline, when it comes into view. The familiar silver key is slotted in the lock when you reach your door. Finally, you unlock the door into the dimension of your apartment where the rest of the world falls away.

The cozy apartment greeted you like a soldier who’s returned from war. The warm ambiance of the lamp Jason always forgot to turn off lights the apartment with a comfortable familiarity. You drop your bags and keys onto the welcome table and kick your shoes off messily next to the rack, telling yourself you’d fix it later. Turning around, you walk the short way to the kitchen to open the cabinet next to the stove. Grabbing one of the shitty plastic cups you’d bought in undergrad that you couldn’t convince yourself to throw out, you fill it up with water from the fridge.

After downing it in one go, a deep breath fills your lungs before a voice coming from the bedroom makes you jump.

“Princess?”

It takes you a second to recognize the voice, then the first smile of the day climbs to your face.

Jason was still home.

His face peeks out from behind the door as a sight for sore eyes. He’s in a pair of grey sweatpants you bought him a couple of weeks ago to match, and while taking him in you realized he’s already managed to stain him. The tease dies in your throat when your eyes drift up and notice that he’s not wearing a shirt. His torso on full display with every muscle acting like a painting in a gallery you would spend hours wandering in.

Only recently had Jason let you see him without a shirt on. After the first couple of dates, you’d picked up on the fact that intimacy was hard for him. Physical touch wasn’t something that came easy to him.

It started with hand holding.

After your first date at the bowling alley he had taken you to some run-down diner he swore had the best food on the planet, your cholesterol levels sky-rocketed just by looking at it. On the walk over, your shoulders knocked together teasing each other like you had been doing all night. Eventually, you got the courage to reach for his hand, and he froze for a moment. You were about to retract your hand when he interlaced your fingers and let himself hold onto you. You watched him swallow heavily, and at the time you assumed it was nerves and continued talking like normal.

In reality he was swallowing the bile that rose in his throat. Nerves were part of the reason why he almost threw up, but it was the feeling of skin to skin that triggered him. He could touch through the worn leather gloves, or hug through clothes, but unprepared touch sent him right back to that warehouse.

You assumed that Jason just had no game. You weren’t wrong, but that wasn’t the whole truth. It took him four whole months to finally come clean to you about everything.

The confession came after distant days when he got in his head. It was on a night that you had gone out with the friend group and Dick started teasing you asking how it was going. There was a bittersweet smile of acceptance telling a story on your face when you told him you thought Jason was going to break up with you. Dick’s expression fell instantly asking why. Shrugging, you recounted that week and how he had barely called or seen you. This pattern wasn’t new to you. You weren’t stupid, you recognized the signs.

Dick’s eyebrows furrowed together and his mouth settled into a thin line before shaking it away. He changed the topic and you both went back into partaking in silly conversations with friends at the bar. He left while you were in the middle of running the table on Wally. You didn’t know it then, but Dick had gone to take Jason out of his dark place. He wasn’t going to let him self-sabotage and from what Jason told you later, it was a very long conversation about feelings.

That night he knocked on the door of your apartment, and looked as if someone had tried slicing him in half. Worry bubbled into fear and you weren’t sure where to start. You dragged him to the couch you both had laughed on a week prior, with the shitty first aid kid you’d bought at the pharmacy across the street when you moved in a million years ago.

While you made a horrible attempt at patching him up, he told you everything. He opened up about who his parents actually were, the night he met Bruce, becoming Robin, dying while trying to save his mom, the resurrection in the Lazarus Pit, his time in the League of Assassins, how he escaped, being the Red Hood, the lives he’d taken, the anger, the resentment, all of it.

You swore your heart broke into a million little pieces on the wooden floor. He was sitting on the couch with his gaze laid on the roof. He was trying to lie to himself with a pathetic attempt at believing you weren’t actually sitting next to him, disinfecting the cuts on his arms and face.

He didn’t cry, didn’t hiss when the alcohol wipe went over a cut, didn’t get emotional over his short-lived childhood, he just spoke into a void of truth. When he finished, you briefly put down the medical supplied. Your palm found its way to his face and he froze. He was trying not to flinch when you cradled the scars that haunted him in the mirror, the scars reminding him of every mistake he’d ever made, the scars that became a lesson.

This was normal, he reminded himself, this is what couples do. You didn’t rush him, didn’t force him to feel comfortable with the sensation, you waited. Waited for him to adjust to the feeling of being held.

He turned to look at you with those devastating green eyes that had doubt drowning in them. Then, to Jason, the most shocking thing in the world happened.

You stayed.

You didn’t run away.

You didn’t abandon him.

You listened to him and understood.

You asked him questions about what made him comfortable and what triggered him.

You adapted to him, laid yourself bare, explained everything so he wouldn’t be anxious about being blindsided by you.

And on that night, Jason Todd allowed himself to fall in love.

Slowly, he started opening up more. He would kiss you intimately, hold you longer, told you stories about a life he tried to hide. He let himself be a boyfriend.

The day he took his shirt off for the first time was one for the books.

It was one of the many nights he had come to sleep over after patrol, and he was sweating a whole river in his pajamas. When he was alone he slept in only boxers, but he hadn’t so much as worn shorts in front of you yet. He allowed himself a short sleeve and that was it. His pajamas consisted of an old tattered shirt and plaid pajama bottoms that he’d brought from a drawer in his apartment.

You felt him tossing and turning since he had come home. It was almost sunrise and he hadn’t slept a wink. Turning around, you propped yourself up on your elbow and pushed the hair from his sweat-lined forehead. The air was at 71 and the fan was on high, but he just couldn’t get comfortable. Knowing he preferred to sleep in his boxers, you offered to move to the couch to let him sleep more comfortably, but he refused.

He sat up, back facing you while his feet found the floor. It was silent for a few minutes before you watched his fingers find the hem of his shirt. He took multiple deep breaths before taking it off in one fluid motion, almost as if he was ripping off a band aid. You didn’t gasp, didn’t stutter your breath, you just watched in silence. If you moved too fast or said something too soon, you would scare him off.

He couldn’t look at you, petrified at the horror that would inevitably take over your face. He heard the creak of the mattress and shuffle of blankets as you inched closer to his side of the bed. When he felt your precious hands gently lay on his bicep, his eyes screwed shut.

Then he felt your fingers tug at his chin, turning his face to you. After another minute of your everlasting patience with him, he opened his tired eyes and saw praise highlighting yours.

“You’re beautiful.” Is what he heard you say.

He thought his ears were playing tricks on him, that the exhaustion of the patrol had finally caught up to him, but he didn’t. You repeated it. Then your lips found every scar on his back, arms, and stomach and kissed them all with love pouring out of you while repeating the same two words.

Eventually, he let himself believe it.

Now here you are, ten months later in a bath being held by the man who let himself be known.

His fingers were scratching your arm in the way he knows helps you fall asleep. His lips found the crook of your neck leaving open mouthed kisses while whispering how much he loves you into each beauty mark.

There were bubbles floating on the water hiding the mess of limbs submerged below. The glasses of wine laid on the tray next to the bath with candles lit on the top of the toilet.

After hearing you complain about the train wreck that was your day, he called off patrol. He rarely ever called off, which is why when he asked Bruce, he didn’t hesitate to give him the night off. You would never say it, but he read between the lines of the phone call. You needed him and he had to show up for you in the ways you showed up for him.

He ran down to the liquor store a block over from your place and bought your favorite bottle of wine. He ran the bath hot enough to fuel the fires of hell, because God forbid you ever take anything less than a scorching hot shower. He lit the eucalyptus candles you loved, because he knew they were “stress relieving” or something like that. Right when he finished setting up what would be your relaxing night in, he heard you stumble through the door.

He hugged you and kissed you with a love he never thought he’d get to experience. It was cheesy and his brothers would make fun of him if they ever found out, but right now he didn’t care. All the potential shame that came with his strong feelings faded when he surprised you with the bath.  

You almost cried at the fact he remembered all your favorite things. He ran the bath at the perfect temperature, the glasses of wine, the candles, the brand of bubbles you liked, the chocolate.

These were the times you couldn’t help but remember the ex-boyfriends who claimed to love you in past relationships but never acted like it. Charming with their words and helpless with their actions.

And Jason may not tell you he loved you very often, but he remembered. And that was a million times more romantic than an empty declaration.

Jason Todd was awful with words, but he was an angel with his acts. You never had to ask if he loved you, if he wanted to be with you, because he proved it. Every single day.

Laying here in the tub, laying against him made every shitty interaction today worth it. You would star in Groundhog Day and relive this awful workday a million times over, if it meant coming home to this every night.

His lips were still placing open-mouthed kisses on your neck when you brought the glass of wine to your lips. Swallowing the Moscato, you turned your head over your shoulder and caught him staring.

“What?” you whispered, not wanting to disrupt the peaceful scene.

“You’re beautiful.” He murmured before taking your bottom lip captive between both of his.

You melted into him with a small moan. Every time he kissed you, it was like you had discovered the holy grail. A mission completed after a life spent searching for something you thought you’d never find. A love neither off you thought you would ever be lucky enough to have. His lips molded into yours like a puzzle piece being put into place.

When he pulled away with blown pupils, there was a childish grin etched on each of your faces. You giggled a bit while glancing between both of his eyes. While you were distracted, he took the glass of wine from your hand and stole a sip. Scoffing, you splashed him with some water, but he chuckled and stuck out his tongue playfully. He placed the glass of wine back on the tray and leaned back, pulling you to him with a contempt sigh.

“Y’know,” he paused, pressing a kiss into your temple. “I had the fattest crush on you for like two years before we got together.”

You immediately push off him, small waves rippling from your frame.

“What?” you stare at him incredulously.

There’s a deep flush that rises onto his face, embarrassed with his confession. He starts scratching the back of his neck and looks away.

“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d ever go out with me, so I avoided you.” He isn’t meeting your eyes, staring at the dancing flames burning on the candle.

“Jay-”

“Damian was the one who actually found out that I was head over heels for you. He saw me staring at you at that gala Dick took you too, I think it was like what? Three weeks before our first date?” He questions himself as if he didn’t know the exact day. “The demon blabbed to everyone, which is how Dick found out. That’s the reason he ended up setting us up.”

You stare at him dumbfounded, while he continuously refuses to make eye contact.

“I know it’s dumb, but I just thought it might make you feel better to hear how I thought I was hopelessly in love with you after today.”

“Jason.” He finally turns to look at you hearing the demand heavy in your voice. “I had the most embarrassingly big crush on you for years too.” You confess to him half laughing and half blushing.

Now it was his turn to stare at you disbelievingly.

“You don’t have to say that to make me feel better about how pathetic I am." His hands fly up resigning to his shame. "Really, you don’t.” He reassures you in a sad attempt at recovering his dignity.

“I’m not lying to you Jay,” He notices the blush dust your cheeks, and it starts settling in his bones. “Next time you see Barbara or Wally you can ask them. They’ll tell you how helpless I was.”

 “Oh my God…” his hand wipes down the length of his face while processing your words. “Why?”

“What do you mean why?” You huff out confused. “Have you looked in a mirror like ever? You’re gorgeous, I thought I was going to orgasm the first time I watched you smoke a cigarette.” That earned you a laugh from him. “The first time Dick brought you to one of our hang outs, I was a goner. You had that bad boy persona that would make any dad shiver in his timbers if you showed up to pick up his daughter.”

That got you a brief unimpressed look before a teasing one took over.

“You think I’m gorgeous?” His eyebrows wiggled at you.

“Yeah, and?” You tried to play it off cooly, but failed miraculously when the blush deepened into a maroon that rivaled your door’s.

“And you think I’m a bad boy?”

“Mhm!” The false confidence was waning thin.

“Well,” he began before pulling you in, pressing a kiss on your cheek. “I’m only a bad boy for you.” He sounded so genuine despite his stupid claim that you snorted while he pressed a kiss to your other cheek.

“I think you’re gorgeous too- ethereal actually.” A kiss to your nose. “I looked for you at every gathering Dick dragged me too.” A kiss to your chin. “I stared pathetically at every picture you’d post and freak out when I hit the like button.” A kiss to your forehead.

“But,” he pulled back, staring at you longingly. “It was all worth it, because now you're here with me.” A flash of mischief passes through his eyes before he opens his mouth.

"And I'll make sure to give you something worth orgasming over."

You laughed and shook your head right before his lips met yours. All the adoration he had just confessed to slipping in your mouth with the small gasps you shared. His hands roaming to touch you as a reminder that this isn’t a dream, that you chose to be here, with him.

As your bodies slid together and found a consistent rhythm, Jason wondered how he got so lucky. Wondered who finally blessed him enough times to cancel out the curses that had been cast through his life. Wondered how he had finally found someone who cared about him.

He didn’t deserve it, he knew that, but he would cherish you, nonetheless.

He would spend the rest of his life fighting for you. Everything he would do from here on out, would be for you.

Because you were the first person to prove him wrong. The first person to choose him over everyone else.

Because when you knew him, you didn’t run.

•───────•°•𐃯•°•───────•

A/N: Everyone thank @crownofdecitreadingrespectfully for the ideas they posted in their reblog because it’s what gave me the idea for the part 2!

Tag List: @venombytes @annelouise321 @hepprine @jamespotteraliveversion @dodenzox @aesthetic-lyss @fictionalwhorehouse

[vianawaits]

When She Sees Me

Summary: Your best friend Dick Grayson took you to one of Bruce's galas a while ago. When Dick finds out his brother has a crush on you, he decides to play cupid.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Content Warning: Fluff, Cursing, (kind of) grumpy/sunshine, insecure Jason at the beginning, second person, no use of y/n

A/N: This is for this request , i hope it lived up to the expectations :) As always I hope you enjoy my lovelies <3

•───────•°•✶•°•───────•

“Dick, cut it out. I already told you no.”

“C’mon, just one date- that’s all I’m asking.” He carelessly throws his hands in the air. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Jason swore that if the former circus act opened his mouth one more time that he was going to make him wish that he fell off that trapeze with his parents.

Dick had spent the past two weeks trying to set him up on a date with you. Every single time he saw Jason on patrol, he’d harass him about it. The gymnast had taken you to the charity gala Bruce held a little under a month ago, as friends.

You caught his eye the moment you walked in, you were impossible to ignore. There was radiance in your figure that rivaled the sun’s. The way your eyes lit up the whole room lit a match in Jason that had been extinguished years ago. Your laugh was a melody that Jason would spend years learning the notes to, in a pitiful attempt to replicate. Anytime you were dragged from one conversation to another with a Gotham Elite, the room parted for you like a sea that Jason would drown in if he was given the chance.

Jason has been taken by you from the moment your heels clicked on the pale marble floor. Being the pathetic loser he is, he steered clear of you the whole night. Dick had introduced you to the whole family, except him. He got too worked up in his mind, fearing he’d stumble over his words or worse,

You’d see him.

He didn’t think he’d be able to handle the expression of horror that would inevitably cross your face when you saw the scars painting a history on his face he’d be cursed to remember.

The looks always came, there were days he felt like he was a walking car crash. The wandering eyes always roamed his face, his body, at the question where the pain came from. Some asked about it, and some tried to hide the concern behind empty small talk and glances when they thought he wasn’t paying attention. It stopped bothering him years ago, those people never mattered to him. So, he wasn’t sure why he was so anxious now. Why all of a sudden, all the old feelings he’d buried under packs of cigarettes came up at the sight of a girl at a gala.

He thought he had disguised the way his heart fluttered every time you looked in his direction better than he actually did. He hadn’t noticed the youngest bat in the corner of the ballroom observing the way his shoulders tensed when your eyes floated over the sea of guests. The way the pink flush drowned Jason’s face when your eyes met with a small smile. The way his grip tightened around the stem of the crystal champagne glass.

Damian saw all of it.

He approached Jason and ridiculed him for not being able to approach you. He tried to push his stubborn older brother in your direction. Told him to get over himself and just introduce himself. When Jason planted himself on the floor of the ballroom like a tree, he told him he was pathetic. He brushed him off, but Damian didn’t stop there. Being the annoying eleven-year-old that he was, he went and told Dick all about his minor attraction to you.

That’s how he finds himself in the cave at one in the morning after a particularly long patrol, fending off another attack. Dick’s voice echoed off the stone walls of the cave with a slight tease, solidifying Jason’s fate to be forever doomed as a little brother.

“I just don’t want to.”

His explanations were short and simple every time, never revealing more than was necessary.

Unfortunately for everyone, Bruce had managed to pass down his infuriating behavior of bottling emotions to his second son. While Bruce hid his emotions behind a carefully guarded mask and uneasy looks, Jason hid his behind a pack of cigarettes and a poorly executed bad boy persona.

He too lived by the mantra that it was easier to push people away, easier to be alone.  

He couldn’t explain to him how the idea of going on a date for the first time since… everything, made him want to throw up. He couldn’t explain how the idea of letting someone in again made him want to pack his bags and go to one of the safe houses he kept from Bruce. How the idea of a dinner with a girl who was everything good in the world threatened him with hope.

Hope he couldn’t afford.

Jason had heard about you over the years, existing in the same circle. Dancing around each other but never together. It was the only good thing that came from Dick’s incapability of shutting up. Jason was half convinced that Dick just enjoyed the sound of his own voice. He heard stories about you, seen pictures that Dick had posted on his social media. You were mutuals, but that was as far as he had let himself go.

He could handle decapitating someone, he could wash the blood of his hands and eat dinner afterward. He could invoke a fear that lingered in the nightmares of the worst bastards in the city he was raised in. But going out with a girl who brought out the sun on the cloudiest days, was what petrified the Red Hood.

“Jason come on,” Dick was practically whining now. “Just give me one reason why you don’t want to.” 

He wasn’t going to let this go, was he?

Dick was, tragically, the pushiest motherfucker on the planet. He knew what he wanted and very rarely failed at getting it.

“Dick for the last time, I just don’t want to.” Jason leveled his brother a look that was as deadly as he had once been, silently begging him to drop it.

But Dick, not being able to take any of his little brothers seriously, just smiled at him. It didn’t matter how grown each of them were, it didn’t matter that Jason was now taller than him. Every time Dick looked at him, he only ever saw the freckled face and the smile with missing teeth of the little boy Jason had once been. The little brother who used to have faith in the world. The little brother he would go to hell and back for. The little brother he would do anything to see one more time.

Dick opened his mouth probably to annoy Jason for the millionth time, when a voice cuts in from across the cave.

“Don’t want to what?”

Tim emerged from the shadows behind the batcomputer. He was in a pair of grey sweatpants and a black long-sleeved shirt that was too big for him. The shirt hung off his frame in a way that made him look sickly, his hair damp and plastered on his forehead. There was a redbull in his hand that he took a sip from, with a raised eyebrow while walking toward the pair.  

“Todd is refusing Grayson’s pathetic attempt at finding him a partner.” Damian announced from where he was training with Bruce in the middle of the cave.

Jason hadn’t realized that the whole family had been eavesdropping on Dick playing cupid. He shouldn’t have been surprised really, Dick announced everything he said with a level of importance that his words usually lacked. He couldn’t handle not being the center of attention, Jason supposed he had the circus to thank for that.

“Ohhhh” Tim drew out the vowel with a level of understanding. “This is about the girl Dick brought to the gala right?”

Jason scoffed and crossed his arm, a small reflex he had developed as protection. The arms pressing against his chest creating another layer against the world. He was building a cage for the fragile heart that was beating too quickly. The extra blood his body was pumping right now migrated to his face, tinting it to a color eerily similar to the hood he branded himself with.

He turned his gaze to his youngest brother with an irritation so biblical, it was one only brothers could bring it out.

“Son of a Bitch,” Jason grumbled under his breath closing his eyes for a moment before accusing him. “Did you tell everyone about this?”

“Your affections were obvious. I merely confirmed what everyone knew.” Damian stuck his nose in the air, refusing to admit he did anything wrong.

“Jason,” Bruce started out carefully. “There’s no shame in liking someone. I’ve spoken with her a few times. This could be a good place to start-”

“Bruce oh my God, stop.” Jason shook his head, frazzled. “The last thing I want is relationship advice from you.”

Bruce’s previously softened gaze disappeared. His lips pressed into each other forming a thin line. There was a guilt suddenly weighing on his shoulders from producing a son as emotionally constipated as him.

Dick, sensing the tension creeping in through the cracks of the stone floor, opened his mouth again.

“Jason, really. What’s the worst that could happen? It doesn’t go well and you never see her again?”

Jason just stared at him. He didn’t know if he could admit the source of all his fears. He didn’t want to name it, didn’t want to make it real. If he kept it in his head and heart, he could ignore it. It’d be something that he deals with sometimes and buries with the mountains of bodies he has in his closet.

“I-”

“And don’t say you don’t want to again.” Dick puts a finger up, pointing at him. “Give me an actual reason.”

Jason closed his mouth and saw the eyes of the rest of the family on him. Even Alfred, who had been lingering in the back with a tray of finger food for everyone, had found his gaze on the former boy wonder. He ran a hand through the white tuft on his hair, pulling it slightly to try and find the words he couldn’t form.

“She could see me.” Jason finally said. The words came out awkward and quiet. There was a weird pause in between each of the words, like they didn’t fit in his mouth.

“Dude, I hate to be the one to break this to you. But if that’s what you’re scared of, then you’re kind of fucked.” Tim looked at him barely hiding his expression of disbelief. “She’s already seen you, she knows what you look like.”

“Barbara told me that she told her that she thinks you’re hot.” Dick rushed out in a genuine attempt to comfort him, trying to drown out Tim’s unhelpful words. “So, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Dick knew that wasn’t what he actually meant, but he was going to play dumb. He wasn’t going to give Jason the easy way out of this one. He was going to make him do the unthinkable, he was going to make Jason Todd talk about his feelings.

Jason gave him an exasperated look with sweat spilling from his forehead. He knew Dick knew what he meant, but he sat there with an open expression and a guiding smile. He was trying to coax the words out of him, giving him a safe space with the prying eyes of his family.

“You know that’s not what I meant” Jason’s eyes narrow.

“Then explain it to me, I’m not a mind reader ya know.”

Jason threw his head back and his eyes fell upon the roof. All the bats that the cave was home to were asleep. They were gone to a more peaceful world that couldn’t even begin to comprehend the horrors Jason had seen and experienced in this one. He envied them sometimes, wishing he could live isolated by himself with no one to bother him.

“Dick, I- just look at me.” He finally tears his eyes from the roof, and his eyes meet his older brother’s again. His arms outstretch in front of him as if he was putting himself on display at an auction that no one would bid on. “I-, I’m,” He was stuttering, he couldn’t figure out how to word it.

How did he explain that he was a monster. He had killed. He had been killed. Who was going to want to get entangled with that mess? Who would want to put up with this level of disaster? He couldn’t impose this life on anyone else. He couldn’t drag anyone else down this hole, especially not you.

“I’m not exactly a star candidate.” Jason avoided everyone’s eyes and his fell upon the old Robin suit across the cave. The reminder of who he used to be bleeding into the failure he became. “She’s only going to be disappointed.”

“You don’t know that, Jason.” Dick’s expression softened.

Jason hated when he did that, when he shifted from annoying older brother to someone he could trust. Someone he could love. He couldn’t explain what it was exactly that shifted in his demeanor that opened the flood gates. He didn’t know if it was the way his eyebrows creased with a level of sympathy he didn’t deserve, or the way his shoulders slumped dropping the playful act, or the way he had a small trusting smile making him feel safer than any safe house he could run to. It was infuriating how easily Dick could lower anyone’s walls.

“If you really don’t want to, I’ll let it go. I’ll tell her you’re not looking right now. But I think there’s a small part of you that wants this.” Every word he was saying slowly peeled back the layers of protection Jason had been guarding as if they were life or death. He had never felt so disarmed, so naked. “And it’s okay to want this, Jason.”

“Is it?” He couldn’t help but ask, looking around at the faces of the rest of his family. Vulnerable in a way he had never allowed himself to be in front of them. Exposed in a way he had never dreamed of letting them see. “When she finds out about everything, when she finds out what I am, she’s going to run. She’s going to turn around and leave me with the fact that I’ve given myself away to get it given back.” He huffs almost cynically while passing his fingers through his hair for the millionth time. “And the worst part is, I won’t even be able to blame her for it.”

Jason wasn’t looking at anyone but Dick while talking. He can imagine that most of their faces fell along with his.

Dick who regretted everything that happened with Jason when they were younger. Dick who wasn’t the best brother to him. Dick who wasn’t there for him, like he was for the others. He never paid that much attention to him. He had been so tied up in his own emotions, his own feelings toward Bruce, that he abandoned Jason. He left him alone in this house, and it killed him. He never forgave himself for that, so he vowed to himself to never abandon another Robin. Trying to do for them what he couldn’t do for Jason: showing them the ropes, giving them tips and tricks he never had. Now, watching the self-deprecation clawing at his little brother’s throat made him want to call Wally and force him to take Dick and travel back in time. He wanted to rewrite the story and rescue him. To hug the version of Jason that would let himself be hugged. He wanted so desperately to save him from himself, to save him from the nightmare he called home.

He never intended to dig up old trauma by bothering Jason about the date. He wanted him to be happy. He had lived so much of his life as a shell of who he once was after the resurrection. No one blamed him for it, no one could even begin to imagine what it must be like to go through that. To watch the countdown to your death, to die scared and alone.

Dick only ever wanted him to be happy.

So, when Damian came up to him after the Gala saying that he had a crush on you, he was ecstatic. Jason hadn’t had a crush since high school. Dick was also privy to some information that you were down bad for his brother. He had to do something for Jason, and he thought this was the best opportunity. He had to start somewhere after all; there were years of being a horrible brother to make up for.

“She could also stay, Jason.” Dick offered him, the rest of the cave silent as he threw him a bone. “She could like who you are, help you come out of hiding.” He paused holding the fragile eye contact, scared that if it broke all the progress he made would dissipate. “I’m not going to force you to go on the date, but I want you to think about it. A date doesn’t have to mean marriage. It can just mean trying again, and you owe it to yourself to try”

Jason sighed to himself. He was the one who finally broke eye contact with his older brother. He dragged his calloused hand down the length of his face. Tonight had been tiring enough as it was after patrols, adding all the emotions he allowed himself to confront and talk about only added to the exhaustion. He wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion or the small hope that bloomed in his chest that made him agree, but he looked back at Dick and nodded.

“Alright, I’ll think about it.”

•───────•°•✶•°•───────•

It had been three days since that conversation when you got a call from Dick. It was a quarter past noon, and you were on your lunch break. You had chosen to walk the two blocks to the small pizza shop near your office when you feel the familiar buzz in your pant pocket.

Pulling out the phone, you see the name of your best friend light up the screen and your eyes narrow slightly at it. You love Dick with your whole heart, but a call from him was nothing short of rare. Hearing from Dick before one or two in the afternoon was even rarer. His sleep schedule was so messed up you were half convinced he was nocturnal.

The call and time of day was concerning for you, if Dick Grayson was calling you that meant the world was ending tomorrow. If Dick was calling you before one, the world was ending now. Your thumb hesitates slightly before sliding the green call button across the bottom of your screen and bringing the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Hello, my beautiful best friend!” Immediately, you’re put off. He’s way too enthusiastic for it to be a Wednesday afternoon. “What are you doing Friday night?”

“Nothing… Why?” There’s a questioning edge in your tone as you side eye the phone.

“I have the most spectacular news!”

“What did you do?” The question is immediate with suspicion prominent in your tone. He was up to something, and when Dick Grayson was up to something, it was rarely good.

“Have you so little faith in me?” He was always one with a flair for dramatics. There’s a small sigh he adds to the act, and you can’t help the eye roll. “You’re going to owe me big time after this.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve made your biggest dream come true.” He says so sure of himself that you scoff.

“I didn’t know you convinced Harry Styles to finally release Medicine. How’d you do it?”

He groans your name as if you’re personally responsible for the pain in his side.

“No, but seriously what did you do?” There’s a slight hesitation in the small laugh you give him as an opening.

“I have scored you a date with the one and only Jason Todd.”

You misstep on the sidewalk hearing the name. A quick stumble before recovering and freezing on the cement.

There was no way.

There was actually no way that Dick had got you a date with the guy you’d been crushing on for the past two years.

“What?” He hears the disbelief in your tone and laughs, like he’d been expecting this reaction.

“Yes ma’am. I have gotten you a date with my brother.”

“Wait-” You’re still standing still on the sidewalk and even though he can’t see you, your free hand flies up motioning for him to stop. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you like him….” He phrases it like a question, similar to when a child sounds overly confident with their take on a situation and then realizes they may be misinformed.

Your face turns bright red and are suddenly eternally grateful that you weren’t having this conversation in person.

“H-How do you know that?” Alarm bells start ringing between your ears. You hadn’t been that obvious had you? There was only a handful of people who know about your quiet crush on Jason.

“Well I called Barbara the other night-” You groan and hit your palm on your forehead. You knew telling her would be risky, they’d all known each other since they were kids, but she promised she wouldn’t say anything.You knew exactly who you were calling after you hung up with Dick “… when I told her that Jason thought you were pretty she got sup-”

“Jason thinks I’m pretty?” You cut him off not caring for the rest of the sentence.

“Well duh,” he responds as if the answer was painfully obvious, as if you’d asked him if the sky was blue. “What kind of question is that? You are pretty.” There’s a sincerity in his voice that sounds so innocent it leads to a genuine smile creeping onto your face.

“But anyway,” he goes to rerail the conversation back on to his initial mission. “I’ve got it all planned out for you. Friday at 8:30, I’ll send you the address. Don’t be late!”

“I-” You didn’t get the chance to say anything before he hung up on you.

You hold your phone to your ear for another second, then bring it to your chest. It was cringy and possibly a little cliché, but you cradle the phone against your heart. Nothing could bring you down from this high.

No annoying boss. No incompetent coworkers. No pestering call from your mother.

Because you lived in a world where you had a date with Jason Todd.

A world where Jason Todd thinks you’re pretty.

•───────•°•✶•°•───────•

08:28 p.m.

The time on your phone screen mocks you while you wait outside the bowling alley.

Of-fucking-course that would be the type of date Dick Grayson planned. You should’ve seen this coming from a mile away. The moment Dick told you that he would send you and Jason a time and place to meet you should’ve prepared for the worst.

You’re standing at the neon lit entrance shuffling your weight from foot to foot, when you start fiddling with the charm on your necklace. Glancing at the families and groups passing by you suddenly hear steps that echo heavier than the normal persons. Recognizing the steps you’d learn to anticipate at Dick’s family reunions, you turn your head to see your date walking toward you.

It was frustrating how good he looked. He was lit up by the flickering streetlights that lined the streets of downtown. He was dressed in a pair of jeans that might have existed since the dawn of time and a plain red hoodie with a giant leather jacket layered over it. His broad shoulders were slouched almost as if he was trying to shrink into himself and become as small as possible. The hands you’d caught yourself staring at too often are shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. The cool breeze that lingered in Gotham’s darkest nights is blowing through his hair, as if nature itself came to witness the unbelievable story of Red Hood on a date.

He was an anxious bundle of nerves for the past two days. After agreeing to this, he almost instantly regretted it. Jason hadn’t let himself want anything like this since the resurrection; he was too broken, too haunted, too cursed. Yet somehow, Dick had managed to get through to him, managed to break down the labyrinth of walls he’d built to protect himself.

It’s just a date; he kept repeating to himself. It was just one date. He can survive this.

He thought once he saw you that all the anxiety from the past week was going to bubble over and make him explode, but it was actually the opposite. When his eyes met yours and you had that warm smile you were never seen without, the anxiety fizzled out. There was a warmth that blossomed in his chest melting away all his fears.

He watched you raise your hand and shyly wave at him. Taking in your body language, he could sense that you were nervous too. Your uneasiness comforted him a little, the anxiety stringing you both together made this almost normal. Like he wasn’t just some pathetic mess of a man trying to go on a date with a girl who was way out of his league.

“Hey!” The simple word paired with your honeyed voice evaporated all his concern.

Offering his best attempt at a smile, he realized it came out awkward at best. He raised his hand to mirror the shy wave and gave out a small “Hi.”

“You’re early” You mentally face palm. Why was that the first thing you said? God, why were you so awkward?

“So are you.” He sounds relaxed but his motions betray him. His right-hand flies out from his pocket to the back of his neck to scratch it absentmindedly and pull at the hair on the nape of his neck.

“Yeah, well Dick had this whole thing of not being late because of the time slot I guess.” If you laughed awkwardly one more time, you swore you were going to sew your lips shut in the bathroom.

“Yeah…” Jason sighed looked at the dimly lit bowling alley with dread. “I can’t believe I let him talk me into letting him plan this.”

“Why?” A teasing smile finds its way onto your face as you try to relax or be semi-normal about this. “Is someone bad at bowling?”

“Bad is…” he pauses for a moment pondering his word choice. “…generous”

“Well, you know what they say about bad bowlers” You attempt the sly joke to revive his confidence.

“What do they say?”

A snort escapes you while walking past him to go inside. When you realize he isn’t following, you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder. The creases on his forehead caused by a single eyebrow raise expressed his genuine confusion at the joke. His mouth was parted slightly while trying to piece together the universally acknowledged truth about bad bowlers, a truth he seemed to be left out of.

“You really don’t know?” Heat begins to rise to your face, realizing you were going to have to explain this to him.

“Should I?” There’s a playful hint in his voice that’s trying to hide the embarrassment of confusion.

“Um, Well-” you laugh and swallow nervously. Your eyes start darting around to see if any other lingering soul would want to intervene and explain this to him. “It’s just a joke that guys who are bad at bowling are um-” you huff out some air and shake your hands to see if he’d get the hint. He doesn’t.

“Good in bed.” You finish the explanation for him.

Now it was your turn to scratch the back of your neck and pull your hair. Fingers twirling around the hair at the nape of your neck, hoping he wouldn’t think you were too crude to joke about this straight off the bat.

“Oh-” his face had turned beet red, and his mouth had made the shape of the vowel he’d just repeated.

The expression on his face made all your flustered feelings disappear. You started laughing so hard your hand flew to your mouth to try and hide it so he wouldn’t feel too embarrassed.

And in that moment for the first time in years, while Jason stood in front of this horrifically lit bowing alley listening to you laugh so openly; the clouds parted and the sun shone on him in the form of a girl he’d spend the rest of his life trying to deserve.

•───────•°•✶•°•───────•

A/N: I had a 3 hour drive last week and “when he sees me” from waitress came on and inspiration struck lol

Pt 2 is here :)

[vianawaits]

Darling

Summary & CW:  Gala fic, best friend’s brother, fake dating, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, a little bit of miscommunication, happy ending :)

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader & (platonic) jason todd x reader

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Another piece out the Kiln! This one kind of ran away from me, but I’ve missed writing for Dick and I loved this idea sm. Thank you to the anon who requested it!

•───────•°•♡•°•───────•

You were on your thousandth fake laugh of the night.

Dick’s arm was around your waist as you spoke to another elitest that Bruce had the misfortune of inviting. For the life of you, you couldn’t remember his or his wife’s name. They had been talking both your ears off about their new philanthropy for fifteen minutes. Your lovely date warned you this might happen, since everyone had the incorrect preconception you both might put a good word in to Bruce.

After another “Oh” and nod, you rubbed a small circle in between Dick’s shoulder blades.

Leaning into his ear, you planned your getaway. “I’ll be right back.”

The moment the whisper landed in his ear drums, he turned to you, eyes glazed with concern. A silent question if you needed him to go with you.

With a slight shake of your head, he accepts your need for escape with grace.

Dropping a small kiss to your cheek, he smiles so bright it put the stars to shame. “I’ll see you in a second Darling.”

It takes your grandest efforts to focus on the goosebumps rising on your waist, when his arm unwraps from you.

Waving a small farewell to the couple who couldn’t didn’t know when to stop talking, your heels click away as quickly as possible. The galas were nice, you’d been to a few. The only thing was that they got overwhelming fairly quickly. Everywhere you turned someone’s eyes were on you and it got to be a bit much. You weren’t usually in the limelight, dancing around the room on the arm of this town’s finest bachelor.

Your eyes float over the attendants of the gala while you try to escape the ballroom. A grimace fights it’s way on your face when you see Tim. Unfortunately for him, his little stint as CEO of Wayne Enterprises never went forgotten. He had a minimum of three large investors around him at all times.

It’s like the gates to heaven opened when you finally walk out the double doors. It took weaving around a few corners until you find one of Bruce’s ten offices to sit in.

Tonight had done disastrous things to your heart.

Two weeks ago the Gotham Gazette published an article that made you want to crawl under your desk, and never come out.

On the front page was a picture snapped of Dick bringing you coffee on your break.

Vicky Vale took it and ran. By noon there was thirty articles on Dick Grayson’s new girlfriend.

In two hours you went from being a nobody, to having your face on every newspaper that trended in Gotham.

It was a nightmare.

At first, Bruce had thought of ten contingency plans to put the rumors to rest. However, when Tim- lovely stupid Tim- reminded him of the articles that had started resurfacing about Batman’s identity and connecting them to the Wayne’s, he faltered.

It was almost comical how they proposed the idea to you, of keep the news circulating for  a few weeks. Tim made a very extensive powerpoint. Alfred brought you and Dick chocolate pretzels and tea when they sat you on the couch.

Then there was Bruce,

He was sitting next to Jason on the loveseat, ready to talk him off the ledge.

It wasn’t a matter of convincing you and Dick.

No, It was convincing your best friend to let his brother fake date you.

Jason was, well… territorial about people he cared about.

You were the person whose couch he’d crash on before reconnecting with his family. You were the person who helped get him a job. You were the one who made him hot chocolate when he woke up screaming in the middle of the night.

So it was safe to say he didn’t love the idea of you getting entangled with his brother, especially Dick.

At the proposal, he gave you a look that cut right through you.

No matter how hard your tried to hide it, he knew about your crush on the acrobat. It was next to impossible to not have one on him.

Your ripped from your inner turmoil when the door clicks behind you.

“What’d Dickface do now?”

Turning around to lean on the desk you found, Jason’s got a painting of unimpressed across his features.

“Nothing.” There’s an attempt at an accepting smile when you breathe out your answer.

A single raise of his eyebrow explains how much he believes you.

“It’s nothing Jason, really.”

He knew everything there was to know about your life. You told him about every shitty shift, every guy, every small tidbit of drama with your friends, but you couldn’t tell him about this.

How were you supposed to tell him that it killed you when his brother held you close for show? That your heart broke every time he called you darling. That every kiss on the cheek had tears building behind your eyes.

That none of it being real made you want to move from Gotham and forget any of this ever happened.

“Talk to him.” He says it so simply, it pisses you off. There’s a tiny shrug of his shoulders when he watches your face fall. It was frustrating just how easy Jason could read you.

Crossing your arms with a scoff, your eyes narrow in his direction. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“It’s your gospel.” He threw his hands up before his voice went up three octaves. “Talk about your feelings, Jason. You won’t get anywhere with them bottled up.”

“I do not sound like that.”

The silence in the room spoke volumes.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Never claimed to be a saint.”

Your eyes are about to roll out of your head as the study door opens again. The oxygen you were trying to breathe in gets lost somewhere on the way to your lungs when you see him.

He was as devastatingly charming as he was five minutes ago. His tie is loose from where he was wrestling with it after the second conversation. The black curls were perfectly in place, landing in smooth coils on his forehead. His dress shirt was pulled snuggly against his chest.

You wanted to kill him, or kiss him. Whichever opportunity presented itself first.

“See,” he starts by placing the flute of champagne on a side table. “It isn’t going to look good when my date and brother come out of a private room, alone.”

If you didn’t know any better, there was something along the lines of jealousy lingering in his tone. His jaw tightens for a second before he comes to your side, walking past Jason without so much of a glance.

“She was my best friend first dickhead.” Jason mocks his older brother, but there’s no real heat behind it. He’s already stepping toward the door, picking up the champagne he abandoned.

“Yeah well, she’s my girlfriend now, so deal with it.” Dick sticks his tongue out at him playfully while his arms find their home around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

He doesn’t miss the way you tense next to him. His grip loosens instantly, completely misinterpreting your reaction.

Jason rolls his eyes at both of you. But right before he closes the door behind him, he gives you a pointed look. Reminding you what he said earlier.

Talk to him.

The moment the door shuts, Dick’s whole body turned in your direction.

You make a valiant effort to not meet his gaze right away. Looking at the panels of the roof, desperately hoping they’ll find the words you want to keep locked away.

“What’s wrong?”

Finally looking at him, a sad smile pulls at your mouth.

The words don’t leave you right away. There’s a quiet hum you allow when your eyes fall to his tie. Alfred would have a stroke if he saw how loose it had been pulled.

Your arms uncross and your touch climb up his chest. A shiver overtakes him when he feels your nails through the dress shirt. Wrapping your fingers around the knot, you straighten it, pulling the fabric further up to the collar.

His gaze hasn’t left your face once, concern practically dripping from it.

“Darling really,” he moves his grip to place both hands on your biceps. “What’s wrong?”

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

 “Calling you what?”

You finally get the courage to roam his features again. Worry is still laced between his eyebrows and it only deepens when he sees annoyance appearing between yours.

“What’re you playing at?” His fingers drop from your arms and you hate the way it hurts. “There’s no one around, you don’t have to keep the act up. Jason knows in case you forgot.”

“I didn’t.” He rushes out, startled at fire in your frame.

“Then what the fuck was that display for.”

He flinches at the outburst, but you’ve had enough.

Your nails are digging crescent marks into your palms. It was embarrassing. There was no way he didn’t know about your crush on him. He  could see it in the way your eyes lingered on him a little to long. The way your body leaned in without question. The way you flushed a little deeper when he said something sweet.

These past two weeks have been exhausting. You never thought the world was cruel enough to do something like this, to play a montage of what could be.

“I’m,” he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the act. “I’m not acting.”

The air depleted from the room immediately.

“Then you’re being mean.”

You were holding your breath, not allowing yourself hope. There was no way any of this was genuine.

“How am I being mean?” His expression drops, aghast.

“Dick,” you huff out his name, almost as if his name will hold the weight of everything in your heart. “You can’t not know about how... how I-,” You huff out frustrated, not wanting to admit it. “And you’re acting like… this.”

Your hands are moving animatedly in front of you, acting as some sort of shield against the world when you continue. “If it’s some pity thing, you don’t have to do it. We’re doing this to keep your dad’s name from the papers. In public is one thing, but when we’re behind closed doors or with your family I- I don’t get it.”

His face crumbles at your words. The lack of response is deafening. There’s nothing you would wish for more than to erase the past three minutes of your life, to just have let this go.

Why did you listen to Jason?

“For someone so incredibly smart, you can be so dense.” He looks amused, and now your face flushes with anger.

“Excuse me?”

 “Why do you think I asked Jason what your coffee order was? Why do you think I’ve been coming to join you on your break or walk you home from work every day?” He’s bordering on exasperation. “Because I’m bored? Because I wanted to play with you?”

Now it’s your turn to exploit your right on remaining silent.

This was some sick dream, it had to be. You were going to wake up in ten minutes in your bed and stuff your face in your pillow. It couldn’t be true- there was no way.

“I’ve been in love with you for the past year.”

“Dick.” Your name lands like a warning.

“No- Dick nothing, let me finish.” He cuts you off. “I didn’t say anything because you’re Jason’s best friend. He didn’t want you involved in any of this and I had to respect that. But after these past two weeks, I- I can’t pretend anymore.”

You’re speechless. The untrusting part of your brain doesn’t want to believe him, half-convinced this is a setup. That this is some coup just to break your heart and laugh in your face.

But then you see it.

The desperation mixed in with those ocean blue of his eyes. The anxious rise and fall of the chest of a man who just laid himself bare.

“You like me…”

The words sound foreign coming from your mouth.

“Yes.” The affirmation is breathless.

“And you’ve been driving halfway across town to walk me home from work,” You can’t quite hide the shock while digesting the information. “For a year.”

“Glad you’re catching on.”

Your hands land on his chest again, pulling the fabric between your fingers. When he sees the smile you’re biting back it clicks in his head that you’re teasing him. He flushes under the dim lamp. The pads of his fingers rest on your lower back, edging you closer to him as yours inch up his shirt toward the collar.

When his forehead lands on yours, you decide to swallow the comment about how sweaty he is. It’s kind of endearing that he was as nervous as you.

You couldn’t believe that there was a world where Dick Grayson was troubled by a girl. Especially when it was you.

His nose nudges yours and butterflies start exploding in your stomach.

“Please.” Is all he whispers. The smell of mint, alcohol, and just him infecting you from all senses.

Ending his misery, you mold your lips against his. It was everything you could’ve hoped for and more. His lips were soft and moved slowly against you. You could get drunk on the taste of him alone. He pulls back for barely a second to catch his breath and you can feel the smile against your lips.

“Do you want to know a secret?”

“Obviously.” He mumbles against your cupid’s bow, and you mirror the grin.

“Jason doesn’t know my coffee order.”

•───────•°•♡•°•───────•

Taglists All: @gglouise23 @demigod-jack-hearth @batslilwhore @t1mbits @princessak @slut4hotppl @bat1nsignia @starr-jazz @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @mystiquevoid @patientofarkhamasylum @darkxwolfsstuff @starkkat @loserinadress Dick Grayson: @celestialnightwing @angelicwing @theonlysakura @valinat @currentblasphemy

[vianawaits]

Whatever you say Teach

Summary: Damian gets in a fight at school, and his favorite teacher has to set up a meeting with a parent or guardian. Bruce Wayne is away on a mission and Alfred isn’t picking up the phone, so Damian’s eldest brother has to attend a parent teacher conference. Only to find out that he has history with his little brother’s English Lit teacher.

Pairing: Dick Grayson/Teacher Fem!Reader & (PLATONIC) Damian Wayne/Fem!Reader

Content Warning: No use of Y/N, Second Person, cursing, second chance romance, yearner dick, angst, fluff, mentions of bullying and boys saying inappropriate things, Dick’s day job is being a P.E. teacher (I don’t believe in cop!dick propaganda, no matter how fine he looked)

Word Count: 11k

A/N: DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME!!! Please never get back with an ex, I have been there, done that, and got the t-shirt. Let me tell you it was NOT worth it. This is only acceptable because it is Dick Grayson. I usually hate second-chance romance, but it came to me while I was writing this and felt like it fit. Anyway, enjoy my lovelies <3

“Can anyone tell me the significance of the crew changing how they refer to Charlotte from her name to Ms. Doy-”

Some chalk had dusted over your hand where you had been writing the question on the board when you hear someone landing a punch behind you. Whipping your head around you see quite the scene laid out in your classroom.

Damian Wayne is standing over Jordan Hawthorne.

The classroom had gone silent collectively holding their breath at the sight. Jordan Hawthorne was, from your understanding, the grade bully. You had called home weekly, practically being on a first name basis with his mother. The school never did anything about him, frustrating you to your wits end. His parents were huge donors for the school, essentially allowing him to do whatever he pleased. He was bigger than most of his classmates along with an insufferably large attitude, and Damian was… small. He was probably the smallest boy in your class and Jordan loved that. He had a knack of picking on the kids who wouldn’t stand up for themselves, the quiet ones. You watched him like a hawk in your classroom when you noticed how he chose his prey. You didn’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable in your classroom, this was school not a war zone. No one should feel unsafe here.

While Damian didn’t get along with most of the kids in his grade he had never outright acted on that dislike. He would sit quietly in his chair, raising his hand when he knew the answer or had a question. On all of his assignments there were impressive sketches of different animals in the margins, you would always write an “amazing” or “beautiful” next to the drawings while grading. Despite his eloquent perspective of life, he was still a little boy who wanted some praise for his skill. It was your job as his teacher to harbor and stimulate creativity. A quick glance at him after handing back assignments confirmed your suspicion, there was a rare genuine smile at the fact that someone had noticed him. While being relatively quiet and unassuming, everything he said and did was done with purpose. Which meant something had happened here. Damian never acted without a cause.

You still had the chalk in hand when you recovered from the shock, and Jordan Hawthorne was glaring at Damian from where he had landed on the floor.

“You’re dead meat kid.” He growled and Damian only put his fists up.

When he props himself up with his hand, you finally snap back into reality and rush to where they are in the center of the classroom. The class has circled around them, and some pulled out their phones to record as though this is primetime TV.  

You push past the congregation of children and unfortunately, neither of the boys saw you coming. They were in their own little world of battle and just as you stepped in between them, Jordan had swung as hard as he could. Punching you right in the stomach.

You were not getting paid enough for this.

It hurt more than you let on. All the wind had been knocked out of you, but you were able to disguise the impact from pain to exasperation. You took a deep breath and see the wide eyes of all your students and order the boys,

“Hallway, both of you. Now.” You lift your gaze around the classroom at the stunned expressions of your remaining students, “The rest of you, sit down and start on the homework.”

And for the first time in your three years of teaching, there was no pushback. No complaints or groaning from students. There was just the quick shuffle of footsteps and chairs squeaking from being dragged across the floor then, silence. Peace and Quiet.

The boys follow out of the classroom, flanking you from each side. You walk to the social studies classroom across the hallway, where there’s a teacher’s aid. She’s an undergrad student trying to get some teaching hours with Mr. Horn, but she helps out around the school too. You open the door and pop your head in with a cautious smile.

Mr. Horn wasn’t particularly kind when his lessons were interrupted. He was super old and believed you should only speak when spoken to, so you wait until he finishes his question to the class and turns to look at you. He has an eyebrow raised prompting you to talk.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt.” The apology was useless, but he still appreciates the sentiment. “Could I borrow Sophie for a moment? I have to walk two students down to the office and need someone to watch my class while I step away.”

“Ah yes, of course.” He doesn’t seem too upset about the interruption, realizing that it was something that couldn’t wait. He looks at Sophie from her spot at the back of the classroom and cocks his head in your direction. She nods with a gentle smile on her face and makes her way out the door.

A bashful smile is on your face while thanking her for the help. She laughs it off with an “Of course!” then walks into your classroom. Sighing you look back at the perpetrators of your quickly bruising stomach.

“Come on you two.” Is all you offer them before you turn around and start the trek to the front office. There’s an echo of two sets of steps following your path and you finally drop the mask. Noticing that there are no eyes that can see your face, it contorts in pain. And as tempted as you are, you don’t bring your hand to your stomach, not wanting to give away how much it actually hurt. The bruise is already forming under the white button down you wore today. You just continue taking deep breaths until you make it to the office.

It takes about five minutes to make it all the way across the Academy. Within the first couple of days here, you learned that it’s not difficult to get lost here. It’s all the same gothic architecture that they refuse to put signs on. The only exceptions to that were the classroom numbers on the doors, which makes it too easy to miss the office in your opinion. It took you about three weeks of working here to finally learn your way around.

You pull open the door of the office, and the boys walk in single file. The secretary greets you with a smile, about to ask why you’re in the office and then sees the boys in front of you. Jordan was a regular here, so she picked up on the unsaid by his presence alone.

“Dawn’s not in a meeting right now so you can walk ‘em right in.” She informs you.

“Thank you, Nancy.” You say with a smile.

On your first day, Horn told you to make sure to get on Nancy’s good side. She knew everything about everyone at this school. Having her on your good side meant protection from the Dean, Dawn. Since everyone knew that Nancy knows everything, Dawn would trust her on her opinions on faculty. Which meant you always smiled a little wider and sometimes would get an extra pastry from your favorite cafe, when you knew you would run into Nancy that day.

You walk to the end of the skinny hallway to where the door to Dawn’s office is cracked open. You stand at the entrance and knock on the wooden door frame, and she looks up from her desktop with a calculated smile. She had long red hair and was in her mid-40s. She always wore pantsuits, she had the same one in four different colors and would rotate them. You avoided interacting with her as much as possible because she had a weird vibe to her, she always looks at you like you were a puzzle she hadn’t figured out yet.

“Good morning, Miss,” She addresses you. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this lovely visit!”

“Good morning, to you too! Unfortunately, I don’t come bearing the best news.” You tell her with an embarrassed half-smile. “I have a Mr. Hawthorne and Mr. Wayne out here with me, they um… got in a fight in my classroom.”

She closes her eyes and throws her head back in the same breath. This was the worst part of the job, and you don’t envy her for having to sit through it. “Yes, of course, send Mr. Hawthorne in first. Just make sure to pick up the witness report from Nancy on the way back.”

You nod and step out of the office. Hearing what the Dean said, Jordan walks into the classroom with a smug look on his face. The face of a kid who knows mommy and daddy will get him out of trouble. The door shuts behind him, and you look down at an anxious Damian Wayne sitting in the hallway. His feet don’t quite reach the floor from the chair, and his legs are swinging back and forth, betraying his carefully neutral exterior. You stand next to him in silence just looking at him while he has a staring contest with the patterned office carpet.

“It was unnecessary for you to take the punch for me. I could handle the brunt of it.” He says without looking at you.

“I know,” You try to think of how to word this to him, not wanting to damage the fragile ego he claims is indestructible. “But I don’t like fighting in my classroom.” You place a hand on his shoulder, and he finally tears his eyes from the floor and looks up at you.

“What happened?” You ask him with a gentleness you usually reserved for the children at the orphanage you volunteered at on Sundays.

“Hawthorne said some inappropriate words to Sarah, and you know how she is.” He gestures with his hands, motioning that her personality should be obvious. “She lacks the ability to stand up for herself. What he said was vile and she was uncomfortable. She asked him to stop and he continued. He kept taunting her and she looked on the verge of tears. So, I…”

“Hit him.” You finish the story for him.

“Yes.” He confirms unapologetically.

You exhale while processing the story. You’re trying to figure out your next words to him. In all honesty, you are secretly proud of him. You hated when boys get nasty in your class. It happened more often than you’d like and you tried your best to catch it and put a stop to it, but you couldn’t catch them every single time.

However, you can’t tell your student that you’re proud of him for laying out another one of your students without risking a write-up from your supervisor, despite how much he deserved it. Your only concern now was that you would have to drag poor Sarah into this. She was very shy and would rather swallow a knife than open up. You would have to approach her carefully.

“I’m not sorry.” He cuts into your thought process.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be.” You hold his gaze. He doesn’t look apologetic at the fact that he hit the Hawthorne boy, but there’s a glimpse of worry lingering in his eyes. You’re not entirely sure where it’s from and you don’t get the chance to find out when Dawn opens the door and motions for Damien to join them inside.

“Go on.” You tell him lifting your hand from his shoulder. He nods and gets up, walking around you to go inside. He sits down and right before Dawn closes the door, he looks at you once more with that same flicker of anxiety and then the door closes.

Walking back to Nancy’s desk to pick up the report and regret not calling out sick this morning. This was only the beginning to a very long day. 

° ❀ ⋆ .  ೃ࿔ * : ･ ° ❀ ⋆ . ೃ࿔ * : ･

Sighing to yourself during your free period you start to fill out the witness report. You’ll have to submit it to the headmaster and call a parent or guardian to set up some form of a parent-teacher conference. Along with your stomach, your head’s been aching all day. For some odd reason, the divorced couple that lived next to you seemed to think that a Sunday night was the perfect time to have reconciliation sex. Safe to say that the headboard slamming into your shared wall at three in the morning was not the alarm you were expecting to wake up to.

Your eyes keep coming in and out of focus and you decide after filling out the date and time of the report, to place the pen back in the cup at the top of your desk. There was no point in filling out the form if you could barely concentrate. Elbows propped on the desk you drop your head in your hands and feel your fingers drag along your face. Peeking through your hand to check the time on the desktop, you bite back a groan seeing that it’s not even noon. It’s been the longest day of the year so far and it’s only 11:52.

You move to pull open the bottom filling cabinet. You might as well try to get in contact with the parents to set up the conference. Looking through the letter dividers, you find Damian’s first and flip it open. You read through some pages before finding the contacts. Scanning through them you notice there’s a father, a legal guardian, some brothers, but no mother. Damian had told you some stories of his mom, and you assumed she was still present in his life, but that didn’t seem to be the case anymore. You had never read through the school ordered file before, you usually never did. There was more to a student than what Gotham Academy records had to say, but this did help piece a fraction of the Damian Wayne puzzle together. You start going down the line of contacts for Damian, to make the first call.

You pull the office phone that lies on your desk closer to you and dial nine to get an outside line. The first number you dial is the phone number that belongs to his father, Bruce Wayne. You’re hunched over your desk on the phone praying he doesn’t pick up. You’ve had the luxury of speaking to him once before when Damian won an award for his essay on animal rights and it was nothing short of awkward. Whether they realize it or not, Bruce and Damian are very similar. The press liked to paint Bruce Wayne as a reckless, playboy, billionaire, and maybe it was because you are his son’s teacher, but he was nothing like that.

Speaking to him felt like pulling teeth, it was so uncomfortable. He stood tall and remained quiet the whole night. Barely saying more than three-word sentences. You’re sure that once you can have a good conversation with him that he’s good company, but this wasn’t going to be the type of conversation you were hoping for.

By some miracle, it seems that someone was listening to your prayers today and Mr. Wayne did not pick up the phone, you let out a breath of relief when the voicemail recording begun playing in your ear. So, you moved to the next contact, Alfred Pennyworth.

He was one of Damian’s other legal guardians, but you’d never met him or heard of him. And apparently, the universe wanted to keep it that way because Mr. Pennyworth doesn’t pick up his phone either.

Does anyone in this family answer the phone?

You try to call the third contact listed on Damian’s information sheet and freeze, staring at the name of his eldest brother. 

There’s no way.

It couldn’t be.

Richard’s a pretty common name, right? And so is Grayson.

Because there’s no fucking way that your Richard Grayson is Damian’s older brother.

He can’t be.

You immediately regret cashing in your prayer for the day, you would have a million conversations with Bruce Wayne if it meant you didn’t have to make this phone call. You weren’t sure how many Richard Graysons there were in the tristate area, but you knew one, and with your luck he would be the one on the other end of the line. You avoided thinking about the way your brain was engraving the phone number to memory; while your fingers cautiously pressed the numbers that created a portal into the years of your life you tried to scrub away in the shower.

Please Don’t Pick up. Please Don’t Pick up. Please Don’t Pick-

“Hey, this is Dick”

Fuck.

Of course, he had to be the person in the family to pick up the phone. Tears well up in your eyes instantly recognizing his voice. How could you not? You used to drift off into sleep while it whispered sweet nothings in your ear every night.

“Hello, this is Richard Grayson correct?” You slap your forehead, fuming that fate has decided to drag this man back into your life after it cost you everything to remove him.

“Yes,” He confirms and you fight every urge in your body to hang up on him. “And who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

“Hi, I’m Damian’s English Literature teacher at Gotham Academy.” You do everything to avoid saying your name. “I am trying to contact one of his guardians and neither of the others listed have answered. Do you have a moment?”

He pauses for a brief moment, and you wish the ground would swallow you whole at your desk. Holding the office phone against your ear, you drop your forehead to the cold surface of the worn desk and close your eyes. During the short silence you begin to contemplate what you’re doing with your life.

“Yeah, I do, just give me a second.” There’s muffled speaking while he excuses himself from a conversation. “Um- out of curiosity.” The color drains from your face at those words, begging to any god or star in the sky listening that he doesn’t recognize you. “Who are the other contacts listed?”

“Oh yes-” You sit up catching your breath, this was a question you would answer gladly. Looking back at the paper to list off, “I have a Bruce Wayne and an Alfred Pennyworth as his father and legal guardian.”

“Ahhh, yeah. That checks out. They’re… away at the moment. I’ve been taking care of the rascal by myself.” He sighs in a way that indicates taking care of Damian Wayne was a full-time job. “Anyway, what did the little monster do now?” He sounds so casual almost as if he’s kicked back on a desk chair pushed back to the point it’s about to tip over.

You squeeze your eyes shut as tight as they physically can, grateful no one else is in the room. This conversation, his voice, him- it’s bringing too many memories back. Flashbacks of a life you tried to forget. Flashbacks of a life you buried when you left Blüdhaven.

“Damian got into a physical altercation with another student today in my class” there’s a slight pause in between each word while you choose your words carefully, since it technically wasn’t a fight. “It’s Academy policy that I have to meet with the student responsible for beginning the physical altercation’s guardian to discuss his behavior. Since Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth were not available at the moment, I would have to set up a time to meet with you.” The speech comes out robotic, making this call more than enough times in your career here to last you a lifetime. “Unless you can get in touch with Mr. Wayne or Mr. Pennyworth, we can set up a time with them instead?”

You bite your fist struggling to not sound too hopeful with your pathetic attempt of finding an out. This would be a really big fat “fuck you” from the universe, having to hold this meeting with him. You could have been struck with any other typical Gotham luck: you could’ve gotten robbed, kidnapped by Poison Ivy, held at gun point, but no. You had to have a conversation with the man you moved cities to get away from.

“No, I can come to the meeting!” He sounds way too enthusiastic about this, especially considering you just told him that his little brother decked someone. “I can be there around three-thirty today if that works? That’s when school usually gets out right?”

“Yup!” You sounded too perky for your liking. “That works for me, I’ll jot it down in my calendar.”

“Perfect see you then!”

“See you then Mr. Grayson.”

You hang up the phone rougher than the headmaster would probably like, but screw that. It’s his policy that’s making you meet with the man who taught you that heartbreak could make you physically ill.

You spend the rest of your free period dreading this meeting that you forget to fill out the witness report and talk to Sarah. You usually left Jordan’s parents to the Dean or Headmaster because they were such important donors. It was also his fifth strike in the month which meant they would have to deal with it anyway. You end up handling everything during your lunch, one of the firsts you’ve spent alone. The boys were both in lunch detention which meant the little Wayne would not be joining you today.

Damian usually spent his lunches with you because he didn’t like any of the kids in his classes. He was reserved, never spoke much with anyone. Over the course of the year, he slowly started speaking to you more, opening up. You let him tell you what he was comfortable sharing, making sure to not pry with him. On days he didn’t feel like speaking during lunch, you would pull the screen down and put on a nature documentary that you knew he would enjoy. It was a little thing you would do to let him relax, and he’d never tell you how that made your classroom feel more like home than the manor did some days.

After deciding you would talk to Sarah tomorrow to ask her about what happened, and walking to the office to submit the witness report to Nancy, you make it back to the quiet corner of school where your classroom lies. When the door shuts behind you, you slide down to the cold floor and stare at the tile lined ceiling.

You’re sure that somewhere the hands of fate are laughing at you, puppeteering this cruel plot. That just when you had barred Richard Grayson from your mind, he had to make an infamous comeback.

The bell rings which brings the lunch period to a close, along with your pity party. You stand and brush off your clothes with a deep breath and plaster the wide teacher smile you mastered in all those volunteer hours during undergrad.

When the students start filing into your classroom, you throw yourself into your lesson about the girl who left everyone she loved and knew behind to start the life she wanted for herself. Your students would never know that you chose this book every year because you saw more of yourself in her than you cared to admit.

° ❀ ⋆ .  ೃ࿔ * : ･ ° ❀ ⋆ . ೃ࿔ * : ･

03:27 p.m.

This is the only time it would’ve been convenient for you to have a villain roaming around destroying Gotham, and of course it doesn’t happen. The Joker must have some sick sense of humor, because not even the devil could construct this type of Hell you found yourself in.

Damian is sitting at desk in front of you, in the scary statue-like way he does when you know he’s had a bad day. You keep bouncing your foot and your heels are clinking on the floor while staring out the window.

Why did it have to be Dick?

“I’m sorry that you had to stay after hours for me.” Damian whispers into the void of the classroom.

“What?” You turn to look at the boy genuinely confused. He’s looking at the desk purposefully avoiding your gaze.

“I told you earlier that I wasn’t sorry for hitting Jordan and I’m not. But you are tapping your leg impatiently on the floor, indicating that you want this to be over, and that is my fault. It is my fault that you are here this late.” He pauses and looks up to meet your eyes, and you see a slight crease in between his brows, and it hits you.

He thinks you’re upset with him.

“For that, I am sorry.” He confirms.

“Oh Damian,” You stand from your desk and make your way to crouch in front of his. “I’m not upset with you.”

“You’re not?” He looks cautious, as if he’s being lured into a trap. The doubtful look on his face pulls at your heartstrings.

“No, what Jordan said and did was wrong and while I can’t condone physical violence as your teacher,” you pause with a wicked glint in your eye. “I can tell you that he had it coming.”

When he internalizes your words and the hidden message in it, he smirks. This poor boy had spent all day thinking you were upset with him, that’s why he looked nervous in the office. Behind that mature attitude he had, he was still just a ten-year-old boy at the end of the day. So, when he smirks at you, you made sure to smile back. You smile back letting him know your room would always be open for lunch.

You stand back up letting the unsaid hang in the air and turn to walk back to your desk and before you can sit down, the door to your classroom swings wide open and there he is.

Your ex-boyfriend.

With a bouquet of flowers in hand.

The same bouquet he bought you the first time he took you to dinner.

The breath traveling out of your nose gets caught in your nostrils when your eyes land on him. He’s as devastatingly handsome as the day you left him. You tried to tell yourself his beauty would fade with time, the way every guy does when you break up with them. But no, like some cruel twist of luck, he was beautiful. The unkept raven black hair with the lightening blue eyes you spent hours staring into, took you right back to all the nights you tried to forget from college.

“Why did you bring flowers Grayson?” The catalyst for this meeting asks disgusted from his spot at the desk.

“I always bring flowers on a first date!” He responds with the boyish charm that made you fall in love with him at nineteen.

“This isn’t our first date.” You look at him through the narrow slits of your eyes.

You were going to have to start giving yourself more credit. On the inside you were nothing but an anxious bundle of nerves, but you were doing pretty good at not revealing it. You had his attitude to thank for that. Being annoyed at Dick was easy, almost as easy as loving him.

“Well, I know that sweetheart,” You flinch at the old pet name. “But it’s our first date in a while.”

“Dick, this isn’t a date.” You snap at him.

He doesn’t get to do that. Not now. Not after everything.

“Whatever you say Teach.” He gives you a playful look that almost undoes you on the spot. Trying to keep your cool, you glance down at the shell-shocked little boy that followed both of you with the same intensity that some would watch a Wimbledon match. Hie eyebrows looked just about ready to fly off his face while his left nostril was scrunched up, connecting the dots that there may be some history here.

“Damian sweetie,” you try to regain control of the situation. “Can you wait outside while I talk to your brother for moment? I’ll call you back inside in a couple minutes.”

“Only a couple?” He asks with only one eyebrow raised now.

“Yes, only a couple.” You confirm.

“Okay.” He nods and walks slowly, still glancing suspiciously between you and Dick while stepping out.

When the door shuts behind him you let out a breath and shift your eyes to Dick. Looking at him was almost the same as looking at the sun, it was a sweet temptation that once satisfied, burned within seconds. You move your gaze to the flowers shifting your position to lean against your desk. It felt safer than looking right at him.

“When did you realize it was me?” You ask him, addressing the elephant in the room. The faster you got this over with, the faster you could continue with the conference and go home.

“Come on,” He scoffs, “You can’t really think I didn’t recognize your voice from the second you said my name.”

You meet his eyes abashed, ignoring the thunderous ache in your chest that his striking blue irises brought upon you. “Dick that was like the first thing I said!”

“Yeah, I know.” He shrugs his shoulders in a way that expresses it should’ve been obvious he knew it was you. That it would be crazy if he didn’t recognize you from a phone call where you didn’t even say your name.

You pinch the bridge of your nose trying to ground yourself with the quick burst of pain, coming to the conclusion that Dick Grayson was going to haunt you for the rest of your life.

“So, when did you get this gig?” He looks around waving the flowers. “I thought you were still in Blüdhaven-”

“No.” You cut him off so simply that he stops dead in his tracks. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to ask me about my life. You don’t get to know anything anymore. Not after everything.”

He looks taken aback and a sprinkle of defensiveness pools in his posture when he straightens, “Do I need to remind you that you were the one that ended it?”

You square your shoulders pushing off the desk and narrow your eyes again, “Do I need to remind you why?”

He sighs your name in a broken plea. And just like that, you’re taken back to the run-down college apartment all those years ago where your heart shattered into a million pieces.

° ❀ ⋆ .  ೃ࿔ * : ･ ° ❀ ⋆ . ೃ࿔ * : ･

It was your two-year anniversary with Dick. Money was a little tight, so you agreed to have a small dinner at his place. You usually hung out at your apartment and preferred to cook there, but he had just fostered Haley. He hadn’t spent a night away from her yet and was nervous about leaving her alone for too long.

The little diva was making figure eights between your legs while you cooked dinner and prepped the key lime pie you were going to make for desert. She had almost tripped you three times already, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to scold her when she looked at you. She had mastered those puppy eyes that turned you into mush. She looked so happy when you shifted your attention to her, that you forgot to reprimand her and tossed some food into her mouth instead.

Turning back to the electric stove you turn the knob of the back left burner to high. There’s a rustling of keys and a smile creeps on your face that he’s finally home. Haley stops pacing in between your legs and dashes toward the door clawing at his door frame. Since moving in, Haley seemed to be on a personal mission in securing that your boyfriend does not get his security deposit back. You’d warned him about getting a dog in the apartment, but he brushed it off.

Dick finally manages to open the front door and Haley leaps at him, knocking the breath out of his lungs. He squats down to her level while she barks and licks his face. In the breaks of his laugh, he manages to get out an “I missed you too” and “easy girl” in an attempt to calm down the energetic puppy. After a minute of him petting her fur, she seems to be more relaxed while rolling over on the floor and he finally shifts his gaze to look up at you. He swears he fell in love all over again.

Your hair was pulled back into a bun that was falling apart around the hair tie, there were patches of flour on your cheek and forehead, you had an apron that he bought you for Christmas last year that had stains everywhere, and he doesn’t think he had ever seen a more gorgeous sight. There was something so magical in the domesticity of coming home to you and Haley. It was a type of love he never thought he’d get to experience again after his parents passed. A type of love he’d never had living with Bruce and Alfred.

He never considered himself a selfish person, until he met you. You were his full moon on a dark night. The elixir that brought him back to life every night when he lost his will on the streets. The princess he thought only existed in fairytales. He never wanted to share with anyone.

He had a habit of staring at you drinking in all your beauty at once, like it would be the last time he’d be lucky enough to lay his eyes on you. He soaked up everything you said, everything you did, every part of you, and he stored it deep in his heart. He worshipped you like you were the only god that mattered in this universe.

Dick truly believed the warmth in your eyes could melt all of the snow January brought to Blüdhaven. Stood in his kitchen with your arms crossed leaning against the counter, you had a smile he was convinced could bring world peace. He was a goner before you’d even said hi.

If you weren’t in college and he wasn’t lying to you about being a vigilante, he would’ve gotten down on one knee that night. He would’ve asked you to marry him. He would’ve made a fool of himself by writing you a sonnet declaring his love. He’d tell you how you restored his faith in the world, how you gave him something to fight for in the nights he put his life on the line, how you gave him something worth living for. He was so drunk in love he’d considered yelling how much he loved you form every rooftop in Blüdhaven.

He hadn’t told you about the double life he hid in the shadows. It ate at him every time you looked at him with narrowed eyes, knowing he was leaving something out of the stories he’d rehearsed. He never wanted to bring you into it. If you found out about him, you would never be safe again. He couldn’t do that to someone he loved, not after Jason. He prayed that you would give him more time, so he could figure out how to explain it all to you without outing Bruce. When you asked about the bruises and cuts, he’d brush it off and say he was clumsy or he pushed himself to hard at the gym. You weren’t convinced but you let it go, and he’d thank the stars for giving him an ounce of mercy.  

“Hello, my love” his eyes were sparkling. “Dinner smells amazing.” He stood to his full length and walked over to you, while Haley was jumping and clawing at his jeans.

“Only the best for you.” It came out more sultry than you planned, but Dick seemed into it. He crossed the short space from the door to the kitchen and made his way toward you. He trapped you against the counter with his arms encaging you. Haley was still barking at both of your legs, but you tuned her out getting lost in each other’s presence. Dick always looked at you like it was the first time he had seen you. There was so much adoration in his eyes that you weren’t convinced you deserved.

A flush creeps onto your cheeks when he leans into you and stops a hair from your lips. You feel his breath on your face, and you can smell the cinnamon gum he had definitely been chewing on the drive over. The spark in the air is electric as the favorite part of your day approached. It was the same routine every night Dick came home, you had gotten used to it, but he had an addicting air to him you could never quit. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes, and you know it’s because he’s testing you. To see if you’ll break first and lean in, you always do.

After counting to fifteen you scoff and push off the counter into him. When your lips meet, you get your first breath of fresh air all day. Blüdhaven’s pollution evaporated when you shared a breath with Dick Grayson. The world melted away and you would die happy if the world came crashing down then. You’d never been kissed the way he had. He was soft and gentle, but desperate. He kissed you in a way that made you feel loved not lusted after. The spark lit on fire every time he touched you, the world had drenched you in gasoline and Dick was the match.

He pulls away too soon for your liking and his breath comes out heavy. He’s giving you that Dick Grayson grin that lights up the sky, and you notice his pupils are blown.

“I missed you today.” He tells you in a low voice that sends a shiver up your spine.

“I missed you too, Grayson.” His arms wrap around you and every threat the world had was nonexistent in his arms. He made you feel safe, at home, at peace with life. Nothing would hurt you in his arms.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you hear the water bubbling from the pot on the stove. You turn your head to see the water boiling and wordlessly break free from your favorite place on Earth. You grab the pasta you’d made from scratch on the counter and slowly drop it into the pot. You’re about halfway done with placing the pasta in the pot when you feel strong arms around your waist.

Apparently, Dick wasn’t satisfied with the kiss and was greedy for more. He hummed quietly in your ear when you told him you’d made crab ravioli for your anniversary. He littered kisses on your neck and shoulders. He held his lips against your skin for a second too long while taking you in. Your favorite place in the world was in his arms, and his was in the crook of your neck. His chin fits perfectly on your shoulder almost as if it was made for him. You felt the smile on your neck when you realized he finally felt like he belonged somewhere.

There had to be a god somewhere that knew the world was going to rip the carpet from your feet and gifted you this last bit of peace. When you finish with the pasta you wipe your hands on your apron and lean against him, your head falling on his chest. He flinches when your head falls back and lets go of you, sucking in a painful breath through his teeth.

Whipping your head around your eyes swim in worry. “What happened? Are you okay? Did I do something?”

He starts shaking his head trying to mask the pain with a smile while dropping his hand that clenched his shirt. “No, no, I’m fine. Sorry” He extended his arms out to you so he could hold you again.

You swat them away and your fingers hover over the wrinkles on his shirt where his hand previously was. “Take it off.”

“Jeez, take me to dinner first.” He tries to lighten the mood with a joke.

Your eyes were as hard as a diamond, and your jaw clenched. “Dick, I’m not playing. Take off the shirt.”

His hands hesitate at the hem of it. A flicker of anxiety he tries to hide behind another smile, but you know him too well for that to work.

“Darling, really. I’m oka-”

“Do I have to take it off for you?” He hears the seriousness when you cut him off and freezes. “Dick, you have all of three seconds to take the damn shirt off.”

Your eyes meet his and it couldn’t be more obvious how much he really doesn’t want to do this, but you’re tired. He comes back multiple times a week with bruises that are black and blue. He’s so sore that he can barely move. You tried asking questions, but he would always brush it off and say he got hurt at practice. He was a P.E. teacher at the high school nearby and the gymnastics coach. You knew there was more to the story, but you let it go, trusting that he’d tell you someday. But you couldn’t wait anymore, if he wasn’t ready after two years he’d never be. Your patience was stretched thin and your worry clouded your judgement.

He sees the relentlessness in your body language and sighs in defeat. His arms cross at the bottom of his shirt and pulls it off in one fluid motion. You could tell by the slight crease in his eyebrows; it was harder for him than he let off.

Your hand flies to your mouth in horror at the sight in front of you. There was a huge gash lining his chest from his left shoulder to the bottom of his right ribcage. He’s already gotten it checked out because it’s been cleaned out and there’s butterfly stitches all around it. You knew this was recent because he didn’t have this last night in bed and the bruises were still pink, not having enough time to fade to the inevitable purple.

“Dick…”

“It looks worse than it is, baby. I promise.”

“Worse than it is?!” He winces at the sudden raise of your voice. “Richard Grayson, you look like someone tried slicing you in half.”

His mouth is opening to make some pathetic excuse when you beat him to it.

“When- How did this happen?”

Behind his eyes you can see he’s fighting a battle with himself, debating what he should tell you. You stare at him, eyes wide waiting for an explanation on why he has gash the size of your arm across his chest.

“Sweetheart I-” he cuts himself short, just looking at you, helpless.

“Dick, tell me the truth.” Your voice is deadly. “All of it: the scars, the bruises, the pain, this- Where do they come from?”

He swallows a lump in his throat and looks around the empty apartment in hopes of a ghost coming to save him. The defeated expression you know too well from your previous fights is etched on his face when he meets your eyes.

“I- I can’t”

“What do you mean you can’t?” Your response is instant.

“I can’t tell you where I got them.”

“Why?” Betrayal flashes across your features and your shoulder square, defensive. “I’m your girlfriend, I’m not going to judge you. I’m here for you. I’ve always been. But I can’t be here for you if you don’t let me.”

He looks so distraught and for the first time in your life, you see tears lining Dick Grayson’s eyelids in frustration. Frustration you don’t know the source of. His mouth parts and shuts multiple times in the same minute, not being able to find an explanation that is both believable and will keep you safe.

“Dick, I need the truth.” There’s a finality in your voice that you hope doesn’t have to come into fruition. “You have to be honest with me, or-” you take a deep breath steadying yourself for what you hope is an empty threat. “Or I leave.”

“No- Please no. Don’t do this.” He crosses over to you in one step and grabs your biceps looking at you with nothing but pain reeking off his figure.

“Then don’t make me make that choice. I don’t want to, but I will.” You’re both crying now, a river of tears pooling at the floor beneath you that you would rather drown in than leave. You couldn’t imagine living a life without Dick Grayson, but you wouldn’t settle for less than the truth. You wouldn’t stay with half of a man.

“I can’t tell you.” It comes out in a whisper. He rests his forehead against yours, as if it’ll transfer the information he can’t spill from his lips. His eyes are shut, not being able to meet the inevitably of yours.

“Then, I can’t stay.” You close your eyes for one last moment against his forehead. Absorbing every last piece of the man you thought you’d marry.

It took everything in you to break free from him. You didn’t look at him when you turned back to the stove and turned it off. You didn’t turn to him when you took your apron off and hung it over the barstool under the counter. You didn’t turn to him when you grabbed your purse from the coffee table.

You pet Haley one last time with tears flowing freely form your eyes and kissed between her eyes. She licked your chin, happy that you had turned back to her, not knowing you weren’t coming back.

You stand back up and look at him one last time. Your heart crumbles when you meet his eyes and he makes one last pathetic attempt with an “I love you” from across the room.

“I love you too,” it comes out more pained than endearing. “But I love me more.”

And you opened the door to a life you’d never wanted to believe could exist. A life without Dick Grayson. You sobbed the whole way home, hating yourself for your standards.

° ❀ ⋆ .  ೃ࿔ * : ･ ° ❀ ⋆ . ೃ࿔ * : ･

You shake your head at the memory and look back at him with eyes blazing. “No Dick. You lied to me. You lied to me for years.” The sentence comes out heavy, all those years of weekly therapy went to shit the moment he walked into this classroom, and you hate him for it. You hate that he still has this level of control over you. “I didn’t even know you had a brother, or that you were related to Bruce Wayne of all people?!” You throw your hands up in the air laughing to yourself. “You told me you were an orphan.”

“Well, if we are getting into the nitty gritty, I am technically still an orphan. I was never adopted. I’m still just Bruce’s ward.”

It takes all the self-restraint you have to not rip those flowers out of his hand and beat him over the head with them. You just stare at him, no words, no expression, just an empty stare. For the years you spent together it was one of the few things you’d learn that would unsettle him. Dick Grayson could not sit in silence.

Leaning into it, you begin to drown in each other’s existence. Everything you never said, everything he kept from you. Coming to the surface about to break free when he sighs and looks beyond you at your desk. He sees the book that you’re reading with the class and there’s a cautious smile on his face.

“The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle? Again?”

“Yeah, it’s a good book for the kids. I read it with all my classes.” There’s a twinge of insecurity in your tone. You sometimes forgot that he also kept those memories from your relationship, that you weren’t the only one burdened with reminders.

When you and Dick dated you read this book at least twice a year. It was your favorite book when you were younger. Your mom used to read a chapter every night before tucking you into bed. He had read it with you a couple of times when he realized how important this book was to you. And deep in your closet buried with your skeletons, there’s a shoe box full of memories that kept the annotated copy he wrote for you. It was the best present you had ever gotten and when you started throwing everything out, you couldn’t bring yourself to toss it.

“I guess some things never change.” He looks at you with the smile still painted on his face and no judgement in his tone.

He was dressed completely normal, but there were still remnants of your relationship in his clothing. He was wearing relaxed fit jeans which he only started buying when you two were dating because you told him you liked how they fit his ass. He wore a grey T-shirt that clung to his biceps a little tighter than you knew he considered comfortable because you told him once as a joke, you liked having his arm on display. And lastly, there was a silver chain that hung from his neck. He had both gold and silver, and preferred gold, but you told him one day that you thought the silver brought out the blue in his eyes and he never went back.

There was a lump in your throat you couldn’t swallow no matter how hard you tried. He looks frozen in a time where you truly believed that Dick Grayson would have done anything for you. Anything but tell you the truth.

I guess he was right, some things never change.

“Mhm.” Was the only sound you could manage when you look back at him.

“Listen, about everything that happe-” His eyes soften.

“Dick not right now. We’re at a parent-teacher conference and if I keep your brother outside any longer, he’s going to break down my door.” You see Damian’s eyes peeking through the skinny window of your classroom door and attempt to get this conversation back on track.

“Then when?” His eyes have a deep desire in them that roots you to the stone floor. You didn’t realize it but over the course of the conversation he had gotten closer to you, his fingers had made their way to your wrist. He wasn’t holding on tight, but you found yourself incapable of breaking free from his grasp. Your skin was ablaze at the light touch near your hand and you leaned into it, into him.  

“I’m busy tonight but-” You faltered. You were not busy tonight. You had no plans, but this was too much for you today. This was as much of Richard Grayson you were willing to put yourself through at the moment.

“Tomorrow then?” He was on the verge of begging, you’re sure if you told him to get on his knees and ask, he would. “We can meet at the park. Around five?”

“Dick,” you sigh, “I’m not sure abo-”

“I’ll tell you everything- I’ll bring Haley.” He stumbles on his words that you almost didn’t understand him. It took you a second to remember that Haley is his pitbull and not some random girl he brought up for no reason.

Unfortunately, just like you knew everything that would undo Dick Grayson, he knew everything that undid you.

“Okay,” You resign “five it is.” You lie to yourself by claiming the only reason you agreed to this was for Haley, you missed going on walks with her and playing with her.

And Dick, for the first time in a couple of minutes let himself breathe. He was breathing as if his head had broken the surface after jumping face first into the deep end. His hand falls away to his side, hope radiating off his body.

Glancing back at the door you see a tuft of black hair that’s beginning to get restless. You move past your ex-boyfriend toward the door without another word of your plans, ignoring the way your wrist goes cold at the absence of his fingers. Your hand hesitates over the doorknob before letting Damian back inside.

What the hell did you just agree to?

° ❀ ⋆ .  ೃ࿔ * : ･ ° ❀ ⋆ . ೃ࿔ * : ･

You glance down at your wrist while sitting on the bench.

04:58 p.m.

You got to the park ten minutes ago after sitting restlessly on your couch for an hour. You’d been anxious the whole day while at school and in your apartment. You couldn’t think of anything else. You couldn’t even get through the lesson today and just gave the kids a free day to work on anything they’d like. Your best friend had called you yesterday after work for a “catch up” call and you conveniently left out that you were meeting up with your ex-boyfriend.

After the breakup, his name was forbidden to speak around your friends and family. They hated him. Your mom flew up from where she retired in Florida to Blüdhaven the first weekend after the breakup, since you hadn’t left your bed in three days. Your best friend did the road trip from where she went to university in Central City the weekend after that.

If they found out that you had agreed to meet with the man who destroyed your whole outlook on life, they’d slap you into another dimension.

You stand up moving your purse to your shoulder getting ready to leave after concluding that this is an awful idea and you shouldn’t have agreed to this, when a familiar grey pitbull jumps at your hip with more force than you anticipated. She knocks you onto the dirt path of the park. You land in a side plank on your left forearm, so you can avoid hitting your head.

“Haley No-” The familiar voice comes a little too late.

You sit on the floor while she laps at your face and barks so loud you think you’re going to suffer from temporary hearing loss. She’s running circles around you and jumping over you in such a happy way that the innocence of the scene brings a smile to your face. She’d doubled in size since you last saw her as a baby. Your heart strings are being plucked like a guitar while she catches her breath, looking at you with those big blue eyes you’d missed.

You finally pull your eyes away from her and see… Nightwing?

You shake your head and stand up so fast you get a head rush. You stumble while balancing yourself, and the vigilante reaches out to help you stabilize.

“Hi, um, I’m sorry- I’m waiting for someone.” You rush out. You don’t know what you’re apologizing for, but you want him gone. If he was near, trouble was bound to find his way to him. You were already going to have to deal with Dick, you didn’t want to handle this too.

After living in Blüdhaven, you had become quite familiar with the vigilante. He had saved you a couple times on your late night walks back from the library. You’d almost gotten mugged like seven times in the years you lived there and he had shown up every time. He never stayed long but made sure you were safe before sending you on your way. You weren’t sure what he was doing in Gotham, but you didn’t really care.

“Darling,” he says quietly and your body freezes in recognition. “it’s me.”

Your jaw drops to hell.

You were going to kill him.

Dick Grayson was Nightwing.

You’re not sure how long you were standing there just staring at him when he laughs nervously.

“Please say something, I’m starting to freak out.” He scratches the back of neck, a nervous tick he hadn’t managed to outgrow, even after all the years you were separated.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. In through your nose and out through your mouth, just like your mom taught you. Then you did the only thing that made sense to you.

You back handed him as hard as you could.

“Okay” he groans rubbing his cheek. “I deserved that.”

“Oh, you most certainly did Richard. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Um-” Through the domino mask you can see his eyebrows rising to his hairline. His hand still cradling his cheek from the slight sting.

“What was so difficult of telling me about this all those years ago? Hm?” You feel the rage about bubbling over the cauldron you’d been stirring all day. You had tried to keep your emotions in check, taking deep breaths when they anxiety threatened to take over.

This being his big secret pissed you all the way off.

He slowly reaches for your arms after they started flailing while yelling at him. He holds them so gently, it doesn’t seem to fit the crime fighting persona in front of you. He looks scared that you’re going to strike him again, and you want to, but don’t. He guides you to the bench you were just on and takes a seat next to you. Haley jumps on your lap and you take the distraction for your hands, petting her back.

“Let me explain.” He says softly.

“Oh, I will, don’t worry. And this better be all off it, Grayson. The whole truth.”

He seems to find your exasperation at him funny, and he lets out a laugh. For a second, you think he’s genuinely laughing at this, at the pain that fucking suit caused you for years and then you see it in the way he cracks his knuckles.

He’s nervous. A nervous Dick was not a common sight, and you take another deep breath trying to calm down. Not only for your sake, but for his.

You look around and see that the park is deserted, and you realize you should probably stop referring to him by his full name. You had just revealed his secret identity multiple times in the past minute. Thankfully for both of you, you were positive the trees and flowers would keep his secret if you asked nicely.

You take yet another deep breath while it was his turn to look around at the park making sure no one else was listening in. And against your better judgement, you grab his hand. He stops looking around and turns to you. You keep your gaze on Haley petting her softly.

It was a small attempt at grounding him, a small comfort you would allow yourself. From the corner of your eye, you see him sit up little straighter, bracing himself. Then he starts talking.

Once he had started, he couldn’t stop. It all came pouring out. Some of it you knew, The circus, his family, the Flying Graysons. Then he got into how Bruce Wayne took him under his wing, literally, when his parents were killed. How he grew up as Robin, how Bruce was Batman. Spending his whole life hiding his secret identity. When he finally broke free from Bruce’s shadow, wanting to make a name for himself with the Titans and then in Blüdhaven. How he fought with Bruce over the years and was replaced as Robin by his adoptive brother, Jason Todd. How Jason died and why they never forgave themselves. How it scared him from ever potentially putting someone in that kind of danger.

“When you and I were together, I wasn’t talking to Bruce.” The earnest look in his eyes is almost too heavy for you to hold. “I didn’t know how to tell you without throwing him under the bus too. I couldn’t do that to him, no matter how upset I was with him. I also didn’t want to do that to you.”

He pauses and takes a couple of breaths. You hadn’t said anything to him while he laid himself bare for you. Just nodding and the occasional squeeze of his hand.

“I didn’t want to put you in a position of constant danger. You would be leveraged against me if any of my or Bruce’s enemies found out about you. I wanted to keep you a secret, to keep you safe. I know that’s not my choice to make for you, but I was scared, scared you’d get hurt, scared you’d leave me once you found out and-”

“Dick honey. You’re rambling.” You cut him off.

He sighs and drops his head to your shoulder. The smell of his shampoo almost suffocates you and your eyes well up. You had been biting back tears through the whole tragedy of his childhood, but the shampoo you used to wash your hair with on nights you ran out of yours is what pushed you to tears.

He feels the shake of your shoulder from crying and lifts his head and wipes the tears instantly. Haley had long fallen asleep on your lap, so you two hadn’t been interrupted by her barking for attention.

“Don’t cry, please. I promise I’m okay.” He tells you while his gloved fingers swipe tears from your cheeks.

You give him an incredulous look, “Dick you are many things, but okay is not one of them.”

He laughs, actually laughs. “I know, but I just don’t know what else to say.”

“You could apologize?” You suggest with a slight humor and slight truth in your tone.

He sighs and drops to the floor in front of you. He props himself up in between your legs, on his knees. The sun has long been set, and you’re thankful for it. If someone walked by and saw Nightwing kneeling in front of you at a park, you weren’t sure you could explain it. He takes both of your hands in his and holds them against his chest.

“I am sorry for lying to you. I am sorry for not telling you sooner. I am sorry for causing you all this heart ache. I don’t want you to think that my suffering takes away from yours. I have spent every moment in the wake of this relationship mourning you. I will always love you and that will never change. I thought about you every day and every night. If you’d give me the chance to prove myself, I’d like to try again.”

Your brain shuts down. You try to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. Dick doesn’t let you get a word in regardless of what you wanted to say.

“I’ll be honest, I’ll go to therapy, I’ll introduce you to my family, I’ll take you on first dates. We can take it slow, start over, do it from scratch. I’ll do it all again, better this time. I’d do it all in every lifetime if it meant I got to spend this one with you.”

You’re still speechless but you try to focus on his words, repeating them felt easier than making up your own sentence.

“We can take it slow? Start over?” You ask hesitantly.

“Yes, whatever you want, however you want.” He nods his head, confirming he’d do anything for you.

You sit on the bench and contemplate what this will do. What it would mean to get tangled up with Richard Grayson again. Your therapist would kill you for one, but it might be worth it. A part of you hated how weak you were against him, how he could turn up and you’d give everything up for him. Even when he broke your heart, he still managed to be the reason it was still beating. After years being tortured with the ghost of him, this was a very bad idea. But sometimes, all a girl needed was a really bad idea.

 “Okay.” You exhale. “We can try again,” His eyes widen under the mask. “But you get one chance. That’s it. If you screw this one up, there’s not another one.”

Dick starts crying and drops his head onto Haley’s back in relief. He couldn’t believe his efforts weren’t in vain. That you would be willing to try again with him. He knew you weren’t lying, that this was his last chance to get it right. He wouldn’t mess it up this time, he wouldn’t let himself even entertain the idea of fucking up. He knew life with you and without you and he would do everything in his power not to relive those pain ridden years again.

So, when he looks up at you, he sees the girl he fell in love with all those years ago for the first time. Her guard was still up, and her eyes weren’t trusting yet, but it was something along the lines of it. Hope that they could eventually make it work. Hope that their paths crossed for the final time and they’d walk the rest of this life together.  

You brought your forehead against his and his hands found their place in your hair. He steals the breath straight from your lungs and you wouldn’t admit it, but you’d suffocate on the spot if it meant your dying moments were with Dick. You sit in that position leaning against him for a couple minutes with tears flowing, repeating sweet nothings to each other.

And when he kisses you in that devastating way that only Dick Grayson does, you can finally breathe again.

[lunshimmer]

─ wrong way

main masterlist

pairing: peter parker x reader

summary: peter parker breaks into your apartment (on accident). it's snowing. he can't see that well.

w/c: 1.3k

a/n: hellooooo it's time i started writing for peter. i needed to add another sad white boy to my arsenal. this'll have another part to it coming sooooon :)

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ requests are open (as always), likes, comments, & reblogs are much appreciated !

The first time Peter Parker breaks into your apartment, it’s snowing outside.

It isn’t an intentional break-in, really— just an unfortunate miscalculation of floors due to limited visibility because of the snow. He only notices that he’s in the wrong apartment when he clicks the window shut, turns around, and sees you.

Your computer sits open on the coffee table, the old plush of your worn loveseat dipping beneath your weight. It seems to him like you’re in the middle of something, based on the way your fingers move tirelessly scrawling something in the notebook on your lap. It also seems like you’d barely noticed his arrival.

Peter stands awkwardly by the window, hands drumming at his sides. Should he wait for you to notice him? Should he leave before you do? He decides that it’s probably better that Spider-Man doesn’t gain the reputation of breaking into girls’ apartments and starts to pull the window open from the bottom, when—

“What are you doing here?”

He whips around to face you. You’re standing now, notebook and blanket thrown haphazardly to the floor at the sudden motion. You’ve got this shocked look on your face, because obviously it’s normal to be shocked when a masked vigilante breaks into your apartment. He curses himself internally and watches as your eyes scan the apartment.

“Is— is something going on? Am I in trouble?” You ask.

“No!” Peter interjects, and when you flinch at the volume of his voice, lowers it and holds his arms out in front of himself, “No, no! I just, uh— this is the, uh… it’s wrong.”

“It’s… wrong?” You echo.

What an idiot. He’s got such a way with words. If E.V. doesn’t play this on loop to embarrass him later, his brain will do it for her.

With a rapid flailing of his arms, he clarifies: “No! I mean, it— it’s wrong, because this isn’t my apartment.”

By the look on your face, you’re not as terrified by the intrusion as before. A small smile creeps onto your lips as you glance around, almost as if to prove his point. “Well, yeah, dude. I could’ve told you that.”

He inhales deeply. Exhales like he’s blowing away his inability to speak. Emphasizes every word like he’s trying to correct himself. “I am not in my apartment.”

At this point, you’re not as on guard as you were. Wordlessly, you sit back down, pulling the blanket over your legs and lifting the notebook from the ground. Your hand resumes its busy motion of writing in the notebook, gaze focusing back on the laptop screen that illuminates your figure.

You’ve, seemingly, gone back to work. Peter has not. He stands there like an idiot.

After a moment, you cock an eyebrow at him. “You good?”

His face is probably scarlet— not that you’d even be able to tell through the already red fabric of his mask, but it’s the pure notion of it. He opens his mouth once, twice, trying to get any semblance of a coherent sentence to tumble from his mouth. “I’m— I’m going to leave now.”

You smile— wide, genuine, a laugh huffing through your nose as you do. “See you, Spidey.”

Peter fumbles with the already open window, blindly shoots a web, and swings back out.

The second time he breaks in, it’s pouring.

He’s absolutely sure, even with the fact that he can barely see the building with the rain beating down on him, that he’s made it into the right apartment this time. There’s no way that would happen again. He’s absolutely sure of it.

That is, until his feet land on an unfamiliar floor and the smell of vodka sauce floats in the air. A spoon clatters on the kitchen counter.

“We have got to stop meeting like this.”

It’s you, wrong-apartment-girl from before. He did it again. Son of a bitch.

Footsteps pad through your apartment and as he begins to lift his head to glance around, he notices that he’s dripping water all over your floor. A thought from May creeps into the forefront of his mind, something about ice cubes and water and hardwood floors. He quickly goes to stand off the hardwood to save the floors, but then realizes he’s now leaking water all over your nice rug.

You return from what he presumes to be the bathroom or the bedroom with two green bath towels in your hands. You hand one to Peter, which he gratefully wraps around himself, and drop the other to the puddle of water on the hardwood.

“Sorry about that, by— by the way. And— about this.”

After pushing around the towel on the floor with your foot, you pad back to the kitchen and start to stir the saucepan again. “What? You mean the fact that you keep breaking into my apartment?”

“It’s not on purpose, I promise!” He stutters, hands moving so fast that the towel nearly falls to the ground. “It’s just— the weather, and I miscounted, and—”

“Relax. I’m joking.” You say, turning off the burner beneath a pot of noodles. “Would you come strain this for me? Colander’s in the sink.”

Peter, to his own horror, obeys. He walks to the kitchen, slips on two green gingham-patterned oven mitts, and watches as the pasta produces a cloud of steam above the colander.

“Rigatoni? That’s— a good choice.” He says, small, and realizes at this moment how ridiculous he must look: Spider-Man, wielding no weapon but two oven mitts, marveling at your chosen type of pasta.

“Yeah? Thanks.” You laugh, ensuring that each burner knob is set to off. A clinking of dishes sounds from behind, and as Peter turns, he’s met with two flower-patterned ceramic bowls on the counter top. “Wanna stay for dinner? I probably made too much for just me, anyways.”

At first, he’s hesitant. He broke into your apartment, and you’re asking him to have dinner with you? It’s all backwards— not that he’s ever enact it in the forwards way, anyways, but regardless.

At his lack of response, you smile and pour the strained pasta from the colander to the pot. “What, no time to eat? Old lady stuck in a tree, or something?”

He can’t help but laugh at your joke. What else has he got to do, anyways? It’s not like he’s got anyone at home to have dinner with. “I’ll have some. That’d— that’d be nice.”

Peter pulls his mask up to eat, barely above his lips. He’s cautious about lowering it in between bites as you sit across from him at your small table. He notices you stab multiple noodles onto your fork and bite down on them, fork now clean.

“So… Spider-Man.”

“So…” Peter echoes, voice trailing off slightly. “I don’t think I ever caught your name.”

“And I don’t think I ever caught yours.” You say, grinning, eyes shining as you corner him with words.

Peter huffs a laugh. “Touché.”

A rigatoni-filled silence passes while you both continue to eat. “Fine. Keep your secrets. Remain mysterious.”

“That’s the plan.” Peter grins. He gestures up and down to himself with his fork. “Masked vigilante? It’s… kinda my whole thing.”

“I get it.” You say, stabbing a few more noodles with your fork. “Anonymity is key.”

“Exactly.” He answers. After a few moments, he speaks again. “I still didn’t get your name.”

You don’t answer. You shrug, grinning as you finish off the noodles in your bowl. The way you’ve chosen to deflect the topic makes him laugh. “What? Am I just gonna call you wrong-apartment-girl forever?”

You laugh too. “Hey! If anything, my name should be totally-innocent-repeat-victim-of-home-invasions-girl!”

“That’s… something. Very wordy.”

“Well, not all of us can be Spider-Man.”

As if on cue, his phone beeps: Bank robbery. 51st street. What an appropriate reminder.

Peter stands, firmly tugging his mask back into place as he deposits his bowl in your kitchen sink. You smile at him from the kitchen table.

“Stay dry out there, Spider-Man.”

He tugs open the window and plunges into the rain once more.

[everythingcollided]

in dreams, i meet you in warm conversation

pairing: peter parker x fem!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: brand new day spoilers (but it's genuinely the smallest one you ever did see)

summary: you're avoiding the party that mj and ned wanted to throw, but that doesn't stop you from being found by a stranger. why can't you shake the feeling that he's familiar?

a/n: umm it's been eight years since i posted on this account? we're so back? saw brand new day in theaters (twice) and felt teenage me gnawing on the bars of her enclosure this one is for her (and for y'all). potential for a part two...

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You’d never really liked parties. 

You didn’t know exactly what it was. You didn’t mind the music or the alcohol; even being around so many people was fun sometimes. Before everyone got drunk and started spilling things and yelling, obviously. But every single party you’d been to at MIT had felt…wrong. Like you were missing something. Like someone was supposed to be there with you, and they weren’t. 

Which didn’t make sense. Ned and MJ had gone to a majority of the parties you’d gone to throughout college, and they were your closest friends. How could you feel like something important was missing when everything important was already there with you? 

Either way, you’d started trying to avoid that gnawing feeling in your chest. Besides, you were growing out of the phase where going to every party and meeting every person you could fascinated you. Maybe one day that deep, dreadful sinking would go away. Maybe it would stop appearing at parties, on every birthday you turned a year older, on the small amount of dates you’d gone on where the feeling got so strong it made you nauseous.

Today, though, was an exception. You’d graduated this past summer and moved back to New York with MJ and Ned, and they were determined to throw one last party with all the college friends that had wound up back in the city, too. 

Well, Ned was determined. You and MJ were lukewarm about the whole thing. 

Which is why you were in your—abysmally small—bedroom, working through this line of code that you were pretty sure was going to get you fired from your shiny new job if you didn’t figure out why it wasn’t working, with your door open to the noise beyond. It was to keep an eye on MJ and Ned, you told yourself, even as you eyed all the swaying people around the TV you’d just spent fifty dollars on from Facebook Marketplace. Ugh, you should have moved it before. If they broke it, you were totally making Ned buy you takeout for a week.

You went back to work, thankful everyone seemed to be too preoccupied with the party to worry about the weird girl staring at her computer screen on her bedroom floor. You couldn’t figure this out. It was driving you crazy. You were sure it had worked yesterday evening, and then when you’d come into work this morning it was all wrong and every single test you did didn’t fix it and you were going to throw your computer—

A knock on your open door. A cleared throat. “Um, hey.” 

You looked up.

A guy around your age stood in your doorway. The first thing you noticed about him were his eyes, wide and expressive, looking at you as if you were the one who’d shown up in his bedroom. But…reverent too, almost in disbelief. He was looking at you like he’d never seen a girl before. 

But he was cute. And something about him…

He seemed familiar. 

“Are you okay?” he asks you. His gaze starts to bounce around the room the second you meet it, avoiding your eyes. “You looked, um, mad?”

“Oh!” You laugh a little at yourself. “I’m just doing some work. I’ve been told I look mad when I can’t figure something out. I don’t even realize it.” But who had told you that? It wasn’t your family, or Ned or MJ. But someone had told you. Who had it been?

The guy shifts on his feet. You realize he’s holding a bouquet of flowers, which is a weird thing to bring to a party, but you find it charming. He squints his eyes at you, but the corner of his mouth is lifting like he wants to smile. It makes something in your chest flutter. “You’re doing work during a party?”

He’s teasing you. You feel yourself smiling back. “Yes, I am. Super important work, I might add.”

“Oh, yeah?” He leans a shoulder against your doorframe, eyes on yours now. 

You can’t look away. 

“Yep. Keep an eye out because I’m gonna dethrone Spider-Man from the first page of the Daily Bugle tomorrow with my amazing work on debugging this finance app that only has three hundred downloads. Really groundbreaking stuff.” 

He smiles fully, now. It makes you feel triumphant, nervous, and warm. “That’s awesome because I love—What’s the name of the app?”

“Financipply” Stupid name. From the doubtful look he sends you, he agrees.

“That’s perfect because I love Finacnipply. Can’t wait to see you on the front page.” You roll your eyes, but you laugh. You both do, his shy and small, as if he hasn’t done it in a long, long time. As if he shouldn’t be laughing at all. But his eyes are bright. They turn towards the floor as your laughter dies, shy.  “So what can’t you figure out?”

And you just can’t stop looking at him. You motion towards your computer screen vaguely. “Just this code. I don’t know what’s wrong with it. It’s just not working.” 

He takes a small step forward. “Do you think…Can I…look at it?”

“For real? You code?”

He shrugs, one hand in his pocket. Adorable. “I…dabble?”

“Are you sure about that?” 

Another flash of a smile. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Alright then. Knock yourself out.”

He comes to sit next to you on the rug you found at the thrift store a couple blocks away, rubbing his palms over his jeans and looking intently at your computer screen. He smells like clean laundry and the rain the city had earlier in the day, and he’s looking at your code like he actually understands it. “Oh wow. Cool.” He scrolls through it a couple times, up, down. You’re entranced by his profile, so close.  He stops to type. “Did you try this?” 

You blink. Look at the screen. “Oh my gosh, no.” A simple line edit. You know when you see it that it’ll work. “Holy shit. You did it. Holy crap. Thank you. You’re, like, awesome.” 

“It was nothing.” But he's ducking his head with a blush.  “Seriously.” 

“What’s your name, anyway? Since you saved me from getting fired.”

“Um, May..nard.” 

“Maynard.” It sounds wrong. You’ve never had that thought before—that someone’s name is wrong. But it’s a sure feeling in your chest. The one you have when you know your code tests are going to work, and when you decided you wanted to move back to the city. It’s really the only feeling you trust anymore. 

“Yep.” He leans back on his palms, and your eyes run down his arms unconsciously, tracking muscles and veins. You have a brief, overwhelming urge to curl closer to him, to run your hands down his biceps, to take his hands into yours and trace the lines of his palms. And it feels normal, to have that feeling. So normal, your body almost starts moving on its own accord. But his voice breaks you out of it. “So, is this what you want to do? Program apps?” 

You tell him that your dream is to work on developing video games, and he nods like it makes complete sense and gets you to tell him that you’d love to make a game based off of Star Wars, which makes his eyes light up in a way that has your breath catching. 

And that’s how you end up talking to a cute boy on the floor of your bedroom for an hour, about Star Wars and your favorite video games and what got you into them in the first place. He makes you laugh, and talking to him is so easy. It’s hard to believe you just met him now and not in high school. He would fit right in with MJ and Ned. You can almost see it for a moment; the four of you hanging around the diner MJ used to work at before college, laughing and teasing and studying. The image is so visceral that for a moment it feels real. 

You’re just about to invite him over sometime because you’re so sure that they’d love him and that you want to get to know him better, when there’s a crash from the living room. 

Both of you turn, and your face immediately drops. That better not have been your TV. 

You sigh. “I need to go make sure nothing important is broken.” You almost add on a desperate wait for me, but he’s already standing up and holding out a hand for you. 

That would have been too weird to ask for, anyway. Right? 

You let him pull you up. When your hands touch, it’s almost as if the warmth radiates from his calloused fingers, grips your heart, and drags it all the way down to your toes. He lets go quickly, as soon as you’re on your feet, but you stand there for a moment, disoriented. Feeling like…feeling like you’re right where you need to be. But also like you’ve forgotten to do something. It pulls at your brain like a grocery item list you know you were thinking about five minutes ago, but no matter how far you reach, you can never remember what it was. 

It shouldn’t bother you this much—you’ve been feeling it since you went to college. It hung over you during orientation, and move-in day, and every visit home. It reaches you in dreams, and weirdly, whenever Ned shows you the thousands of videos he gets of Spider-Man swinging across the city. 

But you’d never felt this close to grasping it before. You can almost see an image in your brain, faded around the edges like an old photograph, a word floating just on the edge of your consciousness. 

“You okay?” He’s asking you. Maynard. God, why does that name sound so wrong to think?

He looks about a second away from grabbing your hand again. 

You want to let him. 

But you hear MJ’s voice from the living room, firm in the way she only uses when she’s annoyed, and you know that your TV is probably done for. Maynard seems to be able to sense it too, because he urges you to go. 

And your TV is broken, thanks to some idiot and his friend who decided to start play-fighting for no reason. He gives you a twenty from his pocket, but you can’t even focus. Your mind is too busy playing back your night. Warm brown eyes, messy curls, soft smiles. You end up just waving it off—but you keep that twenty—and rushing back to your room to find Maynard. 

Only, he’s not there when you return. 

Your laptop is closed and placed at the foot of your bed. On top, the bouquet he showed up with. 

You stand there, in the middle of your tiny room, touching your fingertips to the carnations and grieving. 

Grieving for what? You keep asking yourself. Why do I feel this way?

But you can’t figure it out. It stays, stays, stays. 

Later that night, his face comes to you in your dreams. It’s younger, unburdened with the sadness you’d seen lying underneath. He’s laughing, bright and beautiful, and he’s looking at you. You’re on a rooftop somewhere, both of you golden in the sun, and he’s saying your name with a fondness that notches into your spine. 

I love you, he says, and he means it. It’s in his eyes, in the way his expression melts into softness, in the way he traces his fingers across your shoulder and pulls you into him. 

Peter, your voice sounds just as yours does now, weighed down by adulthood. You run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and there’s a peacefulness in your body that you know you haven’t felt in years, even through the haze of the dream. I’ll always love you.

You feel the press of his lips to your hair, the curve of them as he smiles.

You wake up. Gasping, gripping the thin sheets of your bed, sweat gleaming on your collarbone. 

Peter, your mind whispers to you in the dark.

“Peter.” You murmur it into the moonlight shining across your floor, to your heart beating against your ribcage, to the knot in your stomach that finally releases. 

“Peter.” You say again. Taste it on your tongue, certain you’ve said it a thousand times, in a million different ways.

And the dark whispers back, Peter Parker.