hi guys i post art sometimes and i love superbat and superman and DCU
i also play games like stardew valley, arkham collection, minecraft, roblox (ew bro), crk, mainly mobile/console games cuz i don't HAVE A PC, undertale (not often) and i own deltarune but i haven't even finished undertale LOL!!!! i'm recovered but i USED TO play hoyoverse games 💔
i also love any 2000s tv show like how i met your mother, b99, gossip girl (holy gay), spn, smallville (obviously?)
he/him
gay + trans
yaoi enthusiast
chronically online but not THAT chronically online
highk dni if ur homophobic, transphobic, racist, maga, support viziepop, or just a weirdo
ok be nice on my platform
edit but i'm so stupid for not saying this i obviously hate batfamcest don't ever come near me if u ship that nasty shit 😭😭😭😭😭😭 i hate hate hate any of those ships they're all a family even if it's found family ur weird
Could you imagine?—his body twists and swirls around the pole, a ribbon given life and sentience. The thin, stretchy two piece of his, studded in millions of delicate little crystals, catch the light and throw it back in a kaleidoscope of shattered colors like a disco ball.
His limbs glide like he's airborne, his body weightless as he grinds against the slow spinning metallic staff, the strip club's music, a sultry, raunchy song of wanting a man's body carnally, made your heart thump and rattle beneath the layers of your carefully tailored disguise.
Since when was Dick grayson such a talented pole dancer?
He swirled his hips around, spinning around and dancing in a hypnotic rhythm with a siren's devilish allure. You watched as his back arched, chest against the shining shaft, his head falling back with that maddening look of yearning written all over his face—those black swirls coiling and springing sprightly to life as he rolled his hips once more. You knew he had to really play up the whole "pole dancing extraordinaire" for the sake of this mission, but god—
You wanted to be the reason his head threw back, eyes closed and face deliciously pinched as you pumped into him—
Focus.
You look away, lips parted and the rise and collapse of your chest irregular. (Were you shuddering? Why are you being asked if your cold?) You swallow and fix your tie, steeling yourself back into proper attention to the man who you've both been investigating for weeks on account of trafficking drugs throughout Blüdhaven.
"Yeah, I'm fine, something just..caught my eye." You explain, making sure you keep your voice clear enough for dick to hear—being miked up and all.
But the way your cock grew harder, the way it twitched excitedly at the thought of his handsome face in expressions only intercourse could pull out of him, his lithe body writhing and grinding itself deeper into your cock with a desperation that challenged even the most animals in heat, and his limbs wrapping around you, a silent plea to paint his insides white and breed him—
You knew damn well you fell in love, and you're definitely doing more than just "celebrating" after the mission.
(Authors note: check out the poll if you haven't dolls~ <3 !)
Synopsis: You return to the Kingdom of El at the age of twenty-one and reunite with Kal-El whom you’ve known since you were children, unresolved feelings start to fester.
Tags: fluff, smut, slight slow-burn, smitten Clark, yearning Clark, possessive Clark, Prince Clark, smitten reader, childhood best friends, oblivious reader
Dark Knights Of Steel AU
Reader is Giovanni Zatara’s son. Everyone calls reader ZJ (Zatara Junior). Reader is Zatanna’s brother.
Backwards sentences used as spellcasting.
No use of Y/N.
Author’s note at the end :)
————————————————————————
“I want a new name.”
You looked up from the flowers you were fiddling with to look at Kal-El, the Prince of The Kingdom Of El and your best friend.
You tilted your head at the six year old boy, curiosity written all over your face before your eyes traveled to both your mothers sitting on the garden chairs while the both of you played by yourselves in the giant yard located behind the enormous castle.
You and Kal-El have been friends since birth. Your father, Giovanni Zatara, is the emissary to the King of the Kingdom.
You were the second child of the Zatara’s. Your older sister of three years, Zatanna, being the first.
The King and your father had been friends since they were children as well, so it made perfect sense for Giovanni to serve as the main mage and diplomatic presentative of the House of El and its entire Kingdom.
You hummed, watching Kal-El pout as the other boy picked up a random blue flower in his hand and stopped him when he made the action of plucking its petals.
You shook your head with disapproval, taking the delicate flower from Kal-El’s hands before smiling to yourself.
“Clark.” You told Kal-El, the boy raising an eyebrow in response and it caused you to laugh at his confused expression.
You sat closer to him, Kal-El not moving since the both of you were always comfortable being in each other’s spaces.
“Your new name is Clark.” You told Kal-El, before looking down at the flower in your hand.
Kal-El thought about it for a second before a grin split from his face. “Then I’ll call you ZJ!”
It’s no secret you were named after your father but that comes with the responsibility and expectations that are in the name, which you’ve expressed your dislike for.
It would make sense that Kal-El would feel similarly with his own name, being the born Prince of the kingdom.
Kal-El would eventually have to take over his father’s role as King but that would be many years ahead.
“Clark and ZJ, forever!” Kal-El yells out, making you shush him. You didn’t need to get in trouble for disrespecting your household names.
“What’s this about Clark and ZJ?”
You and Kal-El turn with wide eyes to see your mothers standing over the both of you with amusement written all over their faces.
“Nothing, mother. We were just playing.” You stuttered, afraid that your mother was gonna lecture you about the importance of names.
Kal-El apparently didn’t get the memo, the other boy grabbing your hand and puffed out his chest proudly. “That’s our new names! We’re tired of our old ones.”
“Oh my.” The Queen giggled behind her hand, sharing a look with your mother who only shrugged in response before kneeling down in front of you and Kal-El.
Your mother’s lip quirked as if she was trying her best not to suddenly laugh at the two impressionable boys.
“I think those are wonderful names.” Your mother whispered, causing Kal-El to squeeze your hand excitedly.
Your mother then sighed. “However, the two of you have already been named. It will be quite a challenge to change them now, how about we let those be nicknames instead?”
“Nick names? Who is he?” Kal-El asked your mother, getting a small laugh in response as she shook her head.
Your mother smiled patiently, her hand reaching up to wipe a strand of stray hair from your face.
“A nickname is considered a special name that is only shared between you and your loved ones. Seems like the both of you have your own secret bond, isn’t that exciting?”
Kal-El nods excitedly, looking between the Queen and your mother before he turns to you. “Do you hear that ZJ? We have a secret bond!”
You nodded excitedly as well before you felt your mother tug on your hand for the blue flower.
“What do we have here, my love?” Your mother’s eyes studied the flower in amusement, tilting it up for the Queen to see.
Your mother then turns to the both of you, her eyes lingering on the joined hands between you and Kal-El.
“Do you boys know what this flower is called and what it represents?”
The both of you shook your head at her, getting another smile in response.
“These are called forget-me-nots, they are deeply tied to love and remembrance. There was a story told about a knight and his beloved, they were walking along a river when he noticed this flower and knew he wanted to give it to her.”
You and Kal-El patiently listened, enamoured whenever your mother would share endless tales about the things in life and the meanings behind them.
“Unfortunately, after passing the flower to his beloved, he fell due to the heavy armour that he wore. His body was swept away by the river’s currents and yelled out for his beloved to not forget him before he disappeared.”
You felt Kal-El’s hand squeeze yours, making you turn to see his face scrunched up with worry. You tugged his hand and gave him a comforting smile in response to his anxiety.
“Don’t worry, Clark. I’m not going anywhere.”
Kal-El lets out a breath before nodding in response.
“Do not worry young Prince, with this flower in your hands and the names of your secret bond, the both of you shall never part.”
Your mother then stands up, taking her position next to the Queen.
Kal-El holds the blue flower in his hand before turning to you. “Will you be by my side till the end, ZJ?”
“Of course, Clark.” You smiled at him.
The Queen laughed behind her hand. “Oh my, it feels like I’m watching the two of you get wedded to each other.”
Kal-El’s face turns crimson but he didn’t let go of your hand before turning to his mother. “Mother!”
The two ladies only laughed in response before letting you and Kal-El play by yourselves again until it was time to call it a day.
~~~~~
“Happy birthday, little brother.”
You were jostled awake by Zatanna in the carriage as it was on route from the Wayne Kingdom to the Kingdom of El.
You blinked blearily at her, your eyes coming back into focus to see both Zatanna and Bruce smiling at you.
You groaned, rubbing the sleep away from your eyes as you sat upright from where you were leaning on the door of the carriage.
“You couldn’t wait to tell me that until we’ve reached our destination?” You whined.
Zatanna snorted. “Well my little brother has turned twenty-one, there’s only so much time left we have together until you’re on your own journey.”
You rolled your eyes before leaning towards Zatanna and throwing your arms around her for a hug.
“Sounds like you were waiting till I was old enough to finally get rid of me.” You muttered, making Zatanna and Bruce laugh.
Zatanna smirked. “Well, there’s that too.”
“Happy birthday.” Bruce told you, making you smile at him.
Bruce was practically an older brother to you, he was Zatanna’s age. You stuck to him like glue, much to the older boy’s annoyance but Bruce never once threw you aside.
You were a quiet for a moment, still leaning against Zatanna before a stray thought came into your mind and you smiled sadly.
Bruce raised an eyebrow in response, making you shake your head.
“I just wished Mother could see us now.” You whispered, feeling your sister reach out and kiss you on the forehead.
After your mother’s assassination, your father sent both you and Zatanna away to stay with the Wayne’s.
They were an old family friend and graciously took you both in, even though you were too young to fully understand what was happening.
Your father visited once in a while as he was still busy from his work as the Kingdom Of El’s emissary.
He did stay for a few months with you and Zatanna once your magical abilities kicked in, your father trained you the best he could with the limited time he had.
Eventually, you and Zatanna got a better hold of your magic and your father had to leave once again so he could fulfill his duties.
A small part of you felt guilty, you loved your father but you also detested the man for sending you and your sister away.
Zatanna was more levelheaded and understood your father’s decisions, your sister took everything in stride and that was probably what you adored so much about her.
“Master Bruce, we have arrived.” Alfred calls out from outside, the carriage and its horses slowing down to a stop.
Alfred waited in town while the three of you entered the castle, your eyes curiously looking around to see that almost nothing in the castle had changed since you left thirteen years ago.
You did notice the increased number of guards and a small part of you wondered if the rise of security happened right after your mother’s untimely passing.
You shook it off, today wasn’t the day to sulk.
When the three of you entered throne room, you were met with three familiar figures. You blinked in surprise at the King and Queen of El, they’ve aged gracefully and were starting to show some greys in their hair.
You turned your head to see your father smiling at the three of you.
“Welcome home, my children and of course, Bruce. It’s a delight to see all of you again.”
You see Bruce bow in response, a slight giggle coming out your lips at the sight. Bruce glared at you at the corner of his eye and you just rolled your eyes in response.
The King seemed to agree with you, letting out a chuckle. “It’s alright, Bruce. Any family of Zatara’s is a family to ours.”
Bruce seemed a little conflicted, not knowing if he should continue being respectful or relaxed.
Zatanna coughed into her mouth. “Dork.”
Bruce turned to glare at her next, your sister just smirking as she ignored Bruce’s eyes on her.
The King smiled, happy that you and your sister didn’t act so distant due to your time away. “It’s good to see you children again. I must admit, it was difficult when your father sent you away for your protection.”
“The both of you were very much our family as well, my heart broke losing your mother but to lose you both soon after was too much.” The Queen added, her tone somber even though she tried to keep a brave smile on her face.
Before anyone could add to the conversation, the doors to the throne room burst open. You only had a split second to turn before you were lifted up in the air by a strong set of arms.
“You’re really here!” The stranger yells out in excitement, his face split into a dimpled grin as you realised the both of you were floating in the middle of the throne room with everyone watching in amusement.
Your hands were on the man’s shoulders while his arms were wrapped tightly around your waist so you wouldn’t accidentally slip.
It took you a second too long before your mind finally caught up with itself as you gasped, your hands immediately flying to the man’s face in disbelief.
“Clark?!”
You feel the other man’s grin somehow get bigger under your hands, Clark’s hands squeezing your waist once before floating back down.
“You remembered.” Clark whispered, his eyes looking at you with such earnestness that you felt your face flush at the attention.
The King cleared his throat, making the both of you snap back into reality. You jumped out of Clark’s arms as you turned your attention back to the throne.
“Kal-El, as much as it is lovely to see you reunite with the youngest Zatara, I would appreciate it if you hadn’t just lifted him up like a newborn in the air.” The King droned on, making Clark shift as he let out an embarrassed chuckle in response at his overexcited response to seeing you in the flesh.
“I must say, it is quite a feat to watch the Prince fly in the air and effortlessly carry my son as if he were a feather.” Your father commented in amusement, his eyes looking between you and Clark.
“We’ll have a party later in the evening, if I could have Giovanni and Kal-El stay in the room while you three go and prepare for tonight.”
You nodded, moving to follow Zatanna and Bruce out when you felt Clark grab your hand. It caused you to look back at your old friend with a raised eyebrow, Clark giving you a sheepish smile in response as if he didn’t mean to suddenly grab you.
“I’ll see you later, okay. ZJ?” Clark tells you, getting a soft smile and a nod from you before he releases your hand and lets you go.
You left the room feeling a little lighter.
~~~~~
“You’re leaving?”
You asked your sister in disbelief, standing in the hallway outside of the ballroom while the dinner party continues inside.
Zatanna sighed with a small smile. “The Wayne Kingdom needs an emissary of their own and I’ve been helping them for quite some time while you were still training. It just makes sense to stay.”
“Of course, I guess it’s just weird to me that I’m not going to see you and Bruce everyday.” You pouted, getting an affectionate bump to your shoulder by Bruce.
Bruce smirked. “I don’t know, it’d be nice not to have you cling on to me all the time now.”
A distant sound from the other side of the hallway makes the three of you turn but you didn’t see anyone, chalking it up to one of the workers in the castle walking by.
“Well I’m sure young Richard Grayson will take over my duties of annoying the brooding out of you.” You told Bruce, feeling yourself choke up.
You turned your head away from the two of them, taking a deep breath. “What if I were to return to the Wayne Kingdom as well?”
“You very well could but we all know your heart isn’t there, it’s here.” Zatanna replied.
You turned to Zatanna in confusion. “Here with father?”
Bruce and Zatanna sighed and rolled their eyes before sharing a look that screamed that you were a fool for even suggesting that reason.
You crossed your arms and huffed, not amused at being left out of their silent conversation.
You then felt your shoulders deflate, realising that Zatanna was right. Your heart wasn’t with the Wayne’s but you felt conflicted since your heart wasn’t with your father as well.
“Don’t think about it too hard, you’ll be okay without us.” Zatanna told you, making you huff out a laugh.
“ZJ?”
You hear Clark’s voice call out to you from the other end of the hallway. You turned to see Clark walking up to you with his hands behind his back as he smiled sheepishly at you.
You missed the way Zatanna and Bruce shared a look before Zatanna clapped you on the shoulder. “Hey, Bruce and I are heading back inside. We’ll leave you two alone to catch up and don’t worry, we’re not leaving till the party’s over.”
You nodded dumbly at your sister as you watched the two head back inside the ballroom, leaving you alone with Clark.
You turned back to Clark with a small smile suddenly feeling shy in his presence.
“What are you doing out here, Clark? You’re the prince, shouldn’t you be in there doing prince stuff?” You awkwardly asked, making Clark laugh.
Clark shook his head. “The party’s for you and your sister but I noticed you weren’t even in the room.”
“I mean it’s a nice gesture from The King and Queen but the grandness of it all was starting to suffocate me.” You shrugged, feeling your face flush thinking no one noticed that you had stepped out.
Clark smiled kindly, as he took a step towards you. “Would it be better if we retreated to my sleeping quarters then? Perhaps a quieter environment would be better for us to rekindle our bond.”
You didn’t think much of it as you agreed and followed Clark to his room. Passing by a few castle attendants and guards along the way that gave you and Clark puzzled expressions as you both walked by.
When you walked into Clark’s room, you were pleasantly surprised to see it very tidy, a faint memory of a messier room flashed in your mind back when you were both children.
The once bright and flashy room now shrouded in a hue of blue, you wondered if that was Clark’s favourite colour.
Your eyes drop to his desk and noticed a familiar flower, your body walking towards it as if some sort of trance while Clark watched you.
You picked up the blue flower, inspecting it carefully in your hands. Pieces of your memory slowly trickles back into your mind as you lifted your head up to see Clark staring nervously at you.
“A forget-me-not? I haven’t seen these since we were children playing in the garden behind the castle.” Your voice dropping to a whisper as you spoke, a small part of you in disbelief.
You slowly realised you had left a whole world behind when you were forced to leave.
Clark nodded, taking a careful step towards you as if you would run out of the room at any second. “This is the same one your mother froze with her magic.”
“You’ve kept it all this time, why?” You asked Clark, realising that he was now standing next to you.
Clark sighed, his eyes boring into yours. “I thought if I kept it, that you would come back to me.”
“Clark.” You started but Clark cut you off.
Clark raised his hands. “I know, I know. I was too young to understand death and that you were sent away for your own safety.”
You opened your mouth to speak but Clark cut you off again, making you slightly worried when the other man suddenly sighed exasperatedly.
“I couldn’t fully grasp losing my best friend so suddenly and my parents wouldn’t tell me about your whereabouts. I didn’t even know your mother had passed until much later in life and your father-“
Clark was cut off when you suddenly embraced his middle, his arms freezing in the air before he finally wrapped them around you and squeezed you gently.
Your face was slightly smushed against his clothed shoulder and you couldn’t help but let out a chuckle.
Clark closed his eyes, hiding face in your hair. He was slowly coming down from his high when all his senses were distracted by you.
“I missed you too, Clark. I’m sorry it’s taken us this long but I’m here to stay.” You murmured, getting another tight squeeze in response.
You smiled against Clark’s shoulder, happy to be reunited with your friend.
“I don’t remember you being taller than me.” You huffed, making Clark laugh into your hair.
Clark pulled back from the hug, his face splitting into a grin with his dimples on display. “I think you’re perfect.”
You’ve lost count at how many times your face had blushed ever since you walked into the Kingdom of El but you knew it wasn’t going to be the last.
Especially not with Clark around.
~~~~~
“You’re a fool.”
Clark frowned. “Is that any way to speak to your prince?”
“Yes, if said prince didn’t just almost killed himself. What were you thinking jumping into quicksand?” You replied, a little exasperated from Clark’s heroic act.
Clark folded his arms, some of the sand falling off his body. “The feline couldn’t help itself, I had to do something!”
Clark had jumped into quicksand to save a cat, you managed to get them both out with your magic before anything terrible happened.
Which was the life you signed up for when you agreed to be Clark’s mage companion as he went out into the world outside of the Kingdom at his father’s request.
Apparently, the King and Queen had trusted no one else more than you to accompany Clark on his adventure.
That was three months ago.
The end goal of your journey with Clark was to end up in the Amazon Kingdom where Kara, Clark’s cousin, was soon to be wedded to Queen Diana.
You rubbed your forehead as you lead Clark away from the quicksand and back to where the both of you had set up camp by a lonely lake.
“Fine, the little creature’s safe now. At least go wash off the sand in the lake, I’ll fix your clothes with my magic.” You grumbled, walking back into the giant tent.
You hear Clark follow you into the tent, the sound of cloth rumpling makes you look back before you let out a squeak of surprise at a very naked Clark.
“Clark! You could’ve at least stripped outside.” You covered your eyes, feeling your face increase in heat the more Clark just stood there.
Clark awkwardly cleared his throat. “Of course, my apologies. I will leave my garments here with you then.”
You hear Clark leave the tent and you opened an eye to peek, sighing in relief when you found yourself alone.
Your heart was beating crazily at seeing your best friend completely nude. You knew Clark was extremely attractive and he was practically sculpted by the gods, a part of you feeling slightly guilty at thinking of him in that way.
“Naelc.” You sighed out to watch as Clark’s clothes swirl in the air, all the sand landing on the ground before they folded neatly into your awaiting arms.
You walked out of the tent and paused when you see Clark’s naked back as he sat comfortably in the lake, the muscles in his back rippling.
You were almost mesmerised before you shook your head and cleared your throat to get Clark’s attention, the man tilting his head back with a small smile when he sees you holding his clothes.
“Will you join me? The water’s cooling on the skin on this warm day.” Clark asked you, making you blink in surprise at his sudden request.
You looked away shyly. “I think it would be highly inappropriate.”
“Don’t be silly, we’ve bathed together before have we not?” Clark chuckled, his eyes twinkling in delight at the way the redness from your face was traveling down your neck to hide under your own clothes.
You gave Clark a glare, your cheeks still tinted with red. “Yes but we were children playing in the pond!”
“And now we are men, enjoying the cool water on a warm sunny day.” Clark replied, seeing the gears turn in your head at possibly joining him in the lake.
You huffed before walking up to where he was at the edge before plopping his dried clothes onto the grass. “Fine but promise to look away while I undress?”
“Of course.” Clark gulped, turning his head towards the other direction and closing his eyes.
You put your middle finger up in his direction to see if he was lying, knowing that Clark hated any kind of vulgarity whether it was verbal or physical and when the other man didn’t react, you quickly stripped your clothes off before stepping into the cold water.
You sat down, getting comfortable as you shivered from the cold. “Okay, you can look now.”
Clark turned to you, his face settling on an amused smirk when he sees that you were sitting further away from him.
“ZJ, you didn’t have to sit that far.”
You rolled your eyes at his complaint. “The whole point is to relax myself in these waters and I cannot do that if we’re shoulder to shoulder.”
Clark opened his mouth to say something but paused as an idea came into his mind and without warning he splashes the water at your face.
“Clark!” You glared at the other man as you were now completely soaked. Clark was snickering at the side before yelping when you used your magic to shoot the water out from under his face, making him drenched as well.
You smirked at the incredulous look he sent your way and you shrugged. “You started it.”
Clark didn’t say anything as he drifted closer to you like a predator studying its prey and you immediately swam further into the lake to get away from him.
Your heart beat fast as you swam further in, the sound of Clark splashing in the waters right behind you before everything went silent.
You turned, not seeing Clark as you floated in the middle of the lake while your head turned in all directions with slight thrill in your spine to find him.
“Clark?” You yelled out for him, only for silence to follow. “Hey, this isn’t funny!”
You screamed when a pair of arms rose out from the water, grabbing you from behind with Clark plastering himself on your back as his laughter rang loudly in your ears with how close he was.
“Got you.” Clark smirked, the water dripping from his curls onto your shoulder. He smiled as you laughed in response.
A comfortable silence then falls onto the both of you, with Clark’s arms still wrapped around you.
“You do realise we’re both nude, correct?” You told Clark, feeling the other man shrug before his chin rested on your shoulder.
You felt your face heat up, now acutely aware of Clark’s muscled body resting against your back but you didn’t feel any sense of discomfort between you and Clark.
Clark sighed. “I love you.”
Your eyes widened and as you tried to turn in Clark’s arms, you felt him tighten his grip to keep you still.
“No, please. I am not brave enough to say what I need to if you were to look at me, so please let me finish. ZJ, please.” Clark softly begged, his voice shaking, which makes you freeze before nodding and relaxing in his arms.
Clark gulped. “I knew I was in love with you ever since we were children. I woke up everyday asking if I could see you and when your mother brought you to play, you were like the sun in my eyes.”
You were silent as you continued to listen to Clark’s speech.
“Of course as a child, I didn’t know what love was but my heart did so many leaps whenever we were together. I just knew that I needed to be with you.” Clark chuckled.
You then heard him sigh. “After your mother passed and you were taken away, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I cried in my mother’s arms every night but then I remembered about the tale of the forget-me-nots your mother told us.”
“The knight and his lover.” You replied, feeling Clark huff out a small laugh against your neck.
“The flowers were about love and remembrance so I started collecting them over the years even though I kept the one your mother froze, hoping that you would return to me one day and that I would finally be able confess my love for you.”
You felt Clark’s grip around you loosen and you took the opportunity to turn in his arms. You smiled seeing the forlorn expression on his face as if he was already prepared for you to be revolted by him.
You reached out to caress his cheek, Clark immediately resting his face against the palm of your hand. “Then tell me again, I would like to actually see your face this time.”
Clark’s eyes suddenly brightened, his face now filled with hope. “I love you.”
That was enough for you to close the distance as you latched your lips with his in a bruising kiss that Clark eagerly reciprocated.
Your arms rested on his broad shoulders while Clark’s hands gripped your bare waist in the water.
You broke the kiss, smiling when Clark’s lips trailed after yours.
“I love you too, Clark.”
Clark grinned at hearing your words, his smile so wide with his dimples on proud display before capturing your lips once again in a hungry kiss.
You couldn’t but help but let out a moan as Clark deepened the kiss, his hand now cradling the back of your head.
Your hands found his face as you continued to exchange heated kisses with the other man, feeling Clark’s tongue dart out for permission to enter and you opened your mouth to let him in.
The heaviness of his tongue twisting with yours in pleasurable harmony as he swallows down all your moans and whimpers.
Your hands travel down his ripped body until you found what you wanted as you wrapped your hand around his aching cock in the water, causing the other man to let out a startling moan.
“My love, are you sure?” Clark asked you, letting out short breaths as you stroked him.
You nodded, pecking him on the lips. “I crave you inside me, Clark. Take me as yours.”
The next thing you knew, you were being carried in Clark’s arms as he walked out of the water with you and back into the privacy of your shared tent.
Clark carefully laid you down on his makeshift bed, staring hungrily down at your body before getting on his knees on the side of the bed to pull you closer to him.
You only had a second to regather your thoughts before Clark lifted your legs up and dove his tongue into your hole, making you cry out as Clark hungrily licks into you.
It was as if Clark had became a feral animal, his tongue fucking into you with such sheer force that it makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.
Your hands then found their way to the top of his head, your fingers gripping onto his curls and it makes Clark groan in pleasure as he doubled his efforts.
You let out a cry when Clark then latches his lips onto the rim of your hole and sucked, the suction making your body shudder in response.
“Clark, get on the bed.” You told the other man, feeling Clark kiss your hole for the last time before shifting to lay next to you.
You pecked him on the lips, tasting yourself on his tongue before you descended on the bed until you were resting on his long legs.
Clark’s cock twitch in anticipation, making you smirk up at him before you took his impressive length into your mouth.
Clark threw his head back into his mattress with a groan, your tongue swirling around his cock as you bobbed your head on it.
Your eyes traveled up his body to find that Clark’s eyes were closed with his lips pursed as you continued to pleasure him.
It lights up a fire in your gut before you released Clark’s cock from your mouth with a pop and you smirked up at him when his eyes open to meet yours.
You lifted yourself up, climbing on top of Clark and balancing yourself with a hand on his chest as you stared down at Clark’s awed expression.
“You are so beautiful.” Clark whispered, making you shiver before you aligned his cock with your entrance and then slowly sank down onto his lap.
Clark then sits up, his mouth kissing your chest supportively as you let out small cries while you took more of him in.
“You’re so big.” You whimpered when you finally sat down on his lap, feeling Clark’s cock twitch inside you at your words.
Clark breathed heavily against your chest, practicing so much self control to let you adjust to his girth. “You are so tight for me, my love.”
Clark then moved your body so that you were lying on your back and he was hovering over you, the shift of his large cock makes you whimper.
“Can I move?” Clark asked, his eyes boring into yours and you nodded in reply as Clark’s hips began to work.
You couldn’t help but let out gasps as Clark fucks his cock into you, your body feeling like it was being split right in the middle.
Clark kissed your neck and murmured words of encouragement as he continued to thrust into you, the sound of his hips slapping against your cheeks.
Your nails dug into the skin of Clark’s back with your legs hooking on the back of his waist as Clark continued to roll his hips.
“Oh Clark, right there.” You whimpered in his ear when you felt the tip of his cock hit your prostate, the pleasure rippling throughout your body.
Clark groaned, feeling your hole squeeze his cock. “By the gods, you feel amazing.”
You could only nod mutely as Clark’s hips move faster and harder, causing you to hug him tighter while his mouth latched itself onto your neck.
You couldn’t even let out a sound as Clark’s control starts to slip as the sound of his hips slapping against your ass grows louder.
The heat in your gut starts to pool and you grabbed onto the back of Clark’s head to pull him away from your neck.
Clark looks down at you in bliss as he continues to fuck you. “Are you close, my love?”
“Yes.” You moaned out before Clark kisses you, swallowing all the pitiful sounds you were making before you let out a cry into his mouth as your cock suddenly erupted in between your stomachs.
Clark lets out a loud groan when he feels your cock squeeze him tightly from your own ejaculation that he starts to fill your insides with his hot seed.
“I love you, I love you, I love you.” Clark mumbles against your lips as his cock continues to spurt out of his seed.
You let out a huff as you caressed Clark’s cheek before pushing his curls off his sweaty forehead.
“Are you alright, my Prince?” You teased Clark, getting an eye roll and huff from the other man as he kisses your shoulder.
Clark’s body stayed on top of yours, your hand playing with the curls on the back of his head while he hides his face in your neck.
“We have to clean up, Clark.” You told the other man.
Clark sighed. “Must we?”
“Yes.” You rolled your eyes at him before Clark shifted to pull his softened cock out of your hole, his seed trickling out of you.
You and Clark then slowly made your way back into the lake to wash off but the high of your sexual intimacy lingered.
Clark ended up making love to you in the waters till the blue sky turned orange before the both of you properly rinsed off.
For the first time since you and Clark left the Kingdom of El, the both of you shared a bed since Clark’s was full of sweat and spunk.
The two of you were too tired to clean, falling asleep on your bed instead while in each other’s arms.
The first of many nights.
~~~~~
“Clark, come on. We’ll be late.” You giggled as Clark continued to kiss your neck, grumbling under his breath at you interrupting him.
Clark pulls back from your neck with a huff, pouting when you held a hand out at his chest so he couldn’t go back in. “It’s not the end of the world if we’re late.”
“It’ll be the end of us by the hands of Kara if we’re late for her wedding.” You laughed as you pushed Clark back so you could walk around him to continue dressing up for the event.
Finding your cloak to wear over your dress shirt and black vest that your father let you borrow.
Clark chuckled, following your lead as he continued to dress up as well.
You whistled once he shrugs on his House Of El red cape over his traditional wedding garments, causing the other to faintly blush at your attention.
“Very handsome.” You teased Clark, walking up to examine the cape before pecking him on the cheek.
You were about to walk away when Clark grabbed your hip to still you next to him, making you look at him with raised eyebrows in question.
Clark smiled softly down at you. “I want this life with you.”
“Clark, you’re already living your life with me.” You replied to Clark in amusement.
Clark shook his head. “I want to be your husband.”
Your eyes widened at Clark’s sudden declaration.
“It doesn’t have to be now, maybe sometime in the future if you would have me as yours.” Clark added on, trying to console your thoughts.
You rolled your eyes. “You’re already mine, Clark but I would be honoured to be your husband.”
Clark grinned. “The honour is mine, my love.”
The both of you shared a kiss, one full of love and promise of the future.
When Clark tried to deepen the kiss, you immediately broke it off and shoved him slightly back.
“Enough of that, let’s go.” You tutted at him, getting Clark’s signature pout in response.
You laughed, gathering your things for the wedding. “If you’re good today, you might get something special after the wedding.”
That was enough for Clark to immediately grab your hand as he stumbled out the door with you, your laughter ringing in his ears as he lead the way.
To a brighter story ahead.
*****
Author’s note:
This was a fun idea but it was definitely slightly difficult to plan and write
I’m just happy I got this out even though I wasn’t sure of how to end it
𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝟎𝟏 — 𝒹ick grayson 𝄞 ℴffice au . rivals to lovers .
CHAPTER SYNOPSIS 𐔌❤︎ ͡꒱ Monday. A whistleblower lands on The Meridian’s desk and Chief Morrison has exactly one week and two people who can’t stand each other to crack it open.
AUTHORS NOTES⠀𝆹𝅥 guess who’s cracking down on a new series !!! yes, it is i !! i am so excited for this one. there’s already an established main and sub plot alongside cast <3 i hope you guys enjoy reading this !!
WORD COUNT⠀𝆹𝅥 4.5k words.
◌♥︎̼̻ ͟ ͟ ͟ ͟ ㅤׂ SERIES MLIST & TAG 𓋭⠀ MAIN MASTERLIST.
There’s almost nothing that cracks through your wall of wryness. This is a skill you’ve sharpened over and over again non-stop since arriving at the office of The Meridian; a top media outlet in Blüdhaven, the main building taking its rightful place in the heart of the city’s harsh infrastructure. Your own sardonic architecture needs to be as quick and sharp as your co-workers rushing past you or straight up hiding behind corners just to avoid a face-to-face meeting with you.
Some might say your mordant personality pushed others too far instead of just keeping them at a safe distance. Not that you ever understood the importance of shaking hands and pretending you were life-long friends with your colleagues. You weren’t. Gossiping in the cafeteria about who’s on the cutting block for the office’s instant whispers didn’t appeal to you as a satisfactory past-time. As Section Editor, you have more important things to worry about.
Even now—walking down from your small office tucked away from the main heart of the building—the whispers bite at your heels.
“I’m doomed,” someone’s panicked voice reaches your ears from around the corner, “if the Section Ed doesn’t see my pitch on their desk in the next 15 minutes I’ll be chewed and spit out by them!”
You don’t plan on chewing out anyone, nor spitting them out. But this entire office seems to think that you’ve grown teeth to bite into them every time they make a mistake. You’ve noticed that discipline is a word not often found in their vocabulary.
You stop your step just around the turn, tilting your head towards the talking pair. You recognize the panicked tone of one of the Fact-Checkers—Marlowe—if you remember correctly. Timid little thing, she runs away every time she spots you in the halls. Though that doesn’t excuse her neglecting her responsibilities.
You’re about to turn the corner and face her. You don’t plan on chewing her out, but a firm piece of advice will do the job of bringing her back to earth and make her deliver the scheduled pitch.
“Don’t worry too much,” a new voice stops you dead in your tracks; light tone, sing-song levity floating between every syllable, “I’m sure I can help with calming our Section Ed down.”
You can recognize that voice anywhere. Pure unfortunate luck for his annoying voice to grate on your ears. As if Mondays weren’t already a punishment.
Dick Grayson. Investigative Reporter. Pride and joy of The Meridian just in the six months he’s been here. He’s charming, the sources flock to him, people talk non-stop about how kind and easy to talk to he is. while you'd rather not talk to him at all.
You take a step back, pushing your shoulder to the wall. You contemplate breaking up their little conspiracy to “calm you down” like you’re a rabid animal that needs to be muzzled, as if you’re not just trying to do your job.
“How about this?” You hear Dick continue, voice so saccharine it makes you want to gag. “I take care of the pitch and see them myself.”
“Oh, thank you.” Marlowe lets a sigh of relief, you can imagine her shoulders dropping as Dick Grayson has dropped by and done her another favour. “Are you sure? They’re quite… reactive to mishaps like this. I haven’t even seen them smile once.”
“Don’t let them hear you say that,” Dick laughs off Marlowe’s comments, as if it wasn’t a slap in your face. “They run a tight section.”
He sounds as if he’s giving you a crumb of praise, but you know Dick Grayson has never said a single honest word about you since you had the misfortune of meeting him.
You turn on your heel. Enough of listening to them. This is surely eavesdropping and you’re above that. You feel your chest tighten in an uncomfortable hold at the word “reactive” and “smile.” You don’t owe them anything, especially your smile. Why does that even matter to them? You try and block out the rest of their conversation as you walk towards your office.
+++
The pitch paperwork feels unusually heavy in Dick’s hand. The manila folder holds a pitch he was piecing together over the entire past month. A sacrifice he’s going to have to make to keep his good reputation running with his colleagues. He imagined Marlowe mentioning his favour to her to the rest of the staff.
Dick can’t entirely chalk up this interaction to his need to keep up face. If he’s being honest, the thankful looks fuel something in him. Not exactly honest and chivalrous. He keeps tabs of his collected favours. When needed, he’ll ask for them back. It’s a transactional system; full of two-faced, carefully measured, and neutral comments. He’s mastered playing it, akin to a chess board.
He stops in front of an office hidden from prying eyes with the curtains drawn and the front door window blurred. A small golden rectangular sign hangs proud and high on the entrance.
Section Editor.
Your name is etched below in smaller letters.
It’s a curious game—chess, that is—especially when you’re playing with someone who looks down on the board in contempt as if it’s dirt under their boot.
Dick knows exactly how you look at him. What you think of him. Or how you view him. He’s gotten almost every single staff member at The Meridian to open up to him, except for you and a few others. Though you stay a constant reminder that not everyone will play his game. Especially not you.
He remembers meeting— or, well, hearing about you for the first time. A small welcome party was thrown for him in the office just a few days after his transfer papers were verified. Almost everyone was present—Copy Interns, Senior Reporters and so on—except for you.
“You’ll meet the Section Editor soon.” Chief Morrison reassures him with a steady voice, his calloused hand scratching his neck as if something was pulling at his nerves. “You’ll work with and answer to them.”
“Of course.” Dick answers, responses ready and quick to roll off his tongue. “Any reason they couldn’t show up?”
“The proper wording for it would be “any reason they didn’t show up.” They’ve got a bit of a… heavy personality. You’ll get used to it. Or not. Just try not to get snappy with them.”
“Now why would I do that to a colleague?”
Dick realizes that maybe he jinxed himself that day. Chief Morrison’s words only gave him a small peek into your character and place in the office. Professional but sardonic, competent but averse to group work, fair but quick to jump to conclusions. And utterly isolated from the entirety of the staff.
A hell of your own making. Though he’s never been able to make you see that. So yes, he had gotten snappy with you multiple times, much to the chief’s dismay.
It’s not entirely Dick’s fault. He’d stop if you’d quit ignoring and undermining attempts to build a bridge between your icicle of a heart and the rest of your co-workers.
He taps his foot against the floor. He can imagine what he looks like right now— furrowed brows, lips thinned and face twisted in an unpleasant mood, all because he’ll knock on your door in a second and meet face-to-face with you. You’ll hide behind your walls of dry wit and he’ll try not to sneak in a backhanded remark in the short conversation you two will have. If you could even call them conversations. A fragile peace built on two-faced promises of tolerance is more of a proper description of what you two share.
He doesn’t get the chance to knock. Your door opens from the inside. You step in front of Dick. His eyes quickly lock onto yours. The sudden action has him glued to his spot in front of your office. His fingers tighten on the file clutched in his hand.
“What is it, Grayson?”
Straight to the point as always. Never any room for small talk.
“You startled me there, Boss—”
“It’s Section Editor. Not Boss.”
“Of course.” He clicks his tongue, trying to keep his composure. “Though you do have a knack for bossing me around. Not that I’m complaining.”
“I doubt you would complain about others bossing you around.” You mutter under your breath and Dick doesn’t miss the tone of distaste in your voice. “Come in.”
He’s been in your office dozens of times and the state of the room still makes him question your tastes. Drab walls, no saturation nor colour, no plants and no family pictures. Just clinical white and the faint smell—which he can’t quite place—of a cologne that clings to your body. The aroma is unfairly distracting.
The smell is another small detail added to the growing list of mysteries around you that he can’t quite solve. “Can’t solve” is not a phrase Dick uses frequently. On the contrary, he prides himself on reading people and guessing their every next move.
But you— you’ve remained a puzzle he could not figure out for quite some time now. A jigsaw with a piece missing. He can imagine the missing puzzle piece sticking out like a sore thumb. He notes that his thoughts draw a parallel to how you “fit” in the office; standing a respectful distance away from colleagues, staying late or leaving way too early for reasons he doesn’t know and the dozens of other habits of yours he’s tried to dissect in his mind.
Dick has heard enough gossip that paints you as a standoffish individual with issues that your co-workers have put their entire creativity to conjure up, but he wonders what the real you is like. What exact buttons he has to push to make you react fully and not only quip back with your dry wit at his every remark.
He hopes that you can’t see the way his thoughts translate into his stare that never leaves your frame. He might be staring at you too intently. You might notice and make him feel like the fool he truly is for walking into your trap, knowing that your words can truly bite and not just bark.
But that’s not what he’s here for. At least not for now.
“I have a pitch for you, Boss.” Dick clicks his tongue and leans back into the chair right in front of your desk. “I thought I’d come by and drop it off.”
You note how he fits into the seat. How his shoulders fall just slightly to give the impression of him letting his guard down, but the manila folder in his hand remains in a grip that’s a little too tight.
“Tense, Grayson?” The words slip past your lips naturally. You could try to bite your tongue and hold back your unprofessional comments (as the chief puts it).
But the look of surprise that flashes across Grayson’s face for a moment is worth every reprimand you could get from your boss. Dick’s lips curl into a strained smile and you can feel something akin to sweet satisfaction bloom in your chest.
A point for you.
Not that you were keeping track.
“You wound my heart, Boss,” Dick begins, voice ever so soft and leading, “couldn’t you be a tad bit kinder to me? I thought seniors were supposed to take care of new colleagues.”
You fight back against the urge to roll your eyes. You’ve noticed over the few months of knowing Dick Grayson that he loves the sound of his voice a bit too much. Even when he’s spewing nonsense. Unfortunately, his nonsense has a habit of finding its way to you.
“Heart?” You try to steel the sarcasm in your voice, “I wasn’t aware that was something you valued, considering your habit of… misconstruing information about your seniors that you seem to respect so much.”
Dick loosens his grip on the folder for a moment, almost letting the contents of it drop from his hand. So you heard him and Marlowe talk about you in the hallway. He didn’t notice you were near. He could at least pretend to sputter an apology. Say that he didn’t exactly agree with Marlowe. But he didn’t stop or disagree with what was being said about you either. But what could you even counter with? Marlowe was right, in a way.
“And what exactly have I been misconstruing, Boss?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Dick.”
“Finally,” he says, tone half laughing and half tinted with arrogance, “we’re on first name basis now, aren’t we?”
“While we’re on the topic,” you stop for just a second in the middle of your sentence, the we leaving a strange taste on your tongue, “I am still your superior, you don’t get the privilege to call me by name or by any ridiculous nickname you’ve come up with, such as Boss.”
Dick puts the manila folder down on your desk with a little bit more force than necessary. He grins at you but instead of seeing the charming smile he shares with others, you see something akin to a wolf baring its teeth to you.
“I’m sorry, did my and little Marlowe’s words bother you?—”
“Marlowe’s not little and they don’t need you looking down on them by using words like that.”
“I think you’ve got it wrong, Boss.” Dick leans closer to your desk and you mirror his movement. “That kind of condescension is your thing, not mine.”
You both stare at each other for a moment. The air has become more suffocating than it usually is when you two are in the same room. You lean back first, spine straightening and letting out a cough.
Dick blinks, eyes clouded with a moment of confusion before he settles back into his barely professional persona again.
“The pitch.” He throws a quick look at the folder on your desk.
“Right.” You pick the folder up a bit too quickly, as if you’re waiting for him to get up in your face again and start talking about nonsense again.
“That was all. Uhm,—”
“I’ll get back to you after tomorrow when I’ve looked the pitch over.”
He opens his mouth, surely another smart comment he’s ready to gift you, but he stops as quickly as he started.
“I’ll get going now.” His voice sounds strangely stripped of the confidence he wears around the rest of the office.
“Make it quick.”
“You don’t have to rub salt into the wound, Boss.” He still manages to spit out, but it sounds strained.
“Close the door on your way out, Grayson.”
“Okay, okay.”
Dick closes the door behind him. Just like that he’s gone from your office. The air returns to the room. You can finally breathe in and out. Your eyes find the folder still unopened on your desk. You move it to the side, unable to bring yourself to read his words on paper. You’ve had enough of hearing him, you don’t want to continue being irked by Dick Grayson anymore.
How unfortunate that Chief Morrison has made it clear that he’s here to stay. You’re sure that you’ll never get used to Dick Grayson.
+++
It’s past mid-day when you make your way to the cafeteria. The buzzing conversations between your co-workers bounce off the walls. The air feels heavy with the smell of different aromas all around; perfumes, food, even the faint scent of stationary clings onto some of them. The large windows offer an impressive but not a warm view of Blüdhaven.
It all feels too much.
Your feet stay anchored to the floor. You’re standing in a far away corner of the cafeteria, just a step away from the counter. You don’t want to admit to yourself that you feel a bit shaken. You’re sure the eyes of your colleagues sneak your way once or twice from their seats.
You’re starting to think you look ridiculous standing alone and not getting anything to eat.
“Hey,” you hear a familiar voice call out from behind you, “you’ve got no colour on your face.”
You can recognize that voice anywhere. You turn on your heel and see the one person you can turn to for help in the entirety of The Meridian building — Jo — a features writer who’s the complete opposite of you, but fits perfectly with you like a puzzle piece.
“You still haven’t answered me.” She moves to your side to hook arms with you. “Did something happen?”
The two of you move right in front of the counter. The freshly baked desserts stare back at you.
“Not something,” you spit out, “more like someone.”
Jo picks up her regular pastry and coffee along your own regular order.
“Come on,” she begins, voice soft around the edges, the complete opposite of yours, “tell me which unfortunate victim made the mistake of irking you.”
“Oh,” you tut, “you know them very well. Everyone in this godforsaken office does.”
“We sound like gossiping teenagers right now.”
“Oh please,” you groan, “these vultures do more gossiping everyday than we do every month.”
“They’re not so bad.” She looks at you with a sympathetic smile that you don’t want to see. “Yes, sometimes they get wrapped up rumours but all that could be fixed if you let them know you.”
“But they do know me.”
“They know of you, but they don’t know you like I do. I imagine more than half of this office wouldn’t even believe me if I tell them that you actually can have fun and let loose once in a while. Remember my last birthday?”
“Don’t remind me.”
“You were so drunk! It was amazing! We had so much fun dancing. You even went up to the DJ—”
“I said to not remind me!”
Jo’s laughs fill the air as you two finally make it to your table. She sips on her coffee while sending you amused looks and you pick at your pastry trying to forget the entirety of today and whatever you did blackout drunk at Jo’s birthday.
“You know what? There is someone who’d believe that drunk story about you.”
“Someone as crazy as you, I’d imagine.”
“Take that back.” she points the soft edge of her fork at you, but the playful tone in her voice lets you know that she’s finding all of this entertaining.
“What are you going to do? Stab me with that?”
“We’re getting off topic!” She puts her utensil down. “You could try to make a few more friends here.”
“I think being co-workers is enough for me.”
“See?” Jo sighs, “that’s the problem. You need to let people in. Take Dick for example—”
“Oh, not you too.”
“What?”
“He’s insufferable! I know he’s all talk and charm in front of you guys, but all he can say around me are insults.”
“Didn’t you call him a charity case few days ago? After the budget meeting, if I remember correctly.”
“Only after he laughed with one of the Senior Reporters after they called me a hermit!”
Jo’s brows furrow. “You two aren’t civil with each other at all.”
“It’s entirely his fault—”
“If you want to push the blame onto anyone, it should be the both of you.”
“Seriously?” You pout, knowing how ridiculous all of this sounds like.
What are you even talking about? A petty rivalry you have with someone who’s below you on the corporate ladder and irritates you to no end? You have it all; a successful job, secure savings, a beautiful apartment on the safer side of Blüdhaven.
But still you find yourself under scrutinizing eyes of your colleagues, especially Grayson’s. And for whatever reason his stare bothers you the most.
Jo’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts again. “You two fight all the time. And even though it is kind of amusing—”
“Why thank you, Jo. I thought you were my friend.”
“Of course I am.” She shushes you and pushes your pasty back into your hands, gesturing for you to eat. “That’s why I am saying at least one of you has to wave a white flag and give up this rivalry you two have.”
“That won’t be me,” you answer, voice steady and confident, “that’s for sure.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Jo remarks with a tone that makes you think that she’s not telling you everything that she knows.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Jo looks at you with widened eyes, before she puts her hands up. “I’m completely innocent.” Though after you don’t give it up she sighs and relents. “Okay. So, I was talking to Tim—”
“Of course you were.” You tug on your collar, trying to loosen it. “Did he tell you how great Dick is before asking you out on a totally-not-a-date?”
“First, I’d tell you if it was a date—”
“Sure.”
“—Second, it was a work call. Turns out chief Morrison wants you to handle a new project. You know as a fact-checker he needs to be on top of things.”
“I don’t need to know what he’s on top of.”
“Did you just make a joke? Look, you’re a natural!”
“Get on with it, please.”
“It’s a whistle-blower! Can you believe it? And The Meridian has caught it. Morrison is choosing a section editor and probably an investigative reporter. Keeping it small, but capable.”
“And you think I might be the section editor chosen?”
It’s not far fetched. If you were to rank who you had a decent relationship with in this office the chief would come right after Jo. You’ve worked on pieces that need urgency before but nothing as alarming as a whistle-blower.
This could be another step closer to the managing editor position. You cannot let this chance slip from your fingers. You will not let anyone ruin this opportunity for you.
You’re brought out of your train of thought by a timid sound of footsteps to your right. You and Jo look and find the nervous Marlowe approaching your table.
“Section Editor,” they finally spit out, voice tinted with nervousness. After that they turn to look at Jo and give her a warm Hello.
You don’t let the differences between the greetings stay heavy in your chest for long.
“Is there something you needed?”
“Right.” Marlowe straightens up at the sound of your voice. “The chief sent me.”
At the mention of Morrison you and Jo share a look. You probably wear the look of satisfied ambition a bit too well. Even Marlowe lets their shoulders drop at the sight of the slight smile appearing on your face.
“What for?”
“He didn’t mention it. Only for you to come to his office after lunch.”
Hook, line and sinker. Well, you have tricked Morrison in a few ways just to pave ways for yourself professionally. But none of those successful attempts were illegal.
“Thank you, Marlowe.” You say, trying to soften your voice. It happens by instinct. You can’t tell if you like it.
Marlowe blinks. “Of course, Section Ed. I’m happy to help.” You only catch a small glimpse of their smile before they turn and walk away.
“You’re so getting that promotion.” Jo playfully shoves your arm.
“Hell yea, I am.”
+++
Dick has noticed that Chief Morrison has a similar taste to you when it comes to decorating. By that he means that you two have a serious lack of imagination. Morrison’s office is so bland there’s not even a single plant to add life to the room.
“I could get you a cactus for a birthday gift, sir.” Dick shifts in his seat and throws a bemused look at Morrison. “Cactus seems fitting for you, doesn’t it?”
“Is that the same bull-crap you told Section Ed before they walked out of their office huffing and puffing?” Morrison raises a brow at Dick, clearly not entertained. “I’d like my employees to put their shitty relationships away and work together for once.”
Dick stops talking for just a moment. He wouldn’t even call what the two of you have a work relationship. Too intimate and too distant at the same time. The two of you are always contradicting each other and butting heads.
“What do you mean by working together?”
“You’re quick to catch up.” Morrison pulls out a manila folder out of the drawer that’s always locked.
Not that Dick needs to know which cabinet his boss locks, but it is helpful for future problems. (If he ever would have one).
Morrison places the folder in front of Dick. The bright and bold Confidential is stamped on in saturated red across the light surface of the folder.
“Is this about that infrastructure firm? What was the name? It’s on the tip of my tongue.”
“Vantage Consolidated,” Morrison begins, “and I need you to investigate. I already know Drake would give you a heads up about the firm, but don’t fool yourself into thinking you’ve got clearance to write a single word about this without the approval of your superiors.”
Dick straightens in his chair. His smile that he plasters on his face like a mask has probably deteriorated. He doesn’t like the fact that this is the second time he’s been talked down to by his superiors. First you and now—
Wait.
You.
Morrison has lost it. The old man has truly lost his ability to think clearly if he plans on making Dick answer to you while investigating this.
“You don’t mean that I have to—”
“Work for the section ed? As you’re paid to do, Grayson? What’s so difficult for you to get?”
“They won’t like this.”
“Frankly,” Morrison laughs, a rare sight, “I don’t give a shit about what the two of you like or don’t like. I want this done by Sunday.”
“A week?” Dick scoffs, “with all due respect—”
“Grayson, you can stop with the flattery. It won’t help you. And it pisses me off. Very much so. You’ve got a job. They’ve got a job. Do it. What else do I pay you idiots for?”
Morrison tilts his head back against his chair. He lets out a tired sigh.
“I deal with children like the two of you. I’d ask for a raise, but what more can I get after becoming Chief? Now shut your mouth and behave. I need to brief the two of you.”
Dick’s eyes trail to the office door. In a few minutes you’ll walk in. Maybe you know that you’re being paired with him. Maybe you don’t. For some reason Dick finds himself more curious about what expression you’ll wear when you walk through that door and lay your eyes on him. Maybe pure irritation and a scoff is all he’ll get. Or maybe he’ll find what buttons he needs to push to make you spew out anything else other than an insult.
He’s got a whole week with you. He swallows the heavy feeling down, but it lodges itself in his chest.
It’s going to be a long seven days.
EXTRA NOTES ✿꫶ Reader’s reaction is gonna be like a bomb blowing up in Morrison’s office. We have a cast in the progress here. Jo was written with my lovely mutual @coffeelovingreader in mind <3 I plan on adding little easter eggs like this more down the road.
“That’s why you keep asking to go on patrol with me, right? My cutting intellect?” He asks, dipping a fry from his takeout box in a pool of ketchup. You wonder if the splotch on his sleeve is from a rather exuberant dip, or if it’s blood from earlier.
“Among other things.” You say, feeling like it’s finally your turn to offer someone an ambiguous response. Especially as he returns to this topic of conversation he is so insistent on having out with you. For emphasis, you take a great bite of your food to allot you more time to muster defenses.
“What other things?” Jason presses, because it might work with someone else—but not him, who, with no protection of the mask to guide his face, bores his eyes into you.
“Like the fact that you paid for the food.” You offer gleefully, both of you knowing this is unsatisfactory.
“Can’t be the only thing.” He says, his tone surprisingly level. Why on earth is your heart beating so fast?
tl;dr: stuck in the middle with you. Dick Grayson/Reader/Jason Todd
You find that out of all the people to work out with in the Wayne Manor gymnasium, the one you actually feel most at ease with is Dick. Perhaps it’s his easygoing demeanor, or the fact that he doesn’t hover, holding you to a rigorous regimen the way others might.
Instead, he chooses to gravitate near, a celestial body that rotates in similar orbit but never in a claustrophobic manner, intersecting only at opportune moments to check in before retreating away to other matters at hand. You enjoy it because he’s a presence, but not overly present.
And sometimes, it can be a marvel to watch him, especially when he takes to the mats, demonstrating the hard-earned work of years worth of training. While you huff out jagged breath as you slam your barbells to the ground, sweat streaming down your temples, breath is stolen yet again as you watch him take flight. You watch as he tumbles, flips, seems to defy gravity in a manner almost superhuman, muscles pushed to the physical limit with each twist and curl.
When he lands on the ground, it defies the barbarity that seems to stymie your feet to the floor with each plodding step. There’s something beyond him as his feet touch the ground, arms spanned out to grant him bearings as he returns from the air.
And then he turns his head to you as your shoulders catch up, fighting for oxygen with your past exertion. When he smiles, he’s not some daredevil —just Dick again.
“You know,” he states, not even breathing hard, “It’s not so hard to do a double backflip.”
His hands splay out to frame his midriff. “It’s all in the flex of the hips.”
You shake your head dubiously, swiping your palm against the wet span of your forehead. “You say that, but I also didn’t have ‘the flying’ tacked in front of my name for the first decade of my life.”
Said Flying Grayson appears unabashed at your jape. “Don’t need a moniker to be an acrobat.”
“Yeah, but it does give you some street cred.” You argue his point, the syllables catching up to verbal legibility. “If anything gets tacked on in front of my last name, it’ll be something less graceful.”
“Like what?” He asks, putting a hand to his hip. This displays the curl of a bicep that enabled him to stand vertically upon it for a protracted, impressive minute.
You think, searching for the ceiling for a proper response as you search for breath. “Like ‘the adequate fighter’ or ‘the defense-heavy.’ You know, something that really describes my attributes.”
Dick smiles. “Why not just go for the obvious one?”
You tuck a damp lock of hair behind your ear. “Like what?”
He pretends to be lost in thought. “Like ‘the beautiful.’”
You summon enough energy to relegate him with a disbelieving smirk. “Might believe you if I wasn't dripping sweat, Grayson.”
He’s undeterred by this, adjusting the collar to his compression shirt, which illustrates an impressive set of framed muscles. “I’ll make sure to bring it up later, then—just to really get the point across.”
“Ha ha.” You dryly reply without any real heft to it. “I’ll make sure to remind you.”
“Please do.” Is his glib response. “ And you know, acrobatics aren’t that hard. I could teach you.”
You’re not immediately wary, but you certainly pause, palming the back of your neck to send a cautious rub up and down the column of it. He patiently waits for you to organize your thoughts.
“I don’t know—”—you begin, keeping your eyes askance from him—“—It’s one thing to know how to fight. But—being agile and graceful and…flexible are two different things.”
“Please.” He rolls his eyes as though you’ve said something ridiculous. “You speak to the master of all three.”
As if to demonstrate, he makes a sweeping gesture to a figure that you spend a tad too long lingering on the, uh, formidability of.
You recover with humbling alacrity. “Getting kind of big for your britches, aren’t you?”
“Well, if anyone’s going to teach you, then it’d be me, wouldn’t it?” He challenges you, because it’s clear that if any will have that honor afforded them, it will only be him.
“I guess so.” You reply haltingly, because it never hurts to have more skills in your arsenal—but intimidating doesn’t even begin to encapsulate your feelings regarding this offer.
“So what do you think?” He asks, because if there’s one thing that encapsulates Dick Grayson, it’s consistency. “I could teach you tomorrow, if you wanted—I’m free then.”
“I mean, if you wouldn’t mind—”—you watch as Dick’s face considerably brightens before the wall of impending responsibilities crashes down—“—Wait. I can’t.”
His face drops, so you wheel your follow-up statement as quick as you can. “I have a…prior commitment. Could you do the day after?”
It’s clear that this is an alternative that works with him, from the way the smile is quick to return to his face—but far be it from him to not twist the knife.
“I mean, I guess I could.” He cocks up an eyebrow at your inconsistent schedule, prompting you to roll your eyes to the ceiling. “But you’d really have to find a way to make it up to me.”
“I promise I’ll come up with something good.” You reply, clasping your hands together as if in prayer. His eyes dare a little too long at the way your fingers interlace with each other, finally taking a slow, deep breath—effort delayed finally catching up with him, it seems.
He maintains level with your eyes as he says, “I’ll hold you to that.”
Gotham from the skyscrapers is a different view altogether. It’s one thing to walk on the bottom floor with the rabble, part of the rat race that expects you to be a willing cog in the machine. But up here, elevated above all else, it’s calming, freeing—an equanimity that separation from the masses grants you.
You look down to the minute people with their all-encompassing problems and feel like you can finally get a hold on it—if but for a moment. Even if it’s fleeting, it’s a feeling you happily chase, until you descend back to the depths with present company.
Present company feels like now is a good time to interrupt the carefully crafted ennui.
“Is there anything better than patrol on a Friday night?” Jason asks dryly, crossing his arms over his chest, that helmet implacable to any real inclination you might discern from him.
Body language offers little in the way of translating whatever he might actually mean. But in your endured times together on the rooftops, you’ve become something of a skilled linguist.
“It’s not so bad when it’s in good company.” You reply, because it’s true. You watch as a car casts its thin beams of light through the darkness and descends down a shadowy street.
“Am I good company, sweetheart?” He asks. You lean down the great height of the building to the mobile specks you protect below.
“You’re certainly not bad company, that’s for sure.” You smile, granting him only the most momentary of upwards glances. He makes a noise that means little without verbal follow-up.
“What makes me good, though?” He asks, and it’s clear he’s taking the piss because there’s little else to do while you survey for trouble. But you don’t mind; you already have a prepared response.
“Your stellar sense of humor.” You let your teeth show with this smile you proffer his way.
“Here I thought it was my stunning good looks.” He returns in a monotone; you hear the shift of movement besides you and finally turn away from the distant world, back to him.
“Hey—I thought I was the eye candy in this duo.” You crack back at him.
He’s quite candid in his reply. “Eye candy means you don’t have anything else going for you.”
“Oh, what else do I have going for me?” You ask, because part of you is amused, and part of you is preparing for the inevitable insult to be levied your way.
“I’d tell you but then we might be here all night.” He provides to you, rather helpfully. You don’t need the mask to see the shit-eating grin on his face.
“Right, Jason.” You nod knowingly, obsequiously. “Right.”
“You wanna do some sparring after patrol tomorrow?” He asks abruptly, changing tacks—much like the tidal wave he moves as during combat, so he is during conversation. You’ve learned to keep up with the figurative punches.
“Is sparring a code word for breaking skulls open on the pavement violently and with great prejudice?” You ask hopefully, resting a casual hand on your hip.
“Depends.” He retorts simply. “How much prejudice you planning on rolling up with tomorrow?”
“Depends.” You echo him because you can. “How bad do they deserve it?”
“Whatever they’ve got coming,” he says, tone brooking no room for disagreement, “They’ve earned it judiciously.”
You start your assertion rather confidently. “You know, I think I could get behind that—wait.”
He cocks his head at you as the proverbial train grinds to a halt.
“I can’t.” You admit sheepishly, avoiding the broiling gaze you know he’s subjecting you to.
“Something come up?” Jason is not one for subtlety—his casual is someone else’s commanding. Commanding, specifically, an answer from you.
“Oh—”—he’s your friend, but you still can’t help but flounder a little under the intensity—“—I just already made plans for tomorrow—after patrol.”
“After I just made you the skull-crushing offer of a lifetime?” You think if he’s making jokes, you might just get away with it, so you venture forward.
“Maybe.” You grimace good-naturedly at him. “Does that mean my skull is up on the chopping block?”
He’s statuesque in posture as he replies, “I like it more intact than chopped.”
You frown bemusedly. “Should I take that as a compliment?”
“You can take it however you want—as long as you make it up to me two days from now.” He returns, and as he turns to regard you with those whited-out lenses, you know he’ll be charging you with interest.
“I think I can make that happen.” You smile back.
“You’re doing great.” Dick says from above you, holding your ankles against his calloused palms, “Just breathe.”
“Easy—for you to say,” you strain with labored breath, tilting your head to reckon your eyes with the upside-down view. Your fingers clench against the ground, the only thing keeping you suspended in the air—other than he. “You’re not the one—upside-down.”
“You can keep your legs pointed, but I’m holding you.” He reassures you calmly, squeezing his fingers a tick to let you know that he’s your anchor in these troubled waters. “Keep the air flowing.”
“You’re making it harder.” You enunciate through your teeth, affixing your gaze through the gap of his legs, legs which are so close to your face, connected to a body that is so intimately close to you, connected to hands that are holding you so vulnerably—
“Harder how?” He asks, and you know he must be teasing now, but you can’t summon the strength in your suspended state to look and confirm this. His hands seem to grow hotter on your bare skin.
“Your hands—”—you grit out, and at this those fingers seem to curl even further around your ankles, the rough pads of his fingers scraping along, torturous in their purchase.
“My hands?” He repeats you, and you know he’s definitely mocking you now, from the way he chuffs a laugh and the air ghosts over your legs and—
“Help—”—You screw your eyes shut, a great warmth slinking under your skin that isn’t from overextension—“—Help me down.”
For all his vaunted teasing, he’s quick to obey, and guides you through a slow descent to the ground that ensures his hands search up the length of your body. Never inappropriately, but enough that the touch of his palms brand you even after their release—you are laid parallel to him on the mats. He grins down at you as you heave for air.
“You did great.” He promises you, even though you feel like ‘passable’ is a compliment you would accept with glowing pride.
“Does being an acrobat mean you’re also a terrible liar?” You ask wearily from where you lie, feeling your skin already tacking to the vinyl underneath you.
“No, but it does mean I’m a great cheerleader.” He offers you a beaming grin to emphasize his assertion.
“And it makes your hands heat seeking missiles for my pressure points?” You shoot back, noting the way his smile grows sly.
“Didn’t know all it took was some hands on your thighs to make you go to pieces.” He’s coy in his delivery, but you know bait when you see it.
“It is when they’re holding me upside-down.” You defend yourself, trying not to think of how his hands did feel on your thighs. Trying not to think of how confusingly funny you felt as they held you safe, secure.
“Careful—don’t let Joker find out.” Dick chuckles at the newfound chink in your armor. You have the wherewithal to laugh, waving a dismissive hand in his direction.
“Please—if it was Bruce, then it might make a difference.” You brush this away.
“Maybe so. But I’m going to hold onto that information for later.” He wiggles his eyebrows with enduring menace.
“Yeah, yeah.” You turn your head to the side, working out a crick.
“So—you wanna try again tomorrow?” He asks, and there’s no mistaking the eagerness in his voice. No mistaking, as you turn to him, the delight in his eyes at the prospect of reuniting with you here again.
No mistaking, you think, the guilt tremoring through you, as you open your mouth to agree, and then stop.
“Let me guess,” he asks gently, “Prior commitment?”
“I can’t help it if I’m popular.” You say, trying to sort out the bewilderment you feel at letting him down. To your lasting relief, he puts a hand over yours that leaves a ghost of sensation on you, long after he pulls it away.
“Sure, sure—we’ll figure something out.” He says, and it sounds like he means it.
“Nothing like a hearty burger breakfast after some major head trauma.” Jason announces as you enjoy your reward for a raucous night on the town.
You chew musingly, mulling over the flavor, as you admire the murky night sky. You’ve both found perch made amongst the gargoyles for this grand day out. Something about this almost feels like more than two friends eating breakfast together on a rooftop—but you can’t summon the word to describe what that would be.
“Does it count as breakfast if it’s still dark out?” You ask, thinking back to the early night, er, morning hour.
“You’ve been on this team this long and you don’t know that breakfast is a state of being instead of a time constraint?” He asks around a mouthful of ground beef. He still manages to make it sound menacing, somehow.
You hold up a hand beseeching forgiveness. “Sorry—I forgot I was dining with the resident philosopher of the team.”
“That’s why you keep asking to go on patrol with me, right? My cutting intellect?” He asks, dipping a fry from his takeout box in a pool of ketchup. You wonder if the splotch on his sleeve is from a rather exuberant dip, or if it’s blood from earlier.
“Among other things.” You say, feeling like it’s finally your turn to offer someone an ambiguous response. Especially as he returns to this topic of conversation he is so insistent on having out with you. For emphasis, you take a great bite of your food to allot you more time to muster defenses.
“What other things?” Jason presses, because it might work with someone else—but not him, who, with no protection of the mask to guise his face, bores his eyes into you.
“Like the fact that you paid for the food.” You offer gleefully, both of you knowing this is unsatisfactory.
“Can’t be the only thing.” He says, his tone surprisingly level. Why on earth is your heart beating so fast? “What else?”
“And that mean right hook you gave that guy in the stripes.” You supply, pointing at his arm for emphasis. It rests impressively even when not slamming hapless interlopers against brick walls.
“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.” There’s nothing but a glint in his eye to let you know he’s pleased at this. “Anything else I should know about?”
“Not unless you want to find out how strong my sense of humor is.” You return in a deadpan.
“Sarcasm makes the world go round, sweetheart.” He says, leaning back against the concrete alcove, looking rather fitting next to winged, garish gargoyle. “I can’t help it if you’re lucky enough to patrol with a man of culture.”
“Yeah—funny how that works out for me.” You grin as you look back to the city below. This is tolerable to holding gazes with those green eyes that seem to know you, know everything about you, know your very complicated thoughts pinballing around your head—
“So you want to do it again tomorrow?” He asks lowly, and it would be casual were it anyone other than he who asks it, trying to pinpoint you to commitment right now.
“I would—”—you hope being apologetic grants you his good graces. His eyes are constant upon you.
“But?” And the way he asks spurs your heart again. You feel now is as good a time to return your burger back to the takeout box, which creaks under the assumption of its weight.
“But I’m busy tomorrow after work.” You finish your statement.
“What’s more important than time with me?” He asks, and his gaze is reproachful but his voice is sarcastic again, which lets you know you tread safe waters. You lean back against the curb of the rooftop, the breeze ghosting through your hair.
“The fact I have other people I don’t want to disappoint.” You reply back blithely.
“And if you disappoint me?” Finally, a crack of a smile dawns on his face. “How’re you going to make it up to me?”
“Guess I’ll pay next time.” You smile.
“Yeah, guess you will, sweetheart.” You don’t notice how he doesn’t specify what exactly you’ll pay for. But you’re too busy looking back down at the city to know how his eyes roam over you.
You’re making breakfast with Tim about a week later, at a reasonable time, in the kitchen, with an audience that bears witness to your struggles. Tim’s taken point on the pancakes, which are looking more like charcoal effigies. You’ve settled upon making that protein-hearty breakfast of incompetent champions, scrambled eggs.
Dick has turned his chair sideways, juggling the fruit Alfred’s taken care to place in a crystalline bowl in the centre of the grand table. Jason leans back in his own chair, staring off into the horizon that is far more interesting than being present in the moment.
Either way, the two of them are far less interesting to either of you, who are more focused on making nutrition fit for human consumption.
Tim passes you the stainless steel whisk, which you accept as you grip the bowl of yolks ready for demolition. As you begin your stirring, you can’t stop the wince—and you can’t contain the gasp of pain making clear visual across your face.
“You okay?” Tim asks, both of you unaware that there are two sets of eyes drawn like homing signals to the noise, ready to go and on full alert.
“Yeah—”—You glare into the half-whisked bowl, frustrated at your body’s inability to cooperate—“—Just been doing a lot of extra work lately.”
“Oh, the acrobatic practice?” Tim asks knowingly, to which you nod in affirmation. Behind you, Jason stiffens ever-so-slightly, his shoulders broadening out as something suddenly clicks into place.
“And the extra patrol shifts too.” You add on. Dick pauses, palming an orange and apple mid-air, hand suspended as he pauses for a long instant.
“I can whisk the eggs if you want.” Tim offers out his own limbs as sacrifice. “Give your arms a rest.”
“If I can’t whisk eggs, what am I, really?” You chuckle at his proposal.
“Maybe you’re just putting energy on the wrong muscle sets.” Jason says casually from the table as you return back to your task. You don’t see the way his eyes sweep across the table to his brother that sits before him.
“Or maybe they’re just investing time into the wrong activities.” Dick serenely replies, locking his stare to the opponent within his midsts, in the comfort of his home.
“It’s just eggs,” you laugh, finishing up your work to a tolerable, acceptable mix. “I think I’ll survive.”
Tim spends a great while staring over his shoulder, before glancing back to you, oblivious to all as you pour your work into the pan. The noise is a great, crackling sizzle as things reach a nascent white-hot heat.
All Tim can do is watch as you hum a little tuneless song under your breath, unaware of the two that seem to be making silent, marked claims of territory upon you.
“Maybe it’s more than just the eggs,” Tim shrugs as he feels a headache wreathing around his temples. “But who knows—I could be wrong.”
Dividers provided by the excellent @toxisyddy and @cafekitsune
WONDER WOMAN DESERVES TO BE ON SUPERHERO MOUNT RUSHMORE!!!
//this is just a rant don't get mad, or do, idc my opinion ain't changing
I haven't been able to get my hands on any comics, but after watching a wonder woman movie I 100% agree with everyone saying that she should be on the mount rushmore of superheros.
She KILLED ARES, GOD OF WAR!!! She IS a God herself.
Yet, for whatever reason, I see people include an expendable flash or green lantern rather than the OBVIOUS superior WONDER WOMAN. Whereas I love Flash and Green Lantern, Wonder Woman is one of a kind. She isn't an oath or a power to be passed down; she is ineffable. She truly deserves that slot on the mount rushmore of superheros. It's disappointing to see her left out purely because she's a woman or, some wound-up incel refuses to learn more about her.
She single-handedly stopped a World War, Killed a God, is a God herself, and her father is a God. I don't understand why people refuse to acknowledge her or even learn about her.
Yes, I am basing this opinion off one movie I watched. But I do read comics, and from all my years of experience, usually the movies are a watered down version of the comics. However; if this movie is watered down, then even comic accurate Wonder Woman deserves to be on that mountain, even more so. If her stopping WWII was "watered down", then I can't even imagine how good the comics are.
I am not saying any of this BECAUSE she's a woman, I'm saying this because even if she wasn't a woman, she deserves that spot. She's more than some fan service, she's more than a woman, and she damn deserves her face on that mountain.
Her impact on many many young girls has to be extraordinary, I wish I had seen something like that when I was younger. I wish I had known that I wasn't weak, or less than because I was* a woman. I wish people would stop underestimating women when we ALL CAME FROM ONE!!!! I think if you refuse to let Diana be on the Mount Rushmore, you are either misogynistic, or... no, there's no or. You just are misogynistic.
And also... she's hot? I mean, I'm gay, but i'm not blind.
*I am trans (FTM) this asterisk was to clear up any confusion with this statement. Thank you.
ahahah chill guys my art bro ahaha... stoppp i'm shy
THIS IS MY OC DO NOT REPOST, DO NOT STEAL.
Self insert/OC this dude is from neptune and he is ME i am HIM
I'm currently developing his own language but it has the same alphabet as english but replaces letters and whatnot, might post something else about the language
For more information on him check out my SpaceHey account based off him!! thank you!!
