Note: there will be tags, warnings and general summaries for each fanfiction/headcanon, and if they are NSFW, there will be a Minors DNI note at the beginning
#heynicocaniask - asks/requests
You can ask me anything regarding the posts I’ll make, just be polite
𝐹𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓂𝓈
DC, Attack on Titan, Banana Fish, Young Sherlock, Kpop, Anime, Hunger Games, Gravity Falls, Avatar the Last Airbender, Legend of Korra Love and Deepspace, Percy Jackson, Haikyuu, Jujutsu Kaisen, Supernatural
On season 6 of Supernatural. I’m very confused why Dean went to Lisa of all people to go live in suburbia. This isn’t me dissing Lisa or anything, just genuinely confused. They hooked up for a single weekend, at where I am in the timeline, NINE years ago? Yeah they saw each other a little more recently after the changelings, but I still don’t know if that warrants choosing to go to Lisa who he knew practically nothing about other than the fact that she’s… bendy. I guess. I love 2000s writing…
I honestly would’ve thought he’d try to stick it out on his own, stick around Bobby maybe, or if he really needed someone romantically, Cassie from season 1. At least they actually dated and knew more about each other. It’s just kinda weird to me but it might just be a me thing.
Also, what sane woman who is a single mother just lets an old hookup show up to her new address when she didn’t even tell him she had moved? The writing choices are crazy because there is no world where a woman would think that is a situation that’s appropriate. They hooked up once several years ago, he stalked her once, stalked her again and then she’s just fine with it? Yeah, Dean is fine shyt, but no matter how pretty he is, if that were me, I’d probably slam the door in his face.
Hey, Sam Winchester? Yeah, let me suck on it like I need it to breathe, pretty please? One of the only men I would ever let dom me. Those pretty eyes, the upturned eyebrows when he’s confused, that clenched jaw when he’s going through it. Oh lord have mercy, Sam Winchester, give me one chance to treat you right. Talk me through it, hold my hand and keep going until I’m dumb. Anyways. How has your day been?
“i fucking hate supernatural” i say, hands shaking as i click on the next episode. it is now 3am. i have spent the last 10 hours binging the series, and do not plan on stopping. five Pinterest boards have been created, it is all i have thought about for the past week.
Me (an Asian woman) watching Dean admit he has a platinum membership to bustyasianbeauties dot com 😭 wtf is this man’s problem. More importantly, what are the writers’ issues 😭😭😭 this show is so of its time it’s so painful some times
Someone please write dom!reader x sub!Dean please. I need it where the reader is mean and uses mock sympathy and Dean loves it. Like he can’t help himself, letting the reader take control while the reader coos at him and overstimulates him. Please god someone before I do it myself or send me links if they exist already and I haven’t found them yet 🙏🏽
Thinking of Dean Winchester and how badly I need him. Guys the Supernatural brainrot is real, I started a week ago and I’m already more than half way through Season 2. Wendigo and Sick Hoodie Dean come back to me.
Just started watching Supernatural and I'm on episode 8 of season 1. So far, so good. I get why the show is so popular on Tumblr and it's very big social impact. I don't know how active I'll probably be in the fandom because it feels daunting but I do wonder if it's common practice for people to choose one brother over the other that they simp for, or if it's pretty equal.
Both Sam and Dean are fine shit, though. Like, really fine shit. I think I'm more of a Dean girl than a Sam girl, but that is subject to change cause I'm really fond of both of them so far.
Also, just thinking of how they're variants of Dick and Jaybin. That may just be a me thought, though. If not Jaybin, then maybe Tim?? I don't know the Winchester brothers that well yet, so I might be entirely wrong, but it's just something I'm thinking about.
Summary: You have a shitty month, and it ends with Valko's cancellation announcement. Jason tries his best to be there for you.
Word Count: 4.3k
CW: Profanity. Death (your grandmother's). No more Valko.
A/N: this is very self-indulgent, as June was possibly one of the worst months of my entire life; I can’t even lie, ya’ll. idk how much crossover there is between the LADs fandom and the DC fandom, but if there is, how are you coping? Cause I’m clearly not doing well 😀 FUCK YOU SHITFOLD BRING BACK VALKO YOU STUPID MFS HE WAS THE ONLY THING I WAS LOOKING FORWARD TO. This is sort of a crack fic because it genuinely was what broke the camel’s back for me after such a shitty month; a bunch of pixels sent me over the edge, but also comfort. Again, very self-indulgent, so every inconvenience the reader has is what I dealt with over June. Anyway, Jason does his best, bless his heart.
Horrible shifts. Horribly busy wards and horribly understaffed hospitals in general. Everything was horrible. The smell of chemicals, piss, shit and body odour was just the perfect aroma for your lungs, and the families of patients were bugging you for the smallest things that they could have easily asked a domestic for, from teenage boys using it as an excuse to talk to you, to older women demanding things like tea. You grin and bear it, though. It’s your job, and it’s your dream. You’re so close to finally securing that nursing degree. That doesn’t mean there aren’t days when you don’t want to scream at the top of your lungs for everyone to hear because, as nice as some of the senior nurses are, there are still those select few middle-aged nurses who have a weird complex about how youthful you are.
“You’re young. I’ll forgive you,” the senior nurse, Sister Teresa, once said to you. “You’re a student and don’t know any better. Let the ones with experience handle things.”
You had burned with embarrassment. This was your placement, and she was supposed to be your guide. Yet she walked away from you like you were nothing but a burden. Her grey eyes barely even spared you a glance, and her voice that had been roughened by years of smoking always seemed to have a condescending tone whenever you had a question. Whatever. You push on. You have to push on.
Then your mother received a call while you and your boyfriend, Jason, happened to be on the outskirts of Gotham at a really cute but kind of run-down diner for date night. Your grandmother was ill and was admitted to a hospital in your home city across the country. All of the money you had saved to go on that trip abroad with Jason needed to be sacrificed. Hospital bills weren’t cheap, nor were the flights that you helped your mother book. She’d fly back to take care of your grandmother. She was a nurse herself, and it was your grandmother who pushed her through nursing school. The least you could do as a granddaughter was to support your mother. After all, you did follow in her footsteps.
So you continued to work, pushing yourself to the limit with every shift that came your way. Even Jason was surprised to come home to an empty apartment because you were still stubbornly pushing yourself at Gotham City Area Hospital. Checking your patients' vitals, distributing their medication, and caring for them in the best way you could, even despite the hostility from Sister Teresa. The other nurses, like Sister Angela and Sister Carmelita, always seemed to come to your rescue when you needed them, even if you never said the words ‘god, please help me.’ They just always seemed to know. It helped that Sister Carmelita, a small woman with a strong personality, was a longtime friend of your mother’s, as they had worked together in orthopaedics a few years ago before they moved departments.
It was stressful, but doable.
Jason would always welcome you back with open arms, exhausted from doing his vigilante work. He’d pass out the moment you crawled into his arms, but you? You needed to calm down after work. You needed something to take your mind off everything going on in your life. Yeah, you could sit and watch Pride & Prejudice with Jason again while eating a tub of ice cream, or you could simply fuck him. That usually helped. But in recent months, with how tired both of you were from your respective duties, you decided to go for something else. Every night, you open Love and Deepspace.
Love and Deepspace was a game you happened to stumble upon while doomscrolling on TikTok on a random day in 2024. The ads were awful and cringey, but there was something about the newly released character, Sylus, that drew you in. Maybe it was because he was a man of danger who carried himself with a certain level of confidence only your own boyfriend has ever seemed to match. It was your guilty pleasure, to say the least. You played it obsessively for the first few months, then it turned into casual playing, just logging in to do your dailies, and when the house feature was added, check on your plants.
Jason never understood it, but occasionally peeked over your shoulder when he got to a boring bit of whatever book he was reading to see how the battle mechanics of the game worked. He didn’t have a favourite. All he knew was that he didn’t like Caleb, but Sylus and Xavier were cool with him.
“Why don’t you like Caleb?” You had asked him once, following him around the kitchen while he made dinner before patrol, just the same plain boiled chicken breast and rice since he was working out. You knew there was a proper term for it, but you didn’t care. “He’s just a silly guy who got blown up!”
Jason turned back to face you, gave you a look of indignation and then turned back to the meal he was making.
“He’s also a sister fucker,” he bluntly told you.
“It’s different. They’re not actually siblings,” you had huffed and crossed your arms. “He’s cute!”
“He’s a sister fucker,” he grumbled and began setting the table. Thankfully, he had made something entirely different for you to eat. “C’mon, doll, I’d even choose the stuck-up doctor over this creep. Doesn’t he kidnap your character and drug you?”
You opened your mouth to protest, but quickly realised he was right.
From that point on, Jason always treated the game with indifference but with a bit of respect since you enjoyed it so much. Who was he to yuck your yum after all?
June went on, and work continued to be stressful. The tests weren’t helping. Every day, before and after work, anyone and everyone could find you sitting at your dining table studying. The senior nurses who were guiding you would randomly quiz you, and you had to know everything. Your career was at stake. You had to lock in, no matter how clingy Jason got.
“I didn’t think you’d be busier than me, doll,” Jason had nuzzled into your neck despite your best efforts to shove him off. “C’mon, gimme some time, hm?”
“Later, Jay,” you huffed and shrugged him off, walking to your room with your computer and notebook and shutting the door tightly behind you.
You would cave occasionally, though. It’s hard to ignore a six-foot-three man who weighs over 100kg. At some point, he’d take you away from studying, or even show up at work to pick you up when he knew you were doing unnecessary overtime. He was doing his best.
It even got to the point where Jason was willing to sit and watch you play your game with full attention - not from the corner of his eye. He would sneer every time Caleb appeared, but hum approvingly when he saw Sylus. He clearly had a favourite.
Then you saw the announcement: a new love interest! His name was Valko, a werewolf CEO of a tech company. Yeah, Jason laughed in your face when he first watched the trailer and made a comment that his song sounded like that one Australian rock band you liked growing up. However, you were excited! You even bought the aurum pass so that you’d have enough gems to wish for him!
Life was beating you down, but you at least had this and Jason. You clung to this like a lifeline.
However, whatever peace you had was short-lived. Your grandmother’s condition was getting worse, and your mother was getting increasingly more anxious. It got to the point where she rebooked her ticket to go a month early, changing her flight date to the 14th of June.
Then the worst came.
You had decided to stay with your parents the night before your mother’s flight. Jason had dropped you off, greeted your parents, gifted them some homemade food he had cooked, kissed you goodbye and left. ‘Family time’, he had told you. You smiled softly watching him go.
You wish he hadn’t.
You and your mother had always been night owls in comparison to your father, who consistently woke himself up at six in the morning every day. You were both doing your own thing, you watching TV in your childhood home, your mother painting her nails for the trip, sitting right next to you.
Everything seemed fine.
The packages your mother had ordered to bring with her to help care for your grandmother sat next to her open suitcase, and there was a comfortable silence between the two of you. You just wanted to be close to your mother before she left.
Then came half eleven at night, and your mother got the worst text imaginable. Your grandmother passed. She was absolutely inconsolable—a text. You found out via text. There was no call from your aunt who was with your grandmother at the time. Nothing. A text. A simple text saying that she’s gone - just like that.
Tears streamed down your mother's face like a waterfall, her entire body shaking, her face contorted with anguish. You pulled her into an embrace, but she continued to cry out for her mother, calling her siblings erratically until your aunt picked up the phone with a tired expression on her face. You couldn’t do anything but helplessly hold your mother in your arms while your aunt turned the camera to show your grandmother’s lifeless body.
One more day. Just one. One more day and your mother would’ve been with her, holding your grandmother’s hand, saying her final goodbyes and I love you in person.
Despite your best efforts, your mother cried for your father, almost pushing you away. You rushed down the hall, knocking on his bedroom door. He woke with a jolt, surprised at the bedroom light suddenly switching on and you standing in the doorway with as much composure as you can muster.
Your father, without missing a beat, rushed past you to cradle your mother in his arms. You aren’t sure how long you stayed there staring at her. All you fully remember is your father telling you to go back to your room and get some sleep like you were some kid.
Not knowing what to do, you did as you were told. What else were you supposed to do? You’d never seen either of your parents like this before. You hadn’t experienced grief like this before either. You sat in your room, staring at the floor for god knows how long. How are you supposed to process this?
Jason came to pick you up the next day. Your father had called him because you hadn’t. You had been trying to take care of your mother before her flight by making sure she had everything and had eaten enough for the thirteen-hour flight.
It was just you and your father when you saw Jason. The two of you had just dropped your mother off at the airport, and Jason was standing outside your parents' home, leaning against his beat-up motorcycle, looking like he was thinking about something really hard.
When he saw your father's car pull up into the driveway, he stood straight and immediately enveloped you in his arms the second you stepped out of the car.
You broke down. His hand cradled the back of your head, the other tightly squeezing you in his embrace. His musky cologne filled your nostrils, and for a moment you felt your heart hurt a little less.
He stayed with you and your father for the rest of the day, offering to help your dad fix the fence that was in desperate need of repainting after a solid four years of abandonment. Some kids came banging on your door too, running away quickly after abandoning the youngest one to face the consequences. You only smiled sadly at the little one, who couldn’t have been any older than eight years old. He twiddled his thumbs, blond curly hair blowing in the wind while he looked up at you with shame and embarrassment. Jason took care of the rest by gathering the older boys and telling them off as sternly as he could. When you asked what exactly he said, Jason only shrugged, kissing your temple, muttering something about how it was something his adoptive father Bruce used to say when he did something bad, and returned to your father’s side. You figured it was better not to ask.
Jason was the steady pillar your family needed. He even made dinner since your dad, even though you knew he was trying his best, wasn’t exactly the best cook on the planet. You enjoyed dinner together and then left your father to return to your own home.
Your mother called you two days after arriving. The hospital bill was… a lot, to say the least. You had just enough to help your mother cover what was left to pay so the family wouldn’t stay in debt. Jason had offered to help pay, but you refused him, saying you wanted to support your mother yourself.
You keep on working. You keep smiling at Sister Teresa when she’s passive-aggressive. You continue to grin and bear it when the old patients with dementia smack you on the ass and call you sugar. You continue to play Love and Deepspace at the end of each shift so you have some semblance of having control.
Life keeps going, even with you missing your grandmother's funeral. The heavy feeling in your chest gets heavier at the reminder every time you think about it, which is a lot. Your cousins who text to reach out don’t help. You were the only grandchild who didn’t grow up beside her, but your eldest cousin found an album she had kept of your baby pictures. Turns out your mother would send her photos as you grew up, including your middle school and high school graduation photos. She kept them all in a separate photo album, and you had no idea.
You had to hold yourself together until you got home and cried in Jason’s arms once again. His hands had their positions, one at the back of your head, the other holding you tightly to compress your body against his in a tight squeeze that always seemed to help calm you down a little. He would whisper sweet nothings like you could take them or leave them. He even told the rest of his family that he wouldn’t be going out as much because of everything going on in your life.
You heard him on the phone with Dick. Jason only owned a brick phone; he didn’t care for whatever the new ones were like. He didn’t need a screen other than the TV to tell him the news, or he’d turn to you like a secondary news outlet when something important happened. When Dick asked why Jason wasn’t going out on patrol as often, Jason only grunted and told his elder brother to mind his own business, but that he’d have to find someone to pick up the slack in his areas around Crime Alley.
Although that didn’t mean he didn’t go on patrol at all. When he wasn’t there because of patrol, you turned to Love and Deepspace. Tonight, you turn to Sylus and press the tete-a-tete feature. Hearing some reassuring words from a comfort character couldn’t hurt, right? You press that something bad happened, but what the fuck do you press? ‘I’m not feeling well’? ‘It’s hard to get up?’ ‘I had a nightmare?’ There are too many options.
You opt to tell him that it’s hard to get up. You think it sums everything up.
You don’t actually speak to him. You stay quiet. You just need to hear something from him. Sylus shakes his head of silver hair and tells you that he’ll handle whatever you need to do. You can’t wait to see how Valko will attempt to comfort you when July 9th comes around, and he makes his official debut. You practically spam the ‘I need a hug’ button until your eyes feel heavy and sleep overtakes you.
You wake up in your bed, tucked neatly in Jason’s arms, his body heat making you sweat in the June heat. You grunt, trying to move away from his beefy arms but fail spectacularly. You can do nothing but sigh and accept defeat.
You reach over and grab your phone, allowing yourself to be consumed by the heat of a muggy summer morning in Gotham, trapped within the arms of your human radiator of a boyfriend.
June 30th, 07:28 - you have a series of messages in your Instagram inbox. There are a lot of them from two friends specifically - two friends who play Love and Deepspace way more than you.
‘She’s not going to be happy when she wakes up and sees these messages.’ One friend writes.
Your eyebrows crinkle together. What are they talking about?
You click on the group chat, and there’s an announcement from Infold. It announces the cancellation of the one thing you were looking forward to this month. This shitty month has to end with a bang.
You toss the phone back onto the nightstand and cover your eyes with your hands. You’ve got to be kidding. The one thing, the only thing that you were looking forward to was this character, his story, his cards, everything about him. This was the only thing you had going for you that was supposed to go right. This was so… frustrating.
Jason shifts around you and squints his eyes open.
“Doll? What’s wrong?” he moves his arms so he can cup your face in his hands. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he pulls you in, moving your face to bury into his chest, “I’m here. It’s okay.”
“The one thing,” you whimper and shake in his arms. “One fucking thing I wanted, that I had planned, they cancelled him.”
“What?” Jason’s glad you can’t see his genuinely perplexed expression. “What are you talking about?”
“Valko,” you cry and shake your head. “They cancelled him. They won’t launch him anymore.”
“Oh,” Jason’s voice comes out as a whisper, surprised that this is what’s teetered you off the edge, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Maybe they’ll put him back in the game later.”
You shake your head. The announcement explicitly stated that they’ve cancelled him as a character, the 6.0 launch and any further development of any future love interests. You wouldn’t be getting Valko back.
Sure, it wasn’t fair that Infold didn’t give players enough resources to farm gems to save up to wish for Valko, and how the newer love interests such as Sylus and Caleb hardly got much to compete with the original three characters, Zayne, Rafayel and Xavier, but to cancel him completely?
“He was so cute, Jay,” you cry in his arms. “He was the only thing I was looking forward to after this shitty month, and now he’s gone.”
Jason isn’t sure what to do in this situation. He has no idea how to navigate this. He’s been doing his best with helping you with the grief of your grandmother, with the stress of work and whatever else. He could do physical things to make things at least a little better. He could sit with you and reminisce about your grandmother, talk about the good times you had with her, and he could pick you up from work himself to make life easier, but this? What the fuck is he supposed to do in this situation?
“He was just like you. I could’ve had another you for when you’re away from me,” you practically snivel.
Jason stays quiet, fearing that if he opens his mouth to try to say anything that’ll help, it will only make the situation worse. He can only hum quietly and squeeze you a little tighter.
“This is such bullshit.”
“Want me to find the creators? I’m sure a little threat will help,” he offers gently. “Maybe wave a gun around, or threaten Wayne's money. Those options aren’t mutually exclusive. I could do both at the same time.”
You weakly giggle at his offer and shake your head. Your heart aches. Your smile fades.
“C’mon, doll,” Jason wipes away some of your tears with his thumb, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “It’s okay.”
“Everything sucks right now. It all sucks,” you pout and look up to meet his eyes.
He’s exhausted. Now you feel even worse.
“Shit, sorry, Jay. You’re probably just back from patrol, and I’m lying here crying over pixels-“
“No, no, no. Hey, it’s okay. You’re not bothering me,” Jason pulls you in again. He smells of gunpowder and the new berry-scented soap you bought. He never can seem to manage to get the smell of his vigilantism off him. “I can’t lie, I’m surprised it’s this that’s made you fully snap.”
“I guess…” You begin, nuzzling your face deeper into his chest as if you’ll somehow manage to meld into his skin and become one, “it’s just that this was the only thing I was looking forward to this entire month. Everything has been so shitty, and I was excited for my game, so I think I just… held out for it? And now he’s gone.”
Jason hums and pats your head.
“I'm sorry, doll. Is there anything I can do?”
“Bring him back?”
Jason’s quiet. Too quiet. You move your head back to look at him.
“I’m kidding, Jay. There’s nothing you can do. Just keep holding me.”
“I can go find them,” Jason murmurs, unfazed at you climbing him like he’s a tree to bury your face into his neck, your arms wrapped around his chest. “I can be awfully convincing.” He grins down at you, adjusting his arms to your new position.
You shake your head.
“I’m sure there’s other things I can look forward to,” you sigh and rub your eyes. Jason quickly pulls your hand away to stop the action. He says it’s bad for you or whatever. “This just sucks.”
“I know it does, doll,” he gently rubs your back. “How about this: you, me, our favourite diner on the outskirts of Gotham tonight? Hm? It’s on me.”
You grin.
“It’s always on you, Jay. You never let me pay.”
“And I’ll be damned if I ever let a lady pay,” he leans down and places the softest kiss imaginable from Jason Todd on your lips. You smile into the kiss, moving a hand to cup his jaw and leaning back to kiss him more. You two stay kissing for a while and then pull away only when you both need air. “Doll.”
“Hm?”
“You know I’d do anything for you, right?”
“Yeah,” you close your eyes, rest your head on his chest, letting the sound of his heartbeat calm you down.
“Good. You say the word, and your wish is my command. I’ll bring the furry back if you really want me to.”
Your eyes snap open, and your body shoots up. You glare at him from above, him still lying down on your bed.
“He’s not a furry, Jay!”
Jason grins and shrugs.
“I don’t know, doll. He looks like a furry.”
“Because he’s a werewolf!”
“So… a furry.”
“No! You asshole! He’s just a werewolf!”
“Yeah yeah, keep defending yourself, sweetheart. Just admit you wanna jump the bones of a furry.”
You burn with embarrassment and hit him on the chest. There’s zero impact. Jason doesn’t even blink. You know he’s ragebaiting you by the grin on his face. He’s trying to make you feel better. Well, at least you’re angry instead of sad, right?
“So what if I do?” You huff and lie back down, except you lie as far away as you physically can from him, on the opposite side of the bed. “If you had wolf ears and a tail, I’d fuck the shit out of you too.”
You don’t have to look at Jason to see the grin on his stupid, cocky face. You really don’t have to when an arm slithers around your waist from behind, and he whispers in your ear.
“How about now?”
It’s been a while since you two fucked. Admittedly, it’s because you both have been so busy and you’ve been consumed by grief. You could fuck the shit out of him, but-
“No, I don’t think I will,” you smack his arm away and shove him back to his side of the bed. “You don’t have wolf ears and a tail. Apparently those are requirements for me.”
“Wha-“
“Get back to me when you get those, Jay. Then we’ll talk.”
“But-“
You get out of bed, not looking back to see Jason’s confused and now frustrated face. That’s what he gets for ragebaiting you this early in the morning, and right after the announcement as well.
At least it doesn’t hurt as bad. Life was shitty, Valko or no Valko, but you still have Jason, as annoying as he is at times. It will get better. The hurt will ease, the stress will go away eventually, and your boyfriend will still be as clingy as ever. Who really needs Valko when you’ve got Jason Todd groaning in your bedroom at how you’ve abandoned him to make breakfast?
Summary: Your courtship with Mycroft Holmes had ended upon the revelation of his current family situation. You have other prospects, of course, but when James wires you, informing you that Sherlock has been shot in Paris, you feel as though you have no choice but to return to his side. After all, it's not like you're there for Mycroft. Well, maybe that's not the entire reason.
Word Count: 4.1k
CW: Profanity probably
A/N: I need more fics of this man, please. I beg.
You may have avoided being dragged into the drama of the Holmes family had you just chosen not to look left that one cold night by the theatre in central London, or perhaps, if you had simply continued with the mundane but lovely conversation you were having with your friends. You may have avoided seeing the one you had grown to love if you had simply ignored Sherlock’s calls.
“You love him, do you not?” The younger challenges you.
His words stop you in your tracks. Your fists clench, nails digging crescent-shaped indents into your palms, and your teeth grind against each other at the sudden accusation. You feel the eyes of your friends, of James and Sherlock, digging into the square of your back at your hesitancy. You should’ve kept walking, but the words Sherlock had spoken, as though they were as factual as the presence of clouds in London’s skies, were keeping you frozen in place, words that you had not dared utter to your former lover.
“I know you do.” You hear Sherlock step forward from behind you, the sound of his clothing rustling against him with each movement. “Why run? Why turn your back? Are we not to be family?”
How could you tell Sherlock that you weren't the one running, but that it was actually his elder brother? A man who demanded respect as soon as he entered a room with his mere presence, a man who intimidated the girls who had made fun of you during your youth, had chosen to leave you behind. You chased him only to be left in the dust of his career in Her Majesty’s Foreign Office. How humiliating.
“It seems your brother did not inform you, Sherlock.” You spin around, your hands tightly holding your hat to have some control over yourself and your actions. “Your brother has decided to cut off our courtship in matters of caring for you and your mother, who, I have been informed, has recently left the asylum.” You take a sharp breath and move some of your distressed hair out of your face after London’s breeze is oh-so-generous enough to blow in a direction that would obscure your vision. “Your brother has a responsibility to his family; one must suppose. He also has his duties to Her Majesty’s government. Who am I to chase after a man who stopped being gentle? Good night, Sherlock.”
As you turn, Sherlock reaches out and takes your hand in his, gripping your wrist. Startled, you attempt to pull away, but Sherlock is shockingly strong for a boy as scrawny as he is.
“I may not be well-versed in matters of the romantic heart, but I do know that my brother believes only the utmost best for you. I promise you that is all he has ever wished for you. Never once has he ever met a woman like yourself, not one he mentioned to the likes of Mother and me,” he gently squeezes your wrist, leaning to meet your eyes. “He is foolish to let you go, yes. However, I know deep in his heart he wishes for nothing more than to be with you, sister dear.” he uses the nickname he has always called you since learning of his elder brother’s intentions.
“I am not to be your sister, Sherlock,” you whisper and pull your hand away from his grip. “Besides, another gentleman has shown particular interest in me, one who has made his intentions very clear. A Mr Aston Cavendish, I’m sure you recall.”
He was a man you had known for a very long time, almost your entire life, in fact. His father was a childhood friend of your mother’s, which led to the two of you becoming friends against your will. He was a petite man with dark straight hair that curled inward just below the eyebrow and eyes a shade lighter than Mycroft’s. You were comfortable around him, you supposed. He would be a suitable husband.
The statement seems to shock Sherlock. You had been courting Mycroft for months, and yet you were so willing to court another man just a month after an argument with him. He blinks in confusion, staring at you to find a single hint of deception that you may have been using to shield yourself from the anguish, but to no avail. You are being nothing but truthful.
“But sister dear-”
“Good luck, Sherlock.” You give him a tight-lipped smile and gently reach over to squeeze his arm, reassuring him. “You were a wonderful younger brother to me, Sherlock.”
“You sure you don’t want to tag along with us now, my lady?” James crosses his arms over his chest, his regular cocky eyebrow arched, Sherlock still standing in front of you in disbelief. “Maybe your presence will let Mycroft know just what he’s missing out on.”
“I’ll pass, James. Just keep Sherlock alive; otherwise I’ll have your head on a stick for all of London to see.” You nod at the two.
James shrugs, adjusts the brown waistcoat he’s wearing, and sneaks out a cigar. With the flick of his finger on his lighter, a flame lights the cancerous stick, and Sherlock reaches back to swat it out of James’ hand.
“Sister,” Sherlock demands your attention with his voice after turning back to face you, wishing for you to meet his gaze, but you don’t. You smile weakly and hum quietly to yourself. “Sister, please-”
You know the guilt would be eating you up inside. The knowledge that Sherlock’s younger sister may still be alive, that their father was actually a horrible person who faked the death of his youngest child to send Cordelia Holmes into an asylum for monetary gain, was sickening. You can’t imagine what was going through Sherlock’s head, nor how Mycroft would react. The very bottom of your heart wishes to take Sherlock’s hand right then and there, to run across the cobblestones and catch the quickest ship possible to help him, but your mind forbids the thought. This was not your family, not anymore, no matter how much you wish it were so.
“Goodbye, Sherlock. Tell your mother I say hello and I wish her well.”
“You let her go. Why?” asks Sherlock, finally being left alone with Mycroft in his hospital room. “You said she was perfect. You said she was everything you had hoped to find in a person, and you let her go.”
Mycroft sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly wishing his younger brother would talk about something other than the fact that the woman he was courting was no longer to be his wife. Their mother had just slipped out of the room to go to the toilet, and Sherlock had not missed a beat to ask the question.
“I asked her to join us,” continues Sherlock, looking up at the ceiling, actively trying to ignore the sensation of blood seeping out of the bullet wound in his stomach. “I wonder what she would be thinking if she were to see me in such a condition as this. Do you think she would be doting on me as she had in the past, brother dear?”
“Most likely, brother dear,” Mycroft responds. “She is quite the worrywart.”
“She is,” agrees Sherlock.
The Holmes brothers leave it at that for a moment. Mycroft had chosen to suppress all feelings for you, focusing on his career and, now, his family. He couldn’t juggle three things at once. He had responsibilities to Her Majesty’s government and his family, with newfound information that his youngest sibling, Beatrice, was still alive, in the hands of his liar of a father, also new information for Mycroft’s ears.
He hadn’t allowed himself to think of your eyes when he broke things off with her. The woman who had carefully calculated your way into his life by the mere drop of your glove in front of him, who smirked at his attempts at history, which was a domain of knowledge you proudly dominated, and who held his hand when he first lost his position in government, had downcast eyes and betrayal laced in your voice when you asked him why.
Of course, you understood; you weren’t one to not hear reason. He knew that you knew he was dedicated to his career and family. Naturally, those two would come first. You scoffed in his face but nodded. It hurt Mycroft to hurt you, and it only felt like divine justice when you offhandedly mentioned another gentleman named Mr Cavendish, who had begun to show interest in you. The pain in his chest was undeniable, but he was no longer in any position to tell you not to pursue this when he had just broken off your courtship.
“You have yet to answer my question.” Sherlock hums, conscious of how long it is taking his mother to return from the bathroom.
“Perhaps because I do not wish to answer the question,” Mycroft takes a seat next to Sherlock’s hospital bed. “It is not a topic I wish to discuss.”
“Not even on your little brother’s deathbed?”
“Oh, hush, you,” Mycroft shoots Sherlock a warning glare. “Don’t dare jest of such things.”
Sherlock shrugs, eyes darting when the grey door swings open to reveal his mother’s return. The look on her face indicates she wasn’t telling the two Holmes brothers something. Cordelia had her arms tucked neatly in front of her, her smile leaning slightly to the right, and the creases beside her eyes becoming more prominent.
“What are you up to?” Mycroft sits upright in his chair. “Mother, dear, you have a most interesting expression on your face.”
“Someone else is here,” Sherlock grunts, attempting to sit, only to be gently pushed down by Mycroft.
“Someone is here for you, Mycroft, darling,” Cordelia smiles. “Don’t worry, I will take care of your brother.”
“But-”
“I wish to know who this person is,” Sherlock interjects. “Who is it?”
“Don’t you worry yourself with that,” Cordelia pats Sherlock’s head. “All will be revealed soon, my darling.”
With reluctance, Mycroft stands and kisses his mother on the cheek before walking out of the hospital room, ignoring Sherlock’s calls to tell him who the mystery person was. His shoes click against the floor, his eyes regretting looking at his surroundings as the dead lie around him. He can only be thankful that his brother is not one among them.
He exits the hospital and sees you standing with James. You’re here. You’re standing right in front of him. You’re shining under the French sun with a smile when you speak to James. In all your beauty, you stand just below the hospital's stairs.
“Mycroft!” calls James. “Look who’s here.”
You turn your head to look at him. The breath seems caught in his throat, his mouth opening but not releasing any sound. It feels like a frog is in his mouth, preventing him from using the human ability to speak.
“Did you wait long?” You smile. “Don’t worry, Mr Holmes, I am here for Sherlock. James wired me as soon as he could after Sherlock was shot. I did not come here with the intention of following you.”
You walk up the steps, lifting the hem of your dress so you will not slip and fall, and Mycroft catches a glimpse of the lace stockings around your ankles. Taking a deep breath, he turns to follow you immediately, completely ignoring James’s presence despite James's calling to him to check on Sherlock’s condition.
“Miss,” he quickly steps in front of you, you blinking in surprise is not lost to him. “I just wanted to say that I… appreciate that you are here for my younger brother. It will mean a great deal to him that you are present.”
The corner of your lips curls upwards, and Mycroft swears to himself that he has made one of the biggest mistakes of his life, letting her go.
“I know, Mr Holmes. There is no need to be so formal when speaking with me. We may no longer be courting, and I may be seeing another gentleman, but that does not mean we cannot be friends, right?”
Another gentleman. Piping hot envy shoots through Mycroft’s entire system.
“Mr Cavendish?”
“Yes,” you look at your gloves and absentmindedly smile.
Fury. Mycroft is furious.
“He is a bore who only speaks of himself, but he is respectable. He also works in government. Perhaps I will still see you at future social gatherings, Mr Holmes, but now, if you will permit me to, I should like to see Sherlock.”
It has been a month. Only a month.
Mycroft steps out of the way and watches your figure walk through the hospital and into Sherlock’s room.
“Sister dear!” Mycroft hears Sherlock exclaim. “I was not expecting your presence.”
Stepping to avoid the dead, Mycroft follows you but pauses before entering Sherlock’s hospital room. The dirty walls stare back at him with mockery. He was pathetic. He caught a glimpse of your ankles. That was all, and yet his heart would not cease its increase of beats. Mr Cavendish could provide you with the life you wanted. He needs to remind himself of that fact, but Mycroft can’t shake the heavy feeling squeezing his lungs.
“Not your sister, Sherlock, but yes, nor was I. James wired. I came as fast as I could after hearing that you had been shot. You were always so careless.” You smile beside Sherlock, gently tucking some of his unruly brown hair out of his face. “Fear not, I am here. I will be until all is resolved.”
“What of Mr Cavendish?” enquires Sherlock.
Mycroft shakes his head, walking back inside the room, opting to lean against the wall instead of standing next to his mother, as is his usual post. Every time the name Cavendish is spoken, Mycroft feels his jaw tighten, and his teeth grind against each other. He is not immature. He is twenty-six years of age, for goodness sake. Of course, you are allowed to move on from him and consider other marriage prospects. He’s still furious at himself, though.
Apparently, Mr Cavendish was very understanding of your venture to Paris, despite your having blatantly lied to him, saying you had family you wished to visit. Of course, Sherlock protests the fact that you were lying by saying you were, in fact, visiting family, with Sherlock lying before you in a hospital bed. Cordelia even agrees with Sherlock, gently reaching over and squeezing your arm.
“He is a respectable man whom I have known for a very long time,” you smile, but the smile does not reach your eyes. “Aston should make a good husband, I do think.”
Mycroft lifts his eyes and meets his mother’s in an instant. Her blue eyes bore into his with a look of disappointment that he is all but used to. She may not have said it, but Mycroft felt the message loud and clear. His sense of responsibility and duty would render his life miserable and lonely.
The explosion had just gone off. You had barely made it out alive, had it not been for James lunging forward and grabbing you. You barely tolerated the man, but he saved your life, and that’s all you need in the end.
You cough loudly, bending in half to cough up whatever sand and debris had entered your mouth. It was most unladylike, your hair dishevelled and your clothes completely covered in ash. You can barely move, only being able to watch as Sherlock, Beatrice and Shou’an mount horses and chase after Silas.
Your eyes look over to others, who are helping Cordelia get back on her feet. They appear fine, just with hair as big as the explosion that had gone off. Your eyes scan for James, who had disappeared after saving you. That sinking feeling you got when you first met him returns, your gut warning you of something you weren’t sure of. Why isn’t he here? Panic began to rise. Had he died saving you? You couldn’t live with yourself if that were the case. You may not have been on the best of terms with him as you thought he wasn’t a good influence on Sherlock, but any sane person would want to thank the one who saved their life.
“James-?” You call, only for your entire body to be swished to the right and for your eyes to meet Mycroft’s wide, worried ones. “Mr Holmes-?”
“Are you hurt?” his voice is shaky, the grip of his hands on her arms tight.
“No, I-”
“Are you absolutely sure? I saw James pull you out, but I couldn’t live with myself if you were hurt as a result of my father’s affairs. Are you sure you aren’t in any pain?” he’s rambling, you note. You finally find James, limping over towards Cordelia, who embraces him tightly. You would thank him, but Mycroft’s grip remains firm. “Goodness, your leg. It’s bleeding.”
“Oh, it’s quite all right-”
Mycroft unbuttons the sleeves of his shirt, gathering a nearby dagger to cut the fabric to make a makeshift bandage. Your breath hitches at the sight of his forearms, and you look up at the sky to find god. You’re to accept the courtship of another man once you return to London. You cannot think of Mycroft in such a way anymore, but your eyes betray your mind, wandering to watch his fingers tie the fabric around your leg, sweat dripping down the side of his neck and along the veins of his forearms. You would surely have to repent.
“Thank you, sir,” you mutter, eyes following him as he rises to his feet. “I am most thankful.”
“Of course.” his eyes remain on your injury, the top set of his teeth gently gnawing at his bottom lip. “I would not want you to be injured. I believe Sherlock has been injured enough for the rest of us.”
You nod awkwardly, clearing your throat and looking away from him. Your heart booms against your chest, screaming at you to do something - anything! Maybe if you fight for him, he would have you back, but why should you degrade yourself to do so for a man who willingly left you for his career? Your mother raised you better than to chase after a man who had no intention of turning around to wrap his arms around you.
“Are you all right to walk?” he asks, soft-spoken as ever.
“Yes, sir, quite all right. I assume once I have a good night’s rest, I will be as good as rain to return to London.”
“To Mr Cavendish?”
What a gaudy name, you think. To be frank, you hadn’t even thought of the man since you laid eyes on Mycroft. He was the furthest from her thoughts as you were so preoccupied with realising just how messed up the Holmes family was. It was concerning enough when you were first told their youngest sister had passed; their mother was in an asylum, and their father was abroad, but to learn that Beatrice was actually alive the entire time because of their father, and their mother was not actually unwell? Your marriage prospects could wait in line in your mind. There were many more important and interesting things to think about.
“Yes. I told him I would give him my answer once I returned,” you answer Mycroft, nonetheless, without a single care for Mr Cavendish.
“Answer?” enquires Mycroft.
“To accept his courtship. I… had not given him an answer, hence why I will do so when I return to London.”
That was it. That is the opening you leave for Mycroft to take. Either he realises it and tells you he made a grave mistake by breaking things off with you, or he would do the worst thing you could imagine: telling you to accept Cavendish. You pray to any deity above that it was not the latter that he chose to do.
You watch his eyes, how they look at your face, but not at your eyes.
“You have not said yes to Mr Cavendish.” his voice drops, his gaze resting on your lips as if to read you better. “He would be a good husband to you.”
“He would,” you mutter, taking a step closer, hands tucked behind your back. “He could provide for me, take care of me, and I am already on good terms with his parents and sister.”
“And yet… You remain hesitant about such a handsome offer. Why?” he finally looks you in the eyes, and as much as you want to grab him by his dirt-stained shirt, you don’t - you couldn’t. What sort of lady would you be if you had given in to just how much your heart desires for Mycroft Holmes to place his hands upon your waist and kiss you? “Why do you remain hesitant?”
“You’re a smart man. You figure it out.” You take a step back and begin to walk towards James and Cordelia. “The options remain, Mr Cavendish and Mr Holmes, even if one pushes me away because of a sense of duty that he could share the burden.”
With that, you adjust the bandage, lifting your right foot to keep walking. His hand wraps around your wrist, spinning you around and forcing your eyes to meet. His chest rises and falls in a rapid succession of breaths, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of deception. Both Holmes brothers were the same. Hesitant. On guard. Perpetually vigilant of their vulnerabilities.
“I am still an option for you?”
“Yes, you, Mr Holmes, alongside Mr Cavendish-”
Mycroft scoffs, catching you by surprise at his sudden change in attitude. Gentle, still, but the air around him feels different.
“Miss…” his free hand moves slowly, his palm cupping your jaw while his thumb caresses your cheekbones. “You still want me? Even after all of this, which you have borne witness to?”
“Do you not want me to, Mr Holmes?” You challenge, leaning into his touch. “Is that not why you treat James with passive aggression when he gets too close to me? Or why you clench your jaw at the mere mention of Mr Cavendish’s name? Or why you wait for me in every room we share company in?”
“You consume every thought and prayer I dare to utter. I only wanted you to have someone you could be secure with, Miss. I just lost my job in Her Majesty’s Government-”
“And you will have it back now with the justice your father will serve before the courts.” You remove his hand from your face and hold it in yours. “Mycroft, I-” you sigh. “Just be honest, if not to me, to yourself. Forgive me if I am jumping to conclusions, but I know you wish for me to be your wife. You know I am good to you, to your family. So tell me, Mycroft, will it be you or Aston-?”
“Say his name and mine in the same breath again,” Mycroft leans to your height, tilting his head to the side, eyes those of a man seconds away from doing something he would regret in front of his mother, “and tell me they taste the same.”
God, you can’t bear it any longer. Who needed Aston Cavendish?
“Mycroft Holmes, if you do not kiss me right now, I will kiss you,” she stated matter-of-factly.
A smile breaks out on his handsome face, the sides of his eyes creasing as he leans forward, cupping the side of your face with one hand, while the other pulls you closer by the waist as he lays a kiss on your lips, holding you as if you are the finest China in the world. Both of your lips were chapped, uncomfortable enough for you both to pull away and laugh. Not even licking your lips would be enough to moisturise the dryness.
“Well, that was a pretty bad kiss,” you grin and bite your bottom lip. “Kind of uncomfortable.”
“We’ll have plenty more.” Mycroft rolls his eyes, looping your arm around his as you walk back to your party. “Perhaps not in front of my mother, though.”
“Oh, how wonderful!” gushes Cordelia, running over to you and snatching you away from Mycroft. “Aren’t we both relieved he pulled his head out of his arse sooner rather than later? I could’ve known you as Mrs Cavendish instead of my daughter-in-law! We couldn’t have that, darling, no, no.”
“Course not, Mrs Holmes. I think Holmes will suit me much better,” you smile, allowing yourself to be taken away from Cordelia. To think, if he hadn’t picked up on that single social cue, you might have been married to a completely different man. Thank the heavens.
Summary: so you leave Gotham and whatever weird tension with Dick Grayson behind. You’re reunited 3 years later and you decide to play at his own game, but now he’s upset? Tut tut. Get the man off his knees before someone sees!
Word Count: 6k
CW: Profanity, Dick is horny and desperate so mildly suggestive, no smut (sorry gang). Desperate Dick Grayson for the win!
A/N: little dashes of Timkon and Superbat, plus Steph being your no.1 hype woman.
You left Gotham City after you graduated. Bruce, the supportive warden he is, approved the decision and landed you a job at Wayne Industries' agriculture sector based in Metropolis. He offered to buy you an apartment, but you insisted on doing as much as you could on your own. You did use your connections to Bruce to your advantage to climb higher within the ranks of the company; that wasn’t a lie, but you worked your ass off, too. Don’t let anyone be mistaken.
You told no one but Steph and Cass. You figured no one else needed to know. Although, there was one who went mad after finding out you had left without a word.
Doing such a thing wasn’t completely unheard of in the Bat family. Cassandra left on her own. Jason certainly left on his own. But for Dick Grayson to find out through Alfred that you had packed up most of your things and moved into a tiny apartment all the way in Metropolis without telling him felt like he was being punished for only flirting and never actually making a move, like the coward he was.
He tried calling but was told by an automated voice message that the number no longer existed. He asked Bruce, but the old man refused to budge. It was the same when he went to Victor at 6 a.m., except he lodged what he thought was a stuffed animal, but was actually Garfield in cat form, in his face for waking him up so early. It was not nearly as lovely as Bruce’s response, which was “put a sock in it, Dick.”
Dick had to accept that you had cut him out of your life for the one you had in Metropolis. When he did, he refused to watch MetroNews or read the Daily Planet for any and all updates on your hero identity. He didn’t even see you at any galas or parties Bruce hosted. You had vanished entirely from his life.
A year passed without you.
Then another.
Then Dick lost hope he’d get a chance to see you again.
On the other hand, in Metropolis, where the grass was greener and the sun was brighter, You had earned enough to afford a nicer apartment decorated in your favourite colour. Your blankets, tapestries, and even your kitchen utensils were the various shades of your favourite colour too. You loved it despite the complaints you got from your very aggravating roommate.
“Seriously? A kettle this colour too?” Kon Kent raises the kettle while standing in your doorway. “What’s next? Toilet paper?”
“That’s a waste of dye, Kon,” you respond without looking at him. “Also, what have I told you about bringing people home? Aren’t you like, two?”
The clone scoffs.
“I’m technically three and a quarter, thank you very much,” he says, sticking his tongue out at you. “When are you ever going to bring someone home? Or are you seriously that bitchless at your age?”
“Haha, hilarious, Konner Kent,” you reply dryly with no actual amusement in your voice, continuing to type an email on your laptop. “I don’t need shit like that when I need to be focused on work.”
“Work work work,” Kon rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Get a life outside of work, please.”
“I have a life outside of work!” You exclaim, finally turning to look at him. “I have friends from uni.”
“You have a friend from uni.”
“I go out occasionally!”
“With your one friend from uni.”
“I go on dates.”
“With your one friend from uni.”
“Kill yourself, Kon.”
“That’s not very nice.” Clark Kent suddenly appears in the doorway, scaring the lights out of Kon. “That’s… actually a bit mean.”
You sigh and rub your forehead. You didn’t need Superman's lecture about how you were raising his son. You suddenly knew how Bruce felt when Alfred would look at him disapprovingly when Damian acted out of turn. At least Clark was much less intimidating than Bruce Wayne, despite the fact that he was a massive chunk of Texan beef standing at six feet three and was literally Superman. The nerdy glasses and baby face did nothing to help his intimidation tactics when attempting to discipline you and Kon.
“What are you doing here? You don’t even have a key to our apartment, Dad,” Kon grumbles, holding the kettle like an infant as if Clark was there to take it from him.
“Your window was open. Anyway, I came to tell you that there will be a meeting with all heroes with links to the Justice League,” Clark moves the topic briskly along. “I expect you at headquarters, Kon. Don’t try to dodge this one because I haven’t told you about it. Well, I’ve told you about it. You have to go now.”
Like the annoying teenage boy he was, Kon groans loudly and shakes his head. “Why do I have to hang out with you chumps? You’re all old and boring.”
“Because all of us are needed for this one,” Clark narrows his eyebrows and crosses his arms over his large, broad chest.
“So she's going too?” Kon deflates.
Clark pauses. He looks at you, lips pursed, contemplating asking if you would be willing to join the fight. Everyone with ties to the Justice League meant everyone, including the Titans and the other family members you left behind to pursue a relatively mundane life in Metropolis.
“Do you need me?” You ask, returning to your email and attaching a document that probably contained a new marketing strategy.
“Your help would be greatly appreciated,” Clark says after a beat. “Bruce told me not to pressure you to join.”
As he spoke, the watch you had used in Gotham, which had lain dormant on your desk, buzzes with a call. The caller ID read: Brucie Wayne.
You raise an eyebrow, raise the watch, and show it to Clark.
“Are you sure?”
Clark sighs.
You shrug, picking up the call, and a hologram of Bruce appears. Dressed as dapper as ever, with pepper-coloured hair slicked back, exposing his wrinkled forehead, and a white button-up shirt with every button except the top buttoned, Bruce smiles softly upon seeing you.
“You actually picked up. I’m surprised.”
“Caught me the one time I actually charged the thing,” you lean against your chair, beckoning both Kents to come into your office. “Let me guess, this meeting? Is it world-ending?”
“Potentially.”
“I’ll consider it. If Superman and Superboy are both gone, who’s left to watch over Metropolis if not me?” You fold your arms. “I guess we’ll leave it up to me in the future whether or not I show up.”
“Very well,” Bruce nods.
You, Clark, and Kon hear Damian's faint shouts in the background of the call as it ends. It was something about his fourteenth birthday, and him only wanting to see Jon. Clark smiles softly at that, fond that his son has befriended someone, even if it is the unhinged, assassin, no-longer-a-bastard son of his twenty-year-long situationship, Bruce Wayne.
“That’s how you talk to Bruce? Strict,” Kon, still holding the kettle, pokes at the watch after the hologram disappears. “Are you always like this?”
You shrug and wave him away.
“Sometimes. Now get lost—both of you. I’m busy with emails. You don’t even understand how hard it is to work with this client.”
Looking at each other, the father-son duo leave you in peace to contemplate whether or not you’ll attend the meeting. Clark didn’t want to pressure you, seeing as you had been living happily in Metropolis with no significant incidents, succeeding at work, and having family dinners with him, Kon, Lois, and Jon every Sunday.
After hearing vague details about why you cut most of Gotham off, he didn't want to disrupt your peace. Dick Grayson really was his father’s son, and Clark Kent knew about that a little too well.
The Justice League, Young Justice, the Titans, and everyone else had been summoned to the Justice League headquarters. Reunions were had, and emotions were high: excitement at working together, happiness at the reunion, stress from the mission, and exhaustion from the travel.
Dick is grinning ear to ear while ruffling Damian’s hair, who growls like a rabid dog, swinging a fist at Dick’s stomach, but misses as the elder of the two did a backflip to avoid impact.
Dick had changed in the past two years, getting bigger, taller, and more broody since he hadn’t dated in four years. Work was more important than getting laid anyway. He just hated hearing the other Titans bring people home.
He stands next to Bruce after dodging Damian and asks about the mission. Broody, as always, Bruce explains with his gruff voice. He assumes it’s probably because Superman is within earshot, and he wants to seem like hot shit for the Kryptonian
The jokes die when he feels a familiar presence enter the room. Tim's exclamation confirms his gut feeling. He watches Tim charge forward, arms wide open to embrace the one he hadn’t seen in two years.
There you stand, in a new suit with a black butterfly design on your chest. You look different but the same. The Metropolis sun had kissed your skin all over, and he envied it. The mischievous glint in your eyes remains as you dodge Tim’s hug, laughing as he tucks and rolls to avoid falling flat on his face in front of whom he called ‘fine shyt’ to Dick; Kon Kent, Superboy. That suit made Dick’s mind go crazy. You had grown, not in height but as a person and in… other places.
“So you decided to join us,” Cass walks past Dick toward you. “Welcome back.”
“Finally!” cheered Steph, doing the same thing as Tim and being met with the same avoidance. “I want a hug! Come on, give me some sugar, gorgeous.”
Your face turns, and you shake your head.
“No way,” you push Steph away with a hand. “It’s good to see you, though.”
“Affection? Nice words? From you?” Steph gapes. “Is it my birthday?”
“Your birthday was five months ago,” you sigh.
“She even remembers my birthday, guys! She loves me! Also, your tits look absolutely scrumptious, m’lord.” Steph says aloud what Dick thinks.
You roll your eyes, but they don’t carry any annoyance as you were clearly used to Steph saying things like that. Bruce, however, was not. He let out a grunt of disapproval, which Steph blatantly ignored as she continued to compliment your new suit and the rest of your body. She even had the audacity to ask you to turn around to see the backside, which, shockingly, you did.
“Woo! Fantastic ass!” Steph exclaims, arms raised in celebration, like she was in the crowd of a baseball game and her team just scored a home run. “Absolutely fantastic ass!”
Dick purses his lips and looks away. The action is lost to most, but not Kon Kent, who had been judgmentally watching him since you arrived at the compound.
It also was not lost on Steph, apparently. Dick dares to steal another glance only to catch Steph looking in his direction with a shit-eating smile plastered on her face. You chose to stay in contact with her, not him. He understands why she was practically bragging in his face without actually saying anything.
“Should you not say hello?” Kori places a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “She was close to you before, was she not?”
Dick sighs, nodding his head in confirmation.
Kori is right. He wasn’t exactly a kid anymore. He’s twenty-seven years old. How could he possibly be scared of someone he’s known for six years? Technically, four because she was gone for two.
He smiles at Kori, takes a deep breath and saunters over with the years of practice he had under his belt.
“Good to see you,” he says, mentally smacking himself for how lame that opening was. “Been a while.”
Rather than your usual distaste, which you showed every time he greeted you, you look up at Dick and… smile. You do that thing that drove him crazy years ago - that thing where you smile, one corner of your mouth a little higher than the other and tilt your head slightly to the right. Like Dick at the top of buildings, his heart does somersaults all the way into his mouth.
“Likewise, Dick,” your voice is different now, too.
It carried uncertainty before, the unknown, the doubt of his feelings for her, like how the vast ocean carried a tiny fish, but now? Your voice is steady and confident, carrying the confidence of a woman who knows who she is and what she wants, and he isn’t sure if that’s him anymore.
“I, uh, I missed you,” he manages to successfully get the words out while attempting to keep his cool with a smirk. “Been weird without your pretty face.”
He expected her to scoff in his face - maybe even a laugh and a shove.
“I could say the same thing,” you hum, eyes looking right through the mask on his face and the facade of a flirt he had so carefully curated. “I see you’ve been working out,” you add, waiting for the others to disperse and leave the two of you be. “Nice ass, Grayson.”
And you walk away like it was nothing. The comment is like water off a duck’s back. You said it as if you had told him the weather.
With his heart racing, or maybe some other organ pulsating, he follows after you, trailing like a puppy back to Bruce. You had never responded to him that way before, and it introduced some familiar feelings that had evolved even further. How was it possible for someone to get hotter?
“Dick,” your voice calls his name, and it feels like a prayer that almost makes him fall to his knees as if he were in church. “Were you listening?”
He blinks, nodding despite not paying attention at all.
“Great. I won’t have to debrief you on our mission then.”
Our? As in the two of you?
“Kon,” you click your fingers, and the Superboy appears beside you. “Don’t get distracted by Tim on this mission; otherwise, I’ll have Beastboy turn into a dinosaur and eat you.”
Damn. Not just you two.
“Hey, a word?” Dick nods his head to one of the empty corridors.
You exchange a look in a secret language you and Kon only understand before obliging and walking ahead of him. Steph was right. Your ass did look great in your new suit.
“What is it? Scared of adding three others to your team, Dick?” You lean against the wall with your arms crossed. “Surely Nightwing can handle it.”
Dick grins and shakes his head.
“Nah, not that,” he says, placing his hands on his hips. “It’s just been a while. How about we go out after this and grab a bite to eat? I can show you the new places in Jump City if you want. We could catch up.”
He watches you look him up and down. Flustered but confident since you’re returning his tone, he stands firm.
“I’ll pass,” you say, snapping him back to reality. “I’m busy with work. I already had to book off for this, which was last-minute. The higher-ups aren’t exactly pleased with me.”
“I can meet you in Metropolis then, after your shift?”
You tilt your head again, pouting this time and shake your head.
“Another time, pretty boy. Let’s just focus on saving the world.”
Pretty boy. He’d remember that.
Dick hears nothing from you after that, unless you accidentally run into each other on missions since you got back into consistent contact with Bruce, taking the odd job in Gotham. Every coincidental meeting, you successfully flustered him with a look that drove him crazy.
He didn’t even have your number, and whenever he pestered Steph or Tim for it, he always caught them at the wrong time. Once, he swung the door open on an unsightly scene of Tim and his new boyfriend, Kon (totes congrats by the way, he mentioned off handedly). They had gotten so close that he didn’t even care, still walking in and pestering Tim, while Kon hid under the covers as Tim screamed at him to get out. Alfred had to come in to interfere.
He tried with Tim and Steph, but both of them refused. He was left with only one option: Bruce.
“Come on, surely she should be okay with it now! She was returning the vibe!” Dick practically begs.
“The vibe,” Bruce repeats dryly.
“You know what I mean,” Dick groans loudly and puts his head in his hands. “Come on, Bruce. Please?”
His father sighs. Bruce looks tiredly at Dick, and he suddenly sees himself in his son. He remembers the desperation to discover Superman’s identity before Clark naturally revealed it to him.
“I’m hosting a gala,” Bruce turns away from his eldest child. “In a month. Celebration of Wayne Industries' newest collaboration with a company in Metropolis, thanks to her persuasion. She’ll be there. Do with that as you will.”
Bruce watches Dick’s eyes light up.
“Am I invited?” he grins.
He was invited.
Dick appears at the party in a suit that looked like it jumped out of a magazine and attached itself to his body like a second skin. He wasn’t expecting to feel this good in the new suit, but the content smile on his face proved how pleased he was with Alfred’s suggestion.
He takes a deep inhale before entering the main hall. He isn’t going to get his hopes up. You had all but ghosted him, and here he was hoping you would spare him even a glance at an event he wasn’t initially invited to. It was your event. He was an unwanted guest. He knew he would probably have to prepare himself to get punched in the face.
He sees you the moment he steps in.
You looked like a gem, with the battle scars he knew all too well hiding under long gloves — the same ones his hands had gently caressed once upon a time. The pearl necklace adorns your neck, sitting comfortably on your collarbones as if they were made to be there - an extension of your body, another beautiful thing to admire. The formal attire hugs your body in all the right places without appearing to be uncomfortable, with just enough skin showing. You were a vision just out of reach.
“If it isn’t Dick Grayson,” one of Bruce’s oldest associates spots him from a distance and walks over. “Come to support your father’s protege?”
Dick gives him his award-winning smile, nodding politely and shaking his hand. The conversation continues, but he finds his eyes continuously going back to you floating around the room with the grace of a princess, a habit that must’ve been taught by Alfred in his notoriously difficult etiquette classes whenever Bruce first took you in.
He continues to move around the room, greeting others and acting like Bruce Wayne's perfect golden child. They ask if he knows you, and he couldn’t explain just how well he did.
On the surface, you were acquaintances to society because Bruce was simply your mentor, your teacher. Someone who took you under his wing after your parents’ deaths, because he was indebted to your mother, a nurse who had helped him on more than one occasion, and a close associate of Alfred’s. Richard Grayson and you didn’t know each other very well. You and Dick, though? Hidden whispers, almost kisses, hovering touches. He knew you like no one else did.
“Dick?” Your voice draws him in like a moth to a flame. “I wasn’t aware you’d be attending tonight.”
He turns around, and the wind is knocked from his lungs. You’re even more beautiful up close now that he could see your beauty marks, crudely covered by makeup, and your lipstick slightly smudged from drinking what he knows is secretly apple juice because you hate the taste of champagne and wine.
“Surprise,” he smiles. “Bruce told me about what you did. Colour me impressed.”
You grin, and if you could have listened close enough, you probably could’ve heard his heart beat from the confines of his ribcage.
“Impressed the Dick Grayson? I’m honoured,” you look out at the guests before speaking again. “Nice suit. You look good when you’re not beaten and bloody.”
“Aw, you don’t think I look good when I’m beaten and bloody?” he bends down slightly to mumble a whine in your ear. “I’m hurt.”
You scoff and gently nudge him away. “Unfortunately, I have to leave you. There are more people I have to talk to,” you pull away from him.
“Miss me while you’re gone?” his smile reaches his eyes, which only holds you in his vision.
“Maybe a little,” you raise your hand, then pinch your index finger and thumb tightly together. “Or maybe I won’t at all. Later, pretty boy.”
A gasp escapes him. His hands fly to the left side of his chest, over the organ that kept him alive, the one that belonged to you and only you. Pretending to be shot, he lets his head fall limp and his eyes shut.
He hears you chuckle and allows himself to open one eye to see you smiling to yourself, shaking your head as you walk away from him.
Gathering himself, he stands straight. He wouldn’t let himself make the same mistake. He wouldn’t let you slip from the gaps between his fingertips again. No more games, no more doubt. He’ll tell you tonight.
Content and confident with his plan, Dick continues dancing through the crowd of rich people he secretly despises. He catches a glimpse of Steph and Damian roaming around as well. He appears next to them, muttering a question about whether he needed to scare off a pretentious rich boy from Star City. Steph waves her hand, dismissing him, whispering that she'd send Damian in if he bothers her too much.
He sees Tim chatting with other socialites, too. It’s almost a Wayne family reunion. He keeps talking with Tim for a while, asking about how the hand off is going for Wayne Enterprises. He even asked about Tim and his ‘fine shyt’, Kon Kent. Tim just scowls and gives Dick the middle finger when he walks away. It was regular checking in.
The night feels like cloud nine, and Dick Grayson is floating just above it until he sees you on the other side of the room talking with someone else. The guy’s older, a little shorter than Dick, with a similar haircut and the same tan skin. His suit is the same colour as your dress, and your laughter rings like alarm bells in Dick’s ears.
He watches you laugh, your shoulders shaking and giggling while the nail of your index finger is trapped between your teeth. Your head tilts slightly down, so you have to look up to meet the guy’s gaze. Dick has seen that move done before. He has seen it so many times, practically memorised into the creases of his brain, yet there you were, pulling the same move on a guy who looked like another version of him. It seemed too easy for you to do. Too natural.
A flurry of emotions runs through his entire body. With his teeth gritted, Dick walks over, his hand taking yours that fit like a missing puzzle piece.
“A word?” he mutters into your ear.
He doesn’t even bother to look at the guy’s face. If the guy has similar facial features to Dick, he has no idea how he would react, and he isn’t about to cause a scene at your congratulatory party.
“I’m kind of busy at the moment,” he hears you say. “Later.”
His head snaps in her direction, and his eyes meet yours. He doesn’t know what it is, but after seeing the look in his eyes, you sigh, apologise to the Dick Grayson wannabe and go with him.
“Dick, that was an important client, what are you-”
“What are you doing?” he snaps after bringing you to one of the balconies just out of sight of the guests.
“Sorry?” You cough in disbelief at his tone. “I’m trying to secure a client and potential investor, that’s what I’m doing.”
“By flirting with him?” Dick can’t control his patience. “Is that how you get clients? Biting your finger, looking up at him with those eyes?”
You genuinely can’t believe your ears and place your palm flat onto your forehead to see if this is a fever dream.
“Are you judging me right now?”
“A little, yeah!”
Your eyes harden, and Dick now knows he has said something entirely wrong.
You straighten your posture, take a breath, and begin walking towards him.
“Do you have any idea what I’ve had to do to get here? Do you think men like that will just listen to me because I say so? I’ve had to stroke so many egos to ensure the business stays afloat, to keep it successful and to prove myself to Bruce that taking me under his wing wasn’t a mistake.” You have him cornered against the barricade, so he has to steady himself with his hands wrapped around the metal bar. “Who are you to judge me for flirting? You’re the original.”
His eyes stay on you, like it was the only place they should be. You were angry. You were offended. He offended you.
“Be honest with me,” he says. “Are you just playing with my emotions now that you’re some big shot? Because you got hotter and more confident, you think you can toy with me? If you don’t like me, just say so. Don’t drag me along like I’m some puppet for your entertainment.”
You let out a laugh of disbelief. You continue to laugh so hard you hold your stomach and almost fold in half in front of him.
“Dick, you cannot be serious right now,” you wipe away the tears in your eyes that were a result of you laughing so hard. “Are you mad now that we’re on even playing fields?”
“What?” he huffs.
“You’ve been toying with me for years,” you compose yourself and look back at him. “Flirting with me as a joke because I used to be a fan. It got worse when Tim let it slip ages ago that I had a kiddy crush on you as Robin. You used me as entertainment. All of a sudden, you’re mad when I match your game? Is this not what we’ve been doing for years?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Oh come on, Dick!” You exclaim with exasperation, your arms deflating to your sides as her body begins to do the same. “Don’t try to act coy. It’s a funny bit. I understood that, and I’m playing along now. You want to continue joking, dancing around, stringing me along, but when I decide I’ve had enough and choose to walk the same line you are, you’re upset? Wasn’t the joke that we’d never be together?”
It feels like the punch Damian aimed to hit Dick with during the meeting at the Justice League headquarters finally hit him months too late.
A joke. You thought you were a joke. You didn’t know you were the air he was desperate to breathe after drowning for two years. You genuinely thought he was making fun of you, and he had no idea that was how he came across. He had hurt you for years.
When you left, he believed it was because he was taking too long to admit his feelings for you - that you got impatient and didn’t want to wait any longer.
The matter of it was, Dick Grayson made the one who consumed his every thought and prayer feel like she was a gag.
“Don’t get pissed at me when you’ve been stringing me along for four years. Getting close to me, holding me, almost kissing me, but not kissing me. Who are we kidding here, Dick?” You finally look away from him, your hard gaze softening as you get increasingly exhausted from this confrontation. “It’s just a dumb dance. It’s routine for us to behave this way.”
“I love you,” he blurts out.
You stay silent, and it only makes his heart pound even louder in his ears. The faint noise of classical music and rich chatter can’t be heard — not anymore. The sounds of cars and the hustle and bustle of Gotham nightlife are disregarded.
“Fuck you,” you spit.
You spin your body around, each step away from him boomed with rage.
His body acts on instinct. His hand reaches out to you, fingers wrapping around your wrist. He pulls you back, your dress flowing in the wind as you spin back into his arms.
Flustered, he steps back to give you space but keeps his hand on your wrist.
“I mean it,” he pleads, eyes on his shoes as he hangs his head low in shame. “You were never a joke. I was always serious. Every compliment, every touch, I meant it all.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying!”
His eyes meet yours. Desperation meets anger. Certainty meets doubt.
“This isn’t funny anymore, Dick. Let me go,” you grumble, attempting to escape his grip.
“It was never funny. I was serious. I am serious,” he pleads, and his knees feel weak. Before he knew it, he’s on his knees.
“What the fuck- stand up!” You hissed, trying to drag his body up. “What are you doing?! Someone could see you, you freak!”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, looking up at you like you had a halo above your head. “I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything sooner, that you believe it was all a joke and that I was too much of a coward to tell you how I felt for four years. I strung you along. I made you believe the worst of me because it was. I toyed with you without even realising I was.”
“Whatever, victim complex,” you try again to snatch your hand away, but his grip tightens, his touch terrified that it would be the last time he felt your skin.
“That’s not-”
“Listen, Dick, if you want the gag to stop, we’ll stop, okay? Just get off your knees and let me go.”
“I don’t want to stop! I don’t want to lose you again. I know I use comedy as a stupid coping mechanism.”
You bite your bottom lip, and your attempts to break free halt for a moment.
“But you are every thought I have.” his voice feels weak, nothing like the hero Nightwing with a mask that hid every insecurity and frustration that flowed through his body as naturally as his blood. “I’ve only thought of you for years. I’m sorry. I acted out of turn. I snatched you away like you belonged to me when I know you don’t, but you own every beat my heart makes. I should’ve thought twice before taking you away from him, even if he was a douche.”
“Dick, you don’t even know him.”
“Yeah, well, he looked like one.”
“He looks like you.”
“I- well- anyway,” he clears his throat and shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”
You look down at him. He knows he looks pathetic. He has never felt more pathetic in his life, but this was his karma for treating you like that and pulling you along without being brave enough to become yours.
“Get up, Dick.”
“Please.”
“Dick.”
“I’m sorry, I really am.”
You sigh, using your other hand to pinch the bridge of your nose.
“You really are Bruce Wayne’s son. Get up,” your voice is cold, but it’s as if his body is automated to obey.
You don’t seem as angry as you had been when he blurted out his love for her. That wasn’t exactly the way he wanted that to go. In his head, he was thinking of swooping you off your feet, smirking as you blushed and covered your face, and gently moving them out of the way to kiss you. This was not what he had in mind when planning his confession.
It’s quiet before you speak again.
“Don’t do that shit again.”
“I won’t. I promise,” he says. He’s not sure what he’s promising, but he promises anyway.
“Getting on your knees, Dick. Don’t do that shit again. That was embarrassing to witness,” you shiver recalling the sight. “Just- listen to me.”
So he does. As he vows to do from now on.
“The apology isn’t accepted,” you say as his heart plummets to the pits of hell. “But it’s not rejected entirely.”
“What?”
“You can make it up to me,” your free hand takes his, your fingertips gently dancing over his rough palm. “Over time.”
Suddenly, hope doesn’t seem so lost. Light finds its way back to his eyes.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Take me out on a date, preferably. An actual date.” Even if your voice carries irritation, it’s enough. It’s more than enough.
“Done. What kind?” He has the pen ready to make a note in his mental notebook.
“Dinner. Pizza,” two words.
“Just- just that?” he stammers in surprise. “Not at a restaurant where you have to book months in advance, renting out a movie theatre so it’s just the two of us?”
You shake your head.
“Just pizza and a talk. Let me actually meet Dick Grayson, who isn’t just a flirt or the ghost of Boy Wonder. No games.”
“No games,” repeats Dick.
“Good. Otherwise, I’m decapitating you and waving your head on a stick for all of Gotham, Jump City and Metropolis to see.”
Dick smiles softly.
“I’d deserve way more than that if I pulled this shit again.”
“You’re right. Castration.”
He chuckles, and so do you.
“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have a client to woo into giving me money,” you turn your back. “And Dick.”
“Hm?” he responds.
“Don’t let me down again.”
He bites back a grin.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Are they arguing again?” asks Victor, rubbing the sleep from his eye as he stumbles into the corridor that leads to the living room.
“Yep,” Garfield yawns and stretches his arms.
“Over what?”
“I told you that was my favourite cereal, Dick!” You yelled, still dressed in your nightgown that you keep at Titan’s Tower. “You know it’s my favourite and you still ate the last of it!”
“I was sleep deprived! I ate what was closest!” Dick defends himself. “It’s your fault for keeping me up!”
“My fault?!” You exclaim.
Both Victor and Garfield feel a sinking feeling that they should leave before they hear anything else from this argument.
“You’re the one who kept me up!” You glare at your boyfriend of over a year now, congratulations. “You were the one who called me last night, beg-”
“STOP!” Dick screams, jumping over the sofa to cover your mouth. “There are other people who live here!”
You shove him off, swatting his hand off you, glare still present.
“Whatever. I’m going to go get breakfast,” you huff, storming off to change into daily clothes, but Dick remains standing in the middle of the living room, flustered and red in the face. “What are you doing just standing there? You’re paying. Go get dressed.”
Victor and Garfield sigh. It only took you two six years to get together, and Victor and Garfield were the victims of Dick Grayson, their leader, who they’d follow into a battle of life-or-death, wanting to get laid.
“Can you make a memory-wiping gun?” Garfield looks up at Victor.
“I can definitely try, but if it doesn’t work, it’ll probably just give you brain damage,” Victor sighs, watching Dick follow you down the stairs that lead to his quarters.
University!Clark Kent (Superman) X Gotham!fem!Reader
Summary: you have firm limits and bounds. You’ve always been pretty closed off and you know what you want in life, so when a tall adorkable nerd literally crashes into you outside of your uni lecture, you decide to let him in. When danger comes knocking, you want nothing more than for him to stay by your side, but he swears Superman will come, he just has to go and reach him. By the time he’s back, it’s too late, and you’re gone.
Word Count: approx. 3.1k
CW: Profanity and a sad Clark Kent who only meant well. Barry Allen mention and no happy ending.
A/N: reader lowkey hates superheroes.
Never in your life did you, for a single split second, contemplate how drastically different your life would be from that of the average citizen of Metropolis. You knew most people hadn’t come from Gotham, where your local superhero had banned killing all supervillains so they could be tried by law. Batman, however, never succeeds in this, and, ever the optimist, you know that more people have died due to his “no-killing” rule. How would you know exactly? Your best friend was murdered on the one day you weren’t with her.
You were only eleven, braving the dark streets of Gotham after your after-school activities with your best friend. All seemed well and good. You lived in the neighbourhood next to hers, not even ten minutes away. You should have been walking with her when your older cousin pulled up in his car and said there was a family gathering on the other side of the city. You pleaded to let her come with you, but, like the angel she was, she smiled and told you she was okay walking home alone. You trusted her, and you trusted the masked vigilantes in spandex to keep her safe. You were wrong to do so. Your best friend fell into the hands of Scarecrow and passed away at the tender age of eleven.
Since then, you vowed to get out of Gotham. Staying in that god-awful city only reminded you every day of how, if I had only pressured her more to get into the car with you and your cousin, she would still be breathing. Maybe you would’ve been at university together. But no.
You had screamed, begged, and cried for someone to do something - anything! You cried on national television for even a glimmer of justice, only for Scarecrow to be thrown into Arkham and escape less than a month later. Another child went missing.
So to Metropolis you went.
The sun shone brighter in Metropolis, and even the people were nicer. You opted to stick with me, though, not wanting to get close to anyone because you were paranoid that you would cause someone else to lose their life. Logically, you knew what happened to your friend wasn’t your fault, but the voice in your head would never forgive you for not putting up more of a fight.
You were doing a good job of remaining a lone wolf until a tall, large, clumsy guy literally fell for you. It wasn't that he fell head over heels in love. No. You weren’t exactly aware of your surroundings at 8 am, waiting outside a lecture hall, and a guy the size of a farmhouse almost rammed into you had it not been for this nerd who threw himself in the way.
“Oh my god!” you remember saying after crouching down to check on him. “Are you okay?”
The way his eyes looked at you had you frozen. Vibrant blue pools looked at you with more concern for your well-being than for his own, even though he was the one who fell. He scanned you up and down, checking if you were okay, before chuckling nervously and standing up.
“I’m okay. Just a small tumble. Figured better me than you, huh?” He grinned at you, pushing those nerdy glasses further up his nose.
You remember thinking about how those glasses would never stop slipping down his high nose bridge.
“I’m sure I would’ve been alright,” You said, folding your arms and putting weight on your left leg. “Nothing a bit of paracetamol can’t fix, should I have been bruised.”
Back then, you had no idea what went through his mind. He seemed so focused on you that he didn’t bother to tuck the loose strands of his black hair back from his eyes. You thought he probably couldn’t even see you, with hair covering his field of vision. You should’ve known from the beginning that he didn’t care about himself and only cared about you when you were completely unscathed.
“Better safe than sorry,” he bowed his head, looking away, embarrassed. “Ah- we should probably head in. The lecture will start soon,” he jutted his thumb towards the lecture hall’s door.
“Probably. Thanks again,” you replied with a shrug and walked ahead of him.
He was cute. You'll admit it. There was something charming about his awkwardness. He dressed pretty cute as well—nothing like the boys from Gotham, but nothing like the boys from Metropolis either. A red flannel with light-washed jeans that looked decades old. A boy from the country, perhaps.
“So, uh, where are you from?” He asked you as he followed you to your usual seat in the theatre.
Confused and on edge, you placed your bag on the seat between you to create distance. You didn’t want friends, and this nerd seemed a little too friendly and willing to throw himself into whatever situation he found himself in—literally.
“Gotham,” you tried to sound cold to put him off.
“Oh, wow. That’s cool. I’m from Smallville, Kansas, myself,” he said, copying your movements to get his laptop out, ready to take notes. “I don’t know if you can hear it from the accent.”
You pursed your lips and nodded, choosing to say nothing else.
“How rude. I didn’t even introduce myself, and I’m just sitting here, rambling on,” he waved his hand, as if dismissing his so-called “rude” behaviour. “My name is Clark. Clark Kent.”
You looked at him and raised an eyebrow, but he only shot back a smile that reached the corners of his eyes.
“Nice to meet you, Clark Clark Kent.”
“Oh. No. Just Clark Kent.”
“Okay, Just Clark Kent.”
He blinked at you, flustered and fiddled with the rim of his glasses.
You shook your head, looked back to the front of the theatre and told him just your first name - emphasis on the fact that you added 'just' before saying it.
You saw his head perk up from the corner of your eye at your response.
“No surname?”
“Well, I put Just in front of it, right? We have the same first name. So, I’ll call you Clark, and you can call me by my other name. It’d be a bit awkward if we were both called Just.” You jested.
He must’ve thought he was slick, raising an arm to rest his elbow on the table to lean his chin against his palm, which conveniently covered the grin on his face.
“Sounds good to me,” he mumbled into his palm.
There was no use being rude if you had the same minor. You would be seeing him often. What you didn’t anticipate was seeing him as often as you did around campus.
Clark Kent was Mister Popular. You weren't even aware there was such a thing at university. You had assumed everyone left stuff like that in high school, but it seemed Clark was just that well-known amongst the student body. It wasn’t as though he was trying; he simply was. He was so friendly; you couldn’t help but like the nerd.
“Heya!” he would call you as you exited the university library if he were outside. “I got you an iced Americano.”
“Oh,” you would say, awkwardly taking it from him. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to, and I know you’ve been stressed lately with the newest assignment. I figured a little pick-me-up from your good pal couldn’t hurt.”
“How did you know I was stressed?”
Clark blinked at you as if you had asked him what colour the sky was.
“Your fingernails. They’re basically non-existent, and in lectures and tutorials, your leg keeps bouncing up and down. Your eyes are also more downcast while you're looking at your computer, and your breathing is heavier even if you haven’t moved or exercised. Anyone would notice things like that, silly,” he chuckled and shook his head as he began to walk you to your dorm.
He lived in the opposite direction.
Clark did things regularly that confused and scared you. No matter how much you pushed, you kept getting pulled back to him. It was terrifying, but you grew to accept his presence and space in your life.
The friendship was scary enough, but the day he confessed his feelings to you, with a bouquet of lavender mixed with forget-me-nots, made you want to vomit from sheer anxiety.
He stood before you, towering yet shrinking inward from nerves. He stumbled and bumbled over his words, doing his best to maintain eye contact while shaking. He was gripping onto the bouquet like a lifeline.
“Of course, I respect your feelings; I understand if you don’t feel the same. I apologise if I’ve overstepped or made you uncomfortable by doing this. I just wanted to try, but I value your presence in my life more than anything. Even after this, if I get rejection, I would still like to be your friend,” he stammered, pink in the face. “But my feelings for you are real, and only if you say yes, I would be honoured to be your boyfriend.”
Time froze for you for the second time since meeting Clark Kent. You could hardly comprehend a single word coming out of his mouth. You were friends for months, and yeah, sure, maybe you did feel something for him here and there, like when he reached over you with ease to get you something in your dorm, or like that time when he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and stretched over the library desk after sitting still for an hour. It never occurred to you that he felt the same way you did, even for a moment.
“Clark…” you forced yourself to speak. “I had no idea.”
He didn’t say anything. He just nodded and waited for you to continue. But how the fuck could you continue after a confession of love from the sweetest person you had ever met in your life?
“I’m not easy, you know,” like that, you guess. “You know I don’t open up easily, that I’m not the most physically affectionate or even affectionate at all. I get hangry, emotional, and too unemotional. I have a nasty spending habit, and I’m boring. I don’t exactly think you have the right perception of me. I may be funny to be around, but I don’t think I’m girlfriend material. I’d be a little too high maintenance.”
For a solid thirty seconds, he didn’t say anything. You thought you had successfully chased him away. It turns out he was just thinking carefully about his next words.
“High maintenance or not, relationships are hard work. I want that with you. When I’m with you, everything matters—even the most minor things and I think that brings out the best in me. Everything about you matters to me. I still like you when you’re hangry, and I value it more when you open up to me because it's so hard for you to be vulnerable. As for the spending habit, I’m sure we could work on that one together. But are you saying this to reject me or scare me away because you feel the same as I?”
You hated how easily he could read you. You felt naked in front of Clark at all times. You had never been as bare as you were the second you came out of your mother. He saw it all. He knew it all, even without you having to say. He was so perfect that you were worried he would shatter if you did anything.
“Clark-”
You looked into his eyes and saw the same ones that worried more for others than for himself. You saw your reflection in his eyes. He looked at you like you were his whole world and more. You couldn’t bear it. You felt sorry that this was what he wanted - that you were what he wanted when he deserved someone smarter, kinder, prettier.
“You deserve better.” You had to look away from him. You couldn’t look at his face as he pleaded.
“I want you.” He gently took your hand and rubbed his thumb across your knuckles. His hands were soft like he was. “No one else. I would do anything for you. I’m not asking to be your boyfriend right away, just… to try.”
How could you possibly say no to eyes like that? A voice like that? A face like that? You'd be crazy to. He was everything you wanted and dreamed of. A safe place. A home that sheltered me from the world that took so much from you.
“You’ll come, won’t you?” Adelaine, an old friend from college, grins and looks at you with expectant eyes. “Please say you’ll come.”
You smile, just enough for the corners of my lips to curl upwards, and nod.
“Of course I’ll go to your wedding, Ads. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Thank you!” she squeals, reaching to hug you, but halts when she sees you instinctively back away. “Oh, right. No physical affection. I got it.”
“I don’t wanna hurt you. I don’t want my powers to activate accidentally,” You say.
It wasn’t entirely a lie. You were always paranoid that just by touching you, someone would get hurt, but physical affection was always reserved for Clark and only him. You hadn’t let anyone hold you since. You were still working with Barry Allen to figure out how to eliminate your abilities.
“Always so paranoid,” she sighs and shakes her head. “Anyhow, you’re allowed to bring a plus one.”
“No need. I won’t be bringing anyone.”
“Seriously?” she gawks, “You haven’t been with anyone since Clark?”
You shrug your shoulders.
“Come on! Move on! What is he now? Some journalist? You can do so much better. No point in staying hung up on him!”
“I’m not hung up on him,” you grumble, knowing that one was a lie.
She scoffs and raises an eyebrow.
“I don’t get what you saw in him.”
“Everything good.”
“So why’d you leave? You’re the one who broke up with him.”
How could you tell her that the gentle giant, Clark Kent, from college broke your trust? You were finally beginning to feel normal when a villain attacked. At first, he grabbed you, and you stayed hidden.
You remember anxiety rushing through every vein in your body. The terror was always the same when you heard someone was attacking, because what if it was your turn? You had opened up to Clark about your worries, and he had always reassured you that no matter what, he would never let anything or anyone touch a single hair on your head.
But that day, he left you. He told you to stay put. You fought back tears and nodded, trying to be brave and thinking he was going to call Superman for help. After all, he always managed to get interviews with the guy. Maybe he had him on speed dial or something like that.
Superman was too late.
You were rushed to the hospital, and you were in a coma for two months, apparently. Your parents were so angry with Clark that they banned him from visiting you. They didn’t tell you that, so you just assumed he had abandoned you again.
He showed up at your apartment after you were discharged. He tried to dote on you and take care of everything, but you were having none of it. You got into a massive argument, and you told him to leave. He left you before, and again afterwards; surely it would be easy for him to leave you alone in your apartment again. He cried. You cried.
He explained everything to you. He told you he was trying to get Superman, and when you called bullshit, he told you outright that he was Superman.
You remember laughing hysterically. Not even Superman could’ve saved you.
“I felt like he deserved better. Just because I left him doesn’t mean I don’t miss him,” you grazed the rim of your mug, staring into the tea that was practically milk. "I couldn’t stay because it was too much for me. How well he was treating me. It made me sick.”
Adelaine rubs her forehead.
“He was too perfect.”
“He was. I couldn’t handle it.”
Another half-truth.
You couldn’t stand him coming home bruised. You couldn’t stand his complete disregard for his own well-being, and the guilt of what happened to you never left him. He would look at you as if he were the one who broke you, and you hated it.
“Anyway, just send me the RSVP, and I’ll book off work,” you say, setting your mug down and dusting off your trousers. I’ll see you during the wedding preparations, I’m sure.”
Adelaine purses her lips and just nods.
“See you then. Tell Barry I say hi.”
You wave your hand in dismissal.
“I won’t. Barry doesn’t deserve greetings.”
She chuckles, and as you walk away, you hear her say, “You said the same thing about Kent.”
You shake your head, ignoring the comment until you walk past a familiar face with dark hair covering his blue eyes and nerdy glasses that slide down his nose. He was staring at you, and you felt naked all over again.
“I- It's you,” his honey-smooth voice called. “Can we-”
He heard everything. There was no way he didn’t.
Panic surges through your body. You felt sick. You hadn’t seen Clark in three years. You had heard rumours from your mutual friends that he had a very special friendship with a beautiful and intelligent woman called Lois Lane. You wanted the vomit.
“Daydreamin’? The whole day will go by in a flash if you keep doin’ that,” someone grabs your wrist and spins you around to face them.
You look up, startled.
“Happy to see me?” Barry Allen’s stupid smirk comes into your field of vision.
He's wearing a red baseball jacket, his hair framing his stupidly handsome face, and his glasses that he prefers to keep just above the bulb of his nose, never fighting to push them up to their proper position. He smelt of jasmine and rose.
You scowl, flustered, and push him away.
“You scared the shit out of me,” you sigh, yanking your wrist from him. “Let’s just go. We have a lot to get done.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he salutes, glancing back at Adelaine, who had seemingly witnessed the whole thing, “Hi, Addy.”
She grins and waves back.
You wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
You couldn’t bear to look back at Clark. If Adelaine saw everything, Clark definitely did. You felt like crying.
“Who was the giant bear that looked like he was on the verge of tears?” Barry follows you out of the cafe, hands inside his jacket pockets. “You seemed startled to see him, too. Everything okay?”
“It’s nothing, Barry. Drop it,” you take a deep breath, running your right thumb over your left knuckles to calm you down.
Barry pouts but does as you said, not asking further questions before getting into his car. You get into the passenger seat, instinctively glance towards the cafe and see Clark staring at his phone. He had the same look on his face the day you left him.
You bite the inside of your cheek, throw your head back against the seat's headrest, and squeeze your eyes shut. You would not cry in front of Barry Allen. You refused.
Summary: You’re a former Wonder Girl, sidekick to the one and only Wonder Woman, and your old team leader Dick asks you for a favour; house his little brother, Jason, for two months. You accept, knowing you haven’t told Dick your history with Jason in Young Justice. Gradually things progress, he even tells people at his new job you’re his wife, and then one day Jason leaves you. He said he’d be gone for a week. A week turned into two, two turned to three, and one month turned to two months.
Words: approx. 6.6k
CW: none. Just swearing and a My Hero Academia mention.
A/N: reader uses she/her pronouns and is kinda avoidant I won’t lie. She’s bad at expressing her feelings way more than Jason. She’s probably the problem and not Jason. Kinda OOC? I’m not 100%, I’m still new to DC, I just started reading the comics, don’t come for me.
“He’s in a rough spot. I know it’s not fair of me to ask this of you, but do you know of anywhere he can crash in New York?” Dick’s voice came through your phone speaker while you waited for your dinner to finish cooking in the air fryer. “It’s only for a little while, I promise. He’s quiet, and he’s just working through some things. Family shit, you know?”
You sigh loudly enough for your phone to catch it from across the room.
“I can’t think of any, Dick,” You answer honestly. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any contact here that would have room for him apart from my place.”
“That’s perfect!” He exclaims, and you could hear the excitement. “Your apartment is bright, colourful and comfy! It’s a completely different change in environment that could be good for him!”
Immediately, you regret opening your mouth and answering the phone. You enjoyed your peace! You liked the quietness of your apartment, with the only sounds being your footsteps and the CD player blasting old R&B from your parents' generation. Another person in your apartment? Jason Todd, specifically? It would disrupt your rhythm! You knew he was a night owl, too.
“I don’t know,” you rub the back of your neck. “I like my space.”
“You won’t even know he’s there. I’ll make sure he’s well behaved!”
“I’m not a dog,” another voice you knew all too well grumbles. “If she has no room, I’ll find a motel.”
“Not one that isn’t extortionately priced. Everything is expensive here,” you mention and take your dinner out of the air fryer. “Unless you have Wayne money, the longest you can stay in a motel is a week, or you stay in a shitty place.”
Jason groans loudly, but doesn't seem opposed to the shitty place option. Of course, he didn’t. He would rather live with infested rats than live with you is your first thought.
“Please?” Dick’s voice rises an octave. “Pretty please? He’ll pay rent- fuck it, I’ll pay his rent!” You can practically hear the puppy dog eyes from where you stand. “Just let him stay, probably only for two months!”
You knew you were probably making a bad decision, but it was only for a little while anyway… right? What could possibly go wrong?
𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
So, a week later, you meet Dick in the city centre, iced Americano in hand, sunglasses on, and the exhaustion of a whole work week resting on your eyebags. The sun is beaming down, and it’s a typical summer day in New York. The grass is green, the leaves on the trees are swaying with the light breeze, and the chatter of people surrounds you. Living here was only a slight upgrade from Gotham, but a small upgrade is still an upgrade. At least New York gets sun every now and then.
You spot Dick from a mile away. His wavy dark hair bobbed up and down as he waves enthusiastically at you from a distance. Jason follows behind him, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of an oversized red hoodie while his eyes survey his surroundings, a rucksack slung over one of his shoulders. His eyes were squinted too, probably from how bright the sun was. God knows, Gotham never got sun like this. He probably wasn’t used to it. You knew he wasn’t. He reacted similarly when you had a mission in South-East Asia during your time in Young Justice.
“Hi!” Dick beams at you, and you smile to greet him and the figure looming behind him.
“When I agreed to this, I hope you know that I’m not exactly thrilled to be housing him.” You lower your sunglasses to look at him, unimpressed. “I’m only doing this for you as a favour.”
“You’ll be fine,” Dick grins and drops a hand to make light of the situation. “Jason, say hi.”
“Hey,” Jason just nods at you. Men.
“Hey,” you sneer, but still stick your hand out to shake his because, despite your general hatred of men, you were not impolite. Your parents raised you better than that.
“I still think it’s crazy that you two knew each other from before. This must be some reunion, huh?” Dick says.
Jason stares at him with no expression on his face. “Not our first rodeo.”
You suppose he didn’t disclose your actual reunion last year to Dick. You couldn’t fault him for not doing so; you also didn’t tell Dick. To him, this was your official first reunion since Jason died and came back to life. Except the actual first time ended up in both of you bloody, and Tim rushing you back to the Batcave to stitch you back up like you were Frankenstein. A botched mission happened and neither of you recognised the other in your new suits.
His green eyes are like a dark void that sucked you in the minute you made eye contact with him. They used to be brown, and they used to look at you so differently than the way he looked at you at this moment.
“I won’t even know you’re here?” You look at Jason.
“I doubt it,” he answers.
Good enough for you.
𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
“Here,” Jason hands you a cup of Vietnamese iced coffee at 6 a.m. without meeting your eyes. “You need to wake up for work.”
Fun fact: It has been much longer than two months since Jason Todd began staying at your apartment. In fact, Jason Todd has been living with you for almost a year. It has not been a fun experience, but the mornings are the only time when you’re cordial to each other.
“I can make my own coffee, Todd,” you scowl, but still take the cup from him and lean against the island in the kitchen.
“Pancakes are on the dining table,” he ignores you and drinks his black coffee like the pretentious asshole he was.
You roll your eyes and walk to the dining table to feast. You needed as much as you could before you showed up to work.
Plopping down at the dining table, you stack a few pancakes on your plate and open your computer to check the itinerary for today. Even though you knew for a fact that the most you would get to do was do coffee runs for everyone in the office. You hated being an intern at a fashion company, but you have to start somewhere.
You were so focused on your computer that you almost failed to notice Jason sitting beside you, a Jane Austen book in hand, butter resting near your plate. It was scarily domestic and petrified you every time you thought about it for too long.
“Busy day ahead?” he asks while sipping his coffee.
“Always,” you sigh and rub your forehead in exhaustion, even though the day had just begun. “You?”
“Yeah. Teaching the kids at school poetry today,” he mutters, eyes still glued to the pages of Austen.
Another interesting fact most may not know about the big and scary Jason Todd: he’s a substitute English teacher at one of the more underfunded schools in New York. It’s on the other side of the city, and since you only have one car, Jason has to take the bus to work. He does have a motorcycle, but said he didn’t want the attention from being the only teacher with one. He’s run into Wonder Woman one too many times for your comfort. He started volunteering as his pastime because he got so bored at home, but decided to curate a new identity and forge a teaching certificate. You would admit it was a good idea if he weren't so annoying.
You’ve heard from Donna, who took the mantle of Wonder Girl after you retired and still attends the school, talking about the tall, dark, and handsome English substitute called Mr Smith. Yeah. Jason’s new civilian identity was Jason Smith. It was a simple enough name, and there were thousands of Jason Smiths roaming around, you’re sure. It just amused you.
At least he seemed to enjoy it. Dick even came around to check on him, and he was busy grading past paper questions in the dining room. Apparently, there are a couple of kids who stand out to him. Something about one kid being a complete literature nerd, similar to himself. He wasn’t wrong. He had read Frankenstein by Mary Shelley when he wasn’t even the same height as a Coffee barista’s table. You remember being thirteen years old in Young Justice, talking about a show called My Hero Academia, while Jason explained how annoyed he was when people assumed the monster’s name was Frankenstein. The only Stein you knew much about was from Monster High.
“You like Austen?” You say after a while, glancing at the Pride and Prejudice book he held.
“Mhm.”
“You read that book before?”
“Multiple times. Have you?”
You purse your lips together and look away from him. Since university, the only books you’ve ever really read were romcom novels and self-help books. Your brain couldn’t handle classic fancy mumbo jumbo regency speak or whatever, and you could see Jason judging you from the corner of your eye.
“Whatever,” you get up, shovel one final pancake in your mouth, and down your coffee. “I don’t need your self-pretentiousness before work.”
“You’re a journalist for a fashion company, you should read more.” Jason tuts your full name with the shake of his head.
God, you could strangle him. He always insists on the full name and even walks around the apartment shirtless like he owned the place. That cocky attitude clearly didn’t die when he did.
Yes, he paid rent, and yes, it was always on time. Yes, he paid for his groceries, did his chores and even made meals big enough for you since you always stayed late at the office. That didn’t mean he owned the place. It was in your name, and you hated seeing him lounge on your sofa with only sweatpants on like he was always supposed to be there when you came home from work.
Arguments were too frequent with you, and every single time, they ended with both of you slamming the doors of your respective bedrooms. You were just relieved that you only had to see him in the mornings and very late evenings. One of these days, that man was going to die, and it would be by your hands. Two months, your ass.
You glare at him, prepared for it to be the last time you look at him before storming off, when you hear a clink against his mug. Jason never wore jewellery because he didn’t like the sensation of something restricting his fingers. That was probably a cause of sensory issues, or trauma, or potentially both. So the clink set off bells in your head.
You walk over and grab his hand, your mouth falling agape when you see a wedding band.
“What the fuck? You’re married?!” You screech, not even shocked when Jason yanks his hand back and glares at you from where he was sitting. “Since when?!”
“Use that pretty little head of yours and think, hm?” His voice carries the mockery he had had since you were teenagers. “I’m a civilian teacher now. I need a backstory.”
“Backstory being you’re married?” You scoff and cross your arms. “To whom, exactly?”
“Oh come on,” he chuckles darkly, repeating your name and leans back into the dining seat, “you. I’m married to you.”
It takes you a moment to stop and process what was said. He had been telling colleagues and potential parents he was married to you!
When you look at him, you see the flicker of amusement wave around in the centre of those dark green eyes, the corners slightly creased because the smirk on his face reached his eyes too. He was so aggravating.
“I’m your wife?” You try to steady your voice, to be calm and cool-collected!
“Yes, ma’am,” he nods.
You stare before completely losing it.
“Your wife?! Jason Peter Todd!” You slam your fists against his bare chest and scream at him. “I have family who go to that school! Donna goes to that school! I have other family members going to that school! Why couldn’t you have just made up a wife?! Wouldn’t that be easier?! Also, what do you need a wife for?!”
“To get those single mothers away from me, first and foremost,” his legs find themselves parted for you to stand in between while you hit him, and his hands hover above your waist to keep your balance. You hate how observant he was. “And secondly, why not? You hate the idea of me being your husband that badly?”
You scowl and shove his face away from yours.
“I do the cooking and the cleaning. I work the easy nine-to-five. Is that not enough for you, wifey?” You want to smack the grin off his face.
“Don’t show anyone any photos,” you say, finger pointed, teeth clenched, and patience running thin. It was too early in the morning for this.
“But,” he flips his phone to show you the screen, and lo and behold, it had a picture of you asleep on the sofa as its wallpaper. “I already did.”
Fury was the only emotion you could describe. You launch yourself on top of him, knocking both you and the seat down to the floor, not caring about that whatsoever and straddling his torso to wrap your hands around his neck. Somehow, he flips you over with ease, pinning your hands to the floor and trapping your legs in between his. You knew you stood a chance at flipping you back to where you were with your Amazon strength but you were so caught off guard you didn’t move.
Your breaths were barely heavy, but they felt intertwined, your noses centimetres apart, eyes locked onto the other, waiting, watching to see who made the next move. Your body felt warm against his, like he was a human heater. Maybe it was the anger flowing through your veins that he had overpowered you so easily that made you feel warm. Prior feelings couldn’t resurface - you didn’t want them to, and you refused to let them.
“When I catch you, Jason Todd,” you scowl, trying to sink into the floor to create as much distance as physically possible, “when I catch you.”
He flashes you that boyish grin you’d only ever seen him have when he annoyed you and nodded. “You have to admit, I’m a pretty good husband, no?” He releases your arms but keeps his face close to yours. “I am pretty good to you.”
“Get lost,” you shove him, opting to use the most underhanded tactic you knew, kneeing him in the balls. He groans and falls to the space next to you. “For the record, if you’re married to me, you get my surname, got it? Might wanna update your paperwork.”
He nods, still wincing in pain.
𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
You stand outside the school waiting for Jason to come out. Public transport wasn’t operating after a particularly bad battle between Wonder Woman and another massive extraterrestrial reptile, so you had to pick him up. You were just relieved your younger cousin was sick that day because you knew she would have insisted she come home with you and bombarded both Jason and you with questions that floated around in her adorable head.
You lean against the car with your arms crossed, eyes watching the door. When it opens, you stand up just a little straighter to wave Jason over, but see three different women chattering to him with their children toddling behind, gossiping, judging from the fact that the little tykes were covering their mouths. Jason is in the middle, politely trying to shove them off and pointing to the ring on his finger. You know he can handle it on his own, and even then, it isn’t exactly your business. He isn’t your actual husband, but then you hear one of them say that you didn’t need to know if he wanted to have a little fun. For some reason, every muscle in your body screamed at you to move.
You walk over with as much composure as you could muster and stand behind Jason, who hadn’t registered your presence yet. The other mothers see you first and scowl at you in distaste.
“Jason,” you announce your presence, and Jason spins around. “Stop stalling for time. I expected you home an hour ago.”
Jason blinks and adjusts the glasses on his perfectly arched nose. The influence of Clark Kent and his hypno-glasses. “Yes, of course. These mothers just had questions about the upcoming curriculum and English field trip.”
You look at the women. “An email didn’t sound appealing? Clinging onto his arm was more fun, wasn't it?”
“Okay,” Jason sucks in a breath, his hand finding the small of your back in an attempt to turn around to walk back to your car.
“No, no, you know he’s married, right? To me,” you grab his hand and show the wedding band that definitely wasn’t yours and was probably something cheap he found from a pawn shop downtown. “The least you can do is have some respect for the man and his marriage. Some class, you guys have.” You scoff, grab Jason’s hand and storm back to your car.
The women were glaring at your car. You can feel them. You can feel their judgmental stares as Jason gets into the passenger’s seat and tucks his briefcase into the backseat, while you sit in the front, enraged.
“Y’know, I thought I had anger issues,” Jason leans back, eyes on you while you drive home. “I think a certain someone has jealousy issues for their not-husband.”
“I just can’t stand infidelity. It’s disgusting. They knew you were married and still chose to climb all over you. Self-respect and the respect for you and your wife don’t exist. It’s the principle of it all!” You slam your hands on the steering wheel in frustration. “Sorry, I just- I had a long day at work and found out one of my colleagues got cheated on by her husband and some new young thing that knew he was married.”
“And you’re placing yourself in your colleague’s shoes because?”
“Because I have sympathy, Jason. Jesus Christ,” you rub your forehead and hit the brake at a stoplight. “Also, seeing them cling to you like they were on the monkey bars was unsettling. They’ve clearly seen men before; their children were right behind them.”
Jason shrugs his shoulders next to you and stares out the window with a neutral expression. “I’m used to it.”
A pang suddenly shakes your chest, ribcage squeezing around your heart a little tighter. You look at him in shock, but he carries nonchalance like it weighed nothing when you know he carried the world and more.
“Yeah, well, we have some couple photos to take when we get home. They better leave you alone after seeing those,” you mutter.
𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
It has been a year and a half since Jason Todd started living with you. About two months ago, he started disappearing for a week at a time, ready to begin integrating himself into vigilantism once again. Dick was excited for him, but a part of you wished he wouldn’t go, at least not without telling you beforehand.
You had begun to get along more, still fighting over little things, but you were comfortable and had fallen into a routine. You’d wake up at the same time, have breakfast together in silence, go to work, he’d come home first and make dinner while you stayed overtime at the fashion agency, then when you got home, you’d eat the dinner left in the fridge and join him on the sofa, occasionally leaving him alone to assist Wonder Woman and Wonder Girl as your new hero identity. It wasn’t a thrilling life, but it was a comfortable one.
“Oh, and then apparently Reagan ran into Cecilia,” you tell him work drama, ignoring the yearning feeling of wanting him to stay, which weighs heavily on your chest as you watch him slip on his gloves. “They argued like crazy, literally like cats and dogs. Don’t quote me on this, but apparently Cecilia called her a cunt that could never be redeemed and that her son was so much better off without her. Isn’t that crazy?”
“That is crazy,” Jason nods and fixes his jacket. “She’s always been an asshole.”
“Yvyonne told me,” you add with a sigh, “it’s just insane that she’d bring her son up, y’know? That’s fucked up!”
Jason hums, eyes trained on you with that same attentive look he had every time you rambled. Maybe if you talked long enough, he’d stay.
“Like, I know she and Reagan weren’t close, but I mean, that’s low. I wouldn’t have expected that from Cecilia. I know her from when we were in university together, and yeah, sure, she was annoying, and self-righteous and all of that jazz, but she never crossed a line like that,” you sigh and stir your hot chocolate with a spoon Jason had gifted you for your birthday. “I really don’t know what’s going on in her head, y’know? If Hanna had said something like that to Reagan, that would make sense. Hanna doesn’t really think before she speaks; she just says, but Reagan has had more cordial discussions with Hanna than Cecilia!”
“Interesting.”
“I know, right?!” You were running out of things to say, and your heart began to sink.
“Well, I’ll be back in a week,” he says as he walks over and moves some of your hair out of your face. Fuck, you hated him and the way your heart beats a little harder every time he was near. “You can tell me the rest when I get back.”
“Sure,” you fake nonchalance that you knew he could see through. “Try not to die again, Red Hood.”
“I’ll come back to you, Mrs." He slips the helmet on. “Don’t get your hopes up that I won’t return.”
And like that, he was gone.
You’re alone in the apartment again, and for some reason, instead of craving the silence with only the accompaniment of your footsteps and CD player that you had for months, you loathed it. You had work to attend, and it was mid-term break for all schools, so this job was perfectly timed for Jason. Of course, he had to go.
You came home that night to an empty house, but dinner was ready in the fridge. You didn’t even want to question where he was; he didn’t give you the details. You got used to the week-long absences, but then one week turned into two weeks, then two weeks into two months. You didn’t want to admit it, but the heavy feeling in your chest carried nothing but anxiety and worry. You didn’t mention it to Dick because you didn’t want him to think you cared about the man. You didn’t, you swear.
You cared about the iced coffees in the warmer seasons, the hot chocolate in the colder seasons, the specific care he took to clean areas in high places you could reach with your powers, but he did it for your convenience, and the dinners you used to come home to. You didn’t care that Jason was gone; it was just the things he did and the fact that you were no longer alone. That was definitely it. It definitely wasn’t that you felt chosen for the first time in your life when he decided to say you were his wife, and every time you caught him saying it like it was a fact to a colleague of his, your heart raced.
His presence definitely didn’t remind you of good times in Young Justice, where M’gann used to tease you about your crush on him. It definitely wasn’t that you felt loved because he would always smile and introduce you with a certain confidence in his voice whenever you ran into one of his colleagues outside of work. He had never said that to you, and you knew he probably never would. Knowing Jason, once he’s done healing in New York from most of the scars of Gotham and his past, he’ll leave you behind and return to where he belongs - in Gotham without you.
But as more time passed, you got more anxious and irritable. It was so apparent that Donna caught on while you were training and asked if she should tell Diana to take you out for a drink. You declined. Alcohol barely did anything to you: Amazon powers and whatnot.
After two and a half months of silence, you come home one night and turn the news on: “Red Hood: Prince of Gotham has returned with a vengeance!” Oh great.
You lay on the sofa, far away from where Jason usually sat, wrapped in a blanket, hot chocolate in your hand, and watch tiredly at the news report. He had taken down yet another drug cartel in Gotham, ending in a fight against Nightwing, which neither of them won. That, or it was unclear who won. Knowing Jason, he’d probably say he won that fight.
“I definitely won that fight between me and Nightwing,” his voice echos through what you think was your head.
You think you’re hallucinating until you look up and see him standing beside you. His helmet was cracked, his face was covered in scratches, cuts and bruises, his usually uptight posture was now hunched over in what you can only assume was pain, and even his brown leather jacket had been ripped up.
“Hey, Mrs, miss me?” That same boyish smile would be the death of you.
You take the blanket off and walk away from him. You can’t even speak. You didn’t know what to say, or what would come out of your mouth. You didn't know if it would be incoherent sobs or screaming in a language he didn’t understand. All you knew was you had a first aid kit and had to patch him up first.
Upon your return, he’s sitting patiently in the living room. His eyes light up a little, almost resembling those of a young boy.
He sits quietly while you patch him up, wincing now and then when you apply alcohol to ensure none of the wounds would get infected. His skin is rough and scarred, his hands calloused. The only sound in the room was the faint narration of the news and your breathing.
“Worried?” he says after several minutes of uncomfortable silence. “Almost thought I wasn’t coming home, huh?”
“Don’t talk to me,” you mutter, trying to keep your emotions in check.
“What?” he blinks in surprise.
“You have no idea how angry I am, Jason. Don’t talk to me.”
“Why? What’s wrong? Is someone bothering you at work? Do I have to kill someone? I’ll do it.”
“You’re bothering me,” you spit out, eyes refusing to meet his. “You, it’s all you.” You wrap the final bandage around his arm and rise to your feet. “All of my problems recently are because of you. It’s your fault.”
He looks at you, confused. “My fault?” he points a finger at himself to confirm your statement. What a dork. “What did I do?”
“A week, Jason,” your voice threatens to tremble. “You said a week.”
“I thought it would only take a week, but things can get fucked up sometimes,” he speaks so matter-of-fact that every emotion you had been feeling for the past two and a half months was beginning to resurface. “You know that more than anyone.”
“Never mind. I’ll see you in the morning,” you say through gritted teeth and turn to retreat into your room, but his hand reaches for yours and spins you around. Suddenly, you were face-to-face, standing between his legs once again, while his eyes scan you for clues as to why you could be this angry at him.
“We talk about this now,” he says, his thumb gently crossing back and forth on your knuckles. “What did I do?”
You scoff loudly, a hand on your forehead to regulate your temperature because who knows? Maybe you could’ve gotten a fever with how sick you were with worry.
“What did you do? You didn’t text, you didn’t call, you didn’t even tell Dick to let me know you were okay, Jason!” You shout. “I wasn’t shocked on day eight when you weren’t home. Things happen. I expected something - anything from you after more than two weeks! A note to say ‘hey, I’m not dead again by the way’ or ‘I’m not abandoning you, things just came up.’”
“You thought I abandoned you-?”
“Yes! For a solid month, I thought you had finally gotten sick of me and decided to leave!” You cry out, your body burning with frustration. “I know that you staying here is temporary, the marriage thing isn’t even real, and you don’t even like me, but a goodbye would’ve been appreciated! It’s common courtesy to tell someone you’re doing okay when you don’t return when you said you would! Do you even grasp how sick I was with anxiety?!”
Jason only stares at you as you continue to scream at him. The most movement he produces is slowly standing and placing his hands gently on your forearms, eyes looking at you through those stupidly gorgeous lashes.
“I thought you at least tolerated me a little. I knew that I was probably reading into things too much, that the wife-guy bit was just that - a bit, that you just needed those single mothers to leave you the fuck alone, and I’m literally the only person you know you can trust adequately enough to play pretend wife, but-“ you cover your face with your hands, not wanting him to see you tearing up, “fuck, Jason. I don’t know anymore. Even if it was just to get people to fuck off, I felt wanted, and you leaving without informing me how long you’d be before you got home killed me. I knew we couldn’t just pick up where we left off when we were young, but the fear that you had died again swallowed me whole.”
“I…”
“You’re such a fucking asshole,” you whimper and shove his chest to create more space between you. “You’re fucking inconsiderate.” You hated yourself for crying. You want to do nothing more than crawl into your own skin. “You left me in this circle by myself, not knowing what the fuck we even are anymore. We’re not just roommates; we’re in a fake marriage, but we’re not dating, and we’re hardly friends. I hate you so much.”
You want to pull away, you really do, but when his arms wrap around your frame, you couldn’t. You feel yourself sink into him, and every ounce of frustration comes pouring out in the form of tears and incoherent words of hatred.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles against the crown of your head. “I should’ve called, even if it was late at night.”
“No fucking shit,” you push him away again, and wipe the tears streaming down your cheeks. “This is stupid. You’re probably returning to Gotham anyway, and I saw the news. Their prince is back. You may as well pack up your shit and go.”
“Mrs, come on.”
“I already explained to the school that you’re on a sabbatical, so if you still want that job, it’s still there,” you take a step away from him and cross your arms over your chest like they were an impenetrable shield that he couldn’t reach, even if he wanted to. “I’m going to bed.”
Jason sighs loudly behind you, and he follows you.
“I was never going to abandon you,” he lodges a foot in the door to prevent you from slamming it in his face, his eye twitching at his foot getting squashed between the doorway, but not stopping even to have a breath to explain himself. “I would never do that.”
You couldn’t believe him. How could you? This tall, muscular man, who has the trust of your closest friend, who teaches kids and tutors on the weekends, who has a soft spot for kittens and is a phenomenal at-home barista, tolerates you enough to stay?
You had been alone your entire life, never enough for anyone, people-watching on the sidelines, at school, in life, at work, in both platonic and romantic relationships. You saw the way Konnor looked at M’Gann when they were dating, Wally and Artemis, Dick and Zatanna. You saw it with your friends at your new school in New York when you moved. Even your first kiss was when you were nineteen with a guy in a dark club who couldn’t see you correctly, and he avoided you the rest of the night.
You probably read into things too much when you and Jason were kids, too. He was perhaps just nice and wanted a friend, and you just had to get romantic feelings involved. How stupid would you have to be to believe someone could actually want you, right?
“Stop it, Jason.” You look to the floor like it would be your saviour. Maybe it would suck you into a black hole, and you’d disappear under his gaze. “It’s fine. You don’t owe me an explanation. Just go get some sleep.”
“You’re being selfish.” His hand worms itself on the edge of the door and shoves it open. His eyes flicker around to see the state of your room. He barely bats an eye, his eyes finding their focus on you again. “You won’t even let me speak.”
“Let me be selfish,” you try to shove him back out. “I don’t need to hear it. It’s fine, Jason. I get it. I’ll still play the role of wife when you need it, don’t worry. Just forget about everything.”
“Hey, that’s not-”
“Seriously, it’s fine. I know I read into things, and I know I shouldn’t have. I know this is just a roommate situation, and I got in over my head because, oh wow! A man who’s conventionally attractive lives with me and isn’t outwardly disgusted by my being? I must be in love! Maybe he reciprocated my feelings back when we were younger, too!” You try to joke because if you didn’t, you were going to break down in front of him again, and you would rather kill yourself than have him console you for being trapped in a one-sided love, just like how your entire adolescence was spent. “Just ignore it. We’ll return to how we were, and I won’t stress myself out again. It’ll be like nothing changed-”
“And if I want change? Throughout this entire conversation, have you ever stopped once to ask what I want? What I think?” he snaps, his hand gripping the door, tightening while his eyes narrow at you.
“Fine. I’ll leave you alone from now on.”
“That’s- fuck, that’s not what I fucking meant. If you’d just let me fucking speak-”
You don’t want him to. You don’t want to hear him say that he really values you as a friend who works well with him, who covers his ass at work so the single mothers leave him alone, but he just doesn’t feel that way about you. You don’t want to hear him say he’s glad Dick has you as a friend and that he’s relieved he has you too. You don’t want to listen to any of it.
“Jason, drop it.”
“No. I won’t drop it. I- for fuck’s sake, I feel the same way, I always have,” his eyes feel like they pierce through the darkest depths of your soul. His chest rises up and down in the heat of the moment, and from frustration at your constant speaking over him. “You think I don’t get paranoid when you take too long on missions with Wonder Woman? You think I don’t get jealous when I see you with that stupid, flirty reporter from the Daily Planet when he takes photos for your work? I do. I get so insanely paranoid and jealous that I feel insane because I have never felt this way before, except when I was in Young Justice with you.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“Do I look like scum to you?” he scoffs loudly, hurt evident in his voice. “I finally tell you my side, and you think I’m lying?”
“Yeah, I do,” you hug yourself so tightly that your fingernails begin to make crescent-shaped indents on your waist.
“Look me in my eyes and say that to me again.”
You couldn’t. You didn’t dare to.
“Look at me.”
No. You want him to stop. Your entire body was screaming to run - to abort mission and hide in Diana’s apartment for eternity.
You shut your eyes, preparing for him to storm out and slam his door shut, not wanting to see the sight, but calloused hands cup your face and force your head in his direction.
“Please.”
You fucking hate him.
You open your eyes and see Jason—your Jason. Jason, who made you coffee every morning and hot chocolate every night, who bragged to his colleagues about his ‘super cool fashion journalist wife who’s going to be world famous one day’, and broke a limb for you multiple times during missions in Young Justice.
“I don’t know what it is, but I care about you. Every time you don’t come home when you say, I contemplate putting the helmet on and finding you myself to make sure you’re okay, fuck, I’ve even contemplated putting a tracker on your suit to know your every move, even following you just to watch to make sure you don’t get hurt.” His thumbs ghost over your cheekbones.
It never occurred to you that you had never been held like this before by anyone else. You had been held like this by him on several occasions, where you took panic attacks over past trauma and even just the stress of civilian work and hero work.
“You have no idea of the space you take up in my brain, you’re so annoying.” Jason continues. Who said romance was dead? “But I wouldn’t want anything else. I want this, I want you. I want the fights, the lazily lounging on the sofa, the breakfast, the singing in the background of every shower, the bragging rights that I have you as a wife to my sleazy coworkers. I want all of it, all of you, even if you’re fucking insane and speak over me all the time. Your voice is the sound I want to hear for the rest of my life, however long that may be.”
For once, Jason Todd has rendered you speechless, and he’s the one who’s doing the communicating.
“Call me an asshole, call me inconsiderate, call me whatever you want, just don’t call me a liar. Not to you. Never to you.”
Too many thoughts flood your brain. Every doubt and insecurity that had risen to the surface, whispering that he was still lying to you, was silenced by his own voice that screamed to be heard over the whispers without even raising his voice. He never raised his voice at you, not even when you fought, and here he is, still fighting you without raising his voice, just fighting for it to be heard.
“I hate you,” you whisper, but wrap your hands around his wrists. “You have no idea how much I fucking hate you.”
He chuckles softly and pulls you into his arms again.
“Yeah, likewise.”
A/N: and that’s it! That’s the end of my first ever fic here on tumblr. I’m not too sure how I feel about it but it is what it is. I know Jason can sometimes be treated like he’s the bad communicator which is fair, but as someone who is also very bad at her feelings, I figured writing smth a little self-indulgent where he reassures the reader wouldn’t hurt, right?
I just write what I feel like writing. There may be a surge of a lot of fics posted, then potentially me accidentally ghosting lol. I write fluff, angst and I’m still learning how to write smut so when those get published, Minors DNI istg please. I’m happy to take requests but please note there is a chance I may not get to a few just because I am an adult. I have a life outside the internet, gasp, I know. Anyway, the masterlist is just below the cut! Thank you for coming to my tiny corner of the internet and stopping by!
Quick A/N:
There are things I will not write including the likes of DDLG/DDLB or MDLG/MDLB, CNC, Dub-con, and the likes as I’m personally not comfortable. Other than that, pretty much everything else is free game lol.
DC
Jason Todd (Red Hood)
And They Were Roommates
The Final Straw
Clark Kent (Superman)
A Boundary Crossed
Dick Grayson (Nightwing)
Get Off Your Knees, Grayson!
Just a Little Bit of Authority (coming soon!)
CK [Clark Kent] (Superboy Prime)
Two Can Play At That Game (coming soon!)
Percy Jackson
Luke Castellan
Yet to come…
Haikyuu
Yet to come…
Attack On Titan
Yet to come…
Young Sherlock
Mycroft Holmes
How do you know what's good for me? It's my OPINION!!!
