𐙚 ⋮ content: pure embarrassment + foul language. if you don’t enjoy my content, there’s no need for you to stick around. i’m not responsible for what you choose to engage with.
𐙚 ⋮ TATBILB: au navigation.
POPULARITY IS ONE SON OF A BITCH.
there are people who walk through the halls of hogwarts unnoticed. faceless, nameless, and forgotten, they were tides in the sea of robes and magic. however, there were individuals who swam against the ripple of anonymity, refusing to be pulled under by the waves of inconspicuousness. they chose to make their own rules, navigate their own waters and leave a mark upon the shoreline.
instead of casting life's rope to haul them back from the edge, they were the hidden hands that shoved them in the first place. the ones who never meld into the background, who stand at the center of it all.
it’s strange to think about, isn’t it? there are always a few selected people who hold that kind of popularity. the ones others follow, not out of admiration, but out of some sort of restriction. it’s like walking through an art museum: every piece holds its own beauty, its own story, but there’s always those few masterpieces that draws every gaze. the kind people crowd around, whisper about, try to replicate, even if they’ll never quite capture its meaning.
their names are gossiped, their presence felt before they even step into a room. professors tolerate them, sometimes with amusement, sometimes with annoyance, because brilliance comes with mischief, and mischief is something they have in total; younger years either worship or fear them, the upper years watch them, peers are caught in the balance of wanting them and wanting to be them.
they are untouchable, not because they are out of reach, but because touching them means stepping too close to the flame.
and so, instead of burning, you wrote them letters.
each sealed with your feelings, mashed onto parchment, meant to stay hidden forever. not all at once, of course - each one over the years, like chapters in a story. it almost amused you, the way you somehow had a crush for every single one of them at different points in time, yet never once found the courage to confess.
that’s how it usually goes, isn’t it? you get caught up in silly crushes while growing up, and when you’re older, you look back at your desperation with nothing but secondhand embarrassment.
as you grew up, you randomly remembered all the absurd things you did just to catch their attention: only to let out a small, embarrassed noise at the memories. all the countless times you rearranged your schedule just to ‘accidentally’ bump into them in passing was laughable.
MATTHEO RIDDE ⟢ FIRST YEAR.
your books had been knocked from your arms by an older slytherin, an ugly sneer on his face as he strode past you. you barely had time to react before mattheo riddle - mattheo fucking riddle, a name already dipped in warnings stood before you. he didn’t ask if you were okay. he didn’t pick up your books for you like a storybook hero. no, riddle turned on his heel and shoved the fifth year’s books straight from his hands, scattering them across the corridor.
“whoops,” he had said. “looks like it’s your hands that don’t work.” the fifth year had shoved one of his larger books into your arms, then mockingly claimed that your hands were too sluggish and chubby to catch it. embarrassingly, you couldn’t help but wish riddle hadn’t been there to hear it.
despite the embarrassment, you spent weeks replaying that moment, the way his dark curls had fallen over his eyes, the way his confidence had filled the space like something out of a movie. it was the first time someone had made your heart stutter.
and so, you wrote.
a letter filled with the giddy, innocent wonder of a first crush, scribbled on parchment with ink stains and crossed out words. you had covered it in an explosion of glitter, carefully placing tiny stickers to give it the perfect touch.
BLAISE ZABINI ⟢ SECOND YEAR.
zabini did not need anyone. from an early age, the boy carried a mood of some sort, instinctively drawn to self reliance in all things. that was the truth everyone knew about him. he was too untouchable, too above the idea of schoolyard romances. if mattheo riddle was fire, then blaise was ice, a frozen cube of a boy that never quite let himself break.
still, for a moment in second year, you thought maybe; you had seen a crack in the ice.
you had been paired with him in potions, a class where he normally worked alone because no one wanted to risk disappointing zabini. he was easily one of the smartest students in your year, his knowledge of potions so expansive it almost felt intimidating, like he saw the magic in every ingredient long before it touched the cauldron. gifted asshole.
but snape had made it clear that partners were mandatory that day, and so there you were, standing beside him, the sharp scent of crushed ingredients between you.
it was fine at first. civil, even.
“stop. you’re chopping it wrong,” blaise had murmured, reaching out before you could react, his hand grazing yours as he adjusted the knife in your grip.
your breath had caught. his fingers remained for a second longer than necessary before he pulled away. the earth had wobbled. not because of the correction, but because blaise zabini did not touch people unnecessarily.
you remembered how, every time his friends tried to pull him into a hug, he would shove them away with a hand to their chest, only for it to escalate into a scuffle that often ended with them tumbling to the ground. it always happened out of nowhere, drawing stares from those around them; but they seemed to drink in the attention. you always seemed to long for a sip of it too, watching them with an almost obsessive focus. creepy, yes, but it was just a silly schoolgirl crush, it didn’t really matter.
however, later that night, you had written a letter.
DRACO MALFOY ⟢ THIRD YEAR.
draco malfoy had always been draco malfoy. loud. annoying. annoying. annoying. did you mention annoying already? a boy whose existence grated on every nerve. but as third year descended upon hogwarts, something changed.
it was the hair.
it was ridiculous how something so simple could make someone entirely different, but when he came back from summer with that platinum blond hair perfectly styled, suddenly, the world saw him in a new light. and so did you. malfoy had always been an insufferable son of a bitch, and he still very much was: only now, he had a new hairstyle to go with it.
it was dumb. but one day, you had found yourself watching him across the great hall, and when he caught you staring, he had smirked.
and, godric help you, you flushed.
that night, you wrote a letter - shorter than the others, but still decorated in the same girlish, glittery way before tucking it safely into a round, blue box with a little bow on top. and even though the crush had only lasted a week, the embarrassment of it still hung back.
THEODORE NOTT ⟢ FOURTH YEAR.
you had always been decent at flying. not extraordinary, not the kind of player who hailed attention like the house team’s star chasers, but you could hold your own. that day, though, something felt off. maybe it was the cold stiffening your fingers. maybe it was the distraction of the game, the way bodies blurred past you in streaks of yellow and green.
maybe it was the fact that theodore nott was playing beater. maybe that was why your nerves felt stretched thin: he was, without question, one of the best beaters on the pitch. it shouldn’t have mattered. he was just another slytherin on the field, just another figure snipping through the sky with alleviation.
somehow, you found your gaze catching on him more than once: on the way his hands gripped the bat, the control he had over his broom, as if flying were something that came as naturally as breathing.
you weren’t supposed to be looking at him when it happened. the bludger came out of nowhere.
one second, you were watching the quaffle switch hands, and the next, a ball of iron was hurtling straight toward you. fast. far too fucking fast. your breath caught in your throat, because there was no time to move, no time to —
despite the panic crashing through your veins, he emerged: quick and silently, a shadow pruning through the storm.
theodore gashed through the sky in a single movement, swinging his bat with just enough force to deflect the bludger at the last possible second. the impact sent a violent crack resonating through the wind.
your stomach dropped. his arm must have taken most of the force. surely it hurt like a bitch: but he didn’t let it show.
before you knew it, just like that, he was gone. back into the fray, back into the sky. you didn’t move right away: heart still racing, hands clenched tight around your broomstick. he could have easily let the bludger hit you, easily giving his team the upper hand. and while you knew you’d have done the same for anyone in danger, the thought still sent a tickle to your ears.
you had never thought much about theodore nott before. he was clever, yes. mysterious, in that way that made people whisper about him. but he had always been distant: detached.
but today, for one second, he had been close. and you couldn’t stop thinking about it. so you wrote. wrote about how maybe you had always liked him, even before you realized it.
LORENZO BERKSHIRE ⟢ FIFTH YEAR.
lorenzo berkshire was never supposed to be someone you found yourself crushing on. you thought your feelings would have stopped at theodore: liking four out of the six of them was already absurd enough.
but then he laughed.
it was stupid. so fucking stupid. but enzo had this laugh: the kind that made you want to laugh too, even if you had no idea what was so funny. perhaps it was the way his eyes crinkled at the corners that made him look endearingly boyish, despite the sculpted lines of his jaw and the sharp, clever glint in his eye. or maybe it was the way he threw his head back, exposing the strong column of his throat.
he was one of the boys in their group you spoke to occasionally, the one who was easier to approach than the others, his presence devoid of the edge that made the rest so intimidating. so when he slipped into the seat next to you in charms, leaving behind his friends after yet another fight, it didn’t surprise you.
and by fight, you meant an actual, fisted brawl: busted lip, black eye, and all. riddle had a band-aid across his nose, making it instantly clear who he’d been sparring with.
in charms, you figured he must’ve gotten bored, because suddenly he leaned over and whispered some ridiculous joke in your ear. and you laughed: not because it was the funniest thing in the world, but because it was so stupid. he laughed too. there was something oddly beautiful about the sound of his laughter, so you joined in, making jokes about how riddle was probably furious while berkshire was living his best life sitting next to you. (they made up after class.)
he transformed into something more than just one of your crushes’ friends — he became the crush. so, you wrote.
by the next month, the crush had faded, leaving you cursing yourself for your impulsive habit: to inscribe upon the parchment the instant that a soul kindles a spark within your heart.
by sixth year, you had moved on, wrapped up in dating a gryffindor boy, grateful that the names inked in those forgotten love letters no longer remained in your mind. they were only passing figures in the corridors, familiar faces you sometimes partnered with in class, but never again did they stir that same breathless, schoolgirl longing.
by seventh year, when you and said gryffindor boy chose to go your separate ways, the love letters remained untouched, slipping into the deepness of your memory; once burning ink of passion that now pales like the final breath of a dying star, carved upon parchment that crumbles to dust at the merest touch.
“WHAT’S THIS?”
you lift your head from where you were picking at a piece of chewing gum that had exploded in your mouth, still tingling from whatever weasley concoction had made it fizzle. you look over at luna as she holds up a box: not just any box, which is what catches your full attention. a blue, circle shaped box with a bow at the top.
blue. circle shaped. box. bow.
your stomach drops.
no. no. no. no.
you know the feeling you get when you're on a rollercoaster at the very top, the panic rushing to your stomach and throat as the impact is about to come? that's exactly how you feel right this very moment.
you push yourself off the floor in a panic, scrambling toward her, but it’s too late. she’s already lifted the lid, her pale blue eyes scanning inside with that dreamy curiosity of hers. merlin, you wanted to die. right then and there. wanted the floor to crack open and swallow you whole. you hadn’t laid a finger on that box in nearly two years. the last time you wrote a letter, in a moment of horror, you thought, what if someone finds these? so you shoved them away, crossed your heart and hoped to die than go near that box again.
but of course, fate wasn't on your side. not that it ever truly was, but this time, it made it unmistakably clear. like a puppeteer pulling strings, it yanked you off the verge of chance and flung you into the void of assurance.
every year, the hufflepuff dorms shift to make space for new students, which means cleaning up to make room for a possible new roommate. and because you had too much stuff, you asked luna to help you sort through it all. a terrible mistake: you really should have checked what you were asking her to go through first.
her pale fingers skim over the parchment, eyes tracing the familiar loops and slants of your handwriting. “oh,” luna says, blinking at the letters inside. “these are love letters.” thanks luna, for pointing out the obvious: it’s not like those letters aren’t the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever written!
you snatch the box from her hands, heart skipping as you clutch it against your chest. “luna — why were you in my trunk?” you had told the girl to arrange items on your desk, not your trunk.
she tilts her platinum head of hair, radish earrings swinging. “i was looking for my spectrespecs. thought i might’ve left them in there.” she smiles. “but this is much more entrancing.”
your mouth opens and closes like a fish. “they’re old. i wrote them ages ago.” two years, to be exact. “it doesn’t matter.”
luna, of course, does not believe that. she hums, leaning forward, inspecting you in that knowing way she always does, like she’s peering into the inner workings of your mind. it always terrified you when she would halt all her movements just to read you, but that was her unique way of observing, so eventually, you grew used to it. “did you ever send them?”
you hesitate.
“aha!” she squeals. “you didn’t.” if there was one thing you and your best friend shared, it was a love for romance novels. while getting lost in the world of fiction was always fun, telling her about your love letters was an immediate no. you knew she’d never stop talking about it if she found out. the huge smile on her thin lips only confirmed it, her face was practically shouting: love story in the making?
you immediately shut it down. a heavy sigh escapes the back of your throat as you flop back onto the bed, pressing the box against your forehead. “‘course not. they were never meant to be sent.”
they never were, actually. these letters were meant for you and the little scenarios you’d create in your mind before bed, depending on which crush you were thinking about, imagining a future together: all that ‘girl with a crush on a boy’ shit.
there was a second long silence before you felt the box shift against your forehead. luna casually plucked a letter from it, inspecting the name scribbled on the front.
maybe you should’ve gotten up immediately and snatched the letter from her hands, but she had already read the first name — written sloppily with purple glitter tracing his first name and the ‘i’ in his last name, which, instead of being a simple dot, had been transformed into a small heart.
you didn’t need to see it to know exactly which one she was holding.
riddle. first year you had been ridiculous: writing a letter to him, of all people, convinced it was a safe way to get over your wide eyed crush. you had told yourself it would just sit in the box forever, silly childhood feelings.
it was hidden, in a place you thought was secure, a secret you’d protected with careful hands. but no matter how well you concealed it, some things, like truth — could only remain in the dark for so long. “mattheo riddle.” luna’s soft voice spoke his name in a delicate tune. you knew it was only the sweetness of luna’s angelic saying that softened it. “isn’t he dating sylvia?”
god, just hearing your ex best friend’s name made you scoff under your breath, barely suppressing the irritation; to cut a long story short, you and sylvia had the most horrible fallout in fourth year, and you’d rather not utter her name again — ever — or delve into anything that even remotely tied you to her. “yeah, follows her around like a fuckin’ puppy.” you knew you were being a bit of a hater toward their relationship, by the simple bias you had against sylvia. but, to be fair, it was hard to ignore them when she made it her mission to be all lovey dovey and kissy faced with riddle, especially while you were still dating that gryffindor boy.
it was only day two since you’d arrived at hogwarts for your eighth and final year, and you were honestly surprised sylvia hadn’t come to bother you yet. maybe some sort of fucking miracle change had occurred over the summer, and she’d finally decided to leave people who couldn’t tolerate her alone.
you rip the letter from luna’s fingers, shoving it back into the box with the others. “this stays between us, okay? no one can ever see these.”
and not to mention, if sylvia ever found out you’d written a love letter to her boyfriend, doesn’t matter if it was years ago, she wouldn’t even get angry. instead, you knew she’d have a field day shoving it in your face — something she already did: but this time, she’d take it to a whole new level. you knew that wicked, manipulative side of her all too well, sadly.
luna hums again. “you should be more careful about where you keep things.” you certainly were now. though, there’s something almost impish about the way she says it, but before you can press her on it, a group of hufflepuffs come barging into the dorm, disrupting the moment.
it’s fine, you tell yourself. the letters are safe.
“I NEED YOUR HELP.”
you’re sitting in your usual spot in class, when cedric sits beside you, leans over, a somewhat flustered expression on his face. diggory has been one of your closest friends since first year: alongside sylvia and luna. but where loyalties knotted and lines were drawn, he had the luxury of neutrality. instead of choosing sides, he floated between both circles.
he stayed with sylvia when riddle wasn’t shadowing her like some overprotective bodyguard. and when he wasn’t in her rotation, he was with you and luna.
you throw a quick glance toward professor flitwick, who was preoccupied a few rows away, attentively guiding a student through their spellwork. with his focus elsewhere, there was little chance he’d notice the two of you whispering. turning back to cedric, you tilted your head slightly. “with?”
“y’know,” he starts in a quiet voice, glancing around to make sure no one’s eavesdropping, “cho’s a bit… of a clean freak, yeah?” he makes a hand gesture, almost comically over exaggerating.
you raise an eyebrow, not sure where this conversation is going.
he continues, now looking thoroughly embarrassed, but still trying to keep the conversation light. “she’s… y’know, super into everything being pristine. like, even when… y’know, we get a bit… close.” he pauses, his face flushing a little more.
“i just can’t, well… finish, if you know what i mean. it’s like… the pressure? she’s all, ‘make sure the sheets are perfect,’ and i’m over here just trying to survive.”
you blink a few times, surprised, but you can’t help but chuckle at cedric’s awkwardness. “you’re saying the pressure of cleanliness is ruining your… performance?” you ask, trying to suppress your laughter.
it was far from a laughing matter for him, but for you? oh, it was nearly impossible to keep a straight face. how could he just drop something like that so casually — in a room full of witches and wizards meant to be focused on their work? the nonsense of it made your shoulders tense with the effort of holding back laughter. with everything else in class feeling mind numbingly dull, this was, without a doubt, the most fascinating thing you’d heard all class. and someone help you, because all you wanted to do was let out the most loudest, full bodied laugh.
he rolls his eyes miserably, looking like he’s about to sink into the ground. “exactly. i can’t even you know… the thing. the thing,” he says, waving his hand around dramatically, as if to symbolize the entire awkward experience.
despite your urge to laugh a little longer, you could tell cedric was genuinely looking for advice. you bit back your enjoyment and stole another glance at flitwick: still distracted, before turning your attention back to cedric. he had already taken advantage of your momentary silence, casually copying from your notes to make up for the time he’d missed.
they were probably all wrong; but hey, that was his problem for copying off a hufflepuff instead of a damn ravenclaw. “okay, okay, cedric, listen. first off, you need to get it through her mind to let go of the idea that everything has to be perfect. it’s not the sheets, it’s the vibe. a clean environment? sure. but obsessing over every little detail just makes it worse.”
cedric looks at you in disbelief, clearly not expecting such a level headed answer. or any answer at all. “really?” he asks, looking all hopeful.
“really,” you confirm, nodding. “you’ve gotta relax. stop thinking about the perfect moment and just… be in the moment. and as for the ‘finishing’ part, take your time. it’s about… comfort, not pressure.” you wouldn’t lie: your experience didn’t extend far beyond kissing and holding hands. your relationship with the gryffindor had never past that, never lurched into something deeper. you were painting a picture of what ideal intimacy looked like to you; what would make you feel safe, at ease. and though it was your vision, your creation, you found yourself wanting nothing more than for someone to step inside the canvas and become part of the art.
it was almost ironic: everyone always came to you for advice, yet you rarely took your own. it put things into perspective in a way that was a little tragic.
cedric’s eyes widen, processing what you’ve said. “you really think that would work?” he asks, a little unsure but clearly willing to try anything at this point.
you give him a nod. “trust me. and maybe, you know, leave the cleaning for after. that way, you’re not worried about, well, ruining anything.” you add. “also, stop making the hand motions. those aren’t helping anyone.” if everyone weren’t so absorbed in their own work and happened to catch cedric’s hand gestures, you didn’t even want to imagine what judgments they’d draw about your conversation.
cedric laughs. “alright, alright. i’ll give it a try. thanks.” he gives you a playful nudge. “if you ever need tips for anything else, just let me know. you’re the expert, apparently.”
you roll your eyes. “don’t push it, cedric. just focus on your work for now, yeah?”
“yes, ma’am,” he muttered before turning back to his work, quill scratching against parchment. you did the same, shifting your focus back to your own notes, carefully transcribing the movements of flitwick’s wand as it traced patterns in the air.
for a few moments, silence settled over the classroom. the only sound was flitwick’s instructions, guiding the class through each exact motion. everyone was focused. everything was still. it was peaceful.
but that peace shattered the moment the heavy classroom door slammed open.
all at once, heads snapped toward the door. even professor flitwick faltered mid sentence, trailing off into silence as he blinked in confusion. leaning lazily against the doorframe stood mattheo. which was odd: he had no reason to be here. ravenclaws and slytherins were meant to be across the castle for care of magical creatures right now; you knew that for a fact. luna had been so eager for class this morning that she hadn’t even waited for you at breakfast, already slipping away with an excited bounce in her step.
as always, the room fell into silence. a gryffindor girl near the front shot her friend a look, brows furrowed in silent question. beside you, cedric exhaled a quiet sigh, muttering under his breath, “wrong class.”
mattheo riddle despised gryffindors and hufflepuffs, and the feeling was entirely mutual: no middle ground, no exceptions. hufflepuffs are kind, yes, but when it comes to mattheo and his group, it’s like their breaking point.
completely unfazed, riddle let his gaze sweep across the room, scanning faces as if searching for someone. and then, his eyes found you. they didn’t flicker away, didn’t move past you like just another face in the crowd. no, they locked onto you with the confidence of someone who had found exactly what he was looking for.
in that terrifying moment, you swore on neville longbottom’s life that your soul nearly departed from your body.
mattheo pushed off the doorframe and strode inside. every row he passed seemed to turn in his path, eyes tracking his every move. you nearly rolled your eyes at the way his smirk deepened; clearly enjoying the attention. like always.
his presence was a dark sun, and all eyes were planets drawn irrevocably into rotation. you were an asteroid, hurtling through the crowded solar system, every smile was a meteor shower you wished would burn up the popular crowd, every laugh a supernova you hoped would consume their perfect little world.
professor flitwick frowned slightly but didn’t immediately criticize him. “mr. riddle, i believe you’re mistaken — this class is for hufflepuffs and gryffindors. your schedule should place you elsewhere.”
mattheo’s dark eyes flicked to him, a stupid smirk tugging at his rosy lips. “yeah, i know,” he said smoothly. “but i needed to borrow one of your students for something important.”
shit, shit, shit, please don’t let it be you. please don’t let it be you.
there were murmurs throughout the classroom now, people whispering theories to each other. some gryffindors looked annoyed, some hufflepuffs curious. no matter how much they despise him, being seen leaving class with mattheo riddle would boost their social status and popularity, making them a little more well known. no one, however, seemed more confused than you: because you could feel mattheo’s gaze settle directly on you.
what did he want? did sylvia send him to get you? or was there something else you were needed for? fuck, maybe it wasn’t even you —
“the girl right there.” riddle pointed directly at you. you tried to hide behind your book, really, you did. “next to diggory.” cedric, being the oblivious idiot he is, raised his hand so everyone could see exactly who he meant.
you pinched the side of his stomach, causing cedric’s pale hand to snap back down. you shot him a glare. “fuck you,” you whispered. especially since you’d just given him the best advice of his life. hell, you were even considering taking it for yourself. now, you couldn’t help but hope this fucker had the worst sex life in existence.
you could feel the stares: on the side of your face, at the back of your head, right in front of you. the students in the rows ahead twisted in their seats, one arm resting behind their chairs, heads tilted as they all get a look at you.
professor flitwick narrowed his eyes. he wasn’t stupid enough to be deluded; he knew about riddle and his lies. “and what exactly is this ‘something important’?”
mattheo didn’t hesitate. “professor snape asked me to fetch her. something about a -” he made a mixing gesture with his hand. “ - mix up with her potions essay. he wants to see her now.”
you frowned. that was… odd. you were sure you had turned in your essay on time. and why would snape send riddle to retrieve you of all people? professor flitwick, still hesitant, studied mattheo for a moment before sighing. “very well. but do come straight back once this is sorted.”
you barely had a moment to process what was unfolding before mattheo turned on his heel and strode out of the classroom. your heart raced as you scrambled to gather your things, the whispers around you growing louder by the second. you refused to acknowledge them, shooting cedric one last disgusted curl of your lips before following riddle out of the room, where he had already walked out.
as soon as you stepped into the corridor, the heavy wooden door clicked shut behind you, silencing the muffled talk from the classroom. now, it was just you and riddle, standing alone in said corridor. he had his hands tucked in his pockets, waiting. you turned to face him, confusion clouding your thoughts. hadn’t he said snape wanted to see you? “alright, what’s —”
then you saw it.
no. not this. why now? why you? why here? why ever? why are you alive right now?
the letter.
the same letter luna had found in your dormitory just nights ago was now in mattheo’s hands — glittering and covered in stickers. your breath caught in your throat. “where did you get that?” you asked, and fuck, your voice cracked just a little. the embarrassment pressed down on you, layer after layer. please, someone, anyone, say this is a joke. step out from behind the stone walls and shout ‘april fools’ — anything to stop this moment from being real. because, in that instant, you felt like you might actually faint from humiliation.
mattheo’s expression was weird as he twirled the letter between his fingers, eyes gleaming with something just as weird. everything felt so fuckin’ weird, weird, weird. “so,” he titled his head. “you have a habit of writing love letters, huh?”
“to five different guys? in the same friend group?” he said, then let out a low whistle, shaking his head with a smirk. “what a fuckin’ heartbreaker you are, baby.” your mind went blank. he knows. he fucking knows about the other letters. panic flooded through you like a wave. shit, shit, shit. this is bad. this is really bad. this could only mean one thing:
ㅤ────── LOVE LETTERS this, love letters that. they’re meant to be given to someone you have deep, undeniable feelings for. to make them smile, maybe even bring a tear to their eye. but what love letters don’t do is vanish into thin air and stir up chaos. five love letters… to the same friend group? look, they’re attractive, no one can blame you. but the moment they all find out? game over.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ boyfriend!mattheo who loves you sooooo much that he’s actually willing to change his ways and become a better boyfriend person for you.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ boyfriend!mattheo who has a soft spot for you and only you. you see a side of him no one else does. not just the soft side, but also the goofy and silly side, the one who smiles and laughs at tiny first years falling over the weight of their bags
⊹ ࣪ ˖ boyfriend!mattheo who always complains about how he hates things that taste too sweet (basically any little snack you keep in your room) but nevertheless without fail they will all end up missing by the end of the week..
⊹ ࣪ ˖ boyfriend!mattheo who doesn’t like going to sleep early but he will, because you do, just so he can fall asleep next to you. and if he doesn’t fall asleep he’ll watch you laying next to him, memorising every little detail of your face (in the most non-creepy way😁)
⊹ ࣪ ˖ boyfriend!mattheo who acts like he doesn’t care if he sees you talking to any guy, even if it’s literally in class, but when he goes back to his shared dorm his friends will literally never hear the end of it.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ boyfriend!mattheo who will by any means kill for you, even if it’s the old lady who barkeeps at the Three Broomsticks who glares at you anytime you walk in.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ boyfriend!mattheo who pretends to hate your 2000s netflix tv shows, but every time georgina reappears every season he always has something to say about it..
⊹ ࣪ ˖ boyfriend!mattheo who loves to spoil you and let you have your way, even when you’re bitching and complaining his ear off, he will always do what you ask him to.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ boyfriend!mattheo who always steals your expensive shampoo and conditioner because he thinks his simply ‘doesn’t work on him anymore’
⊹ ࣪ ˖ boyfriend!mattheo who’s basically redecorated his entire dorm and bathroom so that you’ll like it more and feel more inclined to stay the night at his
#am i back? yes #will i reclaim this corner of the internet permanently? probably not😬 #completely random and off the top of my head so yeah enjoy x
Pining Best Friend! Dick Grayson knows that he should’ve handled his little crush on you by now. But there’s something about you that he can’t just get over like he’s done with his countless other fascinations before you. He’s sitting on the couch watching TV with you. You’re so focused on the show that you don’t notice him taking inventory of your facial features in the dim lighting of the living room.
Pining Best Friend! Dick whose eyes linger a little longer on your lips than anywhere else. You have a shiny chapstick on, and the colours of the TV are subtly reflecting off of it, perfectly highlighting the peaks and valleys of your pout.
Pining Best Friend!Dick who is trying to ignore the way his chest aches when you turn to him and catch him staring at you.
“Dick, you’re staring.” You say, slightly cocking your head to the side in confusion. Shit, think of something quickly.
“I was just trying to figure out if you’ve always had that piercing. Is that new?” It’s a lie and he knows it. He is extremely aware of the small silver ball that’s tucked right under the centre of your bottom lip. It’s subtle, for sure. Most strangers wouldn’t even register its presence, but Dick has to consciously stop his eyes from tracking it every time you speak.
“I’ve had this thing for as long as you’ve known me, silly. You can be so dense sometimes, you know that?” You chuckle and poke his chest playfully, making his heart palpitate. You turn back to the TV and continue watching the show.
Pining Best Friend!Dick who remembers all the smallest details about you, and tries to make it seem casual when he gifts you the perfect thing at just the right time. You mentioned that your favourite necklace kept falling off because the clasp was broken? And he’s got a new chain for you the next day while your original one gets fixed.
“What? Don’t make it a big deal, I know a jewelry guy.” He shrugs it off. Although he doesn’t miss the way your eyes glimmer like he hung the moon when you thank him.
Pining Best Friend!Dick knows that some of his tendencies miiiight be a liiiitle bit toxic. But when you call him, gushing about some guy you’ve started seeing, what else is he supposed to do? He can’t just sit there and watch you fall for some guy who definitely doesn’t deserve you. So maybe he starts acting extra clingy towards you. Maybe he calls you when he knows you’re with the new guy. And maybe he bumps into the two of you when you’re out at a restaurant, making sure to put on a good display of just how close you and Dick are. He knows that your overbearing best guy friend scares all your potential suitors off, how can’t he? He’s stunningly handsome, successful, wealthy, and immeasurably charming. Plus you two have history. Any guy who tries to compete with that is only fooling himself.
Pining Best Friend!Dick does however, hate the part where you call him crying, though. Your newest fling just dumped you over text, said he obviously wasn’t what you were looking for. You’re so upset.
“What does that even mean, Dick, really? Like, could he have been more vague?” You whine over the phone. Dick can hear the way your throat tightens as you speak and it makes his heart ache for you. All he wants to do is play with your hair until your breathing slows and you calm down.
“He’s an asshole. I told you he looked like a total weirdo. You deserve better.” You deserve me. He thinks to himself. But Dick knows better than to say that part out loud. He can’t afford to lose you, even if the way your relationship stands right now is killing him.
Pining Best Friend!Dick doesn’t even realize how desperate he’s become for you until his brother points it out to him. You’re at a Wayne Enterprises gala, a few feet away, talking to Bruce. Your hands are moving around wildly as you speak. Dick can’t help but adore how animated you get after a glass of expensive champagne.
“You’re in deep.” Jason taunts.
Dick snaps out of his trance to look at his brother. “What are you talking about?”
“Every time you’ve ever brought her around, you stare at her like that. Like there’s nobody else in the room.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just trying to make sure she’s comfortable. You know how long these galas are.” Dick insists.
“Whatever you say, bro.” Jason pats Dick on the shoulder before walking away.
Pining Best Friend!Dick is glued to your side for the rest of the evening. And as the champagne starts to affect your balance, he does what any good friend would do. He snakes his arm around your waist, nice and snug so you don’t fall. The two of you find your way upstairs to one of the endless bedrooms in the manor. Dick guides you over to the bed and sets you down gently on the edge of it.
Pining Best Friend!Dick is nothing if not a gentleman. So he doesn’t hesitate to lower himself to a kneeling position in front of you, grabbing one of your ankles and bringing it to his lap. He starts to undo your high heel straps with surprising tenderness. He handles you with a delicacy that he only reserves for the most precious things in his life. He looks up, noticing by the flush on your cheeks that you’re still pretty buzzed. He gets you out of your shoes and places them neatly off to the side of the room.
Pining Best Friend!Dick reluctantly helps you unzip your dress when you ask him to. He tries desperately to hide the way his hands are threatening to tremble. And as soon as he starts tugging down on the zipper, it feels like the temperature of the room just rose by a million degrees. He’s sweating, and worries you might be able to feel the heat radiating off of him against your exposed skin. His head is just above the crook of your neck, and the perfect distance to get a whiff of your perfume from where he stands, which isn’t helping at all right now. He takes note of the fragile hairs that dangle from the nape of your neck and lightly brush your shoulder blade. As he works his way down, his gaze zeroes in on the trail of goosebumps that follow the spot where his knuckles brush lightly against your back. Good lord. He watches as you clutch the dress against your chest, stopping it from falling off in front of him.
Pining Best Friend!Dick hands you a small pair of sleep shorts and an old t-shirt of his. He tells you goodnight and quickly exits the room before you notice how tight his pants are right now.
Pining Best Friend!Dick heads back to his own room for the night, indulging in his own fantasies when he’s alone. In the morning, he comes to wake you.
Pining Best Friend!Dick finds you curled up in bed that morning, not wearing the shirt he gave you, but cuddling it to your face, neck and chest as though it were precious to you.
And for the first time ever, Pining Best Friend!Dick wonders if you might feel the same way he does.
A/N: idk about this one guys. I’ve been sick in bed all week and I just wanted to put something out for you hahaha. But it might not be my best work.
I lowkey headcannon that Dick is obsessed with lips? Idk he just strikes me as a guy who really likes to watch a woman’s lips as she speaks. And like, he’s always noticing your lipgloss or lipstick or lack thereof.
Anyway, I might do a little spinoff smut about what Dick does when he leaves your room?
Yasushi:My mother once told me as a kid when I complained about being afraid of the dark,that once you pay the fucking electricity bills you're gonna be scared of the damn light.So you either shut up or pay up.Haven't complained since.
Fujio:That's concerning.
Yasushi:Hey if it makes you feel safer,carry a fork with you.When threatened pull it out and say thank you lord for this meal and charge at them with the fork.
Tsukasa:You are the craziest fucker i've ever met.
• newt is naturally gentle, but he’s also incredibly passionate about his creatures—and about you. he speaks about both with the same soft reverence, his words laced with warmth and genuine admiration.
• he doesn’t always know how to articulate his feelings in words, so he shows his love through actions. whether it’s brewing you tea in the morning, tucking an enchanted flower behind your ear, or quietly placing a blanket over you when you doze off, his affection is constant and thoughtful.
• newt is an observer. he notices the little things about you—how your eyes light up when you talk about something you love, the way you fidget when you’re deep in thought, and the slight change in your voice when you’re tired. he remembers it all.
• he’s fascinated by the modern world, though he sometimes finds it overwhelming. you help him navigate it, laughing when he furrows his brows at a self-checkout machine or marvels at a smartphone. but he’s not one to shy away from the unknown—he listens intently when you explain things to him, always eager to learn.
• despite his quiet nature, he has a dry, surprisingly witty sense of humor. his comments are subtle but perfectly timed, and he loves when you catch onto them and play along.
• newt isn’t one for grand romantic gestures, but when he gifts you something, it’s always incredibly meaningful—a quill made from a molted occamy feather, a vial of mooncalf silver, or a charmed pocket watch that ensures you’re never late.
• he’s touch-starved but shy about it. at first, he hesitates before reaching for your hand, his fingers brushing yours before fully committing. over time, he grows comfortable resting his head in your lap while he reads, or wrapping his arms around your waist when he’s particularly exhausted.
• he smells like parchment, earth, and a hint of something wild. when you borrow his coat, it lingers, making you feel as if he’s wrapped around you even when he’s away.
• he adores reading with you. sometimes you’ll sit beside him, your head resting on his shoulder as you each read your own books, and other times he’ll softly read passages aloud, his voice soothing and melodic.
• he struggles with eye contact, especially when he’s flustered. if you compliment him, he’ll duck his head, ears tinged pink, mumbling a quiet “thank you” while pretending to be busy adjusting his bow tie.
• though he’s not confrontational, if anyone ever disrespects you, his usually soft demeanor hardens instantly. his jaw tightens, his voice drops, and there’s a quiet intensity in his stare that is enough to make anyone rethink their actions.
• he has an old-fashioned sense of romance—kisses on the back of your hand, handwritten letters sealed with wax, and whispered “my love” as he pulls you close.
• he doesn’t fully understand modern dating norms, but he’s willing to try. he once attempted to take you on a “dinner date” in his case, only for a niffler to steal the silverware and a bowtruckle to climb into your hair.
• newt is used to being alone, often preferring the company of creatures to people. but with you, he feels safe. he doesn’t have to explain himself—he just gets to be.
• when nightmares from the war or his past haunt him, he doesn’t wake you, but you always seem to know. without a word, you reach for his hand in the dark, grounding him, and he squeezes it like a lifeline.
• he rarely raises his voice, but he’s fiercely protective. if he senses any danger, his body moves instinctively to shield you, wand at the ready, his usual softness replaced by something sharp and unwavering.
• he’s not good at outright asking for affection, but if you’re attentive, you’ll notice the way he lingers beside you, fingers twitching slightly as if debating whether to reach out. all it takes is a small gesture—brushing his hair back, taking his hand, pressing a kiss to his temple—and he melts under your touch.
• newt loves you in the same way he loves his creatures—patiently, wholeheartedly, and without condition.
Newt won't meet your eyes, fingers fidgeting with his napkin. The restaurant is lovely—candles, white tablecloths, the sort of place normal people bring dates. But Newt has never been normal, and watching him try is somehow worse than if he hadn't tried at all.
"What makes you say that?"
"I've talked about Mooncalf mating habits for twenty minutes." His ears are red. "And doxy dental structure. And you haven't touched your food because I keep—I'm doing it again, aren't I?"
You reach across the table, stilling his restless hands. "Newt."
He finally looks up, blue-green eyes anxious behind falling curls.
"I asked you to dinner because I wanted to spend time with you. That includes the Mooncalf expertise."
"Most people find it tedious."
"I'm not most people." You squeeze his fingers. "Though I am wondering why you chose here instead of somewhere you'd actually enjoy."
He blinks. "This is where people go on proper dates. Pickett said—" He stops, looking mortified. "I took romantic advice from a Bowtruckle."
Your laugh startles both of you. "What did Pickett suggest?"
"Flowers. Candlelight. Trying not to talk about creatures." Newt's smile is self-deprecating. "I managed one out of three."
"The flowers are lovely," you assure him, nodding at the slightly wilted bouquet he'd thrust at you earlier—clearly picked from someone's garden. "But next time, take me somewhere you love. Show me your world, not what you think I want to see."
His expression transforms—hope and relief and something warmer. "There's a Kelpie sanctuary outside the city. It's not romantic, exactly, but—"
"It sounds perfect."
"Really?"
"Really."
Newt's smile is sunshine breaking through clouds. "I'd like that very much."
Theseus having a vampire!S/O only to be completely clueless and Newt assuming he already knows
(Part 1)
Newt first starts to notice something strange about his new in law almost seconds after being introduced.
Firstly they’d been dressed in all black, which is fine newt just didn’t realised his brother had a thing for goth girls but given his previous relationship he supposed it made sense
Then it was how coincidentally newt only ever socialised with her at night, and on the rare occasion it was light out they were draped in thick fabrics and armed with a parasol
Newt also started to notice strange marks on his brothers neck, at first he believed it was a rash of some kind, maybe even a change encounter with a bellywig. But last he checked insects didn’t have molars like the ones indented in his protege skin
In conclusion Theseus was definitely maybe possibly dating a very obvious (and lovely) vampire. Which Newt didn’t mind one bit and fully assumed his brother both knew and didn’t mind
Actually his brother seemed quite enthusiastic about this new relationship, his hugs had grown uncomfortably more frequent for Newt, which had always been an indication of his brothers general well-being
His brother’s partner was also well mannered, they adored his niffler even when one of them tried to snatch a pendant Theseus had gifted them. Although with one small hiss the creature seemed to back off their persistent pursuits, at least for the time being.
Plus this social circumstance allowed for Newt to brush up on previously unanswered questions regarding their vampirism, all of which Theseus assumes its just Newt being newt
e.g
“How old are you?”
“Do you have a strong distaste for garlic?”
“Do you drink through your teeth or your throat?”
“Are bats colourblind?”
“What would you say your favourite flavour is A or O?” -Theseus thinks he means apple or oranges
Summary: On a mission, Damian gets poofed into a little bby and decides that his favourite sibling is now his favourite human <3
part 2 of this post!
CW: like 1 swear word
A/N: I just had to do this omfg, i saw too much fanart of baby Damian and couldn't resist
You're father, Bruce, called you saying Damian and Jon had an accident while on another planet. He didn't specify it was the cute kind though!
You come back from a mission with your siblings and and take a look at Damian—who is currently a literal baby wrapped in a League-issued blanket—and the Watchtower is already loud.
You step off the Zeta platform and freeze.
Bruce is standing there.
Holding baby Damian.
In his arms.
And the Justice League is LOSING IT.
Dinah: “Oh my god he’s got Bruce’s scowl already—”
Barry: “Bruce has some genes huh”
Hal: "Why do I feel like he’s judging me.”
Clark, smiling softly, holding Jon: “He feels… very proud.”
Jonathan looks exactly like his dad, curly hair, freckles and Damian, two feet long and furious, crosses his tiny arms.
You don’t even hesitate.
You walk straight up, gently pry him from Bruce’s arms, and coo dramatically,
“Aw, hi baby—who is this cutie?”
Damian immediately relaxes against your chest.
Bruce: “…You knew it was him.”
You, bouncing him slightly: “No idea. Just felt the vibes.”
Damian grabs your collar with one tiny fist and huffs like, mine.
It becomes an unspoken rule: You dress Damian
Bruce tries once.
Once.
You walk in on him struggling with a onesie.
Damian is glaring at him like he’s been personally wronged.
You sigh.
You: “Dad. Hand him over.”
Bruce: "I forgot how I used to do this with you when you were a baby"
The second Damian is in your arms, he calms down.
His fits include - onesies, grinch footy pajamas, and hoodies with bat logos
You do not play about Damian's safety so as a result you've baby-proofed the manor (with Alfred's help) and installed a car seat in your Range Rover
Bruce has a crib in his room for Damian, but when he goes on patrol, you decide to skip and look after your brother
Damian enjoys the sweet potato and apple puree you make him
Tim leans over the crib and Damian flips him off
Tim: "Did he just fucking flip me off"
You: "Idk I didn't see anything"
Dick buys one of those hands-free baby carriers and straps Damian in, while the two of you go to the baby store to buy him stuff
Tim and Jason take so many 0.5's of Damian it's criminal
Damian fusses when you leave the room unfortunately, but this whole ordeal has given you great insight as to what parenting is gonna look like!
Your father, Bruce, looooves holding Damian, it reminds him of when you were an infant, and he feels as though he's able to compensate for the baby stage, and the whole nine years of Damian's life that he missed out on.
You bring the pets around Damian and they're surprsingly very gentle.
Titus and Ace are curious but slow and kind and your dog, Elizabeth Taylor, parks herself next to him and dozes off (priorities straight, get on her level)
Duke gets sideyed by Damian so much but they hang out together on his bed and your heart warms at the sight.
You take Damian to Cass' ballet recitals and he's watching her reverently
Damian spits on your labubu
He starts crying when he sees Blippy
He drools over the books your reading but it's okay
You: "it's okay Dami, Macbeth belonged to Jay, I'm sure he won't mind"
You steal the baby carrier from Dick and go with your dad to the art gallery.
There's headlines that Bruce Wayne adopted a new kid.
When he gets back to normal, the dumbass pretended nothing ever happened but he gets bashful when you show him pictures from like 24 hours ago
Tim and Jason threaten him with the 0.5's
Dividers from @cafekitsune
A/N²: if anyone wants to make babian fanart of any of these headcanons, please tag me i'd love to see it. this was all based off my interactions with my nieces and nephews,
its midnight again, so here’s a little doodle dump of babian and dickbin being about the same age and growing up together
babian is really big for his age (rip talia, im so sorry queen) and dickie is really small and somehow they’re both about the same height until dami finally grows taller than him in their teens and dick finally loses it
⤿ JASON TODD was utterly obsessed with you. What he wasn't obsessed with was the idea of introducing you to his family, so he started with what was supposed to be just Dick and Damian.
!! fluff. shy/introverted!reader. gf!reader. whipped!jason todd. this was just supposed to be silly. dick is NOT being a real dick in this, that's not what the point of this was. he's just being a typical brother im speaking from experience. ENJOY.
Jason had told you it would be “low-key.”
In hindsight, that should have been your first warning.
Low-key, apparently, meant a private room at a restaurant in Gotham City that had white tablecloths and candlelight and waiters who moved like ghosts. Low-key meant one brother.
“Two brothers,” Jason had said, tugging on his jacket while you stood in his apartment trying to decide if your outfit was too much or not enough. “Just Grayson and the short asshole. They’ll behave.”
You had nodded because you trusted him. Or at least, you trusted the way his hand lingered at your waist when he said it, grounding and warm and solid, like he would physically shield you from any discomfort.
Now you were standing just outside the private dining room while he adjusted his sleeves, jaw tight in a way that meant he was already mildly irritated.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly, glancing at you. “I can tell them to screw off.”
You shook your head immediately. “No, I want to. I just… I don’t know what to say.”
Jason’s expression softened in an instant, the sharpness dissolving.
“You don’t gotta perform,” he assured, brushing his knuckles lightly against yours. “Just be you.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Trust me, sweetheart. You being you is the part that’s gonna mess with them.”
Before you could ask what that meant, he pushed the door open.
Dick Grayson was already inside, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place, bright smile snapping into place the second he saw you.
“There she is,” Dick practically cheered, standing up immediately. “Hi. I’m Dick.”
“I know,” you replied softly, because it was impossible not to, considering he had been on magazine covers and charity galas and occasionally the news.
Jason shot him a look. “Chill, dickhead.”
“I’m being charming,” Dick protested.
“You’re being obnoxious.”
Damian sat at the far end of the table, arms crossed, eyes sharp and assessing. He didn’t stand. He just studied you like you were a variable in an equation he hadn’t solved yet.
“You are smaller than I expected,” Damian said bluntly.
Jason blinked. “The hell does that mean?”
Damian shrugged slightly. “Drake’s file suggested you preferred… intensity.”
You felt your face burn.
“Damian,” Dick warned, though he looked like he was fighting a grin.
Jason’s hand slid to the small of your back instinctively. “You guys made a file?”
“I make files on everyone,” Damian shrugged calmly. “It is responsible.”
You weren’t sure whether to laugh or apologize.
Dinner started out manageable. Dick asked you about your job in a genuinely curious way, leaning forward with his chin in his hand while you answered in short, careful sentences. Damian listened in silence, occasionally interjecting with a surprisingly thoughtful question that forced you to elaborate.
Jason stayed close the entire time, knee pressed against yours under the table, his thumb occasionally brushing your wrist like a silent check-in.
You were just starting to relax, speaking with Damian while Dick tapped out a quick message before setting his phone down.
Then his phone buzzed. He glanced down, then he looked up at Jason with an expression that was far too innocent.
“What?” Jason questioned immediately.
“Nothing.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I’m always smiling.”
Jason narrowed his eyes at that, his grip on your knee under the table tightening out of frustration. He knew this was a bad idea.
Across the table, Damian’s phone buzzed next, and as his eyes scanned the screen, his brow lifted slightly.
“Grayson,” he said coolly. “Did you inform Father?”
Dick sipped his water, eyes flicking to Damian over the rim of his glass, “Define inform.”
Jason’s head snapped up. “You did not.”
And as if on cue, somehow Jason's damn father appeared in the door that had just swung open.
And in walked Bruce Wayne.
Behind him was Tim Drake, already looking far too entertained for someone who had just crashed a dinner.
Jason stared at Dick in horror. “You texted the group chat?”
“I might have said,” Dick began casually, “‘Emergency. Jason brought a girl, and she seems nice.’”
“You are unbelievable.”
"In my defense! Damian replied with, 'I believe he may be holding her against her will, she is far too kind.'" To which Damian simply shrugged.
Bruce’s gaze found you almost instantly, assessing but not rude . He offered a polite nod and extended his hand.
“I hope we’re not intruding,” Bruce said smoothly, which would have been more convincing if Tim wasn’t visibly trying not to laugh behind him.
Your eyes flicked to your boyfriend before returning to his powerhouse of a father. You had mentally prepared to meet his brothers... that was terrifying enough. But Bruce Wayne??? You glanced from his worn face to his hand then to his face again, your hands frantically wiping against the fabric of your dress before meeting Bruce's in a gentle handshake, a smile coming to your face to accompany the greeting.
“You are,” Jason groaned flatly.
Tim slid into the empty chair between Damian and yourself. “Hi. I’m Tim. I just really needed to see this with my own eyes.”
“See.. what?” you asked before you could stop yourself.
All three brothers looked at you, then they looked at Jason, then back at you.
Dick clasped his hands together dramatically. “No offense, seriously, you seem like an amazing girl... but how the hell did you end up agreeing to date him? You guys seem like... literal opposites.”
Jason made a noise of pure betrayal. “You’re dead.”
“I’m serious!” Dick insisted. “You’re—” he gestured vaguely at you, “—sweet. And he’s—”
“A delight?” Jason suggested darkly.
“A menace,” Damian corrected.
Tim nodded thoughtfully. “Statistically speaking, this is a strange pairing.”
You stared down at your water glass, overwhelmed and embarrassed and wishing you could disappear into the floor. Your stomach dropping as you thought through what the hell you could say. You didn't want to embarrass Jason, but you didn't want to seem unfit to be his girlfriend. This dinner was suddenly becoming something you weren't sure you should've agreed to..
Jason noticed immediately, he always did.
His chair scraped loudly against the floor as he leaned forward, forearms on the table, eyes sharp.
“Okay,” he said evenly. “That’s enough.”
The room went quiet.
“You do not get to interrogate her like she’s a mystery,” he continued, voice low and controlled in a way that meant he was holding himself back. “She’s here because she wants to be. And if any of you scare her off, I swear-..”
“You swear what?” Bruce asked mildly, as if testing to see how much Jason truly cared about you.
Jason’s jaw tightened. “I’ll make it your problem.”
Tim blinked. “Wow. He’s protective.”
Damian tilted his head slightly. “You care for her deeply.”
Jason glanced sideways at you, and didn’t look away when he answered.
“Yeah,” he agreed simply. The blunt honesty of it made your chest tighten, and caused Dick’s teasing expression to fade into something softer.
“Huh,” he breathed quietly, a grin tugging at his lips as he leaned back in his chair.
Bruce’s posture shifted almost imperceptibly, something approving flickering in his eyes.
Tim leaned forward a bit again, studying you once more, but this time it wasn’t analytical. It was curious.
“So...” Tim said gently, “what’s your favorite thing about him?”
Jason groaned. “Seriously-..”
You hesitated, five pairs of eyes were on you now. Five pairs of very powerful eyes, all powerful in more ways than one.
You swallowed thickly, before your hand rested on Jason's under the table.
“He’s… patient,” you hummed softly and thoughtfully. “With me, at least. He doesn’t rush me.. and he remembers things, like, small things.”
Jason’s ears turned red.
“And,” you added, gaining a tiny bit of courage, “he makes me feel safe.”
The table went very still. Dick looked like someone had just handed him emotional blackmail ammunition for life. Damian’s expression shifted into something almost respectful. Bruce studied Jason in a way that was far too knowing.
Tim blinked slowly, echoing the word you just said under his breath. “Safe.”
Jason cleared his throat roughly. “Okay. We’re done sharing now, it's not fucking show and tell.”
Dick leaned back in his chair, grinning again but softer now.
“I get it,” he admitted. “She sees the good stuff.”
“There is no good stuff,” Jason muttered.
Damian scoffed. “There is. You seem to simply hide it poorly when it comes to your girlfriend.”
Bruce finally sat down at the head of the table. “I’m glad you came,” he told you sincerely. “Anyone willing to put up with him deserves dinner.”
Jason's eyebrows shot up, and before he could stop himself he practically slingshotted his napkin towards Bruce and Dick.
You couldn’t help it at that, you laughed, your hand coming to shield your smile a bit. It slipped out unexpectedly, light and bright and unguarded.
All of them froze for a second, surprised. Jason looked at you like you had just handed him the world.
Dick pointed dramatically. “See? She’s adorable. This is an insane match.”
Tim nodded. “I give it three months before she’s running the family.”
Damian considered that. “Unlikely. But she will improve Todd’s temperament.”
“Hey! I do not need improving,” Jason snapped.
“You absolutely do,” Dick and Tim said in unison.
Bruce just watched the entire exchange with the faintest hint of a smile, like this chaotic dinner was exactly what he had hoped for.
Under the table, Jason found your hand and squeezed it gently.
“You okay?” he murmured.
You nodded. Yes, it was loud, and overwhelming, and chaotic.But every time it tipped too far, his thumb traced that steady line across your knuckles, anchoring you.
And when Dick leaned over again with a grin and said, “Seriously, though, what’s your secret? He used to bite people,”
Jason rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair.
“She likes me,” he shrugged simply.
You glanced at him at that, your eyes were soft as they studied the way his eyes looked at his brother, the way his shoulders were relaxed but his jaw was set in confidence. He looked so certain, so unshakably sure.
And for a moment, that alone boosted your confidence, you squeezed his hand back.
“I do,” you agreed, a smile coming to your glossy lips.
The table fell silent again while Dick stared at you both like he had just witnessed a rare celestial event.
Tim pulled out his phone. “I’m updating the file.” He muttered under his breath.
Damian nodded once, decisive. “Please do.”
Jason leaned closer to you, voice low enough that only you could hear.
“Told you,” he murmured. “You being you would mess with them.”
And judging by the way his brothers were still staring at you like you had performed an impossible magic trick, he wasn’t wrong
