Synopsis: married young, life came at you fast, and the chaos pushed you into a messy “we’re separated but still stupidly in love” situation. Now co-parenting keeps dragging you back together, and it’s kinda obvious, that they’re not actually over.
You and Jason got married pretty young, classic “troubled boy meets good girl,” they fall in love, and then BAM… a baby. (That part definitely wasn’t planned.)
It was truly an accident. You weren’t intimate often, but when you were it was intense, emotional, borderline soul-tying. And that one night you forgot protection… well, yeah.
Jason was a man about it. He stepped up immediately, took responsibility, and said he wanted your child to grow up in a two-parent household. So he married you. (The marriage part didn’t last as long as the promise unfortunately…)
You gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, and Jason was obsessed from the moment he laid eyes on her. He did everything — feedings, diapers, late nights. He was the best dad imaginable… but slowly, he started to fall short as a husband.
You both had to grow up too fast. Your daughter became the center of your world, leaving almost no time for yourselves. Jason was still an active vigilante, doing everything he could to keep danger far away from home, but the double life drained him.
You were both exhausted. Burnt out. Intimacy faded, “me-time” didn’t exist, and arguments slowly replaced affection you feeling alone, him insisting he was doing his best. It was a mess.
After one huge blowout, you reluctantly agreed to separate. Not divorce — neither of you could bring yourselves to do that — but co-parenting felt like the only option.
Turns out, co-parenting was the easy part. Jason was already an amazing father.
He always knocked before using his key. Always picked her up on time. Always had her fed and bathed when you got home. Honestly? It worked. For a while.
But as your daughter got older, she started asking questions that hit a little too close to home.
“Do you hate daddy? Melanie said you do because her mommy and daddy are breaking up.”
Your heart cracked — you could never hate Jason.
That conversation made you both realize she didn’t just need one-on-one time. She needed her family. So you started doing family nights twice a week.
And during those nights… old habits slipped back in.
Accidentally calling each other “babe,” forehead kisses, cuddling on the couch.
You’d catch him staring at your bare ring finger a little too long.
Or at your smile like he was memorizing it.
One night, after cleaning up from your daughter’s sixth birthday party, Jason suddenly blurted out “I’m sorry.”
You looked up from sweeping confetti. “For what?” He dropped the trash bag in his hand.
“For everything. For neglecting you. For making you feel unwanted and alone, for—”
“Jason, stop.” You stood straight, meeting his eyes.
“Not all of this was your fault. We were young. We didn’t know what raising a baby would really mean. We never dealt with our issues and piling a child on top of that… it was too much. Stop blaming yourself.” Silence washed over the room.
Then softly, he asked “Can we start over?”
You froze. Because you did still love him. just as deeply as the day you first confessed it. But starting over terrified you. Jason swallowed, reached into his shirt, and pulled out a chain. His wedding ring hung at the end, worn from years of fidgeting.
“I swore in our vows I’d never take it off. And I didn’t. Watching you date and move on hurt more than anything I’ve ever been through. I know I was a shitty husband… but if you give me another chance, I swear I’ll make it right. Please.” Your heart squeezed, tears gathering.
“Jay… baby, I never moved on. I only listened to my family because they thought clinging to you was unhealthy. And honestly? So did I. But if I could choose for myself? I’d run back into your arms without thinking twice.”
Hope lit his eyes. “So… does that mean—?”
Tears slipped down your cheek as you smiled. “Yes, Jason. We can start over.”
That was all he needed. He picked you up and spun you around — then immediately set you back down with a wince.
“Ooh— yeah, might be getting old,” he joked. You smacked his chest playfully, laughing. And that laugh felt… freeing. Familiar. Like coming home.
You didn’t rush back in, you took it slow.
He spent the night sometimes, but never in your bed. you’d find him curled up on the couch, kiss his forehead, drape a blanket over him.
You both started therapy, sometimes bringing your daughter along.
Honest communication became non-negotiable — if either of you felt overwhelmed, you talked about it before it exploded.
• And slowly, you two began choosing each other again, not out of obligation…
but out of love.
PAIRINGS: dark!lovesick dick grayson x gn!reader | WC: 7.5K
SUMMARY: dick and you were perfect until you weren’t. he loved you with every fiber of his being, but that didn’t quite change the massive difference in your lifestyles and goals. hard comes hard and you both grow apart, while you get over it, dick doesn’t - and during this, he comes across a thing he’s long forgotten existed; the one-wish willow.
WARNINGS: angst, emotional abuse, lowk only semi-canon, mindwish / mind manipulation?? , unhealthy relationship, love sickness, non-con, mentions of sexual intimacy.
A/N: i saw the obsession movie and then i saw @envy-of-the-apple post (also all credits to you and thank you for giving me the idea)!! and just had to write this for dick grayson while writing scream pt3 on the other hand lol. it will get updated but i just need to stimulate my brain for my other ideas. also, scream will update soon!! i just finished my period, was brainrotted with this and had to also manage my nurse internship so i was kinda busy..
-> divider made by @vigilante-association and @softhandz !!
everyone in blüdhaven knew dick grayson.
either as the charismatic, eldest son ‘richard ‘dick’ wayne’ (although more commonly referred to as his old name which is richard ‘dick’ grayson) of playboy bruce wayne, or the heroic, good hearted vigilante of blüdhaven - nightwing - and the first robin to stand beside batman.
either way, he was the absolute dream man. he had the kind of perfect looks and easy charm that made people stop and stare in the street. he was the golden boy who volunteered and helped seniors cross the street safely - smiled at everyone, and made every single person feel like they were the only one in the room. people had either wanted him or wanted to be him. he could have had anyone he wanted in the entire city, but then he walked into the wayne enterprises building that was located downtown in blüdhaven.
you were working the front desk in the main lobby, fingers flying across a keyboard, completely ignoring the corporate crowd that had formed. dick came in for a meeting, but he froze the second he saw you. he walked straight up to your desk, leaning his forearms on the smooth marble counter with that famous, easy charm.
"hey," he said, his voice smooth and warm. "i think i'm totally lost. can you help me find where i'm supposed to go?"
he totally wasn’t lost - he knew the building like he knew the very own back of his hand, it was just an excuse to go ahead and talk to you if anything.
you were beautiful at first sight, yes, but something like that would have never been enough to make dick as enamored with you as he got.
you didn't even look up at first. you just pointed toward the elevators without breaking your rhythm. "floor forty-two, executive suites. there is a sign right next to the button for extra help.”
dick blinked, totally caught off guard how focused you seemed to be on your work.
usually, people turned to jelly when he smiled at them, but you didn't even blink. corny as it may be… it felt nice for a change. it was different.
he let out a short, genuine laugh that made you finally look up. when your eyes met, his smile changed from his usual public charm to something much softer, much more real. he stayed at your desk for another five minutes, completely ignoring his watch, just trying to make you laugh. he asked about your day, made a stupid joke and watched the way your lips twitched into a small smile. by the time he finally walked toward the elevators, he was interested in you.
after that, he would come to you every few times he stopped by wayne enterprises and before he knew it, he made it his mission to see you. he started dropping by the lobby every single day at the exact same time. he pursued you gently but completely. he brought you coffee from the good place down the street and wild flowers that he picked himself because, lets be for real, the store ones are either too much or look too fake.
he even listened to your loud laughs and your quiet dreams about leaving blüdhaven to start over somewhere better.
you were so different.
and he didn't- doesn’t mean it in that corny way some people do. you were a shade of something beautiful. a spark of rebellion interlaced with magic. just your existence gives him even more hope that goodness still exists. you were addictive. right from your smile down to your laugh, something about you kept pulling him closer. making him want to do things he long gave up on or thought that as a vigilante he wouldn’t have a chance with.
and then, oh, god.
before he knew it, he was in love with you.
he knew that much was true. love was the swelling, hopeful feeling in his chest every time he saw you.
love was the way he could forget about everything when you were with him. love was the catch in his breath when you looked at him in your intense way. love was the gasp you could draw out of him with the simplest of touches. love was the way he could... he could be himself around you, know that he didn't need to be perfect or worry about what you were thinking, because you accepted him.
he fell so hard for how stubborn and independent you were. he really believed you were his future.
he still remembers the first time you two came together and kissed so vividly.
it was quite late at night in the middle of winter, dick had just brought you home after finishing a fancy dinner date he had picked out for you both.
it was the picture-perfect romance scene - snow surrounding you everywhere while you both stood underneath a street lamp, everything so bright you could see nothing but the other.
dick looked at you then, drawing near with his face flushing - but this time not from the cold.
“you know what?" his breath was warm against your cheek with how close he leaned in, holding your waist gently and whispering in your ear. "there are a lot of stupid things to do, but i really want to do the stupidest thing possible."
“what’s that?"
"i want to kiss you.”
your eyes widened a bit before you smiled at him. "kiss me, then." you whispered.
"are you sure?" he murmured, his mouth curved into a teasing smile. "because once i do, i might not be able to-"
you grabbed the back of his head and yanked him down and that was his first kiss with you.
but then the late nights started ruining everything.
dick was never around when the sun went down. he missed your dinner dates entirely or showed up three hours late with some cheap excuse about a flat tire you most certainly didn’t buy.
the worst part was the injuries.
you started noticing deep cuts on his jaw and heavy purple bruises along his ribs when he came over to your apartment at dawn.
you thought he was seeing another person behind your back. you figured a guy who looked like him just couldn't stay faithful to someone who worked at the front desk of his fathers company. the constant lying made you miserable, and one night you finally stood in his entryway with tears in your eyes and told him you were done. dick panicked - which is rare because he was trained by the bat, one of his first lessons was to never panic.
his heart dropped straight into his stomach because the thought of losing you was too much to bear. he didn't want to lie anymore. he pulled off his mask right there in front of you and admitted he was nightwing.
but unfortunately, the big secret didn't fix your relationship.
it just traded one nightmare for another. you weren't angry about a fake affair anymore, but now you were completely paralyzed by fear. you spent every single night wide awake in your bed, staring up at the dark ceiling and wondering if he was bleeding out alone in some wet alleyway while wearing that damned suit - if he was going to return to you.
dick became a mess on patrol too. he rushed through dangerous fights and made sloppy mistakes because his mind was spinning, desperate to just survive and get back to your apartment.
you worked early morning shifts at the office while he ran across rooftops until dawn. you were both exhausted all the time and dick didn't have the heart to ask you to just quit and let him provide for you (although he had wanted to so badly. he knew you would say no, and he didn’t want to scare you off). the easy warmth between you just dried up completely, and you slowly started to drift apart.
and just like that, you were gone. you didn't even say goodbye, you sent him a message over text and just packed your life into brown cardboard boxes and left were planning to leave the city behind for something cleaner, something far away from the grime of blüdhaven. but for dick, he really thought that was it. he truly believed you were his end game, the one good thing he got to keep after a lifetime of jumping without a net. and now it was just over?
dick didn’t understand anything at all anymore. how could you not be here with him? he was so infinitely used to having you around that he felt completely lost and empty. without you, his soul was just gone. you used to turn his life into something so light and amazing, putting a tiny glint of happiness on absolutely everything. you were always different, always changing. sometimes you were smoky-pink and soft, sometimes you were dark and winged, and he honestly didn't know when he loved your eyes more - when they were open or when they were shut.
it was eleven p.m. - dick sat there in the dark of his empty apartment, trying with all the force of his soul to see you through the space between you both. his thoughts were begging for a heavenly visa just to fly across the state lines to where you were. his sweet excitement.
oftentimes where the nights he couldn't think about anything except how much he longed for you. he was gloomy and so, so fearful. silly thoughts swarmed around in his head, making him paranoid. he kept worrying that you would stumble as you jumped out of a subway car, or that some stranger would bump into you too hard on the street - and don’t get him started on the darker side of thoughts. he didn't know how he was going to survive the week.
his tenderness, his happiness, what words was he even supposed to think to make the ache stop? it was so strange because his whole life's work was about action and control, yet he had no idea how to deal with how he loved, how he desired you. it was such a frantic agitation, but at the same time, it was a divine peace. you made him feel like melting clouds immersed in sunshine - just mounds of pure happiness. and he was floating right there with you, inside of you, aflame and melting away. a whole lifetime with you would be like the movement of clouds, their airy, quiet falls, their lightness and smoothness, and the heavenly variety of their colors. his inexplicable love. he could not even express these floating, heavy sensations.
he stared at the blank walls, the gray misery pooling low in his gut. his limbs felt like lead. everyone around him noticed the change - tim would linger a little too long by the batcomputer, watching him with quiet, squinted eyes, and babs would let her voice go all soft and careful on the comms, but dick refused to talk about it.
he clamped his jaw shut and kept it all inside. he tried his absolute hardest to keep up that reliable nightwing attitude, playing the smiling, perfect hero who always had everything under control. it made him go even crazier. his chest ached with the effort of it because he desired nothing more than to just let it all fall apart, to drop the mask and the name and just rest between your arms again. you were everything he wanted, and now it was over?
but then… there was the warehouse.
the comms cracked with a mission to track down an illegal occult club of college kids operating out of an abandoned tenement on the docks - stealings things they believed to be magical artifacts, even when, dick could clearly see, that most of them weren’t and the kids just seemed to believe too much in fairytales.
he was supposed to be bagging the evidence for babs to catalog, but as his gloved fingers moved over the mismatched junk on the ritual altar, he froze.
among the cheap candles and stolen books was a piece of dark, twisted wood.
dick stared at it, the flurried beat of wings starting up behind his ears. he half-mindedly remembered this bark. he knew it from a long time ago, a half-forgotten ghost story from a circus trailer. he picked it up, turning it over in his hands.
how the hell did it get here?
he must have accidentally left the box behind during one of his rushed moves between blüdhaven safehouses years ago, and then from then on this occult club must have gotten their hands on it somehow for whatever reason.
the rough bark was dry beneath his leather gloves. dick stared down at the twisted wood, his thumb tracing the edge where it had once been severed from the tree - it looked so small resting on the ritual altar. so ordinary. like a stray piece of kindling left behind by kids playing at being witches.
but right next to it lay the small box and inside it the original packaging where one could still clearly read ‘one wish willow’ - while the package had been from years of neglect - the sight of it made his chest tighten.
the memory was sudden like a camera bulb going off in a pitch-black room. but dick remembers being ten years old, the air inside the circus trailer smelling of rain and the sweet, burnt scent of his mother’s vanity powder that dick so greatly misses.
his mother had sat him down on the edge of the cot, her long fingers holding that exact same packaging.
she had pulled this piece of wood out, holding it between them like it was a piece of the moon.
“this is a branch from the one-wish willow, dickie,”
her voice echoed in his head, sounding too bright, too far away.
“your father used it for me when i wanted to go back to the old country. if you find the right person and they try to leave, you use this. it ensures everything goes exactly how you want. it makes love perfect.”
back then, he had just laughed. he had kissed his mother's cheek and played it off as a fairytale, some old family myth spun from campfire stories and superstition. circus folk were full of things like that. he hadn't thought about it in twenty years.
dick looked around the dark warehouse. the college kids were groaning on the floor, the police sirens were still a distant whine over the harbor waves, and the comms in his ear were silent, waiting for his report. he was supposed to bag it - he was supposed to log it into the batcomputer as a Class-IV occult artifact and let it rot in a steel vault beneath the manor.
but… it was his. it belonged to his mother, to his father. it was a piece of the grayson name, an inheritance he had carelessly left behind in a closet during a midnight move through the blüdhaven.
and it was a piece of his childhood. he didn't know if the magic was real - he didn't know if his mother had been telling the truth or if the wood was just old, useless kindling - but as he looked at the branch, your face flashed in his mind - the way you looked when you packed your things, the total absence of him in your future. he was desperate. he was so tired of being the good guy who let things go.
what harm was there in keeping a childhood fairytale? he’d be disappointed either way, whether he keeps it or not.
with a quick, jerky motion, dick reached out and grabbed the faded blue packaging. he gently placed the twisted branch back inside its original packaging and then closed the lid over it. he didn't reach for the evidence plastic he put all the other stolen stuff in. instead, he slid the box deep into the heavy lining of his tactical belt, hiding it safe against his hip.
he would keep it… just to have a piece of home back. there’s no harm in that, right?
with that, he clicked his comms back on to report the bust clear.
few days crawled by like molasses. dick spent every hour feeling like an outsider in his own skin, but he made sure to keep tabs on you. he had stayed on good terms with your friends after the breakup - playing the sweet, understanding ex-boyfriend, the reliable guy who just wanted to make sure you were okay. and it was true! he did want to make sure you were okay! he loves you. he could never wish harm upon you. it was totally harmless...
(lie. of course, it was just a way to keep his fingers on your pulse, a way to know exactly where you were. not that dick could ever admit to such a filthy impulse - the golden boy didn't have dirty hands. he didn't stalk. he just... cared. too much, maybe. but caring wasn't a crime.)
but the trap snapped shut anyway.
he was grabbing a quick coffee with one of your girls from the office, smiling his perfect public smile while his chest hollowed itself out, when she casually dropped the news.
you had handed in your notice.
you were leaving blüdhaven for good, your train ticket already booked for the end of the week. you were going to be completely gone in the next few days.
dick didn't remember the walk back to his apartment. he just found himself standing in his own living room, the cold, crushing devastation hitting his knees so hard he nearly stumbled.
he threw himself onto the couch, the gray afternoon light cutting across the floor, highlighting the empty spaces where your things used to be. his head dropped into his hands. his throat felt tight, burning with an old, childish grease.
you were leaving. you were actually leaving him behind in this rotting city, and there was nothing his hands could do to stop it.
dick grayson, the hero who saved everyone, couldn't save his own life from falling into a black hole.
how could you just give up on you both? didn’t you know you two belonged together?
then his eyes shifted.
resting on the glass coffee table, right next to his car keys, was the faded box. he had forgotten he left it there after the warehouse bust. the silk ribbon was still frayed, looking pathetic and small under the dust motes dancing in the air.
dick stared at it. his heart did a strange, violent flip against his ribs. he didn't… fully believe in it.
he couldn't. he was a man of science, trained by the world's greatest detective to look for logic, to dismiss fairy tales and old circus superstitions - and even though he knows they are real, he knows not everything people claim to be magical is actually so.
his mother's words were just a comfort story from a dead woman, a soft myth told to a little boy in a rainy trailer because she loved his father too much to think about the dark parts. it couldn't be real. a piece of wood couldn't fix a broken heart.
but desperation is a sickening thing… isn’t it? it strips away your sense, leaves you raw and clawing at the dirt for anything to hold onto.
dick reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as he pulled the blue box closer. he flipped the lid open and took the branch out of the one-wish willow package.
the dark, twisted branch of the one-wish willow lay snug against the lining, looking cold and dead. he took it out, is knuckles turning white as he gripped the two ends.
he didn't expect a miracle. he felt stupid, pathetic even - a grown man hiding in the dark with a piece of kindling. but the thought of your train pulling out of the station made his mind go entirely black. if it didn't work, he was no worse off than before. but if it did... if it could just make you remember how good you used to be...
with a sharp, desperate jerk of his wrists, dick snapped the branch right in half. the wood gave way with a loud, echoing crack that seemed to swallow all the air in the silent room.
“i wish she would love me,” he whispered into the empty space, his voice cracking, raw and ugly with a lifetime of loneliness. “more than anyone or anything else in the world.”
…
the next morning came, and surprisingly, dick didn’t think anything of the willow branch.
he woke up with the same oily misery coating the back of his throat, the crack of the wood from the night before feeling like nothing more than a pathetic, embarrassing hallucination he had in desperation. a grown man playing with sticks in the dark, how stupid is that?
he dragged himself through his morning routine, put on his civilian clothes, and prepared to spend another day pretending he wasn't hollowed out from the inside.
but then the knock came.
it wasn't a normal knock because dick wouldn’t have reacted the way he had then - it was a frantic, heavy rattling against the wood of his front door, so violent that dick’s instinct had him reaching for a hidden blade before his mind could even register who it might be. he pulled the door open, his jaw tense.
it was you.
you were standing on his welcome mat, but something was immediately, deeply wrong. dick froze, his hand tightening on the edge of the doorframe.
your face was paler than usual - lost of color, your hair slightly damp from the morning mist, but it was your eyes that made his stomach drop into a cold, dark well. they were wide - wide and completely unblinking, glassy with a terrifying, frantic intensity that looked nothing like the soft, calm gaze he had spent months falling in love with. your fingers were trembling, twitching against the straps of your bag, and your chest was heaving like you had just run a marathon across the city lines just to reach his threshold.
"hey," dick started, his voice small, caught completely off guard. "what are you-"
"i woke up and my chest felt tight," you interrupted, the words spilling out of your mouth in a sharp, breathless rush. your voice climbed into a high, frantic register. "i couldn't breathe, dick. i couldn't breathe until i saw you. why didn't you call me?"
dick blinked, his hand dropping from the doorframe. "i... i thought you didn't want me to. you're leaving, remember? you bought the ticket-“
"no, no, no," you rattled out, shaking your head so hard your hair whipped across your face. you took a desperate step forward into his entryway, closing the distance between you. "you have to tell me you love me. please tell me you love me right now."
he stayed silent for a second, before narrowing his eyes. "sweetheart, of course i do," he murmured, his brain struggling to process the sudden, violent shift. he reached out to touch your shoulder, but the second his fingers brushed your skin, you went entirely rigid.
"i love you more than anyone else in the world," you gasped, your voice cracking as your hands clawed desperately at the fabric of his jacket, pulling him down toward you with a strength that felt completely unnatural. "i love you so much it hurts. i can't think about anything else. i can't do anything else. tell me you love me. say it."
you were shaking, your teeth literally chattering together as you pressed your face into his neck, sobbing out the words over and over again.
dick stood completely rigid for a split second, his arms hanging limp at his sides. his mind was screaming, because how the hell could it not? this wasn’t normal and he knows this. never in a million years would you act like this. the logical side of his brain telling him that this was sickness, that this was some weird magic overriding your entire personality.
it was a horror movie playing out on his own rug.
and yet… "i love you," dick whispered into your hair, his voice suddenly thick. "i love you so much."
"say it again," you begged against his skin, your fingers digging so deep into his back it bruised. "don't stop saying it. please don't let me go."
the selfish rot in his chest won.
he didn't care that your eyes were hollow or that your breathing was frantic, you were here. you weren't leaving. his bright, handsome golden-boy smile broke across his face, wide and blind, as his arms finally wrapped around your waist, pulling your twitching, frantic body entirely into his space and locking the door behind you.
he could enjoy this just for a bit, right? he can find a way to fix this later… you’re safer with him than you'd be with anyone else in this state.
the next few days blurred together.
dick kept telling himself that he was going to look into it - as he had said he would from the very start - that he would find a way to reverse whatever the hell had happened. he was a hero, right? he was supposed to fix things like this.
but… every single time he sat down to actually think about a solution, he found himself pushing it back. tomorrow. he’d figure it out tomorrow.
because really, how could anyone blame him? you were just so completely adorable. this was everything he had ever wanted, everything he had spent months begging the universe for while staring at his empty ceiling. you weren't going to work anymore. you had completely forgotten about the office, forgotten about your train ticket, forgotten about leaving him behind. when dick wasn't out on patrol, he had you entirely to himself. he even found himself, much to his shame (not really) acting into your behavior.
the good parts of it were like a fever dream. you acted like his spouse, like you two had been married for years and had already promised your entire lives to each other.
"look at you," you whispered one morning, your fingers smooth and warm as they fussed over the collar of his shirt, straightening the fabric with small, careful movements. you leaned up on your tiptoes to kiss his jaw, your eyes wide and shining. "my handsome future husband. you look so perfect today, dick. i made your favorite breakfast. we have all morning together, right? just you and me."
dick let out a soft, breathless laugh, his hands coming down to rest on your waist. "yeah, baby. just you and me. you don't have to worry about anything else anymore."
"i don't," you murmured, pressing your face into his chest, humming a sweet little song while you held onto him like he was the only solid thing left in the world. "i only worry about loving you."
you showered him with so much raw, unadulterated affection that his chest felt like it was going to burst from the sheer pressure of it.
but.. of course, then there was the bad part. the terrifying, suffocating reality of the spell.
leaving the apartment for a night patrol became a psychological war - quite literally. the second dick even leaned toward his closet to grab his gear, your entire demeanor would shatter. you threw yourself onto your knees, wrapping your arms around his ankles and digging your fingernails into the fabric of his jeans.
"no, no, please don't go," you wept, your ribs shaking with a frantic, gasping sort of panic. your eyes were huge, glassy, and completely desperate as you looked up at him from the hardwood floor. "if you go out there i won't be able to breathe, dick. please. it hurts. my chest hurts when you move away from me. what if you don't come back? what if you leave me here?"
"hey, hey, look at me," dick whispered, his heart thumping hard against his ribs as he dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around your trembling shoulders. he rocked you back and forth on the rug, pressing frantic kisses into your damp hair. "i always come back to you. i'm just going to clear the sector. i'll be back before dawn, i promise. you're my whole world, sweetheart. you know that."
"promise me," you begged, your fingers scratching at the floorboards, your face lost of its comor and streaked with hot tears. "promise you won't leave me alone. say it. say you're mine."
"i'm yours," he murmured over and over, soothing the frantic puppet he had made of you until your breathing finally slowed, until you frantically agreed to let him go. and the second he stepped through the window, he knew you were just standing by the door, waiting in the dark.
it didn't take a genius like tim or bruce or barbara to connect the dots.
dick knew exactly what had happened - it was the one-wish willow. the old circus tale wasn't a fairytale at all; it was legit, a terrifyingly real piece of ancient rot that had twisted your mind.
sitting on the edge of a rainy roof during a quiet patrol, dick thought about his parents.
‘your father used it for me.’ his whole life, he had thought his parents had this beautiful, flawless romance - but it was a lie. his father had broken her soul first.
dick shrugged the thought off into the cold wind. he didn't want to think about the ethics of it. he didn't want to analyze the horror.
in a way, he completely understood why his father did it. if his father had loved his mother even half as much as dick loved you, then of course he snapped the wood. how could you let something that precious walk away? you couldn't. you had to keep it, even if you had to break it first to make it stay.
…
more time passed and you had even called your friends from the office and told them you were staying in blüdhaven. you told them you were moving back in with dick, that the train ticket had been a mistake, that the dream of starting over somewhere cleaner was gone, that dick was your dream. they were happy for you, of course.
they didn't know anything.
they just thought it was a classic, messy reconciliation between two people who couldn't let go.
any lingering shred of shame dick had about the willow branch vanished completely. the golden boy didn't feel guilty anymore - he was entirely lost within his own bliss, floating in the warm bath of your forced affection.
but sometimes, in the quiet spaces between your frantic kisses, he felt himself missing you. the real you.
you still acted a bit like you did before - you used the same nicknames, you wore the same clothes - and you joked just the same. but outside of him, you did absolutely nothing. you didn't pursue your passions, you didn't read those books you used to love anymore - only barely when you weren’t giving all your attention or dick or crying about him leaving your side.
all those fierce, independent passions he had fallen so hard for were just... gone, wiped clean by the magic.
but dick told himself it was fine. if it meant you and him could be this perfectly inlove forever, he could live with the trade-off. who cared about hobbies when you had devotion?
"look what i bought you," dick said one afternoon, setting a new box of expensive watercolors on the kitchen table, desperately trying to spark something behind your wide eyes. "i remember you saying you wanted to finish that canvas by the window."
you didn't even look at the box. your gaze stayed glued to his jaw, a tight, frantic smile stretching your cheeks. "i don't need to paint, dickie. i just want to sit here and watch you. can i hold your hand? please let me hold your hand while you read the reports."
"yeah," dick murmured, a tiny, hollow ache opening up in his stomach before he squeezed it shut. "yeah, baby. of course."
but the magic wasn't seamless.
glimpses of the real you, or thats what he thinks it is, trapped and rotting underneath the spell, started poking through the cracks.
it happened first at night.
dick finished a brutal patrol, shedding his tactical gear in the living room before sliding into the dark bedroom. he expected to find you asleep, curled up on your side of the mattress waiting for his warmth.
instead, he heard it. a wet guttural sound.
he flipped his small penlight on, the beam cutting through the shadows, and froze. you weren't in bed. you were shoved into the far corner of the room, sitting flat on the hardwood floor with your knees pulled tightly against your chest. you were hysterically crying, but it wasn't the loud, dramatic weeping from the daytime. it was silent, your shoulders heaving violently, your breath hitching in dry, miserable gasps.
in the unnatural glare of the flashlight, you looked incredibly creepy. the shadows under your eyes were so deep they looked like bruises, your skin pale and drawn, looking old and withered under the intense, suffocating pressure of the spell.
"sweetheart?" dick whispered, his footsteps resounding softly against the floor as he approached the corner. "what are you doing down there? come on, get into bed."
you didn't move. you slowly lifted your head, your wide, unblinking eyes locking onto his face. the expression there wasn't the hollow adoration he was used to. it was pure, unadulterated terror. your lips twitched, stretching into a grotesque, forced smile that didn't reach your weeping eyes.
"i'm so happy," you whispered, your voice hoarse, sounding like it was being dragged through gravel. the words were frantic, but the tone was dead. "i love you so much, dick. i'm so happy. please don't let me leave. i love you. i love you. i love you."
a cold chill ran down dick's spine, the sheer creepiness of the sight fazing him for only a split second…
choosing not to give this further thought, he turned off the penlight, letting the comforting darkness swallow the sight of your haggard, weeping face.
he walked over to the mattress, peeling back the blankets and laying himself down.
"come to bed," dick called out into the quiet room, his voice steady, coddling, and completely unbothered. "join me on my side, my love. it's cold out there."
there was a frantic scramble in the dark - the sound of your limbs rushing across the floorboards like a frightened animal. within seconds, your shivering, damp body threw itself onto the mattress, your arms wrapping around his neck with that familiar, choking grip. dick closed his eyes, his large hands coming up to stroke your hair as you both drifted off to sleep, perfectly content to ignore the monster hiding in the dark.
another time was when dick decided it was time to take you out.
he wanted to show you off - he wanted to be that normal, happy couple walking down the sidewalk under the streetlights, the way he always dreamed they would be when you were drifting apart.
he took you to a nice, dimly lit restaurant downtown. dick looked incredible, wearing a black jacket that made his shoulders look broad, his hair pushed back just right. he was smiling at the hostess, pulling out your chair with that effortless grace that made everyone in the room look over like they would always do.
but across the table, the illusion was already starting to split down the middle.
you were dressed up, your fingers twining tightly together over the white tablecloth. your wide, glassy eyes never left his face - hell, you didn't look at the menu. you didn't look at the beautiful candles or the people around you. you just stared at his jaw, your breath coming in tiny, shallow hitches.
"you look so beautiful tonight, baby," dick said, his voice smooth and warm as he reached across the table to cover your hands with his large palm. he was trying so hard to keep his voice steady, to ignore the slight tremor in your skin. "isn't this nice, hm? just getting out of the apartment for a little bit."
you didn't answer. your tight, frantic smile just stretched a little wider, your unblinking eyes drinking him in like you were starving.
dick cleared his throat, his tone dropping into something casual, a subtle test to see how far the boundaries could stretch. "i was thinking... maybe after we finish up here, i should head out for patrol for a bit. and maybe you could spend the night at your friend's place? she missed you at the office, and it would be good for you to get out."
the words hadn't even fully left his mouth before your entire face went completely blank. your fingers froze against his knuckles.
"no, no, no, no," you started, your voice suddenly climbing into a high, frantic register that cut right through the quiet clinking of silverware in the dining room. you pulled your hands back, shaking your head so hard your hair whipped across your face. "don’t do this, i thought we were having a nice date."
"sweetheart, we are," dick whispered quickly, his heart doing a sudden, violent flip against his ribs. he leaned forward, trying to catch your eye, trying to project that calm, reliable hero persona. "we are having a nice date. look at me."
"no, you're trying to send me away," you gasped out, your voice getting louder, making a couple at the next table turn around to stare. a tight, frantic smile was still stretched across your face, but tears were already spilling over your eyelids, tracking thick and hot down your cheeks. "you're telling me to go. i thought we were having a nice date, dick! why are you doing this to me? why are you making my chest feel tight?"
"i'm right here, baby, i'm not sending you anywhere," dick murmured, his thumbs trying to soothe over your knuckles, but you were shaking so hard your fork clattered against the porcelain plate.
"tell me you love me," you begged, your fingers suddenly clawing into his jacket sleeves across the table, digging your nails deep into the fabric right there in front of everyone. your chest was heaving under your nice clothes. "say it right now. say it so i can breathe. i love you so much it hurts, i love you more than anything in the world, why can't we just have a nice date?"
you were weeping now, a hysterical sound, even though your lips were still forced into that terrifying, ecstatic grin.
dick stared at you through the candlelight - an outsider would have looked at your weeping, grinning face and seen a total horror story. they would have seen a person completely losing their mind, a scene being caused in a public place.
but dick didn't care about the people staring. his mind instead twisted the terror into pure, unadulterated devotion.
you loved him so much you couldn't even handle the thought of a single night apart… your friends didn't matter. patrol didn't matter. you were entirely, perfectly his.
"you’re right," dick whispered, his expression softening into a look of absolute, unwavering focus as he watched you. the realization that you were so completely centered on him seemed to settle his own internal restlessness.
he stood up, placing enough currency on the table to cover the bill and more, his attention never wavering from yours. he reached out, firmly taking your hand to steady your trembling. "we don't need to go anywhere else. let’s just go back home. we can stay there as long as you need, and nothing will come between us."
weeks turned into months and dick now barely went on patrol anymore, leaving the city rooftops for the other vigilantes to keep safe.
he had looked into it, though. the one wish willow thing.
one night, while you were asleep with your fingers tightly locked around his wrist, his old detective habits had kicked in. he had dug through old databases, tracking down the ancient lore of the one-wish willow. it took him a while, especially doing so behind your back, but he found the answer. he found the exact sequence required to break the spell, to shatter the curse and set your mind free.
but dick knew what would happen if he did it. the second the magic lifted, the terrifying, hollow adoration would vanish. you would look at him with your real eyes, and you would remember the packing boxes, the train ticket, and the drifting apart. you would realize what he had done to your mind, and you would hate him. you would leave him behind in the dark, and this little bliss he had come to love would disappear forever. he couldn't do it. he just couldn't let you go.
it was a quiet night. after hours of shared love between you on dick on his bed - the kind where you gripped his shoulders so hard your fingernails left bloody crescents in his skin - the air in the bedroom grew completely still. you were lying on your side, the sheets tangled around your legs, your body heavy and exhausted.
dick was holding you tight against his chest, his large hand smoothing down the bare skin of your back, listening to the hum of your breathing.
but then, your eyes didn't snap open with that bright, frantic daytime stare. they stayed closed, but your lips began to move. your voice came out meek, quiet, and rough - not at all like how you usually were.
"dick?" your voice whispered out in the night.he peeked over to where you were on the bed, your face pale against the white pillowcase. still asleep, eyes closed.
"it’s nice you aren't freaking out anymore," he comments softly, his fingers pausing on your shoulder.
"be quiet," you urge in that strained, cracking whisper. "don’t wake the other one up."
he moves closer to the bed, pulling himself up onto his elbow so he can look down at your face. seeing you like this is so domestic. cozy, in a way.
"kill me, richard," you beg, your sleeping voice raspy and desperate, not using his nickname. "please kill me."
his eyes go slightly dark at the usage of his actual name. but then he laughs, light and coddling, brushing a stray hair away from your forehead.
"this again?" dick smiles, his tone completely unbothered. "don’t be like that, my love. look at us. look at how happy we are."
"i’m not happy," your voice is hoarse, sounding like you hadn't used it in a lifetime, like it was being dragged from the bottom of a deep, dark well. "i’m trapped in my own body, watching some demon wear my skin and-"
"we could be happy!" he interrupts, drifting closer, his warm hand caressing the side of your face, his thumb rubbing against your cheekbone. "there’s a way to undo this, y'know? you think i want an imitation? i've always wanted the real thing, baby. if you just give up and accept it, the magic blends. we could be together. just us. what do you say?"
you remain silent. the trapped soul inside you refuses to give in, remaining completely stubborn in the dark.
he clicks his tongue against his teeth. he never likes how stubborn you get sometimes.
"guess i'll have to settle for the imitation for now," dick sighs, the heavy weight of his obsession settling over him like a thick blanket. "the offer's always open, though."
craving for a little more sweetness to wash away the cold chill in his bones, he shakes your shoulder gently and calls out your name.
your eyes snap open instantly. the hollow, desperate love floods back into your face, wiping away the terror. you squeal, throwing your bare arms around his neck.
"dick!" you cry out, your voice bright and ecstatic. "you’re back. welcome home."
you kiss him fiercely, your lips desperate and warm, and dick kisses you back, completely drowning himself in the fake warmth of the spell.
after you fell back into a deep, spell-bound sleep, your breathing leveling out against his neck, dick stared down at your peaceful face in the shadows. his heart was pounding hard against his ribs.
he saw the terror he had caused - he knew your soul was trapped in a living nightmare because of his selfishness.
but as he looked at your quiet, sleeping face, his mind twisted the truth just further, just like his father’s mind had done all those years ago to his own mother. he ran a gentle hand through your hair and leaned down to kiss your forehead.
"i can't let you go," dick whispered back into the dark shadows of the bedroom, his voice cold, desperate, and final. "is it really so terrible to be mine?"
waited to read this after i watched obsession. HOLY SHIT!!
the differences and parallels between bear and dick are AMAZING! whole bear is seen as a loser, dick is the golden boy. the way dick tries to justify his actions because “he’s the golden boy, the golden boy doesn’t do bad things!”
and then the last scene, UGHHH! with bear it was this dark and weak acceptance that he wasn’t gonna free nikki. with dick, i can just see him with this smug expression during it. “this again?” and “i guess we’ll settle for the imitation” chills!!
but even with this, i feel like dick did love y/n more than bear loved nikki. dick actually got to know and date reader where i feel bear had this idea of nikki in his head
anyway, the writing is good incredible, 10/10, I NEED PART2
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 SUMMARY: lying to BOXER! JASON TODD about being a virgin… so don’t be that surprised when you cum so easy for him!
ⓘ CONTENT WARNINGS: lying about virginity, overstimulationnnn, teasing! boxer! jason todd! MINORS DNI! -> fem! virgin! reader ノgentle sex ノdirty talk ノ virginity loss ノ unprotected sex ノ multiple orgasms ノ praise kink ノ tiny bit of a strength kink!
AUTHOR’S NOTE: sorry, I’ve been on a boxer! jason todd high so muchhhhh, I just love him, sorry not sorry! this is inspired by the hot concept of men lying about being virgins and cumming prematurely but make it reader because lowkey? it’s just an excuse for jason to abuse that pussy 🫠 dare i say i have knight/medieval! jason todd in the works rn cause finn bennett as aerion targaryen awoken my soul for knight! characters.
honestly, you weren’t that much of a liar.
you didn’t like to lie— there was something weird about it. something weird about looking someone in the face and lying your ass off. you only lied a couple of times about small things; being sick, not wanting to go on a date, not wanting to hang out… simple things. not things like this.
and to be completely and utterly honest; you didn’t exactly stop lying when it came to getting into bed with jason todd.
you knew who he was— a famous boxer with too many wins to count, but you acted oblivious to his boxing resume when he first approached to you at a small diner. he found you attractive when he was eating with his big brother, dick— yes. his name is dick, doesn’t like going by richard— and dick encouraged him to approach you. so you shared your number with him and began to text him.
things fell into place and a month of talking… he invited you to one of his fights. a big boxing fight, he’s the biggest name on the card. and watching from the third row as jason knocked his opponent out in the third round… you knew damn well what was going to happen later that night.
the problem? you were not quite… experienced at sex.
you have masturbated, you have touched yourself and have used sex toys on yourself. you’ve kissed people in high school and you’ve let them touch you up… but nothing as far as that. just, it hasn’t happened naturally. it wasn’t some weird obligation thing, you weren’t saving yourself for marriage or for anyone special… it just didn’t feel right any time it came down to it, so now? as a hard working adult seeing this boxer? you knew damn well you’d have to face it.
so after celebrating jason’s win at his favorite local burger place— always feeling his rough hand on yours even as you ate, you brought him to your place… and of course, when two hot people who are very attracted to each other are alone… things get hot and steamy.
he got you over the finish line with ease the moment his mouth sucked on your clit, flicking his tongue up and down and using two of his fingers in your tight cunt to cum, eating the cum off his fingers with glee as clothes came off, hair was pulled, and jason was stroking his cock with lube (mixed with a little bit of your own cum cause how could he not?).
“jason… mhm…” you whisper, your legs already spread on the bed as your hands clasped in the bedsheets. you couldn’t lie; you were absolutely nervous.
sure, you’ve played with yourself before— you’ve stuck a dildo in your cunt a couple of times. you know what it feels like to be stretched by a silicone toy that was listed as six inches long and was about five and a half inches… but this was different.
this was a real dick, a real cock attached to a very attractive boxer that you just happened to get the attention of.
jason smiled down at you as his right hand stayed on his seven inch cock, his left hand gently stroking up and down your leg as his body keeps your legs open. “you’re pretty, baby.” he whispers, leaning down and kissing your left knee. “such a cute girl… all spread f’me…”
your face heats up internally at his compliments, it felt good to be flirted with, especially by jason with his stupidly hot voice and his demeanor. “jason, mhm…” you respond back, mentally preparing yourself for how this is gonna feel— it’s just like a dildo, the stretch and the feeling, you could handle it; of course you can!
jason lined his tip up with your folds and leaned down, kissing your lips and whispering against your lips. “if you can’t handle it, tell me sweetheart, ain’t trying to hurt you, promise.”
you nod your head, wrapping both arms around his neck. “of course, jay… now fuck me.” oh the confidence you have.
he smiles at your words and press against your cunt, his tip feeling the warmness of your cunt as you seemingly let him in with no problem. he’s slow to push into you, being oh so gentle with his hips as his left hand digs into the bed, his right hand pressed on top of your abdomen as he’s careful with his ease into you.
and fuck fuck fuck— it feels so good. it feels too good.
you could barely feel anything else besides jason stretching you with his cock— naturally, this felt different than the dildo, the skin of jason’s cock different than the silicone. he was so much better and thicker than the toy, warmer than the toy as well— everything felt overwhelming that you didn’t know if you could handle much more… and the pathetic part was that he was only three inches in, he still had four more inches to go and you already feel like this.
“jason! jason! oh fuckkkkk, jayyyy.” you moan out, fingers digging into the back of his neck, your pussy fluttering ‘round him as your toes curled in the air. “s-so good… so full… oh fuck.”
he smiles above you as he kisses your moaning lips, gently continuing his movements, taking your moans as good enough to keep moving. “good girl… taking me so fuckin’ well, bet this pussy misses being treated so good.”
yeah; my pussy has never been treated any which way, but obviously— you couldn’t fucking say that, so you just moan in response, vibrating against his skin.
you felt so warm inside, you couldn’t stop your pleasure from climbing just by him pushing into you and his lips on your skin, you just couldn’t help it. it felt too fucking good.
not knowing what to do— you couldn’t stop yourself, and with barely three thrusts in… you felt yourself slipping over the same edge that his mouth brought you over. his hips don’t sputter once, his face hidden in your neck as he pressed kisses in your neck— your eyes rolling back as your nails dug into his biceps.
it felt so fucking good, your pussy was fluttering and you felt pleasure push and flow through your veins.
jason mutters a curse as he watches you, star struck by your expression and almost surprised— he’s not mean about his expression either, he’s shocked he was able to make you cum this fast… “oh baby, you already cummed?” he questions, leaning down and pressing a kiss on your lips. “good to know i make you feel this good.”
“ah— ah! oh fuck, jay!” you moan in overstimulation, back arching off the bed and pressing your breasts against his broad chest. “ah— ‘m sorry! ‘m sorry… didn’t me-mean to.”
jason looks at you with soft eyes that even makes you tear up, leaning down and kissing your cheek. “don’t apologize f’me baby, don’t ever apologize for cumming so beautifully.” he encourages, continuing his thrusts even with your orgasm melting through you. “this pussy loves me, huh?”
your fingers digs down into his back as you whine, breathing deep as jason continues to ruin you. “jay— jay, c’can’t take it— oh fuck… oh fuck!”
“you’re taking it great baby, just hold out f’me, hun, you’ll feel good again.” he whispers, kissing your lips.
the kiss is sloppy and barely there on your side, but you try to kiss him again, heat overtaking your entire body as overstimulation slowly subsidies and suddenly feeling that same build up as last time.
you whimper against his lips as your hands both thread through his messy black hair, nails yanking on him as you feel his cock drag against your walls again, his balls slapping against your cunt.
he moans as you squeeze around him, both hands holding onto your thighs. “beautiful girl… betcha you need to cum again, huh?”
nodding your head, you bite into his shoulder, the pain of the overstimulation and the pleasure of your orgasm ruins you before you could confirm anything to him; your eyes rolling back and the scream of his name gives him the confirmation.
you just cummed again and he’s looking at you like a fucking angel on this earth.
“there you go… cum, cum all over my shit, baby.” he encourages. “lemme see this pretty face fucking wrecked for me again.”
maybe lying about your virginity to your boyfriend was the best idea ever, cause it got you fucked like this!
masterlist is here! click here for more!
ⓘ KENTLUV3R’S WORK. all my fanfics (not the characters) is my very own, coming from my own efforts and my time. do not copy my work, rewrite it, shove it through an ai machine and shit out slop, and don’t repost to wattpad/ao3/c.ai!
Im in love with Sirens: love hurts, it gets so much hate for being ‘childish’ but sometimes that whats needed and ITS SO FUN PLUS THE ART IS INCREDIBLE
Pairing: Yan!Dick Grayson x Reader x Yan!Barbara Gordon (DC).
Commissioned by the very lovely @saturnalya <3
Word Count: 10.0k.
TW: Non/Con, Dub/Con (Revoked Consent), Fem!Reader, Long Term Stalking, Breeding Kink, Pregnancy, Wildly Codependent Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Kidnapping, and Slight Infantlization. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.
You hated Gotham.
This was an old loathing, so deeply buried that you hadn’t been entirely aware of it before you stepped off the underground and realized just how far you’d wandered from the shining towers and spotless streets of Metropolis. Now, as you waded through crowds of lowered heads, you could only wonder how you’d spent so long ignoring something so obvious. Gotham was a terrible place to live. Gotham was the worst place to live. The air was more smog than oxygen. The people were cruel and jaded from years of dealing with killer clowns and rampant corruption. No matter how much money tender-hearted billionaires funneled into public welfare programs, half the city always seemed to be starving. Of course you hated it. Of course you’d left. Anyone with half a brain would do the same.
The only question, really, was why you would ever come back. At least you could answer that easily enough.
You hated Gotham, but Barbara and Dick loved it.
They’d chosen the cafe. A cute place in midtown, just outside of the business district. You’d circled it twice out of caution and once out of nerves — snagging an expensive-looking gold watch off a distracted salary worker during the final lap just to calm yourself down. You spent twenty minutes watching the doors from a measured distance, as if trafficked weapons or prohibited substances would be carted through the front doors. You checked your phone twenty-seven times.
Finally, you forced yourself to actually enter the building you now knew better than your own apartment. You considered counting exits or scoping the perimeter, but at that point, further distractions were useless. Your eyes found them as soon as you crossed the threshold, which might’ve been more impressive if Dick hadn’t already been looking directly at you.
It was a testament to your self-restraint that you didn’t turn around and run immediately. He was smiling that big, golden-boy smile — the one that used to be reserved for reporters and police detectives and Bruce, after the two of you had broken something expensive. He was sitting in a corner booth on the far side of the cafe and waved you over with a level of excitement only a touch too suppressed to be called childish. Barbara sat across from him, her wheelchair pulled up to the quarter of the table the rounded bench didn’t occupy. He didn’t have a drink, but she was nursing two separate cups of coffee. A binder-thick laptop sat closed to her left, which hurt to see. You couldn’t remember the last time she’d let herself leave the house with less than three disparate pieces of technology.
Dick greeted you with a bone-crushing hug. Barbara, a pursed-lip frown.
“Where is it?” she asked.
You laughed. “What are you talking about?”
She didn’t respond, only holding out an open palm to you. Dick nudged your side, pointing to your bulging pocket. “She’s been watching you reached your station,” he explained, his grin taking on a more sheepish note. “To make sure you didn’t get lost.”
You glowered, but fished out your stolen watch and handed it to Barbara, who turned it over in her hand analytically. “I’ll get it back to the owner tonight,” Dick went on, already playing damage-control. “Babs already has their details, and you can come with me to say—”
“Don’t bother,” Barbara cut in. She drew her nail along the back of the timepiece. The gold flaked away like nail polish — the cheapest gilding you’d even seen. “It’s worthless.”
Dick grinned. “Should’ve guessed. No one would be—”
“—stupid enough to wear real gold in Gotham,” you finished, leaning forward to snag one of Barbara’s mugs. “Not with people like me in town.”
You and Dick broke into obnoxious, irrational laughter. Barbara scoffed — her equivalent to your hysteria.
And just like that, you were home again.
The afternoon passed quickly. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t stay for long — one, two hours tops — but the sun sank low in the sky and suddenly, getting out of the city before dark didn’t seem to matter. Dick prattled on about Bludhaven’s many woes and the newest job on his every-expanding carousel of careers. Barbara buried her face in her arms as she complained about Bruce’s newest fledglings and swore that three of you had never been so incompetent. When it was your turn, you made up a pleasing, if not entirely true story about a young woman in the big city with a steady office job and only the occasional bout of kleptomania. It was hard to tell if either of them really believed you, but they were kind enough to let you pretend.
When you were done, Dick moved to the edge of his seat, laying his hand over Barbara’s. Somehow, you’d failed to notice the matching silver bands on either of their ring fingers before then. The sight alone was enough to make you choke on your coffee. You spent a few humiliating seconds hacking into your elbow before managing to spit out something halfway intelligent. “You’re married?”
“Two years ago,” Dick explained. “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. There wasn’t really time to send out invites.”
“He got me drunk and carried me to a courthouse.” Her tone was chiding, but she was smiling more brightly than she had all day. “Didn’t even get a honeymoon.”
She leaned back, pecking her husband’s cheek. The word seemed incomprehensible. Husband. The last time you’d seen Dick and Barbara in the same room, they’d been half an inch away from tearing out each other’s throats. The time before that, they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off of each other long enough to tell you whether or not they gotten back together. ‘Marriage’ seemed like an ill-suited title for their on-again-off-again, love-to-hate-and-back-again relationship. You’d never pictured them falling into such a permanent state of being. You’d never pictured them doing something you so clearly weren’t a part of.
But they were happy. They looked happy, at least. Dick pulled Barbara into a more substantial kiss and you stared at your drink, desperate to focus on anything else. Finally, they separated, both giggling like teenagers. You rolled your eyes. “Okay, I get it. You invited me back to bask in your matrimonial happiness. Can I go home now?”
They exchanged a glance. Dick’s grin took on a softer undertone. “We, uh— There was something we wanted to ask you for, actually. A favor."
You hummed. “A threesome?”
“Well, that’s not far—”
“Shut up, both of you.” She looked to you, resting both elbows on the table and propping her chin on her clasped hands. “We’re looking for a surrogate.”
It abruptly seemed much, much later. You really should’ve gone home when you had the chance.
Twelve years ago, you would’ve climbed over the table to hug them. Ten years ago, you would’ve still been overjoyed, if a little more skeptical. Five years ago, part of you might’ve been flattered. Now, though, after so many years of so little contact, the only thing you could seem to dredge up was ice-cold dread. You did what you could to hide it behind a sheepish smile, a light drumming of your fingertips against the tabletop. “A baby’s a lot of work. Especially for two parents on the night shift.”
Dick was almost too fast. “You don’t have to worry about that. Turned in my resignation last week. Barbara’s too valuable to lose so suddenly, but I made her promise to slow down before the baby gets here.” Your disbelief must’ve been apparent. He shrugged and added, “What can I say? You set a good example.”
The dread deepened into a frigid, bottomless pit. You shook your head and began to stand up, but Barbara caught you by the wrist before you could so much as get your feet underneath you. “Look, we’ve been taking it over, and neither of us can picture it being anyone but you. We want a family, obviously, but—” She paused, letting out an unsteady breath. “—not unless you’re part of it.”
It was unfair, really. In all your time apart, you’d forgotten how cruel she could be. Of course you were going to say yes, if she pulled that card.
The only thing you’d ever wanted to be was a part of their lives.
You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you didn’t try to. You nodded wordlessly, and Dick laughed — the sound like wedding bells and sunshine and cloudless sky. To your surprise, Barbara reacted just as strongly. She hauled you closer, dragging you into a bone-crushing hug. It squeezed the air out of your lungs and bruised your ribs, but a quiet, selfish part of you hoped that she would never let go again.
~
Dick insisted that the three of you go about the insemination in the traditional way. You and Barbara spent the better part of an hour berating him for being a filthy pervert before she admitted that it would save you all a lot of time (and you, in particular, a mountain of paperwork) and the idea began to seem much more reasonable.
Arrangements were made swiftly. They wanted you close, but you made it clear that you wouldn’t be spending the worst nine months of your life in the hallowed, haunted halls of Wayne Manor or moving back to Gotham. A travel schedule was made, a small fleet of doctors assembled using Bruce’s name, and about a week after your initial conversation, Dick and Barbara invited you over to their uptown apartment for dinner and a few drinks. What would follow was left implied.
Your anxiety was mitigated by Dick’s surprisingly edible cooking and Barbara’s insistence that your wine glass never be less than half full, even if you could’ve done without the muttered reminders that this was the last drink you’d have in a long, long time that accompanied every refill. You could only be glad you’d quit smoking when you were sixteen. All it’d taken was Selina mentioning that she’d been able to smell it on your clothes from a block away and you’d kicked the habit overnight. You doubted having to store your best friends’ baby for a few short months would have served as such powerful motivation.
As you savored your last drops of freedom, Dick and Barbara celebrated the beginning of theirs. They’d been pawing at each other all night, too giddy to remember how to act like adults, but it was only as dinner wrapped up and you sipped your nth glass of wine that their too-bright eyes turned to you. Dick pushed forward, more brazen in his eagerness. Barbara, as always, was more than happy to sit back and watch the love of her life make yours that much more difficult.
“It really hasn’t been the same since you left.” His words were slurred at the edges, blending together at the breaks. You hadn’t seen him drink anything, but he must’ve been drunk. You had to believe he was drunk.
You nodded sagely. “You wear pants now, for one.”
“Hey. The robin shorts were sick as fuck.” He sighed heavily, his head dipping low. “I just mean— I miss having you on the field. Barbara’s in my ear, which is great, but since Jason—”
He caught himself, breaking off immediately. Barbara grit her teeth. You let your eyes fall to your lap. You loved Dick. You loved Barbara. But there were some things you just couldn’t stand to talk about, even with them. Jason Todd would always be at the very top of that short, terrible list.
It was a small mercy that Dick, for all of his failings, knew when to change the subject. He forced a smile, letting out a breath of a laugh. “It’s probably for the best. You must be so out of practice — you probably couldn’t even keep up with us, now.”
This topic, you liked. You offered a demure shrug, emptying your glass with one more long swig. “I don’t know. Ten years isn’t that long.”
“It’s long enough.”
“Wanna test that out?”
Barbara sighed. “If you two do this in my dining room, I swear to—”
But it was too late. Dick was already vaulting himself over the table and into you. You let him take you to the floor, locking your arms to the side with an iron-clad bear-hold around your midriff. Once you’d landed, you jerked back and drove your knee into his stomach. Dick let you go on reflex, and you rolled to the side, using the momentum to spring yourself into handstand then cartwheel onto your feet. Your back ached from the rough landing, your muscles throbbing from disuse, but that was fine. If Selina had taught you anything, it was how to ignore the parts of you that valued comfort over survival.
Dick was stammering to his feet. He was acrobatic compared to the average civilian, sure, but years of training under a man more muscle than not had left him your inferior in all-but raw strength. You pounced on him before he could fully regain his balance, catching him under the shoulder and swinging upward so that your thighs locked around his head. You twisted and, sure enough, Dick went down hard. You unlatched at the last second, pulling away just far enough to land with a knee planted on either shoulder — pinning him underneath you. He grunted as he hit the floor, only just managing to keep his head from cracking against the tile. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, then another, both panting shallowly. Then, you cracked a smile. Dick grinned back, and a second later, both of you had dissolved into drunken laughter.
The room spun. You shut your eyes, letting your head dip low as you tried to catch your breath. At the same time, Dick reached up, grazing over your cheek and cupping the back of your head. Before you could brace yourself, he pulled you down, his mouth crashing into yours.
It wasn’t that you’d never kissed him before. No, you and him and Barbara had spent too much time together as hormone-addled teenagers not to have awkwardly pecked each other during rounds of truth-or-dare once or twice. But he’d never kissed you like this. Hungry and messy and deep. His tongue was in your mouth before you could think to draw back, his nails digging into your scalp when you flinched away on instinct. He was warm against you — too warm. Suddenly, their sprawling apartment felt too small, too stiffing. You would’ve given anything to be somewhere. Outside, walking the empty city streets at night, or better yet, on a rooftop, safe in the knowledge that you were the only person around for miles.
Except, you weren’t somewhere else. You were kissing Dick Grayson. And you were supposed to be enjoying it.
You glanced towards Barbara through your eyelashes. If she was jealous, you couldn’t tell. Her shoulders were relaxed, her smile fond and self-satisfied. With her unspoken blessing, you melted against Dick, moaning absently as his lips moved against yours. You let your knees slip off of his shoulders and a moment later, he was sitting up, looping an arm under your thighs and hauling you against his chest. Barbara was hauled onto his free shoulder with the same easy strength, laughing as she batted at his back. You let the world around you blur and fade as he began to move.
You really were drunk. Reality only came back into focus as your back hit a cloud-soft mattress. You moved reflexively to burrow into the sheets, but a pair of delicate hands corrected you — Barbara’s, taking you by the underarms and hauling you towards her. She was sitting against the headboard, drawing you close so that your back rested against her chest. Your head lulled to the side, but she caught your chin, tilting it up so that you faced her properly. She kissed you as Dick settled between your open legs. Your panties were torn off at the waist, your dress irreparably wrinkled as he pushed it up to your waist. Two minor inconveniences, better off discarded quickly.
Your vision swam. Blearily, with no real understanding of what was going on, you watched a head of dark hair dip low, felt warmth and wetness drag over your cunt. It took you a long moment to realize it was Dick’s tongue and even longer to realize that your best friend (and your best friend’s husband) was eating you out. You tried to close your legs on reflex, but Barbara caught your knee. “Calm down,” she whispered, her voice as strict as it was patronizing. “You have no idea how long he’s been waiting to do this.”
Dick moaned in agreement. The vibration shot straight to your core, drawing a warbling noise up from the base of your throat. The pleasure was there, but it was hot, alien. You’d never quite lived up to your mentor’s femme fatale reputation. Taking off your clothes around anyone, ally or enemy, had never come naturally to you. Somehow, even with the two people you trusted most in the world, it still didn’t feel right.
If Dick sensed your discomfort, he didn’t seem to care. His tongue traced aimless patterns over your pussy, always finding its way back to your clit. You shut your eyes, burying your face in Barbara’s shoulder as his attention dipped lower, his tongue slipping inside of you and curling. You writhed, bucking into his face, and she cooed, running a hand over your hair. You had the brief and nauseating thought that, one day, she really would make a good mother. The only tragedy here was that she needed your help to be one.
The flat of Dick’s nose ground into your clit, and suddenly, it was all you could do not to think at all. Your vision burnt white. Your legs twitched by means beyond your control, your hands finding his hair and tearing. Dick only groaned, leaning into your touch. That was fair. It wasn’t like you could hurt him, not now, not like this. That kind of strength — the resolve it took to do real, lasting damage to another living thing — was beyond you. And that scared you more than anything.
You forced yourself to blink, to breathe. Barbara was still cooing at you, stealing kisses from unresponsive lips. Dick heaved himself up to your height, catching your chin and pulling away from Barbara. There was a long, shallow kiss, and then he kneeling in-between your legs, dragging his shirt over his head and shrugging his pants low on his hips. It hadn’t occurred to you that both of them were still fully dressed. You were the only one exposed.
“Can’t wait any longer,” Dick said, as he pulled away from you. Barbara clicked her tongue, but he only grinned. You could feel the head of his cock pressing into your entrance, his breath on your skin. “Can’t wait to knock you up, kitty.”
Your skin crawled. He shouldn’t call you that, not here. He should say he was going to—
Oh, god.
What were you doing?
The panic set in all at once. You kicked and thrashed, trying to get away, but your body felt so weak and Barbara’s arms were so strong and Dick was so heavy on top of you. He hummed, beginning to ease into you, and you shook your head violently. “No, no, I changed my mind, I don’t want to—”
“Hey, now, we don’t need to do that.” Dick’s voice, smooth and easy. You could feel him inside of you, now, spreading you open. It hurt. “We’re taking it slow, alright? We’re— fuck—” His hips stuttered, thrusting too far too quickly. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. Barbara’s hand fell past your stomach, rubbing quick circles into your clit by way of apology. “We’ve been needing you for years. Can’t make it without you. So you’ll be good for us, right?”
“Don’t talk to her like an animal.” Barbara let out a huff of a laugh. “An animal would be able to respond.”
“Aw, now you’re just being mean.” With a groan, Dick bottomed out. He was too deep, too big, filling in parts of you that you hadn’t known were empty. You felt his cock twitch inside of you as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. The gesture might’ve been sweeter — nostalgic, even — if you hadn’t wanted him to get away so badly. “You want this, don’t you, kitty? Go on — that’s all you have to say.”
You didn’t. You didn’t want to be pregnant. You didn’t want to ruin your body. You didn’t want this.
But Barbara was so warm against you and Dick’s smile was so wide where it cut into your lips. They were so happy. And you wanted them to be happy more than anything.
You could barely nod. Your head hardly moved. But Barbara kissed your temple and Dick began to move — pulling away from you as far as he could without slipping out of you cunt entirely.
You could only be thankful that you were far, far away by the time he thrust back in.
~
You took your first pregnancy test three weeks later. In their apartment, again, with the most expensive kit you and Dick could find at the nearest twenty-four-hour pharmacy. They waited outside the bathroom door while you struggled to stop crying long enough to piss on the goddamn stick.
Selfishly, you didn’t run back to them as soon as you were finished. Instead, you sat in a corner and counted out the seconds until the test had processed your results. Even then, you spent another precious minute hyperventilating before you could bring yourself to pick up that stupid plastic wand and find what you knew you would: two thin red lines, terrible and feeble and certain.
You were pregnant.
It went without saying that Dick and Barbara were overjoyed.
~
The first three months were the worst of your life.
You’d been beaten, broken, burnt, drowned, electrocuted, forced to go to a karaoke night with Dick and Titans, and yet, no form of torture you’d ever endured compared to morning sickness. You gained ten pounds, then lost fifteen. Your boobs hurt. You were tired all the time. All food smelled terrible, and you weren’t even allowed to eat half of it anymore. Your boobs really fucking hurt.
But Barbara and Dick’s legion of doctors had assured you that your symptoms, while unbearable, were completely run-of-the-mill. Most of your time was spent in Gotham, letting Barbara take you to obstetric appointments or helping Dick set up the nursery or generally trying to keep your head while they both fawned over you like a blue-ribbon breeding sow. You insisted on staying in Metropolis, but after your bump started to show, Dick made it clear that you wouldn’t be using public transit after dark. You tried to laugh off his paranoia, but for once, he wasn’t joking.
“You’re giving us everything we’ve ever wanted,” he told you, waving to Barbara as he grabbed his coat and started for the door. “Let us give something back, every now and then.”
Of course, you’d given in. As if you’d even stood a chance against him.
The drive was long and quiet. You stared pointedly at your lap as he passed through the sparkling sky-scrappers and shining storefronts of downtown, past the tranquil sprawl of uptown and midtown, and into the decaying residential district that didn’t get featured on tourist-trap billboards and brochures. Shame formed a knot in your throat as Dick’s shiny new sports car idled in front of the crumbling concrete corpse that was your apartment complex. He eyed the bars over the front door wearily, then asked, “You said you were on the top floor, right? Do you want me to walk you up?”
You shook your head. “I’m good, I just— The outside makes it look worse than it is. Thanks for the ride.”
“It’s no trouble.” He was already throwing the gear shift into park, easing his key out of the ignition. “Like I said, we want to—”
You didn’t stay long enough to hear the rest. You were out of your seat and rushing towards your building before he could convince you to make any more bad decisions for his sake.
The inside was, in fact, not a lot nicer than the outside. Cheap grey paint peeled off cheaper grey walls. The lobby stunk of cigarette smoke and mold, and the elevator had been broken since the day after you moved in. You had long, agonizing minutes to contemplate the depths of your embarrassment as you hiked up the stairs, even longer to wallow in your own self-loathing as you undid the three rusted deadbolts on your apartment door (none of which had been installed by the landlord). By the time you stepped into your flat and found Dick riffling through a drawer in your kitchenette, you almost didn’t have it in you to feel betrayed. Almost.
It was pointless to ask how he’d gotten in. The window on the far wall was cracked open and Dick had always been a good climber. Besides, even if you wanted to play detective, he was faster. Angrier.
“You don’t have an office job.”
“I’m on maternity—”
He pulled the drawer out of its socket, letting its contents scatter across the tile floor. It was jewelry, mostly. Pearl chains, diamond rings, earrings studded with gems that would’ve paid your rent twice-over for the next year — if only the money you’d get for selling them to your broker was clean enough to use so recklessly. “Stolen art in the closet, antiques under the bathroom sink…” He exhaled shallowly. “What happened, kitty? You used to fight crime.”
Only so there’d be less competition for you and Selina. Protecting Gotham’s innocents had never been as important to you as it had been to the Bat’s fledglings. You’d only ever really cared about yourself.
Well, yourself, Dick, and Barbara. But they didn’t need anything you could give.
“I don’t have a lot of other options,” you said, eventually. “I was raised in Crime Alley, Dick. I’m a middle school dropout. I had a record longer than Selina’s by the time I was seventeen. I don’t know if I’d even be able to get a real job, if I wanted one.”
“That’s not the problem.” Of course it wasn’t. Not from his perspective. He’d never had to work a day in his life. “If you were going to stay active, you could’ve been active in Gotham. Bruce would’ve helped. You could have—”
“And end up like Jason?”
His expression hardened, then broke open into raw hurt. It was a low blow, but it was true.
Things had already been getting bad, but Jason’s death had been the final nail in the coffin. Dick and Bruce had always argued, but at the time, they couldn’t say two words to each other without getting into a screaming match. A bullet to the base of her spine had paralyzed Barbara from the waist down less than a year before, and she was still swinging wildly between fits of mania that saw her locked in her clocktower for days at a time and depressive episodes so intense, she might as well have been comatose. Jason reminded you of yourself — pulled out of a bad neighborhood, dressed up in a costume he’d never quite grown into, and made to feel as if he could earn the love he was suddenly being drowned in. You used to beg Dick to let him patrol with the two of you, sneak him candy under the table while Barbara lectured you both about the importance of an upcoming mission. Jason was a balm. Jason was the light at the end of the tunnel, just bright enough to make you actually believe it might all get better for your little family.
And then, Jason was dead and the world was dark again. You got out of Gotham about a week later — permanently, this time. Between Barbara’s frustration, Dick’s anger, and your own grief, there just hadn’t been room left for anything else. Anything worth living for.
The wound was a decade old, but time had done little to heal it. The pain on Dick’s face was proof enough of that. He held onto it for a long moment, then another before letting his shoulders drop and stepping towards you, resting a hand on your arm.
“I can’t do anything to bring back Jason,” he said, squeezing gently. “But I can make sure we don’t lose you again.”
A knot formed at the base of your throat. You did your best to speak around it. “I’m doing fine on my—”
“Please, kitty,” he cut in. “You promised to let us take care of you.” And then, letting his hand slip from your bicep to the curve of your stomach, “Besides, you’re not exactly on your own anymore, are you?”
You swallowed dryly. “I can’t promise I’ll stay.”
Dick’s smile was too quick, too wide. “That’s alright. Just stick around for the next few months. Until the baby’s here.”
“Just until the baby’s here.”
By the time you got back to their apartment, Barbara had set up the guest room. She pulled you down to her height for a lung-flattening hug as soon as you stepped through the door, the few possessions you had worth keeping in a duffle bag on your shoulder. Dick stood behind you all the while, his smile bright enough to blind.
~
Living with Dick and Barbara was, admittedly, comfortable. You perched on their marble counters while Dick cooked and argued with Barbara about reality dating shows. You went shopping in a real, honest-to-God grocery store and didn’t mug anyone in the parking lot on your way out. One night, about five months in, you fell asleep on the couch while Dick was at work and Barbara was in her clocktower, and woke up in Dick’s arms as he carried you to the master bedroom. The next morning, you woke up tucked between the two of them, safer and happier than you’d ever been before.
At seven months, you were no better than a spoiled housewife. It felt like your stomach was ten times the size of the rest of you. It’d been weeks since you’d last cooked, cleaned, stole, or done anything remotely productive. On a particularly hospitable Gotham evening, half out of boredom and half out of domestic delirium, you decided to visit Barbara’s favorite coffee shop and waddle down to the clocktower to surprise her. Dick was working late that night, so there was no one home to talk you out of it. Had there been, you might have been able to save yourself a lifetime’s worth of devastation.
You arrived about an hour or so after sunset, carrying a tray of four black coffees with three shots of espresso each. Her workroom was a testament to the Bat Clan’s paranoia. Monitors formed grids of static and surveillance footage across three out of four walls. A holographic map of Gotham was projected into the center of the room, color-coordinated dots of light tracking the active vigilantes in the area and their movements — whether or not they knew they were under Bruce’s management. Barbara sat in front of one of two dozen keyboards, glaring at a black screen filled with incomprehensible code. Her headset was pulled down to her neck, but you could hear voices buzzing faintly on the other side. She nodded by way of greeting as you stepped out of the elevator, gesturing to a relatively empty patch of desk next to her. You did as you were told and leaned onto the back of her chair. “Slow night?”
“It’s not about to be.” She sighed, leaning back. “There’s an arms shipment coming into the port in a couple hours. Tim thinks he can handle it alone, but Damian—”
You chuckled. She pursed her lips.
“And you aren’t taking this seriously.”
“It’s not that,” you assured her. “I just can’t wait to be out there again. I haven’t done a backflip in, like, three months.”
Her frown deepened. “That number should really be—”
“An eternity, Babs.” You sighed dramatically, bowing your head low. “It’s too bad. I was thinking about staying in town for a little while after the baby’s taken care of, but B probably won’t even want the help. Not when I’m so out of practice.”
She grinned. “You’re already thinking about how to leave us?”
“Oh, absolutely. You should tell your kid that I went out for cigarettes and never came back. It’ll be kinder than the truth — that I died trying to jump between rooftops three days post-natal.”
Barbara threw her head back as she laughed, and you were abruptly aware of just how close her face was to yours. If the proximity made her uncomfortable, the way her smile widened as she stared up at you did very little to communicate it. “You don’t have to make excuses, you know,” she said, reaching up and tracing a thumb over your cheek. “You could just stay.”
You hummed. “And what? Live in your guestroom for the rest of my life?”
Something moved across Barbara’s expression — not amusement, but close. “You really don’t get it, do you?”
You opened your mouth to ask what she meant, but it was already too late. Barbara tugged you down another inch, pressing her lips softly against yours. You froze on reflex, but this wasn’t anything like Dick drunkenly shoving his tongue in your mouth, wasn’t at all like the way either of them had touched that night. She was being gentle. She was being loving.
It almost hurt more.
The moment was mercifully cut short. Something chimed on one of her many screens and Barbara pulled away, sending you an apologetic smile as she pulled on her headset and began to bark orders. Wasps stung the inside of your stomach, their wings beating against the inside of your throat. She loved you. Dick loved you. That was all you’d ever wanted. You were a part of their family and they loved you.
Why, then, did it feel so wrong?
In a daze, you retreated back to the elevator. On your way, you passed a monitor unlike the others — set to a passcode rather than left blank or idle. A smile tugged at the corner of your lips. You tapped Dick’s birthday into the nearest keyboard, only half-expecting it to work, and when that failed, another date. The day the three of you met. You used to celebrate it annually with gas station ice cream, then later on, cheap drinks at whatever dive bar was open late enough to hit up after patrol. To your surprise, the code was accepted and the monitor flickered to life. After a moment of squinting at the grainy security camera feed, you realized you were looking at Dick.
Except, that wasn’t right.
You were looking at Nightwing.
He was in an alleyway, his suit torn. Several unmoving bodies littered the ground around him. He was bleeding, but that wasn’t the part you were worried about. You’d been told that he was at his office. You’d been told that Nightwing had retired.
Come to think of it, you’d been told that they were both retiring. Another glance towards Barbara, as deep into the Oracle as she’d ever been, was enough to prove that on its own.
The inside of your mouth was abruptly dry. The parasite in your stomach suddenly felt a great deal heavier than it had before.
You hauled yourself into the elevator without saying goodbye to Barbara. Panic formed a thick fog over your mind, blurring your vision and softening the edges of your conscious thoughts. A single, desperate idea clawed its way to the surface, rooting itself at the forefront of your mind. Try as you might, you couldn’t seem to stamp it back down.
You needed to get to Wayne Manor.
~
Your initial plan was to vault the wrought-iron gate, scale the west-facing side of the main house, and let yourself in through a balcony door on the third floor. After realizing Bruce’s security measures might’ve changed in the past ten years, you briefly entertained the idea of tracking down one of the tunnels littered across Gotham and hiking back to the Bat Cave on foot. Finally, you looked down at your incredibly pregnant body, bit the bullet, and called Selina.
Half an hour later, you were in the passenger seat of her violently red convertible, watching the lights of Gotham fade as the distant specter that was Wayne Manor grew ever-taller. Beyond the initial pleasantries, you both had yet to speak. It wasn’t until you were out of the city that she looked at you and sighed.
“Oh, my dear,” she said, her lips pursed in the smallest possible pout. She looked older, but not by much. It was hard to imagine Selina as anything other than what she was — selfish, sharp and beautiful. It was hard to imagine anything in Gotham ever changing, no matter how much time you spent away. “What have they done to you?”
You sank into the leather of your seat. “I’m just the surrogate.”
“The acrobat and the ginger?”
You nodded. She clicked her tongue. '
“Those two were always so clingy. Don’t you remember how many times I told you to make better friends?”
“I remember you ditching me mid-heist to seduce their father.”
“Oh, no, I forgot that they’re practically siblings. No wonder adoption was off the table.” She batted her hand against the wheel in mock-frustration. Another time, you might’ve laughed. Now, you only bit your cheek and glared into your lap.
Selina, for all of her many flaws, was not one to rub salt in the wound. Her shoulders fell, her voice taking on a more somber note as she went on. “I didn’t raise you to sulk.”
“You didn’t raise me at all.”
“Now you’re just being hurtful.”
“I think I’m being lied to,” you admitted, finally. “They keep talking about— about what it’d be like if I stayed. I just don’t know if that’s what I want.”
Her answer came automatically. “Then leave.”
“I want to, but I just—” You broke off, shaking your head. “I couldn’t do that to them. Not after Jason.”
Selina cocked her head to the side. The manor’s gates came into view. They opened automatically while you were still a mile away. She didn’t even have to slow down.
You watched the tangled gardens of your childhood drift past. Too quickly, you arrived at the end of the driveway — a flight of white marble steps looming cold and callous in front of you. Selina held her tongue as you fumbled with the handle and hauled yourself onto your feet. She only bothered to say anything once you were out of the car and no longer her problem.
“East wing, third story, first bedroom on the left,” she dictated. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, kitten.”
You couldn’t be sure what she meant, but her tone was warm, affectionate. You found yourself smiling despite yourself. “I always do, thanks to you.”
She spared you a glance, a barely-there smile, then peeled off — disappearing in a cloud of dust and diesel. You were still beating the gravel out of your coat when you made it to the top of the steps and, against your better judgment, rang the bell.
The door swung open in less than a full minute. Bruce Wayne stood on the threshold, dark eyes wide and mouth open. He blinked at you several times, then seemed to recover. “(Y/n),” he managed, clearing his throat and stepping aside. “Please, come in.”
You did as you were told — following him silently down the long, narrow entryway. The manor was just as you remembered it, all bare stone and cathedral ceilings and strange, ebbing shadows. As a child, you’d been in awe of it, still too happy to be anywhere but Selina’s crowded apartment to mind the cobwebs. As a teenager, you’d found it mysterious. Romantic, even. The perfect place to spend your downtime whispering secrets into Barbara’s ear or hiding from Dick in the rafters. Now, it was hard to feel anything but caged-in.
Eventually, you reached the parlor where you had spent more hours than you could possibly count playing terrible board games and stitching up wounds and watching Dick and Barbara do their homework, pretending all the while that you were grateful not to have the obligation. Bruce helped you into an overly plush lounge, then retreated to an armchair on the other side of the room, never one to hover over what he would rather keep at arm’s length.
Once settled, you spared a glance in either direction. Bruce nodded sympathetically.
“Alfred passed last year. Natural causes,” he tacked on, because you were both unfortunate people who led unfortunate lives. And then, more delicately, “I didn’t expect to see you.”
You paid him your best sheepish smile. “Why’s that, Mr. Wayne?”
It seemed to catch him off-guard — being asked so directly. But Bruce wasn’t the type to lie, not in his own home, not to the woman pregnant with his son’s child. “Dick let me know early on that you wouldn’t feel comfortable at the estate. Of course, I asked him to make it clear that you were always welcome here, but—” He laughed, shrugged. “Admittedly, I wasn’t ecstatic to find out that you’d taken up Selina’s line of business. I suppose it would be hypocritical to get all high and mighty about a little petty theft at this point, though.”
So Dick and Barbara had known you were still stealing. Early enough to warn Bruce away before he could reach out, at that.
“He’s been a little sensitive. They both have.” You rested a hand modestly over your bump. “It’s restlessness, I think. Now that he’s given up the mantle and all.”
Now, there was a lapse. Not a long one — half a second at most — but long enough. You could see him doing the math, weighing the options, before finally coming to the sum you knew he would. “Of course,” Bruce said, shaking his head. “The restlessness. Gotham needs protection, but I can’t say I’m sorry to see him go.”
Right. Because Bruce Wayne would never lie to the woman pregnant with his son’s child.
Not unless he was doing it to help his son.
You opened your mouth as if about to speak, then closed it again, letting your expression fall as your head lolled forward. Bruce was at your side in a moment — a calloused hand on your back and the other braced against the arm of your chair. You rallied with a ragged inhale, waving him off. “I’m sorry, it’s the dizzy spells — They’ve been getting worse, lately.”
Panic flashed across his expression — there and then gone in the space between seconds. Of course. You were the vessel carrying his grandchild. Had that not been the case, he likely would’ve watched you collapse and left you there to suffer. As a lesson in discipline, if not merely out of petty spite.
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, instead. Like you knew he would.
You smiled softly, feigning bashfulness, before wincing, shutting your eyes, and performing surrender. “Water, please,” you mumbled. “If that’s alright.”
There were a few words of muttered assurance, and then he was off — disappearing into the endless halls of his labyrinthine home. You waited five more excruciating seconds, then pushed yourself out of your seat and started for the east wing.
You followed Selina’s directions like your own misplaced north star. Up four flights of stairs and down the third hall. Recognition sparked as you made your way through the manor — slowly, then all at once. Even before you reached the first room on the left, you recognized the furniture, the carpeting, the tear in the wallpaper where you and Dick had once gotten too confident while juggling pocket knives. You knew where you were going.
Jason’s room.
Anger overshadowed horror. Why was she doing this to you? You knew what you would find — a shine, a tomb, the remnants of a boy who had been dead longer than he’d ever been alive. Or worse, there might be nothing at all. Four blank walls and a bed Jason had never slept in. Emptiness where Bruce’s resolve hadn’t left room for grief. Your chest was tight by the time you reached the door, your vision fogged with tears as you took up the handle. With the last of your loyalty to Selina, the last of your love for Dick and Barbara, the last of your patience with Gotham, you took a deep breath and shoved inward, stumbling across the threshold and finding—
Finding Jason.
All the warmth, all the fight left you at once. Jason — except, this wasn’t your Jason. This was a grown man, mid-to-late twenties, more scars than not. His bare chest was covered with bandages, and he sprawled across not the Wonder Woman-themed twin cot of your memories or the white-sheeted placeholder of your nightmares, but some terrible, unknown middle-ground. There was a shock of white in his dark hair, and his nose looked as if it had been broken, healed, and broken again. Still, reality was undeniable. You were looking at Jason Todd, all grown up and very much alive.
He must’ve heard your footsteps. He was propped on his side, facing the door, his jagged features contorted in horror and disbelief and so, so much pain. You could only assume that you were mirroring the same expression back at him.
There was a long beat of silence, then another. Somehow, he was the one to break it — his voice deeper but agonizingly familiar. “(Y/n).”
“Jason,” you echoed back. “Shit, man. You’re alive.”
He coughed out a laugh. “And you’re—” His eyes slid from your face to your stomach, and any levity there might’ve been drained out of his tone. “Jesus Christ. They actually fucking did it.”
Your heart dropped. You opened your mouth, started to ask what he meant by that, what everyone except you seemed to know, but his eyes widened and a second too late, you heard those padded footsteps, remembered just how many security cameras Bruce kept in every corner of his home. You lurched forward, but a hand caught the collar of your jacket and hauled you back against a broad chest. There was a flash of silver in your peripheral, a prick to the curve of your throat, and then you were gone.
~
You woke up to Dick’s mouth on your chest and a bluebird mobile spinning slowly above your head.
Somehow, in your confused state, the latter seemed like more of a concern. You couldn’t seem to turn your head, but you could make out the baby blue walls of the nursery — the room you deliberately hadn’t stepped foot in since starting to show. Stuffed birds and plush bats filled the empty crib in the far corner. A rug you didn’t recognize dominated most of the floor space — toting a pattern of black cats chasing balls of yarn in a series of concentric rings. It was that last part that turned your stomach — the break in motif, the implication that you had anything to do with this. That you were anything more than the host of an obligation you would abandon as soon as it no longer needed you.
…as if you could really do that. With your luck, Dick and Barbara would be as good of parents as they were older siblings. In another decade, you’d still be in Gotham and there’d be a new Jason to—
Jason.
The thought of him was sobering. Slowly, you started to come back to yourself. You were on a bed, which was strange because you couldn’t think of a single reason why a nursery would need a bed, or why that bed would have a pair of handcuffs draped neatly over its headboard. Dick was behind you, holding your body in his lap, his head bowed to better latch onto your nipple while his free hand massaged your other breast. He’d hauled your shirt up to your neck and shoved your bra down below your tits, clearly prioritizing efficiency over elegance. You could feel something shifting inside of you — not lactation, it was too early for that, but not far from it, either. The same pressure, the same rhythm, the same suction. He was trying to nurse.
Barbara, at least, had a little more dignity in her perversion. She was lying on her side next to you, her face half-hidden in a mess of red curls as her hand skirted over the curve of your distended stomach. Her palm pressed against the taut skin above your naval, a smile spreading across her lips. “I felt a kick,” she whispered, looking toward Dick. “She gets that from you. Probably won’t sit still a day in her life.”
You felt Dick’s grin bite into your chest, then the reverberation of his voice as he spoke into your skin. “Me or kitty.”
“Or both.” Her hand drew back. Through your eyelashes, you saw her check her watch, then heard a sigh. “Elevated heartrate. Abnormal breathing pattern. You awake, sleeping beauty?”
You didn’t move. You didn’t want to move. You didn’t want any of this. But then Dick was pulling away and nestling into the side of your neck, his hand drifting from your chest to your stomach to the space between you—
You jerked away, gasping. The inside of your lungs suddenly felt solid, as if you were trying to suck air into a concrete block. You might’ve scrambled off the bed and found some tight, dark space to hide in had it not been for the strong arm barred across your midriff, the lead weight that was Dick’s body underneath yours. He groaned as you writhed on top of him. Barbara clicked her tongue, reaching past you and flicking Dick’s forehead. “Give it an hour, at least. The poor thing’s still in shock.”
“But she’s so sweet like this,” he whined, rolling his hips against your ass. You could feel his cock pressing into, already hard. Shockingly, the sudden awareness did little to calm your panic, not that Dick seemed to care. “You didn’t see her in the manor. She was so cute — storming around, sulking like she used to when we caught her cheating at hide n’ seek. She even lied to Bruce. I didn’t know she knew how to do that!”
“You don’t think he actually bought it, do you?”
“Hell if I know. Alfred always used to—” You felt him tense. “Hey, what if we named the baby—”
“Stay focused.” Barbara sat up, propping herself on her elbows and coming to sit at eye-level with you. You tried to look away, but she brought a hand to your chin, gently easing you back in her direction. As always, you melted into her palm in an instant. “I’m sure you have questions,” she started, slowly, as if talking to a very young and very poorly behaved child. “This wasn’t how I thought we would have to do—”
“How long?”
Your voice was hoarse, frail. Barbara’s smile broadened. “More specific, please.”
“How long have you known that Jason was alive?”
“Oh.” She seemed unimpressed. “He came back six years ago. We’ve known it was him for five.”
Five years. The timeline was sickening. You’d been letting guilt over nothing eat you alive for half a decade when a phone call, a text, god-forbid a visit could’ve put an end to your self-inflicted penance. Your devastation must’ve shown through. Dick cooed, rubbing his cheek against the crown of your head. “Don’t be mad, kitty. If you’d known, you wouldn’t have felt so bad for us. You wouldn’t have come back.” He paused, laughed. “And you definitely wouldn’t have let us knock you up.”
“That’s not—”
“—fair?” Barbara finished. She let out a breath of a laugh, leaning towards and pecking your lips. You felt Dick’s cock twitch against your ass. “We didn’t have another choice, baby. We had to bring you home.”
“I would’ve come—”
“For a while, maybe.” She was barely listening to you. Her eyes fell to your exposed chest, to the way her husband’s saliva glistened on your skin. “But you would’ve left again. Found an excuse, caught a bus, moved onto another town where you could rob museums and steal jewelry from single mothers. We had to wait a little longer, sure, but—” Her gaze settled on your stomach. You braced yourself for another platitude on family, on how much she and Dick both loved you — even it could never be the same way they love one another. Somehow, what actually made it off of her tongue was so, so much worse.
“It’s better this way. You were never really going to make it on your own.”
Dick’s head lulled forward, his cheek pressing into your temple. He let out a long, pitchy whine, only partially muffled by his closeness. “You’re killing me here, Babs.”
She sighed. “Can you believe what I have to do with?” The question was directed to you, but clearly rhetorical. Even had it not been, your only answer was a wide-eyed look, a pleasing shake of your head. Barbara drank down your panic, then shot Dick a brilliant smile. “Be gentle. And keep her off her stomach.”
You felt him pout into your scalp. “I’m not stupid.”
“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”
“You’re both insane.” Whatever sense of defeated resignation you might’ve been overwhelmed by was immediately replaced with raw, jagged panic. You dug your nails into Dick’s forearm, thrashed your legs in a clumsy effort to kick Barbara away, but his arm was an iron bar across your torso and all she did was laugh — placing her hand on your knee and pinning you down with as much effort as she might’ve used to swat a fly or brush the hair out of her eyes.
Any other time, you would’ve been able to think of a million ways to escape. Any other time, you would’ve driven your heel into her nose, twisted around, and scratched his eyes out. Any other time, you wouldn’t have let yourself fall into this trap at all, but you were so groggy and so fucking pregnant and so scared of the lunatics that you used to think of as friends that it was all you could do to clench your eyes shut and choke back a mangled sob as Dick lifted you just high enough to turn you in his lap and slot your hips against his. Barbara was behind you in a moment, a pair of toned arms wrapping around your midsection as her forehead came to rest against the nape of your neck. Like her husband, her hand gravitated to your chest on instinct, cupping and groping at your swollen breasts. Enjoying the fruits of her labor.
Dick’s satisfaction was not so meditative. He grinned up at you, messy hair partially obscuring his bright, burning eyes. You realized with a wave of revulsion that he was still wearing his Nightwing suit — or most of it, at least. The mask and gloves had been removed, the upper half unzipped and allowed to pool around his waist. Dick and Barbara’s betrayal, you could process. Nightwing and Oracle’s, Robin and Batgirl’s — that was more difficult to grapple with.
But it was happening. He ground into you once, twice before freeing his cock, already stiff and leaking underneath layers of Kevlar and vinyl. Barbara took care of your skirt — dragging it up and out of the way before slipping a hand into your panties. Her clever fingers rubbed quick, repetitive circles into your clit until your self-control lapsed and your hips jutted into her hand. She let out a breath of a laugh and drifted, dipping lower to drag the seat of your panties to the side. Immediately, Dick was there, dragging the fat head of his cock over the length of your slit, smearing arousal over your entrance. Even now, you couldn’t help but admire how fluidly they worked together. You’d always assumed that you were the odd one out, the unnecessary competent, the self-aware third wheel to their otherwise claustrophobic relationship. Now, it seemed glaringly obvious that they’d never mistaken you for a part of their double act at all. The only reason Barbara and Dick had ever kept you around was to fill the role of victim.
And yet, Dick was cruel enough to look at you like something more precious than a scared, bloodied thing they’d found in an alleyway and decided to take home. He held your stare as he thrust into you — moving slowly, drawing it out for seconds longer than it would’ve been kind to. Once again, your body betrayed you. The combination of your wrecked hormones and the sudden overdose of smothering affection had left you wet and malleable, too needy not to welcome their abuse. Warmth you didn’t want flooded your system, pooling in your core and eating away at the inside of your throat like acid. The only mercy was that you were already too far gone to moan.
Dick wasn’t suffering from the same malady, though. He let his head roll back, groaning as he bottomed out inside of you. The wrongness — of seeing him this way, of hearing him make that kind of noise, of finding yourself in this situation at all — was sickening, but your disgust alone wasn’t enough to stop it. There was a moment of stillness, and then Barbara’s hands were cupping his on your waist. It was less an attempt to guide you and more a feat of puppeteering. Your body was unable, your spirit was unwilling, but for all that you lacked, she was there to make up for it. She pressed open-mouthed kisses into your neck as she bounced you on Dick’s cock, muttering nearly incoherent praise every time some small, pathetic noise slipped past the veil of your dissociation. When she bothered to speak out loud, it was to him. Of course. As if you would be worth the effort.
“Maybe we should retire,” she said, nipping at the tender flesh above your jugular. “Imagine spending every day of the rest of our lives like this.”
Dick laughed. “‘d be easier for you than for me. The way it feels to be inside of her— I can’t even—” His voice broke off. His eyes never left you. “Promise, Babs. At least for a few months. At least until the baby gets here.”
You could feel her hesitation. She stilled for a second, but no longer. There was a shallow sigh, a loose smile pressing into your skin. Acquiescence and fond exasperation. This was not a new request. “Of course,” she whispered. And then, squeezing your hip, “We have a new housecat to train.”
Her voice was low, the words barely audible, but Dick moaned and bucked into you. He bit down hard on his lower lip, then reached up and dragged you towards him. Flush against you, he came hard, filling you to bursting. Barbara’s hand fell back to your clit, forcing you to the same end seconds later. There was a blissful moment of detachment, exhaustion and over-stimulation blending together to form a perfectly thoughtless climax, but it was only a moment. When you recovered, you found yourself still trapped between them just as inescapably as you’d been before.
Even in your own mind, your voice was despondent — far away and badly faded. “After the baby comes,” you started. Barbara all-but purred behind you. “Do I get to leave?”
Barbara cooed, but Dick answered. “Oh, kitty,” he sighed, the pity in his voice thick enough to choke.
Note: I don't know yet if there will be a second part, but if you like it, I'll post it :)
Clark Kent x Female Kryptonian reader x Ultraman ¿?
Sinopsis: After years of loving Clark Kent in silence, a Kryptonian journalist watches the only person who ever truly understood her fall in love with someone else.
Your eyes drifted back to the view beyond the large window of your apartment. The city looked gray, just as it always did, but today that gray felt heavier, as though the sky itself had grown tired. A faint redness lingered around your eyelids, and the dark circles you'd been carrying for days were more noticeable than ever. You had slept badly, once again, and your body reflected it. Your breathing still came in uneven waves, as if something inside you had broken and could no longer be put back together. The world outside felt distant, so distant that you hardly cared what happened beyond those windows anymore. Only you existed, sitting on that couch with your gaze lost in nothingness.
Your heart beat slowly, painfully slowly, as though it no longer had the strength to keep going. It was the heartbeat of someone waiting for something while already knowing, deep down, that disappointment was inevitable. Like waiting for a phone call that never comes or for words that are never spoken. That was how your chest felt—empty and unbearably heavy at the same time. You looked down at your phone again, the same one as always, its screen dark. With a gentle tap, it lit up, and there it was. That photograph you treasured like the most precious thing in the world, as though it were the last memory of something that no longer existed. You let out a long, deep sigh, your fingertips brushing lightly over the image.
It was him.
Of course it was always him.
"Come with me. Come on, we'll be in Metropolis. The Daily Planet is where you belong."
His voice echoed through your mind once again, just as powerfully as the first day you'd heard it. So clear. So certain. So convinced.
And you, as always, had followed that voice without asking a single question.
Because whenever he spoke, you listened.
Whenever he asked, you gave.
Whenever he smiled, you smiled too.
Now, though, that voice felt different, like an echo that no longer belonged to you.
You should have realized it from the very beginning.
That was all you were to him: a traveling companion, someone who happened to share the same place of birth among the stars, the same powers that made him extraordinary. But despite the Kryptonian blood running through your veins, Clark only ever saw a human woman before he saw you.
It had always been that way.
And you had always known it.
You had simply refused to accept it.
You squeezed your eyes shut until tiny stars danced behind your eyelids. Your brows furrowed, and another sigh escaped your lips.
Why were you doing this to yourself?
Why were you still holding on to something that had never been yours?
You had met him in college, back when everything still seemed possible. He was the quiet boy who always sat in the back of the classroom, the one who looked as though he were hiding something behind those glasses. And you, with your own secrets, knew exactly what it meant to hide who you truly were.
Everything changed during a history field trip, when the bus veered off course and chaos erupted. Your friend nearly flew out of the bus after fainting, and in that moment you didn't think—you simply acted. You activated your heat vision to push the bus back into place and used your strength to catch your friend before pulling her to safety.
Everything happened so quickly that you barely had time to process what you'd done.
But he saw it.
Clark told you one night, with that calmness that always defined him, as though it weren't a big deal. You barely spoke back then. You weren't even friends.
Then, all at once, he became your everything.
You felt seen.
Understood.
Like you finally weren't alone anymore.
That warmth inside your chest became something you never wanted to lose.
"People talked about you," you had told him that day, looking straight into his eyes.
"On other planets, Kal-El."
You called him by his true name with a smile that tried to hide just how much it meant to you to say it aloud.
"You're lucky you ended up on a planet that doesn't attract the attention of the people searching for you," you whispered, as though sharing a secret that only the two of you understood.
He smiled.
That smile.
The one that always unraveled you.
Then he nodded.
In that moment, everything made sense.
You had arrived on Earth when you were fifteen years old, alone and terrified, knowing nothing about this world. But the parents who took you in loved you as though you had always been their daughter. They taught you that humans weren't selfish, that they could be kind, compassionate, and generous.
And with Clark by your side, life felt right.
It felt as though everything had finally fallen into place.
Like you'd found something you'd been searching for without ever realizing it.
He convinced you to apply to the Daily Planet, and the two of you did it together, like a team. After living together in the same apartment for a year, you eventually found a place of your own directly across the hall from his.
It was routine.
Comfortable.
Safe.
You believed Clark would eventually see you as a woman instead of just his friend. He was so close, close enough to touch, close enough to dream about.
But time passed.
And he never took that step.
Then she appeared.
"No, it's just..." Clark said, his eyes shining with a light you'd never seen before. It was different, as though he had discovered something entirely new.
"God, I mean... Lois is... she knows so much."
He laughed softly, his cheeks turning pink like a boy talking about his very first love.
"Seriously," he repeated, almost as though he needed to convince himself.
"The woman you work with?" you asked, even though you already knew the answer.
Your voice sounded far calmer than you actually felt.
You had seen her countless times.
Not with Clark.
At the Planet.
She was everyone's favorite. The one who always received praise. The one everyone admired.
You thought it would pass.
That it wouldn't change anything.
That everything would stay the same.
But then you saw them.
Normally, you worked alongside Cat as both a photographer and a reporter, which kept you away from the office most of the time. That day, however, you came back early.
The moment you stepped into the building, you saw them.
Clark was holding two cups of coffee.
With a smile that shattered your heart, he offered one to Lois Lane.
They stood there together, close enough that the rest of the world seemed to disappear around them.
You froze.
Watching them from a distance.
Feeling something inside you splinter apart.
"They look good together, don't they?" Jimmy teased as he appeared beside you without you even noticing.
You forced one of those smiles.
The kind you wore whenever you wanted to hide what you truly felt.
"I already told Clark he should ask her out," Jimmy added enthusiastically, as though he were doing the greatest favor imaginable.
"I hope it's soon," you replied.
Your voice sounded so natural that it almost surprised even you.
Jimmy nodded before heading back to work, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
The smile vanished from your face the moment he walked away.
You looked at Clark.
You could hear his heartbeat perfectly.
Fast.
Excited.
A rhythm you knew better than anyone.
Then you left.
Because they did look perfect together.
Like two puzzle pieces that had spent their entire lives searching for one another.
Like two magnets already pulled together, with only time separating them from becoming completely inseparable.
There was no place for you in that story.
And no matter how much it hurt...
You knew it.
But the real reason you now found yourself sitting silently on your couch with swollen eyes and smeared makeup was what had happened during that night out with your coworkers.
Everyone knew one another.
Including Lois.
Clark had already told her about you.
So she knew you as "Clark's friend."
The girl who was always by his side.
The one who shared his secrets.
The one who seemed to understand him without either of you needing to say a word.
You should have expected it.
You should have prepared yourself.
But when the music thundered through the room, when everyone else danced while you remained leaning against the bar, you saw Clark kiss Lois.
Your vision blurred instantly, as though someone had placed a sheet of fogged glass in front of your eyes.
Your hair fell loosely around your shoulders, the same hair you'd spent so much time carefully straightening, hoping he'd notice it and give you a compliment.
It became nothing more than another hairstyle.
He didn't notice.
He didn't notice that you were wearing the blouse he'd once told you looked beautiful on you, the one you'd carefully saved for a special occasion.
He noticed nothing.
Every bit of effort.
Every ounce of hope that maybe, just maybe, he would finally look at you differently...
Disappeared in a single second.
Your heart pounded so hard that you were certain everyone around you could hear it. But what shattered you the most wasn't the smile they shared after the kiss, or the blush spreading across Lois's cheeks, or even their fingers intertwined as though they were two perfect pieces of the same puzzle.
What truly broke you was when they walked over to you as though nothing had happened, as though you hadn't just watched your entire world collapse.
Then they laughed, and Lois said something while you picked up the glass of orange juice you'd ordered simply so you wouldn't have to drink alcohol.
"God, it must be awful not being able to get drunk. I guess alcohol tastes different for you," Lois said with an easy smile, as casually as if she were commenting on the weather.
You looked at her, confused at first. It took your mind a few seconds to process what she'd just said.
"What are you talking about?" you asked, your voice tighter than you intended.
"Oh, don't worry. His secret is perfectly safe with me. Besides, it's amazing knowing a woman can be just as strong as a man," Lois replied with a kind smile that somehow made you feel even worse. "But I won't pressure you to talk. Clark said it's only a matter of time before your warm personality comes out."
She let out a light laugh, as though it were some inside joke.
"I'll go get another drink," she said before walking away with the same confidence she'd arrived with.
You stood there frozen.
You looked at Clark, and he was watching Lois as though she were his entire world, as though the whole universe had narrowed down to her alone.
You pressed your lips together and swallowed the knot forming in your throat.
To anyone else, her comment had been harmless.
But to you, it carried years of ridiculous remarks, lingering stares, and whispered conversations that had filled you with insecurities.
Years of hearing you were too strong.
Too strange.
Too different.
Did Clark see you that way too?
Did he think that because you were so strong, you couldn't be fragile inside?
Did he really believe that just because you could lift a car with one hand, your heart couldn't break into a thousand pieces?
"Did you tell her your secret?" you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, nearly swallowed by the music.
He looked at you, and for a brief moment you caught something that resembled guilt in his eyes.
"Yeah... she figured it out. And I wanted her to trust me, so I told her who I really am," Clark said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
"And while you were at it, you decided to tell your beloved my secret too?" you asked, unable to hide the sharp edge in your voice.
Clark looked at you again.
This time, he noticed you were angry.
"Lois is trustworthy," Clark said with the certainty he always seemed to have. "She won't tell anyone."
"It was my secret, Clark. I don't care if she found out about you. I..."
You stopped yourself.
The music kept pounding through the room, an irritating buzz echoing in your ears.
You stared at him, feeling anger and heartbreak twist together inside your chest.
"You've told her so much about me, haven't you? That's why she seems to know me almost as well as you do," you said, your voice trembling by the end.
He shook his head, though not with the confidence of someone who truly believed what he was saying.
"No, it's just..." Clark stopped, searching for the right words. "You're my best friend, and I thought... Lois likes me—I mean, I like Lois. I wanted to be honest with her."
Your eyes drifted toward Lois, who was already walking back with another drink in her hand.
Without thinking, you grabbed your purse.
You needed to leave.
You needed to breathe air that wasn't poisoned by the sight in front of you.
You hurried away, hearing your name being called behind you.
Clark tried to stop you, but you were already heading for the exit.
With your super hearing, you caught Lois saying something about "the noise must have overwhelmed her," followed by the sound of Clark's footsteps chasing after you.
Outside, the night air was freezing, slamming into your face with force.
You didn't care.
You didn't shiver like a human.
You couldn't feel the cold settling into your bones.
It did nothing to you.
The only thing you felt was anger.
Hot.
Bitter.
Rising through your throat like vomit you couldn't force out.
Knowing Clark had told Lois everything about you.
That everything the two of you had shared...
She now knew.
Your secrets were no longer yours and Clark's.
They belonged to Clark and Lois now.
There was nothing left that belonged only to the two of you.
You finally stopped when he continued following you.
The streets were empty, illuminated only by streetlights flickering as though they, too, were exhausted.
"I know... I was wrong," Clark said, using that gentle voice he always used whenever he wanted to fix things. "But you're important to me, and Lois deserved to know our story."
"Everyone has their own story," you said, your eyes burning as you looked at him. "Did you tell her where I came from? Did you tell her what happened to me on the other planet I lived on before I came here? Did you tell her all of that, Clark?"
Your voice broke on his name.
He looked at you with shame.
With that expression that confirmed everything you already knew.
"You stole my story!" you shouted, tears threatening to spill over. "You revealed things I only shared with you because you're so blinded by your love for her!"
"It wasn't like that... I just..." he tried to explain before stopping himself.
Maybe he had finally realized what he'd done.
Maybe, for just a second, he understood.
You didn't wait to find out.
You shot into the sky without caring who saw you.
You flew through the clouds, passing your apartment building with your purse still hanging from your shoulder.
Clark didn't follow you.
Because you knew he'd rather go back to Lois.
Because he wanted to protect her.
Because you were strong...
...and she wasn't.
Because you could send people flying with a single punch.
Because you could eliminate threats with the heat vision blazing from your eyes.
Lois Lane couldn't.
Lois was fragile.
Human.
She needed protection.
You didn't.
Tears filled your eyes as you flew, the icy wind crashing against your face but doing nothing to soothe the burning ache inside your chest.
You climbed higher and higher until you were above the city, watching its lights flicker below like tiny stars scattered across the earth.
Then you went home.
That was how you ended up curled up on your couch, your knees pulled tightly against your chest, your hair now a tangled mess after all the effort you'd put into straightening it earlier.
You slipped off your ankle boots with trembling hands, realizing that everything you'd done to look pretty had been for nothing.
Maybe that was the moment you finally understood.
Clark wasn't looking at you that way.
And he never would.
To him, you were the strong friend, the one who could always take care of herself. You had always been that way, even before arriving on Earth. And once you got here, nothing changed. You fought back against the people who tried to hurt you, against those who mocked you. You were strong by nature, by genetics. Hurting you was nearly impossible. With only the smallest fraction of your strength, you could knock down any man foolish enough to stand in your way.
"God, no one will ever want you. You're the man in the relationship," they used to tease before you even started middle school. The girls would laugh behind your back, whispering that you were too rough, too aggressive, that no boy would ever want someone who could break his bones with a hug.
"Don't wear skirts. You act more like a man," others would say, simply because you refused to let people walk all over you. Because whenever someone tried to hurt you, you fought back. Because you refused to stay quiet. Because you never lowered your head.
And so they called you manly, tomboy, freak.
Words that lodged themselves beneath your skin like tiny needles, one after another, until you taught yourself not to hear them anymore. Until you learned to smile and pretend none of it mattered.
You looked down at your hands.
The same hands that could crush steel as though it were nothing more than paper.
Kara loved her powers just as much as Clark loved his. She was proud of who she was, proud of everything she could do.
You weren't.
You wanted to be normal.
You wanted to blend into Earth.
To go unnoticed.
To avoid drawing attention to yourself.
That was why you didn't have a suit like theirs.
No cape.
No symbol across your chest.
You didn't fly around saving people like Clark or Kara did, unless someone happened to be within your reach.
You didn't use your powers.
You never used your strength.
At least not intentionally.
Sometimes, though, when Jimmy looked like he was about to throw his back out carrying heavy boxes, you'd pretend to be struggling even more than he was. Then, the moment he turned around, you'd lift every box effortlessly and stack them where they belonged.
Always carefully.
Always afraid someone might notice what you were capable of.
"Clark helped me."
That was always your answer.
A lie you repeated so often you had almost started believing it yourself.
But even then...
You had been exposed.
Lois knew.
And who knew how many other people did too?
Your feelings had to stay buried.
Your secrets weren't yours anymore.
Your identity had been revealed without your permission.
You wiped away your tears with the back of your hand, but they kept coming, as though someone had left a faucet running somewhere deep inside you.
"You're so strong. You don't need anyone."
"You can handle everything on your own. You always can."
But none of it was true.
You wanted someone to hold you too.
You wanted someone to tell you everything was going to be okay.
You wanted someone to see beyond your strength.
Beyond your powers.
You wanted Clark to see you as a woman.
Not as his strong friend.
Not as the girl who could handle everything on her own.
But maybe the world would never accept people like you.
Maybe Clark would never truly see you, because for him there was only Lois.
And nothing else.
You were merely another presence in his life.
A blurry memory he turned to whenever he needed something.
You remembered every single time you had held yourself together.
Every time you wanted to cry but couldn't because the strong one doesn't cry.
Every time you wanted to ask for help but stayed silent because you can do it on your own.
You had built yourself an armor made of strength.
But beneath it...
There was only a little girl who wanted to be loved.
And now, sitting on that couch with your makeup smeared and your heart shattered into pieces, you finally realized that armor had never protected you from anything.
It had only made you heavier.
You remembered the day, back in school, when a boy shoved you against a row of lockers and called you a freak.
You had simply looked at him, knowing you could have lifted him with one finger and slammed him into the ceiling.
But you didn't.
You stayed perfectly still.
Biting your tongue.
Swallowing every urge to show him what you were truly capable of.
Because if you did...
You would only prove everything they already believed about you.
And being different was already hard enough.
The memory slowly faded away.
You stood up from the couch and walked toward the hallway mirror.
You looked at yourself.
Your hair was a mess.
Your eyes were red and swollen.
The blouse you'd spent so much time choosing was now hopelessly wrinkled.
You stared at your own reflection.
At the girl who had always wanted someone to truly see her.
And for the first time, you wondered whether it was worth continuing to wait for someone to do it.
As soon as the sunlight slipped through the curtains, you slowly opened your eyes. The energy flowing through your body, the warmth radiating from the sun, almost made it seem as though nothing had happened. It was as if your skin and every cell within you were renewing themselves, as though emotional pain could heal as easily as your physical wounds always did.
But it couldn't.
No matter how rested your body felt, no matter how much strength the sunlight gave you, the weight in your chest remained exactly where it had been, unmoving, like a stone that refused to be lifted.
You sighed as you shifted beneath the covers.
It was Monday afternoon.
You hadn't stepped outside your apartment all weekend.
The blinds were still closed, silence filled every corner of the room, and you had done nothing but exist between your bedsheets and your thoughts.
You knew Clark was waiting for you to come out so he could talk to you.
You had heard him.
Of course you had.
Even when you didn't want to.
Your hearing always picked him up without your permission.
It was as though your body had been programmed to look for him, to find him, to know exactly where he was at every moment.
You had memorized the sound of his heartbeat.
Those slow, steady beats that had always filled you with peace whenever you listened to them.
Just as he had memorized Lois's heartbeat, you had memorized his.
It wasn't something you could control.
It was as natural as breathing.
As instinctive as blinking.
He was on the other side of the wall, inside his apartment, and you could feel him there.
His presence pulled at you like a magnet.
Now, more than ever, you wished it didn't.
"I know you can hear me," he had said on Saturday morning.
You heard his voice clearly, as though he were standing right beside you.
Your hearing always searched for him, like a storm searching for calm.
His voice was so gentle, so full of emotion, that it made you feel things you didn't want to feel.
Even his laugh, a sound that had once felt like music to you, had become nothing more than a reminder of everything you could never have.
Without meaning to, your hearing always tuned itself to the sound of his voice.
Now you wished it wouldn't.
You wished you could switch off that connection between the two of you, as though it were nothing more than a light you could turn off and forget.
"I'm sorry. I truly am."
Clark didn't have to raise his voice.
He knew that.
He could have looked through your walls with his X-ray vision if he'd wanted to.
But he never did.
It was one of those boundaries neither of you ever crossed, one you both respected because privacy mattered.
That morning, while he spoke from the other side of the wall, you remained silent, staring at the ceiling as tears once again slipped down your cheeks.
"I should've thought about it. I was only thinking about myself. You know how important you are to me. Please... just talk to me."
Then he waited.
But no answer ever came.
You couldn't speak.
You couldn't even move.
The words remained lodged in your throat like thorns that refused to come out.
So you stayed there, staring at the ceiling while tears silently rolled down your face.
You thought about every time you'd imagined a future with him.
Every morning you'd woken up hoping that day would finally be different.
You thought about all the ways you believed the two of you might someday become something more.
That Clark would look into your eyes and finally notice the way they always lit up whenever you looked at him.
That he'd notice how you searched the skies every time there was a battle, even though you hated using your powers.
But if he needed you...
You would have used them for him without hesitation.
That your smile always grew wider whenever he laughed, whenever those dimples appeared on his face.
That your heartbeat changed whenever he was close.
It sped up.
It raced.
It completely lost its rhythm.
If he had noticed...
If he'd only paid attention...
Maybe everything would have been different.
Sunday passed slowly, stretching endlessly like an hour that refused to end.
You knew eating wasn't necessary.
Your Kryptonian body didn't need food the way humans did to survive.
You enjoyed eating.
You simply didn't need it.
Back in college, you used to skip meals to save money.
It wasn't because you didn't have any.
You just didn't want to spend it on something you didn't actually need.
Until Clark said something to you one afternoon while the two of you were sharing a park bench.
"If you don't eat, then what's the point of living?" he had said that day, breaking his sandwich in half with his large hands.
His eyes looked so blue beneath the sunlight that you found yourself staring at them for a second longer than you should have.
You smiled.
You accepted the half he offered you.
For a moment, everything felt perfect.
He had managed to make something as simple as eating feel important.
Now that memory hurt far more than it should have.
Your thoughts were interrupted by your phone.
It wasn't ringing.
It wasn't vibrating.
But the screen lit up with Cat's name.
You hesitated for a moment, staring at it, feeling like you didn't have the strength to talk to anyone.
In the end, you picked it up and answered, clearing your throat so your voice would sound as normal as possible.
"Finally, you answered! Where are you? Do you have any idea how worried I've been? Are you okay?" Cat asked so quickly you could barely keep up.
"Yeah," you replied, your voice sounding far more fragile than you wanted it to. "I got sick, but everything for the article we worked on is already scheduled."
You wanted to change the subject.
You wanted her to know that, despite everything, you'd still done your job.
"Hey, that doesn't matter," Cat said, her voice softening. "I thought something had happened to you, especially after I saw Clark's little shadow asking whether it was true that you hadn't come in. And him asking is weird because out of everyone here, he's the only one who should know where you are."
Cat paused, as though waiting for you to say something.
You stayed silent.
"I'm home, Cat. Don't worry. I'll be back tomorrow," you said, your voice sounding steadier even though you still felt completely broken inside.
"You left the party early too, sweetheart. You might be able to fool everyone, even Kent, but we both know what you saw."
This time, Cat sounded more serious.
More understanding.
You couldn't answer.
There weren't any words capable of describing what you felt.
"It's okay. Get some rest. Just... remember how beautiful you are. He isn't the only man in the world. Someone will come along who truly sees you."
Her words lingered in the air after she said them.
A comfort that somehow never quite reached you.
"See you tomorrow," you said before ending the call.
You turned your phone off without reading the messages Cat, Jimmy, and Clark had already sent you.
You didn't want to see them.
You didn't want to read the apologies.
You didn't want to face the reality that everything had changed.
You simply sat there, your phone still in your hand, feeling as though the world kept moving forward while you had been left behind.
Tuesday arrived, and it was as though you had decided to erase everything that had happened.
You were the first to fly toward the sun, letting its rays wrap around you and replenish your body as you floated weightlessly through space, doing nothing except absorbing the energy you'd drained over the weekend.
It had become a ritual.
A moment that belonged only to you.
A chance to feel whole again without thinking about anything else.
But that morning, even the sun felt different.
Its warmth couldn't quite reach the hollow that had formed inside your chest.
The moment you returned to your apartment, you hurried to get dressed.
Nothing had changed.
Nothing made you feel any different.
You arrived at the Daily Planet and followed your usual routine, but something inside you had hardened.
You ignored Clark all day.
Whenever he walked toward your desk, you found an excuse to leave, pretending you needed to print something.
Whenever he tried to talk to you, you quietly changed directions, as though the two of you had become magnets that now pushed each other away.
Even when you had coffee with Jimmy, you always made sure more people joined you so you wouldn't have to be alone with Clark.
You smiled.
You pretended everything was fine.
Inside, though, every smile cost you a little more energy than the last.
When work was over, you would barely make it to the restroom before waiting a few minutes and using your super speed to race home in the blink of an eye, locking yourself inside your apartment.
That became your routine for weeks.
A routine built on avoidance.
On eyes that never met.
On conversations that never happened.
Clark kept trying to get close to you.
You had already built a wall between the two of you.
One that seemed impossible to tear down.
Then Perry called for you.
"My office," he said, pointing at you with his index finger.
You walked over slowly, already convinced something bad was about to happen.
The moment you stepped inside, you saw him.
Clark was already there, sitting in one of the chairs with the same expression he always wore whenever he wanted to fix something.
Apparently, not even superpowers could help you escape your boss's orders.
You sat in the chair farthest from him.
Clark looked at you and offered a small smile.
You never saw it.
You were too busy staring down at your fingernails as though they were the most fascinating thing in the world.
"Finally, everyone's here," Perry said.
You looked up just as Lois, Cat, and Jimmy walked in, greeting everyone with cheerful smiles.
You looked back at Perry, waiting for him to explain why he'd called all of you in.
"The annual Journalists and Photographers Convention is here again," he announced. "I want all of you there. It'll be held near the Metropolis History Museum. They gave us six passes, and I thought the six of you should represent the Planet."
You couldn't refuse.
You had already missed a day of work.
Even though you wanted to decline, you knew accepting was the least you could do for Perry.
So you nodded, gathered your things, and left the office first, hoping Clark wouldn't follow you.
He did.
"Can we talk?" he asked as he walked beside you with that steady confidence he always carried.
"No," you answered without looking at him.
He gently caught your arm, forcing you to stop.
You looked at him.
His blue eyes searched yours, and for just a moment you felt your resolve begin to waver.
"I'm sorry," Clark said, his voice softer than you'd expected. "You're the only person who understands what it's like to be born the way we were. I don't want to lose you."
You remained silent, feeling his words trying to force their way back into your heart.
"I was wrong. I said too much, and... I didn't realize how terrible of a friend I was being. I really... you have no idea how much I miss you."
For a split second...
You almost believed him.
Instead, you pulled your arm free, brushing his hand away with more force than you'd intended.
"My secrets are now shared with someone who isn't even my friend," you said, your voice colder than you meant it to be.
You glanced toward Lois, who was laughing with Cat as though nothing had happened.
"How am I supposed to trust you again when I know you'll tell her everything?" you asked.
Without waiting for an answer, you walked away.
"Want to grab lunch?" Cat called after you.
You turned and found her smiling at you with that warm smile that always managed to make you feel a little better.
"Sure," you replied.
This time, your smile was genuine.
Cat looped her arm through yours, and the two of you walked toward the exit together, leaving Clark behind.
The day of the convention arrived sooner than you'd expected.
Everyone traveled together in a company van.
You sat in the front passenger seat beside Jimmy.
As the van drove through the streets of Metropolis, you found yourself laughing at one of Jimmy's stories.
For a moment...
You almost forgot everything.
"It's not funny. I mean... how did I forget?" Jimmy said, shaking his head without taking his eyes off the road. "I planned two dates at the same restaurant. I felt like such a jerk, but I honestly don't remember agreeing to go out with the other girl."
The embarrassment in his voice only made you laugh harder.
"Well, Jimmy, that red mark on your cheek speaks for itself," you teased, laughing again as the lightness of the moment settled around you.
"You'll learn eventually, Jimmy," Cat said from the back.
"You will. And if you don't, start protecting your cheeks," Lois added.
Everyone laughed.
You smiled as you looked out the windshield.
For just a moment...
Everything felt like it used to.
When they arrived, you grabbed your purse and closed the van door behind you.
You could feel Clark's eyes on you.
Heavy.
Persistent.
You looked at him for only a second.
He tried to smile.
You immediately looked away, as though meeting his eyes would burn you.
"Come on, Jimmy," you called as you walked over to Cat.
Together, everyone made their way toward the auditorium, admiring the banners and digital displays announcing the convention.
You occasionally scribbled notes into your notebook, trying to keep your attention focused on work.
Everyone settled into their seats in silence, waiting for the presentation to begin.
When you looked up, you noticed that several university students had also been invited, most likely the winners of the annual journalism competition.
Your attention drifted toward two students sitting a few rows ahead.
A red-haired girl.
A blond boy wearing glasses.
They were speaking quietly, but every word reached your ears with perfect clarity.
"See? This is our world," the boy said.
A small, bittersweet smile appeared on your face before you even realized it.
"I know, Jack, but this world feels way too big for me," the girl admitted.
The insecurity in her voice felt painfully familiar.
"As long as it's the two of us, it'll feel small enough. We'll figure it out together," the boy replied as he adjusted his glasses with a gesture that somehow reminded you of Clark.
You lowered your gaze.
His words echoed inside you long after he'd finished speaking.
Then your phone vibrated.
Your chest tightened before you could stop it.
"Last time we came here as college students, and now we're journalists :)"
It was a text from Clark.
You locked the screen without replying and slipped your phone back into your purse.
Then you looked toward the stage again, your expression unreadable as you listened to the presentation and continued taking notes.
You weren't angry because he'd fallen in love with someone else.
As much as it hurt, you could understand that.
No one chooses who they fall in love with.
If Clark had found Lois, you were willing to accept it.
What you couldn't forgive was the betrayal.
The way he'd shattered your trust by revealing your secrets.
Those secrets had been your safe place.
The parts of yourself you'd shared only with him.
Now they belonged to someone else.
More than anything else, that was what broke you.
It wasn't unrequited love.
It was knowing he'd told someone else everything you were without ever asking for your permission.
You felt something before it happened.
It was like an electric current racing down your spine, a chill that had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with imminent danger. You lifted your gaze, searching through the crowd, trying to identify the source of that feeling. But everything seemed normal. People were listening attentively to the talk, students were taking notes, and camera flashes lit up the stage every now and then. You sighed, thinking maybe it was just your imagination, and turned your attention back to what the speaker was saying.
Then you felt it.
A vibration, deep and powerful, shook the ground beneath your feet. A massive explosion rocked the entire place, making the walls tremble and people scream as they grabbed onto whatever they could. The lights flickered, and for one second, everything became chaos. The main door burst open, and a man ran in, his face twisted with panic.
"They're attacking the place!" he shouted, his voice swallowed by the screams of the crowd.
You looked around, assessing the situation with the speed your years of training had given you. You spotted the emergency exit at the lower level, and you knew it was the only safe way out.
"Move!" you shouted, helping people to their feet and gently pushing them toward the exit.
Then you saw the two students in front of you, the blond boy and his red-haired friend. He was holding her by the arm, shielding her with his body while she trembled with fear.
"They're going to attack the emergency exits," you said, your voice sounding steadier than you expected.
Without thinking, you ran, leaping between the seats and moving with an agility you couldn't explain. You arrived just in time to stop them from opening the door. One second was enough for you to throw yourself over them, covering them with your body as the emergency door exploded in a rain of fragments. The students stared at you with wide, terrified eyes, unable to understand how you had gotten there so quickly.
"There," you whispered, pointing to the side as you stood up.
A sharp pain shot through your leg, and you looked down to see a shard of glass from a table embedded in your calf. Without hesitation, you pulled it out in one swift motion, and the wound began closing almost immediately. No one was looking at you. Everyone was too busy running.
Clark looked at you from across the room, and in his eyes, you saw a mixture of worry and gratitude. He used the explosion of one of the walls to slip away, and within seconds, he was dressed as Superman, ready to act. He got Cat and the others out, including Lois, then returned to face the attackers.
Meanwhile, you protected the two college students, guiding them toward the stairs.
"This way," you said, running toward the main exit.
When you reached the outside, the cold evening air struck your face, and you saw Clark fighting two strange figures. One of them was a woman whose body seemed to be made of silver nanobots, shifting and glowing like a swarm of fireflies. The other was a man completely covered in black, even his face, with strength that matched Superman's. You turned your head and saw strange soldiers aiming unfamiliar weapons at civilians. You knew they needed Superman. He was the only one who could stop them.
Taking advantage of the soldiers rushing toward the building, you aimed your heat vision at the roof. The beam of energy struck the structure, and the ceiling began collapsing in pieces, creating a curtain of smoke and debris. Superman flew out immediately, and his eyes met yours.
It lasted only an instant, barely a second, but something passed between you.
As though the broken trust still hung by a thread.
As though that wordless communication you had always shared still existed.
He understood.
You had used your powers so he could save the people.
But then the man in black lunged at you. His arms closed around your body with brutal strength, and before you could react, he was already dragging you backward, pulling you away from where you stood. The screams of the crowd multiplied, and you heard Cat shouting your name in desperation.
Clark tried to throw himself toward you, but the woman made of nanobots stepped into his path, striking him with enough force to send him flying several meters back.
"No!" you heard Clark shout, but his voice began fading as the man in black carried you farther and farther away, bursting through the roof of the building and out into the open air.
Everyone left below thought a human had been taken, an ordinary journalist.
They didn't know you weren't like them.
And maybe it was better that way.
The wind struck your face as you flew in your captor's arms. You clenched your fists, feeling rage gather in your chest. You weren't going to stay still. You weren't going to let him take you without a fight. Once you were far enough from the building, once you knew no one could see you anymore, you acted.
You broke free from his grip with a violent movement, using your strength to push yourself away from him. The man in black flew back several meters, surprised, and in that brief hesitation, you took your chance to hit him. Your fist slammed into his chest, and you felt the force of the impact travel up your arm.
But he didn't fall.
He stumbled, yes, but he recovered quickly.
He launched himself at you again, and you moved with agility, dodging his outstretched hands as he tried to grab you. An aerial dance began, with you retreating and him chasing you, both of you moving through the clouds as though the sky itself had become your battlefield. You found one moment of advantage, a single second where he lost his balance, and you struck him hard, feeling his body shift from the impact.
But he was fast.
Faster than you expected.
He recovered almost immediately and, instead of attacking you, changed his strategy. Instead of striking you, he grabbed you as though he wanted to shove you toward something.
Then both of you began to fall.
The wind whistled in your ears as you plummeted. The ground rushed closer and closer, and you couldn't stop the force he was using against you. Within seconds, the sky became a green blanket of trees, and the impact with the ground was brutal.
You landed in a forest, the crack of branches and dry leaves accompanying the heavy thud of your fall. You rolled several meters, feeling dirt cling to your clothes and hair. You lifted your head quickly, searching for your attacker among the undergrowth.
The man in black rose slowly.
So did you.
The two of you stood there, facing each other in the middle of the forest, surrounded by silence and the breeze moving through the treetops. There was no more movement, only your uneven breathing and the sound of leaves crunching beneath your feet.
You shifted into a defensive stance, ready for whatever came next.
You were no longer in the city.
You no longer had to hide who you were.
Here, in the middle of nature, you could use all your strength, all your powers.
You were breathless, your body still tense and your fists clenched, ready to charge at him again.
But the man in black didn't move.
He only stood there in the middle of the forest, his mask covering his face and his hands falling to his sides. The crunch of leaves beneath his feet was the only sound that broke the silence.
Then something small fell from his chest.
A metallic device that clinked when it hit the ground and rolled a few centimeters.
And from it, a voice came through. Human. Of course it was human, as though the device connected him to another place.
"There are malfunctions. He's... losing it."
Then, with one hand, he crushed it and looked at you.
Even though you couldn't see his face beneath the mask, you knew he was looking at you.
You blinked several times, confused, and he, the man in black, tilted his head like a curious animal watching you from a distance, analyzing you.
Then he spoke.
His voice was strange, broken, as though he wasn't used to using it. Every word seemed to cost him an immense effort, as though he had to remember how sounds were formed.
"You... here... better," he said.
What kind of joke was this?
This man had kidnapped you, dragged you through the sky, and slammed you into the middle of a forest, and now he was telling you that you would be better here. You let out a bitter laugh, one made more of disbelief than amusement.
"I don't have time for games," you said.
With one powerful impulse, you tried to fly.
But he was faster.
He grabbed your arm with a strength that startled you, and both of you crashed to the ground among branches and dirt. You rolled several meters before standing up, furious, feeling earth cling to your clothes while anger burned in your chest like a flame you couldn't put out.
"Who are you?" you shouted, your voice echoing through the trees, bouncing off the trunks like a sound that refused to disappear. "Tell me who you are and what you want from me!"
He stood slowly, in no hurry, as if he had all the time in the world. He said nothing. He only shook his head when you tried to move away again.
"You... not go," he said.
His voice sounded firmer this time, though it still carried that broken quality, like someone who hadn't spoken in a very long time, as though the words got stuck in his throat before they could come out.
"Why not?" you asked, your heart beating fast, so fast it felt like it might tear out of your chest. "What do you want? Why did you bring me here?"
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, he slowly lifted his hands and touched the edge of his mask. Without rushing, with movements that seemed calculated, as though every gesture had a purpose, he removed it completely.
And then you saw him.
Your breath caught in your throat.
It was Clark.
No.
It wasn't Clark.
He was identical to him, but different.
He was an imposing, rough, imperfect version of Superman, with rigid muscles that seemed carved out of stone instead of flesh. The difference was minimal, but it was enough for you to know it wasn't him. His features were slightly misaligned, as though someone had tried to copy a perfect face but failed to finish the final details. Unlike Clark's impeccable hairstyle, his dark hair was noticeably longer and unkempt, lacking the careful order Clark always maintained. His face was the same, but there was a hardness in his expression that Clark had never had, a cold and empty look that sent a chill down your spine.
"Ultraman," he said, pointing at himself with his thumb before gesturing to the U on his suit.
His voice was still broken, but now it carried a weight you hadn't noticed before.
"Kill... Superman."
You blinked, trying to process what you had just heard.
Ultraman.
The name was unfamiliar, but the intention behind it was clear.
This man, this twisted version of Clark, had come to kill Superman.
To kill Clark.
The same Clark who had broken your heart, yet you still couldn't fully hate. Despite everything, despite the lies and the secrets, he was still important to you.
You stood there in silence for a moment.
Then, without thinking, you moved closer to him.
His eyes followed you with that empty stare, without expression, without emotion, as if he were looking through you instead of at you.
You stopped a few steps away from him, your chest tight and your head full of questions you didn't know how to ask.
"Are you going to kill me too?" you asked, your voice softer than you intended, almost a whisper lost among the leaves.
He shook his head, and his fingers pointed toward the broken device on the ground.
"People... from here," he said, clumsily touching his chest where the device had been removed, the one that had seemed to give him orders. "Not know... about you."
He repeated the words as though he wanted to make sure you understood, as if every syllable were a brick building an explanation that could barely stand.
"Why did you bring me here? I'm Superman's friend, the man you're planning to kill," you said, still unable to believe what your eyes were seeing. "I don't understand."
He tilted his head like a dog hearing a new sound, and his forehead furrowed slightly, as though he were trying to process your words.
You assumed he didn't understand, because he seemed to want to speak but kept stopping, as if the words slipped away from him just as he was about to say them.
Then he sighed.
A deep sound that seemed to come from somewhere far inside him.
"Energy... yours... draw me... protect you," he said, each word sounding like an effort, as though he were pulling strength from some dark place within himself.
Then he flew away with force, moving so fast you could barely see him.
You rose into the air with super speed and, using your vision, realized he had left with the other soldiers and the woman who had attacked.
But you didn't know who they were.
You didn't know where they came from or what they truly wanted.
You descended carefully, touching the ground as your legs trembled slightly, and sighed, releasing all the air you had been holding.
You took out your phone.
Clark was calling.
You answered.
"Where are you? I'm still in the suit. I can attack him and..." Clark said, his voice worried and rushed, as though he were about to fly straight to you.
"I'm fine. I'll fly back to the apartment. Just act like Superman rescued me," you said sharply, feeling the words leave your mouth with an edge you couldn't soften.
Before hanging up, you added, "Clark, do you have any idea who they were?"
You swallowed, feeling the knot in your throat.
"I have no idea," he admitted, then sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion. "But I feel like Luthor is involved."
You nodded, even though he couldn't see you, feeling the name resonate inside you like the toll of a bell.
"Fine," you said, and hung up without another word.
You stayed there in the middle of the forest, phone in hand and your head full of questions with no answers.
Ultraman.
Luthor.
The broken device.
The energy that had drawn him to you.
None of it made sense.
You flew back, feeling the cold night air cling to your skin as you approached your apartment.
When you arrived, you called back everyone who had been trying to reach you, making sure they knew Superman had saved you and brought you home, that you were fine and only wanted to rest.
But the truth was, you couldn't rest.
You paced back and forth across the living room, arms crossed, your mind spinning like a carousel that refused to stop.
The face of that man, that Ultraman, made you go pale every time you remembered it.
He was identical to Clark, and yet so different at the same time.
Had they made a clone of Clark?
Or was it something else?
Questions piled up in your head like a storm you couldn't calm.
And then another question arose.
Why was he interested in you?
What reason did he have to pull you away from the area he seemed to consider dangerous?
synopsis: you were curious about bikers before, but you are pretty sure they just became your weak spot after meeting this handsome, green-eyed stranger at the gas station
content: fluff, meet-cute, tough exterior n soft interior jason, reader thinking of riding him for a sec, but c’mon, who wouldn’t in this context
“Hi, um, sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if I could…” Jason watched you—the cute girl who had approached him at the gas station—do a revving motion with your hand. Didn’t even say it out loud; just moved your fist and looked at him with those big eyes.
Through the dark visor of his helmet, you couldn’t see the way Jason was squinting down at you. And still, you felt like you were being scrutinized. Now, you regretted not getting ready properly. I mean, you had just wanted to go get some gas. You would’ve put more thought into your choice of clothing if you had known that you’d end up seeing a biker there; one with broad shoulders that filled out his leather jacket impressively. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case, though, as you’d randomly thrown something together this morning.
Taking in your adorably curious face, Jason found himself wondering what a sweet girl like you was doing walking up to a guy like him. He was well aware of what kind of first impression most people got of him. After all, he was a big guy with an even bigger motorcycle.
But you didn’t look intimidated by his stature at all. If anything, you just seemed a bit shy asking him for permission to lay hands on his bike. So with a nod, he gave you the okay. In real time, he saw the sheepish expression on your face melt away and in its stead witnessed a spark of excitement light up in your eyes.
He watched you attentively as you took a few steps closer to his bike, and reached over to the handle. You were about to twist it expectantly, when Jason stopped you with a chuckle. Eyes lifting to look at the attractive stranger, you were worried that you had done something wrong already without noticing it.
“Not like that. You need to twist it towards you, all right?” Your cheeks warmed up in embarrassment, but his gloved hand simply came to rest over yours.
When he guided it in the right direction now, the bike’s engine roared to life loudly. The vibrations of the motor sent your heart tumbling into a frantic rush. To say you were impressed would have been nothing less than a blatant understatement. Jason could practically see stars form in your eyes. “You’re a fan of bikes, huh?” He huffed in amusement. His gaze drifted over your side profile as you nodded. You were pretty. Really pretty.
“Y’want to go for a ride?” The question left his mouth before his brain could catch up with what he was suggesting. It was unlike Jason to make an offer like this to someone he didn’t even know. He did it anyway, so that had to mean something, surely. Lifting his visor, he peered straight into your soul now—no kind of glass acting as a form of separation between you two.
You turned your head to look at him, and for a moment, you were just staring at him—soft lips parted. Clearly, you were as taken aback by his offer as he was. And also by those uniquely vibrant green eyes, but hopefully that wasn’t something the dark-haired biker would know.
Stranger danger should have stopped you from agreeing to something so reckless, especially in a crazy place like Gotham City, but much like Jason, you weren’t acting like yourself at the moment. “I… I mean, if you have the time.” Luckily for you, he had an extra helmet with him.
After Jason explained the basics of what you needed to know, you found yourself on the back of his bike. When he sensed that you hesitated to hold onto him, unsure of where to put your hands without crossing some sort of line, one of Jason’s hands reached backwards to grab yours and place it around his midriff.
“Hold on tight, sweetheart,” he ordered, but his voice was terribly kind. Then he snapped his visor back down, and you were off onto the road.
It was exhilarating; hearing the raucous vrooming sound of the engine, feeling the wind whip past your bodies.
You felt more alive than you ever had before. A thrilled little laugh came from you as you allowed yourself to enjoy the ride. Only now did you realize that you didn’t even know this stranger’s name yet. You had been too caught up in your inner monologue panicking over how bad of an idea this probably was.
When Jason sped up to overtake a car, you closed your eyes momentarily and rested your head against his back. Oh my god, this was as terrifying as it was fun.
The longer you two drove, the more your nerves began to ease into pure, unfiltered joy. You were growing more comfortable by the minute—your hands traveling along his abdomen and holding onto him tighter. At one point, your hand was pressed against his pectoral, and if you hadn’t been so swept up in the moment, you would’ve been able to feel the rapid, thumping beat of his heart.
Once you two stopped at a red light, the man you’d been clinging onto turned his head so that you could hear him better. “You good?” You might not know much about this stranger, but one thing you knew for sure: he was painfully considerate.
Jason started out driving not too fast, paid attention to your body language the whole ride through, and only began speeding up upon noticing that you had relaxed a bit. In other words, he made sure you felt comfortable the whole time, and now he was also checking in on you verbally. You were surprised by how well this was going considering how unsure you’d been about this choice.
“Yeah, I’m fine!” you spoke loudly in the hope of your voice carrying over the cacophony of traffic noise around you. With a growing grin, you added, “More than fine, actually. This is crazy!” Jason was thinking of a reply when the stoplight turned green, effectively interrupting your conversation.
Butterflies swarmed your stomach as you leaned into him, arms wrapped around him securely. Hands holding onto his front, you took notice of the warmth that seeped through the material of his black compression shirt. You couldn’t help but wonder how many days a week this man must have gone to work out to be this fucking ripped. Even from afar, it had been impossible to miss his size, but actually feeling the hard planes of muscle hidden beneath his clothes gave you a different kind of impression on just how built this man was.
Time flew by quickly. When Jason eventually dropped you off at the same gas station that he met you—he felt like it would be creepy to ask you where you lived, and your car was parked there anyway—the adrenaline was still pumping through your veins like a river of ecstasy.
Your breath was erratic as you warned him that you would get off the back of his bike now, just as he had told you to. Communication was key between the driver and backpacker. You wouldn’t want him to lose balance and let the bike fall to the ground. He likely wouldn’t have made a fuss about it, even if you did, though.
Standing on your own two feet after the addictive feeling of speeding through the streets with him felt weird. Your shaky fingers began fumbling with your helmet, and mere seconds later, Jason stood right in front of you. Noticing your struggle, he silently helped you. Your blown eyes were locked on him the entire time as he slipped it off your head. With him this close, you could smell the dizzying scent of his cologne: leather, musk, and something irresistibly warm that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It smelled almost like gunpowder, but you doubted that with how sweet this man had been to you. Either way, he smelled absolutely to die for.
You ran your fingers through your hair to fix it, and Jason watched you closely. The corners of his mouth tugged up into an amused smirk. Fuck, you were too cute.
“Thank you. That was the most fun I’ve had in a while.” You sounded so gentle, so sincere in your gratitude. It wasn’t even a big deal, really, nothing that demanded much effort on his part. Still, it clearly made you happy, and he found himself feeling unreasonably accomplished by that, which was stupid, because he didn’t know you.
Jason should have reminded himself of that. He didn’t.
After he took off his own helmet, you could finally take a good look at the entirety of his face, and it was actually embarrassing how affected you were by it. The gorgeous green eyes you had seen before, but his dark, perfectly disheveled hair alongside the faint, jagged scar on his face piqued your interest in the man.
He was gorgeous, undeniably so.
You wanted to find out more about Jason, wanted to see if he had other scars or birthmarks hidden beneath the fabric of his protective gear, wanted to ride with him again. Of course, the more debauched side of your brain couldn’t help but think of wanting to ride him too, but that unfitting thought was quickly banished into the back of your traitorous mind. Even briefly imagining that with him right in front of you, fuck, that was a horrible idea, worse than climbing onto a stranger’s motorcycle.
“Any time…” Jason trailed off, a subtle inquiry of your name. Snapping out of your thoughts, you giggled at his smoothness. The man, who had died and come back to life, swore he felt something that he’d never felt before. An odd sensation of warmth spread through his chest. Illogical. Entirely unfounded. What was up with him?
You told him your name softly, and Jason repeated it back to you like he was testing the way it sounded rolling off his tongue. “Jason.” The curt response would have seemed aloof, if it weren’t for the evident interest shining in those emerald depths of his. “Well, thank you then, Jason,” you said with a sweet smile. Your heart was pounding wildly against your ribcage, and you knew that that wasn’t just the aftershocks of residual adrenaline.
Internally, you wondered if you should ask him for his number. Then you cringed at how awkward it would be if he told you no, if he said that he had a girlfriend and this was just him trying to be nice earlier. “Okay, I should—” You didn’t even finish your sentence, because he spoke up at the same time as you did, “Could I—” The air between you seemed static as you nodded at Jason to say what he wanted to first. “Could I get your number?” All right, girlfriend theory debunked then, you guessed.
He cleared his throat, trying to tamp down the tension he had created with the intense, deep timbre of his voice. Jason licked his lips before adding, “So we could… do this again, you know. If you’d like.” Wait, was he shy?
Jason didn’t want to come on too strong or make you feel like this was him expecting your number in return for his favor. It wasn’t like you owed him anything! He wasn’t an asshole like that. But you didn’t think that anyway.
The smile on your face broadened into an even more radiant one, and Jason had an inkling that he would grow to love this grin of yours. “Sure, I would love that. Maybe we could go to the library next time.” You inclined your head downward and chuckled bashfully, realizing how unspectacular of a place that sounded like. Leave it to you to suggest to the hot biker you met to go to the freaking library of all places. “I mean, if you don’t find that too boring. My aunt runs a library. I help out every once in a while, so I like the quiet there.”
Jason might have just found the woman of his dreams.
“No, no, I don’t find that boring at all,” he said, and when you lifted your head, you could tell by the look on his face alone that he meant what he said. Your eyes darted across his pretty face, teeth tugging at your bottom lip like that could contain your giddiness.
Jason might have been the man of your dreams too.
He gave you his phone, and you couldn’t believe that this was actually happening to you, as you typed your number into the phone of the handsome biker you met only today. The owner of the prettiest green eyes and the most attractive voice you ever had the pleasure of beholding. And he liked to read, apparently. It was like this man had stumbled right out of a romance novel.
Handing his phone back to him, you looked up at Jason through your eyelashes. “Call me.” Such bold words, yet coming out of the mouth of a sweet thing like you, they didn’t sound half as provocative as they should have.
Oh, Jason was definitely going to call you.
em’s masterlist | jason todd masterlist wc: 2.2k request: no
˙⋆✮ a/n: this was inspired by sth that happened to me this week lol. lowk don’t like ts, but i’ll post it anyway, bc i don’t want to scrap the fic. and also again, this is a drabble that turned into a one-shot. like, ugh, guys, i cannot write short stuff for the life of me 😭😭 this isn’t even acc long to me, but it’s definitely also not drabble-kinda short ykwim
taglists down below! to be added to one, check out... taglist
all my works: @sxphr2 @champagnesbiggestproblem @slut4hotppl @6000-fandoms @starr-jazz @therealmoonstone
all dc comics works: @arfemiz @starrydustedwinter @jaydennicole @loserinadress @darkxwolfsstuff @kh4dij7 @boldpandaangel @shy-guy927 @trash4changkyun @waltermis @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx
armin for a long time has been trying to prove that you are in-fact his wife, for some reason no one believes that you guys are actually married in fact they don’t even believe you exist. this all started when one of his co-workers noticed the picture frame on his desk.
“hold on,” the guy says, squinting at the photo. “who is that?”
armin looks up from his computer, casual. “my wife.”
silence.
“…your what?”
“my wife,” armin repeats, slower this time, like maybe he misheard him the first time.
the guy laughs. actually laughs. “yeah, okay. good one.”
armin frowns. “i’m serious.”
“no way,” another co-worker chimes in, rolling their chair over. “armin, be real. that’s not your wife.”
“why wouldn’t she be?” armin asks, already defensive.
“because,” the guy gestures at the picture, “look at her. you’re telling me she married you?”
armin blinks. “…yes?”
they all stare at him like he just told the funniest joke in the world.
“bro,” the first guy says, shaking his head, “that’s either a celebrity, a model, or ai-generated.”
“she’s not ai,” armin snaps. “she’s real. she’s literally my wife.”
“then where is she?” someone asks.
“at home,” armin says.
“so you’re telling me,” the first one says, pointing at the picture, “you pulled that?”
armin frowns. “what is that supposed to mean.”
“It means,” the guy shrugs, “she looks fake. like influencer fake. like ‘she doesn’t belong with you’ fake.”
armin’s eye twitches. “she’s literally my wife.”
“okay,” someone else chimes in, “but have we ever seen her?”
armin opens his mouth. closes it. “she doesn’t work here?”
“exactly,” the guy nods like he just solved a mystery. “so how do we know she’s real.”
armin sighs, rubbing his temples. “because i have a wedding ring. because i talk about her. because i go home to her.”
“could be a very elaborate lie,” another one says.
armin looks around the room, genuinely offended now. “why would i lie about being married.”
they all shrug.
“listen,” armin says, grabbing his phone and unlocking it, “i can literally show you—”
“pictures can be edited,” someone cuts him off.
“she could be ai,” another adds.
armin stares at them. deadpan. “you people are insane.”
and from that moment on, it becomes a thing. every day it’s—
“how’s your wife, armin?”
“tell your imaginary girl i said hi.”
“did you photoshop that picture yourself?”
no matter how many photos he shows, no matter how many times he says wife, married, legally, they still look at him like he’s joking.
and that’s when armin decides.
fine.
if they don’t believe you exist now, they will soon.
after that whole interaction armin comes home looking all pouty, bag slung over his shoulder a little harder than usual. you’re on the couch, half paying attention to whatever’s on tv when he drops down next to you with the biggest sigh ever.
“can you believe that,” he starts immediately, running a hand through his hair, “they don’t think i’m married to you.”
you turn your head slowly to look at him. “…what?”
“they think i’m lying,” he says, genuinely offended. “like i just made you up. one of them literally said, ‘armin, be serious.’”
you blink. then you laugh. like, actually laugh.
“armin,” you say, smiling, “you come home to me every night. i sleep in your bed. i wear your shirts. i steal your hoodies. how am i not real?”
he groans, leaning back against the couch. “that’s what i’m saying. i showed them your picture and they were like, ‘no way.’”
you crawl a little closer, resting your head on his shoulder. “so basically… they don’t believe you pulled me.”
he doesn’t answer right away, which tells you everything.
“…yeah,” he admits quietly.
you laugh again, softer this time, pressing a kiss to his arm. “aww. poor baby. must be so hard being married to someone so hot.”
he looks down at you, still pouting but clearly feeling a little better. “it’s not funny.”
“it is a little funny,” you tease. “but hey, who cares what they think? you know i’m real. i know i’m real.”
he hums, eyes softening. “yeah… i guess.”
you tilt your head, smiling like you’re up to something. “i mean,” you say casually, “i might know a way to make you feel better.”
his eyebrows lift immediately. “yeah?”
you nod, innocent. “mhmm.”
and just like that, the pout is gone.
you might wonder why everyone’s in such disbelief that you exist. honestly? it’s probably because you’re that fine. too fine. unreal beauty. and to armin’s co-workers, there’s just no way armin managed to pull a woman that looks like you. so clearly, in their minds, you’re either a stock photo, a model he googled, or a very elaborate lie.
so when armin casually mentions that the company christmas party is coming up and that he’ll be bringing his wife, the reactions are… loud.
armin leans back in his chair, annoyed. “she’s coming to the christmas party.”
that shuts them up.
“oh?” the guy raises an eyebrow. “so she’s finally leaving the witness protection program?”
“oh yeah? she finally gonna leave canada and show up?” one guy laughs.
“nah, she’s real but she goes to another company,” another one adds, snickering.
“armin, just say you’re single. it’s okay,” someone else says, patting his shoulder like they pity him.
armin’s eye twitches.
“she’s coming,” he says, a little firmer this time.
they all look at each other.
“sure,” one of them says slowly. “and i’m bringing rihanna.”
another chimes in, “what’s her excuse gonna be this time? food poisoning? ‘model schedule’ too busy?”
armin’s ears turn red. “she’s real,” he insists. “she’s my wife.”
“prove it,” someone laughs. “no photoshop this time.”
the thing is, armin doesn’t even argue back anymore. he just smiles to himself, already knowing what they don’t.
because in a few weeks, he’s walking into that party with you on his arm.
and suddenly, no one’s gonna be laughing.
the day is finally here and armin has been a lil too excited for today. like… suspiciously excited. right now you’re in your little element, sitting at your vanity, music low, doing your makeup. lashes on, gloss perfect. you already know you’re about to eat.
you get dressed, slipping into a simple black mini dress—nothing too crazy, but it hugs you right. your hair falls in soft black waves over one shoulder, shiny and bouncy, exactly how you like it. you grab your bag, slide into your red bottom heels, and do a little final look in the mirror. yeah. you snapped.
when you walk out, armin looks up and freezes.
like actually freezes.
“…oh,” he says. then blinks. then stares again. “oh wow.”
you laugh. “what?”
he stands there for a second too long, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “i—” he exhales, shaking his head. “how did i pull you?”
you burst out laughing. “armin?”
“no, seriously,” he says, eyes dragging over you again, half in disbelief. “this feels illegal. like i tricked the system or something.”
you walk up to him, fixing his collar, smiling. “you’re married to me. relax.”
he laughs nervously. “i know, i know, it just—” he gestures at you. “you look insane. my coworkers are gonna think i paid an actress.”
you peck his lips. “ready to shock your coworkers?”
he nods, still staring. “yeah,” then quietly adds, “i’m never gonna hear the end of this.”
you grin. mission accomplished.
you both finally get to the party and you can immediately tell.
the pauses.
the way conversations literally stop mid-sentence.
the way people blink like they’re buffering.
armin squeezes your hand, already smiling because yeah… he sees it too.
“uh— hey guys,” he says, a little proud, a little nervous. “this is my wife.”
silence.
actual silence.
the guy who’s been talking the most at work just stares at you, then at armin, then back at you again like he’s checking for a glitch.
“…wife?”
“as in… married married?”
“like… legally?”
you smile sweetly, giving a little wave. “hi.”
another coworker leans forward squinting. “wait. you’re real?”
“unfortunately,” you say, deadpan. “i exist full-time.”
someone actually laughs nervously. “nah because this is crazy. armin, you said your wife was hot but—”
“but you thought i was lying?” armin cuts in, offended but also clearly enjoying himself.
a girl whispers a little too loud, “oh my god… that’s her?”
another one goes, “the desk picture girl???”
the same dude from before shakes his head slowly. “bro… i owe you an apology. i really thought that was a stock photo.”
you gasp dramatically. “a stock photo???”
armin groans. “see what i deal with?”
someone else adds, “so you’re telling me you come home to that every night?”
armin shrugs, smug now. “yeah.”
“that’s sick,” another coworker mutters. “that’s actually sick.”
you lean into armin, smiling up at him. “you okay? you look like you just won an argument you’ve been having for months.”
he whispers back, “i feel so vindicated.”
by the time he finishes introducing you, people are still staring, still whispering, still clearly trying to figure out how.
and honestly?
you kinda love it.
you smile politely, playing nice, but inside you’re eating it up just a little. whispers start floating around, heads leaning together, people suddenly a lot more interested in small talk. armin stays glued to your side, hand resting on your lower back like he’s been waiting for this moment forever. you can feel his pride, the way his chest sits a little higher now.
one of his coworkers clears his throat awkwardly.
“…so, uh—hi. i’m thomas.”
you smile. “hi, thomas.”
he blinks. once. twice. then looks at armin.
“she—she talks.”
another coworker chimes in, wine glass frozen halfway to her mouth.
“wait. she’s real real?”
armin sighs like he’s been fighting this battle all year. “i told you she was real.”
someone mutters, “i thought that picture was ai.”
“or a model,” another adds.
“or a prank,” someone else says.
you tilt your head, sweet as ever. “wow. should i be offended or flattered?”
the group laughs nervously. armin squeezes your waist.
“see?” he says, a little smug now. “wife. married. legally.”
you lean in close, voice low so only he can hear.
“so…” you murmur, eyes sparkling, “you happy now? finally proved you weren’t lying?”
armin lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
“you have no idea,” he whispers back. “i feel like i just won a lifelong argument.”
“mm,” you tease, pretending to look around. “all that stress over me? crazy.”
he opens his mouth to reply, but then you feel it his hand tightens just slightly at your back. before you can say another word, he turns you toward him and kisses you. not rushed, deliberate. confident. like he’s been waiting all night to do it.
from across the room someone mutters, “i owe him twenty bucks.”
and of course armin felt a lot of pride knowing he proved all his co workers wrong he flaunted you all over the scene, making sure it’s known you are his wife and you you’re definitely loving the attention feeling yourself.
now you are definitely enjoying this party a little too much. free liquor, free food, good music? yeah, you’re winning. you’re on your third drink, cheeks warm, laugh a little louder than usual, body swaying happily to whatever song just came on. armin, meanwhile, is in full panic-but-trying-to-be-cool mode.
his hand finds your waist as you lean into him, drink in hand.
“okayyy,” he says gently, voice low near your ear, “maybe… slow down a little?”
you look up at him with big innocent eyes. “slow down? armin this is basically a work hazard.”
he sighs. “you’ve had three.”
“three is a friendly number.”
“it’s not a friendly number when you’re dancing on me in front of my boss.”
you giggle, immediately proving his point by grinding your hips just a little more. armin freezes, eyes darting around the room. “baby— please—”
“what?” you grin. “i’m supporting my husband.”
someone walks by and gives them a look. armin tightens his grip on you. “you’re gonna get me fired.”
“mm,” you hum, taking another sip, “worth it.”
he gently takes the glass from your hand, replacing it with water like a man diffusing a bomb. “drink this. just for a bit.”
you squint at the cup. “this is not vodka.”
“exactly.”
you pout dramatically. “you’re no fun.”
he smiles despite himself, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “i’m having fun. i just need you to still be standing when we get home.”
you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck. “you’re stressed.”
“because my insanely hot wife is tipsy and everyone here is watching.”
you kiss his cheek, loud and exaggerated. “let them watch.”
he groans softly, resting his forehead against yours. “i knew bringing you was a bad idea.”
“liar,” you say sweetly. “you love this.”
he exhales, defeated, but smiling. “yeah,” he admits. “i really do.”
and just like that, he pulls you closer, one arm firm around your waist, keeping you steady while you sway together armin half-stressed, half-proud, already knowing he’s not winning this one.
you finally end up leaving with everyone shouting goodbyes, a few of his coworkers yelling your name like you’re a celebrity now. armin’s hand is firm on your waist as he guides you toward the car because you are definitely past tipsy.
“okay, okay—slow down,” he laughs, trying to keep you from tripping in your heels.
“i’m fine,” you giggle, immediately proving you are not.
he opens the passenger door and you just stand there smiling at him.
“…why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.
“you’re handsome,” you say very seriously.
he sighs, smiling anyway. “this is my fault. i should’ve never let you get past drink two.”
“drink three was important,” you argue as he gently buckles you in. “for morale.”
“for chaos,” he corrects, tapping your nose before closing the door.
the drive home is chill, city lights passing by, armin relaxed again now that you’re safely seated. then partition comes on.
“ohhhh my god,” you gasp like it’s the greatest moment of your life. “this my soooong.”
“oh no,” armin mutters under his breath.
you turn the volume up anyway.
“driver roll up the partition pleeease”
your words are slurred, half-sung, half-mumbled, completely off beat.
“baby—”
“i don’t need yooou seein’ yonce on her kneeees”
you’re swaying in your seat, hand dramatically pressed to your chest like you’re performing for a sold-out crowd. armin tries so hard to keep a straight face, gripping the steering wheel, but he’s already smiling.
“you’re drunk,” he says, amused and stressed at the same time.
“took forty-five minutes to get all dressed up
and we ain’t even gonna make it to the clu—”you pause, squinting. “—club.”
armin lets out a laugh despite himself. “wow. beautiful vocals.”
you grin at him, slow and mischievous, eyes heavy-lidded. then you shift in your seat.
and suddenly—
something lands softly in his lap.
he feels it before he even looks.
he glances down for half a second.
your thong.
he looks down.
then at you.
you’re already watching him, chin tilted, eyes heavy-lidded, innocent little smile like you didn’t just start a war
he doesn’t say a word.
doesn’t react.
just looks back at the road, shakes his head slightly, and lets out the quietest chuckle like he already knows you’re definitely getting it tonight.
୨ৎ Summary : Two people. One bar. One really, really bad night to be alone. Y/n just caught her fiancé of two years in bed with her best friend. Jungwon just found out his girlfriend of six years has been cheating for god knows how long. Neither of them planned on ending up in a hotel room with a stranger — they just both really, really didn't want to be alone that night. No names. No numbers. Just two broken people borrowing comfort from each other for one night, then going their separate ways like it never happened. Except a month later, y/n's staring at two pink lines on a bathroom floor, and there's only one person it could possibly be. She makes her choice fast, she's keeping the baby, and she's doing it alone. no ring, no husband, no one's permission required. So she books her first prenatal appointment at some random clinic near campus, ready to start this chapter solo like she planned—and her doctor walks in. It's him. Yang Jungwon.
୨ৎ Pairing : obgyn! Jungwon x college lecturer! reader
୨ৎ Wordcount : 6,5k
୨ৎ Warning : aged-up Jungwon (he's 28 here), stranger to.... (still figuring out), one night stand, unprotected sex, cheating (not Jungwon or y/n), unprotected sex (BIG NO NO, PLEASE WRAP YOUR WILLY), pregnancy.
Tuesday was supposed to be ordinary.
The kind of day that disappeared as quickly as it arrived. You finished your morning lecture, replied to a few student emails, stopped by the grocery store on your way home because you'd promised to cook dinner. Nothing remarkable. Nothing that hinted your life was quietly approaching a fault line.
The apartment was supposed to be empty.
You remembered that detail clearly later. He'd told you that morning, half asleep, mumbling something about a meeting running until six. You had the whole afternoon to yourself, or so you'd thought, planning the pasta you'd make, the wine you'd open, the ordinary comfort of a Tuesday night at home.
You unlocked the front door as quietly as always, balancing a paper bag of groceries against your hip. Then you heard laughter. A woman's laugh, low and familiar, drifting down the hallway like something out of a memory you couldn't quite place. For one suspended heartbeat, your mind simply refused to process it
Then it did. Your best friend.
You took another step down the hallway. The bedroom door wasn't completely closed. It didn't need to be. Some truths don't ask to be witnessed completely. You already understood, before your conscious mind caught up, that whatever was happening in that apartment wasn't meant for your ears.
The quiet intimacy of two people who had forgotten the rest of the world existed. Neither of them heard it. Or maybe they did. You didn't stay long enough to find out. There were no questions. No tears. No dramatic confrontation worthy of a movie scene. Because what explanation could possibly undo what you'd already seen?. You turned around before they could notice you. The front door clicked shut behind you with barely a sound.
Two years of engagement, gone.
Two years of wedding plans scattered across your dining table. Two years of apartment hunting, shared grocery lists, lazy Sunday mornings, and conversations about children you thought you'd have someday.
You don’t remember the walk to your car. You remember sitting behind the steering wheel with the keys in your hand and staring blankly at the windshield as the city morphed into streaks of bright light. It was just a blur of street lamps, head lights, and everything moving around you while your world was standing still. For a brief moment, you noticed that your hands weren’t shaking. You thought that was strange too. The way that your body had just suddenly gone still and cold and you were just as motionless as your body, like a state of shock had frozen you just outside of the situation.
You couldn’t say how long it was, but what you knew was that you suddenly found yourself standing in front of your closet. Your eyes were drawn to what was at the very back and hidden from view, your black dress. You hadn’t seen it for years.
"It's a little too much," he'd once said with an easy laugh.
"Too short."
"Too noticeable."
You remembered smiling then, folding the dress away because it hadn't seemed important enough to argue about.
You pulled it from the closet and let it fall over your body, the fabric cool and unfamiliar against your skin, hugging you in ways you'd forgotten you were allowed to be seen. It felt like putting on a stranger. Someone who wasn't trying to be agreeable anymore. Someone who had nothing left to protect and nothing left to lose. You left the engagement ring where it was.
After leaving your phone in your purse, you grabbed your keys for the second time and stepped into the dark. You had no idea where you were headed but felt a certainty in your chest about leaving the life you had. You felt like you could not spend one more moment inside the life that no longer felt like it belonged to you.
.
.
.
Tuesday hadn't given him any warning either.
Jungwon's shift had ended late. A delivery that ran longer than expected, hours stretched thin by complications that weren't anyone's fault, just the unpredictable nature of the job. By the time he clocked out, his scrubs still smelled faintly of antiseptic, his feet aching in a way that had become so routine he barely registered it anymore. All he wanted was his own bed, maybe food he didn't have to think about.
He let himself into her apartment with the key she'd given him two years ago, the metal worn smooth from years in his pocket, attached to a keychain shaped like a tiny stethoscope. A joke gift from early in their relationship, something she'd laughed about giving him, something he'd kept clipped to his keys ever since without really thinking about why.
The shower was running. Her tablet was face up on the kitchen counter, screen still lit from a notification. He hadn't meant to look. He told himself that for weeks afterward, though it stopped mattering fairly quickly whether he'd meant to or not.
A name he recognized. A string of messages that didn't need much context. Photos that answered questions he hadn't known to ask. He stood there in his work clothes, badge still clipped to his coat pocket, and read enough to understand that ‘residency's exhausting’ had been covering for something else entirely for months, maybe longer.
He didn't move at all, actually, just stood there in the kitchen with his hands loose at his sides, feeling something inside his chest go very still and cold. He didn't throw the tablet.
She stepped out of the bathroom in a towel, damp hair pushed back, and stopped short in the doorway when she saw Jungwon standing there. Badge still clipped to his coat pocket, tablet lying face up on the counter exactly where she'd left it. Something in his stillness told her immediately that the evening wasn't going to go the way she'd planned.
"Jungwon?" Her voice came out careful, testing. "You're back early."
He didn't answer right away. He just looked at her, and she followed his gaze to the tablet, and whatever color was left in her face drained out of it in an instant.
"How long," he said. Not a question. A statement in the shape of a question.
"I—" She pulled the towel tighter around herself, a reflexive gesture, like modesty mattered now, of all moments. "Jungwon, it's not—"
"Don't." His voice remained quiet and level, the same tone he used when he had to tell a patient's family something they didn't want to hear. "Don't tell me it's not what it looks like. I read enough."
Her mouth opened, then closed. For a long moment, the only sound in the apartment was water still dripping somewhere in the bathroom behind her.
"How long," he said again.
She sat down slowly on the arm of the couch, like her legs had stopped being reliable. "Since spring," she said quietly. "Maybe a little before that."
"Spring." He turned the word over like he was checking it for a fracture. "Daeun, that's eight months."
"I didn't plan for it to happen." Her voice cracked slightly, and he almost hated how convincing it sounded, how rehearsed and unrehearsed all at once. "We were just–we started as friends, and then residency got so heavy, and you were always working, and he was just there, and I don't know, it just…"
"I was working," he repeated flatly. "Right. Because I have a job that saves lives, and that's the excuse."
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?" His voice finally rose. "Because from where I'm standing, you've had eight months to tell me. Eight months of me asking if you were okay, if something was wrong, and you telling me it was just residency. Eight months of me believing you."
She didn't answer that. There wasn't an answer that would have helped her.
"Six years," he said, quieter now, almost to himself. "Six years, and I find out like this. Off a notification on your tablet."
"I was going to tell you." Her eyes were wet now, genuinely, and some old, tired part of him almost felt sorry for her, which made him angrier at himself than at her. "I've been trying to figure out how, for weeks, I swear—"
"Don't," he said again, softer this time, because he didn't have the energy left to argue about her intentions. "It doesn't matter anymore. You could've told me in June. You could've told me in September. You didn't." He stopped, pressed the heel of his hand briefly against his eyes, then dropped it. "That's the part that matters."
"Jungwon…"
"I have to go." He was already reaching for his coat.
"Can we at least talk about this properly? Please. Don't just walk out,"
He paused at the door, hand on the frame, and looked back at her. Tear streaked, still somehow looking for a version of this conversation that ended somewhere softer than where it actually was.
"There isn't a version of this where I stay, and we talk it through.”
"So that's it?" Her voice cracked properly now. "Six years, and you're just leaving? No fighting for it?"
He almost laughed, though nothing about it felt funny. "You didn't fight for it either," he said quietly. "Not for eight months."
He didn't wait for her response. The door closed behind him just shut, quiet and final, the same way the whole relationship seemed to be ending: without the drama it probably deserved, just a soft, ordinary sound marking something enormous coming apart.
He drove without any destination in mind, the radio off, the city sliding past in a blur of red lights, he stopped out of habit rather than attention. Six years. He kept circling back to the number like it might rearrange itself into something smaller, something easier to hold.
He ended up parking outside a bar he'd never been to. Not his usual place near the hospital, where someone always seemed to know his face even without the coat. Tonight, he didn't want to be recognized. He didn't want to be Dr. Yang, careful and composed, the boy faced physician everyone had to double take before trusting. He just wanted to sit somewhere dark and stop being anyone in particular for a while.
He loosened his tie in the car before he went in. Small, useless gesture. It didn't make him feel any less, as something had just been quietly taken from him.
.
.
.
The bar was louder than you expected for a Tuesday, but you didn't care. Noise was better than silence. Silence gave you room to think, and thinking was the last thing you wanted tonight.
By the time the bartender slid your fourth glass across the counter, the sharp edges of the evening had softened. The ache in your chest hadn't disappeared; it had simply become distant, like hearing thunder several miles away. You shifted on the barstool, crossing one leg over the other. The black dress rode a little higher against your thigh, and for the first time in years, you didn't bother tugging it back down.
He would've hated that. The thought came uninvited. You emptied the rest of your drink before it could linger.
That's when he sat down beside you. Close enough that you noticed before you even looked. He was handsome. That was your first thought. Your second was that he looked far too young to be sitting alone in a place like this. His white dress shirt was neatly pressed except for the loosened tie hanging around his neck, as though he'd started the evening trying to hold himself together and abandoned the effort somewhere along the way. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms, exposing tired hands wrapped loosely around a glass he barely touched.
His gaze remained fixed on the amber liquid, unfocused, like he expected answers to settle at the bottom if he waited long enough. There was something strangely familiar about the way sadness sat on him. You almost didn't say anything. Almost.
You looked away. It wasn't your business. You weren't here to notice strangers. You were here to forget yourself. A minute passed, or maybe two. The bartender asked if either of you wanted another round. Neither of you answered. Without thinking, you let out a quiet breath.
"You look like you got dumped."
The words escaped before you could decide whether to keep them. Your voice came out flatter than you'd intended, stripped of humor, carrying more exhaustion than wit.
He turned toward you. Not offended, just surprised. For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. His eyes searched your face, lingering there with quiet curiosity, as though he couldn't decide if you were teasing him or speaking from experience. Then his gaze drifted lower to the diamond still resting on your left hand. A ring that caught the warm bar lights just enough to betray you. One corner of his mouth lifted into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"You still have your ring on," he said softly.
You followed his gaze, staring at the diamond as though you'd forgotten it was there. For a long moment, you simply twisted it around your finger.
"I forgot to take it off."
It wasn't entirely true. You hadn't forgotten. You just hadn't found the courage. His eyes met yours again.
"You look like you got dumped too."
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
"I did."
He gave a slow nod.
"So did I."
The words settled between you with the quiet understanding that only strangers could sometimes share. Neither of you asked for details or explanations. For tonight, it was enough to know that the person sitting beside you understood exactly what heartbreak looked like.
He glanced at your empty glass. "Another?"
You shook your head. "I think I've had enough of pretending a drink is going to fix anything."
Something about that made him almost smile, the first real one you'd seen from him all night, small and tired but genuine. "Yeah,me too."
The bartender came by again, and this time Jungwon was the one who waved him off, reaching instead for his wallet. You didn't argue when he paid for both of you. Some nights, you didn't have the energy left to insist on independence.
Outside, the air was cooler than you expected, sharp enough to cut through the haze just slightly. Neither of you moved toward a taxi right away. You just stood there for a moment under the bar's dim sign, the city noise a distant hum around you, both of you clearly aware that the night hadn't decided yet what it wanted to become.
"I don't usually do this," you said, not quite looking at him.
"Do what?"
"Any of this. Bars. Strangers. Standing outside at midnight, not knowing what I'm doing."
"Neither do I," he said. Then, after a pause, quieter, "I don't want to go home yet, though."
You understood exactly what he meant, because you felt the same thing sitting heavy in your chest. Home wasn't home anymore. Home was an apartment with echoes you couldn't bear to hear. Home meant seeing the engagement ring still circling your finger. Home meant admitting that tomorrow would arrive whether you wanted it to or not. For the first time that evening, you really looked at him.
He couldn't have been much younger than thirty, though his face carried an unmistakable softness that made him seem younger than he probably was. His tie still hung loose around his neck, his hair slightly disheveled, exhaustion written plainly across features that were almost unfairly handsome.
He looked as though someone had reached into his life that morning and quietly removed the future he'd expected. That may be why he looked familiar.
"There's a hotel two blocks from here," you said.
He didn't ask if you were sure. He just nodded, like he'd been waiting for someone to say it first.
Neither of you filled the silence with questions about names, jobs, or the people who had broken your hearts. Some things felt strangely unimportant. Inside the elevator, your shoulders brushed for the first time. Neither of you moved away.
The door had barely clicked shut before the tension that had been simmering between you in the elevator boiled over. There was no slow buildup, no romantic preamble; there was only a desperate, starving need to feel something other than the hollow ache in your chests.
Jungwon turned to you, his face flushed from the alcohol and the heat of the moment. He looked so young, almost innocent, but the look in his eyes was raw and hungry. He reached out, his hand cupping the back of your neck and pulling you into a kiss that tasted of whiskey and grief. It was a collision, teeth clashing, breaths hitching as you both clung to each other like survivors of a shipwreck.
You groaned into his mouth, your hands sliding up his chest to grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until there wasn't a sliver of air between your bodies. He backed you up against the door, the thud of your back hitting the wood echoing in the quiet room. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming your mouth with an urgency that made your toes curl.
"Please," you whispered against his lips, though you weren't even sure what you were asking for.
He didn't answer with words. His hands slid down to your hips, lifting you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your skirt riding up to your hips as he carried you toward the bed. He dropped you onto the white linens, his body following immediately, pinning you down with a weight that felt grounding and necessary.
Jungwon’s hands were frantic, stripping away the barriers of clothing. He pulled your dress over your head and tossed it aside, his eyes scanning your naked body with a mixture of awe and desperation. When he stripped off his own clothes, you saw the lean, toned muscles of a man who didn't look his age, his cock already hard and pulsing, straining against the air.
He didn't waste time. He moved between your thighs, his fingers sliding down to find your pussy. You were already soaking, the friction of the night and the emotional turmoil making you ache for him. He slid two fingers inside you, stretching you open, while his thumb worked your clit in a rhythmic, punishing pace. You arched your back, a loud moan escaping you as you neared the edge.
"Look at me," he murmured.
You opened your eyes to see him watching you, his expression a mask of longing. He positioned the head of his cock at your entrance, pausing for a heartbeat before thrusting deep inside you in one heavy, seamless motion.
You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you completely. The sensation was overwhelming. The stretch, the heat, the sudden fullness that silenced the noise in your head. He began to move, his thrusts deep and rhythmic, driving into you with a primal intensity. Each hit of his pelvis against your ass sounded like a wet slap in the quiet room.
"Fuck," he groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "You feel so good… shit, so tight…"
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for another bruising kiss as he picked up the pace. He wasn't being gentle; he was fucking you with a desperation that mirrored your own, as if by driving himself into you, he could push out the memory of the woman who had betrayed him. You met every thrust, tilting your pelvis up to take him deeper, wanting to feel every inch of him.
The friction built, a coil of tension tightening in your lower belly. Jungwon’s movements became shorter, faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He shifted his grip, grabbing your thighs and pinning them back toward your chest to open you up even more. The angle allowed him to hit your cervix with every plunge, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your spine.
"I'm close—" he choked out, his muscles straining.
You felt your own climax rushing toward you, a tidal wave of release. You gripped his biceps, your voice breaking into a series of high-pitched whimpers. As you peaked, your pussy walls clamping tight around him in rhythmic spasms, Jungwon let out a low, guttural growl. He gave one final, deep thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and shuddered violently as he came.
You felt the hot, thick jets of his cum pumping deep inside you, filling your womb with a warmth that felt almost spiritual in its intensity. He stayed buried inside you for a long time, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting, your hearts beating in a synchronized, frantic rhythm.
As the adrenaline faded, the silence returned, but it was different now. The loneliness was still there, but it had been blunted. Jungwon slowly withdrew, the wet sound of his cock leaving your body echoing in the room. He didn't pull away completely; he rolled onto his side and pulled you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin.
Neither of you spoke. There were no names exchanged, no promises of a second meeting. You just lay there in the dim light of the hotel room, two broken strangers sharing a bed, clinging to the fleeting comfort of a night that neither of you would ever forget.
.
.
.
A month passed by.
Long enough for the memory of that night to start to blur at the edges. Sometimes you thought you invented some of it.
You remembered the warmth of whiskey better than you remembered his face. His tie, loosened. How he’d just listened, without asking questions. A pair of tired eyes that had looked at you as if they knew something that nobody else knew.
All else had blurred, melting into the sort of memory that belonged to another version of you. You never came back to the bar. If he did, you wouldn't know it. And if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have known that either. That was maybe how it was always supposed to be. Life went on, as indifferent as ever.
Life had moved on, in its own stubborn manner. You got out of the apartment. You’d gone and blocked your ex-fiancée’s number. You weren't going to speak to your ex-bestfriend, and you hadn't. It was a mercy in itself. Your students didn't know that anything was different. They looked at you like you were just their lecturer. Untroubled. Unbreakable.
You could almost pretend your life hadn’t fallen apart. For three hours at a time. That was enough. Until it wasn’t. It began on a Thursday. Not with nausea or vertigo. Only a date.
You were standing in your kitchen, waiting on the coffee machine to finish brewing, when the thought came unbidden. Your monthly. Your brow wrinkled. You counted backwards, almost absentmindedly. Then you counted again. The answer was the same. It's late.
This was not normal.
Your body was always predictable, almost stubbornly so. Even in college, when your roommates complained about irregular cycles and surprise cramps, yours came like clockwork, and you didn’t bother tracking it anymore. You put your coffee mug down, untouched.
"It's the stress," you whispered to the empty apartment. It must have been.
It made sense, didn't it? The breakup, the move, months of your nervous system running on fumes. Bodies did strange things under pressure. You'd read that somewhere, or maybe you just wanted to have read it somewhere.
You gave it a few more days. Then a week. The coffee you'd started craving black suddenly turned your stomach. Smells you'd never noticed before. The neighbor's cooking, the detergent in your own laundry, sent you running for air that didn't feel like it was choking you.
One day a co-worker came into your office with take out. The smell alone would have you running for the nearest bathroom. You said it was the flu. Food poisoning. Anything. All of it. Except for that one possibility that’s silently trailing you from room to room.
By the time you found yourself standing in the pharmacy aisle staring at a shelf of boxes you never had reason to buy before, some quiet part of you, dreading, already knew.
You stood in front of the shelf longer than you needed to. So many different brands. Different promises. Different prices. As though any of them could deliver a different answer. You bought two.
As soon as you were home, you didn't wait long to do. Sat on the side of the bathtub, phone timer ticking away before you began to look at your hands and realise they weren't even yours.
Two lines. Then two more.
You sat there for a long time after that, the tile cold beneath you, your mind doing the math it didn't want to do. The date, the timeline, the one night that had blurred into something you'd tried hard to forget. There was only one night it could have been.
Your heartbeat stumbled.
"No..."
The word escaped before you realized you'd spoken aloud.
You remained there for what felt like hours, staring at the tests resting in your hands as though they belonged to someone else.
There was only one person. One night. One stranger, with tired eyes and a loosened tie and a sadness that had looked so much like your own it hadn't frightened you. You didn't even remember his name. You didn't know his address. What was his work. If you'd ever see him again. You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes. A man who existed in your memory as nothing more than tired eyes and a loosened tie, and you look like you got dumped, too.
You didn't know how to find him even if you'd wanted to.
A baby.
The words refused to settle. They hovered somewhere just beyond understanding, too large to fit into the quiet routine you'd been stitching back together over the last month. You were thirty two. Recently single. Still learning how to sleep in an apartment that echoed because there was no one else in it.
You'd spent years building a career you loved, teaching future educators how to nurture children with patience, consistency, and kindness. Ironically, you'd never decided whether motherhood belonged in your own future. You always assumed there would be time to figure it out.
You thought you had more time to decide that. You thought, if it ever happened, it would happen with someone you trusted, someone who'd chosen it with you, not a stranger from a bar whose last name you didn't even know.
You thought about how easy it would be to end it before anyone had to know it happened at all. No one would ask questions. No one would even know there was something to ask about. You could keep moving forward exactly the way you'd planned, pick your life back up, untangled, unremarkable, the way it was supposed to look after a breakup like this. Clean. Simple.
You sat with that thought for a while, testing its weight, waiting to feel relief.
It didn't come.
Instead, you found yourself thinking about your own mother, who used to tell you that she'd never once regretted having you. Even though your father had left before you turned three. Hardest thing I ever did alone, she'd said once, and still the only decision I never doubted. You'd never fully understood what she meant by that until this exact moment, sitting on a bathroom floor with a truth in your hands you hadn't asked for.
You thought about the years you'd spent in classrooms full of small kids who trusted easily, loved easily, hadn't yet learned that people could hollow you out from the inside without warning. You'd built a career around believing children deserved good beginnings. You wondered, cruelly, whether you were about to fail that belief the moment it became personal.
Then you thought about the alternative. The quiet, empty version of your future you'd have to live with either way. A yes, you might regret, or a no, you were fairly sure you would.
You pressed a hand flat against your stomach, feeling nothing yet, nothing you could point to, and still somehow feeling everything.
A slow breath escaped you.
"I don't need him."
The words were barely louder than a whisper. You said them again.
"I don't."
You weren't trying to convince yourself. You already knew they were true. You didn't need a husband. You didn't need a wedding. You didn't need promises made by someone else to make this decision for you. If this child entered the world, it would be because you chose them. Not because of guilt.
You knew exactly what waited beyond this bathroom door. Questions, whispers and mostly it would be judgment. Forms with blank spaces labeled Father. A future that would be more difficult than the one you'd imagined for yourself. None of that disappeared simply because you'd made a decision. But neither did your resolve.
For the first time since walking into that apartment on Tuesday afternoon, you realized your future no longer felt defined by something that had been taken from you. It was being shaped by something you had chosen. You slowly pushed yourself to your feet and looked at your reflection in the mirror. You looked exhausted. Your eyes were swollen, your hair a mess, your expression still carrying traces of the woman who'd had her heart broken.
But beneath all of that, there was something new. Resolve. You rested your hand over your stomach once more.
"Okay," you whispered to the tiny life only you knew existed.
A faint smile tugged at your lips despite everything.
"It's you and me now."
The words sounded impossibly small in the quiet apartment. Yet, somehow, they were enough.
.
.
.
The dream came to him three nights in a row. Always the same, dissolving the moment he woke, leaving only fragments behind the way real dreams rarely do.
In it, he stood in a garden he didn't recognize, thick with fruit trees heavy enough that their branches bent low toward the ground. A woman he couldn't see clearly handed him a single peach, round and impossibly ripe, still warm like it had just been pulled from sunlight rather than a branch.
He always woke up right after that. Nothing more happened. It didn't need to.
He didn't think much of it, not really. After all, dreams rarely made sense, and he'd learned a long time ago not to chase meaning where there probably wasn't any. Still, on the fourth morning, he found himself mentioning it to Sunoo over coffee in the hospital break room, mostly out of the strange, itching need to say it out loud to someone.
"I keep having this dream," he said, staring into his cup. "Same one, a few nights now. There's a garden, and someone hands me a peach. That's it. That's the whole dream."
Sunoo lowered his own cup slowly, staring at him with an expression somewhere between disbelief and barely contained excitement. "A peach?"
"Yeah."
"Ripe? Whole? Someone handed it to you directly?"
Jungwon blinked at him. "Yes? Why does that matter?"
Sunoo set his coffee down entirely now, leaning forward like Jungwon had just handed him the best gossip of the year. "Do you seriously not know what that is?"
"It's a dream about fruit?"
Honestly, Sunoo never wanted to face palmed himself, but hearing the dumb answer Jungwon gave him got him a reason to.
"It's a taemong." When Jungwon only stared blankly back at him, Sunoo let out a groan of disbelief. "A conception dream. My grandmother used to talk about these constantly. Fruit, animals, sometimes fire or water, show up in a dream right before someone in the family finds out they're having a baby. Whole ripe fruit like that, handed directly to you? That's about as classic as it gets."
Jungwon huffed, unimpressed, turning his cup slowly between his hands. "You can't be serious."
"I'm completely serious. It's not just some old wives' thing. Half the moms I know still swear by it. My cousin dreamed about catching a fish barehanded, and two weeks later, she found out she was pregnant. My aunt dreamed about a dragon curling around her arm and had twins."
"That's confirmation bias," Jungwon said flatly. "People remember the dreams that match and forget the ones that don't."
"Sure, sure, very scientific of you, Dr. Yang." Sunoo waved a hand, entirely unbothered by the skepticism. "But you're not the one who usually has these dreams, that's the funny part. It's not always the mother. Sometimes it's the father, or a grandparent, sometimes even a close friend if the dream's strong enough. But if it's the father dreaming it..." He trailed off, grinning now, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "That usually means it's already happened. The universe is just running a little behind on paperwork."
Jungwon rolled his eyes, though something in his chest had gone strangely tight at the words, an unease he couldn't quite explain rationally. "I don't believe in that stuff."
"You don't have to believe in it for it to be true," Sunoo said, entirely too pleased with himself. "That's kind of the whole point of a folktale, isn’t it?"
Jungwon didn't have a response for that. He just sat there, turning his coffee cup slowly in his hands, telling himself it was nothing. Probably just stress, exhaustion, and an overactive mind conjuring strange images after too many back to back shifts. He didn't have a girlfriend anymore. There was no one in his life the dream could reasonably be about.
He didn't let himself finish that thought all the way through.
"It's nothing," he said again, mostly to convince himself. "Just a weird dream."
Sunoo shrugged, tossing his empty cup toward the trash with practiced ease, clearly unconvinced but willing to let it go. "Sure. Just a weird dream."
Jungwon didn't think much more of it after that. Not consciously, anyway. But the image stayed with him regardless, lingering somewhere quiet at the edges of his following days. A garden, a peach, and a stranger's hands offering him something he hadn't known, yet, that he was already holding.
.
.
.
The clinic wasn't one you'd been to before.
A coworker had recommended it months ago, so excited about the obstetrics department that you'd written the name down without a second thought. It was near campus, near enough to squeeze in an appointment between lectures without sacrificing half your day to traffic.
You wish. That was it. Comfort. Distance from your former life. A doctor who didn’t know your story. Somebody who would see one more first time patient. That's all.
You sat, one leg bouncing under your chair, fingertips tracing the edge of the bracelet wrapped loosely about your wrist. You'd practiced the appointment on the drive over. If they asked about the father, you would tell them as you have been rehearsing it in your mind.
We're not together.
If they pressed further, then—
I'd rather not discuss it.
Simple.
"Y/L/N?"
A nurse called your name, and you followed her down a hallway that smelled like antiseptic and lavender hand soap, into a small exam room with a poster of a fetal development chart on the wall that you deliberately didn't look at too long.
"Dr. Yang will be with you in just a moment," the nurse said, and left you there with your paper gown and your racing thoughts.
You didn't think anything of the name. Yang wasn't uncommon. You sat on the edge of the exam table, hands folded in your lap, running through the questions you wanted to ask — due dates, next steps, whether the exhaustion you'd been feeling was normal or something to worry about.
Then the door opened.
"Good afternoon, I'm Dr. Yang Jung—"
The sentence didn't finish. It just stopped, cut clean in half, the way a record scratches when the needle's yanked away too fast.
You looked up. And your whole body went cold.
He remained frozen in the doorway, one hand still curled around the handle like he'd forgotten how to let go of it. The patient chart in his other hand slipped slightly in his grip, not enough to fall, just enough that you noticed his fingers had momentarily stopped remembering their one job. Recognition moved across his face almost instantly, undisguised, unrehearsed, nothing like the practiced composure a doctor was supposed to walk into a room with.
The overhead lights were full on him now. Clinical, unfriendly, not like the dim gold haze of that bar a month ago. No booze to take the edge off. No shadows to hide the details And you couldn’t miss him. Same face. Same eyes that witnessed you break against a hotel room door. Quiet and searching, in a way that had seemed to him that night the only honest thing left in the world. Except the face was on a man in a white coat. A stethoscope draped around his neck. His name stitched in careful navy thread over his heart.
Yang Jungwon.
Neither of you said anything. The seconds stretched, thin and unbearable, the fluorescent hum of the room suddenly deafening in the silence. As if hoping he was mistaken. He wasn't.
"...You?"
It barely qualified as a word. More breath than voice. Your mouth had gone completely dry. The sentence never got a chance to finish. Neither of you needed it to.
You weren't doing much better. Your hands had grown cold, and sat in your lap, fingers pressed together hard enough to leave imprints. The paper gown crackled a little with each too-quick breath. You’d spent a month talking yourself into believing that night belonged to some other you, reckless and grieving and gone by morning. And here he was, a white coat, a stethoscope around his neck, his name stitched over his heart, undeniably real, undeniably the same man.
Neither of you said anything.
His gaze dropped. Not to the chart. To your left hand. The engagement ring was gone. Then, almost involuntarily, his eyes moved lower. To the file tucked beneath his arm. He looked at your name. Gestational age. Estimated conception date. The room became impossibly quiet. His jaw tightened. Not because he was calculating. Because he already had. He didn't need the dates. He remembered the night. The chart simply confirmed what he already knew.
seeing a lot of engenes now suddenly care about the 2021 situation now that they can use it to justify their hate for heeseung .. but where was this outrage when it happened .. cause a lot of yall was sending lynching photos and slaves being whipped … oh so now most of yall got good hearing and can hear
“Ghetto” is a high taste level art form that has been twisted to be seen as lowbrow and vulgar due to the propaganda from white supremacy. Personally, as I was growing up, I was conditioned by other white people that I went to school with to think “ghetto” was bad or embarrassing when in actuality, the whiteness I was surrounded by was ultimately trashy, ignorant, and narrow-minded. I had to grow out of that conditioning of seeing my beautiful people that way when the white people I was around smelled like their pets, drove big muddy trucks, and chew tobacco and kept a bottle of their residual spit. When I moved to Atlanta when I was 18, I experienced so much unique blackness so abruptly, that it was like I was seeing again. I was finally around BLACKNESS and it was so fun, engaging, and beautiful. Ghetto to me is whimsy and enthralling. Ghetto is loud and unique. Ghetto is beautiful.
turnnoffyourmind
germansingergirl
gummygunk
blakekathryn
andulkaphoto
origamiaround
