When you woke up this morning, your body had been sore. Like you had been through the meat grinder kind of sore but in a good way.
You had looked over at Dick sleeping soundlessly. Half his body on top of you and half on the bed with his messy raven hair falling over his eyes, his long lashes almost brushing his sharp cheekbones.
Yeah, a very good way.
But when you got out of bed and basically limped around the apartment, he gave you the smuggest look ever. Seriously no one had ever looked as proud of themselves as he had.
You wanted to slap him. Or kiss him. You were still deciding.
That didn’t stop you for asking him for help though, since he had been the one to carry you around the apartment and draw you a warm bath. The shoulder massage he gave you in the bathtub wasn’t too bad either. Plus the pancakes he had prepared with a little smiley face on top with chocolate syrup.
But that didn’t take away from the fact that he was an unserious man.
He had known you were supposed to have lunch with your friends today so he had been an exceptional tease last night in bed. Not just a tease, he was also apparently under the impression that you were made of rubber and could bend you however he pleased.
Just because he worked out eight hours a day didn’t mean you did too. You’d be lucky to even squeeze in a workout once a week and he knew that and yet he chose to manhandle you.
Not that you were against it. He was very skilled in the bedroom and the nights where you had to just lay there for him to do all the work were your favourites.
But damn now you were limping on your way to meet your friends. You and Dick walked out of the car, hand in hand towards where your friends were sitting outside the cafe.
And he had the audacity to snicker.
“It isn’t funny!” You huffed out, hands clutching his arm to hold for balance since your legs were way too sore to even walk.
“You weren’t complaining last night,” he replied and pushed his sunglasses up on his nose, looking way too amused.
“Shut up,” you scoffed instead of replying since thats all you could do. He wasn’t wrong.
Once you reached the table, Donna, Wally and Roy immediately greeted you with hugs.
“You okay?” Donna was the first one to speak, noticing your limp.
“Yeah,” you swallowed and sat down on the chair next to Dick’s, shifting a little. “Just walked into a chair.”
“Uh huh,” Roy narrowed his eyes at Dick’s smug face.
“And was the chair named Dick Grayson?” Wally added.
“Wally!” You gasped and looked at Dick for help but he just laughed and draped his arm over the back of your chair.
The rest of the lunch went by with way too many jokes about Dick’s dick and you’d think he’d be offended by it but he was the one initiating most of them.
Like you said, unserious.
✶ JASON TODD
Jason was out running when you woke up. It was your usual morning routine –he woke up before you, gave you a small kiss on your forehead and left for a run then returned an hour later with coffee and sometimes pastries.
This time however, you had told him you were making pancakes so he wasn’t surprised to find you standing in the kitchen wearing his shirt that he discarded last night.
He walked over to you, black tank top clinging to his body due to the sweat like a second skin and if you weren’t sore from last night you would have done something about it.
The minimal clothing you were wearing –Jason’s t-shirt and panties– didn’t do a lot to hide the marks he had left on you last night. Your thighs looked like a crime scene with how many hickeys he had left there.
You waddled over to the fridge to grab the eggs when Jason noticed you.
“What’s up?” He frowned and came up behind you.
“Hmm?” You asked and cracked an egg in the bowl.
“You’re waddling like a penguin,” he pointed out.
“Oh,” you blushed and immediately looked away from him. “You know,” you shrugged.
“Babe what?” He asked and turned you around to steal all your attention.
“Last night,” you said. “You’re not exactly small.”
“Well thanks,” he gave you a confused smile. “Is that why you’re limping?”
“That and my legs being folded like a lawn chair over your shoulders for over an hour yes,” you quipped.
Jason in response let out a cackle.
“Great, hope you’re proud of yourself,” you scrunched your nose and turned back to prepare the pancake batter.
“I mean it does wonders to a guy’s ego,” Jason let out a dramatic breath. “Seven orgasms in one night is my new record.”
“Jason!” You huffed and pushed him away. “You cannot count my orgasms you freak.”
He laughed again and came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle before nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck.
“Seriously though, I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asked, pressing fluttering kisses to the hickeys he had left on your neck.
“No,” you hummed and craned your head back.
“You liked it?”
“Yes,” you breathed as his kisses made their way down to your shoulders.
His fingers busied themselves with massaging your hips, causing you to close your eyes in relief and rest your head back on his shoulders. Which gave him even more room to kiss on your neck.
“Let me make you feel better,” he murmured and turned you around before getting down on his knees.
“Jason,” you said through a shaky breath.
“Yeah?” He looked up at you through dark eyelashes and hooked your thigh over his shoulder. “Is this okay?”
You nodded your head which was all the permission he needed.
It was going to be a long morning.
✶ TIM DRAKE
In hindsight, waiting for your boyfriend to return from his week long mission at the manor probably wasn’t your brightest idea.
He had texted you that he would be back today and would just crash at the manor instead of coming back to your shared penthouse.
But you hadn’t seen him in a week! So it was only fair you drove to the manor and let yourself into the batcave to wait for him.
It had almost been an hour since you made yourself at home on the little beanbag chair with a book in your hands in the Batcave along with Barbara who was perched at the Batcomputer, doing whatever it is that Oracle did.
Tim returned soon along with the rest of the Bats on his Batcycle (Batman wasn’t a very creative person you were beginning to realise).
Damian made a ‘TT’ sound at you before making his way towards the shower area.
Tim on the other hand broke out in a grin the second he looked at you. He didn’t even bother taking off his mask or the suit before he was launching himself at you on the beanbag.
“Tim!” You grunted when his armoured chest collided with yours. “You’re crushing me.”
“Don’t care,” he muttered and pushed his head in the crook of your neck.
“Take a shower you stink!” You said and pushed him off.
“I see how it is,” he raised his head to look at you and if you could see his eyes behind his domino mask, you knew he would be narrowing his eyes at you. “I come back a week later after saving the world and my girlfriend says I stink.”
“You do,” Jason mumbled somewhere behind him.
“Ignore him he’s jealous,” Tim said to you before leaning down to give you a fleeting kiss. “I’ll be back,” he murmured and finally got off the beanbag to go take a shower.
That had been enough of your loving and sweet boyfriend for the night.
Because he was soon coming out of the shower without a shirt and in only a pair of sweatpants. He didn’t even bothering talking to anyone or even debriefing the case like he usually did, he just made his way towards you and picked you up and threw you over his shoulder.
Thankfully everyone else was busy cleaning themselves and only Barbara was present in the Batcave. She shook her head at you like she knew exactly what was happening but didn’t want to be a part of it.
It had been a very long night.
The night for which you were paying now.
Tim’s heavy arm was thrown over your stomach in a tight grip like he never wanted to let you go.
Squinting open an eye, you flicked the bedside lamp on –having no clue what time it was outside due to the blackout curtains being drawn.
You turned over in Tim’s iron grip and looked around the room which looked like it had gotten robbed last night.
Your shirt was thrown on the floor along with your shorts, your bra dangling down the knob of the door –no clue how it got there. And your panties were probably torn in half somewhere. Even the pillows were thrown haphazardly, the covers weren’t even covering you.
Half the reason you woke up was the chill in the room causing goosebumps to rise on your naked body. The only source of heat you had was Tim’s equally as naked body wrapped around you like a koala.
You rubbed your eyes and tried to look at him. The first thing you saw were the red scratches on his chest, glowing against his pale skin and you were sure if he turned around his back would look the same.
“Tim?” You whispered and brushed his hair away from his face.
He only groaned in response and tugged you closer but his grip on your back was beginning to hurt.
“Hey,” you tried again and pushed at his shoulder –which you now saw had a bite mark on it.
Images of Tim’s bicep wrapped around your neck came to your mind but you quickly shook them off. Not the time.
“Tim come on, you’re hurting me,” you winced, which finally caught his attention.
“What?” He asked, voice laced with sleep and somehow deeper like you’ve never heard before. “Where are you hurt?”
“It just feels sore.”
“Fuck I’m so sorry,” he sat up straight in bed and leaned down to pull the covers up.
“It’s okay, you didn’t do anything I didn’t like,” you giggled when he turned around and yep his back looked every bit like his chest. Red scratches all over.
“Your back,” you whispered and reached out to lightly brush your hand over the marks. “What the fuck did we do last night?”
“I think I just missed you too much,” he chuckled. “Turn around let me give you a massage.”
“Yes please,” you moaned and turned around on your stomach to let Tim rub the soreness out of your muscles with his nimble fingers.
The knots in your muscles immediately came loose with each movement of his warm hands on your much colder body. Maybe they taught massaging the pain away at vigilante school or wherever Bruce took all the kids of his he seems to adopt.
His hands went lower to gently rest your calf over his shoulder –much gentler than last night. He pressed soft kisses to your leg as his fingers rubbed all the way to your ankles.
Later when you two went down for breakfast (it was around lunchtime), Cass and Damian gave you a disgusted look. Jason raised an eyebrow at the bite marks on Tim’s forearm while Dick only laughed in amusement. Even Barbara was staring at the hickey on your jaw since apparently Tim had forgotten he was human.
✶ BRUCE WAYNE
You were sitting on the chair in the little breakfast nook when Bruce entered the kitchen. A crossword puzzle was sat on the table next to a plate of toast and orange juice in front of you as you mindlessly scribbled on the puzzle.
Bruce came up behind you and gave you a little kiss on the back of your head before walking over to the cabinets to pull out a mug.
“Oh wait! I made you a yogurt bowl,” you said and hopped off the chair.
Bruce raised an eyebrow and watched you limping towards the fridge in nothing but his old uni sweatshirt. Your hair was falling over your shoulders, messy from a good night’s sleep. And other activities.
His eyes wandered lower to the backs of your knees where he was gripping your legs last night and sure enough there were marks to show it. For a second he was worried but when you turned around and gave him your million dollar smile, he forgot what he was thinking about.
“It has raspberries, nuts, pumpkin seeds, chia seeds. It’s good for your health,” you beamed and set it down in front of your own breakfast on the table.
Bruce joined you in a beat and eyed you as you grimaced a little while sitting down.
“Everything okay?” He asked.
“Yeah,” you said, voice a bit sarcastic which he didn’t miss.
“That’s not convincing,” he frowned.
“You rearranged my guts last night. I think that has something to do with me having trouble sitting down,” you smirked and he immediately blushed.
You heard a sudden noise from behind you and when you turned around to look, Tim was standing there, looking nauseated. “I’ll uh… have breakfast in my room…” he said.
“I didn’t know you stayed here last night,” you said to him.
“I wish I hadn’t,” he gagged and grabbed a cup of coffee before leaving the two of you alone.
Bruce scrunched his nose and turned his face towards his breakfast.
“Oh don’t go all shy now! You were very vocal last night,” you teased and nudged his foot with yours just to watch his ears turn even redder.
“I think we should take a warm bath together to you know, let our bodies heal,” he suggested.
“Uh huh,” you narrowed your eyes. “And no other reason at all.”
“Of course my darling,” Bruce smiled and tugged you out of your chair before picking you up in his arms.
“No other reason at all.”
my first multi part fic ever feeling nervous
didn’t know which photos to use so…
if you couldn’t tell i’ve been extremely tim drake pilled lately thanks to all the requests ive received for him 😭
likes comments and reblogs appreciated, hope you guys enjoy <3
༯ synopsis. fwb dick who gets jealous when your ex tries to get back with you.
warnings. 18+. dick grayson x fem! reader. fwb. neighbors au. he’s jealous and a little insecure. smut. p in v.
dick grayson lives in the apartment next to yours and introduced himself by helping you carry boxes up three flights of stairs without being asked. you’d told him he didn’t have to and he’d just shrugged and picked up two more. by the time you’d gotten everything up he knew your name, your old neighborhood, and that you took your coffee black, and you knew he was annoyingly charming and had a smile that did something inconvenient to your chest.
that was six months ago. somewhere between then and now the friday night bar visits became a standing thing, the easy conversation became something you looked forward to all week, and the line between neighbors and friends and something else entirely got blurry in a way neither of you has bothered to address.
it works. you like that it works.
it’s a friday night. the night you spend with dick unpacking your entire week and then drink to it.
you’re on your way back from the bathroom when you see him. your ex, standing near the bar like he belongs there, and your whole body does that involuntary thing before your brain has even caught up. he spots you before you can redirect. the smile that never quite reaches his eyes. the way he steps into your space too easily, like the last year didn’t happen.
you laugh at something he says because it’s reflex, because it’s easier, your shoulders drawing in without you meaning for them to. he presses his number into your hand with a casualness that makes your skin feel wrong and you smile your most noncommittal smile and walk away.
you slide back into the booth and dick is already looking at you.
he has very blue eyes and a very irritating habit of seeing straight through you with them.
“who was that,” he says.
“my ex.” you reach for your drink. “it’s fine.”
his jaw does something quiet and controlled. “he give you his number?”
“dick—”
“he gave you his number.”
“it wasn’t like that—”
“cool. cool,” he says, and picks up his drink, and smiles the smile that’s all surface, and you know exactly what that smile means.
the walk home is three blocks and dick spends all of them somewhere else entirely.
normally he fills every silence — some joke, some completely unnecessary observation about whatever you’re passing. tonight his hands are in his pockets and his eyes are forward and he says nothing.
“you’re doing that thing,” you say.
“what thing.”
“the thing where you pretend you’re fine.”
“i’m fine.”
“richard.”
“i’m tired,” he says. “it’s been a long week, angel.”
you both know that’s not it.
you make it as far as the hallway outside your apartments before you stop.
he’s already reaching for his keys and something about the set of his shoulders, the careful performance of it, makes you reach out and catch his arm.
he turns.
you kiss him.
it takes him exactly one second and then his keys hit the floor and his hands are on your face and he’s kissing you back with something desperate and unguarded that he’s been keeping very carefully under wraps all evening. a low groan muffled against your mouth, his fingers curling into your jaw, walking you back against the wall without breaking it.
when he pulls back he’s breathing harder than usual.
he looks at you for a moment. then he bends and picks up his keys and opens his door and picks you up like it’s nothing, carrying you inside, kicking the door shut behind him.
later he has you underneath him and there’s nothing easy about it tonight.
he pushes in slow and the stretch of him makes your breath stutter, thick and girthy, the flushed red tip of him pressing through your plushy folds and sinking into your gummy walls inch by inch until you’ve taken all of him and your walls are fluttering around the fullness of it.
his jaw is tight. his eyes on your face.
“why do you want him back,” he says. low and rough.
“i don’t—”
he snaps his hips forward and the words evaporate entirely.
“hm?” he pulls back and drives in again, his cock dragging against your walls, you feel, oh, so full and overwhelmed all at once. “why him.”
“dick i’m not—i—”
your eyes shut. the pleasure too much, the words bleeding into a moan.
“eyes on me,” he says quietly.
you open them.
and that’s when you see it. something vulnerable in his expression, unguarded and unusual, the kind of thing he’d never let you see if he were thinking straight. something that’s been sitting underneath all of this for a long time.
“why do you want him,” he murmurs, hips rolling and pressing deep, the head of his cock nudging that soft spot inside you that makes your toes curl, “when you have me.”
it’s not cocky. it’s almost like he’s desperate to hear the answer. desperate to hear you say he’s enough. that what you have with each other is enough.
heat builds low in your belly, your body sensitive from the drag of him, your walls clenching greedily around his girth every time he pulls back.
your mouth opens. what comes out is a garbled mess of his name and something that isn’t words at all.
“yeah,” he breathes, forehead dropping to yours. “that’s what i thought.”
something releases in him after that. his pace picks up and you stop trying to think at all, hands gripping his shoulders, your slick walls taking him over and over until the heat that’s been building low in your belly crests and you come apart underneath him with a broken sound, clenching tight around him. he follows shortly after, hips stuttering, a low groan muffled into your throat as he spills into the condom, his whole body shuddering through it.
afterward he’s on his back and you’re tucked against his side.
“i can make carbonara from scratch. i remember how you take your coffee. i’ve sat through every terrible film you’ve picked on a friday night without a single complaint.” he’s quiet for a second. “i’ve been your boyfriend for six months. you just haven’t called me that yet.
you look at him.
“maybe i should,” you say quietly.
he’s very still for a moment. then his hand finds yours and laces with you. warm and calloused and big.
“it was nothing,” you say. “tonight. with him. i don’t want him back. i never did.”
the breath that leaves him is slow. like he’s been holding it since the bar.
“obviously i don’t want him,” you say. “i want you. i’ve wanted you for a while.”
he turns his head to look at you. really look.
“yeah?” he says softly.
“yeah,” you say.
he brings your hand up and presses his lips to your knuckles, and settles back against the pillow.
the city hums outside. the lamp stays on.
“friday nights,” he says eventually. “same booth.”
“same booth,” you agree.
“except now i’m going to hold your hand across the table and if your ex shows up again i’m going to be very annoying about it.”
you laugh softly and his mouth tilts into a smile.
summary: falling in love with each other was easy—a little too easy. after a series of dates and getting to know the other better, it was only a matter of time, right? no longer able to hold it in, dick finds himself desperate and decides that tonight will not end until he gets to walk home with a kiss, from you.
notes: 4.1k words…. fluff!! with a side of nasty kissing, dick is absolutely fed up and DESPERATE, reader has never had a boyfriend before so dick is the very first guy you’ve ever been with. so many feelings and love and yearning you guys are so obsessed with each other its genuinely DISGUSTING. but dick is like way worse because at least half of this is him yearning for you,,,, also a lot of making out...dick literally eats ur face. all the dialogue is later in gomenasorry. written with black reader in mind >0<
Dick Grayson was on a mission. Tonight’s date, he decided, was going to be extra special than usual. Why, you ask? Because tonight, he was going to secure his kiss from you—poor, unsuspecting, you.
Tonight marked the 8th date you guys have gone on ever since your first meeting at a late-night convenience store around the corner of his apartment, where the once peaceful environment was interrupted by a measly burglar waving his gun around with arrogance and the demand of money.
It was the one night when Dick wasn’t in costume and was nursing a severely bruised body from a villain he had encountered two days earlier. The situation irritated him even more than he already was—Bruce was still chewing his ass out over a case that he was working on; he still needed to go to work with his bruised body because he can’t exactly let them know what violent activities he’s up to at night and his injuries—now this.
So it’s an understatement when saying the burglar was dealt with easily and quickly, as Dick was able to disarm him before the man could even take another step towards another innocent customer—someone Dick learned later was you.
The anticlimactic moment ended with the man scrambling out of the store with much less confidence than before, the store clerk shakily thanking Dick with the promise of free items of his choice tonight and the next time he comes in. Accepting the gratitude, Dick was ready to go home with the multitude of free items in his grocery bag--until he spotted you.
Standing near the entrance, dressed in sweatpants about twice your actual size with a hoodie you were equally drowned in, Dick found you absolutely radiant. He wasn’t someone who believed in love at first sight beforehand, but now? Certainly, this is what it means.
It took him a few seconds of silence and staring at you with an open mouth, like a goldfish for him to realize that you were speaking to him, and just like the store clerk. you were thanking him profusely for saving you from the gun that was previously pointed to you. Dick can't remember what happened after that. But he does remember walking out of the store a happy man, your phone number having found its way into his phone.
Back in the present, Dick knew that maybe 8 dates was a little too much to come to this decision; after all, for him it was only on date number 2 that he knew he wanted you, badly. But he knew he had to be patient, especially after you revealed that you’ve never been in a relationship—or on a date at all. It was for this reason that he decided to take things slow and wait for a sign that you wanted him too.
By now, he’s reached his limit.
Every other date you’ve had prior to this had been more casual: going out for coffee, the arcade, movie nights at his place (more often yours because he absolutely adores your cat, mocha), grocery shopping together, and going for a stroll in Melville Park to walk Haley, his adorable pitbull you fell in love with.
Tonight, Dick took you to a nice restaurant with tables reserved on its rooftop. He knew you weren’t someone who frequented fancy restaurants too often, so he found a solid one just in between fancy and casual.
Dinner was going well, and you were absolutely perfect. He’d told you beforehand to come wearing a blue outfit, and the dress you wore had surpassed his expectations so much that he considered dropping down on one knee right then and there before ever asking you to be his girlfriend, if it wasnt apparent just how much it affected him seeing that colour on you with his lovesick gaze the entire night.
The dress you’re wearing is dark blue silk, the kind of colour that shifts like midnight water under the lighting of the restaurant's stringed lights. It drapes across your frame in a way that seems deliberate, highlighting your curves, and Dick feels his mouth dry at how it complements your brown skin—like the colour was meant to be worn by you, and you alone.
The glow of your upper body lets him know of the shea butter you’d rubbed on yourself, your legs that slip through the slit sharing the same glow.
The matching gold jewelry you wear and the updo you’ve done with your curls make him fight demons he never even knew he had, wanting to jump over the table to show you how much he loves you.
It truly doesn’t help how much he’s reminded of his Nightwing costume every time he looks at you.
He finds himself murmuring more compliments than usual because he can’t contain how much it moves him. The blue that once belonged only to his suit now belongs to you too, and he adores it—adores you—in a way he can’t keep from showing.
Dick finds himself craving dessert earlier than usual.
But he knows he has to act accordingly; he can’t afford to scare you away. So he does what he’s best at and eyes you with a disgustingly lovesick, yearning look as if he’s some schoolboy with his very first crush for the entire night as you guys chat over dinner.
He pays even closer attention to you than ever (if that’s even possible), maintaining intense eye contact with every word delivered in the air, squeezing your manicured hand (that has the nails he paid for) while you excitedly share the plot of the most recent book you read last weekend, and feeding you some of the food he’s ordered (you protested against stealing his food, but he insisted, claiming, “It’s my duty to feed you.” how do you even respond to that?).
Overall, dinner was perfect. He thinks this is the best date you guys have been on so far, as after dinner he surprises you with tickets to the movie he remembers you wanted to see when it came out.
What a coincidence that today happens to be its release date, and the happy squeal it pulled from you once he revealed the surprise made the rest of his year, he thinks. It’s something he could listen to on repeat for hours and never get sick of.
As the night got darker and you got tired, Dick knew it was time to take you home. As much as he’d love for this night to continue, he doesn’t want to keep you up later than you’re used to.
It brings you both to his car, pulling up into the neighbourhood of your apartment complex, the car filled with a comfortable silence as you gaze out to the passing buildings. His jacket covers your previously bare shoulders during the car ride after he’d noticed the goosebumps rising on your skin (he wouldn’t quit sulking at the fact that you didn’t tell him anything about you being cold and forced you inside his jacket desite your protests).
Parked in front of your building, you unbuckled your seatbelt and grabbed your purse, ready to thank him for tonight once again and wish him a goodnight—before you were surprised with him unbuckling himself and turning off the engine. He paused his actions when he spotted your questioning stare.
“What? You thought I was gonna let you walk up there alone? Absolutely not,” Dick huffed, quickly circling around the car to open your door and making space for you as you stepped out. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t walk you to your door? I need to make sure you make it inside safely, you know.”
Normally you would’ve been your own ride home (he’s never liked it but agreed if it made you happy), but Dick insisted that he’s the one who drives you home this time.
Dick walks you into your building, already knowing his way around from past visits, and unlocks the lobby’s door with his own copy of your keys, then leads you further into the elevators with a hand on your back that’s still covered by his jacket.
It’s almost pathetic how during the entire elevator ride, the two of you are stealing glances at each other—oblivious of the other person’s nervous shifting. Dick knows that it’s tonight that he gets that kiss from you.
At last, when having reached your door, it’s as though the once simmering tension has announced its presence, and settles in the air between the two of you. As you turn to face him with your back to your door, he gives you a soft smile that lets butterflies rise in your stomach, the warm orange lighting that complements his tanned skin doing nothing to help.
If anything, it makes whatever you’re feeling worse, and you don’t know if you can keep acting oblivious to your true feelings.
“I had a really great time,” his voice snaps you out of your thoughts, your full attention back on him, “And I really loved our conversations tonight. I'd love to do something like this again, with you.” His tone at the end has a hopeful implication. He hopes he doesn’t come off as too desperate, but part of him can’t get himself to care.
He thinks now would be the perfect time for that kiss, but he doesn’t want to pressure you. Dick knows it would kill him to ruin what you guys have, and this might be the most nervous he’s ever been in his entire life.
“Yeah?” You ask with a hint of shyness, holding your hands behind your back. “Thank you, Dick. I had a really great time with you tonight, too. The movie made me really happy and...I’m glad you remembered that small detail.”
Dick feels his heart practically melting at the sound of your voice. Your obvious nervousness only boosts his confidence in what he plans on doing, and he can’t get over how much he loves your voice. You’re so adorable. He thinks to himself.
His next smile is a lot more dorky, cheeks warm with his dimples coming out to reveal themselves. It’s your favourite feature on him, right after his blue, blue eyes, you think. You both feel like high schoolers again with a pathetic crush. “Nothing you tell me is ever small.”
He’s taken aback by how fond he let that come out of his mouth, but he decides it’s worth it when your eyes avert down to your feet—flustered. It’s his favourite look on you.
But he knows just like this isn’t enough. This thought leads him to slowly reach for your arms behind your back, gently uncrossing them while his hands trail down to hold your own. He searches your eyes for any discomfort before intertwining them, when having found none, his calloused palms swallow your smaller, softer ones. The contrast does nothing but make his heart beat faster.
It’s when you look up at him with wide, glimmering dark eyes filled with hope and a drop of insecurity that it clicks—you are the woman he wishes to share his life with.
You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t have a crush on him. It was impossible not to, with his easygoing grin that you’ve observed goes toe to toe with the sun itself. With each action done with careful consideration of you, with each compliment given, with each laugh he’s pulled out of you, with each dinner cooked together, with each night spent on his fire escape with shoulders touching– each day learning about what makes you, you.
It was too easy falling in love with Dick Grayson.
And that scared you.
Similarly to Dick, it was around the third date that you knew you wanted something blooming between you.
Love. What a strange concept for a girl who’s never fallen in love.
You find that the only reason why you hadn’t initiated anything further with him is because you’re unsure if this is how the process goes. Along with the slight insecurity of slipping up if you did, with Dick having more experience than you did. Soon those worries disappeared, because Dick had done nothing but soothe them.
Every moment where you felt as though you needed to initiate anything physical beyond what you were used to, he noticed, and every anxious thought was blown away with a simple reassuring smile.
He never said more than a quiet, “It’s okay,” because to him it was always about your comfort before anything.
He’s never made you feel forced to do anything, content to lead you through each encounter until you found the moment you were ready.
You realize as soon as he holds your hands in his—he’s the one for you.
Dick chuckles softly at the look in your eye and squeezes your hands gently. His blue eyes, nearly swallowed up by his dilated pupils, are fixed on yours, studying your reaction with an intensity that makes you want to squirm. He can feel how warm your skin is and his heart feels like it could pop out of his chest.
With a deep breath, Dick takes another step closer, now only inches apart. He lifts a hand to lift your chin ever-so-slightly, making you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. Dark eyes meet blue.
You swallow thickly as your eyes remain locked on each other, feeling his other hand move down to your waist. His expression is so vulnerable and raw as he looks down at you, and you think you might throw up from nerves alone. Your eyes water as these thoughts circle through your mind.
It doesn’t take detective skills to read you like a book. He can tell what you’re thinking. He knows the reason you’re unsure as you begin shaking in his arms. His thumb traces slow circles against your jaw, coaxing you to relax. He hopes you can’t hear how fast his heart is beating, how he’s memorizing the sound of your soft breaths.
The two of you are the only ones in the hallway at the risk of being seen by neighbours, but neither of you can find it in you to care.
"You okay?" He murmurs softly, searching your face with those impossibly blue eyes. There's no teasing now–just genuine care and something achingly tender beneath it all. "I can... we can stop if—"
(But the way he lingers shows he really doesn’t want to stop.)
"No!" you interject louder than intended to, freezing when you realized ust how loud that came out. A surprised laugh bubbles out of him at your sudden outburst, the sound warm and so fond. That adorable reaction just makes him squeeze you a tiny bit closer.
"N—no, I... this is okay. I'm okay." You finish softly, heart aching for more. You’re incredibly greedy when it comes to his touch, and you don’t feel a drop of shame for it.
"Good," he murmurs, leaning in until his forehead brushes yours—so close you can feel his breath against your lips. His free hand lifts to cradle your cheek now, thumb sweeping beneath your eye to catch that traitorous wetness before it falls.
"Because I really wanna kiss you right now," he admits in a whisper, grinning that stupid lopsided grin that makes your stomach flip. "But only if you really want me to."
Your heart almost stutters to a stop, and your gaze is consumed by nothing but want. Your pupils were almost as blown as his, and the way the wind blows, tussling at his wavy hair, drives you crazy. You melt against him as your foreheads touch, letting out a shaky breath.
It’s as you lose yourself in the pool of his impossibly blue eyes that you realize death doesn't scare you if it's by drowning in his eyes.
You lean into his warm palm, memorizing the sweet scent of his cologne. You give your answer in a hushed tone, as though sharing a secret that's to remain between the two of you alone. "I really wanna kiss you, too."
It sends a shiver down his spine. Holy smokes, he thinks to himself. You look like a dream.
The world seems to melt away as he gazes down at you with an intensity that is both gentle and smoldering. Dick can feel your breath on his lips, and it drives him insane.
"Damn," he mutters roughly, his voice suddenly raw with emotion, "you're going to be the death of me."
It's the only time he'll use the Lord's name in vain.
Just like that, he can't hold back any longer. The dam breaks, and he closes the last meager distance between the two of you, capturing your mouth in a deep, starved kiss.
A cut off gasp is swallowed by his lips, your eyes tightly shutting closed as your lips lock with his— and you feel alive. This is your very first kiss, and it's one you will never forget.
Dick’s arms circle your waist completely, pulling you flush against his body as his one hand slides up your spine until his fingers thread into your hair, tilting your head back as he kisses you with everything he has.
If it weren't for his arms holding you up, your knees would have buckled. He can feel how your body shakes with nerves and anticipation against his lips, and he can’t resist brushing his tongue over your bottom lip, groaning at the rewarding whimper he gets.
The smack of your lips is nasty; after each smack comes the sound of a deep groan which then triggers a breathy whine. Your blood is rushing to your head, and you think you might die. You’re suddenly immensely grateful for living on a nearly empty floor.
DIck groans low in his throat when he feels your grip tighten on his dress shirt, like you’re terrified he might pull away. As if he would ever want to. His tongue teases along your bottom lip again—asking without words.
His other hand drops from your chin to squeeze your hip possessively, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp against his mouth.
"Sweetheart," he murmurs between feverish kisses, voice wrecked already, "c'mon, open up for me."
That tone—half praise and half demand—sends a bolt of heat straight through you. Holy shit. You’re embarrassed at the mewl that escapes you at the pet name. Please call me that again, please, please—
It's almost instantaneous that you open your mouth, giving his tongue access. The pleased chuckle that escapes him makes your entire body flare up in warmth. It felt good, getting his approval.
Dick takes full advantage of your obedience, the kiss turning downright filthy as he explores your mouth, his tongue coaxing against yours in the most distracting way. He groans again, a hungry, guttural sound that reverberates through his chest. He has to have more of you.
"Dick—" you whine against his lips as the smacking of lips circles around the small, dark quiet hallway. You find out just how easy it is to forget your surroundings when Dick Grayson is all-consuming in your mind, and on your lips.
The sound of his name on your lips grows his greed, wanting to own every gasp and whine and whimper you make. When your tongue brushes against his, something ignites in him, some feral, possessive feeling that makes his skin burn. You're so cute; he feels like a starved animal.
He pulls away with a wet sound, breathing heavily against your lips and resting his forehead against yours. He can feel your heart racing. He presses one last desperate peck to your lips.
"God," he mumbles raggedly, "you're doing things to me, sweetheart."
"I d-didn't do anything," you pant quietly, catching your breath as a string of drool remains between the two of you—your eyes half-lidded.
Dick stares at your face, taking in your flushed cheeks, the way you pant, and that adorable little strand of drool—God, he is so obsessed with you it isn't even funny.
His hands roam your body, one still gripping your hip and the other sliding up to cup your cheek, his calloused thumb tracing your kiss-swollen bottom lip, wiping away the wetness. You resist the urge to take his thumb in your mouth where it sits against your lip.
"Baby, look at you," he murmurs, gaze darkening as he looks down at you. "I could eat you alive right now." His comment makes you squawk. "Please don't," you sigh weakly, a protesting frown on your lips.
"I won't," he murmurs between nips and pecks along your jaw, "not unless you ask very nicely." He punctuates it with a slow drag of his teeth against your pulse point before pulling away just enough to see the reaction on your face.
His fingers tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear as his expression softens into something warmer—something more like home. "But I should probably get going before I actually do something reckless."
Oh. Yeah.
"You should..." You realize sadly that as much as you wanted to stay out longer with him, you couldn't risk getting in trouble with your roommate. "I wish you didn't have to," you murmur sadly, looking down at your heels.
His face falls for a second, reading the disappointment in your tone instantly. Dick pulls you back into a tight hug, pressing his lips to the top of your head before sighing dramatically.
"Ugh, don't look at me like that," he whines, squeezing you lightly as he rests his chin on your head. "You're gonna make me stay. And then I'll have to explain to your roommate why I'm camped out on your doorstep like some lovesick stray."
You couldn’t resist the giggle at his comment, equally wrapping your arms around him. You’re overwhelmed and also not whelmed (heh, yj ref) enough by his scent. “I would've let you stay the night like usual, but she just came back from vacation. Sorry, Dick.”
He only sulks above you, letting out one last dramatic sigh. He’s as dramatic as ever. “It’d be easier if I could just bring you back to mine,” Dick huffs enviously. “If only life were so easy.”
“You talk like I won’t just see you soon, silly. I promised Haley treats.”
“So you only like me for my dog?”
“Crap, you caught me...” you grin, unbothered
He lets out an undignified squawk, your laughther following up with the dramatics.
“To be fair, she’s super adorable. I can’t resist her eyes; she’s just a baby!”
“I’ll have you know, I was the one who trained her. Her cuteness is a direct reflection of me.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “Fine, fine. Maybe I like you a little too.
Dick beams instantly, smug as ever. “I knew it.”
He pulls back just enough to cup your face again—and this time, there's no joking in those stupidly blue eyes. Just something painfully sincere.
"But I’ll see you soon? Like… really soon?" His thumb traces the apple of your cheek hopefully.
You nod eagerly, returning his hopeful smile with a tender one of your own. “Yeah...I’d like that.” You confess quietly, holding his hand against your cheek.
His smile brightens immediately, boyish and so unfairly charming. You hate him. "Good," he murmurs, pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead before finally—reluctantly—stepping back.
Dick walks backwards to the elevator like an idiot, unable to tear his eyes away from you. "And hey," he adds with a grin that promises trouble, fingers tapping against his chest where his heart is still racing. "You did this to me."
You can’t resist a laugh at his antics, pulling out your keys from your purse as he gets closer to the elevator. You grin like a lovesick teenager—you both do. “I sure did, Golden Boy. Call me when you get home?”
“Always,” he promises, taking a moment to admire your glowing figure under the warm lighting. He stuffs his hands in his pockets to keep himself from walking back over and hauling you into his arms again.
It’s when you unlock your door and give him one last smile that he dramatically blows you a kiss, his heart warming even further when you playfully catch it.
Dick’s grin softens one last time, pausing as the elevator doors open. “Goodnight, baby.” He tells you. You parrot after him. “Goodnight, Dickie.” Only you know how much that nickname makes his heart flutter.
And then—just like that—you disappear into your apartment.
(you only realize minutes later thanks to your roommate that you completely forgot to hand back his jacket. when mentioning this to dick he only laughs and tells you to keep it as a souvenir.)
dont forgot to like & reblog! thank you for reading. <3
buffering
dick grayson x reader | fluff, suggestive
summary: aftercare with dick after a long night that leaves you a little out of it and him very smug (wc: 0.9k).
Dick says something, and you know this because his mouth moves, sound comes out, and he's looking at you with that patient little tilt of his head. The words themselves, however, fail to make it through the pleasant static filling your skull.
"Hm?" you manage.
"Do you want water?"
You blink at him. This time, the question filters through the haze in scrambled pieces, but you decide you’ve got the general idea and answer with complete sincerity.
"Tomorrow."
There’s a beat of silence, and Dick goes very still.
You frown. Something about his expression isn't right. He's staring at you with his mouth pressed shut and eyes wide, like he's holding something in. You can't figure out what, because your brain is still running at half speed and—
Dick breaks. He folds forward laughing, one hand braced on the mattress, the other covering his mouth, trying and failing to be kind about this. His shoulders shake helplessly, head dropping as the sound spills out of him bright and full and impossible not to love.
Then it clicks.
Oh no.
"No, because I meant yes," you say quickly. "I meant yes now. Right now."
"Right now?" he asks. "You sure? Don't want to sleep on it?"
“Stop,” you groan, covering your face with your hands.
He’s still laughing when he gently pulls them away, eyes shining.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he says. “I’m never letting that go.”
"That was a vulnerable moment for me."
"It was a historic moment for me."
You glare at him, but it isn't as intimidating as you think, because his grin only sharpens.
"Okay, okay," he says, holding up three fingers. "How many?"
You stare at him. "You're not serious."
"I asked you a yes or no question and you said tomorrow. I'm doing my due diligence.”
"Three, you absolute—"
"Good. What's your name?"
You tell him, flatly.
"What year is it?"
"The year I become single if you keep this up."
He ignores that completely. "Who's the mayor of Blüdhaven?"
You open your mouth, but pause for just a fraction too long.
Dick doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to.
"I know the answer," you insist. "I was going to say it."
"Sure you were."
"You did this to me." You point at him, accusatory. "This is your fault."
"I accept full responsibility." He bites down on his lip, voice strained with the effort of keeping a straight face. "I am genuinely so proud right now."
You exhale, sinking deeper into the mattress, and your exhaustion must show, because he quiets at once and his expression softens.
He leans in close enough that his breath brushes your cheek. “C’mere, beautiful.”
His hand slides behind your neck as he helps you sit up against him. The movement makes your limbs feel like wet sand, heavy and uncooperative.
"Easy," he murmurs.
He steadies you, one arm around your waist while the other reaches for the water bottle already waiting on the nightstand and brings it to your lips, and you drink obediently. The cold water hits your tongue and you actually sigh.
"There you go,” he says quietly, thumb brushing once at the base of your neck.
You hum, barely, and he presses a kiss to your temple. He reaches for the nightstand again and grabs a granola bar, unwrapping it and breaking off a piece before holding it up expectantly.
"I can feed myself."
"Can you?"
You open your mouth, and he places the bite on your tongue with a small smirk.
"That's what I thought," he says, but it's gentle.
You lightly flick at his bicep, and he only feeds you another piece.
The room glows amber from the bedside lamp. The sheets are tangled around your legs, the air still warm, the mattress dipping where he sits close beside you. Your body feels pleasantly overused, every muscle loose and humming.
Dick watches your face as you chew slowly, then swallow.
"Sore?" he asks, voice low.
You shake your head. "Just sleepy.”
He studies you for another second anyway, checking for anything you're not saying.
“You sure?”
"Promise," you reply with a little smile.
His expression eases. He sets the granola bar aside and shifts behind you, drawing you fully into him until your back rests against his chest. The blanket comes up around both of you, tucked under your arms with absent practice.
"Proud of you," he murmurs.
You huff out a laugh. "For what?"
"Persevering through adversity."
"You're unbearable."
"And yet," he says, "still your favorite."
You're too tired to deny it properly. His hand slips beneath the blanket to rest on your stomach, palm warm and grounding. The other traces slow shapes against your arm: circles, lines, little absent patterns that make your eyelids heavier by the second.
Beneath your ear, his heartbeat knocks steady and sure.
"You know," you mumble, words starting to slur, "if you tell anyone about this, I'll deny everything."
"Wouldn't dream of it. I'll just treasure the memory forever."
"That's somehow worse."
He tucks his head over yours, and you let your heavy lids fall over your eyes, body sinking deeper into him. His fingers keep moving soothingly over your skin.
Just before sleep takes you, he speaks into your hair.
"Tomorrow," he repeats fondly.
You groan weakly, and his soft laugh follows you under.
Summary: Damian gets in a fight at school, and his favorite teacher has to set up a meeting with a parent or guardian. Bruce Wayne is away on a mission and Alfred isn’t picking up the phone, so Damian’s eldest brother has to attend a parent teacher conference. Only to find out that he has history with his little brother’s English Lit teacher.
Pairing: Dick Grayson/Teacher Fem!Reader & (PLATONIC) Damian Wayne/Fem!Reader
Content Warning: No use of Y/N, Second Person, cursing, second chance romance, yearner dick, angst, fluff, mentions of bullying and boys saying inappropriate things, Dick’s day job is being a P.E. teacher (I don’t believe in cop!dick propaganda, no matter how fine he looked)
Word Count: 11k
A/N: DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME!!! Please never get back with an ex, I have been there, done that, and got the t-shirt. Let me tell you it was NOT worth it. This is only acceptable because it is Dick Grayson. I usually hate second-chance romance, but it came to me while I was writing this and felt like it fit. Anyway, enjoy my lovelies <3
“Can anyone tell me the significance of the crew changing how they refer to Charlotte from her name to Ms. Doy-”
Some chalk had dusted over your hand where you had been writing the question on the board when you hear someone landing a punch behind you. Whipping your head around you see quite the scene laid out in your classroom.
Damian Wayne is standing over Jordan Hawthorne.
The classroom had gone silent collectively holding their breath at the sight. Jordan Hawthorne was, from your understanding, the grade bully. You had called home weekly, practically being on a first name basis with his mother. The school never did anything about him, frustrating you to your wits end. His parents were huge donors for the school, essentially allowing him to do whatever he pleased. He was bigger than most of his classmates along with an insufferably large attitude, and Damian was… small. He was probably the smallest boy in your class and Jordan loved that. He had a knack of picking on the kids who wouldn’t stand up for themselves, the quiet ones. You watched him like a hawk in your classroom when you noticed how he chose his prey. You didn’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable in your classroom, this was school not a war zone. No one should feel unsafe here.
While Damian didn’t get along with most of the kids in his grade he had never outright acted on that dislike. He would sit quietly in his chair, raising his hand when he knew the answer or had a question. On all of his assignments there were impressive sketches of different animals in the margins, you would always write an “amazing” or “beautiful” next to the drawings while grading. Despite his eloquent perspective of life, he was still a little boy who wanted some praise for his skill. It was your job as his teacher to harbor and stimulate creativity. A quick glance at him after handing back assignments confirmed your suspicion, there was a rare genuine smile at the fact that someone had noticed him. While being relatively quiet and unassuming, everything he said and did was done with purpose. Which meant something had happened here. Damian never acted without a cause.
You still had the chalk in hand when you recovered from the shock, and Jordan Hawthorne was glaring at Damian from where he had landed on the floor.
“You’re dead meat kid.” He growled and Damian only put his fists up.
When he props himself up with his hand, you finally snap back into reality and rush to where they are in the center of the classroom. The class has circled around them, and some pulled out their phones to record as though this is primetime TV.
You push past the congregation of children and unfortunately, neither of the boys saw you coming. They were in their own little world of battle and just as you stepped in between them, Jordan had swung as hard as he could. Punching you right in the stomach.
You were not getting paid enough for this.
It hurt more than you let on. All the wind had been knocked out of you, but you were able to disguise the impact from pain to exasperation. You took a deep breath and see the wide eyes of all your students and order the boys,
“Hallway, both of you. Now.” You lift your gaze around the classroom at the stunned expressions of your remaining students, “The rest of you, sit down and start on the homework.”
And for the first time in your three years of teaching, there was no pushback. No complaints or groaning from students. There was just the quick shuffle of footsteps and chairs squeaking from being dragged across the floor then, silence. Peace and Quiet.
The boys follow out of the classroom, flanking you from each side. You walk to the social studies classroom across the hallway, where there’s a teacher’s aid. She’s an undergrad student trying to get some teaching hours with Mr. Horn, but she helps out around the school too. You open the door and pop your head in with a cautious smile.
Mr. Horn wasn’t particularly kind when his lessons were interrupted. He was super old and believed you should only speak when spoken to, so you wait until he finishes his question to the class and turns to look at you. He has an eyebrow raised prompting you to talk.
“Hi, sorry to interrupt.” The apology was useless, but he still appreciates the sentiment. “Could I borrow Sophie for a moment? I have to walk two students down to the office and need someone to watch my class while I step away.”
“Ah yes, of course.” He doesn’t seem too upset about the interruption, realizing that it was something that couldn’t wait. He looks at Sophie from her spot at the back of the classroom and cocks his head in your direction. She nods with a gentle smile on her face and makes her way out the door.
A bashful smile is on your face while thanking her for the help. She laughs it off with an “Of course!” then walks into your classroom. Sighing you look back at the perpetrators of your quickly bruising stomach.
“Come on you two.” Is all you offer them before you turn around and start the trek to the front office. There’s an echo of two sets of steps following your path and you finally drop the mask. Noticing that there are no eyes that can see your face, it contorts in pain. And as tempted as you are, you don’t bring your hand to your stomach, not wanting to give away how much it actually hurt. The bruise is already forming under the white button down you wore today. You just continue taking deep breaths until you make it to the office.
It takes about five minutes to make it all the way across the Academy. Within the first couple of days here, you learned that it’s not difficult to get lost here. It’s all the same gothic architecture that they refuse to put signs on. The only exceptions to that were the classroom numbers on the doors, which makes it too easy to miss the office in your opinion. It took you about three weeks of working here to finally learn your way around.
You pull open the door of the office, and the boys walk in single file. The secretary greets you with a smile, about to ask why you’re in the office and then sees the boys in front of you. Jordan was a regular here, so she picked up on the unsaid by his presence alone.
“Dawn’s not in a meeting right now so you can walk ‘em right in.” She informs you.
“Thank you, Nancy.” You say with a smile.
On your first day, Horn told you to make sure to get on Nancy’s good side. She knew everything about everyone at this school. Having her on your good side meant protection from the Dean, Dawn. Since everyone knew that Nancy knows everything, Dawn would trust her on her opinions on faculty. Which meant you always smiled a little wider and sometimes would get an extra pastry from your favorite cafe, when you knew you would run into Nancy that day.
You walk to the end of the skinny hallway to where the door to Dawn’s office is cracked open. You stand at the entrance and knock on the wooden door frame, and she looks up from her desktop with a calculated smile. She had long red hair and was in her mid-40s. She always wore pantsuits, she had the same one in four different colors and would rotate them. You avoided interacting with her as much as possible because she had a weird vibe to her, she always looks at you like you were a puzzle she hadn’t figured out yet.
“Good morning, Miss,” She addresses you. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this lovely visit!”
“Good morning, to you too! Unfortunately, I don’t come bearing the best news.” You tell her with an embarrassed half-smile. “I have a Mr. Hawthorne and Mr. Wayne out here with me, they um… got in a fight in my classroom.”
She closes her eyes and throws her head back in the same breath. This was the worst part of the job, and you don’t envy her for having to sit through it. “Yes, of course, send Mr. Hawthorne in first. Just make sure to pick up the witness report from Nancy on the way back.”
You nod and step out of the office. Hearing what the Dean said, Jordan walks into the classroom with a smug look on his face. The face of a kid who knows mommy and daddy will get him out of trouble. The door shuts behind him, and you look down at an anxious Damian Wayne sitting in the hallway. His feet don’t quite reach the floor from the chair, and his legs are swinging back and forth, betraying his carefully neutral exterior. You stand next to him in silence just looking at him while he has a staring contest with the patterned office carpet.
“It was unnecessary for you to take the punch for me. I could handle the brunt of it.” He says without looking at you.
“I know,” You try to think of how to word this to him, not wanting to damage the fragile ego he claims is indestructible. “But I don’t like fighting in my classroom.” You place a hand on his shoulder, and he finally tears his eyes from the floor and looks up at you.
“What happened?” You ask him with a gentleness you usually reserved for the children at the orphanage you volunteered at on Sundays.
“Hawthorne said some inappropriate words to Sarah, and you know how she is.” He gestures with his hands, motioning that her personality should be obvious. “She lacks the ability to stand up for herself. What he said was vile and she was uncomfortable. She asked him to stop and he continued. He kept taunting her and she looked on the verge of tears. So, I…”
“Hit him.” You finish the story for him.
“Yes.” He confirms unapologetically.
You exhale while processing the story. You’re trying to figure out your next words to him. In all honesty, you are secretly proud of him. You hated when boys get nasty in your class. It happened more often than you’d like and you tried your best to catch it and put a stop to it, but you couldn’t catch them every single time.
However, you can’t tell your student that you’re proud of him for laying out another one of your students without risking a write-up from your supervisor, despite how much he deserved it. Your only concern now was that you would have to drag poor Sarah into this. She was very shy and would rather swallow a knife than open up. You would have to approach her carefully.
“I’m not sorry.” He cuts into your thought process.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be.” You hold his gaze. He doesn’t look apologetic at the fact that he hit the Hawthorne boy, but there’s a glimpse of worry lingering in his eyes. You’re not entirely sure where it’s from and you don’t get the chance to find out when Dawn opens the door and motions for Damien to join them inside.
“Go on.” You tell him lifting your hand from his shoulder. He nods and gets up, walking around you to go inside. He sits down and right before Dawn closes the door, he looks at you once more with that same flicker of anxiety and then the door closes.
Walking back to Nancy’s desk to pick up the report and regret not calling out sick this morning. This was only the beginning to a very long day.
° ❀ ⋆ . ೃ࿔ * : ･ ° ❀ ⋆ . ೃ࿔ * : ･
Sighing to yourself during your free period you start to fill out the witness report. You’ll have to submit it to the headmaster and call a parent or guardian to set up some form of a parent-teacher conference. Along with your stomach, your head’s been aching all day. For some odd reason, the divorced couple that lived next to you seemed to think that a Sunday night was the perfect time to have reconciliation sex. Safe to say that the headboard slamming into your shared wall at three in the morning was not the alarm you were expecting to wake up to.
Your eyes keep coming in and out of focus and you decide after filling out the date and time of the report, to place the pen back in the cup at the top of your desk. There was no point in filling out the form if you could barely concentrate. Elbows propped on the desk you drop your head in your hands and feel your fingers drag along your face. Peeking through your hand to check the time on the desktop, you bite back a groan seeing that it’s not even noon. It’s been the longest day of the year so far and it’s only 11:52.
You move to pull open the bottom filling cabinet. You might as well try to get in contact with the parents to set up the conference. Looking through the letter dividers, you find Damian’s first and flip it open. You read through some pages before finding the contacts. Scanning through them you notice there’s a father, a legal guardian, some brothers, but no mother. Damian had told you some stories of his mom, and you assumed she was still present in his life, but that didn’t seem to be the case anymore. You had never read through the school ordered file before, you usually never did. There was more to a student than what Gotham Academy records had to say, but this did help piece a fraction of the Damian Wayne puzzle together. You start going down the line of contacts for Damian, to make the first call.
You pull the office phone that lies on your desk closer to you and dial nine to get an outside line. The first number you dial is the phone number that belongs to his father, Bruce Wayne. You’re hunched over your desk on the phone praying he doesn’t pick up. You’ve had the luxury of speaking to him once before when Damian won an award for his essay on animal rights and it was nothing short of awkward. Whether they realize it or not, Bruce and Damian are very similar. The press liked to paint Bruce Wayne as a reckless, playboy, billionaire, and maybe it was because you are his son’s teacher, but he was nothing like that.
Speaking to him felt like pulling teeth, it was so uncomfortable. He stood tall and remained quiet the whole night. Barely saying more than three-word sentences. You’re sure that once you can have a good conversation with him that he’s good company, but this wasn’t going to be the type of conversation you were hoping for.
By some miracle, it seems that someone was listening to your prayers today and Mr. Wayne did not pick up the phone, you let out a breath of relief when the voicemail recording begun playing in your ear. So, you moved to the next contact, Alfred Pennyworth.
He was one of Damian’s other legal guardians, but you’d never met him or heard of him. And apparently, the universe wanted to keep it that way because Mr. Pennyworth doesn’t pick up his phone either.
Does anyone in this family answer the phone?
You try to call the third contact listed on Damian’s information sheet and freeze, staring at the name of his eldest brother.
There’s no way.
It couldn’t be.
Richard’s a pretty common name, right? And so is Grayson.
Because there’s no fucking way that your Richard Grayson is Damian’s older brother.
He can’t be.
You immediately regret cashing in your prayer for the day, you would have a million conversations with Bruce Wayne if it meant you didn’t have to make this phone call. You weren’t sure how many Richard Graysons there were in the tristate area, but you knew one, and with your luck he would be the one on the other end of the line. You avoided thinking about the way your brain was engraving the phone number to memory; while your fingers cautiously pressed the numbers that created a portal into the years of your life you tried to scrub away in the shower.
Of course, he had to be the person in the family to pick up the phone. Tears well up in your eyes instantly recognizing his voice. How could you not? You used to drift off into sleep while it whispered sweet nothings in your ear every night.
“Hello, this is Richard Grayson correct?” You slap your forehead, fuming that fate has decided to drag this man back into your life after it cost you everything to remove him.
“Yes,” He confirms and you fight every urge in your body to hang up on him. “And who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”
“Hi, I’m Damian’s English Literature teacher at Gotham Academy.” You do everything to avoid saying your name. “I am trying to contact one of his guardians and neither of the others listed have answered. Do you have a moment?”
He pauses for a brief moment, and you wish the ground would swallow you whole at your desk. Holding the office phone against your ear, you drop your forehead to the cold surface of the worn desk and close your eyes. During the short silence you begin to contemplate what you’re doing with your life.
“Yeah, I do, just give me a second.” There’s muffled speaking while he excuses himself from a conversation. “Um- out of curiosity.” The color drains from your face at those words, begging to any god or star in the sky listening that he doesn’t recognize you. “Who are the other contacts listed?”
“Oh yes-” You sit up catching your breath, this was a question you would answer gladly. Looking back at the paper to list off, “I have a Bruce Wayne and an Alfred Pennyworth as his father and legal guardian.”
“Ahhh, yeah. That checks out. They’re… away at the moment. I’ve been taking care of the rascal by myself.” He sighs in a way that indicates taking care of Damian Wayne was a full-time job. “Anyway, what did the little monster do now?” He sounds so casual almost as if he’s kicked back on a desk chair pushed back to the point it’s about to tip over.
You squeeze your eyes shut as tight as they physically can, grateful no one else is in the room. This conversation, his voice, him- it’s bringing too many memories back. Flashbacks of a life you tried to forget. Flashbacks of a life you buried when you left Blüdhaven.
“Damian got into a physical altercation with another student today in my class” there’s a slight pause in between each word while you choose your words carefully, since it technically wasn’t a fight. “It’s Academy policy that I have to meet with the student responsible for beginning the physical altercation’s guardian to discuss his behavior. Since Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth were not available at the moment, I would have to set up a time to meet with you.” The speech comes out robotic, making this call more than enough times in your career here to last you a lifetime. “Unless you can get in touch with Mr. Wayne or Mr. Pennyworth, we can set up a time with them instead?”
You bite your fist struggling to not sound too hopeful with your pathetic attempt of finding an out. This would be a really big fat “fuck you” from the universe, having to hold this meeting with him. You could have been struck with any other typical Gotham luck: you could’ve gotten robbed, kidnapped by Poison Ivy, held at gun point, but no. You had to have a conversation with the man you moved cities to get away from.
“No, I can come to the meeting!” He sounds way too enthusiastic about this, especially considering you just told him that his little brother decked someone. “I can be there around three-thirty today if that works? That’s when school usually gets out right?”
“Yup!” You sounded too perky for your liking. “That works for me, I’ll jot it down in my calendar.”
“Perfect see you then!”
“See you then Mr. Grayson.”
You hang up the phone rougher than the headmaster would probably like, but screw that. It’s his policy that’s making you meet with the man who taught you that heartbreak could make you physically ill.
You spend the rest of your free period dreading this meeting that you forget to fill out the witness report and talk to Sarah. You usually left Jordan’s parents to the Dean or Headmaster because they were such important donors. It was also his fifth strike in the month which meant they would have to deal with it anyway. You end up handling everything during your lunch, one of the firsts you’ve spent alone. The boys were both in lunch detention which meant the little Wayne would not be joining you today.
Damian usually spent his lunches with you because he didn’t like any of the kids in his classes. He was reserved, never spoke much with anyone. Over the course of the year, he slowly started speaking to you more, opening up. You let him tell you what he was comfortable sharing, making sure to not pry with him. On days he didn’t feel like speaking during lunch, you would pull the screen down and put on a nature documentary that you knew he would enjoy. It was a little thing you would do to let him relax, and he’d never tell you how that made your classroom feel more like home than the manor did some days.
After deciding you would talk to Sarah tomorrow to ask her about what happened, and walking to the office to submit the witness report to Nancy, you make it back to the quiet corner of school where your classroom lies. When the door shuts behind you, you slide down to the cold floor and stare at the tile lined ceiling.
You’re sure that somewhere the hands of fate are laughing at you, puppeteering this cruel plot. That just when you had barred Richard Grayson from your mind, he had to make an infamous comeback.
The bell rings which brings the lunch period to a close, along with your pity party. You stand and brush off your clothes with a deep breath and plaster the wide teacher smile you mastered in all those volunteer hours during undergrad.
When the students start filing into your classroom, you throw yourself into your lesson about the girl who left everyone she loved and knew behind to start the life she wanted for herself. Your students would never know that you chose this book every year because you saw more of yourself in her than you cared to admit.
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03:27 p.m.
This is the only time it would’ve been convenient for you to have a villain roaming around destroying Gotham, and of course it doesn’t happen. The Joker must have some sick sense of humor, because not even the devil could construct this type of Hell you found yourself in.
Damian is sitting at desk in front of you, in the scary statue-like way he does when you know he’s had a bad day. You keep bouncing your foot and your heels are clinking on the floor while staring out the window.
Why did it have to be Dick?
“I’m sorry that you had to stay after hours for me.” Damian whispers into the void of the classroom.
“What?” You turn to look at the boy genuinely confused. He’s looking at the desk purposefully avoiding your gaze.
“I told you earlier that I wasn’t sorry for hitting Jordan and I’m not. But you are tapping your leg impatiently on the floor, indicating that you want this to be over, and that is my fault. It is my fault that you are here this late.” He pauses and looks up to meet your eyes, and you see a slight crease in between his brows, and it hits you.
He thinks you’re upset with him.
“For that, I am sorry.” He confirms.
“Oh Damian,” You stand from your desk and make your way to crouch in front of his. “I’m not upset with you.”
“You’re not?” He looks cautious, as if he’s being lured into a trap. The doubtful look on his face pulls at your heartstrings.
“No, what Jordan said and did was wrong and while I can’t condone physical violence as your teacher,” you pause with a wicked glint in your eye. “I can tell you that he had it coming.”
When he internalizes your words and the hidden message in it, he smirks. This poor boy had spent all day thinking you were upset with him, that’s why he looked nervous in the office. Behind that mature attitude he had, he was still just a ten-year-old boy at the end of the day. So, when he smirks at you, you made sure to smile back. You smile back letting him know your room would always be open for lunch.
You stand back up letting the unsaid hang in the air and turn to walk back to your desk and before you can sit down, the door to your classroom swings wide open and there he is.
Your ex-boyfriend.
With a bouquet of flowers in hand.
The same bouquet he bought you the first time he took you to dinner.
The breath traveling out of your nose gets caught in your nostrils when your eyes land on him. He’s as devastatingly handsome as the day you left him. You tried to tell yourself his beauty would fade with time, the way every guy does when you break up with them. But no, like some cruel twist of luck, he was beautiful. The unkept raven black hair with the lightening blue eyes you spent hours staring into, took you right back to all the nights you tried to forget from college.
“Why did you bring flowers Grayson?” The catalyst for this meeting asks disgusted from his spot at the desk.
“I always bring flowers on a first date!” He responds with the boyish charm that made you fall in love with him at nineteen.
“This isn’t our first date.” You look at him through the narrow slits of your eyes.
You were going to have to start giving yourself more credit. On the inside you were nothing but an anxious bundle of nerves, but you were doing pretty good at not revealing it. You had his attitude to thank for that. Being annoyed at Dick was easy, almost as easy as loving him.
“Well, I know that sweetheart,” You flinch at the old pet name. “But it’s our first date in a while.”
“Dick, this isn’t a date.” You snap at him.
He doesn’t get to do that. Not now. Not after everything.
“Whatever you say Teach.” He gives you a playful look that almost undoes you on the spot. Trying to keep your cool, you glance down at the shell-shocked little boy that followed both of you with the same intensity that some would watch a Wimbledon match. Hie eyebrows looked just about ready to fly off his face while his left nostril was scrunched up, connecting the dots that there may be some history here.
“Damian sweetie,” you try to regain control of the situation. “Can you wait outside while I talk to your brother for moment? I’ll call you back inside in a couple minutes.”
“Only a couple?” He asks with only one eyebrow raised now.
“Yes, only a couple.” You confirm.
“Okay.” He nods and walks slowly, still glancing suspiciously between you and Dick while stepping out.
When the door shuts behind him you let out a breath and shift your eyes to Dick. Looking at him was almost the same as looking at the sun, it was a sweet temptation that once satisfied, burned within seconds. You move your gaze to the flowers shifting your position to lean against your desk. It felt safer than looking right at him.
“When did you realize it was me?” You ask him, addressing the elephant in the room. The faster you got this over with, the faster you could continue with the conference and go home.
“Come on,” He scoffs, “You can’t really think I didn’t recognize your voice from the second you said my name.”
You meet his eyes abashed, ignoring the thunderous ache in your chest that his striking blue irises brought upon you. “Dick that was like the first thing I said!”
“Yeah, I know.” He shrugs his shoulders in a way that expresses it should’ve been obvious he knew it was you. That it would be crazy if he didn’t recognize you from a phone call where you didn’t even say your name.
You pinch the bridge of your nose trying to ground yourself with the quick burst of pain, coming to the conclusion that Dick Grayson was going to haunt you for the rest of your life.
“So, when did you get this gig?” He looks around waving the flowers. “I thought you were still in Blüdhaven-”
“No.” You cut him off so simply that he stops dead in his tracks. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to ask me about my life. You don’t get to know anything anymore. Not after everything.”
He looks taken aback and a sprinkle of defensiveness pools in his posture when he straightens, “Do I need to remind you that you were the one that ended it?”
You square your shoulders pushing off the desk and narrow your eyes again, “Do I need to remind you why?”
He sighs your name in a broken plea. And just like that, you’re taken back to the run-down college apartment all those years ago where your heart shattered into a million pieces.
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It was your two-year anniversary with Dick. Money was a little tight, so you agreed to have a small dinner at his place. You usually hung out at your apartment and preferred to cook there, but he had just fostered Haley. He hadn’t spent a night away from her yet and was nervous about leaving her alone for too long.
The little diva was making figure eights between your legs while you cooked dinner and prepped the key lime pie you were going to make for desert. She had almost tripped you three times already, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to scold her when she looked at you. She had mastered those puppy eyes that turned you into mush. She looked so happy when you shifted your attention to her, that you forgot to reprimand her and tossed some food into her mouth instead.
Turning back to the electric stove you turn the knob of the back left burner to high. There’s a rustling of keys and a smile creeps on your face that he’s finally home. Haley stops pacing in between your legs and dashes toward the door clawing at his door frame. Since moving in, Haley seemed to be on a personal mission in securing that your boyfriend does not get his security deposit back. You’d warned him about getting a dog in the apartment, but he brushed it off.
Dick finally manages to open the front door and Haley leaps at him, knocking the breath out of his lungs. He squats down to her level while she barks and licks his face. In the breaks of his laugh, he manages to get out an “I missed you too” and “easy girl” in an attempt to calm down the energetic puppy. After a minute of him petting her fur, she seems to be more relaxed while rolling over on the floor and he finally shifts his gaze to look up at you. He swears he fell in love all over again.
Your hair was pulled back into a bun that was falling apart around the hair tie, there were patches of flour on your cheek and forehead, you had an apron that he bought you for Christmas last year that had stains everywhere, and he doesn’t think he had ever seen a more gorgeous sight. There was something so magical in the domesticity of coming home to you and Haley. It was a type of love he never thought he’d get to experience again after his parents passed. A type of love he’d never had living with Bruce and Alfred.
He never considered himself a selfish person, until he met you. You were his full moon on a dark night. The elixir that brought him back to life every night when he lost his will on the streets. The princess he thought only existed in fairytales. He never wanted to share with anyone.
He had a habit of staring at you drinking in all your beauty at once, like it would be the last time he’d be lucky enough to lay his eyes on you. He soaked up everything you said, everything you did, every part of you, and he stored it deep in his heart. He worshipped you like you were the only god that mattered in this universe.
Dick truly believed the warmth in your eyes could melt all of the snow January brought to Blüdhaven. Stood in his kitchen with your arms crossed leaning against the counter, you had a smile he was convinced could bring world peace. He was a goner before you’d even said hi.
If you weren’t in college and he wasn’t lying to you about being a vigilante, he would’ve gotten down on one knee that night. He would’ve asked you to marry him. He would’ve made a fool of himself by writing you a sonnet declaring his love. He’d tell you how you restored his faith in the world, how you gave him something to fight for in the nights he put his life on the line, how you gave him something worth living for. He was so drunk in love he’d considered yelling how much he loved you form every rooftop in Blüdhaven.
He hadn’t told you about the double life he hid in the shadows. It ate at him every time you looked at him with narrowed eyes, knowing he was leaving something out of the stories he’d rehearsed. He never wanted to bring you into it. If you found out about him, you would never be safe again. He couldn’t do that to someone he loved, not after Jason. He prayed that you would give him more time, so he could figure out how to explain it all to you without outing Bruce. When you asked about the bruises and cuts, he’d brush it off and say he was clumsy or he pushed himself to hard at the gym. You weren’t convinced but you let it go, and he’d thank the stars for giving him an ounce of mercy.
“Hello, my love” his eyes were sparkling. “Dinner smells amazing.” He stood to his full length and walked over to you, while Haley was jumping and clawing at his jeans.
“Only the best for you.” It came out more sultry than you planned, but Dick seemed into it. He crossed the short space from the door to the kitchen and made his way toward you. He trapped you against the counter with his arms encaging you. Haley was still barking at both of your legs, but you tuned her out getting lost in each other’s presence. Dick always looked at you like it was the first time he had seen you. There was so much adoration in his eyes that you weren’t convinced you deserved.
A flush creeps onto your cheeks when he leans into you and stops a hair from your lips. You feel his breath on your face, and you can smell the cinnamon gum he had definitely been chewing on the drive over. The spark in the air is electric as the favorite part of your day approached. It was the same routine every night Dick came home, you had gotten used to it, but he had an addicting air to him you could never quit. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes, and you know it’s because he’s testing you. To see if you’ll break first and lean in, you always do.
After counting to fifteen you scoff and push off the counter into him. When your lips meet, you get your first breath of fresh air all day. Blüdhaven’s pollution evaporated when you shared a breath with Dick Grayson. The world melted away and you would die happy if the world came crashing down then. You’d never been kissed the way he had. He was soft and gentle, but desperate. He kissed you in a way that made you feel loved not lusted after. The spark lit on fire every time he touched you, the world had drenched you in gasoline and Dick was the match.
He pulls away too soon for your liking and his breath comes out heavy. He’s giving you that Dick Grayson grin that lights up the sky, and you notice his pupils are blown.
“I missed you today.” He tells you in a low voice that sends a shiver up your spine.
“I missed you too, Grayson.” His arms wrap around you and every threat the world had was nonexistent in his arms. He made you feel safe, at home, at peace with life. Nothing would hurt you in his arms.
He opens his mouth to say something, but you hear the water bubbling from the pot on the stove. You turn your head to see the water boiling and wordlessly break free from your favorite place on Earth. You grab the pasta you’d made from scratch on the counter and slowly drop it into the pot. You’re about halfway done with placing the pasta in the pot when you feel strong arms around your waist.
Apparently, Dick wasn’t satisfied with the kiss and was greedy for more. He hummed quietly in your ear when you told him you’d made crab ravioli for your anniversary. He littered kisses on your neck and shoulders. He held his lips against your skin for a second too long while taking you in. Your favorite place in the world was in his arms, and his was in the crook of your neck. His chin fits perfectly on your shoulder almost as if it was made for him. You felt the smile on your neck when you realized he finally felt like he belonged somewhere.
There had to be a god somewhere that knew the world was going to rip the carpet from your feet and gifted you this last bit of peace. When you finish with the pasta you wipe your hands on your apron and lean against him, your head falling on his chest. He flinches when your head falls back and lets go of you, sucking in a painful breath through his teeth.
Whipping your head around your eyes swim in worry. “What happened? Are you okay? Did I do something?”
He starts shaking his head trying to mask the pain with a smile while dropping his hand that clenched his shirt. “No, no, I’m fine. Sorry” He extended his arms out to you so he could hold you again.
You swat them away and your fingers hover over the wrinkles on his shirt where his hand previously was. “Take it off.”
“Jeez, take me to dinner first.” He tries to lighten the mood with a joke.
Your eyes were as hard as a diamond, and your jaw clenched. “Dick, I’m not playing. Take off the shirt.”
His hands hesitate at the hem of it. A flicker of anxiety he tries to hide behind another smile, but you know him too well for that to work.
“Darling, really. I’m oka-”
“Do I have to take it off for you?” He hears the seriousness when you cut him off and freezes. “Dick, you have all of three seconds to take the damn shirt off.”
Your eyes meet his and it couldn’t be more obvious how much he really doesn’t want to do this, but you’re tired. He comes back multiple times a week with bruises that are black and blue. He’s so sore that he can barely move. You tried asking questions, but he would always brush it off and say he got hurt at practice. He was a P.E. teacher at the high school nearby and the gymnastics coach. You knew there was more to the story, but you let it go, trusting that he’d tell you someday. But you couldn’t wait anymore, if he wasn’t ready after two years he’d never be. Your patience was stretched thin and your worry clouded your judgement.
He sees the relentlessness in your body language and sighs in defeat. His arms cross at the bottom of his shirt and pulls it off in one fluid motion. You could tell by the slight crease in his eyebrows; it was harder for him than he let off.
Your hand flies to your mouth in horror at the sight in front of you. There was a huge gash lining his chest from his left shoulder to the bottom of his right ribcage. He’s already gotten it checked out because it’s been cleaned out and there’s butterfly stitches all around it. You knew this was recent because he didn’t have this last night in bed and the bruises were still pink, not having enough time to fade to the inevitable purple.
“Dick…”
“It looks worse than it is, baby. I promise.”
“Worse than it is?!” He winces at the sudden raise of your voice. “Richard Grayson, you look like someone tried slicing you in half.”
His mouth is opening to make some pathetic excuse when you beat him to it.
“When- How did this happen?”
Behind his eyes you can see he’s fighting a battle with himself, debating what he should tell you. You stare at him, eyes wide waiting for an explanation on why he has gash the size of your arm across his chest.
“Sweetheart I-” he cuts himself short, just looking at you, helpless.
“Dick, tell me the truth.” Your voice is deadly. “All of it: the scars, the bruises, the pain, this- Where do they come from?”
He swallows a lump in his throat and looks around the empty apartment in hopes of a ghost coming to save him. The defeated expression you know too well from your previous fights is etched on his face when he meets your eyes.
“I- I can’t”
“What do you mean you can’t?” Your response is instant.
“I can’t tell you where I got them.”
“Why?” Betrayal flashes across your features and your shoulder square, defensive. “I’m your girlfriend, I’m not going to judge you. I’m here for you. I’ve always been. But I can’t be here for you if you don’t let me.”
He looks so distraught and for the first time in your life, you see tears lining Dick Grayson’s eyelids in frustration. Frustration you don’t know the source of. His mouth parts and shuts multiple times in the same minute, not being able to find an explanation that is both believable and will keep you safe.
“Dick, I need the truth.” There’s a finality in your voice that you hope doesn’t have to come into fruition. “You have to be honest with me, or-” you take a deep breath steadying yourself for what you hope is an empty threat. “Or I leave.”
“No- Please no. Don’t do this.” He crosses over to you in one step and grabs your biceps looking at you with nothing but pain reeking off his figure.
“Then don’t make me make that choice. I don’t want to, but I will.” You’re both crying now, a river of tears pooling at the floor beneath you that you would rather drown in than leave. You couldn’t imagine living a life without Dick Grayson, but you wouldn’t settle for less than the truth. You wouldn’t stay with half of a man.
“I can’t tell you.” It comes out in a whisper. He rests his forehead against yours, as if it’ll transfer the information he can’t spill from his lips. His eyes are shut, not being able to meet the inevitably of yours.
“Then, I can’t stay.” You close your eyes for one last moment against his forehead. Absorbing every last piece of the man you thought you’d marry.
It took everything in you to break free from him. You didn’t look at him when you turned back to the stove and turned it off. You didn’t turn to him when you took your apron off and hung it over the barstool under the counter. You didn’t turn to him when you grabbed your purse from the coffee table.
You pet Haley one last time with tears flowing freely form your eyes and kissed between her eyes. She licked your chin, happy that you had turned back to her, not knowing you weren’t coming back.
You stand back up and look at him one last time. Your heart crumbles when you meet his eyes and he makes one last pathetic attempt with an “I love you” from across the room.
“I love you too,” it comes out more pained than endearing. “But I love me more.”
And you opened the door to a life you’d never wanted to believe could exist. A life without Dick Grayson. You sobbed the whole way home, hating yourself for your standards.
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You shake your head at the memory and look back at him with eyes blazing. “No Dick. You lied to me. You lied to me for years.” The sentence comes out heavy, all those years of weekly therapy went to shit the moment he walked into this classroom, and you hate him for it. You hate that he still has this level of control over you. “I didn’t even know you had a brother, or that you were related to Bruce Wayne of all people?!” You throw your hands up in the air laughing to yourself. “You told me you were an orphan.”
“Well, if we are getting into the nitty gritty, I am technically still an orphan. I was never adopted. I’m still just Bruce’s ward.”
It takes all the self-restraint you have to not rip those flowers out of his hand and beat him over the head with them. You just stare at him, no words, no expression, just an empty stare. For the years you spent together it was one of the few things you’d learn that would unsettle him. Dick Grayson could not sit in silence.
Leaning into it, you begin to drown in each other’s existence. Everything you never said, everything he kept from you. Coming to the surface about to break free when he sighs and looks beyond you at your desk. He sees the book that you’re reading with the class and there’s a cautious smile on his face.
“The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle? Again?”
“Yeah, it’s a good book for the kids. I read it with all my classes.” There’s a twinge of insecurity in your tone. You sometimes forgot that he also kept those memories from your relationship, that you weren’t the only one burdened with reminders.
When you and Dick dated you read this book at least twice a year. It was your favorite book when you were younger. Your mom used to read a chapter every night before tucking you into bed. He had read it with you a couple of times when he realized how important this book was to you. And deep in your closet buried with your skeletons, there’s a shoe box full of memories that kept the annotated copy he wrote for you. It was the best present you had ever gotten and when you started throwing everything out, you couldn’t bring yourself to toss it.
“I guess some things never change.” He looks at you with the smile still painted on his face and no judgement in his tone.
He was dressed completely normal, but there were still remnants of your relationship in his clothing. He was wearing relaxed fit jeans which he only started buying when you two were dating because you told him you liked how they fit his ass. He wore a grey T-shirt that clung to his biceps a little tighter than you knew he considered comfortable because you told him once as a joke, you liked having his arm on display. And lastly, there was a silver chain that hung from his neck. He had both gold and silver, and preferred gold, but you told him one day that you thought the silver brought out the blue in his eyes and he never went back.
There was a lump in your throat you couldn’t swallow no matter how hard you tried. He looks frozen in a time where you truly believed that Dick Grayson would have done anything for you. Anything but tell you the truth.
I guess he was right, some things never change.
“Mhm.” Was the only sound you could manage when you look back at him.
“Listen, about everything that happe-” His eyes soften.
“Dick not right now. We’re at a parent-teacher conference and if I keep your brother outside any longer, he’s going to break down my door.” You see Damian’s eyes peeking through the skinny window of your classroom door and attempt to get this conversation back on track.
“Then when?” His eyes have a deep desire in them that roots you to the stone floor. You didn’t realize it but over the course of the conversation he had gotten closer to you, his fingers had made their way to your wrist. He wasn’t holding on tight, but you found yourself incapable of breaking free from his grasp. Your skin was ablaze at the light touch near your hand and you leaned into it, into him.
“I’m busy tonight but-” You faltered. You were not busy tonight. You had no plans, but this was too much for you today. This was as much of Richard Grayson you were willing to put yourself through at the moment.
“Tomorrow then?” He was on the verge of begging, you’re sure if you told him to get on his knees and ask, he would. “We can meet at the park. Around five?”
“Dick,” you sigh, “I’m not sure abo-”
“I’ll tell you everything- I’ll bring Haley.” He stumbles on his words that you almost didn’t understand him. It took you a second to remember that Haley is his pitbull and not some random girl he brought up for no reason.
Unfortunately, just like you knew everything that would undo Dick Grayson, he knew everything that undid you.
“Okay,” You resign “five it is.” You lie to yourself by claiming the only reason you agreed to this was for Haley, you missed going on walks with her and playing with her.
And Dick, for the first time in a couple of minutes let himself breathe. He was breathing as if his head had broken the surface after jumping face first into the deep end. His hand falls away to his side, hope radiating off his body.
Glancing back at the door you see a tuft of black hair that’s beginning to get restless. You move past your ex-boyfriend toward the door without another word of your plans, ignoring the way your wrist goes cold at the absence of his fingers. Your hand hesitates over the doorknob before letting Damian back inside.
What the hell did you just agree to?
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You glance down at your wrist while sitting on the bench.
04:58 p.m.
You got to the park ten minutes ago after sitting restlessly on your couch for an hour. You’d been anxious the whole day while at school and in your apartment. You couldn’t think of anything else. You couldn’t even get through the lesson today and just gave the kids a free day to work on anything they’d like. Your best friend had called you yesterday after work for a “catch up” call and you conveniently left out that you were meeting up with your ex-boyfriend.
After the breakup, his name was forbidden to speak around your friends and family. They hated him. Your mom flew up from where she retired in Florida to Blüdhaven the first weekend after the breakup, since you hadn’t left your bed in three days. Your best friend did the road trip from where she went to university in Central City the weekend after that.
If they found out that you had agreed to meet with the man who destroyed your whole outlook on life, they’d slap you into another dimension.
You stand up moving your purse to your shoulder getting ready to leave after concluding that this is an awful idea and you shouldn’t have agreed to this, when a familiar grey pitbull jumps at your hip with more force than you anticipated. She knocks you onto the dirt path of the park. You land in a side plank on your left forearm, so you can avoid hitting your head.
“Haley No-” The familiar voice comes a little too late.
You sit on the floor while she laps at your face and barks so loud you think you’re going to suffer from temporary hearing loss. She’s running circles around you and jumping over you in such a happy way that the innocence of the scene brings a smile to your face. She’d doubled in size since you last saw her as a baby. Your heart strings are being plucked like a guitar while she catches her breath, looking at you with those big blue eyes you’d missed.
You finally pull your eyes away from her and see… Nightwing?
You shake your head and stand up so fast you get a head rush. You stumble while balancing yourself, and the vigilante reaches out to help you stabilize.
“Hi, um, I’m sorry- I’m waiting for someone.” You rush out. You don’t know what you’re apologizing for, but you want him gone. If he was near, trouble was bound to find his way to him. You were already going to have to deal with Dick, you didn’t want to handle this too.
After living in Blüdhaven, you had become quite familiar with the vigilante. He had saved you a couple times on your late night walks back from the library. You’d almost gotten mugged like seven times in the years you lived there and he had shown up every time. He never stayed long but made sure you were safe before sending you on your way. You weren’t sure what he was doing in Gotham, but you didn’t really care.
“Darling,” he says quietly and your body freezes in recognition. “it’s me.”
Your jaw drops to hell.
You were going to kill him.
Dick Grayson was Nightwing.
You’re not sure how long you were standing there just staring at him when he laughs nervously.
“Please say something, I’m starting to freak out.” He scratches the back of neck, a nervous tick he hadn’t managed to outgrow, even after all the years you were separated.
You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. In through your nose and out through your mouth, just like your mom taught you. Then you did the only thing that made sense to you.
You back handed him as hard as you could.
“Okay” he groans rubbing his cheek. “I deserved that.”
“Oh, you most certainly did Richard. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Um-” Through the domino mask you can see his eyebrows rising to his hairline. His hand still cradling his cheek from the slight sting.
“What was so difficult of telling me about this all those years ago? Hm?” You feel the rage about bubbling over the cauldron you’d been stirring all day. You had tried to keep your emotions in check, taking deep breaths when they anxiety threatened to take over.
This being his big secret pissed you all the way off.
He slowly reaches for your arms after they started flailing while yelling at him. He holds them so gently, it doesn’t seem to fit the crime fighting persona in front of you. He looks scared that you’re going to strike him again, and you want to, but don’t. He guides you to the bench you were just on and takes a seat next to you. Haley jumps on your lap and you take the distraction for your hands, petting her back.
“Let me explain.” He says softly.
“Oh, I will, don’t worry. And this better be all off it, Grayson. The whole truth.”
He seems to find your exasperation at him funny, and he lets out a laugh. For a second, you think he’s genuinely laughing at this, at the pain that fucking suit caused you for years and then you see it in the way he cracks his knuckles.
He’s nervous. A nervous Dick was not a common sight, and you take another deep breath trying to calm down. Not only for your sake, but for his.
You look around and see that the park is deserted, and you realize you should probably stop referring to him by his full name. You had just revealed his secret identity multiple times in the past minute. Thankfully for both of you, you were positive the trees and flowers would keep his secret if you asked nicely.
You take yet another deep breath while it was his turn to look around at the park making sure no one else was listening in. And against your better judgement, you grab his hand. He stops looking around and turns to you. You keep your gaze on Haley petting her softly.
It was a small attempt at grounding him, a small comfort you would allow yourself. From the corner of your eye, you see him sit up little straighter, bracing himself. Then he starts talking.
Once he had started, he couldn’t stop. It all came pouring out. Some of it you knew, The circus, his family, the Flying Graysons. Then he got into how Bruce Wayne took him under his wing, literally, when his parents were killed. How he grew up as Robin, how Bruce was Batman. Spending his whole life hiding his secret identity. When he finally broke free from Bruce’s shadow, wanting to make a name for himself with the Titans and then in Blüdhaven. How he fought with Bruce over the years and was replaced as Robin by his adoptive brother, Jason Todd. How Jason died and why they never forgave themselves. How it scared him from ever potentially putting someone in that kind of danger.
“When you and I were together, I wasn’t talking to Bruce.” The earnest look in his eyes is almost too heavy for you to hold. “I didn’t know how to tell you without throwing him under the bus too. I couldn’t do that to him, no matter how upset I was with him. I also didn’t want to do that to you.”
He pauses and takes a couple of breaths. You hadn’t said anything to him while he laid himself bare for you. Just nodding and the occasional squeeze of his hand.
“I didn’t want to put you in a position of constant danger. You would be leveraged against me if any of my or Bruce’s enemies found out about you. I wanted to keep you a secret, to keep you safe. I know that’s not my choice to make for you, but I was scared, scared you’d get hurt, scared you’d leave me once you found out and-”
“Dick honey. You’re rambling.” You cut him off.
He sighs and drops his head to your shoulder. The smell of his shampoo almost suffocates you and your eyes well up. You had been biting back tears through the whole tragedy of his childhood, but the shampoo you used to wash your hair with on nights you ran out of yours is what pushed you to tears.
He feels the shake of your shoulder from crying and lifts his head and wipes the tears instantly. Haley had long fallen asleep on your lap, so you two hadn’t been interrupted by her barking for attention.
“Don’t cry, please. I promise I’m okay.” He tells you while his gloved fingers swipe tears from your cheeks.
You give him an incredulous look, “Dick you are many things, but okay is not one of them.”
He laughs, actually laughs. “I know, but I just don’t know what else to say.”
“You could apologize?” You suggest with a slight humor and slight truth in your tone.
He sighs and drops to the floor in front of you. He props himself up in between your legs, on his knees. The sun has long been set, and you’re thankful for it. If someone walked by and saw Nightwing kneeling in front of you at a park, you weren’t sure you could explain it. He takes both of your hands in his and holds them against his chest.
“I am sorry for lying to you. I am sorry for not telling you sooner. I am sorry for causing you all this heart ache. I don’t want you to think that my suffering takes away from yours. I have spent every moment in the wake of this relationship mourning you. I will always love you and that will never change. I thought about you every day and every night. If you’d give me the chance to prove myself, I’d like to try again.”
Your brain shuts down. You try to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. Dick doesn’t let you get a word in regardless of what you wanted to say.
“I’ll be honest, I’ll go to therapy, I’ll introduce you to my family, I’ll take you on first dates. We can take it slow, start over, do it from scratch. I’ll do it all again, better this time. I’d do it all in every lifetime if it meant I got to spend this one with you.”
You’re still speechless but you try to focus on his words, repeating them felt easier than making up your own sentence.
“We can take it slow? Start over?” You ask hesitantly.
“Yes, whatever you want, however you want.” He nods his head, confirming he’d do anything for you.
You sit on the bench and contemplate what this will do. What it would mean to get tangled up with Richard Grayson again. Your therapist would kill you for one, but it might be worth it. A part of you hated how weak you were against him, how he could turn up and you’d give everything up for him. Even when he broke your heart, he still managed to be the reason it was still beating. After years being tortured with the ghost of him, this was a very bad idea. But sometimes, all a girl needed was a really bad idea.
“Okay.” You exhale. “We can try again,” His eyes widen under the mask. “But you get one chance. That’s it. If you screw this one up, there’s not another one.”
Dick starts crying and drops his head onto Haley’s back in relief. He couldn’t believe his efforts weren’t in vain. That you would be willing to try again with him. He knew you weren’t lying, that this was his last chance to get it right. He wouldn’t mess it up this time, he wouldn’t let himself even entertain the idea of fucking up. He knew life with you and without you and he would do everything in his power not to relive those pain ridden years again.
So, when he looks up at you, he sees the girl he fell in love with all those years ago for the first time. Her guard was still up, and her eyes weren’t trusting yet, but it was something along the lines of it. Hope that they could eventually make it work. Hope that their paths crossed for the final time and they’d walk the rest of this life together.
You brought your forehead against his and his hands found their place in your hair. He steals the breath straight from your lungs and you wouldn’t admit it, but you’d suffocate on the spot if it meant your dying moments were with Dick. You sit in that position leaning against him for a couple minutes with tears flowing, repeating sweet nothings to each other.
And when he kisses you in that devastating way that only Dick Grayson does, you can finally breathe again.
SUMMARY: Dick Grayson—acrobat, vigilante, master of grace—manages to break his nose on your bedframe in his eagerness to fuck you.
WARNINGS: established relationship, sexually suggestive content, horny couple and horny ramblings, wandering hands, injury, blood
WORD COUNT: 3.2k
READ ON AO3
Your entire body is humming.
Dick's fingers are interlaced with yours and your skin feels like fire— a steady insistent heat that has now settled low in your stomach. You're floating as you enter your building's elevator, untethered from gravity, from sense, from anything that isn't the boy pulling you inside.
Your fingers separate as his hands find your waist, and he presses closer, closer, until there's no space left between you at all. His mouth finds yours immediately.
It's giggly and breathless and imperfect, more sensation than technique. Your fingers tangle in his hair as you smile against his mouth, and you feel his answering grin, the slight scrape of teeth against your bottom lip that makes your stomach flip.
Dick's reaches blindly for the door close button, unwilling to break your frantic kissing, and you're about to dissolve into him completely when—
"Wait! Hold the elevator, please!"
Dick tenses, his movement uncertain as he pulls away from your embrace. His gaze flickers from you to the panel of buttons, and there' a split second where you watch him weigh his options— a specific brand of mischief dancing at the corners of his mouth.
You know exactly which button he's considering.
"Dick," you warn, pushing lightly at his chest.
You'd be more inclined to indulge in your more selfish tendencies if your building’s elevator wasn't notoriously hard to catch. It would be downright cruel to ignore the plead.
Dick sighs, but he's already reaching for the door open button. "I know, I know."
And even as he steps back with exaggerated reluctance, you know the protest is all performance. He would've held the door anyway. You find the act overwhelmingly endearing— the pretense of being dragged into doing the right thing when kindness is his baseline.
Dick manages to steal one more kiss before the stranger rushes in, smoothing his hair as he stands straight.
"Thank you so, so much," they say and you smile, nodding, unable to give them any real attention at all. You're trying your best to look like a normal person who definitely wasn't just seconds away from doing something extremely inadvisable in a semi-public space.
You and Dick stand side by side now, and your hands are next to each other but no longer touching. A careful inch of space that feels infinitely charged. You're so aware of his presence that it borders on painful.
A sense of giddiness sings through your bloodstream, and your cheeks are beginning to ache from the effort of containing your smile. The ghost of his mouth is burning against your lips. You can still taste him perfectly.
But despite practically inhaling him a few moments prior, you can't bring yourself to look at him now. Can't bring yourself to glance sideways because you know that if you do, you'll combust. You'll reach for him. You'll forget entirely about the stranger politely looking at their phone.
You watch the numbers climb as the elevator continues its descent.
3... 4... 5...
In a few short minutes, Dick's mouth will be on you again. The thought makes heat pool low in your belly.
You bounce slightly on your heels, restless, trying to channel this energy somewhere that isn't directly into Dick Grayson's orbit.
His hand swings next to yours. You could easily interlace your fingers, fall into that natural pattern you've worn into your lives. But Dick hasn't reached for you yet—something he does instinctively. It makes you wonder if he's basking in this too. This strange secrecy of domesticity. A performance of restraint for sixty seconds.
You shift slightly, moving your arm until you can feel his fingers next to yours. Your chest tightens as you risk a glance his way.
He's already looking at you. A barely restrained grin pulls at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes—god, his eyes—drop to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting yours again.
Desire coils low in your stomach. Tight and insistent and completely overwhelming.
His index finger extends slowly, dragging across the back of your hand. It's featherlight. More intimate than anything else that's happened tonight. Your breath catches and you tighten your lips, trying desperately to maintain composure.
But god, all you want to do is jump his bones.
You're staring at him now. Can't look away, really. His finger trails up your wrist, your forearm, drawing invisible patterns on your skin, and you feel it everywhere—in your chest, your throat, the base of your spine.
The elevator dings.
Your floor.
Dick's hand immediately tangles with yours, and he's moving, pulling you forward with barely contained urgency. "Have a good night!" he sings over his shoulder, all charm and ease.
You manage to parrot a breathless repetition of his words as you stumble after him, and you catch the stranger's knowing smirk as the doors close.
Then you're in the hallway and Dick is kissing you—unabashed, hungry, teenager-desperate. Your back hits the wall and you laugh against his mouth, hands in his hair, pulling him closer even as you're trying to move toward your apartment.
"C'mon," you breathe between kisses, but he's not listening, lips trailing down your jaw to your neck.
When you finally reach your door, you fumble for your keys with shaking hands. Dick is immediately behind you, his body pressed against your back, mouth finding your shoulder, your neck, anywhere there's exposed skin. His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, splaying against your stomach, and the heat of his palms against your bare skin makes you gasp.
"You're not helping," you say, trying for scolding but landing somewhere around breathless.
"That's because I'm not trying to help," he murmurs.
He kisses behind your ear, takes your earlobe between his teeth, and your whole body responds—arching back into him, your hand stilling on the doorknob.
"Dick..."
"Mmhmm?" His tongue traces the shell of your ear.
You manage to shove the door open.
Inside, everything happens in fragments. Kissing. His shirt coming off. Yours following. A trail of clothing leading to your bedroom. You're ahead of him, naked before he's managed his pants, and you settle on the bed, pushing yourself back until you're leaning on your hands.
The position is deliberate, calculated to drive him insane—back arched slightly, legs falling open just enough to be inviting, watching him through your lashes.
Dick pauses in the doorway, hands frozen on his belt buckle. His eyes drag over you hungrily. Everything in his body language screams that he wants to devour you, and the sight alone makes you feel bold— sexy. Unbelievably desirable.
And totally, completely, drenched.
"You just gonna stand there?" you ask, letting your voice drop lower. You put your weight on one hand, the other drifting down your stomach. "Should I start without you?"
That gets him moving. His eyes flash dark and he fumbles with his belt, yanking it free. "Don't you dare."
You smirk and let your hand drift even lower. "Or what?"
"Or I'll—" He's struggling with his button now, fingers clumsy with urgency. You bite your lip to keep from laughing. "Jesus, why are pants so—"
"Need help?"
The offer is innocent but your tone isn't.
"No, I just—" He gets the button open, shoves his pants down, and begins to kick his shoes off. "These fucking laces—"
You open your mouth to tease him when it happens.
His foot catches. His eyes widen. There's a split second where you both realize what's about to happen, where time seems to slow down enough for you to register the trajectory, and then—
The sickening crack of his face meeting your bedframe.
"Oh, fuck—" You're scrambling off the bed, dropping to your knees beside him. The carpet burns slightly against your bare skin. "Dick?"
Your hands hover over him, unsure where to touch. He groans—muffled, pained—and rolls onto his back. Blood is already streaming from his nose.
"Oh my god, are you okay?"
You automatically scan the scene even as your heart pounds: he's caught most of the blood with his hands cupped over his face, but some has escaped, decorating your rug in abstract, blooming shapes.
"No," he says, nasal and thick. "Definitely not okay."
You help him sit up, gentle hands on his shoulders, and he cradles his nose with both palms.
"And maybe my dignity," Dick groans faintly, "If you can find it anywhere."
Dick is sitting on the edge of the bed when you return, shirtless and hunched over slightly, one hand holding a wad of tissues to his nose.
You're wearing his shirt now, and you've pulled on a fresh pair of underwear. The ones from before were already soaked through before disaster struck—and you're trying very hard not to think about how this is absolutely not how the night was supposed to go.
The blood has soaked through the white fabric pressed to his face. The sight is jarring, even to your blood-seasoned eyes, but the speed of the spread doesn't raise any concerns. Just the normal profuse bleeding of a normal hurt nose. Dick seems more inconvenienced than pained.
He looks up at the sound of your footsteps and his shoulders relax, posture straightening slightly. His eyes catch on what you're carrying. He raises a brow.
"...Pizza rolls?"
You tilt the bag, examining it in all its frozen glory, and bite back a laugh as you wrap it in a thin cloth. "What? I don't have an ice machine, remember?"
The corner of Dick's mouth curves upward, the expression slightly obstructed by the blood-stained tissue. "You bought some cold packs a week ago."
He's right. You’d bought them specifically for moments like these—the inevitable injuries that come with your lives, the sprains and bruises and apparently sex-related bloody noses.
"I know, but I keep forgetting to put them in the freezer," you admit with a sheepish shrug, walking closer. It's not your fault that your lives are so busy.
"I need to get you an ice maker, then," Dick says.
"For what?"
"Emergencies. Drinks."
You tilt your head. "And all of your future horny-fail wipe-outs?"
He tsks, shaking his head, but his eyes gleam with mirth even as he winces slightly at the movement. "Too soon, babe. Too soon."
You bite back a smile, the muscles in your cheeks aching from the effort, and close the distance between you, stopping just in front of where he sits. He pulls the tissue away from his face, examining it briefly.
"Still bleeding?" you ask.
Dick shakes his head carefully. "Nope, thank god."
He tosses the wad of tissue onto the bedside table. It lands half on the wood, half on his phone screen, and you grimace slightly at the mess but don't comment. You've both dealt with worse. Blood and bodily fluids stopped being squeamish territory a long time ago.
You take in the sight of him—hair disheveled, nose already swelling, dried blood crusted at his nostrils and smeared across his fingers. Still as handsome as ever.
He reaches out and wraps a hand around one of your wrists, tugging gently. When you resist, he makes a sound of complaint—somewhere between a whine and a grumble, like an upset dog who's been denied his favorite spot on the couch.
He tugs again. "Come closer."
"No."
"Why nooot?"
"Because you need to keep your head level."
"My head is level."
"It won't be if I'm closer." You raise an eyebrow, waiting for protest.
Dick's eyes gleam with something mischievous. He won't even bother lying. You both know he'll tilt his head back to look at you the second you got close enough, injury be damned.
"Please?" He tugs again, more insistent, and you feel your resolve cracking. "I'm injured and in need of comfort."
He wins—as he always does—and you let him pull you close enough that he can wrap his hands around the backs of your thighs. His palms are warm through the fabric of his shirt, fingers spreading possessively, and something in your chest goes soft.
You raise the bag of pizza rolls, holding it carefully as you try to find the best angle to press it against his swollen nose.
Catching his expression, you pause.
He's looking at the bag again, nose wrinkling slightly before he winces at the motion. "And you're sure that's all we have?"
"Yes."
"One hundred percent?"
"What's the difference? It's frozen and big."
He doesn't say anything, and you know he's just drawing it out for the fun of it. You roll your eyes affectionately. "You expect me to pull a bag of ice from my ass, or something?"
He laughs, the sound immediately followed by a wince. "Ow. Don't make me laugh." But he's grinning despite the pain. "Wouldn't that'd be a neat trick, though."
You're so over him right now. Affectionately, but still. You narrow your eyes. "Do you want the pizza rolls or not? They're getting soggy."
A dramatic sigh leaves him. "Fine. Roll me."
His stupid words make you snort—an inelegant sound you'd be embarrassed about if it were anyone else. "You're such a loser. C'mere."
Thumb pressed gently against his chin, you tilt his head downward into a better position. Your other hand brings the bag to rest against the bridge of his nose.
Dick is still looking at you through his lashes. You can only imagine the slight strain there must be in his eyes to look so directly upward despite the downward tilt of his head. But he seems determined to keep his gaze on your face, unwilling to look away even for comfort.
Something in your chest shimmers with warmth.
You ignore his gaze on purpose, wanting to bask in it a little longer—the idea that the man you're in love with enjoys simply gazing at you, even when there are more important matters at hand.
But you start to feel too exposed, almost nervous under the weight of his attention. "You're staring at me."
"Can't help it," he murmurs, running his hands up and down your thighs in slow, soothing strokes. "My pretty girlfriend—being so sweet to me, using her pizza rolls."
You shake your head, but his words sink into your bloodstream anyway, warming you from the inside out. This is different from the heat earlier—less urgent, more tender.
"And the bag is unopened," you say softly, playing up the tragedy. "So I'm basically sacrificing them for you."
"Oh, sacrificing, huh?" There's amusement in his voice. "Liar. You're just gonna put them back in the freezer."
"Uh, no. They're gonna be all soggy and wet, so they won't freeze the same again. I'll have to throw them away."
You're being serious, and from his expression, he knows it. He's amused all the same.
"Well, I'm so sorry for inconveniencing you with my bleeding nose."
"Apology accepted." You grin, unable to help yourself.
You gently lift the bag to peer at his nose, the skin now slightly pink from the cold. Your free hand cups his cheek, thumb dragging along the line of his cheekbone.
"It's totally broken, isn't it?"
He tightens his mouth and gives a small nod. "Oh yeah, no question."
You frown, something sweet and aching blooming in your chest. Poor sweet, pathetic man. You press the bag back against his nose and Dick grimaces as a few rolls shift, redistributing their weight.
"Sorry," you say softly. "I think they're thawing."
"Hmm. You think?" There's no real bite to it, just teasing.
You roll your eyes affectionately, applying slight pressure to hold the bag steady. It shifts again—barely, a minuscule movement—and Dick lets out an exaggerated whimper.
"Ouch."
"Oh please, that didn't hurt. You're such a faker."
You've seen him take hits that would hospitalize a normal person. Watched him shrug off injuries that make your stomach turn. But here, now, with just the two of you, he turns into this—soft and needy and dramatic about the smallest discomforts.
You love it.
Dick grins, unapologetic, and reaches a hand to hold the bag against his nose. The other grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away from his cheek, and he guides it to his lips to press a soft kiss to your palm.
"Why are you being so sassy to me, hm?" you ask.
"Because I was so excited to fuck my beautiful girlfriend, and instead I broke my nose on her bedframe."
The words send heat curling through your stomach—a reminder of where this night was supposed to go. You laugh, opening your mouth to respond, when you find yourself thinking about how he'd bought the frame just last week.
He'd been very enthusiastic about having bedposts, for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with aesthetics and everything to do with other nights. Silk ties and murmured praise and—
"What is it?" Dick asks, watching your expression shift.
You shake your head, trying to dismiss it, but the image of him begins to replay in your mind. His widening eyes, the split second of realization, the sound of impact. Fighting back your laugher, you attempt to distract yourself by running your fingers through his hair.
His face falls, unamused. "You're thinking about me falling, aren't you?"
Your chest is tight with barely contained glee, eyes almost prickling with tears. "I'm sorry! It was just so funny."
"I'm glad my pain amuses you," he mutters, but he's biting back a smile.
The laughter breaks free now, spilling out of you. "And you, of all people. So much for those quick, agile reflexes, huh?"
Dick pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, looking away as he shakes his head. "You're so mean, you know that? A real bully, laughing in the face of a wounded man."
"You love me."
"I love you," he agrees without hesitation, and your laugh turns soft.
Your fingers are still in his hair, gentle and soothing, and his eyes have gone half-lidded from the attention.
"Are you sure you don't want to go to the doctor?" you ask quietly.
"I've had worse."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I'm giving."
He removes the bag from his nose, setting it on the covers beside him, and you immediately start to protest. "You should—"
"C'mere," he says, hands reaching for your hips, pulling you forward.
You resist, hands now bracing against his shoulders. "Dick, you're hurt—"
"Yeah, my nose." He looks almost offended that you're protesting. "Not my lap. Sit."
There's something so affectionate in his insistence, so earnest in his need to have you close, that you let him pull you down, settling carefully onto his thighs as his arms immediately wrap around your waist.
He tries to bury his face against your neck—instinct, muscle memory—but pulls back with a wince when his nose makes contact with your skin.
"Okay, maybe not that," he mutters, and you chuckle softly, fingers carding through his hair once more.
"Yeah, maybe not."
You sit like that for a moment, in the quiet of your bedroom, Dick's hands tracing patterns on your lower back through his shirt. The pizza rolls slowly thaw beside you.
"You know," Dick says eventually, his voice slightly muffled. "I still think that bedframe was a good investment."
You grin and begin to imagine all the ways you can use it.
AUTHORS NOTE: this started off as smut but then i was like lol imagine he tripped and then i was sucked in my by love for silly, goofy couples. hes just so boyfriend to me asdfgj
as always, thank you for reading and please lmk if you enjoyed <3 i operate entirely on positive reinforcement like a dog with treats hehehe
Summary: The kids discover Bruce once almost dated the reader (a family friend), and decide to set them up again. Their methods are absurdly over-the-top: fake dinner invites, “accidental” stakeouts, and staged emergencies. Alfred just quietly enables them.
requests are open
dividers by @cafekitsune
It started, as most things in Wayne Manor did, with someone finding something they weren't supposed to.
"Oh my GOD."
Dick looked up from his phone to find Tim staring at a photo in the Manor's library, his expression somewhere between delighted and scandalized.
"What?"
"Look at this." Tim held up a framed photograph that had been hidden behind several books. It showed a much younger Bruce Wayne, pre-Batman, maybe early twenties, with his arm around someone at what looked like a gala. He was smiling. Actually, genuinely smiling.
"Is that... "
"That's them," Tim said. "Bruce's friend. The one who visits sometimes."
Dick took the photo. Bruce wasn't just smiling. He was looking at you like you'd hung the moon and personally appointed him astronomer. "Holy shit. Bruce had a game?"
"Had been the operative word." Tim pulled out his phone and started typing. "Emergency meeting. My room. Twenty minutes."
"For what?"
"We're fixing Bruce's love life."
Twenty minutes later, Dick, Tim, Jason (who'd come in through the window), Damian (who'd been dragged from the Cave), and Duke (who'd brought popcorn) were assembled.
"This is ridiculous," Damian said. "Father's personal life is none of our concern."
"It is when he's been pining for like twenty years," Tim said, pulling up a presentation on his laptop. Yes, he'd made a presentation. "Observe."
The first slide was titled "BRUCE WAYNE: A ROMANTIC TRAGEDY."
Jason snorted. "You made a PowerPoint?"
"I made a case file." Tim clicked to the next slide, which showed a timeline. "They met in college. Dated for approximately two years. Broke up right before Bruce left for his training... "
"Emotional avoidance as self-protection," Dick noted. "Classic Bruce."
"... and they've maintained a friendship for over two decades despite obvious lingering feelings. Exhibit A." Tim pulled up security footage from last month showing you and Bruce in the Manor's garden, talking and laughing. "Notice the body language. The sustained eye contact. The way he actually smiles... "
"Father smiles," Damian protested weakly.
"Not like that," all four of his brothers said in unison.
Duke raised his hand. "So what's the plan?"
"We get them back together."
"Absolutely not." Damian crossed his arms. "We are not meddling in... "
"There's a 73% chance Bruce dies alone, surrounded only by case files and bats," Tim said.
"...I'm listening."
Phase One: Intelligence Gathering
"Master Dick," Alfred said, setting down tea in the Batcave. "Might I ask why you're reviewing security footage from five years ago?"
"Research." Dick didn't look up from the screen showing you and Bruce at a charity gala, dancing and talking like the rest of the world had ceased to exist. "Alfred, be honest. Does Bruce still have feelings for them?"
Alfred was quiet for a moment. "Master Bruce's feelings are his own to discuss."
"That's a yes."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't deny it." Dick turned around. "What happened? Why did they break up?"
Alfred sighed, setting down his tray. "Master Bruce was... younger. More afraid. He'd just begun to understand what he wanted to do with his life, what he needed to become. He believed, incorrectly, in my opinion, that he couldn't be Batman and be with someone he loved."
"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."
"Yes, well. Master Bruce has always had a remarkable talent for self-sabotage." Alfred moved toward the stairs, then paused. "If hypothetically, someone were planning to remind Master Bruce what he's been missing... I would recommend Thursday evening. He's invited them to dinner."
"Alfred, are you helping us?"
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Master Dick." But there was a smile in his voice.
Phase Two: The Dinner Setup
Thursday arrived. You showed up at the Manor at seven, dressed nicely but confused.
"Bruce said it was just a casual dinner," you said as Alfred took your coat.
"Ah. Master Bruce may have... misunderstood the nature of this evening."
"What do you... "
You walked into the dining room and stopped. The table was set for two, with candles, flowers, and what was definitely the fancy china.
Bruce appeared in a suit, a nice suit, not a business suit, and froze when he saw the setup.
"Alfred."
"Yes, Master Bruce?" Alfred's voice came from somewhere in the house, innocent as anything.
"Why does this look like... "
"A romantic dinner?" you supplied, trying not to laugh. "Bruce, did you accidentally ask me on a date?"
"No. Maybe. Alfred!" He was already loosening his tie, which you'd learned over the years was his nervous tell. "This was supposed to be just dinner. Regular dinner. Friend dinner."
From behind a door, Tim gave Jason a thumbs-up. Phase Two: Success.
"We could... still have a friend dinner?" you offered, but you were smiling. "The food smells amazing."
Bruce visibly relaxed. "Right. Yes. Just dinner. With a friend. Please ignore the... " he gestured helplessly at the romantic setup, "... everything."
Dinner was actually lovely. You and Bruce fell into easy conversation, talking about everything and nothing. From their hiding spot, the kids watched through the cracked door.
"They're perfect together," Duke whispered.
"This is taking too long," Jason muttered. "We need to escalate."
"Patience," Dick said. "Let them... "
Damian stood up and walked directly into the dining room.
"DAMIAN, NO... "
"Father, there's been an incident at the Gotham Museum. Possible break-in. Your immediate attention is required."
Bruce was already standing. "What kind of... "
"I'll handle it," you said quickly, also standing. "You stay, finish dinner... "
"No, I should... "
"Bruce. Sit. Eat Alfred's cooking. I've got this." You were already heading for the door. "Damian, brief me on the way."
After you left, Bruce sat back down slowly, looking at his half-eaten dinner.
"There is no incident at the museum, is there?" he said quietly.
From the hallway, Damian's voice: "I have no idea what you're referring to, Father."
Phase Three: The Stakeout
"I don't understand why we all need to be here," you said, perched on a rooftop in the Diamond District next to Batman and four Robins.
"Intelligence suggests a potential heist," Bruce said, not looking at you.
"Uh-huh. And you needed your entire team plus me for surveillance?"
"Better safe than sorry," Nightwing said cheerfully. He was way too cheerful.
What followed was possibly the most awkward stakeout in vigilante history. Red Hood kept making comments about "chemistry" and "unresolved tension." Robin was uncharacteristically quiet but kept maneuvering so you and Batman were standing close together. Red Robin had "accidentally" brought only one set of binoculars, which you and Bruce had to share.
"Your kids are not subtle," you murmured to Bruce.
"They're not trying to be." He sounded tired. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's gotten into them."
"Really? You don't?" You looked at him, studied the line of his jaw under the cowl. "Bruce, we need to talk about... "
"FIRE!" Signal shouted. "There's a fire at the, uh, the place! You two should check it out! Alone! Together!"
There was no fire.
There was, however, a very pointed conversation in the Batmobile afterward where Bruce demanded to know what was going on.
"We're helping," Tim said through the comm.
"Helping with what?"
"Your crippling inability to express emotions," Jason added.
"I'm going to ground all of you."
"You can't ground me, I don't even live here anymore."
Phase Four: The Intervention
It all came to a head the following Tuesday when you showed up at the Manor for a completely normal visit and found all four boys plus Duke sitting in the living room like an intervention.
"Okay, what's going on?"
"We need to talk about you and Bruce," Dick said.
"Excuse me?"
"You're in love with him," Tim said bluntly. "He's in love with you. You've both been dancing around it for literally decades. It's painful to watch."
You opened your mouth. Closed it. "I, that's not, we're friends."
"You look at him the way Alfred looks at perfectly organized tea services," Damian said.
"That's... actually really sweet, but... "
"And Father looks at you the way he looks at finally solved cases," Damian continued. "With satisfaction and longing and... "
"Okay, we're not unpacking Bruce's emotional connections to detective work right now," Dick interrupted. "The point is, you both clearly have feelings. Why aren't you together?"
You sat down slowly. "It's... complicated."
"Complicated how?" Duke asked gently.
"Bruce and I dated in college. It was serious. Really serious. And then he left to 'find himself'... " you made air quotes, "... and when he came back, he was different. Closed off. He said he couldn't be what I needed, that his life was too dangerous, too complicated."
"That's the dumbest... " Jason started.
"I know!" You ran a hand through your hair. "But I respected his choice. We stayed friends. And yes, I still have feelings, but Bruce made it clear that he chose his mission over... over us."
"That was before he had us," Dick said quietly. "Before he learned that he could have both. A mission and a family."
"You think he's changed?"
"We know he has," Tim said. "But he's still an idiot about his own feelings. Which is why we're intervening."
"By sabotaging our dinner and creating fake emergencies?"
"The emergencies weren't fake!" Damian protested. "They were... strategically exaggerated."
Despite yourself, you laughed. "You're all insane."
"We learned from the best," Jason said. "So what do you say? Give the old man another chance?"
"I don't know if... "
"What's going on here?"
Everyone turned. Bruce stood in the doorway in his workout clothes, sweaty and confused.
"Oh, good, you're here," Dick said. "Sit down. We're talking about your feelings."
"My what?"
"Your feelings. For them." Tim pointed at you. "And before you deny it, we've seen the photo from college, we've analyzed your body language, and Alfred confirmed it."
"Alfred did what?"
From the kitchen: "I merely provided context, Master Bruce!"
Bruce looked at you. You looked at him. The kids watched like this was the season finale of their favorite show.
"Can we talk?" Bruce said, finally. "Privately?"
"Please."
You ended up in Bruce's study, the door firmly closed on four, no, five- Duke had joined, eavesdropping vigilantes.
"I'm sorry," Bruce said immediately. "About them. About the dinners and the stakeouts and... "
"Bruce." You stepped closer. "Is it true?"
"Is what true?"
"Do you still have feelings for me?"
He was quiet for a long moment. "I never stopped."
Your heart did something complicated in your chest. "Then why... "
"Because I'm Batman." He said it like it explained everything. "My life is dangerous. The people I care about get hurt. I thought, I convinced myself that staying away from you romantically was protecting you."
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
"I'm getting that a lot lately." He almost smiled. "I was young and stupid and scared. And by the time I realized I'd made a mistake, we were friends, and I thought I'd lost my chance."
"Bruce." You took his hands. "I've been in your life for twenty years. I know about Batman. I've patched up your kids, I've helped with cases, I've been here for all of it. I'm already in danger just by knowing you. Being your friend or being your... something more doesn't change that."
"I know. I know that now. But I didn't want to be selfish... "
"It's not selfish to want to be happy." You squeezed his hands. "And for the record? I never moved on either. I dated other people, but no one was ever... you."
Bruce looked at you like he had in that old photo, like you were something precious and rare. "I don't deserve... "
"Stop. Don't finish that sentence." You stepped even closer. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to ask me out. Properly. And we're going to go on a date. A real one, not one orchestrated by your children. And we're going to figure this out together, because that's what we should have done twenty years ago."
"What if something happens? What if you get hurt because of me?"
"Then you'll save me. Or I'll save myself. Or one of your many children will save me. Bruce, you can't protect everyone from everything. You're allowed to have this."
He was quiet, and you could see him processing, recalibrating twenty years of self-imposed isolation.
"Dinner," he said finally. "Tomorrow night. Just us. I'll pick you up at seven."
"That sounds perfect."
"And no interference from... " he raised his voice, "... ANYONE LISTENING AT THE DOOR."
Scrambling sounds. A muffled "abort, abort!"
You laughed, and Bruce, actual Bruce, not Batman, not the mask, smiled at you.
"They mean well," you said.
"They're insufferable."
"They're your kids."
"Unfortunately."
You kissed his cheek, gentle and full of promise. "Seven o'clock. Don't be late."
"I'm never late."
"You're always late."
"That's Batman who's late. Bruce Wayne is very punctual."
"I'll believe it when I see it."
After you left, Bruce opened the study door to find all five of his children plus Alfred trying to look innocent.
"How much did you hear?"
"All of it," Jason said proudly. "You're welcome, by the way."
"I should ground all of you."
"But you won't," Dick said, grinning. "Because we were right and you know it."
"Master Bruce," Alfred said, stepping forward with a small smile. "For what it's worth, I'm very proud of you. It only took you two decades."
"Not you too, Alfred."
"Someone had to ensure you didn't die alone in this manor, surrounded only by case files and emotional repression."
"That's what I said!" Tim high-fived Alfred.
Bruce looked at his family, his ridiculous, meddling, loving family, and sighed.
"If this goes badly, I'm blaming all of you."
"It won't," Damian said with absolute certainty. "We're Waynes. We don't fail."
"Also, they're totally in love with you," Duke added. "Like, painfully obvious."
"Everyone out. Now."
As they filed out, laughing and high-fiving, Alfred lingered.
"The blue suit, Master Bruce. Wear the blue suit tomorrow."
"Alfred... "
"It brings out your eyes. Trust me."
After everyone left, Bruce sat at his desk and pulled out that old photo from college. You and him, young and happy and stupidly in love.
Maybe his kids were right.
Maybe he was allowed to have this.
The Next Night
Bruce showed up at your apartment at exactly 6:58 PM in a blue suit.
You opened the door, saw him standing there with flowers and that soft expression he only wore around people he truly cared about, and smiled.
"You're early."
"I'm on time."
"For you, that's early." You took the flowers. "Let me put these in water, and we can go."
The restaurant was perfect. The conversation was easy. And when Bruce reached across the table to take your hand, it felt like coming home.
Back at the Manor, five vigilantes and one butler watched the tracker they'd definitely-not-secretly placed on Bruce's car.
"They're still at dinner," Tim reported. "Two hours and counting."
"Think he's going to propose tonight?" Jason asked.
"Don't be ridiculous," Dick said. "He'll wait at least three dates."
"I give it one month before he's shopping for rings," Duke said.
"Two weeks," Damian countered.
Alfred just smiled and poured the tea.
"Ten pounds says they're engaged by Christmas," he said calmly.
Everyone stared at him.
"Alfred!" Dick said. "You can't bet on… okay, you're on. I say New Year's."
Synopsis: The Bat-family realizes that Dick may have finally found the love of his life, after all this time, after introducing so many girls to his family.
Dick Grayson.
A name that carried weight in Gotham's high society.
Why?
Simple. He was the first son of billionaire philanthropist Bruce Wayne—the adopted child of Gotham's most infamous playboy.
Bruce had never exactly been a family man, and he certainly wasn't known for settling down. At least, that's what the newspapers had been saying since the first time he stepped into the public eye.
Dick remembered watching him arrive at galas with a different woman every time.
At first, it confused him. It wasn't like his parents.
Bruce Wayne didn't have a great love story.
Dick never said anything about it. It wasn't really his business. After all, the closest thing he knew to love was the memory of his parents.
Mary Lloyd and John Grayson.
The way they'd fallen hopelessly in love despite coming from rival circus families within Haly's Circus.
It was a story they loved telling him, and he never got tired of hearing it, no matter how many times they repeated it.
Maybe it was childish curiosity.
Maybe he just wondered if one day he'd feel the same thing they always talked about with such happiness in their eyes.
When Dick turned fifteen, he realized getting a girlfriend wasn't exactly difficult.
Girls gave him Valentine's cards and boxes of chocolate. He accepted them all with the same polite smile.
Then, at sixteen, he met Liu.
The woman who manipulated him.
The woman who used him.
The woman he blamed for his commitment issues.
Because yes, Richard John Grayson was terrified of commitment.
Long-term relationships.
The routines that came with being part of a couple. And because of that, none of his relationships ever lasted.
Just a few names from a list his family knew all too well.
Sometimes, a quiet voice would whisper in the back of his mind.
Maybe you're like Bruce.
Maybe some people just aren't meant to be loved. So Dick did the only thing he knew how to do.
He ignored the ache in his chest and kept moving forward. Saying "I love you" had never been difficult for him.
Showing affection wasn't difficult either.
That was just who Dick Grayson was.
What was difficult was waking up next to the same girl more than twice.
The panic.
The suffocating feeling.
The fear. It always came back.
Everyone in the manor knew it.
Until one day, the girls stopped showing up.
"Maybe he just started seeing someone recently," Tim said, trying to be the voice of reason. "Give him time. He'll introduce her eventually."
Two months.
Three.
Four.
Eight.
Eight whole months passed without a single update about Dick's love life.
Naturally, the manor became suspicious.
Had they investigated?
Absolutely.
Bruce had even used the Batcomputer.
"Bruce, are you sure about this?" Tim asked for what felt like the tenth time.
"Of course he's sure. Just hurry up and find something," Jason said, bouncing his leg impatiently. "I know he's hiding something."
"I already told you, I hacked his phone. There's nothing there."
"That's exactly what's suspicious," Stephanie argued. "He hasn't talked to a single woman in months. Maybe his last relationship actually affected him."
Damian rolled his eyes.
"Please. He dated her for two days. He probably doesn't even remember her name."
The room turned toward him.
"How do you know that?"
Damian shrugged. "I asked."
"I think he's fine," Cass murmured.
"Master Bruce," Alfred interrupted as he entered the room. "I believe you should leave Master Dick alone."
"Unless that's exactly what he wants us to do!" Jason exclaimed. "What if it's not Dick? What if it's a shapeshifter pretending to be him?"
"I knew it," Stephanie added, pointing dramatically. "Aliens again!"
"That's ridiculous," Damian interrupted. "If it were an alien, I would've known already."
"Maybe you hacked the wrong phone."
Tim looked offended.
"Then you do it. Besides, it's impossible. Dick uses Wayne Enterprises software. The same security system as the Batcomputer."
Bruce remained silent, considering the situation.
Jason frowned. "He's got a point. Maybe he's using a second phone."
"Wait." Damian pointed at the screen. "What's that purchase?"
Tim squinted. "Custom mugs?"
Jason leaned back in his chair.
"Have you considered the possibility that he's gay?"
Nobody answered.
"Not that there's anything wrong with that," Jason added quickly. "I'm just saying."
"That's not the point," Stephanie said. "The point is he hasn't dated anyone in almost a year."
(...)
"What are you writing?" Damian glanced over Dick's shoulder.
Dick I never stop writing
"A letter."
"A letter for what?"
Damian stretched his neck to get a better look. Was he quitting his job?, Working a case?
Several days had passed since the family's secret investigation, and Dick had acted completely normal.
Dick looked up.
A shy smile appeared on his face.
"A love letter."
Then he pressed a finger to his lips. A silent request to keep it secret.
Damian stared.
The honesty caught him completely off guard.
And, annoyingly, he couldn't get any more information.
A love letter?, To who?, Dick seeing someone? Reconnecting with someone?
Unfortunately, Damian couldn't find out.
Love letters.
Was there anything more romantic than that? As a child, Dick had received countless letters.
Pink paper. Hand-drawn hearts. Lipstick kisses pressed onto the page. By fifteen, he'd stopped reading them.
There were simply too many. Letters from girls he'd met once. Girls he'd never met at all.
At first, though, he'd read every single one. Even when he didn't return their feelings.
He told himself it was out of politeness. Out of curiosity.
Nothing more.
Definitely not because he liked reading the beautiful ways people described love.
Definitely not because some small part of him hoped one of them might truly love him.
Really love him.
Not because of Bruce's money.
Not because he had a perfect smile.
But because they liked Dick.
The boy who still believed he could one day love someone as deeply as his parents had loved each other.
As time passed, he started calling himself stupid for believing that.
"Will you be my boyfriend?"
The blonde girl looked embarrassed.
Dick glanced past her and noticed her friends watching from the corner.
Cheerleaders.
He smiled.
"Sure. Why not?"
And just like that, the cycle began.
Dick laughed softly at the memory.
Who would've thought he'd eventually become just as hopeless as those girls, sitting here writing a love letter?
Damian gave him a strange look.
(...)
Warm sunlight filtered through the manor's windows.
Dick groaned and buried his face deeper into whatever he was cuddling.
"Love, stop..."
A sleepy laugh escaped him.
"That tickles."
He snuggled closer.
"I don't want to get up yet."
"Love..."
The soft kisses suddenly became wet licks.
A strong dog smell hit his nose.
Dick's eyes flew open.
Jason was standing over him with an expression of complete disgust. Beside him, Haley wagged her tail happily.
The silence was painful.
Dick had fallen asleep in the manor's living room.
Haley remained blissfully unaware of the chaos she'd caused by waking up her owner.
Because clearly this wasn't Dick's fault.
Not at all.
Definitely not his desperate need for physical affection.
"I..."
Dick had absolutely no idea how to explain himself.
"Full access to the weapons room and fifty percent of your allowance for the next year."
"Forty."
Jason stared.
"Deal."
Dick immediately raised both hands in surrender.
A small price to pay if Jason agreed to forget this ever happened.
(...)
The sound of keyboard keys filled the study.
Bruce sighed.
Dick sighed back.
Eventually, Dick's hands stopped moving.
"Just say it." Bruce didn't even look up.
Years of experience had taught him to recognize Dick's dramatic sighs.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Dick."
Silence.
"There's something you want to say."
"I don't know what you're talking about, Bruce."
Bruce waited.
Eventually, Dick cracked. "It's just..."
He hesitated.
"Do you ever get that feeling? When everything's going well, but you're still nervous?"
Bruce looked up.
"Nervous?"
"Yeah. Like... anxious. Like something bad is about to happen. Like everything's going to disappear. Or you'll wake up and realize it was all a dream."
"Dick."
Blue eyes focused on him.
"Relax."
The answer came calmly.
"You'll be okay."
And for the first time in a long time, Dick actually believed it.
He felt calm.
A little embarrassed, he looked away.
Then, almost shyly, he admitted:
"She's my girlfriend."
Perhaps the synopsis is wrong, and it wasn't the family but Dick who realized it. Wow medítenlo.
As always, thank you technology for existing and translating it.
