Heck, you weren’t even on duty that day, on and about as your regular civilian self trying to have a semblance of a social life. You were visiting a friend in crime alley, a place you were more accustomed to through the rooftops. You were huddled up in your winter wear which is somehow not warmer than your vigilante suit. Made no sense and you were now cursing yourself for not putting on another layer.

You readjust the strap of the duffle bag hanging from york shoulder as you turn into the alleyway of your friends house when you come across…Red? The shorthand you refer to him as when under the mask almost slips out of your mouth. “And I got 13 point out of 15 on my reading test!” A child exclaims. A child from a ring of children standing around the giant man, who was crouching down to their height.

“That’s wonderful, Cece.” His voice is soft, undistorted, you’re not used to that. You stare at the back of his red helmet, your opinion of the vigilante moulding and changing in real time. You didn’t know him all that well, his reputation did a lot of the speaking, but you always preached that one couldn’t gauge someone through other’s words.

But personally? The two of you had gotten off on a bad start.

You were called in by the Big Bat, to help with something. You had pitched an idea, something that had worked time and time again for you in the past. But Red Hood shot it down immediately, rather bluntly. His plan on the other hand was disregarded too, not before the two of you had a few words back and forth, taking on a frustrating loud turn.

After that, it was strictly professional, only talking of necessary.

Now…geez.

He’s being so gentle. You stay in a shadow, observing. He patiently and genuinely listens to each story the children tell him with enthusiasm. You note the disregarded Big Belly Burger boxes and covers and ketchup smeared using one child’s cheek. “Good job, Jimmy.” He says and holds up his hand for a high-five which leads to a string of them as all kids smack his hand with force and he makes sounds of faux pain.

The smile on your face is involuntary as the sounds of joy, you’d never seen the kids this happy except around you, a tab bit of jealousy hides in your heart at not being their favourite person anymore.

He’d make a good father.

Woah, you didn’t expect your brain to betray you like that. You miscalculate momentarily, side stepping right into a soda can, making a huge crunch sound as the soil crumbles on under your foot. Buuuusted.

When you look back up, Red Hood is standing straight up and looking straight at you as the children hide behind his huge figure. You sigh before you step into the dim street-light, immediately eliciting gasps from the group of children.

“Auntie!” One of the kids, your friend’s son, yells before he breaks into a sprint towards you. You set your bag just a moment he jumps into your arms. “It’s Miss!” another kid exclaims.

“Oh!” You coo. “Dean! You got taller.” You chuckles as you position of 8-year old on your hip. The kids switch sides immediately, running to crowd around you, leaving a mildly-confused Red Hood behind. You press a kiss to Dean’s forehead as he puts his head on your shoulder, getting comfortable.

“Miss! I got taller too!” One of the girl, yells, her hand up, waving at you. You gasp dramatically before you ruffle her hair, “At this rate, you’ll be taller than me in no time!” The chatter continues as you try your best to keep up with it, all the kids giving you updates on their lives.

You set Dean down, crouch down into the crowd, paralleling Red Hood from just a few moments ago, giving each kid your attention. “I like your pigtails, Nancy. No, Micheal, you’re not ugly, acne isn’t ugly, dear.”

Red Hood blink under his mask, turning to disappear back into the city, not before his sleeve is tugged sharply. “Mr. Red Hood! You have to meet our Miss!” Cece, the kid from before, grabbed his hand, putting all her body wait into pulling him.

“Huh—“ Jason doesn’t get a word out before, “Yes! You have to!” Erupts a chorus from all the kids, a couple running back to assist the effort to pull the hooded man towards where you are. You look down the alley to see the comical scene of Red Hood stumbling towards you as the kids push or pull at him, he lets them.

“This is my Auntie!” Dean, your friend’s child perks up, jumping in excitement to introduce the two of you. Your eyebrows hit your hairline, the other kids chiming into it.

“Miss always brings us gifts.” One yells, reminding you of your bag. You reach for it, opening the zip to pull out a single wrapped gift and holding it up. “Everyone remembers the rules, right? No fighting, no yelling.” The kids nod as you repeat the trained words. “You have to dispose of the wrapping paper neatly. If you want to trade gifts with someone, you come to me first.”

Yet again is a song of agreement through the group before you start handing out the wrapped gifts of different shapes, calling out the names written on them and passing them to the respective kids.

Red Hood—Jason is…stumped. To say the least.

He’s never seen you around these parts before. Jason has been taking care of these kids for months now, sure he’s overheard your name once or twice but he filed it away as maybe another kid. Now there you were, passing out gifts to every single kid, so much as having spare gifts for the kids who didn’t like the ones you got them.

Jason could’ve disappeared by now, all the kids were utterly distracted but he had to make sure you were actually one of the good guys. You glance up at him occasionally, looking at him through your eyelashes as the streetlight above you illuminates your silhouette.

After about 15 minutes, the children remember that he’s there, and they begin showing off their new gifts to him. They look so happy. And every gift was personally picked out for each child, one can tell just by their excitement.

Now there was a group of 10-15 kids jumping around two adults. One thing leads to another, before you hear something that, well, changes a lot of things.

“Miss is our favourite person. She’s very very nice and very very pretty. You should take her on a date!” One of the younger boy yells, prompting a string of agreements through the group of kids.

“Kiddos, I don’t think—“ You try to interject but are of no help.

“A date! Yes! Dinner!” A girl cuts you off as she tugs Red Hood’s sleeve. “You have to get her flowers!” Someone else. “We will help you.” Another kid.

Shit. You and Jason think at the same time.

“Miss! He even got us burgers! He’s very nice and very tall! See! What more do you need from a man?” A girl turns to you like she was giving you a sales pitch.

“Beth, honey. You are ten years old.” Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes as the other kids then start sales pitching the tall hooded man to you. “He’s very very strong! HE CAN LIFT A CAR!” A boy goes crazy about it, going on and on about, um, Red Hood’s gym routine.

Now there’s an impromptu think tank of children planing the perfect date between two people who just let who don’t exactly know each other’s identity properly. You and Red Hood just stare at each other, still crouching on the ground as a full mission debriefing around the pair of you.

“Mr. Red Hood, do you have a girlfriend?” One of the kids yells. “Or boyfriend!” Another kid adds.

“Okay—Let’s not bother Mr.Hood, guys.” You say with finality, quieting some of the chatter with the look in your eye.

“Please. Mr. Hood was my father. Call me Red.” Red Hood says with faux seriousness, causing all the kids to giggle. Oh, now, he has jokes. He didn’t find you funny last week when you cracked a joke on patrol. He’s looking at you. His helmet is turned elsewhere but he’s looking at you, you’ve started to get a pretty good hang of that by now.

You press your lips together, the tips almost twitch up into a smile. You shake your head before tilting it as you look at him, your eyes narrowing with a twinkle only amusement. Your tongue goes to poke the inside of your cheek slightly, trying to convey your dissatisfaction.

“And no, I don’t have a girlfriend or boyfriend.” He barely gets the words out before all the kids start cheering.

“Don’t encourage them.” You scold in a low voice and he tilts his head at you too and for some reason you can picture a teasing cocky smirk on his face. Shut Up Brain! The conversations around you break out again, but both your eyes are locked onto each other. He couldn’t have figured out who you were, you wore a voice distorter at work too.

“Time to get home! All of you! Or no more gifts from next time.” You clap, every single child yelling out ‘Nooooo!’. “Home. Home. Home.” You chant as you herd the kids, no help from Red Hood, watching them yell goodbyes and running to their homes with their gifts in hand.

Kudos to the ability of children who move from one task to another so quickly that they forget about the previous one momentarily. You and Red Hood stand up, waving goodbye to kids, and for some reason, the two of you gravitate to each other, ending up standing just a few feet away from each other.

“It’s very nice of you to bring them gifts.” Red Hood’s says, slightly startled you with his real voice coming out of the helmet, he seemed to have forgotten to turn the distorted back on. His voice is in the lower octave, thick with the Gotham accent. It’s smooth like whiskey, and you can’t lie that it sounds good to your ear.

“Of course. They need someone to be looking out to them.” You whisper, Dean, your friend’s kid hugging your leg. You pat his head, smiling down at the kid. “Go in, kiddo, tell your mama i’ll be right in.” Dean nods before he waves to Red Hood before running to his house.

“You’re very good with kids.” You whisper, with uncharacteristic gentleness as two of you continue watching the scene. Red Hood—Jason look down at you, you look kind. He doesn’t know why but his intuition is trained enough. The soft smile playing on your lips feels kind. And you’re pretty too. Woah, no. Jason, not right now.

“Thank you.” He clears his throat to cover his slight fluster. You look up at him, catching him looking at you, his eyes darting away at record speed. You’ve never seen him stand so straight up, shoulders squared, hands behind him, stance reminding you of a solider, maybe even like he was…nervous.

You let out a soft chuckle, looking back in front, smiling openly now, a soft blush on your cheeks, little from the cold and little from not. “Will you be staying the night there?” Red Hood’s says question breaks the silence, jarring you, how random. “Uh. Why does it matter?” You ask.

“A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be walking around in the streets by yourself at night.”

He hears it immediately after it leaves his mouth. A beat of silence. Another one. Before you burst out in full body laughter. Jason—Red Hood basically flinches, already scolding himself for wording it like that. “Oh God. I-I didn’t mean it like—Jesus.”

You don’t even say anything, just laughing for some unknown reason. Gosh, you can’t breathe. Red Hood just said that. He’s also called you pretty. The laugh leaves you loud and fast, making you bend at the hip as the sounds of beautiful joy surround the two of you.

She even laughs pretty. No Jason. NO.

“Fuck. I just sounded like creep. I’m sorry.” He walks off towards a wall, facing it like he was putting himself in time out, his hand covering the white eye cutouts of his mask. And he stands against the graffiti covered wall as you cover your mouth to try and muffle your laugh after you hear a few people from the high above apartments telling you to shut up!

“I don’t know why you’re laughing.” He grumbles as you wipe away tears of happiness. You let out a sigh, a ‘ha’ sound leaving your mouth as you hold your stomach that hurts from laughing. “I know Muay Thai. I can take care of my self. Thank you, handsome.” You emphasised the last word.

He knows you can fight. You—The vigilante you. Shit, Red Hood knew your vigilante self could probably even beat his ass. But he doesn’t you that civilian you can. He shakes his head as he turns to face you again, his hands on his hips. “I—I just meant that—You know how Gotham men are and you’re—you know. Conventional attractive.” He stutters through his words. His words make you giggle again.

“I’m digging my own grave, aren’t I?”

You nod vigorously at those last words. Who knew such an intimidatingly presently man was actually so adorable. “I promise I can beat any ‘Gotham men.” You say as you throw a few punches into the air with perfect form. It seems to convince him, maybe, not really. He’s kind of more entranced by you. God, you look beautiful—Stop.

“See you around, Red.” You say as you turn to walk towards your friend’s house, your original objective for the night. “I’m sorry.” He calls out again as you walk away, you chose to simply wave, looking over your shoulder with a smirk.

Why did you feel so familiar to him?

ᯓ★'s P.S. yeah uhhh not sure about that ending yay! no rizz jason is back and idk about the whole thing after the ‘pretty girl’ line but leeny said okay so😭

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Being stranded on the side of the highway in Gotham city in the middle of the night could be one of the worst scenarios anyone could possibly imagine, a million different things that could happen but you didn’t really have a choice. Your beloved car, one that restored from literally barebones, broke down on you, engine sputtering and dying on you, thankfully you were able to pull off to the side of the highway before it gave out completely.

You called someone you knew, a mechanic that helped you through the restoration but she wouldn’t be here for an half hour at least, and you couldn’t leave your baby here by herself, in this city? Goodness not! So here you were, waiting beside here patiently as the street lap above you flickered every few minutes, watching as cars pass by, hoping your friend will pop out of one of them.

Then a bike slowed down, enough to just pass by, pulling in right in front of your car. You almost think you’ve gone crazy, the way the leather jacket stretched over the man’s back, helmet a dark enough red that it looked black until he steps into the light, it too much like him.

“I have a gun.” You warn as he turns to face you. Black shirt under the jacket as he holds his hands up defensively, taking a few more steps to stand right under the light, slowly moving his hands to grab his helmet, there’s a click of a advance mechanism that you’re all too familiar with and then, the light graces his face.

Jason’s aged, not much but, of course, it’s been far too many years since you’d seen him. And if not for his unique white hair strip, the scars the dig deep into his cheek are far too recognisable, the ‘J’ accompanied by newer shallower ones he’d accumulated in his time away from you.

He watches you back as you profile him, your face, your posture, the way you carried yourself has changed. Life had obviously had taken its toll on you, you’d matured in the way your face was set, a blossom of pride in his chest as you follow what he’d thought you years ago, with the gun and it’s probably the same one he gave you.

“Just me, sweetheart.”

Jason’s voice goes down like a glass of whiskey, deep and smooth but burns all too close to your heart. He tilts his head to the side, gauging your reaction, mistaking your surprise for caution. You avert your eyes, looking back at your car, hand moving off the gun to smooth down a nonexistent wrinkle on your jacket.

You nod, one quick dip of your chin, allowing him to come closer to you, gentleman as always. You watch as he walks back a moment to drop his helmet back onto the bike as you survey your surroundings again, looking for watchful eyes or jittery bodies.

It’s been a long time, a little longer than half a decade, even in a city as small as Gotham, it was easy not running into him, especially when he avoided you religiously. Sometimes, when you felt a conspiracist, you could swear you saw a certain vigilante with a taste for the color red in your proximity, following you like a guardian angel in the night.

The time you had with Jason was phenomenal, the best of the best. No matter how broken he was, or you were, the two of you worked. Even when secrets came out, you were with him, a stubborn stick in the ground that didn’t budge in the toughest storm, you stayed with him. But his mind got to him, when the dangers got too apparent, when he realised the way his identity could hurt the one good thing in his life, he broke things off, no matter how you tried to make him understand.

After that, the city went back to being its same glum self. The streets were back to feeling grim and lifeless, bookstores lacked luster that he brought. He’ll always be the one that got away, the one you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with.

He avoided you with all his might, did everything not to associate himself with you. But he always lingered. Flowers that appeared out of thin air on days he knew were too tough for you. Gifts on every birthday that sit on the windowsill as a constant reminder, special edition of your favourite books being shipped from an ‘anonymous’ benefactor.

“Why are you standing here? It’s not safe.”

His voice snaps you out of your head, your eyes flying back to him who’s walking to you in slow steps, like he’s trying not to spook you. It’s not long before he’s standing in front of you, unintentionally imposing presence that made your chest tight with emotion.

“Not leaving my car by herself.” You whisper finally, Head craning up to look at him. The light was hitting him in a way that deepened his scars, but his eyes twinkled all that same, just the way they used to years ago “Stubborn as always.” He mutters under his breath as he shakes his head in disapproval. He looks down at your car, the one you’re standing guard for, jutting his chin in its direction. “What’s wrong?”

“The coolant system broke, it’s leaking.”

You cross your arms around your chest like it’ll shield you from the extended heartbreak you’re going to experience from this interaction. You watch as you walks past you, close enough that his jacket brushes yours, and to your car. He moves quickly, popping the hood of your car, leaning down to look into the contents of your engine.

You watch his shoulder move as he works, the jacket spreading across his back does nothing to hide the muscular frame underneath. He’d finally grown into his body, moving with more grace than you remember. It somehow felt like he was taller, or maybe your mind was exaggerating your vision, biceps and thighs definitely larger than you remember, consistent with what you’d expect for Red Hood.

You watch as Jason comes to the same conclusion, just nodding his head in agreement.

“Someone I know is coming to help me out.” You call out to break the silence, the sound of a vehicle crashing somewhere in the distance echos as he looks back at you. You watch as he, not so subtly, glances down at both your hands, obviously noting the lack of a wedding ring. Which is odd, since he probably already knows that you aren’t in a relationship, haven’t been in a solid once since him.

“Take my bike back home, I’ll wait here for him.”

You scoff, loudly and dramatically. If there was one thing about Jason, it’s that no one gets to touch that bike of his. It’s tuned to his exact specs, something he doesn’t think anyone else is capable of driving. But now, after all these years of avoiding you, breaking your heart, he’s offering for you to drive off in his bike?

“Her.” You correct. “And why aren’t you…” You pause for a moment to conjure the right word. The moon gleaming weakly through the dark clouds above is a sign that the vigilantes are going to come crawling out of their caves, literally. So why wasn’t Red Hood out terrorising bad guys. “Working?”

“I was riding down to Bludhaven to help Dick with something.” His reply is smooth, ever patient as he straightens up, closing the hood of your car but still lingering around it, mimicking your stance as he crosses his arms too, looking like a stand off to any bystander.“Convenient.” You comment.

There’s a deep sigh in your chest at the subsequent silence. What exactly are you two supposed to talk about? “Fuck it.” You mutter as you uncross your hands and dive into your jacket pocket, pulling out a cigarette packet and…shit. The only lighter you have is the one you got as a couples set when the two of you were still together, you thought it was an amazing gift, two lighters that match up when next to each other to depict both sides of wings engraved on them.

You make a split second decision to pull it out anyway, not missing the slight change in Jason’s posture, the way his eyes widen slightly, shoulders getting just a tab bit more rigid. Your finger runs over your name engraved on its bottom before you flip it open, bringing it to your mouth to light to cigarette nested between your lips.

Jason was a smoker, had been for a long time, and years ago, you weren’t. You had just thought that the lighters was a nice thing to have even though you didn’t smoke. But after the break up, you found one of Jason’s packs lying around your place and you had an itch, you lit one, maybe to feel closer to him somehow, but it soon became a proper habit, like for most people in Gotham.

“Those things will kill you.” Jason quips up, something you used to tease him with. you hold the cigarette between your pointer and middle finger, pulling it away to blow smoke into the night sky. Your eyebrows scrunch involuntarily, the words leaving your mouth before you can think twice about them. “So does flinging yourself at villains.”

“It did.” Jason jokes as the tip of his lips twitches, his eyes cast down to the pavement, expression as something you couldn’t quite decipher. He looks back up to watch utter horror pass on your features, a soft gasp when you realise what you said. “Shit—I didn’t meant to.” You say too quickly, genuinely apologetic.

“‘S alright.” Jason shakes his head softly, he knows you’d never make light of his previous death, something it too a long time for him to open up to you about. You open your mouth to apologise again, but he dismisses it with another shake of his head.

The same silence from before settles again, now you can’t even look him in the eyes. You’re smoking the same brand that he used to, the same one he had to change out of because it reminded him of you too much. His half of the lighter pair sits comfortably in the drawer next to his bed, something he doesn’t carry around for the risk of losing or damaging it, something he takes out to reminisce, give him a moment to relive how it was before he fucked it all up.

“How’s…Artemis?”

You utter out impulsively, regretting it immediately. Artemis was Jason’s ex, before the two of you dated, and there were always rumours that Red Hood had gotten with her again over the years. However ‘healed’ you were, you never could resist looking up the tabloids. And for fucks sake, why on earth are you asking him that?

The question catches him off guard too, you were never insecure in your relationship all those years ago and you knew Artemis was just a friend, a coworker, whatever label you want to slap on it, but just that. After you…he could never even consider someone else. It takes him a moment to get his gears, side of his lips now threatening to stretch into a smirk.

“Just be direct, c’mon. Ask me if I’m single.” Jason clocks his head to one side, a twinkle lit behind his eyes.

Just as you were about to roll your eyes, a familiar car approaching steals your attention as you wave to your friend. Jason watches as you walk past him as the car pulls up right behind yours, a smile stretching across your face in greeting that he didn’t get. Jason turns, slow steps back to his bike, just hoping you’d stop him…ask him to…stay?

“Who’s that?” Your friend asks as she gets out of her car, eyeing the man she’s never seen before as he walks back to his bike. You look back at him, watching his figure receding into the darkness, not looking back. You take another drag of the cigarette, blowing out the smoke and taking a moment to soak in the interaction before you answer.

“Someone I used to know.”

ᯓ★'s P.S. notice how the first half of this is better? yeah i wrote that aaaages ago, i did my dialogue thing and forgot about this and now filled in the rest so i apologise if the flow of it is missing and its not that great

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And when she saw that you actually had shaved, she cleared her throat before saying anything. You bit your bottom lip as you scanned her reaction. You weren’t sure how she felt— you were sure she felt like that, too. She seemed very confused.

“Alright,” She said, her hand dove deep into her curly black hair. “You shaved your bush.” She said in a louder voice. You nodded, your teeth still stuck in your lip. Diana pressed a kiss into your kneecap. “It’s okay— not the end of the world, nor is it the end of your bush, right?”

“Yes, yes, right.” You replied, trying not to laugh.

“You make fun of me, my love, but you don’t understand how I feel about all of this right now.” A shiver went down your body when she pressed her finger on your bare pussy. “Next time you decide to do it, do not— For me, at least.”

₊⊹ TALIA AL GHUL: DISAPPOINTED

“You shaved your bush?”

You could never forget the emotions etched into her voice. The frustration was flowing through her eyes and mouth, her frown got deeper every second she thought about your action.

“Talia, my love,” You grabbed her arms lightly, shaking her a little bit to make her look at you. “I thought you’d like it.”

You tried to console her but with your words she frowned even deeper. “Have I given you the impression that I didn’t like your bush?”

“God, no,” You sighed. You felt her hand snake around you and grab your waist, pulling your body towards herself. Her breath hit your face, she was so close to you. “It’s just I wanted to try something new, something I’ve never tried before.”

Her hand on your waist was rigid, holding you right where you were. You weren’t complaining. There was nothing more you liked than being on her arms like this. “Oh, Beloved, please don’t give me a heart attack like this again.”

You kissed her cheek, pressing your lips to her skin to stop yourself from laughing at her reaction. “As you wish, my love.”

₊⊹ KARA ZOR-EL: SARCASTIC

“You shaved it?” She asked. “All of it?” She patted Krypto’s head, who had been running around for attention.

“Yes, Kara, all of it.”

Krypto finally sat down and threw his body over Kara, who didn’t look like believed you. You knew so well her relationship with your cunt, especially your bush. She loved the feeling of it brushing her skin as she ate you out. She loved it when it tangled into her fingers she was rubbing the most sensitive parts of your body. She loved—

“But why?”

“Well, I… don’t really know. Wanted to try something out I guess.”

She gently pushed Krypto to the couch and got up to get in front of you. She held your hands, pulling you closer. You could smell the scent of the city all over her. Her Supergirl suit was still on…

“My darling, beautiful, amazing lover,” Kara thought a little more adjectives but then gave up. “Please, don’t do it again.” Kara’s palm made contact with your cheek. “I miss her already.”

“Stop talking like that!” You tried to pushed her but she didn’t move. You saw her grin on her face. “You know it makes me feel weird, Kara.”

“What? Treating your body like a goddess’ statue? You know I’ll never stop doing it.”

Even though it made you burn up with embarrassment, you liked it when she did it.

Kara tickled your side, “Promise you won’t even think about it again?” She held up her pinkie in front of your face.

“Is this a threat from the big bad Supergirl?”

“Nope. But can be if you make it to be. So… promise?”

You linked your pinkie with hers and nodded. “Promise.”

₊⊹ ZATANNA ZATARA: FLIRTY

It was right before her night show that Zatanna had realized you shaved earlier that day. She couldn’t have the time to make any comments about it because of the show— but after it, she came up to you before you could even congratulate her.

“So,” She said as she caught you in between her body and her vanity. Her hands were on the table, right next to you and her face was so, so close to yours. You were burning up. “You shaved, huh?” She had a crooked smile.

What was she planning?

One of her hands flied right into your hair and her fingers twirled your hair around. “I have.” You nodded. “You’re mad or something?”

“I might be,” She shrugged. “But… I am so happy right now. So, I am not giving you what you exactly want.”

When you tried to hug her waist, you felt your hands pulled down to your sides. Her magic. Your breath got caught in your lungs— You were getting excited.

She always knew how to elicit something from you.

“And what do I exactly want, Zee?”

Her fingers in your hair carried themselves to your chin, and she held your face like it was something precious like diamonds. Your eyes were wandering in between her eyes and lips.

“You want me to be mad at you— Mad enough to punish you, maybe.” She pecked your lips. “Not tonight, baby.” Her finger slipped over your lips. “I can’t be mad at you right now, but if you really want me to be mean, I can be.”

“Oh god, Zee…” Your lips caressed her finger tip as you spoke. “I love how well you know me.”

“Can say the same about you.”

You blinked and when you opened your eyes, you were in her bed.

₊⊹ STEPHANIE BROWN: ANGRY

“You did what?” Her shouts made you laugh. You threw your head back into the pillow as you giggled at her. She gently slapped the inside of your thigh. “Stop laughing, this is murder!”

Stephanie averted her eyes from your face and checked your pussy again to understand if she was seeing wrong or not.

She was not having a nightmare. You actually, really shaved your bush.

“No…” She whispered against your now bald skin.

“Steph, it’s not that bad.” You tried to make her look at you but she didn’t look up. “Also, it will grow back.”

“You better keep it.” She pushed herself up and climbed over your body, placing herself right on top of you. Her curls were flowing down and covering your face like a curtain.

“I will, don’t worry.” You rolled your eyes when she lifted one of her brows in disbelief. “I don’t like how it is right now, so I really, really won’t.” When her pout got bigger you grabbed her cheeks. “Steph! I promise, baby.”

“Ugh, fine, fine! But if you butcher your bush again, I will put a sex ban on you.”

You sighed. “That’s fair.”

“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.

Please Don’t Pick up. Please Don’t Pick up. Please Don’t Pick-

“Hey, this is Dick”

Fuck.

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.

° ❀ ⋆ .  ೃ࿔ * : ･ ° ❀ ⋆ . ೃ࿔ * : ･

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.

° ❀ ⋆ .  ೃ࿔ * : ･ ° ❀ ⋆ . ೃ࿔ * : ･

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.

° ❀ ⋆ .  ೃ࿔ * : ･ ° ❀ ⋆ . ೃ࿔ * : ･

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 Damien’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 Damien back inside.

What the hell did you just agree to?

° ❀ ⋆ .  ೃ࿔ * : ･ ° ❀ ⋆ . ೃ࿔ * : ･

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.

You stand there with your heart cracking open all over again. This is not the Kyojuro who once held your hands under blooming wisteria and whispered promises of a future filled with laughter. That boy is gone, devoured by whatever turned him into this. You hate how your body still reacts to him, traitorous and raw.

demon!kyojuro rengoku whose instincts scream louder than any memory. He doesn't understand the pull, only that your warmth calls to the cold emptiness inside him. His breathing comes rough, he corners you against the old wooden wall of the abandoned shrine. One clawed hand braces beside your head, caging you without touching. He lowers his face to the curve of your neck and a growl slips out. The heat of his breath makes your pulse jump wildly under his lips.

You want to push him away and pull him closer all at once. Tears sting your eyes because his touch feels familiar and wrong, a ghost wearing the skin of the man you loved.

"Kyojuro," you whisper but he only tilts his head at the sound, pupils shrinking to slits. Recognition flickers somewhere in his animal gaze, buried too deep, and it hurts worse than if he had simply torn into you. Your hands tremble as they hover near his chest, not daring to make contact, afraid the demon will bite and afraid the last piece of your Kyojuro will vanish if you do.

demon!kyojuro rengoku who presses in anyway, body flush against yours in a way that steals your breath. His muscles are harder now, coiled with demonic strength. He scents you again, dragging his nose along your collarbone as a rough sound escapes him, a whine mixed with a snarl. His fangs graze just above your racing heartbeat. He doesn't bite, but the threat lingers, sending unwanted heat pooling low in your belly even as grief claws at your throat.

You ache for the boy who once blushed when your fingers brushed his, who spoke of protecting you with bright eyes and louder voice. This version of him wants you too, but in a feral way that could destroy everything left of the love you shared. Still you do not run. even heartbroken, some stupid part of you hopes that if he stays close long enough, your scent might drag him back from the dark.

demon!kyojuro rengoku whose hands finally settle on your waist, claws pricking through fabric without breaking skin. He holds you like something fragile and edible at the same time, instincts warring inside him. His forehead drops to rest against yours and for one fractured second his brows furrow, the old pain is trying to surface. Then it's gone, swallowed by the hunger again. He needs more of you. he will take more of you, whether memory returns or not. and you, god help you, let him.