𑣲⋆｡˚ 𝓝𝓲𝓬𝓸 ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀

You left Gotham City after you graduated. Bruce, the supportive warden he is, approved the decision and landed you a job at Wayne Industries' agriculture sector based in Metropolis. He offered to buy you an apartment, but you insisted on doing as much as you could on your own. You did use your connections to Bruce to your advantage to climb higher within the ranks of the company; that wasn’t a lie, but you worked your ass off, too. Don’t let anyone be mistaken.

You told no one but Steph and Cass. You figured no one else needed to know. Although, there was one who went mad after finding out you had left without a word.

Doing such a thing wasn’t completely unheard of in the Bat family. Cassandra left on her own. Jason certainly left on his own. But for Dick Grayson to find out through Alfred that you had packed up most of your things and moved into a tiny apartment all the way in Metropolis without telling him felt like he was being punished for only flirting and never actually making a move, like the coward he was.

He tried calling but was told by an automated voice message that the number no longer existed. He asked Bruce, but the old man refused to budge. It was the same when he went to Victor at 6 a.m., except he lodged what he thought was a stuffed animal, but was actually Garfield in cat form, in his face for waking him up so early. It was not nearly as lovely as Bruce’s response, which was “put a sock in it, Dick.”

Dick had to accept that you had cut him out of your life for the one you had in Metropolis. When he did, he refused to watch MetroNews or read the Daily Planet for any and all updates on your hero identity. He didn’t even see you at any galas or parties Bruce hosted. You had vanished entirely from his life.

A year passed without you.

Then another.

Then Dick lost hope he’d get a chance to see you again.

On the other hand, in Metropolis, where the grass was greener and the sun was brighter, You had earned enough to afford a nicer apartment decorated in your favourite colour. Your blankets, tapestries, and even your kitchen utensils were the various shades of your favourite colour too. You loved it despite the complaints you got from your very aggravating roommate.

“Seriously? A kettle this colour too?” Kon Kent raises the kettle while standing in your doorway. “What’s next? Toilet paper?”

“That’s a waste of dye, Kon,” you respond without looking at him. “Also, what have I told you about bringing people home? Aren’t you like, two?”

The clone scoffs.

“I’m technically three and a quarter, thank you very much,” he says, sticking his tongue out at you. “When are you ever going to bring someone home? Or are you seriously that bitchless at your age?”

“Haha, hilarious, Konner Kent,” you reply dryly with no actual amusement in your voice, continuing to type an email on your laptop. “I don’t need shit like that when I need to be focused on work.”

“Work work work,” Kon rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Get a life outside of work, please.”

“I have a life outside of work!” You exclaim, finally turning to look at him. “I have friends from uni.”

“You have a friend from uni.”

“I go out occasionally!”

“With your one friend from uni.”

“I go on dates.”

“With your one friend from uni.”

“Kill yourself, Kon.”

“That’s not very nice.” Clark Kent suddenly appears in the doorway, scaring the lights out of Kon. “That’s… actually a bit mean.”

You sigh and rub your forehead. You didn’t need Superman's lecture about how you were raising his son. You suddenly knew how Bruce felt when Alfred would look at him disapprovingly when Damian acted out of turn. At least Clark was much less intimidating than Bruce Wayne, despite the fact that he was a massive chunk of Texan beef standing at six feet three and was literally Superman. The nerdy glasses and baby face did nothing to help his intimidation tactics when attempting to discipline you and Kon.

“What are you doing here? You don’t even have a key to our apartment, Dad,” Kon grumbles, holding the kettle like an infant as if Clark was there to take it from him.

“Your window was open. Anyway, I came to tell you that there will be a meeting with all heroes with links to the Justice League,” Clark moves the topic briskly along. “I expect you at headquarters, Kon. Don’t try to dodge this one because I haven’t told you about it. Well, I’ve told you about it. You have to go now.”

Like the annoying teenage boy he was, Kon groans loudly and shakes his head. “Why do I have to hang out with you chumps? You’re all old and boring.”

“Because all of us are needed for this one,” Clark narrows his eyebrows and crosses his arms over his large, broad chest.

“So she's going too?” Kon deflates.

Clark pauses. He looks at you, lips pursed, contemplating asking if you would be willing to join the fight. Everyone with ties to the Justice League meant everyone, including the Titans and the other family members you left behind to pursue a relatively mundane life in Metropolis.

“Do you need me?” You ask, returning to your email and attaching a document that probably contained a new marketing strategy.

“Your help would be greatly appreciated,” Clark says after a beat. “Bruce told me not to pressure you to join.”

As he spoke, the watch you had used in Gotham, which had lain dormant on your desk, buzzes with a call. The caller ID read: Brucie Wayne.

You raise an eyebrow, raise the watch, and show it to Clark.

“Are you sure?”

Clark sighs.

You shrug, picking up the call, and a hologram of Bruce appears. Dressed as dapper as ever, with pepper-coloured hair slicked back, exposing his wrinkled forehead, and a white button-up shirt with every button except the top buttoned, Bruce smiles softly upon seeing you.

“You actually picked up. I’m surprised.”

“Caught me the one time I actually charged the thing,” you lean against your chair, beckoning both Kents to come into your office. “Let me guess, this meeting? Is it world-ending?”

“Potentially.”

“I’ll consider it. If Superman and Superboy are both gone, who’s left to watch over Metropolis if not me?” You fold your arms. “I guess we’ll leave it up to me in the future whether or not I show up.”

“Very well,” Bruce nods.

You, Clark, and Kon hear Damian's faint shouts in the background of the call as it ends. It was something about his fourteenth birthday, and him only wanting to see Jon. Clark smiles softly at that, fond that his son has befriended someone, even if it is the unhinged, assassin, no-longer-a-bastard son of his twenty-year-long situationship, Bruce Wayne.

“That’s how you talk to Bruce? Strict,” Kon, still holding the kettle, pokes at the watch after the hologram disappears. “Are you always like this?”

You shrug and wave him away.

“Sometimes. Now get lost—both of you. I’m busy with emails. You don’t even understand how hard it is to work with this client.”

Looking at each other, the father-son duo leave you in peace to contemplate whether or not you’ll attend the meeting. Clark didn’t want to pressure you, seeing as you had been living happily in Metropolis with no significant incidents, succeeding at work, and having family dinners with him, Kon, Lois, and Jon every Sunday.

After hearing vague details about why you cut most of Gotham off, he didn't want to disrupt your peace. Dick Grayson really was his father’s son, and Clark Kent knew about that a little too well.

The Justice League, Young Justice, the Titans, and everyone else had been summoned to the Justice League headquarters. Reunions were had, and emotions were high: excitement at working together, happiness at the reunion, stress from the mission, and exhaustion from the travel.

Dick is grinning ear to ear while ruffling Damian’s hair, who growls like a rabid dog, swinging a fist at Dick’s stomach, but misses as the elder of the two did a backflip to avoid impact.

Dick had changed in the past two years, getting bigger, taller, and more broody since he hadn’t dated in four years. Work was more important than getting laid anyway. He just hated hearing the other Titans bring people home.

He stands next to Bruce after dodging Damian and asks about the mission. Broody, as always, Bruce explains with his gruff voice. He assumes it’s probably because Superman is within earshot, and he wants to seem like hot shit for the Kryptonian

The jokes die when he feels a familiar presence enter the room. Tim's exclamation confirms his gut feeling. He watches Tim charge forward, arms wide open to embrace the one he hadn’t seen in two years.

There you stand, in a new suit with a black butterfly design on your chest. You look different but the same. The Metropolis sun had kissed your skin all over, and he envied it. The mischievous glint in your eyes remains as you dodge Tim’s hug, laughing as he tucks and rolls to avoid falling flat on his face in front of whom he called ‘fine shyt’ to Dick; Kon Kent, Superboy. That suit made Dick’s mind go crazy. You had grown, not in height but as a person and in… other places.

“So you decided to join us,” Cass walks past Dick toward you. “Welcome back.”

“Finally!” cheered Steph, doing the same thing as Tim and being met with the same avoidance. “I want a hug! Come on, give me some sugar, gorgeous.”

Your face turns, and you shake your head.

“No way,” you push Steph away with a hand. “It’s good to see you, though.”

“Affection? Nice words? From you?” Steph gapes. “Is it my birthday?”

“Your birthday was five months ago,” you sigh.

“She even remembers my birthday, guys! She loves me! Also, your tits look absolutely scrumptious, m’lord.” Steph says aloud what Dick thinks.

You roll your eyes, but they don’t carry any annoyance as you were clearly used to Steph saying things like that. Bruce, however, was not. He let out a grunt of disapproval, which Steph blatantly ignored as she continued to compliment your new suit and the rest of your body. She even had the audacity to ask you to turn around to see the backside, which, shockingly, you did.

“Woo! Fantastic ass!” Steph exclaims, arms raised in celebration, like she was in the crowd of a baseball game and her team just scored a home run. “Absolutely fantastic ass!”

Dick purses his lips and looks away. The action is lost to most, but not Kon Kent, who had been judgmentally watching him since you arrived at the compound.

It also was not lost on Steph, apparently. Dick dares to steal another glance only to catch Steph looking in his direction with a shit-eating smile plastered on her face. You chose to stay in contact with her, not him. He understands why she was practically bragging in his face without actually saying anything.

“Should you not say hello?” Kori places a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “She was close to you before, was she not?”

Dick sighs, nodding his head in confirmation.

Kori is right. He wasn’t exactly a kid anymore. He’s twenty-seven years old. How could he possibly be scared of someone he’s known for six years? Technically, four because she was gone for two.

He smiles at Kori, takes a deep breath and saunters over with the years of practice he had under his belt.

“Good to see you,” he says, mentally smacking himself for how lame that opening was. “Been a while.”

Rather than your usual distaste, which you showed every time he greeted you, you look up at Dick and… smile. You do that thing that drove him crazy years ago - that thing where you smile, one corner of your mouth a little higher than the other and tilt your head slightly to the right. Like Dick at the top of buildings, his heart does somersaults all the way into his mouth.

“Likewise, Dick,” your voice is different now, too.

It carried uncertainty before, the unknown, the doubt of his feelings for her, like how the vast ocean carried a tiny fish, but now? Your voice is steady and confident, carrying the confidence of a woman who knows who she is and what she wants, and he isn’t sure if that’s him anymore.

“I, uh, I missed you,” he manages to successfully get the words out while attempting to keep his cool with a smirk. “Been weird without your pretty face.”

He expected her to scoff in his face - maybe even a laugh and a shove.

“I could say the same thing,” you hum, eyes looking right through the mask on his face and the facade of a flirt he had so carefully curated. “I see you’ve been working out,” you add, waiting for the others to disperse and leave the two of you be. “Nice ass, Grayson.”

And you walk away like it was nothing. The comment is like water off a duck’s back. You said it as if you had told him the weather.

With his heart racing, or maybe some other organ pulsating, he follows after you, trailing like a puppy back to Bruce. You had never responded to him that way before, and it introduced some familiar feelings that had evolved even further. How was it possible for someone to get hotter?

“Dick,” your voice calls his name, and it feels like a prayer that almost makes him fall to his knees as if he were in church. “Were you listening?”

He blinks, nodding despite not paying attention at all.

“Great. I won’t have to debrief you on our mission then.”

Our? As in the two of you?

“Kon,” you click your fingers, and the Superboy appears beside you. “Don’t get distracted by Tim on this mission; otherwise, I’ll have Beastboy turn into a dinosaur and eat you.”

Damn. Not just you two.

“Hey, a word?” Dick nods his head to one of the empty corridors.

You exchange a look in a secret language you and Kon only understand before obliging and walking ahead of him. Steph was right. Your ass did look great in your new suit.

“What is it? Scared of adding three others to your team, Dick?” You lean against the wall with your arms crossed. “Surely Nightwing can handle it.”

Dick grins and shakes his head.

“Nah, not that,” he says, placing his hands on his hips. “It’s just been a while. How about we go out after this and grab a bite to eat? I can show you the new places in Jump City if you want. We could catch up.”

He watches you look him up and down. Flustered but confident since you’re returning his tone, he stands firm.

“I’ll pass,” you say, snapping him back to reality. “I’m busy with work. I already had to book off for this, which was last-minute. The higher-ups aren’t exactly pleased with me.”

“I can meet you in Metropolis then, after your shift?”

You tilt your head again, pouting this time and shake your head.

“Another time, pretty boy. Let’s just focus on saving the world.”

Pretty boy. He’d remember that.

Dick hears nothing from you after that, unless you accidentally run into each other on missions since you got back into consistent contact with Bruce, taking the odd job in Gotham. Every coincidental meeting, you successfully flustered him with a look that drove him crazy.

He didn’t even have your number, and whenever he pestered Steph or Tim for it, he always caught them at the wrong time. Once, he swung the door open on an unsightly scene of Tim and his new boyfriend, Kon (totes congrats by the way, he mentioned off handedly). They had gotten so close that he didn’t even care, still walking in and pestering Tim, while Kon hid under the covers as Tim screamed at him to get out. Alfred had to come in to interfere.

He tried with Tim and Steph, but both of them refused. He was left with only one option: Bruce.

“Come on, surely she should be okay with it now! She was returning the vibe!” Dick practically begs.

“The vibe,” Bruce repeats dryly.

“You know what I mean,” Dick groans loudly and puts his head in his hands. “Come on, Bruce. Please?”

His father sighs. Bruce looks tiredly at Dick, and he suddenly sees himself in his son. He remembers the desperation to discover Superman’s identity before Clark naturally revealed it to him.

“I’m hosting a gala,” Bruce turns away from his eldest child. “In a month. Celebration of Wayne Industries' newest collaboration with a company in Metropolis, thanks to her persuasion. She’ll be there. Do with that as you will.”

Bruce watches Dick’s eyes light up.

“Am I invited?” he grins.

He was invited.

Dick appears at the party in a suit that looked like it jumped out of a magazine and attached itself to his body like a second skin. He wasn’t expecting to feel this good in the new suit, but the content smile on his face proved how pleased he was with Alfred’s suggestion.

He takes a deep inhale before entering the main hall. He isn’t going to get his hopes up. You had all but ghosted him, and here he was hoping you would spare him even a glance at an event he wasn’t initially invited to. It was your event. He was an unwanted guest. He knew he would probably have to prepare himself to get punched in the face.

He sees you the moment he steps in.

You looked like a gem, with the battle scars he knew all too well hiding under long gloves — the same ones his hands had gently caressed once upon a time. The pearl necklace adorns your neck, sitting comfortably on your collarbones as if they were made to be there - an extension of your body, another beautiful thing to admire. The formal attire hugs your body in all the right places without appearing to be uncomfortable, with just enough skin showing. You were a vision just out of reach.

“If it isn’t Dick Grayson,” one of Bruce’s oldest associates spots him from a distance and walks over. “Come to support your father’s protege?”

Dick gives him his award-winning smile, nodding politely and shaking his hand. The conversation continues, but he finds his eyes continuously going back to you floating around the room with the grace of a princess, a habit that must’ve been taught by Alfred in his notoriously difficult etiquette classes whenever Bruce first took you in.

He continues to move around the room, greeting others and acting like Bruce Wayne's perfect golden child. They ask if he knows you, and he couldn’t explain just how well he did.

On the surface, you were acquaintances to society because Bruce was simply your mentor, your teacher. Someone who took you under his wing after your parents’ deaths, because he was indebted to your mother, a nurse who had helped him on more than one occasion, and a close associate of Alfred’s. Richard Grayson and you didn’t know each other very well. You and Dick, though? Hidden whispers, almost kisses, hovering touches. He knew you like no one else did.

“Dick?” Your voice draws him in like a moth to a flame. “I wasn’t aware you’d be attending tonight.”

He turns around, and the wind is knocked from his lungs. You’re even more beautiful up close now that he could see your beauty marks, crudely covered by makeup, and your lipstick slightly smudged from drinking what he knows is secretly apple juice because you hate the taste of champagne and wine.

“Surprise,” he smiles. “Bruce told me about what you did. Colour me impressed.”

You grin, and if you could have listened close enough, you probably could’ve heard his heart beat from the confines of his ribcage.

“Impressed the Dick Grayson? I’m honoured,” you look out at the guests before speaking again. “Nice suit. You look good when you’re not beaten and bloody.”

“Aw, you don’t think I look good when I’m beaten and bloody?” he bends down slightly to mumble a whine in your ear. “I’m hurt.”

You scoff and gently nudge him away. “Unfortunately, I have to leave you. There are more people I have to talk to,” you pull away from him.

“Miss me while you’re gone?” his smile reaches his eyes, which only holds you in his vision.

“Maybe a little,” you raise your hand, then pinch your index finger and thumb tightly together. “Or maybe I won’t at all. Later, pretty boy.”

A gasp escapes him. His hands fly to the left side of his chest, over the organ that kept him alive, the one that belonged to you and only you. Pretending to be shot, he lets his head fall limp and his eyes shut.

He hears you chuckle and allows himself to open one eye to see you smiling to yourself, shaking your head as you walk away from him.

Gathering himself, he stands straight. He wouldn’t let himself make the same mistake. He wouldn’t let you slip from the gaps between his fingertips again. No more games, no more doubt. He’ll tell you tonight.

Content and confident with his plan, Dick continues dancing through the crowd of rich people he secretly despises. He catches a glimpse of Steph and Damian roaming around as well. He appears next to them, muttering a question about whether he needed to scare off a pretentious rich boy from Star City. Steph waves her hand, dismissing him, whispering that she'd send Damian in if he bothers her too much.

He sees Tim chatting with other socialites, too. It’s almost a Wayne family reunion. He keeps talking with Tim for a while, asking about how the hand off is going for Wayne Enterprises. He even asked about Tim and his ‘fine shyt’, Kon Kent. Tim just scowls and gives Dick the middle finger when he walks away. It was regular checking in.

The night feels like cloud nine, and Dick Grayson is floating just above it until he sees you on the other side of the room talking with someone else. The guy’s older, a little shorter than Dick, with a similar haircut and the same tan skin. His suit is the same colour as your dress, and your laughter rings like alarm bells in Dick’s ears.

He watches you laugh, your shoulders shaking and giggling while the nail of your index finger is trapped between your teeth. Your head tilts slightly down, so you have to look up to meet the guy’s gaze. Dick has seen that move done before. He has seen it so many times, practically memorised into the creases of his brain, yet there you were, pulling the same move on a guy who looked like another version of him. It seemed too easy for you to do. Too natural.

A flurry of emotions runs through his entire body. With his teeth gritted, Dick walks over, his hand taking yours that fit like a missing puzzle piece.

“A word?” he mutters into your ear.

He doesn’t even bother to look at the guy’s face. If the guy has similar facial features to Dick, he has no idea how he would react, and he isn’t about to cause a scene at your congratulatory party.

“I’m kind of busy at the moment,” he hears you say. “Later.”

His head snaps in her direction, and his eyes meet yours. He doesn’t know what it is, but after seeing the look in his eyes, you sigh, apologise to the Dick Grayson wannabe and go with him.

“Dick, that was an important client, what are you-”

“What are you doing?” he snaps after bringing you to one of the balconies just out of sight of the guests.

“Sorry?” You cough in disbelief at his tone. “I’m trying to secure a client and potential investor, that’s what I’m doing.”

“By flirting with him?” Dick can’t control his patience. “Is that how you get clients? Biting your finger, looking up at him with those eyes?”

You genuinely can’t believe your ears and place your palm flat onto your forehead to see if this is a fever dream.

“Are you judging me right now?”

“A little, yeah!”

Your eyes harden, and Dick now knows he has said something entirely wrong.

You straighten your posture, take a breath, and begin walking towards him.

“Do you have any idea what I’ve had to do to get here? Do you think men like that will just listen to me because I say so? I’ve had to stroke so many egos to ensure the business stays afloat, to keep it successful and to prove myself to Bruce that taking me under his wing wasn’t a mistake.” You have him cornered against the barricade, so he has to steady himself with his hands wrapped around the metal bar. “Who are you to judge me for flirting? You’re the original.”

His eyes stay on you, like it was the only place they should be. You were angry. You were offended. He offended you.

“Be honest with me,” he says. “Are you just playing with my emotions now that you’re some big shot? Because you got hotter and more confident, you think you can toy with me? If you don’t like me, just say so. Don’t drag me along like I’m some puppet for your entertainment.”

You let out a laugh of disbelief. You continue to laugh so hard you hold your stomach and almost fold in half in front of him.

“Dick, you cannot be serious right now,” you wipe away the tears in your eyes that were a result of you laughing so hard. “Are you mad now that we’re on even playing fields?”

“What?” he huffs.

“You’ve been toying with me for years,” you compose yourself and look back at him. “Flirting with me as a joke because I used to be a fan. It got worse when Tim let it slip ages ago that I had a kiddy crush on you as Robin. You used me as entertainment. All of a sudden, you’re mad when I match your game? Is this not what we’ve been doing for years?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh come on, Dick!” You exclaim with exasperation, your arms deflating to your sides as her body begins to do the same. “Don’t try to act coy. It’s a funny bit. I understood that, and I’m playing along now. You want to continue joking, dancing around, stringing me along, but when I decide I’ve had enough and choose to walk the same line you are, you’re upset? Wasn’t the joke that we’d never be together?”

It feels like the punch Damian aimed to hit Dick with during the meeting at the Justice League headquarters finally hit him months too late.

A joke. You thought you were a joke. You didn’t know you were the air he was desperate to breathe after drowning for two years. You genuinely thought he was making fun of you, and he had no idea that was how he came across. He had hurt you for years.

When you left, he believed it was because he was taking too long to admit his feelings for you - that you got impatient and didn’t want to wait any longer.

The matter of it was, Dick Grayson made the one who consumed his every thought and prayer feel like she was a gag.

“Don’t get pissed at me when you’ve been stringing me along for four years. Getting close to me, holding me, almost kissing me, but not kissing me. Who are we kidding here, Dick?” You finally look away from him, your hard gaze softening as you get increasingly exhausted from this confrontation. “It’s just a dumb dance. It’s routine for us to behave this way.”

“I love you,” he blurts out.

You stay silent, and it only makes his heart pound even louder in his ears. The faint noise of classical music and rich chatter can’t be heard — not anymore. The sounds of cars and the hustle and bustle of Gotham nightlife are disregarded.

“Fuck you,” you spit.

You spin your body around, each step away from him boomed with rage.

His body acts on instinct. His hand reaches out to you, fingers wrapping around your wrist. He pulls you back, your dress flowing in the wind as you spin back into his arms.

Flustered, he steps back to give you space but keeps his hand on your wrist.

“I mean it,” he pleads, eyes on his shoes as he hangs his head low in shame. “You were never a joke. I was always serious. Every compliment, every touch, I meant it all.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying!”

His eyes meet yours. Desperation meets anger. Certainty meets doubt.

“This isn’t funny anymore, Dick. Let me go,” you grumble, attempting to escape his grip.

“It was never funny. I was serious. I am serious,” he pleads, and his knees feel weak. Before he knew it, he’s on his knees.

“What the fuck- stand up!” You hissed, trying to drag his body up. “What are you doing?! Someone could see you, you freak!”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, looking up at you like you had a halo above your head. “I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything sooner, that you believe it was all a joke and that I was too much of a coward to tell you how I felt for four years. I strung you along. I made you believe the worst of me because it was. I toyed with you without even realising I was.”

“Whatever, victim complex,” you try again to snatch your hand away, but his grip tightens, his touch terrified that it would be the last time he felt your skin.

“That’s not-”

“Listen, Dick, if you want the gag to stop, we’ll stop, okay? Just get off your knees and let me go.”

“I don’t want to stop! I don’t want to lose you again. I know I use comedy as a stupid coping mechanism.”

You bite your bottom lip, and your attempts to break free halt for a moment.

“But you are every thought I have.” his voice feels weak, nothing like the hero Nightwing with a mask that hid every insecurity and frustration that flowed through his body as naturally as his blood. “I’ve only thought of you for years. I’m sorry. I acted out of turn. I snatched you away like you belonged to me when I know you don’t, but you own every beat my heart makes. I should’ve thought twice before taking you away from him, even if he was a douche.”

“Dick, you don’t even know him.”

“Yeah, well, he looked like one.”

“He looks like you.”

“I- well- anyway,” he clears his throat and shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

You look down at him. He knows he looks pathetic. He has never felt more pathetic in his life, but this was his karma for treating you like that and pulling you along without being brave enough to become yours.

“Get up, Dick.”

“Please.”

“Dick.”

“I’m sorry, I really am.”

You sigh, using your other hand to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“You really are Bruce Wayne’s son. Get up,” your voice is cold, but it’s as if his body is automated to obey.

You don’t seem as angry as you had been when he blurted out his love for her. That wasn’t exactly the way he wanted that to go. In his head, he was thinking of swooping you off your feet, smirking as you blushed and covered your face, and gently moving them out of the way to kiss you. This was not what he had in mind when planning his confession.

It’s quiet before you speak again.

“Don’t do that shit again.”

“I won’t. I promise,” he says. He’s not sure what he’s promising, but he promises anyway.

“Getting on your knees, Dick. Don’t do that shit again. That was embarrassing to witness,” you shiver recalling the sight. “Just- listen to me.”

So he does. As he vows to do from now on.

“The apology isn’t accepted,” you say as his heart plummets to the pits of hell. “But it’s not rejected entirely.”

“What?”

“You can make it up to me,” your free hand takes his, your fingertips gently dancing over his rough palm. “Over time.”

Suddenly, hope doesn’t seem so lost. Light finds its way back to his eyes.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Take me out on a date, preferably. An actual date.” Even if your voice carries irritation, it’s enough. It’s more than enough.

“Done. What kind?” He has the pen ready to make a note in his mental notebook.

“Dinner. Pizza,” two words.

“Just- just that?” he stammers in surprise. “Not at a restaurant where you have to book months in advance, renting out a movie theatre so it’s just the two of us?”

You shake your head.

“Just pizza and a talk. Let me actually meet Dick Grayson, who isn’t just a flirt or the ghost of Boy Wonder. No games.”

“No games,” repeats Dick.

“Good. Otherwise, I’m decapitating you and waving your head on a stick for all of Gotham, Jump City and Metropolis to see.”

Dick smiles softly.

“I’d deserve way more than that if I pulled this shit again.”

“You’re right. Castration.”

He chuckles, and so do you.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have a client to woo into giving me money,” you turn your back. “And Dick.”

“Hm?” he responds.

“Don’t let me down again.”

He bites back a grin.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Are they arguing again?” asks Victor, rubbing the sleep from his eye as he stumbles into the corridor that leads to the living room.

“Yep,” Garfield yawns and stretches his arms.

“Over what?”

“I told you that was my favourite cereal, Dick!” You yelled, still dressed in your nightgown that you keep at Titan’s Tower. “You know it’s my favourite and you still ate the last of it!”

“I was sleep deprived! I ate what was closest!” Dick defends himself. “It’s your fault for keeping me up!”

“My fault?!” You exclaim.

Both Victor and Garfield feel a sinking feeling that they should leave before they hear anything else from this argument.

“You’re the one who kept me up!” You glare at your boyfriend of over a year now, congratulations. “You were the one who called me last night, beg-”

“STOP!” Dick screams, jumping over the sofa to cover your mouth. “There are other people who live here!”

You shove him off, swatting his hand off you, glare still present.

“Whatever. I’m going to go get breakfast,” you huff, storming off to change into daily clothes, but Dick remains standing in the middle of the living room, flustered and red in the face. “What are you doing just standing there? You’re paying. Go get dressed.”

Victor and Garfield sigh. It only took you two six years to get together, and Victor and Garfield were the victims of Dick Grayson, their leader, who they’d follow into a battle of life-or-death, wanting to get laid.

“Can you make a memory-wiping gun?” Garfield looks up at Victor.

“I can definitely try, but if it doesn’t work, it’ll probably just give you brain damage,” Victor sighs, watching Dick follow you down the stairs that lead to his quarters.

“I’d still take that over this.”

Never in your life did you, for a single split second, contemplate how drastically different your life would be from that of the average citizen of Metropolis. You knew most people hadn’t come from Gotham, where your local superhero had banned killing all supervillains so they could be tried by law. Batman, however, never succeeds in this, and, ever the optimist, you know that more people have died due to his “no-killing” rule. How would you know exactly? Your best friend was murdered on the one day you weren’t with her.

You were only eleven, braving the dark streets of Gotham after your after-school activities with your best friend. All seemed well and good. You lived in the neighbourhood next to hers, not even ten minutes away. You should have been walking with her when your older cousin pulled up in his car and said there was a family gathering on the other side of the city. You pleaded to let her come with you, but, like the angel she was, she smiled and told you she was okay walking home alone. You trusted her, and you trusted the masked vigilantes in spandex to keep her safe. You were wrong to do so. Your best friend fell into the hands of Scarecrow and passed away at the tender age of eleven.

Since then, you vowed to get out of Gotham. Staying in that god-awful city only reminded you every day of how, if I had only pressured her more to get into the car with you and your cousin, she would still be breathing. Maybe you would’ve been at university together. But no.

You had screamed, begged, and cried for someone to do something - anything! You cried on national television for even a glimmer of justice, only for Scarecrow to be thrown into Arkham and escape less than a month later. Another child went missing.

So to Metropolis you went.

The sun shone brighter in Metropolis, and even the people were nicer. You opted to stick with me, though, not wanting to get close to anyone because you were paranoid that you would cause someone else to lose their life. Logically, you knew what happened to your friend wasn’t your fault, but the voice in your head would never forgive you for not putting up more of a fight.

You were doing a good job of remaining a lone wolf until a tall, large, clumsy guy literally fell for you. It wasn't that he fell head over heels in love. No. You weren’t exactly aware of your surroundings at 8 am, waiting outside a lecture hall, and a guy the size of a farmhouse almost rammed into you had it not been for this nerd who threw himself in the way.

“Oh my god!” you remember saying after crouching down to check on him. “Are you okay?”

The way his eyes looked at you had you frozen. Vibrant blue pools looked at you with more concern for your well-being than for his own, even though he was the one who fell. He scanned you up and down, checking if you were okay, before chuckling nervously and standing up.

“I’m okay. Just a small tumble. Figured better me than you, huh?” He grinned at you, pushing those nerdy glasses further up his nose.

You remember thinking about how those glasses would never stop slipping down his high nose bridge.

“I’m sure I would’ve been alright,” You said, folding your arms and putting weight on your left leg. “Nothing a bit of paracetamol can’t fix, should I have been bruised.”

Back then, you had no idea what went through his mind. He seemed so focused on you that he didn’t bother to tuck the loose strands of his black hair back from his eyes. You thought he probably couldn’t even see you, with hair covering his field of vision. You should’ve known from the beginning that he didn’t care about himself and only cared about you when you were completely unscathed.

“Better safe than sorry,” he bowed his head, looking away, embarrassed. “Ah- we should probably head in. The lecture will start soon,” he jutted his thumb towards the lecture hall’s door.

“Probably. Thanks again,” you replied with a shrug and walked ahead of him.

He was cute. You'll admit it. There was something charming about his awkwardness. He dressed pretty cute as well—nothing like the boys from Gotham, but nothing like the boys from Metropolis either. A red flannel with light-washed jeans that looked decades old. A boy from the country, perhaps.

“So, uh, where are you from?” He asked you as he followed you to your usual seat in the theatre.

Confused and on edge, you placed your bag on the seat between you to create distance. You didn’t want friends, and this nerd seemed a little too friendly and willing to throw himself into whatever situation he found himself in—literally.

“Gotham,” you tried to sound cold to put him off.

“Oh, wow. That’s cool. I’m from Smallville, Kansas, myself,” he said, copying your movements to get his laptop out, ready to take notes. “I don’t know if you can hear it from the accent.”

You pursed your lips and nodded, choosing to say nothing else.

“How rude. I didn’t even introduce myself, and I’m just sitting here, rambling on,” he waved his hand, as if dismissing his so-called “rude” behaviour. “My name is Clark. Clark Kent.”

You looked at him and raised an eyebrow, but he only shot back a smile that reached the corners of his eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Clark Clark Kent.”

“Oh. No. Just Clark Kent.”

“Okay, Just Clark Kent.”

He blinked at you, flustered and fiddled with the rim of his glasses.

You shook your head, looked back to the front of the theatre and told him just your first name - emphasis on the fact that you added 'just' before saying it.

You saw his head perk up from the corner of your eye at your response.

“No surname?”

“Well, I put Just in front of it, right? We have the same first name. So, I’ll call you Clark, and you can call me by my other name. It’d be a bit awkward if we were both called Just.” You jested.

He must’ve thought he was slick, raising an arm to rest his elbow on the table to lean his chin against his palm, which conveniently covered the grin on his face.

“Sounds good to me,” he mumbled into his palm.

There was no use being rude if you had the same minor. You would be seeing him often. What you didn’t anticipate was seeing him as often as you did around campus.

Clark Kent was Mister Popular. You weren't even aware there was such a thing at university. You had assumed everyone left stuff like that in high school, but it seemed Clark was just that well-known amongst the student body. It wasn’t as though he was trying; he simply was. He was so friendly; you couldn’t help but like the nerd.

“Heya!” he would call you as you exited the university library if he were outside. “I got you an iced Americano.”

“Oh,” you would say, awkwardly taking it from him. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to, and I know you’ve been stressed lately with the newest assignment. I figured a little pick-me-up from your good pal couldn’t hurt.”

“How did you know I was stressed?”

Clark blinked at you as if you had asked him what colour the sky was.

“Your fingernails. They’re basically non-existent, and in lectures and tutorials, your leg keeps bouncing up and down. Your eyes are also more downcast while you're looking at your computer, and your breathing is heavier even if you haven’t moved or exercised. Anyone would notice things like that, silly,” he chuckled and shook his head as he began to walk you to your dorm.

He lived in the opposite direction.

Clark did things regularly that confused and scared you. No matter how much you pushed, you kept getting pulled back to him. It was terrifying, but you grew to accept his presence and space in your life.

The friendship was scary enough, but the day he confessed his feelings to you, with a bouquet of lavender mixed with forget-me-nots, made you want to vomit from sheer anxiety.

He stood before you, towering yet shrinking inward from nerves. He stumbled and bumbled over his words, doing his best to maintain eye contact while shaking. He was gripping onto the bouquet like a lifeline.

“Of course, I respect your feelings; I understand if you don’t feel the same. I apologise if I’ve overstepped or made you uncomfortable by doing this. I just wanted to try, but I value your presence in my life more than anything. Even after this, if I get rejection, I would still like to be your friend,” he stammered, pink in the face. “But my feelings for you are real, and only if you say yes, I would be honoured to be your boyfriend.”

Time froze for you for the second time since meeting Clark Kent. You could hardly comprehend a single word coming out of his mouth. You were friends for months, and yeah, sure, maybe you did feel something for him here and there, like when he reached over you with ease to get you something in your dorm, or like that time when he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and stretched over the library desk after sitting still for an hour. It never occurred to you that he felt the same way you did, even for a moment.

“Clark…” you forced yourself to speak. “I had no idea.”

He didn’t say anything. He just nodded and waited for you to continue. But how the fuck could you continue after a confession of love from the sweetest person you had ever met in your life?

“I’m not easy, you know,” like that, you guess. “You know I don’t open up easily, that I’m not the most physically affectionate or even affectionate at all. I get hangry, emotional, and too unemotional. I have a nasty spending habit, and I’m boring. I don’t exactly think you have the right perception of me. I may be funny to be around, but I don’t think I’m girlfriend material. I’d be a little too high maintenance.”

For a solid thirty seconds, he didn’t say anything. You thought you had successfully chased him away. It turns out he was just thinking carefully about his next words.

“High maintenance or not, relationships are hard work. I want that with you. When I’m with you, everything matters—even the most minor things and I think that brings out the best in me. Everything about you matters to me. I still like you when you’re hangry, and I value it more when you open up to me because it's so hard for you to be vulnerable. As for the spending habit, I’m sure we could work on that one together. But are you saying this to reject me or scare me away because you feel the same as I?”

You hated how easily he could read you. You felt naked in front of Clark at all times. You had never been as bare as you were the second you came out of your mother. He saw it all. He knew it all, even without you having to say. He was so perfect that you were worried he would shatter if you did anything.

“Clark-”

You looked into his eyes and saw the same ones that worried more for others than for himself. You saw your reflection in his eyes. He looked at you like you were his whole world and more. You couldn’t bear it. You felt sorry that this was what he wanted - that you were what he wanted when he deserved someone smarter, kinder, prettier.

“You deserve better.” You had to look away from him. You couldn’t look at his face as he pleaded.

“I want you.” He gently took your hand and rubbed his thumb across your knuckles. His hands were soft like he was. “No one else. I would do anything for you. I’m not asking to be your boyfriend right away, just… to try.”

How could you possibly say no to eyes like that? A voice like that? A face like that? You'd be crazy to. He was everything you wanted and dreamed of. A safe place. A home that sheltered me from the world that took so much from you.

“You’ll come, won’t you?” Adelaine, an old friend from college, grins and looks at you with expectant eyes. “Please say you’ll come.”

You smile, just enough for the corners of my lips to curl upwards, and nod.

“Of course I’ll go to your wedding, Ads. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Thank you!” she squeals, reaching to hug you, but halts when she sees you instinctively back away. “Oh, right. No physical affection. I got it.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you. I don’t want my powers to activate accidentally,” You say.

It wasn’t entirely a lie. You were always paranoid that just by touching you, someone would get hurt, but physical affection was always reserved for Clark and only him. You hadn’t let anyone hold you since. You were still working with Barry Allen to figure out how to eliminate your abilities.

“Always so paranoid,” she sighs and shakes her head. “Anyhow, you’re allowed to bring a plus one.”

“No need. I won’t be bringing anyone.”

“Seriously?” she gawks, “You haven’t been with anyone since Clark?”

You shrug your shoulders.

“Come on! Move on! What is he now? Some journalist? You can do so much better. No point in staying hung up on him!”

“I’m not hung up on him,” you grumble, knowing that one was a lie.

She scoffs and raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t get what you saw in him.”

“Everything good.”

“So why’d you leave? You’re the one who broke up with him.”

How could you tell her that the gentle giant, Clark Kent, from college broke your trust? You were finally beginning to feel normal when a villain attacked. At first, he grabbed you, and you stayed hidden.

You remember anxiety rushing through every vein in your body. The terror was always the same when you heard someone was attacking, because what if it was your turn? You had opened up to Clark about your worries, and he had always reassured you that no matter what, he would never let anything or anyone touch a single hair on your head.

But that day, he left you. He told you to stay put. You fought back tears and nodded, trying to be brave and thinking he was going to call Superman for help. After all, he always managed to get interviews with the guy. Maybe he had him on speed dial or something like that.

Superman was too late.

You were rushed to the hospital, and you were in a coma for two months, apparently. Your parents were so angry with Clark that they banned him from visiting you. They didn’t tell you that, so you just assumed he had abandoned you again.

He showed up at your apartment after you were discharged. He tried to dote on you and take care of everything, but you were having none of it. You got into a massive argument, and you told him to leave. He left you before, and again afterwards; surely it would be easy for him to leave you alone in your apartment again. He cried. You cried.

He explained everything to you. He told you he was trying to get Superman, and when you called bullshit, he told you outright that he was Superman.

You remember laughing hysterically. Not even Superman could’ve saved you.

“I felt like he deserved better. Just because I left him doesn’t mean I don’t miss him,” you grazed the rim of your mug, staring into the tea that was practically milk. "I couldn’t stay because it was too much for me. How well he was treating me. It made me sick.”

Adelaine rubs her forehead.

“He was too perfect.”

“He was. I couldn’t handle it.”

Another half-truth.

You couldn’t stand him coming home bruised. You couldn’t stand his complete disregard for his own well-being, and the guilt of what happened to you never left him. He would look at you as if he were the one who broke you, and you hated it.

“Anyway, just send me the RSVP, and I’ll book off work,” you say, setting your mug down and dusting off your trousers. I’ll see you during the wedding preparations, I’m sure.”

Adelaine purses her lips and just nods.

“See you then. Tell Barry I say hi.”

You wave your hand in dismissal.

“I won’t. Barry doesn’t deserve greetings.”

She chuckles, and as you walk away, you hear her say, “You said the same thing about Kent.”

You shake your head, ignoring the comment until you walk past a familiar face with dark hair covering his blue eyes and nerdy glasses that slide down his nose. He was staring at you, and you felt naked all over again.

“I- It's you,” his honey-smooth voice called. “Can we-”

He heard everything. There was no way he didn’t.

Panic surges through your body. You felt sick. You hadn’t seen Clark in three years. You had heard rumours from your mutual friends that he had a very special friendship with a beautiful and intelligent woman called Lois Lane. You wanted the vomit.

“Daydreamin’? The whole day will go by in a flash if you keep doin’ that,” someone grabs your wrist and spins you around to face them.

You look up, startled.

“Happy to see me?” Barry Allen’s stupid smirk comes into your field of vision.

He's wearing a red baseball jacket, his hair framing his stupidly handsome face, and his glasses that he prefers to keep just above the bulb of his nose, never fighting to push them up to their proper position. He smelt of jasmine and rose.

You scowl, flustered, and push him away.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you sigh, yanking your wrist from him. “Let’s just go. We have a lot to get done.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he salutes, glancing back at Adelaine, who had seemingly witnessed the whole thing, “Hi, Addy.”

She grins and waves back.

You wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

You couldn’t bear to look back at Clark. If Adelaine saw everything, Clark definitely did. You felt like crying.

“Who was the giant bear that looked like he was on the verge of tears?” Barry follows you out of the cafe, hands inside his jacket pockets. “You seemed startled to see him, too. Everything okay?”

“It’s nothing, Barry. Drop it,” you take a deep breath, running your right thumb over your left knuckles to calm you down.

Barry pouts but does as you said, not asking further questions before getting into his car. You get into the passenger seat, instinctively glance towards the cafe and see Clark staring at his phone. He had the same look on his face the day you left him.

“He’s in a rough spot. I know it’s not fair of me to ask this of you, but do you know of anywhere he can crash in New York?” Dick’s voice came through your phone speaker while you waited for your dinner to finish cooking in the air fryer. “It’s only for a little while, I promise. He’s quiet, and he’s just working through some things. Family shit, you know?”

You sigh loudly enough for your phone to catch it from across the room.

“I can’t think of any, Dick,” You answer honestly. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any contact here that would have room for him apart from my place.”

“That’s perfect!” He exclaims, and you could hear the excitement. “Your apartment is bright, colourful and comfy! It’s a completely different change in environment that could be good for him!”

Immediately, you regret opening your mouth and answering the phone. You enjoyed your peace! You liked the quietness of your apartment, with the only sounds being your footsteps and the CD player blasting old R&B from your parents' generation. Another person in your apartment? Jason Todd, specifically? It would disrupt your rhythm! You knew he was a night owl, too.

“I don’t know,” you rub the back of your neck. “I like my space.”

“You won’t even know he’s there. I’ll make sure he’s well behaved!”

“I’m not a dog,” another voice you knew all too well grumbles. “If she has no room, I’ll find a motel.”

“Not one that isn’t extortionately priced. Everything is expensive here,” you mention and take your dinner out of the air fryer. “Unless you have Wayne money, the longest you can stay in a motel is a week, or you stay in a shitty place.”

Jason groans loudly, but doesn't seem opposed to the shitty place option. Of course, he didn’t. He would rather live with infested rats than live with you is your first thought.

“Please?” Dick’s voice rises an octave. “Pretty please? He’ll pay rent- fuck it, I’ll pay his rent!” You can practically hear the puppy dog eyes from where you stand. “Just let him stay, probably only for two months!”

You knew you were probably making a bad decision, but it was only for a little while anyway… right? What could possibly go wrong?

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

So, a week later, you meet Dick in the city centre, iced Americano in hand, sunglasses on, and the exhaustion of a whole work week resting on your eyebags. The sun is beaming down, and it’s a typical summer day in New York. The grass is green, the leaves on the trees are swaying with the light breeze, and the chatter of people surrounds you. Living here was only a slight upgrade from Gotham, but a small upgrade is still an upgrade. At least New York gets sun every now and then.

You spot Dick from a mile away. His wavy dark hair bobbed up and down as he waves enthusiastically at you from a distance. Jason follows behind him, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of an oversized red hoodie while his eyes survey his surroundings, a rucksack slung over one of his shoulders. His eyes were squinted too, probably from how bright the sun was. God knows, Gotham never got sun like this. He probably wasn’t used to it. You knew he wasn’t. He reacted similarly when you had a mission in South-East Asia during your time in Young Justice.

“Hi!” Dick beams at you, and you smile to greet him and the figure looming behind him.

“When I agreed to this, I hope you know that I’m not exactly thrilled to be housing him.” You lower your sunglasses to look at him, unimpressed. “I’m only doing this for you as a favour.”

“You’ll be fine,” Dick grins and drops a hand to make light of the situation. “Jason, say hi.”

“Hey,” Jason just nods at you. Men.

“Hey,” you sneer, but still stick your hand out to shake his because, despite your general hatred of men, you were not impolite. Your parents raised you better than that.

“I still think it’s crazy that you two knew each other from before. This must be some reunion, huh?” Dick says.

Jason stares at him with no expression on his face. “Not our first rodeo.”

You suppose he didn’t disclose your actual reunion last year to Dick. You couldn’t fault him for not doing so; you also didn’t tell Dick. To him, this was your official first reunion since Jason died and came back to life. Except the actual first time ended up in both of you bloody, and Tim rushing you back to the Batcave to stitch you back up like you were Frankenstein. A botched mission happened and neither of you recognised the other in your new suits.

His green eyes are like a dark void that sucked you in the minute you made eye contact with him. They used to be brown, and they used to look at you so differently than the way he looked at you at this moment.

“I won’t even know you’re here?” You look at Jason.

“I doubt it,” he answers.

Good enough for you.

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“Here,” Jason hands you a cup of Vietnamese iced coffee at 6 a.m. without meeting your eyes. “You need to wake up for work.”

Fun fact: It has been much longer than two months since Jason Todd began staying at your apartment. In fact, Jason Todd has been living with you for almost a year. It has not been a fun experience, but the mornings are the only time when you’re cordial to each other.

“I can make my own coffee, Todd,” you scowl, but still take the cup from him and lean against the island in the kitchen.

“Pancakes are on the dining table,” he ignores you and drinks his black coffee like the pretentious asshole he was.

You roll your eyes and walk to the dining table to feast. You needed as much as you could before you showed up to work.

Plopping down at the dining table, you stack a few pancakes on your plate and open your computer to check the itinerary for today. Even though you knew for a fact that the most you would get to do was do coffee runs for everyone in the office. You hated being an intern at a fashion company, but you have to start somewhere.

You were so focused on your computer that you almost failed to notice Jason sitting beside you, a Jane Austen book in hand, butter resting near your plate. It was scarily domestic and petrified you every time you thought about it for too long.

“Busy day ahead?” he asks while sipping his coffee.

“Always,” you sigh and rub your forehead in exhaustion, even though the day had just begun. “You?”

“Yeah. Teaching the kids at school poetry today,” he mutters, eyes still glued to the pages of Austen.

Another interesting fact most may not know about the big and scary Jason Todd: he’s a substitute English teacher at one of the more underfunded schools in New York. It’s on the other side of the city, and since you only have one car, Jason has to take the bus to work. He does have a motorcycle, but said he didn’t want the attention from being the only teacher with one. He’s run into Wonder Woman one too many times for your comfort. He started volunteering as his pastime because he got so bored at home, but decided to curate a new identity and forge a teaching certificate. You would admit it was a good idea if he weren't so annoying.

You’ve heard from Donna, who took the mantle of Wonder Girl after you retired and still attends the school, talking about the tall, dark, and handsome English substitute called Mr Smith. Yeah. Jason’s new civilian identity was Jason Smith. It was a simple enough name, and there were thousands of Jason Smiths roaming around, you’re sure. It just amused you.

At least he seemed to enjoy it. Dick even came around to check on him, and he was busy grading past paper questions in the dining room. Apparently, there are a couple of kids who stand out to him. Something about one kid being a complete literature nerd, similar to himself. He wasn’t wrong. He had read Frankenstein by Mary Shelley when he wasn’t even the same height as a Coffee barista’s table. You remember being thirteen years old in Young Justice, talking about a show called My Hero Academia, while Jason explained how annoyed he was when people assumed the monster’s name was Frankenstein. The only Stein you knew much about was from Monster High.

“You like Austen?” You say after a while, glancing at the Pride and Prejudice book he held.

“Mhm.”

“You read that book before?”

“Multiple times. Have you?”

You purse your lips together and look away from him. Since university, the only books you’ve ever really read were romcom novels and self-help books. Your brain couldn’t handle classic fancy mumbo jumbo regency speak or whatever, and you could see Jason judging you from the corner of your eye.

“Whatever,” you get up, shovel one final pancake in your mouth, and down your coffee. “I don’t need your self-pretentiousness before work.”

“You’re a journalist for a fashion company, you should read more.” Jason tuts your full name with the shake of his head.

God, you could strangle him. He always insists on the full name and even walks around the apartment shirtless like he owned the place. That cocky attitude clearly didn’t die when he did.

Yes, he paid rent, and yes, it was always on time. Yes, he paid for his groceries, did his chores and even made meals big enough for you since you always stayed late at the office. That didn’t mean he owned the place. It was in your name, and you hated seeing him lounge on your sofa with only sweatpants on like he was always supposed to be there when you came home from work.

Arguments were too frequent with you, and every single time, they ended with both of you slamming the doors of your respective bedrooms. You were just relieved that you only had to see him in the mornings and very late evenings. One of these days, that man was going to die, and it would be by your hands. Two months, your ass.

You glare at him, prepared for it to be the last time you look at him before storming off, when you hear a clink against his mug. Jason never wore jewellery because he didn’t like the sensation of something restricting his fingers. That was probably a cause of sensory issues, or trauma, or potentially both. So the clink set off bells in your head.

You walk over and grab his hand, your mouth falling agape when you see a wedding band.

“What the fuck? You’re married?!” You screech, not even shocked when Jason yanks his hand back and glares at you from where he was sitting. “Since when?!”

“Use that pretty little head of yours and think, hm?” His voice carries the mockery he had had since you were teenagers. “I’m a civilian teacher now. I need a backstory.”

“Backstory being you’re married?” You scoff and cross your arms. “To whom, exactly?”

“Oh come on,” he chuckles darkly, repeating your name and leans back into the dining seat, “you. I’m married to you.”

It takes you a moment to stop and process what was said. He had been telling colleagues and potential parents he was married to you!

When you look at him, you see the flicker of amusement wave around in the centre of those dark green eyes, the corners slightly creased because the smirk on his face reached his eyes too. He was so aggravating.

“I’m your wife?” You try to steady your voice, to be calm and cool-collected!

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods.

You stare before completely losing it.

“Your wife?! Jason Peter Todd!” You slam your fists against his bare chest and scream at him. “I have family who go to that school! Donna goes to that school! I have other family members going to that school! Why couldn’t you have just made up a wife?! Wouldn’t that be easier?! Also, what do you need a wife for?!”

“To get those single mothers away from me, first and foremost,” his legs find themselves parted for you to stand in between while you hit him, and his hands hover above your waist to keep your balance. You hate how observant he was. “And secondly, why not? You hate the idea of me being your husband that badly?”

You scowl and shove his face away from yours.

“I do the cooking and the cleaning. I work the easy nine-to-five. Is that not enough for you, wifey?” You want to smack the grin off his face.

“Don’t show anyone any photos,” you say, finger pointed, teeth clenched, and patience running thin. It was too early in the morning for this.

“But,” he flips his phone to show you the screen, and lo and behold, it had a picture of you asleep on the sofa as its wallpaper. “I already did.”

Fury was the only emotion you could describe. You launch yourself on top of him, knocking both you and the seat down to the floor, not caring about that whatsoever and straddling his torso to wrap your hands around his neck. Somehow, he flips you over with ease, pinning your hands to the floor and trapping your legs in between his. You knew you stood a chance at flipping you back to where you were with your Amazon strength but you were so caught off guard you didn’t move.

Your breaths were barely heavy, but they felt intertwined, your noses centimetres apart, eyes locked onto the other, waiting, watching to see who made the next move. Your body felt warm against his, like he was a human heater. Maybe it was the anger flowing through your veins that he had overpowered you so easily that made you feel warm. Prior feelings couldn’t resurface - you didn’t want them to, and you refused to let them.

“When I catch you, Jason Todd,” you scowl, trying to sink into the floor to create as much distance as physically possible, “when I catch you.”

He flashes you that boyish grin you’d only ever seen him have when he annoyed you and nodded. “You have to admit, I’m a pretty good husband, no?” He releases your arms but keeps his face close to yours. “I am pretty good to you.”

“Get lost,” you shove him, opting to use the most underhanded tactic you knew, kneeing him in the balls. He groans and falls to the space next to you. “For the record, if you’re married to me, you get my surname, got it? Might wanna update your paperwork.”

He nods, still wincing in pain.

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You stand outside the school waiting for Jason to come out. Public transport wasn’t operating after a particularly bad battle between Wonder Woman and another massive extraterrestrial reptile, so you had to pick him up. You were just relieved your younger cousin was sick that day because you knew she would have insisted she come home with you and bombarded both Jason and you with questions that floated around in her adorable head.

You lean against the car with your arms crossed, eyes watching the door. When it opens, you stand up just a little straighter to wave Jason over, but see three different women chattering to him with their children toddling behind, gossiping, judging from the fact that the little tykes were covering their mouths. Jason is in the middle, politely trying to shove them off and pointing to the ring on his finger. You know he can handle it on his own, and even then, it isn’t exactly your business. He isn’t your actual husband, but then you hear one of them say that you didn’t need to know if he wanted to have a little fun. For some reason, every muscle in your body screamed at you to move.

You walk over with as much composure as you could muster and stand behind Jason, who hadn’t registered your presence yet. The other mothers see you first and scowl at you in distaste.

“Jason,” you announce your presence, and Jason spins around. “Stop stalling for time. I expected you home an hour ago.”

Jason blinks and adjusts the glasses on his perfectly arched nose. The influence of Clark Kent and his hypno-glasses. “Yes, of course. These mothers just had questions about the upcoming curriculum and English field trip.”

You look at the women. “An email didn’t sound appealing? Clinging onto his arm was more fun, wasn't it?”

“Okay,” Jason sucks in a breath, his hand finding the small of your back in an attempt to turn around to walk back to your car.

“No, no, you know he’s married, right? To me,” you grab his hand and show the wedding band that definitely wasn’t yours and was probably something cheap he found from a pawn shop downtown. “The least you can do is have some respect for the man and his marriage. Some class, you guys have.” You scoff, grab Jason’s hand and storm back to your car.

The women were glaring at your car. You can feel them. You can feel their judgmental stares as Jason gets into the passenger’s seat and tucks his briefcase into the backseat, while you sit in the front, enraged.

“Y’know, I thought I had anger issues,” Jason leans back, eyes on you while you drive home. “I think a certain someone has jealousy issues for their not-husband.”

“I just can’t stand infidelity. It’s disgusting. They knew you were married and still chose to climb all over you. Self-respect and the respect for you and your wife don’t exist. It’s the principle of it all!” You slam your hands on the steering wheel in frustration. “Sorry, I just- I had a long day at work and found out one of my colleagues got cheated on by her husband and some new young thing that knew he was married.”

“And you’re placing yourself in your colleague’s shoes because?”

“Because I have sympathy, Jason. Jesus Christ,” you rub your forehead and hit the brake at a stoplight. “Also, seeing them cling to you like they were on the monkey bars was unsettling. They’ve clearly seen men before; their children were right behind them.”

Jason shrugs his shoulders next to you and stares out the window with a neutral expression. “I’m used to it.”

A pang suddenly shakes your chest, ribcage squeezing around your heart a little tighter. You look at him in shock, but he carries nonchalance like it weighed nothing when you know he carried the world and more.

“Yeah, well, we have some couple photos to take when we get home. They better leave you alone after seeing those,” you mutter.

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It has been a year and a half since Jason Todd started living with you. About two months ago, he started disappearing for a week at a time, ready to begin integrating himself into vigilantism once again. Dick was excited for him, but a part of you wished he wouldn’t go, at least not without telling you beforehand.

You had begun to get along more, still fighting over little things, but you were comfortable and had fallen into a routine. You’d wake up at the same time, have breakfast together in silence, go to work, he’d come home first and make dinner while you stayed overtime at the fashion agency, then when you got home, you’d eat the dinner left in the fridge and join him on the sofa, occasionally leaving him alone to assist Wonder Woman and Wonder Girl as your new hero identity. It wasn’t a thrilling life, but it was a comfortable one.

“Oh, and then apparently Reagan ran into Cecilia,” you tell him work drama, ignoring the yearning feeling of wanting him to stay, which weighs heavily on your chest as you watch him slip on his gloves. “They argued like crazy, literally like cats and dogs. Don’t quote me on this, but apparently Cecilia called her a cunt that could never be redeemed and that her son was so much better off without her. Isn’t that crazy?”

“That is crazy,” Jason nods and fixes his jacket. “She’s always been an asshole.”

“Yvyonne told me,” you add with a sigh, “it’s just insane that she’d bring her son up, y’know? That’s fucked up!”

Jason hums, eyes trained on you with that same attentive look he had every time you rambled. Maybe if you talked long enough, he’d stay.

“Like, I know she and Reagan weren’t close, but I mean, that’s low. I wouldn’t have expected that from Cecilia. I know her from when we were in university together, and yeah, sure, she was annoying, and self-righteous and all of that jazz, but she never crossed a line like that,” you sigh and stir your hot chocolate with a spoon Jason had gifted you for your birthday. “I really don’t know what’s going on in her head, y’know? If Hanna had said something like that to Reagan, that would make sense. Hanna doesn’t really think before she speaks; she just says, but Reagan has had more cordial discussions with Hanna than Cecilia!”

“Interesting.”

“I know, right?!” You were running out of things to say, and your heart began to sink.

“Well, I’ll be back in a week,” he says as he walks over and moves some of your hair out of your face. Fuck, you hated him and the way your heart beats a little harder every time he was near. “You can tell me the rest when I get back.”

“Sure,” you fake nonchalance that you knew he could see through. “Try not to die again, Red Hood.”

“I’ll come back to you, Mrs." He slips the helmet on. “Don’t get your hopes up that I won’t return.”

And like that, he was gone.

You’re alone in the apartment again, and for some reason, instead of craving the silence with only the accompaniment of your footsteps and CD player that you had for months, you loathed it. You had work to attend, and it was mid-term break for all schools, so this job was perfectly timed for Jason. Of course, he had to go.

You came home that night to an empty house, but dinner was ready in the fridge. You didn’t even want to question where he was; he didn’t give you the details. You got used to the week-long absences, but then one week turned into two weeks, then two weeks into two months. You didn’t want to admit it, but the heavy feeling in your chest carried nothing but anxiety and worry. You didn’t mention it to Dick because you didn’t want him to think you cared about the man. You didn’t, you swear.

You cared about the iced coffees in the warmer seasons, the hot chocolate in the colder seasons, the specific care he took to clean areas in high places you could reach with your powers, but he did it for your convenience, and the dinners you used to come home to. You didn’t care that Jason was gone; it was just the things he did and the fact that you were no longer alone. That was definitely it. It definitely wasn’t that you felt chosen for the first time in your life when he decided to say you were his wife, and every time you caught him saying it like it was a fact to a colleague of his, your heart raced.

His presence definitely didn’t remind you of good times in Young Justice, where M’gann used to tease you about your crush on him. It definitely wasn’t that you felt loved because he would always smile and introduce you with a certain confidence in his voice whenever you ran into one of his colleagues outside of work. He had never said that to you, and you knew he probably never would. Knowing Jason, once he’s done healing in New York from most of the scars of Gotham and his past, he’ll leave you behind and return to where he belongs - in Gotham without you.

But as more time passed, you got more anxious and irritable. It was so apparent that Donna caught on while you were training and asked if she should tell Diana to take you out for a drink. You declined. Alcohol barely did anything to you: Amazon powers and whatnot.

After two and a half months of silence, you come home one night and turn the news on: “Red Hood: Prince of Gotham has returned with a vengeance!” Oh great.

You lay on the sofa, far away from where Jason usually sat, wrapped in a blanket, hot chocolate in your hand, and watch tiredly at the news report. He had taken down yet another drug cartel in Gotham, ending in a fight against Nightwing, which neither of them won. That, or it was unclear who won. Knowing Jason, he’d probably say he won that fight.

“I definitely won that fight between me and Nightwing,” his voice echos through what you think was your head.

You think you’re hallucinating until you look up and see him standing beside you. His helmet was cracked, his face was covered in scratches, cuts and bruises, his usually uptight posture was now hunched over in what you can only assume was pain, and even his brown leather jacket had been ripped up.

“Hey, Mrs, miss me?” That same boyish smile would be the death of you.

You take the blanket off and walk away from him. You can’t even speak. You didn’t know what to say, or what would come out of your mouth. You didn't know if it would be incoherent sobs or screaming in a language he didn’t understand. All you knew was you had a first aid kit and had to patch him up first.

Upon your return, he’s sitting patiently in the living room. His eyes light up a little, almost resembling those of a young boy.

He sits quietly while you patch him up, wincing now and then when you apply alcohol to ensure none of the wounds would get infected. His skin is rough and scarred, his hands calloused. The only sound in the room was the faint narration of the news and your breathing.

“Worried?” he says after several minutes of uncomfortable silence. “Almost thought I wasn’t coming home, huh?”

“Don’t talk to me,” you mutter, trying to keep your emotions in check.

“What?” he blinks in surprise.

“You have no idea how angry I am, Jason. Don’t talk to me.”

“Why? What’s wrong? Is someone bothering you at work? Do I have to kill someone? I’ll do it.”

“You’re bothering me,” you spit out, eyes refusing to meet his. “You, it’s all you.” You wrap the final bandage around his arm and rise to your feet. “All of my problems recently are because of you. It’s your fault.”

He looks at you, confused. “My fault?” he points a finger at himself to confirm your statement. What a dork. “What did I do?”

“A week, Jason,” your voice threatens to tremble. “You said a week.”

“I thought it would only take a week, but things can get fucked up sometimes,” he speaks so matter-of-fact that every emotion you had been feeling for the past two and a half months was beginning to resurface. “You know that more than anyone.”

“Never mind. I’ll see you in the morning,” you say through gritted teeth and turn to retreat into your room, but his hand reaches for yours and spins you around. Suddenly, you were face-to-face, standing between his legs once again, while his eyes scan you for clues as to why you could be this angry at him.

“We talk about this now,” he says, his thumb gently crossing back and forth on your knuckles. “What did I do?”

You scoff loudly, a hand on your forehead to regulate your temperature because who knows? Maybe you could’ve gotten a fever with how sick you were with worry.

“What did you do? You didn’t text, you didn’t call, you didn’t even tell Dick to let me know you were okay, Jason!” You shout. “I wasn’t shocked on day eight when you weren’t home. Things happen. I expected something - anything from you after more than two weeks! A note to say ‘hey, I’m not dead again by the way’ or ‘I’m not abandoning you, things just came up.’”

“You thought I abandoned you-?”

“Yes! For a solid month, I thought you had finally gotten sick of me and decided to leave!” You cry out, your body burning with frustration. “I know that you staying here is temporary, the marriage thing isn’t even real, and you don’t even like me, but a goodbye would’ve been appreciated! It’s common courtesy to tell someone you’re doing okay when you don’t return when you said you would! Do you even grasp how sick I was with anxiety?!”

Jason only stares at you as you continue to scream at him. The most movement he produces is slowly standing and placing his hands gently on your forearms, eyes looking at you through those stupidly gorgeous lashes.

“I thought you at least tolerated me a little. I knew that I was probably reading into things too much, that the wife-guy bit was just that - a bit, that you just needed those single mothers to leave you the fuck alone, and I’m literally the only person you know you can trust adequately enough to play pretend wife, but-“ you cover your face with your hands, not wanting him to see you tearing up, “fuck, Jason. I don’t know anymore. Even if it was just to get people to fuck off, I felt wanted, and you leaving without informing me how long you’d be before you got home killed me. I knew we couldn’t just pick up where we left off when we were young, but the fear that you had died again swallowed me whole.”

“I…”

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” you whimper and shove his chest to create more space between you. “You’re fucking inconsiderate.” You hated yourself for crying. You want to do nothing more than crawl into your own skin. “You left me in this circle by myself, not knowing what the fuck we even are anymore. We’re not just roommates; we’re in a fake marriage, but we’re not dating, and we’re hardly friends. I hate you so much.”

You want to pull away, you really do, but when his arms wrap around your frame, you couldn’t. You feel yourself sink into him, and every ounce of frustration comes pouring out in the form of tears and incoherent words of hatred.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles against the crown of your head. “I should’ve called, even if it was late at night.”

“No fucking shit,” you push him away again, and wipe the tears streaming down your cheeks. “This is stupid. You’re probably returning to Gotham anyway, and I saw the news. Their prince is back. You may as well pack up your shit and go.”

“Mrs, come on.”

“I already explained to the school that you’re on a sabbatical, so if you still want that job, it’s still there,” you take a step away from him and cross your arms over your chest like they were an impenetrable shield that he couldn’t reach, even if he wanted to. “I’m going to bed.”

Jason sighs loudly behind you, and he follows you.

“I was never going to abandon you,” he lodges a foot in the door to prevent you from slamming it in his face, his eye twitching at his foot getting squashed between the doorway, but not stopping even to have a breath to explain himself. “I would never do that.”

You couldn’t believe him. How could you? This tall, muscular man, who has the trust of your closest friend, who teaches kids and tutors on the weekends, who has a soft spot for kittens and is a phenomenal at-home barista, tolerates you enough to stay?

You had been alone your entire life, never enough for anyone, people-watching on the sidelines, at school, in life, at work, in both platonic and romantic relationships. You saw the way Konnor looked at M’Gann when they were dating, Wally and Artemis, Dick and Zatanna. You saw it with your friends at your new school in New York when you moved. Even your first kiss was when you were nineteen with a guy in a dark club who couldn’t see you correctly, and he avoided you the rest of the night.

You probably read into things too much when you and Jason were kids, too. He was perhaps just nice and wanted a friend, and you just had to get romantic feelings involved. How stupid would you have to be to believe someone could actually want you, right?

“Stop it, Jason.” You look to the floor like it would be your saviour. Maybe it would suck you into a black hole, and you’d disappear under his gaze. “It’s fine. You don’t owe me an explanation. Just go get some sleep.”

“You’re being selfish.” His hand worms itself on the edge of the door and shoves it open. His eyes flicker around to see the state of your room. He barely bats an eye, his eyes finding their focus on you again. “You won’t even let me speak.”

“Let me be selfish,” you try to shove him back out. “I don’t need to hear it. It’s fine, Jason. I get it. I’ll still play the role of wife when you need it, don’t worry. Just forget about everything.”

“Hey, that’s not-”

“Seriously, it’s fine. I know I read into things, and I know I shouldn’t have. I know this is just a roommate situation, and I got in over my head because, oh wow! A man who’s conventionally attractive lives with me and isn’t outwardly disgusted by my being? I must be in love! Maybe he reciprocated my feelings back when we were younger, too!” You try to joke because if you didn’t, you were going to break down in front of him again, and you would rather kill yourself than have him console you for being trapped in a one-sided love, just like how your entire adolescence was spent. “Just ignore it. We’ll return to how we were, and I won’t stress myself out again. It’ll be like nothing changed-”

“And if I want change? Throughout this entire conversation, have you ever stopped once to ask what I want? What I think?” he snaps, his hand gripping the door, tightening while his eyes narrow at you.

“Fine. I’ll leave you alone from now on.”

“That’s- fuck, that’s not what I fucking meant. If you’d just let me fucking speak-”

You don’t want him to. You don’t want to hear him say that he really values you as a friend who works well with him, who covers his ass at work so the single mothers leave him alone, but he just doesn’t feel that way about you. You don’t want to hear him say he’s glad Dick has you as a friend and that he’s relieved he has you too. You don’t want to listen to any of it.

“Jason, drop it.”

“No. I won’t drop it. I- for fuck’s sake, I feel the same way, I always have,” his eyes feel like they pierce through the darkest depths of your soul. His chest rises up and down in the heat of the moment, and from frustration at your constant speaking over him. “You think I don’t get paranoid when you take too long on missions with Wonder Woman? You think I don’t get jealous when I see you with that stupid, flirty reporter from the Daily Planet when he takes photos for your work? I do. I get so insanely paranoid and jealous that I feel insane because I have never felt this way before, except when I was in Young Justice with you.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Do I look like scum to you?” he scoffs loudly, hurt evident in his voice. “I finally tell you my side, and you think I’m lying?”

“Yeah, I do,” you hug yourself so tightly that your fingernails begin to make crescent-shaped indents on your waist.

“Look me in my eyes and say that to me again.”

You couldn’t. You didn’t dare to.

“Look at me.”

No. You want him to stop. Your entire body was screaming to run - to abort mission and hide in Diana’s apartment for eternity.

You shut your eyes, preparing for him to storm out and slam his door shut, not wanting to see the sight, but calloused hands cup your face and force your head in his direction.

“Please.”

You fucking hate him.

You open your eyes and see Jason—your Jason. Jason, who made you coffee every morning and hot chocolate every night, who bragged to his colleagues about his ‘super cool fashion journalist wife who’s going to be world famous one day’, and broke a limb for you multiple times during missions in Young Justice.

“I don’t know what it is, but I care about you. Every time you don’t come home when you say, I contemplate putting the helmet on and finding you myself to make sure you’re okay, fuck, I’ve even contemplated putting a tracker on your suit to know your every move, even following you just to watch to make sure you don’t get hurt.” His thumbs ghost over your cheekbones.

It never occurred to you that you had never been held like this before by anyone else. You had been held like this by him on several occasions, where you took panic attacks over past trauma and even just the stress of civilian work and hero work.

“You have no idea of the space you take up in my brain, you’re so annoying.” Jason continues. Who said romance was dead? “But I wouldn’t want anything else. I want this, I want you. I want the fights, the lazily lounging on the sofa, the breakfast, the singing in the background of every shower, the bragging rights that I have you as a wife to my sleazy coworkers. I want all of it, all of you, even if you’re fucking insane and speak over me all the time. Your voice is the sound I want to hear for the rest of my life, however long that may be.”

For once, Jason Todd has rendered you speechless, and he’s the one who’s doing the communicating.

“Call me an asshole, call me inconsiderate, call me whatever you want, just don’t call me a liar. Not to you. Never to you.”

Too many thoughts flood your brain. Every doubt and insecurity that had risen to the surface, whispering that he was still lying to you, was silenced by his own voice that screamed to be heard over the whispers without even raising his voice. He never raised his voice at you, not even when you fought, and here he is, still fighting you without raising his voice, just fighting for it to be heard.

“I hate you,” you whisper, but wrap your hands around his wrists. “You have no idea how much I fucking hate you.”

He chuckles softly and pulls you into his arms again.

“Yeah, likewise.”

Quick A/N:

There are things I will not write including the likes of DDLG/DDLB or MDLG/MDLB, CNC, Dub-con, and the likes as I’m personally not comfortable. Other than that, pretty much everything else is free game lol.

DC

Jason Todd (Red Hood)

And They Were Roommates

The Final Straw (coming soon!)

Clark Kent (Superman)

A Boundary Crossed

Dick Grayson (Nightwing)

Get Off Your Knees, Grayson!

Just a Little Bit of Authority (coming soon!)

CK [Clark Kent] (Superboy Prime)

Two Can Play At That Game (coming soon!)

Percy Jackson

Luke Castellan

Yet to come…

Haikyuu

Yet to come…

Attack On Titan

Yet to come…

Young Sherlock

Mycroft Holmes