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The next morning begins with you sprawled out on your floor, laying next to your trash can with a half-empty bottle of water and some chips. 

Your eyes open with great resistance. There’s a loud buzzing sound erupting from your phone, somewhere behind the trash can, and your arms flail trying to grab it. 

Merely sitting up makes your entire body ache in protest. You squeeze your eyes shut, rubbing at your throbbing temples before reaching for your phone.

A spam call. 

That’s what forced you to drag yourself from a mediocre, yet deep floor slumber. 

You deny it instantly. You’re left with a home screen so busy and bright that it makes you squint.

The first thing you see is the time: 11:53. 

You’d slept through class.

As to be expected.

Still, it sends another wave of pain through your skull. It feels like there’s cement where your brain should be. 

The second thing that catches your eye are the hoards of text messages cluttering your screen. 

Your stomach sinks when you see the most recent. 

Dick :) (11:03): Hey, how are you feeling?

Dick :) (11:03): I’m skipping class :( feel like shit from last night 

Everything from last night comes flooding back to you. As much of it as you can remember, anyway.

Too much alcohol. Dick leading you to the bathroom. Then vomiting. A lot of vomiting. He came to check on you at one point– you were sure of it. 

And then you blinked and were back home. 

And now, on your floor, you hold your breath as your fingers scramble to come up with anything to say. 

You (11:55 AM): I skipped too. I doubt he’ll cover anything important, half the class won’t  be there

You (11:55 AM): Hopefully you’re feeling better than me. 

Hesitantly, but with too much exhaustion to really care, you send a photo of yourself– caked in yesterday’s makeup, dried mascara under your eyes, smudged black liner, and hair a mess– giving a thumbs up. 

You (11:56 AM): [photo]

You (11:56 AM): I’m genuinely so sorry for yakking in your toilet btw 

Charm wasn’t your strongest trait. Four texts and a photo was anything short of desperate, even if it wasn’t for romantic attention. 

He doesn’t respond. He either hates you or went back to sleep.

You hope it’s the latter, because the rest of your roommates seem to follow suit. 

Creeping down the steps to grab a fresh bottle of water, you notice the house is dead silent. In fact, so is the whole street, void of the usual chatter of students walking to class or music playing from their porches. 

For that brief moment, it’s just you in the kitchen: lightheaded, thirsty, feeling like you got hit by a bus. But there’s sun shining through the windowpane and a peaceful stillness accompanied only by the occasional chirping of mourning doves.

A rare quiet. The calm after a storm you can’t fully recall. 

You’d face the humiliation of whatever happened last night when the rest of the world awoke. 

Right now, you had to take care of the buzzball-sized hole in your stomach. You open a delivery app, ordering the greasiest, cheesiest egg sandwich you can find along with a large iced coffee from a nearby diner.

– 

“I did what?” 

The girls snicker hearing the tremor in your voice. 

“Yeah. You were clinging to him, girl,” Chloe attests, taking a sip from her mug. “Like a koala bear.”

You think your heart can’t drop any further, but it seems to completely sink to the bottom of a very dark, deep ocean of humiliation. 

You were expecting drunk antics. You weren’t expecting to hear that you spent half the night crying into the arms of Gotham U’s biggest playboy: the very one your roommates thought you couldn’t stand. 

What had you told him? What did he think of you? A total freak– surely. 

Then, a worse thought quickly pops into your head.

Had you tried to make a move on him?

That thought had never crossed your mind before– but that’s when you were sober. Not drunk out of your mind and bold enough to curl into his arms.

He was undeniably attractive. The image of him at the party, body damp from sweat and shirt barely holding together, had engrained itself in your brain. What if you’d commented on it? Or worse, done something about it?

A new wave of shame overcomes you. 

You weren’t supposed to be thinking about him like that. You didn’t think of him that way. He wasn’t… he was never in the conversation, even if he was admittedly easy on the eyes. 

And kind. And funny. And not entirely an idiot. 

And it’d make the semester ten times more awkward if he ever found out. 

Your throat burned from something that wasn’t from the hangover.

Lena rubs your shoulder as your head falls into your lap. 

“He really didn’t seem that fazed,” she chuckles. “He was more concerned than weirded out. I… don’t think he was weirded out at all, actually.” 

The girls hum in agreement. You’re not entirely convinced that they’re not just being nice to save you the humiliation. 

As if reading your mind, Lena pulls out her phone. Your head darts up. 

On her screen is a brief text conversation between her and Dick. 

Lena (3:14 AM): She’s home safe :) 

(3:17 AM) Dick liked “She’s home safe :)” 

Dick (3:17 AM): Thank you for letting me know! 

You squint. You look up at Lena. Then back at the phone. Then Lena. 

She beats you to speaking before you can fully open your mouth. 

“He only gave me his number to make sure you were okay,” she says. “He was worried. Like, genuinely worried.”

The look on your face is somewhere between bewilderment and relief. 

“And he didn’t try to touch you or anything,” Hafsa adds. “Seriously, we would’ve kicked his ass.” 

“I know that,” you grumble, shaking your head. But you felt only the smallest bit of relief. Why would he have even bothered?

What would his potentially-imaginary-other-school-situationship think of it?

You rub at your temples as the ache grows.  

The conversation eventually splinters as the girls get ready to go about their day. It’s nearly 2 PM by this point and you still hadn’t received a text back from Dick. Maybe you never would. 

Eventually, you trudge back up to your small haven in the attic, deciding to try and knock out the classwork you missed to get your mind off of things. 

And it works!

For a while. 

It’s 4:34 PM when a buzz from your phone pulls you from your trance. You reach for it embarrassingly quickly. 

Dick :) (4:34 PM): God I’m sorry I just woke back up 

Dick :) (4:34 PM): [image] 

He sends a photo of him lying in bed: hair disheveled, half-lidded eyes, flashing the same awkward thumbs up you’d given him earlier.

You swallow, staring at the photo far longer than you had to while the rest of the messages came through. 

His sheets were navy blue– bad sign. Fuckboy classic. 

But when your jawline was still that sharp and your hair still looked effortlessly tousled violently hungover, you’d probably be a little cocky too. 

Dick :) (4:36 PM): I’ll look at class stuff this weekend, unfortunately I’m going out again tn 😰😰

Dick :) (4:37 PM): Hopefully my toilet won’t be filled with as much Y/N puke 

A blush of equal parts embarrassment and amusement creeps up your face. The girls would have a field day if they saw you like this. 

Dick :) (4:37 PM): I really do hope you feel better though please take it easy tn :(

You turn off your phone and instantly stand up. After a few minutes of pacing around your room like a tense, wild animal, you pick it back up with a deep breath, trying to think of a response. 

This was more intense than any exam would ever be. 

You (4:43 PM): That toilet’s gonna be filled with ur puke not mine 

You stare down at the message after you send it. You’re about to write something equally as witty to follow, but hesitate.

Slowly, but surely, you type something longer. 

You (4:45 PM): My roommates told me about what happened last night btw. I’m so sorry for acting the way I did. I really don’t drink much and I overdid it 😭

You (4:46 PM): Thank you so much for taking care of me. You didn’t have to. I owe you one

Before you can fully regret breaking the playful banter, his typing bubble appears immediately. 

Dick :) (4:46 PM): God no you’re totally fine

Dick :) (4:46 PM): I’m just glad you’re feeling better 

Dick :) (4:46 PM): You owe me nothing 

The sincerity shone through even over text. It was the same warmth you heard when he brought you coffee and asked about your mornings, and you felt a flutter of relief in your chest.  

Whatever you said or did in that small, dingy bathroom wasn’t enough to scare him off completely. 

Which you should’ve figured from his morning check-in, but you were never one for having high hopes.

You message him back. 

You (4:48 PM): Ok. But I really do mean it. 

Assuming the conversation was over, and feeling strangely content with it, you’re about to turn your phone off when his typing bubble appears again. 

Dick :) (4:49 PM): I know you do

Dick :) (4:50 PM): I doubt I’ll see you out again tn so I’ll get twice as drunk in ur honor 🫡

A bemused huff escapes you. 

He wasn’t wrong; you had no intention of waking up feeling like dead weight once more. But the thought of him going out again– maybe to talk to girls, maybe just to get wasted– left a sour taste in your mouth. 

It was his choice, you told yourself as you snapped a picture of your intense study setup: highlighted notebooks, a PDF of a case study loaded onto your iPad, an assignment document on your laptop. 

You (4:53 PM): [image]

You (4:54 PM): I have plans

A crazy night you’d have. 

Too crazy for him, apparently, because he doesn’t respond. You figure he’s already back at his frat house, starting the night early by taking swigs of the communal whiskey bottle. 

You bury yourself in homework for the rest of the afternoon. It’s nearly two hours later when a buzz from your phone pulls your attention away from an absolutely riveting academic journal on research methodology. 

The first message is an image.

Dick is standing in front of his bathroom mirror, shooting a thumbs up with aviators and a fake mustache on his face. He’s wearing a purple, flowery button-up top, exposing half of his toned upper body like he had last night, and a pair of bell bottom jeans: some sort of 70’s hippie getup. What gets you is the stupidly cheeky grin on his face. You can’t see his eyes through the sunglasses, but you know there’s that same self-satisfied glint in them. 

He knew he looked good and he knew you thought so, too. 

God, what had you said to him last night?

Before you can pull yourself away from staring at his abs for the next hour, two more texts roll in. 

Dick :) (6:24 PM): Wowwww crazy 🤓

Dick :) (6:24 PM): Just don’t puke all over ur setup 

You roll your eyes. You place a dislike reaction on the last message. 

You (6:26 PM): Fuck off 

He hearts the message. 

You don’t hear from Dick the rest of the night, assuming he’s long gone in somebody’s backyard before it even hits 10 o’clock. 

The rest of your roommates say goodbye as they leave to go out for the second night. You have the house to yourself, the only accompaniment the creaking of your shitty old walls and trap music bleeding in from down the street. 

You look at the picture Dick sent you more times than you can count. You feel like a Victorian man seeing a woman’s ankle, but you can’t help it. That picture was meant to make you feel this way. 

Another thought pops into your head just as quickly, making you shiver: how many other girls had he sent it to?

You could admire Dick from afar, but getting close to him was a bad decision. It was the trap every girl fell for. No, you knew better than to think there was something here.

Still, you can’t help yourself from snooping on his Instagram.

That girl. Barbara. She was the only girl to appear on his profile, and the thought that you might know her still gnawed at you.

But she graduated. And she hadn’t gone to Tam U– so this wasn’t the girl Reese had mentioned at work. 

You click on her profile again. It’s still private, but from what you can see, it’s not the kind of girl you’d expect to end up on his page. 

Her profile picture shows her smiling softly, a pair of thin-rimmed glasses on her face. She only has around 300 followers, a few of which were mutuals, and her bio simply reads: “Gotham U 2024.” 

You zoom in on her profile picture, trying to make out the background. It’s a blurred mix of deep browns and something with the color structure of a rainbow. 

And then it clicks.

A bookcase. 

And you know where you’ve seen this girl. 

Last year, when you were knee-deep in LSAT studying, you spent almost every day at the university library.

It was one of the only places you really felt comfortable on campus, and sometimes you’d be there so long that a worker would have to come kick you out when they closed. 

Barbara was one of them.

She worked at the front desk, nose usually buried in a book or eyes glued to her laptop, and always offered you a warm smile when you walked in.

The two of you never spoke past formalities, but it was clear she recognized you. 

You swipe back to the photo of them together. 

His arm was draped around her waist, the two of them standing by the railing of a rooftop bar. They’re smiling, both holding drinks, but the moment doesn’t feel particularly romantic. 

Even in group photos, other couples are hugging, holding hands, even pressing quick pecks to one another’s lips. In comparison, they just looked like friends.

And maybe they were.

Even still, how was this the kind of girl Dick Grayson brought to a fraternity formal? 

Someone who looked like they’d rather spend the weekend catching up on their latest read, not downing drafts at a bar in Canada. 

Something wasn’t adding up. 

You felt shallow, even superficial for thinking it. But with the kind of reputation Grayson had, you’d expect him to have supermodels around his shoulders, not girls with private accounts and modest followings. 

Dick didn’t talk much about his personal life, but he would’ve brought up a girlfriend by now if he had one. And with what Reese mentioned at work about that girl from Tam U…

You go back to his following list. 

He still only followed around 320 people. 

It couldn’t be that hard to find a girl with “Tam” in their bio, right? If it was even included at all– hadn’t Reese mentioned that she might’ve transferred?

You slam your laptop shut, hunching over your desk and beginning to scroll.

You spend an embarrassing amount of time analyzing the accounts of every girl he follows with the intensity of a P.I. 

They each either had “Gotham” and some year in their bio, another school name, or nothing at all. The search felt futile. There weren’t that many to go through, and it still felt like trudging through a desert without an oasis in sight. 

You’re about to give up hope when you come across a profile that immediately catches you off guard.

@k.ori.andr

“Tamaran ‘26 🧡”

Glowing tan skin, long, fiery red hair, glowing green eyes and a tall, athletic build. Her profile picture showed her posing in some sort of tropical setting, leaving little to the imagination.

She was jaw-droppingly gorgeous. 

It was no wonder Dick was one of her 1,980 followers. All of her photos looked like they were taken professionally– or maybe she was just that photogenic. 

This seemed more like the girl he’d lose sleep over. The girl every guy’s eyes would be glued to. One look at her most recent post of her at the beach made you feel like you shouldn’t even be on the same planet as her. 

If Reese was right and this was his situationship… yeah, he wasn’t even sparing you a thought. 

Would he see her tonight? Was she in town for Gotham’s “wild” Halloween party scene?

The thought makes your jaw clench. 

You turn the phone off, throwing it onto your bed. 

There were more pressing matters than who your class project partner was or wasn’t dating. 

With a heavy sigh, you open your laptop again, throwing yourself into readings and assignments like you always did when things got too personal. 

Exactly one month, fifteen days, and 17 hours from now, you’d be done with Gotham University. 

You could ignore it until then. 

– 

Halloweekend goes just as quickly as it arrives. 

By Tuesday morning, you’re back in your seat in Jameson’s class, pre-lecture chatter from classmates now about going home for Thanksgiving break instead of costumes and party plans. 

There’s a quiet ache in your stomach– not the one of dread that you first had when Dick was assigned to be your partner. This one was less familiar, more lingering. 

Something that wouldn’t go away even when he stepped through the door.

“Mornin’,” he greets you with a cup of coffee. “Kyle’s has their holiday flavors out now. That one’s peppermint mocha. Guy at the counter said it was good.” 

You take the familiar green cup. 

“Thanks,” you say with a soft smile as you take a sip. 

He sits down next to you, slinging his backpack onto the floor and leaning down to unzip it and grab his laptop like always.

His head almost brushes against your leg. It feels unintentionally intimate. You don’t like it.

You clear your throat.

“You feeling okay?” 

The tone in your voice is sincere, but a little hesitant. There wasn’t any tension between you and Dick from the weekend, but a small part of you still felt embarrassed by the state he saw you in.

He looks up at you and chuckles. 

“Yeah, m’alright,” he grins as he puts his laptop on the desk. “Don’t worry. I’ll be locked in for our Arkham visit Friday.” 

Friday. 

Shit. This Friday. 

How had it crept up on you so fast?

You had all of your materials prepared, but the thought of being alone with Dick outside of school again, still running with all the feelings you were trying to avoid… 

You swallow your words and nod. 

“You okay?” He asks quietly. He looks you up and down. “You’re a little quiet today,” he chuckles awkwardly. “Still don’t feel great from Halloween?” 

Quickly, you shake your head.

“No, I’m fine,” you insist. Your hands shake a bit as they hold the cup up to your lips for another drink.

He notices. A sharp breath catches in his chest. 

“Alright,” he relents. “But, if something’s bothering you… you can tell me. If you want.” 

He shrugs.

You force a polite smile.

“I’m fine.” 

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VI.

“Remember: next week we’ll be meeting in Elliot Hall 240 for a law school application workshop with a few representatives from Career Services.” 

You pick up a piece of candy from the table and hold it up awkwardly. 

“And, um… happy Halloween!” 

What few attendees there were shuffle out of the classroom immediately. The candy falls from your hands. 

“Guess we should’ve expected that,” mumbles Lena. “Being Halloween and all.” 

“Yeah, but it’s only six,” you remind her. “People don’t usually start going out until, what, ten?”

She shrugs. “It’s still Halloween. And a Thursday.”

There’s a glint in her eyes and you can already tell it’s not going to be good. 

“Which means,” she continues in a sing-song voice, “a four-day Halloweekend.” 

You roll your eyes, stuffing your laptop and papers into your bag. 

“You’re not seriously going out tonight.” 

“Oh, yes I am,” she retorts, almost instantly. “And so are you.” 

You slowly turn your head to look at her, halfway through zipping your bag. You grimace. 

“What?” 

– 

“Put the fucking cat ears on. We leave in an hour.” 

Lena flings a dark headband at you and scampers out of the room. There’s loud music blasting from the kitchen downstairs, the rest of your housemates already pre-gaming. 

You don’t know how you agreed to this. 

Staring down at the flimsy pair of ears, you sigh and toss them to the side of your desk, pulling out your makeup mirror and eyeshadow palette. 

Lena said you needed to “de-stress” and “enjoy your last chance at a college Halloween”-- and while she wasn’t your mother, you had to admit she had a point. 

Again. 

Stupid Lena and her stupid good points.

While you never had much down-time in college, the month of October had been an extraordinary hellish one. 

All-nighters spent commanding group projects, hours buried in Supreme Court cases and philosophy texts, meticulously planned club meetings only for nobody to show up, on top of the ever-impending reality that soon, you’d have to make time outside of class and buckle down on conducting real, physical, unpaid research at the Arkham Institute.

With Dick Grayson. 

Dick Grayson– who, to his credit, had not been as much of an obstacle as you thought.

He was competent. Did his share of the work, even if it wasn’t great. Followed up with leads and secured times with focus groups and staff members. No more awkward texts, only the occasional FaceTime call to touch base. 

He’d even bring you coffee each class, and every time you offered to pay him back, he’d wave it off.

“My dad is literally a billionaire,” he’d say with a surprising lack of arrogance.

Even still, there was a bristled awkwardness between the two of you. He was charming, social: tried to make small talk, make jokes. You weren’t. You were there to pass with the best possible grade– maybe even a letter of recommendation from Jameson.

Something Dick didn’t have to think twice about earning. 

Fuck it. If you were going to go through all of this in the homestretch of the semester, the least you could do was blow off the steam like a normal college student. 

Your hands shake as you carefully trace the tube of black ink into a sharp wing along your eyelids.  Then the tip of your nose, and three thin lines on each of your cheeks. 

The concealer was enough to cover the bulk of your dark circles, and with a little blush and eyeshadow, you looked… nice.

Good, even.

A stark contrast to the usual exhaustion you wore day-to-day. 

You weren’t expecting to dress up this year, so the costume was nothing revolutionary: a black tank top you found in your closet, a short black skirt you borrowed from Lena, and the pair of black Doc Martens you wore when it rained. You threw on some jewelry that hadn’t been worn since a banquet you attended last spring. It honored some of the top students in your major, recognized personally by the professors that nominated them.

The plaque stares back at you as you secure the gold hoop into your ear. There’s a strange feeling in your gut. Not quite guilt, but not indifference either. 

One night wouldn’t ruin you. 

Everyone else did it. They’d stumble into class hungover and still walk out with A’s on their midterms. 

That’s what you tell yourself when you walk downstairs and start downing a can of Truly.

“People enjoy this?” You nearly gag at the taste of the processed, almost metallic lime flavoring. 

“I didn’t think you were coming out, so we didn’t get you any Angry Orchard,” Chloe frowns. “Sorry.” 

You didn’t drink often, but you enjoyed a hard cider every now and then. 

“Didn’t think I was, either,” you mumble, forcing down another sip.

Lena stumbles in from the kitchen with another seltzer and gasps when she sees you.

“Look at you, hottie!” She squeals. “I knew you had it in you!” 

You groan.

She’s dressed in a far more revealing bunny costume, with a tiny white dress, lace stockings,  and big fluffy ears. 

“I’m glad you’re coming with us tonight,” she says, suddenly sincere. “You know I’m not huge on it either, but it’s our last Halloween here.”

You smile wearily and nod.

“Yeah. It’s one night,” you shrug.

“For you.”

You snicker and roll your eyes. 

“You look great,” you add, and you meant it. Lena had this unspoken confidence about her that, despite being as big of a homebody as you, could switch into confident party girl on a dime. 

“Ah, well, had to go the good ol’ slutty animal route for my first night,” she chuckles, grabbing your arm leading you to the rest of the group.

“C’mon, guys! Let’s get going!”

–  

“What’s the plan, anyways?” 

The four of you– Lena, Chloe, your other roommate Hafsa, and yourself– clutch your arms for warmth as you trudge down the rocky back alleys of your neighborhood, slowly reaching the off-campus area. 

“Figured we’d hit the frats to pregame, then head out to some bars,” Chloe says. 

“Frats?” You grumble. “Aren’t we a little old for that?”

“Well, yeah, but they have free shit,” Hafsa chimes in, turning to you. “I refuse to pay for drinks. Not in this economy.” 

You sigh, not wanting to argue further. You were already regretting the night before it even started.

“We’ll only go to, like, two,” Lena assures you. “Then we’ll head to the bars downtown. The good ones.”

She gives you a smile of encouragement. You’re about to respond when Chloe points at a large, white building with neon lights emanating from the windows. 

“There’s Delt.”  

– 

You didn’t go to two.

Instead, by 1 AM, you were dancing on top of an elevated surface at the fourth dirty fraternity lawn of the night, vodka seltzer in each hand. 

Sweaty bodies filled the crowd beneath you. The DJ a few feet from you– some stringy boy no older than 19– blasts a remix of a song that sounds vaguely familiar. In the near distance, you can see a definitely underage girl doing a keg stand. 

And caught in the commotion of it all stands Dick Grayson, his eyes locked on you. 

The way you dance horribly off-beat to the music, but look like you’re having the time of your life anyways. The way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. The way your tight tank top and paper-thin skirt hug at your curves. 

The way you were acting nothing like you did in class. 

He doesn’t pay attention to the two girls dressed as firefighters he’d been talking with seconds ago. One taps his shoulder. The other scoffs at him and grabs her friend’s arms, leading her away.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t even turn his head to say goodbye. Instead, he takes another sip of his beer, staring up at you with a reverence he knows better than to show. 

For a split second, he thinks you look back at him too. But instead of believing it, he does what he always does and flashes a smile at the next girl he sees. 

– 

It’s almost an hour later that the novel, juvenile nature of the night is starting to wear off, when you realize you have to pee.

Really, really have to pee. 

You’re standing near the keg under the tent sipping on your umpteenth cup of shitty, cheap beer when you tap Lena on the shoulder.

“I’m actually half Greek,” you hear her shout over the music to the guy standing beside her. The one next to him has his eyes on you, but you don’t even spare him a glance. 

The guy talking to her points to you, and she reaches for your arm, eyes wide.

“Yeah?” She slurs.

“Bathroom?” You ask, twice as drunk.

She nods.

“I don’t have to go, but I’ll come with.”

She offers a quick wave back to the guys before beginning the trek to the stairs of the porch with you. You both try your hardest not to stumble through the uneven, muddy lawn. 

When you finally sift through enough sticky bodies to reach the back of the house, two boys block the stairs, standing firm. 

Or at least try to– all 5 '6 of them and their cheap… prisoner? costumes.

“Bathroom’s closed off,” the pale one in an orange jumpsuit says. His voice hasn’t even dropped yet. “Sorry, ladies.” 

Lena scoffs. “Are you joking?”

“No, ma’am,” the slightly taller one chimes in. “Line got too long and people were loitering in the house–”

“Loitering?” You spit. “That’s a big word coming from a pledge.” 

Lena’s eyes widen before she turns to you and barks out a laugh.

“I’m… I’m not a fuckin’ pledge!” he scoffs, taking a step towards you.

“I’m a sophomore.”

“Sophomore, senior, president, I don’t give a shit,” you practically yell, your words slurring together, “I need to use your fucking bathroom, so open the goddamn door right now or I’m going to–” 

“What’s going on?” 

The sound of quick footsteps accompanies a familiar voice. You turn to see Dick Grayson beside you, his face contorted into a scowl. 

Fuck. If only you could read Greek lettering, you would’ve known this was his frat. 

His hair is damp and messy from the heat of the party, his beige shirt unbuttoned to his mid- abdomen. There’s a bead of sweat rolling down the tan, smooth skin of his chest, and you have to fight the urge to do something stupid about it in your drunken haze.

“This bitch won’t quit bothering us about the bathroom,” says the pale one, pointing to you. 

“Bitch?” You snap. “I’m not the scrawny little eighteen year old pledge on some fucking ego trip–” 

Dick reaches his arm out to your shoulder, cutting you off. 

“Don’t,” he practically snarls at the boys in front of him. Then, he motions for them to move out of the way. 

And like magic, with reluctant sighs, they do just that. 

“Like Moses and the red fuckin’ sea,” Lena laughs under her breath. The tall one shoots her a glare.

Dick leads the two of you up the stairs and holds the door open. He’s guiding you both down the long corridors of the spacious, ornate house when Lena suddenly stops in the living room.

A cheeky look creeps across her face.

“I’ll wait out here,” she says, finding her way to the couch. She plops down and kicks her feet up onto the arm, whipping out her phone.

“Could use a break.” 

Any other time, you would’ve killed her for purposefully leaving you alone with Grayson. She got off on pretending the two of you were star-crossed lovers, and here she was, leaning into it fully. 

Right now, though, you were too buzzed to care. You really had to pee.

Dick swallows, shooting her a nod. His brows furrow a little. 

“Fuckin’ pledges,” he mumbles, leading you to the bathroom down the hall. His eyes dart to you right besides him, your gaze somewhere else entirely. 

Quickly, he notices how shaky your footing is after you almost crash into the wall.

“Woah, woah, hey,” he murmurs, reaching out to ground you. His hands hesitantly settle at your waist as he slowly guides your movements. 

“‘M’fine,” you slur, but make no attempt to push him off. He can smell the booze on your breath. 

“Didn’t take you for the going-out type,” he chuckles awkwardly. “You okay? How much did you have to drink?” 

You blow a raspberry, eyes still distant like you’re deep in thought. 

“I dunno… just a few.” 

“A few?”  

You swallow. The floor your eyes are stuck staring at becomes dizzier and dizzier.

“Yeah. J’s a few,” you drawl. He arrives at the door and opens it for you.

“Gentleman,” you gasp jokingly.

His eyes widen. 

“You can come in, y’know,” 

His eyes go even wider and your head is spinning too much to realize the tips of his ears were turning red. 

“Ah– no,” he quickly blurts. “No, that’s not a good idea. I’ll just… I’ll be right outside.”

You groan, rolling your eyes.

“I was kiddiiiiinnnnggg!” 

He lets out a shaky exhale and runs a hand through his hair. 

“Yeah. Okay. Um–” 

His brows knit together in a tight line before he takes a sharp breath and quickly shuts the door.

“I’ll be out here if you need anything.”

You stumble your way to the toilet and shimmy down your skirt. The tiles on the bathroom look like they’re rippling, waves caught in the choppy ocean current.

You hadn’t realized how badly your head was pounding until now. 

You reach for the toilet paper, grabbing a mangled fistful before managing to stand up and kick the lever with your boot. 

Very poorly. 

You nearly fall backwards, gripping onto the towel rack for stability. Gently, you stumble to the sink that feels like it's miles away, one footstep at a time. 

Your gaze is locked onto a pair of sunglasses somebody left on the counter. Your mind swims with imagination as to what costume they could’ve come from– Tom Cruise in Risky Business, Men in Black, pilot, rockstar, Breakfast at Tiffany’s—

And then your stomach lurches.

You quickly reach for the faucet before rushing back to the toilet.

You kneel down immediately and grab onto the cold edges of the toilet seat, knuckles whitening as you begin to retch. 

Dick hears you immediately. He knocks gently. 

“You okay?”

You try to open your mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a shaky breath, closer to a pant at this point. You gag again.

Dick knocks even louder.

“Y/N? You–” 

A stream of bile rips from your throat into the toilet. You don’t even hear the door unlock or the footsteps before Dick is suddenly kneeling right beside you. 

You wipe your mouth with your hand, drawing in a sharp breath.

Embarrassment flickers across your face when you turn to look at him, but instead of judgement, there’s only concern. 

“Hey,” he says softly, his hand moving to rest on your back. “It’s alright. You just had too much to drink. Let it out.” 

“I–”

You try to croak out any words, but your throat is tight, your stomach feeling like it’s in two. Slowly, you turn back to the toilet seat, squeezing your eyes shut. 

You attempt to steady your breathing when you feel Dick gently gather your hair back. 

Your breath catches. 

Before you can think, you lurch again. Hot tears prickle in your eyes– from pain? Shame? Both? 

“M’sorry,” you choke. “I’m embarrassed.” 

“No, no,” he mutters. A small, weary smile tugs at his face. “It happens to the best of us. I puked on the side of a house once.” 

A chuckle manages to escape the dry-heaving. He lightly rubs your back, and something that wasn’t from the alcohol in your throat tickles. 

“This house?” 

He shakes his head. 

“Nah. Friend’s house,” he laughs under his breath. “Happened back in high school.” 

Even with your eyes closed, you can feel the warmth in his gaze as he looks down at you. 

There’s no judgment in his tone, no tension in the way he sits beside you, your legs brushing against one another’s. 

“I–” 

You try to speak again but are interrupted by another retch. And another, then another, until your stomach empties again. 

“I’m sorry,” you rasp, sitting up just enough to look at him. You don’t even realize tears are streaming down your face until you feel one hit your lip.  

His face etches into even more worry. “No, don’t apologize, please–”

“No,” you cut him off, sniffling. “I’m sorry. A-About everything.” 

Dick’s concerned brows twist into something that looks more like confusion.

“Huh?”

You swallow. Even though your focus is dizzy, you try to focus on his stark blue eyes– and despite the state you’re in, you can tell he’s being earnest. 

“I-I’ve been so mean to you,” you admit. “I’m blunt and I’m cold and I– I shut you down every time you try to make a joke or bring me coffee or just… talk to me.” 

You let out a bemused huff. 

“I yelled at you the first time I met you. And you were still nice to me.” 

He’s speechless. His eyes are so steady, so full of warmth and understanding, and you want so desperately for it to be fake. 

Want him to just be putting on the “golden boy” act so you can prove to yourself you’ve always been right about him. 

But he doesn’t. Instead, he leans in just a bit closer, his voice dangerously low. 

“Y/N,” he begins. “You have nothing to apologize for. I know I can be an ass sometimes,” he chuckles. “Hell, I’d hate me too."

You let out a half-scoff, half-sob.

“See!” You whine. “You’re so… nice!” 

He has to fight the urge to roll his head back and laugh. Instead, he just chuckles, shaking his head. 

“I know how I come off,” he says, thumb brushing under your eye gently. “Rich, arrogant kid in a frat who probably… gets around.” 

You manage a quiet laugh through your tears. 

“And I know I don’t always take things seriously,” he admits, even quieter. “You had every right to bitch me out that day. I needed to hear it.” 

You stare up at him with wide, glossy eyes, still expecting some kind of rug pull.

But all you’re met with is a warm gaze and a gentle hand wiping your tears. 

And it finally hits you that this is who Dick Grayson really is. 

Before you can stop them, sobs wreck your entire body. Your arms reach out to wrap around his chest as you pull him into a tight embrace. 

He stiffens, caught off guard.

“M’sorry,” you mutter again. “M’sorry, Dick. I’m so sorry. I was wrong.”

It wasn’t just the sudden guilt that hit you: the room seemed like it was shrinking, your stomach felt like it was made of marbles, and you were sure your head was about to burst. 

Dick’s heartbeat thumps erratically. But slowly and surely, his body eases, and he comes to wrap his arms around your small, shivering form.

His chin rests on your head. One hand softly threads through your hair, the other resting on the small of your back. 

Before he can get a word in, you pull back just enough to look up. 

“Can we be friends?”

He stares at you for a moment, blank-eyed. Then, he lets out a small huff of a laugh through his nose and pulls you back against him.

“We are friends,” he says. “Was just waiting for you to realize it.” 

You smile, scoffing under your breath. Your head is tucked neatly against his half-buttoned shirt, and you fit so perfectly that you never want to move. 

“I mean it,” he murmurs. “I know you didn’t actually hate me that much.” 

He makes you chuckle again, even as more tears reluctantly roll down your cheeks.

His hands gently remove the cat headband before continuing to stroke the rest of your hair. 

“Please, don’t cry,” he whispers, almost imploring. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” 

You nod, trying to swallow down the rest of your tears. The room is still spinning, the tiles a choppy sea beneath you. But Dick’s presence feels like an anchor, tying you to the shore. 

You drank too much and you feel like shit. But you’re safe. 

Minutes pass in an unbothered quiet. The blaring sound of the music outside is muffled by the soft thump of Dick’s heartbeat. You only break it when you lift up your head to grab a piece of toilet paper to dab under your eyes.

“What are you even supposed to be?” You ask, your voice raspy.

He grins. “Indy.”

“Indiana Jones?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You take one good look at him. He’s got the beige shirt, the khaki pants, and the boots, but… 

“Where’s your hat?” 

His smile grows even wider and that stupid dimple flashes.

“Took it off,” he admits. “Got too hot.” 

You hum, throwing away the toilet paper and inching back near him. He opens his arms again, and with a surprising lack of awkwardness, you lean back against him.

“You feel any better?”

“A little,” you huff. “Advil would help.” 

Dick sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Ah, no– it wouldn’t, actually,” he begins gently. “It’ll irritate your stomach more, mixing alcohol and painkillers.” 

You look up at him, slightly impressed. 

“You really don’t drink much, huh?” He smiles. 

You don’t respond. 

“Good,” his finger finds a small piece of your hair and starts twisting it. “It’s bad for you.” 

A few seconds of silence go by and you feel his body stiffen a little.

“I should get you water,” he mutters. “Stay here, okay? I’ll be right ba–” 

Just as he tries to stand, you pull him back down and shake your head. No doubt you were dehydrated, but you couldn’t stand the thought of Dick leaving the nest you’d settled into. His hold on you was more sobering than any other remedy. 

Reluctantly, Dick sighs and sits back down. 

“Okay,” he whispers, chin resting on top of your head again. “Okay.” 

The two of you stay like that, safe in your own little corner of the world, until the music eventually fades completely. 

Your eyes are closed, halfway to drifting off completely when the silence is broken by the door slamming open. 

“Y/N? Oh, shit–” 

Chloe’s eyes go wide as she sees the sight in front of her. She darts her gaze to Dick, who looks like a kid that was caught stealing candy.

“What… the fuck?”

He’s about to explain himself when you turn around. 

“I’m fine,” you croak. “I got sick and he helped me.” 

Your voice is stern and as loud as it can be. The rest of the group appears behind Chloe, including the two boys from earlier. 

“Is that Dick Grayson?” You hear Hafsa whisper.

You tighten your grasp around him and bury your head back into his chest.

Lena, stumbling behind the rest of the group, comes to take a peek at the scene inside. She laughs to herself, giddy, like she’d pulled off a grand scheme. 

The two guys look at her like she’s smoked crack.

With a tired sigh, Chloe steps closer. 

“We’re going home, Y/N. It’s almost 3.”

You whine. 

Dick leans his head down, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Hey, looks like everyone’s heading out,” he begins. “Let me help you up, okay?” 

You groan, but he gently lifts you up. Your arms and legs latch onto his body like a koala bear. 

Eventually, he helps you stand on your own, having to nearly claw you off of him. You clutch onto Lena’s arm for stability, your eyes downcast. 

Instead of turning to look at you, his eyes are on Lena, with a hint of something serious in them. “Lena, was it?” 

She nods. 

He pulls out his phone, opening the messages app and handing it to her.

Lena’s heart stops for a second. She’s about to shut down the interaction immediately when he speaks again, his voice quiet. 

“She’s going to be too drunk to text me,” he eyes you. “Can you please let me know she got home safe?” 

It takes her a second, but her eyes light up almost immediately when she realizes what he’s doing. 

Lena nods quickly. She was going to tease you to hell and back for this later, but right now, all that mattered was getting you back in one piece.

Her fingers tap at the screen quickly before handing it back to Dick. 

“I can order an Uber for you guys,” he says. 

Lena shakes her head. “We already got one.” She shoots him a knowing smile. “But… thank you.” 

Her head turns to look at you, tugging your arm a little closer.

“For taking care of her.”  

Your eyes are still locked on the spinning hardwood floor, trying to blink away the effects of the night’s shitty seltzers. Eventually, you see pairs of shoes head towards the door, and Lena helps you follow behind. 

Before you’re about to leave, Dick gives your shoulder a light squeeze. Your head whips up to look at him. 

“Get home safe,” he says with a faint, tired smile. 

He mouths something to Lena that you can’t quite make out, and before you know it, you’re out the door. 

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you couldn't stay in your apartment, you were going to lose your mind if you did.

you needed to talk to the one person who truly understood. someone who understood him.

you grabbed your coat, slipped out into the wet metropolis streets, and hailed a cab and gave the driver lois lane’s address.

you and lois had become incredibly close over the past year. you had joined the planet as a features writer a couple of years after clark and lois had officially ended their relationship.

because they were long broken up, there was no awkwardness... lois had taken you under her wing, becoming your mentor, your loudest cheerleader in the bullpen, and your closest friend.

by the time the cab pulled up to lois’s apartment building, you were blinking back furious, hurt tears. you took the elevator up, practically throwing yourself at her front door and knocking aggressively.

you heard footsteps inside, the lock clicked, and the door swung open.

lois stood there, dressed in a comfortable oversized sweater, a half empty glass of red wine in her hand. "y/n? what are you doing here? it's pouring-"

"i can't do it anymore, lois," you burst out, the words tumbling out of you in a sobbing rush before she could even invite you inside. you stepped past her into the entryway, too consumed by your own heartbreak to notice her sudden, tense posture.

"he canceled again," you cried, hugging your wet jacket tighter on you, shivering. "it’s always the same excuse. 'something came up at the office,' 'a late breaking lead.' i know he cares about his work, but i feel like a ghost in my own relationship! i'm sick of being the one who always gets left behind. i'm sick of competing with a job, and honestly... sometimes i feel like i'm competing with you."

you finally paused to catch your breath, wiping a tear from your cheek. "i just really needed a friend tonight. can i please just crash on your couch?"

usually by now lois would've said something, she would've made a joke or immediately handed you tissues or started calling clark an idiot, but there was nothing... no response.

"lois..?" your eyebrows pulled in.

"what?" she asked, her voice a little too high.

"why are you looking at me like that?"

"...like what?" lois muttered, she gripped the stem of her wine glass so tightly you thought the glass might shatter right in her hand.

"like..." you frowned harder. "like something's wrong."

"no, nothing's wrong."

but her eyes weren't on you, they were staring straight past your shoulder at the hall behind you.

"lois?" you whispered, stepping further into the hall. "is someone here? did i interrupt a date? i'm so sorry, i should have called-"

"no! no, wait.. " Lois reached out, her hand catching your wet sleeve, but she was a second too late.

you walked through the short hall and into the living room, the words of apology dying on your tongue.

a figure stepped into the dim light of the living room, drying his hair with a towel. he was wearing a gray t-shirt and sweatpants.. home clothes. comfort clothes.

he didn't have his glasses on. and as he looked up, his bright blue eyes met yours, freezing him entirely in his tracks.

it was Clark.

the towel slipped from his hand, hitting the hardwood floor with a dull thud.

“something came up at the planet, sweetie. a breaking story. i'm so, so sorry.”

the words of his text message flashed in your mind, your eyes darted from clark’s damp hair, to his relaxed clothes, to the second glass of wine sitting on lois's coffee table, and finally back to lois, who was now looking down at the floor, unable to meet your gaze.

"baby," clark breathed, his voice entirely stripped of its usual warmth. he took a panicked step forward, his hands reaching out instinctively. "baby, wait. It’s... it’s not what you think."

the sheer cliché of the phrase made a hysterical, breathless laugh bubble up in your throat. "not what i think? clark, you texted me an hour ago saying you were stuck at your desk. you’ve canceled our last three dates because of 'deadlines.' and you’re here? in your sweats?"

"you canceled on me," you said, your voice barely a whisper, "for three weeks, you’ve been too busy. you were too busy tonight. to have dinner with me. in our apartment."

"we were talking," lois interjected quickly, her voice trembling. she stepped between you and clark, trying desperately to play defense, to be the fixer. "just talking. he was stressed, he came over to vent about a case, and he got caught in the storm. i told him to dry off. that's it. I swear to you, that's all this is."

"and you couldn't tell me that?" you looked at lois, the tears you had been fighting finally falling. " i came here crying because i felt invisible in my own relationship, and you let me walk through that door knowing he was in your bedroom?"

"sweetheart, no," Clark choked out, stepping closer. "please. i love you. i would never- "

"don't call me that," you snapped, anger finally bursting through the sadness. a single, hot tear spilled over your cheek. you looked at lois, the woman you had trusted with your insecurities, the mentor you practically worshiped.

"i thought you were my friend. i thought you were the one person who understood how hard it was to love him."

a terrible, suffocating realization washed over you. lois did understand. she understood perfectly. because she hadn't actually let him go. and he hadn't let go of her. you were just a temporary detour in their romance.

"please, let me explain," clark pleaded, taking another step forward, his hands raised in defense. "lois is right. it’s not a date. i didn't plan this. it’s just… things have been so heavy lately, and i didn't want to bring that stress home to you."

the words left his mouth, and a suffocating silence fell over the room.

you stared at him, your breath hitching as you inhaled. "you didn't want to bring it home to me?" you muttered. "so you brought it to your ex girlfriend instead?"

"no, that's not what I meant...."

"you lied to me," you said. "you told me you were working. you told there was a breaking story, but the truth is you just didn't want to be around me. you left me sitting alone at a table with dinner i spent hours cooking, because you'd rather vent to lois?"

"listen to me," clark rushed out, his voice cracking as he scrambled to fix the damage, only to dig the hole deeper. "you don't understand the pressure I'm under. lois just... she already knows everything about my life.... she knows how i think. with her, i don't have to explain myself or ease into things. it’s just easier."

it’s just easier.

you let out a laugh. "easier," you repeated, backing away from him until your spine hit the wall of the hallway. "right. because i'm work. i'm the person you have to try for, and she's the one you actually want to unwind with."

"no! sweetie, please, no," clark choked out, looking completely undone. he reached for your arm, his touch gentle, but you yanked yourself away.

"don't touch me," you snapped again.

you gripped the fabric of your wet coat, looking at clark one last time. "have a nice night at the office, clark." you scoffed, turning around.

"sweetheart, please," clark begged, his voice breaking, "let's go home. let's just go back to the apartment and talk about this. please." he said as he made a move to follow you.

"if you come near me, clark, i swear to god i will never speak to you again," you spat, your voice harsh, that actually made him freeze in his tracks.

It turns out that running for Congress isn't all sunshine and rainbows, especially when you have a past as colorful as Bucky's. And it seemed like you were the only person who knew that he never wanted to do those things, that he was forced into taking the lives of all those people. Or maybe all these people did know, and just enjoyed throwing it back in his face to get a reaction from him.

You couldn't even count on your hands the amount of times someone whispered the words "Winter Soldier" around the two of you, as if it was a failing on Bucky's part. He didn't ask to fall off a train, be kidnapped and tortured, and turned into a killing machine. And people knew this—he'd been cleared of his transgressions for years now. They just didn't have the common decency to keep their comments to themselves.

"Are you sure that you want to go to this banquet tonight? I'm pretty sure most of the people that are going to be there have all but submitted their ballot." It wasn't that you didn't think Bucky could manage to change their minds; you knew better than anyone how charming and persuasive he could be. In truth, you just didn't want to leave the house tonight. The Food Network was calling your name.

"It can't hurt to try." Bucky says, shooting you a knowing smile. He knew this was a very poor attempt at getting him to cuddle in bed with you, and as much as he wanted to give in, he had a job to do. "When we get home, I'll run you a nice bath, pour you a glass of wine, and we can relax for a bit. How does that sound, baby?"

"Let me get this straight; you're going to spend all night kissing the ass of everyone we come into contact with, but when we get home you want to spoil me?" You laugh as you adjust his tie, shaking your head in mock disappoint. "What happened to putting yourself first, Mr. Barnes? You know how important self care is to me."

"That'll be Congressman Barnes to you soon enough, Mrs. Barnes." He mutters as he stares down at you, his metal arm wrapping around you to bring you closer.

"Careful, Bucky. Don't start something that you know we can't finish; we have to be out the door and in the limo in like 5 minutes." You say, waving a teasing finger at him.

"Hm, and how do you expect me to keep my hands to myself when you look this good?" Bucky's arm tightens ever so slightly around you, and if this were any other time, you would've taken the bait and tore his clothes off. But the two of you had business to attend to, and if you had to suffer, so did Bucky.

"Nice try. Come on, we need to get going." You say as you grab your clutch, ignoring the dramatic groan coming from behind you.

"I hope you know that you're going to pay for that later." Bucky calls as he watches you walk down the steps.

As much as you hated to admit it, you weren't having the worst time at this gala. The space was decorated beautifully, unlike some of the previous ones that you'd been to. You'd seen kindergarten classrooms that were less garish. And they were serving the good alcohol, so that was always a bonus.

You were standing off to the side while Bucky talked to one of the other candidates—one of the men who probably only ran to uphold his "family legacy" at the demand of his mother and father. The family legacy that has kept New Yorkers down and out of power for years, if you had to guess.

Usually, Bucky could handle your average pompous asshole. But you could tell that even this one was starting to get to him; his jaw was locked, he hadn't even opened his mouth in at least 3 minutes, and he was holding onto his glass of whiskey.

You could save him, theoretically. But being able to sit back and watch as he tried to keep control of the situation? Well, that was a much more fun option. So you stayed rooted in your spot, swirling an olive around in your half empty martini glass.

"Isn't he just so handsome?" Someone said as they came up to stand on your left. You look over to see an older woman, probably in her mid to late 50s, ogling your husband. As if she could ever have a shot at him.

"He is." You state simply, deciding to humor her a little. "Wouldn't it be nice to have someone in Congress that isn't covered in wrinkles and grey hairs?"

"Hey, greys and wrinkles aren't all that bad." She says with mock offense. "Although, I guess I wouldn't know. I froze my face before I hit 30, just to make sure of it."

Alright, maybe this lady isn't all bad. "So, is that handsome man over there the one you plan on voting for?" You ask as you gesture towards Bucky.

"I'm not entirely sure yet. His policies are solid, especially for a first time runner, and he seems hellbent on making sure that he makes a change." The old woman paused, tilting her head almost thoughtfully as she looked at Bucky. "But I'm just not sure. I mean, how can we trust someone who's been through all the things he's been through to not…fall into old habits? I mean, can brainwashing like that ever truly be undone?"

If this had been a couple years ago, those words would have gotten to you. Not because you believed them or you hadn't heard people say them to or around you a dozen times, but because Bucky had said them to you on multiple occasions. When he first came off the ice in Wakanda, he didn't believe that he could really be fixed.

"You shouldn't be thinking of it as something that needs to be fixed." You'd told him. "Think of it more so as you returning to your old self. The you who would step in between Steve and that week's bully without a moment of hesitation."

But it had worked. You knew it did, because Bucky would still make you test it sometimes. Just to make sure.

So when you responded to her, it came from the mouth of James Buchanan Barnes' biggest supporter, because you had seen all the work he had put into making sure he never turned into that person again. "I can assure you, he has everything under control. If something were going to happen, don't you think it would have happened by now? There is nothing for you to worry about; if Bucky is elected, there will be zero chance of him harming anyone. I can promise you that."

"My, that was quiet a response." The lady says with a chuckle. "What are you, his campaign manager or something?"

"Actually, she's my wife." Bucky says as he comes up to your other side. You'd been so focused on this lady and her unwanted commentary, you'd taken your eyes off of Bucky. "You wouldn't mind if I stole her for a quick dance, would you?"

"Of course not." She says, waving a dismissive hand. As if she hadn't spent the past few minutes implying that your husband would fly off the rails and start killing people in the middle of a congressional meeting. Bucky shoots her an appreciative smile, taking your glass and setting it on the tray of a waiter passing by before grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the dance floor.

"You looked like you were about to pounce on that lady, doll. It's a good thing that I got there when I did, or that would've seriously hurt my chances of winning this thing." He jokes as the two of you step onto the dance floor. "What was that all about?"

"Just an old lady who had no idea what she was talking about." You shrug, letting Bucky take the lead in your dancing. "Nothing to worry about."

"Oh yeah? That's not what it looked like. At least, not from where I was standing." Bucky says with a smirk. "Come on, tell me what she said that's got you all so worked up."

"I am not worked up." You say defensively, not missing the way his eyebrow raises. "Okay, fine, maybe I am a little worked up. But I already didn't want to come to this stupid event tonight, and having to stand there listening to her act like the Winter Soldier was going to come out and strangle her to death made me a little angry. So what? I'd say that it's perfectly normal to get upset when someone calls the character of your husband into question."

Bucky shakes his head, and if you didn't know any better, you'd think he too was upset by this news. But you did know better, so you could tell from the look on his face that he was trying his hardest to hold back his laughter. "I thought that you would be used to those stupid comments by now, baby. What happened to the girl that used to tell me to block all of that bullshit out?"

"She's on vacation." You grumble as Bucky spins you around. When you fall back into him, his arm wraps around your waist to pull you closer.

"You just have to let this stuff go. Like water off a duck's back, you know?" At your unimpressed look, he looks at you and smile. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because that's something that only grandpa's say." You say with a snort. "I know that you're like, over a hundred years old, but you don't have to sound like it too."

"Careful, young lady. You're already on thin ice because of earlier, remember?" He says as the two of you sway to the rhythm of the slow song.

"Oh no, I'm shaking in my boots." You say sarcastically as you roll your eyes.

Bucky chuckles and shakes his head, looking down at you with thinly veiled desire. "Yeah, you're going to regret all of this sass later on tonight."

"Are you sure that you're going to make it to later tonight? I'm pretty sure that we're a couple hours past your bedtime, Mr. Barnes. You might fall asleep during the car ride home before you can even make good on your promise."

You were well aware that you were digging your own grave this at this point, but you didn't really care. After all, that was what made nights like these fun for you.

After the night comes to a close and you and Bucky say your goodbyes, you practically shove him into the limo, ignoring the smug look on his face. "Jesus, doll. I'm not completely indestructible, you know that, right?" He says with a laugh as you climb on top of him.

"Shut up. Do you know how hard it is to have to stand there all night, watching you talk to all those people? I don't know if you know this, but you're really fucking hot, and I have a hard time keeping my hands to myself at these events." You ramble, your fingers struggling to undo his tie.

Bucky scoffs, shaking his head as he reaches up to put a stop to your hands, placing your arms around his neck instead. "Wow, I appreciate the nice words, doll. It's so great to be looked at like a piece of meat."

Your eyes roll involuntarily at that, and you attempt to get back to what you were doing when Bucky pinches your thigh. A noise of pain comes out of you, and you're about to voice such pain when Bucky gestures his head to the open partition that's meant to be separating the two of you and your driver.

"Excuse me, sir, could you roll up the partition, please? My husband and I need to have a private conversation." The saccharine tone of voice you'd been using the whole night comes back pretty easily, despite how desperate you are to be doing something much more fun.

"No problem, ma'am." The driver replies curtly, his hand rushing to push the button that would put some separation between him and whatever you and Bucky were getting up to in the back of his limo.

You wait until the divider is fully closed before turning your attention back to Bucky, smiling down at him like a kid in a candy store. "Now, where were we?"

"You were looking at me like I'm a piece of meat." Bucky quips, laughing softly at the way you glare at him.

"I am not looking at you like you're a piece of meat," You say as an almost manic sort of grin tugs at your lips. "I'm looking at you like you're my very handsome husband. Which you are."

"You really know how to make a guy feel special, don't you?" Bucky asks sarcastically as he runs his thumb over your knuckles. "Why don't we slow down for a bit, okay? We are not having sex in a limo right now."

"And why the hell not? It's not like we haven't done it before, you know." You remind him as you trace your finger down his jaw. "There was that one time, on that mission in France a few years back. And then there was that time we had a quickie while Sam was in that meeting dealing with something. Don't tell me that you've gotten boring in your old age, James."

"I am far from boring, and you know that, sweetheart." Bucky had that look in his eye—the one that said that he was still holding back, but the strings of the rope keeping him there were slowly starting to snap. After all, he wasn't always the most patient man on the planet, especially when it came to you and your body. And you knew exactly what buttons to let that part of him loose.

"Well you're not being any fun right now." You grumble as you card your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. "It's late and there's traffic outside, which means that there is more than enough time for us to do something, James."

"Don't call me that, that's not fair." Bucky says as if the name physically pains him.

"Why not? It's your name, isn't it?" You tease. You knew more than anyone how much he hated being called by that name. He said that it made you sound like his mother, back when she would scold him—and Steve, because where Bucky went, Steve went—for tracking water in the house or for spending their last dime on something frivolous.

"Don't get smart with me. You're already in enough hot water as it is, so I wouldn't push your luck if I were you." Bucky warns as he trails his hands along your sides.

Any other time you might have finally taken the hint and backed off, but not tonight. You just knew that if you pushed a little harder, maybe even begged a bit, you could get what you wanted from your husband. It was just important that you played your cards right.

"Fine." You sigh, slumping against Bucky's body and resting your head on his shoulder. "Just wanted to have a bit of fun, you know? It was a long night tonight."

Bucky looks you up and down, his eyes narrowing as he assesses you. If he saw through this whole act of yours, he didn't comment on it. Bucky was a lot of things, and he could usually hold out for longer. But when you had a pout on your lips and those pretty little lashes of yours fluttered? There wasn't much he could do to deny you what you wanted, no matter how hard he tried.

"God, you're killing me here, doll." Bucky groans as he flips the two of you around so that you're sitting on the seat. You yelp in surprise, gripping onto his shoulders as he lowers himself down between your thighs. "This will not become an every time thing, you understand me? No matter how much you beg and plead."

"Yes sir." You say, hiding your triumphant grin by biting down on your lip. Bucky glares at your teasing, but chooses not to comment on it. Instead he hikes up your dress, humming in approval when you lift your hips so he can remove your underwear. You watch as he kisses up your left thigh, nearly getting to your core before switching to your right leg and repeating the process, slower this time. He always loved to take his time when it came to eating you out; said that there was no need to rush when he had something so precious right there in front of him.

"Are you always so wet for me?" He murmurs as he nips at your thigh. It was a useless question; one that you both knew the answer to. How could you not be constantly aroused when you were around him?

"I meant what I said earlier about you being really fucking hot." Your giggle is cut off by a low moan as Bucky finally presses a kiss to your lips, the feeling of his warm breath already overwhelming you.

"Pleasure to be of service." Bucky hums before licking a stripe from your hole to your clit. Your legs twitch in response, pressing against his head as he dives deeper.

A whine falls from you, your hips canting upward in a silent plea for more. More touch? More pressure? More what, you're not really sure. But you're feeling needy at the moment, and Bucky is the only person who can satisfy your desperate needs at the moment. His name gets caught on your lips as he sucks on your clit, your head resting on the back of the seat as he does it again and again. "If you don't stop, I'm gonna cum."

"That's the goal, sweetheart." Bucky says with a smirk as he flicks his tongue just right, watching in thinly veiled satisfaction as your eyes roll into the back of your head. "Come on, doll, I know you can. Why don't you give me a little taste?"

There's a fuck you sitting right on the tip of your tongue, but you know that being a brat won't get you what you want right now. And right now, that coil in the pit of your stomach is painfully tight, but it's close to snapping. You just need a little bit more from your husband to set it free. Your hand reaches down and tangles itself in Bucky's hair, pressing him hard into your cunt.

"More." You beg—or would plead be the better word? It doesn't really matter, because Bucky seems to know exactly what you mean. He always knows what you need to be thrown off that ledge.

A combination of licking, sucking, and nipping comes next. It could all happen in minutes, or it could have all happened in a mere matter of seconds, but it doesn't matter. When you cum you have to remind yourself that you and Bucky aren't in the comfort of your own home, because if not for the way you were biting your lip, you'd know for a fact that the driver would have heard the moan that clawed it's way out of your throat.

"God, you always looks so beautiful when you come undone for me." Bucky says, giving you one last lick before getting up and sitting beside you. Your head falls onto his shoulder as you try and catch your breath, Bucky's arm wrapping around you.

There's a few moments of silence as the two of you collect yourselves. "Thank you." You whisper, pressing a kiss to Bucky's cheek.

"I hope you know that we're continuing this when we get home." He says as the fingers of his metal arm trail up and down your arm.

"Yeah, I'm counting on it. You look like you could use some release." You tease as your hand brushes against the very obvious bulge that is threatening to rip his pants in half.

Bucky groans, the hand on his knee tightening slightly. "You just can't help yourself, can you? You always have to push your limits."

You shrug, an unrepentant smile on your face as you grab his hand and lace your fingers together. "It is a hobby of mine, yes."

As soon as you and Bucky stumble into your apartment, his jacket comes off and your dress is ripped off your body. A soft laugh floats between the two of you as your back is pressed against the wall. "Careful, careful. We don't need anymore noise complaints from Mrs. Lovett."

"She'll be fine." Bucky dismisses as he taps your thigh, signaling for you to jump into his arms. Once he has you properly settled in his grip, he starts trailing kisses across your collarbone, pausing to suck on your skin every so often. "Besides, there are more pressing matters that we need to attend to at the moment, Mrs. Barnes."

"Oh yeah? And what might those matters be?" You ask with a giggle as you tilt your head back. Rather than answering with his words, Bucky pressed himself against you so that you could feel just how much he craved you.

"Is that enough of an answer for you, doll?" He questions as he starts carrying you towards the bedroom. The door barely has time to shut behind you before he's throwing you on the bed and climbing on top of you, his arms pinning you in on either side of your head.

You don't even give him the chance to say something else, pulling him down by his shoulders and smashing your lips together. This isn't a soft kiss—it is one of need, want, passion, devotion and everything that comes in between. The two of you kiss like you could very well die tomorrow, and you want this to be the last thing you remember about the other.

"It's not fair that you're still so clothed, and I'm laying here naked." You point out when the two of you finally break the intense kiss. "Why don't you get naked too?"

"Would that make you happy, doll?" Bucky asks with a smirk as he pulls back slightly. "Because you know that I'd do anything you wanted if it made you happy."

"It would make me very happy, Bucky." You whisper, watching as Bucky slowly undoes the buttons of his shirt and slips it off his shoulder. A soft sigh comes out as his chest comes into view, and you have to fight every bone in your body to stop yourself from reaching out and touching him. Before he can undo the buckle of his belt, you reach out and place your hand over his. "Let me help you with that."

Bucky's gaze intensifies as he watches your hands undo his belt, a hum of approval coming out when you also undo the button of his pants. "So helpful for me, sweetheart." He murmurs, his hand cupping your cheek and pulling you in for another kiss. This one is much softer and slower, like he just remembered that there was no need to rush through any of this; you had the whole night ahead of you.

He pushed you back down again, keeping a hand on your stomach so that you would stay still while he removed his pants and his boxers in one motion. Most people wouldn't see a dick and have the first thought that came to their mind be about how pretty it looked, but you would. Especially when it was Bucky's—it was almost as if it was handcrafted by the gods to be everything you could ever want and need in a husband. The way it curved slightly upwards and to the right, the way it twitched whenever you so much as breathed near it, the tiny bead of precum that traveled from his tip and down his shaft.

It was nothing short of perfect, and it was all yours. Forever.

"Never seen anything prettier than when you're all laid out in front of me like this." He whispers into your ear as his hand travels up your legs, the cold metal of his fingers settling on your clit and drawing small circles. He swallows the gasp that comes from your lips with his mouth, his body pressing against yours.

"Oh, fuck." You whine against his lips, raising your hips up in hopes of getting some more pressure. "Bucky—"

"Shh, I know, baby. I know. I just need to work you open a bit more, okay? Don't wanna hurt you." His words are meant to be reassuring, but all they do is make you whine even louder.

"Don't care, just want you." You grumble, wrapping your legs around his waist and flipping the two of you over. Bucky lets out a noise of surprise, his hands shooting out to your hips to make sure you don't topple over.

"You can't just be patient for two minutes, can you?" Bucky asks with a scoff, but it's clear from the smile that sits on his lips that he's not particularly upset about you taking control.

"I've been patient all night long, I think I've earned some kind of reward." You say with a huff as you wrap your hands around Bucky's shaft and give it a few pumps, biting your lip at the way Bucky's breath catches in his throat.

"Alright, yeah. That seems fair—fuck, doll. You're gonna make me cum if you keep doing that." He groans as his eyes screw shut. You giggle, rubbing your thumb along his tip as your other hand joins the first one on his shaft.

"What was it you said earlier? Something about working me open?" You pretend to think about it, tilting your head slightly before speaking again. "Think of this as my version of doing that."

"You're going to pay for this later, and I won't be as kind as I was earlier." Bucky warns as his grip on your hips tightens.

"Oh, honey. I'm holding you to that." You say as you line him up with your entrance before sliding down. The two of you moan as you become one, Bucky's head falling back into the pillows while you place your hands on his chest to steady yourself. You take a moment to adjust to his size—had he somehow gotten bigger?—before starting to rock your hips, your mouth falling open as quiet sighs and curses escaped you.

"Fuck, doll, you feel like heaven." Bucky grits out as he aids you in rocking yourself back and forth. You were definitely going to have bruises in the shape of his fingers tomorrow morning, but it would all be worth it if it meant you could be reminded of this moment. "No place I'd rather be right now."

"Me either." You manage to choke out as your start moving faster, your clit rubbing against the hair at the base of Bucky's dick. Everything just felt so good; it was all too much, but not enough at the same time. You wanted more, but you knew that you wouldn't be able to get what you needed without more of Bucky's help. "Can you…?"

"Can I what, doll?" He asks with a raised eyebrow. He wasn't stupid, he knew exactly what it was you were asking for. But you'd been so insistent on taking what you wanted, and he was going to make you do some begging before giving into what you wanted. "I thought that you could handle all of this by yourself?"

On a different night, at a different time, you would have fought back. You would've given him some lip, and showed him just how much you could handle on your own. But this wasn't any other night, and you'd been so worked up all night long, and he was right there, looking like sin incarnate with that stupid grin and his perfect hair. Swallowing your pride just this one time wouldn't kill you.

"Please? Feels good, feels so good, but not enough." You whine as your hips momentarily halt their motions. Bucky tsks, using his hold on your hips to make you start moving again.

"Did I tell you that you could stop?" He says scoldingly, removing his hands once you return to your previous pace. "You wanted this so bad, no way you're stopping now. In fact, I'll just lay here until you can make yourself cum."

You knew from past experience that that wasn't just an empty threat; Bucky could restrain himself all night if that's what it took. Stupid fucking super soldier serum. You couldn't pout and plead your way into getting what you wanted tonight, unfortunately.

With a whine that you would almost certainly deny later, you readjusted your position on Bucky's lap so that you could get more comfortable, focusing on getting him deeper inside of you so that he'd hit that spot inside of you that desperately craved attention. This new stance and new focus put more attention on your clit, the feeling of Bucky all around you creating a sense of pleasure that you knew like the back of your hand.

"There you go, good girl." Bucky whispers mockingly as he trails a hand up your thigh. He chuckles at your almost pained noise as his hand makes contact with your skin. "I can feel you tightening around me, you know? It can't possibly feel that good, can it, doll?"

Tomorrow morning, you were going to make him pay for that smug look in his eyes right now. But currently, you were too preoccupied by the fact that he was so deep inside you there was a chance he would never come out. "Bucky, please. I promise, I'll be good—I'll be so fucking good, just help me cum!" You plead as your fingers scratch down his chest.

Bucky finally seems to take pity on you, rolling his eyes as if this was the biggest inconvenience before flipping the two of you over once more so he was hovering over you. "How can I deny you when you beg so prettily when you need something from me, hm?"

There's barely any time for you to form a response before Bucky hooks one of your legs up and over his shoulder with one hand, the other one finding it's place against your neck. His hips snap against yours, the pace almost punishing.

"Fuck!" You shout as you throw your head back, your fingernails digging into his shoulders as he speeds up. He knew just what to do to send you over the edge, and you were forever grateful for that.

Moans, whimpers, sighs, and curses all fell from your lips, but you couldn't make out exactly what was being said. The scent of sex mixed with Bucky's cologne and your perfume was simply too much for you to handle all at once, and that familiar swirl in the pit of your stomach was building up once more.

"So fucking perfect for me, sweetheart." Bucky grunts as he tightens his hold on your neck, watching the way your eyelids flutter shut and your mouth falls open once more. "No other way to describe it, other than utterly fucking perfect. And all mine."

"All yours, Bucky." You repeat once he removes his hand from around your throat. Your own hands scratch down his back as that feeling that you've been chasing comes back, your words almost stuck inside you. "Gonna cum."

"It's okay, you can cum. Cum for me, doll, come on." Bucky whispers as he trails his kisses from your forehead, to the tip of your nose, to your cheeks and your jaw, and finally to your lips. The hand that slides between of you to give your clit a little extra attention is the straw that breaks the camel's back, an orgasm so powerful that the corners of your eyes fill with white spots. You can distantly feel Bucky's load spilling out of him and into you before everything fades away.

When you come to a few minutes later, Bucky is slowly lowering the two of you into the tub in your en suite bathroom. Your head lolls back against his shoulder as you slowly blink away the fuzziness clinging to your vision.

"Well, well. Look who's back." Bucky says with a soft smile, his arm wrapped around your midsection. "You passed out on me there for a bit, had me all worried."

"I'd say that I was sorry, but we both know that that would be a lie." You say with a cheeky grin, earning a snort from the man behind me. "You should be proud of yourself, honestly. The sex is so good it made me pass out for a couple minutes."

"And squirt." Bucky adds casually as he reaches for your favorite soap. You whirl around, sending warm water splashing out of the sides of the tub.

"I what?" You shriek, jaw dropped as you stare down your husband. He just shrugs, as if he was sharing the morning's weather report with you. "But we just changed the sheets." You whine as you turn and lean against Bucky's chest.

"We just had mind blowing sex, and you're worried about the fact that we have to change the sheets again?" Bucky asks incredulously before pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "And you have the nerve to call me old."

"Well, that's different. You're like, over a hundred years old." You counter with a small smile. "I just don't like changing the sheets or doing laundry."

"If it bothers you so much, I'll change the damn sheets." Bucky says with a scoff as he puts some soap on the towel and begins washing your back.

"Such a perfect husband. What would I do without you?" You tease, adjusting so that Bucky can clean your back properly. Although, it wasn't a joke. Bucky really was the perfect husband to you, and you wouldn't trade him out for anything or anyone else.

Because when it came down to it, you loved him more than you had ever loved anyone else.

If he wasn’t saving lives in the ER, he was risking his own. It doesn’t matter that you’ve knelt in front of him, the hardwood cool and unforgiving, as you pleaded for him to take a day off. Just one. 

There is always something. A colleague who has children and needs that day to take them to Disneyland. Or a patient who only trusts him. A shift he just has to cover.  

You’ve heard nearly every excuse possible and smiled like it didn’t matter, like you didn’t matter, because maybe you didn’t. 

When you and Jack first started dating, he warned you that surgeons are the worst kinds of doctors to date because of their pretentiousness. He seemed to have forgotten to mention that ER doctors came in second on that list. 

It wasn’t the desire for fame or hubris that made Jack so careless about your feelings. It was his devotion to everyone but you. 

Sure, he’d kiss you and make you feel special—on a day when he could afford it. When he wasn’t chasing the high of being needed by strangers who’d maybe not even remember his name once he had saved them. 

You know the placement of every freckle on his body, and still, it doesn’t change anything. 

The third glass of wine doesn’t taste as bitter as the first. You don’t particularly like this brand or year or anything about it—you just know that Jack had bought it for today, back when he was still telling himself that he’d be home to celebrate with you. 

As the cap of the bottle dances between your fingers, the metal now warm from your body heat, you glance at the clock. 

Three hours and twelve minutes.

God, you’re a fucking loser. 

Maybe it would be a different story if you were married. Maybe you could forgive yourself for your desperation, your constant attempts to convince yourself you mattered to him as much as he mattered to you. If there were a little bit of proof of his commitment, you’d be able to look into the mirror without feeling sick with shame. 

But there is no ring on your finger or the promise that one will come one day. Jack doesn’t want to get married again. He says you two don’t need that. 

Three hours, thirteen minutes. 

You slosh the wine in your mouth while the darkest of thoughts creep in. It’s just a little fantasy you’ve curated and perfected over the years, and it’s an insane one, but you love to lose yourself in it every now and then. 

Jack comes home. The house is quiet. Too quiet. Goosebumps creep up his arms and neck as he calls out your name. When no answer comes, he runs up the stairs and finds the bathroom door ajar. Light seeps out under it, along with a small pool of water tainted light pink. 

Fine. You’re a little melodramatic. Maybe Jack’s neglect has driven you to regress into your teenage self who also fantasized about this whenever her dad yelled at her. 

Once the fourth hour starts, the wine bottle is empty, and you’re so drunk it feels like time has stopped. The tears certainly have. They’ve been replaced by this hollow laugh that echoes through the house while you watch the trashiest TV show you could find. 

While the alcohol courses through your veins, your eyes zero in on the women’s lip and cheek fillers. It stands out to you like black ink on white paper. 

You wish Jack would’ve been a plastic surgeon instead. You wouldn’t care that he sees women’s naked breasts and gives BBLs on a daily basis if that meant that he was home in time for dinner. 

Once you stand up to get a new bottle, you feel all the blood rushing to your head. Your legs are unsteady, and your forehead and nose feel so heavy, like they’re pulling you forward. 

You find out just how firm the fridge is when you knock against it. 

It’s not like you feel it anyway. 

The next bottle of wine is closed with a cork stopper. You’ve seen Jack open this kind of bottle with that metal apparatus that looks like you could find it in a gynecologist’s office. You have no idea how to use it. So you take a knife and start hacking away. You only miss your fingers by pure, dumb luck. 

That luck runs out when you try to pop out the cork stopper by hitting the bottom of the wine against the kitchen counter. 

What used to be the bottle is now a bunch of shards and a cold, wet feeling seeping through your socks. 

You laugh hysterically and drop to your knees, not half as careful as you should be. Something pierces your big toe, but you don’t care. 

The front door opens. Jack steps inside. And his eyes widen. If anything, Jack has always had one hell of a timing.

You’re a fucking mess. 

“Jackie,” you slur. 

You try to get up, but your muscles protest. 

“Jesus, what the fuck?” he hisses. 

He is by your side in an instant, stepping over the glass carefully. It crunches underneath his boots when he picks you up by your underarms and puts you down on the counter. 

“Baby, what the fuck happened?”

You giggle. You fucking love it when he calls you baby. 

“Oopsie,” you whisper. 

Jack stares at you with disbelief. His fingers catch your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his.  For a second, his mouth opens, and you await the lecture that never comes. Instead, his eyes dart over your face, taking it all in—the smeared makeup, the heat radiating from your cheeks, the glassy, far-away look. 

“Are you drunk?” he asks, his voice trembling slightly. 

You try to bite back a smile as you reply, “As a skunk.”

He lets go of your chin and takes a step back, running a hand through his hair.  You let yourself slide off the counter, trying to close the distance again. 

“Stop,” Jack yells.  His arm snaps forward, pushing you back. For a moment, you stumble. Your back hits the counter, and you look up at Jack with a hurt expression. Then your eyes follow his, and you realize that you almost stepped into the glass. A stupid smile spreads over your face.

Jack’s expression falls. 

“Hey,” he says sharply. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What are you doing, huh?”

He grabs you by your biceps and pulls you away from the sharp mess on the floor. You only feel the closeness as his fingers dig into your skin. 

“I missed you today,” you murmur dreamily.  Even to you, your own voice sounds far away. Or maybe only to you? You can’t tell. 

Jack stares at you, his eyes searching for something. Anything. 

“Talk to me,” he demands. “What is going on? Why are you wasted on a fucking Thursday?”

Oh, that one blows.  On a Thursday. Yes, a random Thursday.

You giggle so hard your throat hurts. 

“You’re never gonna believe this, but—” As you pause dramatically, Jack’s eyebrow twitches, “—it’s kinda an important Thursday. Like… really important.”

It’s almost visible how the wheels in Jack’s head start turning. They spark, creak, and squeak as he searches for the answer that’s written all over your face in the runny mascara and that look bordering on insanity. 

 His face falls when the wheels come to a stop.

“Fuck,” he whispers. 

As his eyes dart to the calendar pinned to the fridge, you feel your stomach turning. 

“Yeah,” you say.  Your mouth feels dry now, and nothing’s quite as funny anymore.

Jack looks at you, but you don’t meet his eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” You believe him. That’s the worst part. But it doesn’t matter how sorry he is, because you’re sorrier. To the little girl you once were who thought she’d be happier than her parents ever got to be.

You shift your weight and wince softly. 

Jack’s eyes widen.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.  His voice comes out rough. 

“No,” you murmur. 

Jack pats you down anyway, his hands searching alongside his eyes as he inspects your legs. At the end, he finds a small shard of glass stuck in your big toe.  You're holding onto Jack’s head as he looks at your foot. His ears have grown red. 

“You are hurt,” he mumbles. “I—Lemme…”

Torn between another apology and his worry, Jack picks you up. His arms slide under your back and your knees. The room tilts dangerously—you had almost forgotten that the contents of an entire wine bottle were coursing through your veins. 

“Rollercoaster,” you whisper.

He shushes you as he carries you to the upstairs bathroom where you keep the first aid kit.  The bright, white light flickers to life and hurts your eyes, making you groan. Jack only glances at you with more concern before he sets you down on the bathroom counter. 

“Hold still,” he instructs.  His arms keep you in place for a few seconds, like he is trying to show your body how to keep balance. “Don’t fall, please,” he adds, a little gentler. 

Then he crouches down, grunting a little as his knee pops. Somewhere through the haze of the wine, you remember that he just worked for sixteen hours. But then again, it’s your anniversary, and your empathy for his exhaustion is outweighed by your own misery. By far.

 He finds the first aid kit and takes a pair of tweezers before he catches your foot with his other hand. 

“It’s not too deep,” he says quietly. “Maybe that’s why you didn’t feel it until you moved.”

Yeah, you think to yourself, that’s definitely why. 

“Spoken like the doctor you are,” you answer. 

Jack looks up at you for a second, his lips pressed together. He murmurs something you don’t quite catch and then pulls out the shard.

You gasp as the pain shoots from your toe to your knee and pulls up high into your hip. 

“Ow, what the—?” you hiss. 

Jack keeps your leg still and rubs your shin slightly.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“Not for that.”

The air in the room grows cold.  Jack straightens up, and his knee pops again. 

“I’m sorry for today, too,” he begins.  He doesn’t get very far because you immediately hold up your hand. 

“No,” you bite out sharply.

For a few seconds, you just sit on the counter, your legs swinging slightly. Jack watches, fumbling with his fingers as he searches your face. 

“Can I clean your cut, please?” he asks.  You shake your head vehemently. 

“It could get infected if I don’t,” he retorts.

You open your mouth to argue, but the words don’t come out. Instead, a wave of nausea hits you. 

“’m gonna be sick,” you mumble. 

Jack’s eyes widen before his hands land on your waist.  He half-carries, half-drags you to the toilet and makes it just in time as the wine comes back up, tasting ten times as bad as it did when it went down. 

“Shit, baby,” Jack curses. He gathers as much of your hair as he can save and rubs your back as you throw up once, then twice. 

It’s all liquid, too, because you haven’t eaten in a few hours—you were planning on having a big dinner with your boyfriend after all, as one does on their anniversary.  As your stomach cramps, you think about the muffins that you ordered, lemon batter and raspberry icing. 

The third time your tummy revolts, it’s just dry-heaving. 

Spit dribbles down your chin, and your hands tremble. You’re somehow sweating and shaking simultaneously. Jack whispers and shushes, but you don’t want his comfort. You want to keep drinking until you pass out. 

“Leave me alone,” you murmur, your hands flailing weakly. 

“And let you knock yourself unconscious? No, thank you,” he replies. “You’re so fucking drunk, you’re lucky you haven’t given yourself alcohol poisoning.” It’s clear he’s aiming for dry and sarcastic, but you hear the fear in his voice. 

“Get out,” you rasp. Your throat might as well be on fire.

“No,” he snaps. 

“You don’t care if I crack my head open,” you accuse. 

His grip on your arm tightens. “Hey,” he says sharply, “That’s not true. I care very much.”

You groan and rest your chin on the toilet seat as your head begins to spin again. 

“Then why are you never here?”

The silence that follows is only broken by your renewed retching. 

Once you’ve emptied your stomach, Jack leaves you by yourself on the bathroom tiles for a few seconds. His eyes keep flickering back to you as he turns on the shower, testing its warmth with the tips of his fingers. 

He returns to your side and flushes the toilet for you. 

“Can you stand?” he asks.  You’re surprised at just how soft his voice is. 

You shake your head. He doesn’t sigh. 

Instead, he nods quietly and maneuvers you against the wall. 

“Put your arms up, baby,” he instructs quietly. 

Piece by piece, he removes your clothes. You feel how his fingers tremble as he unhooks the clasps of your new bra, all black lace and clearly bought for today.  Once you’re down to nothing, he starts undressing, too. He leans his prosthetic against the wall and then manages to get both of you in the shower. 

The tiles are cold underneath you, but the warm spray from above keeps you quiet. Jack doesn’t say anything as he sits next to you, his grey curls slowly growing darker as the water hits. He doesn’t reach for you either, but his knee presses against yours. 

“You love me?” you whisper. 

Jack braces next to you. You feel the tension travel up from where his leg touches yours. 

“I do,” he murmurs. 

You swallow hard. “Then why do you never choose me?”

Whenever his fat cock is bullying your cervix, your slick walls molded to his shape, you always feel the pressure on your bladder with every thrust. 

Today, he’s already drawn three or four orgasms from you, and your cunt feels raw. So sensitive that every pass of his fingers over your clit sets your nerves aflame and your hips buck wildly.

“Jack,” you gasp. 

All you get in reply is him shushing you. 

“Take it, baby,” he grunts, “you’re doing so good. Just take Daddy’s cock.”

One of his arms is planted next to your head, where he stabilizes himself. The thick cords of muscles work every time he rolls his hips towards yours. You’re so boneless by now that your head has lolled to the side, your eyes transfixed on his forearm. If you had a little more strength left in you, you’d bite down hard on the sun-kissed flesh just to have something of him between your teeth. 

You’re ripped out of that daydream when Jack’s other hand suddenly presses down on your stomach. He only means to feel himself—the way his cock slides into you and slightly distends the ceiling of your lower tummy. But he presses a little too hard, too deep, and you squeal with surprise when you feel the pressure in your pelvic area. 

Jack stops immediately, his brows knitting together. 

“What? You okay, baby? Am I hurting you?” he asks hurriedly.

You feel your face heating up (even more) as you shake your head. 

“No,” you stammer, “I… that… you’re gonna make me… that makes me feel like I have to pee.”

You can almost see how the information enters Jack’s ears and travels up to his brain, where it sits for a second before his eyes light up. 

“Yeah?”  He grins and resumes his thrusts, his hand remaining on your tummy. He doesn’t push down yet. 

The level of smugness on his face should be studied. 

The heat between you rebuilds after the brief interruption, and you almost forget what had been one of the most embarrassing moments ever to you.  But to Jack? That was information worth millions. 

He kisses your neck and hikes up one of your legs to aim even deeper into you, then watches your face. With your eyes closed, you don’t notice just how intensely he examines every micro-expression you make, including the light twitch of your brows when he goes particularly deep. 

His palm is warm against your belly, grounding you—until it doesn’t. 

Jack smirks as you squeal again while his hand presses down right above your pubic bone.  

“Ja-ack,” you gasp, “stop it.”

He shakes his head and fucks into you deeper as he keeps up the pressure on your bladder.

“Just let go, baby,” he instructs, “c’mon. Make a mess for me.”

You shake your head, your face now uncomfortably hot. 

“No, Jackie, please,” you beg. 

Your plea falls on deaf ears.  He holds you down with that hand on your belly and keeps aiming his tip right at your G-spot. Your thighs tremble as you whimper. 

“J-Jack, please,” you try again.

“That’s not your word, sweetheart,” he reminds you. “C’mon, trust me. Make a mess on Daddy’s cock.”

You whine and beg, torn between chasing the pleasure growing in your core and saving yourself from a huge embarrassment. 

In the end, it’s not like you have a choice. Jack’s rhythm leaves you no other option but to cum, and the second he hears that high-pitched moan spill from your lips, he intensifies how hard he pushes down on your tummy. 

When you cum, your juices spray everywhere. Jack watches with amazement, not quite letting up as you soak his cock and sheets, your wetness dripping everywhere. He twitches inside you as you keep squirting with every roll of his hips until you’re empty. 

There’s a scrape of white paint on the side from when another car had sideswiped it, and foggy yellow headlights that never cleared no matter how much he wiped it. You always knew when it was coming–the engine roaring like it had something to prove, even though Wally had taken it to the mechanic way too many times to count. 

You stand in front of the car, staring at the passenger door handle with a perplexed look on your face before speaking up, your hand playing with a strand of your hair. “Wally? I think your car is broken.” 

“Lexi is not broken, you shut your mouth.” 

Dick stifles a smile at Wally’s immediate wounded-animal defense, pressing himself flat along the neighboring car as he tries to scoot past you, all too aware of every nerve he ever had sparking at your proximity, tugging at his bones to stay within your orbit. 

You stop him before he gets very far though. 

“Dick.” Your fingers catch on his sleeve, tugging him by the fabric, your touch brushing the inside of his wrist–his breath stutters, just once– while the collar of Wally’s sweater hangs off your shoulder. “Wait, I really think there’s something wrong with the door.” 

Wally’s voice is muffled as he yells from within the car. “Stop saying that! It’s not going to work!”

You ignore him entirely, softly pulling at Dick’s sleeve again. “I really think it’s broken.” 

He tears his gaze away from the way you were gripping his sleeve, the fabric curled around your fingers. “Um–” He clears his throat, looking at the passenger door. “I’ll check.” 

You smile, staring at him with relief. He preens under your starry gaze and silently berates himself, shaking his head. 

He shouldn’t be doing that. 

Dick reaches forward, his fingers curling around the cool metal of the door handle before pulling it open. The door opens smoothly, no creaks or squeaks. He blinks, confused. 

There was nothing wrong with the door. 

You grin, leaning up on your tiptoes to throw your arms around him. “Thanks for opening the door, handsome.” Your voice curls around his ears, full of laughter. His fingers flex around the car handle, the warmth of your body seeping in through his clothes and for one long suspended moment, Dick wrestles with the idea of pulling you closer–then crushes the thought, hard, swallowing it down like something dangerous.

You pull away before he can decide, his heart beating hard against his ribs, his tongue dry in his mouth. You slide into your seat, proud. Wally shakes his head in exasperation. 

Dick robotically closes the door when you’re settled, slowly moving to the back. 

Wally turns around to face Dick once he gets in. “She did that to me too. Can you believe the nerve of this princess?” 

Dick laughs–half breath, all nerves. Wally turns back to drive, throwing the car into reverse. “She did that to me last week. ‘Wally, can you open the trunk? I think it’s stuck’.” His voice goes up several octaves, a terrible imitation of your voice to which you gasp and smack his arm lightly. 

“That is not what I sound like!”

“Whatever, and can you guess what?” Wally glances at Dick through the rearview mirror, their eyes meeting. “It wasn’t stuck. She just wanted me to open it for her.”

You blink. “Well… you’re very good at opening things.”

“What are you going to do when you have to drive your own car around, huh?” Wally challenges you, “Wait around for someone to open the door? Call me to drive it?”

“My car is perfect! He is a gentleman, unlike you.”

From the backseat, Dick coughs into his hand, struggling to steady himself. He stares out the window, jaw tight, trying to pretend like he isn’t still feeling the ghost of your arms around his neck, the faint motion of your lips moving against the shell of his ear. 

He fails. 

Wally looks again into the rearview mirror. “You okay back there? You look like you saw God.”

Dick’s eyes flicker over to you before he looks away again. “Something like that.”

You twist around in your seat, smiling at him from over your shoulder. “Thank you again for helping with the door.” 

“Yeah.” Dick’s throat works. “Anything for you.” The words slip out before he can process them, his cheeks immediately blazing red when he realizes what he said. 

You don’t notice. Wally pretends not to. Dick wishes the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

You smile triumphantly, turning back in your seat while Wally groans. “Don’t fall for it, Dick. She weaponizes helplessness.”

“Why are you trying to get on my bad side?”

“I’m just telling the truth as I see it.”

Dick stares at the back of your head while you bicker with Wally, at the way Wally’s sweater slips off your shoulder again, at the way you glow even in the interior of a car that refuses to quit. 

You turn around again, leaning towards the backseat. “So, where’d you go?” 

When Dick doesn’t answer, you tilt your head. “You know? Wally said that you went to a restaurant. Where’d you go?”

“Oh.” He nods in Wally’s direction. “Wally recommended it. Phnom Penh House.”

You gasp in delight, a hand going to cover your smile. 

For a fleeting moment, he thinks about how to make you smile forever, as long as it’s only ever directed at him. He squashes it hard and quick, not so subtly giving himself a hard pinch on his thigh. 

“I’ve always wanted to go there!” You whip your head around to Wally, tugging at his hoodie sleeve lightly. “I keep seeing it all over my feed and it looks absolutely amazing. Can we go? Can we go? Please!” Before Wally can answer, you snap your head around again to meet Dick’s wide blue eyes. 

“Was it good? Tell me everything. Did you have the Kathiew? I love Kathiew, oh wait–” You pause in your rambling. Dick can barely keep up, the questions flying out of your mouth a mile a minute, not that he minded. He would have done anything if it meant you’d keep talking. 

He gives himself another big pinch, wincing at the pain. Seriously, what was wrong with him today?

“Who’d you go with?” 

An innocent question. You wait patiently, the car humming with the noise from the motor and the music from Wally’s latest playlist. 

It’s the smallest shift, one that you finally notice. Your smile falters a little when Dick doesn’t answer right away, the silence stretching. 

“Kori.” He finally says, “I went with Kori.” His fingers tighten around the seatbelt, just barely, before forcing them to relax.

“My Kori?” You seem surprised. He nods, “Yeah. Your Kori.”

“Oh.” You pause for a moment. Dick finds himself holding his breath, his blue eyes studying every miniscule motion of your face, waiting for your answer. 

“Was it a date?” You ask curiously, tilting your head to the side. His pulse jumps – he feels it in his throat – and he hopes you don’t notice. Dick studies your face carefully, watches as your lips part slightly while you wait for his answer, the slightly raised eyebrows and the steady gaze from your doe eyes. 

He opens his mouth to answer before closing it, hesitating. Wally watches at Dick through the rearview mirror quietly, waiting for his response. Kori’s voice rings in his head.

Let’s not tell her yet, okay?

“No.” Dick says, voice soft. “It wasn’t a date.” 

“Oh, boo.” You huff, turning back in your seat. “I was hoping it was.” 

Something in Dick’s chest twists, sharp and tight. He bites the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to exhale, to keep his face neutral.

Wally raises an eyebrow, turning to look at you at the red light. “You want them to be on a date? Why?”

“I just think it’s cute–you know, the tension? The chasing? The aching? The yearning?” You sigh dreamily, pulling your knees up to your chest, “It’s the best part of every romance.”

Dick looks away, jaw tight. He forces himself to pay attention to every stupid lyric that is coming out of the speakers, forces himself to memorize every outline of the grainy leather seats, because…

Every word you listed felt like a mirror held up to him. And he hated it.

“You’re insane, you know that?” Wally snorts, stepping on the gas when the light turns green. 

You shake your head, resting your chin on your knees. “No, I’m a romantic.”

“More like delusional.” Wally says. Your arm whips out immediately, a small smack delivered to his arm. 

“I’m a visionary.” You correct, pointedly ignoring him when he lets out an ‘ow!’. 

Wally reaches over without ever taking his eyes off the road, ruffling your hair as hard as possible. “I’ll crash this car with all of us in it, try that again.” 

You let out a muffled protest, squealing loudly when he presses hard into your head. “Wally, stop it!”

You let out a huff, desperately trying to fix your hair when he finally lets go but it’s futile. With a sigh, you give up, twisting around in your seat to look at Dick again. 

“And you?” You look at him expectantly, little strands of hair still sticking up. “Do you think you yearn?”

Dick freezes, his head suddenly filled with noise, each answer a jumbled mess that didn’t make sense.

Wally glances at him from the rearview mirror again, his eyebrows raised. 

 “I–” His voice cracks. He clears his throat. “I don’t know.”

You hum thoughtfully, like you’re evaluating him. “You seem like someone who would.”

Wally chokes. “What does that even mean?”

You shrug. “He just… has that look.”

Dick’s pulse stutters.

“What look?” he asks, too quickly. You tilt your head, studying him with a quiet intensity. Dick feels his skin prickle under his clothes with every minute your eyes dart along his face, your soft eyes tracing over the curve of his lips before settling on the blue of his eyes.

“The look of a man who yearns.” You finally say, turning back around in your seat. “And you know what they say—”

His heart is pounding in his ears, mouth dry as he waits..

“—A man who yearns is a man who earns.” You finish your thought definitively. You smile, satisfied with your assessment, like you weren’t just staring deeply into Dick’s eyes.

Dick’s breath leaves him in a quiet, shaky exhale, his fingers digging into his palm. 

The car finally rolls to a slow stop in front of your apartment building, the engine sputtering to a hum like it refused to let anyone know it was dying. The foggy headlights cast a soft glow on the sidewalk, the decorative bushes by the door illuminated. 

“Home sweet home.” Wally announces, throwing the car into park. 

You sigh at the sight of the building, looking at Wally. “Thank you for the ride home.” You unbuckle your seatbelt immediately, leaning over the console, hugging his arm before twisting around to grin at Dick. “Thanks for coming along. I had a lot of fun. Take me to Phnom Penh sometime too.”

Wally looks up from where he’s responding to texts on his phone. “Hey, I thought we were going to go next week.” 

“You keep saying that but we never actually will.” You shoot back and Wally only rolls his eyes, returning his attention to his phone. 

You turn back to Dick, smiling bright like the sun. Fleetingly, he thinks you might just be. “Anyways, take me too okay? Wally is never going to, clearly.” 

“Yeah.” Dick nods helplessly, leaning in towards you slowly, like you have your own gravitational pull. “It’s a date.”

You cheer excitedly, raising your hand to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. The bell on your bracelet rings lightly when you wrap your hand around the headrest, the platinum hitting against the metal– soft, barely there, but enough to make his breath catch.

Wally’s head shoots up so fast, he might just have whiplash. “Make us a thruple. You’re not taking her for free food without me.” 

Dick tears his eyes away from yours to meet Wally’s, desperate for a chance to calm his racing heartbeat. “Stop acting like Alfred doesn’t send you food every week too.”

“Dang.” You twist back around, opening the car door and the early evening air rushes in immediately. “Tell Alfred —whoever that is— that I want free food too.”

“Alfred is his butler. And I literally buy you food whenever we’re together. And we’re together everyday!” Wally complains, his comment hanging loudly in the cramped car. 

You don’t respond, hopping out of the car and onto the sidewalk lightly, pulling your bag over your shoulder. “Anyways,” you lean down to look at both of them through the open car door. “This was fun. Give me a call sometime.”

Wally sets his phone back onto the magnetic holder, refusing to look at you. He knows you’ll stand there forever if you could, just to talk to them. “Stop acting like this was a date and go inside already. I can see the goosebumps on your legs.” 

You sigh dramatically, but nod obediently. “Goodnight Handsome One.” You blow a kiss towards Dick before blowing another one at Wally. “Handsome Two.” 

Wally finally looks up. “I better not be ‘Handsome Two’.”

Dick’s voice is softer. “Goodnight.” 

You wave goodbye, for real this time, pushing the door shut before disappearing into the building. Dick watches as you go, his eyes landing on the little bag plushie charm that seemed to wave at him with your every movement. 

For a moment, the car is silent. 

Then Wally whistles, long and low. “Dude.” 

Dick doesn’t move. He’s still staring at the door like it might open again, like you might come back out one more time with that blinding smile again, just for him. 

“C’mon Handsome two.” Wally taps the steering wheel. “Front seat. I’m not an Uber.” 

Dick forces himself to move, climbing into the passenger seat with a tight jaw and a heartbeat he can’t steady.

Wally glances at him once — just once — and that’s all it takes. His eyes take note of the shimmery shade smudged on Dick’s hand, and then back to Dick’s face.

“There’s lip gloss smeared all over your cheek.” he says simply.

Dick freezes. His fingers twitch like they could put the gloss, the shape, the warmth from Kori back into proper place–the way it looked before– but they can’t. He doesn’t even remember wiping it off. He doesn’t remember doing anything at all except look at you. Dick swallows hard. “Yeah.”

Wally puts the car in drive. “Thought so.”

The engine groans, the headlights sweep across the sidewalk, and the car pulls away from the curb, leaving the quiet building behind and the faint glow of your window flickering like a heartbeat.

x.

Dick refuses to look at Wally the entire car ride back. 

He also refuses to think about you, carefully (read: forcefully) rearranging his thoughts, making sure to never brush against the memory of the way your eyes lingered on the curve of his lips, the way your lips brushed against his ear when you hugged him, the cheer you let out when he said it was a—

Wait. 

Dick runs his hand through his hair, tugging on the strands lightly. Not enough to hurt, just enough to feel the pressure. 

That was the complete opposite of what he was supposed to be doing. 

He sighs, dropping his hand from his head and stares at the lights outside the window like they’d tell him how to put his thoughts in neat little boxes. 

They don’t. But he tries anyway. 

Kori. Dinner. Fun. Safe. Good. Normal. Not destabilizing.

Take me to Phnom Penh too, okay?

He grips the car door handle a little too tight, little scratches appearing on the black grainy leather. 

“Yo, Boy Wonder.” Wally interrupts Dick’s spiral, “Unless Daddy Wayne is going to buy me a new car, please stop scratching my precious Lexi. She’s been through more than enough.”

“You can have my car.” Dick answers immediately, turning to face Wally. 

“No thanks.” Wally shakes his head, glancing at Dick with a smile on his face. “I don’t want a car where you’ve probably hooked up with tens of thousands of girls in the backseat. I’m gonna sit down and hear the ghosts of the girls you’ve had back there.” 

“Ew, no. You’re disgusting.” Dick laughs. “I don’t do that in my car.” 

“I do that in your bed.” He grins a little too hard, and Wally groans in disgust, rubbing his forehead with his palm. “Who’s the gross one now?”

“Still you.” Dick settles deeper in his seat, shoving his hands into his pockets with clenched fists. 

His eyes catch a glimpse of a pink nail under Wally’s console, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. He reaches over, grabbing the object in between his fingers before holding it towards Wally like it was criminal evidence. “Is this… are you shedding?”

Wally glances over before wrinkling his nose. “What? No. That’s probably [Name]’s. She tried doing press ons for a week and just kept popping them off."

“Oh.” The word leaves Dick’s mouth like he’s been punched, small and breathless. 

Wally slows the car as they enter their apartment building parking lot, smoothly driving into a parking spot. The car sputters and protests for a moment before it quiets. The yellow headlights shut off, bathing the two boys in nothing but the light of the slow setting sun.

“Alright. The lights are off.” Wally looks at Dick, his green eyes flashing despite the darkness. “Spill your guts. You’ve been acting way too obvious.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Now you’re making it too obvious that you do.” Wally taps the steering wheel. “Don’t make this weird for the both of us. It’s dark in this car, there’s some romantic music playing—“

“You’re playing The Weeknd,” Dick deadpans

“And he is famously known to be the music of freaks and romantics.” Wally continues without a hitch. “Anyways, the atmosphere is about to get real romantic the more the sun sets so talk to me— unless you’re trying to kiss, in which case, plant one on me. I’m ready.” 

Dick doesn’t laugh this time. He doesn’t even smile. He exhales, focusing his gaze on a tiny, tiny speck in the distance like he could channel all his energy into becoming it. 

“You’re ridiculous.” He eventually mutters. Wally’s smile slides off his face, studying Dick—the clenched jaw, the too‑still posture, the way his fingers twitch inside his pockets like they’re trying to curl into fists.

“Are you… mad? That her nail is here?” Wally holds his hand out. “Give that to me, by the way. I’m throwing it out. I keep finding them everywhere, it’s becoming a problem.” 

Dick blinks, glancing down at his hand, his fingers still curled over the little press on. He didn’t even realize.

He opens his hand slowly. The little pink painted nail sits on his palm like a confession.

“I’m not mad.” Dick finally answers, but his voice sounds odd in his ears, like it wasn’t him speaking anymore. “I’m… annoyed. She’s everywhere. She’s leaving nails in your car and—“ His voice cracks. Wally raises an eyebrow. 

“She’s too much. Not for me.” His heart beats against his chest with the last few words, mouth dry like he’s confessed a sin. 

(Not true.)

“And too touchy. She treats your clothes like they’re hers.” Dick continues, but the words start to twist in his mouth. 

(Not true. Not true.)

“She’s not my type. Not at all.”

(Not true. Not true. Not true.)

Wally doesn’t say anything for a moment, just lets Dick ramble on and on, tripping over his words. 

“… Not your type.” Wally softly repeats, like he’s testing how the words fit in his mouth. Dick flinches before forcing himself to nod. 

“Yeah. Not my type. Seems like she’s yours though.” Dick finally looks at Wally with his mouth stretched into a wide grin that doesn’t fit his face.

“Mine?” Wally raises his eyebrow. 

“Yeah, you know.” Dick drops the nail into Wally’s waiting palm like it burns him, his hand sweaty and clammy. “Your sweater? Your socks? It’s like you’re trying to claim her before anyone else can. You like her? That’s cute, I could-“

“Alright. You need to stop now.” Wally’s voice grows firm and sharp. 

Dick’s grin twitches before it disappears entirely. 

Wally remains steady, refusing to rise to the bait. “You’re trying to start a fight with me.” 

“I’m not--“

“You are.” Wally looks at Dick, really looks at him the way only best friends since as long as they could remember do. “Listen to yourself.”

Dick’s throat works. “I’m just saying-“

“No.” Wally shakes his head. “You’re saying everything and nothing, and all the things you are saying—you’re going to regret. You’re practically throwing her at me like if I like her, it’ll take away whatever you’re feeling right now.”

Dick swallows, taking in a deep steadying breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to— I don’t know why I’m lashing out.” 

“I’m just saying,” He works his jaw slowly, forcing his mouth open like the words were painful for him to get out. “She’s not my type. I like Kori.”

“Okay.” Wally nods, repeating after him softly. “You like Kori. No one is saying you don’t.”

Dick nods numbly, his fingers finally loosening from the fist he’s clenching them in, from digging the crescent moon indents into his palm until they bruise blue and purple. “I like Kori.” He repeats himself stupidly. 

“Yeah, I know.” Wally reaches over hesitantly, gently pressing his hand on Dick’s tense, tense, tense shoulder. “You really like her, don’t you?” 

Dick doesn’t answer for a moment. He turns his head slightly, staring at Wally’s hand, the one that’s holding your little press-on nail. 

You look like someone who yearns, you know?

He looks up into Wally’s patient, steady stare. Dick forces the words out, clinging to them like a lifeline. “Yeah. I like her a lot.” 

Dick swears he means Kori. He’ll make sure he means Kori. 

a/n: happy valentines day!! i hope you guys are all spending it with your loved ones <33 and as a gift, i hope you guys enjoyed the 2 surprise chapters !! if I you want to be tagged, please do shoot me a message.

as always, love you guys for liking, reblogging, commenting--it always makes my day and motivates me like crazy so i really really appreciate it <33

Dick drops his keys into the silver dish Alfred had bought him, a little smile on his face. 

“Woah,” Wally looks up from the couch, “You look happy. Date went well?” 

“Yeah,” Dick nods, nudging for him to scooch over. “Was pretty good.” He reaches over, stealing a handful of popcorn from him. “By the way, didn’t I give you a key to my apartment for emergencies only?”

“Ran out of popcorn.”

“That’s not an emergency.”

“An emergency is determined based on the urgency of the situation and not having popcorn to watch the game is an emergency.” Wally gestures to the TV, watching the football players on screen. 

“The store is literally just down the street.”

“Your apartment is just across from mine.”

Dick rolls his eyes, snorting. “You’re impossible.”

Wally cheers when his team scores, the popcorn almost spilling over but Dick’s faster, his hand already grabbing it off his lap to place on the sleek black coffee table in front of them. 

“Anyways,” Wally turns to Dick when a commercial comes on, “Tell me about the date. You like her? She likes you? Everything was good? You’re getting a second date?”

“One question at a time.” Dick holds his hand up, motioning for Wally to slow down as question after question slides out of his mouth. “You’re talking way too fast for me right now.”

Wally narrows his eyes, studying him with exaggerated suspicion. “You’re smiling. Like, real smiling. It’s weird. It’s gross.”

“Shut up.” Dick shoves at Wally playfully. “It was a good date. Kori’s… fun. Easy to talk to. Really good at basketball, which kinda embarrasses me because damn. I kept losing to her.” He shrugs, trying — and failing — to look casual.

“Ha!” Wally snorts, pointing at Dick exaggeratedly. “We got a loser in our midsts! Everyone, point and laugh!”

“Shut up or I'm changing the locks on my door.” 

Wally immediately closes his mouth, schooling his face into a neutral position. “Go on about your date. You like her then?”

“Yeah.” Dick says, almost immediately. 

But Wally can sense it–the slightest hesitation in his words, the half furrowed eyebrow in confusion. It’s barely there, barely even a breath, virtually unnoticeable. 

But it’s there. 

Dick leans back against the couch after grabbing another handful of popcorn. “I mean… yeah, I do. She’s cute. She’s funny. It was a good date.”

Wally hums, turning back to the game, though his eyes flick sideways again. “Good. She sounds great.”

“She is,” Dick agrees, softer this time.

The wind blows from the open window, the shades clattering against the frame. The charm behind the door jingles again - a tiny, silvery note that makes Dick glance over his shoulder without thinking.

Seriously, where has he heard that sound before?

x.

Kori Anders: room234! over in schliter hall :) should be done in about 20?

Dick Grayson: meet u outside. cant wait.

The hallway is loud the way college campuses usually are in the early afternoon–sneakers squeaking across the linoleum floor, yawning from students just waking up, conversations all revolving around ‘i seriously need coffee’ and laughing too hard at jokes that aren’t funny at all. 

Dick weaves through the crowd with precision, narrowly avoiding the two freshmen that are too engrossed at staring at their exam grades to notice they were about to walk into him. 

The sun shines through the windows, flitting through the trees as he walks past. The warmth from the sun rays was a relief. It had been a gross few days, constant rain that made the ground muddy and stuck to the bottom of his shoes. 

It was the perfect day for a lunch date–the Cambodian place over on Spartan Road. Wally had recommended it, clapping Dick’s shoulder with a smile, although his eyes seemed to say something different, something a little more apprehensive. 

Dick’s smiling without even realizing it. He can remember the way Kori laughed, the little smile on her face when he won her a Hello Kitty plushie at the claw machines, the way she said his name in mock offense when he had finally beat her in Mario Kart, the way her fingers fit in between his– 

He hears it before he sees you. 

A tiny, crystalline note. 

Soft and clear.

Silvery and pure. 

He looks up from his phone, throat dry as he turns down the hallway, blindly following the ring. The graceful sound echoes in his head, the delicate ring pulling him forward like a beacon.

The entire world begins to blur at the edges, voices disappearing and footsteps fading. The crowd seems to peel away, parting like the tide.

And then you’re there, right in the center of it all. 

Still bright. Impossible to miss. 

You walk down the hallway, your head held up high like nothing in the world can stop you, your navy blue Longchamp bouncing lightly on your hip with every step. The soft golden rays of the sun slides across the floor, over the silky expanse of your legs and curve around the top of your head like a halo and-

You’re smiling at him.

Suddenly it’s too hot and he’s quite sure it’s not from the crowd that’s surrounding him in the hallway. 

“Hey, handsome.” You wave, the light catching onto the platinum bell hanging off your bracelet. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

Dick thinks you might be the sun. 

His breath catches in his throat, something warm and aching suddenly blooming in his chest. 

The bell rings again when your wrist brushes against your bag, gentle and high-pitched, familiar in a way that hurts. The sound stops him dead in his tracks, threading straight into his ribs. He barely manages a crooked smile, his hand held up in a little wave. 

Someone shoulder-checks him, grumbling angrily under their breath about how people should learn how to walk, but Dick can’t find it in himself to care when he stumbles closer towards you, your hands instinctively outstretched to catch him.

“Woah!” You giggle, “Guess you’re really falling for me, huh?” You laugh at your own joke like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “Can’t just stop in the middle of the hallway, handsome, you’re going to start some fights that way.” 

He nods, breathless, filled with too many words trying to rush out his mouth all at once. Your perfume curls around him –white peach, soft and sweet– luring him closer. 

But you don’t notice. Of course you don’t. 

You spin him around, the bell chiming with your every movement. Each ring thuds through his ribs, too familiar, too sharp. Your touch sends shivers up his spine, your soft hand warm on his forearm. 

“Go forth and prosper!” You declare, “And don’t stop in the middle of the hallway anymore.” You wink, pressing your fingers to your lips before gently tapping his cheek. 

Vanilla. It's definitely vanilla. 

When he doesn’t move, you gently push him forward and the warmth from your fingers disappears. He pretends he doesn’t miss it already. 

Dick swallows, forcing himself to breathe, forcing his feet to move. He turns, watching you disappear into the crowd — swallowed up by students and noise and sunlight.

He shouldn’t be looking back. He shouldn’t be staring after you. 

He drags his gaze away from where you had been swallowed by the crowd, jaw tight before taking one step after another further and further away from you. 

But the bell’s echo follows him down the hallway, all the way to where Kori was patiently waiting, like a thread being pulled tighter and tighter with every step he took away from you.

x.

Kori closes her laptop with a satisfying ‘clack’, breathing out a sigh when the professor ends her lecture. 

Her phone lights up with a singular message, her heart jumping in her chest. 

Dick Grayson: look for the handsome guy outside ur classroom waiting for a gorgeous girl with red hair and green eyes to notice him

She smiles, one that she can’t control. 

“Woah,” Donna gently taps her nail on the surface of Kori’s laptop, “You look happy.”

“I do?” Kori blinks, surprised, but there’s no denying it. She was unbelievably, absolutely, positively, happy. 

“Yeah, you got that cute little smile on, like you can’t contain yourself.” Donna matches her smile, standing from her desk. “Waiting for that special someone?" She wiggles her eyebrows exaggeratedly. 

She pauses for a moment, watching as Kori ducks her head, shoving her laptop back into her terracotta red Kate Spade tote. “Oh.” Donna’s eyes widen in understanding, a smirk on her face. “Is it that guy you were telling me about?” 

Kori stands, pulling her bag over her shoulder. “We’re just grabbing lunch together. It’s nothing special.”

Donna’s eyes soften for a moment, taking in the hopeful smile on Kori’s face. “It’s okay if you want it to mean something. You don’t have to downplay it.”

Kori pauses, her hand wrapped around the leather strap of her tote. She glances out the door, her other classmates filing out the room, catching glimpses of Dick’s black hair as the door opens and closes. 

“I just don’t want to get ahead of myself.” 

Donna nods understandingly. Kori sighs, almost relieved. Her shoulders loosen before she smooths her hair out one more time, looking into the phone camera to fix her lip gloss, the shimmery mauve applied perfectly on her lips. 

(She’ll pretend like she didn’t decide to wear it because of the way Dick kept staring at your lip gloss)

Kori puckers her lips at her reflection one last time before shoving her phone into the back of her jeans, adjusting the hem of her tube top. “Okay! Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need luck,” Donna says, following her out of the classroom. “You’re pretty and smart. He’ll need the luck to keep up with you.” 

Kori smiles, laughing lightly when Donna gently tugs on a curl. She steps into the hallway, her heart fluttering light in her chest like a hummingbird when she sees Dick leaning on the wall across the room, scrolling nonchalantly on his phone. 

He looks up the moment she appears. His face brightens, open and easy. Kori watches as his blue eyes glance at her eyes, her smile, her hair–but never lingering on her lips. 

Donna smiles at the way Kori almost instantly lights up, softly bumping her hip into hers to push her closer. “I’ll see you at home!” She calls as she walks away, “Have fun, you two.” She winks at Kori before turning around to disappear down the hallway. 

Kori smiles shyly when she turns back to Dick, his face sporting an amused smile. “Sorry about that,” She says, a small giggle mixing with her words, “She’s just excited… for something. Actually, I don’t really know why she did that, I have no excuse.”

Dick laughs, shaking his head. “It’s no problem, seriously.” He holds out his hand, slipping his fingers between hers. “But I thought you lived with [Name]?” His voice quirks upwards as he turns to look at her, the both of them walking along the hallway. 

For a moment, Kori’s stomach drops at the sound of your name. 

“No.” She shakes her head, silently berating herself for feeling that way. “She lives alone. Donna was my freshman year roommate and we just stuck together ever since.” 

Kori glances at him, resisting the urge to bite her lip with worry. Her lip gloss would smudge that way. 

“Were you hanging out with her?” Her voice is light, like she wasn’t asking a question where she was scared of the answer. “Or did you see her or something?”

Dick shrugs, pushing open a door for Kori to walk through. “We passed by each other in the hallway.”

“Oh.” Kori pauses, “So you guys didn’t talk?”

His expression falters for half a second, so fast that Kori didn’t notice. “Nah.” Dick finally answers, leading her to where his car was parked. “Just said hi in passing. That’s all.” He faces her, smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes the way it usually does. 

Before Kori can dwell on it any longer, Dick blinks and the lukewarm expression melts off his face, replaced by one of genuine warmth. He squeezes her hand once, bringing her to a stop in front of his car. “Now, let’s go get some lunch.” 

Kori nods, ducking into the car when he opens it. She watches as he walks around the car, quickly pulling out her mauve lip gloss and pulling down the car mirror when he opens the driver side, sitting in his seat. 

“All buckled in?” Dick glances over, his hand reaching out to lightly tap on the seatbelt strapped across Kori’s chest. “Good girl.” He grins, “Safety first, right?” 

She nods, applying a light layer on her already flawless lips. Her eyes flick sideways towards him, waiting for him to notice. 

But he doesn’t. His attention is already on his playlist, the GPS, the road ahead.  

With a push of a button, the car hums to life and the world begins to blur outside the window.

Kori tucks the gloss back into her bag, nodding along to the music, her smile fixed but faint. 

He hadn’t noticed. And she hated that it mattered.

a/n: this is a result of me forgetting i am going on holiday so please have 2 extra chapters as a forgiveness bc i will be gone for 2 weeks! i also posted 2 extra chapters of 'come as a lover, come as an executioner' so please go check that out if u can :)

“Wally,” you whine, “I can’t do this anymore.” 

He ignores you, only moving his arm so that it rests around your shoulder so he can still type properly on his laptop, too engrossed in his paper. You pout, planting your feet on the end of the cubicle wall, pushing until Wally is squished against the other side of the plastic wall. 

“Wha- hey!” 

“Pay attention to me!” You pout, and Wally grunts when you press him harder into the wall. “I’m bored.”

“Alright, alright, I will! Just stop-” Wally pushes gently back against you, “-pushing me into the wall. How are you so strong? What the hell?” He rubs his shoulder dramatically, like you shoved him into a brick wall instead of a flimsy plastic cubicle nook.

He squints, pinching your soft cheek. “You’re like — I don’t know— deceptively strong. Your cute looks are deceiving.”

You pull away, massaging your cheek. “That’s how I getcha.”

He rolls his eyes, settling himself again in front of his laptop. “Let me finish this paragraph. I was so locked in before you started messing with me.” You purse your lips, widening your eyes into the puppy dog face Wally could never say no to and he pointedly looks away. “Stop making that face, I need to get this done.”

You flop sideways onto him anyway, head landing on his shoulder with a soft thud. Wally groans like he’s being crushed.

“You’re impossible.” He mutters.

“And you love me.” You sing, batting your lashes up at him.

He doesn’t even look up from his laptop. “Unfortunately.” With a sigh, he closes his laptop, turning his head as much as he can with yours pressed into his shoulder, “Now what is it that you want? Food? Entertainment? A dramatic speech about how you’re too pretty to study and we should all just worship you instead?”

You perk up. “Actually– yes. All of that.”

“Yeah, no. That’s not happening.” Wally reaches over, tapping the spacebar on your MacBook to wake it up, “Show me what you need help with.”

You blink. “I don’t have anything I need help with though.” The end of your sentence quirks upwards like a question, a slow smile forming on your face as you watch Wally’s expression slowly contort into exasperation. 

“So you’re preventing me from being the academic weapon that I am… because you’re bored.” Wally drops his forehead onto the tiny table, the movement vibrating your laptops and the half-finished coffee.

“I swear,” he mumbles into the wood, “you’re going to be the death of me.”

You pat his back sympathetically. “At least it’ll be a glamorous death.”

He lifts his head just enough to look at you, eyes narrowed. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You beam. “I know.”

And Wally sighs — the long‑suffering kind — because he does know. Everyone knows.

Including Dick. 

Wally sits up, watching your expression carefully. “So, what do you think of Dick?” 

You tilt your head to the side, “What about him?”

“Tell me what you think of him.” He presses on, “You just met him, right? What do you think about Gotham’s Golden Boy, the number one ward of Bruce Wayne?”

“Hmm…” You tap your finger on your chin, pretending to think. “That I should have let him keep my lip gloss and then have him give me a million dollars to make up for it?” 

“C’mon, be serious. What do you think of him?”

“Um,” you look away, glancing at the multiple open tabs on your laptop. You think about his charming blue eyes, the ones that looked at you a few days ago like you were someone that meant something, someone that was good. “He has nice eyes.” You finish your sentence. “A pretty blue.”

Wally freezes.

Not dramatically – not with a gasp or a choke or a dropped laptop – but with this tiny, microscopic stillness that tells you he has just discovered something very interesting and is about to make it your problem.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he nods like a detective who just cracked the case, leaning back in his chair. “Pretty eyes,” he repeats. “Pretty blue.” 

“Yeah,” you nod, ignoring the heat crawling up your neck. “That’s all.”

Because he does. 

Dick Grayson has really nice eyes. 

The kind that you’d want to look at all day–not that you would. You have other things, better things to do. 

Wally watches you carefully, catching the way your smile falters a little, the way your gaze drops and your sudden fascination with your laptop.

He knows that look. He knows when to back off. He knows that Dick Grayson is – and infuriatingly so – already tangled up in things that you don’t know about. 

So he pivots, effortlessly. 

“And what about me?” He bats his eyelashes up at you, “Do I have pretty eyes?”

And just like that, the frightened look on your face slips away back into the bubbly, warm expression you always wore. You giggle, shifting closer to thread your fingers in his soft red hair, pulling him in close. 

“They’re absolutely beautiful, my dearest Wally. No one can ever compare.”

He smiles, satisfied, letting you tug his head every which way you please. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Because the subject has officially changed. 

And because he’s successfully steered you away from thinking too hard about a boy who definitely has feelings for you… and who definitely went on a “not‑a‑date” with Kori last week.

x.

Kori stares at the outfits on her bed, eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. 

She glances at the purple cardigan she had been wearing, the sweater hanging haphazardly off the hook in her closet–the one she’d been wearing when Dick had asked her after the coffee if she wanted to “hang out again sometime.”

It was casual. So smooth, and said easily with that smile that she couldn’t stop thinking about as he looked at her warmly from across the cafe table. 

“So much for a coffee date.” He had laughed, his eyes watching as Wally dragged you out the cafe, the plushie charm on your bag swinging as you woefully walked behind him. “I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t expecting this to become a whole hangout.”

A quiet, comfortable silence had settled over the two of them when you had left with Wally. 

“I think we should give this a redo. Just us two, no one else cutting in.” Dick finally said after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you’re free this weekend,” he’d said, rubbing the back of his neck, “maybe we could grab dinner? Or another coffee? Or— I don’t know— something.” 

It was so casual, like he wasn’t asking her on a date. 

Except he kind of was–not that Kori was complaining. 

Kori remembers nodding. She remembers her cheeks hurting from how wide her grin felt and something light and giddy blooming in her chest. 

But most of all, she remembered his eyes, looking at her like she was the only one in the room. 

She exhales, but she can’t stop the way her lips split into a smile, staring down at the outfits on the bed. 

It’ll go well, she tries to convince herself, snapping a photo of the clothes on the bed to you. It’ll go well because he’s cute and nice, and she likes him, and he likes her and–

We’re just hanging out

She freezes, her fingers hovering over her phone screen. The giddiness in her chest flickers. 

As if on cue, her phone rings with an incoming text from you. 

Name: I like the brown one shoulder with the jeans on the left. 

Name: wear w the jacket u bought the other day!! or do u wanna wear mine instead? the gray one? 

Name: can drop it off after this lecture! wore it on campus today & I’ll see Wally later so I can steal his hoodie >:)

Your contact photo smiles innocently up at her, the glow of the party background in the photo completely dimmed out compared to your smile. 

Something ugly bites at Kori, but she forces it down. 

It isn’t anger. Not really. Just something with teeth and claws that she refuses to name.

Her fingers fly on the keyboard, a quick response before she slams the phone face down on her desk. 

It was almost time for her date. 

Kori: all good, ty for the help beautiful <3

x.

Dick’s sleek Audi S7 rolls up to Kori’s apartment building, the midnight blue so dark it almost looks black while the streetlights reflect off the paint. 

“Wow.” She laughs softly, adjusting her purse on her shoulder. “Fancy car.” 

Dick laughs, ducking his head as he opens the door for her. “Is it working on you?” 

“Not quite yet.” Kori pretends to think, settling into her seat when he closes the door, entering on the other side. 

“Well, the night is just starting.” He smiles, adjusting his seat. He turns his head, meeting Kori’s green, hopeful eyes, and the way he looks back at her makes her breath catch. “You look really nice, by the way.” 

“Just nice?” She can’t help but lean in, her elbow resting on the centre console “Is that all?” 

Dick’s smile matches her, leaning in, a mischievous smile on his face. “Well,” his voice drops deep and husky, “Gorgeous girl with a gorgeous outfit, just me and her in my car?” he winks and Kori feels butterflies explode in her stomach, her heart pressing hard against her ribs. “Trust me, the view is much more than nice.”

There’s something polished about the way he says it — like he knows exactly how to make a girl blush. And it works. It absolutely works. But it also feels like something he’s done before.

Still, she lets out a small giggle, cheeks flushing. 

He smiles before leaning back into his seat and shifting the car into gear. 

And with that, the car drives off into the night. 

x.

“Oh my god, you’ve got to be cheating.” 

Kori laughs triumphantly, her eyes bright with glee as she sinks another basket at the arcade. “Oh, you’re just jealous because you suck at this!” 

Dick groans, rubbing his hand over his face. “Absolutely not. We have to rematch. There’s no way you got 56 points.” 

Kori glances over at his scoreboard, the blaring red ‘24’ prominently displayed on the screen. She lets out another high pitched giggle, hiding her smile behind her hands. “You are such a sore loser.” 

He shakes his head, eyes determined. “No, no. We’re doing this again.”

“We’ve done this three times already!” Her eyes narrow playfully. “You really can’t admit defeat, can you?” She bumps her hip into his, the small contact sending shivers up her spine. He glowers at her jokingly, before sighing, throwing his arm over her shoulder and leaning bonelessly into her. 

“I’m supposed to be looking very cool and suave on this date and you’re making this completely impossible.”

Kori’s cheeks flush when his hair brushes across her cheek, the smell of his lavender and white musk cologne making her stomach do cartwheels. “Date?” She asks, a smile on her face when Dick nods. 

“Yeah, a date.” 

She hesitates, but the words spill out her mouth like a waterfall anyways. “Was the coffee shop a date too?”

Dick straightens, turning to face her with an easy grin on his face. “Of course it was.” 

“Why…” Kori swallows, the words stuck in her throat. Did she want to hear the answer? 

“Why’d you tell them it wasn’t?” Her voice comes out quiet, swallowed by the sounds of the games around them. 

“Who?” He furrows his eyebrows before his mouth opens in an ‘o’ when he understands. “Wally and [Name]?” He shrugs, his hand reaching for Kori’s. “Wally’s a bit of an over the top guy. I just didn’t want him to start embarrassing me or anything about being on a date.” 

Kori nods, her fingers wrapping around his. “Yeah,” she laughs softly, “[Name] would have made a big deal about it too.” She pauses, looking at him. “Let’s not tell her until later. I just… don’t want to rush things.”

Dick nods understandingly.

“It all worked out then.” He turns, gently pulling her towards Mario Kart. “Now, let’s find a game for me to impress you in.” His fingers slip through hers, relaxed as her palm touches his. 

Kori follows, her gaze set on their intertwined fingers. Small seeds of hope begin to bloom in her stomach, a little smile threatening to spread across her face.

But she can’t forget the way Dick looked at you—your lip gloss, your smile, your eyes, just... you. 

She forces it down, her smile bashful when Dick holds his hand out for her to hold on to so she could sit at the Mario Kart station.

Whatever. It didn’t matter. 

He was here, with her— on a date no less. 

So it didn’t matter if Dick blushed when you spoke to him, or the fact that he looked so positively enamoured when you looked at  him, his blue eyes soft and careful like he was staring at a piece of art.

It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter. It couldn’t. 

a/n: this is a result of me forgetting i am going on holiday so please have this & an extra chapter as a forgiveness bc i will be gone for 2 weeks! 2 extra chapters of 'come as a lover, come as an executioner' have also been added so please go check that out if u can :)