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Lois and Clark. Your coworkers and best friends from when you were a measly intern at the Daily Planet just a few months ago.

You spent your interning days getting coffee for the editor, so it was safe to say that if you learned anything from your time at the Daily Planet was how to filter disgusting break room coffee just right so it could be drinkable. You knew more about shredding old reports in the mail room than you did about writing and whatever you learned about it, you had Lois to thank for.

She had been a mentor to you and when you missed your family, she had been the perfect sister. It had seemed like Clark was the one third wheeling you two most times.

You had wanted to work at the Daily Planet because you studied criminology along with journalism so you could report crime –not sort mail by the folder colours. But you spent a whole year there, waiting for your chance which never came and you needed the money because getting by on your internship paycheques was next to impossible.

So when you got a call back from the magazine company you applied to in Gotham, you didn’t think twice before accepting.

Lois had been just as sad about you leaving Metropolis as you were but just like an older sister, she was happy for the opportunity you received.

It wasn’t your first choice but you had to make the ends meet.

Besides, in just a few months, you had made quite a name for yourself. Big enough for your editor to give you the cover story for the Wayne Family.

When your editor assigned you the job, you were torn to say the least. Not because you weren’t happy with the opportunity –you were. People begged for this job. It paid a ton but celebrity gossip wasn’t exactly what interested you. You were Lois Lane’s mentee, you wanted to write about crime and corruption which Gotham city was literally infested with.

But you also knew how rare of an opportunity this was and that it would bring you exposure you needed to maybe express to your editor what you wanted to write about.

So you put on your bravest smile, ran a questionnaire online to ask the citizens of Gotham if they had anything to ask Mr. Wayne or any of the Wayne family members.

It totally didn’t scare you. And it totally didn’t scare you even further when Andy told you that the last interview Bruce Wayne had done was when Andy was still in diapers. And your editor wanted you -of all people to write about him.

It would be a breeze.

You had briefly mentioned it to Lois on FaceTime last week and Clark –who was cooking in the kitchen and also eavesdropping apparently, he had told you that Bruce wasn’t as scary as the media made him out to be.

You replied that you would be the judge of that.

Which brought you here, in the parking lot of the Wayne Enterprises building, waiting for the clock to hit 2 PM when your interview was supposed to start.

“Look at his pretty eyes!” Andy cooed and handed his phone over to you with the screen filled with photos of a black haired and blue eyed man.

Your eyes widened, despite yourself, as you took in the sight in front of you. Wavy black hair, big blue eyes framed with long black eyelashes and a boyish smile that deepened his dimples. His nose had a bump on the bridge and with that face, you were guessing he played sports in high school.

Or maybe he still did because the next photo of him was shirtless and the hard lines of his muscles almost made you drop the phone.

It was a photoshoot from a couple of years ago, his hair was messy and falling over his eyes. His hand behind his head, the other on his abs. He was squinting at the camera with a lopsided smile. The waistband of his Calvin Klein’s peeking out of his low hung jeans, leaving nothing to your imagination.

Your eyes raked up his abs to his pecs then his neck and finally landed on his biceps. You bit your lower lip as you saw the faintest hint of a tattoo on his shoulder. It wasn’t fully visible which you thought was the appeal, leaving them wanting more and whatnot.

Another swipe brought you a photo of him with a redheaded woman with his arms around her shoulders while she buried her face in his chest and he kissed her forehead.

One more swipe, one more photo of him with a different woman. This time with a blonde and they were stepping out of a limousine. You swiped again and this time he was with a black haired woman, eating ice cream on the pier like he was straight out of a romcom.

You rolled your eyes and swiped again only to be met with another photoshoot of him completely shirtless in bed and covered in lipstick marks.

It would have you dripping if you hadn’t seen the million photos with different women he had before this.

Another rich kid with daddy’s money who thinks he can sleep with anyone he wants.

“Ahem,” Andy coughed. “My phone please,” he grinned.

“Um yeah,” you shook your head and handed him back his phone.

“So?”

“So he’s a spoiled rich kid who has never had to work a day in his life to earn money. So he does shirtless photoshoots every once in a while just to boost his ego or maybe get more people to sleep with him in case the rich thing doesn’t work,” you scoffed.

“Or the abs thing or the biceps thing or the hair thing,” Andy went on.

“Andy,” you sighed, shutting the cap of your highlighter. “He’s a client I’m supposed to interview and you’re supposed to take photos of. Nothing else.”

“Do you think I could convince Linda to let me take shirtless photos of him?” Andy asked.

“Sure buddy,” you smiled at him before pulling out the tube of lip gloss from your purse to touch up your make up.

“You ready?” Andy checked.

“Let’s do this,” you took a deep breath and dabbed your lips before getting out of the car.

You entered the building with Andy following behind you, holding his camera equipment. The two of you made your way towards the front desk when Andy suddenly whined out loud, making you look back at him.

“What?” You asked.

“I forgot the extra reels in the car, go ahead I’ll catch up,” he muttered, handing you his tripod and jogged back towards the parking lot.

You shrugged and watched him run behind you through the glass doors. It wasn’t until your mindless steps caused the tripod –much taller than you to collide with someone that you finally looked.

“Oh my god!” You exclaimed, looking at the man clad in a tailored suit. He quickly tipped his head back and covered his nose with his hand before letting out a string of curses. “Sorry I wasn’t looking! Are you okay?”

He finally looked down at you and his sharp blue eyes quickly turned softer, any hint of annoyance he might have had suddenly gone.

“A pretty little lady like you just broke my nose, the pleasure is all mine,” he grinned and leaned down to offer you his free hand.

“Oh um,” you blushed and collected your things in one hand before accepting his handshake. “I’m sorry,” you repeated and rummaged through your purse to pull out a tissue.

The man stayed leaning back and you stood on your tippy toes to press the tissue to his nose to stop the bleeding.

“That’s bleeding oh my god you’re bleeding,” you swallowed.

“It’s okay I’ve had worse,” he replied in a muffled voice due to half of his face still being covered.

“Um, I'll pay for the medical expenses!”

“That’s okay pretty,” he chuckled. “You can, however, pay me back with your phone number.”

“What?” Your eyes widened as you saw him pull out his phone. “Are you serious? I broke your nose and you’re asking for my number? Do you have a concussion?”

“Maybe your beauty has just hypnotised me,” he grinned through the blood now coming onto his lips.

“Hey!” Andy called out, running up to you. “Everything okay?” He checked and looked between you and the man.

“I broke his nose,” you sheepishly replied, “Let me call 911,” you pulled your phone out but the man suddenly grabbed your wrist, causing you to pause.

“I told you I’m fine, it’s probably not even broken anyway,” he shook his head.

“I can’t just leave you like this!” You protested.

“I told you how you can repay me,” he shrugged and just as you were about to reply, Andy’s phone went off.

“Shoot we’ll be late,” he muttered and took the tripod from your hands. “Come on.”

“I-” You glanced between the man and Andy who was now running towards the elevator. “I’m sorry I have a really important meeting,” you apologised and rummaged through your purse again to grab something.

That something turned out to be a wrinkled 20 dollar bill that you pressed in the man’s palm. “There you go!” You called out before running after Andy.

“Our first day here and you’ve already made an impression,” Andy chuckled, pressing the button for the floor you were supposed to meet the Waynes at.

“Gosh it’s my first cover story Andy and I’ve already injured someone. I can't do this,” you gasped once inside the elevator.

“Hey,” Andy’s voice turned softer as he looked at you. “I know you and you’re an amazing writer, you will ace this. You already apologised and offered to pay and he didn’t want it, what else could you have done?”

You sighed, “I think I’m just nervous.”

“And it’s natural, just remember Dick Grayson is waiting in that room,” Andy grinned.

“Fuck off!” You laughed and elbowed him in the stomach.

“Ready?” Andy checked once the elevator came to a stop.

“Ready,” you nodded and stepped out of the elevator and into the office area.

You and Andy approached the front desk where Bruce Wayne’s assistant was sitting and flashed your ID cards at her, indicating that you were from the magazine for the interview.

She gave you a practiced smile and asked you to follow her to Bruce’s office. You two waited outside for a minute while she went inside and informed him about your arrival.

“I’ll be right here if you need anything,” she told you before stepping away from the double doors so you could go in.

“Thank you,” you smiled at her in return before closing the doors behind you and Andy.

The room was polished and squeaky clean. In fact, you could probably see your own reflection if you looked at the marble floors hard enough. There was a lounge area with a white couch and matching chairs along with a coffee table in the corner of the room. The massive space was however mostly filled out by a big desk in the middle of the room, pushed a bit towards the back wall that had tall bookshelves. There was a family portrait of Bruce Wayne and his parents you had guessed -right behind his desk chair.

You gave the room a once over before your eyes landed on everyone in the room and you realised just who you were interviewing.

There were four men currently in the room along with one woman. One glance at her told you she was supposed to be Bruce’s adoptive daughter, Cassandra and her face told you she looked harmless enough.

What unnerved you were the men. Clad in suits.

The ratio was way off, you had never been around this many strange rich men alone before this and the fact that they were all wearing suits wasn’t really helping you.

It was a fine enough idea in practice but to actually be here on your own for a cover story of Gotham’s Royalty was beginning to dawn on you.

Your eyes drifted towards the chair Bruce was sitting in right behind his desk, clad in a grey and black suit sans the tie. His eyebrows were sharp, almost giving you the impression that he was mad but apparently that’s just how he looked.

Your gaze shifted towards his left and landed on a much much smaller boy sitting on a stool next to Bruce. He was wearing a green turtleneck under a brown suede jacket and his hair was standing straight in spikes, you guessed he was the youngest because of the sheer size of him so he must be Damian.

Behind him on the windowsill, sat another boy slightly bigger than Damian. He wore a red shirt with a black blazer as he perched on the windowsill with an iPad in his hand. Timothy, the second youngest.

Next was the boy in a leather jacket and dress pants who was sitting on an armchair next to his sister –Cassandra. He was busy in a conversation with her as they both kept talking over each other. You guessed he was Jason based on the leather jacket and the white streak in his hair that you’d read about once.

One of them was missing.

You didn’t get the chance to dwell on it though because Andy gave you a sharp pat on the back, urging you to talk.

“Hello!” You blurted out then side eyed Andy. “We’re here for the interview, pleased to meet you,” you smiled, introducing yourself and holding your hand out for Bruce Wayne to shake.

He got up from his desk and shook your hand with a less stern expression than before, “Bruce Wayne,” he nodded.

“Andrew,” Andy added, shaking his hand as well.

Bruce walked over to the couch with such an effortless grace in his body it was almost chilling. But he was born into this life, he probably had to learn how to do the rich people walk when he was probably three years old.

He gestured for you and Andy to join him and you quickly obliged, taking a seat on one of the chairs.

“Shall we begin?” You asked, pulling out your tape recorder and notebook.

“One of my sons is late, he’ll be here in a minute I’m sure,” Bruce said.

“Oh we can go over the basics until then?” You offered. “Just to prep you.”

“Sure,” he nodded and leaned back, spreading his arm over the backrest.

“Can you tell me yours and your family’s name?” You read from the list of questions in front of you and almost cringed at how it sounded but you were advised to always ask basic and easy questions first to get the interviewee in the zone –according to Linda, your boss.

“I’m Bruce Wayne, owner of Wayne Enterprises. I have four sons and a daughter. Richard, Cassandra, Jason, Tim and Damian. In that order,” came his curt response.

“I’m the only blood son,” Damian chimed in. “You should specify that.”

“Everyone knows that twat, you keep saying it every chance you get,” Jason rolled his eyes.

Before Damian could come up with a harsher quip, the door swung open and stepped in Richard. Your eyes instinctively went to his face which was set in a hard expression –jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed.

His large frame was covered with black dress pants, perfectly tailored to fit him just right. He was wearing a light blue dress shirt over it, tucked neatly in his pants. The top two buttons were undone showing just a glimpse of his muscular chest. His suit jacket was draped over his forearm in a wrinkled heap.

You were beginning to understand how he got so many partners.

“Dick you’re late,” Bruce’s voice echoed.

“Yeah sorry,” he sighed a reply and walked over to the windowsill beside the couch and leaned back on it. “Had an accident,” he added and finally looked down at you.

His furrowed brows suddenly turned softer, giving his eyes a look of relief as his jaw involuntarily unclenched and morphed into an easy smile.

“Well hello there,” he smiled at you.

“Hi,” you shook yourself out of your trance and greeted him, “You must be Richard.”

“Please call me Dick.”

“Richard’s fine,” you corrected, causing Jason to let out a whistle.

“Why do you have blood on your shirt?” Cassandra asked Dick.

“Ran into someone,” Dick replied and wiped his nose with a tissue, eyes never leaving yours.

That’s when the realisation dawned on you that it was Richard Grayson whose nose you broke.

Your eyes widened and with the way Dick was smirking he knew you finally caught on.

Your eyes went even more wide when you realised you not only broke his nose but also handed him a twenty dollar bill.

The same Richard Grayson who was quite literally a millionaire. Richard Grayson who you were supposed to be seeing almost every day for a week (more than that if needed).

How badly did you even want this job anyway? Sorting mail at the Daily Planet was surely better than your nightmare unfolding right in front of you.

“Oh my god,” you muttered under your breath, eyes still blown wide and staring at Dick.

“You okay?” Tim asked you.

“Yeah sorry,” you replied, quickly recovering from the moment’s mortification.

It was okay. It would be okay. You would apologise to Dick, offer to make it up to him so you could do your job and it would be OKAY. Because just the thought of going back to eating instant noodles for dinner three days in a row was enough to make you shake in fear.

You blinked once before your eyes found their way back to Dick who was now staring at you with his head tilted to the side, hands stuffed in the pocket of his pants while that infamous Dick Grayson smirk stayed prominent on his rosy lips.

“Pathetic,” Damian scoffed from the armrest of the couch, making your eyes widen.

“Sorry?” You asked in disbelief, looking at the scowling boy.

“Ignore him, he sniffs glue,” Jason drawled.

“He what-” You asked again, eyes going wide in complete confusion and surprise.

“He doesn’t, Jason is just a dick,” Tim rolled his eyes and plopped down next to Bruce on the couch.

“Hey don’t use my name as an insult,” Dick frowned from his perch on the windowsill.

Damian in response reached over Cassandra’s lap and flicked Jason’s forehead causing him to gasp in disbelief before he flicked Damian back on the nose.

Soon enough they were both giving each other light smacks over Cassandra’s lap before Dick finally grabbed the collar of Damian’s jacket and pulled him back.

“Cut it out!” Dick’s voice boomed, suddenly turning four octaves deeper.

His deep voice in that tone made you cross your legs despite yourself as you bit your lower lip and tried to stop your mind from going places that included Dick and his sexy voice murmuring things in your ear that would have you panting under different circumstances.

This is not what you should be thinking about right now.

“Sorry, please go on,” Dick turned towards you and flashed you another one of his smiles.

“Right um, Mr. Grayson-”

“Dick.”

“Richard,” you reiterated, causing Cass and Tim to snicker among themselves. “It says you’re a philanthropist in Blüdhaven?”

“Yeah I’m kinda everywhere,” he chuckled.

“What do you mean?”

“I do own an apartment there but I’m also here in Gotham most days,” he shrugged like it was normal to have multiple homes in different cities.

“Wow,” you muttered before you could stop yourself. “Rich people are just so troubled aren’t they?”

You saw Dick visibly retreat into the curtains as his face began turning pink.

You sure as hell wouldn’t apologise for that comment.

“Mr. Wayne,” you began, looking at Bruce now. “What do you have to say in response to people recently claiming that you and your family don't use your wealth to help the citizens of Gotham?” you asked, reading from the notes.

“I would say we’re always working on doing more for the community, giving the city back in every single way we can. Martha Wayne foundation has been working hard with the homelessness issue the city deals with and we’re working each day to make it better.”

You nodded in response and quickly scribbled everything down while Andy flashed a few candid shots.

“Mr. Todd-”

“For fuck’s sake please it’s Jason,” Jason cringed and you decided to stick with first names, refusing to go through the same thing over and over.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, a slow blush creeping over your face at Jason smirking at you. “Erm Jason, it says here that you-”

“Died? Yeah I did,” he clicked his tongue.

You stared at him with wide eyes but he just laughed in response, causing you to bite the inside of your lip in anxiousness.

They weren’t making this easy.

“Dude,” Dick muttered to Jason.

“Anyway,” you let out and turned towards Bruce instead and read off the questions submitted by people out loud without checking it first, “Mr. Wayne, your image as Gotham’s most eligible bachelor has been intact for years now, long before you even had children, do you…” you trailed off, eyebrows nearly shooting to your hairline at the intrusive question.

“Oh I’m sorry,” you quickly reiterated, “I don’t know why that was a question, you don’t have to answer that it’s so rude.”

Bruce’s lips twitched in response as his shoulders sagged which you took as a smile. He leaned forward and you straightened up as he looked directly at you with such intensity you could cry.

“Are you new?” He asked with a whisper of your name.

“Y-yeah I moved here from Metropolis, I was an intern at the Daily Planet,” you swallowed.

“Well,” he began. “You should know that’s all that anyone’s ever been interested in when it comes to Bruce Wayne.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“I know.”

“Sorry let’s start again I’m sorry,” you shook your head.

“You don’t need to apologise so much,” Jason pointed.

“Right. Sorry,” you replied. “Shit,” you cursed before the realisation caused your eyes to widen at what you just said. “I didn’t mean to swear I mean- like not shit shit just. God I’ve said it again now I meant-”

“Do you have the afternoon off?” Bruce asked suddenly, cutting you off.

“Y-yeah,” you replied with a gulp.

“I have a meeting I need to attend. We can stick to writing about the work we do here and taking photos around the building for today if that’s okay with you.”

You knew what he was doing. And you weren’t too proud to not accept his offer.

“That works perfectly, thanks!” Andy quickly replied and grabbed your hand, practically dragging you out of the office.

“What’s going on with you!?” He whisper-yelled once you reached the elevator. “You never mess up like that!”

“I don’t know!” You cringed and covered your face with your hands.

“You broke Dick Grayson’s nose!” He exclaimed.

“I didn’t know!” You cried. “I’m so getting fired.”

“Wait up!” You heard someone call out from behind you.

You turned around and saw Dick, jogging towards you.

“Fuck he wants to fire me,” you muttered to Andy.

“Be cool,” he replied.

“Hi,” Dick grinned, stopping right in front of you.

“Hi?” You replied with a confused expression.

Great, now a man who has never had to work a day in his life was going to fire you and there was nothing you could do about it. It was going to do wonders for your ego.

“So you want someone to show you around the office? Everyone else will be in the meeting,” he offered.

“You’re not here to fire me?” You asked before you could stop yourself.

“Fire you?” Dick laughed. “Why would I fire you?”

“Because I broke your nose,” you grimaced.

“I told you, I’m fine,” he shrugged, offering you a practiced charming grin that he probably used to get out of all sorts of trouble.

“We would love it if you could show us around,” Andy went on before you could reply, earning a stomp of your heel on his shoe.

“Mr. Wayne has asked for Mr. Andrew to be present for the meeting in the conference room to take photos,” Bruce’s assistant popped her head out of the glass doors and smiled at Andy.

He grinned at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes that you couldn’t decode. With a quick wave of his hands, he was off. Leaving you all alone with nothing but the anxiety in your stomach and a very handsome Dick Grayson.

“Let’s start our tour then,” Dick nodded and pressed a button on the elevator.

Once inside, he stood near the panel with you on the opposite wall.

He leaned back with one hand in the pocket of his pants, the other toying with his bottom lip that sported a lazy grin while his eyes were busy going up and down your frame.

His gaze took all of you in, beginning from your heels to the top of your stockings to the hem of your skirt to finally the littlest cleavage he could see in the fitted dress shirt you wore which clinged to your waist like a second skin.

You swallowed and clutched your folder tighter around your torso as if to shield yourself from his piercing gaze.

“Nice glasses,” Dick commented.

“Thanks,” you replied in a low voice and pushed them up your nose.

“Suit your face pretty well,” he went on.

“That’s why I chose them,” you bit your bottom lip to stop a smile from spreading on your face in case it gave him the wrong idea.

“You’ve got great taste then,” he said next.

“You could say that,” you nodded.

The elevator stopped, indicating that you had arrived on your floor. Dick gestured for you to step out first with a wave of his hand then followed behind.

“This is the front desk as you would have guessed, you spent quite a time here today,” Dick said, eyeing you with amusement.

“Right,” you replied and avoided his gaze.

“So,” Dick began, walking beside you towards the fountain in the centre of the building. “You drink coffee?”

“Yeah?” You replied in confusion.

“Wanna get one with me?” He offered.

“Oh no thanks,” you gently turned him down. “That’s nice of you.”

“Are you sure? I did get twenty dollars richer today," he pressed and flashed the said bill in front of you.

You felt your entire face heat up at that as you looked down at your heels clacking against the polished floor. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“It was perfectly on the right foot,” Dick argued. “Story of a lifetime, a pretty girl hit me in the face. Believe it or not, that doesn’t happen a lot.”

“I’m sure, Richard,” you held yourself back from rolling your eyes at his ego. You were supposed to be making amends with him, not let his ego piss you off.

“It’s Dick,” he corrected again.

“I would assume that’s a nickname and nicknames are reserved for friends, we are just coworkers for the week. So I’d rather call you Richard,” you explained.

“Extreme technicality," Dick mused. “But no, everyone calls me Dick even the people I don’t know, I haven’t gone by Richard since I was four and my mom called me that every time I pissed her off,” he chuckled.

“Must have been a lot then,” you muttered and fortunately, he didn’t hear you. Or he did and decided to ignore it.

You gnawed on your bottom lip and eyed his handsome face before letting out an exasperated breath. “Okay, Dick.”

“There it is!” He beamed.

“How do you even get ‘Dick’ from Richard,” you asked, looking at him from the corner of your eyes as you two continued to walk around.

“Well you ask really really nicely,” Dick smirked.

“What- Oh,” you groaned. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I’m greatly offended now and the only way you’ll get me on your good side is by agreeing to get coffee with me.”

“You’re manipulating me,” you narrowed your eyes at his smug face.

“One of my many talents,” he replied.

“Do you flirt with everyone like this?” You asked with a raise of your eyebrow.

“Only with people who break my nose,” he quipped.

“Wow,” you mused.

“Is it working?” He asked.

“Not in the least,” you clicked your tongue and swallowed the profanities threatening to spill out from you.

You were supposed to be professional here and he wasn’t even taking you seriously. You clutched the folder in your hands tighter as you recalled that his response to you hitting him in the face was a pick up line.

He hadn’t even assessed the injury before a flirty comment left his pretty mouth. You felt yourself getting mad at the permanent smirk on his face because he knew exactly what it did and he was trying it on you and it wasn’t exactly not not working on you.

“Damn it,” Dick huffed dramatically.

“You know you’re supposed to be showing me around so I can write about the work environment here,” you reminded him.

“You’re right,” Dick agreed. “Let’s begin at the food court where we can get that coffee we talked about.”

“Cheap food court coffee, really Mr. Grayson?” You chided with a click of your tongue. “I’d have assumed you had a black Amex or something.”

“I'm saving that for Friday when we go on our date,” he shrugged.

“Oh, our date on Friday! Right,” you nodded along.

“See? We’re already on the same page.”

“Dick,” you said, making him look at you. “What are you doing?”

“Asking you out on a date,” he smiled, popping those dimples.

“And I’m politely rejecting you.”

“Why?” He frowned.

“Why? Because I don’t want to,” you shrugged.

“Give me a reason.”

“There’s no reason Dick. Believe it or not, women can be immune to your charms,” you rolled your eyes, getting irritated at his ego.

“That hasn’t happened yet,” he mumbled.

“I’m sure,” you scoffed lightly. “We need to get back to work because I do have to work to make money.”

“Right,” he replied with a light shrug but on the inside, Dick was spiralling.

He stood frozen for a beat and eyed as you effortlessly chatted and smiled at the receptionist and he couldn’t for the life of him understand why you didn’t smile at him like that.

Instead he got an eye roll and a scoff.

He wasn’t the womanising ‘ladies man’ the media made him out to be. Every single shot of him that paps got with different women were often his friends –including Barbara and Steph. Those photos were posted online with extremely creative headlines which Dick always laughed at, often with Barbara and Steph.

But he also knew that he didn’t have a problem talking to people –everyone knew that. He had always loved talking to people, ever since he was a kid in the circus. He was often found talking to strangers and with his need to always put on a charming performance, people liked him back.

So when he got the feeling that for some reason you didn’t, he didn’t know how to take it.

Especially when he was quite taken by you. By your glasses and the way your skirt ended just above your knees, short enough to show the lace hem of your see through stockings.

Your glossy lips along with the stick peeking out of your perfectly done bun. He didn’t want to feel attracted towards two strands of hair falling on your face but he did and he sure as hell wouldn’t apologise for that.

And for whatever reason, his usual smiles didn’t work on you. Not even for a coffee.

He had thought it was the embarrassment of the accident you two had but clearly you didn’t seem like the type to dwell on things.

Surely it couldn’t be him.

He was a well liked and a quite attractive man and he wouldn’t deny that.

The whole day he tried shrugging it off. He told himself that you were probably just stressed or that you didn’t know him well enough that’s why you had turned him down. Or that maybe he had come on a bit too strong.

Either way he was going to make it right and he would earn a smile from you in return.

okay i know nothing about how journalism works so please bear with me!

yay im so glad to be reposting it🥹 i’ve already written till chapter four and i don’t even know how many more chapters there will be, i just hope you guys dont get bored🤧

The prospect of you being around more often makes him giddy but you meeting his family makes him a little nervous. 

They are going to love you, he knows because Dick loves you. The problem was that he would most likely never have alone time with you ever again. 

"I will let them know about us while you are gone so they can be eased into it." Dick decides aloud. 

You give him a smile that makes him feel like he just won the lottery, "I am excited to meet them and the other Lanterns probably want to give you a shovel talk, especially Guy and Hal."

Dick can't help but roll his eyes at that, "They can't scare me, I'm not even scared of Batman."

"Maybe but they feel the need to so don't laugh at them too hard." You laugh and kiss his cheek.

Once you have left with the rest of the lanterns, and Hal and Guy have threatened him sufficiently, he decides to begin the process of telling his family. 

Dick tells Bruce first, knowing his mentor would appreciate not being kept in the dark. He stays behind one night after patrol when everyone else is gone. Bruce calls him out on his constant fidgiting and Dick tells him the truth.

He gets a hum in response. Usually it would be a grunt of acknowledgement or something like that but instead he gets a hum that sounds extremely skeptical. 

Dick narrows his eyes at him and doesn't call him out on it, just files it away for later.

One by one he pulls his family aside to tell them about you and each time he is either looked at with confusion or, in Jason's case, laughed at hysterically for ten minutes. 

He doesn't know what is going on. Are they collectively pranking him? Have they all gone insane? Has he gone insane? 

You are still off world so he feels particularly down as he stands on a rooftop over looking Gotham. He feels terribly like Bruce as he broods while the city moves below him. 

"Nightwing." Bruce greets as he lands on the rooftop, followed by Jason and Damian.

Jason gives him a two fingered salute while Damian nods in his direction. 

"Batman, Red Hood, Robin." Dick greets. "What do you need from me?"

"We need your help on a case-" Bruce starts and Dick immediately crosses over to their side of the roof, ready to help.

Bruce goes to continue talking but a bright streak of pink light illuminates the night sky. 

Dick is almost knocked over by how fast you hug him, it knocks some of the air out of his lungs. As soon as he registers what is happening he hugs you back.

"Baby!" You float a little off the ground as you hold him. "I missed you so much!"

"I missed you to." Dick says with a soft smile.

You release him and he remembers that Bruce, Damian and Jason are still there. 

Dick's smile turns to a self satisfied smirk. 

"This is my partner." He looks smug as they all are in various states of shock.

"Hi!" You wave cheerfully at them, unaware of his uphill battle of getting his family to believe him.

"I thought you made it up Richard," Damian regains his ability to speak first. "She is very out of your league."

Dick groans in frustration while you hold back laughter. 

He wishes he never told his family about you.

You were usually very good at compartmentalizing that side of you. The side that let your emotions take over your actions and cause all hell to break loose. But right now, your heart was hammering incessantly, your rage simmering hotter and hotter, and it was boiling over.

Clark had no idea, of course, that this sudden pop-up storm was essentially all his fault.

He was currently rushing around shutting all the windows that he had left open earlier in the day for sunlight, muttering under his breath. You were almost certain that he was taking longer on purpose so that he didn't have to come back and finish this pointless argument you were having right now.

You half-wanted to use your own mind to shut the windows yourself and bring him back here in front of you.

But you couldn't, unless you wanted to explain yourself. Something you were not ready to do. Which, ironically enough, was the cause of this whole argument in the first place.

You were hiding something, and Clark knew it.

But unfortunately for the both of you, you just weren't ready to reveal that part of yourself, even if Clark had already revealed that part of him.

You clenched your hands into tight fists, forcing yourself to take deep inhales to calm your mind and clear the raging storm outside. But for some reason your usual tactics weren't working, and every time you thought back to why you were feeling this way, you got upset all over again.

Clark eventually found his way back to your side, taking the open seat he was in previously on the opposite side of the couch. You noticed the slight space he left next to you and cursed yourself internally.

Of course he's keeping distance, you thought bitterly. You've been snapping at him for an hour over nothing.

You just wanted to get this argument over with already so that you could kiss and make up and lay in his arms all evening like you originally planned to do. But it seemed fate had other plans because Clark was determined to get to the bottom of things. Curse the gods and their timing.

"Honey, I'm not trying to accuse you or attack you, or make you feel bad. I just know something is off and I want to help you in any way I can. But you keep pushing me away."

You take a deep breath, but it comes out uneven anyway.

"I'm not pushing you away," you say, too quickly, too defensively. Your voice cracks at the edges, and you hate that he notices.

Clark's expression softens, but he doesn't move any closer. "You are," he says gently. "You've been… different lately. And every time I ask, you shut me out. I don't—" He exhales, running a hand through his hair. "I don't want to be someone you can't trust."

The words hit harder than they should. Because that's not it. That's never been it.

"I do trust you," you insist, your fingers digging into your sleeves, grounding yourself in the fabric, in something normal. You take another breath. "Trust me, this isn't about you."

"Then what is it about? Because it's affecting you, and it's affecting me… baby, please, how can I help?" he asks, quieter now.

You shake your head immediately. You feel yourself getting anxious and irrationally angry. Why can't he just drop it? Why does he have to be so insistent and caring and loving? Ugh.

"I can't," you say simply instead.

Another crack of thunder splits the sky, loud enough to rattle the windows. The lights flicker. The air feels heavier, charged, pressing in on your lungs. Clark glances toward the window, brows furrowing.

"Gosh, that's… weird. Isn't this strange? This storm came out of nowhere. There wasn't supposed to be—"

You knew his Superman brain was probably now jumping to all kinds of conclusions and potential threats.

"Just drop it, Clark," you snap. "This isn't going anywhere."

The moment the words leave your mouth, regret floods in. His jaw tightens.

"I'm not going to drop it," he says, firmer now. "Not when you're clearly upset and refusing to tell me why."

"I said it's not about you!"

"Then let me in!" His voice rises for the first time—not loud, but desperate. "I can't help if you won't let me—"

"I don't need your help!"

Lightning flashes again, blinding this time, illuminating the entire room in stark white. The thunder follows instantly, deafening. The windows rattle violently. Clark freezes.

Slowly, his gaze drifts back to you. He tilts his head, curiously.

Your heart starts pounding and your palms get sweaty and of course he notices.

And you realize, with a sinking, horrified clarity, that it's happening. The one thing you've tried desperately to avoid.

Everything was spiraling too quickly.

The air around you is alive. You can feel it crackling against your skin, raising the fine hairs on your arms. The lamp beside the couch flickers once, twice, then pops—glass tinkling to the floor. Across the room, Clark's television screen glitches and dies. The storm outside isn't letting up. If anything, it's getting worse, the wind howling like something wounded.

Clark isn't looking at the destruction, though. He's looking at you.

No. No, no, no. Fuck!

This wasn't supposed to happen like this.

You force your hands to unclench, but faint sparks flicker across your skin anyway, dancing between your fingertips like restless fireflies. The overhead light pulses now, syncing with the frantic beat of your pulse.

"Nothing, it's nothing," you breathe, even as the lie falls apart in real time. Did he even ask you anything? Gods, you were losing it, bad. "It's just the storm—"

Concern is written all over Clark's face as he glances back outside, then back to you. He's looking at you the way he does when something doesn't add up. When he's piecing together a story.

And he's so, so good at that.

"...You're causing it," he says.

It's not a question. You realize that with a jolt of ice-cold terror. He knows. Your throat closes up.

You shake your head, stepping back instinctively, like distance might undo what's already unraveling. "I didn't mean to— I can't—"

The wind howls outside, fierce and sudden. Papers scatter across the room. The door rattles in its frame.

"Hey, hey, honey," Clark says immediately, hands raised in reassurance. He takes a cautious step forward. "It's okay. Just—just breathe, alright? You're scaring yourself."

"I know!" Your voice breaks, something raw and panicked tearing through it. Curse him for still trying to calm you down, even when he didn't understand what exactly was happening.

"Baby, your eyes…"

You lift a trembling hand to your face, but you already know what you'll find. You've seen this before—in mirrors, in rain puddles, in the split second before you manage to shove it all back down. Your eyes aren't yours right now. They're glowing. A faint, storm-silver light bleeding out from your irises, the mark of your father written across your face like a brand.

"I can explain," you whisper, even though you can't. Even though the words have lodged themselves in your throat like broken glass.

Clark approaches slowly, like you're something that might shatter. Or something that might explode. You wouldn't blame him for either assumption.

"Shh," he murmurs, voice low and steady in a way that makes your chest ache. "You don't have to explain all at once. Take a deep breath for me, please."

Another flash of lightning cuts across the sky, and the answering thunder shakes the entire building. You flinch, shoulders tensing, power surging instinctively in response. You try to do as he says, inhaling shakily.

The floorboards creak under your feet.

"I do," you choke out. "I do, because if I don't, you're going to—" Your voice breaks, breath stuttering. "You're going to look at me differently."

"I'm already looking at you," Clark says softly, before adding. "You're beautiful."

That almost makes it worse. You feel sick, even though you know he doesn't mean it like anything other than a compliment.

Your hands curl tighter, electricity snapping between your fingers. You try to force it down, to smother it the way you always do, but it's slipping, spilling through the cracks of your control.

"I'm not—" you start, then stop, shaking your head hard. "I'm not normal, Clark."

"I know," he says gently, and there's a faint curl of his lips. "I'm not exactly… normal either," he adds, a hint of humor threading through his voice.

"That's not the same!" you snap, louder than you mean to. The windows rattle violently in response. "You—you're good. You're… you're him. Superman. You save people, you—everyone looks at you and sees hope and—and—"

"And you think they wouldn't look at you the same way?" he asks.

A hollow laugh rips out of you. "No. They don't."

The storm surges, as if agreeing.

"I've seen what people do when they find out," you continue, the words tumbling out now, years of fear and hurt cracking open all at once.

"They don't see me. They see what I can give them. What I can fix. What I can destroy. I only destroy, Clark." Your voice drops as it cracks. "Or they get scared. And they leave. It happens every time."

Your eyes burn.

"So I don't tell anyone," you admit, lips trembling. "I try so hard to be human, Clark. I try so hard to just be… enough without it."

The admission hangs heavy between you.

"And I didn't tell you," you finish, getting it all out, "because I couldn't stand the idea of you seeing me like that too and choosing to leave. And things are getting serious now, and I'm obviously falling in love with you, and gods, I'm so scared. I didn't even realize I was pushing you away. I just figured it was better this way, to keep us both safe."

For a moment, there's only the storm. Then Clark closes the distance.

You tense immediately, instinct screaming at you to step back, but his hands find yours before you can. The sparks jump to his skin. He doesn't let go. If anything, he holds you tighter.

"Hey," he says again, softer this time, grounding. "Look at me."

You hesitate. Then you do. You release a long breath.

"You really think this is the part that changes things?" he asks quietly.

Your throat tightens. "It should. It usually does."

"It doesn't. It's not going to."

The words land with a strange kind of weight. Clark's grip on your hands tightens just slightly, enough to remind you he's there when he feels your brain spiraling.

"You're still you," he says. "The person who overthinks everything. Who insists on doing things the hard way because it 'feels right.'" A small, fond smile tugs at his lips. "Who gets stubborn over the tiniest arguments."

A shaky breath leaves you, almost a laugh.

"And I'm obviously hopelessly in love with you too." Clark repeats your words back.

"You didn't tell me," he continues, "and yeah, that hurts a little. Not because of what you are." His thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles, then your face. "But because you thought you had to hide from me."

Your eyes sting.

"I wasn't hiding from you," you whisper. "I was trying to protect what we had."

Clark tilts his head slightly. "By shutting me out?"

You wince. "...Yeah. That part didn't really work out."

He huffs a quiet laugh at that, something warm breaking through the tension.

"No," he agrees gently. "It didn't."

Another rumble of thunder rolls overhead—but distant now. Fading. You swallow hard.

"I'm… a demigod," You say finally, the words fragile but real as they leave you. "My father is—" You hesitate, shame flickering across your face. "It's Zeus."

You brace yourself, shutting your eyes quickly to avoid the look on his face.

Clark just places a soft kiss to your forehead. Then your temple, then your cheeks, and lastly your lips before your eyes are fluttering back open again, relishing in his touch.

"Okay," He says.

You blink. "Okay?"

"Well," he shrugs lightly, a small smile returning, "It explains the lightning."

Despite the lasting remnants of panic, you let out a startled, breathy laugh. It feels like something unclenches in your chest.

"You're not… scared of me?" You ask, quieter now.

Clark shakes his head. "I've seen a lot of things," he says simply. "You're not one of the things I'm afraid of."

The storm softens further, rain easing against the windows.

"I'm sorry," you murmur, guilt creeping back in now that the panic is fading. "For not telling you. For snapping. For—" you gesture vaguely to the destroyed living room, the storm, yourself. "All of this."

Clark looks at the cracked floor, the blown-out lamp, the dead television, and then back at you. His smile turns gentle, almost teasing.

"You know," he says, "most girlfriends just apologize with flowers or baked cookies."

A wet laugh escapes you. "I'll buy you a new TV."

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. "I'm kidding. I don't care about any of it. I care that you're okay."

"I'm getting there," you admit.

"Good." He presses another kiss to your forehead. "Then let's get you somewhere more comfortable. You look exhausted."

You don't argue. The adrenaline is fading, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness that makes your limbs feel heavy. Something you always feel after wielding too much. Clark loops an arm around your waist, guiding you past the wreckage and toward his bedroom.

The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the city through the window. The storm has calmed to a gentle rain now, a soothing rhythm against the glass. Clark pulls back the blankets and eases you onto the bed like you're something precious.

"Scoot," he murmurs.

You shuffle over, and he climbs in beside you, gathering you against his chest. His arms wrap around you—solid, warm, impossibly safe. You press your face into the crook of his neck and breathe him in.

"I'm still mad at you," you mumble against his skin.

"Mad at me?" He says sarcastically, "What did I do?"

"You made me fall in love with you. And now I can't even be properly angsty about my secret demigod identity because you're too nice."

Clark laughs softly, the vibration rumbling through his chest. "That's the worst apology I've ever received."

"It's not an apology. It's a complaint." You tilt your head up to look at him. His glasses are gone, his dark hair falling messily across his forehead. "A very valid complaint."

He hums thoughtfully, tracing idle patterns on your back, gazing in your back to normal eyes. "Noted. I'll try to be meaner."

"Don't you dare."

Another laugh. He tucks you closer, chin resting on top of your head. The rain outside has softened to a whisper, the thunder nothing more than a distant memory. You can feel your pulse finally settling, the electricity in your blood quieting to a low hum.

"So," Clark says after a long, comfortable silence. "Zeus."

"Please don't."

"I'm just saying, if he ever shows up to give me the 'If you hurt my daughter' speech, what am I supposed to do? Shake his hand? Bow? I've never met a god before"

You groan and bury your face in his chest, even though you know he's only trying to cheer you up with his teasing. "I will throw lightning at you."

"See, that's exactly what I'm talking about. Most girlfriends throw pillows."

"You're impossible."

"And you're a demigod who shorted out my entire apartment." He presses a kiss to the top of your head. "We're a match made in—" He pauses, reconsidering. "Well. Maybe not heaven. But somewhere."

You lift your head just enough to glare at him. He grins down at you, all boyish charm and warm affection, and you hate how much you love him.

"I'm going to electrocute you in your sleep."

"No, you're not."

"You don't know that."

"I do, actually." He cups your face in his hands, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. "Because you love me. And also because I'm pretty sure I'm immune."

"You're not immune."

"Wanna test that theory?"

You stare at him. He stares back, utterly unrepentant.

"I hate you," you say.

"Love you too, baby." He kisses the tip of your nose. "Now go to sleep. You've had a big day of revealing your secret divine heritage and destroying my living room."

You want to argue, but your eyes are already heavy. The warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, the soft rhythm of the rain—it all pulls you under.

"Clark?" you whisper, drowsy.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

His arms tighten around you. "Always."

The last thing you feel before sleep takes you is his lips pressing gently to your hair, and the quiet rumble of his voice as he murmurs something you're too far gone to hear.

But you feel it anyway.

Safe.

━━━━━━━

The sky flushes a vibrant blend of orange and yellow, the sun taking its final bows before dipping into the horizon for yet another day to come. You've been sitting on that rooftop for quite a while, enjoying the warm breeze that prickles and soothes your skin. It seems you haven't noticed that Dick's focus is glued to your face, your eyes trained on the scene before you. His fingers hover over your hand, mind a battlefield as he contemplates his next move deeply.

Over the few months he's worked alongside you, the few months spent jumping from roof to roof eliminating the evil that troubles Gotham, he's grown to realise that you're something he simply can't lose to battle — something he's grown fiercely protective of. He can't simply tune out the unfamiliar, gnawing feeling of jealousy that rests in his chest when he watches you gush about other ‘fascinating’ heroes that don't even compare. He can't ignore the constant sense of growing urgency, that his time with you is simmering out into a thread.

He needs to get on with it.

It's just a risk, something that he's always taken, from his life as an acrobat to one where he's proudly taken the mantle of Robin. But this one feels different, makes his heart tug a different way; a weight sits heavy on his shoulders, one he's sure the press of your lips to his will fix. With a deep breath and a puff of the chest, he carefully slips his hand into yours, drawing your attention to icy blue eyes that hold a warmth no fire could ever recreate. He finds himself leaning into you, and he almost lets out a cheer when you knowingly meet him half way.

The kiss isn't smooth, it's not relaxed and easy like that in the films; your noses bump against each other, teeth knock and it seems like Dick has puckered his lips way too much. But that's what makes it feel real to him. His senses are on 100%, body overridden with a tingly, fuzzy feeling he can only sign off as adrenaline and love.

Your cheeks are hot, warmth travelling down your neck and hands forming a layer of sweat that seems impossible to wipe off.

A beat passes before you break the silence, letting out a snort as Dick peers curiously at you. “Did you finally grow a spine?” You quip to which he gasps dramatically, a hand shielding his heart in mock offence.

“Excuse you?” “I mean, I've been waiting for you to do that. I almost thought you didn't like me.” Your voice drops into a mutter, a moment of vulnerability that hangs in the air as you both pause. Dick's gaze softens at your honesty, heart squeezing at the sheepish confession.

But the first time you officially met was shortly after Young Justice was created. Bruce, dressed as Batman and Red Tornado, had introduced you to the small group of teenagers with the intention of having you be part of their training, and perhaps even help them understand the great responsibility that this job entails at a young age.

But young Robin was too busy bragging that he already knew the pretty girl.

"Team," Red Tornado announced in a mechanically solemn voice. "This is the newest active member of the Justice League. She'll assist in your training."

You stood confidently beside Batman, smiling kindly at the group of expectant teenagers.

"Hey guys" you greeted with a friendly smile. "I hope we can learn a lot together. "

Robin almost fainted.

Of course he recognized you.

The goddess of the Batcave was there, in the same room, and this time... he could talk to you without hiding behind the Batmobile.

Wally nudged him. “Wow... who is she? She’s so f...”

"What are you saying, Wally?!" Robin interrupted quickly, his voice a little louder than usual.

Everyone looked at him, he cleared his throat, crossing his arms as if he hadn't just yelled in front of the team. "I mean, obviously I know her. She's been in the Batcave before. With Batman. And me. Nothing new for me. "

Wally raised an eyebrow, amused. "Really? And you didn't say anything?"

Robin shrugged, putting on his best 'this doesn't affect me' pose, although he was sure his ears were turning red under the mask.

"I didn't mean to brag," he said with a small smile. "But we've already talked. she was on a mission with B, and I showed her some things about the cave. She asked me for advice. The usual."

Wally chuckled. “she asked you for advice, sure.”

You stepped forward, smiling warmly as you watched them. “Robin, right?” you asked, addressing him directly.

The boy's heart almost fell to the floor.

"Yes," he replied immediately, straightening as if he were undergoing a military inspection. "Of course. Robin. You know, the first one. The original. The best. Your Robin."

Wally coughed to hide a laugh.

"Thank you for having me. I'm happy to be here," you continued calmly, then lowered your voice a little. "And.... I remember you."

Robin froze.

—I wasn't sure if I should tell you, but... I thought it was really cute how you hid behind the computer that night.

Robin blinked. “How…?”

"Boy, do you think I'd be in the League if I didn't see you hiding behind a piece of furniture? No one escapes a League member," you winked mischievously.

Wally squealed with laughter as Robin raised a hand to his face. "I'm going to need an identity change," he muttered.

ᯓ★

The Watchtower meeting hall was lively, finally the young league had been allowed to come see the place and watch the daily routine of the heroes who were there, what should have been a happy day for everyone, for Robin, the energy of the place had a slightly bitter taste.

From his place leaning against the wall, arms crossed and brow slightly furrowed, he watched the scene in front of him as if it were a movie he hadn't asked to see.

You were standing in the middle of the conference room, laughing with Hal Jordan, while he excitedly gestured about who knows about what. The way you laughed, with your shoulders slightly raised and that genuine expression of amusement… it didn't help at all.

Robin looked away with a silent grunt. 'Great,' he thought, now his special day at the Watchtower was ruined by the more annoying version of Green Lantern and his damn perfect white teeth and that jagged jawline.

"Relax, Wonder Boy," Wally told him, appearing at his side, munching some cookies from the base's kitchen. "They're just talking."

"Who said I'm not relaxed?" Robin replied, a little too quickly.

—Your face. You have a “I want to throw a batarang at Green Lantern” vibe.

Robin snorted. “I wouldn’t throw a batarang at him…” Pause ."…very strong. "

At that moment, you turned your head slightly and smiled at Batman, who had come over to review some files with you and Hal. Batman said something to you in a low voice, and you nodded with a warm smile.

Dick felt a small emotional short circuit.

Bruce now too? Bruce?!? Since when did you smile like that with him?! I thought your thing with Batman was respect, professional admiration… not those kind of smiles that gave you stomach cramps!

Wally spoke again, his mouth still half full of crackers. “I think you should take a deep breath before you explode like an overloaded microchip, buddy.”

At that moment, you said goodbye to Hal with a gentle pat on the arm and walked toward the group of young people. Your eyes lingered on Dick for a second, and your smile widened.

"Wally, Robin," you greeted him in that warm tone you only used with him, even though he refused to admit it. "How was your visit?"

Dick cleared his throat and straightened his back as if he hadn't been frowning with dramatic intensity for five minutes. Wally, for his part, smiled as if nothing had happened.

"That's great!" the speedster replied. "I mean, it's not every day you see Superman eating a giant salad for lunch, right?"

You laughed softly, and that laugh was enough to make Dick forget for half a second that he was angry at Hal Jordan, at you, at Bruce, and at cosmic injustice in general.

"And you, Robin?" you asked with a nod. "What did you think?"

Robin opened his mouth, but for some reason the words didn't come out immediately. His brain, which normally ran at the speed of a supercomputer, seemed to have rebooted.

"I'm... fine. Everything," he murmured, before clearing his throat and adding in a firmer tone. "The security design of the north corridors is quite efficient. Although there is a minimal leak in the retinal scanner in room 6B. Nothing serious, but... I noticed it."

Wally looked at him as if he had just quoted an engineering manual in the middle of a conversation about movies.

You smiled with genuine amusement and nodded, as if you didn't find it ridiculous at all. "I knew you'd notice something like that. Good eye."

Dick felt like he was floating.

"Yeah, well... efficiency's my thing," he said with a slight shrug, trying to sound casual. Wally nudged him, not conspiratorially this time, but to keep him from falling over because of his inflated ego.

"You're adorable."

Dick felt as if the ground disappeared for a second beneath his boots.

And Wally, behind him, lost it: he put his hand to his mouth to hold back a laugh.

"See you later, little guards," you added sweetly, ruffling his hair before leaving with Hal, who was waiting for you at one of the doors.

Dick stood still, as if struck by lightning.

"I'm not little..." he murmured.

Wally patted him on the back with a laugh. "Bro... you just got lethally friendzoned with love. You're going to remember this for years."

Dick didn't reply. He just touched his messy hair with a silly half smile he couldn't stop.

ᯓ★

It was your first time accompanying Young Justice on a mission, and everything had gone to hell so fast you couldn't believe it.

No one understood what was happening, but since you were the oldest of all, you were supposed to stay calm and find a solution for this strange moment.

The rift in the sky had exploded without warning. A blinding white flash enveloped them, and the next thing they knew, they were no longer in their timeline.

The technology, the architecture, the atmosphere: everything indicated they'd traveled several years into the future. Just enough to make some familiar faces unrecognizable... and others too recognizable to not send shivers down your spine.

“Where… are we?” Aqualad asked, cautiously assessing the spot where they had landed.

"That's what I'd like to know," said a deep, confident voice behind you.

You turned around as a reflex .

And there he was

Tall, imposing. In a black suit with a light blue symbol in the middle of his chest, he looked like a boy about your age, one you definitely didn't know.

"Are you...?" He looked at everyone, his attention finally settling on you. "Oh, damn."

"I'm surprised to see you here. Although I must admit… so far, this has been a pleasant visit."

Robin narrowed his eyes .

"Do you know us?" you asked cautiously.

"Let's just say I have good memories," he said, in a tone that made you raise an eyebrow.

Dick, in the background, clenched his fists. Good memories? What kind of memories?

Nightwing winked at you before looking back at the group. "But don't worry, I won't leave you trapped in my time. We'll figure out how to get you back... after we catch up."

Robin couldn't stop staring at him. Would this be what he'd be like in the future? Would this be how he'd behave? Would this be how he'd talk to you...?

And the worst part is, you didn't seem upset. In fact, you were smiling.

Maybe you weren't recognizing Dick as Nightwing, they didn't look much alike, but it was inevitable for Dick not to recognize himself. .

"We need to talk alone," he said in a serious tone.

Nightwing hesitated, but nodded, and the two of them walked off into a darker hallway.

And there, when they were far enough away, Robin turned to him with a frown. "Hey... you," he began, somewhat awkwardly, "I mean, me. Major. Can I ask you something?"

Nightwing looked at him curiously. “Shoot.”

"She..." he swallowed. "You know, she... In this time... you and her, are you...?"

Nightwing looked at him for a long second before answering. "No, Dick. We were never together."

Silence.

Dick blinked . "Excuse me?" he said with an incredulous chuckle. "Never as in 'not yet'? Or never as in never, never?"

Nightwing gave him a sympathetic look. That was worse.

"As in “never ever.” As in “your eternal crush will eventually marry someone else.” As in “you had zero chance, bro.”

Dick opened his mouth. He closed it. Then he opened it again, only to complain with all the drama his frustrated little teenage body could muster.

"Are you telling me that neither growing up, nor having this cool guy demeanor, nor having that deep, sexy voice, I achieved anything?! Nothing at all?!"

Nightwing shrugged. “Well… you managed to maintain a nice friendship. That’s something.”

"A NICE FRIENDSHIP!" Dick repeated, his face one of existential outrage. "You flirted with her five minutes ago! You flirted with her in front of me like it was the most natural thing in the world!"

"Sure, but she didn't know it was me, or rather, you."

Dick pointed at him as if it were evidence in court. "That makes everything worse!! You flirted with her like someone else and it failed!"

But the first time you officially met was shortly after Young Justice was created. Bruce, dressed as Batman and Red Tornado, had introduced you to the small group of teenagers with the intention of having you be part of their training, and perhaps even help them understand the great responsibility that this job entails at a young age.

But young Robin was too busy bragging that he already knew the pretty girl.

"Team," Red Tornado announced in a mechanically solemn voice. "This is the newest active member of the Justice League. She'll assist in your training."

You stood confidently beside Batman, smiling kindly at the group of expectant teenagers.

"Hey guys" you greeted with a friendly smile. "I hope we can learn a lot together. "

Robin almost fainted.

Of course he recognized you.

The goddess of the Batcave was there, in the same room, and this time... he could talk to you without hiding behind the Batmobile.

Wally nudged him. “Wow... who is she? She’s so f...”

"What are you saying, Wally?!" Robin interrupted quickly, his voice a little louder than usual.

Everyone looked at him, he cleared his throat, crossing his arms as if he hadn't just yelled in front of the team. "I mean, obviously I know her. She's been in the Batcave before. With Batman. And me. Nothing new for me. "

Wally raised an eyebrow, amused. "Really? And you didn't say anything?"

Robin shrugged, putting on his best 'this doesn't affect me' pose, although he was sure his ears were turning red under the mask.

"I didn't mean to brag," he said with a small smile. "But we've already talked. she was on a mission with B, and I showed her some things about the cave. She asked me for advice. The usual."

Wally chuckled. “she asked you for advice, sure.”

You stepped forward, smiling warmly as you watched them. “Robin, right?” you asked, addressing him directly.

The boy's heart almost fell to the floor.

"Yes," he replied immediately, straightening as if he were undergoing a military inspection. "Of course. Robin. You know, the first one. The original. The best. Your Robin."

Wally coughed to hide a laugh.

"Thank you for having me. I'm happy to be here," you continued calmly, then lowered your voice a little. "And.... I remember you."

Robin froze.

—I wasn't sure if I should tell you, but... I thought it was really cute how you hid behind the computer that night.

Robin blinked. “How…?”

"Boy, do you think I'd be in the League if I didn't see you hiding behind a piece of furniture? No one escapes a League member," you winked mischievously.

Wally squealed with laughter as Robin raised a hand to his face. "I'm going to need an identity change," he muttered.

ᯓ★

The Watchtower meeting hall was lively, finally the young league had been allowed to come see the place and watch the daily routine of the heroes who were there, what should have been a happy day for everyone, for Robin, the energy of the place had a slightly bitter taste.

From his place leaning against the wall, arms crossed and brow slightly furrowed, he watched the scene in front of him as if it were a movie he hadn't asked to see.

You were standing in the middle of the conference room, laughing with Hal Jordan, while he excitedly gestured about who knows about what. The way you laughed, with your shoulders slightly raised and that genuine expression of amusement… it didn't help at all.

Robin looked away with a silent grunt. 'Great,' he thought, now his special day at the Watchtower was ruined by the more annoying version of Green Lantern and his damn perfect white teeth and that jagged jawline.

"Relax, Wonder Boy," Wally told him, appearing at his side, munching some cookies from the base's kitchen. "They're just talking."

"Who said I'm not relaxed?" Robin replied, a little too quickly.

—Your face. You have a “I want to throw a batarang at Green Lantern” vibe.

Robin snorted. “I wouldn’t throw a batarang at him…” Pause ."…very strong. "

At that moment, you turned your head slightly and smiled at Batman, who had come over to review some files with you and Hal. Batman said something to you in a low voice, and you nodded with a warm smile.

Dick felt a small emotional short circuit.

Bruce now too? Bruce?!? Since when did you smile like that with him?! I thought your thing with Batman was respect, professional admiration… not those kind of smiles that gave you stomach cramps!

Wally spoke again, his mouth still half full of crackers. “I think you should take a deep breath before you explode like an overloaded microchip, buddy.”

At that moment, you said goodbye to Hal with a gentle pat on the arm and walked toward the group of young people. Your eyes lingered on Dick for a second, and your smile widened.

"Wally, Robin," you greeted him in that warm tone you only used with him, even though he refused to admit it. "How was your visit?"

Dick cleared his throat and straightened his back as if he hadn't been frowning with dramatic intensity for five minutes. Wally, for his part, smiled as if nothing had happened.

"That's great!" the speedster replied. "I mean, it's not every day you see Superman eating a giant salad for lunch, right?"

You laughed softly, and that laugh was enough to make Dick forget for half a second that he was angry at Hal Jordan, at you, at Bruce, and at cosmic injustice in general.

"And you, Robin?" you asked with a nod. "What did you think?"

Robin opened his mouth, but for some reason the words didn't come out immediately. His brain, which normally ran at the speed of a supercomputer, seemed to have rebooted.

"I'm... fine. Everything," he murmured, before clearing his throat and adding in a firmer tone. "The security design of the north corridors is quite efficient. Although there is a minimal leak in the retinal scanner in room 6B. Nothing serious, but... I noticed it."

Wally looked at him as if he had just quoted an engineering manual in the middle of a conversation about movies.

You smiled with genuine amusement and nodded, as if you didn't find it ridiculous at all. "I knew you'd notice something like that. Good eye."

Dick felt like he was floating.

"Yeah, well... efficiency's my thing," he said with a slight shrug, trying to sound casual. Wally nudged him, not conspiratorially this time, but to keep him from falling over because of his inflated ego.

"You're adorable."

Dick felt as if the ground disappeared for a second beneath his boots.

And Wally, behind him, lost it: he put his hand to his mouth to hold back a laugh.

"See you later, little guards," you added sweetly, ruffling his hair before leaving with Hal, who was waiting for you at one of the doors.

Dick stood still, as if struck by lightning.

"I'm not little..." he murmured.

Wally patted him on the back with a laugh. "Bro... you just got lethally friendzoned with love. You're going to remember this for years."

Dick didn't reply. He just touched his messy hair with a silly half smile he couldn't stop.

ᯓ★

It was your first time accompanying Young Justice on a mission, and everything had gone to hell so fast you couldn't believe it.

No one understood what was happening, but since you were the oldest of all, you were supposed to stay calm and find a solution for this strange moment.

The rift in the sky had exploded without warning. A blinding white flash enveloped them, and the next thing they knew, they were no longer in their timeline.

The technology, the architecture, the atmosphere: everything indicated they'd traveled several years into the future. Just enough to make some familiar faces unrecognizable... and others too recognizable to not send shivers down your spine.

“Where… are we?” Aqualad asked, cautiously assessing the spot where they had landed.

"That's what I'd like to know," said a deep, confident voice behind you.

You turned around as a reflex .

And there he was

Tall, imposing. In a black suit with a light blue symbol in the middle of his chest, he looked like a boy about your age, one you definitely didn't know.

"Are you...?" He looked at everyone, his attention finally settling on you. "Oh, damn."

"I'm surprised to see you here. Although I must admit… so far, this has been a pleasant visit."

Robin narrowed his eyes .

"Do you know us?" you asked cautiously.

"Let's just say I have good memories," he said, in a tone that made you raise an eyebrow.

Dick, in the background, clenched his fists. Good memories? What kind of memories?

Nightwing winked at you before looking back at the group. "But don't worry, I won't leave you trapped in my time. We'll figure out how to get you back... after we catch up."

Robin couldn't stop staring at him. Would this be what he'd be like in the future? Would this be how he'd behave? Would this be how he'd talk to you...?

And the worst part is, you didn't seem upset. In fact, you were smiling.

Maybe you weren't recognizing Dick as Nightwing, they didn't look much alike, but it was inevitable for Dick not to recognize himself. .

"We need to talk alone," he said in a serious tone.

Nightwing hesitated, but nodded, and the two of them walked off into a darker hallway.

And there, when they were far enough away, Robin turned to him with a frown. "Hey... you," he began, somewhat awkwardly, "I mean, me. Major. Can I ask you something?"

Nightwing looked at him curiously. “Shoot.”

"She..." he swallowed. "You know, she... In this time... you and her, are you...?"

Nightwing looked at him for a long second before answering. "No, Dick. We were never together."

Silence.

Dick blinked . "Excuse me?" he said with an incredulous chuckle. "Never as in 'not yet'? Or never as in never, never?"

Nightwing gave him a sympathetic look. That was worse.

"As in “never ever.” As in “your eternal crush will eventually marry someone else.” As in “you had zero chance, bro.”

Dick opened his mouth. He closed it. Then he opened it again, only to complain with all the drama his frustrated little teenage body could muster.

"Are you telling me that neither growing up, nor having this cool guy demeanor, nor having that deep, sexy voice, I achieved anything?! Nothing at all?!"

Nightwing shrugged. “Well… you managed to maintain a nice friendship. That’s something.”

"A NICE FRIENDSHIP!" Dick repeated, his face one of existential outrage. "You flirted with her five minutes ago! You flirted with her in front of me like it was the most natural thing in the world!"

"Sure, but she didn't know it was me, or rather, you."

Dick pointed at him as if it were evidence in court. "That makes everything worse!! You flirted with her like someone else and it failed!"

clark will always recall the way the whole room went quiet. jimmy had blinked like he had something in his eye as he squinted. even lois, who wasn't even looking at clark swung her entire head towards him. perry, who had secretly been eaves-dropping the entire time, nearly dropped the coffee he was making.

"girlfriend." jimmy repeated, fucking gawking.

clark turned a shade scarlet. "yes, my girlfriend."

"what's her name?" lois asked.

"y/n."

"pretty name," jimmy said after some silence.

"yeah, she's an extraordinarily pretty girl."

there was some silence again before perry moved over and slapped clark so sharply against his back that the poor man almost flinched. "crude sense of humour, boy, but i appreciate the effort."

clark hadn't even managed to scrounge up a wrinkled eyebrow and a question forming around his lips before the room dispersed. mainly, he presumed, to talk about the confident "joke" he had just made.

that night, when he comes home to you, the shy, farmer boy facade wiped off completely, he slides next to you in the bedsheets as you nestle against his bicep.

"how was work today?" you ask.

"good." after some silence where you just run your hand over his face, he adds, "they don't believe me."

"about?"

"us. that i have you."

you laugh, resting your cheek against his skin as you look up at him. "really?" he nods, brushing his fingers against your cheek. but you don't think much about it.

clark, on the other hand? well, he tries not to, but it's pretty hard when jimmy slides by him the next day and prods him a little too hard in the ribs and makes a joke about saying you have a woman just because you want them.

nor does lois, who talks to jimmy again about it and talks a little bit too loud about her partner.

"i'm not lying," clark says a little aggressively, the next week, at lunch, through gritted teeth as another jab is once again made. "i have a girlfriend."

"sure." perry says without missing a beat, stirring his coffee. "and you're superman."

well.

after about a few months of this banter, clark asks you to walk him to the daily planet that morning with his said reasons, and you're more than happy to obey.

when lois spots clark standing next to you, she thinks for a second that he's helping a very pretty lost woman even despite their proximity.

until he bends down and kisses you.

lois's jaw drops open as she swivels her head to perry, who seems to be seeing the same thing.

"am i? am i?" perry blinks, coffee long abandoned.

clark tries to act nonchalant about it while he introduces you to them, hand around your waist. and when jimmy appears, seeing you extend your hand to your lois while clark's nose is close to your temple which he can't even pass as friendship, well he almost faints.

oh, just wait until they found about who clark really was.

The stipulation for moving out was still training with Diana a few times a week. You loved your mentor—she had moulded you into the warrior you were today. But you did have a few issues. Diana’s training style was built on the essence of keeping you on your toes. She never repeated a movement, nor showed any hesitancy in her hits.

She had told you when you were little that the only thing you needed for battle was the divine courage of your Amazonian ancestors. While that sentiment was sweet, Diana seemed to forget how you lacked the complete strength of an Amazonian. You weren’t just a human, nor were you really an Amazonian. You always felt lost. What you wanted in Diana was to confide in her, but her responsibilities as Wonder Woman went beyond you. 

You wondered what life would be like if you were just a human; you’d seen powerless heroes fight with the skill of a warrior. Dick had always impressed you, frequently besting your hand in combat. When the two of you sparred, it was playful. When you and Diana sparred, she pushed you beyond your brink. You were exhausted—you just couldn’t keep up. 

You sighed, before unlocking the door—trying to settle your tense muscles. You moved through your routine like clockwork, letting your coat hang on the rack. You heard Dick in the kitchen with his soft humming, but you couldn’t even work up the strength to smile. You slid your sneakers off, barely sparing the boy a glance as your door shut behind you. 

Dick had known you for years, and you were never this distant. He popped his head out of the kitchen, waiting for you to come out of your room—yet you never did. It was strange. He knocked on your bedroom door, shuffling his hands into his pockets. You opened the door, now clad in your pyjamas. He could see the exhaustion radiating off you. 

“Hi…” You mumbled, staring up at Dick. 

His mouth parted—how could he convey just how dull you seemed? He sighed softly, “You look tired…everything okay?”

You huffed—you knew why you looked tired. You barrelled into the couch, curling against the cushions, “Had training with Diana…again.”

Dick’s eyes followed you as you sat, before settling beside you, “That bad, huh?”

You let out a shuddery sigh, laying your head against his shoulder. You felt like you were going to break—your eyes were completely glassy, and your throat was tight. Everything had built up, and you were afraid it was all going to break. 

When you stopped responding to him, Dick’s heart sank. He gazed at you, noting the way you refused to meet his eyes. He gently caressed your cheek, “Hey, you know you can always talk to me?”

You sniffled softly, eyes finally meeting him. How could you explain the debilitating feeling of weight against your soul? “It’s too much, Dickie…” Your voice broke. 

It had always been hard for you to show your pain—Dick learnt that at a very early age when you had gotten stabbed on patrol and didn’t flinch. He knew you were carrying so much baggage, and he would always be there for you. 

Dick pulled you into his arms, shushing you gently as you cried, “Deep breaths for me, Wonder. It’s all gonna be okay. I think you’re doing a great job.”

His words soothed you, lulling you into a sense of calmness. It was okay, everything was okay. You repeated the mantra in your head, letting Dick pull you against his chest. You yearned for his embrace, as your whole body curled against his. 

“Just close your eyes. I’m not going anywhere.”

When you opened your eyes, you were surprised with Haley, Dick’s dog, licking your hand. You giggled as you looked down at the pup, letting your hand scratch along her head. Your soft coos to Haley is what Dick woke up to—and boy, how he wished he could wake up to you every day. When you looked at Dick, your heart fluttered: he looked so handsome in the morning, with the mussing of his hair. 

He yawned softly before he glanced down at Haley with a smile, “Haley, did you wake our Sleeping Beauty up?”

Haley yipped, nudging her nose into Dick’s hand. She wanted Dick’s attention before her gaze went back to her dog bed. She trodden back to her nap spot, lying down with her belly up. 

Your attention fell back onto Dick again as he pulled you into his lap, hand caressing your thigh. It was such a simple action, but it stirred something inside of you. 

“Dick…”

His eyes widened as he immediately stopped his actions—what had he been thinking? He pulled his hand back, “Sorry, I didn’t—”

You grabbed his hand, intertwining it with yours, “Don’t stop…please.”

With your sweet voice, he would do anything you asked of him. He leaned into your lips before capturing yours. It was the kind of kiss that made your head heavy, had your thighs squeezing together. You sighed into his kiss, listening to the heaviness of his breath. 

When he pulled away, he held your cheek in his hands just to look into your eyes, “Can…I keep going?”

“Please Dickie…”

Your words entranced him as he held you tighter. He would give you the world, expressing his passion in his sloppy kisses. 

“You’re so pretty,” He groaned, his kisses growing increasingly more needy. He explored your mouth with his devious tongue, moaning at your taste. tongue slipped in. 

Dick needed you closer; he tugged you farther down on his lap. He took the moment to just admire you; you were so beautiful. He grasped your hand tightly, sliding it over his chest. He wanted you to feel his love, to know just how deeply he cared for you. You groaned as he tugged you closer, lips melting against yours. 

You stared at one another, as a burning question at the back of each of your minds—would you ruin the friendship by sleeping with each other? You wanted his touch so badly, but you didn’t want your relationship to suffer. 

Dick held your cheeks, noticing your distress, “I can just…I don’t have to put it inside. It won’t count.”

You nodded, happy with his reasoning, “Okay, fuck please…”

He reached for your sweatpants, hands curling under the fabric as he pulled them down. He smiled to himself, noticing the little D.G. sharpied in the back—you always wore his clothes. Seeing your bare legs, Dick couldn’t help but kiss them, to caress you. He would show you his deep devotion.

When he removed his own sweatpants, you couldn’t help but groan. You weren’t sure his boxers could contain him, not with the way the fabric strained. You shuffle farther down in his lap, rubbing your pink panties against his clothed cock. He held onto your waist, rocking himself into you, the two of you dry-humping like teenagers. 

It felt incredible—Dick needing you completely for his pleasure. You returned to his lips, sucking into his mouth as he dragged across your swollen clit. You and Dick were insatiable. You rode along his cock as if it were inside of you, letting him slide across your wet cunt. It became easier to glide with your wetness coating the fabric, but you weren’t the only one. Dick’s boxers had begun to leak as his tip shifted against the fabric. You felt fuzzy, as if it was just you and Dick in this little world.

Dick was completely at your mercy—he knew you’d feel good, but oh God. His cock nudged against the fabric, both he and his member agreeing on something; they needed to be inside of you. He told himself he’d just rut against you, letting his cock slide against your slick. It was messy, both of your arousals mixing together. He hissed as he thrusted deeper into your lap, almost breaching your hole. “Christ, sorry.”

You stopped his movements, looking into his eyes, “Don’t be sorry, just…”

You pouted as you gently pulled down your panties. Dick’s fingers swiped through your folds; It was so wet, so hot. 

He held his cock in his hand—your pussy clenching at the thought of him stretching you out. But you’d restrain yourself, sure you would. Dick gently slapped his cock against your wet pussy, wanting to tease you a bit. It would’ve been mean had it not struck your clit and sent shocks down your spine. He let himself fully rut against you, your pussy gliding over his cock. 

His whines grew louder—it was a noise complaint in the making. Your hands dipped into his mouth, closing around your fingers and sucking on them. You moaned at his submission, pussy leaking against his member. 

You kissed him harder; there was no restraint, it was sloppy and rushed. His cock slid through your folds softly, but it wasn’t enough. “Faster…” You cried. 

Dick’s movements grew faster, as requested. It was too much, but it was so good. 

The entire time Dick was trying to be a gentleman, to restrain himself. But he couldn’t anymore, not with your soft, whiny moans. However, it had been an accident when his tip slipped in, “Fuck, didn’t mean to…”

But your pussy welcomed him in, and so did your moans. He nodded, “Okay, just the tip then.” He thrust back in, meaning your pussy clenched around his mushroom tip. You gently moved up and down the edge of his cock, riding him like a toy. He pushed the tip out before pushing back in. 

Dick was unsure why he was restraining himself when he saw how badly you were trying to hold back. Maybe it would be fine. You were just so warm around him, and so fucking tight. If it was a bad idea, why did it feel so good? Your pussy was calling to him.

He answered her call by pushing deeper into you, your pussy clenching on his shaft. He kept his movements slow, just in and out. 

He guided you onto your side, gently hitching up your leg as before his cock thrust back in. The new angle had you opening wide—you arched back, trying to push yourself further onto his cock. He moaned, his lips finding yours in a desperate state. 

His eyes squeezed closed as he held onto you tightly, “I need to fuck you…please.”

How could you say no to that? You pushed your leg farther behind your head, Dick salivating at your flexibility—this opened a whole wide world of positions. He smirked, rocking his pelvis into you, stretching you nicely. He eased any of your distress as his hands teased your nipples—he wanted you to feel nothing but pleasure. 

Your pussy was made for him, as she clenched down along his shaft. Dick couldn’t take it anymore. His teary eyes found yours, “Please, let me fill you up.”

His voice broke as he tried to keep his tight thrusts, “Please…oh, let me come.”

“Yeah, my birdie wants to come…do it then.” 

You felt his grip tightening around you—listening to, at last, his whimper, “Please come with me…Oh fuck…”

His cock throbbed inside of you, squeezing before it burst. His load spurted into you, the warmth comforting. You had followed quickly behind him, thanks to your tactical fingers around your clit. Your pussy clenched down, milking his cock every drop worth. It was heaven—a sticky heaven. Aftershocks ran through both of you as you held him tight.

He whimpered against you, coming down from his high, “Thank you…oh fuck, so good.” It had been a long wind-up, so the coming-down was tiring. He gently pulled out, watching as his cum leaked down your thighs.

He gasped before pushing back in, “Don’t want to waste a drop.” You let him stuff you full of his cum as you bit your lip—he was slurping against your folds. You knew you needed him to eat you out for every meal. 

The two of you sighed, still tightly connected, foreheads resting against one another. Sweat beaded across your forehead, and you were sticky—yet, none of that mattered to you. Dick was here with you, and you both were safe. It made your heart flutter. Dick held you against his chest, kissing the top of your head. 

“I know that wasn’t really just the tip, sorry…”

You giggled as you held onto his hand, “I wanted all of you, that’s what I got.”

“Good,” He nodded, before kissing your lips, “I love you.”

Your heart fluttered, “I love you too, Dick Grayson.”

Afternoons on the farm like this are your absolute favorite: quiet, slow, and syrupy. The land looks hazy and green. It's beautiful. If someone would have asked you five years ago if you'd ever leave Metropolis, you would have said no way. But Smallville felt like home the moment Clark brought you back to meet his folks. Jonathan and Martha Kent are the best in-laws and grandparents two gals could ever ask for. They give your growing family space, but are always here to help when you call. Grandma Marty, as Iris calls her, loves to bring whatever fresh fruit is ripe from her garden to make pies and cobblers and crisps with Iris. The kitchen turns into a happy disaster and the entire house smells like baked fruit and coffee.

The front door opens slowly, revealing your sweet husband wearing a flannel over a white t-shirt and a pair of workout shorts. You finally convinced him to go with a shorter inseam, and your eyes are thanking you. He's so handsome - you think it's completely unfair and ridiculous. But he keeps smiling at you, so you don't think too much of it. 

"Nice thighs, babe," you say quietly so as not to wake Iris.

He chuckles bashfully and shakes his head, looking down at the shorter-than-normal shorts. He flexes his quads and smiles at you. Ugh, devastating. "Thanks, my wife picked them out."

"Good answer," you tease.

"Glad it's rainin'," he starts. "We need it." He looks out at the acres upon acres of corn that he helped his dad plant earlier this year.

"Spoken like a true farmer," you say with a smile. This is all Clark wanted-a quiet piece of land in Smallville, away from the hustle and bustle of the city and everyone pulling him in all directions. He still dons the suit every now and then, but he rests easy under the Kansas stars knowing that the Justice Gang has most things under control.

"I suppose so. Do you like it out here?"

You tilt your head. "Out here in the rain or out here out here?"

"Away from Metropolis. Here," he clarifies.

"I love it here, Clark." You nuzzle Iris's head and smile at your husband. "I can still write and do the things I love without the stress of the city. You know that."

"I know, I know," he starts. "I just want to make sure my girls are happy."

"We're perfect. Are you happy?" You press.

"I've never felt like I really belonged anywhere, even if I was happy. But being out here with you two, I finally feel like I have a real home. I'm incredibly happy."

You know what Clark means without having to press. You can only imagine how hard it is for the man you love to feel like he truly belongs anywhere but Krypton. To be born on another planet in an entirely different galaxy, shuttled to Earth, and taken in by two aliens (to Clark, not to you) would give most people plenty of fuel for therapy. To fall in love with a human and somehow, miraculously, be able to create life together would baffle most, but Clark is grateful for this life.

He moves toward you and kisses your head quietly. Softly. "Let me take her in. I'll put her in her bed."

"She's not bothering me," you tell him.

"Yeah, but maybe we can have some time to ourselves?" He asks hopefully, blushing.

You nod and let him take Iris to her room.

You watch the rain until you feel his warm arms around your shoulders. "Come on, honey." He helps you up from the rocking chair, a large hand ghosting over the small swell of your stomach where another life grows.

"Bedroom?" You ask.

"Bedroom," he agrees.

Dick Grayson was insufferable. He had absolutely no reason whatsoever to be enjoying this as much as he was. Which is why you were way more grumpy than you had any business being. You were simply bringing balance, you thought, when defending yourself against your own judgement.

You see, when you had started interning at Wayne enterprises, you had no idea that you would soon become a magnet to the annoying being that is Dick Grayson.

“What was annoying about him?” one may ask, and the answer was everything. He was ridiculously social and polite, his charm somehow captivated everyone into forgetting how to breathe, it was like life bent its own rules around to accommodate him. And it pissed you off. His social battery seemed to be infinite, especially around you. He never stopped talking, never stopped waltzing his way into your brain— and when you finally managed to kick him out again, it only took him a second to pop out another one of his goofy grins and pull your guard down again.

And it was this exact frustrating behavior of his that ended up getting you stuck in this mess, pretending to be his girlfriend. It happened during a Wayne Enterprises press event that was already going wrong before you even got there. A reporter had cornered Dick, asking invasive questions about his personal life and whether “Gotham’s favorite playboy’s adopted son” could ever actually settle down. The kind of question that made PR people start sweating immediately.

Someone behind the scenes decided a simple answer would not be enough. Someone else decided damage control needed to have evidence this time. And Dick, instead of deflecting like a normal person, grabbed the nearest available solution.

You.

He had pulled you into frame like it was obvious, hand settling at your waist, smile already in place before you could even process what was happening. By the time you realized he was introducing you as his girlfriend, people were already reacting like it made sense. Cameras were already flashing. The story had already started forming without your permission.

The next day you had confronted him and you could tell he was trying his hardest not to burst out laughing. He just couldn't help himself-- not when you were standing there with your hands on your hips, glasses sliding off the tip of your nose, and glaring at him so harshly one would think you were burning a hole through him with your eyes.

"What the fuck was that Grayson?" you furrowed your brows, attempting to make your glare stronger.

"What was what?"

"That-- that whole-- pretending we're together. Stop acting even dumber than you usually act. You know damn well--"

"Okay, relax. it wasn't completely my idea. One of the nice reporter ladies asked if you were my girlfriend, and a second later, I was told to pull you next to me for the greater good of Wayne Enterprises. No harm done."

You hiss at him, "very much harm done. To me. I'm not fake dating you, Grayson."

He shrugged, "Okay, we can real date then. Wanna be my girlfriend?"

Your skin turned redder than your handbag as you seethed with rage.

When you tried to correct it later, the PR team stepped in and called it “strategically beneficial consistency.” Which was corporate speak for absolutely not letting you fix it now.

So now you were stuck in it.

A fake relationship that required public appearances, coordinated smiles, and the unbearable experience of watching Dick Grayson act like being your boyfriend was the easiest thing in the world.

Which, in hindsight, you should have questioned harder.

Fake dating Dick Grayson was emotionally exhausting. Not because of the appearances, (okay-- maybe the whole public thing was also very annoying), but because he seemed to have it all under control. You on the other hand, were like a ticking time bomb; every single charming smile from Dick was a second closer to setting you off. He slipped into the role so naturally it almost felt insulting. Holding doors open for you, remembering your coffee order, resting his hand against your back whenever crowds got too tight. He did all of it with the same easy confidence he brought into every room, like pretending to date you required absolutely no effort on his part whatsoever.

You had expected the act to disappear in private. You assumed that once reporters left and charity events ended, he would go back to treating you normally. Instead, he somehow got worse.

Dick started appearing at your desk uninvited with coffee and flowers you never asked for. He leaned against the edge of your cubicle like he paid rent there, talking to you for ages while you tried very hard to ignore the fact that half the office kept staring every time he showed up. Sometimes he would casually steal things from your workspace just to watch you get annoyed enough to chase him down the hallway.

One time he took your hand during a very not public meeting and held onto it for twenty minutes straight, and when you questioned him about it later, he simply shrugged and said that it just a part of the whole "fake boyfriend thing." You didn't know if you wanted to slap him, or scream at him, or push him of a building. All three made more sense.

Another time he walked into the office kitchen, saw you standing on a chair trying to reach something on the top shelf, and instead of helping immediately, rested his arms against the counter and said, “You know, legally, as your fake boyfriend, I think I’m supposed to stop you before workplace accidents happen.”

He then proceeded to wrap his arms around your waist to steady you, but only because he didn't want you to "have a tragic fall and get brutally injured."

You nearly threw a mug at him, but then settled on a plastic cup.

The problem was that Dick never seemed bothered by you being angry at him. If anything, it only encouraged him. Every sharp comment you made earned you another grin. Every threat somehow made him look more entertained. It was infuriating.

And confusing.

Because sometimes he would look at you in a way that did not feel fake at all.

Those moments usually happened when you were not paying attention. You would look up from your laptop during meetings and catch him already staring. Or you would say something sarcastic under your breath and hear him laugh quietly to himself like he genuinely enjoyed listening to you talk.

It threw you off every single time.

You noticed it more during the smaller moments too.

Like the way he always slowed his pace slightly when you walked together, even though his natural stride was longer. Or how he somehow remembered tiny details you mentioned once and never brought up again. You had once, unknowingly complained about not liking Dr. Pepper. The next week, the vending machines had replaced all the Dr. Peppers with more Coca Cola, because "Mr. Grayson prefers Coke."

The first time you got on an elevator with Dick, you hesitated for a split second before stepping on, and SOMEHOW, that man understood that you were afraid of elevators. The next time you and a few other interns were headed down with him, he casually grabbed your arm and said he wanted to take the stairs, and couldn't leave his girlfriend behind.

It made no sense.

Nothing about Dick Grayson made sense anymore.

At first you had assumed he was just committed to the bit. Maybe he took the fake dating thing too seriously because that was the kind of person he was. Maybe he enjoyed annoying you enough that dragging the act out in private became entertaining for him. That explanation made sense. It was irritating, but it made sense.

The problem was that he stopped acting like someone who was pretending.

And those moments always caught you off guard.

One afternoon you had been sitting through a meeting so painfully boring you were halfway convinced it counted as psychological warfare. Some executive from another branch had been talking for nearly forty minutes straight without actually saying anything meaningful, and you had slowly started losing your will to live.

You must have zoned out harder than you thought because suddenly Dick’s knee bumped lightly against yours under the table.

You looked over immediately.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look at you at first. He just slid a sticky note across the table with the most horrifically drawn smiley face known to mankind.

You glared at him. What were you, a pair of highschoolers?

Dick finally glanced sideways, trying and failing to hide the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Under the smiley face, he had drawn the most hideous rat you had ever seen, next to it an even more horrific pun: "you're doing teRATfic"

You bit the inside of your cheek so hard it hurt because absolutely nobody needed to know that you almost smiled.

Especially not him. You turned back and gave him a weak glare that faltered the moment he gave you that ridiculous, goofy grin.

Then there was the incident with the rain.

Gotham weather was genuinely demonic, and you had gotten stuck outside the building during a downpour after your umbrella snapped inside out from the wind. By the time you made it back toward the entrance, your clothes were damp, your shoes were soaked through, and your mood had reached genuinely dangerous levels.

Dick had taken one look at you and burst out laughing. Not a cute laugh either. A full, head-back, absolutely disrespectful laugh.

“You look furious,” he managed between breaths.

“I am furious.”

“You’re dripping on the floor.”

“I hope the building floods and you go with it."

That only made him laugh harder.

You were already planning several creative ways to ruin his life when he suddenly stepped forward and pulled his jacket off his shoulders. Before you could even process what he was doing, he draped it over yours carefully, tugging it closed against the cold.

The motion was so easy. So natural.

His hands lingered for half a second near your collar before he stepped back again like nothing happened.

“There,” he said softly. “Less murdery.”

And the thing was, Dick did not even seem aware when he did things like that. That was the part that kept messing with your head. None of it felt calculated. None of it felt like flirting performed for attention. It was like he didn't even realize he was driving you insane.

Right now he was leaning over your desk with that same easy expression, sleeves rolled to his forearms, completely unaware that his existence was rapidly decreasing your lifespan.

You looked up from your laptop slowly, pushing your glasses back up. “Why are you standing like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you need to talk to me about something I'm not going to be happy about.”

You narrowed your eyes at him while he laughed quietly to himself. Somehow he always managed to look more entertained the angrier you got, which felt deeply unfair.

“Well,” he said after a moment, “our next appearance is kind of important.”

Your stomach dropped instantly.

“No," you groaned, "not another appearance."

“You don’t even know what I’m talking about yet.”

"Fine. Enlighten me."

“It’s a gala.”

The grin he gave you was answer enough.

You stared at him for a long moment before dropping your head against the desk with a quiet whine. From somewhere above you, you heard him laugh again, softer this time.

“C’mon,” he said. “It won’t be that bad.”

“I know. But it still means I have to be all lovey dovey with you. Again.” you fake gagged.

“This one’s important,” he continued, completely ignoring you now. “Big Wayne Foundation event. Press, investors, charity board members. Bruce is making one of his speeches.”

“Bruce makes speeches at everything." You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, but this time people are expecting us there together.”

You lifted your head just enough to glare at him. “I still don’t understand why everyone accepted this so fast. I mean seriously.”

Dick shrugged lightly. “Because I’m charming.”

Unfortunately, he said it with enough confidence that you couldn’t even argue properly.

You watched as he shifted slightly, resting one hand against your desk while looking at you with an expression that had become dangerously familiar over the last few weeks. He looked like a sick puppy.

It was genuinely exhausting, mainly because it was increasingly difficult not to succumb to his beautiful annoying face.

“So,” he continued casually, “we’re gonna have to go shopping.”

Your face fell immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“We need to get you a dress.”

“I own dresses.”

“You own two dresses.”

"It's actually three, fyi."

“Yeah, but you need something more special. You can't wear those dresses to a high class event.” he said.

“Watch me.”

“C'mon. A pretty girl like you deserves a prettier dress.”

"And an annoying guy like you deserves a slap in the face."

He chuckled lightly before giving you a knowing stare.

You hated that he was right. Mostly because he sounded so pleased about being right.

“And before you start,” he added quickly, already seeing the argument forming on your face, “I'll pay for it."

"Nope. Absolutely not. I'm paying for my dress, thank you very much."

"Well then, that settles it. You and I are going dress shopping tomorrow."

"That settles it, I'm murdering you tomorrow."