#brfwrites

“Clark? Earth to Clark… Hello?”

Clark blinked blearily and returned to his senses. From what he could gather, he was seated at his desk with his half-read email inbox still open on his desktop in front of him. Jimmy, his best friend and coworker, set a steaming cup of coffee next to his idle mouse and gave him a knowing look.

“Long night huh? Who’s the lucky gal who’s been keeping you up?”  Jimmy nudged Clark’s fist jovially with his own in mistaken solidarity. 

“Lucky- what? No.” Clark shook his head, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 

“Then, hangover?” Jimmy guessed. “Never seen you get drunk.”

“Not that.” Clark mumbled into the cup. He took a long swig of the hot drink, wincing at the bitter taste. 

“Don’t tell me you’re losing sleep over that article Chief assigned you to.”

Clark set his jaw but didn’t deny it. If he attempted to lie, his ever astute friend would catch him in it. It was just his luck that he had been assigned to cover Cat Grant’s, their resident entertainment columnist, assignment list while she was on break. One of which included a writeup on you, a rapper who was now currently and unwittingly the main star of his spank bank. 

For some inexplicable reason, seeing you had given him…urges, the sexual kind. An unwelcome development with his newfound illness. When he asked one of the Superman Robots about his condition during a stay at the Fortress of Solitude, he’d been too embarrassed to provide them with any sordid details.

“Four.” He’d said firmly, calling his most trusted robot attendant. “Run a cross-reference in the Archive for any substances that can cause weakness for a Kryptonian.”

“Besides Kryptonite, sir?” The robot droned drolly.

“Not Kryptonite.” Clark confirmed. “But something like it.”

“Is it a weakness you’re experiencing currently, sir?”

“Yes, I mean, no. N-not right now, but before.” He cleared his throat, and then added after a pause, “at night usually.”

“Can you describe your symptoms, sir?”

“For one thing I can’t stop thinking about—“ An intrusive thought gnawed at the back of his mind. Sometimes it was your eyes, or your lips. He had willed more proper images of you in his head. But this time was a bit more…lewd. Your legs open, waiting for him. Him dragging the tip of his cock against your heat, gathering the wetness until—  

“I can’t stop thinking about something.” Clark continued on with much difficulty, pushing the thought away. “It’s like a spell, like magic.”

“Give me a moment to assess your physical standing. Please have a seat, sir.” Four gestured to the examination table that he’d usually use to recover after a battle in. Now and then Four would assess him, much akin to a routine check up at the doctor’s office.

“Unusual arrhythmia.” An computerized voice dictated. “Body heat levels abnormal. Increased blood flow to peni—”

“Alright, alright I get it.” Clark immediately sat up from the table hoping to God his here-and-there cousin wasn’t around to eavesdrop.

“I am also running a reference for substances or spells that may cause a Kryptonian the intense physical attraction you were describing” 

Intense physical attraction. Clark cringed inwardly, hearing his diagnosis out loud suddenly made his situation feel so trivial but it was anything but. If he was losing sleep at his dayjob, he'd eventually be affected on the battlefield.

A visual projection of Four sifting through the Archive had reflected against crystal pillars that had jutted up from the hardened ice beneath. After a moment of sifting the words “Not Found” blinked back at him.

“Though there doesn’t seem to be any substances or spells, I found something in our health related archives that you might be referring to.” The projection whirred through again, this time showing a faceless diagram of a body. 

“Each Kryptonian has a body signature that carries their unique attributes. On Earth, humans would refer to this as DNA.”

A 3D diagram of a DNA helix structure appeared next to the body.

“Each unique signature activates upon the sight of a potential mate. It’s a sort of Kryptonian failsafe to ensure the proliferation of your race. 

Body signature? Match? This was beginning to sound like one of the dystopian novels he’d read in middle school.

“Might I suggest one way to relieve you of your symptoms, sir.”

Clark swallowed hard, feeling his throat go dry but nodded with a grimace. He had a sinking feeling he already knew what Four would say.

“Copulation,” the robot said simply. 

“And.. if that isn’t exactly an option?” He said hoarsely. It’s not like he could say ‘hey stranger I’ve never met, I need to mate with you or I’ll literally be physically ill.’

“We can simulate the same mating mechanism if you provide a likeness of the potential mate in order to induce ejaculation. After which, you will feel much better—”

“I can’t do that!” He felt his ears go hot, and a fierce blush spread on his cheeks.

"Stress levels rising," a computerized voice interjected. Seems like his diagnostic assessment hadn’t stopped running.

“Your semen is very valuable to us.” Four continued unphased. “It’s preferable to masturbate in a controlled environment so as to not waste—“

“No, enough! I’m not—You know what, forget I even asked.” 

“Of course, sir.”

Needless to say, his little foray into the Archives was fruitless and left him in even a worse position than before: burdened with the knowledge that he’d need to see you under him, legs over his shoulders, moaning in pleasure as he fucked his cum deep inside your—

“Clark? You’re doing it again.” Jimmy snapped his fingers in front of his eyes to catch his attention.  

“Wha—” Clark blinked himself back to reality out of his thoughts. What was wrong with him? He felt like a starving dog in desperate need of a bone. “Sorry, Jimmy. What were you saying?”

“You sure you’re ok?”

Clark nodded, albeit unconvincingly.

“Well, if you’re not feeling up to the interview today you need to let Chief know, and quick.”

“Interview? What interview?” Clark said confused. 

“I thought that’s what you’ve been pulling all nighters preparing for? You know, the interview with Y/N.” 

Clark stared at him blankly. “I thought it was just an article.”

“That’s what I thought too. I mean what business do you have interviewing a rapper, anyway? You think music peaked at The Mighty Crabjoys” He jutted a thumb at the mini poster Clark had thumbtacked on his cubicle wall.

”For the record, music did peak at the Mighty Crabjoys,” Clark said taking offense, “but just because I’m from Kansas doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a little rap.”

“Oh really?” Jimmy raised an eyebrow in challenge, “Name five songs by Y/N.”

Clark rattled off five and your latest mixtape for extra measure.

“So you have been researching. Then what’s the big deal?” Jimmy shrugged, leaning against the table. 

If you could call jacking off to your music videos research, then yes he had been. Enough to memorize your whole discography by rote.

“Researching for the article, not for an interview,” Clark hissed lowly. It was bad enough he was sleeping on the job, but he didn’t need the whole floor hearing he hadn’t even prepped for a simple entertainment column. 

“You got a front page story with fucking Superman. That’s like interviewing Jesus, Clark. If you could interview him, then this is a cakewalk.”

Before Clark could retort to Jimmy’s widely off-base comparison, the staff around them began to murmur. Clark and Jimmy turned their attention to the commotion they could see beyond the glass doors into the lobby. It was you right on schedule for your interview.

Jimmy nudged Clark forward and gave him a reassuring pat on the back.

“Look alive Kent, that’s your cue.”

“Y’know if you wanted DoorDash, there’s a little something called ‘the App Store’. Just thought you might like to know.” 

You glanced up from the book you were reading on your bed and, sure enough, there was a certain messy-haired boy glowering back at you, hand stuffed in one pocket with the other cradling a plastic bag full of your Bat Burger order.

He unceremoniously plopped the bag on the desk by your bed.

“And why would I do that, when I have you?” You said simply trying to emulate Rose’s confident way of speech.

You sat up, closing your book to examine the plastic bag. It had been a week since you, Rachel, and Rose had all agreed on the terms of your agreement. The boys—Jason, Conner, and Gar had all lost a bet over Game Night, and as one does, had to bear the consequences of being the girls’ gophers, or as Rose liked to call it “errand bitches”, for the rest of the year.

Thanks to Game Night, Jason was your gopher. That night had been the first night you’d spoken at length to Jason other than greetings or pleasantries. While Rachel and Rose had readily accepted their new positions of power, it was almost daunting for you to tell the King of Back-Sass himself what to do.

You started small at first, asking him for simple things like opening jars or reaching high places. It wasn’t until Conner and Gar had seen how sparingly you were ordering him around that they started to complain. 

“If they see Jason barely doing anything, then they’re not gonna listen to us Y/N. And then the whole integrity of the bet gets thrown off. What’s gonna be the point of making bets in the first place if we don’t follow through?” Rachel hissed at you between sparring trainings.

It was agreed that any time you were near Dick (or any other older Titan for that matter) that the agreement was off. If Dick had caught any whiff of the bet, he’d probably ban Game Night—or worse, lecture them on how divisions on the basis of gender would erode teamwork on the field and blah blah blah.

From then on, you agreed to give Jason more orders. Or at least, the illusion of keeping him busy so Rachel and Rose would get off your back. Making Jason your personal UberEats seemed to do the trick. And it actually worked for a few days until… it didn’t. 

You opened the bag and wrinkled your nose at the half-eaten Bat Burger and a handful of fries. You didn’t get mad, you rarely ever did, but this was certainly annoying. 

“Jason,” You said giving him a withering look.

“What? You should be glad I saved you some. Besides, princess,” He said sarcastically, "You can’t just be eating anything. I’m testing for poison.” He reached into the bag and snatched a single fry. He took a bite and chewed for a moment thoughtfully. “Yep, all clear. Anything else you need?”

Jason was clearly testing your patience, pushing your buttons and the limits of your authority. At this rate, the few days he actually listened to you seemed too good to be true.

“No, just—I don’t need anything.” You cursed yourself for stammering and felt yourself fluster seeing his smug face. “Can you please just leave?” You got up from the bed to shoo him away.

“You’re not really good at this are you?” He snorted, dodging your lunge at him to leave the room. 

“That’s not how this works.” You took a breath to compose yourself and adjusted your glasses from falling off your nose. “We have an agreement that you follow my orders. And I just ordered you to do something, so you can go now.”

“Yea, I understand that perfectly fine.” He crossed his arms and tilted his head as if in pity. “It’s just… you’re not good at it.” He laughed again. 

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t need to be good at it if that’s what was agreed.” He was implying you were meek, and maybe that was true, but that wasn’t even the whole point of the agreement. Leave it to Jason to be difficult about something as simple as this.

“I get that but, at least make it believable. You know, ‘cuz then maybe I’d actually be inclined to play along.”

You shot him a weirded out look under his scrutiny. “You’re unbelievable. I’ll leave.” You made a move for the door but Jason quickly stepped in the way. Annoying.

“I’m serious, I swear. Why do you think we all listen to Dick?”

“We listen to Dick. You’re the one that doesn’t.”

He grinned. “Ok, fair enough. But, why do you all listen to Dick?”

“I don’t know, maybe because he’s a good leader?” You threw up your hands in exasperation. “What’s your point, Jason? You’re starting to sound like him.”

“Ok first, I’m disgusted you’d even say that. And second, my point is Dick doesn’t say ‘can you please leave?’ He doesn’t ask. He either tells you or makes you.”

You stared blankly at him, but he seemed eager to make a point. “You want me to act like Dick? That way you’ll listen to me?”

“Well, no ‘cuz that wouldn’t really work, remember?” The corner of his mouth quirked up. He was all too happy to get on your nerves now. “What I’m saying is you need to Make. Me. Listen.” He leaned in a little bit, letting his voice lower as he emphasized the words.

How're you a virgin when you're takin' my cock this good, hm?

“Ugh.” You shuddered, his voice by your ear involuntarily taking you back to that night you both seemed to pretend never happened. You pushed him away, having grown tired of his smug face. When you stepped towards the door again, he rushed over and closed it shut. “Oh for God’s sake.”

You tried to step around him to no avail. 

“Move.” You glowered.

Jason's eyebrows raised slightly, almost impressed. “Acceptable.” He stepped aside to let you pass. 

As you walked through the hallway, you could hear Jason’s soft footsteps behind you.

You whipped around. “Stop following me.”

“I’m not ‘following you’, there’s only one hallway. If anything you’re in my way.” He shrugged. The look on his face bore no emotion but you swore you could see amusement twinkle in his eye.

Just ahead, Dick was walking in your direction sipping on a steaming mug of coffee. 

“Y/N, Jason! Glad to see you two getting along.”

Your frustration dissipated at the sight of the chipper man. On the field, he was as serious as can be, but off the field, he was as intimidating as a substitute teacher. 

You and Dick’s eyes both followed after Jason, who hadn’t bothered to stop and say hello. The elder brother only shook his head with a good-natured sigh and returned his attention back to you.

“I’ve noticed you warming up to everyone lately. With the other girls, I mean. You, Rose, and Rachel really seem to be a good team, especially during our practices. Even Jason is playing nice with the others. He can be a bit abrasive sometimes but these days, I can see he’s making progress with teamwork too.”

“Thanks uh- I guess it’s all thanks to you. Game Nights really helped us to get closer.” 

“Glad to hear it.” He patted you on the shoulder and turned the corner to the computer room.

When you walked into the living room, you heard everyone exhale in relief. 

“What?” You looked around quizzically. Game Night Crew had gathered again on the couches, this time—thankfully—fully clothed.

“We thought you were Grayson,” Rose called from the couch. “He almost caught us the first time.”

Caught? Doing what?

You weren’t entirely prepared for what you saw but Rose and Rachel were concentrating hard on painting Conner and Gar’s nails.

“Are you completely sure this is vegan?”

“Yes, now hold still.” Rose admonished Gar, applying another coat with professional precision.

Rachel looked up from her handiwork with Conner’s hand. She wordlessly tossed a look from you to Jason who was currently looking more interested in whatever was in the fridge than at the group in the living room. Her face clearly read, make him do something now. You sent her back a look that read, fine.

You cleared your throat. “Jason.” You tried to muster up as much authority as you could. Knowing what you knew now, you knew he wouldn’t budge at the slightest tremor of your voice.

“Hn.” Was his only response, but at least you knew you caught his attention. When he turned, you locked eyes on his. “Come here, ple—I mean. Come here.”

You watched him crack a smile. He closed the refrigerator door and ambled over. So far so good.

He didn’t seem to register anyone else in the room. He only tilted his head, waiting for the next direction.

“Sit down.”

He paused as if contemplating whether or not to answer to an instruction one gave a dog thinly veiled as an order. Even so, he sat. Well, that was easy enough, you thought to yourself. It was almost comical to see him be so obedient.

“Give me your hand.” You primed.

You could see his hesitation as you reached for the nearest nail polish bottle, but it was erased as soon as you met his gaze again. 

“That’s… not my color.”

“Of course.” You picked up a burgundy red. “How could I forget?”

He sneered at your teasing but still allowed your light hold under the palm of his hand.

“Why does he get a choice and we don’t?” Gar pouted, looking longingly at a green bottle of nail polish

“I kinda like the black.” Conner shrugged and gave his other unpolished hand to Rachel.

“You can never go wrong with black.” Rachel agreed.

Jason grimaced as he watched the polish coat his nail. It was wholly apparent that under any other circumstance, he would’ve never allowed you to do this, but you were thankful that he liked to keep whatever honor he had to words. Under the agreement and as long as you spoke to him with confidence, he would listen.

౨ৎ

The next week Dick had decided that based on the success of Game Night with team morale, an outing would be another great chance for the younger members of the team to get closer. That’s why you were now sitting at the beach and squinting the sun out of your eyes. 

You had volunteered to watch everyone’s stuff while they explored the bordering pier. Jason had practically disappeared the moment his flip-flops hit the sand.

It was nice to be out just to be out, not in the field on a mission. Titan’s tower felt like one giant bubble and it was easy to forget that there was life outside being a hero. 

You settled into people-watching as you waited for the rest of the group to return. There was a group of teens playing volleyball by the net, a family of three showing their toddler how to make a sandcastle, and couples—lots of couples. 

“You not gonna go to the pier?”

You were in the middle of gazing wistfully at a couple that was sharing their ice cream when you felt a shadow over you.

“I’m watching everyone’s stuff until they get back.” You squinted up at him. Even with your hat on, it was an incredibly bright summer day.

Jason plopped down on the beach towel next to you. He was wearing swim trunks and an unbuttoned linen shirt which didn’t do much to hide the lean cuts of muscle on his abdomen. Judging by his damp curls, he had just returned from a swim in the ocean.

“I can watch,” He jutted his chin in the direction of the pier. “You should go.”

“Maybe in a little bit.” You dug your feet into the sand, feeling the warmth tingle your toes. You didn’t feel like leaving your spot just yet.

He reached behind you for his towel and bent a bit over to muss his hair dry. You were close enough to feel the tiny droplets of water tickle your skin.

“Do you have to do that right next to me?” You said, not incredibly annoyed though—the water felt cool. It was enough to make you want to go for a swim to cool down too.

“Sorry,” he said a bit sheepishly, peeking up at you from beneath the towel. His hair, now much drier and fluffed, made him look somewhat like a puppy. Cute.

You gave him a small smile before returning your attention to the ebbing and receding of the ocean tide.

“Got a lot on your mind?” 

You quickly broke your stare from the water to see that Jason was still looking at up you, eyebrow cocked in curiosity. It was the look he gave you that always made you think he didn’t quite get you. A fascinated look that made you feel like you were another species under his gaze.

“I was just thinking it’s nice to take a break and be normal for a change.”

“Normal?”

“Like,” you gestured vaguely around the beach. “Everyone here. No missions, no bad guys. Normal.”

“Yea, hanging out?” he snorted, “We do that all the time.”

Jason had been a cape since before you’d even met Dick and the rest of the group. You were still getting used to your new way of life. He was either being willfully obtuse or he really just didn’t understand you at all. You and Jason were opposites after all. Your quiet and shy often clashed with his bold and boisterous.

“I don’t mean just hanging out, I mean other stuff too.”

The couple you had seen earlier caught your eye again. They were now sitting on a beach towel further ahead of where you were. They looked like they were in their own world, nudging each other playfully in laughter. If you hadn’t joined the Titans what would you be doing now?

He followed your line of sight, gazing silently at the couple for a moment before flickering his eyes away to the water.

“We could do other stuff.”  

You expected him to be smirking at you like he usually did when he teased or made a joke, but he wasn’t looking at you anymore. When you glanced at him you could see a faint flush on his cheeks. Probably from the heat.

You shook your head, realizing what you implied and trying now to take it back. “I didn’t mean with you, I mean with regular people.”

“What? Like it makes a difference?”

“Well, yea fundamentally. Gar can turn into animals, Rachel has a demon trapped inside her, Rose can’t die, Conner is Superboy. You’re...”

He frowned at your pause. “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

You let out a laugh, happy that you’d annoyed him for a change.

“Well, by your logic,” he began, pointedly ignoring your laughter, “then we’re the most normal Titans here.”

He had a point. You didn’t have any special powers either but Dick had taken you in just the same.

“If you want to be a regular person for a day, I guess, now’s as good a time as any.” He shrugged noncommittally as he rose from his spot on the sand. Jason took your wrist and gently pulled you on your feet. “C’mon, before they get here.”

You furrowed your brow, worried about your unguarded post but you were relieved that Game Night crew were already on their way back.

You heard them before you could fully spot them. Conner and Gar had been happily chatting away at the head of the group. Rachel and Rose were holding prizes from the boardwalk games. Dick and Kory, being the ones that drove you here, rounded out the back of the small crowd. Kory seemed to have found delight in the terrestrial delicacy, cotton candy.

After having guided you through the throngs of pedestrians to the main attractions, he released his hold on your wrist and gestured around theatrically as he spoke, "Now we’re just two regular people at the boardwalk. There’s the very normal Ferris Wheel, normal Whack-a-Mole, normal churros gotta love those—”

“I get it,” you laughed cutting him off before he could rattle on everything within visible range around you.

"Nah, I don't think you do, but you're lucky you have me to show you. Watch this."

You shot him a skeptical look and followed after to a target shot game booth. Arrays of red targets were displayed in rows while giant stuffed animals hung along the back wall.

"Which one you want?" He pulled out a few bills to hand the attendant and passed you a few of the colorful balls for you to play a round too.

You pointed at a giant brown teddy bear hanging by its ears.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

One by one the targets fell in succession. He held the last ball in his hand and after a moment of thought, lobbed it lightly askew and letting it fall short of any target.

He gave you a smug smile and collected the teddy bear before handing it off to you.

"You call that normal?" You said incredulously, but still accepting the bear in your arms.

"What? I missed that last one."

"Sure." Jason was nothing if not terrifyingly accurate.

You played a few more games, amassing a trove of arcade treasures for each other, both of you trying your best not to be too good at the games. As you ventured down the boardwalk, you couldn't help but find your eyes linger on the young couples that surrounded you.

"When you said 'other stuff' earlier, you meant like dating stuff, right?" He said innocently between bites of funnel cake. You had decided to rest and were currently sitting down in a shaded food court, stuffed animals in tow.

You contemplated denying it but saw no reason to keep it from him. This revelation being objectively less embarrassing than the time you revealed you were still a virgin during a round of “Never Have I Ever.”

Taking your silence as an answer, he continued. "Well, since we're still doing normal shit we could try that."

You tried not to gape at him. “T-then we’d just be faking it. It wouldn’t be real...”

“So? How would you know real from fake if you've never dated anyone before?"

“Where did you get that from? I never said I didn’t date anyone before.”

“W-well I just assumed since—"

“I’ve been on dates, Jason. I’ve just never had sex.” You retorted.

“Well, Technically. We kinda, y’know..."

You don't know how fucking pretty you look with my cock in your mouth, Y/N

You pursed your lips, mind flashing to his moans, him begging you to put your mouth on him, the sloppy makeout session with him after he'd punished his cock down your throat. That’s the whole reason you guys were even talking this much now. The bet. 

This is the first time you addressed that sexcapade since it happened and it's just been this weird tension ever since. It was the elephant-sized weirdness in the room, whenever you guys were around each other. You wondered faintly if Rachel and Rose were having the same issues after that night too.

"But if you don’t want to…"

"Fine."

"I-Oh,” He stammered as if he hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Ok...um what do you want me to do?" He rubbed the back of his neck, this time the tips of his ears tinged a faint pink.

“I don’t know." You felt yourself blush, "Act like you like me.”

He blinked back his surprise, bemused. “And what would that entail exactly?”

“You know what it entails.” You scoffed, exasperated.

“Not really no. I wouldn’t know something like that.” He recovered the annoying twinkle he usually carried in his eyes.

“I’d rather not do this if you’re going to make fun of me.”

“I’m joking. You mean act like your boyfriend and whatnot. I got it.”

In one swift motion, he leaned in closer and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. The powdered sugar was still sweet on his tongue but as quickly as it started, you could already feel him pulling away.

"W-why did you do that? At least warn me first.”

"'Cuz that’s not what boyfriends do.

“Are you the boyfriend expert now?”

“I happen to be,” He smirked. "You got a little something." He swiped his thumb at what was most likely some leftover sugar at the corner of your mouth and brought it to his lips to taste.

౨ৎ

The ride back home was not totally uncomfortable, but it was still awkward. Jason appeared to be unfazed, joking and laughing with the boys like nothing happened. You tried your best to match his nonchalance, but given the curious looks Rachel kept throwing the both of you, you'd failed.

Jason confused you. One moment it seemed like he liked you, and the next he would act like he barely knew you. You hated it. And to avoid the sting of another unrequited crush, you didn't ask anything of him for a few days, Game Night Bet be damned.

You had been reading a book on one of those rare free-schedule days when a light knock came at your door. When you opened it, Jason was on the other side holding a brown paper bag. You eyed the Bat Burger bag first, and then the boy holding it warily.

“I didn't order anything."

With all the missions and trouble in the city, everyone gradually stopped doing the bet thing anyway.

He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “I owe you. For last time."

“Oh. um. Ok, I guess.” You took the bag from him and set it down at your desk. You figured that would be the end of the conversation but he remained at your doorway appearing to look like he wanted to say something else. You paused, waiting for him to speak and when he didn't, you moved to close the door again.

“W-wait! I… I’m giving you a warning this time.”

Warning?

Then it finally clicked.

“Is… that ok?”

There was a slight worry in his gaze as if he was unsure you'd say yes. You felt something in your stomach flip, words got caught in your throat and you could only give him a small nod.

Upon your approval he stepped in closer, eyes dropping languidly from yours down to your lips. He carefully slid your glasses off his face, folding them neatly on the desk. You felt his hands pull you in by the hip to press your body against him. This time when he kissed you, it wasn't the same as when you were at the beach. It was slower, deliberate. Like he had been building up to this very moment.

You closed the door behind you as the kisses became more wanton and his hands began to roam grasping at your waist and hips, kneading handfuls of your ass beneath your skirt. You loved how he felt pressed against you, sturdy and strong. It wasn't long before you stumbled backward onto the bed and found yourself under him.

"What? Am I too loud?" His brow furrowed in worry when he felt your kisses subside. "I’ll be quieter."

"No, it's not that," you laughed a bit. He did have a habit of making tiny moans through kisses. But you gave him an extra peck on the lips for reassurance. "It’s just...You’re doing this because you want to right?"

“Not even gonna lie, I wanted to do this since the day you showed up.” His smile was bashful, like he just admitted a secret.

The guy you've liked since you joined the Titans had been thinking about you the same way? You thought back to the times you interacted. Jason's attention to you always came in the form of teasing but the weirdness after Game Night and the beach only served to confuse you more.

“Well, you did a shit job of showing it.” You pouted, adjusting your position beneath him to slide your shirt off.

“That’s only ‘cuz I thought you hated me." He sat up a bit to take his own shirt off before returning to plant kisses across your body.

“Ok, hate is a strong word.”

“You’re not denying it.” You could feel him smiling against your skin.

“More like minor dislike. But that’s only because I thought you didn’t like me.”

“I’m sorry." He murmured kissing your jaw, then down your neck. "I think pretty girls make my brain stop working. But I can make it up to you." He slid a hand underneath your unclasped bra and thumbed over the nipple. You let out a small gasp of air. “D'you want me to?”

You nodded, meeting his eyes. 

“Use your words.”

“I want you to-oh fuck." Before you could even finish your sentence, his mouth had replaced his hand on your breast. He made sure to keep his eyes on you as he sucked and made warm licks at one breast, making sure to keep the other occupied with his hand.

In any other circumstance, he would never have missed the chance to tease you about your new choice of vocabulary, but he had a different kind of teasing in mind. He had removed his mouth from your breast and was now kissing up your inner thigh, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles over your panties.

“You’re so fucking wet."

He pulled down your panties and worked one finger and then two until his fingers were squelching in and out of your pussy. You'd masturbated before—maybe even masturbated to the fantasy of him fingering you too—but it was nothing like this. His hands were much bigger and roughened by years of combat on and off the field. It was better than you could’ve imagined yourself

“Can I taste it?” He asked, voice hoarse with need. Like if you’d denied him, you might as well have denied a desperately thirsty man water.

Before you could even reply, he replaced his fingers with his mouth. He laved at your entrance, relishing in your whimpering his name and your tangling your fingers through his hair. Jason might've loved a good blowjob, but he practically worshiped pussy. Every suck and kiss of your folds was accompanied by his pretty moans.

It was at this point where you felt yourself hurtling towards climax, but before you could get your much-needed release, you felt the warmth from his mouth leave you.

“Please...your mouth,” was all you could say upon regaining lucidity.

“What'd I say about saying please?” He rubbed a knuckle against your mound; You tried desperately to grind on it.

"J-jason," You whined, squirming under him in impatience. He seemed to enjoy watching you writhe to the same degree he loved to annoy you.

Make. Me. Listen.

Technically the bet was still in effect. As long as you spoke to him with confidence, he would listen, right? You sat up, pushing him onto his back to straddle him. His eyes widened, flashing equal parts in anticipation and welcomed confusion as he ran his hands along your thighs and you could feel his length underneath you. You would take care of that later, but for now, you had your own needs to fulfill.

Jason attempted to meet your lips again, but you only pushed him back to the bed again.

"I… want to cum," You declared simply, trying your best to be confident.

"Yea?" He grinned. "I can help you with that. You gonna sit on my face or do you need to ask for permission?"

"No, just—it’s embarrassing," You said almost breaking character. Almost.

He rolled his eyes. "If y'wanna cum, you're gonna need to come closer."

You crawled over him, tentatively hovering above his face scared to accidentally crush him. Once you got into position, he pressed you down resuming his kisses and licks, moaning as he lapped from underneath you.

"Oh fu—I'm gonna cum," you whimpered unconsciously fisting his hair as you ground against him, using his face shamelessly to ride out your orgasm.

When you sat back on his lap, you felt something under some wetness under you. Had he cum just from eating you out?

"Be honest.” Jason was now catching breath, face glistening with your juices, with a dumb smile playing on his pink and swollen lips.

The pure sight of him—messy and pussy drunk—was enough to make you want to sit on his face again.

“You really did wanna fuck me so bad at Game Night.”

"You’re so full of it." You shook your head, humored. Leave it to Jason to crack a joke post-coital. Not that he wasn't incorrect.

“I'm so flattered you hump your pillow at night and think of me. Since you were riding me like one."

"Are you forgetting that you’re the one that lost the bet? I still have a good two months on you."

"Is that supposed to scare me?" He whispered absently rubbing circles into your hip with his thumb.

"Yes, it should. I can make your life hell."

"Oh really?" His eyes flickered from your lips and back up to your face. That seemed like a risk he was willing to take. From your seat on his lap, you could feel him growing hard again beneath you.

"Yes, really. I was going easy on you."

"You do realize you can’t make me do anything I wouldn’t want to do myself.”

"What about the DoorDash?"

"Well, I ate some of it."

"And the nail polish?"

"I happen to like that color."

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes, it seemed he had an answer for everything and his smile was growing wider to match every smartass retort.

"Just get over here." You missed the feel of his lips on yours already.

Finding no answer for that, he could only let out a laugh, "Yes, ma’am."

Titans Tower had never been more festive. Gold foil streamers hung along the rafters, Gar’s disco lights spun across the dimly lit common room, and Jason’s playlist boomed on their surround sound speakers. Everyone had now abandoned the living room and gathered in the kitchen, party hats and all, but you lingered behind scrolling through your phone.

As much as being a Titan was hard work, they always made sure to take time to celebrate holidays and birthdays. And after officially becoming a Titan, you were thankful to have friends who actually cared about you, a team who had your back. 

You smiled at the camera roll full of pictures you had snapped with the team: one with a big bear hug from Dawn, another of you happily sandwiched in between Conner and Gar, a selfie with Jason, and one of Rachel, Kory, and you making silly faces. When you flipped to a shot of you and the man of the hour, Dick Grayson, you paused with a frown. 

Hank had ushered you and Dick together for a picture, but you knew he was just trying to get you two to get along. It was no secret that everyone could notice the weird tension the team leader had with their new recruit, but Hank was probably the only one bold enough to voice it out loud.

“How about one with birthday boy, new kid?” Hank snatched your phone from your hands and dragged Dick over by the arm. He hadn’t so much as looked your direction the whole day; in fact, it was like you didn’t even exist to him. You got used to it over time, but it was even worse when others pointed it out. 

“Get closer together,” The brawny man insisted from behind the camera but neither of you moved. Hank lowered the phone and gave you a desperately pointed look. You took a small step closer to Dick and you could feel him tense up. 

“Dick who fucking peed in your cereal today? It’s your birthday act like it.” You glanced up at the man everyone referred to as leader next to you briefly. He looked like he would rather be anywhere but next to you. 

“Smile,” Hank said, which was rather ironic since it seemed he was the only one smiling.

You felt mortified seeing the picture now juxtaposed with the scene in the kitchen in front of you. In the picture, Dick looked uncomfortable—angry even—that he had to even stand next to you let alone take a picture with you. But in the kitchen, however, he stood in front of a birthday cake ready to blow out the candles, smiling at everybody but you. 

Jason, who had come to the living room to pause his playlist, raised an eyebrow at you. “You coming for the cake or you just gonna stare into space all day?” 

You nodded, breaking yourself out of your thoughts. He gave you a weird look, begging an answer but a short “Sorry,” was all you could give him before following the teen into the kitchen. 

Kory latched onto your arm, giving it a squeeze when you joined their circle around the table. “Dick was just singing our praises, you almost missed it.”

“Yea, he was getting all sappy on us,” Gar piped up to tease. “‘Gar, you’re like a brother to me,’” he quoted dramatically before pretending to gag. 

You cracked a smile at the green-haired boy. He always knew how to make everyone laugh. When your eyes flashed over to your team leader, you saw that he was smiling too. You envied that smile that he gave so easily to others. When your eyes met briefly, he looked away almost immediately and that smile turned into something like a grimace.

You frowned and looked away too. One look at you had stolen every bit of joy away from him in that split second. More than being sad, you were embarrassed. It was like he didn’t even think you deserved to be looked at, like you didn’t deserve your place as a Titan.

Jason looked from you to Dick and scratched his head in frustrated confusion. Rachel broke the silence by clearing her throat. “Anyway, how about some cake—”

“No wait, Rach I’m really curious.” Jason finally spoke up. “He still needs to tell us what he thinks about us. All of us.”

Jason stared at the elder Wayne brother with an intensity that rivaled their previous spats. If there was one thing Jason hated, it was authority and unfairness. And to Jason, Dick’s ignoring you was an extremely biased assertion of his role as leader.

“Here we go,” Rachel said rolling her eyes. “Can’t we ever have one birthday party without arguing?”

“No actually, the kid’s right!” Hank raised his voice, gesticulating towards you as if you weren’t even in the room. “Hey, what the hell’s your problem with her?”

Dawn put her head in her hands with a groan. “I can’t believe we’re doing this right now.”

Dick’s eyes were now boring into yours, jaw set with a clench. You stared back, eyes threatening to spill tears at all the unwanted attention now turning towards you in the room. He redirected his attention back to Jason.

“If you must know, Jason. I think you’re a huge pain in the ass.” Dick smirked, bringing back some levity into the room. You could feel the tension in the room relax and everyone seemed relieved for it.

“Ok, we knew that,” Jason continued exasperatedly, “And?” He motioned for the elder to continue, nodding his head toward you rather unsubtly.

“A-And—” He faltered in his speech, flickering his gaze at you. “She’s—” He blinked in surprise when your gazes met and quickly looked down, unwilling to continue.

That was enough for you. You didn’t want to stick around anymore. Not when you could feel tears already escaping down your cheek. You tore away from the table, wiping the wetness from your face furiously. 

“Y/N!” Jason called after you only to be held back by Gar. 

You slammed the door and locked it behind you, throwing yourself on the bed. Now you knew what your team leader really thought of you, and it was absolutely nothing, nothing at all. You didn’t mean anything to him. You weren’t a friend and even much less a teammate. What was the point of being part of a team, if the team leader hated your existence? What was the point of all that training if he never even let you do anything? You were excluded from most missions and left to stay behind because it was “too dangerous”. At this point, you were about as important to him as a plastic bag.

A knock came at the door. You curled into your pillow even more. It was probably Dick being forced to apologize to you. 

He knocked again and you felt the anger in your chest rising. You suddenly had the urge to tell him off. Fuck the fact that he was technically your superior. You had so much patience due to your poor upbringing that you had let his mistreatment slide. You thought that was just how things were as part of a team and you just had to deal with it. But now that even the team was calling him out on it, you couldn’t ignore it any further. 

You opened the door to find Dick standing outside, arm still outstretched in mid-knock. He blinked back his surprise and settled back into the neutral “leader-like” expression you hated so much. 

“We need to talk. Can I come in?” He waited for you to respond. Upon seeing your angry glare, he took a short inhale. “Please Y/N.”

Your heart stuttered against your will. It had been the first time he’d addressed you by name and there was something else stirring in his eyes. His face wore a vulnerability you’d never seen on him before. You stepped aside warily, letting him in.

When the door closed behind you, you spun around wildly to face him. 

“What the fuck is your problem with me, Grayson? Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to you—” You hated the fact that you were tearing up again.

“I don’t hate you.” He cut in lamely. When your eyes met, he held your gaze briefly breaking to looking off to the side again. 

“See? What the fuck? You can barely even look at me. Hank had to force you to even stand next to me. How the hell am I supposed to be a part of this team if the leader can’t even pretend to like me? Just admit you can’t fucking stand me.” You continued airing your grievances out at him, growing more agitated at the man’s silence. “Fucking say something!”

“I don’t hate you,” He said again, jaw set sternly. He took a step forward, and you took a step back. “I don’t want to look at you.” Another step. Another step back.

“W-what?” Your back was at the door, and he was now standing—towering— over you.

“I don’t want to stand next to you.”

“I…don’t understand.” You furrowed your brow in confusion, searching his eyes for the meaning behind his words. His professional poise had disappeared and was replaced with something else—something darker. Nothing made sense anymore; He said he didn't want to stand next to you, but you were now practically breathing the same air. 

“And you’re right. I can’t fucking stand you.”

You flinched at his words. Admittedly, you had been cursing at him the whole time since he’d entered your room, but he rarely cursed, and hearing him repeat your words back at you gave you pause. 

You tried to move but he kept you caged in on either side of his arms. You had enough; you heard enough, and now you just wanted him gone. Once he was out of your room, you could resign yourself to ignoring each other for the rest of your time on the team. Fuck him.

“Thanks. I got it the first time so just let me go.” You were hurt, and whenever you tried to mask your feelings, sarcasm came out as a defense mechanism. When he didn’t budge to let you move, you pushed against his chest. “Let me go, Grayson,” you applied more pressure to his chest as a warning. You wouldn’t hesitate to use your powers to make him move.

Dick leaned back, allowing for more space between you. You caught your breath, relishing the newfound breathing space. Instead of letting you go fully, he circled your right wrist keeping it at his chest. You felt his heartbeat erratically pulsing under your palm. 

“I can’t be near you. I…I can’t even hear myself think.” He spoke a little quieter now,  splaying his fingers flat against your hand deepening the pressure on his chest. His heart was beating faster now. “That’s all I can fucking hear.” Seeing that you got the point he was referring to his heartbeat, he released your hand. You watched his throat bob as he swallowed thickly. His face looked flushed.  

 “I can barely look at you because then…you’d probably notice.” He mumbled the last part but you heard him quite clearly. He looked more boyish than ever as he stood before you.

“I’d probably notice…?” You trailed off, hoping he would continue. You were curious mostly not as to what he would say, but how he would say it.

“Don’t make me say it, Y/N” Dick grimaced again. You had come to know this look as disdain, but with the man’s revelation, you were beginning to see that expression in a new light. He looked more embarrassed than anything, and now the tips of his ears began to burn a bright red. Holy Shit. This is what Dick Grayson was like when he had a crush. 

“I can’t pretend to like you because…I already like you. Like a lot. I can’t stop thinking about you-mmph“

You pulled him down by the collar and into a kiss. His initial surprise from your sudden interruption melted into passion as he deepened it, hungrily grasping at your waist to pull you closer to him.

You stopped kissing him for a moment to stare seriously up at him. “What about for missions? You never let me come.” You were beginning to put 2 and 2 together for all the other stuff like the times he would make that weird face at you, or avoid you completely. But you still couldn’t see why, as an active member he wouldn’t let you participate in missions.

“You,” He said simply. He was looking at you fondly now, eyelids languid and lazy as his thumbs rubbed circles into your waist. 

“What about me?” 

“You’re distracting.” His gaze flitted to your lips, “To me specifically.” He added, looking at you with such an innocent honesty that you could only partly contain your laugh.

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” You groaned feigning annoyance. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” 

“Tell me how you really feel.” He grinned dumbly into your lips as you pulled him down into another kiss. 

Masturbation was healthy; that much Clark had already known from sex ed classes and Google searches. And though he knew from his research that most pubescent kids started jerking off in middle school, along with having erections, he had never in his 30 years of life experienced sexual attraction. Ever.

When kids in high school drooled over naked women posing on the covers of Playboys or Maxims, he still tried his best to act the part of "horny teenager". He had crushes in his teen years too, but he never actively sought out sex.

There was this one time when a girl he liked had tried to initiate sex, but he was honest to a fault and truthfully told her that he didn’t like her in that way. Needless to say, she’d gotten offended and never spoke to him again. Since then, he’d hidden that quirk about himself from every single one of his romantic partners without fail.

Don’t get him wrong, Clark has had sex before and from what he could tell, he was pretty good at it too. Just like with his studies, as long he understood the proper mechanics of the subject at hand, he could go above and beyond for any performance. 

It was basic biology. Having an erection required a higher flow of blood towards his penis; which he could do himself pretty easily since he had amazing control over his body. That was the result of learning how to be Superman for the past few years. Because of his “training” he lasted long and the (very) few men and women he chose to bed loved him more for it. 

There were still some things he thought he’d never understand the concept of, however. Like, how do Kryptonians procreate if he can’t seem to produce the semen to ejaculate? The white liquid he’d seen in porn as a teen was like a myth to him. Jor-El never mentioned that in the Fortress of Solitude. He wouldn't be finding any Kryptonian biological literature available to read at any Metropolis public library either. It wasn’t like he didn’t try, but after some (controlled) tests, he concluded that perhaps Kryptonians didn’t ejaculate and he was okay with that.

So when Clark felt a strange sensation in his pants one night when he saw you on TV, he immediately thought that he’d fallen ill. Which was strange for him because, well, he’d never gotten sick. But there you were, mesmerizing him as clips flashed on screen of you rapping while wearing a risqué outfit leaving nothing to the imagination. Suddenly everything felt too tight, too hot. He gulped, nervously pulling at the collar of his t-shirt, but a knot remained lodged in his throat.

The camera angles panned across your chocolatey skin and ample curves, cutting right at moments where it veered dangerously into porn instead of what it was supposed to be—a rap music video. Clark had seen porn before and full-on bare naked women anyway, but he’d never been affected like this before. So why now? And why you?

Once the music video ended, Clark snapped out of his trance, but it wasn’t long before the now rock-hard and throbbing situation in his pants urgently reminded him of more pressing matters.

He quickly powered on his computer to search your name and, not long after, pictures of you filled the screen. There was a never-ending stream of shots of you on the red carpet, you on stage, photoshoots, and pictures you’d uploaded yourself on social media.

Every time his eyes would linger on a photo of you in a suggestive position, i.e. licking a popsicle or pushing your breasts together, his cock would twitch against his zipper. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where his cock wanted to be right now and it was right at the back of your throat. He unbuckled his pants, letting his first-ever unassisted erection bob up and against his sweater-clad stomach.

He’d never fantasized about someone having his cock in their mouth until tonight. Sure, his partners had given him blowjobs before, but he couldn’t even pretend to enjoy them. Truthfully, it looked like it hurt when they couldn’t even take all of him in, and he never liked to be the reason anyone felt pain. Clark scrolled on.

You had a sex tape? His brow furrowed in disapproval though he could feel his face grow warm. He couldn’t pinpoint what exact emotion he was feeling right now. Whatever it was, it definitely wasn’t a positive one.

The page he had landed on showed a closeup of you, eyebrows knitted in ecstasy as someone (he didn’t want to know who) hovered behind, hands gripping your ass, already in the middle of ravishing you. The screenshot made the corners of his mouth tug down in a frown. He didn’t particularly like the idea of watching other people have sex at all. And he especially didn’t want to see some other guy “balls deep” inside you instead of him. 

More importantly, it just wasn’t right. He’d seen reports that your tape had been leaked without your consent; by watching it he would be actively infringing on your sexual boundaries. That definitely wasn’t right either and though he desperately wanted to, he didn’t have the heart to press play. 

Onlyfans? Clark's eyebrows quirked up in curiosity. He clicked on a link he’d found on your Instagram page and there you were; verified with pages of content ready to be unlocked. After a moment of thought, he concluded that this was the most ethical alternative; much better than masturbating to your pictures or your sex tape. This way you would be paid for your work, and he would gain implied consent as a customer. He felt much better about this as he clicked the blue purchase button. 

His cock throbbed again when he finally saw you, full lips planting soft kisses onto a dildo, your large almond eyes heavy-lidded and boring into him with lust. That’s when Clark brought a hand to his cock and began to stroke. What was once a motion that was alien to him, felt more and more natural as he pumped, matching his strokes to your pace. Your image on screen bobbed your mouth up and down making lewd slurps and moans, purposefully throating the shaft to the hilt. Each brief moment you came up for air brought a mess of saliva with you. 

Clark watched on, immersed, bucking his hips into his fist as he imagined he was the one making you make those vulgar sounds. But something in the back of his mind was disturbed. Was this what he, Clark Kent, liked or was it an innate biological desire he couldn’t control from a planet he never knew? He felt disconnected; outside his body until, not even a minute after he had started the video, a sensation he’d never felt before came over him. He groaned and tightened his grip as he felt himself release.

A warm sticky liquid had dripped down his cock and onto his hand. Clark grimaced down at the mess he’d made, breathing erratically until he finally calmed down. His cock twitched and the last of dregs of his cum spilled out from his reddened tip. 

He'd made two major discoveries that night:

1. Kryptonians did ejaculate after all, and 2. When it came to you, he wouldn’t be able to last very long.

There was only one thing Clark enjoyed more than sweets, and that was the feeling of obtaining the last stamp on his loyalty card to Waid's Cafe. Who didn't like receiving free coffee? Especially coffee that was well-earned after a workout. Of course, not directly after a workout. He had already gone back to the dorm, showered, and thrown on another casual and freshly laundered workout outfit. After all, you were going to be there. He couldn’t just walk in looking like a sweaty gross mess.

“You’re working out again?” Jimmy, his eccentric roommate of two years, called out from his desk. He was writing a script for his conspiracy YouTube channel and a pile of crumpled pieces of paper were scattered at his feet. He eyed Clark’s sweater and shorts outfit up and down with suspicion.

Startled, Clark jumped. He had been looking intently at his reflection in the mirror, trying his best to flatten a cowlick jutting from his head. 

“N-no. Just going to Waid’s.” He hadn’t told Jimmy about his crush on you. He probably wouldn’t hear the end of his teasing if he did. 

Jimmy peered at him through narrowed eyes as if he could sniff out whatever truth Clark was omitting. It’s not like he was lying. He was going to get coffee, that was true. But he didn’t want to say he was also deliberately going at the same time every day to see a certain someone. 

“You’re not telling me something.” He swiveled around in his chair to face him directly, eyes still squinted. 

“I… get a free coffee? Do you... want anything?” Clark offered weakly. Maybe that would get Jimmy off his back for a while. His cowlick popped back up and Clark moved quickly to smooth it back down.

Jimmy had known Clark since freshman year and like the astute journalism student he was, he could tell almost immediately when his roommate was lying, or in this case specifically, when he had a crush. Jimmy swiveled back towards his computer, satisfied with his deducing skills.

“Sure, I could use an espresso. I’m running out of steam.”

Clark hoped that would be the end of it. 

“Oh and… get her number this time, man.”

“W-what?” Clark wanted to retort. He didn’t want to give Jimmy the satisfaction of being right, but he was already blushing too hard to be convincing. 

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Clark sputtered and escaped out the front door. 

He got to Waid’s Cafe faster than he’d expected. Partly because of nerves, but also because he was rehearsing what he’d finally say to you. He made some progress since last week. Though you knew his name (you wrote it on his cup all the time), he had shyly introduced himself to you for the first time. Since then, you began to greet him with his name and a friendly smile.

“Hey Clark.” 

He felt his heart lurch. He didn’t think much of his name but hearing it from you made it sound much better. 

You had your hair up today, and your hair created a halo of curls around your face. He’d been so fixated on how pretty your eyes were, and how your plush lips curved into a smile just for him.

And it wasn't just your face—he had eyes. Your modest workwear didn’t do much to hide your figure. Unconsciously his eyes trailed from your lips and dipped lower to your chest. He gulped.

“Clark? You ok?” You tilted your head to peer curiously at the very broad-chested man who stood frozen, wide-eyed and breathless in front of the register. His hair was damp and he looked like he just finished a workout. Ever since you’d started working this shift, you’d been seeing him more and he’d come by every day at the same time loyalty card in hand. 

“H-hi Y/N. Sorry.” He immediately looked down silently cursing himself for ogling you so openly. What was wrong with him? He was worse than a sex offender. He hoped you didn’t notice.

Visibly flustered, Clark made a show of searching his pockets for his coffee card. Clark had a habit of staring at his crushes, but he was usually better about being discreet, much unlike now. He felt a blush creep back onto his cheeks. 

“I uh finished another one.” He brought a hand up to scratch sheepishly at his cheek as you inspected the card.

You punched the last stamp on the card and passed him back a golden punch card. 

“We might need to make a new tier at this rate.” You joked. “Vanilla Bean Frappe right?” You found it amusing that the most frequent customer at the cafe was someone who only drank the equivalent of condensed milk.  

“And a small espresso,” Clark added mildly with a small smile. Only you had the privilege of teasing him, Jimmy be damned.

“Someone’s graduating to coffee drinker today.” You arched a brow cheekily, meeting his eyes for a split second. 

You watched his eyes widen and look away once more. You could tell he liked you; it was a bit too obvious. Every time you met his eyes, his would dart away, but you could still feel his eyes on you when you weren’t looking. Call it a woman’s intuition or just a painfully transparent shy guy. 

The cafe was not as busy at this time save for two college students who were working quietly at some tables on the other side of the room. The sounds of beans grinding and blenders whirring filled the silence. 

Clark fiddled with his new gold loyalty card and Jimmy’s voice floated into his head. Get her number this time.

He could be fine with continuing like this for a while longer. He could come every day to collect stamps just to see your face, hear your voice, make small talk. But something told him he’d have to ask now or he’d never get another chance to do it. 

“One Vanilla frap and small espresso.” You placed the two cups on the counter in front of him.

“I know we don’t know each other that well but I’ve been meaning to ask if you had some time with me I mean to go with me to I mean if you want you don’t have to but I’d really like to—”

“Clark—” You interrupted his nervous rambling and turned the espresso cup around to show your phone number written in Sharpie under his name. “I’d love to.”

Clark wiped the mist of ocean water from his face as he surveyed the horizon. The sky was dull and gray; the same as it had been for the past three days. He had already gotten his catch for the week; choppy waters before a storm always stirred the life below right into his net. He decided to turn in for the day after his last reel-in.

Boats above a certain size usually required a crew to operate efficiently, but Clark preferred to work by himself. If any of his previous crewmates could see him hefting burdens meant for ten men with ease, they’d probably be afraid of him. He'd never forget the look on his classmate’s face when he’d been seen using his powers. His bully, ironically enough, had been the only one to witness his pushing their sinking bus from out of the river. The mocking and derision he’d gotten so used to seeing was replaced with terror, and Clark realized he’d been the sole cause of that fear.

The incident brought unwanted attention to the Kents and reporters at their front door. Since then, his parents had quietly taken him out of school where he would earn his diploma from home. He was used to being alone now. 

Clark secured the net to the metal rig and lowered it into the water. Tiny droplets of rain dripped from his hood one by one until a steady drizzle began to fall. He tugged at his hood, though it didn't help him much now that he'd already been dampened from the humidity in the air and the sweat on his back. He circled back around the boat, checking for any stray buoys or untied ropes while he waited for the signal to bring his haul back up. 

A heavy clang at the side of the boat called his attention. He hadn’t brought the rig down very deep and he was far from the coast. Did he misalign something when he was setting up? He mentally went over his loading checklist from that morning, but couldn’t come up with anything out of the norm—Clark was a man of routine, and he rarely strayed from it. He frowned up at the clouds, now rolling in, and back down at the roiling waters. It was too early to bring the net back up but even he knew not to tempt fate. 

Clark went back to the helm of the boat and raised a lever to signal the rig’s movement upward. As the steel arm rose, however, it made a creaking noise he’d heard only once before back when he bought the old fisher boat. The guy who had sold it to him ensured he would take care of it, but maybe Clark had been naïve to trust his words.

He set the lever back to its place and stalked out of the cockpit. So much for not using any strength, he thought wryly. He wrapped the rope connected to a pulley once around his hand. A strong pull shot the net through the surface of the water; It hung a few feet above where he stood, filled with silvery bass and something else he couldn’t quite make out in the rain.

“What the—“ That something else looked very… human. Alarmed, he secured the rope he was holding onto the deck and manually worked on the metal arm that held the netted bundle. The faulty rig was already broken, and he had no problem bending the steel back to fold it closer to the main deck. The net ripped apart with a yank of his fingers and he swiftly pulled the human body from the catch.

It was…a girl. It was you. Alive, somehow, but completely bare. He shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it carefully around your body. Though your eyes were still closed, you had instinctively curled into his arms. He held you, carefully, as though you would break at any moment, and made his way to the shelter of the captain’s pit. The nearest hospital wasn’t too far from the shore. As long as you were still breathing, they’d be able to help you.

Clark laid you down on a cushioned ledge next to the control panels of the cockpit. He started the journey back to shore, but from the corner of his eye, he could see that you had awakened. When he turned to face you, however, your eyes had already squinted shut. 

“You’re awake.” He left the helm to come closer, kneeling by your side to take a closer look at you. He hadn’t taken a proper look at your face yet. He wasn’t a doctor but he knew a bit of first aid; he could check for any head injuries and vital signs that way. When he noticed your body tense up, he thought better of touching you and brought his hand back down. 

“Miss?” He tried again and you peeked out from underneath his jacket. Large doe-like brown eyes stared at him unblinkingly. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He promised, but Clark was beginning to wonder if you could even understand him at all. 

“I want to move your hair.” He spoke slowly, miming the actions with his hands at his own wetted curls. You looked at him as if understanding and slowly sat up. Clark froze as the jacket he’d draped over you shifted to reveal the brown peaks of your nipples. He quickly averted his eyes, only returning them back to yours when you moved suddenly in his periphery. 

You were.. touching him? Or more accurately, touching his hair, copying his movements from earlier. 

“N-no, not my hair.” Clark didn’t know why he was suddenly flustered but he moved now, with purpose, to cover you back up. You sat up, following his eyes as he brushed your long locs back and away from your face. You decided you liked his eyes very much.

Clark sat back on his heels and studied you. Your face looked unmarred, ethereal even, brown skin shimmering faintly as if you generated your own sunlight. You touched him again, this time at an area under his bearded jaw. When your fingers lightly grazed the knob at his neck, he swallowed involuntarily. 

At that moment he saw it. It was imperceptible at first; hard to catch if you weren’t looking hard enough. On the sides of your neck, three thin slashes pulsated like heartbeats, like…gills? He had to get you back into the water. 

Clark sat on the closed lid of the toilet, deep in thought at the strange situation before him. He had pulled you out from the middle of the ocean and you were now sitting in his bathtub, resting your chin on the lip of the tub as he brooded. 

After seeing your gills (at least that was what they looked like) there was no way he could take you to the hospital. And throwing you back into the water just to get caught by another fisherman didn’t seem like the best idea either. 

Finally, as if making up his mind, he rolled up his sleeves and kneeled beside you with a washcloth. Pulling your arm gently towards him, he began to rub small circles of lather into your skin. 

He was always so serious when he looked at you but now he refused to meet your eyes, as if avoiding the glare of the sun. Had you done something wrong? He told you he wouldn’t hurt you. You didn’t understand the exact words, but you understood it from his eyes and you believed him. 

He took your other arm and your eyes followed his movements, but he hesitated for a moment at your chest. After a beat, Clark placed the washcloth in your hands and covered it with his own, guiding your clothed hand across your breasts.

You looked down in awe. His hands looked a lot different than yours; a lot bigger. And behind his hand, yours had completely disappeared. A soft nudge at your shoulder prompted you to turn around, breaking you out of your thoughts of the man in front of you.

Your back was to him now, and you could feel the warmth of his body heat, but you couldn’t see his eyes anymore. It made you uneasy when you couldn’t see them. You turned to face him again and he sat back, startled at your sudden movement. This time, Clark had given up on avoiding looking directly at you, searching your eyes for a hint of what you wanted. 

Before he could retract his hand from you, you clasped another hand over his willing it to stay. He obliged and continued, across your stomach, around your thighs, and down to your feet. After some time cleaning you, Clark wrung out the cloth and stood, pulling you to stand with him. You wondered why he seemed to ignore the area between your legs. You reached for the cloth but he took a step back. 

“N-no! That’s not—,” He looked away again, the tips of his ears tinged in pink. Clark looked around his bathroom for any kind of method of escape but found none. You weren't completely clean yet, but he knew he wouldn't get anywhere trying to explain to you why. He resigned himself to his fate and moved to find a basin.

You gazed up from under him. He was much bigger than you were. Just like with his hands, you noted his body could wholly cover yours; perhaps he could make you disappear under him just the same.

Not too long after, he presented you with a basin of fresh water and cupped his hand under yours. You let the water pool and leak through the gaps in your fingers. After a few tries you were able to hold a good amount of water in the crater of your palm. 

He demonstrated with you first, bringing your joined hands in between your thighs. Up from underneath your hand he helped you gently press apart your folds. He guided your fingers each time you’d collected your water, bringing it to your mound again and languidly rubbing until you felt his hand drift away. 

Clark watched you copy the movements he’d had taught you earlier. He could tell you were searching his eyes for confirmation, so he made sure to nod in assurance each time you looked at him.

When you stepped out of the bath he draped a warm towel around your shoulders, making sure to avoid the slits at your neck. He was staring intently at you now. The look in his eyes told you that he would keep you safe, and you believed him.

“Give them back!” Clark swiped at the older boy who was now dangling his glasses high above his head. 

“Or what, four eyes?” His bully since the first day of middle school, Billy sneered. “I just wanna see ’em.”

Clark knew that wasn’t true. Every time Billy wanted to “see” something he’d just outright take it without giving it back. It started with his pencils, which was innocuous enough, until it moved on to the lunches his mom packed, and even his new sneakers at one point. 

Clark was okay with losing those things. He had plenty of pencils, and he was never really that hungry. He could try and fly home if worst came to worst too, but his glasses were the one thing he couldn’t give up to Billy.

The first time his heat vision had flared up, Billy had spilled his carton of milk in his lap on purpose, making it look like Clark had peed himself in front of half the school. He’d almost burned a hole into the school lunch table out of embarrassment. The second time happened on that same day, after school when he’d snapped at his mother for prying too much, singeing the doorframe. 

A few days later Martha Kent would give him a special pair of glasses that she’d made herself using the glass of the spaceship he landed in. And upon seeing her gift, he’d bury his face into his mother’s arms as an apology and a ‘thank you’.

“How the hell are you even seeing through these?” Billy inspected the glasses, all the while avoiding Clark’s reach. “They don’t even work. Just a piece of garbage.”

Clark could feel his anger rising and a prickling heat behind his eyes. Reflexively he squeezed his eyes shut and stumbled, tripping backward from Billy’s rough shove.

“What? You crying, loser?” He taunted. “Don’t worry I’ll take out the trash for you.” Billy wound up, preparing to throw the glasses like a baseball.

“Hey! Leave him alone you big bully!” 

Clark peeked his eyes open to see you barreling down the road wielding a baseball bat and already swinging wildly. 

Clark had heard about you offhandedly from his peers. You were like a Smallville Middle School urban legend mostly for your weird outfits and lack of filter. Unlike Clark, no one dared to bully you for fear of your unpredictable nature. Even Billy, big as he was, knew better than to stick around to test it.

“That’s right! You better run!” You shouted as Billy escaped. 

Clark blinked dumbly back at you, and even more dumbly when he felt his glasses being placed back on his face. Your face was close, and your mouth was moving but he could only hear the sound of his heartbeat thumping in his ears. Your tugging him to his feet was what finally pulled him back to reality.

“—and if any one bothers you again they’re gonna have to go through me! And if I’m not there you better fight back and kick his butt, Clark!”

You held out a pinky, the look on your face leaving no room for Clark to refuse it. He linked his pinky with your own, marking the beginning of your friendship along with the unofficial beginning of Clark’s crush on you. The next day you would sit next to him at lunch, naturally, as if you had always been friends.

The Kents began to notice that their usually quiet son was visibly happier and becoming much more talkative. Imagine Martha Kent’s surprise when a phone call for Clark came into the house phone, and a female voice was on the other end.

Jonathan Kent would be equally surprised when he accidentally picked up the house phone and overheard Clark talking to you excitedly about his favorite book series. Needless to say, they would hint incessantly to Clark that he should invite his new “friend” over for dinner.

It wasn’t long before you were inseparable; and for all of middle school everywhere he was, you were not far off. Until one day you told him you were moving away, 100 miles away to be exact, to Metropolis.

You would pinky promise each other to keep in touch but as you both got busier and Clark discovered more about his own origins, the letters and phone calls became more sparse until communication stopped entirely.

10 years later

The one day you decided to get your hair done was the day some eldritch abomination decided to descend upon the city of Metropolis. 

You were used to it by now; you had your fair share of close calls. Most people would hole themselves up in their apartments and never come out with all the intermittent attacks lately, but you weren’t most people and in your opinion, living in fear was not living at all.

So when you found yourself falling to your death from a building, you accepted your fate and braced yourself for the inevitable impact. Only...it never came. You did feel your cheek resting against something hard though, and when you looked up at what seemed to break your fall, you found yourself face to face with the “Man of Steel” himself: Superman.

“Fear not, citizen. You’re safe now.” You could hear his deep voice rumble from his chest to your ear as he spoke.

When Clark finally got a good look at your face, it felt like he was back in Smallville again, back to the day you’d chased Billy off. Back to the moment your face had filled his vision entirely; All he could see was you. He almost blurted out your name out of surprise until he remembered he was supposed to be a hero now and not Clark Kent, the farm boy.

“You look…” You began but then trailed off as you stared at his face. You were breathless from everything; the fall, the chaos, and now the handsome man who made you feel safe in his arms. You couldn't quite place it, but he looked oddly familiar. “You look a lot like someone I know.” 

“I…get that a lot, Ma’am.” Clark tried to sound professional and not alarmed at the fact that there was a chance you’d recognize him. “Get to safety quickly.” He recovered the authority in his voice, but it was now clashing with his reddening face. When he set you down, you wondered why the charismatic superhero you’d seen on TV seemed much shyer in person.

“Well, I would but--” Your eyes both drifted to where he still had a protective arm circled around your waist, pulling you close to his body. Upon realizing he hadn’t let you go, he jerked his arm away to give an awkward salute. 

You gave him a curious look; He was so jumpy and…cute? Oh god, it was killing you. Where had you seen that face before?

A loud crash accompanied by a guttural roar from the 50-foot-tall monster in the background saved Clark from further embarrassment. “Well, uh, that’s my cue.” 

“Hey, Superman?” You suddenly spoke up as he turned around.

He paused to look back at you, mid-preparation for flight.

“Kick its fucking ass!”

And with that, he returned you a bashful smile with a thumbs up and took off into the air.

That night, after a long fight with the inter-dimensional threat, Clark had gotten a voicemail from his Mom saying that you had called her asking for his number. Not shortly after, his phone vibrated, an unknown number with a Metropolis area code filling the screen. It must’ve been you.

“Hey, it’s me, Y/N. Something reminded me of you today." His heart leaped. Ten years later and yet your voice still made his heart rate erratic; a form of muscle memory.

"I got your number from your Mom," You continued. "Do you…still remember that promise we made when we were kids? The day before I moved.” You talked to him like you’d never left. Like you were picking back up a conversation that began yesterday and not a decade ago.

How could Clark possibly forget? And what happened to ‘Hello, how are you?’ But being too embarrassed to say it out loud, he could only breathe out a shaky “Y-yea. I remember.”

On a warm summer day, you made rings out of dandelions and a half-joking pinky promise that you would marry each other someday. 

You were kids who didn’t know much about marriage or how it worked exactly, but you knew that’s what people did if they liked each other enough. And there was no doubt that you both liked each other because that pinky promise was the first and only one that had been sealed with a kiss.

“Hot date tonight?” 

You felt your eyes roll back into your head at the sound of the male voice that trilled like a mosquito in your ear. Fucking hell, you muttered a curse under your breath. After your shift of late-night vigilante duties, you always seemed to forget to take out your in-ear receiver. 

What was that thing Alfred always told you about breathing exercises? You took a deep breath, allowing yourself to quell your irritation.  In. 1. 2. 3. Out. 1. 2. 3. 

“No action tonight, dick?” You rebutted. 

“I can hear when it’s a lowercase ‘D’, Y/N. ” Unlike yours, his voice betrayed no hostility, rather, he sounded quite amused.

You and Dick Grayson had never been close. In fact, you thought of him as more a stranger than a stepbrother. Bruce Wayne had adopted you into the family after Dick had already packed his bags and moved out of the manor to Blüdhaven. The only times you saw Dick was when somebody died and you had to attend the funeral. 

You didn’t grow up with him like you had Jason. And now that Jason was gone, it was suddenly like the golden “boy wonder” had been trying to squeeze himself into your life to make up for it. Ever since the detective had arrived in Gotham last week on “private business”— whatever, you didn’t want or care to know—he’d been “checking in” on you a bit too often.

“Are you making small talk ‘cuz you’re bored or are you just being annoying?”

“I’m in the middle of something actually.”

You stilled to listen closely, and now that he mentioned it, it did sound like he was in the middle of a fight. 

“Well, I would offer to help you but— ”you paused, wincing at what sounded like a man being punched in the gut. “—seems like you got it covered.”

“More than covered, sweetheart. Unlike what you’re wearing.” He made it sound like he was joking; though, the remark itself had bite.

“What?” What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

“That dress. Seems a little much for a first date don’t you think?”

You heard a yelp of pain in the background. Dick probably had some guy’s arm twisted around. 

“How the fuck would you know what I’m wearing? Or that I’m going on a date?”

You eyed the room while putting on the other half of your earrings. The idea of privacy wasn’t exactly a thing at Wayne Manor. That was the whole reason you moved out and into your penthouse apartment in the city. 

If for some reason he had seen you, he would’ve seen your figure in a slinky black mini-dress. A tasteful, but still unapologetic show of legs, cocoa skin, and cleavage all in one. 

“That guy plastered you on a billboard in the middle of Gotham. So, y’know, doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. And relax, your comms was on. You ever notice that you talk to yourself? Like a lot.”

He was about to be talking to himself if he didn’t shut the fuck up soon.

Ok, breathe. In. 1. 2. 3. Out. 1. 2. 3.

You were violently broken out of your breathing exercise when a screaming welp and cracking of bones sounded through the earpiece. 

Dick spoke again, slightly winded. “Bruce say you could wear that?”

“Yes, Dick. Actually, he’s the one that bought it for me,” You deadpanned, voice dripping with sarcasm. Besides the fact that the old man would not give a flying fuck about your wardrobe, you were way too old to be slutshamed or worse, babysat.

“Now I know you’re fucking with me. He has way better taste than that.” You could hear the mirth in his voice; he was clearly just trying to banter with you.

“Oh like you would know anything about taste, Discowing.”

“…”

You got him there.

“Just make sure—”

“Good night, Richard.” You closed the line before he could give you another lecture and pocketed the listening device into your purse. 

You regarded yourself in the mirror one last time. It was a certified banger of an outfit, went quadruple platinum in all the clubs in Gotham’s nightlife scene. But that’s not where you were going tonight.

Feeling a little paranoid, you quickly scanned your apartment for any sign that you’d been bugged. Finding nothing, you shut the lights and locked the door behind you. Tonight you did have a date, with one of Gotham’s most eligible bachelors at that. So you were going to look hot and that annoying buzzing in your ear was just going to have to deal with it.

A sleek Tesla was waiting for you at the curb in front of your apartment building. You gave a small wave to a handsome blonde-haired man leaning against the sports car.

Your date was Michael Carter, some hotshot tech CEO you’d never heard of before until his company, Goldstar Inc. blew up out of nowhere. From what you knew of him he wasn’t as famous or rich as your billionaire adoptive father, but what he lacked in influence, he made up for in boundless persistence.

For the past month and a half, he’d been courting you with bouquets of roses, designer shoes and handbags, and more recently a billboard of you in the middle of Times Square asking you out. The billboard was what made you finally go out with him, not particularly because you liked grandiose gestures from douchebags, but mostly so he could leave you alone.

When you approached Michael he let out an appreciative whistle, and you let him wrap his arms around you in greeting. He looked down at you, appraising you and probably getting an eyeful of your tits at the same time.

“You are an absolute knockout. Who’s the lucky guy?” He quipped, eliciting an eye roll from you. 

Yes, he was also very corny but you decided you liked that about him. You’d dated too many men before that reminded you of the men in your family, and this Michael character was a blonde spark of life, a welcomed change from all the brooding and the fucking bats.

“Hope I didn’t make you wait too long.”

“Oh, I don’t mind waiting. Got a lot of time on my hands.”

You smiled up at him, steadying yourself on his arms and feeling the muscle underneath your fingertips. You had to admit, even though he was corny he was complete eye candy. Built like a football player, dimples, pretty face…Yep, you were definitely going to fuck him tonight.

Your eye caught sight of something from over Michael’s shoulder. You shuddered; not because of the temperature—It was a warm enough summer night— but because you could feel that you were being watched. There was… a shadow… lurking on a nearby building.

Michael followed your line of sight to peer over at the dark, confused at where you were staring. 

“Something the matter, princess? You cold?” He rubbed some heat into the goosebumps pebbling your arm.

“N-no. It’s nothing. Sorry,” You shook your head, breaking away from him to climb into the passenger seat, swiftly shutting your door before he could offer to close it for you. He scrambled back to the driver’s seat, clearly caught off guard from your sudden change in demeanor.

“How about we—” Michael turned toward you, mouth open in mid-sentence.

“Drive.” You cut him off.

“Excuse me, what?” He blinked in confusion. 

“Now.” 

“A-alright.” He paused, perplexed, then quietly obeyed, gripping the steering wheel as he pulled away from the curb. 

You fished into your purse, opening your messaging app to type out DON’T FOLLOW before hitting send. You didn’t need to see the reply to confirm your suspicions you were being stalked, and you knew Dick Grayson well enough to know he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t. 

You frowned at the empty seat in front of you. You had already arrived at the restaurant and taken your orders, but your date had been taking a “business call” in the bathroom for over 20 minutes now. You were starting to think you had been ditched.

“This seat taken?” 

You looked up but instead of your date you were greeted by the sight of Dick Grayson in a crisp navy button-down rolled up at the sleeves. He looked like he could be a CEO in his own right, like the kind of CEOs people read in romance novels.

His forearms looked extremely capable, courtesy of his rigorous training; Broad shoulders and dense muscle made his shirt fit slightly too small. He cleaned up nice, a bit too nice since other women kept sneaking glances at your table. 

Dick was an undeniably handsome man, but you would never admit that to him. Instead you gave him a withering glare.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing but whatever it is, I didn’t ask.”

“So a guy can’t catch up with family after work now?” He sat down in front of you with a look feigning offense until it melted into a playful grin. He looked a bit too smug taking the spot of where your date would’ve been.

“You’re really shameless y’know that? You showing up and expecting me to just welcome you with open arms does not make you family.” You leaned back and crossed your arms. “What the hell did you do with Michael, Dick?”

“What did I do? What, you think I killed him? Like on some mobster Falcone shit?” 

“No, like on some Bruce Wayne shit. Real chip off the old block.” You scoffed. “I know you paid him off. It’s the same story with every other guy I’ve dated.”

He was silent as if mulling over whether or not to own up to the accusation.“I gave them an option and they took it,” he said simply as if there wasn't anything wrong with what he just confessed.

“And here I thought I was the problem.”

“Might be. If you keep choosing guys that’ll walk out on you at the whiff of a few bucks.”

“Fuck you, Dick.” You shot him two middle fingers and gathered your things to go. You weren’t gonna stay and hear this shit.

“They were all full of shit and you know it.”

“D-did anyone order the steak?” 

Dick broke his serious gaze from you and flashed a dimpled smile to ease the nervous waiter.

“We’ll take it to-go, thanks.”

You watched your 5th Uber request get denied and sighed. You really didn’t want to have to resort to getting the Wayne driver, but these were incredibly desperate times. Maybe if you faked being in danger, they could get to you fast enough to escape from Dick.

You were in the middle of dialing the number up when you felt something heavy across your back; The smell of leather, wood, and spice interrupted your thoughts. You didn’t refuse the warmth; it was welcome. Somehow it had gotten colder than you had originally accounted for.

“Really good thing I was here. Looks like someone needs a ride,” you felt Dick whisper into your ear. He gave your shoulders a playful squeeze and walked ahead of you to his car. You looked up just in time to see him, head turned and smirking back at you.

“Shut. Up. Just take me home,” You gritted out.

“Your chariot awaits.” He tipped an invisible top hat your direction, bowing theatrically as he opened the passenger door to his car. God he was annoying. You slipped past him, and kicked off your heels as soon as you hit the plush leather seat.

The drive back to your apartment was quiet. You weren’t surprised that he seemed to know exactly where you lived. Which, due to the nature of your job was to be expected. Bruce probably had you all chipped anyway, but you appreciated the illusion of privacy at the very least.

You turned your head to stare thoughtfully at his side profile as he drove, one hand on the steering wheel, the other arm resting on the shift. It was oddly intimate to watch him from this perspective. Gotham City’s lights waxed and waned across his face as you passed through the night streets.

“What?” He seemed uncharacteristically conscious under your gaze. 

“So…you’re saying I need to date some sort of incorruptible and righteous superhero. That would be good enough for you, right? Someone that can’t be bought or bribed?”

He glanced at you brow furrowed before returning his attention to the road. “Wasn't saying that.”

“Now that I’m thinking about it Hal Jordan’s kinda cute.”

“Real classy, Y/N,” He said, visibly irritated now.

“What? What’s wrong with Hal?” You pressed, knowing you’d struck a nerve. Dick was terribly predictable and fun to annoy when he wasn’t busy annoying you.

“Uh I don’t know, maybe the fact that he’s Bruce’s friend?”

“Please, they’re barely friends. Coworkers at best.”  Since when was that an issue for the dude who hooked up with the commissioner’s daughter anyway? The hypocrisy was truly baffling.

“No.”

“Fine,” You pouted at him. “Everyone cares about money, Dick. It’s Gotham. And you don’t even live here anymore, so who else does that leave that money won’t sway? Alfred?”

He gave you a pointed silence, not in any more mood for the topic of conversation. “We’re here.”

You blinked, surprised. Sure enough, you were in the familiar surroundings of your parking garage. Maybe you’d been too busy staring at the cut of the older man’s jaw to notice you were already home.

“You’re not gonna walk me up? ‘Cuz If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought you were my personal bodyguard.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.” 

“Cockblocker.” You muttered under your breath as you scuffed your heels back on. You shrugged out of his jacket and exited the car.

“Hey, wait! Keep the jacket on, it’s cold,” He called after you, but you only waved him off dismissively. You heard his car door slam shut and in a few strides, he was next to you again, draping the jacket over your shoulders.

He wordlessly joined you in the elevator, pushing the button to your floor like he'd been there before. At the door of your apartment, he passed along the plastic bag filled with restaurant takeout.

You briefly considered the raven haired man and then the takeout bag in your hand. “I’m probably gonna regret this, but…you hungry?”

“I could eat,” Dick shrugged, following after you into your apartment. 

You kicked off your heels and made a beeline to the kitchen. “Bathroom’s on the right. Just make yourself at home. I would give you a tour but, you probably already know your way around.”

“Thanks, but it’s the first time I’ve been in here, Y/N.” He replied drily, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Look, I know you don’t trust me, but I wouldn’t do that, ok?”

You only hummed, not really believing him. Dick Grayson wasn’t the type to lie, he was the type to withhold. 

You set down your bag on the kitchen table, reaching into the cupboard. “Wine?”

He jingled his car keys as an answer. 

“Ah. Right. ‘Protect and serve’ not ‘drink and drive’, got it.”

Dick seemed to be paying a lot of attention to the knickknacks on your shelf. You watched him pick up a few photo frames, inspect them closely for a bit and then carefully set them back In their places.

“You’re making my living room look like a crime scene, officer.” You chided strolling in closer. “What, are you gonna need a baggie for that evidence too?”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, humored. “I didn’t know you liked photography is all.”

“Yea well, there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

“I know enough.”

“Like what?”

He looked around the room and then settled on the books and magazines stacked on your coffee table. “You’re into fashion.”

“Well yea, I’m a model, Dick. Not exactly breaking news,” You scoffed. “You sure you’re a detective?”

He broke into a grin, the kind of grin that made the dimples in his cheeks deepen. It was like he genuinely liked when you made fun of him. “Well, I also know you also have terrible taste in men so…”

“Have you considered that maybe I just wanted to get laid?”

“No, and I hope that never crosses my mind." He made a face like the very thought disturbed him. "Besides, you don’t want that.”

You chose to ignore the blatant patronizing. “Not a want; It’s a need. A biological one. Girls have those too y’know.”

“Ugh alright, can we change the subject now, please?” He wrinkled his nose, cheeks faintly flushed. It would’ve been so easy to tease him about how cute he looked blushing.

“You’re the one that brought it up.”

“I did not bring that up. I’m…just saying that I know you’re not that type of girl.”

“Not that type of—And what would that be?” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“The one-night stand type. That’s not you.”

“How would you know what I am and what I’m not?” You retorted, agitation building. Getting date-ditched was one thing but getting mansplained to about your sex life was just the cherry on top of a shitty Saturday night.

“I know you,” He spoke slowly with an edge that confirmed your suspicions; The tone in his voice was backed by knowledge of your history—who you were before Bruce rescued you out of that hell and scrubbed your background clean.

“More like you’ve been stalking me. That’s not fair, Dick. You can look up all the data you want on me on that supercomputer but you don’t get to know me. It’s—it’s too late for that.”

You thought about Jason and how he was ripped away from you too soon. Tears fell faster than you could stop them. One second you were ok and the next, Dick had crossed the room to bring you into his arms. You fisted his shirt as you cried into his shoulder.

“You weren’t here. You left. You left us.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He comforted softly, tightening his arms around you.

“That’s not fair, Dick. It’s not fair.” You can’t remember the last time you cried this pathetically. He was rocking you gently now, whispering apologies in your ear.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Y/N. I’m gonna make it right.” 

He gazed at you now, a sadness in his eyes. You wondered what exactly he meant by that. The only way to make it right was to bring Jason back. 

He gently held your face in his hands, thumbs swiping away stray tears. Years of training had calloused his fingers and you could feel them now against your cheeks.

“Let me make it up to you. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

His soothing voice released flutters in your stomach—a bubbling concoction of fear, anticipation, and…something more. 

Inhale. 1. 2. 3.

Your breathing became shallow as he brought his head down, lips hesitant before yours. When you didn’t move away he brushed against you, softly first, waiting for permission until your eyes fluttered closed and you finally let him in.

Your cheeks burned. Something about kissing him made you embarrassed or maybe you were ashamed, like you knew you were doing something you shouldn’t.

You fumbled out of his jacket, now too hot, and pawed frantically at the buttons on his shirt. He kissed you with more passion, swallowing your moans as his hands shamelessly roamed your body, groping and grabbing handfuls of your ass. 

“Bedroom. My bedroom.” You said quickly between fraught kisses. If you hadn’t, he would’ve probably taken you right there on the sofa.

He nodded in agreement, picking you up with ease and swiftly treading to your room with you in tow. He set you on the bed and resumed where he left off until you were lying under him. That’s when you could feel him, all of him, pressing against you. 

“‘m gonna make you feel good.” 

Ripples of abs and lean muscle ground against you as he kissed down your neck. You gasped softly when his hand moved to rub you over the cloth of your panties.

“Wanna see you. Please, let me see you.”

He tugged the top of your dress down, undoing the clasp of your bra and revealing to him the peaks of your tawny nipples. You inhaled sharply, watching him take your breast into his mouth, eyes on you, as he licked and sucked.

You writhed under him, already overwhelmed by everything he was doing to you. He snaked his hand back into the front of your now-soaked panties, rubbing at first and then inserting a finger, then two until you were stretching around him.

“So wet for me, my pretty girl. Look at you milking my fingers in this slutty little dress. You were gonna let him do this to you, right? You were gonna let him finger your pussy too huh, baby?”

You whimpered his name, eyes wide as he continued to speak with his fingers squelching in and out of you. Normal, everyday Dick Grayson had the image of being a “nice guy”. He was probably that neighbor you’d ask to borrow sugar from; You would never expect to hear such dirty words coming from his mouth.

He hiked up the skirt of your dress some more and brought your hips to his face.

“Let me take care of you, huh? Let me take care of this pretty little cunt.”

You cursed softly, as he began to kiss and suck around your clit as he fingered you.

“Fuck,” He groaned, “You taste so good, baby.”

He lapped at your cunt, making lewd slurps and noises. When he removed his fingers, he replaced them with his tongue and the sensation made you squirm.

“Quit moving so much. Didn’t you say you wanted to get laid? Don’t you want me to eat you out?”

“Y-yes. I want—Mmhfuck.” You nodded, finally finding some semblance of language. The way he spoke down to you was so agonizingly frustrating. It reminded you how patronizing he'd been earlier that night, telling you to cover up and dictating your life for you.

“You haven’t been fucked in a while, huh?” He mocked. “That’s why you were gonna let some guy you met today fuck you—Such a fucking slut that’s why you wore that, right?”

You whined at his words, bucking to earn some more friction from him.

“Holy shit, you like that? You like when I call you a slut.” His smile grew as if he just made a huge discovery. “Yea, ‘course you like it. Should’ve spread your legs on that billboard that guy bought. Let Gotham see how much of a fucking whore you are.”

Your cheeks warmed in embarrassment. You felt betrayed by the physical reaction you gave with how crudely he was speaking. He'd figured you out; You liked being treated like a cockdumb slut.

He planted a few more kisses on your thigh, unbuckling his pants with a free hand.

“Wait for me, babe. Touch yourself and wait for me like a good girl.”

You obeyed, rubbing at your throbbing mound to no avail. Your fingers didn’t feel as good as his did. 

He freed his cock from his underwear and you could see it now, leaking beads of precum from the tip, swollen and bobbing up against his well-defined stomach. Your mouth watered, you wanted to feel all of him on your tongue. But when you reached for him, he brought your fingers up to his mouth instead, sucking the pussy juices off your fingertips. He kissed your knuckles and returned your hand to you.

“Keep those pretty fingers busy, sweetheart.”

He stroked slowly, watching you tentatively squeeze one of your breasts, your other hand rubbing and dipping between your folds. 

“Fuck you’re so fucking beautiful.” He groaned before he kneeled to position himself between your legs, aligning himself at your entrance.

“You just need a cock to fill you up, doesn’t matter which one, huh? That’s what you wanted, right?”

He rubbed himself against you, tip occasionally catching on a soft divot, but not fully being inserted inside.

“You’d even let your stepbrother fuck you, huh? That’s how much of a dirty little slut you are.”

You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a mixture of humiliation, frustration, and desire. How could your body like it so much when he was being so vulgar, so mean?

“Please, I need—“ You panted, trying to push yourself onto his cock for release.

“Mmh? Speak up, princess. What do you need?” 

“F-fill me up. I need you to fill me up.” 

“Only good girls get filled up Y/N. But you’ve been talking back to me all day like a fucking brat. You gonna be a good girl for me, baby?

You nodded dumbly in agreement. He pushed inside you a little deeper, only to take it out again.

“P—lease, I’ll be good. Just—need you inside.”

If only the patients at Arkham Asylum could see you now. They’d probably grab front-row seats to see you pathetically begging for some cock. 

“You could barely take my fingers, princess. You sure it’ll fit?”

He was right. It was a tighter fit than you anticipated, but you could feel him now hot and pulsating as he stretched you out.

“You’re doing so well for me, baby. C’mon you can take it.” He cooed, muttering curses to himself until he finally bottomed out, fully seated inside you.

You moaned, holding onto his forearms as he rutted in and out of you. You could see his length disappear and reappear with every thrust, gathering a ring of your cream around his base.

“How do you feel princess?” He grunted out, pace quickening. “How does it feel to have me balls deep inside that tight little cunt?”

“It. Feels. So. Goo—Ahmmhfuck.” You clenched around him, voice vibrating with every thrust.

“Fuck, you’re milking me, sweetheart.” He laughed, voice smug. “You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you. Fuck, you’re so fucking dirty. You been thinking about my cock filling you up huh? Being my personal fleshlight? It’s everything you ever dreamed of right?” 

You could tell he was enjoying this, enjoying degrading you as you laid helpless underneath him, your release depending entirely on him. It was infuriating that he had this much power over you, but the amount of pleasure he was currently giving you superseded your pride.

He pushed your thighs back as he went deeper into an unforgiving mating press, knees by your ears, not caring that you weren’t as flexible as he was. 

“Such a good girl taking my cock so well. Wanted this for so long. You’re so pretty. You’re so fucking pretty. You feel so good; so good for me.”

He moaned into your ear, placing sloppy kisses at your mouth and jaw.

“This pussy’s made for me. You’re made for me. I’m the only one who can make you feel this good.”

You felt his balls smack heavily against your ass as he continued to pound his fat cock into your sensitive cunt, reaching your G-spot.

“Whose is it, baby? Whose pussy is it? Please, baby. Say it’s mine. Just for me.”

“I-it’s yours. O-only. Yours.”  You gasped out, feeling a warmth blooming at the apex of your thighs as you came unraveled underneath him.

His length twitched as he unloaded thick ropes of cum inside you, some of it leaking out and down your ass as he thrusted deeper.

"That's right, take my cum. Take it, it's yours. It's all yours."

He continued to fuck his cum into you until your walls squeezed around him, coaxing out every last drop.

It was morning now and sunlight peeked out from between the gaps in your curtains. You grounded yourself back into your senses. Your satin pillowcase cooled your cheek, but there was an unfamiliar warmth pinning you down—an arm wrapped around your waist.

He was half-hard now, erection resting lightly against the plump of your ass. You could feel his chest rising and falling, warm against your back as he slept. Deep breaths in. 1. 2. 3. Out. 1. 2. 3.

You liked the way you fit together, your soft curves snug against his hardened body.

You turned a little to try and meet his eyes but your stirring only prompted soft kisses at your shoulder, and a strong arm pulling you ever closer, willing you not to leave the bed.

“Good morning.” He said between nips and kisses, intertwining fingers in yours. “What do you want for breakfast, beautiful?”

“Hmm? You’re still here.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“‘m still here.” He mumbled against your neck. His morning voice became noticeably deeper when sleep still clung to it. 

“Not a one night stand type of guy?”

He chuckled softly, the contented sound losing itself in the groove of your shoulder. 

“Nope. More like one night and one morning stand.”

You smiled at the terrible joke but willed it away quickly before he could see it. 

“I saw that smile,” He accused.

“No, you didn’t.” You tried to smother the corners of your mouth downward again. “You know for someone so smart you say a lot of stupid shit.”

“Aww, you think I’m smart, babe?” You didn’t have to look at him to know he probably had the dumbest smile plastered on his face. 

You rolled your eyes. “You also realize you talk way too much right?”

“You weren’t saying that last night.” He palmed your breast, kneading it softly. “Got so turned on you were literally begging me to fuck you. You were all like ‘Please daddy, please fuck me.’”

“I did not say that shit, weirdo.”

“It was implied.” He simpered.

You couldn’t help it; you were giggling now too. “You are such a dumbass.”

“First I’m smart, now I’m a dumbass. Which one is it, hm?” 

“Hmm, let me see…Which one is the quiet one, again?”

“You wouldn’t like it if I was quiet, though.” His voice had a hint of challenge in it.

You pursed your lips. He wasn’t entirely wrong.

“See? I know that filthy shit gets you going. Wanna test that theory, baby?” He murmured, kissing the shell of your ear. “See if you’ll call me daddy?"

Evidently he wasn’t the only one who got off to dirty talk. His cock was now fully hard and pressing against your ass.

He rolled on his stomach, pulling you closer to him by the thighs. Your eyes fluttered closed as he nuzzled into your sex, laving and sucking, deep blue eyes locked on you. His lips curled into a smile against you when you moaned and sighed with pleasure.

Dick pulled up briefly, pussy drunk, wearing his spit and your essence on his face like a badge of honor. He peppered a languid trail of drowsy kisses from your mouth and up your jaw as you spoke.

“Wha-what happened to breakfast?” Your question spilled out breathlessly from the way his mouth worked, a futile attempt at remaining coherent. Losing face now meant inflating his ego, especially if you proved his little “theory” a bit too quickly. 

“How about I eat you out first, then you let me fuck my cum down your throat later, yea?” 

His suggestive whisper sent a heavy wave of arousal straight to your heat. 

Fuck. 

Your bodies became a desperate tangle of limbs; your legs wrapped around his hips as you bucked up to grind against him, wanting—no, needing— him back inside you. Breakfast was definitely going to have to wait.