pairing: dick grayson x reader
word count: 3.2k (i think?)
warnings: rape mention (as per dick's canon)
notes: i keep thinking of applying one of my favourite manga/manhwa tropes with dick specifically, because it works so well, but i don't particularly care to put in the work of setting up that it'd take for it to land as well as it could. maybe later. as it is, i'll give you the quick rundown because i spent two days writing it lol
something ugly about you has made you undeserving of romance. you have spent your entire life puzzling out what it is and how to fix it. nothing much is special about you: the matter’s far from isolation, or becoming any particular sort of pariah. perhaps that'd be easier to explain. no. people leave you alone, your friends cherish you, your family loves you. it is not that you have not known affection, but that you have and so when you crash against the wall that horrible first time, it hurts all the more.
nothing changes after that. there is always a limit to where your interest can reach, unnamed but palpable. a line you cannot cross. it seems to you as if the entire world has reached a silent consensus during a meeting to which your attendance was not required and your input unnecessary. why would it be? this is not about you. after all, your ability to love has not become impaired. you like people. you’ve fallen in love. but who has ever loved you back?
this one facet of life has been closed off to you entirely, and you’ve been chased away from all attempts to form a romantic bond with unspoken threats of shame and implications of disgust. (a bit much of a display just for the offense of being little old you. you come to regard the matter so as you grow older and start curating some self-respect. it still stings as badly as scrubbing your skin raw under hot water, but not all the loathing is directed inward nowadays.)
regardless, you’ve learnt that you are undesirable, and nothing you can say or do will change that. you must be content with the other shapes that love can take. nothing that you want matters whatsoever.
you meet dick grayson one summer evening under exceedingly normal circumstances. you do not know about heroes or rogues, no batmans or nightwings. the person that crosses the threshold is none other than dick grayson, the handsome young man. suspicion does not cross anybody’s mind, and if it does, it comes only a good couple of thoughts after his darling smile and shapely thighs.
obviously you like him immediately. what’s not to like? he’s gorgeous.
you react to him with the tense wariness of someone hardened by years of useless crushes. trying to avoid him. trying to be normal when you invariably cannot. it’s fine. it’ll be fine.
you still crush on him.
it’s inevitable, at this point. he’s too pretty, too smart, too kind not to draw you in. every interaction comes a rush of exhilarating fear. at times, you manage to subdue yourself into normalcy, hang out with him with as much naturalness as you can muster. but then he does something particularly attractive and you’re back in square one, shoulders drawn together and so short with him he probably gets emotional whiplash. it’s as exhausting for you as it must be for him, and he still reacts to it with grace. it doesn’t help.
through your concerted efforts to be normal, or at least appear as much, you and dick become friends. not great friends, mind you, but good enough that you start hanging out on your own without any of your mutual friends present. and you only spend about three hours total pondering the meaning behind the phrasing of his texts. that’s gotta be some form of progress, right?
he sits at a little table away from the window, and beams when you arrive. coffee’s on him and conversation’s on you. you’ve got more in common than you first thought, but you go back and forth between imagining it must be fate and squashing down delusion, telling yourself you’re blowing it out of proportion.
at one point in time, a beautiful, sultry-looking woman approaches the table.
this sucks, you think, glancing away from dick’s bland mask of politeness. all of it is hopeless and it still sucks.
you and dick tense immediately, like you both know what’s coming. sure as ever, the woman smiles and asks for his number. you look away politely, sip at your drink. the proximity makes it useless to pretend you’re not eavesdropping (though it can hardly be called that when she came to your table), but you take care not to make any faces that’d give away the little storm brewing in your stomach.
you think about running off to the bathroom, get as far as shifting on your seat when dick shoots you a troubled look. the woman’s been at it for a little more than is appropriate. a minute or so more of insistence and she’ll be stretching the boundaries of her own dignity too far. you look away with pressed lips and move your hands under the table.
your alarm beeps.
“oh, shit, dude,” you gasp, hoping to land somewhere in the ballpark of realism. “It’s almost seven. we’ve got to go, or else we’re gonna miss the movie.”
dick gives the woman his apologies and swiftly runs out of the café with you hot on his heels. on the way to the movie theatre, you wanna ask the million questions running through your head—why’d he reject her? didn’t he like her? did he not think she was pretty? who is pretty for him? what’s his taste in partners? is he seeing someone?—but you know it’s a futile endeavor. what will you even get out of that? it’s clear dick didn’t enjoy the interaction either. you make small talk about something else, trying to draw his attention away from whatever conflicted feelings he’s moored in right now. just because you like him doesn’t mean you can’t be a good friend to him.
it’s a short walk. soon enough, he’s all smiles again. in the line for the popcorn stand, another two girls come up to him, this time much younger than you two. he’s nicer with them than he was before, but he rejects them all unequivocally.
“doesn’t it annoy you?” you can’t help but ask. when dick raises an elegant eyebrow, you panic and backpedal so hard you might as well have driven a truck through a storefront.
“a bit,” dick says, ignoring your rambling. you shut your mouth firmly closed when he gives you a sidelong glance, and continues, so very casually, “it’s worse when it comes from a friend rather than a stranger. so many people just try to befriend me because they’re looking for a relationship, or they want access to my body. it’s… tiring. i’m sure you can relate.”
“ah,” you say. your tongue feels numb, but you’re burning up under the weight of his gaze. “no. I don’t really get harassed like that or, um, asked out.”
“huh.” dick blinks. “really?”
“yeah,” you force out. blessedly, the attendant calls your attention. you jostle dick forward. “look, it’s our turn.”
dick orders popcorn. you get a large slushy that you’re not gonna finish. you make him pay. he complies with no question. inside the theatre, you spend all two hours and sixteen minutes of the showing in absolute silence. it is not so strange to be fixated on the movie, but you’re usually a little more chatty. under normal circumstances, you’d eagerly take the opportunity to lean closer to him, whisper something about the main character’s penchant for gummies and its relation to the degradation of the American working class. he’d glance at you and thoughtfully smile, and you’d catch a whiff of his cologne when you straightened. for the rest of the movie, the twinkle of his eye as he forwent the film for your conversation would be all you’d think about.
such is not the case now.
you can tell when you’ve been summarily dismissed. in fact, you appreciate when people are subtle about their rejections. it’s always all the more humiliating when they feel the need to bring it out into the open, like your affections have been so blatant they must be commented on, debated.
the rest of the evening is spent convincing yourself that this is good, that this means it’ll be better for yourself going forward. you’ll be less distracted, if anything. dick’s attempts to discuss the movie with you afterwards fall flat, as the only thing you really want is to get home and stare at your ceiling.
when you’ve reached your apartment door, and are turning to enter after a hurried goodbye, dick calls your name.
“look,” he says, running a hand through his hair unsurely. “I don’t usually do this.”
oh, no. dread fills you up. he’s breaking up with you and you’re not even dating.
you swallow. “dick—”
“I like you a lot,” he interrupts. your teeth clang the way you shut up so fast. in fact, you feel a little dizzy. he continues before you can even process that first sentence. “I think you and I could be really good friends, and I’d love if we could continue seeing each other to, you know, hang out and talk. I do truly appreciate your insight. is that okay?”
you blink fast some three or four times. it must be comical, the face you’re making, because the corner of dick’s lips pulls upward despite him trying to keep a serious air.
“I thought we were already friends…?” you say, at a loss for anything else to say.
“yes!” he beams. “we are.”
“okay,” you respond, perplexed. this is so far out of left field. “um. text me when you’re home?”
“yeah.” he grins. gorgeous grin, to be sure, but why? “for sure.”
“cool.” you give him an awkward thumbs up and scurry inside.
it is… baffling. you spend all of that night wide awake and pondering. dick must’ve misconstrued something, or either you missed a crucial step in your relationship. otherwise the end to that evening makes absolutely no sense. the only thing you can conjure up is that dick must reject a lot of people who, like he said, try to befriend him only to get with him or worse, only to fuck, and it’s not very likely most of those people stay in his life once it is clear he won’t budge on the matter. the fact that you didn’t immediately turn your back on him must’ve come to him as a pleasant surprise.
it’s sad. like, really fucking sad, actually.
that very sadness—and the memory of his handsome, bright grin—turns your outlook inside out. why do you like dick? clearly he’s got the looks and the personality, but do you really know him? what do you know of him? you make a list of things you’ve learned about him in the short time of knowing him. it’s not long.
you come to the conclusion, mortifyingly so, that you don’t, in fact, like dick grayson. that, if anything, the only thing you like is the idea of the boyfriend he could be, which is not the boyfriend that he is (you know nothing about that). it’s the social acumen inherent in bagging such a hottie, and the sparkling sexual attraction bound around it, that really prompt your crushing. it’s not dick as a person. frankly, you think, a little hysterically, could be anyone, really. didn’t even have to be dick. he was just there, the handsomest person in the room. an apt target for the voracious hunger of your heart. you’d mooned and mooned over him for ages and it turns out it wasn’t even about him.
god, you’re such an asshole.
in penance, you endeavor to actually get to know dick without the embarrassment of a crush between you. and it does, in fact, help. dick’s eager to get to know you too, now that you’ve both formally acknowledged you’re friends (such a weird practice, fresh out of kindergarten behavior, but, as you soon find out, dick is weird about plenty and not entirely well-adjusted as an adult). you go on outings together, attend one another’s events, text sporadically throughout the day. you learn which video games dick likes, you tell him which movies are your favorites. it’s fun and light and uncomplicated now that you’ve freed yourself from the constraints of romantic expectation.
not everything’s good. dick’s got bad habits, which grate on you. is it so difficult to put the stupid toilet seat down? can he not learn to chop vegetables in chunks smaller than an elephant’s baby teeth? can he, for the love of god, stop yelling at the tv during horror films? he’s got some serious character flaws, too. you find about those a lot more slowly, but they don’t cause too much trouble.
you fight one or two times due to dick suddenly abandoning you in the middle of an outing with no regard for your safety, and his tendency to get pissy instead of saying whatever’s upsetting him upfront when he knows, you’ve warned him that you’re stupidly thoughtless about your actions at times. all those are things you wouldn’t have come to experience if you hadn’t given the man a chance to actually be a friend. it’s kind of heartening, actually, to have come so far.
sometimes your crush rears up its head in the middle of nowhere. it’s kind of hopeless by now, but you can’t help the fact that dick’s attractive. neither can he, anyway. you just watch him sometimes, the way the sun hits his eyes, lashes sweeping over his cheeks. it makes you go tongue-tied and silly, but the moment always passes. it has to pass. you struggle against it, recall every time dick has upset you or insulted you in one way or the other. some days it’s easy as buttering toast, others you can barely think around the searing heat of your desire. those are bad days for all involved.
one evening, when you’ve grown close enough you’ve begun to think about dick grayson as maybe, possibly, only-if-he-says-so-too your closest friend, he tells you about catalina.
he does it over the phone line, during your almost-nightly calls. over the months, you’ve taken up the practice of teasing him about handsome people he clearly finds attractive in a desperate bid to divert attention and train yourself for when you have to do it for real. this is not one of such cases, and as soon as you realize this, you sober up immediately.
he says it so simply. talks about it like it’s just a hazard of life. there’s a tight hardness at the edge of his voice, but other than that, he speaks like it’s normal Tuesday for him.
not so much for you.
“is it okay if I come over?” you request over the line.
for a moment, the only thing you hear is dick breathe. “yeah,” he croaks, and you’re bolting out the room immediately.
you don’t know how to react to this other than with a shaky sort of desperation. it’s been years since it happened. there’s nothing you can do about it now. there’s something big he’s leaving out, which you notice but don’t point out. a big lump forms on your throat as he speaks. dick tells you when you arrive that the woman is behind bars for an unrelated crime and the only way you stop yourself from wishing ill on her out loud is the fact he looks so politely disjointed, you know your fury will only startle him.
and you feel it so frightfully, the fury.
you love dick, you realize. beyond the fancies and the underlying attraction, you love dick as a person, as a friend. he’s one of yours now.
the evening morphs into a casual sleepover. you don’t interrogate him, and he seems torn between wanting to say more and grateful you’re not prying. you keep yourself open to the possibility, but also try to comfort him as best you can. you make dinner. you put on a movie. you talk and joke and quietly watch. he invites you on the bed with him because his couch is a nightmare to sleep in and his guest room is “unavailable”, whatever that means. you don’t even think about it, just follow.
lying together under the sheets with the lights off, the rest of your feelings bubble up to the surface.
you ask before you clasp his hands between yours and look into his shiny eyes in the darkness. you try to tell him, how this single evening and all those that came before turned over your loyalty to him. how he can come to you for anything he ever wants or needs—your ear, your care, your protection. how much you appreciate his trust and how much you wish you could make anything, everything better for him. how much he deserves it.
“I’ll never leave you now,” you vow with fierce conviction, searching his eyes for any signs of doubt. any other time you would’ve questioned this statement with the sheer weight of infinite possibilities, but not now. tonight, truth is absolute and in your hand. “they will never take me from you. I will always be on your side, by your side. i’m serious, grayson. you’re not getting rid of me.”
a glimpse of a watery smile is the only thing you see before dick throws his arms around you and buries his face in your neck. “couldn’t dream of it,” he whispers into your hair.
you hug him back as tightly as he is, murmuring platitudes and running your fingers through his hair. he falls asleep like that, in the cradle of your arms. he feels secure enough to do so, and you feel both proud and nauseous about it considering the secret you keep.
that he’s told you this at all, that he’s trusted you with such a thing—you know how big it is. you know you can never betray him.
you consider your inherent monstrosity, that little unspeakable thing that bars your from that special kind of love. you understand, firmly, that any desire you feel will never be received eagerly and joyfully. not by him or anyone else. in silent fury, you vow to die before you be like her, to bestow upon this man your grotesque wanting with no regard for his own desire, for the integrity of his being.
that night, you press a kiss to dick grayson’s hair and let him go forever.
.
the next morning, dick watches as you leave. you turn back one last time to wave at him from the parking lot, a bright smile and tussled hair you didn’t bother to brush. you wear out the clothes he lent you to sleep, so harried last night in your haste to come over that you’d simply forgotten to pack pajamas. he suspects you hadn’t planned to stay the night at all, but he’d been damned if he’d let you go yesterday.
you’re pretty. he’s always thought so, but this morning, you’re prettier than ever. it’s the radiance of your heart shining through.
I will always be by your side, you’d said last night. you’d meant it completely, then. dick had been dazed, overcome. he couldn’t take the brightness of your eyes, the surety of your affection. he’d buried his head in your neck and fallen asleep breathing in the smell of your shampoo. in the morning, he’d woken up with your fingers carding through his hair and the gentle warmth of your body against his.
that was nice. he wonders what he has to do to make it happen again.
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Fluent Freshman - Part 44
PREV
The flight up to New York is a pleasant one.
The time in the airport itself had been less pleasant. Matt, as it turns out, is a firm believer in arriving with just enough time to check a bag, get through security, and get to the gate. He had claimed up, down, left, and right that he had it down to a science.
No matter how many times Smith had wondered about the scientific rigor of this 'science' he still kept it to himself. There was no need for Smith to voice his uncertainty with this plan because Kevin well and truly had it covered.
"You're giving us only an hour to check bags, get through security, and get to our gate?!" Kevin demands.
"Kevin, if you wanted to be there earlier then you could have asked Andrew to give yo a ride." Matt says. "We'll be fine."
"You know what Neil and Andrew get like when they have a long roadtrip ahead of them." Kevin argues.
"All lovey-dovey?" Nicky asks as Aaron makes a gagging sound.
"No, well yes, but no they always stop and buy all of the worst food too." Kevin reminds. "I'm just concerned about us missing our flight! We have barely enough time!" Kevin huffs crossing his arms.
"You're wrong anyways." Aaron says idly as he continues to text with Katelyn.
"How am I wrong?!" Kevin demands.
"We also have to park within that hour that Matt has left us with." Aaron says looking up from his phone.
"Matt!" Kevin squawks.
"It'll be fine." Matt reassures for the 2nd time.
"We all have checked bags!" Kevin exclaims, "What if we miss our flight?!" he wails.
"It'll be fine!" Matt repeats.
"No it won't!" Kevin exclaims.
---
It was fine.
The only real delays they met were at security.
Smith prided himself on being efficient in the security line. He has his watch off, his phone and ID secured in a zipped jacket pocket, his backpack and electronics in separate trays, and his shoes ready to be slipped off.
So he was shamed to have been the cause of the first delay when the TSA agent wouldn't wave Smith through the metal detector since she didn't realize he was there. That had been a whole anxiety attack and a half as the line had formed up behind him all wondering what the hold-up was.
Finally she seemed to startle as she realized that Smith had been standing there waiting and waved him through.
The other delay was that Kevin got patted down after he had forgotten to empty his 'emergency' water bottle.
It was probably for the best that they didn't have to be in the airport for that long. Every announcement that it was very important to not leave your bag unattended made him worry that with every blink somehow someone had slipped a bomb into his backpack.
While it was on his back.
As he was running with the rest of his friends to their gate.
"It just had to be the gate on the other end of the terminal." Aaron huffs.
"It would have been 100% perfect if someone hadn't left their water bottle in their bag despite the, let me check, 3,820 signs that said remove all liquids from your carry-ons!" Matt says as they continues to run.
"I said I forgot!" Kevin yells back from his spot at the front of the pack. Smith was under the distinct impression that Kevin was keeping pace with them since he had seen the Striker move much faster on the court and during warm-ups.
"We could have forgiven that!" Nicky pants, "Why did you have to slam the whole thing to prove that it was 'just water'?" he asks.
"Because I wanted to prove I wasn't a national security threat!" Kevin says. "I'll be going to the Olympics in a couple years and I can't have that on my record." he continues as he rounds a corner.
"What record?!" Smith asks suddenly worried that there was a record.
"Smithy, there's no record Kevin's just an idiot. An idiot who got patted down, tested for explosives, and had his carry-on searched." Nicky huffs.
"You don't know that there's not a record! The record everything nowadays!" Kevin huffs and their gate is in sight.
"Kevin, just shut up!" Aaron exclaims as they reach the line for their flight.
"Wait why aren't any of you getting shitty with Smiths?!" Kevin asks.
"His delay was like a minute and more importantly NOT HIS FAULT!" Nicky defends.
"He should have just walked through!" Kevin argues.
"Oh it's fine if he gets a record but not you?!" Aaron asks.
"So there is a record?!" Smith asks again.
They reach the line and the largely empty area around their gate is more than enough evidence that this was the final boarding. Smith breathed a sigh of relief as he took his place in line behind Nicky.
"The lines pretty slow, I'm going to go get a water." Kevin says and before any of them can say anything he is off towards a busy looking Newsweek store.
"I cannot believe him." Aaron huffs.
"All that water he just drank and is about to drink? He has lost window seat privileges." Matt pants wiping sweat from his brow.
"Agreed." Nicky says.
Smith laughed between panting breaths. His stomach hurt a bit from the stress of running but it was fine.
They get on the plane without Kevin and head to their seats. Most of the overhead storage is taken up at this point but Smith slides his bag under the middle seat in front of him after Matt
In the end, Kevin barely made it onto the plane in time since he got caught up in deciding on water. "You're in my seat." Kevin says as the only man not yet seated.
"I am not about to spend this flight getting up every 2 minutes because you have to pee." Matt says, "Abby didn't used to need to take all those pitstops when we're on the bus." Matt adds.
"I hate the aisle, the cart could hit my legs." Kevin argues.
"Then you can sit in the middle if Smith's willing to move." Matt says.
"You can have the middle Kevin." Smith offers actually preferring the aisle seat since then he doesn't have to ask anyone to move for him.
"I hate the middle seat, there is no room." Kevin crosses his arms.
"Smith is like only 3 inches shorter than you and he's not complaining." Matt continues.
"It's an important 3 inches."
"I bet it is."
"Nicky, are you serious?"
"What?!"
"There is an uninvolved member of the public, right there."
"He's wearing headphones it's fine!"
---
It's fine.
Eventually Kevin takes the middle seat if for no other reason than Matt stubbornly pretends to go to sleep but absolutely does not want the aisle seat either.
Smith gives it up and ends up with his own preferred seat while Kevin pointedly takes both of the arm rests, as is his right. The plane ride progresses smoothly from there. Smith has always liked flying. There is always a sense that the second that he gets onto the plane and the door closes he has absolutely zero control over what happens afterwards.
That is a nice comfort.
He pays attention to the safety briefing, finds his nearest exit, and that he should secure the bag over his own face before securing it on Kevin's.
He puts his headphones on and tries not to think about the anxiety of meeting the 'girls'.
He has heard much about the 'girls'.
Allison Reynolds. Allison was someone who's legacy existed even outside of the team. Smith didn't know much about fashion but a Reynolds bet remained a solid practice within Palmetto. She was, undeniably, absolutely gorgeous and if Kevin was to be believed 'kind of a bitch'. Nicky had swatted his arm but had said that it was not entirely inaccurate but like 'in the best way'.
Dan Wilds. He met Dan. Dan was nice. Also, if Matt was to be believed, the best human to ever walk the planet earth. The reason the sun rose in the east and set in the west. The gravitational pull that held the universe together. If Andrew is to be believed, she's fine.
Renee Walker. Renee was the one who taught Andrew how to use knives. His friend has talked warmly of her, in the way that Andrew talks warmly about anyone which is mentioning them at all. She was the one that Smith was the most anxious about meeting.
Kevin turns his nose up at the ginger ale that Smith gets but he's allowed these now per his actual doctors orders.
1 hour left until arriving at JFK.
He hopes this ginger ale is enough to calm his stomach since he's still not allowed Pepto.
MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU
NEXT
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