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b4tboys · 2 months ago

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﹟— ❛❛cause when you know you know. part 1.

☆﹟— paring: fem!reader x dick grayson.

☆﹟— summary: you've always had dick grayson's heart in your hands, since you were just sixteen.

☆﹟— warnings/tags: dick grayson x fem!reader. reader is an awkward dork. fluffy. dick is yearning. spiderwoman!reader. best friends to lovers (?). these two mfs are the same person in different fonts. reader is a mix of tom holland’s spiderman and the comics. rip uncle ben. the amazing divider was made by @bernardsbendystraws, thank you!. some spiderman: homecoming lore.

WAYNE GALAS WERE ALWAYS THE SAME — stiff, over decorated affairs where assholes shook hands and smiled fake smiles over champagne. At sixteen, Dick Grayson knew the routine like the back of his hand. He also knew how to blend into the background when he wasn’t in the mood to charm the crowds.

It was from that vantage point, leaning casually against a marble pillar, that he first noticed you.

You stood a few steps behind Tony Stark, looking wildly out of place among Gotham’s elite. Wrapped in a simple blue dress that couldn’t quite decide if it wanted to be fancy or modest, you shifted your weight awkwardly from foot to foot, clutching a small purse like it might save you from drowning in a sea of tuxedos and designer gowns.

Dick’s lips quirked into a small smile. Adorable.

Tony Stark, of course, was in full showman mode, gesturing animatedly as he spoke with Bruce Wayne. The two billionaires were discussing the latest partnership between Stark Industries and Wayne Enterprises — a massive clean energy project meant to transform both Gotham and New York. The media was already drooling over it.

"…game-changer for the East Coast, Bruce," Tony was saying, his voice easily cutting over the soft hum of the orchestra. "Your tech, my tech — it’s like peanut butter and genius. Together, unstoppable."

Bruce nodded, ever the composed businessman. "It sounds promising. If we can get the logistics right."

"And we will," Tony said with his usual effortless confidence. Then, spotting Dick nearby — or maybe just looking for an excuse to brag — he turned slightly and gestured toward you.

"And speaking of genius," he said, "I’d like you to meet my brilliant intern. Absolute prodigy. I’m basically babysitting her before someone smarter steals her."

You blinked, startled by the sudden attention, and gave Bruce a stiff little wave, your fingers curling awkwardly halfway through. Dick had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

Bruce, gentleman as ever, extended his hand. "It’s a pleasure to meet you."

You hurried forward, shaking his hand a little too quickly. "Um — thank you, Mr. Wayne. It’s, uh, an honor to be here."

Tony clapped a hand on your shoulder, nearly knocking you off balance. "Kid’s working on tech that’ll make arc reactors look like antique junk. Don’t let the nerves fool you — she’s the real deal."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Is that so? I’d love to hear more about your work sometime."

You flushed bright red, mumbling something about polymer synthesis and energy conductivity — something brilliant that Dick couldn’t entirely follow, but he caught enough to be impressed. And amused. You were so obviously genuine — completely different from the polished, self-important guests around you.

Bruce must’ve picked up on your nerves too. With a small, reassuring smile, he glanced to the side.

"Allow me to introduce my son," he said, motioning to Dick. "Dick Grayson."

At the mention of his name, Dick pushed off the pillar and approached with an easy, charming smile — the kind that made Gotham’s elite swoon. But the second your eyes met, you visibly froze like you weren’t sure whether to shake his hand, run away, or throw up.

"H-hi," you said, voice quick, bright — and unmistakably thick with a Queens accent. "It’s, uh, real nice to meetcha."

Dick grinned wider, immediately charmed. "Pleasure’s mine," he said, reaching out.

You hesitated for a beat, then took his hand. Your grip was surprisingly firm, even if your face was screaming pure panic.

Tony almost chuckled. "She’s from Queens," he explained. "You know — where people actually say what they mean and don’t take an hour to do it."

You gave an embarrassed little shrug. You looked like you want to throw up.

That earned a real laugh from Dick, warm and easy. You smiled too — a real smile this time, the kind that crinkled your eyes and hit him somewhere he hadn’t expected.

Bruce’s phone buzzed discreetly in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, then gave a small, apologetic nod. "If you’ll excuse me," he said. "Duty calls."

He slipped away, leaving you, Tony, and Dick standing awkwardly together by the marble column.

Tony, never missing a beat, gave Dick a mock-serious look. "Why don’t you two go mingle? God knows she needs more friends."

You groaned under your breath. "Oh my god, Mr. Stark, please don’t."

Dick just laughed again — and somehow, standing there, the evening suddenly seemed a whole lot more interesting. He fell easily into step beside you as Tony wandered off to schmooze with some politicians. You walked stiffly at first, hyperaware of every move you made in the ridiculously fancy heels Stark had bullied you into wearing.

"So," Dick said, shooting you a grin as he offered you a glass of sparkling water from a passing tray, "Queens, huh? That explains the accent."

You accepted the drink with a sheepish smile. "Yeah. Born and raised. It’s pretty different from all this… you know, money and marble columns."

Dick laughed. "Trust me, you’re not missing much. All it means is you get invited to boring parties like this one."

You laughed too — a real, snorting laugh that made a couple of nearby socialites glance over disapprovingly. You barely noticed.

"So, what’s it like working for Iron man?" Dick asked, tilting his head in that way that made his hair fall a little into his eyes. He probably practiced looking that effortlessly cool in the mirror.

You shrugged, taking a sip of your drink. "Kinda like babysitting a genius toddler with unlimited money and no fear of death."

Dick barked a short laugh. "Sounds about right."

You hesitated, then added, "But seriously? He’s been good to me. Not a lotta people would take a chance on some random kid from Queens."

Dick raised an eyebrow, interested. "Random? C’mon, Stark made it sound like you were about to solve the energy crisis or something."

You snorted again, feeling a little more at ease. "I mean, maybe. Eventually. If I don’t blow up a lab first."

He grinned at that, the easy kind of grin that made you feel like you could tell him anything. So, without really thinking, you shrugged and said, "Plus, I kinda get it. I grew up pretty rough, y’know? Not a lotta money. Lost my folks when I was little."

You said it so casually — like you were talking about the weather — that it took a second for Dick to process.

His smile softened, the cocky edge fading just a little. "Yeah?" he said, voice a little lower now, a little more real. "Me too."

You blinked, surprised. "Wait, really?"

He nodded, tapping two fingers against his chest lightly. "Orphan club. Lifetime membership."

You gave him a crooked smile. "Guess that makes us, like, trauma buddies or something."

Dick chuckled, but there was a warmth in his eyes now that hadn’t been there before. "Guess so. But hey," he added, nudging your shoulder lightly, "at least you’re smart enough to build your way outta Queens."

You shrugged again, feeling your face heat. "Yeah, well. You’re the one who looks like he belongs in a magazine."

Dick gave you a mock-offended gasp. "Are you saying I’m just a pretty face?"

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. "I’m just sayin’, you definitely got the rich kid smile down."

He laughed, full and bright, and for a second it felt like the two of you were the only ones in the whole stupid, glittering ballroom.

SIX MONTHS PASSED WITHOUT you or him even noticing. Long-distance friendships were supposed to fade, or at least get awkward. Yours didn’t. Despite being hundreds of miles apart — you in New York, Dick in Gotham — you and him texted, called, and memed at each other like your lives depended on it. Some nights you stayed up until 3 AM talking about everything and nothing at the same time. School drama. Terrible cafeteria food. The best ways to take down a guy twice your size when you were stuck in a tight suit.

It didn’t take long before the truth slipped out.

You were Spiderwoman. He was Robin.

The discovery was a complete accident — a FaceTime call cut short when you had to swing off mid-conversation to stop a robbery, your phone falling out of your pocket mid-swing, the screen still open as Dick watched wide-eyed.

You expected him to freak out.

Instead, he just texted:

dude... that's so sick. also ur form was trash lol. we’re training next time ur in gotham.

And just like that, your world got a little bigger — and a lot better. When Homecoming season rolled around, you weren’t even planning on going. Crowded dances weren’t really your thing. But then Tony Stark, with his usual flair for the dramatic, said something like, “Kid, you gotta have at least one normal high school experience before you get arrested by the feds or something,” and signed you up himself.

The only problem?

You didn’t have a date.

Which is why, two weeks later, you stood frozen on the sidewalk outside Midtown Tech, wearing a dress that you had panic-ordered online, while Dick freaking Grayson leaned casually against a rented black car looking like he’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine.

Sleek suit. Easy smile. Blue eyes that sparkled when they landed on you.

You gawked. He whistled low under his breath.

"You clean up nice, Queens," he said, offering you his arm.

You shoved his shoulder lightly, face burning. "You’re literally Bruce Wayne’s kid. You clean up by existing."

Still, you took his arm.

Inside the gym — decorated with cheap streamers and a truly tragic DJ — heads turned immediately. Whispers broke out like wildfire.

"Wait… is that Bruce Wayne’s son?"

"He’s so hot in person. I just saw an article about The Flying Graysons-"

"Eww, isn’t that weird ass chick from the Decathlon Team?"

Enhanced earring. Sometimes you hate that. You spotted Ned across the room near the snack table, eyes wide as saucers. He threw you the most aggressive thumbs-up you had ever seen.

You nearly burst out laughing.

Dick, of course, noticed everything — the stares, the whispers — and just tightened his hold on your arm, leaning down to murmur in your ear: "They’re just jealous they didn’t think of asking you first."

You rolled your eyes, grinning. "Shut up, Gotham."

"You love me," he teased, winking.

You tried to play it cool.

Tried to act like your heart wasn’t punching itself in the face.

Instead, you just said, "Whatever, rich boy. Let’s dance before I regret this."

And somehow, with Dick’s hand wrapped around yours and the gym lights flickering overhead, you realized you were having the best night of your life — cheap decorations, judgmental classmates, bad punch and all. No crimes, no tight suits, just the arms of your best friend around you.

SOME YEARS LATER…

NEW YORK CITY SMELLED like hot dog stands, wet pavement, and cheap coffee. It was comforting, in a weird way — grounding, like an old song you never forgot the words to. It smelled like home.

You had just finished your doctorate at Empire State University — biophysics, the degree that had nearly broken you with sleepless nights and endless labs. Four years of undergrad, another six buried under papers and research grants, all while swinging through the city rooftops under a different name.

You were proud, sure. But pride didn’t pay rent, which meant you were still picking up gigs at the Daily Bugle, still hustling freelance science writing jobs, still showing up at FEAST with boxes of canned goods, just trying to help where you could.

You huffed, adjusting the box in your arms as you kicked open the back door. Aunt May had been working at FEAST full-time now ever since she retired, and somehow, you always found yourself drawn back here too. Helping people — it was kind of your thing. Always had been.

What you didn’t expect was to walk into the kitchen and see him —

Leaning casually against the counter like he owned the place, grinning like he hadn’t just crossed two state lines without so much as a warning.

"Hey, trouble."

You blinked, nearly dropping the box.

"Dick?!"

He flashed that damn movie-star smile at you — the one that should’ve come with a warning label. "Miss me?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" you cried, laughing as you dropped the box on the table and practically launched yourself at him.

Dick caught you without hesitation, his arms wrapping around you in a warm, easy hug. You hadn’t realized how much you needed it until right now. Twelve years. Twelve years of growing up side-by-side, saving cities, teasing each other over coms, late-night phone calls just to vent about patrol. And yet somehow, seeing him in person after a few months apart hit you harder than you expected.

You pulled back, punching his arm lightly. "You idiot! You’re supposed to call before you show up in my city."

"What, and ruin the surprise?" he teased, ruffling your hair — which earned him a murderous glare from you. "Besides, I figured Aunt May could use some extra hands around here."

May appeared in the doorway at that exact moment, wiping her hands on her apron. Her face lit up when she saw Dick. "Richard, honey! It’s so good to see you!"

"Richard," you snickered under your breath, watching Dick grimace in horror as May pulled him into a hug.

"She’s the only one allowed to call me that," he grumbled as he shot you a look over May’s shoulder.

You grinned. God, you’d missed him.

There was a way Dick fit into your life that no one else could replicate — like he was the missing piece to a puzzle you hadn’t even realized was incomplete. Maybe it was the history.

Maybe it was the fact that you understood each other in ways that no one else ever could — the grief, the pressure, the guilt that came from trying to save people and knowing it would never be enough.

Maybe it was just him.

Because somewhere along the line, Dick Grayson had gone from Gotham’s golden boy to Nightwing — the heart of Blüdhaven, the hero everyone loved. He wasn’t just a sidekick anymore. He was the blueprint.

Kids in Blüdhaven wore Nightwing shirts and told stories about how he’d saved their dad or helped their aunt or dropped off Christmas gifts at the shelters. He was the hero people wanted to be — not just because he was good with his fists, but because he never stopped believing the world could be better.

You were proud of him in a way you couldn’t even put into words.

And looking at him now — a little older, a little more worn around the edges, but still him — you realized how much he still made you feel like you weren’t alone in any of it. He was your best friend and your family.

You saw May kissing his left cheek before going back to the main room, it was time to serve lunch.

"So," he began, leaning against the counter with that casual drawl he used when he was trying way too hard to sound chill, "how’s your thing with MJ going?"

His tone was careful — soft — like he knew exactly how much of a train wreck your love life had been lately. How you always ended up back at square one: alone.

You shrugged, shooting him a half-hearted smile.

"Eh. How’s your thing with Babs going?"

You tossed the question back at him without missing a beat, raising your brows pointedly.

Dick mirrored your shrug, lips twitching.

"Eh."

There was a brief pause — the kind only two people who knew each other too well could slip into without it feeling awkward — and then you smirked.

"Well, there’s your problem. You’re into gingers."

He snorted. "You’re into gingers."

You pointed at him like you just cracked the code of the universe.

"Exactly. That’s why we both have commitment issues. Everyone knows gingers are secretly evil."

Dick barked a laugh, shaking his head.

"Evil and dangerously attractive. It’s a lose-lose."

"Honestly," you sighed dramatically, "it’s not our fault we keep getting attached to soulless, beautiful monsters."

He grinned wide, that stupidly charming Nightwing grin.

"Soulless monsters — sounds like half the people we fight too."

"At least fighting bad guys doesn’t leave me crying into a tub of ice cream at two a.m."

Dick’s eyes twinkled with mischief.

"I guess you forgot your little friend Felicia Hardy in this sentence."

You gasped, smacking his arm — not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your point.

"That was one time and she tricked me!"

"Uh-huh," Dick said, smirking as he rubbed his arm dramatically. "And then she ghosted you and stole your watch. And your wallet".

You groaned.

"I told you that in confidence, you traitor."

He grinned even wider, clearly enjoying himself.

"You’re lucky I’m your best friend and not, you know, selling these stories to the tabloids."

You gave him a half-hearted glare before letting out a snort.

"Yeah, because Nightwing Reveals Spiderwoman Got Played by Cat Thief would really earn you some credibility."

Dick shrugged, unbothered. "Might finally knock me off GQ’s ‘Sexiest Heroes Alive’ list. Honestly, it’s getting exhausting."

You laughed, the sound bursting out of you before you could stop it. God, you missed this. The easy rhythm of you and Dick — how he could drag you out of any dark place with just a few dumb jokes and a mischievous glint in his eye.

"But come on now, sexiest hero alive," you teased, nudging him lightly with your elbow. "Why are you truly in New York?"

Your face ached from how much you’d been smiling. It was almost enough to make you forget the three broken ribs healing under your shirt and the nasty wound stitched up on your left thigh. Almost.

Dick just shrugged, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a half-smile.

"Nothing at all," he said lightly. "Just missed you."

You squinted at him, unconvinced.

"Missed me enough to leave your city to crumble without Nightwing?"

"Don’t be dramatic," he said, rolling his eyes fondly. "Tim’s covering me this weekend. Blüdhaven’s in good hands."

You studied him again — really studied him — noticing how his bright blue eyes suddenly dipped away from yours, shyness creeping into his expression. Dick sighed, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, like he was bracing himself.

"It’s May fourth," he said quietly.

You froze for a beat. Of course.

You didn’t need him to say anything else. You knew exactly what that date meant.

Uncle Ben’s death anniversary.

You were so burried into your Spiderwoman's stuff last night that you forgot all about Ben, you didn't even noticed how sad May was this morning. A lump formed in your throat. The pain was still there, buried deep. It always was. Even with all the miles between you and that night, the guilt, the regret — it never quite left. You thought you had it under control, thought you had it buried in the same corner where you stashed all your unresolved issues. But not today. Not with Dick here, looking at you like that.

You were about to say something, anything, to push the conversation somewhere else. But Dick stepped closer, the usual teasing smirk gone. His gaze softened, his voice quiet, steady.

"You still blame yourself, don’t you?"

The question hit harder than you’d expected, like he’d plucked the thought right from your mind. You met his eyes for the first time since he’d dropped that bomb. The guilt, all of it, was there — clear and raw. You didn’t need to say a word.

He sighed, stepping closer, until his body was just a breath away from yours. His hand brushed against your arm, the touch warm, gentle.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice low and comforting. "You can’t save everyone. I’ve been doing this long enough to know that."

You almost laughed at how ridiculous it sounded coming from him. Dick Grayson — Nightwing, a hero, a Titan — was the one who saved people, who did the impossible. He was the one who made sure no one fell through the cracks. He was everybody's safety net.

"I’m not like you," you whispered. The words sounded bitter in your mouth. "I’m not like him. I could’ve done more, should’ve done more. I—"

"Stop," Dick interrupted, his voice firm but caring. "You did everything you could. But you can’t do it all, especially not alone."

You looked up at him, his blue eyes meeting yours, soft with understanding. There was no judgment in his gaze — only the kind of acceptance that made your chest tighten. He’d seen your worst moments. And somehow, even in those, he still cared.

He was always there, wasn’t he? Even when it felt like the whole world was crashing down around you, he was the constant you could rely on. He didn’t need to say a word — he just was.

"I’m sorry," you muttered, shaking your head. "I should’ve been better, Dick. He deserved better. He would be alive—"

Dick’s hand moved to your shoulder, his grip solid, like he was holding you together in a way no one else could.

"You don’t have to carry that on your own," he said quietly. "And you don’t have to keep punishing yourself, either. Ben wouldn’t want that."

You clenched your jaw, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. But the dam was breaking. Slowly, painfully, the tears you didn’t realize were there started to well up. And Dick — always, always there — pulled you into his arms without hesitation.

"Hey," he whispered into your hair, his voice soothing, "You’re not alone. I’m here, alright? And so is May. We’re all here."

You clung to him for a second longer than you probably should’ve, your hands gripping the back of his shirt like it was a lifeline. Maybe it was. You hadn’t realized how badly you needed this. You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your forehead into his shoulder, trying to swallow the emotion threatening to spill over.

Eventually, you pulled back, just a little, blinking away the tears. Your chest felt lighter, like the weight of the years had shifted just a little.

"Thanks," you said, voice thick. "I really needed that."

Dick’s thumb brushed carefully along your jaw, grounding you. You stared up at him, the breath catching in your chest, and for a long moment, he just looked at you — like he was memorizing you, seeing every crack, every bruise, and not turning away.

Then, without a word, he leaned in and pressed a soft, steady kiss to your forehead. Just like many others he gave you in these past twelve years. He lingered there, letting the touch say all the things neither of you could voice out loud.

When he finally pulled back, he dropped another kiss, featherlight, to the tip of your nose — the smallest, softest thing — and it broke something inside you in the best way. It wasn’t romantic, not in the big, sweeping way movies liked to show. It was better. It was pure, steady, real. The kind of love that had nothing to prove and nowhere to go. It just was.

You closed your eyes for a second, breathing him in — the faint smell of his cologne, the leather of his jacket, the clean sweat of someone who lived moving, fighting, surviving. When you opened your eyes again, he was still there, hands steady, smile small and genuine.

"You’re such an ugly crier, Webs," Dick said, voice full of teasing warmth as he wiped your cheeks with his thumbs. "Is that snot? Seriously?"

You let out a wet, broken laugh. "Fuck off — my uncle died, you asshole."

"I know, I know," he said, his grin tugging at the corner of his mouth even as his eyes stayed soft, careful. He cupped your face between his hands like you were something fragile and precious, his thumbs brushing away the tears and — yeah, maybe a little snot too. "You’re allowed to cry. Even if you do it… extremely unattractively."

You hiccupped a miserable sound and buried your face in his shoulder. Dick just laughed under his breath and tucked you closer, like he could shield you from the whole damn world if you let him.

"You’re the worst," you muttered thickly into his neck.

For a minute, you just breathed together. No words. No expectations. Then you heard the familiar shuffle of footsteps and Aunt May’s voice coming from the kitchen doorway.

"Well, isn’t this the cutest thing I’ve seen all week."

You jerked upright, immediately wiping your face. Dick just threw an arm lazily around your shoulders, pulling you into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Hey, May," he said brightly, like you weren’t two seconds away from crumbling.

Aunt May just smiled knowingly, walking over to kiss your temple and then ruffle Dick’s hair, making him squawk in protest. "Always good to see you, Richard. But next time, you know, call first".

"Yes, ma’am," he grumbled, fixing his hair like some offended cat.

"Come on, you two," she said, already turning back toward the kitchen. "There’s leftovers from dinner. You can eat and then help me serving lunch. We have new people here needing help and Miles is really anxious about meeting your friend".

Ah, Miles. He's a great kid and hero. Dick's probably gonna like him. Dick squeezed your shoulder gently. "Race you to the table, ugly crier."

You elbowed him hard in the ribs, but you were laughing. Really laughing. And just like that, the world didn’t feel as heavy and horrible.

Later that day, standing in front of Uncle Ben’s grave, the city felt quieter than usual. Maybe it was just the way your heart was beating — slow, heavy, a little cracked around the edges. You stared at the headstone until the words blurred, the lump in your throat too thick to swallow.

Without a word, Dick stepped closer and pulled you against his side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. His fingers found yours easily, lacing them together like they belonged there, like they always had. He squeezed your hand — firm, steady — and then, without any hesitation, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

It was so soft it made your eyes sting all over again.

You leaned into him, letting his strength anchor you, feeling his heartbeat steady against your side. The sun dipped lower, the air turning cooler, but neither of you moved.

You could always hear his heartbeat, even he wasn't in the same room as you. Nice part of having powers.

Dick didn’t rush you. He didn’t tell you it was time to go, or that you had to be strong, or that Ben was in a better place. He just stayed — solid and silent and sure — holding you like you were the most important thing in the world.

He spent the whole evening there with you, never once letting go of your hand. May was in front of you, mourning in her own way. Silent.

When the city lights finally started to blink on in the distance, you turned your face into his shoulder and whispered, voice cracking, "Thank you."

Dick just squeezed your hand tighter, pressing another kiss to your hairline.

"Always, Webs," he murmured against your hair. "Always." like they belonged there, like they always had.

©cybergoth1, 2025

#fucckkkk so good #[ 🩷 ] fic rec #! dick grayson

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b4tboys · 3 months ago

Note

hihi love your work, im wondering if youre down to write abt uni meet cute with dick; the way im thinking of it is thru either a dating app (like tinder u, which btw makes me so insanely uncomfortable bcs almost all of the content is filmed at my uni lmao) or some mutual club...?

Your choice on if hes frat or some other kind of student idm whatever but i look forward to seeing whatchu think abt it :)

Crush and Swipe

Warnings: Some language; I went a little over board Sorri!

A/N: OMG THIS IS SO CUTE!!! I only say this because I did meet my boyfriend on bumble when I was about to start Uni😭 I think I might do it that way 👀

"Come on! It’s Richard Grayson! He’s got to be on there," your best friend Rachel insisted, her voice brimming with certainty. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, though your heart betrayed you with a flutter. You had a massive crush on the campus heartthrob, Dick Grayson. Sure, beauty might only be skin deep, but Dick had so much more going for him.

He wasn’t just attractive—he was brilliant, consistently ranking among the top students in his class. As a star on the gymnastics team, his athleticism was nothing short of mesmerizing. But what truly made you fall head over heels was his kindness. Dick Grayson wasn’t just a pretty face; he was the kind of person who made the world feel a little brighter.

You’d only had one real interaction with him, but it was enough to leave an impression—a dangerous impression. It happened when you’d accidentally collided with him, spilling your drink all over yourself—and, unfortunately, a little on him too. While your face flushed red with embarrassment, Dick had barely seemed to notice the mess on his own clothes. His concern had been entirely for you.

“I’m so sorry,” he had said, even though it was clearly your fault. The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten, and before you knew it, he was offering you a spare shirt from his gym bag. The plain grey tee was soft and simple, but the moment you pulled it on, you caught a hint of his cologne. The subtle, intoxicating scent sent your stomach flipping in ways you couldn’t explain. You knew then and there—you were hopelessly trapped.

When Rachel discovered your little crush, it was as if you’d handed her a winning lottery ticket. She was convinced you could snag a date with him, her confidence almost overwhelming. “Come on, he’s Dick Grayson! He’ll say yes in a heartbeat,” she’d declared with maddening enthusiasm. But you weren’t buying it.

“He’s going to reject me before I even finish the sentence,” you insisted, trying to temper her wild optimism with a healthy dose of your own doubt. After all, he was Richard Grayson—campus heartthrob, class ace, gymnastics team star—and you were just…well, you.

Rachel, he probably has a girlfriend…maybe even multiple! I don’t know!" you groaned, letting yourself collapse dramatically onto your back. Your phone slipped from your hand, landing beside you with a soft thud.

"Girl, just make the account and find out," Rachel said, undeterred. She snatched up your phone and held it in front of your face, her grin practically glowing with mischief. "Besides, if Grayson doesn’t work out, there are plenty of other hot guys on here." She punctuated her pitch with a wink, clearly pleased with her own logic.

You stared at the screen, your profile ready and waiting. All it would take was one tap—just one—and you’d be in. The forum, the possibilities, the potential embarrassment…it was all right there. With a grumble, you snatched your phone back, muttering under your breath.

The screen glowed yellow as you were warmly welcomed onto the dating platform. You performed some test swipes, recognizing familiar faces you had encountered on campus. While swiping back, you received a few matches, but most were obnoxious or frat boys, which wasn’t exactly your preference. Until either fate intervened or the devil’s influence reached you, you continued swiping, and then, to your astonishment, you found none other than Dick Grayson. You couldn’t help but wonder if your heart was pounding from a mix of nerves and excitement.

“There’s no way….” You mumbled slightly

“You found him?! Girl, swipe on him right now!!” Rachel nearly snatched the phone from your hands, eager to help you out.

“What?! No! For all I know it could be a fake account and just embarrass myself!” I couldn't bring myself to do such a simply action. One that could either bless me or damn me.

"Come on aren't you just a little curious?" she asked making a pinching motion "This is your chance to know if you have a shot! RIght?"

"Ugh..." you groan putting a pillow over your face. Your heart thumped with excitement and nerves. Lifting your arm your raise your phone

"Here you do--" she took it from your grasp before your could even finish

Rachel shrieked, “Swipe!!” and your finger barely grazed the screen before she snatched the phone out of your hand and did it herself. “There. Done. You're welcome,” she said smugly, tossing the phone back like it wasn’t now a live grenade in your possession.

You scrambled to look, heart hammering—and froze.

It was a match.

“…oh my god.”

“OH MY GOD,” Rachel echoed, clapping her hands like this was the finale of some dating show she was personally invested in.

“No—no no no, what do I do?!” You sat up, clutching your phone like it could explode. “Do I message him? Do I wait? What if he unmatched already?!”

Rachel snorted. “Please. He matched instantly. That boy has been waiting for this moment his whole life.”

You were about to reply when your phone buzzed.

Dick Grayson: So… do you always spill coffee on people to get their attention, or am I just special?

You stared at the message like it was written in an ancient language.

“He messaged. He actually messaged,” you whispered, holding the phone like it might vanish.

Rachel practically dove across the bed. “Let me see.”

You reluctantly handed it over, and she read it aloud, grinning. “‘Do you always spill coffee on people to get their attention, or am I just special?’ Okay, that’s smooth. That’s dangerous-level smooth.”

You groaned, covering your face. “What am I even supposed to say to that?! Ugh I can't believe he knows me because of that!”

Rachel didn’t hesitate. “You say something flirty back. Fun, a little teasing. He opened the door, now walk through it.”

You peeked at her through your fingers. “…Like what?”

She smirked and started typing before you could stop her:

You: Only the cute ones. Consider yourself honored 😉

You yelped. “Rachel!!”

“Trust me,” she said, tapping send with zero remorse. “If he doesn’t flirt back after that, he’s not worth it.”

Your phone buzzed barely a second later.

Dick Grayson: Honored and intrigued. Should I be worried about more surprise coffee attacks, or is that a one-time thing?

Rachel squealed. “He’s into it! He’s so into it! He's SO into you!”

You, meanwhile, were trying not to combust. You were flattered he seemed to want to speak with you, but at the same time what if it was all a joke? Just a pass time for him? Someone like him had millions of swipes a day

“Rach we don’t know that, he could be leading me on for all I know,” there was another ping after my comment.

Dick Grayson: I’m not really the “lead people on” type. I just like people who surprise me. Like rogue coffee missions. Or bold texts. 😉

Rachel dramatically threw herself across your bed, clutching your pillow like it was the only thing grounding her to the earth. “If you don’t marry this man, I will.”

You stared at your screen, thumbs hovering. “What do I even say to that?”

“Um, thank you, handsome stranger, I accept your love and devotion? Or maybe, I’m free Friday night?” she offered, grinning way too wide.

Your brain had fully short-circuited. He wasn’t just being polite—he was engaging. He was flirting. He was interested.

“…Okay,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her, before typing carefully:

You: If you like surprises, I might have a few more up my sleeve. Hope you’re good at keeping up.

You hit send before your anxiety could rip it away.

Rachel gasped. “OH. You’re getting bold. That’s what I like to see.”

Your phone buzzed again almost instantly.

Dick Grayson: Bring it on. I’m good at handling surprises. And I’d really like to see you again. Are you free this Friday at 3?

OH. LORD. You were on the verge of panicking! He's asking to see you on Friday! Your hands shake from the anxiety and anticipation, your heart was leaping and your stomach was in a knot from the excitement!

Your fingers hovered over your phone, frozen. What were you even supposed to say? Cool. Casual. Not like you’d imagined talking to him a hundred different ways—only for all those fake scenarios to crumble in the face of actual reality.

You: Friday at 3 works for me. You better brace yourself—my surprises might be a little too much for you.

It was bold. For you, anyway. Flirty without sounding too desperate. At least, you hoped. He replied instantly again, like he was waiting.

Dick Grayson: I like a challenge. I’ll send you the details. Dress comfortably—no spoilers, but I’ve got something fun planned.

You set the phone down like it was radioactive, face burning. “Comfortably?” you muttered to yourself. “What kind of surprise is that supposed to be?”

Rachel let out a squeal from across the room. “Are you kidding me?! You’re going out with Dick Grayson?! You matched with him on an app and now you’re going on a date?!”

“I don’t even know how it happened,” you confessed, flopping back on your bed. “It was like… fate or a glitch in the system. Either way, I swiped right as a joke, and then boom—there he was.”

Rachel flopped beside you, grinning like the cat who got the cream. “Girl. Universe said, ‘Let’s give her a win.’ Don’t question it. Just run with it.”

You tried to breathe. You really did. But your chest felt tight, your thoughts racing. You liked him—really liked him—and now you had three days to somehow not spiral into full-blown panic.

And the worst part?

You were already halfway there. The week had sped up, and before you knew it, Friday arrived. To make matters worse, you had been spending your free moments texting Dick back. You had even transitioned from Bumble messaging to regular texting. You had agreed to meet in front of the library at 3 p.m. since you both had class. You wore something comfortable yet cute—simple jeans, a tank top, and a cardigan. You pushed your hair out of your face with a headband and even asked Rachel to help you with some soft makeup.

You checked your phone for the fifth time in two minutes. 2:47 p.m.

Not that you were counting… except you absolutely were. Every buzz made your stomach flutter, and when a message from Dick popped up—“Almost there. Try not to fall in love before I get there 😉”—you snorted before immediately panicking about how to respond.

You stared at the screen, thumbs hovering, before sending back a weak “No promises.” Too much? Not enough? Whatever. He was probably already around the corner anyway.

Rachel, who had walked halfway with you before peeling off toward the student center, had given you one last dramatic wave and whispered, “If he looks nothing like his pics, blink twice and I’ll fake a family emergency.”

Classic Rachel. You reached the library steps just as someone called out,

“Hey, Bumble girl.” You froze.

And then your eyes landed on him—leaning casually against a pillar, grinning like he already knew all your secrets. Dark hair slightly messy, that stupidly pretty face framed by golden sunlight like he was in some indie romance movie. His eyes flicked down to take you in, and he gave a low whistle.

“Wow,” he said, stepping closer. “If I knew you were this cute, I would’ve ditched class.”

You blinked. “That’s a terrible academic decision.”

“Yeah, but I think I’d learn more from you anyway.”

You tried not to smile. You failed and couldn't help but look to the side and avoid eye contact.

"Come on, I rented a study room for us to use," he said, holding the door open with a playful bow. The gesture was so over-the-top that you couldn’t help but giggle, thanking him in return with an equally exaggerated curtsy. He flashed you that signature grin, the kind that made your heart skip in ways you tried to ignore.

The study room was simple—just a table, a few chairs, and a whiteboard mounted on the wall. Yet tonight, it felt like a stage, its spotlight falling solely on you and Richard Grayson. The realization hit you like a lightning bolt: two hours. Just the two of you. Alone. Oh god.

He casually slipped into the chair Next to you, pulling his notebook and pens from his bag with effortless grace. Meanwhile, you scrambled to compose yourself, though your fingers betrayed you, fumbling with the cap of your highlighter. English class had brought you together—specifically, the ridiculously long poem assigned yesterday. And as much as you dreaded deciphering its maze-like verses, sitting here with him almost made it bearable.

Your eyes flitted to his face as he read aloud the poem’s opening lines, his voice steady and rich with thought. The way he spoke hinted at a deeper intelligence, a sharper curiosity beneath his easygoing demeanor. For a moment, you wondered if he noticed your glances. Or worse, if he could hear the rapid drumming of your heartbeat echoing in the quiet room.

“Okay,” he said, leaning over your notebook. “Why do your notes look like actual art? Do you use a ruler for this?”

“I just... like making things neat.”

“That’s hot.”

You coughed, flustered. “Highlight the reading. Don’t highlight me.”

He laughed, reaching over to grab a highlighter from your side of the table.

You both reached at the same time.

Your fingers met—skin on skin, a brush of warmth. Neither of you pulled away.

Your eyes flicked up at the same time, meeting his. The room felt smaller suddenly. Quieter. Your breath hitched.

He didn’t say anything right away, just looked at you with something unreadable but intense. Then, his voice dropped slightly, softer now.

“Sorry,” he murmured, though he didn’t actually move his hand yet.

You shook your head, whispering, “It’s okay,” but your heart was hammering in your chest.

He finally let go, letting you take the highlighter. But the air between you had shifted—charged now, like a match had been lit but not struck.

Neither of you said much for the next minute, but your hands stayed closer than before. Almost like you were waiting to reach again.

Your fingers finally pulled away from his, the highlighter now sitting uselessly in your hand. But your focus was shot. All you could feel was the ghost of his touch still tingling along your skin.

Dick didn’t move much, just shifted slightly in his seat—his arm still resting near yours, his body turned just enough to face you more directly. He wasn’t smirking anymore. He was watching you.

You tried to shake it off, flipping back to your notes. “We should, um… get through at least one page before we completely give up, right?”

“Right,” he said, but his voice was quiet. He hadn’t looked away.

You glanced back at him, meaning to say something else, something teasing to break the weird silence—but your words died on your tongue. He was already closer than you realized, his eyes flicking from your lips back up to your eyes. Slowly. Purposefully.

Your breath caught. His leaned in just a little, enough to close the space between you by inches. His hand grazed yours again, like he was asking permission without words.

Your heart was thundering. You didn’t move away.

And then—

Knock knock.

You both jumped.

Someone was at the door, peeking through the glass window, holding up a phone. “Hey, sorry—study room’s reserved at four!”

Dick blinked, then looked at the clock. “Seriously?”

You laughed, a little breathless, tucking your hair behind your ear to hide how flustered you were. “Guess time flies when you’re… barely studying.”

He grinned at that, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. But uh… can I admit something?”

You looked up, still caught in the buzz of what almost happened. “What?”

“I wasn’t actually planning to study.”

You snorted. “No kidding.”

He held the door open for you again as you both stepped into the hallway. “But I was planning to kiss you.”