#dc x reader

How the fuck did Vanessa cheat on this man?

You’d known Dick ever since he and Vanessa were in the early stages of dating around two years ago, and you hated to admit it, but he was one objectively sexy man. Who was sat there with a cappuccino in a local Blüdhaven coffee shop, looking the most tortured you’d ever seen him, over a girl who cheated, nonetheless.

You sipped your latte. “You look like shit, Dick.” Your voice was softer than intended. Maybe a portion of you felt bad. “What’re you thinking?”

He scrubbed his face. “I’m sorry, I— I didn’t mean to drag you out here to sit in silence, I’m just… confused. How could she— did I do something?”

You sat forward in your seat, raising an eyebrow, sighing. “Really?” You clicked your tongue noncommittally. “You’re gonna blame yourself for this? Dick, you got her expensive jewellery to ask her to be your girlfriend, you were pretty fucking perfect.” He’d done the research. Seen what colour jewellery she wore, if she preferred gold or silver, her birthstone, what cut, how long, and got it custom made. If he did anything wrong, you’d be surprised. “It’s her fault.”

He looked sceptical. He even let out a disbelieving scoff, like you were talking bullshit. “You don’t seem heartbroken. Like, at all.”

You shrugged, stirring your latte with a wooden stick. “If she can take him, she can have him. Carter couldn’t do anything without his mother’s approval anyway.”

His nose wrinkled. “Yikes. That sounds rough.”

"Why'd you offer to buy me coffee anyway?" His text had come out of nowhere, but he probably had his reasons. One or two at least.

His sigh was of defeat as he rubbed a sugar packet between his fingers, rubbing the back of his neck with another hand. “I just— you got caught up in my ex-girlfriend’s shit, and it felt unfair.”

You gestured to him. “You got caught up in my ex best friend and my ex-boyfriend’s shit, so arguably, I should be paying for this.”

“But I already paid.”

“So let’s go out for a drink sometime.” You shrugged. “I wanted to get wasted and forget about this anyway, might as well take you with me.”

His grin was blinding, the kind of thing Vanessa used to giggle about when she first met him. “A little too soon to go out for drinks, huh?”

“It’s a proposition.” You laughed, shrugging. “Drinks on me. Let’s go tomorrow.”

Dick had been used to fancy hotel bars, at least whenever Bruce had thrown parties with bars included. The ones where the bartenders wore suits and ties with top shelf liqueurs.

He felt a sort of thrill when you dragged him into a bar on the corner of 6th, one with dim, flickering warm lights that clashed with blue and purple ones. The bartender wore plaid, spoke in a thick Boston accent, had an unkempt five-o’clock shadow. The bar top was wooden and chipped, and on the makeshift dance floor were plenty of drunk people grinding on each other.

“Oh, this is amazing,” He couldn’t help but smile widely, turning to you. “There are places like this in Gotham?”

“Yes, Mr Trust Fund— Scott!” You flagged down the bartender. “Can we get a round of shot roulette?”

“Sure, sweetheart.” Scott flashed you a smile, wiping down a glass before heading to set up the shot roulette.

Dick turned to you, leaning on the bar slightly, tracing the wood grain with his finger. “So, you come here often?”

You perched yourself on a barstool, prompting him to do the same. Something that sounded like 50 Cent was playing on the speakers in the corners, bass thrumming in the back of your mind. “Oh, all the time. Best place in Gotham.” The shots were slid in front of you, and you both grabbed the glass and chucked it back, both of you humming. “Huh.”

“Kind of… fruity.” He mused, staring at the shot glass, putting it down. He glanced at you through his stupidly long and pretty lashes, clearing his throat. “How did you find out that… never mind.”

You chased the alcohol down with water. “I got a photo of a girl fucking Carter.” You scoffed lightly. “I saw a tattoo on her upper thigh that I’d paid for when we were in college.”

He ran a hand through his hair, huffing. “Fuck, shit, I’m so sorry— she just came clean to me. Maybe after you found out.”

“It’s not your fault.” You said lightly, waving your hand. “It’s theirs. They couldn’t keep it in their pants, Vanessa had a great, hot guy and she lost him, so…”

He couldn’t help his soft smile. “You’re gorgeous too, you know. Carter doesn’t know what he lost.” His eyes flicked down, to your lips, then to a barely working lightbulb like a moth would. But you caught it.

Your teeth snagged your bottom lip.

Vanessa made a huge mistake.

Dick’s hand was firmly on your jaw, leaned over the centre console of his Bentley so his lips could slot easily against yours. Your hand was carding into the floppy strands of his hair, swallowing each other’s heavy breaths. His cologne was deliciously clouding your senses, the hand not on your jaw reaching behind you to grab at your ass, squeezing, teasing your bottom lip with his warm tongue. His mouth separated from yours to burn down your neck, laving your pulse, pressure on your jaw gone in favour of tugging your shirt down over one shoulder to palm your tits over your bra.

“Your apartment is,” You paused to moan quietly, tugging his hair as a keep going, “literally right there. We can — fuck — get comfy.”

He nodded into your neck, brushing your skin with his lips one more time before looking you in the eye. “Good idea.”

You couldn’t remember how you actually got into his apartment, but you did remember stripping him of his clothes and pushing him down onto his bed, unclasping your bra. He hummed, biting his lip. “I have an idea.”

“I’m all ears.” You breathed, your breathing stuttering as you ground your panties-covered pussy over his boxers-covered cock.

His hand slid over the back of your neck, encouraging you closer. “Let’s send them a photo,” He murmured, pecking your lips, his nose rubbing against yours. “You know. Revenge.”

Your hand was already scrambling for your phone, switching to selfie mode just as he smashed his lips to yours, your thumb hitting the circular button and taking the photo. “Good?”

“Yeah, fuck, that’s hot,” He nodded, tugging you so he could kiss you, middle finger reaching down to rub at your entrance over your panties. “You’re soaked, shit, sweetheart,” He reached up and tugged, sliding down the lace covering your pussy with his pointer until they slipped off, lazily chucking your panties into the corner of his room. “C’mere.” He grabbed your hips and pulled you till your pussy was right above his mouth.

Wait what— fuck.

His mouth wrapped around your clit as two fingers pushed into your cunt, practically sucking his fingers in, dear God. Your head fell back, mouth dropping open as a surprised moan left you, hand shooting to grip his hair. He groaned, deep in his throat, other hand pressing on the small of your back to encourage you to grind your clit on his tongue that was circling and pressing on your clit.

“O—Oh, Dick—”

“Yeah, that’s right, give it to me, baby.” He moaned, yanking his fingers out, and just before you could protest at the loss of anything filling your aching pussy, he thrusted his tongue into you, flicking at your clit with his thumb, his nose bumping occasionally against you. The taste of you on his tongue made him want to sing your praises, but it came out muffled, the vibrations making your hips twitch and eyes roll back.

Repeated cries of “yes” punctuated by your broken moans fuelled his ego and his already painfully hard dick. With your walls fluttering around his tongue fucking into you, he’d say you were fairly close.

A lot of things were going through your head. Like how this was a stellar pussy eating. How Carter refused to let any part of his face touch your vagina. How Dick was so willing and drinking your arousal up like it was the gods’ nectar.

You were coming on his tongue soon enough, pulling at his hair to make him moan and lap at your cunt faster, slicking his lips and chin.

A minute later, he was still kitten licking you clean, and as much as the stimulation made you stroke his hair and whisper praise, you needed to get a move on. So you pulled yourself away from his mouth, pulling down his boxers while he whined and pawed at your hips to try and bring you back.

“M’ not done— fuuuuck,” His head dropped back into the pillows, giving way for the weight, as you sank down onto his waiting cock. Your warm walls wrapping around him, making his head spin before he snapped into reality. His hands took hold of your hips again, helping you move on him, thumbs kneading your skin as you dragged up and down his dick.

He hadn’t felt like this before. Your lips were on his neck, leaving kiss prints on his skin, from his chest to his jaw and around his lips. Raising your phone and clicking a photo of his fucked-out grin as you rode him, thumb hovering over send to Vanessa.

“You ok with this?” Your voice was uncharacteristically soft, circumstantially breathy, your nails raking down his abs and making him shiver.

He grabbed the phone, pressed send himself, propping himself up so he could take one of your tits into his mouth, sucking to stifle his shamelessly loud moans. Wasn’t working. “Mhm— ride my fucking dick, gorgeous,” He gasped between switching to your other tit, laving over your skin with his tongue. “Just like that, so perfect, honey.”

His mouth running away with him told you he was close, his thumb reaching to rub circles on your clit propelled you that much further, but you refused to come twice before he had even once, so you pulled his head away from your tits, bit his earlobe and sucked a mark behind his ear.

He shuddered and groaned your name, hot come spilling into you — morning after pill, here we come — and the twitch of his cock sent you straight after him, his mouth slamming sloppy into yours, gripping the back of his neck while his tongue slid over your lower lip and his lips following straight after.

You milked him for all he had, until you were both panting and he was staring up at you through his lashes like he wanted to fuck you on all fours. “Wanna go again?”

“We’ve got time.”

carter -> you carter : c'mon, baby, let's talk about it you know i love you she didn't mean anything i swear i can't live without you sweets you : she's busy. carter : doing what???? who is this ??? you : fucking me. it's dick, btw ;) carter : vanessa's ex? you piece of shit give the phone back to her [ blocked ]

vanessa -> dick vanessa : you're really gonna throw years away for that bitch ?you're mine i want you back let's talk about this i miss you so bad we can go to couples counselling, work on our problems together you weren't really fulfilling my needs, i had to look out for myself dick : for a guy who wasn't 'fulfilling your needs' nessie he sure was fulfilling mine vanessa : youre such a bitch to think you were my best friend fucking my EX ??? could you go any lower ?? dick : *you're vanessa : UGH

Bruce Wayne, who during conversations with other guests, he keeps one hand on your lower back, thumb stroking gentle circles through your dress. It’s his way of staying connected, reassuring you he’s right there if you need an escape or just want to lean on him. When you get tired of small talk, he’ll smoothly change the subject or pull you away with a polite excuse.

Bruce Wayne, who if you’re wearing heels that start to hurt, he notices immediately. He’ll guide you to a quieter corner, kneel down discreetly, and massage your ankles or calves for a moment, completely unbothered by who might see. “You don’t have to suffer for beauty,” he’ll whisper, kissing your knee before standing back up.

Bruce Wayne, who when photographers ask for pictures, he always pulls you close, angling his body to shield you slightly from the flashes. He makes sure your dress is sitting perfectly, tucking a stray hair behind your ear or adjusting your necklace, treating you like the most precious thing in the room.

Bruce Wayne, who can tell when the gala gets too overwhelming — loud music, crowded rooms, flashing cameras — he senses it before you say anything. He’ll wrap an arm around your waist and guide you to a private balcony or side room, holding you close until you’re ready to go back. “We can leave anytime,” he’ll murmur. “You come first.”

Bruce Wayne, who at dinner, he makes sure your plate has everything you like and nothing you don’t. He’ll quietly switch glasses if the wine isn’t to your taste, or pass you the bread basket before you even reach for it. His attention is constant but never overbearing — just steady, thoughtful love.

Bruce Wayne, who when you’re dancing, he holds you like you’re made of glass — one hand on your waist, the other cradling your hand, guiding you effortlessly across the floor. He whispers compliments in your ear the whole time, telling you how beautiful you look, how proud he is to have you on his arm.

Bruce Wayne, who if your dress slips or a strap falls, he fixes it immediately, fingers gentle and quick, shielding you from view with his body. He never makes you feel embarrassed — just cared for. “I’ve got you,” he’ll say softly, kissing your shoulder once it’s fixed.

Bruce Wayne, who after the gala, when you're both exhausted in the car ride home, he pulls you into his lap, letting you rest your head on his chest. He'll manage your feet if your heels hurt, kiss your temples, and tell you how much he loved having you by his side. "You make every night better," he whispers.

Bruce Wayne, who even when you're not at galas, the habits carries over. he checks your outfit before you leave the house, makes sure you're warm enough, carries your bag without being asked. its never showy - just quiet, consistent love. you're always his priority.

Bruce Wayne, who on nights when you feel insecure about your dress or your appearance, he pulls you close and reminds you how stunning you are - not because of the clothes, but because you're you. "you could wear a paper bag and I'd still think you're the most beautiful woman in the room. no, the world."

Bruce Wayne, who keeps a small photo of you in his wallet. ones from a previous gala where you looked especially radiant. when he's stressed during the day, he looks at it and remembers why he fights so hard. you are his reason.

Bruce Wayne, who at the end of evert night, when the dress comes off and you're both in bed, he holds you like you're the only thing that mayors. "thank you for being mine," he'll whisper against your hair. "I don't deserve you. but I'll spend every day trying to."

Dick Grayson

Recently, Dick has been waking up to your newest hobby. 

Yoga.

Normally, he wouldn't be too distracted by it, but some mornings you were only wearing some very loose shorts. Nothing underneath.

And whenever you did that, greeting him with the downward facing dog or whatever, his mornings suddenly got very hard.

He sighs, he would not be taking his eyes off you. How could he? 

"Babe, if you come over here, I can show you a different way to get your morning stretch in." He winks at you.

You scoff.

"To think you could go one morning without being a perv." You get up and roll the yoga mat up, then head towards the bathroom, shaking your head in disbelieve.

Jason Todd

He groans, puling the blanket over his face and mentally telling himself to calm the fuck down.

This has to be some sort of torture method.

When he woken up five minutes ago, sun gently warming his face, he saw you on the small balcony of your bedroom. Splayed out on the ground, ass up and very loose shorts slipping to the side, exposing basically everything. 

Hell, he had to do something. Not only for his sanity, but also because the neighbors definitely didn't need that view.

No, thats it.

He drags himself out of bed and stomps to the glass door, opens it and with a very growly voice tells you to get in.

"No?" you say, on all fours now, arching your back and face to the sky.

Tim Drake

"What are you doing?"

You are face down, hips up on your yoga mat. Your arms stretched to the front, then your body smoothly moves onto all fours. 

"I don´t know what you mean?" You say, eyes close and focused on your breathing.

"You're exposing yourself while im trying to concentrate." A pout appears on his face. You continue doing your movements. "Your making this impossible."

 You smile sweetly. "Its my evening wind down. Because Im going to sleep soon, like a normal person. You should try it sometimes."

Tim swears hes not a dick-led person, but watching you move, your sleep shorts falling to the side or your shirt rolling up, gets him to bed early for once.

It was the middle of the night. The air wasn’t cool and breezy like it was in your last city, no, it was damp and muggy. A sheen of sweat had built up on your forehead and you tried desperately to ignore how Nightwing’s eyes followed the drop of sweat running down your neck. Ever the flirt. You were tired, hungry, and running on two cups of cheap coffee. The latest case was a classic, some amateur cartel smuggling stuff they shouldn’t be at the docks of Bludhaven. Easy and simple enough one would think, if it wasn’t for the fact that this has been a lead you’ve been following for months.

The legendary Penguin, yes, The Penguin from Gotham was trying to spread his roots into various surrounding cities. It started off small, but the operation was steadily growing bigger and bigger. Soon, the city may fall into his mangy clutches, and that was something you couldn’t afford nor would allow. Not in your precious city.

Unfortunately for you, Bludhaven’s new resident was making it much more difficult than you would have liked.

“For what? Knocking out my suspects for the next who knows how long,” you scoffed, staring down at the numerous unconscious bodies before you. “I wanted to question them first thing on the scene.”

Nightwing’s smile dropped into an exaggerated wince, and he followed your line of sight. “I mean, I’m sure I can get one of them up and going in no time.” He kneeled down, grabbing the shoulder of the body on top of the pile and aggressively shaking them. “Hey, buddy! Wakey wakey!”

You rolled your eyes with a huff, digging in your long coat for your latest stress reliever. It took a hot second, but eventually your hands snatched up a small, well loved box. You pulled it out, popped it open, and picked out a fresh cigarette. The box returned to your pocket and in exchange you pulled out an old lighter, scuffed and all, but hey it still worked. You put the cigarette in its rightful spot between your lips and cupped a hand around it, impatiently getting to work on firing up the lighter.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Nightwing piped, tilting his head.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you muttered, eyebrows scrunching in frustration. No matter how many times you flicked it the lighter just wouldn’t cooperate and your poor thumb was suffering the consequences. “We’re not exactly friends.”

Finally, a small flame flickered out with a hiss and you lit the stick. You nearly moaned at the sensation of hot smoke filling your lungs, and you tilted your head back to blow it all out.

“Ouch,” he drawled, drawing himself up to full height with a small groan.

Adult, male, possibly in his thirties?

Your mind got to work on assessing the man before you, running your eyes up and down his figure. You’ve done it a hundred times before in a desperate attempt to figure out the man before you. Just who exactly was under the mask? The one that haunted you even in your dreams.

Clearly he worked out if the toned muscles straining against his suit said anything. In all areas, you realized. Arms, legs, thighs…

“My eyes are up here sweetheart,” The very man you were ogling said, two fingers pointing at his own. You quickly inhaled and the nicotine went down the wrong pipe, causing you to hysterically cough with red hot cheeks. You desperately attempted to ignore the deep chuckle you heard, and only came back to reality when your cigarette was plucked from in between your fingers. “Enough of that. These things can kill you, you know?”

You scoffed, awkwardly clearing your throat after. “Didn’t know you were as certified in medicine as you are with the law.”

Nightwing laughed once more, opening his mouth to speak when a hand clapped you on the shoulder. You jumped with a swear, swatting your laughing partner in the shoulder. “Jesus, Dave! How many times have I told you to knock that off?”

“Now is that any way to treat your comrade in front of our resident celebrity?” Dave chuckled, brushing his blonde hair back with his other hand and flashing Nightwing a grin.

Dave, your assigned partner, was a lot more fond of the vigilante than you were. You remembered all the headaches you got from just how much the blonde sang the other praises back at the station. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he had a puppy crush on the hero.

Nightwing smiled back, though you noted that it was somewhat strained. The thought caused you to raise an eyebrow. The man in black and blue loved attention from what you could remember, basking in the crowds that surrounded him in the daylight hours. So what made him so shy now? “You flatter me, sir. It’s all simply in a day’s work.”

Dave beamed at the attention. “And we are forever grateful for it. Now, if you don’t mind, me and my partner need to get back to the station.” He threw his arm around you, turning his head to you and ignoring the burning stare at the side of his head. “Clean-up crew just arrived. We just need to head back to the station for a quick statement and then we can handle the rest in the morning.”

“Thank god,” you muttered, and without looking back at Nightwing you turned and walked back to your cruiser with your partner beside you, his arm still wrapped around you.

. . .

Dick couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he realized he loved you.

Maybe it was when he first started his activities in Bludhaven as Nightwing. The first night he ran into you he could remember the loud sigh of irritation you let out after evaluating him, clearly not a fan like he would have thought. Not to toot his own horn or anything…

It was just nice to not be thrown at for once, his reputation following him from one grim city to the next. He was used to endless praise and claims that he could do no wrong, people frothing at the mouth not just for Nightwing but the esteemed Richard John Grayson, adopted son of the legendary Bruce Wayne.

Or maybe he realized when he first met out outside of his persona. His first day on the police force, fresh out of the academy and in desperate need of his first paycheck for rent (he refused to rely on Bruce’s money once he moved out, no matter how much it pained him to do so…). His supervisor, an older man named Patrick, was giving him a tour of the station.

It wasn’t until he heard yelling from across the room that he first laid eyes on you outside of his alter ego. You were furious, absolutely furious from what he could tell. Your victim? A poor newbie, just like him, sitting down in front of you with her hands folded in her lap and head tilted down in shame.

“-have any idea what could have happened!” He caught, pausing in his stroll and focussing all his attention on you. “What if he didn’t miss? What if our robber wasn’t such a shit shot and the bullet hit you?”

“I-I just,” the woman mumbled, twiddling her thumbs and shying back from you. “I just thought that it would be better if it was me who got hit instead of you!”

If you were furious before, you were absolutely hysterical now. “Listen here! My life is no more important than yours. Got it? What you did wasn’t brave, it was stupid. You have a family to get back home to. People who need you outside of these walls. You can’t be there for them if you’re dead on the street you hear me?”

The woman before you mumbled something, and upon you yelling at her to repeat finally lifted her head up and firmly said, “I understand!”

You nodded, taking a deep breath and stepping back. “Good, good. From here on out I don’t ever want to see you pull some shit like that again, okay? Everyone’s life matters here, I don’t care about you being brave. I care if you get back home.”

Despite being teary eyed, the woman gave you a watery smile as she nodded. It was clear she was touched by how much a superior seemed to care.

Said superior, upon realizing that everyone in the main office was staring, snapped. “Get back to work!”

As if she was talking to him personally Dick snapped up straight, turned his head, and continued following his assigned officer.

“Don’t mind them,” he said, patting Dick on the shoulder with a smile. “They look scary but they really just care too much. You’ll learn the longer you stay here.”

Dick desperately hoped so, his heart racing as he attempted to peek over his shoulder to get just another glance of you. He couldn’t. So, he decided to put his own investigative skills to work.

Detective [First Name] [Last Name], partner of Detective Dave Richards. You’ve been on the force for nearly five years, three in Star City and now two in Bludhaven. You had no partner to go back home to, but you did have a cat. The rest of your family stayed behind in Star City, but you still contacted them frequently.

He wondered if they were proud of you.

A multiple award winning investigator for the good work you did.

An exemplary member of the Bludhaven Police Force…but withdrawn in every social aspect of the work he quickly learned.

You hated speaking to news outlets. You were too blunt and weren’t good at sugar coating the nitty gritty details of public cases. You hated being on camera. Your smile would be just a bit too big and strained to convince anyone that it was natural. You especially hated the parties the station would throw every once in a while to ‘enforce comradery’. He could always find you in the very back corner of the main room, fidgeting with a cup of alcohol he knew you had no desire to drink.

Like now.

The party was in full swing, a celebration for another one of Penguin’s plans to sink his teeth into Bludhaven foiled. It was a group effort on everyone's part, and the chief wanted to emphasize that fact through the gathering.

Dick, personally, didn’t mind these events. Being a Wayne he’s had more than his fair share of galas and charities, this was easy compared to that.

Or, it should have been.

“You’re not subtle my boy,” Patrick muttered to him, and Dick’s gaze snapped from you to the older man with flushed cheeks.

“If you ask me I’m not being obvious enough,” Dick pouted, taking another sip from his cup. While not normally a fan of drinking he relished in the burn down his throat.

“You’re staring them down like a creep,” Patrick pointed out, watching some officers play a miserable game of charades. Half the players were too drunk to comprehend anything and the other half were chatting it up with one another instead of participating. “You need to get some guts and just walk up to em.”

“I have guts,” Dick muttered, redirecting his attention over to you. You were now flipping through your phone, paying the party and its people no mind. Most likely going through various spare care files and the like. You were a workaholic like that, never allowing your mind to fully rest.

Dick could think of a few ways to empty that mind of yours and get you to finally relax…

Patrick scoffed. “Sure, kid, sure.”

“I do! Watch, you’ll see, I’ll charm them right here, right now.”

He tilted his head back, downing the rest of his drink for liquid courage. Slight regret stewed within him when he tried walking afterwards, tilting left then right, but he didn’t care. No, all his attention was zeroed in on you. Beautiful you.

The light of your phone lit up your face in the dark corner, and even from across the room Dick could see how it accentuated your features. Your (e/c) eyes, accessorized by the dark eyebacks underneath. Your chapped lips that you had a habit of picking, but were probably still oh so soft. Physical traits that most would see as a flaw, yet Dick couldn’t help but adore.

He was half way across the room, currently trying to wobble his way around a desk, when he caught sight of his nemesis in the corner of his eye. Heading in the same direction as him.

Dave.

Fucking Dave.

Dick had no qualms against Dave, no in fact he slightly admired the man’s constant positive attitude. He was so vastly different from you in every way, his light never dimming despite the constant emotional hardships that came with the job. It was almost hard to believe that you two made such great partners.

But like the old saying goes, ‘opposites attract’...

Not if Dick had anything to do about it.

It was ridiculous. Utterly pathetic and ridiculous, this one sided beef that he had with a man who was completely oblivious to it. For crying out loud, he was pretty sure Dave didn’t know Dick existed at all!

But all was fair in love and war. And Dick was deeply in love and refused to back down.

So he picked up the pace, swerving past various paper stacked desks and ignoring multiple attempts at others trying to converse with him. He cursed his natural charisma at just how many tried, his popularity within the station showing at the wrong time. Every so often he glanced in Dave’s direction, gauging just how close the man was getting to you, and would speed up his walk in a desperate attempt to get to you first.

The distance between you both was quickly closing, and against his better judgment Dick walked faster. He was nearly jogging at this point, gaining multiple looks for it, but he couldn't care less. All that mattered was getting to you.

He was about to declare victory, only mere steps away from you when tragedy befell him. He should have known that he wasn’t that blessed, not with his history.

Dick tripped on his own foot.

Dick Grayson, an ex-flying Grayson, the renowned and agile hero Nightwing, tripped on his own foot in front of the love of his life.

All he could think on his way down was gods, any out of the dozen he’s faced, please smite me.

An exploding pain in his face was all he could register next, ranging from his forehead down to his nose and then his chin. All in sweltering pain and suffering from some minute form of rugburn.

Yeah, not his finest moment.

“Christ, are you okay?” A sweet voice asked above him, and it took Dick a minute to realize it was your sweet voice that asked him.

Unfortunately for him, all that came out when he tried to respond was a pained moan.

“Wow, you really ate it there huh, dude,” Dave’s irritating voice piped up next, before a set of arms lifted him from under his own.

The world was tilting on its axis and everything was far blurrier than it should be. Everything had a double of itself, and while Dick wouldn’t mind two of you, he knew that was bad. Even worse, there were two of Dave when the man leaned over to get a look at his face and winced. “Damn, that’s sure gonna leave a mark.”

“Way to make him feel better,” you rolled your eyes, finally pocketing your phone and looking up at Dick with sympathy. “Seriously, are you okay? We can check to see if the station nurse is anywhere around here.”

“I got him,” Patrick's voice piped up from behind him, and Dick thanked whatever god was out there that instead of smiting him, they sent a literal angel to help him. The older man’s arms took over for Dave, wrapping around his waist and throwing his arm over his shoulder. “I think it’s about time he went home anyways. He’ll have one hell of a hangover. Detectives.” Patrick gave a nod of farewell and before Dick could embarrass himself any more turned them away and walked them out to the exit.

God, Dick was such an idiot…

. . .

The next time Dick saw you was only a few days later, barely recovering from the scene he made at the party.

He did everything he could to avoid you at the station, and it seemed to work in his favor. You were still assigned on the mass Penguin case, and Dick himself was still limited to city patrol and parking tickets. Suffice to say it created the perfect schedule of avoidance for him.

On the downside, he missed you oh so much. Which is why when on his patrol as Nightwing he quite literally jumped at the chance to see you once more.

It was nearly midnight, funny how that seemed to be his ideal time to talk with you. You were just leaving the police station, shoulders sagged in exhaustion and eyes bleary. All you wanted to do was go home, shower, and snuggle with Lady Puursephone.

A familiar set of feet landing behind you, however, proved that it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Awfully late for you to be going home,” Nightwing spoke, mock sympathy pouring from him.

You rolled your eyes and refused to look back at him, continuing on your way to your apartment. You prayed that he would get the hint and go back to whatever hole he crawled out of, but when did the universe ever do what you want? Instead he jogged up beside you, arms lazily folded behind his head. Thankfully, he decided not to speak any further than that.

Bludhaven, despite its massive rise in crime as of late, was actually quite nice at night. It, like Gotham, was a city that never sleeps, but sometimes you got lucky and managed to walk home with little to no crowds to slow you down. The moon, dim as it was, fought to shine against the pollution clouding the sky and if you squinted really closely, you could just barely make out the stars in the night sky.

The two of you turned a corner, silence still encircling you, when you recognized an itch in your throat. Knowing exactly what you craved you stuck your hands in your pocket, pulling out a small box. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Nightwing scowl. 

“Why are you so into smoking now? You never did it before,” he huffed, glaring as you stuck the stick in between your lips and whipped out your lighter.

You shrugged. “Dave lent me one a few weeks ago to help me relax. Guess I just got hooked like everyone else.” Distantly, you could hear him grumble something that sounded awfully like ‘of course it was him’ and you turned to look at him inquisitively. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head and kicked a rock in his path. It reminded you of something a child would do. “It just seems like you and him are awfully close.”

“Of course we are. He’s my partner.”

“Yeah, I bet he would like to be more.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snapped, stopping and turning to look at him. You coughed slightly, still not quite used to all the pungent fumes that came with smoking.

Nightwing continued on a few more steps before he stopped, sighed, and looked at you with crossed arms. “I’m just saying I know guys. They act all friendly and act like they have your best interest at heart, when all they really want is to…you know.”

You glared at him. “No, I don’t. And even if I did it would be very unprofessional of you to suggest.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“What, so just because you’re the city’s self-proclaimed savior you have to act like mine too?”

“No! That’s not what I’m saying at all! I just…” He sighed, running his hands down his face but then wincing. “Ouch!”

Alarm bells rang throughout your body, and before you knew it you tossed your cigarette to the ground and rushed over to him. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? You idiot, why are you talking with me instead of getting treated?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he waved off, backing away from you. But you were persistent, and with every step backwards you took one forward. The two of you continued this dance until Nightwing found himself with his back to a nearby brick wall of a building. It was rough and uncomfortable against his suit, but he couldn’t help but press into it when you stopped right in front of him.

“Show me,” you demanded, and for a second he could feel his legs wobble at the authority in your voice. You were so close he could smell not just tobacco, but your natural underlying scent. He could see every lovely feature you had up close, and for a second his eyes betrayed him and flickered to your lips. When you saw him hesitate you let out a huff, grabbing his wrists and pulling them off his face with little effort. Your eyes narrowed as you scanned his face, noting the scratches and what looked to be friction burns on his face. “What even happened?”

“I, uh…” Nightwing began, looking everywhere but your eyes as red slowly began to creep into his face. He whispered something, and when you dared to move closer he finally blurted, “I tripped!”

You blinked once, twice, thrice. “You what?”

If his face wasn’t red before, it was completely beat now. “I tripped.”

You went quiet for a few moments, staring him down as if you were searching for a lie, and when you found none you finally backed up. “Moron.”

Nightwing balked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” was all you said, before resuming your walk to your apartment.

His jaw dropped, staring at your figure, before running up beside you once more. “Uh, rude! I could have done it saving someone you know! This could be a battle mark!”

“Uh-huh, and is it?”

“Well, no, but that’s not the point!”

At that you let out a small laugh, and he nearly tripped over his own feet (again) at the sound. He stared at you for a few moments, before a victorious grin overtook his face. “You laughed.”

“What,” you questioned, glancing at him with furrowed brows.

“You laughed! Just now. You never laugh!”

“I do, you just never gave me a reason to.”

“Oh, so it's my misery you find joy in.”

“Your words, not mine.”

You bickered back and forth, unaware of the time that passed as you did. You didn’t know it, but your heart felt lighter as you did. Despite the headache he’s given you so many times in the past, Nightwing was genuinely…dare you so fun to be around.

Before you knew it you arrived at the front entrance of your apartment building.

“Well, this is me,” you gestured.

Nightwing nodded. “That it is.”

Neither of you made a move, simply staring at the other. Mapping each other out, as if attempting to ingrain the other in your minds.

Eventually, though, you snapped out of your trance, turning to open the door before a final thought popped into your mind. “Oh, and be careful from now on, Grayson. Wouldn’t want others catching onto you.”

And with that you shut the door in his face, ignoring the wide eye stare burning into your back.