#dcu reader

So technically, very technically (grasping at straws, really), we didn’t really broke up. I know that’s probably my hurt ass trying to rationalize it in some way, but we didn’t say the forbidden word at any point, so it maybe didn’t really count, did it? Things have been weird since the fight, and truly, I couldn’t quite believe the warnings at first, how awkward it could be and such - yes, it did take M’Gann and Connor some type to get used to it, but it wasn’t really hard. They tried to be professionals and eventually got back together, like they were meant to be. Were Dick and I that way too? It was... Intense. But the more I think about it, the more I think I was right to not back down. I guess this is what happens when things aren’t talked out properly, which is something that - well, neither of us were good at since the start.

We didn’t start in a conventional way, truth be told, and that might be a part of the problem: it was the adrenaline, the rush of the moment, the excitement of sometimes being alive and wanting to hold onto something dear, precious - Dick has been that for me for a long time. He’s saved my ass and the team’s in more than one occasion, which I’m extremely grateful for. He’s always been a point of reference in our lives, when we were lost and wandering; I particularly wasn’t on the “good-end” of things when they recruited me. Gotham is a hard place to live in, and Gotham’s East End district it’s even worse: I was not ashamed when contacted of the thing I was doing. Jason never judged me, or as I came to know him first, Red Hood; and that felt like valid enough at the time.

Red Hood and I didn’t get to talking until our third encounter. We had met briefly, always in our secret identities, and it was pure and mere luck that we got to intervene in the same places, at the same time. I never was one for gossips and rumors - but he was a legend I almost grew up with; an urban myth that a lot of kids aspired to. When I first got my powers, I thought it was my chance, but I never really got the kind core that others had - like Dick, among others. These type of people naturally tended to do things that came out of their hearts; something I never felt the impulse to, truly. Maybe that is why I always felt more comfortable with Jason - we were both a bit fucked up, a bit beaten up by life. Dick didn’t really understand, but he tried to, and eventually we grew accustomed to each other: my heartless nature, my terrible logic was useful at times, and slowly I became part of his team, among others. I never intended to be special, but we tended to each other, again, just like opposites attract.

I shared one drunk kiss with Jason, not Red Hood, after a particularly rough night before joining the team. I had two with Nightwing, not Dick, after two extremely successful missions - and it left us embarrassed for days, in an awkward momentum until the second happened, a week after: we knew that we wouldn’t be able to stop at our third. It was not wise to do things the other way around, I know that perfectly: we started kissing, then sleeping and hooking up together, and after making out, in secret, with brief and small taints of love here and there. Nightwing was my hero, someone I deeply admired and who most importantly I desired; but Dick was extremely humane, vulnerable and... A coward at the same time. I now know it’s all a product of my expectations -  but he was at the wrong too. He created and delighted himself in the sensual and confident image I projected on my other “persona”, and that’s not fair - not since I’ve always been clear at it, particularly explicit in not confusing my two images. Jason never did, and he frowned when I told him about us: probably because it was his brother and because we were never really confident in those kind of things.

“I mean, I’m not clingy, I know that, but he makes me feel sometimes like I’m... Very detached. Cold, even. Doesn’t he understand where I come from? Like, not literally but-”

“I get it, yeah”.

“Well, then-I guess-ugh. I just wish I could somehow explain it all to him like I’m doing with you right now just with the assurance that he will try. I swear sometimes I think he only looks at me, not-”

“Listen, yeah. I know that: welcome to my world!”. His tone was ironic, slightly bitter; and thus I let it be.

...

— You’re kidding — . He complains. Dick sighs, rubbing his forehead - probably out of frustration, having discussed this previously with the other team. And well, we already knew that the hard piece would be Jason.

— I wish, really but-

— No, fuck off! I didn’t ask for this, Dick!

— You owe me! And I owe Bruce. It will be just this once.

— But no one’s going to believe us! Come on! No offense, gorgeous, but we would not make a good pair — . Jason’s smile is up there, but it still hurts for some reason. I try to give it back and feign I feel the same way, just shrugging my shoulders —. And plus-

— It’s been talked, and we tried multiple combinations; but as it comes out, Connor has the charm of a rock, M’Gann is not suitable for those kind of settings, Cassie would be considered too brutish and thus outcasted from the inner circles which we need to access —. I’ve been sitting around for some time. And well, Dick’s argument do make sense. Still, Jason’s resistence is something I did not expect; since I’ve joined the team, we haven’t been able to participate in any together, him being on his own and me, well, with them —. I know (Y/N) has some experience from the Wayne Enterprises Gala that Damian co-hosted some months ago, and I know you at least are smart enough to move occasionally to the bar and make some well-thought small talk. Out of everyone, you and I are the best for this mission!

— Look, you both getting into a messy hookup does not involve me! I don’t want to pay just because you now don’t talk to each other. Yes, Dick, we talk; and you really should do it more, with her, cuz’ my ear is going to fall off some day if she continues ranting like that.

Before I can stop him, Jason has shot every single bullet, piece of information, I had confided in him. Well, at least some of the most intimate and recent ones. I know he’s impulsive, and I see the reget in his eyes as soon as he has exploded, which I evade: my eyes stick to the floor. They shout some more before Jason walks out - and I’m sure he would have stomped out if possible, but electronic doors and carpeted floor makes that difficult.

— ... Look (Y/N), I’m sorry, but you know-

— It’s for the best, absolutely. I haven’t complained at all, have I? — . You hate that. The pity in his eyes, like he-like he hurt you, and you were vulnerable and crying yourself to sleep. Which you weren’t. You just did that the second and third night — . And your reasoning it’s logical. I’ll talk him into it, kay’? I’ll be back.

He makes the attempt to say “sorry”, probably; maybe even talk it out longer, the thing that we lost, that we will probably never have back, but I cut him out. Instead, I walk out.

. . .

— I hate dressing up.

—If you hadn’t been such a little asshole, I would have saved you the tie. And just say thanks I didn’t make it tighter. Or that I didn’t make yours at all, I could have really just-

—I’m sorry. I really am, trust me. It was just-I hate- —. I always found his inability to find the right words cute, human; Jason wasn’t really talkative, save the occasional ironic comment or Roy Harper being around, which was probably why I liked so much that he always tried to be clear and well, tried at all to talk to me—. I hate this. The galas, the people faking it till they really make it in some dirty business or another; it’s full of hypocritical and fucking-

—Shush it down, handsome. We just got here—. The car stops. The dress is tight on my figure, I can tell; but the shawl makes me feel like I’m somehow floating, hugged in some way and protected. He comes out first, flashes blinding us instantly. And it was nighttime! —… But I completely get it. When Dick took me to Damian’s Gala my feet almost bleed out and he almost snoozed up on a corporate’s shoulder which-

—Can you please just concentrate, Gamma team? You are the distraction, so, give them something to talk about.

…

Dick’s voice in both of the intercoms take her more by surprise, almost like she forgot it was a mission. Jason smirks and helps her get out of the car, her midnight dress following around: the diamonds in the gloves sparkle, and the shawl hugging her feminine figure makes her naked back tempting, sexy. He now sometimes tends to forget he can look at her that way; it’s not prohibited, not forbidden. His coldish hand rests on the small of her back, guiding her up, and he feels proud by the way she almost snuggles to his figure, protected. Flashes blind them on their way up in the stairs, with other famous-like figures around, but everyone is focused on her, more than him; and who wouldn’t? She looks spectacular.

Jason is tense. He doesn’t like this kind of places, this kind of settings; it’s always been difficult to socialize, feign some smiles, throw some comments here and there positioning always yourself like it’s a constant battle. It’s tiring. But for some reason, the small comments she murmurs to him, makes it all easier. Almost something to look forward once they enter the big place:

—Jason, your hand doesn’t need to go that down.

It takes him by surprise this time. He frowns, looking from one side to another; she seems oblivious to the call out, which means he said that privately. And he hates that – it flares him up. Like almost instantly noticing that, her hand goes to his chest, rubbing it like one of those famous couples.

—Is everything alright? Did you see Luthor?

Right, the objective for the night.

—Let’s just separate and reconvene in fifteen—. She nods, and she goes. Which is what he needs, just that time to have a long talk—. Hey Night? Yeah, put it on private, cuz’ the kids are not going to like what I’m gonna say, you little jealous piece of-

. . .

Everyone is accompanied by someone. I feel a bit left out, in my long dress, with my short stature and among other couples; not left out, but vulnerable for some reason. They seem close to Luthor, and seem to know something about the night’s event, but they are not willing to just say it out, are they? They like to play. And so do I.

—Actually-

—Hey kitten. I lost you after talking to the Windsor’s – what a pair, aren’t they?

The group laughs, and Jason’s arm finds my waist like it’s its natural resting place, which I like more than I will ever admit. His figure protects me, and suddenly I feel more confident: turns out the Windsor’s and the Trovey’s are rivals, which thankfully I can exploit into giving it all out.

—(Y/N), please tell Red Hood to turn on its comm. It’s important—. I hear it suddenly, but expected It, when the group left and Jason went to grab up some more drinks. Very necessary, he argued, and I didn’t mind. It was for the best, probably.

—He doesn’t have it? I thought you were orienting him. He isn’t normally that charming with others.

—Oh, and I am?—. Finally I hear his smirk through the comm, and it makes me smile back; it somehow gives me hope that things will work out and that we will go back to joking around, throwing jabs at each other.

—You know you could charm a rock and make it confirm that the world is white with glitter specks on it when it rains, idiot—. He laughs, and I smile fondly. Yeah, maybe we can go back to those days—. It’s not something everyone can do, specially Jason.

—Wow, thank you dear—. I turn around and I hate it: his eyes, the way he looks at me, and his bitter smile. He’s aiming to hurt now—; am I now interrupting your third hookup, maybe? What this time, you are going to come cry again in my shoulder while I tell you what a stupid decision that was? Save it and fuck him already, (Y/N). Save us the drama and this type of occasions so I can go to being dull like Connor and you can go back to your usual partner.

—Jay-

—Save it, truly.

Well, everything is kinda fucked, which I expected. I begin to hear Dick’s voice, but I turn it off: Jason was maybe right at some points, because I really did expect for a second that we would get back together. But that thought now is empty to me, and it was just the wondering that truly lost me, rather than the possibility of us being together as a couple. We wouldn’t work, Jason was right: it would be a stupid decision.

With his communicator off, I can only search Jason by the cut of this tuxedo and his figure. He’s outside, in the terrace, when Lex Luthor comes out in the stage. I really doubt for a second, before going after him.

—Hey, Jaybird. Come on, it’s cold outside. Let’s maybe grab some coffee or hot chocolate after?

—Pass.

I sigh. I really have the instinct to rub off the makeup, getting close and real with him, but still resist: my heels resonate on stone, making my presence more than obvious towards him. He doesn’t move, nor flinch once I’m close enough and put my hand on his arm. He’s looking at the gardens: they are truly beautiful.

—You know I didn’t mean it in a bad way, right? It’s just that-man, you know you are not good at socializing. Neither am I, even if I give off that vibe. But Dick was not wrong about us; we are very charming and have that special thing that make us irresistible. You are dull as a rock, but you are too a very charming and hot one, I promise. Best looking rock ever.

That makes him smirk and pass his hand over my shoulder. He mumbles an “idiot” and even with the shawl on, I feel truly hugged, even with Dick’s touch still quite recent. Acting on instinct, I snuggle up to him, the coldness of the night acting on my freezing shoulders.

—Let’s get you in, hm?

—Yeah, just let me turn on the comm and tell Dick-

—Fuck, at least! Luthor’s coming outside, speaking with Target and entering the terrace where you are in less than ten seconds. You have to hear what he’s saying!

—Fuck!

Getting down quickly would be too obvious, getting out too; moving seems idiotic at this point, and time is just against us this time. So I act on pure instinct, following the example of a couple outside who similar to those in dark corners, seem to be just one step away from public indecency.

 —They are coming up! Just-just hurry up and kiss me!

He takes me by my arms awkwardly and closes the distance. We move to a corner of the terrace and feign giggles, being drunk enough; and at first its uncomfortable, having his cold lips pressed brutishly almost against mine, but-but we warm up. And fuck, I truly feel like melting when he starts to get into it.

It’s slow, a bit like a dance: something I do not expect and did not see coming from him. It’s sweet until he seems to remember some other thing which makes him change, instantly, and bite my lips. I moan into his mouth in the lowest voice possible, but it still gets him: and my arms slowly make their way to his neck, pressing us together. He is cold, but his hands are warm when they settle on my hips, one climbs up my back.

—Jay-

—Shut up and let me have this. Just this time.

I don’t know what he’s referring to, but I can make some idea. Right now, he is not Red Hood, and neither I am who I am. I don’t need to open my eyes to savor his pained expression as he deepens the kiss and his grip on my body: like he wants to smash it somehow, deform it. It’s violent, and it hurts a bit whenever he softens up, letting my skin “breathe”. I don’t complain.

—Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

—It’s alright. J-just continue doing that. With your hand in my back. And kiss me.

It’s a new feeling, comforting; maybe I missed the kisses more than I could ever admit, but I don’t miss Nightwing. Or Dick. I missed the contact, the passion with which he holds me: it makes me feel desired and proud: he’s not seeing the sensual and sexy figure I interpret. He’s just kissing… Me.

His nails dig into my skin like they want to break the dress, the sequins; I hold onto him like I want to break his neck, get it closer to me. It’s not sweet for a second kiss, and it’s definitively not ending anytime soon. It only increases. I bite his lips and he starts attacking: it leaves me breathless. His teeth mark my lips, my chin, my neck – when he bites near to my ear, my knees buckle, touching themselves.

—What, you’re already wet and prepared?

—Shut it, shut it and-

He shuts me. Kisses me until I forget to breath, exist; it’s terrifying how good it is, how natural it seems to be. My nails dig into his neck, slowly making its way down his clothed back: and still he shivers under my touch, trembles like someone was touching him for the very first time. Might have been long for him.

His knee gets close to my legs, asking for permission and I grant it to him: I gasp in surprise even when I have done so, because he’s an expert on that. My nails this time have to grab his tuxedo, hold him near and close to me. I gasp, and I’m sure Luthor and his friend turn around: and fuck, we were supposed to listen them up, but I can’t really think of anything with his nose buried in my neck and his knee attacking the inside of my thighs, going up until I am almost seated on it.

I want it. I don’t need it, but I want it. Is it worthy? Can I risk it?

He tries to go, of course he does, but you stop him. Your arguments get stronger, and he sees no reason to negate that which you seem to fight for: he likes your determined eyes, the light that they show in contrast with the dimmed-out light of the room. Your place is not very big, but enough so that you can help him get in your bathroom. He takes everything off, like it’s not a big deal, and maybe it’s because he understands that you can be trusted, you don’t have no one to tell this to, truly. It’s not that you don’t have friends, but you are a bit by yourself, and you don’t really mind.

He touches you, and your skin lights up in fire. Is new, it’s foreign; maybe you haven’t been touched much. The random hook-ups, the teasing kisses shared in dark bathrooms - before putting up an excuse to be free, fly somewhere else - are not enough. And you know you can’t get throughly through with it, you aren’t able to, unless there’s love. It’s cruel. Gotham it’s cruel. It makes you aware of those terrifying touches going up your thighs; men that purposely get behind you and touch you, innocently. You flinch, you feign it’s alright, and after - after you cry - everything goes on repeat

But his touch is soft. Like you are a precious crystal, something that can be destroyed with a mere stare, a gentle breeze of air. It changes you. That night everything changes.

You can’t remember how or why the kiss happens, not really; after getting him in some weirdly fitting clothes (too tight on the chest, too loose on the hips), you move to somewhere with more light, to see the wound better. And it’s really a comfort to see that it was not his blood, no - it doesn’t even occur to you to ask, and he likes that - but he has a darkened and painful looking area on his left side. It has a bad color, but not so much that you think he’s internally bleeding: a terrible fall, perhaps?

— Were you the “crash” thing?

— Crash thing? — . He asks, confused, but with half a smile.

— Yeah, before you entered. I heard a metal sound, now that I think about it, too loud to be a cat-

— You thought that was a cat? What kind of cat do you have?

The special emphasis on one of his words makes you laugh. Shyly, with a slight smirk: he can see you have perfect teeth, a really good bone structure-maybe even pretty, more than pretty.

— I’t was just unexpected. It’s was around two when I heard it. Even if some things happen around here, it’s not... Not common for people to appear  around here. In my living room. With blood which is not his own and obviously from a situation I do not want to know about.

You fetch him some water, and when his eyes move to your door, you kind of know he is staying. His feet look at you. He touches lightly your hip, grazes it mostly, and then you are all over him. Yes, you did it. And no, you are not ashamed. Even if with strangers it’s difficult, it’s impossible, this is your crazy act of the year.

Maybe it’s because your kiss is passionate, is comforting in some way - probably because he has been touched-starved as well - but he returns it. His hands push your body against his, and you are careful with his side, always aware of the wound he has. It’s not about making love, it doesn’t start as so. You don’t make it to your room, and indeed it’s the worst thing you’ve ever done, the most dangerous

—’uck, I didn’t even ask your name —. He whispers against your neck, making a first attempt to nibble on it, teeth baring and tasting skin. Soft, so soft —. It’s just-

— Too much, I know, I know — . You answer, gasping, jelly in his hands, truly — . It doesn’t matter. Tell me yours, it’s all were gonna need.

He laughs, almost out of breath, and you like it. His laughing makes you feel good, but it’s nothing compared to the hands that make their way up your body. It’s not correct, again, but you moan - you like it.

— Dick. Just Dick, for you tonight.

You both laugh, and it’s funny, it’s comfortable. He desires you: takes you by your hips and makes you face the wall of your kitchen. The bending is almost automatically, but still, still he makes sure to dominate you, make you know how much he wants it. Yes, you, but it. It’s been some time.

— Help me — . You are not sure what you’re asking for, but it seems he does, because he acts.

It’s brutal, fast-paced - not much is needed. It’s an act of desperation, and in the wood of the table, the one where you’ll tomorrow have breakfast, you try to pierce your nails in, as if it you are trying to cave in some type of future memory: a remembrance that it really happened.

He satisfies you: you don’t have to talk and he knows where to bite, where to kiss and where to touch you to make you melt. It’s horrible, truly, and pathetic how close you are with so little and how much he seems to-oh, no. You laugh, out of breath again, and it starts. It takes up the pace pretty quickly. But no, Grasyon, the name that you can barely pronunciate once it is done, he doesn’t kiss you. There’s not a good angle to do so anyways, and you don’t mention it - it doesn’t really matter.