#nightwing fluff

Amused, he tilts his head to the side and looks at you. “Hi. No wannabe mugger to threaten with a knitting needle today?”

“Nope,” you say, and then frown. You ran into him. That’s not right.

You take a step back, and a gasp is slipping past your lips.

Caught, he decides not to fake it anymore, and begins wobbling on his feet. More like swaying like a tree in the breeze.

“Can you walk? Should I call an ambulance? I- what the fuck!?”

He huffs, immediately shaking his head at the mention of an ambulance, and you mutter something about stupid stubborn vigilantes under your breath, tucking yourself under his shoulder on the side that isn’t currently leaking blood into the fabric of his suit, and try and take some of his weight as you hobble the short distance from the mouth of an alleyway — different to the first one you met in — to your apartment building.

Gary the security guard, bless his soul, does not look up from his trashy magazine as you chirp a hello and drag Nightwing to the elevator, only lifting a hand in greeting as you jab the button for your floor.

You’ve got the vigilante sat at your little round dining table, on your knees on the linoleum floor as you use your best scissors to cut at the Kevlar-reinforced fabric around his ribs. To your credit, it only takes a little bit of hacking to get the fabric out of the way.

Nightwing is looking at you intently as he slumps in your dining chair. (Well, you think he is. He might be passed out behind the domino mask, but he’s sat up enough that you think he’s conscious.)

He doesn’t flinch as you clean the gash with alcohol wipes from your cheap first aid kit, but he does breathe out the softest “pretty” that makes you freeze.

“Huh?”

“Y’re pretty,” he slurs, and you’re freaking the fuck out.

“Oh my god, I think you’ve lost a lot of blood,” you babble, abandoning the alcohol wipes for a clean wad of gauze, pressing it to the wound to try and staunch the flow of blood, your mind racing. Of course your brain decided the only reason Nightwing is calling you pretty is because he must be one pint of blood away from meeting the Grim Reaper. “Is there- what do I do? Can I call someone? You said no ambulance, I-“

You freeze again, because Nightwing is pressing a tiny little black something into your ear.

“Nightwing, do you read? Hello? Are you alive?”

“He’s- he’s in my kitchen,” you say to the strange female voice, trying not to pass out, your hands shaking with adrenaline where they push gauze into his wound.

“…you must be knitting needle girl,” she says, and you would fall flat on your ass if you weren’t already knelt on the ground in front of him.

“What!?”

Strange female voice in your ear huffs a laugh, and says “Explain to me the injury. I’ll walk you through what to do, and if you need to get him to a hospital. Don’t let him argue with you if I tell you to take him.”

You’re nodding, even though she can’t see, and forty-five minutes later, Nightwing is asleep on your couch, wound clean and covered with gauze and medical tape.

Oracle, as you’d learnt, is laughing softly in your ear as you have a crisis on your kitchen floor.

“Knitting needle girl!?” You whisper-shriek, head in your hands. “He called me ‘pretty’, Oracle. This can’t be happening to me. This can’t be my life.”

“He called you pretty when he told me about the first time you met, if that helps.”

You think about the alley, the shit day, the mugger and the knitting needle and the rain, and you scream into a throw pillow, Oracle laughing so loudly in your ear it almost sounds like she’s in the room with you.

“Okay, I need- I need to call my friend,” you mutter, and Oracle only hums as you pull the little black comm-piece out of your ear, scrambling across the floor to your bag where you’d dumped it at your front door, fishing through it for your phone.

Your friend, as always, picks up on the third ring.

“Nightwing is asleep on my couch,” you hiss, and there’s a moment of silence so long that you pull the phone away from your ear to check she hasn’t hung up on you.

She hasn’t, as evidenced by the sudden raucous laughter filtering through your speakers.

“I’m not kidding,” you whine, and she stops laughing immediately.

“What?”

“I ran into him in the alley by my place and he was hurt and he said no ambulance and so I brought him inside and then he was bleeding everywhere and he called me pretty and then Oracle was talking me through patching him up and now he’s asleep on my couch and he called me pretty-“ you say, the words falling out of you in a spectacular fountain of verbal diarrhoea. Your friend, to her credit, does not waver.

“Well. At least he’s not bleeding out anymore,” she says, and you groan, your head thunking against your front door, phone pressed to your ear. “And he called you pretty. I fail to see the issue.”

You can hear the smirk in her voice, and if you could throttle someone through the phone, you would. You open your mouth to hiss something scathing down the line, when the object of your crisis groans and shifts on your couch.

“Oh fuck, he’s waking up.”

Your friend just cackles and hangs up on you. Bitch.

You get a text from her a second later, that reads; ‘deep breaths. it’s fine.’

Followed by; ‘wait, when is the next time you’re seeing dick?’

Oh, fuck.

© lilacwin-e :) do not repost as your own, copy, or run my works through any sort of ai.

He pulled the shower curtain back, revealing his already naked body like he wouldn’t have cared if you said no or maybe he just knew you too well and had known you wouldn’t turn him down.

His sweet grin turned into a full blown yelp the second he stepped under the shower. He jumped back and almost hit his head on the wall, making you let out a laugh.

“What the fuck!” He bellowed.

“What?”

“You practicing for going to hell or something?” He questioned. “The water is fucking boiling.”

“Don’t be dramatic its fine,” you rolled your eyes.

“Turn it down,” he said, firmly.

“No, you can leave,” you offered.

“I’m already wet I don’t want to leave please turn it down just a bit angel, you’re literally red right now,” he coaxed.

“Fine,” you huffed and turned the shower knob to the right to make the water a bit cooler.

“Thank you,” Dick said and stepped under the spray of the water –still wincing, and put his hands on your waist.

“Good?” You checked.

“Manageable,” he grumbled, grabbing your shampoo from the shelf. “This isn’t healthy.”

“Your face isn’t healthy,” you replied, sticking your tongue out at him.

“Is that why you keep sitting on it?” he smirked, earning a smack to his chest in response.

He squeezed some of the shampoo on your palm and leaned his head down, gesturing for you to rub it in his hair.

“Your hair is getting long,” you murmured, rubbing your fingers through his scalp.

“Do you want me to cut it?” he said softly, too busy moaning at the way your hands moved through his hair.

“No I like it like this,” you replied, gripping the inky black hair in your palms.

“Freak,” he chuckled standing to his full height.

“I didn’t even say anything!” You protested, closing your eyes shut when Dick began rubbing the shampoo in your hair.

You felt him kiss your forehead, each of your closed eyelids, your nose then finally your lips before he rested his head on your shoulder, letting out a soft hum.

You grabbed your lavender scented body wash –that he loved an unhealthy amount, and began rubbing it on his back while he hummed in response and planted kisses on your shoulder and collarbone and wherever his lips could reach.

“I love when you don’t have work,” he mumbled. “Quit your job.”

“So you can be stuck to me like a koala all the time?”

“Mhmm,” he let out, planting one last kiss on your jaw before straightening.

“Tempting,” you smiled.

“I can offer you many services,” he almost whispered, planting kiss after kiss on the side of your throat, your collarbones and your jaw.

“Is this why you crashed my shower,” you mused, gripping his hair.

“Maybe,” he smirked, tracing his fingers down your spine.

“Dick,” you whispered, your hand finding the tap behind him in an attempt to turn the water a bit warmer without him noticing.

“Tell me what you want,” he said in a husky voice laced with need, continuing his attack on your neck.

“FUCK!” he screamed and jumped back again, glaring at you.

“Get back here!” You protested when you saw him get out of the shower and grab his towel to wrap around his waist.

“You’re a demon!” He yelled.

“Dick come on! I’m sorry,” you giggled turning the shower off and wrapped a towel around your torso, following him towards the sink.

“Just for that, you’re not getting anything for a week,” he huffed.

“Like you can go that long without touching me,” you challenged.

“Don’t test me,” he narrowed his eyes and turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” You asked.

“To get dressed?” He offered like it was the most natural thing.

“Do you not moisturise after you shower?”

“Uh no?”

“You heathen! Come back here,” you ordered and like the obedient boyfriend he was, he made his way back to you.

“Is this necessary,” he asked when he saw you pump some pink body lotion on your palm.

“Yes! Hot water dries your skin,” you replied, rubbing it over his hard chest and abs.

“You just wanna feel me up,” he smirked and looked down at you.

“I wouldn’t need an excuse for that,” you replied, rubbing the lotion on his biceps. “You’re so large, I use all that for both of my legs.”

“Are you complaining?”

“No but-”

“That’s what I thought,” he smiled again and took the body lotion from you, grabbing the edge of the towel to unwrap it from your body.

“My turn.”

HES SO!!! hes so!!! SO!!!!

Bruce was dressed in a polo shirt and it was odd to see him out of his usual formal clothing. Tim was in an oversized skater t-shirt, Damian in a hoodie and Cassandra in a black crop top. Jason was in a tank top with a coffee mug in his hands looking already bored like he would literally be anywhere else.

Dick was looking fresh. His hair looked darker than usual and with the way it fell over his forehead you were guessing he was just coming out of the shower. He was dressed in a navy blue Henley shirt. You could see the gold chain around his neck through the opening of the shirt and you decided to look anywhere but there.

As if that wasn’t all, he was also wearing glasses and you would proudly admit how utterly hot you found men in glasses.

Especially men named Dick Grayson.

They were thin framed, probably just blue light glasses for the screen but they didn’t have any less effect on you.

He was oddly quiet today and you had to admit you were missing his cheesy comments.

“Just to clarify I’ll ask the question submitted by ‘Gothamites’ now,” you clarified and flipped open the folder that held all the questions taken from the submission post you ran online.

“Okay this one’s for Jason,” you began and Jason unmuted himself. “It’s anonymous so I can’t tell who sent this but it says here they’ve been at the library a few times when you were doing volunteering work there and so they were wondering if you would ever think about hosting book clubs or just events for more people to form groups and read together, it could also bring more exposure to the library because they’re extremely low on funds?”

“That’s a great idea, I’ll think about it,” Jason said and you eyed him, waiting for more.

He didn’t say anything and stared back at you with a confused expression.

“More words please Jason,” Dick chimed in.

“Right,” Jason straightened up. “Uh I do find it upsetting that the library has low funding and I have been trying my best to keep it afloat, I’ll talk to the staff there and see what I can do,” he finished with a grimace.

You gave him a smile and a nod before scribbling down everything.

“Can I leave now?” Jason asked.

“Sure,” you giggled and watched as the pop up appeared, informing you that Jason wasn’t in the meeting anymore.

“You have a cat?” Dick spoke directly to you for what seemed like the first time today.

You looked up from your notebook and glanced at your furry companion currently sitting on the couch behind you.

“Oh yeah,” you replied and patted the cat on the head. “He’s called Meow-wing,” you giggled at your very creative name.

“Meow what?” Cassandra repeated.

“Meow-wing as in Nightwing,” you gave her a shy smile.

“Nightwing?” Dick echoed.

“Yes,” you shrugged.

“What about him?”

“Nothing about him Dick, I just think he’s cool.” And he’s humble, unlike you, you added silently.

“Huh,” Dick mused while Tim cackled for some reason.

“If you’re done inquiring about my pet, can we get back to–”

“I have a dog,” Dick announced.

“That’s… nice…” You replied impatiently.

“She’s called Haley, do you wanna see her?” He beamed and pulled off his headphones before you could say no.

He leaned down, suddenly disappearing from the screen but only for a moment and returned with a grey dog in his arms. He put his headphones back on his head and waved Haley’s paw at you.

“Say hi, Haley,” Dick urged, earning a bark from his dog in return. “Good girl,” he cooed and you swore your whole body shut down.

You grabbed your water bottle and drank a large gulp of it to compose yourself.

Honestly fuck him and his stupidly cute dog and also fuck you too for being attractive to him. For getting turned on at him saying the words ‘good girl’ not even directed at you.

“She’s cute,” you murmured.

“Coming from you, I bet she’s very flattered,” and there it is.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

“If you don’t mind, can we please get back to work?” you said with an apologetic smile towards Bruce to mask your impatience in case you came off as rude but you really had plans. And an everything shower before said plans, that alone would take hours.

“Oh, do you have a date?” Dick asked and let go of his dog.

“No Dick I don’t have a date,” you sighed in impatience.

“Would you want to go on one?” He asked with a grin.

Your response was to mute him since you were the one who hosted the meeting.

“Did she just mute him?” Tim laughed along with Cassandra and Damian.

Even Bruce’s lips twitched as he looked down at the floor and flicked his nose with his index finger. You were considering that a win.

“Anyway,” you turned to Bruce. “You fund Justice League and in Gotham, Batman. Do you think masked vigilantes are more capable of protecting the city, the country than our justice system?”

“I have no doubt in our justice system,” Bruce started. “But as everyone has noticed, there’s been a lot of misjudgment in Gotham alone which has spiked crime rates. If we can get any external help to protect the citizens of our city and if I can do anything to help with that, I’m more than willing to,” he finished with a nod.

You wrote down everything before unmuting Dick.

“This is a fan question,” you clarified and eyed Dick. “Rosie wants to know what your type is?” You cringed.

“Hmm,” Dick pretended to think. “Must be wearing glasses,” he began and your face heated up. “Should be a cat lover and a Nightwing lover. I do also have a thing for smart journalists, they really get me going.”

“Thank you for your response Dick,” you said, emphasising on his name so he got what you were trying to convey.

“You are very welcome,” he smiled. “Do you want me to elaborate more? I can tell you the eye colour and all too.”

“That won’t be necessary,” you said through clenched teeth and muted him again.

“I think we should wrap this up here today,” Bruce said.

“Sure I think I’ve got everything I needed for today, I apologise for what happened the other day and you had to attend this meeting on the weekend,” you said with a grimace, genuinely meaning it.

“Don’t worry about it,” Bruce said. “I’ll ask my assistant to arrange the next meeting soon, pleasure working with you,” was all Bruce said before his screen disconnected.

You heard a clatter in the background and turned around to see your cat knocking over the lamp sitting beside your bookshelf. You groaned and quickly turned around, leaping off the back of the couch to see if it was broken.

Luckily it fell on the carpet and didn’t break. You bent down and grabbed your cat, giving him a disapproving look.

“Bad Wing!” You chided. “Don’t knock over my stuff baby you know how broke I am,” you sighed and sat him down on the counter.

It wasn’t until Dick’s voice filled your living room that you realised you didn’t disconnect the meeting.

“Nice shorts,” Dick commented with a smirk.

You looked down at your avocado printed shorts and groaned.

“What is your issue?” You groaned, walking over to your laptop.

“I can’t admire fashion now?” He asked in an offended tone.

“Admire my ass,” you huffed under your breath and ended the meeting.

It was childish but so was he. He was irritating as hell and his stupid smirk was getting under your skin.

You shook your head off thoughts of Dick Grayson and began getting ready for the day.

A good few hours later you were standing in front of your closet in a towel wrapped around you as you looked for a dress appropriate for an engagement party which was also a barbecue.

It didn’t narrow it down to a lot of options.

You dragged your hand through your clothes before finally stopping on a maroon dress that you had bought with Lois and hadn’t had the chance to wear yet. It was a knee length spaghetti strapped chiffon dress and it would be perfect for the occasion.

You got dressed within a limited time frame and decided to forgo your usual updo today, letting your hair fall over your shoulders. The dark red lip gloss matching your dress covered your lips as you finished applying it.

You grabbed your keys and purse and shot a quick text to Lois, informing her that you were leaving before you headed downstairs to your car.

-

There were currently fifteen people in Lois and Clark’s backyard.

You asked Lois if this was her definition of ‘lowk-key’ and she just shrugged and said she only invited five people, the rest were all invited by Clark and since he was the one on barbecue duty, she didn’t care.

All of your ex coworkers were delighted to see you and catch up with you. Congratulating you on the new job and the story you were doing along with some asking if you could set them up with Bruce. You laughed and shrugged it off but when another coworker mentioned something about wanting to meet Dick, your smile felt forced.

You did not like him and you would not set up your coworkers with him. It was the sole reason for the sudden unease in the pit of your stomach.

Lois and you were currently in the kitchen, sitting on the island with a wine glass in both of your hands while you spilled everything that had happened.

“And then he said my beauty hypnotised him! Can you believe the audacity?!” You ranted about Dick while she just took a sip of her wine and gave you a smirk.

“Right, how horrible,” Lois said. “How dare he tell you that you’re beautiful.”

“That’s not it. He’s annoying, he doesn’t let me work. Whenever I ask a question, he’s always the one butting his nose in even when the question isn’t for him. He doesn’t take me or my profession seriously and that pisses me off,” you explained.

“I think he’s just never had anyone say no to him. He’s thinking of you as a challenge, he’ll get bored soon. Don’t worry about it,” Lois shrugged.

“I hope so, I can’t deal with him for however long this interview is supposed to go,” you sighed. “I don’t even want this like don’t get me wrong I don’t want to take this opportunity for granted but celebrity gossip? Really?” You huffed. “This is not why I studied criminology, I want to write about crime and Gotham is crime central.”

“You’ll get there! And if your editor won’t allow you to write that then you can always start blog posting and freelancing,” she shrugged, giving you the perfect back up idea. “I did that a lot.”

“That’s actually a good idea,” you hummed in recognition.

Lois opened her mouth to say something else but the doorbell ringing pulled her out of the conversation. She excused herself and went to the front door to attend whoever it was, leaving you alone in the kitchen.

You downed the rest of your wine and decided to go out in the backyard where everyone was present but when you turned around, the familiar scent of expensive pine cologne filled your senses.

When your eyes looked up and met with those ocean blue ones, you internally screamed.

“Hey,” he greeted you with a toothy grin. “Lois said to put this here,” he added, gesturing towards the wine bottle in his hand that probably cost more than your rent.

“What are you doing here?” You asked before you could stop yourself –thanks to the alcohol in your system.

He stepped closer to you, clogging your senses with his scent. His face came impossibly close as he leaned down to place the bottle of wine behind you on the counter before straightening up.

“Bruce couldn’t come, he sent his congratulations with me,” Dick replied with a shrug.

“Why was Bruce invited?”

“He’s close with Clark.”

“Bruce Wayne has friends?” You scoffed.

“You’d be surprised,” he chuckled.

“Well it was nice chatting with you, now if you’ll ex-”

“Your hair’s down,” Dick pointed out.

“Yes Dick, I’m not at work I’m allowed to let my hair down,” you teased.

“Makes you look different,” he hummed, curling his finger around a strand of your hair.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you furrowed your brows, leaning back a bit because he was still in your vicinity.

“It was meant to be one,” he smiled and for the first time, it seemed genuine.

“I need to get out there and help Lois, it was nice seeing you here,” you nodded your head and quickly scampered off before he could stop you again.

He quickly followed you out to the backyard soon but didn’t speak to you again for the rest of the night. You sat on a patio chair with your old coworkers, chatting about something while Dick stood leaning on a tree with a soda can in his hand, talking to another one of your ex coworkers.

His attire was casual today –just a loose button down shirt and jeans. And that damn gold chain shining each time it hit the light.

Your eyes wandered towards him while your friend kept talking about something you weren’t fully paying attention to.

You looked as he smiled at the blonde in front of him while she laughed about something he said and pushed away at his chest. Dick in response held her elbow to steady her. You wondered what was so funny that she lost her footing while laughing. You had no doubts that he was flirting with her with the way he kept giving her cheeky smiles.

Lois was right, he did get bored of you soon. And you were happy about it. Delighted even.

Dick caught your eye and before you could look away, he tilted his head at you as his tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip. You shook your head when you felt your face get heated and quickly looked away.

After dinner, you gathered up the plates and empty beer bottles to help Lois out while she got busy talking to her friends. She looked so content on Clark’s lap you didn’t want to disturb her.

Just as you were throwing away the beer bottles, someone came up behind you.

You turned around to see your ex coworker who was talking to Dick earlier, standing in the doorway with a trash bag.

“Let me help you out,” she offered.

“Thanks,” you smiled at her. And because you couldn’t help yourself or because the wine you had was buzzing in your veins, you went on. “Saw you talking to Dick Grayson earlier.”

“Yeah he’s great isn’t he,” she blushed.

“He’s something alright,” you scoffed.

“What do you mean?” She frowned.

“Nothing,” you shrugged. “He’s just a known flirt.”

“He was asking me about you actually,” she said, causing you to pause what you were doing.

“What about me?”

“Just what you were like when we worked together, if you had someone back here, if you liked working at the Daily Planet, if you were just as disinterested in people or was he just special,” she explained.

“Oh,” you swallowed.

“I think he likes you,” she teased, side eyeing you.

You scoffed in return and went back to loading the dishwasher. “He likes everyone he can sleep with.”

“Don’t be too harsh on him, you know how the media twists things,” she patted you on the back before getting out of the kitchen, leaving you all alone.

You shook your head and poured yourself a glass of water to sober up a bit in case you had drunk more than you thought and this was all a dream.

“Hi,” Dick’s familiar voice filled the kitchen.

“Hey,” you sighed to yourself.

“Do you want any help?” He asked.

“What do you know about chores? Didn’t you grow up in a mansion,” you quipped and with the way he visibly looked taken aback by your response, you almost felt guilty.

“Try me,” he quickly recovered and leaned on the counter.

“I’m just about done,” you shrugged.

“You must be close with Clark and Lois,” Dick commented, eyeing you.

“I lived here until I could afford to find my own place,” you replied. “Lois is my family, she’s helped me a lot.”

Dick nodded in response and hopped on top of the counter.

“So no avocado shorts?” He commented, eyeing your chiffon dress.

“Apparently they’re inappropriate for a barbecue, who would have thought?”

“Not me,” he clicked his tongue. “Your ass looked great in them by the way.”

“What!” You sputtered out a cough and looked at him with wide eyes.

“You told me to admire your ass,” he said in response like that made it okay.

“You heard that?” You scrunched your nose at that.

“I hear everything that benefits me,” he grinned.

“So very humble of you,” you rolled your eyes and mirrored his earlier actions as you sat down on the counter opposite of him.

“Never claimed to be, sweetheart.”

“My friend told me you were asking her about me,” you murmured, eyeing him cautiously.

“Just getting to know the person who’s doing a whole story about my family. Only fair I get to know something about you too.”

“That’s fair,” you breathed out. “What do you want to know?”

“You serious?”

“I think I’ve had enough wine to indulge you tonight so shoot.”

“Well lucky me,” he smiled. “Why did you choose to be a magazine writer?”

“Wow starting off strong,” you dramatically hissed. “I didn’t choose it. I wanted to be a crime journalist but apparently getting your dream job when you’re broke is only good as a concept. This one pays well.”

Dick eyed you for a second and you decided to interrupt the silence by speaking up first.

“My turn,” you said.

“I’m an open book baby, ask away,” he smirked.

“Why were you really asking about me?”

“I find you interesting, is it that hard to believe?” He retorted.

“What about me interests you Dick? I’m the most boring person ever. I spend my free time at home talking to my cat.”

“And I want to know what you talk about,” he went on.

“Is this because I didn’t agree to go on a date with you? Did it really hurt your ego that bad?” You quipped before you could stop yourself.

“Did I do something wrong? Or accidentally offend you?” He asked, voice sounding serious.

“No Dick you just,” you began but stopped yourself.

“I what?” He pressed.

“You don’t take me seriously,” you managed. “You don’t take my job seriously. I understand it must be frustrating to you to be in the media all the time but it’s not my fault. Your father arranged this interview and I’m just doing my job so I don’t get why you’re trying to make it hard for me. You’re always there with your cheeky comments even when I’m asking you stuff that’s on record,” you finished, surprising yourself with how much you had to say about this.

The three day gap between the first time you saw him and today had apparently left you with a lot of time to think about him.

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” Dick frowned. “It wasn’t my intention, I don’t know why it came off that way.”

“My first impression of you was you literally flirting with me three seconds after I hit you in the face. You see me as nothing more than someone you can convince to sleep with you and I don’t like that.”

“I don’t see you like that at all, I’m sorry. I do respect you and your work. I’ve read all the articles you’ve written online,” he said.

“You have?” You asked. “Why?”

“I told you, I find you interesting,” he shrugged.

“You’ve known me for a day,” you stated in a matter of fact-ly voice.

“And I can’t wait to get to know you more,” he replied.

“You never quit, do you?”

“Not a chance,” he grinned at you.

“Well that’s time for me to get home,” you grunted and hopped off the counter.

“You’ve been drinking, are you sure you wanna drive?” Dick asked, mirroring your movements.

“I have to head home, I have to go to Ikea tomorrow to get a mattress. I’ve been sleeping on my couch and I can’t put it off any longer,” you sighed. “I’m fine I had like two glasses.”

“I’ll take you home,” Dick offered.

“No thank you,” you quickly replied. “I don’t want to see myself on the news tomorrow with preposterous headlines.”

“We’ll take your car,” he pressed.

“I’m fine,” you replied.

“No you’ve been drinking and Dick will take you home,” Clark’s voice filled the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Dick agreed.

“I’m not even drunk, do you want me to do a headstand? Because I will,” you challenged.

“No need to do that but just to be safe. It’s a two hour drive,” Clark added. “I don’t want to hear anything else,” he said with a finality in his tone that made you shut up.

“Fine,” you grumbled, handing Dick your keys. “Just so you know, if he kills me and my body is found in a ditch, it’s your fault,” you turned to Clark.

“I’ve known him since he was thirteen, if he were capable of murder he would have done it by now,” Clark chuckled.

You quickly said your goodbyes and hugged Lois a bit tighter than usual because you weren’t sure when you would see each other again.

Dick guided you outside with his hand hovering over your waist but he didn’t touch you. He opened the car door for you and you stepped inside, giving him a look.

“Alright,” Dick sighed, buckling up his seatbelt. “Where do you live? Other than in my head of course.”

“You are relentless,” you rolled your eyes and connected your phone to your car before selecting ‘home’ on your GPS.

“I prefer to think of it as dedicated,” he corrected.

You didn’t say anything after that, not that you could even if you tried. Because Dick put his right arm on the back of your seat and stretched his body to look backwards as he pulled the car out of the driveway. Your brain nearly short circuited at the simplest action.

His left hand spun the steering wheel so effortlessly while he kept his eyes glued to the back with so much focus. You stared at the muscles on his neck straining due to the stretch. The vein protruding and just begging for you to suck on it. It would be so easy he was so close you could just lean forward and attach your mouth on his neck and–

“So how far are you with the interview stuff?” He said, straightening up and driving ahead.

You quickly shook your head and looked away from him. “I think I’ll take a couple days to write out of my notes from today. Then I’ll go to the library on Monday for any archives because we’re also supposed to add a few pages about the Waynes before Bruce. Just to give the idea about your family.”

“I could always help you out,” Dick offered. “You should add your number in there in case you need any help,” he said, handing you his phone.

“If you promise not to bother me,” you said.

“Strictly business,” he gave you a smile and touched his free hand to his heart as if to show you how serious he was.

You took his phone from him and typed in your number before sending yourself a text so you could have his as well.

“Although what if I see something avocado related? Am I supposed to not send you that?”

“Yes Dick you’re supposed to keep it to yourself,” you nodded in agreement.

“And Nightwing?”

“Ughhhh,” you groaned and covered your face. “First of all just to clarify, it’s not like a crush okay? Not like how everyone’s always going crazy over him. I don’t want him like that because I think he’s hot,” you clarified.

“Then what?”

“He just sort of saved me one day and I just think that’s cool. He’s cool,” you shrugged.

“I think he would remember you if he saved you,” Dick said.

“He saves a thousand people in a day. I highly doubt my existence would stand out,” you scoffed. “Besides, I don’t think we officially even met. Apparently Killer Croc was on the loose and the street I usually take when I go home from work was the one Killer Croc chose to take as well. It was quiet like eerily quiet. Nightwing suddenly grabbed me from behind and grappled off seconds before Killer Croc attacked. He dropped me off in a safe-ish alley where I found a little stray cat. I decided to adopt him and that’s why he’s called Meow-wing.”

“Sounds like a true gentleman,” Dick hummed.

“The complete opposite of you,” you teased.

“At least I’m not the one dressing up in spandex every night jumping from rooftop to rooftop,” he scoffed.

“You wish you looked half as good as Nightwing does in spandex,” you narrowed your eyes. “Are you jealous?”

“Of Nightwing? Please.”

“I would love to interview him some day,” you mused.

“Who? Nightwing?”

“Yeah he’s just. He’s a vigilante and he’s not like Batman. I do think he would be way easier to talk to, I have so many questions I could ask him. If only I weren’t writing celebrity gossip,” you wished with a deep sigh.

“Sounds like you really admire him.”

“He does good work,” you shrugged. “Well anyway, not like that’s ever going to happen. My writing career will always be limited to ‘What is Dick Grayson’s type in women.’”

“You’re my type in women,” Dick replied without missing a beat.

“I give it three days before you’re bored of me,” you snickered.

“I give it forever,” he challenged.

“Sure,” you yawned. “Wake me up when we’re there,” you said to him and leaned your head against the cold glass window.

Dick allowed himself a second to look at you instantly falling asleep. Your face looked so content and soft that he couldn’t help the smile of fondness that appeared on his face.

On the red light, he brushed your hair away from your face and draped his jacket over you before turning the music off.

He murmured a quiet ‘good night’ before turning back to drive you two home.

He reaches for the same dog-eared copy of The Name of the Wind you’re reshelving. Your fingers brush. He flashes that easy, crooked grin and says, “If you tell me it’s better than the hype, I’ll buy two—one for me, one for the guy who keeps stealing my copies at the station.”

You give him an honest, slightly nerdy ten-minute breakdown of why the prose is worth it, complete with zero spoilers. He listens like you’re the most interesting person in Gotham. By the time the store closes, he’s bought the book, your staff pick of the month, and asked for your number “so I can argue about the ending once I finish.”

First text from him the next night: a single voice note of him dramatically reading the opening line while perched on a gargoyle. You’re hooked before you even realize the cute acrobat from the bookstore is also Nightwing.

Their Relationship

Dick is the human equivalent of a golden retriever who has decided your love language is “quiet nights in with books.” He keeps a permanent stack of your recommendations on his nightstand (dog-eared, highlighted, sometimes with little sticky-note arguments in the margins).

After brutal patrols he’ll show up at your apartment still in the Nightwing suit under a coat, kick off his boots, and flop face-first onto your couch demanding, “Read to me. Your voice makes the bruises stop hurting.” You read aloud while he rests his head in your lap and traces idle patterns on your thigh.

He drags you into his world gently: rooftop picnics with takeout and a single book light, surprise weekend trips to used bookstores in other cities, and once a stakeout date where you both sat in a van reading by red flashlight while he monitored a warehouse.

You balance him. When the weight of being “the best Robin” or “the one who holds the family together” gets too heavy, you hand him a worn paperback and say, “For the next hour the only hero you have to be is the guy who makes me laugh at chapter twelve.” He melts every single time.

Public affection is his default—he’ll kiss your temple in the mystery aisle, spin you around when you find a first edition, and proudly introduce you as “my favorite plot twist.” Private moments are softer: he learns your favorite tropes by heart and will recreate them in real life (think candlelit balcony, city lights, and him quoting your favorite romance line verbatim).

The only fights are playful: he keeps “borrowing” your annotated books and writing tiny love notes in the margins. You pretend to be mad until he reads the notes out loud in the ridiculous voices he uses just for you.

The Reactions of the Batfamily

Bruce: Initially suspicious (he runs a background check before Dick even tells him your name). Once he sees how grounded and genuinely happy Dick is around you, he softens. He starts leaving first-edition classics on your doorstep with cryptic notes like “For the civilian who keeps my son human.” High praise.

Jason: Teases Dick mercilessly (“Golden Boy traded the circus for book club, huh?”) but secretly loves that you quote Pride and Prejudice at him during family dinners. He starts leaving annotated revenge tragedies on your fire escape with Post-its that say “Red Hood approves of your taste in morally gray men.”

Tim: Does the full detective deep-dive, then shows up at your bookstore with a color-coded spreadsheet of books “statistically proven to help with vigilante burnout.” You two bond instantly over obscure literary theory and now have a group chat titled “Dick’s Emotional Support Readers.”

Damian: Acts like he couldn’t care less until he catches you reading The Once and Future King and launches into a thirty-minute rant about historical inaccuracies in Arthurian legend. You counter with three better sources. He calls you “Tolerable” and lets you pet his cat. Highest honor.

Barbara: Immediately your biggest supporter. She creates a private comms channel just for the three of you so you can send each other memes about “dating a former flying Grayson.” She also slips you the Batfamily group chat password so you can watch them lose their minds in real time when Dick posts a photo of the two of you reading together.

Stephanie: Screams, hugs you, and declares you “the best thing to happen to this disaster family since waffles.” She raids your TBR list and starts a book-swap tradition that somehow always ends with everyone arguing about character deaths at the dinner table.

Cass: Doesn’t say much, but she learns your favorite book’s cover by heart and will silently hand you a new copy when she senses you’ve had a rough day. The quietest but most sincere stamp of approval.

Footsteps behind you. Deliberate. Familiar cadence even after years.

Nightwing landed without flourish, cape settling around him like spilled ink.

“You left them facedown in their own blood,” he said. No greeting. No accusation. Just fact.

You didn’t turn. “They stopped breathing before they could reload. Cleaner that way.”

He stepped closer, boots quiet on wet gravel. “I saw the footage. They were down. You still finished it.”

You finally looked at him. Same mask. Same jawline under it. Same eyes that used to search yours for something softer than what you ever gave.

“Kids were dying,” you said. “Now they’re not. Math checks out.”

He exhaled through his nose. “That’s the line you draw now?”

“That’s the line I’ve always drawn.” You stood, rolling your shoulders. The violet plating of your armor caught the sodium glow from the streetlights. “Kori saves with sunlight and speeches. Komand’r conquers. I fall somewhere between. I clean up what the rules won’t touch.”

A long silence. Wind moved between you both.

“You used to let me talk you down,” he said quietly.

“You used to think talking was enough.”

He didn’t flinch. Just watched you. “I was wrong about a few things.”

You felt the old ache start behind your ribs—the one that never quite left after you walked out of that safehouse in Jump City and didn’t look back.

“I still kill when I have to,” you told him. Flat. No apology in it. “When the system fails them. When mercy gets more people killed.”

“I know.” He took one step closer. Not crowding. Just enough to close some of the distance. “I’ve read every report. Seen every crime scene you left behind. I know exactly what you do.”

You waited for the lecture. It didn’t come.

Instead he said, “I’m not here to arrest you. Or convert you. I just—” He stopped. Restarted. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t still look for your signature in every purple flare across the skyline.”

Your throat tightened. You hated that it still could.

“I’m not coming back to the team,” you said.

“I’m not asking you to.”

“Then what?”

He looked at the alley below, then back at you. “I want in on the nights you decide who walks away and who doesn’t. Not to stop you. To see it. To argue when I think there’s another move. To stand there when you make the call anyway.”

You studied him. Searched for the lie, the hidden agenda, the Bat-trained play. Found none.

“You’ll hate it,” you warned.

“Probably.”

“You’ll hate me some nights.”

“Already tried that. Didn’t stick.”

You let out a short breath that might have been a laugh if it weren’t so tired. “You’re still an idiot.”

“Maybe.” The corner of his mouth moved—just a fraction. “But I’m your idiot. Unless you tell me to leave.”

The city kept breathing below you: sirens, horns, distant shouts. Ordinary violence. The kind you both knew too well.

You stepped forward until the space between you was only a breath. Close enough to feel the heat off his suit, the faint ozone-and-leather smell that used to mean home.

“I don’t do second chances,” you said.

His voice dropped. “Then call this the first one we’re doing right.”

Your hand found the edge of his chest plate. His found your waist—careful, like he expected you to bolt.

You didn’t.

When you kissed him it wasn’t gentle or cinematic. It was teeth and years of unsaid things and the metallic taste of the night. His fingers tightened in the seam of your armor like he was anchoring himself against the possibility you’d vanish again.

When you broke apart you both stayed close, foreheads touching, breathing the same cold air.

“I’m not promising to change,” you said against his mouth.

“I’m not asking you to stop.” His thumb brushed the corner of your jaw. “Just don’t disappear again.”

You didn’t answer with words.

Instead you turned your hand palm-up between you. A thin thread of violet energy curled around your fingers, then drifted across to wrap loosely around his wrist—not binding, just there. Warm. Steady.

He looked down at it, then back at you.

“Deal,” he said.

You let the light fade.

Then you both turned toward the city, shoulder to shoulder, and dropped off the roof into the dark.

No promises. No grand declarations.