njghtiee
njghtiee
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my beloved dick
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njghtiee · 2 hours ago
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DID I SMEEL YJ!ROBIN FIC!? IN THIS DAY AN AGEEEE THIS MUST BE HEAVEEENN
Jk but WOW did that fic made me watch Young Justice again the nostalgia omgg i miss this 🥹🥹
Also the fic? ✨amazing✨ is gorgeousss good to know there's some yj!robin around here
AAAAA THANK U SO MUCH SWEETIEEE i'm so glad the fandom is still alive since i've watched yj for the first time only a few months ago and i wish i could go back to season one😭😭😭 and i'm planning on continuing that fic because i miss my boy robin so muchhh
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njghtiee · 4 hours ago
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love love loveeed your yj!dick fic
what do you think of him with like a gf that’s maybe his classmate or also goes to gotham academy… cause I’m thinking academic rivals to lovers iykwim !!!
thank u sweetie aaa!! guys i'm so glad that there are still some yj fans especially dick's (like in italy no one knows this series). of course i'm gonna write this because it screams dick perfect gotham's golden boy grayson.
thank y'all for the requests btw!! don't be shy about asking or just yapping with me, i appreciate you all!!
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njghtiee · 14 hours ago
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thank u so much swetieeeee!! in every universe dick is such a cocky tease i love him😭😭
falling for you...literally
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plot! this comes right from this request. soo as a lover of a slow burn dynamic i chose reader to be with the league of shadows, this is set in season 1.5 of young justice so that dick is still robin but he's older now. during a stealth mission something goes sideways really fast, the league of shadows wasn't supposed to be there, and neither were you. fem reader implied!
a/n: thanks for the request honey!! i haven't watched season one in a while so sorry if there are some mistakes. hope you enjoy!! actually i have other scenes in mind so i'm probably gonna write a part 2! i miss season one young justice and robin sooooooooooo much
The Gotham docks were wrapped in fog, every breath of the harbor air heavy with salt and rust. Shipping containers rose like steel towers in the gloom, stacked haphazardly in rows that formed a maze. Robin crouched high above on a crane, his domino mask adjusting between heat and motion detection.
“Four signatures” he muttered under his breath, watching red figures flicker across his HUD. Their movements were silent, calculated: no clunky boots, no chatter. Shadows. “We’ve got company.”
Aqualad’s calm voice answered through the comm, barely a whisper against the static. “Confirmed. I'll approach from the east.”
“Please tell me it’s not Klarion,” Wally groaned from somewhere below. “Or clowns. Or demon clowns.”
“Worse” Robin said, a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. “No glitter”
The Team fanned out. Artemis knocked an arrow, her shoulders tense. M’gann floated silently above the fog, scanning ahead. Superboy clenched his fists.
And then it started, fast and brutal.
A flash of silver sliced the air.
Artemis barely ducked before Cheshire landed on her, flipping the archer onto the asphalt as though she weighed nothing. The quiet dockyard erupted into chaos.
“Contact!” Aqualad’s order cut through the comm. “League of Shadows!”
“Knew it!” Wally shouted, already dodging a blade aimed at his ribs. “Why is it always ninjas?!”
From above, Robin spotted another figure moving with impossible grace across a container roof. He dropped silently behind them, birdarangs at the ready. He expected a grunt—another faceless Shadow.
But when the figure turned, it wasn’t a grunt.
It was a girl.
She was his age—maybe a little older—tall and lean, dressed in matte black leather that clung like a second skin. Her hair was pulled back into a tight tail. No mask. Just kohl-lined eyes that locked onto his. Eyes without hesitation. Without warmth.
Robin tilted his head, cocky as ever. “Don’t suppose you’re here for the dock tour?”
You didn’t answer. You just moved.
Fast. Precise. Unforgiving.
The first kick caught his ribs before he even processed it. He blocked the follow-up elbow, twisting his body to absorb the impact, but you were already there, slipping through his guard like smoke. No wasted motion. No sound.
He liked a challenge.
The fight was chaos wrapped in elegance—two trained combatants measuring, countering, adapting in seconds. He swept low at your legs; you backflipped clean over, palm-striking his shoulder hard enough to rattle his bones.
Robin grunted, flipping into a crouch. “Okay… not a rookie.”
You didn’t stop. You grabbed his wrist mid-strike, twisting sharply and forcing him off balance. He retaliated with a kick to your thigh, but you rolled with it, flipped over him in one fluid arc, and scissored your leg around his neck, using the momentum to slam him to the ground.
Somewhere across the yard, Wally’s horrified voice carried. “Is Robin—guys, is Robin actually losing right now?!”
Robin coughed, flipping himself backward to regain footing, blood on his lip. His grin flickered, sharper this time.
“You’re good.” He twirled an escrima stick. “But I’m better.”
He lunged low, feinted left. You read it instantly. You were learning each other’s rhythm, your strikes brutal and efficient, no theatrics. You finally landed a clean kick to his jaw, snapping his head sideways.
Robin stumbled, wiped blood from his mouth, and laughed under his breath. “You hit like you’ve got something to prove.”
Still no answer. Just those eyes.
He steadied, voice quieter now. “…Who are you?”
Your first and only words slipped out, calm and flat. “Not yet, Boy Wonder"
And then you were gone—vanished into the fog as an explosion rattled the dockyard.
By the time the smoke cleared, the Shadows had disappeared with their prize.
The Team regrouped, bruised and breathless.
“Okay,” Wally said, dragging a hand down his face, “we just got wrecked.”
“They were prepared,” Aqualad said, grim. “Too precise for coincidence.”
Artemis rubbed her shoulder. “That Cheshire freak had backup. Did anyone else catch the number of that truck?”
Robin stood apart, eyes fixed on the smoke. “Not a truck.”
The others turned to him.
“She wasn’t like the others,” he muttered. “No theatrics. No killing blow. Just… calculated.”
M’gann tilted her head, concerned. “That’s… good, right?”
Robin didn’t answer. He was still staring into the fog, searching for your silhouette.
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A few days after the Gotham docks mission, mount justice’s systems are full of Shadow data, but Batman, Red Tornado, and the team still can’t identify the silent fighter Robin clashed with. The files are blank where your name should be, you must've been someone new, but for now you were just a shadow.
The mission was supposed to be surveillance. Instead, they walked straight into another League of Shadows operation. Chaos erupted. Blades against fists, smoke bombs in the dark.
“Seriously? Again?! They’re like roaches in leather!” Wally said while dodging blades thrown at him.
"Maintain formation!" Aqualad ordered his team but it was too late, Robin was down.
Now he sat in a rusted holding room, wrists shackled behind a pipe. His lip was split, breath steady but strained.
He muttered to himself, “Note to self: dodging isn’t flying. Don’t let Wally talk you into split-jumping off a truck again.”
The click of boots pulled him alert. He tensed.
You entered.
The same girl.
This time your hair was loose, shadowing your face. No mask. Just calm eyes, unreadable.
Robin grinned despite himself. “Well. I was starting to wonder if you were real, or just my brain’s idea of a fun hallucination.”
You didn’t reply.
“Back to finish the job, or just here to watch me die of boredom?” He asked tilting his head.
You crossed the room with silent, measured steps, stopping a few feet away.
His grin softened. “…You don’t talk much.”
“Why would I?” Your voice was quiet, smooth, detached, like each word was rationed.
“Politeness?” Robin tilted his head. “Friendly hostage banter?”
Still nothing.
He leaned forward slightly, curiosity sparking. “Last time we met, you broke my lip and disappeared. Very ‘murderous ballerina.’ You got a name?”
At first, just silence. Then—your lips twitched, almost a smirk. “Why do you want it?”
“Can’t exactly put ‘mysterious shadow girl’ in the mission report,” he said, eyes gleaming. “Doesn’t look professional.”
A long pause. Finally, softly you said your name
Robin repeated it under his breath.
The word sat heavy on his tongue, like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit.
He leaned back against the pipe, studying you. “You gonna tell me why I’m still alive?”
“No.”
You turned, walking for the door.
“You didn’t kill me last time,” he called after you. “Didn’t kill me this time. That’s not League protocol.”
“Maybe I’m not very good at following orders,” you said, never turning around.
The door shut behind you.
Robin sighed, letting his head fall back. “Well. That was informative.”
A sudden thwip cut the silence. A blade embedded itself into the wall, inches from his hand. The chain on his cuffs snapped clean.
Robin blinked, pulling his wrists free. It was one of her knives.
“…Yeah,” he muttered, rubbing his wrists. “Definitely not League standard.”
The Team gathered around the holo-table. Robin stood with his arms crossed, mask hiding his expression.
Batman’s voice came cold and low over the monitor. “You escaped.”
“Yeah,” Robin answered. “Eventually.”
“Who freed you?”
Robin hesitated. Just a fraction of a second. “…Did it myself.”
Aqualad’s eyes narrowed. “Robin. We need accurate intelligence.”
Robin shifted. “There was… a Shadow operative. Same one from the docks. The girl.”
Artemis frowned. “The quiet one? With the killer moves and the creepy staring?”
“She totally kicked your butt,” Wally added. “No shame, bro.”
“She got lucky,” Robin shot back, smirking. “Once.”
M’gann leaned in. “Did she… say anything?”
Robin’s gaze flicked briefly to the table, where a knife sat gleaming under the light. He hadn’t turned it in. Not yet.
“She said her name,” he admitted quietly.
The others waited.
Then he said it.
No recognition. No records. Not a single file.
“She is not in the database" Aqualad said after checking.
“Of course she’s not,” Artemis muttered. “The League doesn’t exactly hand out yearbooks.”
“Still,” Wally said, uneasily. “She let you go. What kind of Shadow does that?”
“Exactly,” Robin murmured.
Batman’s voice cut through the room. “Monitor her. If she appears again, do not engage alone. We don’t know her allegiance.”
Robin’s eyes stayed on the knife. His voice dropped so low it was almost to himself. “Maybe she doesn’t either.”
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The next mission Batman assigned them was supposed to be an easy handling one: retrieve high-tech prototype stolen by Intergang operatives, intelligence traced back to League sources, in an abandoned underground power facility in Switzerland. The team’s goal is to get the device before it disappears into the black market.
Unbeknownst to them, the League of Shadows wants it too, and they're already there.
Snow swirled over jagged ruins, glittering faintly under a pale moon. The old facility hunched in the mountainside like a corpse of rusted steel and broken concrete. Wind howled through shattered windows, scattering flakes across the ground.
The Team crouched behind an outcrop of rock, eyes fixed on the half-buried structure. Robin adjusted his goggles, lenses flashing faint green as they scanned heat signatures. His cape shifted in the wind, snowflakes clinging to the black fabric.
Kaldur’s voice was calm over the comms. “Kid, secure the perimeter. Miss Martian, scan the upper levels. Superboy, Artemis—come with me. Robin, take the underground. That is where they will hide the prototype.”
“Always sending me to the creepy basements,” Robin muttered with a grin as he stood. “I feel so loved"
He didn’t wait for a reply. With a flick of his cape, he slipped into the shadows of a cracked shaft, dropping silently out of sight.
Darkness pressed down like a weight. Rusted platforms groaned beneath his boots. Old wires dangled like spiderwebs, dripping water onto the concrete. The air smelled of mildew and ozone, as if the place still remembered what electricity used to feel like.
Robin’s footsteps were soundless as he moved deeper. His voice murmured low into his comms.
“Visuals show two hostiles… wait—scratch that. Six. Looks like Shadows are playing scavenger too.”
Wally’s voice crackled back, half a whisper, half a whine. “Oh great. Can’t we just have one bad guy for once?”
Robin’s grin sharpened. He shifted along the catwalk, scanning the floor below. And then he froze.
Because across the fractured generator hall, in the eerie blue light of flickering panels, she stood.
You
Your black leather clung to your frame, hair pulled tight, eyes lifted. You moved like silence given form, striking down a guard with clean precision. And then your gaze flicked up, meeting his.
Robin felt his pulse jump. You stopped. Just a heartbeat. Then moved again.
His grin spread slowly. “There you are” he whispered.
You collided mid-motion, bodies spinning like dancers who both knew the steps—but this wasn’t a stage. This was instinct. Blades, fists, sticks. Strike, block, counter.
Robin swung his staff down toward your ribs. You caught it with both hands, twisted, and kicked off his chest, sending him staggering back a step.
“Still crashing parties that aren’t yours?” Robin taunted, recovering with a spin.
“Funny,” You said coolly, slashing upward with your blade. “I was about to say the same.”
He ducked, hair brushing steel. “You always show up when I least want you.”
Your boot swept at his legs, sharp and fast. “Trust me. The feeling is mutual.”
They broke apart for a beat, circling. Your chest rose and fell steady. His grin was sharp but his eyes were studying, calculating.
You darted first. Knife flashing. He twisted aside, but the blade skimmed his shoulder, slicing through fabric. He winced.
“Okay,” he muttered. “Definitely not flirting.”
You didn’t answer—just pressed forward.
Chaos reigned. Aqualad drove his water-bearers through Intergang brutes, holding the line as Artemis loosed arrows in quick succession.
M’gann hovered above, her voice tight. “Robin’s below! There’s a lot of movement—he’s not alone!”
Robin flipped a flash disk across the floor. It burst, filling the hall with choking smoke. Shadows swirled. For a heartbeat, you were gone.
Then—
BOOM.
One of the unstable generators erupted, metal screaming as sparks showered the chamber. The ground shuddered. Cracks split the floor.
Robin shouted, “Move!”
Too late. The floor gave way.
Concrete splintered. Both of you plummeted.
Robin groaned first, rolling to his side with a wince. His suit was torn at the shoulder, dirt streaked across his mask. “Ugh—note to sel,,” he muttered, pressing a gloved hand to his ribs, “next time, dodge before the blast.”
He turned his head, blinking through the settling dust. Someone else stirred. Leather creaked.
You pushed yourself up from the cracked ground, your hair matted with dirt, black leather scratched but intact. Your eyes locked onto him instantly—sharp, unreadable. Your lips curled slightly, not quite a smirk.
“Still alive, Boy Wonder?”
“Only just,” he grunted, sitting up straighter, cocking his head. “Thanks for the concern. Thought you Shadows were all about finishing the job.”
“I was,” she said dryly, stretching out a sore shoulder. “But now we’re both stuck. So… great plan.”
“Wasn’t my bomb,” Robin shot back, dusting off his glove. “Pretty sure that was your side’s idea of an exit strategy.”
You rolled your eyes and stood slowly, testing your balance. “Please. If it was my plan, we’d be gone. And you’d still be tied to a chair.”
“…Kinky,” Robin muttered under his breath.
You shot him a look.
He grinned. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”
Robin’s eyes flicked to her. “You okay?”
You didn’t answer.
“Cool. Love the silent treatment,” he added, adjusting his arm with a wince. Probably dislocated. “Ten out of ten for dramatic tension.”
“I didn’t ask for commentary” you said sharply, eyes scanning the perimeter. Your voice was hoarse but cold as ever. The water was now creeping over your ankles.
Robin chuckled. “Didn’t ask, huh? Maybe I should write a handbook. Surviving Cave-Ins with a Shadow Girl Who Might Kill You.”
You looked over your shoulder at him. “You talk too much.”
“Occupational hazard.”
A beat of silence. Then a low groan echoed through the space — the ceiling above them shifted. A chunk of rock fell with a crack and splashed nearby. Robin flinched. You didn’t.
“How bad’s your arm?” you asked finally, still not looking at him.
Robin blinked. “…Wow. That almost sounded like concern.”
“It’s not.”
“Sure.”
You finally turned. The light above them was dim, coming from some cracked emergency panel, but your eyes locked on his arm.
“It’s dislocated.”
“Yup.”
You took two steps forward, squatted beside him, and without hesitation, grabbed his wrist.
“Whoa—wait—!”
CRACK.
“AH—! Jeez—!” Robin swore under his breath, gripping his shoulder. “Could’ve warned me!”
“I did.”
“No, you didn’t!”
“I looked at it.”
“That’s not a warning!”
Your gaze flicked to the rising water. “Get up.”
Robin grumbled but complied, pushing to his feet. His cape clung to his back, heavy with water. You moved first, wading toward what remained of a tunnel.
“No offense,” he said, limping behind you, “but you Shadows have terrible timing. Every time we cross paths, there’s some explosion, a cave-in, or an ambush.”
“Then stop getting in the way.”
“See, now I know you’re not over our last fight. Is this grudge thing going to be a recurring theme?”
You gave him a deadpan stare. “Yes.”
“Cool. Just checking.”
Robin leaned against a jagged wall, his arm now bound tightly in his cape like a sling.
“You know, for someone who kicked my butt two weeks ago and vanished into smoke, you’re not as scary up close.”
“Good,” you muttered. “I’m not here to scare you.”
He tilted his head. “Really? ‘Cause you’re doing great at it.”
You didn’t answer. The water was almost to your knees now.
Robin’s expression sobered slightly. “Hey… for real. Why’d you cut me loose last time?”
You stiffened. The question hung there, unanswered.
“You don’t have to tell me. I mean, mysterious ninja girl letting the hero live? Classic.”
Your gaze lowered. “I don’t kill unless ordered.”
“And they ordered you to kill me?”
A pause.
Then, softly: “No.”
Robin’s brow furrowed.
“Then why didn’t you bring me back?”
You didn’t reply.
The silence stretched.
Suddenly, a deep rumble echoed around them. Then a sharp crack overhead. The ceiling gave way — not all of it, but enough for a surge of water to come crashing in from the side. Robin lunged, pulling you backward as the current hit them both hard.
You both slammed against the wall, soaked and groaning. Robin coughed.
“Okay—this just became a really bad day.”
You, drenched, shoved wet hair from your face, glaring at him.
“Don’t. Touch. Me.”
He raised his hands. “Right. Duly noted.”
Robin’s grin faded. His eyes sharpened. “So you're what—freelance assassin now?”
Your gaze stayed on the cracked wall. “I’m nothing.”
Robin tilted his head, voice softer. “That’s not true.”
You snapped her eyes to him, glare sharp.
He shrugged, smirking faintly through the pain. “You’re extremely annoying. That counts as something.”
“If I had a knife, I’d stab you right now.”
“You did stab me,” he shot back. “Shoulder. Like, fifteen minutes ago.”
“Should’ve aimed higher.”
Robin laughed under his breath. The sound echoed oddly in the cavern.
The Team regrouped around the holo-table.
“We’ve lost Robin’s signal,” Aqualad said evenly, though his eyes betrayed worry.
“What do you mean lost?” Wally snapped, pacing. “Like, ‘out of range’ lost, or ‘buried alive with some ninja girl’ lost?”
M’gann gasped softly. “He was fighting one of the Shadows when the explosion happened—”
“We don’t know what happened,” Kaldur corrected firmly. “But we must assume he is alive. And we must locate him.”
Artemis folded her arms tightly. “If he’s with them, we’ll need backup.”
Conner’s fists clenched. “Then let’s stop talking and find him.”
Above, the Team triangulated Robin’s broken tracker. “They’re underground,” M’gann said, eyes glowing. “I can feel him.”
“Then we move,” Kaldur ordered.
At the same time, Sportsmaster and his Shadows advanced from the opposite side. One operative, the tall man with burning eyes, moved with sharp urgency.
Light cut through the cavern as debris shifted. M’gann’s voice echoed. “Robin!”
From the other tunnel, Shadows poured in—led by Sportsmaster, and the tall operative who went straight for you.
He gripped your arm sharply. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine” you said, pulling back.
His eyes flicked to Robin, hostility sharp. “You let him touch you?”
Your jaw tightened. “I wasn’t letting him.”
Robin smirked faintly, bruised but standing. “Relax, Shadow-boy. She hates me just as much as you do.”
Aqualad’s voice cut firm. “Robin. Report.”
Robin wiped blood from his cheek, standing straighter. “Underground dungeon, rapid flooding, hostile company. Pretty typical day.”
Wally zipped in, grinning in relief. “You look like a wet bat.”
Robin ignored him. His eyes flicked to you.
You met his gaze. Not a glare. Not soft either. Something in between.
“You’ll see me again” you said quietly.
Robin’s grin widened faintly. “Count on it.”
And like smoke, you were gone again.
The bio-ship hummed as it cut through the rain-heavy skies, sleek and silent despite the storm thrashing outside. Water streamed down the organic windows, blurring the city lights below. The only sound inside was the low thrum of the engines—and the unspoken tension thickening the air.
Every set of eyes was on Robin.
He sat near the rear, shoulders hunched against the cold paneling, cape heavy and sodden against the floor. Mud streaked across his mask, plastered his dark hair to his forehead. A deep gash marked the sharp line of his jaw, and his right arm hung stiff at his side, the shoulder wrenched out of place. He was bruised, dripping, clearly exhausted, but his arms were crossed like a shield, his chin tilted in defiance.
No one dared to speak at first. M’gann kept her eyes forward, both hands steady on the controls, guiding them home. Superboy lingered at the back of the ship, arms folded, silent as stone. Kaldur had taken a calm, patient seat across from Robin, waiting for him to begin. Artemis leaned forward in her chair, restless, chewing back the question burning on her tongue.
It was Wally, of course, who finally broke the silence.
“So, uh… mind telling us how exactly you ended up trapped underground with one of the League of Shadows’ top agents?”
Robin let out a short exhale—half a laugh, half annoyance. “Well, we fell.”
Wally blinked at him. “No. No-no. That’s not an answer. That’s a setup for a joke. Like, ‘We fell—’” He made an exaggerated boom sound with his mouth and threw his hands up. “—‘into a secret romantic cave!’” His grin stretched wide. “C’mon, dude, what actually happened?”
Kaldur’s voice cut cleanly through Wally’s antics. “Start from the beginning, Robin.”
Robin tilted his head, that faint smirk tugging at his mouth even through the bruises.
“Relax, Aqualad. It wasn’t a date.” He lifted his good shoulder in a shrug, wincing at the movement. “Unless you count an explosion, a rockslide, mild concussion, and a flash flood as… romantic ambiance.”
The words were dry, sharp-edged with humor, but Artemis caught the wince in his shoulder. Her brow furrowed.
“You’re hurt” she said flatly.
“I’ve had worse” Robin answered, brushing it off with that familiar bravado. Then, quieter, almost slipping out:
“She didn’t do it. Not on purpose, anyway.”
That single word—she—hung in the air. The others caught it immediately.
M’gann’s voice was soft, uncertain. “You mean the girl. The one who helped you escape before.”
Robin didn’t answer right away. His gloved fingers tapped an absent rhythm against his utility belt, buying time, weighing what to say. At last, he inclined his head.
“Yeah. She was there again. We both went after the target. She wanted whatever intel the Shadows were sent to grab, we were after the same. Got in each other’s way. Again.”
Superboy’s arms tightened across his chest. His tone was flat, suspicious. “And then you fell into a hole?”
Robin’s smirk returned, tired but unshaken. “You say that like I planned it. Blame the villain’s deathtrap. Explosions happened. Ceiling caved in. She and I were in the same tunnel. Whole place collapsed. Next thing I know—” He paused, his voice losing its edge. “—we’re under a few tons of dirt and metal, barely breathing. Water coming in fast. No backup. No exits.”
The silence this time was heavy. The team exchanged uneasy looks.
Kaldur leaned forward, voice steady, calm. “She didn’t leave you there.”
Robin’s eyes flicked up, sharp, serious. “No. She didn’t.”
The words landed harder than expected. Wally sat up straighter. “Wait. She saved you?”
Robin shook his head. “Not exactly. I was the one who pulled her out of the water.” He hesitated, something unreadable crossing his expression. “She told me not to touch her.”
Artemis snorted under her breath. “Well, now that sounds like a Shadow.”
Robin chuckled softly to himself, low enough it almost went unnoticed. “She’s… complicated.”
M’gann’s brow creased as she guided the ship. “But she’s still one of them.”
Robin didn’t flinch. His answer was immediate. “I know.”
Another silence fell, colder this time. And then Wally, because he couldn’t help himself, blurted out:
“Okay, but like… is she hot?”
Artemis turned her head sharply. “Wally.”
Robin didn’t even bother answering. He just tipped his head back against the paneling with a groan, as if physically willing himself not to react.
The bio-ship descended smoothly onto the mist-shrouded ridge of Mount Justice. The hatch hissed open, the night air rushing in, damp and cool.
Robin was the last to rise, his limp slight but unmistakable as he followed the others down the ramp. Kaldur touched his arm gently before he could step away.
“You will speak to Batman?” Kaldur asked.
Robin gave a crooked smile. “I’ll tell him what he needs to know.”
Wally, irrepressible as ever, clapped him on the back with a grin. “You’ve got it bad, man.”
Robin snorted. “For someone who tried to drown me?”
“Exactly!” Wally shot back, triumphant.
Robin only shook his head, a smile tugging faintly at his lips as he stepped into the mist, unreadable.
He twirled the knife you left between his gloved fingers with practiced ease, the blade catching the dim light. His thoughts replayed like static—mud, water, your voice in the dark.
Don’t touch me.
Cold. Sharp. A warning.
And yet… you hadn’t left him. Not when you could have.
Robin’s fingers tightened around the weapon. The corner of his mouth pulled in a grim, unreadable line.
You were a Shadow. An enemy. A risk.
But you were also the one who stayed.
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njghtiee · 21 hours ago
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saw a robin (dick) edit with this song and god it portrays him so perfectly and how he feels about batman (especially if we're talking about young justice robin and how he became in s2 and s3)
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njghtiee · 1 day ago
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There’s just something about young justice nightwing / dick grayson that makes me go absolutely feral bro
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njghtiee · 1 day ago
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PLEASE drop something about nightwing!! anything at all but im so curious about the way you picture him, even headcannons are fine!! thank u so much!!
ofc my love! i hope this is good!!! i'm sorry this took so long to get out :( but i've had this idea stewing in my head for a while! this is just how i kinda picture dick in my mind <3 i don't write for dick that often, but i hope i did him justice :)
the greatest - d. grayson
dcu masterlist , main masterlist , teklarn’s cliche’s and tropes
dick grayson x gn!reader
summary: faced with the threat of losing you, dick murders someone, and for the very first time, faces the consequences of what it's like to have real blood on his hands.
cw: depictions of violence, blood, looots of angst
...and you don't wanna know what I would've done...anything at all, worse than anyone...
UNEDITED!
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
For the first time in Dick Grayson’s life, he’s killed a man. Adrenaline pumps through his veins, blurring his vision. His thoughts turn to static as crimson bleeds into the cracks in his suit. It’s warm. It’s fresh. The body before him is still, face still frozen in fear. 
He wishes it could’ve been someone important. That the blood on his hands would mean something pivotal for Gotham. But it doesn’t. The life he took was insignificant, and that’s what makes it worse. 
Every lesson, every rebellious moment, every abandoned moral comes rushing back, flushing away the previous memories. Things Bruce had drilled into his first son for years and years until they finally split. 
Dick believed in them, wanted to see those morals through. But he was no saint. His stomach stirs, and he wonders if this is what Jason felt the first time he killed someone. Was it this…grotesque? 
He’d been around blood before. Been covered in it head to toe. But to know that the maroon stains on his hands cost someone their life, it made it all too real. All too personal. Dick didn’t know this man, but why did he suddenly want to know everything about him? Did he have a family, a wife, a niece and nephew who were eager to see him for Christmas? 
Of course not. 
Of course not, right? 
This man was a criminal. One of Joker’s goons. They were closer to demons than they were to being human. But that didn’t take away the sting. It didn’t change the reality. 
Dick’s breaths come in harsh puffs. His head feels like it’s going to implode. His heart is beating so erratically he’s sure it’s going to bruise his rib cage. 
Then…there’s you. 
You, still tied to a char, gagged, all limbs bound so tight the robe burns your skin. He shivers, hands trembling as he stumbles forward. Dick tries to convince himself it was out of necessity. That this man was drawing him out, teasing him, that he was going to kill you. 
And he was. 
Does that make it right? 
Bruce would understand, but he wouldn’t justify it. 
Dick wasn’t a killer. Never wanted to be a killer. 
He feels no more than a boy as he takes one shaky step forward. You struggle against your bonds, writhing in agony. Bruises pepper your skin. With unnecessary fragility, Dick unravels the ropes, unties the knots. He’s achingly gentle. Painfully slow. 
Because he’s not a monster despite what he’s done, and he wants you to know that more than anything. Or is he just trying to convince himself? 
Tears well in your eyes as you collapse into his arms. Blood rubs onto your skin, the metallic taste entering your mouth. You’re shaking worse than he is. 
Suddenly, Dick is less worried about what he’s done and more worried about what you saw. You’re his family, his love. And he’s reminded of who he is. He’s not a killer, is he? He’s a brother, a son, a lover. And no one touches his family. Anyone who dares gets put into their place, or worse, they end up dead. 
It’s weird how he can threaten people with that now. 
He’s a Robin who’s killed. A Robin who heard someone begging for their life and still punched them to death. 
Dick was not merciless, but he was no longer pure. Guilt would not purify him again—nothing ever would. Not even the justification of saving his family would change that fact. It would take time to make peace with it, but eventually, he’d have to. 
As he did with most things, Dick swallows his emotions and stuffs them down. His arms tighten around your quivering shoulders. The embrace strengthens, and he quietly promises himself he’s never going to let you go again. That he’ll never let anything happen to his family. Not like this. 
Blame settles on his shoulders—a heavy burden. The heaviest he’s ever had to carry. 
“You’re okay,” he shushes you, running a hand up and down your back. “You’re okay. You’re safe.” He’d never let anything happen to you. Nothing. Never. 
“Are you okay too? What you did…what happened?” You’re barely able to speak past the hiccups in your voice. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I got caught. I’m so sorry. This never would’ve happened if I hadn’t been so careless. I—” 
“Don’t apologize. It’s okay. It’s okay.” The older brother in him kicks in. “It’s not your fault. None of this is.” 
“What is Bruce going to say?” you sniffle. 
Dick pauses. He stares at the wall, studying the jagged red bricks. His vision grows fuzzy, then comes back. In, and out. Breathe in. Breathe out. He couldn’t afford to be weak, not while you were still so panicked. 
“Bruce isn’t going to find out,” he mutters into the side of your head. “I’m sorry.” 
-
As the days drag on, guilt warps Dick’s view of everything. He’s injured people, left criminals on the streets with debilitating wounds. You reassure him that he did what he thought was best. What he knew would keep you safe. 
And the long nights begin. The chokehold this man’s death has on him rattles him a little more than he’d like to say. He should be used to this. He knows himself well enough to know he’d never simply abandon Bruce’s morals. 
The thing is, Dick knows what he did was necessary. That doesn’t make it right, and it should never feel right. He’s been through worse, so why does the blood haunt him? Why does he continue to lay awake each night, your short breaths his only comfort? 
He twists around, looping an arm around your waist, tugging you closer. He breathes in your scent, letting his senses drown in you. Dick doesn’t want to be strong—he hasn’t wanted to be for a long time. He found his family, and that was something he never planned on losing. 
Not until death wrapped its talons around his neck. Not until his hair was receded and white, cheeks dimpled from years of smiling, skin peppered with age spots from months sun bathing alongside his favorite people. 
“Honey?” you mutter, turning over. “Is everything okay? Is it the dreams again?” 
Your voice is like sugar. He drinks it all up, kissing the supple skin of your neck. Dick’s embrace tightens, as if it’s the last time he might ever see you. Hold you. Have you all to himself. 
“I’m right here,” you whisper, running a lazy hand through his hair. “I’m not going anywhere.” 
This weakness, this raw vulnerability was something only you saw. Dick never wanted to seem weak in the eyes of those he loved. He was the first Robin, the leader of his own team, the greatest. No mistakes, no fear, no flinching. 
Tears threaten to spill from his eyes as he holds you close. Dick replays all his favorite memories with you. It’s hard to remind himself that you’re right here. That he didn’t lose you. He feels himself slipping, even as you turn over and intertwine your fingers with his. 
“Promise me you don’t think I’m a killer. That you don’t think I’m a murderer.” Or worse, a monster. Dick doesn’t need everyone to like him. He doesn’t care to be loved by the entire world—not as much as he used to. But when it comes to his family, the people he loves, his view of himself is skewed. 
Before you can answer, Dick supplies a reply to his own question. “I am a monster, aren’t I?” Because I made a mistake. Because I went against everything that was taught to me. I scared you, I ruined your view of me, and that is worth a thousand lifetimes in hell. 
“Do you think someone like Jason is a monster?” you ask softly. 
“No,” Dick replies. Their relationship had been strained for years. Twisted and pulled apart by time and death and all the stains in between. Dick cared little for the mistakes Jason had committed in the past, plus any mistakes that were to be committed in the future. He was just glad to have him back. “He’s my brother,” he says hastily. “I could never think that of him. Not anymore. Not after everything he’s been through.” 
You brush a dark lock from his eyes. “And he’s killed many, many people. If you don’t think he’s a monster, what does that make you?” 
Borderline innocent, probably. 
It sounded ridiculous, now. But…what would the others think? Jason had a complicated past. His life was drastically different from Dick’s in the grand scheme of things. In some strange way, it almost seemed like Jason’s actions were more…justifiable. 
Now, Dick knew that wasn’t the truth. But it didn’t make him feel any better. He was supposed to be better than this. 
“I could’ve lost you,” he says, lips pressed against your forehead. 
“But you didn’t,” you say. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.” Feeling him shudder against you, you gently bring a hand to his back, stroking the muscles there. “Let it out. It’s okay.” 
He trembles. 
And Dick Grayson cries, tired from being strong for too long. 
It’s not long after that the others begin to notice. Tim is the first to note the dark circles around Dick’s eyes. Jason realizes the lack of Dick’s snarky jokes. Damian watches from afar and assesses. 
His movements are sloppy. Nearly careless when he’s on patrols. 
Dick knows everyone can feel the shift in his energy. The only person he finds solace with is you, and even then, he feels numb as winter. 
His body is so overwhelmed by emotions that it’s beginning to shut down. He doesn’t know what to feel anymore. 
Then one day in the kitchen, Bruce confronts him about a case. Something he cracked just hours ago regarding the Joker’s latest motives. Something about a secret identity getting leaked, something about you being a target for ‘unknown reasons.’ 
Just the mention of it sends him spiraling down again. When Bruce presses in, it doesn’t take long for Dick to crack. 
“When did it happen?” Bruce asks, voice gruff and tight. 
He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows. And there’s nothing Dick can do to wipe the stain away anymore. Bruce’s gaze is like iron, locked onto him like chains. And, beyond all the turmoil and fuzziness warping his thoughts, he can only see you. 
Your sweet face whispering forgiveness and sweet nothings into his ears at night when he wakes from another nightmare. Reassuring him that you were safe, you weren’t going anywhere. 
Bruce doesn’t bother repeating his question. “What happened?” he asks instead. 
Dick’s breaths come in shudders. HIs heart beats erratically, the same way it did the night it happened. “I killed…I killed someone.” 
Bruce takes in the youth in Dick’s eyes. He sees recklessness instead of desperation. He sees a young man driven by anger and revenge. Bruce sees himself and is ready to rip the world to shreds. He fears what he might do given the chance to kill. The man fears what he can do with his own hands, what might happen if he let go of his morals just once. 
There are no words to be spoken. Silence thickens the air. 
Dick sees the regret in his eyes. The feeling that Bruce lost something vital. That, because of this, Dick has lost his innocence. And it’s that moment that anger ignites within him. 
“What would you have done?” Dick snaps. “Do you even know what they’ve done for me?” You saved him from his darkest moments. You were there to celebrate his happiest ones, too. Dick has kept you a secret from everyone, refusing to share that peaceful part of his life with anyone. 
“You don’t understand, Dick. Going down that path—” 
“For you, maybe.” 
“For all of us. For anyone.” Bruce grits his teeth. “I understand you. I see you. But this isn’t the way to—” 
“You don’t know what I’d do.” Dick’s words cut through Bruce. “You don’t know what I would’ve done to keep them safe. What I would do to keep this family safe.” He gets close and personal with Bruce. “What would you do?”
“I would die for this family.” 
Tears spring into his eyes. “How fucking simple. Make a martyr of yourself, throw your memories and morals around so everyone can remember you fondly, as the man who never went further than necessary, hm?” Dick bites out the words like they’re coated in venom. “You’d die for this family.” Somewhere, beyond the grit and darkness, Dick finds himself again. The guilt will stay with him forever. The horror and the memories and the agony of knowing who he’s become will never leave. “I’d kill for this family.” 
If Dick wasn’t daringly close, he would’ve thought he’d imagined the flicker of emotion that flashed across Bruce’s face. 
“I am who I am because of this family.” Images of your face flood his mind. You’re worth it. Worth all the guilt, all the pain. And so is Bruce. “I killed for them, and I’d kill for you, too. I shouldn’t have to hate who I am for protecting what I love.” 
Even as he says it out loud, the self-loathing still stirs deep within the pit of his stomach. 
“Don’t blame yourself” is what you would’ve told him. And Dick tries to believe it. Right down to his bones, he tires so damn hard. 
He finds no peace or forgiveness within himself. 
But, for now, yours would have to be enough.
He spins on a heel, fire roaring through his veins. Dick looks back once more to find Bruce still staring at him. “I murdered him, but that does not make me a killer.” 
“It doesn’t make you a savior, either, Dick.” 
The words send chills down his spine. And though pride wants to consume him, though he wants to yell and scratch and fight for his dignity, Dick simply nods and walks away. “I know it doesn’t. Trust me, I know.”
118 notes · View notes
njghtiee · 1 day ago
Text
falling for you...literally
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plot! this comes right from this request. soo as a lover of a slow burn dynamic i chose reader to be with the league of shadows, this is set in season 1.5 of young justice so that dick is still robin but he's older now. during a stealth mission something goes sideways really fast, the league of shadows wasn't supposed to be there, and neither were you. fem reader implied!
a/n: thanks for the request honey!! i haven't watched season one in a while so sorry if there are some mistakes. hope you enjoy!! actually i have other scenes in mind so i'm probably gonna write a part 2! i miss season one young justice and robin sooooooooooo much
The Gotham docks were wrapped in fog, every breath of the harbor air heavy with salt and rust. Shipping containers rose like steel towers in the gloom, stacked haphazardly in rows that formed a maze. Robin crouched high above on a crane, his domino mask adjusting between heat and motion detection.
“Four signatures” he muttered under his breath, watching red figures flicker across his HUD. Their movements were silent, calculated: no clunky boots, no chatter. Shadows. “We’ve got company.”
Aqualad’s calm voice answered through the comm, barely a whisper against the static. “Confirmed. I'll approach from the east.”
“Please tell me it’s not Klarion,” Wally groaned from somewhere below. “Or clowns. Or demon clowns.”
“Worse” Robin said, a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. “No glitter”
The Team fanned out. Artemis knocked an arrow, her shoulders tense. M’gann floated silently above the fog, scanning ahead. Superboy clenched his fists.
And then it started, fast and brutal.
A flash of silver sliced the air.
Artemis barely ducked before Cheshire landed on her, flipping the archer onto the asphalt as though she weighed nothing. The quiet dockyard erupted into chaos.
“Contact!” Aqualad’s order cut through the comm. “League of Shadows!”
“Knew it!” Wally shouted, already dodging a blade aimed at his ribs. “Why is it always ninjas?!”
From above, Robin spotted another figure moving with impossible grace across a container roof. He dropped silently behind them, birdarangs at the ready. He expected a grunt—another faceless Shadow.
But when the figure turned, it wasn’t a grunt.
It was a girl.
She was his age—maybe a little older—tall and lean, dressed in matte black leather that clung like a second skin. Her hair was pulled back into a tight tail. No mask. Just kohl-lined eyes that locked onto his. Eyes without hesitation. Without warmth.
Robin tilted his head, cocky as ever. “Don’t suppose you’re here for the dock tour?”
You didn’t answer. You just moved.
Fast. Precise. Unforgiving.
The first kick caught his ribs before he even processed it. He blocked the follow-up elbow, twisting his body to absorb the impact, but you were already there, slipping through his guard like smoke. No wasted motion. No sound.
He liked a challenge.
The fight was chaos wrapped in elegance—two trained combatants measuring, countering, adapting in seconds. He swept low at your legs; you backflipped clean over, palm-striking his shoulder hard enough to rattle his bones.
Robin grunted, flipping into a crouch. “Okay… not a rookie.”
You didn’t stop. You grabbed his wrist mid-strike, twisting sharply and forcing him off balance. He retaliated with a kick to your thigh, but you rolled with it, flipped over him in one fluid arc, and scissored your leg around his neck, using the momentum to slam him to the ground.
Somewhere across the yard, Wally’s horrified voice carried. “Is Robin—guys, is Robin actually losing right now?!”
Robin coughed, flipping himself backward to regain footing, blood on his lip. His grin flickered, sharper this time.
“You’re good.” He twirled an escrima stick. “But I’m better.”
He lunged low, feinted left. You read it instantly. You were learning each other’s rhythm, your strikes brutal and efficient, no theatrics. You finally landed a clean kick to his jaw, snapping his head sideways.
Robin stumbled, wiped blood from his mouth, and laughed under his breath. “You hit like you’ve got something to prove.”
Still no answer. Just those eyes.
He steadied, voice quieter now. “…Who are you?”
Your first and only words slipped out, calm and flat. “Not yet, Boy Wonder"
And then you were gone—vanished into the fog as an explosion rattled the dockyard.
By the time the smoke cleared, the Shadows had disappeared with their prize.
The Team regrouped, bruised and breathless.
“Okay,” Wally said, dragging a hand down his face, “we just got wrecked.”
“They were prepared,” Aqualad said, grim. “Too precise for coincidence.”
Artemis rubbed her shoulder. “That Cheshire freak had backup. Did anyone else catch the number of that truck?”
Robin stood apart, eyes fixed on the smoke. “Not a truck.”
The others turned to him.
“She wasn’t like the others,” he muttered. “No theatrics. No killing blow. Just… calculated.”
M’gann tilted her head, concerned. “That’s… good, right?”
Robin didn’t answer. He was still staring into the fog, searching for your silhouette.
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A few days after the Gotham docks mission, mount justice’s systems are full of Shadow data, but Batman, Red Tornado, and the team still can’t identify the silent fighter Robin clashed with. The files are blank where your name should be, you must've been someone new, but for now you were just a shadow.
The mission was supposed to be surveillance. Instead, they walked straight into another League of Shadows operation. Chaos erupted. Blades against fists, smoke bombs in the dark.
“Seriously? Again?! They’re like roaches in leather!” Wally said while dodging blades thrown at him.
"Maintain formation!" Aqualad ordered his team but it was too late, Robin was down.
Now he sat in a rusted holding room, wrists shackled behind a pipe. His lip was split, breath steady but strained.
He muttered to himself, “Note to self: dodging isn’t flying. Don’t let Wally talk you into split-jumping off a truck again.”
The click of boots pulled him alert. He tensed.
You entered.
The same girl.
This time your hair was loose, shadowing your face. No mask. Just calm eyes, unreadable.
Robin grinned despite himself. “Well. I was starting to wonder if you were real, or just my brain’s idea of a fun hallucination.”
You didn’t reply.
“Back to finish the job, or just here to watch me die of boredom?” He asked tilting his head.
You crossed the room with silent, measured steps, stopping a few feet away.
His grin softened. “…You don’t talk much.”
“Why would I?” Your voice was quiet, smooth, detached, like each word was rationed.
“Politeness?” Robin tilted his head. “Friendly hostage banter?”
Still nothing.
He leaned forward slightly, curiosity sparking. “Last time we met, you broke my lip and disappeared. Very ‘murderous ballerina.’ You got a name?”
At first, just silence. Then—your lips twitched, almost a smirk. “Why do you want it?”
“Can’t exactly put ‘mysterious shadow girl’ in the mission report,” he said, eyes gleaming. “Doesn’t look professional.”
A long pause. Finally, softly you said your name
Robin repeated it under his breath.
The word sat heavy on his tongue, like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit.
He leaned back against the pipe, studying you. “You gonna tell me why I’m still alive?”
“No.”
You turned, walking for the door.
“You didn’t kill me last time,” he called after you. “Didn’t kill me this time. That’s not League protocol.”
“Maybe I’m not very good at following orders,” you said, never turning around.
The door shut behind you.
Robin sighed, letting his head fall back. “Well. That was informative.”
A sudden thwip cut the silence. A blade embedded itself into the wall, inches from his hand. The chain on his cuffs snapped clean.
Robin blinked, pulling his wrists free. It was one of her knives.
“…Yeah,” he muttered, rubbing his wrists. “Definitely not League standard.”
The Team gathered around the holo-table. Robin stood with his arms crossed, mask hiding his expression.
Batman’s voice came cold and low over the monitor. “You escaped.”
“Yeah,” Robin answered. “Eventually.”
“Who freed you?”
Robin hesitated. Just a fraction of a second. “…Did it myself.”
Aqualad’s eyes narrowed. “Robin. We need accurate intelligence.”
Robin shifted. “There was… a Shadow operative. Same one from the docks. The girl.”
Artemis frowned. “The quiet one? With the killer moves and the creepy staring?”
“She totally kicked your butt,” Wally added. “No shame, bro.”
“She got lucky,” Robin shot back, smirking. “Once.”
M’gann leaned in. “Did she… say anything?”
Robin’s gaze flicked briefly to the table, where a knife sat gleaming under the light. He hadn’t turned it in. Not yet.
“She said her name,” he admitted quietly.
The others waited.
Then he said it.
No recognition. No records. Not a single file.
“She is not in the database" Aqualad said after checking.
“Of course she’s not,” Artemis muttered. “The League doesn’t exactly hand out yearbooks.”
“Still,” Wally said, uneasily. “She let you go. What kind of Shadow does that?”
“Exactly,” Robin murmured.
Batman’s voice cut through the room. “Monitor her. If she appears again, do not engage alone. We don’t know her allegiance.”
Robin’s eyes stayed on the knife. His voice dropped so low it was almost to himself. “Maybe she doesn’t either.”
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The next mission Batman assigned them was supposed to be an easy handling one: retrieve high-tech prototype stolen by Intergang operatives, intelligence traced back to League sources, in an abandoned underground power facility in Switzerland. The team’s goal is to get the device before it disappears into the black market.
Unbeknownst to them, the League of Shadows wants it too, and they're already there.
Snow swirled over jagged ruins, glittering faintly under a pale moon. The old facility hunched in the mountainside like a corpse of rusted steel and broken concrete. Wind howled through shattered windows, scattering flakes across the ground.
The Team crouched behind an outcrop of rock, eyes fixed on the half-buried structure. Robin adjusted his goggles, lenses flashing faint green as they scanned heat signatures. His cape shifted in the wind, snowflakes clinging to the black fabric.
Kaldur’s voice was calm over the comms. “Kid, secure the perimeter. Miss Martian, scan the upper levels. Superboy, Artemis—come with me. Robin, take the underground. That is where they will hide the prototype.”
“Always sending me to the creepy basements,” Robin muttered with a grin as he stood. “I feel so loved"
He didn’t wait for a reply. With a flick of his cape, he slipped into the shadows of a cracked shaft, dropping silently out of sight.
Darkness pressed down like a weight. Rusted platforms groaned beneath his boots. Old wires dangled like spiderwebs, dripping water onto the concrete. The air smelled of mildew and ozone, as if the place still remembered what electricity used to feel like.
Robin’s footsteps were soundless as he moved deeper. His voice murmured low into his comms.
“Visuals show two hostiles… wait—scratch that. Six. Looks like Shadows are playing scavenger too.”
Wally’s voice crackled back, half a whisper, half a whine. “Oh great. Can’t we just have one bad guy for once?”
Robin’s grin sharpened. He shifted along the catwalk, scanning the floor below. And then he froze.
Because across the fractured generator hall, in the eerie blue light of flickering panels, she stood.
You
Your black leather clung to your frame, hair pulled tight, eyes lifted. You moved like silence given form, striking down a guard with clean precision. And then your gaze flicked up, meeting his.
Robin felt his pulse jump. You stopped. Just a heartbeat. Then moved again.
His grin spread slowly. “There you are” he whispered.
You collided mid-motion, bodies spinning like dancers who both knew the steps—but this wasn’t a stage. This was instinct. Blades, fists, sticks. Strike, block, counter.
Robin swung his staff down toward your ribs. You caught it with both hands, twisted, and kicked off his chest, sending him staggering back a step.
“Still crashing parties that aren’t yours?” Robin taunted, recovering with a spin.
“Funny,” You said coolly, slashing upward with your blade. “I was about to say the same.”
He ducked, hair brushing steel. “You always show up when I least want you.”
Your boot swept at his legs, sharp and fast. “Trust me. The feeling is mutual.”
They broke apart for a beat, circling. Your chest rose and fell steady. His grin was sharp but his eyes were studying, calculating.
You darted first. Knife flashing. He twisted aside, but the blade skimmed his shoulder, slicing through fabric. He winced.
“Okay,” he muttered. “Definitely not flirting.”
You didn’t answer—just pressed forward.
Chaos reigned. Aqualad drove his water-bearers through Intergang brutes, holding the line as Artemis loosed arrows in quick succession.
M’gann hovered above, her voice tight. “Robin’s below! There’s a lot of movement—he’s not alone!”
Robin flipped a flash disk across the floor. It burst, filling the hall with choking smoke. Shadows swirled. For a heartbeat, you were gone.
Then—
BOOM.
One of the unstable generators erupted, metal screaming as sparks showered the chamber. The ground shuddered. Cracks split the floor.
Robin shouted, “Move!”
Too late. The floor gave way.
Concrete splintered. Both of you plummeted.
Robin groaned first, rolling to his side with a wince. His suit was torn at the shoulder, dirt streaked across his mask. “Ugh—note to sel,,” he muttered, pressing a gloved hand to his ribs, “next time, dodge before the blast.”
He turned his head, blinking through the settling dust. Someone else stirred. Leather creaked.
You pushed yourself up from the cracked ground, your hair matted with dirt, black leather scratched but intact. Your eyes locked onto him instantly—sharp, unreadable. Your lips curled slightly, not quite a smirk.
“Still alive, Boy Wonder?”
“Only just,” he grunted, sitting up straighter, cocking his head. “Thanks for the concern. Thought you Shadows were all about finishing the job.”
“I was,” she said dryly, stretching out a sore shoulder. “But now we’re both stuck. So… great plan.”
“Wasn’t my bomb,” Robin shot back, dusting off his glove. “Pretty sure that was your side’s idea of an exit strategy.”
You rolled your eyes and stood slowly, testing your balance. “Please. If it was my plan, we’d be gone. And you’d still be tied to a chair.”
“…Kinky,” Robin muttered under his breath.
You shot him a look.
He grinned. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”
Robin’s eyes flicked to her. “You okay?”
You didn’t answer.
“Cool. Love the silent treatment,” he added, adjusting his arm with a wince. Probably dislocated. “Ten out of ten for dramatic tension.”
“I didn’t ask for commentary” you said sharply, eyes scanning the perimeter. Your voice was hoarse but cold as ever. The water was now creeping over your ankles.
Robin chuckled. “Didn’t ask, huh? Maybe I should write a handbook. Surviving Cave-Ins with a Shadow Girl Who Might Kill You.”
You looked over your shoulder at him. “You talk too much.”
“Occupational hazard.”
A beat of silence. Then a low groan echoed through the space — the ceiling above them shifted. A chunk of rock fell with a crack and splashed nearby. Robin flinched. You didn’t.
“How bad’s your arm?” you asked finally, still not looking at him.
Robin blinked. “…Wow. That almost sounded like concern.”
“It’s not.”
“Sure.”
You finally turned. The light above them was dim, coming from some cracked emergency panel, but your eyes locked on his arm.
“It’s dislocated.”
“Yup.”
You took two steps forward, squatted beside him, and without hesitation, grabbed his wrist.
“Whoa—wait—!”
CRACK.
“AH—! Jeez—!” Robin swore under his breath, gripping his shoulder. “Could’ve warned me!”
“I did.”
“No, you didn’t!”
“I looked at it.”
“That’s not a warning!”
Your gaze flicked to the rising water. “Get up.”
Robin grumbled but complied, pushing to his feet. His cape clung to his back, heavy with water. You moved first, wading toward what remained of a tunnel.
“No offense,” he said, limping behind you, “but you Shadows have terrible timing. Every time we cross paths, there’s some explosion, a cave-in, or an ambush.”
“Then stop getting in the way.”
“See, now I know you’re not over our last fight. Is this grudge thing going to be a recurring theme?”
You gave him a deadpan stare. “Yes.”
“Cool. Just checking.”
Robin leaned against a jagged wall, his arm now bound tightly in his cape like a sling.
“You know, for someone who kicked my butt two weeks ago and vanished into smoke, you’re not as scary up close.”
“Good,” you muttered. “I’m not here to scare you.”
He tilted his head. “Really? ‘Cause you’re doing great at it.”
You didn’t answer. The water was almost to your knees now.
Robin’s expression sobered slightly. “Hey… for real. Why’d you cut me loose last time?”
You stiffened. The question hung there, unanswered.
“You don’t have to tell me. I mean, mysterious ninja girl letting the hero live? Classic.”
Your gaze lowered. “I don’t kill unless ordered.”
“And they ordered you to kill me?”
A pause.
Then, softly: “No.”
Robin’s brow furrowed.
“Then why didn’t you bring me back?”
You didn’t reply.
The silence stretched.
Suddenly, a deep rumble echoed around them. Then a sharp crack overhead. The ceiling gave way — not all of it, but enough for a surge of water to come crashing in from the side. Robin lunged, pulling you backward as the current hit them both hard.
You both slammed against the wall, soaked and groaning. Robin coughed.
“Okay—this just became a really bad day.”
You, drenched, shoved wet hair from your face, glaring at him.
“Don’t. Touch. Me.”
He raised his hands. “Right. Duly noted.”
Robin’s grin faded. His eyes sharpened. “So you're what—freelance assassin now?”
Your gaze stayed on the cracked wall. “I’m nothing.”
Robin tilted his head, voice softer. “That’s not true.”
You snapped her eyes to him, glare sharp.
He shrugged, smirking faintly through the pain. “You’re extremely annoying. That counts as something.”
“If I had a knife, I’d stab you right now.”
“You did stab me,” he shot back. “Shoulder. Like, fifteen minutes ago.”
“Should’ve aimed higher.”
Robin laughed under his breath. The sound echoed oddly in the cavern.
The Team regrouped around the holo-table.
“We’ve lost Robin’s signal,” Aqualad said evenly, though his eyes betrayed worry.
“What do you mean lost?” Wally snapped, pacing. “Like, ‘out of range’ lost, or ‘buried alive with some ninja girl’ lost?”
M’gann gasped softly. “He was fighting one of the Shadows when the explosion happened—”
“We don’t know what happened,” Kaldur corrected firmly. “But we must assume he is alive. And we must locate him.”
Artemis folded her arms tightly. “If he’s with them, we’ll need backup.”
Conner’s fists clenched. “Then let’s stop talking and find him.”
Above, the Team triangulated Robin’s broken tracker. “They’re underground,” M’gann said, eyes glowing. “I can feel him.”
“Then we move,” Kaldur ordered.
At the same time, Sportsmaster and his Shadows advanced from the opposite side. One operative, the tall man with burning eyes, moved with sharp urgency.
Light cut through the cavern as debris shifted. M’gann’s voice echoed. “Robin!”
From the other tunnel, Shadows poured in—led by Sportsmaster, and the tall operative who went straight for you.
He gripped your arm sharply. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine” you said, pulling back.
His eyes flicked to Robin, hostility sharp. “You let him touch you?”
Your jaw tightened. “I wasn’t letting him.”
Robin smirked faintly, bruised but standing. “Relax, Shadow-boy. She hates me just as much as you do.”
Aqualad’s voice cut firm. “Robin. Report.”
Robin wiped blood from his cheek, standing straighter. “Underground dungeon, rapid flooding, hostile company. Pretty typical day.”
Wally zipped in, grinning in relief. “You look like a wet bat.”
Robin ignored him. His eyes flicked to you.
You met his gaze. Not a glare. Not soft either. Something in between.
“You’ll see me again” you said quietly.
Robin’s grin widened faintly. “Count on it.”
And like smoke, you were gone again.
The bio-ship hummed as it cut through the rain-heavy skies, sleek and silent despite the storm thrashing outside. Water streamed down the organic windows, blurring the city lights below. The only sound inside was the low thrum of the engines—and the unspoken tension thickening the air.
Every set of eyes was on Robin.
He sat near the rear, shoulders hunched against the cold paneling, cape heavy and sodden against the floor. Mud streaked across his mask, plastered his dark hair to his forehead. A deep gash marked the sharp line of his jaw, and his right arm hung stiff at his side, the shoulder wrenched out of place. He was bruised, dripping, clearly exhausted, but his arms were crossed like a shield, his chin tilted in defiance.
No one dared to speak at first. M’gann kept her eyes forward, both hands steady on the controls, guiding them home. Superboy lingered at the back of the ship, arms folded, silent as stone. Kaldur had taken a calm, patient seat across from Robin, waiting for him to begin. Artemis leaned forward in her chair, restless, chewing back the question burning on her tongue.
It was Wally, of course, who finally broke the silence.
“So, uh… mind telling us how exactly you ended up trapped underground with one of the League of Shadows’ top agents?”
Robin let out a short exhale—half a laugh, half annoyance. “Well, we fell.”
Wally blinked at him. “No. No-no. That’s not an answer. That’s a setup for a joke. Like, ‘We fell—’” He made an exaggerated boom sound with his mouth and threw his hands up. “—‘into a secret romantic cave!’” His grin stretched wide. “C’mon, dude, what actually happened?”
Kaldur’s voice cut cleanly through Wally’s antics. “Start from the beginning, Robin.”
Robin tilted his head, that faint smirk tugging at his mouth even through the bruises.
“Relax, Aqualad. It wasn’t a date.” He lifted his good shoulder in a shrug, wincing at the movement. “Unless you count an explosion, a rockslide, mild concussion, and a flash flood as… romantic ambiance.”
The words were dry, sharp-edged with humor, but Artemis caught the wince in his shoulder. Her brow furrowed.
“You’re hurt” she said flatly.
“I’ve had worse” Robin answered, brushing it off with that familiar bravado. Then, quieter, almost slipping out:
“She didn’t do it. Not on purpose, anyway.”
That single word—she—hung in the air. The others caught it immediately.
M’gann’s voice was soft, uncertain. “You mean the girl. The one who helped you escape before.”
Robin didn’t answer right away. His gloved fingers tapped an absent rhythm against his utility belt, buying time, weighing what to say. At last, he inclined his head.
“Yeah. She was there again. We both went after the target. She wanted whatever intel the Shadows were sent to grab, we were after the same. Got in each other’s way. Again.”
Superboy’s arms tightened across his chest. His tone was flat, suspicious. “And then you fell into a hole?”
Robin’s smirk returned, tired but unshaken. “You say that like I planned it. Blame the villain’s deathtrap. Explosions happened. Ceiling caved in. She and I were in the same tunnel. Whole place collapsed. Next thing I know—” He paused, his voice losing its edge. “—we’re under a few tons of dirt and metal, barely breathing. Water coming in fast. No backup. No exits.”
The silence this time was heavy. The team exchanged uneasy looks.
Kaldur leaned forward, voice steady, calm. “She didn’t leave you there.”
Robin’s eyes flicked up, sharp, serious. “No. She didn’t.”
The words landed harder than expected. Wally sat up straighter. “Wait. She saved you?”
Robin shook his head. “Not exactly. I was the one who pulled her out of the water.” He hesitated, something unreadable crossing his expression. “She told me not to touch her.”
Artemis snorted under her breath. “Well, now that sounds like a Shadow.”
Robin chuckled softly to himself, low enough it almost went unnoticed. “She’s… complicated.”
M’gann’s brow creased as she guided the ship. “But she’s still one of them.”
Robin didn’t flinch. His answer was immediate. “I know.”
Another silence fell, colder this time. And then Wally, because he couldn’t help himself, blurted out:
“Okay, but like… is she hot?”
Artemis turned her head sharply. “Wally.”
Robin didn’t even bother answering. He just tipped his head back against the paneling with a groan, as if physically willing himself not to react.
The bio-ship descended smoothly onto the mist-shrouded ridge of Mount Justice. The hatch hissed open, the night air rushing in, damp and cool.
Robin was the last to rise, his limp slight but unmistakable as he followed the others down the ramp. Kaldur touched his arm gently before he could step away.
“You will speak to Batman?” Kaldur asked.
Robin gave a crooked smile. “I’ll tell him what he needs to know.”
Wally, irrepressible as ever, clapped him on the back with a grin. “You’ve got it bad, man.”
Robin snorted. “For someone who tried to drown me?”
“Exactly!” Wally shot back, triumphant.
Robin only shook his head, a smile tugging faintly at his lips as he stepped into the mist, unreadable.
He twirled the knife you left between his gloved fingers with practiced ease, the blade catching the dim light. His thoughts replayed like static—mud, water, your voice in the dark.
Don’t touch me.
Cold. Sharp. A warning.
And yet… you hadn’t left him. Not when you could have.
Robin’s fingers tightened around the weapon. The corner of his mouth pulled in a grim, unreadable line.
You were a Shadow. An enemy. A risk.
But you were also the one who stayed.
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njghtiee · 1 day ago
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"american wedding" by frank ocean is so fucking dick coded somehow
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njghtiee · 2 days ago
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as i headcannon dick owns a golden retriver, i'm so sure jason owns a cat
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JASON TODD wasn’t supposed to be in this situation.
By this, he meant he was, in no way, supposed to be helping you—his strangely empathetic neighbor—house at least ten kitties you found in an alleyway.
He stood in your living room like a man staring down a firing squad. Only instead of guns, it was wide, unblinking kitten eyes, tiny mews, and the sound of claws scratching against the cardboard box you’d stuffed them into.
“This is a nightmare,” Jason muttered, arms crossed over his chest.
“You’re being dramatic,” you said, kneeling down to scoop up a particularly bold calico that had already escaped. It curled against your chest, purring like a tiny motor. “Look at them. They needed help. What was I supposed to do, just leave them?”
“Yeah,” Jason said flatly. “That’s exactly what normal people do.”
You gave him a sharp look, and he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He cursed internally. He was never good at saying no to you. Not when you had that look in your eyes—soft, stubborn, and just a little desperate. The same look that had probably convinced him to help you haul the box of kittens up three flights of stairs in the first place.
“They’re gonna destroy your place,” Jason warned. “Scratch up the couch, knock over your crap, keep you up all night—”
“I’ll manage,” you said quickly, as though determination alone would make it true. “Besides, they’ll only be here until I can find them homes.”
Jason snorted. “Yeah, sure. That’s what you said about the fern on your balcony, and now it’s a goddamn jungle out there.”
You tried to hide your smile. “That fern is thriving, thank you very much.”
He rolled his eyes but crouched down anyway, holding out a scarred hand. One of the kittens—black with white paws—batted at his fingers and mewed. Jason froze, then, against all odds, scooped it up. The kitten immediately climbed onto his shoulder, tiny claws catching his jacket.
Jason let out a low groan. “Great. Perfect. Guess I’m a cat tree now.”
You laughed, covering your mouth with your hand. “They like you.”
Jason shot you a withering look, but it didn’t last long. The kitten rubbed its head against his jaw, and he went still—like he’d forgotten how to breathe for a second. Something softened in his expression, too quick for you to fully catch.
“Don’t,” Jason said, voice low.
“Don’t what?” you asked, feigning innocence.
“Don’t make this a thing,” he muttered, gently stroking the kitten’s back with one finger. “I’m not the ‘cat guy.’ I’m not the—whatever this is.”
You tilted your head, smirking. “You mean kind? Caring? Secretly a softie?”
Jason shot you another glare, but there was no real bite behind it this time. He sighed, shoulders dropping in defeat.
“Fine,” he said. “But I’m not keeping any of ‘em.”
“Of course not,” you agreed too quickly, already pulling out your phone. “But, hypothetically, if one just… ended up following you home—”
“Don’t push your luck.”
Still, Jason didn’t put the kitten down.
And he smiled for the camera, with the feline giving a meek purr in the comfort of his arms.
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© yintous do not copy, repost, plagiarize, or feed any of my work into ai. | masterlist
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njghtiee · 2 days ago
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🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠 you're the best
ᝰ.ᐟ PINK LIPSTICK
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𖦹ׂ ₊˚⊹⋆ KISS MARK HEADCANONS ft. dick grayson
CONSISTS OF ↬ Dick Grayson would do anything for your love, and he will do anything to make sure everyone else sees it. ── .✦ clark kent. bruce wayne. jason todd. | navi. | masterlist. | dc masterlist. |
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bf!dick grayson who thinks it’s adorable when you leave lipstick marks on him. He’ll catch sight of the red (or pink, or berry) stain on his cheekbone and grin like he just won the lottery.
bf!dick grayson who will purposely tilt his head toward your lips so you “accidentally” get him when you’re kissing his jaw or temple. He’ll laugh, “Oops, look what you did… guess you have to give me another one now.”
bf!dick grayson who absolutely shows them off. He’ll walk into the kitchen at the manor with your mark still fresh, and if anyone stares, he shrugs with that boyish grin: “What? Can’t help it if I’m loved.”
bf!dick grayson who will pull his collar down a little lower if you leave one on his neck. Of course, it's just so everyone definitely sees it. He’ll say, “Oh, this? Yeah, my girlfriend’s got good aim.”
bf!dick grayson who has a favorite spot.. right on his cheekbone near his dimple. He claims it’s because it looks like a stamp of approval, but really he just loves that he can feel it faintly when he smiles.
bf!dick grayson who’ll purposely not wipe off the lipstick mark when you've kissed him goodnight after a date. He’ll sleep with it still there, because the thought of going to bed with your kiss “saved” on him makes him warm inside.
bf!dick grayson who teases you whenever he's kissing you a bit too sloppily. “Better watch out, sweetheart — people are gonna think I’m the one leaving marks all over you.”
bf!dick grayson who loves when you’re sitting on his lap, and you’ll kiss all over his face until he’s covered in different shades of lipstick. He’ll look in the mirror after and laugh so hard, saying, “I look like a modern art project… the masterpiece is yours, babe.”
bf!dick grayson who’s dramatic about it too. If you kiss him right before he has to go on a mission, he’ll touch the spot and say, “This is my lucky charm now. You better kiss me again if you want me back in one piece.”
bf!dick grayson who will grin if you smudge your lip gloss onto his lips when you kiss, and lick it off slowly, teasing: “Mmm, raspberry gloss. You know, I could get addicted to this.”
bf!dick grayson whose absolute favorite? When you leave one just below his ear. He’ll catch your wrist, lean close, and whisper with that playful lilt, “That’s dangerous territory, sweetheart… do it again.”
bf!dick grayson who will deliberately angle his face so you get him in obvious places.. cheekbone, corner of his mouth, the curve of his neck. Then he won’t wipe them off. Instead, he’ll head out to grab coffee, smirking when people stare at the faded lip shapes.
bf!dick grayson who likes your lipstick prints lower when it’s just the two of you. You'll start trailing kisses down from his throat to his collarbones, scattered across his chest, down his abs. He flexes just a little when you lean down to leave another, so you’ll notice how hard his body is under your lips.
bf!dick grayson who groans whenever your gloss smears over his mouth after a kiss, but instead of cleaning it off, he’ll chase your lips again, licking into your mouth just to taste the gloss mixed with you.
bf!dick grayson who loves catching your wrist mid-kiss, pinning you down for a second just so he can murmur against your mouth, “You know I’m not washing this off, right? Everyone’s gonna know I’m yours.”
bf!dick grayson who does not take this lightly. If you tease him by threatening to wipe the marks away, he’ll physically grab your hand and stop you — playful grin but eyes darker than his tone — “Don’t even think about it. You put them there, they stay.”
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njghtiee · 2 days ago
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i love thinking that dick owns a golden retriver (because it's exactly him). i'll die on that hill
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njghtiee · 2 days ago
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you really are selfish
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plot! this takes place after no wonder he's hooked (so i recommend you go reading it first and i hope you enjoy it!!) and this is the requested dick ending. so after jason took you for a dance right under dick's eyes, so our golden boy decides to remind you who you actually want to dance with. fem reader implied!
The night air outside Wayne Manor’s grand ballroom was cooler than you expected, brushing against your skin like a quiet relief after hours under chandeliers and the hum of chatter. The balcony was wide and elegant, stretching with its stone balustrade and a view over Gotham’s glittering skyline. The muffled music and laughter from inside drifted through the open doors, but out here it felt quieter, private. You leaned slightly against the railing, dress pooling in sleek folds around you, arms crossed more out of habit than comfort.
You looked almost relieved to be away from the spotlight, though your posture remained a mix of composed and guarded, the way you always carried yourself.
Dick lingered a moment behind you, giving you space before stepping up beside you. He still wore that faint smile, the one that never reached arrogance but always suggested he was holding back some clever remark.
“You know,” he said, tilting his head toward the ballroom doors, “you survived your first Wayne gala. That’s practically a rite of passage. Not everyone makes it out alive.”
That pulled a laugh from you, soft and under you breath. “Barely,” you murmured. “I’m convinced half those people have no idea who I am, but were still ready to interrogate me anyway. And the other half were just… watching. Like vultures.”
“Yeah,” he agreed with a grin.
“Welcome to my life.” Then, with a teasing glance, “Though you definitely pulled it off better than I ever did”
You rolled your eyes, but he caught the way the compliment softened your shoulders, how you almost let yourself relax. For you, that was rare.
For a moment, silence stretched between you, filled only by the faint sounds of the city below. Dick’s gaze flicked toward your profile, taking in the way the city lights caught in your hair, the faint guardedness in your expression that you wore like armor. He’d seen you fierce in ways that left people speechless, but here, away from the mission, away from everyone else — you looked almost vulnerable.
Dick glanced back toward the ballroom, then back at you, voice quieter. “So… Jason”
You tilted your head. “Jason” you echoed, testing the name.
“Yeah” He leaned against the railing beside you, his tone balancing somewhere between reluctant and resigned. “He’s—well, you saw him. My little brother. Sort of. Another one of Bruce’s kids.”
“Charming” You said dryly, though your mouth twitched like you were holding back a smirk.
“Annoying” Dick countered immediately, though there was no real malice in his voice. More like the mixture of irritation and reluctant fondness you’d expect when talking about someone who’d been in your orbit for years. He rubbed the back of his neck briefly. “Jason’s… good. Skilled. Smart. But he loves to push buttons. Especially mine.”
Your brows lifted just slightly. “You don’t say”
He caught the sarcasm and gave you a look that was half exasperated, half amused. “Yeah, yeah. He saw an opportunity to mess with me, and you happened to be—well—” He paused, eyes flicking down at you and back up. “—you”
“Can I ask you something?” His voice was quieter now, losing the playful edge.
You turned slightly toward him, wary. “Depend.”
He exhaled a small laugh at that. “Fair. Just—when Jason asked you to dance…”
He trailed off, searching for words that didn’t come out too sharp. His hands slid into his pockets, grounding himself.
“I didn’t… exactly love watching it. And I’m not saying that as your… whatever. Just as me.”
You let the silence linger, deliberately tilting your head with an unreadable look, enjoying his little stumble. “So… it bothered you.
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.
Dick hesitated, then laughed under his breath, shoulders lifting. He tried to play it off, but there was no missing the honesty in his eyes when they finally settled on yours. “Yeah. It did.”
Your heart did something traitorous at that, but you kept her tone steady, teasing. “Why? I don’t belong to you, Grayson.”
And there it was—his grin. Sharp, warm, cocky, but with that undercurrent of vulnerability that only slipped out when he trusted someone enough to see it. He angled his body toward you more fully, voice dipping lower.
“No, you don’t. But I also didn’t like watching him spin you around like that. Guess I’m selfish.”
You held his gaze, searching his face. His words weren’t flippant, they weren’t an empty flirt. They carried weight, an honesty that settled between them with a gravity stronger than the city lights below.
You finally smirked, soft but with your usual edge. “Selfish. I’ll keep that in mind”
For a beat, it was quiet again. Then Dick shifted, straightening up, one hand slipping from his pocket. His grin softened, tilted into something more genuine.
“You didn’t want to dance with him, anyway.”
You arched a brow. “Confident.”
“Accurate,” he corrected smoothly, before offering his hand in a gesture that was half formal, half boyish charm.
“So. How about giving me a chance to prove it?”
You stared at him, at his hand, then back to his face. “Here? On the balcony?”
He shrugged, utterly unfazed.
“Why not? Music’s still playing. No crowd. No Jason.” His lips quirked. “Unless you’re afraid of bad footing on stone tiles.”
Your laugh was low and genuine, surprising even yourself. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet—” he wiggled his fingers playfully, waiting.
For a moment, you just looked at him. And then, with a small roll of your eyes but a smile tugging at your lips, you slipped your hand into his.
His fingers closed gently around yours, steady, sure.
He pulled you just close enough, settling his other hand carefully at your waist. There was no rush, no theatrics—just him, leading you into slow steps timed to the faint echo of the music drifting from inside.
It wasn’t about perfect form or putting on a show. It was about the way his eyes stayed locked on yours, the way his smile softened in the shadows, the way his hand at your waist was warm and grounding.
Your voice was quiet, almost thoughtful. “So this is your big move? Out-dancing your brother?”
“Not out-dancing him,” Dick said with a grin that was softer now, more vulnerable. “Just making sure the right person remembers who she actually wants to dance with.”
That made your chest tighten unexpectedly. You looked away for a second, toward the city, as if that would steady you. But his hand squeezed gently around yours, pulling your gaze back.
Youe smirk returned, though it was gentler this time. “You really are selfish”
“Comes with the territory” he said, voice light, but his eyes told a different story.
The music inside swelled faintly, another song beginning. You kept moving, slow and easy, just the two of you on the balcony. And for the first time that night, you forgot the crowd, forgot Jason’s grin, forgot every wandering set of eyes inside.
You tilted your head, lips twitching. “You’re not really dancing. You’re barely moving.”
“Exactly,” he shot back, grin flashing. “That way, I can blame the lack of rhythm on the balcony instead of me.”
That made you laugh, the sound quiet but warm. And in that laugh, in the way you softened against him, was something you didn’t often give away — trust.
For a while, you just stayed like that, moving slowly in the faint city glow, no need for words. The moment wasn’t about spectacle or declarations. It was simple, quiet, yours.
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The orchestra inside Wayne Manor’s ballroom was beginning its last waltz when Dick slowed your quiet balcony dance to a stop. The music drifted through the open doors—soft, golden notes mixing with the faint city hum outside. Your hand was still resting lightly in his, your other brushing the dark fabric of his suit. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. There was no need.
Dick, in typical Dick Grayson fashion, broke the silence with an easy, crooked smile.
“You’re going to ruin every other gala for me, you know. They’ll all feel boring after this.” He said softly and teasing
You huffed a small laugh, your cheeks warmer than you wanted to admit.
“Don’t blame me. I didn’t even want to be here.”
Dick grinned wider “Right. Dragged against your will. By Gordon and Barbara. Not because you secretly thought you’d look stunning in that dress.”
Your eyes narrowed, but the corner of your mouth tugged upward.
“You think you’re so charming, don’t you?”
“I don’t think. I know. Years of practice.” Dick said mock-serious.
You shook your head, but you didn’t let go of his hand. The laughter faded, replaced by something gentler. The night air carried a crisp edge, and your voice lowered.
“Still… I’m glad I came. Even if I don’t exactly belong here.”
Dick’s expression softened instantly. The humor fell away, replaced by that earnest warmth only he could carry so effortlessly.
“You belong. Trust me. This place is full of people pretending. But you—” he gave your hand the lightest squeeze, “—you don’t have to pretend for me.”
Your gaze caught his, and for a heartbeat you almost forgot how to breathe.
That was the thing about Dick—he wasn’t just charming. He was sincere. And that sincerity slipped under every defense you thought you had.
Inside, applause broke out as the last song ended. The gala was closing down. Waiters began collecting glasses, and people trickled toward the cloakroom and valet. You exhaled and glanced back toward the glow of the ballroom.
“Looks like the night’s over”
“Yeah” He didn’t let go right away, just let his hand linger a second longer on yours. “I’ll walk you down?”
You gave a small nod. “Only if you don’t insist on carrying my shoes or something ridiculous like that”
“Noted” he said with mock solemnity, though the smirk in his eyes betrayed him.
You returned inside, the gala thinning out, the energy fading into polite goodbyes.
Dick stayed close, weaving you through the remnants of Gotham’s elite, making sure you never had to linger in another conversation you didn’t want.
By the time you reached the entrance, the air was cooler, quieter. You turned to him, hand tightening briefly on your clutch.
“So,” you said, almost as if testing yourself, “thanks for… everything. Tonight.”
His eyes softened. “Anytime.” Then, leaning just enough that his voice dipped closer to your ear, “And next time? No Jason. Just me.”
"And Yn—” he tilted his head, eyes catching yours, “—you were wrong earlier. You do belong here. You belong… wherever you want to.”
Your chest tightened, and for a dangerous second you thought he might close the distance. He didn’t. Of course he didn’t—he was Dick, and Dick would wait until it was perfect.
That earned him one last smile before you slipped into the night, leaving him on the steps of the manor watching you go.
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njghtiee · 3 days ago
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"to trouble"
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plot! finally gotham seems to be quiet, which meant there was still work to do: "just" public disturbance, many petty thefts and some trespassing, but for gotham that was a score and yeah, that meant quiet. this means nightwing now has more free time and what better way to spend it than stopping by his now new favorite cop? fem!reader implied
a/n: this is a follow up of this, so it still features well nightwing being persistent and extremely charming and you still pretending to be exhausted by him but secretly enjoying him being there
The next few days in Gotham were quiet, for Gotham, anyway.
Only two chemical truck hijackings, one museum alarm that turned out to be a raccoon, and a near-arson in The Narrows that had been intercepted before it escalated. For most people, that was a crisis. For Gotham, it was a lull.
Which meant Nightwing had more free moments. And free moments led to something entirely new in his evening patrols.
Stopping by the precinct.
He didn’t make a habit of lingering, that wasn’t his style. But the first time it happened, it was subtle. Just a rooftop sweep, quick visual pass through the GCPD’s upper windows. He was going to keep going. He told himself that.
And then he saw you.
Hair tied up in a loose knot, strands falling out as you hovered over a spread of papers at your desk, brow furrowed, pen tapping against your temple. You looked focused. Sharp. Same as ever.
But also, there was a faint crease in your brow. Fatigue, maybe. Frustration. You didn’t show emotions like most people. Not the obvious ones, anyway. But he was good at reading people.
He could read you.
So he dropped in.
Literally.
The open window of Barbara’s shared office let him swing in noiselessly, landing with a soft thud on the carpeted floor. Babs didn’t even flinch. She was halfway through logging data on a cold case and sipping coffee, and she didn’t bother to look up.
“You’re late”
“I wasn’t invited"
“You’re Nightwing. You don’t need an invitation”
“Good. Because I brought something"
Barbara finally glanced up. He held up a brown paper bag and wiggled it.
The smell was immediate: pastries. Good ones. From the corner café near Wayne Tower that never stayed open this late.
Except, apparently, for him.
Barbara raised a brow “You’re not even pretending to hide your favoritism now, huh?”
“Didn’t say they were for you.”
Which was exactly when you walked in—back from the crime lab with a new report, binder tucked under your arm. You stopped the moment you saw him standing there, already mid-exchange with Barbara like he belonged there.
You didn’t show any surprise.
Just raised one perfectly unimpressed brow and kept walking.
Barbara grinned behind her coffee.
“ *last name* ” Nightwing greeted, offering you a pastry like it was a peace offering.
You looked at it. Then at him. Then at Barbara.
“Do I want to know how he got in here?”
Barbara shrugged, biting into a croissant. “He’s like a bat. They just… show up.”
Nightwing extended the bag a little more. “Chocolate almond. No crime files attached. I swear.”
You finally reached out and took it, your fingers brushing his glove for half a second.
“You bribing witnesses now?”
“I’m bribing coworkers”
“We’re not coworkers.”
“We’re on the same case"
You bit into the pastry, still unreadable. “Still not coworkers.”
Barbara covered her smile with her mug.
Nightwing leaned against the window frame, arms folded. “Tough crowd”
You glanced at him sideways. “You don’t give up easily huh?"
He smiled. “I’m famously persistent”
And then the call came in—a scuffle in Burnley. Not major. But enough to draw half the available officers away, including Gordon himself, whose voice barked through the intercom with urgency. You glanced at Barbara, who gave you a look.
“Go,” Barbara said. “I’ll hold down the fort.”
You didn’t hesitate. You were already moving, grabbing your sidearm and radio, but before you disappeared out the door, Nightwing stepped up beside you, matching pace without thinking.
“You heading out?” he asked.
You nodded.
“Need backup?”
You gave him a look—just the flicker of amusement in your eyes. “Thought you didn’t do badges.”
“I don’t,” he said with a small grin. “But I do happen to be in the area. And I’m curious.”
“About what?”
“You”
You didn’t answer.
But you didn’t tell him no.
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The takedown in Burnley was fast. A few desperate guys, cornered, swinging more than aiming. You handled it with precision, pinning one in under ten seconds.
Nightwing handled two others with clean flips and a dazzling use of his escrima sticks that made even the responding officers stare.
You didn’t say much during the fight, but you moved together like you had for months.
Natural. Unspoken. Precise.
After, you stood side by side in the light of a streetlamp while the officers cuffed the last guy.
You glanced at him, quiet.
“You really came just to tag along?”
“No,” Nightwing said honestly. “I came because you looked like you needed backup”
You were quiet for a moment. “I didn’t.”
“I know”
And he didn’t offer anything else. He didn’t try to break the silence or make you talk. He just stood there beside you, letting you breathe.
That night, when they returned to the station, Barbara was leaning against her desk with a stack of new reports.
“Well,” she said brightly. “That was quick”
“Minimal resistance” You said, returning your gun to its holster.
“Minimal because he was there?” Barbara asked, nodding toward Nightwing.
You didn’t look at him. “I was handling it.”
“I know” Barbara said. And then she turned back to her files like nothing had happened—but the smile was still there.
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It became a pattern after that.
Nightwing dropping in for case updates he could’ve easily gotten from the Batcomputer. Nightwing conveniently appearing when your shift ran long.
Nightwing swinging by the window like it was a regular stop on patrol.
And you?
You tolerated it.
You never asked him to leave.
You never told him to stay, either.
But you never once rolled you eyes when Barbara “casually” suggested they team up on another case, or when Nightwing lingered a little longer after a mission ended, or when the coffee he brought started coming in your exact order.
You didn’t smile at him.
Not really.
But one night, when Barbara left the room and Nightwing handed you a flash drive with info you needed, you paused for half a second, looked up at him, and said—
“Thanks"
And it was the first time you'd said it like you meant it.
And when you walked out, Nightwing looked over at Barbara, who was watching from the doorway with her arms crossed.
“You’re meddling” he said.
Barbara didn’t blink. “You’re welcome.”
He smiled, slow and quiet. “She’s going to kill you when she figures it out.”
“She’s going to fall for you when she lets herself.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
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It was late afternoon by the time the station’s energy finally mellowed. Most of the officers were at their desks, paperwork and caffeine fueling their determination to make it to the end of their shift. The soft hum of printers, phones, and murmured conversations created the usual background noise of Gotham’s GCPD headquarters.
Barbara stretched at her desk, rubbing the tension out of her shoulders as she glanced toward the breakroom, where you had vanished with two mugs of cheap coffee.
You'd been analyzing the same stack of criminal profiles for hours, working through details of the robberies Nightwing had looped them into earlier that day. It was methodical and quiet now, and honestly—Barbara welcomed the moment of calm.
When you returned, it was with a slight sway to your hips and that signature unreadable expression. You handed Barbara her mug without a word and leaned against the table, sipping your own. You exchanged a glance like only best friends could: wry and dry and understanding too much without having to explain anything.
Barbara raised a brow. “So… are you ever going to tell me who taught you how to handle a gun like that?”
You just smirked, eyes gleaming faintly with something unreadable, and sipped your coffee. “No.”
That made Barbara laugh—soft, breathy, and warm. She knew better than to press too hard when it came to your past. The details would come in time, or they wouldn’t. What mattered was that you were here now, in Gotham, and despite pretending not to care, was slowly starting to let yourself have roots.
You worked a few more minutes in comfortable silence before Barbara, eyes still fixed on a particularly bad mugshot, asked casually, “So. Be honest. When’s the last time you went on an actual date?”
You glanced up. “What is this, interrogation?”
“Always” Barbara said, smirking. “But this time, off-record.”
You considered dodging. Then, instead, you leaned back in your chair, dragging your fingers through your hair and exhaling. “I’m kind of… taking a break from boyfriends.”
Barbara looked at you without pressing, her eyes gentle. “Bad one?”
There was the slightest pause.
“He wasn’t good,” you said simply. You didn’t look away, but there was a stiffness to your shoulders now, the kind Barbara recognized as armor snapping into place. “But I was worse. I stayed too long.”
That hurt to hear, but Barbara didn’t say anything right away. She just reached over and nudged your arm with her knuckles. “Still. You’re here now.”
“I’m here now,” you echoed, quieter.
Barbara let the topic settle, not pushing further. Instead, she grinned lightly and offered, “Well, if you’re ever looking to get back into the game… Gotham’s got options. Terrible, crime-ridden options, but options.”
You gave her a flat look.
“Hey, not everyone in this city is dating material,” Barbara said, grinning wider. “But, y’know… there might be one or two exceptions.”
That earned her the smallest of smirks from you, who muttered something suspiciously like “traitor” under your breath.
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Later that evening, after her shift had ended and you had vanished into the soft dusk of Gotham with a book tucked under your arm, Barbara found herself at a quiet rooftop bar in Burnside. It was an unofficial meeting place—neutral territory for vigilantes who needed to talk without the cowl.
Dick was already there, nursing a beer and leaning against the railing with that thoughtful expression he always wore when he thought no one was watching.
Barbara slid onto the stool beside him. “You look like someone just reminded you Bruce doesn’t sleep.”
Dick didn’t look over, but his mouth quirked. “Just wondering if it’s illegal for a guy to enjoy five minutes without getting stabbed.”
“I’m pretty sure in Gotham? Yeah.”
They shared a quiet chuckle, the city lights sprawling below them like veins of gold and flame. The kind of peace that never lasted long—but for now, it felt earned.
After a beat, Barbara asked “You seeing anyone?”
Dick glanced over, surprised. “That a personal question, Commissioner?”
She grinned. “Friend question.”
He leaned his forearms on the railing, thoughtful. “No. Not really. Not for a while.”
Barbara sipped her drink. “Not even… interested?”
Dick’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Is this a set-up?”
“Just a question,” she said innocently, though the teasing glint in her eyes betrayed her. “Just wondering if someone’s caught your eye lately.”
Dick tilted his head, then finally exhaled with a low chuckle. “Maybe.”
Barbara leaned in, intrigued now. “Oh really?”
He gave her a look, but it wasn’t annoyed—more amused. “ Tough. Doesn’t take compliments well.”
Barbara blinked once. “You’re talking about her”
Dick didn’t answer right away. Which was answer enough.
Barbara raised her brows. “You know she’d eat you alive, right?”
“She already tried” he muttered with a smirk.
Barbara laughed, genuine and loud. “God, you’re in so much trouble.”
Dick just looked back out at the skyline. “Yeah. That’s probably true.”
There was something different in his voice, though—lighter, maybe. Curious. And for the first time in a long time, Barbara let herself hope that maybe Dick could have something good again. Not perfect. But good.
She raised her glass and nudged it against his. “To trouble.”
He clinked his bottle against hers. “To trouble.”
And somewhere across the city, you walked through the quiet night toward your apartment, your thoughts wandering—just briefly—to a masked man with a too-charming smile who’d somehow been there all day, like a shadow.
Like a pull you weren't ready to name yet.
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njghtiee · 3 days ago
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PLEASE I BEG YOUU
Write something for Young Justice s1/s2 Dick Grayson x Reader, anything! I just miss it so much, ughh. I have had a big fat crush on that man for so longg, I can't help it.
Take caree!!<3
I GOT YOUUU aaaa i miss that man and that series so much and season one definitely still have my heart, especially robin😭😭 since cheshire is an interesting character as well i might come up with some reader from the league (pure enemies to lovers) but i have so many scenes in mind ughhhh i might end up writing a series!!
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njghtiee · 3 days ago
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⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱⋰
Little kid Damian who's absolutely smug about stealing your (Jason's girlfriend) attention every time you come over.
He's a smug little shit and he knows exactly what he is doing. You and Kori were both the people he looked forward to seeing often. Preferring his brother's girlfriends rather than his brothers since you both treated him like the child he was instead of the assassin he was raised to be.
Jason doesn't mind you giving Damian your attention but then Damian started showing you off as his new big sister.
And instead of being upset Jason teases the shit out of you.
Damian will call you random hours of the day for absolutely nothing and Jason will pass you your phone saying that your "son" is calling.
How could you deny the boy your love and affection when all he wanted was to cling to you. He spent so many nights in you and Jason shared pent that he actually had his own room.
And as much Jason teased you about Damian you teased him right back because he dropped everything for the youngest boy. Many nights you woke up on the couch to him bringing in a sleeping Dami after getting a call from Bruce that he just couldn't get him to calm down.
Or even having to attend parent teacher conferences alongside Dick and Jason in place of Bruce when he had to act as CEO.
All of this made Jason want nothing more than a family with you. You both were already getting the practice. Now he just needed to put that into motion and warn Dami about his soon to be "younger siblings".
⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱⋰
@mtcloudsworld
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njghtiee · 3 days ago
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Dick will break every single one of his moral codes for his siblings. He'll shatter himself into glass if it means his siblings are okay.
But if he sees the little brat on his couch one more time after his 12 hour shift, he'll start screaming.
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njghtiee · 3 days ago
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ook maybe i should stop reblogging all this blog's posts but can you all blame me??? they're something else entirely and ohh villain reader x character may be starting to become my fab dynamic because there's so much slow burn and 🫠🫠🫠
Since i read you love the character x villain dynamic, what about dick grayson (as robin or nightwing as you prefer) x reader from league of shadows? I'm so curious and i trust you with thiss, take your time sweets!! thank you xoxo
ᝰ.ᐟ DEADLY HEARTS
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𖦹ׂ ₊˚⊹⋆ dick grayson x villain! fem reader | ~1.6k words
CONSISTS OF ↬ enemies to lovers. villain x hero. minor violence mentioned. romantic/sexual tension. language. i love this. I LOVE VILLAIN X CHARACTER ESP WHEN THEY'RE HEROES. this is perfect dont even play w me. tysm anon. ── .✦ You're trained to kill, he’s trained to protect. Yet, somewhere between rooftop battles and stolen touches, the line between enemy and something more begins to blur. | navi. | masterlist. | dc masterlist. |
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The first time Dick Grayson saw you, you weren’t a shadow slipping across rooftops or a blade cutting clean through the dark. Instead, you were a name whispered in his comms, a warning delivered with that tightness in her voice she only used when she knew a fight wasn’t optional.
[League of Shadows operative. Highly trained. Do not engage alone.]
But it was already too late.
You’d cornered him on a rain-slick rooftop, your sword glinting beneath the glow of Gotham’s hazy streetlights. He’d expected cold precision, expected the same unfeeling efficiency that Ra’s drilled into every soldier, but your eyes betrayed you. They flicked toward his chest, then his jaw, then briefly — stupidly — his mouth. A mistake. One he caught, filed away, and smirked at like it meant everything.
“You don’t look like you’re here to kill me,” he said, voice light, teasing in the way only Dick Grayson could manage when staring down sharpened steel.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you replied evenly, though your grip on the hilt tightened just slightly. “If I wanted you dead, you’d already be on the ground.”
“And yet,” he countered, tilting his head, “here I am. Standing. Breathing. Talking to you.” His grin was infuriating and boyish and reckless and dangerous in an entirely different way than the blade in your hand. But, that was enough for you to swing.
The problem was that he didn’t fight you like an enemy. He fought like he wanted to know you. Every dodge was a step closer, every block lingered longer than it needed to, every quip was a hook cast into waters you weren’t supposed to swim.
And you hated how effective it was.
And damn him, he laughed through it. Not cruelly, but like the fight itself was a game only he knew the rules to.
“Fast,” he praised, ducking just in time to avoid your kick. “And here I was worried the League might be slacking in their training regimen.”
You caught him once, blade pressed against his suit at his ribs, your other hand poised to knock him down. Victory should’ve been yours in that moment.
But then he tilted his head, eyes glittering behind the mask. “You’re good. Too good to waste yourself in their shadows.”
The words hit harder than your blade, and the softness of his tone caught you off guard. It caused a hesitation so slight you hated yourself for it, and in that instant he slipped free. With a twist of your wrist that wasn't painful, he disarmed you.. spinning you backward until your own momentum forced you against the wall, One arm braced besides your head, and the other held your blade away from you both. The proximity was a mistake. His mistake, or your mistake.. who knows.
You should've hated him, you should have fought to break free and reclaim control — to remind yourself of your mission.
But instead, all you could focus on was the steady rise of his chest so close to yours, the curve of his mouth still tilted in that maddening almost-smile, and the way his voice lowered when he said, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
No one in the League had ever said that to you.
You shoved him away, reclaiming your weapon, trying to smother the warmth his words had lit in your chest.
“Then stop chasing me,” you snapped, more to yourself than him.
But of course, Nightwing didn’t stop.
If anything, he only seemed more determined each time your paths crossed, always ready with his impossible charm, always willing to risk being a step too close.
Days later, you found yourself on the same rooftop, though this time neither of you were expecting the other. The League’s mission had taken you here first, and Dick had followed. However, he wasn't stealthy like Batman, he was deliberate, confident, and entirely in your line of sight the entire time.
“You really love chasing me, huh?” you asked without looking up, tightening your grip on the rope you used to scale down the side of the building.
“I wouldn’t call it chasing,” he replied lightly, landing beside you with that same fluid grace that made him look effortless, even in combat boots. “I’d call it… strategic observation. Totally tactical.”
You didn’t glance at him. Didn’t need to. You’d learned long ago that he always lingered near you, circling like a hawk, testing your attention, and measuring your responses. And just like before, you hated — and secretly loved — how predictable he was.
“Strategic observation, huh?” you murmured. “Or maybe you just like seeing me get annoyed.”
His smirk tugged at his mouth. “Annoyed? Me? I’m not capable of that. Never.”
You rolled your eyes and started your descent. The ropes were slick from the rain, and your movements were precise, trained to perfection. But he mirrored you effortlessly, coming down in sync, his blue-clad form landing beside you as if he were part of the shadows rather than fighting against them.
And then it happened.
You hit the ground first, ducking behind a crate to confront the small group of operatives you were sent to intercept. Your movements were sharp, decisiv, and executed with the confidence of someone who never needed help.
But in the corner of your eye, you saw him. Not interfering, not taking the lead, just… there. Watching. Assessing. Waiting.
One operative lunged at you from the shadows, and you reacted instantly by dodging, pivoting, and spinning your blade toward him. Only, this time, Dick’s hand brushed yours in your maneuvers. Just lightly. Casual, almost accidental... but enough to make your momentum falter. Enough to let your adversary stumble — and enough for Dick to step in with a flash of his own stick, neutralizing the threat with perfect timing.
“Careful,” he murmured, head dipping low and creating an almost intimate. “Don’t let them get the drop on you.”
And you… didn’t move away.
You pressed forward with him beside you, silent agreement passing between you that neither of you needed words. Together, you moved through the operatives like shadows themselves—he covering the spaces you left open, you covering the angles he couldn’t see. By the time the last one hit the ground, both of you were breathing lightly, bodies close, but still aware of the other.
He tilted his head, catching your gaze for just a second before looking away. “Not bad,” his voice quiet but playful as a more genuine smile came to his face, “Teamwork suits you.”
You didn’t reply immediately. Instead, you wiped your blade, letting your eyes linger on him just long enough to make him hold his breath for a fraction of a second.
“Maybe,” you said finally in almost a whisper, “but don’t get used to it.”
His grin, soft and victorious, didn’t falter. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said.
But you knew better.
Later, back on the rooftop, you leaned against the ledge, blade sheathed, and watching Gotham’s wet streets stretch below. Dick landed beside you again, casual as ever, his presence somehow grounding and infuriating at the same time.
“You always show up,” you said, voice even.
“Always,” he admitted, tilting his head to catch yours in the dim light. “I like seeing how you move. It’s… impressive.”
“And dangerous,” you corrected, almost to yourself.
He smirked. “Exactly. Dangerous. Just my type.”
Something in your chest tightened, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine what it would be like to stop pushing him away. To let him in. Not for the League, not for Gotham, just… for you.
And when his hand brushed yours again — softly, deliberately this time — you didn’t pull away.
Not fully. Not yet. But enough that he noticed.
And Nightwing knew... that was everything.
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