♡. ⤷ as the newest cop on blüdhaven’s force, you hated masked freaks. nightwing, the masked freak himself, wants nothing more than your approval. and your body. 18+, jerking off. authority kink. officer!reader.
──── the first time he saw you, he had just taken down two armed robbers outside a liquor store—easy work, nothing fancy. a normal friday night for him. dick was still catching his breath, escrima sticks holstered, the night wind tugging at his suit as he turned toward the flashing lights of the approaching squad car.
he muttered something to oracle about the cops in the area and cut his comms. the flashing lights bathed the street in red and blue, casting just enough glow to catch the look you gave him— bored, patronizing, and vaguely amused. but the moment the window rolled down, he got hit with your full pretty face. and rude tone.
"sweetheart, i know times are hard and stuff, but soliciting’s still a crime in this part of town."
your partner let out a strangled noise beside you. she leaned toward you like she could physically stop the words from coming out of your mouth, but it was far, far too late. yoy didn't flinch. just blew a bubble with your gum and popped it. dick glanced down at himself—the skintight suit, the very iconic symbol across his chest—then looked back up at you.
"i literally just stopped a robbery."
you shrugged, unimpressed. "cool. and I just filed a report. we all have hobbies."
to his credit, dick didn't get mad. just gave you this slow, stunned little laugh, like he wasn't sure if he was offended or intrigued.
"wow. and here i thought i had a decent relationship with the bhpd after all these years."
you smiled sweetly, razor-sharp. "oh, don't get me wrong. i have nothing against sex workers."
your partner in the passenger seat looked like she wanted to crawl into the glove compartment. she pressed a hand to her face and whispered, horrified, "oh my god… that's nightwing."
"night-who?" you said, glancing at her like she'd just made up a word. "why would I know his stage name?"
she turned to you, pale. "he's, like… famous. national superhero famous."
yeah, he fucking was. thank you very much.
he took one last look at you—still lounging behind the wheel, smirking like you hadn't just verbally curb-stomped a national hero. the other cop couldn't even meet his eyes. poor woman looked like she wanted to dissolve into her seat from secondhand embarrassment.
"have a good night, officer," he said, voice clipped but smooth.
then he turned on his heel, tapped his comms. "oracle, remind me to review blüdhaven precinct relations tomorrow," he muttered, raising his escrima stick and firing the grapple line. "preferably before i set myself on fire again."
the line snapped taut, and he vanished into the night sky.
──── of course he kept tabs on you after that night. you called him a hooker, straight to his face, and somehow looked obscenely hot while doing it. what was he supposed to do after that? move on?
he was a simple man. a simple man with a morally flexible sense of privacy and way too much access to high-end surveillance tech. at the moment, he had four tabs open on the bhpd's internal database. when babs and tim asked, he muttered something about "tracking a person of interest in the department."
wich, technically, wasn't a lie. you were very interesting. you had a sharp mouth, a mean stare, perfect lips, and the kind of tits that made even the nightwing suit feel a little tight.
"yeah," he mumbled to himself, eyes fixed on your id photo. "that's the suspect. definitely her."
he kept digging. it wasn't enough to memorize your patrol schedule and id badge, no, he had to go deeper. he found your police academy files. graduated top of your class. commendations in firearms, tactical response, and, of course, disciplinary reports for "insubordination" and "excessive sarcasm."
the came your field test footage. bluery body cam recordings. one of you talking down a suspect at gunpoint with zero backup. another of you pinning a guy twice your size to the hood of a cruiser.
very sexy of you, officer.
so he kept in close contact with the bhdp—closer than he needed to, if anyone was being honest about it. It had been years since dick hung up the badge. But as nightwing, he still had full access to department files, incident reports, internal memos, almost everything. all the tools of his former life, right at his fingertips.
and he'd been using them for one very specific reason. you. every report you wrote, every arrest logged under your badge number, every disciplinary note with your name at the top, he read them all. more than once. it wasn't intel gathering anymore. It was something else.
and you looked at him like he was a freak, every single time he showed up at a crime scene near your precinct. last time, there was a body on the floor, half a dozen uniforms already securing the perimeter, and you crouched low, gloves on, examining blood spatter like it was just another tuesday. he tried to offer something helpful, something sharp, something detective-y.
"sure thing, doll," you said, tone dry as bone. "let me know if you wanna borrow a flashlight."
then you stood, brushed past him, and kept working. je was still standing there ten seconds after you walked away, jaw tight, pride stinging, wondering what the hell was wrong with him that that turned him on. the dismissal. the uniform. the way your hips moved when you walked.
jesus, he hadn't been that hard in months.
later that night he found himself alone in his apartment, right after patrol, hand wrapped tight around his cock, jerking off with embarrassing urgency to the mental image of your thighs straining against those uniform pants. he moaned softly, his thumb touching his leaking tip.
dick could almost see it when he closed his eyes with a tiny whimper.
you, officer, climbing into his lap in the backseat of your cruiser, straddling him like you owned him. belt undone, holster still strapped to your thigh. his hands cuffed behind him, helpless to do anything but take it.
you'd ride him so fucking hard, your pretty little pussy gripping him tight, warm and soaked around his cock. one hand tangled in his black hair, yanking when he got too mouthy, the other braced against the fogged-up glass of the car window as your hips slammed down, again and again, using him like a fucking toy.
he'd choke on a groan, eyes rolling back, biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, because you wouldn’t let him finish until you were done. until you were shaking on top of him, breathless and spent, nails dragging down his chest.
he came faster than he wanted to. pathetic, really. he groaned your name like a fucking prayer, teeth sunk into his own wrist to keep quiet, while hot, messy cum spilled over his fist, his stomach, his shirt — hips jerking up off the mattress, desperate for more.
he looked up at the ceiling with a sigh, hands still sticky with his own cum like some desperate, horny teenager who'd never even touched a woman.
what the hell had you done to him, officer?
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