2. Way too long. I was pretty anxious to ask him out because I was pretty convinced he was straight. I liked him at around the same time I was developing a crush on Kori. I liked them both at the same time, and still do. So, a couple years maybe? I was an oblivious idiot and so was he, so yeah. We’ve been dating for a year now, and, and I’ve been with Kori for a couple years. I love them both a lot 💙💙💙
Intro post because Wally told me I should make one!
Hello! I’m Nightwing, Blüdhaven’s resident vigilante and former Robin.
So Wally told me that I’m actually supposed to do one of these introduction posts, because apparently that’s a thing. Damn. Maybe I SHOULD spend more time online.
My AMA is open and I’m all ears to any and all questions!
So, yeah, call me Nightwing, or Dick, or whatever you please! My pronouns are he/him/they, use of pronouns other than those is an easy block. (OOC: I’m a trans man, pls respect that)
Tags:
Nightwing echo: reblogs
Nightwing answers: answered questions
Nightwing yaps: own posts
Nightwing’s on a case: ooc posts
Rules:
Absolutely no Batcest, I will block you if you try.
Only DickKori and BirdFlash pls (unless I initiate other)
Keep it PG-13
Be respectful
Any form of bigotry (homophobia, racism, transphobia, etc) will get you blocked
.ᐟ DICK GRAYSON was a handful of things. A hero. A liar. A hopeless romantic. He loves you so deeply that it may have been the cruelest part of it all—because every apology is sincere, and every flimsy excuse hides a secret he isn't ready to confess. The problem wasn't whether he loved you or not, it was that love alone wasn't enough compared to the truth.
.ᐟ CONTENT: established relationship, secret identity, umm idk, communication issues, hurt/comfort??, not proofread, dick has a secret, idk how to tag this wc: 3.3k
.ᐟ a/n: may or may not have ended it there bcus i can only add 10 pix on mobile,,,did not proofread this at all idk if its all over the place
The very first rule of being Nightwing was to always expect the unexpected.
And the second was to apparently panic when your beloved girlfriend starts texting you like she was e-mailing the staff that the plumbing was broken.
The city glowed quietly from beneath him, lights, traffic, small time crimes he should probably be attending to. Except Dick had been preoccupied with an even greater emergency.
While some stores were probably getting robbed, his stomach was getting twisted into pretzel knots as he reread your dry message for the fifteenth time in the last five minutes.
Dick wasn't proud to admit that he had been analyzing the sentence construction like a fifth grade English teacher. He groans, running a hand across his face. “I'm going to lose my mind.”
Because your message didn't have the usual heart emoji, didn't have a silly emoticon nor the extra letters you added when you were tired. Hell, there wasn't even a period at the end of it.
Maybe you were tired, you probably had a long day after all. Maybe he was just overthinking. His thumbs hovered over the message button.
There's something I need to tell you.
He stares at it.
Before reluctantly deleting it.
It's fine. There was still tomorrow. Tomorrow, he'll fix it. Not talk about it—fix it. Like he always did. Tomorrow, he'll make time for you, take you out for a nice dinner, apologize properly, maybe pay your little brother a visit.
Because tomorrow always comes.
Then, he hears a faint scream from the block. Right. Nightwing duties. He puts his phone away, gracefully jumps off the rooftop and heads towards the sound of the scream.
By the time Dick had gotten back to his own apartment, it was already 4:00 AM. Saying he was exhausted would be an understatement, it felt like every inch of muscle in his body was aching.
Still, he had to plan for tomorrow.
He has gotten you approximately twelve bouquets in the last month. (Which was mildly concerning considering it was only the 20th.) And he was also on a first name basis with the florist now..So, flowers must've been getting boring, he had to spice things up.
Flowers were repetitive.
Chocolate is so overdone.
Jewelry was overkill.
Every option felt sincere, but none of them felt right. His lips curled down slightly, it didn't make any sense. These things usually worked. You weren't materialistic or anything, in fact you were the opposite.
You never cared about the flowers, or the chocolates, or even the jewelry. You always cared about the thought and effort behind them. I guess it just didn't help that they were full of thoughts of apologies, constant reminders of every mistake he had made.
Dick frowned, and threw a pillow over his face. The thought wasn't exactly romantic when he dwelled on it. Most boyfriends probably didn't have a favorite apology florist…Most boyfriends probably didn't need to have a favorite apology florist.
He stares at the message for a moment before gently tossing his phone onto the nightstand. It's fine. All he needs is a few hours of sleep. Then he’d go see you.
Tomorrow.
The word has never failed for him before, it was one of the few things Dick could trust. But for the first time tonight, he wasn't entirely sure if he believed it.
There was a knock on your door the next morning. You smile to yourself, instantly wondering what kind of flowers Dick had sent you this time. Roses for romance? Your favorite? Some random flower you don't know the name of but apparently mean sincere apologies?
You anticipated it every time, especially now as you walk towards the front door to open it. And instead of being greeted by a bouquet of flowers on your doorstep, or even the delivery man—who you felt like you've been seeing more often to be honest.
Instead, it's Dick standing there. No flowers or chocolate in hand, just him. Which should've been normal.
For a moment, neither of you say anything. You were looking at him as if preparing for a bouquet to magically pop out of his hands like some circus magic trick.
He looked exhausted.
Not the cute kind of exhausted, not even the “I stayed up all night” kind. It was the kind of exhaustion that crawled into your veins and weighed heavily on your body. He has a new bruise, you notice. Well, you try not to.
“Hey,” Somehow, he actually sounds nervous this time. You blink. This was throwing you off. No flowers, and now he seemed nervous? Did someone swallow your boyfriend whole and wear his skin?
Dick Grayson wasn't supposed to be nervous. He was supposed to be charming and incredibly easy to talk to. Yet here he was, standing on your doorstep looking like the concept of sleeping was nonexistent to him.
“Hi,” you reply. “Well,” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “This is already going worse than I imagined.” Despite yourself, a small laugh escapes you. And for a brief moment, something close to relief flashes across his face. Like he was afraid you wouldn't laugh at all.
“Can I come in?” he asks, and you step aside without a word. He lingered at the doorway for a moment before entering, glancing at the excessive amount of flowers his apologies accumulated over the past few weeks of missed date nights and promises.
“So…” he clears his throat. “I had this whole speech prepared actually.” You raise a brow, not exactly surprised. He could've hired a whole mariachi band and you would barely bat an eyelash. “Really?”
“Uh-huh.” He nodded. “What happened to it?”
“I saw you.” You blink, which made him retreat slightly and rub the back of his head sheepishly. “I-I mean…” he lets out an embarrassed laugh. “My brain just sorta got left behind when you opened the door back there.”
“That's new coming from you.” He visibly winced at your words, having no flowers or chocolates to hide behind this time. You couldn't help it, letting a small laugh escape your mouth.
Dick smiles, pearly whites peeking through his lips, clearly less flashier than usual. “There it is,” he mutters under his breath, almost like he was savoring it for himself. “Huh?”
“You.” Even now, with the dark circles resting under his eyes and nerves practically spilling out of him, he managed to stay charming. So much so that you were beginning to think that Dick had no idea how to not be charming.
You choose to set it aside for now. He was here to talk and that's it. He wasn't getting away with this by sweet talking to you again. “Coffee?” you ask while he trailed behind you, like a puppy who had been away from home for too long. “Please.”
You couldn't remember the last time you and Dick sat like this. In complete silence, aside from your occasional tapping on your cup and the refrigerator humming in the background like it was the only thing keeping you two sane.
Dick let out a slow breath, holding his untouched mug of coffee like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. “I've been trying to figure out what to say all night.” You looked up. “I'm starting to think I'm not as good with words as I thought.”
He rubs the palms of his hands on his jeans, deciding to cut straight to the point. “I don't want this to be another apology.” You don't say anything, but the silence stretches for long enough for Dick to wonder if he started this out wrong. “Although I know I definitely owe you one—more than that actually.”
“Then why are you here?” you ask, seeing that he wasn't here for just anything this time. He doesn't respond immediately, glancing down at his hands for a moment. “Because I'm starting to think I've been trying to solve everything except the actual problem.”
At least he was on the right track, you thought. “What do you think the actual problem is then?” You throw the question like a knife, and Dick knew it was a dangerous one. “Well, I've realized I haven't been here enough. And I’ve been trying to make up for my mistakes instead of trying to prevent them.”
“Close,” you shook your head. “That's a part of it. But not everything.” He blinked a few times, like he was only realizing now that the root of this problem probably ran deeper than he had initially thought.
“Dick,” you start. “I don't care about the flowers. Not really.” He opens his mouth, but you continue. “I did at first, but lately…I’ve been starting to care about why you kept giving them to me.”
“I love them, really. But overtime I started seeing them as warnings.” He visibly raises a brow, clearly surprised. “Warnings for canceled plans, missed dates, promises that you would make it up to me next time. And next time would rarely ever come.”
Dick swallows, because it never crossed his mind that you felt this way. Truthfully, now that he thought about it, it probably felt like he was throwing flowers at a wound he created himself.
“I didn't know.” he admitted quietly, looking down at his lap again like the answers for this were there. The words sound pathetic leaving his mouth. “I know,” you pause. “That's the problem.”
Because neither of them ever spoke about this, between the heart to heart talks that always drifted whispered sweet nothings—every conversation ended up feeling like hollow romance.
“How long?” You tilt your head. “How long have you felt like this?” he asks, genuinely wanting to understand. You? You almost laugh. Because you had stopped counting at the seventh bouquet.
“Long enough that whenever someone knocks on my door—” You smiled at him sadly. “I never expect to see you anymore. I expect to see gifts, chocolates, flowers—hell, even the delivery man.”
His lips part, only to close again when no charming words come out. There wasn't an excuse in the world to make this any better, any less heartbreaking. Because you were completely right.
Somewhere along the way, he started to become easier to find in between the lines of apology messages and bouquets of flowers than he was in person. “I thought I was making it better.”
Your smile doesn't go away. “I know.” And that may have been the worse part. “Do you know why I never said anything? Never complained?” He shakes his head, listening intently for your answer.
“Because every time I wanted to be upset,” you glance down at your cup, the coffee sitting inside forgotten. “Presents already showed up at my doorstep, or you had already sent me three paragraphs…or you held me until I forgot what I was upset about to begin with.”
“You made me feel better.” you tell, you’d give him that at least. He knew very well how to soothe your heart. He just never realized that it would keep hurting if nothing changed. “But you never made anything better.”
Dick looked at you, really looked at you this time. The tired smile, the quiet in your voice, the exhaustion he had mistaken for patience. How did he miss it? A man as perceptive as him should've noticed earlier.
“I thought if I showed you that I loved you enough,” he let out a quiet laugh. “I would eventually make up for every time I let you down…which is a lot more often than I thought now that I look at it.”
“Love isn't the problem, Dick.” you reply. “It never was.” Because if there was one thing you didn't have to question? It was that Dick never failed to love you. “I never needed to know if you loved me or not.” you pause. “I just needed you there.”
It was a painfully simple distinction. One that he had managed to miss for months. He had spent so much time on trying to prove his love for you, that he had forgotten it could be measured in presence as well.
He sat quietly for a bit, letting your words settle before he spoke. “What were you thinking whenever I canceled?” You smile faintly. “At first, I was worried. Then I figured you were just busy. Eventually, I always anticipated that you would cancel.”
You look off to the side for a moment, debating if you should mention this as well. But it had been gnawing at your mind, and you had to get it out there somehow. “It wasn't just the cancelled plans either.” He finally looked at you again. “It was the bruises. The cuts. The excuses.”
He stiffened instantly. The excuse flashing in his mind almost immediately. It sounded ridiculous then, somehow it sounded even worse now.
“You tell me stupid excuses like how ‘gravity doesn't make exceptions’.” He recalls that excuse, it was stupid and half-assed because he was rushing. “I laughed.” You continue. “Because I wanted to believe you.”
“I wasn't asking because I wanted a perfect, detailed explanation.” You meet his eyes, feeling a strange sense of relief now that what had been weighing on your chest was out there. “I was asking because I was worried.”
“And every time you deflected it with a laugh..” you press your lips together. “It felt like you were telling me not to worry about a part of your life I clearly wasn't welcome to.”
He lets out a shaky breath. “I thought..” He runs a hand across his face, stopping for a second. “I thought I was protecting you.” That was what he had been telling himself at least. Every lie. Every canceled date. Every half-assed excuse. It was for your protection.
“From what?” you reply instantly, and Dick freezes up almost immediately. Again. Because he couldn't respond with anything without getting dangerously close to the truth he wasn't ready to admit just yet. “...Everything.”
You shake your head. “No.” Your voice was quiet, but absolutely certain. “You were trying to protect me from you.” He laughs, it was quiet, maybe even bitter. “Maybe I was.”
“You can't just decide what I can handle without asking me.” He lets the silence settle between you two again. “...I don't know how to be both.” he admits, and you frown in return. “Both what?”
He looks away, unable to meet your eyes. “The person you deserve…and the person I have to be.” Then, he feels your hand on his. Not necessarily holding, just…there. “Dick…I never asked you to be perfect.” He closed his eyes for a moment and nodded. “I know.”
“I just wanted to be a part of your life. Even the ugly parts—especially the ugly parts.” He lifted his head slowly, and he knew what you meant. Bad days, stress, nightmares.
Yet all he could think about were the rooftops, the cuts and bruises, the torn domino masks shoved into his pockets, all before sunrise. “If I told you the truth…” he hesitates, the words getting stuck in his throat. “Would you still want to be a part of it?”
“I can't promise that I'll understand everything immediately. But I can promise I'll listen.” Dick nodded, it should've been simple. Two words. I'm Nightwing. Yet somehow, they got caught in his throat harder than any punch he’s taken.
It didn't mean simply telling you the truth, it meant trusting you with a part of him he’d spent years convincing himself no one should carry. And for the first time…A selfish part of him wanted to stop carrying it alone.
He leaves your apartment after that. No grand goodbye. No lingering embrace. Just the soft click of the door being shut behind him. The walk back felt quieter than usual. And for once, he wasn't thinking of flowers or apologies. Your words simply replayed in his mind.
I just wanted to be a part of your life.
He doesn't recall when he’d suited up, couldn't remember which rooftop he had landed on, doesn't remember when he’d put on the mask. He’d gone through this so many times that his body no longer needed his mind to catch up.
A police siren wailed from somewhere down below. Then came the unmistakable sound of glass shattering. Dick doesn't hesitate, he stopped doing that years ago. His body moved before his mind did.
Jump.
Leap.
Land.
He felt the wind rushing past his ears, as he disappeared into the maze of neon lights down below. Somewhere between those rooftops, Dick Grayson disappeared as well.
And Nightwing took over.
Nightwing was easier. Criminals didn't ask where he had been. They didn't worry. They didn't ask him to let them in.
They threw punches. Dick knew how to take those at least. A fist slammed into his cheek before he could even finish the thought. “You know,” he hissed, avoiding another punch. “People usually start with a ‘hello’.”
The fight didn't last much longer after that. It never really did.
Within minutes, the supposed-to-be robbers were on the pavement, unconscious and regretting every life decision that led them here.
He leaned against the wall of an alley, catching his breath. His fingers drifted to the bruise blooming on his cheek. And almost instinctively, his mind drifted for excuses too.
He closed his eyes. None of them felt right anymore. He reached for the phone in his pocket, pulling it out swiftly. Normally, he would wait until the morning. Until he could think of a somewhat believable excuse. Until the bruise would fade enough to become hopefully less noticeable.
Tonight…he couldn't bring himself to do that as his thumb hovered over your contact.
Sorry about today.
Nope. Delete.
I got hurt.
Nope, too much. Delete.
I'm okay.
I just wanted to let you know.
He stared at the screen, such a small message. Yet, it felt more compared to all of those paragraphs he’d sent you these past few months. And for once, he wasn't texting you to make you feel better. He was texting you simply because you deserved to know.
The first thing Dick did when he got back to his apartment was peel off his domino mask, placing it on the marble counter with a soft thud. He stood and stared at it for a moment. Beside it, his phone buzzed. Your reply, most likely.
He doesn't reach for it, not yet at least. Instead, he stepped towards the sink and felt the water run over his hands, washing away the familiar dirty mix of grime and blood. He lifted his head up, his reflection staring back at him. A fresh bruise, some cuts here and there, exhaustion settling beneath his eyes. And something echoes in his ear.
Even the ugly parts.
And somehow, looking away had never been harder.
Eventually, he had to force himself to. With a quiet sigh, he reached for his phone and unlocked the screen to find your reply waiting for him.
I'm glad you told me.
Keep safe ❤️
A sad smile tugs at the corners of his lips. You didn't ask for an explanation, nothing. You were simply glad that he was being honest with you now, if only you really knew how much of the truth he was holding back.
He opens the drawer to tuck away the domino mask, in that same drawer laid dozens more. Some tattered, some bloodied, others torn apart so badly that they were barely recognizable. Dick wasn't entirely sure why he kept them.
Each one marked another night of him making it home, alive and in one piece. Each one also marked another night of him keeping the truth away from you.
The drawer closed shut with a click. It was a lot easier than opening his mouth had ever been. And for the first time? He hated it.
