Untitled cause I can't think of a blog name

20-this is an 18+ blog MDNI

[jayblades-deactivated20251003]

practice round

dick grayson x fem!reader

summary; when some guy takes an interest in you, your extremely thoughtful best friend dick convinces you that you need a little more… experience. and who better to help you practice, than himself?

warnings; 18+, manipulation, yandere-lite themes… best friends <3 nsfw, reader is inexperienced, but not a virgin, possessiveness, fem!reader, oral (fem receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (reader is on the pill)

author’s note; felt depraved things writing this… if you enjoy then let me know!

You’re sat on your bed, curled up near the edge where Dick is sprawled out on the floor beside you, scrolling through his phone.

He noticed a slight shift in your behaviour about ten minutes ago when you’d received a notification on your phone. He wonders if you’re going to tell him about it — he supposes it doesn’t really matter if you don’t. He’ll just look through it later, but of course he wants you to be the one to share.

You look so nervous, knees drawn up to your chest like you’re trying to make yourself smaller. It’s adorable. It’s pathetic. It makes something sharp twist in Dick’s stomach.

Finally, you blurt it out. “So… this guy asked me out.”

Dick stills, his finger hovering over his phone screen as he freezes in place. “Yeah? Who?”

You say his name like you’re embarrassed and Dick smiles, slow and easy. But inside, he’s seething. It takes a lot to keep his expression carefully neutral. He’s heard you talk about this guy before, offhandedly calling him cute. He has no idea you may have possibly been forming a crush on him.

You hug your pillow against your chest and scrunch up your nose. “He’s so… popular. You know? Good looking. Everyone’s obsessed with him, so I don’t know…”

“Sure,” Dick mumbles, pretending to focus on his Instagram feed again. “He’s been with… what, half the senior class?”

You wince. Dick thanks the universe in this moment that the guy who has taken an interest in you is basically a manwhore. It’s going to make this so much easier.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I guess. He’s really, uh, experienced.”

Dick turns around to face you properly. He scans your face, assessing the way you bite at your lip and look down, your gaze faraway somewhere. “Wait, you’re nervous.”

He forces himself to sound surprised, but of course he knows you’re nervous. He’s banking on it, in fact.

You nod, sighing as you lean back on your bed. “What if I’m not enough for him in… y’know, that area. He’s probably used to girls who know what they’re doing and I’ve barely even—”

“Hey, hey,” Dick cuts you off, getting up to take a seat next to you on the bed and reaching a hand out to lightly squeeze your knee. “You’re more than enough, sweetheart.”

He means that. You’re way more than that jackass deserves. Dick has heard how he’s talked about women before. Even if this guy wasn’t scum, there’s no way in hell Dick is going to let him have you. The gears in his mind are already turning and there’s a growing excitement in his lower belly that he can hardly contain.

“You just said that he’s been with so many people,” you point out, frowning at him.

Dick sighs, like it pains him to say it. “Yeah, well. Sure, he’s probably used to certain things. Stuff he’s probably expecting without even thinking about it. But that isn’t your fault.”

You stare at him, looking utterly crestfallen. He can practically hear your heart sinking and it only spurs him on as he shifts closer to you, dropping his voice into something more intimate and safe.

“Any guy would be lucky to have you. You know that right?”

“Thanks, Dick,” you mumble, trying to smile. But he’s not done.

“It’s just guys like him,” Dick continues slowly and deliberately, carefully choosing his words. “They get bored really fast. If something feels too new… too awkward…”

He trails off, allowing the implication to hang heavy between you. Dick is well aware that you’re not a virgin, but you may as well be. He’s talking bullshit, obviously. He knows that this guy would kill to have you in his bed and that your lack of experience would only make you more appealing to his sick mind. Dick would know, considering his mind is even sicker when it comes to you. The difference is that you actually mean something to Dick.

“Oh,” you whisper, dropping your gaze. You look disappointed and Dick knows exactly what to say next.

“Look, if you’re that worried,” he starts, sighing like you’ve presented him with a problem. “You could always practice.”

You blink at him, startled. “Practice?”

He smiles at you, all warm and encouraging like he’s offering you a life raft. “Yeah. To get comfortable. Figure out what you like, what feels good. What to do. So that when it matters, you’re not nervous.”

You let out a nervous laugh, hesitating. “I guess. But, with who?”

Dick shrugs, noncommittal. “Me, if you want.”

As expected, you whip your head up to gape at him, wide-eyed and shocked. “What?”

He rolls his eyes, as though what you’re saying is silly. “Don’t make it weird,” he chuckles under his breath, keeping his hand on your knee. “We’re best friends. You trust me, right?”

You open your mouth, like you’re about to argue but then you shut it. Because you do trust him — you always have. “Yeah, I do, but—”

“Doesn’t have to mean anything,” he says, softening his voice even more. Every word coming out of his mouth is a lie, but they’re necessary, really. You don’t know what you want yet, which is exactly why he’s here to help. “And wouldn’t you want to practice with someone you’re comfortable with? Someone who only wants to make you feel good and confident. To teach you how to make someone happy.”

Lies, lies, lies. He has no intention of letting that happen.

Dick starts to stroke your wrist, thumb gliding lazy circles over your pulse like he’s trying to calm you down. Judging by the way it quickens, he’s doing the opposite and he has to fight to hide his grin.

Your voice cracks when you finally whisper back. “You really think it’ll help?”

“Yeah, but it’s totally up to you. You don’t have to decide right now,” he says lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and marvelling at how your gaze is tracking his every movement. “If you’re already this nervous…”

Your voice comes out impossibly small. “What would we even do?”

Dick’s mouth twitches as he tries not to smile triumphantly. He’s got you exactly where he wants and he’s elated.

“We can just kiss for now,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb over your lips, immediately making them part. Fuck, he’s going to have a hard time stopping if that’s all you want to do. “Whatever you want.”

After hesitating for a second and testing Dick’s patience, you finally nod. It’s shy, barely a movement of your head, but you’re smiling at him and Dick feels it go straight to his groin.

“Okay, then,” he murmurs, agreeable like you’ve coaxed him into it. “Do you want to set the pace, or should I?”

Your shoulders relax a little at the kindness in his voice and you swallow. “You… you can.”

He almost groans at your words. So submissive, so willing. You’re giving him permission to do what he wants and oh, he’s going to take it.

Dick gently positions you so that you’re facing him a little closer, sneaking his hand around to your back like he’s done a million times. Except this time, he gently lifts up your chin and offers you a reassuring smile and you can’t help returning it, albeit nervously. It’s Dick after all — your best friend in the whole world. And he’s such a good one for helping you out, right?

As if you’re getting impatient, you glance down at his lips and he decides that’s enough playing around.

Dick leans forward and brushes his lips against yours to test the waters. When you don’t move away, he presses his mouth to yours and your eyes flutter shut.

You’re a little stiff at first, hesitant and unsure as you allow Dick to lead. And he’s more than happy to show you.

He tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss as his hand slips back to cradle the back of your neck. His fingers tangle in your hair, fully controlling your movements and you let out the tiniest, most helpless whimper he’s ever heard from you.

Dick nearly loses it there and then.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to speak, and his lips brush yours with every word. “You can kiss me back, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice coaxing and patient. He brushes his knuckles against your spine and swallows hard when you instinctively arch up into him. “Just… follow what I do.”

You nod, your expression dazed and faraway and when he leans in again, you press your mouth to his in a soft kiss.

Dick smiles against you, rewarding you by slanting his mouth more firmly against yours. This time he lets the kiss linger, letting you feel his warmth, the careful way he parts his lips to guide you how to breathe through it.

When you mimic him, he hums low in his throat, the noise vibrating against your lips.

“Good girl,” he whispers, barely pulling back, his voice rough with approval. “You’re doing so good for me.”

Your lips turn up, a shy smile gracing your face as you shiver slightly. “Thank you,” you mumble out, like you’re embarrassed.

Dick has manipulated you into kissing him and you’re thanking him. He’s so giddy he could burst.

Instead he settles for kissing you again, even deeper as his hands slide down to your hips where they lightly squeeze. The action makes you gasp softly against the kiss and he uses it, sliding his tongue against your bottom lip.

You stiffen, unsure and he immediately soothes you, hand against the side of your thigh. Your nerves are so cute. Almost as cute as the strawberry lipgloss that he’s tasting, which he knows is your favourite.

“Open up for me, baby,” he murmurs, voice dripping with patience. “Just a little. Let me in.”

You part your lips, all hesitant and sweet and Dick rewards you immediately by slipping his tongue in your mouth. You melt against him some more and he takes it as a sign to go further until he’s licking into your mouth, kissing you like he’s trying to eat you alive.

He’s borderline devouring you, getting hungrier when he feels you start to move with him, gasping into his mouth and making soft, pleased noises.

Dick can feel how overwhelmed you already are when you helplessly reach out to grab the fabric of his t-shirt, clutching him like a lifeline. He needs more.

Pulling back far enough to speak, he tries to control his own breathing. It’s just so hard when he’s this excited. “When a guy really likes a girl…” he says lowly. “He won’t wanna stop at just kissing. You wanna make sure you’re ready for all of that?”

You stiffen for a second and Dick decides to change his tune, gently kissing your forehead like he always does and begins to shift back a little.

“I mean, we don’t have to,” he relents, trying to sound as flippant as he possibly can when his hard on is painfully straining against his jeans. He begins to slide his hands away from your body as though he’s unaffected. As though his jaw isn’t clenched from the restraint of not touching you. “We can stop.”

“No!” Your hands shoot out to hold his own in place where they grip your waist and your eyes don’t leave his mouth for a second. Your’e panting softly, lips swollen and bitten — courtesy of Dick — and your eyes are glassy. “I— we don’t have to stop… I want to keep going. Please.”

Who is he to deny you when you ask so sweetly?

“Whatever you want,” he agrees, voice calm as ever. But his blood is hot and he’s trying so hard not to rip off your clothes and fuck you into the mattress until your bed is broken in half. All in good time, he tells himself as he guides you further back. “Lie down for me?”

You rest your head against your pillows obediently and Dick runs his hands up your sides, slowly and teasingly. “I’m going to take off your shirt now.”

Nodding, you lift up your arms when he begins to peel away your oversized t-shirt, shrugging it over your head to toss it to the ground. Dick’s eyes don’t leave your chest and it’s like he’s a man possessed when he immediately leans down to drop kisses to your neck and down your chest, grazing the swell of your breasts.

“So, so pretty,” he mumbles against your skin, his hands sliding behind your back to fumble with your bra clasp. You don’t stiffen this time and he takes it as permission to unclasp it before sliding your straps down your arms and leaning back to stare at you. “Fuck…”

You shrink under his gaze, trying to place your hands over your chest when he doesn’t move, and the action snaps him out of it.

“Don’t cover up,” he instructs, impatiently brushing your hands away before looking directly into your eyes. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

A little laugh leaves you, like you don’t believe him and he decides it’s high time to convince you. Ducking his head down, Dick immediately swipes his tongue across your hardened nipple and you hiss, hand flying up to muffle your gasps as he starts to suck. Everywhere. He’s biting and licking at your chest, purposely leaving marks. If you try and do this with anyone else, they’ll know he was here first with all the blossoming bruises he’s sucking onto your skin.

Your gasps are coming out too quietly for his liking.

“No, don’t cover your mouth,” he says firmly, circling your wrists with his much larger hands to guide them away and pin them to your sides. “Guys like it when you’re noisy.”

Translation: Dick wants to hear you scream.

He returns his mouth to your body, this time venturing lower as he peppers kisses to your stomach. Lower and lower until he’s at the waistband of your shorts. He kisses around your belly button, nipping at your skin to distract you from your nerves as he slides the shorts down your legs.

You’re not even protesting anymore. In fact, you’re eager as you kick the item of clothing off your body. Dick huffs out a laugh against your belly when he sees your pink cherry-print panties. He recognises them from all the times he’s rifled through your underwear draw — it’s his favourite pair.

“Stop laughing,” you say breathlessly as you playfully tug on a strand of Dick’s hair. “It’s laundry day.”

“No, it’s cute,” he says, completely serious as you roll your eyes. The attitude you give him makes him want to fuck it out of you and so he swipes his thumb across the centre of your panties, right where your clit is, pulling a breathless sound from you. “So, so cute.”

You’re already soaked through the pink and red fabric, your wetness forming a damp spot visible through your panties and he grins. Shit, he’s barely touched you.

Dick props up your legs for better access and tugs at your panties, sliding them down to your ankles and then he groans.

He sounds like you’ve just sucker-punched him and before you have the time to process it, Dick sinks a finger into you easily and without any friction.

You’re so wet that it slides right in and the sounds that leave your lips make Dick’s mouth water. You’re gasping on choked breaths as he moves in and out of you, dragging his digit against your walls.

“So responsive,” he exhales, keeping a slow pace as not to overwhelm you. It only lasts a second though, as he can’t help wondering what other noises he can get out of you. His other hand comes up to start circling at your clit and your hand flys up to grab at his inky black locks.

“Oh, sh…shit. Dick, oh my God,” you whimper as the double stimulation makes your body twitch. You’re so consumed by pleasure that you probably don’t realise how hard you’re pulling on his hair — it’s a good thing he likes it. “Oh, please…”

He thinks he could die right now, hearing you beg him. For what, you don’t sound sure, but he obliges you with something. That something being a second finger which slides in almost as easily as the first.

The whine that leaves you is music to his ears and he pumps his fingers in and out, stretching you open in preparation. “Good?”

His question is teasing, since he can tell from the way your eyes are screwed shut that you do think it’s good. You nod nonetheless, whimpering out a “Yeah, so good. S-so good, Dick.”

Dick hums, increasing his pace absentmindedly as his erection brushes against your sheets. He’s practically humping your duvet, it’s pathetic. But he can’t bring himself to feel shameful about it when you’re looking so fucked out before him and he’s barely even done anything.

Fuck, he’s nearly drooling and so he decides the only thing to do is remove his hand from your clit. Your eyes flutter open at the loss of contact, despite his fingers still moving inside of you.

“Wait, what are you— Nngh.”

Dick flattens his tongue against your cunt and drags it up over your clit. You cry out, tangling your fingers further in his hair and keeping his head between your legs. Not that you need to when he’s eating you out like a man starved.

His tongue is moving against you like you’re his last meal while his fingers curl upwards into your pussy, making your eyes prick with tears. The second he starts sucking at your clit, you arch off the bed and helplessly grind against his face, covering his chin in your slick.

Dick moans into your cunt, pulling away a little to ask you in between licks. “Are you close, sweetheart?”

When he doesn’t hear an answer, his fingers pause in their movements and he lifts his head up to look at you.

“I— I don’t know,” you whisper, breathing heavily. “I’ve never… y’know, I haven’t—”

You’ve never had an orgasm

It feels like Dick’s luckiest day alive, he thinks to himself and he can’t help the wicked grin that splits across his face. His slides his fingers out of you, making you whine and his grin widens as he climbs over you, swiping a hand over his mouth before pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” he says soothingly, starting to pepper kisses over your cheek and jaw. “We still have more practicing. You’re going to cum on my cock for the first time, okay?”

“Okay.” Your response is almost immediate and he huffs out a laugh at how willing you are now. Any hesitation has since left you and Dick doesn’t have to convince you to do anything.

Not when you’re tugging at his shirt to take it off, which he happily obliges, reaching behind his back with one hand to shrug it over his head.

You exhale shakily, reaching out tentatively to trail your fingers over the sculpted lines of his chest, the hard ridges of muscle and the soft scattering of dark hair trailing down to disappear into his jeans.

“You’re beautiful too,” you say under your breath with a shy smile and he lets out a broken laugh, rough and shaky, grabbing your wrist and bringing it to his lips to press a kiss at your pulse point.

He’s going to absolutely ruin you.

When your hand drags down his abdomen and further down to his waistband, Dick shudders — a harsh tremor wracking through his body.

“Fuck,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. “Take off my jeans.”

Your fingers fumble to unbutton them and before he knows it, he’s tugging them off and you’re looking down at his cock straining impossibly hard against his boxers.

Dick doesn’t need to instruct you this time, and you’re hastily undressing him, allowing his achingly hard cock to spring free. You let out a breath at the sight of him, his leaking tip practically sore from neglect.

Your hands come up to hesitantly wrap around him, dragging his precum down his length to better stroke him. You do it painfully slow and he hisses through gritted teeth, jerking his hips into your hand which is so, so tiny compared to him.

“Am I doing this right?”

Your quizzical voice nearly makes him buckle, and he decides he’s had enough of not being inside of you.

“You’re perfect,” he promises, sliding a hand up the expanse of your thigh to squeeze your ass. “You’re more than perfect, but if you keep going, I’m going to cum all over your hand and that’s not what we’re practising today.”

You give him a sheepish smile, removing your warm hand and letting it rest by your side while he hovers over you.

Dick glances over your naked frame and nearly sighs aloud at the sight, leaning down to kiss your temple. “Are you ready?”

“Ready,” you say, nodding at him to continue.

Dick brings his length to your cunt and drags it up and down once to cover the tip in your slick, marvelling at the natural lubricant. He’s not going to need anything else to slip right in and when your body twitches at the feeling of his head dragging against your clit, he smirks.

And then he slips the tip right into you, slowly working you through the delicious burn as you gasp. In the back of his mind, he’s a little bit concerned that you haven’t bothered to ask him to wear a condom (not that he was going to — he knows exactly what birth control you’re on, it’s fine), but your compliance is so naive. He’s glad it’s just for him.

“Ohhh, fuck. You’re doing so well, you can take it,” he grunts out, trying to go further in as slow as possible. His hands are clenched around your sheets as he slowly pushes and pushes deeper into you. “You were made for this, weren’t you? Huh? You gonna take all of me?”

“Yes, please, please, please,” you mutter, voice hoarse and nearly inaudible.

“Please what?” Dick stills, not moving another inch as he freezes halfway inside of you. “What do you want me to do, baby? Use your words.”

“Dick,” you rasp out, trying to buck your hips up for more, but Dick grabs your waist and pins you down. You can’t move an inch when he does this. “Please, please, I want more!”

He leans down to chuckle in your ear before he buries himself into you, sinking all the way down to the hilt.

He only gives you a few seconds to adjust before he’s pulling out and slamming back into you. The cry that leaves you is so beautiful and Dick wants to hear it again and again and so, all of a sudden, he’s driving his hips right into you with a desperation.

His cock is stretching you out more than his fingers ever could and you’re so wonderfully tight that Dick can feel every last inch of your velvety walls wrapped around him, sucking him in like something vicious and needy.

You’re practically incoherent now, the whimpers that leave you are basically sobs as Dick fucks into you hard and fast.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he grits out, sweaty curls falling into his eyes as he doesn’t falter in his thrusts. He leans down to press his body against yours as he continues to pound your hot, weeping cunt. “You’re a fucking natural, you know that? You don’t need the practice, you’re perfect. He doesn’t even deserve you. Fuck, he doesn’t deserve to look at you, let alone fuck you.”

Dick’s control and flippant attitude is slipping as he mumbles the words against your skin, but what else can you expect when you’re scraping your nails down his back and pressing your tits against his chest? He doesn’t even care about fucking you under the guise of practice anymore and instead he’s whispering cruelly into your ear.

“You’re so fucking gone for my cock, I bet you can’t even remember his name,” he chuckles against the shell of your ear and you let out another sob, shaking your head frantically. “What is it, baby? What’s his name?”

“I don’t…” you trail off, jaw going slack and eyes rolling back into your head when Dick lifts up your leg to position it over his shoulder, hitting a brand new angle that makes your whole body tense and writhe. He repeats the question and you whine, arching your back even more as you clutch his bicep. “Fuck! I— I don’t know, oh my God, I don’t remember. Oh, Dick, please, it’s so good! You’re so fucking good, I can’t—”

Dick smirks into your neck, his hot breath fanning over your skin as he pants. “That’s what I fucking thought.”

He leans back and brings your other leg over his other shoulder to drive his length into you impossibly deep and you scream his name so loudly that there’s no way your neighbours could miss it.

The sounds of his skin slapping against yours are so obscene in the otherwise quiet of your bedroom that he wishes he could record it to listen to the audio later. He makes a mental note for next time.

As soon as Dick feels your cunt begin to clench around him, he knows you’re close and fuck if he isn’t too. Sweat is coating his back and he feels out of control — you don’t look any better as there are tears of pleasure running down your cheeks, your tits bouncing with every thrust, the sheen of sweat over them catching in the light.

Fuck, he groans out a guttural noise as he picks up the pace to piston into you like a fucking machine. Reaching over in between your legs, he starts to rub quick circles into your clit with his thumb, leaning down to spit on it.

He watches with awe as his thumb rubs his spit into your cunt and the more he circles your clit, the harder he slams into you. Soon, you’re coming so hard that your body trembles with a high pitched whine and your nails are drawing blood down Dick’s back.

The way your cunt is clutching his cock through your orgasm makes him follow quickly and he’s as much of a wreck as you are, burying his face in your neck and sliding his arms under you to pull you close to him as his hips begin to falter. Before he knows it, Dick is shooting hot ropes of cum all over your walls with a choked groan.

It feels never ending, the way you’re milking him for all he’s worth and he decides he never wants to separate from you, keeping himself buried inside of you as he collapses onto you.

He leans most of his weight on his arms beside you, but he’s close enough to feel your racing heartbeat against his chest as you catch your breath.

“You did so good for me, sweetheart,” he pants, one of his hands coming over to rest on your belly where he traces his fingers. “So fucking good…”

Your lips curve up into a smile and although it’s tired, he can tell you’re pleased.

He presses soft kisses into your temple, still buried deep inside of you. Your legs stay wrapped around him and your arms encircle his broadness in a bear hug, not eager to let go any time soon.

Dick is such a good best friend, after all.

[monicaswrld]

I need some milk too

dick x post pregnancy reader

cw: sex , lactation kink, praise, slight mention of breeding kink,

ngl it’s hard writing smut ab dick cus his names dick😭😭

wc:1k

MATURE CONTENT!! AFTER THIS LINE BEWARE

While you were pregnant with your son Dick was gentle, he didn’t want to hurt the baby so he made sure to take it nice and slow.

During the pregnancy he did notice one thing that drastically changed, your boob doubled in size. He knew other things would change about your body and he had no issues with them cus that’s just natural.

But your boobs were one thing he didn’t expect he already loved them before but now? He was entranced by them, the way they bounced whenever you moved and seeing you with nothing but a tank top made him instantly hard.

But he wouldn’t act on it atleast not yet you just had the baby, he didn’t want you in more pain than you already were. When ever he’d take a shower he would jack off to the thought of you, at the thought of sucking the milk from your tits as you bounce on his cock.

It made him so horny not even a jacking off was enough he needed you , to taste you , to touch you, hell even if you just talked him through it it’d be enough right now.

But you were both so busy with the baby that he had to postpone it. Until one day you both had a free day, he was off for work and had no patrols, your mom took your son for the night so you could have some alone time.

He went to go grab some extra groceries to make the both of you a nice dinner, while you went to drop off [s/n]. When he got back he found you on the couch reading a book.

“Hey baby bird how are you feeling?” He asks as he puts the groceries.

“I’m fine mi amor.” You reassured with a grunt putting down your book to look at him.

“Are you sure baby?”He says raising an eyebrow.

“Im ok baby i swear” you sigh. “It’s just that my tits really hurt rn, and with [s/n] gone for some reason I’m making more milk than I usually do and I forgot to charge the pump” you say feeling the pain of your boobs getting worse by the second.

coming out of the kitchen Dick kneels in front of you, pulling you to the edge of the couch. “Baby lemme help you then, I can’t just let you suffer like this now can I?” He says one hand softly massaging your swollen tit, he pauses.

“No bra?” He slips his hands under your shirt using both hands now.

“Ahh” you moan “Please Dick it hurts so bad”

You gasp feeling the cold air on you budding nipples as he pulls your shirt up, starting to suck on your left nipple while massaging the other

“Ahha, fuck just like that baby”you moan softly wrapping your arms around his head pulling him closer.

fuck you tasted like heaven, he groans sucking harder. You throw your head back at the vibration and moan louder.

“Ahaa!! Baby I need you so much right now” You whine grinding on him. You can feel your pussy getting wet.

“Fuck baby I need you to” standing up he undresses then pulls your shorts and panties with ‘em. “Shit your soaked baby” looking at the big wet spot on your panties. “Does that make you wet baby? Huh you love when I make you feel good.” He says pushing 2 fingers into your oozing cunt thrusting them slow and hard.

“mhaaa I need you in me dick not your fingers” you cry at the motion.

“I need to stretch you first baby girl it’s been a while” he switches to scissoring feeling you start to clench harder. He does back down on your tits.

Fuck he was rock hard right now, but he need you to be stretched before he can dick you down.

Yess- yess b-baby right- fuck- there” you can feel your self getting close.

“aha-ahh baby please im so cl-close haaa.” , “Come on baby cum for me let me hear those pretty moans” he says this time rolling your nipple in between his teeth. It pushes you over and you squirt.

Closing your eyes gasping you spray his and your stomach.

“Fuck baby if this is how sensitive you are after having a baby we might have to do this again” he says pulling you close as he rubs his tip on your cunt, feeling your juices trickling down his length he shivers.

Pushing himself into you inch by inch felt like agony but the second he bottomed out you completely forgot about it.

Rolling his hips to meet yours.“A-ahaa god yesss please baby keep-ah keep doing that” you moan moving your hips to meet his.

“Fuck sweet heart the thought of having you swollen with my baby’s again makes me wanna fuck you ” he grunts feeling you squeeze him like there’s no tomorrow.

God it felt so good, it’s been so long since you’ve been dicked down. Plus having another kid with him wouldn’t be the worst thing right?

“Then do it dick” you cry moaning in his ear.

(extra) a couple months later at a family dinner.

“Hey can I get everyone’s attention please, we have an announcement to make.” He says to pulling you and [s/n] close. And waits till everyone stops what they are doing and looks.

“We pregnant again!!” He exclaims rubbing your stomach.

“Aw fuck no” Jason says pushing away from the table and walks off.

“Thanks Dick for fucking up my appetite” Tim says pushing his plate to the middle of the table.

Bruce he just sits in silence taking in the information.

And Damian? He just sits there astonished muttering under his breath ab how he just started liking the first one, now there’s gonna be 2?

Alfred? He’s overjoyed already making preparations for the new baby.

You just laugh even though, you felt so loved and yk your kids will have a very loving family.

this story belongs to me @monicaswrld so pls don’t copy feel free to reblog and stuff tho!! And if you take inspo just @ me pls and thx u

[gummygrayson]

heyy

absolutely loved that 7:29 blurb. could we pretty please see some more of bestie!dick grayson??? nsfw pleasee

really sorry to bother you. thank you so much. have a great day!! <3

ahh absolutely! i stuck with boyfie! dick cause i wasn’t sure f’you meant that or bestie! but i’d definitely be down for bestie! too :D

0:01

⋮ mdni 18+ , boyfriend! dick grayson, fem reader! , dicks a little pervy :0

boyfie! dick with a big FAT breeding kink. something he’s not even the slightest bit ashamed of. he didn’t want children—his life was too hectic for that right now. but he couldn’t lie that the idea, the notion of getting you fat and round off his seed was sexy.

boyfie! dick who had almost died and went to heaven the first time he took you raw, he was so excited that it took him less than four minutes to bust in your gummy walls. huffing apologies and kissing your face. little did he know he’d get addicted.

“m’sorry baby..s’just too fucking good.”

boyfie! dick who suddenly can’t cum anywhere but deep in your pussy (with the slight exception of your mouth), he swears there’s just something different bout your cunt. thankfully you’re not the biggest fan of confoms anymore either so he gets a win. (although when you feel like being petty you’ll make him wear one just to hear him whine)

boyfie! dick who’ll sometimes cum in you back to back, filling your pussy to the brim of his hot, sticky seed.

“fuck, mama,” dick soothes your hips with big hands, head tipped back against the couch as he relinquishes in how your pussy spasms around him “got such a greedy pussy huh..?” he’d tease.

boyfie! dick who gets some perverse enjoyment from watching his seed drip from your abused cunt—the man quick to pull out from whatever position you were in make you lay on your back just to watch.

“poor baby..you were so full hm?” he’d mutter, gently rubbing your clit with a finger just to make you clench. another thick glob of semen leaking out.

boyfie! dick who’s head almost pops when you tell him you pregnant, blue eyes wide and spoon falling from his mouth.

“wha—really?”

boyfie! dick who absolutely salivates over your pregnant form, unable to truly keep his hands to himself now. he also finds his sex drive is absolutely through the roof, his cock constantly aching around you more than before.

boyfie! dick who’s so fucking easy now. you walk out with just a towel on? he’s already on you, spreading you out on the bed and eating your pussy just because. new sundress cause your old ones don’t fit? he can’t stop himself from fucking you before you two step out the house. leaving your cunt full of cum and a hue of red on your skin.

boyfie! dick whose more than happy to ‘help’ when the doctor tells you labor could be any day and sex was a good way to ease into it.

“doctors orders baby—now hold still..can’t fuck your pussy f’you’re running.” dick mutters, his brows furrowed in concentration as he rubs his cock up and down your swollen pussy lips before sinking back into you with a content sigh.

boyfie! dick who does actually send you into labor one night. he’s got you hanging halfway off the bed, drilling his cock into your pussy with a fervor only he could muster at the thought of cumming in you when you grab at his arm.

“b-baby..coming..” you pant, words half garbled because god did it feel good. the man too into fucking you that he doesn’t understand what you mean, sliding a big hand to grab your thigh and hike it higher on his hip.

“that’s it sweetheart, cum for me. cum for daddy huh?” dick breathes. and you could laugh—maybe afterwards you both would.

“n-no, the baby is coming.” you squeak, digging your nails into his flesh.

that stops the man in his tracks almost immediately, hips stuttering as he forces himself to slow “wha—now? like, right now while i’m deep in your cunt now?” the second you nod he’s off you, scrambling around the room to get you clothes and everything you both had prepared.

boyfie! dick who turns sheepish when the nurse asks how you induced yourself. his face growing hot “just—a good massage.”

fiancé! dick who watches you finish feeding your now nine month old baby, a tiny smile on his lips as you place the child down for a nap.

fiancé! dick who grins when you meet his stare with a raised brow.

the man steps closer and bends down eye level, his warm hand moving to softly brush your swollen breast “my turn now?”

(the answer is yes of course.)

-

౨ৎ this was terrible but i have so many thoughts about this man i js cldnt think right.

[sexsylexi]

Why couldn't it be me?

Wally West x reader

The Mount Justice zeta-beam hummed softly as you stepped into the dimly lit common room, clutching a tray of snacks you’d brought to share. Wally West, your best friend and the person you couldn’t stop thinking about, lounged on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table, a bag of chips in hand. Artemis sat beside him, smirking at something he’d just said.

Your heart sank a little. She was always around these days, and it made the heavy weight of your unspoken feelings all the harder to bear. Still, you forced a smile and crossed the room.

“Brought reinforcements,” you said, setting the tray on the table.

“(Y/N), you’re the best” Wally beamed, his emerald eyes lighting up as he turned to face you. The warmth of his gaze was enough to make you forget, for just a moment, the unrelenting ache in your chest.

“Just doing my part,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Artemis glanced at you, her expression unreadable, then reached for a soda can. “You spoil him too much,” she said lightly.

“Someone’s gotta keep him fed,” you shot back, teasing.

Wally laughed, oblivious to the tension in the air. “See, (Y/N) gets it! You should take notes, Artemis.”

The archer rolled her eyes but didn’t respond, and for a brief second, her gaze lingered on Wally.

You had known Wally for years, long before the team came together. Your friendship had always been easy, full of shared jokes and mutual trust. But somewhere along the line, your feelings had shifted. You fell hard, and you fell fast. He was everything you could ever want—smart, kind, endlessly loyal, and his smile could light up the darkest room.

But it was torture.

Because while you were hopelessly in love with him, he didn’t feel the same.

You told yourself it was fine, that being his friend was enough. But every time he talked about Artemis, it was like a dagger in your chest. He didn’t even realize he was doing it. And every hanging out you had his eyes were never on you they were always on her.

“Artemis is so cool, you know?” Wally said one evening after a mission. You were sitting on the couch beside him, patching up his arm while he chattered on. “She’s got this whole mysterious vibe going on, but she’s also super funny once you get to know her. And don’t even get me started on her aim—she’s incredible!”

You bit your lip, keeping your hands steady as you cleaned his wound. “Yeah, she’s... great,” you murmured, fighting to keep the pain out of your voice.

Wally didn’t notice. He never noticed.

Not long after the team had been called on a last-minute mission: an infiltrate-and-extract operation at a rogue scientist’s lab. You’d all been given a rundown before heading out, and now you were crouched in the shadows, heart pounding as you waited for the signal.

“Ready?” Wally whispered, crouching beside you. His trademark grin was in place, but there was a flicker of seriousness in his eyes that reminded you how much he’d grown since joining the team.

“Always,” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

The mission went smoothly at first. You worked in tandem with Wally, just like always, and for a while, it felt like old times. But then things took a turn. A squad of armed guards caught sight of Artemis, who was providing cover from an elevated platform. Wally was at her side in an instant, taking out the guards with a speed and precision that left you breathless.

When the dust settled, he turned to her with a wide grin. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, brushing herself off. “Thanks.”

You watched from a distance as they shared a moment, the connection between them almost tangible. It was like the rest of the world didn’t exist, and the realization hit you like a freight train: He didn’t just like her. He loved her.

The team regrouped and completed the mission, but the atmosphere was heavy as you made your way back to the bioship. The tension between you and Wally was unspoken but palpable, and you couldn’t shake the image of him looking at Artemis like she was the only person in the room.

When you arrived back at Mount Justice, the countdown to midnight had already begun. The team decided to stick around and celebrate, but you couldn’t bring yourself to join in the festivities.

“Hey, (Y/N), come on!” Wally called, gesturing for you to join him near the monitor.

You shook your head, forcing a smile. “I’m good here.”

He frowned but didn’t press the issue, turning his attention back to the group.

You stood in the corner, watching as the seconds ticked down. Your heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Wally.

“Ten... nine... eight...”

The room buzzed with excitement as the countdown reached its climax.

“Three... two... one—Happy New Year!”

Cheers erupted, but the sound was drowned out by the sight of Wally picking up Artemis and spinning her around.

And then he kissed her.

Time seemed to freeze. The world blurred around you as you watched the person you loved with everything you had kiss someone else.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, the weight of your heartbreak crushing you.

“(Y/N), you okay?” Kaldur’s voice cut through the noise, his concerned gaze landing on you.

You forced a shaky smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just need some air.”

Before he could say anything else, you slipped out of the room, the cold night air hitting you like a slap to the face.

You wandered aimlessly for a while, eventually finding yourself on the beach near Mount Justice. The waves crashed against the shore, their rhythmic sound offering a small measure of comfort.

You sank to the ground, wrapping your arms around your knees as the tears finally came. You cried for the love you’d never have, for the friendship that suddenly felt hollow, for the future you’d dreamed of that was never going to happen.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, but eventually, the sound of footsteps pulled you from your thoughts.

“(Y/N)?”

It was Wally. Of course it was.

“Hey,” you said, quickly wiping your eyes and forcing a smile.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, crouching beside you.

“Just needed some space.”

He frowned, studying your face. “You’ve been crying.”

“I’m fine, Wally,” you said, your voice firmer than you felt.

He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he sat down beside you, staring out at the water.

“You missed the big celebration,” he said after a moment.

“I saw,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wally hesitated, then added, “I kissed Artemis.”

You felt like you’d been punched in the gut, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. “Yeah. Congrats.”

He turned to look at you, his brow furrowed. “You don’t seem happy.”

“I am,” you lied. “I just... I’m tired, Wally. It’s been a long day.”

He didn’t respond, and the silence stretched between you.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” you said finally, your voice trembling. “You deserve it.”

Wally’s expression softened, and for a moment, you thought he was going to say something, but then he just nodded.

“Thanks, (Y/N). That means a lot.”

You managed a weak smile, but inside, you were falling apart. As long as he was happy you were right?..

[no1frogfan]

In the palm of your hand

John Price x afab reader

Word count: 4.3k

Tags & warnings: SMUT-MINORS AND BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT, vaginal fingering, somnophilia (not really but on the verge), p in v, creampie, gratuitous use of pet names, breeding kink if you squint, <- just imagine that’s always the case if I’m talking about price because this man wants to fill you up with his babies like yesterday

Note: Was trying to write more sea captain Price but this lodged itself so far into my skull it slipped through to a new dimension. As usual, this was supposed to be 600 MAYBE 1000 words of porn without plot. HA.

You’ve never thought of yourself as a jealous person, but right now, you’re not so sure. 

Romantic relationships should start from a place of trust. Key words: romantic, relationships. Neither of which describe you and Captain Price. You’re nothing to him. He’s nothing to you. Except your boss (sort of, more like de facto boss). Maybe that’s why it’s pissing you off so much to watch two women practically throw themselves at him.

He’s laughing and joking as he waits for your drinks, indulging them with good humor and attention. Meanwhile, you work you ass off for him, and the best you can hope for is a quick dismissal. (Even Ghost tossed a “nicely done” at you once. It was only once, but that’s infinity times more than never.)

You truly don’t know why you agreed to come. The bar is buzzing, stuffed to the gills with military types and people looking to fuck military types, and you’re neither. Certainly not some super secret black ops elite task force member, or however the others might describe themselves. You’re just a nobody little intel gremlin Laswell plucked from counterterrorism and plunked into the 141 for one purpose: secure actionable intel faster. The original mission was supposed to last three days, but it went tits up in less than three hours (not because of you, thank god). Everything snowballed, and you’ve been stuck here ever since, doggedly tracking leads, trying to put the final nail in AQ’s coffin.

Despite Laswell’s stamp of approval, the captain has never seemed to fully trust you. He’s constantly hovering at your periphery, barging into your office (closet, really) to inspect your work, nitpicking every mistake. At first you thought it was because he wanted to hammer home how lethal any small inaccuracy can be for the team. Your intel literally makes or breaks their missions. But now you’re convinced he just has it out for you. A forgotten paragraph break isn’t going to kill anyone. It feels juvenile to say as a grown-ass adult, but you’re really fucking good at your job, and you want him—need him—to acknowledge that and let you get on with it.

At the very least, it’d be nice if he stopped glaring at you from the moment you enter a room to the moment you leave.

Luckily, the boys have been friendly, sometimes veering toward too flirty, but never crossing the line. Not under Price’s watchful eye.

That’s why you’re here, you suppose. Because it’s been a month since you joined the team and Kyle and Johnny insisted on celebrating that milestone. They were both adamant that you had to be the one to ask the captain, not letting you in on the reason until you got to the bar: they were desperate for a night out and knew Price would relent if it was you.

Anything to get you out of his office, probably.

It’s too bad because everyone you’ve met respects him and are terrified of him in equal measure. More than once, you’ve seen others’ estimations of you visibly grow once they learn you work with the vaunted Captain John Price.

It’s also too bad because something about him really does it for you, not that you’d ever admit it. But anyone who looks that fuckable in a stupid boonie hat and cargo pants has got to be up there in your books. Though, he looks just as good in what he’s got on tonight—dark jeans and a solid gray t-shirt, drawing your eye to the width of his shoulders, the curl of his arms, the strength of his thighs. In some paradoxical way, the plainness of his outfit stands out, calm waters in a sea of loud prints and flashy jewelry.

Even in civvies, his bearing screams officer through and through, and you’re sure those women can sense it as they pout coquettishly and laugh a little too loudly. You scoff into your beer. He can be funny, but not that funny.

Guess that next round won’t be coming anytime soon.

“You’re gonna burn a ‘ole through his ‘ead if you keep starin’.”

Ghost’s voice is low, but you can hear the amused lilt. The two of you are the only ones left in the booth. You thought he’d been ignoring you, content to watch the pheromones flying around the bar. Alien observing human mating rituals or whatever. Seems like that’s not the case.

“I’m not staring,” you snip. Liar.

“Sure. And my name’s Nancy.”

“Whatever, Nancy. It’s just-” You can’t help but continue, gesturing vaguely toward the two women with your mostly-empty glass. “Is that what guys are into?”

You’re being unfair. You know. Everyone here’s looking to get laid. Hell, Gaz and Soap fucked off ages ago to god knows where with the first people that made eyes at them. Probably getting sucked off in a bathroom stall, or fucking in the alley around back. Honestly, good for them. And good for these women for knowing what they want and going for it, unlike you. Under other circumstances, you’d enjoy watching them pull, be rooting for them, even.

“Guys?”

Ghost raises an eyebrow. How you can tell with his mask on, you’re not sure, but somewhere along the line, you’ve learned to read him. When you don’t answer, he repeats:

“Guys? Or Price?”

“Shut up. Prick.”

“Ouch. Gonna ‘urt my feelings.” He downs the last of his lager. “Don’t get your knickers twisted. Old man’s bein’ polite. Wouldn’t be single if he went for just any warm ‘ole.”

Crude, but it mollifies you.

So he is single. That was something you hadn’t been able to verify. There’s not a ring on his finger, but that doesn’t mean shit. A confirmation from Ghost, though… If anyone knew about a secret lover, it would be him.

“Thought that might perk you up.”

God damn. You need to remember how perceptive they all are. Or stop being so fucking obvious. Both.

The captain returns, setting three fresh pints down and slipping into the booth beside you, leaving plenty of space. One arm stretches casually across the backrest, close enough to feel the heat coming off him but not touching you. Never touching you.

“Ghost behaving?”

“Never, sir.”

The man in question nudges you, jutting his chin toward the bar. “This could get interestin’.”

One of the women has followed Price over, sliding in on his other side. Her blonde hair looks soft and lustrous, cascading elegantly down her shoulders. She lays one impeccably manicured hand on his bicep, pushing her tits into him. A claim. He doesn’t brush her off.

“John, are you going to introduce me to your friends?”

John. Like she’s earned the right. Ghost doesn’t even call him that.

“They’re subordinates, not friends,” he grouses, but obliges her.

“A pleasure to meet you both.” She leans over the captain, giving him an eyeful under the pretense of shaking your hands. You take a too-big swig of your beer when you catch him peering appreciatively down her dress.

She’s inevitably flustered when Ghost refuses, deadpan stare sending her to you with her hand outstretched. You shake it, albeit reluctantly, dropping it quick as you can. It’s soft and warm and not clammy like yours. Her perfume lingers like a flowery miasma.

Price shifts to give her more room, settling with her pressed against his left. You’re trapped against his right, sandwiched uncomfortably between the two large men. Ghost is a brick wall on one side, Price a boulder on the other, and fuck, he smells good. Summer nights and clean laundry. Tobacco, coffee, and wood. Something to nestle yourself into.

The woman keeps up conversation, questioning Price about his most dangerous missions and responding with suitable amazement at his answers. Stroking his ego (and his arm, presumably his leg too, though you don’t dare confirm). It probably works on a lot of men.

You don’t want to stay long enough to find out if it will work on him.

“He must be an awful tough captain to keep both of you in line.”

Your knuckles are white with how tight you’re clutching the glass. Looking up, everyone’s attention is on you, expectant.

“Nope, just awful.”

The first thing that comes to mind slips out. Your eyes widen and dart to Price when your brain catches up to your mouth. There’s never banter between you and the captain, not like with the rest of the team. He keeps his distance. At best, you can hope to be ignored. At worst…

No reprimand comes, though. Instead, the captain presses further into your side, sending shivers up and down your spine when he murmurs in your ear, “gettin’ cheeky are ya?”

The woman laughs. He’s never like this. The beer must be going to both your heads. You should leave before you do something stupid.

You shove Ghost. “Move. I want some air.”

“Nah. Don’t think I will.” 

“I said, move, asshole!”

He doesn’t budge. Pretends like he can’t even feel your punches. He probably can’t.

An errant elbow catches Price in the side. “Watch it.”

“Tell Ghost to let me out!”

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing!”

“Then stop bloody thrashing.”

“I just want some air. Is that too much to fucking ask?” You screech. 

You freeze at the scowl on Price’s face. Overreaction. Insubordination.

“Alright. Come on, love. Let’s have a little chat.”

“No, I sorry- I’m fine, sir.”

“I’m not askin’. ‘Scuse us.”

Price all but shoves the woman aside and yanks you from the booth, barreling through the crowd and out the side door to the parking lot.

The door closes behind you with a resolute bang. Music and voices muffled to a dull drone. You glare at your feet as he pulls a cigar out of his pocket and lights it, cherry flaring crimson when he takes a puff. You did need some air. The breeze does you good. Clears your head a little.

“Right. What’s got you all worked up?”

“Nothing, sir.”

He repeats your denial, incredulous, bringing the cigar to his lips again. Puckering, holding for an indulgent beat, breathing out a dense cloud of coffee, chocolate, almonds. Toasty with a sweet finish.

“Well?”

You blink away from his lips to dart back to his eyes, burning a hole through you.

“It’s really nothing, sir. I’m probably just tired and drank too quickly. Won’t happen again,” you mumble. The excuse sounds weak as it leaves your lips, but you pray he’ll just accept it and go back inside. Tell you to go home and get some rest.

He can do whatever he wants with that woman for all you care. Not like you have any claim on him. Not like he owes you anything.

“You’ve had a right cob on all night.”

“I have not.” You sound petulant. Might as well huff and puff and stamp your feet too. 

“Do I need to ask Simon?”

“No.”

“Then spit it out.”

Without the hat, everything about him feels different. Short cropped hair and mutton chops peppered with gray. It should look ridiculous—and it would on anyone else—but he pulls it off somehow, gives it gravitas, makes you want.

Even the way he looks at you is different. Heavier. You feel exposed under the crystal blue of his eyes. Revealed to be a hissing, cornered kitten trying to sink its useless little claws into something.

Might as well be yourself. Rip the band-aid off. End this stupid crush here and now.

“Just- can you just tell me if that’s what you’re into?”

“Explain.”

Stupid, frustrating man. That’s the last thing you want to do. Your jaw’s clenching so hard you can barely squeeze the words out.

“That woman. Is she- is that what you’re into?” Your hands make some flimsy waving motions in the air, hoping to convey whatever it is that you apparently don’t have.

He’s silent for what feels like hours, scrutinizing you between puffs of his cigar. You’re sure it’s deliberate. Your cards are all on the table and he’s playing some kind of mind game to make you nervous, get you to fold. It’s working. Worst case, he’s contemplating how to discipline you. Best case, how to reject you. The more time passes, the more you want to flee, sprint home, beg Laswell to transfer you and never look back. You’re mulling over your transfer options when he snuffs the cigar butt under his boot, pulling your chin up to really look at you. Narrowed eyes dart between yours.

Your breathing shallows. Lips part when he ducks down.

Your body responding to him, subconsciously. And fuck if it doesn’t make him downright giddy.

“‘S that what you were worked up about, sweetheart?” Gravelly and patronizing. His lips pull into a mean grin. It sends a jolt to your core, makes you want to melt into a puddle on the concrete.

He pushes a muscled thigh between your legs, pinning you against the building. Hears your sharp intake of breath when he grinds it up into your pussy. Eyes crinkling with undisguised glee like a child finding exactly what they asked for on Christmas morning.

“That all you needed, honey? Could’ve just asked.”

He presses you down, hands like clamps around your waist (sure to leave marks) as he drags you over his thigh. Growling and grunting like a rutting animal even though you’re the one with stars in your eyes.

Your hands search for anything they can reach, tucking under his shirt to grab urgently at his stomach, firm underneath just a little pudge. Gripping the thick hair on his chest. Grounding yourself. Is this really happening? It’s more than you imagined, but still not enough. You lurch up to kiss him, tongue licking into his mouth, lips grazing the coarse hairs on his face.

Taking one of his hands, you shove it unceremoniously down your pants. A moan rips out of his chest when he feels how sticky you are.

“Suck.”

You obey, docile as a lamb when he sticks two fingers in your mouth.

Unbuttoning your jeans relieves a bit of pressure and gives him room to ease a finger into you. It’s thick, easily twice one of yours, and you go limp against him as he gently works it inside. One knuckle. Two. Gliding in and out easily with your slick. Shushing you with a kiss to your temple.

“That why you work so hard?” Your head bobbles weakly and you just about go cross-eyed when he works a second finger inside. “Look at the state of you. Could’ve asked me any time for this, sweetheart.”

He feels around until you buck, almost headbutting him when he finds it. Cooing at you like a puppy that learned a new trick. He goes slow at first, calloused fingertips dragging across that sensitive spot. Precise, metronome strokes that accelerate. The pace has you trembling on the edge, chest heaving, drool trickling down your neck, pussy squelching so loud it drowns out the noise from the bar.

He wants to commit every iota of this to memory.

His hand shifts, thumb swiping against your clit. Quickening bursts. Firecrackers popping, one after another. Nails dig into skin but he doesn’t register it, too drawn to the way your eyes are rolling into the back of your head.

“Oh my god fuck fuck fuck-”

The sensation spreads, crashing over you, waves cascading to the crown of your head, the tips of your fingers and toes and back again. Your knees buckle. Everything is silenced.

The world comes back slowly. There’s hair stuck all over your face. You’re outside. It’s cold. You’re hot, tucked against your captain. Shirt rucked up. Both of you panting. 

Languidly, he takes his fingers out of you and into his mouth, slurping up the juices with relish. He kisses you, swiping your taste across your tongue. Hungry, slick, tart. Dark chocolate from his cigar. Malt from his ale.

“Fuck. Captain. That-”

Before you can catch your breath, he’s zipped up your pants, patting your pussy over your jeans like a dog.

“Right. Let’s go.”

The abrupt command sends you reeling. Whiplash. That’s it? Sorted? Go back inside and what? Pretend nothing happened? Good enough for a parking lot and nothing more.

Your expression must betray you because his voice softens to a soothing rumble. The promise of rain on a sweltering summer’s eve. “Sweetheart, I’m not going to stick my cock in you in some piss-riddled parking lot like a randy teenager. We’re going back to base so I can fuck you on a proper bed.”

“Oh.” He’s being considerate. It’s almost old-fashioned. But, “what about-”

“Ghost will take care of it.” Reading your mind again.

“But Johnny and Kyle-”

“Ghost will take care of it.”

He cuts you off, forcing your hand to the enormous bulge in his pants, a steel rod nearly bursting the seams. Saliva pools in the corners of your mouth. You nod dumbly, the size of him rendering you speechless.

“Now get your arse in the car.”

++++

Sluggishly, you blink awake.

A sliver of light across a cluttered desk. Your mouth feels dry. You’re lying curled up on dark navy sheets that definitely aren’t yours. Whiskered lips brush along the back of your neck.

Your raspy oh is met with an answering grunt.

“Good. You’re up.”

Something prods your ass until you part your legs, letting him slip between the crease of your thighs. Big mitts splay out, digging into your thick thighs, squeezing them together as he rocks back and forth. It chafes, skin still tender from going so many rounds last night. Insatiable man.

He cups the head of his cock against your clit, catching it with every thrust. Sharp zings through your core, making you twitch and buck.

You clamp your thighs to give him more friction. 

“That’s it. Get her ready for me, sweetheart.”

You can feel the drag across your skin. His arousal and yours smearing all over his full, heavy length. Some of his cum’s probably still there too, making an even easier glide. He seems content to cradle you like this, thrusting leisurely, keeping himself on the precipice. 

Not you though. A whine builds in your throat, an unspoken ask that he answers immediately. There’s almost no resistance when he slips in with a satisfied sigh. He feels so fucking good, stuffs you so full it feels like your brain has leaked out your ears. Blissful static is all that’s left.

Unlike last night, he doesn’t go slow, pistoning into you at a lethal pace, knocking pitilessly against that spot that makes your toes curl and your pussy clench. Balls slapping against your clit. Sucks messy bruises into the back of your neck and shoulders, bristles scratching the sensitive skin there.

One hand finds yours, lacing your fingers and pressing down together into your soft stomach, and you swear to god you can feel him there. The other flips your head around to draw you into a sloppy kiss. It could almost be sweet if he weren’t being such a brute. You can’t even moan. Can barely breathe. Tongue shoved down your throat, cock shoved up your pussy.

It’s too fucking much. It’s not long before you’re close, back arching, walls tightening, attempting to scramble away as much as draw him deeper.

“Christ, honey,” he bites out, “‘s like you’re on a mission.”

How he knows your body so well already, you have no idea. He lets go of your hand, slipping thumb and forefinger into the mess between your legs to pinch your clit. It’s mean, it makes you squeal, it hurts. It sends you careening off a cliff as you cum, free falling, wind whipping, clenching so hard he has to really cram himself in to keep from being pushed out entirely.

You lay rubber-limbed in a puddle of sweat, catching your breath, brain still rebooting. Jostled about as he pounds into you with abandon now, knocking the breath out of you, probably growling something absolutely filthy if you had the presence of mind to make sense of it.

Hands tighten. One hard thrust. He lets out a final, shuddering moan as he cums, spurting white hot into your pussy with half-aborted thrusts, trying to bury himself deep in your guts.

His grip relaxes, though he doesn’t let you go. Morning sun shines bright now through the curtains. The pillows are nowhere to be found, the sheets have disappeared too. His sweaty chest presses flush against your back, hairs tickling you. Hot breaths huff against the crook of your neck.

His dick gives a valiant twitch when you shift. “Morning, John.” It feels strange to call him that. You have to make a concerted effort, but you want to test it out, see how he reacts.

“Bloody good morning, sweetheart,” he chuckles, pushing himself up, arm shaking just a little. He finally slips out of you. A month’s worth of want gushes out behind him. He crawls down to prise your legs apart and check his handiwork. It flusters you, the intensity with which he zeroes in on your pussy.

You have to look away, only to squeak in surprise to suddenly feel his tongue laving over your clit. You’re warm and pliable from your orgasm, letting him push and bend you to his whims. His beard scratches the inside of your thighs, now even more tender. His fingers delve in too, unrelenting strokes, just this side of painful, until you peak again, hard and fast.

You’re still riding high when a piercing ring cuts through the room. He doesn’t bother wiping his face before answering the phone, rasping out an affirmative with your cum and his smeared all over his beard. “Copy. Briefing in 15, room 12.”

Shit. 15 minutes. Not enough time to go home and change.

Before you can panic, Price is already half-carrying you out of bed and toward a large, private bathroom (the benefits of captaincy), turning on the water, and pulling you in behind him. It’s slow to heat, but he stands in the spray, shielding you from the worst of it. 

“Don’t have all day.” He points at a bottle of shampoo in the corner.

You fumble at first, finally squeezing some out into his outstretched hand. He tugs you toward him (apologizing when it makes you stumble), wetting your hair under the now-warm water, patiently massaging it into your scalp. It’s a welcome surprise that has you humming, eyes closed in bliss.

While he shampoos his own hair (some perfunctory swipes, at best), you decide to return the favor. Lathering the shower gel across his back and shoulders, kneading at the hard muscle. They’re tight with tension, and the groan that rumbles out of him is beyond pleased. Cleaning him feels like a treat. Plush muscle and thick fur, sudsy whorls across his stomach and chest.

He indulges too, caressing the soap over the curve of your neck, soft plush of your waist, paying particular attention to your breasts and the tender, swollen lips of your pussy.

Your fingers trail low, following the coarse hair down, down, making sure that every inch of him is lathered. Despite cumming moments ago, he’s sprung back to life. His hands shoot out to stop you, though it looks like it pains him. “Careful, love. Got no time for that.”

When he climbs out of the shower, his reluctance stands blatant between his legs.

You have to scramble to dry off and change. Now that you’re clean, the idea of wearing yesterday’s clothes again makes your nose wrinkle in disgust, though there’s not exactly a lot of options. Definitely skip the dirty underwear. The jeans will be fine. The shirt…

“Here.”

Something garishly red is tossed in your direction, unfurling to reveal a Liverpool FC jersey with Barnes 10 across the back. You frown, eyeing the other t-shirts folded in the same drawer. All dark blues and grays.

“Can’t I borrow something else?”

“You want to wear yesterday’s clothes, be my guest.”

When he uses his captain voice, you can tell there’s no point in arguing.

Ghost is already in the conference room when John herds you inside. One look at your outfit has him choking on his tea.

“Looks like someone had a good night.”

“Watch it, Simon.” Though Price’s tone is far from threatening.

Kyle and Johnny arrive next, eyebrows disappearing into their hairlines when they see the captain’s arm draped over your shoulders, him looking every bit like the cat that got the cream. They throw cheeky winks your way before sitting down, neither saying a word (something you didn’t think possible).

Kate comes in last, and you really don’t know what to think when she doesn’t comment either. Just lets out a weary sigh before starting the briefing.

She’s quick and to the point. The forensic accounting methods you’ve been experimenting with have unearthed a promising lead—a major AQ funder. That’s the gist. A lot of details go in one ear and out the other, distracted as you are by John’s thumb stroking over the purpling bruises on your neck.

“141 will roll up the HVI in Copenhagen. I’ll link up with my Russian counterpart. We’ll see where they lead us.” Laswell nods toward you. “You’ll need to be on standby to vet the intel we gather.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Rog. We’ll split up. Ghost and I’ll recce his compound in Copenhagen. Soap and Gaz secure the perimeter. Primary objective is the HVI.”

John bursts out the door as soon as the meeting ends, dragging you behind him. Dripping sordid promises in your ear all the way back to his room. “Don’t have much time, sweetheart. Gotta finish what you started.”

[ghouljams]

Oh my god please write about that mermaid genital slit I beg its so fucking hot I need it so bad.

that was early (@553580) talking about genital slits in mermaids but i would love nothing more than to talk about mermaid genitalia (I even have diagrams if people are interested, monster fucking my worst special interest) and also to talk about

cw: eggs, dubcon

researcher!reader and mer!price

dragging your tongue along the pink slit that sits at the top of his tail, the fatty entrance rough with scales under your tongue it not entirely unpleasant, you're quite enjoying yourself. the mer seems to be too. it's not exactly ethical to engage with the creature like this, but it isn't as if you're the only person on site who indulges the mers in their breeding season. he's given you enough gifts you figure releasing the big guy back out into the wild would drag you 2000 miles offshore as his mate, so you're confident he's good with all this, especially considering the hand on your head and the insistent way he pushes his hips against your mouth.

so you lick and suck, enjoying the way the flesh around the slit engorges itself the more you toy with it. you work your fingers into the cunt-like genitalia, your tongue wiggling alongside them to lick at the inner walls. there's no clit for you to suck on like you would a human, but that doesn't seem to matter, price moans all the same. too bad though, sucking on that has always been your favorite part. it doesn't take long for your mer's tail to start flicking aggressively, his moans turning to growls and his fingers digging claws into your scalp. after a few minutes the whole cunt seems to contract around your fingers, the soft walls flexing and releasing on the digits while you lick away the dribble of slick that starts to pool from the hole.

price tugs your head back and you make a noise of pain at the rough treatment, wincing as you reach to try and pull his claws out of your skin.

it's only when you feel something poking at your lips that you open your eyes again, and suck in a beath that is quickly choked by the cock that you're shoved down onto.

it's pink, fleshy, so alien surrounded by the dark flashing of his scales, it tastes like fish, and it throbs. the whole appendage throbs with the same convulsions that it had as a cunt, though this time the slick that pours from it has a direct line to your throat. price works you down his cock too quickly, tugging your head down and ignoring your gagging. you push at his hips but the mer is bigger and stronger than you, and he holds you at the base of his cock.

your vision is starting to darken at the edges when you feel something heavy push its way down his cock and over your tongue. it slides easily through price's length before finding its way in your throat where you, on instinct, swallow.

he pulls his cock back and you suck in a breath through fitful coughs, only to have your head pulled down his thick length again. another strange weight passes over your tongue, another instinctual swallow. the same near loss of consciousness, the same last minute save only to have your air once against taken from you. eight times. he fucks your face methodically like that eight times.

until your stomach feels painfully full and you're choking down nausea just at the sight of his cock. the whole fleshy apparatus flexes, almost tentacle-like, before a ninth egg pushes its way out of the tip and drops like jell-o into your waiting palms. fuck.

how the hell are you going to explain this to medical.

[sofya-fanfics]

Where the Chill Led Me

Fandom : Bleach

Relationship : Ichigo x Rukia

My Fluffy July 2025 contribution for the prompt : Cuddling for Warmth.

I’m sorry for the mistakes, English is not my native language. I hope you like it.

Summary : Ichigo slowly opened his eyes. He glanced at the clock. Two a.m. He turned toward the other side of the bed and froze. Rukia lay beside him, eyes closed, perfectly peaceful as if she hadd been asleep for hours.

Disclaimer : Bleach belongs to Tite Kubo.

@fluffyjuly

AO3 / FF.NET

Ichigo slowly opened his eyes. He glanced at the clock. Two a.m. He groaned. Barely an hour of sleep. He and Rukia had been on patrol late into the night and he was exhausted. The moment they returned, he had crashed onto his bed and passed out. But apparently, the universe had only allowed him one measly hour of rest.

He turned toward the other side of the bed and froze. Rukia lay beside him, eyes closed, perfectly peaceful as if she hadd been asleep for hours. What is she doing in my bed ? He thought, caught off guard. Should I wake her up ? Or go sleep on the couch ?

“You’re making too much noise,” she said suddenly, eyes still shut.

Ichigo jolted. He had not expected her to be awake.

“I wasn’t even moving,” he muttered under his breath.

He was frozen. Since spotting her so close, he had not been able to move a muscle.

“I can hear you thinking,” she added. “It’s keeping me awake.”

He rolled his eyes, exasperated. Of course she had to stay unbothered, even in a situation she clearly caused herself.

“And can I ask why you’re in my bed ?” He said, mildly annoyed.

She opened her eyes, equally annoyed that she had to explain.

“I was cold. With your ridiculous habit of always leaving the window open, I could feel the draft all the way in the closet, even with the doors shut.”

She’s exaggerating, he thought. Sure, nights were cool, but it was not that cold. Then he frowned, suddenly struck by a realization.

“Wait… I thought your Bankai was ice-based ?”

Rukia shot him a sharp look, offended.

“That has nothing to do with it. My powers don’t stop my body from feeling cold. Now lie down. I want to sleep and you’re as warm as a radiator.”

Ichigo sighed and lay back down without arguing. He was far too tired to fight. Rukia immediately slid closer and nestled against him, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her breath against his collarbone had the softness of a winter breeze. Cold, yet strangely calming. It was not comfortable or uncomfortable. It was Rukia and that was enough.

“You’re warm,” she murmured sleepily. “It feels nice.”

“I’m not a radiator,” he grumbled.

She did not reply. Ichigo turned his head slightly toward her. She was fast asleep. He closed his eyes again, trying to relax and fall back into sleep. They had been close before, but sharing a bed, even like this, made his heart race in quiet, unfamiliar ways. After a long while, warmed by her presence and the silence itself, he drifted off.

When he woke up a few hours later, Rukia was still curled up in his arms, like she had always belonged there.

The end

[cmliza]

When the party's over - Billie Eilish

I've learned to lose you, can't afford to, nothin' ever stops you leavin'

!+18 content! CW: Little Smut, Nightwing × AFAB Reader, kinda sad i guess, small post :) SUMMARIES: Nightwing shows up at your house in the middle of the night, only to leave in the morning.

This was a common routine between you and Nightwing, not Dick.

Because this isn't Richard Grayson, your fellow detective who doesn't speak more than three words to you during the day , no, this is Nightwing.

You know who he is. You saw one of his batons in his bag and demanded answers. He gave them to you after you threatened to tell five different tabloids. He doesn't see you as a threat.

But nothing is that simple with Richard.

The day after he told you the truth, he knocked on the window. of your tenth-floor apartment, all battered and beaten, with that smile on his face, begging to come in like a stray dog.

And you let him, and then things happened: touches here and there, and suddenly he was on top of you in your bed, only to come out early in the morning and greet you at work as if nothing had happened.

The routine repeated itself, and repeated itself for four months, and continues to repeat itself.

And that's why you're not scared when your apartment window opens and the infamous Nightwing enters.

He sighs softly, stripping off his clothes and mask, leaving only his underwear on, and stretching before smiling and lying on top of you on the couch.

"You smell like shit."

Dick pouts at your comment, planting kisses on your collarbone.

"poop gas."

"poop gas?" you chuckle, placing the popcorn container on the table and messing up even more his hair.

He doesn't bother explaining, too busy sliding his hand inside your pajama shorts, quietly mocking your lack of underwear. "Waiting for me?"

"Always."

He slides one hand inside your tank top, his cool fingers gently playing with your nipples while he fingers you with the other, your small grunts making him feel arrogant.

"Ready enough?"

When you nodded, he rummaged through your wallet —he'd kept a condom there in case of emergency. He rolls the latex down his length, pumping a few times before sinking into you with a groan.

You scratch his back, and he nibbles at your skin, still still inside you, enjoying the way your hips move toward his and the way your parted lips release delicious sounds.

He begins to move, and you bring your lips to his in a gesture that can only be described as desperate.

The act is a mess of tongue, drool, and moans. Your fingers curl around his as he thrusts harder, squeezing his bruised hands, afraid he'll leave which you know he will in the morning you run your fingers over his calloused knuckles and scrapes hoping he'll stay until dawn.

He stares at you, and the dim light from the lamp and the small amount of wine you drank earlier make you think he might be thinking about staying.

But he's not.

He's debating whether he'll sneak out the bedroom or living room window when you fall asleep.

And when you come with him, squeezing his hands, pulling him close for a little longer, and quietly begging him to stay.

You know it won't do any good.

You fall asleep ten minutes later on the couch, and don't wake up until the next morning, now lying in your bed with a blanket and fresh underwear, and a pack of aspirin on the nightstand.

And when you go to work later that day, he's gathered outside with some friends, smoking a cigarette.

He gives you a small nod, but doesn't say a word.

And it's always like that.

And you know he's going to show up at your house that night.

English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes or inconsistencies :(

requests are open!!

xoxo :D

[avidreadee123]

How tf do I get rid of the Wednesday on Netflix tab, I do not want to see it

[selenecake]

━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━

“We Don’t Talk About Before”

this is a longgg short story lol

Pairing: Dick Grayson (Nightwing) x FemaleReader

Genre: angst, Second-person POV, romance, smut, fluff, domestic chaos, Batfam shenanigans.

Summary: Childhood friends turned strangers, you and Dick Grayson reunite years after your father betrayed Bruce. Now an antihero, you push him away—until missions, old memories, and unspoken feelings pull you back into the Batfamily’s orbit. One kiss turns into a week of tension, ending in a night you can’t take back… and a morning where the whole family knows.

Warnings: 18+ content (explicit sex), heavy making out, suggestive touching, minor swearing, Batfam teasing, mild embarrassment, fluffy domestic intimacy, second-person POV, Depression, emotional trauma, parental betrayal, blood, guilt, emotional neglect, grief, bruised romance, mutual pining

songs:

-Lover, you should come over - Jeff Buckley

“So I'll wait for you, love/Broken down and hungry for your love”

-Archer - Taylor Swift

“Then I hate my reflection for years and years/Cause all of my enemies started out friends”

-Where’s My Love - SYML

“Did you run away? Did you run away?/Just come home”

-Still With You - Jungkook

“If I see you again, I will look into your eyes and say, "I missed you”

-I wanna be yours - Arctic Monkeys

“Maybe I just wanna be yours/I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours”

-Heavy - The Marías

“Cause I don't wanna be in love with another/even in another life”

-Video games - Lana Del Rey

“He holds me in his big arms/It's you, it's you, it's all for you”

A/N: this has been in my drafts for a while…enjoy ;)

(I left a scene out on accident but i edited it in😭)

━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━

Gotham City, midnight

THE city hasn’t changed.

Not really.

Not enough.

The sirens still echo up from the alleys like angry lullabies. Steam still bleeds from the sewer grates in hazy plumes. The same neon signs blink out over damp pavement like half-hearted promises.

You forgot how loud Gotham was.

Or maybe you just got good at forgetting.

The soles of your boots are heavy with soot as you perch on the ledge of an old rooftop, half-shielded by a rusted billboard for Dent’s campaign. The wind is cold tonight—sharper than you remember—and it threads through your jacket like it knows you don’t belong here anymore.

You press your fingers to the concrete edge and breathe.

Just once.

Your hands are gloved, but your knuckles still ache. From the last job. From the way that one guy’s jaw crunched under your elbow. From holding your fists too tight all the time.

You’re trying not to think.

But Gotham makes that impossible.

Especially when you feel him before you even hear him.

A shift in air pressure.

A whisper of wind across your shoulder.

That maddening, familiar silence that always used to come before—

“Didn’t think you’d come back.”

His voice is quieter than you remember. Or maybe it’s just been a while since someone said something that wasn’t a threat.

You don’t turn around.

Not right away.

Instead, you stare out over the rooftops, where the city gleams like it knows your secrets and is daring you to lie to it again.

Then, softly:

“Didn’t think you’d be watching.”

“I’m always watching,” he replies.

And you can hear the unspoken part of it.

I’m always watching you.

You finally glance over your shoulder.

He’s changed.

Not by much—he still wears the same black and blue armor like it’s a second skin, still moves like shadows part for him. But his face is older now. Tighter. There’s tension in his jaw he never used to have, and the stubble along his chin makes him look more like Bruce than he probably wants to admit.

You hate how much that gets to you.

“You look like shit,” you say instead.

He huffs a breath. “You always did have a way with words.”

There’s a long pause.

You both let it sit there.

The air between you is thick with things neither of you are brave enough to name.

Grief. Betrayal. Memory.

The stupid smell of rain on brick.

“How long’s it been?” he finally asks.

You shrug. “Since I left, or since I stopped returning your messages?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

When he does, his voice is careful.

“Since I last knew you.”

The ache behind your ribs blooms sharp.

You don’t flinch, but it’s a near thing.

You stare at the skyline again. Anything but his face.

“You shouldn’t be up here,” he adds, a little more softly. “They’re still looking for you.”

“So let them.”

“They’ll catch you eventually.”

You smirk. “Not if I catch them first.”

He doesn’t laugh.

That used to work. That cocky little edge in your voice, the recklessness, the way you never let anyone see you shake. It used to make him smile.

Now he’s just watching you like he’s trying to solve a riddle he used to know by heart.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” he says, stepping closer. “You’re not like them.”

You stiffen. “No?”

“No.” He’s closer now. You can hear the rain dripping off his hood. “You’re still—”

“Don’t,” you say.

That stops him.

You turn to face him fully for the first time, and the look in your eyes must be something sharp, because he doesn’t finish the sentence. Just stands there, jaw clenched, heart wide open behind that stupid mask.

“I’m not whoever you remember,” you tell him.

“I never forgot you.”

Your breath catches.

You wish it didn’t.

You hate how easily he can still do that.

“You don’t know me anymore,” you say, trying to sound cruel, but it comes out hollow.

“I know what happened wasn’t your fault.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

His voice is raw now. Just a little. Like he’s tearing pieces of himself off to say this out loud.

“I know what your father did. And I know you’re not him. I know you think pushing everyone away is the only way you’ll survive, but you’re wrong.”

Your throat tightens.

“Don’t—”

He cuts you off.

“No, let me finish.” He’s stepping closer again, his voice rising—not loud, but urgent. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing? You’ve built this wall, and every time someone tries to climb it, you light it on fire.”

You open your mouth, but he barrels forward.

“I get it. You’re angry. You’re grieving. You think you have to be this… thing. This weapon. You’re not. You never were.”

You take a shaky step back, but he catches your wrist.

Gently.

Like you’ll break if he’s not careful.

“Let me help,” he whispers.

“I don’t want help.”

“I don’t care.”

You stare at him.

For a second, everything slows. The sirens, the wind, the noise in your chest.

You just look at him—his rain-wet hair, the blood on his lip, the pain in his stupid eyes.

And you want to scream.

Because you want to believe him.

You want to let him back in.

You want to tell him that there are nights you wake up reaching for the sound of his voice.

But instead, you pull your hand back.

Hard.

And say, “You should go.”

He doesn’t move.

“Grayson,” you warn.

But he just nods.

Not because he agrees.

Because he knows he has to let you push him away.

For now.

But his eyes say what his mouth doesn’t:

I’ll be back.

You watch him disappear into the dark, that electric blue symbol on his back flashing once as he vaults off the edge.

And then you sit down again.

On the ledge. Alone.

Like always.

You press your palms to the wet stone, tilt your head back, and wonder—

How many more times can he come back before you finally stop making him leave?

━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━

Gotham Safehouse, 2:14 AM

THE DOOR clicks shut behind you, and for a second, all you hear is the hum of old radiators and the sting in your ribs.

You drop your bloodied jacket to the floor. Sit. Breathe.

The safehouse is quiet. A tucked-away apartment Bruce keeps off-record, with medical supplies and blackout curtains. You’ve bled in worse places.

You peel your suit from your shoulder. You’re not even sure when the gash happened. Somewhere between the rooftop ambush and the second explosion. Your fingers are shaking.

And then the door opens again.

You don’t look up.

But you know his footsteps.

“…Y/N.”

You wince, more from the sound of your name than the wound. He says it so softly, like it still means something.

“Thought I lost you back there,” Dick murmurs.

You don’t answer.

He doesn’t push. Just walks around the couch and crouches in front of you, eyes scanning your body like he’s looking for damage and counting regrets.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, shrugging your shoulder higher. “Not really a new thing.”

You expect him to sigh. Or scold you. Or do that thing where he says your name again like it’s supposed to ground you.

Instead, he moves gently — grabbing the med kit from the end table and unscrewing the antiseptic like he’s done it a thousand times before. Which he has. Just… not for you. Not for a long time.

“I can do it myself,” you whisper.

“I know.”

But he still doesn’t stop.

The silence stretches thin between you. He soaks the gauze. Swabs the wound. You hiss at the sting, and he pauses — looks up.

“Still stubborn,” he says. It’s almost a smile, but not quite. “I missed that.”

You stare at the opposite wall. “You don’t miss things that try to disappear.”

“I miss you.”

The words are so soft you almost pretend you didn’t hear them.

You hold still while he stitches you up. His fingers are careful. Precise. Gentle in a way that almost makes you cry.

You want to pull away. You want to say stop looking at me like I’m still her — still the kid who used to wait for you at the end of the manor hallway, still the girl with a future and clean hands and a father who wasn’t a liar.

But instead you say, “Bruce is gonna be pissed.”

Dick snorts under his breath. “He’s always pissed.”

“No. At me. For going off-book. For what happened.

“You got ambushed.”

“I disobeyed.”

“You saved three civilians, Y/N. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Didn’t I?” You blink hard, voice tight. “You think that matters to him?”

Dick finishes the last stitch in silence. He cuts the thread. Looks at you.

His voice is lower this time. Rough around the edges. “If he says one word to you — one goddamn thing — I swear to god I’ll—”

“What?”

Your voice breaks. “Get in trouble again? He already thinks I’m a walking liability.”

“Well, he’s wrong.”

You look at him then. Really look. At the bruise on his jaw. The dried blood in his hairline. The anger simmering low in his throat — not at you, but for you.

And it unravels something.

“I didn’t want any of this, Dick,” you whisper. “I didn’t ask to be the daughter of a traitor. I didn’t ask for you to look at me like I broke your heart.”

He flinches. “You didn’t.”

“Then why does it feel like I did?”

The silence this time is heavy. Too full.

He reaches for your hand.

You let him.

“I’ve never stopped—” He swallows. Looks away. “You’re not your father, Y/N. And you’re not broken.”

“You sure?” Your voice is brittle. “’Cause it feels like I’ve been bleeding out for years and no one noticed.”

“I noticed.”

The knock on the door cuts through the quiet like a blade.

You both go still.

And then the door opens — and Batman steps inside.

He doesn’t say hello. Doesn’t ask if you’re okay.

He just looks at you like you’re a problem that keeps getting worse.

“You jeopardized the mission,” Bruce says flatly.

You stand. Wince. Hide the bloodstain as best you can. “I made a judgment call.”

“You were supposed to wait.”

“They would’ve died.”

“And now three gang leaders are still on the loose. Because you couldn’t follow orders.”

His words hit low. Exact. Like a scalpel. You don’t answer.

But Dick does.

“Enough.”

His voice is sharper than you’ve heard in years. “She’s not your punching bag.”

Bruce turns to him. “She’s compromised. Emotionally erratic. She acts alone and puts others at risk.”

“She’s alive. And if it weren’t for her, those civilians wouldn’t be.”

“Her father—”

“She’s not her father.”

Dick’s voice breaks open. “And if you can’t see that by now, maybe the problem isn’t her.”

The silence after that is the worst kind of heavy.

Bruce looks between you both. His eyes narrow.

Then he leaves.

The door shuts again. Hard.

You stare at the floor.

“I didn’t need you to do that,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“I’m not your problem, Dick.”

He exhales. Walks closer.

“You never were.”

━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━

Wayne Manor, 5:26 PM

The car ride to the manor is quiet.

Dick doesn’t push conversation. You watch the trees blur past the window like you’re on your way to a funeral. Maybe you are — not for a person, but for a past version of yourself that once fit into the place you’re about to walk into.

“Sure you wanna do this?” you murmur.

He doesn’t look away from the road. “I want you to do this.”

You say nothing. Just grip the inside of your coat a little tighter, hiding the fresh sutures on your side. You’d fought men with sharper teeth than Bruce’s judgment, but stepping inside that house again feels like opening a wound.

The doors creak open.

You’re hit with the scent first — old books, faint cologne, the polished oak of a place that pretends it never changes.

You breathe in.

It hurts.

The manor is mostly empty. Alfred’s out. Damian is god knows where. But the grand hallway looks exactly the same — the same staircase, the same chandelier. You blink too fast and the memory hits: you, sitting cross-legged at the base of the steps, bleeding from a busted lip while Dick tried to ice your knuckles and Bruce lectured you about restraint.

You’d been so sure back then that this place meant home.

Your throat tightens.

“You okay?” Dick asks softly beside you.

You nod. A lie. “It’s just weird being back.”

“I know.”

His hand lifts — like he wants to touch your back, or your shoulder, something — but instinct overtakes you.

You flinch.

Barely, but enough.

He freezes. Hand hovering.

You exhale shakily. “Sorry.”

His eyes soften. “It’s okay.”

You both stand there too long.

Then you hear it.

Footsteps. Heavy. Boots.

Jason.

“Shit,” you mutter.

He walks in through the kitchen like he owns the place. His gaze lands on you, then on Dick. He scowls. “Well, look who finally showed up. The golden boy and his… ex–something.”

You stiffen. Dick’s jaw tightens.

“Jason—”

“No, I’m serious,” Jason shrugs, tossing a protein bar in the air. “You didn’t think to maybe give us a heads-up that you were dragging in the caution-tape comeback story?”

You blink slowly. “Nice to see you, too.”

Jason gives a crooked grin. “Thought you were dead. Or in Arkham. My bad.”

Dick opens his mouth — but you cut in before he can speak.

“Say one more thing and I’ll put you through that grandfather clock.”

Jason blinks.

You step forward, voice even, not loud. “You don’t get to talk like that. Not when you’re the poster boy for second chances. You know damn well I didn’t choose what happened. So if you’re still mad about shit from five years ago, grow up.”

The room falls silent.

Jason’s mouth opens. Closes. He looks down. “Tch. Whatever.” He pauses. Then mutters: “Sorry.”

You raise a brow. “What was that?”

He sighs like it physically hurts. “I said I’m sorry, alright? Jesus.”

You almost smile.

Later, in the training room, it’s just you and Dick again.

The tension between you two hasn’t eased — it’s shifted. A softer ache now. A quieter kind of electricity.

“You sure you wanna spar?” he asks, pulling off his hoodie, revealing the slim black tank underneath.

You shrug off your coat. “Might be good to hit something.”

“You mean me?”

“Maybe.”

You both move to the mats, circling each other, silent for a long beat.

He lunges first. You dodge. Quick.

It’s easy to fall back into this rhythm. Fighting him is like muscle memory. Push, spin, counter, breath.

But it’s not like before. There’s a crackle under your skin now. Every time his hand brushes your waist. Every time you twist and catch him off guard.

He grabs your wrist, and you twist out of it, swing your leg around — and drop him flat on his back with a breathless oof.

You straddle him before he can recover — thighs tight against his hips, one hand on his chest to keep him pinned.

Your hair falls over your face. His eyes catch yours.

And everything stops.

His chest rises beneath your palm. His hands are at your thighs, but not moving. Not pushing you off. Just… there.

He looks up at you like he’s caught in the middle of a memory he never wanted to forget.

You realize too late how close you are.

And then you pull back. Hard.

You scramble to your feet. “That’s enough.”

He sits up slowly, breathing heavier now. “Y/N—”

“I said it’s enough.”

You grab your coat. Your heart is hammering.

He doesn’t move to stop you.

He just watches you go.

Like he’s afraid if he says anything too loud, you’ll disappear again.

━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━

You wake to morning light filtering through heavy curtains, warm and soft and too gentle for Gotham. It’s disorienting, the quiet. For a second you think you’ve woken up in your apartment, or somewhere worse — some crumbling rooftop, a cold metal cot in a safehouse. But then you realize.

You’re in that room.

The one you picked during the summers you used to “sleep over.” Back when Bruce still pretended things were normal. Back when you were still pretending, too. The room next to Dick’s, because even then you felt safer with him close.

You sit up slowly, sore in all the usual places. Your body remembers the mission — the one that went sideways — but it also remembers the sparring match with Dick last night. You’d pinned him. Briefly. It should’ve been a win.

You’re still kicking yourself for getting up so fast.

The manor is quieter than it used to be. No hallway alarms, no Alfred clinking dishes just yet. You dress in silence, your fingers slow on the zipper of your hoodie. The moment your door creaks open, a blur of motion intercepts you.

Damian.

He throws an arm around your neck, pulling you into a headlock before you can blink. “When did you come back, big sis?” he smirks.

You twist and use his own weight against him, flipping him onto his back with a satisfying thud. He groans, stunned.

“Yesterday,” you say, amused. “Miss me?”

Damian groans dramatically. “I forgot you do that.”

He looks up at you. “You got stronger.”

“Time away’ll do that.”

He studies you from the ground like he’s trying to memorize you. Something unreadable passes through his face — something softer. He lifts a brow. “…You staying?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Hmph.” He lets you help him up. “You should.”

“Do I even want to know what’s going on out here?” a familiar voice calls down the hall.

You look up — and your mouth almost drops.

Dick leans in the doorway to his room, rubbing sleep from his eyes and very intentionally not wearing a shirt. His sweatpants hang low on his hips. His hair is a mess. He looks like something out of a memory you’ve tried too hard to bury.

You recover fast, but not fast enough.

He catches it. The pause. The blink. The flinch of your mouth like it’s about to say something dangerous.

He smiles — slow and smug.

Definitely on purpose.

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, brushing past him.

“Good morning to you too.”

Breakfast is… chaotic.

Damian’s bragging about how much he can bench now. “Eighty pounds over my body weight,” he says, arms crossed.

“That’s adorable,” Jason mumbles, half-asleep and moody in the corner. He looks up at you, then back at his coffee.

Dick sits across from you, too close, flipping through a file you’re not supposed to see but letting you see it anyway.

“You still eat eggs with hot sauce?” Tim asks from the doorway, looking like he hasn’t slept in two days.

You glance at him, blinking. “When did you get back?”

“Late last night. Heard someone was crashing the manor again.”

His smile is gentler than Jason’s grumble, but there’s a weight behind it too. Everyone has questions. No one says them out loud.

Not yet.

━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━

Later, you and Dick are in the gym again.

Sparring. Again.

It’s slower this time. Deliberate. You fall into old rhythms, like your bodies remember before your minds do.

“Remember when we used to sneak in here?” Dick asks between swings. “You stole my hoodie once and wouldn’t give it back for a week.”

“It was comfortable,” you say, blocking him. “And oversized.”

“It was mine.”

You land a hit. His shoulder dips.

He smiles.

But something in your chest is tightening.

You pause. “Do you ever miss it?”

He looks up. “What?”

“The way things used to be. Before… everything.”

His expression shifts, softens. “All the time.”

The tightness grows. You lower your fists. “My father sent a letter. From prison.”

Dick straightens, no longer sparring. Listening now.

“He wants me to visit.” You exhale, shaky. “Says he just wants to talk. That he misses me.”

Dick says nothing, waiting.

“I can’t do it,” you whisper. “I can’t look at him and not see it — see what he did. What he became.”

The words feel like glass in your throat. You can feel tears climbing, but they stop halfway up. You choke them down.

“I don’t know what he sees when he thinks of me,” you add. “If he still sees his daughter. Or just another failed version of himself.”

Dick takes a step forward, hands twitching — like he wants to touch you, but isn’t sure you’ll let him.

You pull away before he can try.

“Sorry,” you say too quickly.

“It’s okay,” he says gently. “You never have to apologize for how you feel.”

You blink away the burn in your eyes. “We should do something else. Distract me.”

You get your distraction.

By evening, the air changes.

Footsteps echo through the foyer. Voices murmur below.

Bruce is back.

You brace yourself. Expect the explosion. The “why is she here?” The cold fury only he can manage.

But when he sees you… he just nods.

Nothing more.

You freeze. Even Jason straightens a little, surprised.

“Grayson. Todd,” Bruce says, eyes flicking between the two. “Mission briefing. Fifteen minutes. Bring her too.”

He doesn’t even look at you when he says it.

Dick frowns. “You sure?”

Bruce glances over his shoulder. “She’s still capable, isn’t she?”

Your jaw tightens.

Dick opens his mouth — probably to argue — but you touch his arm.

“I want to go,” you say. “Let me.”

He watches you for a second, then nods.

“Suit up, then,” Bruce says. “We leave at nightfall.”

You make it to the weapons room and pull on old armor like it’s never left your skin. Dick is quiet while he gets ready beside you.

“You don’t have to prove anything to him,” he says eventually.

You shake your head. “I’m not. I’m proving it to myself.”

He doesn’t argue.

You don’t expect Jason to show up. But he does — standing at the door, arms crossed. He won’t meet your eye.

“I was a dick earlier,” he mutters.

“No kidding,” you reply.

A beat.

He shifts awkwardly. “I’m glad you’re back.”

You pause, surprised.

“Even if the old man won’t say it,” he adds.

You nod once. “Thanks.”

The mission is simple. In theory.

But this is Gotham.

Nothing stays simple for long.

━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━

the mission

The city blurs beneath your boots.

You land hard on the rooftop, knees bending into the momentum. It’s slick from a recent drizzle, steam rising in curls from the vents around you. Gotham below is neon-lit and pulsing, but this building—abandoned, fortified, and suspiciously well-guarded—is your target.

Your comm crackles.

“South side clear,” you mutter.

“North too,” Grayson’s voice answers, low and crisp in your ear. “We’re good to move.”

You don’t say anything. You just move, shadows swallowing you.

The intel came through just hours ago—black market tech trades, something WayneTech-adjacent. Bruce gave the green light, you volunteered, Grayson hesitated. But you insisted. You needed the distraction. Something real. Something with stakes.

Jason’s voice cuts in over comms, dry as usual. “Hey, anyone else feel like this is a trap?”

“It’s always a trap,” you reply. “That’s what makes it fun.”

You hear Grayson’s soft exhale. That little sound he makes when you say things that toe the line between reckless and charming. You pretend not to notice it.

Inside the building, everything goes wrong five minutes in.

The guards are enhanced—cybernetically modded, fast, stronger than they look. You duck a punch, slide under another, send a blue-bladed boot to someone’s chest. It’s muscle memory, but your focus slips for half a second.

You get hit.

Hard.

Your ribs crack against the wall, pain blooming sharp under your armor. You grunt but recover, spinning with a flick of flame that throws your attacker off balance. Jason shouts something across the line, Grayson calls your name—but then a familiar voice breaks through the static:

“Need a hand?”

Your blood goes cold.

Barbara Gordon drops from the rafters like she owns the place—red hair tied tight, grin wide, body moving in that fluid, confident way she always has. She lands beside Grayson like they’ve been partners all their lives.

“Hope I’m not late,” she says, cracking two batons out from her belt.

“Oh great,” you mutter, just loud enough that she probably hears.

Grayson’s voice perks up. “You weren’t briefed—how did you even—?”

“Bruce sent me. He thought you could use backup.” She smiles, eyes flicking to you. “And clearly, he was right.”

You scowl and refocus, heat flaring under your fingertips.

The fight stretches on—tight corridors, strobing lights, screams over the comms. You and Grayson fall into sync, your old rhythm finding its legs again. But every time you hit your stride, Barbara slips in. Saving him. Covering him. Pressing a hand to his shoulder, too familiar, too easy.

At one point, she laughs at something he says. You grit your teeth and push harder.

By the end of it, you’re standing in a pile of scorched debris, armor scuffed, hair damp with sweat. Jason’s breathing heavy beside you, muttering about needing a drink. Grayson’s touching a cut on his jaw that wasn’t there earlier.

Barbara’s the one who breaks the silence.

“Well, that was fun,” she chirps, twirling one of her batons and sliding it back into its holster.

You don’t answer. You’re busy wiping blood off your glove.

But she turns to you anyway, all bright-eyed interest. “So… you’re back. For good?”

You glance at her, then away. “Don’t know.”

She steps closer. Too close. “You and Grayson—did something happen while I was gone?”

Your gut tightens. “No.”

Her smile sharpens, just a little. “Right. You’d tell me, right?”

You meet her gaze. Flat. Tired. “What exactly are you asking, Barbara?”

“Oh, nothing,” she says with a breezy wave of her hand. “Just curious. It’s just… the way he looks at you. Kinda hard to miss.”

She turns to walk away before you can answer. And as she passes Grayson, she touches his arm again—lingering, smiling. Your chest tightens, stupidly. You feel it deep, in places that were supposed to be armored.

You look away before anyone notices.

━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━

Back at the safehouse, you strip off your gear in silence.

Grayson’s in the next room talking to Bruce over comms. Jason’s off grumbling somewhere about cracked ribs and bad leadership. You sit on the edge of a steel cot, staring down at your hands.

You shouldn’t care.

You don’t care.

But it sticks in your throat anyway—the way Barbara looked at him, the way he smiled at her. You’re not together. You’re not even close. But the ache says otherwise.

The door creaks open.

It’s Grayson. Fresh out of armor, still wearing that breathable undersuit, sleeves pushed up, hair damp.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

You nod, but it’s a lie.

He walks over, crouches in front of you. “You barely said a word after the mission.”

“I’m tired.”

“Bullshit,” he says, gently. “You’re never this quiet.”

You let out a breath. “I just—Barbara being there threw me off.”

He watches you carefully. “Why?”

You don’t answer right away.

Instead, you say, “She thinks there’s something between us.”

“Isn’t there?” he asks.

It hangs there, thick in the air.

You look at him. Really look at him. His face is open, waiting. Like he wants you to say something real, something brave. But your ribs still hurt. Your heart even more.

“I don’t know what there is,” you whisper.

He doesn’t press. He never does.

Instead, he just says, “She doesn’t matter. Not like that.”

And it should comfort you. But it doesn’t. Not yet.

━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━

Wayne Manor 1:47 AM

YOU head down to the kitchen for water, barefoot on the cold tile.

You’re halfway to the fridge when a voice pipes up from the doorway.

“Long night?”

Barbara leans against the doorframe, hoodie over her suit, hair loose now. She’s holding a mug of tea like she’s been waiting.

“Something like that,” you answer, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge.

“You don’t like me,” she says matter-of-factly.

You raise a brow. “We’re doing this at two in the morning?”

She smirks. “You think I’m stepping on your toes.”

“Do I have to remind you we’re not in high school?”

“No,” she says, sipping her tea. “But I know the look. I know how he looks at you.”

Your jaw tightens. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Her eyes flicker, softer for a split second. “Maybe not. But I know him.”

“Good for you.”

There’s a beat of silence before she says, “He’s different when you’re around. Whether you want to admit it or not.” She turns toward the hall. “I’m not your enemy. Just remember that.”

And she’s gone, footsteps fading upstairs.

The voice that comes next is much lower.

“You gonna keep scowling at the floor, or…?”

Jason’s leaning against the counter, still in sweats, a bruise blooming along his jaw. You didn’t even hear him come in.

“Thought you’d be asleep,” you say.

“Couldn’t. Too many thoughts.” He grabs a beer from the fridge. “You looked pissed back there. At her.”

“Drop it, Todd.”

“I’m just saying,” he continues, cracking the cap, “if you like him, maybe… I dunno. Tell him before someone else does.”

Your laugh is humorless. “Not that simple.”

He studies you for a moment. “Guess not.”

You’re halfway to the door when he says, “For what it’s worth, I think he’s already picked.”

You don’t ask what he means. You’re not sure you want to know.

You pass Bruce in the hall on your way back upstairs.

He’s out of the cowl, but still in armor, looking like the mission dragged him through glass.

“I heard you held your own tonight,” he says.

You stop. “Surprised?”

He regards you for a long moment. “No. I’ve always known what you’re capable of.”

It’s almost a compliment — the Bruce Wayne equivalent of one, anyway.

But you tilt your head. “That why you wanted me on this mission? Or because you wanted to keep me where you could see me?”

His jaw shifts. “Both.”

There’s a pause before you say, “You don’t have to like that I’m here. But I’m not leaving again.”

He nods once. “Good.”

And just like that, he’s walking away, cape trailing the hall.

You close your door, lean against it, and let out a slow breath.

You’re still not sure what tonight changed. Only that something has shifted, subtly, and you can feel it in the way your chest is too tight to sleep.

━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━

Wayne Manor 5:03 AM

YOU wake like you’ve been ripped out of the water.

Your chest is tight, lungs dragging in air that won’t stay. The room is dark but feels too small, walls pressing in. The nightmare fades in jagged pieces — your father’s voice, Bruce’s back turned, blood on your hands that wouldn’t wash off.

It’s not real.

You curl forward on the bed, pressing your palms into your knees until they hurt, until the tremor in your breathing slows enough that you can stand.

You can’t stay in here. Not with it still clinging to your skin.

The training room smells like mat cleaner and faint motor oil from the treadmills. No one’s here yet — not even Damian. You pull off your hoodie, tighten the wraps around your hands, and start throwing jabs at the heavy bag.

Left. Right. Right. Left.

Your shoulders ache, but you welcome it.

You try not to think about Barbara’s voice — He’s different when you’re around.

Or Jason’s — If you like him, tell him before someone else does.

Your knuckles slam harder into the bag.

“You’re up early.”

You don’t need to turn to know who it is.

Dick’s hair is damp, like he’s just showered. He’s in compression gear, gloves in one hand. He takes in the way you’re hitting the bag — sharp, relentless — and frowns a little.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.

“Didn’t,” you correct.

He steps closer. “Nightmare?”

You glance at him. “Drop it, Grayson.”

He doesn’t. “You’ve been pushing too hard since you got back. Physically, I mean.”

You snort. “Says the guy who used to break his own ribs just to make a deadline.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I wasn’t running from something.”

That hits too close. You step back from the bag. “You think you know everything about me, don’t you?”

“No,” he says, meeting your eyes. “But I know more than you want me to.”

You stare at him, heat rising under your skin. “Like what?”

He shrugs, but it’s calculated. “Like the way you avoid looking at me when Barbara’s around.”

Your pulse spikes. “Wow. Subtle.”

“And the way you don’t flinch when I touch your arm anymore, but you do when I ask about how you’re feeling.”

“That’s not—” you start, but he steps closer, crowding just enough that you can smell his soap.

“I notice,” he says quietly. “Whether you want me to or not.”

You’re breathing too fast again. Like after the nightmare.

You want to tell him everything — the dream, the panic, the way Barbara’s hand on his arm made something ugly twist in your chest — but the words stick.

Instead, you shake your head. “We should spar. I need the distraction.”

YOU circle each other on the mats.

It’s tense from the start. Every move feels like an argument you’re not having out loud. He grabs your wrist — you twist free. You sweep his leg — he catches himself, flips you instead. You roll, recover, slam him back.

You end up with a knee on his chest, pinning him down.

His hands rest lightly at your thighs — not pushing, just there.

“You’re distracted,” he says.

“So are you,” you shoot back.

Something shifts in his gaze — softer, sharper, both at once. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Your heartbeat is too loud in your ears. You could tell him. You almost do.

But you push off instead, standing.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not,” he says, sitting up. “But you’re not ready. I get it.”

That almost makes it worse — that he won’t force it, that he’s giving you space you don’t know what to do with.

You leave the room before he can see how shaken you are.

But his voice follows you out, quiet and certain:

“I’m not going anywhere.”

━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━

Wayne Manor 3:12 AM

The dream starts quietly.

Too quietly.

You’re in your childhood home, the one you haven’t seen in years. The light is warm, a low hum of a radio somewhere in the kitchen. For a moment, you think it’s safe.

Then the air changes.

The radio static grows louder, buzzing until it drills into your skull. The windows rattle. And your father steps into the room — but not the version you knew when you were a kid. This one has ash under his nails, his suit blackened, his eyes reflecting fire.

“You could’ve stood with me,” he says, voice smooth as oil.

The floor shakes. Outside, the world is burning — rooftops collapsing, the sky lit red. Gotham’s screams seep through the walls. You turn to run, but your feet are locked in place.

“It’s in your blood,” he adds, smiling as the flames crawl toward you.

You open your mouth to argue, but smoke pours down your throat.

You wake with a gasp so sharp your chest aches.

The room is pitch black, the sheets clinging to your skin. Your pulse is thundering in your ears, your breath coming in shallow, frantic bursts. You shove the covers off and stumble toward the door before you’ve even thought about where you’re going.

The manor’s hallways feel too long. Too narrow. You pass portraits and locked doors, barely aware of your feet on the carpet. The front doors are heavy, but you shove them open, stepping straight into the cold downpour outside.

Rain hits your skin in sharp pinpricks. You tilt your face up, drag in air that tastes like earth and metal, trying to breathe through the panic. It doesn’t work.

“Hey—”

His voice cuts through the storm.

You turn to see Dick running toward you, barefoot in sweats and a long-sleeve, hair messy from sleep. He doesn’t hesitate — just comes down the steps, the rain soaking his clothes in seconds.

“What happened?” he asks, already searching your face.

You shake your head. “I had to get out.”

“Nightmare?”

You huff out a humorless laugh. “If it was just a nightmare, I wouldn’t be standing out here like an idiot in the rain.”

“Tell me,” he says, softer now.

“It was him,” you admit, voice shaking. “Every time I close my eyes lately, I see him — my father — burning everything down. And I’m just… watching. I can’t move, I can’t stop it. And the worst part?” Your throat tightens. “Some nights, I believe him. I believe it’s in my blood. That no matter what I do, I’ll end up like him.”

“You won’t,” Dick says firmly.

But the words keep spilling. “I’ve been bottling it up because if I let it out, I don’t know what happens next. Everyone’s watching me, waiting for me to mess up. Bruce, Jason… hell, even I’m waiting for it. And I’m so tired of pretending I’m fine.”

Rainwater slides down your cheeks — you can’t tell where it ends and the tears begin.

“I can’t lose control,” you whisper. “I can’t lose—” You stop, chest tightening.

He steps closer. “Lose what?”

You look at him, the rain blurring the edges of his face. “I can’t lose the people I care about. I can’t lose you because I love you—”

The words hang there, suspended between raindrops.

Your eyes widen. “I didn’t mean—”

But he’s already closing the gap, pulling you against him. His arms are solid around you, his chin resting on your hair, holding you like you might vanish.

“You don’t have to take it back,” he murmurs.

You stand there, soaked to the bone, letting the rain and the weight of him steady you. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself breathe without forcing it.

━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━

Wayne Manor 9:17 AM

Two hours of sleep feels like none at all.

When you wake, the rain’s stopped, sunlight cutting pale lines across your room. Your hair is dry — you must’ve towel-dried it without remembering. You’re still in the hoodie from last night, the one that now smells faintly of rain and laundry soap.

The dream doesn’t come back, but the words you almost said do.

You lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, hearing your voice in your head. I can’t lose you because I love you—

You’d like to believe it didn’t happen. But it did. And Dick heard it. And he didn’t run.

That might be worse.

By the time you make it downstairs, the smell of coffee and toasted bread fills the air.

The kitchen is alive in that strange Batfamily way — everyone’s here, but no one’s really talking in full sentences. Damian is dissecting the sports section like it personally offended him. Jason’s nursing a mug of black coffee like it’s life support. Tim is on his second plate of eggs, laptop propped open beside him.

You hover at the edge for a moment before sliding into a chair.

“Morning,” Tim says without looking up, though his eyes flick toward you in a quick, assessing way. You can feel the weight of it — like he’s noticed something but, for now, is keeping it to himself.

“Morning,” you echo, reaching for the coffee pot.

Across from you, Dick’s leaning against the counter, mug in hand, talking with Alfred about some busted security camera on the east wing. But you can feel him watching you between sentences, like he’s keeping you in his periphery no matter where you move.

When you finally glance up, his mouth quirks — subtle, private, like last night’s rain is still between you.

━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━

Breakfast is a quiet war of glances.

Jason cracks a joke about you looking “less dead than usual,” and you lob a grape at his head without breaking eye contact with your plate. Damian mutters something about immature adults, and Alfred sighs in that patient, suffering way he’s perfected.

Through it all, Dick stays casual. On the surface. But every time he moves around the table — grabbing more coffee, snagging a piece of toast — his hand brushes yours, just enough to be felt, not enough for anyone else to notice.

You don’t flinch, but you do grip your mug tighter.

Tim’s gaze flickers again — to your hand near Dick’s, to the way you both look away too quickly afterward. His lips twitch, but he says nothing.

Smart boy.

You’re almost finished eating when Dick pulls the move you’ve known was coming.

He leans down behind you to grab the sugar jar, close enough that his breath brushes your ear. “We should talk later,” he says, low enough that it’s meant for you alone.

Your pulse trips. You keep your eyes on your plate, forcing your voice steady. “About what?”

“You know what.”

Before you can answer, he’s straightening again, sugar in hand, resuming whatever harmless conversation he’s having with Alfred.

And you’re left staring at the last bite of toast like it’s going to give you answers.

━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━

Wayne Manor 4:02 PM

THE training room is quiet except for the dull thud of your fists hitting the heavy bag. You’ve been at it for a while — long enough for sweat to bead at the back of your neck, long enough to know he’s been watching.

You hear his footsteps before you see him. Slow, deliberate, closing the distance like he’s giving you time to notice.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Dick says.

You keep hitting the bag. “Been busy.”

“Funny. So have I. Still managed to make time.”

You grit your teeth. “What do you want, Grayson?”

He steps into your space, catching the bag mid-swing with one hand. “You know what I want.”

You finally look at him. He’s in sweats and a fitted t-shirt, hair a little messy from his own workout. His expression is calm, but his eyes… they’re locked on you like you’re the only thing in the room.

“Last night,” he says, “you started to say something. In the rain.”

You shake your head. “I was upset. I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice is soft, but there’s no give in it. “You meant it.”

You swallow, hard. “Even if I did, it doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Your voice falters. “Because if I say it out loud, it’s real. And real things can be taken away.”

He studies you, jaw tightening. “I’m not going anywhere. You can’t scare me off.”

“You should,” you say quietly.

“I won’t.”

The air between you feels charged now, like the seconds are holding their breath. He takes a step closer.

“Say it,” he murmurs.

You shake your head again, but your pulse is pounding, your skin buzzing with adrenaline and something warmer, softer.

His hand comes up, fingers brushing your jaw — not pushing, just waiting. “Say it.”

Your chest feels too tight. “I—”

You never finish.

He leans in, closing the last inches, his mouth finding yours.

It’s soft at first — careful — but the second you respond, it deepens, heat curling low in your stomach. His other hand finds your waist, steadying you like he knows your knees might give.

You kiss him back without thinking, without caring about who might walk in, without fear. Just the rush of him — his warmth, his scent, the way his lips move against yours like he’s been waiting a long time.

When you finally pull back, your head’s spinning, and there’s a flutter in your chest so strong it’s almost dizzying.

He smiles, the kind of smile that says he already knows the effect he has on you. “Butterflies?”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t fight the small, breathless laugh that escapes. “Shut up.”

But you’re still smiling.

━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━

Wayne Manor Late Evening

It’s been a week since the kiss, and you’ve become very, very aware of Dick Grayson.

The problem is, so has your body.

You’d like to think you’ve been subtle about avoiding him — slipping out of rooms before he enters, keeping conversations clipped, volunteering for errands with Damian just to stay busy. But the second you’re actually in the same room with him, it’s like your brain short-circuits.

It’s the little things.

The way his t-shirt clings to his chest when he comes back from a workout. The way his damp hair curls at the nape of his neck after a shower. That stupid cocky grin he gives when he catches you looking. And yeah, his six-pack — the one you swear he’s been showing off more lately, under the guise of “just stretching.”

You keep telling yourself you can handle it. That it’s fine. That avoiding him is the smart move.

But smart moves stop mattering when you hear a knock on your door.

Go away,” you call, though your pulse is already kicking up.

“Not happening,” Dick says from the other side, voice warm, confident. “We need to talk.”

“Pretty sure we’ve talked enough.”

“You kissed me back.” There’s no smugness in it — just fact.

You open the door before you can talk yourself out of it. He’s leaning against the frame, hair slightly mussed, wearing joggers and nothing else. His skin is still faintly flushed from training.

And suddenly, every plan to keep your distance goes up in smoke.

“You’re not making this easy,” you mutter, stepping back to let him in.

“Not trying to,” he says, closing the door behind him.

You stand there, arms crossed, trying to look unaffected. “So. Talk.”

He moves closer — slow, like he’s giving you the option to stop him. “A week is a long time,” he says. “Too long.”

You swallow hard, heat pooling low in your stomach. “Maybe I like making you wait.”

His mouth curves. “Then I guess I’ll just have to convince you otherwise.”

Your self-control snaps. You grab his jaw, pulling him down into a kiss that’s nothing like the cautious one from before. It’s hard, hungry, your fingers tangling in his hair as you back him toward the bed.

He makes a low sound in his throat — surprise, approval — before his hands slide to your hips, gripping tight.

“You’re bossy tonight,” he murmurs against your mouth.

“Shut up and take your pants off,” you reply, pushing him down to sit on the edge of the bed.

straddle his lap, kissing him again, slower this time, rolling your hips just enough to make him groan. His hands roam your back, your sides, mapping every curve like he’s been waiting for this forever.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says, voice rough.

“Pretty sure I do,” you answer, nipping at his jaw.

You let your hands trail down his chest, tracing each line of muscle, the hard planes of his abs. His breath stutters when you slip your fingers under the waistband of his joggers, teasing.

“Gonna keep teasing me?” he asks.

“Maybe,” you say with a smirk, before kissing him again — deep, wet, your tongue brushing his until you both break for air.

From there, it’s a blur of heat and skin and breathless laughter between kisses. You guide him back onto the bed, your mouth exploring his neck, his shoulders, the way he shivers when you scrape your nails lightly over his stomach.

When he finally flips you beneath him, it’s not because you’ve lost control — it’s because you’ve let him, and he knows it.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmurs, forehead resting against yours as he lines his mouth up with yours again.

And when it happens — slow at first, then faster, harder, until you’re both gasping — it’s everything you’ve been avoiding for a week and everything you didn’t know you needed, all at once.

He sinks to his knees in front of you.

“Missed you,” he says against your thigh, his breath hot on your skin.

You open your mouth to reply, but it turns into a gasp when his hands slide up under your hoodie, warm palms smoothing over your waist. He pushes it higher, exposing your stomach, your ribs, until you lift your arms and let him pull it off completely.

His eyes darken as they roam over you. “You’re gorgeous.”

You hook your fingers in his hair and pull him back up into another kiss, this one slower, deeper, your tongues brushing as you shift back onto the bed, letting him follow. He covers your body with his, one knee pressing between your legs until you open for him.

The pressure is maddening. You grind against his thigh without thinking, and he swallows the moan it pulls from you.

His mouth leaves yours to trail down your jaw, your neck, his teeth grazing your skin before his tongue soothes the sting. His hands are everywhere — your sides, your back, your thighs — as if he’s starving for you.

When his fingers slip under the waistband of your shorts, you don’t stop him. He pushes them down slowly, watching your face the entire time, like he’s looking for even the smallest sign you want to stop.

You don’t.

He cups you over your panties first, his fingers pressing just enough to make your breath catch.

“So warm,” he murmurs. “So wet already.”

Your hips roll against his hand, chasing the friction, and he grins against your neck before sliding your panties aside and touching you directly. The first stroke is light, testing. The second is firmer, his fingertip circling your clit in a rhythm that makes your toes curl.

When he slides one finger inside you, you gasp — and when he adds a second, curling them just right, your back arches off the bed.

“God, you feel perfect,” he says, his thumb never leaving your clit as his fingers work inside you.

He kisses his way down your body, slow enough to make you squirm, until his mouth replaces his hand.

The first swipe of his tongue against you has your fingers tangling in his hair, a moan slipping out before you can stop it. He licks you like he has all night, alternating between broad strokes and focused flicks against your clit, his fingers sliding in and out of you in a rhythm that matches the movements of his mouth.

You can’t think, can’t breathe — the only thing you’re aware of is him, the wet heat of his tongue, the way he groans every time you tug his hair.

Your orgasm hits hard, your thighs clamping around his head as you cry out his name. He doesn’t stop until you’re gasping, pushing weakly at his shoulder.

He crawls back up your body, kissing you again, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

You’re still catching your breath when you feel him, thick and hard against your thigh. You reach down, curling your hand around him, stroking slow, and his breath hitches.

“Condom?” you ask.

His eyes flick to yours. “Do you want one?”

You shake your head. “I want to feel you.”

He lines himself up and pushes in slowly, giving you time to adjust. The stretch has your nails digging into his shoulders, and he drops his forehead to yours with a groan.

“Fuck… you feel unbelievable.”

When he’s all the way in, you just stay there for a moment, breathing each other in. Then you roll your hips, and he pulls out only to thrust back in, deeper this time.

The pace starts slow — deliberate — every movement making you feel every inch of him. His hands slide under your thighs, lifting them to open you wider, changing the angle until he’s hitting that spot that makes you gasp every time.

You wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer, and the pace picks up. His thrusts are harder now, deeper, the sound of skin against skin loud in the room.

He kisses you between breaths, his mouth hot and desperate against yours. You meet every thrust, chasing the pleasure building low in your stomach, the tension winding tighter and tighter.

When his thumb finds your clit again, you break — clenching around him, your orgasm tearing through you. He follows a heartbeat later, groaning your name as he spills into you, hips pressing deep as he rides it out.

You stay tangled together, sweaty and breathless, his weight a comfort on top of you.

“Worth the wait?” you murmur.

He grins against your cheek. “I’m not waiting that long again.”

And from the way you feel right now, you know you won’t make him.

━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━

Wayne Manor 8:14 AM

You wake up to the weight of an arm draped over your waist and the steady rhythm of someone breathing against the back of your neck.

For a second, your pulse spikes — the last shadow of a nightmare still clinging to you — until you register the heat of his body, the faint scent of soap and rain still clinging to his skin.

Dick.

Your chest loosens. The nightmare fades. The ache in your thighs from last night is a different kind of reminder — one that makes heat pool low in your stomach.

You stay still for a minute, letting yourself soak in the feel of him pressed against you. His hand twitches in his sleep, fingertips brushing your stomach, like even unconscious, he’s holding on.

But if you stay here any longer, you’re going to start something you’re not ready to explain at the breakfast table.

You slip out from under his arm, grabbing one of his shirts on the floor and pulling it over your head. The manor’s floorboards are cool under your feet as you head for the bathroom, toothbrush in hand.

You’ve just started brushing when the door creaks open.

“Morning,” Dick says, voice still rough with sleep. His hair’s a mess, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He looks unfairly good for someone who just woke up.

You try to answer with a mouth full of toothpaste foam, which earns you a low chuckle.

He leans against the sink beside you, brushing his teeth too, and you keep your eyes on the mirror instead of on him — which is why you don’t expect it when he suddenly scoops you up and sets you on the counter.

Your gasp is muffled by the toothbrush still in your mouth.

He steps between your legs, close enough that your knees instinctively part to make room. His hands settle on your thighs, thumbs rubbing slow circles against bare skin, and your stomach does that ridiculous flutter thing you’d rather not admit to.

You spit into the sink, wipe your mouth, and before you can say anything, his lips are on yours.

It’s not the wild, desperate kind of kiss from last night — it’s slower, softer, like he’s savoring it. But the fact that you’re sitting on the counter with him standing between your knees adds an edge that has you leaning into him, fingers curling in his shirt.

When he finally pulls back, his grin is lazy, satisfied. “Morning, beautiful.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart’s not in it. “We should… probably go down for breakfast.”

He smirks. “If we must.”

The kitchen’s already loud when you arrive. Jason’s complaining about the coffee being “too bitter,” Tim’s reading something on his tablet, Damian’s trying to prove a point to Alfred about protein intake.

You and Dick take seats next to each other, but you’re careful not to be too obvious. Or at least, you think you are.

It’s about halfway through Alfred serving eggs when Jason leans back in his chair, smirking. “So… you two have a fun night?”

Your fork freezes halfway to your mouth. “What?”

Tim doesn’t look up from his tablet, but his mouth twitches. “We all heard you.”

Damian tilts his head like he’s analyzing evidence. “It was rather… loud.”

Your face burns. “Oh my god—”

Dick just grins, utterly unbothered. “Guess we don’t have to keep it a secret then.”

Jason laughs. “Didn’t think you were.”

Before you can come up with a retort, Bruce walks in, setting a folder on the table. “We’ve got a mission. All of you.”

“Even me?” you ask, grateful for the subject change.

Bruce gives you a once-over — unreadable as ever — and nods. “Especially you.”

The heat in your cheeks cools instantly.

Dick leans closer, brushing your knee under the table. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs. “We’ll handle it. Together.”

And you know he means more than just the mission.

━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━THE END

the ending is kind of rusheddd, sorry

I hope you enjoyed. I don’t read the comics as much but i hope some of the characters where at least a tiny bit accurate

Love, Selene🤍

[gaintsnowflake]

❆ HOME

PAIRING : dick grayson x fem!reader

ONESHOT : you and dick are best friends, just with a shared home and no boundaries, and everyone thinks your dating... its perfectly normal

masterlist

     The sound of the door creaking open at exactly six p.m. wasn’t surprising. What was surprising, maybe, was how you never invited your best friend over for dinner, and yet— somehow— he still showed up like clockwork. Like some kind of well-dressed stray who knew there’d always be food and zero resistance.

     You didn’t even bother looking up as you heard the familiar thump of shoes being kicked off, followed by the exaggerated groan of someone throwing themselves dramatically onto your couch like it personally betrayed them.

     “Hey,” he called, already making himself too comfortable. “Feels good to be home.”

      Home. Right.

      You peaked out to him, noting how he already scrolls on his phone in front of him. Paying no mind to the smell of food leaking from the pan sizzling on the stove. “Call this home one more time and I might just start asking for rent.”

      He dropped his phone like you’d insulted his honor. Both hands went up in surrender, a smirk blooming so big it reached his eyes. The smug little thing.

      “You wouldn’t,” he said, already up and strolling into the kitchen like he owned a timeshare in your apartment. To be fair, he kind of did.

      “I absolutely would,” you replied, even though you both knew you wouldn’t.

      “You like having me here too much.” And just like that, your mouth betrayed you, twitching upward in a smile you didn’t authorize.

      “Don’t flatter yourself,” you muttered, because pretending to be annoyed was easier than admitting he was right.

      He leaned beside you, shoulder brushing yours like he was trying to remind you he still knew how to be charming in close quarters. That same cologne he always wore— warm, woodsy, and annoyingly comforting— wrapped around you like a second hoodie.

      “You made stir fry,” he observed, clearly pretending this wasn’t the third Tuesday in a row he’d crashed your dinner plans.

      “I did.”

      “With mushrooms?”

      Your eyebrow twitched. “You don’t like mushrooms?”

      He sighed like you'd personally betrayed him. “I tolerate mushrooms. For you.”

      “Oh, the humanity. What a sacrifice.”

      “You’re worth the suffering.”

      The words landed with more weight than either of you intended, hanging in the air like an emotional pause neither of you felt brave enough to break. So, naturally, you stirred the pan like it was a distraction instead of a lifeline.

      “You staying after patrol tonight?” you asked, like your heart wasn’t tap dancing somewhere behind your ribs.

      He shrugged, already pulling two bowls from your cabinet like the well-trained intruder he was. “Unless you’re kicking me out.”

      “You say that like you don’t still have socks in my drawer.”

      You found him exactly where you left him: halfway upside down on your couch, head hanging off the cushion like gravity was a personal challenge, one sock missing, popcorn bowl resting dangerously on his stomach.

      “I think I can see the ceiling’s soul,” he announced.

      “That’s probably mold,” you replied, stepping over his legs like he was a poorly placed rug.

      “I’ve stared into the abyss,” he said solemnly, shifting so his face could peek at you from beneath the coffee table. “And the abyss definitely needs better lighting.”

      You dropped a blanket on his face. He just squirmed, peaking his eyes out once again.

      “Stop existential-crisis-ing on my furniture,” you said, heading into the kitchen. “You’ve been upside down so long your brain’s gonna leak out your ears.”

      “Bold of you to assume I have any left.” He sat up with the grace of a soggy noodle and promptly spilled half the popcorn.

      “You’re a menace.”

      “I’m your menace.”

      “Unfortunately”.

      You returned with two mugs of cocoa, because of course he’d emotionally blackmailed you into making it, and handed him one without ceremony. He took it like you were offering him treasure, cradling it with both hands and sighing like a grandma in a cardigan commercial.

      “Thanks,” he said, blowing on the steam. “I mean it. You're, like, the coziest person I know. You’re like if a weighted blanket became sentient and made sarcastic comments.”

      You raised an eyebrow. “Wow. My heart. So touched.”

      “Don’t get so emotional on me,” his cocky smirk annoyed you, just like the pang it caused in your heart.

      You threw a mini marshmallow at him. He caught it in his mouth like a trained dolphin, which was both deeply annoying and a little impressive.

      And then time passed. Not much, just enough for the cocoa to cool and the night to feel quieter than it had before. Outside, it had started raining, a lazy, drizzle-type rain that didn’t seem like it planned on stopping. It tapped against the windows like an old friend, and neither of you moved to break the quiet.

      Finally, as you both stared at the movie you’d barely been watching, you said it.

      “You could just stay.”

      It wasn’t a dramatic moment. Just... there. Casual. Like offering a second slice of pizza or calling dibs on the good blanket.

      He only blinked, looking over at you.

      “Like— stay the night? Or stay forever and inherit your apartment when you mysteriously disappear under suspicious circumstances?”

      “You sleep here so often, I’m pretty sure the building owners thinks we’re co-tenants.”

      “They’re not wrong.”

      “Exactly. Just crash here. It’s gross out. And your socks are probably wet. And you used my good blanket, so you kind of owe me.”

      He made a long, thoughtful humming sound. “Well, I am a very considerate guest. Wouldn’t want to bring wet socks into my own apartment.”

      You didn’t even flinch. “I will launch you out the window.”

      He held up his hands. “Okay, okay! Staying. I’m staying. Consider me officially horizontal and not moving.”

      “Good.”

      “Also, I call the couch.”

      You stared at him. “You are on the couch.”

      “I called it. There’s a system.”

      You rolled your eyes and got up to grab another blanket— mostly for yourself, but also because you knew he’d steal it in the night if you didn’t establish dominance now.

      As you tossed it over your shoulders and sank into the armchair, he settled deeper into the cushions like a content cat, cocoa mug balanced on his chest.

      And just before you hit play on the movie again, he murmured, eyes half-closed, “You’re the best, you know.”

      You didn’t answer right away. Just smirked and threw another marshmallow at his forehead.

      “Yeah, yeah. Go to sleep before I change my mind.”

     Jason arched an eyebrow as he dug into the container of noodles with the grace of a raccoon raiding a trash can. “So,” he started, mouth half-full, “how’s your girlfriend?”

      Dick didn’t look up from where he was flicking a stray grain of rice off his lap. “Which one?”

      Jason gave him a flat look. “Don’t be cute. You know who.”

      “She’s not my girlfriend.”

      “Oh, right. My bad. Your roommate with benefits minus the benefits but with shared custody of a couch and emotional codependency.”

      Dick sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Why does everyone assume we’re dating?”

      Jason snorted. “Because you live at her place and keep her coffee stocked?”

      “I do not live at her place.”

      Jason counted off on his fingers. “Your toothbrush is in her bathroom, your shoes are by her door, you’ve been wearing that hoodie for three days and I’m ninety percent sure it’s hers, and when I called your phone last night, she answered.”

      “I was in the shower,” Dick argued weakly.

      Jason pointed his chopsticks at him like a sword of truth. “And she said— and I quote— ‘Nightwing’s busy using all my hot water, try again in ten.’”

      Dick muttered something under his breath and reached for the takeout box Jason had clearly claimed but was too tired to defend. “It’s not like that.”

      Jason raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Then what is it like?”

      Dick opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “We’re just close.”

      “You sleep on her couch.”

      “It’s a nice couch.”

      “You replaced her shower head.”

      “It had terrible water pressure.”

      “You refill her snacks before she even notices they’re gone.”

      “I eat most of them,” Dick said, like that helped.

      Jason laughed, low and smug. “You are so far in denial, man, you’re practically leasing property in Egypt.”

      Dick didn’t respond right away. Just chewed slowly and stared at the skyline like it owed him answers.

      “She doesn’t look at me like that,” he mumbled eventually.

      Jason gave him a long, unreadable look. “And you’ve never looked at her like that?”

      Dick’s silence said enough.

      A gust of wind rattled the fire escape beside them. Somewhere below, a car alarm wailed into the night and got ignored like all good Gotham car alarms.

      After a moment, Jason leaned back, arms stretched behind his head. “You know, I’m not saying you have to date her.”

      “Thanks.”

      “I’m just saying,” Jason continued, ignoring him, “you already do everything but date her. Might as well make it official and start paying joint taxes.”

      “Shut up,” Dick muttered, chucking a balled napkin at his head.

      Jason caught it one-handed and grinned. “Just saying. You’re one good ‘accidental forehead kiss’ away from a rom-com ending.”

      Dick blinked. “That’s not a real thing.”

      Cause if it was a real thing, he would have already tried it.

[cod-indulgences]

John Price x female!reader, bear!hybrid!price, just a little quick thing inspired by all the hybrids (and especially @rawme-price again)

Bear!Hybrid Price stumbling out of bed mid-winter with just the most scrunched up, scrungliest look on his face, eyes all squinty, hair wild, just grunting and shuffling around as he grabs a snack. He's so cute. Just pathetic looking, go back to bed old man.

He passes behind you and makes a low whuffing sound and gets a big hand on your ass, squeezes, slides it around your hip to dip between your legs. Fingers pressing in tight, feeling how your folds split apart around him even through your underwear, mouthing along the side of your throat.

"C'll me old," he grumbles, and smacks your pussy, making you jump, heels lifting; he does it again, and when you push at his arm just grabs your wrist and lifts it to suck a couple of your fingers into his mouth, slicking them up before he sets your hand on your own breast, a silent order to play with your nipples, as he plays with your pussy until you're rubbing against his cock, trying to bend and spread your thighs for him.

He fucks you right there in the kitchen, bent over the counter, one tit pulled out and bouncing as he makes you come just on his cock, pussy all slippery and clinging tight to him, come dripping from your hole as he finishes. You're shaky, thrown from a calm afternoon to coming hard within minutes, and he just grunts and smacks your ass as he grabs his food and shuffles back off to bed.

You wait just long enough to decide no, you don't have any dignity, and then rush after him to suck his cock clean and hopefully get it back inside you before the hibernation takes him down again.

[damselneedssaving]

「 BLUE WITH ENVY 」

DICK GRAYSON X F!READER

★ SYNOPSIS: Contrary to popular belief, Dick's not stupid. He's seen the way his own brother looks at you—the way Jason's very eyes seem to light up when you're in the room—and he. fucking. hates. it.

★ TAGS: jealousy, established relationship, possessive behaviour, his brother is crushing on his girl—let him be a bit possessive guys, background!jason todd x dick's gf!reader, oblivious!reader, love triangle

★ A/N: ugh guys, i'm such a sucker for the guy into his brother's gf trope it's not even funny. the angst potential is through the roof. anyway, this is technically part two to this oneshot but it can be read as its own separate thing!!

Now, Dick likes to think of himself as a reasonable sort of guy.

When Wally pranks him, he laughs it off with nothing but a big smile and a wave of his hand. When Babs lectures him, he chuckles sheepishly and all but promises to do better next time. When Bruce decides to be particularly difficult while working with him, he clenches his jaw and shoves all his annoyance back down the pit it came from before continuing on like it never bubbled out in the first place.

So yeah, all in all, Dick's a pretty reasonable guy—

—except, of course, when it comes to you.

In particular, when it comes to the way his brother looks at you.

He isn't blind. He's seen it. The way Jason's eyes seem to have all the life flood back into them the moment they land on you; the way his hands seem to twitch after you finish tending to his wounds and pull away, as though desperate to pull you back in.

Dick's seen it and he doesn't like it.

In fact, he fucking hates it.

It makes his skin crawl; has spiders flood his veins like he's an island straight after a tsunami, like he's an abandoned house in the middle of nowhere. Still standing. Still hoping. Still praying.

Perhaps for the moment he doesn't have to come home to his little brother eye-fucking his girl.

Dick's gaze narrows, sharpening straight into a blade ready to slice through skin. "Oh hey, didn't realise we had company."

Your lips turn up at the sight of him, and his eyes soften just a bit. "Dick! You're home!"

Then his lips curve up for a split second, only to immediately fall flat the very next one as movement catches the corner of his eye.

Jason shifts in his spot on the couch next to you, gaze darting to the side like he just got caught doing something he shouldn't be.

Something like flirting with his brother's girlfriend.

"Jay came over with an injury, so I'm just patching it up for him."

Dick hums, eyes leaving you in favour of narrowing again at his brother. "He seems to be doing that a lot more lately."

Jason refuses to meet his eyes.

"I know." You frown. "I'm really worried."

Ever the kind heart, you truly don't see what's really going on here, do you?

"Babe," Dick starts, reverting his attention towards you and letting his lips curve up once more, "do you think you can make me some of your special tea? My throat's a bit sore."

Immediately, you get up from your position on the couch, moving towards him so swiftly and with such care, he can't help but flash his gaze to the man behind you and let his lips quirk up just a tad bit more.

"Oh no... I told you to start wearing a scarf out. Winter's right around the corner."

You move to graze a hand over his throat, your brows scrunched in that sweet way they always are when you're concerned for him, and suddenly, as his hands slip right around your waist and he pulls you close, all he sees is you.

"I know, I know." He chuckles, squeezing your hips. "I'll wear one next time. Promise."

He won't, but he can't bring himself to turn you down.

Your lips tug down, almost as if you know this, know him (because you're his girlfriend, not Jason's), but you ultimately leave it alone, pulling away to head to the kitchen.

But then Dick catches the way his brother looks at you—that stupid puppy dog-eyed look Jason probably doesn't even realise he's doing—and he moves to catch your arm again, pulling you straight into a kiss.

Your eyes widen at first, but then you melt into him, and he's making his way into your mouth with his tongue, and you're pulling away not a moment later in both surprise and your own fluster.

A string of saliva is the only evidence that you two were connected further than just an innocent peck. But it's all the evidence he needs as he flicks his gaze back to his brother, sitting there now with a slight frown on his face.

"Dick," you scold him halfheartedly, lips curved up a little at the corners. "Not in front of your brother."

He only smirks back at you, causing you to roll your eyes and pull away to head to the kitchen, mumbling something under your breath and smiling all the while.

As soon as you're gone however, his smirk falls flat.

The room is quiet, a special kind of quiet, one you can cut through with a knife. The tense kind.

Dick's gaze is piercing through Jason, and Jason's is nowhere near Dick's.

How telling.

The older man crosses his arms, and just like that, the silence is shattered.

"So," he starts in a drawl almost too casual for the circumstance, "when were you gonna tell me you're into my girl?"

"Don't know what you're talking 'bout."

Dick scoffs. "Really?"

"Yeah, really."

His jaw ticks, teeth grinding so hard he's worried they'll shatter as Jason still makes no move to return his gaze.

"I'm not blind, Jason," he tries again in a near growl, "I've seen the way you look at her."

This time it's Jason's turn to scoff, and he finally turns his head to meet Dick's own. "Oh yeah? And how's that?"

How do I look at her? he adds with just his eyes.

"Like you want her," Dick shoots back quickly. "Like you love her."

Jason sits up a little, and now it's his turn to narrow his gaze at his brother. "So what if I do?"

At that moment, Dick feels something white, hot, and dangerously close to flames riddle his veins, and suddenly, shattering his teeth is the least of his worries.

"So, she's my girlfriend," he hisses through gritted teeth. "So, you back. off."

Jason scoffs again, but Dick doesn't let him get another word in, the older brother narrowing his gaze into slits as he takes a step forward in a silent warning.

"I want you out of my fucking house by the time she gets back."

Jason stands up. "Or what?"

Another flash of white hot flames.

"Or I'll fucking beat your feelings for her out of you."

The two of them stand there, nothing but tense silence filling the gap between them for a few long moments.

Then Jason lets out another scoff, and he passes by Dick with a particularly harsh shove that has the older man's mouth opening up to speak again before he can stop himself.

"Oh, and do us both a favour: lose her number and start getting someone else to patch you up."

And with that, the door to his house slams shut.

[sixeyesonathiel]

satoru is absolutely the type to get horny during aftercare.

like, violently.

and he knows how much he just wrecked you. how he folded you into the mattress like he owned it, like he had a point to prove and your body was the only canvas that mattered. the room still hums with heat, shadows curling along the soft sheen of sweat on your skin. your chest heaves as you try to remember how to breathe, legs limp and slightly parted, the plush of your lower lip caught between your teeth as your lashes flutter with exhaustion. your fingers twitch, still faintly curled into the sheets, and your skin is glowing—flushed and warm, painted in shades of him.

and satoru—your menace of a husband, long limbs sprawled like he belongs there, sprawled across your body—has the nerve to look sweet. his lashes fan out over flushed cheeks, the silver-white strands of his hair plastered messily to his temple, glinting faintly in the ambient lamplight. those eyes, sharp and crystal-cut, bright as glacier melt under sunlight, roam your body with open worship. he’s crouched between your thighs now, running a warm cloth over your skin in gentle, loving strokes, trailing kisses like apologies along the inside of your thigh, your hipbone, your knee.

“my pretty girl did so good,” he murmurs, voice thick with affection and that undercurrent of reverence that always makes your chest ache.

he hums while he works. fucking hums. like this isn’t the fifth time he’s split you open tonight.

his neck glistens with sweat, the slope of it flushed, veins subtly visible beneath the surface. the scent of his cologne—the one you picked, subtle and fresh with a little citrus and something smoky—still clings to him beneath the musk of skin and sex and something uniquely his. and that alone would be enough to leave you dizzy. but then—then—you feel it.

his cock, twitching against your thigh. heavy, hot, no longer just interested—eager. you don’t even need to look to know his brows are twitching in that self-satisfied way, that his mouth is curved up in a smile just shy of smug.

“…satoru.”

he blinks at you. innocent. as if he isn’t rock hard again less than ten minutes after he nearly made you sob. he presses a kiss just above your mound, lips dragging slowly.

“yeah?”

his hands are slow as they slide over your hips. one squeezes, grounding. the other strokes the soft inside of your thigh, thumbs sweeping in soothing circles that border on teasing. you see the way his eyes flick up—watching for every twitch in your face, every breath you forget to take, the way your jaw tenses then slackens when he brushes over a particularly sensitive spot.

“you feeling okay, sweetheart?” he asks, almost too gently.

you squint at him. that tone always spells trouble.

he tucks the sheets around you like he’s being helpful. like he’s not also letting his fingers slip under your waistband. “nothing else you need?”

your jaw drops slightly. then you squeak when his mouth descends to your breast, tongue dragging over your nipple with slow, devoted strokes, the kind that make your spine arch despite yourself, your hand flying up to thread through his messy hair.

“satoru,” you say, warning sharp—but shaky.

“‘m trying to behave,” he mumbles into your chest, clearly lying. his fingers dip lower, parting you with an ease born of how well he knows you. your hips jerk when his thumb finds your clit, lazy, slow circles that make your lashes flutter and your thighs twitch. “but baby, you’re just so soft. so warm. i need to be inside you again.”

he rolls his hips against your thigh and the weight of him—all of him—presses into you like a brand. he lifts his head to look at you, pouty and flushed and ridiculously pretty, his wild hair sticking out in tufts, strands fanned out across his forehead. “just a little? i’ll go slow.”

you try to glare. you really do. but your mouth betrays you with the tiniest whimper, your thighs parting without conscious thought.

his grin is instant. too bright. too boyish. he’s already shifting closer, one big hand hooking behind your knee to open you wider. his other hand cradles your face like you’re something holy, while he leans down to kiss your jaw, your temple, nose brushing against yours.

“you still smell like me,” he murmurs, voice cracking. “d’you have any idea what that does to me?”

and instead of pushing in, he teases—rubs the swollen tip of his cock along your folds, slow and languid. back and forth. not enough. never enough. his hand cups your breast again, thumb flicking your nipple in rhythm with his motions below, his mouth grazing the shell of your ear. you shiver, thighs instinctively twitching.

“look at you. god, i don’t even deserve you. but i’m gonna make you feel good again. promise.”

you turn your head away, whimper caught in your throat, and that’s when he shifts—pressing a kiss to your nape, brushing your hair aside like it’s a veil. he rests his forehead there, warm and damp and trembling, breath shuddering as his hand tilts your hips upward.

he doesn’t warn you. doesn’t count. he knows better. he waits until your breath catches—until your nails dig into his arm just slightly—and that’s when he presses in.

slow. stretching. the full length of him inching deeper and deeper until his pelvis meets yours.

he shudders, nose buried in your hair. kisses the nape of your neck once. twice.

then he starts to move.

not frantic. not harsh. worshipful. slow, grinding rolls of his hips that knock the air from your lungs. every thrust has intention, angled to press deep, to feel every inch of you squeezing around him again. your body trembles with overstimulation, jaw slack, breath catching every time he nudges against the spot that makes your toes curl.

he whispers your name like a hymn, his thumb slipping back between your legs to circle your clit again. slow. patient. like he’s building you up on purpose.

“can’t stop,” he breathes. “can’t help it. you’re perfect. mine.”

and every time you start to plead—every time your walls flutter around him like it’s the end—he whispers, “just one more.”

he lies. over and over again. but god, you let him.

because he doesn’t slow. doesn’t stop. not when your legs tremble. not when your fingers claw at the sheets. not when your voice is hoarse from moaning. he just keeps going. another round. and another. and another. until your body forgets what empty feels like.

until you’re soaked and aching and delirious, and he’s still above you, kissing your damp cheeks, murmuring against your skin.

“so good. you’re so good. just one more, baby.”

his thrusts stay slow, but there’s something ravenous behind them now. he’s desperate. trembling. voice cracking with every word he mutters into your neck. his hands are everywhere—your waist, your chest, your jaw. his mouth worships every inch of skin he can reach.

and when you break again, voice barely a whisper of his name, he spills with you—hips stuttering, arms locked around you, face buried in your neck as he breathes you in.

he doesn’t pull out. doesn’t move. he just stays there, pressed deep, body curved over yours like a shield.

“just one more,” he whispers again, breathless.

(you both know better.)

[jinchuls]

All In

Dick Grayson x reader

He cancels, he reschedules, he cancels again. Not sure if this is the relationship you want to sign up for, you take up your roommates offer to set you up with her friend. It’s awkward, it’s quiet; it’s nothing like how it is with Dick. But, as you get cornered on your way home you’re left confiding in a man you never would have expected.

warnings - reader gets held at gunpoint, dramatic and pouty dickie, angsty-ish nothing like too bad just a lil self doubt but it does mean idk how to tag this teehee

wc - 2.3k

“Again?” Your roommate doesn’t even attempt to hide her annoyance as you walk out of your room, dressed up and clearly upset as your excitement for the evening gets stolen with a brief and, unfortunately, expected call. So expected no words are needed to even share the news. “What did he say this time?”

You frown before you answer her. At first, you’d been more than understanding, with a family emergency arising, his brothers needing his help, hurting himself and being bedridden for a few days, you’d taken each cancellation with only a small amount of disappointment. How were you, someone he had only seen a few times, to stop him from being that man that made you say yes to first date anyway?

But today, after four reschedules and a promise that he will be there, there was no reason just an, admittedly apologetic, whisper of I can’t. I just, a breath that forced you to hold yours, I can’t.

“Nothing.” You tell your roommate, sitting beside her at the table, “He didn’t even ask to do it another night. I should take that as a ‘he doesn’t want to see me’, right?”

“He’s an idiot.”

“No—”

“Don’t defend him.” She warns, pointing a finger in your face. “I know you like him; I know you had high hopes for this but I’m not watching you get attached to someone that’s going to hurt you more than he already has.” She glances at her phone, “You’ve still got the reservation right? I think I have the perfect person for you.”

What were you thinking? Your date, a date you’d been looking forward to for a while now, cancels and you’re subbing someone else in for that exact date? You watch the man opposite you, nervously playing with the napkin, his shirt collar up—despite the fact you’d quietly told him about it three times now—and a red stain on his tie where he’d spilled his wine on his first sip. Was this how you wanted to stop thinking about Dick?

He'd been so charming from the moment you’d met him. He’d made you laugh, he’d hold himself with confidence and grace and hold your hand to his side as he walked you around Gotham, refusing for the night to end because your company was so intoxicating the last thing he wanted was to be anywhere else. And then there’s this man, who let the door shut on you as the two of you walked into the restaurant and pronounced your surname so horribly wrong when talking to the hostess.

What were you thinking?

You split the bill at the end of dinner, his decision but you don’t complain; it felt right knowing you would never willingly see this man again.

“That was nice.” He comments as you leave. “We should—” His smile drops and his words disappear; a wide eyes expression of fear stealing every emotion from him.

“Don’t move.” You glance over his shoulder, your eyes meeting another set holding more crazy than you’d ever encountered. “Give me your watch.” Your date doesn’t move for a second, the conflicting instructions short circuiting his brain but his body flinches; it’s then you realise he’s got a weapon pointed to his back, one currently being forced against his skin harder and harder until he shakily unstraps his watch and drops it to the criminal’s open hand. “Your wallet.” He orders next; it’s handed to him with no hesitation this time.

The mugger pockets both stolen items, stepping away from your date and closer to you. He raises his weapon; your blood runs cold as you stare at the tip of his handgun; your breathing hitches in your throat. “Got anything nice in there?” He asks, pointing to your handbag with the gun you cannot take your eyes off. You instinctively take a step back; he follows you.

You don’t say a word as you dig through the contents of your bag. Your purse, your phone, a pair of earrings that had got uncomfortable during dinner that you’d subtly tucked in unnoticed. Grabbing all three in a fist, you’re about to hand it over when you look up and see, both surprised and not at all, your date halfway down the alley. Running away.

Open mouthed, clutching precious belongings and amazed someone so pathetic had made it so long in Gotham, you glance back to the burglar. He’s come closer during your distraction, “Hand. It. Over.” You feel the gun touch your forehead; he had no care for the man that escaped. “Now!” You squeak as you flinch, his voice and the feel of the cold metal bringing angry tears to your eyes yet all you can think is, today would be different if Dick was here.

Sniffling, you bring your shaking hands from your bag, holding your things as trying not to look at the face you’re afraid will be the last you’ll ever see.

He appears from the shadows, his body colliding with the gunman before either of you can register he’s even there and, hitting the wall with the bigger man’s weight forcing him against the brick with a loud crack. Your attacker crumbles to the floor, quiet groans coming from him as he cradles his evidently broken arm to his chest.

Nightwing turns to you and you’re not sure if you’re stuck in silence because of what just happened to you or if you’re just too starstruck to speak. Despite your years in Gotham, this is your first time encountering any of the well known heroes this close.

“Are you okay?” You drop your things back into your bag, tightly gripping the strap as you nod, a tear dropping from your eyes as they meet his. “Okay, no. You can be shaken up, that was scary.” He starts to reason; approaching you softly and ignoring the further groaning from his victim. “Are you alone?”

You take a deep breath in hopes of steadying yourself. “Well, my date ran away so—”

“Your date?” His tone is a little more aghast than you’re expecting.

“Yeah, he sucks I get it. But there’s a fifty-fifty chance of dating a psychopath when you live in Gotham so sometimes the coward is the safe option.” You wave a hand, wiping under you eye grateful nothing else has seemed to escape. Another deep breath and you feel a little more yourself already. “It’s funny though, gun to my head my first thought was that this wouldn’t happen with the other guy I’m seeing.” You force a laugh but the words don’t feel great to say.

“Another guy!” Pausing, you watch Nightwing for a moment, your fear and nerves being replaced with, definitely misplaced, anger when you see the look of disgust? Confusion? Hurt? On his face.

“Are you judging me right now?” You scoff, turning your back on the vigilante, “You know nothing about me but you’re judging me for going on a date?” Starting to walk away from him, you feel something burning in your throat desperate to be set free and you spin on your heels, jamming a finger into his chest and glaring up at him. “For your information, Nightwing, I’m only here because the guy I want to see, the guy I stupidly, really fucking like, obviously doesn’t want to see me again. And, in trying to not let myself get hung up on a man, I got held at gunpoint and judged by a guy in spandex.”

“Spandex! This is high quality—” He raises a hand to his ear, “Will you stop laughing!”

“Now, if everything is sorted here.” You glance at your attacker, still curled in pain on the floor, “I’m going home and never leaving it again.” Turning again, you do walk away from him this time. Your arms crossed across your chest, holding your jacket close to you as your adrenaline finally wears off and you feel the chilling cut of the night breeze.

“Wait!” You hear; you make no effort to stop. “Just wait a sec.” The sound of his feet hitting the ground follow you as he softly jogs to catch up with you—he likely didn’t even need to put too much effort in to do so. “Let me walk you home, at least.”

“I’m fine.”

“You had a gun in your face.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” You roll your eyes.

“Just to near your building then. It’d make me feel better.” He stands beside you as he searches your face for any type of reaction. You frown; he tenses.

“Fine.” You huff, starting to walk again not paying any attention to whether he follows you or not.

It’s silent for a while; you’ve made it at least halfway home and found yourself weirdly comfortable around the man. Until he decides to open his mouth again.

“So, this guy.” Nightwing clasps his hands behind his back as he walks, the brief silence clearly becoming too much for him. “How do you know he doesn’t want to see you?”

“What?” You turn to him, “That’s the conversation you have in you?” He just watches you as the two of you walk along; you sigh, deciding this might be your only opportunity for some unbiased help. “Well, we’ve only been on two dates, but I thought they were great. He was charming, funny, handsome; I really liked him, and I thought he liked me too,” You shiver slightly, pulling your jacket tighter around you. “Then he started cancelling the next date, and I tried to be nice about it but, the most recent time, it felt more like an ‘I don’t want to’. There are reasons and then there are excuses.”

“You don’t think he has reasons?”

“I just don’t think he’s looking for the same thing as me and doesn’t know how to let me know, y’know. I think I came on too strong from the beginning and ruined it before it even started.”

“What if you’re wrong?” Nightwing asks you softly, inching closer to you. You look to where your arms almost brush, but you don’t step away. “What if it’s not an excuse; what if it’s just something he can’t tell you yet?”

“So, I should stick around just in case he’s what, got a secret like yours?” His step stutters; he almost trips beside you. He clears his throat as he steadies himself and you can’t fight the laugh that slips from you.

“Would this,” He gestures to himself, masked face observing yours, “change anything?”

Thinking, you watch him for a second, turning back to the path ahead of you as you let you mind wander to Dick Grayson. “Yeah,” You admit, “I mean, I already want to stick around but if the reasoning for him being so cryptic and flaky was him saving Gotham I think I’d fall in love on the spot.” Nightwing falls silent beside you. “Well, thank you for being my soundboard, I feel a lot better about everything, surprisingly.”

“Good.” His voice is breathy and soft. “I should,” He clears his throat again. “Get back to—”

“Go vigilante, Vigilante.” Staring at you for another second, he smiles softly and turns to run back in the direction you had come; you hear the soft clang of metal on metal in the distance, and he whizzes upwards, back into the shadows. You smile, looking in his direction unable to find him, before you turn back to where you need to be, walking the few minutes left back to your apartment building.

Your roommate is asleep when you quietly lock the door behind you; you’ll update her on everything the next morning when you’ve had time to wrap your head around how, not only, Nightwing saving you but the strange, and weirdly helpful, talk he’d had with you that made you realise one thing for certain.

Dick Grayson is worth the wait.

The next morning, too early, you’re awoken to the sound of the doorbell. You know your friend is a much heavier sleeper than you and that, as the bell rings a second time whilst you’re throwing on something a little more presentable than your sheer pyjamas, whoever this is isn’t going to leave without an answer.

You wipe your tired eyes as you sleepily walk to the front door, drawing back the bolt and pulling the door open as far as the chain will let you. “Dick?” You’re not certain you’re seeing him right; you close the door again quickly, pulling the chain free and opening it wider to the man that had infiltrated your dream the night before.

“Hi,” He stand before you with a soft smile, a small bouquet of white lilies in one hand, a bag dangling from the wrist of his other and two take out cups of coffee, in a carrier, haphazardly rested on his palm. “Sorry, I know it’s early I just,” He looks away, rocking on his heels and clearing his throat. “I’m sorry. I know I’m not what you want or what you deserve, really, but I don’t want to lose out on something real. I can’t promise I won’t have to cancel again but I can promise I’m serious about this, about you, and I’m all in if you are.”

“I went on a date last night.” You blink at him immediately feeling the guilt of it being known hit your chest. Dick swallows softly. “It was terrible,” You offer a laugh to help the tone of conversation, “I decided that I was delusional and what I saw in you was just false hope but I had a little heart to heart too, with Nightwing, of all people.” Reaching in front of you, you take the bouquet off of him, smelling the flowers gently as you bring them close to you. You step aside and beckon him in with a nod of your head. “I’ll tell you about it as long as there’s pancakes in that bag.”

“And chocolate chips.”

[damselneedssaving]

BATBOYS BUT IT'S DICK'S BIRTHDAY AND BRUCE INVITES F!STREAMER!READER OVER AS A GIFT.

★ TAGS: older!damian wayne, older!duke thomas, crack, the boys are majorly obsessed with you—but it's right in front of your face this time, it's dick's birthday but the boys have no problem stealing you away from him, duke glows when he's flustered and it's so cute, your username is just your name

★ A/N: sorry guys, i lost track of the taglist so i won't be using it here 😭 oh, this is another requested one!! you guys are so creative with these requests, i swear. i'll never run out of material at this rate. as always, you don't need to have read the rest of this series to read this!!

★ F!STREAMER!READER MASTERLIST ★

The manor is taller than you imagined—looming to the point where you're forced to crane your neck up at an angle that blooms pain down your spine.

It's a bit creepy too, stood here, quite a ways away from the hustle and bustle of Gotham city, no other buildings in sight.

Billionaires sure are eccentric.

With a gulp, you swallow the nerves building up in your throat and take a step closer to the gate, fingers twiddling behind your back.

The speaker in front of you sings static as soon as you get closer, and you take it as a sign to announce your presence.

"Um"—you swallow thickly—"this is [Name], the, uh, streamer invited over for Dick Grayson's birthday?"

A pause.

Your palms start to gather sweat, your mouth going dry, and just as the thought crosses your mind that you may have possibly been baited into showing up at the entrance of a rich man's house for no reason—

—the gate creaks open.

"Oh, okay, cool," you mutter to yourself, a habit you picked up from constantly commentating. "At least I know that letter was legit now."

Why you, of all people, were invited, you still have no clue.

Regardless, you continue your trek down the road to Wayne Manor, each step heightening those nerves you thought you swallowed down before, pumping them with air until they all but rise back up your throat by the time you get to the large, wooden doors.

You're barely able to lift a fist before one of said doors opens.

"Ah, Miss [Name], come in. The Masters have been expecting you."

You blink, the accented voice a bit of a surprise to your twitching ears, but not as much as the person they come from.

There, behind the open door, dressed in what you can only describe as a butler's uniform, stands a man nowhere near your age, poised and dutiful, with a perfectly raised brow you haven't a clue as to how is even possible.

You shift in your spot, suddenly feeling severely out of place.

"Miss?"

You perk up. "Oh, uh, right."

Taking a shaky step forward, you enter the large manor with yet another gulp of that bundle of nerves in your throat—

—only to flinch at the sound of a plate shattering nearby.

Whipping your head to the right, you're face-to-face with a man the press has no shortage of encounters with.

Stood there with his hair combed to the side and eyes just the slightest bit wide to indicate what you presume to be his own surprise, is who could quite possibly be one of your top chat donators.

Damian Wayne.

His stare burrows through you, and awkwardly, you bring up a hand to wave at him. "Uh, hi."

"Beloved," he whispers, soft, light, in a tone of such disbelief, it almost convinces you that you're not at all supposed to be here. "What are you doing here?"

Okay, this is really not doing your doubts any wonders.

"Uh, I was invited for Dick Grayson's birthday..."

"Grayson?"

You open your mouth to confirm, when another voice cuts you off.

In comes a grinning man dressed all casual, in a normal shirt and trousers (certainly nothing you'd expect from a person with enough money to afford all the branded clothing in the world), holding a bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other.

"You..." starts the man, looking towards Damian before turning and trailing off as soon as his eyes land on you, "called...?"

Another shatter bounces off the walls.

You clear your throat.

"Hey! Uh, Dick, right?" You move your hands to twiddle behind your back as he just continues to stare at you with his mouth agape. "Happy birthday!"

A thud.

Your lips part. Then close. Then part again. Then close.

"Did he just fai—?"

"Allow me to get your coat for you, Beloved."

You gasp, the feeling of a warm breath ghosting over your ear almost causing you to jump right out of your skin.

Then it's followed up by the ghost of a touch over your bare arms, and you think you really will jump right out of your skin.

Your eyes flit to the side, and all the breath in your lungs disappears the moment you see the way Damian looks at you; those lidded eyes and that near-reverence in his gaze.

If you had any doubt that he was your top donator before, they're all gone now.

A shiver runs down your spine, his fingers over your bare skin practically a breeze as he slowly—almost a little too slowly, like he's savouring the moment—aids you out of your coat.

But then he slinks past you to hook it near the door, and you're left wondering if you just imagined the intimate moment altogether.

You stand there for another few seconds before clearing your throat, shaking your head, and averting your gaze—

—only to find it landing on a familiar groaning body struggling to get off the ground.

Immediately, your eyes go wide.

Then both your hands are grasped by another pair, and your gaze is ushered to the side, though not without a bit of reluctance.

"Uh," you start, sending another glance over your shoulder with knitted brows, "shouldn't we help him up?"

"Nonsense, Beloved, he can get up on his own," Damian dismisses without so much as a second glance. "Allow me to tour you."

"Um, okay."

With one more concerned glance tossed the birthday boy's way, you're whisked straight into another room and immediately greeted with the sight of another man. This one sprawled across the couch with one leg dangling off and his eyes glued straight to the screen in his hands rather than dropping something right in front of your eyes and staring at you like a fish out of water.

"Here we have the living room, you may find yourself in here during times of leisure," Damian explains, gesturing one hand out in front of him for less than a second before it's back in your own. "Please ignore the sight of the couch, it's not usually so hideous."

The unnamed man's nose twitches, scrunching up not a moment later as his eyes leave his screen in favour of looking up. "Who you calling hideo—?"

Then he freezes, and that phone in his hands slips right onto the floor.

Oops, you may have jinxed it.

"[Name]...?"

Once again, you find yourself pushing your lips up into that awkward smile, the urge to fiddle with your collar growing within you. "Hello."

He blinks once. Then twice. Then—

"Shit!"

The man scrambles to get up, eyes immediately darting down as his hands went all over the place to fix the creases on his shirt before shooting straight back up to send daggers to Damian.

"Demon spawn, why the fuck did you not tell me she was here?"

Damian all but sent him one disinterested glance. "Your incompetence is not my fault, Drake."

Drake grinds his teeth, and those daggers of his turn into sharp swords wide enough to pierce even you despite them not at all being directed your way.

"I'm gonna fucking kill you—!"

"Damian!"

Your eyes flit to the entrance of the room, finding the birthday boy stood there with his hands on his knees and his form slightly hunched over, panting, before immediately snapping upright and sending those same daggers Drake sent to Damian himself.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? Bruce invited her over for my birthday!"

And like he did with Drake, Damian only sends a disinterested glance Dick's way. "So?"

"So?! So?! So that means she's my birthday gift and you shouldn't be taking all her attention away from me!"

"Tt. That hardly matters when she's going to be my wife."

You blink. "Wife?"

But Damian keeps talking like he didn't just give you the news of your life about your own future marital status, and Dick argues right there with him.

So you're left blinking, awkwardly stood in the middle of this rich family feud wondering why you even accepted that invite in the first place.

But then your fingers are slipped out of Damian's hands and straight into another pair, and you're gently tugged away and out of the room.

Your eyes follow the hand in your own up, only to meet with a pair of dazzling blue staring back at you.

"I'm Tim, by the way," says Drake—or well, Tim.

Ah, Tim Drake. That makes more sense. For a second there, you thought Bruce Wayne had adopted another kid with a less than fortunate name, to say the least (what with the very existence of the song 'Not Like Us').

You clear your throat, shaking your head clear of your thoughts before saying, "Hi, Tim. Uh, where are you taking me?"

He grins. "To my room."

You blink at him.

He blinks back at you.

Then slowly, your lips curve back into that familiar awkward smile. "Woah there, dinner and a movie first maybe?"

At that, he lets out a laugh, and it's warm and real and melts straight into a smile you can only describe as that of a school girl's when staring at her crush, all dazed and dreamy.

"You're so funny..."

You blink again, letting out a nervous laugh. "Thanks..."

You've met parasocial fans before, but you think these guys take the cake for sure.

Still, you let yourself be dragged into his room because, for what it's worth, he doesn't set off any alarm bells and you like to believe the best in your fans.

Plus he's kinda hot. That's always a bonus.

"Here, let me just—"

You blink, watching him rearrange his bed before slowly guiding you to take a seat on it and rushing over to his closet with a bounce in his step you've seen many times from many other people before.

"Fuck, where is it?" comes his voice from... inside the closet?

A walk-in closet. Holy shit, that's rich.

"Uh, you okay in there, Tim?"

The only thing that responds to you is a little dreamy giggle.

"Tim?"

Another dreamy giggle. Maybe you should stop saying his name.

"Oh! I found it!" He calls. And then he's rushing out of his closet with a box that falls in front of you with a loud 'thud' not a moment later.

You blink down at it.

Your face stares back at you.

"This is a box of all my merch from you!" yells Tim, practically squealing the words out as he opens the box and starts taking things out one-by-one to show you.

"Here's the first ever hoodie you sold!

"Oh, and here's the limited edition Youtooz of you from a year back, I got it the second it was available.

"Oh yeah, and here's the figurine of you from that red dead redemption collab you did! You look amazing as a cowgirl."

You gawk, barely able to keep up with him as he flashed all your merch at you with the speed of the Flash, and you've met the guy in person.

Still, there's something oddly charming about how excited Tim is, those bags under his eyes practically non-existent with how wide with wonder they are right now.

That's probably why you can't stop yourself from smiling.

And when he finally notices, he goes quiet, a blush as red as the blood beneath your skin spanning from one side of his face to the other.

Then his door bursts open, and that blush evaporates.

"Yo, replacement, I need you to look into this lead—"

You turn, finding yet another pair of blue eyes staring straight at you. A pair that seems to slyly curl at the corners.

"Well hello there, pretty girl," drawls the new guy, crossing his arms and leaning against the door as his gaze rakes all over you and he whistles low. "No one told me you'd be over. Woulda dressed up real nice for ya if they did."

Wow, this household sure is swimming with good-looking men, huh?

"Jason," Tim hisses through gritted teeth as you let yourself look, "what are you doing here? Get out."

"Nah"—his lips quirk up—"don't think I will."

You glance back at Tim for a split second. But that split second is enough for you to see the steam practically shooting out his ears.

"Don't think you have a choice," he growls back, fists clenching by his side.

But Jason just ignores him, slinking on over to your side and plopping down like he owns the place, his hand moving to loop around your shoulders as he ducks his head down and speaks to you like you're the only one there.

"Y'know, you're a lot prettier in person."

Your lips are curving up before you can even stop them, heat warming your skin. "Oh... really?"

He tilts his head, moving closer, lips a breath away from your own. "Yeah really."

"Jason!"

You then blink as the arm around your shoulder is removed, and you're left feeling a cold breeze pass over it instead.

Your head tilts up to see Dick with his arms crossed and his brows furrowed furiously at the man who was just holding you.

"What the hell are you doing?!" he yells, before directing his attention straight at Tim. "You too, Tim! How many times do I have to tell you guys it's my birthday?!"

"So?" Jason scoffs.

"So?! So?! Argh! You—!"

You blink, registering yet another face by the door and, this time, getting up to go somewhere of your own accord.

"Oh my God! Duke!"

Duke blinks, almost looking like he would've stumbled back had you not grabbed ahold of his hands in time.

"How are you?!"

He blinks again, staring at you with his lips parted and his eyes wide with a little disbelief, just like they were when you first met.

"Did you like that plushie I won you?"

He stares at you for a few seconds more, still not saying a word, and you find your lips tugging down in concern.

"Duke?"

Then he bursts. Quite literally.

You squint, a sudden flash of light blinding you for just a split moment before you hear someone clear their throat and that light is no more—at least, not obviously.

But you swear that it looks like there's something glowing under Duke's hoodie...

"Yeah," he says quickly, before awkwardly clearing his throat again and averting his gaze to the side. "I mean—yeah, I liked it."

You blink once, then your lips curve up again and you beam back at him, responding with a, "I'm glad." before he's clearing his throat again and speaking, that glow under his hoodie appearing to be a little brighter.

"Do you wanna come to my room and go see it?"

You look around, seeing everyone still arguing with each other in their own world. "Sure!"

Then you let Duke lead you out, leaving behind the three shouting brothers and the fourth silently glaring one behind.

Dick, despite having been gifted the best present Bruce has ever gotten him for his birthday ever, is having one of the worst days of his life.

First, his favourite cereal runs out, so he's stuck having to eat his second favourite instead (ugh). Then, his favourite shirt is in the laundry because Alfred put it in last night, so he can't wear it on his special day. And then, his favourite streamer is ripped from him by every single brother he has when it's not even any of their birthdays and she's not here for them.

So now here he is, sat on the balcony with his chin slumped on his hand, staring out into the night sky because he's long since given up on trying to divert your attention to him.

"So much for a happy birthday," he mutters with a sigh, kicking the air beneath the lounger he's sitting on like it's personally the one that ruined his day.

Then the sound of the door sliding open chimes from behind him, and he's immediately perking up and turning around.

"There you are, birthday boy."

It's you, and you're gently sliding the door shut again behind you, the light of the mansion hugging your form with a warm, welcoming glow that's only furthered by the way you smile down at him.

"I was wondering where you ran off to."

His mouth parts, a sort-of awe taking over and stealing his tongue as you move to sit beside him, to lower yourself to his level.

"Not good with crowds?" You nudge his shoulder with a bit of a teasing smile.

"Great with them actually," he responds, and you blink in surprise. "Just... not feeling it today."

Your smile softens a little at that, tone gentle as you say, "That's okay." Then you follow it up with a playful, "Us human beings are complicated creatures, y'know. I, myself, have a lot of layers."

His lips twitch up. "Yeah?"

"Oh yeah."

Dick's smile widens a little at that, and a chuckle passes through his lips before he can even stop it—not that he could've in the first place. You're his favourite streamer for a reason, after all.

The two of you fall silent right after, and you turn your head to the view in front, eyes losing that teasing glint to make way for something kinder, warmer.

"Sorry I haven't been paying much attention to you," you say, almost absentmindedly, and he blinks a little in surprise—you had noticed? "Your brothers are a little..."

"Crazy?"

You chuckle. "Sure, let's call it that."

"It's all good," he responds, taking in the way the stars twinkle in your eyes. "I didn't take it personally."

"Still"—your lips tug down a little—"it's your birthday. Your dad invited me over for you. I should've spent more time with you."

He doesn't say anything. Too kind to pin the blame on you and too selfish to deny that what you had just said was exactly what he wanted.

But he doesn't need to say anything, 'cause you continue talking anyway.

"But I'm here now," you say.

And then you're turning your head back to him and smiling with all your heart, and suddenly—

"Happy birthday, Dick."

—Dick finds himself not minding how this day turned out after all.

[arabella0001]

cn: estabilished relationship. fluff. blowjob. dirty talk.

݁.𖥔 pairing: sasuke x reader

݁.𖥔 fandom: naruto

⃘꤫ ok, sorry for my unholy thoughts (I'm too hormonal), but this is a recurring scenario in my head.

── ⋆⋅

As he returned from a draining mission, Sasuke felt both restless and secretly thrilled to see you again. It was true—he still found it uncomfortable to be in a relationship for the first time, plagued more often than not by an unshakable sense of inadequacy (when in truth, he never should have felt that way at all). And yet, he couldn’t suppress the quiet current of affection that surged through him at the thought of seeing you again after two full weeks apart.

You hadn’t known he was coming, but your heart skipped a beat the moment you heard the door to your shared home creak open—one of the clan houses rebuilt from the ashes of Uchiha legacy (not the ancestral one, which held too many burdens for Sasuke to bear just yet).

Only you and he knew how to dismantle the protective jutsu, so his chakra signature, unmistakable, struck you even faster than expected. You descended the stairs slowly, barefoot, dressed in your sleepwear—a pair of shorts far too revealing for anyone but him to see, and one of his black shirts that still clung to his scent, calming you during his absence. In more ways than one. Sasuke still felt a rush of heat when he recalled your innocent pleasure.

“Sasuke, baby?”

He turned toward you, gaze sweeping over your figure in a quick motion, his heartbeat briefly accelerating before you leapt into his arms.

“I’m home.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, eyes locked on his with a loving, slightly provocative expression.

“Wouldn’t have guessed. I thought it was just my imagination because i’ve been missing you too much.”

His mouth twitched at your sarcasm, but instinctively met your soft peck on his lips, surrendering to the familiar warmth.

Your brows furrowed as you studied the exhaustion etched into his face.

“Rough mission?”

He nodded, ashamed he couldn’t match your enthusiasm, at least not in his usual reserved way.

You smirked, and Sasuke’s gaze flickered with slight confusion while yours gleamed with a spark that shifted the air between you two. Leaning toward his ear, your breath low and sultry, you whispered in a tone that sent a chill down his spine.

“Can I help you with that?”

Sasuke swallowed, unsure what you meant. Help him with what? The tension? The burden?

He only began to understand when your lips found his neck, slow and deliberate, your hands gliding softly over the still-safe zones of his body. Then you found his mouth, kissing him briefly, but with sensual purpose, waiting for his unspoken permission.

He was utterly at your mercy, overwhelmed by fatigue and guilt all over again—

“You don’t need to do anything.”

Breaking through his spiraling thoughts, Sasuke looked at you, intrigued.

“What do you mean?”

Your smirk deepened as your hands returned to explore him gently.

“Do you trust me?”

Ironically, Sasuke didn’t trust himself—not with the way your hand inched lower, teasing but not quite touching. Still, he nodded, silently granting you freedom. Your hand slid between you, tracing the promise beneath his clothing. His lips parted instinctively, never looking away from you.

You began to rub him over his pants, and Sasuke inwardly cursed himself for how quickly he hardened—though for you, it only made you wetter, proud of the effect you had on him.

He gasped as your hand slipped into his pants, bypassing his underwear to wrap around him directly. When you felt him twitch, precum already smearing against your palm, your lips parted with a soft moan and you leaned in to kiss him. Sasuke responded instantly, letting your tongue slip into his mouth.

Usually, he was the one in control… of everything. But now? He felt powerless under your touch, groaning into your kiss as he brought a hand behind your head, urging you closer, hungrier.

He was speechless when you finally pulled back, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. You licked your lips slowly, tasting him. Still, you were craving another flavor on your tongue.

Sasuke’s eyes widened when you sank to your knees in front of him.

“Y/N?”

You only smirked, your gaze dangerously stilling him.

You undressed him with slow intention, peeling away both layers of his clothing until his hardened cock sprang free. A blush crept up his neck as he instinctively tried to shield himself, but your ravenous eyes refused to let him hide.

Your teasing voice followed, just as your tongue traced a line from base to tip before licking the precum glistening at the head and drawing it into your mouth.

“Is it that hard for my baby to watch me?” you mocked gently, not allowing him the space to retort, because as soon as he opened his mouth to do so, you began tapping his cock against your tongue, holding his stare. “Mm, missed it so much in my mouth. But I don’t think I can if you keep hiding…”

You feigned a pout, and Sasuke scowled at his own weakness. But it was yours to wield and seeing this version of you awakened something dangerous in him.

He dropped his hand from his face, his breath uneven. It only worsened as you took him in your mouth, inch by inch. He groaned, head tipping back, the sound only spurring you to take him deeper.

He lifted his head to look at you then as your lips stretched around him andeyes fluttering. Sasuke’s breath was shallow, those dark onyx irises sharpening with arousal.

You moaned around him, sending vibrations down his veined cock, making his hands tremble at his sides. As you cupped his full, aching balls, he bucked involuntarily, causing you to choke.

“S-sorry—”

But his apology meant nothing, because your cunt throbbed the moment he did it. To show him, you started stroking him with your mouth, struggling to take his length into your throat. The more you gagged, the more your noises drove him wild, watching how much you relished choking on him.

You pulled off with a wet pop, stroking him slowly as you smiled, your lips glossy with spit and precum that dripped down to your chin.

“Fuck my throat how you want, baby. I want it so bad to ease your stress this way.” You kissed the tip, looking up with pleading eyes. “Do you want to fuck my face, Sasuke?”

Sasuke was gone, overtaken by the primal voice inside him, no longer restrained.

“Y-yeah? You want to choke on my dick that bad?” His voice low as he began grinding slowly on your face and you moaned with your tongue out. “Your mouth was made to take my stress, Y/N?”

He grabbed his cock and slapped it against your tongue and cheek, making you shift your legs together, whimpering for any relief. You loved this side of him, the one he usually kept buried. But you were too good a tease not to draw it out.

“Yes, baby—Mhm, please let me suck you—”

Your plea was muffled as he pushed himself back into your mouth, shutting you up, his hands gripping your hair and pulling you into motion. You opened wider, struggling to accommodate him while your hands steadied against his thighs.

Sasuke started thrusting into your throat, pulling all the way out only to slam back in. Tears filled your eyes as his tip repeatedly forced its way deep. You tried to keep pace, but he was in full control now, fucking your face with rough, relentless rhythm.

He cursed at the sight of your lips wrapped around him, but even more so at the way you began to grope your own breasts, moaning into him.

He pulled out suddenly, letting you gasp for air as he yanked up his shirt—his favorite one on you—revealing your swollen, needy chest. He massaged them as you kissed the tip of his cock, then tugged on your nipples until you cried out, using the opportunity to bury himself in your mouth once more.

“Y-you’re fucking insane.” He groaned as you sucked him eagerly, chasing his release. “G-good. Don’t stop—b-baby.”

Your pussy clenched at the name he rarely voiced. You stayed still, letting him guide your head rhythmically up and down.

“Look at me.” Sasuke’s raspy voice commanded your tearful eyes back to his. His grip tightened, slamming once more into your throat and staying there, letting your muscles tighten around him. “That’s it, Y/N—F-fuck!”

You felt his thick release erupt in your throat, swallowing as much as you could until it spilled over your chin and onto your breasts. His eyes never left yours, especially as he fed you all of his release, finally unburdened.

His body gradually eased, grounding himself in your presence as he slipped from your swollen lips. Still, you chased him, licking him clean, his seed glimmering on your face.

Sasuke hissed at the sensitivity, his chest tight with something that wasn’t just arousal. His hand loosened in your hair, then gently moved to cup your cheek.

Eventually, he stopped you and helped you rise, as you smiling softly when you leaned into him. One hand pressed to your back, guiding you into his arms, the other lifted your chin so he could kiss you slowly, sensually, purring all the silent gratitude.

Suddenly, he swept you off your feet, drawing a surprised yelp that turned into a soft laugh.

“Sasuke!! You’re tired, you don’t need to—”

He silenced you with a kiss to your temple and a firmer grip on your body as he ascended the stairs.

Sasuke looked at you with a depth of love that darkened the black of his eyes—those hypnotic eyes you could never stop falling into.

“Not anymore. Now it’s my time.”

Your body burned inside at the promise, one he would most certainly keep.

After all, Sasuke was a man of his word.