thinking about coming home from a long day at work to boyfriend dick grayson running you a bath.
he eases you out of your clothes, pressing tender kisses to your tired shoulders while whispering quiet reassurances against your skin. “i love you” and “i missed you so much” and “let me take care of you baby”
dick eases you into the warm, soapy water. he kneels beside the tub, lathering your favourite body wash into his hands.
each stroke of his hands has tension easing from your tired body. thoughts about work flee to the back of your mind as you focus on dick. his gaze is soft but attentive, gentle concern swirling in those pretty blue eyes. he doesn’t like it when you get stressed.
he doesn’t ask you questions about your day, not yet. not when he knows you just want to exist here with him, to momentarily forget you could ever be anywhere else than by his side.
dick moves on to wash your hair, humming gently to himself. his hands feel so good in your hair, fingers massaging your scalp, that a soft moan is pulled from your lips. your eyes flutter open, embarrassment warming your cheeks, but dick only gives you a soft smile.
he helps you out of the bath and wraps a soft towel around your body. dick uses another towel to dry off your hair, pausing occasionally to press his lips to your neck and shoulders.
your shared bedroom is a welcomed sanctuary. you’ve been longing for your bed all day and dick knows it.
he unhooks the towel and it drops to the floor, then he kisses you, soft and tentative. and when you melt into him, craving the relief of his body on yours? dick hums, low and satisfied, and eases you onto the bed.
his body covers yours, hand moving between your thighs. you gasp, arching into him as he works you with loving touches.
dicks mouth moves between kissing yours and nibble on the sensitive skin on your neck. he forgets about his own needs, the strain in his sweatpants, his sole focus on you.
your orgasm isn’t mind blowing. it’s a crest of pleasure, the release of tension. all your stress’s and worry’s fade out, replaced by the quiet intimacy of the bedroom, the sound of dick’s soft praises.
and afterwards, when your limbs are too heavy to move, your body too relaxed, dick brings you a plate of your comfort food.
he listens to you quietly rant about your day, and somehow says all the right things. when you grow tired he curls under the covers with you, wrapping you up in his warmth.
you fall asleep with dicks breath on the nape of your neck, his hand tracing absent patterns on your stomach. warmed by more than just his touch.
in which dick grayson cannot keep it in his pants.
pairing: dick grayson x f!reader
cw: 18+ mdni, dry humping, oral (f!recieving), dick grayson is needy, established relationship
a/n: this one is a little rushed and short but life has been throwing sand in my eyes and my creativity has momentarily shriveled up and died :’)
⭒
It’s a nice night, for Bludhaven standards. The usual rain hammering against the windows, sure, but inside your apartment it’s warm and safe.
And Dick is here.
Every inch of Dick’s body is pressed to yours as he devours your mouth. His warm hands cup your cheeks, the gentle brush of his thumbs against your skin a stark contrast to the consuming way his tongue tangles with yours. Your own hands are fisted in his sweater, hanging on for dear life.
Dick breaks the kiss to plant his lips on your neck, kissing and whimpering against your skin. His hips are working against your thigh, barely-there movements he’s not fully conscious of.
“Fuck… I can’t-“ His voice shudders against your ear, his body caving towards yours. “You’re so sweet. Gonna make me come just like this, baby.”
You peer up at his face, and sure enough his pupils are blown, eyes glassy in that telltale sign of an impending orgasm.
Dick’s going to come in his pants just from kissing you.
You drag a hand through his hair, drawing him down enough to kiss over his adams apple, rewarded with his groan.
“Shit baby.” He gives up all pretence, hands gripping your hips hard as he works himself against you. It’s not enough, but Dick knows he’s not going to last long enough to get inside of you.
You path a map from his jaw to the sensitive skin beneath his ear, teeth dragging over his skin.
Dick shudders, whimpering your name as he comes undone. He works himself through it, arm banding around your shoulders to hold you close.
He rests his forehead against yours, a breathless chuckle warming your lips. “That’s embarrassing.”
Your laugh mirrors his own, but it hitches in your chest when he kneels down before you. “Dick?”
His grins at the sound of his name on your lips, hands sliding up your calves to your thighs. “Let me make it up to you.” He murmurs, fingers hooking in your sleep shorts.
Dick eases you out of your shorts and panties together, lips worshiping the bare skin of your legs.
He meets your gaze, searching for permission in your eyes.
When he finds it he finally puts his mouth on you. Every flick of his tongue is an apology for coming too fast.
“You’re so sweet.” He takes a moment to catch his breath and check in on you, his lips wet with your juices. “So sweet baby.”
Your hands slide into the soft strands of his hair as he takes you higher, higher.
Pleasure crests, spreading from your belly to your toes. Your orgasm is a sweet oblivion, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.
Dick holds you steady, hands firm on your thighs until they stop trembling. His grin when he stands is somehow both smug and bashful. He loops his arm around your waist and kisses your forehead. “Okay?”
“Okay.” You confirm quietly. You’re still a little breathless, but Dick doesn’t seem to mind.
He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I feel like a horny teenager.”
You laugh softly and shake your head. “It’s hot.”
“Oh?” Dick’s grin grows, his hands sliding down to hook under your thighs. He picks you up with a gleam in his eyes. “You think it’s hot, baby?”
Despite his teasing, Dick takes you to bed only to gently lay you down beneath the covers. He settles above you, his head finding its place just below your collarbone. That little space by your heart carved out just for him.
“I’ll make it up to you properly in the morning.” He promises, his voice already heavy with sleep.
You can only smile and tuck the blankets up a little higher over his back, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of his head. “Sure you will.”
In which Dick makes up for letting you grow bored.
pairing: dick grayson x f!reader
cw: 18+ mdni, smut, established relationship, explicit sexual content (piv sex, dry humping, fingering), some fluff
a/n: wrote this while procrastinating an assessment :’) also can you guys tell i like hozier ? his lyrics make great fic titles :3
reblogs greatly appreciated <3
—
“Kiss me?”
“What?” Dick glances up from his laptop, blinking at you across the couch.
“Kiss me?” You ask again, staring idly at the ceiling.
He’s been working on some case for hours, and you’ve long since grown bored.
“You want me to kiss you?” He asks, sounding soft and surprised. He closes his laptop and sets it aside, and you know you’ve got him. He can never resist.
The couch shifts and then he’s hovering over you, dopey smile on his face.
“Hello.” He hums, his eyes glimmering with tender affection. “What’s this about a kiss?”
You open your mouth to give him some grumbled retort, but he cuts you off before you can even start.
He slides a hand into your hair and kisses you, so deeply you feel it in every inch of your body. His knees nudge your legs apart, then he’s lowering himself so that you can feel every hard plane of him.
Dick kisses you until you’re breathless, only pulling back when he draws that first moan from your lips, soft and sweet.
You catch a glimpse of his satisfied smile before he’s ducking his face into your neck. You gasp, hands sliding into his hair as he kisses and sucks at the sensitive skin.
He’s working his hips against yours, and you’re not even sure that he’s aware of it. Each slow drag and nudge has heat pooling low in your core.
Once Dick’s satisfied with the mess he’s made of your neck he pulls back, his pupils blown when his eyes meet yours.
Dick’s smile is soft and teasing when he grinds against you just to see you squirm. Your back arches against your will, head tipping back against the couch.
“Bed?” He asks, his voice a soft hum. It’s unfair how composed he is when you can feel every inch of his cock dragging against you.
You barely get time to nod before he’s scooping you up. He holds you against him, your arms around his neck and legs around his waist.
You take advantage of the moment and bring your lips to his neck, kissing and nibbling the sensitive skin.
Dick groans and his pace stutters. He presses you against the wall of the hallway, just outside the bedroom door.
One of his hands moves down to securely hold your waist, then he’s grinding his hips into yours.
Dick sets a slow, tantalising pace. You have half the mind to be grateful for your own choice in lounge wear. Your pants are loose and thin, already damp, so you can feel the outline of his cock as he rocks against you.
You slide a hand back into his hair and Dick leans into it, tipping his head back into your touch.
“Feels good.” You tell him, breathless and soft. Dick nods his agreement, dropping his forehead to rest against yours.
You drag a hand down his chest, easing it into his sweatpants. His hips stutter when you wrap your hand around his cock.
You swipe your thumb over his tip, collecting the precum that’s beading there. He twitches in your hand, and groans when you start stroking him.
“Fuck” He sighs, eyes shut in pure bliss. He rocks into your hand, “‘s good, baby.”
Dick’s grip on your hips tightens, and he slowly walks you into your bedroom.
He gently tosses you onto the bed, smile back on his face as he looks you over. Your hair is mused from his touch, and your pants are damp from your mutual arousal.
Dick pulls his shirt up and off, and you rake your gaze over his body. He quickly kicks off his sweatpants and boxers, laughing at the hunger in your eyes.
You almost start drooling at the sight of his cock. He’s so hard you’re sure it aches, but he certainly isn’t complaining.
Joining in his laughter, you kick off your own pants and pull off your shirt. Dick crawls over you and you make room for him between your thighs. “Yeah?” He asks softly, always sure to seek your consent.
“Yeah.” You tell him, soft and breathless. “Please.”
He smiles, love and desire swirling in his gaze, a heady combination. Hands bracing either side of you, Dick drags his cock against your aching pussy. You both moan in unison.
“Need to be inside you.” He murmurs against your cheek. “Please.”
You nod, and he lowers a hand and drags two knuckles over your damp panties. Your hips twitch, but he doesn’t linger to tease.
Dick eases your panties off, kissing your lifted legs as he does so. Then he’s back between your thighs, and he wastes no time.
His tip finds your entrance, and he pushes forward slowly. You gasp against his lips, hands gripping his biceps. “Thats it.” He sighs, nose brushing yours. “You can take me, baby. Just like that.”
The slow drag against your walls is torture, but it’s worth it when he finally bottoms out.
Dick holds still above you, letting you adjust. Then he’s slowly pulls all the way out, lets his tip nudge your clit, then thrusts back in. “Good?” He asks, sounding far too smug. Your answering moan spurs him on.
He finds a steady rhythm, slow and deep. His eyes stay on your face as he searches for the right angle.
Dick lowers one hand to grip your thigh, pushing your knees back towards the bed. The position brings him closer, deeper. He angles his hips and-
You cry out his name, each thrust sending waves of pleasure up your body. “Yeah?” He picks up his pace, fascinated by your pleasure, determined to make you come. “Like that?”
Your pleasure builds hot and fast, and all you can do is cling to him as he builds a relentless pace. His own breathing is heavy, and you can feel each of his moans reverberating through his chest and into yours.
Dick chokes out your name, and your orgasm hits you. White hot pleasure spills through your body, stars dancing behind your eyelids.
He slows down to work you through it, murmuring your name like a prayer.
When your gaze finds his again Dick begins to speed up, chasing his own release. He puts a hand on your lower stomach, eyes closing in pleasure when he feels himself filling you.
“Feel that?” He pants, pushing closer.
You nod, dazed as you watch him. “‘m so full.”
Your words wash over him, pushing him over the edge. Dick pushes in deep as he comes, feeling your walls clench around him.
His pace slows to a stop, and he holds himself still for a moment.
When his eyes flutter open and meet yours he smiles, unbearably fond. He pulls out of you, humming at your soft noise of protest.
“So pretty.” Dick murmurs, gaze on the mess between your thighs. He runs a finger between your folds, catching his dripping come.
He pushes his come back inside you with his finger, humming when you twitch around him.
Dick curls his finger, his eyes darting up to your face. When all he sees is pleasure he quickens his pace.
“Is that good, baby?” He coos, slowly fucking you with his finger. He brings his thumb to your clit, circling it while his finger curls.
Your second orgasm comes quickly, but it’s just as good as the first. He talks you through it with soft praises.
Dick shifts to lay beside you, and you curl into his open arms. “Okay?” He asks softly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
“Yeah.” You sigh, warm and content. His fingers trace absent patterns over your back.
“I’m sorry for ignoring you earlier.” Dick murmurs. You lift your head, ready to protest his apology, but he kisses you before you can get a word out.
“Let’s order dinner tonight.” He whispers against your lips. “Then maybe a movie?”
cw: dick grayson x gn!reader, dick grayson is in dire need of therapy and a hug, hurt and comfort
a/n: my last post was about Dick comforting reader, so obviously i have to balance things out.
—
There is nothing Dick hates more than making you worry about him. He loves you endlessly, and of course he trusts you with his secret identity, he just… he hates worrying you.
Even when his body feels broken, even when he feels like he’s on the verge of falling apart. He’s good at hiding it, at shoving the pain down deep inside himself where it festers.
Sometimes it weighs him down, the tight vault he keeps it all locked in cracks under pressure, fissures forcing their way to the surface. It overflows, rarely, but it’s messy when it happens. The light in him dims, and he slowly slips away.
Tonight was rough on him. It started bad and ended worse. His body feels broken, his mind fractured.
He stumbles into your shared apartment through the window you always leave unlocked for him. He tries to be quiet, he really does, but his breaths are too loud and his footsteps too heavy.
Dick clutches his side as he makes to the bathroom. He took a bad hit to the ribs, some thug had a crowbar and Dick missed the block. Blood drips from a gash on his brow, stinging his eyes and making them water.
He doesn’t bother with the lights, just makes straight for the shower. Dick tries to get his suit off, but he can’t reach the zips without the sharp pain in his ribs growing unbearable.
Choking on a ragged breath, he forgoes getting undressed and gets into the shower fully suited. The water’s cold, running red down the drain as it rinses off his blood and the grime of the city. Leaning against the tiled wall, he tries desperately to mend the seams.
But try all he might, the darkness rises, slipping through the cracks. Dick slumps to the floor of the shower, curled up in the corner, and lets it swallow him whole.
Sleep threatens to pull you back under as you lie waiting. You had heard him come in, apparently his stealth had expired for the night, and you want to be awake when he joins you in bed.
You listen to the sound of the shower, warmth slowly filling you at the thought of him curling up into bed with you.
But time starts to drag, the shower is still going, and Dick’s not in bed.
Worry begins to nag at you, replacing the warmth. You drag yourself up and out of bed, crossing to the bathroom. Flicking on the light, you find him curled into himself on the shower floor, and your heart breaks.
You’re quick to cross the room, turning the water off and sinking to your knees just outside the shower. “Dick?” He doesn’t look up, and his eyes are squeezed shut like he’s hiding from something you can’t see.
Your pyjamas grow damp as you scoot closer. “Please, Dick.” You whisper, reaching out to cup his jaw. Dick’s eyes flutter open, but they’re blank.
It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him like this, and for a moment you forget what to do. If you push him too hard he’ll retreat into himself. Your mind scrambles, until you land on a gentle approach. “It’s cold in here.” You whisper. “Come to bed, okay?”
Dick nods absently, your words penetrating the thick haze that has consumed him. His breath leaves his lungs in a hiss as he stands, and he sags against the wall. Your concern grows so thick you can almost taste it, he’s so unlike his usual self that it makes you feel sick.
He’s hurt, that much is obvious, but where? “Dick,” You plead as he pushes past. He’s determined to not be a burden, to be okay so that you won’t worry. “Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me what happened.”
He doesn’t answer, of course, but the way he’s clutching his side gives you some idea. You catch him just inside your bedroom, tugging him to a stop by his wrist. Dick stops and stands with his head hanging low.
Getting him out of his suit is difficult when he’s hurt, soaking wet, and freezing cold. Once he’s bare you get him dressed into his warmest pyjamas. He sits on the edge of the bed, shoulders drooped like a puppet that’s had its strings cut. You kneel in front of him, first aid kit at your side, and get to work on patching up the cut on his brow.
Dick doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. You know he’s lost in his own head, stuck deep in the grief and guilt and whatever else plagues him. Your worry grows so thick it’s almost tangible, bitter in the back of your throat, but you’re scared that expressing it will only make him worse.
Once the cut is cleaned and patched up you sit beside him on the bed. He doesn’t move, so you lean against his good side and rest your cheek on his shoulder, and you wait.
It takes a couple of minutes, which you spend listening to his heavy breaths. Then he somehow slumps even more. “I’m sorry.” Dick whispers.
Your gaze snaps to his face in dismay. You never want him apologising just for feeling, but your protests die on your lips when you see the tears. You reach for him immediately, and his surrender is instant.
The first sob is gut wrenching, that place he keeps everything locked in spilling open, creating a wave of grief. Dick’s tears wet your skin, his hands fisted in the back of your shirt. You only give yourself a second to be surprised, and then you’re rubbing his back and whispering soothing words against his hair.
For a while he’s inconsolable, and all you can do is hold him as he breaks apart.
Eventually his chest stops heaving, his sobs softening into muffled tears.
Dick pulls back and you know he’s going to pull away, to try and bottle it back up and keep it hidden. You reach out and cup his jaw, a hand sliding into his damp hair. Your lips ghost over his forehead and he lets out a shaky exhale.
You gently kiss each closed eyelid, his tears salty on your lips. He tries to apologise again, but you cut it off early by pressing your lips to his.
He melts into you immediately, shaking hands cupping your jaw. He tastes like tears and grief.
You break the kiss to urge him into bed, and he goes willingly. The sheets are still warm from where you slept earlier, and he curls into the space like it was carved out just for him.
You ease in next to him, and he reaches for you instantly. “What happened?” You whisper, when you’re finally certain that he’s not going to retreat into himself.
He buries his face back into your neck, his breath warm on your skin. “Nothing.” He whispers. “Everything. I don’t know.”
Sighing, you slide your hands under his sleep shirt, rubbing the warm skin of his back. He shudders, pulling back enough to meet your gaze.
There’s a sadness in his eyes you rarely ever see. You give him a small smile, and the one he returns is so small and shaky that your breath hitches.
“I got hit with a crowbar.” He whispers, explaining the nasty bruise you saw blossoming on his ribs. “It hurt.”
You hum softly, the sound coaxing him open further. “Sometimes I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing.” He whispers, tone growing solemn. “By you, by everyone.”
“Every night is the same.” He continues, his tone so heavy it weighs you both down. “I’m not making a difference. I go out there and I fight and it’s always the same.”
Your hand abandons the warmth beneath his shirt to cup his jaw. He leans into your touch, like a moth drawn to a flame. “I’m not doing enough.” He chokes out, eyes growing frantic. “I’m not good enough.”
“You’re doing more than anyone else in this city.” You long to convince him of just how good he is. “Crime rate in Bludhaven has gone done by-“
“I don’t care about the crime rate.” His voice cracks, expression crumpling. “People are still getting hurt.”
You draw him back in, knowing words aren’t what he needs right now. His face finds its home where your neck meets your shoulder, and he stays there.
You offer him quiet words of love, tracing mindless patterns over his back. He’s quiet, and still, and soon he falls into a deep sleep, emotionally exhausted.
You wake early the next morning. The bed is empty, cold where Dick’s body should be. Unease simmers low in your belly as you get up and leave the bedroom.
You find him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his head hanging between his shoulders. Dick doesn’t look up until you press against his back, arms easing around his middle. He shifts, turning in your arms, bringing his own around you and resting his cheek atop your head.
“I’m sorry for last night.” He whispers, hands smoothing up your back beneath your shirt.
You shake your head, pulling back to meet his gaze. “You’ve gotta stop bottling things up, Dick.” You say gently. “It only hurts you more.”
He lets out a self deprecating huff. “I don’t like worrying you.” He says quietly, and you know he means it.
Sighing, you cup his cheeks in both hands, bringing him down to your eye level. “Dick,” You start sternly. He smiles, cheeks smooshed, when he hears the endearment in your tone. “What worries me the most is when you breakdown like that, which wouldn’t happen so much if you just let me bear some of it with you.”
He blinks, cheeks flushing. “But I-“
“No. No buts,” You end his excuses before they can even start. Letting go of his face, you press one hand against his chest, over his drumming heart. “Let me in.”
His breath hitches and leaves him in a rush. “You are in, that’s the problem.” He whispers, voice so tender it makes your chest ache.
He pulls you into his arms again, more for his own comfort than yours. “I promise.” He whispers against your shoulder. “I promise to let you bear it with me.”
hey wiggles my toes what if dink x gn reader who got slipped something in drink at bar and taking care of reader who is just so like: woah… stoned lololol
hi hi, thank you for the request :) i’m hoping i hit the mark 🫡
club rescue
cw: dick grayson x gn!reader, mentions of vomiting, drugs, alcohol.
—
The club throbs around you. Lights, people, music, all melting together, beating in time with the growing pounding in your head.
Your last drink sours in the back of your throat. You don’t remember having enough for the ground to feel unsteady beneath your feet, but you must have, right?
Pulling your phone from your pocket, you cling to the bar as the screen swims in front of you. You struggle to open your messages, and it’s almost impossible to find Dick’s name in the haze.
Biting your cheek in concentration, nose in your phone, you find him finally. You smile in triumph, opening the chat and telling him you’re ready to be picked up.
Hi, I’m ready to go was the intended message.
H.., reafu t go is what Dick receives.
Proud of yourself for the accomplishment, you tuck your phone back into your bag, attention shifting back to the club. You keep a death grip on the edge of the bar, so as to not get swept away by the thrumming atmosphere.
It takes you several moments to notice the person leaning beside you. Talking to you.
“Hmm?” You blink, squinting. You know it’s not Dick, it’s not pretty enough to be Dick. And Dick smells nice, like that cologne you got him for his birthday. Dick doesn’t smell like sweat and cheap aftershave.
Dick doesn’t look at you like that, either.
The stranger reaches out, his hand settles on your waist. You still can’t hear hear him, but even in this state you’re smart enough to recognise the gleam in his eyes.
His gaze shifts to the bar, only briefly, but there’s enough malice in the glance to set off alarm bells in your foggy mind.
Your drink.
“I think I need some air.” Your words are slurred, but panic drives you onward. Pushing away from the bar, you stumble. The stranger grabs your wrist, too tight, and hauls you against him.
You try to shove him off, but his grip is too strong. He guides you across the club, moving through the bodies like he’s done this countless times before. The thought makes you feel sick.
The cold air outside hits you like a punch, stinging your lungs as you gulp it down desperately.
The man is hailing a taxi, distracted enough to loosen his hold on you. You lurch out of his arms, stumbling away. You think you might be crying.
You collide with someone and the impact makes your head ache. Mumbling a slurred apology, you push past and-
The smell of his cologne washes over you. Warm, safe. You stop, immediately, and his arms ease around your trembling body.
Dick doesn’t say anything yet, not even as you choke on a sob against his chest. His gaze is on the man fleeing into the cab, the sound of his address slipping out onto the street.
Dick has half the mind to go after him now, but no, later. Right now…
“Hey, hey…” His voice is unbearably gentle, breath warm against your ear. “You’re okay, I’m here.”
He keeps a solid arm around your shoulders as he gently guides you to where his car waits down the block. You’re inconsolable in his arms, the panic and the relief overwhelming.
Dick’s quick to get you settled in the passenger seat, crouching on the pavement as he holds a bottle of water to your lips.
Dick had known he’d be picking you up tonight. He’d been prepared to deal with the drunk you, to give you water and hold back your hair, and to nurse you through your hangover the next morning.
But then he got your text, and he panicked. You’re not irresponsible, to get so drunk when you’re out on your own.
So yeah, maybe he ran a red light to get to the club quicker. And maybe he spent the drive thinking of the worst case scenarios, but that doesn’t matter now. You’re here, you’re safe, and you’re probably going to have one hell of a night.
And sure enough, you’re only halfway back to your shared apartment when he’s swerving to the curb, and you’re hurtling out of the passenger seat to expel whatever toxins are thrumming through your body.
Dick’s by your side immediately, holding back your hair and rubbing your lower back. You lean against him, and he has no qualms about holding you up.
You make it back into his car, stomach settled, mind swirling. You haven’t gotten high since you were a teenager, one green out was one too many, but you swear this is what that feels like.
Dick almost laughs when he sees you with your nose pressed against the window, staring up at Bludhaven’s neon lights, but the what-ifs of the night weigh the sound down.
It’s an effort to get you upstairs and into the apartment. Dick ends up carrying you, his nose pressed to your temple as he whispers soft reassurances.
He sets up camp in the bathroom. A towel for your knees in front of the toilet, plenty of water, and some ibuprofen on standby.
For a while you’re okay, a little stoned, maybe. He holds you in his lap on the floor, leaning against the bathroom counter, as you go on and on about how much you love him.
Dick listens intently, combing your hair away from your forehead, gently rubbing your lower back. He’s vigilant, not knowing what was in your drink. The worry sits so thick in his throat he feels as though he might choke on it.
“You smell good.” You tell him, for the fifth time since planting yourself in his lap. He nods, a tender smile pulling at his lips.
“Do I?” He hums, to which you nod fervently. He settles the movement with his hand on the nape of your neck, not wanting you to get dizzy.
Dick’s free hand moves up, to brush his thumb across your chin. The tender motion brushes away anything else you might have babbled.
“You scared me.” He tells you gently. He’s not angry at you, never at you, but the shame still wells up.
As though sensing it, Dick pulls you closer. His lips are warm and soft against your forehead, a promise and a reminder all in one. He lets out a shaky exhale, his breath warm across your own lips as he presses his forehead to yours.
“I’m sorry.” You tell him, your gaze locked on the worry swirling in those beautiful blue eyes. His lashes flutter, captivating and unfairly long.
You watch his lips move for a beat, until you realise he’s speaking. “…feel sick?” Dick’s words are soft, more gentle than you’ve ever heard when he repeats what you didn’t hear. “Do you still feel sick?”
You nod faintly, still lost in the beauty that is him. Dick only sighs, guiding your forehead to his neck. He holds you there, tucked against him, slowly rubbing your back.
When you lurch against him minutes later he helps you to the toilet. He rests his forehead to your shoulder and holds your waist. “I love you.” Dick tells you, “You’re okay. You’ll be okay.”
When you’re done throwing up anything but spit Dick guides you to the shower, washing away the reminders of the night.
In bed he holds you, soothing each shiver with gentle words and soft touches. In the morning Dick’s ready with water and ibuprofen, and a gentle lecture about watching your own drink.
cw: 18+ mdni, smut, established relationship, explicit sexual content (oral - m!receiving)
—
You kiss each scar scattered across his stomach, tracking the constellations only you know. Beneath you Dick is still, quiet. His mind is far away, still lurking in the shadows of bludhaven.
He’s grown tan after the summer, the line beneath his hips stark after an impromptu trip to the beach. You kiss the contrast softly, easing his boxers down his thighs.
A gentle nip to his thigh draws his gaze. You wait patiently for him to clock back into the moment, to drag his mind back to your shared bedroom.
Dick’s hand gliding into your hair tells you he’s here, with you at last. You settle your attention back onto his body, gently pressing your lips to his inner thigh.
His soft gasp above you tells you he’s wanting. His thumb brushes the delicate skin behind your ear as you kiss and nibble his thighs, like he can’t bear to not be touching you too.
Hands on his thighs, you feel the tension slowly drain from his body as you make your way to where he needs you.
He’s already hard, leaking against his stomach. You meet his gaze again, searching for his consent. He gives it to you in a breathless nod, before dropping his head to the pillow beneath him.
His skin is warm when you take his base in your hand, tasting salt on your tongue as you lick up the underside of his cock. Dick’s breath hitches, his cock twitching in your grip.
Heat pools in your belly as you watch the bead of precum gather at his tip, but you ignore it. Tonight isn’t about you.
Not one for teasing him when he’s like this, you lean forward to taste his tip. He whimpers when you press your tongue into his slit, and groans when you swirl it.
There’s no need to take him deep down your throat. Dick is all about touch, sensations, and he prefers it when you’re comfortable.
You lap at the salty drops of his precum, listening to him moan.
It doesn’t take long until his hand slips from your hair to brush your jaw. His thumb wipes away a bead of spit from your chin, drawing your gaze upwards. You meet his eyes, faltering as you take him in.
He’s beautiful, truly. Pupils so blown his eyes almost look black, cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of pink.
He’s going to come, but he can’t unless you’re looking at him. So you keep your eyes on his, conveying every ounce of love and trust with just a look.
He chokes out your name in warning, giving you ample opportunity to pull away. You don’t. You never do. His come hits your tongue, and you swallow it down easily, greedy for each drop.
His hand is back on your chin when he can take no more of it, this time guiding you up. You crawl up the bed, into his open arms. His hand finds the back of your head, drawing you down to press his lips to your forehead.
“I love you.” He whispers, tired and grateful. You smile, basking in it. He pulls the covers up, settling them over your bodies. “I love you.” He whispers again, this time against your lips.
And you do not doubt it, because there is no room for doubt in the space between you.
Lidded eyes, shaggy hair still damp from the shower. He didn’t bother getting dressed, couldn’t see a point to it.
Dick still smells faintly of the city, the cold rust that comes with prowling Bludhaven’s streets. But underneath that is something so distinctly him.
You’re tired, pulled from the depths of sleep by his tender touches. His hand smooths up your back, over the curve of your hip. You sigh as his lips press warmly against your shoulder.
“Hi.” Dick’s voice carries a softness only you get to hear, tinged with a touch of heaviness.
You can tell he’s had a bad night. Winter’s been harsh on him. Punches hit a lot harder when you’re freezing your ass off.
Dick craves physical contact like it’s his tether to reality. He needs it. Needs the reminder that there’s something warm and soft in the world. Something that’s his.
His hands are tentative, his mouth leaving a trail of wet kisses cross your nape. He presses his body to your side like he’s seeking your warmth. The feel of him half hard against your thigh pulls you into lucidity.
“Hi.” Tender, like you know he needs to be cared for. “You okay?”
His response is a shaky exhale against your neck, a nudge of his nose as he nods. You read him easily. Physically yes, mentally maybe not so much.
You roll onto your back, and he easily takes up the space above you. He puts little effort into holding himself up, his weight pressing you into the mattress.
“Missed you baby.” The softness of your voice pulls a soft moan from his lips. He needs this, needs you.
His hair is soft when you lace your fingers through it, cupping the back of his head. You draw him in, watching his eyes flutter shut at the proximity.
Noses brushing together, his voice is a whisper against your lips. “Need you.”
You don’t hesitate to kiss him, mouth moving against his in a way that takes the weight of his shoulders. He lets you control the kiss, sinking further into you.
He’s fully hard now, hips nudging against you, his whimpers pouring into your mouth. Heat stirs in your belly, and when you wrap your legs around his waist he glides against your folds.
The kiss breaks as you both gasp. Dick stares at you like you hung the stars, and you feel as though you might have when his tip nudges your clit.
Stroking your fingers through his hair, you watch the pleasure on his face as he rocks against you. He looks worn, but softer now that he’s against you.
“Feels good, baby.” Your voice is a soft coo that has his hips stuttering. “‘m so wet.” He whimpers, trying with the least amount of effort to angle himself inside you. You pepper his face with kisses, your lips tugged in a smile.
“That’s it,” You sigh as his tip finally finds your entrance. “Need you baby.”
Dick curses softly, forehead falling against yours as his hips move in shallow thrusts. He’s aching for you, your body clenching on his tip like you’re trying to pull him in.
He groans softly, pushing into you in one slow thrust. You swear you see stars, can feel every thick inch of him from your toes to your fingertips.
Dick fits in you perfectly, like he was made to be there. He lies motionless for a moment, and you begin to think that maybe that was all it took to do him in. But then he’s rolling his hips, making you feel every drag of his throbbing cock against your walls.
“That’s it baby.” Your words are soft, but they’re what he needs to find the strength to keep going. Every thrust draws a soft noise from his lips, the sounds buried against your neck.
You can feel every inch of him as he moves, the friction tantalising. His hand finds yours beside your shoulder, fingers threading together. It’s intimate, and slow, the type of sex that feels heavy for all the right reasons. He’s exhausted, it’s evident in the way he barely lifts his hips to make love to you.
But he needs it, you know he does. So you urge him onto his back, settling yourself on his lap.
You watch his eyes roll into the back of his head, his throat bared to you as you slowly ride him. It’s easier for both of you this way.
He comes with a soft whimper, his back arching and his eyes fluttering shut. You chase your own release, before easing above him. He’s beautiful, hair a mess, eyes blissfully shut. You move off him and he moans, blinding reaching for you. He curls into your arms, far easier than a man his size should.
He falls asleep with your hand in his hair, whispering your name and his love against your skin.
—
an: my first fic (yayy). this has been collecting dust in my notes app since forever, so i’m glad she’s finally seeing the light of day. pls pls feel free to interact :)
this has me losing my mindddd omg i love how you write dick like this is the exact kind of kind softness and tenderness he'd bring to an intimate relationship, that his desperate wanting would appear so gentle in the night, as some whispered need rather than boisterous display, which he has those moments too, but he's always been a much more softer romantic and goddd u did not shy away from that here :')
everything about this is so so so perfect too like the way you write is so gentle and warm, it really does feel like this love letter tucked under a pillow only to be read at blue hour or something it truly has me soooo enamored im desperately in love with his :'0
but also i haveee to speak on my favorite part because it captures such a beautiful detail of his character and of this softness that carries the entirety of this fic:
“Hi.” Dick’s voice carries a softness only you get to hear, tinged with a touch of heaviness.
You can tell he’s had a bad night. Winter’s been harsh on him. Punches hit a lot harder when you’re freezing your ass off.
Dick craves physical contact like it’s his tether to reality. He needs it. Needs the reminder that there’s something warm and soft in the world. Something that’s his.
His hands are tentative, his mouth leaving a trail of wet kisses cross your nape. He presses his body to your side like he’s seeking your warmth. The feel of him half hard against your thigh pulls you into lucidity.
like the fact that he comes softly as a lover who wants to be buried in the arms of love and the warmth of that kind of devoted grace, and that he wants all this as a way to ground himself in reality, to not lose himself in the unraveling of his own mind's traps of the world ugh it's just so so so beautiful and the way u wrote it speaks so evidently to that kindness and tenderness im sooo in love :')
Lidded eyes, shaggy hair still damp from the shower. He didn’t bother getting dressed, couldn’t see a point to it.
Dick still smells faintly of the city, the cold rust that comes with prowling Bludhaven’s streets. But underneath that is something so distinctly him.
You’re tired, pulled from the depths of sleep by his tender touches. His hand smooths up your back, over the curve of your hip. You sigh as his lips press warmly against your shoulder.
“Hi.” Dick’s voice carries a softness only you get to hear, tinged with a touch of heaviness.
You can tell he’s had a bad night. Winter’s been harsh on him. Punches hit a lot harder when you’re freezing your ass off.
Dick craves physical contact like it’s his tether to reality. He needs it. Needs the reminder that there’s something warm and soft in the world. Something that’s his.
His hands are tentative, his mouth leaving a trail of wet kisses cross your nape. He presses his body to your side like he’s seeking your warmth. The feel of him half hard against your thigh pulls you into lucidity.
“Hi.” Tender, like you know he needs to be cared for. “You okay?”
His response is a shaky exhale against your neck, a nudge of his nose as he nods. You read him easily. Physically yes, mentally maybe not so much.
You roll onto your back, and he easily takes up the space above you. He puts little effort into holding himself up, his weight pressing you into the mattress.
“Missed you baby.” The softness of your voice pulls a soft moan from his lips. He needs this, needs you.
His hair is soft when you lace your fingers through it, cupping the back of his head. You draw him in, watching his eyes flutter shut at the proximity.
Noses brushing together, his voice is a whisper against your lips. “Need you.”
You don’t hesitate to kiss him, mouth moving against his in a way that takes the weight of his shoulders. He lets you control the kiss, sinking further into you.
He’s fully hard now, hips nudging against you, his whimpers pouring into your mouth. Heat stirs in your belly, and when you wrap your legs around his waist he glides against your folds.
The kiss breaks as you both gasp. Dick stares at you like you hung the stars, and you feel as though you might have when his tip nudges your clit.
Stroking your fingers through his hair, you watch the pleasure on his face as he rocks against you. He looks worn, but softer now that he’s against you.
“Feels good, baby.” Your voice is a soft coo that has his hips stuttering. “‘m so wet.” He whimpers, trying with the least amount of effort to angle himself inside you. You pepper his face with kisses, your lips tugged in a smile.
“That’s it,” You sigh as his tip finally finds your entrance. “Need you baby.”
Dick curses softly, forehead falling against yours as his hips move in shallow thrusts. He’s aching for you, your body clenching on his tip like you’re trying to pull him in.
He groans softly, pushing into you in one slow thrust. You swear you see stars, can feel every thick inch of him from your toes to your fingertips.
Dick fits in you perfectly, like he was made to be there. He lies motionless for a moment, and you begin to think that maybe that was all it took to do him in. But then he’s rolling his hips, making you feel every drag of his throbbing cock against your walls.
“That’s it baby.” Your words are soft, but they’re what he needs to find the strength to keep going. Every thrust draws a soft noise from his lips, the sounds buried against your neck.
You can feel every inch of him as he moves, the friction tantalising. His hand finds yours beside your shoulder, fingers threading together. It’s intimate, and slow, the type of sex that feels heavy for all the right reasons. He’s exhausted, it’s evident in the way he barely lifts his hips to make love to you.
But he needs it, you know he does. So you urge him onto his back, settling yourself on his lap.
You watch his eyes roll into the back of his head, his throat bared to you as you slowly ride him. It’s easier for both of you this way.
He comes with a soft whimper, his back arching and his eyes fluttering shut. You chase your own release, before easing above him. He’s beautiful, hair a mess, eyes blissfully shut. You move off him and he moans, blinding reaching for you. He curls into your arms, far easier than a man his size should.
He falls asleep with your hand in his hair, whispering your name and his love against your skin.
—
an: my first fic (yayy). this has been collecting dust in my notes app since forever, so i’m glad she’s finally seeing the light of day. pls pls feel free to interact :)
tags. journalist reader, best friends in luv, unrequited requited, detective dick cause i love him, subtle angst
— blatant repost from my old acc, title from lybmha by laufey :((
“I can’t make it to dinner tonight.”
Dick scratches the underside of his jaw, wincing when his nails ghost over the tender spot where he nicked himself shaving days earlier. Your stress comes crackling through the telephone’s shitty speaker as a staticky, crushed-glass sigh.
“Bad day at the office?”
He contorts to hold the receiver between his ear and shoulder, ignoring the looks his coworkers send him. He supposes that he must be a sight to see, tipped back in his chair, case documents teetering on the knife’s edge of spilling out of a manila folder in one hand, the other twirling the cord of the landline around his finger.
“The worst,” you agree with another sigh. It must be the fifth time you’ve done that in the past minute, and if Dick closes his eyes tight enough, he can imagine you in front of him, dragging your hand down your face. “They want my column in print tomorrow—not Monday—and this fuck-ass editor is crossing out everything in my doc.”
You mutter something about what fucking loaded language and it’s a goddamn opinion piece while Dick shoves his case folder into the depths of some dark cabinet and starts clearing the mess of reports on his desk until he unearths the collection of takeout menus pinned under the keyboard of his computer.
If you can’t make it to dinner, Dick could just take dinner to you.
He weighs his options; you’re probably not in the mood for pizza or burgers, and Chinese gets crossed off because you don’t work well on an oily stomach. Vietnamese is out of question too, you had that last week; this leaves Mediterranean and Italian, both of which are too far a drive for him to even bother. The food would get cold before he’d manage to make it up to your apartment.
(His coworkers think it’s strange that he has dinner dates with his best friend every week. Just friends, they laugh, you’ll be saying that even after you’re married. Dick doesn’t think anything about it— you’ve never thought anything of the teasing, so he won’t either.)
“When’s the last time you got up and took a walk?” he questions, grabbing a pen and scribbling a quick grocery list onto the palm of his hand. The ink runs out midway through a ‘t’ with a pop, leaving a big blot on his skin. The pen soars into the trash without a single beat passing and Dick keeps scribbling on with another in a different color. “Let the blood go back to your brain. Take a long, hot shower or something.”
“No time for that,” you say, but he knows that you know he’s right—it’s in the nth sigh you let out, crackling electric over the phone.
“C’mon.”
“Fine, five more minutes.”
Dick smiles—wide, lady-killer, a thousand watts of brilliance—and shuffles all his loose-leaf papers into a stack bearing some semblance to neatness, pulling his jacket off the back of his chair. “It’s getting late, gotta go.”
“Sorry about dinner. Next week?”
“Sure.”
He presses the receiver down with ink still drying on his palm. Even when his superior clears his throat and reminds him that his investigative report is due tomorrow— yes, tomorrow, you would’ve remembered if you weren’t giggling to your girlfriend like an idiot— the giddy feeling knitting its way up his throat doesn’t go away.
An hour later, Dick steps up to the ratty doormat before the door of your apartment, manila folder tucked under his arm, groceries in hand, keys in the other. He doesn’t take long to find the key to your apartment—he knows the shape of it better than his own.
He’s barely relocked the door and out of his shoes before he’s setting the case folder right next to the reporter’s notebook and laptop on your coffee table, the plastic bag of groceries on the nearby counter. In the corner beside the ratty couch you bought off an online catalog, Dick thumbs through your collection of records (most of them his), picking out a slow jazz album from a long defunct band.
The vinyl is set on the mount of your record player (another thing of his, again, from when you finally escaped the bullpen) and he lays his jacket across the arm of your couch just as the trumpet and saxophone begin a gentle, crooning dance. You stumble out of the bathroom with your skin still dewy when the butter Dick is pushing around the pan begins to sputter.
He watches you settle down on the carpet with your back to the couch, level to the coffee table.
“Thought we postponed dinner,” you groan, popping your neck. Dick can see the red lining your sclera, highlighted starkly with the blue light from your laptop. The lines of your article fly past your glassy irises. “What’s on the menu, Chef Grayson?”
“Linguine.” He folds his shirtsleeves up to his elbows, and he swears that your eyes are following his fingers as he twists the cuffs over themselves. But that can’t be true, because people don’t watch their best friend with great interest as they roll their sleeves. “Capers or cilantro? Or both?”
“You know me,” you say, dragging his manila folder towards you. “Proof yours if you proof mine.”
Dick laughs, tapping the butter off his spatula and turning down the heat. The blue flames simmer as another song begins with a swaying piano solo. “Well, mine’s classified.”
“Don’t see a big red stamp anywhere.”
“I’m kidding, those copies are redacted.”
You grab your laptop and climb up onto the couch, dragging his jacket over yourself as you sink into the cushions, “Yay.”
The linguine flops into the colander, steam rising in a veil that is pierced when the streetlight beside your window flickers on, bathing your apartment in an orange, yolky hue, the kind that comes from those eggs you love buying from the Japanese mart two blocks down.
Somewhere in the near distance, a train rattles along its track and sends tremors up the foundation of the building.
A particularly loud grumble from your stomach punctuates the hiss of the gas turning off. Dick strides over with two shallow bowls, two forks, two mugs.
Dinner is quiet, quaint affair, interrupted only by the scrape of your fork and the clink of your mug as you set it down.
“This would be good with wine,” you say, stretching your legs along the length of the couch. Dick looks up from his spot on the carpet, slowly as to not further the ache building in his curled neck.
You’re painted in the dim, clementine halo that’s streaming in from outside and he swears that the shadows are sublimating right off you.
He has to fish around in the dark for his words, string them along in a fishing-line sentence, “Uh…next time. I’ll bring over something from the store.”
“Maybe you should make dinner more,” you suggest, setting down your bowl with nothing more than a soft clink against the coffee table. “Prices are going up, y’know.”
It’s not like expense is a problem; you know that Dick has quite the sum of money, and you’ve met Bruce before. Still, that doesn’t deter you from fighting for the bill.
Dick agrees with a smile, and you reach over the table with your computer dangling out of your hand by the corner of the base panel. He swaps it out wordlessly for his case report, swiping back and forth on the mousepad to awaken the screen.
VIGILANTES: UNINTENTIONALLY HARMFUL
You start talking about an upcoming journalist’s banquet that your company is hosting at a theatre in Gotham—yea, you say, Gotham, as if isn’t better than Blüdhaven.
Dick is only half listening, scrolling slowly down your article.
Growing up in Gotham, encountering vigilantes was anything but rare. I was thirteen when I first caught sight of Batman’s sidekick, Robin. The boy wonder swung right over me with a hand clutching the vine of his grappling wire and five minutes later, authorities issued an evacuation order for that block—
Scroll.
—that day, Robin did save me. If I hadn’t seen his shadow fall over the ground, I wouldn’t be here today. For that, I am grateful, but seeing the aftermath I so narrowly escaped from changed me. Do the lives lost really outweigh our growing dependence on vigilantes?
Scroll. Vaguely, he registers that you’re scribbling notes in the margins of the copy of his report.
—while it is impossible to dismiss the corruption within legal law enforcement, the question is still raised of whether illegal enforcers truly benefit the wider public or only culminate in bigger threats from worse people like the Joker—
Scroll. You yawn and draw the jacket that’s been laying over your chest up to your face, pressing your nose into the worn leather.
—doing what they believe is good at the risk of causing more harm. Even with the presence of vigilantes guarding our streets, it still is not truthful to say that we are entirely safe.
“I think,” Dick says, and you draw your face out of where you’d buried it in his jacket, “that your editor is one crazy son of a bitch.”
You smile, soft and smudgy in the clementine light that evaporates all the shadows around you. He almost forgets about all the secrets he’s harboring in the cabinetry of his anatomy.
(Scars on the back, memory lapses from one too many concussions, a deep-seated ache in his knee that never really goes away.)
“Told you so,” you sing, pen dancing around your fingers. “Yours is fine, just read my notes.”
He barely catches the folder when you toss it back— luckily, anything that’s loose-leaf doesn’t slip out. “Careful, I don’t wanna reorganize my report.”
“Paperclips are in my room,” you punctuate this with a tilt of your head towards the hallway. “Go take a shower too.”
Dick raises an arm and feigns a couple of confused sniffles. “Do I stink that much?”
“Yea, you smell like the shitty drip coffee at the office.”
“You act like we can afford the nice espresso you guys get.”
You scoff, sliding off the couch to grab your laptop and lead him to your room. The floorboards give with a small creak under his weight; you let the device fall onto the bed and rummage around your drawers for the clothes he always leaves here and the towel you’ve set aside for days like this one.
“Hurry up,” you say once you shove a bundle of pajamas into his hands. You put your palms on his sternum—he wonders if you can feel the fight his heart is putting up—and push him towards the bathroom. “I’m making you watch a movie with me for the entertainment page.”
His smile is barebones, a gentle twist of his mouth. It’s the kind that feels like a secret between the two of you. “You’re not usually this excited for an assignment. Is the entertainment editor cute or something?”
“Shut up,” you blurt, pushing harder with a spark of panic in your eyes, and Dick catches himself stumbling backwards into the counter.
“Oh, you have a crush, you like him!” The words feel uglier than they should be, rearing a twist of hurt-envy-why around each vertebra in his spine.
“Talk to me when you aren’t stinky!” You slam the door close, but not before Dick can see the embarrassed look flickering over your face.
The water starts running cold as he watches the shampoo gather in sudsy clouds around the drain—he’s quick to go through the rest of his routine and slide back into your room with a hand still toweling his hair dry.
You’ve calmed down since, checking your inbox mindlessly. Now that he thinks about it, Dick can’t remember a time you’ve been without that computer. You look up, and though the light in here isn’t clementine and only comes from the singularity point of your screen, he can still feel his breath tighten.
“So,” Dick starts. When he climbs into your bed, he finds that you’ve already made room for him. “Tell me all about this lucky guy.”
You roll your eyes, leaning against his shoulder almost as if on instinct. You’re warm against his cold skin. The tide behind his ribs swells until he’s about to burst.
“He’s cute, I guess. Funny, smart, dark hair” —then you’re reaching up to card your fingers through his hair, and selfishly, he thinks that no matter how hot this editor guy is, he’ll never get what Dick has with you— “kinda like yours, almost the same cut, but his eyes are green.”
He hums, taking the laptop from you and navigating to the movie. You continue to play with the hair at his nape absently, sending frisson down his spine.
“Not gonna say anything else?” you ask, and Dick just puts his arm around your shoulders despite the ache it agitates in his side.
(He should’ve iced that bruise.)
He cranes until his lips are half a breadth from the shell of your ear, whispers into the conch of it: no talking in the theatre.
Y’know, apparently this is his favorite new movie right now—
Shhhh.
The plot is so convoluted that Dick starts wandering, and it seems like you are too. Wandering in dreamland, that is, slumping until your breaths puff into the hollow of his clavicle.
The silence of the aftermath—when the credits run through and he’s not entirely sure whether he should wake you up to brush your teeth (no, it’s almost two in the morning now and you’re too comfortable)—is broken only by the faint wail of a siren.
It fades as quickly as it had come.
But Dick can’t get it out of his head. He’s drawn to the fight like a moth to the flame.
You’ll get up around nine, he thinks, because tomorrow is the weekend and your article is already being printed.
VIGILANTES: UNINTENTIONALLY HARMFUL
The words flash through his head, louder and brighter than sirens.
He knows he’ll hurt you if he gets up right now, leaves a pillow in the hollow of your arms and dons the suit hidden under the false bottom in his car’s trunk. You’re right, everything you wrote is so fucking correct that it makes something in his chest—
Dick slides—gingerly, with care, because that’s how he’s always treated you and that’s how he always will treat you—out from under the covers. He can be back before nine, with breakfast from that bakery you like and a newspaper tucked under his arm.
(Your newspaper, your article, your words.)
“Dickie,” you stir, fingers catching on the hem of his old sleepshirt.
“Relax, I just gotta pee.”
He’ll give you one truth for now, even if it stains his mouth sour, like the stale aftertaste of the bad coffee at work.
Dick—no, Nightwing tries not to dwell on it too much. He has people to protect.
— me feeling like the asian girl smoking in the cold meme rn, throwing down the cig and running up that snowy hill to my man.... also if u liked this please lmk!! i luv feedback and it motivates me to write more fic <33
The bar isn’t as busy as you’d expect for a Friday night. There’s by no means any shortage of people, but you were expecting to have to weave in and out of the crowd and spill your drink on at least two people before you made it to your destination.
Rather, when your boyfriend opens the door ahead of you, the level of commotion amongst the regulars isn’t as unbearable as expected. He walks in first, leaving you to hold the door open for yourself. For all his good qualities, chivalry was never one of them.
He makes his way to the bar without any mind for whether or not you’re following, and orders himself one vodka sour. You know he knows your go-to drink, and you wonder if him not ordering it is his way of telling you there will be a separate bill. No, it probably hadn’t even crossed his mind to tell you as much.
You stand shoulder to shoulder at the bar counter as he sips on his drink, scanning around the room.
You clear your throat, “So um, should we split up or stick together?”
He nods blankly, “Yeah, sure.”
His gaze is already caught on a target across the bar, and you know that he neither heard nor cared to hear your words. You similarly don’t have it in you to care that he’s already walking away from you, instead opting to drown your concerns.
With a sigh, you find a seat at the bar and order yourself a drink.
You’re thirty seconds into this and it already doesn’t seem to be worth it. Having a threesome was your bright idea, and yeah, maybe it originated from a place that’s a little self-serving, but you weren’t prepared to have that turned back around on you. Are you just giving him the chance to fuck another girl, no consequences?
You take a big swig and look down at the remaining contents of the alcohol, swishing the drink around.
This was really nothing more than a desperate attempt to keep something going but you’re beginning to fear your man isn’t much of a relationship man at all. You don’t have to look across the bar to find where he went, you don’t need to because you already know exactly what he’s doing. And to no one’s surprise, he’s probably doing it without a thought in the world about you.
So now you’re starting to wonder if the whole relationship is worth all the trouble. He’d been charming and funny in the beginning—and he still is—but now you’re seeing all these other parts of him that you weren’t expecting. Maybe calling it quits after such a short time is cruel, but it’s also starting to feel like the only option.
“You alright?”
A voice breaks you away from your deliberation and has you turning to meet a pleasant surprise.
A man that you couldn’t have dreamed up stands next to you, bourbon in hand, with nothing short of kindness in his eyes.
You stutter, “Oh, I’m—um…yeah. I’m fine.”
He nods, looking around casually.
“You’re not here by yourself, are you?”
“Uh, no. I’m not.” You hear the words as they come out of your mouth and they sound genuinely disappointed.
You can’t be sure exactly how he interprets that but he holds his hand out in front of him.
“I’m Dick,” he tells you.
You take his hand, shaking it, before telling him your own name.
He smiles upon the reveal, holding onto your hand for just a second longer than he needs to.
Truthfully, you never specified whether this threesome was going to involve a girl or a guy, but you’d been hoping that you’ll be able to convince him. That’s why you let yourself entertain a conversation with a very attractive man that you know your boyfriend would be too intimidated by to even consider.
“So who are you here with then?”
You look over your shoulder, quickly finding your boyfriend chatting up a pretty girl in a revealing dress. You point him out just long enough for Dick to see who you mean but not long enough for you to really have to absorb the scene taking place.
Dick peers over your shoulder with a furrowed brow and a frown. “‘S that your friend?” he asks.
“Boyfriend,” you correct with a nod, but your eyes are on the floor.
Dick copies your nod, processing. “You been dating him long?”
You lull your head to the side, looking back up at him. “A little over a month.”
You can see his eyes brighten hearing that.
“Must not be very serious then.”
You work to suppress a smile. “What makes you say that?”
“He left you over here all alone,” he says, looking around.
Your eyes scan him over quickly, “I’m not alone.”
You glance over at your boyfriend again, and even from where you’re standing, you can tell that he’s not going to get anywhere. His body language is all wrong on multiple levels. “And he’s just…doing something, anyways.”
“Yes he is,” Dick says, following your gaze with a nearly concerned stare. “What…would you call that? What he’s doing.”
“Um…he’s making a friend…”
Dick seems to understand the implication of your words without any help. “Without you?” He looks at you again, smiling knowingly. “Or are you doing the same thing?”
“I…don’t know what I’m doing,” you confess. “I’ve never done this before.”
“I have,” he assures.
You smile, “I assumed.”
He tilts his head, “Is that an insult or a compliment?”
“Not sure yet.”
He smiles at that, boyish and genuine.
He leans up against the bar, relaxing even more.
“Does he take care of you?” he asks casually.
“Yeah,” you reply, trying to size up where he’s going with this.
The nod of his head mirrors yours. “Yeah? He nice to you?”
“Yeah…”
“Mhm. How’s he nice to you?”
You can feel the blood in your cheeks now. “He kisses me…”
“Yeah? Good. What else?”
Your eyes flicker across his face, trying to will yourself to hold your gaze.
“He fucks me…”
He smiles hearing you murmur the words, “Does he fuck you good?”
You’re not nearly subtle enough, the way your gaze instantly averts and your face gets hot. To make matters worse, he seems to be able to read you like a goddamn book.
He smiles wider, tilting his head at you. “No? What, not attentive? Bad at head?”
He follows you with a smile as you tilt your head down, trying to avoid eye contact. He lowers his voice, “Not big enough?”
He grants you enough mercy to not have to actually verbalize it, but you get the feeling he knows the answer anyways. All of the above.
He just hums, soaking in your expression. “Was it your idea? To go out and find another guy to bring home?”
You look down at the floor, tongue between your teeth.
“Yeah…You need to get fucked good, don’t you?”
You do. But he has no business being able to tell that about you barely five minutes into this conversation. You take a deep breath, practically steeling yourself for the torture of hearing such blatant, unabashed words.
“You know, I have had threesomes before, and they’re fun but…” He looks at the floor with a soft smile, shaking his head. “Full disclosure, I’m only doing this so I can sleep with you.”
You feel blood rush to your cheeks that makes you automatically look down.
He chases after your gaze, “But you want to know something? I don’t think you want to have a threesome. I think you just need one person to show you a good time.”
You understand the implication of his words. He’s right, but your morality holds you back from saying so.
“He’s my boyfriend..”
He nods understandingly, “If you want to do it, I will. But I think I could make you feel even better on my own.”
You look up at him, eyeing his sincerity and measuring the weight of his promise.
“Come on,” he urges gently.
He leans in slightly, causing you to follow suit until you’re nose and nose with each other. Your eyes are practically closed and your inhibition is nearly gone.
His lips ghost over yours.
“Break up with him,” he says. “Break up with him so I can take you home.”
”Not exactly an even trade,” you say quietly.
He tilts his head.
“I’m losing a boyfriend.”
Barely.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he promises.
And that’s more than enough to convince the already convinced.
You pull back from him with a sigh and sit up straight. You plop down from your place on the edge of the barstool, glancing over your shoulder as you turn away.
“I’ll be right back,” you tell him.
As you approach your boyfriend, the girl he’s with sees you before he does, readjusting her position to let you into the conversation. He, upon seeing you, does no such thing.
Instead, he double takes like he’d forgotten you were even in the bar.
He splutters before introducing you. “...This is my girlfriend…”
This tidbit of information he’d forgotten to mention before you’d come over. You’d guess as much when the girl rolls her eyes and walks away. In return, he looks irked by your intrusion and therefore loss of a goal that he never had any chance of scoring.
You don’t give him the time to ask you what the fuck your problem is before giving him a dry smile. “I think we should break up.”
His face drops suddenly, before altering into something much more akin to anger.
“Are you fucking serious?”
“Yeah.”
He scowls. “This was your fucking idea. Don’t tell me you’re going and getting all jealous now.”
You nod blankly, not interested in prolonging this. “Okay. Have a good night.”
The last thing you see before turning away is the dumbfounded look on his face. And now that you know you have something better waiting for you, it stings just that much nicer.
Dick grins at you as you reapproach, clearly having watched that whole thing go down. He follows close with a hand on your backside as a means to help guide you out the door.
He leads you to his car, opening the passenger side door for you—something your ex-boyfriend never bothered doing—and helping you in.
When he’s sitting in the driver’s seat he takes your jaw and pulls you into a kiss. It’s sweet and gentle, but the intensity still has you pulling back and trying to catch your breath.
You catch his endeared smile, before he starts up the car and begins to back out of the parking lot.
You try to calm your body down as you ask, “Are we going to a hotel?”
He shakes his head, “Nah, I live close by.”
He turns to look at you, “Is that alright?”
You don’t need to weigh this out in your head to know the answer. After ten minutes you already trust Dick more than you trusted your ex after six weeks.
“Yeah.”
As promised, the drive back to his apartment doesn’t take long, it only ends up being a couple of blocks away. His right hand stays glued to your thigh throughout the entire drive, squeezing it once before he turns into the parking garage.
Once you’re parked, Dick unbuckles his seatbelt before looking over at you, who hasn’t moved a muscle yet.
He laughs as he takes in your unconfident posture, “Oh baby. It’s alright. Don’t need to be so nervous.”
He pulls you in for one more kiss before getting out of the car. He quickly opens your door for you and helps you out. He holds your hand all the way up to his apartment, stopping every once in a while to kiss you. You can tell he’s being more gentle with you than he maybe usually would, but you’re grateful for it.
As you round the final set of stairs, he nudges you in front of him. “Come ‘ere. It’s just up here.”
He unlocks the door and leads you into a lofty apartment, well-decorated and furnished. Significantly nicer than the studio with a mattress on the floor that your ex called home. You’re not given much time to look around before he’s got you pushed back and pressed against the now closed door.
He takes your face in both hands as he kisses you, getting completely in your space in the most welcome way possible. He leans down over you, pushing you further against the door. The kiss deepens and he slots his thigh in between your legs. He lets you grind a little against him, encouraging you via nips against your lips. But ultimately, he seems to decide that this isn’t enough.
He picks you up by your thighs, never breaking the kiss, and begins walking you towards his bedroom.
He sets you down in the middle of the room, kneeling down as he pulls your panties down. His lips ghost over your thighs in their wake, slipping them down and onto the floor.
You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks as he takes in the sight of your pussy.
“Oh, pretty baby,” he murmurs.
He backs you up to the bed, pulling your dress down as he goes. By the time you get to the bed, you’re completely bare and he’s sitting you on his still-clothed lap.
He spreads your legs over his and gently brushes his fingers across your clit with a feather-light touch.
“Dick,” you whine, not even sure what your goal is. You don’t know if you have it in you to ask him directly for what you want.
“What? You want me to rub your clit for you? Want me to make you come?”
You mewl, ”Please—”
“‘Please’?” He coos. “Of course, pretty girl.”
He reaches down and rubs languid circles against your clit, his touch so light and feathery that it does nothing but leave you wanting more in a way you’re wholly unfamiliar with.
“You don’t need to beg me,” he continues. “Not tonight anyway.”
He kisses you again with more and more passion as he works your body like he owns it. The way he lets you grind up against his hand and moan into his mouth only encourages you more.
He doesn’t need to keep this up for very long before he has you coming under him, sooner and harder than you ever have before.
And it must show on your face because he tuts as he brushes your hair away from your eyes.
“Aw, honey. Nobody’s been touching you right, have they?”
Your eyes are borderline watering as you shake your head, No.
He lifts you up, off his lap, and sets you back down against the pillows. He pulls his shirt off before tugging his pants down, and repositions himself back over you. He moves down to start kissing at your chest, paying each side some much needed attention before continuing down lower.
He trails his kisses down your stomach and against your inner thighs, just high enough to make you feel a burst of heat every time.
He looks up at you, “Such a pretty girl. Pretty girls should be taken care of.”
Somehow you only just realize where this is going, and you can’t fend off the look of anxiety that flashes across your face.
He clocks your hesitation immediately.
He frowns, “What’s wrong, beautiful?”
“I—I’ve never had…” you trail off but he understands the sentiment just the same.
He just tilts his head.
“Really? That’s a shame. We’ll have to fix that, won’t we?”
His sentiment surprises you, but to be completely fair: everything about him has surprised you. This has been a complete 180 from what you’ve been used to, even beyond your most recent ex-boyfriend. You honestly didn’t even know guys like this existed outside of the movies.
Dick kisses your thigh again before looking back up at you, eyes asking for permission.
Not a single thought runs through your head as you nod, only filled with anticipation and lust.
He places a gentle kiss on your clit, before following up with an experimental lick on the same spot. He looks up at you, checking in, and when he’s seemingly satisfied, he goes all in.
He makes out with your pussy like he’s been doing it for years, like he knows your body better than you do. It’s almost embarrassing how fast you fall apart like this, or at least it would be, if you had any energy to spend on thinking. No, right now, all you’re doing is feeling. For once in your life, somebody has been able to do the impossible and get you out of your head.
Your hand instinctually goes to grab at his hair and he fucking moans into your pussy. The surprise of it has you gasping this shocked choke that nearly makes you sit straight up.
You curse, forcing yourself to relax completely against the mattress—a task that is nearly impossible. Still you manage success, if only for the sake of keeping him doing what he’s doing.
He alternates between sucking on your clit and licking you up and down, and the combination has you seeing stars. He continues to lap at you as you’re coming down from your high, keeps going until you’re squirming away from sensitivity.
He relents, kissing his way back up your body and finding your lips again. As you’re making out, he lines himself up at your entrance, taking special care to distract you from the stretch with intentionally placed kisses.
He lets you adjust to the feeling of him being inside of you for a moment, scanning over your face for any signs of pain or discomfort. Finding none, he slowly starts rocking his hips into you. He’s easing you into it, and you’re grateful for it because everything up to this point has been so surreal and intense.
As he starts to move with more intention, you start to realize that you’re in a serious fucking situation. There’s no way in hell you’re going to be able to go back to the way you were living, having experienced getting fucked like you’re about to.
As he really gets going, you find quickly that his strokes are good. He’s fucking you so deep and hitting a spot inside you that you didn’t know existed. You couldn’t help it to moan out when he first hits it, and from that point on he’s a fucking dead eye. He rubs up against your spot after every stroke and doesn’t let up.
“Good girl. Good fucking girl. Taking me so well,” he praises, looking down in between your bodies.
You moan out and one hand grabs at the headboard, the other going for the nape of his neck.
He keeps at this slow and sensual pace, correctly finding it to be exactly what you needed. When you’re in a more coherent state of mind, you’ll have to wonder how he could read you like a goddamn picture book.
“Dick—”you moan, voice nearly breaking.
“No, I know. You need somebody to take care of you good, huh?”
His words in your ear have you squeezing your eyes shut, genuinely whimpering.
He pushes in and out of you over and over again with intensity that rivals any experience ever you’ve had before. Nothing, nothing has gotten you feeling this good before. Not your fingers, not toys, and certainly not your exes. You have half a mind to start wondering if this is your little slice of heaven granted to you by karma. Though no, you don’t think anything amounts to this.
He goes and goes until you’re spasming around him, and even then, he fucks you straight through your orgasm.
“Such a pretty girl,” he tells you as you come, sweeping hair out of your face so he can get an undisturbed view.
He only begins to slow his movements when the shaking in your legs begins to calm and your body relaxes.
He pulls out of you and kisses your shoulder, murmuring a, “Good girl.”
You sit up against your elbows with a furrowed brow, “But you didn’t—“
He huffs out a laugh. “You got somewhere to be? I’m not done with you yet, pretty girl.”
And with that he flips you over onto your stomach and realigns himself with you.
Turns out, asking your boyfriend for a threesome was the best decision of your life.
🫵 if you don’t reblog fics we are not friends you are not cool and you CANNOT come to my sleepover this weekend 🫵
There’s A String Tied to My Lower Left Rib, Third From The Bottom
dick grayson x afab!reader
aka the professional boyfriend
warnings: she/her pronouns used, reader wears dresses, sexual content at the end (18+)
Dick Grayson is a vigilante. He’s a master martial artist and gymnast. He’s something of a playboy and a heavy flirt. But the claim he really takes pride in is that he’s basically a professional boyfriend. That he’s your professional boyfriend.
And pride really is the right word. He’s so proud that he gets to have this pretty girl on his arm and buy her pretty things even when you insist you have enough. He loves getting to help you take your makeup off when you’re too tired and make you laugh like it’s his job. He’s absolutely gratified that he gets to be your prodigal, sweet boyfriend that, despite your protests, insisted on carrying all five of your shopping bags for you.
You step over an uneven stretch in the sidewalk and lean slightly against Dick’s shoulder. “I’m worried the navy one is too…much.” You say, thinking back to how the blue cocktail dress fit on you, how it stopped barely below your ass.
He furrows his eyebrows with a pout, “Too much?”
You look over at him, matching his expression. “It’s really short. I mean it’s cute and I like it, but…I don’t know, this is kind of a fancy event isn’t it?”
He puckers his lips, shaking his head. “Short’s good. I like short.” Yeah, you’d noticed with the way his eyes had been glued to the hem of your dress, willing it to slip up just a little more.
You laugh, “And I’m sure you and all the old businessmen will appreciate it greatly.”
His face drops at that, not thrilled at the prospect of those, usually very sleazy, old men getting to see so much of you. “The black one’s good too.”
You peer over into one of the bags, “Or there’s the red one with the—”
Dick shakes his head quickly, “Not red.”
You snicker at that, knowing full well what his problem is with it. “Then why did I get it?”
“Just for me.” He pauses, “Or for something my brother won’t be at.” He mumbles, scanning both sides of the street. He shuffles the bags in his right hand onto his forearm so he can take your hand in his as you step into the road. “No, the black one looked great on you. And we won’t have to go searching for a matching tie.”
Once you reach the other side he lets go of your hand and he circles behind you, nudging you over to the inside of the sidewalk.
You glance down at the row of bags littering his arms and the red indents beginning to mark his skin. “Will you please let me hold some?” You frown.
“Will you please hold my hand?” He echoes, matching your serious tone with faux urgency of his own. You deadpan him but take his hand anyway. You don’t notice it, but he’s got a dedicated gaze focused on your fingers intertwined in his.
You continue on down the street, hand in hand, the warm sun shining on your necks. You pick up the pace a bit as you approach your apartment building, aiming to get the door for your boyfriend. You reach for the handle only for Dick to call out, “Don’t touch that!” followed by him clamoring like you’re about to touch a hot coal, rushing over to beat you to the punch.
“Oh my god..” you mumble to yourself, biting back a smile. The bags haphazardly fall further down his arms, no doubt uncomfortably as he pulls the door open for you, pretending to be far more eloquent than he actually was. He gestures you in and smiles sweetly at you when you give him a flat look.
“What is wrong with you?” You ask, glancing over your shoulder at him with amusement glittering across your face as you dig for your keys.
“Not a thing.” He grins, watching with adoration as you open the apartment door. Frankly, you’re surprised he didn’t attempt to juggle the bags and unlock the door himself.
He kicks the door shut behind him as you help slide the bags off of his wrists, piling them on the counter. “When do we need to leave?”
“Uh…” he glances at the wall clock, “Not till seven.” He places his hands nicely on your waist, looking down at your lips. “You wanna get something to eat before we go?”
You muse, “This is the one with those mini stakes, isn’t it?” He nods. “No, I wanna get my fill on those. Oh, and the bruschettas! I love these caterers.”
His eyes flicker back up to meet yours, a sly smile playing on his lips.
You break away from his gaze and turn to the counter, preparing to scoop the shopping bags up when you’re interrupted by his relentless fervor.
“Ah, ah.” He hooks a finger into the loop of your jeans, tugging you back to him. “Give me a kiss.”
“Dick.”
“Just one.” Yeah, right. You oblige him though, pushing up on your toes to meet his lips. His thumb strokes your cheek as he kisses you deeply. You break the kiss after a moment only for him to chase your lips to follow it up with another. And then another. And another. He hums against your lips, smiling wide. “Thank you, baby.”
You pull back again and smile as you stop his chest with your hand when he follows. “Ah, I’m not new around here. I know where this’ll go if I let you.”
He nods complaisantly, “Then let me.” His eyes are focused on the small space between you, where his touch lingers along your ring finger. You lean up again and place a kiss on his forehead that has him getting hopeful, only to be met with disappointment when you back away from him, bags in hand. He throws his head back with a groan just to really hammer home the severity of his dismay.
It doesn’t last too long though because the second you’re back in the room he’s trailing after you like a puppy, following you down to the couch. You roll your eyes at him when he opts to sit ridiculously close to you, though there’s a ghost of a smile on your lips that makes your act lose all credibility.
He nestles his face into the crook of your neck and is clearly very pleased when you wrap your arms around his shoulders. You exhale contentedly, resting your cheek against his head. You lie idle like that for a few minutes, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and casting a daydreaming gaze out the window. And apparently, he was daydreaming too.
“I wanna marry you.” He murmurs into your neck after a while.
You laugh incredulously, “Have you been drinking when I have my back turned?”
“‘M serious.” He nudges you off him so he can look at you.
You hum, sweeping his hair back from his forehead. “You’re being very…” you scrunch up your mouth to the side, “…Ostentatious today.”
He barks out a laugh, “Wow. Word-A-Day teach you that one?”
You shove at his forehead back with no real force, biting back a giggle. His eyes flicker back and forth between your mouth and the crinkle in your eyes as he grins. “I’m going to let that one go because you got me some really nice clothes today. As your repayment.” you say, running your finger over his lips.
He takes your hand, pressing a firm kiss to it. “Let me marry you?”
You sigh bashfully, “Dick—”
“Please?” He sticks his bottom lip out and gives you his puppy eyes, causing you to avert your gaze quickly. You’re not convinced he doesn’t have a superpower in that area.
You know he’s not really proposing right now, he’s too much of a romantic to do it like this. He’s just getting the idea in your head, getting you excited about it. It’s working.
“I’d be such a good husband to you.” He kisses your collarbone, “So good.” He murmurs against your skin, lips never departing. You struggle to keep your face neutral, making a point of closing your eyes in an attempt to increase your odds of success. He’s being nice though, you know. To let you play pretend right now when you know he could break your facade in a second if he really wanted to.
“Mrs. Grayson…” he squeezes your hips, lips traveling further down. “Doesn’t that sound pretty?”
It really does. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about marrying him before. He’s nothing if not husband material and honestly you really really want to hear him call you his wife. Call him your husband.
Your hand moves to his hair, petting it softly as he goes on. “Buy you a nice ring. Pretty white dress ‘n a big party just for you.” He brushes your shirt up and trails open mouthed kisses down your stomach. Your chest feels warm and you can feel your pulse thrumming all throughout your body.
He slowly guides your underwear down your thighs, his lips following the hem close behind. “Come home to you every night, kiss these pretty thighs,” He scoops both of your hands up in one of his, pinning them to your stomach. “Kiss this pretty pussy.” He places a chaste kiss on your clit and looks up at you expectantly.
You’re not nearly as hesitant on this as you’re pretending to be, and you both know it. But he’s perfectly fine with begging a little while you pretend you’re not lightheaded at the idea of marrying him. “I’ll think about it…”
He grins at you before going in on your core without mercy.
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