you manage to get yourself kidnapped. dick manages to track you down, but it's still a close call. once dick gets you home, you need a reminder that you're still alive.
pairing: dick grayson x reader
warnings: mdni, 18+, mentions of kidnapping, guns, reader is restrained (in a non-sexy way), near death experience, p in v sex, dirty talk, use of "good girl"
a/n: based off this request! i'm so sorry it took so long to get out. life got a little crazy for me, but i appreciate your patience. i hope you enjoy :)
masterlist
The first thing you notice when you open your eyes is that everything's still dark. Then, you feel the tight press of fabric covering your eyes and filling your mouth. The scratch of ropes binding your wrists and ankles registers soon after.
Ah, right.
Some freak had broken into your apartment, probably some thug who saw Nightwing lingering on your balcony one too many nights in a row.
Nightwing.
Dick.
Fuck, where is he? He wasn't at home when you were attacked; you know that for certain. He wouldn't have allowed anyone to take you. There's no way for you to know how much time has passed, no way to figure out what kind of building you're being held in either. The restraints keeping you in place don't budge when you flex your wrists, and the gag in your mouth is tied too tightly to work it out.
There's no sound around you other than the faint sound of rain and traffic. You haven't been taken out of the city, it seems. Mistake number one.
Mistake number two presents itself in the form of your phone ringing on the other side of the room. It gives you some idea of depth: the space you're in is big and empty. Despite the situation, the only thing you can feel is relief that the person who kidnapped you was stupid enough to forget to ditch your phone. It's only a matter of time before your location gets tracked.
Thirty minutes, maybe an hour, pass by relatively quickly. You keep yourself from panicking by making to do lists for the rest of the week. Laundry, groceries, stopping by that new bakery on fifth street…all things you will get around to because you're going to get out of here. Dick wouldn't let anything happen to you.
Your phone, which had been ringing almost continuously, finally stops.
"Fuckin' finally," someone gripes from behind you. The sudden speech makes you tense. You had thought you were alone, but you suppose that wouldn't make sense. "Thought that thing'd never stop."
The man's heavy footsteps thud across the floor, and his breath hits the back of your neck. "Think your pretty boy's on his way? Huh?"
He slaps the back of your chair abruptly, and you jump in your binds. The man just chuckles and walks back over to his seat.
"What's he gonna do, anyway? Not like I hurt you."
"You didn't, did you?" Another voice joins the conversation, though it sounds like it's coming from…above? "Is that why she's tied up?"
Even though he's changing his voice, you'd recognize that tone anywhere. It's Dick. The man who fights every night to make Bludhaven a safer place. The man who cries over stupid romance movies. The man who always moves forward like a light in the dark.
He's here. For you.
And just like that, all the tension in your chest dissipates.
"H-hey, man, look, I just wanted to talk! That's all! I just needed a bargaining chip!"
"Human lives aren't bargaining chips." Dick's feet hit the ground with a soft thud that's followed by a quiet crackling sound. "But, okay. Let's talk."
Soft thuds, the sounds of fists and escrima sticks making bodily impact, and grunts fill the air. The scuffle doesn't last very long. The guy must not have been armed. It takes Dick less than a minute to knock the guy out.
"Good talk," he mutters. And, just as he turns to free you…
Click.
While Dick never kept guns in the house, he made sure to teach you all about them when he gave you self-defense lessons.
That's why you're able to recognize the soft click of a gun's safety being disengaged. The cold barrel presses against the base of your neck and sends a chill down your spine. You don't need to have your sight restored to know that Dick's frozen in place right now, an impossible distance away from you.
"You really should've talked to him," a second voice drawls. "Because now I have to make a mess."
Fear and adrenaline numb the tips of your fingers and send your heart into overdrive. You have to do something and fast.
Move.
Move.
You have to move.
Your first attempt is fruitless, so subtle that it doesn't draw attention. The second attempt lets you lift up two of the chair legs just slightly, making your captor slap you across the face. Your head whips to the side, but you don't falter. You can't let the pain distract you now. You move or you die.
On your third try, you finally get the chair to tip. Gravity seems to suspend momentarily, and, for a second, you're sure you've failed and the goon is about to pull the trigger. But, blessedly, the chair continues it's descent, and you go crashing to the floor. Your shoulder absorbs most of the impact. There's a loud groan followed by the POP of a gunshot and another thud.
It takes Dick another five seconds to remove your blindfold. You're in an abandoned warehouse. There's a burly man unconscious behind your boyfriend and a smoking gun kicked off to the edge of the room. It smells like sulfur and smoke, slightly metallic but not bloody.
Suddenly, Dick's filling up your entire line of sight, eyes wide and frantic behind his domino mask. His big hands cup your cheeks before sliding down to your shoulders momentarily. When his brain finally kicks back in, he undoes the gag and brushes his thumbs over the indents it left behind.
"Are you hurt?" he asks. He's given up on his Nightwing voice. This is Dick Grayson in all his panicked, desperate glory.
"No, just…" you cough, "just sore."
Dick shakes his head and makes quick work of untying the rest of the rope binding you. Once you're free, he scoops you up against his chest. His heart beat is going a mile a minute under your cheek, and his hands, usually so steady in the face of danger, tremble where they hold you.
"I thought he shot you," he confesses. "I thought I wasn't fast enough."
Dick gathers the rest of your things, sends an alert out to the police department, and carries you up to the roof of the warehouse. He's fiddling with his grappling gun when you speak up.
"I never doubted you," you murmur. "I knew you'd come."
Your words hit him right in the chest, so much so that he almost drops you and his grappling gun. Of course, he knows you trust him, and he knows that you know he's devoted to you and your safety. It's the sheer trust and confidence with which you spoke that does him in. Subconsciously, his grip on you tightens, and he presses his face into your hair. He inhales deeply. The scent of your shampoo is mixed with sweat and the lingering stale air of the warehouse, but he's never smelled anything better in his life. Because you're here. In his arms. Breathing. Safe and sound.
"I couldn't live with myself if you got hurt because of me," he whispers hoarsely. "Nothing will ever hurt you if I have a say in it."
The city passes by in a blur as Dick grapples across buildings with you in tow. If it had been anyone else, you'd be worried about falling. With Dick here, you know you have nothing to fear.
Dick sets you down gently when you finally make it back to your apartment. As much as he wants to disregard every rule he's set for himself, he doesn't follow you in through the balcony. He's got a routine now: drop you off, flip off to the next building, change into the regular clothes he keeps stashed in a duffle bag in a vent shaft, and enter your building through the main entrance. It's time-consuming, but he'd do anything to prevent what happened tonight from happening again.
You're sitting on the edge of your shared bed when Dick makes his way back inside. You're smoothing antibiotic ointment into the faint marks left by the ropes that tied your wrists, and Dick's heart lurches. After the events of the night, seeing you sitting in front of him doesn't feel real. Your life could've slipped away so easily. If you hadn't managed to knock yourself over…
A blur of motion makes you look up from your wrists, just to find Dick kneeling between your legs. He takes the tube from your hand and begins rubbing the ointment into your other wrist without a word. The soft massage graduates into gentle kisses to the inside of your wrist. Those kisses slowly migrate up your forearm and higher until you're on your back with Dick hovering over you.
"You brilliant woman," he whispers against your mouth. "So fucking smart. God, I adore you."
He kisses you, then. The press of his lips is gentle but insistent, but even he can't hold himself back for long. The lingering adrenaline coursing through both of your veins has you heating up faster than usual: pressing closer, clinging tighter, breathing louder. It's like the second you get your hands on each other, everything falls right into place.
You could've died tonight.
You would've if it hadn't been for a split-second, panicked decision.
Dick knew he loved you before tonight, but there's nothing quite like the threat of death that makes love grow deeper and more desperate. He wants to claw his own chest open and hollow it out so you have a safe space to spend the rest of your life; though, he knows it's merely a wish. Instead, he settles for stripping you bare and kissing every inch of your body he can reach.
Down from your lips, his first target is your neck. Open-mouthed kisses get trailed down your trachea and back up the side of your neck, just so he can suckle at your pulse point. He moves down your shoulder after that, kissing and licking along the expanse of your collarbone just to mouth his way down your arm. He takes both of your hands in his own and alternates between the two as he kisses your palm, the backs of your hands, the pad of each finger.
When you meet his gaze again, the blue of his eyes is eclipsed by his pupils. You're both panting, heart beats barely contained by your bodies. You're vaguely aware of the heat and the sweat, but all you can focus on is the building, aching throb between your thighs and the way Dick's staring at you with so much hunger it should be criminal.
You break the tension by combing Dick's dark hair away from his forehead, and he groans. It's a pathetic, broken sound, but it spurs him into action nonetheless. His big hands grip each of your thighs, just to shove them apart so he can crawl on top of you. The weight of him on top of you is equally grounding as it is maddening. You can't squeeze your thighs together anymore, so you settle for rolling them against the thick bulge that sits heavy in his sweatpants.
"Fuck," Dick hisses, shoving his sweats and boxers down just enough to free his cock. You manage to yank his shirt off over his head, though you have to fight against his arms as he keeps trying to touch you through it. In the end, one of his hands ends up fisting his cock while the other strokes through your soaked folds.
"Baby, please," you whine, your hips chasing after any friction they can find. There's an ache in your belly and in your heart that only he can soothe. The pleasure, the fear, the relief, you place everything into Dick's open palms.
Your whine makes something in Dick's chest squeeze. Who is he to make you beg after tonight? He'd willingly give you any and every little thing you ask for.
"What do you need, sweetheart?" he asks. His hand leaves his cock to rub up and down your side soothingly. "Whatever you need. Say it, and it's yours."
"I need you, Dick. I need you to fuck me until I forget everything that happened tonight," you whisper.
You can't even finish your sentence before he's sliding into motion. Your legs get hoisted up around Dick's tapered waist. His left arm slips under the arch of your back while his right hand slides between your thighs to line himself up. He pushes in nice and slow, cognizant of the fact that he didn't really get to prep you, but you're wet enough that the stretch is easy. He collapses over you once he's fully sheathed inside you, moans escaping both of you at the feeling of you taking him.
His right arm slides under your head, and he clutches you tight against his chest. He's not quite lifting you up, but you're locked in place under him regardless. His chest is heaving with each heavy breath he takes, and he almost whines when he feels your hardened nipples brushing against his skin.
"You good?" he murmurs.
"So good."
Dick chuckles at your breathless tone, but it tapers off into a whimper when you grab a handful of his hair and tug him into a kiss. You bite his bottom lip, and he thrusts into you in retaliation. You choke on a moan and twist to bury your face into his shoulder. Dick just adjusts his hold on you, cradles you closer, and starts fucking you so deep it has your toes curling.
His pace gradually quickens until the sound of his hips slamming into your ass is the only thing you can focus on. The wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy is obscene and visceral in a way that makes your blood burn because you're here. Living, breathing, being fucked like you're something real and precious.
Dick's learned your body three times over, so each thrust is aimed right at the gummy spot that makes you clench down around him. He's got his chin propped up against your shoulder, and you're vaguely aware of him moaning and whimpering praise into your ear, but you can't get your brain to focus long enough to hear him fully.
"Good girl…perfect…love you…oh, sweetheart…" He's lost in you, lost in the way you feel under him, lost in the feeling of you wrapped around his cock, lost in the way you're clinging and grabbing onto him like he's your tether to Earth. You're not much different, moaning and whining into the meat of his shoulder with each thrust. You rake your nails down his back just to feel the way his skin raises, as if the thin red lines left behind are proof of your life.
And they are, aren't they? Only a living being can have efficacy. The reminder sends a heady rush of elation through you. A breathless laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it.
"What's so fun—mmf—" You yank Dick into another kiss before he can finish asking. A particularly rough thrust has you gasping into the kiss, and Dick takes the opportunity to slide his tongue over yours, licking and laving like he's trying to reach your soul through your mouth.
Your pleasure starts to crest, and Dick isn't far behind you. His thrusts are starting to get sloppy, and he's moaning against your mouth shamelessly.
"Fuck, baby, give it to me. Be my angel and cum for me, yeah? Wanna make—fuck—wanna make you feel so good, so just…hah, you feel fucking amazing." His arm shifts from behind your head so his thumb can rub figure eights over your clit. He grins against your neck when you bite down on him to cope with the pleasure. "Yeahhh, feels good? Cum for me, angel. Cum on my cock."
A few moments later, the tension in your tummy finally snaps, and pleasure washes over you in overwhelming waves. It's so intense that your fingers and toes tingle. Just as you start to come down, Dick's orgasm hits. Aftershocks of pleasure spark through you as his warm cum fills you up.
For a few moments, neither of you move. The room falls silent. The air is warm with the smell of sweat and sex—scents that you'd usually wrinkle your nose at but you can't help but relish in tonight. As gross as it is, you feel alive and whole in a way you've never felt before, like you're floating through the air and nothing can ever hurt you again.
As the warmth of your orgasms fade away, so too does the adrenaline. The two of you crash hard: Dick flops down next to you, bouncing on the mattress like his body is made of jelly, and you slump back into the mattress without a care in the world.
It takes a few moments, but Dick eventually curls up around you and pulls your head against his sweaty chest.
"I love you so much," he whispers thickly. His big hands are splayed out over your back and stomach. They provide more warmth than a blanket could ever hope to. "I was terrified when I realized someone took you. I thought you-I thought they—"
"Hey," you interject gently. "Don't. I'm right here. That's all that matters."
"We're talking about it tomorrow."
"Mhm. Tomorrow."
With a sigh, Dick buries his face into your hair and rubs his hand along your side. "You're so precious to me. The best person I know. Don't know what I'd do without you. My angel."
"I love you, baby bird," you murmur.
Dick's breath hitches, and his grip gets impossibly tighter.
Tomorrow, you'll deal with the ache in your shoulder and the scratch marks you left on Dick's back.
Tomorrow, you'll talk it all out. Your thoughts and feelings. The events of the night. New security measures.
Tonight, you're content to rest easy in the arms of the man that loves you, knowing that you're alive and that he'll always keep you safe.
all written work and dividers belong to @ackpplepie!! do not plagiarize, feed my work into ai, or translate it. i do not own the characters or images used above.
"Superman is a troll and a dickhead and he should be written meaner sometimes," I say into the mic. The crowd boos. I begin to walk off the stage in shame when two voices speak and command silence in the room.
"They are right," they say. I look for the voices in the room. There in the fifth row stand Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen, who have been gaslit and trolled to the extreme by Clark before he revealed his identity to them.
The thing is I will see a Duke Thomas solo before I die and if I don't then I'll come back to haunt the DC editorial office until everyone joins me in hell
Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, AgedUp!Damian Wayne.
Warnings: Smut, kissing, graphic, it revolves around sex so like
MINORS, DO NOTTT INTERACT!!!!!!
☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮
Dick Grayson
⟢ Dick Grayson will try anything you want him to, but his favorite will always be missionary. He likes to see your face and what he’s doing to you. He likes being able to lean down and kiss your neck, or your face, and slide his mouth down and eat like it’s his last meal. He likes control and certainty, and missionary provides him both of those things.
Jason Todd
☆┇Jason likes a mating press. He likes to bend you to impossible angels, driving himself into you so deep that his tip touches the tip of your cervix. He likes when he hits a new spot, seeing the astonishment on your face. He likes your ankles on his shoulders, feet crossed behind his head.
☆┇Jason also likes doggy style. He likes being able to grip your hips and make you scream into your pillow. He also likes having close access to your plush ass, and being able to grab and smack it easily.
Tim Drake
⪼ Tim likes to fuck you in the spooning position. Most of the time you guys are cuddling before getting all worked up, so it feels best to stay in that position. Sometimes, he’ll flip you over to be between your legs, just to finish you off.
⪼Tim is also a fan of riding. He likes to lay back, letting you pleasure yourself. Sometimes he’ll use his hands, sometimes he won’t. Sometimes you’ll make him beg for it before you actually start to move.
Damian Wayne (aged up ofc)
» Damian genuinely doesn’t have a favorite position. He likes to do whatever you want him to do. Doggy? Cowgirl? Missionary? He’s got it. He gets so caught up in trying to pleasure you that he doesn’t really think about what he likes the most.
» One night, you beg for him to just…take control and do whatever he likes to do. He ended up fucking you on the edge of the bed. He also bent you over the bathroom counter. He also put your knees over his shoulders. He lost himself, something he’s never done before. It was the hottest thing that’s ever happened to you.
☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮
OK THATS IT I WAS JUST REALLLYYYYYY BORED AND LMK IF YOU WANT A PART TWO AND PLEASE PLEASE PLEASEEEEE START LEAVING REQUESTS EVEN IF ITS NOT FOR WRITING EVEN IF ITS JUST LITTLE COMMENTS AND STUFF YAYAYAYAYAYAAAAAAA
also would anyone be interested in me starting a pinterest or tiktok account? i have a discord going but there’s literally nobody in it lmfao
Dick "More Flexible Than Your Ex" Grayson— who'd make a show of how pliant his body is. Purposely bending down and over with the intention of getting you hot under the collar. So what if you're busy? He really, really, really needs your hands on him. Fuck him over the island countertop, against the wall, standing up. He does not care as long as he gets his fill of you. Just make sure to cuddle him afterwards or he'll whine and pout throughout the whole day.
Jason would come back very late at night, occasionally not even before morning
Having driven around the entire night on his bike and the loud noise of his guns surely give him headaches
Tends to use a lot of pain medication but rarely has any on him
Would want to go home but can’t because he doesn’t want to be alone at the manor or his hideout
Would call you with a raspy voice ( probably because he didn’t drink enough )
„Can I come over?“
You sat on your bed now wide awake after the cryptic call from your boyfriend. You knew he never elaborated much but he seemed really bothered on the phone, leaving you with thoughts cursing through your head. It was only laid to rest, when you saw a perfectly undamaged Red Hood open your window and slip inside, barely taking of his hard armor and helmet before slipping under the warm sheets that you provided.
Despite the chills that his cold fingers sent down your spine, you knew better than to ask him what’s wrong. His frowned face already said a million things. He didn’t say anything, he just silently hugged you, pressing his face into your chest before letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
Silently you let him relax before starting to entangle some of his hair that had been stuck together duo to all the sweat. Jason always smelled like the Gotham Streets. Even though it smelled like drugs and piss with a pinch of alcohol he made it smell certainly better.
When Jason seemed to relax even more into your hold and let some sounds slip that sounded divine to you, you used this opportunity to ask him.
„Anything you want Mr. Red Hood?“ Only for him to press himself tighter to you. „Mhhhgg.“ was the only answer you got before he moved your hands onto his head again, pressing them down harder. Over the years you‘ve practically have become a Jason whisperer, able to decipher even the most cryptic gestures of his.
A small huff left him when you started playing with his hair and scratching his scalp a bit. „Headache?“ you tried when your boyfriend left you with more pleased noises. „Yeah.“ before relaxing completely when you found the spot.
Quiet huffs and pleased noises filled your ears until Jason seemed to fall asleep, you however didn’t stop your movements one bit. It was almost 4am anyways and if anything, he deserved it.
❥・── Dick Grayson - Nightwing
❥・─────────────────────
「 ✦ Massages ✦ 」
Would constantly do stunts on patrol
Mainly to impress the children
Would overdo it a lot because he is afraid of his image
Gets severe joint pain after a particular stunt that he failed to practice enough
Always does sport at the end of the day even if he can barely stand afterwards
Usually wouldn’t tell you
Lays dead on your bed or sofa when he is done for the day
„I swear I just need to stretch them a bit.“
„A bit huh?“ you mused at his limp form in front of you. The Nightwing, acrobat since childhood years, has always done this. Acting like he wasn’t in pain while his whole body screamed in it.
You hit his butt once causing a yelp to slip past his lips while his muscles tensed. „Hey!“ „What? I can’t help it. Your behind just looks so damn tempting.“ He just huffed once more, however making no effort at all to get up. All while his face contorted in pain. „Urghh…“ you sighed softly before you started taking of his suit. „Hey…give me a second.“ he tried stopping you. However when you came back with hot water in a bowl and a towel.
He relaxed when he felt you wipe him down. You relaxed his muscles and then let your finger work magic. Sitting, more like holding yourself above his back, while massaging his back and neck especially.
Soft moans would leave his mouth throughout, occasionally bending his back upwards to lean more into your touch. Chasing the feeling of something intimate, a stark contrast between the cold and secluded place that was Gotham. The place where he would spend most his time.
At the thought of Dick leaving you again in the morning you purposely pressed a little harder on an aching spot. „Ouch!“ a chuckle that you let out was everything that it took to calm your boyfriend back down again. Letting him slowly succumb to his tiredness while you made sure that he‘d be able to move next morning.
„I love you too Grayson…“ a mumble of your name is what you got back, knowing you had already lost him to the dream worlds.
❥・── Tim Drake - Red Robin
❥・─────────────────────
「 ✦ Nap on lap ✦ 」
Rarely actually comes by when you are awake
And if then it’s because he needed to avoid his family that tried to put him in bed
Falls asleep anywhere anytime
You find him on the kitchen table, sofa, floor or the side of your bed but never on the bed
„It would make me want to rest“ he‘d say
Wakes up at the smallest of noise and sounds
Comes to complain to you after a mission if his intel was somehow wrong or slightly off
You don’t understand any of it but it lets you ease him into a possible sleep position
„I wasn’t even done explaining yet!“
„You can keep explaining now too.“ You mused at him. Putting your hand on his chest to keep him laying down on your lap. Tim wasn’t stupid. He knew what you were trying to do. However the thought of laying on your lap while your whole attention was on him was too good to pass.
After grumbling a few times he finally gave up and started talking about the mission and the most recent case that had him stay awake for days. It was hard to get Tim to sleep at all, so when you finally heard a yawn from him you made sure to support his sleepiness with everything you had.
You‘d speak softer and your hands found his hair and his one hand that wasn’t swinging around while he complained. „And then…urgh where was I? *yawn*“ he barely managed before he went quiet. You knew you did a job well done when he curled up against you hugging your hips awkwardly but you weren’t going to complain.
After 1 hour of him asleep on your lap it was however starting to hurt so with precision that not even you expected you layed yourself next to Tim letting him hug you while he had his first sleep in days.
You nearly cursed when Tim’s phone rang. You accepted the call so fast you didn’t even see who, just to ensure Tim could sleep.
„Hey Tim you better be home soon! Otherwise Alfred and Batman will limit your Batcave time.“ You let out a soft laugh. „Tim is asleep. I can relay the message through.“ A few thank you‘s from Dick later you‘ve finally got the sleep you deserved.
„Who was that?“ Tim mumbled. „A worried mother hen.“ Tim seemingly too out of it simply accepted that and was asleep seconds later.
❥・── Damian Wayne - Robin
❥・─────────────────────
「 ✦ Sharing Warmth ✦ 」
People do not take him for a cuddler
But that man is a walking freezer and he uses that fact to annoy and torture people on the daily
If he comes back from Patrol you bet your ass this man is like a snowman
He would tumble into you bed and creep his fingers under your pullover
He‘d scare the shit out of you only to also put his freezing feet onto you warm ones
You‘d always throw him out of your blanket and give him his own one
However there are days when he needs both emotional and physical warmth
„Just one minute…please.“
Whenever Damian used that voice you knew it was bad. It was the one day in the year when he‘d let all his walls down hoping that no one would tear him to shreds. His fingers tightened around your back unable to be closer than he already was.
Slowly you pressed his face more into your chest making sure to cover his form with the warm blankets you‘ve already prepared for him to snuggle into. Caressing his back slowly and letting sweet nothings spill from your mouth left him slightly shaking in your grasp.
„Oh my gosh. They really did you bad today huh? It’s alright sweetheart.“ you murmured still a bit in sleep. You got no answers but you knew he heard you. „You‘ve done so well. I love you. Don’t forget that.“ you continue not wasting a second to make sure he knew he was loved.
You slowly tried to take of his amor. You got a few mumblings as a response trying to get you to lay down again. „I am just trying to take off your amor. I am not leaving you.“ you reassured him. He made your goal to undress him harder than it had to be. Clinging onto you like it was his lifeline, something that would disappear the moment he‘d let go.
„Y/N…“ he sighed as you managed to get him out of his uniform. „Yes my little birdy?“ you mused in response. Laying back down and tugging him closer whispering sweet nothings once again to him. To others it may be strange reassurances. You wouldn’t leave, forget him. You didn’t see him as a monster, but as your darling.
Only once he slowly became as warm as you, he‘d slowly drift off into sleep. Making it your responsibility to inform Oracle of his absence the entire week. Taking off his comms and never leaving his side.
„Would you still love me if I was a worm?“ „Yeah. You‘d be quite a sexy one.“
The sun was blazing down on the private stretch of beach Bruce had somehow secured for the day. The Batfamily was scattered around — some lounging under umbrellas, others playing volleyball further down the sand. Dick had dragged you here with that bright, charming grin of his, insisting you needed “a real day off” and that he wasn’t taking no for an answer.
You were trying to relax on your towel, eyes closed behind your sunglasses, soaking in the warmth. But it was impossible.
Dick Grayson was impossible.
He was wearing a pair of blue board shorts that should honestly be illegal. They were ridiculously short, barely reaching mid-thigh, the bright cyan fabric clinging to his narrow hips and hugging the curve of his ass in a way that left very little to the imagination. Every time he moved, the shorts rode up just a little higher, revealing the strong, toned lines of his thighs and the sharp cut of his obliques.
You tried to ignore him. You really did.
Then you heard the sound of waves and opened your eyes.
Dick was walking out of the ocean, carrying a surfboard under one arm like it weighed nothing. Water streamed down his body in rivulets, tracing every ridge of muscle on his chest and abs. His dark hair was wet and messy, pushed back from his forehead. The sunlight made his skin glisten, highlighting the perfect V of his hips disappearing into those dangerously short blue shorts.
He looked like a fucking fantasy.
Dick shook his head, sending droplets flying, and caught your stare immediately. A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face. He knew exactly what he was doing. He always did.
Instead of heading straight toward the group, he veered toward you, surfboard still tucked under his arm, water dripping from his body onto the sand. His shorts clung even more obscenely now that they were wet, the thin fabric molded to the prominent bulge at the front and the firm swell of his ass.
“You’re staring,” he teased as he stopped right beside your towel, voice low enough that only you could hear. He planted the surfboard in the sand and stood over you, droplets falling from his body onto your legs. “Thought you were trying to enjoy the sun?”
You swallowed hard and forced your gaze back up to his face.
“I was,” you muttered, trying to sound casual. “Until someone decided to put on the world’s smallest board shorts and play lifeguard.”
Dick’s smirk widened. He crouched down beside you, one knee planted in the sand, giving you an even better view of the way those shorts stretched across his thighs and crotch. Water continued dripping from his hair onto your chest.
“These?” he asked innocently, plucking at the hem of the shorts. The movement made them ride up even higher. “They’re just normal board shorts. Comfortable for surfing.” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “Why? Are they distracting you?”
He leaned in closer, voice dropping into that husky tone he knew drove you crazy.
“Because if they are… I can always take them off later.”
Your face heated instantly. Dick chuckled softly, clearly pleased with himself, and brushed a wet strand of hair out of his eyes. He let his gaze drag slowly down your body before meeting your eyes again.
He stood back up, giving you one last deliberate stretch that flexed every muscle in his torso, before shooting you a wink and heading toward the rest of the family like he hadn’t just ruined your ability to relax for the rest of the day.
As he walked away, you caught his ass in those tiny blue board shorts — firm, round, and barely covered, the wet fabric clinging to every curve with each step.
Random question, if isekei reader shaved their pussy hair/ball hair……would Tim mourn the bush? He’s ready for his midnight meal, pulls down the pants and see instead of a jungle, just bare skin, would he mourn? Would be confused why reader did this? Would he be sad? Or would he just not care cause he wants that cookie too bad?
Also dick? Would he mourn the lush forest? Now chopped down?
For some reason your cosmetologist friend Jessica has decided to widen her services to various intimate hair removal techniques. And you’ve never been one to resist her puppy dog eyes, so when she asks you to be her test subject, you can’t say no…
You forgot all about it until that night when your boyfriend starts stripping you down, and then practically flinches—
Tim will pause for a moment, gears turning in his head. Then he will start lecturing you on the history of shaving and how it’s a scam and that you just made a million little micro-cuts on your skin that could negatively impact your health. Won’t start going down on you until he’s sure he’s thoroughly convinced you to not shave ever again
As a performer, Dick understands that sometimes your costume demands some trimming and shaving so if you’re going to wear— What’s that? You didn’t do this because of a new leotard/swimsuit? He stares at you, overdramatic tears welling in his eyes. THEN WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO HIM?? 🥺😭
Jason, because I can’t leave him out, is the guy who straight up tells you that looking at your bald skin is making him feel like a pedophile. Sex ban until you at least grow back some stubble
In conclusion: yes all three mourn the lush forest now chopped down 😂
Dick Grayson x Reader
Warnings: Fingering, Squirting, Overstimulation, praise & other dirty talk, risky semi-public sex, voyeurism-ish (cameras aren't on), fem! reader, maid reference, it's a little silly if you picture him as a yandere, mdni
It isn't every day you get invited to Wayne Manor - least of all with your boyfriend's super rare, once-in-a-lifetime text: House is empty. Movie night? I really miss you, baby.
You know what empty means in a place crawling with Waynes: no Alfred, no siblings, no Batman.
Normally, when Dick's injured, he sneaks you straight to his old childhood bedroom. Alfred always clicks his tongue after about an hour, knocks twice, and reminds him that a stab wound does not excuse ignoring the two-inch door rule. Dick swears, "It'll never happen again," but the promise never survives long. Your boyfriend has always been weak to cuddles (especially if they're nude).
And, typically, Dick Grayson does not have sex under this roof. Too many cameras. And there's the uncomfortable reminder that in the manor, you can hear everything. He has way too many not-so-fond memories of growing up around Bruce and his late-night girlfriends.
So you breathe easy - right up until the home-theater lights dim and he tugs you gently into his lap, your back settling against the thick bandage wrapped around his ribs. Heat radiates off his skin; the meds must have left him fever-warm. He noses the shell of your ear, lips brushing over before planting a soft kiss.
"Easy," he soothes, hands warm on your waist, his voice still bright despite the rasp left behind by his injuries. "Feels better when you're this close."
"What are you- " You intend to scold, but he's already sliding your skirt up, brushing his knuckles over the stretch of cotton between your thighs.
"Mmm?" He nuzzles behind your ear, breathing you in as though having you tucked this close might actually heal him faster.
"You promised rest." Worry slips through your voice. "Your stitches - "
"Baby, I'm literally sitting down." A grin ghosts his lips against your neck. "Alfred-approved activity."
He doesn't hear the irony, as his thumb drags lazy figure-eights across the seam of your panties, spreading your juices across the damp cloth until the thin cotton sticks to your swollen lips. Your back arches in response to all his needless touching. The projector light flashes across the ceiling, catching the shake of your thighs as you try and fail to keep still. Despite all your worries, you buck against his palm, seeking more.
"What if there are cameras? You know how Bruce is - "
A gasp steals the rest when he hooks a finger beneath your panties, sliding the fabric aside. He exposes your glistening cunt to the cool air. Whatever new release your boyfriend chose clearly does not intrigue him anymore.
"Already checked the feed." He kisses the line of your jaw - slow, adoring pecks. "Disabled the one above us. Made Tim do it."
"Timothy? Dick, you can't keep blackmailing your brother with his weird fetish porn for sex favors."
"It was a small favor - no blackmailing this time. I covered his - it doesn't matter - " he flashes you with an absolutely shameless smile, his middle finger dipping inside your wet heat, pressing just enough for you to get used to the sudden intrusion. "This is just a happy by-product."
He should look cocky, but there's desire in those bright blue eyes: an animalistic need that six nights of forced separation hasn't dulled. Phone calls and blurry video had done nothing for him. He wanted you here, warm in his lap and helpless beneath his hands.
"I missed you," he whispers, low and heated. His thumb brushes against your clit, and his eyes remain fixed on you as your body jolts beneath the sudden touch. "Missed this. Missed us."
You twist, meaning to kiss him, just as another finger joins the first. Your walls clamp around him. You cup his face, and he leans into your palm with a groan as you grind against his fingers.
"Sensitive. It seems I've been neglecting my baby, huh?" he observes with a teasing little pout, far too delighted by every helpless sound you make. His fingers drag along your walls and curl against that sweet spot until your head falls back against his shoulder.
"Look at you, doing so good for me," he whispers, chin hooked over your shoulder so he can watch your cunt swallow each thrust. He braces one slipper on the seat in front of you, widening his stance so your knees can fall farther open. "Perfect."
Heat builds in your stomach, like a balloon about to burst. You fight the need to pull away, afraid he'll tear a stitch. Dick keeps talking you through it, each word softer than the last:
"Beautiful… good girl… I've got you… Let go for me."
The balloon finally bursts, white-hot pleasure tearing a cry from your throat. Wetness splashes against the leather seat in front of you; mortification flares, but Dick's pure delight eclipses it.
"Holy - did you just-?" His awe rests somewhere between manic delight and the carnal need to make it happen again. "Baby, that was gorgeous." He groans out, a raw, broken sound you've never heard from him. He gentles his thrusts, coaxing you through your orgasm while his other arm clamps around your waist to still the aftershocks.
Embarrassment burns your cheeks. "We’re in your father's theater."
"Which now belongs to my greatest act." He kisses the corner of your parted lips, still sounding far too impressed with himself. "Do it again?"
"I can't - I - "
He grabs a water bottle - uncapped, of course, as if prepared for this all to happen -and guides it to your mouth. "Of course, you can. Hydrate." He orders, playful but earnest. "We're only just starting."
Even as you swallow, he pushes back inside, slow and steady, somehow deeper than before. Your spine bows; your heel slips off the edge of the seat, knocking over the popcorn. Kernels scatter down the aisle.
"Oops," he whispers against the column of your throat, laughing into the apology as he begins to move his fingers again. "Making such a mess today, love. Might have to hire you as a maid." His fingers curl, and his breath catches. "Fuck, your pussy just squeezed me. You wanna be my maid, baby?"
All you could do was respond with another pitiful cry.
"Focus here, honey." A third finger nuzzles at your entrance. His thumb swirls slowly in unison with his thrusts. "Give me another. Three more and we'll call it…."
"You should be - !" But you can't help the whine that escapes you as you fall more into the heat of him.
"Resting," he finishes, eyes soft, thumb stroking your inner thigh and finally giving your clit a second to breathe. "Baby, every time you come, the pain fades. It's like another angel gains its wings or something." A gentle kiss lands. "Just three more? I'll buy you something sweet later."
God only knows that three will later become five, five will become one more, baby, and Dick will keep going until someone comes home or you perish from dehydration.
