you were lounged back against the pillows in dick’s oversized t-shirt, legs stretched out, completely absorbed in your book. fingers flipped through the pages with the occasional rustle while your boyfriend was out.
dick slipped in after patrol, still in his nightwing suit. he crawled onto the bed and settled between your legs, resting his head on your chest with a soft sigh. this was practically routine now. dick was obsessed with your tits—needed them after every patrol like they were what he came home for (which… they are.)
“baby… can i…?” he asked, voice low and warm and so sweet, that easy charm threaded with pure need. when you made a small noise that indicated permission, dick tugged the shirt up gently and latched onto one nipple.
his mouth was hot, his motions eager—lips sealing tight around the stiff peak as he sucked with slow, rhythmic pulls that made your breast ache oh so sweetly and sent heated jolts straight to your cunt. his tongue swirled and flicked relentlessly around the sensitive bud that had pebbled immediately under his tongue, then flattened to nurse harder, drawing your nipple deep into his mouth with wet, obscene slurps. cheeks hollowing, he moaned softly against your flesh, the vibrations buzzing through your tit while saliva dripped down the curve of your breast.
he ground his hips against your thigh like a desperate puppy, his thick cock rock-hard and straining through the thin suit fabric. the leaking head left a growing wet spot as he humped slow and insistent, rubbing his throbbing cock along your legs in needy strokes. the friction the suit provided was delicious—but nowhere near what it would feel like to thrust into those pretty tits.
“mm… baby,” he mumbled around your tit, switching sides effortlessly, latching onto the other nipple and sucking deeper, tongue lapping messily at the slick, spit-covered skin. “missed this. fuck… you’re so soft and warm.”
you slid one hand into his dark hair, holding him close but kept your eyes on the book. he couldn’t help but wonder what was so good about words that made you so distracted. “wait a sec, dick. i’m in the middle of this chapter.”
he groaned, the sound buzzing through your breast as he sucked harder, pulling your nipple taut between his lips before soothing it with hungry laps, spit trailing down your tits as he sucked like he couldn’t get enough—which is true. his hips rocked faster, cock sliding hot and slick with pre-cum against your thigh, dragging the swollen head in filthy up down motions. “c’mon… just look at me? i’m being good here.” his tone stayed playful, that signature wit light even in the plea. “feels good, right? tell me. please.”
you turned another page, fingers stroking his hair absently. he groaned, hips twitching. “you’re doing fine, baby. give me a minute.”
“okay… fine. i can wait,” he breathed, still nursing with greedy pulls that left your nipples swollen and glistening with his saliva, grinding harder now so his aching cock dragged along your leg with slick, filthy friction. “but god, these beauties… been thinking about them all night. don’t ignore me too long.”
after a few more minutes of his devoted sucking and puppy-like humping, you sighed, slotted your bookmark in and closed the book with a snap, setting it aside. you tugged his hair gently so he met your eyes, a teasing smile on your lips.
“aww, look at my needy dick,” you murmured, guiding his mouth back down while you laid back fully so you weren’t resting your back against the headboard anymore. which meant he could grind better now. “begging so sweetly while humping my leg like a puppy. can’t get enough, huh?”
dick pulled off with a wet pop, lips shiny and swollen, biting his lower lip up at you with that bright, boyish spark. “guilty. you bring out the best in me… or the neediest.” he chuckled softly. “you gonna tease me or finally give me all your attention?”
you laughed, arching your back to press your glistening tits closer. “go on then. keep going. make it good and i’ll take care of that aching cock next. you’ve earned it.”
he groaned happily and latched on again with fresh hunger, sucking deeper and sloppier while his hips kept grinding, cock pulsing hot and heavy against your cunt now that he’s got you under him properly. you held him close with both hands in his hair, finally giving him the full attention he craved.
summary : work lost its fun when you dated richard john grayson and broke up with him a year later. what made it worse was having to go on missions with him at bruce wayne’s beck and call. what took it to hell was getting infected by a pollen that made you want him. good news, he needed you.
contains : mouth-watering smut !! mdni, read at your own risk. yearner!dick, ex!dick, aphrodisiac trope, of course poison ivy is involved in this one, yes dick is scrumptious so we want him, munch!dick, ripping of shirts, he’s highkey an ass man, yes consent is involved, he’s still a gentleman, p in v, fingering, mentions of masturbation, riding (+ face), almost kitchen sex but unfortunately not, some witty banter, yk, yk , dry humping, over-clothes munching, did I miss anything?
inspiration : sports car (t.m)
The worst thing about being DICK GRAYSON’S ex was having to get over him.
You’d been doing so well, avoiding scrolling on his Instagram, where he’d reposted Polo Ralph Lauren’s ad of him being their new poster boy. Jeans slung low, the band of his boxers covering half his v-line, shirt bunched up so your eyes could follow the slope straight into your wet dreams, sunnies perched on his nose, baby blues peeking out. Thumb tucked in a belt loop, fingers of his other hand carding through his hair.
Frustrating. Sexy. Making you more chronically online for him than you thought.
When did you start mulling over him like this? Maybe when he once took off the Kevlar of his suit with you in the Batcave. When his abs flexed during a routine stitch-up. His lips dropping open, fixed on yours while you did it.
Maybe you two weren’t over each other. Who the fuck was he to keep you hooked on a feeling?
He wasn’t over you, his eyes followed you when you walked past him. He dropped the sweetheart, dotted his i’s and crossed his t’s when it came to pining over you.
It hurt when he plummeted from heaven, falling for you.
Long winded romances were built to fail, your line of work made sure of that. A year’s worth of kissing in cars, making out on the Batjet and whispered promises sacrificed for fifteen days of bruising.
The kissed brick should hurt less, it was a mutual splitting, but rules as old as time dictated being friends with your ex was taboo. No one said shit about being almost friends, though. Lobbed insults slipped straight down both your waistbands, put rose in your cheeks, shocks in his heart.
Enough about him.
Saving the world from pollution was a noble act, it should be commended, but the line was drawn when biological warfare started to poison intentions. Tim had uncovered radiation signals from the mountains in Alaska, further reconnaissance uncovered a small camp where men in white hazmat suits conducted unknown experiments.
Naturally, Bruce wanted you and Dick to destroy said camp immediately.
The mission had been fine, routine, clean-cut, a trudge into unknown waters when the tent revealed mini-greenhouses, glass cages three holes poked into the top, incubating small, pulsating, glowing flowers, sticky pollen floating, clinging to tendril, stem and petal.
Yeah, they were strange, and supposed to be a passing thought after the charges went off, the tents going up in smoke and flames. After you’d dragged all unconscious personnel out of harm’s way.
“That’d been easy,” Dick had remarked. Oh, if only.
Your cells caught fire within the hour, so had his. Sweat dripped down his neck, his suit felt like a fucking greenhouse by itself, the ends of his hair stuck to the back of his neck, his knees fought against surrender. Your throat dried up, muscles ached, waves of saturated need riddled a heat-addled brain.
This was worse than your luteal.
You needed him, like needed him. It was the only thing your stupid brain could focus on, not Bruce’s hurried voice on comms during the flight home, it was secondary. Call his body the primary.
He wasn’t sleazy. Despite his screaming body, he kept as much distance from you as he could. Distanced himself. Shut himself in his room in Wayne Manor to get away from you, advised you to do the same. Your brain just accepted it, the walls of the guest room closing in on you.
Your hand had slipped past your panties a million times. You’d circled your clit in the way Dick used to, hand moving by itself in the rhythm he’d built into your mind. It was what worked best, but it was just surface shit, it did nothing. Honestly, felt like you were touching hot water, with how flushed your skin was and wet your fingers were but never once did it make a difference with how you felt.
Life was out to fucking get you.
Dick had tried everything too. Swallowing to push saliva down a throat rubbed with sandpaper. Taken off his clothes to feel cold air. He’d run his body over with beating cold water from a shower head. He wrapped his hand around himself and rubbed, but it made no difference, his body still burned, burst into fire for you. Water. He needed water.
The breakup had happened for a reason, ok? Your relationship was chasing you, but work was faster. It was all consuming, the stakes, dangers were running high, something else that crashed and burned with a heated argument and ‘we’re over’s thrown like punches.
Bruised knuckles blanched against the counter, other hand clutching a very full glass of water. His shirt stuck to his skin, even his baggy Calvin Klein sweats constricted him. Everything was claustrophobic, chipping at him with a chisel.
He lifted the glass to his lips. Water dripped past his lips, sliding down his chin, landing next to the sweat stains from his chest clinging to his shirt. It did shit all, his mouth was as dry, throat as scratchy, temperature high as Vesuvius.
You at the door, you stared. Watched, observed, droplets of sweat and water sliding across his collarbone your tongue’s calling, jaw begging for your lips, his lips themself soft, parted, pliable. You could lick up his neck. Shove him down onto a bed, position yourself above his face, he’d let you, probably. He did love eating pussy—
Wait, what?
You shouldn’t have gone into the kitchen, looking for a glass of water to soothe your mouth. Spectacular luck, ending up in the same place as the object of your thoughts right now. Your navel tugged, attempting to drag you closer to him. Your navel succeeded easily.
“Hey.” He rasped, the back of his hand dragging across his forehead. He could see his outline in the sweat when he looked at it. “This— fuck, it feels shitty, huh?”
You hung your head, any chance you grasped to look at him was dangerous.
“Tell me about it.” You mumbled. You couldn’t recognise it, it’d been roughed up by the fucking pollen shoved down your throat. Hay fever had permission to shove itself up your ass at this point. You itched the back of your neck, horniness addling your pussy.
You felt it when you walked, every word, every breath, it was desperate to its core, screaming for Dick. And his dick. Both of them. “I— I don’t know how much longer I can go like this, Dick.” You forced, swallowing (ow). The wince was clear as fucking day.
He started. “It hurts that much? Shit, I—” You felt the jolt in your navel again when he stepped closer, hands flying up, stopping short of your cheeks. He couldn’t. He couldn’t touch you, it would make the coil winding in his brain snap. His hands dropped, sighing, head bowed. “I can’t do anything, sweetheart, not ‘till Tim gets back with a cure to this thing.”
A cure to a reanimated thousand year old plant that was used during Ancient Egypt to encourage procreation. Right.
You turned away from him, dissociated from your body as it reached to grip the jug of water, filling the same glass he’d drank from once again. Taking a long sip, water sliding over the burn in your mouth, no relief, no dissipation. “I don’t wanna be a pessimist, but the plant’s centuries old. I doubt Tim can find a cure.”
“Have more faith in the little guy.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “He’s pulled miracles out of his ass before.” Tim probably had more brains than Einstein.
The glare he got in return was venomous. "I'll have faith when my knees aren't Jello." Faith wasn't much of an option when you'd had five failed orgasms. At least when you were with other one nights after Dick, you felt something. Even if it wasn't as satisfying.
"Touche." The silence beat on your ears, his breath in punctured that. "Look, we can hold out a little longer—" You vehemently shook your head.
Your voice came out unintentionally as a snap. "Can't you see? We're stuck like this. For — I don't even fucking know how long — and this hurts and burns and you're telling me that we can hold out a little longer?" Your fist banged the marble counter. All this frustration stemmed from the intense sexual frustration, so he didn't take it to heart. "I call bullshit."
It was unhelpful that he was also sexually frustrated. "Oh, I'm sorry." He hissed sarcastically. "I'm sorry that I'm working to protect your dignity here and keep the bit of autonomy we have left. I don't know if you want this— shit, sweetheart, do you even think about me?"
Of course you did. You thought about him every day cause your brain was obligated to think about him during every resting moment. Hot sweat plagued your midnights, imagining his lips on your neck in your dreams. The pinch in his brow when he hit the spot. Shameless, loud moans that his neighbour gave him a dirty look for the next morning.
"Of course I do." You said stiffy, spine rigid, need crawling up your back. This seemed like the type of argument which used to end in make up sex. "You're my coworker, I have to see you every day—"
Your sentence was cut off with a scoff. "That's not my question." He pressed, straight, perfectly trimmed brows furrowing. "You know that's not my question."
"Do we need to have this discussion when an aphrodisiac is eating us alive?" You hissed, shrinking into yourself. This discussion was always taboo, you both took the breakup like a brick with your lipstick print and his lip balm on it. "This hurts, ok? I don't have the energy to argue."
His eyes melted on hearing it, it hurt your heart more than it already was pained. "We don't." Folding his arms, a breath puffed from his nose, shoulders slumping. Broad shoulders your nails needed to dig in and break skin. "This sucks balls." I hate seeing you hurt, was the ulterior message.
"It really does." You looked at your feet. Maybe you could drop to your knees, undo his drawstring, suck on him for desperate clarity.
Maybe that would work.
You could feel it oozing off him; the half-baked thoughts of what you’d look like over him. You could take the chain around his neck with your finger and tug him towards you. Or his waistband. All while pain struck your abdomen. “Is it hurting— well, yeah, it’s hurting, but is it too much?” He asked softly, his chest, his broad chest connecting to an unfairly slutty waist calling your name. Despite the sweat adorning his temple, his eyes were locked on you. Out of horniness or concern, though? It was impossible to tell.
The corners of his eyes crinkled. It was concern.
You hesitated, then your head bobbed. Loosely, in what you thought was a nod. You wiped sweat off your neck, white noise pumping into your brain. “Yeah.” You rasp, taking in as much oxygen as you could to avoid delirium.
“I can help. If you want.” He was too close. His voice too gentle, hands raised like you were a fucking wild animal, even then, his eyes searched yours for a sign to stop. “I can kiss you, it might— it could take some of the pain for a second.”
This was the pollen talking, not him, you had to remind yourself. You were broken up.
“You sure?” Your breath came out in a whoosh, your body singing the closer he got. He needed to get closer. Closer. So close he was inside you.
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter what I want, you’re in pain.”
“So are you—”
“Just listen.” He said, your vocal cords forgetting their function. “If I kiss you, you could stop hurting. Even if it’s for a short while, it could work.” But if he did, he didn’t know if he could stop.
You frowned. “Weren’t you the guy preaching about autonomy?”
“Do you want to feel better or not—” Your lips sealing over his answered that question. Pretty fucking well.
Fuck.
He’d have let you pull away, but the coolness dousing his head had his lips chasing after yours when your head reared back, the gap you made between your lips closed again when he kissed you hard. Hand gripping your jaw, one coming to grip the back of your thigh, locking it around his hip. Good grief.
Could you pull away? Did you have the strength to pull away? You only had the strength to yank him closer by his sweat-weighted shirt, pushing your hand in his hair, yanking at the strands. Normally pulling that hard with the danger of ripping out chunks of hair would have a man hissing and running for the hills, he just moaned. Loudly enough for you to wonder if he was faking it.
He wasn’t. Every kiss pressed to your lips by his starving mouth went straight to his dick. His hand on the back of your thigh sent signal after signal to your pussy that switched off your rational thoughts. Talk about a downstairs brain.
The ripping of fabric was followed by his shirt flumping onto the floor, a heap of cotton that was torn by the seams at the side. Hot kisses to the side of your neck paired with him massaging your thigh with strong fingers made your pussy clench— you’d never felt close to coming from a hand on your thigh before.
His tongue flattened. And dragged, all the way up your neck, to take your earlobe in his mouth and suck. Suck enough so your nails dug into his shoulders, breaking skin. Pain translated into pleasure, pleasure translated into euphoria, the sick fucking cycle that had your panties clinging to your legs.
“Shit, gorgeous.” His breath pulsed against your ear, tip of his tongue following the shell of your ear. “You gotta use me. Fuckin’ use me, honey.”
“Dick, maybe we should—” Wait, why were you about to preach autonomy?
Jesus H. Christ. Your hands moved forward on instinct, thigh dropping, shoving him in the direction of his bedroom, laving over his pulse, forcing him to bury his hand in your hair, his eyes rolling back, hips jolting forward to grind on your thigh. His body was on autopilot, hooked on a feeling, on the lack of pain, or fire burning his nerve endings.
His back hit the bed. Head sunk back into the pillows, rosy lips dropping open when your pussy dragged over his dick, through thick sweatpants, of course, didn’t stop the aphrodisiac from making him think it was heaven. His voice cracked as he whimpered, he fucking whimpered, grabbing your ass and grinding you back down, so you obliged again, and again, to the point where you were humping him. To the benefit of both of you.
He was muttering nonsense, brain not connected to his mouth of vocal cords, stammering. “So close— shit, shit, sweetheart, stop,” He stilled you, tugging at both your waistbands, five seconds later those garments, sweats and panties, were chucked across the room. He beckoned you with two fingers, flushed cheeks betraying breathlessness. “C’mere, baby.” He mouthed at your pussy over your sweats, it wasn’t enough. Who was he kidding? It would never be enough.
His tongue swiping over his bottom lip told you everything. “Classic.” You scoffed, but your pussy throbbed. It was typical of him, to put you first. He shouldn’t put you first. “We don’t have time for this—”
“Yes, we do.” He said sharply, taking your wrist and shoving your hand in his hair. “I said use me.” His lips burned down your stomach, holding himself up off the bed without his hands. Curse him and his insane ab strength. “You had no problem with that before.”
You rolled your eyes. Your pussy reminded you to get a move on, prompting you to roll your hips over the muscle of his thigh. Without thinking, he encouraged that. Literally without thinking, his hand moved of its own accord. “You can survive without eating pussy.” It wasn’t like you didn’t want him to eat you out, he did a stellar job. Always to the point where you had to go nonverbal. You were just being a jerk.
He fake-gasped. “Wow. That’s offensive.” He pulled you onto his face without further hesitation, his tongue sliding up the length of your cunt— oh. Your hand in his hair gripped tightly, a curse-string rolling past your tongue. Was it meant to feel like you were ascending into some ninth heaven? Was that him or the aphrodisiac?
Maybe just him.
“Mm, Dickie, fuck—” You gasped, even better was his tongue slipping inside you, his thumb rolling your clit, circling, circling, larger, larger, expanding, legs shaking, eyes rolling back, pussy jolting to grind on his nose and lips.
His tongue pulled out, replacing it with his fingers, two slender digits curling, stretching you out till his knuckle pressed on that spot he always managed to find. How did he always find it? It felt unfair. “That’s it. C’mon, honey, that’s it, make yourself feel good.” He breathed, muffled by your cunt, kitten licking whatever juices didn’t drip onto his fingers.
Maybe it was the failure of every one night stand since you two broke up. Maybe it was the aphrodisiac, but you were barrelling towards a high he was making you addicted to. This shouldn’t even be happening. A part of you whispered that this would send you into an impossible-to-leave rabbit hole of yearning and fucking year-long pining.
You shut that part of you up.
“Dickie,” You moaned, a white-hot coil in your core winding up, ticking down — ten, nine, eight — “baby, m’close.” You called him baby. Against all reason, you called him a pet name. That’s it, you were what everyone called ‘in deep’.
He really needed to hear that. His fingers pumped, curled, tongue rubbed your clit, all he could do to help you get there. “Mhm?” He mumbled, drinking you up. Every fucking drop, aching, sandpaper-esque throat soothed. “Yeah, gorgeous girl, give it to me, ok? I’ve got you, m’here.”
Fuck him and his sweet talking. It had you shaking as you came, he didn’t waste a drop, licking everything up like anything wasted was the loss of a billion dollars.
He was honest to himself. Any drop of you wasted was the loss of ambrosia. Can’t put a price on that.
He withdrew his fingers, placing them in his mouth, licking the digits clean with a moan. As if the image couldn’t get more erotic, you smeared all over his mouth, the tip of his nose and his chin. “You get better every time.” He grinned, but, to ruin the mood, his dick gave him a less than welcome reminder that it existed. Pain lanced through his body, making him wince, blunt nails pressing into your thighs. “Sorry, sorry, I—”
You got it. Like hell you wouldn’t. The last of your high ebbing away caved to let aching settle in your bones once again, screaming for you to actually, you know, have his dick in you. No two ways about it.
“No, I know.” You yanked at his drawstring, helping him out of the unnecessary layers of his sweatpants and his boxers, both of them disappearing into a corner of the room. He sat up, finger lifted, tilting your chin so your lips tenderly met his. Like there wasn’t an aphrodisiac making you both desperate. “Condom?”
“I didn’t anticipate this happening.”
“Even better.” You breathed, kissing him, the taste of you flooding your tongue. He groaned, grabbing your tit, squeezing, swinging your leg so your pussy was nestled at the tip of his cock. A millimetre away from bliss.
His nose bumped yours, fighting off his flush, blown-out eyes darting to your lips then back up. Like you were Aphrodite’s gift to men. “We can stop.” He murmured, lips brushing yours again, his lashes fluttering, lids closing. “Just tell me to, and we’ll stop.”
You laughed. Quietly. “We’re kind of beyond asking.”
“Stop that, stop fucking arguing, just tell me if you want to stop.” He moaned in frustration, mouthing at your pulse. “I won’t let you do anything till I hear it. Tell me, sweetheart.”
“I don’t want to stop.” You murmured so he could hear you, grabbing his chin to kiss him, muffling the moan you both let out in that sloppy exchange as you sank down onto his waiting cock. No resistance, just slip, giving way to euphoria that clouded your brain. “Oh, fuck.” You whimpered, clawing at his back.
His eyes rolled back, if he’d been deeper than his balls in this pollen, he’d already be coming. “O—Oh, baby.” He stammered, squeezing your hip to encourage you to move.
This was what the pollen wanted. You feeling full, snug on him, lifting yourself so only the tip of him was in you before sinking down entirely. His lip caught between his teeth, propping one leg up to roll his hips up, matching each and every lift and fall of those glorious hips. This alone was euphoric, this alone sent you spiralling, nails raking down his abs, through his hair, talking dirty into his ear so you could drag him down with you.
Where did the lines blur? When did the line between aphrodisiac and emotion blur, maybe with the whisper of “Shit, baby, I love you” that he whined into your ear? It was hidden by the cacophony of pornographic moans the two of you were surprising yourselves with.
Never in his life had he sounded like that. He wanted to sound like that more often, it told you how irreplaceable you were.
He was holding out, gripping restraint, his high here and approaching fast, his head bowing down. Taking your tit into his mouth, sucking, other thumb flicking and essentially bullying your clit. Telling you to get a goddamn move on.
A cry tore from your throat, your entire being giving way, clutching his hair, his arm, as you came, the constricting of your pussy around his dick making him follow straight after, his low moan humming against your skin, pleasure rolling, wracking, wrecking, voices cracking, words disintegrating into whimpers and indiscernible sounds. His mouth coaxing more, burning up your chest, your neck, your jaw, your lips, tugging your bottom lip down with his thumb.
“I think we’re gonna need to go a few more.”
Around seven rounds of sex, sucking dick and eating pussy later, burning need faded into a pleasant hum of your weary bones. You were never going to go into an environmental terrorist’s biohazard camp ever again.
The pillows were unusually soft, but maybe your sex-exhausted brain was making you think so. So far, all you’d done is stare at the ceiling, as if this was a Tuesday where you hadn’t, y’know, slept with your ex due to an aphrodisiac.
Dick padded out from the bathroom, sweats slung low like in his jeans in that stupid Polo Ralph Lauren ad. Warm, wet, soft towel in his hand, he gently coaxed your legs apart, running the towel between your legs to clean you up.
You rolled your head to look at him. “What are you doing?” You mumbled.
“Taking care of you.” The answer was, apparently, so simple. He pushed the glass of water on your his beside table towards you. “Drink. You’ve had it rough.”
“What about you?” You took the water, letting it slide down your throat. Finally soothing it. That’s how you knew the pollen was out of your system.
He sat down beside you on the bed, tucking his legs under the covers. “Well, my legs feel like pudding, my dick’s been worked nine ways till Sunday, and my kneecaps feel creaky from the backshots.” He shrugged, lips curving into a lopsided smile. “Exactly how I wanna be.”
“You’re weird.”
“I love you too.” He chuckled, your world regaining its footing when he said that. You leaned towards him, kissing him again, this time without lust or motive or anything, just feeling him. Feeling the way he melted, like he always did.
His eyes blinked open when you pulled away. “Can we give us another shot?” He asked, shy. That was new. “Uh, only if you want to. No pressure.”
You took a breath in. This could fail. Crash and burn again, leaving you to thirst over his modelling gigs and all of him. But it’d never be worse than not trying at all.
happy anniversary (requested! + nsfw)
dilf! grayson x wife!reader
mentions: established marriage, has one kid together (not specified on gender i got lazy help), marriage anniversary, reverse cowgirl, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, praises, breeding, creampie, mentions of pregnancy (sorry)
(you mean to tell me i never wrote for dilf grayson..... that changes NOW)
—————————————————————————
it was insane how fast time flew. for example, your wedding— a day you and dick could remember like it was yesterday— and the birth of your child— a moment that made both of you realize that this wasn’t a dream, that this life you built together was real, permanent, and yours
and to celebrate your marriage anniversary, you and dick decided to go travel to a beautiful resort outside the country. it was much easier to travel now that you were able to leave your child alone at home since they were now a full-fledged teenager
the area was gorgeous. the locals were lovely, the view was spectacular, the hotel was beautiful, everything was perfect
even the sex, especially the sex. and the best part? it still felt as good as ever
“ohh fuck, sweetheart” dick moaned, balls deep in you as his chest was pressed on your back. “still fits like a dream” one hand was on your thigh to keep them from closing, while the other was rubbing circles on your clit. slight strands from his salt and pepper hair were stuck on his forehead with sweat, his face painted with a red flush
you didn’t know what part of him to focus on. whether it’d be the tip of his fat cock meeting your cervix in that repeated, vigorous pace, or his fingers that were adding more friction to your poor cunt
“too much” you whined, arching your back and knocking your head back to his shoulder. “i- mmh! dick!” your lips went fully agape with a moan, his hips rolling to bury his cock even more in you.
“let me hear you” he whispered in your ear. “wanna know how good my wife is feeling” and when you lifted your head from his shoulder, dick took his hand off your thigh to tilt your head to the side and gave you an insatiable kiss
even after all these years of marriage, this man still knew your body like the back of his hand— what buttons to press, where to touch, what to say, you name it. and he could never get enough of you— not when you always knew how to take him
“uh huh” he murmured on your lips when he felt you push your hips back for more. “juuuust like that, shit” he grunted in the kiss when he felt your walls brush on him just right, enough for his pace to turn slightly erratic with a choked moan leaving him
“my pretty wife, always so fuckin’ good for me” dick panted. “wanna— hah— fill this pretty cunt up” poor man was so pussy drunk it was as if he was starved. “yeah? wanna be a mommy again?” another kiss. “belly all round with my cum?”
you just dazily nodded with a hitched and muffled “uh huh”, not daring to pull away from his lips. your grip on his legs tightened and you broke the kiss to catch your breath, dick’s eyes half lidded before tilting his head to trail his lips down your neck
you moaned when you felt him leaving more hickeys on your body, pulsing your walls around his cock as a sign you were close.
“attagirl, that’s my wife” he groaned from the sensation of your warm pussy sucking him more than ever. “gonna make sure she’s filled up to the brim” and when dick grayson says something, he commits to it
“dick im- oh my god, im gonna cum”
“let go for me, pretty girl”
and his fingers and cock that brushed off that one spot was the last straw, moans of dick’s name leaving your swollen lips as you arched your back and pressed it more on his chest, slowly riding through your orgasm with hitched pants, trying to catch your breath through the intense wave of pleasure that coursed through your body
dick’s fingers that were in between your legs were now soaked, the motions of his fingers and his thrusts from his cock now sounding lewd and wet
“oh— oh fuck, shitshitshit” he moaned, squeezing his eyes shut and gently biting your shoulder to hold back pathetic sounds as thick cum shot from his cock and buried itself deep in your cunt. “take it, take it all”
a whine dragged out from your lips from the feeling of dick fucking his cum in you, the warmth of his seed and the slow rolls of his hips making you dizzy
happy anniversary!
—————————————————————————
masterlist! ⤷ 2k event !
(a/n: my ig feed is literally carrying with the ideas help its gonna carry the entire event)
i missed my bf, sue me! this is a little thing to get back into his voice you know? anyway i hope you guys like ♡
Dick’s sitting on the sofa, an arm over his eyes as he listens to you get ready in the bedroom. He’s been banned after the last time. You’re going out with your friends, and he knows the second you come out he’s going to want to keep you at home.
Not because he doesn’t trust you, but because he can already hear the clinking of your jewelry and he can smell your perfume, and he knows you look so fucking good.
“Bird boy,” he perks, hanging off the arm of the sofa and facing you. His heart stops, your skin glitters and your hips sway just so as you walk towards him. It makes his head spin a little.
Before you can ask, ‘what do you think?’ Dick is scrambling off the sofa to you.
“Good god,” his hands fall to your hips immediately, grateful for the tiny top you’re wearing because your bare skin is cool and glittery under his palm. “You’re,” Dick trails off, licking his lips as he looks at you up and down.
You giggle, batting his hands away from you when they start climbing to your ribcage. “Stop,” you step back and that makes his state worse, because now he can see your legs and that makes his brain short circuit. Dick scrubs a hand over his face, then drags it down his chest.
“Baby, this is a top three look.” he says, a little breathless as he speaks.
You smile, leaning into him to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Dick.” He sinks his hands into your back pockets, tugging your body flush against his. “You promised you’d behave.” you remind him when he starts nosing your neck.
“This is me behaving, sweetheart.” he presses kisses to your collarbones, sighing when he smells the milky tonka scent of the perfume he got you a few months ago. Dick pulls away and you nearly giggle at how his eyes have gone from crystal blue to near cerulean.
“The girls will be here in ten minutes,” you say as he stands straight again. You reach up and his eyes shut as your nails rake through his inky tresses. “I’ll only be gone for two hours.”
He nods, kissing your lips. Before you can pull away, he reaches into his sweatpants pocket and pulls out his wallet.
“Dick, we spoke,” he rolls his eyes as he slips his card; really Bruce’s card into your purse.
“You spoke, I remember distracting you midway through that argument.” you flush at the memory. “Have fun, let the silly men buy you guys drinks, but get those shoes you wanted the other day.” Dick’s stern about that part and when you shake your head, he holds your chin between two fingers. “Get it, or I’ll get it in every colour they have, pretty girl.”
It’s a threat you know he’ll make good on, so you nod and kiss him again. “I love you, bird boy.”
He swats your bum as you start for your front door. “Love you too, miss thing.”
Summary: Reader is Dick's new neighbor who keeps accidentally almost discovering he's Nightwing. He's climbing in through windows, she brings over cookies at the worst times, she hears weird noises, at night while she hacks away (FBI or Interpol). Dick is losing his mind trying to keep his secret while also being very attracted to her. BUT what he doesn't know is that both of them are vigilantes, and she falls in love with Nightwing while patrolling, and he is falling in love with the real her.
requests are open
dividers by @cafekitsune
Dick Grayson was having a very bad night.
The drug bust had gone sideways, he'd taken a knife to the ribs (shallow, but painful), and now he was bleeding on his fire escape at 3 AM, trying to remember if he'd locked his window or if he'd have to break into his own apartment.
That's when he heard it.
Humming.
Someone was humming on the fire escape next door, the apartment that had been empty for months but apparently now had a tenant.
Dick froze, pressing himself against the wall, trying to become one with the shadows. Through the window of the neighboring apartment, he could see her.
You were sitting at a desk, multiple monitors glowing, typing away with the kind of focused intensity he recognized. Your hair was pulled back, you were wearing an oversized hoodie and glasses, and you were... beautiful. Distractingly beautiful.
Also, those looked like law enforcement databases on your screens.
Before Dick could process this information, you stood up, stretched, and walked directly toward your window.
Dick did the only thing he could think of: he dropped off the fire escape entirely, catching himself on the level below and swinging into his own window with perhaps less grace than usual due to the whole "bleeding from the ribs" situation.
He landed in a heap on his living room floor.
"Smooth, Grayson," he muttered to himself. "Very smooth."
The next morning, Dick ran into you in the hallway.
Literally ran into you. You were carrying a box of what smelled like fresh cookies, he was running late for work, and the collision resulted in cookies everywhere.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" You immediately crouched down to help pick up the scattered cookies.
"No, no, that was totally my fault. I wasn't watching where I was going." Dick knelt down too, and that's when he got a good look at you.
It was definitely the girl from last night. Same face, same hair, but without the glasses and somehow even prettier in natural light.
"I'm your new neighbor," you said with a warm smile, extending your hand. "Apartment 4B. I was actually bringing these over to introduce myself. Guess that plan is literally crumbling."
Dick laughed and shook your hand. "Dick Grayson, 4A. And these cookies look salvageable. Five-second rule?"
"I like your optimism." You grinned. "What do you do, Dick Grayson from 4A?"
"I'm a cop. Blüdhaven PD." The cover story rolled easily off his tongue. "You?"
"Data analyst for a consulting firm. Lots of late nights staring at computer screens. Very boring."
Dick thought about the law enforcement databases he'd seen. "I'm sure it's more interesting than you're making it sound."
Something flickered in your eyes, amusement? Recognition? "Maybe. What about you? Do you like being a cop?"
"It has its moments. Lots of night shifts, though. If you ever hear weird noises coming from my apartment at odd hours, I'm probably just getting home from work."
"Good to know. Same here, I keep weird hours. We'll be the problem neighbors who make noise at 3 AM."
"As long as we're only bothering each other, I think we'll be fine."
You smiled, and Dick felt something warm in his chest that had nothing to do with his still-healing stab wound.
"Well, Dick Grayson, since the cookies are ruined, can I buy you coffee sometime? As an apology for the collision I'm definitely going to claim was your fault?"
"I'd like that," Dick said, probably smiling too much. "How about tomorrow morning?"
"It's a date. Well, not a date-date. A neighbor-coffee-thing."
"A neighbor-coffee-thing. Got it."
You headed back to your apartment, and Dick watched you go, wondering why his new neighbor had law enforcement databases on her screens at 3 AM and why the universe had decided to give him a crush on someone who lived directly next to his secret identity.
This was going to be complicated.
Nightwing was tracking a human trafficking ring when he literally crashed into her.
Well, she crashed into him, technically. He was about to drop down on the warehouse when a figure in purple and black swung past him, planted both boots in his chest, and sent him sprawling across the rooftop.
"What the—" He rolled to his feet, escrima sticks already in hand.
Huntress stood across from him, crossbow trained on his chest. "Nightwing. Didn't expect to see you here."
"Clearly, since you just kicked me in the chest." Dick took in her appearance... the costume, the weapon, the confident stance. Huntress. He'd heard of her, but they'd never worked together. "I'm guessing we're after the same shipment?"
"If by shipment you mean the fifteen girls being held in that warehouse, then yes." She lowered her crossbow slightly. "I've been tracking this ring for three weeks. This is the hub."
"I know. I've been tracking them for two months." Dick moved to stand beside her, looking down at the warehouse. "Want to work together? Or are you going to kick me again?"
He could hear the smile in her voice. "Depends. Can you keep up?"
"I think I can manage."
Working with Huntress was... intense.
She was skilled, efficient, and absolutely ruthless with the traffickers in a way that made Dick a little nervous. Not killing them, but definitely not holding back either.
"You're pretty good," Dick said as they zip-tied the last trafficker for the police.
"Pretty good?" Huntress turned to him, and even through the mask he could tell she was raising an eyebrow. "I just took down six guys while you were handling four."
"I was being gentle with them."
"Gentle. Right." She holstered her crossbow. "You're not bad yourself, Nightwing. For someone who plays by the rules."
"I don't always play by the rules."
"Could've fooled me." She moved closer, and Dick was suddenly very aware of how tall she was, how her costume fit, how her voice had a teasing quality that made his pulse quicken. "Maybe I'll have to teach you how to loosen up sometime."
"I can be loose. I'm very loose."
"That sounded better in your head, didn't it?"
"So much better."
Huntress laughed, a real laugh, warm and genuine, and Dick felt that same flutter he'd felt with his neighbor. Which was ridiculous. They were completely different people in completely different contexts.
"Same time next week?" Huntress asked. "I've got intel on a weapons shipment."
"It's a date," Dick said, then quickly added, "A vigilante team-up date. Not a date-date."
"Smooth, Nightwing. Very smooth." But she was smiling as she grappled away into the night.
Dick watched her go and wondered why he was suddenly attracted to two women who were both completely unavailable for entirely different reasons.
Dick was beginning to think the universe hated him.
In the past week alone:
Incident 1: You'd knocked on his door at 2 AM because you'd heard "concerning noises" (him limping home from patrol with bruised ribs). He'd answered shirtless, still sweaty, and had to convince you he'd just been doing a really intense home workout.
"At 2 AM?" you'd asked skeptically.
"I keep weird hours. Cop schedule, remember?"
You'd looked at him, really looked at him, your eyes tracking over his chest and the bruises he couldn't hide, and something had shifted in your expression. "Right. Of course. Just... try to keep it down? I'm working on a big case."
Incident 2: He'd been climbing back into his window after patrol, and you'd been on your fire escape with a cup of tea, laptop open, working on something that looked suspiciously like surveillance footage.
You'd looked up just as he was halfway through his window.
"Late night at work?" you'd called over.
Dick had frozen, halfway through the window in his Nightwing suit, and thank god it was dark and you couldn't see details. "Yeah! Just getting home. You?"
"Can't sleep. Thought I'd get some work done." You'd squinted at him through the darkness. "Are you okay? You're moving kind of stiff."
"Just sore from the gym!"
"You go to the gym a lot."
"I'm very dedicated to fitness!"
"Clearly!"
Incident 3: You'd brought over cookies again (you were always bringing over cookies, and Dick was starting to associate the smell of chocolate chip with minor panic attacks about his secret identity). He'd answered the door with a black eye he'd forgotten to cover up.
"Dick! What happened to your face?"
"Uh... walked into a door?"
"A door."
"A very aggressive door. In a doorway. That I didn't see."
You'd reached up and gently touched his cheek, and Dick had nearly forgotten his own name. "You should be more careful. For a cop, you're surprisingly accident-prone."
"I'm working on it."
Now, Dick was trying to get into his apartment quietly at 4 AM when he heard your door open.
You stepped out in pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt, garbage bag in hand, and stopped when you saw him.
"Oh! Dick. Hi. Late shift?"
Dick looked down at himself, civilian clothes, thank god, but definitely disheveled and possibly bleeding through his jacket from the cut on his arm. "Yeah. Really late shift. Lots of paperwork."
"Paperwork that fights back?" You nodded at his jacket where blood was definitely starting to show.
"I... cut myself on a filing cabinet?"
"A filing cabinet."
"They're very dangerous. OSHA nightmare, really."
You set down your garbage bag and walked over to him, all pretense of buying his story gone. "Dick. I'm not an idiot."
His heart stopped. "I don't—"
"You're either the clumsiest cop in Blüdhaven, or you're into some kind of underground fight club, or..." You paused, studying him. "Or you're going to keep lying to me, and we're going to keep doing this awkward dance where we both pretend I believe you."
Dick didn't know what to say. You were looking at him with those sharp, intelligent eyes, and he realized you'd probably never believed his excuses. Not even once.
"I can't tell you," he said finally, honestly. "I want to. But I can't."
You nodded slowly. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay. Everyone has secrets, Dick. I'm not going to push." You picked up your garbage bag again. "But maybe let me at least look at that arm? I've got a pretty well-stocked first aid kit. Data analysis can be surprisingly hazardous."
It was a terrible idea. He should say no. Should keep the distance between Dick Grayson and his nighttime activities.
"I'd like that," he heard himself say instead.
Your apartment was exactly what he'd expected: organized chaos, multiple monitors on a custom desk setup, books everywhere, and yes, a suspiciously well-stocked first aid kit that looked more suited to field trauma than paper cuts.
"Sit," you ordered, pointing at your couch.
Dick sat.
You cleaned and bandaged his arm with the efficiency of someone who'd done this before. Many times before.
"You're good at this," Dick observed.
"I told you. Data analysis is dangerous work." You met his eyes, and there was something there, a shared understanding, maybe. A mutual recognition of secrets kept. "There. Try not to fight any more filing cabinets."
"I'll do my best."
You walked him to your door, and Dick paused in the doorway. "Thank you. For not... asking questions."
"Thank you for not asking why a data analyst has medical supplies and works at weird hours staring at what definitely looks like surveillance footage."
Dick's eyes widened slightly. So you knew he'd noticed. Of course you had.
"We're both terrible liars," he said.
"The worst," you agreed. "Coffee tomorrow? Our actual neighbor-coffee-thing that we keep rescheduling?"
"I'd really like that."
"Good. It's a date. Not a date-date—"
"A neighbor-coffee-thing. I remember." Dick smiled. "See you tomorrow."
As he walked back to his apartment, Dick realized he was in so much trouble. Because he was falling for his neighbor who was clearly hiding something, while also developing feelings for his vigilante partner who he only knew through masks and banter.
The universe definitely hated him.
"You're distracted," Huntress observed as they staked out a drug shipment from a rooftop.
"I'm not distracted."
"You've been staring at that same window for five minutes. The bad guys are in the other building."
Dick snapped his attention back to the correct warehouse. "Sorry. Just thinking."
"About?"
"Complicated stuff."
Huntress laughed. "Let me guess. Girl trouble?"
"How did you—"
"You have that look. Kind of mopey. It's cute." She nudged him with her shoulder. "Want to talk about it?"
This was surreal. Getting relationship advice from Huntress while on a stakeout.
"There's this woman," Dick started. "She's smart, funny, beautiful. We have coffee sometimes. She lives next door to me."
"Sounds perfect. What's the problem?"
"I can't tell her about... this." He gestured at his costume. "And I don't know if I can have a relationship built on lies."
Huntress was quiet for a moment. "You know, I have the same problem."
"Yeah?"
"There's this guy. He's... he makes me laugh. Makes me feel normal, like I'm not just the vigilante, you know? Like I could actually have a life outside of all this." She sighed. "But he doesn't know the real me. And I don't know how to tell him without ruining everything."
"Maybe he'd understand."
"Maybe. Or maybe he'd run screaming." She turned to look at him. "What about your neighbor? You think she'd accept the vigilante thing?"
Dick thought about your well-stocked first aid kit, your late nights, your databases, the way you'd never once actually believed his excuses.
"I think she might have secrets of her own," he said slowly.
"Then maybe you both need to take a leap of faith."
Before Dick could respond, the warehouse doors opened, and the shipment arrived. They sprang into action, moving in synchronized harmony that came from weeks of working together.
Huntress was incredible in action, graceful, lethal, and efficient. And the way she moved, the way she fought, there was something familiar about it that Dick couldn't quite place.
After they'd wrapped up the bust and were sitting on the rooftop again, Huntress pulled off her glove and held out her hand.
"Friends?" she asked. "Real friends, not just work partners?"
Dick took her hand, and even through his glove he could feel...
Wait.
There was a small scar on her thumb. A distinctive scar in the shape of a crescent moon.
Dick's brain stuttered to a halt because he'd seen that scar before. This morning. When you'd handed him his coffee and he'd noticed the unusual mark and you'd told him you'd cut yourself on a broken mug in college.
Huntress had the same scar.
Huntress, who talked about having a normal life with a guy who didn't know about her vigilante activities.
Huntress, who lived in Blüdhaven and worked weird hours.
Huntress, whose voice, now that he was paying attention, sounded remarkably similar to...
"Oh my god," Dick said.
Huntress, you tilted your head. "What?"
Dick started laughing. He couldn't help it. The universe wasn't cruel. The universe was hilarious.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing. Everything. I just..." He pulled off his own mask and watched your eyes go wide. "Hi, neighbor."
Your jaw dropped. "Dick?"
"Surprise?"
"You're Nightwing. You're... all those injuries, the weird hours, the 'filing cabinets'..." You smacked his arm. "You let me feel bad about not believing your excuses!"
"You're Huntress! You've been kicking my ass in the field and bringing me cookies in real life!"
"I have not been kicking your ass—"
"You literally kicked me in the chest the first time we met!"
"That was tactical!"
You were both laughing now, the absurdity of it all hitting you simultaneously.
"So," Dick said, catching his breath. "When you said you had a guy you couldn't tell about the vigilante thing..."
"I was talking about you, you idiot."
"And when I said I had a neighbor I was falling for..."
"Also me." You shook your head. "We're both terrible at this."
"The worst." Dick reached out and took your hand, the one with the scar that had given you away. "But I think we can figure it out now. No more secrets?"
"No more secrets," you agreed. "Although I have to say, this explains so much. I thought I was going crazy with the noises from your apartment."
"I thought you were going to figure me out when I came home bleeding that one time."
"Dick, I figured you out the second week. You're not as sneaky as you think."
"What! When did you—"
"You left your escrima stick on the fire escape. I saw it when I was having tea."
Dick groaned. "And you didn't say anything?"
"I have secrets too! Speaking of which..." You pulled out your phone and showed him your screen; it was full of files on the trafficking ring you'd both been investigating. "I'm not actually a data analyst."
"Shocking revelation."
"I work for Interpol. Undercover. I've been tracking these rings internationally."
"That's actually really impressive."
"I know." You smiled at him. "So. Now that we both know everything... want to get coffee tomorrow? As a real date this time?"
"Not a neighbor-coffee-thing?"
"Definitely a date-date."
Dick pulled you closer, and kissed you right there on the rooftop overlooking Blüdhaven, and it was perfect. No masks, no lies, just him and you and the truth finally out in the open.
"I've wanted to do that for weeks," he admitted when you broke apart.
"Which version of me? The neighbor or the vigilante?"
"Both. All of you. Every version." He kissed you again. "Though I have to say, the cookies really sealed the deal."
You laughed against his lips. "Good to know the way to Nightwing's heart is through baked goods."
"Among other things."
Six Months Later
Dick woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of you talking to someone in the living room.
"—so then he tried to tell me he got the black eye from walking into a door," you were saying, clearly on the phone. "A door! And I'm supposed to just accept that?"
Dick smiled and got out of bed, padding into the living room where you were sitting on the couch, his couch, in his apartment that you'd basically moved into three months ago.
"Who are you talking to?" he asked, dropping a kiss on your head.
"Oracle. We're comparing notes on how oblivious our respective Batboys are."
"I resent that. I figured you out eventually."
"You figured me out because of a scar, not through actual detective work."
"Detective work is noticing details. The scar was a detail!"
You pulled him down for a proper kiss. "Good morning to you too."
"Morning." He grabbed his coffee cup. "What's on the agenda today?"
"Well, I have a meeting with Interpol at ten, we have that team-up with Batman and Oracle tonight to take down that arms dealer, and I promised I'd bring cookies to the Titans tomorrow for their meeting."
"You're going to spoil them."
"They love my cookies. Especially Gar."
"Everyone loves your cookies." Dick settled onto the couch next to you. "I still can't believe we're actually doing this. Living together, working together, fighting crime together."
"Having a completely normal, healthy relationship?"
"I was going to say 'tempting fate' but your version is better."
You laughed and curled into his side. "You know what the best part is?"
"What?"
"No more sneaking around. No more lies. No more pretending the weird noises at 3 AM are from a filing cabinet."
"I maintain that filing cabinets can be very dangerous."
"Dick."
"Fine. Yes. This is much better." He kissed the top of your head. "I love you. Both versions of you. The Interpol agent and the vigilante and the neighbor who brings me cookies."
"I love you too. The cop and the vigilante and the guy who is genuinely terrible at lying about his injuries."
"I'm working on it."
"Please don't. It's endearing."
Dick's phone buzzed with a message from the Titans group chat. Gar was asking if you were really bringing cookies tomorrow, and could you make the chocolate chip ones again?
"See?" Dick showed you the message. "Spoiled."
"They're heroes. They deserve cookies." You grabbed his phone and typed back a response. "Besides, someone has to balance out all your protein shakes and kale smoothies."
"Those are healthy!"
"Those are crimes against taste buds."
"You're terrible."
"You love me."
"I really do," Dick agreed, pulling you closer. "Even if you did kick me in the chest the first time we met."
"That was tactical!"
"Sure it was, neighbor."
You kissed him to shut him up, and Dick decided that having a vigilante girlfriend who lived next door and brought him cookies was actually the perfect ending to the weird, complicated, wonderful story of how you'd found each other.
No more secrets. No more close calls.
Just the two of you, fighting crime and falling in love, exactly as it should be.
Bonus Scene - The Group Chat:
Nightwing: So funny story about my new neighbor
Oracle: This is going to be good
Red Hood: Is this the one you wouldn't shut up about?
Red Robin: The one who brings cookies?
Robin: I fail to see what is amusing about baked goods
Nightwing: She's Huntress
Oracle: WHAT
Red Hood: YOU'RE KIDDING
Red Robin: That's actually hilarious
Robin: I do not understand the humor
Nightwing: I've been patrolling with her for weeks, and she's ALSO the neighbor I've been falling for
Oracle: Dick. Only you.
Red Hood: Did you literally fall for the same person twice?
Nightwing: ...yes
Red Robin: That's the most Dick Grayson thing I've ever heard
Nightwing: I hate all of you
Oracle: No, you don't
Nightwing: No, I don't
Red Hood: So did you tell her?
Nightwing: I figured it out from a scar on her hand
Oracle: A SCAR
Red Robin: Not even through detective work
Nightwing: DETECTIVE WORK IS NOTICING DETAILS
Robin: This is pathetic
Nightwing: You know what? I'm leaving this chat
Oracle: No, you're not
Nightwing: No, I'm not
Red Hood: Bring her to the next family dinner. I want to meet the woman who kicked you in the chest
Nightwing: How do you know about that???
Red Hood: She told me. We're friends now.
Nightwing: WHEN DID YOU TALK TO HER
Red Hood: She has a sense of humor unlike SOME people
Nightwing: I'm blocking all of you
Oracle: You've said that before
Nightwing: THIS TIME I MEAN IT
Nightwing has left the chat
Oracle has added Nightwing to the chat
Oracle: Nice try
Huntress has been added to the chat
Huntress: Hi, everyone! Dick's told me so much about you!
Red Hood: OH THIS IS GONNA BE GOOD
Oracle: Welcome to the family!
Huntress: Thanks! I brought cookies
Robin: ...acceptable
Red Hood: I like her already
Summary- Dick Grayson has had a lot of weird girlfriends in the past. One was a literal alien others were eccentric to say the least, however, watching you stress bake might actually take the cake.
(do you get the pun, take the CAKE, bake....okay goodbye)
Warnings- Suggestive (making out SEMI mentioned), lots of kissing, FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF, cussing, dirty floors.
Pairing- Dick Grayson x Fem!reader
Song- Sugar Town- Nancy Sinatra
Hall of fame- @suupersonic
Join my taglist! TAGLIST
ALSO, let's play catch the reference. I wrote a scene similar to a show, if you know it comment it and you can get one of Euphemia's cookies.
Dick Grayson was a man of many talents. He was a master at his own body, conforming to flexible outcomes, he was able to charm any lady out of her panties, and he somehow found the crazy in anyone.
He could turn a completely normal guy into a sobbing mess with one look. He was ashamed to say he had become many people's reasons on why they became a villain.
And because of this, he never really felt normal. Coming from a home with circus acrobats and getting adopted into one where the tradition of fighting within the night in spandex didn't really help his case either.
Spending his life away chewing at the thoughts which lingered, could he be normal? And the is answer is no.
He did not own a big white four bedroom, two floor, three bath, big yard house with a wife (or husband, his charm does not discriminate.) and two or three kids. He wasn't able to list off suburban neighborhoods and if a gun was pointed at his head and was asked where his daily planner was, he would obviously kick them into oblivion. However, he would not know what to say, because he did not know what a planner even looked like.
So, while moping and thinking about the thoughts concluded, he met you.
More like ran into you.
"Holy shit! I am so sorry." Dick panics, quickly bending down and picking up your fallen things. He didn't bother to look, instead glanced. He barely saw the big text on your book titled, "Animal Psychology."
"It's fine, things happen." You reply sweetly, scarf falling down your neck.
It was the middle of Gotham's winter, and you had to admit, you were freezing your metaphoric balls off.
While Dick felt the need to feel normal, you wanted to feel different.
Coming from a family who made you feel like whatever you did, it was already done before so why celebrate?
Getting an A on your test was just another reminder someone else has done it before you and it's nothing to truly be happy for. Meeting Dick was a new experience and made you feel alive.
He celebrated every little thing because those things were not normal to him and they felt like anything to you, in a way, loving each other was bound to happen.
"No, I wasn't paying attention and I want to apologize." Shivering, he picks up your books, and stands up slowly, matching your same pace.
His eyes start to trace over your body, your long coat and magenta scarf, he was surprised he could even see you despite the list of clothing you were apparently wearing.
When the locals say you can tell when someone hasn't lived here for long, this is what they mean.
Clearing out his throat, his eyes meet yours, you're fixing the textbooks underneath your armpit, sighing softly against the cloth.
"First winter here?" Dick can't help but ask, his curiosity got to the better of him.
"Yeah." You smile, now looking up to actually look at him. Tilting your head, right hip propped out, you hum. "I lived in this small city in California for a while, it's pretty obvious huh?" Laughing softly and shaking your head.
"I mean I've never seen someone wear this much clothes since my little brother was convinced we all had malaria." Thinking about the memory, Dick can't help but smile, it was the weirdest disease Damian was paranoid of that year, he's pretty sure he'll come up with a different one next.
"Malaria?" You laugh further, head thrown back now, your teeth shining in the little sun Gotham had decided to share that midday.
Dick now sees a glimpse of your actual face as the scarf slides down. Notices the marks and faint scars from acne or accidents, he can't help but blush slightly. He has eyes, you are one of the most beautiful women he's encountered yet. Biting his lip, he shakes out his nerves and watches you as you recline back facing him again.
"D'ya think you would be up to y'know..." Rocking back and forth on his heels, he rubs the back of his neck with his left hand. "Maybe want to go get some coffee with me? If you're free 'course." He murmurs, practically silently if you weren't so near.
Furrowing your eyebrows as you decipher his words, glancing at your over the top snow boots, pondering on the offer. You shrug and nod. "Why not?" A grin is placed on your face as let Dick lead the way.
Nothing about you is odd and if there is, he's found it endearing.
Because months later, you find yourself moving into his much bigger apartment faster than you expected, and because of this he's found out about your big little secret.
-
Sometime in the relationship, where you and Dick had gone skin to skin in bed, trying to get as close as humanly possible you had opened up.
"My mom wanted me to get into medical school y'know? Which is why I know so much about patching you up." You mumbled on one quiet night, Dick knew better than to interrupt you, afraid you'll stop talking. Kissing the top of your hand, giving you a silent push to continue.
"It felt so organic and..." Scratching at your leg, you sigh once more. "Done so much. I felt like there was so much for me to do. And I had this cat, his name was Ham." Chuckling under your breath at the memory, you lick your chapped lips and continue on/
"During my second year of college, doing public health, I decided to change my major and do Animal psychology." Twirling your hands around his chest, your head finds the crook of his neck where you find him nodding along.
"That was when I found out about being a cat behavioral consultant. Though the stress kinda gets to me." Finishing off, counting the soft faint scars on his body, Dick leans down and gives you a proper kiss on your head.
"You're my favorite cat behavioral consultant I know baby." Mumbling into your hair.
"I'm going to be the only one you know doofus." Laughing loudly you slap his skin playfully which turns into of course a bigger playful fight. When does it not?
-
The morning of March, where the weather is slowly but surely starting to warm up, you had finally graduated and is quickly on the road to starting your interview on your dream job.
With your doubts of course, you start to feel the stress and anxiety work together in your body, creating a sense of trouble within you.
Panicking, you grab the next thing on your mind, a whisk and a bowl.
-
Dick was so excited to walk into his home, having a hectic day and constantly yelling at his team to work together, all he wanted to do was lay down on his future wife's chest and kiss until god himself came down and begged him to stop.
He could see it now, his beautiful fiancee watching her comfort show and wearing one of those eye masks he pretends to hate but loves the cooling sensation after.
Taking a deep breath, he slowly unlocks the door, not being able to contain his excitement to see his partner.
Instead of receiving kisses and proclaims of, "I missed you!" He sees something abnormal and far worse.
The kitchen is covered head to toe in flour, from the looks of it there are three trays of cupcakes or muffins- he can't tell, a cake, loaves, a pie or two.
His mouth agape, and eyes widen. He simply cannot believe the sight in front of him.
Slowly taking off his jacket, he hangs up on the coat rack near the door. His feet also afraid to step into the mess of his lover's baking world.
"Baby." He blurts, running a hand through his hair.
Not stopping your whisking, the glaze needs to be done by the time the rest comes out, you are on a time crunch.
A second time. "Baby!" Now stepping to doorway of the kitchen watching as you almost slip on a large sprinkle of flour.
Still completely unaware of his presence, you continue, adding more vanilla extract than you probably should.
Having enough of being ignored, Dick's boots echo as he stands in front of you now gently holding your shoulders. "Baby!" He breathes, blinking in your direction.
Flinching at the sudden movement, your own eyes widen at the unexpectedness of him being home, he said he would be here by 5pm, it is 4pm.
"What in the world are you doing?" Laughing softly to confirm he wasn't actually mad at you, just confused.
"I have an interview." You whisper quietly, a deep frown on your face as you look down.
"I know." He mouths, left hand coming off your shoulder momentarily and lifts your chin up to meet his gaze.
"And I'm nervous."
"Y'must be baby, it's a lot." Affirming you, he closes his eyes and brings you into his arms, making sure you aren't suffocating he pulls away slightly.
"Why the baking?" Leaning down, he puts his ear near your mouth and beckons you to continue.
"It lets my hands do something, takes me away from all the thinking. Instead of letting myself overthink of how I could fuck up, why not think about how I can fuck up a glaze?" You shrug, and it is honestly as simple as that. "I made your favorite." You point to the three tier chocolate cake near the oven.
Dick stands there in disbelief, you had spent two years in his life and had this secret superpower.
"Anything else?" He gulps, eyes darting at the mess, salt thrown everywhere, a tiny puddle of vanilla extract somewhere. You had always claimed you needed so many ingredients when grocery shopping because of some baking club you decided to take, you didn't want to talk about it.
Dick's eyebrows furrow and his expression is filled with anger. "There was no baking club?" He runs a hand down his mouth, eyes watering... for some reason.
"No, Dick, there was no baking club." Blinking at him, lip curled up in confusion. "You're mad about me lying about baking club and not at the mess?"
Mouth still open, he sits on the armrest of the couch, shaking his head. "There was no fucking club." He whispers dramatically, sighing loudly, he stands back up, and you swear you see a hint of betrayal.
Throwing your hands in your air, you grab a piece of powdered donut and shove it in his mouth. "Here, stop being dramatic. You deadpan, crossing your arms and staring at him with a blank expression.
With his mouth filled with powdery goodness, he stares at you, a grin starting to form. "I h've had lovers whoo... beat the SHIZ out of alienz." Gulping down the last piece he was working on, his grin comes out in daylight. "And this has to be the weirdest stress relief I have ever seen."
Now it's your turn to look at him angrily, nose scrunched, stance defensive. "Well, if MY stress relief is SO weird, you can go back to your lovers." You grumble sarcastically, narrowing your eyes at him you turn to walk away expecting to hear quick apologies coming out his mouth.
Instead, he grabs you by the wrist and spins you around. "Richard Gray-" You try to spew, however he's quicker, attaching his sugar coated lips against yours. You let out a yelp of surprise but reciprocate the kiss. Hands coming up to his hair to tug and play with, his own finding your waist and neck.
Losing yourself in the act of love, you whimper against his mouth, left hand finding the hem of his shirt. Before you can even test his waters, he flips out and falls onto the floor, a gasp leaving your lips as you recover from the shock of his body leaving yours.
Dick is lying in a pile of flour, his tooth eating grin, his hand beckons you over.
"I am not going to lay down on the mess of ingredients." Deadpanning as you shake your head, wiggling your index finger, a big smile though makes it way to your face unconsciously.
As you turn your head at him, he takes that to his advantage and pulls you down while unnoticed, your body landing on top of his.
"You!-" You groan at your loss for words, opting for a smack on his shoulder. He doesn't take that lightly and throws a handful of flour onto your face.
"That was NOT nice." You enunciate, rolling your eyes, a fake pout on your lips. Your boyfriend simply smiles at your dismay and brings you down back to his level and decides then, he's going to kiss you silly.
Dick reaches for your face, beginning to kiss you softly. A few minutes pass and your lips are synchronized. His hands reach down to your butt and lays you down on the floor, his lips moving down to your neck.
And before he can even make it past the neckline of your shirt, you smile mischievously and swipe your hand against the wooden flooring, and smacking his head with a handful of flour lightly.
Halting his movements, barely even processing what happened, he looks up at you and sluggishly grabs a bowl with his too long arms, and smears frosting all along your perfect v-neck shirt.
"Oh no you did not." Is the last thing he hears before another food, he cannot name because of how fast you threw it at his face.
"No! Please! Wait! I'll make you whatever you want!" Is the last thing you scream before you are thrown in a fit of giggles as he grabs the can of whipped cream, squirting it on your head.
-
BONUS
It was late at night, almost 2AM. The lights were all off, mostly all. Your husband and yourself found each other's warmth in the middle of the night, his bare chest on your tank top clad back.
Sleeping soundly, he sighs against you, another perfect night with his normal family for the books.
Dick found out how to control your stress and how to calm down on buying baking ingredients, though during the adoption process, his family had never seen more cakes in their lives. Jason, ever the sweet tooth, visited constantly and brought her ideas to bake. In Dick's honest opinion, his little brother took his wife's stress into his advantage and he still makes him pay for it.
However, that was the only time Dick can recall the most recent mass murder of the kitchen, and he's grateful he doesn't have to shove five slices of pie, two slices of banana bread, and one giant cookie filled with jam. (Don't tell the wife.) Since then, their daughter has turned thirteen, marking it twelve years following the last baking fiasco.
So, when he hears the clanking of a whisk hitting a bowl and the oven going off, he racks through his mind thinking of everything his lover could be worried about. Nothing comes up, she's learned to open up about what is troubling her.
Rubbing his eyes, he sees you curled at the edge of the bed, he always seems to push you there. His mind now immediately jumping to a break-in.
Grabbing his gun from the night-stand, he gradually walks out of his room, closing it silently.
Walking towards the kitchen with his vigilante feet, the sight in front of him is no robber, oh no.
"What the fuck, Euphie." Dick cries, putting the gun down on the counter, it being coated in powdered sugar now. "Do you know what time it is baby?" Groaning he shuffles near his daughter, Euphemia.
Euphemia stands there, guilty look plastered on her face. "I have a big test tomorrow." She utters underneath her breath.
Lemon bars, a cookie cake, strawberry filled cupcakes, coffee cake cookies, and even a three tier chocolate cake- wait.
"Is that your mom's recipe?" Pointing to the mountain of chocolate near the oven.
Euphemia nods her head, watching her father suspiciously.
The duo both take one look at each other, forming a truce silently.
"I won't tell mom if you cut me a slice." Raising his eyebrows, he narrows his eyes at the pre-teen before him.
She ponders for a bit, looking around the room and blows a piece of hair out of her face. "I'll give you the whole cake if you help me clean." Matching her father's stance, defensive and guarded.
Dick groans, he likes how much their daughter has taken after her guardians, but at the same time, he doesn't appreciate her negotiating skills and baking one too.
"Deal." He deadpans marching his way right to the cake so he can slice himself one while Euphie continues to bake her brookies.
When you wake up, it's because the bed seems to have gotten colder and Dick hasn't gotten up from his side of the bed. He has a planner for everything now, you're a bit concerned.
Climbing down the stairs in your robe, you find the two little accomplices, eating away at the baking chaos.
"What are you two doing?" You demand, head tilted, eyes widen as you take in the crime scene while tightening your robe.
A minute of silence goes by and nobody says anything, afraid to even look away from your cold gaze.
At the same time, your husband and daughter blurt, "not my fault."
And before you can reprimand your family, a call blasts through the room.
"Somebody take that." You take a deep breath and rub the bridge of your nose in annoyance.
Jason's voice booms from your daughter's speaker, you can only assume she was using for her music while baking.
"I AM ON MY MOTORCYCLE." Jason screams on the phone, still not understanding the newest technology downloaded by his niece.
'I AM ON MY WAY, KEEP THE TIRAMISU AWAY FROM MY ASS, ILL DEEPTHROAT IT IF I MUST, KEEP DOOR UNLOCKED, DON'T WANT YOUR MOTHER GETTING ANGRY." Is all Jason says before hanging up.
That is when your daughter comes clean, telling the story of how Jason taught her how to bake so when she had gotten stressed, she could relieve it with food.
This whole ordeal had gone on since she was nine.
Safe to say, Jason was lectured next to Euphemia while they shared a Tupperware of tiramisu.
I watched Gone Girl mid fanfic, and the hardest thing I have ever done was make something nice about a man afterwards. Ben asslick did this to me I'm sorry.
Thank you SO SO SO much for reading, I honestly hate this, however it is not AI so I'll live.
PLEASE do not forget your daily click if you want to help Palestine. HELP PALESTINE WITH A CLICK
Summary: You started as the doctor for the bats and birds, but quickly became more. After you tell Nightwing, the flirtiest member of Gotham's nightshift, that you couldn't take care of him if he was seriously injured, he gets upset. Until you explain why you can't afford to lose him.
Warnings/Word Count: flirting, pining, brief jealousy, injuries, argument, Dick goes a little crazy after the first kiss, blackmail. 3.2k+ words, requested
Masterlist | DC Masterlist | Request Info | Taglist Sign-Up
Bruce grunts, his cowl set aside as you bandage a cut on his shoulder. “I’m just saying, it’s a touch morbid.”
You hum, holding a piece of gauze to his wound while you reach for a surgical pad. “Sounds like you’re mad because you’re losing.”
“Hn,” he scoffs.
Bruce looks down at your hand on his skin, then returns his attention to the oversized whiteboard hanging behind you. There are names on the left, corresponding with colored boxes containing varied amounts of tally marks. A score of injuries. Jason is in the lead with well over twenty, Dick not far behind him. Bruce is the only one that hasn’t broken five.
“How am I losing?” he wonders lowly. “I know you’ve patched me up more than five times.”
“It’s a play-as-you-will game,” you explain, ducking your head to line up a butterfly closure on the deepest part of his cut. “You only get points if you mark it. Or, in your case, if another injured party tallies for you.”
“I see.”
You exhale, then straighten to look at Bruce. “It didn’t start as a game. Someone came in and was really scared. Dick and Jason started listing the injuries they’d dealt with and telling funny stories about who had patched them up… It graduated to this, but it started as a way to comfort someone.”
“Damian,” Bruce knows somehow. World’s greatest detective, you remember. “After the fight with Lady Shiva, I presume.”
“Hey, I’m just the Band-Aid-giver,” you reply.
“Is that all?”
Smiling, you nod. “You should probably ice that,” you advise. “Take more ibuprofen in six hours to keep the swelling down. This is where it gets hard for you, so I’ll say it slowly: Get. Some. Rest.”
Bruce slides off the gurney he purchased for you when you became what Tim lovingly refers to as the team medic. He rolls his shoulders back, then pulls a black t-shirt over his head, moving his arm slowly.
“Careful,” you urge again.
Gesturing to the white board, he asks, “May I?”
“You’re Batman. What would I do to stop you?”
Bruce smiles at that, then picks up the black dry erase marker from the small cup hanging beside the board. He draws a diagonal line through the four existing marks, then caps the marker with a satisfied nod.
“Still think it’s morbid?” you wonder, moving the tools you used into a bin so they can be sterilized later.
“As long as you’re keeping my boys alive, I can understand its purpose.”
“Anything else you want to talk about? Some of my nighttime clients like to talk about personal issues.”
“Pass,” Bruce deadpans. “Get me an updated list of what you’re using, what you need, patterns of things you run out of. I’ll make sure everything stays stocked.”
“I can just keep stealing stuff from the vet clinic at the corner,” you joke, pointing over your shoulder.
“And face Selina’s wrath?” Bruce plays along. His phone buzzes in his utility belt, his frown deepening when he reads the notification. “I’ve got to go, but you have a friendly visit incoming.”
“That’ll be a nice change from only seeing you guys when you’re bleeding.”
“There’s only been blood at family dinner once,” he defends.
“Twice,” you remind him. “The last cookie incident?”
“Right.” He hesitates, then shakes his head. “Regardless, we’ll see you this week.”
“That sounded like a demand more than a request.”
Bruce steps backward into the shadows, and then he’s gone. You have an idea of how he maneuvers through the framing of the building, but it’s still unsettling to witness someone disappear into nothing.
“Pulchra medicus!” Jason exclaims, entering through the window. <Beautiful doctor!>
None of them understand the purpose of a door between dusk and dawn.
“Do you need immediate medical attention?” you check, raising a hand to stop him.
“Nope,” he answers. “Just here to say hi.”
You nod and drop your hand. “Then you may continue flattering me.”
He smiles, glancing past your shoulder. “Bruce was here?”
“Yeah, you just missed him. Meeting between shoulder and katana,” you explain. “He didn’t win that one.”
“Am I late?” Dick asks, closing the window behind him.
“Late for what?” you inquire.
Dick smiles, which makes you smile. He moves to your side, closer than Jason had gotten, and wraps his arm around your shoulders. Leaning in, he smiles and traces down your face before he taps your nose.
“You’re so cute,” he murmurs.
“Thank you,” you reply, looking at Jason’s chest rather than either of their faces. “You’re wet.”
“Excuse me?” Jason asks quickly.
“It’s raining,” you point out weakly.
“Oh, sorry,” Dick realizes, pulling his arm away from you. “You know, body heat warms you up faster than-”
“Really?” Jason exclaims. “Right in front of me?”
“You’re just jealous my strategies are more efficient.”
Rolling your eyes, you turn around to organize the medical cart Bruce got you. He was right, you find — it is running a little low on supplies.
“What are we doing?” Jason asks, bracing his elbows against the end of the gurney as he stretches his legs out in front of him. “Midnight coffee, movie, milkshakes?”
“I have to make Bruce a list of supplies,” you reply.
“I don’t think he needs that tonight,” Dick counters, moving behind you to pull your hands away from the cart.
You’re unsure when he copied Bruce’s move of removing the top half of his suit and taking one of the many t-shirts you have in the dresser tucked in the corner. After the first incident involving a ripped suit, you found that keeping nondescript clothing in everyone’s sizes was an excellent precaution. Now, you just need to find a way to convince them to bring those clothes back every once in a while.
Something moves past the window, and you move to press your back against Dick’s chest. “Please tell me that’s someone we know,” you whisper.
He squints to see out the window, then sighs, shifting one arm to wrap around your waist. “Come in before you scare the neighbors,” he calls.
“There’s some guy working late in the offices on the second floor,” Tim says as he pushes the window open. “And when I say working, I mean Bruce may want to have someone do a browser history audit.”
“That’s one way to fight back against capitalism,” Jason muses.
“You alright?” you check, watching Tim for any sign of injury.
Tim looks down at his left hand and answers, “Mostly.”
“Buzzkill,” Jason groans. “We were going to get milkshakes.”
“Ooh, can I come?” Tim asks. “I can totally walk this off.”
“I will judge whether or not you can walk it off,” you interject, waving him toward the gurney.
Dick doesn’t release you, opting to move with you and drop his chin to your shoulder as you remove Tim’s glove.
“Did you hear what Damian said about you?” Jason asks, either to break the silence or merely to remind Tim that he interrupted.
“Damian?” you repeat. “I don’t think I want to know.”
“He said you were an idiot doctor.” Jason drops his head back and smiles at you before he continues, “Obviously, Dickie and I were ready to defend your honor, but Bruce beat us to it and gave the little you need to show respect pre-lecture. Damian sighed and explained that you were a doctor for idiots, like ourselves.”
You laugh, tapping your fingers down the length of Tim’s forearm in search of any displaced bones or swollen muscles and tendons. “Idiot doctor,” you muse. “We should put it on the window, so you don’t get lost.”
“Damian doesn’t understand, however, that you’re more than a doctor,” Dick says against your shoulder. “He thinks you’re a teammate.”
“Am I not?”
“You’ve always been more than that.”
“Roy can see that you’re more than a teammate,” Jason adds. “And Roy’s lovably oblivious.”
“I’m telling him you said that.”
“And he’ll say thank you, because you’re a pretty girl.”
“Prettiest girl,” Dick agrees softly.
“My arm’s not broken,” Tim assures you. “I heard milkshakes were on the table.”
“Add your tally and we’ll go,” Jason instructs.
“She didn’t even do anything!”
“Add your tally,” Jason repeats. “Idiot.”
“Be nice,” you chide.
“Yeah, listen to my friend,” Dick admonishes, tightening his grip on you.
“Yeah,” Jason drawls. “You look like friends right now.”
“I might need two milkshakes,” you mumble.
“We can share!” Dick offers excitedly.
Walking into your kitchen after dinner, you don’t expect to find someone looking through your fridge. You scream and drop your plate, then clap your hands over your mouth when Dick turns and catches the falling dish.
“Why are you screaming?” he asks, wide-eyed as he looks behind you.
“Because I didn’t know you were in my kitchen!” you exclaim. “How long have you been here?”
“I just came in. I texted you that I was coming.”
Nodding, you admit, “My phone’s in the other room on silent.”
“What if we needed you?” Dick wonders.
“You would’ve crawled through my window. Which is how I assume you got in.”
Dick stares at you for a breath, then nods. “Yeah, okay, fair. And I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to scare you. I’d never do that on purpose.”
“I know,” you reply. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m great,” Dick answers. “Just bored, so I thought we could talk or hang out or something.”
“Sure. Want to stand in the kitchen holding that plate the whole time or go in the other room?”
“Whatever you want, beautiful,” Dick murmurs, reaching to the side to set your plate in the sink without turning away from you.
“What exactly are we talking about?” you inquire, leading him into the living room.
You stop walking when you see the news story playing on the television, causing Dick to walk into your back. His hands find your waist to steady you, but you can’t enjoy his warmth.
“Dick,” you breathe.
“My love,” he coos softly.
“What did you do?” you demand, staring at the surveillance camera footage of Nightwing fighting Bane. Alone.
“Oh.” Dick releases you and steps to your side before he offers, “I scared him away.”
“Are you insane?” you question. “Dick, I’ve told you a dozen times and I know Bruce has told you more than that. That…” You gesture wildly to the TV and continue, “That showmanship is going to get you hurt.”
“I’m fine,” Dick insists.
“This time, sure. But what happens the next time you do this without someone there to help you? What happens if Bane decides to break your back too?”
“What does it matter?” Dick questions, lifting his arms as he raises his voice to match yours. “You’re my doctor, you’ll figure it out!”
“I don’t want to!” you scream, backing away from him.
Dick’s shoulders drop at your response. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to see you get hurt like that, Dick,” you answer, your voice dropping with each word. “I can’t do that.”
“You’ve seen the others get laid up for a week,” Dick reminds you bitterly. “What makes them better than me?”
“That is not what I’m talking about,” you snap. “If you come to me because you lose a fight like that one, I’m not sure I could help you, no matter how much I wanted to.”
You’re about to add because I care about you as far more than an idiot in a mask, but a weak double knock on your window draws both you and Dick away from the argument.
“Oh no,” you mutter, running to open the window.
Jason doesn’t try to stop you when you pull his arm over your shoulder, fighting to support his weight as he pulls his legs clumsily through the window. Dick stares at you, your arm around Jason and your hand on his chest as you whisper promises that he’s okay and you’ve got him. Something tightens in his chest; the same jealousy he felt spark when you said you couldn’t take care of him despite all the long nights you’ve spent caring for the others ignites into a suffocating flame. But then Dick sees the blood, and suddenly Jason is twelve again, worn out from Robin training but still asking Dick for help.
“I got you,” Dick murmurs, taking Jason’s weight from you.
“What happened?” you ask, pushing a chair toward Jason so he can sit.
“Fu…” he groans. Clamping his mouth closed, he takes a shaky breath. “Black Mask sent a goon on something a little stronger than steroids.”
You nod, opening your first aid kit on the floor beside him. “Jay, where doesn’t it hurt?”
Jason blinks, then turns toward Dick to check, “Did she say doesn’t?”
“She did,” Dick affirms. “Trust her.”
“My feet are okay, I guess.”
“Good,” you hum. “Because I have to cut your shirt off to find where the blood is coming from.”
Jason nods, then mumbles, “Don’t enjoy it too much, pulchra medicus.” <beautiful doctor>
You smile, which comforts Dick enough to let out the breath he’d been holding. “Is it bad?” he inquires softly.
“We’ve seen worse,” you answer, smiling at him. “Mind if I put you to work?”
“Need someone more competent,” Jason interrupts.
“Tell me what to do,” Dick encourages.
You pass him a roll of gauze and instruct him to layer it on the laceration across Jason’s bicep.
“How long’s this gonna take, doc?” Jason wonders. “I have to get home for the Great British Bakeoff.”
“I’m not touching that because you’re bleeding on me and I’m admittedly really scared right now,” Dick mutters, focused on the task you gave him. “But I will be making fun of you about that later.”
You chuckle and pass Jason the remote. “I expect your commentary,” you stipulate. “And you’re probably staying here tonight, big guy.”
“Sure,” he agrees.
You and Dick work together, whispering about the treatment he needs — bandages, medicine, and, luckily, no stitches — while Jason advises the bakers on television not to make mistakes. By the time the episode is over, you’ve finished patching Jason up and his adrenaline has dumped, leaving him tired and grumpy.
“Let’s go,” you urge, helping him to your guest room. “Call out if you need anything tonight, okay?”
Jason falls onto the bed and nods against the pillow. “Thanks,” he says, the word muffled.
“Of course.”
You close the door quietly, then lean against the wall and sigh. Rubbing your eyes harshly, you don’t know what to do. You want to sleep, cry, scream. But you should probably talk to Dick about the argument you were having before a bruised and bloodied Jason Todd knocked on your window.
Dragging your feet, you return to the living room. Dick is nowhere in sight, but your furniture is back in its rightful place, and your first aid kit has been tidied and set on the table.
“Dick?” you call.
“Kitchen,” he replies.
With a long inhale, you finish your journey to his side. He’s making your favorite drink when you step to his side, a soft smile on his face as he pushes the cup toward you.
“I’m sorry,” you say, focused on Dick rather than what he gave you. “I shouldn’t have told you what to do like that. You’ve been a hero for a long time.”
“I… I understand the intention of not wanting to see me get hurt,” he admits. “I just don’t get why you couldn’t take care of me if something bad did happen.”
The clock on your stove glows behind Dick, a reminder of how late it is.
“You should stay,” you murmur.
“Your guest room is currently housing a very grumpy Littlewing,” he reminds you.
“We… we could share my bed,” you suggest softly, tapping his arm. Friends share beds. That’s a thing. Right?
Dick nods, lifting his hand to catch yours. “Yeah,” he agrees in the quiet, the light of the television dancing behind you. “Are you going to tell me why?”
“Because I don’t think I could,” you confess. “I’d be too worried about you. Too scared of what would happen.”
You don’t give Dick another chance to speak, pulling him toward your room. He picks up your cup on the way, smiling behind you as you lead him to your bed.
It’s quiet, dark, just you and Dick and the lack of space between you. You offer to let him use the bathroom first, but Dick doesn’t release your hand.
“Why don’t you want me to get hurt?” he asks.
“Because, to me, you’re more than a vigilante. Getting hurt might be a necessity for Nightwing, but I- I’m scared to lose you, Dick.”
“Oh.” Dick pulls you closer, his breath against your jaw as he wonders, “Then why wouldn’t you take care of me?”
“You… are you really not getting this?” you question.
“Getting what? You patch us up all the time. Why would-”
“Oh my gosh,” you mumble, interrupting him by raising your free hand to cup his jaw.
You pull him closer, pressing your lips to his. Dick freezes: he goes rigid, drops your hand, and just stands there as you kiss him. You start to pull away, an apology ready, when he wraps his arms around your waist, pushing himself against your chest to chase your lips. He kisses you messily, like he can’t decide where he wants each kiss to land. Directing you backward, Dick moves onto your legs are against your bed, then spins and falls so that you land on top of him. You gasp into the kiss, but it doesn’t deter Dick from moving one hand to cup the back of your head, keeping you precisely where he wants you.
“You get it now?” you mumble against him.
“I think so,” he answers, finally taking a breath. “You promise that you would patch me up if Bane broke my back?”
“That’s the part you’re stuck on? Not the whole ‘I love you, so it breaks my heart to see you hurting’ thing?” you scoff.
“That didn’t sound like a promise.”
But the next kiss feels like one.
You wake to a steady, unending knocking. Trying to sit up, you find that Dick has wrapped his arms around you, keeping you close even as he sleeps.
“I want breakfast,” Jason announces, leaning against the doorjamb with a hand pressed to the bruise spanning his ribcage. “And, if you make me breakfast, I won’t send this picture to everyone.”
You squint, unable to make out the details of the picture from your bed. It’s clearly Dick wrapped around you as you both sleep, though.
“Everyone?” you repeat groggily.
“Everyone,” he repeats. “I was thinking French toast.”
“Give me five minutes to get out of here?”
“Your timer starts now.”
He leaves the door open, laughing when you grunt, trying and failing to separate Dick’s joined hands.
“Five minutes?” he asks, flipping you over so you’re facing him.
“How long have you been awake?” you question.
“Long enough to know I’ve got four minutes without interruption.”
You can’t ask what he needs the time for before he kisses you. Making breakfast with Dick at your side to avoid blackmail serves as an excellent reminder of your job. Only an idiot doctor would find herself here. And that makes you smile, which makes Dick pull you closer even as your time dwindles.
Dick Grayson taglist🏷️ @peachescastles @kmc1989 @stilestotherescue @ilocuras24 @coastalcowgirlie @waltermis @itzpixiebabe
Summary: You find out Dick likes getting his hair pulled.
Word count: 0.7k
Tags/warning: nsfw (mdni), hair pulling (duh), p in v, unprotected sex (please don’t do that), no use of y/n, badly written smut opsss
A/N: There’s nothing to say except I saw the pic in the header and got inspired lol. English is not my first language, and it shows. Enjoy!
masterlist
Imagine you're laying down on the couch, watching trashy TV while Dick is sprawled on you, like a six foot, warm weighed blanket. You're softly running your hands through his hair, until you act on something you've been thinking about way too much lately, and slightly pull a strand. He freezes, and you're afraid you've freaked him out, but instead he looks up at you with glossy eyes, pupils larger than usual. "Babe, can you do that again?" and you do. Only this time you tug harder, gaining a groan from him. At that, you quickly pull his face towards yours, and start kissing him. It's not sweet, nor gentle. It's messy and hungry, and you want more.
Taking advantage of the fact that he's distracted, you manage to flip him over, straddling him. You move your face away from his, and his mouth twists into a lazy grin.
"Whatcha gonna do now, uh?"
"Guess you're gonna have to fuck around and find out."
His back rises from the couch cushions, and his lips are quick to find yours once again. You can feel his hands all over you back, desperate to touch you wherever he can reach. Your own hands land on his shoulders, pushing him back, claiming control over him.
That only seems to turn him on further. The kiss turns sloppy, the obscene sounds you two are making only interrupted by heavy sighs and low groans, the show playing on the TV long forgotten. You get brought back to reality only when you feel Dick wrap his hands around your wrists, and moving them higher, until you can feel his soft hair under your fingers.
At first you're confused, until you realize what he's asking. You smile into the kiss, and pull his hair. At that, he straight out moans, sending a wave of pleasure to your core. In response, you start grinding your hips over his clothed cock, feeling just how hard he is.
You move your hands from his hair, making him whine at the loss, but when he realizes that you're trying to pull down his sweatpants, he lifts his hips to help you. After you've tugged them, you do the same with his boxers, freeing his cock, already glistening with precum.
Too desperate to feel him inside you, you quickly get up and take off your shorts and panties as well, before straddling him once again. You take his dick in you hand, and with the other one placed on his shoulder to steady yourself, you align him to your entrance and slowly lower yourself.
You throw your head back, the stretch burning as you try to get all of him inside. Once you manage to do so, you move your hands to his head and scratch his scalp, before tugging his hair harder than you intended, in a way that you're sure must have hurt. Before you can apologize, you feel his cock twitching inside you and a pretty moan escapes his mouth.
You take that as an invitation, and repeat the action as you start riding him. His fingers ding into the fat of your hips, probably leaving bruises, but you can't bring yourself to care with the way that he's hitting all of the right spots in this position.
Your moans and groans start melting together, and Dick begins moving his hips as well, trying to meet you thrusts. His movements become sloppy, meaning he's close. One of his hands moves from your hips to your core, and his fingers start rubbing over your clit.
The sensation is enough to bring you over the edge. You pull his hair once more, using him to anchor yourself as you climax, and that alone is enough to make Dick cum as well, his release bursting inside you.
You fall over his chest, and he buries his face in your neck, breathing you in as he tries to recover from what he thinks might have been his best orgasms yet.
"If I had known that you like getting your hair pulled, I would have done that a long time ago."
A/N: This was the fic! It was heavily inspired by a conversation I had with @glossiercheek when I was in a freaky mood lol. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, even if it’s criticism (as long as it’s constructive). Also, I love talking with you angels, so feel free to slide in my inbox!
