#nightwing imagine

[sanguineterrain]

Your writing is so damn good, you execute every request perfectly 😭

Could you maybe write something where Dick's insecure partner wants to break up with him because their self-image is getting worse cause they feel they can't catch up to the Golden Boy reputation, superheroes, billionaires and so on?

hi, thanks for the request! I hope I did it justice :) a brief interlude from jaytodd before we return to our regularly scheduled program lol

dick grayson x gn!reader. low self esteem, an almost breakup, reader feeling insecure, threatened, sad. happy ending! 2.1k words

****

You've been tugging at your outfit for ten minutes. At this rate, you'll have to concede that this is as good as it's going to get.

"My love, you almost ready?"

You sigh and watch your reflection fold its arms.

"Yeah," you say softly. "'M ready."

The door opens. Your heart swoops.

Dick is beautiful, as usual. Your boyfriend can do a lot, including fill a suit. Both your and his outfits were tailor-made because that's one of the perks of being the son of a billionaire.

Over and over, you'd insisted you could wear off-the-rack, and over and over, Dick had said that was silly, that Bruce wouldn't mind.

And it's true that what you're wearing flatters you better than anything from Macy's or Marshall's would've. But you know it won't help tonight. Not in a room full of Gotham's elite.

"Just as I suspected," Dick says, immediately draping his arms over your hips. "You're gonna steal the show tonight."

He's lying.

That voice in your head has gotten louder recently, and you don't know how to turn it off.

You kiss him instead of responding. Dick enthusiastically reciprocates, always delighted when you touch him. You used to think it would be enough.

But ever since you found out that not only are you dating a billionaire philanthropist with a face that makes angels weep, but that said guy is also arguably the most beloved hero in Gotham, maybe second only to the Batman (who's his freaking dad?!), you've begun to have doubts.

You pull back. Dick's tie perfectly sets off his eyes. They're bright as they look at you.

"Everything okay?" he asks, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

"Uh-huh," you say, trying to smile. "Just nervous."

“Hey, it's alright. I'll be by your side all night. I'll save you from any and all small talk, promise." He winks. "And we can duck out early, get hot chocolate from that place you like. They won't care."

Dick's always doing that. Always catering to you. You're just some nobody who happened to stumble into the best relationship you’ve ever had with a golden god.

Dick never reminds you of that. That he could do better. He doesn't have to—you know it all on your own.

You swallow. “Okay. If you're sure. I... I would like to leave early, Gray."

“‘Course, baby,” Dick says, attaching his cuff links. "Anything you want."

You turn back to the mirror, wondering if you can reinvent your personality before you go and remind everyone what a mistake Dick Grayson has made in choosing you. 

****

The party is tasteful, though a little stuffy. You're only here because Dick is going to give a speech, and he asked you to come support him. And while you know it's better for him to go without you so you won't dull his shine, it seems Dick hasn't quite figured that out.  

You hold onto Dick’s arm as he makes his usual rounds. Dick doesn't enjoy these events, you know that, but he's fluid in his interactions. There is no doubt he’s Bruce Wayne’s prodigy. With his suit, his hair, his easy posture, Dick is almost unrecognizable from when you woke up with him this morning. 

He's in his element. All you can do is peer in and watch. 

Dick leans in and slips a hand around your waist after the fourth interaction with a donor. A donor who, again, acted like Dick may as well have been dragging around a coat rack with how intently they ignored you. Not that you give a shit about what the one percent have to say about you, except sometimes they say a lot of mean things, things you're pretty sure they don't let Dick overhear, and sometimes you start wondering if Dick is the only person who can't see truth in what they say, and sometimes—

“Hey.” Dick leans in to talk in your ear. He's warm and solid. You wish that was a comfort. “You okay?”

You're exhausted. 

“Uh-hmm.”

He is going to wake up one of these days and realize he can have it so much better. 

Dick moves like he's about to say more, pull you closer and permeate your senses with his gold.

“Dickie!” 

Sweet, tinkling laughter echoes across the room. The crowd parts for this new woman, an obvious socialite, dressed to the nines and gorgeous. 

Her dress matches Dick's tie. You feel sick.

When she reaches you two, she wastes no time grabbing Dick and kissing his cheek. He extricates himself from her, like he's done a million times before with everyone else who thinks they're entitled to a piece of Dick Grayson. He shoots you an apologetic look. You look away.

“My God, it’s been what, ten years?” she says. Then she sees you. “Oh! Where are my manners? I’m Caroline Banesbury, Duchess of Middlesworth. I heard the Dickie Grayson was going to be here, and I had to come.”

“Been a while,” Dick says, smiling blandly. “How are you, Caroline?”

“Spectacular! Father just bought another castle. You should come and see it sometime.” She plucks a flute of champagne off of a passing tray and smiles behind the rim of the glass. 

“Dick and I go way back,” she says, gaze roving over him. “I hear you're transforming Blüdhaven. Taking a page out of Bruce's book, hm? You always had a big heart, Dickie.” 

She grabs his arm and links it with hers. You sigh and take a sip of your own drink. You half-wish Poison Ivy would come in and gas the room or something.

Dick clears his throat and maneuvers out of her grip once more, letting go of her with a light pat. He returns to you, snugly holding your shoulders.

"This is my partner," he says about you.

Caroline hums, looking over you. "I see. Pleasure."

You nod. She turns back to Dick.

“If I can be of any help to your project, you let me know,” she adds, glancing down at where her empty arm now hangs at her side. “Anything.” 

“That's generous of you, Carrie.” 

Dick and I go way back.

Oh. Right. You're stupid. They've dated. 

“We should have dinner,” she continues. “Catch up. I'm dying to know what Gotham's darling has been up to.”

“I feel sick,” you announce. 

Dick and Caroline turn to you. Caroline looks perplexed, like you've just said you like to chew concrete. 

“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that,” she says, hardly sparing you a glance. "Perhaps you ought to lie down."

You feel Dick's eyes on you. If you don't leave soon, he'll know you're lying. Possibly the worst part about dating Batman's protégé.

Suddenly, leaving this hall is the most important thing you've ever had to do. You feel like you'll die if you don't.

Your feet start moving.

"Baby—"

Anyway, this is Caroline's chance. She can swoop in with her trust fund and while you think Dick can do way better than her—he can always do better—anyone is better than you. For Dick Grayson, who has been a master acrobat since he was a child, son of Batman, leader of the Titans, indubitably intelligent, capable, beautiful, the best goddamn guy you'll ever know—

You've lost your way. You're out of the gala, away from duchesses and doom. And you meant to get your coat but this hall that Bruce rented is enormous. You've no idea where you are. But you're alone.

Bruce must've known too, how unfit you are for his son. And why wouldn't he tell Dick? Unless Dick ignored him, because Dick, for all his smarts, is stupidly in love with you, thinks you're where he should put his heart, is certain you won't fumble and drop it.

Warm, callused fingers catch your wrist and you remember, suddenly, Dick telling you once, after you'd nearly stumbled into the street, that he'd never let you fall.

You meet his eyes. Why does he look at you like that? Who gave him the right to look at you like-like you—as if you could ever deserve—

"Hey," he says, squeezes your hand. "Hey, hey. What's going on?"

Dick Grayson is not a trusting man but he trusts you and good God, you're about to break him.

"I need to break up with you," you blurt.

"What?" he breathes. "What—why would you say that?"

You wish he'd give you the slip he gave everyone in that room, gently separate your arm from his hand. You never learned how to evade Dick's touch.

"Because it's true. Dick, please understand—"

"No, I'm trying to understand. Because yesterday—no, tonight, you were fine—"

"No, Dick, I wasn't fine! I haven't been fine in months!"

You wrench your arm away. He looks like you slapped him.

"You know anybody I talk to in there means nothing, right? You know that, honey." He's pleading.

You curl your fist into your eye. "It's more than that, Gray."

"Then tell me what the problem is," he says desperately. "Tell me and we'll fix it. I promise we can fix it."

"You can't!" you say, voice cracking. "You can't fix me."

Dick shakes his head. "I don't—"

"Why can't you let me break up with you with a little bit of dignity?" you ask. "Do you have to be better at this too?"

"I don't want to break up," he says, tugging at a handful of his hair. "This doesn't make sense. We're happy. You're happy, aren't you? Don't I make you happy?"

"Of course," you choke out. "Of course you make me happy. But you don't see I'm bad for you. You're wonderful and perfect and golden, Dick. And I'm a stain. I need to be scrubbed away."

"Wh—that's not true!"

"Everywhere we go, people see me with you and are immediately confused. I'm not a superhero, I'm not royalty, I'm not a socialite, and yet somehow I've managed to snag Gotham's darling. This is a mistake. I'm trying to do you a favor and wake you up!"

Dick's face is hard with anger. How could you have thought this would be easy?

"I don't need to be woken up! What is it that makes you think I have no agency over the people I choose to spend time with? Everyone I meet thinks they're entitled to touch me, demand me. Everyone but you. You, the person I chose to love, who I love everyday. Do you think you pulled the wool over my eyes and you're snapping me out of it? Is that what you really think?"

And isn't this the most puzzling thing? That he's not sad or gently accepting; Dick is mad.

"I just—" He runs a hand through his hair. "I don't mean to yell, but really, I can't bear it if you see me as some god on a pedestal, unattainable and inhuman, like everyone else sees me. I love you on purpose."

"You're so accomplished, though," you say weakly. "You're..." You wave your hand over him. "You're fucking Nightwing, D. You were Robin, you have superheroes for friends, Batman for a parent, you're beloved by, like, all of Jersey—"

"My love, you know those are just parts of me. You see all of me. You know me. And that's not a one-way privilege, okay? I'm so damn lucky to know you, to love you, to be with you, to fight with you. To fight for you. Knowing you isn't something I take for granted."

"But I'm boring," you say, tears spilling over. "Jesus Christ, Dick, I'm plain and untalented, barely a dime to my name, so painfully ordinary that—"

"Listen to me," he says, taking your face in his hands. "Flying around or shooting lasers out of your eyes, sure, it's cool, and it's helpful for taking down an alien dictator. But I don't need you to do any of that, honey. I don't need nor want you to be anyone but you. I wasn't tricked or swindled into loving you. We caught each other halfway, just like we were meant to."

You let him pull you into his arms, let him press your tear stains to his silk pocket square, let his hair fall around you.

His embrace is solid, firm, but when he inhales, his shoulders shake.

"Do you—" He swallows, throat against yours. "Do you still want to break up?"

His heart beats against your cheek.

"I'm just afraid you'll get tired of me," you whisper. "Bored. Annoyed."

"I won't," he whispers. "You're the least boring person ever. It's never boring to be loved."

You squeeze your eyes shut. Dick's warmth encloses you.

"No, I don't want to break up. I'm sorry."

He holds you tighter, and you realize you never had to match Dick's tie. Not when you've got his heart.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #richard grayson x reader #Nightwing x reader #Nightwing x you #Nightwing fanfiction #dick Grayson fanfiction #dick Grayson imagine #Nightwing imagine #batman fanfiction #dc fanfiction #inbox #blurb

[gay-dorito-dust]

How these guys would react to having their face held…

Dick smiles out of habit and pushes his face even further into your hands, humming in content.

He loves it when you held him, however that may be, as it was the one thing he looked forward to the most when coming home.

He’s prone to frequent bouts of fatigue with patrols and the like, but it was moments like these where he could truly appreciate your touch and the healing properties they have on him.

‘I could spend forever here in your hands.’ He’d sigh as he allowed himself to relax within your touch.

‘Oh really? Is that so?’ You raised your brows, watching as the features within his face relaxed into a one that showed you just how exhausted Dick looked. You could see the toll his job his job took but you knew that Dick was too devoted, too attached to what he does to ever give it up, no matter how constantly drained and tired it made him.

You respect his decision to keep doing what he was doing but there came times where you’d just wish he would take a breather from it all, even if it was just for a second, you just wanted to take the weight off of Dick’s shoulders and put it aside for a moment while you work the tension out of his aching muscles.

‘Yeah.’ He responded, feeling himself sink further into sleep. Dick loved what he does but some times he resents it for leaving him with little to no time to spend with you, at least not without him falling asleep five minutes within the interaction. Time with you was sparse and all Dick wanted to do was spend as much of it as he could to make up for the fact that he was barely home at all during the day.

He knew that he prioritised being a hero over your relationship too often and he couldn’t help but feel a tremendous amount of guilt over it during your relationship. You didn’t deserve to wait up for him every night to make sure he was okay, not while developing heavy eye bags of your own and a lack of a sleeping schedule.

He just hopes that one day you too will realise that you better then what he’s giving you and put yourself first, but you were too selfless to ever do that and he could feel that through the way you trace his features with your fingers with featherlight caresses.

Jason stiffens beneath your touch and goes unresponsive for such a long time that you were worried that you had accidentally crossed a boundary.

So just as you were about to remove your hands from his face, Jason quickly reaches out to grasp your hands and pull them back to cupping his cheeks as he then proceeded to nuzzle his cheek against your palm.

‘Stay.’ He whispered. ‘Please.’

Your heart broke at his plea but obeyed as you began to stroke his cheeks with either of your thumbs, feeling him gradually relax under your touch until he was practically a puddle in your hands.

‘I’m sorry.’ He whimpered, burying his face into your hands so that you didn’t see his tear stricken red face. ‘I don’t deserve this. None of it.’ He adds, cursing himself for being so pathetic but your touch practically broke him in the best way.

In your hands Jason felt as though all his broken prices were being put back together again through love, warmth and patience and that was enough to make him breakdown into tears.

Physical affection is a foreign concern to this poor man, and in due to that Jason is naturally going to be skeptical and on edge the moment the pads of your fingertips explore his jawline, before slowly coming up to cup his cheeks. ‘I’m right here Jaybridie.’ You utter softly as you felt his grip on your wrists slack a little. ‘I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere because nowhere is more important than staying here with you. Just take your time.’ And stay with him you did.

Damian is another one who’s not use to soft touches and sweet affection.

So he’ll initially be on guard when he saw you coming his way with your hands outstretched to cup his cheeks, but will huff and reluctantly rest his face in your palms, he’s extremely stiff while doing so and looking away from you out of initial embarrassment.

‘Get on with it.’ He’d mutter, acting as though such acts or moments of tenderness and vulnerability were beneath him, when in actuality Damian loved the feeling of you hold his face as though it were porcelain. He loved the fact that despite knowing his upbringing you still treat him with a love, kindness and warmth that he has never been shown before.

To Damian it was clear that you didn’t care if he was the son of Bruce Wayne and Talia al Ghul, grandson of Ra’s al Ghul. You only cared about him, Damian Wayne and he could feel that care through your touch as he vowed to cut through anything and everything that intended to harm you.

Your touch brings him a sense of calm, serenity and peace that brought him back from the brink a plethora of times, especially in moments when his arrogance and brashness would resurface. Damian was thankful for you being in his life, a true guiding light in his darkest moments, and he couldn’t think of any possible way to thank you for everything you’ve done for him but he’ll surly try.

Bruce feels the tension behind his eyes and in his jaw sooth themselves under your touch.

His eyes would slowly close as he brought his calloused hands up to gently stroke the inside of your wrists. Bruce needs no words to describe how he felt because he feels as though his expressions and the noises of content made it clear how much he appreciated you being here with him.

‘You look tired.’ You commented, tracing the weary lines on his hard face with your eyes as he observed your face and the way it showed most of your innermost emotions whether you were aware of this fact or not.

Bruce knew that you worry and that you worry a lot about him in particular when it came to whether he was sleeping enough, eating enough and keeping himself safe whilst fighting on the streets of Gotham. Bruce knew he was as stubborn as mule when it came to his life choices and that you were only just worried about him because you cared for him, but sometimes he wished you would redirect all this effort towards yourself because he oftentimes didn’t think he was worth of your worry, nor your care.

Bruce felt as though he should be the one taking care of you rather than you taking care of him. It’s not as though he hates it, it’s just you’ve shown him on countless occasions of your care towards him, and on even more occasions you have shown him of your unwavering dedication towards him. Bruce also feels like he should be the one paying you back for all the hard times where you stood by his side, watching him practically work himself to the bone and almost into a comatose if you didn’t step in and deal him away from the computers.

For you’ve proven time and time again that you weren’t so easily swayed into leaving, and that was made more true when he felt comfortable enough telling you that he was Batman and the dangers that would come with knowing such knowledge. You however only shrugged and told him that by his side, you were the safest you’ve ever been or will ever be.

‘More so than usual?’ He asked in a way that it might as well have came out as an indignant huff.

‘And by more so than usual you mean constantly, then yes, yes you are more tired than usual.’ You replied as you ran your thumbs under his eyes and across his eye bags as if to emphasise your point. Bruce only huffs as he watched you take in all of him with nothing but love and affection in your eyes and your touch.

John would most likely bite your hand out of an inherent need to be a teasing little shit.

Will boast about the fact that you just wanted to touch up his stubble. He wasn’t lying but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that and instead say; ‘in your dreams John.’

‘Oh I’m sure I am in yours.’ He reply with confidence as he winked, causing you to lightly pinch his cheek as punishment for his cockiness. ‘I hate you.’ You’d say as you push your fingertips through his stubbly beard, enjoying the way it deliciously tickles your skin, almost as though they were little prickly kisses.

‘No you don’t sweetheart, try as you might but you and me both know that for definite that you love me.’ John would state in a matter of fact tone. Once again you hated how right he was, but kept your lips sealed shut as not to give him any more ammunition to tease and contradict you at any given opportunity than you’ve already have.

The air between you is playful and light in comparison to how cynical, sharp witted and sarcastic he usually is on a daily basis. It was a welcomed change as you allowed the blonde to pretend to bite your hand, only allowing for his teeth to barely graze your skin before pulling away with a sly smirk as you scratch at his stubble.

#dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc fanfic #dc fic #dc comics x reader #dc fanfiction #dick grayson x you #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson imagines #dick grayson x reader #nightwing imagines #nightwing imagine #nightwing x reader #dick grayson fluff #nightwing fluff #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd fluff #jason todd imagines #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagines #damian wayne fluff #john constantine imagine #john constantine x reader #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fluff #John Constantine imagines

[martiniluvr]

18+ minors dni

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

he would never admit it to anyone, but dick grayson loves it when you get a little jealous. or, rather, he loves making it up to you after the fact.

it’s not unusual for him to be at the receiving end of suggestive remarks and lustful gazes. he doesn’t go out of his way to make it happen, and he never entertains other women’s flirtatious comments, but when your boyfriend looks like that, there’s no avoiding it, really. so when he invites you attend a wayne gala at the gotham museum of antiquities, it takes more than a little self-control for you to stay calm.

three hours in, you’re one “gosh, you’re strong! and those eyes,” away from causing a scene with a glass of red wine. ever-observant, dick squeezes your side softly as he excuses himself from his conversation with another tall socialite, guiding you to the perimeters of the room.

“what’s wrong?” he smirks. asshole. you narrow your eyes at him before looking away, trying not to snap at him. you know it’s not his fault.

“nothing. I’m fine.” lie. he laughs softly and settles his hands on your hips, pulling you closer. he’s going to enjoy this.

“come on, baby,” he pleads. “these ladies are big donors, that’s all. I gotta keep up appearances.” you meet his gaze once again, your lips in a tight line, and his smile widens. “what, are you gonna make me beg for forgiveness?” you say nothing, but you notice a gleam in his eyes that sends heat rushing between your legs. his grip on your hips tightens as he leans in close. “alright, pretty girl. let me make it up to you.”

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

“d-dick…” you gasp, trying to keep your voice down. there’s no need, really; the museum’s marble bathroom stall, paired with the string quartet performing at the gala, muffles your moans well enough.

your black gown is bunched around your waist, and dick’s suit jacket lies discarded on the floor, along with your underwear and stilettos. you shakily hold yourself up on the marble sink with one hand, the other wound in dick’s soft, black hair as he kneels between your legs.

“what’s the matter, baby?” he coos, pulling away from your dripping core. you whine at the loss of contact, and dick chuckles at your misery. his lips glisten with your fluids as he trails one of his slender fingers up your inner thigh. “talk to me.”

“keep going,” you breathe, widening your legs involuntarily. “please, dick, god—” you’re cut off by your own moan as he slides two of his fingers inside you. his lips return to your needy clit, sucking hungrily as his other hand snakes around to grope your ass. your legs begin to shake as he speeds up his pace, and his eyes look up to meet yours. you see him smile against your pussy as his fingers hit that spongy spot in your walls, drawing out an incoherent string of profanities with his name woven through them.

seeing you like this drives dick crazy, and he’s unsure if you know it. the way your body responds to him is one of his favourite things, even if sometimes he plays little games to get you where he wants you. the sight of your expensive dress crumpled up around your contracting abdomen has his pupils blown wide. god, you’re so fucking beautiful. his cock strains painfully against his pants, but he ignores the ache in favour of working your pretty pussy the way only he knows how to. besides, he knows you’ll take good care of him later.

you feel the coil in your belly tighten until it starts to snap, your orgasm drawing dangerously close. dick curls his fingers again, coaxing you to the edge. thoughts of the gala unfolding right outside slip from your mind, and your knees buckle as you reach your peak. “dick, fuck, I’m—”

your breath hitches as you cum over his fingers, and you’re grateful his arms are there to keep you standing. his tongue works you through your climax until you’re bucking your hips away from the stimulation. he pulls away from your aching core, gazing at the glistening mess between your thighs with pride.

he rises to meet your eyes and kisses you hotly, your high still on his lips. you clutch at his shoulders, breathing in his scent as you kiss him back. his muscular arms trap you in a tight hug, and his piercing blue eyes crinkle at the corners with the boyish grin that spreads across his face as he takes in your dazed expression.

“so,” he says smugly, gently running his thumb over the corner of your lip where he smudged your lipgloss. “am I forgiven?”

#dick grayson is a munch #dick grayson #dick grayson smut #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson imagine #nightwing #nightwing smut #nightwing x reader #nightwing x you #nightwing imagine #dc comics #dc x reader #martiniluvr

[angelltheninth]

Saw your inbox opened and I have never touched the ask button so fast in my life lol!

May I request smut scenario for Dick x fem!reader x Jason where the boys got hit by Ivy's sex pollen and fem!reader (also a hero) being a good friend *helped* them with their problems *cough* pls? And then, at the end, maybe confession of romantic feelings between them UwU? Your choice in choosing kinks!

Srroy if my English sounds weird. It's not my native language.

This reminded of of the Harley Quinn episode but more kinky.

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader x Jason Todd

Tags: nsfw, smut, friends to lovers, confession, threesome, sex pollen, double creampie, friendly competition, degradation, praise, dirty talk, neediness, grinding, clit stimulation

Word count: 1.1k

A/N: Definitely not something I would ever want to happen. Nope.

All three of you have been warned about the pheromones and their effects. This mission should have been over and done with quickly, but your recklessness made it a bit more... hard. For Dick and Jason in particular. They took the hit for you, they were the ones who were keeping you sandwiched between their hard bodies and hard cocks, Dick kissing your lips, Jason behind you, both of them grinding their hard cocks against you.

"Careless." Dick mumbled against your lips, his hand shoved down your pants and rubbing your pussy over your panties. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not." Jason laughed behind you, his gloved hands on your hips, his hips unapologetically grinding against you, "You're too sweet for this. Helping us out and all. But fuck... I can't say that I'm sorry. Just keep between us. I don't wanna see Dick's dick."

"Go fuck yourself." You sucked on his middle finger as soon as he put it up to Jason.

"Nah. She's doing a great of job of that. Aren't you sweetheart?" You groaned when Jason slapped your ass playfully. "Fuck. That was a nice sound. Sorry but I'm not waiting anymore. Unlike rule boy over there, I ain't gonna pretend I don't wanna fuck you." Jason's hands pushed his pants and your leggings down, his cock rubbing, gathering wetness between your pussy lips and smearing it across his cock. "Wet little pussy, all ready for me."

You were looking forward, into Dick's beautiful blue eyes but your hips bucked down against Jason. You were conflicted between the two men, you always were. Being with them felt good, having their attention felt good, now it was your turn to make them feel just as good.

"I can help you both." You whimpered as you pressed your lips against Dick's. "I can take both your cocks." You weren't so sure, just Jason's felt so thick, but you'd make them fit. They were the ones suffering.

"You're welcome to try." Jason was always so cocky when talking to you. He wanted to fuck you way before this. Dick on the other hand was more reserved.

His face was pink with blush, his eyes almost guilty as they looked at you. He wanted you too, but was afraid to say anything.

"It's okay. You- ah!" Before you could tell him anything Jason decided to be a jerk and push his cock inside you. "Jason, you fucking idiot." He laughed at your insult. You could call him any name under the sun as long as you kept taking his cock like you did. The fast slapping noises made it hard to focus but you forced yourself to.

You grabbed Dick's cheeks and pulled him in for a rough kiss. "I-"

"Don't apologize. If... if Jason gets to fuck me, then you should too." You tried to convey to him how much you wanted him too.

"Yeah, Dick. Come on, are you really gonna make a lady beg? Look at her!" Jason's barking laughter echoed loudly in your ears as you felt his hands grab your thighs and pull you up, your back leaning against his chest. You almost screamed at how deep his cock was hitting at this changed angle, his balls slapping against you with every thrust. "Bet you anything she's thought about this. She's squeezing so much, like a fucking slut. But if you don't want her then I'll use her up all on my own."

His words definitely got under his frienemy's skin. Dick pressed to your front, his cock pulsing over your clit, his hands slipping to your ass. "I can't. Not unless I say this." He leaned forward and ghosted his lips against yours. "I love you. I've always loved you, ever since I first saw you I wanted you."

"I love you too." His blush spread further as he rolled the tip of his cock over your clit and then pushed it against your already full pussy. "It's okay. It's okay, I'm gonna be okay." You were reassuring the two of them as much as yourself.

Jason's lips found your neck, leaving hard little kiss marks on it. Suppose you shouldn't neglect the man who was currently making your mind go blank. He sighed into your kiss, tongue pushing into your mouth with clamming force. Those kisses weren't nearly as forgiving as Dick's, Jason demanded you pay attention to him.

"You should hear it too. Jason, I- oh my god, oh fuuuu-!" You couldn't get a word in when Dick started fucking you too, two hard cock filling you at once, fighting for your attention, the pulsing, clenching wetness of your cunt. So Dick could be petty too. "Love you."

"The feeling is mutual." Of course Jason wasn't the best with words, with feelings. But he claimed to be the best at this. "Are two cock's enough for you? Or are you greedy for more? I wonder how many you could take? One. In. Every. Hole."

"Stop talking to her like that. She's not just some bitch you get to fuck." Dick growled at him and pulled you more towards him. "Come on baby. Tell him."

You wished you could deny what Jason said. Because you didn't want any cocks that weren't theirs. That was the truth. But you couldn't catch enough of a break between one cock and the other fucking your pussy. So you couldn't deny it. Jason laughed while Dick started you wide eyed and with his mouth parted in shock. His cock twitched inside you, his hold getting more and more possessive.

"I won't let them. No one else will fuck you. No one." You rarely saw him snap like this.

"Seems like she likes it. Maybe we need to make her see who she belongs to." And naturally Jason was encouraging this. Both men started fucking you faster, harder, your pussy filled to the limit and more. Your arms wrapped around Dick's shoulders to keep yourself grounded but Jason's arms still held your legs open. "We can do it inside right pretty girl? You want our cum in your pussy?"

"Y... Yes. Yes! Anything for you." You moaned, your hips moving on their own, no control or care, your mind swimming with pleasure. "I want your cum."

"Both our cum. At once." Dick repeated against your lips as he pushed in one final time, Jason giving it a few more good pumps, in and out, Dick's cum dripping down and soon joined by his, a torrent of warmth flooding your abused hole. Your vision went white, body boneless against Dick's, legs limp in Jason's hands as you shook and twitched. "Shit. Are you okay?"

"Holy..." Jason chuckled, "She came so hard she passed out." You groaned weakly, not enough strength in you to tell him to shut the hell up. "You did good." His lips pressed one side of your neck, the action soon mirrored on the other side by Dick. They kept kissing you until you were strong enough to move, to talk, to tell them you loved them both so much.

#dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #dc comics x reader #dick grayson x you #jason todd x you #dc comics x you #nightwing x reader #red hood x reader #nightwing x you #red hood x you #dick grayson imagine #jason todd imagine #nightwing imagine #red hood imagine #dc comics imagine #dick grayson smut #jason todd smut #nightwing smut #red hood smut #dc comics smut #x female reader

[kimberly-spirits13]

Things Dick Grayson Has Said

*Fighting a villain* "Hey no biting! Only my girlfriend can do that!"

"babe, watch this" "no I'm not going to fall" *falls anyways*

"I just need my beauty rest and then I'll be pretty again I promise"

"cereal is a nutritious meal, grains, fruit, sugar... I'm doing pretty great I'd say"

"it's not my fault my ass makes the Kardashians insecure"

"you know that look is hot, really scary, but hot"

"I could be two kids stacked on each other and you'd never know"

"I'm like one of those bendy pencils"

"this is more useless than me doing squats"

*Paris Hilton voice* "that's hot"

*screeching* "Bruce, why are my cookies GONE?!"

"I'm fabulous f-a-b-u-l-o-u-s"

"b-a-n-a-n-a-s"

"I am a barbie girl y/n"

*swinging on a chandelier* "ALL EYES ON ME IN THE CENTER OF THE RING JUST LIKE A CIRCUSSSSS"

#dc x reader #dc comics #dc characters #batfam x reader #batboys x reader #dick grayson x reader #batfam #dick Grayson x y #dick grayson #dick grayson x you #dick grayson imagine #nightwing x y/n #nightwing x you #nightwing imagine #nightwing x reader #nightwing

[yourmomxx]

Tim, waking up from (yet another) coma: Oh hey, guys. What time is it?

Damian: It’s about 2am. Are you hungry?

Tim: Oh, cool. I’m up for some toast.

Dick (sobbing uncontrollably): Can you guys please stop acting like nothing happened?!

#tim drake #damian wayne #dick grayson #dc comics #batboys #batfamily #incorrect batboys quotes #incorrect batfamily quotes #incorrect dc quotes #batboys imagine #incorrect quotes #nightwing #red robin #robin!damian #tim drake imagine #tim drake x reader #damian wayne imagine #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x reader #nightwing imagine #red robin imagine

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+ WARNINGS: f!reader | sexual content l face fuck mention | cum in eyes at the implied request of reader and facial | mild degradation | size difference.

DICK GRAYSON wouldn’t say he’s a closet freak. In fact, he prefers to be described as someone who’s “down for anything.” A sense of adventure belongs in sex, in his opinion, so anything spontaneous is appreciated. Surprises you spring on him, requests you make of him, anything is all fair game in the sack. So when you ask a particularly disgusting demand, how can he refuse?

“Please, Dickie? C’mon. C’mon, Dickie, please. Do it, do it.” Your signature source of rambled begging fills his ears as you sink further onto the floor, your freshly fucked face is colored and fluid stained. You’ve never looked more beautiful. Of course he can’t say no.

“Open your fucking eyes, baby, lemme see those pretty eyes.” he tells you, tone husky and breathless from all his effort. A sheen of sweat percolates to a drip down his skin, every muscle flexed as he pumps his achy length faithfully. His endurance is next level, but at your request he’s at risk for busting before you do as he asks.

Enthusiastically, you widen your eyes, holding that intense eye contact as his cock hangs over you, jacking himself off. “I want it so bad,” you whine, bouncing impatiently in place. You end the phrase by dropping your jaw, and drawing out your tongue formed in a cup.

“You ready? Huh, baby? Here it comes. Oh, fuck.” As he speaks, hot spurts of cum shoot out from his blushing tip, and his grip practically strangles it at the sight of your gorgeous features coated in his finish. Like a good girl, you kept that eye contact, lashes fluttering marginally as the whites of your eyes redden from cum brushing them. His large hand grabs the back of your head, fisting locks of your hair as he yanks you closer to catch the pearls of cum that’s lost momentum. It dribbles onto the end of your tongue, sliding down your chin. “Fuck, baby, kept your eyes open and everything? You little freak.”

#indy: drabbles #ch: dick #dick grayson drabble #dick grayson smut #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x reader smut #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x you smut #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x y/n smut #dick grayson x female!reader #dick grayson imagine #1k #dick grayson fic #dick grayson fanfiction #nightwing smut #nightwing x reader #nightwing x reader smut #nightwing x you #nightwing x y/n #nightwing imagine #nightwing fic #nightwing fanfiction #dc comics smut #dc comics x reader #reader insert

[certifiedredhoodlover]

Dick/Nightwing flirting headcanons

TW: fluff, suggestive stuff, dick being a show off and a charming bastard.

Ok first of all we all know how dick is.

Always showing off how flexible he is when you are both out on patrol

Loves to impress you with his gymnastics

Whenever he sees you in the Justice League tower he will not hesitate to flirt with you

And when you’re alone? Oh boy it’s his time

Either pins you to the nearest wall or makes you sit on his lap. He absolutely adores your reactions

Stealing kisses off of you whenever you are focused on something just to hear your complains

When no one else from the batfamily is in the batcave he practically begs Bruce to let him be your partner on missions

Whispers dirty things in your ear or lightly grips your ass when no one is looking

Throws winks at you while Bruce explains the mission you’re supposed to be paying attention to

Loves playing with your hair twisting and twirling the strands around with his fingers

He somehow always manages to get you both alone on patrol so you could have his undivided attention

[AND WE’RE BACK PEOPLE. Wanted to write some dick headcanons for a while so here you go!]

#dc x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson fanfiction #dick grayson smut #dick grayson #dick grayson fluff #dick grayson headcanon #dceu #dcu #dc universe #nightwing imagine #nightwing x reader #nightwing smut #nightwing

[pluvialpoet]

how to disappear

Summary: a reunion ten years in the making serves as a reminder that absence doesn’t always make the heart grow fonder- especially when history has a tendency to repeat itself 

Pairing: dick grayson x fem!vigilante!reader

Requested: no

Warning: nsfw!!! (18+ MDNI), porn with plot, lovers to enemies, unprotected sex, implied breeding kink, choking, angst, minor barbara gordon slander (for the plot, I swear)- do not read if you are not comfortable with the warnings listed above!!!

Word Count: 12,874

masterlist

Light reflects off the crystals that hang from the chandeliers above, and like a moth drawn to a shiny flame, you bask in the warmth of their glow. For as beautiful as the crystalline teardrops twenty-two feet overhead are, they dull in comparison to the- equal parts blinding and mesmerizing, simultaneously gorgeous, yet gaudy- diamonds that dangle from earlobes, rubies that rest against décolletages, and the pearls placed upon dainty fingers in an over the top display of money, power, and status. It’s the epitome of wealth, and though meant to allure, you find yourself disgusted by the flashy exhibitions of greed and corruption.

Every smile is artificial. Every laugh is humorless and diluted. Any feeling beyond complete and utter misery is a hoax. Yet, they play their parts. Each and every one of them continues to mingle, boast, and feign genuineness, but it’s obvious what they are, even beneath their disguises, you recognize the vultures circling the fresh carnage of the innocent- with blood on their talons and a hunger that’s never truly satiated. Do they even know what they’ve done? Do they even care? Given a chance to make amends, would any of them take it?

Revulsion counters amusement as you watch the elite interact with one another. It’s pathetic. In a room full of affluence, not a single person knows pleasure beyond material possessions, and that’s an injustice in itself. Amongst thieves, you’re the honesty that rivals them all- and that’s a scary revelation, all things considered.

Taking advantage of the large crowd, you continue to bump elbows with the rich- literally- as you weave your way through the opulent mass. A tight-lipped smile is granted when you pass an older woman, and an even wider flash of teeth catches your attention from a man around your age. Mimicking the gestures seal your fate, damning you- even if only temporarily- to this game of confusion, a game in which approval and disgust are indiscernible. Having had years to grow accustomed to the tricks of this elitist trade, it’s almost impossible to recall a simpler time. Back when you still thought there might be a modicum of authenticity behind the action, back before you were close enough to spot the invisible strings controlling the marionettes, you believed- and even hoped- that you had it all wrong. There was a time, long, long ago, when you were desperate to believe that there was still some good left in these people, but you grew out of your naivety. Now older, and wiser, you won’t make the same mistakes you once made. Under the influence of optimism, your purpose became convoluted. Not anymore.

Without anyone to dissuade you from reaching out- to challenge you from swiping a few bejeweled tennis bracelets, engagement rings, or even one or two watches and calling it a day- a thrum of urgency spreads through your fingertips. It’s an impulsive electricity you can’t deny. Besides, it’s not like social dynasties would crumble if a few diamonds went missing. If only it were that easy…

Wealth doesn’t doom these poor, unfortunate souls, but their greed- coupled with the blood on their hands- paints a distinguishable target on their backs. If you look closely, it’s impossible to miss that they’re all cut from the same cloth. A hundred different reflections of the same privileged archetype imitate the same gestures, mannerisms, and movements to a tee. An amateur would operate under the guise of distraction- causing a small scene and offering their apologies before making off with their prize- but you’re not an amateur. Not anymore. Not by a long shot. 

A few women- four or five, at most- nurse flutes of bubbling booze a few feet away. The sound of their laughter is a little too joyous to be feigned and when one of them waves a manicured hand towards a waiter, signaling another round of drinks, you start to put the pieces together. Perhaps, the ladies in your sights are the most genuine in attendance- even if they’ve lost themselves to their cups. Matching their demeanor is child’s play. Once equipped with a half-empty glass from a server on their way back to the kitchens, you stumble towards the group, plastering on the same elated- intoxicated- grin, and hope that they’re inebriated enough to be welcoming towards a newcomer. Masking the bitter taste of insincerity with a sip of prosecco, a greeting rises from the mix, but it never has the chance to come to fruition because a large hand wraps around your wrist- effectively halting your heist before it even really had a chance to begin.

You should’ve known better.

As you turn to glare at the idiot who dared to put their hands on you, your breath catches.

Two birds die from the blow of one stone, and he takes advantage of your stupor- finding that you’re more pliant in your daze- leading you away from the women you intended to rob, and into the crowd. More witnesses make it less likely for you to cause a scene. At least, that’s his logic, anyway.  While it’s not exactly flawed, it’s not all that accurate, either, but for old time's sake, you’ll play along. His hold on you remains firm, and he reaches for the flute in your hand with his other, placing it on a tray and discarding the prop. Your surprise begins to morph into anger- especially when he pulls you closer towards him as the orchestra starts to play a tune. Remembering the steps forced upon you as a child is muscle memory, and you glare daggers up at him- though, they don’t pierce nearly as deeply as the blue of his irises.

“Nice hair,” Dick revels in your obvious frustration of being thwarted, his lips curling into a smirk when your frown deepens, and he asks, “I thought you were blonde, last I saw you?”

“I was,” For the sake of maintaining appearances, you don a phony expression of your own and respond with as much benevolence as you can muster- even though you’re filled with animosity- as he leads you through the steps of the dance. “And you didn’t have a five o’clock shadow,” You note, allowing yourself a split second to take in everything that’s changed since the last time you saw him, before pressing your lips together tightly with a huff.

“Things change.” 

 As if he needed the reminder…

Chance has never meddled in your relationship. Coincidence doesn’t exist within the realm of precision both you and Dick operate from. Everything has always been on purpose, calculated and planned, never left blindly to fate or possibility- which is why this meeting isn’t an accident. As if he can feel you about to pull away, he flexes his fingers against you, tightening his grip and holding you in place. Ten years later- ten years too late- he’s found you. Not destiny, not a fluke, but with his own intention, and you wish that he would’ve just stayed away.

“What are you doing here, Dick?” As you abandon your costume, your smile falls away to reveal genuine loathing as you force the question from behind gritted teeth. Still, despite your obvious disdain, he doesn’t let you go. “Last I checked, you were in San Francisco- and more recently, Blüdhaven. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“You keeping tabs on me?” His amusement contradicts your revulsion, and a shallow breath purges the threat of an outburst. Dick has always had a way of getting under your skin, of pushing your buttons and doing everything he possibly could to make you tick, but the sudden onslaught of such juvenile taunting fills you with a fire not even he can extinguish- not anymore. Despite his charming exterior, the steady flow of his breath, and the easy grin of confidence that was once impossible not to mirror, dampness swells where your palms meet, and you feel the rough, raised reminders that he’s kept busy during your time apart- that he’s evolved into a stranger despite how familiar he still seems- and you wonder if he can feel it too, if he can tell just by touch, that you’re not the same girl he once knew.

“I keep tabs on everyone who might get in my way,” Your eyes narrow accusatorially, and the corner of his mouth twitches. “You’re not special.”

“That’s not what you said the last time we-“

“Yeah, well, the last time was when we were teenagers, and a lot has changed since then.” Any attempt to remain cordial flies out the window when he dares to mention the last time- like it hasn’t plagued you for a decade. Not even he possesses the antidote to the venom your words carry, and he winces slightly as your rebuttal shakes. He clears his throat softly, the sound filling the lull where an apology should sound, and he takes a look over your shoulder before meeting your eyes again.

“Any chance I can convince you not to go through with whatever it is you’re planning?” It brings little joy to watch his smile dissolve into something more serious. His face hardens, and you notice lines and creases that you aren’t well acquainted with- unable to distinguish battle scars from the divots of age- and you quickly shake the thought away. Instead, you stare at him blankly, not revealing an answer. Though, he takes your lack of conversation as a reply, and with a heavy sigh, he shakes his head, “Yeah, I figured.” 

He dares to express melancholy. Stunned by his nerve, after everything, not even shame or regret could rattle his courage enough for him to reconsider such a crestfallen expression, and the discouraged twist of his lips and the downcast slant of his eyes are so pronounced and dramatic that you’re unable to discern whether or not this is part of a ruse, or his genuine reaction.

“Did you think that would work?” Your skepticism is muddled with ridicule, a mocking scoff filling the line meant for his counter. It’s almost laughable- the nerve he has to look dejected by your questioning. To be fair, it’s been a while since he’s danced this dance- a routine once familiar, consisting of bite and bark, push and shove, before simultaneous defeat and victory-  but he’s smart enough to know that that’s not how this works. “I mean what did you think would happen, birdy? I’d take one look at you, all grown and handsome, and reconsider my plans?”

Even in heels, he’s taller than you remember. He’s always been pretty- all mesmerizing eyes, slightly crooked smile, and sunkissed skin- but not even he was immune to the awkwardness brought forth by puberty. There was a time when he thought his shoulders were too broad, his ears too big, and the angular structure of his face too sharp and strong for a boy. It didn’t look right. Features that were admirable on their own, looked out of place on his face- or so he feared. You always thought he was beautiful- especially when he didn’t know it.

Now, Boy Wonder is all grown up, exuding confidence and oozing charm. He knows he’s attractive, but he doesn’t parade his arrogance- not anymore. His early twenties were a never-ending roller coaster of trying to find himself, his purpose, and where he fit into the grand scheme of things. Conflicted by right and wrong, tempted by lust and surrender, divided by good and evil, he’s had a lot of time to awaken from the grogginess inflicted by nightmares of freedom and liberation. Still, his eyes are just as mesmerizing, his teeth are straight- but his smile is still crooked- and he’s truly grown into himself. The man before you is a boy evolved- still a bird, but with a different set of wings. Robin is an old friend, a fond recollection of a different time, and though the stranger before you mimics the familiarity you’ve longed for, he’s not Robin, anymore- he’s Nightwing.

“Look, they’re anticipating for you to strike,” His warning is low and hushed, but even in whispers you’re able to detect his plea. Call it concern, or at the very least interest in serving justice as quietly as possible, but his timbre urges you to reconsider- if not for his sake, then for the sake of those around you. He really doesn’t want to cause a scene. “Security has been tripled, and you’ve grown sloppy-“

“Did you ever consider that the trail I was leaving behind wasn’t for anyone else but the one person I wanted to find me?” There’s no affection behind the way your fingers thread through the dark tresses at the nape of his neck. Without any fondness, without passion, or care, the action is mindless, meaningless, and merely muscle memory. There’s no repressed feelings you wish to convey, no animosity you’re trying to diffuse. With no hidden agenda, the gesture serves no purpose- except to unintentionally torture you both. Old habits die hard, and something undefined urges you to reach for him. He flushes, and the sight is so droll that you can’t bring yourself to stop. His lips part once, twice, three times, trying to produce an answer, but he’s at a loss. When you cock your head to the side, he tenses. “Of course, you didn’t,” You purr, and he clears his throat softly. 

Dick’s no stranger to berating. He knows what it feels like to be chastised, scolded, and reprimanded. This exchange feels similar. The only difference is that you don’t raise your voice, your eyes don’t darken and you don’t threaten him- not with words, at least. If anything, the remark feels like a gentle rebuke, but the sting left from the impact of your insult brands him with shame. You’ve always seen right through him. Easily able to discern real from fake- truth from falsity- under both his domino mask and the hardened mask of his stoic expressions, you’ve always had a knack for exposing his most vulnerable self- welcoming his flaws, humility, and weaknesses to light. Even though he’s not the same kid he was when you first crossed paths, he feels just as naive and guileless as the boy he once once. 

“You and the bat were never really known for considering every angle,” Spoken so thoughtfully, he’s almost able to forgive the verbal assault. As intended, the blow lands- precise, heavy, and unforgiving in the center of his chest- and the muscles in his jaw tighten with thinly veiled frustration. It seems, that in the moment he needs his voice the most, it evades him. He swallows consonants and vowels, a jumbled mix of letters that sit heavy atop his palate, and focuses on maintaining his composure- though, his steps are a beat behind and his footing seems, suddenly, unsure. You’ve struck a nerve. Whether or not you intend to wound, the damage is already done. Picking at scabs that should’ve scarred a long time ago cause his insecurities to bleed- a punch more lethal than brute strength and weaponry combined. 

Blindsided by the truth, he feels utterly defenseless.

“Can I ask you something, Dick?” Your brows barely pinch together, your voice calm and steady as something softens in your gaze. Dick should know better than to let his guard down- especially when you lean in, and your lips brush against his ear, “If you’re the hero, here to save the day, does that make me the villain?” 

“No, you’re not-“

“How about this, which is the lesser of two evils- knowing that you’re protecting a corrupted establishment because it’s what you believe to be morally correct, or taking back what was wrongfully stolen and returning it to its rightful owners?” As you tilt your head to the side, he hates the way that you look up at him through your lashes. It’s not a demure move. You’re demanding an answer, and a look like that- a look meant to allure, tempt, and bait- would have a weaker man spilling his deepest darkest secrets. With a sharp inhale, he reminds himself that the tricks up your sleeve aren’t new. He knows all of the cards you’re going to play- albeit, he’s unaware of the order in which you’re going to play them- and he won’t allow history to repeat itself. Purposely, your thumb caresses the back of his hand- the touch feather-light, but far from hesitant or accidental- and his breath hitches. Dick doesn’t undermine the small, sinister smile that threatens to spread into a victorious grin when he fails to answer your question. Perhaps, he doesn’t know the answer. Or, perhaps, he’s just distracted. Either way, your voice fills the absence of his own. “We’re not on different sides of a playing field, Grayson. You and I aren’t on opposite ends of a spectrum, we’ve always been right in the middle- dancing on a thin line.” 

Prompted by the soothing symphony of strings, Dick twirls you- delicately extending his arm and leading you into a spin before pulling you back in- and it’s fitting, the push and pull between you so familiar it almost feels as choreographed as the steps of the waltz you’re dancing.

History repeating itself, just one more time.

“We both know you’re not here to turn me in, because if you were going to, you would’ve done it by now.” Your arrogance causes something to snap within him. Clarity comes rushing back as he breaks free from your spell. Without meaning to, his grip on your hand tightens.

“Look, I understand why you’re doing this, but-“

“No, you don’t.” Like a switch being flipped, your façade shatters- revealing a face so unbridled with emotions that not even a mask could obscure. He’s defensive. Tired of grappling for control over the situation, he tastes power as he parts his lips with a clever retort, but you don’t allow him the space to get a word in. “Did you know that last year, the city council held a vote to refurbish a few run-down parks on the south side of Gotham with the hopes of restoring the communities destroyed by violence, or increasing the GCPD budget?” The heat behind your accusation pokes and prods at his curiosity, coloring him intrigued. Admittedly, he’s not the most up-to-date on Gotham’s politics, but something this large shouldn’t have slipped under his radar- or the watchful eyes of those who swore themselves to protect the beloved city.

It’s deeper than that, though.

Your frustrations, however warranted, seem to extend beyond such an injustice. Between the lines, amongst all the words you haven’t said, there’s a decipher hidden in every twitch, gesture, and glare. From the way your eyes narrow, to the sharp exhale and tightening grip of your fingertips. To sweaty palms and clenched teeth, all the way to flared nostrils- there’s something just beneath the surface that he can’t crack. Too much time has passed for him to unscramble tacitness when he no longer understands the codes in which you speak, and, unfortunately, he needs you to paint a clearer picture than the vague abstract before him.

“When it came down to it, do you think that the citizens of the south side had a say in the matter?” Dick’s smart. He’s not just a pretty face or a nice body- he’s actually got brains to match. You know- deep down- that sooner or later, shapeless pieces will fall into place to reveal the completed puzzle, but you need him to come to the conclusion all on his own. It would be easy to simply reveal your motive, and while a straightforward approach may have been less complicated than the mental gymnastics you’re forcing him to perform, it wouldn’t have been as impactful. Dick needs to understand, and to understand, he needs to feel- the same anger, outrage, and upset you felt. “Do you think the people on the other side of the tracks were given a chance to speak in front of the council?” 

“They can’t segregate who speaks publicly-“ The gears are turning- some slower, some faster, and others completely out of control as he struggles to make sense of your elusiveness. When the current song fades out, a scattered round of applause takes its place before a new song begins. Hardly anyone else is dancing, save for a handful of couples who look just about as miserable as you and Dick- without the coordination or grace, the two of you share. It takes him too long to jump to the conclusion, and you tire of waiting for him to put the pieces together on his own. He always did work better with a helping hand- though, the quality of his work declined greatly whenever your hands were involved.

“You’re right,” Your agreement further confuses him, until an additional explanation provides the last bit of clarity he’d been seeking. “But they can change the date, time, and venue of the meeting without alerting the other parties involved, parties that spent weeks building the foundations of a strong claim, and vote on the matter without them being present- subsequently, granting them access to funnel more funds back into their pensions.”

“That’s not possible,” His argument is backed by disbelief instead of reason, denial influencing his refusal to accept such an absurdity, even in spite of proof, and every ugly, undesirable, nasty feeling you’re not supposed to have swirls together in the pit of your stomach at his incredulity.

How can he still be so blind? How, after all of the evil that he’s witnessed, how can he deny the truth in favor of possibility? He may be a man grown, but he still lives in a delusional state of boyhood- where he still clings to hope and the prospect of good intentions even when the jury has already delivered a conviction.

“Why not?” You seethe, simultaneously demanding an answer without allowing him the chance to speak. Unfortunately, whatever’s been brewing amongst your insides finally bubbles over and your own reluctance to accept an outcome where he doesn’t justify your point of view sharpens the words at the tip of your tongue until they’re as lethal as any weapon. “Because good old Commissioner Gordon wouldn’t let that happen?”

It’s resentment- the concoction without a name- but it’s also envy, pain, and perhaps a bit of fear. At the very least, it’s petty, to bring her into this and force him to pick a side, but it’s been corroding your logic- eroding a place in your chest that’s been dormant ever since he last filled it with life and meaning- and you watch his demeanor shift when his lips part to defend her. You can’t bear whatever praise he’s sure to dole out in her defense, especially when she’s just as guilty as the rest of them, as far as you’re concerned. Before he has a chance to tear you to shreds with his ire, you interrupt.

“Look, just because the commissioner has a heart, doesn’t mean that the animals working for the force do.” Without any conviction, you start to claw at the mire on either side of you, closing you in. “It’s always been bad, but it’s gotten a lot worse.” He can’t argue with that. Worse doesn’t even come close to how downright doomed Gotham is now that someone’s poisoned most of the police force. The one group of people who are supposed to remain impartial to power and abide by the laws they’re sworn to uphold, have turned their backs on the people who needed them most, and the people hurting- the ones without flashy jewels or the stomachs for caviar and champagne- don’t have anyone looking out for them. 

Not the way they used to, anyway. 

“You don’t get to come here and lecture me about what’s right and what’s wrong, just because she asked you to.” Bittersweet tips towards bitter and a sour taste settles in your mouth at the suggestion that she had even the slightest part to play in your reunion. “You’re a few years too late for that, birdy.” This time when the song ends, you take a step back- though, his thumb brushes against the back of your hand before you pull away, the phantom of a silent prospect lingering even when the warmth of him is gone. Once, it was what you sought. He was what you sought. Years of desolation turned your desire for that same heat- tender touches and gentle caresses against skin- into favor of bleakness. You don’t regret pulling away from him, not as much as you did back them. This time, it’s warranted- a choice you make unobstructed by what you’re feeling, now that you know the outcome of what was fated to happen between the two of you.

“I appreciate the dance,” You swallow, your throat tightening with words you won’t allow yourself to say. Instead, a retort finds you, though it feels foreign as you speak it into existence. “Maybe we’ll do it again in a couple of years,” 

Without waiting for a reaction, you head off down the same way you came, and this time, without any intervention, he lets you go.

The bathroom door shuts behind you, and the sounds of lively chatter and the hum of instrumentals fade away until you’re consumed by a silence so stark that it buries you. It doesn’t feel real. The soft tapping of your heels against the glossy marble floors cuts through the nothingness- even the slightest echo in the void registering as an alarm, coaxing panic and fear from the rusted, forgotten cells you banished them to long ago- and when you finally take a look in the mirror, you don’t recognize the face that stares back at you.

Your reflection is plagued by guilt, and haunted by ghosts of the past. Well, one ghost, in particular.

Running into Dick Grayson was something you’d prepared for. Since the day you last parted, you always knew that there was a possibility your paths could, and inevitably would, cross again. It was destined to happen, and you were doomed from the start. He makes you reckless. He makes you sloppy and distracted and forgiving. He makes you weak. Back then, before everything that drove a wedge between the two of you, you had a bit of a soft spot for him. He was the only other person in the world who truly understood the life you lived because he was living a different version of the same life. Both protégés, both headstrong and zealous- attributes recognized as both strengths and faults- and both dancing a choreographed routine in the shadows cast by the bat and the cat. The two of you were fated. It was only a matter of time before you started pulling your punches, and he started letting you get away.

The chase was always the best part- second only to the capture.

Still, it’s been years since he left. You’re not the same girl he once knew, and he might as well have been a stranger. More than a decade apart will do that to two people. For everything that’s changed, one thing remains the same- the chase and the capture are unavoidable.

With a shaky exhale, your chest tightens. Resting your palms on either side of the expensive stone washbasin, you attempt to focus on regaining your composure- but another heavy intake of breath punches your lungs. You haven’t come this far just to let him swoop in and gain the upper hand. You’re done pulling your punches. Flipping the golden faucet on, you allow trickling water to interrupt the unbearable silence that surrounds you- a lull so loud it sounds like buzzing static without the interruption of something mundane. With a few more deep breaths, in and out, you begin to fumble with the clasp on your clutch, opening the small bag to retrieve a tube of lipstick. The color has started to fade from your lips, and you use the moment of stillness to touch up your makeup. If nothing else, maybe your reflection will look less distraught with a signature swipe of dark red. You long for a sense of familiarity that you can control.

Above the trickling from the luxurious spout, the door squeaks- or perhaps, it cries- as it’s pushed open, revealing a mirage basked in artificial light and a custom-tailored suit. As your fingertips graze the fixture responsible for the steady stream of distraction, a thud sounds, and seconds later, the unmistakable click of a lock latching into place seals your fate. A wave of emotion- a tsunami of feelings- brings forth a myriad of everything, all at once. Just as you suspected you always would, you’re drowning- caught in a riptide of your past and present, finally merging in a deadly current that threatens to pull you below the depths of your worst fears and direful imagination. You swallow thickly as you close your eyes. It fills your mouth with delusions of saltwater.

This isn’t supposed to happen- at least, not like this, it’s not- but the one thing you’ve been running from has finally caught back up to you. Now’s the time to set the record straight. No more ties. No more draws. Tonight, the victory is yours- regardless of his intervention. He’s taken too much from you to take this too, and you’re done letting him.

“I already told you that this is pointless,” You don’t even look at him. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of meeting his overbearing stare. A swirling sea of darkening blue attempts to sail back to shore- pleading to find refuge within familiar comforts and intimacy- but you cast your gaze back to your reflection, focusing on fixing the corners of your lipstick and leaving him afloat. “You’re not going to stop me.” The promise is backed by conviction- though, you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince him, or yourself.

The muscle in Dick’s jaw flexes as he grits his teeth- forcing ivories to clench and grind against each other, creating a perfect, white prison to cage the words he wishes to speak. Stifling his emotions is conventional. It’s a routine he’s perfected through years of reluctant practice. Though uncomfortable and daunting, the void in which he sentences all that’s repressed is secure. It’s safe- if only in the sense that it’s familiar.

You’re familiar- rather, you were once familiar- but he can’t cross a bridge that’s been burned, molten ash still ablaze amongst the rubble, and expect to be welcomed back with open arms. Not after everything that’s changed. Not after everything that’s happened.

Not after what he did.

“I need a list of names,” The determination in Dick’s voice contradicts everything he feels inside. His face hardens- a mask, a shield, protection- and he stands a little taller, fixated on resolving the one problem he could actually solve. “Names of the officers involved in whatever this is,” He clarifies with an uneasy edge to his voice- like he already knows he’s bit off more than he can chew, but he can’t stop himself from going back for seconds, thirds, and fourths.

For all that’s changed, Dick remains the same. A phantom- a spirit, a memory, a ghost- of the boy you once knew disappears just as quickly as your imagination teases familiar red, yellow, and green. He’s not the same. You know it to be true, and yet, you find yourself distracted by glimpses and figments from a different life entirely.

“Grab a pen,” A scoff, an eye roll, and the gentle shake of your head, disbelief and credence existing in tandem- contradicting each other when your eyes finally meet his. “It would be a shorter list if you started with the people who aren’t guilty of committing some type of fraudulent activity.”

You’re not a bad person. Despite varying beliefs, you’re not evil. Mayhem doesn’t bring you joy. Confrontation doesn’t get you off. There’s little pleasure to be found in being the itch that people can’t scratch. You’ve never sought out violence or peril, and you seldom plan on causing either. Just like Dick- just like Bruce- you operate under a different moral code, but a moral code, nevertheless. Even if the only thing it provides is an excuse to justify why you do what you do, you still hold yourself to a standard. Unlike the vile, chaos-thirsty cravens that would happily light the match and watch the world burn, you’re selfless- bound to your morals, if nothing else.

What you do, the sacrifices you make- everything that you’ve lost and everything you’ve fought for- is fueled by benevolence. You’re in a position to fight for those who can’t fight for themselves, to speak up for those who can’t speak for themselves. The power to defend those who have had their rights stripped from them- those who have had their power stolen by greed corruption and profit- is in your hands. You’ll be damned if you let anyone stand in your way and prevent you from doing what you know is right.

Through the reflection in the mirror, you recognize the face that stares back at you. Gone is the fear and doubt that mangled your features unrecognizable. With a heavy sigh, you unclip the earrings that dangle from your earlobes- and the buzzing sound of static fades away completely.

You know what you have to do.

The sound of your heels against the tile might as well have been deafening in contrast to the silence that follows your remark. As you cross the room, your resolve sharpens. Dick Grayson has taken so much from you, you won’t let him take this, too.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me-“ You feign saccharine, your tone phony and filled with counterfeit regret, as you reach for the locked door handle, but Dick blocks the latch, stepping in front of you before you have a chance to wrap your hand around the lever. He knows exactly what buttons to press and genuine annoyance, anger, and frustration fill the space where your poor imitation of remorse once occupied. Through gritted teeth, you command him, lowly, “Move, Dick.”

“You know I can’t do that, sweetheart,” He says it so easily, with a sorrowful sigh and undisputed repentance, that you almost buy the sincerity he’s trying to sell. Unfortunately, for him, you’re not in the market for his misery. He’s a few years too late. Dick can turn his charm up to ten thousand- he can say all the right things and plead with his perfect crystalline eyes- but you won’t risk everything you’ve fought for for a few crocodile tears. You know, now, that you’re better than that. One way or another, you’re getting out of this bathroom- and if you have to go through him to do so, then so be it.

“And you know I’m not above fighting you, right?” He’s entirely unprepared for your snark, the bite that fuels your reply nearly nipping his sense of control straight from the palm of his hand. It’s obvious that this isn’t the same game that it once was, but something much more dangerous. “The dance wasn’t enough?” With your arms across your chest, you challenge, and he hates the way you’re looking at him- like your eyes are piercing straight through him instead of actually looking at him. If you bothered to look closely enough, you’d be able to decipher all of the blatant emotions he’s never been the greatest at hiding. One look and you’d see him- and his heart beating proudly on his sleeve. It’s why you don’t spare him a glance. “You still feeling nostalgic for old times? Because this feels awfully familiar, doesn’t it?”

“What are you going to do with the money?” He asks, fighting to keep his voice stern. His poker face was never the best- or, maybe you could just read him better than most people could. Still, as he stands before you, he grapples with his devotion to whatever this competition is. This clash will never see a winner- only two losers- and he knows it. You do, too- but unlike him, you’re not willing to back down without a fight.

“Give it back to those who rightfully deserve it.” He doesn’t deserve your honesty. He has no right to the truth, but you don’t have it in you to scheme an elaborate lie. However gratifying it might’ve been to feed him false information and watch him fly in circles, you’re too exhausted for mental gymnastics. Like clockwork, you give, and he takes- his stare narrowing, almost accusatorially.

“And who are you to decide who rightfully deserves it?” There’s an edge to his question- like he can’t fathom justice without his divine intervention- and it’s grating, the way he can make you feel so small, and worthless with a single sentence. His arrogance is astounding. Who was he to seek vengeance against Slade Wilson? Who was he to target Heartless? Who was he to sentence Tony Zucco to his death- by placing him behind bars, and granting other enemies easy access to the crime lord, which ultimately led to his demise? The self-righteous guilt trip nearly gives you whiplash from how fast it makes your head spin. He’s no different than you are- no better or worse, since you operate on the same playing field. He doesn’t get to act like he is. Someone needs to knock him down a few pegs, and you’re happily up for the challenge.

“Who are you to try to stop me?”

“Someone who knows you,” He replies, instinctively. “Someone who’s a friend, not a foe.”

“Hmm,” With a bitter laugh, your stomach churns- twisting, clenching, and swirling with swells of irritation, regret, and sorrow- and although it’s a familiar discomfort, it’s been years since you’ve felt the threat of splintering cracks, chipping away at the stone-cold facade of your exterior. Come to think of it, the last time you felt this way was when Selina had told you that Dick left for San Francisco. The reminder fills you with a bitterness you’ve long tried to suppress, and as it bubbles to the surface, so do all of the repressed thoughts and emotions that’ve haunted you for years.

For a moment, you ache- chasing forgotten remembrance plagued by wistfulness. Then, you burn.

“Friends call every once in a while, and if they can’t make it to a phone, they send a postcard to let you know that they’re still alive and well.” Vexation forces your eyes to narrow, the color of your eyes morphing into something much more bleak. With a heavy exhale- filled with frustration and a semblance of humility- you remind him, “Friends don’t disappear into thin fucking air without letting you know why- especially, after those friends, were always a little more than just friends.” There’s a darkness behind your eyes that Dick’s not familiar with, and a weight settles in the hollow emptiness of his chest before sinking deeper and deeper into the pit of his stomach. His jaw clenches and he swallows thickly- the tastes of bile, rue, and shame all indiscernible from one another as he forces them back down.

He knows you’re right.

While his absence was abrupt, it had nothing to do with any ill will towards you. There was never a falling out- no crossing a line of no return or being pushed past a point that shattered a shared fantasy. Though the bullet posed no real threat of death by passing through his arm- beyond the phantom agony of lead tearing through flesh, and the hot, wet feeling of crimson pouring from the wound- a part of Dick Grayson did, in fact, die that night, at the hands of the Joker. The Clown Prince of Crime set off a domino effect when he fired at the young Boy Wonder, inevitably altering the course of his life forever. Acts of violent intent seldom harm a single soul, and as if it were fated, you became another casualty from an attack that was never meant for you.

When Bruce fired Dick, he was angry. Back then, thoughts of hanging up the cape never, ever, crossed his mind. Back then, he was content with fighting crime alongside his mentor, and never really considered what would happen next- or if there’d even be a next, or an after. He felt betrayed, abandoned, and filled with cynicism. As selfish as it was, you weren’t even really an afterthought in the downfall of his life caving in and swallowing him whole. He needed time to heal- time to rebuild- and prioritize who he was when he wasn’t hiding in the shadows left behind by a cape and cowl. Years passed, and with time to reflect, Dick’s bitter resentment morphed into a new kind of devotion to himself, and the few that started to look to him for guidance.

Before the Titans, he never really considered himself to be a leader. He spent most of his life abiding by rules and plans- roles and paths- that were set for him by another. Had he been hungry for control before, his first real taste solidified an insatiable appetite for the very thing he felt himself deprived of for too many years. Though, he’d come to learn that there was an ugly side to the power he wielded. Some days, the responsibility felt like a burden, and others, he felt like his guilt and uncertainty would swallow him whole. He bottled up all of his doubts, packed them somewhere deep inside the closed-off caverns in his heart where darker demons haunted, and forced them elsewhere- out of sight, and out of mind, but never truly gone.

It’s not fair that, somehow, you’ve come to possess the key that matches the lock on his Pandora’s box. Every emotion, every feeling, and every thought meant to be suppressed and banished to a place where they couldn’t torment or harm him, refuses to go gently when one simple, magnetic look threatens to release them from their cages of skin and bone. The most daunting realization of all, however, is that he’s the one to blame- for everything.

For all of it.

Selfishly, he’s hoped for an ember amongst the carnage he’s created. He’s held onto some convoluted idea of hope that whatever was once alight could be reignited again if he fully committed himself to an apology, but he failed to acknowledge the amount of ashes he’d have to sift through for a hint of a spark. There’s too much disappointment, too much duplicity, regret, and time passed between the two of you for things to ever revert back to even a semblance of what they once were.

He looks to you now, and he sees it- your anger is a mask for your pain. It’s so faint he almost misses it, but your lip threatens to wobble. Beyond the wrath you try to convey with the narrowed glare of your eyes, he watches as thinly veiled yearning mingles with what’s left of the color of your irises- simultaneously faint, yet prominent to the only other person who knows what it’s like to push away the person you love. What Dick and you shared wasn’t love, but it could’ve been and that’s what you’re both mourning- what could’ve been.

“You and I aren’t friends, Dick.” He hates the finality behind your conviction. It’s so cold, and void of the warmth he associated with you once upon a time. A split second threatens to expose the façade, and you blink back tears instead of allowing them to fall- swallowing emotion and banishing it elsewhere. Feelings have no place here. Instead, you grit your teeth, clenching them together so tightly that your jaw begins to ache. He watches you struggle to commit to the act- because that’s what your rage is, an outlet for your passions- and as you take a step closer toward him, his breath hitches. “Now, get out of my way,”

Toe to toe, you meet his gaze, and no matter how hard you try to fight it, despite your best efforts to disguise what you truly feel, Dick sees right through you- recognizing the parts of you that you try to mold and shape into something else. After all, he’s your greatest weakness- and you’re his. You always have been, and he always will be.

He dares to move. This close, he resists the urge to reach out for you and never let you go again, but this isn’t about him. It’s about you. Hesitantly, he raises his hand, his eyes never leaving yours as the shaky tips of his fingers graze your chin with a tenderness you’ve sought since the last time you felt it. The air is tense, passed back and forth by sharp breaths and thundering pulses- intimate with warmth and affection that mimics that of a simpler time- and when his palm rests against your cheek, cradling it with such gentle endearment in the face of betrayal, you let him. Dick’s throat bobs, and he pours everything he can’t bring himself to say into such a delicate touch. Every apology he wishes he had the courage to speak aloud, every declaration of devotion he was too afraid to voice, and every inevitable truth he attempted to ignore lingers, and you can feel it- in every shy stroke of his thumb across your cheek.

“You’re not going to distract me,” A single tear merges with the pad of his thumb- a testament to your resilience, but no match for the broken, battered, beaten bond you share with the man before you- and your certainty begins to dwindle. There’s a string that ties you to him- an invisible thread strong enough to stitch the two of you back together when you should remain apart- but you’re destined for him, the same way he’s always been destined for you.

It was foolish to believe any differently.

“I’m not trying to distract you,” Barely above a whisper, he pleads, desperate to make you understand, “I’m trying to apologize.”

He hangs his head with defeat, his shoulder slumping forward as he peers down at you. He’s never known such cruel torture. Such sick and twisted suffering is self-inflicted. The past erodes his future, but he can’t stop himself from resurrecting his demons. Foolishly, he invites them to haunt him further- and you’re no exception. His tightrope is stretched taut, and it’s a long way down. How much longer can he balance between anemoia and actuality before tipping one way or the other? It’s insanity- repeating the same act and hoping for a different outcome- but Dick can’t bring himself to accept that this time won’t be different. If nothing else, the possibility that this never-ending game could crown two winners is enough for him to play the martyr, and suffer whatever repercussions might follow after barring himself whole. What more does he have to lose, if not everything he’s already lost, again?

It would be so easy to reach past him and turn the lock in your favor, granting your escape. Hell, with the way he’s looking at you now, you know that he wouldn’t even put up a fight. He’d let you waltz right past him, slipping through his fingers for the umpteenth time because he knows that this time won’t be the last. It never is. Visions blurred by uncertainty flash before your eyes- infinite possibilities, each with consequences and punishments, rewards and sacrifices- but the unknown doesn’t elicit the same adrenaline-filled excitement that it once did. Maybe because this time, Dick isn’t fighting back. Surrendering his shield, he abandons resistance- instead, entrusting you with the vulnerability that spills from his heart, blood crimson against his fingers as he squeezes it with each thump and thud- crumbling before you, and submitting everything he has to give to you. Even if he can’t bring himself to support your cause.

You lean in closer, drawn to him- the same way you always have been, and likely, always will be- and your palm hovers over his chest. For a second, it’s unclear whether or not you’re going to reach out for him or push him away, but when your hand meets the fabric that covers hard muscle, you know you’re done for- because in the same ways he’s willing to fall before you, you’re willing to fall before him, too. Over and over again. Repeatedly and infinitely.

“Well, you have impeccable timing,” Your reproach is close enough for him to taste. It wavers against his lips and slips past his tongue, allowing him to savor parts of you he hasn’t been allowed to indulge in for so long. There’s no mistaking the invitation of your reprover, and Dick’s palm rests against your lower back, coaxing you closer towards him as his nose brushes against yours. It’s dizzying, and your arms find their way around his neck to steady yourself when he rests his forehead against yours with a soft sigh. The irony of the situation isn’t lost upon you- even when the two of you have ceded to one another, you’re still fighting to see who will give in first. As if he’s come to the realization at the same time, a large hand- rough and callused, but soft and tender in the way that it trembles against your cheek with anticipation- encourages you to tilt your head back, and you follow his lead. You hold your breath as your lips part, and Dick surges forward, slotting his mouth against yours in a kiss that’s fueled by the release of years of pent-up longing, need, and want. The gesture is foreign, yet familiar. Reminiscent of the past, yet entirely new. Everything you remember and everything you’ve ever dreamed of merge together in this moment and bring life to what had only ever been fantasy before his lips found yours once more.

It’s exhilarating.

“I missed you,” The affirmation rumbles against your skin, warm with fervor and urgency, and it’s completely unnecessary- considering that each movement acts as a balm to soothe wounds of time, fear, and doubt- but he vows with each breath, relying on words to convey what his actions can not, and vice versa. Masks are off. Shields have been abandoned. Capes remain long forgotten at the door. This is no longer about duty or morality. No, this moment is about two people seeking confirmation for what they’ve always known to be true- that a love unspoken, but never absent has always existed between them. Two people- not vigilantes or heroes- two hearts, beating to guide the other back, are bare, open, honest, and raw without the theatrics of a chase or the pretense of a game. Surrender invites you to balance on the edge of a precipice, and you’re the first to lose your footing.

Desperation is an influence, and his lapels wrinkle with the severity of your hold. Through the haze of everything unknown, he’s the only thing that’s clear, and you reach for him- blindly, but intentionally- clawing at the fabric that keeps him from you. Clashing teeth and bruising grips don’t elicit pain, not when real suffering exists in the absence of the other, and you allow him to paint you violet, blue, green, and red with desire, becoming the embodiment of his want. Your only regret is that the evidence of this divine crime will eventually fade away to nothing more than a memory- another ache that will never dull, a moment so unique that it can never be replicated. As you rejoice, you mourn.

“Sure you did.” His blazer drops to the floor as you follow your script, hardly taking a moment to realize that the page you’re reading from is blank- without word or direction- as you venture into unknown territory. Even when you don’t mean to be, you’re combative. Even when you don’t want to be, you’re still on edge. This is different. This already feels different than before, and maybe it’s because there’s a lot more at stake now that both of you have already lost one another, but for as overdue as this homecoming is, something subconsciously prolongs it further.

“No, really, I-“ He begins, ready to mold rhetoric and force it to take on a form that would allow you to see just how much you mean to him, but that would make this real, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for this to be real yet- because if this is real, if this isn’t just a cruel imitation of memory like so many variations before or a concocted fantasy so vivid you can feel yourself shaking, then that means you can lose it all, again. Just like last time. Within your grip, one minute, slipping through your fingers the next.

“Don’t.” Fear sounds different when there’s a bite to it. It could almost pass as annoyance, if you’re able to keep your voice just steady enough, and he mistakes the command for irritation, rather than the timidity it actually is. Whatever you’ve intended and he’s interpreted gets lost along the way, and he takes a hesitant step back. It’s impossible not to lunge for him as he retreats, but you remain still- your breath hitching when he holds both hands out to you, surrendering his palms while he shows he meant no harm.

“Can I…”

“You don’t have to ask,” You silence his fears quickly, closing the space between you before you even realize that you’ve taken a step. This self-sacrificial eagerness to light yourself on fire just to keep him warm has always been one of your greatest downfalls, but a most ardent gesture, and with ash on your tongue and soot in your lungs, you strike a match the minute he begins to second guess himself. “Just pretend it’s like before.” The suggestion sounds just as unsure as you are, but with a heavy breath, you encourage, “Pretend that nothing’s changed…pretend that we’re still…” You can’t even bring yourself to say it, because the kids you were back then are gone. They’re never coming back. You can’t avenge them or try to seek vengeance for what they’ve lost. It’s over for them, but this is just the start of this new beginning for the two of you. “Just for tonight.”

He moves promptly, gathering the skirts of your dress in one hand, fisting the fabric- a blue so dark he mistook it for black, or perhaps it was, until his fingertips were close enough to paint the illusion with light, making it appear different than it was- without any regard for creases or lingering proof of your affair. Support rests at your back, his chest firm and protective as you lean into the rippling muscle, and Dick continues to illuminate shadows of the past with each touch- eager to help you forget all of the agonies suffered at his hands in favor of remembering glimpses of peace. He’s ready to give you more than just a taste. Now, he wants to gorge you with the pleasure he’s reserved.

His hands shake- not with hesitancy, but anticipation, and when you catch his eye in the mirror, you shiver. You’ve never seen a blue so dark it looks black- until now. Without warning, he mouths at your neck- kissing, sucking, biting, any part of you he can get his lips on- reacquainting himself with parts of you that were once so familiar, and you allow him to explore. Blindly, you reach for one of his hands, taking it in your own, and he begins to intertwine his fingers with yours, but you gently guide his hand where you want it most- and he lets you, following your lead just as impulsively. You jolt at the first brush of his fingertips between your legs, even though you were expecting it, and he lets out a few ragged breaths against the back of your neck. It’s paradoxical, the chills that contradict the flush of your skin, but this relationship has never really made sense before. Why should that change now?

Almost as if he’s in a trance, Dick is overwhelmed by the twists and turns of the evening, but the whiplash is starting to subside in favor of something much more exhilarating. He never thought he’d have this again. He believed moments like these to be lost to time, and he wasted years grieving memories he could never replicate, only to feel the weight of your body against his once more. It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s everything he never knew he wanted or needed until it was stolen from him, swiped right out from under his nose by his own negligence. He won’t make the same mistakes this time. No, this time, he’s going to do it right. He’s going to-

“Fuck,” When you grow tired of his stalling, you force his hand, again. This time, when your fingers meet his wrist, you press your palm on top of his- coercing him to mimic the shape- and maybe you’re the one in control, or maybe he finally rises to the occasion, but with a newfound determination, he cups your cunt- a choked sound catching in his throat when he feels how wet you are. You briefly wonder how something so vulgar can sound so pretty, but you already know the answer- it’s him. It’s always been him. Had it been anyone else, the effect would cease to exist, but it’s Dick, and that desire- that pull that you can’t ever deny- will always bind you to him.

You can’t help yourself from rutting against his palm, and he presses himself further into your back, allowing you to feel the hard outline of his cock against your ass. The hand that isn’t between your legs rests on your arm, and when he tries to hold your hand, you don’t deny him. There’s just too much fabric for you to hold in just one hand and some of it drapes over his forearm, but you manage to keep most of it from obscuring his movements. It’s a strange angle, and both of you are fumbling to make it work, but you crane your neck in search of him, and he answers your call with an eager kiss. Your tongue caresses his, savoring the feeling and committing it to memory, just in case-

He swallows your surprised gasp when he nudges your panties aside and begins to circle your clit. With just a bit of pressure, a crease forms where your eyebrows pull together, and you untangle your hand from his hold to brace yourself against the counter. It’s been a while since someone else has touched you, and it’s been even longer since the last time Dick had, but it’s so much better than evocations of pleasure. You swear figments are tangible. Spurred on by the reaction his touch has coaxed from you, he’s torn between making the moment last as long as possible or picking up the pace. He settles on the latter, considering that if this is heading the way he hopes it’s heading, he’ll have all the time in the world to make it up to you, but right now, he’s on borrowed time. You both are. With the reminder looming overhead, he adjusts his hand so that he can continue to work your clit while lining up a finger with your pussy. You’re so wet, and warm when he curls his middle finger inside, and he can’t remember why he ever left in the first place. What persuaded him away from Gotham when you were always right here? Would you have waited for him? Would you have followed him if he asked you to? He supposes none of that matters now, but he can’t help but wonder…

He adds a second finger, and even though your body gives little resistance to the intrusion, you groan at the feeling. His fingers are so long, reaching that spot inside of you that your fingers are just too short to reach, and they’re thick enough for you to feel yourself stretching around him with each thrust- not enough to cause pain, but an ache that serves as a reminder that it’s been too long since the last time you’ve had him like this. You vow not to let another ten years pass before you let him have you, again.

He continues a steady pace, curling his fingers in such a way that sweat begins to glisten across your chest, and when a third finger threatens to join his others, you wrap your hand around his wrist- abruptly halting his movements.

“N-not enough time,” He doesn’t even get the chance to ask before you supply him with an answer, but he nods in understanding once you offer an explanation. He’s already reaching for his belt, unbuckling the clasp and roughly shoving his slacks down before you have a chance to catch your breath, and you’re grateful- if the speed in which he undresses is any indication of his own eagerness- that he’s just as desperate for you, as you are for him. Taking a moment to adjust your skirts so that you don’t have to hold them, you bunch them above your hips and lean forward, resting your forearms against the counter while Dick frees himself from his boxers, and when you look back in the mirror and catch sight of his cock behind you, you can’t help but swallow thickly.

He strokes himself a few times, smearing the pre-cum beading from his slit down his shaft as he prepares to take you. This doesn’t feel like last time. As he reaches for your waist and lines himself up with your cunt, this doesn’t feel like last time at all. This is new, and different and everything he’s wanted ever since the last time he had you in his grasp. This time, he won’t let you get away. With as much self-restraint as he can manage, you feel the tip of his cock against your opening, slowly splitting you open, and your back arches. Your own strangled cry prompts a groan from him he sinks into you, inch by inch until his hips are flush against you. You’re so full that you’re not sure if it’s too much or not enough.

“I’ve got you,” Dick assures, his grip on your hip tightening when he feels you struggling to accommodate him. He tries to be a gentleman. He tries to give you a few minutes to adjust- even though he wants nothing more than to take what’s right under his nose, what’s always been his- but his restraint snaps when he feels you begin to rock back against him.

“Move,” You command, and he doesn’t have to be told twice. With your permission, he’s happy to follow orders and obliges with a sharp thrust upwards. The sound you make is a mix between a sob and a moan, and his fingers flex against your hip as he repeats the action.

“I forgot…” Through clenched teeth, he confesses, and you don’t think anything of the admission, too lost within your own feelings to attempt to decipher his. Instead, he wraps an arm around your waist, offering thick muscle to serve as a buffer between your body and the stone he has you pressed up against- relying on intimate gestures to make up for words lost in translation. Even now, when you’re not on the same page, you still know. Somehow, you know, and he does, too. Every time. Without fail. Always. Your head rolls back to meet his shoulder, and your fingertips claw at the back of his neck awkwardly, with transparent desperation to pull him closer. Within reach isn’t close enough. Near is too far. With a muted gasp, you push back to meet his next thrust, and he hisses softly before elaborating, “I’m so sorry if I made you forget.”

“Dick-“ Realization begins to splinter the mirage of bliss, and you manage to say his name with enough caution to serve as a warning. You don’t want to think about the past. Not right now. Not when you can see your future so clearly in the foggy reflection of the vanity. He wraps his hand around your neck, encouraging you to bare your throat to him and he licks at the vein that calls out to him.

“I won’t let you forget, not this time.” He vows, bucking his hips faster and faster as you whine in his hold. In some sick twisted way, he loves that he’s the only one who has this power over you- that he’s the only one who could ever elicit such a reaction- and it’s a testament to how much the two of you care for one another; the influence both of you have over one another. “This time, I want to remember.”

It’s going to be impossible not to.

“I-“ He can barely get a word out with how good you feel around him, and he takes a breath before trying again. “I know you want to pretend, but fuck…I can’t.” Dick wraps his arm around you, guiding your back to rest against his chest, and one of his large hands splays across your stomach, where he can feel himself inside of you. “I really did miss you,” Somehow he manages to find his voice. “Not just like this, either,”

“I-I missed you, too.” You don’t seem certain, not with the way you stutter, but your reply is genuine. It only appears dubious because Dick’s palm begins to press against you, and you all but choke on your confession. He can’t help himself, but neither can you.

“I’m close,” He rasps, brokenly. “Shit,” His thrusts begin to falter, and his eyes meet yours in the mirror. “Are you-“

“Yes!” You yelp when his fingers start circling your clit, and he doesn’t relent, even when he feels you start to tremble beneath him. You’re overwhelmed by him, in the best way possible, and as eager as you are to chance your release, a part of you never wants this moment to end. “Dick, please d-don’t stop,” Your muscles grow taut, and when his thrusts lose their precision, you know that he’s almost there. “Just like before,” You encourage him, clenching hard when he bites your shoulder and your orgasm washes over you. “J-just like before.”

He knows what you’re asking for. He understands what you’re practically begging for, and in a fleeting moment of clarity, he catches a glimpse of the faded scar on your arm- his only regret being the fact that an implant still stands in the way of what he truly wants with you- but the thought disappears as quickly as it materializes.

A few seconds more and he grunts against your neck, pulling your hips to meet his and spilling himself inside of you. It’s even better than you remember and your body shakes with aftershocks of pleasure. Luckily, he’s there to keep you upright. Your vision starts to blur and the only sound you’re able to make out is both of you struggling to catch your breaths. With a heavy sigh, he pulls out, and you can feel his cum start to leak from you, but you’re too disoriented to clean it up. Instead, you lean forward, relying on the countertop for support as you hang your head and try to come back to your senses.

Dick leaves a trail of soft kisses down the back of your neck and his forehead is both warm and damp when it meets your shoulder, resting comfortably against your skin while he takes a minute to catch his breath, and these sensations- these tiny little reminders that he’s here, this moment is present and real- ground you. Where your mind is a mess, reeling with indecision, emotions, and thoughts you can’t yet process, your body is at ease.

As your eyes flutter shut, greedy gulps of air fail to satisfy your lungs, and you swallow thickly, allowing pressure to build up in your chest until you simply can’t take it anymore. Darkness saturates all that you can see, and you’re caught in a void- trapped, without any light to guide you back home. The gentle caress of his touch along your arm brands you, flush enough to make you burn with reminders of this fleeting moment- when embers of devotion inevitably fade into ashes- and you stiffen in his hold, not that he’s coherent enough to notice.

He seems to be in his little world as he tucks himself back into his pants and presses another gentle kiss to your shoulder before wrapping his arms around you. Violent delights really do have violent ends and it’s not fair that you let it get this far without thinking about the consequences of your actions. None of this would’ve happened if you just let yourself love him- without fear, without judgment, without regret- and if you had just been honest with yourself all those years ago, this mess would’ve never spiraled so far out of your control.

Whatever repercussion await you, you’ll brave. Regardless of what happens next, you know that you have to tell him the truth- even if it kills you. The thought is often more daunting than the action itself, but as you turn yourself around in his arms so that you’re facing him, you’re petrified.

“I’m sorry,” The magnitude of your apology isn’t supported by the handful of letters that arrange themselves as they slip past your tongue. There has to be a better way to express your remorse, but if one exists it evades you. Over and over again, the same words come to mind and it’s not fair that you know exactly what you want to say, but you just can’t find the right words to absolve your shame. At your inability to voice your regret, frustration overwhelms you. Your lips part, ready to divulge your sins, but only a pathetic, meek sigh comes out. Why is this so difficult? You know the answer, and yet, you play the part of the fool- leaning on ignorance as a crutch for what you can’t bring yourself to brave. He deserves it, doesn’t he? The truth- not something partial, but whole. Transparency is the only piece left of a nearly complete puzzle, the only thing keeping this tragic tale of two lovers who break each other’s hearts only to stitch them back together again from reaching its inevitably doomed end. When your lip begins to tremble, Dick reaches for you, pulling you into his chest and embracing you in a hold that’s absolutely suffocating. You don’t deserve his kindness. You don’t deserve his love or affection- his tenderness or his forgiveness.

You don’t deserve him.

“Me too,” He sighs into your hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head before resting his head on top of yours. You can hear his heart- how steady it beats- and the sound rivals the racing of your own where it threatens to burst straight from your chest, and your eyes flutter shut, savoring the gentle lull of his own serenity before you poison his relief with your own disruption. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how difficult it may be, you know that you have to tell him. With a breath, you prepare for carnage.

“No, Dick, I-“

“Dick? Are you in here?” Barbara’s voice seeps through the wooden barrier that separates the two of you from the rest of the world- from reality- and as soon as she calls out to him, the illusion of tranquility is broken. Of course, it’s her. Of course, she’d be the one to interrupt you before you had the chance to speak, and of course, it would be her that drives a wedge further between the two of you with one simple revelation, “They’re getting away!”

It’s almost impossible to miss the sounds of commotion that follow her declaration. Faint screams and chaos replace the background of symphony strings and he turns to you then, a divot dividing the smooth skin of his forehead while his eyes narrow. Blue is black. Dark, and unmistakable. The muscle in his jaw looks like it’s about to burst with the severity of his clenching and his nostrils flare with a shallow exhale. It’s excruciating to watch him slip back into consciousness after being caught up in a dream, but a nightmare unfolds before you, twisting your stomach into knots so intricate they threaten to snap. You can’t breathe, and when you gather enough courage to finally take a step forward, he takes a step back. He’s never looked at you with so much hostility before, and you open your mouth to explain, to shower him with honesty and desperate pleas to make him understand that this wasn’t meant to happen like this, but no sound comes out. Not even a sigh. Not even a huff. Not even a pathetic, broken whimper. Nothing.

Unfortunately, Dick’s left to draw his own conclusions- to fill in the gaps in which your silence fails to atone for your crimes- and he paints a picture so drastically different from the truth, relying on his interpretation to establish a story so vivid he believes it to be real- even if it’s a figment of his own imagination, a product of his own devastation. Dispelled doubts come rushing back, and he allows them to influence the narrative- since you still can’t seem to find your voice- and everything left unsaid becomes louder in the silence. He mistakes your tears for guilt, instead of recognizing the regret and shame that mingle with saltwater. As gutted as he is, he looks to you for an explanation, but you can’t bring yourself to justify what you’ve done- even if it wasn’t your intention. Distracting him was part of the plan. Keeping him occupied was your mission, but confessing your true feelings and allowing yourself to fall back in love with him- not just the idea of what it would be like to love him- wasn’t part of your job description.

The second your paths crossed again, you were done for. It was never about seeking vengeance or getting even for the hurt that he caused you, because the minute that Dick waltzed back into your life, you knew you were doomed- because he makes you reckless. He makes you sloppy and distracted and forgiving. He makes you weak- and you let him. Every single time. Always and forever. Infinitely.

When he looks at you, he looks past you and towards your belongings on the counter. No. You shake your head, vehemently encouraging him to look away. If his eyes would just meet yours, if only for a second, you know you could save this. If not for the sake of putting broken pieces back together you could at least salvage fragments amongst the wreckage, but he doesn’t spare you a glance. No, no, no. His attention is solely on the expensive stone behind you, and when you reach out for him, your fingertips shaking as you grasp his bicep with all of the strength you can muster, he shakes you off of him.

Everything splinters.

When he reaches for your earring, you know that this is the end. It’s all over. A new moment will erase everything you thought you knew about pain, heartbreak, suffering, and betrayal. This moment, as it unfolds before you, will plague you until you meet your demise, because the second that he dares to bring the jewel up to his own ear, the exact moment that he hears Selina’s command through the gravely static of the earpiece you discarded earlier in the evening, you know that any hope for a future together vanishes- ripped straight from your fingers before you even had the chance to hold onto it and guard it with your life.

Even with his back towards you, you can see his face harden in the reflection of the mirror. Through the thin material of his crumbled dress shirt his shoulders tense and when he finally looks up to meet your stare through the glass, all traces of red, green, and yellow are gone. A piece of him- the piece of him that you’re most familiar with- dies, sprawled out and oozing across the marble. It’s too late to try to revive him. All that’s left in the wake of his slaughter is blue and black.

Blue and black, forevermore.

There’s nothing left for either of you here. Not anymore. Hope begins to decay, and the hollow hole in your chest that only he could ever fill begins to die from rot. Nothing will ever be the same. Not after this. Perhaps the final thought passed back and forth between a glare is the last thing you’ll ever share- beyond moments of destruction and beautiful chaos- but it’s clear to you both, that not all ghosts are meant to be resurrected.

Some ghosts should just stay ghosts.

a/n: hey, I’m raen and I’m down bad for this man lol…anyway, I’ve been working on this story for months. I literally poured bits and pieces of my soul into this (so if you wouldn’t mind interacting or providing feedback I’d be forever grateful) but I just wanted to write a tale of doomed lovers who care about each other in such a way that it leads to their downfall. I wanted this to hurt, and I hope it did- in the best way possible! I’m not above begging, so please, please, please feel free to send some feedback- as this is my first time writing for Dick and I would love to hear what people think! that being said, requests are also open! check out my request guidelines before submitting! and if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! 

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#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson smut #dick grayson fanfic #dick grayson fanfiction #dick grayson angst #nightwing #nightwing x reader #nightwing imagine #nightwing smut #batfam #batfam smut #batfam angst #dc titans #dc imagine #dc comics imagine #dc smut #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x y/n #nightwing x you #nightwing x y/n

[dosiido]

18+ MDNI - semi-public sex, fem!receiving oral

Blades of grass poke at your skin from beneath the dress. The thin, gauzy fabric no match for the bright green blades, sharp with pointy overgrown ends. The smell, fresh; the epitome of green, oddly sweet and mixing with the earthiness of the dirt beneath. If it weren’t for the man between your legs you’d have been long lost in the gift of nature. Instead, you were muffling your moans with your free hand, the other occupied with his hair.

His hands grasp the back of your thighs, forcing them open every time you start to close them around his head in an attempt to retain some semblance of modesty. “Retain,” as if there was any left. The straps of your dress hang loose around your shoulders, your tits teetering at the neckline, threatening to spill out at any given moment. Layers of chiffon are bunched up at your waist, your maxi dress suddenly turned mini at the hands of his unbridled horniness.

“Dick,” you gasp, hand falling from your mouth to your dress, unintentionally pulling it up even further to cope with the maddening amount of ecstasy flowing through your veins. “Dick Grayson, this is a public park.” It’s the first full sentence you’d managed to get out since he’d found his way beneath your dress; since he’d started putting his tongue to work in such an open space. And even then, it had come out strangled and barely above a whisper.

He ignores your words, tongue swirling around your sensitive clit and sending you into a fit of moans. His dark hair tickles your thighs as he buries himself deeper into your pussy, licking at your slit like a madman. “I’m serious,” You say breathlessly, chest constricting as your climax builds. “We could get caught.”

Your eyes survey the vast stretch of land, almost entirely empty save for some decorative shrubbery and a few people you heard but couldn’t see. You figure if they weren’t in your line of sight, then you probably weren’t in theirs either, and you take that opportunity to grind against his face a bit, adding friction into the mix and bringing yourself closer to the edge.

“Just make it quick,” you groan, brain in overdrive at the prospect of being caught getting eaten out in a public park. You had a reputation to uphold, and public indecency would so obviously taint that. At the sound of your pleas, he loosens his grip on one of your thighs and moves his hand lower. His fingers, thick and calloused, prod at your hole before plunging deep inside and curling into your sweet spot.

The sensation overwhelms you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you know your climax isn’t far away at all. You pray that it comes before someone catches you in the act, but you know somewhere in your mind that you have nothing to worry about. Dick’s never let you down like that, and he definitely wasn’t going to start now.

#i'm out of practice #don't be mean :( #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x fem!reader #dick grayson smut #dick grayson drabble #dick grayson fic #dick grayson imagine #nightwing #nightwing x reader #nightwing x you #nightwing x fem!reader #nightwing smut #nightwing drabble #nightwing fic #nightwing imagine

[gay-dorito-dust]

How they’d react to you not kissing/hugging him before leaving for a mission…

Dick acts as though you told him his ass isn’t that fat in his spandex suit-

He’s insulted.

You always, always remember to kiss his cheek before he leaves. His ‘good luck, be safe and kick ass’ cheek kiss!

It’s your thing as a couple! Do you want to see him cry because he fucking will! He’ll do it!

Dick will pout, huff and whine loud as possible in hopes that you’d realise your error and rectify it tenfold. He won’t tell you what’s wrong. No, he wants and expects you to figure it out for yourself, which doesn’t get him anywhere when you’re looking at him confused and lost as to what he was whining about; Literally.

His mood will be down for the entirety of the day and you’ll no doubt have texts from his teammates and family members asking what was wrong with Dick to look so down.

You’re just as confused as them seeing as how Dick didn’t disclose his innermost thoughts and feelings to you despite being his partner, so you were at a loss on how to help them with something even you weren’t privy to knowing…it’s probably one of your biggest issues as a couple but that’s for another time.

Dick will do that pathetic thing where he looks back at you expectantly the closer he gets towards the door, even going so far as to walk extremely slow when he was within reaching distance of the door handle as to buy you enough time to notice before he genuinely had to leave.

When you don’t however, Dick acts like a kicked puppy for the rest of the day and will proceed to exaggerate to anyone with ears about how his lover was restricting him of his affection.

On the other hand, If you do manage to remember to give him a good luck kiss, planting an extra one on his other cheek for extra, extra luck. Dick will have a permanent smile on his face that will not go the fuck away, even when he’s beating someone’s ass, the smile remains glued on his face as though with gorilla glue.

Seeing Dick brutally beat someone’s ass with a smile was horrifying for anyone to witness but it’s okay bc he’s happy that you remembered to kiss him good luck.

Jason will immediately call you out on your bullshit.

And by that I mean cross his arms over his chest and stare at you saying. ‘Well?’

And you’re like: ‘well what?’

And he’s like: ‘where’s my good luck kiss that you owe me? Roy is waiting on me and here I am waiting on my kiss, so give me my kiss chipmunk.’

Jason doesn’t piss about and gets to the meat of the issue at hand. He wants his good luck kisses and he wants them now and he will not leave the apartment until he gets them.

You’d raise a brow at his not so subtle neediness for your affection and decided to tease him. ‘I thought you didn’t need my good luck kisses remember? You’re a big boy who can fight with or without my good luck kisses.’

Jason groans, not expecting you to pull that out. ‘I said that one time. One time and I was being a dick back then too because all you wanted to do was show me that you cared about me and didn’t want me to get hurt.’

You smiled and got up from the couch and walked over to him, resting your hands on his biceps. ‘So now that you admit that you were a dick and the way that you acted was wrong…’ you trailed off as you pressed a kiss to his lips once, twice, three times because you loved to kiss Jason whenever possible and will try to plant as many kisses as you could.

‘Thanks chipmunk.’ Jason murmurs against your lips, feeling everything has gone back to being right again. ‘Now I better be off or Roy will tease me for lingering too long-‘

‘Too late.’ Roy said from the doorway and Jason closed his eyes and silently curse while you smiled and waved at Roy. ‘Hi Roy!’ You said. ‘Hi y/n, mind letting Jason come out to play?’ Roy joked. You played along by making a thoughtful face as Jason mutters under his breath; ‘are you being serious right now?’

You snapped your fingers. ‘As long as you make sure Jason doesn’t get into trouble then yes, he may go out and play.’

‘I hate you both.’ Jason groaned as he walked past you and playfully shoved Roy aside to leave the apartment. Roy then cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted after him. ‘Are you sure you don’t want your goodbye kisses?’ You and Roy laugh together upon hearing Jason cursing him out from a distance.

Damian acts indifferent about it.

He doesn’t need a good luck hug, hell! he doesn’t need luck at all!

He’s skilled enough to win any fight without relying on something silly as Luck. Luck was just probability under a different name and definition. (A/n: Don’t quote me on that.)

So when you forget to give him a hug before a mission, Damian doesn’t think anything of it but it will linger in his mind unnecessarily much to his annoyance.

Why was he so hung up on not getting something a silly as a hug? Or was he instead more upset over the fact that you, his closest friend/partner, completely forgot about it as though it wasn’t anything worth remembering.

Either way he was conflicted and didn’t know how to go about saying any of this to you without getting frustrated over his apparent loss for words. He was a man of action more then anything so when he finally catches up to you, he will stride towards you and stop just a couple of inches and silently stare at you with his resting bitch face.

‘Damian?’ You asked. ‘Are you okay?’

Damian doesn’t say anything because he couldn’t think of anything to say in that moment and instead stays silent as to save himself from further embarrassment.

‘Damian?’ You asked again, getting worried over his unusual silence. ‘I can’t help you if you don’t tell me-‘ before you could finish your sentence, Damian had lunged towards you and brought you into a very tight hug. You smile softly and gladly hugged Damian back, not saying a single word other then;

‘You don’t need me to say it but I’ll reaffirm it anyway, you’ll do great out there Dami. I know you will.’

#dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc fanfic #dc fic #dc comics x reader #dc x y/n #dc fanfiction #jason todd imagine #jason todd fluff #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagines #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x you #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson imagines #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson fluff #nightwing x you #nightwing fluff #nightwing imagines #nightwing imagine #nightwing x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagines #damian wayne fluff

[martiniluvr]

18+ minors dni

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

dick grayson treats sex like mission recon. all his combat training, all his sharpened senses recalibrate onto you so he can uncover everything he needs to know about your body. he’s aware of every gasp and sound that comes from you, every moan and whine of his name. he’s learned to recognise the way your shoulders tighten when he grabs your hips to angle them just right when he’s behind you.

he’s focused on your breathing, watching your chest heave when he’s between your legs with your slick all over his chin. he smiles to himself as he notices the irregular falling of your chest when he adds his his fingers and curls them gently, because he knows what it means. two breaths in, one breath out — you’re close.

he’s studied you for hours, memorising the way your pussy tightens around him and how your face heats up when he leans down to tell you how pretty you look getting fucked like this. he knows all the things he does that drive you over the edge; dick grayson knows you inside out.

#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson smut #dick grayson imagine #nightwing smut #nightwing #nightwing x reader #nightwing x you #nightwing imagine

[angelltheninth]

Oh! Kiss 32: jumping into your lovers arms with Nightwing pretty please!

Jumping, kising, kicking my feet for him!

Pairing: Dick Grayson/Nightwing x Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship, reunion kisses, Reader being lifted up, lovestruck Nightwing

A/N: Been reading the latest Nightwing run, crazy shit is going down. Yo-ho-ho.

32. Jumping into your lover's arms

The long night of jumping from rooftops didn't stop Nightwing from sneaking his way through your shared flat and welcoming you with open arms as soon as the bedroom door opened. "Someone's missed me."

"It's been a good few hours Dick, of course I missed you." You jumped to him, arms and legs ready to lock around his body.

"Oof. Hold o- ow shit..." Your boyfriend overestimated himself, his back colliding with the doorframe. "Gonna feel that one tomorrow." He groaned.

You felt sorry for him, seeing the way his lips pressed tight together. "Should I take it easy on you then? If you're hurt I don't wanna make it worse." Dick worked hard to keep the people safe, you would keep him safe in return.

"Actually, I was thinking I could take this costume off and... you could kiss it better for me." Even under his mask you could see his eyebrows wiggle as his mouth formed a cheeky grin. "It would really make me feel better."

"Then let's start here." First were his lips, where you payed special attention to the upper one. He tasted metallic, but didn't hold back, his arms bracing around your thighs and bringing you to the bed where he placed you down gently.

"Might need to help me take it off." Nightwing teased.

His mask was the first to go, you needed to see those beautiful blue eyes of his darken.

#dc comics x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dc comics imagine #dick grayson imagine #nightwing imagine #dc comics fanfiction #dick grayson fanfiction #nightwing fanfiction #dc comics fluff #dick grayson fluff #nightwing fluff #titans x reader #titans imagine #titans fanfiction #titans fluff #fluff drabble #kiss imagines #x reader

[igotanidea]

five more minutes: Dick Grayson x fem!reader

I'm (not) sorry, but that smug face fits right into this fanfiction!!

request/summary: Dick getting clingy when the reader needs to go somewhere

A/N: so, I think I'm back? Two weeks break and I'm getting into the swing of things again, so please go easy on me with this story......

***

When she wakes up in the morning something seems off almost instantly.

It only takes a second to realise that said thing took the form of Dick Grayson, her beloved boyfriend, the man by day and the fearless vigilante by night. The protector of Gotham and its people.

Well, if only the people could see him now.

Sleeping in a weird position with the imprint of the pillow on his cheek, messy hair and some dried saliva in the corner of his mouth.

He so cute and adorable like that. Y/N does the quick scan of his face and body in the search for any injuries he might have obtained during the patrol but her heart rests easy when she noticed him being all in one piece with no blood or stiches. Either it was a quiet and peaceful night or he already took care of himself. Her bets are the latter, but since it’s work day she doesn’t really have any time to wait until he wakes up to blame him for not being careful.

As quiet and swift as she can, Y/N tries to move out of bed, but since Dick’s senses are heightened she doesn’t really get far, when his arms wraps around her, keeping her in place.

“Dick……” she mutters

“Mhmmmm……” he mumbles into the pillow

“Come on, I have get  up!”

“no you don’t.”

“I gotta get to work!”

“I’m the only work you need……” he grins, still half-asleep, but so full of himself and she almost rolls her eyes at the joke

“God, please stop…. I need to earn money you know? Not all of us have a billionaire daddy!”

“You’re dating the billionaire oldest son, isn’t that enough?”

She wonders for a moment. On a second thought maybe it is. Dick seems to use that heartbeat of hesitation, shifting his body weight on her, pinning her to bed, his eyes still closed, but this little shit knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Dick!” she gasps feeling all those muscles crush her “shit!

“I like it when you call my name in such a desperate words. Do it just one more time and the neighbours will hate you forever.” He chuckles and his makes her skin tingle.

You’re heavy…..” she squirms trying to break free, but it’s no use. “You brought it on yourself….” The girl mutters poking on his ribs in the place where he’s extremely sensitive because of an old injury.

“Hey!” he yells, trying to defend himself and letting go off her in the process.

Y/N is quick to jump out of bed and rush towards her wardrobe, grabbing her jeans and t-shirt and struggling to put them on.

“Not so fast!” Dick tears her clothes from her hands and holds them high out of reach.

“Not fair Grayson!”

“You called me fat.”

“I called you heavy!’

“Same thing!”

“It’s not….. You know what, fine. I’ll just wear something else….” She shrugs and runs towards the drawer, but before she could reach it Dick grabs her from behind and holds her tight to him

“Dick…….” She whines stretching out just to grab something to wear. Anything.

“I know. I’m irresistible.”

“A pain in the ass is what you are!”

“I can make you breakfast….” He tempts

“You’re not Jason, Dick. Making me breakfast means putting cereals In the bowl and poring some milk over it in your dictionary. Cold milk. And that is only if I bought both cereals and milk.”

“did you?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Can’t you see how hard I’m trying? Just for you. Come on, you are like an employee  of the month. Or even a year. Stay…..” he kisses her neck playfully “you can call in sick.”

“I used all my sick days because of you.”

“How about casual leave?”

“and what may be the emergency?” she sighs in defeat, her body going limp as she drops the fighting knowing well enough she won’t win it. “Clingy boyfriend?”

“You called me boyfriend!” he grins again and she facepalms herself.

“We’ve been together for a year Dick. Why do you seem surprised?”

“I could never get bored with hearing that word from you. Makes me proud that you’re mine.”

“trying to sweet talk me? Won’t work. By the way, you are soooooo cheesy Grayson.”

“And?” he asks

“ And? What and?”  at this point Y/N is confused, her eyebrows furrowing as she turns to meet his gaze

“And you love me?” he insist, spinning her around in his arms so that he can get easy access to her kissable face.

“Yeah…..” she smiles dreamily “yeah, I do love you, you idiot” she trails with a love sick puppy expression. But it doesn’t mean I’m gonna stay and be you babysi…..ah! Put me down!” she yells suddenly feeling her body lift of the ground without her knowledge or will. “Put me down Grayson! What are you……?! Damn it…!”

Dick does not listen or does not get impressed by her poor attempts to break free. He’s Nightwing. He’s got so many ways to immobilise the opponent. Or, in this case, lover.

“Dick I swear I am going to kick your ass if you don’t….!” the threat dies on her lips as he throws her onto the mattress and kisses her softly shutting her up in the process.

“Stay?” he pouts looking at her with those pretty doe eyes “Pretty please?”

“You act like a five year old!”

“A five year old that wants you. A five year old that misses you…”

“I’ll be back, you know……” she brush the strand of hair from his face. She’s already gone but still tries to keep the appearances.

“Yeah, at 6 p.m. or later. It’s almost the time when I get ready for my night shift…… Please…..”he whines nuzzling his nose over her neck “stay…..”

“please…..” she mimics his whining, caressing his cheek “let me go……”

“But I need you…….” He hide his face in her belly and his hair tickle

“Why do you always need me when I am supposed to go to work?’

“It’s a terrible and uncontrollable disease…..” he laughs

“Is there a cure?” she laughs back

“I can think of something….” He closes the gap between them, nibbling on her bottom lip. “and it may be working…. But I;m not sure. Need some more testing” he repeats his action. “Mhm, yes, it’s definitely working… You don’t want me to be sick, do you?”

“Not really. You are whiny and attention seeker when you are sick.”

“I am not!” he shouts in denial “ok, maybe I am. A little. But come on, you can stay some more time with me……”

“How long, dickie?” she smiles at him, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“five more minutes?”

“ok. Five more minutes. She sighs deeply, letting go of any of her objections, letting Dick lay beside her and act like a big spoon, while holding her tight to his chest and caressing her sides and belly.

“You’re not letting me go, are you?” she whispers closing her eyes and getting lost in his touch.

“Never.”

And she’s pretty sure she can live with that.  

#dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x oc #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x you #nightwing x y/n #nightwing x you #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson fanfiction #dick grayson fluff #dick grayson fic #nightwing fanfiction #nightwing imagine #nightwing fluff #dc x reader #dc fluff #fluff

[sanriothot]

SHOWER SURPRISE

Dick Grayson x Female! Reader

Summary: You try joining Dick in the shower for some time together and it backfires.

Warning: SMUT! NSFW! 18+ ONLY! MINORS DNI OR YOU WILL GET BLOCKED! hickeys, oral (m receiving), pet names (babe + baby), please don’t do sexc time in the shower, you might hurt yourself ☹️ also no beta, we die like robins

Word Count: 1,168

A/N: look at me, two fics a couple days apart! I saw a writing prompt with this plot years ago and i’ve always wanted to write it! I just wanted to let everyone know that requests are open! I’m still working on finishing work from my drafts but I don't mind working on other ideas. just make sure to check faq before requesting. Ofc reblogs and replies are always appreciated 💖

This wasn’t part of your plan. Not part of the plan at all.

You scrambled out of the freezing cold shower and clambered for your bathrobe that hung on the door of your shared bathroom. Water dripped all over the floor but you were more focused on getting warm.

“Baby?!” Dick gasped, it was hard to miss the shock in his voice. His head popped out from behind the sliding shower door, his eyes wide and jaw already on the floor. “Are you okay?”

Your eyes glaze over at his muscular frame, only slightly obscured by the frosted glass of the shower door. it’s not like you haven’t seen him undressed before but you can’t help but to ogle at him with no shame.

You wanted to surprise Dick by joining him for his post-patrol shower. Help him get off the sweat and grime from a long night and maybe get him dirty in a different way. But you forget one key piece of information.

Dick typically takes cold showers after patrols.

“Yes, just-“ Goosebumps sprinkled across your dark skin, most of it still exposed despite how tightly you wrapped yourself up in your bathrobe. You caught yourself almost letting your teeth chatter while continuing to speak to your boyfriend. “Just so cold.”

“Come back in, I’m gonna warm up the shower.” Dick moves towards the faucet of the walk in shower. A squeak rings out as it turns and slowly the bathroom mirror begins to fog up from steam.

“C’mon, Babe,” He stretches his arm out for you.

You strip your robe off slowly. It’s not like Dick is lying about warming up the shower but that small part of your mind still can’t get over the shock of the cold water. You fully expect to get drenched with bone chilling water for the second time tonight.

“I promise, it’s warm, baby.” As if he could read your mind (or just read your body language, being that he was adopted by the world’s greatest detective).

You step in the shower once again now greeted by warm water and the sweet smile of your boyfriend.

“There you are. I really thought you were going to ditch me for a second.”

You took the suds covered loofah from out of his hand and gently ran it across his chest. You giggle to yourself before answering “Almost did.”

You and Dick go through your entire shower routine together, occasionally sprinkling in small talk on how your day went.

Soon, You’re rinsing each other off, the soap swirling down the drain. Dick drags his hands up and down the sides of your body, the water running down the both of you. He’s completely smitten with you after feeling so well taken care after a long night.

He leans in, dusting kisses across your face, making it distracting you from rinsing the soap from his inky black hair. He’s teasing you. Each kiss, you think he’ll finally kiss on your lips but the kiss lands somewhere else instead.

After a while, you had enough of his game. you tangle your fingers into his hair and guide his lips to yours.

Dick let out a whimper, he pressed your body against the shower wall, deeping this kiss. His hands roamed your body, fingers massaging your ass and the other hand squeezing your boob. He kisses the corner of your mouth, to cheek and then your jawline. Finally, he works his way down your neck, kisses getting sloppier as he goes. Your breaths get deeper while he sucks on the crook of your neck, grazing his teeth on it before dragging his tongue. Your neck is covered in hickeys but couldn’t care less, the only thing on your mind is making sure you and Dick have a great time and enjoy the moment.

“I need to know if you want this,” Dick says.

You look into his baby blue eyes with so much excitement. “I want this.”

“On your knees, now.”

You slowly drop to your knees, making sure to steady yourself as not to fall on the tile floor. His dick already hard, your fingers wrap around it, giving him a couple pumps. You let your tongue swirl on the tip, getting a taste of the precum that was already leaking out. Your lips work its way past his tip, taking your sweet time to suck him off.

“I know you can take it or am I too big for you?” You both lock eyes as he smirks, clearly teasing you.

And at the moment, you thought fuck taking your sweet time.

Your hands move to his thighs and squeeze them, letting your nails slightly dig into his skin to ground. You increase your speed, head bobbing with all caution thrown out. Your mind was already made, you were determined to work your way down his shaft. Coaxing more moans and whimpers out of Dick as you continue sucking him off. You can’t help but to moan at the filthy sounds you were making in the process.

You got yourself as close to his hilt as you could, your mouth adjusting to his size before Dick grabs the back of your head and thrusts.

“That’s right. Every inch of me.” He groans out.

You're completely at his mercy, your mind can only focus on how good this feels while you deep throat him. He slowly pulls out before thrusting again and again, working up to steady pace to fuck you to. He was kidding about taking every inch of him because god, you could feel how big he was. Your eyes glassy as a mix of drool and precum drips down your chin, trying your best not to choke.

“Don’t stop, baby. I’m so close-“ He moans, his hips rutting into your mouth, his self control slipping. Each trust was getting sloppier than the last. The water from the shower runs down every crevice of his toned body. He can help but babble about how great you feel and how much he wants you, his mind already blessed out.

And that’s when it happens. One last thrust that kisses the back of your throat. Dick moans and pants, his chest rising and falling as he fills your mouth with his hot sticky cum.

You mew, making sure to suck every last drop before your lips let go with a pop. You’re already aware that you probably look like a hot mess. Saliva and leftover cum that you couldn’t swallow running down your mouth. Your pupils are blown out with stray tears. And if it wasn’t for the shower cap you had on, you know hair would’ve been ruined too.

But you didn’t mind at all, loving making Dick a wreck.

Dick leans over, twists the faucet off.

“C’mere, I’m not done with you.” He pulls you up to feet again, cupping your face before diving in for another kiss. His tongue brushes past your lips to get a taste of you and himself.

#batman imagine #nightwing imagine #dc imagine #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x reader smut #nightwing smut #dick grayson smut

[hanasnx]

dick grayson would fit given the whole acrobat thing and all. him taking advantage of you wanting to be more flexible and asking him to be your teacher thinking he would just teach you a few stretches…ends up stretching you out in a whole different way

-🍃

MINORS DNI 18+ NOTES: based on the porn i got off to last night

"All the way down." DICK GRAYSON directs, motioning forward. As an experienced instructor, you trust his judgement. Sitting on your knees, you crawl on your hands until you can arch your back towards the floor, reaching your arms out as far as they can go. Your ass in the air, you can feel the stretch in your entire body. It's good enough to ignore the compromising position you're in.

You don't think about it when the warmth of another presence slots behind you, and big hands clutch your hips, drawing you back. If you could see him, you'd witness how he's crouched, situating your ass at his crotch, staring hard at it while he moistens his lips. "There you go." he commends casually. Oblivious to the dirty ulterior motive to see what you'd look when he fucks you doggy style, you focus on how delectable it feels to be taken care of, that pleasant burn in your body either from how you stretch or the residual memories of what you were doing the last time you were in this position.

"You're so good at this, Dick." you tell him, more sultry than you meant to.

"Don't praise me just yet." he replies in a scoff, and you brush off your confusion. "Push forward." Two thumbs press into the fat of your ass, and you pick yourself up on your arms while you straighten your legs to form upward facing dog. "You want to feel it right here in the spine..." he muses, a large palm stamping onto your tailbone and canvasing the dimples at your lower back, commending you for your deep arch. "That's right, that's..." he trails off as he scans your posture, and the cushion of your yoga met dips when it's met with his knees. He straddles your thighs, and inclines over you, molding your body with his. It's safe to say his methods of instructing you are unconventional, but he's the expert. So when his pants nudge the crevice of your ass as he overlays you in upwards facing dog, you take your mind off of the bulge. He's so close his cheek kisses the side of your head, and his voice is right up next to your ear. "That's deep."

You try to suppress your shiver, but you're sure he felt it travel all the way up to your neck.

"Hold it right there." he tells you as he backs up, and momentarily you mourn the loss of his body heat. "Hold it... Alright—" You do as you did before, returning to balasana, but when you back all the way up, your booty shorts bump his pelvis.

Hot in the face, you look over your shoulder at him just in time to witness how he eyes you up, but when he doesn't mention it you're quick to straighten yourself out. "It's okay, happens a lot." he assures. His hands rest on his hips, and he throws his head back. "This is good though, I can feel you trying hard. Just hold that." A smile stretches onto his lips, and he picks himself up further into a taller kneel, raising his hips to yours as his hand fixes on your tailbone again to keep you from running away. You can feel something half-hard through his pants but you don't allow yourself to dwell on it. Especially not when the brush of contact makes your eyes flutter. "Definitely hold that."

For a second, you're frozen in place, afraid to do something stupid or unprofessional.

"Remember to breathe." he reminds you, and you expel a burst of air you didn't realize you were holding. "And... release." You move at a steady pace so as to not alert him to your embarrassment, slipping back into upwards dog for the second time. "That's perfect. You look perfect." A surge of heat blooms on your face again. "Turn to the side for me. Let's go ahead and raise this leg." You oblige him, and he lifts the aforementioned leg by your ankle. Two hands wrapped around the joint makes your foot look small.

When you bring it up, he inspects it, his eyes following the curvature intently. He's a very attentive instructor. "All the way up. Straighten the knee." You curl your other leg to support yourself, propped up on your elbow, all so it's possible to stand your foot into the sky until it's a tall pole. "Let's open you up here." Your gaze widens as he approaches you again, tucking himself into your space so he can palm your calf, and his crotch slides up against your exposed pussy. The constricting shorts you wore— regulation according to him— outline your cunt in a way that has it swell through the fabric, and here he is grazing against it like it's no big deal... You have to be reading this wrong. Gently, he forces your leg back, and a burn tingles in your ham string. It's not the only thing that tingles, his crotch now firmly pressed to yours. "You're still a little stiff." he notes, which takes your attention away from his halfie in his basketball shorts. It can't be though, it must be his phone in his pocket or something.

He splays his hands on either side of your waist, pushing forward so your ankle's on his shoulder, your knee at your nose. He exhales. There's not enough oxygen in the room, it's practically spinning, and your heart is pounding in your chest. He's so large you can't see his face as it reaches clear over your head and all you can look at is his pants, desperate to deduce the familiar shape of a boner. No such luck when all these limbs are in your way.

"Wow. Flexible, huh?" He grins wolfishly. Pride preens at the notion the acrobat noticed how bendy you are. "Let's go into bridge. You remember bridge?"

You swallow hard and nod, "Mhm," you respond uneasily, throat thick from the coating of silence. Giving you enough space to shift, your hips align on the floor, grounding your arms flat so you can raise your pelvis. It doesn't take much for his thighs to be under yours again, fooling you into thinking he's taking a constructive gander of your pose until his arm straps under you. Fingers curl around the handle of torso, and your eyes widen as he uses his fist on mat to pick you up. Briefly, your toes leave the floor when he adjusts himself to slot between your legs snugly. When he's satisfied, he holds his own hand over your hip, arm still secured under your tailbone, and arches your spine manually. "That's it." he praises, and splays fingers onto your belly, fingertips just brushing your ribcage. "Feel that now? In the core?" Timidly, you nod. "One more ought'a do it. Sit down for me." For me. The words resound in your head as you drop, and he reaches behind him to clutch your ankles, bringing them over his thighs to fold over your head. "Legs straight." he reminds you, and he curls your body for you, letting your hole get some air as it faces the ceiling.

Those huge fingers cling onto the meat of your thighs, digging into the flesh as your tits spill to your chin in your little sports bra. "Wow, you are tight, huh?" he muses and you jelly. Folded all the way over yourself, his hands slide to the inside of your knees to pin you in place and your shorts ride completely up into your ass crack, cheeks defined as his jaw hovers just above your swollen cunt. Can he smell you?

#indy shoots the shit #thanks for the msg!! #anon: 🍃 #indy: drabbles #ch: dick #dick grayson drabble #dick grayson prompt #dick grayson smut #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x female!reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson fic #dick grayson fanfiction #nightwing smut #nightwing x reader #nightwing x you #nightwing x y/n #nightwing imagine #nightwing fic #nightwing fanfiction #reader insert