Dick Grayson My Beloved - Blog Posts

There’s A String Tied to My Lower Left Rib, Third From The Bottom

dick grayson x afab!reader

aka the professional boyfriend

warnings: she/her pronouns used, reader wears dresses, sexual content at the end (18+)

Dick Grayson is a vigilante. He’s a master martial artist and gymnast. He’s something of a playboy and a heavy flirt. But the claim he really takes pride in is that he’s basically a professional boyfriend. That he’s your professional boyfriend.

And pride really is the right word. He’s so proud that he gets to have this pretty girl on his arm and buy her pretty things even when you insist you have enough. He loves getting to help you take your makeup off when you’re too tired and make you laugh like it’s his job. He’s absolutely gratified that he gets to be your prodigal, sweet boyfriend that, despite your protests, insisted on carrying all five of your shopping bags for you.

You step over an uneven stretch in the sidewalk and lean slightly against Dick’s shoulder. “I’m worried the navy one is too…much.” You say, thinking back to how the blue cocktail dress fit on you, how it stopped barely below your ass.

He furrows his eyebrows with a pout, “Too much?”

You look over at him, matching his expression. “It’s really short. I mean it’s cute and I like it, but…I don’t know, this is kind of a fancy event isn’t it?” 

He puckers his lips, shaking his head. “Short’s good. I like short.” Yeah, you’d noticed with the way his eyes had been glued to the hem of your dress, willing it to slip up just a little more.

You laugh, “And I’m sure you and all the old businessmen will appreciate it greatly.”

His face drops at that, not thrilled at the prospect of those, usually very sleazy, old men getting to see so much of you. “The black one’s good too.”

You peer over into one of the bags, “Or there’s the red one with the—”

Dick shakes his head quickly, “Not red.”

You snicker at that, knowing full well what his problem is with it. “Then why did I get it?”

“Just for me.” He pauses, “Or for something my brother won’t be at.” He mumbles, scanning both sides of the street. He shuffles the bags in his right hand onto his forearm so he can take your hand in his as you step into the road. “No, the black one looked great on you. And we won’t have to go searching for a matching tie.” 

Once you reach the other side he lets go of your hand and he circles behind you, nudging you over to the inside of the sidewalk.

You glance down at the row of bags littering his arms and the red indents beginning to mark his skin. “Will you please let me hold some?” You frown.

“Will you please hold my hand?” He echoes, matching your serious tone with faux urgency of his own. You deadpan him but take his hand anyway. You don’t notice it, but he’s got a dedicated gaze focused on your fingers intertwined in his.

You continue on down the street, hand in hand, the warm sun shining on your necks. You pick up the pace a bit as you approach your apartment building, aiming to get the door for your boyfriend. You reach for the handle only for Dick to call out, “Don’t touch that!” followed by him clamoring like you’re about to touch a hot coal, rushing over to beat you to the punch.

“Oh my god..” you mumble to yourself, biting back a smile. The bags haphazardly fall further down his arms, no doubt uncomfortably as he pulls the door open for you, pretending to be far more eloquent than he actually was. He gestures you in and smiles sweetly at you when you give him a flat look. 

“What is wrong with you?” You ask, glancing over your shoulder at him with amusement glittering across your face as you dig for your keys.

“Not a thing.” He grins, watching with adoration as you open the apartment door. Frankly, you’re surprised he didn’t attempt to juggle the bags and unlock the door himself.

He kicks the door shut behind him as you help slide the bags off of his wrists, piling them on the counter. “When do we need to leave?”

“Uh…” he glances at the wall clock, “Not till seven.” He places his hands nicely on your waist, looking down at your lips. “You wanna get something to eat before we go?”

You muse, “This is the one with those mini stakes, isn’t it?” He nods. “No, I wanna get my fill on those. Oh, and the bruschettas! I love these caterers.”

His eyes flicker back up to meet yours, a sly smile playing on his lips. 

You break away from his gaze and turn to the counter, preparing to scoop the shopping bags up when you’re interrupted by his relentless fervor.

“Ah, ah.” He hooks a finger into the loop of your jeans, tugging you back to him. “Give me a kiss.” 

“Dick.”

“Just one.” Yeah, right. You oblige him though, pushing up on your toes to meet his lips. His thumb strokes your cheek as he kisses you deeply. You break the kiss after a moment only for him to chase your lips to follow it up with another. And then another. And another. He hums against your lips, smiling wide. “Thank you, baby.”

You pull back again and smile as you stop his chest with your hand when he follows. “Ah, I’m not new around here. I know where this’ll go if I let you.”

He nods complaisantly, “Then let me.” His eyes are focused on the small space between you, where his touch lingers along your ring finger. You lean up again and place a kiss on his forehead that has him getting hopeful, only to be met with disappointment when you back away from him, bags in hand. He throws his head back with a groan just to really hammer home the severity of his dismay.  

It doesn’t last too long though because the second you’re back in the room he’s trailing after you like a puppy, following you down to the couch. You roll your eyes at him when he opts to sit ridiculously close to you, though there’s a ghost of a smile on your lips that makes your act lose all credibility.   

He nestles his face into the crook of your neck and is clearly very pleased when you wrap your arms around his shoulders. You exhale contentedly, resting your cheek against his head. You lie idle like that for a few minutes, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and casting a daydreaming gaze out the window. And apparently, he was daydreaming too. 

“I wanna marry you.” He murmurs into your neck after a while. 

You laugh incredulously, “Have you been drinking when I have my back turned?”

“‘M serious.” He nudges you off him so he can look at you.

You hum, sweeping his hair back from his forehead. “You’re being very…” you scrunch up your mouth to the side, “…Ostentatious today.” 

He barks out a laugh, “Wow. Word-A-Day teach you that one?”

You shove at his forehead back with no real force, biting back a giggle. His eyes flicker back and forth between your mouth and the crinkle in your eyes as he grins. “I’m going to let that one go because you got me some really nice clothes today. As your repayment.” you say, running your finger over his lips. 

He takes your hand, pressing a firm kiss to it. “Let me marry you?” 

You sigh bashfully, “Dick—”

“Please?” He sticks his bottom lip out and gives you his puppy eyes, causing you to avert your gaze quickly. You’re not convinced he doesn’t have a superpower in that area.

You know he’s not really proposing right now, he’s too much of a romantic to do it like this. He’s just getting the idea in your head, getting you excited about it. It’s working.

“I’d be such a good husband to you.” He kisses your collarbone, “So good.” He murmurs against your skin, lips never departing. You struggle to keep your face neutral, making a point of closing your eyes in an attempt to increase your odds of success. He’s being nice though, you know. To let you play pretend right now when you know he could break your facade in a second if he really wanted to.  

“Mrs. Grayson…” he squeezes your hips, lips traveling further down. “Doesn’t that sound pretty?”

It really does. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about marrying him before. He’s nothing if not husband material and honestly you really really want to hear him call you his wife. Call him your husband.

Your hand moves to his hair, petting it softly as he goes on. “Buy you a nice ring. Pretty white dress ‘n a big party just for you.” He brushes your shirt up and trails open mouthed kisses down your stomach. Your chest feels warm and you can feel your pulse thrumming all throughout your body.

He slowly guides your underwear down your thighs, his lips following the hem close behind. “Come home to you every night, kiss these pretty thighs,” He scoops both of your hands up in one of his, pinning them to your stomach. “Kiss this pretty pussy.” He places a chaste kiss on your clit and looks up at you expectantly.

You’re not nearly as hesitant on this as you’re pretending to be, and you both know it. But he’s perfectly fine with begging a little while you pretend you’re not lightheaded at the idea of marrying him. “I’ll think about it…” 

He grins at you before going in on your core without mercy.

He’s trying real hard to land that promotion.

🩵 reblogging = supporting; likes don’t do the job 🩵

you’re not sure how you ended up here—in DICK GRAYSON’S bed, with his hands on your waist, and the weight of his body leaning just enough against yours to make your pulse race. it had started with a quiet moment, a teasing comment, and then a look that lingered a little too long. one thing led to another, and now you’re tangled up with him, your heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of his lips moving against yours.

his bed smells like him ( faintly like clean linen, with a hint of whatever cologne he uses, something warm and grounding ). the scent wraps around you, mixing with the heat of his skin and the way his breath hitches when you tug him closer. his hands trail up your sides, calloused fingertips brushing over fabric and skin as if he’s trying to memorize the shape of you.

you gasp against his mouth when his teeth graze your bottom lip, the sound soft and involuntary, and you feel him smile against you. “what?” he murmurs, voice low and husky, the kind of tone that sends shivers down the valley of your spine. his lips barely leave yours as he speaks, like he can’t stand the distance even for a second.

“nothing,” you manage but the way your voice wavers betrays you.

“liar,” he breathes out, his lips tugging into a smirk and pressing against the curve of your jaw as he moves lower, leaving a trail of warm, slow kisses down your neck. his hands slide up up cradle your face for a moment, tilting your head so he can reach a spot just beneath your ear that has you clinging to him.

your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, tugging lightly as if to pull him closer. he shifts, the mattress dipping under the added weight and his knee brushes yours, caging you in but never making you feel trapped. his touch is firm but careful. he’s holding back, letting you guide how far things go.

when he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes are dark with something between want and adoration. “you’re gonna kill me there,” he whispers and his thumb brushes against the apple of your cheek in a such tender movement it makes your heart ache.

Do you think you could a reverse of you "attractive things they do without realizing" with the bat boys?

♯ ATTRACTIVE THINGS YOU DO . . . that make them go crazy ! — part 1

— fem!reader, suggestive thoughts, mention of reader’s hair

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

BRUCE WAYNE

simply attending gala with him

the gala was in full swing, the soft hum of conversation and the tinkling of crystal glasses weaving through the grand hall. bruce wayne stood at the center of it all, the undisputed star of the evening, yet his focus wasn’t on the crowd. it was on you.

you stood beside him, your hand lightly wrapped around his forearm, a subtle yet intimate gesture that spoke things without saying a word. the way your fingers rested there, so effortlessly claiming him as yours, sent a warmth spreading through his chest—a feeling that, for once, wasn’t from the weight of responsibility or the burden of his double life. it was softer, lighter. it was you.

bruce’s sharp eyes, trained to assess every detail in a room, couldn’t help but linger on you. the dress you wore was nothing short of perfection—not that it could have been anything else. he had ensured it. every stitch, every line, every fold of fabric had been crafted with you in mind. he had selected the finest material, rich and smooth beneath the touch, ensuring it draped over your figure with the kind of elegance that turned heads the moment you stepped into a room.

the deep hue of the gown complemented his suit nicely, catching the light in subtle ways, as though it, too, was vying for his attention. the neckline framed your collarbones delicately, and the way the fabric hugged your form made it impossible for his mind not to wander to how well he knew every curve beneath. the gentle train swirled around your heels like liquid, moving with you in an almost hypnotic rhythm, every step making his heart beat just a little faster.

bruce had commissioned it specifically for you, worked with the designer himself to ensure it would fit you like a second skin—tailored to highlight everything he found most captivating about you. it wasn’t just vanity, though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t relish the way every person in the room couldn’t help but notice you. no, it was deeper than that. dressing you in the finest fabrics, wrapping you in elegance, was his way of saying what words often couldn’t: you’re extraordinary, and the world should know it.

to you, he wasn’t just bruce wayne, gotham’s elusive billionaire. he wasn’t the brooding vigilante who prowled the night. he was just . . . bruce. and in that moment, he felt more real, more whole, than he had in years.

he tilted his head slightly, glancing down at you, and his lips tugged into the faintest of smiles—a rare expression, softer than most would ever see. the subtle scent of your perfume reached him as you leaned closer to whisper something, your voice a low melody against the backdrop of the room. he didn’t even catch the words; he was too lost in the curve of your smile, the way your lashes brushed your cheeks when you blinked, the warmth of your touch radiating through the fabric of his suit.

his thoughts betrayed him, wandering ahead to a quieter moment later, when the gala was over, and it was just the two of you again. but for now, he stood tall, the perfect host, his hand moving to cover yours on his arm. his thumb brushed against your knuckles, a silent gesture of affection and gratitude. he didn’t say it aloud—he didn’t need to—but he was thinking it with every fiber of his being: you’re the most beautiful thing in this room, and you don’t even know it.

seeing you work at his office

bruce leaned back in his leather chair, the polished desk between you serving as the only barrier to his unraveling thoughts. you stood on the other side, flipping through a file with the kind of focus that made his chest tighten, utterly oblivious to the effect you were having on him. the pencil skirt you wore hugged your hips in a way that felt almost sinful, every line and contour designed to torment him. the fabric clung just right, emphasizing the curve of your waist and the sway of your body each time you shifted. and then there was the blouse—white, crisp, and perfectly fitted, the faintest hint of skin peeking where the buttons strained against your figure. it was driving him to the edge.

the sharp click of your heels echoed softly as you moved around the room, your voice calm and professional as you recounted details of a recent meeting, flipping a page in the file without missing a beat. but bruce wasn’t listening. not really. his gaze followed the way your fingers smoothed the papers, delicate but deliberate, and his mind betrayed him. those same hands . . . what would they feel like tangled in his hair, tugging him closer? or splayed against his chest, nails dragging lightly as he pressed you against the wall?

he shifted in his seat, jaw tightening as he tried to force himself back to the present. but it was impossible. the way the soft material of your blouse tucked into that pencil skirt left just enough to the imagination while teasing at everything he wanted to do to you. his mind raced ahead, envisioning the fabric bunched around your hips, your voice losing its composed edge as he silenced every word with his lips

you glanced up at him suddenly, your eyes catching his, and for a moment, his composure faltered. his sharp blue gaze was darker now, focused entirely on you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. his tongue darted across his bottom lip, slow and deliberate, as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.

“are you almost finished?”

“just a few more minutes.”

his thoughts raced ahead, imagining the way your name would sound falling from his lips, low and rough, as he pulled you into his lap. how your soft gasps would fill the room, mingling with the shuffle of papers and the creak of leather as his control finally slipped. bruce’s mind was already plotting, already deciding just how many minutes he’d let you finish your work before he gave in.

DICK GRAYSON

the quiet hum of the city filtered through the slightly cracked window, the distant sounds of gotham settling into the night. dick sat cross-legged on the couch, his hair still damp from a quick shower after patrol, wearing a loose gray shirt and sweatpants. you were tucked into the corner of the couch, legs pulled up to your chest with your arms wrapped around them, your chin resting on your knees. there was something so effortlessly comfortable about the way you curled into yourself, the soft glow of the lamp painting your features in warm hues.

he couldn’t help but let his eyes linger, caught by the way the corners of your lips curved into a gentle smile as you listened to him recount something ridiculous wally had said earlier. it wasn’t just your smile, though it always had a way of knocking the air out of his lungs—it was the way your gaze stayed fixed on him, warm and attentive, like he was the only thing that mattered in the world right now.

“are you even listening?” he teased, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees as he tilted his head to catch your gaze more fully.

you laughed softly, a sound that melted into the quiet of the room like it belonged there. “i am,” you insisted, shifting slightly to prop your chin higher on your knees, the movement drawing his attention to the curve of your bare shoulders beneath the oversized sweatshirt you were wearing—his sweatshirt, he realized with a pang of fondness.

“good,” he said, his voice softer now, his lips curving into an easy smile. but he didn’t pick up where he left off. instead, he found himself studying the little things: the way your hair framed your face, the way your eyes glimmered with quiet amusement, the small, almost unconscious sway of your head as you rested against your knees.

“don’t stop,” you murmured, your smile widening.

dick chuckled, shaking his head. “i wasn’t sure if my story could compete with . . . well, you,” he said, his tone light but tinged with the kind of sincerity that always made your chest tighten.

“flatterer,” you teased, but the way your cheeks warmed didn’t escape him.

when you arch your back in a chair

he had only meant to grab a drink and check in with you, but the second he entered the room and saw you sitting at the table, all coherent thought vanished. he froze in place, his gaze drawn to you like a moth to a flame. you were leaning forward in your chair, your elbows braced on the table and your back arched just slightly as you studied whatever had your focus. it was innocent—completely unintentional—but to him, it was anything but.

the way your shirt clung to your frame as you bent forward made his mouth go dry, the curve of your back teasing him in ways that had his imagination running wild. his eyes lingered on the dip of your waist, the way the soft fabric stretched just enough over your hips, and he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering further—thinking about how easy it would be to step behind you, trail his hands down that arch, and pull you closer.

dick swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away, but it was hopeless. his gaze snapped back to you as if on instinct, and this time, it wasn’t just the curve of your back that had his attention. it was the way your body moved, every subtle shift of your weight making his thoughts spiral deeper. he could almost feel the press of your skin against his palms, the heat of you beneath his hands as he tipped you just slightly further forward . . .

jesus, get it together, grayson, he thought, dragging a hand through his hair and trying to clear his head. but the damage was done, and now every inch of him was on edge, his pulse thrumming in his ears. it wasn’t fair how effortlessly you drove him crazy—how just existing could send his thoughts careening into territory that made him shift uncomfortably in place.

you glanced up suddenly, breaking him out of his haze. “hey, you good?” you asked, your brows furrowing slightly in concern.

the sound of your voice jolted him back to reality, though his heart was still racing. “fine,” he managed, his voice just a little rougher than usual. he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to play it cool despite the heat simmering beneath his skin.

but you weren’t convinced. there was a hint of amusement in your eyes as you leaned back slightly in your chair, giving him that knowing smile that always made his knees weak. “you sure?”

dick’s jaw clenched as you shifted again, his gaze flickering down to the curve of your waist before he caught himself. stop it. stop it right now. but then you tilted your head, and that damn teasing glint in your eyes told him you knew exactly what you were doing.

he took a step forward, bracing a hand on the table as he leaned down, his face suddenly inches from yours. his voice was low, rough, almost a growl. “you’re making it really hard to concentrate, you know that?”

JASON TODD

adjusting your skirt

jason had been leaning against the doorway, half distracted by his own thoughts, when the sight of you adjusting your skirt snapped his attention to full focus. you were standing in front of the mirror, tugging at the waistband and wiggling it higher on your hips, a casual, innocent motion meant to get the fit just right. but to him, it was anything but casual. his eyes locked on you, darkening as he watched the way the fabric shifted, sliding up the curve of your thighs with each subtle movement.

jesus christ, he thought, jaw tightening as he tried to tear his gaze away. he failed. the small adjustment—the roll of your hips, the way your hands smoothed the material over your figure—felt like it was designed to torment him. he muttered a quiet curse under his breath, barely audible but enough to let his frustration escape.

that little motion shouldn’t have had this kind of hold over him, but it did. the way you moved, so natural and effortless, made his mind wander to places it shouldn’t. his fingers twitched at his sides as he imagined stepping behind you, sliding his hands over yours to help—not that you needed it, but damn if he wouldn’t enjoy it anyway.

you turned slightly and caught his reflection in the mirror, green eyes shooting up to meet yours as if he hadn’t been blatantly staring. “everything okay, jay?”

jason cleared his throat. “yeah,” he said, though his voice was rougher than usual, betraying him. he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning heavier into the doorway, his tongue darting across his bottom lip as his gaze flicked down again. “just . . . keep doing what you’re doing.”

you have him a look—equal parts amused and curious—but went back to adjusting the skirt, smoothing it out once more. jason bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to stay put instead of crossing the room, grabbing your hips, and showing you exactly what that little movement of yours did to him.

this woman’s gonna be the death of me, he thought, his pulse hammering as he pushed off the doorway, muttering another curse under his breath. he needed to walk away before he did something reckless—something that would guarantee you wouldn’t be leaving that room anytime soon.

when you rant to him

jason leaned back on the couch, arms draped lazily over the backrest, but his focus was anything but casual. his eyes were locked on you as you paced the room, hands gesturing wildly while you went off on a rant about something that had you fired up. he couldn’t even remember how the conversation started—it didn’t matter. what mattered was the light in your eyes, the way your whole face animated with every word, and the fire in your voice as you got lost in your thoughts.

there was something magnetic about the way you threw yourself into it, like the world disappeared except for the thing you were so passionate about. it didn’t even matter if he understood half of what you were saying—though he was trying, really, he was—but he couldn’t look away from you long enough to focus on the details. he was too caught up in the way your brows furrowed slightly when you were deep in thought, or the way your lips curved when you hit on a point you knew was good.

and that voice. it was captivating, filled with conviction and energy, a side of you that came alive when you cared about something. jason’s heart thudded in his chest as he watched you, a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips.

every now and then, you’d glance at him to make sure he was keeping up, and he’d give a small nod, biting back the urge to say something dumb like, i’m not paying attention to your words, but i’m hanging on every second of you. instead, he’d murmur a quiet “yeah,” or “makes sense,” just to keep you talking.

but, damn, the way your whole body moved when you were this invested—it sent his mind places. there was a certain confidence in it, an unintentional sway in your steps as you walked back and forth, your gestures strong but graceful. it drove him crazy in the best way, made him want to grab you mid-rant, pull you onto his lap, and kiss you senseless just to see if that fire would transfer to him.

ADDITIONAL NOTE! if you like my work , please consider reblogging and / or commenting ! thank you if you do 🤍

little edit i made for my men, jason and dick 🙂‍↕️

reblogs r appreciated <33

dick needs more love like hello??

facesitting with dick and he's super onto it. he's drooling. and reader's thighs are trembling and she tries to move off b/c of the overstim but he holds her down firmly and just devours her.

I also feel like he cold cum just from eating her out like that.

the squeezing of her thighs, her shuddering breath and pleas and the dirty sounds from his tongue 🫠

anon….wow. I…I need to lie down. this is sooooo canon in my dick grayson is a munch agenda like yeah. that man lives and dies by the kitty. u literally get it. wow.

18+ minors dni

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

dick grayson can barely believe he’s talked you into this, but he’s not about to complain. you’re kneeling over his face with your hands planted on the headboard, biceps trembling as you try to keep yourself upright. his strong arms are clamped around your thighs, pinning you to him as his mouth works your sensitive cunt ravenously, drawing out a shaky whine from you. you try to wriggle away, which earns a scornful laugh from between your legs. god, why did he wait so long to ask you to do this?

he pulls you in even closer, sucking your tender clit with a gravelly moan. the vibrations send a shiver over your skin, and you instinctively buck your hips again, gasping loudly. dick looks up at you, his blue irises razor-thin around his blown-out pupils; you look fucking incredible like this. he doesn’t know whether to focus on the way you taste, or how good your tits look from this angle, or the pornographic sounds you’re making; all he knows is his cock is twitching at the mere sight of you, and he’s not sure he can keep this up for long.

he feels your slick dripping down his chin and jaw as he continues licking you hungrily, your pleas for him to slow down only encouraging him further. one of his hands comes around to grope your ass, coaxing you to grind yourself against him, and you let out another cry as his tongue spreads you open. your thighs begin to shake as his movements grow more urgent, and you try to pull away from his grip. not a fucking chance, baby.

his hands lock you into place, and his pace increases yet again as he groans into your pussy, his eyes fluttering shut as he feels his release creeping up on him. you dig your nails into the headboard, whining his name in a meek plea for mercy, but to no avail; the sound of his mouth against your wetness, the needy moans coming from beneath you, his large palms on your ass—it proves all too much, and your orgasm tears through you as your arms give out. your hands brace the mattress beneath you as you shudder, your fluids leaking out onto dick’s lips as your thighs squeeze his head lightly.

the feeling of your muscles tightening around him as your wetness coats his face is all it takes for the coil in his abdomen to snap; his cock twitches as his release spurts out onto his stomach, and he whines against your pussy, his head spinning. his grip on your thighs goes slack, and you shuffle back slightly so you can look down at his glistening face. a satisfied expression is plastered on his features, and his eyes are half-lidded as he licks the remnants of your climax off his bottom lip. you try to move off him, but his arms tighten around you again, a hungry smirk on his face. what makes you think he’s finished?

18+ minors dni

warnings: sex pollen but it’s a dick grayson solo special 💫

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

he’s not sure how he made it home in one piece, but the second he’s through the front door of his apartment, dick grayson is wrestling his way out of his nightwing suit, his ears ringing as he stumbles through his room and into his bathroom. his skin feels hot, too hot, and his breathing is ragged; ivy, he thinks hazily, discarding his suit on the floor. those fucking plants—it’s that goddamn pollen.

he rids himself of his boxers, and catches a glimpse of his sweaty, flushed appearance in the mirror. dick’s pupils are so wide that his blue eyes are almost black, and his cock is painfully hard, the tip red and angry as it leaks precum down his length. he grimaces as he lurches into the shower, dousing himself in freezing cold water. when dealing with poison ivy, he’s usually far more careful than he was tonight, and now he’s paying the price; too desperate to look for the antitoxin, he has to take matters into his own hands—literally.

dick grits his teeth as he wraps his fingers around his shaft, hissing at the tenderness. relief floods his taut muscles, but he can’t help but think how much better your tight cunt would feel around him right now. the image of you bent over makes his hand pump faster as he pictures your pretty ass bouncing off his thighs, and he swears he can hear the way you’d moan at his intrusions. god, he wishes he could see your pretty pussy gripping him right now.

his knuckles are white as he strokes himself, the burning on his skin still far from subsiding despite the orgasm building in his lower belly. shit, just a little more. he groans at the thought of using the crook of his elbow to pull you flush against him by your neck, keeping you in a headlock as he fucks into you, just so he can hear you whine. fuck, there it is.

he presses his burning forehead against the tiles as his abdomen spasms, ropes of hot cum spurting out onto the wall as he swears loudly. cold water trickles down dick’s stomach as he pants, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears. he realises the ache that had subsided just a moment ago is slowly building again. puzzled, he glances down, and his eyes widen at the sight of his cock, still rock-hard and twitching in the cool bathroom air. what kind of fucking plant was that?

he didn’t want to worry you with this—after all, he was sure his home remedy would work—but he realises he has no choice as he feels his skin growing feverish again, and he can only hope you’ll understand. he groggily shuts off the water and makes his way back into his room, collapsing onto his bed as he takes his phone from the nightstand. he manages to send you a single line—need you now, come see me—before he drops his phone in the sheets, his hand finding his aching cock once more. it’s going to be a long night.

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?”

18+ minors dni

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

it’s an unusually quiet night in blüdhaven, meaning dick grayson has some time to kill. he doesn’t think that stopping by your apartment during his patrol will lead to much more than a brief conversation and a be safe, see you tonight kiss, which is how his pit stops usually go. that being said, tonight is the first time he’s shown up to see you in the full nightwing getup—escrima sticks and mask included.

it takes you one glance at his muscular body clad in the tight black and blue material to send a surge of heat between your legs, and before either of you can think clearly, you’re on top of him on your sofa, entangled in a sloppy kiss with your hands running through his hair. his fingers dig into your hips as you rock against his hard length, grinding your core against the textured material of his suit.

his hand reaches between you to pull your panties to the side so your bare cunt can rub against him freely, before he nestles his palms under your ass. he helps you roll against him as your wetness spreads over his lower abdomen, relishing in your needy whines. the feeling of his rigid muscles against you and his hot lips pressed to yours sends you into overdrive; you feel your thighs tightening around dick as you make a mess of his suit, an orgasm creeping its way down your belly.

“fuck, baby,” he pants, throwing his head back at the sensation of your warmth stroking him over his suit. “I should’ve worn this thing ages ago.” he squeezes your ass as you continue rubbing yourself on him. your movements begin to get sloppy, and heat starts pooling in your belly. you know you’re being greedy and dick deserves some attention too, but right now you’re too caught up in the way he feels against you to care.

“god…dick—nightwing—I’m gonna cum!” you gasp, clutching onto his shoulders for stability. he can’t contain the moan he emits at hearing you call him by his alias; it sets off a ringing in his ears, and he digs his fingers into your soft flesh, coaxing your climax out of you. behind his blue mask, his eyes are trained on your face, watching your expression as you whimper.

“that’s right, pretty girl,” he groans, meeting your movements with his own rocking. “fuck…cum for me, c’mon.” you bury your head in the crook of his neck as your body starts to tremble, your release ripping through you and dripping thickly down dick’s suit. you moan as he ruts into you through your orgasm, his pace slowing as your body stills.

he gently pulls your panties back into position, and looks down at the glossy mess you’ve left on his suit, a satisfied grin on his face. his masked eyes meet yours as he rubs small circles onto your hips, taking in your breathless form. “I think I’m gonna have to suit up around you more often.”