#dick grayson x y/n

[neontiger]

I can't even think of anything to say. That's how good this fucking is

SHIFT

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader

Plot: You spend the whole night teasing Dick—subtle touches, flirty whispers, pressing up against him just to watch him struggle. But the second you're alone? He snaps. You wanted to play? Now you're taking everything he's been holding back.

Words: 7,1k

CW: established relationship, 18+, smut, butt slapping, rough sex, vaginal fingering, edging, multiple orgasms, creampie

Dick fucking hates clubs. The loud music, the sweaty bodies pressing too close, the overpriced drinks, it's everything he actively avoids. But you wanted to go, and, well, there's nothing he won't do for you.

He keeps an arm around you the whole night, not because he's possessive—okay, maybe a little—but because you look too damn good in that tiny dress, and he's had to glare down more than one pair of wandering eyes. You're all over him: draped around his shoulders, whispering against his jaw, grinding against his thigh like you don't give a shit who's watching.

And maybe you don't.

Maybe it's the cocktails, or maybe you just love pushing him to the edge, seeing how much he can take before he snaps. Either way, his patience is running on fumes by the time he gets you in the car.

Now, as he drives home, his knuckles tight on the wheel, you're still at it—still teasing, still testing him.

"Dick," you hum, voice all soft and sweet, your head resting against his shoulder.

You drag your nails down his thigh, just barely brushing against his cock through his jeans.

He tenses, jaw clenching. "Baby."

His voice is warning, firm, but you don't give a shit.

You shift closer, lips ghosting against his neck, pressing a kiss to his pulse point. "You're so tense, baby..." Another kiss, this time against his sharp jawline. "Should let me help you relax."

Dick exhales through his nose. "You've had too much to drink."

"So?" you purr, shameless. Your fingers move higher, tracing the outline of his hard dick. "You're so hard, my love."

He curses under his breath, adjusting his grip on the wheel. "Of course I am," he mutters. "You spent all night rubbing your ass on me like a little brat."

You giggle, shifting in your seat, pressing your thighs together. You're soaked, your panties sticking to your cunt, and you know he knows. He can see it, smell it, feel the heat radiating off you.

"Can't help it," you murmur, lips brushing against his ear. "You're so fucking sexy, baby."

His grip tightens on the wheel, and you swear his foot presses just a little harder on the gas.

"We're almost home," he mutters. "Behave."

But you? Oh, you don't behave. You slip a hand between your thighs, pushing your dress up just enough for him to see. You let your fingers trail over your soaked panties, gasping softly at the contact, putting on a show just for him.

And when he glances down—just for a second, just to see what the fuck you're doing—he groans, deep and frustrated, gripping the wheel like it's the only thing keeping him from losing his mind.

You don't stop there. No, you drag your fingers up, pressing against the damp fabric, rubbing slow, lazy circles right where you know it'll make you shiver. Your other hand grips your thigh, spreading yourself open just a little more, just enough to drive him insane.

"Fuck," he grits out, knuckles turning white on the wheel. His jaw clenches so hard you think it might snap. "You're testing me, sweetheart."

"Mmm," you hum, teasing yourself right in front of him, letting out a soft whimper just to push him further. "You don't like it? Thought you liked watching me, my love."

His breath shudders, and his grip tightens, muscles flexing as he struggles to keep his focus on the road. His eyes flick between you and the street ahead, torn between staying in control and pulling over to ruin you.

"Baby," he sighs, his voice strained, dangerous. "You're really testing me tonight."

"Good," you pout, wide, pleading eyes locking onto his. "I need you."

And fuck, if that doesn't snap the last thread of his self-control. Dick knows you too well by now. Knows how you get when you've had one too many cocktails, how you love to test him sometimes, to push just to see how far you can go before he snaps. And usually? He doesn't let you get to him like this.

Usually, he's more composed. He can handle it because he expects it. Because he knows you. He sees the glint in your eyes before you even make a move, can read you like the back of his hand. But tonight?

Tonight, he's fucking struggling.

Maybe it's the dress—the one he loves, the one that hugs your curves just right and rides up dangerously high when you sit. Or maybe it's the way you look right now, flushed and giggling, a little tipsy, a little messy, so fucking breathtaking he can barely stand it.

Either way, the fifteen-minute drive home is pure torture.

His cock is throbbing, painfully hard, pressing tight against his jeans, and all he can think about is you. Your soft moans, the way you touch yourself just to tease him, the way your fingers trembled when they brushed over your soaked panties.

Fuck. He grips the wheel tighter, jaw clenched so hard it aches, forcing himself to focus on the road instead of the filthy thoughts running through his head.

Because if he thinks about it too much? He's definitely pulling over. Pulling you into his lap, yanking that little dress up around your waist, sinking into your dripping pussy and fucking you right here, right now.

But somehow—somehow—he makes it home without losing his goddamn mind.

The second he parks, he's out of the car, moving fast to open your door. But you're even faster, throwing yourself against him, pressing soft, sloppy kisses against his neck as he exhales sharply.

"Baby," he mutters, trying—trying—to sound stern, but you just hum, nuzzling against his jaw.

Then comes the elevator. You're quiet at first, a little sheepish, standing close but not too close. But the second the doors close? Oh, you're an absolute menace.

At the same time you press the button, you press back against him, your ass grinding against his hard cock like you need him to feel how wet you are, how much you want him. His hands snap to your hips, gripping tight, a weak attempt to stop you, but he can't fool you.

"You're so hard," you whisper, voice all sweet and teasing, rolling your hips just enough to make him groan.

He exhales sharply, fingers digging into your waist. "You're cruel, my love."

You moan, just to push him further, just to make him suffer, and fuck, he can feel how badly you want this, how hot and slick you are even through your panties.

But then, the elevator dings.

And like you weren't just grinding against his dick, like you weren't just whimpering for him, you peel yourself away, stepping out with a little sway in your hips, heels clacking against the floor as you walk toward your shared apartment.

He doesn't move for a second. Just stands there, hands clenched, dick aching, trying to comprehend the fact that you just left him like that. You fumble with your keys, giggling when you can't quite get the door open, and he sighs—trying to sound exasperated, but you know better. He's not fooling anyone.

His large hand lands over yours, steadying you just enough to push the key in the lock and open the door. And then? Then you step inside, looking back at him with that wicked, teasing little smile, like you know he's about to ruin you.

But before he can grab you, before he can even shut the door properly, you take full advantage of just how worked up he is. You press back against him, ass grinding right against his dick, slow and deliberate, feeling just how hard he is for you.

His breath punches out in a harsh growl, hands snapping to your hips so tight it's almost bruising. "You're playing a dangerous game."

"Am I?" you murmur, pushing back again, rolling your hips in a way that makes him curse under his breath. His cock twitches against you, and you grin, knowing just how much you're getting to him. "Doesn't feel like you mind."

"Fuck," he grits out, pressing you against the nearest wall, hips grinding right back into you, making you feel just how much you've been teasing him. "You really think you can pull this shit and not pay for it?"

Your only answer is another slow grind, dragging your ass right over the outline of his cock, feeling the heat of him through both layers of fabric. The way he shudders, the way his fingers dig into your hips—it's intoxicating.

His patience? Snapped. And you? You're about to find out exactly how he plans to handle you.

You step inside the hallway with a soft, breathy hum, throwing your keys into the little basket by the door before carelessly tossing your purse onto the coat rack. Then you kick off your heels, sighing as the ache in your feet fades.

Behind you, Dick moves slower. Slipping off his jacket, kicking off his shoes, rolling his shoulders like he's trying to shake off the tension. But the second that door finally clicks shut, the second the world outside disappears? He's on you.

Big hands grip your waist, spinning you around so fast it makes you gasp. And then he's crowding you against the wall, his chest pressed against yours, his breathing slow and deep, like he's trying, really trying, to control himself.

"You think that was funny?" he murmurs, voice low, dangerous.

Your breath catches as you ask in a soft, almost sheepish tone, "What, baby?"

He huffs out a quiet laugh, but there's no humor in it, just pure, raw frustration. "Grinding on me all night. Acting so sweet, so innocent, then leaving me hard as fuck in the club? In the car? In the damn elevator?" His fingers dig into your hips, his lips ghosting over yours. "That was cruel, sweetheart."

Your stomach flips, a rush of heat flooding between your legs. "I—"

Smack.

Your words cut off in a choked moan as his palm cracks against your ass, the sharp, stinging heat stealing the breath from your lungs.

Oh. Oh, he's never done that before. And fuck, you love it.

You make a soft, desperate sound, and Dick stills. You feel the tension in him, the hesitation, like he's waiting, watching, trying to see if he's crossed a line. But you arch into him, pressing your ass back against his hand, silently begging for more.

His breath shudders out of him, and then—

Smack.

The second one lands harder, sending another sharp, electric jolt straight to your aching cunt. You whimper, thighs clenching together, and fuck, Dick feels it. The way your body responds, the way you melt for him, eating it up like you were made for it.

He groans, his hand smoothing over the sting, then gripping hard. "Yeah?" he murmurs, his other hand tangling in your hair, tilting your head back so he can see your face. "You like that, don't you?"

You bite your lip, nodding quickly, breathless. "Yes. Fuck, yes."

He exhales harshly, his cock twitching against your stomach, throbbing. And then? Then he grins.

"Well, in that case..." he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw, his fingers kneading the soft flesh of your ass, teasing, promising. "Let's see just how much you like it."

He spins you around, pressing you up against the wall before you can even catch your breath. His grip is firm, unyielding—one hand on your hip, the other splayed over your lower back, guiding you exactly where he wants you.

And you? You don't hesitate. You know what he wants.

Your hands brace against the wall as you arch your back, pushing your ass up and out, grinding against his dick like you need to feel him. A deep, ragged breath leaves his lips, his fingers tightening on your hip as his cock twitches, aching for you, for relief.

Fuck.

He scrunches your dress up around your waist, shoving the fabric aside, only to be met with the sight of your little red panties, soaked straight through. Jesus Christ. He can see the shape of your pretty little pussy through the lace, the way your folds cling to the delicate fabric, drenched, so wet you've left a spot on his jeans.

And suddenly, he's fighting with himself.

Because fuck, he wants you. Wants to drop to his knees and bury his face between your legs, to fuck you with his tongue until you're begging, gasping, sobbing his name. That's what he usually does, after all. Dick Grayson never fucks before he tastes. It's his rule, his ritual, his religion.

But tonight? Tonight, you've been a brat.

Grinding on him all night, touching him like it was nothing, teasing him with those pretty, drunken smiles while he sat there, barely holding himself together. You knew what you were doing, and you didn't stop, not even in the car, not even when he warned you.

And maybe you thought you'd get away with it. Cute.

A third option slithers into his mind, sharp and wicked. He exhales slowly, dragging his palm over the swell of your ass, feeling the heat of your skin through the thin lace of your panties.

And then? He presses his fingers against your cunt, rubbing you through the slick fabric, slow, torturous, just the barest pressure over your clit, up and down, teasing.

The noise you make is sinful—a soft, needy moan as you roll your hips, seeking more, seeking him.

He doesn't give it to you. Instead, he slaps your ass, sharp and quick, watching the way you jolt, the way your thighs clench together like you felt it between your legs.

And he swears—swears—he sees your pussy flutter around nothing, even through the fabric.

Oh, you really like this.

He groans, low and deep, as he hooks a single finger into the band of your panties, dragging them to the side and exposing your soaked cunt to the cool air of the room. He watches, fascinated, as your folds glisten, all slick and swollen, so pretty, so needy. But he's not done teasing you.

He slides two fingers between your folds, trailing up and down, deliberately missing your entrance, barely brushing your clit. The way you tremble against him, the way your breath hitches every time he almost gives you what you want—it's driving him insane.

"Baby, please," you gasp, voice breathy, desperate.

He groans, slapping your ass again. Your walls clench around nothing, and his cock throbs, painfully hard, aching to be buried deep inside you. But no, not yet. Because he's curious to see how much you can take.

Your whimper is pathetic, desperate, when you try to grind down against his fingers, seeking more—seeking anything—and he pulls them away. You whine, high and needy, hips rolling, chasing after the touch he just denied you.

But Dick? Oh, he's enjoying this far too much.

His cock is aching, thick and heavy, straining against his clothes, the damp fabric sticking to him from how much precum he's leaking. His whole body feels hot, his blood thick in his veins, his self-control hanging by a thread.

And yet, he can hold himself back a little longer. And he will.

He hums, dragging a single finger down your folds, pressing lightly against your clit, circling it—slow, lazy, like he has all the time in the world. You shudder, your thighs trembling as you press your forehead against the wall, panting softly. Then, without warning, he slides one finger inside you.

You gasp, your slick heat sucking him in immediately, coating him in wetness.

He keeps the pace slow, deliberate, thrusting his finger in and out with steady precision, feeling the way your walls clench around him, already so fucking tight. You push back against his hand, desperate for more, needing more, only for his finger to slip out entirely.

"Fuck," you breathe, frustrated, needy, your cunt clenching around nothing.

Dick smirks because God, you're getting so frustrated, and he loves it. His free hand moves to your ass, spreading you open so he can see better, his breath catching at the way your glistening folds twitch, your arousal dripping down onto your thighs.

"Messy little thing," he murmurs, more to himself than you, but you hear it anyway.

Your breath stutters. Dick doesn't tease you like this. Not verbally, at least. But tonight? Tonight, he's feeling cruel. He resumes fingering you, adding a second finger, stretching you just a little, his thumb rolling over your clit in slow, tight circles.

"Look at you," he mutters, almost toying with the words, like he knows how much they affect you. "You wanted my attention so badly, and now? You can't even ask for it properly."

Your pussy clenches around his fingers, and he groans, dragging them out almost all the way before plunging them back inside.

"Come on," he goads, voice deep, smug. "Use your words, sweetheart. Tell me what you want."

Your nails scrape against the wall, frustration bubbling over, because you do—you do use your words. "Baby—"

And then... he pulls his fingers out. You sob, thighs shaking, your cunt clenching, unclenching, desperate, so close, so needy, so fucking ruined. But he's not done playing with you yet. Not even close.

Because just as your walls flutter around nothing, aching, desperate to be filled, he slides them back in—slowly, so fucking slowly, stretching you all over again, making you feel every inch, every knuckle as he sinks them deep inside your dripping, swollen cunt.

The wet, obscene squelch of your slick-soaked pussy makes his cock throb, and he groans, curling his fingers just right, rubbing against that spot that makes you jerk, makes you keen, makes you shudder.

"Ohhh, fuck, Dick—"

You're trembling, moaning, arms weak as they brace against the wall, legs barely holding you up. Your cunt is wrecked, aching, stretched wide around his fingers as they pump in and out of you.

He's fucking you with them, really fucking you with them now. Hard, fast, each thrust making your slick, messy pussy squelch obscenely. His palm is rubbing against your swollen clit with every movement, sending sharp spikes of pleasure through your already-overstimulated body.

You feel so close, so fucking close, your orgasm curling low in your belly, threatening to snap at any second. Your moans are getting higher, faster, desperate. You can feel it, feel it about to—

He stops and pulls his fingers out entirely.

Your cunt clenches and unclenches around nothing, a pathetic little sob escaping your lips as you whimper, "No, no, baby—please, please..."

"Tsk."

The sound is sharp, cutting through your desperation, making your breath hitch.

And then—

A crack. His large hand lands against your already-flushed ass, a sharp sting blooming across your skin, your walls fluttering from the impact. But before you can so much as moan, he soothes it instantly, grabbing, squeezing, kneading your sore flesh.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice deep, filthy, full of mock sympathy. "So wet, so fucking desperate, dripping all over my fingers like a needy little thing."

Your head is spinning. Your legs are shaking. You're dying. "Please—baby, I can't—"

"Oh, you can."

He shoves his fingers back inside you, hard, your body jolting forward with the sudden stretch. You wail, eyes squeezing shut, back arching as he fucks you hard and fast, his fingers scissoring inside you, stretching you wider as he pumps them deep.

Your walls clench tight, soaking him, making a mess down your thighs. His free hand grips your ass, spreading you open, letting him see the way your pussy flutters and squeezes around his fingers.

"Look at you," he rasps, voice thick, wrecked. "So fucking greedy. You wanted my attention all night, and now you have it. So take it."

Your whole body shudders, his filthy words making your clit throb, making you tighten around his fingers. Your breath catches, muscles locking up as the pleasure spikes too high, too fast, and you know—you know you're about to cum—

And then he stops. Again. Pulls his fingers out. Again. Leaves you a moaning, trembling, ruined fucking mess.

You sob, whining so fucking pathetically, tears pricking your eyes, "Dick, please, I—"

He leans in close. So close you feel his breath against your ear, warm and thick with control.

"You're cumming on my dick," he murmurs, voice low, dangerous, "or not at all."

Your breath catches. And then you hear it. The sound of his belt being undone. The slow zip of his jeans. The soft click of a button. Your heart pounds. You don't dare move. Don't dare breathe. And you fight the urge to glance over your shoulder.

But then you feel it.

Hot, thick, heavy, his dick, pressing between your soft thighs, grinding against your drenched, aching pussy. You whimper, your whole body twitching as he slides between your folds, coating himself in your arousal, his cock dragging slow, deep against your clit.

"God," he groans, voice strained, the swollen head of his cock bumping against your entrance, notching against you, teasing you. "You're dripping. Making a mess all over me, baby."

Your thighs clench around him, slick and warm, making his dick pulse, and you know he's barely holding on.

"Oh, f-fuck."

You're shaking. Whimpering. So soaked you can hear it, each slow, deliberate glide of his cock through your slick folds, each teasing drag of his heavy length over your swollen clit, each lazy, torturous grind against your aching entrance.

It's cruel, the way he does it—his dick throbbing, leaking precum that mixes with the mess between your thighs, the heat of him smearing against your folds, spreading you open just enough to feel it.

To feel him. But not inside. Not where you need him. He slides against your entrance, lets the thick head of his cock push just barely in, lets you feel the stretch, lets you tremble around the intrusion.

And then he pulls back. Slow. Purposeful. Your pussy clenches around nothing. And you sob, pushing back, trying to catch him, trying to make him slip in, but he's faster.

"Ah-ah, my love," he murmurs, strong fingers tightening around your hips, keeping you still as he drags his cock up again, slick and fever-hot, pressing against your clit until your breath catches and your thighs shake.

"So desperate, aren't you?"

He grins when you nod, when you whine, hips twitching, trying to get something, anything, but he denies you again, shoving your panties farther to the side so he can feel every last inch of your messy, aching cunt. His cock pulses, needy, heavy against your folds. And you are soaked.

So wet, it coats his length in a shiny, glistening sheen, his cock sliding effortlessly between your lips, so slick he can feel it drip down his balls, making a filthy mess of both of you. And yet, he still doesn't give it to you.

"Dick, please—"

Your voice is broken, breathless, needy, and it's exactly what he wanted. But instead of giving in, he just smirks. And then he slaps your ass. Hard. The sound echoes through the room, sharp, obscene, your body jolting, pussy clenching so tight he can feel it, even without being inside.

"Please, what?" he breathes, grinding against your slit again, the fat tip of his cock nudging your entrance, teasing your clenching hole.

You cry out, words slurring together as you moan his name, pushing back against him, desperate for him to fill you.

"You're so fucking messy," he rasps, his voice thick, rough. "Such a wet little thing."

Your walls clench around nothing, your body begging for him to finally just—

"Baby, please, I—"

The words die on your tongue the second you feel it. The hot, swollen head of his dick pressing against your aching entrance, thick and leaking, already so fucking hard it makes your thighs tremble. And then he pushes inside.

The stretch is instant, a slow, searing burn that has your lips parting, a gasp breaking free from your throat as your body struggles to take him. He's just so thick, so big, and no matter how many times he fucks you, no matter how many times his fingers work you open beforehand, it's never enough.

He always splits you open so fucking good, always fills you so deep, the blunt head of his cock dragging through your slick, squeezing walls, forcing you to take him, inch by aching inch.

Your pussy flutters, clenching around him, trying to adjust to the stretch, and he groans—a deep, gritted sound that rumbles through his chest as he grips your hips, holding you still, holding you open for him.

"Fuck, baby—"

His voice is wrecked, raw and shaking with restraint as your walls pulse around him, so tight, so wet he slides in almost effortlessly, your slick making a filthy mess of his cock, coating him, dripping down his balls as he sinks deep—

Deeper.

So fucking deep, stuffing you to the brim, his thick cock stretching you open, forcing you to take all of him, and your whole body shudders. And him? He loses it. His restraint—his precious, steady control—snaps like a goddamn rubber band.

Until he bottoms out with a harsh grind of his hips, until he's buried to the hilt, his heavy balls flush against your swollen clit, his cock filling you, stretching you, forcing your body to take him all. And fuck, he feels it.

How hot you are, how tight, how your pussy clings to him, sucking him in so deep he swears he can feel it in his bones, his teeth gritting as you pulse and squeeze around him like you never want to let him go.

And maybe you don't. Because nothing—nothing—feels better than this. Than him.

You're tight. Hot. Warm. Clenching around him. And the way you squeeze him—fuck—his head spins, his vision blurring. His fingers dig into your hips, the bruises already forming, but he can't help it. He pulls out, only to slam right back in.

"Baby—"

Your moan breaks, your body jolting against him as he starts fucking you. Hard. Deep. Fast. The slap of skin against skin echoes through the apartment, obscene, filthy, wet.

He drives into you, his hips snapping forward with a force that has your body rocking, has your thighs trembling, has your pussy clenching around his thick cock like you can't help it.

The way you squeeze him, the way your slick drips down his shaft, making a mess of his balls, making it easier for him to slam into you, deeper, rougher, making your pussy stretch and mold around him, like your body was made to take him.

And you're so fucking tight. So warm, so wet, so needy, your walls fluttering, gripping him like you don't want him to pull out, like you need him, need every inch, need every ruthless, punishing thrust that makes you whimper, that makes your knees threaten to buckle beneath you.

But he doesn't let you fall.

His grip on your hips is firm, unyielding, possessive, fingers digging into your soft skin, keeping you steady as he ruins you, as he forces you to take it, every brutal snap of his hips, every stroke of his cock dragging along your aching, swollen walls, pressing so deep it feels like he's in your fucking throat.

Your pussy clamps around him, and he grunts, the sound low and rough, his rhythm stuttering for just a second before he drives into you harder, making you gasp, making your eyes roll back, making a fresh wave of slick spill down your thighs.

And he loves it. Loves how messy you are, how fucking perfect you feel around him, how your cunt flutters and clenches every time he slams deep, every time his heavy balls slap against your slick, swollen clit, every time his cock stretches you to your limit, but you still take it. You still need it.

And he gives it to you.

Fucking you like he owns you. Like you belong to him. Like he's not stopping until you're falling apart around his dick, soaking him, creaming all over him, until your body is trembling, until you're so fucked out, so wrecked, you can't take another second.

"You wanted this, huh?" His voice is rough, ruined, breath ragged as he pounds into you. "Wanted to be fucked like this? Made me wait all night—fuck—all fucking night, just to be a dripping, needy mess for me as soon as we got home."

You whimper, your pussy tightening around his thick cock, making him groan.

"Oh, you love that, don't you?"

His hand cracks against your ass. You jerk, moaning so prettily, your walls fluttering around him. He kneads your flushed, sensitive flesh, soothing it for a moment before—

Crack. Another slap.

And fuck, your cunt clamps down on him.

"Fuck, there you go," he growls, voice dark, thick with filthy approval. "Squeezing my dick so fucking tight—shit—you love this, huh? Being fucked nice and rough, just how you fucking need it."

You sob, overwhelmed, the pleasure so much, so good, stealing the air from your lungs.

"God," he groans, fucking into you even deeper, your slick, tight heat making his head spin, his control crumbling with every thrust. "This pussy's fucking perfect. Taking me so fucking well, baby."

And you? You're losing your mind. You barely know your own name right now. Because what the fuck? He's never fucked you like this before. Sure, Dick always fucks you good, always knows exactly how to work your body, but this? The filthy words, the rough grip on your hips, the way he spanks you without a second thought—

This is something new.

And through the fog of pleasure, through the way he's slamming into your pussy, his thick cock stretching you wide, fucking you so deep you swear he's in your fucking throat, you love it. You love every second of it.

The sting of his palm against your ass. The sting of his cock stuffing you so full, pushing against that perfect, sweet spot inside you over and over. The sting of being used, of being fucked just how you need it.

And him? Dick is barely holding on. Your pussy is squeezing him so fucking tight, like you're trying to pull his soul straight out of his fucking cock.

"Oh, fuck—" he grits his teeth, his hips slamming against your ass, the impact making you jerk against the wall, making you fucking whimper. "This tight little pussy is fucking unreal—"

And then he does it again. Another hard slap to your already tender ass. And you gasp, your walls clenching down so hard around him he nearly fucking chokes.

"Fucking shit," he groans, his fingers digging into your hips, leaving bruises on your soft skin as he pounds into you, lost in the wet, filthy sounds of his dick driving in and out of your dripping cunt. "So fucking tight... gripping me like crazy."

Your pussy's so soaked, so slippery, your wetness leaking all over his cock, down his balls, your thighs, making an absolute mess of both of you.

"Shit—" His head tips back, sweat dripping down his temple as he wrecks you. "Gonna cum for me, pretty girl? Hmm? Gonna make a fucking mess on my dick?"

And fuck, you are. "God, baby, I—"

Your voice shatters, your whole body shuddering as the orgasm slams into you.

Hard. Fast. All at once. It steals the air from your lungs, makes your vision go white, your toes curling, your nails digging into the wall as you sob.

Your pussy pulses around him, clenching and fluttering, so tight he can barely fucking move, his dick struggling against the suffocating squeeze of your convulsing walls.

Your slick gushes out in hot, messy waves, coating his cock, his balls, dripping down your thighs in sticky, glistening streams. Every aftershock makes you jerk, makes your body spasm, your walls gripping him in tight, desperate pulses, milking him for all he's worth. And he feels it—every ripple, every shudder, every desperate, squeezing tremor that makes his cock throb inside your spasming cunt.

But he doesn't stop. He won't stop.

"Fuck, baby—"

He groans, his voice so thick, so fucked out as he keeps going, fucking you right through your orgasm, his thick cock dragging against your spasming walls, his hands everywhere, grabbing, kneading, spanking.

And your slick? It's fucking everywhere. Dripping out of your swollen cunt, coating his cock, his balls, your trembling thighs, making a sloppy, wet mess between your legs. You barely have time to breathe before you feel it—

The slow, teasing glide of his fingers down your belly, slipping lower, brushing over your sweat-damp skin before reaching your swollen, aching clit.

"Baby, n-no—"

You whimper, your body shuddering as his fingertips press against the throbbing bud, rubbing tight, slow circles. The touch is too much—you can barely fucking breathe from the overstimulation, from how hard he's fucking you, how deep, every thrust knocking the air out of your lungs.

And he laughs. A deep, dark chuckle, rumbling straight from his chest, so fucking smug as he rubs your clit harder.

"No?" he taunts, his voice thick with mockery—with lust—as he watches your legs tremble, watches your body jerk with every flick of his fingers, watches the way your swollen pussy clamps down around his cock, desperate for relief, even as you try to deny it.

"But you've been such a brat, pretty girl," he hums, his thrusts slowing—deep, shallow strokes that have you seeing fucking stars, the tip of his cock dragging against the soft, hot walls of your pussy, hitting your womb with every heavy grind of his hips. "You were so desperate, weren't you?"

He tuts, rubbing faster, making your whole body jolt, your knees buckling as your arms nearly give out, leaving you gasping, moaning, tears of pleasure blurring your vision.

"Now you're gonna take everything I give you."

His free hand slides up your body, rough and greedy, grabbing at your hips, your waist, your ribs—before reaching your tits.

And then he pulls your dress down. The fabric pools around your waist, leaving your soft, aching breasts bare, and they bounce with every sharp, hungry thrust of his hips.

"Fuck—"

His voice wavers, his movements stuttering for a fraction of a second as he watches, completely fucking mesmerized.

Your tits are perfect. Soft and sensitive, your nipples tight and pebbled, practically begging for his touch.

And he gives it to you. He palms one of them roughly, squeezing, kneading, his thumb teasing over your nipple before rolling it between his fingers, tugging just right, making your back arch, making your cunt pulse around him.

"Dick," you sob, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave, your body trembling as your orgasm builds again, sharp and intense, growing so fucking fast you can barely think.

He can feel it. The way your pussy flutters around him, the way your thighs shake, the way your moans turn into desperate, high-pitched whimpers. And he doesn't slow down. If anything, he fucks you harder.

"That's it, baby," His voice is thick, dripping with lust, with filth, his fingers still working your swollen clit, his hips snapping forward in that relentless, brutal pace. "Cum for me. Fuck, I need to feel you cum again—"

And then you break. You moan, your body convulsing, your back arching as pleasure rips through you. Your pussy clamps down hard, squeezing his cock so tight, so wet and hot, milking him in the most obscene way. And he groans, long and deep, his fingers digging into your skin as he keeps fucking you through it, drawing it out, making your body tremble with overstimulation.

"God, fuck," he grits, feeling your slick gush out, making a mess, dripping all over his cock, his balls, his thighs. "So fucking tight—"

And he doesn't stop. Not until you shudder under him, not until your body collapses, boneless and spent. He's so fucking close.

He can feel it. That sharp, unbearable heat coiling at the base of his spine, the tight pull in his gut, his whole body tense as he pounds into you, hard and deep, his dick soaked in your wetness. Every thrust pushes his cock against that perfect, spongy spot inside you that has you gasping, whimpering, legs shaking beneath him.

And you—God, you're so fucking tight, so wet, so warm, sucking him in so deep, so desperate.

"F-Fuck," he chokes out, voice ragged, his hand gripping your hip so fucking tight, like he's holding on for dear life.

And you clench around him. Tight, wet, perfect, and he breaks. His whole body jerks as he thrusts deep, hips snapping forward one last time, burying himself to the fucking hilt as his cock pulses inside you.

Thick, hot spurts of cum flood your cunt, filling you up until you feel it, sticky and wet, deep in your belly, so much it seeps out around his cock, leaking down your thighs, mixing with the mess of slick already dripping from your swollen, used pussy.

And it undoes you. The second you feel it—his hot cum spilling inside you, claiming you—you shatter. You sob, your whole body tensing, back arching as pleasure rips through you, as your pussy clenches around him, milking his cock for everything, sucking every last drop from his pulsing length.

Your walls squeeze him, gripping him, and he groans, long and low, his hips jerking, his cock throbbing, spitting more cum inside you, stuffing you so full it drips from your stretched little hole, trailing down in thick, filthy strings.

It's so fucking intense, so overwhelming, your orgasm slamming into you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless, helpless, your pussy spasming around his cock so fucking tight he chokes on a moan. His hands grip your waist so hard it burns as he forces himself deeper, grinding his dick into your wrecked, soaked cunt, pushing his cum deeper, making a fucking mess of you.

And you cream around him, your slick gushing, your cunt squeezing his still-hard length, milking him, coating him in your release, dripping down your inner thighs in slick, milky streaks.

You're so full, so fucking wrecked, your pussy fluttering, overstimulated, still clamping down around his spent cock like you don't want him to leave, like you want to keep every drop of his hot, thick load inside you.

And he fucks it into you. Even as he trembles, even as his body shudders with every aftershock, he keeps moving. Slow, deep, languid strokes, fucking his cum deeper, feeling the way your walls flutter around him, milking every last drop, until it's too much, until you're both shaking, until neither of you can breathe.

And then he stills. His dick still buried inside you, his body pressed against your back, both of you panting, trembling, moaning soft and breathless into the sweat-damp air.

And then he hears it. A sniffle. And just like that, he's back. The haze of lust fades, replaced with something softer, something tender, something so undeniably him.

"My love..."

His voice is soft, low, thick with concern as his arms slip around your waist, pulling you close, his nose nuzzling into your soft hair. "Are you okay?"

And you—God, you can't even speak. Because this was everything. The best fuck of your life. Because it's him. Your boyfriend. The love of your fucking life.

Because he's so perfect, so good to you, even after ruining you like this. And so you just nod, still breathless, your whole body limp against him, sinking into his warmth, his touch, into him.

And he... he can't believe he did that. Because this—this is new. He's always been gentle with you, careful, attentive. Because he adores you, because he wants you to feel safe, to feel cherished, to know that he loves you more than anything. But tonight, fuck, tonight you did something to him. And he liked it. Maybe a little too much.

His lips press against your shoulder—soft, lingering—like an apology, like a silent I've got you.

And he does.

Even as you tremble in his arms, even as you gasp, still shuddering, still fucked-out and overwhelmed, he holds you—one arm wrapped tight around you, his other hand slipping down, splaying wide over your soft, aching belly, grounding you in the aftermath of everything.

His touch is everything—soft, gentle, his.

Your breathing is still shaky, uneven, little exhales of pleasure spilling from your lips as you slowly come down—drunk, euphoric, and so fucking warm, floating somewhere between exhaustion and pure, blissful satisfaction.

And then—

"Baby..." Your voice is so soft, so breathless, and then you gasp out, "That was... God, I can't even explain it."

And his breath hitches. Because fuck—

He suddenly feels bad. Like maybe he pushed you too far, like maybe he should've held back, like maybe he should've stopped, should've made sure you were okay before ruining you like that.

Because you've never told him you like stuff like this. And truth be told, he didn't think he had it in him, either.

But God.

The way you melt into his touch, the way you sigh, blissed-out and so fucking content, the way you're smiling, lips parted, breath shallow and slow. Maybe he didn't push you too far. Maybe he gave you exactly what you wanted.

So he swallows, presses his lips to the top of your head, and then he pulls out—slow. Careful.

But still, you whimper, and he winces. "I'm sorry, baby, I—"

But before he can finish, you're turning in his arms, slow and lazy, and fuck—

Your face is flushed, your makeup smudged, lips swollen from how many times you bit them trying to hold back your moans. And still, you are the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

And then... you giggle. And it wrecks him.

Because you're fucking glowing, drunk and giddy, your arms looping around his neck, your body pressing flush against his, and he can feel it. Your warmth. Your breath. Your happiness. Your love.

And he's looking at you like you just rewrote the stars, like you just changed something in him, like he doesn't know what the fuck to do with himself anymore.

And then you murmur, "I mean it. That was... so fucking good, baby."

And he just laughs, pressing his lips to your forehead, wrapping his arms tight around you, pulling you in, holding you close like he'll never let you go.

"You're impossible, pretty girl."

And you pout, all soft and tired and adorable, and fuck—he needs to kiss you, but before he can, you whisper, "Maybe... but you still love me, don't you?"

And he doesn't even hesitate.

"More than anything."

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤBLOODY LEGSㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Yandere Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : Would they ever force themselves on (r*pe) their darling?

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne.

☆⁠ WARNING : Pretty much obvious. No smut. This discussion involves non-consensual acts, coercion, and obsessive behavior. If you’re sensitive to such content, I’d advise against reading further.

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

Would he? No.

Bruce is the last person who would ever force himself on you. Despite his obsession, his rigid sense of morality, guilt, and deep-seated trauma make it impossible for him to cross that line. Bruce operates on control—self-control above all else. No matter how much he craves you, he will never take you by force.

However, Bruce’s obsession manifests differently—through extreme control. You aren’t allowed to leave, to date, to breathe without his permission. He isolates you, makes you dependent on him, ensures you feel like he’s your only option. He’ll gaslight you, manipulate you into staying, but physically taking you against your will? That’s a line he will not cross. He’d rather break himself than break you.

But if you try to escape? The punishment will be brutal. Not sexually, but physically restrained, locked away, stripped of any autonomy. He’ll remind you that you are his, that he is the only one who can protect you, and he’ll do anything to keep you in his grasp.

“I will never hurt you like that, but you’re not leaving me. Ever.”

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

Would he? No. But... it’s complicated.

Dick is a walking paradox of affection and control. He loves you—adores you—but his love is overwhelming, suffocating, all-consuming. He needs you to love him back, to crave him as much as he craves you. He won’t rape you outright, but his obsession manifests in ways that blur the line between coercion and consent.

Dick wants you to want him. He’ll manipulate, guilt-trip, and play the victim to make you feel like you’re the bad guy for denying him. He showers you with affection, attention, and when you pull away, he punishes you emotionally—not through force, but through withdrawal. Cold stares, quiet disappointment, an unbearable sadness in his voice that makes you feel like you’re the one hurting him.

However, if you push him too far—if you reject him outright, try to leave, break his heart—he might snap. In a moment of desperation, he’ll hold you down, kiss you too hard, grip your wrists with bruising force—never quite crossing the line, but so close it makes your skin crawl.

“Don’t do this to us, baby. You love me—I know you do.”

— JASON TODD ⋆

Would he? Yes, if pushed too far.

Jason is a storm of rage, love, and possessiveness, and once he has you, he’s never letting go. He tries to be good for you—tries so damn hard—but Jason is violent by nature. If you love him back? He worships you, would burn the world for you. But if you fight him? Try to run? Betray him?

That’s when he loses control.

Jason sees you as his, and if you deny him, if you reject his love after everything he’s done for you—he might snap in the worst way possible. It won’t be romantic, it won’t be tender—it’ll be about power, dominance, punishment. And worst of all? He’ll regret it after. He’ll break down, apologize, sob into your skin—but he’ll do it again, and again, because he can’t stop himself.

Jason would justify it in his mind—tell himself you belong to him, that he’s teaching you a lesson. And after? He’d be even more obsessive, treating you like a fragile doll, convinced you’ll leave if he doesn’t own every part of you.

“You think you can just leave me? After everything? No, princess. You don’t get to choose. You’re mine.”

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

Would he? Yes. Without hesitation because he believes it's his right.

Damian is the coldest, most possessive, and least remorseful of them all. Unlike Jason, who spirals in guilt, Damian doesn’t feel guilty—because in his mind, you already belong to him. There’s no moral dilemma, no hesitation. If you resist him, you’re wrong. If you say no, you don’t know what’s good for you.

Damian was raised by the League of Assassins, by Talia, by Bruce. He was never taught the concept of “no.” If he wants something, he takes it. If he wants you, he takes you. In his mind, it isn’t rape—it’s claiming what’s already his. You’re his wife, his queen, his possession.

Unlike Jason, who acts in rage, Damian is calculated, methodical, deliberate. He’ll drug you if he has to, bind you in silk restraints, keep you locked away in luxury until you accept your fate. You will love him, because you have no other option.

“You misunderstand, beloved. You were mine from the moment I saw you. Struggling is beneath you.”

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[invincibledc]

⋆˚🐾˖°𝑩𝑨𝑻𝑩𝑶𝒀𝑺 𝑿 𝑩𝑳𝑨𝑪𝑲𝑪𝑨𝑻!𝑴𝑨𝑳𝑬 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹⋆˚🐾˖°

★ Dick

“Are we fighting, or flirting?” Is the whole thing of the relationship between you two. You could be a protege of Catwoman, and he’d be like,

“Hey, this kinda reminds me of something..” with a clear smirk.

He thinks this finna be an another catwoman x Batman generation. If you wanna play along with it (wink wink)

Either way, with your acrobatic ability like his, I can just imagine the way you two battle is like dancing. You’re not harming each other, but trying to stop the other from stopping the goal of this night.

“You really need to stop trying to stop be bird boy.” You said with a slick tone. Nightwing, aka Dick raises a brow as he blocks one of your strikes. “Why? Scared to hurt me?” With a small huff, you did a backhand spring. “Nope, just badluck.” With that, a potted plant from an old lady’s fire escape dropped onto his head. Nightwing grunted, rubbing his head as he blinked away any unconsciousness. Looking up to get back to fighting, you were gone.

“Damnit… was hoping he’d stay longer”

No worries, the chase is still on.

★ Jason

100% sexual tension. Bickering, is on the table.

Literally, you could be trying to do something, and he would pop up leaning against the wall looking the bad boy he is.

“Did the kitty lost his leash?” You can just hear the tease in his voice. Turning around, with a small smile. You placed a hand on your hip, “Why? Wanna tame me?” “If you let me.”

LIKE HELLO??? Get a room.

Either way, he’d be the type to be like,

“Oh blackcat? I don’t really care for him.” Knowing damn well he watches you from afar, making sure no one gets you. Your his to tease, already called dibs. Whoops!

Okay so maybe he has checked you out, it’s just that tight ass suit you wear. It makes him wanna ravish you right there and then.

But he has to remember who he is and be civil while he patrols crime alley.

He’s not forgetting that one time when you used your bad luck on him the first time.

He chasing after you, you moved like silk, moving through thigh spaces as you laughed.

“Getting tired red hood?” Jason grumbled under his helmet as he keep trying to catch up. This has been lasting for almost an hour. He’s still human, but damn were you quick.

“Me? Never.” He said for you to hear as he was so close to grabbing you. You slide into the street, standing still before turning around.

“Aww… shucks. You caught me. I’m out of things man.” You said, raising your hands up as if you were being arrested. Jason walked slowly towards you, sensing something was up, he stopped moving.

“What are you up to?” You dropped your hands and crossed them.

“Me? I’m up to nothing, but you may wanna watch where you’re standing.”

Jason raised a brow before a bright light flashed on him, that’s when a massive moving truck hits him, flying him away to hit hard ground.

Snickering, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“CYA SUCKERR!!” You then ran off.

★ Tim

Surprisingly, you’re calm to Tim. You know who he is, you’re not dumb, but he’s not either.

“Y/N L/N, aka blackcat.” He says as he sat down on the booth of a fast food place you were at. You couldn’t help but giggle, placing the milkshake down as Tim has his hands intertwined.

“Tim drake. Aka, Red Robin. What pleasures do I have with you?” You lean back with a charming grin.

Tim had to hold everything back from staring at your face hard.

“I just need your help with a case, and I found out that you were part of it.” A serious expression and tone came over Tim as you could only hum.

“Ahh you’re talking about the one with the man who had the joker gas?”

“Yes.”

“Sure. But only if I get something out of this.” Tim’s eyebrow raised up.

“Like what?”

“I know you’re some rich boy taking care of your daddy’s company.. soooo I want like some new devices for more of my own heists.”

Tim sighs, running his fingers through his hair. You were checking your nails before smirking. “I’m waiting~”

“I’m not helping a criminal.”

“Oh please, I’m an anti-hero Timmy boy.”

The family all looking at Tim crazy when they see the infamous anti hero with him, you would be playing with his hair as he is doing detective work.

“Stop that.” “Nahhh, you’re cute with messy hair timmy.”

And now his face is dusted with pink.

When will this nightmare end for him. (He doesn’t want it to end)

★ Damian

Damian says does NOT fuck with blackcat. Says he hates him, says he’s a nuisance, says he hopes he gets locked in a cage.

But that’s just teenage love when literally when you were hit, he went rapid and took down whatever hurt you.

He could say he hates you, with venom in his voice. But the moment you smile at him, god he’s putty.

His green eyes staring into your [color] eyes, he grabs your hand. The moment is soft, he feels like he could try and talk to you about anything. Despite you doing bad things for the good use, he understands.

“You’re such a softie for me birdy.” You chuckled, squeezing his hand. Damian scoffs, “tt, please.. you’re just holding me back.”

“Does this so called, 'holding me back' require you to hold my hand and kiss me?” You said teasingly as you started to notice Damian coming close to you.

“Yes, but the kissing hasn’t begin yet.”

“Now it does.”

You two kissed, it short but passionate. But it holds what he wants to show to you.

Later on, Bruce catches Damian sneaking in the manor. Damian hides how he is seeing someone, especially a young anti-hero that holds his heart.

IN SECRET! He isn’t telling a soullll, not even Titus. Who knows what those barks can do.

Bruce smirks, he understands that when you’re a Wayne, you have game.

Game is game.

Bruce and Damian having a talk, and it’s just Bruce talking about Selina.

It’s just funny to imagine Damian is hoping to die in this moment as his father talks about Catwoman, realizing he really is his father’s son.

Like father like son.

[notsodelirious]

Loyalty to the throne — Dick Grayson

synopsis: You’re engaged for political reasons but love another

notes: SFW, nothing else to add really, it’s a standard x reader lol

tags: Royalty AU, gn!reader, forbidden relationship, political alliances, knight!Dick Grayson, no use of y/n

Next part

Three sharp knocks at the door.

A pause.

“Come in.”

Dick pushed the door open slowly to reveal your tired form hunched over your desk, more disheveled than he’d seen you in years, papers scattered across your space. Your head in your hands, you didn’t look up to greet him.

“Your Highness,” he said softly as he stepped in, closing the door behind himself, “Sir Wallace was supposed to accompany you down to dinner. He said you dismissed him.”

“I- have work,” you mumbled, voice stilted as you sighed, rubbing your face as if it would dispel the exhaustion in your bones. “Apologies, I will-“

The soft thunk of a plate being laid before you interrupted your thoughts. You raise your head, staring almost incredulously at the dinner that had been placed in front of you, on a set of random legal documents.

“It’s just pheasant and roasted greens,” Dick said as he gestured towards the plate.

“I…” you hesitated as you picked up your fork. You pushed around your food a little, separating the greens from the meat. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“So what’s really got you avoiding dinner?” he asked as he leaned against your desk, picking up a random document to look over—a proposed legislation from a faraway lord. It was completely asinine, pretty words to try to give himself complete control over his land without needing the king’s input: some people felt just a bit too entitled to lives and propriety that weren’t their own. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with your betrothed?”

You snorted softly as you pulled a piece of pheasant off the bone to chew on it slowly. It was good, arguably, but the mention of your engagement made it sour in your mouth, turning to ash and char.

“What about my betrothed?” you asked, almost dismissively as if the conversation about your marriage was none of your business, didn’t necessitate your involvement.

“Your Highness…”

You sighed as your shoulders slumped a little further.

“There’s nothing to say, Grayson,” you said quietly as you stood, leaving your practically full plate of food untouched. You rounded your desk, fingers trailing across the unattended documents staked upon each other. “My engagement is… an eventuality I will come to terms with.”

“Your father is growing impatient.”

“He will wait,” you came a stop in front of him, staring up into soulful blue eyes—Dick’s darker tan and raven black hair had always given his eyes an eerie glow but over the years, they had become a source of comfort. Meeting them in a crowd of people never failed to make your heart slow. And that night, alone in your study, they made your heart beat furiously, racing in your chest like it resented being kept in a rib cage. “There’s no where for me to go anyway…”

“It won’t be all that terrible,” Dick said softly as he uncrossed his arms, tilting his shoulders so he was a little closer to you, leaning down to close the height distance—you were by far not short person but Dick still had a couple of inches on you.

“No, I suppose not,” you said, “There could be worse people to be stuck with.”

“And you’ll be cared for and safe,” Dick added. Your leg brushed against his as you drifted closer. You could feel the warmth of his skin so close, his breath fanned across your face, you could see how his chest rose and fell under his tunic.

“You keep me plenty safe,” you mumbled softly, practically leaning into his shoulder as you spoke with a small pout, like a petulant child. You were aware that as royalty, you could act quite spoilt at times—it came with the territory when everything was handed to you at a young age—but in that moment, it felt deserved. Your heart deserved to be a petulant.

Dick laughed softly as he placed his index under your chin, tilting your gaze up towards his own.

“You know it’s not the same,” he said, his voice almost a breath, as his hand moved to cup your cheek. His thumb brushed across your cheekbone.

“You’re of noble descent.”

“Through adoption. I’m just a circus brat.”

“You’re a knight.”

“Still not of noble blood.”

You sighed, leaning into his touch as you closed your eyes.

“Can’t you come with me?”

“My loyalty is to the king,” he said, almost mournfully as he brought his other hand up to your face. He took a deep breath. “You’ll be happy.”

You opened your eyes.

“Dick…”

The kiss was slow, steady, desperate as he held you. His lips were soft, so kind as he poured love and devotion into you, proved his devotion to you. You reciprocated with as much care as you could, cradling the back of his head.

He rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes so you wouldn’t have to see the tears brimming his eyes.

“You’ll be happy…”

(genuinely couldn’t decided if I wanted them to kiss but I’m glad I did in the end <3)

(also lmk if y’all want a sequel because I really enjoyed this one)

[melwsnt]

HIII, I’m so happy someone still writes for dick Grayson titans, I was wondering if you could make a dating headcanons list for dick Grayson for GN or fem. Thank you so much if you ever get to doing it!!

yes yes and yes. He and the show are so underrated people are missing out! Finding fics on here is so hard so your wish is my command! If you have any other requests for dick let me know<3

DATING DICK GRAYON WOULD INCLUDE…

word count. 1,1k

──────────୨ৎ──────────

- this is a very obvious one but, dick is so protective. Given that you’re basically fighting villains like every day, seeing bruises on you makes his blood boil. He loves doing this with you, but if you stayed home, had a normal job that didn’t require risking death all the time, he wouldn’t complain about that because you’d be safe and he wouldn’t have to worry as much.

-he does think about what a normal life would look like by your side so often. Fighting crime is his lifeline, but so are you and if you asked him to, he’d quit in an instant. Only you matter.

-even if he was raised in the weirdest way possible, I mean he literally got taken in by Batman himself- he was also raised to be a gentleman, his parents made sure of it, and so did Bruce- though he wasn’t here that much.

-Dick would do anything- and I mean anything to keep you safe. Whether it’s killing people, fighting them until enough blood is drawn, or just shelter you, he does it. You do feel a bit over protected from time to time- but you know he means well. He tries not to suffocate you, and he knows the limits, but it’s dick..

-you do make fun of his name sometimes. Richard makes you laugh, but Dick is too funny to you. The first time he introduced himself, you laughed in his face. Dick has a big ego, so he couldn’t stand you for the first couple minutes, and then he got to know you, and he forgot about that incident though you never fail to remind him that his name makes you laugh.

-so… in bed? Yeah. You know where his nickname comes from. (Obviously didn’t come from that but you know what I mean.) Or at least it suits him. Dick is GREAT. Like mind blowing Great. Everytime is like the first time, a good first time. The princess treatment is crazy. If you’re too tired, don’t even worry about lifting a single finger, he’ll take care of you.

-whenever you’re in the middle of fighting evil people, dick sometimes gets distracted. He either looks at you, to see if you’re okay, which he knows you always are because you’re one hell of a fighter, but he also lets his eyes trail over your body when he has a second. He thinks you look hot. He thinks that you, look like the most beautiful piece of art he’s ever seen. The way you move, the way your body’s snatched under your costume.. it does drive him crazy. He did get knocked out a couple times in the past because he was too distracted to see the fist coming.

-dick is a yapper. He’s such a gossip. He’s also pretty funny. He makes you belly laugh at whatever hour, if you’re laying in bed, naked or not, he’ll tell a joke, or something embarrassing that happened to him, and you’ll laugh so loud he’ll have to put his hand on your mouth, shush you and tell you not to wake up the others, which immediately will make you laugh even harder. He’s so good at it. And he loves it.

-because danger comes with the job, if and/or when you get hurt, which is pretty much inevitable, dick is the biggest caregiver. He’ll put any plan aside, he doesn’t care about hurting anyone’s feelings because he has to take care of you. You have to beg him to get away from you for a little bit. Go on a walk, clear his head, because he’s always there. You love it- but he can’t give up his entire life for you. When it comes to him getting hurt though, even if you try to be the same, he doesn’t let you. He has more authority than you, so you comply. HOWEVER! When either of you come home after a fight, are all bloody, and have cuts that need bandaging, you can be sure it’ll end with steamy sex. One of you is stitching up the other, looks up, ( most of the time you stitch him up) he gives you the eyes, and you’re gone. Most of the time- that’s the best sex.

-dick is a great cook. He’s great at baking too. Baking with him is very therapeutic. A lot of times, he’ll bake and you’ll be siting on the counter next to him, he thinks it’s hot, so he’ll go stand between your legs and make out. Forget about whatever it is you’re baking, it’s just you and him, hands all over each other and you might end up in the bedroom. However, there’s a very high chance Rachel and/or gar might walk in on you, close their eyes with their hands and pretend like they just witnessed the grossest thing ever. Full of ‘ew!’ ‘Get a room!’ ‘That’s so gross!’ And you’ll just end up falling into a fit of laughter with dick.

-he’s big on words of affirmation and physical touch. He tells you he loves you any chance he gets because he knows what you do is dangerous, and a lot of people want the team dead. When it comes to physical touch, it doesn’t have to be sexual. Whether it’s a hand on your shoulder, at the small of your back, on your thigh or just holding your hand, dick needs that. He needs to feel you, to know that you’re close, to feel your presence, just to touch you.

-neither of you have families. His only family is pretty much Bruce, and although he loves you, and loves what you do for Dick, the man is cold and absent. So you’re pretty much each others family. Obviously, the team is your family, and you love them to death, but you know dick is the only one who has no chance of walking away. He’s probably the only one who’ll stay by your side until you’re grey and old, and you don’t mind. Neither of you can see your future with anyone else, it’s either you together, or you alone, no one else could fill in for him, or for you.

-I see this as friends to lovers maybe? Definitely unspoken feelings on both sides for a while, then maybe one of you gets hurt, and it ends up in a full love confession. Probably from you, you ramble, you’re scared to lose him, blah blah blah and he shuts you up by kissing you. It’s a heavy, passionate kiss that tells you he’s been wanting to do that for ages. From then on he can’t take his eyes off of you.

[yueebby]

meet cute — dick grayson

synopsis. dick finally meets his match.

contents. fluff, meet cute, banter!!, dick found someone that matched his freak, matchmaker haley, established relationship

notes. quick drabble. there’s nothing i love more than writing banter for dick

The first thing Dick registers is the smell of coffee, its scent curling through the morning air. The second thing is the warmth pressed against his side, a familiar weight shifting slightly as the bed dips.

"You make the coffee, or am I dreaming?" he mumbles, cracking an eye open.

"Dreaming," you tease, brushing your fingers through his hair. "But I got up first, so I figured I'd be nice."

Dick hums, pulling you back down beside him. "Mm. Marry me."

"Already did, remember?"

"Best decision of my life." He presses a lazy kiss to your temple. Dick softly grips your chin before slotting his mouth against yours. Outside the bedroom, Haley lets out an impatient whine, toenails clicking against the hardwood.

A smile curves against your lips as Dick deepens the kiss, his free hand trailing down your back, holding you close like he never wants to let go. His grip is firm, his warmth intoxicating and you already know exactly where this morning is heading.

But the insistent scratching and pitiful whines from outside the door refuse to be ignored.

You pull away just as Dick leans in, earning yourself a dramatic whine of protest. His lips chase yours, his grip tightening. "Babe," he murmurs, a little breathless, "she can wait."

"She’s been waiting," you counter, amused. "And she’s missed you."

"Well, I missed you," he huffs, leaning in again, only for you to dodge him, fixing him with a knowing look.

He sighs, defeated. "Alright, alright. Duty calls."

Grumbling, he rolls out of bed, and you laugh, tossing a pillow at his back as he trudges to the door.

“Be nice,” you tease as he lets Haley in.

The second the door cracks open, she barrels into him, tail wagging so hard she practically vibrates. Dick catches her effortlessly, laughing as she smothers him in licks, all lingering traces of sleep and reluctance melting away.

“She’s our little matchmaker, after all,” you remind him, watching the way his face softens.

Dick looks up at you, a smile tugging at his lips between Haley’s eager kisses. His laugh fills the room, warm and familiar. Your favorite sound.

"How could I ever forget?"

Dick hadn’t expected anything unusual that day. It had been a normal walk. Until it wasn’t.

Haley was a good dog. A well-trained, even-tempered pitbull who never pulled on the leash, never bolted, never strayed. So when she suddenly yanked forward with enough force to nearly dislocate Dick’s shoulder, he barely had time to react before she took off.

"What the–" He staggered after her, half-jogging, half-stumbling as she dragged him down the street. "Haley, slow down! What has gotten into you?"

She wasn’t listening. Her ears were perked, tail wagging like she’d just spotted the world's biggest stash of treats. Dick barely had a second to brace himself before she barreled straight into a woman standing at the corner, nearly knocking her over.

"I'm so sorry–Haley!" Dick gasped, yanking the leash back.

The woman let out a startled laugh, catching herself just in time. "Wow, okay. Not how I expected to start my morning."

Dick winced. "Yeah, sorry about that. She doesn’t usually– uh– body-check people. Are you okay?"

"I think so. Can’t say the same for my dignity, though."

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, if it helps, she only does this to people she likes. Which is a very exclusive club, by the way."

"Oh? So I should be honored?" you asked, arching a brow.

"Very." He smirked. "You’re in the same category as rotisserie chicken and that one mailman she has a crush on."

You snorted. "High praise. I’ll try to live up to it."

The two of you linger on the sidewalk, grinning at each other like idiots. The moment stretches just long enough for him to realize he had forgotten to introduce himself.

“Oh– uh, I’m Richard. But everyone calls me Dick.”

Your lips twitch as you nod slowly. “Nice to meet you, Dick.”

The way you say it is so smooth, effortless. It shouldn’t make his brain short-circuit, but damn if it doesn’t send a spark straight through him. He swears he can feel it in his fingertips.

Great. He’s a fully grown man, and somehow, you’ve got him feeling like a teenager with a crush.

Haley’s tail was going so fast her entire body wiggled with it, pure joy wrapped in fur. You crouched down, scratching behind her ears. “Well, aren’t you gorgeous?”

Dick cleared his throat, barely audible. “Yeah, you are.”

Your head snapped up. “What was that?”

“Must’ve been the wind.”

“Oh,” you mused, turning back to Haley. “Your dad’s got a pretty face, but I think he might be a little unhinged.” You don’t bother being discreet.

The pitbull tilted her head, eyes flicking between the two of you like she was weighing the evidence.

Dick huffed a laugh. “She’s deciding whether to defend my honor or side with you.”

“Smart girl, taking her time with the verdict.” You grinned, giving Haley an approving pat. “But seriously, I’ve never seen a dog so determined to tackle a stranger. Did you train her to be your wingman, or is she just naturally talented?"

Dick placed a hand over his heart. "I would never exploit my dog for romance."

"Uh-huh. So this is just a coincidence?"

"Purely."

"Right." You smirked. "And I’m supposed to believe this isn’t a well-rehearsed scheme?"

Dick grinned. "If it were, I’d like to think I’d have prepared better material. I’m usually much smoother."

"You’re really not."

"That’s the tragic part."

You laughed, standing up and dusting off your pants. "Well, Dick, I think your dog just got you a date."

He blinked. "Was that a yes? Or did Haley just finesse me into this?"

"Guess you’ll have to keep up and find out."

Dick opened his mouth, then paused, brow furrowing. "Wait, did I even get your name?"

You grinned. "Did I give it?"

"No, but I feel like I should have it before I let you con me into a date."

You tilted her head, considering. "I suppose that’s fair. But where’s the fun in just handing it over?"

Dick huffed a laugh. "So what, I have to earn it?"

"You’re catching on."

Haley barked once, tail thumping against the pavement like she was enjoying this far too much.

"Alright." Dick crouched, giving his dog a scratch behind the ears. "Haley, girl, looks like we’ve got a mystery to solve."

You laughed, shaking your head as you turned to walk away. "Try to keep up, Dick."

In that moment, he knew he was in trouble.

Dick didn’t have to be told twice.

comments n reblogs are appreciated!

[eternallyhauntingthehouseoflove]

Bruce Wayne fucked his partners through the mattress—and it depended on who and why. If you know he’s Batman, then he’d fuck for stress relief, to uncoil the sickening knot in his belly. However, if you’re unaware of his nighttime activities and believe you’d just lucked up meeting Bruce Wayne, then he’d fuck for ego. He’s got a point to prove: all those years as a recluse hadn’t dulled his ability to grant a lady a good time; that the stories of his youthful adventures are true. (Though his ego bleeds over into Batman as well since he wonders if he’s too old to still be the Dark Knight. If he’s lost his edge).

Bruce’s stamina is insane. He’d have you spread on your belly while he drove his cock into you. One hand enclosed around your throat, the other encircling your waist, and his lips grazing over your ear. Warm gusts of air caressing your cheek with each huff and grunt. The faint scent of his cologne lingering within the atmosphere, though it had been toppled by the aroma of sweat and sex. “Fuck,” he gritted out,” so tight f’me, doll. Only for me. Mine, aren’t you?” There was pride in being the one to undo Bruce Wayne, to make him cuss and grunt like a caveman, to draw out his Gotham accent. He was usually so put-together and driven.

Time warped and melted whenever Bruce had you beneath him. Despite his age, (don’t let him hear that) he could fuck for hours, content to drive his cum back into your hole until he came again. In fact, he enjoyed the slickness. There was something about keeping you beneath him that soothed the territorial monster caged within him like Mr. Hyde. Rarely could you lure the possessive, emerald eyed, envious beast out; Bruce was old and had dealt with his fair share of women seeking an emotional response. But with the perfect concoction of circumstances could you shatter the manacles binding the dominating, jealous, spiteful side of him—and it was wonderful.

Dick Grayson (Dixon’s version) preferred to let his lover work for it. There was a tantalizing element to gazing at his partner while she straddled him, and attempted to sink down into his cock. Dick wasn’t girth-y like Jason or Bruce (nor as unshaven). No, Dick was slim and long—and pretty. Dick was shaven and trimmed, smooth and hairless if he could help it. He never liked to offer up unshaven goods; he thought it was rude.

“God, you. . . you ride like a pro,” he breathed out, nigh gasping as though he’d run a race beside Usain Bolt. A sheen of sweated coated his toned physique, and a scarlet blush left a fiery trail from his cheeks down to his neck. “Don’t stop till I say.” Dick is more selfish in bed than Jason. Unlike Jason, Dick knows he’s cute—pretty, even. He’s confident both in himself and his ability to be selfish and still make you cum. . . hard. He won’t hesitate to assume control if he’s not liking your rhythm, or if he just wants to be a little shit and knock your orgasm off kilter. “Oh, were you going to cum? Sorry. Didn’t notice.”

Speaking of orgasms, Dick cums beautifully, even when he’d rather be described as ‘’manly’’ and handsome. He couldn’t restrain the tremble of his muscular thighs, or quell the furnace roaring inside his belly, or freeze the stars bursting behind the paleness of his eyelids. “I know, pretty baby. I know. Tight, aren’t I? Let it out for me,” you cooed, caressing his sweat-slick, inky black curls. Dick nodded quick and desperately, coal black lashes falling over his oceanic eyes. “Yes. Yes. That’s it. Gonna cum again. Just keep going.” The power he’d stolen returned with a vengeance. He’d gone limp beneath you. Fucked out, his breaths tremulous and stuttered. Naturally, Dick’s palms found purchase upon your breasts, pinching and flicking your nipples before he exerted the last of his strength to lean forward and suckle one into his mouth.

(There’s hints of a mommy kink if you squint hard enough).

Jason Todd loved to see his partner deep-throat his cock. It’s a personal pleasure of his, the one time he allows himself to be selfish during sex. He’s not sure why it’s fascinating to him. Perhaps the sheer primality of watching you struggle to swallow his thickness intrigues him, excites him, causes the hairs on his forearms to stand at attention and the nerves within his body to buzz like a million bees trapped beneath his skin.“That’s right, baby, keep going. Till I see tears,” he murmured, as his large hands slithered up into your nape and tightened in your hair.” Show me how much you love me, baby.”

“What a beauty.” Jason’s chocolate smeared irises tipped backward, his slender hips bucking upward into the warm cavern of your throat, his cock spewing viscous ropes of pearlescent cum. Jason’s frame fell slack against the sofa. Sated. Only you could loosen the tautness in his shoulders like a ball of yarn. Boy, did he adore you.” I hope you can go all night. Cuz I got some steam I been needin’ t’ blow off.”

[mostly-imagines]

Doghouse

dick grayson x afab!reader

aka dick’s in trouble…

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, implied smut, discussion of sex

“Baby…”

You don’t look up from your book as you hum, “Hm?”

“You’re being mean,” he pouts from the end of the couch.

You purse your lips. “If I am, you deserve it.”

His head lulls backwards pathetically, “I don’t deserve this. No one deserves this.”

You ignore him, scanning over the words littering the page with little thought.

He takes your lack of response as an invitation to climb up the couch a bit, just close enough that he can nibble kisses at your neck.

“Come on, I’ll make it up to you,” he promises.

You roll your eyes, flipping to the next page in your book as his hands feel up your waist. He’s apologized a few times already, but you’re not ready to let it go. He’d bailed last minute on your date nights one too many times and you’ve had enough. So if no sex is the only thing that seems to get his attention, no sex it is. You’re not mad, not really, but if you can give him a taste of the neglect you’ve been feeling, well…

He continues despite the lack of acknowledgement, pestering on. “This is deprivation of nourishment.”

All in all, he’s really not putting up his best argument. He could be doing better work, much better work, and you’re certainly not going to let him off so easily.

“I don’t care.” You move the book you’re not really reading up higher, removing him from your line of sight.

Sensing the challenge, he takes the book from your hands, tossing it blindly out of reach. It lands with an unflattering thump on the hardwood. You gawk at him, but he doesn’t notice, too busy minding his own motivating force.

He pulls you further down the couch, so he’s face level with your stomach. The top of his hair tickles you as he kisses below your navel, hands holding you in place firmly by your waist.

“Baby,” he murmurs against your skin, dragging his lips over. “Please, please let me eat you out.”

You cross your arms over your chest, glaring at the wall.

He rests his chin gently over your stomach, peering up at you with puppy dog eyes. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of eye contact.

This pushes him to borderline pouting, huffing, “Come on, you’re not having any fun like this either.”

Yeah, but it’s more torturous for him than it is for you.

His lips edge at the seam of your underwear, and his fingers hook under the elastic as he looks up at you expectantly.

You take a deep breath upon the sight, steeling yourself.

“No.”

He lets out an honest to God groan and drops his forehead against your stomach, whining.

You push him off of you, though he does most of the work of shifting his weight for you. You stand up from the couch and retrieve your book from its place on the floor, flipping through it to refind your page as you move for the bedroom door.

“You’re gonna leave me like this?” he calls out at you, watching you leave.

You shrug, “Take care of it yourself.”

“Myself?” He gapes, like he’s shocked at the audacity of the suggestion.

He stands up quickly, scrambling after you into your room.

He watches as you plop down onto the bed, pretending like you’ve got the concentration to keep on reading.

He pouts in the doorway, both surprised and annoyed with your commitment to making him suffer.

At this point he can take care of you better than he can take care of himself, and God knows he prefers to. So it’s bordering on inconceivable that you could have gotten so mad at him as to take away his privileges to do his very favorite thing in the world.

So he snatches your book straight from your hands again—just as you’d found the right page, too—and holds it up high.

“Dick Grayson!”

You swat at him and try to grab it back, but he’s too quick and too tall.

You kneel on the bed, reaching up in a fruitless effort before you drop your arm at your side, glaring.

He raises his chin, silently imploring you.

“Talk to me.”

You roll your eyes, “I am talking to you. I’m not sleeping with you—”

He shakes his head, “No, you’re still mad.”

“And you think this is what’s gonna help?”

He throws his head back. “You’re killing me,” he whines.

“Good.”

“What’s the plan here? Neither of us get to come ever again?”

You all but throw your head back, “I think it’s pretty fucking bold of you to assume that I rely exclusively on you to come.”

He levels you with a look.

“You do though.”

You gape at him. He says it with such self-assurance, so matter-of-fact that it’s not even a joke. And you know what? Yeah, he’s right you do, but you are nowhere near ready to give him the satisfaction.

So, you did something that you knew would piss him off.

“I—” you pause. “Fine.”

You dip your hand underneath your waistband, prepared to prove your fucking point.

“Don’t—” he bats your hand away. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He gawks at you, keeping an arm between your hand and your body. “That’s my job.”

You push his arm, with minimal real effort. “It’s my body!”

“You really don’t want me to touch you? Really?”

He levels you with that look he knows you can’t rebound from, giving you no room to squirm away.

Your chin lowers out of pure habit and your mouth shuts. He takes the opportunity to drop the book on the bed, scooping up both your wrists in one go. He pulls them up above your head and holds you against the bedroom wall.

“What can I do?” he asks lowly, face only inches from yours.

You glare at him, not trying to escape his hold.

“You can fuck off.”

“I’m serious,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

You raise your eyebrows as to say, ‘yeah, I am too, buddy.’

“I’ll do whatever you want. Just let me have my girl.”

You tug your hands out of his grasp, and he lets you without complaint.

You huff, looking at him.

“You have to take me out on a date tom—a real date—tomorrow night, the whole night, flowers and everything.”

He’s nodding along with your words eagerly, terms he couldn’t be happier to agree to.

“Even if some vigilante shit comes up—”

“Of course, of course.”

“…and do what you said before,” you say, quieter.

“What did I say before?” he asks, like he truly can’t remember.

“Dick,” you warn.

He smiles, perfectly content to let you off easy.

He leans forward, kissing you deeply but with an air of sweetness.

“I’m sorry I missed our date, pretty girl. I’m so sorry.”

Your shoulders noticeably relax and you take a deep breath, nodding.

“Yeah,” he says as he kneels down on the ground. He grins up at you as he hooks your leg over his shoulder. “I’ll take care of my baby, of course I will.”

☀️ i’m worried the sun will go out soon if you don’t start reblogging fics ☀️

[ahqkas]

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.

[phosvye]

After a few sloppy kisses and several rounds of being bent over and fucked on every surface of the room in every position imaginable, with him whispering words of praise and longing, he still had the energy to fuck it all into you. At this point, you were spent, muttering nothing but unintelligible, half-formed sentences—pleading for him to stop, attempting to claw your way off of him as the overwhelming pleasure consumed you.

But alas, he dragged you back, impaling you onto him once more, making you even wetter than before and causing you to clench around him a little tighter. Moans and the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed so loudly against all four walls of the room that you both were sure you could be heard all the way down to the ground floor and the neighbouring buildings.

Both of your outfits lay discarded on the floor, either stepped on or stained with cum. Your pretty lace set was tossed somewhere in the room, along with his boxers. But of course, you were too fucked out to care. And it went on like that until the sun rose, and the two of you lay sprawled on the bed, faces glowing in the aftermath of sex. With you, curled against his side as his fingers traced lazy patterns on your arm. Head on top of his chest, eyes closed and breathless.

[gothamhappiness]

Just in love (Jason Todd x f!reader)

Warnings: no proof reading, Batman is a bit of an ass, fluff

The batfamily was on edge because Jason seemed unusually quiet lately, in Crime Alley. They all were certain Red Hood was planning something bad.

But the reality was that Jason was very distracted by a pretty little Y/N. For the first time in his life, he was falling deeply in love to the point nothing else truly mattered to him. He was completely unaware of his former family's concern.

The first time Dick saw you, you were fast asleep into Jason's arms. Jason's book was lying on the ground as the giant guy was also resting his eyes. Dick was watching at the two of you through the window. Something warmed up inside of his chest, because things might get better for his baby brother. He hoped that Jason finally found some happiness in his new existence.

Actually, Nightwing was looking for Red Hood, because everyone was certain he was the reason behind the several buildings exploding during the night. Nightwing thought he could try and find clues at Jason's place. Instead, he saw the two of you cuddled up on the couch.

"Guys, we got the wrong guy. Clearly not Red Hood" he said over the comm's

"How so?" Batman replied

"He's currently asleep on the couch with a girl. Gosh he looks so relaxed. Maybe we all worried for nothing." Dick was almost smiling

"Let's focus back on the situation then, Nightwing" Batman hummed

The next day, Dick tried to find a way to run into Jason and you. He wanted to meet you, he wanted to talk with you. He needed to make sure you were good for Jason, but more importantly he needed to make an ally out of you. He was certain he could get Jason back in his life thanks to you.

Jason wasn't too glad to see Dick trying to be all frendly and chatty with you. However you seemed happy to listen to whathever Dick had to say and he couldn't deny you anything.

On the other hand, Dick loved being allowed to tell someone about all their childhood stories. It was making him feel like maybe not everything was lost.

Jason even smiled at your laughter and started to tell some of the stories himself, mostly to try and embarrass Dick (which was nearly impossible).

Perhaps brothers can still be brothers despite all the blood and violence.

[gay-dorito-dust]

How’d they react to you calling them bro or dude whilst in a pre-established relationship…(platonic/romantic)

Dick: he’s insulted.

Gutted.

He will try to give you the silent treatment for such a shameful thing but ultimately fails as he ends up being the one pawing at you for attention.

‘Do you still like me? Or did you just run out of cute nicknames to call me?’ He’d say one night as your both cuddling in bed together. ‘If it’s the later then I can help you find something, just please spare me and don’t call me dude or bro anymore.’

He’d rather you call him Richard-wait, no he hates that even more because to him you’re not meant to use his fully name, only cutesy nicknames that’d make a grown man sick to his stomach. Nothing else would suffice other than Dickie bird, handsome, babe, hunk, honeybun or anything that wasn’t his name.

He’s go mad or would act delusional and say that everything was fine when everyone could tell that it wasn’t. People who know him have personally came to you and begged you to stop calling him dude/bro because he kept talking their ears off about how his beloved partner is torturing him, which ends up torturing them even more upon hearing about his relationship issues.

Dick would even consult Hayley on what he did wrong, only for Hayley to look at him with those big, big eyes of hers. This was not her level of expertise unfortunately. (Head empty, no thoughts. She can’t do her abc’s guys it’s a real tragedy.)

Jason: ‘I just had my tongue down your throat just now and you had to go and ruin the mood by calling me bro. What the fuck.’ - Jason at some point.

It’s a whole mood killer for him to be honest.

He’s calling you things like chipmunk or sweetheart but here you were calling him dude and bro. He knows for a fact that he’s well and truly out of the friend zone because the shit you’ve done together isn’t platonic in any sort of way.

Thinks Roy had set you up to call him dude or bro behind his back. (He hasn’t)

Jason is petty and will get his own back by referring you as ‘just a really good friend’, ‘buddy o’ mine’ or even worse than both of those; ‘chum.’ 💀

When you go low, Jason was more then willing to go to the depths of fucking hell to the point it had become a game to see who’d call out just how stupid this all was, and at the both of you for ever thinking that this was an excellent idea in the first place.

You’ll probs get punished…I’m just going to leave it there and let your minds guess what that ‘punishment’ was exactly.

Damian:

As much as Damian hates it when you call him Dami, he hates it when you call him dude or bro even more, if that’s even possible.

Damian hates it when you call him dude or bro. He’s not your dude or bro, he’s your partner and he expects no less then darling, my heart or my beloved.

So you calling him dude or bro is more than enough reason for him to give you the silent treatment.

‘Until you learn that I am your partner, I won’t want to be anywhere near you if you’re going to keep calling me your bro or dude. It is a disservice to who I actually am to you.’ He says with a huff and beckons Titus to follow, only for the Great Dane to be left confused as to why his human parents were at a disagreement over something silly.

Also Titus, Ace, Jerry, Alfred the cat, Goliath and BatCow are children of divorce because I said so.

So it’s bests that you apologise while you still can because Damian can hold a grudge unlike any other. Even if you didn’t, you’d still crack first before Damian and quickly put an end to calling him dude/bro.

He just thinks being called a dude/bro when in a pre-established relationship is an insult.

He can take a joke but not when it’s aimed at his relationship. He’s well and truly devoted to his relationship -if we’re to completely ignore the whole being Robin thing- that it might as well be an insult towards him too at this point.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤDAMN BABYㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : When you smack their ass.

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, 90s Tim Drake, Duke Thomas, Damian Wayne.

☆⁠ NOTE : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

You are never getting this opportunity again. Bruce is standing in the kitchen, wearing sweatpants. His back is turned. The ass is right there. You act on impulse. SMACK. Bruce freezes. You grin, leaning against the counter. “Damn, Daddy Wayne. Is that Batcake for me?” The silence is deafening. Bruce slowly turns his head, staring at you like you just committed a felony in broad daylight. “…Excuse me?” You wink. “You heard me, sweetheart.” Bruce stares for ten more seconds. Then, without a word, he leaves. OH NO. You realize too late what you’ve done. Bruce is disappearing into the Batcave. You hear him booting up the Batcomputer. “…Bruce?” TAP. TAP. TAP. He’s typing furiously. You peek over his shoulder. He’s running an analysis. On himself. “BRUCE—” “I need to reassess my stealth levels,” he mutters. “If you could land that strike, I’ve grown careless.” OH MY GOD.

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

You see him walking down the hallway, all smug and confident, wearing those tight jeans he knows make people insane. You can’t help yourself. You smack it. Hard. SMACK. Dick gasps.

LOUDLY. “Damn, Grayson,” you whistle, “is that thing double-cheeked up on a Thursday?!” Immediate. Dramatic. Reaction. Dick clutches the wall like he’s fainting. Then—he spins around so fast he almost trips. “Babe.” His eyes are wide, teary, shaking. “DO YOU MEAN IT?” You blink. “Huh?” Dick grabs your hands. “Say it again. Say it with your whole chest.” “…What.” “Do you mean it? Do you mean the ass thing?” “…Yeah?” Dick grins so wide he looks insane. He winks at you before immediately turning around and sticking his ass out. “Go ahead, babe. One more for the road.” “OH MY GOD.” You are never doing this again. Maybe.

— JASON TODD ⋆

Jason is minding his business. Jason is walking past you. Jason’s fat ass is asking for it. You strike. SMACK. Jason IMMEDIATELY turns, hand on his gun. OH SHIT. You throw your hands up. “WAIT—” His eyes narrow. Suspicious. Dangerous. Then—he relaxes. “…Did you just smack my ass?” You grin. “Yup.” He blinks. Then—he smirks. “…Oh.” You squint. “Why do you sound happy?” Jason shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Nah, it’s just funny.” You relax. “Good, ‘cause—” SMACK. JASON JUST DROPPED HIS WHOLE BODYWEIGHT INTO SLAPPING YOUR ASS BACK. YOU FLY ACROSS THE ROOM. “JASON, YOU FUCKING PSYCHO.” Jason just cackles.

— 90s TIM DRAKE ⋆

Tim is exhausted. Tim has had three hours of sleep in the past two days. Tim is running on caffeine, crime, and sheer force of will. So, naturally—you strike when he’s at his weakest. SMACK. Tim jumps so hard he drops his coffee. “WHAT—” He spins around, eyes wide, looking like a scared raccoon You grin. “Damn, baby bird. You always keep that wagon on you?” Tim stares. Tim processes. Tim crashes. He grabs his head like he’s having an existential crisis. “Oh my God.” “Tim?” “Oh my God.” He’s stumbling backwards, running into the table. “I—I was not prepared for this.” “Tim, breathe—” “I HAVEN’T EVEN FINISHED PUBERTY. AM I EVEN LEGALLY ALLOWED TO HAVE A WAGON?” “TIM—” He grabs your shoulders, looking deep into your soul. “…Do I actually have ass?” You blink. Tim shakes you. “TELL ME THE TRUTH.”

— DUKE THOMAS ⋆

Duke is chilling. Duke is relaxed. Duke is having a nice, peaceful day. So, naturally—you ruin it. SMACK. Duke immediately whips around, betrayal in his eyes. “EXCUSE ME?” You lean against the counter, smirking. “Damn, sunshine. Didn’t know you were carrying all that.” Duke freezes. Then—he laughs. “Oh, word?” He steps closer. You narrow your eyes. “…Duke?” “Oh, word?” He’s too calm.Too smug. He leans down, real close, real quiet. “…Bet.” Then—he disappears. For three days. And when he returns—he waits. Until you’re completely unsuspecting. Until you’re relaxed. Until you think it’s over. And then— SMACK. “DUKE—” “EQUALITY.”

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

You spot him. You see the perfect opportunity. Damian is standing by the window, arms crossed, looking all broody and serious. SMACK. The moment your hand connects, Damian jumps like he’s been electrocuted. Then—he spins around with his sword half-drawn. “WHO DARES—” You grin. “Damn, baby. Didn’t know you were packing all that.” Silence. Pure, horrified silence. Damian just stares. Then—he slowly processes what you just said. His entire face turns red. “You—you dare—” He grabs his chest like he’s having a heart attack. “You speak of my body so… so FILTHILY?” You cackle. “Yes.” He looks away sharply. “This… this is inappropriate.” “And?” “…Say it again.” “…What.” “Say it.” “…Damian, are you—” “SAY IT.”

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[astr-venus]

There's something about dating Dick that makes you feel so... Pretty.

Sure, other partners have made you feel pretty before, but one quite like Dick has.

It's the little things, really.

It's 12pm. You've over slept by a pretty wide margin. You're in this muumuu that's slightly too big for you, having been handed down to you by your mom after she got new ones. You're bare faced, bonnet on, unpampered. Hell, you haven't even brushed your teeth yet.

But Dick is looking at you. He's dressed for the day, halfway out the door for work. But he's frozen. He's staring.

"Good afternoon, gorgeous." He says so breathlessly it's like you can see the hearts in his eyes. "Breakfast is in the fridge."

He closes the door behind himself, already removing his shoes again in the small entryway.

"You're gonna be late for-"

"Can I kiss you? Fuck sorry, that was uncouth. What were you saying?"

Your heart gives an especially hard beat.

Normally you hate to be interrupted, but this feels weirdly good for some reason...? It's hard not to feel wanted, sexy, when he looks at you like that.

"You're going to be late for work, baby."

Dick smiles, placing your hand in his before you've registered he's even crossing the room.

"This is more important. Kiss me?"

"But I haven't-"

"Don't care. Kiss me, please?"

You lean in, and he pulls you closer, meeting you in the middle. The kiss is deep, eager. His hands are roaming around your back like he can't figure out where to place them. Like every part of you is more perfect than the last, and he just can't choose what he wants to touch the most.

You could almost swear there's a tiny tremor in his fingers. It's hard to feel while he grips the fabric of your nightie.

"Didn't mean to jump you like that." Dick murmurs when he pulls back. "You're just so- fuck- I don't know. Pretty isn't a good enough word."

You pull him back in, swiping your tongue over his lips.

Because really, you can settle for pretty. Pretty is good.

Really good.

Can you believe this blog is run by an aromantic ? It's about the vibes, people, the intimacy.

Anyways, if you're Dick Grayson's true and real partner lemme hear you say HELL YEAH 🗣️🗣️🔥

[starboye]

pairing: dick grayson x male reader

request: Dick Grayson fucking his ex Twink boyfriend reader with a bubble butt because he was jealous that reader was getting to close to another random hero and he wants the reader back

warnings: smut, cursing, rough sex, slut shaming, degradation, ass slapping, creampie, unprotected sex, hair pulling

directors note: this has been in the drafts for 5 months so i decided to dust it off finally

you know dick he's always thinking with his... well dick, getting jealous over an innocent little friendship between you and superboy even though you both aren't dating, you promise him it was nothing to try and get him off your back but no he just has to prove the point doesn't he

"fuck that i know what i saw y/n, he wanted you so bad i can tell" dick grunts as he thrusts into you harder and harder leaving you a slight mumbling mess in his pillows before he grabs a fistful of your hair and lifts your head "we aren't even dating dick" you choke up but he's quick to knock some sense back in you, his cock slamming right against your gummy walls making you wail out.

"c'mon now you don't believe that, we're just taking a break" dick chuckles, he never dick take the breakup well, you heard from raven that he was going on more frequent night patrols and picking fights with just about anyone after you guys separated "no we ended things" you sternly reply but dick just shoves your face back in the pillows and continues destroying your guts.

"do you think that super bitch could even fuck you like i do" dick asks, his eyes fixated on how you take him balls deep with every thrust, sucking him back in and swallowing him whole "think he knows all your sensitive spots or your kinks" he questions leaning down to kiss your neck while his fingers crept over your ass, squeezing you plush skin as his thrusts became languid hip movements.

he knew the kind of slut you were, you needed him and his cock, back when you and him were dating you could barely go a day without begging to have his cock deep inside you and it seems now is no different, the moment dick stop fucking you you're moaning and whining for him to put it back in, making him chuckle "still the same old slut huh".

"please i dont care just put it back in" you whine rutting your ass onto him for just a bit of friction, after a while of hearing you whine his name dick finally gives in and slips back in, feeling you clench around him like you didn't want him to ever leave you empty again "want daddy to fill this slutty ass up like the good old times" dick asks slapping your ass as you moaned out continuous yes's.

one more good thrust and he was emptying his thick load into you while tightly gripping your hips, your hands tangling themselves in his sheets as you caught your breath "we've gotta stop doing this" dick chuckles laying down next you "this is the last time" you huff getting up and putting on your pants "didn't you say that at the halloween party, and thanksgiving, and two nights ago, you know you cant stay away from all this" he snaps back "well then i guess i'll go see if superboy can rival all that" you smirk before walking out leaving dick fuming.

taglist:@mailmango @spermeboy @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat @addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318 @its-ares @gargoylesworld09 @znerac

[fear-is-truth]

uninvited ── 𝓭. grayson ┆gn!reader . fluff

“jesus, do you always break into people’s apartments?” you hiss, clutching your mug of tea like it’s a lifeline. dick grayson—nightwing—stands in your kitchen like he belongs there, his domino mask still on and his lips wrapped around the rim of your favourite mug. the nerve.

“technically, i didn’t break in,” he says breezily. “your lock’s terrible, by the way.”

“you picked it!”

“semantics,” he quips, shrugging as he takes another sip.

“what do you want, grayson?”

he grins at the way you said his name. “thought i’d check in. gotham’s not safe, and you’re…” he hesitates, gesturing vaguely. “you know.”

“wow. that clears it up.”

he finally puts the mug down, his smirk fading into something softer. stepping closer, he shrugs. “heard about that mugging on 7th. it’s close to your block. thought i’d check in. make sure you’re okay.”

“you could’ve knocked,” you mumble, but the heat in your tone is starting to flicker out.

“yeah,” he agrees, moving even closer, his voice dipping low. “but then i wouldn’t get to see this.”

“this?” you echo dryly.

“you,” he amends, gesturing around the cluttered kitchen—a tea-stained counter, a pile of mismatched dishes, and you, standing in an old hoodie and fleece pajama bottoms.“you, looking all…” he trails off, fishing for the right word.

“if you say ‘cute,’ i’m throwing you out the window.”

“…scrappy,” he offers quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “totally capable of defending yourself. but, you know, backup never hurts.”

you open your mouth to fire back, but he’s already reaching up, fingers brushing lightly against your jaw. your breath hitches, but you don’t stop him when he tilts your chin up, his other hand settling on your waist.

“dick—” you start, but the word barely escapes before he leans in. his lips meet yours, the warmth stealing the breath from your lungs. his lips are soft against yours, but the pressure deepens almost instantly, like he’s been holding back for as long as he’s stepped into your apartment.

your hands falter before they find the front of his suit, fingers curling into the fabric. he exhales against your mouth, and you can feel the curve of his smirk before he angles his head, pushing his tongue past your lips. his hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, thumb brushing along your skin in a way that sends heat pooling through your loins. you’re the one to break it, gasping for air as your forehead rests against his.

“you’re such a pain in the ass.”

his smug-ass smirk returns, cocky as ever. “yeah, but i’m your pain in the ass.” you shove him lightly, trying to ignore how breathless you sound. “you’re replacing my lock.”

“anything for you,” he says with a wink, leaning in like he’s about to kiss you again.

this time, you don’t stop him.