#dick grayson x you

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤEVERY INCH IN THAT SUITㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : He Looks Good In His Thight Suit, So Why Not Just Fuck Him?

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

☆⁠ WARNINGS : NSFW, MINORS DNI, Daddy kink, breeding kink, rough sex, degradation, overstimulation, unprotected sex, a lil bit gun play, blow job, choking, spitting, slapping, riding, power play.

☆⁠ NOTES : Damian is an adult. And yes we have an adult version of Damian who is still Robin and wear a Robin suit. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

The cave’s damp air clings to your skin as you stumble in, heels clicking against the stone floor, your breath hitching at the sight of him. Bruce stands there, the suit clinging to every muscle like it was poured over him. The cowl’s still on, those white slits glaring at you, and fuck, it’s doing things to you—your thighs clench just looking at him. He’s fresh off patrol, chest heaving, a thin sheen of sweat making the black Kevlar gleam under the dim lights. Gotham’s knight, your goddamn ruin.

“You shouldn’t be down here, sweetheart,” he growls, voice low and modulated through the mask, but you hear the edge—raw, hungry, barely restrained. He steps forward, boots thudding heavy, and you’re already wet, practically dripping down your thighs because fuck, it’s Bruce, and he’s looking at you like prey.

“Don’t care,” you breathe, bold and stupid, stepping closer ‘til you’re in his shadow. “Needed to see you, Daddy.”

That word—Daddy—hits him like a punch. His head tilts, cowl shifting slightly, and you swear you hear a sharp intake of breath under that mask. “You’re playin’ a dangerous game, little girl,” he rasps, gloved hand flexing at his side, and you grin, all teeth and heat, because you want him.

“Then punish me,” you whisper, reaching out to drag your fingers down the bat emblem, feeling the hard planes of his chest. “Show me what happens when I’m bad.”

He snaps. One second you’re standing, the next he’s got you slammed against the Batcomputer console, the cold metal biting into your ass as he looms over you, massive and unyielding. “You wanna be a brat for Daddy?” he snarls, ripping your skirt up with one brutal yank, exposing your soaked panties. “Gonna regret that, sweetheart.”

You whimper, and he’s already tearing the lace off—gloved fingers rough, calloused through the fabric, shoving between your legs. “Fuckin’ drenched,” he mutters, sliding two fingers into your cunt without warning, stretching you open while you arch and gasp. “This all for me? Huh? My needy little slut, soakin’ herself for me?”

“Yes—Daddy—just for you,” you moan, hips bucking into his hand, and he growls, pumping harder, curling those thick digits ‘til your vision blurs. The suit’s rubbing against your thighs, coarse and unforgiving, and it’s filthy—he’s filthy—still stinking of smoke and adrenaline, fucking you with his gloves on.

He pulls his fingers out, slick and glistening, and smears your mess across your lips before shoving them into your mouth. “Taste yourself,” he orders, and you suck, desperate, gagging around the leather while he watches, those white slits narrowing. “Good girl. Daddy’s gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t walk, ‘til you’re full of me.”

You whine, and he’s unbuckling the lower half of the suit—just enough to free his cock, thick and heavy, dripping pre-cum like he’s been hard for hours.

He grabs your throat with one gloved hand, squeezing just enough to make you dizzy, and lines himself up, the fat head of his cock nudging your entrance. “Beg for it,” he demands, voice a gravelly snarl, and you’re too far gone to care how pathetic you sound.

“Please, Daddy, fuck me—breed me—fill me up, I need it,” you plead, voice breaking, and that’s all it takes. He thrusts in hard, splitting you open, the stretch burning as he bottoms out in one brutal stroke. You scream, nails clawing at the suit, and he doesn’t wait—starts pounding you, relentless, the console rattling with every slam.

“Fuckin’ take it,” he grunts, hips snapping, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the cave. “Gonna stuff this tight little cunt—make you mine, princess.” The glove on your throat tightens, cutting your air just enough to make your head spin, and you’re sobbing, legs shaking as he fucks you raw—Bruce's cock wrecking you, the suit chafing your inner thighs red.

He leans down, cowl brushing your cheek, and the modulator makes him sound obscene. “You want Daddy’s cum? Want me to breed you ‘til you’re dripping, ‘til you’re swollen with it?” he growls, and you nod, frantic, clenching around him like you’re trying to milk him dry.

“Yes—fuck, yes, Daddy, fill me up, please,” you gasp, and he shifts, hoisting your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half under him. The angle’s insane—his cock hits so deep you feel it in your guts, and you’re screaming, cumming so hard your whole body locks up, gushing around him while he keeps going, fucking you through it ‘til you’re a trembling, overstimulated mess.

“That’s it, cum on Daddy’s cock,” he snarls, pace turning feral, and you feel him swell, twitching inside you. “Gonna pump you full—gonna make you my little breeding bitch.” He slams in one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and cums with a guttural roar—hot, thick spurts flooding your cunt, spilling out around his dick as he keeps thrusting, forcing it deeper, marking you inside.

You’re a wreck—pussy throbbing, leaking his cum down your thighs, the suit’s rough edges still digging into your skin—and he doesn’t stop. He pulls out just to flip you over, bending you across the console face-down, ass up, and shoves back in, fucking his cum into you like he’s trying to make damn sure it sticks. “Not done,” he growls, gloved hands bruising your hips. “Gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t think, ‘til all you know is my cock.”

You’re whimpering, incoherent—“Too much, Daddy, fuck”—but he doesn’t care, keeps railing you ‘til your knees buckle, ‘til you’re drooling on the keyboard, another orgasm ripping through you so hard you black out for a second. He’s relentless, a machine, the suit creaking with every thrust, and when he cums again, it’s a flood—dripping down your legs, pooling on the floor, a nasty, freaky mess that only Bruce could leave behind.

Finally, he slows, breathing ragged through the modulator, and pulls you back against his chest—the suit cold and hard, his cock still twitching inside you. “Such a good girl for Daddy,” he murmurs, softer now, gloved hand stroking your hair as you tremble, fucked-out and full. He doesn’t take the cowl off, just tilts your chin up to kiss you—lips rough against yours, tasting of sweat and sin.

“Mine,” he growls, possessive, and you feel it—his cum leaking out, the ache settling in, the way he’s claimed you. You’re his, alright—Daddy’s little breeding toy, fucked stupid in the heart of his cave.

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

The Blüdhaven night’s alive with neon and grime, and you’re perched on a rooftop, waiting for him—Nightwing, the city’s golden boy turned reckless tease. You’ve been playing this game too long: flirting over comms, brushing hands during stakeouts, until he finally snapped last week and fucked you senseless in an alley. Now, he’s late, and you’re antsy—legs dangling over the edge, heartbeat ticking up—when you hear that familiar whistle, cocky and bright.

“Miss me, babe?” he calls, flipping down from a higher ledge, landing in a crouch that shows off every damn line of that skin-tight Nightwing suit. The black and blue clings to him like a second skin, outlining his broad shoulders, tight ass, and the bulge you’ve been dreaming about all day. He straightens, grinning—those white lenses glinting in the dark—and saunters over, all swagger and mischief. “Caught you waiting. That’s cute.”

“Caught you staring,” you fire back, smirking, and he laughs—bright, infectious—before he’s on you, fast as a blur. One gloved hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up, and he kisses you like he’s been dying for it—hot, messy, a little sloppy with how eager he is. His tongue’s in your mouth instantly, tasting you, teasing, and you can feel him grinning against your lips. “Fuck, you taste good,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to nip your bottom lip, eyes twinkling behind the mask.

Dick’s playful, needy, and oh-so-fucking horny. He spins you around, pressing you chest-first against a rusted billboard frame, and you feel the hard planes of his suit grind against your ass. “Been thinking about this all patrol,” he groans, hands sliding down your sides, gripping your hips as he rocks into you. “You in my head, driving me nuts—gonna make you pay for it, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t waste time—fingers deft and quick, peeling your pants down just enough to bare you to the night air. The suit’s rough against your skin, textured where it brushes your thighs, and you hear him fumble with the hidden zipper at his crotch, freeing that gorgeous cock—long, thick, already leaking for you. “Look at you, all ready for me,” he teases, smacking your ass lightly, playfully, before dragging the tip through your slick folds. “So fucking wet—bet you’ve been thinking about me pounding you, huh?”

“Shut up and do it,” you snap, half-laughing, half-desperate, and he chuckles—low and dirty—before sinking in, slow at first, letting you feel every inch stretch you open. “Oh, fuck, yes,” he moans, head tipping back, suit creaking as he bottoms out, balls snug against you. He doesn’t go brutal like Bruce—he’s all rhythm, hips rolling smooth and deep, fucking you with a grin you can hear. “That’s my girl—taking me so good.”

He’s a talker—won’t shut up even as he picks up the pace, slamming into you now, the wet slap of skin on skin mixing with the city’s hum. “Goddamn, this pussy’s perfect—gonna dream about this later,” he pants, one hand slipping around to rub your clit with those clever fingers, the gloves slick and cool against your heat. You moan—loud, shameless—and he laughs again, delighted. “Yeah, let me hear you, babe—scream for Nightwing.”

He’s relentless but fun—grabbing your hair to pull you back just enough to kiss your neck, sucking bruises there while he fucks you harder, the suit’s edges scraping your skin in the best way. “Wanna flip you over—see that pretty face when you cum,” he says, and before you can blink, he’s spinning you, lifting you like you weigh nothing—acrobat strength on full display. He hooks your legs over his shoulders, pinning you against the billboard, and thrusts back in, grinning like a kid who stole the candy jar.

“Fuck—Dick—” you gasp, and he winks—those lenses flashing—driving deeper, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl. “That’s it, say my name—gonna make you lose it,” he promises, voice husky now, less playful, more feral. His fingers circle your clit faster, and you’re done—cumming hard, clenching around him, crying out as your whole body shakes. He groans, watching you fall apart, “So fucking hot—love it when you squeeze me like that.”

He’s close—hips stuttering, grip tightening—and he pulls you flush against him, suit rubbing your tits raw as he chases it. “Where do you want me, huh? Tell me quick,” he pants, and you smirk, breathless—“On me, all over me.” That’s his cue—he pulls out, stroking himself fast, and cums with a loud, “Fuck, yes—” painting your stomach, your thighs, even catching your chin with hot, thick ropes. He’s grinning, chest heaving, swiping a finger through it and popping it in his mouth like a goddamn tease. “Tastes better with you.”

You’re a mess—panting, covered in him—and he’s still got that cheeky spark, tugging you close, kissing you soft now, all lazy and satisfied. “Round two back at my place?” he murmurs, tucking himself back into the suit, adjusting the escrima sticks on his back like he didn’t just fuck you stupid. “Got a bed with your name on it—and maybe some handcuffs.”

“Lead the way, Grayson,” you say, and he scoops you up—half-carrying, half-dragging—already plotting the next way he’ll wreck you.

— JASON TODD ⋆

The safehouse reeks of gunpowder and copper when Jason kicks the door open, his heavy boots thudding against the floorboards. He’s a fucking mess—blood streaked across his Red Hood helmet, leather jacket torn at the shoulder, crimson dripping down his gloves from a night of cracking skulls. The guns strapped to his thighs clink with every step, and he’s still riding that adrenaline high, chest heaving, muscles coiled tight. He wasn’t expecting you here—not tonight—but there you are, sprawled on his shitty mattress, fingers buried deep in your own cunt, moaning his name like a prayer.

“Fuck me,” he rasps, voice distorted through the modulator, low and guttural as he freezes in the doorway. His helmet tilts, taking in the sight—your legs spread wide, pussy glistening, eyes half-lidded with lust. You don’t even flinch, just keep fucking yourself, smirking like you knew he’d walk in like this. “Couldn’t wait, huh, you needy little slut?” he growls, kicking the door shut with a bang, already shrugging off the jacket but leaving the holsters on—guns and all.

“Jason—” you whimper, fingers slowing, and he’s on you in a flash, still bloody, still armored, grabbing your wrist and yanking your hand away. “Oh no, you don’t get to stop now,” he snarls, smearing your slick over his glove as he shoves your thighs apart wider, the cold metal of his gauntlets biting your skin. “You wanted me, you’re fuckin’ getting me.” His free hand rips at his belt, pulling his cock out—thick, hard, tip already leaking—and you barely get a breath before he’s hauling you up by your hair, forcing you onto your knees.

“Open that pretty mouth,” he orders, voice rough as gravel, and when you do—lips parting, tongue out—he doesn’t wait. He grabs one of his guns from the holster, still warm from the fight, and presses the barrel to your temple, cold steel kissing your skin. “You like this, don’t you? My dirty fuckin’ girl,” he taunts, smearing blood from his glove across your cheek as he shoves his cock past your lips, deep and brutal, hitting the back of your throat ‘til you gag.

He’s feral—nothing gentle, nothing soft—just pure, unfiltered Jason. His hips snap forward, fucking your face like it’s a goddamn mission, the wet choke of your throat filling the room as he grips your hair tighter, pulling ‘til your scalp stings. “That’s it—take it, choke on me,” he groans, modulator crackling with his ragged breaths, the helmet’s red glow casting shadows over your tear-streaked face. The gun stays steady, a fucked-up promise—he won’t pull the trigger, but the threat’s got your cunt dripping, thighs clenching as he uses you.

“Fuck, you’re a sight—drooling all over my dick,” he mutters, yanking you off with a wet pop, strings of spit hanging between your lips and his cock. He doesn’t give you time to recover—just drags you up by the hair, spinning you around, and shoves you face-first into the mattress. “Ass up, now,” he barks, smacking your thigh hard enough to leave a welt, and you scramble to obey, pussy throbbing, aching for him.

He doesn’t bother stripping—keeps the helmet on, the leather creaking, blood still tacky on his hands as he lines up, slamming into you with one vicious thrust. You scream, the stretch burning, and he laughs—dark, filthy—grabbing the gun again and pressing it to your lower back. “Move, baby—fuck yourself on me,” he growls, but he’s already pounding, hips slamming so hard the bed shakes, his cock splitting you open, hitting deep and relentless.

“Jason—fuck—too much—” you gasp, but he just pulls your hair ‘til your back arches, forcing you to take more, the gun sliding up your spine, cold and dangerous. “Too much? Nah, you can take it—you were begging for it with your fingers in that slutty little cunt,” he snarls, voice dripping with lust and menace. Blood smears on your skin where he grips you, and the helmet’s modulator makes every grunt sound inhuman, primal—fucking you like an animal fresh from the hunt.

He leans over, chest plate digging into your back, and bites your shoulder through the suit—teeth scraping, bruising. “Gonna mark you up—let everyone know who owns this pussy,” he rasps, thrusting harder, the gun now tracing your jawline as he reaches around, shoving two bloody fingers into your mouth. “Suck ‘em clean, c’mon,” he demands, and you do—tasting iron and him, moaning around them while he fucks you into the mattress.

You’re close—too close—clenching tight around him, and he feels it, growling, “Cum for me, you filthy bitch—let me feel it.” The gun presses harder, his pace turning sloppy, brutal, and when you shatter—screaming, gushing all over his cock—he doesn’t slow down, just keeps railing you, chasing his own end. “Fuck—gonna fill you up,” he grunts, yanking your head back one last time as he cums, hot and thick, spilling deep inside you ‘til it’s leaking out around him.

He pulls out, panting, helmet still on, and smacks your ass one more time for good measure, leaving a bloody handprint. “Stay there—look at that mess,” he says, voice low and smug, watching his cum drip down your thighs. He drags the gun barrel through it, smearing it over your skin, then leans close—modulator crackling—“Next time, I’m fucking you with this loaded.”

You’re wrecked, trembling, and he’s already holstering the gun, adjusting his jacket like he didn’t just destroy you. “Clean up, princess,” he tosses over his shoulder, but the way he lingers by the door says he’s not done—not by a long shot. Red Hood doesn’t play nice, and you’re his favorite fucking toy.

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

The Wayne Manor study is a damn fortress—dark wood, flickering lamplight, and Damian hunched over a desk littered with maps and case files, looking like he’s about to murder someone. He’s in that stupidly hot Robin tunic—green and red clinging to his lean frame, mask off, black hair mussed from running his hands through it too many times. You’ve been pacing behind him for twenty minutes, thighs rubbing together, pussy throbbing, because he promised he’d fuck you hours ago and now he’s buried in work like some self-righteous little bitch.

“Damian,” you snap, voice dripping with heat, leaning over his shoulder so your tits brush his back. “Put the damn papers down and fuck me already.” He doesn’t even flinch—just keeps scribbling, muttering something about “Gotham’s safety” like you give a shit. “Beloved, I’m occupied,” he says, all clipped and cold, that posh accent making your blood boil hotter. Occupied? Oh, fuck that.

You grab his chair, spin it around so fast he drops his pen, and he’s glaring up at you—emerald eyes sharp, jaw tight, all that bratty defiance he’s so damn good at. “I said I’m busy,” he growls, but his hands twitch, like he’s fighting not to grab you, and you clock it—he’s hard under those tights, bulge straining like a liar’s promise. “Busy being a little bitch,” you spit back, and before he can snap, you slap him—hard—right across that pretty face. His head jerks, cheek blooming red, and his eyes widen, stunned, then darken with something feral.

“You—” he starts, but you don’t let him finish. You climb onto his lap, straddling him, yanking his head back by his hair ‘til he’s forced to look at you. “Shut the fuck up,” you hiss, grinding down on that thick, trapped cock, feeling it twitch under you. “You don’t get to play martyr while I’m soaking wet and dying for it.” He groans—low, broken—and you smirk, spitting right into his open mouth. He chokes, swallowing it, and you see it: the moment he cracks, pride crumbling, lust taking over.

“Fuck, you’re disgusting,” he rasps, but his hands are on your hips now, gripping tight, and you know you’ve got him. “Yeah, and you love it,” you taunt, ripping your shirt off, letting your tits spill out, nipples hard and begging. His eyes lock on them, hungry, and you slap him again—lighter this time, playful, but it still stings. “Eyes up here, asshole,” you say, spitting again—this time on his cheek, watching it drip down as he shudders, cock jumping against you.

You don’t bother with his tunic—just shove the tights down enough to free that gorgeous dick—long, veiny, leaking precum like he’s been aching as bad as you. “Gonna ride you ‘til you cry,” you promise, lining him up, and he snarls—“Try it, harlot”—but it’s all bravado, because when you sink down, taking him in one brutal drop, he moans like a fucking virgin, head tipping back, throat bared. “Oh—fuck—” he gasps, and you laugh, nasty and loud, starting to bounce.

You ride him hard—hips slamming down, pussy clenching tight around him, wet and messy, soaking his lap. The chair creaks, threatening to collapse, and you don’t care—let it break, let the whole damn manor hear. “Look at you,” you pant, grabbing his jaw, forcing him to meet your gaze. “All that big talk, and you’re just my little fucktoy now.” He growls, but it’s weak, hips bucking up to meet you, desperate, and you spit into his mouth again—harder this time. “Swallow it,” you order, and he does, choking, eyes glassy with need.

Your pace is relentless—grinding, bouncing, thighs burning as you fuck him stupid. His hands claw at your ass, your tits, everywhere, and you slap them away, pinning his wrists above his head. “No touching,” you snarl, and he whines—actually whines—struggling but loving it, cock pulsing inside you. “Please—fuck—beloved—” he begs, voice cracking, and you grin, feral, leaning down to bite his lip ‘til it bleeds, licking it clean while you ride him faster.

“Thought you were too busy,” you mock, spitting on his chest now, rubbing it into the Robin emblem with your fingers. “Too good for this pussy—guess you’re not, huh?” He’s a mess—sweat-slick, bloody-lipped, moaning your name like a prayer—and you feel him throb, close, so you slow down, dragging it out ‘til he’s thrashing under you. “No—no, don’t stop—” he pleads, and you slap him again, sharp and loud. “You don’t tell me what to do,” you growl, picking up speed, riding him so hard the desk rattles.

“Gonna cum for me, Dami?” you purr, clenching tight, and he nods, frantic—“Yes—fuck, yes—” You feel it building, that tight, hot coil in your gut, and you spit one last time—right on his tongue—as you slam down, cumming hard, screaming his name as your pussy milks him dry. He breaks—crying out, hips jerking, spilling deep inside you, hot and thick, shuddering through it ‘til he’s whimpering, wrecked.

You don’t stop—keep riding, slow and mean, overstimulating him ‘til he’s squirming, gasping, “Too much—fuck—” but you just laugh, grinding ‘til he’s twitching, cum leaking out around his cock, staining his tights. “Should’ve fucked me sooner,” you say, climbing off, leaving him slumped, panting, a sweaty, bloody mess in that chair—work forgotten, pride gone, just your perfect, ruined boy.

“Next time,” you warn, wiping your spit-slick hand on his tunic, “don’t make me wait.” He looks up, dazed, lips swollen, and mumbles, “Never again,” voice hoarse, and you know he means it.

— MASTERLIST ☆

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

[sangunary]

YANDERE BATFAM × NEGLECTED READER!

- Hush now crybaby.

\\Part 1// \\ Part 2//

SYPNOSIS: After your death nothing felt the same.

Warning: Gore, death, violence, blood.

Everything happened in a flash, you couldn't even remembered what had hit you so hard to make your entire body run this high on adrenaline. You could feel your every pulse and the pounding on your head makes it hard to think properly.

When the clouds in your head finally clears you finally opened your eye's and looked down at your feet, your lifeless body laying on the ground.

Blood was profusely seeping out from the bash you received after the impact of the car... The car had hit you so hard that you flew and unfortunately your head landed on a fire hydrant.

The impact was so powerful that it left an open wound on your head... Everybody stopped to tape the situation not a single soul decided to even checked if you were still breathing.

You watched as the ambulance took your cold body. You watched as the medical staff's tried their best to wake you up. You watched as your own blood father hang up the call from just hearing your name, not even inquiring them further- He acted like your name was some curse.

You sit there by your body side, holding your own hands. Taking the little nursery book by the side table you began to read, you felt a little comfort but you can't complaint even a little was better than nothing.

The heart monitor began to beep indicating that you were no longer breathing. Staffs runs in trying to bring back your heart beat yet nothing worked you died that day.

You died because none of your guardians wanted to be involved with you... The hospital needed them to agree to a surgery yet since nobody or even if they picked up they just hang up without listening further.

You stood outside the morgue waiting patiently for your family to retrieve your body. You've been standing there for hour's, for someone who doesn't have a heart anymore it ache alot.

When your family finally arrived they were shocked, Damian was abit caught off guard, Bruce with the same face just more disappointed, Dick in tears, Tim was too sleepy to even react much... Jason was not present.

Barbara and Stephanie were crying holding your tiny cold hand's in theirs apologising, Duke was distraught and Cass you could tell she was uncomfortable.

Even during your funeral you stood beside your physical body, stroking your cheek and wishing yourself well. The funeral was small just the batfamily, your body was buried near the manor with high security.

Even your own mother didn't attend your funeral which made you frown which wasn't even your intention, your intention was to cry but not a single drop of tears could even fall.

Fortunately your mother did came but weeks after your funeral burst inside the manor and attack yout father. She was a mess, her mascara was ruined from the tears that won't stop flowing, her hair was extremely mess which was new. Your mother was a fashionable woman and seeing her this wild made you sad.

"You Piece Of Shit! OUR daughter died! How could you not inform me my babygirl is dead! I wanted to see her- To say goodbye!" Your mother yelled as she slap Bruce across his face. Bruce stays silent enduring the pain she was conflicting upon him.

"I left her with you so she could have something! How could You! She was so happy to have a father yet you let her chase your love and affection?! Even if you couldn't see her as your daughter why not call me??! I would have taken her with me!"

"...She was my world Bruce! My daughter... My baby... Now I can't even say goodbye. Im terrible, I should have been there..."

Your mother's grip on Bruce loosen as she fell onto the floor, sobbing into her hand's.

You slowly walk towards your mother, you wished you could have hug her in that moment for her to feel the warmth but you were cold.. Freezing, you don't think she would be comfortable.

Instead of hugging her you sit beside her holding her right hand, as you lean onto her...

"Im sorry mom, forgive me it's not father's fault... I was being emotional and being emotional makes me stupid...Maybe this is why nobody love's me"

Ever since that day Bruce became worst. You were haunting the manor watching as everybody tried to cope with your death.

You felt abit happy to be death, afterall you felt as your family finally noticed you. And all it took for them to love you was for you to die!

But it was tragic to watch your allready insane family become... This.

Dick was now sleeping on your bed every night, even when others tried to interfere he didn't budge. Holding onto the dress you wore that day and mumbling on and on about how he would take you to the park if you just come back.

Jason was also affected as much as it shocked, he was smoking more and barely even coming to the manor inorder to avoid anything that reminded of you.

Tim health was getting worst, he didn't even have the heart to look into any case at times and would just stare at blankly talking to himself and imagining that you were there.

Damian didn't show any weakness to anyone else he didn't show that he was greatly grieving. Nobody had a clue that he was trying to bring your soul inside your favourite doll. He would talk to himself which was alot tame than Tim but he was indeed speaking about how he will force your soul inside the doll just so everything could went back to normal.

Barbara was neglecting her job as Oracle. She doesn't have the energy to do anything, without your presence everything felt dead to her and if everything is dead what's the point of trying to salvage it.

Duke was taking it very well, talking about his feelings and making sure to clean your grave everyone Saturday, replacing the flower as much as he could... He was obsessed with your grave. At times he would sit there for hours just staring at it...

Stephanie wasn't as cheery as she was and even when she genuinely smiled it faid quickly... She kept getting nightmares of your body inside that morgue as a result she can't deal with crime including death in it. She gets reminded of you and when that happened she went into panick mode.

Cass on the other hand tried her best to move on unlike the others. But sometimes you would watch her as she entered your room and leaving quickly, it was as if she was trying to imagine you inside your room solely.

Bruce took it the worst, he would take his pent up guilt and anger out on any criminal, he even broke a couple bone of a guy who just rob a store with a knife. It was as if he was ignoring his own and the most important rule.

Silently blaming himself. He thought that Jason death would be the end of death in the family but that wasn't the case.

Alfred was heavily affected as well. He knew he was also in the wrong for favouring your other siblings while trying his best to avoid you during your time on Earth as a human. He would bake your favourite food and left it at your grave.

Alfred also had to stop the family from bringing your rotting corpse and dipping it into thr Lazarus pit. He knew you wouldn't like the idea of being brought back plus your body was too old to be able to be put together again.

Crime rate was raising because none of the family members were willing to talk about your death and keeping to themselves only. You could only watch as sigh as they tried to bring you back to life over and over.

The body inside the casket which was buried sixth feet underground was a simple decoy.

Your corpse have been rotting slowly inside a special room, where Bruce tried to bring you back somehow. You couldn't help but get teary just by looking at your corpse.

It was skinny and extremely pale... The stretch was horrible... Your body was clearly rotting away. It was not fun witnessing your organ being taken from your body just so your suddenly crazy/obessed father could bring you back.

[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 ☀️

[cupidsworstcrime]

Dick Grayson x f!reader

loose (very loose) inspo - @hanasnx

smut below the cut

The music was thick and slow, some remix that pulsed through the soles of your feet and up your spine, and he saw you the moment you stepped under the lights. You weren’t looking for anyone. You weren’t trying to impress. You were just dancing—swaying to the rhythm like it owed you something, like you owned it instead.

Dick Grayson had seen plenty of beautiful women in his time. Danced with his fair share, too. But you… you moved like temptation had a name and it was yours.

And you let him approach.

You didn’t give him more than a glance at first. Just kept swaying, letting your hips guide the moment, that curve of a smirk on your lips like you knew exactly what he was there for. Like you were already two steps ahead of him.

He matched your rhythm easily—too easily—and that cocky little tilt of his chin said he knew it. But when his hand settled on your waist, you didn’t melt into him. You leaned back, made him earn it.

Later, when the drinks started to hit, you loosened just a little. You were still sharp around the edges, still the kind of woman who didn’t suffer fools. But now? You let him press closer. Let him put a hand gently at your throat—not squeezing, just holding, guiding, claiming. His lips brushed your ear when he spoke low:

“You know how lucky I am right now, yeah?”

You laughed, dark and dangerous.

“You better,” you said, hips rolling back against him just enough to make him groan under his breath. “'Cause not just anyone gets to touch me like this.”

And Dick? Dick knew. He knew he was lucky. Knew he’d be thinking about the way you moved for days. Maybe longer.

Outside, the night was cool and thick with summer heat clinging to your skin. Your hand was in his as you walked, not because you needed him to guide you, but because you let him. Dick’s palm was warm, his thumb brushing the back of your knuckles like he couldn’t stop touching you.

His apartment wasn’t far—top floor, city view, floor-to-ceiling windows, open and clean in a way that told you he didn’t bring people here often. But tonight? He opened the door for you like a man with something to prove.

You stepped inside without hesitation. He followed, locking the door behind him as if that might keep you from vanishing before he got his fill.

You toed your heels off slowly. Deliberately. His eyes tracked every movement like he didn’t trust himself to blink. And when you finally turned to him again, chin high and gaze steady, you said—

“You gonna just stare, or you gonna do something about it?”

That snapped the thread.

He crossed the room in three long strides, crowding into your space again—hands gripping your waist, your back hitting the wall with a soft thump as he kissed you like the club hadn’t been nearly enough. You kissed him back just as hard, tugging his shirt over his head, dragging your nails lightly down his chest to hear the sharp breath he took in.

When he lifted you—hands strong and sure beneath your thighs—you wrapped around him instinctively, letting him carry you toward the bedroom like you were always meant to end up there.

The way he laid you out—careful, reverent, hungry—you’d think he was the lucky one.

And when he pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, lips kiss-bruised and pupils blown, he said, breathless:

“You’re unreal. Fuck. Can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

You pulled him back down, nose brushing his as your voice turned velvet:

“That’s because not everyone does, baby.”

As you pulled him down with you, hands in his hair, body arching, your mouths met again. It was messier now—less for show, more hunger, more need. The way you rocked up into him was slow, deliberate, just like on the dance floor. He matched it, grinding low into you with a desperate little sound in the back of his throat.

His fingers slid under your top, running up your spine, gentle despite the tension in his arms. You were undressing each other in pieces—slow, teasing, like drawing out the edge of a good song before the drop. He kissed your collarbone. Your sternum. He nipped your waist like he was trying to remember how you tasted everywhere.

And when he finally settled between your legs, breath warm, mouth tracing along your inner thigh, you couldn’t help the little smirk that curved your lips.

“You gonna worship me properly, or just play with your food?”

Dick looked up at you through thick lashes, a dangerous grin pulling across his face.

“Worship?” he murmured, hands holding your hips steady. “Babe… I’m already on my knees.”

And he proved it. Slow at first, tasting, teasing, taking his time until your legs were shaking. Until your back arched off the bed and your fingers gripped the sheets, helpless. He moaned into you when you gasped his name, pulling your thighs tighter around his head like he needed it to breathe.

Later, when he moved over you again, chest heaving, pupils blown, you pulled him into a kiss—tasting yourself on his tongue.

“You still think you’re lucky to have me?”

“No,” he whispered, pressing into you, slow and deep. “I know I am.”

And you kissed him slow this time—hot and deep—like you might just ruin him tonight.

The air in the room grew heavier, hotter. Dick’s breath was ragged as he shifted above you, his body pressing against yours with an urgency that had your pulse pounding in your ears. The way his hands gripped your wrists, pinning them above your head, reminded you of how much control he was willing to take, and it made your stomach tighten with anticipation.

He wasn’t gentle anymore. His thrusts were deeper, harder—there was no hesitating, no slowing down now. The pressure built inside you with every quick, forceful movement. Your breath hitched as you could feel yourself giving in to him completely, your body molding to his.

“You like this?” he rasped, his voice low and rough against your ear. His teeth scraped your skin as he kissed down your neck, hard and possessive. “Tell me you do, because I’m not stopping, not until you beg for it.”

Your head fell back, the mattress creaking beneath you as you clawed at the sheets, barely holding on to your own control.

You wanted to push him away, but the way he had you trapped, the way his cock slid so perfectly inside you, made it impossible to resist. He was relentless, driving into you harder, faster, with every thrust. His breath was labored, a grunt escaping his lips as he leaned down to catch your mouth in a bruising kiss. The kiss was messy, hungry, like he was trying to consume you.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he muttered against your lips, his hand sliding down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit with a practiced touch. “So fucking perfect for me. I swear, you’re mine.”

Your chest tightened at the possessiveness in his voice, the way he claimed you so fully, like you were something he needed to conquer. You couldn’t help but moan as the pressure inside you built, the way his cock stroked deep, hitting every spot inside you that made your head spin. The praise, the roughness—he had you unraveling.

“Say it,” he growled, his voice breaking slightly with each thrust. “Say you’re mine. I want to hear it, now.”

You felt the words bubble up from deep inside you, the rush of emotions—desire, frustration, the overwhelming need to submit to him.

“I’m yours,” you gasped, your voice shaky, like the words were a plea. “Fuck, I’m yours. All yours.”

His grip on your wrists tightened, the rough pull of your body closer to his as he took you with everything he had. “Damn right you are,” he grunted. “Now don’t you fucking forget it.”

You could feel the heat building, the pressure inside you growing stronger with every second. He didn’t give you a moment to breathe, just kept going, kept pounding into you until you were a mess beneath him. The force of each thrust had your body shaking, helpless to do anything but take what he was giving you. And when you came, your body tensed and your back arched off the bed, your hands tugging at the sheets as you cried out his name, it was pure, overwhelming pleasure.

“Fuck,” Dick groaned, his movements faltering for a second as he thrust harder, chasing his own release. “That’s it. Take it. Take everything I fucking give you.”

You felt him tense above you, his body shuddering as he came deep inside you, his grip on you unrelenting. The room filled with the sound of his breath, your own, and the wet slap of skin against skin.

He collapsed on top of you afterward, breathless and still inside you, his body heavy against yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke—just feeling the aftershocks of the storm that had just passed.

His lips brushed against your forehead as he murmured, “You’re incredible. So fucking incredible.”

You smirked softly, running your fingers through his hair, the feeling of him still embedded in you leaving you a bit breathless. “You don’t have to keep reminding me. But I won’t complain if you do.”

He chuckled darkly, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his body still vibrating with the intensity of what had just happened. “I plan on reminding you every fucking day, if you want me too...”

And as you both lay there, tangled up in the sheets, neither of you needed to say more. You both knew this wasn’t just a one-time thing. It was just the beginning. Fuck, he didn't even know your name, and he was wanting a future?

The sun’s just barely peeking in when you rise, warm light spilling through his apartment windows in soft gold. He’s still asleep—sprawled across his bed, dark hair a mess, one hand tucked under the pillow where your head used to rest. His brow is relaxed, lips slightly parted, still breathing deep like he’s safe. Like he trusts you to still be there.

You smile, just a little.

But you’re already halfway through dressing—slipping your top back on, sliding your heels into place with practiced ease. You move quietly, your steps light, smooth. You don’t want to wake him. Not yet.

You glance around for something—anything—to write with.

There’s a receipt on his nightstand, the back mostly blank. A pen sticks out of his jacket pocket draped over the chair. You pull it free and write your message in loopy, confident handwriting.

"See you again soon xx"

No name. No number. No clue if it’s a promise or a tease.

You leave it right where he’ll see it. By his phone. Next to the watch he took off before sliding into bed with you.

And then you go.

The door clicks softly behind you. No one would ever guess from the way you walk away that you’d just left a man like that in bed—half-naked, wrecked, kissed into sleep like he was yours.

Maybe he is.

Maybe not.

But you’ll see him again.

You're sure of it.

THIS WAS INSPIRED BY SOMEONE ON HERE ABSOLUTELY SIMPING FOR REGINA GEORGE !!! I CANT FIND THE FUCKING POST , BUT IF YOU ARE OUT THERE , THANK YOU !!! I SIFTED MY LIKES BUT I CANNOT FIND YOU !! REGINA LOVER FIND ME SO I CAN LINK THE INSPO 😩

THE KING HAS BEEN FOUND, SEARCH OVER

[invincibledc]

Jason: this is my child.

Jason holds raccoon!reader like a football.

Dick: … that’s our sibling, you can’t be a brother and a father at the same time.

Jason: Watch me Bitch. *pulls up adoption papers that says Y/N Todd with Wayne crossed out*

Dick: JASON!?

[robinpoison]

DOM!DICK GRAYSON

afab, mirror sex, creampie, no protection, good girl used

Dick Grayson loves to fuck you in the mirror. Your soft back against his chest, your plump ass bouncing on his inner thighs, your wet count dripping on his cock— and most of all.. the view in front of him.

“Such a good girl.” he purrs as he licks your ear. You whined at the sensation, bouncing on his cock like a rabbit on heat as his hand fondled your tits. “What a pretty girl, do you love bouncing on my cock?” you nodded “Y-yes..” you whispered.

His hands wander to your waist as he pushes you down harshly, “Can’t hear you properly, princess.” you let out a loud whine “I love your cock!” you said. He smirked against your skin, “Look at the mirror beautiful, you’re so gorgeous.. my pretty girl.” he says as he moves your waist up and down

He presses kisses all over your neck to soothe you, whispering sweet praises in your ear once in a while. Your head turns back a bit, “Please fill me up.” you requested. Dick kissed your cheek, “You sure baby?” you nodded as he let out a groan.

“Want me to fill up this pretty cunt?” “Yes, yes!” He moves your waist up and down and thrusts as well. You moaned and squirm on his lap and you swore he fucked your brains out. You look yourself at the mirror— his long cock destoying yout cunt, love marks all over your body and your fucked up expression.

The both of you came at the same time, Dick made sure to ride out your orgasm as his hair falls to your shoulders. His cum dripped to his thighs and to the floor as he peppered kisses on your neck, “Good girl.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

How these guys would react to having their face held…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Stay.’ He whispered. ‘Please.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[alikesical]

One-sided academic rival!Dick Grayson x Reader

part 1 part 2

trigger warnings: kissing, mentions of death, reader is exceptionally dense, Dick is an idiot in love

Dick is a grown man.

Grown men don't squeal and giggle on their bed. Only they do. And he was.

The moment he got back into his room after getting your stitches checked out in med bay. He wasn't surprised they were good, everything you touched seemed to turn into gold.

He fell on his bed, wide grin gracing his face as he stared at the ceiling.

He kissed you. He actually kissed you. And you, you kissed him back.

Dick didn't care if he dropped dead right now. He'd die a happy man.

What more could he ask for?

He closes his eyes, replaying the scene in his head, like a broken record. How your lips felt against his own. How warm your body was. How the weight of your hand against his heart weighted a million tons, all the while being featherlight.

He sighed, trying to remember every single detail of the moment.

The sounds in the room. His feelings. Anything. Everything.

But the only thing he can see is you. Your eyes glimmering with tears, cheeks rosy as you looked up at him. Praying- Begging him to stay alive.

Seeing you sad, crying, broke his heart. But it meant something.

You cared. You cared enough to be upset at the prospect of him being hurt. Of him dying on the line of duty.

He chuckles lightly at that.

"You're so embarrassing." Dick snaps his eyes open, head turning to the door. He smirks at the sight of his brother leaning at the door frame.

"You're just jealous." Dick sings, sitting up, as Jason stomped in, throwing himself on the bed.

"Of you being a lovesick fool?" Dick turned his head, noticing how his brothers eyebrow raised, "I don't think so." Dick chuckles deeply at his words.

Jason was never good with words. Especially for someone that inhales books like he needs that sappy Victorian romance to breathe.

If this was anyone else he was saying this to, they'd misunderstand Jason's words for annoyance. Disgust even. His expression certainly conveyed that.

Dick wasn't anyone else though. He was his brother.

He could see the soft look in Jason's eyes, and the little twitch of his lips as he tried to keep his tough persona intact.

He knew that the big, scary Red Hood cried at rom-coms. He had seen him throw popcorn at the TV while watching Love Actually for the thousandth time. He knew that he kept a journal.

"You're the one to talk," he lightly hits Jason on the abdomen, "As if you don't write your little feelings in your little diary."

Jason glared at him. "It's not a diary," he muttered, looking away as a blush crept over his cheeks.

It was a diary.

"And besides, that's none of your business." Jason crossed his arms and sank deeper into the bed like it could swallow him whole.

Dick tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “Do you write about me in it?”

“Shut up.”

“You totally do.”

Jason reached for the nearest pillow and chucked it at his head.

Dick caught it mid-air with practiced ease. “Aw, c’mon. Just a little ‘dear diary, my stupid older brother kissed the love of his life today and now he won’t shut up about it’?”

Jason buried his face in his hands. “I swear to God, if you don’t stop talking—”

“You’ll what? Write about me in your diary again?”

A muffled groan came from Jason as he pulled the blanket over his head. But even through the fabric, Dick could hear him laughing.

It was weird how you found yourself zoning out every two minutes. You weren't like this. You were focused. On important things.

Like university, and passing your classes, and working for a better future, and how Nightwing's lips felt just right against yours-

That's it! That's the problem.

Ever since that kiss - that wonderful, beautiful kiss - you haven't been able to focus on anything around you.

God. This is the dream situation all over again.

Why does the universe hate you so much?

You didn't ask any of it! You wanted to finish school, get the hell out of here, and find a job. You wanted a normal life. A perfectly normal, quiet life.

Kissing bleeding vigilantes in your bedroom is not normal. It's not anywhere near normal.

And what's the deal with that anyway?

It was just a kiss. You have kissed people before. But you have never stared at a wall, blushing and reeling, remembering how softly he held you, and just how right he felt against you.

But other people weren't him. They didn't climb in your window every other night and force you to take a break. They wouldn't bring you food, when the saw you had been running on fumes.

Other people weren't him.

You slap your hands on your cheeks, ignoring the pain, "Get yourself together!" you yell, forcibly exhaling from your mouth. An exhale combined with a groan.

This situation has gone far enough. You are an adult. You kiss people. People kiss you.

So pull yourself together, and get up from this damn couch. Dick is supposed to be here in a while, and you still haven't cleaned up.

Oh God Dick was coming over and you cant gather your scattered thoughts.

What is he gonna think, seeing you like this, seeing you so pathetic.

Wait- Why would Dick care? Why do you care about what Dick thinks?

He's probably just gonna make fun of you. Laugh that boisterous laugh and tease you till your face changed all shades of red.

So you stand up, groaning as you make your way to the kitchen. The house would instantly look better once the plates were out of the way. And besides you needed the distraction.

Even if said distraction was having to clean.

By the time you heard the knock on your door, you'd mostly finished cleaning.

Sure, the apartment wasn’t spotless—there were still a suspicious stain on the rug you decided to pretend didn’t exist, and dust behind the TV—but then again, what student apartment ever was?

You open the door, Dick standing on the other side with the widest grin on his face. Sure, he always was cheerful, but this was something else.

He was glowing.

"What's gotten you so cheery this morning?" you let him in, staring in mild confusion as he seemed to skip a step as he walked past you.

Something is definitely up.

Dick plopped on your couch, feet immediately finding their way on the console table in front of him, "Can't a man just be happy?" he says, smiling at you.

"No." you say simply, walking towards him, arms crossed. You look at him, eyebrow raised in suspicion. "Spill."

He stays silent though, staring at you, silently scaling whether or not he should tell you.

"You seemed stressed, why don't you tell me about what?" he's deflecting. You narrow your eyes at him, as if you were challenging him. Dick has never seen anything hotter.

"This isn't about me." you say, not missing a beat. Dick doesn't have to know about what happened the other night. It'll definitely spare you the teasing.

"Okay, something might have happened the other night..."

"Something as in..."

"I might have kissed someone-" he admitted slowly, soft smile on his lips.

He looked... flustered?

"WHAT?" you jump up at his words, eyes widening, "TELL ME MORE, THIS IS GREAT!" you smile at him and Dick feels his stomach dropping.

"Yeah... it is..." he says, defeated.

You don't care. He told you he kissed someone and you don't care.

And you seem excited for him. Happy.

Reality hit him like a slap in the face, quick and hard. You didn't like him. Not like he liked you. But you liked Nightwing. You liked the mask, not him...

It hurt more than he expected. He hadn’t anticipated how hollow it would feel to have you so close, yet so far away.

He felt his throat close up at the thought of telling you. He should, he knows he should.

At some point he should come clean. Tell you everything.

Would you hate him for it?

"Tell me about her! Do I know her?" you exclaim, leaning forward, the smile on your face earnest and real, and he feels his stomach turning.

He's dying inside and you don't even realise it.

"She's very smart, and so, so pretty, like- I dont know how a person that beautiful can exist," he says, looking in your eyes, his own glimmering and bright, "She's interesting, and funny, and always keeps me at my toes. I- I wanna be better for her..." he says, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

He sounds so earnest, so... in love with this girl.

He chuckles a bit before he continues, "Terrible first impression though! She hated me. Like, a lot. Tried to ignore me every time I talked to her."

"Sounds... a lot", you reply, voice steady.

"She thinks I'm an idiot most of the time" you giggle at his words, agreeing with her mentally. Dick was an idiot. A loud, talkative idiot who deserved the world.

"I really hope it works out, you deserve someone nice! Someone who'll...." you purse your lips trying to come up with the correct word, "Match your energy." your voice is light, teasing, but the way your lips twitch—just barely hiding a smirk—gives you away.

He raises an eyebrow in mock offense, "Is this you saying I'm a lot?"

"You are a lot."

It's been three days since Dick was over and seven since the kiss, and Nightwing hasn't stopped by.

You know, logically, that he's probably resting. Getting the wound restitched, correcting your messy work. Making sure he don't die from an infection.

Maybe he was on a mission. Maybe something was threatening Gotham again, and he had to be there. make sure everyone is safe.

Or maybe he just doesn't care, and the kiss was a spur of the moment thing.

Maybe he's embarrassed and doesn't know how to face you. You certainly wouldn't know how to face him if he appeared right now.

Maybe that's for the best. Not seeing him again.

Then why does it hurt? Why does your stomach twist and turn at the thought of not seeing him again.

And then you have Dick Grayson waltzing in as if he owns the place acting all happy and mushy about kissing some girl he knows, rubbing salt to the wound.

Why can't your situation be that simple? You bet Dick didn't drop out of the face of the earth after kissing that girl.

Who even is she?

You know Dick has friends other than you, and you have seen and heard countless times how people talk about him.

But he seemed... excited? He must really like this girl...

Then why didn't he ever mention her? Dick is a blabbermouth, in all ways possible. His mouth is trying to catch up to his stream of thoughts every time he opens it. There's no way he wouldn't rant about someone he has a crush to.

The maybe a one night stand? No, he said she disliked him - hated him, at the start. Also he didn't seem like the type to gush about a one night stand.

Then again, he is a man.

But he was gushing, like- fully enamoured, gushing, not boasting.

Why are you even thinking about Dick right now, he has nothing to do with the situation at hand.

Besides, thinking of Dick kissing someone else makes your stomach turn in ways you dont wanna think about, and your ears ring. How he held her, what he told her, what it must have been like to be a mere breath away from him...

You feel your face morph scrunch up at the thought.

You need to stop thinking about that, it makes you feel uneasy in a way you cant place.

Disgust probably...

Yeah... disgust.

"What if we go to the Metropolis library?" Dick suggests, spoonful of ice cream in his mouth.

You grimace at that, "You're like a child Grayson, stop speaking with your mouth full." and he blows raspberries at you, only proving your point further.

"Think of it," he says, not giving your words any mind, "The books there aren't burnt. Or stolen" you can hear the spoon scraping against the bottom of the container, his eyes fixed on it, "Besides, a change in scenery will do you some good."

You shake your head at his words, raising your gaze from your notebook momentarily to turn and look at him sitting next to you.

"We wouldn't be going for tourism Dick" you bite down at your pen, as you go over a research paper he had found. Actually, Tim had found it and translated it, but he wasn't gonna tell you that.

He chuckles, leaving the now empty tub on the console table, "Okay, a change in libraries then."

You smile, nodding at his words, as he picks up with own papers, leaning back on your couch.

It was strange how he fit into your life just perfectly. Like he was always supposed to be there. Sitting by you on the couch, eating ice cream without a care in the world.

You realize you’d never really let anyone in this close. You always run away, and you tried. You really did, but he has a way you guess.

You notice the moles on his cheek, exactly the same pattern as Nightwings.

He still hasn't come by... And that was fine, he didn't owe you anything.

It still stung nonetheless.

Dick, however, keeps showing up. Not just for the project, either. The other day, he just showed up and watched TV with you. No purpose, no reason. Just… company.

Now that you think of it, he and Nightwing would make pretty good friends. They seemed to be the same flavour of reckless and stupid. And they would definitely laugh at each others stupid jokes.

You had never thought about it before, but they were very similar.

The way Dick carried himself, reminded you how Nightwing would slip in your room - always from the window. God forbid he used a door. And the way Nightwings lips turned up, forming into a smirk, really reminded you of Dicks smile.

And it wasn't just physical

Its weird how you never made that connection before. But then again a lot of people share traits. And moles apparently.

He's so close, but so far away

You unconsciously leaned in, and soon enough-

The feeling of his lips against yours is both startling and strangely comforting. It’s a moment suspended in time, both familiar and entirely new. But before you can process it, you pull back, wide-eyed.

He stared at the flabbergasted expression painted on your face, his own mirroring your shock.

Youre gaping like a fish at him, heart racing, "I- ah-"

What have you done?

You kissed Dick Grayson out of the blue. Why would you kiss him?

No no no no no.

He's gonna hate you. He already hates you. He- Oh my God, he likes someone! And he told you. And he was excited about it. And you kissed him!

You stand up abruptly, looking around shell-shocked. You can hear him call your name. You ignore it.

"I- ah-" you gulp, taking a deep breath, "I'm gonna go." you say and move towards the door, running out of your own house.

For a moment, confusion flashes across his face, but then, slowly, a smile spreads. He can't help it.

Dick stared at the door as he stood up, quietly cheering at the way his day had progressed.

His lips were chapped. Chapped but warm. And you couldn't stop thinking about them.

You hoped that taking a walk would clear your head. Make everything fall into place.

The only thing that happened was losing the feeling on your toes.

You shiver as you open your front door, ready to just fall asleep and ignore everything and everyone around you for the foreseeable future.

You were prepared to see an empty, quiet apartment. What you didn't expect was Dick Grayson still sitting on your couch, surfing through the channels of your TV.

Didn't he have a home to return to? Its been two hours.

You freeze mid-step, staring at him like he's a ghost, "You're still here."

"I'm still here." he turns of the TV and stand up, as you close the door behind you, the urge to run away growing strong again.

"Why?"

"What do you mean why?" he chuckles sitting on the arm of the couch, "Do you need a reminder of what happened?" he smirks and you feel your face changing colours, freezing again.

"Youre so annoying!" you scoff, throwing your coat on a chair, not caring enough to hang it, heading to the sink, needing desperately some water.

"I wasn't annoying a few hours ago" you choke on water.

Was it always this hot in here?

You stomp back to the living room, looking at Dicks annoying face, "I could call the police!" you exclaim, "This is trespassing!"

"You wouldn't, East Enders dont like cops" he laughs rolling his eyes, not noticing how you freeze at his words.

"...How do you know that?" you ask, walking slowly towards him, confusion lacing your voice. Dick feels his heart stutter.

"What?"

"That I'm from the East End..." you repeat, not taking your eyes off of him for a single moment.

"You told me?" he laughs lightly, hoping you'd drop it. Believe that you had actually told him and not his alter ego.

"No I didn't, the only person who knows is my mom and-" you inhale sharply, stepping closer to him determined.

"Wha- What are you doing?" Dick asks, watching you stare at his abdomen, as if youre trying to see through his shirt. You reach for the hem, and he immediately starts moving around, like a child.

"Stop squirming!" you yell.

Your fingers tremble as you grab the hem of his shirt. He flinches. You don’t care.

"No, let go!" Dick grabs your wrist holding your hand down. You glare at him as you throw his hand again, immediately raising his shirt.

You gasp lightly at the sight.

Those are stitches on his abdomen. Your stitches.

Realisation hit you like a truck, chills running down your spine.

How could you have not known? You literally had all the parts of the story and still didn't figure it out.

You are so stupid.

You raise your gaze, meeting his eyes, "Motherfucker!" You exclaim, staring at him, fist still curled in his shirt.

"If she's half as pretty as you, I wou-" he joked, trying to suppress the urge to run away.

He really was his fathers son, huh?

"Dick!" you warn him, yanking on his shirt.

"...Surprise?" Dick laughs lightly, waiting for your reaction. The screaming, the crying, the betrayal.

He waited for you to throw him out of your house. Out of your life.

But you simply stare at him, eyes darting.

It's him...

It's actually him.

You know that you should be angry. He lied to you, he pretended to be two different people. It'd be normal and more than justified to lash out on him right now.

But all you feel is... relief.

It all makes sense.

They were the same person. The same wonderful, annoying, absolutely perfect person.

Nightwing hadn't left you high and dry, because he was here every day, watching TV with you, eating, working.

And Dick- Dick was talking about you. All that softness, all that love he displayed like a trophy in his eyes, were for you.

"Listen, I know I should have told you-" he starts speaking, taking your hand into his, forcing you to let go of the fabric.

He's running the pad of his thumb gently on your knuckles. It's the first time he has done that, and yet its comfortable. Familiar.

Your head is spinning. He is talking to you - he constantly talks. His mouth is moving but you can't hear a word. He's no doubt explaining himself, telling you he'll go if you want him to. Being himself.

You feel the air raggedly enter your lungs as you inhale, and the next thing you know, your lips are on his for the second time today.

They are still chapped. Still warm.

Dicks shock only lasts a moment before his hands find your waist, falling into place immediately. He feels your hands around his neck, the smell of your shampoo, overwhelming his senses. He pulls you towards him, holding you close, scared this is a dream, and that'll he wake up in his room, alone.

You pull away, resting your forehead against his. His heartbeat is drumming against your fingers.

"You're Nightwing." you exhale

"I am." he said, trying to catch his breath

"You kissed me."

"I did." he nods simply, because to him it was simple.

"And then you disappeared!" you hit the back of his neck, looking at him annoyed, "Who does that? And then you come by and tell me all about it, without actually telling me!" Dick laughs as he pulls you in a tight hug, resting his head on your shoulder.

"I know" you feel him smiling, "I'm sorry." he says, and you don't care about him not telling you anymore.

Because he's holding you.

He's here.

And nothing has ever felt more like home.

Hiiii, I know its been long, I'm sorry but university is very much kicking my ass (all for nothing too, I failed all three of my tests lmao)

You've been so supportive and nice and it lowkey makes me cry so I really hope you like it🤗🤗

@skyguys-princess @dontyouthinkitstrange @jaemindontberude @st4rg1rln

[hanasnx]

need to watch dick's biceps flex as he bullies his fingers in my cunt

MINORS DNI 18+

NOTES: DC is for December Event! — request DC characters.

“You like the show, baby?” DICK GRAYSON asks with a hint of amusement, goading you into a response he knows you’ll struggle to be capable of. You pant through your open mouth, the sensation of his fingers plowing your guts all that courses through your mind through now. The acrobat seems to forget you’re not as flexible as him as he forces you to curl to watch your own pussy get battered. An ache thrums through your neck while he pulls your head forward with his other palm at the back of your neck, keeping that eye contact on exactly where he wants it to be.

The wet stain of your squirt still glistens on his forearm, spattered up to his elbow in little dots. You bite your own lip at the sight, and peer up through your lashes to follow it. Every vein of his is pronounced in his arms, swollen from the effort of directing your every movement, and drilling that spongy spot inside of you. You keen a little higher each time, your body beginning to squirm under his touch, but he wrestles you back where he wants you, continuing to bully your g-spot.

Fingering you is a work-out, and one he takes great pride in. As if all his training as been for maintaining a constant pace in his natural piston, scooping the inside of you with three dizzying fingers. You can see it in the way his biceps flex keeping you in place by the scruff of your neck, and fucking you on his other hand. Your expression twists up, tears burning your eyes as you’re nearing the edge, your body tensing up. “That’s it, baby, that’s it. That’s what I want. Give it to me.” he encourages you, talking you through it.

[killerplink]

You, very pouty and dramatic: If you don't want me in your lap, just say so.

Dick, confused as shit: Love, I never said that—

You, smacking your lips: Then I shall remain. Like a very sexy goblin.

Dick, blinking slowly: A... goblin?

You, nodding matter of factly: A goblin with a fat ass.

Dick, completely gone: God, I love you so fucking much.

You, all giggly: As you should, baby.

[charon-i]

I don't know man but it just ruins the experience for me cuz when I'm reading fanfics, I couldn't help myself from doubting whether it's from AI or written by a real human being.

It would suck ass to know that your favorite author here is an avid Ai user.

A shame really.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤMY CRAZY BOYFRIENDㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Robins x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : When They Act Crazy But Think It's Normal.

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

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

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

You walked into your room, ready to flop on your bed after a long day, only to scream when you saw Dick fucking Grayson himself sitting cross-legged on your floor, holding one of your shirts.

“What the hell, Dick?!” you yelled, clutching your chest. “What are you doing in my room?”

He looked up, completely unfazed, flashing his signature charming grin. “Hey, babe. I missed you.”

You pointed at the shirt in his hands. “Why do you have my shirt?”

Dick stood up, holding it close to his chest like a lifeline. “It smells like you, and I needed it to get through patrol last night. Do you know how hard it is to fight crime without the love of your life’s essence keeping you grounded?”

“Dick, that’s so creepy!” you exclaimed, though you were trying not to laugh.

“But I love you,” he said with those puppy-dog eyes, leaning closer. “And I thought about you the whole time. Did you think about me too?”

“Not like this!”

— JASON TODD ⋆

You were out with Jason at a local diner, enjoying some milkshakes when you noticed he kept glancing at you while trying (and failing) to be subtle about it.

“Okay, what’s up?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jason grinned, leaning forward with his chin on his hand. “Nothing, just thinking about how cute you look when you drink your milkshake.”

“...Thanks?” you said, feeling your face heat up.

Then, out of nowhere, Jason pulled a tiny notepad out of his pocket and started furiously writing.

“What are you doing?” you asked, bewildered.

“I’m cataloging everything you do that makes my heart race,” he said matter-of-factly. “Like, right now—number 438: The way you scrunch your nose when you’re confused.”

Your jaw dropped. “You have a list?”

“Of course I do,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “How else am I supposed to remember every little thing I love about you?”

You buried your face in your hands, torn between laughing and dying of embarrassment. “Jason, people can hear you!”

“Good,” he said, smirking. “Let the world know how much I love you.”

— 90s TIM DRAKE ⋆

You were sitting on your couch when Tim burst through your front door, looking frantic.

“Tim?! What are you doing?!” you shouted, startled.

“I need to check your internet history,” he said, completely serious.

“What?” you gawked, standing up.

Tim held up his laptop like it was a sacred relic. “I hacked into your Wi-Fi and noticed some…suspicious searches.”

“You WHAT?!”

“Why were you looking up ‘how to tell if your boyfriend is crazy’ at 3 a.m.?” he demanded, his face a mix of hurt and desperation.

You stared at him, your mouth open in shock. “Tim, what the hell! That was a meme! I wasn’t being serious!”

“Oh.” He blinked, looking sheepish for about two seconds before he perked up. “Well, now you don’t have to wonder. I am crazy—for you.”

“Get out of my house!”

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

You were in your backyard when you heard a rustling noise coming from the bushes. Frowning, you approached cautiously, only to jump back when Damian crawled out on all fours like a feral cat.

“Damian?! What are you doing in my bushes?!”

He stood up, brushing off his uniform like this was a perfectly normal situation. “I was ensuring your safety.”

“By hiding in my bushes?” you asked, flabbergasted.

“I must remain vigilant,” he said, crossing his arms. “You are surrounded by incompetent fools who cannot be trusted with your protection.”

“Damian, my dad is literally inside the house.”

“He doesn’t have the necessary training to spot an assassin from 300 yards away,” Damian scoffed. “But do not fear—I am here.”

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “This is so creepy. Do you even hear yourself?”

“Creepy? No. Devoted? Absolutely.”

— MASTERLIST ☆

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

[azurefanfics]

Collapse

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader

Word count: 8k

Warnings/tags: Established relationship, explosions, graphic description of injuries/gore, slight disassociation, angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: During an Arkham breakout, you’re tasked with evacuating a building that the Riddler has planted a bomb in. What happens when it all goes wrong?

A/N: This is my first fic I’ve written for the Batfam (and the first fic I’ve written in a LONG time). It’s basically just a non proofread, tropey, long self-indulgent mess that I chucked together because I’m a fiend for angst and love to make my man suffer. I have used a lot of creative license with the medical stuff and have just ignored the concept of realistic physics so please forgive me if it's not accurate at all!

—-

The night started out as a relatively peaceful one in Gotham. Although the two of you were normally Bludhaven birds - Nightwing and Nightingale - you had decided to spend some time in the manor following a mission gone wrong. Your husband had managed to make it out unscathed but you weren’t so lucky. He had managed to wriggle free from his bonds just too late to prevent you from receiving a nasty leg injury, which had left you benched for the last few weeks. 

Dick had managed to get a couple of blows in - enough that the villain wouldn’t be a threat to the citizens of Bludhaven for a while - before the villain slipped from his grasp. But with the threat still out there, neither of you were happy with the prospect of Dick patrolling without backup whilst you were in your shared apartment injured, vulnerable and alone. The two of you had chosen to head to Gotham instead, where your beloved father-in-law welcomed you both with open arms, always happy to have more of his family under his roof.

Your husband was happy to be back in Gotham too - being in the same city made it much easier to bother his siblings. Although he visited very often, extended stays like this one were few and far between so he wanted to make the most of the opportunity to be an irritant in his sibling’s lives. Case in point - Dick was currently suspended upside down on the trapeze in the Batcave, swinging mindlessly back and forth whilst heckling his little brother below him. 

“Jason. Jaybird. Jaaaaaaaay!”

Jason, to his credit, had been doing his utmost to ignore Dick’s existence since he’d stomped into the cave a few minutes prior, muttering something about ‘needing to borrow B’s shit to upgrade his gun’. He’d taken one glance at the mischievous gleam in Dick’s eyes and rolled his eyes, focusing on dismantling his gun instead of his older brother’s valiant attempts at getting on his nerves. That didn’t deter your husband though.

“Y/nnnnn” he whined, changing tactics.

“Yes, Dickie?” you respond, bemused. You love watching your husband like this - carefree and childish, doing what he loves surrounded by people that he loves - so you’d never hesitate to humour him.

“Jason’s so mean! I’m just gonna cry myself to sleep! He’s just ignoring me, its like he doesn’t even lo-”

“Am I gonna have to shoot you to get you to actually shut up?” Jason interrupted with no real heat behind his words, trying to disguise the touch of fondness in his voice with fake anger. Dick grinned in victory.

“Oh yeah? With what gun? What are you gonna do, throw a little spring at me?” he taunts, gesturing at the gun pieces scattered on the table. Jason snorts in response.

“You think I’ve only got one? I’ve got plenty to choose from, Dickface. I’d be happy to give you a demonstration."

Just as Jason started to reach for his duffel bag, the brothers’ bickering was interrupted by an alert from Oracle. The message was simple and to the point: ‘Arkham break out. All hands on deck.’

Jason cursed and turned to gather up his gear, meanwhile your husband scrambled to get down and suit up. Whilst you longed to do the same, Alfred still hadn’t cleared you to be back in the field as your leg wasn’t fully healed yet. Instead, you sighed and headed towards the Batcomputer, intending to join Alfred there and lend a hand. As your husband sped by, you quickly reached out to him.

“Be careful out there, love. Stay safe.” 

“Always am, honey!” he responded with a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back before you know it.” he said, more sincere this time. And with one last peck on the lips, he headed towards the locker room to suit up and join the fray.

You sit down at the secondary Batcomputer - a contingency for this exact situation - and place your comms in your in, switching it on. You’re greeted by Oracle’s familiar voice, sounding harried.

“Gale you’re online, good. There’s 3 major players out tonight - we’ve got the Joker in Amusement Mile, Scarecrow in the Bowery and the Riddler down in the Kubrick District. B and Robin ran into the Joker on patrol so they’ve engaged, but B has requested extraction for R. It's too dangerous for him. Scarecrow has released his toxin in a dangerous location - high population density, lots of weapons in the area, minimal gas masks available. Spoiler and Red Hood are en route. I’ve got N and Red Robin coming in from opposite ends of the city to get to the Riddler as well.”

“Ok. I assume Agent A is supporting B?” you asked. As you turned to see him nod, you spotted a lithe figure in black, followed by a bleary-eyed, sleep-ruffled Duke. The poor guy always seemed to get his sleep interrupted, especially when there was an all-hands call. “Signal and Black Bat are incoming. Black Bat can support B and Signal can head to the Bowery, but we need more hands there.”

“Agreed. Black Bat can lighten the pressure on B and allow Robin to slip away. Can you get him to the Bowery?”

“Yes. Can you get GCPD support as well? I can coordinate over there so you can focus on the Riddler.”

“On it.” Oracle responded.

For the next half hour you focused in on your job: getting Damian out of the clown’s line of fire, tracking down Scarecrow and sending Duke and Jason over to deal with him, coordinating Damian, Steph and the GCPD to get civilians to safety and passing on information to minimise the impact of the fear gas as much as you could. Everything was going well, with Jason and Duke in active combat with Scarecrow and Steph and Damian taking over coordination of the GCPD on the ground. It seemed like there wasn’t much left for you to do. 

You had just switched over to open comms, ready to see if anyone else needed your support, when you heard a curse from Oracle. 

“What happened?” you asked with urgency. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“It seems like the Riddler’s been out for longer than we thought. He’s got bombs planted across the city.”

“Shit. They planned this.” you whisper, realisation sinking in. “How many are there?”

“4 - in Burnley, Coventry, the Fashion District and Chinatown.” Oracle lets out a huff of annoyance as she continues. “I’ve got the general areas down but there’s some kind of interference in the areas so I can’t pinpoint the locations. I need eyes on the ground.”

“The GCPD?”

“They’re stretched too thin. They won’t be able to cover all 4 locations and assist in the Bowery.”

You hummed in consideration. Although things were going relatively smoothly in the Bowery, that was heavily reliant on the manpower lent by the GCPD. Damian and Steph were great vigilantes, but they couldn’t be everywhere at once. While there were other officers in the city, a majority of the forces had been directed towards the Bowery, and those that weren’t were mostly around the GCPD headquarters.

“Tell them to focus on downtown. I’ll pull a couple officers from the Bowery and send them over to Burnley. As for Coventry, I’ll handle it.” you said, sending a quick message to Steph before you stood up to get changed.

“Miss Y/N!” Alfred said sharply in protest. “What about your leg?”

“Don’t worry Alfie.” You shot your pseudo grandfather figure a comforting smile. “I might not be ready for combat yet, but there won’t be any of that. People’s lives are at stake. I can still walk and run, I’ll be fine.” You appreciated his concern but you couldn’t stand idly by while civilians were in danger - that was why you became a vigilante in the first place. You were determined to go out there. Alfred must’ve seen it too, as he met your eyes and simply sighed.

“Be careful, Miss Y/N.” 

“Always am, Alfie!” you respond, echoing your husband’s earlier words before heading to suit up. 

Once you got to Coventry, it was relatively easy to locate the bomb. Although the interference was frustrating for Oracle, it acted almost a honing beacon for you, leading you straight there. By the time you had found the right building, your comms were useless, unable to get signal from the outside world.

The bomb was located in the basement of a large apartment complex, clearly having been placed there to maximise the number of civilian lives at risk. Although you would’ve preferred to deal with it right away, you knew your priority had to be evacuating and getting everyone in the building to safety. Without Oracle in your ear to warn you, you had no way of knowing when the building was about to come down and you couldn’t put lives at risk like that.

Instead, you ran back up to the building lobby and yanked down the nearest fire alarm you could find. A shrill piercing noise filled your ears and, although the sound was headache-inducing, you breathed a sigh of relief - people would start evacuating.

You watched as residents began to trickle out - slower than you would have liked, but this was Gotham so it was probably the third fire alarm they’d had that week. Even so, when they spotted you in the lobby, they began to move with more urgency. Although you were a Bludhaven vigilante, you started out in Gotham and still helped out there often enough that your costume and status as a Bat was well-known. If a Bat was here, it was serious.

You began directing them further away from the building, making sure that they were safely outside of any potential blast radius. You asked a couple of them to try and get in touch with the GCPD as soon as they were out of range of the interference. Although they wouldn’t be able to provide any assistance, they would at least be able to let Babs know that the evacuation was underway.

Eventually the flow of people slowed to a stop, but you knew your job was far from over. There was no telling how many people were still in the building, unwilling or unable to respond to the alarm. You had to go door to door to make sure that every last person was out.

Your suspicions were quickly proven to be correct as you wound your way up the building, coming across a number of individuals and families who were shocked to see you. Whether it was shock at the fire alarm being real or shock at having a Bat on their doorstep, you weren’t sure. Either way, they all quickly understood the gravity of the situation and made their way out of the building as fast as they could. 

Since the fire alarm had automatically deactivated the elevator, there were a couple of residents with mobility issues whom you had to help get down the stairs as well. Usually this would be a simple task for any Bat-trained vigilante, but the combination of the extra weight and the stairs caused your leg to scream in protest. Even so, you were able to deliver them to a safe area outside where other residents were able to assist them, before turning back to continue the evacuation.

Eventually you made it to the top floor, escorting the last family struggling with their young children out with a request that they inform the GCPD that the building was clear. However, even having checked the building meticulously to make sure that every last person was out, you decided to do one last sweep of the building just in case. While it might not have been necessary, you would never forgive yourself if you left anyone behind. 

Your leg was beginning to bother you more than you would have liked, so you ended up limping more than running through the hallways, shouting to alert any possible stragglers. Nevertheless, you were still hopeful that you could get the final sweep done quickly. Perhaps when you were done, you could go out and check on the civilians, try to get in touch with Oracle, and then head back in to finally disarm the bomb.

While you were limping your way down the hallway, making your way out as your check was complete, you were abruptly overcome with a sense of dread. Something was wrong. Something was-

A deafening, thunderous crash echoed out as vibrations shook through the entire building, sending you reeling. The whole world appeared to shake around you as your ears began to ring. Panic seized your chest as you lost your orientation, being thrown around like nothing more than a ragdoll. You were rendered completely powerless as the forces pushed through your body, tossing you in the air before gravity brought you right back down again. 

Your body hit the cold concrete for a split second, before you felt the floor crumble beneath you. You watched as the ceiling above you began to cave in as well, raining down thick chunks of concrete and debris all around you.

Instinctually you reached out, scrabbling to find purchase anywhere as you hurtled through the air. Your fingers met cold metal and you quickly wrapped your fingers around it, closing your eyes and praying that it would be enough. You cried out as your arm was wrenched out of its socket, pain lacing through your body. But even still, you endured, desperately holding on to the piece of rebar that had become your salvation.

Unfortunately, your relief was short-lived. You shifted, attempting to pull yourself up to a more stable position, when a crack rang out above you. With a low groan and screech of metal scraping metal, the piece of concrete above you gave way, taking the piece of rebar with it. Within the blink of an eye, you found yourself falling once again. Your head collided with something mid-air, causing you to see stars as blood trickled down your temple. You almost wished it hit you harder so you would at least be unconscious for what was to come, but the universe was rarely so merciful.

Instead you felt it moment by agonising moment as something pierced through your abdomen, ripping through muscle and sinew, uncaring of the organs in its path as it tore through your body. For a second, there was nothing but your own heartbeat ringing in your ears as you reeled from the impact. You just hung there for a moment, held up by the piece of metal impaled through you, dimly aware of the thick, sticky liquid beginning to drip onto the floor. 

You released a shaky exhale as reality began to sink in, and that’s when it hit you. A searing, white-hot pain erupted from your stomach as a scream tore from your throat. Fire crawled up every nerve ending in your body, eating you alive from the inside out. You writhed in agony, only worsening your injury, sobbing as your ears filled with static and black dots invaded your vision.

Eventually, you managed to battle back the black from your vision as you forced yourself to recall your training from Bruce - training you and your husband had gone over a thousand times. First - remain calm. You could feel your chest heaving as you drew in panting breaths, shaking hands pressed to your abdomen. Calm. You had to remain calm. 

You closed your eyes and thought of your husband holding you tight, gently rocking you back and forth as he softly whispered in your ear, remaining steadfast in his support even on the worst nights of your life. You thought of your father-in-law Bruce, with his blunt words but oh-so-comforting hugs. Of Alfred and his cookies. Of Babs and her knowing smiles. Of Cass and her kind eyes. Of Jason and Tim and Steph and Duke and Damian - of every single member of the crazy vigilante family that had welcomed you and loved you as one of their own.

Unbidden, a tear slipped down your face. Unable to summon the strength to lift your hand and wipe it, you felt it drip down off your jaw, trailing across your body and onto the cold concrete below. You watched it mingle with the blood pooled below you with a detached sense of calm. On the bright side, at least your breathing was under control.

Oh. That’s right. Remaining calm - that was the first step. What was it that was next?

Observation - that was it. You had to take stock of the situation around you. Although you felt seconds away from floating away, from checking out of your brain completely and just leaving your body to deal with the pain, you wrestled back control of your limbs and forced yourself to focus on the next step. What could you see around you?

Looking at your surroundings, you could tell that you were largely encompassed by rubble on all sides. The space you were in was fairly big - about the size of a room in the manor - but was largely shrouded in darkness, making the details hard to see. However, cracks and gaps in the rubble above you did allow small streams of light to flow in, thankfully saving you from being in pitch darkness. 

For a second, you were tempted to shout - to scream as loudly as your aching vocal chords would allow. Gaps meant sound could escape, that someone could hear you. But then you realised, nobody knew you were in here. Nobody was looking for you, searching to hear a voice calling out. Nobody was stupid enough to enter an empty, collapsing building on the off chance someone hadn’t got out. You were on your own. You were better off saving what little energy you had left to deal with the situation you were in. 

Speaking of the ‘situation’, the first thing you saw when you looked down was the object that had punched straight through your body - it was a piece of rebar. How ironic. What you thought would be your saving grace had turned out to be your doom. Still, in a way you were lucky. The piece of rebar had arrested some of the momentum of falling, simply causing you to sink down further on the blood-slicked steel rather than become a smear on the floor. That hadn’t saved you from the falling debris though, as you could see that you were pinned down by a chunk of concrete over your left leg.

Looking at the metal again, you could tell that it wasn’t pointed straight up from the ground, pointing at a 50 or 60 degree angle instead. Rather than a simple puncture wound, the piece of steel had created a messy tear, leaving a gaping hole in your stomach. Ah. So that’s why you were bleeding so much.

Your mind started reeling as you began to comprehend the full extent of the situation you were in. You gave yourself a second to panic - to despair as you recognised how low your odds of survival were, before forcing yourself to set your emotions aside and think logically. How could you even begin to get out of this? That was the next thing you needed to do: make a plan.

Since nobody knew to look for you, you had to make yourself visible to someone who could help you. You had to get out of there. 

The first thing you had to do was pull yourself off the piece of metal that was skewered through you. With the angle of the steel leaving no clean entry or exit wound, there was no point in keeping the object in the wound anyway. You were going to bleed out either way, especially with no guarantee of help on the way. To be honest, at the rate you were losing blood, you weren’t sure if you were even going to make it that far, but you didn’t allow yourself to think about that. You could only allow yourself to focus on the next step, the task right in front of you.

What you needed to focus on was freeing your leg from the piece of concrete that was pinning you down, trapping you in place. You gave the chunk a rough kick with your good leg, causing sparks of pain to shoot from your leg and your stomach in unison. Bile rose up in your throat as stars danced in your vision. 

You steeled yourself for what was to come. You needed to do this, it was the only way out. You closed your eyes tightly and kicked out again, putting as much power behind it as you could muster. This time when the kick connected, you felt the chunk shift, allowing you to pull your leg free despite the excruciating feeling of the rebar being driven further into your body. You breathed and breathed and breathed, praying for the pain to pass. 

Eventually, you had recovered enough to realise that you could barely feel your leg at all. That should have been alarming, but honestly it was a welcome change since fiery hot pain was emanating from every other part of your body. Your head felt heavy and dizziness set in as you shifted in an attempt to get a better look at it. It was purpling and swollen, bleeding from a deep gash, with numerous smaller cuts littered across it. At your ankle there was a large lump, and where the skin had split you could see a hint of silvery white underneath. Your whole leg looked like a mess, and honestly you doubted that you would be able to stand on it at all. 

Even still, you gritted your teeth and forced it to bear your weight for even just a second. It was just enough for you to wrap your hands around the sticky, crimson-dyed steel and haul yourself forwards, pulling yourself off the piece of metal that had pierced through you. You stood upright for just an instant before you felt yourself listing, tipping forward to meet the ground. Black filled your vision as you crumpled into a heap, concrete and dust pressed against your face as your blood dripped between the fingers of your hand that was tightly pressed against your abdomen. 

You didn’t know how long it had been - long enough for blood to have begun pooling on the floor - before your vision returned and you finally found the strength to lift your head. 

Amongst the darkness, you were able to see a bright spot of light in front of you - a way out! It wasn’t far - maybe about 10 metres - but in your state it may as well have been 10 miles. You attempted to push yourself up onto your feet, but your leg gave way beneath you almost instantly. You had no hope of getting out of there like that. Finding yourself on the floor once again, you resigned yourself to crawling over instead. 

You moved slowly on your stomach, half crawling, half dragging yourself across the concrete, nails of the hand on your good arm scraping across the floor with a primal desperation to drive yourself forwards. Your body was singing in agony as you felt each movement scrape dust and debris into the open wound of your stomach and grind your arm bone against its empty socket. Despite the pain tormenting your body, you were still able to continue on, moving inch by torturous inch, ever closer to your escape.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, you were able to reach the gap in the rubble. You had just started to pull yourself through when the ringing in your skull got more insistent, black invading the edges of your vision. Despite your best efforts to push on, you found that your body refused to listen, refused to move another inch. It had finally become all too much and your body had begun to shut down, just close enough to salvation for the adrenaline to wear off. 

You prayed that your efforts would be enough as you finally surrendered to the darkness.

—-

Dick was frustrated. 

It was a mistake - a calculated risk that hadn’t worked out in their favour, that had allowed the Riddler to slip out of their grasp just long enough to detonate the bombs he had planted. Although they had got him back under their custody quickly, it was just a moment too late, so he and Tim were left waiting with bated breath to hear what their mistake had cost Gotham. Last they’d heard, the bombs had been located and evacuation efforts were underway. That had been a while ago, so they were cautiously optimistic, but you never know in Gotham.

“N. RR. We’ve heard back from the GCPD about the extent of the damage”. Babs’ voice rung out through their comms, putting them out of their misery. “3 of the 4 bombs were successfully disarmed. The 4th was located in an apartment complex that was confirmed to be clear of civilians.”

While it was upsetting that so many people lost their homes because of him, it was great to hear that the evacuation was complete. Dick wanted so badly to breathe a sigh of relief at the news, but something in the way she spoke made him hesitate. It was cold and toneless, focused on delivering facts only. It was the voice she used when she was forced to compartmentalise.

“O?” he asked, prompting her to go on.

“Nightingale was the one evacuating the building” she started, as distress began to leak into her voice. “We don’t know if she was clear of the explosion. She hasn’t checked in yet. There was-”

Dick stopped listening at this point, sucking in a sharp breath to try and clear the buzzing in his ears, to try and focus on anything but the dread that filled his body from head to toe. Why were you even there? You should have been resting in the manor with Alfred instead of bearing the consequences of his own stupidity. His mind spiralled with worst case scenarios and what ifs, as a pit settled in his stomach. 

No! Catastrophising wouldn’t help the situation. You were a vigilante, you were a Bat - you’d faced worse odds than this before. He had to pull himself together and focus on the next step in front of him.

He took a restrained Riddler and shoved him towards Red Robin, trusting his little brother to deal with the villain while he took quick strides towards his motorcycle. He had to get to the bomb site. If he were lucky, you’d greet him with a smile and he could help lighten your load in dealing with the aftermath. If not, then he had to find you. 

When he finally pulled up to the site, having broken multiple traffic laws to get there as soon as possible, he began searching the crowd for you. He looked around desperately for the flash of blue of your costume, but couldn’t spot it in the packed crowd. Damn the whole family for prioritising stealth. He was about to continue weaving his way through the crowd when he was stopped by a young woman surrounded by a gaggle of children. It was times like this that he regretted his reputation as the friendly, approachable Bat, but he knew that you’d want him to stop and help. 

He did his best to hide his desperation to get back to his search and plastered on a fake smile, greeting the woman.

“How can I help?”

“Nightwing!” the woman responded. “I think Nightingale might still be in the building! She helped us all get out but I haven’t seen her since and I think she might have headed back inside. I wanted to tell someone but there was no one to talk to and I left my phone inside but now you’re here and you can find her. Thank god!” the woman started rambling, panic lacing her voice.

Nightwing, for his part, had closed his eyes, fighting to regulate his breathing. There it was. The worst case scenario he had been steadfastly ignoring, all spelled out in front of him. Terror filled his body, sunk into his bones and left his knees weak. He wished he didn’t have to be strong right now. He wished he could fall apart like he so desperately wanted to, that you would be there to hold him close and help him pick up the pieces like you always did. 

But he couldn’t afford to do that, not with your life on the line. Instead, he offers the woman a curt nod of thanks - too preoccupied to be more polite - before spinning on his heel and breaking into a run in the direction of the destroyed building. His eyes scanned the wreckage from afar, looking for any sign of you. He braced himself for the worst, but focused on the flicker of hope in his chest that was the only thing still driving him onwards in that moment. Either way, he promised himself that he would bring you home. 

With no sign of you visible as he came to a stop in front of the pile of rubble, he began wading in to search more thoroughly, careful not to shift the piles of rubble too much just in case. 

Eventually, after what felt like hours (but was probably more like a couple of minutes) of being alone with nothing but piles of concrete and his own anxious thoughts, he saw it. Peeking out through a gap in the rubble, there was a gloved hand with a stripe of blue running up the fingers. An homage to one of his worst looks, you had joked when you first revealed your new suit to him. Although he had acted offended at the time, he was now astonishingly grateful for the pop of colour allowing you to be visible amongst the wreckage.

He raced over and dropped down to his knees in front of you, forcing himself to compartmentalise his own anguish and assess the situation. You were laid out on your front, arm outstretched into the light while your body remained bathed in darkness from the rubble. From where he stood, he couldn’t see much but he did manage to make out enough to tell that you were breathing. Laboured, shallow breathing, but breathing nonetheless. 

The relief was dizzying. His eyes drank in your beautiful features, thankful beyond measure to just be seeing you once again. Although some of your face was covered by your domino, he could see that it was twisted in pain. Right. He had to focus on the task at hand. 

His first priority was to get you out of there. Despite beginning to crawl through the gap in the rubble, almost all of your body was still under concrete. If anything shifted or gave way above you then you would be in serious danger. Luckily, it seemed like there was enough space to pull you through without any trouble. Dick managed to hook his hands underneath your armpits and began pulling you out. 

To his horror, the drag of your body left behind a wet, red smear on the ground. As you were pulled further into the light, the true extent of your injuries became clear. He paled as he observed the mess of your abdomen, cursing as he flipped you over to reveal the exit wound. He was able to spot a number of other injuries as well - a gash on the leg with signs of a crush injury, as well as a dislocated shoulder that his pulling had probably aggravated - but the most pressing issue was the gaping hole in your abdomen.

He began to apply pressure on the wound, desperate to keep as much of your precious lifeblood inside your body as he possibly could, while propping your legs up on a piece of concrete to elevate them. He tried desperately to control the jackrabbit of his heart as he reached his trembling fingers into his pouch, with one hand still applying pressure on the wound. 

He quickly found the supplies he needed and pulled out his emergency trauma dressings, ripping the packet open with his teeth before pressing them to your abdomen. He applied heavy pressure, only distantly registering concern that you were completely unresponsive, despite the fact that it must’ve been extremely painful for you. 

After a few minutes of applying pressure and more dressings, he was finally able to get the bleeding under control enough to be able to bring out the trauma compression bandages. He wrapped them around you briskly, pulling them tight to ensure that they were applying enough pressure on the injury. 

With your wound finally somewhat stabilised, he was able to pull back and assess your other injuries. Something felt off to him as he mentally triaged your injuries. Your shoulder and leg needed treatment, but that could wait until you were back in the Batcave. He mentally winced in sympathy, remembering how you were sick of being benched and couldn’t wait to get back in the field - that certainly wouldn’t be happening any time soon after this.

It was only then as his eyes raked over your body methodically, cataloguing every detail in his mind, that he realised what was wrong. Your chest was no longer rising and falling. His blood ran cold as he rushed to press two fingers to your neck. Nothing. No, no, no! This couldn’t be happening! He cursed his own stupidity and lack of observation - how long had you been like this? What if he was too late? Why was he always too late….

In that moment, he felt like he was moving through molasses, each second stretching out to an agonising eternity as he struggled to move, to act. He crashed to his knees at your side, placing the heel of his clasped hands at your breastbone and pressing down firmly with his body weight. He had to get your heart pumping, had to do something to resuscitate you. Desperation filled his body - he was so close to getting you out of there. So close to wrapping you up in his arms and whisking you back to the manor. But instead here he was on a cold Gotham night, hands covered in your blood as he prayed to whatever deities that would listen for the chance to see your beautiful eyes open once again. 

As he continued on with his chest compressions at a steady pace, he felt the sickening crack of something giving way beneath him. Fuck. He had never hated himself more than in that moment. This was all his fault. He wished beyond anything that he could swap places with you right now - that he could take all of your pain and suffering on himself and save you from it. But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t do anything. And now he can’t even do the one thing he needed to do to keep you alive without hurting you! 

He pushed down the wave of nausea that threatened to swallow him whole and instead tilted your head back, pinched your nose and blew firmly into your mouth. He had to focus and keep going. He can’t allow himself to fail. He won’t. It will destroy him utterly if he does.

“-t’ll be ok. I’m on my way. I’m 3 minutes out. You’re doing so well. Just keep doing what you’re doing. It’ll be ok. I’m on my way. I’m 2 minutes-” 

Just as he was beginning to falter, as doubt began to creep into his mind, he tuned in to a voice over his comms, low, steady and soothing. He didn’t know how long he’d been blocking out the voices for, but from the rasp of the voice it was clear that Batman had been repeating the same words for a while now, trying his best to provide meagre comfort as his son's life fell apart on the other end of the line. 

Clearly, whatever had been blocking Oracle’s signal earlier had been destroyed in the blast, and she had been providing updates to the other Bats, even as Nightwing failed to respond to her words. The idea of her being witness to all of his failures tonight - failures that could cost you your life - made bile rise up in his throat. Maybe if he had actually been listening, he could have got to you sooner. 

He shook his head and refocused on his chest compressions, even as his strength faltered. He couldn’t afford to be distracted or tired. He had to hold out a little bit longer - just 2 minutes, Batman had said. He could do that. With your life on the line, he would do it a thousand times over if he had to.

Even still, when the lights of the Batmobile pulled up beside him, he almost broke down in relief. Holding back a sob, he called out for Batman and when the black cloaked figure made it to your side, he finally allowed himself to collapse and shatter completely. His dad was here. His dad would save the day.

—-

You rose to awareness slowly, reaching through the fuzzy haze to pull yourself to consciousness. The first thing you registered was a faint monotonous beep followed by the woosh of pumping air. Feeling the weight of an oxygen mask on your face, you heaved in a deep breath - what felt like the first one you’d been able to take since the explosion - and finally eased your eyes open. 

You stared up at cold, damp rock which stretched far above your head. You were in the Batcave then - in the medical area, presumably. Glancing down, you saw the extent of it all.

Tubes came out of your hands, your arms, your thighs, seemingly everywhere. Down on your leg you saw a row of neat stitches, caged in by metal pins which snaked around your entire lower leg. You were covered in more bandages than you thought were possible - stark white criss-crossed across your entire centre and yet more white was wrapped around your arm, while a sling held your shoulder securely in place. You reached your good arm up to feel the stitches on the side of your head, wincing as they felt tender under your touch.

At the first sign of movement, Dick bolted upright from where he was sat, hunched over at your bedside. He drank in your presence greedily, as if trying to convince himself that you were real, and not simply a cruel trick of his mind. 

“You’re awake! How are you feeling, love?”

You paused to take stock of your body for a moment. By all means, you felt better than you had any right to feel. Sure, it hurt like a bitch, but it was nothing like the chorus of agony that you expected to be met with. It was probably because Bruce kept the Batcave stocked with the good stuff - that would explain the faint floaty feeling that you couldn’t shake off. 

You unstuck your tongue from the roof of your mouth, wetting your lips before responding.

“Feelin’ great! How’re you doin’ tho?” You asked, offering him a smile as best you could behind the oxygen mask. Although your words slurred, the sentiment behind them was sincere.

Dick looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in days - perhaps he hadn’t. Even when he knew he would be in the way, he found it difficult to tear himself from your bedside from the moment you had got back to the Batcave, he couldn’t bear it. Thank god for the Batcave being just as stocked as Gotham General - there would be no way to ensure your identity was safe in the hospital so he was thankful you could be treated at home. That also had the added bonus of him being able to stay by your side the whole time, rather than being constrained to visiting hours. However, that naturally meant that he hadn’t got much sleep over the last few days, aside from a couple naps in the chair he was currently sat in.

Instead, he watched on anxiously as Alfred, Leslie and Bruce had worked tirelessly to save you. They had burned through their entire stock of blood in the Batcave trying to get your heart pumping again, and even then it wasn’t enough. Luckily, Dick was a compatible blood type and, desperate to help in some way, he had jumped at the opportunity to give up his blood for you.

Whilst the two of you were hooked up together through an iv, the eldest three continued their work to get your stabilised. At one point, you had even needed intubation as your lungs failed you. The three of them worked hard to examine and stitch and mend until they were finally able to pull you back together in one piece. 

Dick let out a shaky exhale as he finally received irrefutable proof that you were alive, that you were going to recover. 

The tension that had him wound up like a spring the last few days, had him replaying every last moment in his head, had finally released and he collapsed back into his chair like a puppet with its strings cut. Your blood had haunted him these past few days. It clung to his skin even as he scrubbed himself clean over and over. But finally, seeing you whole and on the road to recovery, he felt his sins wash away in the wake of your smile

“I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.” he said quickly, before wincing at how short he was being with you. He never wanted to take his turmoil out on you. “Careful-”

At his tone, you began to ease yourself upright in bed to get a better look at him, suppressing a gasp of pain as your abdomen tugged in protest.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, your eyes searching his for any hint of how he’s feeling.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?!” he started, a note of hysteria creeping into his tone as he fought without success to reign his emotions back in. “You’re here, stuck in a hospital bed and it’s all my fault! You’ve been out for days - we weren’t sure if you would ever wake up. I’ve never been so terrified in my life. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bury another loved one - couldn’t bury you. I just- I almost lost you, and it’s all because of me! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry” he sobbed.

“Shh Dickie, love, it’s ok. I’m alive.” you cooed comfortingly. “Why on earth would you think that it’s your fault?”

“I was in charge of dealing with the Riddler - it was my responsibility. I was the one who took the risk that let him escape and detonate the bombs. And when I came to find you, I was almost too late - your heart stopped and you could’ve died all because of me. I screwed up, and you got hurt because of it.” he muttered miserably. 

Instead of responding, you shifted over to the side and patted the space next to you, knowing that your husband needed more than just words to snap out of his spiral.

“C’mere.” You invited your husband up on the bed, and watched as yearning and concern warred over his features. Your husband had always been a tactile person, and you knew that it was exactly what he was in desperate need of in that moment.

“I can’t! You’re hurt! I don’t want-”

“It’ll hurt me more if I can’t hold you right now. Just get over here.” You cut him off, knowing that it was something he so desperately wanted and needed, despite his protests. 

At your insistence he sighed, recognising a losing battle when he saw it, and carefully clambered up onto the bed. You wasted no time in wrapping your arm around him cautiously, making sure that none of the tubes or wires were tugged. You wished you could lay his head on your chest, but with your other arm in the way you simply settled for making sure that the pulse point at your wrist was free for him if he needed reassurance. You did your best to one-handedly wipe his tears as he sobbed into you.

“Shhh, listen to me for a second, ok honey?

The Riddler did this to me, not you. He is responsible for his own actions and the consequences of them. You don’t need to martyr yourself - and I know you were doing that - over this. Let the blame sit with the person who is responsible, no-one else. You did your best with the information available to you. 

More importantly, you saved my life. You came when no-one else knew to. You looked after me and got me back here and kept me alive. That is worth so much more than whatever mistake you blame yourself for. None of us blame you for that mistake, but I am so incredibly thankful for everything that you’ve done to save me. I just need you to know that.” 

You desperately hoped that he would take your words to heart - that he would stop taking on the weight of the world on his own two shoulders. At his wet sniffle you continued:

“The last few days must’ve been so hard for you, right? Thank you for saving me, for pushing through even though it must’ve been horrible for you. You don’t have to be strong anymore, you can let it all out. I’m here.” 

You knew your husband’s tendency to set aside his emotional needs in the face of any mission or duty, and you needed him to know that it was ok to fall apart - that you would be there to catch him. Something anxious in your chest loosened just a fraction when you felt him lean into your shoulder, tears dampening your neck as shudders wracked his body. The thought of him bearing that burden all on his own for so long made your heart ache. You wished you could wrap yourself around him and rock him back and forth, but you settled on nuzzling your head into his and whispering soft reassurances whenever you could.

Dick, for his part, was clinging onto you like you were his lifeline. Even when facing the storm of his emotions, you were his anchor - the lighthouse to guide him home. He was so immensely grateful that you were here, whole and in one piece. But he was also so, so tired - filled with a bone-deep weariness from trying desperately to hold himself together for so long, for his family’s sake, your sake and his own sake. Finally given the chance for catharsis, he felt himself fully fall apart under your watchful protection.

As his tears slowed to a stop, he was filled with a rush of affection and gratefulness. He would never stop being in awe of you. Even though you were the one in the hospital bed, the one with your life clinging to your lips just days before, still hopped up on all manner of painkillers, you still found the strength to be there for him and comfort him. He didn’t know what he did to deserve you but he was immeasurably thankful to have you in his life.

He shifted to wrap his own arms around you - careful not to disturb your injuries - and kissed the side of your head, whispering into your ear. 

“Thank you. Thank you so much for being alive. Thank you for always being there for me and looking after me, even though you must be hurting as well. I love you so so much.”

“I love you too.” you replied, heart feeling so full that it could burst, before snuggling down deeper into his arms.

Even as your in-laws trickled into the room, bringing with them well-wishes, laughter and joy, Dick simply stayed by your side, holding you close and silently vowing that he would always be there to look after you and protect you from ever being hurt like this again.

[plethorawrites]

How long does it take them to get engaged and married???

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---_

Bruce: Long time to get engaged, long time to get married. He's traditional, to an extent. And wanted to do things right. He takes a respectable amount of time to court you, publicly. To make sure his kids approve. To make sure your family approves. Hell, to make sure you approve. And then, it takes forever to plan the wedding. It has to be elaborate, an event the entire city gathers for since it will be on every magazine and news channel. But once it is happening, it's perfect. Of course.

Jason: Long time to get engaged, quick to get married. He's hesitant to even start dating and doubts anyone would ever put up with him long enough to want to live together, let alone marry him. But things, somehow, manage to go well and even though your relationship moves at a much much slower pace than other couples, once he knows for sure he wants to get married, he wants it to happen without any waiting. It's an elopement, obviously. If anyone, he'd reluctantly have his brother's and dad there with Alfred to officiate. The man can do anything.

Tim: Quick to get engaged, long time to get married. He's always had good instincts and knows immediately when you trust his gut. It had never told him that he'd found someone to spend forever with, but when it did, he knew it wasn't lying. He trusted himself. And he trusted you, too. Enough to propose right before or shortly after one year. That said, you don't need to rush into anything and don't start planning the wedding for another two or three years.

Dick: Long time to get engaged, quick to get married. He has bad luck in love, always falling hard and fast in a way that never lasts. So this time, he waits. A while. For an impatient man who's always moving, that's tough. But he manages. And once he knows for sure that your relationship is stable, he wants to be married as soon as possible. A decently large wedding, too. So he can show you off properly.

Damian: Quick to get engaged, quick to get married. He's always upfront about what he wants so it's understandable that he knew immediately he wanted to marry you. You weren't just a suitable match, you were perfect. Challenged him, supported him, knew him in every way. He proposes within six months, even though his whole family said not to. And you, not to his surprise, accept. His family tells him to wait to get married but you don't. The wedding, while extravagant, is quickly planned within the next three months after that. Few thought it would last given the lack of actual time during the relationship. But somehow, it does.

[caffeineandchocolate]

Batboys P Links

MDNI, you need a twitter account to view the links!

Dick Grayson

coming back from work to pleasure you, eating you out like a dessert, making him cum in his boxers

Jason Todd

mutual masturbation, riding his face, making a mess on his thigh

Tim Drake

he catches you sleeping with no panties, grinding against his bulge, fucking you then finishing on your tongue, watching you and Steph fuck

Damian Wayne

giving him a pussy job, eating you out, his cum leaking out of you, dry humping till you’re a wet and sticky mess, taking you for a ride in his car

[theobservatory]

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 🗣️🗣️🔥