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killerplink · 13 days ago

Text

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader

Words: 4,8k

Plot: After a long night of patrol, Nightwing comes home, too tired for anything—but he's never too tired for you.

CW: 18+, smut, established relationship, praise, creamp!e

Dick's body aches by the time he gets home, his muscles tight from a long night of patrolling and fighting. Blood, grime, and sweat cling to his skin, and all he can think about is getting clean and sinking into bed beside you.

His steps falter as he walks into the bedroom and his eyes rake over you—the way his favorite black lace set hugs your curves, your thighs pressing together as you shift in your sleep. You're lying on your stomach, the soft, delicate fabric of your thong perfectly framing the curve of your ass.

The straps rest high on your hips, leaving just enough of your skin bare to make his dick twitch against the towel. God, he loves how that little number hugs your body. Even after all these years, you can ruin him with so much as an innocent stretch.

But this? There's nothing innocent about the way you're laid out like a gift for him.

He runs a hand through his damp hair, trying to focus on not waking you, but the ache in his body shifts downward. He should have been exhausted after the long patrol, but right now, the only thing he wants is you.

Dick crawls onto the bed, careful not to wake you fully, and presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, then another to your back. His arm circles around your waist as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the familiar scent of your skin as he presses himself against your warm, soft body.

"Hi, doll," he murmurs as his lips continue to brush tender kisses along your shoulder.

Your sleepy hum vibrates against him, and you stir in his hold. "Baby..." you whisper, the sound almost a whimper as you instinctively press back against him.

Your ass grinds lazily against his cock, which is hard and heavy beneath the towel, and his breath catches in his throat.

"Yeah, sweet girl?" he asks, his voice strained.

His hand roams over your waist, slipping beneath the thin strap of your thong to squeeze the soft flesh of your hip. Dick can't stop himself from grinding against you for a moment, reveling in the feel of your soft curves against his aching cock.

"Missed you," you murmur, your tone laced with sleep and heat, and he chuckles softly, his lips brushing your ear.

"I missed you too," he replies, his voice soft like velvet.

But the smile playing on his lips quickly turns into a groan when you roll your hips again. The way you move, even half-asleep, drives him insane. Your body rolls back against his, and the lazy grind of your hips has him throbbing. His large, warm palm slides down to cup your ass before dipping between your legs.

The second his fingers brush over the damp fabric of your panties, he groans. "Fuck," he mutters, his thumb pressing against your clit through the thin lace. "Did you play with yourself before I got home, baby? You're soaked."

Your cheeks heat at the question, but you nod, murmuring sheepishly, "Mhmm, too horny... couldn't help it," you admit.

Dick hisses as his cock throbs, pressing insistently against the thin towel. "I'm sorry I was late. Let me make it up to you, yeah?" he murmurs, his tone laced with genuine remorse, but his fingers don't let up, circling your clit with practiced precision.

You whimper as his fingers tease your entrance, dipping inside just enough to make your hips jerk. You moan softly, pushing back against him, your body silently pleading for more.

"Need your dick, love," you plead, your voice sweet and needy, and his restraint snaps.

His breath hitches at your words, and he doesn't need to be told twice. His hand leaves your clit, and he tugs down his towel, tossing it carelessly, his dick springing free.

Your panties are soaked, the thin fabric clinging to your folds, and he swears under his breath as he slides them aside. You feel the thick weight of his cock press against your bare ass, his warm precum smearing across your skin as he moves you, positioning you against him with your back flush to his muscular chest.

But then one of your hands reaches between your bodies, trembling slightly as you grab his dick, guiding him to your entrance. The blunt head presses against your folds, the stretch burning in the most delicious way.

"God, this pussy," he thinks, jaw clenching as he slides deeper, "so warm, so fucking tight."

Your thoughts mirror his—he's perfect, thick and long, veins pressing along his length, the flushed head leaking against your slick folds, filling you in a way that always leaves you breathless. No matter how many times he fucks you, it's never enough. His dick stretches you open, inch by inch, and he bites his lip to keep from losing it right then and there.

"Fuck, baby," you moan, your walls fluttering around him as you adjust to the stretch.

"God," he groans, his voice rough as he sinks deeper into you.

Your pussy molds around his dick, so perfect, like you were made for him, and he's always mesmerized. He's hard, hot and fucking perfect, filling you so deeply you can feel every ridge, every pulse of his cock as he bottoms out. A moan slips from your lips, soft and needy, and he presses a kiss to your neck.

"You feel so good, baby. Always so good for me," he murmurs softly, almost sweet.

Your body trembles, a quivering, writhing mess against him, every nerve alight with pleasure as his cock moves inside you. The way he fills you—his length dragging slowly against your sensitive walls—has your mind spiraling, the deep pressure of his thrusts making your toes curl. Your pussy grips him tightly, clenching greedily with every stroke, and the wet, obscene sounds of his cock gliding in and out of your slick heat make your cheeks flush.

Dick groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your neck where his lips linger. "Fuck, my love," he rasps, his hips rolling in a deliberate rhythm.

His cock feels like it's made to ruin you—stretching you perfectly, the veins along his shaft brushing sensitive spots inside you as his head nudges against that sweet, devastatingly good place with every deep thrust.

"You're so tight, baby," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear.

The words send a shiver down your spine, your walls fluttering around him as you gasp his name. "Dick... oh, God," you whimper, the stretch of him almost too much, but exactly what you need.

One of his hands slips under your body to cup your tits through your lacy bra, his fingers tugging gently at your nipples, teasing them into stiff peaks, while the other grips your thigh, keeping you spread wide open for him.

"Greedy little thing," he growls, his large hand sliding down to grab your ass, spreading your cheeks as he watches his cock disappear into your slick heat. The sight makes his dick twitch inside you, and he lets out a low, guttural groan. "Look at this pretty pussy, swallowing me up like it was made for it."

You whimper at his filthy praise, your walls fluttering around him. The angle has you gasping, sending sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine.

Every thrust feels deeper than the last, each one deliberate, calculated to drag against every sensitive spot inside you. He watches the way your arousal coats his dick, glistening in the dim light of the bedroom, and groans again, deeper this time.

"Look at you," he mutters, his voice rough. "So wet for me. You love this, don't you, baby?"

His hips snap forward, grinding deep, and you cry out, nodding desperately. God, he's so big, stretching you open, filling you up just right—perfectly, like he was made for you. Every slow, deliberate thrust presses you tighter against him, his broad chest flush against your back, muscles taut and burning with restraint. He's warm, solid, every inch of him hard in the way that drives you insane, from the thick curve of his cock to the powerful arms wrapped around you, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

And of course, you can't get enough. How could you? He's everything—tall, strong, built—his body a masterpiece of discipline and power, honed from years of pushing himself to his absolute limits.

And yet, here he is, using all that strength for you, to fuck you slow and deep, to keep you right where he needs you, to stretch your needy little pussy around his dick like it's the only thing that matters.

And it is, at least to him.

He groans, burying his face in your neck, voice thick and wrecked as he watches the way you take him, the way your body clings to him, sucking him in deeper every time he moves. He can feel how much you love it—how wet you are, how your slick coats his cock, dripping down to make a mess of his thighs. Fuck, you're perfect. And his. Completely, utterly his.

His fingers trail down, slipping between your legs, rubbing slow, teasing circles over your swollen clit. You shudder, gasping as pleasure sparks down your spine, and he smirks against your skin.

"You feel that, sweetheart?" he rasps, nipping at your ear. "The way you're squeezing me? So greedy, baby."

And you are. Desperate for him, desperate to take every inch, to keep him buried deep inside you, to let him fuck you until you're ruined—until you can't think of anything but him. And God, he's going to give it to you. All of it.

He smirks against your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin as his hips start to pick up speed, just a little. The drag of his length turns into long, deep strokes, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in with a steady, deliberate force. Each thrust sends a wave of heat rushing through your body, your cunt tightening around him as your moans grow louder.

The soaked lace of your panties, shoved to the side, clings to your skin and drags along his cock with every thrust, maddeningly slow and deliberate. The damp fabric, sticky with your slick, adds a friction so filthy it makes his head spin. Each movement sends a sharp jolt through him, the wet lace teasing his length as if designed to drive him insane.

It's intoxicating, the mess between you only making him lose himself more, and the thought of how soaked you are for him, how even your panties can't keep up, has him groaning, his hips slapping softly against your ass like he can't control it anymore.

"You take me so well," he praises, his voice soft but heavy with arousal. "Your pretty little pussy is so perfect for me, baby. Feels so fucking good."

And it does—he feels incredible, his cock pulsing inside you, the ridges of his shaft stroking your walls with every thrust. The way he moves is driving you crazy, his rhythm deep and unhurried, but perfectly in control, designed to keep you on the edge.

You're a vision of wrecked beauty, your body pliant and trembling against him, your moans like music to his ears. Your pussy squeezes him so tightly, sucking him in, slick and warm, the perfect fit. He's losing himself in the feel of you, the way your body responds to him, the soft, desperate sounds falling from your lips.

"Shit," he growls, his voice thick with need. "So sensitive, baby. You're close, aren't you?"

You nod, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as the pleasure builds, white-hot and all-consuming. "Close—so close," you whimper, your back arching as his cock thrusts deeper, hitting that perfect spot with devastating accuracy.

He leans down, pressing his lips to your ear as he whispers, "Cum for me, doll. Let me feel you."

And when you do, your pussy clenching around him like a vice, your cries spilling into the air, it's almost too much for him to handle. Your entire body trembles, back arching as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through you, each pulse of your cunt around his cock drawing a ragged groan from his chest. It's intense, the way your walls flutter and tighten, gripping him so perfectly, like you're made to keep him right there, buried as deep as possible inside you.

His name spills from your lips in broken gasps, and the sound only spurs him on. His hips snap forward, grinding deeper, and you swear you can feel him everywhere—stretching you open, rubbing against every spot that makes you see stars, pulling every last ounce of pleasure from you.

Your slick gushes out, dripping onto his cock and your thighs, the lewd, wet sounds filling the room as he keeps moving, fucking you lazily through your orgasm like he's got all the time in the world.

And he doesn't stop—won't stop—not until he's wrung every last shudder, every last moan from you. His large hand splays over your thigh, gripping tight, spreading you open wider so he can push deeper, chasing the way your pussy clenches and pulses around him. He's groaning your name, low and wrecked, his cock twitching with every squeeze of your cunt.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice full of praise as his thrusts slow slightly, but remain deep, deliberate. "So perfect, baby. Always so good for me."

Your voice is soft but so utterly desperate, trembling as you whimper, "Dick, please, baby. Pump me full."

His cock twitches inside you at your plea, the sweet, breathless way you beg for him undoing him every time. He always gives you what you want—there's never been a single time he could resist you—but the way you ask for it, the need in your tone, makes his chest tighten and his blood burn hot.

How could he ever say no to you when you're trembling, soaked, and so damn sweet for him? He doesn't even want to try.

"Fuck," he growls low in his throat, his hips rolling deeper, the thick weight of his cock pressing into every inch of your sensitive walls. "You're gonna get it. Gonna fill this pretty little pussy up, just like you want."

You moan at his words, already desperate for the warmth of his cum. "Please, baby," you whimper. "Give it to me—want all of it."

"That's it, doll," he rasps, his hips stuttering as he chases his own release. "Fuck—gonna fill you up, sweetheart."

The promise alone makes you moan, your body arching against him, your overstimulated cunt clenching around him as if trying to pull him deeper, if possible. Your mind is hazy, fogged with nothing but the feeling of him stretching you so perfectly, hitting every nerve, every spot that makes you shatter.

You're still sensitive from earlier—three orgasms on your toy hadn't been nearly enough to take the edge off, and now, the intensity of him inside you has every inch of your body alight with need. It's overwhelming, but you've learned to crave this with him: the way he pushes you, drags you past your limits, only to leave you trembling with more pleasure than you thought possible.

His hand slides down to your swollen clit again, rubbing slow, purposeful circles as his dick drives deeper, harder. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice rough, full of adoration. "You're so wet for me. So greedy, baby. This pussy's perfect, always takes me so well."

Your breath catches as his words send a new wave of heat rushing through you, and you feel the tension coiling tight in your belly once more. The sensitivity is almost unbearable, every drag of his dick against your tender walls sending a fresh jolt of pleasure-pain through you.

"Dick," you gasp, your nails digging into the sheets as your thighs tremble. "Please—need it. Need your cum. Please."

"Shit," he hisses, his head dropping to press against the curve of your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin as he groans. His thrusts grow sharper, his rhythm erratic as the tight heat of your cunt pushes him closer to the edge. You're squeezing him so perfectly, your body trembling, your moans soft and needy as you beg for what he's already dying to give you. "Gonna cum, doll."

You nod frantically, your voice trembling as you whimper, "Yes, baby. Please, want it so bad."

His groan is guttural, torn from deep in his chest, as his thrusts slow but grow impossibly deeper. Each roll of his hips is deliberate, precise, his cock stretching and filling you to the brim with every inch. You can feel every throb of him, how he twitches inside you as his control finally snaps.

When he cums, it's with a sharp curse of your name, his breath hot and ragged against your ear. His dick jerks, pulsing deep inside you, and then you feel it—thick, hot ropes of his release spilling into you, flooding your needy cunt. The heat of it is almost too much, the way it fills you so completely, and it's all you can do to moan, your voice breaking as the sensation sends shockwaves of pleasure rippling through you.

Your body reacts instantly, your pussy clenching down around him, milking him for everything he has. The way he fills you, his cock still hard and nestled deep, sends you over the edge again.

Your orgasm crashes over you in dizzying waves, and you cry out, trembling as your cunt flutters and tightens around him, sucking him deeper. It's messy—so messy—his cum mixing with your slick, dripping down between your thighs as your body quivers uncontrollably.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, his voice thick and wrecked.

His hips roll again, slow and deliberate, grinding against you, pushing his release deeper. You can feel him painting your walls, the sticky heat of his cum coating every inch of your pussy, and he doesn't stop—not until he's sure every last drop is exactly where he wants it.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his hand sliding to grip your thigh, spreading you wider so he can watch his cock disappear into your slick, messy cunt. "Taking me so fucking well, baby. You're perfect—fuck, you're perfect."

And you can't stop trembling, your body still riding out the aftershocks as his deep, deliberate thrusts drag your pleasure out. The stretch of his dick, the way it fills you and presses against every sensitive spot, leaves your mind blank and your voice hoarse from crying out his name.

Your moans soften into needy whimpers, your body limp as his hips slow, finally stilling. But even then, you can still feel him—hard and warm and buried deep, his cum seeping out around him despite how tightly your cunt clings to him.

You turn your head slightly, catching his lips in a soft, sleepy kiss, but it quickly deepens the moment his mouth moves against yours. His tongue brushes along the seam of your lips, coaxing them open, and you gasp softly as his dick shifts inside you, the sensation sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you.

He takes advantage of the little sound, his tongue slipping into your mouth, slow and deliberate, like he's savoring every second of it. The kiss is messy, your tongues tangling together as soft moans spill from you, each one muffled by his lips.

His hand grips your thigh tighter, pulling you closer as his hips rock just enough to make you feel him—hard, thick, and buried so deep it has you clenching around him all over again.

You whimper against his mouth, your sleepy haze making the kiss sloppier, wetter, your tongues sliding and licking against each other as you chase the taste of him. His teeth catch your bottom lip, tugging gently, and you can't help but moan, your head tilting further to give him better access.

His groan rumbles low in his chest as he swallows your sounds, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, holding you in place as he kisses you deeper, filthier. Every movement of his tongue against yours feels electric, sending shivers through your body and making you grind back against him instinctively, desperate for more.

"Fuck, doll," he breathes against your lips, his voice low and wrecked.

But you're already pulling him back in, kissing him like you'll fall apart without the heat of his mouth on yours. It's needy, unrestrained, and he matches you completely, his own low moans slipping free as the kiss grows impossibly hotter.

"You feel so fucking good," you whisper, your voice laced with affection.

"Yeah, baby? You feel that?" he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Feel how full you are? How messy we've made you?"

You whimper, your pussy clenching involuntarily around him as his words send another rush of heat pooling in your belly. The wet sounds of his cock sliding through the mess he's made only make it worse, and you bite your lip, trying to keep your moans in check.

"Fuck," he pants, pressing soft kisses to your neck as he holds you close. His fingers trace lazy circles on your skin, soothing you as your body trembles in the aftermath.

You shiver, your voice soft, breathless, as you murmur, "More, baby."

His lips twitch into a smirk against your neck, and his hand tightens on your thigh once again, spreading you wider. "Oh, you're getting more, alright," he murmurs, his voice full of promise.

Before you can catch your breath, he shifts, flipping you onto your stomach with an ease that makes you shiver. He grips your hips, pulling you back onto his dick in one smooth motion, burying himself deep. The new angle has you crying out, the way he hits that perfect spot inside you over and over leaving you clawing at the sheets, desperate and completely at his mercy.

His thrusts grow harder, faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room as he pounds into you. Each stroke is precise, deliberate, making you feel every thick, veiny inch of him stretching you, filling you to the brim. His large hands grip your ass, spreading you wider as he watches himself disappear into your dripping, swollen cunt.

You moan into the mattress, your body trembling as waves of pleasure crash over you. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, your voice cracking with each broken cry he pulls from you. And he doesn't stop—doesn't even slow—driving into you with everything he has, determined to leave you a trembling mess.

Hours later, when your body finally goes limp, completely wrecked and satisfied, he watches you with a smug, adoring grin. His large hands smooth over your shaky thighs, fingers brushing the sticky mess that's dripping from your pussy, his cum still leaking out no matter how deep he fucked it into you.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with pride. "So full of me, baby. You made such a mess, but you're so perfect like this."

He lets his fingers trail lazily between your thighs, spreading you open just enough to watch his release spill out, dripping down onto the sheets. The sight alone makes his cock twitch again, still heavy and sticky from everything you've already given him.

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your collarbone before dragging his lips to yours, soft at first but growing hungrier with each passing second. His tongue slips into your mouth, tasting you, teasing you, even as his hand strokes your trembling thigh, his grip firm and grounding.

"Made it up to you, didn't I, my love?" he murmurs, his voice low and sweet.

You hum weakly in response, and he chuckles, pulling you into his arms, his body still pressed against yours as he holds you close. His fingers lazily trace patterns over your sweat-slicked skin, and you can't help but feel utterly adored—ruined, yes, but completely his.

No matter how exhausted or bruised he might be from a night of patrol—whether it's the weight of the city's darkness or the physical toll on his body—Dick never lets it show when he's with you. He's always there, still finding the energy to smile, to laugh, to touch you with that same warmth that's been constant since the beginning.

You can see it in the way he makes time for you, no matter how drained he might be. And it's that part of him, that unwavering commitment, that you love most. Even when the world is demanding everything from him, he still gives you all of him.

He kisses your forehead softly, his arms tightening around you slightly. Even when the weight of the world feels like it's crushing him, the moment he's in your arms, everything fades away.

It's not just the way you soothe him with your words—it's the way you are there, a steady presence in the chaos of his life. Whether it's holding him in silence after a long night or taking the time to gently tend to the bruises he's too used to hiding, you make him feel human again.

You don't treat him like the city's hero or the man with too many scars; you treat him like someone worth caring for, someone who deserves softness. And somehow, that's exactly what he needs—what he craves, even more than the sleep that often eludes him. With you, he feels like he can breathe again.

When he finally carries you to the bathroom, the exhaustion is still there, but it feels like a quiet, shared bond between the two of you. Neither of you speaks—there's no need. The warmth of his arms around you, the steady rhythm of his breath against your temple, it all says more than words ever could.

He sits by the tub with you still clinging to him, his grip firm but gentle, like he knows you need this closeness just as much as he does. His free hand reaches for the faucet, twisting it until a stream of warm water begins to fill the tub, steam curling into the air around you.

You don't move, don't loosen your grip, and he doesn't make you. Instead, he shifts just enough to let you stay curled against his chest, one hand stroking slow, soothing circles over your back. The heat from the water seeps into the air, but all you can focus on is him—the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers trace mindless patterns against your skin, the quiet strength in his hold.

"I've got you," he murmurs, voice soft but sure, lips brushing against your temple. "Just breathe, baby."

You do. You breathe with him, feeling the last remnants of tension start to ebb away, washed out by the warmth of his touch and the rhythmic sound of the water filling the tub.

When he finally moves, it's only to make sure the temperature is just right. He tests it with his hand before turning back to you, his touch as careful as ever. "Come on, sweetheart, let's get you in."

You nod, but you still don't let go, and he doesn't ask you to. Instead, he helps you into the tub with quiet patience, keeping you close, keeping you grounded.

When the water finally surrounds you, it's like a second layer of comfort, wrapping around your tired limbs, but it's still his presence that keeps you steady.

You both have the same goal now—cleaning up, but it's so much more than that. You've made a mess, but somehow, cleaning up together feels like a perfect reflection of how you care for each other.

And when he slides in behind you, pulling you back against him, arms wrapped securely around your waist, you finally let out a soft, shaky sigh. You feel the words slip from your lips, sleepiness making your voice softer, more vulnerable.

"I love you so much," you murmur, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

You can feel his smile before you even see it, that same tenderness you know so well. With him, everything feels right, even in the aftermath of chaos. He pulls you a little closer, and his hands never stop moving—one smoothing up and down your arm, the other resting over your stomach, holding you like he's afraid to let go.

He presses a kiss to the side of your head, voice nothing more than a quiet murmur against your skin. "I love you too, baby."

The water swirls softly around you both, the quiet hum of the tub filling the space. It's intimate, it's comforting, and as he holds you, everything feels like it's been put back where it belongs.

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killerplink · 12 days ago

Text

Y'all, I have a bad case of Nightwing brain rot lmao, so here's more of this hottie 🤭 (I have more lined up bc my brain is that horny)

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader

Words: 2,8k

Plot: After a brutal night on patrol, Dick comes home sore, bruised, and aching for relief. You take it upon yourself to help him unwind.

CW: 18+, smut, established relationship, deep throating, cum swallowing, masturbation, finger fucking, a bit of fluff ✨

Dick stumbles through the front door sometime after midnight, looking like he's been through hell and back, and he might as well have been. Gotham never lacks crime, never gives him a break, and he's always out there fighting it, night after night, no matter how much it wears him down.

The suit is scuffed, his lip is split, and you know he's sore just from the way he moves—stiff, tense, muscles wound tight from the night's work. But no matter how brutal the night gets, his favorite part of every day is always the same—coming home to you.

"Dick, my love, you look like shit," you murmur, but there's no bite in it, just worry, just love.

He chuckles, breathless, kicking off his boots. "Feel like it, too."

He leans down, his lips brushing against yours softly, but you notice the way he winces slightly, just the faintest hint of pain behind his expression. His hand presses against the couch for support, his body still heavy with exhaustion and soreness. But even as he winces, his kiss is tender, a stark contrast to the tension in his muscles.

He doesn't let it stop him, though—he deepens the kiss, his tongue slowly slipping into your mouth, desperate to feel something other than pain, something that can make him forget about the night's brutality.

You reach up, cupping his face gently, your thumb brushing across his jaw. His skin is warm and smooth, feeling soft under your touch. You kiss him back slowly, savoring the taste of him, the way his lips move against yours despite the ache in his body.

The tension in him fades with your touch, his breath soft as he exhales. You let your fingers trace along his face, grounding him, showing him without words that you're here, that you're not going anywhere.

A hot shower helps, washing away the blood and grime, easing some of the ache. When he steps out, towel slung low on his hips, you're already waiting, first-aid kit open, ready to tend to the bruises and scrapes he can't just sleep off.

"Sit, baby."

He obeys, spreading his legs slightly as he settles onto the couch. You step between them, your fingers gentle as you dab at the cut above his brow, then move lower, tending to the scrape along his ribs.

His hands—large, warm, still calloused from the night's work—find your waist, thumbs rubbing slow circles against your skin. There's nothing overtly sexual about it, not at first, just quiet affection, just him touching you because he needs to, grounding himself in the warmth of your body.

You don't miss the way his eyes soften, the way he looks at you—like you're the only thing that matters. Like you're the only reason he comes home. Your touch is careful, practiced, but he still hisses when you press an alcohol wipe to his skin.

"Sorry," you whisper, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, soothing him the way you always do.

And maybe it's the way he melts under you, or maybe it's just the way he looks—hair damp, muscles flexing under your touch, towel still hanging precariously off his hips—but fuck, you want him.

Want to make him forget about the pain, the bruises, the tension still lingering in his body.

So you press another soft kiss to his jaw, then lower, lips grazing his throat, his muscular chest. His breath stutters as you sink to your knees between his legs, fingers trailing over his stomach, teasing along the waistband of his towel.

"Baby," he murmurs, voice already strained, already knowing.

You tilt your head, blinking up at him with the most innocent expression you can muster, though your hands are anything but. One tug, and the towel falls open, his cock already half-hard, lying heavy against his thigh.

Pretty, just like the rest of him.

Because fuck, even his dick is beautiful—long, thick, flushed a deep shade of pink at the tip, veins running along his shaft, curving just slightly in a way that always hits just right inside you.

He's gorgeous everywhere, even here, even like this, leaking precum and twitching under your touch, aching to be inside you, to stretch your needy cunt open and fill you up just the way you love.

You hum, dragging your fingers up his length, tracing the veins, teasing the flushed, leaking tip with your thumb. He throbs under your touch, jaw clenching as his breath hitches.

"You don't have to—"

"I want to," you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to the head of his cock, tasting the first bead of precum. "Let me take care of you, baby."

And then you part your lips and take him in.

His head drops back against the couch with a low groan, fingers threading into your hair as you sink down, slow and deliberate, hollowing your cheeks as you suck him deeper. The stretch of him on your tongue is perfect, thick and heavy, and you moan around him just because you can't help it.

His cock is so big in your mouth, your lips stretched wide around him, your jaw already aching as you push yourself further down his length. He's barely even halfway in, but you don't stop—you need this, need to make him fall apart for you.

"F-fuck, that mouth—"

His grip in your hair tightens, not pushing, just holding, like he needs the anchor, like the pleasure is already threatening to pull him under. You work him slow at first, sucking, licking, teasing your tongue along the underside of his dick just to feel the way he shudders.

But you don't hold back for long—you can't. Not when he sounds so good, not when he's gripping the couch like he's barely holding on.

So you take a breath, relax your throat, and sink down.

His gasp is sharp, raw, his hips jerking just slightly as his cock slides deep, deeper, past your tongue, past your gag reflex, until your nose is flush against his pelvis. Your throat clenches around him, and his entire body shakes.

"Holy fuck—"

The thought barely registers in his head before you swallow, your throat tightening around his cock, sucking him down like you need it, like you're fucking starving for him.

"Jesus," he rasps, breath shuddering, "fuck, baby—"

Your nails dig into his thigh as you bob your head, deep-throating him over and over, your throat stretched perfectly around him. He's never felt anything like it—so fucking hot and wet and tight, your tongue pressing against the underside of his cock just right.

You're gonna fucking ruin him.

His jaw clenches, his abs tightening as he fights the urge to just fuck your throat, to chase the heat of it, to feel you struggle and choke around his dick. But you're already pushing yourself, already moaning like you love it, like you need this just as much as he does.

And fuck, that's what kills him the most—the way you enjoy this, the way you look at him, your eyes all hazy and desperate as you take him deeper, your throat convulsing around his cock.

Then you pull back just enough to take a breath, spit trailing from your lips to his length as you stroke him, looking up at him with those eyes, so fucked-out, so eager.

"You taste so fucking good," you murmur, tongue flicking over the head of his cock, licking up his precum. "Even your dick is perfect."

He laughs, breathless, wrecked. "Jesus, baby—"

Then you're back on him, sucking hard, letting him feel just how much you love this—love him. You moan around his dick, the vibrations making him curse, making his grip tighten in your hair.

And fuck, you need something too. Your free hand dips between your thighs, pushing your panties to the side, rubbing slow circles against your clit before sinking two fingers into your soaked cunt.

It's not enough—not even close. Your fingers are too short, too small, and they'll never stretch you like his do, never reach as deep as his cock does, but it's something, something to take the edge off as you swallow him down, your lips stretched wide around his cock.

Dick notices immediately. His eyes—half-lidded, dark with lust—flick down to where your hand moves between your legs.

"Are you—" his breath shudders out of him as you suck him deeper. "Fuck—touching yourself?"

You nod, moaning around his cock, your fingers fucking into your soaked cunt, the slick sound obscene as you work yourself open.

"That's—" his voice breaks on a groan as you take him deeper, nose pressing to his pelvis. "That's so fucking hot, baby—"

His cock throbs on your tongue, his abs tightening as you work him harder, faster, chasing his release as you fuck yourself with your fingers, already so close—

Then his grip in your hair tightens, tugging just enough to pull you back. And he fucking growls, fingers tangling in your hair. "Baby, I'm gonna—"

You don't give him a choice.

You take him back down, sucking him deep, moaning as you work your fingers faster inside yourself, already on the edge. He curses, hips jerking as he loses it, hot, thick ropes of cum spilling down your throat as his entire body tenses.

You swallow everything, moaning around him, letting him feel just how much you love this—love him. His cum coats your tongue, salty, thick, filling your mouth before you swallow it all, dragging your lips off his cock with a filthy, wet pop.

And that's it—that's it—the taste of him, the wrecked, desperate look in his eyes as you lick your lips, the way his cum still lingers on your tongue.

You whimper, fucking yourself faster, harder, hips grinding against your own fingers until you snap—a ragged, breathless cry tearing from your lips as the pleasure hits hard. Your swollen clit pulses, heat rushing through your body in waves, your cunt clenching down on your fingers, desperate for something more, something bigger, something his.

Your fingers work you through it, slick dripping down your thighs, soaking your hand as you shudder and moan, your body trembling, overstimulated and aching for him even as your orgasm ravages you.

And fuck, the way he watches you—eyes dark, lips parted, his still-sensitive cock twitching at the sight of you falling apart just from sucking him off. His jaw tightens, breath caught in his throat as his gaze locks onto the way your fingers rub slow, teasing circles over your oversensitive clit, how your soaked fingers slip from your fluttering hole, still dripping, still needy.

"Jesus, baby," he rasps, voice thick with heat and awe, his hands cupping your face, aching to touch you. "You're so fucking beautiful like this."

He knows that was good, knows it wasn't enough, knows you're still throbbing for him. And fuck, you need him to fix it.

Dick groans, pulling you up into his lap, his lips crashing onto yours in a deep, filthy kiss, tasting himself on your tongue. He licks into your mouth, hot and messy, his tongue sliding against yours, teasing, claiming, making you whimper into him.

His hands are already between your thighs, fingers slipping through your wetness, making you shudder. He groans against your lips, dragging his fingers through the slick dripping from your cunt, teasing your entrance before sliding up to your throbbing clit, his touch possessive, relentless. He circles it slowly, too slowly, smirking against your mouth when you whine, hips jerking forward, needy for more.

"Already so wet for me," he murmurs, voice thick with lust, fingers pressing against your clit just right, making you tremble. "Such a messy little thing, aren't you, baby?"

And fuck, you are—soaked and desperate, aching for every touch, every filthy little thing he's about to do to you.

Before you can recover, before the last wave of pleasure even fades, his fingers sink inside you—two at first, long and perfect, stretching you open in a way your own never could. A sharp gasp catches in your throat, your cunt clenching down on him instinctively, still sensitive, still reeling, but fuck, you love it.

"One more, baby," he murmurs, voice low, wrecked, pressing soft kisses to your jaw as his fingers fuck into you, slick and messy, teasing the spot inside that makes you sob. "Give me another, yeah? Let me feel you squeeze my fingers this time."

His voice is so desperate, so needy, like he needs this more than air, like he's begging you to cum for him again—just once more.

And fuck, how could you ever tell him no?

Your thighs are still shaking, muscles twitching from your last orgasm, but you spread them wider, letting him see just how messy you are, just how needy he's made you. His fingers are still inside you, knuckles deep, fucking soaked—and when you clench down around them, whining, his breath shudders.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, eyes dark, heavy-lidded, watching you like you're the only thing in the world.

And when you rock your hips down, sinking onto his fingers with a broken gasp, he just lets you—fuck, he even helps you.

His other hand grips your hip, fingers digging in just enough to hold you steady, and every time you slide down, he curls his fingers just right—dragging against that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back, makes your stomach tighten, pulse with the need to cum again.

"Yeah? That's what you needed?"

His voice is all heat, all filth, dripping with praise and greed, and fuck, you can only nod.

"More," you whisper, voice shaky, wrecked.

And he gives it to you.

He spreads his fingers, stretching you just a little wider, just enough to make your hips stutter, to make you whimper. The lewd, wet sounds of his fingers sliding in and out fill the room, mixing with your ragged moans, and fuck, you're close.

"You wanna cum for me, pretty girl?"

He's watching you fall apart, his cock twitching where it rests against his stomach, aching, throbbing, but he doesn't stop. He just fucks his fingers up into you harder, faster, matching the desperate way you ride them, chasing your high.

You're soaked, dripping, his hand shiny with it, and he loves it—loves how sloppy, how shameless you are for him.

Your walls clench down, pulsing around him as you gasp, moan, your whole body trembling as the orgasm crashes over you.

And fuck, the way he groans, the way he grinds his dick against your thigh, so wrecked, so desperate, tells you—he's just as fucking gone for you.

He grinds his still-hard cock against your soaked folds, feeling just how needy you still are, how your clit twitches when he rubs against it. He slides just the tip in—just to tease, just to hear you whimper—and he smirks against your mouth when you try to sink down onto him.

"Easy, baby," he murmurs, lips brushing yours, his voice low, wrecked, teasing. "You're still shaking."

And fuck, you are—still sensitive, still throbbing, still fluttering from the way he just fucked you open on his fingers. But it's not enough. Your cunt is aching for him, soaking for him, and when he nudges the head of his cock against your entrance, you whine, desperate.

"Please," you breathe, your lips brushing his, sticky, wet, still tasting like him.

But he's in no rush.

He slides the tip in, just enough to stretch you, just enough for your pussy to cling to him, and fuck, the way your slick coats his cock, mixing with his precum, makes his jaw clench.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, watching as he pulls back, just to see the way your arousal sticks to him, the way your cunt flutters around nothing, needy.

Then he does it again. Slipping just the tip in. Pulling back. Watching your slick drag across his cock.

It's torture. It's heaven. And fuck, it's so messy.

You kiss him hard, hot, sloppy, licking into his mouth, sucking on his tongue, moaning when he grinds the head of his cock against your aching clit.

"You want it that bad?" he murmurs against your lips, teasing, wrecked, cocky.

And God, you do. You whimper, grinding down, your clit rubbing against the head of his cock, so desperate, so fucking needy for him to just—

"That was—" he breathes, but the words seem to escape him.

"Hot as fuck?" you murmur against his lips.

He laughs, still breathless, still wrecked. "Yeah. That."

And you know he's already planning how to return the favor as he finally slides deep inside your aching pussy.

#nightwing x you #nightwing x reader #nightwing smut #nightwing #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson smut #dick grayson #short smut #smutty fanfiction #smut #dc universe #dcu #i can't stop thinking about it #i need him biblically #i need him rn #help me god

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