Valentine’s fluff between Dick Grayson and the Reader.
Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader, appearances by Jason, Cass, Tim
Warnings: food mention, fire hazard, language, implied smut
Word Count: ~650
Note: Just a quick fic. I figured there would be plenty of smut out there, so I’m trying to write fluff this time. Leave a comment, like, and reblog to let me know how I did. Get ready for butterflies.
Part 1: Mistlefoe Part 2 : A Glitering Celebration
As much as you loved the game, today was not the day that you wanted to play hide-and-seek. With your ankle now healed, Dick could hide anywhere in the city. You’d found him twice already, only to see him jump across another rooftop with his laugh to hide someplace else.
Bruce messaged you that it was Tim’s turn to patrol. You gratefully sighed and hoped on the bike before speeding back to the manor.
A Hershey kiss hung where your keys usually did.
You knew what he was doing. It was no secret what time of the year it was. You even knew where’d he be laid out, waiting for you. You giggled as you unwrapped the kiss. He could wait a minute.
After you changed out, you were a little unnerved when Jason snickered as you walked past. He didn’t look up from his phone when you shot him a look. Then you heard Cass screech. Running into the kitchen you were overrun with roses and balloons.
“Please tell me Dick’s gonna let you share?” she begged. Already she had a hand on a heart-shaped box, one of many that obliterated the table.
“Knock yourself out,” you chuckled. You grabbed the one box with a kiss taped to the top and left the rest for the family. As you unwrapped it, the tag on the top filled the foil. The usual blue writing was covered up with other text too small for you to read.
There was another kiss waiting for you in the library next to the magnifying glass. It’s tag said “use me,” making you giggle.
“I love your lips when they’re wet with wine
And red with a wild desire;
I love your eyes when the lovelight lies
Lit with a passionate fire.
I love your arms when the warm flesh
Touches mine in a fond embrace;
I love your hair when the strands enmesh
Your kisses against my face.”
You placed your hand on your heart. He was quoting, but it was still beautiful. You dug the first tag out of your pocket to see if there was a message there as well. “Lay me down where stars play, lay me down where my lover lays.” Not Robert Frost, but he got his point across.
Tim was back from his patrol. His brow scrunched in confusion when he saw you. “Y/N, I just heard you in your room?”
“Was my voice unnaturally high pitched?”
He thought for a moment before saying, “yeah. I thought maybe you’d caught a cold.” He thought for another second. “Were you not the one who screeched earlier over the coms?”
“Cass. There’s a table full of chocolate. You can have some if you…” he was gone before you could finish. With a labored sigh, you stood outside your door. You counted to twenty, just to see if he would ask you to come in. But he’s just as stubborn as you are.
The room was dark. You flipped the switch, but it did nothing. A single flame lit in the middle of your room. It hovered down and lit a candle. The flame spread till there were at least twenty candles lit surrounding your bed.
“Happy Valentine’s day Y/N,” Dick said from over your shoulder. He pulled you close and kissed your temple.
“If Alfred saw this, he’d never trust you with another…” Dick silenced you with another kiss. This one was deeper, made your heart swell, and ignited the heat beneath your stomach. You pulled him closer and found your stomach rubbing up against something hard. Dick let out a shuddered breath as you wiggled closer to him. “Dick, are you…”
He stepped back, letting you see the candle flames dance across his chest and over the red ribbon.
“Do you want to open your last present?”
Chocolate be damned; he knew exactly what you wanted.
Dick make’s sure that his and Y/N’s year goes out with a bang as the new one begins.
Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader, appearances by Tim Drake, Jason Todd
Warnings: pranking, SMUT, NSFW gif below the cut, risk of getting caught
Word Count: 1200+
Note: Originally, this was supposed to be where it ended, but then I extended the prize time to Valentines. A week of endless kisses seemed too short. Enjoy! And Happy New Year!
Tim leapt into action, tossing blankets over his teammate till all anybody would see was a pair of not-so-empty socks. He used a pillow to hide those and leaned on them, making the blanket yelp.
“Shh.”
The house was silent for a moment, then chaos erupted.
Tim shivered over your hiding place as Jason roared. You found a gap in the blankets and peaked out as Jason walked around the corner, his black and red uniform obliterated in silver and gold glitter. He held his helmet away from his body like it was diseased.
“Tim, I swear if this was you, I will-“
“It wasn’t me! Look,” he held out his hands, “no glitter.”
Jason growled and stalked away. You poked your hands out to check them. They were clean, and not without considerable effort on your part.
Dick would have no such luck. He had overseen the adhesive strips that held the glitter packets in the helmet until Jason went to put it on.
“Dick! I’m going to kill you! I’m going to smother you… choke you… get back here!”
You giggled as Dick’s laughter echoed through the mansion. It ended abruptly with the sound of beeping: the Batman’s call to action. The prank was over, but definitely not forgotten. You wondered what Bruce would say when he saw the glitter, if anything at all. You wondered what Commissioner Gordon would say.
“Who’s idea was it?” Tim asked, throwing the blanket off you.
“Dick said glitter. I suggested putting it in his helmet. Dick wanted to drop it on him from the banister.”
Tim shook his head with a grin, then went back to what he was doing. You headed towards the library to read till the team got back. Dick got you “The Hubble Cosmos” by Devorkin for Christmas, but this was the first down time you had since the holiday shenanigans picked up. The swollen ankle you earned while chasing Harley Quinn helped. Bruce commanded you to stay put till the swelling went down.
They came back late, nearly midnight. You were deep in space, so much so that you didn’t hear Dick come in till he was tickling your feet.
“Glad you like it. Anything interesting yet?” He moved your legs to sit next to you before pulling them back onto his lap.
“Plenty. I’ll let you borrow it when I finish.” You continued reading as Dick drummed his fingers on your shins. You peaked over the top of the book at him. He was staring at you. Licking his lips like a starved man. “Did you want to ask me something?”
You barely had time to plant your bookmark before it was tossed onto the coffee table. Dick pinned your arms to your side as he kissed you breathless. You squirmed, not to get away, but as an effort to touch him. He squeezed on your arms tighter, denying you that wish, but you felt his desire rut against you.
“Dick,” you breathed.
“It’s coming, don’t worry.”
“Are you ever not going to use that?”
“Nope.” He moved to sucking hard on your neck, taking time to make them dark and noticeable. He let one of your hands escape so he could palm your breast, then toying with the edge of your shirt. You used your free hand to grip the juncture of his legs. His kissing faltered as he almost fell off the couch. You took the chance to push him onto his back on the other end of the couch.
Now it was your turn. You kept the kisses slow, and the pressure on his bulge just enough to keep him pinned. You worked your way across his collarbone, still sweaty from the mission, and up around his neck. He pulled you closer, then gripped your ass. You moaned and rolled your hips together.
“We could get caught,” you whispered.
“Yeah.” He leaned back to give you more access as his hands crept below the hem of your sweatpants. You shivered at his touch, retaliating by sucking a mark below his ear.
Your kisses morphed into open-mouthed pants as he found his way to your heat, stroking your clothed sex in the way that made your hips buck against his.
“You gonna ride me, baby?” he whispered. You groaned and rolled to sit up. You both removed your pants and underwear and tossed them away before you laid over top of him again. He slid his length through your lower lips while watching your face. He chuckled as you braced yourself on his chest. You raised up so he could push the tip into you, then let him help you sink onto him. The couch was wide enough for your legs to rest easily on either side of him.
He kept one hand on your hip, holding you on him till you were whimpering for him to move, and the other on your breast, squeezing it gently through your tee. He gripped you tight to raise you up, then to impale you as he arched up to meet you. Again, and again, and again he slammed into you till you were clamping a hand over your mouth to hide your cries.
“Babe, please be close,” Dick panted. He was shining with new sweat; you were sure you looked similarly disheveled. He pulled you down harder onto a thrust, hitting your sweet spot and making you scream through your palm. “I’ll take that as a hopeful yes.”
He raked his nails over your ribcage on their way down to your clit. A few hard strokes were enough to send you spiraling. Your walls spasmed around him, taking him down with you with a hoarse shout. Your legs quaked as he arched into you, sheathing you while his cum coated you warm and thick. He pumped into you two or three times, your mind couldn’t count at the moment, to draw out the high. Dick sighed and let himself slide out before pulling you down to his chest.
He kissed your forehead and rubbed your back, humming into your hair sweet nothings.
“It’s almost midnight,” he said finally. You forced your eyes open to look at the grandfather clock. 11:50. “They’ll be expecting us in the batcave. Alfred is feeling extra festive this year.”
You groaned and muttered, “do we have too?”
“We can ring in the new year ourselves afterwards if you go with me.” You looked up to his smirking face.
“Deal, if you carry me upstairs so we can get cleaned up a little. A more in-depth shower can happen later.” You squealed as Dick threw your clothes at you.
“3…2…1! Happy New Year!”
Before you could pull Dick down to you, he dragged you to the door between the manor and the entrance of the cave. The mistletoe he’d put up nearly a month ago still hung there. He cupped your face and kissed you deeply, sweeter than before.
“I’m loving this unlimited kissing thing. What can I do to earn a yearly subscription?”
“You can have them till July,” you pulled an egg out of your pocket, safe in a pillow case, “if you crack this glitter egg on Jason’s head.”
He was off like a shot. You joined everyone, minus Jason, in laughter as he was covered in bright pink glitter. Dick hiked you over his shoulder during his retreat, trailing glitter through the manor as carried you up for the after-mission/party shower you suggested. Glitter got on everything before you even made it to the shower.
Y/N gets fed up with Dick Grayson hiding mistletoe all over the manor, and suggests an alternate activity.
Pairing: Reader x Dick Grayson
Word Count: 1000+
Warnings: snark, sparring violence, implied smut
Note: I wrote this in thirty minutes. (Should that be a warning? Probably) Anyway, enjoy.
You were sure this was not what Bruce trained him for. The ninja-like skills were for apprehending criminals, not for lying-in-wait to kiss you the second you stepped under a cluster of mistletoe. Where was he getting it all anyways?
“Oh look, mistletoe!” he said for the hundredth time that day before pecking you on the nose.
You grunted and kept walking. The kitchen was just a few steps away. Maybe being around the rest of the team would squelch his festive PDA.
“Y/N, look o-,“ Cassandra flinched as Dick somehow appeared from the ceiling and kissed you upside-down. It lasted longer than usual, and you found yourself leaning into him. He pulled away, and grinned.
“Your lips taste wonderful,” he whispered. As annoyed as you were, he could be sweet. You covered up your blush with a frown, feigning irritation as he flipped down to walk with you. You pushed him away, but winked at Cassandra.
“If you keep hiding mistletoe everywhere,” you said, slumping into a chair, “I’m going to deck your halls.” Cassandra high-fived you and passed a plate of holiday cookies before leaving the kitchen.
Dick braced himself on the tale and slapped a hand over his heart in ‘shock.’ “Well that’s not very festive of you.”
“And mistle-bombing me is?”
“What, have you been having trouble catching your breath?” he looked down at you, the angle just deep enough to give his eyes that dark shade that made your desire pool.
“Hardly. I figured you were the one out of breath, trying to replace all the sprigs I keep burning.”
“Shame on you.”
You shrugged. “If you weren’t being such a dick about the whole thing, I might even like it.” Then you had a thought.
“What?” Dick stepped back and squinted at you. “I know that face. It’s usually means something brilliant, but painful. What’s on your mind?”
You sat back, nibbling on your cookie while you solidified the idea. “How would you like to earn unlimited kisses for the season?” No matter how much he tried to hide his excitement, he had a tell. “Meet me in the training room in fifteen.” You grabbed the sprig hanging over the door and started down the hall. “Fifteen minutes, Dick.”
By the time he showed, you were ready. The uniform was a development, but not altogether a surprise. He knew you liked him in uniform.
“So. What are the rules?” he asked, surveying your work. You had set up eight poles around the mat. The four on the corners had mistletoe hanging from them, and the four in between had Christmas ornaments.
“If you can spare me to any of the corners, you get a point and a kiss. If I spare you to any of the ornaments, I get a point. First one to five wins. If I win, then you can only use the mistletoe I’ll set up in the door leading in and out of the Batcave till January the first. If you win, unlikely, then you can kiss me whenever till Valentine’s.”
“You’re going to suffer too, sweetheart, if you win.”
“I didn’t say that I couldn’t kiss you, only that you can’t start anything except under that cluster.”
“Fine.”
“Then let’s begin.”
Dick followed you to the middle of the mat, twirling his Eskrima sticks. You unsheathed your twin Sai and readied your stance: left arm and leg outstretched, right arm across your chest. Nightwing readied his: knees slightly bent, arms pulled back with his sticks pointing to the floor. For a moment, neither of you moved. Any twitch would give your first move away, so you kept your breathing slow and your muscles relaxed.
Nightwing moved first, simply swinging his sticks up so he could bring them down on your head. He should know better. You stepped to the side and caught his wrists together in one sai, and his forearm in another. With a quick twist, you had him on the floor under an ornament. With slight pressure, he was tapping the floor, sticks forgotten.
“Well that was quick,” you smirked.
“Oi, you’ve got four more points before you can say that.” He stood up, rubbing where you pinned him.
“If you keep losing, it won’t be long.”
You tossed him one of your Sai. He used the stance you had before, but with the Sai in his right hand. Your stance stayed the same, but moved the Sai to your right and held it back like when drawing a bow. You lunged, aiming to pin his shoulder. But he stepped in quick. Before you could bring your arm down, Nightwing had you squeezed between the Sai and him. A few steps of struggle later and he chuckled. You looked up in time to see the green and white plant just before he descended onto your lips. He left you breathless in a way you couldn’t hide, and kept any sassy remarks to himself.
Once again you stood in the middle. You were weaponless as you had dropped yours during the kiss. Nightwing still had the other one, but he tossed it away. You both put your hands up, ready for a proper sparing match. But you were finding it hard to focus. With his arms up like that, his biceps strained against the fabric. You watched as he stepped closer and moved out of the way, but tripped over his support leg causing him to tumble down with you. You rolled to keep yourself on top, pinning him with you knee hovering above his groin.
“There’s no need for pressure there. Bad form, Y/N.”
“I thought you liked my form?” You helped him stand, but stayed close. Your hand palmed the swelling beneath his uniform. “Besides, the only pressure there is your own.”
Nightwing let out a shuddering breath, then hoisted you over his shoulder. You grabbed his waist the best you could, but he kept your legs to his chest so you couldn’t flip him. He walked past the edge of the mat, then gave a lighthearted slap to your ass.
You shrieked. “You haven’t made it to five points yet? Is this your surrender?”
“Nope. But it won’t take two seconds to hang ornaments and mistletoe on my bedposts. If we even get that far.”
“Cheeky,” you laughed, smacking the glorius maximus bouncing next to your face.
He flipped you in the air to carry you bridal style down the hall. He brought his face close to yours till your noses touched.
Imagine one year that Gotham is actually quiet. Arkham has control over the big names, and even they couldn’t stop Alfred from keeping the whole Batfam home for the night. Bruce claims the turkey. He has no clue how to fry a turkey, but he’s Batman; he’ll figure it out. Dick takes on several side dishes and doubles as the DJ. He almost loses this second position when Christmas music comes on. Tim and Cassandra face off over desserts. He wants chocolate, she wants toffee. At the end of the night, there’s chocolate cake and a version of Gordon’s pralines (stolen from the Gordon secret cookbook by Barbara). They team up for caramel-drizzled chocolate covered strawberries. Damian made off with several of the fruit before they could “contaminate it with unnecessary sweetness.” He took it upon himself to find the perfect room for dinner: close to the kitchen, large enough to contain all of them, but small enough to feel close. He also assigned seats with Jason and Tim on the far end from him and Bruce. Barbara helped Dick and moved dishes from kitchen to dining room. She and Cassandra set the table with a hodge-podge of dishes ranging from the fine china for Alfred, to Tupperware for Jason and Dick. The occasional stare kept food fights from breaking out, but just about everyone took turns hitting Tim in the forehead with peas. Only Alfred saw Jason slip away. When he found Jason in the kitchen boxing up the leftovers, Alfred joined in. But he didn’t escape the house without the rest of the family in tow, in uniform, as they handed out food to those down on their luck. They checked up on petty thieves out of the clink, making sure they were staying out of trouble. Damian checked up on the alley pets and frowned when Bruce forbade him from bringing any home. They were back home before three that next morning, all mentally agreeing this was the best Thanksgiving ever.
Y/N recovers from being kidnapped. She now knows who Nightwing is, but she’s having difficulty keeping the dark memories out of the bedroom. He offers a solution.
Pairing: Nightwing x Reader
Warnings: SMUT. Reader PTSD. Promises of erasing that PTSD with revenge of a sort. Yellow warning.
“Promise you’ll be here in the morning,” you yawned. He hummed at you and kissed your cheek. “Promise me you’ll never disappear again.”
“Always, Y/N. Never, darling.”
You fell into a dreamless sleep. When you woke up he was there, gray eyes looking into yours. A few seconds later he laid a kiss on your nose.
“Good morning,” you said.
“’Morning.”
You looked at his face, new to you in the morning light. He hadn’t left his mask on overnight, not since you removed it to patch up his face. The curves of his chin and nose looked familiar. Like something out of a magazine.
“So do I get to know your name as well, or just your face now?”
He laughed. “Richard. Richard Grayson. But my friends call me Dick.”
You giggled, “how opportunistic.” His named face grinned back at you as you booped his nose. It wiggled, but you couldn’t laugh. Something about the way his face was so close to yours made you anxious.
Memories flooded in. The Trigger Twins. Blockbuster. His face close to yours, angry and threatening. You didn’t realize you were sweating till Dick pushed a y/h/c curl out of your face.
“It’s okay, Y/N. I’m here. You’re safe.” He pulled you to his chest as you shivered. You were so exhausted. And he was so warm. You fell asleep again, but not as dreamless.
Over and over you were kidnaped. You started to notice everything you had done wrong. You didn’t look through the scope to make sure it was him. You didn’t scream earlier. You didn’t run for the phone, which sitting on the kitchen counter. You shouldn’t have called out in the first place till you knew it was him. Over and over you were slung over someone’s shoulder and shook as they carried you down the steps. The shaking increased as you fought the dream, till it was almost to the level of an earthquake.
“Y/N! Y/N! Wake up! You’re a home, you’re safe. Please wake up.” Nightwing… no… Dick shook you from the nightmare. You were panting, crying, and your voice felt hoarse like you’d been screaming. His wounds had reopened. Then you realized you had scratched him in your sleep. Shredded him.
“Dick! I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.” You got up and ran to the bathroom before he could stop you. You slammed the door breathing hard.
Your arms reflected at you in the mirror, catching your attention as they laid against the door. For the first time you noticed the bruising around your wrists. The purple and blue welts were detailed enough to where you could see the rope pattern. You didn’t remember pulling on them that hard, but they entranced you. You traced your fingers over them. The feel of Walt tying the rope. You straining against them in the warehouse. Nightwing cutting them. They felt hydrated. He must have lotioned them or something while you were asleep.
“Y/N?” Dick rapped a knuckle on the other side of the door. “Please come out.”
You wanted to hide forever. No. You couldn’t let this destroy you. Dick had come for you, saved you. You were safe.
You creaked open the door, looking sheepishly up at him. He gently ran a hand up your arm, hesitant to pull you into his. You fell into them on your own.
“It’s okay, Y/N. It’s going to take a while, but we’ll get you back.”
“No,” you said. Dick pulled back, surprised. “I want breakfast, like yesterday before everything happened. I want to have a do-over of yesterday.”
You walked past him into the kitchen and took the eggs, peppers, and milk out of the fridge. Dick took the eggs and milk, then started to make the base while you cut up the peppers. Shink. Shink. The knife slid through the red peppers like they were nothing. The sound faded as you honed in how the red reflected in the blade. Blockbuster had been wearing a red handkerchief in his breast pocket, wasn’t he? Or was it blue? The reflection shifted from red to blue. Or was he wearing one at all?
“Y/N?”
You snapped your face to look over at Dick. His brow was creased in worry. You quickly finished slicing the pepper and let him sprinkle it into the omelet. He retrieved the spices himself. You grinned when he reached over you to get at them, poking his abs when his shirt rose up. He sat you on the island as he finished cooking, then fed it to you like he had the day before. It tasted good, better than before. He turned to put the plate in the sink, almost dropping it when you slid your toes into the hem of his sweats to pull him towards you.
You didn’t say anything, just pressed your lips into his. You wanted to drown in him. He stood there taking your kiss, then slowly began to give back. His tongue ran over your bottom lip. You opened up to him, and he dove in exploring you like it was the first time. He reached up to run his hands over your back. To pull you into his chest. You sighed. Nothing had happened. This was just another Sexy Morning. Part two of hopefully many.
His fingers ran up under your shirt, and you stuck yours down the collar of his to grasp his wide shoulders. He leaned back and stripped his off, but kept you from removing yours. He leaned you back and slid off your shorts and panties instead. The marble was cold against your back, chilly through the sleep shirt you liked.
He kissed the inside of your thigh, making you pant. He sucked a dark spot, then licked around it to smooth away the pleasure-pain. Then he did the same to the other side, grunting as he nibbled. He moved side to side, inching closer to your center, making you both groan as he grew closer. He breathed into your heat, making you shudder. You gasped as he ran a quick stripe up your folds. You bucked your hips against his face, but he pinned them to the counter and began to flick his tongue in and out of you.
You needed him. Needed him deeper in you. You needed him to move. Needed to move. His grunts filled your head. Bodies sailed in the warehouse. Tumbling out of his way as he fought his way to you, grunting and bleeding.
“Dick?”
“It’s coming baby, just you wait.”
“No, sweetie. Code yellow. Yellow,” you whispered.
He pulled back and wiped his face clean. His pupils were still large, but they were shrinking rapidly as he stared, intent on your face. The new familiar sweat of fear coated your body. You looked away from his gaze, mad at yourself for sinking again.
“Y/N, it’s okay. You’re safe,” he said. You gripped the edge of the counter till your knuckles were white and throbbing. He tried to loosen your grip, but you jerked away from his touch. Leaning down he kissed your hand against the marble. “It’s not your fault. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” Then he walked into the bedroom.
You could hear him making a phone call. Kinda wondered if he was calling Batman.
When he came out he was clothed and had some for you too.
“Do you trust me?” he asked. There was a hint of doubt in his voice, like he wasn’t sure you would answer like you would any day before … everything.
“Yes.”
“Okay. Get dressed. We’re going on an adventure.”
Confused, you did as he said, then followed him as he led you down the street to a bar. Some hole-in-the-wall you’d never noticed before. He pulled you down the back alley then turned to face you. In his hand was a small phone he hadn’t been holding before. Had he?
“I called my boss earlier. He doesn’t know who I am, but he lets me leave before it gets too dark. We’ve been looking for a night bartender for a while. And I need someone who can keep their ear to the ground when I can’t.” He tilted his head to look at you.
“What’s that?” Your interest was piqued.
“A phone in essence. Here, it reads your fingerprint. That way if it gets stolen or something, nobody else can use it.” He spun each of your prints across the scanner, kissing each on when he was done. “It also reads your heart-rate in case you are being made to call me or if you are in other danger. Then I can show up but keep an eye out for an ambush.”
He led you into the bar and behind the counter. Already the early drinkers were beginning to show up. He stayed a while, showing you how to use the phone and teaching you how to mix drinks. It kept your mind off anything else because he kept throwing in really complicated ones he had come up with himself. Then he slipped out the back with a wink, leaving you with the owner.
That night you learned a lot about the criminal underworld. And how to make a fantastic White Russian. You were focused on making the drinks. On listening to the customers. You felt power seeping into your bones as con-men and burglars spilled every plan they had to one another. Every once and a while you would send a text to Nightwing with something bigger than the rest. You felt in control. And made a bank in tips. You left sometime around one, then slept without even a glimmer of a nightmare.
A week later you stood in the bedroom doorframe, sipping your coffee. He was still asleep. You didn’t know when he had flown in, but it had to be early. He breathed deeply and smiled, eyes still closed.
“I thought it was my job to wake you up with coffee.”
“Hmm,” you grinned. “Technically I didn’t bring you any, but I did bring an offer.”
He sat up against the headboard. “Oh?”
“How about I make breakfast this morning? I bought blueberries yesterday.”
“Really?” he smirked at you and crossed his arms.
“Think maybe you could swallow some French toast? Then maybe we can have second breakfast in the living room?”
You squealed and ran to the kitchen as he threw back the sheets and leaped out of bed. He was only clothed in his boxers. And already swelling.
Nightwing wants to tell you his identity at a date. He’s not the one who shows up for dinner.
Pairing: Nightwing x reader, Blockbuster/Roland Desmond, Trigger Twins, and goons.
Warnings: SMUT. Fluff. Moments of peril. (Wow, one of these is not like the other.) Peril including guns, violence, and a little blood. Unprotected sex, (don’t disappoint Nightwing, always use protection.) Language.
Word Count: 2800+
Note: This one gets a little dark, but if you look really close at the first one I did kind of warn you. Chillax, I still gave you smut, and also bookends of a little morning fluff. Nothing stays dark forever. The gifs are made by me using footage from Ismahawk’s YouTube series, Nightwing the Series.
When you opened your eyes that morning his were looking back at you through the lenses on his mask.
“Morning,” he mumbled, kissing you on the tip of your nose. He’d been waking you up like that for several weeks now after a long night in his embrace. It still made you giggle.
“Right back at’cha.” You booped his nose. He wiggled it like he was going to sneeze. Like he did every morning. You laughed as he rolled with you till he was on top.
“One of these days you’re actually going to make me sneeze, then you’ll be sorry.”
You wriggled your hips into the sheets, chuckling when his gaze started to follow them like a cat following a laser. He pinned them down, grinning knowing he’d caught his canary, then drowned you in a smoldering kiss. A second later he was gone. He stood to one side and put on his boxers.
“I think I’ll make breakfast. Feel free to join me before or after you smell coffee.”
You groaned. You didn’t want to get out of bed, but you were awake. And the idea of coffee sounded so good. The air was crisp now that you were deep into winter, so you grabbed your favorite pair of sweatpants and Nightwing’s sweatshirt. You paused for a moment, thinking, then decided to wear only what you had picked up. Maybe you could coerce him into splaying you out on the island.
Your kitchen was already bright with the sun, and it smelled heavenly of coffee, eggs, and peppers.
“I figured omelets were simple enough. Where do you hide all your spices, though?”
“They’re up here,” you reached up to open one of the cabinets, but let the drawer handle catch the string on your sweats. As you reached higher, your pants stayed in one place so your ass could peek out at him. You pulled down the whole assortment that way. “Oops,” you giggled when you were finished, pulling them back up.
Nightwing took some of the jars from you, his mask unable to hide all of his blush. He turned back to the stove and you hopped up on the island, which was wonderfully empty. The omelets were ready soon, and he fed you yours, leaning between your legs. You discovered he was a fantastic cook.
“Seriously? You fight crime and you can cook! Is there anything you can’t do, darling?” You leaned your forehead against his, close enough to notice how big his pupils were becoming. He took a step back, bumping into the counter as he set the plate down. Already there was a swell in his boxers, which he palmed absentmindedly while looking at you. Your heart began to pound in your chest as he growled at you.
“I can’t keep my hands off you when you call me that.” In a flash he was before you, shoving his hands up his sweatshirt.
When he found what you weren’t wearing he cursed under his breath. “Holy tits, Y/N. How far ahead were you planning this?” He didn’t give you time to reply before flinging the hoodie over your head and sending it flying. He smashed his lips into yours while dropping his boxers. His member sprang free, already hard and throbbing. He pulled you off the island and flipped you so the cold marble made you shiver. “That’s right. Shiver in the cold and with anticipation.” He pinned your arms above your head, leaning over you. His hardness was pressed against you, so you tried to rub against it.
Nightwing held your wrists with one hand, the other he used to play with your clit. You squealed and writhed under him.
“Already so wet, Y/N? Damn, I’m gonna slide right in there.”
He aligned himself from behind. In one breath he buried himself inside you, making him gasp and causing you to scream hard, ending in a moan. He rolled into you, your torso sliding up and back against the island. He moved faster and faster, and the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoed in the small space loudly. You were sure your neighbors would hear you. He pulled you back by your hair, giving him enough leverage to find your g-spot. You were sure they would hear you if he kept making you groan like that.
He spread your legs wider so he could thrust deeper. You were close, and so was he. He kept ramming into you quick, but they were getting sloppy and his breathing was ragged against your ear.
“Darling, please, harder. Just a few more. Oh! I’m… ugh…”
“Come for me, Y/N, I’m right there with you.”
Your walls contracted and relaxed, releasing your juices just as he shot his into your heat. He rocked a few more times, then pulled out. Your legs wobbled like jelly. He caught you before you could fall and carried you to the couch. Wrapping you both in the throw, he kissed your cheek.
“Do you think you could handle a secret?” he murmured. You barely heard him.
“Hmm?”
“Do you think you could handle a secret?” he asked again, trepidation seeping into his voice.
“What is it?” You twisted to look at him. His dark hair was plastered to his face, and his pupils were still recovering.
“I want to date you.”
Your heart leaped. You knew you were smiling at him, but could feel nothing except joy through your entire being.
“When I come home tonight, I want to use your front door. I want to tell you – show you who I really am.”
You giggled, then kissed him on his nose. He grinned and got off the couch. You wrapped the blanket around you and sat on the edge of the couch as he recovered his clothing.
“I was scared I’d have to confess my love for you if you did,” you said, laughing when he couldn’t find his boxers.
“Honey, I didn’t think that was a secret.” He found them, then left a little while later. He was going to pick you up at seven sharp. And he would be in a suit.
You called off from work so that you’d have the whole day to prepare. You dropped by Victoria’s Secret for a simple surprise for him; you already had a dress at home.
That night you waited for him to ring or knock, dressed in a midnight blue gown. Underneath you wore a black push-up with a little blue bow, and black panties trimmed in blue lace. A quarter to seven there was a soft knock at the door.
“You’re early, darling,” you called out, “are we a little anx-“
Outside the door was not one handsome man, but two large ones with matching dark grins on their faces. One, voice layered with a western drawl, placed his hand on the door, keeping you from slamming it shut.
“Good ev’ning, little lady. Do you happen to know if Nightwing lives here?”
You gulped, trying to remain calm. “No. You must have the wrong apartment… building… street… thing.” That went well.
“I think you’re telling a lie…”
“A false lie!” the other one added.
“You see, my brother here, oh his name is Wayne and I’m Walt, saw a certain black and blue bird flying in and out of your window several times. So we know he at least comes here.”
You backed away. You couldn’t feel your heart beat. And your throat wouldn’t let any air into your lungs. The men walked in. Walt pulled a letter out of his left back pocket. You noticed he had a rope thrown over his shoulder. Wayne had a gun and a head-sized black bag.
“D’ya think you can get this to him? It’s a letter telling him where we’re taking you.”
You screamed as Wayne leaped forward, pinning your front against the wall. Walt dropped the letter and dropped Wayne’s bag over your head. In the dark, you could feel everything with more focus. Wayne was rough and had his gun jabbed in between your shoulder blades. Walt was tying the rope around your wrists and arms. Then you were in the air, screaming and kicking as they carried you away.
The bag was tugged from your head. You squinted, your eyes sensitive to light.
“Sorry about the dramatics. I wanted to make sure Nightwing would get the message.”
The man in front of you was monstrous. He was sitting down but he still towered over you, terrifying and a lot less cordial looking than his voice suggested.
“So, Y/N, save me a little time. Answer my question and the Trigger Twins will take you home safely.”
You looked around. The little pool of light wasn’t enough to show you any details. It was just enough to give the demon of a man in front of you a sinister shadow across his face.
“Y/N. Who is Nightwing?”
Your lungs were racing each other, making you dizzy as you began to hyperventilate. “I don’t know.” You tried to get up to run away, but your arms and legs were tied to a chair.
“I don’t believe you.” He stood and walked into the darkness. His voice echoed out of the gloom, bouncing around in what seemed like a large room. Maybe a warehouse.
“He mistook my apartment for mine a few nights. That’s all. Please, I don’t know anything.”
The sound of a table being flipped resounded in the dark. “That’s shit. You tweeted that over two months ago. He’s flown into your apartment a hundred times since then!”
Maybe if you said something with a smidgen of truth he would let you go. “Okay. He kept showing up. Liked telling me about his night. But he would leave. I’m nothing but a set of ears to him. If you wanted to catch him, why didn’t you show up sooner?”
“Because I was too busy cleaning up his messes!” His face whipped in front of you, blotchy with red and purple, close enough that you were almost nose to nose. “Do you know what he’s been doing to my operations? The great Blockbuster, fighting a sarcastic and destructive little bird! I can barely do business since he showed up. Now I’m gonna make him pay, gonna make him beg on his knees before me!” He stormed off past the edge of light. When he turned, you could see his eyes glowing.
“And you’re gonna help me.”
He brought a gun to the side of your face. Your vision was going blurry with the influx of oxygen in your system. Maybe if you passed out fast enough he would spare you.
“One more chance. Who is the Nightwing?” He pulled back the hammer with a click. You stopped breathing.
“If you wanted to know my name, why didn’t you just ask me in person, Roland Desmond?”
The warehouse filled with light to reveal Nightwing sitting in the rafters, calm and relaxed. All around you were men armed with machine guns. It didn’t seem to faze him.
“Should’ve told me it was a party. Would’ve worn my suit,” he said, grinning at you. You couldn’t grin back.
Blockbuster still had his gun pressed to your face. It was shaking. Unsteady. You could see his anger at the corner of your eyes.
What happened next was too fast for you to fully understand. First, some heavy-fingered goon let off a shot. Nightwing leaped to the ground, away from you, arching backward like some circus performer. More goons opened fire, and Blockbuster added his gun to the chaos. You would later remember feeling relieved in that moment, glad that it was no longer pointed at you. Nightwing landed on the other side of the warehouse. You couldn’t see him, but you could hear the sound of fists on flesh. The gunfire continued till every bullet was spent. Blockbuster stopped firing at a target he couldn’t see and reloaded his gun. Your stomach churned as he stood smugly beside you.
Nightwing came into your sights. He was throwing bodies all around him, kicking, punching, and leaping over goons so that they would occasionally shoot each other. He laughed and seemed to be enjoying himself. You, on the other hand, felt nauseous and dizzy.
Eventually, it was just Nightwing versus the Trigger Twins, who were standing in front of Blockbuster. They seemed shocked that he could take out a room full of guys only little less qualified than them. Walt lowered his guns, and Wayne followed. Walt turned to face Blockbuster, who was grunting and blustering his way towards yelling at them.
“Well mister,” Walt slanged, “We brought ya the girl. You didn’t say anything about fighting a Bat brat. So, we’ll be goin’ now.” He turned and walked towards the door, Wayne following close behind. “Look us up if you need any other services,” he called over his shoulders.
When the door slammed shut Blockbuster had a difficult time deciding whether to hold the gun at you or Nightwing.
“Looks like it’s just you and me, Desmond. Might I suggest you put the gun down?”
“Why,” he decided to point it at you, “so you can take your slut and leave, unscathed? Here’s the deal: I keep her and you walk out, peacefully, and maybe I’ll let her go.”
Nightwing took a step towards him, twirling his head like he did when he was about to sass you.
“Take one more step and I’ll blow her away.” He shoved the gun into your temple, making you cry out involuntarily. Nightwing stopped moving and put his hands up.
“If you kill her, how long do you think you’ll live? I’m no longer a Bat brat, his rules against killing don’t apply to me anymore.” You saw him suppress a grin as Desmond eased off the pressure. “New deal: I let you walk out of here, without a gun, and I leave your operations alone for a week. That should give you enough time to find some more guys.” Somewhere in the back of the pile of bodies, somebody groaned.
Desmond’s hand shook, then he dropped the gun and kicked it towards Nightwing.
“Deal. But know, this isn’t over yet, boy.” Desmond walked away and didn’t look back.
As soon as the door slammed shut, Nightwing raced to your side and cut the ropes around your arms and legs.
“Y/N, I’m so sorry.” You tried to say something back, but he hushed you. “Let’s get you home and cleaned up.”
You didn’t remember much of the trip except that you were flying. Maybe not. Everything was too fuzzy. When you fully came to, Nightwing was sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. He was still in his uniform, and his cuts were sealed with the dried blood. He looked at you when you leaned up to stroke his cheek.
“You should be resting,” he whispered.
“You should get patched up,” you replied, gingerly touching a welt forming on his chest. He flinched, and nodded in agreement.
“I’ll patch up at home.” He stood up to leave, but you caught his hand.
“You know that’s not a good idea. If they could find my apartment, how do you know they haven’t been able to find yours?” He sighed, knowing you were right. You led him to the bathroom, poorly hiding your wobbly legs. Nightwing didn’t seem to notice; he was to exhausted.
You cleaned, stitched, and bandaged your way up his body. When you reached his face you began to work on a cut that had also sliced through his mask. You reached to remove it, but Nightwing grabbed your wrist.
“I need to know,” you said, making him relax his panicked grip. “You were going to tell me before all this. I need to know, like if none of it ever happened and you were about to take me to a fancy restaurant.” He kept his hand on your wrist, his eyes staring into yours searching for any sign of doubt. “Do you trust me to keep a secret?”
He released your wrist and let you slide off his mask. The cut reached up to just under his left eye, which you realized was a pale gray. Now that you could see his whole face, you knew he was handsome instead of just guessing.
You patched him up like nothing had changed, then let him carry you back to bed. You were kind of grateful and was already nodding off by the time he pulled the covers up.
“Promise you’ll be here in the morning,” you yawned. He hummed at you and kissed your cheek. “Promise me you’ll never disappear again.”
“Always, and never, Y/N.”
You fell into a dreamless sleep. When you woke up he was there, gray eyes looking into yours. A few seconds later he laid a kiss on your nose.
Our Deepest Desires 