#dcu x reader

There's no sound around you other than the faint sound of rain and traffic. You haven't been taken out of the city, it seems. Mistake number one.

Mistake number two presents itself in the form of your phone ringing on the other side of the room. It gives you some idea of depth: the space you're in is big and empty. Despite the situation, the only thing you can feel is relief that the person who kidnapped you was stupid enough to forget to ditch your phone. It's only a matter of time before your location gets tracked.

Thirty minutes, maybe an hour, pass by relatively quickly. You keep yourself from panicking by making to do lists for the rest of the week. Laundry, groceries, stopping by that new bakery on fifth street…all things you will get around to because you're going to get out of here. Dick wouldn't let anything happen to you.

Your phone, which had been ringing almost continuously, finally stops.

"Fuckin' finally," someone gripes from behind you. The sudden speech makes you tense. You had thought you were alone, but you suppose that wouldn't make sense. "Thought that thing'd never stop."

The man's heavy footsteps thud across the floor, and his breath hits the back of your neck. "Think your pretty boy's on his way? Huh?"

He slaps the back of your chair abruptly, and you jump in your binds. The man just chuckles and walks back over to his seat.

"What's he gonna do, anyway? Not like I hurt you."

"You didn't, did you?" Another voice joins the conversation, though it sounds like it's coming from…above? "Is that why she's tied up?"

Even though he's changing his voice, you'd recognize that tone anywhere. It's Dick. The man who fights every night to make Bludhaven a safer place. The man who cries over stupid romance movies. The man who always moves forward like a light in the dark.

He's here. For you.

And just like that, all the tension in your chest dissipates.

"H-hey, man, look, I just wanted to talk! That's all! I just needed a bargaining chip!"

"Human lives aren't bargaining chips." Dick's feet hit the ground with a soft thud that's followed by a quiet crackling sound. "But, okay. Let's talk."

Soft thuds, the sounds of fists and escrima sticks making bodily impact, and grunts fill the air. The scuffle doesn't last very long. The guy must not have been armed. It takes Dick less than a minute to knock the guy out.

"Good talk," he mutters. And, just as he turns to free you…

Click.

While Dick never kept guns in the house, he made sure to teach you all about them when he gave you self-defense lessons.

That's why you're able to recognize the soft click of a gun's safety being disengaged. The cold barrel presses against the base of your neck and sends a chill down your spine. You don't need to have your sight restored to know that Dick's frozen in place right now, an impossible distance away from you.

"You really should've talked to him," a second voice drawls. "Because now I have to make a mess."

Fear and adrenaline numb the tips of your fingers and send your heart into overdrive. You have to do something and fast.

Move.

Move.

You have to move.

Your first attempt is fruitless, so subtle that it doesn't draw attention. The second attempt lets you lift up two of the chair legs just slightly, making your captor slap you across the face. Your head whips to the side, but you don't falter. You can't let the pain distract you now. You move or you die.

On your third try, you finally get the chair to tip. Gravity seems to suspend momentarily, and, for a second, you're sure you've failed and the goon is about to pull the trigger. But, blessedly, the chair continues it's descent, and you go crashing to the floor. Your shoulder absorbs most of the impact. There's a loud groan followed by the POP of a gunshot and another thud.

It takes Dick another five seconds to remove your blindfold. You're in an abandoned warehouse. There's a burly man unconscious behind your boyfriend and a smoking gun kicked off to the edge of the room. It smells like sulfur and smoke, slightly metallic but not bloody.

Suddenly, Dick's filling up your entire line of sight, eyes wide and frantic behind his domino mask. His big hands cup your cheeks before sliding down to your shoulders momentarily. When his brain finally kicks back in, he undoes the gag and brushes his thumbs over the indents it left behind.

"Are you hurt?" he asks. He's given up on his Nightwing voice. This is Dick Grayson in all his panicked, desperate glory.

"No, just…" you cough, "just sore."

Dick shakes his head and makes quick work of untying the rest of the rope binding you. Once you're free, he scoops you up against his chest. His heart beat is going a mile a minute under your cheek, and his hands, usually so steady in the face of danger, tremble where they hold you.

"I thought he shot you," he confesses. "I thought I wasn't fast enough."

Dick gathers the rest of your things, sends an alert out to the police department, and carries you up to the roof of the warehouse. He's fiddling with his grappling gun when you speak up.

"I never doubted you," you murmur. "I knew you'd come."

Your words hit him right in the chest, so much so that he almost drops you and his grappling gun. Of course, he knows you trust him, and he knows that you know he's devoted to you and your safety. It's the sheer trust and confidence with which you spoke that does him in. Subconsciously, his grip on you tightens, and he presses his face into your hair. He inhales deeply. The scent of your shampoo is mixed with sweat and the lingering stale air of the warehouse, but he's never smelled anything better in his life. Because you're here. In his arms. Breathing. Safe and sound.

"I couldn't live with myself if you got hurt because of me," he whispers hoarsely. "Nothing will ever hurt you if I have a say in it."

The city passes by in a blur as Dick grapples across buildings with you in tow. If it had been anyone else, you'd be worried about falling. With Dick here, you know you have nothing to fear.

Dick sets you down gently when you finally make it back to your apartment. As much as he wants to disregard every rule he's set for himself, he doesn't follow you in through the balcony. He's got a routine now: drop you off, flip off to the next building, change into the regular clothes he keeps stashed in a duffle bag in a vent shaft, and enter your building through the main entrance. It's time-consuming, but he'd do anything to prevent what happened tonight from happening again.

You're sitting on the edge of your shared bed when Dick makes his way back inside. You're smoothing antibiotic ointment into the faint marks left by the ropes that tied your wrists, and Dick's heart lurches. After the events of the night, seeing you sitting in front of him doesn't feel real. Your life could've slipped away so easily. If you hadn't managed to knock yourself over…

A blur of motion makes you look up from your wrists, just to find Dick kneeling between your legs. He takes the tube from your hand and begins rubbing the ointment into your other wrist without a word. The soft massage graduates into gentle kisses to the inside of your wrist. Those kisses slowly migrate up your forearm and higher until you're on your back with Dick hovering over you.

"You brilliant woman," he whispers against your mouth. "So fucking smart. God, I adore you."

He kisses you, then. The press of his lips is gentle but insistent, but even he can't hold himself back for long. The lingering adrenaline coursing through both of your veins has you heating up faster than usual: pressing closer, clinging tighter, breathing louder. It's like the second you get your hands on each other, everything falls right into place.

You could've died tonight.

You would've if it hadn't been for a split-second, panicked decision.

Dick knew he loved you before tonight, but there's nothing quite like the threat of death that makes love grow deeper and more desperate. He wants to claw his own chest open and hollow it out so you have a safe space to spend the rest of your life; though, he knows it's merely a wish. Instead, he settles for stripping you bare and kissing every inch of your body he can reach.

Down from your lips, his first target is your neck. Open-mouthed kisses get trailed down your trachea and back up the side of your neck, just so he can suckle at your pulse point. He moves down your shoulder after that, kissing and licking along the expanse of your collarbone just to mouth his way down your arm. He takes both of your hands in his own and alternates between the two as he kisses your palm, the backs of your hands, the pad of each finger.

When you meet his gaze again, the blue of his eyes is eclipsed by his pupils. You're both panting, heart beats barely contained by your bodies. You're vaguely aware of the heat and the sweat, but all you can focus on is the building, aching throb between your thighs and the way Dick's staring at you with so much hunger it should be criminal.

You break the tension by combing Dick's dark hair away from his forehead, and he groans. It's a pathetic, broken sound, but it spurs him into action nonetheless. His big hands grip each of your thighs, just to shove them apart so he can crawl on top of you. The weight of him on top of you is equally grounding as it is maddening. You can't squeeze your thighs together anymore, so you settle for rolling them against the thick bulge that sits heavy in his sweatpants.

"Fuck," Dick hisses, shoving his sweats and boxers down just enough to free his cock. You manage to yank his shirt off over his head, though you have to fight against his arms as he keeps trying to touch you through it. In the end, one of his hands ends up fisting his cock while the other strokes through your soaked folds.

"Baby, please," you whine, your hips chasing after any friction they can find. There's an ache in your belly and in your heart that only he can soothe. The pleasure, the fear, the relief, you place everything into Dick's open palms.

Your whine makes something in Dick's chest squeeze. Who is he to make you beg after tonight? He'd willingly give you any and every little thing you ask for.

"What do you need, sweetheart?" he asks. His hand leaves his cock to rub up and down your side soothingly. "Whatever you need. Say it, and it's yours."

"I need you, Dick. I need you to fuck me until I forget everything that happened tonight," you whisper.

You can't even finish your sentence before he's sliding into motion. Your legs get hoisted up around Dick's tapered waist. His left arm slips under the arch of your back while his right hand slides between your thighs to line himself up. He pushes in nice and slow, cognizant of the fact that he didn't really get to prep you, but you're wet enough that the stretch is easy. He collapses over you once he's fully sheathed inside you, moans escaping both of you at the feeling of you taking him.

His right arm slides under your head, and he clutches you tight against his chest. He's not quite lifting you up, but you're locked in place under him regardless. His chest is heaving with each heavy breath he takes, and he almost whines when he feels your hardened nipples brushing against his skin.

"You good?" he murmurs.

"So good."

Dick chuckles at your breathless tone, but it tapers off into a whimper when you grab a handful of his hair and tug him into a kiss. You bite his bottom lip, and he thrusts into you in retaliation. You choke on a moan and twist to bury your face into his shoulder. Dick just adjusts his hold on you, cradles you closer, and starts fucking you so deep it has your toes curling.

His pace gradually quickens until the sound of his hips slamming into your ass is the only thing you can focus on. The wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy is obscene and visceral in a way that makes your blood burn because you're here. Living, breathing, being fucked like you're something real and precious.

Dick's learned your body three times over, so each thrust is aimed right at the gummy spot that makes you clench down around him. He's got his chin propped up against your shoulder, and you're vaguely aware of him moaning and whimpering praise into your ear, but you can't get your brain to focus long enough to hear him fully.

"Good girl…perfect…love you…oh, sweetheart…" He's lost in you, lost in the way you feel under him, lost in the feeling of you wrapped around his cock, lost in the way you're clinging and grabbing onto him like he's your tether to Earth. You're not much different, moaning and whining into the meat of his shoulder with each thrust. You rake your nails down his back just to feel the way his skin raises, as if the thin red lines left behind are proof of your life.

And they are, aren't they? Only a living being can have efficacy. The reminder sends a heady rush of elation through you. A breathless laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it.

"What's so fun—mmf—" You yank Dick into another kiss before he can finish asking. A particularly rough thrust has you gasping into the kiss, and Dick takes the opportunity to slide his tongue over yours, licking and laving like he's trying to reach your soul through your mouth.

Your pleasure starts to crest, and Dick isn't far behind you. His thrusts are starting to get sloppy, and he's moaning against your mouth shamelessly.

"Fuck, baby, give it to me. Be my angel and cum for me, yeah? Wanna make—fuck—wanna make you feel so good, so just…hah, you feel fucking amazing." His arm shifts from behind your head so his thumb can rub figure eights over your clit. He grins against your neck when you bite down on him to cope with the pleasure. "Yeahhh, feels good? Cum for me, angel. Cum on my cock."

A few moments later, the tension in your tummy finally snaps, and pleasure washes over you in overwhelming waves. It's so intense that your fingers and toes tingle. Just as you start to come down, Dick's orgasm hits. Aftershocks of pleasure spark through you as his warm cum fills you up.

For a few moments, neither of you move. The room falls silent. The air is warm with the smell of sweat and sex—scents that you'd usually wrinkle your nose at but you can't help but relish in tonight. As gross as it is, you feel alive and whole in a way you've never felt before, like you're floating through the air and nothing can ever hurt you again.

As the warmth of your orgasms fade away, so too does the adrenaline. The two of you crash hard: Dick flops down next to you, bouncing on the mattress like his body is made of jelly, and you slump back into the mattress without a care in the world.

It takes a few moments, but Dick eventually curls up around you and pulls your head against his sweaty chest.

"I love you so much," he whispers thickly. His big hands are splayed out over your back and stomach. They provide more warmth than a blanket could ever hope to. "I was terrified when I realized someone took you. I thought you-I thought they—"

"Hey," you interject gently. "Don't. I'm right here. That's all that matters."

"We're talking about it tomorrow."

"Mhm. Tomorrow."

With a sigh, Dick buries his face into your hair and rubs his hand along your side. "You're so precious to me. The best person I know. Don't know what I'd do without you. My angel."

"I love you, baby bird," you murmur.

Dick's breath hitches, and his grip gets impossibly tighter.

Tomorrow, you'll deal with the ache in your shoulder and the scratch marks you left on Dick's back.

Tomorrow, you'll talk it all out. Your thoughts and feelings. The events of the night. New security measures.

Tonight, you're content to rest easy in the arms of the man that loves you, knowing that you're alive and that he'll always keep you safe.

At five in the morning - the birds of Gotham just starting to chirp - Bruce opened the door to your shared bedroom, the tension in his posture softening in such a minute way that it was hardly perceptible as soon as his eyes met the shape of your sleeping form in the dark. He stood there for longer than he should, his unharmed shoulder pressing into the doorframe as his eyes watched the subtle rise and fall of the shadowy shape you consisted of. The dim light of the hallway must have woken you, or perhaps the weight of his gaze, for your shape rustled the covers and soon he was blessed with the sound of your sleepy, slightly raspy voice. "Bruce?" His breath caught in his chest, just a temporary hitch in his lungs that was accompanied by a sharp pain in his ribs. He winced, just a faint twitch of his shoulders. But you were already pulling back the blankets with a "Rough night, baby?" and Bruce was pulled towards the bed almost if by a magnetic force. Like you were the sun, and he was merely a planet in your gravitational force. His knees hit the side of the mattress, and he was already moving under the blanket and across the bed until his nose pressed into your neck. Immediately, he sucked in a painful lungful of air, air that consisted of your scent; the manor's laundry detergent, your shampoo, your lotion, and the unique scent of your skin that was slightly mixed with the smell of his, formed due to the sheer amount of time he spent by your side. It hit like a drug. Bruce's rough palm trailed down from your shoulder to your chest, then to the bottom hem of your sleep shirt. His thumb swiped over the waistband of your underwear before his fingertips snuck under your shirt, resting atop your stomach. Slowly, his fingertips hooked into the pudgy flesh, sinking in until your soft skin spilled between the gaps of his fingers. A final part of him settled with an accompanying exhale. His heavy weight sunk fully into the mattress, which groaned quietly under the additional weight. Like a cat, Bruce kneaded your stomach, his fingers gripping and sinking into the squishy flesh only to flex his fingers outwards as far as they would go. He felt the warmth, the softness of your skin, then hooked his fingers into the fat and kneaded it anew. The rough stubble of his jaw and cheek rasped against your cheek and neck as he moved closer, unable to resist kissing that sensitive spot between your neck and your earlobe. You shivered, and Bruce allowed himself a shadow of a smile. "Are you alright, hon?" You croak, tilting your head to clumsily kiss just shy of his lips. Bruce hummed, adjusting his head so that your next kiss would land where he wanted it. "Two broken ribs, sprained shoulder, and some bruises I can't cover." Bruce reported, similarly to a soldier stating a status report. You hummed, free hand curling into his hair to scratch at his scalp. "So you're benched."

one, you don’t wear gloves at any point during the video (several commentors point this out— “this isn’t her first time LOL”, “djing while bleaching w no gloves and sipping a fruity drink, oh i love this diva”, “no gloves????”), and two, you’re not in your usual bathroom, the one that you’ve showed multiple times before on your channel. instead, you’re in this upscale, luxurious bathroom, with what looks like the fluffiest towels in the world hanging up behind you. your djing videos aren’t live, but you answer a few comments a couple hours after posting.

@.sealeia  “holy new bathroom, diva!!! when did you renovate?” @.djangelite  "i didn’t! i finally moved out.”

@.djairheart  ”wait i’m feeling fomo i need to be in there with you” @.djangelite  "ur welcome over anytime babe”

@.bushluvr99  "new bathroom unlocked 👀👀👀” @.djangelite  "i moved out of my old place :)” @.bushluvr99  "and into a mansion????”

@.hachisno1defender  "guys she obviously found the sugar daddy she was daydreaming about in that one vlog” @.djangelite  "smth like that” @.hachisno1defender  "LMAO HELLO???”

✦   THE SAGA JUST continues from there. fans of yours treat your djing videos and vlogs like episodes of a show, tuning in every two or three weeks to see what will be revealed next— and, purposefully or not, you never seem to disappoint.

introducing my cat to pitbull | hype playlist & pregame anthems ♬˚₊‧ @.djangelite 7.12K subscribers                  6.7K likes

@.greenlantierns  “came for the music, stayed for the storyline”

@.sealeia  ”so is no one going to talk about the man in the background at 26:08???” @.bushluvr99  ”no literally 😭😭😭 a whole ass man walked by her, who is this guy???” @.sealeia  ”the guy nobody invited LMAOO”

@.angelskiss  ”faceless man at 26:08 question mark” @.hachisno1defender  ”has to be the sugar daddy”

@.djairheart  ”man in the back is lwk chopped” @.djangelite  ”stop :(( he’s only a little fuckass on days that end in y”

2000s spring in gotham | hopecore w jersey beats ♬˚₊‧ @.djangelite 8.94K subscribers                  7.5K likes

@.sealeia  ”man spotted again 39:52” @.bushluvr99  ”he’s been in her last like three videos, too. i didn’t think he’d be a reccuring character”

@.rebelbeers  ”hopecore in gotham before gta 6 btw”

@.evilgirl111  ”does ur sugar daddy have any friends??? asking for myself” @.djangelite  ”not my sugar daddy!!!! but i will hit u up”

@.hachisno1defender  ”djing while putting on cosplay when???” @.djangelite  ”wait… soon… who should i cosplay?” @.uninspiredhose  ”angel dust hazbin hotel” @.djangelite  ”dude i’ll block you i’m so serious.”

✦   IT ALL COMES to a head when you post a selfie on your instagram story and caption it “going live on youtube, djing + cosplay”. almost as soon as you start it, fans pour in and are greeted by the sight of you sitting at a very beautiful vanity in a tacky, sapphire-blue wig. the beauty and opulence of your surroundings is something they’ve all gotten used to; the wig, however, is a shock. “yo,” you manage, pulling out your makeup palettes and brushes, “we’re dressing as vinyl scratch, dj-pon3, as decided by that insta poll last week.”

you reply to some questions, humming while you begin to prime your face. most of the questions are tame, asking about playlists, the equipment you use, djing tips. others ask about your new home and the man that's been in the background of several of your videos— these questions, you answer more vaguely, playfully winking at the camera before murmuring "a dj doesn't reveal her secrets" and putting on some concealer. you're halfway through contouring when the door to your bedroom opens and you glance up, beaming at something off camera.

“what’re you doing?” a smooth, masculine voice asks from off-screen.

@.hatchisno1defender  ”wait is that the man from ur videos talking???”

“i’m dressing up as a my little pony character,” you reply casually, shrugging gently, “see?” you gesture to the wig.

“right,” he replies, stepping closer. you grin, leaning up slightly to meet the man for a kiss off screen. his lips meet yours for a moment, his side profile half-obscured; when you turn away, your boyfriend simply follows you, his lips searching for yours again. it’s as he presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, one hand holding your shoulder while the other rests against your vanity, that his full face is properly revealed—

@.bushluvr99  ”there’s no way in hell i’m looking at bruce wayne right now”

@.sealeia  ”WHAT”

@.evilgirl111  ”wait involve me INVOLVE ME INVOLVE ME”

@.hatchisno1defender  ”ok so who had djangelite and bruce wayne dating on their 2026 bingo board?”

@.greenlantierns  ”mr wayne i was unfamiliar w ur game”

@.bushluvr99  ”theyre so fine together its pissing me off actually like when did this happen???”

@.sealeia  ”WHATTTT. @.sealeia  ”WHAT THE FUCK???”

@.djairheart  ”happy for u and ur ugly boyfriend, i mean it <3”

“baby, baby,” you chuckle a little as bruce kisses on you, gently pushing him away, “that’s not what the fans want to see.”

“you’re what i wanted to see,” he murmurs to you, his nose pressing into your neck for a second, “i had a long day today.”

“uh-huh?”

“yeah,” he breathes out, his voice softer than expected. bruce sucks in a quick breath before gesturing vaguely at your set up with one hand. "turn it off." after a quick kiss is pressed into the soft skin of your neck, he adds, "now."

needless to say, the live was ended.

the sound of your phone incessantly vibrating along your vanity, blowing up with notifications, was no match for the sound of bruce letting you know just how much he missed you today. in fact, your boyfriend made sure you forgot about your phone entirely, keeping your attention on him all night long. lucky you!

this is on the shorter side but i still like it, i really enjoyed figuring out formatting for comments/"youtube videos" here, i hope you guys find this piece to be cute, as it's meant to be just smth silly. dj!reader is fun to write even as someone who doesn't dj, so there's room for more there if that's wanted. btw djairheart is me, airheart bc amelia earhart but i'm ditzy more than i'd like to admit so airheart like airhead... understand? my djsona LOL.