HIHI HIII BABYY!!!! ... i want mpreg dick geayson smut!!! 😝😝😝😝 he my baby mama 🙏🙏
🧸ྀི Cause I'm Bad! So Bad...(˶˃⤙˂˶)🍼
Warnings: FtM character (female terminology is used: pussy, tits, etc. Not supposed to be read in any demeaning manner), pregnant character, Sub/Bottom Dick, Dom/Top reader, AMAB male reader, chest play/lactation mentions, vaginal fingering, no pronouns used for reader, established relationship. No use of y/n.
Note: This is the expanded ask from our Discord chats, lol. 'Okay hear me out, since its like dick's first pregnancy and also my first baby, were both pretty clueless, the first early week was just a bunch of fingering and pussy eating cause we're trying 2 be careful but then when 2nd trimester hits, the craving was so bad for dick that he said "fuck it" and breeding happened 🙏😝' Enjoy!!
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In the first few weeks after the pregnancy test came back positive, Dick had been living on cloud nine. He was finally starting a family of his own with the light of his life, whom he was happily married to. Bruce and Alfred shed subtle tears at the announcement party; he'd gotten plenty of congratulations from friends, and his siblings had made a habit of dropping by more often to see if he needed help with everything. All the love and attention had him preening.
Then...the symptoms started showing. No pamphlet nor rulebook could ever prepare Dick for the morning sickness, the aches, the moodyness, nor the constant slug of irritation he'd take on the larger and larger the bump in his belly grew. He had to withdraw from his Nightwing duties (keeping him away from them is a headache in itself), his workload at the station had subsided from insistent, friendly coworkers, but worst of all, Dick was nonstop horny!
At first, the sex was awkward and unsatisfying. Not to either of your faults - just the fear of harming the baby scared off any penetration from happening. You continiously blue balled yourself for the sake of your husband. Dropping to your knees at his convenience to lap and worship his cute pussy. That part wasn't terrible, and you'd quickly mastered the ability of taking a splash to the face without pause with the amount of facials he painted over you. But Dick wanted more.
By the fourth month, he'd had enough. His breasts were constantly tender, his head dizzy with lust, and his cunt felt so neglected and empty it almost hurt. He needed your cock, and he needed it now!
You felt the mood the second you stepped into the apartment. Small tin candles lined the floor up to the bedroom with tacky roses scattered about to elevate the tension. Dick is humming along to a gentle tune inside, languidly fingering himself open atop his maternity pillow for support. The site had you palming your cock through your work jeans.
"Baby," He purred, instantly presenting himself for you. "Hi, welcome home." Dick met you halfway for a kiss, though the grip he had on your collar made it impossible to pull away. "I need you, yeah?" He pouted. "Inside, 's been too long, hun. Way too long." His thick lashes bat, and it's all you need to drop your belt.
"Just...be gentle, mh, I trust you." Dick sighs as you line up to his wet hole. His bottom lip catches under his teeth when you press in. "Hah! Fuck yes, god!" His head threw back, instantly kicking his legs out to tighten around your waist. The relief on your end was likewise immediate; sinking into his warmth was exactly the warm embrace you'd been longing for. Regardless of how tempting it is to lose yourself in his hot canal and fuck yourself into oblivion, Dicks hands just under his belly kept you at bay. Shifting your hips at a slow, shallow pace back and forth.
"Shit, baby, you have no idea how good you are to me," Dick sniffled. His breasts bounced and bobbed with every smack of your balls against him, swollen nipples just begging for attention, and who were you to deny him? "Mh, yeah?" Dick stiffled as you leaned down to latch. Suckling softly between each of the pery nubs. "Such a nice Daddy for me... uh-huh, yeah, you are."
You couldn't wait until they started producing. It shouldn't be much longer, since he's in his second trimester. You already had pumps sitting in your kitchen cabinet for the day it finally happened. You were going to be the most annoying guy in the world once it did, you were sure.
"Inside, [name], inside please?" He panted, reaching down past his bump to spread his folds wider, circling his clit. "Yes, give it to me, baby, hah, know you can. Want that hot cum so bad," Still latched, you fully bottomed out when you came. Painting his insides with a creamy white that pushed back against your cock for space. With Dicks legs still wrapped around you, that hot seed pooled out back around the two of you and onto the bedsheets. "Mh," Dicks tongue darted out to lap at the drool around his lips. "C'mon, me too, baby, me too. Don't leave me high and dry, yeah?"
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making out headcanons (nsfw: mdni) — ft. bruce wayne and dick grayson for this part. @neerathebrightstar pookie this is for u <3
ah, bruce wayne. lover boy, prince of the city, heart and charm of all of gotham. of all his princely titles, all his noble epithets, yet the only label he ever wants is to be considered the husband of you. despite his reputation of being a playboy billionaire with ample time in his hands spent flirting up and down with socialites and criminals galore, bruce can't deny that the sweetest taste he's ever had was his darling, his sweetheart.
and that's the taste he's simply addicted to, a taste he can never let go.
so much so to the point where he couldn't go a day without the sensation of your lips pressing against his pining ones.
when he kisses, he does so with a purpose. to prove a point, to show the world that every time your faces pop up on the big screens or right in front of the paparazzi's flashing cameras; he'll slot his lips against yours, kiss you passionately, feverishly, until your tongues clash and he's drunkenly engulfing your spit, until his lungs constrict, begging for air, whilst his hands are plastered on your head, a calculated move to keep you in your spot until he's satisfied, satisfied that the world knows his sole dedication for you— how he's settled down, satisfied, that he'd given up the title of playboy philanthropist, now pridefully the loving husband of his spouse, and nothing more will ever replace the joy of having you right beside him in every passing moment.
even in bed, alone, where there's no pair of eyes watching you both, except for bruce's gleaming, willfully amorous ones— his smallest of pecks on your lips, or even the filthiest exchange of saliva, all those are done because he wants to send you a message, too. you're his, he's yours. you're the stability in his life, the only constant, the only person he wants to see in your shared bed all debauched and lost in the haze of pleasure.
the only thing he's proud of in his fucked up roster is his experience. you ask him what that mouth of his can do and he'll answer, in that seductive vibrato of his, "what can it not?" and he'll fucking tackle you in bed, pin you down and barely give you the time or space to comprehend just how easily he'd unclothed you, hands expertly kneading every part of your sore body. his mouth is practiced, it knows every known route that makes you laugh breathily, or gets you to release a small whine. he maps out every future hickey, all in place the public could see; and after he's done staining you with sinful kisses, you'll be suddenly brought atop his awaiting body, the man insisting that you do the same, mark him more than he does you, play with his sensitive nipples, just please touch him the same way he does you— and that's one of the few times you see him subconsciously beg for your attention.
every burning kiss, every warm breath hitting the tip of your nose, every peckish nip on your skin, every moment where he takes your arms in his and tempts you, with stormy blue eyes as vast as the seas, to let him devour every part of you— he does to make up all the lost time from before he met you. before he had made you all his. his thighs are locked against your waist, chiseled arms would be taut just carrying his weight ensuring you don't get crushed by his heavy body (heavy with desire, heavy with need to melt into you, to feel every part of you long untouched).
bruce is never one to articulate, but you know damn well that when his fingers would toy with the hem of your underwear whilst he's still busy buttering you up through his open-mouthed kisses, that that's the time he's pleading without words, massaging your hips and your thighs like he's telling you through his actions that he needs this, needs the taste of you more than you need him. and you should let him, let him eat you out, let him suck you up, let him leave traces of himself on you until you wouldn't know which part of you isn't yours anymore.
because when bruce does something, he does it with a purpose, a meaning, a calculated deed that tells you, in all the shame he's felt knowing he can't give you a lot of his first's, you should at least know you'll be his last.
— no matter how willing you are to reciprocate that matter.
there's nothing more passionate, and desperate, and heated, and devouring as there is a man like dick grayson. whose kisses are nothing but deep fervour for your soul, a hungered man in war, with nothing left to lose, nothing left to embrace in his arms except for you; whose only needs are the sensation of your lips on his, tongue would clashing with yours in a sloppy, saliva-induced mess like it's the only meal he ever craves.
for you, he's naught but a man drowning in deep desire, moaning just a little bit deeper when you nip at his bruised lips, hands tangling itself tighter when your fingers would circle around his swollen pecs, tears escaping his reddened eyes, whines are the only noises his hoarse throat could produce when your lips separate with his, when all he could see is through his blurry eyes is the string of saliva connecting you both— to which he's only wail louder when your lips aren't on his after a mere millisecond without it.
everyone thinks he's the man who leads, a man the mere personification of a guiding hand in the midst of darkness, which is objective, no less true, in the eyes of the crowd— except when he's with you, in the comfort of your bed, your body pressed right against him, hands pinning him down, thighs pressing deep on his crotch, dick would crumble, until no words would leave his aching tongue; aching to be satiated with the taste of your salty sweat on sullen skin, aching to be nothing, just nothing – not a leader, not a hero – just a man reduced to nothing but his body submitting on the bed's dirty sheets.
when he's with you, he lets himself be commanded, be guided on the steps you wish to take. his teeth will clash with yours in sickened ardor, yes, but when you're not satisfied with the way he kisses you, when you think he doesn't deserve to be pampered with your hickeys on his skin, when he's been a bad boy in public, too possessive, too engulfed in his jealousy that he forgets how iron-like his grip on your shoulder is, and you're mad at him: you can rightfully punish him, deprive him of your affection, of your attention and your love and your sweet, sweet kisses, and dick would fall apart into pieces— he'll do anything to have you back into his touch, he'll fucking change, he says, he'll bite his lips, bite his tongue, and accept any pain you induce on his, but don't you dare deprave him of what he wants, what he needs—
which is the taste of tongue, and your teeth, and your nose mushing on him, the feel of your body rightfully slotted in his arms.
so if you even fucking try to separate yourself from him, dick would break.
all his obsession, his deep-seated fantasies are translated in the way his body would feel like it's fusing with yours whenever he kisses you. he's messy, but adept. desperate, but determined to prove a point— that you're his and he's yours and nobody can come in between you two. you don't like it when his tongue touches the roof of your mouth? he'll adjust, he'll change his technique, he'll resort to kissing the crook of your neck instead, or kneading your thighs, or even just let you watch him fuck the mattress instead like a damn dog if it entertains you, if it makes you laugh and reward him with just a kiss on his forehead, anything; ignore the way he becomes more desperate when you give him a lack of reaction, or show any part of dissatisfaction— dick is a man depraved.
dick is a man starved.
and all the man needs to satiate himself is the taste of you.
pairing: robin (dick grayson) x catwoman apprentice! reader
tags: mdni, fem reader, reader is a year older than dick, enemies to lovers¿?, dick calls reader “cat”, reader calls dick “birdie”/“baby”, very hormonal teens, dry humping, enclosed space, forced proximity, making out, groping, sub dick, thigh riding, praise, handjob, p in v, cowgirl, unprotected sex, creampie, reader is more “experienced” (lmk if i missed any)
You had never known stability. Not in the traditional sense.
Your earliest memories were of cold nights and empty pockets, of learning that in Gotham, you had to take what you wanted because no one was going to give it to you. And maybe that was why Selina Kyle took you in—because she saw something of herself in you.
From the moment Selina took you under her wing, normalcy became a foreign concept. She never pretended to be a mother, never showered you in words of affection, but she provided. She gave you food, a place to sleep, and most importantly—a purpose.
Life with her was exhilarating. Nights spent darting across Gotham’s rooftops, breaking into places you had no business being in, taking what you wanted simply because you could. Selina taught you everything—how to move unseen, how to pick locks with delicate precision, how to manipulate, how to charm.
And, of course, how to run.
But no matter how good you were, they were better.
Batman and Robin.
They were always there, always a step behind, always chasing.
Selina handled Batman, slipping through his grasp time and time again, leaving only whispered promises and stolen kisses in her wake.
And you? You were left to deal with Robin.
The first time you saw him, you nearly laughed.
A kid. Shorter than you, all bright colors and attitude, wearing a mask that barely hid the smugness in his expression.
Not like you were a kid yourself, right?
“You’re kidding,” You had said, eyeing the small figure in bright red, green, and yellow. “You’re Robin?”
From the way Selina warned you about Robin, you expected… something else.
Not this short, flamboyant boy in pixie boots and wearing that shit-eating grin.
Robin bristled at your tone, crossing his arms. “Yeah, and?”
“You just seem… smaller than I expected.”
He scoffed. “You’re, like, barely taller than me.”
You hummed, amused. “Still taller.”
It should’ve been easy. You’d spent months training under Selina, learning how to evade, how to slip through fingers like water. He was just a kid—a kid in bright colors, a cape to slow him down, and all energy and attitude.
But Robin was fast.
And relentless.
No matter how quick you were, how well you knew Gotham’s rooftops, he kept up. Every twist, every jump, he was right there, like a shadow that refused to be shaken.
He grinned through it all, like the chase itself was the fun part.
By the time you finally lost him—ducking into a hidden alley, heart pounding, breath sharp—you realized something.
You weren’t annoyed.
You were excited.
For the first time in your life, you were looking forward to something.
And it became a game.
Every time Selina clashed with Batman, you and Robin danced around each other, locked in your own little battle. He was all quips and acrobatics, relentless determination wrapped in bright colors, and you matched him move for move.
And then, somewhere along the way, over the years, the game changed.
It was subtle at first.
The way his hands lingered just a second too long when he grabbed you. The way his breath hitched when you leaned in, voice low and teasing.
And then, one night, after a particularly close chase—
“You’re slowing down, Birdie,” you teased, perched on the edge of a rooftop, looking down at him. “Getting tired of chasing me?”
Robin huffed, rolling his shoulders, the movement fluid yet tense, like he was shaking off exhaustion—or frustration. He was older now, no longer the scrawny kid you used to outrun on Gotham’s rooftops. He’d grown into himself, his frame broader, his stance more grounded, more sure. The suit, once bright and almost ridiculous in its vibrancy, seemed different now. The red looked richer, darker under the moonlight, the shadows clinging to the fabric, emphasizing the sharp angles of his body. His cape, now black and lined with gold, draped over his shoulders with an ease that made him seem more intimidating, more like a real threat than just Batman’s sidekick.
And then there was his voice—lower, rougher, with an edge that hadn’t been there before.
An edge that reminded you of Gotham’s Dark Knight.
Gone was the high-energy bravado of a kid playing hero. Now, when he spoke, there was weight behind his words, something firm, something undeniably commanding. It sent a strange thrill through you, though you’d never admit it.
“Who says I’m not letting you get away on purpose?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Awfully generous of you.”
“Maybe I like the chase,” he said, stepping closer, his gaze sharp. “Maybe I like you.”
The air shifted.
Your smirk didn’t waver, but your heart did.
For the first time, you didn’t have a quip ready.
And then, just as quickly as it came, the moment passed.
He grinned again, all mischief and ease, like he hadn’t just thrown a wrench into your entire world.
You rolled your eyes, shoving down whatever had just coiled in your chest. “You really should work on your flirting, Robin.”
“Is that a challenge?”
You leapt off the rooftop, and this time—
You let him catch you.
You were nineteen now.
It wasn’t that you weren’t grateful to Selina—she’d taken you in when you had nothing, taught you everything you knew. But you weren’t a stray kitten anymore. You had your own ambitions, your own scores to settle, and it was time you made a name for yourself.
Tonight was supposed to be the first step.
A simple break-in. A massive corporation with deep pockets and even deeper corruption. You weren’t just stealing from them—you were stealing leverage. Blackmail, blueprints, the kind of information that could buy you power.
Everything had been going smoothly—until he showed up.
“Still breaking into places you don’t belong?”
You didn’t need to turn around. You knew that voice—low, smug, and just the right amount of irritating.
Robin.
Or, as you liked to think of him now, Gotham’s Most Persistent Pain in the Ass.
You smirked, still focused on the files flickering across the computer screen. “You know me, Birdie. I just love a good challenge.”
“You’re getting sloppy,” he countered, stepping closer.
You caught his reflection in the screen—older now, taller. The bright colors of his suit had been traded for something darker, more tactical. His stance was solid, muscles tense, ready to spring.
You sighed dramatically. “You gonna fight me, or just lecture me to death?”
“I was thinking both.”
And then he moved.
You barely had time to react before he was on you, reaching for the drive in your hand. You twisted away, knocking over a chair in your retreat, and bolted.
The chase was on.
You darted through the office space, leaping over desks, twisting through narrow hallways, all while Robin stayed infuriatingly close. You could feel him at your heels, relentless as ever, and for the first time in a long time, you wondered if you might not shake him this time.
Then you saw it—a maintenance door left slightly ajar.
You shoved through, sprinting inside just as Robin reached for you. His fingers just barely caught the back of your jacket, and in his effort to stop you, he yanked.
Hard.
The force sent you both crashing through the doorway, tumbling down a short flight of metal stairs in a mess of limbs and curses.
You landed first, sprawled on your back against the cold floor. Robin landed on top of you, knocking the breath from your lungs as the door behind you slammed shut with an ominous clunk.
A silence settled.
“…Did you just tackle me down a flight of stairs?”
Dick groaned, pushing himself up slightly, bracing himself on his arms—his body still pressed against yours. His breath was warm against your cheek when he muttered, “You fell.”
“You pulled me.”
“You ran.”
You rolled your eyes, shifting slightly beneath him—only to realise just how close you were.
The space around you was tiny.
Metal shelves lined the walls, stacked with old equipment and cleaning supplies. The air was thick with dust and stale air, and the dim, flickering light overhead barely illuminated anything.
You and Dick were practically pressed against each other.
And worse?
The door wasn’t budging.
It’s like it automatically locked you both in the moment you entered.
Dick must’ve come to the same conclusion because he exhaled sharply, muttering a quiet, “Fantastic.”
You turned to face him, looking him up and down. “Aww. Trapped in a tiny, enclosed space with me? Try not to look so excited, Birdie.”
Dick clenched his jaw, shifting his weight, and—
Oh.
That was… interesting.
For the first time since you met him, he was the one who faltered. His breath hitched, his fingers twitching slightly where they rested against your waist.
“What’s wrong?” you asked, voice dropping to a whisper. “Never been this close to a girl before?”
His gaze flickered to your lips before he caught himself, schooling his expression into something unimpressed. “I hate you.”
“Uh-huh,” you hummed, tilting your head. “That’s why you’re still on top of me?”
Dick tensed. Then, with a sharp inhale, he pushed off you, moving to sit up—only to immediately hit his head against one of the low shelves with a dull thud.
You laughed.
Dick glared, rubbing the spot where he’d smacked his skull. “Glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
“Oh, of course.”
You pushed yourself up, stretching out your legs as much as the tiny space allowed. Dick was sitting against the opposite wall now, knees bent, arms resting over them. The space was too small for either of you to fully move without touching the other.
A slow smirk curled at your lips as an idea took root.
You shifted, closing the distance, swinging a leg over his to straddle his lap.
His whole body stiffened.
“W—What are you doing?” he asked, voice suddenly very unsteady.
“Getting comfortable,” you murmured, leaning in just slightly. “You don’t mind, do you?”
His breath shuddered.
This was new.
You’d spent years teasing him, pushing his buttons, testing his patience. But this—the way he was looking at you now, wide-eyed, breathless, trapped beneath you with nowhere to go—this was different.
You could feel the way his heart was racing.
You dragged your fingers down his chest, slow and deliberate. “Still think I’m getting sloppy?”
Dick exhaled shakily. “I—”
He stares unabashedly at the way your plush thighs brush against his sides when you shift to make yourself comfortable, he feels the way heavier breasts push against his chest as you leaned closer.
Dick wasn’t an idiot.
He knew you were doing this on purpose.
You can feel Dick’s eyes, despite it being hidden behind that damn domino mask of his. It was all over your face, and for a moment—you saw the way his breath hitch when his eyes landed on your lips.
That only fueled you more.
And without a second thought, you kissed him.
The second your lips met his, the tension snapped.
Dick made a quiet, desperate noise against your lips, his hands grasping at your waist, unsure whether to pull you closer or push you away. You made the decision for him.
His hesitation lasted seconds before he gave in, melting beneath you, responding with an eagerness that sent a thrill down your spine.
You nipped at his lower lip, earning a shuddered gasp, and God, you’d never seen him like this—needy, breathless, completely at your mercy.
“Is this what you wanted?” you murmured against his lips, your hips shifting just enough to make him choke on a breath.
His fingers dug into your sides as he struggles to maintain control.
He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. “Fuck—Cat… no—” Despite the words, his body betrays his desire, hips twitching up to meet yours, his hands sliding up your back.
Dick kisses you again, soft and deep, pouring his desperation and desire into the embrace. And you didn’t waste a second to kiss him back, your hips slowly moving against his thigh, seeking out any sort of relief while also trying to provide Dick some.
And Dick—
He whimpered, soft and pathetic, adorable coming from him.
Your hand moved to cup his face, your thumb stroking along the soft skin of his cheek, leaning down to deepen the kiss.
"You're so pretty." You murmur softly, pulling away slightly to stare at him, your hand making its way to remove his mask. But Dick’s hand immediately caught your wrist, stopping you.
“N-no, wait, mask stays on, Cat. We can’t—“ He didn’t finish the sentence as you rolled your hips against him instead, body jerking in his hold. Somehow the gravity of the situation just stills in his head for a moment. “Shit, shit, wait—we should talk about this, right?”
“What’s there to talk about?” You mutter out, as you press kisses along his jawline. “You want this—I want this. We both want this, don’t you agree?”
You could feel his breath, ragged and shallow.
There was no escaping the sheer intensity of it. Every inch of his body was pushing into yours, and his movements—though tentative—were driven by an undeniable need. His hips, for all his effort to hold back, shifted instinctively, and for a brief second, you felt the unmistakable press of his body against yours. And in one swift motion, you removed his domino mask, tossing it aside as your eyes met his baby blue ones.
He looked at you with wide eyes, clearly torn between wanting to pull away and wanting more. You could practically hear his heart racing in the thick silence.
He swallowed hard. “I—” His voice cracked, and for the first time, you saw it. The boyish cockiness was gone, replaced by something more raw, more real. He was trembling slightly, unsure but wanting, and it made something stir in your chest.
You slid your hands up his chest, fingers brushing over the outline of his suit, feeling the heat of his skin beneath the fabric. His reaction was immediate—he let out a quiet, shaky breath as his hands slid down your back, pulling you even closer.
He kissed you again, this time with more force, his lips hungry, as if he couldn’t get enough. His hands roamed, brushing against your sides, your waist, his fingers lightly pressing against the curves of your body. You could feel him struggling to stay in control, his movements growing more erratic, more desperate, but still so careful, as if he was afraid of pushing you too far.
“Damn it,” he muttered between kisses, his voice tight with frustration. “I hate that you’re making me lose control.”
You smiled against his lips, pulling back just slightly. “You don’t have to hate it, you know.”
His eyes met yours again, and there it was—vulnerable, unsure, but undeniably drawn to you. “I—” He paused, exhaling slowly, as if gathering his thoughts. “I want this. But I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You don’t have to know everything,” you said softly, running your hand down his chest once more. “Just go with it.”
Dick’s body reacted immediately, the way his hands moved to your back, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t get enough. You could feel the desperation in him, the way his movements grew more fervent, more insistent, as if the moment had finally overtaken him.
There was something so intoxicating about it—the way he kissed you with such intensity, like every second he spent with you in this confined space only heightened the tension between you. You could feel his body pressing against yours, his every movement a silent invitation, a challenge. His hands, once hesitant, were now roaming freely, touching you with a fervor that made your heart race.
Dick reaches up with one hand to cup your breast, thumbing your nipple through the fabric of your suit, and you let out a guttural moan.
“That’s it, baby, don’t hold back.” You mumbled, your hand grabbing a fistful of his hair, tilting his head up to meet his lips once more.
And don’t hold back he did. His hand fondled with your clothed breast, while the other made its way to the zip on your back.
Dick's gaze lazily makes its way up your form, greedily taking in every inch. He gently bites down on his lower lip, face starting to look flushed as he lets his guard down. Bending forward, you close the distance between your mouths, nipping gently and taking that plush lower lip for yourself. He gasps, but gives as good as he gets, tonguing into you with a little groan. When he tries to take control and deepen the kiss, you smirk and pull back, drawing a pouty little sigh from him.
"Ah ah, birdie—let me do all the work, yeah?" You scold him. His forehead came to rest on your shoulder, his warm breath mixing with yours.
“I’m sorry, I just—” You placed a finger on his lips, clicking your tongue.
“Don’t apologise.” You murmur, lifting his head up as you start to press kisses all over his jawline once again, trailing down to his neck. Dick whines softly at the sudden shift, mewling your name.
He grinds against your clothed cunt, the fabric of your suits making it easier to hurriedly slide against each other.
Dick wishes he could feel how tightly you’d wrap around him instead of this but he needed release now, and this was the quickest way to get it.
But you notice his neediness.
You noticed how much he was aching to be inside of you.
He was bucking into you desperately, moving his hands to grope your tits and roll your nipples between his fingers.
“There you go… Good boy, keep going.” You whisper, your hand trailing down to the hem of his pants, tugging at it.
Dick inhales sharply as he feels your fingers brushing against the waistband of his pants, his hips twitching in anticipation. He's breathing heavily now, chest rising and falling rapidly against yours.
“Ah fuck…” His voice is strained, torn between wanting to give in completely and the lingering hesitation. “I want to... but we should... shit.. but we should be careful.”
You tilt your head at that, your hand resting against his growing arousal, rubbing against it painstakingly slow. “And where’s the fun in that?”
Fuck.
Despite his words, his hips lift slightly, seeking more of your touch. “Please, just... let me...” He swallows hard, hands gripping your waist as he looks up at you with hazy, desire-filled eyes. “...let me make you feel good.” His fingers slip beneath the fabric of your bottom, brushing against the bare skin of your stomach, leaving tingles in their wake.
“Tell me what you want. I'll do anything... anything you want.” His voice is a needy whisper, one you knew you couldn’t resist now.
Your eyes darken with lust as you take in the sight of Dick beneath you, seeing the desperation etched into every line of his body. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the way his heart is pounding against your chest, the tremble of his fingers as they dig into the fabric of your suit.
Slowly, teasingly, you slide your hand lower, palming the growing bulge in his pants. You can feel him, hot and hard, straining against the confines of his costume.
Dick lets out a strangled groan, his hips bucking up into your touch, seeking more friction.
Boldly, you hook your fingers into the waistband of his pants and slowly, torturously, begin to tug them down. The fabric resistive at first, but with a final, sharp tug, you yank them down, exposing his bare skin to the cool air of the room.
Dick's cock springs free, long and cute and perfect, the tip already glistening with precum. It twitches as the air hits it, and you can't help but lick your lips at the sight. You wrap your hand around his shaft, feeling the weight of him, the heat, the way he pulses in your grip.
Dick is panting now, his eyes glazed over with lust as he stares up at you, taking in the sight of you looming over him, his cock in your hand. He looks wrecked, destroyed, completely at your mercy, and it sends a thrill through you, a rush of power and desire.
You stroke him slowly, teasingly, watching as he writhes beneath you, his body arching into your touch. You can feel him leaking more, his cock throbbing in your hand, and you know he won't last much longer at this rate.
So you lean down, your breasts brushing against his chest as you murmur in his ear, your breath hot against his skin. “That's it, baby... just like that. You feel so good... I can't wait to taste you.”
You take your time, stroking him with long, deliberate movements from base to tip. Your hand is soft and warm, encircling his thick shaft completely as you work him over. You can feel every ridge, every vein, the way he throbs and twitches in your grip.
Dick's breath comes in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as he struggles to maintain control. His eyes flutter shut, brows furrowed in concentration, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. Soft, breathless moans spill from his lips with every upward stroke, the sounds growing louder, more desperate as you continue your ministrations.
As you pick up the pace, pumping him faster, his reactions become more intense. His hips start to lift, meeting your strokes, fucking up into your fist with a desperate hunger. Quiet, strangled moans spill from his lips, each one making your own desire peak in response.
“Fuck... Dickie, you like that, huh? Like how you’re fucking my fist, don’t you? Such a good boy..”
You watch, as Dick’s face contorts with pleasure. His brows furrow, teeth sinking into his lower lip hard enough to leave indentations. The tendons in his neck strain as his head tips back, throat bared to you in a silent offering. His eyes, when they meet yours, are hazy and dark, the blue of his irises nearly swallowed by the black of his pupils.
The wet sounds of your hand moving over his cock fill the small space, obscenely loud in the charged silence. You can feel him leaking more, his precum making your strokes slicker, easier. His cock is red and angry, the head an almost painful shade of pink, the slit weeping with his desire.
You lean down, your breasts brushing against his heaving chest as you bring your mouth to his ear. Your lips brush the shell of it as you whisper, your voice low and heavy with lust. “That's it, baby... doesn't it feel good? Doesn't it feel amazing to have my hand wrapped around this big and needy cock of yours? I can feel how much you want it... how much you want me...”
Dick shudders, his body wracking with sensation as he listens to your words. A broken whimper escapes him, his voice hoarse and wrecked as he manages to gasp out, “F-Fuck… please, (Name)… I need you so bad…”
You never knew how much you needed him begging for you until now. And god did it feel good.
You can feel his desperation, his absolute need for release. And you're going to make him work for it. Slowly, torturously, you increase the speed of your strokes, squeezing just a bit tighter, twisting your wrist on the upstroke.
Dick is panting now, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. His face is flushed, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched tight as he tries to hold back. But you can see the way his body is tensing, the way his cock is throbbing harder, leaking more steadily against your palm.
“(Name)... I can't... I'm gonna... fuck, I'm gonna...” His words dissolve into a guttural moan, his entire body going rigid.
You feel his cock throb and twitch in your grip, and then with a hoarse cry of your name, he's coming undone. Thick, hot ropes of cum erupt from his cock, painting your hand and his stomach with his release. His body shudders and jerks through each wave of pleasure, his hand gripping yours like a vice.
You work him through it, stroking him through each aftershock, feeling his cock pulse and twitch against your fingers until finally, he collapses back against the wall, chest heaving, skin sheened with sweat. He looks utterly debauched, hair disheveled, lips kiss-swollen and parted around shallow breaths. His eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, struggling to regain some semblance of coherence.
Slowly, you bring your hand up to your mouth, making a show of licking his spend from your fingers, my tongue swirling around each digit, ensuring he can see every last bit of him disappearing between your lips. Dick watches closely, his chest still rising and falling rapidly, a fresh wave of desire washing over his eyes as he takes in the sight of you licking his cum off your hand.
“Mmm, you taste good, Dick,” You purr, wrapping your hand around his re-hardening shaft, giving him a slow, teasing stroke. “I could get used to this view—you, all wrecked and wanting, cock throbbing and ready to go again already.” You lean in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, “You really are an overachiever, aren't you?”
You can feel him shiver against you, his hips lifting slightly into your touch. You grin, pulling back to look at him with a wicked gleam in your eyes. Then, slowly, you reach back and unzip the rest of your suit, peeling the tight material down your body until you’re just left in your panties.
You hook your thumbs into the waistband and tug them down, baring your dripping cunt to his hungry gaze.
Dick's eyes widen as he takes in the sight of you, his tongue licking his lips as he stares at your glistening folds. You grab his hand, guiding it between your legs, pressing his fingers against your aching clit. He inhales sharply at the contact, feeling the slick heat of your arousal coating his digits.
“Fuck, (Name).…you're so wet.” He breathes, his fingers starting to move on their own, stroking along your slit, feeling how ready you are for him. “Is this...is this because of me?”
You moan softly, rolling your hips against his hand, seeking more of that delicious friction. “Yes, birdie...it's all for you,” You gasp, your head falling back as his fingers find a particularly sensitive spot. “I'm so fucking turned on right now, and it's all because of you.”
You reach down and grab his wrist, guiding his hand to move faster, to press harder against your clit. You grind against him, coating his fingers in your slick arousal, your body trembling with need. You can feel how hard he is, his cock throbbing and leaking against your ass, and you know he wants you just as badly.
Without warning, you shift your hips, positioning yourself so that the head of his cock brushes against your entrance. You feel him gasp, his fingers pausing in their movements as he realizes what you’re about to do. You look down at him, your expression one of pure, unadulterated lust, and then you sink down.
You take him in inch by delicious inch, your walls stretching around his thick length, wrapping him in your tight, wet heat. You both moan at the sensation, your bodies fitting together like two puzzle pieces, made to be joined like this. You don't stop until you’re fully seated on his lap, his cock buried to the hilt inside your clit, pressing against his pelvis.
“Oh fuck, Dick...” You whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders as you start to move, rolling your hips in a slow, sensual grind. “You feel so fucking good inside me.”
Your words seem to spur him on, and he starts to thrust up to meet you, his hips lifting off the ground to drive his cock deeper into your needy cunt. The room fills with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, your moans and cries of pleasure echoing off the metal walls. You can feel him getting closer, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate, and you know he won't last much longer.
“Come on, baby,” You pant, your voice high and breathless as you ride him harder, faster, chasing your own release. “Come inside me. I want to feel you come inside me, Dick. Please...please come for me.”
With a final, harsh thrust, you grind down against Dick. His eyes widen as he feels your walls clench around him, your words pushing him over the edge.
He pistons his hips up harder, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with each punishing thrust. He leans in, burying his face between your breasts, his mask brushing against your skin as he suckles and nips at the soft mounds, leaving marks of possession in his wake.
“Fuck, (Name)...you feel too good,” he pants against your skin, his voice a low, guttural rasp. “So good...”
His words dissolve into a strangled moan as his thrusts become erratic, losing their rhythm as he teeters on the brink of climax. He's so close, his cock pulsing and throbbing inside your clenching walls, your arousal dripping down his shaft with each thrust.
“Ngh— fuck..” he hisses out, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips hard enough to bruise as he holds you down, making sure you take every last drop of his seed. You can feel the hot, thick ropes of his release painting your insides, dripping down onto his lap and the floor below, filling you up just as you'd begged him to do.
You're both panting hard, chests heaving as you come down from your highs. You slump against his chest, completely spent, your body still twitching with the aftershocks. Dick's arms wrap around you, holding you close, his face buried in your hair as he tries to catch his breath.
You can't help but smile, cupping his face in your hands and pulling him in for a slow, deep kiss. You pour all of your satisfaction, all of your desire, all of your growing feelings for him into that kiss. When you finally pull away, you're both smiling, both looking at each other like you can't quite believe this is real.
But then, Dick's eyes widen in realization as the final pulses of his release subside, his softening cock still buried deep inside your fluttering heat. A look of panic flashes across his face beneath the mask as the gravity of what just happened sinks in.
“I...fuck, I'm so sorry,” he starts, voice shaking with remorse. “I didn't mean to... shit, I shouldn't have...”
But you silence him with a searing kiss, your lips crashing against his in a desperate attempt to stem the flow of apologies. You pour every ounce of passion and hunger into the kiss, your tongue delving into his mouth, tangling with his own. For a moment, Dick is stunned, his body stilling beneath you as he allows you to plunder his mouth.
When you finally pull back, your chests heaving, you fix him with a stern look. “Didn't I tell you not to apologise?” you demand, voice low and firm. “I know exactly what I wanted, and I wanted this. I wanted to feel you come inside me, Dick.”
Dick swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. “But I didn't use a condom,” he argues weakly. “I could have...we could have...”
You place a finger against his lips, silencing him once more. “Shh. I know the risks. But where’s the fun in not taking them?”
Dick's eyes search yours, a war raging behind those hidden depths. Slowly, hesitantly, he nods, your finger falling away from his lips. “Alright,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “Fine, you win, Cat.”
A slow, shy smile curves your lips as you lean in to press a soft kiss to his jaw, your body still nestled against his, his release cooling inside you. “Good,” you whisper against his skin. “Because I think we're going to be stuck in here for a while,” you say with a grin, glancing around at the small, enclosed space. “You’re going to have to deal with me a little longer, Robin.”
Dick laughs, a real, genuine sound that makes your heart flutter in your chest, his hands sliding up your back to tangle in your hair. “You're insatiable,” he accuses, but there's no bite to his words, only a grudging sort of awe.
“But I think I can handle that,” he says, pulling you down for another kiss. “Especially if it means more of this.”
You nipped at his earlobe before soothing it with your tongue.
“You're just now figuring that out?”
—
Safe to say, Batman found you both a few hours later, and him and Selina lectured you both about the need for protection. (At least you were on the pill.)
hellooooo would you consider elaborating on your thoughts about Dick & biting... doesn't have to be a fic written post but ough. I wanna hear your thoughts about marking him up, how he reacts, etc.
I feel like biting any part of Dick is the equivalent to picking up a kitten by its scruff and watching it go absolutely limp and pliant in your hand. Dick is a peacock in human form, always flashing his pretty smile and pretty eyes, his pink lips pulled into a sultry pout, his black curls like a halo atop his head. But the second he feels your canines dig into his soft, supple flesh he starts singing like a (pretty) bird, all gasps and airy pleas of "Again, please." The pain of it is absolutely exhilarating to him. The dull ache that within a moment manages to turn into hellfire, all his muscles tensing that in return knock the air out of his lungs and make the bite hurt more; the sweet release of your teeth letting his skin go and the now pleasurable ache that throbs beneath his skin.
Let's not mention him getting off to all the purple-blue-yellow-green splotches that cover his body a few days later. He's standing in front of a tall mirror in all his naked glory, transfixed by all the colourful bruises on his skin, his hand slowly working on his cock. He presses down on a set of teeth marks inside his thigh and comes with a long, drawn out whine of pain, his stomach clenching as he paints his fist white.
There's also something extremely erotic about him feeling those said bites underneath his Nightwing suit each night he patrols - both a sweet reminder of you to go home to and a reminder of your teeth digging into his bicep two days earlier. He snaps out of his thoughts when gunshots are heard a few blocks away and grapples there with pink dusting his cheeks.
Now, that's you biting him. I wholeheartedly believe he bites you back.
Okay, not bites. Nips. He nips at you like a playful dog wanting to play catch. He nips at your fingers, your cheeks, your nose. He loves biting down on your bottom lip and pulling it down, a self pleased smirk on his face. He likes to nip at your jaw whenever he peppers you with kisses, but he usually doesn't go anywhere near your neck. He likes to take his time there, suck the flesh between his lips and hold, letting go with a soft "Pop!", admiring the now bright purple spot on the side of your neck, too high to be covered by clothing. Your neck is his canvas and you are his muse.
touchstarved boys who always need to touch you one way or another, whether it's a hand around your waist, fingers laced with yours, nuzzling his head into your neck.
that whine at the slightest touch anyways, keening when you run your fingers through their hair. holding back a moan when you scratch gently at their scalp with your nails.
who glow under your love, shuddering with the sweet praise that drips your lips.
who try to do their very best so you'll call them your good boy and maybe if they're very good you'll let them touch your body, let them lay between your legs and taste you--if they're good. a tantalizing carrot on a stick that leaves them panting with need.
touchstarved boys that can't bear to be apart from you long, and can hardly keep sane without you in their line of sight,
who grip at your wrist when you try to leave for work, begging you to stay as they drop onto their knees, hugging your legs.
who plead and plead for you not to leave them, whining and sniffling when you try to shake them off.
who nudge their nose against your thigh, sweet big eyes looking up and only then can you tell deep inside where this was always inevitably going to go.
touchstarved boys who you could never seem to say no to.
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you knew dick grayson was going to sing like a bird in bed the second you landed your eyes on him. he was witty, quick to talk back in any other situation and it translated to a very vocal partner who wouldn't shut up while you were pounding him raw. he liked the banter before getting fucked seven days to sunday, and if it meant you saying dirty stuff to him then the vigilante wouldn't hesitate to become a brat, a slut, a desperate whore who needed you, a cocky hero who challenged you.
"ah-and here i though i was gonna get– mgh! properly manhandled, maybe if i go to fuck! mmhgghh" and sometimes you too would twist the words you knew he wanted to hear: a jealous boyfriend pushing just your tip into his hole, stopping him from moving. "no, no, you were saying? maybe if you go to whom, exactly?" and so he'll trash his mouth and either beg for it or provoke you to rail him harder.
then you'll be the mean lover, not caring if you missed his prostate with every thrust or if your hold in his hands stopped him from touching his own throbbing cock. "isn't this what you wanted, grayson? being fucked, right? then fucking take it, and be good 'cause you're gonna cum without touching your clit". and he would shiver from pleasure, moaning out before moving to fuck himself farther into you.
"please, please please, please fuck, so close, I can't like this– i caAagh–n't please" and it sometimes would take a long time for him to be good and ask for it, but he'd get there eventually. other times all you could hear were praises, for your cock, your legs, mouth, even your knees when he was horny enough to get off by just grinding into you, it really depended of the mood.
if it was a rough night: "just fucking get in, need it now, c'mon... yeah yeah, oh god. yes, yes. deeper, all the way in, fuck." and he would cry out, moan your name so demanding and you had to at least put him through two orgasms to fuck the stress and anger out of him. and if it was a wonderful weekend: "i love your tongue, i really really do, yes! keep eating me out– ah ah ah ah mmhmmm". his moans and keening voice would be so sweet you didn't have it in you to stop. you would do as asked, making him feel all loved and full that any other thought in his mind would come second to your cock.
you liked not knowing what yo expect each time he came to you to get filled, used. he would even salivate just by looking at you when you opened your door for him, his mouth already anticipating that it needed to be wet, either if you were to make him gag on your length or to be a talkative slut, a singing bird showing off his vocal range even after three or five orgasms. his mouth would still salivate even then, the wet spots all over the mattress, the kitchen table and your own shirts being proof of that.
