#touches

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Dick Grayson x reader

summary: Dick and you share a quiet, intimate evening wrapped in his arms.

wc: 0.6k

A/N: a bit shorter because I'm way too tired to continue writing.

Dick was currently laying in bed, his phone still in hand, scheduling the next patrol while you were reading a book.

His one arm was draped around your hips, drawing slow absent minded circles beneath the shirt you were wearing (his to be specific).

Your head rested against his chest, raising and falling with each steady breath and you heard him yawn above you.

"Tired?" you murmured, not lifting your gaze from the page in front of you. The words blurred slightly as your focus shifted more towards him than the story.

"Only a bit. Just have to finish this, otherwise it might end up in a mess."

You tilted your head just enough to look at him, your expression doing the talking, one brow raised that says 'it might end up in a mess anyway'

He caught that look, a small knowing smile tugged at his lips, one brow lifting up in amusement. There was something fond in the way he looked at you. But be didnt argue. Instead his fingers continued the lazy path along your hip, that didn't seem to follow any real pattern.

Minutes passed like this, quiet, comfortable.

The only sounds in the room were the turning of your pages and the occasional tap of his thumbs against his phone.

Eventually, he put his phone down with a satisfied "done".

You only hummed in response.

Dick shifted beside you, adjusting himself, until he was properly settled into the bed, burrying his face into the curve of your neck immediately.

You felt and heard it immediately, the warmth of his breath and how he inhaled slowly.

"You smell like me and your shampoo", he murmured, his voice slightly muffled against your neck.

A small smile tugged at your lips.

"Obviously, I was showering earlier." you replied, your tone almost teasing.

"Still", he continued, his voice softer now "It's calming...falling asleep with you again. Not like the other times when I'm out on patrol." His nose brushed slightly along your neck.

"Don't get me wrong", he added, "I take patrol seriously...but sometimes falling asleep next to you, is very tempting."

"I know" you murmur and your fingers found his arm, the one wrapped around your hip, and began tracing slow, wandering patterns along his skin. Mirroring his own at your hip.

"Currently those moments are rare. A lot of crime is happening." you murmured.

"Yeah", he breathed "It's exhausting but also rewarding when we catch those people." he murmured.

There was a pause.

Then you felt it.

A soft press of his lips against your neck, just below your ear.

It wasn't rushed or demanding. Just...there.

His fingers tightened around your hip slightly, pulling you a bit closer as if there was still space left between you.

"Worth it, though,"

"The patrol or this?", you asked.

A faint smile tugged at his lips, eyes already half closed. "Both...but this..this keeps me going." His lips brush against your neck again.

Your chest tightened just slightly.

"That's a lot of pressure to put on me", you murmured, though there was no real protest.

He huffed slightly. "No pressure, just truth."

You put your book away.

"We should probably sleep soon. It's late. You are tired. "

He seemed to protest but yawned at the same time.

"True."

He breathed your scent in again.

"Good night, seep well"

"Sleep well"

His breath began to even out, each inhale deeper than the last.

The tension in his body, he maybe carried without realising, melted away.

Ever since BG3 came out, I've been dreaming of seeing the Divinity realized on the same scale and HURRAYYY LARIAN IS DOING IT!!!!

masterlist john price masterlist

husband!John price x reader

John comes home worn down and guarded and finds quiet relief in you. Soft touches and unhurried closeness let him finally rest.

domestic husband, cuddling because why not?, comfort, fluff, soft intimacy

A/N: that was a scene i imagined in my head when I thought about secret-husband!John Price in my story "underneath the radar" but then I made the reader a med and yeah, it didn't seem to fit

wc: 1.9k

John Price didn’t realize how tightly wound he was until the front door closed behind him and the lock slid home with a quiet, final click.

The sound settled into the house and stayed there, absorbed by walls that knew it well. Home. Not a stopover. Not borrowed space. A place that remembered him even when he came back carrying too much of everything else.

He stood there for a beat, hand still on the door, listening. The house answered softly - the hum of the heating, the distant tick of pipes, rain tapping against the windows in a steady, unbothered rhythm. Familiar. Safe. His shoulders stayed tense anyway, instincts slow to let go.

Off duty didn’t mean off guard. It never really had.

He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it up, kicked his boots off by the door and lined them up out of habit. The weight leaving his body should’ve felt like relief. Instead, it left him exposed, like he’d stepped out of armor too fast. He rolled his neck, once, then again, feeling the ache protest before settling.

The house smelled warm: clean laundry, something faintly sweet from earlier, you. It grounded him more effectively than breathing exercises ever did.

John moved into the living room and sank onto the couch with a careful exhale, testing the cushions before fully committing his weight. The lamp was already on, casting a soft glow that softened the edges of everything. Rain streaked the windows slowly, turning the outside world into a blur.

The quiet pressed in and with it, the familiar backlog. Too bright flashes. The echo of commands. The ghost of movement still living in his muscles. He shut it down with practiced ease. Not tonight.

He heard footsteps.

Not sudden. Not sharp. Familiar. John didn’t turn right away. He felt you before he saw you, something in his chest easing before his mind caught up.

You stopped just in front of him. Close.

“Hey,” you said softly.

He looked up then. “Hey.”

You didn’t rush him. Just stepped closer and rested your hands on his shoulders, thumbs brushing over tension that hadn’t quite realized it could ease. John let out a slow breath, head tipping forward a fraction as if leaning into you without meaning to.

“Missed you,” he said quietly.

You smiled and shifted closer, guiding him back against the couch cushions as you climbed onto the edge of the seat. John’s hands came up automatically, settling at your hips - not pulling, just steady, grounding.

You leaned in, and the space between you disappeared. Your forehead brushed his, noses nearly touching, the moment stretching in that quiet, unspoken way you’d learned together.

Then you shifted again - slow, deliberate - swinging a leg over his lap and settling your weight there. Not straddling. Not urgent. Just close. Comfortable. Familiar.

John froze for half a second out of instinct, then melted into it.

His hands slid around you properly this time, one settling at your lower back, the other resting warm and sure against your side. He adjusted his posture to support you, shoulders easing as you settled against him, chest to chest.

You curled into him naturally, arms slipping around his neck, cheek resting just beneath his jaw. John exhaled deeply, chin tipping down until it rested against your hair.

There it was.

That quiet click inside him - the one that meant he could finally stop holding himself so rigid.

His heartbeat steadied beneath you, strong and even. You could feel it through the thin layers of clothing, feel the warmth of him seeping into you as the tension slowly bled out of his frame. One of his hands traced a slow, absent line along your back, not restless, just… there.

Outside, the rain continued its soft percussion. Inside, the house seemed to settle around the two of you, holding the moment steady.

John pressed a kiss into your hair, lingering. Then another. Small, grounding touches. The kind that said more than words ever could.

“Stay,” he murmured, barely louder than breath.

You shifted closer in response, weight settling more fully against him, and he tightened his arms just enough to say he’d got you. That he wasn’t going anywhere.

For a man who lived in motion, in vigilance, in constant readiness, this - stillness, warmth, you on top of him like you belonged there - was rare.

And John Price held it like something fragile and sacred, letting the world wait a little longer while he stayed right where he was.

The quiet didn’t just linger - it settled in, deep and patient, like it had nowhere else to be.

You stayed curled on top of John, your weight balanced comfortably against him, legs tucked in close, chest pressed to his. The couch cradled you both, cushions dipping and holding, familiar enough that neither of you thought about shifting away. His arms were wrapped around you fully now, one firm across your lower back, the other higher, hand resting warm and broad between your shoulder blades.

For a long while, neither of you moved.

The rain outside softened into a gentle, steady hush, no longer tapping insistently but whispering against the windows. The lamp hummed quietly in the corner, its light low and amber, turning the room into something smaller, safer. The world beyond the walls felt far away - blurred, distant, like it belonged to someone else.

John’s breathing was the first thing you really noticed. Slow. Deep. The rise and fall of his chest beneath you was unhurried, each breath brushing warm against your cheek. You matched it without thinking, your own breath settling into the same rhythm. In. Out. Together.

His hand moved again, tracing slow lines up your back. Fingers warm, steady, never in a rush. The touch wasn’t searching for anything; it was familiar, grounding, like he was reminding himself you were right there. That this was real.

You shifted slightly, nestling closer, and felt him respond immediately. His arm tightened just enough to support you, to keep you steady as you settled more fully into him. His chin dipped, resting more securely against the top of your head, stubble brushing your hair with every small movement.

John pressed a kiss into your hair.

It was soft. Brief. Barely more than a brush of his lips, but it lingered all the same. He stayed there for a second afterward, breathing you in, before pressing another kiss - slower this time, deliberate.

You felt it in your chest more than anywhere else.

Your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt, gripping without pressure. Just contact. Just reassurance. His heartbeat was steady beneath you, strong and even, and you listened to it for a moment, comforted by the sound.

“Hey,” he murmured quietly, voice low enough that it barely disturbed the room.

You hummed in response, lifting your head just enough to look at him. His eyes were half-lidded, dark in the low light, expression softer than you were used to seeing out in the world. Less guarded. Less sharp around the edges.

“You alright?” he asked.

You nodded, brushing a soft kiss against his jaw. “Yeah. Just… comfortable.”

A faint huff of a laugh escaped him. “Good.”

His hand slid up, fingers threading gently into your hair. He cradled the back of your head with surprising tenderness, thumb brushing a slow arc along your scalp. He didn’t pull you closer - didn’t need to. You were already there.

You leaned in again, pressing a soft kiss beneath his ear, then another along his jawline. Nothing hurried. Nothing demanding. Just quiet affection, shared and unspoken.

John inhaled slowly at the contact, his chest lifting beneath you. His grip tightened just a fraction, arms firm around you as if anchoring himself. He tilted his head slightly, giving you better access without even thinking about it.

“Careful,” he murmured, though there was no real warning in it. Just warmth. “You’ll have me fallin’ asleep.”

You smiled against his skin. “Thought that was the goal.”

A low chuckle vibrated through his chest. “Cheeky.”

His lips found your hair again, then your temple, pressing a series of soft, lingering kisses. Each one was placed with intention, like he was savoring the moment rather than rushing through it. His mouth was warm, familiar and every kiss carried something unspoken, gratitude, relief, affection.

You relaxed further into him, letting your weight settle fully. His body adjusted instinctively, one leg shifting beneath you to better support you, the couch creaking softly before falling silent again.

John’s hand resumed its slow path along your back, thumb tracing gentle circles now, the movement unhurried and soothing. You could feel the tension continuing to drain from him, bit by bit, the constant readiness easing into something quieter.

“Missed you,” he said suddenly, voice barely louder than a breath.

You lifted your head slightly to look at him. “Missed you too.”

You leaned down, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to his lips. It was gentle, unhurried, more about closeness than anything else. He responded immediately, mouth warm and familiar, but he didn’t deepen it. Didn’t push. Just stayed there, lips pressed softly to yours, breathing you in.

When you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes still closed. “You’re good for me,” he murmured, like it surprised him every time.

You smiled softly. “You don’t have to say that like it’s a revelation.”

He opened his eyes then, meeting your gaze. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t.”

His hand slid up your back again, fingers spreading wide, holding you close. He pressed another kiss to your hair, then one to your temple, then your cheek. Each touch was slow, deliberate, like he was making the most of the stillness.

Minutes passed. Maybe longer. Time felt soft, stretched thin and gentle around the edges. The rain outside faded further, leaving only the quiet hum of the house and the steady rhythm of your breathing.

You shifted slightly, adjusting your position and felt John respond immediately. His arm tightened, supporting you, his hand sliding just a little higher to keep you comfortable.

Your fingers traced idle patterns along his side beneath his shirt, the warmth of his skin grounding and real beneath your touch. His muscles flexed faintly under your hand as he breathed, solid and reassuring.

John’s breathing slowed even more, deep and even. His thumb continued its gentle movement along your back, though it grew heavier, more absent minded, like his body was settling into rest.

“You’re warm,” he murmured again, voice drowsy now.

You smiled. “Still true.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, lips brushing your hair. “Worth sayin’.”

His arms tightened around you once more, not possessive, not anxious. Just present. Just sure.

You closed your eyes, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his body lull you deeper into the quiet. The world beyond the couch felt distant, muted, like it existed behind glass.

John stayed awake a little longer, eyes half lidded, gaze unfocused as he stared somewhere past the lamplight. He memorized the weight of you, the warmth, the simple fact of your presence. His hand never stopped moving, tracing slow, comforting paths along your back, grounding both of you in the moment.

Eventually, his breathing shifted, growing heavier, slower. Not asleep -not quite - but close. Comfortable. Safe.

The house held you both gently, the quiet unbroken.