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stararch4ngelqueen · 7 months

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Taking the Wheel

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Time Written-10:47 p.m

Dick Grayson/fem!reader smut

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Clink, clack, clink, clack. The sounds of heels faintly echoed across the long since faded parking lot, carelessly crossing through thin spaces in between cars and trucks to throw the irritating bastard off your back.

Since you didn’t had arrive with friends, and the main reason you arrived to the packed Lounge, especially on weekends, quickly failed, you were left to walk a long ways across the vehicular maze to get towards your car.

A long, irritating walk on eroded asphalt, in obnoxiously irritating footwear.

Honestly? You could’ve cared less for the foot ache, attempting to push your pace to get towards your destination, your club mood spoiled over by a new desire of getting in your warm, vacant bed at home. Your attempt at distracting your endlessly rattled mind by going towards one of the hottest clubs in the city proved to be a complete failure.

This was Gotham. You knew better than to believe you were going to enjoy a night out for clubbing, completely ignorant to the possibility of the last man you ever expected to arrive, clad in his goddamn uniform, on the search for you.

The only way you learned it was him throughout all the blaring music and strong strobe light ambiance was the roar of patrons crowding around the hottest man of the hour around the dance floor.

What a stupid plan honestly, especially with the overwhelming presence of the obnoxious vigilante following shortly behind you, wondering if you were just doing this to get a reaction out of him.

“You can stop following me now, Grayson.”

It was strangely empty tonight, how he managed to shake off the crowds to go after you alone was a question you could’ve cared less to understand or answer.

"You're walking at night? Alone? You realize you live in Gotham, right?”

You only continued walking, holding yourself with your clutch purse tucked under your shirt, your heels scraping along stray parking lot gravel.

"Aren’t you cold?" Dick asks, trying to hide his worry about you being in that dress in this sixty five degree night.

He was right, watching your head shake no, despite how you carried yourself.

"Oh, come on." Dick says in assuming defeat, only to surprise you via cutting off your path by hopping up on the nearest challenger hood, abruptly jumping in front of your path.

“You can't just walk off like nothing just happened between us." Dick asserts, meeting your aggravated stare.

“Get out of my way—“

"Look, I'm tired of giving you space. Call me clingy, I don’t care. We need to talk about what happened, right now." The words sound more desperate than he intended, other than stern and demanding.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” You mutter, attempting to continue your walk before he holds a hand out in front of you, preventing you from squeezing past him.

"There’s always something to say,” Dick says, hoping you’d try to look back at him.

You’re clearly hurting more than you’re letting on. He can’t really blame you.

You’re no party girl, but you are a girl he hurt. Throwing yourself back out into the dating pool was a typical response, even he’s done it, but he can’t let that happen this time. Not with you.

"Let's... let's talk about this somewhere safe, okay?" He asks, looking down at you. You shift your head a bit, giving him an annoyed glare.

“I wanna go home, okay?” You nearly spat back to him, insisting to yourself that you had no patience to deal with him.

Dick doesn't immediately move in response, gazing down at you with sympathy instead of irritation, such a heart throb in his pretty eyes.

He probably practiced this often every morning in the mirror ever since you broke up, keeping you hooked like a mouse with cheese, or a pretty boy who always knew what to say.

“… Okay.”

He offers his hand out, awaiting your keys in his open palm.

“At least let me drive you home.” He offers, remaining stagnant until he received the only answer he expected. It’ll make him feel a whole lot better knowing you weren’t in the worst place in Gotham right now.

You could only huff through your nose before rummaging through your purse, pulling out your keys.

“Fine,” you mutter, dropping the item into his quickly closing hand. “Just home. That’s it.”

“That’s it,” Dick confirms with a hand raised before stepping off to the side, allowing you to walk ahead of him. “Promise.”

The car was warm, the heater constantly blowing warm air against your exposed back, nearly bumping back against your leather steering wheel.

The driver’s seat had long since been reclined, the material lightly squeaking in response to your sweaty bodies shuffling against each other. Lips battling in between teeth and tongue for dominance he willingly gave you, giving you the impression of control.

His body completely hidden by the suit, while you were still in your backless, black sequin party dress.

Sure, the car was private and warm, the alley was dark, the only light coming from the tiny radio screen, faintly reflecting off the various tiny black sequins of your dress, now pulled down from your torso, decorating your waist like a belt of dying stars.

You remembered the way his gloved hands impatiently unclipped the seatbelt so he could pull you across to his lap after an unprecedented, filthy make-out. The way he had purposely massaged the insides of your thighs caused electricity to shoot through you, needing you as close as physically possible, your short dress riding up precariously over your thighs.

"I should have done this sooner," Dick grunts against your painted lips while pinching your nipples in his thumbs, your nails rasping down the smooth material of his Nightwing suit, pulling it off his shoulders.

“D’you think someone will see us like this…?”

"No one's gonna be looking," Dick gasps out, his tone confident while dripping with cocky arrogance. "And if they do... who the hell cares."

Dick could barely focus on what was happening outside the car as it was.

For some reason, that thought made this all the more exciting. Not that the thought of being seen with a beautiful woman in Nightwing’s lap ever seemed like a bad thing.

“You looked amazing in this dress..." he runs a hand along the curve of your hip.

"But you look a lot better without it."

You’d physically cringe if you weren’t so damn aroused. Only someone like him could pull off cheesy one liners about eighty six percent of the time.

"So do something about it,” you whisper, nipping his bottom lip in your teeth, nearly contemplating on drawing blood once he chuckled.

"With pleasure, Princess.”

Wrapping an arm around your waist, he lifted you slightly with such ease, allowing him to pull his hard cock from the torturous material that suffocated him.

It would’ve been a much quicker process to undress if he randomly decided to arrive in that god awful disco suit, but it was far too late to complain now.

Prep was limited to the pleasant view of Dick stuffing three fingers into your warm hole, smirking at your hiss before raising them to his mouth, making a show of gathering his own spit while tasting you, before giving the tip of his red, angry cock a few quick strokes.

His fingers hooked your thin, messy panties to the side, hiding his mused smile from your gaze upon hearing your terribly hidden whimper as you felt the soft, blunt tip poking at your opening. A large gasp of air quickly invaded and evaded your lungs as you pushed down on him, feeling him splitting you open inch by torturously thick inch.

His own lust begged the rest of his consciousness to push further into you, aching to stuff the rest of himself inside your wet, greedy cunt. Luckily, you listened to your own thoughts, sinking yourself the rest of the way until you were properly seated, your bare thighs resounding against his with limited time to adjust.

"Holy-" He finds himself whining out, nearly crumbling apart from your silky, sweet cunt gripping him like a damn vice. Incidentally, his grip on your thong tightened after an involuntary thrust, forcing the weak band to snap apart.

The man could’ve cared less, carelessly tossing the ruined garment before gripping your hips with both hands, fingers hooking along your dress as an additional anchor to feverishly fuck you, hearing your breathing shift into quick, eager moans.

He wanted to take control so bad, but he was losing it before he even began.

The moans he emitted were heavenly, the muscles in his throat constricting as his head tilts back against the rest. He groans out your name in a delightful sigh, his fingers digging into your plush ass.

Lipstick prints littered his neck, eyes squeeze shut behind his domino mask.

“God, I've missed you,” the vigilante whimpers out, admiring your silvery necklace clink along the valley of your perfect, juicy tits bouncing erratically close to his chest, accompanied by the jingle of your matching bangles as you sunk your nails deep into the muscles along his back.

Dick's heavy lidded eyes gazed at your flushed face, your cheeks tinted pink with heavy, orgasmic blush. Your mascara stained lashes littered with cloudy black tears, bits of dappled glitter in the corners of your eyes, your signature touch, remaining poised along your perfect face. The picture he always looked forward to taking after every successful date night.

"Do you feel how much I've missed you?" Dick grumbles against your shoulder, his voice breathless, despite his best efforts to control his emotions. “Feel how hard, how deep, just fucking into this pussy? That’s all you baby.” The seemingly endless cooes against your neck render endless shivers down your spine, garnering the exact reactions he wanted from you; straining against the tight clench of your eager cunt.

"Oh-God. Fuuuck yes, missed you so much, princess,” Dick whispers, his tone filled with lust and excitement. He teetered on the edge of begging you to bite him again, to mark his neck up however with as many nips as you please, eager to see such raw evidence of your teeth marks in the morning.

“Mph— take it, baby. F-fucking take it all.”

You could only moan in response to his many words against his neck, your painted eyes nearly fluttering closed as you persist on your relentless pace. He was enjoying this a little too much, as much as you were, if not more.

Amidst the mind numbing euphoria of fucking his ex girlfriend in her own car, calloused hands full of black sequins and exposed skin, even he was calling himself an idiot in his own mind as he whimpers a lot louder than he intended within your shared ecstasy.

He was a damn idiot, thinking only about how much he’s hated being in a relationship with anyone except you. How much you’ve grown to become his favorite person; the one woman he needs every damn night. Every second of the damn day.

And if he wants to prove it by having you ride his cock in the seat of a car parked in a secluded alleyway, so be it. He’ll spoil you with a white plush bed caked in rose petals once after you agree to get back together with him.

"Ba-Baby..." Dick croaks through his stutter, his voice cracking slightly as he watches you come to an abrupt halt to his dismay.

A weak, pathetic grunt spews from his lips as you roll your hips, rocking along his lap, his bruised Adam’s apple bobbing after each whimper and whine. "Don’t stop—don’t stop. Shiiit, I’m begging you—“

His words muffle in a quick second as you stuff your ruined, bunched up thong into his mouth, cerulean eyes widening in surprise by boldness.

Many times he’s taken the lead, regardless over where your horny selves ended up. Any recollection of him doing this to you quickly faded once you locked eyes, his brows raised in surprise and submission to your taunt, prideful expression, lipstick smeared lips scowling in annoyance.

Right now, right now you wanted nothing more than to take out your frustrations on him. Even if it was one of the least violent thoughts you had when it came to him, you compensated via heavy scratches and relentless bites on his neck, and now this.

He wouldn’t be whining like such a bastard in a rut without your sweet, creamy pussy downgrading him from an arrogant, cocky, fearless vigilante into a raspy, quivering disciple. Bright, pretty putty in your hands.

Your hands grasped along the back of his head, purposefully frazzling his sweaty, perfect locks of hair as you eagerly chased another kiss. Your hands gripped his hair tighter causing him to take a sharp intake of air in.

You wouldn’t be such a quivering mess without the constant spear of his hard, delicious cock. A victim to this nearly endless cycle of ‘Fuck now, ask questions later.’

‘Or, just fuck some more later.’

You knew this, and you knew he’d give you what you wanted first before you even considered the idea of forgiving him.

“I need you to- fuck, j-just shut up. Shut up a-and keep going, Dick. Keep— Keep going. Just- Just keep fucking me.”

He stares straight ahead at the rich goddess amidst the fogged up windshield in front of him, his hands reinforcing his grasp along your thighs.

Obediently, he picked up the pace, the fat head hitting directly on your sweet spot much rougher and faster with intentions to leave you bruised, hoping you’d allow him to care for you for the rest of the week shortly after.

He moaned much louder against the damp, pheromone laced fabric, swallowing up your sickeningly sweet venom while he pistons his hips, making his soaking wet, twitchy balls constantly smack against your overstretched cunt.

Oh, if only you knew how much you drove Richard Grayson wild, if only you knew.

Hell, what was the argument even about? Neither of you could barely remember anymore.

#dick grayson #dick Grayson x reader #Dick Grayson x reader smut #dick grayson x female!reader #Dick Grayson smut #Gotham knights dick Grayson #based off Gotham knights dick Grayson but #yk #imagine whoever you want #yeah don’t ask much #I’m trying out Dick too #Don’t mind meeeeee #he’s not my favorite Robin but like #he aight #🌝

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liyawritesss · 22 days

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-> 𝚕𝚘𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎...

-> 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢!

-> 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝....

-> 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍! 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘...

𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 !

—> OVERVIEW

—> The death of Bruce Wayne has shaken the city of Gotham to its core. His presence defined the very city he vouched for for years, and while many mourned the death of one of the city’s highest elites, no pain could be compared to that of (y/n)’s, eldest daughter and heir to the Wayne Family. The beloved father-daughter duo were the saving grace of Gotham City; Bruce pouring his attention into politics, social and criminal justice and technology, and (y/n) strongly advocating for the arts, social change and socio-economical and political reform. With tragedy in the air and crime running amuck in the streets, what will become of the brilliant and beautiful (y/n) Wayne amidst the turmoil within her city, within her family, and within her own heart?

—> OBJECTIVES

—> (y/n) has not spoken since arriving at the Belfry. She spends her days reminiscing on the times when Bruce was alive, holding on to what little memories she has. Much of her memories are stored in the gifts Bruce had given her over the years, as well as moments the family has shared together. Your task is to retrieve these objects from across Gotham and unlock core memories of the heiress’s childhood with the Wayne family, in hopes to restoring (y/n) back to her original self.

CHOOSE YOUR ROUTE

MAIN STORYLINE

NIGHTWING | RED HOOD | ROBIN | BATGIRL

ADDITIONAL ROUTES UNLOCKED

ALFRED PENNYWORTH | BRUCE WAYNE

🇫🇮🇳🇩 🇹🇭🇪 🇮🇹🇪🇲🇸

🇷🇪🇱🇮🇻🇪 🇹🇭🇪 🇲🇪🇲🇴🇷🇮🇪🇸

🇪🇽🇵🇪🇷🇮🇪🇳🇨🇪 🇹🇭🇪 🇱🇮🇫🇪 🇴🇫

🇬🇴🇹🇭🇦🇲’🇸 🇩🇦🇷🇱🇮🇳🇬

🇨🇱🇮🇨🇰 🇾🇴🇺🇷 🇷🇴🇺🇹🇪 🇹🇴 🇵🇱🇦🇾

🇳🇴🇼

⚠️This Series Will Contain: canon-accurate violence with weapons such as guns, knives, batons, customized batman gear and other vigilante gear, hand to hand combat, mentions of blood, injuries, heavy talk about grief, depression, anxiety, major character death (bruce wayne/batman). Readers discretion is advised.

Tag List: @punkeropercyjackson @insomniac-jay @neesieiumz @honeypotsworld @honeybleed @hellkaiserinphoenix @saintriots @agent-nobody-knows @badass-dora-milaje @sincerelyzee @anuttellaa

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dreameh17 · 2 years

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calling all dick grayson fans,

some of you may already know this by now, but dick is CANONICALLY BISEXUAL in gotham knights!!!

that is all i wanted to say, have a good day/night/whatever

#batman #nightwing #dick grayson #robin #richard grayson #gotham knights #gotham knights nightwing #gotham knights dick grayson #bi #bisexual #gotham knights babs and jason are straight tho but still!! dick is biiiiiii #dc comics #dc

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sadiewayne · 4 months

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I asked Dick Grayson if he had a specific type, and he leaned chose then, his voice lowered into an intimate purr, his gaze for me and no one else. "People are gorgeous. All of them. Why restrict myself to an archetype when this world is beauty? Gorgeous, gorgeous people everywhere. Including the ranks of Gotham's Elite."

this man is so bisexual please dc please just stop being wusses and make it canon like COME ON it's so obvious at this point

#i personally prefer pansexual dick grayson but #that's just me #it falls under the bi umbrella but this man just likes everyone #that's so pan #bisexual #pansexual #bisexual dick grayson #pansexual dick grayson #please dc just make dick bi #im begging at this point #dick grayson #nightwing #gotham knights #bi dick grayson #pan dick grayson #gotham knights nightwing #gotham knights dick grayson #sadies dick grayson

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k4txlulzz · 5 months

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"i'd tell my son that i miss him" and what if i started crying huh. WHAT IF I FUCKING UGLY CRIED UGGGG BRUCE I HATE YOU WHY MUST YOU SAY ALL THE HEARTBREAKING SHIT

the "he doesn't need me bothering him. he doesnt need me at all" ????? LITERALLY HEART WRENCHING AND ABSOLUTELY SOULCRUSHING.

imagine being dick grayson and listening to that whole log entry after bruce's death. i would be so devastated man..hearing all that from your now deceased father??? THAT SHIT HURTSS

#nightwing #dc #dc comics #gotham knights #batman #dc nightwing #dc batman #dc gotham knights #dick and bruce #batman and nightwing #gotham knights nightwing #gotham knights batman #gotham knights dick grayson #gotham knights bruce wayne

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lazaruspitreborn · 3 months

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Two (Rogue) Talons. @whxlmedwing

#gotham knights jason todd #gotham knights red hood #gotham knights #gotham knights nightwing #gotham knights dick grayson #dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #red hood #gotham knights photomode

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artzysyam · 3 months

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God damn it plot bunny. A pinned for later

What if GK!Dick got transported to Arkhamverse, rescued AK!Jason from his captivity.

AK!Joker attempt to get his toy back but in the nick of time, GK! Justice League and Lucius Fox managed to bring GK!Dick back but he carried naked AK!Jason in his arms.

#jason todd #arkhamverse #dick grayson #gotham knights #gotham knights dick grayson

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charlietheepicwriter7 · 3 months

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The Joker was apprehended, sitting on the ground as Batman guarded him, but the kid--"Bruce Wayne's newest ward, how tragic! Hehehe!"--was nowhere to be found. Nightwing and Red Hood desperate searched the warehouse until a shuffling noise grabbed their attention.

A kid, black haired just like the kid in the Joker's broadcast, crawling out of a pile of boxes. "Is it over?" the boy asked quietly.

Nightwing guided him to the only exit, unfortunately walking past the boy's own kidnapper. "Yeah, kid. It's over. Come on-"

Like a shot, the boy rushed the Joker and kicked him right in the balls.

The Joker wheezed like a dying squeaky toy. Red Hood froze. Nightwing immediately snatched the boy up by the armpits, but all that did was give the boy the height to attack again, punting Joker in the jaw. The clown went down and cracked his head on the floor. He did not get back up.

There was a moment of silence before Red Hood roared with laughter, his helmet distorting the sound.

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lemonlimestar · 3 months

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save me 90s bats…. 90s bats save me….

#bart (as in bug art)#barbara gordon #dick grayson #tim drake #was reading gotham knights when i started this project :)#my little nightwing cartoon! i’ll post the ref sheets eventually #+ my babs test animation #but! take my sillies #dc #dc comics #nightwing #oracle dc #robin

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ghost-bxrd · 2 months

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Just rewatched the scene in Gotham Knights where Dick tries to have a heart-to-heart with Jason on a rooftop and Jason, true to character, shoves him lightly because he doesn’t do emotions, thank you.

And Dick, the dramatic queen, pretends to fall off the roof.

Honestly honey, you out of everyone should know not to scare people with that 😭😂

#some dark humor for the audience lol #also Jason’s panicked little Dick? DICK! had me in tears #sweet boy was terrified he accidentally killed Nightwing lmao #meanwhile Dick:#whoop de doo look at me walking on my hands!#jason todd #dick grayson #Gotham knights #batboys #ghost talks #ghost games

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stararch4ngelqueen · 19 days

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Quick Maintenance

Time Written - 11:42 p.m

(Idk where I was going with this, so it isn’t proofread.)

—

Your heavy eyes blinked, slipping in an out of mental focus from the soft snip snip near your right side. Minor tufts of wet hair trickled down your shoulder, sliding along your freshly washed graphic shirt.

“Stay still, baby,” he murmurs, tilting your chin up to keep a level field as focused eyes squinted to study his work.

Calloused hands held thin, little shears he pulled out from the bathroom drawer, snipping away at little uneven pieces of hair he left unchecked.

Work, school, the sheer stress of wondering what kind of person you were in this world would get to you. You weren’t always like this, priding yourself on not caring what the world thought, meanwhile beaming like a ray of sunshine to all those who knew you once you stepped out the door.

One of the toughest enemies you could ever face in your lifetime, who knows every gruesome detail of your agony, every weak bone in your body, holding each detail of your flawed skin to memory, was the teary eyed person that stared back at you in the mirror.

Some days you barely had the strength to get out of bed, brush your hair, or get some water.

If you didn’t have a bodyguard of a worrisome, golden retriever boyfriend leading you towards the bathroom for a haircut, bedrotting would’ve remained a much easier task.

Dick didn’t force you to cut your hair, the idea came to you before you took a shower. Maybe a minor change was needed, something new within your control to make you feel a little better. You came to him after your long, hot shower with said offer, the man slouched on the couch with brow raised.

“Can you help me cut my hair?” You asked, presenting him with some old scissors you fished out from under the sink.

What an offer to receive on such a late evening. Dick never felt happier to see you out of bed, hair wet and changed into a pair of fresh clothes. All anxiety for you melted off his shoulders, sparing his thumbnails from being chewed on a second longer.

“Of course,” he rises from the couch, said old scissors now in his hand. Now, he sat you ontop of the toilet, gently tilting your head side to side with care to make sure every cut was as clean and even as possible.

A favor for a favor, he thought. You helped him cut his hair when it looked way too outgrown to your liking, way past ‘sexy mullet,’ in obvious words. Nowadays, keeping his hair at jawline was both for preference and convenience, though maintenance would’ve been a pain if not for you.

You offered to cut it for him the first few times, he always questioned why. Gotham cuts hair starting at at least twenty five dollars, which he could obviously afford, but having your pretty fingers run through his locks? He’s trusted no one else since.

“Twenty five bucks is twenty five bucks.”

“Twenty five bucks could be spent on dinner for your stylist,” you’d muse, cute brows bowed in deep concentration on getting the length just right. Your prized perfectionist skills left him feeling in good hands.

“I’m proud of you, y’know,” he says to you, voice lowered to a concentrated level that soothed your ears. Any accomplishment you do on one of your bad days was a gold star in Dick’s book.

His support of soft, comforting words of praise acted like a chamomile balm on a soothing ache. Your mind eventually would be soothed, lulling you into a state of affection he provided so well, sometimes reducing you to tears.

“Though, I’m a little disappointed you didn’t use my body wash.” He mumbles, now using some smaller, much thinner scissors to catch the tiny wisps he missed, taking after your perfectionist tendencies.

A trickle of a smile lasted a few seconds on your lips. “Today didn’t feel like a ‘sea salt and cedar’ day, Richie.”

“Guess that’s fair, least you’re wearing my shirt,” his cheeky grin was contagious, your heart warming at the joy that erupted in his eyes in witness to your gorgeous smile.

“There. All done, beautiful.” Dick concludes, brushing remnants of hair off your shoulder before his thumb stroked along your cheekbone, planting a kiss on your forehead.

A short two step to the bathroom sink left you staring at yourself in the mirror once more, your desired length now becoming reality.

In all honesty, you didn’t exactly like the length of the haircut. Picturing it differently in your mind had you assuming more grand expectations on the outcome.

It wasn’t all new, but it was different, a good different. A good, new you, one you’d appreciate and cherish, because that’s what you always deserved.

Besides, Dick Grayson, your puppy eyed golden retriever would make sure you were satisfied with the outcome. How could you say you didn’t like it to such a handsome face? Impossible.

“How’s takeout sound?” He questioned, watching your hands busy themselves by brushing through your new hair, feeling visibly softer along your fingertips.

“I’m thinking … something spicy.” He slips an arm over your front accompanying a soft squeeze, gifting you a smile through the mirror’s reflection. “It feels like a spicy day, yeah?”

“Anything Sounds delicious,” you admitted, your body recognizing and remembering what hunger felt like after hours of feeling numb under soft blankets and pungent silence.

“Gotcha, I’ll call up a place.” Dick steps to the side, allowing you room before reaching for the sink drawer.

“Where’d you get these scissors, anyway? They’re so tiny.”

“Oh,” you quickly recall the memory, an event quite a long while ago while on an essentials stop at a local corner side pharmacy.

“Accidentally forgot to pay for them,” you hesitantly admit, recalling the particular day. Maybe you’d forgotten to pay for an eyebrow kit that came with an adorably small pair of gold trimming scissors.

“My girlfriend, the thief,” Dick repeats with feigned surprise, shaking his head in mocked disbelief.

“Ima have to report you for this,” he smirks, glancing at you out the corner of his eye. “How much were these, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “Like, seven bucks?”

“Huh,” Dick clicks his tongue before plopping said scissors back into their designated drawer, promptly sliding it shut.

“Seven bucks is seven bucks.”

#dick grayson x female!reader #titans dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x reader #dick Grayson #gotham knights dick grayson #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x y/n #richard grayson x reader #richard grayson #interesting way to announce I was hella sad and cut my hair but here we are

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liyawritesss · 20 days

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𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 — 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍:

𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜

—> SYNOPSIS

—> Being stuck in the Belfry while her siblings pour their time, efforts, and grief into solving Bruce’s last case, (y/n) is virtually alone. She has not spoken since the funeral and is often caught spaced out in thought or staring at the display of what is left of her father’s Batman suit. Upon expressing her grievances, her brothers Dick, Jason, and Tim, and honorary sister Barbara, concoct a plan to bring their beloved eldest sister back to them.

“The news is certainly having a field day this morning.”

The sound of hot tea being poured into porcelain china is one of few that echoed throughout the large and imposing tower in the early morning. The sun’s beams peak through the glass if the tower’s window, flickering across the hardwood floor, dethawing the hideaway from the cold of night. They even cast a halo around the tall and foreboding supercomputer that was nestled into the middle of the room, warm golding casted across matte onyx as morning protrudes its way into the Belfry.

Alfred Pennyworth pours the morning tea, five cups of white decorated with gold trim resting on the serving tray and he pours into each one. In the background, one of the many monitors of the Bat-Computer details the morning news, reporting the events of the night prior.

“What can you say,” comes the thick rasp of Jason Todd as he approaches behind Alfred, who hands him one of the five dainty cups, and the broad man accepts saucer and cup in his hands, albeit with hesitance, “it’s not everyday you get to see Gotham’s Darling break down like that.”

The video is of horrible quality, blurred and unfocused in some points with desaturated coloring, but it shows to the whole of Gotham City, clear as day, (Y/N) Wayne breaking down at the news of her father’s death. The shrill scream which tore through the surrounding crowd of paparazzi stilled every human being within proximity to the young woman. Just as it was that night, those tuning in to the news that morning saw (Y/N)’s form crumple into the arms of her eldest brother, Dick Grayson, another adoptee of Bruce Wayne, completely distraught and devastated.

It brought both men to discomfort, as they tore their eyes from the screen; Jason turning to sip at the brown liquid in his hand, Alfred attending to dropping sugar cubes into their respective teacups.

“I hate that video.” Dick Grayson enters, light as a feather on his feet despite the newly added weight of grief which lingers in his eyes. He wipes the towel around his neck across his forehead to rid of the sweat from his morning workout, bidding Alfred a nod of acknowledgement.

“What, ‘cuz they didn’t get your good side?” Jason taunts.

Dick delivers a look, one that feigned irritation, towards Jason as he accepts the cup of tea Alfred offers. Three sugars, mild sweetness, just as he had always liked it. “No,” he responds, finally, “because it’s got her bad side out for the world to see.”

(Y/N) Wayne. Gotham’s Darling. Bruce Wayne’s first child and heiress to the Wayne Family. Many had dubbed her to be the city’s saving grace. She provided a breath of fresh air and a sight of beauty to the city that had not been seen in the city since her father. Although never officially introduced to society, (Y/N) started her pursuits young and with a gift for all things art, put her passion to the test and began to introduce to the city numerous art programs and residencies involving hundreds of different art forms and mediums. While city officials would never admit it, her efforts, having started as young as fourteen, gave several opportunities for the underprivileged and marginalized communities of the city, from jobs to after school activities to possible career paths. All while doing so with grace, poise, charisma, and confidence instilled in her by the man who’d taken her in at twelve.

(Y/N) Wayne was truly Gotham’s Darling. She loved the city with everything she had, and regardless of blood relation, saw Bruce as her true father. One could only imagine the pain she was going through. Not even her adopted siblings, of which she was undoubtedly close to, could father the despair that clung to their sister's very heart; always full of joy and kindness, now aching with pain and loathing.

“She still hasn’t talked, has she?” Dick asks Alfred, who releases a baited sigh.

“Unfortunately so, Master Richard,” Alfred says, “not even at the taunt of her favorite pastries, I’m afraid.”

(Y/N), by all accounts, had fallen mute following the moment in which Dick had disclosed to her the god awful truth that Bruce was gone. Not a word left her lips since her arrival at the Belfry with Alfred in tow, with sentiments that all of Bruce’s children should convene under the same roof for the time being. While the weight in the room was already heavy with frustrations and disagreements amongst the initial four vigilantes, (Y/N)’s aura carried an air of solemness and devastation that speed into the wooden interior of the Belfry far more prominently than any childish fighting that ensued between the siblings. At the head of the congregation, Dick could only watch helplessly as (Y/N), suitcase in hand, rejected any attempts at comfort, trudging off to an unoccupied room that she would claim for the indefinite future.

“I-” Dick wants words to leave his lips, but the barrier of uncertainty controls his brain and provides him very little to speak on. After one sip of the tea he’d taken into his hands, he sits it on the desk in front of him.

“We’ve gotta do something,” he says, “we have to get her back- back to normal.”

Jason cocks an eyebrow and scoffs, “Normal?”

Dick turns to the younger, eyebrow cocked, as if gesturing for Jason to explain further.

“Yes, Jason,” he emphasizes, “or some semblance of it. Have you seen her?”

“Have you?” Jason retorts. His nose scrunches in vexation, the scar trail rippling under his intense frown. He rises from his initial seat in one of the many office chairs that surround the looming monitors, and his hands start to speak before the words leave his mouth.

“I don’t know if your head’s really wrapped around this whole situation here, Dick,” the larger man starts, hand gesturing in a swirling motion in the space before his temple to emphasize his wording, “but that girl up there was the closest to Bruce out of all of us. As far as any of us are concerned, there IS no kind of ‘normal’ anymore for her. What ‘normal’ can she ever go back to?”

“So, what do you say we do,” Dick counters, arms flying out at his sides, matching Jason’s frustrations, “let her rot away and become a shell of herself?”

Dick continues even though Jason has turned from the older, as arguments between the two have always held the same standpoint; where one tries too hard to fix it all, and the other challenges the notion of pushing too hard for a solution that would come in due time. “She’s our sister, and if anything, right now she needs us to help her-!”

“-and if she really wants the help, she’ll come to us!” Jason rebuttals. “(Y/N)’s got a mouth of her own she can use very well, Dick. It’s not like we’ve never encountered this kind of situation before!”

And maybe it’s that Dick Grayson pride that’s shadowing whatever truth may come from Jason’s words, whatever truth that he’s too proud to admit on. Or maybe it’s the helplessness that sinks into his bones whenever he’s seen you at your worst, and he couldn’t do anything about it, and yet it only pushed him harder to try. Yet, Jason would argue that he knew better. He knew better than to peck at a festering wound without allowing it time to register its identity, its origins, its truth. What good would any kind of ‘help’ they could provide, when the verity of your own pain had yet to make itself known?

Bruce’s death killed a piece of all of them, there was no denying that, even for Jason. From you, however, the old man took more than a piece of your heart. No, with the incineration of the Wayne Manor and everything within, Bruce and his death didn’t merely chip off a piece of you with him to the afterlife. His death broke you in ways he, nor the others, nor even yourself could ever understand.

The option was clear to Jason at the time; when you came to terms with the pain, when you would make the first move, then, and only then, would it be fit to provide whatever kind of comfort or support you required. On your terms.

“If she wants help, she knows where she can find it,” Jason reiterates firmly, “on her terms. Pushing it is only gonna make matters worse.”

Dick never listened to Jason, though, never gave his words the benefit of the doubt. Though the cold-shock of an ache in his abdomen told him that perhaps the raven haired man with the white streak of hair had a strong claim, Dick couldn’t back down. He wouldn't. He couldn’t sit by when the voice in his head screamed to knock on your door every morning, willing to risk being met with staggering silence if it meant you knew he was there, or have his ears strain for the slightest chance to hear your door creak open as a sign of life. He couldn’t sit by without at least attempting to try.

“I can’t do that, Jason,” Dick says straightforwardly, “I can’t sit by and watch for the possibility of things to get better on their own; not with her.”

The bickering grew so potent and consuming of one another that the presence of two other individuals had not yet caught their attention. Such has always happened whenever Dick and Jason’s spats grew. Though they rarely happened out of despise or resentment. Their passion lied with the care they had for each other as brothers, and a sibling love as trauma-bonded as theirs was bound to always reach intense heights.

“Well, maybe this experience will humble you,” Jason grumbles, “Golden Boy can’t solve every problem that he runs into-”

“Okay!” Bellows Barbara Gordon, her head-turning introduction silencing the bickering between the eldest boys. She, alongside Tim Drake, make their entrance into the center of the room. She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, the glint from the sun flashes across the lenses and reveals the stern gaze she holds that contrasts with the light lilt in her voice.

“Let’s take a break from your pissing contest,” Barbara says, voice decorated in a warning tone, “so we can talk about what Tim was able to uncover.”

There stands Tim Drake with a smile on his face that screams with pride, and for a second, Jason and Dick’s facial expressions shift into confusion when the younger boy struts towards the monitor display, parting the tension as well as Jason and Dick’s bodies from their close proximity. Tablet in hand, he taps the back of the black case with his fingers giddily. There’s a light in his eye that catches everyone's attention. “I decrypted it!”

“Decrypted what?” Falls from Dick’slips. Barbara allows Alfred to pour her a cup of tea, drinking the dark, warm liquid with gratitude.

“So remember that weird file that popped up after Batman’s last video? The one that was bugging out on the screen, and no matter how many times we tried to open it, it wouldn’t budge?” He doesn’t necessarily wait for an answer; connecting the screen of his tablet to that of the large monitor setup behind him. “So, I tried everything in the book to get it to open. Hex dump, breaking down the encryption algorithm, I even made my own program with a variety of inputs, outputs, passphrases, keys-”

“-you’re losin’ us, kid,” Jason droned, reeling Tim back to the original topic at hand, “just spit it out.”

“-okay, okay,” the young Robin took a deep breath, dramatizing the reveal of his findings, “turns out, it wasn’t encrypted at all! Well, not in the traditional way.”

“Traditional?” Dick raises an eyebrow.

“Remember when Bruce made us all learn Morse Code as part of the beginning stage of our Robin training?”

“Worse part of it, if you ask me.” Jason gruffs.

“Wasn’t particularly fond of it, but yeah, I remember.” Dick hums.

“Geez, maybe that’s why he left this part to me,” Tim muses, unable to shake the sly smile that creeps onto his lips, “he did say I caught on to it faster than you two.”

“The file, Tim! The file!” Barbara reminds him. “Before they start arguing again!”

“Okay, okay! I’m getting there, I promise!” Despite the urging to reveal his findings from all members in the room, Tim’s giddiness was just boiling over. He surely was making the revelation a dramatic endeavor; even Alfred began to tune in to the show. He sets down Tim’s cup of tea in advance for the younger.

“I had to really sit down and analyze the tricky parts of the encryptions - the binary code, the encryption algorithm, trying to find weaknesses in it - and I finally, FINALLY got it!”

Tim grabs one of the rolling chairs, setting his table to the side on the table and taking a seat. He picks up the teacup, takes a swig of the smooth, blended drink, honoring Alfred’s work before setting it aside. On the display monitors, it shows Tim dragging the mouse cursor over to the bugged-out file. Silence follows as mouse clicks fill the room. Dick approaches quizzingly, watching with squinted eyes. Then Jason. Then Barbara. Then Alfred. They all look on with suspicion.

“Bruce must’ve known that as the only Morse Code addict, I would try this at some point,” Tim explains, “and from the banged up passphrase code, I could catch some letters that were used, and so I did the process of elimination…”

He trails off, his careful clicking soon coming to an end. A second passes before the screen goes black. Then, a pop-up appears on the screen.

“Would you like to open this file?” Dick reads.

“Well, duh,” Jason scoffs. Dick and Barbara side-eye him, but he pays no mind to it.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,” Tim clicks the ‘yes’ icon on the screen, and as the pop-up closes, the screen shifts as several pop-ups of other files open into different monitors on the setup. The three older vigilantes (plus one butler) step back, either impressed, in awe, or a state of confused wonder.

“Welcome to Operation: Brown Eyes.”

The other three vigilante look amongst themselves. There's an air of cautious curiosity that covers the room.

“So, on top of this ridiculous last case Bruce left, we also get assigned a side-quest?” Jason concludes.

Dick shoots Jason a cocky smirk, “Looks like my idea wins.” The words reminiscent of Jason's own previous ones spoken upon their first arrival at the Belfry, spoken out of frustration, makes the younger roll his eyes.

Attention shifts to Barbara as she struts past the two men, joining Tim at the desk. A few series of clicks and clacks on keyboard shoots pop-ups of images and description boxes. Alongside them also appear newspaper articles detailing charitable feats that (Y/N) had dedicated time, labor and money towards for the betterment of Gotham. Among them appear the establishment of an arts studio, book drives, and art exhibits, the pages liters with praise and gratitude for the young woman's efforts.

Then, there's the pictures of items also shown, and upon further examination, Dick recognizes at least one of them.

“That paint box,” he starts, once furrowed eyebrows unfurl into an expression of realization, “that's an antique. I remember Bruce getting that for her for her birthday.”

The pictured items, in fact, were all items that had some relevance or connection to (Y/N). Jason figures this out as he notes the hardcover novel amongst them, the jacket being distinguishable to him. From there, it doesn't take him long to figure out the objective of this surprise operation. “He knew.”

Jason grumbles. “The bastard, he knew what to have us do to help her.”

“What do you expect,” Barbara says with a raised eyebrow, “it's Bruce. He prepares for everything; especially the unthinkable.” She directs her gaze up towards the monitor display, biting the inside of her cheek. “As bittersweet as it is.”

“It's like the last case file he gave us,” Tim chimes in, “incomplete. He was probably writing this when Ra's Al-Ghul jumped him, too.”

The soft cluttering of porcelain against silver reminds the four of Alfred's presence, as he gathers the tea pot and accompanying condiment bowls onto the serving tray, “Another thing he'd want the four of you to work together complete, I'm sure.”

His words hold more meaning than what they may appear to have, and the four vigilantes know this for certain. As Alfred takes the tray and embarks towards The staircase to the second level, he can hear the gathering of the four of them, and a faint smile crosses his lips.

Alfred's destination is the one room far off to the southern part of the Belfry Tower. He drops three sugar cubes into the last remaining porcelain teacup as his feet slow, approaching the door. He knocks three times, only to alert the person on the other of his presence, as he did not expect a response.

“Your morning tea, Lady (Y/N),” he announces, setting the teacup and saucer on a smaller serving tray he had tucked under his arm. After rising, clears his throat and speaks again, “I'll return shortly for breakfast.”

Alfred then pads away, serving tray in hand, ears straining for the faint sound of her door creaking open.

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