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How To Stay Conscious When You Drown

Explicit content further on: Minors please DNI.

Dick x Reader AO3 Link

Summary: Dick Grayson is going through hard times, you see that on his face before you even know his name. You reach out a hand to offer comfort without realising he's a man treading water.

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Chapter 1: Expectations She/her reader

Some days Dick feels like the Ringmaster of his life. He’s Centre stage commanding the audience who watch with rapt attention as he directs amazing things across the stage, a single gesture bringing light to something wondrous all while he’s smiling and turning to the audience in the round. 

Other days he feels like the monkey on a chain next to the organ grinder, dancing for cheap thrills and the occasional smile of a passer-by. Out of control of his own life, unable to do anything beyond the sphere of the music, like it’s all he knows except for the occasional reward of a nut or coin. 

Today he feels like the monkey. 

The last week, he has felt like the monkey. 

The last few months…

He drinks his hazelnut coffee with a grimace, the irony of the flavour shot he ordered isn’t lost on him. If he’d thought of this analogy in the queue instead of sat at a table he wouldn’t have ordered the shot of syrup. 

“You’re being way too generous with all the fucks you’re giving.”

The eyes that look up at you when you speak are sad, weighed down by whatever is going on in this guy’s life. You’d seen him in the queue as you had sipped on your hot chocolate. The face journey he was going through looked like it was about more than him trying to decide on his coffee order: He looked like he was wrestling with a bear while chewing wasps. When he’d stepped forward as the queue moved, he’d done so haltingly, like his limbs had started to rust as he’d stood still for longer than two seconds:  Like his body wasn’t used to stopping. You’d finished your drink and eyed the wrapped brownie on the table, decision made without a thought. 

Life is hard. Chocolate is good. A kind stranger is a pit stop on a cross country drive. 

Respite. 

When you speak you give him a small smile, a little lopsided like you can’t quite understand what you’re doing, and you place the brownie in front of him delicately, like it’s some sort of amulet against the horrors of the world.

“Whatever it is, don’t forget to take yourself into account too,” he looks up at you like you’re a riddle to solve and you shrug, “there’s no way of knowing what others expect of you. Only yourself. Take care.” 

With that you leave, and Dick stares down at the brownie wondering if it is wise to apply such succinct advice to his life, delivered from a stranger with a gentle smile. 

Either way, what you said, somehow you’d reached him on the mountain peak of self-pity he’d isolated himself on top of, much to the resignation of those around him. 

He unwraps the brownie and takes a bite. 

It’s maybe two weeks later when you see him again. He looks peaceful, less like he’s wrestling with an angry bear in his mind and more like he’s enjoying his silence and moment of respite without any guilt. You leave him be, buying a hot chocolate and sitting in your usual spot to go through your phone at a leisurely pace. 

A brownie slides into view, pushed across the table, and you look up into easy blue eyes that make you think of forget-me-nots. They’re brighter today. 

“I’m being less generous with those fucks I was giving,” he says it with a smile, and you know those words you’d said to him have played around in his head long enough for them to take root and become something of a mantra.

“That’s good.” When you say it Dick feels like you really do mean that, “do you want to sit?” He sits and places his flat white on the table, you eye the name on the cup with a wry smile, “Did you piss off the barista?”

He looks confused for a moment before looking at his cup and laughing, it sounds airy and relaxed, “My name’s Richard, but I go by Dick.”

You introduce yourself with an easy smile, and he trusts his gut when it tells him you’d be someone worth knowing. There’s a gentleness to your eyes that looks hard won; like you’d gone through things just like anyone else in Bludhaven and came out of the other side wiser but not crueller for it. Not cynical or jaded.

Plastic rustles and he watches you split the brownie in two inside of the wrapper, opening it and offering one end to him. He takes it, feels like he should, and he knows he was right to when you look happier for it.

You both take a bite

Next Chapter

(a/n: This was a self challenge where I put my liked songs on shuffle and wrote a chapter that was inspired by that song while at the same time writing a multi chapter story (it's not a song fic though). Will be explicit later for smut so I've marked it as explicit now.

This chapter was inspired by Expectations- Katie Pruitt)

[mustlovesteve]

Finishing chapter 3/7 of the sequel miniseries this week (it was supposed to be 5 chapters total but what can I say, I always get carried away)!

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How To Stay Conscious When You Drown Ch3

Explicit content further on: Minors please DNI.

Dick x Reader She/her reader AO3 Link

First - Prev Chapter - Next Chapter

Summary: Dick Grayson is going through hard times, you see that on his face before you even know his name. You reach out a hand to offer comfort without realising he’s a man treading water.

Chapter 3: Respite

Sometimes Dick finds his way to your home. You’d already gone through the strange phase of being just-met friends. It was a short phase that was gone through quickly to land in a comfortable routine of crashing at one another’s place when the other was at the wrong end of Blüdhaven. 

So: Sometimes Dick finds his way to your home. Hair wet, bruising and cuts on his knuckles that make you pull him inside and wrap him in a towel that had sat above the radiator until it was the right side of hot. He’s thankful without saying anything, and you know it’s more than he expects, but god it’s less than you think he deserves.

Most nights he takes your couch: Though if you’re lucky, like last night, you can trick him into taking your bed. 

You like to work late, something about the hour sits right with you and your best work is done when the sun is down and the stars are out. 

Dick knocked sometime past three and he looked fit to keel over as he leaned against your door, face and eyes distorted as you look through the peep hole. The fun house mirror effect didn’t dim the tired look in his eyes and the way he stumbled when you started to open the door. 

He was malleable enough that you guided him to your bed without a fuss until he realised where you’d placed him. 

“Can’t take your bed,” He’d murmured, starting to rise until your hands on his shoulders halted his efforts far too easily.

“You can, I’m working,” he didn’t need to know you were about to turn off and go to sleep yourself.

He’d sagged as you’d dried his hair with a towel, the rain pouring outside and hitting the window in tune with his grumbles and sighs, leaning his head against your stomach as you’d stood between his legs.

“Rest,” it was a simple command that he followed easily, laying back into your bed wearily and you’d watched him for a moment before going back out and turning off for the night.

It’s still raining when you wake. Looking down to the streets you see the tops of no-nonsense black umbrellas passing by, the midweek rush to work pulling people into the downpour.

Dick is still sleeping; you can hear his soft breathing as you tiptoe around and occupy yourself until he starts to stir.

He’s always slow to wake after nights like last night.

You know you don’t have much in to make breakfast with but you have enough.

The scent of it draws him out of the dozing state he’d been floating in for a good little while. The soft waking is much nicer than the sudden one he would have had if he’d remembered to turn on his alarm.

You tap on the door and he calls you in, wiping at his face as he looks over the text message notifications he’d received through the night.  They don’t look like they were pleasant messages but you don’t say anything as you hand him coffee and banana pancakes.

“It’s all I had in,” the words are nearly lost to the rain that’s throwing itself against your windows, not that it’s that loud but you were more quiet, gentle in the just-woken atmosphere of the bedroom.

Just some bananas and eggs, a little bit of baking powder: They rise up nice, and a little drizzle of honey sweetens them enough for Dick’s taste. 

He takes the plate and you fetch your own before sitting on top of the sheets facing Dick, his leg and your leg only separated by the cover. He still wonders at how fast you’d become comfortable with each other.

“This is good,” he says as he takes his third bite. The bedroom is dim, mid-morning sun hidden by grey clouds whose rains dull the din of the city.

He sounds tired: The usual boundless energy you associate with Dick wanes every now and then, like he runs on empty. You don’t think he realises he comes here to refuel, to escape for a while, he just does it.

It feels both intimate and familiar, Dick sat in your bed shirtless and eating banana pancakes with slow savouring bites. The honey clings to his lip and his tongue darts out, gathering the sweetness in one swipe as he loads his fork for the next bite. You pull your gaze away to the night stand where his phone lights up, on silent, another message on top of the other ignored and unopened messages. He notices your gaze but before he turns to look, you speak, “You can stay in bed a bit longer, wake up slow. It’s going to rain all day.”

His smile is gentle, he doesn’t miss a beat and you can’t pull one over him. You know he knows his phone has been blowing up since last night. “As long as you stay,” it’s a question without being one, and you stand gathering up the empty plates and cups, before returning with your tablet. You settle on top of the covers and rest the tablet on your knee, sliding it open you find the series you last watched together, something you’d both seen before so it was easy watching. 

Dick rests his head on your shoulder, warm against your arm as he dozes and watches contentedly, your body between him and his phone which continues to light up with demands and messages.

There’s a relief inside of him, Dick thinks, it’s like there’s no world outside beyond the grey rain that hits the windows and blurs everything else beyond it. Just you and him, now. He’s happy.

Next Chapter

A/N: This chapter was inspired by Banana Pancakes by Jack Johnson. I like the thought of Dick just having someone to escape from everything with. Updates Fridays (or Saturdays).

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How To Stay Conscious When You Drown Ch6

Explicit content further on: Minors please DNI.

Dick x Reader She/her reader AO3 Link

First - Prev Chapter - Next Chapter

Summary: Dick Grayson is going through hard times, you see that on his face before you even know his name. You reach out a hand to offer comfort without realising he’s a man treading water.

Chapter 6: Memento

Dick is leaning against your apartment door frame with tired eyes and his clothes are already dishevelled, looking like he’s gone to the club without you before realising you aren’t with him.

“Are you ready?” He breathes out. His smile is easy and light, but you can tell he’s exhausted from his face and the way he’s near-supporting himself on the door.

“Are you?” you ask with a small laugh, “Come in, sit down, you look exhausted Dick.”

The tilt of your head is soft, but he knows you won’t budge, so after a moment he slumps in and sits heavily on your couch, head resting against the back. He’s not sure how long it’s been since he closed his eyes when he feels the couch dip next to him, but when he opens them, your high-heeled black shoes are gone, tight clad legs curled up underneath you, and you’ve got two glasses of wine in your hands and between your teeth is a leaflet for the local Chinese takeout he likes.

“Babe, no, we’ve had this planned for ages, I told you I’d take you out,” he sighs, but against his words he doesn’t move, like he doesn’t have the energy, and it’s a pointless protest. You hand him a wine glass, the wine well aired since you’d opened it a couple of hours ago while you’d gotten ready, pampering yourself for a proper date night with Dick.

“I’m a cheap date,” you smile, “Not really one for fancy French food anyway,” leaning forward you press a kiss to his lips, and you feel him lean into it, exhaustion keeping him from chasing you further when you pull back, “I prefer takeout and making out.”

It gets a huff of a laugh out of Dick and you know you’ve won: Even if you had wanted to go out, staying home with Dick, legs entwined on the couch with empty takeout containers and your favoured corner shop wine, is something you prefer so much more.

Dick can’t help but feel bad, watching you as you sip on your wine and look over the menu (he knows you’ll end up ordering the same thing you always have, you always do). He can see the effort you put into your clothes, hair beautifully styled, nails shining with fresh polish, and a little black dress with tights. As nice as you look with heels, he finds the sight of you done up so nicely without them on strangely intimate.

“I’ve let you down again.” He sighs, reaching a hand out to rest on your knee that’s only visible since your dress has ridden up to your thigh as you’ve curled comfortably.

You give him a look, eyebrow raised with a twist of a smile on your pretty lips, “You’re here, and that’s all I want from a date, Dick.” You put your wineglass on the coffee table and flop carefully next to him opening the menu for him to see as he takes a sip of his own wine. “If I get prawn toast will you split it with me? They always send too much.” The topic change is obvious to him but he lets it happen, giving into the comfortable and cozy night in with you, knowing he’ll need it before the next couple of days ahead.

Bruce had called him, wanting him back in Gotham for a mission first thing in the morning, but even while Dick himself was in the middle of interrupting a kidnapping he thought of you and told him “Not tonight… I’ll be there tomorrow.” And even with Bruces protests he’d cut short the call and headed home to get ready to take you out after he’d finished. He doesn’t know how he deserves you, but he’s glad he has you all the same.

“Yeah, I’ll split it.” He says, knowing you won’t get it if he doesn’t, and he knows you like them even if they’re not his favourite starter. Looking at you he can feel himself soften, can hear it in his voice and feel it in the way his focus is on only you, “What are you getting?”

“I don’t know, I might try the curry…” You say, eyes skimming the menu as he watches you, a gentle smile pulling on his mouth.

“Yeah?” he says, endearment colouring his question.

“Well… Maybe- No, I’ll stick with the noodles.”

“I love you.” It’s not the first time he’s said it, it won’t be the last, but the tenderness in his voice has you stilling a moment, smiling before you’re leaning into him, pressing a kiss against his lips. Even with how tired he is, he pulls you into his lap to kiss you back, large hands spread underneath your thighs as he holds you close.

“I love you too.” You hum it against his lips and it’s the sweetest song he’s ever heard.

It’s not the way you looked when you opened the door that sticks in Dick’s mind the next day as he drives to Gotham, ready for an exhausting weekend: It’s the way you’d curled against him in your comfortable pyjamas, kissing him with lips that tase a little like the noodles you’d eaten, the tang of wine on your tongue.

When he left this morning he watched you for a moment from your doorway, the sight of you sleeping soundly, is one he sears into his mind to carry with him, like a photograph in a wallet; arm stretched into the empty space of the bed having sought him out already even though he’d only been up for fifteen minutes.

He’ll carry you with him, he thinks, a home away from home.

Next Chapter

A/N: This chapter was inspired by Cheap Date by Caitlyn Smith . It's been a busy December and I hope you're all doing well. I cheated with this one because I slotted it in after already writing chapter 6 and realising it was way too heavy too quick. I wanted this to be softer, gentler, even with that sad spin I tend to put on things. Anyway, Merry Christmas for tomorrow, hopefully be back posting for new year.

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How To Stay Conscious When You Drown Ch2

Explicit content further on: Minors please DNI.

Dick x Reader She/her reader AO3 Link

First - Next Chapter

Summary: Dick Grayson is going through hard times, you see that on his face before you even know his name. You reach out a hand to offer comfort without realising he’s a man treading water.

Chapter 2: Home

That first time you sat together in the coffee shop was the first of a few times where you both found respite inside of the warm café. At first it was pure coincidence that you or Dick would be in there when the other turned up. Some days you’d stayed in your seat just a little longer, cradling the cooling mug just in case he walked through the door with the sound of a bell above his head and his blue eyes scanning the room to find you there, but most times he didn’t.

You wouldn’t know but sometimes he did the same, lingering just in case today would be a day when your paths crossed without the awkwardness of wanting to text you to see if you wanted to meet up.

The times you did cross paths the sun was low and heavy in the sky, like a ripe orange on a branch. The sunset filled the café for a short while, before passing between two tall buildings further inward of the city.

You’d always have a baked good sitting waiting, but the thing he looked forward to most of all was the easy smile you had for him.

There was something about his life, the way he lives, Dick thinks, that has him with his guard up all the time, even when it doesn’t need to be. That smile though? It’s disarming. He feels his soul put down its weapons, almost wearily, as he slumps into the seat opposite you with a gentle, “hey,” and the sound of a wrapper being opened as you ask him how he is.

Bathed in the hazy orange glow of the setting sun one evening he feels like you’ve found a crack in his wall and he can’t help but sigh.

“I’ve been… Fighting, with my- He was my guardian.”

“That sucks,” and honestly, it’s all he wanted to hear. Clark often tried to give advice erring on the side of giving Bruce leeway for being emotionally constipated, but Dick’s sick of doing that. He couldn’t go to Alfred without feeling guilty, without being on Bruce’s turf, and anyone else was too ready for gossip and pumped him for details that had him regretting he’d even said anything in the first place.

“Yeah… It does.” He takes a sip of his coffee as you tuck turn your hand on the table, soaking in the warmth of the setting sun that paints your palm amber.

“Is it a fight worth fighting?” you look up at him, “or is it that you’re both angry about something else altogether?” Dick thinks for a moment. He looks troubled, same as he did when you’d first seen him in this café those weeks ago. He looks tired.

“He just treats me like I don’t know what I’m doing,” there’s frustration in his voice, in his eyes as he stares down into his hot coffee, fingertip tapping on the side of his mug, “like he didn’t go off on his own when he was my age and try to find a cause, an identity of his own.”

“Maybe he didn’t know what he was doing when he was doing the same,” you tilt your head, the fading light of the sun on the horizon setting in the west sending splashes of colour through the loose strands. “and he thinks the same of you, because he doesn’t know otherwise,” Dick huffs and you give him a gentle smile.

“Every time I go home we just fight,” even now, a fair amount of years into being in Bludhaven full time he misses home, but sometimes he wonders if it’s the memory of what home was that he misses. When he walks through the halls of Wayne Manor it doesn’t feel the same as it used to even though nothing has changed.

Well… Maybe Dick has changed.

“If you went home, and he wasn’t there to fight with, would it still be home?” you ask over your mug as the last of the intense orange light of dusk kisses your skin before it fades.

Dick mulls over your words, turning them over in his mind in the companionable quiet. You watch him as he thinks, recalling how easily you could read him that first time you saw him, and now it’s much the same: There’s a softening that comes over his brow, through his eyes, the grip on his mug relaxing as his shoulders sag.

The hollow sound of your mug being placed on the table brings him out of his reverie and he realises he’d been quiet for a while, but now he feels lighter, less bothered.

“Let me walk you home.” He says, grabbing his coat after finishing the last generous mouthful of coffee.

“Alright.” You smile. He’s never asked before, you’ve just parted ways in the shop and linked up again some unset time. As the clouds above turn to cotton candy pink and finally grey you walk through Bludhaven. Conversation is relaxed now as Dick fills you in on the last couple of weeks, and you talk about your own as well until you come to a stop outside of your apartment building.

“So… Are you going home?” Dick knows you’re not asking him if he’s going back to his apartment, and there’s an open curious expression on your face that lets him know you won’t judge him either choice he makes. “Yeah, I’m going home.”

A/N: Like the others in this story this chapter was inspired by a song, this one was Far from home by Daniel Gad and Sal. I just wanted to expand on their relationship a bit more before it became more familiar. Updates Fridays (or Saturdays).

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How To Stay Conscious When You Drown Ch4

Explicit content further on: Minors please DNI.

Dick x Reader She/her reader AO3 Link

First - Prev Chapter - Next Chapter

Summary: Dick Grayson is going through hard times, you see that on his face before you even know his name. You reach out a hand to offer comfort without realising he’s a man treading water.

Chapter 4: Trapeze

When did everything get so complicated for the simplest thing Dick had going on in his life? This question rattles around his mind for the fifth time that week, and it’s only Tuesday morning.

He’s weary, again, and he knows why. There’s a text from Bruce, he has skimmed it once and left it unanswered but he knows it warrants a reply: It’s about responsibility and expectations and he reminds himself that he should be less generous with the fucks he gives.

Then he’s back around to thinking about you.

And how complicated he’s making things.

Never in his life has he been careful with his feelings, to his own ruin sometimes. He knows he loves like he’s on a trapeze; one moment his hands are on the bars and he’s safe and grounded to the world through wires and metal, and the next he’s leaping, soaring, and falling in love again.

Usually there are eager hands reaching out to hold his, to carry his love that he gives so easily and happily: He knows he’s handsome, a charmer, and it’s easy to see him and fall under a glamour.

But you?

Maybe you’re the trapeze.

Even the rooftops of Gotham can’t distract his racing mind and he finds he’s made his way to the apartment building across from yours to check in on you. If he’s being honest with himself he misses you, the distance he’s forced for the last couple of weeks while he’s tried to sort his mess of a head out hasn’t dulled how much he wants to leap and reach out to you.

Outside of the apartment he can see there are flowers pushing up through the cracks between the bricks on your windowsill, small poppy-like ones that bend outwards to a sun that doesn’t shine much but it is still enough for them.

There’s movement at the window and he watches as you slide it open, a bottle of water in your hand, tilting it you pour the smallest bit of water over the bricks, enough for the plant to thrive in a hostile environment.

You snap a picture of it with your phone and tap a little on the screen as you lean out of the window, hair caught in the breeze that slips between the tall buildings. Dick’s phone vibrates and he pulls it out to see it’s him you’re texting.

He opens it and sees the flower up close, a strange one with pale white petals that are almost translucent with a blackish centre. ‘What’s the bet this is a weird poison ivy plant that will start talking if I keep it?’

He reads up to the last few texts you’ve sent him and his own responses gently blowing you off: He winces, they’re short and apologetically dismissive. Your replies are understanding and open, ready for him whenever.

‘Chances are pretty high, I’d have to check it out before I put my money down,’ his fingers are loose on the bar, he thinks, watching as you tuck hair behind your ear and regard the plant again, before replying.

‘My door’s always open. Well it’s not, it’s Blüdhaven but you know what I mean. Miss you, I hope you’re doing alright?’

How can you read him so well when you haven’t even seen him? He sees worry on your face from where he’s sitting and knows you’ve noticed his absence.

Writing and deleting the text and writing it again a few times before he sends it is an exercise in futility. He wants to explain his absence, but he knows you don’t need an explanation. He wants to ask you if you’re the trapeze or the catcher, but you wouldn’t understand. He wants to tell you he’ll be right over to look at your weird plant, but he’s so aware his hands on the bar won’t hold and when he sees you he’d take that leap and let go, hoping you’ll catch him and he didn’t just let go of you.

‘I’ll be there in an hour?’  Is what he ends up typing and sending.

The momentum he’s gathered, swinging on that trapeze is too built up to ignore, and when you open the door to him an hour later he leaps, hands cupping your cheeks while he bends to kiss you, almost breathless with effort.

Your hands slide over his easily, warm and firm.

Next Chapter

A/N: This chapter was inspired by So Complicated by The Noisettes. . This was surprisingly easy to write, I think Dick's an emotional guy and loves easy but isn't used to someone being not obviously smitten by him when he feels this way. Ahhh I have to say I love this chapter. Updates between fridays and sundays

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How To Stay Conscious When You Drown Ch5

Explicit content: Minors please DNI.

Dick x Reader She/her reader AO3 Link

First - Prev Chapter - Next Chapter

Summary: Dick Grayson is going through hard times, you see that on his face before you even know his name. You reach out a hand to offer comfort without realising he’s a man treading water.

Chapter 5 (NSFW): Catcher

Dick reminds you of Blüdhaven.

Changeable and endless.

Above you he moves and you fit together so perfectly.

His hands had rested on your cheeks, rough and strong but hesitant. You place your hands on his and he almost moans in relief as you kiss him back.

The door shuts at the push of his foot and you’re moving together through your apartment like leaves blowing in the wind together, turning and tumbling before coming to a stop on your bed. Dick is above you with eyes like stars in the night sky as his body moves up yours like a tide ready to sweep everything away.

Dick reminds you of Blüdhaven in that he can’t do anything by a half measure and he’s easy to get lost in. You reach out for his face, feeling his breathing heavy against your body, “Are you alright, Dick?”.

You’re worried. He can see it in your eyes and he starts to move out of your space, unsure and a little wounded. Your hand curls under his bicep and stops him, eyes seeking his for a sign of surety, he supposes. You sit up, entering the space he had given you to press closer.

“Are you okay?” The question is punctuated by a kiss, and he doesn’t know if he’s alright because he’s sure this is the first time he’s fallen into bed with someone and they haven’t been swept away with the feel and movement of him. It’s the first time in a while someone’s asked him in this vulnerable state if he’s okay.

It shakes him.

“I- “, he licks his lips, breath halting in his hollow chest. “I want more of you.” How can he tell you what he means when English is so limited. He doesn’t think there’s a language in the universe that can encapsulate how he wants to be surrounded by what you give him and what you are; peace, kindness, a pit stop, a place to exist as he is, somewhere he can grow with what little the world gives that it doesn’t instantly take away. To ask for more of you is the best he can do. “Please?”

You give him all of you.

His hands slip along your body, sampling curves he’ll visit later with his mouth and teeth. There’s a desperation to him you understand, it’s the same pull to his push that has you breathing in his air like it’s a new source of life. 

His lips find yours again and you fall together.

Clothes are removed with no fanfare, just a barrier to pass so you can feel each other’s skin against your own, you’ll take in the naked planes of each other later. His kisses trail away from your open mouth to your neck where he noses at your skin delicately before licking and sucking like he wants to consume you. Your nails scrape across his scalp and he grinds into you with a moan, his erection hard and thick against your inner thigh 

His fingers seek, and find, the warmth between your legs, thighs opening to him as he trails a hand upward to stop at your folds. The wetness he finds there has him biting your lip as you moan at the feather-light touch. He slips fingers between your folds, stroking and exploring your most intimate shape in soft sweeps that send you light headed.

Words are lost to you, but never to Dick, he murmurs your name into your skin, “you feel so good,” he slowly pushes a finger inside of you, swallowing your sigh of pleasure with a kiss as he caresses your cheek with his thumb, “’m gonna make you feel so good.” He adds another finger, your wetness allowing it to slip inside easily, he crooks both gently and strokes at that spongy spot inside that makes your breath stutter. 

His thumb slips upward to your clit and strokes gently at first, fingers moving inside of you with each twist of his wrist, and you hold him close as you gasp and writhe, your breath in his ear turning into moans of his name. It goads him on and he practically growls as he captures your lips in another sweet kiss, the push and pull of his fingers making your body hum as the sound of your wetness fills the room along with both of your moans. You can barely stand how good it makes you feel, it’s somehow both too much and not enough at the same time.

You come with a cry, hips rocking into his pumping hand as you’re lost to the pull of him, he takes all that you would give. His heated eyes watch yours as they lose focus, and when you come back to yourself, he’s still watching, looking hungry and pleased all at once. His fingers caress two more times, before he lifts them to his mouth to taste you with a groan. You watch, rapt, as he licks at his lips like you’re honey clinging to them. 

You enter his space, leaning up to him like a flower to the sun, and capture his lips with yours, tasting yourself on him. His tongue meets yours and the caress of it drives the both of you mad. Your fingers trail hurried across his stomach, feeling the texture change of soft skin to silk-soft scars you’ve seen before but said nothing of. You feel his breath and body stop-start as you go over a particularly large scar, maybe he’s wondering if you’ll ask, maybe it’s sensitive, either way you carry on just the same: he’s Dick to you, whatever his scars.

Your palm meets the thickness of his erection, and you swirl your fingers along the top, gathering his precum to help with the slide of your hand. He bucks up, an aborted gasp stopping in his throat as you squeeze and pump. He almost whines at the twist of your wrist and caress of your fingers along the underside of his shaft, the sound going straight to your core as his cock weeps. 

“What do you need, Dick?”, you ask as he bucks into your hand, his eyes lidded in a pleasure he’s almost lost to, an expression of near relief on his face. 

“More,” he breathes, “please, want you, want you so badly.” He makes it sound like an ache, like he needs to be surrounded by you. You answer with a nod and a kiss, shifting below him to angle yourself to him and he sinks in slowly, easily, cock making a path through your wetness to a full sheath deep inside of you, deep enough it could almost hurt if it didn’t feel so good. 

Dick must feel your body tense, teetering on the edge of pleasure and pain, he soothes kisses along your neck that melt you in his arms as he slowly pulls back out. He feels big, and your walls are tight around him, the slide of him making you both groan as he pushes back in excruciatingly slowly.

It’s an imperfect rhythm you both find at first, but it feels good even as you huff a laugh together at the clumsiness of it; the angle of his hips between your thighs makes perfectly lewd wet sounds as your body arches to meet him and his body bows to encompass you. His hand finds the small of your back, fingers splayed over your skin as he holds you close and tight to meet his thrusts while his other hand courses along your side. 

His head falls to the crook of your neck, drunk of the feel of you, too much to do anything but thrust into you and press open mouthed kisses against the soft of your throat, breathing you in deeply in between.

There’s a noise, a choke in his breath as he angles himself to drive deeper still and your head falls back in a gasp, Dick lifts his head, eyes blown and dark as he takes you in, completely lost to the feel of him thrusting in and up so his tip caresses you in ways that make you dizzy.

“Fuck- I-“ you breathe out, hearing Dick groan above you as he sits on his knees to watch you underneath him, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hip, holding you in place. When you manage to open your eyes (when had they even shut?) he’s pulling one of your legs over his shoulder, placing a gentle kiss on your calf like he misses the contact of his lips against your skin already.

“You want to come, sweetheart?” he asks, voice husky and raw, “you’re gripping me so tight, can feel you wanna come for me.” His words go straight to your cunt and you spasm around him, on the brink but not wanting to go alone again.

“Please, Dick, I want-“ you put your hand over his on your hip, holding it there as his thrusts begin to falter in their reliable pattern, “Come with me, Dick.”

Your eyes, though glossy with want, are focused on him as he pants and he can’t help give in to the wet and tight feel of you around him, the soft plush of your thigh wrapped around his hip while he holds your other leg up to thrust deeper still, the sight of your beautiful face flushed with sex and want.

His hand comes down between your legs, almost clumsily, and he thumbs through your wetness to stroke your swollen clit; once, twice, and then you’re undone. Your walls flutter around him as you cry out, trying to pull him further in, to pull him to completion. His breath catches as he comes, cock twitching deep within your walls as his hips stutter clumsily.

Dick slowly pulls out after a moment, leaning down to press a kiss between your breasts, an easy smile tugging at his soft lips as he looks up at you like the cat who got the cream and you reach down with steady hands to guide him back up your body, to lay over you gently: Your hands are gentle as your fingers card through his hair, pressing a kiss to his nose as you do.

He looks down at you and your soft smile, feels the softness of your skin underneath his body pressed against yours, basks in the soft warmth of just being with you.

You remind Dick of Blüdhaven, he thinks, because you feel like home.

Next Chapter

A/N: This chapter was inspired by Humbug Mountain Song by Fruit Bats (haha) . The last chapter was leading up to this, I've tried to continue that vibe of Dick being a vulnerable guy that falls into a lust or love easily, and sort of heal that I guess? Never beta'd. Thanks for the likes and reblogs as always, more chapters to come.

[lealdern]

How To Stay Conscious When You Drown Ch7

Explicit content further on: Minors please DNI.

Dick x Reader She/her reader AO3 Link

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Dating Dick Grayson is strange, to say the least. You see him more than you had before but there’s still some distance that he keeps between you, like a glass wall neither of you can cross, though you both linger at the barrier all the same.

There’s no reason for this that you can think of beyond his emotional availability. That first night when he’d held your face in his hands and looked at you like you were the answer to a question he didn’t even think he could articulate was the beginning of something wonderful, but it wasn’t the solution you think he hoped it was.

He’s attentive, and caring, and an amazing lover… When he’s there.

And he’s been low contact for over a week now, only sending short reassuring messages when you text him, and you’re concerned but not annoyed: You understand he’s like a tide that flows in and out of your life. Sometimes he’s an all-consuming presence that sweeps you away in his roll and tumble, other times he’s so withdrawn while you’re left high and dry.

Resigned to another night of late work alongside some frozen leftover soup you start to head to your bedroom to change when you hear a tap on the window: The window that’s seven floors above the ground with no fire escape outside of it.

It slides open before you have a chance to move, to grab pepper spray from your handbag or a knife from the kitchen, and a figure tumbles in, clumsy and groaning.

Nightwing.

You’d never seen him before but you’re familiar with the grainy CCTV images the newspapers and magazines sport when he’s done something they deem worth writing about.

There’s a large gash across his stomach and side, blood flowing much too freely to be anything good.

He mumbles something as you run into the bathroom, grabbing a towel and your first aid kit, though you know it doesn’t contain anything useful for this situation: Plasters and a shock blanket can only go so far. When you come back, phone in hand and 911 dialled you startle when his hand wraps around your wrist in a snake-like strike.

“No- No ambulance.” He murmurs your name, hand reaching up to his face to peel away the mask over his eyes and you’re staring at the glazed eyes of Dick Grayson. He winces, words lost in his throat as you press the towel down against the gash on his stomach, well aware of the blood that’s already coating your knees where you kneel on the floor.

“I can’t fix this,” the words are a near hiss, fear and anger mingling together to create something that dilutes the shock of what is happening; of knowing your boyfriend is Nightwing at the same time as you know he’s far too pale and the wound is far too deep. “You’re going to bleed out.”

“He’s- he’s coming,”

“Who?”

“Bat… Batman.” Dick swallows thickly and you see his eyes go over your shoulder just as you become aware of the displacement of air in the room, molecules shifting to make space for the hulk of void that stands behind you.

For a moment you freeze, body coiled and tight, ready to attack at a hair trigger movement, even if the primal part of you knows that the Batman is something to run from. If he sees the fight in your eyes, the way you shift to block Dick away from him, he doesn’t say anything, and instead crouches next to you and pulls something from his belt that folds open to a white sheet, about hand towel size. He moves your hands away from Dick’s side, gentle considering the urgency of the situation but still firm, and presses the sheet to his side.

The bloody towel feels sickly-warm in your hands and you watch as the sheet moulds against Dick’s side, seizing and puffing up while a low groan escapes Dick’s mouth.

“Does he have clothes here?” Batman looks to you, white of his lenses piercing white and you feel like a deer in headlights, “Jeans, tshirt, anything?”

“Y-Yeah.” You stand, rubbing your bloody hands across the front of your tshirt as you do, and head to your bedroom to fetch the clothes Dick had left in the drawer you’d emptied out for him to use. For a moment you startle at the sight of the blood on your hands as they hover over a black tshirt and blue jeans.

When you return, Dick looks far too pale, hair plastered to his forehead as he blinks slow and speaks to Batman, who is steadily removing the Nightwing suit from his body.

“Call an ambulance,” Batman instructs, taking the clothes from you, “tell them he got attacked and came home and passed out.” The orders are clear and it’s what you need right now to function, so you nod and kneel down next to Dick on the opposite side to Batman.

The call feels distant in your mind, thoughts a rush as Batman manoeuvres Dick into the tshirt first, and then the jeans. He takes the bloody towel and squeezes out some of the soaked-up blood to coat the tshirt clothes in just the right places, before he takes a knife to cut the tshirt in a near perfect imitation of the slash on Dick’s stomach.

You rattle off your address to the man on the phone, distracted as you think on how this is like a well-rehearsed costume change backstage at the theatre, fine-tuned and precise to the minute.

Dick’s hand slides into your sticky one and you startle, looking down to find Dick looking up at you with what he must think is an encouraging smile but is more a waning grimace.

You squeeze his hand.

He squeezes back, weakly.

“Stay awake,” you can hear the waver in your voice, knowing you’re close to that first choke of a sob, “Don’t you dare pass out.” The words are harsh, spoken through clenched teeth as you fight to keep yourself grounded and useful.

The man on the phone assures you that the paramedics are nearly there and you look up to see Batman lifting up Dick’s t-shirt, hands settling at the side of the stiff white bandage-like-thing that’s keeping Dick’s blood where it should be: Like he’s about to peel it away.

“What are you-“ He ignores you, focusing- listening even, for something you can’t hear.

Dick squeezes your hand, “’s okay, don’ worry,” he slurs and you look at him gone out.

Anything you were going to say is lost when batman peels away the thing and presses the towel back against Dick’s side as there’s a pounding at your door. You stand, vaguely hearing the woman on the phone telling you to open the door for the paramedics, and you open the door.

When the paramedics walk through you turn to watch them surround Dick, and see that Batman is gone, the dark outside of the closed window suspiciously void-like.

You dismiss him, heading back to Dick’s side as they stabilise him as best as they can before putting him on a gurney.

He drifts in and out, skin looking more grey than anything else, eyes truly glassy as his breathing shallows and you rub a sticky thumb over the back of his hand, both of you marked by his blood.

It’s as though you drift in and out as well, the journey to the ambulance, to the hospital, feeling like abstract snapshots. At the hospital he’s swept away, and a kind but distracted nurse guides you away from the staring eyes of others in the emergency room, takes you somewhere you can wash your hands.

Even when your hands are clean you linger in the quiet for a moment longer, the hum of the white light above and the tightness of the walls around you makes it feel like a liminal space, somewhere it’s okay to linger for just a moment because time won’t pass here, and nothing terrible will happen.

Taking a deep breath, you head back out and the nurse finds you again, a more alert look in her eyes, “Come this way.”

She guides you along the corridor to a private room, the white board on the outside having ‘Grayson’ written in thin green marker. She shows you inside and you wait, the space where the bed would be feeling like a marker of something awful, so you avert your eyes and stare at the blood that’s guttered in your fingernails and dried, blood you couldn’t scrub off without a nail brush.

The cream coloured t-shirt you were wearing has a gory smear of your handprint on it, the sight keeps your attention until someone clears their throat at the doorway, and you look up.

Bruce Wayne.

You know of him without an introduction.

You’d forgot Dick’s-… Bruce, would likely come.

“How is he?” He asks, voice a rumble that fills the room even if it’s low and quiet.

“Still in surgery,” you answer blandly.

He nods and the room quiets; you have nothing to say to this man on a good day, nothing that Dick would forgive you for saying, anyway. Right now, you feel like a frayed live-wire; a quiet danger that, if touched or prodded, would likely deliver a fatal charge.

You wait, quiet, camped out on opposite sides of the room like the strangers you are, until the connection that tethers you both is pushed into the room on a bed, unconscious and hooked up to slow-dripping blood and fluids. Swallowing at the sight of Dick, still grey, still wan with dark under-eyes, you bite the inside of your cheek until you taste blood: The assurance that he’s going to be fine assuages your collapsing heart, but the sight of him laying there, having been so close to death, still pulls everything good from you.

“What happened?” Bruce Wayne asks, the first words from his mouth since your solemn and silent vigil began.

“Muggers.” You say, quiet and without explanation, and Bruce nods, seemingly satisfied, though at what you’re not sure.

Dick is… Vulnerable: You feel like an animal protecting their wounded, and in your mind, Bruce is a threat: It’s taking a lot not to snip at him with bared teeth and sharp words.

You think Bruce knows; he stays a quiet solid presence across from you that feels just as lethal as your own.

There’s something to be handed to the man, though, he doesn’t even try for small talk in the hours that you’re sat waiting for the moment Dick cracks open his eyes with a low hitch of a breath turned groan. You don’t say anything about what you’d seen: The costume, The Batman, the blood on both your hands. Instead, you run your fingers through his hair and try not to cry, try to ignore the void of a man that watches you as you press your forehead to Dick’s as you both just breathe in each other’s air in relief.

Everything else can come another day, or even never, that’s fine by you.

Next Chapter

A/N: In my head the “bandage” expands and packs the wound internally but I didn’t know how to explain that while not coming out of the narration, if that makes sense. Inspired by 'Your Biggest Mistake' by Ellie Goulding. Initially this chapter’s inspiration song was supposed to be Tribute by Tenacious D but I let myself skip that one when it came on shuffle for obvious reasons.