Till Dewey Comes Back From The Dead

!!!!!!!!! yessssss PLEASS

There’s A String Tied to My Lower Left Rib, Third From The Bottom

dick grayson x afab!reader

aka the professional boyfriend

warnings: she/her pronouns used, reader wears dresses, sexual content at the end (18+)

Dick Grayson is a vigilante. He’s a master martial artist and gymnast. He’s something of a playboy and a heavy flirt. But the claim he really takes pride in is that he’s basically a professional boyfriend. That he’s your professional boyfriend.

And pride really is the right word. He’s so proud that he gets to have this pretty girl on his arm and buy her pretty things even when you insist you have enough. He loves getting to help you take your makeup off when you’re too tired and make you laugh like it’s his job. He’s absolutely gratified that he gets to be your prodigal, sweet boyfriend that, despite your protests, insisted on carrying all five of your shopping bags for you.

You step over an uneven stretch in the sidewalk and lean slightly against Dick’s shoulder. “I’m worried the navy one is too…much.” You say, thinking back to how the blue cocktail dress fit on you, how it stopped barely below your ass.

He furrows his eyebrows with a pout, “Too much?”

You look over at him, matching his expression. “It’s really short. I mean it’s cute and I like it, but…I don’t know, this is kind of a fancy event isn’t it?” 

He puckers his lips, shaking his head. “Short’s good. I like short.” Yeah, you’d noticed with the way his eyes had been glued to the hem of your dress, willing it to slip up just a little more.

You laugh, “And I’m sure you and all the old businessmen will appreciate it greatly.”

His face drops at that, not thrilled at the prospect of those, usually very sleazy, old men getting to see so much of you. “The black one’s good too.”

You peer over into one of the bags, “Or there’s the red one with the—”

Dick shakes his head quickly, “Not red.”

You snicker at that, knowing full well what his problem is with it. “Then why did I get it?”

“Just for me.” He pauses, “Or for something my brother won’t be at.” He mumbles, scanning both sides of the street. He shuffles the bags in his right hand onto his forearm so he can take your hand in his as you step into the road. “No, the black one looked great on you. And we won’t have to go searching for a matching tie.” 

Once you reach the other side he lets go of your hand and he circles behind you, nudging you over to the inside of the sidewalk.

You glance down at the row of bags littering his arms and the red indents beginning to mark his skin. “Will you please let me hold some?” You frown.

“Will you please hold my hand?” He echoes, matching your serious tone with faux urgency of his own. You deadpan him but take his hand anyway. You don’t notice it, but he’s got a dedicated gaze focused on your fingers intertwined in his.

You continue on down the street, hand in hand, the warm sun shining on your necks. You pick up the pace a bit as you approach your apartment building, aiming to get the door for your boyfriend. You reach for the handle only for Dick to call out, “Don’t touch that!” followed by him clamoring like you’re about to touch a hot coal, rushing over to beat you to the punch.

“Oh my god..” you mumble to yourself, biting back a smile. The bags haphazardly fall further down his arms, no doubt uncomfortably as he pulls the door open for you, pretending to be far more eloquent than he actually was. He gestures you in and smiles sweetly at you when you give him a flat look. 

“What is wrong with you?” You ask, glancing over your shoulder at him with amusement glittering across your face as you dig for your keys.

“Not a thing.” He grins, watching with adoration as you open the apartment door. Frankly, you’re surprised he didn’t attempt to juggle the bags and unlock the door himself.

He kicks the door shut behind him as you help slide the bags off of his wrists, piling them on the counter. “When do we need to leave?”

“Uh…” he glances at the wall clock, “Not till seven.” He places his hands nicely on your waist, looking down at your lips. “You wanna get something to eat before we go?”

You muse, “This is the one with those mini stakes, isn’t it?” He nods. “No, I wanna get my fill on those. Oh, and the bruschettas! I love these caterers.”

His eyes flicker back up to meet yours, a sly smile playing on his lips. 

You break away from his gaze and turn to the counter, preparing to scoop the shopping bags up when you’re interrupted by his relentless fervor.

“Ah, ah.” He hooks a finger into the loop of your jeans, tugging you back to him. “Give me a kiss.” 

“Dick.”

“Just one.” Yeah, right. You oblige him though, pushing up on your toes to meet his lips. His thumb strokes your cheek as he kisses you deeply. You break the kiss after a moment only for him to chase your lips to follow it up with another. And then another. And another. He hums against your lips, smiling wide. “Thank you, baby.”

You pull back again and smile as you stop his chest with your hand when he follows. “Ah, I’m not new around here. I know where this’ll go if I let you.”

He nods complaisantly, “Then let me.” His eyes are focused on the small space between you, where his touch lingers along your ring finger. You lean up again and place a kiss on his forehead that has him getting hopeful, only to be met with disappointment when you back away from him, bags in hand. He throws his head back with a groan just to really hammer home the severity of his dismay.  

It doesn’t last too long though because the second you’re back in the room he’s trailing after you like a puppy, following you down to the couch. You roll your eyes at him when he opts to sit ridiculously close to you, though there’s a ghost of a smile on your lips that makes your act lose all credibility.   

He nestles his face into the crook of your neck and is clearly very pleased when you wrap your arms around his shoulders. You exhale contentedly, resting your cheek against his head. You lie idle like that for a few minutes, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and casting a daydreaming gaze out the window. And apparently, he was daydreaming too. 

“I wanna marry you.” He murmurs into your neck after a while. 

You laugh incredulously, “Have you been drinking when I have my back turned?”

“‘M serious.” He nudges you off him so he can look at you.

You hum, sweeping his hair back from his forehead. “You’re being very…” you scrunch up your mouth to the side, “…Ostentatious today.” 

He barks out a laugh, “Wow. Word-A-Day teach you that one?”

You shove at his forehead back with no real force, biting back a giggle. His eyes flicker back and forth between your mouth and the crinkle in your eyes as he grins. “I’m going to let that one go because you got me some really nice clothes today. As your repayment.” you say, running your finger over his lips. 

He takes your hand, pressing a firm kiss to it. “Let me marry you?” 

You sigh bashfully, “Dick—”

“Please?” He sticks his bottom lip out and gives you his puppy eyes, causing you to avert your gaze quickly. You’re not convinced he doesn’t have a superpower in that area.

You know he’s not really proposing right now, he’s too much of a romantic to do it like this. He’s just getting the idea in your head, getting you excited about it. It’s working.

“I’d be such a good husband to you.” He kisses your collarbone, “So good.” He murmurs against your skin, lips never departing. You struggle to keep your face neutral, making a point of closing your eyes in an attempt to increase your odds of success. He’s being nice though, you know. To let you play pretend right now when you know he could break your facade in a second if he really wanted to.  

“Mrs. Grayson…” he squeezes your hips, lips traveling further down. “Doesn’t that sound pretty?”

It really does. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about marrying him before. He’s nothing if not husband material and honestly you really really want to hear him call you his wife. Call him your husband.

Your hand moves to his hair, petting it softly as he goes on. “Buy you a nice ring. Pretty white dress ‘n a big party just for you.” He brushes your shirt up and trails open mouthed kisses down your stomach. Your chest feels warm and you can feel your pulse thrumming all throughout your body.

He slowly guides your underwear down your thighs, his lips following the hem close behind. “Come home to you every night, kiss these pretty thighs,” He scoops both of your hands up in one of his, pinning them to your stomach. “Kiss this pretty pussy.” He places a chaste kiss on your clit and looks up at you expectantly

You’re not nearly as hesitant on this as you’re pretending to be, and you both know it. But he’s perfectly fine with begging a little while you pretend you’re not lightheaded at the idea of marrying him. “I’ll think about it…” 

He grins at you before going in on your core without mercy.

He’s trying real hard to land that promotion.

🩵 reblogging = supporting; likes don’t do the job 🩵

me sleeping soundly every night knowing i’d drop everything to get unbelievably nasty with successful losers who are old enough to be my fathers

sorry this is real

if a 6'5 princess boy dragged me around his museum home and said the sentance "dead rellies, dead rellies, daddys old teddy, shakespears folio" id scream "sex me here" make him correct me and then prove my fucking point. ill suck that dick so hard he would be transported back to shakespears time and get him to rewrite it personally.

boyfriend

Have you seen either of these women? Both are wanted in connection with a robbery. (My heart) 😔

me after listening to the most emotionally devastating song I have ever heard because an even more upsetting one is about to start

ariana for r.e.m. beauty.

my charles & keith wishlist • ೀ

raw, next question

rafe leaves his car running, music still playing, when he comes to pick you up. he knocks on the door to your house twice, not even bothering to send you a message to come and get him since he knows you’re not on it—you’re probably applying the finishing touches to your makeup or spraying something over your styled hair. your mom gets the door, which is good—your dad isn’t always rafe’s biggest fan. he stays down there, engaging in polite small talk for a few minutes before going up the stairs to your bedroom. 

with his hand hovering above the doorknob, wondering how much time you still need and if the two of you are gonna miss your dinner reservations, he catches the sound of music blaring from your room. it’s not the usual stuff—the lana songs you play on repeat, claiming they’re rafe-coded or the oldies you listen to softly when you’re trying to relax. no, he can hear his music coming from your room, and more than that, he can hear you singing along. 

he stays like that, listening for a few more minutes, smiling to himself before turning the knob and stepping in. true to form, you’re applying another layer of shiny lip gloss, the sticky one that always makes a mess on his face and his dick.

“ak-forty to your livahhh- oh hi rafe!” you turn to great him, looking extra pleased as he comes over to your vanity and presses a kiss to your head while looking in the mirror with you.

“the hell are you listening to?” he laughs, but you can tell he’s holding back a laugh. “y’know i have the truck running, right?”

“smith and wesson…gang reppin-” you sing along again, before breaking into a fit of giggles. you finish applying your lip gloss and then set it down on the counter, adjusting your hair and humming along.

“am i a bad influence? is that what this is?” 

you turn to look up at him from your seat, pressing your hand against the collar of his polo and dragging him down into a kiss. he deepens it, wet and messy, swallowing your moan into his mouth and hand gripping the back of your neck, before he pulls you away. 

“you’re the worst influence. now my makeup is all messed up.” you turn back to the mirror, wiping the corners of your mouth and picking up your lip-liner.

“how long have you been recitin’ drake and 21?”

“you play it all the time!” you protest, half-heartedly. “it’s catchy. and it reminds me of you.” he smirks, taking a seat on your bed. 

“hurry it up or we’ll miss the reservation.” 

you roll your eyes.

“yes, dad.” you think he doesn’t notice, but he gets up from his seat and buries his head in your neck, gripping a tender piece of skin between his teeth and sucking hard. you feel it instantly, and uncomfortable wetness spreading in your panties and the familiar want tightening in your stomach. when rafe pulls away, there’s a bright, dark red mark on your neck

“rafe!” you whine, wiping the skin of his spit and observing in the mirror. your hand goes to grab the bottle of concealer already out, but he stops your wrist mid-movement. 

“nuh-uh, that’s what you get for talkin’ back.” he kisses your cheek. “now come on, i don’t wanna be late.” you comply immediately.