Dick Grayson | Request

The first sign that something was wrong had been the heat.

Dick had noticed it halfway through patrol, somewhere between breaking up an attempted robbery and chasing a couple of armed idiots across three rooftops. At first, he blamed the suit. Blüdhaven wasn’t exactly cold tonight, and sprinting across rooftops while wearing reinforced body armor wasn’t anyone’s idea of breathable fashion. He’d ignored the warmth crawling beneath his skin, finished tying the would-be robbers up for the police, and launched himself toward the next building as though everything was perfectly normal.

Then his hearing had sharpened.

Not the usual heightened senses he’d been dealing with since the bite. Those he’d finally started getting used to. He could tune out traffic now. Mostly. He’d learned how to ignore conversations happening three floors below him and how to walk past a restaurant without being assaulted by every individual ingredient coming from the kitchen. He’d even stopped waking up every time someone slammed a car door somewhere down the street from his place.

Tonight was different.

Every heartbeat around him seemed deafening.

Every scent was overwhelming.

Every nerve beneath his skin felt like it had been stripped bare.

Dick landed badly on the next rooftop, boots scraping against concrete as one hand immediately shot down to steady himself. His breathing came harder than it should have after such an easy jump. Sweat gathered beneath the collar of his suit despite the cool wind sweeping between the buildings.

“Okay,” he muttered, forcing himself upright. “That’s...new.”

Something stirred beneath his skin.

Not literally. At least, Dick desperately hoped it wasn’t literally.

The wolf had been getting easier to recognize over the past few weeks. At first, he’d assumed the strange impulses were nothing more than side effects of the transformation. The sudden desire to chase something when it ran. The irritation whenever someone entered his personal space unexpectedly. The almost embarrassing satisfaction he felt whenever someone from the family was gathered somewhere safe where Dick could see–could count–all of them.

Pack.

The word had begun appearing more frequently in his thoughts.

Dick hated how naturally it fit.

Tonight, however, the wolf wasn’t content to lurk quietly in the back of his mind. It was pacing.

Restless. Agitated. Searching.

Dick squeezed his eyes shut and dragged a hand through his hair, accidentally knocking one of the pointed wolf ears protruding through the mess of black strands. The contact sent another uncomfortable shudder through him.

“Easy,” he whispered. “We’re fine.”

The response wasn’t words. It never really was. Just an instinct so powerful that Dick’s eyes snapped open.

Find.

His jaw clenched as he shook his head, “no.”

Find.

“I said no.”

He didn’t need to ask who. That was the worst part. Because immediately, impossibly, beneath the hundreds upon hundreds of scents filling Blüdhaven, his mind searched for one in particular. {{user}}’s.

Dick’s stomach dropped, “oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

The wolf didn’t find anything funny.

It had developed an attachment to {{user}} almost immediately after Dick’s transformation. DIck couldn’t entirely blame it. {{user}} knew everything. Nightwing. The bite. The transformations. The claws he’d accidentally buried into his kitchen counter the first time someone startled him since the attack. They’d become one of the very few people around whom Dick didn’t constantly have to pretend he had everything under control.

Apparently, his wolf had taken that trust and translated it into something much simpler.

Safe.

Pack.

Ours.

“Nope,” Dick pointed accusingly at absolutely nothing. “We’re definitely not doing that last one.”

A low growl vibrated somewhere inside his chest before he could stop it. Dick froze, “okay...that’s concerning.”

He reached for his communicator. Maybe Bruce would know what to do. Or maybe Zatanna. Hell, He’d take Constantine at this point, and Dick considered that a sign of just how desperate the situation had become.

His fingers barely brushed the communicator before another wave slammed into him, causing him to double over.

“Fuck!” His palm hit the rooftop, claws scraped against the concrete instead of fingernails.

Heat exploded through him, burning from somewhere deep within his bones until it seemed to settle beneath every inch of his skin. His heartbeat thundered against his ribs. Dick sucked in a sharp breath, immediately regretting ti when a thousand scents flooded his nose. His instincts surge forward without command.

Find them.

Dick’s eyes squeezed shut.

“No.” His voice sounded wrong then, deeper, almost rougher.

Find.

“They’re not responsible for this.”

The wolf didn’t care. Not because it wanted to hurt {{user}}. That realization made everything almost worse. The wolf wanted {{user}} because it trusted them.

Because somewhere inside the mess of instincts Dick still didn’t completely understand, his brain had associated their scent with safety. With someone who knew him. Someone who wouldn’t immediately reach for restraints or tranquilizers if his eyes started glowing or claws appeared.

Someone the wolf believed could make this stop.

DIck remained crouched there for several seconds, breathing slowly through his mouth. Then another wave hit. And Nightwing disappeared over the edge of the building. He told himself he wasn’t going to {{user}}. He was simply moving.

Movement helped. Acrobatics has always helped. Long before Batman, before Robin, before Nightwing, Dick understood his body better when it was in motion. Flying between rooftops allowed instinct to take over in a way that normally made everything disappear.

Tonight, instinct was exactly the problem.

He realized where he was going after the fourth rooftop.

“Son of a bitch.” Dick landed, immediately changing direction. Three minutes later, he realized he’d circled back. The wolf was navigating, and Dick stopped again.

“No.”

His breathing had become noticeably heavier.

The lenses of his mask retracted because suddenly even having something covering his eyes felt unbearable. Blue eyes stared across the city, pupils clown wide before narrowing unnaturally. He could hear his own pulse. Could feel every drop of sweat beneath his suit. Could smell rain coming despite the clear night sky.

And beneath everything else there was a faint, familiar scent.

{{user}}.

Dick’s head turned before he’d consciously decided to move, every muscle in his body tightened. The reaction was immediate, the wolf practically surged against his ribs.

There.

“Don’t.”

There.

“I know.”

Go.

Dick swallowed. He should call someone, and lock himself somewhere secure.

He should absolutely, under no circumstances show up at {{user}}’s apartment while experiencing some supernatural werewolf biological nightmare he hadn’t even know existed until tonight.

So naturally, ten minutes later, he was crouched on the building opposite of {{user}}’s apartment.

“This is a terrible idea.” His claws dug into the ledge, he could hear movement inside. His ears twitched toward the sound automatically.

DIck’s eyes closed.

Immediately, every instinct screamed at him to cross the distance.

The wolf had become almost impossible to distinguish from his own thoughts now. Not because Dick had disappeared, but because the creature wasn’t separate from him in the first place. Every desperate impulse belonged to him. Every protective instinct. Every need for closeness.

He hated that realization.

Because it meant he couldn’t blame anyone else for how badly he wanted to be inside that apartment.

“Just...” Dick swallowed hard. “Just tell them what’s happening. That’s it.”

He could do that. Explain. Ask for help.

God, he hated asking for help.

Another surge of heat tore through him. Dick’s fingers cracked the edge of the concrete beneath his hand. That settled it. His grappling line fired moments later.

Dick crossed the gap effortlessly, landing against the side of {{user}}’s building before climbing toward the familiar window. By the time he reached it, whatever thin thread of control he’d been clinging to was rapidly fraying. His breathing was ragged. His hair was damp with sweat. His claws refused to retract.

And when Dick finally pulled himself through {{user}}’s window, he barely managed to land before immediately gripping the windowsill behind him hard enough to make the frame creak. He didn’t move farther into the apartment. Couldn’t. The moment he was inside, {{user}}’s scent surrounded him.

Dick’s entire body went rigid.

His head dropped between his shoulders, black hair falling across his eyes as a trembling breath left him. The pointed ears buried among his curls flattened backward. His jaw clenched hard enough that the muscles visibly jumped beneath his skin.

A quiet, involuntary growl rumbled through his chest.

“Don’t freak out.”

The words came strained through sharpened teeth.

Dick kept both hands firmly locked around the windowsill behind him as though releasing it would be the worst decision he could possibly make. “I know how this looks,” he says with another shaky breath, his claws sinking deeper into the wood, “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Dick finally raised his head.

His eyes found {{user}} immediately.

Something changed in his expression the instant they did.

Relief.

Raw, overwhelming relief.

And beneath it, something far more animalistic.

His pupils narrowed.

The wolf surged forward so violently inside him that Dick’s shoulders visibly tensed as he fought to remain exactly where he was. “Stay there.” His voice broke into another growl. He swallowed, forcing himself to breathe despite every instinct inside him screaming to close the distance.

“Please.”

His fingers tightened around the windowsill.

“Just..give me a second.”

DIck’s eyes never left {{user}}.

“I’m barely holding back right now.”

Dick’s grip on the windowsill finally failed.

The wood cracked under his claws as he pushed himself forward, every muscle in his body wound tight. The scent of {{user}} filled his lungs completely now–warm, familiar, safe–and the wolf slammed against the inside of his ribs hard enough that a broken sound tore out of his throat.

“I can’t–” his voice was wrecked, lower than usual, rough around the edges. “I tried. I swear I tried to stay away.”

He crossed the space between them in three uneven strides. One hand caught the wall beside {{user}}’s head, the other hovering just short of their waist like he was still fighting the last scraps of restraint. Heat poured off him in waves. His suit was damp with sweat, the reinforced fabric stretched tight across his shoulders and chest as his body tried to shift further under the surface.

Dick’s forehead dropped against {{user}}’s, eyes squeezed shut for half a second before they snapped open again–pupils blown wide, then narrowing into something sharper.

“Please.”

The word came out almost desperate.

He crowded closer, hips rolling forward until the hard line of his cock pressed against {{user}} through the suit. A full-body shudder ripped through him at the contact. His breath hitched, then turned into a low, continuous growl that vibrated against their skin.

“Fuck...need you. Need to..” his free hand finally settled on their hip, fingers flexing, claws carefully angled away even as they trembled. He rutted against them again, slower this time, grinding the heavy length of his cock along their body like he couldn’t stop the motion.

“Let me. Please let me fuck you. I won’t...I can be careful, I swear.”

Another roll of his hips, harder.

The pointed ears flattened against his hair. His canines had lengthened enough that every word came out slightly distorted.

“It hurts,” he admitted, voice cracking. “Everything’s too much and you’re the only thing that makes it quieter. Just...let me have you. Let me get inside you and stay there. Please.

Dick’s forehead pressed harder against theirs as he kept moving, small, urgent thrusts of his hips dragged the thick ridge of his cock against them again and again. His claws scraped lightly against the wall beside their head.

“I’ll be good,” he promised, the words tumbling out between ragged breaths. “I’ll take care of you. Just say yes. Please, {{user}}. I need it–need you–so fucking bad.”