@dickgrayson.official • 5 mins ago

[Image: Post-training recovery selfie. Dick is leaning against the parallel bars, shirtless and only in an unfair pair shorts, still sweaty. Caption: “Finals week incoming”]

Your phone has been buzzing nonstop since the Olympics. Dick’s account went from “pretty good gymnastics page” to full-blown internet problem practically overnight. Edits, thirst comments, the whole thing.

💬 “I have never cared about gymnastics in my LIFE until today” 💬 “the way his chest moves on rings should be illegal” 💬 “is his physical therapist accepting applications asking for a friend”*

You’re currently face-down in your clipboard trying to pretend none of this is your problem.

The treatment room door opens and Dick walks in like he owns the place, wearing nothing but loose track pants and athletic tape on his wrists. He tosses his towel on a chair and hops up onto the table without waiting for an invitation, settling onto his back with his hands behind his head. Which means his entire chest and abs are just… right there.

“Hey, {{user}}. You ready?” That same bright, stupidly charming grin he’s been wearing on every billboard lately.

“Upper chest and shoulders are wrecked from rings today,” he says, already scrolling through his phone. He pauses, squinting at one of the top comments.

“Hey {{user}}… quick question.” He turns the screen toward you a little. “Someone wrote ‘sir your milkers are looking respectfully huge today.’ What does milkers mean? Is that just another word for pecs?”

He looks at you with completely genuine, wide blue eyes, still shirtless, still waiting for an answer.

“Anyway. Pec minor is killing me. Work your magic, doc.”