𑣲⋆LOVERBOY! JASON TODD... who completely loses all his bones the second the apartment door clicks shut. for a guy who spends his nights dodging gunfire and playing the tough guy, he turns into pure liquid muscle on your couch. he will collapse his entire upper body across your lap, burying his nose into your waist with a heavy, shuddering sigh that practically shakes his whole 220lb frame just to let the stress bleed out.
𑣲⋆LOVERBOY! JASON TODD... who is an absolute nightmare to literally everyone else in gotham, but turns into a complete marshmallow the second you’re in the room. he’ll spend his entire afternoon barkin’ orders, snapping at tim, throwing sarcastic insults at people, and scowling like he hates the entire world. but the moment you walk through the door? his whole posture softens, his jaw unclenches, and he’s pulling you onto his lap before he even finishes his sentence.
→ His family genuinely does not know how to react to seeing a guy who normally looks like he wants to punch a wall softly nuzzling his face into your hair and whispering sweet nothings like he wasn’t just screaming two minutes ago.
𑣲⋆LOVERBOY! JASON TODD... who treats you like you’re made of spun glass. he’s got massive, calloused, scarred hands, but the way he holds you is absurdly soft. he loves resting a heavy palm on the back of your neck or softly thumbing over your bottom lip while he’s distracted.
𑣲⋆LOVERBOY! JASON TODD… who is an absolute menace for press-and-hold kisses—soft, lingering presses into the crook of your elbow, your shoulder blades, and right behind your ear where he knows it makes you shiver.
𑣲⋆LOVERBOY! JASON TODD... who displays affection in the most quiet, domestic ways imaginable. he’ll spend hours sitting on the edge of the bed going on long, passionate rants about whatever classic literature he’s reading that week, his eyes lighting up while he explains every character arc to you.
→ he’ll also hand-craft custom leather bookmarks for you, carefully stamping your initials into them or burning little designs into the corner just so you have something special for your own books. he remembers every little detail about your routine—always making sure your favorite tea is stocked, pulling the covers over you when you fall asleep on the couch, and leaving tiny, messy love notes tucked into your jacket pockets before he goes out on patrol.
𑣲⋆LOVERBOY! JASON TODD... whose dates are a seamless mix of domesticity and ridiculously thoughtful effort. he’s not taking you to some uptight, five-star restaurant where he has to wear a stiff suit and fake a smile; he’d much rather take you to a tiny, hole-in-the-wall diner at 2:00 AM, sitting in a vinyl booth and sharing a plate of fries while you both talk about nothing. or he’ll plan late-night rooftop dates with a heavy fleece blanket, hot coffee in thermos cups, and a quiet view of the city skyline, keeping his arm wrapped tight around your waist so the cold wind doesn't even touch you.
𑣲⋆LOVERBOY! JASON TODD... who is a total whiny submissive for you behind closed doors. all that red hood arrogance completely evaporates the second you tease him or make him wait. if you hold back or drag your fingers along his skin without touching him where he wants, he turns into the whiniest man on the planet. he’ll bury his face in your neck, whimpering softly, pulling on your waist, and begging you to just give in.
𑣲⋆LOVERBOY! JASON TODD... who melts the second you take control. you can pin his wrists above his head—even though he could easily overpower you—and he will just go completely pliable and soft into the mattress. his eyes get dark and glassy, his breath hitched, softly pleading with you, “please... tell me what you want me to do.” he is so embarrassingly praise-hungry that running a hand through his hair and whispering a soft “good boy” against his ear will literally send him over the edge, leaving him clingy and helpless for the rest of the night.
𑣲⋆LOVERBOY! JASON TODD... takes loving you so seriously it’s almost stupid. he will send single-word replies to bruce and dick, but sends you three-paragraph rants about a book he’s reading or petty complaints about anyone other than you. he leaves his softest oversized hoodies at your place on purpose just to see you drowning in them while making coffee. he’s a man so deeply in love with you that he doesn't even know what to do with himself, and he’ll never let a second go by without making sure you know it.
A/n never falling for the “Jason is rough” propaganda. He is the most submissive, whiny, and pathetic man ever I said what I said.
warnings: 18+ so mdni, smut (porn with plot), one bed trope but the bed is small, fluff and romance ^3^, very established relationship... that becomes EVEN MORE ESTABLISHED wink wink, you meet the kents!, stupid metaphors, clark uses his powers, clark is pent up, reader is in her 30s
word count: 3.6k longest one yet!
a/n: congradulations... and happy supergirl release! sorry for taking so long to post again, i'm taking advantage of my summer by doing absolutely nothing writing-wise lol
part three, masterlist
You and Clark had arrived at Smallville in the early afternoon.
He straightened up in proximity of his parents, taking both of your luggages before you even had the chance to reach for yours. You found it so cute on him — this need to impress his parents, ears reddening with embarrassment while proving he would forever be their baby. You swore he willingly leaned into his mother’s grasp when she went to pinch his cheeks.
Jon went for you instead, offering a hand as he welcomed you. Finally meeting the two people you were most excited to meet, you shook hands with puffed cheeks, bashfully raising your shoulders to your ears. You made it your mission to be adored by his parents. Most parents loved you — but you were hoping to one day have his parents be your parents, so it was imperative they wanted to have you too.
You tried not to think about the logistics too much. You couldn't afford to lose your mind at the sight of jewelry.
Yes, he was happy to see you, but the bulge in Clark’s pants wasn’t anything but a velvet box. A velvet box that held the ring he bought for you about nine months ago. Technically, the relationship became official in December, the night you confessed your love mid-accidental-sextape; but he's considered you his girlfriend since September, and this was his justification for getting a ring so early.
You had also, at the time, come out with a piece discussing how to pick the right engagement ring. Apparently there was some quarrel with the women at the Daily Planet — Cat went around the office, asking whoever would listen, if they thought her friend's ring was ugly. She had been friends with this woman since childhood, and the ring she received didn't match up with the ring she's claimed to have always wanted. However, somehow, she cherished it more. Lois gave a mature response, albeit finding the ring sort of tacky: “as long as she likes it, right?”
You patted her back, causing her to choke on her coffee, thanking her for the idea.
The piece began by describing various rings, from royalty to friends you knew, even past rings you've received, until eventually describing your ideal ring in detail. Clark followed it word for word like a to-do list. Cat's friend may have enjoyed the ring she got, but he wanted to give you this one exactly.
And that's the ring currently sitting in his pocket.
Now, since he's read your column about the ring, he knows you didn't specify the jewel being made out of kryptonite, so he's not entirely sure why he's felt queasy the whole drive to Kansas. Despite the bright sun, he still had to pull off the road to catch his breath, your rubbing his back somehow making it worse. You assumed he was just as nervous of what his parents thought of you. But he knew that they already couldn't get enough, so it wasn't a concern.
His trigger-happy mind nearly proposed to you fifteen times so far, including while packing for the trip, checking into various hotels on the way to Kansas, and even at a gas station rest stop. Luckily, he came to his senses quickly enough to prevent the last one.
Outside of what’s written in your column, you've covered past relationships with Clark, including the two engagements. They were not what you deserved. And Clark knew you loved him, and he personally couldn't imagine a life without you, but this engagement had to stick. The third time will be the charm.
But due to his paranoid nature, he just couldn't let you out of his sight.
“Clark!” Martha shooed him away, flapping her hand up and down. By this time of day, the sun hovered unforgivingly in the middle of the sky. After your much needed cup of coffee, Clark and his father scrubbed the car clean from the long drive here. Across the drive-way, you and his mother were doing farm work among the cows. “Your girl’s gonna be fine! Keep starin’ at ‘er like that, you’ll burn a hole through ‘er.”
The water hose in your grip faltered as you laughed. Since you were born and raised in Metropolis, the last time you did any farm work was during a field trip in elementary school to a farm outside of the city. Martha found this adorable, giving you a set of simple yet important tasks so you could help out. Currently, you were refilling the cow’s water.
You peeked over your shoulder at Clark, whose jaw clenched as he forced himself to stare at the car. Your thumb flipped the hose nozzle setting to jet and swung your arm around, aiming mischievously at his chest. He heard the water approaching quickly, and flew to your side. You flinched, yelping and trying to aim at him again despite the wind almost blowing you off your feet.
Clark wrestled the hose out of your hands, smile growing as he flipped to the mist setting and pointed the nozzle in the air. The sun caught in the droplets, and as you two laughed, refreshed in the rural heat, a small rainbow appeared above your heads. Clark’s parents, now the ones standing across the drive-way from you two, elbowed each other at the romantic display.
On the first night, Martha had you sit down in her boudoir. Initially feeling misplaced among her perfumes and creams, she picked up a bottle and showed it to you. “Wanted you to try this, sweet girl. Got all the same scents as that bottle o’ perfume you put in the bathroom.”
Your eyes widened. You’ve never experienced something like this before. Surrounded by vintage, saccharine scents and the kindness of someone’s mother, who looked at you like you were a long lost princess. “R-Really?”
Your past engagements had parents that made you feel like you weren’t enough. Not Jon, and not Martha. She smiled, and that night you’d go to bed with the lotion she handpicked, and hand-pressed, for you. “I want you to have it.”
“Thanks, Martha.”
"No, no, you can call me 'Ma'."
A small smile pulled at your lips, "thanks, Ma."
Dragging a razor across the side of his face, Clark stood in the humid bathroom after you went off with his mother. Stomach still in knots, his body slouched when his father stopped at the doorway.
“Something's troubling you, son.”
“It's not a big deal, I just… have something I want to do, but I'm… scared to do it.”
“Well, what could go wrong?” He put his hands in the pockets of his robe, watching Clark.
“I- I don't know.”
Jon's lips scrunched up in thought. “You love her?”
“With all my being.”
“‘N she loves you.” No questions asked. “Sometimes it's as simple as that. Worst case scenario, you give it time and try again. You never know until you try. And to think, where I'd be without your mother. And you. I didn’t know I was up for it until I first held you in my arms.”
Clark took a deep breath, holding the sides of the sink for stability. Jon put a hand on his shoulder.
“There's a reason you want to do this. It's because you can, and you want to. With her.”
Clark nodded, then nodded again. There's a reason he wants to do this. “Thanks, Pa.”
A blanket and pillow were subtly placed on the couch. Assuming this was your bed, you were headed towards it. Martha placed a hand on your arm, “couch is for Clark.”
You turned around, seeing your comedically large boyfriend standing in pajamas. By far the most clothes he’s worn for bedtime since dating you.
“You look adorable.”
His hand twitched, reflexes going for the box still in his pocket. He resisted. “Stop it.”
“You do!”
“Alright kids, nighty night. If you need anything, don't hesitate to holler, sweet girl. Our room is just down the hall. Nighty night, Clark.”
“Good night!” you chirped.
“Night, Ma.”
You rocked back and forth on your feet, waiting for the older woman to get to her room and close the door behind her. When it clicked shut, you whispered, “Clark?”
“Mm?” He was already swaddled on the couch, feet sticking out from below the blanket.
You giggled softly, “are you sure you wanna sleep on the couch?”
That question flew through the air and hit like an arrow to the heart. You can't just ask him that.
You can't just ask him that, standing with your hands intertwined behind your back, smiling in mid-thigh pajama shorts and a sweater so oversized, he'd bet it was his, skin leaving a sugary smell every time you walked by, and hair still in two braids from earlier. Thrilled to visit the farm, you packed various plaid and jean clothing items. He wouldn't be shocked if you had those braids for the rest of the trip.
This question was very hard on him.
He shook his head, overcompensating. “‘M fine. Ma just wants you to be comfortable, plus that bed is too small for the both of us to fit.”
“If you say so… And Clark? I'm having so much fun.”
“I can tell,” he laughed, and you caught it like a bug, covering your mouth. He went to speak again, your words leaving first.
“Good night, Clark.”
“Oh. Good night.”
Tip-toeing over, you politely pushed the door closed behind you with both hands.
Clark pouted, having to go to bed without you, not even a goodnight kiss to put him at ease. A fear grew in his chest, beginning to overwhelm him like the ride over. He wasn't sure he could do it. He wasn't sure he could propose.
Night after night, you taunted Clark at his bedroom door. Nighty night Clark! Goodnight Clark! Sleep tight, honey. Thoroughly enjoying yourself, you only noticed something was wrong the night you went to greet an empty couch.
You never thought it would be this difficult to find a six-foot-something man. Examining the house, nearly turning it on its head and shaking it to see if he would fall out, you finally saw Clark outside sitting in the tall grass, mingling with the cows.
Stomping in your cowboy boots, which you bought especially for this trip, you reached him with heavy breaths, hands on your hips. “What are you doing all the way out here? I almost didn't get to say goodnight and see you lay on the couch like an idiot.”
“Thanks.”
“Come on, Clark. Talk to me.”
You stood close to him, giving him the opportunity to rest his head on your stomach. In one breath he smelled home — the aroma of his house mixed with your natural, albeit heightened scent.
“Ever been on a boat?”
“What?”
“Yeah, me neither,” he pulled his head away, bad start. “Just- just imagine being on a sailboat. You're sailing across the sea, a bit unsteady because of the waves, but every time you check the horizon, it's the same, beautiful view. You can sail towards it all day long, but it will always be there, just out of reach.”
You listened, brushing through his curls as he gazed up at you. Having been with Clark this long, you know he's going somewhere with this.
“You're my horizon. I want you to be the sky, everyday.” He sighed, “it's gotta be perfect.”
“And you think you can never reach the sky?”
He realized how silly this all was, partially because of the sailing metaphor, but also because of all people, Clark could reach the sky. In a way, being a superhero was the same sort of challenge as being a husband, possibly a father. Only those who are up for it can do it, and can do it right.
You bent down to meet him, your arms on his shoulders and his arms wrapping around your bottom half.
“The best part about your dumb analogy is that the sky never leaves. It just becomes the universe the farther out you go. And you know the skies better than anybody else. You've got nothing to be afraid of. I'm right here.”
Throat burning and eyes threatening to spill years, Clark very uncomfortably said, “there's a ring in my pocket” like you were stepping on his toe.
It took you a moment to realize this, but once you did, you went treasure hunting.
“Um, Clark?”
“Mm-hm?”
“Your pockets are empty.”
“Oh crud.” The one time he actually needed the ring. His hands hurriedly patted the Earth floor, “I can fix this, I can fix this!”
Clark tied a temporary ring around your finger made of a long blade of grass. He chuckled awkwardly, knowing that this wasn't what you had in mind. But when his eyes met your face, he eased at your expression. Lip quivering, you held up the hand with a piece of his home gifted to your finger, suggesting that you belonged to it just as he did. A small, satiric gesture meant the world to you.
He let you sit with it for a moment, then took your hand in his to lead you inside. “C'mon.”
In his bedroom, Clark handed you the velvet box. You flipped the top open, and there it was.
The perfect ring.
A shriek erupted from your vocal chords. Clark winced and leaned back.
“Sorry!” you whispered, touching a finger to your lips, and then his. “Sorry, honey.”
“No, that's good. That means you like it.”
You instinctively slipped it on, but you took it off and handed the ring back to Clark. “That's your job.”
He went into a kneeling position, back maybe a little too straight, and said the words you dreamed would one day come out of his mouth. “Will you marry me?”
You almost cut him off, “yes!”
Clark stood, towering over you. You placed your grass ring safely on the nightstand to keep for later, letting him slide the perfect ring onto your finger. He cupped your face, placed a strong kiss to your lips, and captured you in a hug.
You hummed, cheek to his shoulder, wanting this moment to never end.
“Do I have to go back to sleeping on the couch? I mean, that's a little ridiculous, after getting engaged.”
As much as you'd love to snuggle with your fiancée tonight — you're gonna have the time of your life saying that at work — his bed really only housed one width.
“Okay, well, I'll sleep on my left,” you chucked your cowboy boots to the side, “and you sleep on your right. Just don't switch to your back or I'll fall off.”
You crawled into his bed, moving the covers out of the way. Settling onto your side of the mattress, on your knees, you tilted your head at Clark. He hasn't moved a muscle.
“Clark?”
He's not sure if you realize what's happening in front of him. His fiancée, the love of his life, is sitting on his bed in his childhood room, legs folded and hair still in those stupid braids.
“Honey, can we make love? I sorta wanna make love.”
“Clark, are you crazy, your parents are down the hall.”
“Mhm. Yeah, you're right.” His hands were balled up into fists by his sides, trying to talk himself out of the visible erection forming underneath his pajama pants.
You huffed, knowing the situation just made the idea more appealing. “Fine, but this has to be silent. Pin-drop silent, you understand?”
Skin sizzling in anticipation, Clark smiled, removing his sleep shirt over his head. Similarly, you maneuvered your shorts down your legs and threw them to the side.
Clark crawled into his small bed with you, hands already trailing up your legs. Your panties were next to go, curling into themselves, discarded on the floor. His large hands easily spread your legs as you propped yourself up with his pillows.
“It’s so lonely on that couch, without you, darlin'.”
His mouth found your mound like it was his destiny. He immediately hummed, tongue enveloping your folds with his saliva. Your hips matched his movements, mouth wide but trying to hold back any sounds that dared to escape. He sucked on your clit, and you gasped, steadying yourself with his shoulders. “Oh…”
“Pin-drop silent, remember?” It was his turn to taunt you, easing two fingers into your sopping cunt.
You gasped again, harder, rolling your hips, taking a pillow from behind your head and shoving it into your face. You whined your vulnerabilities into it, muttering all the things you'd be screaming at your apartment. Clark enjoyed it still, maybe even more, like a message just for his ears.
Your body didn't quite get the memo, sputtering and squelching every opportunity it got while Clark fingered you. He angled upwards, sometimes knowing your body better than you did, and rubbed right at the spot that made you feel stupid. You clawed at his pillow the way you'd usually claw at his back, smothering your sweat and breath.
You twitched in that beautiful way you always did, cumming around his fingers. He sucked his fingers clean, prying the pillow away and revealing a wry smile. “You just made a mess in my bed. Thing of dreams...”
Hair stuck to your face and neck. When you first got together, you realized how much Clark took advantage of his size and strength, and that he'd never admit. But here he was, tugging your legs, flipping your body, manhandling you until you were laying down over a pillow. He splayed his body right over yours, kissing down your neck, distracting you from his hands sliding down his underwear.
Passionately kissing your shoulder, he pushed his body forward and you felt it. The same fullness you'd now have for the rest of your lives. Slow yet demanding, he froze when he reached deep inside. A pathetic groan shook your spine, leaving your lips with little hesitation. You bent down, hugging the pillow to your chest, a bit of drool trailing down your mouth from how long you had kept it open. “Clark.”
One hand on the bed to hold himself up, he collected your hair and held it away from your face, meeting your cheek with his lips. He entrusted you with his most vulnerable sounds, mewling into your neck with each patient roll of his hips. Your voices matched desperate tones.
You don't know why you insisted on repeating his name. Maybe in disbelief of how good you felt. It felt good every time, and you were so thankful for the time in between where you could forget what he felt like, just to be reminded again.
His thrusts remained slow but purposeful, slamming into you harder rather than faster. And you weren't complaining. In fact, you couldn't say much, the bottom half of your face shoved into the pillow with dazed eyes.
“Will you marry me?” Clark couldn't have made the act of marriage sound more sensual.
“Yes,” you whimpered quietly. He awarded you with a kiss to your collarbone, catching a glance of your engagement ring on the hand you used to fist the pillow. It made him twitch.
“Will you marry me?”
You giggled, “yes.”
“Gosh.”
His knees came forward so he could adjust himself and thrust comfortably quick, still keeping you close. You're smothered.
“Honey, look at me.”
You laid one side of your face on the pillow, staring back at him with heavy, fucked-out eyes. Greeting him with a grin.
“Will you marry me?” This time, he grunted his words, brows curling in the middle. He was so sensitive inside your wet, sopping pussy. You'd control him for the rest of his life. People didn't know how much of a threat you were to the world, really, as it was this easy to get Superman to obey you.
“Yes.” As if he wasn't already obsessed with you, completely drunk under your spell, just as you were, you pointed your ass up to the sky. Like a moth to a flame, his hands came down and held onto the plush of your butt, using his x-ray vision every other time he blinked to watch himself fuck you.
The next time he asked, it was more of a demand, leaving his mouth in a whine. “Marry me.”
“I will.”
His hips sputtered, overwhelmed with the sounds of your bodies meeting together and the complete sight of you. You had to shove your face into his pillow, cursing an absurd amount of times into it. By far the messiest this bed had gotten, you both came. Clark gasped, witnessing your muscles contract and suck every drop he gave. Pulling away, your mixed arousals didn't stand a chance. Liquid trickled down to your thigh. Clark was so mesmerized, his face blank with pure concentration. He didn't think through placing his thumb at your center and rubbing the evidence over your clit.
One of your hands flew back, holding his wrist. “Fuck, Clark!”
He took his hand back, smiling stupidly, sucking it clean again like licking frosting off a cake. “You're perfect.”
Clark came back from the bathroom with a damp towel to clean you up. Handling you once more, he slid behind you, trying to squeeze in a cuddle where you both would fit. You both took some deep breaths for a moment in silence, buzzing in satisfaction.
“Honey?”
“Yes?”
“Are we moving too fast?”
“You're asking me this after I agreed to getting married?”
“No, no! I'm not trying to insinuate that I regret proposing — I mean, I almost did it a thousand times. It's just… how do you think people will react? I don’t want them to overwhelm you.”
Despite how obvious you could've misunderstood his concern, your brows rose. You've done the whole engagement announcement thing before, your boyfriend proving once again to be the biggest fan of your column. “I think they’ll be thrilled.”
Clark would ensure this would be the last engagement you'd ever have. This’ll last. He kissed over your knuckles, “I’m glad.”
It made you smile. “I can’t wait to shove it in their faces when we get home.”
A light rumble left his chest. “Of course, dear. But we, uh, have to tell my parents first.”
“That's a good start.”
Your gaze lingered over the house in Kansas you now felt confident enough to call your second home. When you showed his parents the ring, past the initial cheering, Jon teared up while Martha put a hand on the side of her face and said “oh yes, that's a handsome one.”
Then they both gave you a hug.
Both you and Clark felt much lighter, relieved that things worked out the way they did. You went back that morning to the field before the long drive home to make another ring out of grass for Clark. In your opinion, the grass rings paired with the jewelry nicely.
He caught you staring fondly at your finger. “Honey?”
“Yes?”
“Happy?”
“Yes. Beyond happy.”
He took your hand while driving, grazing his thumb over your skin.
You placed your head on his shoulder, but pulled back when you remembered something else to look forward to. “Now all I gotta do is meet your cousin!”
“Oh fun!”
These article title ideas had you blushing at your computer in the apartment. Decide Who Holds The Ring. His Parents Love Me. How To Do a Couple's Roadtrip the Right Way! And, cheesiest of all, 5 Reasons to Love the City (And 5 to Love the Farm).
I think this is the most perfect, sweetest thing I have ever read. It feels so much like Clark, captures him so well. It's so sweet and lovely, even the sex is sweet. I loved this and I will be returning to read this time and time again.
Requested?: Yes, by a lovely Anon who said, “Hello, could you please write an nsfw alphabet of Jeremy Gilbert please."
Word Count: 1,318
A/N: It's been so long since I've seen Vampire Diaries. I hope I did Jer justice. Lmk who you wanna see next. I plan to do both NSFW & SFW Alphabets for just about everyone in my masterlist.
A - Aftercare: (what they’re like after sex)
- Jeremy is the KING of aftercare. You want it, you got it and you don't even have to lift a finger or move a muscle. I mean it. You want a bath? Bet, you stay right there while he runs the bath and then he's carrying you bridal style and setting you down in the warm, sudsy water.
B - Body Part: (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
- Jeremy put a lot of work into his muscular figure and always feels so proud of it when he catches you drooling over his back. Sometimes he'll walk around shirtless just to get a reaction out of you. He loves the feeling of your nails digging in when you two are in bed and the soft tickle of you tracing shapes on his back afterwards.
- As for his favorite part of you, without a doubt it's your hands. His are so rough and calloused that he can't get over how soft and gentle yours are. He loves the way they fit perfectly in his and how they roam around his body when he has you between the sheets.
C - Cum: (anything to do with cum, basically)
- Always pulling out to cum on you or in your mouth. He can't deny the fact that he enjoys the look on your face when you swallow like a good girl and open wide with your tongue out to show him.
D - Dirty Secret: (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
- He won't even admit it to you but sometimes he wonders what it would be like to fuck you as a vampire. He wonders how long you can truly hold up before you can't take anymore.
E - Experience: (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
- Man hasn't been around a whole lot but boy does he know what he's doing. He's a quick learner too. It was like he instantly knew exactly how to get you across the finish line the very first time the two of you were together.
F - Favorite Position: (this goes without saying)
- As underwhelming as it may seem, he loves missionary. He can see your beautiful face, feel your hands roam or dig into his back, and hit plenty of good angles.
G - Goofy: (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
- It kind of depends. If you guys are having a quickie he can be a little silly because the whole idea of quickies is silly to him. If you guys are at home indulging in each other he can be silly but most of the time he's solely focused on you and serious about your pleasure.
H - Hair: (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
- The carpet matches the drapes in color but while his hair tends to be a little loosey goosey, down south he keeps it neat.
I - Intimacy: (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
- Always sweet and romantic but if you want or need him to throw you around like a rag doll he can and will.
J - Jack Off: (masturbation headcanon)
- Nope. He needs you to find a release. Even if he gives himself blue balls in the process, he's finding you and fixing the issue.
K - Kink: (one or more of their kinks)
- He doesn't even understand why himself but dude has a thing for blindfolds. It can be him blindfolded or you, doesn't matter. One time the two of you experimented and were both blindfolded.
L - Location: (favorite places to do the do)
- In bed. Specifically, a nice, slow, warm morning while the sun bleeds through the blinds and the birds chirp outside.
M - Motivation: (what turns them on, gets them going)
- Confidence is key. Confidently take what you want from him or perhaps confidently tell a certain 1000s of years old hybrid that he's a dumbass. Your confidence is his kryptonite.
N - No: (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
- No bodily fluids. Period. Exclamation point. I take that back. He's not one to shy away from spitting on you or in your mouth but never in a mean or disrespectful way.
O - Oral: (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
- He prefers giving but will never say no to receiving. By god can he do a damn good job too. He watches your face every time to determine what works, doesn't work, and works really well. He knows you, inside and out.
P - Pace: (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
- You set the pace not him. That being said, he can tell just by the look on your face and how your body reacts which pace you want. The only time he's fast and rough whether you like it or not is if you've been teasing him all day and he hasn't been able to get you alone.
Q - Quickie: (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
- If you guys are in a pinch, they'll do but he prefers to take his time and tend to you properly. He will, however, almost always insist on a quickie if he gets jealous. One time he pulled you into a coat closet at the Salvatore house because he felt Klaus was getting a little too friendly with you.
R - Risk: (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
- Your safety is first and foremost on Jeremy's mind but if there's no danger or harm then he's down to try anything at least once.
S - Stamina: (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
- He usually has a couple good rounds in him before he's spent and ready to aftercare the shit out of you.
T - Toys: (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
- He doesn't particularly like them but he doesn't mind them either. It's entirely up to you as to whether y'all use them or not.
U - Unfair: (how much they like to tease)
- Jeremy teases if you tease. He likes playing a cat and mouse game but he's never one to initiate it.
V - Volume: (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
- It's a coin toss on his vocalization. Sometimes, he's all groans, grunts, and dirty talk. Others, he's as quiet as possible as he listens to the beautiful sounds emitting from your vocal cords.
W - Wild Card: (a random headcanon for the character)
- His "My Eyes Only" on SnapChat is FULL to the brim with every naughty picture you've ever sent him. Sometimes when he's away from you but planning to dick you down good soon he'll scroll through and daydream.
X - X-Ray: (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
- He's packing some length but the girth is pretty average. It's nice and toned too displaying plenty of delicious veins.
Y - Yearning: (how high is their sex drive?)
- Jeremy has a weird sex drive. He goes through these phases where for a few days he'll constantly wanna go at it but then spend a week or so just kinda following your lead. That being said, it doesn't matter what he's doing, how he's feeling, or where he is, if you're horny, he's horny.
Z - Zzz: (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
- No matter how tired he is, he never falls asleep until he knows you're out. Sometimes, you have to pretend to fall asleep because you can tell he's so tired but won't close his eyes for longer than a sleepy blink.
could you pretty please do dating headcanons for elijah mikaelson?
Dating Elijah Mikaelson Would Include
A/N: so sorry it took so long; took me so long to write it, but i'm incapable of writing short stuff... hope you enjoy 💕
Tvd Masterlist Masterlist
-you meet Elijah on a night that feels slightly wrong - the kind where the air is too still. He steps between you and danger before you even register what’s happening. His first instinct isn’t violence. It’s concern. “Are you harmed?” he asks, voice calm but eyes burning
-he insists on walking you home, not out of arrogance, but because it physically pains him to leave you unsettled. He keeps a respectful distance, hands clasped behind his back like he’s restraining every instinct he has
-he introduces himself simply as “Elijah,” watching your reaction closely. When you don’t flinch at the name, something in him relaxes - like he expected fear and found… curiosity instead
-you see him again. Not by chance - Elijah doesn’t do “chance.” But he appears in the quiet moments, the in-between places, always with a polite greeting, always with that soft electricity in the air
-he listens when you speak. Fully. It’s disarming, how present he is. Most people listen to reply - Elijah listens to understand. It makes you feel seen in a way you didn’t know you were missing
-the first time he hears you laugh, his composure falters. He goes still, like the sound hits him somewhere unguarded. You don’t catch it - but he spends the rest of the day replaying it in his mind
-he notices everything. Your favorite drink. The way your expression shifts before you speak. The tiny crease between your brows when you’re concentrating. He memorizes these things quietly, like collecting little truths about you
-Elijah doesn’t flirt - not intentionally. But his version of it is subtle: stepping slightly closer than necessary, lowering his voice when speaking only to you, offering his jacket before you even realize you’re cold
-he says your name with a kind of reverence. Not dramatic - just careful. Like it’s something he shouldn’t rush
-he shows up right when something almost goes wrong. Always composed, always calm, but there’s a sharpness to him that appears only when you might be in danger. He tells himself it’s coincidence. It isn’t
-he tries to keep emotional distance. Truly tries. But he gets drawn in by the way you look at him - without fear, without judgment, without the weight of his past. It unsettles him in the best way
-he watches over you even when he says he won’t. Elijah frames it as “caution,” but the truth is simpler: he cares. And it terrifies him
-the moment you get even a small injury, Elijah’s mask cracks. Just for a heartbeat. His hands hover, unsure whether to touch you or restrain himself. His voice goes softer: “Please. Be careful”
-you begin seeking him out too - a steady presence in a chaotic city. He notices. He tries not to react, but the faint smile that tugs at his mouth gives him away
-a simple touch - your hand brushing his - throws him. His breath actually stalls for a second before he clears his throat and tries to recompose himself
-he softens around you in ways he doesn’t around anyone else. His posture loosens, his sleeves roll up, his voice loses that formal edge. With you, he lets himself exist without performance
-Rebekah sees it first. Kol teases. Klaus mutters something about “inevitable attachments.” Elijah ignores them all, but the slight tension in his jaw says they’re not wrong
-he starts telling you small things - preferences, memories, thoughts he doesn’t share with others. It’s unintentional. You ask gentle questions, and he finds himself answering before he can stop
-the truth comes out violently, suddenly - not through confession, but necessity. Something attacks, too fast for human eyes, and Elijah moves even faster. One blink and he’s no longer beside you but in front of you, all impossible speed and strength, ending the threat with terrifying precision
-when it’s over, he doesn’t look triumphant. He looks… worried. Like he knows you saw everything he never meant for you to see
-he faces you slowly, hands raised as though approaching something fragile. There’s no mask now - just honesty, heavy and unhidden. “This is what I am,” he says, voice low, careful. “I understand if your feelings… shift”
-but when he meets your eyes, there’s the faintest tremor of hope - like he wants, more than he’ll ever admit, for nothing between you to change
-after learning the truth, you expect Elijah to keep his distance. Instead, he becomes even more present - not hovering, not smothering, but quietly available
-he checks in on you without announcing it, appearing with that composed calm of his, asking if you’re alright in a way that suggests he’s bracing for you to say no. You don’t. And something in his shoulders loosens every time
-he doesn’t try to convince you to stay in his world, but he does give you information piece by piece - history, rules, dangers. He speaks softly, deliberately, as if he wants you to understand everything before you decide anything
-he treats your opinions with the same seriousness he gives thousand-year-old politics, and it’s… disarming
-the tension between you shifts. It’s no longer uncertainty but something quieter, more deliberate. He stands a little closer when he talks to you
-you catch his eyes drifting to your lips before he looks away, composed so quickly you might think you imagined it - except you didn’t
-whenever you’re alone together, the air feels charged. He’s hyperaware of every sound you make - your breath catching when he steps close, your laugh, the way you say his name
-Elijah doesn’t flirt openly; he doesn’t need to. He looks at you like you’re a question he’s almost afraid to answer
-Klaus notices. “You’re staring mate,” he says, amused. Elijah doesn’t dignify it with a response, but he shifts slightly away from you, jaw tightening. That reaction alone tells Klaus everything, and he smirks as he walks off. You pretend not to hear the muttered “finally”
-Elijah starts showing small cracks in his composure when it’s just you - humor sneaking into his voice, a smile tugging at his mouth, a softness in his eyes that no one else seems to get from him. It’s subtle, but unmistakable. He lets himself relax around you
-sometimes when you speak, he watches you like he’s memorizing the moment. “You have an extraordinary way of seeing the world,” he says once, almost to himself. You don’t know how to respond. He doesn’t seem to expect you to
-there’s a night where danger comes close again - not directly at you, but close enough that Elijah returns to the compound tense, stained with someone else’s blood. You rush to him without thinking. He freezes, visibly startled by the sudden closeness, by the worry on your face
-he tries to pull away emotionally even as you stand before him. “This life isn’t meant for you,” he murmurs. “I should keep my distance.” His voice doesn’t sound like someone who wants distance. It sounds like someone terrified of losing you before he even has the right to call you his
-you tell him, gently but firmly, that you’re not afraid. That you chose to stay long before he ever asked you to. Elijah closes his eyes as if the words physically hit him - a mixture of relief, longing, and something more dangerous
-when he opens his eyes again, he looks at you like he’s already lost the battle he’s been fighting with himself for weeks. His hand lifts, hesitating halfway - fingers brushing your cheek with a gentleness that makes your breath stutter. “You should not want someone like me,” he whispers. But he doesn’t pull his hand away
-the first kiss happens in the quiet that follows - not planned, not restrained, not cautious. One moment you’re standing close, breathing the same air, and the next his lips are on yours, warm and fierce and impossibly tender
-Elijah kisses like he’s terrified and relieved all at once, like he’s been holding back a dam that finally cracks under its own weight
-when he pulls back, he’s breathless - composed on the surface but absolutely undone behind the eyes. “I shouldn’t have…” he starts, but you shake your head before he can finish. His gaze flickers to your mouth again, betraying him completely
-after that night, things shift. Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just quietly, naturally. Elijah starts reaching for your hand without thinking; a brush of fingers, a light touch on your back, the kind of affection he offers instinctively rather than consciously. It surprises him every time
-he’s still cautious. He still overthinks. But he stops pretending he doesn’t want you. He stands closer, speaks softer, looks at you longer. The tension between you is no longer sharp - it’s warm, steady, something that breathes instead of presses
-you begin to see the private side of him - the one that relaxes his shoulders when you walk into the room, the one that allows himself small smiles that never reach anyone else
-Elijah’s affection is subtle but constant: offering you his jacket, checking your pulse after danger, touching your cheek like it’s sacred
-he starts trusting you with things he never shares - stories from before the family fractured, memories that shaped him. He doesn’t talk about feelings directly, but he lets you see the parts of him he usually hides beneath centuries of discipline
-sometimes, when he thinks you’re asleep, he studies your face like he’s trying to memorize every detail. Like he still can’t quite believe he gets to be close to you. He reaches out, brushing your hair back with a tenderness that almost hurts
-he’s protective in a way that’s quiet but absolute. Not possessive, not controlling just deeply aware of your safety. He always positions himself between you and danger, even unconsciously. Even more telling: he listens when you tell him not to worry
-the beginnings of the relationship feel soft, steady, unspoken. No grand declarations - just two people choosing each other over and over in a world full of sharp edges. Elijah isn’t used to happiness, but he looks at you like he’s learning it for the first time
-Elijah is gentle to the point of reverence when it comes to intimacy. Not shy - never that — but intentional. Every kiss, every touch, every moment feels like he’s asking a silent question: Is this okay? Do you want this too? And every time you answer yes, something inside him melts
-he’s more affected by desire than he ever lets on. You learn it in the way he pauses when you whisper his name, the way his jaw tightens when you brush your fingers along the back of his neck, the way his self-control frays just a little when you kiss him first. Elijah kisses like he’s starving, even when he tries not to
-the first night you spend together isn’t about urgency. It’s slow, warm, full of whispered promises and gentle touches - deeply emotional. Elijah treats you like you’re not something to conquer but something precious to hold. Afterward, he rests his forehead against yours and murmurs, “I never imagined I could feel this… whole"
-he’s incredibly respectful of boundaries. He asks what you want, listens, adjusts. His protectiveness never crosses into control - it’s simply the instinct of a man who has lost too much and refuses to lose you
-Klaus is intimidating at first. He circles you metaphorically the way a wolf circles something new in his territory. He asks pointed questions, invasive ones, trying to see what you’re made of. Elijah is tense the whole time, ready to intervene - until you answer him calmly and confidently. Klaus raises a brow, impressed. “Well. At least you’re not dull, darling"
-Rebekah takes to you almost instantly. She drags you into her orbit with an ease that surprises even Elijah. She tests you once - a subtle gauging of loyalty - and when you stand firm, she beams. “You’re good for him,” she says, linking arms with you. “Finally someone who doesn’t bore me to death”
-Kol, on the other hand, pokes at you for sport. He teases, taunts, pushes buttons just to see how you react. When you don’t scare easily, he looks almost offended - then entertained. “Oh, I like you,” he grins. “No wonder Elijah does.” Elijah groans in the background
-the family dynamic becomes part of your life whether you want it or not. Klaus storms in at random hours, Rebekah brings champagne for no reason, Kol “borrows” things from your room. Elijah apologizes constantly, but you see the small smile he hides when he notices how naturally you fit in
-Elijah never forgets - not for a second - that you’re human. It’s not fear or condescension, but reverence. He watches your hands move, your chest rise and fall, the soft warmth of your skin… and it hits him each time: you are fragile, mortal, breakable. He treats that fragility not like a flaw, but like something sacred. He holds you as if you’re life itself
-Elijah’s protectiveness is quiet but absolute. If someone raises their voice at you, he’s suddenly at your side. If danger lurks nearby, his hand finds your back. He doesn’t forbid you from doing anything - he simply ensures he’s there, a shadow and a shield
-your mortality terrifies him in ways he’ll never fully admit. The first time you get a small cut, he’s instantly at your side, checking the wound like it’s far more serious than it is. You laugh, try to brush it off. He doesn’t. “You only have one life,” he says quietly, thumb brushing your uninjured skin. “I intend to protect it with everything I am”
-you learn he’s incredibly sensitive to your emotions. If you’re upset, he notices even before you speak. If you’re scared, he stands closer. If you’re happy, he softens in a way that looks like a man remembering what peace feels like
-being human means you get tired - and Elijah absolutely adores it. He’ll find you asleep on the sofa after a long day, curled into a blanket, and something in him just… softens. He carries you to bed with impossible gentleness every time. And though he doesn’t sleep often, he stays beside you, listening to your heartbeat like it’s the most comforting sound in the world
-you get cold easily, and Elijah notices. He drapes his jacket over your shoulders without being asked, wraps an arm around you when the night wind bites at your skin, warms your hands in his with such tenderness it almost hurts. “Forgive me,” he teases softly one evening, “I forget not everyone is built to withstand the centuries”
-Elijah has a lover’s quiet pride. When you enter a room, he straightens slightly. When you speak, he gives you his full attention. When someone interrupts you, he cuts them off with a single calm look. It’s subtle, but everyone sees it: you matter to him
-morning intimacy becomes a favorite: you tangled in sheets, Elijah half-awake, kisses soft and slow, his voice rough with sleep when he murmurs, “good morning, my love.” He’s never been more relaxed than he is in those stolen moments
-your laughter becomes his weakness. The first time you laugh at one of his dry comments, he stops mid-motion, eyes warming instantly. After that, he tries - subtly - to make you laugh more often. Klaus catches him doing it and nearly chokes on a drink
-Elijah becomes hyper-aware of time in a way he hasn’t been in centuries. To him, decades pass like seasons - but with you, every hour feels fleeting. He memorizes everything about you with quiet desperation: the way you tilt your head when you’re curious, the cadence of your footsteps, the warmth of your laughter. He’s lived a thousand years, but you make every moment feel suddenly, painfully precious
-your pulse drives him insane - not as bloodlust, never that, but as a reminder that you’re alive in a way he hasn’t been for centuries. Sometimes you rest your head against his chest and he goes still, listening to the steady rhythm of your heart. He doesn’t tell you how grounding it is - how it pulls him back from the edges of his own darkness - but you feel the way he holds you tighter
-you catch glimpses of his guilt. He’ll hold you close after something dangerous happens, then pull away with regret shadowing his expression. “You shouldn’t have to live like this,” he says quietly. But when you cup his face and tell him you choose him, his resolve falters every time
-Klaus becomes fiercely protective of you - almost comically so. He threatens anyone who looks at you wrong, warns enemies that harming you will unleash consequences “unlike anything the world has ever seen.” Elijah pretends to be annoyed. Secretly, he’s grateful
-Rebekah starts treating you like a sibling - borrowing your clothes, giving you relationship advice you didn’t ask for, threatening Elijah jokingly whenever he overthinks too much. “If you hurt her,” she says sweetly, “I’ll dagger you myself”
-Kol calls you “little human” until you outwit him at something - then he stops abruptly and mutters, “Alright, you’re less boring than I expected.” In Kol language, that’s the highest praise imaginable
-you get sick one week - nothing serious, just a human cold - and Elijah reacts like you’re on your deathbed. He appears with soups, medications, blankets, and a level of hovering that shocks even Rebekah. “Brother, she merely sneezed,” she groans, but Elijah doesn’t care. He wipes your forehead with a cool cloth and mutters, “humor me.” You’ve never seen him so flustered
-intimacy deepens in small ways: Elijah brushing your hair back when you’re reading, you fixing his tie when he’s lost in thought, the two of you sharing quiet moments that say more than words. He has centuries of restraint, yet with you, he lets himself be soft
-and somewhere in that mix of passion, danger, affection, and chaos, the relationship settles into something steady - something real. Elijah watches you interacting with his siblings one evening, warmth softening his features. He steps beside you, fingers brushing yours, and whispers, “I never imagined a life like this… but I’m grateful beyond words”
-he moves through the world differently with you now. You notice the subtle ways he softens around you: the tilt of his head when he’s listening, the almost imperceptible exhale when you touch his arm. Being with him is like seeing the centuries in his eyes, tempered by the rare calm of someone choosing to be fully present
-Elijah’s love for you is patient, intense, and unyielding. When he holds you, it’s not merely desire - it’s reverence. Hands linger along your back, your hair, your face, with a kind of restraint that says he knows what centuries can do, and he doesn’t want to rush what belongs to him anyway
-physical intimacy is measured and consuming. A brush of his fingers against your wrist can make your pulse stutter. A shared bed doesn’t just mean warmth - it means the quiet understanding of each other’s rhythm. He values the tension of proximity, the comfort of being near, the almost-spoken promise in a touch or a glance
-there’s an undercurrent of tension. He’s immortal. You’re not. The thought of losing you is quiet but persistent. Occasionally, his gaze darkens, just for a heartbeat, when the fragility of human life reminds him how precious you are and how painfully fleeting your time together might be
-arguments with Elijah are rare and deliberate. He is a man of honor, centuries-honed restraint, and a gentleman in every sense. He never raises his voice, never lashes out. The disagreements that arise are measured, deliberate, spoken in careful tones, each word weighted with thought
-most arguments stem from one constant: your safety. His fear for you manifests in frustration when you take risks, when you face dangers he knows are avoidable. You argue back, fiercely human, unwilling to step aside. His tone stays calm, yet the intensity behind it betrays how deeply he cares. He doesn’t want to control you - he wants to preserve you, and that drives the friction between your hearts
-laughter comes easily now, softer, frequent. He notices it the first time you laugh freely in his presence - it makes him pause mid-step. “I haven’t heard that,” he murmurs, almost to himself. He begins to seek these moments out, wanting to cultivate them like they’re rare gems among centuries of conflict
-Elijah notices the way his siblings respond to you, the comfort you bring into their lives. It reassures him that you are not just an accessory to his world; you are part of it, breathing life into centuries-old routines. He can step back and watch the interactions with a rare ease, seeing you as fully integrated
-sometimes he watches you sleep, the thought of loss simmering beneath his calm exterior. And sometimes, in those long, quiet nights, he allows himself a soft confession of fear - not that you’d ever leave him, but that time might steal you first
-you find comfort in the duality of him - fierce, elegant, dangerous, yet tender, careful, devoted. He kisses differently now: brief touches in hallways, lingering in the kitchen, steady hands that explore and soothe. Every kiss is precise, intentional, full of longing and reverence
-your intimacy expands beyond physicality. You fall asleep in each other’s arms. He memorizes your scent, the way your hair falls over your shoulders. Small touches, whispered reassurances, hand-holding in crowded spaces become anchors. He is no longer just a vampire protecting you - he is a partner, present in every way he can be
-but danger lurks still, and one night it becomes immediate. A threat materializes - lethal, unyielding. You are gravely injured while defending yourself. Elijah’s calm shatters in a flash of centuries-old panic. He holds you, desperate, unrelenting, refusing to let you go. The reality of your mortality crashes into the heart of your bond
-there is no choice left. With a grim, anguished reverence, he turns you into a vampire. The moment is heartbreak and salvation entwined
-he holds you as you awaken anew, watching your eyes adjust to this world, the weight of centuries now shared. This marks the turning point - your bond with him, his family, and the dangerous, immortal life you now inhabit is irrevocable
-waking up is nothing like you imagined. The world is too sharp, too loud, too vivid; your new senses crash over you like a tide. Elijah is there the moment you open your eyes — still, steady, composed, as if he’s been holding his breath for hours. “You’re safe,” he says softly. The calm in his voice becomes your first anchor in this terrifying new clarity
-he talks you through every second of the transition; his voice is low, even, patient in a way that makes you realize he prepared himself for this moment long before you did. He treats you not like something fragile - but like someone reborn
-the first time you feed, your hands shake. Elijah holds them steady without touching you, just close enough for you to feel his presence. “You are not a monster,” he murmurs when you look horrified afterward. “You are still you.” And somehow, when he says it, you believe him more than you believe yourself
-Klaus watches your early days with surprising gentleness. “You’re family now,” he tells you, voice low, a promise disguised as a threat. He teaches you how to fight with the strength you don’t yet know how to wield, while Elijah watches from the side - proud, anxious, endlessly patient
-Rebekah becomes your unofficial older sister, guiding you through the parts Elijah forgets to explain - the messy, emotional, human bits of being a newborn vampire
-Kol is delighted by you in the most chaotic way. “Look at you,” he grins, circling you like you’re a new toy. “Our sweet little fledgling.” Elijah’s stare silences him instantly - but Kol still smirks behind his glass, endlessly amused and unexpectedly protective
-Elijah treats your transition with reverence. He helps you train, but never pushes. He talks you through your instincts, your new senses, your heightened emotions. And each time you falter, he reminds you gently, “you are learning. That is all. You owe yourself patience"
-intimacy shifts after the turning - not rougher, not wilder, but deeper. Passion no longer needs to be restrained; neither of you fear hurting the other. Touch becomes a language, hungry but reverent, like he’s rediscovering you with every brush of his lips. It’s not about power - it’s about finally being equals
-Elijah, who once held himself back in fear of breaking you, now lets his guard fall in ways you’ve never seen. There’s a softness in his eyes when he kisses you now, a kind of awe - like he can’t quite believe you chose eternity with him
-the first time your emotions spike uncontrollably - anger sharp and sudden - Elijah doesn’t flinch. He steps closer, calm as ever, and takes your hands. “Let it pass,” he murmurs. “You’re not wrong for feeling.” His unwavering steadiness becomes the thing that keeps you grounded
-you start sparring with Elijah, and he loves it more than he lets on. He’s impressed by how quickly you adapt, how naturally you move, how your instincts sharpen day by day. “Remarkable,” he says once, breathless - and Elijah Mikaelson is never breathless
-your presence stabilizes the family in ways no one anticipates. Klaus listens to you. Rebekah confides in you. Even Kol begrudgingly respects you when you call him out on his antics. Elijah watches it all with quiet pride - like you were always meant to fit into the cracks of their ancient, fractured world
-the two of you develop this unspoken ritual: after any chaos, any fight, any moment that pushes you too close to the edge, Elijah cups your face gently and rests his forehead against yours. It’s grounding for you - and for him. “You return to me,” he whispers every time, as if he’s still convincing himself
-here’s a night when you both sit on the balcony overlooking New Orleans, feet touching, hands intertwined, city humming below. Elijah says, almost hesitant, “I feared eternity more than death. Until you.” And something in your undead chest aches with how deeply he means it
-your relationship deepens into something quiet but unshakeable. There is no rush anymore, no fear of running out of time. Love becomes slower, richer - something you both savor instead of chase. You learn each other’s emotional rhythms like breathing
-the first time you call him “forever,” he freezes. Elijah Mikaelson - dignified, composed, ancient - actually loses his breath. He cups the back of your neck and pulls you close, resting his lips against your hair. “Then forever,” he murmurs. “With you, I welcome it”
-there’s no dramatic declaration, no extravagant ceremony - but there’s a moment when it becomes undeniable: your love is immortal now. The kind that doesn’t burn out or fade. The kind that centuries will only deepen. The kind that feels inevitable, like gravity
-and one night, long after the chaos has quieted, Elijah looks at you like he’s memorizing your face for the thousandth time. “You realize,” he says softly, thumb brushing your cheek, “we have all the time the world will allow. And I intend to love you through every century of it.” The promise settles between you with the weight of eternity - gentle, steady, unbreakable. Your love isn’t just preserved now. It’s infinite
-loving Elijah Mikaelson is like standing in the eye of a centuries-old storm; where the winds howl with memory and violence, yet the center is impossibly calm. He loves the way ancient trees hold the earth: steady, unyielding, rooted in something deeper than language. His devotion wraps around you like twilight: soft at first, then absolute, until you realize you’ve stopped fearing the dark because he’s made a home for you inside it. Loving him is a vow whispered between heartbeats, a quiet immortality that feels both fragile and indestructible. It’s choosing the hand that never trembles, even when the world does. It’s learning that forever isn’t a curse, not when it breathes in his voice saying your name
Your feedback and criticism is greatly appreciated; feel free to leave a comment, it means more than you know! 🥺❤️
Thank you for stumbling onto my Blog, enjoy reading 💫
This was perfect ♥️ I love how detailed it was and how it went through all the stages of the relationship. Ugh so sweet. This is definitely going to be a reread for years to come
Your sleep is interrupted by your very annoying boyfriend.
It’s pitch black outside when you wake up to someone laying next to you in bed.
Your hand reached for the stake under Damon’s pillow instinctively, fingers gripping the wood tight. You quickly turned in bed and aimed at the mass next to you.
“Who the-“ You froze as your eyes adjusted to the darkness. Beside you is none other than the bed’s owner. “Fuck off, Damon.” You groan as you slide the stake back into place under his pillow.
Damon chuckled. “Why should I? You’re the one in my bed.” He cupped your cheek and kissed the tip of your nose. “I guess I probably should’ve let you know I was home.”
“Duh. Who sneaks up on their partner in the middle of the night like that when they know there’s vamps and werewolves out and about?” You retorted.
His hand snaked around your back, pulling you into his chest. “Yeah, yeah. You’re right, I’m wrong. Nothing new.”
“Damn right.” You nodded into his chest, melting into his touch and scent. He smelled clean, like bergamot soap.
“Did you shower when you got back?”
“Yeah, didn’t wanna get blood on the sheets.”
“How sweet.” You mumbled sarcastically.
“I know!” He replied, matching your tone. “Wouldn’t wanna ruin these nice sheets huh?”
You pinched his side and shoved him back. “Shut up, Damon.”
He smiled slyly, his teeth glinted in the low moonlight. “And why would I do that?”
“Because you’re being annoying and irritating and obnoxious all while I’m trying to sleep.” You grumbled and turned your back to him.
“Aw, don’t pout about it. We both know you love how annoying, irritating, and obnoxious I am.” He purred as he slotted himself against your back.
You rolled your eyes and ignored him.
“Well, I hope you know that I’m all those things because you let me be.” He whispered and kissed your shoulder.
You sighed and intertwined one of your hands with his against your stomach. He was right. Damon was a major brat, but only because you allowed it. “Goodnight.”
synopsis : you lost a stupid bet and your bestie told you to fuck the biggest loser in class. you thought it’d be a one-time thing. but it turns out the loser’s packing and once you get a taste you can’t stop thinking about that loser's dick.
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Chapter 6
It’s brutal.
Really fucking brutal for Satoru Gojo.
How could it not be?
Life handed him everything on a silver platter—money that never runs dry, a mind sharp enough to cut through any problem, a face that turns heads if he could atleast put enough effort, and a last name that opens doors before he even has to knock. It seemed to be mocking him in the cruelest way possible, dangling something he never even knew he even craved right in front of his face and then yanking it away every single time.
He’d never really cared about girls before. Not much. His head had always been buried in books, eyes fixed on the next perfect grade, the next higher rank, the next piece of proof that he wasn’t just some spoiled rich kid riding his father’s name. Got scholarship to a college his family could have bought twice and make it a parking lot. Girls were nothing more than background noise, meaningless distractions he could tune out without a second thought.
Then you just had to walk in like that.
On the first day, orientation hall packed and quiet except for the professor’s droning speech. The door swung open with a bang that felt like a personal insult to the room. You strolled in late and completely shameless, your skirt so short it dared anyone to look away, your top cut low enough to make half the crowd choke on their own breath. The professor snapped at you for the interruption. You rolled your eyes, clicked your heels across the floor like you owned every damn inch of the place, and dropped into an empty seat without a shred of apology. Everyone stared, some in awe, some in disapproval, but you didn’t give a single fuck.
Satoru should have been annoyed. Instead his heart slammed against his ribs, his cock twitched traitorously in his pants, and in that single moment he was already amused, obsessed, and utterly ruined.
From then on he noticed everything about you. Every one of your skirts, every pair of your jeans, every new shade of gloss that caught the light, every pair of boots that made your legs look downright criminal. He started coming ten minutes early just to watch you walk in, his pulse racing like an addict waiting for the only fix that mattered.
You never noticed him staring. Why would you? Your mind was always elsewhere: the next guy you were going to fuck, the club you and Aira were dying to hit, that new top you saw online and absolutely needed to buy. Guys ogled you constantly—hot ones, confident ones, the kind who actually had a shot. Satoru was just background noise, another pair of eyes in the crowd. Nothing except just a nerdy guy who’d been staring at you like you hung the damn moon since the very first second. Nothing special. Nothing new.
He began to wonder if this was his type now. He used to think he wanted something soft, pink dresses, shy smiles, cute giggles, girls who were easy to love and easy to keep. Then you appeared like a little demon wrapped in leather and sin, sassing people without hesitation, laughing loud enough to fill the room, flirting shamelessly with guys who actually knew what they were doing. You were the opposite of safe, a siren who could seduce and ruin a man with one smirk and make him thank you for it.
So why the hell did the thought of you ruining him make his dick throb and his chest ache in equal measure? Why you, of all people? Why did the idea of letting you destroy him for anyone else feel so fucking exciting?
He loved the way you laughed with your friends. He loved how you'd snap back at professors who dared scold you for your "inappropriate" outfits, voice dripping with sarcasm until they backed off red-faced. Every time, he'd have to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning like an idiot. He wanted to make you his so badly it hurt, wanted to be the one you turned that fire toward, the one who got to feel it burn.
But admiration wasn't the only thing stirring in him. It was filthy, desperate need.
On the days you showed up looking especially lethal, red gloss smeared across your lips like fresh sin, hair loose and wild, knee-high boots hugging your calves, leather skirt so tight it looked painted on, white shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the swell of your tits—he could barely breathe. Sitting through those lectures became torture. His cock would thicken painfully against his thigh, balls heavy and aching, every shift in his seat a reminder of how badly he needed relief. He refused to sneak off to the bathroom like some desperate fuck; he held it together until he got home, where he could lock the door, strip down, and take his time.
He'd pull up your socials like a man possessed. He’d find the perfect photo of you laughing, lips parted, tits pushed up in a mirror selfie that felt custom-made to wreck him. He’d stroke himself slow, imagining it was your mouth wrapped around him, your cunt clenching tight, your nails digging bloody lines down his back.
Porn didn’t do it anymore, every video twisted into visions of you on all fours, riding him reverse, tits bouncing while he fucked you stupid. When he came it was blinding, your name slipping out like a broken prayer, and then the shame crashed in immediately, hot and familiar.
But that was it. That was all he could manage: staring at you in class like a lovesick puppy, watching you flirt shamelessly with guys who actually stood a chance, then going home to fuck his hand to your pictures. It wasn't enough anymore. Greed had crept in, hot and insistent. He needed more.
So he pulled a few strings, until he landed in the same big group project as you. A massive assignment, the kind that required mandatory meetups. The night before the first group session, he couldn't sleep; he lay there grinning like an idiot, fantasizing about how it would go. You'd have questions, you'd ask him for help because he was the smartest one there. He'd explain things clearly, patiently, watching your eyes on him for once. Maybe you'd thank him. Maybe you'd smile at him. Maybe—
You actually showed up. A miracle. You dropped into the chair across from him, skirt riding up just enough to make his throat go dry. He sat up straighter, palms slick with sweat, ready to play the helpful tutor, ready to exist in your orbit for even five minutes. You scrolled your phone in silence. Ten minutes dragged by without a single glance or word from you. Then your phone buzzed. Your face lit up real and bright, the kind of genuine smile he’d never earned and you giggled, actually fucking giggled, before snatching your bag, muttering “gotta go” to the empty air, and bouncing out without a backward look. You hadn’t asked for help. You hadn’t even registered he was there. He sat stunned for a full minute afterward, staring at the empty chair like it had personally betrayed him.
You didn't come back. Satoru ended up doing your entire portion of the project himself. You never asked. You never noticed. You never thanked him.
He finally gets it, doesn't he?
You’re way out of his league. Untouchable. Not just difficult, not just playing hard to get, completely, viciously impossible. Over the years he’s watched you move from one guy to the next, lips dragging down necks that weren’t his, hands slipping under your top that weren’t his, laughter spilling out for someone else’s ears.
Each time it carved another piece out of him. Jaw clenched until it ached, fists balled so tight his nails drew blood. He could never do shit about it. Never had the right. Two fuckin years of this bullshit, staring from the edges and you never once gave him more than a passing glance.
So why now?
After all this time of being air, why did you finally walk straight up to him? Asking for “help” in that soft, syrupy voice, lashes fluttering like you hadn’t spent years not bothering about his existence. For a second he thought he was breaking, hallucinating from wanting you too badly, brain finally cracking under the weight. But no. You were real. You pulled him in, cracked him wide open, took his virginity like it was loose change in your pocket. Then you vanished. Ghosted him like he was nothing more than yesterday’s mess to wipe away.
You’re cruel.
Vicious in a way that should make him run. You're not good for him. He knows that. He fuckin knows that. And still—he wants you more now than he ever did. All he wanted was a little taste of you but instead got a full feast. He devoured every second of you. Every moan that slipped from your lips, every flutter of your cunt around him like your body had been waiting for his cock, every time your nails dug into his shoulders and left marks he traced in the mirror later.
For those few perfect weeks he was happier than he’d ever been in his life. Some nights he slapped his own face just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Woke up grinning, already hard, because you’d be there again. Every single day.
Then it ended.
Heaven slammed shut and dropped him straight back into hell. No texts. No calls. He replays every moment obsessively—every kiss, every thrust, every time he gently cleaned his cum from between your thighs while you dozed, every time he brought you cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate like some lovesick fool. He was good. Always good. Fucked you until you were boneless and smiling in your sleep.
So why? Why leave him choking on tears in the middle of lecture like a broken thing? Why hurt him when all he’d ever done was worship the ground you walk on?
And who the fuck is this Sukuna?
He knows your history. Knew you have slept around a lot. But after him, you were his. If you weren’t in class, you were in his bed, legs locked around his waist, cunt stuffed full of him, moaning his name like it was the only word left in your vocabulary. When did you even have time for anyone else? How could another guy slip between you when the two of you were fused together every night?
His head pounds like it’s splitting open. Thoughts scream. Chest caves in on itself. He bolts from the lecture hall mid-sentence, chair scraping loud enough to make heads turn, eyes burning, drives home like a man possessed, stumbles through the door, and collapses face-first into the sheets that still carry the ghost of you.
He breaks. Sobs come ugly and heaving, wet and childlike. Sheets soak through under his face. His whole body shakes with it. He checks his phone every few seconds to find nothing. No you. He cries harder until exhaustion finally drags him under, tears still leaking from the corners of his eyes.
When he wakes, the room is dark. Eyes swollen almost shut. Nose stuffed. Throat raw and scraped from crying. Phone still clutched in his hand like a lifeline. Still nothing. Any man with even a shred of pride would stay right there. Delete your number. Block your account. Get rid of the pictures. Move on.
Not him. Not when it’s you. He needed you, needed to see you. Atleast needed to breathe the same air as you.
He drags himself upright, hands trembling, grabs his keys to go where? How does he even know where the party is? Simple. All he had to do is scroll through socials to find Aira's story, “Mark’s tonight!!” with the location tagged. He drives there shaking, parks three streets away and walks the rest.
The house throbs—bass rattling windows, red and purple lights flashing through thin curtains, bodies spilling onto the lawn like spilled liquor. He hesitates at the threshold. Uninvited. Wrong in every way, sweater too soft, hair too messy, eyes too red from crying. People glance. Some stare. Most don’t care. He knows if you see him here you’ll end him for real this time. But sanity left him a long ago.
He slips inside. The crowd swallows him whole. Sweat, booze, weed, cheap perfume thick in the air. He weaves through bodies, eyes darting, frantic—searching for ypu, the sound of your laugh cutting through the noise. Anything.
That's when a hand clamps around his wrist. Hard. Yanks him sideways into a darker corner—hallway stretching toward the bedrooms, shadows thick, music muffled behind walls. He stumbles and looks down.
Aira’s nails bite into his wrist like she’s anchoring him in place, her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits in the dim hallway light. The bass from the main room thumps through the walls, distant and muffled now, like the place belongs to another world entirely. She release him stepping closer, voice dropping low and razor-sharp. “What the hell are you doing here, Gojo?”
He freezes. His heart slams against his ribs so violently it feels like bruising. If you see him here, uninvited, slinking through shadows like a desperate creep, you’ll end him. That cold, cutting stare you sometimes wore would finally finish what the days of silence started. He stutters, words fracturing before they can form. “I—I didn’t mean—I just—”
She doesn’t ease up. Her eyes narrows, demanding again. “Why are you here? This isn’t your place. Who invited you?”
He tries again, throat closing around the panic. “A-Aira, I—I wasn’t—I didn’t—” Nothing coherent makes it out. Just broken sounds. His hands tremble uselessly at his sides, mind blanking under the weight of her glare.
Aira finally lets out an exasperated sigh, crossing her arms tight across her chest. She mutters under her breath, eyes flicking away like she’s furious with the entire situation. “God, this is all my fault. I never thought it’d be headache like this.”
He blinks, confusion slicing through the fear. “What… what are you saying?”
She snaps her gaze back to him, cutting off whatever half-formed protest he was trying to make. “I never should’ve pushed her into it. Now look at you, stalking her, asking around about her like some obsessed freak. What the hell is wrong with you, Gojo? You’re acting like she owes you something.”
He shakes his head slowly, the words not quite connecting. His stomach twists into cold knots, sweat prickling along his spine. “I don’t—I don’t understand. What do you mean you made her…?”
Aira lets out a short, bitter laugh, mocking, almost pitying. “You really think she was into you? That she looked at you and just had to have you? That’s adorable. And completely fucking delusional.”
She leans in closer, voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “She only went near you because of me. And I swear I was fuckin' joking when I told her to fuck you. I didn’t think she’d actually do it!! She's that dumb sometimes like that.”
The hallway tilts. His knees give out, the world cracking open beneath him. A joke? How could that be true? How could you kiss him like you were starving, moan his name like it was sacred, if it was all pretend? How could you arch into him, beg for more, clench around him like your body was made for his, if it was just a stupid joke? And it wasn’t once either. Every single night—your legs locked around his waist, holding onto him for dear life, your body trembling as he filled you again and again. That couldn’t have been fake. Could it? There was no fucking way.
"Y—you're lying, that's not true.... It—It can't be."
Aira just sighs, almost feeling bad for him, before fumbling her phone out and scrolls through the chats until she finds it—the photo you sent her that first night, him asleep against your chest, mouth latched to your tits like he’d never let go. Under that, the text from you, "Happy?"
“See? Here's your proof. Forget her, Gojo. Move on. I'm saying this for your sake.”
He shakes his head harder, tears already blurring the edges of his vision. “No—no, it wasn’t just that night. We were together every day—I swear. It can’t—it can’t just be—”
Aira’s expression flickers, pity flashing through the irritation as she watches him come apart, tears slipping freely down his cheeks now. But she’s done being gentle. Her voice sharpens. “What the hell are you even saying? Who are you tryna' fool? Fine. You don’t wanna believe me? Go upstairs. Corner room in the right. See for yourself.”
His breath catches. Confusion crashes against a sick, twisted spark of hope. “She… she’s there?”
Aira laughs again, cold, hollow, mocking. “Yeah. Go see where she is. What she’s doing. Who she’s with.”
He didn't even register the last part she said. He didn’t think. He just runs.
Up the stairs, heart hammering louder than the music below. The hallway is lined with doors, some cracked, moans leaking from one, drunken laughter from another. He walks through the hallway until he reaches the corner room. The door isn’t fully shut. Just ajar, enough for light and sound to spill out.
He slows. Stops halfway down the hall. Hears your laugh—light, familiar, the sound that used to flood his chest with warmth. He leans in, peeks through the narrow gap. And everything shatters.
He sees you. Pressed against the wall. Legs wrapped tight around a guy with pink hair and weird black tattoos curling up his arms. He’s looking at you like you’re prey he’s finally caught, hungry, feral, possessive. You’re smiling back at him, soft, real, the exact smile Satoru had convinced himself was going to reserved for him alone. Then you kiss. Deep. Messy. Hungry. His hands roam freely, sliding over your waist, up your neck, squeezing your breasts like they belong to him.
Satoru can’t look. But he also can’t look away.
He pinches the inside of his arm hard enough to leave bruises. Rubs his eyes until they burn. Blinks. Blinks again. And again. It’s still there. Real. You, up there with someone else. Smiling. Kissing. Letting him touch you like that.
He wants to storm in. Grab you. Demand answers. Why did you make him feel like he mattered? Why moan his name like it carried weight? Why let him fall so completely, so stupidly, just to discard him like garbage? What did he do wrong? He was good. Always good. Always a good boy for you. Cleaned you up. Held you while you slept. Fucked you just how you like it and kept you safe in his arms. Why that guy? Why anyone but Satoru?
Sadness hits first, cold, suffocating, pulling him under. Then anger surges up behind it, hot and ugly, twisting into something nameless and violent. Fresh tears burn tracks down his face. He backs away slowly, silently, slips down the stairs, pushes through the crowd, and escapes into the night air before anyone can see him break completely.
*****
You wrap your arms around Sukuna one last time, pulling him in so close you can feel the steady thump of his heartbeat against your chest. He doesn’t want to let go. His arms lock around your waist like iron bands, refusing to loosen, face buried in the crook of your neck as if he could keep you there by sheer force of will. You feel the tension in every muscle, the quiet desperation in how he holds on a second too long. Then he exhales slowly, pulls back just enough to press a lingering kiss to your forehead, warm, almost tender in a way that makes your throat tighten.
“Doll,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and rough, thumb brushing your cheek one final time. “If he fucks up… lemme know, yeah? I’ll make damn sure you never fall for anyone else but me again.”
You let out a small, broken chuckle and give him a playful tap on the chest. “Bye, Kuna.”
He lets you go. The moment your back turns, the easy smile drops from his face. Jaw clenches hard enough that the muscle jumps under his skin. He digs a cigarette from his pocket, lights it with a quick flick, inhales deep like he’s trying to burn every trace of your scent out of his lungs. It glows bright in the dim room as the door clicks shut behind you.
You descend the stairs with your heart strangely light for the first time in days. Your mind is hazy, full of him—Satoru, Satoru, Satoru. You wanted to call him. Wanted to hear his voice. You don’t know exactly what you’ll say when you call. The words haven’t formed yet. But the plan is clear: reply to him first. Drive to his place. Say you’re sorry. Say you’ll never do this again. Say you finally understand how much he means, how badly you fucked up, how much you need him. Your steps feel lighter, your chest loose for once. Everything is going to be okay. You’ll make it okay.
You spot Aira downstairs near the drink table and head straight for her, already reaching for your bag. “Hey, I’m taking the car—”
She turns. Looks at you strangely, eyes sharp, mouth tight. “Come with me.”
You pause. “What’s wrong?”
She doesn’t answer. Just grabs your arm and pulls you toward the backyard. The sliding door opens to cool night air, string lights flickering over empty lawn chairs and scattered cigarette butts. She lets go once you’re outside, crossing her arms with a heavy sigh.
“I know you’re not gonna like this,” she starts, voice careful, “but that guy was here.”
Your stomach drops. “What guy?”
“You know. That guy. Gojo.”
Your eyes widen. “W—what? He… he was here?”
“Yeah. Fucking creep. I told him off.”
The blood drains from your face. “You did whattt??? Did he leave?”
“Yeah, he did.”
The words hit like punches. Satoru was here? Why? To see you, there’s no other reason. Then why leave without finding you? Something cold and heavy coils in your gut, twisting tighter. Did Aira say something to him?
You grab her shoulders hard shaking her without meaning to. “What did you say to him?”
Aira winces. “Jeez, Y/n! You’re hurting me—”
You pull back fast, hands trembling. “Sorr—sorry. Just… tell me what happened. Please.”
She rubs her shoulders, staring at you like you’ve grown a second head. “What the hell’s gotten into you? He came asking about you. Been creeping around for days, asking me and a few others where you’ve been. I told him to fuck off. First of all, I didn’t even think you’d actually fuck him. See what happens when you mess with these kind of guys, babe?”
“Aira,” you cut in, voice shaking. “What exactly did you say to him?”
She rolls her eyes. “I told him the truth, ofcourse. He didn’t believe me, so I showed him the pic you sent me. He needed to see it. He really thought it was something," she said with a laugh. "Now he won’t bother you again. Thank me, come on.”
Your vision tunnels. Furious heat floods your face, eyes burning. What you just heard can’t be true. She didn’t just say that to him. She didn't just mess it all up. Not when everything was finally okay. Not when you’d finally sorted the mess in your head and were ready to fix it. You grab her hand, harder this time. Nails digging into her soft flesh. “Tell me you’re joking. Tell me you’re fucking joking, Aira.”
Your eyes are furious, but damp too, tears threatening to spill. Aira blinks, confused, trying to pull free. “Girl, what’s wrong with you? Let go—ouch!”
You release her. Hands shaking so bad you can barely feel them. “Just—tell me you didn’t.”
“I’m not joking. I said what I said.” She soothes the red marks on her hand. “What the hell’s gotten into you? Where’s Sukuna anyway? I told him you were upstairs. Did you two get high or something? Why are you acting like this?”
You can’t speak. Words stick in your throat. Aira stares at you, blinking, waiting for an explanation you can’t give.
“Gimme the keys,” you manage, voice cracking.
“Girl, where are y—”
“Gimme the fucking keys, Aira!”
“Goddd, fineee.” She digs them out of her pocket, tosses them to you. “Here. Take it.”
You don’t walk. You run to the car. Fumble the keys. As the door opens, you dive inside, searching for your phone—there, on the passenger seat. You snatch it and unlock it open.
No new messages. No missed calls. Nothing. What were you even expecting? You tap the screen hard, like force will make notifications appear. “Shit… shit shit shit—”
You dial his number. Once. Twice. Five times. It just sent straight to voicemail. You text him, with fingers shaking so bad you misspell half the words.
“where are you”
“are you at home??”
“toru please reply”
“i'm sorry"
You stare at the screen. It’s laughable. That audacity of yours. All those days ignoring him like he was worthless, and now you demand he answer? Reply? When you didn’t bother before?
Your legs weaken. Chest aches so sharp you can’t breathe right. You were finally happy. Finally sorted the mess in your head. Ready to fix it. Ready to tell him you’re sorry.
And now this? You don’t know.
You don’t know anything anymore, only that the ache in your chest is screaming louder than the silence on your phone, louder than every mistake you’ve made since the day you walked into his life pretending it was a game.
But you have to make this right. You have to find him. You have to look him in those stupid pretty eyes and tell him everything Aira said was wrong. That It was never the whole truth of what happened between you two. That you need him, only him. That you love him, even if saying it out loud still feels like swallowing glass.
Sitting here staring at dead chats isn’t enough. The screen stays dark no matter how hard you will it to light up. No new messages. No sign that he’s even seen your pathetic “toru please reply.” Your thumb hovers over his name one last time before you lock the phone and toss it onto the passenger seat. Enough.
You start the car. The engine growls to life beneath you, headlights cutting through the dark like they know where to go even if you feel lost. You pull out of the lot, tires crunching over gravel, and merge onto the familiar roads that lead to him.
Your heart is in your throat the whole drive. It hammers so hard you can taste it, a frantic rhythm that matches the pulse on your chest—the same pulse that used to race every time you pulled up to his house knowing he’d be waiting, desperate and yours. You hope he’s there. That he’ll open the door. That he’ll let you inside long enough to hold him, to apologize until your voice gives out, to press your body against his until he forgets why he was ever crying in the first place.
You turn onto his street. The house comes into view—lights off in the windows, driveway empty, quiet like it’s holding its breath. You park crooked, kill the engine, and sit there for a second staring at the front door. Your hands are shaking on the wheel. This is it. You’ll knock. He’ll answer. You'll talk it out and fix it.
With a heavy heart, tou step out and walk up the path and raises your fist to knock.
The house stays silent. No footsteps. No lights flicking on. No him.
You knock again—harder. Still nothing. Your stomach sinks. You try the knob. Locked. You press your forehead to the cool wood, whispering his name like a prayer, like he might hear it through the door and open it just to shut you up. But he doesn’t.
The realization settles slow and sick: he’s not here. Maybe he never came home. Maybe he drove somewhere else to hurt alone. Maybe he’s done letting you in.
But where could he possibly be? Where do he might have gone? And how would you possibly know that? All these unanswered questions tear you apart. You slide down the door until you’re sitting on the cold step, knees to your chest, phone clutched useless in your hand. Tears burn hot behind your eyes but don’t fall. Not yet.
Everything was going to be fine. You were finally ready. Finally understood. Finally going to say the words that could have changed everything. And he’s gone.
You sit there in the dark, waiting for headlights that never come, whispering apologies to a house that can’t hear you, not knowing yet that the boy who loved you more than breathing has already decided he’s done letting you break him.
the young justice characters’ favorite ways to kiss you
characters: artemis crock, conner kent, kaldur’ahm, m’gann m’orzz, richard "dick" grayson, wallace "wally" west, and zatanna zatara.
artemis crock
shoulder kisses
• artemis isn’t big on grand displays of affection, but she loves giving you shoulder kisses when you're both relaxing on the couch. it’s her way of being close without making a big deal out of it.
• she likes to leave kisses all over your shoulders when the two of you are resting in between training sessions. it’s her way of encouraging you during training.
• after a tough mission, she often gives you a quick shoulder kiss, especially if she notices you're tense or worried. it's her way of reassuring you that everything's okay and that she's here.
• artemis understands that sometimes words aren't necessary. when you're deep in thought or working on something, she'll give you a shoulder kiss as a silent show of support and encouragement.
• during quiet, everyday moments, she develops a routine of giving you a soft kiss on the shoulder when she walks past you, making sure her affection becomes a regular part of your day. <33
conner kent
angel kisses
• this is one of the softest kisses, one that is filled with affection and nothing but love. he’s careful with his strength, so his angel kisses are soft and gentle, as if he's afraid of hurting you.
• when he wakes up before you, he would gently kiss each of your eyelids and let you sleep in while he makes breakfast.
• to him, you are his world, and he treats you the best, just like you deserve it. waking up to him by your side and him kissing you softly on your eyelids is absolute heaven.
• he gives you these kisses to stop you from crying, kissing away at your tears as he rubs at your cheeks with his thumbs.
• there's something so pure about the way conner gives angel kisses. he’s not always the best with words, but these light, loving touches speak volumes about how much you mean to him. <33
kaldur’ahm
hand kisses
• kaldur is very fond of hand kisses. his type of hand kisses are oddly specific, to the point where you find yourself anticipating every single one.
• he’ll first start off with a rather shy touch, grazing his finger tips against yours, almost as if he’s asking for permission.
• when you do give him the go signal, he’ll kiss your finger tips first, then he’ll quickly go higher to the first joint of your fingers, and then finally— he’ll press a kiss onto your knuckles, humming just a bit.
• in atlantean culture, hand kisses symbolize trust and loyalty, making the gesture feel even more intimate and significant when he does it.
• over time, hand kisses become a small ritual between the two of you— something that is uniquely yours. <33
m’gann m’orzz
cheek kisses
• m'gann is naturally sweet and a bit shy when it comes to expressing her feelings. cheek kisses are her go-to gesture when she wants to show affection without being too forward. her kisses are always gentle, with a touch of bashfulness.
• she loves the way you let out a chuckle or giggle when she does it. the sound of your laughter just makes her heart soar, she wants to keep doing it to see you smile.
• m'gann believes in you wholeheartedly. whenever you're about to do something important or challenging, she'll give you a quick cheek kiss for luck and encouragement.
• when she's feeling playful, m'gann will surprise you with a kiss to your cheek out of nowhere. she enjoys the way you smile or blush in response, and her own cheeks turn slightly pink as she laughs softly.
• when you're cuddled up together, she often snuggles close, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks. it’s a tender, loving gesture that makes you feel safe and cherished in her embrace. <33
richard "dick" grayson
neck kisses
• dick ADORES kissing you on your neck. whenever his lips touch that specific spot on your neck and he paints your skin with blooming marks like petals, it never cease to make his whole being feel full and complete.
• he likes sneak up on you and surprise you with a light, teasing kiss on your neck. he enjoys seeing your reaction, especially if it makes you shiver or blush.
• when you wake up together, he often trails lazy kisses down your neck as you’re both waking up. it’s a warm, tender way to start the day.
• if he ever feels like you’re in danger or stressed, his kisses on your neck are more intense and lingering, almost like he’s reassuring himself that you’re safe.
• sometimes, he’ll kiss your neck just to make you laugh, especially if you’re ticklish. he loves the sound of your laughter and how it fills the room.
• after returning from a mission, when he’s still in his nightwing suit, he’ll often pull you close, press his forehead to yours, and kiss your neck, letting the tension from the night melt away in your arms. <33
wallace "wally" west
forehead kisses
• wally’s the lovable, wholesome goofball who would say yes to kissing you at every opportunity. when he greets you in the morning in bed, a kiss to the forehead before the lips. before you leave for a mission? another one to the forehead.
• he loves to interrupt you when you speak to him and just keeps on giving you kisses. he would hold you close to him on the subway or the bus and give you kisses in public to show others that you are taken.
• he often gives you a forehead kiss when he’s about to zoom off on a mission. it’s his quick and silent way of saying, "i’ll be back soon."
• after a tough fight, when the adrenaline is still pumping, he always makes sure to check on you first. he’ll brush back your hair, kiss your forehead, and breathe a sigh of relief, happy that you’re safe.
• on quiet nights when it’s just the two of you, wally loves lying beside you, tracing patterns on your skin. he’ll lean in, give you a gentle kiss on the forehead, and whisper sweet nothings, making the moment feel intimate and special. <33
zatanna zatara
lip kisses
• zatanna’s kisses are excited and passionate. she kisses you like she can’t get enough of you, pulling you impossibly close.
• girlie likes to takes her time with you, savoring each moment, and you can feel her smile against your lips when she’s particularly happy.
• sometimes she’ll giggle between kisses, or even better, against your lips, and then pull away with a bright smile on her face as she hugs you close, pressing more kisses to your cheeks and face.
• she enjoys catching you off guard with surprise kisses. she’ll teleport right in front of you and press her lips against yours before you even realize she’s there.
• she LOVES to tease you. it seems like every time she pulls away, the corners of her lips curl into a smirk. but you notice it— you see how affected she is by the slight blush covering her cheeks. after she pulls away, she keeps her face close to yours, looking at you through her half-lidded eyes. she tucks your hair behind your ear so you can’t hide your pretty face from her. <33
summary: three moments when your family ruined your time with your boyfriend.
pairing: Wally west x batsis! reader
part one - part two
open request - wally west masterlist
The rain tapped softly against the bedroom windows. The storm was wreaking havoc in Gotham, leaving the weather windy and cold, but inside, everything was warm.
The dim lamplight cast soft shadows on the walls, while Wally was halfway on top of yours. His hand brushed against your waist beneath the fabric of the old tshirt he'd stolen that afternoon, while his lips descended down your neck in a slow, almost devotional sequence.
"Mmm… come on Wally"
The kisses became more demanding. The caresses, more daring. Your legs tangled with his under the sheets, seeking closer contact if possible, while the storm outside seemed to give rhythm to both of your accelerated pulses. Wally slid his fingers under the elastic of his shorts, just as
CLANK
The sound of something metallic hitting the balcony frame brought them out of their trance. Wally froze, his body still on top of yours, both of them gasping and paralyzed.
"It can't be..." you muttered, turning your head just in time to see a wet figure forcing the window.
"What the fuck—!" Wally began, pulling the sheet up to cover your both.
Jason Todd, soaked by the rain, casually slipped onto the balcony as if he weren't intruding on a moment that clearly wasn't meant for visitors. "Why is the door locked?" he said casually, shaking the water off his shoulders. "I told you he could stay here only if you left the door open."
"Jason, are you completely crazy?" you complained, covering yourself with the sheet. "Knock on the door like a normal person!"
"I knocked on the door, you know?" he replied, raising an eyebrow with a mocking smile. "But you were too busy with your soft porn session to listen."
Wally let out a strangled sound, burying his head under his pillow as if that would reverse the trauma.
—Jason. Out. Now. —you growled, gritting your teeth. —I'm not going to repeat this.
Jason ignored you completely and jerked his chin. "Is that your sleepwear? Because if that's sleepwear, I need to talk to Bruce about the new dress code in this house."
"Get out!" you shouted, red with embarrassment.
"Not until you swear to me that the idiot with super speed isn't going to try to get his hands on you" he paused for a second to think before continuing. " Nah, you know what? I'm staying until you both calm down." Jason slumped into the chair next to the desk as if it were his room.
"Are you kidding?" you muttered, your eyes narrowed.
"You're in bed with your boyfriend half naked and you're asking me if I'm joking? "
Wally sat up slowly, still wrapped in the sheet like a traumatized mummy. "Jason, brother, please don't make this any more awkward than it already is."
—Brother he calls me... Look how quickly he tries to gain approval, —Jason replied, giving him a sharp look.
Silence .
Wally took a deep breath. A very deep breath. "Do you think it's weird if I go live in another dimension for a couple of weeks?"
"No, take me with you please"
── .✦
The living room was silent, lit only by the blue glow of the television screen. The blankets wrapped around them, blanket-like warmth, and a tub of ice cream sat between them.
Wally had one arm around your shoulders, his other hand gently playing with your fingers. You were leaning against his chest, feeling the steady, steady beat of his heart as the movie slowed to a crawl.
"Did you know this scene was improvised?" Wally murmured, smiling mischievously, turning slightly to get a better look at you.
"Did you know I couldn't care less about the movie and I want you to kiss me?" you replied, raising an eyebrow with an equally daring smile.
He leaned toward you, his lips brushing yours with that slowness that makes the world disappear. The ignored movie. His fingers slipped under the blanket and caressed your waist gently, letting you feel the rough pads of his fingers, and just as his lips finally rested on yours
¡PLOP!
The sound of someone throwing themselves onto the couch with the entire weight of the universe suddenly separated them. The blanket shifted and the tub of ice cream almost fell to the floor. .
"Family movie night!" Dick announced with fake cheerfulness, a giant bucket of popcorn in his lap. "What are we watching?"
you both looked at him with a mixture of terror, shame and pure hatred.
"Dick... you're fucking kidding me, aren't you?" Wally muttered, his voice deep, visibly frustrated. "You're in my top three people I want to throw out a window right now!"
"How sensitive! Is this how you treat your best friend?" Dick replied, as if he didn't notice the mess he had just made.
"Clearly!" Wally sat up in the chair, still covered up to his waist by the blanket that now hung disastrously. "Do you know how hard it was to convince her to watch this movie with me?"
"A cheesy romantic comedy?" Dick said, looking at the screen with feigned interest. "Hmm, yeah, not your style. Weird. Almost... desperate i can tell."
"Because I am!" Wally exploded, pointing at you. "I want to spend time alone with my girlfriend!"
"Oh, how romantic," you said, rolling your eyes.
"I was trying!" Wally told you, pointing to the sky as if summoning the gods. "Until Dick the cock blocker came along."
Dick stood up from the chair with a firm slap on his thighs. "All right, I'll leave you two alone. But don't say I didn't warn you when Bruce checks the hallway cameras and sees Wally doing God knows what to his daughter."
"Don't come back," you growled, pointing the remote at him.
He walked away as if he hadn't caused a catastrophe.
Silence.
The glare from the screen was still there, the ice cream half-melted, the blanket badly placed, the atmosphere ruined.
Wally let out a long, defeated sigh and slumped back against the chair, his eyes closed and his heart split in two. "I can't take it anymore."
You turned to him, watched him for a second—his head thrown back, his arms crossed behind his neck, his legs spread—and in the calmest voice you could muster, you whispered, “That was so hot, Wallace.”
Wally opened one eye slowly, confused.
"what?"
── .✦
The Batcave hummed with life: console lights flickered, screens flashed with maps and data, and the distant echo of the elevator announced the imminent start of another night's patrol.
You had stayed in your usual spot, in front of the central monitor, adjusting the last lines of communication for the departure. You needed to have everyone's lines perfectly connected in case something happened.
Wally, on the other hand, already in his bright red suit, approached you in complete silence. As soon as he made sure you were out of sight, he leaned down to rest his chin on your shoulder.
"You're not going to miss me that much, are you?" he whispered, brushing his lips against your neck.
"Maybe," you replied, still staring at the screen, but still smiling. Wally was like a magnet. He always was.
"A goodbye kiss for your favorite hero?" he asked, pouting, trying to sound pitiful, as if you'd ever denied him a kiss.
You turned slightly in your chair to face him and, without thinking twice, gently took his face in your hands, letting your faces almost touch. What a beautiful man. "Only one."
It was a quick kiss at first, but as always with him, neither of you knew how to stop in time. Your fingers tangled in his red hair, his hands rested on the console behind you, and the hum of the device became a distant murmur. It wasn't anything too explicit, but it wasn't a chaste kiss either.
And right in the middle of that scene, something a bit more “affectionate” than recommended for a secret base of operations
"This is a workspace, not a motel.
you both suddenly separated as if someone had thrown a grenade.
Damian Wayne emerged from behind one of the side consoles, like a vengeful shadow, his arms crossed and the impassive expression of someone who had clearly been there for a while.
"How long have you been there?" you asked, putting a hand to your chest to keep your heart from leaping out of your mouth.
"Long enough to witness him try to merge with you, sister" she replied without flinching. "Frankly, I expected a little more discretion from you"
Wally protested, throwing up his hands, offended. “It was a kiss. A perfectly consensual and controlled one between two adults.”
"Aren't you a little old to have such raging hormones?" he said with a crooked smile. "I thought you were supposed to have control over those things by this age."
Wally looked at him, taking a deep breath as if mentally counting his patience. "Forgive me for having a functional love life."
"It's not functional if it interferes with work," Damian replied simply. "Even less so if you do it in the middle of the Batcave."
You settled into the chair, crossing your arms.
"And what were you doing back there, exactly?" you asked, crossing your arms and glaring at him.
Damian didn't hesitate. "A private investigation for our father, he wants to be aware of everything that happens here" he murmured in the same tone before turning around and going to sit in the Batmobile.
content: ex boyfriend!dick grayson, masturbation, oral, dick grayson’s sexual fantasies
ex boyfriend!dick grayson who definitely gets his fair share of game, except nothing has hit the same ever since the two of you broke up. the man admittedly has never had the same level of sexual chemistry with any woman he’s been with after you. you think he’s moved on and probably doesn’t give you a second glance, but the truth is he might have caught himself leaking through his pants that one night with his balls so blue he could practically bust in his underwear.
he can’t stop thinking about that story you posted earlier with your low cut top, cleavage peaking out unintentionally, how plump your lips looked and how you have the worst case of blowjob eyes. he can’t stop tossing and turning in bed — until his restraint gives up and he picks his phone off the side table. he knows he shouldn’t do this, but his aching won’t suffice until he’s released all that months worth of pent up tension down there. he reopens your instagram story, burying all lingering thoughts of shame and self resentment down as he pulls his boxers down, the cold breeze blessing the skin of his very erect dick springing out into his hand.
he pictures your mouth swathed around his cock, tears welling in your eyes at the constant jabbing of his tip against the inside of your throat. he’s almost at war with the guilt erupting within him, but with the photo of you on his screen paired with the lewd slideshow of imagery in his head of you adorned in your signature pink lacy underwear, tongue swirling around his swollen flush tip, he can’t help it.
the funny part is — this definitely isn’t the first time. there’s been times where he found himself rock hard in the shower, rubbing one out but all he can think about in the moment is you. porn doesn’t cut it. he could go out get a one-night stand but it’s never the same because it’s just not you. something about you alone just turns him on in a way no one else has. the way the two of you’s kinks and preferences complemented each other’s, the way your body responded to his touch and his to yours, the way you sounded each time you uttered his name in the unholiest circumstances. god, he’s afraid he might never get to feel that way again.
so he strokes himself, leaning against the wall, head thrown back as he pictures you bent over, back arched like a porn star with your head turned and your eyes locked with his. with each stroke he imagines his hand is your intoxicating pussy, picturing how your ass would slap against his hips with each thrust. he groans, involuntarily moaning your name under his breath — repeatedly, as his strokes gain momentum. oh what he’d give up to be able to fill that pussy of yours up again.
thick white ropes splatter directly onto the screen of his phone, as he releases with a loud groan of your name slipping through his tongue like a sinful prayer. he pants, chest heaving up and down as he rakes his hand through his hair, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead.
dick mentally curses himself for “violating” you like that, all the while you’re probably in bed too, doing the exact same thing but to his photos.
Pairing: Dick Grayson x f! reader (has a pussy + she/her pronouns) x Wally West
Genre: smut/nsfw, angst
Word Count: 11.8k
Summary: Wally swears he’s fine with you and Dick’s new relationship… and if he says it enough times, maybe he'll actually believe that
CW: established relationship (Dick x reader), fem reader, wally is the flash here, plot w porn, jealousy/insecurity, masturbation, sex fantasies, fear toxin, yearning, mutual pining, threesome (mmf), fingering, oral (m! receiving), p in v, cuckolding, outdoor/semi-public sex, unprotected sex, eiffel tower (kinda), aftercare!!
the longest thing ive ever posted on tumblr, by far the most detailed/complicated...and it was the dick/wally sandwich of all things that brought this on. also HUGE thanks to my fellow gotham pothead for helping me brainstorm + for listening to me yap about this for days. anywaysss enjoy!!
(banner stolen from Nightwing #90 (Tom Taylor)
title may or not be a rick springfield reference (im so corny)
yes my nerd ass made special dividers for this
“Wally, help me!” You shout, playfully hitting your fists on Dick’s back. “Dick, put me down!”
The former Robin ignores your pleas, continuing his path straight to the pool. You squirm on his shoulders, kicking your legs frantically, but he’s simply too strong.
Wally watches, suppressing a sigh. He’s not jealous—how could he be jealous? His best friend is dating his other best friend, and he’s in love with both of them. What’s there to be jealous about?
You look at him with sparkling eyes and a glittering grin, the sun on your face. You’re gorgeous, practically ethereal, and you always have been in Wally’s eyes. And Dick? Years of training with the Bat and being a vigilante have left him looking like a Greek god. It doesn’t help that the summer heat has him rocking a glowing tan.
Wally can’t help but think back to that night a little over a month ago. When you and Dick had showed up to his apartment for your weekly game night, and broke the news. You seemed so happy together, and it’s not like either of you knew about Wally’s feelings. All the boy could do was smile and nod and congratulate the two of you, no matter how bitter the word tasted on his tongue.
“Dick!” You slap his shoulder, “come on! If you throw me in there, I’m not swimming back up! Enjoy your homicide charge!”
Wally laughs at your stupid joke. “Don’t worry, Rob. I’ll help you hide the body.”
You put on a fake hurt face and flip him the finger before erupting into giggles. Wally returns your gesture, grinning back at you. Dick makes it to the edge of the pool and tosses you in, giving you a half-assed salute as you fall.
Of course, Wally can’t let this stand. He’s on his feet in a microsecond, dashing towards the two of you at the edge of the water. He shoves Dick into the water, tugging his phone out of his pocket before he falls in. Wally manages to grab you just before you hit the surface of the water, lifting you into his arms.
He stands still and watches his best friend surface, the water droplets on his tanned skin making him look even more god-like.
“I’ll get you back for that, Wally.” Dick threatens, but with the grin on his face and his sopping wet hair, it’s hard to take him seriously.
You hate to admit it, but you secretly enjoy the feeling of Wally’s warm skin on yours. His bare abs and strong arms glisten with sweat and banana scented sunscreen—you swallow hard and force yourself to look away.
“Thanks for the save,” you flash a grin at him and hop out of his arms.
“It was worth it,” he shrugs. He looks down at the melted rubber of his flip flops and sighs, “good thing these were only $3.”
Dick hoists himself out of the pool, his biceps dripping wet and glowing in the sunlight. He grabs his towel off of his foldout chair, towel drying his hair. The ends curl where it’s started to dry, and you want to tug on the strands with your fingers.
Wally retreats back to the chair he was laying on. “That’s enough sun for me for the day,” he jokes. “One more minute and my skin would’ve matched my suit.”
“You and your delicate ginger skin,” you smirk. “Poor, delicate Wally.”
He rolls his eyes at you. “I’d watch it, unless you want a swim in the pool.”
“Okay, okay, I surrender.”
Dick comes up behind you, pressing his wet body to your warm back. You shiver and attempt to shove him off but he clings onto you.
“What?” He pouts, “you don’t want me, baby?”
Wally scrunches up his nose without meaning to. He wishes he was either one of you right now, in the middle of you two. Anything but this.
Dick spins you around, keeping his hands on your waist, and pulls you in for a kiss. The water from his hair drops onto the top of your head and runs down your temples but you don’t care. You’re too focused on tasting him, his familiar flavour muddied with the taste of chlorine and lemonade.
It takes a minute for either of you to notice that Wally’s gathered his things and left.
You frown. “He didn’t even say goodbye.”
“He’s had a long week.”
Dick offers you a half-hearted smile but you can’t help but look beyond that to the steely look in his eyes. The same one he gets when he knows more than he’s letting on.
—
Wally’s scorching by the time he gets home from the pool. Running mile after mile in the blazing summer heat is not for the faint of heart—especially for someone who already runs hot.
The heat is only made worse by the ache in his groin. He’s never felt more relieved in his life than the relief he feels at dropping his swim shorts and letting his cock spring free.
He spits in his palm, smearing it up his shaft along with his precum. A shiver runs up his spine. God, he needed this.
He squeezes his eyes shut and falls into an easy rhythm. Up and down, up and down. And then the images of you and Dick come flashing through his mind and he knows it's wrong and he knows he should stop—but he doesn’t.
He thinks of your mouth, how warm and wet it would be. Lips wrapped around his cock, pretty eyes looking up at him. He thinks of how Dick would be by your side, a hand in your hair to guide you and the other hand petting Wally’s thigh.
He could make you feel so good, he could make both of you so happy. Why didn’t either of you think of him, why didn’t either of you want him?
The frustration gets to him, his fist clenching his cock tighter. He imagines his hand fisting Dick’s cock while you ride him, soft moans slipping from your lips with every bounce. With his eyes closed, he swears he can almost feel your pussy around him.
It’s wrong, it’s so wrong, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to look either of you in the eyes after this. But he keeps going, imagining it going further while his cock twitches in his hand.
The heat consumes him and his hand only moves faster. He can’t help but think of how you’d squirm beneath him, how you’d whine about it being too much. He pictures Dick being beneath you, his cock stilled in your walls, talking you through it while Wally fucks you so good.
A gasp slips from his throat, his mouth dry with the heat of the day. He needs you so bad, and for one torturous second, he contemplates calling you. Throwing caution to the wind and confessing to you and Dick.
And then he’s finishing, hot ribbons of cum bringing him back to reality. It coats his abs, his thighs and his hands—but he wishes so badly it was you instead.
He hasn’t even had a chance to wipe up his fluids when his phone is buzzing and your contact is popping up. Even the sight of your smiling photo in his phone has his face burning in guilt.
He lets it go to voicemail, and the reality of his situation washes over him.
He can’t help but stare at himself in the mirror while he washes his hands. A million thoughts race through his mind but more than anything: what can Dick give you that he can’t?
He’s tall, he has abs, and he’s funny, or at least, you laugh at all his jokes. So why don’t you like him?
And though Wally puts up such a confident front, he crumbles before himself in the mirror. He’s all that, and maybe more, but one thing he will never be is Dick. He’ll never be that confident, trustworthy leader that you’d follow anywhere.
While Dick is a hero through and through, Wally can’t help but think he’s a cheap copy that could never compare.
-
Dick stills inside of you, the hand he had between your shoulder blades relaxing. Your walls clench around him in need but the vigilante remains still as stone.
“What—“ You swallow, your voice breathy with unspoken moans. “What’s wrong?”
His voice is raspy with sex. “You’re distracted.”
You open your mouth to protest but suddenly his hands are on your hips and he’s manhandling you onto your back. A giggle slips from your lips, your knees automatically folding into your chest.
Dick watches you with a smirk and resists the urge to make a joke about how well-trained you are. “What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”
“I’m worried about Wally.”
Dick rolls his hips into yours. Whether he’s satiating his need or yours, you’re not sure.
“Why’s that?”
You reach up and tangle a hand in his curls, a frown forming on your face. “He’s been distant lately. I-I don’t know. I’m worried.”
He offers you a few lazy thrusts, tilting his head into your chest so you can knead your hands deeper into his scalp. The head of his cock bullies its way through your walls and forces a gasp from your lips.
“He’s been busy.” Dick plants a kiss to your collarbone, “but if you’re really worried, why don’t you give him a call?”
“I don’t want to pry.”
“Don’t get shy now.”
For emphasis, he snaps his hips into yours again and an embarrassingly loud moan rips its way from your throat. Heat rushes to your head and you find yourself burying your face in your hands.
“Okay, okay,” you concede, and reach for your phone on Dick’s nightstand. “I’m calling him, so pipe down.”
“With my cock still inside of you? That’s bold.”
You playfully slap his arm before shushing him, pressing dial on Wally’s contact. It rings once, twice, three times, and then you’re greeted by his voicemail.
‘Hey, you’ve reached Wally. I’m probably busy right now, so shoot me a text and I’ll get back to you in a Flash.’
You purse your lips and drop your phone in frustration. You look at Dick seriously, “do you really think he’s fine?”
“Wally might bite down his feelings sometimes, but when he wants to talk, he’ll talk. Just let him come to you.”
You sigh. He has a point. Wally may seem confident and brazen, but you know that beneath that suave surface, there’s an entire undertow of emotions waiting to be uncovered.
“You’ll see him for game night this week, anyway.”
“I know, I know. You’re right, I’ll leave it alone.”
“Now,” Dick grins and presses a chaste kiss to your lips, “can I fuck you, or what?”
You tangle your fingers on the back of his neck and tug him into you, letting his taste distract you from your concern.
-
Dick’s away helping family by the time game night rolls around, leaving you no choice but to change it to a movie night instead.
Wally tries to protest that Catan is totally playable with two players but after some light pushing, agrees to come over and watch movies for the weekend. On the condition he gets to choose the movies, of course.
“You’re gonna love this one,” he says through a mouth full of popcorn. “It’s like Groundhog Day if it was a horror movie.”
Wally plops onto the couch next to you, slinging an arm across the back of the cushions. He doesn’t even think about how close he is or how there’s only inches between you two. You’re best friends, you’ve been best friends for years—this is totally normal, right? The memories of his evening after the pool flash through his mind as if to say no.
You press play on the remote before reaching across Wally’s lap to set it on the side table. Your arm brushes his chest and you swear you see him blush but suddenly the movie is starting and your attention is carried away. You settle back into your spot next to him, so close you can feel the heat radiating off his body.
Wally tries to keep his cool and focus on the movie but his attention keeps drifting back to you. You’re gorgeous, he can’t help it. And it doesn’t help that you’re so reactive to the movie—jumping into his side, gasping at the gory parts, laughing at the jokes.
Every time you move, it’s like a stitch in his side. You’re so close to him that he could just wrap his arms around you and pull you into his lap. It takes everything in him not to.
At some point, you rest your head on his shoulder, the soft skin of your cheek brushing the spot where his tanktop meets his skin. He swallows hard, taking shallow breaths like he’s afraid you’ll move away.
“Is it—” He scratches the back of his neck, “is it hot in here?”
You sit up and Wally bites back his disappointment. “I can turn the air conditioning on if you want. I know you run hot.”
He nods, fanning his face to keep his ears from glowing red. When you pull your legs out from under yourself and stand, Wally can’t help but miss the feeling of you against him.
No, he berates himself. She’s not yours.
Wally forces himself to his feet, following the familiar path to your bathroom. He only feels like he can breathe again when he locks himself inside. He runs the tap on cold, splashing the frigid water over his face and into his hair.
Through the water on his lashes, Wally makes eye contact with himself in the mirror. For the first time since your day at the pool, he lets his thoughts wander to a place he’s been refusing to go. What does Dick have that he doesn’t?
He wonders what would’ve happened if he’d asked you out first, or if he’d been open to either one of you about his feelings. Maybe things would’ve been weird as he’d always feared—but that what if in the back of his mind wonders if it could’ve turned out better than he could possibly imagine.
He dabs his face dry with a nearby towel and hates the way he can recognize your scent on it. He hates even more the way it has heat rushing to his groin, his cock shifting awkwardly in his boxers. Calm the fuck down, man.
When he settles back down on the couch, concern riddles your features. “Are you okay?”
“Just hot,” he lies. “Speedster genes and all.”
You squint at him and though you don’t believe him for a second—especially given it’s a brisk 18 degrees celsius in the apartment—you nod slowly. Wally presses play on the remote and forces himself to focus on the movie.
You can’t focus, though. Your mind runs laps, thinking of his odd demeanour at the pool, his distance this week and now his sudden jumpiness today. You glance at Wally, who’s keeping a generous six inches of space between you two, and frown.
“Are you sure everything is okay?”
He pauses the movie, drawing in his legs to sit criss-crossed on your couch. He opens and closes his mouth, the gears turning behind his green eyes. He doesn’t know what to say to you. He knows he can’t keep lying and avoiding his feelings, but what the hell else is he supposed to do?
“You’ve been…off lately.” You pick at your cuticles. “You didn’t even say goodbye at the pool and honestly, it felt like you were trying to blow me off this week. Did I—did I do something wrong?”
Wally’s heart cracks inside his chest. He wants to hug you and kiss you and tell you that you couldn’t possibly do anything wrong in his eyes, but he doesn’t. He sits on the couch like a fucking statue, his mouth falling open in shock.
He’d considered that Dick might’ve noticed something was off—the insightful bastard—but never for a second did he think you would notice. It was stupid, really. You’ve been friends for years, and he knows you can read him just as well as he can read you.
His voice cracks when he speaks. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
You sit in silence, waiting for him to elaborate. Every feature on your face, every movement of your body tells Wally you’re listening. Waiting.
It’s a trap, every bone in his body screams. Don’t do it.
“I just—” He swallows, knowing the dam is going to break and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. “You guys started dating and I-I feel so awkward. We hang out and I watch you be so happy together and I wanna—I wanna be happy too. I know I could be happy with you guys if you just gave me a fucking chance and—”
He stops himself before he can take it any further. The blood rushes to his ears and for a minute he questions if he really just said all of that out loud. The stunned look on your face tells him all he needs to know—he fucked up.
“Wally…”
He shakes his head, messy red strands bouncing off his temples. He shuts his eyes, hoping if he hides long enough, this whole mess will go away.
“Sorry, I should go.”
He goes to stand but you catch his wrist tightly in yours, beckoning him to stay. He turns on his heel, watching you with careful eyes. The adrenaline barrels through him, your fingers on his skin only edging it along.
“Stay. Please.”
The words send electricity up his spine like a bolt of lighting. Blood roars in his ears and suddenly he’s a man possessed. He’s dropping to his knees in front of you on the couch, hands cupping yours. And then his hands are wandering, trailing higher.
They brush up your arms, to your shoulders and linger on your neck before cupping your cheeks. You don’t dare breathe, don’t dare make a sound. And then he’s leaning in and his lips are crashing against yours and you’re stuck there in shock.
He squeezes his eyes shut and with your soft lips against his, he can almost pretend like this is normal. Like this is something he’s allowed to do and not something he’s taking.
Reality hits him like a brick wall. He forces himself away from you, arms falling flat at his sides. He looks at you, his mouth fallen open in shock.
You stare at him, his green eyes darkened. You’re not sure what to say, what to do. Your heart hammers against your ribs. What the fuck just happened?
“Wally—”
He’s running out the door before you finish saying his name, a trail of lightning in his wake.
-
It takes an hour from when Wally kisses you for you to call Dick.
“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice is hushed and it’s only now that you realize he’s probably on patrol with one of his brothers.
“Wally,” your voice shakes, “Wally kissed me.”
There’s silence on Dick’s side and you brace yourself. You just shared a worryingly passionate kiss with your mutual best friend, and even though Dick rarely gets jealous, you expect the worst.
There’s an amused undertone to his voice. “How was it?”
You blink. “How was it? How was it?” You can’t help but laugh—what the fuck is he going on about? “You’re not seriously asking me that.”
“At least you know now why he’s been distant.”
He says it so casually that it leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You think back to that day at the pool and that look in his eyes. You knew there was more than he was letting on.
“Did you know?” Your voice is quiet, “did you know he had feelings for me—us?”
“I suspected it.”
He’s using that annoyingly calm voice that makes you want to throw your phone at the wall. Your heart races with barely suppressed frustration. He knows, and he’s possibly known this whole time, and he hasn’t said a damn thing?
“And you said nothing?”
“I knew he’d say something eventually. It wasn’t my place.”
You swallow back tears of frustration. Wally’s been hurting this whole time, hurting because of you, and Dick didn’t say anything. He let you continue on being happy knowing Wally was miserable—knowing you could do something about it.
“How could you?”
“Y/n,” the phone crackles with his sigh. “It’s not like that.”
“I don’t—I can’t hear it tonight, Dick. I’ll talk to you later.”
You hang up before he can protest.
Your apartment is impossibly quiet when your phone call ends. Conflict lines every cell in your body—frustration with Dick and sympathy for Wally battling it out. Even after you curl up back on the couch and start the movie from where you left off, silence seems to blanket the apartment.
You don’t even realize you’re dialling Wally’s number until it goes straight to his voicemail.
‘Hey, you’ve reached Wally. I’m probably busy right now, so shoot me a text and I’ll get back to you in a Flash.’
You can’t remember the last time you heard his voicemail, and yet you’ve heard it too much this week. Wally always, always answers your calls. The sound of his prerecorded voice is only a monument to how fucked up things have gotten.
With nothing else to do, you turn off your phone and watch the rest of the movie.
-
Wally’s never felt guilt like this before. It weighs on him, hangs over his head like storm clouds. The sight of your shocked face—all swollen lips and wide eyes—stays burned in his mind. The fantasies he’d once had about you have faded away and all he can feel is your shock and sadness when he’d pushed his lips onto yours.
He’d called you the second he’d got back to his apartment only to hang up before the first ring. He’d done the same to Dick, only to realize there was no one he could talk to about his. At least, no one he wanted to talk to about it.
With nothing else to do and nowhere else to go, Wally suited up and hit the city, hoping to burn off some energy. Unfortunately for him, it’s a horribly slow night in Keystone city.
After running a dozen laps around the city, he settles down on the tallest building he can find and opens his phone. He stares at his lock screen—a photo of the three of you at the beach from last summer—and sighs. He considers calling you again, or calling Dick.
Then his phone lights up with your contact and panic swells in his chest. He slams his finger on the decline button. He can’t bear to face you right now.
While any other day he’d be grateful for such a slow night, the evening passes achingly slow, and he can’t help but be grateful when the burglary alarm sounds at a nearby bank.
Finally, something he can’t fuck up tonight.
-
Your week passes agonizingly slow.
On a good week, your evenings are spent with either Dick or Wally or both. Your apartment is filled with laughter and stupid jokes, and your fridge is found emptied of its contents more often than not.
It’s not a good week, though.
Dick calls you almost every day. It’s typical of him to try and fix things before they’re ready to be fixed. He’s always forcing the pieces back into place before the glue has had time to set.
Wally also calls you. Only once and you declined the call as soon as you saw his contact. Regret filled you the second your finger had touched the decline button but that stubborn side of you couldn’t bring itself to let go and allow you to call him back.
So you sit in silence every night, wondering if when Friday comes Dick will show up with board games and Wally with pizza.
When Friday does roll around, your group chat is a ghost town. You type out a message on your lunch break, just a quick ‘hey, we still on for tonight?’ before immediately deleting it. No matter how bad you want to, you can’t bring yourself to send it.
You buy yourself takeout after work and settle in at your apartment for a quiet night. You queue up Wally’s other choice of movie despite the bitter taste it leaves in your mouth.
A part of you still wants to call him back and ask him if he really meant what he said. If he really meant to kiss you that night. Another part of you is too scared to hear the answer—scared he’ll say it was nothing.
And that part scares the hell out of you.
You think about calling Dick, too. You want to ask him where you go from here, why he was so okay with another man—his best friend of all people—kissing you. Still, you don’t, because you’re not ready to hear Dick’s answer, either.
You’re only part way through the movie when your front door is slamming open so hard dry wall rains from the wall where it impacts. You cringe—your landlord is not going to be happy. You rise to your feet and grab the heftiest book off your coffee table, ready to face your intruder.
The Flash stands in your living room, his chest rising and falling so fast you’re worried he’ll go into cardiac arrest. Nightwing is draped over his shoulder, half limp and breathing just as fast. You freeze at the sight of them, the book clattering from your hand onto the floor.
Dick’s hair is matted to his forehead with blood, a trail of it leading down to his mask. His muscles are tense and twitching, and his pupils are almost entirely blown out. You take a step towards them only for him to flinch, cowering in Wally’s arms.
“What the hell happened?”
You glance from the costumed men to your broken door, unsure of what you should tend to first. Wally rips off his cowl, taking a deep gasping breath. His cheeks are nearly as red as his suit, his hair coated in sweat and his pupils nearly as big as Dick’s.
They can’t be seen like this, you decide, and make your way to the door. The deadbolt is broken and the door makes a horrible screeching noise when you force it back into the frame, but at least it closes. You frown and make a mental note to have them fix it when there’s not a crisis on hand.
Wally coughs, muscles twitching in pain. “Got ambushed with—” He’s cut off through another coughing fit, adjusting his grip around Dick. “Fear gas.”
Your eyes shoot wide. Though you’d never had any run-ins with the substance, you knew just how volatile it could be. The last time Dick had encountered it, his nightmares had lasted over twelve hours and it took him days to recover. You can only pray this dose wasn’t that potent.
You rush to Dick’s other side, wrapping his arm around you to help Wally bear his weight. He trembles against you and you can feel his heart hammering in his chest. At this rate, he’s going to faint.
With Wally’s help, you manage to get him to your couch. Dick weakly protests as you lay him among your plush blankets and throw pillows but in this state, there’s not much he can do to fight back.
Wally stands on shaky legs by Dick’s side and you can’t help but notice he’s still hanging onto Dick’s hand. Though he’s better off than Dick, it’s not by much. You see the way he cringes at the shadows on the wall cast by passing cars, the way fresh guilt floods his eyes.
You frown at the thought of him running all this way here with Dick. His enhanced metabolism is enough to fight off the worst of the effects but not fast enough to keep the nightmares from setting in.
You nod to the couch. “You too, Red.”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s a lie and you know it.” You rest a hand on his shoulder, your other hand cupping his to gently coax him onto the couch, “just sit down for a minute while I bring you water, yeah?”
Wally’s too tired to protest, something you’re secretly thankful for. While you fill up two glasses with water, you can’t keep yourself from wondering what he’s seeing right now. You know that in the past Dick’s nightmares have ranged from horrible monsters to the zombified corpses of his loved ones.
You only hope that with some rest, Wally will at least be up and running again soon.
Wally greets you with a weak smile when you hand him his water. His hands shake as he takes it from you and greedily gulps the entire cup in one go. You can’t help but stare at the wetness around his mouth and the bob of his throat as he swallows.
It’s terrible, really, to stare like that. He’s your best friend and he’s hurting and your boyfriend is right there—but clearly the kiss has left you with some unresolved feelings.
“Something wrong?”
You snap back to reality to find Wally staring at you with a lopsided grin. He knows you’re staring. Shaking your head, you gesture towards Dick. “Are you feeling up to helping me give him water?”
Immediately, you feel guilty for asking because you know he’d never say no to you or Dick. Wally nods and rises to his feet slowly, following you to Dick’s side. He stands next to him, cupping the back of his neck to raise his head just enough so he won’t choke.
You raise the glass of water to his lips and gently pour in a couple millilitres. His eyes snap open and fear lines his features. The usual blue of his eyes has been almost completely washed out by black, a heart-wrenching sight.
His arms thrash out to fight you off but the toxin has made him sluggish and Wally catches his wrists before he can touch you. “Dick,” he says seriously. “Dick, it’s just us. We’re trying to help you.”
He only fights for a few more seconds before his arms relax and his eyes flutter closed. With Wally still holding him, you slowly peel his mask from his face and set it on the side table along with his glass of water.
You’re tempted to grab a cloth and try to wipe the blood off but you know it’ll only cause him to fight harder. Besides, Wally needs rest almost as much as Dick does and it would be unfair to ask him to wrestle his best friend again.
“Thank you,” you say quietly. “Do you need anything? More water?”
“I can get it.”
You level him with a serious look. Sweat still beads his temples and though his breathing has slowed, it’s still not at his normal rate. “You need rest. I’ll grab it just…hang tight for a sec.”
You can feel Wally’s eyes on you the whole way to the sink. Even when you turn around to fill up his empty glass, you feel him watching. A shiver runs up your spine, your hand clenching the cup tighter.
“Y/n, watch out!” He shouts.
You spin around, expecting Scarecrow himself to be behind you. In your panic, you drop the glass of water. You don’t even finish your turn before Wally’s arms are around you and suddenly you’re in the corner of your living room.
Your heart is frantic in your chest and your eyes dart to the place you’d just been standing only to find…nothing. Wally clutches you tighter to his chest, defending you from unseen monsters.
“Jesus, Walls.” You press a hand to your chest as if that will slow your rapid heart rate. “You scared the hell out of me.”
His grip around you loosens slightly. “Sorry, I—I thought I saw something.”
It’s his tone that really grips you. Relief. True, genuine relief. Like he really thought someone was about to hurt you, to rip you right out from under him, and he’d gotten to you in the knick of time.
You rest a sympathetic hand over his and it’s only now that it dons on you how close he is. His body heat feels so nice against your skin and you can smell his deodorant with just a hint of sweat, and—God, has he always been this tall?
“You really should rest, Wally.”
In spite of your words, you make no move to leave his arms. It’s comforting and warm and familiar, and though he’s hugged and carried you before, it’s never been quite like this. Wally makes no move to let you go, either.
“I’m fine like this.”
You’re not sure how long you stand with Wally pressed behind you, his arms around your waist. It feels like only seconds but based on the waning darkness outside, you know it’s been much longer.
“You guys are cute,” Dick rasps out.
You swear Wally flinches behind you. He drops his arms from your waist and you force your face to remain neutral despite your disappointment.
You tear yourself away from him and immediately miss his warmth. “How’re you feeling?”
Dick’s eyes are open now, most of the blue having returned. His breathing’s returned to normal, too. Shit, how long were you guys standing there?
Dick ignores your question. “Would’ve been so cute to see you guys kiss.”
Scratch that—he’s clearly not back to normal yet.
Wally goes white as a sheet, green eyes darting between you and Dick. “Shit, you told him? You know?”
“Of course I told him. I tell him everything.”
A million emotions flash across his face. Confusion, guilt, betrayal. You reach for him but he shuffles back, his gaze suddenly steely. You see him glance at the door and realize he’s planning his escape route again.
“I‘m not mad,” Dick mumbles. “I’ve kissed her too.”
If you weren’t so concerned, you’d probably laugh at that. Instead, you step directly in front of Wally, sizing him up. “Don’t leave again.”
Wally’s not sure what prompts him to stay—whether it’s the sad look in your eyes or his sick best friend—but he does. When you reach a hand to guide him to the couch, he has no choice but to take it.
Your apartment falls into silence once more. Not the comfortable silence you’d grown used to this week. No, this silence is thick and awkward and threatens to choke you at every turn.
Dick just sits there, staring ahead and processing how he got to your apartment. Wally taps his feet like he always does when he’s uncomfortable or has too much energy. You play with your hands, trying to think of anything to break the ice.
It’s not you who gets the first word in, though. It’s not even Wally.
It’s Dick who speaks first. “She’s a good kisser, right?”
You laugh, if only in shock and embarrassment. “Okay, that’s enough for me for the night.”
You glance at Wally whose face has turned an impossible shade of red. His brows furrow at your statement, his mouth falling open as if to speak but no words come out.
“You two should get some rest. Come and get me in about 8 hours, okay?”
“But—” Dick protests, stopping in his tracks when you shoot him a serious look. “Okay, goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” Wally parrots.
“Goodnight,” you say. “No one die in my apartment, please.”
-
You’re thoroughly unsurprised when you wake up sandwiched in the middle of your bed. Sweat coats the back of your neck, heat seeping into every pore.
Dick lays on your left, having traded his sweaty Nightwing suit for a pair of old sweatpants you’d stolen from him months ago. There’s a gash on his forehead and the skin along his torso is lined with bruises but the blood is gone. He must have showered.
Wally lays on your other side in nothing but a pair of Calvin Klein boxers. He has an arm slung over your waist, his freckly skin glowing in the early morning light streaming through your window. There’s a massive, purpling bruise on his side that makes you wonder what, or rather who, had been able to hit him that hard.
You can’t help but lightly trail your fingers over it, as if your touch alone could heal him. Goosebumps raise across his skin where you touch him and suddenly his eyes are opening, the sight like grass on a foggy morning.
You withdraw your hand before he can notice, pressing it tightly to your side. Wally blinks a few times, his eyes adjusting to the light, before he notices his arm draped over you. Pink dusts his cheeks.
Wally takes in slow, deep breaths. At one time he had dreamed about this—being in bed with you and Dick. But now that he’s actually here, he’s exhausted and his heart is beating way too fast, and man, do you have to wear that to bed?
“Sorry,” he mumbles, and pulls his arm back.
“It’s okay, I’m just gonna—” You keep your voice a whisper as you untangle yourself from the mess of sheets and limbs. You gasp in relief when the cold morning air hits your skin. “I’m gonna go sleep on the couch.”
It’s too much. Between the heat of their bodies against yours and the events that’ve transpired this week, it’s enough to leave you dizzy and confused.
You shimmy your way out of the bed, stopping only when Wally rests a hand on your shoulder.
“I can go,” he says. “I’m not going to kick you out of your own bed.”
You risk a glance down at his bruised abs. “No, you’re hurt. I’m not gonna make you run all the way home.”
“And I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch.”
“Then neither of you go anywhere.”
Both your attention snaps to Dick laying perfectly still with his eyes still closed. There’s a knowing smirk on his face and the morning light gives him an ethereal glow.
Wally narrows his eyes. “Have you been awake this whole time?”
“What can I say, I’m a light sleeper.”
Wally watches you nod slowly in agreement. He feels dizzy with whiplash, thinking of all the nights he’s spent alone in his bed, thinking about a moment just like this. He lets himself fall back into the plush sheets of your bed, fighting the rising blood rushing to his face.
You stay sitting up, staring at the window just behind Dick’s head. “I’m too hot.”
Without another word, Dick reaches over and blindly feels around for the latch to your window. It takes a few tries but then he’s clicking it open and the room is flooded with fresh air.
“No excuses to leave now,” he says.
You press your lips into a line, knowing he’s right. You’re hesitant to lay between them again, as comfortable and safe as you felt. Something about it feels off, like you’re doing something you’re not supposed to.
You’re torn between pretending to use the bathroom and just going back to sleep when Dick wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you back into the bed. You hit the pillows with a soft thud, shifting on top of the sheets until you’re comfortable.
Well, that settles that.
-
Wally is gone before you wake up, Dick following suit not much later. At least the latter kissed you goodbye—Wally couldn’t even be bothered to send a text. You hate how much the thought upsets you.
You go about your Saturday morning the way you normally would. Coffee and breakfast somewhat soothes your racing mind from the confusing, dizzying blur that was your Friday night. Still, the events from last night echo in your mind.
For a moment, in the fog of the early morning, waking up between Wally and Dick just felt right. There was no uncertainty, no shame—just you and two men you love resting after a considerably long night.
And then the weight of your thoughts hits you and your stomach drops because you love Wally, in the same way you love Dick. You remember the way your heart hammered in your chest when he kissed you, the butterflies in your stomach when he held you. God, what have you gotten into?
You force yourself into the shower before you can think about it anymore. Your skin still smells like Wally’s cologne and Dick’s sweat. The water runs across your skin, washing away their scents and the associated feelings that flood and threaten to drown you.
You stand under the water much longer than you mean to, only getting out when your phone starts buzzing enough to send it tumbling off the counter.
Shit, you’re quick to rinse off and hop out of the shower, dripping water all over the floor on the way to your discarded phone. You grab it, your wet palm smearing water all over the screen, and squint at it through water logged eyes.
Batboyfriend: Pool day? 👀
Speedy + Clingy = This Guy: OMG YES. It’s hotter than me out here and that’s saying something.
Speedy + Clingy = This Guy: dibs on throwing her in the pool this time
Batboyfriend: what? you literally saved her last time
Speedy + Clingy = This Guy: and? I contain multitudes bro.
Batboyfriend: y/n? you in? I swear I won’t let him drown you
You can’t help but smile as you flip through the messages. After a week of silence, the normalcy feels good—even if you are still worried about Wally.
You: sure, why not
Batboyfriend: great, see you in an hour?
Speedy + Clingy = This Guy: YAY!! 💪😎 👊🤠✋
Batboyfriend: what??
You: what??
Speedy + Clingy = This Guy: ⬆️ that’s literally me rn
With your afternoon spoken for, you go to get ready.
-
You’re nervous when you pull up to Dick’s, wringing your shirt in your hands. You’ve been here a thousand times, swam at the pool more times than you can count, but still your heart flutters in your ribcage.
You thought you were ready to face them again but then the memories of Wally’s hair messy and glowing in the early morning light come bleeding back. Dick’s voice echoes in your ears with every step you take: She’s a good kisser, right?
You’re tempted to duck away, to go back home and pretend like you got caught up in something. And then Wally is calling your name and Dick is coming skipping down the parking lot.
You swallow at the sight of them—this pool day is going to be the death of you. Wally is shirtless and wearing only a pair of green swim trunks and cheap flip flops. Sweat glistens across his bare chest, highlighting the dark bruise on his side.
Dick offers you a wave, tan skin peaking out from under his tank top. A pair of aviators sits on top of his head and holds back his mess of dark curls. Your heart wrenches at the gash on his head.
Wally grins at you from behind his sunglasses. “Took you long enough.”
Dick comes right up to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and kissing the side of your head. You glance at Wally nervously but the redhead looks completely unbothered.
“How long have you guys been here?”
Wally checks an imaginary watch. “Pretty much since Dick texted.”
You glance at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows who only nods to confirm. Despite their lighthearted attitudes, you can’t help but feel hesitant. Suspicious, even.
“You guys aren’t actually planning on drowning me,” you glance between the two, “right?”
“No,” Dick says.
“Only if you deserve it.”
You roll your eyes only for sweet relief to hit you when Dick unlocks the gate and gestures you into the poolyard. The water catches your eye, sparkling as if to say hello.
Dick and Wally have already set up the tanning chairs, the cooler, and laid out towels for each of you. You smile at the sight, shimmying out of Dick’s reach to sprint towards your favorite chair.
“You guys have been busy.”
“Duh, we’ve been waiting for you.”
You settle in on the chair, dropping your stuff and claiming your territory. It’s already warm from being in the sun—prime tanning real estate, as you always called it. You sprawl out across the chair and bask in the afternoon sunlight with no intention of getting up anytime soon.
“Straight to the chair as always,” Dick laughs. “There’s drinks in the cooler. I got your favorite.”
“Ugh, you’re speaking my language right now.”
You slowly strip out of your shorts and t-shirt, letting the sun rays wash over your almost naked figure. You try to ignore the way Wally looks at you, instead focusing on Dick digging through the cooler to grab you a drink.
-
“What’s the point of going to the pool if you don’t go swimming?” Wally teases.
“I’m tanning.” You glance at his pasty figure, “you should try it sometime.”
“Hey, you know I burn easily!”
“Poor, delicate Wally.” You tease.
“That’s it,” he says, and suddenly he’s grabbing you from the chair and tossing you over his shoulder. “You’re going in.”
“No, wait, Wally!”
“Nope, bad girls get thrown in the pool.”
You hate the way that phrase has heat pooling in your core. You glance to Dick, currently floating on his back in the water, for help.
“Don’t look at me,” he shrugs. “He literally told you ahead of time this would happen.”
Some help he is.
You look at Wally pleadingly. “I concede. I apologize. I surrender. Just—please, do not throw me in.”
It must be the way you’re looking at him or the desperation in your voice, but Wally actually puts you down. Relief floods you when your bare feet meet the concrete lining the pool. You’re inches away from him, you can see every bead of sweat, feel the heat radiating off of him, see the burn forming across his neck and shoulders.
“You and your delicate skin,” you say quietly, reaching out to touch the bruise along his ribs. You stop yourself from touching him.
Wally just stares at you. No retort, no threat to throw you in the pool. Just pure unabashed staring. You shrink beneath his gaze, pulling your hand back to your side.
“You guys gonna kiss again?”
The sound of Dick’s voice has you realizing you’re standing entirely too close to him. You risk a glance only to see him smiling wickedly in your direction. Oh god, you know what that smile means. He’s planning something.
You take a step back only for Wally to catch your hand in his. “Don’t,” he breathes.
You look at Dick once more, though you’re not sure why. Are you waiting for him to rescue you, to tell you what to do? To give you permission? You shy away from the thought.
Dick takes a sip of his drink. “Well?”
He’s looking at you expectantly, like he somehow thinks you’re going to kiss Wally right here in front of him. The very idea has your face going hot—and not from the sun. You try to meet his eyes from here and it’s only then that you find he’s not staring at you at all.
He’s looking directly at Wally.
You snap your head up only to find the redhead blushing, his mouth set in a hard line. Your gaze follows the length of his arm—his skin turning pink in the sun—all the way down to where his hand rests on yours.
You’re entirely too hot, now.
“Don’t you remember what we talked about?” You look at Dick again as he speaks.
What we talked about? You frown, suddenly feeling vindicated at your hesitancy earlier. Something isn’t right here.
Your voice cracks when you go to speak. “Am I about to be drowned?”
Your attempt to lighten the mood falls on deaf ears. Dick smirks, looking at Wally with raised eyebrows, while Wally’s eyes are entirely focused on you. Oh god.
“We had a deal.” Dick prompts, and that undertone in his voice sounds eerily similar to the one he uses when he’s commanding the Titans. An order—not a request.
“Fuck it,” Wally mumbles under his breath, and suddenly he’s tugging you into him, closing the gap by gripping the back of your neck.
All of the breath leaves your body as you collide with him, the warm skin of his palm beckoning you closer. His other hand wraps around your waist and before you can even think to question him, his lips are slamming against yours.
There’s no hesitancy, no soft shyness. You can’t feel guilt and anger radiating off of him the way you could last time. There’s passion, now. Intent.
You fall into him, letting all of your own confusion and fear melt away. Your hands trail up his spine like they have a mind of their own. They run up against his bare skin, flickering like lightning until they meet at the back of his neck, tangling up in his hair and tugging him closer to you.
Wally gasps, his hand on your waist tightening until his fingers dig in hard enough to bruise. The sting of it all doesn’t phase you, it only drives you to want more.
And then there’s a different hand on your back and you’re brought back to reality. You pull away, lips swollen and eyes wide, dizzy with lust. You look behind you and meet Dick’s eyes and your vertiginous new reality falls over you.
“I—”
Dick’s hand trails down to the small of your back, rubbing circles on your bare skin. “How was it?”
“How was it?” You repeat, your voice barely a mumble.
You press a hand to your chest. The world is too hot, your heart beating too fast. If it weren’t for their hands on you, you’re sure you would’ve passed out by now.
“Good.” Wally takes the words right out of your mouth. “You were right.”
It’s the way he says it that catches your attention. His words are void of bitterness, just pure breathless curiosity.
He looks at Dick, his green eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “Can I—can I do it again?”
“It’s not me you need to be asking.”
His eyes fall on you and you swear your heart hits terminal velocity. You look at him through your lashes, the whole world bright and dreamlike.
“Can I?” He swallows, “please?”
It’s the sheer need in his voice that makes you nod, not trusting your voice to be any sort of stable right now. Wally doesn’t waste a second to pull you against him and press his lips against yours. It’s less desperate this time, but just as needy, just as passionate.
For a second, it almost feels like the world is shaking. Like the ground beneath your feet is vibrating at the exact frequency you are. And then Wally rips himself away from you to take a deep breath and you realize the world wasn’t vibrating—he was.
“Fuck,” he says through a laugh.
“Easy, Wally.” Dick lays a hand on his shoulder, clasping tight until the speedster slows down. “You alright?”
He blinks a few times before offering a weak thumbs up, his hand still shaking. It’s only now that you realize what a number you’ve done on him. His red hair is tangled and messy, his cheeks and ears a shade of vermillion you’ve never seen before. It would be laughable if you didn’t feel equally as frazzled.
“And how are you feeling?” Dick asks.
“I just kissed Wally,” you say slowly. “Twice.”
“And?”
“And you watched.”
Dick just laughs. “It was definitely a sight, I’ll give you that.”
You’re not even sure what to say to that. Dick’s never been considerably possessive but you never pegged him as the kind of man to share. You think back to that first night Wally had kissed you and the initial worry you’d felt while waiting for Dick to pick up the phone.
You never expected it to turn into this.
“Was that really okay?” Wally’s tone is serious in a way you’ve rarely heard before.
“We had a deal,” Dick repeats.
The statement has your eyebrows raising. You open your mouth in question, ready to ask your boyfriend what the actual fuck is going on, but stop dead in your tracks.
You blink a few times, making sure the sight isn’t just a heat-driven mirage. But no, what you’re seeing is entirely correct. Wally West is kissing your boyfriend, and Dick’s kissing him back.
You watch in surprise, your jaw hitting the floor. Is this how Dick felt when you kissed Wally? Are you supposed to feel this turned on by it? It feels like the world around you is on fire and you’re caught right in the middle of it all.
Dick pulls away entirely unphased and wholly unaware of the state he’s left Wally in. Meanwhile, Wally looks like he’s about to faint. And though you’ve done such a good job holding in your incredulous laughter up to this point, Wally’s messy state finally drives you over the edge.
“What the actual fuck is going on?” You cackle, “what are we even doing?”
“We’re helping Wally.”
Dick states it like it’s the simplest thing in the world and it’s enough to have you doubting your own overcomplicated thoughts. You glance at Wally, hoping for some insight.
“Do you not want this?” He asks.
You’re not even sure what “this” is but something in the way he asks it has you saying you do. It’s Dick and it’s Wally and they’ve always taken care of you, so why wouldn’t you trust them now?
“Good,” he says and then he’s closing the gap between you, his fingers finding their way to the nape of your neck as if they have a thousand times before. “Because I do too.”
Then Wally’s lips are on yours again and you swear the world falls away from your feet. Your knees shake and your body threatens to tumble forward but then Wally’s holding you, bracing you against the perfectly strewn muscles of his body.
You gasp into his mouth when you feel Dick press himself against your back, his lips attaching to the side of your neck. One of his hands rests over Wally’s on your hip, the other trailing up your spine to fiddle with the string of your bathing suit top.
It’s almost too much, being between them this way. You’ve never felt so contained, you’ve never felt so free. Wally’s tongue slips into your mouth at the same time Dick unties your top. You barely have time to cover your chest before the useless garment falls limply to the ground.
You pull away gasping, an unbearable heat in the pit of your stomach. “Dick.”
For a moment, both men just stare at you like deer in headlights. You tighten your arms around your chest, awkwardly shifting to cover your bare tits from their prying eyes.
Dick finally hums in acknowledgement.
“You took my top off.”
“I know.”
You look over your shoulder at Dick, and then to Wally, and you’re not quite sure who’s staring harder. All you know is that Wally’s shorts suddenly look tighter and you’re now a little too curious about what he’s packing beneath them.
Dick rubs himself against you, the bulge in his shorts catching on your skin. You take a deep breath and brace yourself.
His mouth brushes against your ear. “Why don’t you move your hands, hm? Let Wally take a look.”
He’s using that damn voice again. The ‘I’m not asking, I’m ordering’ voice that he uses when you’re being a brat. You don’t even think twice before you force your arms away from your skin, letting them fall limply at your sides.
Wally coughs like there’s something stuck in his throat, reaching a hand down to adjust his shorts. His mouth falls open, a hand reaching out and stopping midway as if he’s about to ask permission.
Dick rests a hand under each nipple, cupping your boobs like he’s putting them on display. “Well?”
“Hot,” he breathes. “Fuck—gorgeous, I mean. Pretty.” He cracks a smile, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m gonna stop talking now.”
Your heart flutters at his praise like you ever thought he’d say otherwise. He reaches out again, more confident this time, and brushes a hand across your nipple. You shiver, backing up into Dick without meaning to.
Your boyfriend holds you still, planting soft kisses on your shoulder to keep you calm while Wally’s hands explore your chest. Goosebumps raise in every place he touches, the heat of the day soothing them down almost as quickly as they form. It’s a tantalizing cycle.
Heat pools in your centre and you’re grateful that you’re wearing something waterproof. You clench your legs together without meaning to, hoping for some friction. Dick knows what you need before you even ask for it, dropping a hand down to rub slow circles on your clothed clit.
Wally dips his head in, flicking his eyes up to silently ask for permission—met with a curt nod—before attaching his lips to your skin. His hot mouth leaves a trail of marks wherever he kisses you, your skin turning shiny with his spit.
“How’re you feeling, baby?” Dick asks while he slips his hand into the front of your bathing suit bottoms.
“G-good.”
Wally laughs against your skin and for the first time in a while, you see sunshine behind his eyes. His happiness almost feels better than the combined pleasure they’re giving you.
A whine slips from your lips when Dick’s fingers meet your bare pussy. Wally’s quicker than that, though. He presses his mouth against yours and greedily swallows up your moans.
Dick crouches behind you to get better access and pulls your bottoms down to your knees. You stumble slightly but Wally catches you, his mouth moving away from your lips down to your jaw. He kisses lower and lower, sucking dark marks against your neck, your shoulders, your chest.
It’s his way of claiming you, you think. You may not be his girlfriend and he may not be your boyfriend, but it’s his small way of saying Wally was here.
Dick slips a finger inside of you, pushing it up to the hilt, and another moan is ripping through you. You grip at Wally’s shoulder, trying to keep yourself stable while the two men ravage you. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to focus on the moment—on the way Dick’s finger curls inside of you, the way Wally’s teeth graze your nipple, the way you can feel your juices running down your thighs.
He dips another finger inside of you, pumping them deeper. You press your body fully against Wally’s, his cock pressing against your stomach through his shorts. If it wasn’t for him, you’d probably be tumbling to your knees by now.
You run your fingers across his abs as a way to distract yourself from Dick’s fingers inside of you. You dip your hand lower and lower with each pass until you’re just barely grazing the top of his swimshorts.
Wally gulps and that’s the only reaction you need before you’re sliding your hand into his pants to grab his mostly hard cock. He’s solid in your hand, a little longer than Dick but not any thicker. You give his cock a playful squeeze before collecting the precum from his tip and using it as lube to glide along his shaft.
“F-fuck,” Wally gasps. He glances at Dick kneeled down behind you, “she’s good.”
Dick nuzzles his face between your thighs, drinking up the slick that drips from his fingers. “You haven’t even tasted her yet.”
The way they talk about you like you’re not even there just turns you on more, that pressure in your lower stomach building with every thrust of Dick’s fingers. You tighten your grip around Wally’s cock, trying to match Dick’s pace inside of you.
Wally brushes a finger under your chin, tilting your head up so he can kiss you again. His lips slam against yours and you part yours to welcome him. His tongue dips into your mouth and suddenly his taste is everywhere.
A familiar heatwave hits you and suddenly you’re finishing all over Dick’s fingers, your orgasm washing over you in waves. You squirm, your knees shaking and your pussy fluttering around his fingers. Dick pulls his face out from your achy, needy pussy, watching you with hearts in his eyes as you cum all over his hand.
Wally pulls away from you too, watching the spectacle you’ve become. His hand reaches for yours, stroking his thumb along your knuckles in a way he hopes is soothing. It only takes a few seconds before you come back to yourself, panting and messy and hot.
“God, that’s a sight I’d pay to see.” Wally laughs.
Dick rubs a hand up and down your thigh before rising to his feet. “Good thing you don’t have to.”
He wraps an arm around Wally and tugs him in for a kiss. You watch them through bleary eyes, your ears perking up when Wally moans at the taste of your pussy on Dick’s lips. Then Dick is turning to you, beckoning you in and pressing his lips to yours. You swear you can taste Wally on him, too.
“Let’s get you over to your chair, hm?” Dick mumbles against your lips.
You don’t even think, you just obey. You shuffle over to your chair on shaky legs, laying on your back. “Like this?”
The two men follow you over, Dick settling on the chair next to yours while Wally shuffles over to you. You watch him through half-closed eyes while he shimmies out of his swim trunks, letting his cock spring free.
He’s rock hard, his tip glistening with precum. You trace his body from his muscly thighs to his throbbing cock to his kinda-but-not-really groomed hair. It’s almost exactly what you were expecting, and so incredibly Wally.
He gives himself a few strokes before kneeling on the chair with you, testing his weight. “Man, I hope this thing doesn’t break.”
You gently hit his arm. “Don’t say that, now I’m gonna be paranoid.”
“Don’t worry, baby.” He tests out the nickname, watching you for a reaction. “I’ll protect you.”
He grabs your legs, hooking them around his waist on either side. You take a deep breath and brace yourself, your eyes finding Dick’s for a glimpse of comfort.
He smiles at you reassuringly. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, sweetheart.”
“I-I want to.”
“Then let us take care of you.”
Wally hums in agreement, rutting his cock through your folds. The head of his dick catches on your clit, eliciting a gasp from your lips that brings a smile to his. You shift lower in your chair, trying to close the gap between his tip and your entrance.
He leans into you, bracing a hand on the chair behind your head. His lips ghost over yours, “you ready for me?”
You mumble a quick yes and then his lips are pressing against yours, his hand guiding his cock inside of you. A moan falls from your lips the minute his length splits you open. You squirm beneath him but Wally’s other hand presses into your hip, holding you against the chair.
He’s surprisingly slow to bottom out, like he’s savouring every inch he pushes into you, every second he gets to be inside of you. He moans shakily once he’s all the way in, the warmth and wetness of your walls almost has him finishing then and there.
You wrap your arms around his shoulders and draw him in closer as he starts to thrust. His hips move out painfully slowly before snapping back in, forcing his length into you all at once. The breath leaves your body, his motions leave you gasping for more.
He falls into a steady rhythm, his movements fast and to the point. His head moves away from your lips to nuzzle into the crook of your shoulder, his breathy moans directly in your ears.
You can’t help but dig your nails into his skin, marking him the same way he marked you earlier. Your eyes flutter open, glancing over to Dick only to see him staring straight at you guys and stroking his cock. You clench at the sight, reaching out a shaky hand to beckon him closer.
He shakes his head, holding up a finger as if to say “give me a minute.” You nod weakly in acknowledgement, letting your head lull back and eyes close again. The pressure in your stomach only builds with every thrust, Wally’s hand only adding to it.
“Is he watching?” Wally rasps.
A cross between a moan and a yes is all that you manage, but Wally seems to get the picture. He snaps his hips harder into yours, each thrust punctuated with a sort of showiness that only Wally himself could pull off. You cling to him tighter, holding on for dear life.
And then there’s a tap at your shoulder and Dick’s cock is next to your face. You don’t even think to question it, only opening your mouth to give him access.
He’s gentle to start, slowly pushing his length into your mouth and letting you get used to it. You hollow your cheeks, letting the saliva build up in your mouth as you bob your head up and down his length. Dick’s thumb rubs the area beneath your lips and brushes away any of the drool leaking out.
Wally shifts his grip on you, his hand almost completely resting on your tummy now. The sudden change has you crying out, arching your hips into his which only drives his cock deeper. You whimper onto Dick’s length, looking up at him through your lashes.
“Doing so well,” he says breathlessly. “Taking such good care of us.”
His praise is what keeps you going, clearing your fuzzy head just enough to keep bobbing on his cock. His salty, somewhat chlorinated taste keeps your tastebuds on their toes, each inch you take of him driving you further and further.
Wally’s thrusts start to get slower and sloppier and your pussy aches with your impending orgasm. Wally pushes a little harder—whether on purpose or not, you’re not sure—and then you’re coming undone beneath him. Wave after scorching wave of pleasure rolls over you, your pussy spasming around him.
Wally is hard pressed to pull out but somehow manages to tear himself away from you, cumming in spurts on your pussy and tummy. He watches you writhe beneath him, your mouth still full of Dick’s cock, and thinks he can cum again from the sight alone.
You pop your mouth off of his cock and finally catch your breath, opting to jerk him off instead. You only get a few strokes in before his hand is covering yours.
He looks at Wally. “Mind switching places?”
Even though he phrases it like a question, you all know he really isn’t asking. Wally’s up on shaky legs and taking Dick’s place at your head before you can even process what’s happening. And then Dick is crouching between your legs and sliding his cocks into your slick, overstimulated folds.
It’s hot and you ache, but Dick feels too good inside of you to stop now. He leans closer to you, pressing his lips against yours while he thrusts lazily inside of you. While Wally felt amazing, Dick just feels right.
The speedster stands beside you, mesmerised by the sight of you two. He can’t help but rub at his half-hard cock while he watches—the two of you are just too sexy.
It doesn’t take long before Dick’s finishing, only pulling out enough to have his cum pooling at your entrance. He dips his sweaty forehead into your chest while he finishes, mumbling curses against your warm skin.
“Fuck,” is all he says.
“Fuck,” Wally agrees.
Dick takes his sweet time getting off of you but when he does, Wally is waiting next to you with a towel. You smile and thank him, sitting up and wiping his drying cum off your stomach the best you can.
Dick, dressed back in his swim shorts, grabs fresh water out of the cooler and sits at the end of the chair. “Here,” he passes it to you. “You’re dehydrated.”
You nod in agreement. Two orgasms in the summer sun would leave anyone dehydrated. You gulp down half the bottle in one go, surprised to see Wally waiting for you with your discarded bathing suit.
You frown at the sight of it. The thought of putting on something so restricting right now is enough to overstimulate you.
“You can wear my t-shirt if you’d prefer,” Wally offers when he sees your face. “Might be comfier.”
“I—” Your voice cracks. Yep, definitely dehydrated. “I’d like that, thanks.”
Dick rubs soothing circles on your back. “Do you need anything else?”
You shake your head. Honestly, what you need more than anything right now is some clarity on what just happened and some time to process.
You wait until Wally is out of earshot, rooting through his messy pile of stuff to find you his t-shirt, before you speak. “What happens now?”
“What do you want to happen?” Dick mimics your quiet tone.
“I want Wally.”
You don’t need to clarify any more—Dick knows exactly what you mean. He laces his fingers with yours just as Wally comes back with an old band t-shirt.
You expect him to hand it to you but instead he gestures for you to put your arms up, helping you tug it over your head. The cotton feels amazing on your feverish skin.
“So, uh,” he says awkwardly. “Should I go?”
You grab his wrist. “Stay, please.”
He offers you a half smile before turning his attention to Dick. The two lock eyes, partaking in one of their silent conversations that you’re not privy to.
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll stay.”
You fight the urge to celebrate, instead springing to your feet and wrapping your arms around him. Wally’s shocked, for just a second, and then he’s pulling you closer to him, holding you the way he did in your living room.
He rests his chin on your head. “Not to ruin the moment or anything but,” he looks at Dick over your head, “do you guys wanna get something to eat? I’m starving.”
(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !! thanks for reading & have a great day <3)
Or: The one where they misunderstand what the positive test is for.
Includes: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Wally West, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent and John Constantine
Warnings: Reader is implied to be able to get pregnant, however I'm all for them being dumb enough to think they've managed even if it's not possible so you decide lol <3 Beside that, no real warnings, mostly fluffy and humorous.
Morph's thoughts: Hii everyone, this is my first dc comics fic AND first text!au fic ever :) I'm still trying to find everyone's "texting voices" and doing a bit of a trial and error with the formating of the screen shots, so if you have any feedback it's more than welcome!!
Includes: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Wally West & Hal Jordan
Summary: stopping them during sex for a 'silly' reason
Content/CW -> gn! reader + afab! reader (wally's), mentions of blood/periods, suggestive/slight nsfw, reader has hair (hal's part), mostly just funny silly
— requested by the amazing lovely talented @gothamorphosis (go check out their smaus they EAT!)
froggi yaps -> had this in my inbox foreverrr ;-; so happy im finally getting to it cause its such a fun idea :p couldn't decide on characters so i just went back to my roots <3 also huge content dump today teehee
Dick Grayson:
You thought you were being slick, taking your hand off the back of Dick’s neck and inching it towards the nightstand.
Dick stills inside of you, tilting his head at you in confusion. There’s a goofy smile on his face. “What’s up?”
You blink at him, wiping a hand over your sweat-slicked forehead. “I need water,” you smile sheepishly.
He chuckles, grabbing the comically large water bottle he keeps on his nightstand and flicking out the straw. You prop yourself up on your elbows, Dick holding up the bottle to your lips.
You sip on it, the water instantly cooling you down and fixing the dry ache on your tongue.
“Good?” He asks and when you nod, he puts it to his own mouth and chugs about half the bottle in one go.
You watch him chug it, his throat bobbing and water glistening on the corners of his mouth. His own hair is sweaty, stuck to his head and dangling over his forehead.
You reach up and swipe a strand away. Dick puts the water bottle back down, letting his body sandwich you against the mattress again.
“You know,” he mumbles in your ear, “I didn’t realize I tire you out so much you needed a water break.”
You smack his bicep. “Shut up.”
He rolls his hips into yours, a smirk on his face. “Are you sure you want to have an attitude right now?”
You swallow, shaking your head.
Jason Todd:
Jason’s off you the minute the word slips from your lips, pulling himself back with his hands raised in surrender. His lips are parted slightly, dark brows furrowed in concern as he analyzes your body. Your legs are shaking, face twisted in pain.
“Everything okay? What’s going on?”
Oh god. He hurt you, he was too rough and he hurt you and you’re in pain and you’re never going to trust him again and—
You arch your back on the bed, twisting and stretching your limbs. “Leg cramp.”
He blinks. “Leg…cramp?”
“Mhm,” you hum, pulling a knee to your chest.
The hammering in Jason’s chest stills, his face blank in that way it gets when he’s not sure what to think.
“Jay?” You cock your head to the side, looking at him through your lashes, “you alright?”
“I thought,” he frowns, “I thought you were hurt, or something.”
You laugh, pressing a hand to his cheek and leaning in for a kiss. You ghost your lips over his, smiling into him, “you think too much.”
He cups the back of your neck, laying you back down on the bed. “Maybe, wanna help me with that?”
“Gladly.”
Wally West:
“Wally.”
The redhead hums, head sunk low in the dip between your shoulder and neck, giving no indication of stopping. You shove at his shoulder.
“Wally!”
He pulls away, eyes glassy and pupils blown, hair a total mess. He blinks, “sorry, fuck, is everything alright?”
“I think…I just started my period.”
“Okay,” he says, pursing his lips and leaning back in to kiss your neck again.
“Wally—I’m gonna stain your sheets.”
He shrugs. “So? I’m not scared of a little blood.”
“I’m gonna make a mess.”
“It’s just blood,” he repeats.
“But—“
He cups your face, squishing your cheeks together. “Look, doll. If you’re in pain or you don’t want to keep going, say the word. But if you’re stopping because of me, cause you think I’ll be grossed out or something, don’t.”
You sigh, falling back into the sheets and tentatively parting your legs. “You swear its fine?”
Wally grins ear to ear. “Swear on my sheets.”
Hal Jordan:
Hal stares at you blankly when you pull away from him with a wince, rubbing the side of your head. One minute, you seemed to be enjoying yourself, your hands on his chest and head against his shoulder while he thrusted into you.
“What’s up?” He asks, still breathless.
You point to his hand, specifically the ring sitting on one of his wide fingers. In it rests a small chunk of your hair, strands splayed out every which-way. Hal holds it in front of his eyes, eyebrows shooting up as he realizes what happened.
“Is that?”
You nod, “my hair? Mhm.”
He smiles sheepishly, plucking it out from where it’s gotten caught on the band and discarding it over the side of the bed. “Jesus,” he shakes his head.
“Yeah,” you frown, scrunching your nose. “Hurt like a bitch.”
“Aw,” he teases, a huge grin on his face, “need me to kiss it better?”
And to his surprise and delight, you nod, leaning your head in so Hal can run his lips over your temple. He catches you in his arms then, pulling you back into his chest.
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thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
