Was wondering if you could make a smut with NerdJasonTodd! and InexperiencedJasonTodd!, pretty please? đ„č Know itâs kinda cliche but I barely see this theme with a SubJason. Maybe he could be tutoring reader (preferably female) and she starts teasing him cause she realizes he gents nervous and flustered easily. Would be so grateful if you did itđđ»đđ»đđ»
‷ he's trying to get his GED after dying. you're helping him so he doesnt pit rage quit. things take a turn of events when he needs a break from stufying.
NOTE: out of creativity so here we go omd ââ im making it a lil diff bc im a chud and hate writing highschool tropes bc i'm unc (21). also spelling mistakes are fucking me at the moment so pls bear with me anyways okay might be shit but enjoy xx
YOU AND JASON HAD BEEN SITTING AT THE DINING TABLE IN THE MANOR FOR ABOUT AN HOUR.
He had recently decided to get his GED.
He just figured that normal people had graduated from high school, so he should too.
His life had been painfully abnormal so far, and this was just another thing to make life seem more human and less â absolutely mindfuckingly insane.
So here you both sat. At the dining table. Studying.
"Why can't math just be like English? I don't fucking understand this shit." He groans as he throws his pen onto the textbook.
You smile at him, "You're smart, Jason, just let me explain it again, and you'll get it."
He sighs and stares at you like a wounded animal. Then goes back to filling out worksheets. As he does, you see him getting angrier and angrier. At himself. At what's led him to this point. At the fact his pen stops working every other stroke.
So you decide to put a hand on his thigh under the table in an attempt to ground him. You two had been more physical lately. He'd been getting better at it. And he'd told you before he liked it when you touched him wherever, whenever.
Other than a few scars on his chest, your touch was a good reminder that someone cared for him in a way no one else ever had.
He eyes you but doesn't make it a big deal, attempting to be all nonchalant. Jason clears his throat and keeps working on the worksheet.
"You okay?" You ask sweetly.
He nods, "Yeah, just... I'm great."
He shifts in his seat a little when you edge your hand up higher.
"You sure?" You ask again, this time a little more menacing.
He looks at you and swallows, "I'm trying to do this. Like really trying."
"It's upsetting you, Jason. At some point, you've got to take a break and come back to it later." You say, hand not moving, as you completely mean what you say. It does no good to force yourself into studying when your head is full of shit.
"Didn't think it'd be this hard," He shrugs, putting the pen down and leaning back in the dining chair, "Makes me feel so fucking stupid."
"You're not stupid." You say firmly.
He looks at you and smiles â in a self-deprecating way, "Yeah, well. Feels like it."
You rub your thumb in circles over his upper thigh and he lets out a very small gasp. You tilt your head at him.
"What was that?" You smile.
He shakes his head, shrugging, "Don't know what you're talking about."
You bring your hand up further, closer to where you'd only ever used your hand. He jolts a little.
You smile, "Is it that?"
"You should... move your hand..." he exhales shakily, "We're... we're in a semi-public place."
"We're in Wayne Manor, and everyone's gone on a mission except you. We're basically in an indestructible, secluded fortress." You chuckle.
"Alfred's here somewhere." He says roughly as your hand comes up to his belt.
"Maybe I should hide under the table then?" You say playfully with a grin.
"What the fuck are youâ" He pauses when he sees you slip under the table. Then feels you push between his legs.
"Just push the chair back a little for me," You say softly as you tap his legs.
"No, we can't justâ"
"Push the chair back." You're not asking.
He sighs and pushes the chair back a little so you have more room, half under the table, half not.
You run your hand up and down his thighs, and he lets out a ragged breath, face going red as you look up at him.
"What's your... what's your plan here?" He asks quietly, almost out of breath.
You reach up for his belt and start undoing it; his hips twitch slightly, and you pause â "Keep those hips still for me." He nods, apologises under his breath as you undo the belt entirely and start unzipping his jeans. "Lift them for me?" You ask politely, and he does. You pull down his jeans. And you can tell he's worked up. His boxers don't hide it.
"Y-You... fuck..." He struggles for words; you smile.
"Stuttering baby?" You coo as you lift his shirt just enough to kiss the skin above his boxer's waistband.
He chuckles almost nervously, "Yeah... fuck... feel like a fucking idiot... shit..."
"Always so dominant out there in the field, huh?" You whisper into his crotch as you kiss the clothed tent of his boxers. "Didn't think I'd ever call the big bad Red Hood cute, that's for sure."
Another kiss, and he let out a soft noise which he wanted to die over.
"Mm... m'not cute..." He says, almost incoherently.
You pull down his boxers, and he lifts his hips without asking this time.
"Dunno, baby. Those noises are pretty adorable..." You grin, eyes on his and God, he looks so flustered. "Gonna keep making them for me?"
He bites his lip and nods, then you grab him softly in your hand and angle your head and kiss the base of his cock. He lets out another soft noise.
"Oh..." he sighs out.
You kiss up from the base to the tip and smile, "So good. You ready, Jason?"
He looks conflicted, "H-Honestly? I don't fucking know."
You tilt your head, hand still on the base of his cock, unmoving.
"What do you mean, baby?"
He shrugs, "Just feel like... m'gonna come really fast."
You smile, "That's okay."
You give two slow strokes, and he moans softly.
"J-Just... slow, please. So slow. Or I'll... ruin it."
You chuckle and nod, then lean forward and take him in your mouth slowly. He's big, so slow works for you just fine. He moans out louder and slaps a hand over his mouth.
You pull off him quickly, "No. No you're not gonna hide those sounds from me, baby..."
He looks down at you, desperate, in shock.
"But I'm gonna be so fucking loud? I can't... can't be quiet and... fuck, why am I being like this?" Jason asks, genuinely confused.
"Because it's new, baby." You say as you lower your head again to take him slowly.
He groans loudly. Low this time.
You bob your head up and down slowly. And he's just... he doesn't know what to do with himself.
"Oh, God... holy... mm..." He just cannot seem to shut up.
You keep moving your head up and down, slowly.
And it's only been about 3 minutes before his breathing picks up.
"Hey... h-hey, just give me a minuteâ holy fuckkk... mm... heyâ" he moans loudly when you take all of him slowly, "Baby? If you stay there, I'll... I'll fucking â oh no... please... please..."
You then jerk your head back off him only to lunge it back down again and take all of him again and again and again â very fast.
He moans, and his legs are shaking; he's gasping, biting his lip to try and save himself the embarrassment of Alfred hearing him like this.
And he comes. A lot. Very warm. And when he does, he doesn't make a sound. You look up through your lashes and see him; he looks gorgeous. Silently gasping. Mouth open wide. Eyebrows furrowed before he throws his head back because he can't bear to look you in the eyes like this. It's like he's drowning in how good it feels.
You choke on the come flooding down your throat. There's so much of it that it's honestly overwhelming. You swallow it down, pull back and cough a little.
He finally starts breathing again, like he's come up for air. And he looks down at you.
"You... mphhfuck... you okay?" He says breathlessly.
You nod and chuckle, wiping your mouth with your hand as you start helping him get decent again.
Eventually, you slide out from under the table, and he has his eyes shut.
"Are you okay?" You ask with a smile. Now sat next to him again at the table, books still in front of you both.
He nods and looks at you, face still red. Breathing still a little uneven.
"Yeah, I'm... great." He nods, "Should... should get back to this though."
He gestures to the math work. You nod.
"Good break?"
He chuckles awkwardly, "Yeah, good fucking break."
(probs gonna redo this later bc i hatge it but djsbhja)
description: a cutie lil fic where eddie is just completely obsessed with you. who knew all he needed to bring you two together was jason carver beating his ass?
pairing: yearning!eddie x you (fem!reader)
tags: yearning!eddie, protective!reader, eddie x reader, no y/n, reader insert, slow (ish) burn, first kiss, happy ending, fluff the house down boots, high school romance, so much fucking yearning, eddie's head over heels
WC: 4.5k
TW: bullying, violence, some smoochies
A/N: requested by @midgardian-rogue hope you enjoy!! sorry for the wait! life is kicking my behind. i haven't forgotten about you all.
reblogs are always appreciated my loves<33
hope you all enjoy an ounce of some innocent fluff before final girl pt.2 bc......
People talked about love like it happened all at once. Like it was lightning. Like one look across a crowded room, and suddenly the rest of your life made sense.
Eddie Munson thought that was complete and utter bullshit.
Love wasn't lightning; it was erosion. The kind that wore you down one unnoticed glance at a time until one day you looked up and realized you'd built an entire religion around someone who didn't even know your favorite color.
Everyone knew you.
Not in the way they knew Jason Carver, Jason demanded attention. You never asked for itâŠit simply just followed you.
Teachers smiled a little wider when you answered questions. Freshmen gravitated toward you on the first day of school like frightened birds, somehow knowing you were safe.
It was infuriating. Not because Eddie disliked you. God, that would've made things so much easier, no. You were kind.
Genuinely, painfully, kind.
The kind of person who remembered birthdays without writing them down. The kind of beauty that had nothing to do with your face. Though...that certainly wasn't hurting anything.
You smiled with your whole body. Your shoulders, your eyes, even your laugh looked warm. Sometimes Eddie wondered if the sun waited for your permission before coming up. Whichâ
Jesus Christ.
See? This was exactly the problem. He couldn't even think about you without sounding like he'd swallowed a Hallmark card. He'd never even spoken to you. Well, not really.
Sure, there'd been little moments. A borrowed pencil sophomore year. A quiet "thank you" when he'd held a door open. Passing each other in the hallway enough times that nodding became an unspoken ritual.
But conversations? Actual conversations? Those belonged to people who lived on the same planet. You lived somewhere else entirely.
Some place made of honor roll certificates, volunteer hours, and Sunday mornings that probably smelled of pancakes instead of cigarette smoke.
Eddie had long since accepted that there were invisible lines running through Hawkins High. Athletes. Nerds. Burnouts. Band kids. Freaks. You somehow belonged to all of them, while he belonged to exactly one.
Hellfire. The trailer park. The people adults warned their children about.Â
Wayne always said Eddie had expensive taste. Not in clothes or cars, but people.
"You always go lookin' at things that ain't yours to carry," Wayne had muttered once while Eddie admired an old cherry-red Gibson through a pawn shop window.
At the time, Eddie thought he meant guitars. Now he wasn't so sure. Because every morning, without meaning to, he'd find himself searching the parking lot before first bell. Just to see if your car was there.
And every afternoon, he'd linger exactly thirty seconds too long outside English because he knew your classroom was across the hall. Not enough to be obvious, just enough to catch one glimpse.
Then he'd spend the rest of the day pretending that was somehow enough, though it never was.
The thing about memories was that they lied. Or maybe they just... polished themselves over time.
Eddie couldn't remember what he'd eaten yesterday. Couldn't remember what movie he'd watched with Wayne the week before. But he remembered that afternoon, every stupid, humiliating second of it.
It had been almost exactly a year ago.
The last bell had rung, sending Hawkins High spilling into the hallways in a tidal wave of backpacks and locker doors slamming shut. Eddie had lingered by his locker, stuffing loose campaign notes into a folder while Gareth argued with Jeff about whether dragons were technically reptiles.
He never heard Jason coming. The locker door slammed shut before Eddie could grab it, the metal rattling loud enough to make nearby students jump.
"Well, if it isn't the freak."
Eddie sighed. "Christ, Carver. Don't you ever get tired?"
Jason leaned against the neighboring locker with that smug grin Eddie had grown to hate. Andy and Chance flanked him like loyal guard dogs, each wearing the same self-satisfied expression.
"Nah."
Jason reached out, flicking Eddie's shoulder with unnecessary force.
"I actually look forward to these little chats."
"I don't."
"Funny."
Another shove. Not enough to knock him down, but just enough to remind him who had thirty pounds and varsity sports behind him.
"You know," Jason continued loudly, making sure the people walking by could hear, "I heard you recruited another freshman into your little Satan club."
Eddie rolled his eyes. "You guys are really obsessed with us."
"Just looking out for the town."
Same script, different day. Eddie had learned years ago that fighting back only made it worse.
So he leaned against the lockers and waited for them to get bored. He almost missed the footsteps approaching.
"What are you doing?" Your voice wasn't loud.
Jason turned first. "So, this doesn't concernâ"
"It concerns me now."
You stepped between passing students without the slightest hesitation, your backpack still hanging off one shoulder.
"Move."
Jason laughed. "Excuse me?"
"I said move."
Andy scoffed. "You serious?"
Without another word, you planted a hand square against Andy's chest and shoved him back just enough to force him away from Eddie. Not hard, but just enough to make it clear whose space he'd invaded.
Jason stared at you, his jaw tightening. "What the hell is your problem?"
"My problem?" you echoed. "Three against one seems pretty pathetic to me."
"We're talking."
"No." You folded your arms. "You were cornering him."
Jason took one step closer. "I'd be careful if I were you."
Eddie's stomach dropped.
But you didn't move. Hell, you didn't even blink.
Instead, one eyebrow lifted. "What?"
Your voice stayed infuriatingly calm. "You gonna hit a girl?"
Jason's expression hardened. "I didn't sayâ"
"No?" You tilted your head. "I mean... you've already got one thing in common with your father."
You paused, eyeing him up and down.
"It'd be a shame if you decided to copy the rest of his behavior too."
Jason's face went red. Not from embarrassment, but pure fury. The kind of fury that made his nostrils flare.
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"No?" You shrugged. "Then prove me wrong."
For a moment...Eddie genuinely thought Jason might do it. Might shove you. Might yell. Might finally snap.
Instead, Jason looked around. He couldn't touch you, not here. Not with everyone looking.
Jason just clicked his tongue. "Whatever."
He shot Eddie one last glare. "You're not worth it."
Then to you, "Careful who you stick up for."
You smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."
Jason scoffed before turning on his heel. "C'mon."
Andy and Chance followed without another word.
Eddie realized he'd been holding his breath. "...Thanks."
You turned toward him. For a second, he thought you might say something profound. Something unforgettable.
Instead, you smiled; that warm, easy smile he'd only ever seen from across classrooms.
"Don't mention it." You adjusted your backpack. "See you around, Eddie."
Eddie? Not âMunsonâ? He thought.Â
Then you justâŠwalked away. Like standing up to Jason Carver was no bigger a deal than holding the door open for someone. Eddie watched until you disappeared around the corner.
He didn't realize Gareth had come back until someone elbowed his ribs. "Dude."
"Hm?"
"You okay?"
Eddie kept staring at the empty hallway. "...yeah."
A year later...Eddie could still tell you exactly where you'd been standing. Exactly what you were wearing. Exactly how your hand had looked when you shoved Andy away from him.
He'd spent three hundred and sixty-five days trying to convince himself it hadn't meant anything. That you would've done it for anybody. It was probably true. But God knows that didnât help slow his crush on you down in the slightest.Â
There was a reason Eddie loved the Hawkins Fall Flea Market. Sure, half the vendors were selling ceramic geese in tiny bonnets or dusty kitchenware that should've been thrown out sometime during the Nixon administration.
But every now and then...Someone's grandfather died, and suddenly there'd be a box full of first-edition fantasy novels.
Or vintage dice. Or a stack of Dragon magazines someone didn't realize were worth something. Treasure hunting. That's what Wayne always called it.
"You never know what you're gonna find."
Eddie had been elbow-deep in a cardboard box labeled COMIC BOOKS - 25Âą for nearly twenty minutes before giving up his search for anything remotely Dungeons & Dragons related.
No diceâŠliterally.
With a dramatic sigh, he wandered farther down the rows of tents, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket as he smiled to himself. It wasn't exactly exciting, but it was comfortable.
He almost walked right past the record stand.
It was tucked between a vendor selling antique fishing lures and another covered in old comic strips and movie posters. Milk crates overflowed with vinyl records while wire racks displayed cassettes in crooked little rows.
Naturally...Eddie wandered over. His fingers skimmed over faded album covers. Thin Lizzy. Rush. Van Halen. Not bad. Thenâ
"...No way."
He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but there you were. Standing on the opposite side of the rack, your brows pinched together in concentration as you thumbed through a crate marked HEAVY METAL.
You wore an oversized forest-green sweater with the sleeves pushed over your hands, faded jeans, and beat-up Converse he'd never seen you wear to school. Your hair was tucked behind one ear as you carefully flipped through albums like you actually knew what you were looking at.
There was no universe in which this made sense. You belonged in the classical section. Or maybe folk, something acoustic. Not Iron Maiden. Motörhead. Judas Priest.
He blinked hard, almost thinking he was staring at a mirage. Nope, still there.
You looked up and caught him staring again. A smile spread across your face almost instantly.
You smiled victoriously before turning back to the rack. After another moment of searching, your face brightened. "There it is."
You pulled out your own cassette. The Cure: Disintegration.
"See?" You held it up proudly. "I have range."
Eddie laughed. "I'll allow it."
"I appreciate your approval."
The older vendor wandered over. "You kids find everything?"
You nodded. "I think so."
As the man rang up your cassette, Eddie was still standing there holding the Mercyful Fate tape in both hands like you'd just gifted him the Holy Grail.
You paid, tucked the cassette into your canvas tote bag, and looked back at him. "I'll see you Monday?"
He swallowed. "...Yeah."
"Don't wait too long to listen to that." You pointed toward the cassette still in his hands. "I'd like to know what you think."
Before he could ask exactly how you planned to do that...you were already walking away.
You lifted a hand over your shoulder. "Bye, Eddie."
He watched until the crowd swallowed you whole. Only then did he glance back down at the cassette.
"You gonna buy it?"
The vendor's voice startled him. "Huh?"
"You've been holding it for five minutes."
"Oh."
Eddie looked down at the cracked plastic case, then toward the direction you'd disappeared. "...Yeah."
He smiled to himself. "I think I have to."
The cassette wasn't rare. He'd seen three copies of the same album over the last month. It wasn't even his favorite Mercyful Fate record. But this one? This one had your fingerprints on it.
By Wednesday, Eddie had listened to the Mercyful Fate cassette four times. Not because it had suddenly become his favorite album, it hadn't.
But every time King Diamond's voice crackled through the speakers of the van's cassette player, Eddie could picture your smile across that flea market record stand.
"I think you'd like this."
Wayne noticed by Tuesday night. "Ain't this the same tape you played yesterday?"
"...Maybe."
"You finally wear out your Sabbath tapes?"
"...No."
Wayne glanced over the rim of his newspaper. "...Girl?"
Eddie nearly combusted on the spot from how red his face was.
The cafeteria buzzed louder than usual as homecoming week had officially taken hold at Hawkins High. Construction paper streamers hung lopsided from the ceiling.
The student council had somehow convinced the administration to decorate every available surface in orange and green, making the cafeteria look like it had exploded.
Eddie hated it. He hated pep rallies, football, and he especially hated homecoming. And he especially especially hated listening to Jason Carver talk about the "spirit of Hawkins."
"So," Gareth said through a mouthful of fries, "we skipping the pep rally?"
"We're legally obligated to."
Jeff nodded solemnly. "It's in the Hellfire constitution."
Mike frowned. "We have a constitution?"
"We do now."
Laughter bounced around the table. Then Dustin elbowed Eddie. "Dude."
"What?"
"Twelve o'clock."
Eddie looked up. You moved from table to table carrying a thick envelope and a clipboard tucked against your chest. Homecoming tickets, of course.
You stopped at the basketball table first. Jason smiled, and you smiled back politely. Professional and nothing more. Then the band kids. Then the theater kids. Thenâ
Hellfire...and Eddie's heart immediately forgot how to function.
"Hi, guys."
You smiled at the whole table before your eyes landed on him.
"Hi, Eddie."
God. You always said his name like it belonged in your mouth.
"Uh... hey."
"So," you said, setting the envelope on the table. "I'm making my rounds."
You held up two small orange tickets. "Homecoming tickets. Five dollars."
Jeff snorted, Mike looked horrified, while Gareth dramatically searched his empty pockets.
"We're allergic."
"I figured."
Then you looked back at Eddie. "Oh."
Your smile softened. "Did you ever listen to the cassette?"
His brain completely abandoned him. "...Yeah."
"And?"
"It was..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "...Really good."
"'Really good?'" You looked mock offended. "I thought it'd at least earn a 'life-changing.'"
"I was trying not to sound insane."
"So you liked it?"
"Iâ" He smiled before he could stop himself. "...Yeah. A lot, actually."
"I knew you would."
Something warm settled in his chest. You knew. Not hoped, not guessed, knew.
Which is why, when he said, without thinking, "I'll take two."
Silence, which even made Eddie freeze. What?
Your eyebrows lifted slightly. "...Two?"
He stared at the tickets. Abort mission. Abort mission. FUCK! Too late.
"Uh..." His hand was already digging into his pocket. "Yeah."
He slapped a crumpled ten-dollar bill onto the table before his brain had the chance to intervene. "I'll take two."
You looked at him for a second longer than necessary, then the smallest smile tugged at your lips. Then, you handed him the two orange tickets.Â
"Our music committee isn't nearly as good as Mercyful Fate."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"I'll see you around?"
"...Yeah."
You gave the table one last smile. "Have a good lunch, guys."
Then, you disappeared toward the next group of students, and the second you were out of earshot...
Five heads slowly turned toward Eddie.
"...What the hell was that?" Dustin snaps.
"What?"
"You hate homecoming."
"I don't hateâ"
"You called it," Gareth interrupted, "'capitalist propaganda with crepe paper.'"
"I stand by that."
Jeff leaned across the table. "So why," he asked carefully, "did you just buy..."
He held up two fingers. "...two tickets?"
Eddie blinked. "...Did I?"
"You were there." Mike snorted. "I'm pretty sure you even paid for them."
Eddie looked down at the tickets in his hand as though they'd magically appeared there.
"...Huh."
Gareth burst into laughter. "'Huh?'"
"'Huh?!'"
"You bought two!"
"I know!"
"Do you?!"
Dustin reached across the table and plucked one from Eddie's fingers.
"'Homecoming Admission.'"
He looked around dramatically. "Guys. I think Eddie the Banished has suffered a traumatic brain injury."
Jeff nodded. "Only explanation."
"You've spent three years talking about how dances are government mind control."
"They are."
"So, who are you taking?"
Eddie opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Because...he hadn't thought that far. He hadn't thought at all. He'd just wanted another excuse or another thirty seconds of hearing your voice.
"...Nobody."
Five skeptical expressions. "Nnnoooobody?" Gareth echoed.
"Nope."
"So you just bought two tickets..."
"Yep."
"...For fun?"
"...Sure."
Mike deadpanned, "That's the stupidest thing you've ever said."
Dustin slowly smiled. "Oh."
"Oh no," Eddie muttered.
"Oh, no."
Dustin pointed across the cafeteria, where you were still making your rounds. "You bought two tickets because you're gonna ask her."
Eddie nearly choked on his Coke. "I am absolutely not."
"You absolutely are."
"I absolutely am not."
Jeff grinned. "Dude."
"You've been listening to that cassette all week."
"You don't know that."
"Wayne told my mom."
Eddie's head whipped toward him. "...Wayne, what?"
"My mom was at the trailer dropping off your uncle's casserole dish."
Jeff shrugged innocently. "He saidâand I quoteâ'Boy's been playing the same damn tape for three days. Must be love.'"
The entire table erupted while Dustin pointed triumphantly. "Called it."
Eddie dropped his forehead onto the cafeteria table with a groan.
By the time Hellfire finished packing up their campaign books in the theater room, basketball practice had just let out. Which meant letterman jackets, inflated egos, and Jason Carver. Perfect.
Eddie spotted them before they spotted him, or so he thought.
That had been the plan. Until Tommy H stuck his foot out, and Gareth caught it too late.
His books were scattered across the pavement, dice bouncing in every direction. One tiny d20 rolled nearly twenty feet before coming to rest beneath a parked truck.
"Oh, my bad," Tommy said without sounding sorry in the slightest.
Gareth muttered a curse beneath his breath as he knelt to gather his things.
Eddie was already moving. "The hell's your problem?"
Jason shrugged. "Gravity."
"You tripped him," Eddie says, pointing between Jason and Tommy.Â
"I don't know, Munson." Tommy grinned. "Looked pretty clumsy to me."
Jeff and Dustin immediately stepped toward Gareth, helping gather his books. Eddie stood between them and Jason.
"Câmon, man. At least pick on someone with a fighting chance."
Jason smiled as he chimed in. "I am."
The shove came so fast that Eddie barely had time to react, his shoulder slamming into the side of a parked car. The metal echoed.
"Jesus, fuckâ" Eddie shoved him back, causing Jason's smile to disappear.
"Oh. There he is."
The first punch caught Eddie across the jaw, causing white to explode across his vision. He stumbled back, so Andy grabbed his jacket from behind. Then, Tommy landed one on his ribs. Someone else kicked the back of his knee.
Three against one, again. He heard Dustin yelling, Jeff trying to pull somebody off, and Gareth shouting Eddie's name.
"...Enough!"
Everything stopped as a familiar voice cut through the chaos like a knife.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Eddie blinked through blurry vision and saw you.
You were marching across the parking lot faster than he'd ever seen anyone move as your backpack swung wildly against your side.
Jason scoffed. "Stay out of it."
"No."
You shoved Andy away from Eddie so hard that he stumbled backward. "I said thatâs enough."
Tommy laughed. "Oh, here comes Wonder Woman."
You ignored him completely. Instead, you crouched beside Eddie. "Are you okay?"
He tried to answer, but instead, blood dripped onto his shirt. Your face tightened as you looked back up to analyze the scene: three basketball players, one bleeding boy, and his friend's reactions somewhere between horror and panic.Â
"You should be proud of yourselves."
Jason rolled his eyes. "He was acting insane. He pushed me for Christ's sake."
"That's bullshit."
Jason took a step closer. "What do you care?"
"I care because you three are acting like a bunch of fucking neanderthals. And for what? What the hell did he ever do to you?"
He laughed. "You really gonna defend this freak?"
You stood slowly until you were eye level with him. "I'm defending someone who can't fight three people at once."
Jason clicked his tongue. "You're wasting your time."
"No." You shook your head.
"You know..." You looked Jason up and down. "For someone who talks so much about honor..."
Your eyes drifted toward the gym. "...you sure need a lot of teammates when you throw a punch."
Jason's jaw clenched. "You should go."
"You first."
You kept your gaze fixed on Jason, putting on the best âdonât fuck with me todayâ face you could muster.
His eyes dart between you and Eddie, a small and almost sinister grin forming. Then, he scoffed.
"C'mon. This freak show isnât worth our spots in Friday's game.â
The last of the basketball team disappeared across the parking lot. Jason threw one final glare over his shoulder before climbing into Tommy's truck.
"...Jesus Christ." Your voice was barely above a whisper. Eddie looked up just in time to see you drop to your knees again beside him.
Your eyes darted over his face: the split lip, the scrape across his cheek, the beginnings of a bruise blooming beneath his eye.
"Dustin!" you called over your shoulder. "Go to the nurse's office!"
Dustin looked between you and Eddie before immediately taking off toward the school. "I'll get an ice pack!"
You nodded once before turning your attention back to Eddie. "Can you sit up?"
He managed a small nod even though every rib protested. You slipped an arm beneath his shoulder, helping him lean back against the brick wall of the school.
"So much for keeping your pretty face."
Eddie let out a weak laugh. "...Didn't know I had one."
You rolled your eyes. "Shut up."
Your backpack slid into your lap, frowning as you rifled through its contents. "No..." You dug deeper. "No..."
"Ah! There."
You pulled out an old black T-shirt, faded nearly gray with age. Eddie recognized the logo immediately: Iron Maiden, The Number of the Beast tour.
He blinked. "You just carry band shirts around for fun?"
"My dad leaves them in my car." You shrugged, "Guess they make good makeshift paper towels."
You hesitated. "Can I?"
He nodded before he even knew what you were asking. You folded the shirt into a small square before gently dabbing at the blood on the corner of his mouth; your touch was impossibly careful.
With your face inches from his, heâs embarrassed about how many times he imagined being this close more times than he cares to admit.
"You know..." You sighed, "...That was really stupid."
"Hm?"
"What were you thinking?" You wiped another streak of blood from his cheek. "There were three of them."
"They were picking on Gareth."
"I know."
"So..."
"So you decided to get yourself killed?"
"I wasn't gonna let them jump him."
"I know." You say with an exaggerated sigh.
You make another careful swipe of the shirt across his lip, "You don't always have to be the one who saves everybody."
He watched you instead of answering. Your brows were pulled together, bottom lip tucked between your teeth in concentration.
"Eddie?"
He hadn't realized he'd been staring. "What?"
"You okay? You keep looking at me and, like, zoning out. Do you feel dizzy?"
"Oh." His voice came out embarrassingly quiet, "Uh, no. Sorry."
"Oh." You reply, a tiny smile tugging at your lips.
âHuh?â He swallowed.
His brain screamed at him to say literally anything else. Comment on the weather. Ask about homework.
"I think I really like you."
You froze mid-wipe of his cheek, eyes quickly meeting his.Â
Eddie groaned and closed his eyes. "FuckâForget I said that."
"Oh."
Fantastic. She sounds uncomfortable. Wonderful.
"I didn't meanâ"
"No." Your hand gently caught his wrist before he could keep spiraling, "I just..."
He opened his eyes, and to his delight, you were smiling.
"I've been wondering how long that was going to take."
His eyebrows knit together. "...What?"
"I was starting to think you were never going to say it."
"...Say what?"
"That."
You laughed quietly. "I've liked you for over a year, Eddie."
His brain stopped. "No, you don't."
"I do."
"You can't."
"I can."
"You..." He searched your face for the joke, "You've liked me?"
"Since you helped that freshman find the theater room on the first day of school last year."
"...That's why?"
"You spent fifteen minutes walking him around the building."
"He looked lost."
"I know." You smiled, "That's kind of my point."
He stared, then laughed, a disbelieving and breathless laugh.
"I've spent an entire year convincing myself you were completely out of my league."
"I've spent an entire year waiting for you to realize I wasn't.â
His heart nearly flew out of his chest just then.
"But then..." You shrugged, looking almost sheepish. "You bought the second homecoming ticket, so I just assumed you found someone else to ask."
"...WHAT?"
The word exploded out of him so loudly that a flock of birds scattered from the nearby trees.
You blinked. "What?"
"No!" He sat up a little too fast before immediately grabbing his ribs. "OwâJesus Christ."
"Eddie! Jesus, would you calm dâ"
"No, no, listen." He pointed emphatically toward the school. "I bought the second ticket because you were standing there."
"...I know."
"No, I meanâ" He groaned. "I wasn't thinking."
"I've noticed."
"I just wanted an excuse to keep talking to you."
You stared.
"So my brain went..." He mimed throwing something across the parking lot. "'Buy two tickets.' But uh, I didn't have a plan after that."
A laugh bubbled out of you. "So..."
He continued, growing increasingly animated. "...then Gareth asks, 'Who're you taking?'"
"And?"
"And I realized..." He buried his face in his hands. "...I had absolutely no idea what I was doing."
Your shoulders started shaking. "Oh my God..."
"I panicked."
"I can tell."
"I said I bought them for fun."
"You told them..." you managed between laughs, "'for fun?'"
"I know!"
"That's the worst lie I've ever heard."
"I KNOW."
"They believed you?"
"They absolutely did not."
You laughed even harder, and he found himself laughing, too.
"I have spent," he said through a grin, "the last four days wondering who the hell I was supposed to ask because apparently I'd already committed."
Your laughter slowly faded into something softer.
"So..." You looked at him carefully. "...Who were you planning on asking?"
He gave you the most incredulous look. "You."
"Really?"
"You literally just admitted you thought I found somebody else."
"I know, but..." You smiled. "I wanted to hear you say it."
Eddie shook his head in disbelief. "You're evil."
"A little."
"You've been letting me suffer this whole time?"
"I thought it was kind of cute."
"Oh, that's cruel."
"It was a little cruel." You say, shrugging.
He smiles the biggest smile he can muster, considering the pain shooting through what feels like every inch of his body, and releases a deep sigh.Â
"So..."
"So?"
He reached into the pocket of his denim vest, wincing as his bruised ribs protested.
After a second of fumbling, he pulled out the slightly crumpled orange homecoming ticket, holding it out between two fingers.
"I know this isn't exactly the most romantic timing."
You looked down at the ticket, then back up at him.
"But..." His smile turned nervous, "...would you maybe wanna go to homecoming with me?"
You couldâve just verbally said yes, but fuck that.
You broke the final inches of distance between you, your lips meeting his. He kissed you back instinctively, one hand finding your waist, smiling into the kiss. You smiled too.
"Hssâ" Eddie jerked back with a sharp wince, immediately bringing a hand to his mouth.
"Oh, my God!" Your eyes went wide. "Shit! I'm so sorry!"
"No, noâ" He laughed despite himself, carefully pressing two fingers against his split lip. "I just forgot I got punched."
"You idiot."
"Yeah..." A grin spread across his face, "...Worth it."
You rolled your eyes, but he caught the smile tugging at your lips.
"This time," you murmured, leaning closer again, "try not to throw yourself into it like you're storming a castle."
"I make no promises."
"I know." You cupped his cheek, much gentler now. "So let me."
This kiss was much slower; you barely brushed your lips against his at first. He practically pulled you into his airspace, completely ignoring any stinging sensation because, hell, heâd thought about this at least a thousand times.Â
Afterward, he rested his forehead against yours, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.
"I've wanted to do that," he admitted softly, "for... probably an embarrassing amount of time."
You laughed. "Me too."
He looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face. "So..."
"So?"
"Does this mean you'll go to homecoming with me?"
You pretended to think about it. "Hmm..."
"Don't do this to me."
"I suppose."
He let out the most dramatic sigh of relief. "Thank God."
Before you could tease him for it, he was kissing you again. His hand found your cheek, thumb brushing gently along your jaw as he smiled into it, and you smiled back.
Then you felt the subtle tension in his hand. The way his fingers tightened ever so slightly against your skin. The sharp inhale he tried, and failed, to hide.
You pulled back just enough to look at him. "You're hurting."
"I'm surviving."
"Eddie."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
He grinned, lopsided because of his split lip. "I've imagined kissing you about a thousand times."
You laughed softly.
"And not once did Jason Carver punch me beforehand."
You rolled your eyes, your thumb carefully brushing beneath the bruise blooming under his eye.
"You are unbelievable."
"I've been called worse."
"I'm sure you have."
His forehead rested against yours, his smile refusing to leave. "I don't think anything could ruin today."
"...Ahem."
The two of you froze and slowly turned your heads.
Dustin stood a few yards away, an ice pack dangling from one hand. He looked from Eddie to you, then to the fact that you were still sitting impossibly close together, practically entangled.Â
A slow, knowing grin spread across his face.Â
"...I guess you don't need that ice pack then?"
missed u guys sm:,) more coming soon, pinky promise <3
Secrets I have held in my heart (are harder to hide than I thought)E.M.
âïž Warnings: 18+, mdni! idiots to lovers, best friends to lovers, smut smut smut, lots of pining, mentions of unrequited feelings (they're not), slight angst, unprotected sex, breeding kink? kinda. alcohol and weed consumption. high sex?
âïž Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader
âïž Word count: 20.4k
âïž Summary: A weekend alone with Eddie at Steve's cabin reveals all yours and his deepest desires, feelings you were too afraid to act upon bubbling to the surface, leading to a steamy night that might change you and your best friend forever.
âïž Author's note: I've been meaning to write a best friends to lovers with Eddie for a while now (especially after writing ikyllatk, if you know you know. this is Cheer and Eddie to me in a different universe hehe). @hellfire--cult and I went feral over this idea and we've been talking about this since foreverrrrr and here we are finally! thank you for inspiring me, love âĄ
âïž the library
divider made by @cafekitsune
The sun is beating down on your skin, kissing it with warmth as the cold water from the lake is still clinging to your body, making goosebumps appear as you shiver the slightest bit. Your eyes are closed, a content smile rests on your face, despite the way your blue lips tremble. Birds are chirping all around you, the trees rustle whenever the wind blows, the water splashes when your best friend makes his way out of the lake, cursing a few times when he steps over the sharp rocks on the ground.Â
You donât open your eyes just yet but you listen to him moving closer and closer to where youâre laying on the pink towel you threw on the grass earlier. You donât have to take a look to know that he is staring at you, he always is. Like a weight on your body, his stare always feels like a warm blanket, heating up your insides and making you feel something you shouldnât.
Eddieâs eyes are roaming your body, your glistening bare skin, the skimpy bikini bottoms that are only held together by the strings on the sides, the little bow coming undone slowly. He kneels down before you, making a gasp fall from your lips when the water from his hair drips on your belly and his cold hands touch your hip, fingers reaching for the strings so he can fix the little bow.Â
You open your eyes to find him looking down with a smug smile as he plays with the strings on your bottoms, re-tying it for you. Your breath hitches in your throat from the touch of his hand and the closeness of him, if you were to sit up, your noses would bump together but you stay in place, only pushing yourself up on your elbows.Â
âIâm sorry, sweets,â he chuckles softly, taking his sweet time as his fingertips graze your bare hip, âdidnât mean to get you wet,â he smirks, a look of mischief flashes in his eyes as water continues to drip from his body onto yours.Â
âAre you sure?â You challenge him the way you always do, blinking at him innocently as you bring your knees up higher and bite your lip, making him gulp and blush instantly.Â
You always know how to break him.Â
Eddie is oh so confident and flirty, throwing looks and comments your way that are a little too suggestive for someone who is considered a best friend, but the moment you join in on his game, even if only subtly, he turns into a blushing mess, no longer the confident, cocky guy he wishes to be.Â
But even when he turns into this, blushing and nervous, you can still feel that one certain energy radiating off him and it makes you squirm, it fills you with curiosity and the urge to cross that invisible line, your deepest desires, the ones that are locked away begging to be released. You never let them, you never even looked or paid attention to what you really wanted or craved. You played his game, you flirted back, you teased him but you never admitted to yourself that there was⊠something.Â
âHm, no,â Eddie murmurs, suggestively. He ties the knot, strongly and then, he hooks his finger around the strap, he pulls it back and lets it snap against your skin, making you jolt in your place, a tiny gasp falling from your lips once more as a bigger smirk appears on his face. His eyes roam your body, he takes you in fully before he leans back and plops down on his own towel, laying down, he places his arm behind his head, closing his eyes to the sun, he lets out a sigh of contentment, acting as though he didnât just touch you the way best friends normally donât do. Asshole.Â
âThis is nice, Iâm glad we came out here.âÂ
You hum in agreement, taking advantage of the fact that his eyes are closed, you allow yourself to take a closer, better look at the man who had become your best and closest friend. He is attractive, very handsome, you arenât blind, you never have been but he is your friend, you never allowed yourself to look at him a certain way but lately itâs become harder to stay so⊠blind, to not let his lingering touches make you weak in the knees, to not let his comments fill you with giddiness, to not feel something when he holds you in his arms, when he plays with your hair or places his hand on your thigh when youâre in his passenger seat.Â
You donât know where this sudden change has come from, itâs always been that way with him, from the very beginning, heâs been touchy and affectionate with you but it didnât always make you so excited, itâs been a recent development, something that Nancy and Robin teased you about, they saw your reactions whenever he kissed your cheek and called you pet names, whenever he walked into a room only smiling the moment his eyes would meet yours.Â
You never noticed it before, the feelings he left you with after all his sweet gestures and touches, only when your friends had brought it up to you, leaving you a blushing and a confused mess, did you start to open your eyes⊠a little, and suddenly things started to change, your reactions to his comments, no matter if they are flirty or sweet, your reactions to his lingering touches, the way his fingers would play with yours, the way they would drum against your skin, so very close to the hem of your skirt or your shirt, the way he would tuck your hair behind your ear or wipe the foam off your upper lip after taking the first sip of your morning latte before taking his thumb into his mouth and licking it off, moaning while doing so â what was normal before, suddenly wasnât anymore, everything he did, everything he does now drives you crazy and leaves you yearning for more but you never dared to be the one to take another step forward, to cross that daring line, to make the first real move.Â
He is still Eddie, your best friend, your soulmate, the person you donât want to lose, especially over something like this, over reading into something that might not be there, over losing control of your own feelings. After all, this could all just be a part of⊠him. Maybe itâs just who he is, affectionate, teasing, flirty, daring. Maybe he is like that with everybody, not just you.Â
But maybe not, maybe you are the only one and maybe, just maybe he is waiting for you to be the one to make another move, to take another step, maybe he has been waiting, maybe he has been waiting for a while now.Â
You bite your lips so hard, you almost rip the skin open, your eyes are glued to his form, to the way his chest rises up and down, his wet hair a mess around him, lashes fluttering as his eyes are squeezed shut, your fingers itch to touch the ink on his pale skin, you lick your lips as your eyes follow his happy trail, mouth watering at the way his swim trunks are so low on his hips, his bulge so⊠god, you need to stop â but how can you? Your best friend is just so pretty. And his hands are so big, fingers so long and you have felt them on your skin before but you would be a goddamn liar if you said you didnât think about them in other places.Â
Your cheeks heat up at your own thoughts, though it doesnât stop you from daydreaming some more and the longer you do, the more you start to lose yourself in them, wondering about all the different what ifâs, wondering what would happen if you just made the move your friends have begged you to make, to be more daring, to be more teasing, to break him enough for him to do something you both clearly want.Â
A bravery you donât usually have, surges through your body, taking over completely. The urge to tease him back the way he teases you is so strong, so before you chicken out, before you think too much and too long, you reach behind you, undoing the bow he tied on your bikini top, you turn away from him and take the skimpy black thing off, throwing it down next to you, the cool breeze kisses your skin and if Eddie opened his eyes right now, heâd be met with the sight of your bare chest.Â
You press your lips together and turn around, flipping your hair over your shoulder, you lay down on your stomach, stretching your arms out and letting out a sigh of contentment. You turn your head into his direction but close your eyes, even though youâre dying to see his reaction to you being topless but you are trying to play it cool, like itâs nothing.Â
Eddie peeks one eye open after listening to all your movement and he almost chokes on his spit when he does, jaw falling slack, both eyes shoot open as he takes in the sight of you, of the skin that wasnât bare only seconds ago â how, when, what?
He blinks, eyebrows furrowed, lips parted as he is gawking at you, at the way your boobs are pressed against the towel beneath you, at the softness of your skin, at the single drops of water still clinging to your body that he wants to touch oh so badly, your hair looks so shiny and soft, your face so content as you lay half naked next to him.Â
Eddieâs cheeks heat up when he realizes that he would have seen you bare if only he opened his eyes a few seconds sooner. He licks his lips, nearly drooling over the sight of you. Suddenly, his trunks feel tighter than before when his mind takes him to places he only reserves for late nights when he is all alone and not afraid to risk to pop a boner.Â
He tries to look away, he really does but he canât, not when you look this hot. He allows his eyes to roam again and it only makes his case worse, his breathing quickens, his skin heats up, his hands itch to touch your soft skin, his lips long to trail kisses down your body, to have a little taste of you.Â
If you were his, he would, he would start on your neck and he would kiss down to your shoulder and then your back, and heâd take it lower and lower until his lips would reach those skimpy panties, heâd take them off and taste you the way he always dreamed of, heâd lick a stripe up your pussy, suck on your clit, eat you out like the starved man that he is and he would get lost in your moans and your whines, in the pleasure that only he could make you feel.Â
Eddie clears his throat, he nearly curses when he feels his dick twitching in need of you. He clenches his jaw, even more so when he sees your lips twitching into a smirk. Oh⊠Oh.Â
He raises his eyebrows in surprise, his breath halting for a moment when he realizes what you did, you did this on purpose, you aimed to tease him.Â
Itâs not exactly something new, you being a tease but you have never taken things this far, you have never stepped up to his level.Â
But now that you did⊠he can take things further as well, right?
If you decide to tease him like this, then he will tease right back.Â
He pushes himself up, adjusting his trunks, he nearly lets out a groan when you wiggle your butt a little, pretending to get more comfortable.Â
He bites his lip as he looks around in search for the sunscreen you have brought with you, he finds the bottle peeking out of your bag. He presses his palm on the grass beneath him, leaning over your body to reach for the yellow bottle.Â
âWhatâre you doing, Eds?â You murmur, rather seductively
A smirk tugs at Eddieâs lips, the tone in your voice tells him that you believe you are in charge here and⊠maybe you are, right now, but he wonât let you win so easily.Â
He chuckles lowly when a gasp tears from your pretty lips after he squirts the cold cream on your back.Â
âDonât want you to get burned, sweetheart,â he whispers, closing the cap of the bottle, he throws it on the ground before he lays his palms flat against your hot skin, spreading the white cream all over your back.Â
You grow flustered and you start blushing, your breathing gets heavier and you visibly gulp when he starts massaging the sunscreen into your skin. You suck in a sharp breath when his hands move up to your shoulders, gripping you there for a moment before he moves back down, the coldness of his rings making you shudder a little.Â
Eddie canât even hide the smug look on his face after feeling your reaction, pride swelling in his chest when you sigh so beautifully because of his touch.Â
You easily get lost in this, eyelashes fluttering, soft breaths and sighs falling from your lips as his strong hands move up and down your skin, touching you in ways that make you squirm beneath him.Â
âFeels good,â you whisper as you arch your back a little, not knowing that just a small movement like this is enough to drive him insane, once again.Â
âFuck,â he curses softly under his breath, he swallows harshly.Â
âWhat was that?â You ask, not hiding the smugness in your voice, very well.Â
âNothing,â he lies, ânothing, sweets.âÂ
âYou sure?âÂ
He hums, shaking his head at your teasing, at the way you think that you will win the game that he started.Â
Eddie moves his hands down to your sides, making sure to get the cream everywhere, so you wonât get burned, of course. His fingers dip dangerously low to the side of your boobs, and while it was only meant to tease you, to get a reaction out of you, he realizes that it was a mistake, only a little too late â it only makes his case worse when he feels just how soft and smooth your skin is that is usually hidden under all your clothes, when he feels himself craving to touch a little lower, to feel more of you, to make you feelâ
âMmmh.âÂ
Eddie freezes, hands halting at your sides, his big brown eyes widen and his lips part once again, he stares at the back of your head, stunned.Â
You moaned at his touch, whimpered even, making those butterflies in his stomach feel stronger than ever.Â
âWhyâd you stop?â You mumble, wiggling your butt as though to tell him to keep going.Â
Do you even know the power you hold over him?Â
Do you even understand what you do to him?Â
Eddie bites his lip, he bites hard, hard enough to taste iron. He sucks in a sharp breath, biting back the growl that threatens to fall from his mouth when he adjusts behind you, the rough material of his swim trunks rubbing against his dick. He is fucking rock hard and if you only turned around to take a look at him, you would see it.Â
âIâm sorry, got a little distracted,â he says lowly, voice getting a little shaky.Â
He feels so hot, and itâs not the sun that is making him sweat, itâs all you.Â
He can see the way your lip twitches, the way your dimple shows when you smirk at his words.Â
âOh? By what, the birds?â You giggle.Â
He chuckles, shaking his head at your question even though your eyes are still closed. He takes a moment to look at your surroundings, at the beautiful scenery, the trees and the big lake in front of Steveâs cabin â well, his parents cabin.Â
God, he wonders where this weekend will take him, you and him.Â
A weekend you were both supposed to spend with your friends, turned into this. Just you and him, and no one else.Â
Itâs only day one, and you are already close to making him cum in his swim trunks, like some pathetic teenage boy who couldnât handle his crushâs teasing or touching.Â
This will either be the best weekend of his life, or this might kill him â if you are only teasing, then this will surely kill him but if you are not, then he owes your friends a lot, for pretending to be sick or busy. He knows that they were lying when Robin fake coughed on the phone after telling him that she couldnât make it, that she and Steve couldnât make it, cause he got sick too⊠apparently.Â
And Nancy forgot that she promised to help her mom with something, and if Nancy couldnât come, then Jonathan couldnât either of course â which led to Argyle staying back as well, cause where would he ever go without his best buddy?Â
Eddie looks back down at you, at his best friend, who is laying half naked before him so comfortably, teasing him so freely. Another sigh escapes your lips and you squirm beneath him once again.Â
Yeah, no matter how this will end, you will be the death of him.Â
âYeah, the birds,â he mumbles, snorting at his own words.Â
He leans down closer to you, squeezing your sides which makes you jolt a little, a giggle falling from your lips.Â
âIâm sorry,â he chuckles, eyes lighting up at the sweet sound, âI forgot how ticklish you are,â he teases, as if.Â
âMhmm sure you did, Eddie.âÂ
With a mischievous smile, he decides to take his teasing further, playfully digging his fingers into your waist, he begins to tickle you, making you yelp and jolt in surprise as you start squirming beneath his touch, giggles now falling freely from your mouth as his name rolls off your tongue so effortlessly, awakening those butterflies in his stomach. God, he wishes he could make you call out his name in different ways.Â
You jump up, with your arms covering your front, one hand pressing against your boobs, hiding only just a little as you turn to face your best friend. You watch the way his eyes widen as they instantly fall to your chest, lust flashing in them, jaw dropping as his cheeks redden right this second, his expression makes you giggle even harder, even more so when you push him back and he falls onto the grass, flat on his butt, wet curls hanging in front of his hair.Â
Eddie is so stunned by you, he can barely move as he stares at you, at your half naked form. God, you are so beautiful it hurts.Â
The afternoon sun begins to turn golden, kissing your glowy skin and all your curves, your hair cascades down your shoulders, your hand that barely hides anything pressing against your boobs, he wishes it was his own. Licking his lips, he pushes himself up on his elbows, letting his eyes roam your body, shamelessly, dreaming about the way he would love to get between those delicious looking thighs of yours, the way heâd kiss every inch of your body, leaving no trace unmarked, the way he would nuzzle his nose into your neck and inhale your sweet scent, not playfully the way he usually does, but with a trail of kisses that he would leave behind.Â
He would worship you in ways he canât even begin to describe. Oh, how often Eddie finds himself up at night, working on yet another song about you, thinking of words that havenât been created yet, strong enough to describe you.Â
He feels uncomfortable in his swim trunks that are getting a little too tight, his skin feels on fire, not from the sun but from you. He lusts after you, yes, but there is also more than that, so much more. It isnât just the lust that makes these feelings so intense, itâs all his deepest feelings for you, feelings that only his notebook filled with song texts know about⊠and maybe your friends, who arenât as oblivious as you are.Â
âIâm gonna take a shower, and you should too,â your voice pulls him out of his thoughts.Â
Eddie clears his throat, watching you get up, not bothering to pick up your top or your dress that you wore earlier, you simply keep your chest hidden by your right arm.Â
âYouâre helping me cook dinner,â you give him a pointed look before you turn around and begin to walk back to the house.Â
Eddie smiles cheekily as he pushes himself up further, eyes glued to your butt now.Â
âAre you telling me to get into the shower with you?â He calls after you, unaware of the butterflies that he caused in your stomach now.Â
You donât turn around, you keep walking, hiding the flustered expression on your face from him. You flip him off without looking back, biting back your smile when he laughs loudly.Â
Eddie watches, craning his neck to see more of you, the way your butt jiggles as you skip up the stairs. He bites his lip, groaning at the sight of it.Â
âGoddamn.âÂ
You will be the death of him.
-
Itâs dark outside by the time Eddie comes out of the steamy bathroom, the cabin is mostly dark too, candles illuminate the living room and the sound of music fills the space. A smile lingers on his face as he makes his way down the hallway, his wet curls bouncing with each step that he takes, he throws on a clean shirt, his gray sweatpants hang low on his hips.Â
A groan almost falls from his lips when he walks into the kitchen to you standing there in nothing but one of his shirts, now that sight is nothing new to him but it never fails to take his breath away, though usually you have on more than just the shirt. Your bare legs are glowy beneath the dim lights, from hours in the sun and that delicious smelling cream you always put on your skin after showering, you sway your hips to the music, shirt riding up in the process. Eddie canât help but wonder if you are wearing any panties at all beneath his shirt. Fuck. He shouldnât let his mind go there, you have done enough teasing for the day, he almost jerked off in the shower and maybe he should have, maybe that would have released some of the tension in him but he wouldnât have been able to stay quiet, he never is.Â
God, this really will be a long weekend filled with torture and teasing. He knows he should probably stop playing this dangerous game but he just canât help but play into it.Â
He slowly makes his way to you, youâre humming to the music, knife held in your hand as you cut up vegetables, an opened bottle of beer on the counter before you, your damp hair is braided loosely, falling down your back. He can smell your body wash from here, the sweetness of it â of you is so intoxicating to him, he wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around your waist, pull you into him and bury his face in the crook of your neck, inhale your scent and kissing your soft skin, he craves it so very badly, even more so, he craves for it to be something normal.Â
Eddie wants you to be more than just his best friend.Â
Everybody knows it, everybody but you.Â
And maybe itâs better this way, maybe he would lose you if you did find out.Â
You might be a tease, you might let him touch you in ways no one else is allowed to, you might give him hope sometimes, the hope that you could feel more than just something platonic for him but at the end of the day you are still best friends and he canât lose that, especially not because he canât control his feelings.Â
Because what happens when you do find out and you donât feel the same?Â
What happens then?Â
What happens if it drives you away?Â
What happens if he loses you?Â
And he canât allow that to happen, he canât lose you, not you, anyone but you.Â
Eddie knows he should do himself a favor and stop being so touchy and affectionate with you, it does him no good, if anything, it makes him want you even more but he canât help it, he has to take what he can get⊠right?Â
He comes up behind you, snaking his arms around your waist, he breathes in your sweetness, chuckling when you tense up for a second before a cute giggle falls from your lips.Â
âYou scared me,â you whisper, tilting your head back, you look up at him as you ease into his touch.Â
âSorry sweets, didnât mean to,â he murmurs, teasing you with that pretty smile of his as he snatches a piece of the cucumber youâve been cutting and bites into it, winking at you as he steps away again and takes a look into the large pot on the stove.Â
âPasta?â
âPasta Arrabiata,â you say, imitating the Italian accent that Steve always makes whenever he is cooking.Â
Eddie chuckles, âwow that was horrible.âÂ
âShut up,â you giggle, scrunching your nose at him.Â
If you knew how his heart flutters at your laughter and at your cute nose scrunches.Â
âSince when do we put cucumber in pasta?â
The disgusted look on your face makes him laugh again, he leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyes you up and down.Â
âIâm also making a salad, itâs for you, you need to eat more veggies.â
His lips curl into yet another smile, warmth blooms in his chest.Â
You take care of him, you always do. From making sure that he eats enough when he gets a little too lost in writing songs or working on campaigns to making sure that he wears a hat and a scarf when itâs cold outside, whether itâs something small or big, you are always there to look after him, youâve always been there.Â
âAlright, Iâm eating the greens just for you, sweets.âÂ
He licks his lips as he eyes every inch of your exposed skin, tracing your soft features with the longing look in his brown eyes. The way his shirt looks on your body, the way your hair falls in front of your eyes despite you tucking it behind your ear just moments ago, the way you bite your lower up as you give him a disapproving look.Â
âNo,â you shake your head, pointing your knife at him, âyou gotta eat them for yourself.â
âAre you threatening me?â He smirks, closing the gap between you both again, you instantly lower the knife and place it on the counter.Â
You shrug, teasing him with a sweet smile, âwhat if I am?â
Eddie licks his lips, inching closer and closer to you, a smile tugs at his mouth, he hums as he raises his hand up to your face, combing his fingers through your wet hair before he tucks the fallen pieces behind your ear again.Â
He is unaware of the effect he has on you, of the fluttering in your chest, of the burning in your skin, of the shaky breaths you suck in.Â
âThen I think thatâs really hot,â he winks at you as he moves his hand down your neck and then your shoulder, sliding it down along your spine, lower and lower until heâs holding your hip and pressing himself against you as he moves onto your other side, slower than necessary.Â
Your lips part in surprise, every trace that he has touched starts to burn, your knees grow weak and your heart starts beating faster â how much longer can you deny the emotions he causes inside you?
âSo, how can I help?âÂ
He is teasing you, you can hear it in his voice, and you donât have to turn around to face him to know that there is a smirk on his face.Â
âSet the table, pick a movie to watch later, dinner is almost ready.âÂ
âYes, maâam,â he murmurs into your ear before he walks away without another word, giving you a moment to take a few deep breaths.Â
You take a sip of your cold beer, closing your eyes for a moment, you listen to your beating heart, you feel the goosebumps on your skin, you feel the rush of blood to your cheeks, the weakness you feel for your best friend.Â
How much longer can you deny what is really inside of you, that itâs not just physical attraction?Â
Your heart flutters when his deep voice sounds through the dining room as he sings along to the music, your lips curl into an adoring smile. You can hear him rummaging through the drawers, trying to find the table cloth you assume.Â
Picking up the knife again, you continue chopping your vegetables, finishing up on your salad, though you quickly get lost in this⊠domestic energy you both have created. It feels so warm, so safe, so familiar. A feeling you canât imagine sharing with anyone other than your Eddie.Â
He comes back into the kitchen, humming, he grabs two plates and cutlery and places them on the counter before he passes by you, without a teasing smile or comment, he places his hand on your lower back, he reaches over your shoulder to retrieve two wine glasses from the shelf and steps away again, leaving the kitchen once more.Â
It all feels so natural, so normal and yet, it makes you struggle to breathe because the butterflies in your stomach go wild â just the way they always do, but now it becomes harder and harder to not pay attention to them.Â
You take another deep breath, willing yourself to calm down, to push aside your feelings, to keep doing what you did before⊠be unaware of what is buried deep within your heart. So, you move along and distract yourself with finishing cooking dinner, not allowing your mind to take you further into this pit of hell as you call it, because thatâs what love and feelings are, hell.Â
There is no good in love, there is no peace in having feelings.
Itâs a rollercoaster ride that ends no matter how long it lasts, pleasant or not, it ends.Â
And you refuse to let feelings get in the way of yours and Eddieâs friendship, he means too much to you to risk taking a step further into something that your stupid heart desires, you love him too much to let your lingering feelings ruin what you both have, besides⊠who is to say that he could feel something for you?Â
You are his best friend and he is yours, thatâs all youâve ever been and itâs all youâll ever be, best friends, nothing more or less, best friends who are affectionate with one another, who tease each other, who sleep in each otherâs arms and do things that other best friendâs might not do⊠Though when you step into the dining room with the heavy pot in your hands, you halt in your tracks, freezing at the sight before you.Â
The table is set but not like usual, it makes you struggle to keep pushing away those feelings that have been sneaking their way to the surface because why did he place the plates so close to each other when the table is so big? And why did he place candles on the table and light them up instead of keeping the lights on? And why did he change the channel on the radio? Why is slow music playing instead of the rock channel he usually settles for when there is no better option for him?Â
You can handle his teasing, you can handle his touching, his flirting, his suggestive comments and looks he gives you so often.Â
But this is something else, this is something that would have normally made you run, a table set up so romantically, a dinner that seems to become something intimate. Yeah, if someone else had set this up, you wouldâve definitely ran, you wouldâve felt anxious, suffocated.Â
Those feelings donât exist with him though, itâs quite the opposite, even with the lingering fear inside of you for what you feel for him. You feel giddy.Â
âPicked the movie, sweets,â Eddie calls from the living room, snapping you out of your troubled thoughts. He enters the room with a grin on his face.Â
You clear your throat and finally take the final steps to the table, putting down the pot in the middle, you glance at your best friend.Â
âYeah? Whatâd you pick?âÂ
âSomething neither of us have seen yet,â he winks at you, moving closer and closer until he is right in front of you again. He grabs the chair and pulls it back, gazing down at you with his dark eyes, âsit.â
âI gotta get the rest of the foodââ
âIâll get it, now sit down, princess,â he murmurs.Â
Whenever his voice gets so low, your knees feel like theyâll buckle at any moment, shivers run down your spine and your cheeks grow hot.Â
âAlright,â you chuckle, plopping down on the wooden chair, you gaze up at your best friend, batting your eyelashes at him.Â
Eddie sucks in a sharp breath, there is not much you have to do to drive him crazy.Â
âSmells really good in here,â he comments, the mouth watering smell of pasta sauce and garlic bread makes his stomach growl.Â
âThanks Eds, now get the rest of the food before it gets cold.âÂ
âYes, maâam,â he winks at you, squeezing your shoulder before he turns around and makes his way out of the room and into the kitchen.Â
You take a deep breath when heâs gone, rolling your shoulders and trying to calm your nerves, your heart is racing and it makes you feel ridiculous. You are here with Eddie, your best friend, Eddie. You got nothing to feel nervous about, youâve been here plenty of times before, at dinner alone with him⊠though, it was never like this, you never had candle light dinners with slow music playing in the back. And his touches, his smiles, his voice never drove you this crazy before, he never made your heart flutter, his hands never made your skin feel hot, he never made you feel like youâd fall to the ground because your knees felt like jelly, he never made you feel those things before until recently⊠or did he?Â
âIâm starving,â Eddie says dramatically as he places the salad bowl and the garlic bread on the table. Before he takes a seat, he opens the wine bottle and reaches for your glass, he glances at you as he starts pouring it in your glass, he notices your flushed cheeks and how fidgety you are in your seat as you eye him up and down, it makes his heart flutter.Â
âWe canât have that,â you chuckle, reaching for his plate, you start filling it with salad first to which he protests, claiming that it will only make him starve even more. âYou need some healthy food!â
âNot too much of it though,â he shakes his head as he lifts the lid of the pot, inhaling with a smile on his face, âI need that.âÂ
Your giggle makes his smile widen.Â
âAlright.â
âYou know I love your pasta,â he grins as he watches you fill the plate.Â
âThatâs Steveâs pasta,â you chuckle.Â
âNah, thatâs his recipe, you cooked it,â he retorts, tilting his head to the side, âbesides, you do it better.â
Warmth fills your chest and your cheeks, your smile gets even bigger now.Â
âDonât tell him that! Heâll be distraught!âÂ
âDonât worry, itâs our secret,â he mumbles with a grin on his face as he finally takes the seat across from you, taking the plate from your hands when you hand it to him with a soft âthank youâ.Â
He waits for you to fill your own plate before he picks up the fork or even takes a sip of the wine you picked when you went grocery shopping together this morning. He leans back and takes a look around, your surroundings are so different than usual, so unlike the small apartment he recently moved into where you eat your dinners at his tiny kitchen table. He appreciates the home cooked meals you always bless him with and the way you always want to take care of him, it makes him feel warm, it makes him feel safe.Â
Eddie wants to do the same for you, he wants to make you feel the way you make him feel but he believes that he canât measure up, that he canât give you what you give him, that he canât provide you the same feeling of safety or warmth and maybe that is the sole reason why he hasnât made a move on you yet, not because he is scared of ruining your friendship â god, he wants to ruin it so bad. But because you deserve more than he can give you, you deserve this, a big house with a stupid fireplace, a big garden, stability, someone who can take care of you, someone who can give you more than a small, shitty apartment, someone who can give you more than just the flowers he gives you or the pastries he brings you when youâre taking your lunch breaks at work.Â
Yeah, your friendship is very precious to him, he is scared of losing you, every goddamn day he wonders if this will be the day where you donât show up for him but it isnât the reason for his lack of effort in fighting for what he actually wants, itâs the fact that he believes that you deserve better than him, someone less like him, someone more like⊠Steve.Â
So he settles for loving you from afar, he tries to spoil you, he tries as best as he can. He teases you whenever he gets the chance to, he becomes giddy when you react to it, when you blush and giggle or even tease him back the way you did today, it sparks something in him, maybe itâs confidence or maybe just an illusion that you could feel the same, whatever it is, he basks in the feeling in those moments.Â
His eyes soften and the beating of his heart becomes stronger as he watches you, the way you dig your teeth into your bottom lip, the way your beautiful eyes shine in the dim light, the light flush in your cheeks making you look so damn cute, the way your smile only widens when you glance at him, a small huff falling from your mouth.Â
âWhat are you looking at?â You tease, putting down your plate before you.Â
You.Â
He always looks at you.Â
Eddie knows he wonât have this forever, someday you will meet someone who will give you everything that he wishes he could, someday he wonât be the one sitting across from you enjoying your dinner, someday he wonât be the one in your life.Â
âAt your shirt, is it new⊠or?â He teases, acting like he didnât just get lost in his head, thinking of your future that he might not be a part of.Â
You look down at his shirt, smiling proudly, you stole it from him the last time you stayed over, âmhm got it from this store called the drawer.â
Eddie snorts, though he adores the look on your face, âyouâre so lame, the drawer? Really?â
âMhmm,â you nod, picking up the fork you start eating happily.Â
âWho sold it to you?â Eddie asks, squinting his eyes at you.Â
âOh, this uh⊠really handsome guy, said heâs in a band, corroded coffin?â You raise your brow, pretending to think. âYeah, thatâs what it was.â
Eddieâs stomach flips in excitement at the compliment. Youâve called him handsome plenty of times before, but it never fails to make him blush.Â
âDamn, he sounds really cool,â Eddie says, laughing.Â
You nod, a serious and adoring look now flashing in your features, no hint of amusement behind those eyes, no teasing, just pure adoration for him, âhe is, he is the coolest actually.â
He gets flustered easily when heâs with you but when you look at him like this, with that sweet smile and those soft eyes, he doesnât know what to do with himself, he doesnât know what to say or how to act, so he hides his face by looking down at the delicious food in front of him, a sheepish smile resting on his face, one that makes your own even bigger. He finally takes a bite of the pasta and his eyes instantly close as he moans at the taste of it, making you giggle yet again.Â
âFuck me, yeah Iâm sorry sweets, but I ainât letting you get married, youâre stuck with me,â he jokes as he takes another bite, completely forgetting about all the anxious thoughts that swirled in his mind just moments ago.Â
âOh, you mean Iâm stuck being your private chef?âÂ
âI wouldnât call it that.â
You raise your eyebrows at him, chewing on the garlic bread slowly, you try to ignore the heat building up in your stomach as you look into his chocolate eyes, waiting for him to say that word.
âOh, then what would you call it?â
Eddie looks at you through hooded eyes, a teasing smirk tugging at his plump lips.
âHousewife.â
A surprised giggle falls from your lips, though your cheeks start burning, especially under his gaze. Something tugs at your chest, something strong, something warm. Housewife. You never craved to be that, you never had such desires. Sure, you always dreamed of finding the one, finding true love, finding someone who will love you the way you can love, the way you always wished to love but thatâs it, you never imagined yourself past the dating stage, you never daydreamed of weddings and a husband, you never thought of becoming a wife, a housewife at that but⊠when you think of yourself as that with Eddie by your side, with your best friend, with the one who had always been by your side through thick and thin, something in you beats a little stronger.Â
You clear your throat, lowering your gaze to his ringed fingers, you canât help but let your mind take you to sacred places.Â
Eddie watches you intensely, eyes lighting up at the flustered state you are suddenly in, a state he only ever sees you in when he teases you with touches, with pick up lines, with his flirtations but never this. There is a little spark in him now, the sparkle of hope.Â
âWell that would make you my husband.â Your voice is shaky, filled with nerves and something else that he canât decipher at this moment.Â
Oh, Eddie would put a ring on your fingers right this second.Â
He never really planned his future, he never really saw one, especially not one in which he would be happy with a wife and kids by his side but he would be lying if he said that he doesnât want these things with you. You make him crave things that were never even a thought of his before he met you, you make him want to be that for you, a husband.Â
He doesnât believe that he can give you what you want, what you need, what you deserve but he knows one thing for sure, if he was given the chance, he would make you so damn happy.Â
âWould that be so bad?âÂ
You look up again and into his eyes, something in them is different now, something in the way he looks at you is so⊠intense and raw, there is a softness in them, one stronger than usual.Â
Would that be bad?
You shake your head before you can even come up with the right words to say, or with words you should say. Something has changed, perhaps a long time ago or just now, but you know one thing for sure, your heart never beat this strongly before and your hands never itched to touch his so badly.Â
You know the truth is hidden behind the walls you have put up, but that wall started crumbling a long time ago, long before you had the chance to even notice.Â
The energy in the room has shifted into something more⊠intimate and itâs not the candles or the music, it adds to it, but those arenât the main reasons, itâs the energy you both have created, itâs the lingering touches, itâs his foot touching yours under the table, not playfully like usual, itâs different, itâs all so different but itâs good. A comfortable silence takes over the room as you continue eating and as the seconds and the minutes pass, and you both sip on your wines, pouring a second glass, you both get a little bolder when the alcohol hits you.Â
Your hands inch closer and closer to each other, your eye contact becomes a little more intense, making your breathing stutter and your heart skip several beats.Â
And when he is done with his food, he pushes his plate aside and leans his elbows on the table, he clears his throat and takes a deep breath and then, he brushes his fingertips against your own before he envelopes your hand fully, taking it into his large one.Â
You canât describe the feelings rushing through you, he held your hand plenty of times before but until now, you never let yourself feel the rush of it, you never allowed yourself to pay attention to the electric feeling cursing through your veins but you allow it now, slowly⊠you allow it.Â
âTheyâre really missing out, arenât they?â You speak the first words that come to your mind as you stare into your best friend's beautiful eyes.Â
Eddie looks around the dining room, shrugging when he looks back at you, his eyes roaming your face, his lips curl into a smile.Â
âI donât know, I kinda like it just being the two of us, we never really get the chance to be alone like this.â
You nod in agreement, âthatâs true, I like it too,â you murmur before you reach for your glass and take a big sip of wine.Â
âMore wine and weed for us,â Eddie jokes, wiggling his eyebrows at you.Â
You roll your eyes playfully, setting the glass back down, you tilt your head to the side, âspeaking of weed, wanna roll us a joint?âÂ
Eddie doesnât want to let go of your hand just yet but he nods, he could use that relaxation anyways, maybe it will calm his nerves around you before he does something that he might end up regretting later on.Â
âYeah, Iâm gonna clean this up first.â
You shake your head, âno, I can do itââ
âSweetheart,â Eddie says sternly, glaring at you, âI know I said housewife, I hope you know that doesnât mean slave.âÂ
You canât help but giggle at the seriousness on his face or in his voice, âEddie, I hope you know that thatâs exactly what most men think of when they want a housewife.âÂ
He frowns in disgust, scoffing at that, he begrudgingly lets go of your hand and pushes his chair back.Â
âWell, most men are pigs who donât even deserve a wife in the first place,â he says, getting up, he glares at you and points at you to stay seated. âYou donât have to do all the work, you cook, I clean up, itâs simple.â
A smile graces your features, you tap the table before you reach for the wine bottle, pouring yourself a third glass, âwell then, whatever you say, husband,â you giggle and get up as well, holding your hands up in surrender when he gives you a warning glance, âdonât worry, I wonât lift a finger, Iâm gonna grab my wine and wait for you in the living room.âÂ
âYeah,â Eddie murmurs as he gathers the dirty plates, âsit your pretty ass down.âÂ
You definitely feel the wine in your system now, that fuzzy feeling and the slight dizziness feels so welcoming though.Â
âYes, sir.â
Before Eddie can stop his mouth from running, those words tumble out of his mouth just like that.Â
âGood girl.âÂ
You nearly choke on your spit and trip over nothing, his words rush right to your core, your cheeks start burning hotter than before.Â
Good girl.Â
He called you a good girl, with that raspy, deep voice of his that never fails to make your insides crawl with need, that never fails to ring through your head when youâre in your bed with your hand between your thighs, imagining him and his voice calling you just that.Â
You donât know how you manage to keep your composure but you do, only allowing a soft giggle to leave your lips as you continue your way out of the dining room and into the living room, you round the corner and rush to the big couch where he luckily canât see you, your knees almost buckle before you can even take a seat.Â
You close your eyes and sigh out a breath you didnât know you were holding. Pressing a hand to your chest, you nearly gasp at the beating of your heart.Â
âOh my god,â you whisper to yourself.Â
Eddie will be the death of you, you are sure of it, if not tonight then tomorrow, and if not then, then on the last day of your trip.Â
The veil that was hiding all your truths was already being lifted when you were still in Hawkins, slowly everything was coming out, all the feelings you were denying, all the things you were so afraid of admitting, you lost control and power a long time ago. The moment Robin opened her eyes to what was there this whole time, the moment she confronted you about your feelings for him was the moment you could no longer hide. The veil is no longer there, itâs long gone and lost with the wind.Â
You run your fingers through your hair and lean back into the soft cushions, taking a big gulp of the red wine that will surely give you a headache tomorrow morning, you keep your eyes closed for a moment, you begin to curse her out in your head because all your reactions to his words and touches just now only confirmed all her beliefs.Â
Fuck Robin for saying all that shit to you that changed your feelings and opened your eyes completely, a month ago. Fuck her for telling you that you indeed have feelings for Eddie, for your best friend. Fuck her for making you start realizing it and be self conscious for it. Fuck her for making you feel scared of losing Eddie because of it.Â
âFuck,â you whisper to yourself, you open your eyes and look around the lightly dimmed room, you take in the sound of Eddieâs voice, of his humming to the music, of the way your heart flutters more and more.Â
You are so fucked.Â
You will ruin the friendship, you are sure of it.Â
If only you knew that this is exactly what he wants.Â
You keep yourself busy with your wine glass, staring into blank space as you continue letting your thoughts eat at you, letting the insecurities and the doubts creep in, when all you want to do is get lost in the feeling of what he gave to you at the dinner table, just moments ago.Â
You are so lost in your head, you donât even notice the music being turned off, you donât even hear his footsteps or his voice until he is standing right before you after throwing a bunch of different snacks on the coffee table.Â
âI know the munchies are gonna hit you,â your best friend chuckles as he finally sits down beside you, joint already between his fingers, lighter on the coffee table. He turns to you, wiggling his eyebrows at you as he offers you the joint.Â
Yeah, maybe this will help, maybe this will relax you enough to get a grip on yourself again, maybe this will stop you from doing something that will make you regret.Â
Your heart, your body, everything in you seems to be sick of living in denial though because before your mind can kill this moment, you are already moving forward, looking into his eyes, you lean down, closer and closer, you wrap your lips around the joint that is still snug between his fingers.Â
The widening of his eyes, the parting of his lips, snaps you out of whatever had possessed you, though not enough, not even in the slightest.Â
You raise your brows at him expectedly, waiting for him to light up the joint for you.Â
The flush in his cheeks, the rosy color taking over his face, his squirming makes satisfaction rush you.Â
You were teasing him all morning, all afternoon and every time you added one more, you wanted to risk more, but now things just have gotten out of hand, you got lost in your own little game and you let your feelings, your desires take full control of you.Â
Poor Eddie doesnât know what to do with himself as he looks down at you, if it wasnât for the alcohol in his system, he would lose all composure and stutter like a little kid around his crush. He manages to reach for the lighter and he never looks away from your pretty eyes or your lips, or the shirt that keeps riding up on your thighs, a little more and more.Â
He lights the joint and he is surprised when you donât look away, when your eyes stay locked with his and a satisfied moan escapes you â only worsening his case. You inhale deeply and furrow your eyebrows in concentration, a lazy smile spreads on your kissable lips and you lean back further after blowing out the smoke. You bring your knees up to your chest and hand him the joint.
âThatâs nice,â you sigh out in pleasure, âI needed that.âÂ
âYouâre starting to sound like an addict,â Eddie smirks, hiding his blushing cheeks behind his curls as he takes the joint from your fingers and places it between his lips, unaware of the way you follow his every movement as he gets comfortable beside you, resting his feet on the table, he stretches his arm out and wraps it around the headrest behind you.Â
âWhat⊠movie did you pick out?â You ask him and he doesnât even notice your stuttering or the way your eyes are glued to his exposed skin as his shirt rides up, exposing his happy trail.Â
Eddie shrugs, reaching for the remote, he glances at you, âI dunno, one of the movies Steve recommended we should watch.âÂ
âOh?â
âMhmm,â He nods and presses play before he throws the remote on the coffee table, âletâs see how good his taste is.â
âYou already know he loves the cheesy shit,â you laugh and scoot closer to him with your wine glass still in your hand, youâre searching for his warmth.Â
âYeah, he does,â Eddie chuckles.Â
He lowers his gaze to your thighs, noticing the goosebumps on your skin, he puts the joint into the ashtray and he reaches for the knitted blanket thrown over the couch, he spreads it open and covers your legs with it, âdonât want you freezing, sweets,â he murmurs.Â
Your eyes soften for him, a smile spreading on your lips. You lean forward and place your wine glass on the coffee table and then you scoot closer to him and throw the blanket over his lap as well before you place your head on his chest, snuggling up against him with a content look on your face⊠beside the blushing on your cheeks.Â
Eddie wraps his arm around you without a second thought â this is nothing unusual for you, neither is the hand holding, or the sharing of clothes or the intimate touches but everything you do today, that you usually do as well, feels so different, it makes him nervous, it makes you nervous, it feels like the first time.Â
And when you place your hand above his heart, he grows anxious that you might feel just how strongly itâs beating for you, he is scared that you will figure out his feelings and that that will make you run, run from him.Â
âYour heart is racing,â you whisper softly, causing him to tense up a little but when you press your chin against his chest and you gaze up into his eyes, he feels a sense of calmness bleed through him, safety.Â
Eddie blinks, not knowing what to say without giving away the truth, without giving away just how much he wants to kiss you right now, how much he wants to make you his, how badly he wants to confess and get it off his chest.Â
âIs everything okay?â Your angelic voice makes him feel weak, the candle light makes you look so soft, your scent makes him feel drunk, his lips yearn to touch yours, his heart screams for you.Â
God, he really wants to kiss you so bad.Â
And he wants to kiss you even more when he sees the way your own eyes flicker between his lips, his neck and his eyes. He tightens his hold on you, prompting you to scoot even closer as you lean your warm body into his as your hand slips down to his stomach, your nails grazing the sliver of exposed skin on his stomach, he nearly whimpers at the feeling. You truly know how to drive him crazy.Â
âYeah,â he whispers, lips curling into a smile, âeverything is perfect.âÂ
Almost perfect.Â
It would be perfect if he could just grab your face and smash his lips against yours, kissing you breathless.Â
You bite your lower lip as you keep staring up at him, you look as though you want to say something, your eyebrows pull together whenever you hold something back, whenever you desire to speak up about something â he doesnât pressure you to talk though, he never does, he gives you time, as always.Â
His eyelashes flutter, his lips part in surprise when he watches you move closer to him, closer and closer until your lips are pressed against his jaw, you peck him once before you shyly pull away and bury your face in his chest, turning your attention back to the TV right as the movie begins to play and he is glad that you do, because his eyes widen the way they probably never did before and blood rushes to his cheeks, no doubt making him look like a tomato right now, his heart feels as though it will beat out of his chest at any moment.Â
You were teasing him this morning, you were very clear about that, the smirk and the smugness on your face gave it away every time but you are no longer teasing now, this is different, this is something else, this is something new.Â
Eddie swallows the lump in his throat and he takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly and shakily.Â
He wonders if you know the effect you have on him, he wonders if you know how he feels for you, he wonders if you know just what he would do for you.Â
âPass me the joint?â He whispers, not recognizing his own voice due to how shaky it is.Â
You do as he asks, pulling away for just a second, you reach for the joint and hand it to him before you settle back comfortably against his chest, pressing your cheek tightly against it.Â
Despite the nervousness in him, he keeps his arm wrapped around you tightly, and he even takes it a little further, becoming a little bolder, he sneaks his hand under your shirt and lays his plat flatly against your warm back.
You sigh in contentment and curl further into him, welcoming the touch of his hand, especially when he starts rubbing up and down.Â
âThat feels so nice,â you murmur, moaning softly, âdonât stop, Eddie.âÂ
Of course it wasnât the greatest move to make, of course it would backfire, of course he would be the one with the problem. Itâs already not helping that youâre almost fully on top of him, hand underneath his shirt as your nails scratch against his skin and now you are moaning because of him.Â
He places the joint between his lips and takes a long drag, needing it desperately.Â
âYour hands always feel so nice, Eds.â The words tumble fall from your lips just like that, like you no longer find yourself caring about the consequences of your words or your actions, maybe itâs the alcohol and the weed in your system that makes you so careless and bold, or maybe itâs the reassuring touch of your best friend that gives you the confidence to let you say whatâs on your mind.Â
Eddie freezes, shocked he stares at the movie playing on the screen, his hand stops moving as well for a moment, he wonders if he really heard you right. You press against his hand again, wanting more.Â
âAnd you donât know what they can do, sweets,â he rasps into your ear, confidently and like he isnât losing his mind over you.Â
A whimper sounds through the room, your whimper. You try to conceal it by coughing into your hand but he heard it, and he felt how you tensed up at his words.
He swallows harshly, squirming beneath you, he tries his hardest to hold back that growl. His hand slips from under your shirt and down to your thigh when you lean forward to reach for the joint in the ashtray.Â
âRolling good joints?â You murmur, trying to hide your nervousness and how flustered you really are.Â
Eddie canât help but snort, mumbling a soft âsureâ to your question.Â
Despite the tension in the room and your unwanted awkwardness, time keeps passing and the night goes on, the movie continues playing, moving into a direction that neither of you expected at the start of it â what begins with an innocent scene of the beautiful lead getting ready for her date with the guy she is keeping a secret, develops into something different, something more, something that should not have the effect on you that it does right now but when they start kissing in his car, slowly and sensually at first, her fingers buried in his long hair as his slip under her shirt, you canât help but bite your lip. Your skin grows hot, your thighs clench together, your grip on his shirt tightens as your mind flips this scene into you kissing Eddie in his car.Â
The wine was supposed to help, the weed too, but neither of them did, neither of them managed to give you the calming effect that you were hoping for, if anything both only heightened your senses and intensified absolutely everything in you, because suddenly, his body feels so much closer, his cologne so much more intoxicating than usual, his touch heating your skin on fire, his breath on your skin tickles you and those evil thoughts in your head make you wonder what it would feel like to feel his breath elsewhere, to feel his lips on your skin and his hands holding you tightly, keeping you in place as his lips touch parts of you only your hands did before.Â
Your heart starts beating faster and you begin to lose composure, the rational voice in your head is gone for good, desire and need taking over now, a confidence you didnât know you had rushing through you as you move your leg, pressing the heel of your foot against his shin.Â
And while you are getting bolder, Eddie is trying his best to stay calm, to not act upon his feelings and ruin the one good thing in his life, despite the clear signs you are currently giving, he makes no move, even when he wants nothing more but to bury his face in your neck and suck on your skin until you are marked up by him. The smell of your perfume drives him insane, the feeling of your skin pressed against his makes his stomach flutter with no end near in sight, his heart hasnât stopped racing yet.Â
The blanket slips from your lower half, his shirt has ridden up on your body, revealing the panties you are wearing, the black lace resting so perfectly on your soft skin. He clenches his jaw at the sight of it, biting back the moan that wants to fall off his lips so badly.Â
Something else flutters now, not just his heart or those butterflies in his stomach and it makes him so uncomfortable because he wonât be able to hide it, not right now.Â
Soft moans fill the living room, along with the sounds of lips smacking together. You bite your lip even harder, hold onto him even tighter as your eyes stay glued to the screen, watching intently as the couple undresses each other slowly, their hands becoming more and more desperate on each other, whimpers getting louder.Â
You are so lost in it, you let your body move on its own, your foot continues to slide up his shin and his knee, hip angling as you twist your body further into him. As the scene gets more and more intense, the thoughts in your head do too.Â
The coil in your stomach grows, burning hotly, you are throbbing between your legs, growing wetter and wetter each passing second as you imagine yourself moaning like the girl on the TV â moaning for him, with him.Â
Eddie is frozen in place, stunned at everything that is happening this very moment, not only is the scene very erotic but the moves you are pulling now are just about enough for him to get hard â and he canât exactly conceal anything, not when he is wearing grey sweatpants and you are tightly pressed against him.Â
Do you even know what you are doing to him?Â
When Eddie shifts beneath you and his fingers dig deeper into your skin, you lower your head and tear your eyes from the screen to his lap and your mouth waters in an instant, eyes growing wide and the burning in your stomach only worsens.Â
âGot a problem there, Eds?â You blurt out as you stare at the very prominent bulge.
He wants to crawl under the blanket and hide his flustered face but instead he rolls his eyes, trying to act cool, averting his gaze from you and back to the screen, pretending that itâs the girl in the movie that caused this.Â
âI am just a man, leave me aloneâŠâ
A giggle escapes you, and you look up at your best friend to find him blushing furiously. His long lashes kissing his skin every time he blinks, his dark eyes shine so prettily, his lips are just so⊠so kissable. His neck is so perfect to be marked up by you. His dark hair cascading down to his shoulders so perfectly, but you want to make a mess of him.Â
âAw, poor man,â you tease him before you finally let go of any doubts, of any fears or anxious thoughts, you grab the joint from between his fingers and put it back on the ashtray and then, you lean back to him and do something that you always craved to do, you press your lips against his jaw, kissing him.Â
His lips part in surprise, heart stopping for a moment, he stares into blank space now as you repeat the motion, pressing your lips against his skin again and again, humming in contentment.Â
His legs feel like jelly and if he wasnât sitting down already, he surely wouldâve felt his knees buckle at this electric touch. Words canât describe the feeling of this, of you. He imagined this so many times, your lips on his skin, just the imagination of it had him feeling giddy but this, he canât even function.Â
You move closer and closer, your hand finding the chain around his neck, your breath kissing his skin, you gaze up at him with those pretty eyes that could make him do anything you would ask for.Â
âSweetheart, what are you doingâŠ?â He finds his voice again.Â
You shrug, looking at him innocently, âI donât know, I just want to kiss your face, is that so bad?â You ask before you lean in again, not waiting for an answer from him, you press your lips back against his jaw, finger hooked around his chain and your other hand moving from his chest and up to his hair, giving it a slight pull.Â
Eddieâs eyes flutter closed, the soft smile that rested on his features before slowly falling now. He clenches his jaw when you kiss it again and again, his heart races like crazy now, the feelings in him, the love he feels for you bursting in him as he finally gets a taste of what things could be like if you were his girl.Â
You light up a fire in him, but make him weak at the same time, you make him feel safe but he also burns for you, he desires you in ways he wasnât even aware existed, only a taste of this, of you, could kill him because if he canât have you again after having you once, he surely will die slowly and torturously as he forever will be reminded of this, of what could be.Â
He breathes in shakily as his hands fall to your waist, gripping you tighter than ever before, it takes everything in him not to grab your face and kiss you senseless but it takes even more to stop you.Â
He wants this, he wants you so bad, he wants to keep feeling your lips, your touch, you.Â
But what is this to you?Â
His hand moves up to the back of your neck, he wraps his fingers around it, pulling you away softly with a deep inhale.
âDonât do this to me now, darling,â he whispers weakly, not caring about how vulnerable he sounds, how vulnerable he must look right now.Â
You ignore his pleading, and you move closer again, straddling his thigh as you wrap your arms around his neck, you look into his eyes as you inch closer and closer to him, no longer caring about anything. You kiss his cheek softly and then the other, noting the soft sigh falling from his lips, the grip of his hand on you becoming tighter and stronger.Â
Eddie is breathing heavily now, he doesnât even know what to do with himself as your lips are so close to his own.Â
âYouâre killing me here, sweetheart,â he whispers.Â
You pull back to look at him, taking in the intense emotions flashing in his eyes as he stares at you with nothing but hunger, his eyes flicking back and forth between your lips and your neck.Â
âWhy?â You whisper innocently as you lean in again and without thinking, you press your lips to the corner of his mouth.Â
Eddieâs eyes flutter closed for a moment, a curse word falls from his lips as he clenches his jaw again.Â
âBecause Iâm trying to hold back.âÂ
âWho says I want you to?â You ask softly and he opens his eyes again, tilting his head to the side, he furrows his brows at you.Â
âDonât do this to me, baby, you know how bad IââÂ
The brush of your knee against his bulge as you throw your leg over his thigh completely leaves the words stuck in his throat, you straddle him the way you only ever did in his dreams.Â
âHow bad you what?â You whisper as you slowly lean your forehead against his, letting your lips brush against his own as you gaze into his eyes.Â
You can see the way he is holding back from doing what he wants, what you both want, so you give him a little push. You nuzzle your nose against his, giving him that soft look that gets you anything you want, that makes him weak.Â
If only you knew just the feelings you cause inside of him.Â
Eddie takes a deep breath, he shuts down all the racing thoughts in his head and finally, he cups your cheeks, holding your face gently.Â
âOh, fuck me,â he whispers and smashes his lips against yours, kissing you finally. He pushes all his fears and his insecurities aside, not wanting to dwell on them any longer, not wanting to think of them now when he gets the chance to do this and your whimper, that needy little sound that comes from you when you kiss him back only fuels his need to kiss you harder and deeper.Â
You press yourself against him, wrapping your arms around him tightly, you bury your fingers into his curls, taking a fistful of his hair as you move your lips against his, slowly at first. You get so lost in it, loving the way it feels to kiss his lips, to kiss your best friend. Itâs everything and more than you imagined it to feel like, it feels so perfect, so right, so safe. You let yourself fall into him, melting into his embrace as his hands move down to your waist, holding you tightly the way you do to him.Â
The sound of your sighs and moans, lips smacking and the movie still playing in the back, whimpers coming from the girl on the TV makes it all a little more intense, because the burning in your thighs becomes unbearable, the feeling of his tongue brushing against your lower lip as he pushes you down against his bulge has you aching and yearning.Â
To Eddie this feels like a dream, like itâs something not real, not even close to being real because this is something that only ever lived in his mind, whether he was just thinking about you at work, while writing songs, while sitting next to you or while getting off in the middle of the night, this was only ever a dream but now it isnât. The kiss is real, your moans are real, your body is truly pressed against his, you are sitting right on top of him, slowly dragging your hips along his aching dick and it feels so fucking good, better than he could ever even dream of.Â
Everything in him burns for you, his heart, his soul, every cell, every organ, you are like a drug to him that he was already addicted to before he even tried it, but now? He is gone forever. A kiss that could lead to nothing, that could only stay this, a kiss, perhaps a mistake for you that you will regret come morning, enough to break him.Â
What is it gonna be? The kiss that will lead to the start of something his heart screamed for since the very beginning? Or will this be his kiss of death?Â
He has to be sure, he needs to be sure so he pulls away, begrudgingly so, he pulls away from the kiss that he never wants to stop, breathlessly, he opens his eyes to look at you for the first time after this change between you both but you are not having it, leaning in with a whine, you peck his lips again, making his heart flutter.Â
âBabyââ You cut him off by kissing him again, desperately and he once again has to pull away reluctantly.Â
âBaby, hear me out first, fuckââ he groans when you peck his lips again, whining at him in a way that has him clenching his jaw but this time, he cups your cheeks and pulls you away from him and you finally open your eyes and look at him, pouting at him with a needy look on your face. Fuck. âFucking hell, waitâ you need to tell me if you really want this or if its the alcohol and the weed talking.âÂ
You shake your head wildly, grabbing his wrists as you lean closer again, kissing his cheeks, his nose, his chin and finally his lips again, the way you always desired to, the way you always dreamed of, the way you always denied yourself of it when itâs all you ever wanted.Â
âIs it the alcohol and the weed talking for you?â You murmur against his lips, looking at him through hooded eyes.Â
With a frown he shakes his head, âfuck no, Iâve wanted this for so long, sweetheart, you have no idea for how long.â He admits openly, not caring about being vulnerable right now, about admitting his feelings for you â the friendship is ruined now.Â
Your lips twitch, eyes shining with nothing but love for him, for your best friend, your heart bursts in your chest, everything in you calms down yet screams in joy. You can see the anxiety in his eyes, the fear that lingers within him, you want to take it.Â
âGood, then weâre on the same page,â you whisper happily, nuzzling your nose against his.Â
Eddie blinks, staring at you, stunned. A shaky breath falls from his lips, his heart has stopped beating for a moment, the world has stopped moving, time has stopped. He had dreamed of this for so long, fantasized about what it would feel like to kiss you, to touch you, to hold you, to love on you but he had never thought of this, simply because he never thought it would happen, that it would be a possibility, you feeling the same. He thought he was doomed, cursed to spend his life loving you from afar and watching you slip through his fingers as the years would pass, he would love you while you would love someone else, while you would build a life with someone else, he would stay your best friend, the obsessed, lovesick best friend who would never move on, the best friend who would choose you over and over again even if he was given the chance to be loved by someone else, he would never love anyone the way he loves you, his heart belongs to you, fully. He is yours, he had always been yours but he never thought that you could be his, no matter how many nights he spent wishing for it. Life had never been kind to him so why would it grant him the highest wish he has? And yet, here you are, looking at him as though he hung the stars and the moon, as though he is the best thing that was ever created, like he is something pure, something beautiful, something worth loving. Have you always looked at him this way?Â
His eyes start burning as his heart starts beating again, the warmth he felt because of you, turning into burning desire, the desire to claim you like he had always wanted to, to rip his heart from his chest and give it to you.Â
You whisper his name sweetly, grabbing his hand softly, you move it down your shoulder, your chest and finally placing it above your beating heart.Â
âAll for you, baby.âÂ
His breath hitches in his throat, his eyes flicker between your face and his hand, feeling the racing of your heart that matches the beat of his own. His eyes soften, love taking over the lust that was flashing in them just moments ago. He doesnât know what to say, the words are stuck in his throat, he is speechless.Â
You can see it, you can see the shock in his eyes, he stares at you like he wonders if this is real or not. He is breathing heavily, blinking slowly, his lips part, cheeks flushing.Â
âEddieââ
Suddenly, he moves forward and grabs your cheeks again, slamming his lips against yours roughly, desperately. He kisses you hotly, strongly, more intensely than he did before, like he is scared that you might slip away if he doesnât do it this way.Â
You throw your arms around his neck again, whining needily into the kiss, you part his lips with your tongue and slip it into his mouth, deepening the kiss further as you grind your hips against him, making him moan against your lips as he holds you stronger, gripping you tightly as though he is scared that you will slip away if he doesnât.Â
This kiss is much hungrier than the first, so much deeper and intense, itâs filled with a desperation that was pent up for a long, long time â not weeks or even months, but years. He waited for years for this, you can feel it and your heart races wildly for him. The need to show him just how much you want him too, how you reciprocate his love burns so deeply within you.Â
You grind your hips against his, feeling just how hard he is for you, the ache between your legs becomes worse, unbearable, and he can tell, he can feel by the way you move your hips, by the sounds of your needy whines.Â
Eddie doesnât know what to do with himself, never had he felt such desperation before, such an overwhelming amount of love. He feels stuck between wanting to cry out of pure happiness while making love to you and devouring you vigorously as he shows you just how much he needs, wants you.Â
His ringed fingers dig into your waist and he begins to push you off of him, guiding you down against the soft cushions without breaking the kiss, he groans against your lips when you spread your legs for him, tugging him on top of you before he can even do it himself. God, you truly want him just as much.
Eddie slides his hand up your body, cupping your cheek once more, he continues kissing you, clashing his tongue against yours, making you mewl as he takes control and grinds against you, a movement that tears out a different kind of sound in you, a whine so needy that it sends shockwaves through his body.Â
âFuck, sweetheart,â he breathes against your lips heavily as he pulls away from the kiss and opens his eyes to reveal just how dark they are now.Â
You wrap your legs around his waist, causing your shirt to ride up in the process, your panties exposed to him now.Â
He clenches his jaw, trying to control himself but itâs becoming so hard when you are under him like this, looking up at him with those needy eyes as you grab each side of his neck, leaning up to kiss him, again and again, pecking his cheeks and his lips before you trail the kisses down to his jawline.Â
âI need you so bad, Eds,â you whisper into his skin, moving your hand down his shoulder and his arm, fingernails grazing his goosebump covered skin, you take his hand in yours and bring it back down to your body, placing it on your chest, âplease?â You ask in desperation.Â
He takes a deep breath, making his heart flutter and his body burn when he grabs at your boobs for the very first time.Â
âPlease what?â He murmurs as he presses you down again so he can latch his lips onto your jawline. âTell me what you need, sweet girl. My fingers, my tongue⊠or my cock?â He surprises himself when those words fall off his lips when he doesnât even know how to function at this moment.Â
You shut your eyes and bite your lip when he kisses down your neck, finding your sweet spot with no struggle, he starts sucking.Â
âMmm, y-your fingers,â you whimper as you take his other free hand and guide it down your stomach slowly, âwant your fingers, Eddie and then your cock.â
He could cum right here and there, he had dreamed of this too many times.Â
âYeah?â He rasps against you, still kissing your neck, âyou want me to fuck you with my fingers first?â
You nod wildly, bringing his hand down to your laced panties, you spread your legs further, grinding against him needily. You are so wet, having soaked through your panties already.Â
âI-I always think about you when I touch myself, I imagine itâs your fingers instead of mine,â you admit with burning cheeks.Â
Eddie opens his eyes widely, leaning back from your neck after marking it up, he looks at your blushing face.Â
âR-Really?â He stutters, though with a satisfied look on his face.Â
Through hooded eyes, you look at your best friend as you nod shyly, humming.Â
âGuess we got something in common then,â Eddie smirks as he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, he pecks your lips as he slips his fingers down between your legs, finally, cupping your pussy, he presses against your wetness, growling at the feeling.Â
âFuck baby, youâre soaked.â
âI always am for you!â You whine, desperately grinding against the heel of his hand.Â
His cock twitches at your words, stomach tensing up.Â
The thought that you mightâve been sitting next to him during movie nights, squirming because of him, waiting to go home so you could touch yourself while thinking of him drives him insane. If he had known⊠he couldâve done this way sooner.Â
Eddie pushes your panties aside, dipping his fingers through your folds, he makes both you and himself moan.Â
âDonât tease,â you whimper, bucking your hips and pressing yourself against him as he teases your entrance.Â
âI canât believe this is happening,â Eddie says as he brings his digits up to your clit, âcanât believe youâre letting me do this.â
While the shocked look on his face and the disbelief is cute, you can tell what is going on â what went on in his head all this time that he thought that his feelings would never be reciprocated.Â
You grab his face and smash your lips against his again, kissing him just as roughly as he kissed you the second time, you try to show him, to make him feel what had been there all this time, and he welcomes it so happily, kissing you back right away while his fingers continue to move against your clit, teasingly at first, intensifying the aching inside of you. He licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours as he moans needily, getting lost in the feeling he had craved for so long.
His stomach flutters when you wrap one leg around his waist while rolling your hips, wanting and needing more, he can feel you getting wetter and wetter, moans getting louder, lips moving sloppier. He slips his fingers lower, dipping his middle finger into you slowly, inching it inside of you, pulling the neediest sounds out of you as you clench around him already.Â
âFuck,â he mumbles against your mouth, âyouâre so tight.â
âMore!â You demand with a whine, making him chuckle.Â
âMore huh? One finger not enough for you, sweets?â He asks to which you shake your head, furrowing your brows when he adds a second finger, scissoring them inside of you as he opens you up.Â
âNo, I-I want more,â you whimper at the feeling of him splitting you open, preparing you for his dick, just the thought of it has you drooling already. âI needââ the words die on your tongue and you quickly forget what you even wanted to say when he starts fucking you in slow but deep movements.Â
âYou need what, hmm?â He taunts you, unable to hide the satisfied smirk on his face as he watches you fall apart beneath him, losing your mind over just his fingers as your jaw falls slack and those sweet sounds begin to fill the room along with the squelching of your pussy. âGod⊠Youâre so fucking wet.â Eddie doesnât even know what to do with himself, his heart is beating like crazy, his cock is aching in his grey sweats that feel way too tight by now, pre cum already leaking through the thick material, something he should feel embarrassed about, but he canât, not when you look him up and down like youâre some hungry and feral animal in heat.Â
âAll because of you, Iâve been wet all day!â You whine as you grab at his hair when he buries his face in your neck, breathing heavily against your skin as he covers you in love bites. He growls against you, loving those words a little too much.Â
His wrist starts moving faster, fingers splitting you open, he fucks them in and out of you.Â
âDo you fuck your tight little pussy like this too?âÂ
Your brows are scrunched together so tightly, eyes rolling back when he curls them inside of you, hitting just the right spot to make you cry out.Â
âN-No! Not t-this good!âÂ
You roll your hips against his hand, craving to feel him deeper. Your hands are all over him, his hair, his shoulders, his back, gripping at his shirt as you hold on for dear life while he sucks on your neck and fingerfucks your sopping pussy. The room is filled with such dirty sounds, something that should leave you a blushing mess, something that should leave your cheeks burning in embarrassment but you cannot bother to care, it just feels so good and Eddie fucking loves it.Â
He pulls back to look at you, to admire your face and those marks he left on you, proudly he looks down at you, a look of love, a look of lust flashing in his eyes. He watches the way you bite your lip, eyes open widely again, you admire him too. And then, you push yourself up on your elbow, pecking his lips before you look down at his hand, wanting to see, wanting to watch his fingers moving in and out of you.Â
âYou like that, huh?â He mumbles as he presses his forehead against yours, âyou like being fucked by your best friend like this?âÂ
You whimper again, louder this time as you nod, clenching around his fingers so tightly that he canât help but growl â how is he going to last? How will he be able to control himself not to cum the second he enters you?Â
Everything becomes so much hotter, the air around you, the energy in this room, his body against yours, his fingers inside of you, the coil in your stomach, everything starts burning and somehow, it only fuels the need in you.Â
You grab at the hem of your shirt and push it up to your collarbones, exposing your chest to him, your boobs bounce as you throw your head back against the pillow to see him better and his reaction does not disappoint, if you werenât so lost in pleasure you would have giggled at the awestruck look on his face, at the wide eyes and the parted lips.Â
âBaby,â he whispers as he presses his large hand to your now bare waist, slipping it upwards slowly, âyouâre unreal, fuck⊠youâre so beautiful,â he murmurs as though in disbelief, staring down at you as though you are something that came straight out of his imagination. He grabs your boob roughly, pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he leans down and wraps his lips against the other, wasting no time to suck on it, making you arch your back against him as you throw your hand into his curls, fingers grazing his scalp as you give it a harsh tug, something that he fucking loves.Â
âI-I⊠oh my god!â You whimper as tears begin to pull in your eyes when he presses his thumb to your clit, teasing you. âD-Donât stop! Donât stop, Eddie! That feels so good!â You nearly scream as he starts moving his fingers faster than before, fucking them in and out of you roughly. You are clenching around him, digging your heel into his ass as you move along to his thrusts.Â
He looks up at you, loving the sight of you coming undone before him, itâs the prettiest sight to him. He canât wait to watch you fall apart beneath him when he actually fucks you. He licks around your nipple, adding more pleasure to your body.Â
âEddie!â You writhe beneath him, blinking the tears away as you look down at him. Your stomach tenses up, burning as the pleasure builds up more and more, almost becoming unbearable, everything inside of you is lit on fire, absolutely every part of you. Your toes curl, your knuckles turn white from how rough you are grabbing at his curls, the sounds that fall from your mouth are almost not recognizable, sounding too pornographic but you have never felt anything like this before, especially not from just being finger fucked.Â
Eddie pushes himself back up, straightening his back, he slides his hand further up your chest, passing your collarbones and settling around your throat, he tests the waters at first, needing you to be okay with this â he watches the way your eyes darken at this, lips parting as you push yourself up on your elbows, you bring your hand up to his wrist, wrapping your fingers tightly around it, you press it harder against your throat, asking him to choke you.Â
Eddie laughs darkly, lips curling into a satisfied grin, he shakes his head at you, âof course youâre into that shit. Youâre a naughty girl arenât you?âÂ
It takes you a moment to answer his question because the view before you is just a little too distracting. Eddie hovers over you with one hand between your thighs, knuckle deep buried inside of you while his other hand is now wrapped around your throat, rings on, veins popping out of his tattooed forearm, dark curls falling in front of his face as he looks down at you like he wants to devour you but make love to you at the same time.Â
God, he is beautiful.Â
Your eyes move down his body, the wet patch on his sweatpants, the bulge making you drool, making you want to drop to your knees for him, worship him, choke on him, suck the soul out of him. You canât help yourself, moving your hand down his stomach, you grab his dick, wiping the smirk off his face completely as he moans loudly.Â
âF-Fuck, sweetheart.â
You palm him through his sweats, teasing him the way he teased you, though Eddie is less patient than you are. His hips stutter, a whimper falls off his lips so prettily and you almost tease him for it but he curls his fingers so deeply inside of you, presses his thumb against your clit so strongly that your vision blurs for a second.Â
âEddie⊠Eddie!â You say his name twice, pressing your hand stronger against him, you hook your fingers around the band of his pants.Â
âD-Donât tease me or else Iâll cum right this second,â he growls as his cheeks start burning at his words.Â
âDonât do that,â you warn as you push his pants down just enough, his dick slaps against his stomach, precum leaking out and rolling down his length, his tip an angry red, thick veins so prominent. Your eyes widen and your mouth waters at the sight of him, of his size, his length.Â
Eddie looks down at you with burning cheeks and begging eyes, he feels the way you clench around his fingers, feels how you soak his digits.Â
You look at him intensely, watching him fall apart at nothing but the touch of your hand, his eyelashes flutter, a content sigh falling from his lips when you wrap your fingers around his length, âyour cock is so pretty, Eds,â you purr, jerking him off slowly, you tease him a little, âI want to choke on it.â
His hips stutter, cock twitching in your hand as he whimpers at your words, âfuck⊠you canât just say that to me.â
You pull your hand away from him, holding it up to him, âspit.â
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, eyes darkening further but he complies, right away, he spits into your hand and watches the way you bring it back down to his dick, wrapping your fingers around him again, you grip him just perfectly, jerking him off in a way that he only ever dreamed off.Â
âYouâre gonna kill me,â he moans, clenching his jaw in concentration, his eyes moving back and forth between your glistening pussy and your hand getting him off. âI-I wonât last long,â he warns you, wanting to get lost in the pleasure, but even more so, he wants to feel you wrapped around him.Â
With your free hand, you tug at his wrist, needing to feel his lips on yours again and without wasting a second, he slams his mouth against yours, kissing you roughly as he takes full control, parting your lips with his tongue, he moans into your mouth when you clench around his fingers again.Â
The room is now filled with heavy moans, no longer coming from the TV but from you and him, desperation so clear in both your voices, lips smacking against one another so needily and the alcohol, the weed in your systems only makes it all a tad bit more intense.Â
As much as Eddie is enjoying the feeling of your hand wrapped around him, he has to stop you or else he will cum before getting what he actually wants.Â
âSweetheart,â he murmurs against you, lips twitching when you already whine in protest, âbaby, I-I fuck⊠I need you stop or else Iâll cum too fucking soon.â
You pull away begrudgingly, wanting to pout at him but he quickly distracts you by speeding up his fingers inside of you. Letting go of your throat, he brings his now free hand down to your clit, wasting no second to play with your sensitive nub while he curls and slams his fingers in and out of you.Â
A gasp falls from your lips as he repeatedly brushes your sweet spot, the one that allows you to see stars. A single tear slips down your cheek, one that he instantly kisses away. You want to look at him, you want to watch your best friend but the pleasure becomes too much and you canât help but shut your eyes tightly. Your stomach burns in a way that has you whimpering and when you try to close your legs to relieve that pleasurable pain, he grabs your knee and stops you.Â
âI can feel you clenching around my fingers, baby,â he murmurs hotly against your lips, âI know you want to cum, so let go for me,â he whispers, âlet go.â One more swipe against your clit, one last thrust, one more kiss to your neck and you come undone for your Eddie, leaking around his fingers as your body trembles beneath his.Â
âOh my god,â you whisper.Â
He slows down his movements, looking down at your legs to see them shaking, just from this. He lets you ride out your orgasm, giving you a moment to catch your breath. He kisses your face, your cheeks, your forehead, your jawline and your lips. And then, he pulls his fingers out of you, his mouth waters at the sight of your slick, wasting no time to bring his digits up to his lips, he dips them on his tongue, closing his eyes at your taste, he moans loudly.Â
You open your eyes at the sound, stunned, you stare at him in hunger and lust, watching the way he laps at his fingers that were inside of you just seconds ago. His eyes are closed and he looks content. If you hadnât been so feral already, you definitely would have been by now.Â
âYouâre even sweeter than I thought,â he mewls after releasing his fingers with a pop, opening his eyes to look down at you with a smirk. âI canât wait to take my time and eat your pussy.âÂ
You grab him by the chain around his neck, tugging at it harshly, youâre surprised it doesnât break by the force, you pull him back down against you and kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue.Â
Eddie smiles against your lips, loving the way you moan at your own taste. He feels your hands sliding down his back, tugging at his shirt, demanding him to take it off and he does so instantly, only breaking the kiss for a second so he can tear it off his skin before his lips are back on yours, his pants are next to go as you push them down further, with your help he kicks them off, not caring where they land.Â
He hooks his finger around your ruined panties, he begins to tug at them and you push your hips up so he can take them off, dragging them down your legs, he throws them to the ground beside his clothes before you both pull away from the kiss to take off the shirt that is still bunched up over your chest.Â
âYouâre so perfect,â he murmurs, looking at you in awe and then, his lips return to you and he places his elbows on either side of your head, pressing his chest against yours as you wrap your legs around his waist, tugging him closer and closer until nothing separates you any longer, until he feels your heat against his aching dick and he is so close, so close to getting what he wanted, until he remembers.Â
âFuck,â he curses in annoyance, clenching his jaw already as he breaks the kiss, âwaitâŠâ But you donât listen, cupping his cheeks, you make it even harder for him when you keep kissing him, pleading for more.Â
Frustration bubbles up inside of him and he almost wants to cry.Â
âSweetheart,â he murmurs, shakily. âWait, wait, waitâŠâ
Finally, you pull away, eyes filled with curiosity, âwhat?â
âI donâtââ he cuts himself off, rolling his eyes as he clenches his fists and closes his eyes for a moment, âI donât have a condom,â he says through gritted teeth, feeling dejected but then he feels you pull him closer again, cupping the back of his neck, you press your lips back against his.
âItâs okay, Iâm on birth control and Iâm clean,â you whisper, pressing your heel against his bum, âI waited too long for this, so donât stop⊠please, Eddie.âÂ
A growl threatens to spill from his lips, the feeling of frustration is suddenly replaced by something else, not only the need he had felt for so long but something else, something much stronger, something that has him fighting his inner demons.Â
He opens his eyes, staring at you as though you had gone crazy.Â
âDo you have any idea what you do to me, sweets?âÂ
You giggle so cutely at that, in a way that makes him want to pound you into this couch until you are nothing but a screaming mess.Â
âI have an idea,â you admit smugly, batting your eyelashes at him as your eyes flicker back and forth between his tattoos and his lips, hand already moving down his stomach, fingers reaching for him, you bite your lip as you look into his eyes, he is staring at you so intensely that it makes you blush. You wrap your fingers around his length again, mewling when you guide him through your wet folds, teasing both you and himself.Â
Eddie grips the pillow beneath your head, cursing at the feeling. You can tell that he is trying to control himself, trying to keep his composure but he is losing it quickly when he feels your heat, your wetness.Â
With your free hand, you hold onto his bicep, looking up at him with begging eyes, âplease, fuck me, Eddie,â you whisper as you tilt your head up to kiss his lips, âshow me how bad you want me, donât hold back⊠pleaseââÂ
With a growl, he lets your words die on your tongue, replacing your hand with his own, he guides himself to your entrance, nudging it with the leaking tip of his cock, he presses his forehead and his lips to yours as he thrusts inside of you, torturously, splitting you open around his length.Â
His heart could burst for feeling you so close, so intimately, his love for you burning stronger than ever, the immortal flame getting bigger and bigger, his body feels on fire, his soul feels at home and now he knows you feel the same, when you hold him close and you kiss him so passionately, tightening your legs around his waist in order to feel him closer, whimpering into him in such a needy way while you keep grabbing at him like he isnât close enough despite being pressed against you, he knows you feel the same, in every way.Â
He pushes into you deeper and deeper, scrunching his eyebrows in concentration as he feels you fully, working you open with nothing between you. He feels your warmth, feels your heat around him, your wetness dripping down onto the couch beneath you as fills you up completely. He never felt anything like this before, he never thought he would but god, he is already addicted, he had always been to you but now even worse, he will never be the same again, he will come back to Hawkins a changed man.Â
âFucking hell, darling,â he growls against your lips as he stills inside of you, giving you a moment to adjust to his size and himself a moment to concentrate so he doesnât ruin this by coming too soon, though the thought of filling you up with his seed drives everything in him crazy, he wants it, craves it so bad. âYou feel so⊠so perfect.â
Youâre wailing, squirming beneath him, already looking down, wanting to see your bodies connected as sensitive whimpers escape your mouth.Â
âY-Youâre so big, Eddie,â you say, eyes blurred with tears, words leaving your mouth breathlessly, âhurts so good.â
Your words donât exactly do him a favor, especially when he opens his eyes and he looks down at you, watching the way your chest rises up and down heavily, the way you look down between your legs in desperation before your big eyes look up at him, glassy. Your lips are so puffy from all the kissing, your forehead glistening with sweat, your cheeks flushed.Â
Your walls flutter around him, making it harder and harder for him.Â
Eddie grabs your chin, âyouâre so fucking gorgeous, baby, so fucking sweet and good for me but youâre driving me crazy, right now.â
âFuck me,â you whimper, pouting at him as you hold his bicep harder, âplease, fuck me, Eddie. I need it, I need you so badâ ah!â You scream out when he pulls out and slams back inside of you again.Â
âShh, I got you, I got you, baby,â he shushes your words, âcanât believe you are so desperate for my cock.âÂ
Your nails dig into his skin, your free hand gets lost in his hair, tugging at his curls as you roll your hips against his, going crazy at the feeling of him inside of you.Â
âPlease, please, please!âÂ
Eddie groans at your pleading, at the obvious desperation, at the need that you feel for him, and only him. His left knee digs into the soft cushions on the couch and he places his right foot against the floor, watching your face intently as he starts rolling his hips, making you gasp out loudly.Â
âOh myââ He pants, eyes rolling back as your name falls from his lips.Â
âYou⊠IâŠâ You stutter, unable to find the right words, to even come up with anything as you lose yourself in this feeling. Your mouth waters and so do your eyes, his chain dangles before your face as he thrusts into you, faster and faster, deeper and rougher. You canât help but clench around him, he fills you up so perfectly, his tip brushes against that one spot so rightly.Â
You throw your arms around him as he cups the top of your head, holding eye contact with you as he rolls his hips harder.Â
âIâm so fucking obsessed with you, do you even know that?â He kisses your lips, smacking them loudly against yours.Â
âMmm, Iâm obsessed with you too, baby,â you whimper as you meet his thrusts, rolling your hips as well.Â
âI never thought Iâd get to have this, to have you.âÂ
You only hold onto him tighter in response, leaning into his neck, you brush your nose against it and latch your lips onto his neck, pecking along until you find that one spot that makes him whine, you start sucking, marking him up the way he did to you, not knowing just how feral that makes him.Â
To wear your marks on his skin, to be claimed as yours makes his heart burst but it awakens something in him, because suddenly, he feels the need to pound you into this couch and he does so, he snaps his hips into yours, thrusting roughly.Â
âEddie!â You scream out in a choked sob, digging your nails into his skin as you cling to his body.Â
âYou feel so fucking good,â he moans loudly, not bothering to hide just how desperate you make him feel. He cups the back of your neck and pulls you back down, wanting and needing to see your face, he wastes no second before his lips are back on yours and his hips strike roughly into you, cock slamming in and out of you, the squelching sounds of your pussy filling the room, along with your moans and the slapping sounds as he fucks you.Â
Neither of you want to pull away from the kiss, no matter how sloppy it gets, you donât want to break the kiss and neither does he, not even when you grow breathless. You cling to each like you never did before, welcoming the pleasure that becomes almost too much. There is soreness in your thighs, burning in your lower back and an overwhelming sensation inside of you, an itch that only he can mend.Â
And Eddie, he feels as though he is losing his mind, getting to feel this, to feel you, to kiss you and swallow your moans as your dripping walls cling to his cock, twitching around him and begging to be filled. Your arms and legs are so tight around him, you beneath him like he had only seen you in his dreams and in his imagination, youâre shaking, whining and trembling and you are close, he can feel it by the way you are getting tighter and tighter after each of his thrusts.Â
Reaching down, he hooks his forearm around the back of your knee and he brings it up, pushing it higher until he can thrust into you from a different angle, one that makes you scream out with a high pitched moan and the neediest look he had ever seen on your face.Â
âFuck⊠just like that, baby, scream for me,â he rasps out.Â
âY-Youâre so good, fuck me⊠Eds! Your cock feels so nice, please donât stop, donât ever stop!â You sputter, not knowing just how those words make him feel.Â
You donât know where to look, his pretty face, how he looks as he fucks you like you only ever dreamed of, how pretty his face is when he moans your name so sexily or how his glistening cock pounds in and out of you.Â
And Eddie struggles just the same, though he settles on watching your beautiful face, wanting to see you fall apart more and more.Â
And though you donât want this moment to end, and neither does he, you both drag it out for as long as you can, not caring about anything anymore, not caring about the mess you are making on the couch. You are both sweaty, you are leaking down onto the cushions and Eddie is sure that he ripped a hole into the pillow beneath you earlier from how roughly he held it.Â
A strangled whine leaves your lips and he knows you canât hold on any longer, so he brings his hand down your stomach, pressing his fingers against your clit, causing you to jerk and whimper against him.Â
âYouâre close, baby, I can feel it,â he whispers against your neck, not slowing down his movements in the slightest, if anything, he starts fucking you even deeper, making you scream louder now as your fingernails rip through his skin from how hard youâre grabbing him and he welcome that pleasuring burn, âcum around my cock, do it for me, sweetheart. I know you want to be my good girl.âÂ
With another loud whine, you finally let go of him, arching your back and shutting your eyes tightly, you cum around your best friend's cock, for the first but definitely not the last time. You tighten around him so strongly that his hips stutter and his knees almost buckle, heat spreads through his skin and his stomach tightens as his own body screams for release.Â
He canât wait any longer either and panic ripples through him when you hold him tighter than before, locking him in as you refuse to let go. It makes his heart flutter and it does make him want to release butâ
âI need to pull out, sweetheart,â he says shakily, knowing all too well that he doesnât actually want it and apparently, you donât either because you start shaking your head at him, opening your needy eyes.Â
âNo, no, donât make a messâ cum inside of me, please!âÂ
His hips stutter once more, his dick twitches achingly inside of you, âyou canât just fucking say thatââ he whimpers, unable to finish the sentence, one more thrust and he spills inside of you, coating your walls with his seed as your name falls from his lips before he smashes his lips to yours for the hundredth time tonight, swallowing your cry.Â
Tears of pleasure run down your cheeks, your leg starts slipping from his waist and his thrusts slow down, though his grip doesnât loosen on you, he continues to hold you close, the way you do as well as you grab his shoulder and his bicep, squeezing him tightly while your tongue clashes against his.Â
Your walls spasm and contract around his length, sending shockwaves and an unbearable amount of pleasure through his sensitive body.Â
Slowly, he removes his hand from between your legs, sliding it up your hot body until he is cupping your cheek again, he makes you both whimper when he pulls his softening cock out of you.Â
Your name rolls off his tongue when you both pull away from the kiss, he says it like itâs a blessing, like a prayer. Your eyes make contact again and you stare at each other for a moment, lovingly, adoringly, and then, you both smile and giggle and press your lips back against each other, pecking one another again and again.Â
âMy Eddie,â you whisper as you admire the marks you left on him.Â
âFuck,â he whispers when he realizes that this isnât just a moment, that this isnât just for now, for tonight, that you waited for it just like he has. He looks down at you, brushing away and tucking your hair behind your ear as he caresses your cheek, his heart soaring in his chest. âI canât believe this happened.â
You giggle at him, âIâm glad it happened.â
âYeah?â He grins lazily, eyes dropping to your chest as he leans down and presses his lips to your jaw, âIâm fucking on top of the world right now.â
You brush your fingers through his curls, giggling yet again.Â
âYouâre a dork.â
âYeah, but Iâm your dork, right?â He asks with a hopeful glint in his eyes, one that questions more than just this. He wants to be yours, he wants it so badly.Â
You nod happily, eyes flashing with happiness.Â
âMhmm, youâre mine, all mine.â
âFuck,â he whispers as he feels his sensitive dick twitching at your words, heart bursting inside of him, âIâm yours, all yours.âÂ
You tug him closer and closer, breathing against his lips as you eye him hungrily again, you feel him leaking out of you and it only makes your thighs burn again, âand Iâm yours.âÂ
âYeah, you are,â he rasps as his fingers dip inside of you, he groans at the feeling of his cum leaking out of you, he pushes it back into you with a moan, âyouâre mine, sweetheart.â
âMmm, Eddie,â you mewl, pushing your hips up and chasing for more already.Â
âYou want more?âÂ
You nod, âyes⊠more, please!â
Not needing to be told twice, he slowly pushes his fingers and his cum back into you, making you both moan at that.Â
âYou know what, I'm glad we did this today,â Eddie mumbles against your lips.Â
âYeah?â You moan, arching your back in pleasure when he curls his fingers inside of you.Â
âMhmm, that means I get to fuck you over and over and over for the whole weekend,â he smirks before he slams his lips against yours again, kissing you passionately and sensually while his fingers move and in out of you, creating a mess with his cum leaking out of you and your own wetness sticking to your thighs and his.Â
You both fill the room with filthy noises, needy and desperately you touch each other, grabbing and pulling at each others hair as the night goes on, continuing to mark each other up, to taste one another, to fuck like animals in heat, the movie long forgotten as his tongue laps at your pussy when he is kneeled on the ground with your legs dangling of his shoulders and your fingers pull at his hair roughly.Â
This night never ends, the pleasure continuing until the early morning hours, until you can no longer take it, until you both get too sensitive, until youâre both nothing but a panting, sweaty mess and even then, you still kiss and cling to one another.Â
The night was filled with desperation, with pent up emotions, with filthiness yet with love and adoration, and this night has changed you both forever, for good.Â
-
âSo⊠What youâre telling me isââŠâ Steve begins, arms crossed over his chest, jaw clenched as he stands before you and Eddie with a stern look on his face. You are both on his couch, looking up at him like scolded children. âYou need to buy me a new⊠bed?âÂ
You are blushing furiously, embarrassment written all over your face. You glare at Robin who is standing in the corner, sipping on her soda with an amused look on her face.Â
âUh⊠yeah.â
You know how badly Eddie wants to laugh, he is smug, you can see it on his face but he stays quiet, for a second at least.Â
âAnd a new arm chair?â Steve mumbles, looking between you both.Â
âYeah.â Eddie snorts to which you elbow him, shushing him.Â
âDonât forget the flower vase,â Robin snickers.Â
Steve throws his hands up, âand a fucking flower vase, thanks Robin!â
You put your finger up and straighten your back, âactually, the flower vase fell by itselfââ
âBecause you were fucking on top of the table!â Steve retorts to which your boyfriend chuckles in satisfaction, not being embarrassed by anything in the slightest.Â
You turn to look at him, he only smirks at you and shrugs, holding your thigh tighter than before.Â
âIâd buy a new couch tooââ
âEddie!âÂ
Robin moves closer and eyes you both, eyeing the matching marks on your necks.Â
âI hope you used protection, at least.â
Steve raises his eyebrows, looking at you both expectedly, your flustered face gives you away completely as you sink deeper into the couch, wanting nothing more than to bury your face in Eddieâs neck.Â
âGreat, now I might be a fucking uncle.â
âGodfather,â Eddie corrects him, making you giggle.Â
âGo to hell,â Steve shakes his head, though he canât hide the look on his face and how delighted he is to hear that he would be considered a godfather if it were to happen. And despite the clear distaste on his face after hearing what you did at his cabin, he canât help but feel happy for you both.Â
Robin looks down with a smile on her face when Eddie wraps his arm around you and kisses your cheek softly and Steveâs eyes soften as well.Â
He sighs and rolls his eyes as he finally takes a seat, he reaches for his beer and takes a sip.Â
âIâm happy my plan worked but you both will go back, replace the furniture and clean everything up before I lose my shit and I kill you before my parents kill me.â
You nod at him with wide eyes, while Eddie furrows his eyebrows, âclean up? Oh, we did clean up and besides, we didnât waste a single drop.âÂ
âEddie,â you whine as you bury your face in your hands while Robin groans in disgust.Â
Steve only sighs but his lips twitch slightly, curling into a smirk as he nods at Eddie.Â
âAt least I know your children arenât running around my cabin.âÂ
You give Eddie a warning glance but he is already smirking at you, gripping your thigh harder, slipping under your skirt.Â
âTheyâre somewhere else.âÂ
âOh, gross!â Robin coughs and turns away with a frown on her face.Â
âEddie!â You whine and slap his chest to which he pulls you closer and kisses your cheek, chuckling in amusement.Â
Steve shakes his head, sighing.Â
âIâm never inviting you both to that summer house ever again.â
Your graduation cap weighed heavy on your head. Your neck ached from looking down at what you held in your trembling hand.
With wrinkles and droplet stains all over the photograph, you could barely make out the two small figuresâyoung vigilantes posing for a picture. No, vigilantes arenât supposed to be photographed, much less be taking selfies of themselves. But what Batman didnât know wouldnât hurt him.
The red suit of the boy in the polaroid bled out to near white. You couldnât see his smile anymore either; just the outline of a black âRâ where his heart was.
Your quieter figure was almost as faded as his once bright one, but you could still make out the joy in your eyes.
You wished you could see his eyes instead.
Not the dull, foggy blue that haunts your nightmares, but the bright sapphire that was your light of day. You wanted to see the eyes that could tell you everything; whether he was feeling guilty about his new found wealth or proud that he was helping others.
But his eyes were closed in the picture, for his smile was too big to keep them open.
He was bright and warm like the sun, and you were just the moon.
And without the sun, the moon canât shine.
Someone called out your name from afar. You didnât move from your position under the bleachers.
Families cheered above you, and graduates celebrated from the field; it was almost deafening.
You stayed quiet, hoping to skip the whole day without being noticed. You shouldnât have been there anyways. You flunked half of your sophomore year and nearly all of your junior year.
You didnât understand why you werenât expelled or at least held back. Maybe admin just felt bad. Or maybe they just wanted to wash their hands of you.
You heard footsteps approaching and tucked the photo into your gown before anyone could see it.
âNot gonna walk the stage?â
You didnât lift your head. âItâs just a piece of paper.â
The gravel crunched as he sat beside you.
âIâm sure your mom still wants to see it.â
It was quiet. The parents and graduates went silent as the valedictorian delivered her speech. You managed to hear the echo of her voice. Not that you wanted to hear her, though.
â-to be here before you all. I couldnât have done it without my family, friends, and teachers that pushed me to keep going,â she paused.
You felt him shift beside you but neither of you said a word.
âAs you may have noticed, a few chairs have only a cap and gown draped over them. We felt our graduating class wouldnât be complete without those we have lo-â
You stopped paying attention when his voice vibrated through your head. âItâs kind of cold today.â
You nodded in agreement. âMaybe itâs a freak cold front.â
âThen itâs probably Dr. Freeze,â he nudged you teasingly. You shivered at the contact. The long toga draped over your shoulders wasnât enough to shield you from the cold that consumed you when you felt his touch. âSorry. Maybe itâs me,â he apologized quickly. He tried scooting away.
âItâs okay,â you replied, looping your arm with his and resting your head on his shoulder before he could move any further. You caught a glimpse of the familiar âRâ on his chest.
He said your name, but it sounded wrong on his lips that time. Almost like a gurgle. Like he was loosing his breath. Choking.
Your eyes trailed up from his chest to his face.
Or at least what was left of it.
You froze, nausea hitting you like a train. His skin was bruised and bleeding, his flesh exposed from severe burns, and there was a jagged âJâ cut across his cheek.
Jason Peter Tood looked the same as he did the last time you saw him, including the foggy eyes that werenât the right shade of blue.
You couldnât remember what he looked like before Batman pulled the limp body of your best friend from the rubble.
A voice called out your name. A jolt went through your body when you feel a hand on your shoulder.
âAre you alright?â
Bruce Wayne infiltrated your senses. His expensive cologne covered the smoke and burning flesh you smelled a moment ago.
The empty space beside you didnât feel as cold. A handkerchief wiped the hot tears from your face. Tears you hadnât noticed were falling.
âYour mother asked me if I knew where you were.â
You took the handkerchief from his hand against your cheek. Bruce removed his other hand from your shoulder. Turning away, you finished wiping your tears, disregarding the mess you were making of the billionaireâs belonging.
There was a heavy silence between the two of you. It was like the world stopped to listen to the words of two broken hearts.
âThey had a seat for him. A few others too.â Bruce tried to keep his voice steady, but you heard the slightest waver. He cleared his throat.
The billionaire then reached his hand into the inside of his coat and pulled out a sleek leather diploma cover. âItâs just honorary,â he opened it and showed you the name printed onto the diploma, âbut Iâm glad they thought of him and the others.â
âIn honor of Jason Peter Todd,
forever remembered by Gotham Academy
Class of XXXXâ
The words didnât bring you comfort. They just made you miss him more. You shouldâve been able to share that moment with him.
âHe wouldâve wanted you up the-â
âIâm tired of hearing that.â You interrupted. Bruce gently closed the cover and tucked it away.
You stood up, not wanting to give him another chance to speak. When you dusted yourself off, the picture slipped out of your gown before you could secure it.
Bruce reached down to pick up the worn polaroid. You held your breath but instead of blowing up, Bruce smiled. âJasonâs copy is still framed in his room.â
You blinked, not sure of what to say.
He pressed the picture onto your palm. âItâs less worn. I think he has a few other photographs of you two in his drawers.â
Bruce seemed to hesitate, then he cleared his throat once again. âIf youâd like to see them someday, the doors of the manor are always open for you.â
You couldnât hold it in any longer. You crashed into Bruceâs arms. The heavy cap slipped off your head and fell down to the ground. Bruce slowly wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight.
âIâm sorry.â He whispered. You buried your face into his chest, letting his attire muffle your sobs.
âI shouldâve taken more photos,â was all you could mumble back.
an . inspired by my recent grad! congrats to class of 2026 <3
áŻâ€ did I mention Iâm robin .ᣠê°áŽÊÊ ê°ÉȘáŽ
â ÊáŽáŽáŽ.âź âdamian wayne â readerâ .á .á
‷ summary âź You donât know your boyfriendâbeloved as he likes to call himselfâis Robin. Then, one night you think you hear a stray cat behind a dumpster.
Turns out itâs the vigilante Robin who collapses into you since heâs so beat up andâwait, why does Robin smell like Damian .ᣠword cnt. 10.2k
Thereâs a persistent misconception about Damianâthat he refuses to admit when heâs hurt because it would bruise his ego. Maybe that was true once. Maybe when he was small, when he was ten and still soft in places the League tried to carve out of him, when the only time he cried into someoneâs shoulder was in dreams he woke from with shame burning his throat. Back then, admitting pain meant inviting more of it. Back then, vulnerability was another word for weakness, and weakness was something punished, not soothed.
But thatâs not the boy he is now. Now, admitting hurt feels less like pride and more like treasonâlike every flinch, every moment of doubt is an insult hurled at his mother, at his grandfather, at every merciless lesson etched into his bones. To even confess inwardly, Iâm hurting, feels like reaching into his own chest and dismantling the armor they forced him to wear.
So he doesnât. Even now, coughing in the cold shadows of Crime Alley, ribs screaming, blood painting the inside of his mouth metallic and warm, he wonât say it. Not to himself. Not even here.
Domain keeps repeating the same line in his head, steady and practiced: I will not blame myself for this.
Damian says it again and again, as if repetition could make it true.
The truth lies beside him in the dust.
She couldnât have been more than ten. A child.
A child swallowed by Scarecrowâs toxin so completely that terror seemed to pour from her skin. Her eyes were blown wide, glassy, unfocusedâstaring not at him but through him, as if she were trapped in a nightmare with no way out. Every breath she took came out as a sob, sharp and shallow, like her lungs were too small to carry the fear inside her.
The knife in her hand trembled violently, its metal catching the dim emergency lights in jittery flashes. She swung at him in clumsy, frantic arcsânothing calculated, nothing trainedâjust primal, poisoned terror. The air around them was thick with dust, with heat, with the stench of the toxin leaking from the vents. It felt like breathing through wet cloth.
Damian kept his palms open as he approached, voice low, feet steady even as the floor groaned beneath them. The building was dying around themâwalls cracking, ceiling shedding plaster in soft, deadly driftsâand every sound felt too loud, too sharp, swallowed too quickly by the narrow hallway.
Damian disarmed her. Of course he did.
Even shaking, even barely able to see through the haze, muscle memory guided him. He caught her wrist, twisted gently, felt the blade slip from her fingers.
But she didnât stop screaming.
Her hands clawed at him, tiny nails scraping at his suit, her body thrashing with the strength that only terror gives. And her voiceâGod, her voiceâwasnât a childâs voice anymore. It was raw, hoarse, pleading in a way that hollowed him out from the inside.
She screamed that she didnât want to be here.
She screamed that she didnât want to die.
She screamed like he had screamed in the few seconds before the Lazarus Pit swallowed him whole.
He didnât decide to let her go.
Damianâs fingers simply opened, an old instinct rising through him like cold water.
It took less than seven seconds.
He counted them later, each one a knife to the ribs.
A groan rippled through the ceilingâdeep, metallic, sickeningâand then the world tore open. A huge industrial fan, rusted through and hanging on by its last bolts, snapped free with a shriek that split the air. Damian saw it fall in slow motion, though he knew it was fast, too fast, impossibly fast.
The impact hit like the building itself exhaled.
Dust exploded outward in a suffocating cloud, swallowing the girl instantly. The shockwave rattled his bones. Debris peppered his boots. The air turned thick, gritty, nearly unbreathable.
And thenâsilence.
Not real silence, but that awful hollow space where sound should be. Where a child should be crying. Where something living should still be moving.
Damian didnât scream. His throat locked, muscles tightening until it felt like he was being strangled. His body refused to move, refused to look away, refused to accept the outline half-visible through the settling dust. Something small. Something still.
His heartbeat pounded in his ears so loudly it drowned out the continuing collapse around him.
For a moment, he couldnât tell if he was breathing at all.
He stayed frozen like thatâknees bent, muscles trembling, pupils blownâuntil hands grabbed him from behind. Strong hands. Familiar hands.
Dickâs voice was somewhere above him, muffled, frantic, breaking.
But Damian didnât hear the words.
Only the ringing silence.
Only the ghost of her scream.
Only the sound of metal tearing itself loose replaying over and over inside his skull.
Dick dragged him backward, boots scraping through rubble, air thick with dust so dense it felt like drowning upright. The collapsing hallway dimmed behind them, swallowed by smoke and shadows, and Damian still couldnât breathe. It was like his breathing was admitting she could no longer.
Dick was shouting his name, voice thick with fear, but all Damian heard was the echo of the girlâs last terrified cryâ
And the quiet, echoing lie in his own head.
I will not blame myself for this.
He tried to believe it.
Tried.
But the weight in his chest said otherwise, heavy and collapsing inward just like the ceiling above them.
Damian spits into the gritty Gotham dirt, the metallic tang of blood stubborn on his tongue. It clings to the back of his throat like rust, refuses to leave no matter how violently he tries to purge it. The only part of his suit still intact is his maskâeverything else is shredded, scorched, torn open by brick, metal, and failure.
Shockingly, his bones are mostly where they should be.
Shockingly, heâs still walking.
Shockingly, heâs alive.
He ran the second he saw his fatherâs silhouette appear behind Jasonâdidnât hesitate, didnât wait to hear a single word. Instinct. Shame. Horror. Something primal and ugly in his chest pushing him forward until he vaulted through smoke and sirens and kept going.
Heâd ripped out every tracker, smashed every comm against rusted metal, even crushed his phone under his heel until it snapped like a bone. Oracle is unmatchedâbut if Damian Wayne doesnât want to be found, he wonât be.
And Bruce⊠Bruce wouldnât blame him.
That makes it worse.
Because for the first time in a long time, Damian doesnât know if he deserves that mercy.
Pain crawls up his ribs, sharp and electric. At least four are broken, maybe five. His hands are bleedingâraw, split open, scraped down to something tender beneath the skin. He canât tell which fingers are sprained or simply refusing to bend after clawing uselessly at the collapsed ceiling fan, trying to lift it, trying to reach her.
His knee throbs with every uneven step; thereâs a gash along his temple where dried blood mats his hair to his face. He smells of mud and dust and the stagnant water that poured from burst pipes. He looks like a ghost someone dragged through a warzone.
With what strength remains, Damian drags himself behind a row of dumpsters. The alley swallows him wholeâdark, damp, reeking of rot. He folds in on himself, knees pressed tight to his chest, forehead pressed to the space between them. His arms lock around his legs, holding himself small, silent, contained.
His breath shakes.
He bites down on his lower lip hard, so hard, desperate to smother any sound before it escapes.
He feels ridiculous. Weak. Behaving like the kind of frightened child he would have sneered at years ago. A version of himself he vowed heâd killed long before Gotham ever got the chance.
âHey, babyâŠâ
Your voice floats through his headâsoft, sweet, familiar.
Damian freezes.
Oh god.
Heâs hallucinating you.
Your voice is so clear he almost looks up, almost answers, almost reaches out for hands that arenât here. His breath stutters as he presses his face harder into his knees, burying himself deeper into the mud and trash below. Anything to ground himself.
âHey, itâs okayâŠâ
Your voice againâgentle, coaxing, the same tone you use when you cradle a stray cat to your chest.
His lip splits under his teeth from how hard heâs biting down. The fresh sting distracts him for half a secondâand then he tastes new blood. Not from his gums. Not from a cut inside his cheek.
From the force of trying not to cry.
âBaby, look, I got foodâhm? Donât you want some?â
Yes.
Yes, he wants your butter cookies, the chai you brew just for him, the blueberry cupcakes he pretends he doesnât crave but always eats first. He wants the warmth of your kitchen, the way you hum under your breath, the stupid heart-shaped plate you refuse to throw away.
He wants all of it.
A sound escapes himâsmall, broken, humiliating. A whimper so soft it shouldnât have made it past his teeth.
He stiffens immediately, shoulders snapping rigid, breath catching sharply in his throat as if he can choke the sound back in.
He gasps around nothing, around air too cold and too thin, trying desperatelyâpatheticallyâto claw his way back to control.
Trying to silence the part of himself thatâs still ten years old, terrified, alone in a world that never cared if he lived or died.
Trying to silence the echo of a childâs scream still ringing in his skull.
Thenâ
It isnât silent.
Your voice cuts through the alley like a flare in smoke, sharp with shock and disbelief.
ââŠRobin?â
Damianâs head snaps up so fast his vision blurs. His breath hitches. Your outline wavers at the edge of the dumpsterâs shadowâthe warm glow of a streetlamp catching your hair, your face, your startled expression.
Youâre holding an opened packet of cat food in one hand, clearly midâstray-feeding session, frozen now as you stare at the wrecked boy crouched in the dirt.
âHeyâare you cosplaying,â you ask, voice tripping over itself, âor are you actually Robin? Waitânever mindâyouâre hurt, I shouldââ
You donât finish the sentence.
Because Damianâs body moves before thought can catch up, driven by instinct, by exhaustion, by the brutal longing of a boy pushed far past his limits. His knees give out, his ribs seize, his vision flashes whiteâ
âand he collapses into you.
Just folds.
Just falls.
Like a dying star dropping into orbit with the only gravity it trusts.
Your arms are around him before you can think, reflexive, frantic, steady. His mask presses into your shoulder, and his whole frame shakes as he clings to youâreally clings, fingers digging into your jacket like heâs terrified youâll dissolve if he doesnât hold tight enough.
He smells like mud. Like smoke. Like blood.
But beneath it allâ
He smells like your Damian.
âHeyâhey, hey, hey,â you whisper, your mouth close to his ear, your breath brushing his skin in a way that makes his whole body shudder. Your voice is so soft it almost hurts himâsoft in that way you only ever use for Damian, the tone you slip into when heâs had a nightmare or when he gets overwhelmed and tries to pretend he isnât.
You donât know why youâre using it now.
Your mind doesnât know.
But your body does.
Some instinct older than logic recognizes himârecognizes the trembling, the shape of him, the warmth, the way his weight fits against you like it belongs there.
âYouâre gonna be okay, yeah?â you murmur, supporting his head, brushing mud and blood away from his cheek with your thumb. âYouâre not beat upâwell, not that badlyâah, fuck, should I call a hospitalâ?â
âNo.â
The word cracks out of him like a snapped bone.
Robinâs voiceâstrained, hoarse, but absolute.
âNoâno hospital.â
He can already feel it: the way his father would then find out right away. He imagines Bruceâs voice, low and sad, telling him that its going to be okayâ
He canât.
He canât let himself be found yet.
âOkay,â you breathe, adjusting your grip so his head doesnât loll. âOkayâalrightâthen not a hospital. Iâm a med student but I could tryâif you just let me seeââ
You donât finish.
Because Damianâs weight suddenly shiftsâhis body folding, sagging against you as if his bones just⊠give up. Not unconscious, not fully, but close enough that panic hits your chest like a hammer.
His breath is still thereâragged, shallowâbut there.
âHeyâhey, no, stay with me,â you say quickly, feeling his mask press into the crook of your neck, the heat of his breath dampening your collar. âDonât do that, donâtâyou canât justâRobinâlook at me, come onââ
But he slumps further, his forehead sliding down to your shoulder, fingers twitching weakly at the fabric of your jacketânot gripping anymore, just⊠searching.
Still conscious, yes.
Still breathing, yes.
But his body is past its limit.
You tighten your arms around him, your chest pressed to his, holding him upright with more strength than you thought you had. His weight is staggering, but you refuse to let him fall.
You maneuver Robin the best you canâone of your arms braced tight around his waist, the other hauling his limp, deadweight arm over your shoulders. Heâs heavier than he looks, all coiled muscle and soaked Kevlar, and every time you shift, something inside him makes a sickening crack that turns your stomach.
You donât ask what part of him that was.
You donât want to know.
He breathes through his teethâsharp, controlled, like every inhale is a blade he wonât let touch you.
It hits you then, too vividly: Damian doing the exact same thing when youâd accidentally splashed acid onto the exposed skin of his wrist in chemistry. Heâd had gloves on, but a sliver of skin blistered instantly, and he had grit his teeth like this, refusing to let you see the pain.
Maybe thatâs why youâre brave enoughâstupid enoughâto tighten your grip on this boy dressed like Robin and start walking toward your dorm.
You barely get half a block.
âFuckââ Robin rasps as you turn the corner. His body jerks in your arms. âNoâno dormââ
You freeze, letting him brace himself against the cold brick wall. His mask tips forward, his breath fogging the air between you.
âHowâhow did you know I wasâ?â
âYou said medical student,â he snaps back through clenched teeth, like the words themselves hurt. âDoes that matterâfuckâahââ
He crumples a little, one bloodied hand flying to his knee as if heâs trying to hold the joint in place. The other hand trembles as he points to the back pocket of his suit pants.
âMy walletâahâgrab my walletâthereâs a motel near hereânext to a convenience storeââ
You blink at him.
Then your hand slides down his side, firm on his hip, and moves lower.
Damian would have blushed at any other moment. Hell, even half-conscious and drowning in pain, he manages a strangled noiseâsomewhere between indignation and disbeliefâas your palm pats your way across his ass in search of the wallet.
Damianâs not going to say anything to you now.
But God, when heâs out of costume?
Heâs going to have a conversation with you about boundaries with strangers.
A very serious one.
Preferably one that doesn't encourage you patting down vigilantes in alleys while theyâre bleeding out.
Your fingers brush leather.
âGot it,â you mutter, tugging the wallet free and slipping an arm under his again. âOkay, câmon, Iâve got you.â
His weight folds into you again, heavier this time, his forehead dropping to your shoulder for a second too long before he forces himself upright with a shaky grunt.
You donât see his eyes under the mask.
Not really.
But you feel them on youâlike heâs memorizing each second youâre holding him up, like something in him recognizes you long before heâll let himself admit it.
âLetâs go,â you whisper.
And he does.
Because he doesnât have a choice, youâre the only thing keeping him standing.
Because your voiceâyour hands around himâhave become the only stable thing left in the world thatâs collapsing around him twice in one night.
You make it to the motel with Robin huffing out directions in broken fragments, each one puffed through clenched teeth:
âLeft.â
âTwo blocks straight.â
âRight.â
ââŠthe other right!â
By the time you reach the place, your shoulder is numb from supporting his weight, and your arm around his waist is shaking. You donât know what you expectedâa flickering neon sign, the smell of mold, carpets older than Gotham itselfâbut the motel is⊠surprisingly warm. Soft lighting, muted gold against burgundy walls. A little worn, maybe, but clean.
Cozy. Safe, even.
You pause on the threshold, staring at the front desk like itâs an obstacle you never trained for.
âHow am I supposed to get us in without someone pointing out a vigilante in a stupid costumeââ
âJust go.â Robinâs voice scrapes out of him, roughened by injury and exhaustion. âHeâs fourteen. Doesnât look up from his phone. Kidâll hand you the key card, and if he doesnâtââ he breaks off in a jagged cough that shakes his whole frame, âwe can justâahâuse what you said earlier. Cosplaying. Yeah?â
You stare at him.
Robin sounds like heâs making it up as he goes, but something in his toneâsome weary certainty, like heâs done this dance in worse shapeâtells you heâs not wrong.
So you tighten your arm around his waist, feeling the heat radiating through his suit, the tremor in his muscles as he tries to stand straighter for your sake. His breath stutters against your neck. Heâs so close itâs impossible not to feel every ragged exhale.
And you step inside.
The lobby is quiet, humming faintly with the low buzz of an old heater. A cheap and outdated Christmas garland droops along the front desk, its tinsel reflecting warm yellow light. The receptionistâa teenager with curly hair, hoodie pulled over his headâdoes not, in fact, look up from his phone.
Robin sags into you a little more, like the warmth is melting whatever fight he had left.
You approach the desk.
âUmâhi. Can Iââ
âKeys are on the counter,â the kid mutters without looking up, thumb tapping across the screen. âCash or card?â
Robin wheezes something at your expression that might be a laugh, or a dying breath. Hard to tell.
You grab the wallet from earlier, sliding a wad of cash forward with your free hand. Your other hand stays locked around Robinâs waist, like youâre afraid heâll slide to the floor if you loosen your grip even a fraction.
The teen finally glances up.
Sees Robin half-collapsed on you.
Sees the blood on his gloves.
Sees the cracked, battered armor.
Sees you trying to hold up someone clearly too heavy and too hurt.
âHuh. We donât get a lot of cosplayersâthey usually go to the one closer to the convention centerâ the kid says flatly.
âYeah,â you answer instantly, praying your voice doesnât shake. âWeâuhâwe got a little lost and this was closer.â
The kid blinks once.
Then shrugs. âThatâs cool. Dope costume. Nice commit to the bit.â
He hands you the key card and goes right back to his phone.
Youâre not sure if relief or disbelief hits you harder.
You adjust him against your side, guiding him toward the hallway. His steps are uneven, heavy, every movement radiating pain he refuses to voice.
The moment the lobby door swings shut behind you, the motelâs warmth settles over you bothâthick, quiet, almost grounding.
âSee?â he murmurs, voice slurred at the edges. âTold youâmy costume is cool.â
His head tilts toward you, just slightly, like the warmth and exhaustion are pulling him in your direction.
And you try not to think about how he smells like smoke and cold rain.
How he feels like someone familiar when he leans into you like that.
How your heart stutters, traitorously, as you whisperâ
âLetâs get you somewhere you can lie down.â
Robin nods weakly.
And lets you lead him deeper into the motelâs soft, golden safetyâcompletely trusting you to keep him upright, keep him hidden, keep him alive.
Just like someone else you know would.
You swipe the key card, hear the soft click of the lock, and shoulder the door open. The room is smallâqueen bed, tiny table, muted brown carpetâbut the lights are gentle, not the harsh fluorescent kind, and the air smells faintly of old lavender cleaner. Safe enough. Warm enough.
You drop your bag and guide him inside, your arm still locked firmly around his waist. His steps are clumsy, uneven, and his breath shivers against your shoulder every time he shifts his weight. You get him to the bed and try to ease him down onto the edgeâ
But he just falls from your grip like he thinks your work here is done.
The mattress dips violently as he flops onto it with all the grace of a sack of bricks. For a single second he tries to force himself upright againâstubborn, one that could rival Damians you thinkâmuscles trembling with the effort.
âNoâwaitâwaitâjustââ You place both hands on his shoulders and press gently.
Robin collapses backward instantly, like the moment someone told him he didnât have to fight gravity, he let go of the idea entirely. His body sinks into the thin motel comforter, armor scraping faintly against the sheets.
He goes very still.
Too still.
His chest rises, fallsâshallow, controlled. And he stares straight up, not dazed, not disoriented, not spaced-out.
But fixed.
Eyes locked on the ceiling.
On the ceiling fan.
The cheap metal blades rotate slowly above him, humming with a soft mechanical wobble. A perfectly harmless fan.
But Robinâs gaze is razor-sharp, unblinking, pupils blown wide with something that isnât shock but something deeper, colder. His breath stutters in a way you donât like. His fingers clamp just slightly at his sides, the motion so tiny most people wouldnât have seen it.
You do.
And it hits youâthe expression on his face is not blank.
Itâs haunted.
You follow his line of sight up to the fan.
âOff?â you ask quietlyâmoving near the nightstand, thumb hovering near the fan switchâas if even offering the choice might jolt him.
ââŠdoesnât matter,â he mutters, eyes flicking away from the fan and then back to you, like heâs forcing himself to anchor on anything else. Something kinder.
Silence settles between you for a beatâthick, strained, fragile in a way that makes you feel like moving too suddenly might crack him straight open.
âIsâŠâ you begin, swallowing, âIs there anyone you want to call? I shouldâve asked soonerââ
âNoââ His voice slices through yours, too sharp for how wrecked it sounds. The word is followed by a jagged cough that forces him to scrunch one eye shut. When he looks back up at you, the edges of his mask tilt with the furrow of his brows. âIâm not going to ask you to patch me up. Itâs late. Go home. Thank you for bringing me hereââ
He stops suddenly.
Like he stepped off a ledge he didnât mean to.
Thereâs something tight in the silence that followsâlike heâs biting back a word, choking on it.Â
Beloved, Damian wants to say. âThank you for bringing me here beloved.â
And even through the mask, you can feel the weight of the stare he pins you with. Like heâs trying to memorize your silhouette in this crappy motel room, the curve of your shoulders in the lamplight, the steadiness you havenât once offered to anyone but him.Â
ââŠYou will be rewarded,â he says finally, voice softening in this strange way. His chin tilts toward the nightstand where his wallet sits. âIâll send some money to yourââ
âCan I use your wallet to buy some gauze and disinfectant from the convenience store?â you cut in, tone annoyed and completely ignoring everything he just said.
For a moment he justâŠstares. Then he lets out a breath that sounds like a sigh of annoyance or might be relief, letting his head fall back against the pillow. The white sheets are already blotched with dull streaks of dried blood and new ones blooming beneath him. He must feel it soaking uncomfortably into the fabric, but he doesnât flinch.
Mentally, however, your boyfriend behind the mask is smiling. Youâre not stubborn, he always insists. Youâre adamant. The only force heâs never once been ableâor wantedâto fight.
Itâs about twenty minutes later when you step back into the room, pushing the door shut with your heel as you kick off your shoes. The motelâs dim yellow light hits you first, then the sight of Robinâstill lying exactly where you left him, stiff and watchful in that strange, exhausted way.
âI bought myself hot chocolate with your card,â you announce, voice low but steady, setting the cup on the nightstand. The steam curls upward, sweet and warm, completely out of place beside the blood drying on the gauntlets he seems to have thrown off. You ease onto the corner of the bed near the nightstand, the plastic bag rustling as you place it on the pillow beside you.
Robin huffsâjust barelyâbut itâs enough to sound like him.
âGive me a sip later.â
âNo.â You donât even look at him. âIâm not getting blood on it.â
If Damian were capable of smiling without everything hurting, he wouldâve.
Because you always share your drinks with him.
Even when he bites his lip thinking too hard, even when thereâs a smear of red on the rimâ you never care. No matter how disgusting he jokes that it is, you never care.Not with him.
The warmth in his chest flares sharp and fast, pressing painfully against his bruised ribs. A traitorous little flutter he canât stop.
You slide closer and slip your arms beneath his armpits, bracing your body as you drag him up the bed so his legs arenât hanging uselessly off the edge.
âGod, what do you eat?â you grunt, struggling under his weight.
âJustice,â Robin mutters, and youâre pretty sure it was meant to be a joke.
âHas anyone ever told you youâre not funny?â you ask, already reaching for a pillow.
He feels your hand slide behind his neckâgentle, so gentlyâas you lift his head and place it down on the pillow like heâs breakable porcelain. Your touch sends a sting of heat through his skull, unbearable only because he wants more of it.
âMy girlfriend,â Damian hears himself say, the words slipping out before he can lock his jaw around them, âShe thinks Iâm funny.â
You pause, blink, then mumble under your breath, ââŠsome women are just being nice.â
âSpeaking from experience?â he shoots back, the corner of his mouth twitching like he might grin if he werenât bleeding internally.
âHell no.â You say it with this stupid, proud lilt that makes his ribs ache in a new way. You rummage through the plastic bag, pulling out gauze and alcohol wipes. âMy boyfriend is hilarious. Very funny.â
âYeah?â Robin mutters, his voice thick around pain and exhaustion as he watches you tear open a packet of disinfectant wipes. âName a joke then. I could use a laugh.â
âSomething tells me your ribs couldnât,â you shoot back, focused on the supplies, fingers steady in a way your pulse isnât. You're giving him a look now, one that he's only seen you direct at the men who hit on you when the two of you go out together. âGo ask your girlfriend.â
He goes still. Not the physical kindâheâs already barely movingâbut the kind that feels like a nerve being struck. A soft, invisible jolt running through him.
Robin shifts, the faintest tensing under your hands.
âLookââ he says, a little too fast, a little too defensive, âI am not hitting on you.â
You donât look up.
You donât have to.
You can feel the way the words hit him, like heâs been caught doing something wrong.
You just sigh, not unkindly, not even annoyedâjust tired. Focused. Like you always are with everyone you patch up in the hospital you both volunteer in. Even if the only patients you both receive are little kids who get bruises from running around in the halls. He admires it about you, how you focus on them like they are going through heart surgery.
âYouâre half-dead on a motel bed,â you say, brushing debris off whatâs left of his tunic. âYou couldnât hit on me if you tried.â
He exhales sharplyâhalf an offended huff, half a sound of pain mixed with laughterâbecause thatâs not the point.
Because you donât know that heâs yours.
Damian doesnât know what to say nowânot when youâre this close, not when your hands are already on him, not when every shallow breath sends a tremor through his fractured ribs. His body keeps betraying himâloosening, sinking into the mattress, warming under your touch as if youâd flipped some instinct older than language.
Itâs humiliating.
Itâs grounding.
Itâs a suffocating comfort.
You pull the small scissors from the first-aid kit and murmur, âDonât move,â as you cut away the torn, mud-streaked Kevlar shirt. You work carefully with a bit of struggle, sliding the blade under each stubborn seam. Each snip sounds loud in the quiet room, mixing with the rhythmic whir of the ceiling fan he still refuses to look at.
His shoulder pulls tight when you peel back the fabricâhis dislocated left side stiffens, trembling slightly. He hates it. Hates needing help. Hates how your fingers graze his skin and his whole body shivers like heâs been rewired.
âWhy are you helping me?â Robin asks, voice raw. Damian already knows the answer but part of him needs to hear it anywayâneeds the reassurance like a coward.
ââŠLetâs just say I like Batman,â you mumble, focused, trying to free a stubborn strip of fabric stuck to dried blood at his temple.
Robinâs mouth twitches into the faintest grin he can muster. âMore than me?â
You hum as you finally remove the last piece of his top, exposing mottled bruises blooming across his ribs. âUnfortunately his costume is cooler.â
He rolls his eyes even though the motion makes pain crack through his skull. In his head, Damian mirrors itâof course youâd say that. You already told him once that Batmanâs silhouette was âpeak aesthetic.â
âYou like the trunks? My costume is way cooler.â
âI like the cape.â You say it while reaching for the wipes, already cleaning the blood from along his jaw. âIt was easy to find a black blanket as a kid and run around pretending I was him.â
Damian has heard that story so many timesâyour shy laugh, the way you mimed swooping down hallways. Hearing you tell it to Robinâeven though it is himâburns in a new way.
âHeâd like to hear that,â Robin says, voice softer than he intends.
Youâre already sliding your hand behind his shoulder blades, guiding him up the pillow just enough so you can work. His breath stutters at the movement; he clenches his teeth as agony arcs down his side. You catch itâof course you doâand murmur: âSorry. Iâve got you.â
And he hates how much those words undo him.
âI wanted to dress up as him for Halloween this year too,â you continue, talking more to distract him than anything else. You set an ice pack against his ribs with careful pressure. âBut then I canât force my boyfriend to do a couples costume.â
Thatâs new. His pulse jumps. Why didnât you tell him?
Robin starts slowly, ââŠCouples costume?â
âMhmâŠâ You pull off one of his glovesâgently, so gentlyâand begin disinfecting his knuckles one by one. His fingers twitch involuntarily as the antiseptic stings. âI just need an excuse to play dress up with him.â
Damianâs heart drops, catches, and tries to restart all at once.
âWhat is he, a doll?â Robin asksânot teasing. Real worry threads through his voice, betraying him. God your going to either make the costume practically two threads of fabric or dress him up in the most ridiculous thing possible.
âMight as well be.â You laugh quietly as you check for fractures along his hand. âMy Damian is so handsome.â
The room tilts.
His ribs donât ache for a moment.
It feels dangerously good.
âBet Iâm hotter,â Robin huffs, letting Dickâs bravado slip out because itâs safer than sounding like himselfâsafer than letting the truth spill and ruin everything.
âHm⊠yeah bruised and bloody, just how I like my men.â You roll your eyes and reach for his other glove.
He winces when you lift his left arm to remove it, the dislocated shoulder grinding sharply. You catch the breath he sucks in and immediately soften your touch, guiding his arm down again, supporting the joint with your palm.
âOh?â Robin asks, staring at the ceiling because looking at you feels impossible and too much. âSadist?â
âFor everyone except him? Yeah.â
And you say it like itâs nothing.
But Damian feels the words slide under his ribs, settle into something tender and too fragile to name.
You brace a hand at the small of his back.
âYou need to sit up again.â
He grits his teeth. You help him slowly, carefully, letting him lean against you while you wrap bandages around his ribsâyour arms circling him, your breath warm near his ear, your pulse steady against his shoulder.
Too much.
Not enough.
Too much.
Your fingertips brush the edge of the bruise blooming across his sternum. He swallows a sound he refuses to make.
You let him rest against the headboard once heâs secured, then move to his kneeâexamining the swollen joint, pressing lightly to check if he reacts. He does. You soften again.
Hand on his shin.
Hand at the back of his neck.
Hand steadying his jaw while you clean the last cut.
Your touch is everywhere.
And DamianâRobinâwhoever he is right nowâcannot breathe around the question pounding in his skull:
How can you care this gently for a stranger when you love him so fiercely?Â
But when you whisper, âTilt your head a little moreâyeah, just like that,â
he obeys instantly.
Because itâs you.
And because his body has always, always known how to answer to your voiceâŠlong before his heart admitted it.
You shift your weight on the mattress, bunchingthe motelâs thin blanket under his ruined knee for a little cushioning before you touch anything. Robin keeps his eyes on the ceiling fanâlike heâs daring it to fallâwhile you cut around the torn fabric of his pants. The knee is already swelling, skin angry and hot beneath your fingers.
âOkay,â you whisper like youâre soothing a spooked animal, âthis is gonna hurt. Justâbreathe. In and out.â
Damian isnât breathing at all.
His throat feels clamped shut, like each inhale might betray the way your hands unravel every tight coil inside him.
You press your thumbs lightly around the joint, mapping out whatâs broken, whatâs salvageable.
Robinâs jaw tightens. A sharp hiss slips out of himâhumiliating, involuntary, and it makes him then let out a small curse.
âDamian did the same thing,â you murmur, almost without thinking, focusing on the rhythm of working rather than the vigilante in your hands. âWhen he sprained his knee last winter. Pretended it didnât hurt but started swearing in Arabic under his breath.â
His stomach twists.
He remembers.
You carried him to the couch and iced it yourself. He pretended to fall asleep so you wouldnât see him melt.
âThat must be annoyingâ Robin croaksâbecause when it comes to him thereâs not many other words he can think to use at this moment.
You give a soft laugh at the question, one he didnât expect you to answer so easily.
âHeâs⊠stubborn. Smart. More dramatic than he thinks he is. You should see the pout he does when I donât kiss him goodnight.â
Damian wants the ceiling fan to fall on him.
âAnd heâs soft,â you add, quieter. âNot in the way he thinks weak. Justâsoft where it matters.â
His chest aches. Not from broken ribs. Something else, something worse.
You place both your hands gently around his kneecap. âOkay, three, twoââ
You donât even reach one.
You shift it back into place with a clean, practiced motion. Robin chokes on a grunt, fists clenching in the sheets until his knuckles bloom fresh red.
âGood,â you whisper, brushing his shin soothingly. âGood job. That was the worst of it.â
He doesnât deserve your praise.
But he swallows it down anyway like starving.
You move next to his hands.
Thereâs dried blood in the lines of his palms, mud caked into the nail beds. His fingers are torn from clawing concrete, little slices across the knuckles where skin split from force.
âGive me your hand,â you say gently.
He hesitatesânot for pain, but because letting you touch him feels like sacrilege, like heâs breaking some unspoken rule of who Robin is allowed to be with you.
But he gives it.
You hold his hand like itâs not stained with a childâs blood and a collapsing ceiling.
You clean each finger carefully, wiping dark streaks from the creases, murmuring tiny apologies every time he winces. You wrap the deeper cuts with practiced precision, one slow deliberate motion at a time.
Robin watches youâreally watches youâfor the first time since the alley.
âYou knowâŠâ he starts, voice rough, âmy girlfriend is probably going to kill me.â
Your hands still just for a second.
ââŠOh?â
âShe worries too much,â Robin continues, forcing a half-grin he doesnât feel.
You huff softly, âIf Damian came to me like this Iâd kill him before I can even think about how to help him.â
âSheâs kind,â he says quieter now. âToo kind for me. She pretends sheâs annoyed, but sheâs⊠sheâs gentle. And loyal. And smarter than I am.â
You laugh at that, still cleaning his fingers, probably thinking heâs hallucinating. âWellâat least you realize it.â
âShe tells me Iâm handsome sometimes,â he adds faintly, like testing water he already knows the depth of.
Your groan. âGod she must be blind.â
Damian stares at you like youâve stabbed him, his fingers twitch weakly in your hold, like a cat bristling with its last bit of pride.
âSheâs not blind,â Robin rasps before he can stop himself.
Your brows lift, just slightly, but you keep cleaning the smear of blood along his ring finger.
âOh?â you murmur, tone soft but teasing. âShe has bad taste then?â
Damian almost chokes.
Robin swallows, tries to keep his voice level. âShe says I look⊠dignified.â
You blink. That is absolutely not the word you expected to describe the mess of the boy in front of you.
ââŠDignified?â
âShe says I have nice eyes,â he forces out, because if he doesnât keep talking, he might confess everythingârip the mask off and tell you he needs you more than air. âThat they⊠settle her.â
Your hands pause again.
Not frozen. Not startled.
Just⊠warm.
The way they always get when someone says something earnest. You stare at his face like you're trying to see his eyes through his mask.
âThatâs sweet,â you whisper.
No.
Damian thinks viciously.
It is not sweet. It is humiliating. He sounds like an idiot. A weak, beaten-up idiot bleeding like an idiot.
But your faceâGod, your face is soft and bright and fond. And it hurts him more than the broken ribs.
You stroke another wipe carefully over the cut on his thumb.
âI tell Damian that,â you mumble, half-distracted by focusing on not hurting him. âAbout his eyes. Dunno if he believes me, though.â
Robinâs breath stutters.
You continue, unaware of the way heâs gripping the sheets, knuckles trembling.
âHe has⊠pretty eyes,â you admit quietly, because you also have the full capability of screaming this fact from a rooftop. âWhen he lets me see them.â
Damian feels something in him collapse worse than any ceiling.
âAnd he gets all shy,â you add, smiling at the bandage youâre smoothing down. âPretends he isnât but he does this little inhaleâbarely thereâlike heâs holding his breath.â
Robinâs lungs seize because he knows exactly the inhale you mean. The one he's now is trying to bite back.
You move to the next finger.
The room smells like antiseptic and motel detergent and himâblood, sweat, concrete dust. Everything about him is ruined and raw, except the way you touch him, like heâs still something human.
âShe tells me I make her feel safe,â Robin says suddenly, voice so low it almost cracks. âEven when Iâm a mess.â
Your eyes flick up, meeting the edge of the mask, like youâre searching for something in the shadows behind it.Â
You want to tell him âno shit your RobinâIâd hope she'd feel safe with youâ butâŠdecide against it.
âThatâs important,â you whisper. âSomeone who makes you feel safe is⊠everything.â
Robin closes his eyes, because he canât bear the expression on your face when you say that.
Because he wants to give you safety.
Because he wants to give you everything.
You shift closerâslowly, carefullyâbracing one knee on the mattress. The bed dips under your weight, and Robinâs breath stutters like even that tiny movement unsettles him.
Your hand hovers over his collarbone before you touch him, as if giving him a silent warning, as if asking permission even though he already gave it.
âOkay,â you murmurâyour voice quieter than the lamp buzz filling the roomââthis is going to sting. Iâm sorry.â
Robin tenses.
Not at the warningânot at the pain he knows is comingâbut at the softness. At the way your voice dips into that low, careful register you only use on Damian when heâs pretending bruises arenât bruises and fractures arenât fractures.
Your fingers slip beneath the edge of his torn tunic.
The fabric cracks away from dried blood as you lift it, sticking to him with a wet, sickening tear. Beneath it, his skin is fever-hot. Sweaty. The copper-and-iron smell of blood rises in a thick, metallic wave.
He tries not to hiss.
He fails.
More of his shoulder comes into viewâugly shades of purple and sick yellow blooming across bone and tendon. Scrapes. Punctures. Swollen skin stretched too tight over muscle. He looks⊠hollowed out. Starved in a way that says heâs been pushing too hard for too long.
You suck in a breath.
âOh⊠gods.â
The sound is tiny, strangled, horrified.
Robinâs jaw clenches.
Damian feels something in his chest rupture that has nothing to do with broken ribs.
You tug the tunic lower and reveal the wound.
A diagonal slash, deep and ragged, carved with intention. The edges are swollen, angry, still weeping slow, diluted blood. Dried flakes cling to his skin like rust. A constellation of bruises spread out around it from the impact that caused it.
You freeze for only half a second.
Then your expression steels over.
You grab a disinfectant pad, fingers steady in a way your breathing isnât.
âGodsâŠâ you mutter, voice tight with emotion and frustration and something painfully close to affection, ââŠShe really is going to kill you. I don't know what I'd do if I found Damian like this.â
Robin bites the inside of his cheek hardâhard enough to taste iron.
Because he knows exactly what youâd do.
How youâd cradle Damianâs face in your hands.
How your voice would crack.
How your eyes would soften.
How your warmth would spread across his skin like a balm.
The antiseptic hits the wound.
It sizzles faintly.
Blood thins under the liquid.
His flesh twitches.
Robin jerks, gasping through clenched teeth, the sound raw and involuntary. His fingers dig into the bedsheets hard enough to leave bloody crescents even through the freshly bandaged fingers.
âOhâshit, sorryââ
Your apology spills out instantly, warm and breathy.
Your thumb skims the intact edge of his skin, an instinctive, soothing gesture.
âYouâre doing so well. Just⊠breathe. Please? Iâm right here.â
He hates the way that unravels him.
Hates how badly he wants to lean into your touch.
You work slowly, delicately, swiping away blood the color of wine left out too long. Each stroke of the pad uncovers more skin, more damage. More truth.
You shift the tunic again, lifting it higher to get a better angleâ
And then you go still.
The pad slips a fraction between your fingers.
Your breath stumbles.
Your eyes are locked on something just below the wound.
A tiny beauty mark.
Half-hidden under smeared blood.
A dark little star on the upper swell of his chest.
Robinâs heart convulses against his ribs, too focused on how close you are.
âOh,â you breatheâbarely, barely audible.
A sound more like a gasp than a word.
Itâs the beauty mark youâve kissed a hundred times.
The one your lips find without looking when you curl against Damianâs chest.
The one you once joked was your ânavigation point.â
The color drains from your face, then flushes back too fast.
You inhale sharply through your nose, then again, then againâlike your body canât decide if itâs freezing or boiling.
Robin goes rigid beneath youâ
not out of fear,
not out of panic,
but because youâre staring at him like heâs naked in a way far deeper than skin.
Your gaze shifts to his shoulder.
Compact muscle, cut too clean for it to be any other boy you've seen.
The exact silhouette you see when Damian stretches and his shirt rides up.
Your eyes flick to his hand.
Split knuckles.
A thin scar along the base of his thumb.
The one you saw on Damian when he handed you a desert a few days agoâyour favorite meringue from a local bakery.Â
Your chest rises with a sharp, trembling inhale.
He breathes againâtoo shallow on the left, each inhale a contained wince.
Damian breathes like that when heâs sore.
When heâs lying.
When heâs hiding something.
Your pulse hammers so hard the room blurs at the corners.
He shiftsâtrying to tug his torn tunic back over his chest, as if hiding skin could hide identity. His cheeks blaze under the dark mask, his breaths short and frustrated.
âTt,â he mutters, voice tight, humiliated, flustered out of his mind. âStop staring.â
Your blood goes cold.
The soundâ
that sharp irritated Ttâ
is Damian.
Itâs him.
Itâs him, itâs him, itâsâ
Your hand is still hovering above his chest, suspended like you touched a live wire.
The room feels suffocating nowâhumid with blood, thick with truth, the small space closing around you like a fist. You can hear your own heartbeat in your ears. You feel dizzy.
He wouldnât lie like this.
He couldnât.
Heâ
Except he could.
He has.
He would.
He did.
And godânow that youâre seeing himâ
really seeing himâ
you recognize every inch.
Your fingers shake.
He misreads the tremor immediately.
Of course he does.
His jaw clenches hard.
Shoulders curl in.
He twists his face away like he canât stand the look in your eyes.
âCould you quit staring?â he snaps, voice cracking at the edges. âI get itâIâm bruised to hell and back. Stop looking at me likeââ
Damian tries to pull himself together, though every attempt at composure slips through his fingers the way blood keeps slipping down the slope of his ribs. He looks everywhere except at you â at the cracked ceiling tile above him, at the frayed hem of his glove, at the discarded disinfectant pads turning pink on the sheets. Anywhere his eyes can land that isnât your face.
Because your face, right now, is too much.
âI should haveââ he begins, stopping immediately when the words snag on something sharp in his throat. He swallows, tries again, falters again. âI intended, eventually, to⊠tell you. Properly. Under different circumstances. Not like this.â
His voice comes uneven, like heâs reciting from a script that dissolved the moment your fingers brushed his chest.
You donât respond. You donât even move. You sit there between his knees on the bed, your hands still hovering over the wound, your breath warm on his skin, your eyes fixed on him with a focus that borders on reverence.
And you think â God, you think so much all at once it nearly knocks the air out of you.
You think about how much pain heâs in and how little Damian lets it show, how the tremor in his exhale betrays what his stoic expression refuses to.
You think about the sheer brutality carved across his bodyâthe gash at his collarbone, the bruising blooming like ink over his ribs, the sharp outlines of muscle beneath skin thatâs been pushed far past exhaustionâand yet the only thing you feel when you look at him is awe.
He is injured, bloodied, trembling, and somehow still fighting for dignity like itâs a weapon he refuses to set down.
You admire the stubborn courage in that.
You admire the discipline, the resilience, the reckless loyalty that got him into this state in the first place.
Damian is extraordinary in ways no one should be asked to be, and it hits you with a strange, painful clarity: youâve been falling in love with a boy who carries the world like a shield strapped too tightly to his chest.
And now youâre staring at the chest in question â the familiar shape of it, the beauty mark youâve seen a hundred times, the rise and fall of a breath youâve fallen asleep to â and you realize how blind you were not to see him before.
His voice cracks, barely audible. âIt was not because I doubted you. You must understand that beloved. The secret is not mine alone. My familyââ
He stops, jaw tight, brows screwed together in frustration, as if the explanation refuses to take shape no matter how he tries to force it into one.
And while he flounders for words he has always been terrible at choosing, you canât look away from him.
Not from the way his mask is smudged with dust and blood.
Not from the split on his lower lip, still slightly purpling, marked by violence he accepted without hesitation because someone needed saving.
Not from the way he trembles when your knee accidentally brushes his thigh, because for all his training, he is still a person who has never learned what to do when someone touches him gently.
You watch him, and your thoughts turn over and over, slow and stunned:
He is so strong.
He is so brilliant.
He is so painfully, catastrophically brave.
And youâre not sure how you ever thought you loved him enough.
He keeps talking, though his voice gets softer, like each sentence tires him more than the last.
âIt was never deceit for the sake of deception. I was trying to protect them. Protect you. If anyone learned who I was, who you were connected toââ
His breath hitches. He shakes his head, frustrated, angry with himself. âThis is coming out poorly. I never wanted you to feelââ
You donât let him finish.
Not because youâre angry.
Not because you need more explanation.
But because every word he says is straining him, draining him, unraveling him at the seams, and you can see in the tension of his jaw how badly heâs bracing for your rejection.
And you canât let him brace for something that isnât coming.
So you lean down, slow and deliberate, one hand rising to cradle his cheek, the other resting feather-light against his sternum, careful not to jostle the wound.
His eyes widen beneath the mask â a flash of shock, panic, longing, all tangled together so tightly you canât tell them apart.
You press your mouth to his split lip, soft enough not to hurt him, sure enough that he feels every ounce of what you canât yet say aloud.
Itâs not a hungry kiss or a desperate one.
Itâs a promise. A recognition. A quiet, steady I know you and Iâm not leaving.
Damianâs breath breaks against your mouth.
Your thumb sweeps the edge of his jaw. His fingers curl weakly into the sheets. His entire body, rigid with dread moments before, sinks under your touch like the truth was a weight he finally no longer has to carry alone.
And when you pull back, just far enough to see him, he looks at you like youâve undone something inside him he didnât realize was bound so tightly.
He tries to speak. Fails. Tries again.
Your hands rise slowly, almost reverently, thumbs brushing along the lower edge of his mask as though youâre touching something sacred rather than something made of Kevlar and secrets. You try to be graceful, but the damn thing almost refuses to cooperate; you end up fumbling with it longer than any romantic reveal should allow.
Itâs embarrassing.
Itâs also exactly enough time for Damian to process the fact that youâre the one taking it offânot his father, not Alfred, not even himselfâyou, kneeling over him in a cheap motel room with your hands trembling on his skin.
When the mask finally comes free, you hold it between two fingers for a moment before lowering it to the mattress, your eyes lifting to meet him without anything between you for the first time tonight.
Those green eyesâthe ones you could never quite put a shade to, the ones that never seemed to exist in any color wheel you checked because of course he's one of a kindâwiden just slightly, the pupils blown from exhaustion and adrenaline and something softer he never lets anyone else see.
He looks at you like heâs memorizing the moment one breath at a time.
ââŠYou got my blood on your lip,â he says quietly, voice cracked at the edges. It isnât judgment or disgust he shows when you calmly drink a shared drink that still had the reminisce of blood from a bitten lip; itâs something closer to awe, as though he finally believes you will never flinch from his blood. From him.
âYeah,â you murmur, brushing your thumb across the corner of your mouth as if confirming the obvious. âComes with having a superhero boyfriend.â
His mouth parts, not in arrogance or smugness or that sharp little smirk he pretends is confidence, but in a stunned, reverent wonder that makes his breath hitch. Damianâs brows draw together in a way that looks almost painful â like someone seeing a holy thing up close and being overwhelmed by the fact theyâre allowed to touch it.
And then Damian is kissing you.
Not with the careful restraint he usually hides behind, not with the skittish hesitation of earlier, but with a deep, unguarded certainty that pulls you down against the bruised plane of his chest.Â
Damianâs arms wrap around you with a fierceness that startles you, not because itâs rough, but because itâs desperate â as though heâs afraid you might disappear the moment he loosens his grip.
The kiss isnât starving, but it isnât gentle either; itâs the compressed weight of every moment heâs lied to you, every time heâs wanted to tell you the truth, every time heâs held back because he knew he was protecting you. Your lips move against his with a kind of instinctive urgency, your breath mingling with the copper taste of his blood, your bodies pressed so close thereâs no room for anything except the fact that he is here, that he is yours, that he is alive.
When Damian finally pulls back, itâs only far enough that the air you get is the air from his mouth, the breath he exhales into yours. His forehead rests against yours, warm and damp, and his hands linger at your waist like heâs not convinced the world wonât tilt without his hold.
âBeloved,â you whisper, the word slipping out of you like a thought made sound, tentative and soft and full of too many questions.
Damianâs eyes drift from your gaze to your lips and back again, as though he canât decide which one feels safer to look at. âMhm?â he hums, voice so quiet it trembles.
ââŠdoes this mean my future father-in-law is Batman?â you ask, the question falling into the small space between you like a pebble into still water.
Damian releases an exhale that sounds like a soul leaving a body.
Then, without warning, he presses a hand against your sternum â not harsh, just firm â and pushes you gently back until your shoulders meet the headboard. He flops onto his side beside you with all the resignation of a dying Victorian heroine, one arm draped across his eyes as if shielding himself from the absolute catastrophe youâve just unleashed.
You swear the ceiling fan above the two of you groans in sympathy.
ââŠam IâŠallowed to ask you something?â Your voice breaks the quiet, soft enough that Damian almost forgets how tense his muscles still are, your fingers curling around his now-bandaged hand and lifting it to rest against the curve of your chest. The warmth of your skin seeps through the gauze and his gloves, a quiet tether that somehow anchors him to a world thatâs been spinning too fast and too violently.
ââŠI owe you that much.â His voice is low, rough with fatigue and residue of pain, eyes fixed on the fan above like heâs calculating its every movement while ignoring the heat of you against his hand.
âIâŠdonât want you to answer because you owe me,â you murmur, voice faltering slightly, âI want you to answer becauseââ
âI want to.â His words are barely above a whisper, but thereâs no hesitation, no deflection, no walls. He turns his head, letting the tiniest flicker of vulnerability show, though every fiber of his body screams that he shouldnât. âI want to tell you everything.â
ââŠwhat happened?â You ask softly, tilting your face toward him, letting concern and the ghost of fear you felt when you first found him color every line of your features. The gentleness in your voice is almost a physical presence, something tangible Damian can lean into as he exhales slowly through his teeth.
He starts telling you, carefully choosing each word so that the horror doesnât spill over into your world. Not the gory details of what he held, not the fragmented cries of someone too young to survive the fear toxinâs grasp, not the irrevocable weight of destruction that still clings to him like smoke. Instead, he tells the story in measured breaths, the pain and the failure coiling tightly beneath the surface, all of it framed in the cold logic of necessity, the mental calculus that saved him from breaking completely.
Through it all, he watches your face. He watches how your brows knit just slightly, how your lips press together to keep the words you donât speak from slipping out, and how the concern in your eyes softens into something gentler, almost tender, almost mournful. You lean in just a fraction, as if proximity alone could absorb the worst of it.
Every emotion Damian has ever bottled, every fragment of fear, guilt, and self-loathing he thought only existed in the shadows of his own chest, seems to unravel quietly in your presence, like alcohol soaking into dry wood. He can feel it being drunk up by the way your eyes soften, by the subtle tilt of your head, by the way your body radiates safety even in this cramped, fluorescent-lit motel room.
When he finishes, he doesnât say anything. He just watches as you shift in the sheets, a deliberate, gentle movement that carries no weight but still bridges the distance between you. Your head settles on his good shoulder, the faintest pressure, not leaning into him, just letting him know youâre there. He feels it like a promise.
âDonât blame yourself for this,â you whisper against his skin, your lips brushing over the slope of his collarbone, warm and soft and steady. The words float there like a shield.
Damian glances down, noticing how a smear of his own blood still clings to your lips, pressing faintly against his chest, a surreal tether to his body and to you at once. âNot my fault,â he says, voice barely audible but firm.
âIt never is.â you respond softly.
He closes his eyes, letting the tension in his shoulders and hips dissolve, letting his bloodied fingers curl against the sheets without thought, letting his toes relax.Â
The taut, defensive lines of his body soften, not because the pain has gone, but because he believes you, because your presence allows him to let go in a way no one else ever could.Â
Damian feels the steadiness of your heartbeat that he was searching for in that little girl, and everything feels like its going to be okay.
‷ series masterlist
authors note á°.á this will most likely be the final addition of this series if you can even call it that. It's just one shots with references to each-other and you can probably tell it was poorly planned so I just want to get it out of the way. Please forgive the plot holes because of the fact and I hope you guys might enjoy other things I write in the future more.
taglist (wont be used after this post): @the-earth-wonders, @neera500, @itzmeme, @brianna-merlim, @gothamshunter, @smiithys, @fanficboysarebae, @thetruecardinalsinner,@shifttoksucks, @sourstrawburry, @erika-simps, @soshirohoshinalover, @augurythirteen, @pantone-12-1310, @jaydennicole, @lucycarlisleswife, @dyanasaur, @fayewebluv, @champagnelovers101, @shun-nie
Pairing David!Clark Kent x Wife!Reader
Summary It started with one strawberry. One chocolate. One kiss. While Clark was called away for Superman duties, you indulged. Now, youâre in the bath aching, breathless, and burning waiting for his return. (Home + Chocolates/Strawberries)
Tags 18+, MDNIN Smut p in v (unprotected), Accidental Aphrodisiac, Bathtub Sex, Underwater Oral (f receiving, Clark my celestial munch), Praise Kink, Size kink, Dirty Talk, Reader acting stupid horny as hell
WC 4.5k
thank you @maiamore for the gif!
Galentine's # 5 by @/wildflowersandvibranium & @/pinksplace| Mrs. Kent Diaries
The bath started as a distraction.Â
Something mindless. Something warm. A way to pull yourself out of your body, out of your head, and away from the pulsing ache that had been growing between your navel since dinner. But now, the water was too high and not hot enough and still somehow everything felt too much.
Clarkâs name echoed in your head. Unprompted, but so loud and clear, and your whole body clenched.
What the hell did Kara give you?
Your back stuck faintly to the cool porcelain. Your skin prickled despite the cooler temperature, flushed and oversensitive. Your nipples were stiff, darker than usual, puckered tight. And your thighs, God, your thighs hadnât stopped pressing together, knees drawn up, trying to trap some kind of friction between them, even if it hurt. Even if it made it worse.
The candles didnât help. Neither did the low, elegant hum of the classical station drifting in from the living room. Everything felt like it was vibrating.
You reached blindly for another strawberry. Ripe. Cold. It burst between your teeth, and juice dribbled to your chin. You sucked it off with a small, breathless sound, heart hammering, eyes fluttering closed as heat pooled lower.
You hadnât touched yourself. Hadnât fantasized or flipped through old photos on your phone or even let your hand wander below the waterline. All youâd done was rest one palm over your stomach, slide it down slowly, tentatively, and whisper his name into the crook of your elbow, cheeks burning imagining his face, his hands, his abs. Sweet, steady, devastating handsome Clark. Your Clark.
And that was enough to light you up.
Okay, so you weren't just horny. Not just restless.
You were needy. Desperate. Aching and wet and floating on the edge of something that didnât make any sense.
A quiet whimper left your lips, breath catching in your throat. The sound echoed louder than it should have in the tile-lined space. Curling forward, you rested your cheek against the rim of the tub, arms folded, your index finger drawing absent circles over the condensation on the tile. Your other hand trailed down to a piece of chocolate resting on a folded napkin beside the tub. The square was soft now, warm from the heat of the bath. You pressed it to your lips
Again, what the hell did Kara give you?!
Let's review: Dinner had been⊠normal. Sweet. Ordinary, if not for the way it had ended. The two of you tucked into takeout containers on the couch, hips brushing, laughing at the story Clark told about Jimmy leaving a single red rose on the new internâs desk. It was 'anonymous', but obviously him.
Karaâs gift had been sitting in the fridge all week.
Sheâd stopped by the weekend before, dropped the box on your kitchen island with a shit-eating grin:
"Got these for you guys," she beamed. "Very rare. Total mood boosters. Or so Iâve heard!"
You hadnât thought anything of it. The packaging was heart-shaped, the box glossy and red with little floral foil detailing. Just festive enough to be cute, just foreign enough to be intriguing. You figured theyâd be perfect for dessert.
So youâd peeled the lid off, popped one of the rich chocolates into your mouth, followed it with one of the bright red strawberries.
And moaned. Loud. Instinctive.
"Dear God, this is almost better than sex," youâd declared, half-laughing, eyes fluttering closed, licking juice from your fingers with puckered lips. You tilted the box toward the light to read it.
It read: "Eltaea chocolates and Solari strawberries â Assortment!" A heart-shaped sticker was slapped on the center, and just below in Karaâs blocky handwriting: "Happy Valentineâs Day! Enjoy, bitches!"
Clark quirked a brow, arms crossed over his chest in mock protest, smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.
"Hereâ" you grinned, already crawling into his lap, "âyou need to try."
Youâd fed him the same pairâone chocolate, one berryâyour fingers still sticky, your grin too wide. Heâd caught your wrist when you pulled back, kissed your fingertips slowly, then kissed you, just as slow. The taste of him mixing with the sugar still hadnât left your tongue, even after he was called away.
A collapsed bridge. Gas leak. People trapped in traffic under debris. An emergency.Â
Heâd kissed your temple, forehead, and mouth again, tapping your ass as he motioned for you to shift off his lap. He whispered, "Iâll be right back, sweetheart. I promise."
That had been⊠what? Thirty minutes ago?
You blinked up at the ceiling, dazed.
Your thighs squeezed together again, and this time the pressure made your back arch. You felt slick even under the water, hypersensitive everywhere, your skin flushed and buzzing. You werenât imagining this. This wasnât nerves. Wasnât routine desire.
Clark wasnât even here. You rubbed your burning cheek against the cool tubâs edge and moaned loudly from frustration and ache, thighs twitching, nipples brushing against the cool porcelain.
You needed Clark.
.
The balcony door slid open with a dull, echoing thud ten minutes later.
"Sweetheart?"
A familiar voice carried down the hall. Fractured, pitched too high, like they had been running purely on adrenaline. "Where are you?"
Your throat was bone dry when you answered, voice coming out harsher than you meant it to, breathless and needy even to your own ears.
"In here," you called. "In the bath."
There was a pause. Then his quick footsteps thundered toward you.
He appeared in the doorway a heartbeat later and the sight of him stole the air from your lungs.
Soot streaked his jaw and collarbone. His suit was already peeled down to his waist, the top half hanging loose like heâd barely bothered with it, cape dragging behind him in a dark red spill. His curls were wild, pushed back from his forehead by frantic hands, damp with sweat. His chest rose and fell like heâd just flown through hell and back and hadnât bothered to slow down once heâd crossed the city line.
And the second he saw you bare, lips caught between your teeth, knees drawn, and an expectant, longing look etched on your face.
"Oh," he breathed, bracing one hand on the doorframe. His jaw dropped just a hair, but his pupils were blown so wide there was almost no blue left. "Oh, baby. There you are. Nothing feels as good as coming home to you."
His voice cracked on the last word.
Crossing the room in two steps, he dropped to his knees beside the tub. His large, warm hands slid into your hair, thumbs pressing gently at your sweat-damp temples, fingers massaging behind your ears the way he always did when he was grounding you.
You leaned into him without thinking, forehead tipping toward his touch, breath shuddering.
"Your heartbeat," he whispered, voice husky. "I heard it. Out there. I felt it the whole time. It kept getting faster and Iâ" He swallowed hard, gaze flicking helplessly over your face, your throat, your chest, the way your breasts strained with every shallow breath. "Gosh, youâre burning up."
"Yeah," you murmured. "I feel⊠weird. Hot. And empty. Like somethingâs missing and it hurts." Your fingers curled weakly around his wrist. "Clark, do you feel weird? Because I thinkâ"
You swallowed hard as another wave of pleasure rolled between your legs.
"B-because I think there was something in those treats Kara gave us."
Lifting a hand, you pointed clumsily at the open box perched on the side of the tub, unmistakably lighter than it had been earlier.Â
Clarkâs eyes followed the motion. His brow creased.
"How many did you eat?" he asked, frowning.
You blinked, trying to think past the fog. "IâI donât know. The strawberries wouldâve gone bad. And those chocolates are⊠Clark, theyâre the richest damn chocolates ever." A breathy, almost-hysterical laugh slipped out. "I think Iâm losing it. Oh, fuck."
He stared at you for a long moment, your pulse pounding loud and erratic in his ears, your sweet, warm, unmistakably you scent, just⊠amplified. Sharpened.
Then quietly: "I feel like Iâm losing my mind, too."
He cupped your cheek, palm broad and steady, thumb brushing just beneath your eye. He leaned in close, nuzzling the side of your face like he couldnât stand even the inch of space between you.
"You smell like sugar and skin andâ" His breath hitched. "Hon, you smell so, so sweet. I could just eat you up."
"Well why don't you eat me out first? See how really sweet I am. My pussy misses you."
Before he could answer, shocked by your brazen vocabulary, your mouth was on his.
The kiss was desperate. Messy. All tongue and teeth and need, like you were trying to breathe him in. His lips dragged away from yours, trailing down your jaw, your cheek, your mouth again and again, chasing the taste of you like it might feed his ache, too.
You whined into the kiss, wet hands scrambling for him, gripping the remains of his suit at his hips, and pawing his growing arousal. You could see him, feel him, hard already, thick and heavy and right in front of you, and proximity made your whole body clench tighter.
"T-take your suit off!" you begged, patience running thin.
Brows furrowed, Clark's worry flashed through the haze. "You sure? If youâre not feeling well, we shouldâ"
"No," you panted sharply, shaking your head, already rocking forward without realizing it. "No, Iâm sure. I need you. My pussy needs you. Please, Clark."
Your eyes dropped to his chest, so broad, solid, and familiar, and still somehow devastating every time you saw it. To his large, farm-and-battle hardened hands. To the size of his beautiful cock, even still hidden, even restrained.
"I need you to touch me. Need you to kiss it better." Your pleaded softly. Filthy. Unfiltered. "Fuck me all better, Clark."
For half a second, he stilled.
Not because he didnât want to. Because he wanted to too much.
His hands tightened at the lip of the tub, his gaze sharpened, listening, measuring, feeling the way your pulse fluttered too fast to his touch. The way your scent clung heavier in the steam. The way your body kept tipping toward him like he was a black hole.
"Youâre definitely more affected," he murmured, low and strained.
You nodded helplessly, breath catching.
"Yes, yes, I ate more," you admitted. "I couldnât stop thinking about you. About how good your tongue feels. How big you feel inside me, especially when you've made me cum and you still fuck me. About how empty I was without you. It kept getting worse."
His eyes flashed dark and devoted and tender all at once.
"Okay," he said quietly, decision settling into his bones. "Then Iâm not going anywhere. Iâm not leaving you alone in this."
His thumb brushed over your lower lip, tender. Possessive.
"But if I get in that tub," he warned, voice rough. "Iâm going to take care of you first. All the way. I need you to tell me if itâs too much, yeah?"
Your thighs trembled as you nodded, whispering, "It wonât be. It's all I want right now."
Clark exhaled, slow and shaking, started peeling off the rest of his suit.Â
You watched his hands first. Big, steady, trembling slightly as he dragged the rest of the suit down his hips, his thighs. The cape fell behind him in a heap of crimson, forgotten. Every motion exposed more of him. Each shift of muscle made your mouth water. His abs flexed and rolled as he knelt, skin streaked with soot and heat, chest still rising like heâd been crossing galaxies to get to you.
Then his cock. Hard already. Thick. Leaking. Dark at the tip and heavy with want.
You whimpered, couldnât help it, couldnât hide it. Licked your lips before you even realized. Your thighs rubbed together beneath the water, desperate for friction, slick with want, and suddenly so loney and empty.
His eyes locked on yours, ravenous.
"Gosh, hon," he rasped, dropping back to his knees, stroking his shaft in front of you. "You want this?"
Unable to look away, you nodded frantically. Your mouth parted on instinct, rolling a little onto your knees ready to beg.
"I want you everywhere. I want your mouthâwant to ride your tongue, babyâmake me cry on your cock, pleaseâ"
Cutting off another string of obscene words, he kissed you slow, open-mouthed, heat and tongue and something desperate all over again. Then he pulled back, hands smoothing down your arms, over your hips, into the water.
"Iâve got you," he murmured. "Iâve got you, sweetheart. I'm here. Just let meâŠ"
Clark climbed in. The water shifted around him, flowing up the sides of the tub, rushing over your hips as his weight displaced everything else. Too much man for the narrow porcelain space. Too much of your Clark.
His knees pressed to the porcelain. His chest hovered over yours. And still, he sank lower, fitting between your thighs.
His hands found the back of your knees and liften them up gently, water cascading down his forearms. He peered up at you beneath his lidded gaze, licking his lips.
"My poor girl," he whispered. "Youâve been like thisâso needyâfor how long? Remind me?"
You almost sobbed.
"A while," you whined, throwing a forarm across your eyes. "Since you left. Iâm sorry, ClarkâI couldnât stop IâI tried, butâ"
"Shh, honey." He soothed. "It's okay. I'm here now."
You let your head fall back against the tile. Exposed. Thighs wide, trembling. Your fingers wove into his curls without thinking, tugging him closer.
And Clark, sweet, steady, starving Clark, moved his grip from your knees to curve the shape of your ass, lifting you up, mouth hovering over your pubic bone just above the surface of the bathwater.
He sank.
The water shifted again, and then it was silent.
Soundless, thick pressure wrapped around you as his head disappeared beneath the surface. The air left your lungs in a rush. All you could hear was the frantic thud of your own heartbeat, the faint ripple of water against porcelain.
His tongue met your clit.
You gasped, loud, broken, shocked. The sound rang out against the tile, echoed once, twice, then faded into something small and sharp as your hips jolted clean out of the water.
Clark groaned, bubbles rising between your thighs, and held you down.
You clutched at his hair, fingers tangling tight, your body floating, weightless and trembling, as his mouth dragged through your folds again repeatedly.
There was no mercy. No pause.
Just your Clark anchoring you down with strong hands, his broad shoulders forcing your thighs open, his mouth sucking you clit like heâd been starved for this. He licked slow and deep, savoring, then flatter, broader, faster until his nose was nudging your clit and your mouth was falling open with a scream you couldnât stop.
The sound of your own voice ricocheted off the walls.
"Oohhh fuuuck, right there! ItâAh! Feelsâso good!"
He couldnât answer. Could only hum, moan enough to vibrate through your cunt, lick deeper, faster all beneath the water.
"Clarkâfuuuckâbaby, pleaseâ"
It obscene in how good it felt. Every muscle in your body jerked. The bath splashed over the edge, water trailing down your spine as you thrashed, hips bucking against his face.
You came so hard you nearly sobbed, heat tearing through your stomach and bursting between your legs as your thighs squeezed around his head.
Mouth sealed to your cunt like you were the only thing heâd ever needed to eat again, he kept going. His fingers squeezed your ass, held you while his tongue kept working you through your high.
The next orgasm hit before the first had fully ebbed.
You cried, shaking, floating in the water, your grip in his hair and the tub tight and frantic, head tipped back against the tile as your body seized and sang. It was too much and not enough. You wanted more. You needed him deeper. Harder. Inside.
Finally, he resurfaced.
His face glistened. His lips were swollen and wet. His curls were plastered to his forehead, and his breath was ragged as if resurfacing the Mariana Trench, and his pupils were blown so wide his eyes looked black.
"You taste like heaven," he rasped, water dripping from his nose, his chin, splashing onto your chest. "So soft, so darn sweet. Like the perfect, juicy strawberry."
You were still heaving. Still floating. Your thighs trembled as you barely nodded.
Surging up, he kissed you deep, open-mouthed, tongue dragging against yours until you moaned and rutted against him, clinging to his shoulders like you were about to fall through the tub and through all the apartments below.
"I have to be inside you, sweet girl," he groaned, forehead pressed to yours. "I need to be. Iâll lose my damn mind if Iâm notâplease, sweetheartâlet me have you. Make love to you."
"Y-yeah, make love," you whimpered, pawing at his chest, nodding frantically. "Please, Clark, justâI can't wait any moreâ"
He cut you off by kissing you hard again, restraint barely there, teeth grazing your lip, tongue pressing deep. Then he leaned back, breath shaking, shifting until his spine met the other end of the tub.
His cock stood hard and heavy between his thighs, the fat head dark and swollen beneath the rippling water, twitching like it already knew what was about to happen.
Your breath hitched.
God, he was big.
You always praised him, worshiped this delightful perk being his wife, but like this, bare and waiting, framed by white porcelain and aromatic candies and steam, it felt insane. Like your body had never felt this hungry wanting all of him before.
He lifted his arms, beckoned you, an invitation.
You crawled into his lap, knees sliding into the water on either side of his waist, skin brushing skin, heat everywhere. Your hands found his shoulders, solid and familiar, your mouth slack with want as you reached between your bodies, guiding him home.
When you sank down on him in one motion, the stretch punched the breath right out of you.
A broken sound tore from your throat as he filled you thick and unyielding and perfect. Your walls clenched around him like your body couldnât believe he was finally there, like it was terrified he might disappear if you didnât hold tight enough.
Clarkâs head hit the back of the tub with a sharp thud, his hands flying to your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks.
"O-oh, sweetheartâ"
Your moan echoed off the tile, loud and unashamed, your whole body trembling with relief as you sank fully down, hips flush to his thighs.
"Yeah," you panted, dazed. "Yeah, babyâfeelâfeel good?"
You were soaked, frantic, tight around him, clenching like your body couldnât bear to be empty another second.
You felt impossibly full. Stretched. Aching in the best way. The drag of him inside you made your spine arch, your nails scrape helplessly across his chest. He filled every inch, pressed deep enough to make your vision blur, like he was holding you open from the inside.
He was saying something. Trying to murmur soft reassurances, gentle pet names, something about taking it slow? But the aphrodisiac heat was roaring now, flooding your veins, making you reckless.
"No, fuck slow," you gasped, riding him hard. "I need you. Fuck, I loveâabsolutely fucking love your cockâ"
Clark groaned, deep. "Honeyâbabyâslow downâ"
"I canât!" You moaned again, loud, breathless. "I feel like Iâm gonna die if youâre not fucking meâharderâ"
You slammed down again, the water rippling up your spine as you bounced on him, the edge of the tub creaking beneath you.
You sobbed.Â
He touched them again, cupping you, and you rode him harder, whimpering, "Thatâs it, baby. Thatâs so good, godâtouch me there againâyesâyesâ"
His hands trembled as he obeyed, rolling your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, watching your face break open in pleasure as your pussy clenched down around him.
"Youâre incredible," you babbled, barely coherent now. "So deepâso fullâI love how you feel inside meâfuck, Clarkâyou were made to fuck meâohh, I wanna make love to youâ"
His mouth fell open, breath coming in ragged pulls as he let you take him faster, wetter, louder. His hips bucked helplessly beneath you, cock throbbing inside your tight heat, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as his whole body shook.
Your head lolled to your side, lids heavy and unfocused when you saw it. The box of strawberries and chocolates still perched on the edge of the tub. Something sharp and greedy sparked behind your eyes.
You reached for it with shaking hands, water sloshing dangerously as you leaned forward, the movement grinding you down on his cock in a slow, filthy roll.
Clark tried to say your name, tried to ask what you were doing, but you were already plucking another piece of chocolate and popping it into your mouth.
You moaned, loudly.
"Oh fuck," you breathed, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You leaned down and kissed him, chocolate dissolving between your mouths, your tongue sliding against his as you ground down again in one slow filthy circle.
"It tastes even better like this," you whispered. "Like sex and candy."
Clark whimperedâactually whimpered.
You picked up a strawberry next and fed it to him, your voice gone syrupy and twice as needy.
"Eat fâme, baby. Youâve been so good. Such a damn good husband, letting me use you like thisâfilling me up with your cockâworking so hardâtaking good fucking care of meâ"
He bit into it helplessly, juice ran down his chin, glistening pink against the stubble of his jaw. Your tongue lapped it up, following to suck on his bottom lip.
"FuuuuckâClaaaarkâ"
You barely remembered grabbing a piece of soft chocolate. You only knew it was melting between your fingers, sticky and hot from your skin. You were high on the way he filled you, on the way his cock curved inside you like it had been molded for your body, and without thinking, rubbed the piece across your breasts.
Chocolate smeared across your skin, across the curves and peaks of your pebbled nipples.
"God," he groaned, dragging his mouth across one chocolate-streaked breast, licking a path through the mess with obscene hunger. "You tasteâhon, you taste incredible."
He closed his mouth over your nipple and sucked hard.
Your entire body snapped, spine arching, hands gripping his shoulders as your hips kept rolling, frantic and needy and utterly soaked.
"Yesâooohh yesâ Right there, right there!"
He groaned around your tit, licking and sucking until your nipple was red and aching, until the chocolate was gone and all that remained was spit and love bites.
Greed overpowered him, and he moved to the other breast with the same passion.
"Canâtâcanât stop," he panted, dragging his tongue across your skin, open-mouthed kisses pressed between your breasts. "Youâre driving me insaneâ"
His hips bucked violently, cock slamming deep throughout, and you sobbed, dizzy with sensation and still craving more.
"Iâm gonna âcome again," you panted. "Gonna come on your big, beautiful, cock, baby, and youâre gonna give it to me, right? Gonna fill me up like I need, Clarkâfill meâright, baby?"
"Yeah, I'll fâfill you up," he choked. "Sweetheartâif you keep saying things like that I won't lastâ you'll leak for daysâ"
"I want it," you begged, trembling all over. "Want you to fuck me full and keep it thereâgod, I want it so bad, want everyone to knowâfuck a baby into me, ClarkâI love you, Iloveyou, love you!"
Your nails raked down his chest, your rhythm faltering as you started to come again. Your whole body locked up, heat exploding through your stomach, your mouth falling open to chant his name that echoed through the whole damn apartment.
Clark was almost gone.
He surged up into you, loud, broken grunts spilling from his mouth as he chased his own release, and oneâtwoâthreeâhe pulsed deep inside, cum thick and hot, flooding you full and still not enough.
Your hips kept grinding through the aftershocks, both of you too far gone to stop, both of you moaning, panting, clinging.
He stayed buried inside, arms locked around your waist, mouth pressed to your shoulder, chanting sweet nothings and I love you's.
.
The bathwater had gone lukewarm without either of you noticing.
Chocolate smeared softly along the rim of the tub, half-melted and forgotten. One of the candles guttered low, wax spilling down its side, the flame trembling like it was tired of watching. The air was thick with steam and sweat and the lingering sweetness of strawberries crushed between fingers and mouths.
Clarkâs arms cradled you close, one hand firm at your lower back, the other cupping your hip, keeping you settled. You were pruning, and you didnât care. You didnât want to move. You wanted to stay right here, boneless and full and buzzing, his body still anchoring you to the world.
You were still full of him.
Still warm and stretched and sensitive.
Still trembling in those aftershocks that never quite faded all the way out.
Your fingers traced lazy, distracted patterns over his chest, following the rise and fall of his breath, the faint scrape of stubble at his jaw when he dipped to press a kiss into your hair. The burn lingered in your blood like an ember that refused to cool.
Not satisfied. Just⊠softened enough to breathe and think again.
He shifted slightly, careful, one thigh braced, making sure you didnât slip. He pressed a kiss to your temple, then your hairline. "You okay?"
You nodded, dazed and blissed out, cheek tucked into the crook of his neck. Your body gave a small, involuntary squeeze around him, and you felt him suck in a breath.
"Never better," you murmured. And it was mostly true. Because some part of you that still wanted more. Still throbbed and buzzed and reached.
Clark glanced toward the counter. The box sat there, damp at the edges, its lid askew. He reached for it absently, brows knitting as he tugged at the heart-shaped sticker plastered across the center.
It peeled away with a soft rip.
He squinted. Read. Once. Twice. One more time.
Then out loud, incredulous, voice climbing with each word:
"Eltaea chocolates and Solari strawberriesâŠ" He paused. Blinked. "Aphrodisiac Assortment?!"
Your head snapped up.
"Ohâoh no." You groaned and buried your face against his collarbone, mortification flooding hot through your chest. "Thereâsâthereâs moreâ" You lifted your head just long enough to recite it with him. "âHappy Valentineâs Day! Enjoy, bitches!â"
There was a beat of silence.
Then laughter. Wild, breathless, uncontained.
Clark laughed first, a disbelieving bark that shook his chest. You followed, shaking and helpless, pressing your face into his neck again as the absurdity of it all hit at once.
Kara. Of course, it was Kara. Your interstellar menace.
"Kara, what the fuck?" you wheezed, dragging your hands down your face, cheeks burning for a whole new reason. "We shouldâuhâprobably not finish the rest, right?" You squinted up at him. "Take another bath. A proper one."
Still staring at your mouth, still swollen, still glossy; at your breasts, heavy, flushed, nipples dark and sensitive; at your thighs, splayed and distorted beneath the water, still trembling, still open around him, Clark's eyes narrowed, head tilted.
Then his gaze lifted back to your eyes.
"Nope," he said simply, a little pop on the 'p'. "Weâre definitely finishing the rest."
You laughed, half-dazed, half-thrilled, and then yelped as he scooped you up without warning, water streaming off both of you. He held you with one arm under your ass, the other firm between your shoulder blades, his body still deep inside you, careful not to pull away.
"Clarkâ" you giggled, clinging to his shoulders, legs tightening around his waist.
"Iâve got you," he murmured, already kissing you, already moving. "And Iâm taking you to bed."
He stepped out of the tub, slow and deliberate, keeping you tipped just enough so nothing spilled where it shouldnât. You squirmed against him, still too sensitive, still buzzing, still aching in that delicious, half-satisfied way.
As he walked out, you reached back with arms outstretched towards the damp box of sweets still at the lid of the tub with a pout.
"Oh Gosh," He chuckled, shaking his head. He turned back and crouched until your fingers snatched the box with a triumphant little "Ah-ha!".
"Youâre ridiculous."
You grinned at him, delirious and shameless, securely tucking the treats flushed to your chest. "Youâre the ridiculous one for letting these go to waste!"
He carried you toward the bedroom, still inside you, still holding you close.
"Hon, you're absolutely right. Weâre not wasting a thing," he said, chuckling.
You tugged him into a deep kiss and sighed, already burning again.
.
Thank you for reading! Any reblogs, comments, likes are forever appreciated, and keeps me motivated!
Pairing: Dick Grayson/F!Reader, Wally West/F!Reader
Word Count: 14.2k
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: explicit sexual content, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, oral sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, birth control/STI discussion
Summary:
After another disappointing date, you ask your best friends, Dick Grayson and Wally West, how youâre supposed to know when a man really wants you.Â
You already know their biggest secret, but their silence reveals one more: theyâve both been in love with you long enough to know exactly what wanting you looks like.
Authorâs Note:
inspired by this prompt: you ask your best friends how youâll know if a man really wants you, and they both go silent for so long that you realize you may have asked the wrong men (exactly the right ones)
đŠđïžâĄ
By the time the date became unsalvageable, you had already stopped thinking about going home.
Your apartment was technically closer. Three blocks closer, if you cut through the side street behind the florist and ignored the fact that the streetlight on the corner had been flickering for two weeks. It had your bed, your laundry, your half-empty carton of oat milk, and the pile of mail you had been pretending not to see since Monday. It was yours in every legal and financial sense that mattered.
Still, when Evan excused himself to answer another text beneath the table, you found yourself picturing Dick and Wallyâs apartment instead.
You pictured the spare key on your ring, worn smooth from use. You pictured the ridiculous bowl by the door where Wally dumped change, receipts, and wrapped candies he claimed were âemergency glucose,â even though he ate them during commercials. You pictured their kitchen, which had gradually become your kitchen too by sheer force of habit, with your chipped mug on the second shelf because nobody else was allowed to use it after Wally had microwaved soup in it and endured six full minutes of your wounded betrayal.
You pictured the toothbrush in their bathroom, the shampoo you had bought once and never had to replace yourself because Dick noticed when the bottle ran low. You pictured the drawer in Dickâs dresser that had started as a place for an emergency shirt after a rainstorm and somehow become home to leggings, socks, sleep shorts, bras, and enough underwear that Wally had once texted you from the laundry room in a panic to ask if the black lace thing could go in the dryer.
He had followed the message with seven question marks, three sweating emojis, and a separate apology that only said: IâM BEING RESPECTFUL BUT ALSO I AM CONFUSED BY FABRIC.
You had laughed so hard you had almost dropped your phone in the sink.
You lived nearby. You slept over often enough that the doorman barely blinked when you came in. You had your own apartment, your own bills, your own life, but the gravity of Dick and Wallyâs place had become familiar. Safe. There were two bedrooms, technically. Wallyâs room existed, even if it held more laundry baskets and half-disassembled equipment than any reasonable adult man should own. Dickâs room had the biggest bed, which had become everyoneâs argument for ending up there whenever a movie ran late or one of you had a bad day and did not want to sleep alone.
Nothing had ever happened in that bed.
That was not for lack of wanting.
You were not stupid. You knew what attraction felt like when it sat under your ribs and refused to behave. You knew what it meant when Dick came out of the shower with a towel low on his hips and your brain forgot the English language for three to five business days. You knew what it meant when Wally sprawled across the couch in sweatpants and an old Keystone State shirt, hair still damp, one ankle hooked over yours like casual contact was a form of breathing.
You also knew what it meant to be careful.
They were your best friends. They were Nightwing and the Flash. They trusted you with their identities, their schedules, their emergency contacts, and the strange civilian pieces of a life built around impossible work. You knew why Dick disappeared during galas, what comm chatter sounded like through a half-open bedroom door, and which cabinet held the protein bars Wally claimed tasted fine because his standards were a public health crisis.
You were not part of the fight, but you were part of the aftermath. You knew how to leave lights on without making it look like waiting. You knew how to ask if a night had gone badly without using the word dangerous. You knew how to sit beside them afterward and let the room be quiet until one of them came back to himself enough to make a joke.
It made lines strange.
Evan laughed at something on his phone, then remembered you existed and put it face down with a look that was probably meant to seem apologetic. âSorry. Work.â
âYou said that,â you said.
âYeah. Big project. Everyone wants a piece of me right now.â He smiled as if inviting you to be impressed. âYou know how it is.â
You did, unfortunately. You knew exactly how it was to sit across from someone who liked the idea of being observed but had very little interest in looking back. Evan had been charming for the first twenty minutes. He had asked about your job, your favorite restaurants, the neighborhood. Then he had asked about your friends.
Not all your friends.
Just the two men whose names came up too easily because you were too used to mentioning them.
Dick had picked you up from work after your car battery died. Wally had helped you build the shelves in your living room, which mostly meant taking over halfway through and then making you pretend to be impressed when one of them leaned left. Dick knew a place with the best soup dumplings. Wally had an opinion about every ice cream shop within a five-mile radius. Dick said this. Wally did that. Dick and Wally, Wally and Dick, their names folded into your life with the intimacy of muscle memory.
Evan had noticed.
At first, he had teased. Then he had probed. Then he had made a joke about you keeping âtwo guys on retainer,â and your smile had gone stiff enough that a better man would have noticed.
Evan was not a better man.
âSo these friends of yours,â he said, reaching for his drink. âThey always this involved?â
âTheyâre my best friends.â
âSure.â His mouth curved. âJust sounds intense.â
You looked at him for a long moment. There were a hundred things you could have said, and most of them would have been true enough to hurt. You could have said that intensity was not always a red flag. Sometimes it was two men who carried cities on their backs and still remembered to text you when the sidewalks froze. Sometimes it was remembering to leave your balcony unlocked, because Dick and Wally had both taught you that emergencies rarely cared about front doors. Sometimes it was a hand on the small of your back in a crowd, not to claim you, but to make sure you could leave if you needed to.
Instead, you said, âI donât think this is working.â
Evan blinked. âWhat?â
âThis.â You reached for your bag and stood before politeness could talk you into another twenty minutes of disappointment. âIt was nice meeting you.â
His chair scraped as he stood too. âWait, seriously? Because I asked about your friends?â
Because you asked like they were a problem, you thought. Because you said my name three times and made it sound less personal each time. Because I have spent years being known by men who notice everything and still pretend not to see the way they look at me, and somehow this is the loneliest Iâve felt all week.
âTake care, Evan.â
âYouâre really just leaving?â
âYes.â
Outside, the night had gone damp and silver with the threat of rain. Gotham did not do gentle weather. Even drizzle felt like it had a grudge. You stood beneath the restaurant awning long enough to order a car, then canceled it when the app told you the driver was twelve minutes away and the walk to Dick and Wallyâs was eight.
Your phone buzzed before you reached the end of the block.
Dick: Date going okay?
You looked at the message and snorted despite yourself.
Wally, immediately after: DONâT ANSWER THAT IF YOUâRE MAKING OUT.
A pause, and then instantly another message: Actually answer with a thumbs-up so I know youâre alive but emotionally unavailable.
Dick: Please donât listen to him.
Wally: Please listen to me specifically.
You typed with one hand as you walked.
You: Date ended. Heading to yours unless youâre both busy saving the world.
Dick answered almost immediately.
Dick: Weâre home. Doorâs unlocked.
Wally: Which means you are legally obligated to come in, eat something, and not touch the dumplings marked WALLY.
Dick: Theyâre not marked.
Wally: Emotionally they are.
You smiled down at your phone, and the ache of the evening shifted into something more familiar, which was not the same as easy. That was another problem. They could make you feel less alone from across the city with three stupid texts and a threat about dumplings.
The doorman let you in with a nod. Upstairs, the apartment glowed in the low, warm way it always did when they knew you were coming. The lamp near the couch was on, the kitchen light was dimmed, and the television had been muted on some nature documentary Wally watched with the intense investment of someone who had opinions about whether cheetahs were ârespectably fastâ or âcoasting on branding.â
To anyone else, the apartment probably looked chaotic; to you, it was a map of old landings, bad nights, shared blankets, and quiet recoveries.
The faint scuff near the balcony door was from months ago, when Dick had landed badly enough to pretend the floor had offended him. The patched spot on the wall near the hall was from Wally accidentally vibrating through it after sneezing at superspeed. The blanket over the back of the couch was yours, bought during a cold snap because their apartment ran chilly and both of them had tried to offer you their hoodies at the same time.
Wally was upside down on the couch when you came in, one leg hooked over the back cushions, a takeout container balanced on his stomach with criminal confidence. Dick sat at the far end with his laptop open and one ankle crossed over his knee, looking less like Nightwing than he ever did in public and more like the man who sent you grocery reminders because he knew you forgot to eat when work got bad.
They both looked up.
Wallyâs eyes moved over your face and softened at once. âOh, I hate him.â
You paused with your hand still on the door. âYou donât know what happened.â
âI know your face.â
âYouâre upside down.â
âThat gives me a fresh perspective.â
Dick closed his laptop but did not ask anything immediately. That was his tell. He watched you lock the door behind yourself, watched you toe off your shoes into the little space beside theirs, watched your hand linger near your coat as if you had forgotten what came next. He knew when to step forward and when to let silence do the gentler work.
âTea?â he asked.
Your throat tightened. âPlease.â
âDrawer clothes first?â Wally offered, still upside down. âOr dumpling first? Choose wisely. One path has elastic waistbands. The other has delicious filling.â
You looked at the takeout container on his stomach. âThose are the emotionally marked dumplings?â
âEmotionally, yes. Legally, they belong to the household.â
âYou are the one who threatened me over them five minutes ago.â
âI was a different man five minutes ago.â
Dick stood, taking your coat before you could decide where to put it. âGo change. Iâll make the tea.â
âYou donât have to.â
âI know.â
That was the thing about them. They were always making room for you without turning it into a debt.
You went to the bathroom first, because the evening still clung to your skin in the form of expensive restaurant air and Evanâs cologne from when he had leaned too close to show you a photo you had not asked to see. Their bathroom looked less like a bachelor apartment than it had any right to. That was partly because Dick liked order and partly because you had slowly bullied both of them into owning more than one towel. Your toothbrush sat in the cup between theirs. Your cleanser was on the sink. Your hair ties lived in a small ceramic dish Wally had once knocked over, caught, and then bowed to like he had rescued a civilian from certain death.
You washed your face, breathed until your chest stopped feeling tight, and went to Dickâs room because that was where your drawer was.
It should have felt strange. Sometimes it did, but only in moments like this, when you were already raw and tired and too aware of the fact that your underwear sat folded beside one of Dickâs old Gotham Academy shirts.
You peeled yourself out of your date clothes, piece by piece, bra included, and dropped everything into the hamper, as if shedding the evening might make it stop clinging to your skin. Then you dug through the drawer until you found one of Dickâs shirts, soft from too many washes and big enough on you that you didnât bother with shorts.
It smelled like him in a way that made your chest ache a little: clean citrus, worn leather, cedar cologne, warm skin, and city air after rain. The hem fell halfway down your thighs, familiar enough to loosen something behind your ribs.
Ownership had become a loose concept among the three of you anyway. Half the clothes in this apartment had passed between hands so many times that claiming anything outright felt pointless.
You told yourself not to think about that.
It worked for almost forty seconds.
When you came back out, Dick had made your tea exactly how you liked it and set your mug on the coffee table. Your mug, because of course he knew which one was yours without asking. It sat warm beside the dumplings, filled exactly the way you liked it, and something about that hurt more than the date had.
Wally had righted himself by then, though his hair looked ridiculous from hanging upside down. He patted the cushion between himself and Dick. âDesignated recovery spot is open.â
âYouâre making it sound dramatic.â
âIâm emotionally preparing to commit crimes against Evanâs router. Let me have my process.â
You picked up your tea instead of sitting. âYou donât even know his last name.â
Wally gasped with theatrical betrayal, then nudged the container closer because he was incapable of committing to the bit if you were actually hungry. Dick shifted on the couch so there was space beside him too, casual enough that it did not look like an invitation you had to accept.
You ate the dumpling standing up because sitting down felt too much like admitting the date had gotten to you. Wally watched you chew with the concerned intensity of someone waiting for a bomb squad report. Dick said nothing at all, which was worse, because Dick knew when silence would get more out of you than pressure.
Eventually, you sighed. âIt was just disappointing.â
Wallyâs face softened. âThatâs worse than hateable.â
âIs it?â
âYeah. Hateable gives me something to do. Disappointing just makes me want to feed you and maybe commit a small act of Wi-Fi sabotage.â
âThat is not a proportionate response.â
âI said small.â
Dick leaned back against the couch, one arm stretched along the back cushions. He was in an old T-shirt and sweatpants, hair still damp from a shower, bare feet tucked beneath the coffee table, already folded into the quiet rhythm of the apartment. He looked warm and human and untouchably handsome in a way that made you want to be irritated with him on principle.
âWhat happened?â he asked.
âNothing dramatic.â
âThatâs not an answer.â
You looked at him over the rim of your mug. âHe was fine. He asked questions. He laughed at appropriate moments. He checked his phone every time I spoke for more than thirty seconds.â
Wally grimaced. âImmediate jail.â
âHe was nice enough.â
âJail.â
You huffed, but the laugh did not last. âThen he started asking about you two.â
Dickâs expression changed first, not dramatically, but enough for you to notice. Wally sat up straighter, the dumpling container tilting until you steadied it with your knee.
âWhat kind of asking?â Dick said.
âThe kind where curiosity turns into suspicion because I mentioned you too much.â
Wally blinked. âYou mentioned us?â
âYou built my bookshelf, Wally. It came up.â
âI built it beautifully.â
âOne shelf leans.â
âThat shelf has character.â
Dickâs gaze stayed on you. âWhat did he say?â
You shrugged, but it felt thin even to you. âHe said it sounded intense.â
Wallyâs humor faded.
Dick did not move, but the room seemed to shift around his stillness. âAnd?â
âAnd I realized I didnât want to explain you guys to someone who had already decided you were a problem.â
For a moment, neither of them answered.
The silence was not awkward. It was just full. Full of every late-night call they had answered, every time one of them had walked you home, every takeout order split three ways, every old fear you had swallowed when they were out and the news was bad. Full of your toothbrush in their bathroom and your clothes in Dickâs dresser and the fact that Wally knew your favorite cereal changed its recipe six months ago because you had complained about it once and he had treated it like a civic emergency.
You moved to the couch because standing suddenly felt ridiculous.
Wally shifted at once, making space for you between them. Dick did the same from the other side, both of them adjusting without speaking until your usual place was waiting. You sat down with your tea balanced between your hands and tried not to think about how familiar it felt to have Wallyâs knee against yours and Dickâs arm stretched along the cushion behind you.
âDid he make you feel unsafe?â Dick asked.
âNo.â
âGood,â Wally said, too quickly.
You glanced at him.
He held up both hands. âEmotionally disappointing men are still on thin ice, but Iâm glad he didnât make it worse.â
âHe didnât make me feel unsafe,â you said. âHe just made me feelâŠobserved badly.â
Dickâs brows drew together.
âYou and Dick observe people professionally,â Wally said, because of course he knew exactly where your mind had gone. âThatâs different.â
âIt should be creepy that you know that.â
âI contain multitudes.â
Dickâs thumb moved once against the back of the couch, close enough that you felt the motion near your shoulder. âWhat do you mean by observed badly?â
âI mean he looked at me like he was trying to figure out what role I could play. Good listener. Pretty enough. Convenient. Available.â You stared into your tea. âAnd I kept thinking that maybe thatâs what dating is now. Figuring out which version of yourself someone wants and deciding if you can tolerate being her for a dinner.â
Wally made a quiet sound under his breath, almost angry.
Dick said your name softly.
You hated that. Not because he had done anything wrong, but because he said it like he knew you. Like there was nothing you had to perform for him to care.
You wrapped both hands around the mug before they could give you away. âCan I ask you something?â
Wallyâs knee pressed more firmly against yours. âAlways.â
Dickâs attention sharpened. âOf course.â
You should have asked something else. You should have asked whether they wanted to watch a movie, whether Wally had eaten anything other than dumplings, or whether Dickâs laptop meant casework or Wayne Foundation work. There were safer questions in the world. You knew plenty of them.
Instead, you held your mug a little tighter and asked, âHow do you know if a man really wants you?â
The apartment went quiet.
It was not the ordinary quiet of late night, when the city hummed beyond the windows and the refrigerator clicked on in the kitchen. It was not even the dangerous quiet you knew from them when a case followed them home and sat heavy in the room.Â
This was different. This was the kind of silence that came from two men who had both reached for an answer and found it lodged somewhere too close to the heart.
Wally stopped moving first. That was how you knew you had done something terrible. Wally was motion even when he was still, all restless fingers and bouncing knees and little shifts of energy that made the air around him feel alive. Now he sat frozen, his eyes fixed on you like you had said his name in a language he had not expected you to know.
Dickâs stillness was less obvious but more frightening. His hand paused on the back of the couch, fingers curled loosely into the cushion. His face did not change much. Dick had been trained by too many people, hurt by too many people, loved by too many people he had lost. His control was a beautiful, terrible thing. But you were close enough to notice the small things: the slight dip of his chin, the inhale he did not finish, the way his gaze flicked to Wally before returning to you.
You looked between them.
Then, because your mouth had apparently decided to ruin your life, you said, âWow. I may have asked the wrong men.â
Wally laughed once, breathless and strange. âYeah.â
Dickâs voice was quieter. âMaybe not.â
The words landed softly. That made them worse.
You stared at him.
Dick looked away first, which he almost never did. He looked toward the window, toward the city beyond it, toward the version of himself that could leap off rooftops and still not know how to answer one honest question in his own living room.
âWhat do you mean by wants you?â he asked.
It was such a Dick question. Careful. Precise. A way to create structure when the floor had begun to tilt. You could have let him have it. You could have narrowed the conversation into something clinical and survivable.
You did not.
âI mean me,â you said. âNot just sex. Not just attention. Not someone who likes that Iâm available or convenient, or that I listen well. How do you know when he actually wants you?â
Wally dragged a hand down his face. âThat is a dangerously sincere question for a room where I was just upside down with dumplings.â
âSorry.â
âDonât be.â He looked at you then, really looked, and the humor in him had gone soft around the edges. âHe remembers things.â
You blinked. âWhat?â
âA man who really wants you remembers things he doesnât get credit for remembering.â Wallyâs fingers flexed against his thigh. âThe little stuff. The song you skipped three seconds in because it made your face do that thing. The restaurant you said was overrated even though everyone else likes it. The way your voice changes when youâre about to say youâre fine and you absolutely arenât.â
Your throat tightened.
Wally shrugged like he could make the answer casual if he moved enough. He could not. âHe pays attention when thereâs nothing in it for him. Thatâs a big one, I think.â
You looked at Dick because you had to look away from Wally.
Dickâs expression had changed. Something careful had cracked in it, enough for you to see the want beneath. Not lust, though that was there too, impossible to miss now that you were looking directly at it. This was older. Quieter. It had roots.
âHe becomes more careful,â Dick said.
Your chest hurt.
âCareful how?â
âWith you.â Dickâs gaze held yours. âWith what he asks for. With what he takes for granted. Wanting someone is easy. Most people can do that part. But if he really wants you, he cares what his wanting costs you.â
Wally was watching him now too.
Dickâs mouth tightened, like he had already said more than he meant to and still could not stop. âHe doesnât make you responsible for managing his desire. He doesnât punish you for not returning it the way he hoped. He doesnât turn your kindness into permission.â
The room felt too small around you.
You thought of all the times Dick had walked you home without making you feel like you were being escorted. The way he always matched your pace, whether you were in heels after an event or slippers on a late-night corner store run. The way his hand hovered near your back in crowded places but never settled unless you leaned into it first. The way he noticed when men looked at you too long and somehow placed himself between you and them without making a scene.
You thought of Wally texting you pictures of six different cereal boxes from the grocery store because you had mentioned once, weeks earlier, that your childhood favorite had changed its recipe and tasted wrong now. You thought of him showing up with soup before you admitted you were sick. You thought of him lying on your living room floor, assembling your bookshelf at human speed because you had accused him of cheating, laughing every time you handed him the wrong screw.
He remembers things.
He becomes more careful.
You had asked for a hypothetical answer.
They had handed you a mirror.
Your laugh came out too soft. âYou both got very serious.â
Wally swallowed. âYeah. Occupational hazard.â
âIs it?â
âNo,â Dick said.
Wally shot him a look, half warning and half relief. Dick ignored him, because of course he did. Courage was easier for him when it looked like stepping off a ledge.
âNo?â you asked.
Dick leaned forward, forearms braced loosely on his knees. âItâs not an occupational hazard. Itâs you.â
The silence after that was different.
Wally closed his eyes briefly. âWell. Okay. Weâre doing this.â
Dick did not look away from you. âOnly if she wants to.â
Your heart was beating too hard. You wondered if Wally could hear it. Of course he could hear it. He could probably hear your pulse trying to kick its way out of your throat.
âYouâre doing what?â you asked, though you knew.
Wally opened his eyes. There was fear in them, which seemed impossible and then immediately made too much sense. Wally West could run faster than light. He could cross cities between heartbeats. He could laugh in the face of gods and monsters and still sit in front of you terrified because this mattered.
âAnswering honestly,â he said.
Dickâs gaze flicked over your face with agonizing care. âWe didnât want to put this on you.â
âThis?â
âYou know what he means,â Wally said, softer than his usual voice. âUs. How we feel. How long weâve felt it.â
âHow long?â
Dick exhaled. âLong enough that I donât know how to answer that without incriminating myself.â
Despite everything, a laugh escaped you.
Wally looked almost offended. âOh, heâs being conservative. I can incriminate us both in detail.â
âWally.â
âWhat? She asked.â
âI asked how long,â you said.
Wally looked at you, and for once, he did not rush. âFor me, it crept up. One day you were asleep on the couch wearing Dickâs sweatshirt and my socks, and you woke up just enough to tell me I had to stop eating chips directly over your head or you were going to haunt me after death. And I thought, oh. This is probably permanent.â
Your heart did something foolish.
Dick looked down, his thumb moving over his knuckles. âFor me, it was after the bridge incident.â
You frowned. âThat was two years ago.â
âI know.â
Wallyâs expression softened, but he let Dick speak.
Dickâs voice remained steady, though not untouched. âYou were furious with us.â
âYou both disappeared for eighteen hours.â
âWe had comms trouble.â
âThere was a collapsed building.â
âAlso that.â His mouth curved faintly, then faded. âWhen we got back, you yelled for fifteen minutes. You had three different news feeds open, a first aid kit on the table, and you were shaking so hard you had to put the kettle down because you almost dropped it.â
âI remember.â
âYou told me I didnât get to treat my life like collateral damage just because I was good at surviving.â Dick looked up. âMost people are relieved when we come back. You were relieved too, but you were angry before you were grateful. You loved us enough to be angry.â
You could not breathe properly.
âDick.â
âI know.â He gave you a small, helpless smile. âBad timing.â
âHistorically, our brand,â Wally said, but his voice was too gentle to turn it into a joke.
You looked between them. The question you had not asked sat in the room with the rest of you, breathing steadily. It should have been the difficult part, maybe. Two men. Two best friends. Two confessions. But there was something in the way they sat, angled not only toward you but toward each other, that made the answer less impossible than it should have been.
âBoth of you?â you asked.
Dick nodded.
âWe know,â Wally said.
âAnd youâreâŠokay with that?â
Wallyâs eyebrows rose. âWith Dick having taste? Occasionally.â
Dick huffed despite himself.
You stared at them until Wallyâs smile softened.
âWe talked about it,â he said. âBadly at first. Then better.â
âWhen?â
âAfter the bridge,â Dick said.
âBefore that,â Wally corrected.
Dick glanced at him.
Wally lifted a shoulder. âYou talked after the bridge. I started talking before that. You just did your emotionally constipated Bat thing and pretended my point had been theoretical.â
âThere was nothing theoretical about you eating an entire pizza on my fire escape while telling me I was in love with our best friend.â
âOur best friend was inside making tea and wearing your hoodie.â
âYou werenât subtle.â
âNeither were you. You kept looking at her like she was an answer.â
Something in your chest split cleanly open.
Dickâs expression shifted, embarrassment and affection crossing it too quickly to hide. You realized, suddenly, that they had loved you in the same rooms where you had loved them, all of you careful in different directions, all of you pretending the shape of your life was normal because naming it would change everything.
âWhat about you two?â you asked.
Their silence lasted half a second too long.
Then Wally said, âAlso complicated.â
Dick gave him a look. âIt doesnât have to be.â
âYou say that now, but wait until I explain it using a metaphor about nachos.â
âDo not.â
You looked from one to the other. The pieces rearranged themselves with quiet, devastating clarity. The closeness that had always seemed natural because it was Dick and Wally. The way Wallyâs hand lingered at Dickâs neck when he thought you were not looking. The way Dick knew Wallyâs moods before Wally had done anything louder than breathe. The fact that Wally could steal food off Dickâs plate without losing fingers. The mornings you had walked into their kitchen and found them standing too close, both turning toward you with the same guilty-casual energy that had made you roll your eyes and reach for cereal.
âOh,â you said.
Wally winced. âGood oh or bad oh?â
âI donât know yet.â
âFair.â
Dick leaned back carefully, giving you space without leaving. That was the worst part. The best part. The impossible part. Even now, with confession lying open between you, his first instinct was to make sure you did not feel trapped in a room where you had always felt safe.
âYou donât have to know tonight,â he said. âYou came here after a bad date, and we are all sitting on a couch pretending this hasnât been years in the making. This is not exactly a neutral environment for a life-changing conversation.â
Wally nodded solemnly. âAlso, Iâm still upside-down spiritually from the dumpling betrayal.â
âYou offered me one.â
âI contain contradictions.â
You laughed again, and this time it broke something loose. Not the tension, exactly. That remained, but it warmed, softened at the edges by how deeply, absurdly yours they were.
âYou were both just going to keep this to yourselves?â you asked.
Dickâs eyes returned to yours. âIf that was what kept you comfortable.â
âThatâs stupid.â
Wally pointed at Dick. âI said that.â
âRepeatedly,â Dick said.
âBecause itâs true.â Wally looked at you with a fragile kind of hope. âBut we also werenât going to make you feel like this place came with strings. You sleep here. You have a key. You know the vigilante stuff. You know where we hide the good bandages and the terrible protein bars. Thatâs a lot of trust to mess with.â
You understood. That was the terrible thing. You understood too well. This apartment was your soft landing. It was where you came when the world had teeth. If they had said the wrong thing at the wrong time, if they had made you feel observed instead of known, the loss would have been enormous.
But they had not done that.
They had waited until you asked a question they could no longer answer without handing you the truth.
âWally,â you said.
He sat up straighter. âYeah?â
âCome here.â
Wally was already close, but he still moved like the distance mattered. His knee shifted against yours, his body turning toward you on the couch, and then he stopped with enough space left between you that it made your chest hurt. He was letting you close the last of it. He smelled like detergent, mint gum, and the clean, electric warmth that always seemed to cling to him.
âYouâre shaking,â you said.
Wally huffed a laugh, almost embarrassed. âYeah.â
âThatâs unusual.â
âLots of things are unusual right now.â His eyes searched yours. âBut Iâm here.â
You reached up and touched the side of his face. Wally went very still. He had leaned into you a thousand times before, his head in your lap during movie nights, his shoulder bumping yours in grocery aisles, his legs tangled with yours under Dickâs comforter after long days and worse dreams. This was different because you let it be different. You watched the realization move through him, bright and startled and almost painful.
âCan I kiss you?â you asked.
Wallyâs breath caught. âYes. Please. Very yes.â
You smiled despite the shake in your chest and kissed him.
For a man who could outrun almost everything, Wally did not rush you. His mouth met yours carefully, warmly, a little unsteady at first, like he had imagined this enough times to be shocked by the reality of it. Then your fingers slid into his hair, and he made a sound against you that turned the entire room molten. His hand came to your waist, stopped there, asked without words. When you leaned closer, his grip tightened just enough to make you feel the restraint in it.
He tasted faintly of mint and soy sauce.
He kissed like he had been waiting so long that patience had become its own kind of hunger.
When you pulled back, his eyes stayed closed for a second.
âOkay,â he said faintly. âThat happened. Iâm normal about it.â
âYou are visibly not normal about it.â
âIâm experiencing multiple emotions at speeds previously unknown to science.â
Dick laughed softly from your other side, but when you looked at him, the humor in his face did not disguise the want. It made it worse, actually. Wally was bright with it, nearly vibrating under your hand. Dick was still, but his stillness had become charged, every line of him drawn tight around the effort not to reach for you before you asked.
You turned toward him.
Dick watched you come closer by inches, your knee shifting against his thigh, your hand settling carefully on the couch beside him. He did not move until you were facing him fully. Then his hands lifted, not touching yet, hovering near your hips. There he was again, careful even while looking at you like restraint was costing him something.
âCan I?â he asked.
You nodded.
His hands settled on you, warm through the borrowed shirt. Your breath left you unevenly.
âYouâre sure?â Dick asked.
Your mouth curved before you could stop it. âDo you ask everyone that after they kiss someone youâre in love with?â
Wally made an incoherent sound behind you.
Dickâs mouth curved. âNo.â
âThen yes.â
The first brush of his lips was soft enough to undo you. Dick kissed differently than Wally. He kissed like falling with control, like every angle mattered, like he could make gentleness as devastating as force if he paid enough attention. One hand slid to your back, the other staying at your hip. He did not pull. He invited, and somehow that was worse. You shifted closer on the couch until your thigh pressed against his, and his fingers flexed against your spine.
The second kiss was deeper.
Dick made a low sound when your hand found his jaw, and you felt it through his chest because you were close enough now, finally, to know what his wanting sounded like. Wally shifted behind you, and Dickâs hand tightened just slightly, as if the reminder that Wally was watching did not cool the heat but changed its direction.
You pulled away only enough to breathe.
Dickâs eyes were dark. âThis can stop here.â
âIt can,â you said.
Wallyâs voice came from behind your shoulder, quieter now. âDoes it?â
You looked over your shoulder at him. He was still on the couch, hair messy from your hand, one knee angled toward yours like he had started to move closer and stopped himself from asking for too much. His eyes stayed fixed on you with an openness that made the choice feel less like stepping into the unknown and more like coming home to a room you had somehow never entered.
You thought of your toothbrush in the bathroom. Your mug on the coffee table. Your clothes in Dickâs drawer. Wallyâs texts. Dickâs hands. The bed you had slept in between them so many times, waking warm and safe and pretending your heart did not break a little every morning you had to climb out of it.
âNo,â you said. âI donât think it does.â
Wally inhaled so sharply that it was almost a laugh.
Dickâs hands tightened at your hips, and then he kissed you again, catching the small sound that slipped out of you before you could pretend it had not happened. You let yourself lean into him, let yourself feel the steadiness of his body and the warmth of Wally coming up behind you. Wally did not press in immediately. He waited until you reached back, found his wrist, and drew his arm around your waist.
His breath hit your hair.
âOh,â he said softly.
You smiled against Dickâs mouth. âYou keep saying that.â
âI keep learning things.â
Dickâs mouth brushed the corner of yours. âHeâs a very committed student.â
âTop of my class,â Wally said.
âYou once put Pop-Tarts in a panini press.â
âThey were incredible.â
âThey caught fire.â
âBriefly.â
You laughed, and Dick kissed the sound from your mouth.
đŠđïžâĄ
The walk to his bedroom should not have felt like crossing a border, but it did. You had walked that hall half-asleep, tipsy, sick, laughing, furious, worried. You had stumbled through it with a blanket around your shoulders after nightmares you blamed on bad movies and they pretended to believe you. You had leaned against the doorframe watching Dick fold laundry while Wally sprawled across the bed claiming moral support. You knew the creak of the floor, the shape of the room in the dark, the side of the mattress that dipped because Wally threw himself onto it with no respect for furniture.
Tonight, when Dick opened the door, you hesitated.
Both of them noticed.
âHey,â Wally said immediately. âWe can go back to the couch. Or stop. Or make tea. Or I can run to Canada and bring back those maple cookies you like, although I feel like that might be an overcorrection.â
You looked at him over your shoulder. âCanada?â
âPanic suggestion.â
Dickâs hand touched your back gently. âTalk to us.â
The words settled you. Not because they fixed the nerves, but because they made room for them.
âIâve slept in this bed with you both a thousand times,â you said. âIt feels strange that this is the first time Iâm nervous.â
Dickâs expression softened. âItâs allowed to feel strange.â
âGood strange,â Wally added. âHopefully. Eventually. Maybe right now itâs weird strange. We can work with weird strange.â
You smiled. âYou are so bad at being reassuring.â
âIâm actually fantastic at it. Youâre just seeing me under extreme conditions.â
Dickâs thumb moved once against your back. âNothing happens unless all three of us want it.â
You looked at him. âAll three?â
His gaze moved briefly to Wally, and something passed between them that was so familiar and intimate you wondered how you had ever missed it. âAll three.â
Wally came closer, slower this time. âFor the record, I want it. You. This. Him. Us. But wanting doesnât mean I need to have it tonight.â
Your heart twisted. âThat was almost smooth.â
âI have hidden depths.â
âYou just brought up Canada.â
âSome of my depths are geographical.â
Dickâs laugh was quiet, fond, and beautiful. It loosened the last of the fear sitting beneath your ribs.
You stepped into the bedroom.
The room was exactly as you knew it. Dickâs bed stood against the far wall, too large for one person and too often occupied by three. The comforter was rumpled from the morning, because Dick made his bed only when stress turned him into a machine and Wally took personal offense at tucked corners. Your book sat on the nightstand beside Dickâs, a bookmark halfway through the chapter you had been reading three nights ago while Wally slept sideways across the foot of the bed.
There were pieces of you everywhere.
You turned to face them.
âI want you,â you said, and watched the words land. âBoth of you. I donât know exactly how this works yet, but I want to find out.â
Dickâs eyes closed briefly.
Wallyâs smile trembled at the edges. âWe can do finding out.â
âSlowly,â Dick said.
âSure,â Wally said quickly. âSlow is great. Love slow. Big fan.â
You gave him a look.
âI can be slow,â he insisted.
Dickâs mouth tilted. âHe can.â
The fact that Dick knew that should not have sent heat down your spine, but it did. Both of them saw it happen. Of course they did. Dickâs gaze sharpened; Wallyâs breath hitched.
âOh,â Wally said.
âDonât sound so surprised,â you said, though your own voice had changed.
âIâm not surprised. Iâm delighted. Thereâs a difference.â
Dick stepped closer, his hand finding your waist again. âTell us what you want first.â
You swallowed. âI want you to stop looking like youâre waiting for me to vanish.â
That hurt them. You saw it.
Dick touched your cheek. âIâm sorry.â
âIâm not going anywhere.â
Wally came up behind you, close enough that his warmth reached your back without trapping you. âSay that again in like five minutes. My brain needs repetition.â
You leaned back into him. His hands settled at your hips, then paused. You covered one with your own and drew it more securely around you.
âIâm not going anywhere,â you said.
Wally exhaled against your hair, and Dick kissed you again.
There was nothing uncertain in it this time. Dick kissed you like he had been given an answer and intended to honor it thoroughly. Wallyâs mouth found your shoulder through the thin shirt, his breath warm, his hands careful at your waist. You were suddenly, dizzyingly aware of being between them. Dick in front of you, steady and beautiful, one hand at your jaw and the other at your hip. Wally behind you, restless energy banked into trembling restraint, his lips moving against the side of your neck as if he was learning what made you sigh.
You had been touched before. Wanted, even. But you understood the difference now with brutal clarity. Wanting, from them, did not feel like being consumed. It felt like being attended to. It felt like every breath you took mattered.
Dick drew back first, his fingers catching lightly at the hem of his shirt where it rested against your hips. âCan I take this off?â
It took you a second to understand.
Then you laughed, a little breathless. âItâs yours, I think.â
âIt is,â Dick said, and there was something in his voice that made your stomach dip.
Wallyâs mouth brushed your neck. âFor the record, I fully support its current use.â
Dickâs gaze stayed on you. âAnd its removal?â
Wally hummed. âAlso that.â
You started to lift your arms, but Wallyâs hands tightened just slightly at your waist.
âWait,â he said, then seemed to regret saying it when both you and Dick went still.
You turned your head enough to look at him. âWait?â
âNot stop,â Wally said quickly. âDefinitely not stop. I justââ He huffed a laugh against your shoulder, embarrassed and helpless. âI need to say something before my brain stops working.â
Dickâs expression softened. âThat bad?â
âThat bad,â Wally said.
You waited.
Wallyâs thumb moved once against your hip, brushing the bare skin beneath the hem of Dickâs shirt. âYou know we love how comfortable you are here, right?â
Your breath caught at the sudden softness in his voice.
âThis is your place too,â he said. âNot officially, maybe, but in all the ways that count. Your mug is in the kitchen. Your toothbrush is in the bathroom. Your clothes are in Dickâs dresser. You come over and change into one of our shirts like itâs nothing, like you trust us so much you donât even think about it anymore.â
Dickâs hand stilled at your waist.
Wally swallowed. âAnd we love that. We really, really love that.â His voice dipped, turning rougher. âBut sometimes you walk around in one of our shirts and those little sleep shorts, or no shorts, or you reach up for something and we see the edge of your panties, and I swear to God, I have almost died in this apartment more times than I have in the field.â
Your face went hot.
âWally,â Dick said, but the warning was ruined by the strain in his voice.
âWhat? Weâre being honest tonight.â Wallyâs mouth brushed the corner of your jaw. âYou bend over to look for something in the fridge. You fall asleep with the shirt riding up your thighs. You sit on the counter in socks and underwear and one of Dickâs old shirts, drinking tea out of that chipped mug, and we both have to stand there acting like our souls didnât just leave our bodies.â
You looked at Dick. âBoth of you?â
Dickâs eyes met yours, dark and steady and helplessly warm. âBoth of us.â
Something inside you tightened.
âIt was never just the shirt,â Dick said, his fingers smoothing over the hem as if he had wanted to touch it like this for years. âIt was that you trusted us enough to stop guarding yourself here.â
That undid you more than Wallyâs words had.
âOh,â you said softly.
Wally let out a shaky breath. âYeah. That too. I was getting there.â
Dickâs mouth curved, but his gaze stayed on you. âCan I take it off?â
This time, when you lifted your arms, neither of them stopped you.
Dick pulled the shirt over your head slowly, careful not to let the fabric catch. The air touched your skin, and both men went quiet again. Not silent in that fearful way from the living room, but quiet with attention. Wallyâs hand spread over your stomach, warm and reverent. Dickâs gaze moved over you with visible effort, not lingering anywhere you had not invited yet and somehow making that restraint feel more intimate than staring would have been.
âYouâre beautiful,â Dick said.
It was simple. It should not have undone you.
Wally kissed your shoulder. âSo beautiful.â
Your instinct was to deflect. Make a joke. Tell Wally his taste had been damaged by eating cereal out of a saucepan. Tell Dick he was legally obligated to say nice things because he had known you too long. You had a dozen exits ready, all of them familiar.
Dick seemed to know. His thumb touched your lower lip before the joke could leave it.
âLet us say it,â he murmured.
Your chest ached. âOkay.â
Wallyâs arms tightened around you for half a second. âGood. Because Iâve got years of material.â
âWally.â
âWhat? Iâm pacing myself.â
Dick looked at him over your shoulder, and the warmth in his expression made your pulse skip. âAre you?â
âBadly.â
You turned your head and kissed Wally before he could say anything else. He made a pleased sound, hands flexing at your waist, and Dickâs fingers drifted down your side with aching care. The kiss turned messy faster than the first one. Maybe because there was so little between you already. Maybe because Wallyâs self-control had limits, and one of them was apparently you turning in his arms to lick into his mouth while wearing only your panties, with Dick close enough to touch you both.
Dickâs hand slid over your ribs and stopped just below your breast, asking without words.
You broke the kiss with Wally, breath unsteady. âYou can.â
Dick lifted his eyes to yours. âYeah?â
âYeah.â
His hands covered you, palms warm beneath your breasts, thumbs brushing softly until your breath caught. Wally watched over your shoulder, eyes dark and bright at once, then lowered his mouth to yours again as Dick touched you. It was too much and exactly enough. Wally kissed like he wanted to swallow every sound you made; Dick touched like he wanted to discover them one by one.
Your hands found Dickâs chest. He was warm under your palms, solid and familiar in a way that made the moment feel more dangerous than if he had been a stranger. You knew this body in a dozen almost-innocent ways. You knew the weight of his arm thrown across your waist in sleep, the pressure of his shoulder against yours in a crowded booth, the warmth of him behind you when he reached over your head for a cabinet because he enjoyed being obnoxiously tall.
Now your hand slid over his heartbeat, and he went still beneath your touch.
âYou okay?â you asked.
Dick caught your wrist and brought your hand to his mouth. âYes.â
âWill you tell me if that changes?â
That made him pause.
Wally, to his credit, did not make a joke.
Dickâs expression changed, and you saw him understand what you were really asking. You had spent too long loving men who treated their limits like suggestions. You were not asking as someone about to sleep with him. You were asking as the person who knew that care had to go both ways, or it would become another kind of burden.
âI will,â he said. âTonight, I will.â
You searched his face. Then you nodded.
Wally touched your waist. âMe too. For anything. I know I can be a lot.â
âYou are a lot.â
âTrue.â His mouth curved, but his eyes stayed serious. âIâll tell you.â
âGood.â
âHot when you boss us around,â he said, then immediately looked like he had startled himself.
Dickâs eyebrows rose. âIs it?â
Wally pointed at him. âDo not psychoanalyze me while sheâs topless.â
You laughed, and the sound turned into a gasp when Dick dipped his head and kissed the curve of your breast. Wallyâs humor dissolved at once. His mouth parted against your temple, and his hand slid up your ribs, stopping just below where Dickâs mouth moved. Dick looked up at you through his lashes, checking. You nodded, and then his tongue touched your nipple.
Your knees nearly failed you.
Wally caught you with a soft, reverent curse. âOkay. Bed. Bed is good.â
Dick smiled against your skin. âSlow?â
âSlow can happen horizontally.â
That made you laugh again, but your laugh broke when Dick did it again, warmer this time, lips closing around you before Wally guided you carefully back toward the bed. Dick moved with you, one hand steady at your hip, unwilling to let the contact break until the mattress touched the backs of your legs.
You had climbed into Dickâs bed in every state except this one.
That thought followed you down onto the mattress. It was familiar beneath your back, the comforter soft against your skin, the pillows smelling like Dickâs shampoo and Wallyâs habit of stealing them. How many nights had you lain here between them, your body relaxed in sleep while your heart carried secrets your waking self refused to name? How many mornings had you woken with Wallyâs arm thrown over your waist and Dickâs hand near yours, all of you pretending it was only comfort?
Now Dick knelt beside you with want written plainly across his face, and Wally settled near your other side, vibrating with the effort to give you time.
You looked at them and felt something in you steady.
âPants,â you said.
Wally looked down at himself. âMine?â
âBoth.â
âYes, maâam.â
Dick shook his head, smiling as Wally nearly tripped getting out of his sweatpants. Dick moved more deliberately, his gaze never leaving yours as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of his own. He stopped before pushing anything down.
âStill okay?â
âVery okay.â
Wally had his pants off already because of course he did, all lean muscle and restless heat, his confidence lasting approximately one second before he noticed you looking and flushed. âAssessment received.â
Dick laughed, and you smiled despite the heat crawling up your neck.
âYouâre both ridiculous,â you said.
âYou knew that before you invited us to take our clothes off,â Wally said.
âSome mistakes deserve commitment.â
Dickâs mouth curved. âIs that what this is?â
You looked at him, at the softness under the teasing. âNo.â
The answer changed the room again.
Dick pushed his sweatpants down. His underwear followed a moment later, and your breath caught despite yourself.
Dick noticed. Of course he noticed.
His eyes darkened, but he did not touch you. âStill very okay?â
âYes.â
Wally popped up beside him, naked now and visibly trying to look patient. âCan I also get an assessment? For fairness.â
You looked at him.
Then lower.
Wallyâs confidence abandoned him completely. âI am never going to survive this.â
âYou run faster than light.â
âEmotionally, I am a Victorian maiden.â
Dick climbed onto the bed and kissed him, slow and familiar enough that your pulse kicked hard. Wally melted into it with a sound that told you more than any explanation could have. They kissed like people who had already crossed some lines privately and were now learning how it felt to let you see. When Dick drew back, Wallyâs mouth stayed parted for half a second, his eyes opening slowly.
You stared.
Dick looked at you. âGood oh?â
You realized you had made a sound. âVery good oh.â
Wally beamed. âExcellent. Love to contribute.â
You reached out and touched Wallyâs knee. âCome here.â
He came immediately, but the joking faded as soon as your hand slid up his thigh. His skin was warm, almost feverish, muscles tense beneath your touch. He watched you like he could not decide whether to move closer or hold himself perfectly still.
Dick shifted behind you, gathering you with him as he settled back against the headboard and drew you gently between his legs. You leaned against his chest and felt his breath shift near your ear. His hands came to your waist, then lower, stopping at the edge of your panties like even now he was giving you time to change your mind.
âCan I take these off?â he asked.
âYes.â
Wallyâs gaze followed the movement as Dick slid them down your legs. The room went quiet again, not with hesitation this time, but with the weight of both of them finally seeing what they had been careful not to want too openly for years.
You started to close your thighs on instinct.
Wallyâs hand touched your knee, not forcing, just there. âHey. You donât have to hide from us.â
The words went through you with embarrassing force.
Dick kissed the side of your neck. âHeâs right.â
âThis is new,â you whispered.
âI know.â Wallyâs thumb moved gently over your knee. âWeâll earn it.â
Your eyes stung. You wanted to blame the long night, the bad date, the adrenaline crash, the way Dickâs mouth felt against your skin and Wallyâs hand felt warm on your leg. But it was not only that. It was the tenderness. The promise beneath it. The sense that they had already decided your comfort was not a pause before desire but part of it.
You let your thighs relax.
Wallyâs eyes dropped, and the breath he took was unsteady enough to make Dickâs hands tighten on you.
âBeautiful,â Wally said, softer this time. âGod, sweetheart.â
The pet name slipped out like an accident.
You felt Dick go still behind you.
Wallyâs eyes snapped to yours. âToo much?â
âNo,â you said quickly, then softer, âNo. I liked it.â
His smile came back slowly. âYeah?â
Dickâs mouth brushed your ear. âShe liked it.â
The words sent heat rolling through you.
Wally noticed that too. His pupils widened, and some of the carefulness in him sharpened into hunger. âOh, this is going to be fun.â
âWally,â Dick warned, but there was no real reprimand in it.
âWhat? Iâm observing.â
âYou can observe closer,â you said.
Wallyâs gaze flew to your face.
Your pulse pounded. âIf you want.â
His laugh was almost disbelieving. âIf I want.â
Then he was between your thighs.
Still slow. Still careful. He settled on his stomach with his arms hooked beneath your legs, but he did not put his mouth on you right away. He kissed your inner thigh first, warm and lingering, then the other. His stubble grazed your skin. Your fingers twisted in the comforter, and Dickâs hands slid up to cover yours, lacing your fingers together.
âYou can touch him,â Dick murmured. âHe likes it.â
Wallyâs eyes flicked up. âI like it a lot.â
Your hand found Wallyâs hair.
His lashes fluttered.
âOh,â you whispered.
Wallyâs smile turned wicked and soft at once. âYeah. That.â
Then his mouth touched you.
The first stroke of his tongue made your back arch against Dickâs chest. Dick held you through it, not pinning you, just anchoring you as Wally groaned like he had been the one given pleasure. His mouth was warm and wet, the pace unhurried in a way that made you think of his earlier insistence that he could be slow. Apparently he could, when it mattered. He learned you with devastating focus, licking gently at first, then firmer when your hand tightened in his hair and your breath broke around his name.
Dickâs mouth moved along your throat. âTell him what feels good.â
âKeep doing that.â
Wally made a muffled sound of approval.
âMore specific,â Dick said, and you could feel his smile against your skin.
You would have elbowed him if you had been capable of coordination. âYouâre annoying.â
âYouâve said.â
Wally lifted his head just enough to speak, lips wet, eyes bright. âYou can pull my hair. For specificity.â
You did.
His eyes closed, and the sound he made was obscene enough that your entire body clenched. Dick inhaled sharply behind you.
âWally.â
âIâm good,â Wally said, already lowering his mouth again. âIâm so good.â
He proved it.
There was no room left for embarrassment after that. Wally ate you out like attention was devotion, like every reaction mattered, like he had all the time in the world and intended to spend it between your thighs. Dick held your hands and whispered praise against your neck, his voice low and rougher than usual. Good. Like that. Youâre doing so well. He loves that sound. We both do.
We.
The word sent you over the edge.
You came with Wallyâs name in your mouth and Dickâs hands holding yours. Pleasure rolled through you in bright waves, your thighs trembling around Wallyâs shoulders as he worked you through it with gentler strokes until you tugged at his hair because it was too much. He stopped immediately, pressing one last kiss to your thigh before lifting his head.
His mouth was shiny. His expression was wrecked.
âOkay,â he said, voice hoarse. âSo. Thatâs my new favorite thing.â
Dick laughed against your shoulder. âYou look proud of yourself.â
âI am proud of myself. Did you see that?â
âI was here.â
âYou should compliment me.â
âYou did very well.â
Wally looked delighted. âThanks, babe.â
The casual endearment between them hit you almost as hard as the orgasm had. Dick seemed to feel you react, because his fingers stroked over your knuckles.
âStill with us?â he asked.
You nodded, breathing unevenly. âVery much.â
Wally crawled up your body, stopping when his face was near yours. He hesitated, suddenly uncertain. You understood a second later and pulled him down into a kiss. You tasted yourself on his mouth, and the intimacy of it made him shudder.
Dickâs hand slid into Wallyâs hair from behind you, drawing him closer. Wally broke from your mouth only to turn toward him, and then they were kissing over your shoulder.
You stopped breathing.
You had seen them touch before. You had seen Wally throw himself onto Dickâs back, Dick catch Wally by the wrist, the two of them lean into each other with the exhausted ease of men who trusted each other down to the bone. But this was not that. This was Wally kissing Dick with your taste on his tongue, Dickâs hand firm at the back of his neck, both of them making quiet sounds they had never let you hear before.
It should have made you feel like an outsider.
It did not.
Dickâs free hand found your waist, drawing you more securely against him even as he kissed Wally. Wallyâs hand spread over your thigh. The circle held. The desire moved through all three of you, not divided but multiplied.
When they separated, Wally rested his forehead against Dickâs for a moment.
âStill okay?â Dick asked him.
Wally smiled. âYeah. You?â
Dick nodded.
Then both of them looked at you.
You swallowed. âI need a second.â
âOf course,â Dick said immediately.
Wally started to move back, but you caught his wrist.
âNot away. Just a second.â
His face softened. âOkay.â
Dick reached for the water bottle on his nightstand and handed it to you. It was yours, actually, one you had left there after a movie night and never taken home. That fact nearly made you laugh. Even during sex, this room kept offering evidence of how long you had belonged here.
You drank, then passed it to Wally. He drank too, then offered it to Dick, who took it with a grateful nod.
The domesticity of it settled your nerves more than anything else could have.
Wally wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then seemed to realize what he had done and reached for the tissues. âSorry. Not my most suave moment.â
âYou had your mouth between my legs thirty seconds ago.â
âGreat point. Iâm suave again.â
Dick shook his head, but his smile was affectionate enough to make Wally glow.
You shifted carefully and turned between them. âWe should talk before anything else.â
Both of them sobered at once.
âOkay,â Dick said.
Wally nodded. âTalking is good. Love informed consent. Big supporter.â
You took a breath. âBirth control is current. You both know that.â
They did. Not because it was erotic. Because they were part of your life in all the inconvenient, practical ways that made intimacy possible long before anyone got naked. Dick had driven you home after an appointment when a medication change made you nauseous. Wally had picked up your pharmacy order once when work trapped you late and then called from the aisle to ask if you wanted the good chocolate or the emergency chocolate, because apparently those were separate categories. They knew because you told them things. They knew because they listened.
Dickâs expression remained careful. âWe know.â
âAnd you both get tested.â
âRegularly,â Dick said. âLast panel was clean.â
âSame,â Wally said. âTwo weeks ago. I can show you the results if you want.â
âI trust you.â
Wally looked touched, then immediately tried to hide it. âI mean, I have a very trustworthy face.â
âYou have a ridiculous face.â
âAnd yet.â
Dickâs hand covered yours. âWe have condoms. We can use them, or not. Your choice. That choice can change at any point.â
Your throat went tight again. âI donât want to use them.â
Wally inhaled.
Dickâs hand stilled.
âI want to feel you,â you said, and somehow that was more exposing than being naked between them. âBoth of you. But if either of you wants barriers, thatâs okay too.â
Wallyâs voice was rough. âI donât. I want what you want.â
Dickâs gaze stayed locked on yours. âSame.â
The word carried weight because Dick never gave agreement he did not mean.
You nodded, heat rising again now that the practicalities had been named. âOkay.â
Wallyâs mouth curved. âOkay.â
Dick touched your chin, turning you gently back toward him. âOne more thing.â
You smiled a little. âThat sounded ominous.â
âIt isnât.â His thumb brushed your lower lip. âIf we do this, tomorrow matters.â
Your chest softened.
Wally shifted closer, his hand warm on your thigh. âAnd the day after. And the day after that.â
âWe donât have to figure out every detail tonight,â Dick said. âBut this isnât just sex for us.â
âI know.â
âDo you?â
You looked at him, then at Wally. Their faces were open in different ways, Dickâs fear disciplined into tenderness, Wallyâs hope bright enough to hurt.
âYes,â you said. âI know.â
Dick kissed you then, and the conversation ended because the answer had been given.
You moved with him until he was propped against the pillows and you were straddling his lap. Wally sat beside you, one hand on your back, the other low on Dickâs thigh. The sight of them together beneath you nearly stole your nerve. Dick naked, hard against your stomach, his hair mussed and his mouth soft from kissing you. Wally close enough to touch you both, his mouth still swollen, his body tense with want he was trying very hard not to let run away with him.
You reached between you and wrapped your hand around Dick.
Dickâs laugh broke into a groan when your thumb moved over the head of him. He was hot and heavy in your hand, controlled until he was not, hips twitching up before he caught himself.
âYouâre going to let me do the work,â you said.
His eyes opened. âBossy.â
âYou like it.â
Wally made a strangled sound. âHe does.â
Dick looked at him. âWally.â
âWhat? Weâre being honest tonight.â
You smiled and lifted your hips.
Dickâs hands came to your waist. âSlow.â
âI know.â
âNo, I meanââ His breath caught when you rubbed him against you, both of you slick from Wallyâs mouth and your own arousal. âGod.â
Wallyâs hand slid to your hip beside Dickâs, not guiding, just feeling the moment with you. âYou okay?â
You nodded, lowering yourself just enough for the head of Dickâs cock to press into you. The stretch made your mouth fall open.
Dickâs hands tightened. âBreathe.â
You did, forehead dropping to his. He kissed you softly, again and again, until your body eased enough to take more of him. Wallyâs mouth found your shoulder, his praise spilling warm against your skin.
âThatâs it. Take your time. God, you lookâfuck, you look so good.â
Dick made a sound like Wallyâs words had gone through him too.
You sank down slowly, inch by inch, until Dick was fully inside you.
For a moment, nobody moved.
There were things you had imagined. Late at night, alone in your own bed. In their shower, feeling guilty and helpless and hungry. Half-asleep between them, Wallyâs hand accidentally under your shirt and Dickâs thigh warm against yours. You had imagined Dickâs body over yours, Wallyâs mouth at your neck, both their hands, both their voices. You had imagined enough to know desire.
Reality was different.
Reality was Dick trembling beneath you because you were wrapped around him and he was trying not to take more than you were giving. Reality was Wally pressing his forehead to your shoulder, breathing hard, as if watching was its own kind of contact. Reality was your own body clenching around Dick while your heart struggled to hold the impossible tenderness of having both of them here, wanting you, waiting for you.
Dickâs voice was nearly gone when he said your name.
You lifted your head. âYeah?â
His eyes met yours. âI love you.â
The words struck all the air from the room.
Wally went still.
Dick looked like he had not meant to say it there, like the truth had slipped past every careful defense because his body was full of you and his heart had finally stopped obeying orders. For half a second, panic flashed across his face.
You kissed it away.
âI love you too,â you whispered against his mouth.
Dickâs hands shook on your waist.
Behind you, Wally made a small sound.
You reached back for him without looking. He caught your hand immediately, fingers threading through yours with almost painful force.
âYou too,â you said, turning your head enough to see him. âI love you too.â
Wallyâs face changed.
He had always been expressive, always bright, always too alive to hide much for long. But you had never seen this expression before. It was relief and hunger and disbelief and joy so raw it looked almost wounded.
âYou canât just say that while Dick is inside you,â he said, voice wrecked.
A laugh broke out of you, wet at the edges. âWhy not?â
âBecause now Iâm going to cry while this hard, and I donât know what to do with that emotionally.â
Dickâs laugh turned into a groan as your body clenched around him.
âDonât laugh,â he said, strained.
âYou started this.â
âI did.â
Wally kissed your hand, then your shoulder. âI love you. Obviously. Embarrassingly. To a degree that has made me annoying at multiple gatherings.â
Dickâs mouth brushed yours. âHe was already annoying.â
âTrue, but love gave me range.â
You rolled your hips experimentally.
The joking shattered.
Dickâs head dropped back, throat exposed, a sound leaving him that you felt everywhere. Wallyâs hand slid to your stomach, fingers splayed low as if he could feel where Dick was inside you. The pressure made you gasp.
âOkay?â Wally asked quickly.
âYes. Donât stop.â
His eyes darkened.
You moved again, slow because the stretch was still intense, because the softness of the moment had turned every sensation sharp. Dickâs hands helped you find a rhythm, careful but firm, his mouth moving over yours whenever you leaned close enough. Wally touched everywhere you let him. Your breasts, your thighs, your hips, the place where your body took Dick again and again. He watched with awe so naked it made you feel worshipped.
âWally,â you breathed.
âIâm here.â
âTouch me.â
His fingers found your clit, slick and careful.
You cried out, folding forward into Dick. Dick caught you, one arm around your back, his mouth at your throat. Wally adjusted immediately, reading your body with the same attention he brought to everything that mattered. He touched you in slow circles while Dick moved beneath you in shallow thrusts, all three of you caught in a rhythm that felt less like performance and more like discovery.
Pleasure built differently this time. Deeper. Slower. Dick filled you, Wallyâs fingers worked you higher, and both of them kept talking to you in broken, reverent fragments that made heat gather low in your belly.
So good.
There you are.
Beautiful.
Weâve got you.
That last one did it.
Your orgasm tore through you hard enough that your vision blurred. Dick held you while you shook, his own control breaking a second later as you clenched around him. He buried his face against your neck with a low, helpless sound and came inside you, his hands gripping your waist like you were the only solid thing in the world.
Wallyâs hand slowed but did not leave you until you stopped trembling.
For several seconds, the room was nothing but breath.
Then Wally said, very quietly, âI think my soul left my body, and I wasnât even the one inside you.â
You laughed into Dickâs shoulder. âYou are such an idiot.â
âAn emotionally supportive idiot.â
Dickâs laugh was quiet and wrecked. âHeâs right.â
You lifted your head and looked at Wally. He was flushed, painfully hard, and trying very earnestly to look patient. It made your heart ache.
âCome here,â you said.
Wally blinked. âYou need a minute.â
âI need you.â
His composure did not stand a chance.
Dickâs hands stroked your sides as you lifted off him carefully, both of you shivering at the loss. Wally vanished and was back almost immediately with tissues and a warm cloth, so fast you barely registered the absence before he was kneeling beside you again. The gesture was so tender, so practiced in its thoughtfulness, that you nearly dragged him down and cried into his shoulder.
He cleaned you gently, checking your face the whole time.
âToo much?â he asked.
âNo.â Your voice came out soft. âThank you.â
Wally kissed your knee. âAnytime. I mean, hopefully many times. But also anytime.â
Dick rested back against the pillows, watching you both with an expression that made you want to crawl back to him and never leave. âWally.â
âYeah?â
âSlow.â
Wally looked at him, then at you. His throat moved. âYeah. I know.â
You reached for him. âI trust you.â
His eyes closed for half a second.
When he opened them, some of the frantic brightness had settled into something steadier. He kissed you as he moved over you, and for all his speed, for all his energy, he lowered you back against the mattress like you were something precious. Dick shifted beside you, one hand coming to your hair, his body warm along your side. He was not removed from this, not watching from a distance. He was with you, with Wally, kissing your temple while Wally settled between your thighs.
Wally pressed into you slowly.
Your breath caught at the new stretch, your body sensitive from Dick and still slick with him. Wally froze instantly.
âOkay?â
âYes.â You touched his face. âJust slow.â
His laugh shook. âI can do slow.â
âI know.â
He eased in with visible effort, inch by careful inch, jaw clenched, arms trembling beside your shoulders. Dickâs fingers stroked through your hair, grounding you as Wally filled you. He was different from Dick, his body hotter, his restraint more visibly fragile. When he was fully inside, Wally dropped his forehead to yours and shuddered.
âHoly shit,â he whispered.
You smiled. âRomantic.â
âIâm sorry. My brain just left my body.â
Dickâs hand slid to the back of Wallyâs neck. âBreathe.â
Wally obeyed. The sight of it, the trust in that single word, made you clench around him.
Wally groaned. âThat was mean.â
âI didnât do it on purpose.â
âDo it again on purpose later.â
Dick laughed, then pressed his mouth to your shoulder. âMove when youâre ready.â
It took a moment. Not because you were unsure, but because you wanted to feel it. Wally inside you, Dick beside you, both of them close enough that every movement belonged to all three of you. Then you lifted your hips.
Wallyâs restraint nearly cracked at once.
He moved slowly because he had promised, but slow did not mean gentle in the way you had expected. It meant controlled. It meant every drag of him inside you was deliberate, every thrust measured by your breathing, every kiss pressed to your mouth like he was trying to keep himself tethered. His hand found yours and pinned it loosely to the mattress, fingers intertwined. Dickâs mouth moved over your neck, your shoulder, the curve of your breast, his hand returning to your clit when you started to whine with the need for more.
âYou can take it,â Dick murmured. âWeâve got you.â
Wallyâs rhythm faltered. âYou canât say things like that.â
âShe likes it.â
âI know she likes it. I like it. Thatâs the problem.â
You laughed, but it turned into a moan when Dickâs fingers circled faster. Wally lowered himself more fully over you, careful not to crush you, his breath hot against your mouth.
âIâve wanted this so long,â he said, the words rough and unguarded. âWanted you. Wanted us. God, sweetheart, you have no idea.â
âI have some idea now.â
âNot enough.â
His hips snapped forward a little harder, and your eyes rolled shut.
Dickâs hand paused. âGood?â
âYes. More. Wally, please.â
Wally made a sound that was almost pained. âYeah. Yeah, Iâve got you.â
He gave you more.
Not too much. Never that. But enough that the bed creaked beneath you, enough that Dickâs hand tightened in Wallyâs hair and your nails dug into Wallyâs shoulder. Enough that the careful, domestic room turned hot and damp and filled with the sounds of skin, breath, praise, the headboard tapping lightly against the wall with each controlled thrust.
Your third orgasm built too quickly. You tried to warn them, but the words dissolved. Dick understood anyway, because of course he did. Wally did too, because his mouth found yours and he swallowed the broken sound you made when you came around him.
He lasted maybe four seconds after that.
Wally buried himself deep and came with your name on his lips, shaking hard enough that Dick had to steady him with a hand at his back. You held him through it, legs wrapped around his hips, one hand in his hair and the other reaching blindly for Dick.
Dick caught it.
For a while, none of you moved.
Then Wally said into your neck, âI think I saw another dimension.â
Dick, exhausted and fond, said, âThat was sex.â
âAgree to disagree.â
You laughed weakly. âGet off me before you crush me, speedster.â
Wally moved so fast he almost fell off the bed. âSorry. Sorry. Are you okay? Did Iââ
You caught his hand. âIâm okay.â
Dick looked at you, checking anyway.
You gave him a tired smile. âIâm okay.â
Only then did both of them relax.
đŠđïžâĄ
Aftercare, you discovered, was where their existing habits became almost unbearable.
Wally vanished and returned with warm cloths, water, one of Dickâs soft shirts, your sleep shorts, and a granola bar he seemed to have grabbed in a panic. Dick sat up enough to help you clean up, his touch careful and unselfconscious. There was nothing awkward in it. Or rather, there was awkwardness, but it did not come from shame. It came from the enormity of the change and the fact that Wally kept trying to do six helpful things at once.
âStop vibrating,â Dick said.
âIâm not vibrating.â
âYouâre making the lamp buzz.â
Wally looked at the lamp. It was, in fact, buzzing faintly.
He put both hands on his knees and inhaled. The buzzing stopped.
âSorry.â
You reached for him. âCome here.â
He came.
Dick opened the shirt and helped you into it. It was one of Wallyâs this time, old and soft, the collar stretched from years of use. Wally tucked the blanket around your legs with the solemn concentration of a man disarming a bomb.
âI can do that,â you said.
âI know.â
âYou donât have to fuss.â
Wally looked at you, startled. âOf course I do.â
Dickâs smile was small and helpless.
You looked between them and felt the truth of the night settle over you, quieter now but no less real. They loved you. They had loved you through laundry and takeout and bad dates and grocery lists. They had loved you in all the ordinary spaces where people usually missed the extraordinary. Sex had not created that. It had only opened the door.
Wally handed you the granola bar.
You stared at it. âWhy?â
âBlood sugar.â
âIâm not the speedster.â
âNo, but you did just have a very athletic evening.â
Dick closed his eyes. âWally.â
âWhat? Accurate.â
You took the granola bar and threw it lightly at his chest. He caught it, grinning.
âFine,â he said. âWater first.â
You drank because he looked like he needed you to. Then Dick drank. Then Wally finished the bottle and zipped out to refill it before either of you could object.
When he came back, you had settled under the blanket with Wallyâs shirt falling soft against your thighs.
Wally paused at the edge of the bed, holding the full water bottle like an offering. âIâm still allowed back in, right?â
Your heart squeezed.
Dickâs expression changed too, something tender and pained moving across his face before he reached out and caught Wally by the wrist.
âYouâre ridiculous,â Dick said softly. âCome here.â
Wally came.
He climbed into the bed with exaggerated care, like one wrong movement might disturb whatever fragile new thing had settled between you. You pulled him down by the shoulder until he was stretched out on your other side, warm and solid, his face tucked near your neck. Dick shifted closer behind you, his chest against your back, his hand settling over your waist.
The bed that had always fit three people now seemed to understand the difference before you did. Your body recognized them. The warmth, the weight, the steady presence of them on either side.
Tomorrow would require talking. Not the soft, breathless kind between kisses, but the real kind. Logistics. Boundaries. What changed in public, what stayed private, how to handle the fact that your best friends were also heroes with enemies and you were still the civilian with a key. There would be complications. Jealousy, maybe. Fear, certainly. Dick had enough trauma around love to fill a city. Wally felt things with his whole body and then tried to outrun the consequences. You had your own habits, your own defenses, your own fear of needing too much.
But tonight, you were in the bed you had already come home to a hundred times.
Tonight, Wallyâs thumb moved slowly over your hip. Dickâs fingers threaded through yours. The rain finally started outside, tapping softly against the windows.
âI have a question,â Wally said.
You opened one eye. âIf itâs about nachos, Iâm leaving.â
âItâs not about nachos.â
Dickâs voice was dry. âThatâs new.â
Wally ignored him. âWhat happens with the drawer?â
You frowned sleepily. âWhat?â
âYour drawer. In Dickâs dresser.â Wallyâs expression was earnest enough that you almost believed this was a serious concern. âDoes it remain your drawer? Does it expand? Do I get partial drawer custody? Because I would like to formally offer space in my dresser, but full disclosure, one drawer is mostly chargers and mystery cables, and one might have Halloween candy from last year.â
âLast year?â Dick asked.
âItâs sealed.â
âYouâre disgusting.â
âIâm prepared.â
You laughed into the pillow. âMy drawer stays where it is.â
Wally clutched his chest. âFavoritism.â
âYou can have sock custody.â
His eyes lit up. âI do love your socks.â
âYou stretch them out.â
âI have long feet.â
âYou have normal feet at high velocity.â
Dick looked at you with a warmth so deep it almost hurt. âYou know this is our life now.â
You smiled. âArguing about drawer custody?â
âAmong other things.â
Wallyâs joking faded just enough. âGood?â
You looked at him, then at Dick. âGood.â
Dick squeezed your hand.
Wally pressed a kiss to your shoulder. âSay the staying thing again.â
Your chest softened.
âIâm not going anywhere.â
Wally exhaled against you like the words had given him somewhere to rest.
Dickâs eyes met yours over the top of your shoulder. In the dim light, with rain on the windows and love finally unhidden between you, he looked younger and older than usual. Less like Nightwing. More like the man who had left the lamp on for you. The man who had given you a drawer before he could give himself permission to say why.
Wallyâs arm tightened gently around your waist, his thumb still moving in slow circles against your hip. He looked less like the Flash too, less like motion and lightning and impossible speed. More like the man who remembered your cereal, stole your socks, marked dumplings emotionally instead of legally, and asked you to say you were staying because he needed somewhere safe to put the hope.
Your chest ached with it.
You reached for Dick, and he came willingly, easing down until he could kiss you. Wally shifted with you instead of letting go, his hand staying linked with yours as Dickâs settled over both of them, fingers interlocking there against you.
Three bodies. One bed. The city beyond the glass.
For the first time all night, the silence did not ask anything of you.
It only held.
đŠđïžâĄ
credit to @uzmacchiato for the cherry divider and @qwiqwiaqwi for the beautiful birdflash fanart â€ïžđ
apologies abt the small text but this shit got big fast
Bruce wants someone softer but FUNNY. He's brooding stern father for so long he actually has forgotten his kids need more than that. So when you are gentle and kind to his children he releizes that protection isn't the only thing they need. He remembers they also need support and care. So when you can keep him grounded in kindness, he can grow into a better dad for all of his children. He needs someone FUNNY because he can get so lost in his anxiety he'll forget how stupid it sounds. (i have anxiety this is not a diss) He will genuinely start worrying that Dick is going die on his walk home. Like clawing hands through his hair and pacing. So when you can point out the humor in that statement easily it brings him back to earth. Yeah dude friggin Nightwing is totally going die on the walk home he's taken every day for years. I also think just being able to naturally brighten up everyone's moods with your humor would gently pull him back a little. I think he would grow into a younger version of himself.
Dick wants someone flexible. He wants someone who can be loud with him. He wants someone who catches onto all of his jokes before he's even opened his mouth. He loves that you can get energized and crack up with him. He loves that he can think something and look to you and you're already looking at him. Your brains are so perfectly connected he doesn't have to try when he's around you. He also needs someone who can be quiet. Sometimes he needs to silent and not talk. He just needs to sit with you and listen to you breathe. He needs time in his day to day where you can both sit in comfortable silence. But he still wants to be able to easy flip between loud and quiet. That's how he moves through the world. You being able to move with him easily means the world to him.
Jason is similar to Bruce but he is also very different from him. He wants someone funny, but not in the loud way like Bruce. Jason wants someone who is funny in a morbid and sarcastic way. It's quiet and quippy. He has a darker sense of humor. He just finds death funny and alot of other people (dick) will look at him weird when he cracks jokes. And then he's like oh shit im being weird. But with you, when he cracks a joke you're laughing your ass off. And the first time you laugh at one of his jokes is when he realizes he can't not have you in his life you have to be friend forever. Then when you joke back with something twice as morbid and he starts giggling. And he realizes he's in love with you. Doesn't matter that you met two minutes ago he knows what he's feeling. He loves that you match his humor and you both can start giggling with each other. He just likes that you bring joy and laughter into his life without it being like a cupcakes and rainbow thing. You understand how awful the world is but you still find humor in that and that's why he loves every second with you. And oh boy did you have a hard laugh when he told you he died and came back.
Tim wants someone a little more organized. Not organized necessarily, just a little more organized than him. He will mirror you, and you work as a physical reminder to take care of himself. When he sees you grabbing a towel, he's jumping out of his seat to join you. When he hears you clinking about in the kitchen, he is closing up what he's working on to help you. When he hears you pulling open your dresser to pull out pajamas, he's glancing down at the clock. He's finishing up what he can before flinging himself into bed with you. You're not taking care of him. You're not babying him. He's taking care of himself; you're just more attention catching than a clock. And he doesn't want to give up quality time with you. He wants to drop everything to help you in the kitchen because you start humming when you slip into the routine. He wants to join you on your way to the shower because A you're hot but more importantly when you leave, you've got this relaxed smile on your face that he wouldn't replace for the world. Even if you don't want him in the shower with you, that's fine he doesn't gaf. He'll sit on the toilet seat and talk or listen or whatever you need. If you're taking a bath, he'll read to you. He wants someone a little more put together than him, not because he wants them to parent him. He wants them a little more organized than him because he can form those habits of self-care by mirroring you. He can grow into a more stable and organized person by joining you.
Damian wants someone bitchy. And you may anon me about how much you want me dead but i think im right. Damian can get pissy and I think in his family they kind of treat him like a bomb when he does. I think he gets very used to associating his anger with being a bad son/brother/robin j a person in general. So when he meets you, and you also get pissy. And you also sometimes feel like it makes you a bad person. He can't believe he's found someone who relates so deeply with him. He assumed it was just him. But you guys just start bickering all the time bc you're both pissy and hardheaded. The whole time Batbitches are like "omg they hate each other so much this is awful". They couldn't be more wrong. You guys are flirting. Damian and you both start finding joy in your anger because it's bringing you together. You guys are kidding you aren't being serious, you just happen to have a pissy face and a pissy voice and a pissy attitude. But you both give each other a safe space to be yourself. Damian gets to let loose and be a bitch and so do you! Obviously you both can be soft but like who gaf abt that. Your day to day you're bickering. He loves bickering with you. Yes! Call him a punk ass bitch he loves you so much he can't stop staring and smiling at you! He hates fighting though. There is a major difference between bickering and fighting. Bickering you both know you're just goofing. Fighting, there's something wrong and this is an argument. This is a problem that needs to be fixed. His family doesn't seem to catch onto the difference, but he can. He loves bickering and you both snapping at each other, only to pull him into a soft hug and kiss him gently. he needs his bitch level matched. You both are able to realize being bitchy doesn't make you a bad person at all, you love each other fully included the bitchy parts.
áŻâ [+18!] â Companion piece â Big himbo Jon propaganda, like papa like son I say! Much longer than I intended oops. â áŻ
You: Jon, come over quick! Damianâs sick and needs cuddles!!!Â
Damian: Donât. Â
Damian: ...Â
âI didnât know you could get sick.â Damian groans dropping his phone mid-way through the threat he was typing to look over at the big oaf squeezing through his bedroom window. Â
âI barely coughed.âÂ
He says, even while knowing his scratchy voice gives him away instantly. You hop off the bed to take the heated blanket Jon offers and lay it over your grumbling boyfriend. Â
âHeâs been sniffling and coughing all day, but I finally got him to take some meds.â  Â
âWhich was a waste because I have the immune system of a-âÂ
His sentence is cut off when Jon sits on the bed --his weight dipping the mattress almost comically-- and leans over him to place a hand on his head. Damian lays there frozen and Jon, oblivious as always, gives a hum. Â
âYou're burning up, and your heartbeat is faster than usual. Seem pretty sick to me.âÂ
You snicker from behind Jon, watching your boyfriendâs flustered face turn into a scowl. He huffs and turns over so he doesnât have to face either of you. Â
Jon gives you a concerned look and you only shrug, crawling into bed next to your lover and getting comfy under the sheets.  Â
âNow that youâre here, you can help me keep him in bed, so he actually gets some rest.âÂ
You prop your head up on your hand and softly poke at Damianâs face, watching his sharp eyebrows scrunch and his lips pout. In all your years dating him, heâs only gotten sick a few times and every time rendered him an irritable, miserable mope of his former slightly less-irritable self.  Â
âRight. Good idea.â Â
Jon slips off his shoes and then his shirt and then reaches for the button of his jeans. You pat Damian on the shoulder to make him roll on his back so youâre both watching the half-kryptonian, neither saying a thing lest he stop halfway through shoving his pants off. Â
It's only when he's hopping around with his jeans stuck on his ankle that Damian speaks. Â
âWhat are you doing?â Â
Jon pauses, looking up at you both, his glasses askew. âI canât sleep in outside clothes.âÂ
You meet your boyfriendâs eyes for a silent moment. Â
"Ah, of course.â â...Obviously.â Â
You both telepathically decide not to mention the fact that he could just go fetch his own pajamas in Metropolis and be back in a second, or that he has extra pj's in your drawers from the other times he's slept over.Â
He places his glasses on the bedside table and clambers onto Damian's other side, spooning the former vigilante from behind while you keep him snug to your chest. You take a few moments to shuffle around and get comfortable before settling into a quiet, calm state of existence. Â
Your legs are an incomprehensible tangled mess, Jon's arm rests under your head and Damian rests his head in your warm chest, all kept close together by Jon's strong arm reaching over Damian and resting on your lower back. The faint sound of Gotham traffic a few stories down and slow breathing is all that fills the room. Â
Your fingers lightly card through Damianâs dark hair, catching Jonâs lidded eyes. Â
âThanks for coming, Jon.âÂ
Damian gives the quietest, shortest little hum in agreement, shuffling back a bit so heâs closer to Jonâs chest, who pulls you closer in response, warm fingers lightly brushing where your shirt has ridden up and sending heat all the way up your spine.Â
âDonât thank me.â Â
He gives a warm smile, and nuzzles a little closer to Damian, who shivers slightly, fingers digging gently into your waist. You realise it might be a little overwhelming for him to be squished in the loving embraces of the two people he-Â
âItâs just what best friend's do for each other.âÂ
You hide your grimace in your boyfriendâs hair, he hides his frustrated sigh in your chest. Â
áŻâ Â
The sun was blazing hot, the sand was worse, but neither could beat the sight of Damian Wayne stepping out of the waves; toned muscles flexing as he sweeps a hand through his wet hair, droplets slipping down his abs and past his swim trunks, his well-defined thighs flexing with the strain of stepping through wet sand. Â
Jon let himself stare longer than he usually would, only turning away when he hears you clear your throat. His neck snaps towards where you lie on your side next to him on the blanket you're sharing, giving him a smug look.Â
âGood view, huh?âÂ
Jonâs eyes widen, flicking from you to your boyfriend and back to your growing grin. Â
âYeah, weâre lucky the weatherâs really great today and the waves! Nice waves!âÂ
Your smile only gets more cat-like, but you hum in agreement. Â
âVery nice waves.â   Â
You both silently watch Damian walk up to your little set up on the empty beach and collapse next to Jon, cocking his head at the man.Â
âWhy is your face so red, Kent?âÂ
The second man of steel stammers for an answer before you pipe up from his other side.  Â
âYeah, Jon? Did you put on sunscreen?â Â
"Uh, yeah. I mean, no. I don't really need-"Â
Before he can stammer any more, you're already getting your sunscreen out your beach bag and shuffling closer. His heart and stammering halt when you straddle his hips, uncap the tube and place a tiny pea of the white cream on your palm.Â
You take a little with your finger and dot some on his red cheeks and across the bridge of his nose while Jon tries desperately not to stare at your chest, including the faint love bites that travel down your swim top. Â
He canât see Damian smirking at him, but definitely hears it in his voice. Â
âDidnât know Kryptonianâs could get sunburnt.âÂ
Before Jon can fumble through an answer, you pass the sunscreen to Damian. Â
âWell, heâs only half Kryptonition.âÂ
Damian takes it and moves behind Jon to start massaging sunscreen into his tense shoulders. Jon clears his throat, avoiding your eyes.  Â
"I didn't know you guys were so... sun conscious."Â
Your thumbs trace over his red hot cheeks, making him look you in the eyes. Â
"Only because we care about you.âÂ
The sun reflects in his eyes, you feel his shoulders relax under your boyfriendâs skilled touch and his eyes ease shut as you rub soft circles on his red cheeks. Â
âI care about you guys too.â Â
You dip your head just a little closer, almost close enough to touch noses. Â
âYouâre such good friends to me.âÂ
You're glad his eyes are still closed so he can't see you deflate like a balloon. Damian's pained groan from behind him causes him to open his eyes again and give you a raised brow. You sigh, pat his shoulder and slip off his lap. Â
áŻâ  Â
Jonâs eyelids are heavy, sleep still weighing on his mind as he tries, though lazily, to remember where he is.  Â
"-and we have to be subtle about it."Â
"You think we've been subtle?"Â
Jon blinks the haze away, the hushed conversation only barely registering in his mind.Â
âThis is tiring, Beloved.â Â
âI know, but we canât overwhelm him.âÂ
âWe wonât, weâll explain-âÂ
The conversation stops abruptly when the couch creaks with his weight as Jon adjusts his sore body. Â
He groans and stretches, wincing a little as his joints pop with the strain. He hears someone approach and feels fingers gently comb through his hair. Â
âDid you sleep well?âÂ
He nuzzles into the touch, nodding his head with a croaky hum and mumbles something like, "HwamIhere?"Â
He hears your chuckle, the sound making him smile.Â
âYou flew in here after a mission talking about an inter-dimensional imp or something and then collapsed on the couch. You looked pretty knocked up so we let you sleep and changed you out of your suit for you.âÂ
He doesn't even register the last bit of that, too caught up on how disappointed his mom would be if she heard he barged into a friend's home and took up their space without even asking!Â
âIâm sor-âÂ
You completely stop him in his tracks with a playful kiss in his forehead before he can finish.Â
âDon't apologize, Kent. We're glad you came to us.âÂ
You grab his wrists and pull him up off the couch. Â
âDamiâs almost got dinner ready.â Â
Jon's never heard a better sentence in his life. He hangs weightlessly on your shoulders as you walk over to the kitchen so he doesnât have to use his still unconscious legs. Â
You lean against the kitchen counter and Jonâs head leans against your shoulder as you both watch your lover in his element. You can help but smile, remembering how awful he was at cooking or really any house chores when you started dating.Â
âIf you two would stop gawking and set the table, that would be helpful.â  Â
You both huff in amusement, but do as told. Jon floats over to the cupboard, taking out three bowls and placing them on the counter. Â
âCome and taste this.âÂ
Jon floats over to Damian, who holds out a steaming spoon for him. Jon slips at the soupy contents and lets out a moan. Damian scoffs, eyes rolling but smile unhidden. He lifts Jon's chin slightly,  Â
âGood?âÂ
 Jonâs eyes widen a little but he nods wordlessly and Damian gives a short hum before turning back to his stove. The half-kryptonian speeds over to help you set up the table as Damian finishes up the rest of the food. Â
Soon, all three of you stuffing your faces with soup and buttered bread sticks. Both you and Damian can tell there's something on your friend's mind by how quiet he is. He only speaks after his second serving, swirling his bread stick in his almost empty bowl. Â
âSo uh, I have a date.âÂ
Neither you nor Damian react immediately, save for the look you throw each other from across the table. You pipe up with a smile you hope looks more genuine than it feels. Â
âThatâs great! Do you think itâll go well?âÂ
Damian rolls his eyes as if to say, "Real subtle." and you shoot him a glare.Â
âWell, heâs nice and I think heâs into me.âÂ
He hears Damian scoff and mumble, âNice?â under his breath. He also hears you kick his foot under the table.  Â
âIf youâre nervous, we could join you. For emotional support.â Â
You shrug as if itâs a normal thing to bring your two best friends along for a first date. He rubs the back of his head. Â
âThanks, but I think you guys scared away my last date.âÂ
You scoff awkwardly, Damian doesn't look up from his soup.Â
âWhat? Thatâs ridiculous.â Â
âShe wasnât worthy.â Â
You glare at Damian from across the table and Jon just gives you a raised brow, gesturing to your boyfriend. Â
âOkay, fine. But itâs just because we want the best for you.âÂ
You place your hand in his, giving him a very cautious smile.Â
âBecause we love you.â Â
Damian gives a short nod down at his soup and Jon feels his heart warm and his cheeks flush.Â
âJeez, I love you guys too.â Â
His thumb strokes the back of your hand, he looks like heâs glowing. Â
âIâm lucky to have you guys as frie-âÂ
Damian roughly sets down his bowl, cutting him off before Jon can utter the word. You give him another glare, one that he returns this time as Jon looks between you with concern written all over his face. Â
You win the staring match when Damian lifts his bowl back up to angrily slurp at the rest of the contents. Â
âWeâre lucky to have you too.âÂ
 You pat Jonâs hand and Damian grumbles all the way back to the kitchen to wash his dish and sulk for the rest of the night. Â
áŻâ Â
The moon is high in the sky, a random movie is playing on the tv, and Jon has once again found himself stuck snuggly between his two best friends. Â
You were already attached to his bicep not even a minute into the movie, curled into his side.Â
Damianâs on his other side, arms crossed, thighs spread apart lazily. Jonâs been trying not to stare at where his pajama shorts have ridden up, the heat of his skin burning where his thigh presses against Jonâs. His head tips back against the couch, lidded eyes gazing at the screen with a bored look. Â
Safe to say, Jon canât seem to focus on anything going on in the movie. Especially not when your fingers idly trace up and down his forearm like that. Â
âso... how did your date go?â Â
Itâs quiet for a moment as Jon thinks up a proper answer. He shrugs, Â
âIt was nice.âÂ
Itâs always just nice, if even that. Â
That might not have been the proper answer because he can feel both of you looking at him and then look at each other and then look at him again. He hates it when you do that, it makes him feel more left out than if you guys just kissed in front of him. Not that he thinks about that often.Â
Damian shuffles a bit at his side, his arms flex ever so slightly as he readjusts.Â
âWhat happened?âÂ
Heâs trying to sound nonchalant but both Jon and you know how protective he can be and how out of hand that can get. Jon shakes his head and answers a little too quick.Â
âNothing! Nothing happened.â Â
He shoves his hands in his lap, keeping his eyes on the screen. Thereâs another short silence and Jon just knows youâre doing the couple telepathy thing again.Â
You take one of his hands in yours, in the gentle way you always do. Â
âIs there going to be a second date?â  Â
Jon bites the inside of his lip, shrugs and gives a noncommittal, "Maybe."Â
His date texted him a few hours ago asking about just that, but he doesn't want to tell you why he hasn't responded yet. You nod slowly and take a deep breath. Â
"Y'know, we could help you out? Give you some advice?"Â
He wants to laugh. He already knows you canât help him because youâre the problem. He canât go on a date without thinking about how heâd rather be hanging out with you and Damian or wondering if youâd like the person or imagining your lips or Damianâs hands instead of the person he's supposed to be on a date with.Â
He hasn't gotten laid in ages because the last time he did, he almost said both your names and the guilt almost ruined him. Â
He huffs an awkward laugh, Â
âI donât need advice.âÂ
Damian scoffs and Jon whips his head around,Â
âClearly your dates would disagree.âÂ
Jon gawks and turns to you, clearly looking for some backup, but the only thing you offer him is a pained expression and a shrug. Damian continues, Â
âYour string of failed dates has become embarrassing to watch. You clearly need help.â Â
Jon goes to argue again but stops himself with a scoff when he realises there's no point. He rubs his palms into his eyes, already burning with embarrassment. You place a hand on his shoulder.Â
âIts okay to be nervous on a date, Jon. We can at least help you feel more...experienced.âÂ
He throws his hands up, Â
"I am experience-"Â
"I know. But maybe you just need more practice?"Â
He turns to you, searching your face for what that could possibly mean. You're biting your lip in a way that's clearly meant to be hiding some excitement behind it, your hand moving down his arm. Â
âDamianâs a good kisser. He could show you.âÂ
Jonâs eyes go so wide you have to stifle a laugh, waving your hands placatingly.Â
âJust for practice, obviously.â Â
He spins his head around to Damian when he hears the manâs huffed laughter. Â
Damian has his head tilted back against the couch, waiting with a confident smirk. His eyes flick down to Jonâs lips making the man's shoulders tense and his heart stumble. Â
âI don't- Well if- I mean-âÂ
Damian rolls his eyes, and without drawing it out further, pulls Jon by his collar into a hard kiss. Jon makes a high-pitched yelp sound against Damian's lips, one that almost matches your stifled scream of excitement as Damian keeps him close, deepening the kiss. Â
When Damian pulls away you can tell itâs too soon for both men. They look forward at the TV, Jon blinking with his mouth agape while Damian schools his face into a deadpan expression. Â
âThat was terrible.â Â
âWhat?!âÂ
You canât help but laugh, only making Jon's embarrassment burn brighter.Â
âYou donât reciprocate enough. Just stayed still like a dummy and made me do all the work.âÂ
Jon holds his hands out in exasperation, more offended than he should reasonably be.Â
âThat's because I wasnât expecting it!âÂ
âAre you expecting it now?âÂ
Damian takes his jaw and turns his head towards where you've been patiently waiting your turn ever since they separated. Â
You give him a moment to back away before meeting his lips, softer than Damian, just getting a taste before diving deeper. He slowly melts against your lips as you deepen it, reciprocating every kiss with his own. His hand stays on your back, keeping you close when you mumble against his lips. Â
"Terrible. Needs lots of practice."Â Â
You hear Damian scoff and Jon lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched sound as your boyfriend nips at his neck, trying in vain to leave any marks on the Half-kryptonian's skin. You feel Damian making his way up Jon's neck and pull away, letting Damian have another taste while you work down his neck. You hear Jon moan into the kiss as Damian bites down on his lower lip, trying to get him to open up so Damian can slip his tongue into his friendâs mouth. You slowly start unbuttoning Jon's sleep shirt, each button revealing that toned chest you just have to lay kisses on, trying not to get distracted by the growing tent in his pants.Â
When you get to the last button, Jon pulls away from Damian, panting even though he doesn't need to breathe air. Â
"You guys don't have to do all this just- just to help me get a date."Â
There's a second of silence before both you and Damian let out frustrated groans. Damian grabs Jon's face, looking him in his big blues. Â
"Are you serious?"Â
Jon doesn't answer and you sigh wearily, playing with the waistband of his plaid pajamas. Â
"We'll have to make it more obvious, Dames."Â
Damian takes one hand and, without breaking eye contact with your stupid, oblivious, beautiful friend, he takes your hand and grabs Jon's half-hard cock.Â
The man hisses, looking down at where you both cup him over his pajamas and Damian squeezes harder, grabbing him by the jaw to meet his eyes again. Â Â
"Call me your friend again, I dare you."Â
Jon can only let out a pained groan. You feel his cock twitch in your hand, the wet spot worsening. Â
"Oh, he liked that."Â
Damian huffs in snide amusement. He backs away from Jon, looking down at you and suddenly, Jon seems to realise how truly fucked he is when Damian leans down to meet you in a sweet kiss. Â
He watches the way you both seamlessly trade positions, your hand leaving his cock so Damian can palm him at his own pace while you kiss up his neck. He tries to lean back and relax, but Damianâs hand is so warm and strong, and your lips are so soft and they mumble so gently against his neck.Â
âAre you feeling overwhelmed?âÂ
He nods, unable to say much else with his heart in his throat. He's been dreaming of this for so long and, of course, when it somehow is finally happening to him, he can barely react with anything other than choked sounds. Â
âThat's okay, we just want to make you feel good.â Â
You hold both his cheeks in your hands, he stares up at you like a deity who came down to bless him. Â
âJon,â You place a kiss on his forehead, âCan we do that?âÂ
He swallows, noticing that Damian's hands have stopped moving, waiting for his answer. He swallows and then nods his head rather dumbly, lifting his hips from the couch so Damian can slip his pants off.Â
âGood boy.âÂ
Jonâs cock twitches. Damian murmurs, âHe liked that.â before giving a soft kiss to the his swollen pink tip, smearing the generous amount of pre down his shaft and working him up from the base with the deft hands of an artist and doctor. Â
Jon lets out absolutely debauched moans, tipping his head back against the couch and pinching his eyes shut, all while feeling your gaze watching his every reaction. You play with his hair idly, and when Jon's eyes flutter open and meet yours again, all pretense of being the good cop in this situation has evaporated.Â
âKissing is far from the only thing he's good at, but you knew that already.âÂ
Jon's barely cognizant enough to understand what you're implying and just when he does, Damian's tongue on his cock wipes any cognitive function left, turning him into a whining mess under his two most loved people. Â
His hips buck up just slightly as he nears his first release of the night. You keep one of his thighs wide open with your knee, not taking your eyes off his pretty face for even a second. His eyelashes flutter, his lips part and his curls bob with every thrust of Damian's. He feels everything at once; Your fingers in his hair, your lips fluttering softly against his cheeks, Damian's hands, his fingers, his mouth.
Just when his moans reach a crescendo, just when you know he's reached his peak, Damian lifts both his head and hands, leaving Jon's cock bobbing in the air with no stimulation, ruining the man's orgasm completely.Â
"Damian!"Â
Both you and Jon cry, Jon out of painful betrayal and you out of amused shock. Damian watches the man struggle without a lick of sympathy, wiping his hands on Jon's shirt.Â
"Serves him right for putting us through all that."Â
Jon lets out a broken whine, not helped by your barely stifled laugh. Â
Damian holds out his hand for you and you take it, letting him lift you from the couch and off to your bedroom, calling back, Â
"Come, Jonathon. Don't be dramatic."Â
You can hear Jon's pained groan from down the hall. No doubt asking any higher being for mercy.Â
áŻâ Â
The room is dark, air still cooling down from a very eventful night. Three bodies lay in tangled sheets, Jon in the middle while you and Damian huddle into him for warmth using his chest as a pillow. It's been quiet for a while, Jon's fingers gently trace your hip and up Damian's back.Â
"So...does this mean I should cancel that second date?"Â
In unison, you and your boyfriend shoot up to look him in the eyes, expressions holding a cocktail of emotions; anger, exasperation, bafflement, mostly anger.Â
He lifts both hands in surrender, a self-satisfied grin on his face.Â
"I'm kidding."Â
He's then assaulted with pillows and yelled at by both his lovers and almost sent to the couch for the rest of the night.Â
áŻâ Â
--- God. Finally, this fic has haunted me for a week! There may be mistakes but I'm free!!
Robins react to their civilian partner declaring their hero persona as their âhall passâ.
(Steph is here too but sheâs the instigator. Little stephcass cameo as well. I could write for the girls too if requested tho)
âą Bonus) for Roy, Wally, and Kon click here
You really donât know why you keep letting your boyfriend drag you to these hangouts with his siblings.
Sure, they were cool people, but thatâs why you werenât the most comfortable around them. They were fucking superheroes. You were just some kid off the street, and now you regularly spent your evenings playing board games with Gothamâs ârich young and powerfulâ.
Right now you guys were playing Clue. Which got really intense, as you could imagine. Youâd think theyâd pick a different game, since solving crimes was their day-to-day life, but nah.
They werenât even being subtle about it. Pretty sure they were all trying to impress you with how fast they could beat the game, too.
It wound down, however. The night had dragged on. The game changed to Uno because that was less brainpower and more drinking.
You hit Stephanie with a Draw Four, that by house rules, stacked with another Draw Four, making girlypop have to draw eight cards total. You really shouldnât have done that.
You couldnât remember how you guys got to the subject, but suddenly you were talking about hall passes. You know, that thing where you can bang a certain celebrity if you ever got the chance and your partner canât get mad.
You think they were just really trying to embarrass your boy. And it was working.
âMineâs Zendaya,â Stephanie laughed, âpeople complain that sheâs in everything these days but I couldnât be happier. Iâd use that girlâs thighs as earmuffs,â she then animatedly mimed some colorful actions.
Your boyfriend grit his teeth at the crassness. That was more than he needed to know. Cass just rolled her eyes at her girlfriendâs antics.
The others chattered their agreement. Zendaya was hot. A worthy hall pass.
Stephanie then turned to you with a sneaky smile, the air of an animal cornering its prey, âWhat about you, huh Y/n? Youâve been pretty quiet tonight.
âUhââ you stuttered, âI donât know. I believe in fidelity pretty strongly,â you played with a lock of your hair, âand I donât really let myself think about other guys like that, so,â you tried to deflect.
âOh, please,â one of your boyfriendâs brothers interjected as he incredulously rolled his eyes at you, âlike thatâs true,â
âYeah, and Iâm secretly the Queen of England,â Steph added.
âHey!â your boyfriend defended, âSounds true to me,â he insisted. You were giving a perfectly good answer and theyâre just jealous that they donât have someone like you in their lives.
âCâmon Y/n. Surely, thereâs some celebrity out there whoâs caught your eye,â Stephanie knocked back her solo cup dramatically, âYou telling me youâve never had a celebrity crush? Never ever?â she nudged your arm with hers.
âWellâŠâ you stalled for time.
âWell?â she pried.
And then you got an evil thought.
You know that little imp on your shoulder that likes to say âhey, you know what would be so fucking funny?â. Well, youâre going to listen to them for once.
True, you know that youâre sitting in the den of the infamous Gotham vigilante family, but they donât know that you know that.
âThere is⊠someoneâŠâ
âSomeone?â your boyfriend pressed, trying really hard to sound like he was simply curious and totally not jealous. At all.
âHeâs justâahâ you covered your face in your hands in a pretty good performance of fake embarrassment.
âWho?â they all badgered you as they leaned in like you were about to divulge tomorrowâs winning lottery numbers or something.
âItâsâ
[Dick]
âNightwing,â
Dick choked on his own spit. âNIGHTWING?!â He sputtered.
âHeâs just so sexy. I donât know what to tell you Dickie. Heâs such a sweetie. And thereâs something about the way he moves. I just get so starstruck when heâs around,â
âWhen heâ When has Nightwing been arounââ
And suddenly he remembered all those times he thought he was being sneaky, stalking secretly walking you home from the rooftops whenever you got off work at night.
Shit. Did you see him? Maybe once or twice? Was it more? Have you been aware that a whole ass vigilante has been practically stalking you? And you were okay with that?
Maybe you just thought his patrol route lined up with your way home.
But he didnât have any more time to ponder this as you JUST KEPT GOING OH MY GOD.
âAnd damnn, have you seen his butt?â you whistled, âHis suit is so tight. Sooo tight.â You emphasized.
Dickâs face was redder than a tomato at this point. Someone kill him now. Stephanie looked like she just won aforementioned lottery.
âHeâs out here single-handedly keeping the entire ass city of BlĂŒdhaven safe, all while looking like he was sculpted by Michelangelo or something. Literally gorgeous. And I heard he saved a puppy one time. A puppy, Dick. Itâs like he was written by a woman. Iâd be stupid to NOT tap that sweet ass.â
Suddenly, and probably his brain trying to cope with the mortification, all sorts of filthy fantasies were crossing his mind of you, him, and the Nightwing suit. Why did that sound so hot?
Imagine him coming home, not even shedding the sweaty suit as he made a beeline for you. Imagine dry humping while heâs still suited up. God.
Imagine the hero Nightwing bending an innocent little civilian over the table because you just wanted to thank him for keeping you safe. Youâll do anything for him, anything he wants *wink wink*âŠ
Goddammit Dick! Not in front of The Children (his grown ass siblings lmao).
âWell, looks like Dickhead doesnât mind,â Jason teased as he nudged his older brother with his elbow, knocking him out of his horny daze.
âOh, heâs totally down for a threesome with Nightwing, Y/n,â Tim added devilishly.
âShut up both of you!â Dickâs face literally could not get any hotter.
He hid his face in his hand as the rest of the party descended into giggles. You among them.
Poor Dickie. Youâll have to put him out of his misery and tell him that you know his secret after tonight. And then maybe you will get to tap that.
[Jason]
âRed Hood,â
âŠJason was confused. Why would you pick him. What?
âRed Hood?â
Where was all his bravado when he needed it?
âYeah, Red Hood,â you puffed out your chest in pride, âHeâs like legitimately the coolest out of all the bats!â
âNo heâs not,â Jason said exasperatedly, âYouâre biased because he saved you that one time.â
It was a weird night for him. He couldnât say he wasnât pissed to all hell when he caught you getting fucking mugged in an alleyway, but he did enjoy the way you looked at him like he was your hero. Your knight in shining armor. Or knight in a beat up leather jacket and red helmet.
âNo, Iâm right. Not just because he beat up those goons for me.â you crossed your arms, âThose other vigilantes wish they were as cool as Red Hood. Batman wishes he was as cool as Red Hood,â
âHeâs done a lot of bad things,â was all Jason could think to say.
âAntiheroes are sick as fuck, Jay. And heâs sexy as fuck too.â
Oh really now? He could almost roll his eyes.
âYou donât even know what his face looks like,â he scoffed.
âI donât have to. Have you heard his voice when he talks to reporters? Itâs like honey. Hot honey, Jason. I just know heâs gorgeous under that stuffy helmet. Oh! I bet his helmet hair is sexy too.â
Jesus Christ. Jason took a deep breath to center himself. You did not just say. All of that.
âMan, I hope that next time I get mugged he puts that sexy leather jacket around my shoulders,â
Your boyfriend just stared at you, willing the veins to not pop out of his forehead.
âYou okay there, Jason?â Duke asked in fake concern, patting him on the back.
âYeah, youâre looking a little.. Red,â
Oh, Jason was going to kill Tim for that one.
Forget them, thereâs something more important on his mind now, âThere will not be a ânext time you get muggedâ, Y/n,â he said annoyed.
âOh sure there will. We live in Gotham,â you waved your hand in dismisal.
Lord have mercy on his soul.
Looks like âRed Hoodâ was going to have to pay you a visit to have a little chat about safety. Again.
And maybe itâll be as Jason, your boyfriend. If he can work up the courage. Maybe. Maybe it wonât be as bad as heâs been making it out in his head. If your staunch defense of him tonight proved anything. Maybe youâll love Red Hood too. He wonât have to hide that part of himself anymore. Heâd give you all of him, if you would take it.
[Tim]
âRed Robin,â
âOoooh,â the siblings chorused.
Tim was unexpectedly quiet, however.
ââŠThatâs an interesting choice.â he sounded weirdly calm, lost in thought as his eyes flickered like he was calculating something, âRed Robin,â he said it more to himself than anything.
Not exactly the embarrassed reaction you were hoping for. You were kinda confused, âWhat do you mean?â
âWell itâs just that heâs not exactly popular, you know? Like, you couldâve chosen Nightwing. That would be the obvious choice here. Everyone loves Nightwing,â
You pretended to not hear Dick scoff at that.
âWell, I donât love Nightwing,â you said and also pretended to not hear the little wounded noise Dick made at that, and then the sound of the air getting knocked out of his lungs as Jason jabbed him in the stomach.
âSo why Red Robin?â
âWell, again, sorry to Nightwing, but Redâs my favorite Robin. Heâs just objectively the best.â
âObjectively?â
You started listing off reasons on your fingers, âHeâs the smartest of the bunch, heâs the most successful, heâs the prettiestââ
âAll of those things are highly debatable,â Jason interjected.
You shook your head, âLook, weâre lucky he hasnât chose to go rogue because heâd be an incredibly powerful supervillain. Heâd be unstoppable. And heâs my Robin. So really. Thereâs no denying it,â
âYour Robin?â
âYeah, My Robin,â you fiddled with the bracelet on your wrist, that Tim recognized as the tracker he secretly put on you.
He knew if he gave you something, youâd never take it off. And sue him, he likes knowing where you are at all times. Helps soothe his anxiety about letting you roam around Gotham as you please.
It alerts him if you stray along an unusual path (dangerous) or stay in one place too long (also dangerous). Not your home or work or any of the shops and cafes you frequented. Just like. If you stay on a side street too long, then somethingâs happening. And he needs to know that immediately.
Seeing your little icon on the map safe and sound in your home was a comfort to him. Sometimes heâd fall asleep watching the unmoving icon.
âHeâs like, the Robin who was active while I was growing up, you know? Heâs the one I saw on the news and watched rooftops with my telescope hoping to get a good picture of him. That was the guy I wanted to save me. My Robin.â
âOh so when you said objectively, you meant subjectively,â Damian didnât sound impressed.
âNo. I mean objectively. Just because Iâm biased doesnât mean he isnât legitimately the best,â you crossed your arms, âYouâre just jealous, Tiny,â you stuck out your tongue at the younger boy.
Damian squinted his eyes at your childish display.
Tim laughed, âWell, I guess I really canât be mad if you sleep with him, then,â
âYou canât,â you said smugly.
Tim slipped his arm over your shoulder, and you melted into him. You might not have changed his plans on the perfect time to tell you his secret (which is next month, your anniversary), but this sure was entertaining. At least now he knows you wonât be mad.
(Bonus) [Damian]
âRobin,â
âRobin?â Damian echoed, voice tinny like he was outside of his body.
âIâm sorry Dami, heâs just really coolââ
âI have to kill him.â
âWhat?â
âI have to kill Robin, obviously,â he said solemnly as he quickly stood up from his chair, making a scraping noise on the floor, âThe hunt starts now. Goodbye, Beloved, I will be back soon.â
âDamian!â you called after him as he dramatically left the room.
(He just went to go get more soda from the fridge. Little shit. But he gave his reflection on the stainless steel door a stern talking-to, of course.)
Chracters react to their civilian partner declaring their hero persona as their âhall passâ. Nsfw by nature lmao.
BONUS) Roy Harper, Wally West, and Conner Kent
âą for Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian click here âą
Requested: Roy was but I wanted the other two đ
a/n: look, I know Roy looks like a disney prince when he cleans up (just see the â23 Titans run lol) but I love the ball cap blue-collar look too much lmao. Uh Konâs looks like the longest, probably bc I was in the middle of reading a Superboy comic while writing this. Whoops
Itâs a night on the town. With a few drinks and a few of your boyfriendâs friends, youâve got some great company, even if you donât know them well. Theyâre obviously other masks, even as theyâre trying to be all secretive and not âtalk about workâ as they put it when someone accidentally brings something up around you. Eh, it doesnât really matter to you right now, youâre having a great time just hanging on your boyfriendâs arm.
You donât really remember much of the conversation, you werenât really listening, too caught up in snuggling and snoozing into your boyfriendâs biceps. But apparently they had started talking about hall passes, for some reason? You know, the game that couples play where they each pick a celebrity or a few and agree that they can sleep with that celeb if theyâre ever given the chance and their significant other canât be mad? And they had gotten your attention just to interrogate you on the subject.
âCâmon Y/n, just a simple question, if you had to choose, anyone in the world, whoâd be your hall pass?â
âYou donât have to answer that,â your boyfriend soothed, petting your hair, âjust go back to ignoring them,â
âOhh, instant deflection. Are you scared of their answer?â Jason taunted.
âNo, heâs right! Y/n, you donât have tell these assholes anything,â Dick came to your defense as he put his glass down in order to stare daggers at his friends.
âDickâs just saying that because he got his ass embarrassed to all hell the other night by his partnerâs hall pass,â Tim sneered.
âI am not!â
âSure you arenâtââ
You didnât hear the rest of the shouting, too busy with the idea that youâd just gotten⊠An evil idea. You could definitely embarrass your boyfriend too. Especially since he doesnât know that you know. You know, what you know.
âUh. Well,â you straightened up in your seat, âI do have one, I think. Itâs really goodâŠâ
That peaked everyoneâs interest, even Dick stopped fighting with Tim. They leaned forward in their seats just slightly to hear you better. Honestly, your boyfriend had this coming. Dragging you here just to show you off to his bros.
âWell come on. Share with the class,â Tim urged.
âI think, I would have to chooseââ
[Roy]
âArsenal,â
âReally?â Roy raised a brow, âArsenal,â
A smile tugs at his lips. He canât say he was expecting that but itâs a pleasant surprise.
âYeah. Heâs hot. Like really hot. Ruggedly handsome,â
âYou got a thing for red-heads, Y/n?â Jason was teasing Roy more than you.
âMaybe,â you played coy, âthe muscles donât hurt either,â
Roy lifted the mug of beer to his mouth, trying not to look smug. He works hard, so why shouldnât his partner appreciate him both in and out? If anything, this just proves to him that heâs good at what he does.
âSeriously though, have you seen his hands? The sexiest thing Iâve ever seen. And you know after decades of archery, he knows exactly how to curl those two fingersââ
Roy spit the beer right back into the mug, sputtering. You smirked.
âBut you know heâs gotta be incredibly skilled with other things too. I mean heâs been on how many hero teams now? And that sweaty baseball cap gives him such sexy handyman vibe, you know what Iâm saying?â you patted your manâs arm, âLike you, Roy,â
âJust like you, Roy,â Dick was way too happy to tease him.
Royâs face was redder than his hair at this point, âShut UP, Dickhead,â
âLook boys Iâm just saying,â you paused for a second to bite your lip before dishing out the killing blow, âArsenal could put his arrow in my sheathe any day,â
âOh my god..â you heard your boyfriend whimper next to you, hand over his face in exasperation. Goal Achieved.
âHeâs so scrappy, heâs so sexyââ
âOh Kay,â Roy interrupted you, springing up, âI think itâs time for another person to have their turn at this game,â
The whole table laughed. Laughing at his misery. Horrible, horrible friends he has.
âItâs okay, Babe,â you patted his bicep as you melted back into him, âYouâre still my favorite red-headed muscle hunk. No one could ever replace you, Roy G. Biv,â
He scoffed, playfully rolling his eyes. Fine. Arsenalâs gonna be putting his arrow in your sheathe alright. He wasnât just gonna let you get away with this, even if you didnât really know the extent of what you were doing. And he canât lie, your compliments look good on him.
But heâs gotta get through this night first.
âHow bout you, Jason?â Roy tried turning this on the guy who started the whole thing, his asshole best friend.
âOh I pick Arsenal too,â Jason answered without hesitation.
Roy just glared at him and his stupid shit-eating grin. You cracked up.
You know, Jasonâs pretty funny. Maybe youâll tell him first so you two can collaborate on a plan to prank tell Roy you know about his vigilante life. No way Jason wonât be down for that.
You reached up and gave Roy a kiss on the jaw. He didnât say anything, but he looked down at you, face softening from annoyance into something much more loving. He pressed a quick kiss to your nose before rejoining the conversation which was now apparently about how hot Tim thought Steven Yeun was. Yeah, itâs gonna be good night.
[Wally]
âThe Flash,â
Wally narrowed his eyes as he turned in his seat to face you, âWhich Flash?â
âUh, Keystone, obviously,â
âPhew,â Wally let out the breath he was holding, âgood,â
He returned to the mug of beer that didnât do anything for his hummingbird metabolism to try and play it cool.
You feined irritation, âwhy? Whatâs wrong with Central Flash?â
âNothing, nothing,â he put up his hands in a placating motion, âheâs just not as young as Keystone. Or as hot as Keystone. Or as cool as Keystone. Orââ
âOh, do you want to make this a threesome?â you deadpanned as Wally balked, âI didnât think youâd have such strong opinions on which Flash Iâd want to fuck.â
âI⊠Donât.â
âReally? So you have no problem with me making sweet love to that handsome Central City Flash? No problem at all?â
Wally felt his eye twitch. He was 90% sure you were purposefully messing with him now⊠Which meant something he wasnât really ready to unpack right here at the table in front of god and every nosy civilian in the pub.
âNo,â he said through gritted teeth, ânot at allâ
Dick leaned forward, âPsst, hey Y/n, do you want Central Flashâs number?â he staged whispered to you, âI uhâ he worked with us at the BlĂŒd PD for a case, see,â
âOh, yeah, I remember. You told me all about that,â Roy added with a wink, âHeâs such a great guy, Y/n. You should totally take Dick up on this,â
âIâm not talking to either of you ever again,â Wally stated very seriously as he possessively pulled you closer to him.
You chuckled, âThanks, but Iâll pass, Dickââ
Wally loosened his grip on you in relief.
âNot unless you have Keystoneâs number too. I was just joking about Central but Iâm serious about Keystone,â you giggled as Wally squeaked.
âOh whatâs so great about him, huh?â Wally huffed in annoyance.
Wait, is he getting jealous of himself right now?
You looked at him, not missing the flush on his freckled cheeks or the little pinch in his expression as he pointedly looked away from you. Oh my god, heâs actually getting jealous of himself right now. Jesus, heâs adorable.
âKeystoneâs just the sweetest, okay? He saved me from Weather Wizard last week and he was so sweet and funny,â
Yeah, Wally remembers that. Which also reminded him that youâre talking about him right now. Suddenly, heâs feeling a little silly.
âHe carried me bridal style, and took me really far away from the battle downtown, and he even gave me a kiss on the cheek before he ran off!â
Okay, now Dick was a little more interested, âDid he now?â
Shit. Okay so he thinks he knows how you found out. Oopsies.
Wally straightened up in his seat. If Dick brings it up later, heâll will just tell him the truth, that he loves and trusts you enough that he doesnât think this is a big deal. Or a deal at all. This relationship was starting to get serious anyway, might as well take the leap.
âHe did, no lie,â you laughed as you pressed your face back into your boyfriendâs bicep, âBut Iâm kidding, really. I donât want either of their numbers,â you looked back up at the red-headed red-faced boy you were cuddling, âI just want Wally,â
He pressed a kiss to your forehead.
[Kon]
âSuperboy!â
âSuperboy?â Kon fake coughed, âI mean, Superboy?â
He didnât sound any more nonchalant. You grinned.
âIâm sorry Conner, I have a type,â you dramatically brushed your hair back, âand itâs boys whoâre jacked and kind,â
âI thought it was âbad boysââ
âSeriously?â you rolled your eyes, âA punked out leather jacket and fingerless gloves donât make him a bad boy. He saves kittens from trees, for fuckâs sake,â
âYou can like kittens and still be a bad boy,â he gestured to make his point, âI like kittens,â
âYouâre not a bad boy either, Conner,â
He put his hand on his chest, making a horribly exaggerated wounded noise. You giggled and gave his shoulder an affectionate headbutt, like the aforementioned kittens.
âItâs fine, Babe. Bad boys arenât sexy. You know whatâs sexy? Compassion,â
âOh my God,â Kon rolled his eyes with his whole head, âyou got anymore lines straight from a youth pastorâs mouth?â he teased you.
You put your hand up in a hear me out gesture, âIâm just saying. I donât just want to fuck his sexy body, I want to fuck his sexy soul,â
âPfft,â he shook his head, âOkay Y/n,â
âPlusâŠâ you bit your lip, âWho knows what kind of.. creative things we could get up to with that telekinesis stuff heâs gotâŠâ
You heard Tim choke on his drink and start laughing. Conner flushed next to you. He doesnât fluster easily, so this is a rare treat.
âOh, trust me, he can,â Tim wiggled his eyebrows.
âThatâs right, you dated him for like a week, didnât you?â
No, the paparazzi just caught Kon bringing Tim a latte one morning while in his Superboy gear and the tabloids went wild. They had to stage a fake breakup and everything. After that whole fiasco, Kon learned to be a lot more sneaky with his coffee deliveries. Which has come in handy while dating you, of course.
âSee, Tim agrees with me, itâs so hot,â you teased, âWait, Tim, do you still talk to him? Can you get me a date?â
Tim smirked wickedly like the good friend he was, âOh I can totally set you guys up,â
âSweet,â
âWell, thatâs Too Bad, Y/n,â Kon pulled his arm out of your grasp to cross them over his chest, âbecause, as you have said, Superboy is a great guy, who would not want to help you cheat on your boyfriend with him,â
âHmmm. Youâre rightâŠâ you said with mock thoughtfulness, âI guess Iâll just have to break up with you first. Just shoot off a quick âweâre overâ text as soon as me and Superboy meet,â
âWhatââ
âIâm sorry Conner, but who am I to let my boyfriend stop me from meeting my husband?â
âWaitâŠâ
Kon just stared at you blankly. You held a straight face for as long as you could.
ââŠI canât tell if youâre actually considering leaving me for Superboy right now,â he said in astonishment.
And you broke. Conner was smiling too now, because that awful snort laughter you thought was ugly? He thought was the most adorable thing in the world.
âNo Baby,â you pulled him back into your embrace, âI wouldnât leave you for anyone. Not even Superboy,â
âPinky promise,â he smirked as he held up his pinky.
âPinky promise,â you hooked your pinky with his.
And then used your other hand to grab his face and shove your tongue down his throat. Conner responded in kind.
âUGH GUYS. REALLY?â Dick squawked across the table.
Kon flipped him off, not leaving your lips. He didnât really care if they saw or if fucking Nightwing had anything to say about it. Because yeah, heâs kind of a bad boy, no matter what you say.
And you know what? Maybe heâll make your dreams reality tonight. Even the weird tk ones. It wasnât called tactile telekinesis for nothing.
âCanât let my boyfriend stop me from meeting my husbandâ psssh. Oh, heâll show you husband alright.
His breath hitches quietly, breath fanning against your skin as he bites down his lower lipâdrawing a tiny amount of blood. He is struggling to contain himself, face flushed in a deep red, hands curled around your waist to keep himself sat, hips stuttering at the contact. It was too much, too slow, too punishing. It was heaven.
Donâtstopdonâtstopdonâtstopâ
âShould I stop?â you leisurely put some distance between the two of you, while straddling his lap.
âNoâ!â he breathed out, too flushed and too embarrassed, sweat forming on his forehead while whining, âdonât stopâplease, I need you! You can do anythingâwhatever you need to.â
Concern seeped out, vivid in your eyes when you gazed down at him. He trembled slightly, forced smile on his lips as he tried to hold himself back from letting his hands slip further. But god you made it so hard whenever you looked at him with those pretty eyes, fluttering your lashes ever so slowly, lipstick smeared over your skin.
Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouâ
âPlease, continueâŠâ he groaned, shifting in his position.
âSay cheese.â
âC-CheeseâŠâ
The flash went off, your phone snapping one quick picture before you threw it to the side, gaze glazing over his neck that was littered with bruises and bites, his jaw that was tainted by your lipstick, his glossy eyes that were begging you for more.
Iwantyouiwantyouiwantyouiwantyouâ
âGoshâI need you so bad, please.â he whined.
Your lips curled into a smile, pulling against his hair gently to title his head to the side, fingertips grazing his cheek.
Surprise, you're going to be a dad! || Jason Todd x pregnant!reader
â Jason gets a voice message from an unknown number and suddenly he's going to be a dad.
!!: fem!reader. fluff. hurt/comfort. +6.5k words. no use of y/n. Insecure Jason. pregnancy. reader's parents are pro-life, reader isn't. English is not my first language. I measure pregnancy time by months instead of weeks (I've never been pregnant, don't kill me). art by @/ciricearts.
A/N: Here's the fic you guys have been waiting for!! thank you so much for all the love the sneak peak got, I really wasn't expecting it to blow up like it did.
[dc masterlist]
Voice message from +1 (XXX) XXX-XXX
Hmm⊠Hi. I don't know if you remember me, but we hooked up like five or six weeks ago⊠I really don't know how to say this⊠We met at that creepy bar near Gotham stadium. We started talking, you gave me your number and then left, but like ten minutes later you came back, we talked more, and eventually we ended up at my apartment. Does it ring a bell? Well⊠what I wanted to tell you was thatâŠhmmâŠthis is really difficultâŠsorry, I called you, but you didn't answer so I had to leave this message⊠what I was saying was thatâŠfuckâŠI'm pregnant, and you're the fatherâŠand before you call me back and ask me if I'm completely sure I'm going to tell you beforehand that yes, I'm 100% certain that you are the father. I'm sure because, I think I told you when you started undressing me that night, but I don't usually do one night stands and you had been the only one I've had sex with for a long timeâŠwow, that was embarrassing⊠God, I don't even remember your name, I saved you as "hot stuff (call again for a good fuck)"âŠshitâŠwhy did I even said that? Forget that, pleaseâŠCould you call me back once you've heard this message? Thank you, bye, sorry.
It was 5 am when Jason listened to the voice mail. He hadn't even got time to take off his Red Hood suit when he heard your voice through his phone's speakers. He recognized your voice instantly. It had been the first thing that had hypnotized him the moment he met you. Your voice, with such sweet tone, that could tame any beast.Â
The moment when he reached the "I'm pregnant" part Jason froze. He had expected you to call him to maybe ask for another night togetherâgod knows he needed itâ, or to return him something he had forgotten and that he hadn't noticed even six weeks later. But the word "pregnant" felt like the type of punch that leaves people without air. He was left speechless and completely lost. He could call you now, but he wouldn't know what to say. Because, what do people say when they just found out they could be a father through a voice message, by someone who had been his one night stand six weeks ago? Besides, it was 5 am and you were probably asleep right now.
Jason was still trying to recall your name while he undressed from his suit and entered the shower. The cold water wasn't enough to awake him from the shock and the sound of the bathroom's fan was only distracting him from remembering other detail about the night that weren't you, moaning his name.
When he exited the shower and looked at his reflection on the bathroom mirror he saw a total failure. He wasn't the image of an ideal father. He was a beaten up vigilante with a shitty life and unhealed traumas that still haunted him. He was not made for loving anyone.Â
He thought of you, because it was selfish to think about only himself when he didn't knew anything about your situation right now. You could be thriving. Enchanted with the idea of being a mother, and maybe you were expecting Jason to show up as a father for the poor creature. Or you could be feeling as miserable, like Jason. You could be falling asleep crying, or overthinking, or both. You could be hating yourself for not being careful enough. You could be anxious, and thinking about abortion. But what Jason knew for sure was that you had provably fallen asleep with your nerves eating you up alive, after sending him that voice message.
"Fuck," was the last think Jason said before throwing his aching body onto his bed and falling asleep. He couldn't lie, he was praying for it to be a cruel joke, or a side effect from any drugging gas he had been in contact with during patron and he hadn't noticed. He couldn't be a father. Not now, not never.
You woke up the next morning with no answer from the strange man that had got you pregnant after a fun night in a bar. You felt horrible, you had already threw up twice this morning and you were now battling against today's breakfastâthat still felt stuck on your throatâfor it not to come out.Â
You were sure you were pregnant. You had done way too many pregnancy tests, from different brands in different days, and all of then were positive. You had also gone to the hospital, and the doctor there confirmed it. You had been pregnant for six weeks but didn't notice until morning sickness kicked in.Â
You had thought about abortion. You weren't against it, and it sounded like the best option right now. You weren't mentally ready to be a mother, and you weren't financially ready to raise a child. You didn't know if the father wanted the baby eitherâyou couldn't force him to be a father if he didn't want to. The problem had been your parents.Â
You knew that calling them hadn't been a good idea the moment you heard your mother's joyful voice when she picked up. You loved your parentsâyou loved how they had always cared deeply for you, and how they had always been there for youâbut your mindsets didn't align at all.Â
Calling then had been your first error, and telling them about the pregnancy had been the second one, and also the biggest mistake you had ever done in your life. They told you how bad abortion was, from their point of view of course. How you had also been an unexpected baby, but the biggest miracle for them. And, by the time the call ended, abortion had been totally banned as an option. Either way, what you needed now was for hot stuff to answer your fucking message.Â
It wasn't until 7 pm that you received a call from him. The name "Hot stuff (father of your child)" (you had changed the name because it was more fitting now rather than "call for a good fuck") was shining on your phone's screen. It seemed obvious to pick up instantly, but the possibility of him being mad scared you, because you didn't know howâand didn't wantâto deal with it. You picked up after the fourth tone, sticking your phone to your ear, and biting your lip until it bled.Â
"Hello?" You asked shyly. Your legs had starting to shake, forcing you to sit down.Â
"Hi, this is Jason. Jason Todd. The man you hooked up with and apparently got you pregnant." His voice was deeper than you remembered. "You left me a voice message last night."
"Yes," you said quickly. An awkward silence filled the line until you talked again. "I'm not going to abort it."
Maybe that was not the way to go. Maybe it had been better to ask him what he thought before saying anything, but the nerves, the sudden feeling of throwing, and Jason's sexy voice were clouding your mind.Â
"Are you sure?" He asked.
"No," you confessed, but deep down you knew you didn't have any other option. You wanted to conserve your relationship with your parents, they were the most important people in your life, and aborting the fetus would make them cut ties with you.Â
"Then why did you made that decision?" He sounded more concerned than judgemental, and it made your heartbeat slow down.
"Because of my parents, but it doesn't matter," you answered and took a deep breath before continuing, "how do you feel?"
"Fucking terrified," Jason confessed. "I wasn't expecting to become a father at 23. I'm sorry, but I don't remember your name either."
You understood, you weren't expecting to get pregnant at this point in your life, and much less from a one night stand. You told him your name and told him a bit more about how you found out about the pregnancy. Jason, surprisinglyâbecause you expected him to be more freaked outâwas listening to your every word attentively and asking questions with a very calm and comforting voice.Â
"It's okay if you don't want to, but would you like for us to meet someday?" You asked, hopeful for Jason to agree and get to meet him better.
"Yes, that could be good," he answered and you could swear he was smiling on the other line, or at least he must had a little smirk.Â
His big arms couldn't go unnoticed, even when they were covered by the leather fabric of his jacket. And he was by far more handsome than you remembered. You couldn't know the gender of your baby yet, but you already knew that they were going to be blessed with amazing genetics.Â
You saw Jason's tiny smile when he spotted you, sitting on a table near the window, far from the entrance. You felt your heart pounding against your chest, and your stomach started turning, when Jason began approaching your table.Â
"Hi," he said and sat down in front of you, "it's been a while," he joked.
"Yeah," the situation was awkward, the two-words conversation had already been awkwardâthis was horrible.
"How are you feeling?" Jason asked.Â
You saw his eyes move from your face down to your abdomen, and then back up to meet yours. You noticed the concern in his expression. The floor beneath you was vibrating because Jason's leg wouldn't stop shaking. He was nervous. You couldn't blame him, you were too.
"Morning sickness is killing me, but I'm doing better," you said.Â
"That's good." His voice was warm, like he was trying to hug you with just his words.Â
"I don't know if you have thought about it, but i need to ask you. Do you want to raise this child with me?" Your eyes were open wide, and you kept pressing your lips together, while bitting the inside on your mouth.Â
"Yes." His answer was sincere, and you could tell by his relaxed gaze and the tiny smile he had on his face. "This is ourfault, I can't leave you alone with something this big if you decide to keep it."
Your were grateful for the decision he had chosen.Â
"I'm scared," you confessed. You shrug your shoulders, and lowered your head, becoming smaller in front of Jason.
"I can tell. I'm scared too."Â
"Guess two negatives make a positive," your joked, trying to lighten the mood. Your heart warmed when you saw Jason's chuckle.
"I guess so."Â
The conversation flow easily after that. You got to know each other better, and you had never expected to have so many things in common with Jason. Turns out you both loved the same authors, liked the same food and listened to similar music. You told him about your parents' reaction to the pregnancy. He avoided talking about his family, because he claimed that their situation was complicated.Â
He really was too good to be true, but you were grateful that someone like Jason was going to be your baby's father.
Jason and you didn't live together, but he spent most of his time in your apartment. Soon you learned that he was an amazing cook. He poured love and dedication into every meal, and you loved to see how much care he handled the ingredients with.Â
"How long have you been cooking this good?" You asked, eating a sandwich he had made for you while watching him cooking dinner.
"Since I live alone. Food is one of the good things I have left, can't fuck it up too." He turned to look at you with a smirk, while he placed the steak in the pan. "How do you like your steak?"
"Medium rare, but you know I can't eat it like that." You took another bite from the sandwich.Â
Jason nodded. He knew, he just loved knowing small things about you, and little did you know that he remembered every single one of them.Â
"Who taught you to cook?" You asked, and this time you saw how his smirk vanished for just a second, and his eyes filled with hesitation, before his face relaxed again.Â
"A good man," Jason answered.
You instantly understood that it was somehow connected with his family, the one he didn't want to talk about. You couldn't force him to open up about something that clearly was significant to him, but curiosity was eating you up alive.Â
Dinner was peaceful, Jason ate quietly next to you while you talked about your day and how the pregnancy was affecting you. Having Jason with you felt like a blessing. You could've hooked up with a total jerkâsomeone who would've ghosted you after finding out you were pregnantâbut instead, you were taken care of by a sweet man who cared about you, although he had known you for only two months now.Â
Jason's presence felt like a warm blanket in a very cold day. His soft voice, whenever he talked to you, made you feel save, while his little nods, with his soft hums, made you feel listened. You felt special thanks to a man who, after an intense night, you never expected to see again.
"It it good?"He asked, pointing to your very cooked steak.
"Do you want me to lie to you?" You asked with a smile. You knew Jason was only asking to mess with you. He perfectly knew your steak was too cooked and you were just getting used to how pregnant women had to eat their food.Â
"What do you want me to make you tomorrow for lunch?"Â
"Surprise me, chef," you teased. You had never called Jason that before, but he didn't complain. Instead, you saw his smirk turning into a sincere smile before nodding.
"Very well, my favorite taster."
Jason truly was a sweetheart.
Once dinner had finished and you, with Jason's help, had cleaned up the kitchen, it was time for him to leave.
"You know you can stay and sleep here right? You're not a stranger anymore," you said, crossing your rams and leaning against the wall while Jason put on his boots.
"Got things to do, but I'll consider the offer for any other day," he said, standing straight.
"You got things to do at 1 am?"
"I'm a busy man," he shrugged.Â
Jason opened your apartment's front door, but you stopped him before he could step out.Â
"Jason." He turned around when you called his name. "My parents want to meet you, if that's okay."Â
He didn't know how to answer. You weren't dating or anything like that. Jason was only taking care of you because he was responsible of the pregnancy. He wasn't ready to meet your parents, but he understood that they would want to meet the man that had impregnated their daughter.Â
"Oh, fine, yeah. When?" He asked.
"They are coming to Gotham in two weeks. Friday, maybe?"Â
"Okay, see you tomorrow."
Jason nodded and you gave him one last smile before he left the apartment.Â
The day Jason met you for the first time in that bar, the first thing he noticed was your low-rise mini skirt and your tight top, that snatched your waist perfectly. But, besides your clothing, you yourself were stunning. It was like you were glowing in a place full of peopleâthe main character of a story. Jason couldn't let that opportunity pass, so he talked to you.
However, he now couldn't deny that pregnancy brought a new light to your persona. It was like seeing a literal star being born. The very little pieces of your life, that might have fallen apart previously, reconnecting and shining and making you an ethereal being.Â
The moment he stepped inside your apartment, and you greeted him with the most stunning smile possibleâwhile wearing a beautiful navy blue dress that made your four months pregnancy noticeableâhe couldn't take his eyes off of you.
You had texted him previously, asking him to wear something nice for dinner with your parents. It was going to be a very private dinner at your house, but you still wanted to look presentable. You wanted to leave your comfy t-shirt and far too big, but soft, sweatpants for just one night. Jason agreed to your dress code, putting on a shirt he had found, buried deep inside his closet.
Also, Jason Toddâthe gentleman he wasâsuggested to arrive earlier to your house to help with dinner. And youâforever grateful for his cooking skills and caring natureâlet him move around your house like it was his, arranging everything related to food, while you took care of the decoration and the aspect of the table.Â
If you had to define your parents in one word, it would be "strict". They needed security, order, rules, perfection. But after all, it was worth it, because they were looking out for you, and your best, right?Â
Everything needed to be perfect. Your pregnancy had already been suspire enough to keep messing up.Â
Jason was taking the veggie lasagna out of the oven when both of you heard the door bell. You gave Jason one look from the dinning room and that was enough for him to understand.Â
Your eyes being slightly wider that usually, your mouth parted in a tiny 'o' shape. You chest rose with difficulty. You were nervous, and you almost looked terrified.Â
Jason left the lasagna over the induction cook, turned off the oven and walked towards you.Â
It was not Jason's big hands wrapping around your arms that wake you up from your trance, it was his soft voice.Â
"Hey," he said. His eyes moved around your face, like he was searching for an open window to enter your brain and know exactly why you reacted like that.Â
He noticed your eyes roaming around his face too, but your breathing was still uneven. Your chest rose sharply, taking in as much air as possible, but exhaling was a struggleâthe air hitched in your throat, leaving your lungs in ragged bursts.
"Look at me," Jason's voice was warm and familiar. "Breath with me, don't worry."
You copied him, feeling better by the second. Jason didn't ask, he didn't demand you to fix yourself. Instead, he understood, and he help you calm down.Â
"What if they're disappointed?" you asked.
"Of what?"
"Of this," you said, pointing to your entire house. "Maybe they'll think I'm a mess, a disaster. They didn't say anything like that when I told them about the pregnancy, but I'm sure they thought about it, they thought that I was a mess."
Jason called your name. You felt his thumbs caressing your arms over the fabric of your dress. "Don't worry about that. Everything will be fine."
You nodded, muttered a "thank you" and walked towards the front door.Â
Your mother threw herself into your arms, while your father stood behind, scanning your place. This was your parent's first time at your Gotham apartment and you could already feel their judgmental and passive-aggressive comments forming in their heads.Â
"Hi, dear. How are you feeling?" Your mother asked, showing her perfect white teeth in a exaggerated smile. Her eyes fell to your stomach. "How's the baby? are you eating enough?"
"The baby's fine, mom," you answered. Your mother walked inside, and your father followed her. It was then when your mother noticed Jason, standing straight in the middle of the room, with his hands behind his back, waiting to be introduced.
"Is thatâŠ?" Your mother asked.Â
You smiled and walked towards Jason, wrapping your hands around his arm, and with your best smile you said: "Mom, dad, this is Jason. He's my boyfriend and the father of the baby."
You couldn't avoid how bright your mother's eyes shined when she heard the word "boyfriend". Meanwhile, your father still looked serious and uncomfortable.Â
"Should we eat?" You smiled, trying to ease the tension.Â
Your house had never been this quiet ever. All that could be heard was the sound of cutlery clinking against the plates. It was weird, unsettling. Jason was next to you, eating peacefully the lasagna, and his eyes were locked on his food. Across from you, your father mirrored Jason avoidant gaze, while your mother looked between you and Jason while she chewed her food loudly.Â
"So, how did you guys met?" Your mother asked, and your father raised his head, finally looking at you.Â
You swallowed your food hard before talking. "Well, It's not a very exciting story, right Jason?"Â
The truth was, it had never occurred to you to make up a romantic story about how you two met for your parents. Yes, introducing Jason as your boyfriend was part of the plan, but, knowing your mom, you would have expected her to keep asking you about the baby. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case.
You looked at Jason for help, hoping that he had come up with a better story during those few seconds of awkward silence, so that the two of you could avoid mentioning that depressing bar where you had actually met.Â
Jason looked at you. He set his fork down on his plate and placed his hand on your thigh, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. He could handle the situation; you had nothing to worry about.
"We met at the library a year ago, more or less," he said "I love reading and I'm a very fast reader, so I prefer to get the books from the library, rather than buying a new one every time I finish a book."Â
You couldn't take your eyes off of from him. His voice, his hand on your legâhis whole being radiated calm. He told the story as if he were reading from a book. He was compelling and, at the same time, poetic. And by the look on your mother's eyes you could tell that she was not only believing him, but also melting by the man you had next to you right now.
"That day, I was looking for one book in particular," he turned to look at you, and you could have sworn his eyes sparkled with something indescribableâsomething that made you feel safe, at peace, and loved. "It turned out that, after searching for an hour, I finally found it in your daughter's hands." Jason let out a chuckle before turning his head back toward your parents. âAt first I walked awayâI felt like a total coward because I didnât dare talk to someone like her; she looked like an angel. And Iâd completely forgotten about the book by the time I went back to talk to her. It was as if the only reason Iâd ever walked into that library was to find her. You could say it was love at first sight.â
"How beautiful," your mother said, sighing dreamily. "That child was a blessing, made out of pure love."Â
When dinner was over and your parents left your house, instead of cleaning up, you climbed out the window and sat on your buildingâs fire escape. The Gotham night breeze was cold, but it helped you calm down after those stressful hours with your parents. You sat there in silence, admiring the Gotham skyline. Each building stood tall and imposing in that sad city youâd chosen to call home.Â
Maybe if you had stayed in your hometown everything could've been different. Maybe you could be working in your father's business rather than hopping from one working interview to another. Maybe you could be living in a big house rather than a small apartment in a questionable side of Gotham. But you, most definitely, wouldn't be pregnant.Â
If you had stayed in your hometown you wouldn't have met Jason. You wouldn't have fallen for the attractive man that approached you in the most awkward but charming way you had ever seen. You wouldn't have felt the need of making your life a little exciting, and invited him to your apartment. And you wouldn't have had the best night of your life.Â
You started feeling your skin getting colder and your body shivering, but you didn't want to get inânot yet. Lost in your silence, filled with the endless thoughts swirling through your head, Jason wrapped you in one of your blankets and, with the grace of a ninja, sat down beside you. He didn't say a word. His silence was enough to calm you. He was there, and he would always be there.Â
"Thank you for making up that story," you said.Â
Jason didn't look at you, he didn't touch you, didn't make a sound, didn't nod, and didn't hum. He just stood there, weighing the impact his next words might have.Â
"I didn't change much. I changed the bar for the library. And the book I mentioned I was looking for? It was actually a metaphor of the relief I was looking for that night because, believe it or not, I had been kicked on the balls way too many times that day and I needed to calm down."Â
"So you thought I was a easy target?" You looked at him. That's when you realized he was already looking at you, with the same intensity in his eyes as when he told your parents the story.Â
"I thought you were beautiful, and I felt like a total cowards. I couldn't bring myself to talk to you at first. And when I finally did, I left, and the came back. I'm stupid, there's no other way to put it, I felt like a high school boy," he confessed.
You both laughed. It was a warm and cozy moment, perfect in every way. Your body leaned slightly toward Jason, as if drawn to him by a magnet.
"I have to confess something," Jason said, and you looked at him, waiting patiently for him to continue, "I don't do one night stands either."
You smiled, because, in a way, youâd been waiting for that confession for so long without even realizing it. It felt like confirmation that you weren't going to be left alone with your child, that Jason wasn't going to leave just to sleep with some random woman. And, somehow, that confession had confirmed that what youâd both felt that night had been mutual: an inexplicable attraction and a deep connection that had led you both to step outside your comfort zones and lose yourselves in each other. Perhaps, after all, that child hadnât been the fruit of love, but neither had it been the result of an uncontrolled desire.
"In two weeks we will finally know the gender of the baby," you said. "What do you want them to be?"
"I don't care," Jason answered, "as long as they're healthy."
"Yeah⊠I want a girl, tho."
Dick Grayson could read Jason like an open book. He noticed how dissociated his brother had been lately. His gaze was lost and he kept tapping his fingers against his gun repeatedly in a weird rhythm.Â
It was not normal for Jason to look this distracted. He usually had sharp eyes and a focused mind. He was definitely not okay.Â
"Jason," Dick called.Â
Jason didn't turn around, not even bothering to look at his brother. Instead, he just hummed, indicating that he was hearing whatever Dick wanted to tell him.Â
"You're not okay." It was not a question, it was an affirmation.
Dick knew that whatever Jason's answer might be right now, he knew him better. Jason was definitely not fine. His mind was fogged by something, causing Jason to be hesitant with every move he made. He kept looking south, licking and biting his lips. He stayed quietâhe didn't even cursed or insulted.Â
Jason raised an eyebrow and looked at Dick over his shoulder, "What?"
"You're acting different." Dick sounded concerned.
"You must be imagining things, Dickhead."
"Jason," He tried again. "Tell me what's happening. I get that you don't tell anything to Bruce, or to Tim, or to anyone in this family. But you can trust me. Please, trust me."
Jason turned around, finally facing Dick. It was difficult. Your pregnancy was not an easy topic to talk about to other people. Mentioning you meant explaining everything, from the humiliating interaction at the bar to the baby Jason was going to be father of in four months.Â
It was a fact that Dick was the best option if anyone wanted to let out something no one else needed to know. He kept secrets like sacred prayers. He would take every word to the tomb. And he was Jason's oldest brother and the best person he had in his life.
"She's a girl." Jason finally said.
Dick furrowed. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "What?"
Jason took a deep breath and started explaining everything until he reached last week's news.Â
A girl. You were going to have a girl.Â
"I can't bring a poor innocent girl into this world. I feel guiltyâevery single day. I was careless. I don't want to blame her, because it was not her fault, of course; it was mine, and now we're bringing a poor soul into the horrible world. I'm not the kind of person who can hold someone so pure in his arms without shuttering their entire soul, but I can't leave her aloneâit's not fair."
Dick listened to Jason's every word, shock had paralyzing his entire body. Dick suspected something significantâsomething that Jason probably didn't want the rest of the family to knowâbut Dick never would have guessed it this: Jason was going to have a daughter.Â
"You're going to be a father," was the only thing Dick could say. The phrase kept repeating in his mind, trying to normalize it, make it make sense, accept it was real.Â
"Yes."
"And you're scared."
"Fucking terrified," Jason said, because it had been five months since you got pregnant and he still couldn't believe it. "I'm not going to be a good father, Dick."
Dick, stepped closer and placed a hand on Jason's shoulder. "Stop talking about you like that."
"It's the truth-" Jason tried to say, but Dick cut him off.
"No. you don't know it. Jason, this is something big, yes, but you're also one of the most caring people I know. No one is going to love that baby more than you, and she's going to grow up being protected by her father and her very cool uncle Nightwing."Â
"Don't tell Bruce. Don't tell anyone." Jason demanded.
"I won't, but a baby isn't something you can hide forever. Know that I'm here for everything you need." Dick smiled. His big, charming smile, that made anyone feel slightly better in their worst times. It even helped Jason a bit, and he couldn't deny it.
"What about Emma?" Dick suggested.
"Emma is a pretty name," you said.
"I don't knowâŠ"
"You could at least suggest something for your daughter rather than rejecting every name Dick suggests," you said with a playful smile in your face.Â
Seven months sharing your every day life with Jason had made you both incredibly comfortable with each other, which was goodâreally good. Your baby needed two parents that, at least, could tolerate each other, even if they weren't together.Â
"I'm sorry, I didn't know you thought Ricky was a good option for our girl." Jason looked at you from the kitchen with the same playful smile. It made your heart warm up.Â
What really made you melt was hearing Jason say "our girl". The words had a sweet taste in your mouth even by only thinking about them. That girl, that was only a few weeks away of being born was yours and Jason's.Â
"Ricky is cute." Dick tried to defend the first name he had suggested that night.
"It's short for Richard, and we're having a girl, if you haven't noticed yet." Jason finally exited the kitchen with a warm cup of hot chocolate in his hand. He handed it to you carefully before sitting down next to you.Â
"Ricky could perfectly work for a girl," Dick said, standing up from his seat. "I have to leave now, It's always nice being here."
"Thanks Dick, It's nice having you here." You smiled.Â
Jason walked Dick to the door. Before he could leave, Dick turned around one last time. "You'll have to tell Bruce and the rest about Ricky eventually, or they're going to find out themselves."
"We're not naming her Ricky."
"That's not the point," Dick said, "the point is that you are part of a family of detectives, and a daughter is something difficult to cover. Tim doesn't suspect anything yet, but wait until he does. My advice is for you to tell them before they come here unannounced."
Dick was right, Jason knew it, but he wasn't ready yet.Â
"I'll think about it."Â
Once Dick had left the apartment Jason went back to the living room with you.Â
This months with you had been definitely not what Jason had expected. Not in a bad way, he just hadn't expected he would be father this soon. He had never seen himself preparing weird pregnancy cravings, but he hadâjust for you. He had melted while feeling his daughter's kicks every time you placed his hand on your belly. Jason was turning soft, and it was sweetâreally sweet.Â
"We're not naming her Ricky right?" Jason asked, siting next to you in the sofa.
"No," you laughed. "Do you have any suggestion for her name?"
"I like the name Elizabeth." Jason said.
"Like Elisabeth Bennet from Pride an Prejudice?" You raised your eyebrow.
"It's classy."
"It's somehow cliche."
"No, it isn't."
"I like Sophie," you suggested.
"Sophie," Jason repeated, like he was testing the name in his mouth. "That's a pretty cliche name too."
"Shut up!" you threw a cushion at him, that he grabbed before it hit his face.
"Yeah, Sophie could work."Â
You smiled and Jason melted. After all this months with you, Jason's favorite thing about you has turned out to be your smile. It was big, and shiny, and full of love an happiness, despite the complications this situation might bring you.Â
"She's kicking again," you said, caressing your belly. "Do you want to talk to her?" You asked.Â
Jason had never talked directly to the baby. Not because you didn't let him, but because he didn't want to. It made him nervousâit was too real.
"It's okay if you don't want to, Jason," you said, as sweet as ever, so perfect.
"No. It's fine." He moved closer to you. His hand hovered above your belly, waiting for your permission to touch your skin, and you answered by moving his hand with yours. He put his face closer to your belly and talked.
"Hi, Sophie. I'm Jason, your father. There's only a few weeks until you're born and I don't know if I'm ready yet." He paused to think about his next words before continuing. "I don't think I'm ready to be a father yet, but I have to. I want you to know that I will love you with everything that I have. I'll protect you, because my life depends on it. I'll be the best version of myself, because you don't deserve less. You are going to be so loved, Sophie."
It was 4am when contractions started kicking in. Jason had been staying at your house for the past weeks for this exact reason. Sophie was about to be born. You were giving birth.
Jason was panicking; even after arriving at the hospital and being told by the doctor that his daughter still had several hours to go before she was born, his heart wouldn't stop pounding.Â
Sophie was born around 7pm. She was healthy and perfect. Jason couldn't contain his tears. He was now a father of a beautiful girl. He swear the sight of you hugging your new born was the most beautiful thing Jason had ever seen. That was when those three damned words slipped out of his mouth.
"I love you," he whispered, but you heard him.
You smiled and looked at Sophie, "She loves you too-"Â
"No. I love you." He was standing next to the hospital bed, but he was afraid of getting closer. "Of course I love Sophie, I've told he multiple times this past weeks, but I have never said it to you before. I love you."
You knew he meant it. You could tell by the way his eyes refused to look anywhere else but you. He looked at you like you were the meaning of life, like you were the only reason he was alive right now. Jason was grateful. Grateful for the daughter you had given him, but above all for letting him be a part of her life, for allowing him to be a part of all of this, for allowing him to get to know you and love you. He didn't care if you loved him back or not, he just needed to tell you how important you had become to him.
"I love you too, Jason," you smiled. Your eyes were getting teary and Jason noticed. He finally walked closer, and with all the love he had in his bodyâmixed with the fear of destroying you or Sophieâhe kissed your forehead. It felt like a promise. He was going to be there, forever. He would love you and Sophie until the end of his existence. He would protect you and Sophie no matter what. Jason Todd was going to be the best father, he promised.Â
"Now, I have to call Dick, and the others are going to freak out." Jason said. His hand moved cautiously to caress Sophie's hair with his index finger. He moved slowly, delicate, like she could break into pieces.Â
"You never told them?"
"Never found the right time," he lied, and you laughed.Â
This was too perfect. Your perfect little family that was born from a one night stand. You wouldn't change this for nothing. You loved the man standing next to you, and he loved you too. Maybe the pregnancy had been unexpected, a mistake, but you didn't regret it.Â
And Jason? He had so much to tell youâall about his past, his life as a vigilante, and his whole familyâbut that would have to wait for another day. At that moment, he was so captivated by the feeling of holding Sophie in his arms, sleeping peacefully, that he couldnât think of anything else.
áŻâ +18 â Jon accidentally on purpose overhears his two best friends doing it. I'm aware this isn't how super-hearing works. Great title I know thank you. â áŻ
Jonâs always been a well-mannered young man. Itâs been said by his parents, teachers, professors, bosses, random people he encounters on the street, and he always believed that himself, until now.Â
Because if that was the case, then why canât he fly away, far enough so he canât hear his two best friends going at it like rabbits.
Heâs just been floating a few feet above your apartment building, stock still ever since he zoomed over five minutes ago. Â
He didnât mean to, he really didnât mean to, but when he first heard your groan he thought you were hurt. Then he picked up the quiet sucking and even the faint sound of your slick. Â
You let out a sound that was far more lewd than the first and Jonâs hand shot up to cover his mouth, as if there was anyone around to hear the manâs sharp intake of breath. Â
Sheets rustle and Jon imagines you clutching the fabric between your fingers. He hears a lewd slurp and imagines Damian right between your thighs, lapping and sucking at just the right places. Â
Jonâs fists clench at his sides when he hears your moans grow louder and a little higher. Sheets shuffle and he pictures your back arching off the bed, grinding up into his best friendâs face.Â
You groan his name so unabashedly, in a way Jon never dared to consider you could. You sound like youâve been waiting for this all day and your boyfriendâs finally giving it to you and giving it well. Â
Jon can almost see it, your fingers in his friendâs dark hair, your thighs squeezing around his head as you cum around his apparently deft fingers and skilled mouth. Â
Heâd be lying if he said heâd never thought of you two like this before. You were a hot couple and you were both such good friends to him. Youâd ask him to tag along on what couldâve been dates with just the two of you; you invited him to sleep overs where youâd both squish him between you on the couch, youâd cook dinners with him at your apartment, go on vacations, to the park, the beach. Â
Done an array of things with him that you couldâve just done as a couple but you chose to invite him along because youâre both such good friends to him-- even if Damian canât admit it outright most of the time. Â
Itâs only natural then that heâd think about what other couple things youâd want him to participate in...right?Â
How was he supposed to constantly see the way you look at Damian and not imagine you looking at him the same way? How was he not supposed to imagine Damian giving him gentle little touches like he did with you. Honestly, his restraint so far has been admirable. Â
Now all thatâs out the window. He just heard Damian make you cum on his tongue and as red as his face probably is, heâs not flying an inch further away from your apartment like he should. Â
All he can hear are soft kissing sounds and you trying to even out your breathing, and suddenly, a new wave of guilt hits him. Â
He doesnât even want to think about what heâll do with his hard-on but he has to leave. He runs his hands through his already wild hair, trying to will himself to move. The moment is so tender and quiet, he wants nothing more than to be in that room. Â
Then he hears fabric shuffling and a belt buckle hit the floor.  Â
 âLook at me, Hayati.âÂ
Itâs such a simple, gentle command yet it has both you and Jon at attention. He hears the bed creak, a short silence.Â
âJust keep your eyes on me.â Â
You reply with a breathy, â'kay.âÂ
Thereâs a pause before you let out a choked groan, and then a wet squelch. Jon has to squeeze his thighs together when he imagines his friend bottoming out in his other friendâs soaked heat, their eyes never straying from the others. Â
âSo good to me, my Beloved.â Â
And now that his lips are free, Jon makes a new world-shattering discovery: Damianâs a talker. Â
âYa Rouhi, Iâd be a happy man if all I ever lived for was to pleasure you.â Â
His voice is thick, accompanied by your soft sounds of pleasure and the slow, slick plaps that make it to Jonâs red ears. Â
âIâll always give you everything, Hayati. You deserve more than I can give.â Â
You both let out deep grunts in time with his steadily increasing pace. The sheets shuffle and Damian must have switched the position up because you curse and cry out.Â
âIâm yours in every way and I know youâre mine.âÂ
It must be beautiful, Jon thinks, Damianâs lidded eyes matching yours, your hips matching his thrusts, bodies sticking together, shared breaths. Jon ignores the worsening wet spot in his underwear, his suit feeling tight on his growing hardness. Â
He holds his breath so he can better hear the exact moment you and Damian cum together, maybe youâre still locking eyes, maybe your foreheads are pressed together, but all he can hear is your mixed moans and the stalling of your hips as Damian fills you up. Â
Once more, the only thing left to hear after the high is soft kissing and harsh breaths. Nothing but Damianâs husky,  Â
âI love you, Hayati.â Â
Between kisses and your croaked hum in return, âLove you too, babe. S'good to me.âÂ
You mumble the sweetest praises in-between kisses and Jon can hear Damianâs heart beat a bit faster, can hear the sheets shuffle as he imagines the man shoving his face into his girlfriendâs neck at such sweet words being uttered to him. You always did say he was a secret sap, not that it was much of a secret between you three, but Jon only realises now just how true that really is.
As the moment grows quieter, Jonâs guilt only grows again. The sound of the city comes rushing back and his head spins around the various apartment buildings around him as if someone couldâve possibly known what he was doing.
Regardless, he canât stay here, listening to your extremely private moment. There's no pretense of shock keeping him here anymore, he's just being a creep! No better than a criminal!
Unbeknownst to Jon, both you and Damian heard his distinct sonic boom when he flew off and youâre now staring at each other with matching wide eyes. Â
Youâre the first to break the silence with a laugh, shoving your face in your hands. âYou donât think he...?â  Â
Damian runs a hand through his hair with a groan that doesn't hide his embarrassment.
âI told him he should come over today.â Â
âAnd you forgot?!âÂ
âI was distracted.â Â
---Then poor Jon jerks off to his bffs and then cries because he feels bad about it. đđ
description: Eddie Munson has been a regular at your coffee shop for four months before either of you finally exchange names. After that, it's easy conversations and the sort of harmless crush you swear you'll eventually get over. Meanwhile, your sorority house becomes the target of increasingly disturbing phone calls. You just never think any of it has anything to do with the sweet guy who calls you 'sweetheart' every morning at seven.
pairing: ghostface!eddie x reader (fem!reader)
tags: ghostface!eddie munson, college au, sorority girl!(ish)reader, alt!reader, obsessive!eddie, stalker!eddie, dark romance, possessive!eddie, yandere vibes, knifeplay, fear and attraction, the mask STAYS ON, dead dove, if crazy why boyfriend shaped
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do NOT interact!! (like fr). stalking, home invasion, coercive behavior, CNC themes, power imbalance, murder, dead dove
WC: 8.4k
A/N: hi <3 friendly reminder that this is a Scream-inspired work of fiction. i am certainly not endorsing any of the behaviors depicted here in real life (w/o consent, ofc). if you're here because you enjoy horror and fictional men who desperately need to be institutionalized, you're in the right place.
reblogs are always appreciated <33
xoxoxoxoxo enjoy, my loves :)
The bell jingles softly overhead, drawing your attention from the carafe you were filling to the front door. Your usual regular comes in every day at the same time: 7 a.m. sharp, yet you have never once caught his name.Â
It wasnât that you didnât care; you always remembered people's names when they introduced themselves. But this customer, in particular, always made you feel a certain way.Â
Tall, broad shoulders, dark curly hair, tattoos, big dark-amber doe eyes, and always adorned in various band tees and metal accessories; you couldnât help but be awestruck whenever he came in.
Asking for his name was difficult when you could barely peel your eyes off of him to make his coffee or give him his change.Â
And, not to mention, he always greeted you the same way, which even after four months of seeing him made your stomach flutter all the same.Â
âMorninâ, sweetheart,â he said casually, gliding over to the counter and resting his elbows on the glass.Â
âHey, you,â you replied. âHey you?â What am I, a fucking idiot? âWhat can I do ya for?â
He pointed across the counter. "Didn't pin you for a Kappa Delta girl."
Your eyes followed his hand down to the faded green letters stretched across your chest, and you groaned dramatically.
"Oh, God, don't remind me."
"So you are?"
"Unfortunately."
A laugh rumbled out of him. "Unfortunately?"
"My grandmother was one. My mom was one. My older sister was one. Legacy status and all that." You shrugged. "Plus they have alumni connections that could basically hand me internships after graduation, so..."
"So you sold your soul."
"I leased it," you corrected. "There's a difference."
He barked another laugh, head tipping back just enough for the silver chain around his neck to catch the morning light. "I knew there had to be a catch."
You folded your arms across the counter, narrowing your eyes playfully. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"
He looked at you for a second. Not glanced, looked.
"I don't know," he admitted. "You don't exactly scream sorority girl."
Your lips twitched. "What do I scream?"
His eyes wandered for a moment, taking in the long black nails, the silver hoops decorating your nose, the tiny bat charm hanging from your necklace, and the faint outline of tattoos disappearing beneath your sleeves.
"You look like you'd bully frat boys for fun."
"I do."
"I believe it."
"I've made three cry."
His grin got even bigger. "I definitely believe it."
You busied yourself finishing his drink, trying very hard not to think about the fact that he'd apparently been paying enough attention to have an opinion about you at all.
You slid the cup onto the counter. "That'll be four eighty-six."
His hand instinctively went to his back pocket, then his front, then his jacket. The smile slowly disappeared from his face.
"...You've gotta be fucking kidding me."
"What?"
"My wallet."
He patted himself down again like it might magically appear. "I left it at home."
He let out a breath through his nose and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry. I can run back andâ"
You waved him off before he could finish. "It's fine."
"No, it's not."
"It is."
He looked unconvinced. You leaned your elbows on the counter.
"The owner of this place is some rich schmuck who spends six months out of the year in the Bahamas and has never once noticed if inventory's off by a cup of coffee."
"I still don't want you getting in trouble."
"I won't."
"You sure?"
You smiled.
"I've accidentally made the wrong drink three times this week."
"You?"
"I'm shockingly incompetent."
"I don't buy that for a second."
"You shouldn't."
A quiet laugh escaped him as you nudged the cup another inch toward him. "Take it."
For a second, he just looked at you. Then he picked it up carefully. "Thanks... sweetheart."
You pretended that didn't make your stomach flip. As he turned to leave, he paused, looking back over his shoulder. "You know..."
"What?"
"I've been coming here every morning for four months."
"Mhm."
"You've never asked my name."
You blinked. "...Huh."
"And I just realized I've never asked yours, either."
A sheepish smile spread across your face. "I guess we're both terrible at introductions."
"I guess we are."
You reached across the counter and plucked the cup back out of his hand before he could protest.
"What're you doing?"
"Fixing it."
You uncapped your Sharpie and quickly wrote something on the side before handing it back. He looked down. Instead of his order, there was your first name, and underneath it, your phone number.
His eyes flicked back up to yours. You suddenly became very interested in the espresso machine behind you.
"So..." you mumbled. "Now you know mine."
A slow smile spread across his face, softer than the cocky little grin he'd walked in with. He looked back down at the cup one more time before meeting your eyes again.
"Eddie."
"What?"
"My name."
You couldn't help smiling. "It's nice to finally meet you, Eddie."
He wrapped one hand around the warm cup, still looking at the writing on the side.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I think it is."
The common room smelled faintly of vanilla candles and expensive perfume, with a hint of whatever pumpkin spice disaster someone had burned in the kitchen that afternoon.
You were tucked into the corner of the oversized sectional with your legs folded beneath you, a dog-eared paperback resting comfortably in your lap. It was one of the only quiet places on campus, at least in theory.
In reality, there were six girls gathered around the coffee table barely ten feet away, and they had absolutely no concept of indoor voices.
"Oh my God, did you see his face?" one of them laughed, nearly spilling her drink. "I genuinely thought he was gonna cry."
Another girl snorted. "He looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole."
Your eyes stayed fixed on the page. You'd gotten remarkably good at pretending not to listen.
"I still can't believe we made him stand outside with that sign."
"And then nobody even talked to him."
"I did."
The group collectively turned toward Madison, who looked far too pleased with herself.
"You did not."
"I swear."
"What'd you say?"
She took a sip from her cup with a little smirk. "He asked me if I wanted to get coffee sometime."
Someone immediately burst out laughing. "No, he didn't."
"He absolutely did."
"And?"
"I said yes."
A chorus of dramatic gasps erupted around the room. "You are such a liar."
"I'm serious."
"So you're actually going?"
Madison's smile widened into something that made your stomach turn. "Oh, absolutely."
You looked up from your book for the first time. She continued casually, like she was discussing the weather.
"I'm gonna tell him to meet me at Romano's Friday night."
Someone else caught on instantly. "Oh, my God."
"And then?"
"I'm not showing up."
Another girl laughed.
"No, no. Better." Madison leaned forward conspiratorially. "I'm gonna have Tyler and Jake there recording him waiting."
The room exploded into laughter. "We'll post it."
"That's so evil."
"It's hilarious."
"He seriously thought he had a chance."
Someone chimed in from the armchair. "Didn't you guys dump a trash can on him during hazing?"
"That was different."
"We also shaved his eyebrows."
"You did not."
"Just one."
More laughter.
You slowly closed your book. The sound wasn't loud, but it was enough to draw a few eyes toward you.
"What?" Madison asked.
You looked at her for a second before speaking. "Don't do that."
She blinked.
"...Do what?"
"The date."
Her expression immediately soured with amusement.
"It's just a joke."
"No, it's not."
"He'll get over it."
You slipped your bookmark between the pages. "He asked because he likes you."
"No," Madison scoffed. "He asked because I'm hot."
"And he thinks you're nice."
That earned another round of laughter. "Oh, sweetheart."
You ignored it. "If you don't want to go, don't go."
"I don't."
"Then tell him no."
Madison rolled her eyes. "Where's the fun in that?"
You looked at her for another long second. "I don't know."
Your voice stayed perfectly calm. "I've just never thought humiliating someone for liking me sounded particularly entertaining."
Another girl shrugged. "You're too nice."
"I don't think that's what this is."
Madison leaned back against the couch. "God, you're such a grandma."
You smiled faintly. "I've been called worse."
Someone changed the subject almost immediately, conversation moving on to parties and outfits and football games, but your attention had already drifted, and you looked back down at your book.
The words blurred together. You couldn't stop thinking about the poor freshman with one eyebrow, standing outside some restaurant waiting for a girl who was never planning on showing up.
By the time you came downstairs that afternoon, the entire house was buzzing. Not with excitement, but with gossip.
The television mounted above the fireplace was muted, some reality show flickering silently across the screen while half a dozen girls occupied every available couch and armchair, coffees in hand and phones practically glued to their palms.
You'd barely made it three steps into the common room before you heard Madison's name.
"...I'm telling you, he actually waited almost forty minutes."
Another girl burst into laughter. "No, he did not."
"He absolutely did."
You quietly crossed toward the kitchen, hoping to escape unnoticed. No such luck.
"Did you hear about that freshman?" someone asked from behind you.
You looked over your shoulder. "No."
"The one Madison was talking to."
"Oh."
You already had a bad feeling. A blonde sitting cross-legged on the sofa practically bounced with excitement. "So apparently she texted him to meet her at Romano's last night."
You didn't say anything.
"Poor idiot actually showed up with flowers."
Your stomach sank while another voice chimed in. "Not flowers."
"A single rose."
"Oh my God, that's even worse."
The room dissolved into giggles while You stayed quiet.
"He waited forever," another girl continued. "Then his pledge masters showed up."
"They told him Madison was waiting downstairs."
"In the basement."
You slowly lowered the mug you'd been reaching for. "...Romano's has a basement?"
"It rents out the lower level for parties."
Someone snorted. "They took him down there and made him chug like half a bottle of vodka."
"No, it was whiskey."
"I heard it was tequila."
"They made him eat dog food."
"They shaved his head."
"They wrote all over him with Sharpie."
"I heard they made him call his mom drunk and then run across the freeway."
The details changed with every person who spoke, each version somehow becoming more ridiculous than the last, but the laughter never stopped.
The point wasn't what had happened; the point was that everyone thought it was funny.
One girl looked up from her phone. "I heard his name's Gareth."
Another shrugged. "Whatever it is, he's definitely dropping."
Madison herself wandered into the room a moment later, completely unfazed, grabbing a yogurt from the refrigerator as if they were discussing the weather instead of another human being.
The second she sat down, someone asked, "Did he actually bring you flowers?"
She grinned. "Apparently."
The room erupted again.
You stared at her, and she noticed, staring right back. "What?"
"You knew he was going to."
"So?"
"So you still sent him there."
Madison looked genuinely confused by your expression. "It was a joke."
"No," you said quietly. "It wasn't."
She rolled her eyes. "He's a frat pledge. They'll haze him either way."
"That doesn't mean you had to help."
"Oh, my God." She laughed through the words. "Are you actually feeling bad for him?"
You looked around the room; nobody else seemed bothered. Some of them were still laughing. One girl was already recounting the story over FaceTime to somebody else.
Finally, you looked back at Madison. "I just think if someone asks you on a date and you're not interested..." You shrugged, "...you could just say no."
For a brief second, nobody said anything. Then Madison smirked. "You are so weird."
Another girl nodded. "Seriously."
You looked down at your coffee for a moment before forcing a small grin onto your face, one that had become second nature over the years.
"Whatever," you said with a little shrug. "I won't be âweirdâ once I bring you all free pastries after work."
That immediately changed the mood. Madison gasped dramatically. "Are we talking muffins or those chocolate croissants?"
"The croissants."
"I take everything back."
Another girl pointed at you from across the room. "See? This is why we keep you around."
"For my sparkling personality?"
"No."
"The day-old baked goods."
A couple of them laughed, the conversation effortlessly drifting away from Gareth and onto weekend plans, football games, and who was wearing what to Saturday night's mixer. You let them; it was easier.
You'd long since figured out that there wasn't much point in arguing. They'd laugh, call you sensitive, tell you to lighten up, and move on without giving it another thought.
So instead, you simply grabbed your bag from beside the stairs, waved over your shoulder, and headed for work. The walk into town did little to shake the conversation from your head.
You found yourself thinking about the boy you'd never met, sitting alone at Romano's with flowers in his hand, probably checking the door every few minutes with that tiny flicker of hope that somebody was actually going to show up.
A handful of students hiding behind laptops, professors grading papers over americanos, the occasional frazzled parent trying to wrangle a screaming toddler with a blueberry scone.
Which was exactly why, barely an hour into your shift, the familiar jingle above the front door made your head snap up.
You blinked. For a second, you genuinely thought you'd imagined him.
Eddie stood just inside the entrance, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, curls a little windblown from outside.
He wandered over to the counter, looking around theatrically. "I was beginning to think they kept you in a little cabinet overnight and only took you out at seven in the morning."
You laughed. "Nope."
"So you're actually a real person."
"Allegedly."
"Huh."
He rested his elbows on the counter. "I kinda liked the mysterious coffee cryptid theory better."
"I'm flattered."
"You should be."
He glanced up at the menu before looking right back at you. "So... this is your afternoon shift?"
You nodded. "Covering for somebody."
"I almost didn't come in."
"No?"
"Nah."
He smiled to himself. "Glad I did now."
You leaned against the espresso machine, folding your arms as he dug around in his pockets for cash. "So."
"So?" he echoed.
You gave him a pointed look. "You never called."
His hand froze for a fraction of a second before he let out a quiet, guilty laugh. "...Yeah."
"'Yeah?'"
"I know."
"I gave you my number and everything."
"I noticed."
"And then?"
"And then..." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking genuinely apologetic. "I had a really long night."
You raised an eyebrow. "That's the excuse we're going with?"
"No, that's the truth."
The teasing smile faded just enough that you immediately felt bad for pushing.
He looked down at the countertop, absentmindedly tracing one of the little scratches in the laminate with his thumb.
"One of my friends ended up in the hospital."
Your expression softened. "Oh."
"Some asshole fraternity hazing."
You didn't say anything.
"He got hurt pretty bad."
The words landed in your chest like a stone.
You'd spent all afternoon trying not to think about Gareth, trying to convince yourself that maybe the stories had been exaggerated through the campus rumor mill. Suddenly you weren't so sure.
Eddie exhaled through his nose. "I was there until like three in the morning."
"Is he okay?"
"He will be." His jaw tightened. "He's tough."
You nodded quietly. "I'm sorry."
He shrugged, but it wasn't convincing. "It sucks."
For a second, neither of you spoke. Then he shook himself out of it with a tired smile. "On the bright side, he's done with all that now."
"What do you mean?"
"He's dropping."
"Dropping?"
"The fraternity."
You nodded once. "Oh."
"He was only doing it because he thought that's what college was supposed to be."
"And now?"
Eddie smiled, though this one looked considerably more genuine. "Now he's transferring over to ours."
You blinked. "You have a fraternity?"
He looked almost offended. "I know. Shocking."
"I definitely didn't pin you for that type."
He laughed. "That's exactly what I said about your sorority."
"Ours isn't..." He searched for the right word. "One of the big campus ones."
"The terrifying Greek Row mansions?"
He nodded. "Yeah, definitely not that."
"So what is it?"
He shrugged. "A couple of guys living in a run-down house that desperately needs a new roof."
"Very prestigious."
"Extremely."
"I'm assuming there are matching sweaters."
"Oh, absolutely not."
"No little hand signs?"
"The only sign weâll have is Gareth flipping everybody off when they make him do dishes."
You couldn't help laughing. "And people voluntarily join this organization?"
"Barely."
"What do you even do?"
He smiled. "Band practice in the basement. Movie nights. Cookouts when we can afford burgers instead of hot dogs. OtherâŠstuff."
"So..."
"So?"
"It isn't really a fraternity."
His grin spread wider. "No."
"It sounds like a bunch of guys who accidentally signed a lease together."
"Youâd be correct."
"I knew it."
He leaned against the counter, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "We've got a house, we've got letters on the front, we've got paperwork with the university."
"And?"
"And mostly we just look after each other."
Something about the way he said it made your heart ache. Your thoughts drifted back to Gareth, to whispered conversations and laughter echoing through the sorority house that afternoon.
Without thinking, you smiled softly. "I think I like yours better."
Then, with impeccable timing, the espresso machine behind you let out a deafening hiss that made both of you jump. You burst into laughter, and Eddie looked at the machine.
"I think it disagrees."
"I think it's jealous."
"Of me?"
"No."
"The hot dogs."
He looked deeply offended. "They're actually pretty good."
"I don't believe that for a second."
"Come over sometime and find out."
The words came out so naturally that neither of you acknowledged them for a beat. Then his eyes widened ever so slightly, as did your own.
He cleared his throat. "I mean..."
You smiled despite yourself. "I know what you meant."
The next week settled into something dangerously close to a routine.
Some mornings he'd stay for all of three minutes, grabbing his coffee before rushing off to class.
Other mornings he'd linger against the counter while you cleaned the espresso machine or restocked cups, making conversation about whatever happened to cross his mind.
Professors he couldn't stand, the guitar amp that had decided to die on him over the weekend, a stray cat that had apparently moved into the back porch of his fraternity house and now refused to leave.
You learned he always picked the marshmallows out of Lucky Charms first. He learned you read at the counter whenever business was slow. You discovered he couldn't pronounce the name of the French pastry on the menu to save his life and would instead point at it with complete confidence until you handed it over.
And every single morning, without fail, he'd greet you exactly the same.
"Mornin', sweetheart."
By Friday, you had unfortunately reached the point where hearing it from anybody else would probably feel wrong.
He still hadn't asked you on a date, and you still hadn't asked him. Neither of you seemed particularly interested in rushing whatever this was.
It was comfortable, easy. Enough so that you found yourself smiling whenever you looked up and saw him walking through the door.
Which was exactly why, hours later, sitting barefoot on one of the stools in the sorority kitchen with a mug of tea and a textbook open in front of you, the sharp ring of the landline nearly made you spill it.
The house phone almost never rang; everyone had cell phones. For a second, nobody moved.
Then one of the girls shouted from upstairs, "Can somebody get that?"
You sighed, slid off the stool, and wandered over. "Hello?"
Nothing, just soft static. You frowned. "...Hello?"
Then a man's voice, low and calm. "Madison there?"
You glanced toward the staircase. "Yeah. Hold on."
"Thanks."
Something about it felt...odd. Not threatening, just strange.
His voice was too even, too measured, almost like he was deliberately trying not to sound recognizable.
You covered the receiver with your hand. "Madison!"
A moment later she came clattering downstairs in fuzzy slippers and an oversized sweatshirt. "For me?"
"So he says."
She rolled her eyes dramatically. "If it's Tyler, tell him I'm busy."
You handed her the phone anyway. She tucked it between her shoulder and ear and wandered toward the hallway, disappearing around the corner.
You could still hear the occasional muffled sound of her voice, but not enough to make out words.
You returned to your tea. Barely thirty seconds passed.
Then, "What the fuck?"
Her voice echoed down the hallway. A moment later, Madison stormed back into the kitchen, looking thoroughly annoyed, hanging up the receiver hard enough that it rattled against the wall.
"What happened?" another girl asked from the doorway.
Madison crossed her arms. "Some creep."
"What creep?"
"I don't know."
She looked genuinely irritated. "He kept asking what I was wearing."
A chorus of disgust immediately followed. "Ew."
"What a freak."
"He knew my name."
One of the girls frowned. "Maybe it was Tyler messing with you."
"It wasn't Tyler."
"How do you know?"
"I know Tyler's voice."
Another girl leaned against the counter. "So what'd he say?"
Madison mimicked a deeper voice. "'What color shirt are you wearing, Madison?'" She rolled her eyes dramatically. "I told him to fuck off."
Someone laughed nervously. "Probably just some drunk guy."
"Probably."
Madison grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. "But seriously,â she shivered, "It was creepy."
The conversation moved on almost as quickly as it'd started. By the time everyone drifted back upstairs, the phone call had already become another funny little story to tell over drinks.
You looked over at the silent receiver still hanging on the kitchen wall. For reasons you couldn't explain, you couldn't shake the feeling that the voice on the other end hadn't sounded drunk at all.
If anything, it had sounded patient.
By ten-thirty, the house had emptied almost completely. Doors had slammed, music had drifted down the front steps, and the collective cloud of perfume and hairspray had finally dissipated enough for the place to feel like it could breathe again.
You'd declined the mixer without much thought.Â
The excuse had been homework. The reality was that spending your Friday night curled up on the couch with tea and a book sounded infinitely more appealing than making awkward conversation with finance majors wearing pastel polos.
The old grandfather clock in the foyer chimed once, then silence settled back over the house. You turned another page before the landline rang. The sound made you jump hard enough to nearly drop your mug.
You glanced toward the hallway. Once. Twice. Three rings. With nobody else home, you finally stood and crossed the hardwood floor.
"Hello?"
A brief pause of staticky silence. Then, "Hi."
The same voice. Low, calm, almost pleasant. You frowned ever so slightly.
"...Hi."
"I was hoping somebody would answer."
"You've got somebody."
A quiet chuckle. "I guess I do."
You rested your shoulder against the wall. "Can I help you?"
"I was looking for Madison."
"They're all out."
"Oh." The disappointment sounded almost genuine. "When will they be back?"
You hesitated. "I'm... not really sure."
"That's okay." Another brief silence. "You stayed home?"
You blinked. "Yeah."
"Homework?"
"...Something like that."
"You don't seem like the mixer type."
A tiny smile tugged at your mouth despite yourself. "I guess not."
"You'd rather read."
Your smile vanished as you looked down at the paperback still sitting open on the couch.
"...Lucky guess."
"I suppose." His voice remained perfectly even. Comfortable, like talking to somebody over late-night radio.
"What're you reading?"
You glanced toward the cover. "'Rebecca.'"
"I've always liked that one."
"You've read it?"
"I've read lots of things."
"Hm."
"You sound surprised."
"A little."
"I disappoint you?"
"No."
You laughed softly. "I just wasn't expecting literary recommendations from mysterious men calling sorority houses."
Another quiet laugh. "Fair enough."
The conversation drifted for another minute. Movies. Coffee. The weather. Nothing strange, nothing threatening.
And yet something about it continued to make the hairs on your arms stand up. You couldn't have explained why.
Headlights suddenly swept across the front windows. Outside came the unmistakable sound of half a dozen girls talking over one another before the front door burst open.
Laughter. Music still playing from somebody's phone. Someone yelling that they'd lost a shoe.
You looked toward the foyer. "They're back."
"Already?"
"Looks like it."
The voice was quiet for a moment. Then, "Madison came home in the black heels, right?"
Your stomach tightened as you slowly turned toward the front windows. You couldn't see anyone outside. "...Yeah."
"The silver dress looked nice on her."
Your grip on the receiver tightened almost painfully. How...
The girls continued piling into the foyer, completely oblivious.
Madison stumbled in near the back of the group, kicking off exactly the pair of black heels he'd just described.
Your pulse began to climb, while the voice remained calm. "Could you hand her the phone?"
For one impossible second, you just stood there, your brain trying desperately to make sense of it.
Maybe he'd seen them leave. Maybe he'd driven by. Maybe...
Madison noticed you standing there. "For me?"
You looked from her... to the receiver in your hand... then nodded slowly. "I think so."
She rolled her eyes dramatically and took it. "Hello?"
You watched her expression change almost instantly; the smug annoyance disappeared. "What?"
Silence. Her face lost color. "No, that's not funny." Another pause.Â
The room around her was still loud with drunken conversation, nobody paying much attention, but Madison wasn't listening to any of it anymore. Her fingers tightened around the receiver.
"Who is this?"
Silence. Then whatever was said next made her visibly stiffen. "No."
Another pause. "I said no." Her voice had become quieter. Not angry anymore, but scared. You took an unconscious step toward her.
Madison swallowed. "...How do you know that?"
Nothing. Her breathing changed, and the color drained completely from her face. "Stop it."
Another pause. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, "Please stop."
The laughter in the foyer had finally begun to die down as people were starting to notice. One of the girls frowned.
"Mads?"
Madison didn't answer. She was staring at the floor now, eyes wide and unfocused.
Then, without another word, she slowly lowered the receiver back onto its cradle and the line clicked dead.
Nobody spoke for several seconds. Finally, someone forced a laugh. "...Who was it?"
Madison didn't look up; her voice came out barely audible. "I..."
She swallowed hard. "I don't know."
Then she looked at you. Not annoyed, not embarrassed, but terrified. And for the first time since you'd met her, there wasn't a trace of arrogance left on her face.
Madison was still staring at the phone like it had personally offended her, one hand wrapped tightly around the edge of the kitchen counter.
Ashley was the first to break the silence. "...Madison?"
She didn't answer. "Madison, what did he say?"
Another girl laughed uneasily, the sound forced and far too loud. "Please don't tell me you actually got freaked out by some loser prank caller."
Madison slowly looked up. "He..." She swallowed. "He knew what I was wearing."
The room went quiet.
Ashley frowned. "What?"
"He described my dress."
Someone scoffed immediately. "He probably saw you leave."
"No." Madison shook her head. "He described it after I got home."
Another girl chimed in. "Maybe somebody from the mixer followed you guys back."
Madison wasn't listening anymore. "He knew I changed my shoes."
"What?"
"The heels."
Her breathing had become noticeably uneven. "He told me I came home in the black heels. The ones I kept in my purse to walk home in.â
A couple of girls exchanged uncertain looks. Still, nobody seemed genuinely concerned, until Madison spoke again.
"He asked me if I liked my room."
Your stomach sank. "What do you mean?"
Madison looked toward the staircase without realizing she'd done it. "He asked if I liked the poster over my bed. He asked if I still slept with my closet door open."
Nobody laughed this time. Madison's voice was barely audible now. "And then..."
She looked like she didn't even want to repeat it. "He said the window sticks when you try to close it all the way."
You felt every hair on the back of your neck stand up.
Madison suddenly lurched toward the front door, fumbling with the deadbolt before checking it once. Twice. Three times. Then she checked the handle anyway.
Ashley followed after her. "Madisonâ"
She was already moving toward the kitchen windows, yanking the curtains shut before checking those locks too. Then the back door. Then another window.
One of the girls nervously laughed. "Jesus Christ."
Madison ignored her completely. She was already halfway toward the foyer windows.
Ashley finally caught her wrist. "Hey."
Madison looked at her with genuinely panicked eyes. "What if somebody was watching us?"
Ashley glanced around at everyone else before lowering her voice. "Mads... think about it."
She didn't answer.
"The Pi Kap boys."
Madison frowned. "What?"
"They're messing with you."
Another girl immediately nodded. "Oh my God, obviously."
Ashley crossed her arms. "You dumped that drink on that guy tonight."
"So?"
"So now his buddies are probably trying to freak you out."
Someone else chimed in. "They probably had somebody parked outside the house."
"They know where you live."
"They've all been here for parties."
"And your room's literally been on your Instagram."
"They know what your room looks like."
"They know your outfits."
"They know what shoes you wear."
"They probably saw you come home."
The explanation settled over the room almost instantly; relief was contagious. Another girl laughed.
"Honestly? That's kind of a good prank."
Madison didn't laugh, but Ashley squeezed her shoulder. "It's just some pissed-off frat guys."
"They're trying to scare you because of it."
"They're assholes."
"But that's all it is."
For a long moment, Madison stood perfectly still. Then, slowly...
"...You think so?"
Ashley smiled. "I know so."
Another girl chimed in from the couch. "They're just trying to get in your head."
"And judging by this little performance..." She gestured vaguely toward the six different locks Madison had just checked. "...it's working."
A couple of people laughed again, tentatively this time. Madison finally managed a weak smile.
"Yeah."
Ashley nudged her toward the stairs. "Go to bed."
"I'm serious. Sleep it off. Tomorrow you'll realize it was some sophomore with too much time on his hands."
Eventually, Madison nodded and headed upstairs. The conversations slowly resumed. Music started playing from somebody's phone again.
Someone ordered late-night pizza. Within ten minutes, the atmosphere had almost completely recovered.
You lingered in the kitchen a little longer than everyone else, and your eyes drifted to the front window.
The curtains were drawn, and you couldn't see outside. For some reason...
You couldn't shake the feeling that someone might still be looking in anyway.
Sleep never really settled in after the phone call.
You'd drifted off eventually, more from exhaustion than anything else, but it wasn't restful.
Every creak of the old house seemed louder than usual, every shifting pipe enough to tug you halfway back to consciousness.
By the time you finally opened your eyes again, the room was dark enough that you had to squint to make out the red numbers glowing on your alarm clock.
2:43 a.m.
You let out a quiet sigh, pushed your blankets aside, and shuffled toward the door, still half asleep. The hallway was almost completely dark.
Only the tiny stained-glass lamp at the end of the corridor cast enough light to keep you from bumping into the walls, throwing patches of muted color across the hardwood floor.
You rubbed at your eyes and headed toward the bathroom as the floorboards creaked softly beneath your feet.
Halfway there, another one answered. Not yours.
You stopped. Silence.
You frowned, listening. Nothing, probably one of the girls getting water.
You took another cautious step. And suddenly a figure dressed entirely in black stepped out from the darkness at the opposite end of the hallway, and you froze.
Your brain didn't even have time to process what you were looking at.
A black hood. Long robe. The pale, impossibly familiar ghost mask catching just enough light to make the empty eyes seem alive. Every instinct in your body screamed.
The figure moved, fast.
A gloved hand shot toward you. You stumbled backward on pure instinct, your shoulder striking the wall as a strangled gasp caught in your throat before it could become a scream.
Then, another black-clad figure appeared seemingly out of nowhere. It caught the first one by the shoulder and shoved him sideways with surprising force.
Not enough to knock him over, but just enough to stop him.
The two stood there for the briefest second. The taller one turned his masked face toward the other and made one sharp, impatient motion with his hand.
Not at you, but past you, toward the end of the hallway. Toward Madison's room.
The second figure hesitated, and the first one pointed again, harder this time. Even through the costume, there was something unmistakably authoritative in the gesture.
The shorter figure looked back at you one last time before reluctantly turning away.
Without a word, he disappeared down the hall.
The taller figure lingered just long enough for his mask to turn toward you. You couldn't see his face. Couldn't see his eyes.
But for one impossible second, you had the overwhelming sensation that he was studying you.
Then he reached back and quietly pushed your bedroom door farther open behind you, almost expectantly. Your legs moved before your mind did, and you stumbled backward into your room.
The second your heel crossed the threshold, the masked figure swung the door shut behind them, leaving the two of you alone in your bedroom.Â
The room suddenly felt impossibly small, illuminated only by the pale wash of moonlight slipping through the curtains.
Your pulse hammered so violently in your ears that it almost drowned out everything else, but not quite.
Downstairs, something crashed. A scream, another one, then running, then silence.
You stared at the figure standing only a few feet away from you, every instinct screaming at you to run, to fight, to do something, but your feet wouldn't cooperate.
The black robe barely moved as they shifted their weight. The knife in their hand remained pointed toward the floor.
Not raised, not threatening, but just... there.
You swallowed hard. "What... what do you want?"
The white mask stared back at you without expression. When the voice finally came, it wasn't a voice at all.
It crackled through an electronic distortion, flattened into something mechanical and impossible to place, every trace of age or identity stripped away.
"I'm sorry."
The words were so unexpected that they almost didn't register.
You blinked. "...What?"
Another scream echoed somewhere else in the house, farther away this time. The figure didn't so much as flinch.
"I'm sorry," the altered voice repeated quietly. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this."
Your hand found the edge of your desk behind you. "What are you talking about?"
Then the mask tilted ever so slightly. "You're the last one."
Your blood ran cold. "No..."
"You are."
"No."
"I'm sorry."
You shook your head before you even realized you were doing it. "No, they're all here. They're upstairs. They'reâ"
"They're gone."
The electronic filter couldn't hide the strange heaviness behind the words.
There was no laughter. No theatrical gloating. No excitement. Just something that sounded dangerously close to regret.
You stared at him, unable to breathe. "No..."
The figure remained perfectly still. "I didn't want you to find out this way."
Your voice came out barely above a whisper. "...Who are you?"
Silence. The only answer was another distant bang somewhere in the house, followed by complete stillness.
Your eyes filled before you could stop them.
"Please."
The masked figure lowered their head for just a second. "I can't."
"You know me."
Another silence. Then, softly, "Yeah."
The admission hit harder than any threat could have.
Your fingers tightened around the edge of the desk. "...Do I know you?"
The mask didn't move. The voice changer crackled faintly before the reply came.
"You do."
Every instinct begged you to ask another question. To demand a name. To make them pull the mask off. Instead, all that came out was a tremblingâ
"...Why me?"
The figure looked at you for what felt like an eternity. When they finally spoke, the words were almost gentle. "Because you were never supposed to be part of this."
The apology hung in the room between you. Outside, somewhere beyond your bedroom walls, the old house sat in perfect silence.
He stood perfectly still. The knife remained pointed toward the floor, hanging loosely from his gloved hand, as if he'd forgotten it was even there.
Your voice came out barely above a whisper. "...You keep saying you're sorry."
The mask tilted. "I am."
"Then why are you here?"
The distorted speaker crackled softly before he answered. "I don't know."
It wasn't the response you expected. "I thought I did."
Another pause.
"I had a plan."
He gave a quiet, humorless laugh that sounded even stranger through the electronic filter.
"A really good one."
Your fingers were still gripping the edge of your desk so tightly they hurt. "What plan?"
"You weren't supposed to matter."
The words were matter-of-fact, almost clinical.
"You were supposed to be..." He searched for the word. "Adjacent."
The mask turned toward your bookshelf. "Pretty girl."
Toward your desk. "Good grades."
Toward the discarded sorority sweatshirt hanging over your chair. "Legacy."
"I figured I'd have you all figured out in a week."
You couldn't bring yourself to respond. Instead, he continued talking almost to himself.
"But then you were kind. You let me walk away without paying."
Your stomach sank. WaitâŠ
"You looked at me like there wasn't something wrong with me."
The voice changer hid his real voice, but not the strange sincerity underneath it.
"You laughed at my jokes."
"You remembered my order."
It canât beâŠ
"You started setting aside the blueberry muffins before I even asked."
Realization hit you like a freight train.Â
Your mouth went dry. "I was just being nice."
"I know." Another quiet laugh. "That was the problem."
He took one slow step across the room. Not toward you, just... wandering.
Looking at your shelves, your records, the dog-eared paperbacks stacked on your dresser.
"I kept waiting."
"For what?"
"For you to disappoint me."
His head tilted slightly. "You never did."
Your pulse hammered painfully against your ribs.
"So then I started wondering if maybe I was wrong."
"About what?"
"About people."
The silence that followed felt heavier than anything he'd said so far.
"When Madison humiliated Gareth..." He stopped. "...you told her not to."
You stared. "...How do you know that?"
Another tiny crackle from the speaker. "I know lots of things."
"You sat in the corner pretending to read while everybody laughed."
"You left early."
"You looked guilty."
"You always look down when you're upset."
Your breathing became noticeably shallower.
He wasn't speaking like someone who'd watched you once; he was speaking like someone who'd watched you a hundred times. A thousand.
"You don't understand," he continued quietly. "I had everything figured out."
"The people who thought they could hurt whoever they wanted."
"The people who laughed."
"The people who'd never had anyone tell them no."
"They made sense."
"You..." Another soft laugh. "...you didn't."
You could hear your own heartbeat.
"So I started paying attention."
"You read in the park on Tuesdays."
"You always buy the same black pens because you hate blue ink."
You felt physically ill. He wasn't bragging; that was somehow the most terrifying part. He sounded fond, as if he were reminiscing.
"I kept telling myself I'd stop."
"I didn't."
"I kept telling myself you weren't real."
"I'd go home and think, she's pretending."
"Nobody's actually like that."
He looked directly at you. "And then you were."
Your eyes stung. "Please stop."
He ignored the plea. "I thought it would make this easier."
"This?"
"Killing you." The words landed with horrifying simplicity.
"I told myself if I watched long enough I'd find something."
"Something fake."
"Something ugly."
"Something selfish."
Another pause.
"I couldn't."
He lowered his head ever so slightly. "You were supposed to be easy."
His grip tightened almost imperceptibly around the knife at his side. "You were supposed to fit with the rest."
"You were supposed to laugh with them."
"You were supposed to become one of them."
"You weren't."
The electronic distortion crackled again. "And now you're making this so much harder than it was supposed to be."
You couldn't stop the tears now. "I donât even know you that well.â
"No."
"But I know you." His head lifted again. "And that's the really unfair part."
Then, so quietly you almost didn't hear it, "I think if we'd met differently..."
The sentence never finished. Instead, he looked away, almost angry with himself for saying it at all.
When he spoke again, the softness was gone; only something fractured remained.
"I spent weeks trying to convince myself obsession isn't the same thing as caring." The mask turned back toward you. "I still don't know if I believe that."
He stood there in the moonlight, impossibly still. The voice changer hid his identity. The mask hid his face. But you knew who it was, mask on or not. Eddie.Â
His name echoed in your mind, heavy and final, twisting something deep in your gut. You should have screamed. You should have lunged for the window, the phone, anything.
Instead, your body stayed rooted, trembling against the desk as the Ghostface figure, Eddie, some broken part of you already whisperedâstood bathed in the thin moonlight slicing through your curtains.
He took another slow step.
The knife still dangled from his gloved fingers like an afterthought, but his head tilted with that unnerving curiosity, like he was memorizing the way your chest heaved with every shallow breath.
"You keep saying you're sorry," you whispered again, voice cracking.
"I am." The distortion made it sound almost gentle. "But I can't stop now. Not when you're looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you see me." He was closer now.
Close enough that the black fabric of his robe brushed your bare knee where your sleep shorts had ridden up. "Like maybe you could want this too. Even if you shouldn't."
Your pulse roared in your ears. Fear coiled tight in your stomach, but underneath itâgod, underneath itâsomething hotter flickered.
The way he'd watched you. The way he knew you. The confession of weeks, months, of him orbiting your life like a shadow you never noticed.
It should have repulsed you. It did. But it also made your skin prickle, your thighs press together without thinking.
"I don'tâ" The lie died on your tongue as his free hand rose, gloved fingers ghosting along your jaw.
Not gripping, not yet. Just tracing, reverent, like you were something sacred he was about to defile.
"You do," he murmured, echoing his earlier words. The knife lifted slowly, the flat of the blade pressing cool against the side of your neck. Not cutting. Just resting there, a promise.
Your breath hitched sharply.Â
"I can see it. That little shake in your voice. The way your nipples are hard under that shirt even though you're scared shitless."
A low, distorted chuckle. "Pretty girl... always so fucking kind. Always pretending you don't feel it."
He stepped fully into your space, the mask inches from your face.
You could smell himâfaint leather, weed, that metallic tang of whatever madness drove him. His body heat bled through the robe, solid and real against you.
"Tell me to leave," he said suddenly, voice dropping. The knife traced lower, down your collarbone, catching on the thin strap of your tank top. "Say it. Say 'get out,' and I'll try. I'll really fucking try."
Your lips parted, but no sound came. His gloved thumb brushed your bottom lip, pressing just enough to part them further.
"That's what I thought." The knife slipped under the strap and flicked; sharp, precise. The fabric gave way with a whisper.Â
Cool air hit your skin as one breast spilled free. He groaned, the sound raw even through the mask. "Fuck... look at you."
You gasped as his hand cupped you roughly, thumb circling your nipple in a way that made your back arch despite yourself. Terror and heat twisted together, impossible to separate. "Please..."
"Please what?" He leaned in, the mask's nose brushing your cheek. The knife dragged lightly down your sternum, not breaking skin, just teasing the panic that made you clench.Â
"Please stop? Or please keep going? Be honest, sweetheart. I've watched you long enough to know when you're lying."
His other hand slid down your body, shoving between your thighs without warning. Two thick fingers pressed against the damp seam of your shorts, rubbing slow and firm.
You whimpered, hips jerking forward involuntarily. Shame burned your face even as slick heat flooded you.
"See?" That fractured laugh again. "You're soaking for the monster who came to kill you. My sweet, perfect girl... always surprising me."
He pushed you back onto the desk with sudden force, scattering papers and pens. The knife clattered beside you as he used both hands to yank your shorts down your legs, leaving you bare from the waist down.Â
You tried to close your thighs; he forced them open wider, dropping to his knees between them like a man at prayer.
The mask stayed on (of course it did). But you felt his breath hot through the fabric as he leaned in, inhaling you like a drug. It lifted slightly, not enough to see his face, but enough to assist him.
"Been dreaming about this," he rasped. His tongue, warm, real, and eager, dragged up your slit in one long, filthy stroke.
You cried out, fingers scrambling for purchase on the desk. He didn't tease; he devoured. Licking and sucking at your clit with desperate hunger, his now un-gloved hands pinning your thighs apart as you squirmed and moaned.
Every flick of his tongue pulled another broken sound from you. Fear made everything sharperâthe edge of the knife still within reach, the threat of who he wasâbut the pleasure was drowning it, wave after wave as he ate you like a man starved. Like he'd been waiting lifetimes for the taste of you.
"That's it," he growled against your cunt, voice rough and filthy. "Ride my face, baby. Use me. I killed for less. I'd die for this."
Your hands tangled in the hood of his robe, pulling him closer despite everything. Your hips rolled, chasing the building pressure.
He moaned into you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. One finger pushed inside you, then two, curling just right while his mouth worked your clit without mercy.
You came hard, thighs shaking around his masked head, a sob tearing from your throat as pleasure crashed through the terror. He didn't stop. He licked you through it, gentler now, almost worshipful, until you were twitching and oversensitive.
When he finally rose, he towered over you, unzipping the robe with one hand while the other picked up the knife again. His cock sprang free, heavy, flushed, already leaking.
He fisted himself slowly, stroking as he looked down at you spread out and ruined on your desk.
"Still scared?" he asked, almost tenderly.
The tip of the knife traced your inner thigh, leaving faint red lines that didn't quite break skin.
You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks even as your pussy fluttered around nothing, aching for more.
"Good." He stepped between your legs, rubbing his cock through your folds. "Because I'm not done with you. Not even close."
He pushed in with one slow, relentless thrust, stretching you open around his thickness. The mask hovered above you as he bottomed out, a broken groan leaving his mouth.
"Fuck... so tight. So fucking good." He started moving, deep and punishing, one hand braced beside your head with the knife still clutched tight. "You're mine now. Say it."
You gasped with every thrust, the desk creaking beneath you. "Iâm yoursâ"
"Louder." His hips snapped harder, dragging perfectly inside you. "Tell the man who youâre scared of that you're dripping for his cock anyway."
"I'm yours," you moaned louder, legs wrapping around his waist despite the fear still clawing at your chest.
The blade pressed to your throat again as he fucked you harder, the danger and the pleasure twisting into something addictive, something insane.
He laughed wild and unhinged, something almost Eddie, and leaned down until the mask was pressed to your ear.
"Good girl. Now cum on my cock while I decide if I'm still gonna kill you after... or if I'm keeping you forever."
The choice, you realized through the haze of overwhelming sensation, had never really been yours to begin with.
And some shattered part of you didn't want it to be.
IN WHICH... i've mentioned before that jason likes to fuck in mating press...let's talk about it
MDNI 18+ â SMUT BELOW THE CUT
warnings: smut duh, basically porn wo plot, piv, rawđ«Ł, rough!jason, belly bulge, afab, f!reader, breeding ig idfk, ur both sluts, uh yeah
wc: 659
a/n: first smut writing kinda nervy...
Jason's had you in a mean mating press for what feels like forever, the mattress digging into your back, your legs tossed over Jason's shoulders as he drills into you. Your fingernails claw at his back, leaving behind nasty scratch marks that are sure to be there in the morning.
"Oh, fuck, Jay," you whine, tossing your head back to dig into one of the only pillows remaining on the bed. Your tits bounce softly in his face, moving in tandem with his thrusts.
He groans, the sound throaty and hoarse as his hips plap against yours. His fingers tangle in the sheets beside your head, the strain on his arms making them flex beautifully.
Jason's bigâthis is a known fact. His cock stretches you so deliciously, filling you up so deep in this position. Jason loved to fuck like thisâevery time he had you, it was his go-to. Not only did he like to see your face as he elicited sweet mewls from your lips, but he also loved to see the head of his cock nudging against your stomach from the inside.
So, he glances down to your belly, seeing the unmistakable bulge of him rutting into you. He presses a hand down on the spot, making you garble a moan. "Ahâ oh, god, Jay, that feels soâ mmmph." Your eyes roll back in your head.
He chuckles softly, pausing his thrusts to grind his pelvis against yours. "Yeah, it feels nice, baby, hmm? You can't even get a sentence out," he coos, groaning softly as he feels every thrust against his hand.
You can't seem to shut up, moans tearing from your throat even as he's barely moving. But alas, he picks back up the punishing pace, pounding into you rough and deep.
A string of drool escapes your mouth as your head digs into the pillow. "C'mon, baby, give it to me," he urges, removing his hand from your belly and using it to push your legs further back. "Fuckâ she's squeezing me so tight. She loves this, doesn't she, baby? Pretty pussy's gushing all over me."
"Oh, Jay," you whine. Soft trembles begin to wrack your legs, the pleasure overtaking your body. "Harderâ"
He obliges and speeds up, his fat tip nudging your cervix with every thrust. "I know, baby, I know. Look at me," he orders.
You only whimper, mouth in an "O" shape, head thrown back. He growls softly, his hand gripping your cheeks until you finally meet his eyes. "Fuck, yes. That's it, baby. Such pretty eyes, even when I'm fucking you stupid."
"Ahâ! Jay, m'gonna cumâ" you moan, legs shaking persistently.
He groans, head falling to your neck. He sucks warm, wet kisses into the flesh, surely leaving a mark. "Good girl. C'mon, cum for me, baby. Soak me."
His hand snakes down to slot between your sweaty bodies, thumb quickly finding your clit and rubbing tight, firm circles on the sensitive nub.
"Oh, fuck, fuckâ I'm cumming," you wail, making sure to look into his eyesâyou know he loves that, he always says it feels more intimate.
At the same time as you, Jason also releases with a soft, teary-eyed moan, planting his hot, sticky load deep inside you. Almost immediately it begins to seep out around his cock, creating a sticky, stringy mess as he shallowly fucks his cum back into you.
Slowly, he pulls out, watching as his creamy seed trickles out of your sweet, puffy pussy. "So good for me, ma. Always so good. My pretty baby..." he whispers, sniffling. You wipe away a stray tear with your thumb, smiling up at him.
Yes, Jason, your big, tough Jason, cries during sex. Sometimesâlike tonightâit's only a little. Other nights it's a full-on sob. He's your broken boyâyour broken boy who so happens to fuck like a pornstar.
He smirks, eyes glued to your messy, pulsing cunt. "So...now you gonna let me lick it out of you?"
summary: After coming off a date with a bad review, Steve sets out to prove that he really is good at going down on girls.
tags: MDNI!! [roommates/friends to lovers] [smut] [oral fem receiving] [mutual pining] [he just needs an honest review] [friends help each other...right?] 2k words
a/n: While brainstorming this fic, I couldn't decide whether I wanted it to be fluffy or smutty, so I had you guys vote. And you wanted me to write both. (Here is the fluffy sister fic if you want to read it!)
It is your deepest held belief that Friday nights are, indeed, best spent in.Â
Youâre on the couch, curled up with a book, basking in the soft lamplight as steam from your favorite tea reflects in the dark windows beside you.Â
All is peaceful. All is quiet. Itâs perfect.Â
And then your apartment door opens.Â
You jump, looking over your shoulder just in time to see your roommate, Steve, storm through the entryway. His dress shirt is untucked, tie loose, and his hair is a wreck, like heâs run his hands through it a million times.
Thatâs not a good sign for a man supposed to be on a fancy date tonight.Â
He said, if things went well, heâd probably end up back at her place for the night. You thought that might be a little presumptuous, but hey, itâs Steve Harrington youâre talking about here.Â
Steve looks around wildly, and when his eyes land on you, the intensity in them takes you aback.Â
âIâm guessing things didnât go well, thenâ?â you start, but he cuts you off, his words overlapping yours.Â
âTake off your pants.â
You freeze.Â
What theâ
He must not register the utter shock on your face, because heâs already moving towards you. The silky tie snaps through the air as he rips it from his neck. God, he must really be wound up. He didnât even take his shoes off at the door.Â
âExcuse me?â You manage to choke out.Â
âDonât freak out, I just really need to try something,â he grunts, rounding the couch. âJust for a second.â
The moment his knees hit the carpet in front of you, your jaw goes slack. Â
âHarrington!â You scramble back into your mountain of pillows, nearly knocking your mug off the side table. You reach out and steady it with one hand, suddenly very aware of how your tank top has ridden up with the movement. âWhat the hell are youâ?â
ââŠcanât believe she said that,â he mutters, ripping back the blanket thrown over your lap.Â
âWho said what?â
He doesnât respond, eyes locked on your short sleep shorts. Theyâre a cute set you picked up recently at the mall. Navy blue with white flowers. Innocent-looking. Sweet.Â
But heâs staring at them like heâs going to rip them off with his teeth.Â
Heat rushes to your cheeks.Â
While you canât deny what that look is doing to you, thereâs something else trapped in his gaze. Sadness? Not quite. Disappointment, maybe? Youâve only been roommates for six months, but you already know him well enough to know when heâs upset.Â
Reaching down, you grab a fistful of his hair and tip his head back. His eyes snap to yours.Â
âWhat did she say?â you ask again, firmer this time.Â
Steveâs lips form a thin line before he sighs heavily. You drop his hair.Â
âShe said I was bad at sex. Specifically, bad at...this.â He gestures unhelpfully between your legs and your stomach swoops as his finger almost brushes the seam of your shorts.Â
It takes you a second, but then your brows pull together. âShe actually said that?â
âNot exactly,â he groans. âThe date was fine. It was our third, so when she invited me upstairs, I figuredâŠwell, you know. And then we got to making out and it was hot. I guessâŠâ
You swallow hard and gesture for him to continue, even if the thought of his lips trailing down some other girlâs neck feels like a knife in your side.Â
âAnd then I went down on her and she saidââ He cuts himself off with a miserable little huff before resuming. âShe said it wasnât doing anything for her. At all. Like it wasnât good enough or something. Can you believe that? I couldâve lived if she said my thrust game needed work or something, if we had even gotten to that point, but this? This is, like, my thing.â
Oh. Okay.Â
Yeah, you couldâve gone the rest of your lease without knowing that eating pussy is your hot roommateâs thing.Â
That is not good for your little crush you have going on that you refuse to talk about. Or think about. Ever.Â
You nod quickly and clear your throat. âS-so, what exactly does this have to do with me?âÂ
Steve just shrugs. âWeâre friends, right?â
âRight.â
âRight.â He levels your gaze, brown eyes soft and playful in the lamplight. âSoâŠâ
The moment stretches between you, an invitation, an ask, and a dare all rolled into one.Â
âSo, because weâre such good friends, we justâŠgive each other oral sex?â
Steve sighs. âLook. I just want a second opinion, okay? I mean, this is bad. Really bad. If Cindy didnât like it, then what if other girls didnât either? Then Iâve just been lied to all this timeââ
Your gaze drops to his fingers digging into the couch cushion beneath you, and despite yourself, a smile creeps across your lips. âOh my God, this really got to you, didnât it?âÂ
âWhat?â He balks. âNo! Itâs justâŠI need to set the record straight.â He taps your knees with a knuckle, playful but firm. âSpread âem.â
You bark an unbelieving laugh that ends in a sound too close to a whimper when his hands come down on your thighs.Â
You cannot let him do this to you. If you do, youâll never be able to get over your secret-no-good-very-bad-crush on your roommate.Â
You force yourself to breathe. âIâŠI donât want thinks to get weird.â
 His eyes flick up to yours. âWeird?â
âBetween us.â
Steve seems to take a second to understand what youâre saying, and you watch as an emotion you canât place crosses his face.Â
Suddenly, he moves to stand. âYouâre right. Sorry. God, Iâm an idiot. What am I thinking, I justââ
Panic spikes and you snatch his wrist before you even really know what youâre doing, cutting him off. âNo, wait. Itâs like you said. WeâreâŠfriends, right?â
He nods quickly. Too quickly. âYeah.â
âSo, we donât let it get weird.â The words spill out of you before you can take them back. But you donât want to. âIâll give you an unbiased review. A one time thing.â
You watch as his lashes drop again to your legs, and his pupils widen as your knees fall apart a little on instinct.Â
âYouâre sure?â he asks, voice thick.Â
In an effort to appear nonchalant, you shrug. But youâre salivating when his tongue darts over his bottom lip.Â
 âYes,â you breathe.Â
He doesnât waste a second dropping back down to his knees, and your legs widen immediately to give him space.Â
âSo, youâll tell me the truth, right?â he rasps, eyes jumping between your face and your hips. âBe honest. I can take it.â
âHonest,â you agree, but the word comes out in a whisper as his fingers slip under your waistband.Â
Your face burns as he pulls down your shorts and panties in one smooth motion, baring you to him. His hands gently ease your thighs farther apart, and you fight the urge to squirm under his gaze.Â
âSteve! Stop looking at it like that,â you gasp.
âWhy?â he asks without glancing up. âItâs pretty.â
Shit.Â
Youâre not strong enough for this.Â
But when he finally looks up, you recognize the silent question in his eyes. Heâs asking for permission. You could stop this right now, and he would let you easily. Heâs probably never even bring it up again. No harm done.Â
And you should.Â
God, you should.Â
But you donât want to.Â
So instead, you just nod, not trusting your voice to speak.Â
As he leans in, you brace for the feeling of his tongue, but youâre surprised when he starts by justâŠkissing you.Â
His lips are soft against your folds, and your breath catches at the tenderness there. His eyes find yours before he goes lower, and the moment his nose bumps your clit, your body jolts in his hold.Â
He makes a muffled sound and his eyes drift shut, large palms moving to your hips, pinning them to the cloth couch beneath you.
 Then thereâs that wet heat.Â
His tongue slides over you with just enough pressure, starting slow and exploring your entrance.Â
âOh, God,â you whimper.Â
His hair is so soft against your inner thighs, and when he makes a sound of encouragement against you, and his tongue swirls higher, catching the underside of your clit, your mouth drops open in a silent moan.Â
Heâs hardly done anything yet, but the way heâs doing it, so confident, and steady, itâs unlike anything youâve ever felt before.
âSee? Good, right?â he mutters, the words muffled and slick against your core. âI know what Iâmâmmm, fuck, you taste good.â
Before you can respond, his hands wrap up and around your thighs, and he hauls you closer. Your tank top rides up even higher as you slide down into the cushions, but you donât reach up to fix it.Â
Mostly because Steve Harrington is going down on you, and that thought alone is nearly making you lose your fucking mind.Â
His lashes flutter shut as he makes out with your dripping cunt, his throat bobbing as sucks gently, swallows, and goes back for more.Â
Youâre surprised to find thereâs no performance to his actions, but more of a genuine enjoyment.Â
Steve eats pussy like he wants to.Â
You watch, transfixed, and you canât help but roll your hips once against his mouth, smearing your slick all over his pretty fucking face.Â
Too pretty for his own good.
A sound escapes his chest, something caught between a moan and a whine, and he nods against you, peeking up from beneath his lashes.Â
The carpet whispers as rises higher on his knees, mouth traveling up your mound and over the soft, sensitive skin below your belly button.Â
But you whimper at the loss, pushing his head back down.Â
His throat vibrates against you with a chuckle, but he follows you obediently. âOh, yeah? So definitely doing something for you then.â
âShut up,â you groan, but the sound dies out harshly when his mouth latches to your clit and sucks.Â
Hard.Â
You gasp, back arching as your core clenches instinctively.Â
Then, without warning, he pulls back.Â
You look at each other, chests heaving. Suddenly, youâre afraid heâs done. That you now have to give a report based on that.Â
âIs that it?â You squeak.Â
âWhat? God, you think I would just leave you like that? No, I was just thinkingââ He draws in a breath, like he needs to physically rearrange his thoughts. âWell, I havenât even kissed you yet.â
You just stare down at him, chest heaving, bare and slick from the waist down.Â
He takes one look at your face and clears his throat. âRight. Later.â He leans in again, but pauses before glancing up at you one more time. âYes?â
âYes, Harrington, I will kiss you, later,â you whine pitifully, canting your hips into his hands.Â
He seems pleased, and wastes no time picking up where he left off.Â
And this time, he doesnât tease you.Â
Your head hips back, a moan tearing from your throat as two of his fingers spear deep inside and his mouth closes over your clit.
As you threaten to fall apart beneath him, Steve just watches.Â
Every little whine and whimper. Every jerk and arch of your back. Every wriggle of your hips and curl of your toes.Â
He studies you like a map, surveying everything that makes you soak his face, everything that makes you clench hard around his fingers, his tongue, and finding new routes to all those destinations.Â
The tension between your hips pulls tighter, and when he reaches up to palm your breast, slipping his hand underneath your tank top, you wonder if he can feel it.Â
The way your heart slams against your ribs.Â
A silent, helpless confession. A call for him to see that this will not, in fact, be a one-time thing.Â
That youâve been thinking about thisâabout himâever since the day you moved in.Â
That ache builds like a tidal wave, threatening to break, and your fingers fly to his arms for stability. Heâs warm, and strong, and his muscles shift under his dress shirt.Â
Itâs honestly impressive how quickly he responds, how easily he reads every subconscious signal your body gives him. Because when that breathy, urgent whine starts to leave your lips, his thumb replaces his mouth on your clit, rubbing firm, perfect circles that drive you higher. And then he dips lower, tonguing your entrance, devouring you in thick, broad strokes, pushing you to the fucking brink.Â
âYeah, you gonna come for me?â He slurs against your aching cunt. âJust like that. Thatâs it. Iâve got youâmmhmââ
The second his tongue spears deep inside, the tidal wave breaks.Â
Your moan fills your quiet apartment, and you nearly come off the couch with the intensity of it. The rush is unlike anything youâve felt before. You have no option but to surrender fully to it as it pulls you under, shamelessly riding your orgasm out on Steveâs tongue.
Steveâs ready for it though. He goes with you easily as your hips rise and fall, strong hands holding you to his mouth, unwilling to let you slide away.Â
When the pulsing eventually fades to shuttering jolts, he pulls back, but his hands stay on your hips, caressing you softly, bringing you back down to earth.Â
You bite your lip, looking down at him panting between your knees. Your body aches, but in a good way. Like you need more, but somehow, it still wonât ever be enough.Â
âGod, Steveââ you whine, but youâre cut off by him lunging up across your body and pressing his lips to yours.Â
You laugh into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue as he kisses you eagerly.Â
âYou have no idea how long Iâve been waiting to do that.â He murmurs, pulling back a little.
Something catches in your chest at his confession, and you thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him back down for another kiss.Â
This one is different.Â
Deeper, and softer, andâŠmeaningful.Â
He sinks back down onto his knees, squeezing your thigh, your waist, like youâre something precious.Â
âSo, tell me , honestly, was it good?â He urged, gazing up at you.
You blink dumbly, throughly flushed. âYeah, uhâŠno notes.â
He smirks. âYeah, thatâs what I thought. Five out of five stars.â
âI donât know, Harrington. That literally means no room for improvement.â Youâre not sure his ego is ready for that.Â
âOh?â His lips tilt in a crooked smile that makes you want to kiss him again. âWhat would you have me do to earn that fifth star, huh?â
His lids go heavy as you tighten your hold on his hair and urge his mouth back down where you want it.Â
âYou could do it again.â
a/n: It's my canon that his date, Cindy, was just hung up on her ex, and Steve was the unlucky rebound that night. Plus, Steve wasn't that into it. Because he was thinking about you, obviously. Also, here is the fluffy version sister fic if you care lol
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