in which, DICK GRAYSON and KORIAND'R have had their eye on their best-friend & have had enough waiting for her to make the first move.
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includes: dick grayson x fem!reader x koriand'r, best-friend!reader, mature content (17+), pwp, piv, threesome, jealousy-play, teasing, dirty-talk, making out, dry-humping, voyeurism, cuckolding, brief slapping, spitting, fingering, oral (f. receiving), palming, hair pulling (m. and f. receiving), cow-girl, face-sitting, creampie, cum-eating, switch!reader, switch!dick, switch!kori, 6.0k words.
â§âËâŠĺ˝Ą
kinktober masterlist.
THE APARTMENT was warm, much like it always was following patrol. comforting air crept along the ceiling freely, clinging to the walls and the furniture and the people that made themselves at home in the depth's of dick grayson's couch. both him and kori lounged carelessly together-- a pile of toned and warmed limbs spent from crime fighting away the night. beside them, you laid easily against the couch's throw pillows-- spine decompressing as the movie you had all decided on (something nostalgic, as per dick's wish) echoed throughout the living room.
the smell of popcorn drifted from the coffee table, a bowl of the convenient snack resting teasingly on top of the glass; you reached a hand forward from where you were perched on the other end of the sofa, popping kernels into your mouth effortlessly.
lazy irises of yours gazed towards the couple. dick's hand traced absentminded shapes along kori's skin, and every so often, the girl's lips planted sloppily at dick's pulse-point. it was familiar. normal.
as was the simple pit of jealousy that burned beneath your ribs.
swallowing, you turned your vision back to the movie.
the three of you had fallen into this routine without ever meaning to. long nights blurred and warped into even longer mornings, the sun becoming an awful reminder that you could not spend eternity wrapped up in the amenity of your team-mates; the amenity of your best friends. somehow, though, it became normal for you to crash here, to eat whatever dick burned, to listen to whatever foreign songs kori hummed beneath her breath while you tried not to gawk too longingly.
again, it was easy. familiar.
until it wasn't.
peeking her head out from the crook of her boyfriend's neck, kori tore her vision from the television, allotting it to your frame. hearty cheeks dimpled, and a finger of hers crooked, motioning you closer.
your heart skipped a few beats, though you did not hesitate at kori's silent command. scooting closer, your thigh brushed against hers, palms resting at her ankles. it was light; unthinking. but perhaps it was not so unthinking, because when kori's body seemed to lean into your touch, her smile deepened.
your name echoed gently throughout the room, the sound falling from kori's lips with a certain sort of care that ripped itself through your soul. "you are always so tense after missions," kori commented, quiet enough to almost be hidden underneath dick's laughter at her comment, "even now, resting against me-- your shoulders are like stone."
you hummed, willing the heat that began crawling up your neck to dissipate. "it's the adrenaline," you lied, referring to your nightly patrol, "it'll wear off, kor,"
despite your inadvertent protests, kori's palms still found themselves running along your forearms, all the way up and backwards towards your shoulder blade. "may i?" she asked, green eyes blinking curiously at you. her gaze lingered heavily, question building tensely within the air-- as if her hands on your body were the answer to the inquisitiveness that enveloped her now.
dick glanced over-- damp strands of hair (he had refused to dry his hair properly after his post-mission shower) sticking stubbornly to his forehead. his gaze, you noticed, carried not only something akin to amusement-- but perhaps the same curiosity his girlfriend harnessed as well. permission.
the movie rambled on in the background as you offered her a simple nod.
kori's thumb grazed your bicep, heat prickling beneath her touch. "it is strange," she mused, tilting her head to the side, "when i place my hands on you, your heart-rate quickens," the alien tossed a look behind her to dick, "much like dick's did when i first met him as robin." she swallowed, touch still scorching against your arm, "do you know why that is? perhaps it is a human trait i am unfamiliar with,"
behind her head, you watched dick's face contort into an expression that seemed uncomfortable to anyone who didn't know the man-- but you knew him, and you knew he was fighting back a grin.
your lips parted after a few moments of silence. "i think you know why." the urge to roll your eyes washed over you-- for kori's naivety did not equate stupidity. and in this moment, as you knew koriand'r all too well too, you knew she was weaponizing neither.
the laugh that fell from her lips only confirmed your suspicions. "maybe," she conceded eventually, "but perhaps i want to hear you say it yourself."
envy punctured your lungs as you watched dick raise kori's other hand to his lips, dusting thoughtless kisses along her skin.
"there's nothing to say," you answered simply, ignoring the blood rushing to your cheeks.
"nothing to say," dick echoed, tongue running along the inside of his cheek, as if to himself, "you're not a very good liar, babe,"
you shot the man a glare, nails digging crescents into the plush of your palms; it came out weaker than you wanted though, and landed truthfully instead of coldly-- your expression mirroring a child who'd gotten caught arm's deep into a cookie jar. "what're you even talking about?"
"you," he laughed, the sound raising goose-bumps along your skin, "you get all quiet when you're trying to hide something-- you've always been like that."
the reminder of how long you've known each other-- how well dick grayson knew you-- caused something to churn within your belly. you opened your mouth to protest, brows knitting-- before kori's hand slipped from your shoulder to your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip. whatever words you had had, vanished.
"i don't believe it's about lying," kori said, voice laced with amusement, "more just an admission of... uncertainty."
"uncertain?" dick asked, leaning forward to rest his chin on kori's shoulder, eyes lingering intensely on your frame. "'bout what?"
kori nodded, fiery curls bouncing softly. "about what she wants,"
"what i want?" you questioned, a laugh falling from your throat all too shortly, all too breathless.
both kori and dick ignored you, eyes flickering towards each other momentarily-- before landing back on your frame.
you squirmed underneath their gaze, suddenly all too aware of the way your face fit perfectly in kori's palm, and the way dick's eyes scanned your body-- analyzing. dark lashes resting along his cheek, ocean irises locking onto yours again. you shivered.
"this isn't fair," you tried, face contorting into something desperate.
that got both of their attention, all four eyes snapping upwards to yours. "what isn't, love?" kori questioned.
your veins pulsed beneath your skin, finger-tips tingling and ears prickling with heat. "you're talking about me as if i'm not even here," you voice was unwavering, impressively, as kori's digit still pressed lightly against your bottom lip, "you're... acting as if you know how i feel, and you're laughing about it--!"
dick's tongue darted outwards, wetting his lips. "we're not laughing at you." his voice was steady. certain. believable.
"then what are you doing? if not making fun of me," you questioned, eyes lowering and voice trailing off.
"you are misunderstood," kori acknowledged solemnly. "we never intended to make you upset-- all i am is curious about the way you are," she admitted, "curious about the way you get so... bashful, around dick and i."
"i don't get bashful," you snorted, though your voice was thin and unconvincing-- even to your own ears.
dick grinned, jutting his chin forward gently, towards you. "yes you do," he fought, "like right now."
heat bloomed across the expanse of your skin-- your tank-top now painfully revealing.
"you are our best friend," kori continued, "it is only natural i inquire about the way you make us feel,"
"i... what?" you asked, confusion soaking into your expression. "the way i make you both feel?"
"for i have noticed that you are only reciprocal in these feelings." kori finished, ignoring your question. "am i wrong?"
you swallowed deeply, your skin flushing in places you weren't even aware could heat up. "i--"
"what do you want?" dick interjected, voice low. "be honest with yourself," he murmured, circling back to kori's previous comment.
"you're both ridiculous," you finally managed, jaw tightening, "i don't want anything. everything you're... accusing me of, it's adrenaline, i told you."
"so, the way that you stare at kori when you think i'm not looking-- are you saying that's adrenaline, too?" dick asked.
shiiit.
"i don't stare at--" you sighed, "you're imagining it."
"am i?" he asked, tone maddeningly gentle.
kori pressed her thumb harder into your lip, a reminder of the reality of your situation. dick's chin remained glued to kori's shoulder, his gaze warm and taunting-- unrelenting, just as his girlfriend's.
"you're allowed to look at me," kori finally offered, voice impossibly low. her own eyes traced your lips in full now, unashamed in her gawking. "you're allowed to look at dick, too."
"you're allowed to want us," dick added on, blinks slow. purposeful.
you swallowed. "it's selfish."
"it's hot." dick corrected.
"we wouldn't have brought it up like this, had it been upsetting to either of us," he reassured, reaching one of his hands across the small gap between you and kori, his fingers finding the strap of your tank-top, fiddling idly.
"we know what we want-- and it is not to play with your feelings-- so just say with words that it's what you want, too," kori urged calmly, "because your body has said it for you for far longer than you realize."
silence settled heavily between the three of you. the kind that buzzed, electric and full of static. kori's thumb was still against your lip, her skin warm and steady; for the first time tonight, you hadn't felt like there was an insatiable desire burning between your bones that could not be cured. for the first time in weeks, you felt surprisingly close to the edge of contentment-- like this was the crescendo of every yearning thought that wafted throughout your mind, like every flip of your stomach, every jitter within your finger-tips, every throb of your cunt, was finally being answered.
you didn't feel ashamed to be in love with your best friends.
not as you watched kori breathe-- the slow rise of her chest, the curve of her mouth softening. softening as if something inside of her had finally decided that this was a line she wanted to cross. then, so gently you almost missed it, her hand migrated from your jaw to the side of your neck. your pulse raced underneath her palm.
kori's touch was no longer questioning; it was certain.
"may i?" she asked again, quieter this time-- but there wasn't really a question in it.
your answer was barely a nod, but it was enough.
kori leaned forward. the scent of her shampoo-- sweet, intoxicating, something akin to bitter-sweet summer evenings-- hit before anything else. her lips brushed the corner of your mouth, feather-light. not quite a kiss, but something that made your pulse stutter.
from somewhere behind her, dick exhaled-- a low sound, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. completion, perhaps.
you were not certain who moved-- whether it was you, desperately clambering yourself into kori's lap, or kori, lifting you easily on top of her-- but you had found yourself straddling the woman. both of your thighs wrapped around her hips, your mouths still connected as you kissed without regard for anything else.
it was growing messy, reckless-- your tongues had not waited to meet, and spit dribbled from the corners of your mouth. the sound of your kisses battled the noise of the long forgotten movie, wet and obscene in comparison.
kori hummed against your lips, her palms finding purchase on the plush of your ass-- holding you impossibly close to her body, tilting her head ever so slightly to deepen the kiss. deepen how close the both of you were, deepen how tightly you both were to be infused with the other's soul.
your own hands had snaked their way to the nape of kori's neck-- fingers dancing along scorching hot baby-hairs, tugging at the roots of the mane of curls that made kori kori.
dark lashes of hers batted gently against your cheek as she continued to suck on your tongue-- sounds emanating wildly from the both of you. vaguely, dick huffed beside you; grumbling under his breath, hand running through the dark locks that slowly dried on top of his scalp.
you attempted to pay the man no mind as you and kori continued to kiss; her hands wandering from you ass to your hips, briefly squeezing and rocking you against her crotch-- you whined, bucking your own hips in response.
what little friction you were craving burned between the both of you. your cunt was throbbing beneath the fabric of your pajama pants, panties dampening with each swipe of kori's tongue along your own. the woman beneath you was not shy in her showcase of affections and desire either-- hips rocking upwards into you with the same amount of fervor coursing through her veins as well.
an evil grin broke out across your face as your hands jumped from the back of kori's head to her tits-- groping and squeezing the fat against her chest overtop of her own tank-top; she gasped, and you took the opportunity to tilt your head and stick your tongue down her throat even deeper than before.
the scene was filthy. with the movie long forgotten, heat radiated off of both you and the alien in extraordinary waves.
if only dick had allowed you to continue; big, sturdy palms found your hair and yanked (as gently as he could, given the action) you backwards and off of the alien. opening your eyes in shock, you were met with a prettily flushed koriand'r, and a mean looking dick grayson-- who, despite the cockiness dripping from his face-- had a slight dusting of pink scattered along his cheeks as well.
"m'getting jealous over here," he murmured, blue irises darting towards your swollen lips, before he brought your face to his.
rolling your eyes, you kissed him back; it was sweet, at first. almost hesitant-- before dick remembered he had just watched you and his girlfriend make-out, and you felt as the rest of his resolve crumbled.
where kori had licked your bottom lip in a sweet command for you to open your mouth, dick bit. it was quick and fairly painless-- but the fat of your mouth still tingled as you gasped at the action, feeling the sudden intrusion of dick's tongue in you own mouth.
the grasp dick had on your jaw was intoxicating. gripping your chin with a purpose, your head was tilted within his palm-- giving himself perfect access to your mouth without him having to ask. the strength he used, skin burning beneath his touch, made your pussy pulse. with little care, your hips bucked instinctively again on top of kori-- and you felt her hands snake their way around your waist, guiding your movements to continue.
"i know," she hummed, finger-tips digging into your midsection, "dick kisses so good, huh? makes you want to grind your cunt against me, right, sweet-heart?"
you moaned into dick's mouth at kori's words-- nodding along to the filth that fell from her lips as though you had no clue what else to do. your hips seemed to move on their own, bucking and bucking and bucking, chasing a friction only kori's body seemed to cure.
dick continued to kiss you back with an intensity that only made your cunt ache desperately-- his tongue, his lips, his saliva purely taking up every thought that floated within your mind. only when he pulled back ever so slightly, did you open your eyes; blinking hazily at the couple, vision flickering between the two of them as if they were god's greatest gift to you.
"hey," dick whispered, thumb running along the bottom of your lip, "did kori tell you you could stop trying to fuck yourself on her?"
a shiver travelled tantalizingly up your spine-- igniting something impossibly needy and loud between your legs.
"well, no--" you tried, before kori's palm met your cheek in a muffled slap!
...
your panties were beyond saving.
"that's right," dick spoke again, paying his girlfriend's hit no mind as he brought his lips impossibly close to yours, forced your mouth open with his thumb and spat right into your mouth. "she didn't."
kori purred beside dick, her hands leaving your waist only to find purchase on dick's cheeks instead-- forcing his face mere inches away from her own. "it's alright," she said, feigned sympathy dripping from her words, "since you simply don't want this," she beckoned to dick by sticking her tongue outwards and slooowly licking her way from his adam's apple to his mouth, "you'll just have to watch dick and i instead."
rendered speechless, you watched painfully as kori and dick's lips found each others-- and the both of them fused as if it was the most natural thing in the world. dick groaned against kori's lips, tongues slotting against the other's with zero regard for you-- who, little by little, was being inched off of kori's lap.
"no, i do want that," you whispered.
when the couple heard you and pulled away from each other, a strand of saliva kept them connected-- green and blue irises boring themselves into your figure.
"oh, you do?" dick asked, cocking his head to the side.
you nodded, head bobbing.
the duo laughed, and kori gently pushed you off of her-- your knees meeting the rug of dick's apartment with a soft thud.
"you should've said it properly, n' like a good girl, when we asked the first time then." dick mother-fucking grayson giggled, leaning forward to suck on kori's neck. they were both turned towards each other on the couch now, bodies facing away from the television, and you, as kori's fingers tangled themselves in dick's damp hair.
"say what you really want," kori addressed to you, your name stuttering from her lips as dick pressed a hot kiss to pulse-point. "then we'll consider it."
no words came to you as you continued to watch dick imprint himself onto kori-- searing lips travelling every inch of her skin, hands fondling and groping where yours had once been-- over top of her tits, onto her toned belly, beneath her tank-top.
the woman whined as, what seemed like an eternity later, dick's fingers finally dipped below the waistband of her sleep-shorts. "dick," she muttered, eyes squinting as her boyfriend's hands slinked south, "isn't this about her tonight?"
your stomach flipped from your spot on the carpet.
how fucking pathetic. you were sure if you had had ears and a tail, they'd be perked upwards and wagging with a stupid amount of anticipation. it was shameful, how worked up you had become, at the thought of being given attention.
not that you cared though. not with the heat that was becoming painful within your lower belly.
all dick did in response, however, was shake his head-- peeling kori's shorts and panties off of her body and tossing them somewhere across the room.
"maybe," he sighed, looking pleased at the way kori's pussy had glistened underneath the lighting of the television, "but i think she's better off sayin' what she wants if she can see what she's missing, first."
dragging a finger through kori's cunt, dick grinned. dimpled cheeks suddenly faced you, pointedly, as two of dick's fingers found kori's clit-- rolling heavy and tight circles methodically.
"isn't that right?" he asked you, fingers unrelenting against kori's clit.
you whined, bottom lip being caught between your teeth as you watched dick continue to finger his girlfriend. "m-mhm,"
dick tsked, vision moving back towards kori's pussy at your response. his pupils were blown, and his digits were steady along kori's cunt-- all the while she shuddered and gasped, hips bucking against his hand in a steady rhythm.
"gods-- dick," she heaved, hands clutching desperately at a throw-pillow. strong thighs closed and re-opened against dick's hands as he leaned forward again-- painting feather-light kisses along her collarbone.
dick's free hand found one of her thighs, shoving and holding it open as his thumb replaced his two longer digits, pointer finger now prodding at her sopping entrance. when the man pressed in, your own pussy pulsed in anticipation, as if you could feel him within you too, and kori's back arched meanly away from the couch.
he hushed kori, finger beginning to pump in and out of her with obscene squelches emanating from her cunt. "see? isn't this what you want?" dick asked you, as your name echoed throughout the room.
"yeah, yes-- please," you stuttered, your own grip on your thighs going iron.
dick added a second finger, crooking them within kori juuust right-- causing her to cry out in pleasure. "c'mere then; come put your mouth to use, prove that you want us to fuck you."
he motioned with a jut of his chin towards kori's weeping cunt-- and you, making no mistake, crawled between her legs.
pressing kisses up kori's thighs, you watched her shudder against dick's fingers; the man knuckles deep within his girlfriend. your lips dampened with your saliva and her sweat-- an oddly sweet and exhilarating taste filling every possible sense.
when your lips reached impossibly close to her pussy, dick finally pulled his fingers out-- they shone obscenely underneath the lighting of his living room, and, shameless, dick popped them into his mouth. he groaned at the taste of her, using a sturdy hand to push your face into her cunt. "she tastes so good, so sweet," he moaned, "try for yourself."
(you could've sworn the tiniest of whimpers fell from kori's lips).
you peppered hot and teasing kisses to her cunt, feeling her fingers explore the back of your head-- pulling you closer to her. with a certain dip of your head, your lips connected to her pussy-- wet kisses painted across her folds with reckless abandon.
kori moaned into her fist, head tilting backwards onto the couch as dick stuck his fingers back down onto her clit-- rubbing, rolling, pinching as if only to tease his girlfriend as you finally stuck your tongue out. dick had been right; as you swirled your digit along kori's folds, a passionately sweet taste annihilated your senses. kori's slick dampened the lower half of your face, and you continued to lap at her as she tugged you impossibly closer to her pussy.
"yes--!" she gasped, hips bucking against your face, "just like that,"
flattening your tongue, you dragged it up and down again and again and again along kori's cunt-- chasing her pleasure as if it was your own. dick's fingers remained glued to her clit, pushing her closer and closer towards her release; glancing over at the man above kori's toned thighs, you saw how he was palming himself.
despite your best friend doing nothing to deserve it-- one of your hands left kori's thighs, and reached beside her to dick's. you gave his leg a hearty squeeze, muscle thick underneath your palm-- before moving towards the outline of his cock. your ministrations at kori's pussy, however, remained unrelenting. curling your tongue and poking it forward, your appendage breached her entrance; slick sweeter than ever before. you moaned against her at the taste, hand curving delightfully against dick's bulge.
you heard the man hiss, his own hips jutting forward ever so slightly to keep your hand against his hardening cock-- the pressure of your palm against him just enough to keep his satiated for now. "shit," he mumbled, watching you begin to tongue-fuck kori, "aren't you the over-achiever?"
at his teasing, you managed to flip him off; the sound of dick's laugh reverberating throughout his living room playfully. you felt a finger-- one of dick's, that had been incessantly rolling kori's clit-- push forward to flick your nose gently, before going back to their previous action. you grinned against kori's cunt. she clenched around your tongue, throbbing underneath the sheer desire to cum.
kori's fingers still remained curled along your head, keeping you impossibly close to her pussy. her chest was heaving, a glittering sheen of sweat glistening against her apricot skin. "it d-does not matter," kori mumbled, hips steadily rocking against your face, "she's doing such a wonderful job,"
dick hummed in agreement, your palm still rubbing and aiding the dull throb underneath his sweatpants. "that's right," he purred, "being such a good girl for us."
breaking the rhythm that had lapsed over the room, kori cried out-- back arching off of the couch again. at her pleasure, dick glanced downwards to see that you had, somehow, managed to pull your face away from kori's pussy. in the abcense of your tongue, however, you had stuck two of your own fingers inside of the woman; crooking and curling them against kori's g-spot, pistoning them in and out and in again.
the combination of your fingers, as well as dick's, had kori spiraling quickly towards an orgasm. her legs twitched in an attempt to close around the two sets of hands that ambushed her pussy, but dick's grip of her legs kept her spread and open for the both of you. "take it," dick groaned, bulge grinding into your hand, "i know you can, kor,"
"please," you whined helplessly, fingers sliding in and out of kori with ease-- "i want you to cum on my fingers so bad, baby,"
hearing your pleas, kori shuddered; her mouth fell open, the slightest trail of drool beginning to seep down her chin, and the silent cry of her orgasm washed over her. the intensity had you reeling-- watching kori's cunt weep and pulse right in front of you, you couldn't help it; your mouth found her pussy again.
dick grinned widely, his fingers also keeping a steady pace against her clit-- your mouth and his digits now pushing her orgasm, milking every single tremour and twitch her body could provide.
"that's it," you hummed, muffled vibrations sending shocks up kori's spine, "been wanting this so badly."
green irises blew open, and kori suddenly gasped-- her entire body aching away from your actions. "it's too much!" she sobbed, pussy beginning to ache with overstimulation.
there was a pause in your movements, to dissect kori's face, and-- god. several curls stuck to her forehead from sweat, and her cheeks were tinged a deep shade of orange; if you squinted, you could even pick up flickers of emerald and ivy dancing within her irises. she was stunning.
pulling away, you used the back of your palm to wipe your chin; not before licking any remaining residue of kori from your lips, though. dick delivered a few careless smacks to her cunt, causing the alien to jolt, before pulling his hand off of her. he too, stuck his fingers in his mouth-- desperate to taste whatever lingering traces of her orgasm remained seeped into his digits.
warmth radiated off of all three of you-- and you pressed your palm, harder than before, onto dick's cock. he exhaled shortly at your action, cobalt irises blinking down at you through thick lashes as your voice broke through the comfortable silence that had formed.
"can i fuck you now?" you questioned, to neither one of them in particular. on any other occasion, you would have despised sounding so desperate; but your own pussy was pulsating with a need you were sure now, had grown insatiable. it clenched and throbbed against nothing, craving nothing more than to be filled by someone's fingers, mouth, or cock--
"well you've certainly earned it, love," kori said eventually, after letting her breathing even; "dick," she mumbled, tilting her head towards the man, "lie down on the couch."
âŠâŠâŠ
there was no way to tell how long you had been riding dick's cock, save for that the movie's credits had longed ended. your bare body glistened underneath the soft lighting of the living room, hands holding steadily against the back of the couch as you rocked back and forth, grinding your cunt against the bottom of dick's lower stomach. he throbbed inside of you, his own hips rocking upwards to meet your sloppy bounces, moans muffled by kori's cunt.
"f-fuck," you breathed, head tilting backwards to expose your neck to kori-- who, from her seat on dick's face-- leaned forward to suck and kiss and lick at your throat. she too was bare, and grinding her own cunt down onto her boyfriend's mouth-- reveling in the feeling of his big, sturdy palms grasping and molding the flesh of her ass underneath his grip.
the tip of dick practically abused your g-spot-- rubbing again and again and again along the spongy tissue within your cunt, every vein and every ridge of his cock massaging your insides. "you feel so good, dick," you moaned, ass slapping against dick's thighs as you continued to ride him.
in response, all the man could do was moan against kori's folds-- causing kori to moan against your neck.
every sensation you had was being ravaged all at once. the room stunk of sweat and sex and lust, not a single coherent thought beyond fuck me floating around any of your heads. it was almost too much-- but perhaps, that was what made it tantalizingly enough. every second you had spent yearning for something more with your best friends, remained now a thing of the past as your pussy squelched around dick. there was no telling where you began and where either kori or dick ended-- only the sensation of being filled, being stuffed, consuming your mind.
"you like-- haah-- being used like this, don't you?" kori asked dick, suddenly, reaching behind her to grab a fistful of raven locks. through hazy, tear-ridden vision, you watched dick nod-- his tongue still working tirelessly at his girlfriend's cunt. kori tugged, and the man whined from beneath her; you felt his cock twitch impossibly within your pussy, and you grinned.
bringing your body upwards, you slammed down onto the length of dick once again-- causing his back to arch off of the couch, and hips to stutter against yours. he throbbed again, growing desperately, achingly hard within the plush and warmth of your cunt.
"you gonna cum, dick?" you asked, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you continued to riiide dick into the couch. frantically, you watched the man nod-- his chin dripping with kori's slick, and palms gripping almost painfully hard at her thighs.
kori laughed-- an airy sort of sound that broke through one of her moans. you joined her, hands diving into the thick mop of curls on top of her head.
"'course," you quipped, hips speeding up on top of dick, "such a slut for us."
with kori's teeth sinking into your shoulder, suddenly-- (dick had begun spelling his name out against her pussy)-- your cunt fluttered, strangling the man's cock. and that was what sent dick over the edge; a strangled set of moans and expletives flew from his mouth, muffled by kori's cunt, as dick's cum flooded your cunt. his cock throbbed and throbbed and throbbed-- hot ropes infiltrating your womb as if there was an endless supply. you moaned in tandem, too, the sensation of being filled up letting you teeter precariously close to the edge of your own orgasm.
without thinking, you reached upwards softly-- gripping kori's face, only to smash your mouths together. kori made of a sound almost akin to shock, before kissing you back with no hesitation. it was just as sloppy as kissing her before had been; drool everywhere, lips swollen, and cunt's throbbing-- puckering and sucking on the alien's mouth messily.
just as her hands found your hair-- you paused, pulling off of her; pleasure wracked through your body, and you wanted to speak before your orgasm hit you. "shiiit," you moaned, pussy clenching desperately onto the cock within you, "k-kor," you gasped, "switch with me,"
kori had not faltered at your words-- pulling herself off of dick's face with little struggle, her cunt was sopping and easily sucked in her boyfriend's cock as she took the seat you had once been. you, on the other-hand, placed yourself easily onto dick's mouth, ignoring any protests falling from the man.
coincidentally, though, you did not think you had heard any.
you sighed, back arching as dick's tongue began to lap your cunt-- the taste of your arousal and his cum bombarding his senses. he whined underneath you-- crying out about how it was t'much! but you hadn't paid him much mind as your hips rocked against his mouth. you were chasing your orgasm now, grinding your cunt down onto dick's tongue with little regard for the man beneath you.
"c'mon dick," kori cooed from behind you, tone mockingly sweet, "you can take it."
a laugh broke itself from your chest as kori mocked what dick had told her earlier-- before plump lips wrapped around your clit. you gasped, hips stuttering on top of dick's face as he sucked harshly on your sensitive bundle of nerves.
much like your alien counter-part, your hands had found dick's hair with no issue-- pulling on it as a means to make yourself cum on your best friend's mouth.
dick had had the same plans too-- his hands, momentarily, found your hips to raise you off of his face, and he muttered (voice terribly fucked out), "please, baby-- please, cum on my tongue-- we taste s'good together, it's all i want,"
cutting him off with a slam of your cunt back down on his face, you moaned as his tongue curled its way inside you-- prodding at your insides, coaxing your orgasm out.
his efforts proved fruitful as your pussy began to spasm along his mouth-- hips rocking forward desperately to draw every last twitch and flutter and pulse of your cunt, out. your mouth had fallen open silently in an 'o' shape, eyes screwing shut in pure ecstasy.
dick moaned whorishly beneath you, as if he, too, could feel the pleasure that prickled your finger-tips-- the taste of your cum coating his tongue, your lust causing his vision to blur. the sound of skin slapping-- kori's ass now against dick's thighs-- echoing distantly throughout the room as your own thighs closed desperately around dick's head.
"holy shit, dick--!" you cried, legs twitching.
he groaned between your folds, hands keeping your cunt impossibly close to his face. "m'not done," you heard him say, twisting your head backwards to watch kori fuck herself onto her boyfriend's cock. she moaned and whined feeling his appendage keep her terribly full, the tiniest bulge in her lower belly appearing every time she slammed herself down onto him again.
your cunt fluttered, and the hot, raging sensation of needing to be filled again consumed you; "you better-- fuck-- not be," you whispered, grinding down onto dick's mouth, "wanna watch you fill kori up,"
from behind you, kori moaned-- the idea of dick's cum stuffing her cunt entirely too intoxicating. the feeling of it dripping down his shaft as he continuously pulsed inside of her, perhaps even the feeling of you licking it out of her-- made her hips stutter, a slutty little whimper falling from her lips. "god--"
"then i want you to fill me up," you moaned, pussy drooling into dick's mouth, "again n' again n' again."
the words tumbled past your lips with a reckless sort of passion, absorbing and engorging every feeling of lust, desperation, love-- that had somehow tangled itself between you and your best friends. from beneath you-- dick's hands gave a hearty squeeze to your waist, keeping you anchored to him (perhaps in more ways than one). behind, kori had snaked her fingers onto your wrist, threading her steady and slender ones with yours; the three of you somehow seemed to move in sync, and despite the absolute obscenity of the entire night-- you felt oddly at peace. oddly wholesome. oddly, not overwhelmed-- at home.
PLUVOiA 25â ÂŽ - masterlist
loren's thots: i feel like a deadbeat dad the way i abandon yall and then sometimes come back. ......... can yall forgive papa đ speaking of deadbeat..... i think i got ghosted by my situationship,,,, wtvvvv more time to write for yall ion een want him fr....
in this dessertâŚ
you and your boyfriend Dick have a star in your very own homemade sex tape, who is all to eager to have some fun with the two of you.
flavor: smut (+18), no plot
contents: (3K+) Dick Grayson is slightly mean. dom!Dick Grayson, switch!reader, sub!Wally West. f!reader (reader has female pronouns and female anatomy), mfm threesome, oral (f! and m! receiving), piv. not proofread.
bakerâs notes: this is my first time writing smut, and my first time posting my writing overall, so Iâm nervy⌠I think the ending is a bit abrupt, forgive me because I shouldâve been studying instead of writing this. I literally couldnât bring myself to proofread this, because I would second guess and delete it all so if you see any spelling mistakes, no you didnât. hopefully you like it!!
this fic contains smut, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
The camera flicks on, fingers covering the view. Between them your face is visible, tongue sticking out as you fix the camera on your tripod. When it's done, you grin, removing your hands from the camera lens and waving.
Your boyfriend takes the clapperboard you brought for occasions like these and says "action," from off the frame. On the clapperboard, in your neat writing, it reads My boyfriend's boyfriend.
"Today," you begin, referring to the camera, "we have a very special guest on our show."
You reach for someone out of frame and gently tug him closer. A blushing Wally West steps closer. He's dressed only in red boxers. You tug him close to you, his bare chest brushing your lingerie clad one as you grin at the camera.
"Isn't he the prettiest?" you ask to someone behind the camera. The answer comes as a soft hum from Dick. He adjusts the zoom, moving the focus closer to your faces.
You're seen cupping Wally's face, which is blushing in the most delightful way, and you plant a kiss right on the corner of his mouth. The crimson imprint of your lips stays behind as proof. "Such a pretty boy. I've wanted to do this for so long, I've had to beg Dick to let me do this."
Dick himself is busy moving the view of the camera along your bodies, lingering on your hands, splayed across Wally's bare chest, Wally's hands groping your ass greedily through the baby doll dress you wear.
Soft moaning sounds can be heard, and he points the focus back on your faces. Zooms in on the hot tangle of your mouths. Your hair is bunched up in Wally's pale hand as he kisses you with such passion that you're leaning back from the force, giggling from the ardor.
"Greedy boy," Dick's gravelly voice sounds louder than yours and Wally's because of his proximity to the microphone. "Pawing at my girlfriend like she's yours. How long have you been thinking about having her like this, hmm?"
Wally pulls away just barely to examine your body. The lust in his green eyes spills thickly in the air between you and is palpable even through the screen. He tugs his lower lips, slightly swollen from your teeth between his as he takes you in. Your smile widens at the attention, knowing you've chosen your outfit wisely: a sheer baby doll dress made of a tulle that does nothing to hide the scarlet lingerie set beneath. The little bows and ribbons that adorn the edges of your outfit just make you seem like a delectable cake he wants to dig his teeth in.
"Not my fault she's so sexy," Wally finally answers Dick, talking as if you weren't even in the room. It just makes you feel even hotter, a match that he lit with his voice and set over your skin. The flames of desire burn through you, only to pool low, making you drip.
Dick, knowing every single one of your tells rapidly clocks the feeling and moves the camera to your bare thighs, which you're subtly rubbing together. He lets out a mellow chuckle, knowing you'll start whining for touch just about now.
And Wally seems to fit right in with your dynamic, because he seems to understand that you need attention too, and in and instant, his hands have started to explore the new territory that's you again.
Dick moves closer with the camera, not wanting to miss any nuance from this. Wally has your back pressed against one of the bedposts of the fourposter bed, the velvet curtain softening the surface for you. His lips are moving all over your face and neck in wet, loud kisses. Your eyes are half closed, relishing the warmth of his attention, his kisses like the sun on your skin. His hands are just as fast in his exploration, one hand holding your head still by bunching in your hair again, while the other gropes around. He digs his fingertips in the plush of your hips, moves them up to slip under the baby doll dress you're wearing. Dick zooms in to capture the path his hand traces through the sheer tulle, moving up the dip of your waist and reaching the soft swell of your breast. You let out a fluttering sigh that the microphone barely catches. It rises into a soft moan as Wally pinches over your nipple, startling you with the slight spike of pleasurable pain.
It draws a chuckle from Dick, still not having stepped in frame. The sound draws your eyes to him, and the camera captures the hunger as it multiples when you see him. You bite your lips, moving your finger in a come hither motion at him as you whisper his name.
"Not yet baby, Wally gets guest privileges," he says. But his hand comes into frame from somewhere behind the camera and catches your finger, bringing your hand up for a kiss on your knuckles. All the camera catches is the soft sound.
You don't seem too distraught by this, and turn your full attention back to Wally, who is trying to undo the ribbon on the front of your dress in the hopes to get more access. But his hands are trembling, and you catch them in your own. "Baby, don't be nervous," you coo, guiding him to tug on one edge of the scarlet ribbon. It unravels and with it your dress loosens further, making it possible for him to lower it from your shoulders ever so slowly, and it falls softly to the carpeted floor at your feet.
He lets out a dirty whistle when he sees you without restriction.
Dick chuckles knowingly again. "She's a beauty, isn't she?" The attention of the two men makes you blush furiously, but you still relish the compliment, preening slightly at it.
Wally's knuckles move over your body, tracing a feather light path from the dip between your collarbones to your stomach, lingering between your breasts.
"Turn around, baby," Dick says in his commanding tone, and you rush to present your back to Wally. He's quick to move your hair aside to get an unobstructed view of your back. The camera glides over the expanse of skin, and finally settles on your ass, fully out thanks to the g-string you're wearing.
Wally moves his hand to the plumpness of it, and gives it a squeeze, making you feel even hotter. You feel his fingers, dipping along the curves of your skin, so close to where you ache for touch, and yet so far away.
He moves one of his hands away, and you almost complain until you feel a long finger slip between your heated skin and the pearl string at your back, pulling it slowly and then letting it snap back against your supple skin. It doesn't hurt, but it makes you whimper anyway.
Dick laughs at the show, enjoying your torment. You turn your head at him and scowl playfully. He's standing relatively close, so you can easily reach out for his chin and tug him in for a quick kiss. The balance of the camera slips, and for a few frames all that's visible is chaos among Dick's curses and Wally and your giggles, before he manages to focus it again.
In retaliation, he delivers a quick slap on your bare ass, making you squeal in surprise. You pout pitifully at him, but Wally is quick to deliver his sweetness to appease you.
He kneels down behind you and starts kissing the tender skin. You sigh at his softness, threading your hands between his luscious locks. "Oh, Wally baby. You're so sweet to me."
Wally just smiles against your skin. He gently maneuvers your to bend over the edge of the bed, and Dick moves stealthily to capture his moves. He wastes no seconds on pulling the gusset of your g-string â a shade darker of red from all the wetness there â aside and spreading you properly for the camera to capture.
The warm lights overhead make it clear how excited you are, the glint of liquid desire twinkling enticingly. Dick has but a second to capture it on camera before Wally's head is buried between your legs, making your moan loudly. Your back arches as you grip the satin sheets to channel all this insurmountable pleasure somewhere.
Dick moves again, finding a better angle to capture this moment, just above your head. His knees dip the mattress in front of you as he settles in to capture the elegant position of your tensed body and Wally's own blissed out expression from just eating you out.
You on the other hand have found the perfect dessert hanging just in front of your own eyes. The camera can see as you move your hand to brush over the bulge between your boyfriend's thighs through his jeans, just level with your face. He's quick to swat your hand away, making you pout for him.
He captures the beautiful expression, and with a sigh that tells one that this is not the first time this has happened, he utters a low "fine". You're quick to unbuckle his belt with urgency, and in no time you have his beautiful cock between your fingers.
You tap his stomach so he can angle his camera away from Wally, who's doing wonders down between your thighs to his own dick. You grin up at the camera, toying with him playfully as you try to retain your moans. "My favorite candy," you say, before taking him in your mouth as deep as you could without gagging. A particular move Wally does with his tongue makes you moan around Dick, which in turn makes him moan.
The camera becomes slightly less steady for a second, before Dick takes a deep breath in and focuses back diligently on the scene in front of him. He's not letting this beautiful shot go to waste. So he barely moans as you work him, more entranced by the way Wally was making you shudder and tremble.
He captures all your muffled whines, your surprised squeal when Wally pushes two fingers in you, the dirty slurping sounds he makes, the focused expression in his pretty green eyes. Focused to make you fall apart. And in matter of a couple of minutes, he has you moaning in delight. Dick moves the camera to your face. His cock was long forgotten, not that he minded as you closed your eyes, fingers digging into his thighs as you moaned Wally's name. The darkening flesh of your cheeks and nose, the disheveled hair, the deep arch of your spine, before you let out a shuddering breath and collapsed on the mattress.
Only then does Wally step back, standing up over your limp body. Dick moves the camera to his face, shiny with his own spit and your arousal.
"You broke my girlfriend," Dick says in a mocking tone. Wally just grins proudly, caressing your back.
You shift, rolling to your back, a satisfied smile on your lips. Your fingers reach up for the camera, and this time Dick gives it to you.
You disappear from the frame as you take the reins, sitting up, and focus the camera on Wally. "Look at this tasty boy," you coo. "Don't be fooled by his innocent face." You move your hand in frame to caress his cheek appreciatively, and he leans into it without complain.
Then finally does Dick enter the frame, looking over at you appreciatively once before his eyes move on to his friend. You let out a laugh. "Watch these two hotties make out passionately," you announce, and they seem surprised. "What, you really thought I was the only one getting frisky tonight? Go on, I know you boys have thought about it."
Wally and Dick share a look, then they shrug. The camera captures as they move as one, coming closer and finally they kiss. Their hands move over each other frantically, memorizing the sinewy muscle that covered them. "Yes," you say beyond the camera. "Wally get my Dick naked." You giggle at the unintentional pun.
Wally complies without question as Dick shoots you a look. You move the focus of the camera over every length of exposed skin, one pale and scattered with the prettiest freckles and the other sun kissed and familiar like a warm summer night. Both of them well adorned with pale scars. Your camera skill didn't shine as much as Dick's, but the sentiment was there, behind the shakiness and your comments.
You move the focus up as Dick is in the process of eating Wally's face off, tasting you on him. "The lion has captured the cheetah, and is now eating off his face," you say in a National Geographic documentary tone.
Dick and Wally immediately step back, looking at you with varying amounts of amusement mixed with annoyance. You giggle. "Sorry, sorry. I'll try to channel my inner sexy." When they still don't kiss, you whine loudly, nudging Dick's hip with your foot.
When they're back at it, you zoom in more, capturing the hot tangle of tongues. "Fuck, look at that. Two swords are fighting for dominance. Who will win?"
Dick pulls away again, saying your name with exasperation. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. That was the last one. I promise."
You angled the camera down to their hips. Both of them are in their boxers, and Dick is palming Wally through the fabric, making him whimper and tremble. You capture as Dick's nimble fingers slip inside Wally's boxers and pull out his cock. You suck in an audible breath, trying to get a good angle of it, but your boyfriend's thick arm his covering your view. So you swat him aside and ignore the low growl in his throat. Future you will deal with the consequences of your bratty attitude. Right now all that mattered was Wally and his pretty dick.
Your hand reaches out to touch him appreciatively. The contact makes him moan ever so softly, and a dribble of precum leaks from his head. You gather it in your fingers and angle the camera towards your face as you suck on your fingers. You close your eyes, relishing on the taste. "The perfect balance of sweet and salty. Eleven out of ten, Wally."
You turn the camera enough to capture him going red, before Dick cups his face and pulls his attention away from you. "Ignore her, she's trying to take away your attention."
You just giggle, not refuting the accusation as they kiss again. The scene of the two sexy men gets you going again, and your fingers slip between your legs, the camera going shaky again.
The next time they pull away slightly for air again, your eyes meet with Dick's, and you gesture at Wally. He seems to understand your message, and presses his friend down gently with his hands on his shoulders. Wally seems to get the message, and lowers himself to his knees.
You step up to get closer to the scene and whisper in Wally's ear. "Baby have you ever sucked a dick?" At the nervous shake of his head, the camera exchanges hands back to Dick, and it shows the two of you kneeling down in front of him. You gently guiding him along the actions, you hand on the nape of Wally's neck, whispering praises and offering soothing when it gets to much. All the while you press kisses on his cheek and shoulder.
Dick gives out a soft warning, and out of mercy, you pull Wally away from his cock and take his place. Dick lets out some sexy groans and moans as he comes, making Wally stare up at him almost in wonder.
You just grin, pulling away and sticking out your tongue to show your price to the camera.
Dick lets out a shuddering breath, caressing Wally's jaw gently.
Then you look at Wally and smile, kissing his cheek. "My sweet Wally. He's been so good to us, Dickie. His mouth works wonders, but what about him?" you say, gently gripping Wally's cock. He lets out a whimper, and you coo, kissing his temple. "I know baby. You need attention."
You start moving your hand at a faster pace, twisting your wrist expertly at the top and bringing it down to the bottom. Wally's moans rise in volume, and he quickly has to grip your wrist. "Wait!" he says in a panicked tone, making you laugh softly.
"You almost came from that, Wally baby?" you tease him, almost meanly. "I haven't even begun my fun."
Dick lets out a chuckle.
"Besides, I want you inside of me, baby. Can you handle that?" you tease, nipping at his earlobe. Wally looks absolutely terrified and thrilled all at once.
You lead him towards the bed, making him lay down gently. He swallows hard as Dick supplies you with a condom for you to slide on Wally's cock.
He helps you straddle him like a gentleman, before you sink down on his cock, made easy by the mix of both your arousal. Both of you let out a moan, as Dick steps behind you to capture his reaction.
The bed creaks nastily at the way you start to move, and Wally seems in a trance by the feeling of you around him. His hands reach up to cup your breasts, still covered by your bra. Dick helps him on that front, unclasping your bra and helping you take it off, before throwing it aside somewhere.
With your tits out, Wally stares a moment to admire them, green eyes gleaming. He leans forward, sitting up so he can give them the proper attention they need.
Dick on the other hand sneaks his hand down to slip between your legs, rubbing tight circles on your clit, helping you reach your own high. You moan loudly right next to the camera, a buzzing starting to invade your very being. All that tension gathers, and a well aimed upwards thrust from Wallyâs hips breaks it, making you keen and clench as your high takes over you.
It doesn't take much for Wally to come. He does it beautifully. Both you and your boyfriend watch as a flush takes over his cheeks, intense and overpowering. His eyes shine, eyes half lidded, as he moans your name, before falling back on the mattress with a sigh.
You look over your shoulder at the camera and Dick, grinning. "And this is how you ride your boyfriend's boyfriend."
All four brothers are in the den when the question is brought up. They're doing their own things, with Tim tucked in a corner doing a puzzle, Dick stretching in front of the fireplace, Jason reading on the couch, and Damian resting by a window, carefully sketching the scenery outside. It was quiet, peaceful, a rare occurrence in the usually chaotic manor.
âDamian, no offense, but why didn't you ever try to kill Mom?â It's Tim who speaks up, effectively ruining the small peaceful moment with a simple, yet odd, question.
The once peaceful atmosphere turns sour as all three brothers turn to stare at Tim with an array of different expressions. Dick is halfway into a split, looking at him with an expression of shock. Jason's trying hard not to laugh, and Damianâ
Well, Damian is sneering at Tim, his eyes narrowed in an expression that screams murder. He opens his mouth to hiss something at his idiotic brother, but Dick already beats him to it.
âTim, buddy, you can't just ask things like that.â Slowly Dick slides down to the floor in a perfect split. For a few split seconds, he's silent, and then his expression turns into one of curiosity as a realization seems to dawn on him. âActually, wait, he might have a point, though.â
It was a known fact that Damian hadn't been the mostâŚwelcoming when first coming to the manor. He'd made it abundantly clear when he tried to kill Tim that he would destroy anyone in the way of his so-called âdestiny.â
And technically, you were in his way, or, er, his mother's way, and Damian was nothing if not loyal to the people he lovesâand he really loves his mother.
âWaitââ Jason sets his book down beside him, looking between both his brothers in amusement. âDo you guys not know?â
Both Tim and Dick shake their heads.
âHoly shitâ Jason laughs, turning to Damian in pure delight. âThey don't know.â
âMother would never harm Ummi, and nor would I.â Damian huffs, clearly not amused. In fact, he looked offended, dare one say even hurt by the idea that someone would actually believe he would even think of hurting you.
âIf you think Talia acts obsessed around Bruce, then you've clearly never seen the way she acts around Ma.â Jason snorts.
Tim's face scrunches up in pure confusion. âWait, Talia knows Mom?â For the first time in a long time, he's actually confused. He has no idea what was going on, and frankly, he does not like being in the dark.
Dick shakes his head in clear denial. Twisting his body out of the splits, he lies flat on the floor. âIâm sorry, but I'm pretty sure I would know if Mom and Talia had met.â
Dick was your first baby, he knew everything about you and Bruce. There was no way he would've missed something as big as Talia knowing you.
âDidn't Ma ever tell you guys how she met Bruce?â
âYeah, in the League of Assassinsâ" Realization dawns on Tim, and his lips contort into a small âoh.â
âSo were they like friends or something?â Dick sits up, peering curiously at Jason.
âMother and Ummi are bound to each other by a very intimate ceremony in the league, which only Grandfather can approve of and conductââ
âBasically, Ma, Bruce, and Talia are all in love with each other.â Jason interrupts, ignoring the glare Damian gives him in response. âYou should see them all together, it's disgusting.â
âYou've never actually seen them all together.â Damian retorts.
âStill, my point still stands.â
âMy life, I have very good news to shareââ
The moment Dick hears your voice, he's jumping up, and lunging at you with a feral gleam in his eyes. âYou're with Talia!â He's in front of you, screeching into your ear. You flinch back, face screwing up at the sudden noise.
As gently as a loving mother could, you push your son away. âUh, yes?â
Dick sputters, his expression twisting into one of betrayal. He clutches his chest, as if he was fatally wounded. Everyone, including you, rolls their eyes at his dramatic display.
âHow have I not known about this?!â
âI have told you multiple times that Talia is my beloved.â
âWell clearly I wasn't listening!â he screeches.
I love de-aged AUs especially around the Bats because they didnât grow up around each other and never saw each other as very small children so when it happens, it's like getting slapped.
It happens to Dick and he reverts back to eight year old Dick, full of energy and feelings too big for his body. And of course, heâs fast as fuck and has no sense of morality giving quarter to the strangers in eccentric costumes trying to pick him up. He breaks Timâs nose, bites Jason and pummels Damian to the ground, heâs untapped rage and heâs yelling for Bruce or Alfred. Bruce appears and little Dick scales him like a fucking tree, perched on his shoulder like a parrot and for a second, Bruce who had no idea what has happening, is like, oh, I remember this. Dick isnât even sorry to have caused injury and havoc. He shrugs it off, âyou fucked around and found outâ
Everybody thinks child Jason will be difficult as fuck but no, heâs sweet as sugar. He gets de aged to maybe five or six. He laughs easily and genuinely, with none of older Jasonâs snark. He wants Dick to play with him or wants to go where heâs going, he holds Bruceâs hand wherever they go because safe, he feels safe. And he starts crying when somebody starts yelling, burying his face into Bruceâs leg or hiding behind Damian because when his other dad yelled⌠Jason is only cheered up by a prospect of getting a story read to him or getting a very large hot meal and Alfred is like, nobody fucking touch me, because he forgot - he actually forgot how small and undernourished Jason was. When heâs aged up again, Alfred insititues a bi-nightly family dinner and Jason has to attend or Alfred is showing up to Crime Alley with a glock.
With Tim, he gets de aged to maybe nine or ten and unlike most kids, heâs not asking where his parents are or whatâs going on. Heâs practically swinging off of Jason, babbling about all the cool Robin moves he saw or begging Dick to show him how to do flips. Heâs weirdly attached to Damian who in turn in devoted to him, Iâm talking Tim sat on his hip 24/7 and fed a stream of animal crackers from Damianâs pocket.
As for Damian, he gets de aged until heâs maybe a year or two old. Heâs throwing tantrums left right and centre, red in the face from screaming and crying for his mom or his nanny but Alfred seems to know what to do, he has that kid in a wrapper tied to Bruceâs chest or back. Because lets face it, Talia probably wasnât allowed to baby her baby while he was that little. Bruce calls her to tell her what has happened and for a day and a night, Bruce and Talia get to have that life they were denied with their baby boy. Damian is salty as fuck when he gets aged back up, mainly because âiâm not a childâ but partly because, he missed what it was like to see his parents like that.
But de aged Bruce? Heâs six or seven, heâs confused because who are all these strange people im his house, where is is mom and dad? Alfred, where is Mommy and Daddy? And Alfred ages like ten years as he just scoops Master Bruce up, telling him that it is going to be alright, it's going to be just fine. Alfred can't move out of his chair for the entire time Bruce is de aged because Bruce Wayne was and is a Velcro child and Alfred is perfectly fine with that.
nerd!tim drake gets hard every time bully!conner kent and bully!reader make fun of him!! âą mdni, degradation, reader and kon are mean, tim is a pervert Ë.âŚ
He's thankful that the times you and Kon decide to tease him, poke him or joke about him, he's sitting behind his desk, the perfect place to hide the boner straining his jeans.
But tonight thereâs no desk.
The bass thumps through the floorboards of the frat party, bodies packed wall-to-wall, red solo cups sweating in hands. Timâs backed into the corner near the makeshift bar, half liquor-store run, half scavenged Wayne Enterprises conference snacks and heâs trying very hard to look like heâs just casually leaning against the wall. Heâs not. Heâs pinned there by the twin gravitational pull of you and Kon.
Konâs got one thick arm braced above Timâs head, caging him without quite touching. Youâre on Timâs other side, hip cocked, twirling those stupid wire-frame glasses you just plucked off his face like theyâre a trophy.
âAw, look at him,â you drawl, holding the lenses up to the dim purple party lights so they catch and flash. âWithout these heâs basically blind. Poor little nerd canât even see how pathetic he looks right now.â
âGive 'em back.â He tries to take them from you but you move your arm faster.
Kon snorts, loud enough that a couple heads turn. âYou look cuter all squinty and confused. Like a kitten that lost its favorite toy.â He reaches out with his free hand and flicks the tip of Timâs nose.
Timâs breath hitches. Itâs small, barely audible over the music, but you catch it. Your eyes flick down, then back up, then down again, slower.
âOh my god,â you say, voice pitching into something delighted and dangerous. You step in closer until your chest almost brushes his folded arms. âKon baby. Look.â
Kon follows your gaze.
Timâs jeans are dark, but the outline is unmistakable: thick, insistent, pressing so hard against the zipper that the fabric looks ready to split. The head of his cock is practically molded into the denim, flushed and straining upward like itâs begging for attention.
Kon lets out a laugh that vibrates through Timâs ribcage. âHoly shit, Drake. Youâre hard?â
Timâs face goes nuclear. He tries to turn away, Konâs arm drops from the wall to his shoulder, keeping him right there.
âDonât,â Kon says, almost gentle. âDonât you fucking dare hide it now.â
You tilt your head, still holding the glasses. You bring them to your own face, peering through them at Tim like youâre studying a particularly interesting slide under a microscope.
âWow,â you murmur. âEven blurred youâre leaking for us. Thatâs so... embarrassing.â
Timâs throat works. âIâm notâItâs notâYou guys are justââ
âHot?â Kon supplies helpfully. He slides his hand from Timâs shoulder down his chest, slow, deliberate, until his palm rests flat over Timâs pounding heart. âAnnoying? Mean? Everything that gets your sad little nerd dick leaking in public?â
Tim makes a sound and his hips jerk forward before he can stop them. The movement drags the swollen head of his cock against the inside of his fly. You both see it happen. You both see the way his lashes flutter and his lips part on a shaky exhale.
You step even closer. Now your thigh is brushing the outside of his, close enough that if you shifted your weight youâd be grinding right against that obscene bulge.
âBe honest, Tim,â you whisper, voice syrup-sweet and razor-sharp. âYou get off on this, donât you? On us laughing at you, on us taking your glasses so you canât even look away properly, on everyone else in the room thinking youâre just some awkward third wheel while your cockâs throbbing because weâre being dicks to you.â
Timâs breathing is ragged now. âPleaseââ
âPlease what?â Kon cuts in. He leans down until his mouth is right against the shell of Timâs ear. âPlease stop? Or please donât stop?â
âKnew it. Perverted little freak.â You finally lower the glasses, but instead of handing them back you hook one arm around the back of his neck and use the other hand to slide the frames back onto his face, letting the cool metal drag along his overheated skin.
The second they settle on his nose you grab his chin, tilt his head up, force him to meet both your eyes and Konâs.
âLook at us while youâre dripping in your jeans like some desperate virgin whoâs never been touched.â
Konâs hand slides lower, cupping Tim through the denim, just a firm, possessive squeeze. Not stroking. Not yet. Just holding. Timâs whole body jolts like heâs been electrocuted.
âFuck,â Tim chokes out. His hips cant forward into Konâs palm before he can stop himself. âFuck, Konââ
âShhh,â Kon murmurs against his temple. âYouâre gonna come in your pants right here if youâre not careful, baby. And then everyoneâs gonna know what a pathetic little slut the great Timothy Drake really is.â
You lean in until your lips almost brush Timâs. Close enough that he can feel every word.
âSay it,â you breathe. âTell us what you are.â
Timâs voice cracks on the first try. He tries again, quieter, shaking.
âIâm⌠Iâm yours,â he whispers. âIâI get hard when you bully me. I canât help it. I like it. I like it so much.â
You smile against his mouth, donât kiss him, just let him feel the shape of your satisfaction.
âGood boy,â you purr.
Konâs grip tightens. âThatâs our little freak.â
Tim shudders so hard you feel it in your own bones. His hips are already moving, helpless little rocks forward into Konâs palm like he canât stop himself even if the room caught fire. Heâs panting against your mouth, glasses fogging at the edges from how hard heâs breathing, cheeks blotchy red under the party lights.
You donât pull away. You press your thigh harder against the thick line of his cock instead, letting him feel the seam of your jeans drag right over the swollen head every time he grinds.
âFuck, nghh!â Timâs voice is wrecked, barely above a whisper. âI canât I can't Iâm gonnaââ
Kon chuckles right into the shell of Timâs ear. âYeah? Already? Weâve barely started, baby.â He flexes his fingers, then lets go just enough to let Tim chase the pressure. âGo on then. Hump us like the desperate little nerd you are. Show everyone how easy you get off on being laughed at.â
Tim whimpers and his head drops forward until his forehead thumps against your shoulder. His hips snap forward harder now, shameless, grinding the full length of his cock against your thigh in short, frantic rolls. The denimâs so tight itâs obscene; you can feel every twitch, every pulse through the layers of fabric.
âLook at him go,â you murmur, sliding your hand up to card through his sweaty hair, tugging just enough to make him gasp. âCanât even wait to get a room. Has to rut on us right here like a bitch in heat.â
âPathetic,â Kon adds, voice dripping mock sympathy. He presses his palm flat again, this time letting Tim fuck up into it properly. âBet youâve been jerking off thinking about this for months. Bet you come so fast every time.â
Timâs nodding before he can stop himself, jerky little jerks of his head against your shoulder.
âY-yeah,â he chokes out. âYeahâfuckâevery time you... when you steal my stuff, when you hah when Kon calls me âDrakeâ like Iâm nothing fuuuck, Iââ
He cuts off on a broken moan as you shift your leg higher, trapping his cock right against the crease of your hip. The new angle lets him grind the sensitive head directly against you, and his whole body locks up for a second.
âOh shit,â Kon breathes, delighted. âHeâs right there. Look at his face, isn't he cute?â
You tilt Timâs chin up with two fingers, forcing him to meet your gaze. His pupils are blown wide, lashes clumped with sweat, lips swollen from biting them.
Kon leans in, lips brushing Timâs temple. âWeâre not stopping, pretty boy. Youâre gonna come in your pants in the middle of a party because thatâs what filthy little freaks like you do.â
Timâs hips stutter, lose rhythm, then speed up, frantic, sloppy. Heâs practically riding your thigh now, needy thrusts that make the wet spot at the front of his jeans spread darker. You can smell It, mixing with the spilled beer and cheap cologne in the air.
âGonna, gonnaââ Timâs fingers claw at your shirt, at Konâs arm. âI canât, f-fuck nghh Iâmââ
âC'mon, make a mess,â you whisper against his mouth. Not kissing, just close enough that every word brushes his lips.
Timâs whole body seizes. A choked, strangled sound rips out of his throat and then heâs coming, hard, hips jerking uncontrollably against your thigh. You feel it happen: the hot, pulsing rush of it soaking through his jeans, pulsing against you in thick spurts. His cock kicks and throbs under Konâs palm, spilling and spilling until the wet patch is obvious even in the low light.
He keeps grinding through it, weak little aftershocks, whimpering into your neck as the orgasm drags out longer than he can handle. Kon doesnât let go, keeps that steady pressure, milking every last tremor out of him until Timâs shaking so hard his knees nearly buckle.
When it finally ends, Tim sags between you, forehead pressed to your collarbone, chest heaving. His glasses are crooked, one lens smudged with condensation. The front of his jeans is obscene.
You stroke the back of his neck, almost gentle now. âThere you go,â you murmur. âGood boy. Made such a pretty mess for us.â
Kon laughs. He cups Timâs jaw, tilts his face up so you can both see how wrecked he looks: flushed, dazed, lips parted, eyes glassy behind those crooked frames.
âFucking beautiful,â Kon says, thumb dragging over Timâs bottom lip. âOur perfect little come-slut nerd.â
Tim shudders again, aftershock or fresh arousal, impossible to tell, and buries his face back in your shoulder like he can hide from what he just did.
You and Kon share a wicked look over the top of his head.
The data indicating the average person experiences 3.4 attacks annually is misleading. You- who seem to find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time several times a month- represents a significant deviation from the norm and should not be counted in the dataset.
(Seriously, if there was a punch card for civilian endangerment, you'd have earned a free mug and a commemorative sticker by now)
Or; in which Nightwing accidentally develops feelings for the anxious woman whose rescue has become part of his regular nightly routine by this point.
10.7k words
Itâs a Tuesday and thereâs a gun pressed against your spine.
Tuesday has always been the worst day of the week in your opinion- past the motivation of Monday, too far from the relief of Friday, just existing in this pathetic middle ground of mundane awfulness. And now, apparently, Tuesday has decided to really live up to its terrible reputation.
âDonât move,â a voice hisses behind you, and you can smell stale cigarettes and alcohol. âEmpty your account. All of it.â
Youâre at the ATM on the corner of 23rd and Hayes, the one youâve used a hundred times because itâs on your route home from your soul crushing data entry job. The street is unusually empty for 9 pm, but thatâs Bludhaven for you; people have finally started learning not to be out after dark.
Everyone except you, apparently, because youâre an idiot who needed cash for the laundromat.
âI have forty three dollars in checking,â you say flatly, finger hovering over the keypad. âAnd maybe twelve in savings. Youâre really not making out well on this transaction.â
âJust do it!â The gun digs harder into your back, right between your shoulder blades.
Of course this is how you die. Not in some heroic way, not peacefully in your sleep at ninety- no, youâre going to get shot at an ATM on a Tuesday because you needed quarters. The universe has always had a sick sense of humor when it comes to your life.
You press the button for withdrawal from checking. âYou know, statistically, youâd make more money just getting a minimum wage job. Even after taxes- â
âShut up!â
âIâm just saying, this is really inefficient- â
You donât get to finish your observation about the economics of street crime because suddenly the weight of the gun disappears from your back and thereâs a crash behind you. You spin around- stupid, you should run, but curiosity has always been your fatal flaw- and watch as a blur of black and blue slams your would be mugger into the brick wall of the bodega next to the ATM.
The man crumples. The gun skitters across the pavement. And standing there, illuminated by the flickering streetlight and the harsh glow of the ATM screen, is Nightwing.
Youâve seen him on the news, obviously. Everyone in Bludhaven has. The cops hate him, the people love him, and the criminals fear him. Heâs all lean muscle and acrobatic grace, his suit highlighting a body thatâs been honed into a weapon. The blue bird across his chest seems to shimmer as he moves, and his escrima sticks hang from his hands like theyâre extensions of his arms.
He turns to you, and even though you canât see his eyes behind the domino mask, you can feel the weight of his gaze.
âYou okay?â His voice is different than you expected; younger, with an edge of genuine concern that seems almost out of place on someone who just took down an armed mugger in three seconds flat.
You blink at him. âThat depends on your definition of okay. Physically unharmed? Yes. Emotionally scarred by yet another reminder that the universe is chaotic and uncaring? Also yes.â
Thereâs a pause. You think you see his lips twitch.
âThatâs⌠pretty specific.â
âIâm a pessimist. Weâre detailed oriented.â You glance at the mugger, whoâs groaning on the ground. âIs he going to need an ambulance, or just a therapist after youâre done with him?â
Now he definitely smiles. âLittle of both, probably. You should get out of here. Iâll wait with him until BCPD shows up.â
âRight. Because the Bludhaven PD is so reliable and not at all corrupt.â But youâre already grabbing your card from the ATM, which, miraculously, still dispensed your pathetic forty dollars. âThanks for the rescue, I guess. Even though I probably would have just given him the money and filed a police report that would go nowhere.â
âYou guess?â He sounds amused now.
You shrug, stuffing the cash in your pocket. âI mean, appreciate the help and all, but letâs be real, Iâll probably be mugged again within six months. This is Bludhaven. Lightning strikes twice here. Itâs practically a meteorological certainty.â
âThatâs not how lightning works.â
âAnd yet.â You gesture vaguely at the unconscious mugger, the sketchy street, the flickering streetlight thatâs been broken for three weeks. âHere we are.â
You walk away before he can respond, but you can feel his eyes on your back until you turn the corner. Youâre not sure if he thinks youâre funny or just deeply disturbed.
Probably both.
Of course, both is good.
â.Ë.đ Şŕż
Youâre hanging from a fire escape.
Itâs been two weeks since the ATM incident, and youâd actually started to think that maybe, just maybe, your luck was turning around. You got a fifty cent raise at work. Your landlord didnât increase your rent. You found a dollar on the sidewalk.
But the universe doesnât like it when you get comfortable.
Youâre not even doing anything weird; you just came out here to water your singular, struggling tomato plant (which refuses to actually produce tomatoes) when the rusted bolts finally gave way. The fire escape tilted, you grabbed for the railing, and now youâre dangling four stories above an alley that definitely contains at least three used needles and a suspicious puddle.
âHelp!â You scream, but itâs 11 pm and your neighbors include: one elderly man whoâs definitely deaf, two college students who are always high, and a woman who once told you she âdoesnât believe in interference.â
This is exactly how youâd thought youâd die but youâd appreciate it if you werenât right.
Your fingers are slipping. The metal is cutting into your palms. Below you, the suspicious puddle seems to shimmer with menace.
Youâre wearing your nice jeans. The ones without holes. It seems important that someone know this.
âIâM WEARING MY NICE JEANS!â You yell into the void.
âHold on!â A voice calls back, and youâre so startled you nearly let go.
Then heâs there, like some kind of acrobatic miracle, flipping up from the alley below and landing on the tilted fire escape with perfect balance. Nightwing grabs your wrists and hauls you up with absolutely no effort, pulling you against his chest as the fire escape groans ominously beneath you both.
âWe need to move,â he says, and then heâs grappling to the roof, one arm wrapped firmly around your waist.
Your stomach does a complicated flip that has nothing to do with the sudden altitude change.
He sets you down on the roof, hands lingering on your arms to make sure youâre steady. âYou okay?â
Youâre breathing hard, adrenaline coursing through your system. âYou know, you keep asking me that, and the answer keeps being âtechnically yes, but actually no.ââ
He tilts his head, and thereâs something about the gesture thatâs almost bird-like. Fitting, given the whole theme. âWait. ATM girl?â
âOh, perfect. I have a nickname now.â You brush off your nice jeans, checking for damage. One knee is torn. Of course it is. âYes. ATM girl. Also known as âthat pessimist,â âfire escape failure,â and âperson who canât keep a tomato plant alive.â Hi. Hello. Thank you for saving me again.â
âYou remember me.â He sounds pleased.
âYouâre dressed like an exotic bird and you saved me from a mugger. Youâre pretty memorable.â You peer over the edge of the roof at your apartment window. The fire escape is completely detached now, hanging by a single bolt. âGreat. There goes my security deposit.â
âYouâre taking this pretty well.â
âWhatâs the alternative? Crying? I cried in 2019 and decided it wasnât worth the effort.â You turn back to him, and in the moonlight, you can see more details; the curve of his jaw, the way his hair sticks up slightly, the almost absurd width of his shoulders. âSo, do you just patrol this neighborhood specifically, or am I cosmically marked for disaster and youâre following the trail of chaos?â
He laughs, and itâs a good sound, warm and genuine. âLittle of both, maybe. What were you doing on the fire escape?â
âWatering my tomato plant. Which has never produced a single tomato and probably never will, but Iâm nothing if not committed to lost causes.â You sigh. âI should call my landlord. Heâs going to love this.â
âItâs not your fault the fire escape collapsed.â
âAnd yet, I guarantee this somehow becomes my problem.â You pull out your phone, then pause. âThanks. Again. For the rescue. Youâre really good at those.â
âItâs kind of my thing.â
âWell, itâs a good thing.â You swallow, suddenly aware of how close youâre standing, how the moonlight catches on the blue of his suit, how heâs looking at you like youâre something interesting instead of just another disaster in motion. âYou should probably go stop actual crime instead of babysitting the woman who clearly has a death wish via incompetence.â
âI donât think youâre incompetent.â
âMy fire escape would disagree. Also my tomato plant. Also my general life trajectory.â
Heâs smiling again. Youâre getting used to that smile, the way it makes something warm unfold in your chest despite your best efforts to remain emotionally neutral about everything.
âGet inside safely,â he says. âAnd maybe water your plant from the window from now on.â
âBold of you to assume Iâll keep trying. That plant and I both know itâs a doomed enterprise.â
But youâre smiling too, just a little, as he grapples away into the night, all grace and controlled power.
Your landlord does, in fact, make the fire escape your problem.
Of course he does.
â.Ë.đ Şŕż
Youâre stuck in an elevator.
âI should have taken the stairs,â you say to the ceiling, because talking to the ceiling feels more productive than screaming into the void. âI always take the stairs. But no, today I thought, âYou know what? Live a little. Take the elevator. Whatâs the worst that could happen?ââ
âTo be fair,â Nightwing says from his corner of the surprisingly spacious elevator, âthis is more of an inconvenience than a disaster.â
You turn to look at him. Heâs leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking frustratingly calm for someone whoâs been trapped in an elevator for twenty minutes. You, on the other hand, are definitely spiraling.
âWeâre stuck in an elevator. In a building thatâs scheduled for demolition next week. Because apparently, the city of Bludhaven doesnât believe in proper notices or functional elevators in condemned buildings.â
âYou didnât see the notices?â
âI saw a flyer for a lost cat named Chairman Meow. I assumed that was more pressing than construction permits.â You slide down the wall until youâre sitting on the floor. âWhat are you even doing here?â
âGot a tip about some guys using the building as a storage facility for stolen goods.â He nods toward a duffel bag in the corner that you hadnât noticed. âFound them. They ran when the elevator got stuck.â
âOf course they did. They probably took the stairs like sensible criminals.â
He moves to sit across from you, and even in crisis, he moves like water, all fluid grace. Itâs unfair, really, how coordinated some people are. You trip over flat surfaces.
âYou know,â he says, and you can hear the amusement in his voice, âmost people would be more worried about being stuck.â
âOh, Iâm worried. Iâm just also unsurprised. This is exactly the kind of thing that happens to me.â You let your head fall back against the wall. âLast month, I got jury duty for a case that was immediately dismissed. I didnât even get to feel civically important. The month before that, I found a twenty dollar bill on the street and immediately stepped in gum.â
âThe universe has it out for you.â
âThe universe has it out for everyone. Iâm just aware of it.â You glance at him. âArenât you supposed to have some kind of gadget that can fix this? Bat-elevator-escape-tool?â
âIâm Nightwing, not Batman. My utility belt has like, six things.â
âWow, budget constraints even in vigilantism. Thatâs so Bludhaven.â
He laughs, and youâre starting to really like that sound. It feels like finding something valuable in a thrift store, unexpected and somehow precious because of it.
âYouâre funny,â he says.
âIâm fatalistic. People often confuse the two.â
âNo, youâre definitely funny.â He leans forward slightly. âAnd youâre handling this really well for someone who was hanging from a fire escape two weeks ago.â
âOh, you think this is me handling it well? This is me disassociating. Thereâs a difference.â But youâre smiling despite yourself. âHow long do you think weâll be stuck?â
âI already hit the emergency call button. Fire department should be here in ten, fifteen minutes.â
âSo enough time for you to tell me why you do this.â You gesture vaguely at his suit, his mask, the duffel bag of stolen goods. âThe whole vigilante thing. Is it a rich person hobby? A elaborate form of therapy? A very committed cosplay situation?â
âWhat makes you think Iâm rich?â
âThat suit looks expensive. Also, you have incredible teeth. Dental work like that doesnât come cheap.â
He grins, and yeah, those are really good teeth. âI canât tell you my origin story while weâre stuck in an elevator. Thatâs terrible narrative pacing.â
âFine. Tell me something else then.â Youâre not sure why youâre pushing, except that sitting in silence feels worse than potential rejection. âTell me why you remember me. ATM girl. Fire escape failure. Elevator disaster.â
âBecause youâre different.â He says it simply, like itâs obvious. âMost people I rescue are either terrified or grateful or both. You were critiquing the economics of street crime while there was a gun pointed at you.â
âThat was just my anxiety talking. I babble when Iâm nervous.â
âAnd when youâre not nervous?â
âIâm always nervous. We live in Bludhaven.â
âFair point.â Heâs quiet for a moment, and you can feel him looking at you, really looking. âYou act like you expect the worst, but you still watered your tomato plant. You still took the elevator instead of the stairs. Thatâs not pessimism. Thatâs hope wearing a disguise.â
The words hit something soft inside you, something you thought youâd armored over years ago with sarcasm and emotional distance.
âThatâs a very poetic assessment of my character flaws,â you manage.
âI donât think theyâre flaws.â
Before you can figure out how to respond to that, before you can unpack the warm, fluttery feeling in your chest that feels dangerously close to something you canât take back, thereâs a grinding sound and the elevator lurches.
âFire department?â You ask hopefully.
âFire department,â he confirms, standing and offering you his hand.
You take it, and his grip is strong and steady, and you let yourself hold on for maybe a second longer than necessary.
The doors pry open to reveal two firefighters who look unsurprised to see Nightwing and very surprised to see you.
âMaâam,â one of them says, âwhat were you doing in a condemned building?â
âLooking for Chairman Meow,â you say without missing a beat. âHeâs still missing, by the way, if anyoneâs seen an orange tabby with delusions of political grandeur.â
Nightwing makes a sound that might be a laugh or a cough.
As the firefighters escort you out (with several safety lectures), you glance back once. Nightwing is watching you go, duffel bag in hand, and even though you canât see his eyes, you feel the weight of his attention like a physical thing.
You wave.
He waves back.
You tell yourself the flip in your stomach is just residual adrenaline.
Youâre definitely lying to yourself.
â.Ë.đ Şŕż
The fourth time you meet Nightwing, youâre not actually in danger.
Youâre on your buildingâs roof (the landlord finally fixed the fire escape, but youâve developed trust issues), lying on a blanket and looking at the stars. Or trying to. Light pollution in Bludhaven means you can see maybe seven stars on a good night, and most of them are probably planes.
âYou know,â a voice says from behind you, âmost people would consider this suspicious behavior.â
You donât even flinch. Of course he would show up. Of course.
âMost people donât live in my apartment,â you say, not sitting up. âMy upstairs neighbor is having extremely loud makeup sex, my downstairs neighbor is learning the drums, and the person across the hall is watching what I think is the entire Fast and Furious franchise at maximum volume. Iâm seeking refuge.â
Nightwing moves into your peripheral vision, then sits down on your blanket without asking. The casual intimacy of it makes your breath catch.
âAll at once?â He asks.
âThe universe coordinated it specifically to drive me to the roof. Where I will probably be struck by lightning or hit by a meteor.â
âStill not how lightning works.â
âAnd yet, you keep showing up during my disasters. Whatâs your excuse this time?â
Heâs quiet for a moment, and when you finally turn your head to look at him, heâs staring up at the sky with an expression you canât quite read.
âNo excuse,â he admits. âI was patrolling nearby and saw you up here. Wanted to make sure you were okay.â
âChecking on ATM girl? Iâm touched. Truly.â But your voice is softer than usual, missing its typical sardonic edge. âIâm fine. Well, as fine as I ever am. No muggers, no collapsing structures, no stuck elevators. Just me and the seven visible stars.â
âEight,â he says, pointing. âThat oneâs really faint, but itâs there.â
You look where heâs indicating and squint. âIf you say so. Iâll take your word for it, since you seem to have superhuman vision along with superhuman acrobatics.â
âJust good training.â
âRight. Training. That you definitely do as part of your regular person job thatâs definitely not related to being a billionaire or anything.â
âI never said I was a billionaire.â
âYou also never said you werenât.â
He laughs, and shifts slightly closer. You can feel the warmth of him now, even through his suit. âYouâre very suspicious.â
âIâm very realistic. People donât become vigilantes because they had a super normal childhood and well adjusted emotional regulation.â You pause. âNo offense.â
âNone taken. Youâre not wrong.â Heâs quiet for a beat. âYou want to know something?â
âIs it your secret identity? Because I should warn you, Iâm terrible at keeping secrets. I once accidentally told my coworker that another coworker was pregnant before she announced it, and I didnât talk for three months out of shame.â
âNot my secret identity.â He sounds amused. âI was going to say that I actually look forward to running into you.â
Your heart does a complicated somersault. âYou look forward to me nearly dying? Thatâs kind of dark.â
âI look forward to talking to you.â He turns to face you properly, and even in the darkness, you can see the curve of his smile. âYouâre real. No filter, no performance. Just genuinely, refreshingly honest about how absurd everything is.â
âThatâs just depression with better marketing.â
âItâs not, though.â Heâs closer now, close enough that you can see the flecks of color in his mask, the slight stubble on his jaw. âYou keep showing up. You keep trying. Youâre watering that terrible tomato plant and taking elevators and lying on roofs looking for stars. Thatâs not giving up. Thatâs the opposite of giving up.â
You swallow hard. âYouâre doing the poetic assessment thing again.â
âIs it working?â
âIâm not sure. My emotional processing system has been out of order since 2016.â
But youâre not pulling away. Neither is he.
âCan I tell you something?â You hear yourself say. âAnd you canât make fun of me.â
âI would never.â
âYou absolutely would, but Iâm going to tell you anyway.â You take a breath. âI think Iâm starting to actually look forward to the disasters. Because at least then I get to see you.â
The silence that follows feels enormous, stretching between you like something physical. Youâre about to take it back, laugh it off, blame it on the drums and the makeup sex and the Fast and Furious franchise-
âGood,â he says quietly. âBecause Iâve been taking extra patrols through this neighborhood for two weeks hoping to run into you.â
Oh.
Oh.
âThatâs very inefficient crime fighting,â you whisper.
âIâm okay with that.â
Heâs so close now. You can see the way his chest rises and falls, the slight curve of his lips, the angle of his jaw. Your hand moves without permission, reaching up to trace the edge of his mask.
âCan I-â
âNot yet,â he says, but he catches your hand and holds it against his cheek. âSoon. I promise. But not yet.â
âOkay.â And it is, somehow. Okay. âThis is insane. You know that, right? I donât even know your name.â
âYou know me, though.â His thumb traces circles on your wrist. âYou know the important parts.â
âI know you have good teeth and a concerning habit of showing up during my worst moments.â
âYour most interesting moments.â
âSame thing, in my life.â
He laughs, and then heâs leaning in, and youâre leaning in, and-
An alarm goes off somewhere in the distance. Police sirens. Something that sounds like gunshots.
He pulls back with a sigh that sounds genuinely regretful. âI have to go.â
âOf course you do. Crime never sleeps, and neither does my terrible luck with timing.â
But heâs standing, getting ready to grapple away, and youâre standing too, and before he goes he turns back and cups your face with one gloved hand.
âSame time next week?â He asks. âSame roof?â
âYouâre scheduling our coincidental meetings now? That seems very organized for a spontaneous vigilante.â
âCall it hope wearing a disguise.â
Heâs gone before you can respond, flipping off the roof with that impossible grace, and youâre left standing there with your hand pressed to your cheek where he touched you, smiling like an idiot at the seven- no, eight- stars.
This is dangerous, you think.
This is terrifying.
This is exactly the kind of thing that will definitely end in disaster.
You canât wait.
â.Ë.đ Şŕż
You're getting mugged again.
"I told you," you say to Nightwing as he drops from the fire escape above, landing between you and the two men who'd cornered you outside the 24-hour bodega. "I told you lightning strikes twice in Bludhaven. It's been exactly three months."
One of the muggers makes a run for it immediately. The other one pulls out a knife, which seems optimistic given that Nightwing was in the news for taking down an entire robbery crew last week with what you're pretty sure was just a pair of escrima sticks and audacity.
"You were counting?" Nightwing asks, disarming the guy with a move so fast you barely see it. The knife clatters into a storm drain. The mugger wisely chooses to follow his friend's lead and runs.
"I have a very specific relationship with probability and disaster." You hold up the energy drink you'd been buying. "I was just getting caffeine for my night shift. Is that too much to ask? One energy drink without a felony?"
He turns to you, and even though it's been three months of scheduled roof meetings (and several unscheduled disaster interventions), your stomach still does that stupid flip when he looks at you.
"You okay?" He asks, like always.
"Physically fine. Emotionally processing the fact that you either have a tracker on me or the universe is actively coordinating our meet-cutes through crime." You pause. "Wait. You don't have a tracker on me, right?"
"No tracker. I was two blocks away when I heard yelling."
"My yelling specifically, or just general Bludhaven yelling? Because there's a lot of ambient yelling in this city."
He steps closer, does that thing where he checks you over for injuries even though you've told him you're fine. His hands hover near your shoulders, not quite touching. "Your yelling has a specific quality."
"Is it the desperation? The resignation? The underlying notes of 'I knew this would happen'?"
"It's distinctive." His lips twitch. "You want me to walk you home?"
"Nightwing, it's three blocks. Surely there's actual crime happening somewhere that needs your attention more than my tragic walk of shame back to my apartment."
"Humor me."
So you do, because you're weak and he's looking at you like that, and honestly, your Tuesday (of course it's a fucking Tuesday) is already so absurd that adding a vigilante escort service barely registers.
You walk in silence for half a block before he speaks. "How's the tomato plant?"
"Dying. Finally gave up last week. I'm weirdly proud of it for lasting eight months though. That's longer than most of my relationships."
"You're in a relationship with your tomato plant?"
"Was. It's complicated. We wanted different things. It wanted proper drainage and sunlight. I wanted it to not be a metaphor for my inability to nurture living things."
He's laughing now, that warm sound you've become maybe slightly addicted to over the past few months. Your roof meetings have become the highlight of your week, even though you're both pretending they're casual. Even though you're both pretending that the almost-kiss from that first night didn't fundamentally alter something in the space between you.
"I got a new plant," you admit. "A cactus. The guy at the store said it was indestructible."
"How long has it been?"
"Four days."
"And?"
"It's looking suspicious. I think it's plotting something."
You've reached your building. The one with the formerly broken fire escape, the drum learning neighbor, and the upstairs couple who have apparently decided that their relationship drama is a communal experience.
You should go inside. He should go stop crime. This is where the night should end.
"So," you say instead, because you're bad at good decisions. "Thursday. Roof. Same time?"
"Wouldn't miss it." But he's not leaving. He's standing there, closer than necessary, and the streetlight is flickering (because of course it is), and something in his posture has shifted.
"What?" You ask.
"Nothing. Just..." He reaches up, almost touches your face, then drops his hand. "Be careful. Please."
"Careful? You do remember who you're talking to, right? I'm the fire escape girl. The elevator disaster. The woman who gets mugged on a schedule."
"Exactly." And there's something in his voice now, something that makes your breath catch. "So be careful. Because I..." He stops, shakes his head. "Thursday. Don't be late."
He's gone before you can ask what he was going to say, grappling up into the darkness, and you're left standing there wondering if it's possible to have your heart broken by someone whose real name you don't even know.
(It is. You're pretty sure it is.)
â.Ë.đ Şŕż
Thursday arrives with all the enthusiasm of a dental appointment.
You're on the roof at 10 pm sharp, because apparently you're the kind of person who's punctual for secret meetings with a masked vigilante now. The blanket is spread out. You've brought snacks this time- chips, because you're not fancy, and two cans of the fancy lemonade from the bodega that doesn't get robbed as frequently.
He's late.
By 10:15, you're starting to worry, which is a new and uncomfortable feeling. Usually you're worried about yourself and your own impending disasters. Worrying about someone else requires emotional bandwidth you're not sure you have.
By 10:30, you're pacing.
By 10:45, you're googling "Bludhaven crime news" on your phone, which is probably exactly what you shouldn't be doing but your anxiety brain has never been good at following directions.
At 11:07, he lands on the roof, and you're on your feet immediately.
"You're late," you say, and it comes out more scared than annoyed. "You're never late."
"I know. I'm sorry. There was a thin- " He stops, and even in the darkness you can see something's wrong. He's favoring his left side. There's a tear in his suit near his ribs.
"You're hurt." It's not a question.
"It's nothing. Just- "
"Sit down." You're already moving toward him, hands hovering uselessly because you have no idea what to do with an injured vigilante but you need to do something. "Sit down right now or I swear I'll- I don't know what I'll do, but it'll be annoying."
He sits, probably more from surprise than actual obedience. You kneel beside him, trying to assess the damage through the suit.
"It's really not that bad," he says, but his voice is tight with pain. "I've had worse."
"That's not as comforting as you think it is." Your hands are shaking. When did your hands start shaking? "What do I do? Do you have a first aid kit? Do you need a hospital? Should I call Batman?"
"Please don't call Batman."
"I don't even know how to call Batman. That was an empty threat." You're rambling now, the words spilling out in a rush. "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to help you. I barely know how to help myself. I once put a band-aid on upside down- "
"Hey." His hand catches yours, stops the flailing. "Breathe."
You breathe. It doesn't help.
"I have supplies in my belt," he says calmly. "Just need to... patch it up. It's honestly not serious."
"You have a hole in your suit. There's blood. That seems serious."
"I've had worse nights." But he's pulling out a first aid kit that's somehow compact enough to fit in his utility belt, wincing as he moves.
You take it from him before he can argue. "Let me. Please. I need- " Your voice cracks. "I need to help. I need to do something."
He looks at you for a long moment, and then nods.
His suit has some kind of panel near the injury that peels back, revealing a gash along his ribs that makes your stomach turn. It's not as deep as you feared, but it's definitely more than "nothing."
"Knife?" You ask, focusing on the injury instead of the implications, instead of the fact that this man you've been slowly falling for risks his life every single night.
"Broken glass, actually. Went through a window."
"Consensually or...?"
"The window was very against it."
You laugh, because the alternative is crying, and you carefully clean the wound with the supplies from his kit. He doesn't flinch, which is somehow more concerning than if he had.
"You do this a lot," you say quietly. It's not a question.
"More than I'd like."
"And you just... patch yourself up and go back out the next night."
"Usually."
You're applying butterfly bandages now, careful and methodical, trying not to think about how this could have been worse. How it could always be worse.
"Why?" The word comes out smaller than you intended. "Why do you do this?"
He's quiet while you finish bandaging, and you think maybe he won't answer. Then: "Someone has to."
"That's not an answer. That's a deflection."
"You're getting good at reading me."
"You're getting easier to read." You sit back, surveying your work. It's not pretty, but it'll hold. "Or maybe I'm just paying more attention than I should be."
"Is that what you think? That you're paying too much attention?"
You look up at him, and even with the mask, even in the darkness, you can feel the intensity of his gaze.
"I don't know what I think anymore," you admit. "Three months ago, I was just a person who got mugged sometimes and had a dying tomato plant. Now I'm the person who waits on roofs and worries when you're late and apparently knows how to do field dressing for vigilante injuries. I don't know how that happened."
"I do." His hand comes up, cups your face like he did that first night. "You kept showing up."
"You literally scheduled the meetings."
"You could have said no."
"Could I have?" Your voice is barely a whisper now. "Because I don't think I could have. I don't think I can. And that's terrifying."
"Why terrifying?"
"Because you're- " You gesture at him, at the suit, at the fresh bandage on his ribs. "This. All of this. You jump off buildings and fight criminals and apparently go through windows. You're not safe. This isn't safe. And I'm- I'm a person who expects the worst because the worst usually happens, but somehow you've become the exception and I don't know what to do with that."
His thumb brushes your cheekbone. "What if I told you I'm terrified too?"
"You? You're Nightwing. You're not afraid of anything."
"I'm afraid of you not being here next Thursday." The words are quiet, honest, devastating. "I'm afraid of you deciding this is too complicated. Too dangerous. Too- "
You kiss him.
It's not graceful. You basically just lean forward and press your mouth to his, cutting off his words, and for a second he's too surprised to respond. Then his hand slides into your hair and he's kissing you back, and oh, this is-
This is nice.
You break apart after a moment that feels both infinite and far too short. You're breathing hard, and he is too, and you're still close enough to count his heartbeats.
"That was..." he starts.
"Impulsive? Stupid? A terrible idea given the circumstances?"
"I was going to say worth waiting for."
You laugh, and it comes out shaky. "You're bleeding through your bandage and I just kissed you. This is the most Bludhaven romance ever."
"Is that what this is? A romance?"
"I don't know. Is it?"
He leans his forehead against yours, careful of the mask. "I want it to be."
"Even though I'm a disaster?"
"Because you're a disaster. My favorite disaster." He pulls back just enough to look at you. "I need to tell you something. Soon. About... everything. Who I am. But not tonight. Not when I'm- "
"Bleeding and probably concussed?"
"I'm not concussed."
"You went through a window. You're at least mildly concussed."
"Fair point." He's smiling though, even through the pain. " I'll tell you everything. Soon. I promise."
"Everything?"
"Everything you want to know."
You should be scared. This is the part where your pessimistic brain should kick in, should start listing all the ways this will inevitably end badly. But looking at him now, at the way he's looking at you like you're something precious instead of just another disaster in motion...
"Okay," you say. "Okay. I'll see you next Thursday. But if you're late again, I'm implementing a three strike policy."
"What happens after three strikes?"
"I'll have to actually learn your name through investigative journalism. It'll be very embarrassing for both of us."
He laughs, then winces. "You should go. Get some sleep. I'll watch you get inside safely."
"You'll watch me walk down one flight of stairs?"
"Humor me."
So you do, gathering your blanket and your unopened snacks, and when you reach the roof door you look back. He's still sitting there, hand pressed to his ribs, watching you with that impossible attention.
"Be careful," you call back. "Please."
"You first."
"That's statistically unlikely, but I'll try."
You're smiling as you head down the stairs, heart racing, lips still tingling, completely terrified and completely sure all at once.
This is definitely going to end in disaster.
But maybe- just maybe- it'll be the good kind.
â.Ë.đ Şŕż
Nightwing hands you an envelope.
You're on your usual rooftop, and he drops down from seemingly nowhere, landing in that cat like crouch that should be illegal in terms of sheer attractiveness. You've been seeing each other- if you can call these rooftop rendezvous "seeing each other"- for almost four months now, and your heart still does that stupid flutter thing every time he appears.
"I have something for you," he says, and there's a nervous energy to him that's new.
"If it's another apology for having to leave mid-kiss last week because of a police scanner, I'm going to start charging you per interruption."
"It's not that." He sits next to you and pulls out a cream colored envelope, expensive looking, with your name written on it in actual calligraphy. "I want you to come to something."
You take the envelope like it might explode. "Is this a ransom note? A summons? A very formal breakup letter?"
"Just open it."
You do, and your brain immediately short-circuits.
You are cordially invited to the Wayne Foundation Annual Charity Gala...
"This is- " You look up at him, then back at the invitation. "This is a joke, right? This is fake. You printed this at like, a FedEx or something."
"It's real."
"Nightwing. This is a Wayne gala. As in Bruce Wayne. As in billionaire Bruce Wayne. As in- " You wave the invitation. "There's no way this is real. These things are invite only for like, celebrities and politicians and people who own multiple yachts."
"I know."
"So this is definitely fake."
He takes off one of his gloves and reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. "It's real. I want you there. I want..." He pauses, and you can see him gathering courage. "I want you to meet me. The real me. Not just the mask."
Your heart is doing dangerous things. "You're going to be there? At a Wayne gala?"
"Yeah."
"As yourself. Your real self."
"Yeah."
"And you're either Bruce Wayne's secret son, or you're about to tell me you're Batman, or- " You stop. "Oh my god, are you Batman? Is that why you said you only have six things in your utility belt? Is it a budget thing or a 'I'm actually just a vigilante with a day job' thing?"
He's laughing now, soft and genuine. "I'm not Batman. But yes, I'll be there. And I want you there too. If you want to come."
"This is insane."
"Probably."
"This is going to be a disaster."
"Maybe."
"I don't have anything to wear to a Wayne gala. I can't exactly show up in my 'I Survived Bludhaven' tshirt and jeggings."
"You'll figure something out." He squeezes your hand. "Please? I know it's scary, and I know this is all backwards and weird, but- "
"Okay."
He stops. "Okay?"
"Okay. I'll come." You look at the invitation again, at the embossed Wayne logo, at the date that's only three days away. "I'm going to regret this. This is going to end terribly. But okay."
He kisses you then, deep and relieved and tasting like promises that you're terrified to believe in.
"Saturday night," he says against your lips. "Wayne Manor. Seven pm."
"I'll be the one having a panic attack in the corner."
"I'll find you."
After he leaves, you sit on the roof for another hour, holding the invitation and trying to convince yourself it's real.
It's probably fake, you think.
This is definitely a prank.
There's no way this ends well.
Saturday arrives with all the inevitability of a dental appointment.
You've spent the last three days having a sustained, low level panic attack. You went to every thrift store in Bludhaven and finally found a dress that doesn't look like it was donated after someone's divorce in 1987. It's black, because you're not ambitious enough for color, and it fits reasonably well if you don't breathe too deeply. It cost $27, which is $20 more than you've ever spent on a single item of clothing.
You've paired it with shoes you already owned (black flats with a scuff on the toe that you colored in with Sharpie) and a small purse you borrowed from your coworker who asked exactly zero questions, bless her.
You look in the mirror and see exactly what you are: a person in a discount dress pretending to be someone who belongs at a Wayne gala.
"This is fine," you tell your reflection. "This is totally fine. The invitation is probably fake anyway, and you'll get turned away at the door, and you can go home and eat ice cream and never think about this again."
The invitation sits on your counter, looking aggressively real.
You grab it, grab your purse, and head out before you can talk yourself out of it.
Wayne Manor is exactly as intimidating as you imagined, which is to say: very.
The uber driver drops you off at the end of a long driveway that probably costs more than your entire apartment building. There are actual literal limousines pulling up to the entrance. You can see people in gowns that cost more than your yearly salary stepping out with the kind of casual grace that comes from never having worried about rent.
"This is fine," you mutter, walking up the driveway because there's no way you're asking to be driven up like you belong here. "This is totally fine. The bouncer will definitely kick you out and then you can go home."
But when you reach the entrance, holding out your invitation like a shield, the man in the tuxedo just smiles and says, "Welcome, miss. Enjoy your evening."
And then you're inside.
Wayne Manor is obscene. There's no other word for it. The foyer alone is bigger than your apartment, with marble floors and a chandelier that probably costs more than a small country's GDP. Beautiful people in beautiful clothes are everywhere, holding champagne glasses and laughing with the kind of ease that comes from never having checked their bank account before buying groceries.
You are immediately, viscerally aware of every single flaw in your discount dress.
The woman next to you is wearing something that shimmers like starlight and probably has a designer name you can't pronounce. Her jewelry is real. Her hair is professionally styled. She smells like expensive perfume.
You smell like the lavender body spray you got on sale at Target.
"This was a mistake," you whisper to yourself. "This was absolutely a mistake."
You're about to turn around and leave, invitation be damned, Nightwing be damned, your own curiosity be damned, when a waiter appears with a tray of champagne.
"Would you care for a drink, miss?"
You take one because it's free and you're definitely going to need alcohol to get through whatever fresh humiliation this evening has planned.
The champagne is good. Annoyingly good. Even the alcohol here is fancier than you.
You drift through the crowd like a ghost, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, trying not to draw attention to your discount dress and your Sharpie-ed shoes. You find a corner near an elaborate flower arrangement (are those orchids? those are definitely orchids. you killed one once) and try to blend into the wallpaper.
This is fine. You'll stay for twenty minutes, drink your fancy champagne, and then leave. Nightwing was probably joking anyway. Or maybe he forgot. Or maybe-
"Excuse me," a voice says, and you turn to find a woman in a red dress that probably costs more than your car would if you had a car. "Are you here alone?"
"Um." You clutch your champagne. "Yes?"
"Oh, how lovely! I'm Caroline Whitmore. My husband is on the board of the Wayne Foundation." She gestures vaguely at a man across the room who's wearing a tux that fits him like a second skin. "Is this your first Wayne gala?"
"Is it that obvious?"
She laughs, but it's not unkind. "A little. You have that 'deer in headlights' look. Don't worry, everyone feels that way their first time. The Waynes can be a bit... overwhelming."
"That's one word for it," you mutter into your champagne.
"The trick is to just enjoy the free food and avoid Bruce Wayne's new girlfriend. She's dreadful." Caroline leans in conspiratorially. "Between you and me, I think he just dates models because he doesn't know how to have a real conversation."
You're saved from having to respond by a commotion near the entrance. The crowd shifts, and you can feel the energy in the room change, the way everyone's attention suddenly focuses on one point.
"Oh, there they are," Caroline says. "The Wayne family. They always make an entrance."
You shouldn't look. You should stay in your corner with your champagne and your discount dress and your existential dread.
But of course you look.
Bruce Wayne enters first looking exactly like the billionaire playboy philanthropist he's famous for being. Tall, handsome in a way that's almost aggressive, wearing a tux that probably costs more than your entire life.
Behind him is a younger man who looks uncomfortable in his suit, dark haired and scowling. Then another man, broader, with a white streak in his hair and an expression that suggests he'd rather be literally anywhere else. Another younger man whoâs looking down at his phone and looks like he hasnât slept since the day he was born.
And then-
And then-
Your champagne glass slips from your hand.
It hits the marble floor with a crash that echoes through the sudden silence, and everyone- every single person in the room- turns to look at you.
But you're not looking at them.
You're looking at the man who just walked in behind Bruce Wayne. Dark hair that sticks up in a way that's immediately, devastatingly familiar. A smile that you've seen in moonlight and shadows, now displayed under the crystal chandelier. A suit that's perfectly tailored to a body you've traced with your hands on rooftop meetings.
He's looking right at you.
And you know.
You know.
"Oh my god," you whisper. "Dick Grayson."
Because of course Nightwing is Dick Grayson. Of course he's Bruce Wayne's ward, the former circus performer turned billionaire's son, the golden boy of Gotham society.
Of course you've been making out with someone who's probably worth more than the entire city of Bludhaven.
Caroline is saying something about the broken glass, and a waiter is rushing over, but you can't hear any of it because Dick Grayson-Nightwing- is walking toward you.
The crowd parts for him like he's Moses and they're the Red Sea.
He stops in front of you, and up close, without the mask, you can see his eyes. Blue. Bright blue. The same eyes that have looked at you with concern and humor and heat.
"Hi," he says, and his voice is the same, exactly the same. "You made it."
"I- " Your brain is offline. Completely offline. "You're Dick Grayson."
"Yeah."
"The Dick Grayson. The- the son of Bruce Wayne. The- "
"Technically adopted son, but yeah."
"I've been kissing Dick Grayson on my roof."
He grins. "You have been."
"I told you that you were probably rich and you lied."
"I said I never said I was a billionaire," he points out. "Technically true. Bruce is the billionaire. I just have access to his credit cards."
"That's-you-" You look around at the crowd that's definitely, absolutely watching this entire interaction. At the broken champagne glass at your feet. At your discount dress next to his designer tux. "I'm going to pass out."
"Please don't." He takes your hand, the same way he has on the roof, his thumb finding that spot on your wrist that always makes you shiver. "Come on. Let's get you some air."
"I broke a glass. There's-I should clean that up. I should- "
"The staff will handle it." He's already guiding you through the crowd, past the staring faces and the whispered comments. Past Bruce Wayne, who raises an eyebrow but says nothing. Past the scowling boy and the man with the white streak and the teen thatâs no longer looking at his phone but looking at you in curiosity.
He leads you out to a balcony that overlooks the grounds, and the cool night air hits your face like a slap.
"Okay," he says, turning to face you. "You can yell now."
"I can't yell. I'm at a Wayne gala. There are probably rules about yelling."
"There are definitely rules about yelling, but I'm giving you permission to break them."
You stare at him. At Dick Grayson. At Nightwing. At the man you've been falling for without knowing he's literally famous, literally rich, literally everything you're not.
"I'm wearing a twenty seven dollar dress," you say finally.
He blinks. "Okay?"
"I'm wearing a twenty seven dollar dress from a thrift store, and my shoes have Sharpie on them, and I colored in the scuff mark this morning because I don't own fancy shoes. Everyone in there is wearing clothes that cost more than my rent, and I'm- I'm- "
"Beautiful," he says simply. "You're beautiful."
"I'm a disaster."
"You're my favorite disaster."
And despite everything- despite the humiliation and the broken glass and the fact that you're definitely the poorest person at this gala- you laugh.
"This is insane," you say. "This is actually insane. I've been dating- are we dating? I don't even know if we're dating- I've been something with Dick Grayson and I didn't even know it."
"We're dating," he confirms. "Definitely dating. I'm not in the habit of having regularly scheduled rooftop makeout sessions with people I'm not dating."
"Your life is so weird."
"Says the woman who critiques muggers while they're actively mugging her."
You're about to respond, about to say something about how at least your weird is normal weird, not billionaire vigilante weird, when there's a commotion from inside.
Not the normal gala commotion. Something else.
Something wrong.
Dick's entire posture changes, his body going taut in a way you recognize from when he's in the suit.
"Stay here," he says.
"Yeah, that's not ominous at all."
But he's already moving back toward the ballroom, and you follow because of course you do, because the universe has never let you make smart decisions.
The scene inside is chaos.
The lights are flickering. People are screaming. And standing in the center of the ballroom, surrounded by henchmen in matching green suits, is a man with a purple suit, a cane, and a smile that makes your skin crawl.
The Riddler.
Because of course. Of course this gala is being crashed by a Batman rogue. Of course this is happening.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" The Riddler's voice carries across the ballroom with theatrical flair. "I do hope I'm not interrupting anything important. Though I suppose that depends on your definition of 'important,' doesn't it? After all, what's more important: champagne and canapĂŠs, or the answer to a riddle that could save your lives?"
You're frozen in the doorway. Dick is next to you, and you can see him calculating, planning, probably figuring out how to get to wherever he keeps his Nightwing suit stashed.
"Here's the riddle," the Riddler continues, twirling his cane. "What has hands but cannot clap, a face but cannot smile, and tells you when it's time to die?"
The crowd is silent, terrified.
And you-
You can't help yourself.
"A clock," you say.
It's not loud. It's barely more than a mutter.
But in the terrified silence, it carries.
The Riddler's head snaps toward you. "What was that?"
"I said it's a clock." Your voice is stronger now, because apparently when faced with mortal peril, your anxiety manifests as mouthy confidence. "The answer is a clock. It has hands, it has a face, and depending on your philosophical relationship with mortality, it tells you when you're going to die. Although technically, that's more metaphorical than- "
The Riddler stops in front of you, studying you with unsettling intensity. "You're not afraid."
"Oh, I'm terrified. I'm just also really annoyed because I was about to have a whole crisis about dating someone out of my league, and now you're here with your- " You gesture vaguely at his outfit. "Your whole situation, and I have to deal with that instead."
There's a beat of absolute silence.
Then Dick makes a sound that might be a laugh or a sob.
"You're dating someone?" The Riddler looks delighted. "How wonderful! And who might this lucky person be?"
"That's really none of your business, but thanks for the interest in my personal life. Very invested for a supervillain." You pause, and your brain- your traitorous, anxiety ridden brain- decides this is the perfect time to keep talking. "Actually, you know what? Can I ask you something?"
Dick's hand tightens on your arm. "Please don't- "
"Why are you even doing this?" You gesture at the terrified crowd, the henchmen, the whole hostage situation. "The crime thing. You're clearly intelligent. Like, really intelligent. Your riddles are actually good, which is more than I can say for most people's riddles. Why aren't you running an escape room empire or something?"
The Riddler stops. Blinks. "Excuse me?"
"Escape rooms!" You're on a roll now, your anxiety manifesting as what can only be described as aggressive career counseling. "Think about it! You could corner the entire market! You're already creating elaborate puzzles and death traps; just make them non lethal and charge people seventy five dollars a head to try to solve them. People LOVE that stuff. You'd be rich in like, six months. Plus, you'd get to feel superior to everyone who can't solve your puzzles, which seems like a big thing for you- no offense- and it would be completely legal!"
The entire ballroom is silent. Even the henchmen look confused.
The Riddler is staring at you like you've just spoken in an alien language.
"You- " He stops. Starts again. "You think I should open an escape room?"
"Not an escape room. Multiple escape rooms. A franchise. 'Nygma's Enigmas' or something. Trademark it. Get investors. Go on Shark Tank. You could be a millionaire legitimately, and you'd get to watch people fail at your puzzles all day, every day, and they'd literally be PAYING you for the privilege. It's the perfect business model for someone with your specific skillset and psychological needs!"
"I- " The Riddler looks genuinely taken aback. "I have never- "
"And think about the branding opportunities! Merchandise! Puzzle books! A YouTube channel where you explain how people failed! You could be internet famous! Do you know how much money internet famous people make? A LOT. More than you're probably getting from- " You gesture at the current hostage situation. "Whatever this is supposed to accomplish."
"She has a point," one of the henchmen mutters.
The Riddler spins to glare at him. "Whose side are you on?"
"I'm just saying, boss, the last three jobs haven't really paid that well- "
"SILENCE!"
"Plus, the Bat keeps catching us," another henchman adds. "An escape room business would have way better job security- "
"Are my henchmen seriously discussing CAREER CHANGES in the middle of a HEIST?"
"It's not a bad idea," a third henchman says thoughtfully. "My cousin runs an escape room in Metropolis. He cleared six figures last year."
"Yeah, and he doesn't get punched by Batman," the first henchman points out.
"EXACTLY," you say, pointing at them. "See? Your employees understand basic risk benefit analysis! You could offer them actual benefits! Health insurance! A 401k! Paid time off!"
Dick has given up trying to stop you. You can feel him shaking next to you, and you're pretty sure it's silent laughter.
Bruce Wayne is pinching the bridge of his nose in the background.
The Riddler looks like he's having an existential crisis. "But- but the CHALLENGE! The battle of wits with Batman! The thrill of outwitting the law!"
"You can still have that! Just make one of your escape rooms Batman themed! Make it really hard! Charge extra! He might even show up to try it, and then you get to watch him struggle with your puzzles in a legal, controlled environment! It's a win-win!"
"Batman themed," the Riddler repeats slowly.
"With like, gargoyles and batarangs and stuff. Make it super dramatic. People will eat that up. Gotham loves Batman. Merchandising nightmare, but that's what lawyers are for."
There's a long, long pause.
"That's..." The Riddler trails off. "That's actually not a terrible idea."
"RIGHT?!"
"I could create the most challenging escape rooms in the world. People would come from everywhere to test themselves against my intellect- "
"And PAY you for it!"
"And I could rate them. Publicly. On their failures- "
"Make a leaderboard! With shame tiers!"
"A SHAME LEADERBOARD." The Riddler looks genuinely excited now. "That's brilliant! That's- " He stops. Looks around at the terrified gala attendees. At his henchmen, who are all nodding enthusiastically. At you, in your twenty seven dollar dress, having just accidentally talked a supervillain into considering legitimate employment.
"This is..." He shakes his head. "This is the strangest hostage situation I've ever been in."
"Is it still a hostage situation if we're having a productive career counseling session?" You ask.
"I don't know! I've never had this happen before!"
"Well, there's a first time for everything. So, are you going to let everyone go, or..."
That's when the lights go out.
There's the familiar sounds of a Batfamily in action the thwip of grappling hooks, the thunk of escrima sticks, the crack of martial arts, and what sounds like a tiny angry Robin yelling something about "incompetent fools."
When the lights come back on, the Riddler and his henchmen are zip tied on the floor. Batman is glowering. Nightwing is clearly trying not to laugh behind his mask. Robin looks deeply offended by the entire situation.
"Did she just- " Robin starts.
"Give the Riddler career advice? Yes," Batman says flatly.
"Is that... allowed?"
"I don't think there's a protocol for this, Robin."
The Riddler, zip tied and defeated, looks up at you from the floor. "You know, in another life, I think we could have been friends."
"In another life, you could be a legitimate businessman," you counter. "It's not too late! Think about the escape rooms! Think about the shame leaderboard! If Martha Stewart can make bank after prison, so can you!â
"I AM thinking about it!" He actually sounds enthusiastic. "The possibilities are- "
"Okay, that's enough," Batman interrupts, gesturing for the GCPD. "Take him in."
As they're hauling the Riddler away, he calls back: "If I do this- if I actually do this- I'm naming you as a consultant!"
"I don't want credit for this!" You yell back.
"Too late! You're getting a percentage!"
"A percentage of WHAT?!"
"MY ESCAPE ROOM EMPIRE!"
And then he's gone, still yelling about business plans and shame leaderboards, and you're left standing in a ballroom full of Gotham's elite, having just accidentally become a business partner with a supervillain.
Dick appears at your elbow, back in his regular tux, no mask. He's grinning so wide it looks painful.
"Did you just- "
"I don't want to talk about it."
"You just convinced the Riddler to consider a legitimate career- "
"I was dissociating. My mouth just does things when I'm nervous!"
"That was the most amazing thing I've ever witnessed."
Bruce Wayne materializes on your other side. He looks at you for a long moment.
"If he actually does open an escape room franchise," Bruce says seriously, "and it keeps him out of crime, I'm writing you a recommendation letter for whatever you want."
"I don't- I can't- " You look between them. "This is insane. This whole night is insane. I came here in a thrift store dress and now I'm a business consultant for a supervillain?!"
"Twenty seven dollar dress," Dick corrects, still grinning.
"NOT THE POINT."
Caroline Whitmore appears with champagne. "Same time next year?" She asks cheerfully.
You take the champagne and down it in one go.
"Sure," you say faintly. "Why not. What else could possibly happen?"
The universe, as always, is listening.
â.Ë.đ Şŕż
You wake up disoriented, head full of static, and for a moment youâre convinced the entire Wayne gala was a stress induced fever dream. The ceiling above you is definitely not the water stained plaster of your apartment: this one is smooth, painted a gentle gray, and if you squint you can see tiny glow in the dark stars scattered in one corner.
Thereâs a slow, delicious ache in your thighs thatâs definitely not from stress.
You shift, and the sheet slithers over bare skin, warm and expensive, and the motion pulls your attention to the weight at your waist; an arm, long and golden and dusted with soft brown hair, wraps you close.
Oh.
You twist, carefully and there he is: Dick Grayson, hair rumpled, one hand tucked beneath his cheek, mouth parted with the kind of sleep heavy softness that makes you want to press your face to his shoulder and never move again.
Last night comes back in flashes: his mouth on yours as the adrenaline bled out in the back seat of the car, his hands clumsy and urgent as he unlocked the door to his apartment, laughter tangled with kisses, a trail of your thrifted dress and his designer tux winding through the hall.
Youâd made love with the kind of desperate relief that comes from barely surviving- again- a night that should have been a disaster but somehow wasnât.
Dick shifts, blinking blearily, and his gaze finds you, blue and bright and so gentle you could cry.
âHey,â he murmurs, voice gravel soft with sleep. âYouâre still here.â
âWasnât sure I would be.â You mean to say it with a laugh, but it comes out quiet, almost vulnerable.
His thumb brushes over your bare hip, slow and affectionate. âYou always have a choice. You know that, right?â
You nod, trying not to melt into him. âYou snore, by the way.â
He grins, no shame at all. âAnd you talk in your sleep. You told me the exact tax rate on laundromat quarters.â
You flush, and Dick leans in, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, your throat, the corner of your jaw. âItâs adorable.â
You let yourself settle against him, the two of you tucked into the soft tangle of his sheets, sun leaking in around the blackout curtains.
Dick rolls you gently onto your back, hovering over you, hair falling into his eyes. âYou know what I want?â he says, voice gone low and teasing, eyes warm as sunrise.
âWhatâs that?â
He ducks down, lips brushing yours in a kiss thatâs slow, sweet, the kind you never thought youâd get from someone like him. âI want to make you breakfast. And then I want to see if youâll let me keep you here all weekend.â
Your heart does a ridiculous, traitorous thing in your chest. âYouâd get sick of me by noon.â
He nips at your jaw, grinning. âNot possible. Iâm insatiable.â He punctuates it with another kiss, this one lingering, his hand sliding over your waist, palm broad and steady.
You can feel him, hard and wanting against your thigh. The temptation to tease is irresistible. âDidnât you say you needed to rest after last night, Mr. Grayson?â
He groans, but his mouth is already sliding down your neck, teeth scraping lightly. âI lied. Or maybe you just recharge me.â
Your hands slide into his hair as he kisses down your body, worshipful, reverent. His lips find your breast, tongue circling, and his hand drifts lower, cupping your thigh, thumb stroking lazily at your skin. The ache between your legs turns electric, all soft warmth and want.
âTell me if you want me to stop,â he murmurs against your skin, breath hot.
âDonât you dare.â
He laughs quiet, and so, so happy and then his mouth is on you, slow and patient, mapping every inch. When he finally presses inside, the stretch is familiar and perfect, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders and hold him close, moving together in the drowsy gold of morning.
He presses his forehead to yours, both of you grinning like idiots.
âIâm not going anywhere,â you whisper.
He kisses you, slow and sure, as if sealing a promise: âGood. Because youâre my favorite disaster.â
The sun climbs higher, and you think, for once, that maybe- just maybe- everything is exactly as it should be.
And maybe lightning didnât strike to destroy you for once: maybe it struck to set you alight.
⤿ BRUCE WAYNE was ready for your first christmas together to be lowkey and relaxed, then he took in Dick Grayson. Now, you're determined to make this every kid's dream christmas.. with the help of Santa Bruce.
!! no warnings. fluff. wife!reader. batmom!reader. established relationship. hallmark vibes. part of HOLLY JOLLY. inspired by the GOATED song. dick is in the range of 7-9 in this idc if that's canon. ENJOY. COMMENTS ENCOURAGED.
The first snowfall of December had transformed Wayne Manor into something out of a storybook, and you were determined to make it feel that way on the inside too. Dick Grayson had been living with you and Bruce for three months now â three months of careful steps, gentle conversations, and watching a grieving 8 year old boy slowly, tentatively begin to trust again. Christmas was your chance to give him something pure and magical, untouched by the tragedy that had brought him into your lives.
"You're going overboard," Bruce said from the doorway of what had become your war room â the sitting room where you'd spread out catalogs, scrapbooked vision boards, and enough Christmas decoration samples to stock a small store.
You looked up from where you were comparing two nearly identical shades of ribbon and raised an eyebrow at your husband. "There's no such thing as going overboard for a child's first Christmas with us. Besides, when was the last time this manor felt like a home during the holidays?"
Bruce's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, that tell he had when you'd struck a nerve he wasn't ready to examine. He crossed the room and picked up one of the catalogs, flipping through pages of elaborately decorated trees and designer ornament sets. "We always had a tree when I was young. Alfred made sure of it."
"A tree," you repeated, standing and moving to slip your arms around his waist. "One tree. Probably very elegant, very understated, very Martha Stewart before Martha Stewart existed. Still, very beautiful, and I love that you had a tree." You pressed a kiss to his chin, feeling the slight scratch of five o'clock shadow. "I'm talking about magical, Bruce. The kind that makes kids believe in something bigger than themselves. Dick needs that right now."
Bruce set down the catalog and wrapped his arms around you properly, and for a moment you just stood there in the quiet of the manor, snow falling past the windows, the weight of what you were trying to build together settling between you like a promise. "What do you need from me?"
You grinned. "How much time do you have?"
The transformation of Wayne Manor began the next morning. You'd enlisted Alfred's help â and his surprisingly enthusiastic approval â and together you'd planned an assault of holiday cheer that would have made Clark Griswold weep with joy. Dick had left for school with Bruce (you'd insisted Bruce do the school run when his Wayne Enterprises schedule allowed, those small normal moments building blocks of trust), and by the time they returned, the manor had begun its metamorphosis.
"Whoa," Dick breathed, stopping dead in the entrance hall.
You'd started there, with garland wrapped around the banister of the grand staircase, white lights twinkling like captured stars. The massive fireplace in the main hall was framed with evergreen boughs and deep red velvet ribbon, and you'd placed vases filled with ornaments on every available surface. It was just the beginning, but the effect was already transformative.
"Do you like it?" you asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of your voice. Dick was still so careful with his reactions, still weighing every response as if afraid of saying the wrong thing, of somehow losing this new stability he'd found.
Dick nodded, his eyes wide as he took in the decorations. He was still in his school uniform, his backpack hanging from one shoulder, and something about the way he was so small, a little lost, but in awe made your heart clench. "It's really pretty. We never... I mean, at the circus we had decorations, but they were different. Smaller."
Bruce's hand settled on Dick's shoulder, a gesture that had become more natural over the past few weeks. "Your mom has plans to decorate every square inch of this place. I hope you're ready."
The word 'mom' hung in the air for just a moment. You and Bruce had agreed not to push labels, to let Dick come to them in his own time, but Bruce used them occasionally in this casual way, planting seeds. Dick didn't flinch or correct him, just shifted his backpack and looked up at you with something that might have been hope.
"I am going to need help," you began, matching Bruce's casual tone despite the smile that was creeping onto your lips. "This place is absolutely huge, and I have a big vision. Think you're up for it?"
Dick's face transformed with the first real smile you'd seen from him in days. "Yeah! What do we do first?"
Over the next two weeks, Wayne Manor became Christmas central. You and Dick spent every afternoon after school on a new project while Bruce watched from the sidelines, occasionally being pulled in to reach high places or offer opinions on decoration placement. You'd introduced Dick to the Elf on the Shelf â a little felt scout elf you'd named Jingles â and every morning Dick would race downstairs to find where Jingles had moved to overnight.
"He's in the chandelier!" Dick called out one morning, pointing up at where you'd precariously perched the elf among the crystals the night before. "How does he even get up there?"
"Magic," you shook your head oh so seriously, handing him his breakfast. "Christmas magic is very powerful."
Bruce made a sound into his coffee that might have been a laugh or might have been commentary on the concept of magic, but when you caught his eye, he was smiling. These small moments filled with Dick's excitement, the warmth of the kitchen, Alfred humming carols while he cooked.. all of them were weaving something new between all of you, a family being built one decoration and one tradition at a time.
The weekend before Christmas, you declared it tree decorating day. Bruce had arranged for the largest damn tree you'd ever seen to be delivered and set up in the main living room, and you'd spent a small fortune on ornaments that ranged from elegant to silly. But you'd also made sure to buy a set of plain glass balls and craft supplies.
"I thought we could make some ornaments too," you explained to Dick, spreading out paint, glitter, and markers on a protected table. "That way the tree has decorations that are special to us! Maybe we can make one each year."
Dick picked up a clear ornament, turning it in the light. "My mom used to make ornaments. She'd paint them with these tiny little designs â acrobats and circus tents and stuff." His voice went quiet, and you saw Bruce tense from where he was untangling light strings across the room.
You sat down next to Dick and picked up your own ornament. "That sounds beautiful. Do you think you could paint something like that? We could make sure those ornaments have a special place on the tree."
Dick looked up at you, his blue eyes shining with unshed tears, and nodded. For the next hour, the three of you worked in comfortable silence broken only by requests to pass supplies or Alfred's periodic appearances with hot chocolate and cookies. Dick painted with fierce concentration, creating tiny acrobats that were surprisingly detailed for an eight-year-old's work. You made a mess with glitter that you suspected would be embedded in the manor's carpets until the end of time. And Bruce, surprisingly, painted careful geometric patterns that were oddly beautiful in their precision.
"You're good at this," you told him, leaning over to examine a silver and blue snowflake design.
"I'm good at following patterns," Bruce corrected, but there was something soft in his expression as he watched Dick work. "Structure. Order."
"Control," you added with a knowing smile.
"That too."
When the ornaments were dry, you began the process of decorating the tree. You'd put on Christmas music, and Alfred had built a fire in the fireplace. Dick insisted on placing his handmade ornaments himself, standing on a stepladder while Bruce spotted him, and you felt your throat tighten watching them together. Bruce's hand hovering near Dick's back, ready to catch him, despite the fact that the kid was a literal acrobat. Dick's tongue poking out in concentration as he found the perfect branch. The easy way they moved around each other, trust building in increments.
"There," Dick announced, climbing down and stepping back to admire his work with his hands on his hips. "That's perfect."
The tree was a beautiful chaos of styles â your elegant silver and gold ornaments mixed with Dick's painted acrobats, Bruce's geometric designs, and a collection of silly pieces you'd chosen specifically to make Dick smile. A superhero ornament hung near a glittering snowflake. A dog ornament that you thought was adorable. A tiny Gotham City building ornament nestled among traditional bells and stars. It shouldn't have worked, but somehow it did. It looked like a family tree.
"That's a pretty damn good tree," you agreed, slipping your hand into Bruce's. His fingers tightened around yours, and when you glanced up at him, his eyes were suspiciously bright.
Christmas Eve arrived with fresh snow and Dick's barely contained excitement. He'd been vibrating with energy all day, helping you set up the stockings you'd had decorated, one for each of you, including Alfred, hung from the mantle with care. You'd spent the afternoon baking cookies, and the manor smelled like sugar and cinnamon and home.
"Do you really think Santa will come?" Dick asked for the fifteenth time, carefully arranging the cookies you'd set out on a special plate. You'd made specific cookies for Santaâchocolate chip, which Dick had informed you very seriously were Santa's favorites â and some carrots and celery for the reindeer.
"I think Santa makes a special effort to visit kids who've had a hard year," you said, smoothing down his hair. "To remind them that magic still exists."
Dick looked up at you with those sweet eyes, the ones that had seen too much for eight years. "Do you believe in Santa?"
You knelt down so you were at his eye level, very aware of Bruce watching from the doorway. "Of course! I believe in the spirit of Christmas. In magic and wonder and the idea that one night a year, anything is possible." You smiled at him, your head tilted to the side
Dick threw his arms around your neck in a sudden, fierce hug that nearly knocked you over. You held him tight, this brave little boy who'd lost everything and was trying so hard to let himself hope again, and over his shoulder you saw Bruce's expression crack into something raw and vulnerable.
After Dick finally went to bedâafter three glasses of water, two more trips downstairs to check on the cookies, and a final adjustment of his stockingâyou found Bruce in your bedroom, staring at the Santa suit you'd laid out on the bed with an expression of profound discomfort.
"You cannot be serious," he said.
"Completely serious." You picked up the red velvet jacket and held it up against him, assessing the fit. "Dick was so excited about maybe seeing Santa. He kept talking about it all week. We have to do this."
"I fight crime in a bat costume," Bruce said flatly. "I've faced down the worst Gotham has to offer. I've stared into the abyss and made it blink. But thisâ"
"Is for your son," you interrupted gently. "Your son, who needs magic right now more than he needs Batman. Who needs to believe that good things can happen, that wonder exists, that he's safe and loved and part of something special."
Bruce took the jacket from you, holding it like it might explode. "He's going to be asleep."
"Probably," you agreed. "But you know how kids are on Christmas Eve. And if he does sneak out and see Santa putting presents under the tree, imagine how magical that would be for him."
Bruce sighed, the sound of a man who knew he'd already lost the argument. "You're lucky I love you."
"I'm lucky for a lot of reasons," you said, rising on your toes to kiss him. "But yes, that's one of them. Now get dressed, Santa. We have Christmas presents to deliver."
Twenty minutes later, Bruce emerged from the bathroom looking deeply uncomfortable in the full Santa regalia. You'd gone all out â the suit, the belt, the boots, even the beard and wig (though he opted out of the beard, claiming that if Dick was sneaking around, he'd only see the back of "Santa"). He looked ridiculous and wonderful and so far removed from Batman that you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.
"Not a word," Bruce warned, his gruff but with a layer of amusement. "Not one word, and we never speak of this again."
"You look perfect," you grinned, and meant it. "Very jolly. Very magical."
"I look like I'm about to rob a mall."
You laughed and grabbed the bag of presents you'd hidden in the closet. "Come on, Santa. Let's go make a little boy's Christmas dreams come true."
The manor was dark and quiet as you and Bruce crept downstairs like thieves in the night â which, given Bruce's nighttime activities, was perhaps more appropriate than it should have been. You'd left just the tree and garland lights on, and they cast a warm glow over the living room, making everything look soft. The stockings hung ready and waiting. The cookies sat on their plate, the veggies beside them. It was a perfect Christmas Eve scene.
Bruce began pulling presents from the bag, arranging them under the tree with surprising care. You watched him work, this man who was so many things.. billionaire, vigilante, orphan, hero, and now you could add 'Santa Claus' to the list. . He'd gotten Dick a new bicycle, books, puzzles, art supplies, and a telescope for the manor's observatory. Practical gifts mixed with fun ones, chosen with thought and care.
"Take a bite of the cookie," you whispered, pointing to the plate. "And the carrots. It has to look like Santa and the reindeer were really here."
Bruce gave you a look that suggested he was reconsidering every life choice that had led to this moment, but he dutifully took a bite of cookie and carrot. You filled the stockings with the small gifts you'd prepared â candy, small toys, a note from Santa. Bruce added a few things from his own stash, including what looked like a very expensive handheld gaming device that you definitely hadn't approved, but weren't going to argue about on Christmas Eve.
"Perfect," you whispered, stepping back to admire your work. The tree was surrounded by presents, the stockings were full, the evidence of Santa's visit was clear. "Dick is going to lose his mind tomorrow morning."
Bruce straightened, adjusting the Santa beard that kept slipping, and turned to you with an expression that was soft despite the ridiculous costume. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For this. For all of it. For knowing what he needs, what we all need. I wouldn't have thought of any of this."
You moved into his arms, careful not to dislodge the beard further. "We're a team. You give him stability and protection and a home. I give him Christmas magic and cookies and permission to be a kid. Together, we give him a family."
Bruce pulled you closer, and you tilted your face up to his, meaning to give him a quick kiss before you both headed to bed. But Bruce had other ideas, his hand coming up to cup your face as he kissed you properly, deeply, with the kind of intensity that made your toes curl and your heart race. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in the white wig, the absurdity of making out with your husband while he was dressed as Santa Claus somehow making the moment even more perfect.
You were so lost in the kiss that neither of you heard the soft pad of small feet on the stairs, or saw the small figure that appeared in the doorway and froze, eyes going wide. Dick stood there in his pajamas, mouth falling open as he watched Santa ClausâSanta Claus!âkissing his new mom in the living room of Wayne Manor.
For a moment, Dick just stared, his brain trying to process what he was seeing. Santa was real. Santa was here. Santa was kissing her. The thoughts tumbled over each other in a confused jumble of excitement and surprise and something else, something warm that he wasn't quite ready to name. Then his eight-year-old survival instincts kicked in, and he realized he was definitely not supposed to be seeing this. He turned and bolted back up the stairs as quietly as he could, his heart pounding, diving into his bed and pulling the covers up to his chin.
He lay there in the dark, breathing hard, his mind racing. He'd seen Santa. He'd actually seen Santa Claus. And Santa had been kissing her, the way his parents used to kiss when they thought he wasn't looking, the way people kissed in movies when they loved each other. Did that mean Santa loved her? Did Santa know her? The questions swirled, but underneath them all was a growing sense of wonder and excitement that made it impossible to even think about sleeping.
Downstairs, you and Bruce finally broke apart, both slightly breathless. "We should get to bed," you murmured. "Before we get caught by our very excited eight-year-old in the morning."
Bruce nodded, taking one last look around the room. "It does look magical," he admitted. "You were right."
"I usually am," you teased, taking his hand. "Come on, Santa. Let's get you out of that suit."
You made your way upstairs, Bruce shedding pieces of the Santa costume as he went, and fell into bed exhausted but happy. Tomorrow would be chaosâDick's excitement, the present opening, the big Christmas dinner Alfred was planningâbut tonight, you'd created something special. You'd given a grieving little boy a reason to believe in magic again.
You were almost asleep when you heard itâa soft knock on the bedroom door, so quiet you almost missed it. Bruce was already moving, pulling on a t-shirt and padding to the door. He opened it to find Dick standing there, looking small and uncertain in his pajamas.
"Dick? What's wrong? Are you okay?" Bruce asked, immediately alert, his mind probably running through a dozen worst-case scenarios.
"I'm okay," Dick said quickly. "I just... can you come to my room for a minute? I need to tell you something."
Bruce glanced back at you, and you nodded, sitting up. "Go ahead. I'll be here."
You watched Bruce follow Dick down the hall to his room, wondering what could have the boy up at this hour. You'd checked on him before you and Bruce had gone downstairs, and he'd been sound asleep. Maybe he'd had a nightmare. Maybe he was too excited to sleep. Maybeâ
Bruce returned fifteen minutes later with the strangest expression on his faceâsomewhere between amused and touched and completely baffled. He climbed back into bed and just lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling.
"Well?" you prompted. "What did he want?"
Bruce turned his head to look at you, and in the dim light from the window, you could see he was smiling. "He wanted to tell me a secret. He made me promise not to tell anyone, especially not you."
"Bruce Wayne, you tell me right nowâ"
"He saw Santa," Bruce interrupted, his smile widening. "He snuck downstairs to try to catch a glimpse, and he saw Santa Claus putting out presents. And then..." Bruce paused, clearly trying not to laugh. "He saw Santa kiss you. He was very concerned about this. He whispered it to me like he was reporting a crime. 'I saw Santa kiss her. Like, really kiss her. Do you think Santa knows her? Is she friends with Santa?'"
You felt your face flush hot, mortification and amusement warring in your chest. "Oh my God. He saw us?"
"He saw Santa," Bruce corrected, and now he was definitely laughing, his shoulders shaking with it. "He has no idea it was me. He's convinced he witnessed an actual Christmas miracle. He asked me if I thought Santa visits every year, and if maybe he'd see him again next Christmas."
You buried your face in your hands, torn between embarrassment and laughter. "What did you tell him?"
"I told him that Santa definitely knows you, that you're very special to Santa, and that if he's very good, Santa will probably visit every year." Bruce pulled you against him, still chuckling. "I also told him that what he saw should probably stay between us, that it was a special Christmas secret. He was very serious about it. Made me pinky promise not to tell."
You looked up at your husband, at this man who'd dressed up as Santa Claus for a little boy's Christmas magic, who'd just had a solemn conversation about Santa's kissing habits, who was building a family one awkward, beautiful moment at a time. "You know this means you have to be Santa every year now, right? He's going to expect it."
Bruce groaned, but he was still smiling. "I was afraid you'd say that."
"Look at it this way," you said, snuggling closer. "At least he believes. At least he's excited. At least he feels safe enough here to sneak downstairs looking for Santa instead of lying awake grieving."
Bruce's arms tightened around you, and when he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion. "He called you 'her' when he was telling me about it, but the way he said it... there was so much affection there. So much trust. He's starting to think of this as home. Of us as his family."
"We are his family," you said firmly. "And tomorrow morning, when he comes racing in here at dawn to tell us Santa came, we're going to give him the best Christmas morning ever. We're going to watch him open presents and eat too many cookies and be so excited he can barely stand it. We're going to be a family."
"A family," Bruce repeated, like he was testing the word, learning its shape. Then, softer: "Yeah. We are."
Christmas morning arrived with exactly the chaos you'd predicted. Dick came barreling into your room at six-thirty, launching himself onto the bed with enough force to wake both you and Bruce from a dead sleep.
"He came! Santa came! There are presents everywhere and the cookies are gone and the carrot is gone and there's a note!" Dick was practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing on the bed like it was a trampoline. "Come on, come on, you have to come see!"
You and Bruce exchanged glances over Dick's head, both of you fighting smiles. "A note?" Bruce asked, and you kicked him under the covers because you definitely hadn't written a note.
"Yes! Come on!" Dick grabbed both your hands and pulled, and there was nothing to do but follow him downstairs, where Alfred was already waiting with coffee and hot chocolate and a smile that suggested he'd heard every word of Dick's excited shouting.
The living room looked exactly as you'd left it, presents spilling out from under the tree, stockings bulging with gifts. But there, on the mantle next to the empty cookie plate, was a note written in elaborate script that you recognized as Alfred's handwriting:
Dear Dick,
Thank you for the delicious cookies and for taking such good care of the reindeer's carrot. You've been very brave this year, and very kind. I'm proud of you. Your family is lucky to have you, and you're lucky to have them. Take care of each other.
Merry Christmas,
Santa
You looked at Alfred, who was studiously examining his coffee cup, and mouthed 'thank you.' He gave the slightest nod, and you made a mental note to give him the biggest Christmas bonus in Wayne Manor history.
Dick read the note three times, his fingers tracing the words, and when he looked up at you and Bruce, his eyes were shining. "He said 'your family,'" Dick whispered. "Santa said you're my family."
Bruce knelt down next to Dick, and you saw him swallow hard before speaking. "We are your family, Dick. If you want us to be. We know we can't replace your parents, and we'd never try. But we love you, and we want you here, and we want to be your family. If that's okay with you."
Dick looked between you and Bruce, this small boy who'd lost so much and was being offered something new and fragile and precious. Then he nodded, once, firmly, and threw his arms around Bruce's neck. "Okay," he said, his voice muffled against Bruce's shoulder. "Okay. Family."
You knelt down too, wrapping your arms around both of them, and for a moment the three of you just held each other in the glow of the Christmas tree lights while Alfred discreetly wiped his eyes in the corner. This was what you'd wanted, what you'd worked for with every decoration and cookie and carefully chosen present. Not just a magical Christmas, but a moment of connection, of healing, of a family being born.
"Can we open presents now?" Dick asked, pulling back with a watery smile.
"Absolutely," you said. "But stockings first. That's the rule."
The morning dissolved into wrapping paper and exclamations of delight and Dick's wonder at every single gift. He loved the bicycle, was fascinated by the telescope, and immediately started reading one of the books you'd chosen. But his favorite gift, the one he kept coming back to, was a simple photo frame you'd filled with a picture from tree decorating dayâthe three of you laughing, covered in glitter, looking like a family.
"Can I put this in my room?" Dick asked, holding it carefully.
"Of course," Bruce said. "It's yours."
Later, after presents were opened and breakfast was eaten and Dick was outside testing out his new bicycle in the snow, you found Bruce standing at the window watching him. You slipped your hand into his, and he pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your temple.
"Thank you," he said again. "For knowing what we needed. For making this happen."
"We made it happen," you corrected. "All of us. Even you, Santa."
Bruce groaned. "We're never speaking of that again."
"Oh, we're definitely speaking of it again," you said cheerfully. "Every year, in fact, when you put on that suit. Dick's going to expect it now. It's tradition."
"I've created a monster," Bruce muttered, but he was smiling as he watched Dick do circles in the snow, his laughter carrying through the cold air.
"You've created a family," you corrected softly. "And that's worth a little embarrassment."
Bruce turned to you, his expression serious despite the smile still playing at his lips. "He asked me this morning if Santa would come back next year. If thisâ" he gestured around at the decorations, the tree, the evidence of the holiday you'd created "âwould happen again."
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him yes. That this is what families do. They make traditions and keep them, year after year. That he's stuck with us now, Christmas magic and all."
You felt tears prick your eyes and blinked them back. "Good answer."
"I learned from the best," Bruce said, and kissed you properly, deeply, the way he had the night before when he'd been dressed as Santa and Dick had been watching from the doorway. When you broke apart, you were both smiling.
Outside, Dick called for you both to come see how fast he could go on his new bike, and you went, stepping out into the snow and the cold and the bright Christmas morning. Alfred appeared with coats and scarves, and the four of you stood there watching Dick race around, his cheeks flushed with cold and happiness, his laughter the best Christmas gift any of you could have asked for.
This was what you'd wanted to buildânot just a perfect Christmas, but a foundation. A family forged not by blood but by choice, by love, by the decision to show up for each other day after day. By cookies and decorations and ridiculous Santa costumes and the willingness to believe in magic, even when the world had given you every reason not to.
Dick skidded to a stop in front of you, snow flying, his grin wide and genuine. "This is the best Christmas ever," he announced. "Can we do this every year? All of it?"
You looked at Bruce, at Alfred, at this boy who was becoming your son, and felt your heart swell with a love so fierce it almost hurt. "Every year," you promised. "Every single year."
"Even the Elf on the Shelf?" Dick asked hopefully.
Bruce sighed. "Even the Elf on the Shelf."
"And cookies for Santa?"
"And cookies for Santa," you confirmed.
"Andâ" Dick paused, glancing at Bruce with a mischievous look that reminded you he was, after all, only eight years old "âwill Santa come back? Even though I saw him kissing Mom?"
The word hung in the air for a momentâ'Mom,' said so casually, so naturally, like it had always been there waiting to be spoken. You felt your breath catch, saw Bruce's hand tighten on your shoulder, watched Alfred's face crease into a smile.
Dick seemed to realize what he'd said, his eyes going wide, but before he could take it back or apologize or retreat into that careful guardedness, you knelt down in the snow and pulled him into a hug.
"Santa will definitely come back, and I kissed Santa on the cheek! As a thank you for bringing you so many gifts." you defended with a smile. "He knows where the good kids live, and he knows this is your home now."
Dick hugged you back, tight and trusting, and over his shoulder you saw Bruce mouth 'I love you' with an expression of such profound happiness that you knew, without a doubt, that you'd succeeded. You'd given Dick a magical Christmas, yes, but more than that, you'd given him something to believe in again. A family. A home. A future full of traditions and love and the kind of ordinary magic that came from choosing each other, every day, no matter what.
And if that meant Bruce had to dress up as Santa Claus every Christmas Eve for the foreseeable future, well, that was a small price to pay for the sound of Dick's laughter, for the word 'Mom' spoken without hesitation, for the family you were building together in the halls of Wayne Manor.
Later that night, after Dick had finally crashed from his sugar high and excitement, after the dishes were done and the wrapping paper cleaned up, you and Bruce stood in the living room looking at the tree. The lights twinkled softly, and somewhere in the branches hung Dick's hand-painted ornaments, his parents frozen in acrobatic poses, a piece of his past woven into his present.
"Next year," Bruce said thoughtfully, "we're hiring someone to put up the decorations."
You laughed and leaned into him. "Next year, you're going to help put up every single decoration, and you're going to love it."
"Next year," Bruce countered, "I'm not wearing that Santa suit."
"Next year, you're absolutely wearing that Santa suit."
Bruce sighed, but yet he sealed it with a kiss and a smile against your lips.
Synopsis: the party was supposed to be wild and crazy, so you could let loose and have fun, but it wasn't supposed to be so wild and crazy that you don't even remember what happened last Friday night. and definitely not so wild and crazy that you wake up a) with a killer headache, b) in someone else's bed, and c) cuffed to twins?!
now the three of you have to go on a wild goose chase for the person who did this, whilst fighting the insane sexual chemistry vibrating between you and the twins.
what could go wrong?
Warnings: porn with a side of plot, nerdjo and fratjo twins au - twincest (I don't view it as such and that's certainly not what this contains in my opinion but just as a warning so the puritans can back off), threesome/sharing reader, exhibitionism, voyeurism, hidden sex, the twins are annoying af and have asshole tendencies, both are pierced in different ways, college au/non curse au, too much dirty talk, unprotected sex because it's fiction and it's hot, spit roasting, thigh humping, zipper humping, thigh job, spitting, brief rimming, deepthroating, cunnilingus, pervy behaviour, a little masochism and sadism, choking?/asphyxiation, fanart by @smokeigheh on Insta, not proofread - please let me know if you spot typos or inconsistencies (this is too long for me to care about proofreading)
Word Count: 14k
âHey, Sato?â
âHmm?â
âAm I still dreaming or is there a girlâs ass pressed to my woody?â
âUnless weâre sharing the same dream, Iâm ninety-nine percent sure itâs not one â sheâs drooling on my chest.â
âIs she hot?â
âDonât be a creepâŚâ
A pregnant pause passes, then he adds, âYeah.â
âNice.â
Groaning, your bleary eyes open. Your head is swimming. The pain is dull but powerful, as though hidden behind a layer, angry and wanting to be let out. Bright light through a window almost blinds you. You groan again, burying your head in a hard wall.Â
Huh?
Your eyes shoot open. Youâre laying on someoneâs chest. You look up. Dazzling blue eyes stare down at you through a pair of glasses, a brow cocked up. Then you feel it â something hot and heavy slotted between your asscheeks, and a hand gripping your hip.Â
With a scream, you jolt up, scrambling to get off the bed, only to fall right back onto the mattress when resistance meets your arms.Â
Two faces fill your vision from above.Â
Same dazzling blue eyes.Â
One smirking.
One not.Â
Both near-mirror copies of the other.Â
You scream again.
They wince.Â
âC-clones! Youâre clones! Oh my god, please donât probe me.â
The one on your left laughs so loudly it becomes your turn to wince. âDude! She thinks weâre aliens!â
The other sighs and adjusts his glasses. âWeâre not aliens. Weâre twins. Monozygotic. Monoamniotic-Monoamniotic, to be exact.â
Lightly shoving the other by the shoulder, one of them says, âJeez, donât get all sciency around a chick. Just say âMoMoâ, like Iâve been saying.â He turns to you, smiling. âWeâre identical twins â Iâm Toru, a Marketing student, and this ugly freak is Sato. Engineering. Weâre both third years. And you are?â
Why are they acting so casual?
Theyâre in bed with a complete stranger, who could be a serial killer, and yet theyâre introducing themselves to you like nothingâs remotely odd about the situation. Or maybe youâre in bed with serial killers. Hot serial killers, but thatâs how they get you.
Unnerved by their matching stares, you stammer out your name, followed by a, âIâm an Anthropology student. Second year. Itâs a pleasure to meet you?â
The sentence comes out less a statement and more a question, and you grimace at your unsocial self.
Toru leans forward, grinning. âYouâre so polite. How adorable. Makes me wanna just gobble you up.â He mimics the actions of munching on your face, nom noming.Â
His twin sighs again and lifts his hand up. Yours is brought up with it. All of you eye the thing that clanks and jingles with the movement. Sato drawls, âInstead of flirting with her, why donât we address the elephant in the room â why the hell are we cuffed together and in his bed?â
Thatâs when you finally realise youâre not in your own dorm. The roomâs much bigger, much more lived in and homely. Heck, the bed itself is bigger than the stiff single that the school provides everyone. Comfier, too. And with someoneâs abs plastered all over the covers.
Posters of sporting legends litter the walls, as do posters of rock bands and carelessly stuck on polaroids of one of the twins, or both of them, or people you can only assume to be their friends.Â
It even smells differently here than in your room; whilst yours smells of academic pressures and manically drunk coffee, this one smells of leftover thrill and aftershave. Clothes litter the floor, bordered by empty beer cans, and a pair of red lacey panties in the corner.Â
Toru follows your eyes to it, and then hastily clarifies, âItâs not mine â I donât crossdress or anything.â
Sato rolls his eyes, and snarks, âShe knows that, idiot. Sheâs thinking what a pigsty your room is.â Glancing at you, he adds, âMy dumbass brotherâs incapable of cleaning up after himself. Judge him freely, he deserves it.â
Ignoring both of them, you lift your arms up, struggling with the new weight and gawk at the pink fuzzy cuffs adorning your wrists. Slowly, you say, âWhatâŚtheâŚactualâŚfuck?â
Youâre handcuffed to two strangers.Â
Two hot strangers who keep womenâs underwear in their rooms.
Frantically, you glance down at yourself and release a relieved breath when you confirm that youâre fully dressed in what you remember coming to the party in the first place: a short skirt you borrowed from a friend, a nice top, and beat up Converse that you wouldnât mind getting beer spilled on. Your phoneâs in your skirt pocket, along with your keycard. So all the valuables you brought to your friendâs apartment are still with you. Nothing feels out of place, which you thank god profusely for.Â
But what happened after the round of pres at your friend?Â
âI donât remember a single thing that happened last night,â you voice aloud, frowning. âI donât remember why weâre cuffed together, or who you two are to me.â
Not a single thing comes to mind â what you drank, who you spoke to, how much you drank, if you did anything crazy, if you lost some kind of dare and had to face punishment by being bound to two guys, and where your friends are.
Sato knits his brows together. âNeither. I only remember helping set up.â
âI donât remember anything either,â his brother says, attempting to scratch the back of his head with the hand thatâs connected to yours, laughing at himself, then finally using his free hand. He shrugs. âBut then again, thatâs not unusual for me. The best parties are the ones you donât remember.â
You want to question how that could be possible, but you keep your mouth shut.Â
âAnyone feel a key on them?â one of the twins asks, inspecting the holes of the cuffs that bind you to him. He looks displeased at the fuzziness of the thing. Your hand hangs limply in the air.
All three of you look, lifting covers, checking inside your clothes, on the desk, under pillows, and nothing.Â
âNope!â
âNo.â
âI donât see anything.â
Your heart begins to race, reality sinking in hard and fast and intensifying your headache. âWeâre done for. Weâre stuck like this forever. Weâre going to die like this!â
âCalm down,â Sato deadpans, totally judging you based on how he fights the urge to look you over the rim of his glasses. âWeâre not going to die. We just need to figure out who did it to us, where they are, and if they have the key â worse comes to worse, we donât find them or they donât have the key, we can just go to the fire station and ask them to cut us out.â
Toru whoops in the hair and ruffles his brotherâs hair. The brother in question scowls and shoves the hand away. âNice one, big bro. Didnât even think of that; I was on the âweâre doomedâ boat.â
That makes sense.Â
Yeah, thereâs no need to panic.Â
Except, thereâs a major issue.
âGuys,â you start, lip trembling, â...I really need to pee.â
The two of them look at each other, then at you, then at the door, then back at each other.Â
âC-can you hold it?â Toru asks, sounding more frightened about the idea than you.
You shake your head, legs crossed.
And thatâs how you find yourself sitting on the toilet in his en-suite bathroom, flanked by two guys, who at least have the decency to look away. One of them whistles awkwardly, and the other taps on his phone.Â
This is a nightmare. You donât want to be pissing with an audience, especially not this close. Itâs way too embarrassing.Â
Sato clicks his tongue, pink tinting the tips of his ears. âWhy arenât you going?â
ââcause itâs weird,â you mutter, shuffling on the seat. The toiletâs kept pretty clean. It looks practically unused, which just makes you feel worse about defiling it.
âYou having performance anxiety, Second year?â Toru teases, rocking on the balls of his feet.
He doesnât need to sound so amused by the idea, you dryly think. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you grumble, âAnyone would if they were in my position.â
âI wouldnât,â Toru chirps, swinging the hands you two are joint at back and forth absentmindedly. âHell, Iâll pee between your legs right now to prove it. Iâve got pretty good aim.â
âPlease donât.â
God, this is the most shameful thing thatâs ever happened to you. What did you do to deserve this?
Left with no choice, you let the stream go and grit your teeth.Â
One of them hums approvingly. âSolid stream â bitches with good pussy piss loud as fuck, and it do be sounding like youâre frying chicken.â
Your jaw drops. Aghast, you shake your wrist and smack his own hand against his leg. âCan you not comment on my pee, Toru?â
His twin smacks him upside the head. âDonât call women bitches.â
He groans. âDoes no one get the reference? Ugh, whatever. Just hurry up and wipe. I need to pee too.â
âOh no.â
Both of your hands are connected to theirs⌠One of themâs going to have to get between your legs. When you look up at their suddenly stiff backs, you know they realised it too.Â
Toru whistles low. âWhoâs it gonna be, Second Year?â
âWhy do I have to choose?â you ask, though you already know the answer. Theyâre basically asking you who youâre more comfortable with, and oddly, you donât want to offend either of them. Is this your Sophieâs Choice?
Sato continues tapping away on his phone one-handedly. âEither one of us is fine to do it. It all depends on who youâd prefer â itâs not like weâre actually wiping for you.â
If you really had to choose, thenâŚ
Wriggling a specific hand, you shamefully mutter, âCan you do it with me?â
He sighs, and slacks his arm so you can pull your hand towards yourself. The twin has to bend down at the knee slightly, still looking away. He adjusts his glasses and clears his throat.Â
Through the whole thing, youâre cringing, cheeks flushed, and wanting the world to open up and consume you whole. Can this morning get worse?Â
âDone,â you mumble, making sure no oneâs looking at you. âThanks.â
âDonât mention it,â Sato mutters.Â
On the other side, Toru grumbles so depressedly you can practically see a raincloud storming over his head, âWhy didnât you choose me? Iâd be a good pussy wiper.â
More rises to your cheeks. You hurriedly pull your pants back up and flush. âNo one was asking to wipe anyoneâsâŚahem. And the fact that youâre so eager is kinda the reason why I didnât choose you.â
Toru raises his hands, and one of yours, in surrender.Â
After you, they both take turns peeing. You look away, shutting your eyes tight for good measure. You even hum under your breath to distract from the sounds. Sato, you notice, clears his throat before he goes, whereas Toru mumbles some song lyrics. It sounds like Up by Cardi B.Â
You hate that youâre hyper aware of every shuffle, every brush against you, every time their knuckles graze yours, and each breath they take.
The twins are hot.
Have you said that already?
Because they are.Â
Maybe if they were uglier, more normal looking, you wouldnât be so on edge.
And you know itâs wrong to think like that about strangers, but they are hot. Stupidly so.Â
Theyâre the same height, with sharp jawlines and identical signet rings glinting on their pinkies. Theyâre definitely identical twins, but they look so different from each other, that with or without the glasses, youâd know who was who. Anyone would.Â
Toru wears a white T-shirt with an arrow pointing upward and downwards ,and the words âBest Seats in the Houseâ printed beneath it, whilst Sato has on glasses and a blue T-shirt layered over a grey long-sleeve, the front patterned with chemical symbols spelling out MoAN.
Toru is broader, his biceps visibly defined beneath the cotton, muscle pressing against the sleeves. The underside of his hair at the back is buzzed. He has a brow piercing. Sato, by contrast, is leaner, his frame slimmer and his hair longer and more shaggy. Heâs still quite muscular in comparison to the Engineering students youâve seen, which isnât a fair comparison because most of the STEM guys youâve met look like the stereotype. No offence to them.
Toru wears ripped light wash jeans that hang low on his hips, revealing a Calvin Klein band, and Satoâs the same except his are darker blue. Both jeans hug their asses perfâ
No, bad.
Stop noticing things about them.Â
After you get out of the cuffs, youâre never going to see them again, and itâll be like this never happened. Donât get attached. Donât get too involved. Find the keys and skedaddle!Â
The three of you wash your hands, taking turns to brush your teeth and wash your face, all awkwardly trying to shuffle with each other. Itâs clumsy at first but you do eventually get a rhythm going.Â
Eventually, you walk back out into the messy room, fresher and cleaner.
âWe need to figure out what happened,â Sato states, brows furrowed. âIf we got cuffed together during last nightâs party, thereâs a chance the keyâs hanging around the frat house. We should look for it, jog our memories and retrace our steps.â
Toru scratches his stomach, revealing a flash of a white happy trail. His brother catches you looking. He cocks a brow. You snatch your gaze away. Toru says, âWe wonât need to do all that â I think I know who did this to us.â
âWho?â you ask, louder than you intended.
He answers, grimacing, âA friend of ours. Sukuna. Well, friendâs a loose term. Weâre frenemies, I guess. Heâs funny, but heâs not the nicest guy around.âÂ
Itâs a vaguely familiar name, but you know youâve never met a Sukuna before. By the sound of Sato cursing, you get the impression that itâs not the name of a man who youâd be happy to find out has cuffed you to a stranger. And that makes you all the more desperate to get out of the way of whatever rivalry they have going on.Â
âItâs a prank he likes to pull. He did it to Choso and a lamppost because the guy was giving family weed away for free to some girl, and thatâs his literal cousin,â Toru explains. âIf we gotta look anywhere, I think we should look at him.â
Smiling, you say, âThatâs great! We have a solid plan.â
Sato glances down at you, not looking anywhere near as happy. Adjusting his glasses, he warns, âSukunaâs an asshole. Heâs not gonna be easy to get a hold of. Not to mention, if he did this to us, he must think weâve done something wrong in his eyes, so heâll be extra annoying.â
Much more cheerful in comparison, Toru throws an arm around his twin. âNow now, big bro. Thatâs not the spirit.â
They both look at you; one with a wide grin and the other with a deadpan expression.Â
âWeâve got an adventure to go on â letâs have some fun.â
.
.
.
âWait, youâre members of a frat?â you ask, marvelling at the two of them.Â
What theyâd said earlier only registered now, as youâre walking through campus, and now that you think about it, it explains why Toru has a room in the frat house in the first place.
Campus isnât as busy as it usually is on the weekdays, which is good because it minimises the number of gawking youâre getting. Guess seeing three people cuffed together isnât a very common occurrence, even in university.Â
The three of you had decided to track down this Sukuna. Sato looked up something online and informed you that the wanted manâs a hockey player, and the team has practice right now, in preparation for tonightâs game. So you raced out of the thoroughly trashed frat house as soon as you could, wanting to make sure you could catch him, corner him, shake the key out of him all before noon. And before his whereabouts become unknown.
Toru shakes his head, and ruffles your hair. Heâs quickly gotten quite familiar with you, not that you mind. âNah, little lady. Only I am. Frat prez, actually,â he says, nodding proudly. âMy brother here just comes along âcause heâs a party animal.â
Sato fixes him with a blank look. âIâm not a party animal. I attend these things because someone has to keep you out of trouble.â
Mischievously, Toru leans down to whisper in your ear, âHeâs lying; heâs worse than me.â Then, he thinks for a second. âYouâre not a frequent party goer, are you? I would have definitely seen you around before if you were.â
âNo,â you admit. âIâm not a party person. I just went last night because my friends insisted I go to at least one party this year, and after this, I donât think Iâll be going to another one any time soon.â
Cuffs aside, the hangover you have is no joke and itâs enough to put you off partying forever.Â
Toru petulantly whines. âNo way! Donât let this one weird experience give you a bad impression â my parties are legendary. You have to come again. I insist; I want to see you all drunk and stupid, and remember it.â
âDonât peer pressure her,â Sato scolds before addressing you. âYou should come over though. Party or no party. Weâd definitely like to see you more. We can show you a good time.â
Their joint invite has your cheeks heating up. They just met you and theyâve already decided you were someone theyâd want to hang out with again, and yeah, maybe they were just being nice, but it still had you all flustered. Especially because there seemed to be some hidden layer to the words âgood timeâ; both of their eyes twinkled.Â
Or maybe you imagined it.
On the way, about a thousand people stop to say hi to both Toru and Sato. The twins are clearly popular.Â
It isnât subtle, either. Itâs not the polite nod-in-passing kind of recognition. People actually light up when they see them. Hands clap shoulders. Someone daps Toru up mid-stride. A girl across the quad calls Satoâs name flirtatiously. One even flashes both twins. Toru laughs. Even professors in suits, holding briefcases pause to exchange some words and inside jokes.
Toru grins wide and effortless, tossing out nicknames, bumping fists, slinging an arm around whoever gets close enough. Sato is smoother about it â a smaller smile, a tilt of his head, a few clever words that make people laugh just a second longer than necessary.Â
No one even does more than glance at you. To their friends, youâre just another girl theyâre in some dramatic predicament with.Â
Between them, overshadowed by their popularity and fame, you feel out of your element. Theyâre definitely not the kind of people you could just casually befriend, not the kind of guys you would have ever spoken to, could have joined them casually for lunch, or schedule hang outs and know theyâll be there.
Theyâre just being polite to you, wanting to ease the discomfort of being cuffed to a complete stranger.Â
Eventually, you reach the rink. You follow them inside, down hallways, past the people working there. You peek through the double doors and see a bunch of guys skating in full gear. Itâs loud in the rink, the shape and emptiness of the stands reverberating the shouts and scrapes of skates on ice.
âLetâs go to the locker room whilst theyâre there; we can go through his locker and his bag,â Sato suggests.Â
The locker room?
Where men get changed and swing their dicks around?
Oh hell no.
âWaitâ hold on.â You stop short so abruptly they nearly walk into you. Both of them turn, brows lifting in sync. You scramble for composure, heat creeping up your neck. âI donât think thatâs a good idea.â
Toru squints. âWhy not?â
Because I value my eyesight. Because I donât need trauma today. Because I enjoy not being arrested.
You cross your arms, attempting dignity. âI canât just walk into the menâs locker room.â They stare. You gesture vaguely, mortified. âIâm a girl?â
It comes out half question, half plea, like perhaps theyâve temporarily forgotten this extremely relevant detail.
Sato blinks. Toru looks down at you, then back at Sato.
âOh,â Toru says slowly.
âYes, oh,â you mutter.
The twins share a look.
Hands grip your wrists, dragging you inside despite your protests. They snicker together. Youâre powerless against their strength, and you canât even grip the doorway to pull yourself away because theyâve got control of your hands. Eyes shut tightly, you fumble in the dark, unable to resist their heavy, six foot tall bodies.Â
Mustiness hits you as soon as the doors open, and you find your nose scrunching in disgust. Â
One of them laughs. âNo oneâs here, Second Year. Youâre good to open those pretty eyes.â
You swallow the nervous giggle down. Focus!
Eyes hesitantly open.Â
Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, harsh and unforgiving, illuminating long wooden benches scarred with skate marks and initials carved onto the surface. Open cubbies gape, stuffed to the brim with shoulder pads the size of riot shields, sweat-darkened jerseys, laces tangled in knots, and rolls of white athletic tape unraveling on the floor.
The placeâs a lawsuit waiting to happen.
The air is thick â damp cotton, metal, cheap body spray failing miserably to mask the sour, unmistakable musk of hours spent skating in full gear. Youâre careful not to touch anything unnecessary, lest you catch something.
âIâll call his phone,â one of the twins says.
Ringing echoes through the empty locker room, bouncing against the metal benches and cubbies, and dirty towels and clothes haphazardly strewn around. God, men are disgusting.Â
âThird row down,â the other twin mutters, following the sound.
Your Converse nearly land on a discarded compression shirt, and you jerk back like it might bite. You pass a rack of hockey sticks propped in the corner, tape chewed to shreds at the blades. A laundry bin overflows with damp towels. Someoneâs half-empty protein shaker sits uncapped, abandoned, something beige and unidentifiable clinging to the sides.
âFound it,â the other twin says.
The phone vibrates inside an open locker wedged between a pair of shin guards and a crumpled practice jersey. His name is stitched above the number hanging on the hook â red fabric, white lettering, unmistakable.
You hover stiffly behind them, crossing your arms as though that will somehow shield you from the environment.
âSee? No naked men swinging anything around,â Toru teases, swaying his hips at you.
âShut up,â you groan, cheeks hot despite yourself. âThis still feels wrong.â
Sato says, âYou overthink too much.â
Itâs not overthinking, you want to tell him. Itâs the plain truth. The girlsâ lockers are clean, tidy, and smell much nicer. Here, it feels humid, like youâve strolled into Satanâs asshole. Itâs fine for twins because they probably donât know how good they could have it on the other side of things, and itâs not like anyone would bat an eye if the hockey team came back and they found them here.
Toru picks up a pair of boxers, making his brows dance at you, then throws it at his brotherâs face.
He releases a disgusted sound, swiping it away. âHilarious.â
Theyâre both looking. One in the locker, and the other in the bag he pulled out. As they do that, you ask Sato, âSo youâre older?â
The twin with glasses nods. âBy two minutes â best two minutes of my life.â
Toru says, âHa. Ha. We both know the best two minutes of your life are when some poor girl lets you hit.â
âBetter than your thirty second record.â
You laugh at their petty sibling rivalry. You admire how easily they could talk to each other, and to you, in spite of your situation, of how absurd this all is. Itâs a thing to envy, you think.Â
Pulling his head out of the musty locker, Toru looks down at you with a challenging smile. âYou laughing at me, gorgeous? You think I canât last longer than thirty seconds?â
Emboldened by the friendly atmosphere, you reply, âProofâs in the pudding, isnât it? If thatâs your reputation, Iâm sure thereâs some truth to it.â
âOh yeah?â He tugs, yanking you to his chest suddenly with the arm connected to yours. Hands steady your hips. Forcing your head to crane back to peer up at him, Toru grins down at you wolfishly, using his height advantage to intimidate you. âCare to let me prove you wrong?â
âI-I was just kidding,â you stammer out. âWe need to focus and find the key.â
âI looked; couldnât find it. Knowing how dedicated Sukuna is, heâs probably got it on him,â he responds, much more interested in something else now.
You gulp.
Heat covers your back. When fingers pinch your chin, keeping you from looking back, you realise the hands on your hips arenât Toruâs. Theyâre Satoâs.Â
Theyâve got you sandwiched between them, leaving you with nowhere to go. Out of nowhere, the air has turned even more heated, almost suffocating. It renders you dizzy.
Sato whispers in your ear, lips grazing your ear, âDonât be rude, Anthro. You told him âproofâs in the pudding,â no? You gonna upset my baby brother by turning back on your words?â
The brother in questionâs bending down slowly, teasing you by not quite touching your lips. Meanwhile, someoneâs nose is running down the length of your neck, sending your hairs standing on edge.Â
What the hell is happening?
Why are firm hands gripping you, lips brushing your skin, eyes watching your every move, hard bodies squeezing you till youâre panting? And why are you not stopping them? Why are you tingling between your legs?
Noises come from outside.
You all still.
They curse under their breath, scrambling off into the showers.Â
At the furthest stall, you hide, eyes wide and a hand pressing down on your own over your mouth. Thunderous feet march in. A ruckus enters. The hockey teamâs finished with their practice, and you could be caught at any second. Imagine the scandal if they found you between two guys.
Voices bounce off tile and metal lockers, loud and unfiltered.
âBro, you call that a shot? My grandma could block that.â
âShut up, you whiffed the puck twice.â
âSuck my balls, Rogers.â
âGladly, Barnes.â
A bag hits the floor with a heavy thud. Lockers clang open in sharp succession. The sharp scent of sweat and ice drifts through the humid air.
âWho forgot to wash their jersey? It smells like death in here.â
âPretty sure thatâs just you.â
Laughter erupts â loud, careless, echoing. Someone yelps when a towel snaps against skin.
You squeeze your eyes shut as sneakers squeak across tile, as jerseys are peeled off and tossed aside, as the easy, post-practice chaos unfolds only a few feet away. Theyâre too close. Way too close.
Oh god, theyâre all probably butt naked just metres away from you.Â
How did things manage to go from bad to worse?
âDonât make a sound,â Toru whispers, panicked. âThe hockey guys cannot catch us here; theyâre still mad from the time when we filled up their lockers with shaving cream and glitter, which they need to get over. Itâs been days.â
âPretty sure itâs because weâve taken quite a few of their girlfriends,â Sato says under his breath.Â
âItâs not even âtakingâ when they seek us out. Like anyone would say no to puck bunny pussy.â
âYouâre both fucking disgusting,â you hiss. Theyâre just as sleazy as any guy on campus, itâd seem. The only difference is that they hide behind their handsome faces.Â
Youâre leaning on Toru as he presses himself tightly against the tiles, ducking down so they wonât spot his white hair from above the stall, all while Satoâs leaning on you, pushing in so his back wonât protrude.Â
Packed like sardines, youâre aware of their hard muscles, of their much bigger sizes, and the ridges of their abs. The frat president can probably feel your tits on him, whilst the Engineering student can feel your ass on his crotch. Something hard pokes your stomach at the same time as something equally hard and hot slot right in between your ass cheeks again.
Lord, take me now, you pray, desperate for relief from the humiliation.
A leg slots between yours. You gasp. Itâs Toruâs, but one look at his face and anyone would think youâre just imagining it. Donât move, you tell yourself. Do not start riding his thigh even if you want to.
Sato pushes his hips forward, and consequently yours. You gasp.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â he asks, voice husky in your ear. âGot an itch you wanna scratch?â
Toru flexes his thigh, bumping hard against your clothed slit. You bite back your moan, wholly aware of the boyish laughter and shouting on the other side. He says, âIf you gotta scratch, you gotta scratch, right?âÂ
They definitely know what theyâre doing. Manwhores like them always know.
Laying it on thicker, the frat president whispers, âDonât hesitate; use me. Go on, Second year. Make my day.â
The twins are urging you to ride his thigh, pushing and pulling. Neither of them care about getting caught, not really. You had initially thought Toru would be the biggest danger, what with his outgoing and flirtatious personality, but Satoâs just as bad as him; heâs guiding your hips with his own, hand sliding up your leg to creep under your skirt.
Theyâre twins from hell.Â
Someone flicks your nipples through your shirt. You slump back onto Satoâs chest, breathing heavily as your hips grind on a muscular thigh.Â
How did things come to this?
And why are you getting swept up in all of it?
âSheâs so pretty, isnât she, Sato?âÂ
âStunning,â he replies. His hand tugs you down, making sure youâre grinding real good on his brotherâs thigh. âHow does her pussy feel?â
âWarm, and getting wetter. Fuck, itâd be so much better if she wasnât wearing panties.â He directs his words to you, muttering, âHow about it, angel? Gonna let me feel your pussy?â
âThereâs people,â you gasp out, growing closer and closer to your end. This is so degrading â theyâre watching you ride his thigh all on your own, watching you thrust your chest out, and squirm between them like some whore.
One of them smirks. âSo if there werenât people, youâd readily give me access? Dirty girl. Isnât she dirty, Sato?â
âDownright filthy.â
When you shudder, someone slaps a hand over your mouth just in time to muffle your moan. Oh fuck youâre cumming on Toruâs thigh, a man you only met this morning, riding the muscle like itâs your pillow. Tomorrow, when youâre hopefully free and no longer attached to them, youâre totally going to want to never see them again.
Finally, you flop, twitching with the final waves of your orgasm.Â
Your headâs patted. âWell done. You were very brave.â
You smack it away, and grouch, âThat was underhanded, you guys.â
âYou enjoyed it, Anthro,â Sato points out, and steps back, steadying you. He peers over, and nods. âCoastâs clear. But that means Sukunaâs gone.â
Simultaneously, your eyes land on the wet spot you left behind on Toruâs jeans. He presses down on it, then sucks the pads of his fingers, winking at you. You look away immediately, wanting to cringe at yourself. Voice shaky, whether from stress or from your orgasm, you wonder, âSo what are we gonna do now?â
âWeâll have to ask around for where heâll be,â Sato replies. âLay it on him good and intimidate him into giving up this stupid prank of his.â
Frowning, you follow them out of the locker room, adjusting your skirt. âCanât we just go straight to the fire station? Do we have to go on this wild goose chase?â
Toru fake pouts, and puts a hand over his heart. âYou tired of us, little lady? Hate us already? Oh, weâre just terrible, arenât we, Sato?â
âThe worst.â
âNo, no,â you hurriedly deny. âItâs not that. You guys are great.â
He beams, stringing his arm over yours and forcing yours to hang loosely from your shoulder.
âThen itâs decided â weâre chasing after our Sukuna goose!â
And once again, youâre left with no choice but to do as they say.
.
.
.
After texting some mutual friends for where Sukuna might be, the three of you wind up at his apartment building. The twins have been trying to get ahold of the man, to no avail. It seems heâs intent on forcing all of you to ride out his cruel prank.Â
You texted your friends, trying to find out what exactly happened last night that might make this Sukuna person hate you enough to do this. Youâre just some random girl, why would you be involved in the beef of some pretty well known guys?
They told you that they didnât see you much at all during the party, that some time after arriving together, you disappeared and was only seen here and there, dancing and having a pretty good time with â and this is the really surprising part â both the twins, at different times.Â
Videos and pictures were shared to you: youâd be in the background, always with a drink in your hand, smiling like youâve never smiled before, and flanked by one of the twins almost all the time. The videos seem to be earlier in the night. No cuffs in sight. Thereâs definitely videos from later in the night, but the people who took them havenât woken up yet.
âSo we were hanging out a lot last night, huh?â
Sato makes a face that says, guess so, whilst Toru whistles an impressed tune. The latter jokingly says, âWeâre meant to be, Second year.â
âSeven of the eleven pictures were of me and her,â his twin points out.Â
âSo? Thatâs just a one picture difference!â
âWhatever helps you sleep at night.â
âHer ass on my dick helped me sleep last night,â Toru fires back, clutching your hand and bringing it up to his face so he can lay a kiss on your knuckles with a wink.Â
Sato yanks you towards him, and you stumble his way in the narrow hallway. He licks the palm of your hand, one upping his brother.Â
Face burning, you shove both of them back. âCan you guys stop? We need to work out what happened last night â how did we all get so drunk that we donât remember how we ended up cuffed and in bed together?â Then, you frown. âWeâŚwe didnât sleep together, did we?â
That was actually a question youâve had since this morning, but youâd shrugged it off as being an impossibility. Thereâs no way two hot twins would want you, nevermind share a woman. However, after that little stunt in the locker room, youâre starting to wonder.
The frat twin laughs. âThatâs cute. Isnât she cute, Sato?â
âAdorable.â
Theyâre both laughing at you, and itâs irritating. Aggrieved, you ask, âWhatâs so funny? I donât think itâs a ridiculous question to ask considering we woke up in the same bed with no memory of last night.â
Toru lifts his arm, and yours, rustling your hair with your own hand. âBabe, if you slept with me, youâd never forget. Trust.â
âYour mind could forget, sure, but your pussy wouldnât; sheâd still be feeling with me,â Sato says, matter-of-factly. His bright, all-seeing eyes flit down to the apex of your thighs as you walk, and you have to resist the urge to squeeze them together.Â
Damn.
âHey, weâre here â 666.â He snickers to himself, thoroughly amused. Toru nudges you. âFitting, amirite?â
Before he could knock on, you stop him. âWhat are we gonna do if heâs in? Are you guys going to fight him?â
Sato drawls, âYou watch too many movies, Anthro; weâre just going to ask him to give us the key. Sukunaâs an asshole but heâs not the kind to drag a joke on.â
âYeah, he probably just forgot in the first place,â his twin added.Â
âOh.â
That makes sense. Thereâs no need to get violent. The prankâs not that harmful, you suppose.
They knock. You wait. No one answers.
âIs he not in?â
Toru tries the doorknob. The door opens. You all share a look. That feels pretty fucking ominous, like a trap laid out for you. âWeâre not going in, are we?â you ask, looking up and down the hallway in case someone catches you three trespassing, or is it breaking and entering?
Whatever it is, itâs going to end you up in prison.
Lips graze the shell of your ear as someone whispers, âScared of entering the devilâs domain with us? Think weâre going to eat you up? Hmm?â
âIf you behave, we will,â someone else rasps at the back of your neck.Â
âStop fucking around,â you reply, flustered by the tingles erupting where they touched you.Â
A hand presses in at the small of your back, and as the doorâs opened, one of them chirps, âIn you go, angel!â
You stumble inside, held up from falling only by the dense weight of two men chuckling at the little yelp you release.Â
The door clicks shut behind you.
For a second, you all just stand there.
Sukunaâs apartment isâŚexactly what youâd expect, and simultaneously worse â just aggressively, unapologetically male.
A pair of hockey skates sits abandoned by the entrance, laces trailing like shed snakeskin. A duffel bag, half unzipped, spills tape rolls, spare socks, and a mouthguard case onto the hardwood floor. The faint smell of detergent battles unsuccessfully with sweat and something woodsy, his cologne, probably, clinging to the air.
The living room is small but decent â a worn leather couch with a throw blanket tossed carelessly over one arm, a low coffee table cluttered with protein bars, a TV remote, a half-empty Gatorade bottle, and a stack of lecture notes weighed down by a puck. His backpack is slumped against the couch, as though it gave up halfway through being put away.
On one wall: framed team photos. A hockey stick mounted horizontally. A couple of medals draped over the corner of the frame, like it hardly matters to him.
The kitchen is visible from where you stand. Open plan. Dishes in the sink. Not stacked to the ceiling, but definitely past âIâll wash them laterâ territory. A frying pan left out on the stove. A carton of eggs on the counter. A magnetic whiteboard on the fridge with scribbled practice times and what looks like a grocery list that just says: milk, rice, jerk off 3:37pm.
Weirdly specific, but okay.
You all step further in, handcuffs clinking obnoxiously between you. The fuzz tinkles your wrist every time one of them moves too abruptly, and itâs soothed by the brushing of knuckles and the rubbing of shapes by thumbs.
âMaybe he left the key here,â one twin says, scanning. âLetâs have a look around.â
As a unit, the three of you shuffle around. Drawers are opened. Closed. A quick glance under couch cushions. You check the kitchen counter with your free hand, careful not to knock over the precarious tower of mail.
The apartment is messy but lived-in. No mysterious stains. No broken furniture. Just a college athlete who does not evidently prioritise tidiness.Â
Thenâ
Voices. From the hallway. Muffled at first: ââŚyou said you were done with herââ
The three of you freeze.
âAnd I am,â comes the unmistakable low, irritated drawl.
âOh really? Explain to me why I found her panties in your car!â
âTheyâre yours.â
âShut the fuck up. I donât wear blue thongs. I only wear white.â
âAinât nothing white and pure about you.â
âFuck you!â
Your stomach drops.
It sounds like a loversâ quarrel. You donât know this Sukuna very well, or at all, but youâre one hundred percent sure he would not be fine seeing you guys in his place when heâs fighting with his girlfriend.Â
Keys jangle outside.
âOh my God,â you whisper.
âCloset,â Sato hisses.
You donât argue.
They yank you down the short hallway toward what you assume is the bedroom. The space is larger than you expect â unmade bed, sheets twisted, a jersey tossed over the desk chair. His cologne bottle sits uncapped near the nightstand. A lamp. A stack of textbooks. A charging cable trailing off the mattress like something that gave up halfway. But thereâs no time to be psychoanalysing this manâs bedroom.
The front door opens.
âYou said that last time!â the woman snaps, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.
Youâre shoved toward the sliding closet door. It opens with a soft scrape. Inside: hanging shirts, mostly dark. Hoodies. A winter coat. Shoe boxes stacked on one side. A laundry basket half-full.
âAll of us?â you hiss.
âGot a better idea?â
The door slides shut just as footsteps enter the bedroom.
Youâre crushed instantly. Back against the wall. Toru in front of you. Sato practically plastered behind. The handcuffs force you closer than is remotely comfortable. Someoneâs arm is wedged between your ribs and a stack of shoeboxes. A coat hanger digs into your shoulder. How are you back in this position again?Â
Outside, the argument spills into the room.
âIâm not doing this,â Sukuna says flatly.
âYou never do anything! You justâ god, youâre impossible!â
A thud. Maybe something dropped on the bed. You hold your breath. Another thud. The mattress creaks. No, please donât, you beg.Â
âYou knew what this was,â he says, voice colder now.
âAnd what is it?â she demands.
Silence stretches. You can feel Toruâs heartbeat through his chest where youâre practically pressed against him. Or maybe itâs yours. The handcuffs shift as someone adjusts their balance. The metal clinks. Loud.
All four of you freeze again.
ââŚwhat was that?â the woman asks.
You donât breathe. Not a single one of you moves.
Sukunaâs footsteps approach. The closet door handle rattles lightly as if tested. Your heart actually stops. Like medically dead stops. Thenâ
A scoff.
âProbably the pipes,â he mutters dismissively. Footsteps retreat. The argument resumes, lower now. Tense.Â
Inside the closet, youâre still crammed together like contraband. One twinâs breath ghosts across your temple. âIf you make another sound,â he whispers so quietly it barely exists, âIâm framing you as the girl with the blue thong.â
You would elbow him if you had the space. It wasnât even you!
Instead, you stay very, very still.
Their masculine scents engulf you. One of them smells like tacky aftershave done right, somehow, and the other is clean laundry. Both are intoxicating, as is the heat they exude which has you flushing in the cramped space.Â
Itâs tight and cramped here. You barely have room to breathe, barely have room for your lungs to expand. And youâre pretty sure youâre standing on someoneâs foot, though no one complains. As slowly and carefully as you can, you adjust yourself, grimacing at the tightness and darkness in the closet.
âStop squirming,â Toru pleads. When you glance at him, heâs staring up, Adamâs apple bobbing.Â
âWhat?âÂ
Sato whispers in your ear, âYouâre making him pop a boner. Me too. Nobody tell you itâs rude to get a guy hard and not do something about it?â
âTheyâre right outside,â you whisper back. âEven if I wanted to, we couldnât do anything.â
A thumb flicks your nipple. Your moan is stifled by a hand to your mouth. Toru says, and in the darkness of the closet you can hear his grin, âOh, but you want to, donât you. You want to so bad. I bet feeling us up like this, knowing you can get caught, is making your little kitty purr.â
âLittle kitty? Seriously?â
âShut up, Sato. Maybe if you said it more, youâd get laid as often as I do.â
âI get laid plenty, asshole.â
âShut up both of you,â you fire back at the two of them, ear craning to hear whatâs happening outside. Thereâs no more arguing, which is a good sign, but thereâs definitely signs of life, which isnât a good sign; theyâre still here. You can hear talking, hushed and intimate, as well as rhythmic creaking.Â
Oh no.Â
âDamn,â Toru says under his breath. âRyomenâs fucking his girl. Guess Iâll finally be able to settle my bed with Fushiguro â does the psycho last longer than thirty seconds? Any takers?â
No one replies to him.
Through your breathing, you canât help but listen to the sounds of moaning and groaning. Thereâs even some slapping involved, and a couple, âyou like that?â, âyouâre making a mess all over my cock, you little slut,â and âpicking a fight just to cum, you ainât slick.â
That Sukuna guy is an aggressive one.Â
âIs it weird to say, given our situation, that I think itâs nice that theyâre so in love and can easily resolve their problems?â you say, as quietly as you can.
Both twins snort.
âThey ainât in love, Second year. Theyâre just horny and toxic, which makes for a great combo. And if I recognise the voice right, then thatâs Cassie. Sheâs a mess, no offence to her. She likes stealing her friendâs man. Great tits though.â
âSheâs just another girl in his roster; Sukuna doesnât date. Not unless pigs are airborn.â
âOh.â
The three of you are breathing heavily, constantly brushing up against each other. Toruâs shirt is scraping your hardened nipples through your shirt. Your ass is grinding behind you. Hands are gripping your hips under your skirt as another set sneaks under your top, clutching your waist and climbing higher and higher till itâs just about grazing the underside of your tits.
Is it the uninhibited moaning outside?
Or the masculine scent youâre enveloped in?
Whatâs got you so hot and bothered, squirming between them, whining to be touched?
A hand grips your hip, pulling you back. A hot thing hangs heavy behind you. Your breath hitches. Meanwhile, lips press to your temple, then to your cheek, and finally your lips.Â
Toru doesnât kiss you. Not yet. He first whispers, âBeen wanting to do this since this morning.â Then he kisses you. Itâs sweet, soft, and gentle. It gives you butterflies. A metallic thing scrapes your bottom lip, and when you gasp, heâs quick to explain, âJust my tongue piercing, babe. Youâll get used to it. Soonâll be getting to feel it against your clit, trust.â
Something long and hard slides itself between your thighs. You stiffen.Â
âWhat? Did you think I was gonna let my brother have all the fun?â Satoâs hands are gripping your bare hips, pulling you back and forth on his cock, which he ruts right up against your panties, cockhead prodding your clothed clit.
Panicking a little, you voice out, âWhat if they hear us?â
âYou donât want to be caught, Anthro? You better keep quiet then.â
One of them grope your tits, tweaking the hardened buds through your shirt, carrying your hand with his. You twitch with every flick, every scratch of a nail, and every pinch. Toru swallows your moans, greedily gulping them down. You really are getting used to the tongue piercing; itâs an addictive sensation against your own tongue.Â
The heat between your legs is almost scalding, and the way it separates your pussy lips, greeting your throbbing clit on its way forward, has your hips working back in tandem.Â
âGood girl,â one of them mutters.
The veins on the cock are felt by your sensitive skin. God, heâs big. Like really big. Would Toru be big too? Could you take any of their cocks? Both of them? Is that too filthy to think about?
Outside, a feminine voice calls out, âNgh! Sukuna, right there! Harder, baby, please!â
âDonât call me baby, you whore. Just take my cock and be quiet.â
You wonât admit it to anyone, but the sounds of skin slapping, headboard banging, and wanton screaming are getting to you. Theyâre setting the mood, and youâre growing less and less ashamed of the fact that youâre being thighfucked by one of the Gojo twins as the other shoves his tongue down your throat and squeezes your tits.Â
This is even filthier than in the locker room. More lewd. Obscene.Â
Youâre rubbing yourself all over twins in a closet, hiding, and trespassing whilst the owner of the place is fucking his girl, and they donât have a clue. If this is how parties end, then you might be inclined to attend another one of theirs.
âS-sato,â you whimper to his brotherâs lips, âIâm gonna cum.â
âFuck, me too.â
âWhat am I, chopped liver?â
Full body shudders wrack you. You clutch Toruâs stupid t-shirt, hips stuttering, and juices soaking your panties. Thighs tightening in pulses with the strain of your muscles, you wring groans from Sato right into your ear.Â
âShit, donât cum all over me,â Toru hastily says, before picking up a random shirt off the hanger and shoving it between your legs just in time as Satoâs cock pulses in waves. âUgh, thatâs disgusting.â
âThanks,â his twin mumbles, lifting your hand to his face. You fix his glasses for him, pushing it back up his nose bridge.Â
âWhere are you going now?â the girl asks, voice slightly muted by the barriers between you and her.
Bed creaking before feet pad on the floor, Sukuna answers, âGotta stop by the ADP.â Silence. âAlpha Delta Phi? Gojoâs frat? Jesus, do you know anything other than how to bounce on cock? Forget it. I just need to go pick something up. Let yourself out whenever, but donât be back here tonight. Iâm having the boys over.â
âOh, please, we both know thatâs just code for having your other girl over.â
âWell if you know, then why bother playing coy about it. Yeah, Iâm fucking other women, just like youâre fucking other guys. I donât care and neither should you. Take a shower, nap, or whatever the fuck you want. Just donât be here when I get back.â
âFuck you.â
âYou just did, sweetheart.â
Feet pad away and full silence returns to the room. In the distance, a door shuts. You all breathe out a sigh of relief, shoulders dropping.Â
âWhat an asshole,â you say, pushing the closet door open for fresh air.Â
âTold you,â the twins say in unison.Â
The bedâs been left a mess, with a huge wet patch at the centre that you donât want to focus too much on. Satoâs tucked himself back in his jeans expertly, and youâd think heâd never taken anything out in the first place.Â
âOi, Sato, lift her up for me.â
Sighing, the guy grumbles before lifting you by the back of your thighs. You fall back on his chest, head resting on his shoulder. Legs wide open, Toru kneels between them, grinning up at you. He winks, poking the wet spot youâve made in your panties.Â
âWhatâre you doing?â you ask, startled.
Toru shrugs, pulling your panties aside. He takes a deep inhale, nose skimming and coming back all glossy. âJust wondering what you taste like that. You both got to cum, so itâs only fair I get a little something too, no?â
âItâs logical. Practically a faultless argument,â Sato concurs, leaving a kiss on your heated cheeks to reassure you. âDonât worry; he wonât bite.â A little hushed and more mischievous, he adds, âNot like me.â
Naturally, that does nothing to wash away the embarrassment of his twin being face to face with your puffy pussy.Â
His smooth hands soothe the tremor in your thighs. âJust a taste, gorgeous. To tide me over till we make it back to the frat house to catch Sukuna. Besides, I want you to get comfortable with my tongue piercing.âÂ
He pecks your clit, then takes a longer lick of your pussy. You gasp, hands kept down by your sides by their own and unable to push him away. Toru is as unashamed as ever, shoving his whole face in your cunt and forcing squelches out when he tongues your entrance.Â
âW-weâre going back to the -ngh!- frat house?â
Sato hums, seemingly unbothered by any of whatâs going on. It might as well be any other Saturday. âWe have to catch him there; I donât want to spend the rest of my day chasing after him, when I could be buried inside your pussy.â
SLURRRRRP!
You cry out, toes curling.Â
âSo sweet,â the twin down there moans. âYou gotta taste her, Sato.â
âDonât talk with your mouth full, idiot,â he scolds. âAnd hurry up.â
âQuit telling me what to do â I like taking my time with good pussy, sorry.â
âToru!â
Cooing, he mutters an apology to your cunt. âAw, sorry, babe. Donât mean to neglect you. Donât worry, Toruâs here. Toruâs gonna make you feel so good, better than my brotherâs tiny ass dick, I promise.â
Said brother scoffs.Â
But you donât care about their unnecessary competition. You can only focus on the jolts of electricity zooming from your pussy and exploding in your belly. Youâve never been eaten out so good, and not with a piercing youâre painfully aware rubbing just right through your puffy folds. It rolls against your clit. You moan.
âFeel good?â Toru asks, all smug. âGot the idea from our piercer friend. Itâs a real hit with the ladies.â
You frown. âItâs impolite to talk about -hah fuck thatâs good- o-other women when youâre between someoneâs legs.â
Sato kisses your cheek again, and approvingly inserts, âPut him in his place, baby. Been trying to teach him manners since we were born and he never listens to me. Maybe heâll listen to you.â
âQuit talking about me like Iâm some kind of dog,â Toru grumbles.
âThen quit acting like it,â you bravely snap, possessed by the desperate need to chase another high. âMake me cum already, before I ask your brother to do it instead.â
Another kiss, this time punctuated by a chuckle. â
âKittyâs got claws. Thatâs fucking hot.â
Lips wrap around your clit, which is still sensitive from the incessant rubbing of Satoâs cock. Thatâs why when he finally sucks hard on the little thing, you cum again way too quickly. âFuck, Toru!â
âMm, thatâs right, baby, ride my face and my tongue.â
Through your writhing and squirming, Sato holds you up, bearing your weight with ease, all while Toru laps up the juices oozing out of your pussy, like a puppy, like a man in a dessert.Â
Thatâs three orgasms all in less than an hour. Itâs a new record for you, which means your body isnât used to it. On shaky legs, youâre set down. They hold you up, preventing you from collapsing on the floor.Â
One of them ruffles your hair. âYou did such a great job, Second year. Weâre almost at the finish line, think you can manage a slight jog back to the frat house?â
How are they so chill? How can they act like nothing happened? Thereâs not even a single wrinkle on their shirts, whereas you look and feel like a mess.Â
âY-yeah,â you mumble, dazed and still experiencing waves of an orgasm that wasnât supposed to happen so suddenly.Â
Sato nods, pulling your panties back into place and patting your pussy. âWe know a shortcut â itâll give us at least fifteen minutes ahead of Sukuna. More if he gets distracted and walks slowly.â
âGreat. Letâs go.â
.
.
.
âOh my godâŚâ you breathe out, staring at your phone. âI was dancing on a table?â
More videos and pictures are surfacing online now that the partygoers are waking up and getting over their splitting headache. And damn it, you wish they hadnât.
Leaning over, Toru whistles. âThatâs fucking hot. It reminds me of when my frat brothers hired strippers for my birthday, except your dancing is so much better.â
You elbow the little kiss up. âWe both know thatâs a lie. Iâm dancing like a drugged up chimpanzee.â
âLike an unstable gas, just shaking about the place,â Sato adds. When Toru and you give him a look, a blush graces his cheeks. He adjusts his glasses and clears his throat. âSo he can talk about strippers but I canât mention anything related to the periodic table?â
That was a slip of his cocky façade, and it brings a smile to your lips.
He rolls his eyes at your look of adoration. Glancing at the screen, he says, âWe didnât have the cuffs then, and that was probably about midnight. Our parties typically end at 3 am, with some people lingering even later. So between then and 3am, Sukuna had slipped cuffs on us.â
âDo you think he drugged us too?â you wonder, speedwalking along the back of a building youâve never visited on campus. âI mean, Iâm just not the type to get black out drunk.â
Itâs awful to suggest Sukuna, a man youâve never met before, would be the type to spike peoplesâ drinks, but it would certainly explain things.Â
Toru shakes his head, running a hand through his messy hair. âI wouldnât put it past him to slip us something that makes us more susceptible to doing stupid shit. Though, honestly, looking at how Iâm twerking on my pledge, Itadori, I donât think I needed anything more to get black out.â
âThatâs just how you are naturally,â his twin snarks.Â
To that, the frat guy laughs in disbelief. âYouâre one to talk considering we have five videos of you writing equations on the entirety of the basketball teamâs backs and yapping their ears off about Digimon, which you only do after the eleventh shot. Shots, mind you, you hate but never pass down.â
âOnly âcause I need alcohol to survive your stupid parties,â Sato fires back.Â
âParties you enjoy!â
âAlright, alright, thatâs enough, boys. Letâs just agree we all got messy on our own,â you establish, feeling like the two are way too close to tearing each other apart.
When you reach the frat house, Sato opens the door for you. Does no one lock their doors on campus?
You didnât notice it in your rush to get out of the house earlier, how big and beautiful the house is. Itâs old, ornately decorated with impeccable wooden floors and portraits hanging on walls. Of course, there are thongs, bras, streamers, limp balloons, used condoms strung all over the place, and thereâs empty cans of beer and bottles of alcohol just lying about. But beneath all of the grime of a party done well lies a gorgeous home.Â
Cleaners flit about the place, collecting trash and mopping floors.Â
âPerk of living in a frat,â Toru proudly declares, âwe never have to clean up after ourselves.â
âThat is pretty cool,â you agree.Â
Sato huffs. âItâs insanely privileged. And intrusive. I much prefer not having strangers constantly leaving their traces in my home.â
The three of you gracefully ascend the stairs, avoiding mysterious wet puddles and stains you didnât want to think too much about. Sukuna doesnât seem to be here, so they were right about the shortcut.
âSo you live on your own?â you ask him, nodding a thank you to Toru who carries you over a stack of bottles.Â
âYeah, but weâre over at each otherâs places so often we might as well not be.â
You giggle. âThatâs so cute. You two just need to be together all the time, huh?â
Toru punches his brotherâs arm over your head. âSheâs laughing at us, Sato. She thinks weâre pathetic and psychotically close.â
âI promise, itâs only circumstance that keeps bringing us together,â Sato dryly says. âIf I had it my way, Iâd have said good riddance to him a long time ago.â
âMy sentiment exactly â pretty sure I tried to eat you in the womb and thatâs why youâre so ugly.â
A laugh escapes you.
Eventually, you reach their bedroom.Â
Right back where you started.
Smiling, you say, âItâs funny that we did all that work just to end up back here because Sukuna was always coming by, isnât it? Quite ironic actually.â
The door shuts behind you.Â
âLook, Toru,â a dark voice coos, âshe doesnât know sheâs about to be fucked an inch of her life.â
âI know,â an equally dark voice agrees. âI canât get over how stinkinâ cute she is. Makes me wanna just eat her out till she faints. Think sheâll let me?â
âI think sheâs been soaked the whole day and at this point sheâll let us do anything we wantâŚisnât that right, Anthro?â
The hairs on your arms stand on edge. Two foreboding presences flank you, reminding you that thereâs no where you can go that they wonât follow, that youâre stuck with them for good, and that you couldnât hope to fight them off even if you wanted to. Your panties might as well not be there by how your wetness is trickling down your thighs.
They drag you down onto the bed with them.Â
Hands make quick work of your clothes: they pull down your skirt, taking your panties with them, they yank your shoes and socks off, and one of them even grabs scissors to cut right through the shirt before you can say anything. The metal grazes your skin, slicing right between your tits.Â
âWait, wait,â you yell, overwhelmed by the suddenness of their actions. âSukuna! Sukunaâs coming.â
Sato says, âNot for twenty minutes â one of my friends said they saw him stop by the Student Council office.â
âProbably going to bother the Prez,â Toru snickers, pressing your panties to his nose and moaning. âFuck, I love the way your pussy smells. The dirtier the better.â
Heat rises to your cheeks immediately, and you fall back onto Satoâs lap. He licks a stripe up your neck. âMy brotherâs got weird tastes. Forgive him, angel. Heâs just born weird. I like to say I took all the brains in the womb.â
Toru snorts, throwing aside all your shredded clothes. âSure, letâs pretend I havenât had chicks crying to me about how youâre so mean to them, asking for me to be the nice twin.âÂ
The three of you kneel on the bed together, cuffs clinking when they clash, the pink fluff tickling skin. Theyâre both still dressed. You feel Satoâs jeans scratching your skin, the metal zip rubbing right up against your pussy, and Toruâs silly âBest Seatsâ shirt grazing your nose as he towers over you.Â
He brings up the hem, biting it, revealing washboard abs. You blink at it.
He says, âLick it, Second year. Go on.â Hesitating, you run your tongue over his torso, starting from the white treasure trail, over his outie belly button, then his abs, and his chest. Of course he knows he has an impressive body. Itâs important he knows you know that too; itâs an ego boost for him. âSuch a good girl,â he coos. âIâll be sure to fuck you real good as a reward.â
âNot until Iâm done,â Sato argues. âIâm older so I get first dibs.â
His long fingers are parting your pussy lips, grinding his zipper up and bumping it against your clit. The textureâs weird, and wild, and it has you heaving, no doubt leaving behind your slick all over the metal teeth.Â
Gripping your face with his free hand, Sato kisses you for the first time. Heâs got your neck twisted back, the wetness of your pussy smearing on your skin. Thereâs no piercing, only a minty taste that youâre obsessed with. Itâs messier, filthier, all tongue and spit, so different from how his brother kisses.Â
Youâre dragged back, and lips quickly replace Satoâs. That familiar piercing returns. Youâre stolen back again. Then again. And again. Theyâre fighting over who gets to kiss you. Youâre dizzy, breathless, creaming for more.
âQuit taking her,â Toru growls.Â
âFuck off,â Sato snarls. âJust sit there and look away. Threeâs a crowd.â
âItâs not fair. Youâre already getting to fuck her pussy first.â
âOh? Youâre so easy to give up?â He whispers in your ear, all smug, âMy brotherâs a pushover. Bet it turns you way off, doesnât it? Itâs alright, angel, you can tell him to back off. Itâll just be you and me, wonât that be nice?â
Fingers coat themselves in your pussy juice, rubbing your clit nice and good before pushing inside your pulsing hole. âNo, babe, tell the nerd he can fuck off and go research where the clit even is. Iâll fuck you so good you wonât be able to walk away from my bed even when the cuffs are off.â
Neither of them will actually give up, no matter what you say, you know that. So you say, âBoth of you. I want to be fucked by both of you. Please!â
âSheâs so polite. Isnât she polite, Sato?â
âPerfectly so.â
If someone had told you youâd be shared by twins in a frat house, youâd have called the police for harassment. Now, as youâve said those words and they sigh and begrudgingly agree to allow the other to be here, you think this was inevitable.
Toru creeps back, working on his zip and freeing his hard cock. A hand shoves your face forward. If it isnât for Sato holding you up, youâd be face planting into the sheets.Â
âA-are you sure Sukuna wonât catch us?â
Fingers push in, scissoring your cunt and prepping your walls. They cruelly curl up against your g-spot. âYou think sheâs trying to piss us off by mentioning another manâs name, Toru?â
âI think it doesnât matter â sheâs gonna forget thereâs anyone else outside these walls when Iâm through with her.â
Right in front of you, Toru strokes his dick. Itâs pale, flushed red at the tip and already leaking. Heâs trimmed neatly. Thereâs even a tattoo on his hip that says âLucky You ;)â
Your mouth waters.Â
The salty pre is smeared on your lips. He taps it, once, then twice. âSay ahh, babe.â
Behind you, something pokes your pussy. It slides between your thighs again, spreading your juices on your skin. It enters you, inch by inch, slowly, making you feel every bit of him.
At the same time, Toruâs cock pushes through, filling your mouth. Both ends have to stretch wide to accommodate them. Already, youâre overwhelmed, overstimulated, over the fucking moon at being used so lewdly. Your friends are never going to believe how you spent your Saturday, and your future kids will never know just how wild their mother got back in college.
Soon, they bottom out, and itâs a miracle youâve been able to take both of them at the same time.Â
âDamn, what a talented fucking mouth,â Toru breathes out, head thrown back. âA star for you, Second year.â
âYou should feel her pussy,â Sato grits out, fingers digging into the plush of your ass with the strain of resisting the urge to thrust over and over again in your cunt. âItâs the tightest thing ever.â
His brother groans. âShut the fuck up, dude. I canât stand hearing your voice. Respectfully. Youâre ruining this for me.â
âGrow up.â
In tandem, they rut back and forth, starting off in small bursts first to let you get used to it, then steadily growing faster and faster. Youâre basically being used as as fleshlight, fucked in the way they want, with little regard for how uncomfortably stretched out and twisted you are. And it feels amazing.
ButâŚ
Why does Satoâs cock feel so different?
Your cunt clenches down on it. He grunts, then chuckles. âYouâre wondering whatâs on my dick, arenât you? Itâs a piercing baby. Thought only Toru has one? Didnât expect it from me, did you? You feel it scraping your walls? Feel me deep inside your perfect pussy?âÂ
And you can. You can feel exactly where he is, how deep heâs in, how satisfied your gummy walls are to feel something so big stretching you out, like a feeding a sacrifice to a hungry god.
You moan around Toruâs dick. He grunts. âFuck, babe! Youâre gonna make me cum early.â
âPathetic,â Sato mutters. A cold wetness lands with a thwack right on your puckering hole. You jerk. âRelax. Just trust me.â A thumb circles the hole, pushing in only knuckle deep yet itâs more than enough to have you feeling insanely full. âIf we had more time, then Iâd prep this tight hole to take me. Thisâll have to do.â
Satoâs an ass guy?
Are you?
Itâs never occurred to you to play in that other hole, though as he hooks his thumb in, you start to think youâve been missing out this entire time. Toru, on the other hand, is obsessed with your tits. He keeps groping them, flicking the buds so youâll moan even more around his cock.
Balls are swinging, bumping against your chin and on your clit. The bed squeaks and creaks with the force of their ploughing, headboard slamming against the wall. You wonder if the other frat guys can hear, if they know youâre a slut squirting around a cock as you get rammed by their frat president and his twin brother. It must be a normal occurrence with how whorish they both are.
Your tongue swirls around the unpierced cockhead in your mouth, licking the salty slit. The guy in front of you curses, still biting the hem of his shirt. You can see his abs constricting, the muscles under his tattoo twitching. .Â
Sato breathily chuckles. âMy little brotherâs gonna tap out soon, and Iâll have you all to myself.â
Toru pushes back in immediately, not wasting even a single second. You have to breathe through your nose, the walls of your throat squeezing around the hefty intrusion. Whereas Satoâs long, Toruâs thicker â the difference is minute, yet you can tell.Â
Feeling challenged, Toru scoffs. He taps your cheek. âTell him he can spank you. Go on.â He pulls out.
You cough, throat hoarse already. âSpank me, Sato. Itâs okay, I can take it.â
SMACK!
You scream around Toruâs dick. His hips jerk forward with a groan. The fucker didnât waste a single second!
âSo fucking tight!â He slaps your cheek again, hitting exactly where he had the first time. You moan, pussy pulsing. âYou like that? Well, arenât you a dirty thing.â
Itâs a turn-on for Sato, you understand now. It flipped a switch in him, seeing the mark of his hand blooming on your ass; his hips are thrusting harder, hitting that gummy spot inside you that has you seeing stars and flooding down his cock, which practically rams you mercilessly.
The strength of his thrusting forces your throat to take Toru even deeper, a fact that the frat guy rejoices in as he holds you up by a hand on your tit, groping like he had before. The cockheadâs bumping the back of your throat, no doubt bruising you.
You cum, shuddering, but neither of them seem to care. They only notice the throbbing and rhythmic squeezing of your cunt and throat, groaning and grunting above you.Â
âPoor nerd,â Toru snickers. âHeâs gonna cum so quickly. Itâs sad, isnât it? Itâs nice that youâre so charitable, babe.â
âBig talk for a masochist.â The older twin rubs your clit, occasionally pinching the thing just to feel you tighten around him. Darkly, he orders, âDig your nails into his thigh. All the girls know heâs weak for pain. He even calls the older ones mommy. Sad, isnât it? Disturbed, even.â
Panicked, he tries to grab your hand before it can grip his thigh through his jeans. But itâs too late. Youâre faster. You dig your nails in as hard as you can so heâll feel it through the material. He whimpers, hips stuttering. âJesus FUCK!â
Hot cum spurts in your throat. You gag on the salty taste. Tears spring to your eyes.
Sato laughs, yanking you up by the air. Toruâs cock slides out with a pop!
Back flat on his chest, he holds you up with a hand around your throat. It presses in slightly, slowly stopping airflow to your head in intervals, holding enough to make you delirious.Â
Aggrieved and peeved off for being forced to cum early by a cheap trick, Toru poutily kisses your lips, running that tongue piercing over the seam. He pushes a hand against your belly. You whine, feeling even more of Sato this way. âLetâs see how long either of you lasts like this, cheaters.â
âFuck offâChrist! Shit!â
It only takes a mere second. Itâs more embarrassing than Toruâs premature ejaculation.
At the sudden and impossible tightness, the older twin curses under his breath. White paints your walls. The heat is searing and it pushes you over the edge too.Â
Quickly, youâre pulled off his dick, which is still spurting. Some cum gets on your face when youâre brought to your back on the bed. Theyâre manhanding you, positioning you like youâre a ragdoll, like youâre a mere toy for their pleasure. Itâs hard to tell where up and down are, left and right, if itâs even the same day.
A cock pushes in, bullying its fat length with no hesitation. The aftershocks wrings out a deeply satisfied moan from Toru, who sinks in balls deep easily. He mutters petulantly, âIf her pussy didnât feel so good, Iâd be too disgusted by your spunk all over her to get hard again.â
âBe grateful Iâm letting you fuck her at all,â Sato retorts. He removes his glasses, squinting and finding the fogging of the lenses a pain in the ass. As he clears it out with the bottom of his shirt, he adjusts himself over you, obscuring your view of Toru. His heavy cock hasnât lessened in density. It rests between your tits, soaked and sticky. âStick your tongue out.â
You do. He makes a noise of approval.Â
His hands push your tits together, sandwiching his dick. Satoâs shaven. He likes things nice and clean, itâd seem. The metal bars under his cockhead are hot against your skin. You can see them. They look painful.Â
In between moans, you ask him, âDid the -hngh- piercings hurt?â
He shakes his head, lazily thrusting on your skin. His cock bumps onto your tongue, leaving drops of salty cum. You can taste yourself and him, and it oddly doesnât disgust you.
Behind his brother, Toru pushes your thighs up, hooking them over his arms. Amused, he says, âHeâs lying. He cried after, telling me he regrets it and he wants the piercings taken off. What a little bitch boy.â
âHe exaggerates.â But the pink tinting Satoâs cheeks tells a different story.Â
âWhatever you say, big bro,â Toru muses.
He yanks you back and forth on his cock, not exactly thrusting anymore. Youâre back to being used a fleshlight, as a pocket pussy, dragged up and down the veiny length of him. Heâs reaching deep, stretching you out even more than his brother did, though he doesnât reach your cervix as nicely as Sato had. It hardly matters to you. The pleasureâs all the same.Â
Thumbs brush over your nipples, flicking and rubbing, all while Sato squeezes your breasts tightly around his cock. His veins are prominent too, and they tickle your skin with every thrust. You swirl your tongue around his cockhead, teasing the underside where his piercings are every time he reaches your mouth. He throws his hair back, Adamâs apple bobbing.Â
âFuck, that mouth. Real fucking sinful,â he mutters.Â
Rocked back and forth, bruised and bullied from top to bottom, fingers digging into sensitive flesh, marking and claiming, with sticky juices drying on your skin and tears dripping down your cheeks from the overstimulation â itâs one orgasm after the other.
âAw, are you crying?â Sato asks, smirking and not looking the least bit apologetic.
Toru chuckles. âFor something so tight and greedy, her pussyâs real weak, donât you think?â
âThe weakest.â
Skin smacks against skin. Juices splash. Puddles grow beneath you. You can taste their cum, feel them and hear and see them everywhere. Even when you close your eyes, the shapes of their cocks are imprinted, practically burnt on your retina. They wonât stop talking, wonât stop commenting on how you tremble and tense around them.Â
One of them moans pornographically. They both laugh.
âHear how she moans? Youâd think sheâs on OnlyFans and sheâs trying to rack in the subs. Dirty, dirty girl.â
âShe does moan pretty loudly. Squeals like a pig too.â
Toru adds, âOh and her pussy wonât stop talking back to me. Maybe she wants to debate the collegiate system with me, or give me a glowing review on my dick game.â
âOnly youâd lose to a debate with a literal cunt,â Sato says, snorting.
âOh because youâd win one? Thatâs what you wanna brag about?â
âI won one when I made her cum like three times on my dick today.â
âPssh, youâre deluded.â
None of what they say gets to you. Youâre too deep in the pleasure, in the euphoric bliss, to properly register what theyâre saying. You just want them to keep fucking you, to keep stimulating your entire body. You want this to never stop.
Ankles locked around Toruâs hips, you yank him back, wanting more and more of him. Itâs never enough. The hairs at his base tickle your clit before he grinds his pelvis against it. Your eyes roll back.Â
Sato spits a fat dollop on your tit, barely assisting the glide of his cock, which easily slides between your tits â he just wanted to do that. The sight of you all messy, lips glossy, eyes dazed, causes the corners of his mouth to twitch.Â
Spittingâs his thing. Panty sniffing is Toruâs.
The more you learn about them, the more your invite to Hell solidifies. They really are twins from the Underworld, just so filthy, so lewd, so damned.
âFucking tight, squeezing me so good,â one of them groans, barely understandable.
âPretty fucking tits, prettier fucking mouth,â the other says, eyes flitting between your face and your breasts, undecided where it wants to stay.
All three of you moan at the same time, bodies spasming, and clit and cocks throbbing. Everyone gasps for breath, the air humid and tangy.Â
FinallyâŚ
âNgh! Sato! Toru!â
Cum spurts on your face, and you have to shut your eyes to avoid getting some in there. They land on your cheeks and nose and tongue. More cum fills up your cunt. All of your juices mix together in a warm concoction.Â
Youâve never been more full and deeply satisfied. You feel it in your bones, in your souls.Â
The fluff of the cuffs are soaked with your sweat and cum, the metal clammy. There are marks on your wrists from where theyâve pulled too much or too harshly, and the sting only adds to the pleasure.Â
Best.
Sex.
Of.
Your.
Life.
Probably best threesome too. Not that youâre planning on having any more.
âFuck that was good,â Toru says, hands rubbing your thigh and your stomach. He pulls out, and you wince. The emptiness is upsetting, although it doesnât last very long; his long, slender fingers push the cum leaking out back in, keeping you plugged for a little longer.Â
âMm,â Sato agrees, wiping cum from your face only to shove it in your mouth for you to suck off.Â
âWhat kind of freaky circus act am I looking at right now?â
Heads flip to the door. You almost get whiplash from how fast you turned.Â
In the doorway, a pink-haired, heavily tattooed man stands. He doesnât look disturbed, just amused. His eyes drink in your form, from your face to your tits to your pussy, or as much of your body he can see from where heâs standing anyway.
âOh hey, Ryomen,â Toru says, not making a move to cover himself or you up. He just stands there between your legs, absentmindedly rubbing your clit. âHow you doing?â
âToru!â you scold, still dazed but thinking more clearly than the other two, thatâs for sure. âAsk him about the cuffs.â
Does no one care about your dignity?
Nudity between men might be normal, but itâs certainly not between men and women. Despite that, theyâre acting like he just caught you hanging out. No one covers you up. The newcomer doesn't look away. Theyâre all acting like itâs the most normal thing in the world.
Who you presume is Sukuna finally spots the pink cuffs. He groans. âYou got it all dirty. God, I fucking hate you dumbass twins. Came back to pick it up, and this is how you repay the favour? You better get me new ones, Gojos.â
You blink.
Static rings in your ears.
âTheyâŚborrowed it from you?â
Sukuna quirks a brow, like heâs surprised youâre daring to speak to him. âYeah, twin fucker. In exchange for the keys to their garage and whatever car I wanted to drive around for the weekend.â Then he seems to piece something together and laughs mockingly. âJesus, did they sell you some story about how I cuffed you three together in punishment or something? How dumb can you be?â
Sato huffs. âWatch it, Ryomen.â
âYeah, another insult from your lips and Iâm decking you right across the cheek.â
âWhatever you freaks.â A ping goes off on his phone. Sukuna reads the notification. âAlright, I gotta get going. Get me new cuffs and keep me out of your shit. Donât even know why you didnât just get your own.â
Toru chuckles, tension disappearing as though it was never there to begin with, and his fingers still fucking inside you. âLies sell better when mixed with a little truth.â
Disgusted, Sukuna scowls. âYou sound like your nerdy brother. Donât try to sound smart, Idiot Gojo. It donât fucking suit you.â His eyes fall back to you. He smirks. âIf you get tired of their pasty asses, Iâm more than happy to fuck you right. You know where I live.â
He knew you were there?
Seeing the bewildered look on your face, he scoffs. âYou all breathe so fucking heavily. You think I wouldnât sense your stupidity radiating from my closet? I mean, I always knew the two of you were in the closet, but I never knew youâd be in there with a girl. Guess sexuality really is a spectrum.â
âFuck off, Sukuna,â Sato growls, cock soft now and being tucked right back into his pants.
He waves a hand lazily. âYeah, yeah, Iâm going. Unlike her, Iâm not interested in doing it with twins. Iâll see you weirdos around.â
âWait!â you call out before he can leave. âThe key! We need the key!â
Sukuna rolls his eyes at you.Â
âYouâre slower than you look,â he mutters, exasperated beyond measure. Louder, he says, enunciating hard so youâll get it, âI. Donât. Have. It. The twins. Are. Sexual deviants. Who lie. To get pussy. They have the key. They always had it. You think only with your clit or something?â
A pillow gets thrown at him, followed by, âFuck off, Ryomen.â
With a middle finger aimed at all three of you, he goes back the way he came, leaving you with guilty looking twins who each fish out a small key from their pockets.Â
âOh look,â Toru weakly cheers, âwe found it. Yay!â
One winces. âGuess we wonât need to go to the fire station.â
