Y/n walks in on her boyfriend Peter soaking in the hot tub with his mask still on, it turns her on more than it should
WC: 1.5k, hot tub sex, unprotected sex, kissing with Peter's mask half off, dirty talk, riding
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The front door clicked shut behind you, the sound muffled by the exhaustion weighing down your limbs. Work had been brutal—double shifts, demanding customers, the kind of day that made you want to crawl into bed and not move until tomorrow. But as you went upstairs and stepped into the apartment swimming pool complex, you noticed the soft glow spilling from the room housing the hot tub, steam curling into the hallway.
Peter's home early. No one else really comes up here.
You followed the warmth, your feet padding softly on the tiles, and found the door slightly ajar. Steam billowed out, thick and humid, carrying the faint scent of chlorine. You pushed the door open wider, and your breath caught.
There he was.
Leaning back against the edge of the hot tub, Peter's bare shoulders and arms rested on the rim, water lapping at his chest. The bubbles obscured most of his torso, but you could see the defined lines of his pectorals, the ridges of his abdomen beneath the swirling surface. His muscles were relaxed, steam rising around him, softening the hard edges of a body that had spent hours swinging through the city.
But something was off.
His face was hidden. Not by shadow, but by the familiar red and blue mask, stretched tight over his features, the white lenses glowing faintly in the dim light.
He'd forgotten to take it off.
You stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him. He didn't move at first—just breathed, slow and deep. Then his head tilted, the lenses focusing on you. His voice came out rough, tired.
"You okay, baby?"
You gulped, your throat suddenly dry. There was something about seeing him like this—vulnerable, half-naked, but still wearing that mask. It was intimate and surreal at the same time. His bare shoulders, the veins in his forearms, the way his chest rose and fell—it was all Peter. But the mask made him something else. Spider-Man.
You nodded, a little too quickly. "Yeah. Just… long day. You?"
He let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through the steam. "Rough patrol. Some guys with tech I haven't seen before. Got a few bruises." He rotated his shoulder, wincing. "Figured I'd soak before you got home."
He shifted, water sloshing, and then he noticed he was still wearing his mask.
You saw the way his hand moved to the edge of the mask. "I should probably—"
"Don't." The word came out before you could stop it. You stepped closer, your fingers finding the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. Your bra followed, then your jeans, until you stood in just your panties, your skin prickling in the warm, humid air.
Peter's breath hitched. You saw the lenses track your movements, the way they dipped down your body and back up.
"You wanna join me?" he asked, his voice lower now, a little rough.
Like he even needed to ask.
You nodded, unhooking your bra and letting it fall to the floor. You stepped out of your panties, then climbed into the hot tub, the water enveloping you, warm and soothing against your tired muscles. You moved between his legs, settling into his lap, your thighs straddling his hips. The water sloshed around you, bubbles clinging to your skin.
You placed your hands on his shoulders, feeling the tension coiled beneath the surface. His muscles were knots of strain—patrol had been rough, and you could feel every tight fiber. You dug your thumbs into the meat of his traps, pressing deep. He groaned, his head falling back against the edge of the tub.
"Fuck… that feels good."
You worked your hands along his shoulders, across his collarbone, down the defined ridges of his pectorals. The mask stared back at you, white lenses unblinking, and you felt a thrill run through you. He was exposed to you—but hidden at the same time. You could see the tension in his jaw through the fabric, the way his lips pressed together as you worked a particularly tight knot.
His hand came up, fingers brushing the edge of the mask. "I should take this off."
You caught his wrist. "No."
He froze, the lenses shifting to meet your gaze.
"Leave it on." Your voice was barely a whisper, but it was firm.
"Y/n…"
You didn't answer. Instead, you shifted your hips, grinding against his length, which was already hardening beneath the water. The movement was slow, deliberate, your slick folds sliding along his shaft. His breath caught, his grip on your hip tightening.
"Fuck," he breathed.
You did it again, a little faster, the water rippling around you. His hands found your hips, guiding the motion, but you were in control. You leaned forward, your breasts pressing against his chest, your mouth close to where his lips would be behind the fabric.
"Peter… just let me."
A shaky breath escaped him. He let his head fall back, surrendering to you. His hands slid down to your ass, kneading the flesh, pulling you closer. You rocked against him, your clit catching on the ridge of his cock, sending jolts of pleasure through your core.
You wanted to see his mouth. You wanted to kiss him.
Slowly, hesitantly, your fingers found the bottom edge of the mask. He tensed beneath you, but didn't stop you. You lifted the fabric, just enough to expose his lips—those full, soft lips that you knew so well. This might be the hottest he's ever looked.
You cupped his face, feeling the heat of his skin, the stubble rough against your palms. He leaned into your touch, his eyes hidden but his gaze palpable through the lenses. Then you kissed him.
It started soft, tentative—a brush of lips, a shared breath. But it didn't stay that way. Your tongues met, hungry and desperate, and the kiss deepened. His hands tightened on your ass, pulling you harder against him, and you moaned into his mouth.
"I need you," you whispered against his lips. "I need you inside me."
He growled, low and animalistic. "Then take me."
You lifted your hips, positioning yourself over his cock. The head nudged your entrance, and you sank down, taking him inch by inch. The water made it slick, the heat making every sensation more intense. He filled you completely, stretching you, and you both groaned as you settled fully onto him.
You didn't wait. You started moving, riding him in the warm water, your hands planted on his chest for leverage. The mask stayed where you'd left it, his lips parted, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The lenses tracked every movement, and you knew he was watching you—the way your breasts bounced, the flush spreading across your chest, the way your mouth fell open as pleasure built.
"Look at you," he rasped, his voice strained. "Taking my cock like a good little slut. Riding me while I'm half-masked. That turn you on, baby? You can't see my face and I'm balls-deep inside you?"
You whimpered, your rhythm faltering. His words pushed you closer to the edge.
"Yeah, you like that. You like that I could be anyone—but I'm yours. I'm your Spider-Man. And I'm gonna fuck you until you can't walk."
He grabbed your hips, taking control, slamming you down onto his cock with brutal, precise thrusts. The water sloshed around you, splashing over the edge of the tub. His lips found your throat, biting and sucking, marking you.
"You close?" he growled against your skin.
"Yes, Peter, fuck—"
"Cum for me. Now. Let me feel that pussy squeeze my cock."
Your orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing through your body. You cried out his name, your walls clenching around him, pulsing in rhythm with your heartbeat. He followed a moment later, his hips bucking up as he spilled inside you, hot and thick, filling you completely.
You collapsed against him, both of you panting, the water settling around your trembling bodies. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. The mask was still bunched under his chin, and you reached up, pulling it off completely, revealing his face—flushed, sweat-slicked, eyes dark with satisfaction.
He smiled, soft and tender. "That was…"
"Exactly what I needed," you finished.
He kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips—soft, lingering. "Me too. Even if I forgot to take the damn mask off."
You laughed, tracing the line of his jaw. "Best mistake you've ever made."
He hummed, his hand sliding down your back to rest on your ass. "Wanna make another mistake? I'm thinking round two in the bedroom. No mask this time. Just us."
You grinned, leaning in to kiss him again. "I thought you'd never ask."
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Tags: RE2R!Leon x F!Reader, smut, established relationship, oral sex (f! receives), fingering, both are horny af, leon is a professional eater and more!
Note: RE-UPLOADED!! bc this won't let me upload the same post again for some reason, i edited it a bit and uploaded it again now. I'll try one more time idk otherwise I'll give up 🫠🫠
The rare mornings of a day off were your favorites, since neither of you worked and you could be together, relaxing completely in peace. Before getting up, you couldn't help but watch your boyfriend sleeping peacefully, his blond locks falling across his face and his cheek pressed against the pillow. You felt your cheeks warm just from watching him, as if it were the first day.
Now, the sun's rays greeted you as you walked through the small apartment you shared, making you squint lazily. Your brief moment of reflection ended when arms wrapped around you from behind, trapping you between his body and the counter in front of you.
"Why did you get up?" Leon's raspy, sleepy voice tickled your ear, making you smile. He really was clingy when he woke up, complaining if you weren't by his side.
"I wanted to think for a bit, you know?" you replied softly, a small smile playing on your lips. You leaned against his chest, stretching lazily and yawning. Leon's hands gently roamed your abdomen, beginning to leave small kisses on your shoulder. The tender moment didn't last long, as one of Leon's hands began to slide down, brushing against the elastic of your pajama shorts and your panties peeking out from underneath. As if he were testing the waters.
Receiving no objection, he slid his hand inside, but over your panties, and began to slowly caress your warmth, listening to you sigh. A smile touched his lips, knowing that you both woke up particularly in the mood in the mornings. More than once he'd been late for work because he'd been buried up to his balls in your pussy first thing in the morning.
"Thinking about what?" he asked innocently, leaving wet kisses on your neck, inhaling your scent, which contained traces of his own perfume, as if you were one. Slowly, he began to feel a damp patch forming on your panties, lightly wetting his fingertips.
He received nothing more than a moan in response, as you were too focused on how his fingers were rubbing your clitoris with increasing enthusiasm through the thin fabric. Your head fell back against his shoulder, and your body arched, your breathing becoming faster.
Now his fingers moved a little faster, just enough to stimulate your sensitive spot to make your legs tremble. When you moaned eagerly, arching your hips toward his hand in a silent plea, he understood immediately. He slipped his hand from inside your pajama bottoms, turning you around to find your lips in a wet kiss that lasted only a few seconds, because he dropped to his knees for you. He licked his lips intently, then needily pulled down the thin fabric of your clothing. "Just let me..." he murmured between kisses he scattered adoringly across your thighs before his hot, eager tongue slid between your wet folds. You both let out a long, relieved moan. You opened your legs a little wider, giving him space to continue his favorite activity ever.
"You taste so good—" he groaned against your center, running his hands up your thighs for a better grip. You looked down to meet his eyes, and at that precise moment, his pink lips provocatively circled your clit, without breaking eye contact.
Your moans began to echo in the kitchen, increasing slightly in volume each time his tongue tentatively grazed your dripping entrance, only to pull away and return to sucking hard on your bundle of nerves. Your hips began to sway against his mouth, practically straddling his face. "That's it—" he begged, choking on your pussy. "Ride my face, baby...please." His pleas barely reached your ears as one of his fingers carefully slid inside your rubbery walls, making you snap your head back with overwhelming pleasure. A second finger followed, stretching your twitching hole even further.
Now his fingers were sliding in and out at a rhythm that drove you wild, making a wet, dirty noise because you were so wet, almost dripping from his hand. His hot, wet tongue gave no rest to the sweet spot that drove you crazy, moaning as much as you were right now. He was so focused on eating you out that he didn't even notice his twitching member under his pajamas, so hard you could see the outline of its head dripping incessantly, begging for attention.
You opened your eyes, looking at him with heavy eyelids and hot cheeks, your whole body vibrating from the mouth he was fucking you in with his fingers and mouth. You felt that knot forming and your legs started to tremble. To hold on to something, you grabbed his fluffy hair so he could rub you better with his open mouth, dizzy with the pleasure that melted your brain when he groaned directly into your center. Leon was in paradise right now, rubbing your heat against his mouth and eagerly riding his fingers. You looked like a goddess, utterly perfect for him. He let out a small moan, sliding his free hand inside your shirt, starting to play with one of your hard, needy nipples.
That was it. With a stifled moan and furrowed brows, you came all over his fingers and flushed face, feeling your body like jelly from the wave of pleasure. He kept moving his fingers, helping you cope with the orgasm until you tugged his hair away and he protested like a crybaby for taking him away from your precious cunt. With a burning face and unfocused gaze, he placed a tender kiss on your clit as a momentary goodbye and also withdrew his fingers from your inside, throbbing with sensitivity.
He rested his cheek against your trembling thigh, sucking on his fingers , cleaning them with a husky groan.
He was so messed up that he hadn't even noticed the wet stain that had formed on his own pants, his cock twitching helplessly inside after coming untouched from eating you out like that.
"Sorry, I wanted my breakfast early." he murmured with a silly grin, leaving another wet kiss on the inside of your thigh, still wet from your release.
Ah, you were in for a long day with this man.
well babes, i hope this uploads 🫠 pleasee ignore any mistakes, i tried to edit some things but i just idk ughhh
warnings: nsfw ― mdni, reader is anatomically female, brief dry humping, female masturbation, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, sexual fantasies, implied penetrative sex, mild language
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it was supposed to be a lazy morning. no work, no elaborate plans, save for a night out with your friends later on. you and jason were simply lying in bed, wrapped up in each other like usual.
his lips found the skin of your neck with ease, slowly dragging the fabric of your t-shirt down your shoulder to kiss the newly exposed flesh. you weren't sure how you ended up on your back with his lips peppering warm kisses across your skin and his hips lazily rutting into your core, but hell, who would dare to complain about this hunk of a man on top of them?
just as he started peppering kisses across your hipbones, ready to drag the thin fabric of your panties down your legs, his phone started buzzing aggressively on the nightstand.
"the hell?"
you sighed as he reluctantly sat up, the heat between your legs growing unbearable. dick's voice came through, ragged and out of breath.
"jay, how fast can you get to the manor?"
he looks at the way your eyebrows knit together; either worried or horny, or perhaps both.
"uh," he hesitates. "i'm a bit b-"
"doing your girlfriend doesn't count, kid," dick presses.
your eyes widen, mortified at the thought of his family knowing anything about your sex life.
"we've got a convoy moving military-grade weapons through the narrows. gcpd isn't making it in time."
jason sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"i'll be there in ten."
"jay," you whine before he even cuts the phone off.
"honey, i'll be back as soon as it's over." he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before finding your lips. "it'll be fast."
he kisses you again, all slow and deep. he knows it drives you crazy, but he feels like a damn monster, leaving you with flushed cheeks and pouty lips. your lips chase his when he moves to pull away, but his hand finds the curve of your jaw, pulling back to gaze down at you.
"don't look at me like that," you mumble, knee bumping his hip as you chew on the inside of your cheek.
"like what, sweetheart?"
his eyes drop, racking your body once over.
"like you wanna put me through the mattress when you know you can't."
he laughs at that, doubling over upon sliding off the mattress. you want to throw a fit, but the city needs him.
"i'll make sure to come through later, honey." he presses one last kiss to your lips before regrettably slipping out of your shared apartment.
you count the seconds, minutes, until it ascends into an hour. an hour becomes two, and then three.
your core is still slick with the afternoon's rendezvous. your mind shifts to images of him out in the field, sweat-slicked skin glistening as he moves skillfully. your thighs clench when you hear his voice in your head, imagining a few deep grunts falling from his lips as he pins someone to a wall nearby, all big and strong.
all yours.
your hand finds its way between your legs, pressing into your core through the lace of your panties. a soft gasp echoes in the quiet space of your bedroom.
a few taut circles to your clit make your knees bump one another, but you need to work five times as hard to make yourself unravel.
your fingers feel so puny, almost equating to nothing when you think of jason deliciously parting your slick walls with his thick digits. they slide home, pumping at a slow pace.
it feels as though you’re forcing yourself to moan. your back lifts off the mattress just barely when your palm bumps your clit, a pained whimper leaving your lips.
you’ve damn near got your fingers stuffed in your cunt up to your knuckles!
between switching endless positions and sliding a pillow beneath your hips, you just can’t seem to find the spot that jason always reaches with zero effort.
you’d been at it for about an hour, your fingers starting to cramp up and the skin beginning to prune. tears of complete frustration kiss your cheeks, lips swollen and pouty after all of your biting from not being able to reach your high.
you can’t be bothered by the faint clatter coming from the living room. the thud of heavy boots and rustling of tactical gear make jason’s presence known, yet your fingers keep weakly moving between your sore walls.
“honey?” his voice is muffled through the door, but it comes husky, laced with exhaustion.
when he pushes your bedroom door open, though, all tiredness is gone from his being.
you’re truly a sight for sore eyes.
legs parted, shirt hiked up your tummy, exposing the soft curves of your breasts, and a gaze that pleads for him to make you feel good. his name falls from your lips in a broken whimper, more tears bubbling over before you can stop them.
he doesn’t think twice, crossing over to the mattress in two long strides before grabbing your ankles, pulling you to the edge of the bed. your hands immediately find his shoulders as he settles on his knees in front of you.
“i need you, baby,” you babble. “please. i c-i can’t, honey. couldn’t wait. tried making myself feel good, but all i need is you.”
he just watches you, shushing you as he rubs a calloused thumb over your cheek, wiping your stray tears.
“‘s okay, baby, i got you.”
he tuts when he looks down at your puffy folds, all irritated from the incessant assault of your fingers. he blows softly, pressing a chaste kiss to your mound before flattening his tongue across your folds.
“should’ve waited for me, pretty girl,” he coos once your back bows off the mattress, instantly seeking out more of him.
he moves slow enough to soothe the ache, but lets his tongue prod at your dripping entrance every few laps, fucking into you so sweetly. his lips purse just right, sucking on your clit. he switches between each move, working you closer to that edge. he hums against you and a wrecked moan shamelessly rips from your chest.
you prop yourself onto your elbows to watch and your suspicions are confirmed: it’s him.
yes, he makes you feel amazing, brings you pleasure you’ve never experienced before. but the sight of this god-sent man alone is enough for you to finally come undone.
your thighs begin to tremble and he wraps his arms around either leg, keeping you in place to make sure you don’t start running when that coil in your tummy starts tightening.
“jay, mmph—fuck, baby,” you babble. “i’m s-so close.”
the last syllable is plundered by a moan, thighs threatening to clamp around his head. just then, one hand drifts toward your heat, pinching your clit while his tongue coaxes itself between your walls expertly.
"let go, doll," he murmurs, pressing impossibly close to your core.
a desperate whimper rolls from your lips, legs shaking as you finally come undone. he doesn’t let up right away, lapping every last drop of your slick like it gives him life.
“jay,” you whine, feebly pushing at his shoulders before he sits back on his heels.
“never gonna try to get yourself off again, right, princess?”
your stomach flips. you want to smack that shit-eating grin off his beautiful face, but you know that you wouldn’t dare to take matters into your own hands again.
“wouldn’t dream of it, honey.”
you toe at his shoulder, playfully nudging him. he catches your ankle, kissing from the soles of your feet, up your legs, up your torso, before pressing his lips to yours. his tongue slides into your mouth like it belongs there, letting you taste your own arousal.
“now,” he starts, fingers tugging at the latches of his gear. “i think i promised you something pretty big earlier, didn’t i, sweet girl?”
your bottom lip tucks itself between your teeth.
“think i agreed to put you through the mattress or somethin’ like that, right?”
his arms find the backs of your knees, nestling them comfortably in the crooks of his arms. your breath catches as you trace every move carefully. his chest fixes itself against yours, pinning you to the mattress.
he hums.
“i always keep my word, sweetheart.”
he kisses your collarbone and in the next half hour alone, you’d have lost count of how many orgasms he pulled from your body.
“you know i do.”
a/n: uhhhh i didn't know how to end this 😭 dk if i love it or not
18+, ab-riding, praise, aftercare, pet names (baby/babygirl, sweet girl)
YOU'RE DRAGGING your leaking, aching cunt across the hard lines of his torso until a squelching sound emits with every movement of your hips. he's simply laying there, an amused smirk playing at his lips as a result of your desperate whimpers. this usually happens when he's too tired or injured after patrol to fuck you in the way you crave.
"such a needy girl, huh?" he teases, resting two heavy, calloused hands on the fat of your hips. "jesus-" he huffs a low, gravely chuckle, entertained by just how much you're leaking. "makin' a goddamn mess, baby" he tuts, admiring the glistening slick smeared across his front.
you're so close, the friction of his firm, warm skin against your sensitive clit is making your nails dig in to his pecs. he knows when you're close before you do, always kept track of the way your body nearly loses control.
"you gonna cum like this?" he asks, "don't even need my help, huh?" he cups your cheek, making you lock eyes with him as your grinding grows sloppier. you couldn't care less about the embarrassment anymore, it's so intoxicating getting off on him like this, all while he sits back and watches.
your pathetic noises only grow louder with each grind, with each swipe of your pussy across his abs. "j-jay– m'gonna cum" you breathe out, clenching your eyes shut. you can feel his clothed, throbbing cock, probably making a sticky mess in his pants with pre-cum, pressing against your ass every time you move, a sign that he's getting off on this just as much as you are.
"i know, babygirl" he coos, leaning up slightly to press soft, fluttering kisses to your neck. "you can let go f'me, sweet girl" he purrs, brushing the hair from your flushed face and simply admiring the way your expression is twisted in pleasure. his precious girl, using him to get off.
your breath hitches when your orgasm finally comes crashing over you, leaving you twitching against him. he holds you through your high as you cry out, his name heavy on your tongue. he's bucking his hips up, trying to get in any last stimulation before you collapse against him, exhausted. "there we go" he speaks softly, gently, as if he's coddling you.
"you feel better? hm?" he asks, "not so needy now, i bet." he chuckles lowly, and you're too fucked out to retort back. a calm settles in your bones as he holds you, rubbing soothing circles into your back and kissing the crown of your head. he'll make sure to take care of you properly once you've both rested.
okay, so maybe jason likes fucking you at a nice angle. and maybe, for all intents and purposes, that angle ends up being reverse cowgirl — especially when he's in one of those moods. don't get him wrong, jason loves a good doggy or missionary, but you in reverse cowgirl? while he's trying his hardest not to cum inside?
his bicep rests over his eyes, free hand set lazily on your hip for the sake of saying he held onto something the entire time.
"yeah, that's it," he groans, sinking into the mattress. his cockhead presses against that particular spot inside that makes you see stars, each bounce drawing out an embarrassing moan from your lips. "that's my pretty," he praises, breathing hard enough for your to hear. the tremble in his voice lets you know more than enough: he's been holding in the urge to cum for less than a minute, sweating to keep the edge off his voice. fingers barely digging into your skin, he holds your hips down with both hands, stopping your movements. a whine nearly erupts from you.
jason's struggling. he's one good thrust away from cumming inside, your name at his lips in weak pants. "jay?" "just a second, sweetheart." you turn your head to nab a quick glimpse, finding the sweetest closed-eyed and bitten lip expression. his eyebrows are knitted together so perfectly, a mess of sweat at his forehead. he’s trying his hardest for you.
“jason, baby,” you start, chest heaving as you catch your breath, “it’s okay if you cum.” it isn’t like he doesn’t know that, but reassurance gives the man a sense of peace. he squeezes your side and brings you into a slower pace, shuddering with every soft bounce, head thrown back. your thighs are shaking, most likely due to the sudden stop brought back into movement, but jason’s twice - if not thrice - as wrecked beneath you.
his breathing turns erratic, cock jumping at any stimulation when your folds flutter around him. red in the face with an utterly pathetic moan, his hips jolt upwards, mind going blank. you feel it seep between your legs, warm and thick, and he quite literally writhes. the view from behind is delectable, a beautifully arched back whilst he paints your insides, all on display for his eyes.
this is a SMUT submission for jtoddsbaby’s fighting ring (congratulations on 1k @jtoddsbaby)
a jason todd x f!reader story
in this dessert…
reader is at the club to find a one night stand... and she finds just the right man, only it is Jason Todd, the same boy she had once been a mean girl to.
can she apologize to him properly?
flavor: smut, porn with a bit of plot
wc: 2.9+ k
contents: fem!reader. reader was a bully to Jason in high school. inspired by when did you get hot? by Sabrina Carpenter. nasty making out. Jason is mean in bed. degradation. clit slapping. ass spanking. p in v sex. unprotected sex. cowgirl position. blowjob.
baker's notes: felt sad, so I wrote pure filth lmao.
want more desserts? check out the menu
this fic contains smut, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
The floor hummed with the vibration of the bass, a reverberation you felt up to your eardrums. The music enveloped you and urged everyone to dance to it's high intensity rhythm, as the neon lights flashed around erratically.
It wasn't odd for you to find yourself in the middle of a dance floor in the weekends, sweating the stress of the week away, and if you were lucky enough, you would end up enticing a man right between your legs to relax you further.
That was your mission this week. Seduction. Hence why you were wearing your sluttiest dress, that barely covered your pretty little ass, and you'd done your make up with cutting edge precision. No man around you would be safe from your bedroom eyes, the generous cleavage accentuated with tasteful jewelry, and the most lethal smirk painted in a shade of glossy, maroon red.
And you had been approached by many, which meant part of your mission had been successful. Now all that was left to do was to find someone that was appealing to your eyes.
You had been pulled away from the dance floor by your friend, as she spoke about getting some much needed refreshments. You couldn't blame her: the stifling heat of the summer was only accentuated by the press of bodies against each other.
And so you found yourself in the bar, reunited again with the rest of your friend group. They were talking and laughing animatedly with some other group. One of your friend's caught your eye, and she grinned. "Hey, don't you know Jason?"
She gestured to a hunk of a man you failed to see how you'd failed to see. But when you did see him, it was impossible to notice anyone else, he occupied your entire field of vision, with his broad shoulders and big arms that strained against a simple black t-shirt, the cargo pants he wore that he was filling pretty nicely, and a face that seemed to be carved by the angels in heaven themselves. Target acquired.
It wasn't until you met his eyes, deep, intense, ever-consuming, that something tugged in the depths of your memory. High school days, that now seemed so far away, and those same eyes staring straight through you, at your very soul in the crowded hallways.
He had been a scrawny kid then, with his knobbly knees that always had scratches on them, and his quick wit in class that made everyone envious. And you? You'd been what some would call a mean girl (you would now call it being a pathetic kid that took out her own insecurities on others. Therapy did that to you). Not something you were proud of now, but you couldn't erase the past. But you could hope that Jason wouldn't remember your meanness towards him.
Except that intense way he looked at you, the flush of his cheeks in the pallor of his skin, the furrow of his thick brows… yeah, he definitely remembered.
White-hot shame filled your cheeks, flooded your being, and suddenly the summer felt even more unbearable.
The conversation around you shifted to other topics, something you weren't paying much attention to. Instead you were left to ponder on your mistakes ten years ago, materialized as a Greek god of a man. You watched as he took just two wide steps to collapse the distance between you.
You swallowed hard, hand finding purchase on the bar top to stabilize you now that Jason had entered your life. Re-entered. "I don't know if you remember me," you said in an uncharacteristically meek tone.
"Hard to forget you." His voice had changed. Once squeaky and filled with cracks, it was now deep, and rumbly. You didn't know if it was that sexy quality to his timbre or the words themselves, but you now felt all that heat that had presented itself as shame shifting inside your body, rushing, with the speed of dripping honey, down to your lower belly.
"Yeah, well… this would be easier if you had," you murmured. He seemed to hear, even over the music that played way too loud. You saw his lips curve into a smirk, lopsided and almost cruel in it's attractiveness. You supposed you deserved all that cruelty.
"What would be easier?" Fuck. He'd drawn closer, and the words were whispered straight to your ear, his full lips brushing the shell of your ear. You wondered were else you could lead those lips. If they would feel just as silky soft, or it he'd be rough with his mouth? How would his teeth feel, nipping at your own lips?
You swallowed hard, feeling as if you were swallowing on nails instead of air. "Apologizing."
"Now that's something I never thought I'd see in my life," he said, his eyes coming into view. Had they always been this sparkling green color? Or was memory playing tricks on you? "Thank god I got a second chance…"
Again you felt the uncomfortable heat of shame washing all over you. What did it say about you if it only served to make you wetter?
"I mean it," you said, shaking your head. "I was a lonely, stupid girl who thought she could be cool or some shit by being mean to people. Not something I'd like to be remembered as, and I know words mean squat in front of all the damage I did, but I still feel like it's my obligation to apologize. So, I'm sorry."
Jason considered you for a few seconds that stretched too long. At first it was his eyes boring into yours. And then his searing gaze shifted. To the bare skin of your decolletage, to the silken dress that draped delectably over your body, to your legs, almost entirely bare thanks to the length of the dress —or lack there off. Slowly, his gaze made the path back to your eyes, and you were sure that a different expression had entered his eyes. Something akin to hunger. You felt your mouth dry up, anticipation of his next words hang over you like a guillotine waiting to be dropped.
"You're right, words mean squat. But there is a way you could make up for it all…"
And that's how you ended up in his apartment. Your softness under his hardness as he pressed you against a wall. It was as if it had been his turn to be mean after all these years: his rough hands were demanding over your soft skin, his full mouth harsh against yours.
He was as greedy with his actions as he'd been with his gaze in the club. He took your mouth in quick swipes of his tongue, silken against your own. His teeth made delicious friction with your lower lip, gathering the gloss there and tasting it slowly.
His tempo varied: he started slow, got increasingly fast, and just when you'd start to moan and whine, the lack of oxygen making you dizzy, he'd slow down.
Everything combined… well it was making you feel woozy. You felt yourself melt against the wall, against his chest, as if you were made of nothing more that beeswax and he was the brightest flame.
His hands were just as restless. He pressed them against your waist, wide and warm even through the silk of your dress. He bunched the flimsy fabric, and the dress lifted to his whims. Not once did his mouth leave yours as his hand wandered down to feel the skin newly exposed. Rough callouses against the supple skin of your stomach made you shudder against his chest, a soft sigh escaping your mouth and slipping past his lips.
When his knuckles dipped lower and he noticed the lack of fabric, he pulled away. "No panties?" he spoke, his voice no more than a rough rasp. He smirked, his tongue peeking between his lips to swipe at the shared saliva that had gathered on his lower lip. You watched the movement, all to enticing in its simplicity. "Such a slut, hmm?" The degrading words only served to get you more hot and bothered.
His hand slipped between your leg, and he found exactly what he had been hoping for. You were dripping, a wetness that gathered and became borderline uncomfortable. He swiped the tips of his fingers through the wetness, humming in appreciation.
You bit your lower lip, the moan that rose in your throat muffled. He found your clit expertly, and flicked it once, then twice, observing you as if you were nothing more than a specimen under a microscope. He gathered your reaction, your little sounds that slipped against all resistance. The shame and arousal that came from his intense look.
When you tried to look away, overpowered by his gaze, his free hand came up to your jaw and angled your face so you kept looking at him. And as he maintained that eye contact, his fingers, now all wet and slippery thanks to your desire, slipped right into you.
You gasped, unprepared by the intrusion of two thick digits. He wasn't kind with it, even if he must've known that he wasn't slender by no means. He pushed them in completely, and without giving you time to adjust, he started to scissor you open.
You were rendered stupid: all you could do was moan out some variation of "oh, Jason…" over and over again.
His warm hand was still cupping your face, and he switched his gaze from your heavy-lidded eyes down to where his hand was working you without mercy. You were dripping even more wetness all over his fingers and palm, and you could see the reaction that it incited in Jason. You saw his pupils dilate and contract several times, the way his breath became in short, labored puffs against your own lips, and the way his pants seemed even more tight than they'd already been.
It didn't take much for you to get pushed down the edge, just a well placed swipe of his broad palm against your clit, with enough pressure, and an expert curl of his mean fingers. And the damn broke. It felt overpowering, the high that took over you. Waves of pleasure crashed over the shore of your body, and in their wake, you felt like a shell, wrung out of all energy. You had to grip Jason's beefy arms to keep yourself upright, a fact that didn't help his smugness.
He retracted his hand, covered with your essence, glinting in the warm light of his apartment. "Look at what I did to you… all this from scrawny little Jason, huh?"
You flushed even more than you already were. You shook your head, lowering the hem of your dress. "Not my fault you got so… hot." He probably didn't need the ego boost, but this was atonement, right?
And if you thought that this had been enough pay back for Jason… you soon realized you were sorely mistaken, because this had been nothing more than just the beginning. You watched as he licked his hand clean, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. You wondered when he'd gained all this sex appeal.
"Fuck, doll," he said, his lips glinting with some of your cum. He swiped it clean with a flick of his tongue. "You taste divine. I think you need to taste yourself, hmm?"
With none too gentle pulls of his hands, you found yourself being thrown on his bed, a small squeak escaping your lips. You watched as he loomed over you, watched as he shrugged his shirt off with a quick and graceful movement. Some day, you'd ask about all the scars that littered his muscular torso. Some day, because you knew this wasn't going to be a one time thing. Some day, because right now, your eyes were too busy taking him in. Too busy tracing the movement of his fingers as they nimbly undid his belt.
Your mouth dried up as he pushed his pants down, and with it went his boxers. And lord, were you blinded by the sheer size of him. His cock was heavy and hard, already flushed a pretty pink color at the tip and leaking. It was some forbidden fruit you were too eager to taste. So you reached for it. Only to be swatted lightly by him at the wrist.
You looked up at him with doe eyes, and his chest stuttered with his breath. "Relax doll, you'll have your go at it," he cooed. "But it's not reward mean girls day, is it? It's punish mean girls…"
He lowered himself over you, his mouth coming over yours demandingly. You responded with reciprocal fervor, your hand coming up to thread in his silk soft hair. His hand came down between your legs once again, as if he couldn't resist your pussy. You moaned against his mouth when he brushed against your folds.
"Still so eager," he murmured against the corner of your mouth. You panted in response. "Once isn't enough for this doll, hmm?"
You shook your head, chasing his mouth with yours. He pulled away, not very far, but far enough to be out of reach. Your hazy and muddled mind, silly with desire didn't register his lifting hand until it was too late. You felt a sharp slap against your clit, making you mewl and reach for him in desperation.
Your response must've pleased Jason greatly, because he didn't hesitate to flip your position and make you get on his cock. You struggled to take him, and he showed no mercy, his hands demanding at the plush flesh of your hips, pushing himself in with an expert thrust of his hips.
You whined and scratched at his chest, your sharp nails digging into the hard muscle there, leaving angry red marks. "Jay…" you protested against the fullness, the uncomfortable feeling.
You felt him press his lips against your cheek, a sneer curling them. "I know, doll. But you were so wet and eager for this cock, yeah? So you got to bounce on it."
You were still adjusting, blinking away the tears of pleasurable pain, so you didn't move just yet. His hand came down your ass, hard and fast, pushing a gasp out of your mouth.
"Baby, ride," his words were sweet, but his tone was anything but. So you complied, and the fast pace you set made him grip your hips tighter, his head thrown back in pleasure as you squeezed him inside you.
The angle, the girth of him, the length… it all made you hit a delectable spot inside you every time you bounced back down. It didn't take long before the uncomfortable feeling became pleasure, growing inside your body exponentially, threatening to break some limit inside you.
He watched greedily as you bounced, the ripples it made on your body, obscured by the dark fabric of the dress. So he took it off desperately, throwing it aside somewhere in his room.
When your pace started to slow down, he spanked your ass again, and his merciless ways only made your desire heighten.
He probably saw the way your body was starting to tense, so he slid his fingers between your bodies, finding purchase on your puffy clit. He drew relentless circles around the bundle of nerves, determined to wring out every drop of pleasure from inside you.
You let out a lewd moan of his name as the pleasure reached crescendo, and it all came crashing down, your hips stuttering as you came all over his cock, squeezing him greedily.
"Oh fuck, doll," he grunted, his brows furrowed in concentration. "If you squeeze me that hard, I'm going to come…"
You were deaf to his words, your limbs twisting with pleasure as he kept going at it on your clit. Until the euphoria burned you, and the pleasure melted into pain. You pushed at his chest and got off his cock, a feat made easy by the slippery mess you'd made.
Your breath was labored as you tried to come down from your high and down to earth. You let out a sigh, and knew that you were probably going to be ruined by him forever.
Jason still wasn’t done with you. “Here, have a taste of yourself.” He grabbed you by your hair and pulled your mouth down on his cock. You let out a surprised sound, not contraire at all.
You eagerly licked off all the mess you’d made over him, the sweet tartness of your own body mixed with the saltiness of his pre, before he pushed you down by the nape of your neck. Your jaw hurt as you tried to take him in entirely. He hit the back of your throat repeatedly, fucking your mouth with fervor. The tears in your eyes, smearing the mascara down to your cheeks didn’t deter him, only served to propel him more.
As your head bobbed and you struggled to take him, your throat contracting over his tip, he made a guttural sound. You knew he was close. And he’d been so mean to you all evening, so you decided to use your teeth too. Literally.
As soon as he felt the slight pain on his cock, he started to push you away by the hair.
You watched as he came, spurts of it hitting your chest. Watched as all his meanness melted away when he came, leaving only a deliciously flushed man who was tried to regain the upper hand.
You moved up his body, your mouth slanting over his. “Was that apology enough?”
He let out a chuckle. “I don’t know doll. I think you’ll have to start apologizing more frequently.”
having soft morning sex with HUSBAND! DICK GRAYSON instead of going to work!
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 CONTENT WARNINGS: husband! dick grayson, mommy kink, choking (dick receiving), MINORS DNI ノ fashion magazine editor in chief! fem! reader, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, size kink, morning + soft sex, sloppy kissing, a hint of masochist! dick!
AUTHOR’S NOTE: mhmmmm, the idea of fashion editor in chief! reader x husband! dick in this dynamic ate me up so good, im a sucker for strong women being treated well by their love interests, plus… dick calling you mommy was always in the works— might make this it’s own separate au, idk yet, but i have other ideas in my mind so…
the morning light comes through the curtains without issue.
normally, at this hour, you’d be in your office, talking to whatever new employee one of your assistants brought in or talk to an executive about a new fashion brand collaboration you had lined up for the runway section of the upcoming issue… and that’s the thing; you should be in your office right now.
it’s ten am after all, your shift as editor in chief at one of the most popular fashion magazines in the world starts at ten… but the thing that also starts at ten? your husband’s sex drive.
which is why; instead of being in your cushy office chair, you were sitting in the lap of dick grayson…
well… kind of? because you weren’t exactly sitting in his lap but rather, bouncing on his dick… and he was helping you.
the thing about dick? he knows he ain’t the power in this relationship; you’re the breadwinner, the fashion editor-in-chief, the one with magazines with your name on them, awards lining the shelves of your shared penthouse… he ain’t the important one in the relationship (besides being nightwing but still; dick grayson? ain’t the popular one) so obviously, he fixes that with being remarkably charming and incredible in bed!
“f-fuck! dick!” you cry out, your nightie pushed up on your body as his big hands push up on your hips, fingers pressing in to your pretty skin. “so- so good.”
dick smiled, sleepiness still lingering in his system— you could see it in his blue eyes, but the sight of you on his morning wood woke him up faster than anything— and just the sound of your moans ruin him further. “yeah baby, keep moaning for me… ain’t gotta do anything, hun, i know that brain gets worked like crazy by those damn employees of yours… let your husband ruin you…”
and typically? he’d be earning a slap on the chest for such words… but his cock was just pushing in and out of you too good that you couldn’t respond with words.
only nodding your head, your fingers dug deep into dick’s broad chest, feeling his hands stroke up and down your back, fingers tingling and making you shiver.
he smiled at your inability to talk back, his left hand going down to your thigh, touching the bare skin as his right hand sneaks up your nightie and touching your bare back. "good girl... let me take care of you." he whispers, feeling your hands drag up his chest. "take all you can get, mama, i'll be right down here."
his cock drags up and down your walls as you ride him, head retracted back as pleasure seeps into every vein in your body, feeling your mind scramble at his touch not only on the outside but the inside as well.
and before you could stop your hands; they wrap around his throat, not hard— you know he can take you choking him like a champ— but you don't wrap 'em around his throat hard simply because you're in too deep of pleasure to care to squeeze.
both of your thumbs on his adam's apple as your fingers wrap around 'till they hit the back of his neck.
he laughs as you wrap your fingers around his neck, feeling the cold metal of your wedding band on his neck in the same way you felt the cold metal of his wedding band on your back as his hand trailed upwards. "oh fuck yeah, mommy, fuckin' wrap those pretty hands around me... i can take it."
"oh-oh i know you can t-take it." you bite back, looking down at him with half-lidded eyes.
the son of a bitch has a smirk on his face, strands of his black hair falling in front of his face. "clearly you can't take me all too well." he jokes, looking down to see his cock disappear in and out with each bounce mixed with a rock of your hips.
you grunt, digging your nails into the back of his neck on purpose— he doesn't even mention it, but by that moan after you do it? the fucker is turned on. "oh don't tell me that tur-turned you on, dick?"
he nodded. "of course it did, hun, anything you do is sexy to me."
"oh really?"
"anything, mama."
he just has a way with words that melt you from the inside out. no wonder you've been married to him for five years up to this point; good looks and great personality only goes so far for a man who fucks like this.
dick feels his cock twitch right as you feel yourself get closer and closer to your orgasm— he knows this because of the furrow in your brows and the fact that you're bouncing faster, almost to catch up with the feeling as it runs faster and faster.
"you close, hun?" he questions, squeezing your thigh with his left hand. "you're close, aren't you... we can cum together, how does that sound? fill you up real good?"
and you nod your head, not being able to resist him. "y'yes... cum with me dick, cum for me and i'll cum for you..." and with that encouragement, it's no shock that you two finish at the same time.
with one last plunge on his dick and feeling his happy trail tickle your clit at the perfect angle, dick falls over his edge right as you fall over your own edge.
your vision blurs; eye roll back as you press so hard on dick’s throat that you practically white-knuckle it, grinding down hard on his cock as the orgasm flows through you without trouble.
you can feel his hands softly rush up and down your body, soothing you as his own orgasm comes to him, balls squeezing and cock twitching as he unloads inside of you, his hot cum spurting into your pussy, covering your walls as the heat and the sensation of it only drives you further into your pleasure.
“dick… dick… dick… fuck, baby.” you breathlessly moan, closing your eyes to feel the extent in which your body was pushed— not aggressively though, it felt soft despite the filth.
dick smiled up at you, moaning his own way as he unloads his cum. “there you go, mama, take all my cum… takin’ it so good, making you full of me…” he praises under his breath, lifting his body up into a sitting position, both arms wrapping around your waist.
you open your eyes once you feel the tides of your orgasm slowly vanish, slow but your vision is back, seeing dick’s soft gaze in front of you. moving your hands, you cup his face.
“hey honey… there you go… come back to dick.” he encourages, pressing a soft kiss to your neck, feeling your body against his, boobs pressing against his chest. “you’re so pretty…”
he’s lost in your beauty, even when your hair is sticking to your head, your eyes half-lidded and taking deep breaths, trying to catch up with your body. his hands touch you gently, helping in bringing you back down to earth.
you look at him, smiling. “hey, handsome…”
he presses another kiss, this time on your cheek. “hi, wifey… feeling good?”
“what do you think?” you challenge, cocking an eyebrow.
he shrugs. “i think you aren’t going into work today?”
you chuckle, shaking your head and whimpering when you feel him squeeze your hips gently. “you got that right, pretty boy.”
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ⓘ KENTLUV3R’S WORK. all my fanfics (not the characters) is my very own, coming from my own efforts and my time. do not copy my work, rewrite it, shove it through an ai machine and shit out slop, and don’t repost to wattpad/ao3/c.ai!
Your roommate, Leon, has a problem with spreading his legs so wide you can never take a proper seat near him. So, you decide to improvise...
based on this request
Finally catching up on the requests I've received--sorry if they're a little late. Also, Leon is a little pathetic, sad, and subby here...sorry not sorry ;)
As you approach the sofa–more like a loveseat with three unreasonably narrow cushions–with a bowl of popcorn in your arms, you notice that your roommate’s hips are low on the seat, his legs spread wide open, leaving you a tiny patch of sofa next to settle onto.
Why is it that men cannot keep their legs together? Women do it all the time, without complaint.
You stand in front of him, blocked from the path between the sofa and the coffee table, by his jutted knees.
“Why do you always have to do that?”
“Do what?” Leon asks in return, his gaze directed right past you, eyes glued to the television, though you’re not sure he’s even paying attention to the slop playing across the screen. You’ve noticed that he prefers not to think whenever he comes home from work, or from the assignments he shipped out on, week after week. He turns off his brain, and even though watching trash T.V. isn’t considered an especially stimulating hobby, nor does it require much brain power, it still seems like he’s not partaking.
“Sit like that. I don’t have any room.”
As you step to squeeze past his knees, choosing not to take the longer path around the coffee table in order to make a statement, he mumbles out a string of apologies.
“Sorry,” he says meekly, shifting his hips back, squeezing his legs shut so you can walk past.
He’s definitely filled out since he moved in, testing the strength of his dark jeans, the seams of his t-shirts. Maybe it was the way he sounded so sincere, so apologetic, or the way he mopes around like a wounded puppy, but you’re quick to forgive, not wanting to add to the guilt he seems to perpetually wear on his shoulders.
“It’s alright,” you say, settling down next to him. Your thighs touch his as the two of you figure out a way to make the piece of furniture more comfortable for two occupants.
He scoots over to the edge, practically hugging the armrest, as you tuck your knees beneath you, the bowl of popcorn forgotten on the coffee table. The television plays some gameshow neither of you are really paying attention to, and you hear a strained sound leave Leon’s lips.
“Are you uncomfortable?” You ask, already apprised of the answer based on the way he keeps adjusting his body.
“I’ll be fine,” is all he gives, line of sight still fixed on the television across the room.
“Can I sit on your lap?”
Perhaps you’re possessed. It’s the only explanation for why you let the idea marinate in your head, let alone twist it into words and let them leave your tongue.
His head snaps toward you, brown brows furrowed.
“Um, okay.”
He moves back to his prior position, with his hips shifted forward on the cushion, his legs wide open, knees a pole apart.
You leave your own cushion, and make your way to his thighs, straddling his lap.
His eyes grow wide, and you realize that maybe this exact position wasn’t what he had in mind when you asked, perhaps imagining you in a more ladylike arrangement, with your knees glued together, thrown across him.
“What are you…”
You shrug as a smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth. “I don’t really know.”
He just looks so sad, so lonely, so pitiful sitting there on the sofa by himself, always coming home from what you understand to be a very exhausting, very terrifying job, to just sit. He doesn’t have many friends, or any family, to spend time with. No hobbies. No pastimes.
So something came awash over you, and you acted on the impulse.
“Is this okay?” You ask, your palms flat on his chest, feeling the bulging muscle beneath the slinky cotton of his t-shirt.
He gulps, nodding, his eyelids slowly shutting.
Your hands move down the vast space of his abdomen, only stopping once they meet the starchy denim of his dark jeans. Then, one palm ventures past the waistband, settling over the zipped fly to feel a growing erection beneath it.
“And this?”
Another nod, one more decisive than the last. His eyes have opened again, but are now affixed to his thighs, where your own are spread, and the dainty hand you have pressed to his erection. You grind the heel of your palm over it, feeling it grow and jump under the sensation.
Leon whines, a soft, low sound that makes your stomach hot and suddenly you need more.
You bow down to nibble at his neck, the skin soft and warm under your lips as they part, tasty as you bite.
“Shit,” he curses, hands immediately coming to bear down onto your hips, retreating a moment later, hesitating. As if to give permission, you let your full weight onto his erection and grind down just once. His hands quickly return, the movement punctuated by a low whimper.
“Can I ride you?”
The heads of his brows tangle and his eyes are wide and glossy. “Fuck yes,” he says, the words leaving his chest on a breath.
You make quick work of the zipper of his jeans, and he lifts his hips so you can pull them down along with his briefs. Then, you yank off your top and bra, leaving you in nothing but a pair of lounge pants and panties, which cannot be discarded without you standing up for a moment. For each second it takes to stand up and pull the articles down until you’re bare, you miss the feeling of his body beneath yours. Leon took that time to snatch off his own shirt, revealing a well-defined chest and abdomen, one you’re more than eager to explore with the hungry tips of your fingers.
Straddling him once more, you move your hips back and forth over his hardened cock, letting the length gather the evidence of your arousal until his moans are too pathetic and your heart can’t take teasing him much longer.
He slides into your pussy effortlessly, his face contorting in instant pleasure, his mouth spitting out a thread of inaudible mumbles. Large, capable hands return to your hips as he guides you back and forth onto him.
You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling yourself close enough to plant a kiss on his lips, but you don’t. “So pretty,” you whisper instead. A pink tint rises on his cheeks.
He shakes his head, laughing lightly. “You’re the pretty one. Always have to remind myself not to stare.” His words are punctuated with short breaths, and it makes your walls clench, in turn, eliciting a dark groan from him. His grip tightens around your waist, slender fingers digging into your skin, kneading and massaging the flesh there.
The way he stretches you to your limits has you salivating like a dog, and this time you do kiss him. Your lips meet in a sweet, honeyed union, his tongue pushing past your parted pout to explore the inside of your mouth as though he’s trying to map the new terrain. Hungry and desperate, he keeps you glued to him as one of his palms sneaks up the middle of your back, palm gliding up and down your skin.
You suck on his lower lip, rolling it in between your teeth. He groans into your mouth, the reverberations of the sound tickling your spit-stained skin.
“Shit,” he swears, retreating to toss his head back against the sofa, the apple in his neck bobbing up and down as he gulps. Heavy-lidded eyes fall to watch the way you completely swallow the size of him, the rhythmic movement of your hips as you continue to ride.
Your orgasm builds fiercely, rolling across your body like angry waves crashing at shore, and Leon isn’t far behind, giving you a quick warning before he finishes inside.
“We probably need a new couch,” you say, sighing into the crook of his neck, collapsing onto his chest.
His hands continue their ministrations at your back, palms gliding up and down the length of your spine, caressing with all the sweetness and tenderness in the world.
ak! jason sometimes jerks off in front of you with the suit on when he doesn't feel like fucking you. it's disgusting, honestly. he doesn't even look at your face, sometimes he'll keep your face pressed to the floor if you've been misbehaving. you can hear him groaning from above, though, little swears slipping from the mask. "fuck, don't look at me, don't deserve all that, just listen. maybe i'll cum in your mouth," he says it like it's a prize. maybe you're just so brainwashed that it sounds like one because you listen, you keep your face pressed against the floor until you feel him pull you up by the back of your hair. "not a word, keep your mouth open." he'll act like it's for you, but he knows he can't cum without seeing your face at least once anymore.
warnings: nsfw ― mdni, reader is anatomically female, porn w minimal plot, filth...like a lot of it, unprotected sex (pls don't do this), creampie, breeding kink sorta, vaginal penetration, brief dry humping, vaginal fingering, prone bone, lowkey aggressive sex, dirty talk, praise, daddy kink :D, jason says 'good girl' :DDDD, size kink if you squint, mild possessiveness if you squint, biting, some clit play, mild language
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thinking of early mornings with jason, where one moment he's snoring on his side of the bed before rolling over and scooping you into his arms, smooshing his cheek into your barely covered chest. before you can even open your eyes, his lips are hot on your skin, kissing with a reverence that makes your heart ache and the heat between your legs throb.
it isn't some special occasion.
he simply wants to make love to every part of you, your soul. the sacred devotion this early in the morning genuinely rewires your brain.
he's got you wrapped around his finger, and you equally as much. you're both absolutely smitten with each other. but that's right where you want to be. wrapped up in the mess of your limbs, breaths intermingling as your hips lazily rut into one another.
his length prods through the thin fabric of his boxers, catching your clit just right through the flimsy lace of your panties. your hands are firm on his arms, flexing at the feeling of your nails gently sinking into his skin. both of your eyes remain hooded, a particular roll of his hips eliciting a wrecked moan from you.
"jay," his name falls from your lips like a sinful prayer.
it only eggs him on. it makes him want to pursue your pleasure even further, to pull the breathiest of moans from your plush lips, to have you melt into complete putty and quiver beneath him.
so he does just that.
"just relax, honey," he rolls you flat onto your stomach, already pressing hot kisses to the curve of your neck, down your shoulder. "i got you. let me make you feel good, mama."
the graze of his fingers along your backside has your hips recklessly pushing back into him, eager for more. he moves even slower, dragging your panties down your legs at a pace that indicates no urgency.
his breath catches when a string of your arousal follows the crotch of your panties, your folds glistening before his eyes. already so wet, completely prepared to take all of him.
his fingers are heavy between your legs, parting your lips to spread your slick before sinking home. there's no gradual stretch ― just two fingers prying you open like they belong there.
"mm, fuck, baby."
your words are muffled by the fluff of your pillow, hips moving in tandem with each push of his fingers. your thighs briefly squeeze around his wrist, slightly halting his ministrations.
"gotta open up for me, sweet girl," he murmurs, pressing a kiss right beneath your ear. "gonna let me make you feel good, right, sweetheart?"
he lives for this shit. absolutely fiends for the way your walls drip for him, the way they try to swallow up everything that he gives you. you try to nod, hips still wriggling for him to stop talking and just give you more.
he simply laughs at your weak attempt, firmly pressing one hand to the small of your back.
"patience, mama," he hums, fingers slowly starting to massage your gummy walls again. "patience."
quiet whimpers and low whines rip from your throat with each push of his hand. then his digits curl beautifully against that spot that drives you mad.
"oh, fuck― jay," you gasp, one hand reaching back to tug at his wrist.
he tuts, hissing when your nails press dull crescents into his flesh. he doesn't stop his movements.
"damn, ma," a dark chuckle vibrates through his chest. "that good?"
you can hear the smirk in his voice. if this man wasn't so hot, built to perfection, you'd be pissed. instead, it goes straight to your core, walls clenching around his two thick fingers.
drool pools beneath your pouted lips, coating them in that glossy sheen that makes jason's brain short circuit.
"want more, jay," you attempt to catch his eyes through your hooded ones, moaning softly. "please gimme more."
a grumble resounds from deep within. the sight of you so worked up does nothing to quell the ache in his boxers.
he doesn't even pretend to consider it, pulling his fingers out of you with an earnest "sorry, baby."
his boxers are flung across the room in seconds. his cock rests heavy in his palm, head red and leaking. a few quick pumps are all that he can spare before he's pressing himself to your heat, sloppily running his tip through your folds.
the sounds that leave both of your mouths are lewd. you're sure that you're dripping all over the sheets, but you can't bring yourself to care at all. he continues like that for a bit, whimpering when he barely nudges at your entrance.
you prop yourself onto your elbows, head falling between your shoulders as his hips finally push forward. cacophonic moans spill from your mouth, already coming undone. his free hand finds your hip, deliberately feeding every girthy inch to your greedy cunt.
he shushes you, pressing his lips to the flexed muscles of your back and shoulders.
"'m right here, baby," he stills for a moment before filling you to the hilt, ripping the breathiest moan from your chest. "right fuckin' here, mama."
he sets a harrowing pace ― one that makes you feel every inch and every vein, yet has you damn near bawling out for more.
your fingers clutch a pillow against your chest, the fluff collecting your pathetic moans and stray tears. your thighs are quivering already, fighting the urge to just push back and use him however you please.
"so fuckin' big," you weep when his hips smack the plush of your ass.
his hands abandon your hips, slipping his forearms under your frame instead. he's impossibly deep. you swear you can feel him in your lungs at this point.
another desperate cry urges his hips to move faster, eager for more of those pretty sounds to ring in his ear.
"this pussy was made for me," he muses. "you were fuckin' made for me, sweetheart."
your thighs press closer together, heightening the sensation of his cock nestled deep between your walls.
"baby, fuck, i c― i can't take it," you mewl, fingers curling deeper into the fluff beneath your chest.
his hips pick up their pace, slapping your ass with obscene whack, whack, whacks.
"hell, you can't," he spits, chest shoving down on your back. "you were made for this shit, baby, c'mon. take it."
he bites on your shoulder with enough pressure to get you out of your head. a surprised yelp strings into a moan when his fingers find your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles to the sensitive nub.
"c'mon, honey," he pushes. "let go. come for me. make a mess all over me."
he kisses the blunt bite mark forming on your pretty skin.
"lemme see how good daddy makes you feel."
and that does it.
with one high-pitched gasp, you're falling apart, legs violently trembling as his hips continue to snap forward, drawing out the intensity of your orgasm. your arms give out and the side of your face lands on the pillow as though it'll save you.
"gonna let me fill you up like a good girl, right, baby?"
he has the audacity to whimper as if he's the one being fucked to oblivion. nonetheless, you're nodding wildly.
"fill me up, jay," you blubber with closed eyes. "wan' you to come in me."
he grunts at the feeling of your walls pulsing around him, driving him over the edge shortly afterwards. warm spurts of white paint your insides, shamelessly claiming you as his and his only.
he settles against the warmth of your back, your breaths evening out.
"good fuckin' morning," he croons.
he doesn't pull out, just stays sheathed comfortably. you stir softly when his lips flutter across your back again.
"so," his voice comes out completely wrecked. "me calling myself daddy does it for you, huh?"
you half-heartedly swat a hand at him.
"shut up."
he nips at your shoulder playfully, right where he'd bitten you earlier, and a quiet whimper echoes from the plush of your lips.
"yeah, that's what i thought," he grins to himself, entirely too smug.
gotta give the guy some credit.
a/n: feeling like THAT bitch cause i put out two fics in less than 24 hrs 😎
tim with his girl that’s FAR too loud in wayne manor because it’s old!! the walls are thin and he’s worried EVERYONE can hear her being dicked down cause she can’t stay quiet cause it’s just too good :(
anon, your mind. *Chefs kiss*
Tim Drake/Fem!Reader
cw: sex, mild dirty talk, p in v sex, sex in the manor, mentions of people hearing but no one's actually listening to them
“Fuck, Tim…!” You know you’re probably being too loud. Hell, you’re always too loud but you can’t really help it. Not when he’s got you on your knees, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises to admire later as he fuck into you from behind. The slick, wet sounds of his cock slamming into your pussy, the slap of skin against skin, are all nothing compared to the endless stream of whines and gasps and needy little moans that spill from your lips.
You should press your face into the pillow to at least try to muffle the sound but honestly? You can’t even really think straight right now.
Tim’s almost no better; soft and ragged gasps and little groans tumbling past his own lips as his cock fucks into you. But he’s got enough sense to try and hold the noises back, dreading even the thought of Damian or, god forbid, Bruce hearing any of this. But god, he hates the thin walls of the manor whenever he has you like this. He wants to hear you beg and cry and whine, but he can’t here. Not where anyone else can hear you.
A particularly deep thrust that he uses his grip on your hips to yank you back into punches a shuddering moan from your lips that no doubt can be heard beyond his closed bedroom door.
“Shh, baby,” Tim breathes, leaning down until his lips brush along the curve of your ear. “Gotta keep quiet, remember? Don't wanna wake anyone up.”
“T-trying,” You gasp out, fists clenching his bedsheets as his tongue drags along your ear, slow and torturous. Then his hips snap forward again and you whine, thighs shaking a little as your pussy clenches around his cock. “Fuck…!”
“You’re not trying at all,” Tim gives a breathless laugh, though that whine of yours has him glancing towards his bedroom door anyway. He’s sure Damian can’t hear from his room down the hall. He’s sure Bruce is still down in the cave, far enough away to not hear the way he fucks every cry and moan out of you. But god, he still worries. If not for his sake than your own, because you’d be mortified later if you knew anyone in his family heard you like this.
One of his hands leaves your hip, reaching up to press over your mouth and fuck, he likes this too much. So do you, if the way your pussy flutters around his cock is anything to go by. He smiles a bit as he starts to fuck you harder, faster, and every noise that’s muffled against his hand sends sparks of hot, perverse pleasure down his spine. “There we go, baby. Can’t be loud now, can you?”
You’re not sure if it’s his hand over your mouth or the wicked pleasure lacing his tone that makes you almost dizzy with arousal, but you don’t care right now. It’s too good; his cock stretching you out and fucking into you like you’re nothing but a pretty little toy for him to play with. The thought of being heard is both mortifying and arousing all at once and you can hear how wet you are every time he slams back into you, can feel the heat of pleasure coiling low in your belly. The way his cock drags in and out of you, relentless in his pursuit of pleasure, is intoxicating and every sound you make is muffled against the warm skin of his hand. You want to moan his name, over and over, but all that comes out is more muffled cries that make him groan softly behind you.
“Wish I could hear you,” Tim pants softly, his other hand gripping your hip tightly. He gives a slow roll of his hips just to watch you tremble before snapping his hips forward again, sharp and quick. When another sob of pleasure of yours goes muffled against your hand, a soft whine of his own hisses through his teeth, “Love hearing you get all needy and filthy. Bet you’d beg me to fill you up if I moved my hand from your mouth, wouldn’t even care about being heard in the moment. You’d just wanna feel me fuck you until you can’t stand anymore.”
You give a quick and jerky nod, feeling drool smearing against his palm and along your lips beneath his hand. He’s right. Fuck, he’s right. If he moved his hand you’d beg and cry until he fucked you stupid. Until the whole manor heard you, embarrassment be damned. Tim lets out a shaky moan as he feels you nod and the hand on your hip moves, finding your clit and rubbing tight, fast little circles that match the thrusts of his hips that have your entire body jolting.
“Fucking hell, baby,” Tim breathes, breathless. You know that tone, you’ve heard it so often. He’s probably got his lower lip caught between his teeth, fighting off his orgasm until you hit yours first. His fingers on your clit don’t let up, leaving you shaking and almost sobbing against his palm. “Don’t wanna let anyone else hear you like that.” He gasps out, sharp snaps of his hips punctuating his every next word. “That’s. All. For. Me.”
You’re coming not even a moment later. Your pussy clenches around his cock, dragging a broken moan from his lips, and your entire body shakes from the pleasure. It’s white hot, your shuddering moan still muffled against his lips as he fucks you through it, fingers never letting up on your clit. There’s no doubt that if he wasn’t covering your mouth, you’d be heard nearly all the way downstairs at this rate. And fuck, it makes Tim’s own pleasure boil over. When he spills inside of you, it’s with his own shattered little sound that he muffles against your shoulder, and only then does he move his hands away from your clit and mouth. As you thought, a smear of drool cools against your lips when the bedroom air hits it, but you don’t care. Not when he’s pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your bare shoulder as his other hand gently strokes along your side while your body still thrums with pleasure.
“You’re ridiculous,” Tim murmurs, but his tone is filled with something like awe and pure affection all at once. “One of these days someone’s gonna hear us.”
You shift just enough to look at him over your shoulder, smiling a little to yourself as you catch your breath, “Probably.” Your hips move; a small, easy little roll while he’s still buried inside of you and it makes his breath hitch softly. You bite your lip a bit, doing it again and then chuckling softly when both his hands snap to your hips, stilling you.
He shoots you a warning look, though it’s not nearly as effective with his cheeks flushed with pleasure and his cock still twitching inside of you. “You’re a menace. A loud one.”
You shrug a little bit, “I am. Will you fuck me again?”
Tim laughs and shakes his head a bit in disbelief, though there’s no way to hide that fond smile tugging at his lips. “Fine. But we’re getting a gag or something for when we’re here. I’m almost surprised Bruce can’t hear you down in the cave with the way you get.”
Tempting. You note that in the back of your mind. There’s no time to dwell on it when he gives a slow roll of his hips. And this time, you’ll probably try harder to stay quiet. Probably.
Pairing: Dick Grayson/F!Reader, Wally West/F!Reader
Word Count: 14.2k
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: explicit sexual content, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, oral sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, birth control/STI discussion
Summary:
After another disappointing date, you ask your best friends, Dick Grayson and Wally West, how you’re supposed to know when a man really wants you.
You already know their biggest secret, but their silence reveals one more: they’ve both been in love with you long enough to know exactly what wanting you looks like.
Author’s Note:
inspired by this prompt: you ask your best friends how you’ll know if a man really wants you, and they both go silent for so long that you realize you may have asked the wrong men (exactly the right ones)
🐦🗝️⚡
By the time the date became unsalvageable, you had already stopped thinking about going home.
Your apartment was technically closer. Three blocks closer, if you cut through the side street behind the florist and ignored the fact that the streetlight on the corner had been flickering for two weeks. It had your bed, your laundry, your half-empty carton of oat milk, and the pile of mail you had been pretending not to see since Monday. It was yours in every legal and financial sense that mattered.
Still, when Evan excused himself to answer another text beneath the table, you found yourself picturing Dick and Wally’s apartment instead.
You pictured the spare key on your ring, worn smooth from use. You pictured the ridiculous bowl by the door where Wally dumped change, receipts, and wrapped candies he claimed were “emergency glucose,” even though he ate them during commercials. You pictured their kitchen, which had gradually become your kitchen too by sheer force of habit, with your chipped mug on the second shelf because nobody else was allowed to use it after Wally had microwaved soup in it and endured six full minutes of your wounded betrayal.
You pictured the toothbrush in their bathroom, the shampoo you had bought once and never had to replace yourself because Dick noticed when the bottle ran low. You pictured the drawer in Dick’s dresser that had started as a place for an emergency shirt after a rainstorm and somehow become home to leggings, socks, sleep shorts, bras, and enough underwear that Wally had once texted you from the laundry room in a panic to ask if the black lace thing could go in the dryer.
He had followed the message with seven question marks, three sweating emojis, and a separate apology that only said: I’M BEING RESPECTFUL BUT ALSO I AM CONFUSED BY FABRIC.
You had laughed so hard you had almost dropped your phone in the sink.
You lived nearby. You slept over often enough that the doorman barely blinked when you came in. You had your own apartment, your own bills, your own life, but the gravity of Dick and Wally’s place had become familiar. Safe. There were two bedrooms, technically. Wally’s room existed, even if it held more laundry baskets and half-disassembled equipment than any reasonable adult man should own. Dick’s room had the biggest bed, which had become everyone’s argument for ending up there whenever a movie ran late or one of you had a bad day and did not want to sleep alone.
Nothing had ever happened in that bed.
That was not for lack of wanting.
You were not stupid. You knew what attraction felt like when it sat under your ribs and refused to behave. You knew what it meant when Dick came out of the shower with a towel low on his hips and your brain forgot the English language for three to five business days. You knew what it meant when Wally sprawled across the couch in sweatpants and an old Keystone State shirt, hair still damp, one ankle hooked over yours like casual contact was a form of breathing.
You also knew what it meant to be careful.
They were your best friends. They were Nightwing and the Flash. They trusted you with their identities, their schedules, their emergency contacts, and the strange civilian pieces of a life built around impossible work. You knew why Dick disappeared during galas, what comm chatter sounded like through a half-open bedroom door, and which cabinet held the protein bars Wally claimed tasted fine because his standards were a public health crisis.
You were not part of the fight, but you were part of the aftermath. You knew how to leave lights on without making it look like waiting. You knew how to ask if a night had gone badly without using the word dangerous. You knew how to sit beside them afterward and let the room be quiet until one of them came back to himself enough to make a joke.
It made lines strange.
Evan laughed at something on his phone, then remembered you existed and put it face down with a look that was probably meant to seem apologetic. “Sorry. Work.”
“You said that,” you said.
“Yeah. Big project. Everyone wants a piece of me right now.” He smiled as if inviting you to be impressed. “You know how it is.”
You did, unfortunately. You knew exactly how it was to sit across from someone who liked the idea of being observed but had very little interest in looking back. Evan had been charming for the first twenty minutes. He had asked about your job, your favorite restaurants, the neighborhood. Then he had asked about your friends.
Not all your friends.
Just the two men whose names came up too easily because you were too used to mentioning them.
Dick had picked you up from work after your car battery died. Wally had helped you build the shelves in your living room, which mostly meant taking over halfway through and then making you pretend to be impressed when one of them leaned left. Dick knew a place with the best soup dumplings. Wally had an opinion about every ice cream shop within a five-mile radius. Dick said this. Wally did that. Dick and Wally, Wally and Dick, their names folded into your life with the intimacy of muscle memory.
Evan had noticed.
At first, he had teased. Then he had probed. Then he had made a joke about you keeping “two guys on retainer,” and your smile had gone stiff enough that a better man would have noticed.
Evan was not a better man.
“So these friends of yours,” he said, reaching for his drink. “They always this involved?”
“They’re my best friends.”
“Sure.” His mouth curved. “Just sounds intense.”
You looked at him for a long moment. There were a hundred things you could have said, and most of them would have been true enough to hurt. You could have said that intensity was not always a red flag. Sometimes it was two men who carried cities on their backs and still remembered to text you when the sidewalks froze. Sometimes it was remembering to leave your balcony unlocked, because Dick and Wally had both taught you that emergencies rarely cared about front doors. Sometimes it was a hand on the small of your back in a crowd, not to claim you, but to make sure you could leave if you needed to.
Instead, you said, “I don’t think this is working.”
Evan blinked. “What?”
“This.” You reached for your bag and stood before politeness could talk you into another twenty minutes of disappointment. “It was nice meeting you.”
His chair scraped as he stood too. “Wait, seriously? Because I asked about your friends?”
Because you asked like they were a problem, you thought. Because you said my name three times and made it sound less personal each time. Because I have spent years being known by men who notice everything and still pretend not to see the way they look at me, and somehow this is the loneliest I’ve felt all week.
“Take care, Evan.”
“You’re really just leaving?”
“Yes.”
Outside, the night had gone damp and silver with the threat of rain. Gotham did not do gentle weather. Even drizzle felt like it had a grudge. You stood beneath the restaurant awning long enough to order a car, then canceled it when the app told you the driver was twelve minutes away and the walk to Dick and Wally’s was eight.
Your phone buzzed before you reached the end of the block.
Dick: Date going okay?
You looked at the message and snorted despite yourself.
Wally, immediately after: DON’T ANSWER THAT IF YOU’RE MAKING OUT.
A pause, and then instantly another message: Actually answer with a thumbs-up so I know you’re alive but emotionally unavailable.
Dick: Please don’t listen to him.
Wally: Please listen to me specifically.
You typed with one hand as you walked.
You: Date ended. Heading to yours unless you’re both busy saving the world.
Dick answered almost immediately.
Dick: We’re home. Door’s unlocked.
Wally: Which means you are legally obligated to come in, eat something, and not touch the dumplings marked WALLY.
Dick: They’re not marked.
Wally: Emotionally they are.
You smiled down at your phone, and the ache of the evening shifted into something more familiar, which was not the same as easy. That was another problem. They could make you feel less alone from across the city with three stupid texts and a threat about dumplings.
The doorman let you in with a nod. Upstairs, the apartment glowed in the low, warm way it always did when they knew you were coming. The lamp near the couch was on, the kitchen light was dimmed, and the television had been muted on some nature documentary Wally watched with the intense investment of someone who had opinions about whether cheetahs were “respectably fast” or “coasting on branding.”
To anyone else, the apartment probably looked chaotic; to you, it was a map of old landings, bad nights, shared blankets, and quiet recoveries.
The faint scuff near the balcony door was from months ago, when Dick had landed badly enough to pretend the floor had offended him. The patched spot on the wall near the hall was from Wally accidentally vibrating through it after sneezing at superspeed. The blanket over the back of the couch was yours, bought during a cold snap because their apartment ran chilly and both of them had tried to offer you their hoodies at the same time.
Wally was upside down on the couch when you came in, one leg hooked over the back cushions, a takeout container balanced on his stomach with criminal confidence. Dick sat at the far end with his laptop open and one ankle crossed over his knee, looking less like Nightwing than he ever did in public and more like the man who sent you grocery reminders because he knew you forgot to eat when work got bad.
They both looked up.
Wally’s eyes moved over your face and softened at once. “Oh, I hate him.”
You paused with your hand still on the door. “You don’t know what happened.”
“I know your face.”
“You’re upside down.”
“That gives me a fresh perspective.”
Dick closed his laptop but did not ask anything immediately. That was his tell. He watched you lock the door behind yourself, watched you toe off your shoes into the little space beside theirs, watched your hand linger near your coat as if you had forgotten what came next. He knew when to step forward and when to let silence do the gentler work.
“Tea?” he asked.
Your throat tightened. “Please.”
“Drawer clothes first?” Wally offered, still upside down. “Or dumpling first? Choose wisely. One path has elastic waistbands. The other has delicious filling.”
You looked at the takeout container on his stomach. “Those are the emotionally marked dumplings?”
“Emotionally, yes. Legally, they belong to the household.”
“You are the one who threatened me over them five minutes ago.”
“I was a different man five minutes ago.”
Dick stood, taking your coat before you could decide where to put it. “Go change. I’ll make the tea.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
That was the thing about them. They were always making room for you without turning it into a debt.
You went to the bathroom first, because the evening still clung to your skin in the form of expensive restaurant air and Evan’s cologne from when he had leaned too close to show you a photo you had not asked to see. Their bathroom looked less like a bachelor apartment than it had any right to. That was partly because Dick liked order and partly because you had slowly bullied both of them into owning more than one towel. Your toothbrush sat in the cup between theirs. Your cleanser was on the sink. Your hair ties lived in a small ceramic dish Wally had once knocked over, caught, and then bowed to like he had rescued a civilian from certain death.
You washed your face, breathed until your chest stopped feeling tight, and went to Dick’s room because that was where your drawer was.
It should have felt strange. Sometimes it did, but only in moments like this, when you were already raw and tired and too aware of the fact that your underwear sat folded beside one of Dick’s old Gotham Academy shirts.
You peeled yourself out of your date clothes, piece by piece, bra included, and dropped everything into the hamper, as if shedding the evening might make it stop clinging to your skin. Then you dug through the drawer until you found one of Dick’s shirts, soft from too many washes and big enough on you that you didn’t bother with shorts.
It smelled like him in a way that made your chest ache a little: clean citrus, worn leather, cedar cologne, warm skin, and city air after rain. The hem fell halfway down your thighs, familiar enough to loosen something behind your ribs.
Ownership had become a loose concept among the three of you anyway. Half the clothes in this apartment had passed between hands so many times that claiming anything outright felt pointless.
You told yourself not to think about that.
It worked for almost forty seconds.
When you came back out, Dick had made your tea exactly how you liked it and set your mug on the coffee table. Your mug, because of course he knew which one was yours without asking. It sat warm beside the dumplings, filled exactly the way you liked it, and something about that hurt more than the date had.
Wally had righted himself by then, though his hair looked ridiculous from hanging upside down. He patted the cushion between himself and Dick. “Designated recovery spot is open.”
“You’re making it sound dramatic.”
“I’m emotionally preparing to commit crimes against Evan’s router. Let me have my process.”
You picked up your tea instead of sitting. “You don’t even know his last name.”
“I can work with a first name and vibes.”
“That is not reassuring.”
Dick’s mouth curved faintly. “It shouldn’t be.”
You took one of the dumplings.
Wally gasped with theatrical betrayal, then nudged the container closer because he was incapable of committing to the bit if you were actually hungry. Dick shifted on the couch so there was space beside him too, casual enough that it did not look like an invitation you had to accept.
You ate the dumpling standing up because sitting down felt too much like admitting the date had gotten to you. Wally watched you chew with the concerned intensity of someone waiting for a bomb squad report. Dick said nothing at all, which was worse, because Dick knew when silence would get more out of you than pressure.
Eventually, you sighed. “It was just disappointing.”
Wally’s face softened. “That’s worse than hateable.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah. Hateable gives me something to do. Disappointing just makes me want to feed you and maybe commit a small act of Wi-Fi sabotage.”
“That is not a proportionate response.”
“I said small.”
Dick leaned back against the couch, one arm stretched along the back cushions. He was in an old T-shirt and sweatpants, hair still damp from a shower, bare feet tucked beneath the coffee table, already folded into the quiet rhythm of the apartment. He looked warm and human and untouchably handsome in a way that made you want to be irritated with him on principle.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Nothing dramatic.”
“That’s not an answer.”
You looked at him over the rim of your mug. “He was fine. He asked questions. He laughed at appropriate moments. He checked his phone every time I spoke for more than thirty seconds.”
Wally grimaced. “Immediate jail.”
“He was nice enough.”
“Jail.”
You huffed, but the laugh did not last. “Then he started asking about you two.”
Dick’s expression changed first, not dramatically, but enough for you to notice. Wally sat up straighter, the dumpling container tilting until you steadied it with your knee.
“What kind of asking?” Dick said.
“The kind where curiosity turns into suspicion because I mentioned you too much.”
Wally blinked. “You mentioned us?”
“You built my bookshelf, Wally. It came up.”
“I built it beautifully.”
“One shelf leans.”
“That shelf has character.”
Dick’s gaze stayed on you. “What did he say?”
You shrugged, but it felt thin even to you. “He said it sounded intense.”
Wally’s humor faded.
Dick did not move, but the room seemed to shift around his stillness. “And?”
“And I realized I didn’t want to explain you guys to someone who had already decided you were a problem.”
For a moment, neither of them answered.
The silence was not awkward. It was just full. Full of every late-night call they had answered, every time one of them had walked you home, every takeout order split three ways, every old fear you had swallowed when they were out and the news was bad. Full of your toothbrush in their bathroom and your clothes in Dick’s dresser and the fact that Wally knew your favorite cereal changed its recipe six months ago because you had complained about it once and he had treated it like a civic emergency.
You moved to the couch because standing suddenly felt ridiculous.
Wally shifted at once, making space for you between them. Dick did the same from the other side, both of them adjusting without speaking until your usual place was waiting. You sat down with your tea balanced between your hands and tried not to think about how familiar it felt to have Wally’s knee against yours and Dick’s arm stretched along the cushion behind you.
“Did he make you feel unsafe?” Dick asked.
“No.”
“Good,” Wally said, too quickly.
You glanced at him.
He held up both hands. “Emotionally disappointing men are still on thin ice, but I’m glad he didn’t make it worse.”
“He didn’t make me feel unsafe,” you said. “He just made me feel…observed badly.”
Dick’s brows drew together.
“You and Dick observe people professionally,” Wally said, because of course he knew exactly where your mind had gone. “That’s different.”
“It should be creepy that you know that.”
“I contain multitudes.”
Dick’s thumb moved once against the back of the couch, close enough that you felt the motion near your shoulder. “What do you mean by observed badly?”
“I mean he looked at me like he was trying to figure out what role I could play. Good listener. Pretty enough. Convenient. Available.” You stared into your tea. “And I kept thinking that maybe that’s what dating is now. Figuring out which version of yourself someone wants and deciding if you can tolerate being her for a dinner.”
Wally made a quiet sound under his breath, almost angry.
Dick said your name softly.
You hated that. Not because he had done anything wrong, but because he said it like he knew you. Like there was nothing you had to perform for him to care.
You wrapped both hands around the mug before they could give you away. “Can I ask you something?”
Wally’s knee pressed more firmly against yours. “Always.”
Dick’s attention sharpened. “Of course.”
You should have asked something else. You should have asked whether they wanted to watch a movie, whether Wally had eaten anything other than dumplings, or whether Dick’s laptop meant casework or Wayne Foundation work. There were safer questions in the world. You knew plenty of them.
Instead, you held your mug a little tighter and asked, “How do you know if a man really wants you?”
The apartment went quiet.
It was not the ordinary quiet of late night, when the city hummed beyond the windows and the refrigerator clicked on in the kitchen. It was not even the dangerous quiet you knew from them when a case followed them home and sat heavy in the room.
This was different. This was the kind of silence that came from two men who had both reached for an answer and found it lodged somewhere too close to the heart.
Wally stopped moving first. That was how you knew you had done something terrible. Wally was motion even when he was still, all restless fingers and bouncing knees and little shifts of energy that made the air around him feel alive. Now he sat frozen, his eyes fixed on you like you had said his name in a language he had not expected you to know.
Dick’s stillness was less obvious but more frightening. His hand paused on the back of the couch, fingers curled loosely into the cushion. His face did not change much. Dick had been trained by too many people, hurt by too many people, loved by too many people he had lost. His control was a beautiful, terrible thing. But you were close enough to notice the small things: the slight dip of his chin, the inhale he did not finish, the way his gaze flicked to Wally before returning to you.
You looked between them.
Then, because your mouth had apparently decided to ruin your life, you said, “Wow. I may have asked the wrong men.”
Wally laughed once, breathless and strange. “Yeah.”
Dick’s voice was quieter. “Maybe not.”
The words landed softly. That made them worse.
You stared at him.
Dick looked away first, which he almost never did. He looked toward the window, toward the city beyond it, toward the version of himself that could leap off rooftops and still not know how to answer one honest question in his own living room.
“What do you mean by wants you?” he asked.
It was such a Dick question. Careful. Precise. A way to create structure when the floor had begun to tilt. You could have let him have it. You could have narrowed the conversation into something clinical and survivable.
You did not.
“I mean me,” you said. “Not just sex. Not just attention. Not someone who likes that I’m available or convenient, or that I listen well. How do you know when he actually wants you?”
Wally dragged a hand down his face. “That is a dangerously sincere question for a room where I was just upside down with dumplings.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He looked at you then, really looked, and the humor in him had gone soft around the edges. “He remembers things.”
You blinked. “What?”
“A man who really wants you remembers things he doesn’t get credit for remembering.” Wally’s fingers flexed against his thigh. “The little stuff. The song you skipped three seconds in because it made your face do that thing. The restaurant you said was overrated even though everyone else likes it. The way your voice changes when you’re about to say you’re fine and you absolutely aren’t.”
Your throat tightened.
Wally shrugged like he could make the answer casual if he moved enough. He could not. “He pays attention when there’s nothing in it for him. That’s a big one, I think.”
You looked at Dick because you had to look away from Wally.
Dick’s expression had changed. Something careful had cracked in it, enough for you to see the want beneath. Not lust, though that was there too, impossible to miss now that you were looking directly at it. This was older. Quieter. It had roots.
“He becomes more careful,” Dick said.
Your chest hurt.
“Careful how?”
“With you.” Dick’s gaze held yours. “With what he asks for. With what he takes for granted. Wanting someone is easy. Most people can do that part. But if he really wants you, he cares what his wanting costs you.”
Wally was watching him now too.
Dick’s mouth tightened, like he had already said more than he meant to and still could not stop. “He doesn’t make you responsible for managing his desire. He doesn’t punish you for not returning it the way he hoped. He doesn’t turn your kindness into permission.”
The room felt too small around you.
You thought of all the times Dick had walked you home without making you feel like you were being escorted. The way he always matched your pace, whether you were in heels after an event or slippers on a late-night corner store run. The way his hand hovered near your back in crowded places but never settled unless you leaned into it first. The way he noticed when men looked at you too long and somehow placed himself between you and them without making a scene.
You thought of Wally texting you pictures of six different cereal boxes from the grocery store because you had mentioned once, weeks earlier, that your childhood favorite had changed its recipe and tasted wrong now. You thought of him showing up with soup before you admitted you were sick. You thought of him lying on your living room floor, assembling your bookshelf at human speed because you had accused him of cheating, laughing every time you handed him the wrong screw.
He remembers things.
He becomes more careful.
You had asked for a hypothetical answer.
They had handed you a mirror.
Your laugh came out too soft. “You both got very serious.”
Wally swallowed. “Yeah. Occupational hazard.”
“Is it?”
“No,” Dick said.
Wally shot him a look, half warning and half relief. Dick ignored him, because of course he did. Courage was easier for him when it looked like stepping off a ledge.
“No?” you asked.
Dick leaned forward, forearms braced loosely on his knees. “It’s not an occupational hazard. It’s you.”
The silence after that was different.
Wally closed his eyes briefly. “Well. Okay. We’re doing this.”
Dick did not look away from you. “Only if she wants to.”
Your heart was beating too hard. You wondered if Wally could hear it. Of course he could hear it. He could probably hear your pulse trying to kick its way out of your throat.
“You’re doing what?” you asked, though you knew.
Wally opened his eyes. There was fear in them, which seemed impossible and then immediately made too much sense. Wally West could run faster than light. He could cross cities between heartbeats. He could laugh in the face of gods and monsters and still sit in front of you terrified because this mattered.
“Answering honestly,” he said.
Dick’s gaze flicked over your face with agonizing care. “We didn’t want to put this on you.”
“This?”
“You know what he means,” Wally said, softer than his usual voice. “Us. How we feel. How long we’ve felt it.”
“How long?”
Dick exhaled. “Long enough that I don’t know how to answer that without incriminating myself.”
Despite everything, a laugh escaped you.
Wally looked almost offended. “Oh, he’s being conservative. I can incriminate us both in detail.”
“Wally.”
“What? She asked.”
“I asked how long,” you said.
Wally looked at you, and for once, he did not rush. “For me, it crept up. One day you were asleep on the couch wearing Dick’s sweatshirt and my socks, and you woke up just enough to tell me I had to stop eating chips directly over your head or you were going to haunt me after death. And I thought, oh. This is probably permanent.”
Your heart did something foolish.
Dick looked down, his thumb moving over his knuckles. “For me, it was after the bridge incident.”
You frowned. “That was two years ago.”
“I know.”
Wally’s expression softened, but he let Dick speak.
Dick’s voice remained steady, though not untouched. “You were furious with us.”
“You both disappeared for eighteen hours.”
“We had comms trouble.”
“There was a collapsed building.”
“Also that.” His mouth curved faintly, then faded. “When we got back, you yelled for fifteen minutes. You had three different news feeds open, a first aid kit on the table, and you were shaking so hard you had to put the kettle down because you almost dropped it.”
“I remember.”
“You told me I didn’t get to treat my life like collateral damage just because I was good at surviving.” Dick looked up. “Most people are relieved when we come back. You were relieved too, but you were angry before you were grateful. You loved us enough to be angry.”
You could not breathe properly.
“Dick.”
“I know.” He gave you a small, helpless smile. “Bad timing.”
“Historically, our brand,” Wally said, but his voice was too gentle to turn it into a joke.
You looked between them. The question you had not asked sat in the room with the rest of you, breathing steadily. It should have been the difficult part, maybe. Two men. Two best friends. Two confessions. But there was something in the way they sat, angled not only toward you but toward each other, that made the answer less impossible than it should have been.
“Both of you?” you asked.
Dick nodded.
“We know,” Wally said.
“And you’re…okay with that?”
Wally’s eyebrows rose. “With Dick having taste? Occasionally.”
Dick huffed despite himself.
You stared at them until Wally’s smile softened.
“We talked about it,” he said. “Badly at first. Then better.”
“When?”
“After the bridge,” Dick said.
“Before that,” Wally corrected.
Dick glanced at him.
Wally lifted a shoulder. “You talked after the bridge. I started talking before that. You just did your emotionally constipated Bat thing and pretended my point had been theoretical.”
“There was nothing theoretical about you eating an entire pizza on my fire escape while telling me I was in love with our best friend.”
“Our best friend was inside making tea and wearing your hoodie.”
“You weren’t subtle.”
“Neither were you. You kept looking at her like she was an answer.”
Something in your chest split cleanly open.
Dick’s expression shifted, embarrassment and affection crossing it too quickly to hide. You realized, suddenly, that they had loved you in the same rooms where you had loved them, all of you careful in different directions, all of you pretending the shape of your life was normal because naming it would change everything.
“What about you two?” you asked.
Their silence lasted half a second too long.
Then Wally said, “Also complicated.”
Dick gave him a look. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“You say that now, but wait until I explain it using a metaphor about nachos.”
“Do not.”
You looked from one to the other. The pieces rearranged themselves with quiet, devastating clarity. The closeness that had always seemed natural because it was Dick and Wally. The way Wally’s hand lingered at Dick’s neck when he thought you were not looking. The way Dick knew Wally’s moods before Wally had done anything louder than breathe. The fact that Wally could steal food off Dick’s plate without losing fingers. The mornings you had walked into their kitchen and found them standing too close, both turning toward you with the same guilty-casual energy that had made you roll your eyes and reach for cereal.
“Oh,” you said.
Wally winced. “Good oh or bad oh?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Fair.”
Dick leaned back carefully, giving you space without leaving. That was the worst part. The best part. The impossible part. Even now, with confession lying open between you, his first instinct was to make sure you did not feel trapped in a room where you had always felt safe.
“You don’t have to know tonight,” he said. “You came here after a bad date, and we are all sitting on a couch pretending this hasn’t been years in the making. This is not exactly a neutral environment for a life-changing conversation.”
Wally nodded solemnly. “Also, I’m still upside-down spiritually from the dumpling betrayal.”
“You offered me one.”
“I contain contradictions.”
You laughed again, and this time it broke something loose. Not the tension, exactly. That remained, but it warmed, softened at the edges by how deeply, absurdly yours they were.
“You were both just going to keep this to yourselves?” you asked.
Dick’s eyes returned to yours. “If that was what kept you comfortable.”
“That’s stupid.”
Wally pointed at Dick. “I said that.”
“Repeatedly,” Dick said.
“Because it’s true.” Wally looked at you with a fragile kind of hope. “But we also weren’t going to make you feel like this place came with strings. You sleep here. You have a key. You know the vigilante stuff. You know where we hide the good bandages and the terrible protein bars. That’s a lot of trust to mess with.”
You understood. That was the terrible thing. You understood too well. This apartment was your soft landing. It was where you came when the world had teeth. If they had said the wrong thing at the wrong time, if they had made you feel observed instead of known, the loss would have been enormous.
But they had not done that.
They had waited until you asked a question they could no longer answer without handing you the truth.
“Wally,” you said.
He sat up straighter. “Yeah?”
“Come here.”
Wally was already close, but he still moved like the distance mattered. His knee shifted against yours, his body turning toward you on the couch, and then he stopped with enough space left between you that it made your chest hurt. He was letting you close the last of it. He smelled like detergent, mint gum, and the clean, electric warmth that always seemed to cling to him.
“You’re shaking,” you said.
Wally huffed a laugh, almost embarrassed. “Yeah.”
“That’s unusual.”
“Lots of things are unusual right now.” His eyes searched yours. “But I’m here.”
You reached up and touched the side of his face. Wally went very still. He had leaned into you a thousand times before, his head in your lap during movie nights, his shoulder bumping yours in grocery aisles, his legs tangled with yours under Dick’s comforter after long days and worse dreams. This was different because you let it be different. You watched the realization move through him, bright and startled and almost painful.
“Can I kiss you?” you asked.
Wally’s breath caught. “Yes. Please. Very yes.”
You smiled despite the shake in your chest and kissed him.
For a man who could outrun almost everything, Wally did not rush you. His mouth met yours carefully, warmly, a little unsteady at first, like he had imagined this enough times to be shocked by the reality of it. Then your fingers slid into his hair, and he made a sound against you that turned the entire room molten. His hand came to your waist, stopped there, asked without words. When you leaned closer, his grip tightened just enough to make you feel the restraint in it.
He tasted faintly of mint and soy sauce.
He kissed like he had been waiting so long that patience had become its own kind of hunger.
When you pulled back, his eyes stayed closed for a second.
“Okay,” he said faintly. “That happened. I’m normal about it.”
“You are visibly not normal about it.”
“I’m experiencing multiple emotions at speeds previously unknown to science.”
Dick laughed softly from your other side, but when you looked at him, the humor in his face did not disguise the want. It made it worse, actually. Wally was bright with it, nearly vibrating under your hand. Dick was still, but his stillness had become charged, every line of him drawn tight around the effort not to reach for you before you asked.
You turned toward him.
Dick watched you come closer by inches, your knee shifting against his thigh, your hand settling carefully on the couch beside him. He did not move until you were facing him fully. Then his hands lifted, not touching yet, hovering near your hips. There he was again, careful even while looking at you like restraint was costing him something.
“Can I?” he asked.
You nodded.
His hands settled on you, warm through the borrowed shirt. Your breath left you unevenly.
“You’re sure?” Dick asked.
Your mouth curved before you could stop it. “Do you ask everyone that after they kiss someone you’re in love with?”
Wally made an incoherent sound behind you.
Dick’s mouth curved. “No.”
“Then yes.”
The first brush of his lips was soft enough to undo you. Dick kissed differently than Wally. He kissed like falling with control, like every angle mattered, like he could make gentleness as devastating as force if he paid enough attention. One hand slid to your back, the other staying at your hip. He did not pull. He invited, and somehow that was worse. You shifted closer on the couch until your thigh pressed against his, and his fingers flexed against your spine.
The second kiss was deeper.
Dick made a low sound when your hand found his jaw, and you felt it through his chest because you were close enough now, finally, to know what his wanting sounded like. Wally shifted behind you, and Dick’s hand tightened just slightly, as if the reminder that Wally was watching did not cool the heat but changed its direction.
You pulled away only enough to breathe.
Dick’s eyes were dark. “This can stop here.”
“It can,” you said.
Wally’s voice came from behind your shoulder, quieter now. “Does it?”
You looked over your shoulder at him. He was still on the couch, hair messy from your hand, one knee angled toward yours like he had started to move closer and stopped himself from asking for too much. His eyes stayed fixed on you with an openness that made the choice feel less like stepping into the unknown and more like coming home to a room you had somehow never entered.
You thought of your toothbrush in the bathroom. Your mug on the coffee table. Your clothes in Dick’s drawer. Wally’s texts. Dick’s hands. The bed you had slept in between them so many times, waking warm and safe and pretending your heart did not break a little every morning you had to climb out of it.
“No,” you said. “I don’t think it does.”
Wally inhaled so sharply that it was almost a laugh.
Dick’s hands tightened at your hips, and then he kissed you again, catching the small sound that slipped out of you before you could pretend it had not happened. You let yourself lean into him, let yourself feel the steadiness of his body and the warmth of Wally coming up behind you. Wally did not press in immediately. He waited until you reached back, found his wrist, and drew his arm around your waist.
His breath hit your hair.
“Oh,” he said softly.
You smiled against Dick’s mouth. “You keep saying that.”
“I keep learning things.”
Dick’s mouth brushed the corner of yours. “He’s a very committed student.”
“Top of my class,” Wally said.
“You once put Pop-Tarts in a panini press.”
“They were incredible.”
“They caught fire.”
“Briefly.”
You laughed, and Dick kissed the sound from your mouth.
🐦🗝️⚡
The walk to his bedroom should not have felt like crossing a border, but it did. You had walked that hall half-asleep, tipsy, sick, laughing, furious, worried. You had stumbled through it with a blanket around your shoulders after nightmares you blamed on bad movies and they pretended to believe you. You had leaned against the doorframe watching Dick fold laundry while Wally sprawled across the bed claiming moral support. You knew the creak of the floor, the shape of the room in the dark, the side of the mattress that dipped because Wally threw himself onto it with no respect for furniture.
Tonight, when Dick opened the door, you hesitated.
Both of them noticed.
“Hey,” Wally said immediately. “We can go back to the couch. Or stop. Or make tea. Or I can run to Canada and bring back those maple cookies you like, although I feel like that might be an overcorrection.”
You looked at him over your shoulder. “Canada?”
“Panic suggestion.”
Dick’s hand touched your back gently. “Talk to us.”
The words settled you. Not because they fixed the nerves, but because they made room for them.
“I’ve slept in this bed with you both a thousand times,” you said. “It feels strange that this is the first time I’m nervous.”
Dick’s expression softened. “It’s allowed to feel strange.”
“Good strange,” Wally added. “Hopefully. Eventually. Maybe right now it’s weird strange. We can work with weird strange.”
You smiled. “You are so bad at being reassuring.”
“I’m actually fantastic at it. You’re just seeing me under extreme conditions.”
Dick’s thumb moved once against your back. “Nothing happens unless all three of us want it.”
You looked at him. “All three?”
His gaze moved briefly to Wally, and something passed between them that was so familiar and intimate you wondered how you had ever missed it. “All three.”
Wally came closer, slower this time. “For the record, I want it. You. This. Him. Us. But wanting doesn’t mean I need to have it tonight.”
Your heart twisted. “That was almost smooth.”
“I have hidden depths.”
“You just brought up Canada.”
“Some of my depths are geographical.”
Dick’s laugh was quiet, fond, and beautiful. It loosened the last of the fear sitting beneath your ribs.
You stepped into the bedroom.
The room was exactly as you knew it. Dick’s bed stood against the far wall, too large for one person and too often occupied by three. The comforter was rumpled from the morning, because Dick made his bed only when stress turned him into a machine and Wally took personal offense at tucked corners. Your book sat on the nightstand beside Dick’s, a bookmark halfway through the chapter you had been reading three nights ago while Wally slept sideways across the foot of the bed.
There were pieces of you everywhere.
You turned to face them.
“I want you,” you said, and watched the words land. “Both of you. I don’t know exactly how this works yet, but I want to find out.”
Dick’s eyes closed briefly.
Wally’s smile trembled at the edges. “We can do finding out.”
“Slowly,” Dick said.
“Sure,” Wally said quickly. “Slow is great. Love slow. Big fan.”
You gave him a look.
“I can be slow,” he insisted.
Dick’s mouth tilted. “He can.”
The fact that Dick knew that should not have sent heat down your spine, but it did. Both of them saw it happen. Of course they did. Dick’s gaze sharpened; Wally’s breath hitched.
“Oh,” Wally said.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” you said, though your own voice had changed.
“I’m not surprised. I’m delighted. There’s a difference.”
Dick stepped closer, his hand finding your waist again. “Tell us what you want first.”
You swallowed. “I want you to stop looking like you’re waiting for me to vanish.”
That hurt them. You saw it.
Dick touched your cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Wally came up behind you, close enough that his warmth reached your back without trapping you. “Say that again in like five minutes. My brain needs repetition.”
You leaned back into him. His hands settled at your hips, then paused. You covered one with your own and drew it more securely around you.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you said.
Wally exhaled against your hair, and Dick kissed you again.
There was nothing uncertain in it this time. Dick kissed you like he had been given an answer and intended to honor it thoroughly. Wally’s mouth found your shoulder through the thin shirt, his breath warm, his hands careful at your waist. You were suddenly, dizzyingly aware of being between them. Dick in front of you, steady and beautiful, one hand at your jaw and the other at your hip. Wally behind you, restless energy banked into trembling restraint, his lips moving against the side of your neck as if he was learning what made you sigh.
You had been touched before. Wanted, even. But you understood the difference now with brutal clarity. Wanting, from them, did not feel like being consumed. It felt like being attended to. It felt like every breath you took mattered.
Dick drew back first, his fingers catching lightly at the hem of his shirt where it rested against your hips. “Can I take this off?”
It took you a second to understand.
Then you laughed, a little breathless. “It’s yours, I think.”
“It is,” Dick said, and there was something in his voice that made your stomach dip.
Wally’s mouth brushed your neck. “For the record, I fully support its current use.”
Dick’s gaze stayed on you. “And its removal?”
Wally hummed. “Also that.”
You started to lift your arms, but Wally’s hands tightened just slightly at your waist.
“Wait,” he said, then seemed to regret saying it when both you and Dick went still.
You turned your head enough to look at him. “Wait?”
“Not stop,” Wally said quickly. “Definitely not stop. I just—” He huffed a laugh against your shoulder, embarrassed and helpless. “I need to say something before my brain stops working.”
Dick’s expression softened. “That bad?”
“That bad,” Wally said.
You waited.
Wally’s thumb moved once against your hip, brushing the bare skin beneath the hem of Dick’s shirt. “You know we love how comfortable you are here, right?”
Your breath caught at the sudden softness in his voice.
“This is your place too,” he said. “Not officially, maybe, but in all the ways that count. Your mug is in the kitchen. Your toothbrush is in the bathroom. Your clothes are in Dick’s dresser. You come over and change into one of our shirts like it’s nothing, like you trust us so much you don’t even think about it anymore.”
Dick’s hand stilled at your waist.
Wally swallowed. “And we love that. We really, really love that.” His voice dipped, turning rougher. “But sometimes you walk around in one of our shirts and those little sleep shorts, or no shorts, or you reach up for something and we see the edge of your panties, and I swear to God, I have almost died in this apartment more times than I have in the field.”
Your face went hot.
“Wally,” Dick said, but the warning was ruined by the strain in his voice.
“What? We’re being honest tonight.” Wally’s mouth brushed the corner of your jaw. “You bend over to look for something in the fridge. You fall asleep with the shirt riding up your thighs. You sit on the counter in socks and underwear and one of Dick’s old shirts, drinking tea out of that chipped mug, and we both have to stand there acting like our souls didn’t just leave our bodies.”
You looked at Dick. “Both of you?”
Dick’s eyes met yours, dark and steady and helplessly warm. “Both of us.”
Something inside you tightened.
“It was never just the shirt,” Dick said, his fingers smoothing over the hem as if he had wanted to touch it like this for years. “It was that you trusted us enough to stop guarding yourself here.”
That undid you more than Wally’s words had.
“Oh,” you said softly.
Wally let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. That too. I was getting there.”
Dick’s mouth curved, but his gaze stayed on you. “Can I take it off?”
This time, when you lifted your arms, neither of them stopped you.
Dick pulled the shirt over your head slowly, careful not to let the fabric catch. The air touched your skin, and both men went quiet again. Not silent in that fearful way from the living room, but quiet with attention. Wally’s hand spread over your stomach, warm and reverent. Dick’s gaze moved over you with visible effort, not lingering anywhere you had not invited yet and somehow making that restraint feel more intimate than staring would have been.
“You’re beautiful,” Dick said.
It was simple. It should not have undone you.
Wally kissed your shoulder. “So beautiful.”
Your instinct was to deflect. Make a joke. Tell Wally his taste had been damaged by eating cereal out of a saucepan. Tell Dick he was legally obligated to say nice things because he had known you too long. You had a dozen exits ready, all of them familiar.
Dick seemed to know. His thumb touched your lower lip before the joke could leave it.
“Let us say it,” he murmured.
Your chest ached. “Okay.”
Wally’s arms tightened around you for half a second. “Good. Because I’ve got years of material.”
“Wally.”
“What? I’m pacing myself.”
Dick looked at him over your shoulder, and the warmth in his expression made your pulse skip. “Are you?”
“Badly.”
You turned your head and kissed Wally before he could say anything else. He made a pleased sound, hands flexing at your waist, and Dick’s fingers drifted down your side with aching care. The kiss turned messy faster than the first one. Maybe because there was so little between you already. Maybe because Wally’s self-control had limits, and one of them was apparently you turning in his arms to lick into his mouth while wearing only your panties, with Dick close enough to touch you both.
Dick’s hand slid over your ribs and stopped just below your breast, asking without words.
You broke the kiss with Wally, breath unsteady. “You can.”
Dick lifted his eyes to yours. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
His hands covered you, palms warm beneath your breasts, thumbs brushing softly until your breath caught. Wally watched over your shoulder, eyes dark and bright at once, then lowered his mouth to yours again as Dick touched you. It was too much and exactly enough. Wally kissed like he wanted to swallow every sound you made; Dick touched like he wanted to discover them one by one.
Your hands found Dick’s chest. He was warm under your palms, solid and familiar in a way that made the moment feel more dangerous than if he had been a stranger. You knew this body in a dozen almost-innocent ways. You knew the weight of his arm thrown across your waist in sleep, the pressure of his shoulder against yours in a crowded booth, the warmth of him behind you when he reached over your head for a cabinet because he enjoyed being obnoxiously tall.
Now your hand slid over his heartbeat, and he went still beneath your touch.
“You okay?” you asked.
Dick caught your wrist and brought your hand to his mouth. “Yes.”
“Will you tell me if that changes?”
That made him pause.
Wally, to his credit, did not make a joke.
Dick’s expression changed, and you saw him understand what you were really asking. You had spent too long loving men who treated their limits like suggestions. You were not asking as someone about to sleep with him. You were asking as the person who knew that care had to go both ways, or it would become another kind of burden.
“I will,” he said. “Tonight, I will.”
You searched his face. Then you nodded.
Wally touched your waist. “Me too. For anything. I know I can be a lot.”
“You are a lot.”
“True.” His mouth curved, but his eyes stayed serious. “I’ll tell you.”
“Good.”
“Hot when you boss us around,” he said, then immediately looked like he had startled himself.
Dick’s eyebrows rose. “Is it?”
Wally pointed at him. “Do not psychoanalyze me while she’s topless.”
You laughed, and the sound turned into a gasp when Dick dipped his head and kissed the curve of your breast. Wally’s humor dissolved at once. His mouth parted against your temple, and his hand slid up your ribs, stopping just below where Dick’s mouth moved. Dick looked up at you through his lashes, checking. You nodded, and then his tongue touched your nipple.
Your knees nearly failed you.
Wally caught you with a soft, reverent curse. “Okay. Bed. Bed is good.”
Dick smiled against your skin. “Slow?”
“Slow can happen horizontally.”
That made you laugh again, but your laugh broke when Dick did it again, warmer this time, lips closing around you before Wally guided you carefully back toward the bed. Dick moved with you, one hand steady at your hip, unwilling to let the contact break until the mattress touched the backs of your legs.
You had climbed into Dick’s bed in every state except this one.
That thought followed you down onto the mattress. It was familiar beneath your back, the comforter soft against your skin, the pillows smelling like Dick’s shampoo and Wally’s habit of stealing them. How many nights had you lain here between them, your body relaxed in sleep while your heart carried secrets your waking self refused to name? How many mornings had you woken with Wally’s arm thrown over your waist and Dick’s hand near yours, all of you pretending it was only comfort?
Now Dick knelt beside you with want written plainly across his face, and Wally settled near your other side, vibrating with the effort to give you time.
You looked at them and felt something in you steady.
“Pants,” you said.
Wally looked down at himself. “Mine?”
“Both.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Dick shook his head, smiling as Wally nearly tripped getting out of his sweatpants. Dick moved more deliberately, his gaze never leaving yours as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of his own. He stopped before pushing anything down.
“Still okay?”
“Very okay.”
Wally had his pants off already because of course he did, all lean muscle and restless heat, his confidence lasting approximately one second before he noticed you looking and flushed. “Assessment received.”
Dick laughed, and you smiled despite the heat crawling up your neck.
“You’re both ridiculous,” you said.
“You knew that before you invited us to take our clothes off,” Wally said.
“Some mistakes deserve commitment.”
Dick’s mouth curved. “Is that what this is?”
You looked at him, at the softness under the teasing. “No.”
The answer changed the room again.
Dick pushed his sweatpants down. His underwear followed a moment later, and your breath caught despite yourself.
Dick noticed. Of course he noticed.
His eyes darkened, but he did not touch you. “Still very okay?”
“Yes.”
Wally popped up beside him, naked now and visibly trying to look patient. “Can I also get an assessment? For fairness.”
You looked at him.
Then lower.
Wally’s confidence abandoned him completely. “I am never going to survive this.”
“You run faster than light.”
“Emotionally, I am a Victorian maiden.”
Dick climbed onto the bed and kissed him, slow and familiar enough that your pulse kicked hard. Wally melted into it with a sound that told you more than any explanation could have. They kissed like people who had already crossed some lines privately and were now learning how it felt to let you see. When Dick drew back, Wally’s mouth stayed parted for half a second, his eyes opening slowly.
You stared.
Dick looked at you. “Good oh?”
You realized you had made a sound. “Very good oh.”
Wally beamed. “Excellent. Love to contribute.”
You reached out and touched Wally’s knee. “Come here.”
He came immediately, but the joking faded as soon as your hand slid up his thigh. His skin was warm, almost feverish, muscles tense beneath your touch. He watched you like he could not decide whether to move closer or hold himself perfectly still.
Dick shifted behind you, gathering you with him as he settled back against the headboard and drew you gently between his legs. You leaned against his chest and felt his breath shift near your ear. His hands came to your waist, then lower, stopping at the edge of your panties like even now he was giving you time to change your mind.
“Can I take these off?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Wally’s gaze followed the movement as Dick slid them down your legs. The room went quiet again, not with hesitation this time, but with the weight of both of them finally seeing what they had been careful not to want too openly for years.
You started to close your thighs on instinct.
Wally’s hand touched your knee, not forcing, just there. “Hey. You don’t have to hide from us.”
The words went through you with embarrassing force.
Dick kissed the side of your neck. “He’s right.”
“This is new,” you whispered.
“I know.” Wally’s thumb moved gently over your knee. “We’ll earn it.”
Your eyes stung. You wanted to blame the long night, the bad date, the adrenaline crash, the way Dick’s mouth felt against your skin and Wally’s hand felt warm on your leg. But it was not only that. It was the tenderness. The promise beneath it. The sense that they had already decided your comfort was not a pause before desire but part of it.
You let your thighs relax.
Wally’s eyes dropped, and the breath he took was unsteady enough to make Dick’s hands tighten on you.
“Beautiful,” Wally said, softer this time. “God, sweetheart.”
The pet name slipped out like an accident.
You felt Dick go still behind you.
Wally’s eyes snapped to yours. “Too much?”
“No,” you said quickly, then softer, “No. I liked it.”
His smile came back slowly. “Yeah?”
Dick’s mouth brushed your ear. “She liked it.”
The words sent heat rolling through you.
Wally noticed that too. His pupils widened, and some of the carefulness in him sharpened into hunger. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
“Wally,” Dick warned, but there was no real reprimand in it.
“What? I’m observing.”
“You can observe closer,” you said.
Wally’s gaze flew to your face.
Your pulse pounded. “If you want.”
His laugh was almost disbelieving. “If I want.”
Then he was between your thighs.
Still slow. Still careful. He settled on his stomach with his arms hooked beneath your legs, but he did not put his mouth on you right away. He kissed your inner thigh first, warm and lingering, then the other. His stubble grazed your skin. Your fingers twisted in the comforter, and Dick’s hands slid up to cover yours, lacing your fingers together.
“You can touch him,” Dick murmured. “He likes it.”
Wally’s eyes flicked up. “I like it a lot.”
Your hand found Wally’s hair.
His lashes fluttered.
“Oh,” you whispered.
Wally’s smile turned wicked and soft at once. “Yeah. That.”
Then his mouth touched you.
The first stroke of his tongue made your back arch against Dick’s chest. Dick held you through it, not pinning you, just anchoring you as Wally groaned like he had been the one given pleasure. His mouth was warm and wet, the pace unhurried in a way that made you think of his earlier insistence that he could be slow. Apparently he could, when it mattered. He learned you with devastating focus, licking gently at first, then firmer when your hand tightened in his hair and your breath broke around his name.
Dick’s mouth moved along your throat. “Tell him what feels good.”
“Keep doing that.”
Wally made a muffled sound of approval.
“More specific,” Dick said, and you could feel his smile against your skin.
You would have elbowed him if you had been capable of coordination. “You’re annoying.”
“You’ve said.”
Wally lifted his head just enough to speak, lips wet, eyes bright. “You can pull my hair. For specificity.”
You did.
His eyes closed, and the sound he made was obscene enough that your entire body clenched. Dick inhaled sharply behind you.
“Wally.”
“I’m good,” Wally said, already lowering his mouth again. “I’m so good.”
He proved it.
There was no room left for embarrassment after that. Wally ate you out like attention was devotion, like every reaction mattered, like he had all the time in the world and intended to spend it between your thighs. Dick held your hands and whispered praise against your neck, his voice low and rougher than usual. Good. Like that. You’re doing so well. He loves that sound. We both do.
We.
The word sent you over the edge.
You came with Wally’s name in your mouth and Dick’s hands holding yours. Pleasure rolled through you in bright waves, your thighs trembling around Wally’s shoulders as he worked you through it with gentler strokes until you tugged at his hair because it was too much. He stopped immediately, pressing one last kiss to your thigh before lifting his head.
His mouth was shiny. His expression was wrecked.
“Okay,” he said, voice hoarse. “So. That’s my new favorite thing.”
Dick laughed against your shoulder. “You look proud of yourself.”
“I am proud of myself. Did you see that?”
“I was here.”
“You should compliment me.”
“You did very well.”
Wally looked delighted. “Thanks, babe.”
The casual endearment between them hit you almost as hard as the orgasm had. Dick seemed to feel you react, because his fingers stroked over your knuckles.
“Still with us?” he asked.
You nodded, breathing unevenly. “Very much.”
Wally crawled up your body, stopping when his face was near yours. He hesitated, suddenly uncertain. You understood a second later and pulled him down into a kiss. You tasted yourself on his mouth, and the intimacy of it made him shudder.
Dick’s hand slid into Wally’s hair from behind you, drawing him closer. Wally broke from your mouth only to turn toward him, and then they were kissing over your shoulder.
You stopped breathing.
You had seen them touch before. You had seen Wally throw himself onto Dick’s back, Dick catch Wally by the wrist, the two of them lean into each other with the exhausted ease of men who trusted each other down to the bone. But this was not that. This was Wally kissing Dick with your taste on his tongue, Dick’s hand firm at the back of his neck, both of them making quiet sounds they had never let you hear before.
It should have made you feel like an outsider.
It did not.
Dick’s free hand found your waist, drawing you more securely against him even as he kissed Wally. Wally’s hand spread over your thigh. The circle held. The desire moved through all three of you, not divided but multiplied.
When they separated, Wally rested his forehead against Dick’s for a moment.
“Still okay?” Dick asked him.
Wally smiled. “Yeah. You?”
Dick nodded.
Then both of them looked at you.
You swallowed. “I need a second.”
“Of course,” Dick said immediately.
Wally started to move back, but you caught his wrist.
“Not away. Just a second.”
His face softened. “Okay.”
Dick reached for the water bottle on his nightstand and handed it to you. It was yours, actually, one you had left there after a movie night and never taken home. That fact nearly made you laugh. Even during sex, this room kept offering evidence of how long you had belonged here.
You drank, then passed it to Wally. He drank too, then offered it to Dick, who took it with a grateful nod.
The domesticity of it settled your nerves more than anything else could have.
Wally wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then seemed to realize what he had done and reached for the tissues. “Sorry. Not my most suave moment.”
“You had your mouth between my legs thirty seconds ago.”
“Great point. I’m suave again.”
Dick shook his head, but his smile was affectionate enough to make Wally glow.
You shifted carefully and turned between them. “We should talk before anything else.”
Both of them sobered at once.
“Okay,” Dick said.
Wally nodded. “Talking is good. Love informed consent. Big supporter.”
You took a breath. “Birth control is current. You both know that.”
They did. Not because it was erotic. Because they were part of your life in all the inconvenient, practical ways that made intimacy possible long before anyone got naked. Dick had driven you home after an appointment when a medication change made you nauseous. Wally had picked up your pharmacy order once when work trapped you late and then called from the aisle to ask if you wanted the good chocolate or the emergency chocolate, because apparently those were separate categories. They knew because you told them things. They knew because they listened.
Dick’s expression remained careful. “We know.”
“And you both get tested.”
“Regularly,” Dick said. “Last panel was clean.”
“Same,” Wally said. “Two weeks ago. I can show you the results if you want.”
“I trust you.”
Wally looked touched, then immediately tried to hide it. “I mean, I have a very trustworthy face.”
“You have a ridiculous face.”
“And yet.”
Dick’s hand covered yours. “We have condoms. We can use them, or not. Your choice. That choice can change at any point.”
Your throat went tight again. “I don’t want to use them.”
Wally inhaled.
Dick’s hand stilled.
“I want to feel you,” you said, and somehow that was more exposing than being naked between them. “Both of you. But if either of you wants barriers, that’s okay too.”
Wally’s voice was rough. “I don’t. I want what you want.”
Dick’s gaze stayed locked on yours. “Same.”
The word carried weight because Dick never gave agreement he did not mean.
You nodded, heat rising again now that the practicalities had been named. “Okay.”
Wally’s mouth curved. “Okay.”
Dick touched your chin, turning you gently back toward him. “One more thing.”
You smiled a little. “That sounded ominous.”
“It isn’t.” His thumb brushed your lower lip. “If we do this, tomorrow matters.”
Your chest softened.
Wally shifted closer, his hand warm on your thigh. “And the day after. And the day after that.”
“We don’t have to figure out every detail tonight,” Dick said. “But this isn’t just sex for us.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
You looked at him, then at Wally. Their faces were open in different ways, Dick’s fear disciplined into tenderness, Wally’s hope bright enough to hurt.
“Yes,” you said. “I know.”
Dick kissed you then, and the conversation ended because the answer had been given.
You moved with him until he was propped against the pillows and you were straddling his lap. Wally sat beside you, one hand on your back, the other low on Dick’s thigh. The sight of them together beneath you nearly stole your nerve. Dick naked, hard against your stomach, his hair mussed and his mouth soft from kissing you. Wally close enough to touch you both, his mouth still swollen, his body tense with want he was trying very hard not to let run away with him.
You reached between you and wrapped your hand around Dick.
His head tipped back against the headboard.
Wally swore softly. “That’s unfairly pretty.”
Dick’s laugh broke into a groan when your thumb moved over the head of him. He was hot and heavy in your hand, controlled until he was not, hips twitching up before he caught himself.
“You’re going to let me do the work,” you said.
His eyes opened. “Bossy.”
“You like it.”
Wally made a strangled sound. “He does.”
Dick looked at him. “Wally.”
“What? We’re being honest tonight.”
You smiled and lifted your hips.
Dick’s hands came to your waist. “Slow.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean—” His breath caught when you rubbed him against you, both of you slick from Wally’s mouth and your own arousal. “God.”
Wally’s hand slid to your hip beside Dick’s, not guiding, just feeling the moment with you. “You okay?”
You nodded, lowering yourself just enough for the head of Dick’s cock to press into you. The stretch made your mouth fall open.
Dick’s hands tightened. “Breathe.”
You did, forehead dropping to his. He kissed you softly, again and again, until your body eased enough to take more of him. Wally’s mouth found your shoulder, his praise spilling warm against your skin.
“That’s it. Take your time. God, you look—fuck, you look so good.”
Dick made a sound like Wally’s words had gone through him too.
You sank down slowly, inch by inch, until Dick was fully inside you.
For a moment, nobody moved.
There were things you had imagined. Late at night, alone in your own bed. In their shower, feeling guilty and helpless and hungry. Half-asleep between them, Wally’s hand accidentally under your shirt and Dick’s thigh warm against yours. You had imagined Dick’s body over yours, Wally’s mouth at your neck, both their hands, both their voices. You had imagined enough to know desire.
Reality was different.
Reality was Dick trembling beneath you because you were wrapped around him and he was trying not to take more than you were giving. Reality was Wally pressing his forehead to your shoulder, breathing hard, as if watching was its own kind of contact. Reality was your own body clenching around Dick while your heart struggled to hold the impossible tenderness of having both of them here, wanting you, waiting for you.
Dick’s voice was nearly gone when he said your name.
You lifted your head. “Yeah?”
His eyes met yours. “I love you.”
The words struck all the air from the room.
Wally went still.
Dick looked like he had not meant to say it there, like the truth had slipped past every careful defense because his body was full of you and his heart had finally stopped obeying orders. For half a second, panic flashed across his face.
You kissed it away.
“I love you too,” you whispered against his mouth.
Dick’s hands shook on your waist.
Behind you, Wally made a small sound.
You reached back for him without looking. He caught your hand immediately, fingers threading through yours with almost painful force.
“You too,” you said, turning your head enough to see him. “I love you too.”
Wally’s face changed.
He had always been expressive, always bright, always too alive to hide much for long. But you had never seen this expression before. It was relief and hunger and disbelief and joy so raw it looked almost wounded.
“You can’t just say that while Dick is inside you,” he said, voice wrecked.
A laugh broke out of you, wet at the edges. “Why not?”
“Because now I’m going to cry while this hard, and I don’t know what to do with that emotionally.”
Dick’s laugh turned into a groan as your body clenched around him.
“Don’t laugh,” he said, strained.
“You started this.”
“I did.”
Wally kissed your hand, then your shoulder. “I love you. Obviously. Embarrassingly. To a degree that has made me annoying at multiple gatherings.”
Dick’s mouth brushed yours. “He was already annoying.”
“True, but love gave me range.”
You rolled your hips experimentally.
The joking shattered.
Dick’s head dropped back, throat exposed, a sound leaving him that you felt everywhere. Wally’s hand slid to your stomach, fingers splayed low as if he could feel where Dick was inside you. The pressure made you gasp.
“Okay?” Wally asked quickly.
“Yes. Don’t stop.”
His eyes darkened.
You moved again, slow because the stretch was still intense, because the softness of the moment had turned every sensation sharp. Dick’s hands helped you find a rhythm, careful but firm, his mouth moving over yours whenever you leaned close enough. Wally touched everywhere you let him. Your breasts, your thighs, your hips, the place where your body took Dick again and again. He watched with awe so naked it made you feel worshipped.
“Wally,” you breathed.
“I’m here.”
“Touch me.”
His fingers found your clit, slick and careful.
You cried out, folding forward into Dick. Dick caught you, one arm around your back, his mouth at your throat. Wally adjusted immediately, reading your body with the same attention he brought to everything that mattered. He touched you in slow circles while Dick moved beneath you in shallow thrusts, all three of you caught in a rhythm that felt less like performance and more like discovery.
Pleasure built differently this time. Deeper. Slower. Dick filled you, Wally’s fingers worked you higher, and both of them kept talking to you in broken, reverent fragments that made heat gather low in your belly.
So good.
There you are.
Beautiful.
We’ve got you.
That last one did it.
Your orgasm tore through you hard enough that your vision blurred. Dick held you while you shook, his own control breaking a second later as you clenched around him. He buried his face against your neck with a low, helpless sound and came inside you, his hands gripping your waist like you were the only solid thing in the world.
Wally’s hand slowed but did not leave you until you stopped trembling.
For several seconds, the room was nothing but breath.
Then Wally said, very quietly, “I think my soul left my body, and I wasn’t even the one inside you.”
You laughed into Dick’s shoulder. “You are such an idiot.”
“An emotionally supportive idiot.”
Dick’s laugh was quiet and wrecked. “He’s right.”
You lifted your head and looked at Wally. He was flushed, painfully hard, and trying very earnestly to look patient. It made your heart ache.
“Come here,” you said.
Wally blinked. “You need a minute.”
“I need you.”
His composure did not stand a chance.
Dick’s hands stroked your sides as you lifted off him carefully, both of you shivering at the loss. Wally vanished and was back almost immediately with tissues and a warm cloth, so fast you barely registered the absence before he was kneeling beside you again. The gesture was so tender, so practiced in its thoughtfulness, that you nearly dragged him down and cried into his shoulder.
He cleaned you gently, checking your face the whole time.
“Too much?” he asked.
“No.” Your voice came out soft. “Thank you.”
Wally kissed your knee. “Anytime. I mean, hopefully many times. But also anytime.”
Dick rested back against the pillows, watching you both with an expression that made you want to crawl back to him and never leave. “Wally.”
“Yeah?”
“Slow.”
Wally looked at him, then at you. His throat moved. “Yeah. I know.”
You reached for him. “I trust you.”
His eyes closed for half a second.
When he opened them, some of the frantic brightness had settled into something steadier. He kissed you as he moved over you, and for all his speed, for all his energy, he lowered you back against the mattress like you were something precious. Dick shifted beside you, one hand coming to your hair, his body warm along your side. He was not removed from this, not watching from a distance. He was with you, with Wally, kissing your temple while Wally settled between your thighs.
Wally pressed into you slowly.
Your breath caught at the new stretch, your body sensitive from Dick and still slick with him. Wally froze instantly.
“Okay?”
“Yes.” You touched his face. “Just slow.”
His laugh shook. “I can do slow.”
“I know.”
He eased in with visible effort, inch by careful inch, jaw clenched, arms trembling beside your shoulders. Dick’s fingers stroked through your hair, grounding you as Wally filled you. He was different from Dick, his body hotter, his restraint more visibly fragile. When he was fully inside, Wally dropped his forehead to yours and shuddered.
“Holy shit,” he whispered.
You smiled. “Romantic.”
“I’m sorry. My brain just left my body.”
Dick’s hand slid to the back of Wally’s neck. “Breathe.”
Wally obeyed. The sight of it, the trust in that single word, made you clench around him.
Wally groaned. “That was mean.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“Do it again on purpose later.”
Dick laughed, then pressed his mouth to your shoulder. “Move when you’re ready.”
It took a moment. Not because you were unsure, but because you wanted to feel it. Wally inside you, Dick beside you, both of them close enough that every movement belonged to all three of you. Then you lifted your hips.
Wally’s restraint nearly cracked at once.
He moved slowly because he had promised, but slow did not mean gentle in the way you had expected. It meant controlled. It meant every drag of him inside you was deliberate, every thrust measured by your breathing, every kiss pressed to your mouth like he was trying to keep himself tethered. His hand found yours and pinned it loosely to the mattress, fingers intertwined. Dick’s mouth moved over your neck, your shoulder, the curve of your breast, his hand returning to your clit when you started to whine with the need for more.
“You can take it,” Dick murmured. “We’ve got you.”
Wally’s rhythm faltered. “You can’t say things like that.”
“She likes it.”
“I know she likes it. I like it. That’s the problem.”
You laughed, but it turned into a moan when Dick’s fingers circled faster. Wally lowered himself more fully over you, careful not to crush you, his breath hot against your mouth.
“I’ve wanted this so long,” he said, the words rough and unguarded. “Wanted you. Wanted us. God, sweetheart, you have no idea.”
“I have some idea now.”
“Not enough.”
His hips snapped forward a little harder, and your eyes rolled shut.
Dick’s hand paused. “Good?”
“Yes. More. Wally, please.”
Wally made a sound that was almost pained. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got you.”
He gave you more.
Not too much. Never that. But enough that the bed creaked beneath you, enough that Dick’s hand tightened in Wally’s hair and your nails dug into Wally’s shoulder. Enough that the careful, domestic room turned hot and damp and filled with the sounds of skin, breath, praise, the headboard tapping lightly against the wall with each controlled thrust.
Your third orgasm built too quickly. You tried to warn them, but the words dissolved. Dick understood anyway, because of course he did. Wally did too, because his mouth found yours and he swallowed the broken sound you made when you came around him.
He lasted maybe four seconds after that.
Wally buried himself deep and came with your name on his lips, shaking hard enough that Dick had to steady him with a hand at his back. You held him through it, legs wrapped around his hips, one hand in his hair and the other reaching blindly for Dick.
Dick caught it.
For a while, none of you moved.
Then Wally said into your neck, “I think I saw another dimension.”
Dick, exhausted and fond, said, “That was sex.”
“Agree to disagree.”
You laughed weakly. “Get off me before you crush me, speedster.”
Wally moved so fast he almost fell off the bed. “Sorry. Sorry. Are you okay? Did I—”
You caught his hand. “I’m okay.”
Dick looked at you, checking anyway.
You gave him a tired smile. “I’m okay.”
Only then did both of them relax.
🐦🗝️⚡
Aftercare, you discovered, was where their existing habits became almost unbearable.
Wally vanished and returned with warm cloths, water, one of Dick’s soft shirts, your sleep shorts, and a granola bar he seemed to have grabbed in a panic. Dick sat up enough to help you clean up, his touch careful and unselfconscious. There was nothing awkward in it. Or rather, there was awkwardness, but it did not come from shame. It came from the enormity of the change and the fact that Wally kept trying to do six helpful things at once.
“Stop vibrating,” Dick said.
“I’m not vibrating.”
“You’re making the lamp buzz.”
Wally looked at the lamp. It was, in fact, buzzing faintly.
He put both hands on his knees and inhaled. The buzzing stopped.
“Sorry.”
You reached for him. “Come here.”
He came.
Dick opened the shirt and helped you into it. It was one of Wally’s this time, old and soft, the collar stretched from years of use. Wally tucked the blanket around your legs with the solemn concentration of a man disarming a bomb.
“I can do that,” you said.
“I know.”
“You don’t have to fuss.”
Wally looked at you, startled. “Of course I do.”
Dick’s smile was small and helpless.
You looked between them and felt the truth of the night settle over you, quieter now but no less real. They loved you. They had loved you through laundry and takeout and bad dates and grocery lists. They had loved you in all the ordinary spaces where people usually missed the extraordinary. Sex had not created that. It had only opened the door.
Wally handed you the granola bar.
You stared at it. “Why?”
“Blood sugar.”
“I’m not the speedster.”
“No, but you did just have a very athletic evening.”
Dick closed his eyes. “Wally.”
“What? Accurate.”
You took the granola bar and threw it lightly at his chest. He caught it, grinning.
“Fine,” he said. “Water first.”
You drank because he looked like he needed you to. Then Dick drank. Then Wally finished the bottle and zipped out to refill it before either of you could object.
When he came back, you had settled under the blanket with Wally’s shirt falling soft against your thighs.
Wally paused at the edge of the bed, holding the full water bottle like an offering. “I’m still allowed back in, right?”
Your heart squeezed.
Dick’s expression changed too, something tender and pained moving across his face before he reached out and caught Wally by the wrist.
“You’re ridiculous,” Dick said softly. “Come here.”
Wally came.
He climbed into the bed with exaggerated care, like one wrong movement might disturb whatever fragile new thing had settled between you. You pulled him down by the shoulder until he was stretched out on your other side, warm and solid, his face tucked near your neck. Dick shifted closer behind you, his chest against your back, his hand settling over your waist.
The bed that had always fit three people now seemed to understand the difference before you did. Your body recognized them. The warmth, the weight, the steady presence of them on either side.
Tomorrow would require talking. Not the soft, breathless kind between kisses, but the real kind. Logistics. Boundaries. What changed in public, what stayed private, how to handle the fact that your best friends were also heroes with enemies and you were still the civilian with a key. There would be complications. Jealousy, maybe. Fear, certainly. Dick had enough trauma around love to fill a city. Wally felt things with his whole body and then tried to outrun the consequences. You had your own habits, your own defenses, your own fear of needing too much.
But tonight, you were in the bed you had already come home to a hundred times.
Tonight, Wally’s thumb moved slowly over your hip. Dick’s fingers threaded through yours. The rain finally started outside, tapping softly against the windows.
“I have a question,” Wally said.
You opened one eye. “If it’s about nachos, I’m leaving.”
“It’s not about nachos.”
Dick’s voice was dry. “That’s new.”
Wally ignored him. “What happens with the drawer?”
You frowned sleepily. “What?”
“Your drawer. In Dick’s dresser.” Wally’s expression was earnest enough that you almost believed this was a serious concern. “Does it remain your drawer? Does it expand? Do I get partial drawer custody? Because I would like to formally offer space in my dresser, but full disclosure, one drawer is mostly chargers and mystery cables, and one might have Halloween candy from last year.”
“Last year?” Dick asked.
“It’s sealed.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“I’m prepared.”
You laughed into the pillow. “My drawer stays where it is.”
Wally clutched his chest. “Favoritism.”
“You can have sock custody.”
His eyes lit up. “I do love your socks.”
“You stretch them out.”
“I have long feet.”
“You have normal feet at high velocity.”
Dick looked at you with a warmth so deep it almost hurt. “You know this is our life now.”
You smiled. “Arguing about drawer custody?”
“Among other things.”
Wally’s joking faded just enough. “Good?”
You looked at him, then at Dick. “Good.”
Dick squeezed your hand.
Wally pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Say the staying thing again.”
Your chest softened.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Wally exhaled against you like the words had given him somewhere to rest.
Dick’s eyes met yours over the top of your shoulder. In the dim light, with rain on the windows and love finally unhidden between you, he looked younger and older than usual. Less like Nightwing. More like the man who had left the lamp on for you. The man who had given you a drawer before he could give himself permission to say why.
Wally’s arm tightened gently around your waist, his thumb still moving in slow circles against your hip. He looked less like the Flash too, less like motion and lightning and impossible speed. More like the man who remembered your cereal, stole your socks, marked dumplings emotionally instead of legally, and asked you to say you were staying because he needed somewhere safe to put the hope.
Your chest ached with it.
You reached for Dick, and he came willingly, easing down until he could kiss you. Wally shifted with you instead of letting go, his hand staying linked with yours as Dick’s settled over both of them, fingers interlocking there against you.
Three bodies. One bed. The city beyond the glass.
For the first time all night, the silence did not ask anything of you.
It only held.
🐦🗝️⚡
credit to @uzmacchiato for the cherry divider and @qwiqwiaqwi for the beautiful birdflash fanart ❤️💛
i got ur post asking for requests suggested on my dash and i am here to provide
consider this: watching bruce wayne masturbate
☆ Let Me See You ☆
☆ Bruce Wayne x Female Reader
☆ Content tags/warnings: 18+ content, smut, NSFW, male masturbation, praise, intentional begging, established relationship, cock riding, spanking, exhibitionism, no beta, not proofread, kinda rushed
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath again, closing his eyes as his head tipped back the slightest bit. The wet schlick schlick schlick noises of his hand stroking his cock at a rapid pace bounced off of the walls, echoing in your ears. The two of you were in your shared master bedroom, him leaning back against the bed's headboard while you knelt between his legs and watched his hand.
Bruce grunted, squeezing his swollen tip before moving his hand back to the base of his cock. The sight combined with his low grunts sent a shiver up your spine, heat pooling down between your legs as you squeezed your thighs for an ounce of friction. Your panties, which were the last thing you were still wearing, were soaked through by now, but you weren't going to touch yourself just yet.
"Slower," you murmured, digging your fingers into the sheets beneath you to keep your hands to yourself.
"What?" He sounded almost pained, voice rough.
"Do it slower, Bruce," you repeated, leaving no room for discussion.
You watched him grit his teeth, a choked groan lodging itself in his throat as he complied to your demand and slowed his hand down. His cock was wet from cumming earlier and precum was dribbling from his slit again.
Droplets of sweat kissed his hairline, coated his chest like a second layer of skin and moisturized the small curls of hair there. You watched his toned stomach tighten, abs squeezing together like he was trying to hold back.
"Mrgh—" Bruce squeezed his base, closing his eyes for a moment as if he were trying to regain a semblance of his usual control.
It was almost magical to watch him like this, really. You knew your husband to be a stoic and controlled man who avoided being put in a vulnerable position. Yet the version of him in front of you right now was the complete opposite, reduced to a sweaty, noisy mess, his cum slowly drying on his skin. Not that he was actually loud. Even in this state, Bruce clung to the last pieces of his control as whispered curses and labored breaths left his lips, his chest inflating with each intake of air.
You don't remember how long you've been watching him already, nor did you particularly care. The only things that mattered to you were his grunts and groans that he was working quite hard to suppress, and his hand that was wrapped around his thick length.
Your gaze wandered from his parted lips to his heaving chest, downward to the red, leaking tip of his cock. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, your stomach fluttering as you watched his fist move up, down, up, down, up, down.
"You're doing so good," you purred, leaning closer to him. "Keep going, baby. I wanna watch you cum again."
"Fuck," he breathed, squeezing his eyes shut and tightening his fist around his cock. "Fuck, you're—Mm..."
"C'mon, Brucie," you all but pouted, enjoying his current state too much. "One more. Please? I even asked nicely."
He let out another groan, his hand picking up speed again as you kept murmuring words of encouragement into his ear. You were close enough to straddle his lap if you wanted to, your chest nearly touching his.
"Please, Bruce," you whined on purpose. "Please cum for me. Pretty, pretty please. You always tell me to give you one more. You can do it too, right?"
"'M not gonna last long," he grunted roughly, looking at you with blown pupils that made his eyes look black instead of icy blue.
Bruce tilted his head back, your name leaving his lips like he was asking for salvation, like he was asking you to release him from this torment. You leaned in and pressed a wet kiss against the side of his neck, below his ear, and your hand came up to squeeze his pectoral muscle.
He gritted his teeth, stopping the moan that threatened to spill out as you peppered kisses all over his blazing skin. Your tongue darted out to lick his shoulder, up to his ear.
"It's okay," you whispered in his ear. "Let me see you cum, husband. I need you."
Bruce cursed under his breath, mumbling something you couldn't quite catch, and then you felt something warm spurt all over your lower belly and the apex of your thighs, making you gasp in surprise and shiver slightly. Bruce exhaled harshly and leaned back completely while you watched his cum trickle down your skin, your heart drumming fast against your rib cage.
You swallowed hard and pressed your thighs together, suddenly feeling inable to sit still. Your husband had gotten to cum twice, already, while you didn't so much as touch yourself.
Your body hummed like needles penetrating your skin as you caught his gaze on his release trickling down on your thighs, ruining your panties along with it.
"My turn," you murmured when you decided that he had gotten enough time to cool down, straddling his lap before he could fully process your words.
Bruce attempted to say something, but the words died on his tongue as soon as you pushed your panties to the side and sank down on his sensitive, half-hard cock, making both of you moan in unison.
"Shit—" he choked out as his hands gripped your hips like a lifeline to prevent you from moving just yet. "Ah, fuck, sweetheart—"
You exhaled shakily, squeezing his cock and immediately loosening around him again as you felt him harden inside you. Shifting your hips, you tried to get more comfortable, but he tightened his hold on you and groaned.
"Shit," he cursed between labored breaths. "Give this old man a moment, would you?"
You smiled, deliberately rolling your hips forward. "Mmh... Please let me move?"
He looked at you like you were torturing him, with half-lidded, lustful eyes. Then his grip on your hips loosened just a fraction, enough for you to grind on him. Bruce suppressed the moan that threatened to leave his lips, sounding like a growl in his throat, instead.
You rolled your hips back and forth, grinding your clit against the coarse tuft of hair on his pubic bone, then picked up the pace until you were sliding up and down his cock, letting out breathy gasps.
"Feels so good," you sighed dreamily, tilting your head back.
Your hands found purchase on his shoulders and his hands were on your hips again. But instead of holding you down, he guided your movements in his lap. A moan tore its way out of your mouth, followed by a choked "Fuck" when he thrust upward, meeting your hips as you slid down.
"Keep going," he grunted, suddenly making you aware of the fact that your movements had gotten sloppy. One of his hands went to your ass and squeezed before landing a harsh slap there that had you jerking forward against him with a surprised yelp.
You dug your nails into his shoulders and buried your face in the crook of his neck, moaning when he spanked you again. Your legs were shaking, heat coiling in your belly and tightening to a knot that threatened to burst.
"Bruce," you whined against his blazing skin, wrapping an arm around his neck in an attempt to keep yourself from stopping abruptly. "Fuck—fuck, I can't—"
"You can," he interrupted roughly, moving your body up and down his shaft. "What was it you said earlier?"
He was toying with you, you were sure of it. Still, you didn't interrupt and he didn't stop. He angled your hips and pulled you down onto his cock, his tip hitting your G-spot directly and eliciting a loud moan from you. He repeated the motion over and over again, making you squeeze him hard and tight.
"Let me see you cum," he repeated your words to you, his voice strained. His hand on your ass was rubbing circles on your skin as if to soothe the stinging pain he had left behind moments earlier.
You could practically hear your own pulse thumping in your ears, blood rushing through and muffling every other noise. Your legs shook violently as he pushed you past your limit, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your vision turned white.
The world darkened completely for a moment and when you opened your eyes, you realized that Bruce was holding you against his chest while the two of you were breathing heavily. Neither of you was moving and it took you a minute or two to fully regulate your breathing. No matter what you did, his stamina would always surpass yours.
You took a deep breath and slumped against him, your eyes fluttering as he caressed your hair and back. You could still feel a slight buzzing beneath your skin and his heart thrummed steadily against your shoulder on his chest.
"You okay?," he murmured softly, his lips brushing your forehead with a soft kiss.
You only hummed with a nod, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep in his arms. Alas, he gently lifted you off his lap despite your complaints and sat you next to him on the bed. With a peck on your lips, Bruce stood up and left for the bathroom, telling you that he'd clean you up.
You laid down with a sigh, stretching your aching body. You'd definitely be sore by morning, but it was okay. The pillow smelled like him as you buried your nose in it, inhaling his scent and letting it envelop you like a warm blanket. You didn't pay attention to when Bruce returned, only feeling him clean you up with a warm towel.
A pleased hum left you as he gently slid your ruined panties down your legs and wiped between your legs and your thighs, as well as his—by now dry—cum off your stomach. You turned your head to watch him as he pressed a loving kiss on your lower belly, one of his hands rubbing your thigh.
His eyes lifted to meet yours. "Do you want to take a shower?"
"If you wash me, sure," you replied with a cheeky smile and closed your eyes.
Within a flash, you were lifted bridal style into his arms as he carried you to the bathroom.
"That can be arranged."
☆ A/N: This is lowkey rushed and I feel like I didn't do the req justice but uuuhhhh.... I hope you enjoyed?
though one of the sexiest things about him is his mind. how much he knew, like random facts that would win you a grand prize in a game show about books or historical events. or even about you and what makes you tick. where you liked to eat and how you’d crack your knuckles. he always knew.
his attention to detail was unmatched because he is an amazing observer.
he knew you so deeply that it was like he studied you in the same way he searched for information. kept your image close to his heart and burned it to memory like a brand.
but you hadn’t yet gotten further with jason other than making out hard and panting even harder, you knew he was the type to prioritize your pleasure over his. when you started touching more intimately, he saw how much you liked him and felt more confident in how heavily he felt for you. he’d hold those moments with the same tenderness he held your hand with on your first date, devotion leaking from his pores.
jason wasn’t prepared to see how he could completely ruin you when it translated to bed. he didn’t even know he was capable of it, though once he got a taste, he knew he was unconditionally yours. mapping out roads around your body and marking the spot that made you make the most noises. memorizing the map that led to what he really wanted.
the first time was after a week that was horribly cold and you clung to jason like a second skin. overtime, his warm hands fell to between your thighs and when you didn’t stop him, he continued. shakily, more afraid of hurting you than anything else. though entirely skilled, he knew exactly what makes you tick. every single button he pressed made the experience all the more memorable. every touch and every praise, jason made it comfortable and safe like it was his priority because it is.
now its getting hot and heavy. he’s got you pinned under him hand running up your side while he just barely restrained himself. taking your panties off of you so slowly, unwrapping you like a gift he is oh so grateful to receive.
as though he’s afraid of hurting you somehow.
dragging his heavy, weeping tip through your folds. letting the weight rest against you after prepping for what felt like eternity. the resistance is hardly there at this point, but even now, jason’s bigger than anyone could gauge. what you’d imagined in your mind was ten times fold with him and the girth he harboured was a little daunting.
“i got you princess.” he breathes. “will you let me in?”
eyes staring into his as heart shapes form in the thin air, you nod breathlessly.
you’re not one to back down from a challenge, right?
then he presses forward and kisses you at the same time, swallowing down the gasp that took your breath. only an inch inside and he’s the one shaking already, cupping your face with one hand and fisting the bedsheet by your head with the other.
the stretch is incredible. the sheer size of him both unwarranted and ridiculously impressive. but when you consider his soft spoken voice and the gentle rasp that shook you to your core, it only made your arousal greater.
he drops his head to your cheek and kisses your face gently. then he lets his lips trail down your jaw, licking down then he could tuck his head in your neck and breathe you in. rocking into you slow like he was afraid to fully seat himself inside.
jason whimpers your name softly when you tense. “ease up ma.” before letting a hand circle your clit.
“i’m sorry,” breath shakily as you wrap your ankles around his back. “you’re really big.”
something in his perfect face melts and his lips upturn. he stops his hips from moving any further. “don’t apologize to me, i should be doing that. god, please don’t tell me i’m hurting you.”
but the wait was eating you up. the feeling of him there and not giving you it all was building and the ache was defeaning.
you needed all of him.
you shake your head and try to buck into him further, but jason’s hand shifts to your hip and holds you firm. still holding himself back for some reason unknown to you. a whine slips from your lips when you try to get closer and he groans like the action was ruining him.
this time, you decide to plead. “i want it all jay”
blinking down at you, he shifts his gaze from eye to eye. needing the reassurance as though he truly believed you were saving his feelings.
“are you sure?”
you nod and part your lips, biting your lip softly as the pressure rests there. “please.”
then jason leans down and you think he’s going to kiss you. plump lips pink and swollen with tension as he washes his eyes over your face. resting his forehead on yours before closing his eyes and still not moving his hips yet. just letting the weight of what would fill you stay just in reach but out of touch.
like a threat that’s more like a promise.
“i love you so much.” he admits before pressing his lips to yours, muffling any response you could’ve had.
you moan into his mouth then, half surprise and pleasure. the feeling was unreal. the stretch around him stole the air from your lungs even though he was moving so slowly.
he pressed forward and despite the pleasureful pain it caused, letting your ankles dig into his back and pull him deeper until he was fully seated inside you. a tear slips down your face just as he parts from you to breathe and a cry escapes past your lips.
the sound is enough to startle jason and halt any movement. he pulls back as your tear strikes fear echoes across on his face, thinking you were in pain from him doing.
“shit—did i hurt you?”
taking a moment to compose yourself, you shake your head warily. “no,” the sound another muffled cry as he stayed impossibly still, unsure what to do.
“sweetheart, you’re crying,” leaning back trying to pull his weight off of you.
though you don’t let him move far, tightening your hold on him and locking your ankles.
“stay,” gripping him close for dear life.
his eyes stay unwavering and his hips stay still. he reaches up for your face again and brushes his thumb over your cheek before he nods at your determination.
“okay,” shakily he says. “but if it hurts—”
“it doesn’t.” you quickly interrupt. “i promise, it feels good.”
a slow smile creeps up his face. “yeah? you feel good?”
you nod again and stare straight at his lips, urging him on. slowly his resolve crumbles and he lands closer to your face to kiss you once again. pressing his perfect lips to yours like a seal and a lock.
just then he adjusts his hips, shifting them forward and rocking into you. he watches as your breath hitches and your fingernails dig into your palms. head drawing back to drown into the pillow beneath it. he groans at the slight resistance created in the friction but eases up until you let him in so easily. hands on your hips tight but not hurting, just enough to remind you where he was.
he takes your hands and pries your fingers up, interlocking them with his to distract you from the sensation. slowly inching his way inside until the tears in your eyes were accompanied by gentle moans.
then you drag him closer once again and he lets you interlock your ankles behind him.
“let me do the work,” panting by your ear. “let me show you how i love you.”
wiping your tears, his teeth shine brightly as he smiles and soothingly strokes your face. impossible gentleness from his calloused hands. when the words die, he converses with his eyes you could drown inside of.
finally he bottoms out with a soft sputter on his tongue, completely unable to mask his weight behind his heavy hips, touching your cervix from this angle. nailing dig into his hand, needing to be grounded and feel him completely, jason pants heavily. he brings your hands up higher until they rested just above your head. the loving frame he posed you in was so evident you could cry. instead, you paint him in the same light.
the ministrations resume and he moves with less restraint than you’d started with. watching how your expressions changed and the sounds escaped your lips quicker with every movement.
his deep thrusts could’ve knocked the air from your lungs but he was doing it so slowly as he inched himself further, it melted away. pleasureful bliss blooms across your skin as he kisses your neck. leaving open mouthed smooches up to your face and worked back down, surely leaving marks in their wake.
“please jay,” moaning out as though he wasn’t already fucking you. “more.”
jason fucks you like he was about to lose you then, when he looks up and sees your eyes rolling and the tear streaks on your face. letting go of your arms to lift you up and over him. he rolls onto his back and seats you in his lap, never pulling completely out, just enough that you feel what you’d need to retake.
“okay princess,” he coos. “i’ll help, yeah?”
already exhausted but willingly to please him, you grip his shoulders and start to grind down into him. he cups your ass and lifts you up, letting your weight back onto him over and over. the mix of your arousal making it easier to fuck up into you as he holds you effortlessly. shifting your hips against him weakly, jason decides to take up the task entirely but not until he really sees you struggle to fit him inside you.
a couple more whines escape you as you attempt to move, taking an inch deeper just to grind against his pelvis. minutes go by like this, when he tries to tell you it’s okay and he can do it, you shake your head like you’re already gone. then you tell him you can handle it.
both of you know you can’t.
another roll of your hips against his where a broken moan pulls him out his head causes jason’s brain to flip. he doesn’t just hold you anymore, no, he starts to get meaner. not like he wants to hurt you, but he wanted to give you what he’s wanted all night—to fuck you full.
thrusting up again and again while he watches your face contort, slowly melting onto his chest while he sits up further. moving you up and down onto him, biting his lips to control his moans when you whimper his name. then he can’t even hide that. groans and moans, gasps and sighs—they fill your ears like sinful symphony as he works himself up further. he listens to the praises you say in his ear while he does the work you should’ve, fucking up into you as though on a mission. his pace picks up as he feels you moving back into him, matching his thrusts with your own.
the peak sneaks up on you when he tangles his hand in your hair to get a look at your face. pulling just enough to see your expression and gasp when he continues his ministrations.
“i wanna watch you let go for me.” nearly whining when he admits. “you gonna let me come inside you? please?” his breathy voice coaxing you.
vigorously you nod as his pace begins to falter and his thrusts only become deeper as though he wanted to get closer.
it’s enough to spur you on. enough to push you right over the edge as you see his pink, bitten lips and the flush on his cheeks. the ruffle in his hair that proved how long this had been going on for. he looked so incredibly hot, you could die a happy woman tonight just from his good he’s fucked you.
through the peak, he carries you over, not stopping and not pausing his filthy promises. you’re clamping down around him when he sputters your name, groaning harshly and prolonging the feeling. you can feel him reaching his climax, bucking into you and movements stuttering. when he comes, you feel the pulses as he fills you. rope after rope painting you white from within. the waves of intense pleasure as his veins drag and he starts overstimulates himself. then he reaches between you to circle your sensitive bud, thrusting sloppily as you’re limp against him and throwing you into another orgasm.
practically screaming his name as you muffle a cry into his shoulder, barring your teeth and taking a bite of his supple skin. shaking as he fucks you through another climax and pushes his seed deeper inside. hand slipping off his shoulder as he slows his movements. groaning softly by your ear as he makes shallow bucks as though he didn’t want this to end.
but fucked out in his arms is his lover, drenched in sweat and slick that he didn’t know had even reached those places. and still, he was buried inside you with no indication of wanting to move.
minutes go by like this, both of you entirely spent and trying to catch your breath. he’s first to look at you and ensure that he hadn’t harmed you. eyes closed and lips parted, panting hard like you’d run a marathon as jason looks the same. leaning back further just to see the look on your face, jason kisses your forehead then.
“was that okay?” he twists at your heartstrings. “did i hurt you?”
still he was questioning himself and you were just coherent enough to shake your head and speak in a slur. “you’re perfect. my perfect boy.”
the breathy words only made him smile. his grin wide and toothy as he kisses the top of your head over and over. ignoring how your hair stuck to your head, hoping you’d do the same to him.
“sweet baby.” murmuring between his rough kisses that felt like cuteness aggression towards you. “i love you so, so much.”
you hum as you nuzzle into his chest. “mmhmf, i love you too.”
still cheesing, he holds you tight against him. part of him felt like he was dreaming with how much he loved you. his body shaking with restraint as he twitched inside you but he knew you were too exhausted to go again. leaning himself back onto the mattress to tuck you against him further, holding you there like something sacred. as though you would run or get taken away if he faltered his hold at all.
the hold on you only grounding as though you were floating over your body still, ghosting like he’d fucked you into the afterlife. sleep eases its way through your body and jason absorbs it.
only minutes later you’re completely asleep, snoring peacefully as jason drools on your head.
and there’s no place you’d rather be.
forgive me for this filth. i’m never a normal person when i’m ovulating…
Hi lovely! If you’re still taking requests I was wondering if you could do angst/ comfort where reader doesn’t know Jason is red hood and he keeps missing important events, reader confronts him which leads to a fight so reader stops including him in outings, night outs, work events, etc thinking he’s just not interested.
When he realizes he grovels and confesses? I would eat that up ❤️❤️❤️
The Space You Left
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requests are open
dividers by @cafekitsune
The first time Jason missed something important, you told yourself it was just bad luck.
Your company's awards dinner—the one where you were receiving recognition for the project you'd spent eighteen months leading—fell on a Friday night. Jason had promised he'd be there, had even helped you pick out your dress the week before, spinning you around your apartment and telling you that you'd be the most beautiful person in the room.
"I'm so proud of you," he'd said, kissing your forehead. "I can't wait to watch you accept that award."
But when the night came, his seat beside you remained empty.
You checked your phone obsessively between courses. No calls. No texts. Just silence where his support should have been.
You accepted your award with a smile that felt like it might crack your face, thanked your team, and tried not to notice the pitying looks from your coworkers who'd heard you mention your boyfriend would be there.
Jason showed up at your apartment at 2 AM, bruised knuckles and a cut above his eyebrow that he brushed off as "a stupid accident at the gym."
"I'm so sorry," he'd said, pulling you into his arms. "There was an emergency at work. I tried to get out of it, I swear, but my boss—"
You'd accepted the apology because you loved him. Because accidents happened. Because he looked so genuinely devastated that you couldn't stay angry.
The second time, you told yourself it was coincidence.
Your best friend's wedding. You'd been talking about it for months, had your dress picked out, had confirmed with Jason at least five times that he'd be your plus-one.
"I promise," he'd said the night before. "I'll be there. Wouldn't miss it."
But when you waited outside your building in your bridesmaid dress, makeup perfect and hope still intact, he never showed.
You went alone. Smiled through questions about where your boyfriend was. Made excuses about work emergencies and unavoidable conflicts. Caught the bouquet and felt nothing but hollow.
Jason had shown up the next morning with flowers and apologies, another cut on his face, moving stiffly like his ribs hurt.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry," he'd repeated, and you'd wanted to scream at him but he looked so broken that you'd just cried instead.
By the third time—your mother's birthday dinner, the one where you were finally introducing him to your family—you'd stopped telling yourself anything at all.
You'd just started recognizing a pattern.
The fight happened on a Tuesday night, after Jason missed your work anniversary celebration.
Three years at your company. Your boss had taken the team out to celebrate, had specifically asked you to bring your boyfriend because he'd "heard so much about him."
Jason had promised. Had sworn up and down that he'd be there. Had even set three separate alarms on his phone while you watched.
You'd waited at the restaurant for forty-five minutes, making increasingly desperate excuses, before finally admitting he wasn't coming.
When Jason showed up at your apartment that night—late again, another bruise blooming on his jaw—you didn't let him in.
"We need to talk," you said, blocking the doorway.
"I know. I'm sorry. There was—"
"An emergency at work," you finished flatly. "Right. There's always an emergency at work."
"It's not like that—"
"Then what is it like, Jason?" Your voice cracked. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you just don't care. About me. About my life. About anything that doesn't involve whatever mysterious job you have that always seems to require you at the exact moment I need you."
"That's not fair—"
"Fair?" You laughed, and it came out bitter. "You want to talk about fair? I've sat alone at four major events in the last six months. Four, Jason. My awards dinner, my best friend's wedding, my mom's birthday, and now this. Do you know how humiliating it is to constantly make excuses for you? To watch people's faces when I tell them my boyfriend couldn't make it again?"
"I know, and I'm sorry, but if you'd just let me explain—"
"Explain what? That your job is more important than me? I already figured that out."
Jason's face went hard. "My job is complicated—"
"Then uncomplicate it! Get a different job! Do something that doesn't require you to disappear at random intervals with no explanation!"
"I can't just—it's not that simple—"
"Why not?" You were crying now, angry tears that you couldn't stop. "Why can't you just be honest with me? Tell me what's so important that you can't even send a text to say you're not coming. Tell me why you keep showing up with bruises and cuts that you brush off with obvious lies. Tell me why I feel like I'm in a relationship with a ghost!"
"I'm trying to protect you—"
"From what?!" You shouted. "From your job? From the truth? Or from having to actually commit to this relationship?"
Jason flinched. "That's not—I'm committed. I love you—"
"Do you? Because it doesn't feel like it. It feels like I'm an afterthought. Something you fit in when it's convenient. When there's no 'work emergency' pulling you away."
"You know that's not true—"
"Do I?" You wiped at your eyes. "Because all I know is what you show me, Jason. And what you show me is that I'm not a priority. That whatever you're doing is more important than being there for me."
"It's not about importance—"
"Then what is it about? Because I'm tired of guessing. I'm tired of making excuses. I'm tired of feeling like I'm in this relationship alone."
Jason reached for you, but you stepped back.
"Don't. Just—don't." You took a shaky breath. "I can't keep doing this. Waiting for you to show up. Hoping that this time will be different. I deserve better than this."
"You do," Jason said quietly. "You deserve so much better than this. Than me."
"That's not—" You stopped. "You know what? Maybe you're right. Maybe I do."
You closed the door in his face and pretended you couldn't hear him standing outside for the next twenty minutes before finally leaving.
After the fight, you stopped inviting Jason to things.
It started small. Your coworker's happy hour on Friday—you just didn't mention it. The gallery opening your friend invited you to—you went alone. Your company's quarterly dinner—you told them your boyfriend couldn't make it and didn't bother asking.
Jason noticed.
"Hey, didn't your team have that thing tonight?" He asked one Thursday when he showed up at your apartment.
"Yeah. It was fine."
"Why didn't you tell me about it?"
You looked at him over your laptop. "I didn't think you'd be able to make it."
"You didn't even ask."
"Would you have come?"
The silence was answer enough.
Jason's jaw clenched. "That's not fair. You can't just assume—"
"I'm not assuming anything. I'm just saving us both the disappointment." You turned back to your screen. "Besides, you were probably busy with work anyway."
"I would have tried—"
"Jason." You closed your laptop. "It's fine. Really. I'm not mad. I just... I've adjusted my expectations."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I've stopped expecting you to be there. It's easier this way."
You could see the words hit him, watched his expression crack before he carefully put it back together.
"I don't want you to stop expecting things from me," he said quietly.
"Then maybe you should have shown up," you replied, and opened your laptop again.
Your birthday was the breaking point.
You didn't tell Jason about the party your friends were throwing. Didn't mention the dinner reservation. Didn't say anything when he asked what you wanted to do to celebrate.
"Nothing special," you'd said. "Just a quiet night in."
"Are you sure? We could go out, do something nice—"
"I'm sure. I'm pretty tired lately anyway."
It wasn't a lie. You were tired. Tired of hoping. Tired of being disappointed. Tired of feeling like you were the only one trying.
Your birthday fell on a Saturday. You went to brunch with your friends, then to the spa, then to dinner at your favorite restaurant. You laughed and drank wine and accepted gifts and tried not to think about the fact that your boyfriend wasn't there.
Tried not to think about the fact that you hadn't wanted him there.
That night, when you got home to your apartment, Jason was waiting outside your door with flowers and a small wrapped box.
"Happy birthday," he said, smiling. "I know you said you wanted a quiet night, but I thought maybe we could—"
He stopped when he saw what you were wearing. The dress. The heels. The makeup that was clearly not for a quiet night in.
"You went out," he said slowly.
"Yeah."
"You said you wanted to stay in."
"I changed my mind."
"You didn't tell me."
"You didn't ask."
Jason's hands clenched around the flowers. "Where were you?"
"Out with friends. Dinner. The usual birthday stuff."
"You didn't invite me."
"No."
"Why not?"
You looked at him—really looked at him. At the hope in his eyes, the hurt, the confusion. At the flowers he'd brought and the present he'd wrapped. At this man you loved who could never seem to show up when you needed him.
"Because I knew you wouldn't come," you said simply. "Or you'd promise to come and then cancel last minute. Or you'd show up two hours late with an excuse I'm supposed to accept without question. And I didn't want to deal with that on my birthday."
"I would have come. If you'd asked, I would have—"
"Would you?" You unlocked your door. "Because you didn't come to my awards dinner. Or my best friend's wedding. Or my work anniversary. Or any of the other dozen things I've invited you to in the last six months. So forgive me for not believing that my birthday would be any different."
"That's not fair—"
"Stop saying that!" You turned on him, suddenly angry. "Stop telling me what's fair and what's not when you're the one who keeps disappearing! When you're the one with the secrets and the bruises and the mysterious job that always takes priority!"
"I'm trying—"
"Are you? Because it doesn't feel like it. It feels like you're just... going through the motions. Showing up when it's convenient. Leaving when something better comes along."
"You're not—there's nothing better than you—"
"Then prove it!" The words came out broken. "Show up. Be present. Stop making me feel like I'm in this relationship alone!"
Jason looked at you, and you could see him struggling with something. Some secret he wanted to tell but couldn't. Some truth that was caught in his throat.
"I can't," he said finally. "I can't explain. Not yet. But I need you to trust me—"
"I'm tired of trusting you, Jason. I'm tired of waiting for you to let me in. I'm tired of feeling like I don't actually matter to you."
"You do matter. You matter more than anything—"
"Then act like it!" You were crying now. "Because right now, all I feel is alone. And if I'm going to be alone anyway, I might as well make it official."
The words hung between you, heavy and final.
"What are you saying?" Jason's voice was barely a whisper.
"I'm saying that maybe we should take a break. Figure out what we really want."
"I know what I want. I want you—"
"You want the idea of me. The convenient girlfriend who doesn't ask too many questions. Who accepts your excuses. Who waits patiently while you live your secret life." You shook your head. "But I can't be that person anymore. I won't."
"Please. Just give me a little more time—"
"Time for what? For you to miss more events? To come up with more excuses? To keep me at arm's length while you do whatever it is you're doing?" You stepped into your apartment. "I've given you six months, Jason. Six months of understanding and patience and benefit of the doubt. And I'm done."
You started to close the door, but Jason caught it.
"I love you," he said desperately. "I know I've been shit at showing it, but I love you. Please don't do this."
"I love you too," you said, and your voice broke. "But love isn't enough when you're the only one fighting for it."
This time when you closed the door, he let you.
Jason stood outside your apartment for a long time after you closed the door, the flowers wilting in his hand, the birthday present in his pocket feeling like a lead weight.
He'd fucked up. He knew he'd fucked up. But he hadn't realized how badly until tonight, seeing the look in your eyes when you told him you were done.
Done waiting. Done hoping. Done with him.
He made it three blocks before his phone rang. Dick.
"Can't talk right now," Jason said.
"You need to get to the Bowery. There's—"
"Handle it without me."
Silence. Then: "Are you okay?"
"No. But that's my problem. I'm taking the night off."
"Jason—"
He hung up and went to the only place he could think of.
Roy opened his door to find Jason standing there with wilted flowers and a devastated expression.
"She broke up with me," Jason said.
"Shit. Come in."
They sat on Roy's couch, and Jason told him everything. Every missed event. Every excuse. Every time he'd chosen Red Hood over you because it seemed more urgent, more important, more necessary.
"I thought I was protecting her," Jason said, staring at his hands. "Keeping her separate from the vigilante shit. Keeping her safe."
"By lying to her?"
"By not telling her. There's a difference."
"Is there?" Roy leaned back. "Because from where I'm sitting, you've been lying by omission for six months. And she noticed."
"I know." Jason's voice was rough. "I just—I thought if I could keep her away from this life, she'd be safer. Happier."
"Was she? Happy?"
Jason thought about your face tonight. The resignation in your eyes. The way you'd stopped expecting him to show up.
"No," he admitted. "She was miserable. Because of me."
"So what are you going to do about it?"
"I don't know. She said she's done. That she can't keep waiting for me to let her in."
"Then let her in."
"It's not that simple—"
"Why not?" Roy interrupted. "You love her, right?"
"Of course I love her—"
"Then tell her the truth. All of it. The Red Hood stuff. The reason you keep disappearing. Give her the choice instead of making it for her."
"What if she can't handle it? What if knowing puts her in danger?"
"What if keeping her in the dark is what loses her?" Roy met his eyes. "Jason, you're already losing her. At least if you tell her the truth, you're losing her honestly."
Jason was quiet for a long time. Then: "What if she hates me? For lying for this long?"
"She might. But she'll hate you more if you keep lying. And at least if you tell her now, you're giving her the respect of the truth." Roy paused. "She deserves that much, don't you think?"
"Yeah." Jason stood. "She deserves a lot more than I've been giving her."
"So go give it to her."
"Not tonight. Tonight she needs space." Jason headed for the door. "But tomorrow... tomorrow I'm telling her everything."
You weren't expecting Jason to show up at your door Sunday morning.
You definitely weren't expecting him to look like he hadn't slept, or to be carrying a duffel bag, or to say "I need to tell you everything" before you'd even said hello.
"Jason—"
"Please. Just—let me talk. And then if you want me to leave, I'll leave. But I need you to hear this."
Against your better judgment, you let him in.
He sat on your couch, hands clasped between his knees, and for a long moment, he just looked at you.
"I've been lying to you," he said finally. "Not about loving you. Never about that. But about everything else. About my job. About the bruises. About why I keep missing things."
"Okay," you said carefully. "So tell me the truth."
Jason took a deep breath. Then he unzipped the duffel bag and pulled out a red helmet.
"I'm Red Hood," he said.
You stared at him. At the helmet. Back at him.
"You're... what?"
"Red Hood. The vigilante. The one who operates in Crime Alley." He set the helmet on your coffee table. "That's my job. That's why I keep disappearing. Why I have bruises. Why I can never explain where I've been."
"Because I was trying to protect you. Keep you separate from that part of my life. Keep you safe." Jason's hands clenched. "But all I did was push you away. Make you feel like you didn't matter. Like you weren't important enough to let in."
"Jason—"
"Wait. Please. I need to—I need to explain." He took another breath. "Every time I missed something, it was because someone needed Red Hood. A trafficking ring that couldn't wait. A hostage situation. A tip about a weapons shipment. Things that felt urgent. Important. Life or death."
"So you chose them over me."
"I thought I was choosing both. I thought I could keep you safe by keeping you separate. But I was wrong." Jason looked at you, and there was devastation in his eyes. "I was so wrong. Because all I did was hurt you. Make you feel alone. Make you feel like you didn't matter when you're the thing that matters most."
You were quiet, processing. "How long have you been doing this?"
"Years. Since before I met you."
"And you never thought to tell me?"
"I wanted to. So many times. But I was scared. Scared that if you knew, you'd be in danger. Scared that someone would use you to get to me. Scared that—" His voice broke. "Scared that you'd leave me if you knew what I really was."
"What you really are," you repeated. "And what's that?"
"Someone who's done terrible things. Someone who's killed people. Someone who's more comfortable with violence than he should be." Jason's hands were shaking. "Someone who doesn't deserve you but loves you anyway."
You looked at the helmet on your table. At this man you loved who had been living a double life. Who had been lying to you for six months while you slowly fell apart.
You should be angry. You should throw him out. You should tell him that this was exactly what you were afraid of—that he'd been keeping secrets, that he hadn't trusted you.
But mostly, you just felt tired.
"I wish you'd told me sooner," you said quietly.
"I know. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry." Jason's voice was rough. "I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was push you away. Make you feel like you weren't important. Like you weren't worth being honest with."
"Why are you telling me now?"
"Because I'm losing you. Because I've already lost you. And I realized that I'd rather lose you honestly than keep you with lies." He moved closer, but didn't touch you. "You said you felt alone. That I was making you feel like you didn't matter. And I can't—I can't let you keep believing that. Not when the truth is that you're everything."
"Everything except important enough to be honest with."
Jason flinched. "You're right. And I have no excuse for that. I was scared and stupid and I convinced myself that keeping you in the dark was somehow protecting you. But all I did was hurt you."
You stared at the helmet. "You're really Red Hood."
"Yeah."
"And every time you disappeared—"
"Someone needed help. Or there was an emergency. Or something that couldn't wait." Jason's jaw clenched. "I'm not making excuses. I chose that life over you, over and over again. And I hate myself for it."
"Why didn't you just tell me? Why let me think you didn't care?"
"Because I thought if you knew, you'd be in danger. That someone would figure out you mattered to me and use you against me." He laughed bitterly. "But I put you in danger anyway. Different kind of danger. The kind where you slowly stop believing you're worth showing up for."
You were crying now, angry and hurt and confused. "I spent six months thinking I wasn't enough. Thinking that whatever you were doing was more important than me. Making excuses to my friends and family and coworkers about why my boyfriend could never be bothered to show up."
"I know—"
"Do you? Do you know how humiliating it was? How alone I felt? How many times I cried because I thought you just didn't care?"
"I care." Jason's voice broke. "I care so much it terrifies me. You're the best thing in my life, and I've been sabotaging it because I was scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of putting you in danger. Scared of—" He stopped. "Scared of a lot of things. But most of all, scared of this. Of you looking at me like you are right now. Like I'm someone who hurt you."
"You did hurt me."
"I know. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Jason was crying now too. "I would take it all back if I could. Every missed event. Every lie. Every time I made you feel like you weren't the most important person in my world."
"But you can't take it back."
"No. I can't." He wiped at his eyes. "All I can do is promise to do better. To be honest. To show up. To fight for you the way you've been fighting for me."
"What if that's not enough?"
Jason's face crumpled, but he nodded. "Then that's what I deserve. For being too scared to trust you with the truth. For making you feel alone when you should have felt loved."
You looked at him—really looked at him. At the man you loved who had been carrying this secret. Who had been living two lives and somehow managing to fail at both.
But also at the man who had shown up to tell you the truth. Who had brought his helmet, his secret, his entire hidden life and laid it at your feet. Who was crying because he'd hurt you and couldn't take it back.
"I need time," you said finally. "To process this. To figure out what it means."
"Okay." Jason stood. "Take all the time you need. And if you decide you can't do this—can't be with someone who lives this kind of life—I'll understand."
"Jason—"
"I mean it. I want you to be happy. Even if that means being happy without me." He picked up the helmet. "But if you decide you want to try—if you think we can make this work—I promise I'll do better. I'll show up. I'll be honest. I'll prove to you that you matter."
"How?"
"However you need me to. Whatever it takes. I'll fight for this. For you. For us." He moved toward the door. "I love you. I've loved you from the beginning. And I'm sorry it took losing you for me to realize I needed to show it better."
He left, and you sat alone in your apartment with the truth settling over you like a weight.
Jason was Red Hood. A vigilante. Someone who fought crime and saved lives and put himself in danger every night.
And for six months, he'd been doing it alone, keeping you separate, thinking he was protecting you when all he was doing was pushing you away.
You should be angry. Should be furious that he'd lied for so long.
But mostly, you just felt sad. For him. For you. For the relationship you'd both been trying to save in completely different ways.
Your phone buzzed. A text from Jason.
Jason: I know you need time. But I wanted you to have this.
A link to a folder. Inside were dozens of photos—you at your awards dinner, taken from a distance. You at your best friend's wedding. At your work anniversary celebration. At your birthday party.
Another text.
Jason: I was there. Not the way I should have been. But I couldn't let you be alone. Even if you didn't know it.
You stared at the photos. At the proof that while you'd felt abandoned, he'd been watching. Protecting. Trying to be there in the only way he thought he could.
It didn't excuse the lying. Didn't make up for the loneliness.
But it was something.
You texted back: We need to talk. Really talk. About all of this.
The response was immediate: Whenever you're ready. I'll be there.
You: Tomorrow. 7 PM. My place.
Jason: I'll be there. I promise.
And somehow, looking at those photos, at the proof that he'd been there even when you couldn't see him—you believed him.
Jason showed up at 6:45, because of course he did.
When you opened the door, he was holding coffee from your favorite place and a bag of pastries from the bakery you loved.
"I know it's not much," he said. "But I wanted—I needed to show up. Properly this time."
You let him in and took the coffee. "You're early."
"I wasn't going to risk being late. Not for this."
You both sat on the couch, careful distance between you, and for a moment neither of you spoke.
"I don't know where to start," you admitted finally.
"Me neither." Jason set down his coffee. "But I meant what I said. About being honest. About doing better. So... ask me anything. I'll tell you the truth."
"Everything?"
"Everything."
You took a breath. "How did you become Red Hood?"
And Jason told you. About dying. About coming back wrong. About the Lazarus Pit and the rage and the years of trying to figure out who he was supposed to be. About choosing to be Red Hood because he could help people in ways the law couldn't.
You listened, and your heart broke for him. For everything he'd survived.
"I'm sorry," you said when he finished. "That's—that's a lot."
"It is. And I didn't want to burden you with it. I thought if I could keep you separate from all of that, you'd be safer. Happier."
"But I wasn't happy. I was miserable."
"I know. And that's on me." Jason looked at you. "I chose wrong. Over and over again. I chose the mission over you because it seemed more urgent. More important. But I was wrong."
"Were you?" You challenged. "If you'd come to my awards dinner instead of stopping that trafficking ring—would those people have been saved?"
Jason was quiet.
"That's the question, isn't it?" You continued. "Because I understand why you chose what you chose. Lives were at stake. People needed Red Hood. And me—I just needed my boyfriend to watch me accept an award."
"That's not—you're not just—" Jason struggled for words. "Yes, people needed Red Hood. But you needed me. Jason. Your boyfriend. The person who's supposed to show up for you. And I failed at that."
"Because you were saving lives."
"That doesn't make it okay. There had to be a way to do both. To be Red Hood and be your boyfriend. I just—I didn't know how to balance it."
"So you chose."
"I chose wrong." Jason moved closer. "I thought I was being noble. Heroic. Putting others first. But all I did was neglect you. Make you feel alone. Make you feel like you didn't matter when you're the person who matters most."
"How do I know that?" The question came out small. "How do I know I'm not always going to be second to Red Hood? That the next time there's an emergency, you won't choose it over me again?"
"Because I'm going to do better. I'm going to—" Jason stopped. "I can't promise there won't be emergencies. I can't promise I won't have to leave sometimes. But I can promise to communicate. To let you in instead of shutting you out. To stop trying to protect you from my life and start including you in it."
"What does that look like?"
"It looks like honesty. It looks like telling you when I have to leave for Red Hood business instead of making up excuses. It looks like introducing you to my family—the Bats—so you understand the world I'm part of. It looks like showing up when I say I will, and if I can't, actually explaining why."
You were quiet, processing.
"I know it's not perfect," Jason continued. "I know there will be nights where I have to choose. Where someone's life is in danger and I have to go. But I'm asking for the chance to do it right this time. To be honest about it. To let you decide if this life—if I'm—worth it."
"And if I decide you're not?"
Pain flashed across his face, but he nodded. "Then I'll accept it. I'll hate it, but I'll accept it. Because you deserve someone who can be there for you. Fully. Completely. And if I can't be that person—"
"Jason." You cut him off. "You can be that person. You just have to actually try."
Hope flickered in his eyes. "Does that mean—are you willing to try? To give this another chance?"
"I don't know yet." You were being honest. "I'm still hurt. Still angry that you lied for so long. Still processing all of this."
"That's fair."
"But I also—" You stopped. "I also love you. And I understand why you made the choices you made, even if I don't agree with them. So I'm willing to try. If you're willing to actually let me in this time."
"I am. I swear I am." Jason reached for your hand hesitantly. "Can I—"
You let him take it.
"I'm going to do better," he said. "I'm going to show up. I'm going to be honest. I'm going to prove to you that you can trust me again."
"How?"
"However you need me to. Starting with this." He pulled out his phone and opened his calendar. "These are my patrol nights. The nights I'm Red Hood. I'm giving you access so you know where I am. What I'm doing. When I'll be back."
You stared at the phone. "You're sharing your vigilante schedule with me?"
"I'm sharing my life with you. All of it. No more secrets. No more lies. Just—honesty. Even when it's hard."
Something in your chest loosened. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay. We can try. But Jason—if you miss one more important event without a really good explanation, I'm done. For real this time."
"Understood." He squeezed your hand. "I won't let you down again. I promise."
"Don't promise. Just do it."
"I will."
And looking at him—at the determination in his eyes, the hope, the love—you believed him.
It wouldn't be easy. There would be hard nights and difficult conversations and moments where you'd have to choose between being understanding and standing up for yourself.
But maybe—maybe—you could make this work.
Together.
Honestly.
Finally.
Three months later, your company's holiday party was the first real test.
You'd told Jason about it weeks in advance. Had marked it on both your calendars. Had confirmed multiple times that he'd be there.
And when the night arrived, you were prepared for disappointment. Had your excuses ready. Had steeled yourself for another lonely evening.
But Jason showed up.
Not just showed up—he arrived early, in a suit that fit him perfectly, with flowers for you and charm for your coworkers. He held your hand. Laughed at your boss's terrible jokes. Told anyone who would listen how proud he was of you.
When your boss pulled you aside to tell you about a promotion, Jason was there to celebrate. When your coworker asked to take a photo, Jason pulled you close and smiled.
"You came," you said later, standing on your apartment balcony while the party continued inside.
"I promised I would."
"I know. But I was still—"
"Scared I wouldn't." Jason pulled you closer. "I get it. I have to earn your trust back. This is part of that."
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being here. For trying. For actually doing what you said you'd do."
"I'm going to keep doing it," Jason said. "For as long as you'll let me. I'm going to keep showing up. Keep being honest. Keep fighting for us."
"Even when it's hard?"
"Especially when it's hard." He kissed your forehead. "You're worth it. We're worth it."
And looking at him—at this man who had finally learned to balance his two lives, who made time for you even when it was difficult, who showed up—you knew it was true.
It wasn't perfect. There were still hard nights. Still emergencies that pulled him away. Still moments where you had to be understanding when you wanted to be angry.
But he was trying. Really trying.
And that made all the difference.
"I love you," you said.
"I love you too." Jason smiled. "Now come on. Let's get back to your party. I promised your boss I'd tell him the embarrassing story about your first date."
"Jason, don't you dare—"
But he was already pulling you inside, laughing, present, there.
Summary: While at a party full of superheroes, you realize that maybe Wally needs someone more like himself, someone with powers. You leave the party without realizing that Wally is yet again bragging about you. By the end of the night, you discover that you aren't powerless after all.
Warnings/Word Count: angst, depiction of insecurity, fluff and comfort, Roy slander (he's right where he wants to be). 1.5k+ words, requested
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Superhero parties are different from the parties people like you frequent. People like you being average humans — those born here on earth with no powers, those who haven’t been in accidents that made them something more, those who haven’t spent their lives training to make the world a better place — and superhero parties being gatherings where most attendees have two names, one for the public to refer to them as and one they keep tucked tightly, reserved for those lucky few they choose to entrust with it.
The first time you attended a party where the guest list was predominantly heroes, you expected something… well, something super. Instead, you entered a cozy beach house in Coast City where heroes were milling about with drinks. Then you noticed the subtleties. Instead of blaring music that would get neighbors’ attention, there was a quiet movie soundtrack playing; rather than being littered with cans, the kitchen bore fresh cuisine from overseas, still steaming; and many of the heroes had dates. Not average dates — fellow heroes.
Tucked in the corner of tonight’s party in Bruce Wayne’s New York Brownstone, you focus on the superpowered partnerships around you. Dick has Kori tucked against his side. Jason took Artemis into the hall a few minutes ago to take a breather. Donna and Garth are pretending not to look at each other from across the room. The people around you have so much in common, even beyond their powers. They have stories, things that they’ve all experienced, a unique way of understanding one another.
You don’t have that. What you have with Wally is great; being with him is undoubtedly the best thing that has ever happened to you, but you can’t join him on a mission or crack jokes about superpowers kicking in at the most inopportune times. Even the other non-powered individuals here have been to space, they’ve saved the world, or, at the very least, their own corner of it.
Maybe, you think as you watch Wally laugh at something Dick said, I shouldn’t even be here.
Something cruel inside of you points out that it’s just a matter of time before Wally realizes that you can’t keep up with him, not in the ways that matter. He’d be better off dating someone who understands the trials he faces, the fears and weaknesses that being a hero instill in him. Someone who deserves him.
Across the room, Wally shakes his head and wipes an amused tear from his eye. “That reminds me of what my girlfriend said the last time I had to boom tube out of Central City,” he begins, drawing the attention of those standing with him.
Dick looks at Kori, who still says, “She’s amazing” even though it’s a well-known fact in the hero community. Wally made sure of it — whether his constant praise of you was intended to endear everyone to you or not, it was successful. Dick nods for Wally to continue, willing to listen to his friend brag about you to anyone he meets.
Roy groans, but he’s smiling when he points out, “You tend to exaggerate, KF.”
“I give the story gravitas, some zhuzh,” Wally argues. “Would you prefer no inflection?”
“I’d prefer if you’d just bring her over here so we can hear it from her,” Roy suggests.
“Don’t,” Jason interjects when he and Artemis return.
“What?” Roy demands. “Think I have some kind of ulterior motive, Red?”
“I know you have an ulterior motive,” Jason scoffs.
“You are not exactly… smooth, in your advances,” Artemis agrees.
“Wow. Even my own team.”
“Anyway,” Wally interrupts. “We were in Central City and had just visited Barry when I got the alert. So, I duck down this alley and there’s an abandoned photo booth there. I’m trying to convince her to let me run her home first and then I’ll head to the watchtower. But she insists that I leave and that she can get home. Of course, like a good boyfriend, I say no. Then she reminded me that the fastest men alive have the worst reputation for being late, and it’s my duty to fix that… so would you prefer I fix Barry or you?”
Donna chuckles, smiling more at Wally’s excitement in retelling the conversation than the teasing. “Wally, is she here?” she wonders. “I’ve heard a lot about your girl. I’d love to meet her.”
“Ooh!” Kori exclaims, nodding. “I’d be honoured to be in her company again as well.”
Wally smiles and turns, expecting to see you in the corner where you’d leaned against the wall and encouraged him to mingle. But you’re not even in the room anymore.
“I’ll find her,” he tells his friends before he moves toward the kitchen. He wouldn’t have to be a superhero to know something is wrong when he doesn’t find you there, either.
Outside, you linger on the curb for a moment before you sit. Sighing heavily, you consider what it would mean to leave Wally, what you’d put yourself and him through if you encouraged him to find someone with powers to love.
Sudden, hurried footsteps become audible behind you and, without looking, you know Wally just ran out of the house. Maybe he’s looking for you, maybe he’s doing something else, but you focus on wiping the stray tear that slipped over your cheek unnoticed.
“Hi, pretty,” Wally greets as he drops to the curb beside you. His gaze is warm on your face, his hands flexing in his lap as you watches you. Wally isn’t quite as oblivious as Dick or Jason think. Not when it really matters. He knows right away that something is wrong, but he doesn’t ask what happened or try to get you to tell him. Instead, he asks, “Did you try the ramen?”
“I don’t have superpowers,” you breathe out, looking at your hands. Your typical, non-hero hands.
“No, you don’t,” Wally answers as he shifts to face you.
“You… Do you ever think that you should be with someone who does?” you question softly. “If you would be better suited with a girl who can understand you as a hero?”
“Hey,” Wally murmurs, trying and failing to meet your eyes. “I have never and will never love someone purely for what they can do or whether they have powers. I love Dick, and he doesn’t have powers.”
“No, but he’s still a hero,” you muse without acknowledging his joking tone when mentioning Dick. “I just—”
“You’re worried that I might not keep that promise,” Wally knows. “You want to know why I’m with you?”
Finally, you look at him and pull your lip between your teeth as you nod.
Wally extends his fingers to brush your leg, his shoulders dropping at the contact. “I’m with you because of who you are. Because I love you and all that you are. I love that you send me random messages but can also hold me when I cry because I didn’t do my best. I love that you care so deeply and want everyone around you to be safe and happy. I love you. And there’s nothing average or less than super about you, baby.”
“Really?” you question as you take his hand.
“Yeah!” he exclaims. “Okay, here comes the list of everything super you are. Super hot? Yes. Super smart? Mm-hm. Super patient? With me, and that’s what I care about. Super good at—”
You lean forward and interrupt Wally’s list with a kiss, raising one hand to hold his jaw as he pulls you closer. Together, the kiss is perfect, as usual. Wally might even say it’s super. But not because of anything you do or don’t do, do or don’t possess, but because you’re you, and you’re who Wally loves.
“Super good at kissing,” Wally says against your lips. “Super check.”
You laugh as you pull back, brushing his hair off his forehead when you move. “I’m sorry I let that insecurity get in my head,” you offer. “I know you love me, but… I saw you with everyone in there and let myself question if our relationship was enough for you.”
“You know what we were talking about in there?” Wally questions. “Not a mission or origin stories. You. I was telling them about you.”
“Oh,” you murmur. “Why?”
“Because you’re my favourite topic. I love talking about you, bragging about you, thinking about you. I’d keep you in my pocket if someone would make a big enough pocket.”
You smile and allow Wally to pull you up off the curb. When he asks if you want to go back in, you don’t hesitate to nod, then allow him to lead you inside with your hand firmly, safely, in his.
“Hello!” Kori greets. She pulls you into a side hug, then introduces you to Donna Troy, also known as Wonder Girl.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Donna says. “All good things, of course. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“I was wondering…” Roy begins.
“No, you weren’t,” Jason, Dick, and Wally say together.
“Did you really threaten to spend time with Barry rather than Wally if he didn’t listen to you?” Dick inquires.
Tucked under Wally’s arm, you smile and nod. The best part of the story, you realize, is that you’re Wally’s, and you will always be part of his world, with or without superpowers. Maybe, in the end, loving him has always been your greatest gift. It’s a power you want to use for a long time to come.
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