The first sign something was wrong was the growling.
Not the terrifying, earth-shaking demon kind Dante was used to hearing during jobs.
No.
Tiny growling.
Tiny angry growling.
You looked up from the kitchen sink slowly, already suspiciously quiet in the office for the last five minutes, which, with Dante and your daughter involved, usually meant property damage.
“…Honey?” you called carefully.
Another growl answered you.
Then Dante’s absolutely delighted laughter erupted through the building.
“Oh my God!!! sweetheart do that again!”
You dropped the dish towel immediately.
The Devil May Cry office looked like a tornado had passed through it.
Pizza boxes were overturned. One of Dante’s coats had somehow ended up hanging off the ceiling fan. Ebony and Ivory were safely locked away thankfully because apparently even Dante had enough survival instincts to babyproof firearms around a half-demon toddler.
And right in the middle of the chaos stood your daughter.
Tiny.
Furious.
Glowing.
Little crimson horns poked through her soft white hair while a thin tail lashed violently behind her. Her eyes glowed bright demonic gold as she stood atop Dante’s desk in footie pajamas covered in strawberries.
She looked genuinely terrifying.....if she wasn’t three feet tall.
“She bit the table,” Dante informed you proudly from the couch.
Your jaw dropped. “She WHAT?”
“She got mad because I said she couldn’t have ice cream before breakfast.” Dante snorted loudly. “Then boom.... tiny Devil Trigger.”
Your daughter pointed a chubby little finger at him and hissed.
Actually hissed.
Dante burst into another fit of laughter. “Ohhh she’s got ATTITUDE.”
“Dante!” you snapped while hurrying toward her carefully. “Don’t encourage her!”
“She’s adorable!”
“She’s demonic!”
“She’s our demonic.”
Unfortunately, he had a point.
Your daughter stomped her foot angrily the second you got close, tiny claws scratching against the desk surface. Smoke puffed dramatically from her nose like an offended little dragon.
“Oh no,” you whispered. “Baby…”
Her glowing eyes immediately filled with tears.
And just like that the terrifying demonic rage melted into distressed toddler emotions.
“Mama,” she whimpered. Your heart shattered instantly.
You scooped her up carefully despite the claws and tail whipping around anxiously. Her little horns bumped against your shoulder while she buried her face into your neck, sniffling miserably.
Dante’s laughter softened immediately. “Aww, c’mere bug.” He stood from the couch and approached slowly this time, much gentler than before. “Hey…hey, you’re okay.”
“She doesn’t know how to turn it off,” you realized softly.
Your daughter whined pitifully as another tiny growl escaped her hiccups.
Dante crouched beside you both, resting his chin against the top of her head thoughtfully.
“Huh,” he muttered. “Y’know, my first Devil Trigger was way messier.”
You gave him a look. “Not helping.”
“Just saying, she’s doing great.”
Your daughter peeked up at him with glowing eyes, little lips wobbling. “…Daddy?”
Dante melted instantly, completely.
“Oh I am SO screwed,” he whispered dramatically, clutching his chest.
Despite yourself, you laughed softly and then your daughter sneezed.
A burst of demonic energy exploded outward in a tiny shockwave that sent papers flying everywhere and launched Dante backward into the jukebox.
The entire office went silent.
Dante sat there sprawled against the machine staring at the ceiling for two seconds before slowly grinning. “…Okay,” he said proudly. “That was kinda badass.”
And now your daughter was officially exhausted, that was the real problem. It wasn't the horns, not the glowing eyes. Not even the tiny tail currently wrapped tightly around your arm like an anxious cat.
She was overtired, overwhelmed, and emotional — which apparently mixed terribly with dormant demonic instincts.
The Devil Trigger itself had started flickering now.
Little sparks of crimson energy blinked unevenly around her tiny body while she sniffled against your shoulder miserably. Every few seconds the horns would shrink slightly…then pop back out again when she got frustrated.
“Oh honey…” you whispered, rubbing her back carefully.
Another hiccup escaped her as a tiny puff of smoke followed it.
From across the office, Dante watched thoughtfully while leaning against the jukebox he’d been blasted into ten minutes earlier. His expression had finally softened from amused chaos into something gentler.
Experienced.
Because unlike you, Dante remembered what it felt like.
The overwhelming rush.
The fear.
The emotions that got too big too fast.
And judging by the tiny scrunched expression on your daughter’s face, she was scared now too.
“Hey, bug,” Dante said softly.
Your daughter looked up immediately at the sound of his voice, golden eyes watery.
Dante held his hands out toward her slowly. “C’mere for a sec.”
She hesitated then immediately reached for him.
Dante took her carefully against his chest, one large hand supporting the back of her head while her tiny tail wrapped around his wrist instinctively.
“There she is,” he murmured.
Your daughter whimpered quietly. “Daddy…stuck.”
“I know.” Dante sat down on the couch with her curled against him, his hand slowly rubbing up and down her back while the office lights buzzed softly overhead.
“You wanna know a secret?” he asked quietly.
She nodded weakly.
“The first time Daddy transformed, I cried too.”
Your daughter looked up at him with wide glowing eyes. “You did?”
“Oh yeah.” Dante nodded seriously. “Whole thing was a mess. Screaming, breaking stuff…probably looked uglier than you too.”
A tiny giggle escaped her through the sniffles.
“There it is,” Dante grinned softly. “That’s my girl.”
The energy around her flickered again.
Dante’s expression shifted slightly then, becoming more focused. More careful. “Alright,” he murmured. “Listen to me, sweetheart.”
She stared at him intently.
“You gotta breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“You’re panic breathing.” Dante tapped her nose lightly. “Slow breaths. C’mon. Like this.”
He exaggerated one deep inhale then a slow exhale.
Your daughter copied him shakily.
Again & again as the red glow around her dimmed slightly.
“There you go,” Dante praised immediately. “See? You’re controlling it now instead of letting it control you.”
You watched quietly from nearby while your daughter focused entirely on Dante’s voice.
It hit you suddenly then how terrifyingly good he was at this.
Not because he was powerful.
But because he understood her.
Dante rested his forehead gently against hers rocking her gently. "Being part demon doesn’t make you scary,” he told her softly. “Okay? It just means your feelings get really big sometimes.”
“…Like you?”
Dante barked out a laugh. “Oh sweetheart, unfortunately yes.”
Another tiny giggle and this time the horns shrank noticeably.
Dante immediately pointed dramatically. “AYYY there we go!”
Your daughter gasped, reaching for the top of her head.One horn remained as the other was now gone.
She concentrated again with the most serious little expression imaginable.Tongue sticking out slightly, tiny fists clenched.
And with one final flicker of crimson light the remaining horn disappeared as tail vanished next.The gold faded from her eyes until they returned normal.
Silence settled over the office.
Your daughter blinked once.Then immediately burst into tears again. “I DON’T WANNA BE SCARY.”
“Oh, baby…” you breathed.
But Dante pulled her close before you could even move.
“Hey.” His voice came firm this time. Certain. “Look at me.”
She sniffled hard.
Dante brushed messy white hair from her forehead gently. “You know what I saw today?”
Your daughter shook her head. “I saw my kid do something incredible.”
Her lip trembled. “But I got angry…”
“Everybody gets angry.” Dante shrugged. “Hell, your Uncle Vergil built his entire personality around it.”
A startled laugh escaped you from across the room.
Your daughter giggled weakly too soft hiccups as her tiny hands clutched his shirt.
Dante smiled softly before kissing the top of her head. “You’re not scary, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You’re Sparda blood.”
Your daughter curled closer against his chest sleepily while he held her securely in his lap.
Five minutes later she was fully asleep.
Tiny snores.
Sticky strawberry pajamas.
One little hand gripping Dante’s shirt tightly.
Dante looked down at her with this quiet overwhelmed expression, his voice soft.“…She got your nose.”
You're straddling his stomach, thighs shaking from how much teasing he’s been doing. You’re already soaked — just from his words alone. He keeps glancing up at you, lips parted, pupils blown wide with hunger.
“Please, baby,” he groans, voice husky, “just sit on my face.”
Your face burns. “I… I can’t. I—what if I hurt you?”
He laughs — like you're the crazy one — and grabs your hips tighter, guiding you up his chest toward his mouth.
“Then let me fucking suffocate.”
He kisses the inside of your thigh, biting gently, looking up at you like you’re the only god he believes in.
“I want your thighs around my head. I want that cute pussy smothering me until you forget your own name.”
You hesitate.
He groans. “Baby. Please.” His voice cracks, breath hot against your skin. “I need to taste you. Let me, please.”
You finally give in, trembling as you lower yourself over his mouth. And the second his tongue touches you—
He moans like he’s starved. Hands locking around your thighs, pulling you down so you can't escape. He eats like he’s trying to live off you. You try to pull away—too sensitive—but he holds you tighter.
“Uh-uh. Don’t run now, doll,” he pants between licks. “You’re staying right here until I’ve had my fill.”
You come so hard you nearly black out — and he's still whining, still licking, still begging for more.
yup, it was a bad idea, you knew it but the idea seemed hilarious! you never really call him anything other than his name or love, honey or sweetheart. but bro? or even dude? yeah no, never.
he seemed genuinely offended, he was casually eating and savouring every bite of his favourite meal that you cooked and instead of intimately asking him "how's the food honey?" you go for "pass me the salt bro" ? criminal offense you should be jailed.
and he is so damn dramatic that he too refused to call you anything but bro. at first you passed it off as like him getting back at you but it's been 2 WEEKS FOR GOD'S SAKE! if pettiness was a human then it would be them, literally.
"okay fine! I'm sorry I shouldn't have called you bro even though it sounded silly!"
you cling to his arm, out of frustration, and touch-starved as creases between your brows and a frown adorns your face. you nuzzle your face and rub it on his biceps in an attempt to break down that wall. "please baby please?" you make puppy eyes at him. this one's gotta work...
he hesitates for a moment before sighing and dipping his head to place a soft kiss on your lips. "anything but bro dear... please... I would want nothing but endearments and my name falling from your lips" and another kiss.
After reading all of your Vergil fics, I want to add my little headcanon on that. when Dante and Y/N were teenagers, they had a brief moment where they wondered if there might be something more between them. It never turned into anything romantic, and it never went further than a confused spark of curiosity. They both realized almost immediately that it didn’t feel right, and Y/N understood that even though Dante looks like Vergil, he isn’t Vergil. And deep down, Y/N never truly got over Vergil’s death
omg please bro. i can literally see this like the two of them in their shared little apartment or wtv while they’re bouncing around jobs and there’s this tension.
walk with me for this small little blurb anon !!
a/n: gn! reader for this one. or feel free to interpret the reader as you’d like!
for a little while, dante began to act weird around you. it wasn’t even dante weird, just straight up weird.
on jobs, at home. it didn’t matter. it was odd and you didn’t like it.
distancing. shorter sentences. longer gazes. it was all out of character for him. at least, for the dante you knew.
and not long after, so did you. there was just something about dante that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. yes, he’s good looking, but… that’s your best friend.
and it couldn’t have been more obvious when the two of you were standing in his room. he’s sat on the edge of his bed, while you’re standing not too far away from him.
“what are we?” dante murmurs. the silence swallows his voice, making your heartbeat’s rhythm feel like it’s connected to a speaker.
“i don’t know.” your voice is too loud to your ears. you keep your gaze glued to the floor, and it only flickers up when you hear him rise from the bed and walk towards you.
for a good few minutes, the two of you hold each other’s gaze. you wouldn’t have noticed the way he leaned in slightly if you weren’t so lasered focus.
his eyes drifted to your lips and back up in repeated motions, his head motioning closers to yours.
but the two of you were curious. what if…
no. you both pull away simultaneously.
“no, this— this isn’t right.” you shake your head, taking a step back. dante nods, a shaky laugh filling the void. “no, it’s not. i can feel it in my gut.”
you lift your head up to comment some stupid joke, but instead, a flash of a familiar face covers dante’s for a second.
vergil’s.
your breath hitches, and dante is quick to notice why.
“… i look like him, don’t i?“ he whispers. you don’t answer. you lower your gaze, immediate hot tears beginning to glaze over.
his arms wrap around your body, offering a silent comfort while you weakly lift a hand to hold onto his forearm. you allow those tears to spill, and dante doesn’t protest. he just holds you like he always has.
he does. he looks so much like him that it hurts. you miss him more than you could ever admit.
summary: you’ve admitted that finn bennett is your new celebrity crush and even if your fans are making fun of it they all hope you two would get together
warnings: fluff!! reader probably has no pr training and she’s a lil autistic, finn is shy he doesn’t really make a move till the end, some swearing maybe? fucked up timeline? is that a warning idk, readers friends are my fave singers sooo… sorry if you’re not listening to them, lando norris and jude bellingham are mentioned as reader’s friends!! use of yn
a/n: this is my first time writing a smau and a fic so go easy on me pls 😔 and english is not my first language
ynupdates
user1, user2 and 467, 761 others
ynupdates yn talked about the series she is watching:
yn: “i'm currently watching season 3 of euphoria. i still can’t believe this is the final season.”
- “what about off-campus ?”
yn: “nope! but i want to start, it keeps popping up on my feed.”
- “you should definitely watch it. OH! before i forget, i know you're an asoiaf fan so i have to ask, have you watched ‘a knight of the seven kingdoms’?”
yn: “OH MY GOD!! OF COURSE I WATCHED IT! and i won't lie, i thought they were going to deviate from the plot like house of the dragon, but it was actually really good.”
- “who was your favorite character ?”
yn : daeron targaryen! i love complex characters like him. henry ashton is a great actor… speaking of great actors i gotta say that i hated aerion targaryen while reading the book, but when i watched the show and saw aerion, what he did didn't seem that bad.”
- “oh my! he broke the poor girl’s fingers!”
yn : “i mean yeah that’s a very extreme reaction but i completely understand why aerion would get mad cause… well i don’t exactly know how many puppet shows they show us but tanselle had alternatives and chose to do the dragon one for the night targaryens arrived so it was open for misunderstanding atleast that is what i think. i know what he did is bad but i think finn bennett has such a handsome face that he even makes you like a character such as aerion.” #whatdatmean
summary: breaking up with someone should be easy, but when it comes to bobby, nothing is ever easy. you say it’s over, but he doesn’t let it stay that way, and what should be the end turns into something that keeps going anyway. (3k+)
pairing: bobby franklin x fem!reader
content: canon divergent, toxic!bobby, established relationship, toxic relationship, emotionally manipulative partner, hurt/comfort elements (one-sided), emotional dependency cw: emotional manipulation, gaslighting, coercive relationship dynamics, unhealthy attachment dynamics. unedited and rushed, srry guys i just wanted to get something out :)
"I need to talk to you," you say, and even before the last word is out of your mouth, you know you've already lost the first round because your voice has done that thing again, that slightly overcareful thing that always seems to happen whenever you've spent too long rehearsing a conversation beforehand, smoothing every sentence over in your head until it sounds perfect and convincing and impossible to misunderstand, only for all that preparation to betray you the second you actually open your mouth.
It's the kind of tone that practically announces bad news before the actual words have a chance to, and judging by the way Bobby's attention immediately sharpens a fraction, he hears it too.
Bobby doesn't look away from the television immediately.
He's still wearing the shirt he'd gone to work in that morning, the sleeves rolled carelessly to his elbows, boots kicked up onto the coffee table despite the fact you've asked him a hundred times not to do that, a beer hanging loosely from one hand while some late-night talk show host laughs at his own joke on the screen.
The apartment is dim apart from the television, the blue glow washing over the room in uneven flashes and catching against the silver dog tag resting on his chest. For a second you find yourself staring at it, not because there's anything particularly interesting about it but because it's easier than looking directly at him, easier than remembering why you're standing here in the first place.
"Yeah?" he asks distractedly.
It's such a normal response that for a split second you almost hate him for it. Nothing in his expression suggests that the next few minutes might change everything. Nothing suggests that you've spent months building up to this conversation while he's spent the evening drinking beer and watching television like every other night.
You swallow, trying to master what you were about to say.
"Bobby."
That gets his attention finally.
His head turns slightly as his eyes settle fully on your face, and you watch the shift happen almost in real time. Bobby has always been frighteningly good at reading people, not because he's particularly empathetic but because he notices things. He notices hesitation. He notices changes in tone. He notices when somebody's smile doesn't quite reach their eyes, when they're forcing themselves to laugh at something that isn't funny, when they're carrying around a problem they haven't found the words for yet.
Sometimes it feels less like being looked at and more like being assessed, as though every conversation is something he's quietly taking apart and examining from every angle before deciding what to do with it, and whatever he finds in your expression makes him sit up straighter almost immediately.
The beer ends up abandoned on the coffee table. The television continues playing somewhere behind him, but it might as well not exist anymore.
His attention settles fully on you, and despite everything, despite all the reasons you're standing here and all the reasons you've spent months trying to gather the courage to leave, there is still a part of you that hates how easy it is to mistake that kind of attention for care.
"Okay," he says simply, shrugging his shoulders as if the conversation is already boring him. "Talk."
You've been rehearsing this conversation since April. You rehearsed it during the drive home from work, while standing under the shower this morning, while lying awake beside him at three o'clock in the morning staring at the ceiling and listening to him breathe. Earlier today you'd finally managed to get it right. You'd imagined yourself saying it without crying, without getting angry, without letting him drag the conversation somewhere else entirely.
Now, standing in front of him while he watches you with an unnervingly focused expression, all of it feels useless. Every planned sentence seems to disappear the second you reach for it, leaving behind nothing but the truth you've been trying to avoid for months.
"I want to end things," you say. "I want to break up."
The television keeps playing in the background. Somewhere on screen an audience erupts into canned laughter, the sound spilling into the silence before fading again, and Bobby just looks at you.
He doesn't react immediately.
He doesn't interrupt.
He doesn't even blink.
He simply sits there watching you with a sort of uncanny stillness, and suddenly you're reminded of every argument you've ever had together, every disagreement that somehow ended with you becoming more emotional while he remained perfectly calm, as though your reaction was evidence that he'd already won.
There had always been something deeply unsettling about that dynamic. Not because Bobby never got angry - he did, but because he was selective about when he allowed himself to show it. More often than not, he stayed composed while you fell apart, and by the end of the conversation you'd find yourself apologising for crying, apologising for raising your voice, apologising for things that had somehow become more important than whatever had upset you in the first place.
Then he laughs.
It's not a cruel sound. If anything, it sounds genuinely disbelieving, as though you've just informed him that the sky is green or that Christmas has been moved to July. For a moment he simply shakes his head, staring at you with a kind of incredulous amusement that makes your stomach drop.
"No, you don't."
The certainty in his voice catches you off guard, not because it's loud or angry, but because it isn't. Bobby says it the way somebody might tell you you've forgotten your keys or misread a date on a calendar. He said it with such complete confidence that for half a second the conversation feels absurd, as though you've announced something impossible instead of ending a relationship. The worst part is that he doesn't sound defensive. He doesn't sound hurt. He sounds convinced.
Your stomach twists.
"Bobby—"
"You don't."
He reaches for his beer again, taking a slow drink without looking away from you, and something about the casualness of it makes your chest tighten painfully. You've spent months working yourself sick over this conversation. You've spent nights lying awake beside him wondering whether leaving would hurt more than staying. You've sat in Diane's kitchen crying into a mug of coffee that went cold hours ago while she told you that love wasn't supposed to feel like this all the time. You've imagined every possible outcome, every argument, every accusation, every attempt to make you stay.
Apparently none of those outcomes included Bobby deciding your feelings were simply incorrect.
"I do."
"No." He shakes his head, setting the bottle back down. "You think you do."
The distinction settles between you heavily, and before he even continues, you can feel the conversation slipping somewhere you never intended it to go. Bobby has always had a way of doing that. He takes what you've said, turns it over in his hands, strips it down, and rebuilds it into something that serves him better. By the time he's finished, you're no longer discussing your feelings but defending them, as though he's the one qualified to decide whether they're real and you're merely presenting evidence for him to evaluate.
You fold your arms tighter across your chest.
"I know what I want."
"Do you?" His eyebrows rise slightly as he dismisses you once again, and the look he gives you is almost pitying.
The question isn't hostile. It would honestly be easier if it were. If he'd exploded, called you selfish, accused you of wasting his time, you could point to it and tell yourself this was exactly why you were leaving. You could walk away from the conversation knowing you were right.
Instead, he looks at you like you're about to ruin your own life.
Somehow that gets under your skin even more than if he'd yelled.
“Because from where I’m sitting,” he says, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees, “it sounds like you’ve spent months deciding how unhappy you are without really letting me in. You made up your mind before we even talked about it.”
A bitter laugh escapes you.
“I didn’t keep it to myself.”
“You did.”
“I told you over and over again when things bothered me.”
“No.” The answer comes instantly as he shakes his head, before continuing. “You told me when you were upset. You told me when you’d had a bad day. You told me when I got on your nerves. That’s not the same as telling me you were thinking about leaving me.”
His eyes stay locked on yours.
“That’s different.”
You stare at him for a moment, feeling frustration beginning to build beneath your ribs. Because this is exactly what he does. He takes a conversation and nudges it a few inches to the left, then a few more, then a few more, until suddenly you’re discussing something completely different than what you started with.
“What exactly is the difference?” You ask, annoyance clear in your tone.
“The difference is that being unhappy sometimes isn’t the same as ending a relationship.”
His voice stays steady as he speaks, sounding reasonable. Thoughtful, even, like he’s carefully laying something out for you rather than fighting you.
That’s what makes it so hard.
“If you’d sat me down six months ago and said, ‘Bobby, if things don’t change, I’m leaving,’ we’d be having a different conversation. But you didn’t. You decided everything on your own.”
The worst part is how convincing he sounds.
Not because he’s right.
Because he’s good at making you doubt yourself.
Bobby doesn’t usually lie. At least not in ways that are easy to point at. He doesn’t invent stories or deny things that happened. Instead, he takes what happened and twists it just enough that suddenly you’re talking about something completely different. The facts remain mostly the same, but somehow the meaning changes. By the time he’s finished explaining it, you’re left wondering whether you remembered the whole thing wrong.
You remember sitting on the edge of his bed after he’d read your diary.
You remember the sick feeling in your stomach when you’d realised pages had been moved, the immediate certainty that he had seen things that were never meant for anyone else. You remember confronting him about it. You remember being angry. You remember knowing, with absolute clarity, that he had violated your privacy.
Somehow, by the end of the conversation, you were the one apologising.
You remember crying in his car after dinner with his mother, trying to explain why her comments had upset you and why it hurt that he’d sat there silently while she made them. Somehow the entire argument had become about how embarrassed you’d made him by crying afterward.
You remember trying to explain why filming you during a fight had humiliated you, only to spend the next hour defending your reaction instead of talking about what he’d actually done.
It always went the same way.
You walked into the conversation knowing exactly why you were hurt.
You walked out wondering whether you were allowed to be hurt at all.
“You knew.”
His jaw tightens, and for the first time since the conversation started, you see a crack in that calm certainty he wears so effortlessly.
“I didn’t.”
“You did, Bobby.”
His head shakes immediately.
“I didn’t.”
“You knew I was unhappy.”
“I knew you were unhappy sometimes,” he shoots back, stepping a little closer. “That’s not the same thing, and you know it isn’t.”
You let out a disbelieving laugh.
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.”
His voice remains steady, but there’s more force behind it now, more emotion creeping through the cracks.
“You being upset, you being frustrated, us having problems — that’s not the same thing as you deciding you don’t want me anymore. Those are completely different conversations.”
“They shouldn’t be.”
“They are.”
“No, they shouldn’t be,” you insist. “Because every time I tried to tell you something was wrong, every time I tried to explain why I was hurt, somehow we ended up talking about whether my reaction was reasonable instead of what you actually did.”
Bobby’s expression hardens.
“That’s not fair.”
“It is fair.”
“No, it isn’t.”
The certainty never leaves his voice, not even for a second, and that’s what makes arguing with him feel so impossible. Bobby treats his version of events like established fact and yours like a misunderstanding that just needs correcting. He never pauses long enough to genuinely consider that he might be wrong. He speaks with the confidence of someone who has already decided what happened and is simply waiting for everyone else to catch up.
Suddenly you understand, with painful clarity, why so many of your arguments ended the same way. It wasn’t because he was right. It wasn’t because you agreed with him. It was because he never gave an inch, never allowed uncertainty into the conversation, never stopped pushing until you were too exhausted to keep defending your own reality.
Silence settles over the room for several long seconds while rain taps softly against the windows and the television murmurs forgotten noise somewhere behind him.
Bobby lets out a slow breath and drags a hand through his hair before standing from the couch. The movement isn’t abrupt, but your pulse still jumps when he starts walking toward you.
This time he doesn’t stop several feet away.
He comes close enough that you can smell his cologne.
Close enough that your chest tightens.
For a moment he just stands there looking at you, his expression carefully controlled, hurt and disappointment woven together so convincingly that if you didn’t know him as well as you do, you might mistake it for complete honesty.
Then, slowly, he reaches out and rests a hand against your arm, his fingers curling lightly around your sleeve as though he's afraid that if he moves too quickly you'll pull away from him completely.
The touch is gentle and achingly familiar, carrying the weight of hundreds of other touches that once felt safe.
And somehow that familiarity makes it worse.
“Do you know what kills me?” he asks quietly, searching your face.
You don’t answer.
His thumb shifts slightly against your sleeve, brushing back and forth in a soothing motion that feels far too intimate for this conversation.
“I would’ve done anything for you.”
His voice softens even further, rough around the edges now.
“I still would.”
Something twists painfully in your chest because part of you believes him.
Not completely, not enough to erase everything that's happened between you, but enough that it still hurts to hear.
Bobby sees it immediately.
Of course he does.
He’s always known exactly where your weak spots are, always known which words to use and which version of himself to become whenever he felt you pulling away from him.
The smallest flicker of doubt crosses your face, and his entire expression changes, becoming softer, gentler, more vulnerable.
Like he’s terrified of losing you.
“You think I don’t know I’ve screwed things up?”
He lets out a quiet laugh and shakes his head.
“You think I don’t sit there replaying our fights afterward? You think I don’t think about things I’ve said and wish I’d handled them differently?”
His eyes drop briefly before lifting back to yours.
“I’m not perfect.”
The words sound real.
Maybe that’s what makes them dangerous.
Because if he sounded insincere, if he sounded manipulative, this would be easier to resist.
Instead he sounds like someone who’s finally admitting his faults, someone who's finally giving you the accountability you've wanted for so long.
“I know that.”
“No, listen to me.”
His hand tightens slightly around your arm before loosening again.
For the first time, there’s something raw in his voice—not anger, not frustration, but desperation that seems to bleed through every carefully chosen word.
Like he’s watching something slip through his fingers and genuinely doesn’t know how to stop it.
“I know I’ve messed up. I know I’ve said things I shouldn’t have said. I know there are moments I’d take back if I could. But you’re acting like none of that matters. You’re acting like people don’t make mistakes, like relationships don’t go through rough patches, like two years together suddenly means nothing because things got hard.”
“We’ve had two years to fix them.” The words come out quieter than you intended.
Something flashes across his face before disappearing almost immediately. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, quieter, more controlled, as though he's forcing himself not to react. “That’s not true.”
You can almost see him pulling himself back together, rebuilding that certainty piece by piece.
“Because if you really believed there was nothing left between us, you would’ve left already.”
His eyes lock onto yours.
“You would’ve packed your things and gone weeks ago.”
His hand slips from your arm, only to settle lightly against your shoulder.
“You wouldn’t still be standing here talking to me.”
You swallow hard, but he keeps going. “You wouldn’t still care whether this hurts me.”
His voice drops even lower.
“You wouldn’t be crying right now.”
The words hit harder than they should.
Not because they’re true.
Because he knows exactly where to aim them.
He takes every bit of guilt, every bit of love you still have for him, every ounce of compassion you’ve never managed to stop feeling, and turns it back on you until your hesitation sounds like proof, your kindness sounds like a promise, and leaving starts to feel like an act of cruelty instead of self-preservation.
Part of you knows exactly what he’s doing. You can see it happening in real time. The way he grabs onto every uncertainty and stretches it wider. The way he takes every complicated feeling and reshapes it into evidence that you’re making a mistake.
“You still love me.”
The words are quiet but impossibly certain.
You look away.
Bobby lets out a breath.
“See?”
His hand falls from your shoulder.
“You do.”
“That doesn’t change anything.”
“It changes everything.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“It does.” His voice cracks slightly.
“If you still love me, then how can you stand there and tell me there’s nothing worth saving?”
You close your eyes for a second.
Because that’s the question, isn’t it?
The question that’s kept you awake for months, the question you've asked yourself over and over again whenever you imagined finally walking away.
How do you leave someone you still love?
How do you walk away when the feelings never disappeared, when the problem was never a lack of love but everything that came attached to it?
Part of you knows exactly what he’s doing. You can see every piece of it. The way he pulls on your doubts. The way he reframes your hesitation. The way he turns your empathy into an argument against yourself.
But another part of you—the tired part, the lonely part, the part that still remembers his hand in yours and lazy Sunday mornings and all the nights he made you feel like the only person in the world—hates how badly it wants to believe him.
And that’s the problem.
You still love him.
Even now.
Maybe especially now.
Because toxic love never dies quietly. It lingers. It wraps itself around every good memory and every bad one until separating them feels impossible. It digs its nails into your heart and makes you question everything, even when you know exactly how much it’s hurting you.
Bobby doesn’t speak for a moment.
Then he steps closer again, slower this time, like he already knows he has you exactly where he needs you.
His hand comes up carefully, brushing a strand of hair back from your face before his fingertips slide to your cheek. When he feels the dampness there, his expression softens even further, and he gently wipes away a tear with his thumb.
“Baby,” he murmurs.
The word lands differently than everything before it, carrying less of the argument and more of the undoing.
His thumb strokes beneath your eye again, catching another tear before it can fall.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, like it’s just the two of you again, like the conversation hasn’t been tearing itself apart for minutes. “I’m sorry, baby. God, I hate seeing you cry.”
You look away, but he follows the movement.
“Please look at me.”
When you do, his face crumples just enough to seem genuine.
“I never wanted this,” he whispers. “I never wanted us to get here. I know I hurt you. I know I did. I'm sorry.”
His hand cups your face fully now, warm and familiar.
“Just—don’t do this. Please.”
And then he kisses you.
It isn't rushed or uncertain. The moment his lips meet yours, every memory comes rushing back at once, and the familiarity of it hits like a physical ache. His hand remains against your cheek while the other settles at your waist, pulling you closer before you can think too hard about it.
When he feels you hesitate instead of immediately pulling away, he deepens the kiss, slow and deliberate, like he's trying to pour every apology he never properly gave into it.
“I'm sorry,” he whispers against your lips before kissing you again.
Another kiss follows, softer this time.
“I’m sorry, baby.”
His thumb brushes away another tear.
“I love you.”
The words are breathed between kisses, desperate and pleading.
“I love you so much.”
His forehead presses briefly against yours before he kisses you again, longer this time, holding you close enough that you can feel the uneven rhythm of his breathing and the tension running through him.
“Please,” he murmurs. “Please don't leave me.”
His hand slides into your hair as he shakes his head slightly.
“I know I messed up. I know I did.”
A kiss against the corner of your mouth, then another.
“But I can fix it.”
His voice breaks on the words.
“I swear I can fix it.”
When he pulls back, it's only far enough to look at you, both hands framing your face now as he wipes away the tears still clinging to your cheeks.
“Just stay with me,” he breathes. “We can fix this. I swear we can. I’ll do better. I’ll change whatever you need me to change. Just don’t leave me like this, okay?”
His thumb lingers against your cheek as if he’s trying to physically keep you there.
“I’ve got you,” he adds softly, pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead before looking back into your eyes. “I’ve got you, baby. You don't have to do this. Just stay.”
And it feels, for a split second, like everything you just said is already being rewritten.
3K FOLLOWERS CELEBRATION, PART 1
☆/ tim drake x cinephile!reader x conner kent, you just want to pick a movie that all of you like, but your boyfriends are focused on other things. fluff, just a lil suggestive
The dishes were drying after the dishwasher and a very chaotic dinner preparation. Now your stomachs were fulled, you just showered and were scrolling down your phone while you waited for your boyfriends to come on the living room after brushing their teeth. You could hear them giggling a little while you checked for any film news in your Letterboxd account.
They appeared in the living room, Kon shirtless as always (neither you or Tim ever complain about it) and Tim with some pjs that stayed low on his hips and somehow slightly cropped on the top, making his abs visible every time he lifted his arms.
Cuddling in the couch was almost muscle memory, without even saying a word Tim slid behind your back, tucking your flush close to his chest, between his legs. He touched your curls carefully, tucking them behind your ear so he could leave a trail of kisses down your cheek and earlobe.
Conner just waited for you and Tim to be comfortable on top of each other before resting his head on your chest, radiating heat out of his body. He just turned into a dead weight, sliding his hands under your big t shirt and caressing your sides, making you smile and a little ticklish. He also searched for Tim's hand, leaving a few kisses in it and then your collarbone.
"So, what're we watching today?" you asked, voice a little tired, letting yourself melt under the touch of both of the men.
"Mmmh." Was the only thing you got in response from both of them. They kept leaving kisses around your body.
Tim inhaled the sweet smell of your conditioner, taking one of your curls between your fingers and twisting it being careful to not mess up the pattern. He was always very minded about your hair, he's seen you multiple times lose your head (quite literally) trying to find a good curly routine that lasted more than one day. So he took his time appreciating every strand.
Kon was a little more unapologetic. He loved the way your curls bounce. Especially the only one that always stayed good, no matter what you did to it, somehow it stayed perfectly on pattern. So Conner used it to curl it in his fingers, tugging it slightly until it almost looked straight and seeing it bounce back at its initial position.
Now four hands where roaming all over your body. The hips, the swell of your breasts, your throat. You felt kisses and touches everywhere, but you weren't overwhelmed. Because they always did that.
"Can we decided what to watch, please?" You repeated yourself, already knowing Tim and Kon's strategy to get you to just cuddle and not watch a movie. But you loved watching movies too much to let your boyfriend's win.
Conner made a sound somewhere between a hum and a groan, face half-buried against your shoulder. “We are deciding,” he mumbled, clearly not deciding anything.
He left some wet lazy kisses in the exposed part of your neck, Tim tilted your head a little so his boyfriend could have better access to your collarbone.
Tim chuckled softly behind you, his chin resting on your other shoulder. “We’ve narrowed it down to… not moving,” he said. His voice was warm as he bit your earlobe, still playing with some strands of your hair.
You squirmed a little, pretending to fight it. “You two are no help,” you said, trying to reach your phone again. Conner caught your hand easily, lacing his fingers with yours, and Tim tightened his arm around your waist. "C'mon, I wanted to watch something cozy. Like Phantom Thread or similar."
"Yeah, that one... that one's good." Kon murmured already trailing his kisses from your neck down your shoulders and between your breasts.
You tugged his hair immediately, making him look up at you. He's pupils were big and shiny, almost making you shiver. Tim wasn't helping either, with his lips murmuring how gorgeous you were and how much they'd missed you.
Conner stretched like a cat, somehow managing to get even heavier against you. “You’re warm,” he said, as though that settled the matter entirely.
"Says the alien stove." You mocked, both of your men huffed a lazy laugh and kissed you in each of your cheeks.
You groaned, rolling your eyes at them. “Okay, at least give me a genre,” you said, trying to sound stern. “Comedy? Drama? Sci-fi?”
“Cuddly,” Conner said instantly.
“That’s not a genre.”
Tim hummed. “Not with that attitude.”
You turned your head enough to give him a look, but he only smiled, eyes half-lidded, looking far too content to care about reality. Conner somehow burrowed closer.
The truth is that it was the second night they came home after a big fight in another city, so you just gave up, letting them kiss you and worship you until you all eventually fall asleep. Your watchlist still intact.
Hiya can I make a request sooooo how do you feel about TimKon x reader dating headcanons and like they are in a poly relationship like Tim Drake and Kon-El are like my most FAVORITE EVER and I’d really love to read headcanons or basically any content about them
P.s I love your writing ✍️💙
🩵🩵🩵🩵
thank you so much for the support!! i hope you love these just as much as you love the others 💖
dating tim and kon hcs!! ☆(≧▽≦)☆
☆ dating tim is one thing, and dating kon is another. put ‘em together though? oh boy!
☆ there’s never a dull moment with these two. like! they’ll unintentionally enable the other to do dumb stuff. sometimes you’re right there along with them, sometimes you’re shaking your head in disappointment
☆ personal space? yeah, no. that’s a foreign concept to the two of them. tim’s touch-starved, and kon just likes to have the two of you close. i like to think of him as the clingiest + he has major cuteness aggression where you and tim are concerned
☆ cuddle-piles are a MUST on lazy days or at night. kon makes up the base, and you and tim are splayed across him. he claims that he sleeps better with the pressure (that barely bothers him, mind you)
☆ kon has no filter when it comes to his 3am thoughts. depending on the type of person you are, you’re either doing the same or you’re groaning alongside tim for him to just GO TO BED.
☆ if you’re a hero/vigilante of some sort? you’re going on missions with them. no ifs ands or buts about it. it’s… definitely an experience! you get to bear witness to tim being a bit of a control freak, and kon trying to do his own thing because he believes his way is superior (ㅠ﹏ㅠ)
☆ if you’re just a regular old civilian, expect crazy tales about their missions! kon likes to exaggerate their shared (or just his) feats, while tim tells you how the mission really went. though when things went well, he’ll let kon have his fun without any fuss
☆ YOU ARE SPOILED. like they’re both nepo-babies… even though kon doesn’t like to acknowledge his ties to lex too much. but like.. best believe that you will be provided for no matter what
☆ tim likes to listen to the playlist that kon put together for you three whenever he’s working on something, or when he has to be away from you two for an extended period of time
☆ dates are a little hard to plan. tim wants somewhere quiet, while kon loves excitement. you three usually settle for somewhere like the beach or stargazing. sometimes an amusement park!! expect tim to be a huge nerd about rollercoaster physics
☆ i genuinely hope you like yappers. once tim and kon get started on a topic they’re passionate about, they NEVERRRR stop talking. god save you if they have a shared interest because then they’ll start completing each other’s thoughts. it’s actually impressive to watch
☆ nicknames!! kon has specific ones he likes for the two of you. tim doesn’t use nicknames as often, but he does have some that he uses for the two of you in his notes/thoughts
☆ you and tim are always welcome at ma and pa kent’s place! they’ll insist that you two spend the night, especially if it means getting a break from the hustle and bustle of city life
☆ on the flip side… good luck staying at wayne manor. genuinely. you will NEVER get a moment of peace if tim’s family has anything to say about it. like i’m talking about someone barging in only to leave without shutting the door. getting settled in and comfortable only for someone to loudly yell your name across the house. please don't spend the night.
☆ tim likes two know where you guys are. no, he’s not going to inject trackers into your skin. but he’ll send texts!! and you three probably have some sort of life-alert type thing on your respective phones too. you’re mildly surprised that alien planets have surprisingly good reception
☆ tim totally pierced kon’s ears, and he’d definitely do yours too if you asked. you’d all make a whole night of it! kon would love helping you pick some piercings out.. obvi he wants to match in some way
☆ you and kon will happily ambush tim to make him get some sleep so he’s not takin micronaps for half the day. kon’s on capturing duty, and you save and close out his files. he might protest in the moment, but he’s genuinely touched that you guys care so much
☆ if you three ever plan live together in the future, expect the place to be on the cluttered side. tim’s a bit of a messy worker when he's completely locked in, and kon can’t STAND being in sterile environments for too long; he calls them depressing as hell. that being said, the place isn't junky!! they'd clean up after themselves
Synopsis: in which some random can’t mind his business and slut shames you In front of your boyfriends.
Notes from the Batcave: for ✨this✨ request, enjoy!
It was supposed to be a lowkey evening… street food, a walk through the night market, and maybe watching Kon try to win you an overpriced stuffed animal at the ring toss.
You were in the middle of laughing at Tim explaining (in very Tim fashion) the structural engineering flaws of the carnival’s Ferris wheel when a voice cut through the chatter.
“Wow,” a man drawled from a nearby booth, leaning on his elbows, “Guess we know who the town slut is.”
The words landed like a slap, jolting you mid-step.
You froze, heat rising to your cheeks, part anger, part shock. Tim’s hand tightened on yours immediately, pulling you a fraction behind him. Kon, on your other side, stopped dead, his jaw flexing and stepping forward.
The man smirked, “What? Too much for you? Didn’t think you’d care since you’re parading it around like that-“
Kon moved first, another lazy step forward that somehow radiated threat.
“Say it again,” he said, voice low, not even trying to hide the steel in it, “See if your teeth make it to the end of the night.”
Tim didn’t raise his voice, he didn’t have to, “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to stop talking. You’re going to mind your business. And you’re going to hope I’m in a forgiving mood.”
His gaze was razor-sharp, all CEO in a boardroom, and it made the man flinch.
“She’s not ashamed of us,” Kon added, turning his attention back to you, one large hand sliding to your waist, “And we’re damn sure not ashamed of her.”
Before you could even recover, Kon kissed you, slow and deliberate, right there in the middle of the market. The kind of kiss that left you dizzy and the kind that made bystanders avert their eyes.
When he pulled back, Tim stepped in, brushing a thumb over your cheek and giving you a soft, lingering kiss of his own, gentle but no less possessive.
Kon glanced over his shoulder at the gawker, “Enjoy the free show. That’s all you’re getting.”
Tim just smirked and led you away, his hand still in yours, and Kon’s hand on the small of your back as you return to enjoying your evening.
⭐️DCU Masterlist⭐️ 🦇Return to the Batcave🦇
If you like my work and want to support me, consider Buying Me A Coffee?☕️
Featuring: SuperBat, BirdFlash, JayRoy, TimKon, DamiJon, RoyWally x f!Reader
Warnings: SMUT TALK - MDNI, 18+
Case Notes: for ✨this✨ request.😘
I don’t own any of the photos in the banner- everything was found on Pinterest.
Everyone in this writing is of age.
SuperBat
The Dynamic
Clark is all gentle strength, the type to praise you, hold you up, make you feel utterly worshipped.
Bruce is commanding control- rougher, filthier, and the one who sets the pace.
Together? They’re a perfect balance: one tears you apart, the other puts you back together.
The Tag Teaming
Clark’s superhuman stamina means he can keep you coming until you’re trembling, while Bruce times your orgasms like he’s strategizing a mission.
One holds you down while the other ruins you. Sometimes it’s Clark pinning your wrists above your head with no effort at all, sometimes it’s Bruce tying you up with silk and growling orders.
Bruce loves whispering filthy things in your ear while Clark makes you moan loud enough to shake the walls.
Positions & Play
They love you on your knees, Bruce fucking your throat while Clark fucks you from behind, each one making you choke and whimper for different reasons.
Bruce gets off on watching Clark stretch you open, muttering “look at you taking him so well” while he strokes himself, waiting his turn.
Clark adores missionary because he can look into your eyes, but Bruce? He prefers you bent over, ass red from his handprints. With both? You’re getting flipped around until you don’t know which way is up.
DP is absolutely on the table. Clark gentle and overwhelming, Bruce rough and relentless, you’re not lasting long.
Their Favorite “Games”
Bruce makes rules (“don’t cum until I say”), and Clark loves “accidentally” breaking them by making you lose control under his mouth or cock.
Clark has a thing for holding you in his lap, bouncing you on his cock while Bruce kneels between your legs and licks you both clean.
Bruce loves toys; vibrators, plugs, restraints. While Clark prefers to use his body, tongue, and strength. Together? Overstimulation city.
Their Roles with You
Bruce is your Daddy Dom, telling you exactly what to do and punishing you if you disobey.
Clark is your sweet Dom, showering you in praise and affection while still fucking you into the mattress.
They both love hearing you call them by different names… Daddy for Bruce, Sir or Good boy Clark when you’re feeling bratty (and yes, Bruce smirks every time you top Clark just a little).
Aftercare
Clark’s the one who scoops you up, bathes you, brushes your hair, makes sure you drink water.
Bruce runs damage control, checking every mark he left, applying ointment if they broke skin, giving you medicine for soreness, quietly stroking your back while Clark cuddles you close.
You end the night sandwiched between them, completely wrecked but utterly safe.
BirdFlash
The Dynamic
Dick and Wally are best friends first, which makes the whole relationship extra natural. You’re not caught between them, they love the idea of sharing, hyping each other up, and making you the center of attention.
It’s playful competitiveness 24/7. They’ll literally argue over who makes you moan louder, who can make you laugh harder, or who you cuddled longer last night.
They’re a perfect contrast in bed, Dick is sensual, deliberate, all control and teasing, while Wally is fast, messy, and overwhelming. Together? They keep you on the edge between soft worship and overstimulation.
It’s playful competitiveness 24/7. Their competitiveness absolutely bleeds into sex. Who makes you cum harder, who gets more moans out of you, who you cling to tighter
The Tag Teaming
One of them eats you out while the other makes out with you, keeping eye contact with each other over your body. Very smug, so shameless.
They love having you in the middle. One behind, one in front, and you don’t stand a chance, every nerve ending is getting attention.
Wally is addicted to speed. Fingering you so fast you can’t breathe, or eating you out until you’re crying. Meanwhile, Dick is the one who holds you down, murmuring “take it, sweetheart.”
They love edging you together. Dick holding you in place, whispering praise while Wally pulls away at the last second with a cheeky “oops, not yet.”
Positions & Play
Double penetration? Yeah, they’re curious enough and competitive enough to make it happen. Dick’s the one careful and steady while Wally is greedy and rough. You don’t walk for days.
Dick loves having you ride him while Wally mouths at your chest, thighs, neck… anywhere he can reach.
Wally’s favorite thing? Eating you out while Dick’s fucking you, he gets off on seeing you lose control twice over.
Their Favorite “Games”
Wally’s speed means he’ll vibrate his fingers or tongue just right, and Dick smirks because “that’s cheating, man.” You don’t care, you’re screaming.
They love overstimulation, switching places without warning so you don’t know who’s inside you, who’s touching you, just that you’re theirs.
Aftercare (because they’re good boys at heart)
Wally is out of bed in seconds, bringing water, snacks, a damp cloth. Dick keeps you tucked in his arms, kissing your face while you come down.
They both spoil the hell out of you afterward. Praise, cuddles, food, a bath - whatever you need.
JayRoy
The Dynamic
Jason is rough, possessive, mine mine mine.
Roy is playful, teasing, and loves making you laugh even when you’re falling apart.
Together? They’re absolute menaces, dirty talk, bruises, bite marks, and a whole lot of reckless passion.
The Tag Teaming
Roy loves watching Jason fuck you, smirking as he says “She’s not gonna last, Jay.” Jason growls back, “She’s gonna take it, aren’t you, baby?”
One of them is always using their mouth while the other’s inside you. Jason eating you out while Roy fucks you deep, or Roy sucking bruises into your chest while Jason pounds you into the mattress.
They switch roles constantly, you’ll never know if you’re gonna be split open, pinned down, or worshipped until it happens.
Positions & Play
They love you in the middle. Jason behind, Roy in front, and you’re overwhelmed in the best way.
Roy’s favorite? Eating you out while Jason sits back and watches, giving lazy orders like “make her scream, Harper.”
Jason’s favorite? Spreading you out across his lap while Roy kneels in front of you, so he can spank you raw and still watch Roy finger you until you cry.
DP is absolutely on the table, especially when Jason’s possessive streak flares. He wants to fill you completely so no one else ever can.
Their Favorite “Games”
Roy teases, light touches, slow kisses, “oops, not yet.” Jason punishes, rough thrusts, spanking, filthy growls in your ear.
They’re so vocal. Jason groans and growls, all filthy dirty talk. Roy’s a shameless moaner and loves narrating what’s happening, “God, she’s dripping, Jay. You feel that?”
They love overstimulation. Jason holding you down by the throat while Roy eats you out until you’re crying, or Roy fingering you open fast while Jason fucks your mouth.
Their Roles with You
Jason’s the protector/dominant,he likes knowing you’re completely his.
Roy’s the wild card, sometimes sweet, sometimes bratty, sometimes making you cum just to see Jason scowl and say “I wasn’t done with her yet.”
They both mark you- hickeys, bites, scratches. You’re not going anywhere without proof you’re theirs.
Aftercare
Jason runs hot and cold, he’ll growl through the sex, but afterward he’s the one carefully cleaning you up, pressing quiet kisses to every bruise he left.
Roy is pure softness, snacks, cuddles, jokes until you’re giggling in his arms.
You always end up tangled between them, Jason’s arm heavy over your waist while Roy strokes your hair.
TimKon
The Dynamic
Tim is calculating, obsessive, strategic. He loves control and knowing exactly how to unravel you.
Conner is enthusiastic, affectionate, big puppy energy, he just wants to please you, all strength and desperation.
Together? You’re the rope in a tug of war between “I’ll ruin you carefully” and “I’ll ruin you right now.”
The Tag Teaming
Tim is the one edging you until you’re sobbing, then nodding for Conner to finally let you cum, he’s a tease, but Conner never says no to giving you what you need.
Conner loves holding you up with that Kryptonian strength while Tim does filthy things to you, tying you up, playing with toys, whispering the dirtiest shit in your ear.
They’ll both watch each other with you. Tim gets off on directing Conner, and Conner gets off on seeing how wrecked you are between the two of them.
Positions & Play
Conner’s favorite: you riding him, bouncing in his lap while he grips your hips tight, and Tim kneeling behind you, kissing your neck, whispering, slipping his fingers between your legs.
Tim’s favorite: you on your stomach, Conner holding your wrists to the mattress, while he fucks you slow and deep until you’re begging for more.
DP is definitely happening here. Tim precise and slow, Conner greedy and desperate. You’re stretched, filled, and completely undone.
Their Favorite “Games”
Tim sets rules (“Don’t cum until I say”) and Conner loves watching you squirm to follow them, whispering encouragement while Tim smirks like the bastard he is.
They’ll absolutely roleplay “good cop/bad cop” in bed, Tim threatening you with punishment if you disobey, Conner softly begging you to be good for them.
Tim LOVES toys. Vibes, plugs, cuffs. Conner LOVES using his strength, pinning you with one hand, holding you in the air while he fucks you.
Mutual obsession: they both love marking you. Hickeys, scratches, bruises. Tim neat and hidden, Conner messy and obvious.
Their Roles with You
Tim is the cold, calculating dom, the type to make you cry just from denial, then kiss your tears away.
Conner is the pleaser dom, he wants you to feel good, to cum as much as possible, to know how much he worships you.
Together, they’re devastating. Tim pushes you to the edge, Conner makes sure you fall apart in the sweetest way.
Aftercare
Tim insists on checking every mark, soothing lotion over red skin, muttering soft apologies against your hair.
Conner tucks you against his chest, feeds you snacks, kisses you all over until you’re giggling.
Sandwich cuddles are mandatory, you between Tim’s quiet heartbeat and Conner’s warm chest, their arms tangled around you.
DamiJon
The Dynamic
Damian is intense, possessive, commanding. He has that control freak streak, and in bed it shows. He wants everything just so, and he thrives on making you beg.
Jon is sweet, eager, devoted. He’s the pleaser, always wanting to touch, taste, and worship you until you can’t take it anymore.
Together? They balance each other frighteningly well, Damian pushes, Jon soothes, and you’re their battlefield.
The Tag Teaming
Damian takes his time, slow, deliberate thrusts, cruel edging. While Jon overwhelms you with his strength and eagerness, eating you out until you’re sobbing or fucking you until you see stars.
They love having you in the middle, Jon holding you up like you weigh nothing, Damian using you however he pleases, his mouth against your throat whispering filth in your ear.
Damian loves ordering Jon around in bed- “faster,” “hold her still,” “don’t let her cum until I say.” Jon lives for it, grinning like he’d follow every command.
Positions & Play
Jon’s favorite: you straddling him, bouncing on his cock while he grips your waist, his big hands guiding you, his mouth sucking marks into your chest. Damian kneels behind you, smirking, stroking you or slipping a toy in just to watch you fall apart.
Damian’s favorite: you tied down, blindfolded, Jon between your thighs worshipping you with his tongue until you’re shaking, and Damian calmly stroking your hair, making you say his name before you cum.
DP? Definitely, Damian taking control, Jon filling you up with his strength. You don’t survive it without your legs giving out.
Their Favorite “Games”
Damian thrives on denial, holding a vibrator against you until you’re crying for release, only to pull it away. Jon swoops in with praise, begging for you to cum because he can’t stand to see you in tears.
They love overstimulation. Jon’s super-speed tongue/fingers + Damian’s cock = you’re crying, screaming, trembling while they smirk at each other over your ruined body.
Damian dirty talks like it’s a weapon, sharp, filthy, degrading. Jon praises you to death, telling you how good you are, how beautiful you look falling apart. Together? You’re torn between heaven and hell.
Their Roles with You
Damian = strict dom. Expect commands, punishment, and possessiveness.
Jon = pleaser dom. He worships you, dotes on you, and makes sure you know you’re adored.
Together = Good cop/Bad cop in bed. Damian makes you cry, Jon kisses the tears off your cheeks. Damian spanks you, Jon rubs your back while you sob against him.
Aftercare
Damian pretends he’s aloof but is meticulous in checking every mark, every bruise, massaging ointment into your skin with soft mutters in Arabic.
Jon is cuddles, snacks, kisses everywhere. He’ll wrap himself around you like a big blanket, warm and unshakable.
You always fall asleep tangled between Damian’s steady heartbeat and Jon’s giant body heat.
RoyWally
The Dynamic
Roy is filthy, reckless, and playful. He loves getting you messy, marked up, and begging.
Wally is teasing, fast, and greedy. He wants you as many times as possible, as loud as possible.
Together? They egg each other on, laughing at how ruined you are and competing to see who can get you off more.
The Tag Teaming
They thrive on taking turns, Roy bending you over, spanking you raw while Wally fingers you with that impossible speed until you collapse.
One goes down on you while the other’s in your mouth, trading cocky comments like “she moaned louder for me, dude” while you can barely breathe.
They love spit-roasting you. Wally fucking your throat while Roy pounds you from behind, both groaning about how perfect you feel.
Positions & Play
Roy’s favorite: you sprawled on his lap, crying from overstimulation, while Wally kneels between your legs and makes you cum again with his tongue in seconds.
Wally’s favorite: you riding him while Roy kneels behind you, kissing your neck, tweaking your nipples, whispering filthy encouragement until you’re crying out for both of them.
DP is absolutely on the menu. They’re competitive enough to insist you can handle both, and smug enough to prove it right.
Their Favorite “Games”
Roy loves dirty talk and degradation—“Look at you, baby, fucked dumb on us”, while Wally piles on the teasing praise, “You’re so good for us, sweetheart, c’mon, give us another one.”
Wally uses his speed to absolutely wreck you, fast thrusts, vibrating fingers, quick kisses all over your body. While Roy slows it down just to edge you cruelly.
They LOVE pushing you into overstimulation. One won’t stop even after you’ve cum, because the other eggs him on: “C’mon, she can take another. Right, baby?”
Their Roles with You
Roy = filthy dom/brat tamer. He thrives on making you blush, beg, or roll your eyes before he ruins you.
Wally = playful dom/pleaser. He’s cheeky, greedy, and obsessed with making you cum as much as possible.
Together = chaos doms. They’ll laugh at how wrecked you are, but it’s all love and worship underneath.
Aftercare
Wally zips away to grab you snacks, water, maybe even a smoothie because “you need energy, babe.”
Roy is lazy but thorough, cleaning you up, pulling you into his chest, muttering soft reassurances against your hair.
They both tangle you in bed, leaving hickeys everywhere you can’t hide them, because they love when everyone knows you’re theirs.
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