I be semi back into mega man and I’ve been thinking about why-despite it objectively being more known-it was harder to get people into compared to getter and I think it’s chalked up to the gameplay comes first over any story stuff. MM lore is still insane and a funny rabbit hole to fall into but its not what people think about when they think about this franchise past a basic plot summary, they think about a grueling platformer with freedom to do the stages in any order. But playing all these games, especially if platformers aren’t you thing, doesn’t give you all the lore context given this was a series made in the late 80s and continued up to the 2010s, so pieces of lore were kept to manuals or sometimes even interviews. Sure, a lot of people are use to outside sources for lore, but given how many games there are even if you could pretty much take away the first series out of it to make it seem clearer, you still have to deal with the fact the lord didn’t really pick up until the third platformer because X didn’t know if it wanted to be episodic like classic or actually be more serious- which among other reasons lead it to probably be the messiest series in terms of lore. And then there’s the fact you can’t even recommend someone to read a manga or watch a anime for lore retellings because all of the mangas basically are their own takes of games and anime? Lol despite some games having animated cutscenes the ones who got the anime privilege was the RPG games which everyone in the lore circles always ignore because it’s a separate timeline.
Basically: Mega Man really be “gameplay first, lore bits second” and given I meet a lot of people who don’t play many platformers/are good at them, + the factor there's multiple fucking series which makes it slightly confusing or overwhelming to a outsider, yeah me recommending niche mecha show that’s somewhat convoluted tends to be the better option.
degrassi character tier list based on how hard im willing to defend them that ended up being pretty indicative of my feelings towards the characters in general
top male reader x homophobic? male best friend. dub-con. oral.
-
It was really annoying that he still introduced himself as your best friend wherever you went, reaffirming the relationship, even though you’ve been sucking each other off for a little under two months. He’d limit the relationship and lie, with, “Well, yeah, I’m your best friend I would know!”, or “Hi, I’m his best friend!”, “Keeping secrets from your best friend?”-- it was so goddam annoying and irritating, and you restrained yourself from correcting him.
Well, technically he wasn’t wrong- you met in elementary and became super close in middle school, but fuck, you knew you loved him the second you set eyes on him. You however, never thought about bringing it up to him at all, not when he was slightly homophobic, he was straight, and, painfully, he thought you were straight.
Even still, it was frustrating that he didn’t even dare call himself your situationship or anything of the likes even when you two were alone.
You still remember the first time your friendship had crossed past the line of no return, your worries proven wrong as he acted like nothing had happened. Unfortunately, he played that role too well– still acting as if you two were nothing more than childhood buddies with a normal relationship.
Your memory of that night says different, though.
It started out with you and your roommates celebrating passing the midterms, but too tired to actually plan anything– you all settled for ordering pizza and lazing around the living room, playing multiplayer games with strangers who could easily tell you were not straight-minded with one of the guys’ awful tasting homemade cocktails. You settled for taking straight tasteless shots, and you consuming a little more than you usually would.
The place wasn’t trashed, but it would definitely be a pain cleaning tomorrow, as everybody tried to pin the blame on someone else and avoid doing the work. You glanced at him- he was a lightweight, and obviously out of it– his face was flushed, he was still holding a half cup of whatever cocktail he had picked up, staring at nothing as his fingers drummed on the floor.
You watched the pattern- it was the mario kart song, and you realized one of the guys had at some point hooked up your switch and booted the game. You were too out of it to protest, and you know they’d be careful anyway. Probably. You glanced around the room. One was still on his phone, two were on the switch, one guy had passed out on the couch, and he was sitting a bit away from you. You tipped your head back with your glass to your lips, only to realize it was empty.
The last drop fell on your tongue, and the liquid courage flooded you, and you scooched over to him.
“Hey.” You nudged him with your knee. He slowly turned his head to you, his head lolling just a bit. Shit, he was so out of it. “Wanna head to our room?” He shook his head. “Not even for cards?” He stilled, contemplating. “Sure, why not.”
He got up with a groan, stumbling into you, and pushing you towards the stairs. “Go set up the game…” He heads towards the washroom. “‘ll be there in a second.” He mumbles, struggling to walk straight.
You obey, going to your shared room and setting up the game. He walks in just as you finish.
-
Twenty minutes later and four rounds won by you, he’d furrowing his eyebrows, staring at his cards. “Hey. Be honest.” He picks at his cards. “You’re cheating right? You did something to the cards while I was gone? Huh?”
You stifle a laugh. “No, you’re just really drunk.”
His pout is pronounced as he chews his cheek. “Whatever man. You cheated, you dick.”
“You just want to feel better about sucking.” You laugh as he scowls, dropping his cards. He shoves at your chest, obviously much harder than he meant to, because he’s stumbling into you. “Sorry.” He mumbles as he corrects himself.
You teasingly shove him as well, but you too underestimate your strength, as the momentum takes you forward, your knee lands in the pile of cards, he’s grabbing your arms to steady the two of you, sending you tumbling into him.
You’re pinning him to the floor, now, trying your best not to fall on him. You stay there for a few seconds, situation still catching up to you. Neither of you make a move, breathing shallow as you stare into each other’s eyes.
You just had to get up- that was all you would have to do, because it was all an accident, which could be fixed if you just got off of him–Your eyes track to his lips, unintentionally– he notices it. “Hey.” He calls, probably to stop you. You ignore him, leaning in, eyes trained in his lips.
“Hey.” He tries again, your face getting closer. He might've tried to say it again, but your lips are on his now, a press of mouth to mouth. An innocent peck. You pull away for a short second before going back in, this time trying to force him to open his mouth.
Your tongue darts out, licking his lips, and he allows it, opening his mouth tentatively, slowly, letting your tongue shove its way into his mouth. The kiss turns sloppy, neither of you coherent enough to try to synchronize with the other. You pull off with bated breath, hoping he wouldn’t comment something that’d crush your hopes and dreams.
“Hey.” You hold your breath. “This… this isn’t gonna change our relationship, right?” He says it with an adorable pout, eyebrows furrowed. Your heart aches at the implication.
“Of course.” You say– not really answering the question, avoiding it but still replying to it. He’s still confused, and before he can ask for clarification, you’re on him again, lips locked and tongue running all over his mouth. His legs loosen up from the criss cross position they were in, allowing you closer. You take the opportunity, bringing your knee in between his thighs– then you feel it.
You pull away with a barely contained smirk.
You barely hold back your smirk. “You’re hard.” You state the obvious, and he shies away. “So you like that, huh? Yeah? You like being pinned down and kissed by me?”
His face was a brilliant red and obviously not from the alcohol as much as your knee pressing his hard on.
He finally glances back towards you. “Do…. Do you wanna help me with it..?” Your eyes widen and your dick twitches in interest.
That’s how you found yourself between his legs, which were thrown over your shoulder as he shudders above you, sitting on the edge of your bed. You were working on him desperately, expertly, holding his hips down as your head continuously bobbed up and down, tongue doing its best to add to the effort. His earlier words rang in your head. “Our relationship won’t change, right?” They pushed you to work harder, more intimately, to prove to him… you don’t know what, but just to prove to him.
The room resounded with slurps and gulps and his breathy voice that was obviously trying his best to hold back his moans. His arms held his weight, unsure where to place them, head rolling back as you continued your feverish movements., aiming to please.
He gasps sharply as you take him to the base, tongue pressing up against the underside as you constrict your throat. You did your best to hold back the gag, loosening and tightening your throat. He leaned forward, hunching over you as he presses his hands on your head. “Wait… ah, gimme a second…”
As long as he didn’t say stop, you were glad. You pull to the tip, slowly, before letting his dick drop from your mouth. He whimpers at the loss and your smirk, licking your lips. “I didn’t say stop, you jerk…”
You let go of his thighs, gently pushing him back to the bed. “Just stay down and let me.” His dazed eyes looked down at you as you went back down between his legs. You kiss his tip. “Does it feel good?” He nods, a high moan coming out as he closes his eyes.
“How good?” You slowly stroke him, running your tongue over the slit.
“Hngh? Really… really good.” He pants out, arms crossing over his eyes, hips wriggling into the warmth of your hand.
“Mm.” You put him in your mouth only to pull away. “Better than your ex?”
“What?” He tries to sit up, but your hand pushes firmly on his chest. You loom over him, slowly jerking him and keeping him down.
“I said, it’s better than your ex, right?”
“No! That- that’s gay.” He whines like he can’t bear the idea of saying that, that it’ll make him what he so dreads.
“If you say that I’m better at giving head than your ex, then it’s gay? But letting me suck you off isn’t?” You chuckle at the absurdity, slowing down your strokes. You hated how he’s treating this. “C’mon.”
“But… I can’t. Please don’t make me.” His watery eyes look up at you, and you want to kiss him. So you do, brushing his hair away from his forehead, pressing your tongue against his, still stroking him slowly. He’s letting out a pathetic noise, and you swallow all of them, forcing your tongue around his mouth.
Pulling away, you meet his eyes. “C’mon, just say it, and I’ll let you cum. You can do it.”
He sobs, pushing you away. “So mean, you’re so mean.” You only smile, grabbing one of his hands, kissing his fingers. Your hand stopped stroking him completely, and he’s left bucking his hips into it. “Please, please!”
You shrug your shoulders, resuming slow kisses to his tip.”Okay, okay!” He chews his lip and mumbles, “It’s better… it’s better than hers.”
That was all you needed, really, but you pushed it. “Nuh uh, that’s not enough.”
He glares at you through his fingers. “Fuck you… fine, you big asshole, head from you is so much better than from my ex!”
You hum in approval and put your mouth back where it belongs, and he moans a sigh of relief, hands crawling to grip your hair. You moan around him, deepthroating him, dragging your tongue up, hollowing your cheeks– anything to make him cum. And he does, because he’s never had such an intense blowjob before. You keep still as his tip splurts to your throat, and he gasps as he feels you swallowing around him, encouraging as much as you can until he feels it’s too much, sits up and is pushing you away.
You pull off, an obscene sight as a mixture of saliva and cum still connects you to his tip before it snaps. Reaching up to grab his hair, you force him to kiss you, having him taste himself again. He gags a bit, but lets you do it anyway, letting your tongue invade how it pleases.
You push him down and grind your own boner against him. He whimpers pathetically, eyes widening. “What?” You smirk at his surprised look. “Didn’t think you were gonna get the best head in your life for free, did you?”
Now you have him between your legs, watching him struggle to push your cock further into his mouth, one hand holding your thigh, the other holding the base.. He had said no in the beginning, complaining that it’ll never fit, but after pleas and coaxing from you, he finally got to work. You tried your best not to do anything to help him, making him do all the work. It was cute to see the frustration on his face.
He spits it back out, but his hand never stopped stroking, like it didn’t want to let go. “I cannnn’t.” He whines, flopping his head onto your leg.
“Yes you can, c’mon. I’ll help you.” You stroke his hair and he sighs, pushing his head towards your hand. He was so adorable like this, pliant, wanting your touch. He puts his mouth back around the tip, face scrunching up.
“Hg, I shouldn’t feel your teeth, babe.” His eyes shoot up to yours, and he has a pretty flush on his face, but he’s glaring. “Okay, okay, jeez.” You pet his head to calm him, seeing how he really was like a puppy. He covers his bottom teeth with his tongue, and opens his jaw as wide as possible. His eyes are looking up at yours, and you can feel the ask of approval. “Yeah, just like that.” You smile, ruffling his hair.
He takes you deeper, keeping mind of his teeth. He perks up at a groan from you and starts slowly bobbing his head. His saliva drips onto his hands, and it takes all your restraint not to shove his head down and force your tip to his throat.
His hand keeps stroking you awkwardly, trying to shove more into his mouth. “You okay?”
He hums a positive, and you bite your lip, grunting. He likes the reaction, groaning around your length. He pushes further, eyes tearing up. Surprisingly, he’s a natural, breathing fine, tilting his head and hollowing his cheeks. You bite back a groan at every inevitable brush of the teeth, but otherwise, he’s doing great.
“Mph, you’re doing good, really good.” You pet his head, encouraging more into him. Of course, he couldn’t take you further without gagging just yet. But you hold him down, cum into his mouth, and he frowns, but stills, taking you so well. You hold him there and have him swallow it. He pulls off, fake-gagging.
“Eugh! That’s gross.” He coughs, and collapses onto you. You pant, feeling good that you’ve finally, somehow crossed the line you thought you’d never be able to. You look down at him, nuzzling into your body, and drag him up by the shoulders so he’s properly resting on your chest.
You gently caress his hair and soon hear snoring.
-
Well, that was two months ago. Since then, naturally, you never let him forget it, ‘helping’ him jerk off, sucking him and vice versa. He was reluctant at first, but now he comes to you, asking cutely. “...Can’t without you no more. Feels weird.” He’ll blush and ask you to relieve him. You gladly do.
But he was such a coy little minx, always dodging the next step. You were getting greedy, you wanted more. You always restrained yourself, of course, because what if he ran away? You couldn’t deal with it if he decided to leave your life. You were starving.
It’s unfortunate, but you’d just have to be satisfied with this weird relationship for now.
Notes: This can be taken platonically or romantically, these guys are just my favs from each dorm and I wanted to write some fluff about them. This is like top ten fluffiest things to write about…and I’m in a good mood rn so… if anyone wants more parts lmk :)
Also tw for a cutting mention in Epel’s section
Deuce
Deuce was minding his business, walking back to his dorm after some remedial science lessons forced on him by Crewel. He’s pretty tired and bummed out, the sound of the professor’s whip still ringing in his ears. Deuce wanted nothing more than to jump into bed for a much needed nap…or at least that’s what he thought until you came crashing into him.
“ACK-…What the-!”, Deuce yells in panic and slight anger, his delinquent side kicking in and ready to punch whoever was messing with him, but then he feels a soft squeeze and realizes it’s just you hugging him from behind. “Oh, it’s just you, [Name]. You gotta warn me next time!”, he chuckles, his mood feeling a lot lighter as he turns around and hugs you back, burying his face into your shoulder, having found what he really needed in you.
Jack
Jack was sitting on a bench, drinking from his water bottle and wiping some sweat off his forehead, having just finished his morning jog around the track. It was a little earlier than his usual morning workout, wanting to test his limits, so Vil wasn’t with him this time. He didn’t think anyone else would show up to the field in the morning anyway, until he suddenly hears your footsteps rapidly approaching…
“[Name]!? What are you doing out here so early, did something happen?”, Jack says, immediately getting apprehensive since your arrival was so out of the blue, but as soon as you launch yourself at him, he sputters and tenses up a bit, then slowly start to calm down at the realization that you’re just being affectionate. “You can’t just go around jumping at people like that, that’s how people get hurt.”, he grumbles as his tail begins to wag and his cheeks heat up a little.
Floyd
It was rush hour at the Mostro Lounge, but of course Floyd doesn’t care about that as it’s ‘not his problem’. Floyd actually seemed more temperamental than usual at the moment, threatening to squeeze people left and right, even nipping at a student. When Jade asked what was wrong, he just started going on and on about how he didn’t see ‘his Shrimpy’ all day, but then you miraculously appeared.
“SHRIMPY!!”, he shouts, happily sprinting towards you while you do the same, which leads to you running into each other, and both of you ending up on the floor. Clearly, neither one of cared since you just pulled him into a hug anyway, laughing and your silly accident. Floyd graciously returns the hug, though he crushes you a bit, “I missed you, Shrimpy, where have you been hiding all day?”, he playfully pouts.
Kalim
It was way after midnight as Kalim and Jamil were cleaning up after another one of his infamous parties. Kalim kept chittering and chattering about how ‘last night was a movie’, despite it still technically being nighttime. Jamil just rolls his eyes and silently wishes he would’ve switched dorms when he had the chance. Kalim was finishing wiping off the last sauce stain of the counter, then he sees you running out the corner of his eye, blanket trailing behind you like a cape.
“[Name]! You’re still here? Ooh, this is great!”, Kalim beams in excitement, opening his arms wide and holding you close when you reach him. “Jamil, can [Name] PLEASE spend the night, we’ll be quiet I promise!”, he smiles innocently. Jamil just gives you both a deadpan stare, annoyed the your displays of friendship, and the fact that you somehow fell asleep for hours with all that loud music playing.
Epel
Epel was sitting under a shaded tree in the courtyard carving some apples, the gentle breeze and the soft, concentrated smile on his face, looking adorable no matter how much he’ll try and deny it later. He was carving mostly rabbits, birds, a few flowers here and there, if anyone were to come up and tell him that he’s ‘weak’ for doing so, he’d wave the knife in their face. Epel was in the middle of carving a tulip when the loud crunching of leaves under your feet startle him.
“AH-…dangnamit! I sliced my pinky again-…”, Epel starts to complain in pain, not even noticing that you’re sitting next to him until you rest your chin on his head, startling him again. “Oh, so it was YOU makin’ all that ruckus and made me hurt myself.”, he says both with playfulness and irritation, but he leans into your touch anyway after seeing the guilty look on your face.
Idia
No one was even supposed to see Idia today, well besides Ortho later. There were no housewarden meetings, no Board Game Club meeting, and he had plenty of gummy worms and instant noodles lying around, so there was no need to go to the cafeteria. Idia was just snug and cozy in his bed, watching the latest episode of a slice of life anime he’s been obsessed with lately. He didn’t think his day would get any better until you made it happen unexpectedly…
“Ortho, why are you back so soon-…[NAME]???” Idia barely has time to react to the fact that you somehow got into his room when you pounce on him, cuddling up close and nuzzling his cheek. Idia practically blue screens, his expression goes completely blank, his face and hair turning a vibrant shade of pink. You can’t tell, but that hug immediately boosted all his ‘feel good’ stats to the max, so once you awkwardly and apologetically get off of him, he can’t help but to feel disappointed.
Sebek
It was lunch time, the loudest time of the day, students were crowded and doing more talking than eating for an hour. Surprisingly, the loudest student of all was sitting by himself in the corner. Usually, Sebek would be sitting right next to Malleus, but today of all days, he, Lilia, and Silver decided to go sit with their other friends, leaving him alone as he was too stubborn to sit with the other first years. He sets out his lunch quietly until he notices you dashing towards him…
“HUMAN! You should know better than to run in the cafeteria-…OOF!”, Sebek freezes up as you knock the air out of him. He has half a mind to start screaming at you about your reckless behavior, but the other half tells him that he should be at least a little appreciative. “Fine, I suppose you can show me your affection, JUST this once…”, he mutters, patting your back in a way that tells you he wouldn’t mind this happening again.
More Notes: This was actually a lot of fun to write…QUICK, GUESS WHO’S MY FAVORITE OUT THESE SEVEN👀💙 But seriously though, I feel like game Yuu would do something like this, some of the characters tell them to stop poking/tickling them on the home screen, it’s so cute💕💕
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 ❤️💛
Sukuna loves his needy, clingy, clueless little girlfriend — and he’d rather die than ever say it out loud.
✦. cws : smut, possessive dynamics, lots of physical touch, weirdly soft moments/obsession, light angst, fluff, two idiots in love. ✦. wc : 2k
Ryomen Sukuna didn’t believe in love at first sight…
Though technically… you were the one who picked him.
Like a puppy choosing its owner. Right?
You just walked up to him that day and hung off his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You rubbed your cheek against his shoulder, searched for his hand in the crowd, looked up at him with those needy eyes that made him think: you’re either weird, or just… weird?
But you were so sweet...
You were so shamelessly desperate for his attention that he let you stay.
Back then he didn’t realize you’d stick to him forever...
You’re always touching him.
On walks, you slip your freezing hands into his jacket pockets and hook your fingers with his.
In line, you wedge yourself in front of him, forcing his hands into your coat pockets.
In elevators, you turn around, slide your hands into his back pockets, pull him closer and melt against him.
Sukuna mutters, “People are staring.” And you just press closer.
You don’t care about people.
You don’t care about anything except him.
When you sit at a cafe, you wrap both your legs around his under the table.
Hook your heels around his ankle, rub against him like a cat in heat.
He gets hard, his jeans start digging into him, and Sukuna leans down to your ear with a smirk. “Wanna find somewhere private?”
And you look at him with the most innocent eyes in the world.
You’re just a little stupid, right? Not even doing it intentionally.
And that drives him even crazier.
You’re a menace, you know that?
He swears it under his breath like it’s an insult. It isn’t.
You’re his girlfriend.
His innocently sinful, doesn’t-even-know-what-she’s-doing girlfriend.
At every party you stand next to him while he talks to his friends, clinging to his arm so his hand ends up dangerously close to between your thighs when you rest your head on his shoulder.
His friends tease him.
Sukuna snaps back, but you’re already dragging him away, whining, “Dance with me!”
It takes you less than a second to reach for him, your palm settling right over the growing bulge in his jeans.
Sukuna leans down, voice rough: “Keep this up and I’ll fuck you right here.”
You smile, bite his bottom lip and whisper, “Promise?”
Sukuna swallows and thinks about how he’s a damn prude for thinking there are too many people here.
Sukuna, for fuck’s sake, blushes.
And he thinks you’re actually going to drive him insane.
But you’re his girlfriend.
His makes-him-lose-his-mind girlfriend.
At home you never leave him alone.
If he’s cooking, you’re behind him, hugging his waist, pressing your forehead between his shoulder blades, making it impossible to chop vegetables.
If he’s reading, you’re sprawled on his chest, tracing the lines with your finger even though it’s your book and you’re the one reading out loud.
If you’re watching a movie, you’re on his chest again, dragging your finger over his collarbones, biting at the skin of his neck, leaving tiny red marks between his tattoos.
Sukuna hisses, “Stop it. I’ve got classes tomorrow. I can’t show up covered in hickeys.”
You lick the spot like you’re “healing” it
What’s he supposed to do? Strangle you?
You’re his girlfriend.
His bitey, has-no-boundaries girlfriend.
You sit on his thigh when you eat. Not next to him — on him.
Chairs are for strangers. You belong on Sukuna.
You reach over him for the remote, for chips, for his coffee because yours got cold.
You lick sauce off his fingers and look at him like you did nothing wrong.
You eat from his fork because it “tastes better,” drink from his mug because it’s “warmer,” rub your cheek against his shoulder because you “need to.”
Sukuna hasn’t eaten a hot meal in months.
You never let him focus.
You’re his girlfriend.
His hyper, always-hungry-for-him girlfriend.
Sukuna’s gaming, last HP, intense fight, adrenaline spiking — and you crawl into his lap like you belong there.
Sit on his thighs, wrap your arms around his neck and stare at him.
“I’m bored,” you whine.
Then you start moving. Grinding when he’s tense, matching your hips to his clicks, breathing into his neck, letting out little sounds.
You’re cheating. You bite his ear harder. Now all he can think about is fucking you on the desk while the entire voice chat hears.
Sukuna growls, “Let me finish the fight, woman!”
You have the worst timing on the planet.
And the audacity to look innocent about it.
You’re his girlfriend.
His can’t-let-him-play-in-peace girlfriend.
In the morning you wake him up your way. Kissing his chest, his stomach, going lower while he’s still half-asleep.
He jolts awake and fists your hair, tugging you back from his cock.
“Are you insane?!”
You look at him with sleepy eyes, lick your lips and lean in to kiss him.
“Morning,” you purr, pressing your naked body to his, leg thrown over his thigh, fingers already sliding down his cock, guiding him to your pussy...
And Sukuna realizes it really is a good morning.
In the bathroom…
God, you’re in there with him too.
You drag him into the shower every morning. “Sukuna-aa, get in here.”
He goes.
Because if he doesn’t, you’ll walk out soaking wet and naked and stick to him on the cold floor.
Who’s the crazy one here? He doesn’t have a choice.
You soap his back, drag your hands down his chest. He prays you don’t bite his nipple or he’s done for and they’ll both be late to class.
You brush your ass against him “accidentally” when reaching for shampoo.
“You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?” he hisses.
You blink at him. “Doing what?”
You blink at him like you’re the victim here.
Like he’s the one starting trouble.
You brush your teeth together every morning.
You squeeze between him and the sink, so he has to brush his teeth basically hugging you from behind.
He watches your reflection — you in his oversized shirt, messy and happy. Him — trapped, grumpy, and somehow… well-rested. Satisfied.
“How did I end up like this?” he thinks.
But he doesn’t remove his hand from your waist.
You’re his girlfriend.
His dumb, clingy girlfriend.
You wear his clothes.
His shirts are your pajamas. His hoodies are yours now. Even his socks. They’re huge on you. He finds you in his favorite boxers and just sighs. Useless to argue...
You’re his girlfriend.
His tiny thief of a girlfriend.
You bite him. All the damn time.
Biceps, neck, even his nose once. “Are you a dog?” he snaps.
You lick the bite and smile. He mutters under his breath.
Once you actually bit down on his nose so hard you cut off his breathing, and for a second he genuinely thought you might kill him in his sleep.
You’d bite him in public if he let you.
You probably would, actually.
You’re his girlfriend.
His weird, bitey, obsessed-with-him girlfriend.
Sukuna sometimes refuses to let you suck him off.
Not because he doesn’t want you to.
But because he genuinely fears you’ll get too enthusiastic and bite his dick off.
He sees the sparkle in your eyes when you reach for his waistband and wonders if he actually values his life.
And when Sukuna eats you out — that’s a whole different level of extreme sports.
You clamp your thighs around his head so tight his vision actually starts to blur. Sukuna smacks your hip.
“Breathe! Let me fucking breathe!”
You loosen your grip for a second — just a second — and then pull him right back because it feels too good.
And he’s smiling through it, half suffocating.
Because dying like that — between your thighs, strangled by the sweetest girl in the world — might honestly be the best way to go.
You’re his girlfriend.
His dangerous, deadly girlfriend.
You sleep on top of him, wrapped around his body with your arms and legs.
You basically use him as a mattress, a blanket, and a stuffed toy all at once.
Sukuna wakes up in the middle of the night because his arm is numb, his leg is numb, his back hurts, and he swears even his ear fell asleep.
It’s hot, suffocating. He’s thirsty. He needs to turn over.
He tries to peel you off him — you just keep sleeping, wearing the dumbest, happiest expression in the world.
You’re snoring softly into his armpit, twitching in your sleep and only clinging tighter.
Sukuna looks at you and briefly considers poking you in the nose.
Instead, he kisses your forehead and stays where he is, feeling every part of his body go numb. He stares at the ceiling, listening to you breathe.
“Fucking little parasite…” he mutters under his breath.
You’re his girlfriend.
His forever girlfriend.
Even during fights you cling to him.
You yell at each other. You scream. Slam doors. Say awful things...
And five minutes later you crawl back to him and rest your head on his knees.
You wrap your arms around his legs, press your nose into his stomach and sit there until he starts stroking your hair.
“I’m sorry. I love you. Don’t be mad,” you whisper.
And he can’t stay mad.
“You’re unbearable,” he grumbles.
But you’re already leaning in to kiss him, already tugging his shirt up because making up has to be done properly.
And Sukuna gives in...
You’re his girlfriend.
You latch onto him when he leaves for work.
Cry like it’s a tragedy.
You hang off his leg while he’s trying to put on his sneakers.
You wrap around his torso while he’s grabbing his keys.
You stand in the doorway with wet eyes, and every single time he considers just staying home.
Sukuna kisses your forehead. Your nose. Your lips. Peels you off himself and leaves.
Three hours later he comes back — and you jump on him again.
Wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck, and he catches you automatically, stepping back so he doesn’t fall.
You cling to him like a little monkey, rubbing your nose against his neck.
“Missed youuu,” you whine.
His bag drops to the floor, his keys go flying somewhere into the hallway, and he’s standing there holding you under your thighs, grumbling that he hasn’t even taken his shoes off yet.
But he’s smiling.
You’re his girlfriend.
His always-jumps-into-his-arms girlfriend.
Sukuna grumbles.
Constantly.
He grumbles when you rub up against him in the kitchen.
When you climb into his lap mid-game.
When you bite his nose.
When you drag him into the shower.
When you steal his boxers.
When you lick his face after sex.
He grumbles when you shove your freezing hands into his pockets in winter. When you sit on his thigh at dinner.
When you refuse to let him get up from the couch because you’ve already made yourself comfortable on top of him and you’re not moving.
“Get off.”
“Cut it out.”
“Let me eat in peace.”
“I don’t have a single shirt left that’s actually mine.”
“Can I pee alone? Are you gonna stand outside the door?”
“You’re gonna eat me alive one day.”
But when you fall asleep on his chest with the dumbest, happiest expression in the world, when your fingers loosen around his forearm, when you snore and twitch in your sleep, pressing closer— he just looks at you and thinks.
He thinks about the day you just walked up and glued yourself to him.
About how you filled his apartment with your smell, your things, your endless energy — everywhere, all the time, no breaks, no pause button, not even a damn lunch break...
About how you chose him.
Could’ve chosen someone who wouldn’t pretend to be annoyed when you crawl into their lap. Fucking Gojo, for example — touch-starved, always reaching, always wanting, clingy, touchy, just as damn needy as you are.
Annoyed, Sukuna pulls you closer.
Fucking Gojo can go to hell.
Sukuna is hopelessly obsessed with his clingy girlfriend.
He’s just too stubborn to admit how much.
You don’t even know what you’ve done to him.
And he’s not about to tell you.
Sukuna doesn’t even remember what it was like before your hands were always reaching for him.
Before your lips were always searching for his.
Before your body was constantly pressed against his.
Before your whispers at night.
Before your “I missed you” in the hallway.
And when you cry because he was five minutes late and think he doesn’t love you, he sighs, pulls you close, kisses your hair.
“Idiot,” he whispers. “I was late because of traffic, but next time I’ll threaten the cab driver to go faster. Deal?”
You’re dramatic. Completely dramatic.
Sukuna smiles when he feels you nod and already start slipping your hands under his shirt.
Because the truth is — if you ever stopped being like this, if you suddenly became distant and independent — he wouldn’t survive it.
He’d be the one clinging to you. Forever.
You’re his girlfriend.
And he wouldn’t trade you for a peaceful life.
Not for anything.
Sukuna just really loves his needy, clingy, ridiculous, loved, clueless little girlfriend.
Do not repost, copy, plagiarize, translate, or feed my work into AI in any form!) English is not my first language, so yes, my writing might not be perfect.(
Divider credit: @angeliicide
