Luand'r

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.

🐦🗝️⚡

•───────•°•♡•°•───────•

You were on your thousandth fake laugh of the night.

Dick’s arm was around your waist as you spoke to another elitest that Bruce had the misfortune of inviting. For the life of you, you couldn’t remember his or his wife’s name. They had been talking both your ears off about their new philanthropy for fifteen minutes. Your lovely date warned you this might happen, since everyone had the incorrect preconception you both might put a good word in to Bruce.

After another “Oh” and nod, you rubbed a small circle in between Dick’s shoulder blades.

Leaning into his ear, you planned your getaway. “I’ll be right back.”

The moment the whisper landed in his ear drums, he turned to you, eyes glazed with concern. A silent question if you needed him to go with you.

With a slight shake of your head, he accepts your need for escape with grace.

Dropping a small kiss to your cheek, he smiles so bright it put the stars to shame. “I’ll see you in a second Darling.”

It takes your grandest efforts to focus on the goosebumps rising on your waist, when his arm unwraps from you.

Waving a small farewell to the couple who couldn’t didn’t know when to stop talking, your heels click away as quickly as possible. The galas were nice, you’d been to a few. The only thing was that they got overwhelming fairly quickly. Everywhere you turned someone’s eyes were on you and it got to be a bit much. You weren’t usually in the limelight, dancing around the room on the arm of this town’s finest bachelor.

Your eyes float over the attendants of the gala while you try to escape the ballroom. A grimace fights it’s way on your face when you see Tim. Unfortunately for him, his little stint as CEO of Wayne Enterprises never went forgotten. He had a minimum of three large investors around him at all times.

It’s like the gates to heaven opened when you finally walk out the double doors. It took weaving around a few corners until you find one of Bruce’s ten offices to sit in.

Tonight had done disastrous things to your heart.

Two weeks ago the Gotham Gazette published an article that made you want to crawl under your desk, and never come out.

On the front page was a picture snapped of Dick bringing you coffee on your break.

Vicky Vale took it and ran. By noon there was thirty articles on Dick Grayson’s new girlfriend.

In two hours you went from being a nobody, to having your face on every newspaper that trended in Gotham.

It was a nightmare.

At first, Bruce had thought of ten contingency plans to put the rumors to rest. However, when Tim- lovely stupid Tim- reminded him of the articles that had started resurfacing about Batman’s identity and connecting them to the Wayne’s, he faltered.

It was almost comical how they proposed the idea to you, of keep the news circulating for  a few weeks. Tim made a very extensive powerpoint. Alfred brought you and Dick chocolate pretzels and tea when they sat you on the couch.

Then there was Bruce,

He was sitting next to Jason on the loveseat, ready to talk him off the ledge.

It wasn’t a matter of convincing you and Dick.

No, It was convincing your best friend to let his brother fake date you.

Jason was, well… territorial about people he cared about.

You were the person whose couch he’d crash on before reconnecting with his family. You were the person who helped get him a job. You were the one who made him hot chocolate when he woke up screaming in the middle of the night.

So it was safe to say he didn’t love the idea of you getting entangled with his brother, especially Dick.

At the proposal, he gave you a look that cut right through you.

No matter how hard your tried to hide it, he knew about your crush on the acrobat. It was next to impossible to not have one on him.

Your ripped from your inner turmoil when the door clicks behind you.

“What’d Dickface do now?”

Turning around to lean on the desk you found, Jason’s got a painting of unimpressed across his features.

“Nothing.” There’s an attempt at an accepting smile when you breathe out your answer.

A single raise of his eyebrow explains how much he believes you.

“It’s nothing Jason, really.”

He knew everything there was to know about your life. You told him about every shitty shift, every guy, every small tidbit of drama with your friends, but you couldn’t tell him about this.

How were you supposed to tell him that it killed you when his brother held you close for show? That your heart broke every time he called you darling. That every kiss on the cheek had tears building behind your eyes.

That none of it being real made you want to move from Gotham and forget any of this ever happened.

“Talk to him.” He says it so simply, it pisses you off. There’s a tiny shrug of his shoulders when he watches your face fall. It was frustrating just how easy Jason could read you.

Crossing your arms with a scoff, your eyes narrow in his direction. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“It’s your gospel.” He threw his hands up before his voice went up three octaves. “Talk about your feelings, Jason. You won’t get anywhere with them bottled up.”

“I do not sound like that.”

The silence in the room spoke volumes.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Never claimed to be a saint.”

Your eyes are about to roll out of your head as the study door opens again. The oxygen you were trying to breathe in gets lost somewhere on the way to your lungs when you see him.

He was as devastatingly charming as he was five minutes ago. His tie is loose from where he was wrestling with it after the second conversation. The black curls were perfectly in place, landing in smooth coils on his forehead. His dress shirt was pulled snuggly against his chest.

You wanted to kill him, or kiss him. Whichever opportunity presented itself first.

“See,” he starts by placing the flute of champagne on a side table. “It isn’t going to look good when my date and brother come out of a private room, alone.”

If you didn’t know any better, there was something along the lines of jealousy lingering in his tone. His jaw tightens for a second before he comes to your side, walking past Jason without so much of a glance.

“She was my best friend first dickhead.” Jason mocks his older brother, but there’s no real heat behind it. He’s already stepping toward the door, picking up the champagne he abandoned.

“Yeah well, she’s my girlfriend now, so deal with it.” Dick sticks his tongue out at him playfully while his arms find their home around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

He doesn’t miss the way you tense next to him. His grip loosens instantly, completely misinterpreting your reaction.

Jason rolls his eyes at both of you. But right before he closes the door behind him, he gives you a pointed look. Reminding you what he said earlier.

Talk to him.

The moment the door shuts, Dick’s whole body turned in your direction.

You make a valiant effort to not meet his gaze right away. Looking at the panels of the roof, desperately hoping they’ll find the words you want to keep locked away.

“What’s wrong?”

Finally looking at him, a sad smile pulls at your mouth.

The words don’t leave you right away. There’s a quiet hum you allow when your eyes fall to his tie. Alfred would have a stroke if he saw how loose it had been pulled.

Your arms uncross and your touch climb up his chest. A shiver overtakes him when he feels your nails through the dress shirt. Wrapping your fingers around the knot, you straighten it, pulling the fabric further up to the collar.

His gaze hasn’t left your face once, concern practically dripping from it.

“Darling really,” he moves his grip to place both hands on your biceps. “What’s wrong?”

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

 “Calling you what?”

You finally get the courage to roam his features again. Worry is still laced between his eyebrows and it only deepens when he sees annoyance appearing between yours.

“What’re you playing at?” His fingers drop from your arms and you hate the way it hurts. “There’s no one around, you don’t have to keep the act up. Jason knows in case you forgot.”

“I didn’t.” He rushes out, startled at fire in your frame.

“Then what the fuck was that display for.”

He flinches at the outburst, but you’ve had enough.

Your nails are digging crescent marks into your palms. It was embarrassing. There was no way he didn’t know about your crush on him. He  could see it in the way your eyes lingered on him a little to long. The way your body leaned in without question. The way you flushed a little deeper when he said something sweet.

These past two weeks have been exhausting. You never thought the world was cruel enough to do something like this, to play a montage of what could be.

“I’m,” he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the act. “I’m not acting.”

The air depleted from the room immediately.

“Then you’re being mean.”

You were holding your breath, not allowing yourself hope. There was no way any of this was genuine.

“How am I being mean?” His expression drops, aghast.

“Dick,” you huff out his name, almost as if his name will hold the weight of everything in your heart. “You can’t not know about how... how I-,” You huff out frustrated, not wanting to admit it. “And you’re acting like… this.”

Your hands are moving animatedly in front of you, acting as some sort of shield against the world when you continue. “If it’s some pity thing, you don’t have to do it. We’re doing this to keep your dad’s name from the papers. In public is one thing, but when we’re behind closed doors or with your family I- I don’t get it.”

His face crumbles at your words. The lack of response is deafening. There’s nothing you would wish for more than to erase the past three minutes of your life, to just have let this go.

Why did you listen to Jason?

“For someone so incredibly smart, you can be so dense.” He looks amused, and now your face flushes with anger.

“Excuse me?”

 “Why do you think I asked Jason what your coffee order was? Why do you think I’ve been coming to join you on your break or walk you home from work every day?” He’s bordering on exasperation. “Because I’m bored? Because I wanted to play with you?”

Now it’s your turn to exploit your right on remaining silent.

This was some sick dream, it had to be. You were going to wake up in ten minutes in your bed and stuff your face in your pillow. It couldn’t be true- there was no way.

“I’ve been in love with you for the past year.”

“Dick.” Your name lands like a warning.

“No- Dick nothing, let me finish.” He cuts you off. “I didn’t say anything because you’re Jason’s best friend. He didn’t want you involved in any of this and I had to respect that. But after these past two weeks, I- I can’t pretend anymore.”

You’re speechless. The untrusting part of your brain doesn’t want to believe him, half-convinced this is a setup. That this is some coup just to break your heart and laugh in your face.

But then you see it.

The desperation mixed in with those ocean blue of his eyes. The anxious rise and fall of the chest of a man who just laid himself bare.

“You like me…”

The words sound foreign coming from your mouth.

“Yes.” The affirmation is breathless.

“And you’ve been driving halfway across town to walk me home from work,” You can’t quite hide the shock while digesting the information. “For a year.”

“Glad you’re catching on.”

Your hands land on his chest again, pulling the fabric between your fingers. When he sees the smile you’re biting back it clicks in his head that you’re teasing him. He flushes under the dim lamp. The pads of his fingers rest on your lower back, edging you closer to him as yours inch up his shirt toward the collar.

When his forehead lands on yours, you decide to swallow the comment about how sweaty he is. It’s kind of endearing that he was as nervous as you.

You couldn’t believe that there was a world where Dick Grayson was troubled by a girl. Especially when it was you.

His nose nudges yours and butterflies start exploding in your stomach.

“Please.” Is all he whispers. The smell of mint, alcohol, and just him infecting you from all senses.

Ending his misery, you mold your lips against his. It was everything you could’ve hoped for and more. His lips were soft and moved slowly against you. You could get drunk on the taste of him alone. He pulls back for barely a second to catch his breath and you can feel the smile against your lips.

“Do you want to know a secret?”

“Obviously.” He mumbles against your cupid’s bow, and you mirror the grin.

“Jason doesn’t know my coffee order.”

•───────•°•♡•°•───────•

You smiled to yourself as you slipped into your shared bedroom, a vibrant bouquet of flowers tucked carefully into the crook of your arm. Balanced in your hands were a few heavy takeout bags that got stacked on top of a carefully wrapped box.

The past few weeks had been brutal on Jason. You could see the toll patrol was taking on him in the rigid set of his shoulders and the dark circles bruising the skin under his eyes. Every night followed the same heavy routine: he’d drag himself through the door, utterly spent, press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, and immediately collapse into bed.

It ached to see him carrying the weight of Gotham like that. You knew you couldn't erase the horrors of the city or the ghosts of his past, but tonight, you were determined to make him feel at peace.

Between his favorite comfort food, the fresh flowers, and the contents of the box which were a handmade "coupon book" full of vouchers for back massages, cuddles and kisses for an hour, and some other cute and spicy ones paired with a ridiculously cute, chubby little red panda keychain, you were going to make him smile. Even if he groaned and blushed first.

You crawled onto the center of the mattress, carefully arranging the takeout containers so the scent of his favorite food began to drift through the room. The fresh flowers were safely tucked on the nightstand, but the wrapped box went right in front of you on the covers. You settled back against the pillows, waiting.

As the minutes ticked by in the quiet room, a sudden knot of nerves tightened in your stomach. You stared down at the box that contained the coupon book and red panda keychain, and a wave of doubt hit you. Was this stupid? Jason was out there dealing with life or death situations, dealing with the literal scum of Gotham, and here you were waiting for him with a dorky keychain and coupons for kisses. What if he was too tired for this? What if he thought it was silly?

You reached out, your fingers hovering over the box, half-tempted to sweep it away and hide it in the closet before he could see it and just act like you picked up food instead. Before you could make up your mind, the muffled, heavy thud of the front door closing echoed from the hallway. Your heart skipped a beat. He was home.

The sound of his footsteps approached the bedroom door, sounding slower and more exhausted than usual. Your breath hitched, your hand dropping back into your lap as the doorknob turned with a quiet click. You found yourself fidgeting with your rings to try and keep your nerves at bay. You attempted to stuff your insecurities away and plastered on a smile.

The door swung open, and there he was.

Jason looked completely spent. His massive frame was slightly hunched, his hair damp from the Gotham rain and clinging to his forehead. He had already discarded his helmet, leaving his tired eyes and the dark circles beneath them completely exposed.

He paused in the doorway, blinking heavily as his gaze swept over the room. The harsh, defensive tension in his shoulders suddenly faltered as he took in the scene: the soft lighting, the fresh flowers on the nightstand, the savory scent of his favorite food, and you, sitting in the middle of it all. His eyes drifted down to the carefully wrapped box sitting right in front of you on the covers.

For a long moment, he just stood there, completely silent, as if he couldn't quite process what he was seeing.

The quiet in the bedroom stretched for another beat, the only sound the faint, rhythmic dripping of rain from his discarded gear out in the kitchen. You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around your rings as you waited for him to say something to break the silence. Slowly, the confused, uncomprehending look in Jason’s eyes gave way to something incredibly soft as his eyes landed on you again.

"Hey," he breathed, his voice rough and gravelly. He didn't drop his eyes from you as he stepped fully into the room, letting the door click shut behind him. He reached up, unzipping his heavy leather jacket with slow, stiff movements, and let it slide off his shoulders to drop onto the nearby chair.

He didn't mention the food, and he didn't ask about the flowers yet. Instead, he walked straight over to the edge of the mattress. He didn't even look at the wrapped box, his eyes were entirely fixed on your face, seeing right through the brave smile you had plastered on. Without a word, Jason sat on the edge of the bed beside you. He reached out, his large, calloused hand gently covering yours, completely stilling your anxious fidgeting. "You did all this?" he murmured softly, his thumb tracing a comforting circle over the back of your knuckles.

Under the steady, overwhelming gratitude in his gaze, the last of your forced smile softened into something real, though a faint blush crept up your neck. "Yeah," you confessed softly, your voice a little smaller than you intended. You cleared your throat, nudging the wrapped box an inch closer to him with your free hand. "I know you've had a rough couple of weeks. I just... I wanted to make sure you had some happiness tonight. I got your favorite takeout."

Jason’s eyes tracked the movement of the box, then drifted back up to you. A tiny, faint trace of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, the first real one you’d seen on him in days. "Sweetheart, you're the only happy thing in this entire city. You're the sunshine to my darkness." He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, just like his usual routine, but this time he didn't immediately collapse into a dead sleep after. Instead he lingered there for a second, his forehead resting against yours as he took a deep breath.

When he pulled back, his hand slid from your knuckles to grab the wrapped box. "So," he murmured, his tone turning playfully curious as he eyed the neat wrapping paper. "What's this? You already fed me and bought me flowers. Am I being spoiled today?"

"Just open it." You said softly, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth.

Jason caught the anxious movement of your lips, his eyes softening even further if that was even possible. He let out a low, breathless chuckle, the sound vibrating warmly against your skin in the quiet room. "Alright, alright, opening it now," he murmured as he began to tear open the paper. After he tore the paper off carefully he opened the box and was immediately met with the red panda keychain.

For a second, he just stared at the chubby little red panda keychain sitting on top of the handmade booklet. You watched him nervously as your insecurities kicked in again. He must've thought it was so stupid. How would something like this help him?

Before your thoughts could spiral further, he picked up the keychain by it's metal ring, letting it dangle between his fingers as he studied it. He looked from the panda to you, one of his thick eyebrows arching up, though the amusement in his eyes completely gave him away. "A red panda, huh?" He asked with a small smirk. "No bats this time?"

"It looked like you." You blurted out, your cheeks immediately heating the second the words left your lips. "I- not the panda part! Of course you don't look like a panda," you rambled as Jason watched you with a brow arched, trying to hide his amusement. "You don't look like a panda. Just... it looks big and grumpy and it's also soft and cuddly. Just like you." You finished quietly, feeling so embarrassed, wishing that the bed could swallow you whole.

Jason let out a laugh at that, a sound that you hadn't herd in weeks. The sound almost made you jump when you first herd it but you felt your nerves begin to calm as his laughter died down. "Yeah well, I'm only soft for you." He said softly as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your lips.

He set the keychain down carefully on the mattress and picked up the handmade coupon book. He flipped it open, his eyes scanning the first page. A smile tipped his lips as he read some of the coupons.

'Good for: One hour of snuggles and kisses.'

'Good for: Free 15 minute back massage.'

'Good for: Breakfast in bed.'

He let out a low, appreciative hum as he flipped through the pages of sweet and cheesy coupons. You could tell the second he got to the portion of coupons that were spicy, his eyes darkening as he read some of them.

'Good for: One quickie at anytime.'

'Good for: One free nude pic.'

'Good for: Blindfolding and handcuffing me.'

The silence in the bedroom returned, but it wasn't the anxious quiet from before. It was thick, charged, and heavy with anticipation. Slowly, Jason closed the booklet. He set it down on the mattress beside the keychain, his movements deliberate and unhurried. When he looked back up at you, the exhaustion that had been weighing down his eyelids was completely gone, replaced by a hazy look of lust that made your breath catch.

He crawled up the mattress, the movement making you lay back against the mattress, until he was looming directly over you. His massive frame effectively blocked out the rest of the room, hands planted on either side of your head, trapping you between himself and the mattress. "You sat here," Jason began, his voice a rough growl as he leaned down, his nose brushing against yours, "worrying your pretty little head that this was stupid? Thinking I wouldn't want this?" He let out a low, breathy sound that was half-chuckle, half-groan, his eyes dropping to your lips before snapping back to yours. "Sweetheart, you have no idea what you’ve done to me tonight."

He reached out, his calloused fingers gently cupping your jaw, tilting your face up just a fraction more. His thumb brushed against your bottom lip, soothing the spot you had been nervously biting earlier.

"I fight the scum of the earth in this hellhole of a city every night feeling like I'm barely holding it together," he whispered, his eyes softening with gratitude, even as the heat in them remained. "And I walk in to find you waiting for me with flowers, my favorite food, and a book not only showing me just how much you love me but also telling me that you're entirely mine to play with."

A devastating smirk slowly pulled at the corner of his lips. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke. "The food smells amazing, and God knows I'm starving," Jason rasped, his hand sliding down from your jaw to wrap around your throat softly.. "But looking at you right now? I think I'm gonna need to cash in one of these vouchers first. Specifically this one." He said as he he sat up, his legs straddling you as he held his hand out to you, the coupon between his forefinger and middle finger. You took the coupon from him slowly as you bit your lip, your eyes reading over the words.

'Good for: One session of rough sex. No holding back, use my body to get all your frustration out.'

"So what do you say, sweetheart? Ready to help me forget about Gotham tonight?"

❀ end note: i kinda want to write a second part 👀🙈

He kept pulling off going to the barber for some reason, everything always came up. So like the loving girlfriend you were, you told him you’d trim his hair.

How hard could it be?

There were only two things in life Jason would openly admit that he loved; you and his hair.

You finally somewhat convinced him with promises of cuddles and sex and who was he if not a man? Because he (reluctantly) agreed.

And now his grumbling began again.

“Darling, sweetheart, angel I’ve watched you walk into the counter multiple times. I love you but you are a little… clumsy…”

“Clumsy!” You exclaimed in mock shock. “You weren’t saying that when I was doing body shots off you.”

“That’s different. I had to stay still for that. You princess, are anything but still.”

“Take that back,” you threatened.

“How about we go out instead?” Jason offered and pulled you onto his lap.

“Jason you’ve been complaining for weeks,” you sighed and craned your head back to look at him.

“But I thought you liked my hair like this,” he murmured and rested his chin on your shoulder.

“I do but I also like when my boyfriend is inside of me and isn’t getting distracted by his hair falling over his eyes.”

“That was one time,” he huffed and let you go.

“I’ll just do like half an inch okay?” You tried again.

Jason in response gave you a defeated nod.

You beamed and leaned down to press a kiss to his lips before standing your full height which wasn’t a lot even when Jason was sitting down.

“Okay,” you took a deep breath and leaned down to part his hair from the middle like you had seen in the video.

You tried several positions first. Even walked backwards to do the back first but nothing seemed perfect enough so you came back to the front again.

Jason groaned impatiently and you finally stepped in between his thighs. You pulled a tuft of his hair in between two fingers to straighten it up for you to see exactly how much you were cutting.

“I’m doing it,” you murmured more to yourself than to Jason.

You took a long deep breath and cut the ends of his white streak. Just an inch.

And Jason flinched.

“What!” You stepped back and looked at him.

“Nothing.”

“I could have hurt you,” you huffed and leaned down again to do the other half of his white streak.

“I can see your tits when you bend down like this,” Jason chuckled like he was a teenage boy seeing breasts for the first time ever.

“You have literally seen me fully naked,” you scoffed lightly and pulled his hair between your fingers again.

“I love them,” he said next and put his hand over your ass.

“Jay if something goes wrong it’s your fault,” you warned before snipping his hair off.

You stepped away from him and turned his face sideways to see if it was cut equal.

“That looks fine actually,” you said, surprised at your own handiwork and went back to stand in between his legs.

Jason seemed more relaxed now too. You could tell by his large warm hands wandering your body. He put his arm around your thigh and slowly snaked it up to your hips.

“Jason!” You warned again before trimming the sides.

“What?” He smiled and put both his arms around your waist. “Is loving your girlfriend a crime? Because if so then I’m a criminal.”

“You’re a criminal either way Red Hood.”

“Low,” he grumbled. “You’re not wearing a bra.”

“Glad you noticed,” you mindlessly replied and untangled yourself from his embrace before walking behind the chair.

You gently pushed his head down and began snipping again, careful not to cut too much or else he’d throw a fit.

After you were done with the back, you went to the other side and his hands began wandering again. He trailed his hand up the side of your leg again until he reached your hip. He began squeezing lightly, much like he did when he was getting you ready for him.

It didn’t distract you as much as it did before because now you got the hang of it. Still, you didn’t pay any attention to him as you kept checking if his hair was equal on all sides or not.

When you finally stepped in front of him to make the cuts look a bit natural like it had shown in the video, he grabbed your waist and pulled you down again until you were straddling his thighs.

“Hi,” he grinned and pecked your lips. “Talk to me.”

“You attention whore,” you clicked your tongue but kissed him back.

“It’s been an hour babe, I was promised cuddles and sex,” he pouted.

“Need I remind you that you were the one who was whining and being skeptical about this? I just don’t want to fuck up your hair.”

“So you only love me for my hair,” he narrowed his eyes.

“Duh,” you replied quickly and tried to get off his lap but he just tightened his grip.

“This hurts my heart.”

“You’ll live,” you smiled and decided to just cut his hair in this position.

Jason quickly closed his eyes when you brought the scissors up to his forehead and let you give him a few finishing touches. His hands remained wrapped around your waist, a lovesick smile stayed prominent on his lips while you gave his hair the feathery texture you had seen in the video –at least tried to.

“Okay I think we’re done,” you murmured, raising yourself to look. “I think I did a pretty good job.”

“Let me see,” Jason said and finally let you go before making his way towards the bathroom.

You trailed behind him with your expectations skyrocketing mixed with a little worry.

He stood in front of the mirror and ran a hand through his hair like he usually did, trying to get that messy look that always managed to get you wet with just one glance.

“Not bad,” he mused, still turning and looking in the mirror from all the angles. “You actually did great babe.”

“I’ve cut my own bangs I picked up a few things along the way,” you dramatically said causing Jason to snicker.

“And then you cried yourself to sleep and wouldn’t let me look at you.”

“Pfft!” You scoffed. “That’s how you learn from your mistakes.”

“Right,” Jason smirked and snaked his hands around your waist again. “Thank you angel.”

“You’re welcome,” you smiled and kissed his cheek when he leaned down to nuzzle his head in your neck.

“This is gonna save us a lot of money.”

“It was a one time thing,” you replied.

“We’ll see about that,” Jason breathed out and straightened up. “Now you promised me something,” he leaned down and picked you up.

“Jason!” You protested. “You’re covered in hair don’t even think about taking me to bed.”

“I was actually thinking about taking a shower,” he replied with a knowing expression on his face and sat you down on the counter –hands immediately going to the hem of your sleep shirt.

“I need to thank you properly,” he said in a husky voice and planted his lips to your neck, kissing and nipping until he finally managed to get your shirt off.

You giggled in response to his fluttering kisses on your neck. Right over the sensitive area just below your ear. His lips curved up into a smirk against your neck, causing you to push him off you.

He immediately planted his lips to yours instead, “What?” He chuckled against your lips between kisses.

“Jason,” you managed to let out and fisted his shirt. “Come on let’s go shower.”

“Okay,” he dramatically sighed and took off his own shirt before leading you to the shower.

ok super rushed sorry if its ass i was watching friends and got this idea🤓

Jason Todd who physically tried to take up less space when you met for the first time so you weren’t scared of him, a big, scarred, intimidating looking man.

Jason Todd who desperately needed the intimacy of loving you to heal broken parts of him more than he even knew.

Jason Todd who was scared of physical touch after his violent death (not counting beating assholes up) so it takes him some time to get used to the idea of being physically intimate on any level, the trust he needed to have was high.

Jason Todd who was reluctant to let himself have a good thing at the beginning because he’s scared you’ll get hurt or he’ll fuck it up.

Jason Todd who shows up at your apartment more and more frequently, till you start to expect him every day or night.

Jason Todd who ended up quickly becoming infatuated with you so badly it scared him.

Jason Todd who slowly, finally stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop, and let’s himself enjoy you.

Jason Todd who once he finally got comfortable with you, after slowly bringing down his walls, was the clingiest, sweetest, most doting, funny boyfriend.

Jason Todd who brings you burgers and chocolate when he can just tell you’ve had a bad day. You don’t even have to say anything and he’s already working to make you smile again.

Jason Todd who says the snarkiest, most sarcastic things you’ve heard in your life so unexpectedly it makes you snort with laughter in surprise.

Jason Todd who told you about being Red Hood pretty quickly because how is he supposed to explain the J shaped scar on his face, or the frequent bruises, bullet holes, stab wounds and broken bones he receives.

Jason Todd who never strays too far away from your apartment when he’s on patrol, just in case.

Jason Todd who absolutely is lurking in the shadows as you walk home from drinks with your girl friends. Like fuck is he letting you walk through Gotham alone, ever if it was up to him. You know he’s there, you can’t see him but you know.

Jason Todd who slowly stops shrinking in on himself when you realised how much you thoroughly enjoy his muscles and large size, and he ends up loving the way you swoon when he uses it to lift you up.

Jason Todd who’s the cockiest you’ve ever seen him when it comes to his appearance when you tell him he’s actually bigger and beefier than Bruce now.

Jason Todd who everyone expects to be mean in bed, but the idea of hurting you makes him feel physically sick.

Jason Todd who kept the lights off or his shirt on months into the relationship after you started fucking so you don’t see his weird scars.

Jason Todd who did tell you about his death once you knew he was Red Hood but it’s one thing hearing it and another seeing the evidence.

Jason Todd who tears up a little when you kiss his scars instead of being disgusted by the autopsy marks like he expected. Even if he jokes about it, they make him insecure.

Jason Todd who has an absolutely no bondage or restraints rule. Especially on him. He trusts you more than anyone, but you both know he’d just end up having a panic attack.

Jason Todd who finally got so comfortable around you, that he became insatiable. His hands were constantly on your body in one way or another, long in the past was his reluctance to be touched, or the idea you being unwanting of his touch. If you weren’t in physical contact, he felt wrong.

Jason Todd who very quickly realised that he might be very much touch starved when the dam is broken, and now he associates hands on his body with you.

Jason Todd who completely wraps himself around you at night now, like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this reality, burying his face in your neck to keep his nightmares at bay.

Jason Todd who slowly starts to get confident with you in your relationship. He’s flirting with you constantly, whispering dirty things in your ear just to watch you blush. He’s seen your reactions to him and he loves them.

Jason Todd who fucks you good. The love and care behind his actions wrecks you every time. He doesn’t want to hurt you, the idea of any harm coming to you makes his stomach churn, which means he’s not going to spank you, or choke you, or anything like that, but that doesn’t mean he can’t give you a good pounding.

Jason Todd who doesn’t need all that other stuff to make you feel amazing anyway. The size of him alone, in every aspect, is enough to make you lose your mind when he fucks you.

Jason Todd who learns your body like it’s a mission. He’s got making you come down to a fine art.

Jason Todd who immediately clocked your reaction after seeing a clip of him on the news as Red Hood, watching your thighs rub together subtly.

Jason Todd who starts to call you from his helmet when he’s out, because he knows it turns you on to hear him all gruff and breathless, beating the shit out of bad people. It’s also because he misses you.

Jason Todd who fulfils your fantasy by fucking you in the helmet, but he’s just as sweet and careful with you as usual, the juxtaposition of his vigilante look and his actions making it even hotter.

Jason Todd who not so secretly loves when you shower him with affection, love and praise in bed, especially when you’re riding him. He’d deny any of the sounds he makes for you.

Jason Todd who whined so pretty when you called him your good boy for the first time, unlocking something he didn’t even really know was there.

Jason Todd who loves that your life together is so full of affection and trust for each-other. You’re the only one he feels safe with, can let his guard down around. You’ve helped heal him in ways he didn’t think were possible.

Jason Todd who is absolutely and unequivocally devoted to you, he can’t survive without you in his life.

This was supposed to be a quick little ramble whoops. This was kind of a mishmash of all the Jason’s. I’ve never written one of these before so I hope it’s okay, I’m writing this instead of sleeping lmao.

First, there's a thud that flows through the slightly open window from the alley next to your apartment, followed by a metallic sounding ding of something heavy hitting the floor.

You only just heard it over the torrential Gotham rain.

The sound wouldn't have been audible at all if you weren't cosied up on your window seat already, reading Frankenstein, covered in a blanket with a cup of warm hot chocolate.

Earlier you got caught in the cold, autumn rain, so you’re desperate to warm up after being chilled to the bone. You really didn't want to go back out, you've only just gotten dry.

But, it was a concerning, body-like thud.

Pressing your face up against the mildly foggy glass, you peered down into the alley to see if you could spot anything below but the angle was weird, and you could see nothing.

Sighing, you quickly put your still damp, waterproof coat back on, along with your boots, before running back to climb down the old rusty fire escape.

It creaked ominously with every step, and you tried not to think about how high up to you were. Maybe it would be better to just go round the front on the way back.

With shaky limbs, you finally feel the solid, soaked concrete below your soles, and let out a little sigh of relief.

Right, the thud.

You scan the alley, squinting in the rain, searching for the cause of the noise in the low light. The street lamp barely lit the place up.

If Jason knew you were doing this, he’d have a fit.

Jason Todd was your best friend, since you were little. You’d lost him when you were nine and he was twelve.

He’d been there one day, and gone the next, and a few years later, you saw he’d been declared missing, and yet he’d somehow still made his way back to you.

He’d told you when he found you again, that when you were both younger, some rich guy randomly adopted him, which is why he basically disappeared from your life. He told you that he’d begged to bring you too but no one would let him.

He didn’t like to talk about the time where he was officially missing very much, barely telling you a thing about what happened to him.

The years had distanced you both, but it didn’t take long to warm back up to each other.

You could tell he was different somehow, hardened, but you still see the same boy you knew in him as well.

You saw it in the way his face lights up when he finds a book he wants to read. You see it in the bliss on his face when he eats good food, or the mischievous smile he flashes you when he says something dirty or sarcastic.

You’d been stupidly in love with him for years but how could you risk his friendship? You’re almost certain he doesn’t like you back. Plus, though you didn’t know the exact details, you have a feeling he’s been through enough. The last thing you want is to push him away.

There’s been moments before, with some kind of heated tension when you’ve caught yourselves closer than friends would be, so close you could feel his breath on your lips, but he always pulled back. Quickly, like he was doused in cold water.

Like he remembers it’s you, and he doesn’t want that with you, he was just caught up in the moment.

So you respect Jason’s feelings, and keep your own to yourself. It’s easier this way and you’d rather have him in your life.

There’s movie nights, nights where you both curl up and read, he takes you places on the back of his motorbike, he meets you when you have a late shift from work so you don’t walk home by yourself.

Most movie nights, you laugh together till you’re crying and your stomachs hurt at the shitty horror movie, ending up throwing bits of popcorn at each-other and faux fighting about the correct way to survive this movies threat.

He also always likes to fix things in your apartment for you, looking at your boiler when it stopped working, fixing the janky lock on your front door, simply changing light bulbs with his feet still firmly planted on the floor, arm above his head not even fully extended and he can still reach.

Jason got tall.

It had been nine years since you’d last seen him, when he showed up at the shitty diner you worked at, after years of you thinking he was actually dead.

He’d been awkward, stuttering over his words as he tried to explain who he was, shrinking his massive stature, afraid he was going to frighten you somehow.

But you’d known who he was immediately. Under the gruff, scarred looking man was still the same boy who would steal cookies for you when you were upset.

He’d been so surprised when you’d just hugged him, no hesitation. It took him a second to reboot and hug you back, letting out a nervous, relieved sort of laugh.

“I thought you were dead” you had mumbled against his chest, eyes stinging from years of pent up emotions.

Jason made a small pained sound, and hugged you tighter.

“I’m here now, I’m sorry” he said quietly into your hair.

That was five years ago.

Now, you were as close as you’d ever been, spending most days at your apartment. Jason didn’t like you going to his very often.

“It’s a mess” he’d always say, “but your apartment is so much cosier” he’d argue, and he’d always win.

You didn’t really mind much, you were just happy to have him back in your life, and he’d usually come round when he said he would, so it’s not like he’s avoiding you.

He never really stayed over though, always leaving at eleven at night or so, no matter how much you said it was okay, or you don’t have to walk home in the rain. Only when you’d both been out to a bar or something would he eventually pass out on your sofa, too drunk to move.

But you tried not to push. You didn’t really know what happened to him, he seemed to hate you asking about it, but you could see the scars on his arms, or stomach when his shirt raised up when he reached for something up on a high shelf.

You were worried about him, truthfully. Even now, he’d show up with bruises and injuries like he’d been fighting or something.

Whenever you asked about them, he’d just shrug you off, or give you the most puppy dog eyes with a small “please don’t, I’m fine” paired with a pained expression which you couldn’t refuse.

You had your best friend back, but you didn’t have all of him back. Something was different.

As kids, you’d told eachother everything.

But you’re not kids anymore, he’s a grown man and he’s allowed to have secrets, so you simply try to deal with it.

You try to ignore the bruises on his cheeks, or the way his lip splits again when he laughs, tongue darting out to lick the blood. You try to ignore the way he winces when he pulls stitches you’re not supposed to know about, or groans at the ache of his beaten body when he gets up off the sofa.

When you shove painkillers into his hand, or come up to dab the red off his swollen lip with an alcohol wipe, neither of you talk about where the injuries come from.

He still lets you help him though, which is better than a couple of years ago, when he would simply deny he was hurt at all, even though you could see it plain as day, and would actively avoid you on days it was obvious.

This was much better than that.

So you let him keep his secrets, hoping one day he might tell you when he feels ready to.

You just hope he doesn’t get the absolute shit beat into him before that.

The end of the alley way is dark, so dark you can hardly see anything. Straining your eyes, you try to look for what caused the ominous thud, and catch a glimpse of something on the floor a few feet in front of you, shrouded in the dark shadows.

Slowly, you creep forward, trying to make it out in the rain before you realise that it’s a man. A large man. Just, laying there on the floor, face up towards the down pour.

Except it’s not his face, it’s a mask. A red mask, with two white eye holes. You could hear the quiet metallic pings of the rain, bouncing off the adornment.

Shit.

Is this Red Hood?

You’d seen him on the news before. He’s a vigilante, a vicious one.

Scanning the rest of his body, you can make out multiple deep wounds, if the crimson puddle slowly mixing with the rain around him is anything to go by.

Fuck.

Crouching to get a better look, you quickly realise you can’t move him by yourself, and you doubt he’d be pleased if you called the police or an ambulance.

Which leaves your ride or die, Jason.

He’d be able to help move the large figure.

With trembling hands, you pull your phone out, desperately wiping it when it immediately gets covered in thick droplets of rain.

You press your contact:

JayJay🤍

And bring the damp phone to your ear, listening to the tone.

It rings, once, twice, before another sound fills the alley.

Bzz Bzz Bzz Bzz Bzz

The sound is coming from the man’s trouser pocket. You’re close enough to hear it.

Moving your phone away from your ear, you look at the contact name and then towards the buzzing again.

No.

It can’t be.

It’s just a coincidence.

The call times out, and you redial Jason’s number.

Bzz Bzz Bzz Bzz Bzz

Fumbling fingers managed to pull the man’s phone out of his luckily waterproof pocket, and you nearly drop it when you see the caller ID.

My Dovey🕊️😩🫦🙏

That’s Jason’s nickname for you, since you were little because he used to say you had cooties and tell you that you were being all “lovey dovey” when you would cling to him, though he’d never push you away.

This can’t be…

Red Hood can’t be… Jason?

You don’t even have the brain capacity to make sense of the emojis next to your name right now, you’d never seen his contact info for you before.

With trembling hands, you kneel down beside potentially Jason, and lift his head to your lap, feeling around the helmet for some way to take it off.

There seems to be some kind of small button at the back so you push it, and hope for the best.

There’s a soft mechanical whirring, and the helmet shifts so it’s loose enough to slide off. And ever so slowly, that’s what you do.

The helmet comes off, and you gasp.

Fuck.

It’s fucking Jason.

Jason Todd is Red Hood.

Jason Todd is currently bleeding out in an alley way, and the only person you could ring to help was him. His face is covered in bruises, already furious shades of purple.

“Jason” you say gently, not trusting your voice, tapping the side of his face to try and wake him up. The cold rain is on his bare skin now which seems to be helping him regain some consciousness.

His eyebrows twitch.

“Jason, wake up” you try again, voice cracking as you try not to cry, louder this time, shaking him gently.

Below you, Jason’s face forms a confused frown at the voice and the feeling of the rain beating down on his face.

“Please Jason, wake up” you almost sob this time, and his green eyes fly open.

Jason looks alarmed right away, eyes darting around to you, then his surroundings, to the Red Hood mask placed next to him on the ground.

“Fuck” he rasps a mixture of pain and the realisation that you must have found him like this. He must have stumbled to the only place he could think of in his bloodless brain.

Jason tries to stand up, but immediately doubles over with a pained grunt at his injuries, stumbling as he loses his footing slightly.

“Whoa, Jay slow down, you’re hurt” you scold in surprise as you come to steady him as he got to his feet. He quickly turns to you.

“I’m so fucking sorry” Jason’s voice is full of regret as he looks you in the eye, something beyond the puppy dog eyes he usually pulls.

“You can apologise when you’re not actively bleeding out Jay, come on, we need to get you upstairs” you nearly beg, wrapping his arm round your shoulder to help take some of his weight.

He grunts in pain at the first step, knowing better than to try and argue with you right now, and eventually leans a small bit of his weight onto you. He groans when he dips to get the helmet before you can do it first.

Ever so slowly, you both make your way up the creaky fire escape, Jason’s boots thudding heavily with every step. After awkwardly managing to climb through your window, he quickly creates a puddle of rain and blood on the floor around him where he’s stood.

“I’m sorry” he gasps out as you bring him to lay down on the couch, “I’m gettin’ blood on all y’ shit.” The last part of his sentence is more mumbled, and you realise he’s passing out again.

“Hey, Hey!” You pretty much shout as you shake him and his eyes fly open again.

Trying to undo the body armour as quick as you can with shaky hands, you manage to shed layers till his chest was bare, and you could see the extent of his injuries.

His chest was blue and black, he looked he liked been hit with a car or something. The stab wounds weren’t nearly as deep as you thought they were with the amount of blood. They looked… partially healed?

That’s impossible. The amount of blood he’s lost, he should probably already be dead by now.

“Jason…” you mutter in bewilderment to yourself under your breath, cleaning them with an alcohol wipe anyway. His stomach tenses at the sting, and you try really hard not to stare at his shirtless self.

It was hard not to stare at Jason whenever he was shirtless, he was deliciously ripped, sculpted biceps and abs, defined v in his stomach and a wide, toned back. He had a tattoo on his shoulder, which went with his earrings, and with his white streak of hair, he started to have a bit of an alt boy look about him.

He was watching you as you used some suture strips to close the wounds, them not even needing stitches anymore. Jason was feeling a little less light headed now he wasn’t actively losing so much blood, but his head was still pounding from the beating he took, and his body ached.

You took a steadying breath, satisfied he isn’t going to bleed out on your sofa.

“You need to get out of those wet trousers” you deduced matter of factly, already leaving to find something of his he’d left here that he could wear. You quickly shed your own damp clothes, and put on some soft sleep shorts and one of Jason’s big shirts you’d stolen.

Returning with some of his Wonder Woman jogging bottoms that he sometimes uses as pyjamas, you couldn’t help the heat that rushed to your face when you walked in on him pulling his soggy trousers down, revealing the tight, wet Red Hood boxers he was wearing. The rain had seeped through his combat trousers, causing the fabric to stick to his skin obscenely.

The theme of the boxers made you giggle despite everything, even as you quickly averted your eyes from the very noticeable bulge in the cotton. Not even aroused, just large, like the rest of him.

Jason’s head snapped up at the sound, and one of his hands covers his crotch as he takes the pyjamas you’re holding out for him.

“Wearing your own merch?” You laugh, keeping your entire head turned away. Jason finds it less funny right now.

“I’m so sorry Dovey, I’ll tell you everything, I didn’t want you to find out like this” Jason starts, pausing his task before he even shed the wet underwear. He takes a step towards you, “I was going to tell you I swear-“ he continues.

“Jay” you say in a small voice as your eyes dart back towards him, to where he’s stood looking incredibly indecent in your living room before quickly looking away again, “get dressed.”

Jason at least has the decency to blush.

He quickly sheds his soaked underwear, and pulls on his bottoms, nearly tripping in the process from how quick he’s trying to be.

You can’t help but laugh again at his mumbled swear as he caught himself.

“Okay, I’m dressed” he says a bit awkwardly. Dressed meaning those pyjamas and nothing else.

Jason had already slowly started walking towards you, like he’s expecting you to run away.

You didn’t, you stayed where you were, face shifting into something certifiably pissed as the situation came crashing down on you again, and you folded your arms across your chest.

Jason actually winced, he hated when you looked at him like this. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you this mad.

He waits with bated breath for you to say something, anything, explode on him, but you don’t. You simply wait for him to explain himself. He thinks that might be worse.

“I- he-“ Jason stutters, trying to find the words. “The rich guy who adopted me was Batman” he ends up blurting out, figuring that would be a good place to start.

You raise your eyebrows a fraction in surprise, but say nothing else, expecting him to continue.

“He made me Robin. He trained me to be his sidekick, taught me how to fight and I’m good at it.” Jason continues, running his hand through his bi-coloured hair.

He steps closer to you. “I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t mean for you to find out like this, I wanted to tell you, I didn’t want you to be in any danger, I thought you’d think I was a monster… I didn’t want to scare you…” Jason explains, voice full of genuine despair.

You can see the tears glistening, unshed in his green eyes which cracks through your stony exterior a little. You sigh, exasperated.

“I’d never think that about you Jason, ever” you say firmly. “I wouldn’t have told anyone…” you say in a smaller voice than you would have liked.

Jason steps closer yet, and holds your head in his hands, ducking slightly to look you in the eye.

“I know.” He states firmly, “god I know, I know you wouldn’t have told anyone. I trust you, I trust you more than anyone, I just… I can’t stand the idea of you getting dragged into one of my messes.”

The icy look in your eyes melts at that, and the same unshed tears start to sting your eyes too.

“These people I deal with, they’re nasty pieces of shit. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you because they came after you. I wanted to keep Red Hood as far away as I could from you. That’s why I wanted to keep you away from my place… I just wanted keep you safe” Jason explains, voice cracking towards the end, “I’m so sorry you had to find out like that.”

You can’t say you’re not a little hurt, but you can understand where he’s coming from. He wasn’t trying to hurt you, or hide stuff from you because he didn’t trust you. You had a million questions though.

“It’s okay Jay… I- I’m a little hurt but I’m not mad at you. I think.” you stutter, trying to find words for your feelings. “I’m mostly just glad you’re okay” you say as your lip wobbles slightly at the thought of losing him again. Jason spots it immediately and pulls you into a hug which you reciprocate, burying your face in his bare chest.

Though you’re pulling back suddenly to look up at him after you had a realisation.

“How are you okay? You lost so much blood” you ask, wondering how his wounds healed so quickly.

Jason sighs, like he’s been waiting for this question.

“Why don’t we sit down?” He suggests, gesturing to the sofa.

And so, sat with your legs in his lap, due to him pulling them there immediately, Jason Todd tells you the story of how he died.

And came back.

He tells you about being Robin, the Joker, the crowbar, the Pit. He tells you about the enhanced healing it caused, hence the stab wounds and his speedy recovery time. He tells you about Red Hood. About Batman.

Jason tells you everything he’s tried to keep from you these past five years, from fear of you looking at him like some freak. From fear of you getting sucked into this world of vigilantes and insane, murderous villains. He’d sworn to himself he would keep you out of it.

Yet the second he’d opened his mouth, he couldn’t stop. It poured out of him like a river, easing the weight on his shoulders caused by the secrets every passing word.

At a particularly crowbar-y part of his story, Jason had pulled you into his lap when he saw the tears running down your face, despite your protests about him being injured.

That was the only break in his speech as he tried to comfort your now hard sobs, as you cried over him recounting getting brutally murdered at fifteen years old by a psychopathic clown.

“Hey Dovey, don’t cry, I promise I’m okay now” he tries to reassure with a tight smile. Which was true enough, sure he still has nightmares, mainly about that night, but he’s mostly gotten used to the whole resurrection thing. He continues to tell you the truth about his life since he got taken from you.

“So… that’s everything I think” he finishes with a sigh eventually, his hand now running up and down your back to sooth you like this all didn’t happen to him.

Bringing your hand up to the side of his face, you trace the larger, now much more obvious scar on his cheek with a shaky finger. You’d always seen it but now you know it was supposed to look like a jagged ‘J’, you saw it in a different light. Jason lets you, leans into your touch even, and his eyes slip shut as you rested your whole palm there.

Your poor boy. The idea of him going through all that, and so young makes you feel sick. You’re just so glad he’s okay now, that he did somehow manage to find his way back to you. And now he’s sat here comforting you about it?

Burying your face in his neck, you try to calm yourself down a bit. He’s okay now. He’s here. In your flat, with you in his lap. The realisation of your position crashes down on you without the haze of heavy emotion.

“That’s not everything” you mutter, leaning back to look at him. Jason cocks his head, wondering what he forgot.

“Care to explain my contact name?” You tease lightly, managing a little smile.

Jason’s eyes widened at that, and his face turned red.

“My Dovey, moaning face emoji, lip bite emoji, prayer hands emoji?” You repeat with air quotations what you saw earlier and he gets redder with every word.

“What- How- When?” He splutters, embarrassed as his face continues to heat up.

You do manage to laugh this time.

“When I found you outside, I rang you to come help us, and your phone was ringing in your pocket” you explained.

Jason sighed and tipped his head back on the sofa cushion, giving you a nice view of his adam’s apple and the veins in his neck.

“At least you’re not in the habit of unmasking every vigilante you come across” he huffs, still not looking at you.

The blush had gone down his throat now.

He peeks down at you with one eye, before sighing again.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” He says, already defeated.

“Nope” you say, popping the p, looking at him expectantly. You’re honestly expecting him to say it’s some kind of joke.

“Dovey… I- god I don’t even know what to say” he groans, tipping his head down onto your shoulder.

“It’s okay if it’s a joke” you laugh weakly. His head whips upwards again to look at you.

“A joke?” He asks, cocking his head.

“Yeah, I don’t know, just something that makes you laugh, a dare or something between your guy friends…” you shrug. “A joke.”

Jason’s eyebrows furrow as you talk.

“You think calling you mine would be… a joke to me?” He asks lowly.

You just shrug again, looking down instinctively, only to be met with the sight of his still bare chest.

He doesn’t let you look away for long, a curled index finger gently lifting your chin.

You’re caught off guard by the look on his face. He’s looking at you with a mixture of devastation and absolute adoration.

“Dove, how could that be a joke? It’s what I want more than anything in the world” he says gently.

Now it’s your turn to look confused.

“What do you mean?” You ask in a small voice, wanting him to clarify before you even dare hope.

“I mean” Jason starts, “I mean… I’m fucking in love with you” he all but sighs like he’s reluctant to admit it, eyes scanning your face frantically as he finishes his sentence.

You stare at him for a second. Then another. Then another.

Long enough for him to start to panic. His eyes widen.

“Fuck, it’s okay that you don’t feel the same way, I didn’t expect you to, we can forget this, please, I don’t want to lose you as a friend too, I want to keep you safe, I don’t deserve you anyway, please just- don’t-” you cut off his panicked ramblings with the only thing you can think of, a kiss.

Jason freezes, and makes a surprised sound against your mouth, before he gasps and kisses you back heatedly.

His arms pull you by the waist as close as possible to him, as your own wind around his shoulders. He shivers when you card your fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, kissing you deeply, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

“Fuck” Jason basically whimpers against your lips at the taste of you, before pulling back to look at you, both of you panting.

His eyes meet your own, and he’s searching them again.

“I- I love you too Jay Jay” you breathe out, still breathless from the kiss.

Green eyes widened again, as though he’s still not expecting you to say that, even though you kissed him.

He lets out a shuddering breath.

“Fuck I’ve loved you for so long Dovey” he says before he’s pulling you into another kiss. Both of you melt into each other, as he repositions you to straddle his lap, a leg on either side of him.

Jason’s hands travel up and down your waist as he devours you, slipping his tongue into your mouth as his hand tangles in your damp hair, holding you to him.

“I don’t deserve you” he breaths into your mouth, which makes you pull back slightly, dispute him chasing you.

He’s trying to fight his own inner monologue, torn between finally having you, and keeping his distance to keep you safe.

“Don’t say that” you scold, “you deserve good things Jason. Anything you want.”

“Just want you” he mutters immediately, before pressing his lips to yours again like now he’s had a taste, he can’t get enough.

As you kiss, your hands travel down his bare chest and you feel him shudder beneath you.

“Dovey” he groans out, his voice deeper now, rougher, as his hands bravely slide down to cup your ass, pulling you even tighter against him, so tight that you can feel his erection, his loose trousers doing nothing to hide it.

Experimentally, you shift your hips over him as you kiss, and he lets out a softer, deeper sound, his hands flying to your hips to still you.

“Fuck” he breathes as he pulls back slightly, “are you sure?”

“Please Jason” you hum as you dip your head to kiss his jaw. He lets his his head fall back and a breathy moan escapes him. Fuck, you went to hear that again.

His hands return to your ass, and suddenly, you’re in the air.

You yelp in surprise, and wrap yourself around Jason’s strong body instinctively.

“Jay! You’re hurt, put me down!” You protest, wiggling slightly to try and get him to drop you.

He just laughs at you, holding you tighter against him and starts to walk towards your bedroom.

Taking the opportunity to continue your quest for his pretty noises, you go back to kissing and sucking his neck while you run your hands through his hair, over his shoulders, dragging your nails along his scarred skin.

By the time he gently sets you down on your bed, Jason’s iron restraint is cracking. He stands over you, his hard cock tenting the front of his joggers obscenely.

His eyes follow when yours dip down, and he coughs slightly, blushing again. He knew he was hard, fuck he was throbbing, but he didn’t think it looked quite so obvious.

He felt less embarrassed as he watched you hungrily drag your eyes over his whole body, and you laughed a little when he couldn’t help but flex a bit under your heated gaze.

His abdomen rippled as he tensed, the defined muscles becoming even sharper, his biceps bulging, making you want to sink your teeth into them. The joggers hug so low on his hips you could see nearly all the way down the trail of dark hair, and you’re reminded he didn’t even have underwear on right now, made more obvious by the twitching tent in his pants.

Meanwhile, Jason’s staring you down too, taking in the sight of you laying below him on your bed, in his shirt that he’d not so accidentally left here, and those stupid little shorts that drive him insane every time you wear them around him, they bunch around your thighs so appealingly, barely covering your ass.

He steps forward, and slowly starts to take your top off, relaxing a little when you put your arms up to help him in his task.

As you stare up at him, breathing heavy, so much lust in your eyes, he takes in the sight of your bare skin, how your perfect tits lay, nipples peaked from the cold, the soft plush of your stomach. He thinks you look like a goddess.

Jason lets out another rough sound, and falls to his knees in front of you.

He reaches forward to wrap his hands around your thighs, and you gasp in surprise as he pulls you right to the edge of the bed, gently parting your legs to make room for himself between them.

Your face heats up, as his name escapes your lips in a breath again. You hadn’t expected him to do anything like this.

Jason’s green eyes are looking up at you, as he ever so slowly starts to press soft kisses to your inner thighs, occasionally sucking and leaving a little mark that makes you whine.

The arousal in your underwear is gathering quickly and he hasn’t even undressed you yet, and your breathing picks up as he presses the softest kiss over your clothed cunt, shamelessly groaning as he inhales your scent.

“Jay don’t tease” you pout, unable to stop the way your hips start to rock, trying to encourage him to pleasure you properly.

Jason scoffs.

“Don’t tease?” He says as he dips his fingertips under your shorts and slowly pulls them down your legs, leaving you in your black, boring, cotton underwear that you now regret wearing.

How were you to know this would happen? You weren’t even supposed to see him today, let alone fuck him.

“You’ve been running around, teasing me in those little fucking shorts for years and you want me not to tease you?” Jason continues roughly, looking up at you as he presses his face into your underwear instead, with just enough pressure to make you gasp but not much else.

His tongue presses against your clothed clit, and let’s out a deep little sound when the faint taste of your arousal seeps through the fabric. That sound has even more wetness gathering, and your hands fist the sheets beside you.

“Please Jay, touch me properly” you outright whine, unable to keep any neediness out of your voice. Jason chuckles softly, before licking a long stripe right up the centre of your underwear, tonguing your hole before pressing harder on your clit.

Pulling back, he finally starts to take your underwear off, and then, you’re completely bare before him. Your face flushes as he parts your legs again for him, his eyes fixed on the apex of your thighs.

Jason outright moans at the sight in front of him, the way your arousal is so clear, making your pussy glisten, your clit twitching for friction.

You open your mouth to say something, but you cut yourself off with a surprised moan as the heat of Jason’s mouth suddenly hits your core as he buries his face in you.

The rough sound he makes in sinful as he gets his first proper taste of you, dipping his tongue to lick at your entrance, getting as much of your arousal as he can before going back up to suck on your clit.

The hands that were tangled in the sheets fly to his hair, tugging him closer to you and pulling the strands in your fists in a way that makes him grunt.

“Jason!” You cry out as he spreads his tongue over your throbbing core, humming his own sounds of pleasure which vibrate through your body.

“Thought about this for so fucking long baby” Jason moans out against your cunt, tongue fucking you with his nose pressed against your puffy clit.

As you look down at him, you can how flushed his own face is, as his eyes shut, brow furrowed in obvious pleasure and concentration. You can see him shifting rhythmically below you, implying he’s currently humping the edge of your bed.

The thought of him doing that while eating you out turns you on all over again, and your moans are getting louder as the pleasure from his mouth climbs.

One of Jason’s large hands leaves your thighs, and you gasp as a thick finger gently places itself at your weeping entrance. Ever so slowly, he starts to press in, and you moan his name at the sensation. Even just one of his fingers satisfies you more than any toy ever could.

The hands in his hair tug again as you cry out when he crooks his finger just right, pressing against that sweet spot inside of you. Jason can feel how wet you are, the way his finger coaxes more arousal out of you and he moans against your clit, enjoying himself unbelievably so.

Slowly, he adds a second figure when he feels your walls start to flutter around him, signalling your oncoming finish. You let out a high pitched moan at the delightful stretch, and the steady flicking of his tongue against your clit has you slamming into an intense orgasm.

Jason works you through it, tongue and fingers working to wring every ounce of pleasure out of your body as your walls flutter and pulse around his digits. He lets out a deep groan which is drowned out by the way you whine his name, overcome with pleasure.

He keeps his movements up till you’re trying to push his head away, becoming oversensitive as your orgasm fades, but even then Jason is reluctant to leave this spot.

His movements slow to make them more bearable for you, content to stay between your legs like this for the rest of the night if you’d left him.

“Jason” you whine, “kiss me.”

“I am kissing you” he mumbles against your cunt, tongue sweeping as he makes out with your clit, but after a few more seconds, he detaches himself from you and kisses back up your body.

As he leans over you, you take in his disheveled appearance. His face is rosy with a blush that sits high on his cheekbones, his eyes hazy with arousal, pupils blown wide, his hair is wild, sticking up in all directions from your constant pulling, and his mouth is swollen, and glistening with your come, which he keeps darting his tongue out to lick up.

You can’t imagine you look much better though.

Jason thinks you look ethereal right now, as he looks down at you. Your face glows with the residual heat of your orgasm, looking up at him with big, hungry eyes. Your hair is a mess against the pillow, a light layer of sweat covering your skin which makes you glisten.

“I love you so fucking much baby” Jason says quietly, voice full of adoration, as he leans down to kiss you, pressing his body against the naked length of yours. You hum as you taste yourself on his mouth.

The pressure of his clothed, but hard cock pressing against your bare core makes you moan against his lips, hips rocking against him gently, spreading your arousal over his trousers as you breathe his name out.

A grunt escapes his lips at the friction, and he breaks the kiss to tip his head to your shoulder and lets out a deep groan against your skin.

“You’re gonna give me a fucking heart attack baby” Jason mutters deeply, only half joking as he brings your hand to his chest to feel how quickly you’re making his heart beat. You can’t help but smile at how frantic it is.

“Are you nervous?” You ask gently, using your other hand to stroke the back of his hair.

“So fucking nervous” he laughs humourlessly, like he hadn’t just been buried face first in your pussy.

“Why are you nervous Jay Jay? It’s just me”

He groans again at the gentleness in your voice, and the nickname.

“Exactly. It’s you, I want to be perfect for you.” He mumbles quietly against the bare skin of your neck, before pressing a kiss there. Then pressing another, and another.

Cupping his cheeks, you bring his head up to press a kiss to his lips. He melts into you, and rocks his hips into you like he can’t help himself.

“This is already perfect because it’s you Jay. We don’t have to do anything else today” you reassure gently, looking up at him while trying to tame your lust.

Jason pulls back abruptly to look at you properly in alarm at your words.

“Whoa, baby wait, slow down, I didn’t say that, I absolutely do not want to fucking stop, Christ I think I’d die all over again” he says roughly, before going right back to kissing and marking your pulse points.

You lightly slap his shoulder at the morbid words, but he’s quick to distract you, sighing out his name as he leaves yet another hickey on your neck for the world to see.

The sensation makes you thread your hands through his hair, and he lets out a low moan when you tug on it gently, his hips pressing against your soaking core again.

As his kisses come back to devour your lips, you slowly start to drag your hands down his chest, down to his stomach, taking your time to feel the curves and muscles of him, careful to avoid any of his wounds.

A soft pleased noise escapes his mouth, which turns into a deep groan when your nails scrape the edge of his waistband, so low down now due to his rutting that if you slipped your hand inside, you’d touch the base of his cock almost immediately.

So that’s what you do.

Dipping your hand below his waist hand, you spread your index and middle finger over the base of his throbbing member, a teasing touch.

Jason shudders above you, letting out a raspy “fuck” as he looks down between your bodies.

“You have too many clothes on” you whisper in his ear in what you hope is a sultry tone, pressing a light kiss to the skin behind his ear.

You’re not sure where this confidence is coming from, but you’re being fuelled by years of longing.

The man above you wholeheartedly agrees, and he’s quick to stand up and shed the last piece of clothing between you both.

As he pulls his joggers down, his aching cock slaps up against his toned stomach, and you can’t help but stare.

You saw the shape of it earlier but fuck, he’s huge. It’s proportional to the rest of him, the tip dark and flushed, leaking steadily. The whole length of him glistens slightly from the large damp patch he made in his clothes.

Like he can’t help himself, Jason tightened his hand around his throbbing member, squeezing like he’s trying to take the edge off and lets out a little sigh. His hand moves up and down the length one, twice as he looks at your flushed, naked figure on the bed, ready and wet for him.

Before Jason can make his way back to the bed, you’re moving to kneel on the floor in front of him. His mouth hangs open, this is the last thing he expected to you do.

Tentatively, your hand replaces his own, feeling the velvety hardness beneath your hand, hot to the touch. You feel it twitch as you make contact, and Jason lets out a choked noise.

“Oh fuck” he groans out, moaning deeply as you start to move your hand, just before coming to give a small lick to the bead of pre at the head, tasting him on your tongue. His hands tangle in your hair instinctively, trying not to thrust his hips into your mouth.

Taking the tip in your mouth, your tongue massages the sensitive spot on the underside and Jason groans, his hands tightening in your locks. You feel his hips twitch as he tries to control himself, but before you can even start to enjoy yourself, he’s pulling you away from him.

“Wanna- god, wanna fuck you baby, can’t wait any longer” he manages to get out in explanation, breathless, before he’s pulling you to your feet and walking you backwards so you fall onto the bed again.

This time, he wastes no time following you, kissing his way up your stomach, over your breasts, giving attention with his tongue to each nipple as he squeezes the other in is hand. He lets out a little groan, before slowly moving up over your collar bones, your neck.

As Jason comes to capture your lips in another heated kiss, his hands come to wrap your legs around his waist, and you gasp into his mouth when the warm head of his cock presses against your entrance, hard and incessant.

Pulling back, green eyes scan your already blissed out face for any sign of hesitation.

“You sure baby?” He asks gently, asking anyway though he finds no sign of anything in your face other than pure want for him.

Nodding your head, you let out small but sure “please Jason, fuck me” as you rock your hips slightly against him.

Letting out another rough sound, his lips meet yours again, and ever so slowly, he starts to move his hips, pushing into your hot, waiting core.

The stretch of him makes your breath hitch, and he pauses at the sound, pulling back to watch you, never taking his eyes off your face. The gentle rock of your hips encourages him though, and by the time his hips meet yours, you’re both panting into each other’s mouths.

The fullness you feel makes your eyes roll back in your head, lids fluttering shut as his tip presses up against your cervix. You’re surprised he even fit. As you shift your hips, he slips just that bit deeper and you both moan outright.

“You okay?” He breathes, rubbing his nose against your cheek as he dips to kiss along your jaw. You nod your head, hands tangling in his hair as you feel your walls fluttering around his thick intrusion.

The thick arm Jason is using to hold himself up is shaking while he lets you adjust to him, and you know it’s not because he’s not strong enough. His breathing is coming out hard over your skin, and you can feel him twitching inside of you every time your muscles clench.

“Fuck, you’re so tight baby” he groans out, flexing his hips just a little. Ever so slowly, he starts to move, rocking into you gently, slowly, like he’s afraid you’ll break.

Your sanity is hanging on by a thread at his careful movements, and you lift your hips into him, trying to encourage him to go faster.

“Fuck, Jay, please fuck me” you almost whine, becoming more and more desperate with every rock of his hips.

Jason pulls his head out of your neck, kneeling to pull your legs up against his chest, ankles resting on his shoulders before bending over you again, nearly folding you in half.

His next thrust is still slow, but considerably harder, the new angle making him press right against that sweet spot inside you that has tingles running down your spine.

The thrust makes you cry out, nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders, head tipped back into the pillow. The pleasure is already overwhelming you.

As he sets his rhythm, his hips roll into you, curving upwards deliciously to hit your g spot with precision every time, the force behind his movements pushing moans put your lungs.

Jason isn’t quiet either, he’s complimenting your sounds with deep groans and rumbling moans, calling you “pretty girl, perfect girl, all mine.”

His words are spilling out to tell you that “you’re being so good for me baby, so fucking wet for me, feel so perfect, dreamt about fucking this cunt for years.”

“Taking me so well Dovey, fuck” he grunts out, breathing hard as he speeds up slightly, “so deep inside you, so fucking good for me” he rambles brainlessly. All you can do is moan incoherently as his words then the last of your own brain power to mush.

One of his thumbs travels down to the apex of your thighs, and begins to rub circles on your sensitive clit. The action causes you to jerk, crying out his name as your orgasm creeps ever closer.

“Fuck, I fucking love you baby” Jason grunts between his thrusts, and you manage to say it back, your voice raspy and there’s an obvious whine in your words which he grins at.

Between his consistent movements, and his now faster, punishing pace against your sweet spot, the pleasure crests quickly.

Jason groans deep as he feels your cunt squeezing around his cock impossibly tight as you come for him. The orgasm is intense, your whole body alight with the pleasure the man you love is giving you.

The muscles in your body lock up as your fingernails dig harshly into his shoulders, and he fucks you through it, speeding up his hips to chase his own pleasure. The vice of your pussy quickly throwing him into his own orgasm.

Your cries of his name as you come push him over the edge, and your orgasm isn’t even over before he’s coming inside you with a deep, ragged groan that comes from deep in his chest, thrusting his hips as deep as he can get as he rocks you both through the pleasure.

Laying there panting as you come down from your high, you slowly realise that Jason is still absolutely rock hard.

Cracking your eyes open to look at him, you see he’s already looking at you and is quick to understand what you realised.

Jason flashes you a cocky grin.

“I can go all night Dovey” he winks, before dipping to kiss you heatedly.

The shift in his position causes you to whine into his mouth as he pushes his cock as deep as he can.

“Got years to catch up on, wanna show you how much you mean to me” he rasps against your lips.

Before you know it, he’s rocking his hips again, gentle again before working up the tempo, he doesn’t want to overstimulate you completely… yet.

True to his word, Jason fucks you for hours, for as long as you’ll let him.

By the last round, you’re left panting and soaked with sweat, draped down over his chest, head buried in the crook of his neck as his cock finally starts to soften under you. His hands caress up and down your back, over your hips and ass as you both catch your breath and come down.

As good, borderline superhuman as his stamina is, Jason isn’t much better. He’s also soaked with sweat and his breathing heavy from multiple orgasms and the effort he put into fucking you.

He’d had you riding him, doggy style, on your sides, he even stopped after one round to eat you out again, before fucking back into you eagerly. You’re not sure you’ll even be able to walk right now, or tomorrow. Or for the next week.

Both of you are covered in each other’s marks, hickeys litter both your necks and chests, Jason’s back and shoulders are a mess of vibrant scratch marks. The stab wounds from earlier still hurt a bit, all that moving around probably didn’t help but he doesn’t really care.

Going to get a cloth to clean you up, he admires the scratches in the mirror, smiling to himself and hoping they stay for a while even though he knows they’ll be gone soon. The marks he gave you will stay longer though, which thrills him.

After cleaning you up, Jason throws the cloth into the laundry basket before coming back to the bed. He just stands there looking at you for a second, on the brink of passing out after being fucked within an inch of your life.

“Don’t go” you mumble, holding your hand out for him sleepily.

Quickly climbing back into bed and pulling the blankets over you both, he pulls you into his chest and kisses the top of your head.

“I’m not going anywhere Dovey” he mumbles against your hair. You relax and cuddle into him, hand over his chest, sighing contently.

You’re sure you’ll have more questions tomorrow about Jason being a vigilante, but right now you’re too tired and fucked out to care.

Jason mumbles small words of affection to you as you fall asleep to the sound of his strong heart beat.

“You understood any of what I just showed you?” he asked, speaking loudly so you could hear the shots ringing out in the room. You didn’t dare turn and see how close his face was. 

“Yup, aim, shoot, and pray it hits the target,” you answered with a dry throat. Being alone with him was an awful idea. 

He patted your back in encouragement as you shuffled closer to the firing line. From behind, Jason hovered and peeled the earmuffs from your hand, gently placing them onto your head. 

A shiver ran down your spine. He was too close for you two to just be friends. Once he stepped back, you raised the gun and mindlessly pulled the trigger. You didn't have the mental energy to actually try—Jason was draining it with his existence. 

You watched as the bullet whizzed at least 7 inches away from the target. You looked back to find Jason trying to hide a grin. He stepped back into your space, pulled one side of the earmuff to the side, and asked, “Need help?” 

You nodded slowly, cheeks burning up. He let go of the earmuff and wrapped himself around you, and holy shit. You felt every hard muscle; his warmth was all-consuming. 

His arms came up, caging your head in between his biceps. His hands rested on top of yours, gentle and guiding. He helped you aim, but all you could think about is how much you wanted to press back against him. Make him want you as much as you wanted him. 

He bent his head down, lips close to your cheek. If he said anything, you couldn’t hear him. Then, he pulled the trigger for you. The shot cut through your lust-filled thoughts. He lifted your earmuff again.

“Hit the target, you get a kiss. Miss… well, we’ll work on it,” he mumbled into your ear. One of his hands trailed down your waist, to your hips; each drag of his fingers left sparks.  

Your mind blanked. Your lips parted in surprise. He toyed with the waistband of your pants. Oh. Was he–

“Come on, I know you can do it, baby,” he urged you on. 

There was no way you could hit a target like this. But you did want that kiss. You wanted so much more than that. Your mind was like a live wire, so close to snapping from the tension. 

Aligning the gun the same way he had, you focus on steadying your hands. He stood behind you, though, this time, those hands were busy wandering your body like a man possessed. 

God, you hoped no one was watching.

You pressed the trigger, and the bullet hit the cardboard, still missing the primary target. That still counted, right? 

When you felt his lips kiss the curve of your neck, you knew that was a yes. Determined for more, you pressed the trigger again. It landed inside that circle. Progress, you thought. 

Jason kissed your cheek, his hand slipping under your shirt. His other hand guided your aim impatiently. 

The fourth time, it hit the center target. You turned in his arms, tilting your head up expectantly. He raised a brow and pushed your earmuffs off so you could hear him.

“Fucking finally.”

“Technically, that was your shot,” you retorted, staring at his lips. 

“You wanna wait all day for that kiss?”

“Shutting up.”

His thumb brushed your cheek, and finally, he leaned in to give you what you wanted most.

a/n: requests are open!