whocumthis

[whocumthis]

I love the idea of Jason "6'0, packed with muscle, illegal crime lord" Todd being the most visible, absolute mess of a man when Bruce shows clear signs of aging.

Every time Bruce's hip cracks or makes even the slightest noise, and Jason is there? He just stares at Bruce and bursts into tears that he cannot hide or stifle for the life of him.

Bruce has to use his glasses when he reads something or goes on the batcomputer, and Jason is in the cave? Jason looks away and doesn't say anything, but his shoulders shake ever so slightly, you could hear faint sniffles, and it just gives him away.

He just can't accept the fact that his dad is aging and actually growing old, and that in the future, he'll go through the natural course of life, and actually die. It makes him become a complete crybaby, so no one ever mentions or even hints at Bruce already becoming older whenever Jason is around.

The other children are exactly the same (crybabies), they just hide it better!

[whocumthis]

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐍 ˚. ᵎᵎ your first time with THE BATBOYS .ᐟ 𓂃 ꒰ headcanons ꒱

contains ﾉ dirty talk · cunnilingus · fingering · loss of virginity · protected & unprotected sex MDNI 18+ pairings ﾉ bruce wayne・jason todd・dick grayson・ tim drake・aged up! damian wayne x fem!reader

note �� english is not my first language, ignore the mistakes lol… but i put my whole p*ssy into this. enjoy xo

‣ bruce wayne

his tie hangs limp behind his shoulder, shirt open halfway down his chest, sleeves cuffed at the forearms. the fabric clings, translucent with sweat as bruce wayne kneels between your thighs. you lie bare on the pillows; nipples raised from the chill and nerves, unsure where to look. he hasn’t touched you yet, and you’re already undone.

a few seconds of rustling leather and metal—his armani belt clicks undone. his cock presses against the inside of his boxers, engorged and leaking at the tip. when his gaze roves over you, it flickers to the microexpressions you haven’t yet mastered to conceal. his hand settles between your thighs, sliding one outward.

“keep them open,” bruce commands softly, palm gliding down your ribs, across your abdomen, until it rests above your mound. “tell me if you want me to stop.” a somewhat performative question under this timing—his cockhead is already nudging between your folds.

the first stretch sharpens beyond expectation: dense pressure blooming into fire along your nerves. you clutch his arms, biting your lower lip. he stills, allowing you a few seconds to adjust before moving forward another inch. your cunt throbs around the intrusion, wet but still tight, not used to being filled this way. his breathing is deep and measured, as if he’s trying to stay in control.

“breathe,” bruce murmurs, thumb catching your lip and gently forcing your teeth to release it. distracted, you comply. with one measured push, he sinks fully inside. your walls clench, barely accommodating. muscular forearms cage your head. stillness holds between you.

then he begins to move.

deep, gliding thrusts, pelvis rocking against yours, muffled slaps marking the rhythm. behind closed lids, white sparks bloom like fireworks. his hand slips beneath your thigh, hooks it high over his hip. a hard thrust knocks an unbidden moan from your lips, and bruce dips his head down, lips grazing against your temple before kissing your collarbone, a juxtaposition to the relentless pace of his hips.

“mhm, good girl. you’re doing so well.”

the praise makes you clench again. he groans, the sound deep and strangled, and fucks you in earnest, on a quest to his own release. a powerful tremor ripples through you, fingers clawing at his shirt as your senses narrow to the slick friction and his heavy breathing above. stomach clenching, walls squeezing around him, you fall apart with a sharp cry, wholly and completely undone. a few more thrusts, and bruce follows you to climax, burying himself deep to the hilt. his weight sinks into the mattress gradually—though his arms remain firm so not as to crush you. the room stills. he stays inside you, until your muscles stop trembling. you can feel the flutter of his heart beating against your chest.

‣ jason todd

you’re on your back, legs parted awkwardly, body still twitching spasmodically from the delicious, thick stretch of his fingers. sweat pools in the hollow of your clavicle. your skin’s tacky. overstimulated. jason todd kneels between your thighs, one palm splayed flat on your abdomen.

his mouth glistens, wet from you. so are his fingers.

“you good?” his breath is still ragged from the way he had you mere minutes ago—tongue buried deep, your legs hooked over his broad shoulders, the sound of your moans echoing off the walls.

you nod. or at least, you think you do. because right now, your eyes keep flicking to his cock—thick and girthy, flushed a ruddy pink at the tip, kissing his sculpted abdomen. intimidating doesn’t begin to cover it. you try not to stare. fail spectacularly. jason catches your gaze and dips his face down, level to yours.

“we stop whenever,” he presses a tender kiss on the corner of your mouth. “just say the word.”

you glance down again—at the size of him, the stretch you haven’t felt yet—and it dawns on you that you have no fucking idea how that’s going to fit. but you want to find out.

your fingers curl tight around his wrist.

“i want to, jay.”

he leans forward, and you feel the blunt head of him presses between your folds. you inhale sharply. he pushes, slowly, and the burn is immediate. the first inch makes your whole body jolt, there’s simply too much of him—your body stretches around his girth with painful resistance—it’s too much.

he’s barely inside.

“you gotta relax, baby. it’s okay.”

you nod, forcing your muscles to loosen. your body fights it anyway, not ready for how much of him there is. jason draws out a fraction, then eases in again, incremental. the ache sharpens. your voice cracks when you say,

“too much?”

“mghm—no. k-keep going.”

“brave girl,”

smirking, jason kisses your cheek, then fucks in the rest of the way. the glorious stretch has your vision going white at the edges. he’s everywhere. you can feel every ridge and vein, splitting you in half. his palm slides under your thigh, lifts it higher for leverage. he stays still for a beat, forehead pressed to your collarbone, breathing heavy. your whole body pulses around him.

“i’ll go slow,” he promises. and he does. he slips in deeper, excruciatingly slow. sweat’s already beading at his temple. every time he pushes in, you feel yourself open wider, body forced to accommodate. you bite into his shoulder to stifle the noise that tears out of you when he finally bottoms out. he stays like this for a few seconds, relishing in your warmth, and you swear you can feel the tip of him in your stomach (albeit the logical part of you know that’s impossible.)

“you okay?”

you nod again. he grits his teeth and rears back his hips, then sinks forward again—testing how much you can take. the second thrust feels worse but simultaneously better. your cunt swallows him like it’s been waiting for him. the stretch is total, merciless, but it’s starting to slide easier now. you let him guide your legs higher. let him press his forehead to your collarbone and fuck into you with slow, controlled force.

one hand moves between your legs and rubs your clit in tight, repetitive circles. you whimper, hips starting to jerk up to meet his.

“there she is,” jason breathes. “attagirl.”

you come hard—walls pulsing around him, toes curling, fingers scrabbling at his back. a string of curses fall past his lips, and he’s pulling out. wrapping his fist around the base before spilling hot ropes of come across your stomach. his cock twitches in residual spams as he trembles through it. a few seconds pass. then his forehead drops to yours, and you feel his smile against your cheek.

‣ dick grayson

“we can stop, you know,” he murmurs, thumbs brushing the edges of your jaw. “i still want you. that doesn’t change anything.”

your lips part, but no words come. it is a big deal. not because the “you’re-probably-about-to-lose-your-virginity” part—but because it’s with him. dick. his hair is rumpled from your hands, the rosy flush dusting across his cheekbones still fresh. he’s looking at you without the faintest trace of disappointment. he’s looking at you like he’d wait forever. you know he would.

he cradles your chin in his hand and kisses you—languid, almost chastely. fingers drift down to your throat, brushing along the curve beneath your breasts. your skin sparks under his touch, every nerve recalling how his mouth had latched around your nipple, how that tongue had worked you into a trembling mess mere minutes earlier.

“tell me what you want,” he mumbles, voice thick against your lips.

“i… i want you inside,” you say, breathless.

“then we’ll go slow,” he promises, nudging your nose with his. “you’ll tell me what feels good. and we’ll stop the second you say so. okay?”

you nod. his hand hooks beneath your the crook of your knee, lifting you effortlessly, positioning you astride him. your bare chest against the warm press of his, your slick core on the firm muscle of his thigh. emboldened, you rock against him, and he sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“fuck,” he whispers. “you sure?”

“m’ sure.”

in one smooth motion, he rolls you beneath him, setting you gently against the mattress. his body settles between your thighs, cock flushed and heavy against your skin. he braces one forearm beside your head, presses a kiss to your temple. his hair’s mussed from your fingers, a flush running high on his cheekbones.

he looks so unfairly pretty. you think, as he grabs the base of his cock and rubs it through your slick folds. then he lines himself up and pushes in, inch by excruciating inch. slow enough to feel every maddening stretch of him. the blunt pressure stings—dense, burning in the most exquisite way. you tense beneath him, nails digging pink crescents into his biceps.

“you’re doing so good, but remember to breathe for me, baby,” he coos. “almost there.”

your eyes flutter. the burn intensifies. oh god he’s not even all the way in.

“mghmm.” your nails sink into his biceps. he grunts, forehead tipping against your shoulder.

“fuck—sorry. too much?”

“no. keep going.”

he hums in response, then starts peppering kisses to your collarbone, then underside of your throat. the stretch still burns, but he makes it pale in comparison to pleasure. he rocks into you again, testing. the wet, squelching sounds between your bodies grow increasingly lewd as your walls slowly adjust, contracting around him. you let out a breathy moan. he pauses—one hand cradling your jaw, the other bracing beside your head.

“is this okay?”

“yes—god, yes.”

he nods back, pressing a kiss to your breast before reaching down. his agile fingers find your clit and begin to circle. slow, patient, maddening. the dull ache sharpens into pleasure.

“that’s it,” his voice comes out muffled, sending vibrations through you. “you’re taking me so well.” lips close around your nipple, sucking hard.

you’re so, so close. he knows it too.

“dick—”

“i know. i’ve got you.”

your climax comes in an earth-shattering rush: coiling and snapping in your gut. you arch under him with a cry, muscles spasming around him. he groans into your shoulder, thrusts turning increasingly sloppy.

he doesn’t last much longer.

his entire body seizes—cock twitching deep inside you as he spills, breath held in a shudder. he presses his forehead to yours. both of you are sticky with sweat, chests heaving.

“still okay?” his hand strokes the side of your cheek as he stares at you in starry-eyed adoration.

“yeah,” you whisper. “more than.”

he grins, looking pleased with himself.

‣ tim drake

you lie beneath him, bare but tucked under the edge of the duvet, your legs spread and under the cotton. tim is still half-dressed—shirt rucked up his ribs, boxers pushed low, the weight of his cock resting hot against your hip. he hovers above you, arms braced on either side of your head, the crease between his brows betraying focus. not nerves. calibration.

you’d asked him to fuck you. he’d paused, repeated the question, asked if you were sure—then kissed you until your lips ached and your body melted, his fingers moving with unnerving precision between your legs. he’d made you come once already, two fingers sunken knuckles deep, thumb circling your clit in calculated spirals until your thighs shook and your spine arched from the mattress. he worked your body as if he’s read the manual, and has annotated it.

tim drake is always five layers ahead of you.

he studies your face now, your breathing patterns, the residual tremble in your thighs. “do you want me to go slow,” he asks, quietly, “or do you want me to distract you?”

your brows pull together. “what’s the difference?”

“think about the first one as pain management,” he murmurs, the corner of his mouth twitching, “the other’s about cognitive misdirection.”

heat floods your cheeks. you chew the inside of your cheek thoughtfully.

“distract me.”

he nods and retrieves the condom from the drawer without looking. tears it open. rolls it on carefully. then he moves closer, knees nudging yours wider. you feel him line up, the blunt heat of his cockhead parting your folds.

“deep breath,” he says. “it’s going to sting a bit.”

you inhale. on the exhale, he starts to push in.

the stretch is immediate. your body clenches down, instinctive resistance. pain flares—burning pressure around the unfamiliar girth. you dig your heels into the mattress, fingers tightening in the bedsheets.

“fuck,” tim hisses through clenched teeth. “you’re—you’re tight.” his hands slide to your hips, thumbs pressing gently into the crease between pelvis and thigh. he doesn’t push any further.

“doing okay?” he asks, the edge of strain buried beneath concern. you nod, barely. he bends forward, presses his mouth to your temple, then kisses your throat. one hand curves under your knee, lifting your leg higher to angle you better.

“let me take care of the rest,” he says. and he sinks the rest of the way in with a deep exhale, jaw rigid as he bottoms out. his hips still flush against yours, the length of him buried to the hilt. your cunt clenches involuntarily, adjusting around the dense, aching fullness.

he doesn’t move.

“do you want me to start?”

you nod, feverish with anticipation. he leans forward, presses a kiss to your cheekbone, and begins to thrust. the rhythm is measured at first—calculated, even. he’s a analysing your reactions: cataloging how your thighs tighten when he presses deeper, the minute twitches of your mouth when he hits a sensitive spot. finding out the most efficient way to keep your discomfort at a minimum and pleasure at maximum. he adjusts the angle of your hips by half an inch and earns a startled moan in response.

his focus never breaks.

hands cradle your waist, steadying you as he moves—slow, relentless strokes that grind against your cervix with enough force to border on unbearable. the heat in your gut coils tighter. your fingers curl into his biceps, leaving half-moon indents into the skin. he hums, low in his throat, more of an pleasure than a sound of pain.

“you’re taking me so well,” tim murmurs, voice hoarse now. you don’t mean to come then—it ambushes you, heat snapping low in your belly, muscles clenching down in helpless spasms. the cry that tears out of you is sharp, guttural.

his thrusts stutter. he curses under his breath, grips your hip tighter, drives in with less gentleness and more purpose, chasing his own. when he comes, it’s with a soft groan into your throat, his cock pulsing deep inside you, body trembling with restraint even as he spills into the condom. he stays like that—doesn’t collapse, doesn’t roll off immediately. he steadies his breath, forehead pressed to yours.

‣ damian al ghul (aged up)

he undresses without spectacle.

there’s a certain… economy to his movements; efficiency without theatrics. the shirt goes first, unfastened at the cuffs, the collar peeled from his shoulders in a fluid shrug. he folds it in thirds, sets it at the foot of the bed. the belt follows, unthreaded without haste, coiled neatly atop the pressed cotton. his trousers for last.

you stare openly. his body is as disciplined as his manner—lean muscle honed into functional definition. deep, abdominal lines stark beneath skin, a hard taper from chest to the sharp vee of his hip line. a sparse trail of dark hair vanishes into the waistband of his boxers.

“stop gawking,” he says without inflection.

caught, your eyes flick away as heat crawls up your cheeks. but then you glimpse the outline straining against his briefs—thick, unmistakable. he’s not as detached as he pretends.

when he finally climbs onto the bed, he does so with the quiet grace and deliberation akin to a jaguar. knees parting yours. gaze flicking downward. anatomic appraisal.

your legs fall open without instruction. his hand slide between them, deft and unerring. the pads of his fingers part you, learn the shape of your cunt with an eerie composure. already you’re wet. embarrassingly so.

he makes no comment.

his middle finger glides inside, sinking to the knuckle. a second joins, curls. your breath catches, and only then does he glance up—green eyes sharp, studying every reaction.

“this will hurt,” he says eventually. a plain truth, spoken without cruelty. his thumb circles your clit once, then stills. “only the first time,” he adds. “after that, you’ll crave it.”

your eyebrow arches. “confident.”

“i don’t speak in hypotheticals.” he withdraws his fingers, leaving you clenching around nothing. after a pause, a quieter note:

“tell me now if you don’t want this.”

“i do.”

and that’s the truth.

he strips off his briefs with one hand. his cock springs free, flushed and heavy, arcing toward his navel. it’s too much and somehow exactly what you wanted. he strokes himself—a couple of quick pumps to adjust. then he’s lining up. the blunt head drags slick between your folds, painting you with precome. the contact makes you gasp. he watches your face carefully.

“you’ll tell me if it’s too much,”

and then he pushes in.

one smooth, sustained thrust.

your cunt stretches tight around him, the intrusion sudden—a burning sensation flaring up your spine. it feels impossible, every inch of him prying you open. patiently, damian waits for you to adjust before pushing in deeper. the new angle makes your vision white at the edges.

“breathe,” he says, thumb stroking the hollow of your throat.

“you’re fine. you can take it.” his own breath is steady, controlled through his nose. he doesn’t move yet—waits. watches. only when your eyes flutter open again does he rear back his hips.

the first thrust draws a gasp from your chest. each thrust is slow but invasive, his pelvis slapping yours with muffled force. your hands scramble over his back, nails dragging down the lean line of his spine. he groans into the crook of your shoulder, surprised by it—one arm braced beside your head, the other sliding under your thigh to hold you in place.

“damian—think m’ clo—”

you break off with a moan, pitch slurring upward. you’re already so close to the precipice, pressure building rapidly from the friction and fullness.

“i know, albi.”

he breathes, the nickname raw on his tongue. his hand slips between your bodies, long fingers finding your clit without fail. circles twice, then presses down. you come hard, breath catching sharp in your throat as your cunt tightens around him. he groans low in response, hips stuttering once against the clamp of your body. your hands lock around his shoulders, gasping into his mouth as pleasure finally overtakes you, blinding and hot.

in arabic, “albi” (قلبي) translates to “my heart.”

 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑-𝐈𝐒-𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content. ���

[whocumthis]

Title: The Fight Drive.

Pairing: Yandere!BatFam x Reader (DC).

Word Count: 2k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Mentions of Kidnapping + Prolonged Captivity, Mentions of Past Assault, Sleep Deprivation, Implied Food + Water Deprivation, Obsessive Behavior, Non-Graphic Violence, and Gratuitous Pseudo-Incest. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Finale]

On your way out, you stole Jason’s bike for good measure. You’d never been on a motorcycle without him before, but you couldn’t really bring yourself to care about crashing, and you’d picked up a few things in those long, boring days you were forced to pass watching the Wayne family live their short, dangerous lives. Either way, you’d pretty much gotten the hang of it by the time you crossed the state border.

You couldn’t afford to waste time on sleep. Energy drinks and coffee were enough to keep you awake on an empty stomach. You traded the bike for an ancient junker as you passed through Maryland and again in Washington DC, to a woman you met in a diner named Selina. She was laughing as she handed over the keys to a car nicer than you deserved. Exhausted, starving, and paranoid, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to ask what she found so funny.

Keeping track of Bruce wasn’t hard. Even in the most rural areas, tabloids reported sightings of his private jet religiously, and more reputable magazines stolen off convenience store racks kept you updated on his business trips, in-person deals, and charity events. Batman’s activity lulled, growing sporadic as a laundry list of his b-rated sidekicks attempted to fill the void. You’d give it about a month, maybe two before Gotham devolved violently enough for him to call off the search. It left a bitter taste in your mouth – knowing how willing he was to put the safety of his city aside when it was his peace of mind in danger.

The trip took longer than it had to, mostly because of your stubborn refusal to use any road they so much as might be able to track you on. You spent Jason’s money on gas when you could, food when you had to, and motels when your body threatened to break down if not properly rested. The only time you stopped for longer than a few minutes, it was in a by-the-hour inn on the outskirts of a larger city. You made the mistake of using your real name, of forgetting to barricade your door before collapsing into the creaking, yellowed mattress.

By the time you rolled over, Cassandra was perched on the foot of your bed.

You managed to pretend you were asleep for all of a second before Cassandra turned her head a little too quickly, a little too smoothly, and you were falling out of bed, scrambling to the far wall just to put that much more distance between you and her.

Like an idiot, you’d left your gun in your car. Defenseless and paralyzed, it was all you could do to meet her eyes as she stared you down.

“Is Bruce—”

“In Montreal. Tim thought you might try to cross the border.” Her tone was impassive, and the darkness hid most of her expression. She’d made it here before sunrise, meaning it was still the best time of day to drag someone unwilling back to somewhere they didn’t want to be. “Not happy. Jason is…”

She trailed off. You tried to fill in the gaps. “Jason is alive?”

The beat of silence that followed made it clear that wouldn’t have been her choice of words. Still, she nodded. “Alive. Angry. Dick, too.”

Your mind was a haven for contradictory thoughts. That was terrible. That was great. The guilt was practically eating you alive. You hope they both spent the rest of their lives as miserable as they made you.

“Do you hate us?”

Last time she’d asked, Stephanie had been there to answer for you, to smooth over any worries with chirped platitudes and easy humor. Now, the question hung in the air. You let your gaze fall to the ground.

“I can’t go back.” Your voice sounded hollow. “I can’t be forced to do something that’ll break me, again and again. I won’t let myself live like that.”

Cassandra hummed. You heard the mattress creak, her feet pad against the carpeted floor. “You should leave. Dick will be here in…” She paused. “Soon. He’ll be here soon.”

You didn’t bother responding. It took you long, precious second to skirt around the edges of the room, careful never to get within arm’s reach of her. You were behind the wheel before the adrenaline faded. Cassandra watched from the doorway, her eyes locked on your vehicle until you were too far to track.

~

You arrived in Kanas not long after. The farmhouse wasn’t hard to find, if a little out of your way. You only had to knock twice before a tall man opened the door, his glasses low on the bridge of his nose.

He smiled when he saw you – that softened, sympathetic type of smile you might pull out when you find an abandoned kitten or a stray dog. You could understand why. You looked like shit. The motel room had been your last stop. That was two days ago, now.

“Sorry to bother you,” you offered, clinging to your last few scraps of decency. “Are you Superman?”

“Clark,” he corrected hastily. Didn’t deny it, though. “And you’re Bruce’s…?”

Your abject horror must’ve been apparent. He rushed to apologize. “Sorry, sorry, I—uh, I recognize your heartbeat. He used to tap it out during League meetings.”

If you’d had anything in your stomach, you might’ve felt sick. “Is your wife home?”

“We were just about to sit down for dinner.” And then, all Southern manners and country charm, “Care to join us?”

You gave yourself thirty minutes. Fifteen to eat, ten to show their youngest son (and, by association, the grumpy teenager pretending not to watch) a magic trick you’d learned in college, and five to pull Lois aside and recite all the Wayne Enterprise passwords, back-doors, and poorly encrypted private forums you knew. You tried to make a hasty escape, but Clark caught you by the shoulder, asked about the rest of your trip, mentioned that their guestroom could use some company. It didn’t seem like he was willing to take no for an answer.

For the first time since leaving Jason’s apartment, you got eight beautiful, heavenly, uninterrupted hours of dreamless sleep. The Kents’ shower was similarly orgasmic, and you savored every second you spent under the scalding hot water, secure in the knowledge that the only door was well and truly locked.

All good things had to come to an end eventually, though. You should’ve known that by now.

Your paradise cracked and broke open the moment you stepped out of the bathroom. Leaning against the bedroom door, jaw set and eyes narrowed, was Dick.

In hindsight, you could only be thankful he was alone.

He was blocking the only exit – obviously, obviously. Screaming never occurred to you. Instead, you lunged for the gun on your bedside table, and he let you, never once moving to get in your way. It was until you had a finger on the trigger that he stepped toward you, closing the distance before you could think to shoot.

“Do it.” A fist curled around the barrel, a tug forward. He pressed the muzzle to his chest, and you felt your hands begin to shake. “You left Jason with lead under his skin. You gave him something to remember you by. Were the rest of us not worth it? Was he the only one you could stand to have thinking about you?”

“I never wanted to hurt anyone.” It was true. You still didn’t, if you were being honest. You didn’t want to spend the rest of your life living under the weight of one more thing Bruce and his fucked-up family pushed you to. “Please, let—”

“You think this doesn’t fucking hurt?” He was raising his voice, now. Cassandra was right. You’d never seen him angrier. “We were going to get married, sweetheart. We were going to leave together. Now Bruce doesn’t want us so much as saying your name and you—” He stopped suddenly, shaking his head. “No, no, that’s not your fault. None of this is. You were scared, right? Jason scared you. You felt like it wasn’t safe to wait for me, and—”

“Dick,” you cut in, tone warning. “I left because I had to. And you need to—”

“—take you home, I know.” His hand flexed around your gun. The ghost of a smile passed over his blank expression, but it wasn’t enough to dull his anger. “Where the others can’t bother us. But they’re going to come looking, aren’t they? We’ll need something to keep them away, to show them we’re in love.”

His hand dropped lower, the other darting up. He cupped your hands in his over the grip, hold tight enough to bruise. “Let’s have a—”

There was a blur of movement, then the sound of something blunt hitting something solid. One second, Dick stood in front of you, and the next, he was crumpled on the ground, unconscious and hair matted with blood. The grumpy teenager, Conner, stood in his place, fist still raised just above where Dick’s head would’ve been.

“Sorry about that, ma’am. There’s a change of clothes for you in the kitchen – Lois’ stuff. Clark managed to get the tracker off of your car, too. Along with most of the rear bumper.” His attention fell back to Dick. “What a freak. Want me to…?”

He made a vague gesture, something involving his eyes and Dick’s crotch. You considered it for a second, but shook your head. “No, I just—I just need a couple more days to get where I’m going. Do you think you can keep him here, or… I don’t know, send him in the wrong direction?”

Conner grinned. “Oh, I can make sure he stays put.”

He threw you a two-finger salute, and you returned the gesture. A few miles down the road, you changed into Lois’ hand-me-downs, throwing out the clothes from Bruce’s wardrobe in a gas-station dumpster. You felt lighter, like you’d gotten rid of the last remnants of him. You felt more like yourself.

You felt better.

~

You didn’t stop again until you reached California. You ditched your car in a public parking lot and spent the rest of Jason’s cash on a train into Gateway City.

The air smelled like rain, salt, and fresh paint. You walked the streets for hours before you found the apartment complex you were looking for, and lingered in the lobby for another forty-five minutes before you saw her – black hair, blue eyes, weathered tan. She looked like she had someplace to be, all neutral focus and quiet intensity, but she paused when she saw you tentatively approaching.

She waited for you to speak, despite how long it took you to swallow your nerves. “Dr. Diana Prince?” She nodded curtly, and you tried not to choke on your own relief. “I’m from Gotham. Wayne Manor, specifically.”

“I know. Kent called ahead.”

How he’d known to, you couldn’t imagine. You’d told him you were going to the North Pole. “I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk. Privately. I have something I’d like to ask you for.”

Something flashed across her expression. Curiosity, maybe. Interest. “It’ll have be quick. I have to be at the docks in a few minutes.”

You couldn’t bite back your smile. “Catching a boat?”

“Heading home, actually.” She turned to face you properly. “It’s a quaint little island. They’re very welcoming to travelers, but compared to someplace like Gotham, I’m afraid you won’t find much to do.”

“I think I’ve had enough of Gotham, for a while.” You were beaming, now. You dug your teeth into your cheek, doing your best to keep your cool. “That is, if you’re willing to put up with a guest?”

For the first time, she returned your smile. You did your best to be objective, to be wary, to be careful, but if there were any fangs behind her lips, any desire to make you into anything you weren’t in her eyes, you couldn’t find it.

Honestly, when you looked at her, all you could seem to feel was safe.

“It would be my pleasure.”

[whocumthis]

könig and his girlfriend who runs the relationship. she wears the pants, she calls the shots. and honestly the big fella can’t complain. somebody has to tell the waitress he asked for no pickles, and it’s not going to be him!

[whocumthis]

König headcanons!

.⁠｡⁠* He probably has a rubber ducky at home, cuz he randomly got it for free and now he lowkey enjoys having it.

.⁠｡⁠* He probably is scared to talk to children because he thinks he scares them but he really likes lil kids.

.⁠｡⁠* He fears he would scare any woman who decides to love him away.

.⁠｡⁠* He struggles with self-image (it's canon lol) but he also thinks he doesn't deserve love.

.⁠｡⁠* He is definitely not a picky-eater and maybe has mediocre cooking skills for survival.

[whocumthis]

So convinced John, Simon and König have big babies.

Big, chunky, chubby cheeked, 90th percentile, rolls on their arms, stomach and legs, doe eyed cabbage patch kids, babies.

They are the closet thing you or him are going to get to angels on this earth. They the cutest babies known to man. You don’t know how you managed to push such a big baby out of you, but you got the more adorable (and hungry) little thing known to man.

John, the old man, is almost appalled when the three of you get home and three months in, none of planned baby clothes or diapers can fit any of their clothes cause they’re so small. John definitely has a baby with such chubby cheeks, they’re like big mochi balls and have the cutest boba tea eyes that match yours. John fucking loves it. Cutest thing alive. The man can not say no to the babe for anything. Whatever the baby gurgles or cries for, John gives you that pout to match it.

Simon, always encouraging play time. Even when your baby can’t roll over, Simons giving the best examples (after pushing the coffee table and the couch out of the way) in the living room. A loooong baby, everyone so sure they’ll be tall. Your grandma can barely even lift them when they hit 9 months, they’re a heavy little thing. Simon is one of the few who can hold the baby in just one hand. Always eager to hold the baby in his arms, asking to help him put the carrier on so you can take (another) break.

And König who has to explain when your signing the baby up for daycare that his baby big baby is just 1 years old and not 3, who just started walking and has all those cute little rolls on his arms and legs, And yes, forced the 6’5 man to face his anxiety head on, still shy as ever and quietly apologizing after your child goes up to strangers like he knows them and babbles their heads off. But he’s right there, watching shows like Ms.Rachel, Blues Clues, Kipper abd Little Einsteins and singing along softly to all the songs. Your baby sat in his lap and enjoying every moment of it.

a/n: so unserious and probably ridiculously inaccurate. I just thought it’d be cute if these men had big babies.

masterlist

[whocumthis]

Happy Pride!

We all know Tim Drake is a cannon bisexual. But we also know that in fannon the only straight person is Alfred and I think Duke but I’m not sure. I just imagine the fist few years after coming out Tim is insufferable. Then Jason can’t take it anymore and ruins his joy.

Bruce: *catching Tim drinking enough coffee to fuel a med student for a semester in one night* that’s it. I’m cutting you off. I’m pretty sure your blood is caffeinated at this point.

Tim: during pride month!? And it was an iced coffee!? This is a hate crime.

Bruce: I-

Jason: Shut UP! JUST BECAUSE ITS JUNE DOESN’T MEAN YOU’RE IMMUNE!

Duke: *just watching because not only does he take over February but Juneteenth is coming up and he has plans*

Tim: well I’m the only queer bitch here!

Jason: *crosses arms* says who?

Tim: what?

Bruce: what?

Jason: oh, you thought Roy and I were “just friends”? How closed minded of you. Dare I say, homophobic!

Tim: *gasp*

Dick: you’re dating my best friend!?

Bruce: I have a granddaughter!? *already buying her a pony*

Stephanie: you know me and Cass are dating right?

Tim: since when!?

Damian: *walks in on his phone texting Jon with his gay flag phone case he just got* you’re all so unobservant considering we’re all supposed to be detectives. Even Grayson has a boyfriend.

Tim: who!?

Bruce: *about to pass out at all his kids being in relationships and not telling him*

Dick: no I’m straight. *actively in Wally West’s lap*

Wally: ally!

Someone take my phone

[whocumthis]

Damian Wayne is fighting for his life when he and Jon move in together.

Can the boy survive in the wild or a wasteland apocalypse situation, no problem? Yes.

Does he also have 3000 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets? Yes.

Both of them are neat and keep the place tidy. Though Jon does have a habit of leaving his laundry on the floor, much to Damians annoyance.

No, the issue is that Jon keeps accidentally destroying Damians nice stuff.

It's not his fault. Superstrength is very hard on furniture, but Damian likes his bed, and his Mattress and Jon keeps on breaking them.

Damian considers buying cheaper versions, but his house is his sanctuary, and he wants his little comforts.

And he doesn't want to shame Jon when it's his home, too.

The solution comes from Talia when Damian complains to her about the silk pillow Jon popped during movie night. He loved that pillow.

His mother researches supermetal and harmless kryptonite infused materials. She then gifts the couple new superproof furniture and linens, all of which are up to Talias incrediblely high standards and tastes.

The issue then becomes Jon being too nervous to use such noticebly fancy things.

Damian asks his mother for more to gift to his in-laws. Lois loves it.

[whocumthis]

CAGED SANCTUARY

02 | NIGHTMARES

you woke up with a groggy head and limbs that felt like lead, the heaviness pressing into your bones. blinking against the early morning light that streamed through your window, you tried to sit up, but something felt off— a subtle weight that settled over you like a damp blanket. your room came into focus, but your stomach gave a lurch. the walls werent the soft, comforting white youd insisted on when youd redecorated last year. instead, they were a deep, almost charcoal gray, so dark they seemed to drink in the light. your bedspread— once a soothing pastel blue youd chosen because it made you feel safe— had been replaced with a darker, almost black, shade of navy. the pillows were trimmed in crimson, a color that had always made you uneasy.

you swung your legs over the side of the bed, toes brushing the cool, dark wood floor. the furniture, too, was different. your dresser, usually a warm honey oak, was now a sleek, blackened mahogany with heavy, ornate carvings along the edges. shadows pooled in the corners, stretching like grasping hands. “what the…?” you murmured, your voice catching on the lump in your throat.

you pushed yourself to stand, your knees trembling. you reached for the closet door, only to freeze. the handle was different— an elaborate iron design that looked more at home in a gothic castle than your bedroom. you opened it anyway, heart pounding in your ears. inside, your clothes were arranged neatly, but even they looked wrong. your favorite faded hoodies had been replaced with dark, formal dresses and sharp, tailored suits, none of which you remembered owning.

“maybe alfred…” you whispered, trying to make sense of it. but you knew alfred would never change your room without asking. and even if he did— why would he pick these colors, this style? and how could it have been possible? in just one night? you turned toward the mirror by your desk. your reflection stared back at you— same tired eyes, same hair, same old you. but the mirrors frame was different too, thick and ornate, with twisting vines carved into the edges.

your heart rate picked up.

you hurried to the door and pulled it open, expecting the familiar hallway. but even that was different. the walls were darker, lined with heavy curtains youd never seen before. framed paintings you couldnt remember owning stared down at you, their subjects eyes following you as you walked. you stepped into the hall, hugging your arms around your chest. “hello?” you called, voice trembling. “is… is anyone home?” no answer. you made your way toward the kitchen, every step echoing too loud, like the house was listening. the silence pressed on your ears. you tried to brush it off— maybe you were still dreaming. maybe this was just another nightmare.

you hugged yourself tighter as you stepped down the stairs, each creak of the wooden steps sending shivers up your spine. the hallway leading to the kitchen was bathed in a gloomy light, shadows crowding every corner. you didn’t know what you were expecting— maybe no one at all. but the second you rounded the corner into the kitchen, you saw him.

jason.

he was leaning against the counter, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. his jacket was slung over the back of a chair, his hair tousled like hed just rolled out of bed. you couldnt remember the last time youd had an actual conversation with him. it had been months— maybe even a year— since youd exchanged more than a few awkward words in passing. but the second his eyes landed on you, they lit up. a grin spread across his face, and he set the mug down with a clink.

“mornin princess,” he drawled, his voice low and warm in a way that made your stomach flip. he never called you that, he barley even remembered your name half the time. you blinked, your lips parting, but no words came out. he pushed himself off the counter and strode over to you, closing the space between you faster than you could process. his hands settled on your shoulders, his touch firm, almost possessive. “you sleep okay?” he asked, leaning in just a little too close, his breath brushing your cheek. you stiffened, your throat dry. “uh… yeah, i guess,” you managed to mumble, eyes darting anywhere but his. he tilted his head, studying you with that same grin, but something in his gaze made your skin prickle. “good,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your collarbone. “you know i worry about you.” you tried to step back, but his hands stayed firm on your shoulders. “jason, i—”

“relax, princess,” he purred, his grin widening. “youre home now. nothings gonna hurt you here.” your heart slammed in your chest. home? you swallowed hard, every muscle tensed. but this didnt feel like home at all. you tried to shrink back, but jasons grip only tightened, pulling you closer until your chest brushed his. he tilted your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. his eyes glinted, dark and sharp, and the smile on his face was anything but comforting.

“you okay, doll?” he asked, his voice low, almost gentle. but the way he leaned in— so close you could feel the heat of him— made your skin crawl. “you look… scared.” he grinned at that, his teeth white and sharp in the dim kitchen light. “you got no reason to be scared, not with me around,” he murmured, thumb brushing your jaw in a slow, possessive way that made your breath catch. his grin widened as he tilted his head, eyes studying every flicker of emotion on your face. “or maybe you do,” he added, his voice a dangerous purr.

you pulled away from him, your heart thudding so hard it felt like it might burst out of your chest. his hands fell from your shoulders, but the warmth of his touch still burned on your skin. you stumbled back a step, your arms wrapping around yourself like a shield. your breathing hitched, panic fluttering in your throat.

“what is wrong with you?” you blurted out, the words sharp and ragged, your voice trembling but fierce— like you were trying to convince yourself you still had control. “this— this isnt you. none of this is right.” he tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps straining against the sleeves of his t-shirt. his brow furrowed like he was genuinely confused by your reaction. “wrong with me?” he echoed, his tone calm, almost puzzled. “doll, im just trying to make sure youre okay.”

he took a step toward you, his boots thudding softly on the dark wood floor. you flinched, your back hitting the kitchen island. “youve been acting weird since you woke up,” he continued, his voice low and measured. “skittish. like youre afraid of me. but im not gonna hurt you.” he reached out, his hand brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch soft but unsettling in its familiarity.

“im here for you,” he said, his grin returning, too sharp, too wide. “always have been. you know that, right?” you felt tears sting your eyes, a bitter ache swelling in your chest. “jason,” you whispered, voice breaking. “please… just—” his hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking your skin like he was trying to soothe you. but it felt wrong— like a predator comforting its prey.

“dont look at me like that,” he murmured, his grin faltering for just a moment. “im not the bad guy here. i just want to take care of you.” he leaned in, his lips inches from yours, his breath hot against your face. “let me take care of you, princess,” he whispered. “let me show you how much i love you.” and as the words hung between you, heavy and cold, you realized— this wasnt the jason you knew. not the jason whod give you a smirk and a pat on the head before running off. this was someone else— someone dangerous. what the hell was happening?

the tense silence shattered as the front door creaked open, footsteps echoing down the hallway. dick appeared in the doorway, his eyes immediately locking onto the scene before him— jason standing way too close, his grin razor-sharp, and you frozen, caught between confusion and fear. his gaze snapped to jason, dark and dangerous. a slow, knowing smirk spread across dicks face, the kind that promised mischief but held a fierce protectiveness underneath. without hesitation, dick stepped forward and slid in front of you, pushing you gently but firmly behind him.

“easy, jay-bird” dick said, his tone playful but cold, his eyes daring jason to challenge him. jasons grin faltered for a moment, then returned with a sharper edge, the air between the brothers crackling with tension. they stared each other down like two wolves circling, each unwilling to back down. dick glanced back at you, his smirk softening a little. “you okay?” he asked quietly, voice low enough that only you could hear. you nodded, clutching the back of his shirt as a wave of relief washed over you. you thanked him again and smiled. its been a while since you spoke with dick— like actually had a conversation with him.

jasons grin stayed on his face, but his eyes softened as he looked between you and dick. “relax, dickie,” he said with a lopsided smirk, his tone casual but a little defensive. “i was just saying good morning.” dick didnt even flinch, though his smirk turned a touch more teasing as he tilted his head. “sure you were,” dick shot back, voice light but with a hint of challenge.

jason sighed, rolling his eyes in that exasperated way he always did when the others gave him a hard time. he glanced at you, his grin faltering as a flicker of guilt crossed his face. “look, sorry if i freaked you out, okay?” he said, his tone softer, more genuine. “just… wanted to check in.” he shoved his hands into his pockets, his posture less threatening, more sheepish. “see you around, princess,” he muttered, giving you a small, awkward smile before heading out of the kitchen, his footsteps fading down the hall. you exhaled a shaky breath you hadnt realized you were holding, your hands still clutching the back of dicks shirt like a lifeline.

dick let out a soft sigh, his shoulders relaxing as the tension in the room eased. he turned to you, his smirk replaced by a gentler, concerned look. “you okay?” he asked quietly, his blue eyes searching yours. “he didnt hurt you, did he?” you shook your head, your voice catching in your throat. “no, no, no” you whispered, your eyes brimming with tears. “just… startled me, i guess.” dicks face softened even more, and he reached up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “dont worry,” he said, his voice calm and protective. “im here now. i wont let anyone mess with you.” he let out a small laugh, his grin easy and warm as he looked down at you. “how about we get out of here for a while?” he said, his voice bright with a spark of mischief. “just you and me. figured id make up for… well, you know.”

you blinked, caught off guard by the offer. “seriously?” you asked, unable to hide the surprise in your voice. dick never really had time to spare, not with his job, the family, and everything else he juggled. “yeah,” he said, his grin widening. “seriously. i shouldve done something for your birthday sooner.” you felt a little warmth bloom in your chest, the kind that only came when he made time for you.

“okay,” you said, smiling shyly. he nodded, his expression softening as he led you out of the kitchen. as you both reached the front door, you cast a glance over your shoulder. damian stood at the top of the stairs, his green eyes fixed on you. his stare felt heavy, unwavering, and you shivered a little under it. before you could say anything, dick gently nudged you outside, his hand warm on your back. “cmon,” he teased as he made his way to his car. he opened the passenger door for you, a small, thoughtful gesture that made your chest tighten.

you climbed in, giving him a grateful smile as he closed the door behind you. he walked around to the drivers side, sliding in with that easy confidence that always made him seem so unstoppable. the drive was quiet, the city passing by in a blur of color and light. eventually, he pulled up to a small café on the corner, the kind of place youd always wanted to try but never had. he opened your door again, offering you his hand like a gentleman. “figured you deserved a little break,” he said with a playful wink. you rolled your eyes but couldnt hide your smile as you took his hand and followed him inside.

the café was cozy, the smell of fresh coffee and pastries wrapping around you like a hug. you both ordered your drinks— he got his usual coffee, you ordered your favorite— finding a table by the window. you chatted easily, catching up on the little things, the conversation flowing like it used to. for a moment, it felt normal, like things were back to the way they were before everything got so complicated. then, curiosity got the best of you. “so… hows things with kori?” you asked, swirling your drink absently. his smile faltered, just for a second, replaced by a flicker of confusion. “oh,” he said, his brow furrowing. “we… broke up months ago.” your heart stuttered, your stomach twisting into a knot.

months ago?

youd just seen a photo hed posted the other day— roses, a soft caption, a celebration. it had felt too real. how was that even possible? was your memory wrong? you didnt say anything, the question stuck in your throat. you forced a smile, taking a sip of your drink. “oh,” you murmured. “okay.” but inside, unease crept in like a shadow, settling heavy in your chest. something wasnt adding up, and no matter how you tried to push it aside, it wouldnt leave you alone.

[whocumthis]

— Grayson's Girl - Dick Grayson & Wally West

Pairing: Dick Grayson x f! reader (has a pussy + she/her pronouns) x Wally West

Genre: smut/nsfw, angst

Word Count: 11.8k

Summary: Wally swears he’s fine with you and Dick’s new relationship… and if he says it enough times, maybe he'll actually believe that

CW: established relationship (Dick x reader), fem reader, wally is the flash here, plot w porn, jealousy/insecurity, masturbation, sex fantasies, fear toxin, yearning, mutual pining, threesome (mmf), fingering, oral (m! receiving), p in v, cuckolding, outdoor/semi-public sex, unprotected sex, eiffel tower (kinda), aftercare!!

the longest thing ive ever posted on tumblr, by far the most detailed/complicated...and it was the dick/wally sandwich of all things that brought this on. also HUGE thanks to my fellow gotham pothead for helping me brainstorm + for listening to me yap about this for days. anywaysss enjoy!! (banner stolen from Nightwing #90 (Tom Taylor) title may or not be a rick springfield reference (im so corny) yes my nerd ass made special dividers for this

“Wally, help me!” You shout, playfully hitting your fists on Dick’s back. “Dick, put me down!”

The former Robin ignores your pleas, continuing his path straight to the pool. You squirm on his shoulders, kicking your legs frantically, but he’s simply too strong. 

Wally watches, suppressing a sigh. He’s not jealous—how could he be jealous? His best friend is dating his other best friend, and he’s in love with both of them. What’s there to be jealous about? 

You look at him with sparkling eyes and a glittering grin, the sun on your face. You’re gorgeous, practically ethereal, and you always have been in Wally’s eyes. And Dick? Years of training with the Bat and being a vigilante have left him looking like a Greek god. It doesn’t help that the summer heat has him rocking a glowing tan. 

Wally can’t help but think back to that night a little over a month ago. When you and Dick had showed up to his apartment for your weekly game night, and broke the news. You seemed so happy together, and it’s not like either of you knew about Wally’s feelings. All the boy could do was smile and nod and congratulate the two of you, no matter how bitter the word tasted on his tongue. 

“Dick!” You slap his shoulder, “come on! If you throw me in there, I’m not swimming back up! Enjoy your homicide charge!”

Wally laughs at your stupid joke. “Don’t worry, Rob. I’ll help you hide the body.”

You put on a fake hurt face and flip him the finger before erupting into giggles. Wally returns your gesture, grinning back at you. Dick makes it to the edge of the pool and tosses you in, giving you a half-assed salute as you fall. 

Of course, Wally can’t let this stand. He’s on his feet in a microsecond, dashing towards the two of you at the edge of the water. He shoves Dick into the water, tugging his phone out of his pocket before he falls in. Wally manages to grab you just before you hit the surface of the water, lifting you into his arms. 

He stands still and watches his best friend surface, the water droplets on his tanned skin making him look even more god-like. 

“I’ll get you back for that, Wally.” Dick threatens, but with the grin on his face and his sopping wet hair, it’s hard to take him seriously.

You hate to admit it, but you secretly enjoy the feeling of Wally’s warm skin on yours. His bare abs and strong arms glisten with sweat and banana scented sunscreen—you swallow hard and force yourself to look away.

“Thanks for the save,” you flash a grin at him and hop out of his arms. 

“It was worth it,” he shrugs. He looks down at the melted rubber of his flip flops and sighs, “good thing these were only $3.”

Dick hoists himself out of the pool, his biceps dripping wet and glowing in the sunlight. He grabs his towel off of his foldout chair, towel drying his hair. The ends curl where it’s started to dry, and you want to tug on the strands with your fingers. 

Wally retreats back to the chair he was laying on. “That’s enough sun for me for the day,” he jokes. “One more minute and my skin would’ve matched my suit.”

“You and your delicate ginger skin,” you smirk. “Poor, delicate Wally.”

He rolls his eyes at you. “I’d watch it, unless you want a swim in the pool.”

“Okay, okay, I surrender.”

Dick comes up behind you, pressing his wet body to your warm back. You shiver and attempt to shove him off but he clings onto you. 

“What?” He pouts, “you don’t want me, baby?”

Wally scrunches up his nose without meaning to. He wishes he was either one of you right now, in the middle of you two. Anything but this.

Dick spins you around, keeping his hands on your waist, and pulls you in for a kiss. The water from his hair drops onto the top of your head and runs down your temples but you don’t care. You’re too focused on tasting him, his familiar flavour muddied with the taste of chlorine and lemonade.

It takes a minute for either of you to notice that Wally’s gathered his things and left.

You frown. “He didn’t even say goodbye.”

“He’s had a long week.” 

Dick offers you a half-hearted smile but you can’t help but look beyond that to the steely look in his eyes. The same one he gets when he knows more than he’s letting on.

—

Wally’s scorching by the time he gets home from the pool. Running mile after mile in the blazing summer heat is not for the faint of heart—especially for someone who already runs hot. 

The heat is only made worse by the ache in his groin. He’s never felt more relieved in his life than the relief he feels at dropping his swim shorts and letting his cock spring free. 

He spits in his palm, smearing it up his shaft along with his precum. A shiver runs up his spine. God, he needed this. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and falls into an easy rhythm. Up and down, up and down. And then the images of you and Dick come flashing through his mind and he knows it's wrong and he knows he should stop—but he doesn’t. 

He thinks of your mouth, how warm and wet it would be. Lips wrapped around his cock, pretty eyes looking up at him. He thinks of how Dick would be by your side, a hand in your hair to guide you and the other hand petting Wally’s thigh. 

He could make you feel so good, he could make both of you so happy. Why didn’t either of you think of him, why didn’t either of you want him? 

The frustration gets to him, his fist clenching his cock tighter. He imagines his hand fisting Dick’s cock while you ride him, soft moans slipping from your lips with every bounce. With his eyes closed, he swears he can almost feel your pussy around him. 

It’s wrong, it’s so wrong, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to look either of you in the eyes after this. But he keeps going, imagining it going further while his cock twitches in his hand. 

The heat consumes him and his hand only moves faster. He can’t help but think of how you’d squirm beneath him, how you’d whine about it being too much. He pictures Dick being beneath you, his cock stilled in your walls, talking you through it while Wally fucks you so good. 

A gasp slips from his throat, his mouth dry with the heat of the day. He needs you so bad, and for one torturous second, he contemplates calling you. Throwing caution to the wind and confessing to you and Dick. 

And then he’s finishing, hot ribbons of cum bringing him back to reality. It coats his abs, his thighs and his hands—but he wishes so badly it was you instead. 

He hasn’t even had a chance to wipe up his fluids when his phone is buzzing and your contact is popping up. Even the sight of your smiling photo in his phone has his face burning in guilt. 

He lets it go to voicemail, and the reality of his situation washes over him. 

He can’t help but stare at himself in the mirror while he washes his hands. A million thoughts race through his mind but more than anything: what can Dick give you that he can’t?

He’s tall, he has abs, and he’s funny, or at least, you laugh at all his jokes. So why don’t you like him? 

And though Wally puts up such a confident front, he crumbles before himself in the mirror. He’s all that, and maybe more, but one thing he will never be is Dick. He’ll never be that confident, trustworthy leader that you’d follow anywhere. 

While Dick is a hero through and through, Wally can’t help but think he’s a cheap copy that could never compare. 

-

Dick stills inside of you, the hand he had between your shoulder blades relaxing. Your walls clench around him in need but the vigilante remains still as stone. 

“What—“ You swallow, your voice breathy with unspoken moans. “What’s wrong?”

His voice is raspy with sex. “You’re distracted.”

You open your mouth to protest but suddenly his hands are on your hips and he’s manhandling you onto your back. A giggle slips from your lips, your knees automatically folding into your chest. 

Dick watches you with a smirk and resists the urge to make a joke about how well-trained you are. “What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”

“I’m worried about Wally.”

Dick rolls his hips into yours. Whether he’s satiating his need or yours, you’re not sure. 

“Why’s that?”

You reach up and tangle a hand in his curls, a frown forming on your face. “He’s been distant lately. I-I don’t know. I’m worried.”

He offers you a few lazy thrusts, tilting his head into your chest so you can knead your hands deeper into his scalp. The head of his cock bullies its way through your walls and forces a gasp from your lips.

“He’s been busy.” Dick plants a kiss to your collarbone, “but if you’re really worried, why don’t you give him a call?” 

“I don’t want to pry.”

“Don’t get shy now.”

For emphasis, he snaps his hips into yours again and an embarrassingly loud moan rips its way from your throat. Heat rushes to your head and you find yourself burying your face in your hands. 

“Okay, okay,” you concede, and reach for your phone on Dick’s nightstand. “I’m calling him, so pipe down.”

“With my cock still inside of you? That’s bold.”

You playfully slap his arm before shushing him, pressing dial on Wally’s contact. It rings once, twice, three times, and then you’re greeted by his voicemail. 

‘Hey, you’ve reached Wally. I’m probably busy right now, so shoot me a text and I’ll get back to you in a Flash.’

You purse your lips and drop your phone in frustration. You look at Dick seriously, “do you really think he’s fine?”

“Wally might bite down his feelings sometimes, but when he wants to talk, he’ll talk. Just let him come to you.”

You sigh. He has a point. Wally may seem confident and brazen, but you know that beneath that suave surface, there’s an entire undertow of emotions waiting to be uncovered. 

“You’ll see him for game night this week, anyway.” 

“I know, I know. You’re right, I’ll leave it alone.”

“Now,” Dick grins and presses a chaste kiss to your lips, “can I fuck you, or what?”

You tangle your fingers on the back of his neck and tug him into you, letting his taste distract you from your concern. 

-

Dick’s away helping family by the time game night rolls around, leaving you no choice but to change it to a movie night instead.

Wally tries to protest that Catan is totally playable with two players but after some light pushing, agrees to come over and watch movies for the weekend. On the condition he gets to choose the movies, of course.

“You’re gonna love this one,” he says through a mouth full of popcorn. “It’s like Groundhog Day if it was a horror movie.”

Wally plops onto the couch next to you, slinging an arm across the back of the cushions. He doesn’t even think about how close he is or how there’s only inches between you two. You’re best friends, you’ve been best friends for years—this is totally normal, right? The memories of his evening after the pool flash through his mind as if to say no. 

You press play on the remote before reaching across Wally’s lap to set it on the side table. Your arm brushes his chest and you swear you see him blush but suddenly the movie is starting and your attention is carried away. You settle back into your spot next to him, so close you can feel the heat radiating off his body.

Wally tries to keep his cool and focus on the movie but his attention keeps drifting back to you. You’re gorgeous, he can’t help it. And it doesn’t help that you’re so reactive to the movie—jumping into his side, gasping at the gory parts, laughing at the jokes.

Every time you move, it’s like a stitch in his side. You’re so close to him that he could just wrap his arms around you and pull you into his lap. It takes everything in him not to. 

At some point, you rest your head on his shoulder, the soft skin of your cheek brushing the spot where his tanktop meets his skin. He swallows hard, taking shallow breaths like he’s afraid you’ll move away.

“Is it—” He scratches the back of his neck, “is it hot in here?”

You sit up and Wally bites back his disappointment. “I can turn the air conditioning on if you want. I know you run hot.”

He nods, fanning his face to keep his ears from glowing red. When you pull your legs out from under yourself and stand, Wally can’t help but miss the feeling of you against him.

No, he berates himself. She’s not yours.

Wally forces himself to his feet, following the familiar path to your bathroom. He only feels like he can breathe again when he locks himself inside. He runs the tap on cold, splashing the frigid water over his face and into his hair.

Through the water on his lashes, Wally makes eye contact with himself in the mirror. For the first time since your day at the pool, he lets his thoughts wander to a place he’s been refusing to go. What does Dick have that he doesn’t?

He wonders what would’ve happened if he’d asked you out first, or if he’d been open to either one of you about his feelings. Maybe things would’ve been weird as he’d always feared—but that what if in the back of his mind wonders if it could’ve turned out better than he could possibly imagine.

He dabs his face dry with a nearby towel and hates the way he can recognize your scent on it. He hates even more the way it has heat rushing to his groin, his cock shifting awkwardly in his boxers. Calm the fuck down, man.

When he settles back down on the couch, concern riddles your features. “Are you okay?”

“Just hot,” he lies. “Speedster genes and all.”

You squint at him and though you don’t believe him for a second—especially given it’s a brisk 18 degrees celsius in the apartment—you nod slowly. Wally presses play on the remote and forces himself to focus on the movie.

You can’t focus, though. Your mind runs laps, thinking of his odd demeanour at the pool, his distance this week and now his sudden jumpiness today. You glance at Wally, who’s keeping a generous six inches of space between you two, and frown.

“Are you sure everything is okay?”

He pauses the movie, drawing in his legs to sit criss-crossed on your couch. He opens and closes his mouth, the gears turning behind his green eyes. He doesn’t know what to say to you. He knows he can’t keep lying and avoiding his feelings, but what the hell else is he supposed to do?

“You’ve been…off lately.” You pick at your cuticles. “You didn’t even say goodbye at the pool and honestly, it felt like you were trying to blow me off this week. Did I—did I do something wrong?” 

Wally’s heart cracks inside his chest. He wants to hug you and kiss you and tell you that you couldn’t possibly do anything wrong in his eyes, but he doesn’t. He sits on the couch like a fucking statue, his mouth falling open in shock. 

He’d considered that Dick might’ve noticed something was off—the insightful bastard—but never for a second did he think you would notice. It was stupid, really. You’ve been friends for years, and he knows you can read him just as well as he can read you.

His voice cracks when he speaks. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You sit in silence, waiting for him to elaborate. Every feature on your face, every movement of your body tells Wally you’re listening. Waiting.

It’s a trap, every bone in his body screams. Don’t do it.

“I just—” He swallows, knowing the dam is going to break and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. “You guys started dating and I-I feel so awkward. We hang out and I watch you be so happy together and I wanna—I wanna be happy too. I know I could be happy with you guys if you just gave me a fucking chance and—”

He stops himself before he can take it any further. The blood rushes to his ears and for a minute he questions if he really just said all of that out loud. The stunned look on your face tells him all he needs to know—he fucked up.

“Wally…”

He shakes his head, messy red strands bouncing off his temples. He shuts his eyes, hoping if he hides long enough, this whole mess will go away. 

“Sorry, I should go.”

He goes to stand but you catch his wrist tightly in yours, beckoning him to stay. He turns on his heel, watching you with careful eyes. The adrenaline barrels through him, your fingers on his skin only edging it along. 

“Stay. Please.”

The words send electricity up his spine like a bolt of lighting. Blood roars in his ears and suddenly he’s a man possessed. He’s dropping to his knees in front of you on the couch, hands cupping yours. And then his hands are wandering, trailing higher.

They brush up your arms, to your shoulders and linger on your neck before cupping your cheeks. You don’t dare breathe, don’t dare make a sound. And then he’s leaning in and his lips are crashing against yours and you’re stuck there in shock.

He squeezes his eyes shut and with your soft lips against his, he can almost pretend like this is normal. Like this is something he’s allowed to do and not something he’s taking. 

Reality hits him like a brick wall. He forces himself away from you, arms falling flat at his sides. He looks at you, his mouth fallen open in shock. 

You stare at him, his green eyes darkened. You’re not sure what to say, what to do. Your heart hammers against your ribs. What the fuck just happened?

“Wally—”

He’s running out the door before you finish saying his name, a trail of lightning in his wake.

-

It takes an hour from when Wally kisses you for you to call Dick.

“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice is hushed and it’s only now that you realize he’s probably on patrol with one of his brothers.

“Wally,” your voice shakes, “Wally kissed me.”

There’s silence on Dick’s side and you brace yourself. You just shared a worryingly passionate kiss with your mutual best friend, and even though Dick rarely gets jealous, you expect the worst.

There’s an amused undertone to his voice. “How was it?” 

You blink. “How was it? How was it?”  You can’t help but laugh—what the fuck is he going on about? “You’re not seriously asking me that.”

“At least you know now why he’s been distant.”

He says it so casually that it leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You think back to that day at the pool and that look in his eyes. You knew there was more than he was letting on. 

“Did you know?” Your voice is quiet, “did you know he had feelings for me—us?”

“I suspected it.”

He’s using that annoyingly calm voice that makes you want to throw your phone at the wall. Your heart races with barely suppressed frustration. He knows, and he’s possibly known this whole time, and he hasn’t said a damn thing?

“And you said nothing?”

“I knew he’d say something eventually. It wasn’t my place.”

You swallow back tears of frustration. Wally’s been hurting this whole time, hurting because of you, and Dick didn’t say anything. He let you continue on being happy knowing Wally was miserable—knowing you could do something about it.

“How could you?”

“Y/n,” the phone crackles with his sigh. “It’s not like that.”

“I don’t—I can’t hear it tonight, Dick. I’ll talk to you later.”

You hang up before he can protest.

Your apartment is impossibly quiet when your phone call ends. Conflict lines every cell in your body—frustration with Dick and sympathy for Wally battling it out. Even after you curl up back on the couch and start the movie from where you left off, silence seems to blanket the apartment.

You don’t even realize you’re dialling Wally’s number until it goes straight to his voicemail.

‘Hey, you’ve reached Wally. I’m probably busy right now, so shoot me a text and I’ll get back to you in a Flash.’

You can’t remember the last time you heard his voicemail, and yet you’ve heard it too much this week. Wally always, always answers your calls. The sound of his prerecorded voice is only a monument to how fucked up things have gotten.

With nothing else to do, you turn off your phone and watch the rest of the movie.

- 

Wally’s never felt guilt like this before. It weighs on him, hangs over his head like storm clouds. The sight of your shocked face—all swollen lips and wide eyes—stays burned in his mind. The fantasies he’d once had about you have faded away and all he can feel is your shock and sadness when he’d pushed his lips onto yours. 

He’d called you the second he’d got back to his apartment only to hang up before the first ring. He’d done the same to Dick, only to realize there was no one he could talk to about his. At least, no one he wanted to talk to about it. With nothing else to do and nowhere else to go, Wally suited up and hit the city, hoping to burn off some energy. Unfortunately for him, it’s a horribly slow night in Keystone city.

After running a dozen laps around the city, he settles down on the tallest building he can find and opens his phone. He stares at his lock screen—a photo of the three of you at the beach from last summer—and sighs. He considers calling you again, or calling Dick.

Then his phone lights up with your contact and panic swells in his chest. He slams his finger on the decline button. He can’t bear to face you right now.

While any other day he’d be grateful for such a slow night, the evening passes achingly slow, and he can’t help but be grateful when the burglary alarm sounds at a nearby bank.

Finally, something he can’t fuck up tonight.

-

Your week passes agonizingly slow. 

On a good week, your evenings are spent with either Dick or Wally or both. Your apartment is filled with laughter and stupid jokes, and your fridge is found emptied of its contents more often than not. 

It’s not a good week, though.

Dick calls you almost every day. It’s typical of him to try and fix things before they’re ready to be fixed. He’s always forcing the pieces back into place before the glue has had time to set.

Wally also calls you. Only once and you declined the call as soon as you saw his contact. Regret filled you the second your finger had touched the decline button but that stubborn side of you couldn’t bring itself to let go and allow you to call him back.

So you sit in silence every night, wondering if when Friday comes Dick will show up with board games and Wally with pizza. 

When Friday does roll around, your group chat is a ghost town. You type out a message on your lunch break, just a quick ‘hey, we still on for tonight?’ before immediately deleting it. No matter how bad you want to, you can’t bring yourself to send it.

You buy yourself takeout after work and settle in at your apartment for a quiet night. You queue up Wally’s other choice of movie despite the bitter taste it leaves in your mouth. 

A part of you still wants to call him back and ask him if he really meant what he said. If he really meant to kiss you that night. Another part of you is too scared to hear the answer—scared he’ll say it was nothing.

And that part scares the hell out of you.

You think about calling Dick, too. You want to ask him where you go from here, why he was so okay with another man—his best friend of all people—kissing you. Still, you don’t, because you’re not ready to hear Dick’s answer, either.

You’re only part way through the movie when your front door is slamming open so hard dry wall rains from the wall where it impacts. You cringe—your landlord is not going to be happy. You rise to your feet and grab the heftiest book off your coffee table, ready to face your intruder. 

The Flash stands in your living room, his chest rising and falling so fast you’re worried he’ll go into cardiac arrest. Nightwing is draped over his shoulder, half limp and breathing just as fast. You freeze at the sight of them, the book clattering from your hand onto the floor.

Dick’s hair is matted to his forehead with blood, a trail of it leading down to his mask. His muscles are tense and twitching, and his pupils are almost entirely blown out. You take a step towards them only for him to flinch, cowering in Wally’s arms.

“What the hell happened?”

You glance from the costumed men to your broken door, unsure of what you should tend to first. Wally rips off his cowl, taking a deep gasping breath. His cheeks are nearly as red as his suit, his hair coated in sweat and his pupils nearly as big as Dick’s.

They can’t be seen like this, you decide, and make your way to the door. The deadbolt is broken and the door makes a horrible screeching noise when you force it back into the frame, but at least it closes. You frown and make a mental note to have them fix it when there’s not a crisis on hand.

Wally coughs, muscles twitching in pain. “Got ambushed with—” He’s cut off through another coughing fit, adjusting his grip around Dick. “Fear gas.”

Your eyes shoot wide. Though you’d never had any run-ins with the substance, you knew just how volatile it could be. The last time Dick had encountered it, his nightmares had lasted over twelve hours and it took him days to recover. You can only pray this dose wasn’t that potent.

You rush to Dick’s other side, wrapping his arm around you to help Wally bear his weight. He trembles against you and you can feel his heart hammering in his chest. At this rate, he’s going to faint.

With Wally’s help, you manage to get him to your couch. Dick weakly protests as you lay him among your plush blankets and throw pillows but in this state, there’s not much he can do to fight back.

Wally stands on shaky legs by Dick’s side and you can’t help but notice he’s still hanging onto Dick’s hand. Though he’s better off than Dick, it’s not by much. You see the way he cringes at the shadows on the wall cast by passing cars, the way fresh guilt floods his eyes.

You frown at the thought of him running all this way here with Dick. His enhanced metabolism is enough to fight off the worst of the effects but not fast enough to keep the nightmares from setting in.

You nod to the couch. “You too, Red.” 

“I’m fine.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.” You rest a hand on his shoulder, your other hand cupping his to gently coax him onto the couch, “just sit down for a minute while I bring you water, yeah?”

Wally’s too tired to protest, something you’re secretly thankful for. While you fill up two glasses with water, you can’t keep yourself from wondering what he’s seeing right now. You know that in the past Dick’s nightmares have ranged from horrible monsters to the zombified corpses of his loved ones.

You only hope that with some rest, Wally will at least be up and running again soon. 

Wally greets you with a weak smile when you hand him his water. His hands shake as he takes it from you and greedily gulps the entire cup in one go. You can’t help but stare at the wetness around his mouth and the bob of his throat as he swallows. 

It’s terrible, really, to stare like that. He’s your best friend and he’s hurting and your boyfriend is right there—but clearly the kiss has left you with some unresolved feelings. 

“Something wrong?”

You snap back to reality to find Wally staring at you with a lopsided grin. He knows you’re staring. Shaking your head, you gesture towards Dick. “Are you feeling up to helping me give him water?”

Immediately, you feel guilty for asking because you know he’d never say no to you or Dick. Wally nods and rises to his feet slowly, following you to Dick’s side. He stands next to him, cupping the back of his neck to raise his head just enough so he won’t choke.

You raise the glass of water to his lips and gently pour in a couple millilitres. His eyes snap open and fear lines his features. The usual blue of his eyes has been almost completely washed out by black, a heart-wrenching sight.

His arms thrash out to fight you off but the toxin has made him sluggish and Wally catches his wrists before he can touch you. “Dick,” he says seriously. “Dick, it’s just us. We’re trying to help you.”

He only fights for a few more seconds before his arms relax and his eyes flutter closed. With Wally still holding him, you slowly peel his mask from his face and set it on the side table along with his glass of water. 

You’re tempted to grab a cloth and try to wipe the blood off but you know it’ll only cause him to fight harder. Besides, Wally needs rest almost as much as Dick does and it would be unfair to ask him to wrestle his best friend again.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “Do you need anything? More water?”

“I can get it.”

You level him with a serious look. Sweat still beads his temples and though his breathing has slowed, it’s still not at his normal rate. “You need rest. I’ll grab it just…hang tight for a sec.”

You can feel Wally’s eyes on you the whole way to the sink. Even when you turn around to fill up his empty glass, you feel him watching. A shiver runs up your spine, your hand clenching the cup tighter.

“Y/n, watch out!” He shouts.

You spin around, expecting Scarecrow himself to be behind you. In your panic, you drop the glass of water. You don’t even finish your turn before Wally’s arms are around you and suddenly you’re in the corner of your living room.

Your heart is frantic in your chest and your eyes dart to the place you’d just been standing only to find…nothing. Wally clutches you tighter to his chest, defending you from unseen monsters.

“Jesus, Walls.” You press a hand to your chest as if that will slow your rapid heart rate. “You scared the hell out of me.”

His grip around you loosens slightly. “Sorry, I—I thought I saw something.”

It’s his tone that really grips you. Relief. True, genuine relief. Like he really thought someone was about to hurt you, to rip you right out from under him, and he’d gotten to you in the knick of time.

You rest a sympathetic hand over his and it’s only now that it dons on you how close he is. His body heat feels so nice against your skin and you can smell his deodorant with just a hint of sweat, and—God, has he always been this tall?

“You really should rest, Wally.”

In spite of your words, you make no move to leave his arms. It’s comforting and warm and familiar, and though he’s hugged and carried you before, it’s never been quite like this. Wally makes no move to let you go, either.

“I’m fine like this.”

You’re not sure how long you stand with Wally pressed behind you, his arms around your waist. It feels like only seconds but based on the waning darkness outside, you know it’s been much longer.

“You guys are cute,” Dick rasps out.

You swear Wally flinches behind you. He drops his arms from your waist and you force your face to remain neutral despite your disappointment.

You tear yourself away from him and immediately miss his warmth. “How’re you feeling?”

Dick’s eyes are open now, most of the blue having returned. His breathing’s returned to normal, too. Shit, how long were you guys standing there?

Dick ignores your question. “Would’ve been so cute to see you guys kiss.”

Scratch that—he’s clearly not back to normal yet.

Wally goes white as a sheet, green eyes darting between you and Dick. “Shit, you told him? You know?”

“Of course I told him. I tell him everything.”

A million emotions flash across his face. Confusion, guilt, betrayal. You reach for him but he shuffles back, his gaze suddenly steely. You see him glance at the door and realize he’s planning his escape route again.

“I‘m not mad,” Dick mumbles. “I’ve kissed her too.”

If you weren’t so concerned, you’d probably laugh at that. Instead, you step directly in front of Wally, sizing him up. “Don’t leave again.”

Wally’s not sure what prompts him to stay—whether it’s the sad look in your eyes or his sick best friend—but he does. When you reach a hand to guide him to the couch, he has no choice but to take it.

Your apartment falls into silence once more. Not the comfortable silence you’d grown used to this week. No, this silence is thick and awkward and threatens to choke you at every turn. 

Dick just sits there, staring ahead and processing how he got to your apartment. Wally taps his feet like he always does when he’s uncomfortable or has too much energy. You play with your hands, trying to think of anything to break the ice.

It’s not you who gets the first word in, though. It’s not even Wally. 

It’s Dick who speaks first. “She’s a good kisser, right?”

You laugh, if only in shock and embarrassment. “Okay, that’s enough for me for the night.”

You glance at Wally whose face has turned an impossible shade of red. His brows furrow at your statement, his mouth falling open as if to speak but no words come out.

“You two should get some rest. Come and get me in about 8 hours, okay?”

“But—” Dick protests, stopping in his tracks when you shoot him a serious look. “Okay, goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Wally parrots.

“Goodnight,” you say. “No one die in my apartment, please.”

-

You’re thoroughly unsurprised when you wake up sandwiched in the middle of your bed. Sweat coats the back of your neck, heat seeping into every pore.

Dick lays on your left, having traded his sweaty Nightwing suit for a pair of old sweatpants you’d stolen from him months ago. There’s a gash on his forehead and the skin along his torso is lined with bruises but the blood is gone. He must have showered. Wally lays on your other side in nothing but a pair of Calvin Klein boxers. He has an arm slung over your waist, his freckly skin glowing in the early morning light streaming through your window. There’s a massive, purpling bruise on his side that makes you wonder what, or rather who, had been able to hit him that hard. 

You can’t help but lightly trail your fingers over it, as if your touch alone could heal him. Goosebumps raise across his skin where you touch him and suddenly his eyes are opening, the sight like grass on a foggy morning.

You withdraw your hand before he can notice, pressing it tightly to your side. Wally blinks a few times, his eyes adjusting to the light, before he notices his arm draped over you. Pink dusts his cheeks.

Wally takes in slow, deep breaths. At one time he had dreamed about this—being in bed with you and Dick. But now that he’s actually here, he’s exhausted and his heart is beating way too fast, and man, do you have to wear that to bed?

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and pulls his arm back. 

“It’s okay, I’m just gonna—” You keep your voice a whisper as you untangle yourself from the mess of sheets and limbs. You gasp in relief when the cold morning air hits your skin. “I’m gonna go sleep on the couch.”

It’s too much. Between the heat of their bodies against yours and the events that’ve transpired this week, it’s enough to leave you dizzy and confused.

You shimmy your way out of the bed, stopping only when Wally rests a hand on your shoulder. 

“I can go,” he says. “I’m not going to kick you out of your own bed.”

You risk a glance down at his bruised abs. “No, you’re hurt. I’m not gonna make you run all the way home.”

“And I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch.”

“Then neither of you go anywhere.”

Both your attention snaps to Dick laying perfectly still with his eyes still closed. There’s a knowing smirk on his face and the morning light gives him an ethereal glow. 

Wally narrows his eyes. “Have you been awake this whole time?”

“What can I say, I’m a light sleeper.”

Wally watches you nod slowly in agreement. He feels dizzy with whiplash, thinking of all the nights he’s spent alone in his bed, thinking about a moment just like this. He lets himself fall back into the plush sheets of your bed, fighting the rising blood rushing to his face.

You stay sitting up, staring at the window just behind Dick’s head. “I’m too hot.”

Without another word, Dick reaches over and blindly feels around for the latch to your window. It takes a few tries but then he’s clicking it open and the room is flooded with fresh air.

“No excuses to leave now,” he says.

You press your lips into a line, knowing he’s right. You’re hesitant to lay between them again, as comfortable and safe as you felt. Something about it feels off, like you’re doing something you’re not supposed to. 

You’re torn between pretending to use the bathroom and just going back to sleep when Dick wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you back into the bed. You hit the pillows with a soft thud, shifting on top of the sheets until you’re comfortable.

Well, that settles that.

-

Wally is gone before you wake up, Dick following suit not much later. At least the latter kissed you goodbye—Wally couldn’t even be bothered to send a text. You hate how much the thought upsets you.

You go about your Saturday morning the way you normally would. Coffee and breakfast somewhat soothes your racing mind from the confusing, dizzying blur that was your Friday night. Still, the events from last night echo in your mind.

For a moment, in the fog of the early morning, waking up between Wally and Dick just felt right. There was no uncertainty, no shame—just you and two men you love resting after a considerably long night. 

And then the weight of your thoughts hits you and your stomach drops because you love Wally, in the same way you love Dick. You remember the way your heart hammered in your chest when he kissed you, the butterflies in your stomach when he held you. God, what have you gotten into?

You force yourself into the shower before you can think about it anymore. Your skin still smells like Wally’s cologne and Dick’s sweat. The water runs across your skin, washing away their scents and the associated feelings that flood and threaten to drown you. 

You stand under the water much longer than you mean to, only getting out when your phone starts buzzing enough to send it tumbling off the counter.

Shit, you’re quick to rinse off and hop out of the shower, dripping water all over the floor on the way to your discarded phone. You grab it, your wet palm smearing water all over the screen, and squint at it through water logged eyes.

Batboyfriend: Pool day? 👀 Speedy + Clingy = This Guy: OMG YES.  It’s hotter than me out here and that’s saying something.

Speedy + Clingy = This Guy: dibs on throwing her in the pool this time

Batboyfriend: what? you literally saved her last time

Speedy + Clingy = This Guy: and? I contain multitudes bro.

Batboyfriend:  y/n? you in? I swear I won’t let him drown you 

You can’t help but smile as you flip through the messages. After a week of silence, the normalcy feels good—even if you are still worried about Wally.

You: sure, why not

Batboyfriend: great, see you in an hour?

Speedy + Clingy = This Guy: YAY!! 💪😎 👊🤠✋

Batboyfriend: what??

You: what??

Speedy + Clingy = This Guy: ⬆️ that’s literally me rn

With your afternoon spoken for, you go to get ready.

-

You’re nervous when you pull up to Dick’s, wringing your shirt in your hands. You’ve been here a thousand times, swam at the pool more times than you can count, but still your heart flutters in your ribcage. 

You thought you were ready to face them again but then the memories of Wally’s hair messy and glowing in the early morning light come bleeding back. Dick’s voice echoes in your ears with every step you take: She’s a good kisser, right?

You’re tempted to duck away, to go back home and pretend like you got caught up in something. And then Wally is calling your name and Dick is coming skipping down the parking lot. 

You swallow at the sight of them—this pool day is going to be the death of you. Wally is shirtless and wearing only a pair of green swim trunks and cheap flip flops. Sweat glistens across his bare chest, highlighting the dark bruise on his side.

Dick offers you a wave, tan skin peaking out from under his tank top. A pair of aviators sits on top of his head and holds back his mess of dark curls. Your heart wrenches at the gash on his head.

Wally grins at you from behind his sunglasses. “Took you long enough.”

Dick comes right up to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and kissing the side of your head. You glance at Wally nervously but the redhead looks completely unbothered. 

“How long have you guys been here?”

Wally checks an imaginary watch. “Pretty much since Dick texted.”

You glance at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows who only nods to confirm. Despite their lighthearted attitudes, you can’t help but feel hesitant. Suspicious, even. 

“You guys aren’t actually planning on drowning me,” you glance between the two, “right?”

“No,” Dick says. 

“Only if you deserve it.”

You roll your eyes only for sweet relief to hit you when Dick unlocks the gate and gestures you into the poolyard. The water catches your eye, sparkling as if to say hello. 

Dick and Wally have already set up the tanning chairs, the cooler, and laid out towels for each of you. You smile at the sight, shimmying out of Dick’s reach to sprint towards your favorite chair.

“You guys have been busy.”

“Duh, we’ve been waiting for you.” 

You settle in on the chair, dropping your stuff and claiming your territory. It’s already warm from being in the sun—prime tanning real estate, as you always called it. You sprawl out across the chair and bask in the afternoon sunlight with no intention of getting up anytime soon.

“Straight to the chair as always,” Dick laughs. “There’s drinks in the cooler. I got your favorite.”

“Ugh, you’re speaking my language right now.” 

You slowly strip out of your shorts and t-shirt, letting the sun rays wash over your almost naked figure. You try to ignore the way Wally looks at you, instead focusing on Dick digging through the cooler to grab you a drink.

-

“What’s the point of going to the pool if you don’t go swimming?” Wally teases.

“I’m tanning.” You glance at his pasty figure, “you should try it sometime.”

“Hey, you know I burn easily!”

“Poor, delicate Wally.” You tease.

“That’s it,” he says, and suddenly he’s grabbing you from the chair and tossing you over his shoulder. “You’re going in.”

“No, wait, Wally!”

“Nope, bad girls get thrown in the pool.” 

You hate the way that phrase has heat pooling in your core. You glance to Dick, currently floating on his back in the water, for help.

“Don’t look at me,” he shrugs. “He literally told you ahead of time this would happen.”

Some help he is.

You look at Wally pleadingly. “I concede. I apologize. I surrender. Just—please, do not throw me in.”

It must be the way you’re looking at him or the desperation in your voice, but Wally actually puts you down. Relief floods you when your bare feet meet the concrete lining the pool. You’re inches away from him, you can see every bead of sweat, feel the heat radiating off of him, see the burn forming across his neck and shoulders.

“You and your delicate skin,” you say quietly, reaching out to touch the bruise along his ribs. You stop yourself from touching him.

Wally just stares at you. No retort, no threat to throw you in the pool. Just pure unabashed staring. You shrink beneath his gaze, pulling your hand back to your side. 

“You guys gonna kiss again?”

The sound of Dick’s voice has you realizing you’re standing entirely too close to him. You risk a glance only to see him smiling wickedly in your direction. Oh god, you know what that smile means. He’s planning something.

You take a step back only for Wally to catch your hand in his. “Don’t,” he breathes.

You look at Dick once more, though you’re not sure why. Are you waiting for him to rescue you, to tell you what to do? To give you permission? You shy away from the thought.

Dick takes a sip of his drink. “Well?”

He’s looking at you expectantly, like he somehow thinks you’re going to kiss Wally right here in front of him. The very idea has your face going hot—and not from the sun. You try to meet his eyes from here and it’s only then that you find he’s not staring at you at all.

He’s looking directly at Wally.

You snap your head up only to find the redhead blushing, his mouth set in a hard line. Your gaze follows the length of his arm—his skin turning pink in the sun—all the way down to where his hand rests on yours.

You’re entirely too hot, now. 

“Don’t you remember what we talked about?” You look at Dick again as he speaks.

What we talked about? You frown, suddenly feeling vindicated at your hesitancy earlier. Something isn’t right here.

Your voice cracks when you go to speak. “Am I about to be drowned?”

Your attempt to lighten the mood falls on deaf ears. Dick smirks, looking at Wally with raised eyebrows, while Wally’s eyes are entirely focused on you. Oh god.

“We had a deal.” Dick prompts, and that undertone in his voice sounds eerily similar to the one he uses when he’s commanding the Titans. An order—not a request.

“Fuck it,” Wally mumbles under his breath, and suddenly he’s tugging you into him, closing the gap by gripping the back of your neck.

All of the breath leaves your body as you collide with him, the warm skin of his palm beckoning you closer. His other hand wraps around your waist and before you can even think to question him, his lips are slamming against yours.

There’s no hesitancy, no soft shyness. You can’t feel guilt and anger radiating off of him the way you could last time. There’s passion, now. Intent.

You fall into him, letting all of your own confusion and fear melt away. Your hands trail up his spine like they have a mind of their own. They run up against his bare skin, flickering like lightning until they meet at the back of his neck, tangling up in his hair and tugging him closer to you.

Wally gasps, his hand on your waist tightening until his fingers dig in hard enough to bruise. The sting of it all doesn’t phase you, it only drives you to want more.

And then there’s a different hand on your back and you’re brought back to reality. You pull away, lips swollen and eyes wide, dizzy with lust. You look behind you and meet Dick’s eyes and your vertiginous new reality falls over you.

“I—”

Dick’s hand trails down to the small of your back, rubbing circles on your bare skin. “How was it?”

“How was it?” You repeat, your voice barely a mumble. 

You press a hand to your chest. The world is too hot, your heart beating too fast. If it weren’t for their hands on you, you’re sure you would’ve passed out by now.

“Good.” Wally takes the words right out of your mouth. “You were right.”

It’s the way he says it that catches your attention. His words are void of bitterness, just pure breathless curiosity. 

He looks at Dick, his green eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “Can I—can I do it again?”

“It’s not me you need to be asking.”

His eyes fall on you and you swear your heart hits terminal velocity. You look at him through your lashes, the whole world bright and dreamlike. 

“Can I?” He swallows, “please?”

It’s the sheer need in his voice that makes you nod, not trusting your voice to be any sort of stable right now. Wally doesn’t waste a second to pull you against him and press his lips against yours. It’s less desperate this time, but just as needy, just as passionate. 

For a second, it almost feels like the world is shaking. Like the ground beneath your feet is vibrating at the exact frequency you are. And then Wally rips himself away from you to take a deep breath and you realize the world wasn’t vibrating—he was.

“Fuck,” he says through a laugh.

“Easy, Wally.” Dick lays a hand on his shoulder, clasping tight until the speedster slows down. “You alright?”

He blinks a few times before offering a weak thumbs up, his hand still shaking. It’s only now that you realize what a number you’ve done on him. His red hair is tangled and messy, his cheeks and ears a shade of vermillion you’ve never seen before. It would be laughable if you didn’t feel equally as frazzled.

“And how are you feeling?” Dick asks.

“I just kissed Wally,” you say slowly. “Twice.”

“And?”

“And you watched.” 

Dick just laughs. “It was definitely a sight, I’ll give you that.”

You’re not even sure what to say to that. Dick’s never been considerably possessive but you never pegged him as the kind of man to share. You think back to that first night Wally had kissed you and the initial worry you’d felt while waiting for Dick to pick up the phone.

You never expected it to turn into this.

“Was that really okay?” Wally’s tone is serious in a way you’ve rarely heard before.

“We had a deal,” Dick repeats. 

The statement has your eyebrows raising. You open your mouth in question, ready to ask your boyfriend what the actual fuck is going on, but stop dead in your tracks.

You blink a few times, making sure the sight isn’t just a heat-driven mirage. But no, what you’re seeing is entirely correct. Wally West is kissing your boyfriend, and Dick’s kissing him back.

You watch in surprise, your jaw hitting the floor. Is this how Dick felt when you kissed Wally? Are you supposed to feel this turned on by it? It feels like the world around you is on fire and you’re caught right in the middle of it all.

Dick pulls away entirely unphased and wholly unaware of the state he’s left Wally in. Meanwhile, Wally looks like he’s about to faint. And though you’ve done such a good job holding in your incredulous laughter up to this point, Wally’s messy state finally drives you over the edge.

“What the actual fuck is going on?” You cackle, “what are we even doing?”

“We’re helping Wally.”

Dick states it like it’s the simplest thing in the world and it’s enough to have you doubting your own overcomplicated thoughts. You glance at Wally, hoping for some insight.

“Do you not want this?” He asks.

You’re not even sure what “this” is but something in the way he asks it has you saying you do. It’s Dick and it’s Wally and they’ve always taken care of you, so why wouldn’t you trust them now? 

“Good,” he says and then he’s closing the gap between you, his fingers finding their way to the nape of your neck as if they have a thousand times before. “Because I do too.”

Then Wally’s lips are on yours again and you swear the world falls away from your feet. Your knees shake and your body threatens to tumble forward but then Wally’s holding you, bracing you against the perfectly strewn muscles of his body. 

You gasp into his mouth when you feel Dick press himself against your back, his lips attaching to the side of your neck. One of his hands rests over Wally’s on your hip, the other trailing up your spine to fiddle with the string of your bathing suit top.

It’s almost too much, being between them this way. You’ve never felt so contained, you’ve never felt so free. Wally’s tongue slips into your mouth at the same time Dick unties your top. You barely have time to cover your chest before the useless garment falls limply to the ground.

You pull away gasping, an unbearable heat in the pit of your stomach. “Dick.”

For a moment, both men just stare at you like deer in headlights. You tighten your arms around your chest, awkwardly shifting to cover your bare tits from their prying eyes.

Dick finally hums in acknowledgement. 

“You took my top off.”

“I know.”

You look over your shoulder at Dick, and then to Wally, and you’re not quite sure who’s staring harder. All you know is that Wally’s shorts suddenly look tighter and you’re now a little too curious about what he’s packing beneath them. 

Dick rubs himself against you, the bulge in his shorts catching on your skin. You take a deep breath and brace yourself. 

His mouth brushes against your ear. “Why don’t you move your hands, hm? Let Wally take a look.”

He’s using that damn voice again. The ‘I’m not asking, I’m ordering’  voice that he uses when you’re being a brat. You don’t even think twice before you force your arms away from your skin, letting them fall limply at your sides.

Wally coughs like there’s something stuck in his throat, reaching a hand down to adjust his shorts. His mouth falls open, a hand reaching out and stopping midway as if he’s about to ask permission.

Dick rests a hand under each nipple, cupping your boobs like he’s putting them on display. “Well?”

“Hot,” he breathes. “Fuck—gorgeous, I mean. Pretty.” He cracks a smile, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m gonna stop talking now.”

Your heart flutters at his praise like you ever thought he’d say otherwise. He reaches out again, more confident this time, and brushes a hand across your nipple. You shiver, backing up into Dick without meaning to.

Your boyfriend holds you still, planting soft kisses on your shoulder to keep you calm while Wally’s hands explore your chest. Goosebumps raise in every place he touches, the heat of the day soothing them down almost as quickly as they form. It’s a tantalizing cycle.

Heat pools in your centre and you’re grateful that you’re wearing something waterproof. You clench your legs together without meaning to, hoping for some friction. Dick knows what you need before you even ask for it, dropping a hand down to rub slow circles on your clothed clit.

Wally dips his head in, flicking his eyes up to silently ask for permission—met with a curt nod—before attaching his lips to your skin. His hot mouth leaves a trail of marks wherever he kisses you, your skin turning shiny with his spit.

“How’re you feeling, baby?” Dick asks while he slips his hand into the front of your bathing suit bottoms. 

“G-good.”

Wally laughs against your skin and for the first time in a while, you see sunshine behind his eyes. His happiness almost feels better than the combined pleasure they’re giving you. 

A whine slips from your lips when Dick’s fingers meet your bare pussy. Wally’s quicker than that, though. He presses his mouth against yours and greedily swallows up your moans.

Dick crouches behind you to get better access and pulls your bottoms down to your knees. You stumble slightly but Wally catches you, his mouth moving away from your lips down to your jaw. He kisses lower and lower, sucking dark marks against your neck, your shoulders, your chest.

It’s his way of claiming you, you think. You may not be his girlfriend and he may not be your boyfriend, but it’s his small way of saying Wally was here. 

Dick slips a finger inside of you, pushing it up to the hilt, and another moan is ripping through you. You grip at Wally’s shoulder, trying to keep yourself stable while the two men ravage you. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to focus on the moment—on the way Dick’s finger curls inside of you, the way Wally’s teeth graze your nipple, the way you can feel your juices running down your thighs.

He dips another finger inside of you, pumping them deeper. You press your body fully against Wally’s, his cock pressing against your stomach through his shorts. If it wasn’t for him, you’d probably be tumbling to your knees by now.

You run your fingers across his abs as a way to distract yourself from Dick’s fingers inside of you. You dip your hand lower and lower with each pass until you’re just barely grazing the top of his swimshorts. 

Wally gulps and that’s the only reaction you need before you’re sliding your hand into his pants to grab his mostly hard cock. He’s solid in your hand, a little longer than Dick but not any thicker. You give his cock a playful squeeze before collecting the precum from his tip and using it as lube to glide along his shaft.

“F-fuck,” Wally gasps. He glances at Dick kneeled down behind you, “she’s good.”

Dick nuzzles his face between your thighs, drinking up the slick that drips from his fingers. “You haven’t even tasted her yet.”

The way they talk about you like you’re not even there just turns you on more, that pressure in your lower stomach building with every thrust of Dick’s fingers. You tighten your grip around Wally’s cock, trying to match Dick’s pace inside of you.

Wally brushes a finger under your chin, tilting your head up so he can kiss you again. His lips slam against yours and you part yours to welcome him. His tongue dips into your mouth and suddenly his taste is everywhere.

A familiar heatwave hits you and suddenly you’re finishing all over Dick’s fingers, your orgasm washing over you in waves. You squirm, your knees shaking and your pussy fluttering around his fingers. Dick pulls his face out from your achy, needy pussy, watching you with hearts in his eyes as you cum all over his hand.

Wally pulls away from you too, watching the spectacle you’ve become. His hand reaches for yours, stroking his thumb along your knuckles in a way he hopes is soothing. It only takes a few seconds before you come back to yourself, panting and messy and hot.

“God, that’s a sight I’d pay to see.” Wally laughs.

Dick rubs a hand up and down your thigh before rising to his feet. “Good thing you don’t have to.”

He wraps an arm around Wally and tugs him in for a kiss. You watch them through bleary eyes, your ears perking up when Wally moans at the taste of your pussy on Dick’s lips. Then Dick is turning to you, beckoning you in and pressing his lips to yours. You swear you can taste Wally on him, too.

“Let’s get you over to your chair, hm?” Dick mumbles against your lips.

You don’t even think, you just obey. You shuffle over to your chair on shaky legs, laying on your back. “Like this?”

The two men follow you over, Dick settling on the chair next to yours while Wally shuffles over to you. You watch him through half-closed eyes while he shimmies out of his swim trunks, letting his cock spring free. 

He’s rock hard, his tip glistening with precum. You trace his body from his muscly thighs to his throbbing cock to his kinda-but-not-really groomed hair. It’s almost exactly what you were expecting, and so incredibly Wally.

He gives himself a few strokes before kneeling on the chair with you, testing his weight. “Man, I hope this thing doesn’t break.”

You gently hit his arm. “Don’t say that, now I’m gonna be paranoid.”

“Don’t worry, baby.” He tests out the nickname, watching you for a reaction. “I’ll protect you.”

He grabs your legs, hooking them around his waist on either side. You take a deep breath and brace yourself, your eyes finding Dick’s for a glimpse of comfort. 

He smiles at you reassuringly. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, sweetheart.”

“I-I want to.”

“Then let us take care of you.”

Wally hums in agreement, rutting his cock through your folds. The head of his dick catches on your clit, eliciting a gasp from your lips that brings a smile to his. You shift lower in your chair, trying to close the gap between his tip and your entrance.

He leans into you, bracing a hand on the chair behind your head. His lips ghost over yours, “you ready for me?”

You mumble a quick yes and then his lips are pressing against yours, his hand guiding his cock inside of you. A moan falls from your lips the minute his length splits you open. You squirm beneath him but Wally’s other hand presses into your hip, holding you against the chair.

He’s surprisingly slow to bottom out, like he’s savouring every inch he pushes into you, every second he gets to be inside of you. He moans shakily once he’s all the way in, the warmth and wetness of your walls almost has him finishing then and there.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and draw him in closer as he starts to thrust. His hips move out painfully slowly before snapping back in, forcing his length into you all at once. The breath leaves your body, his motions leave you gasping for more.

He falls into a steady rhythm, his movements fast and to the point. His head moves away from your lips to nuzzle into the crook of your shoulder, his breathy moans directly in your ears.

You can’t help but dig your nails into his skin, marking him the same way he marked you earlier. Your eyes flutter open, glancing over to Dick only to see him staring straight at you guys and stroking his cock. You clench at the sight, reaching out a shaky hand to beckon him closer.

He shakes his head, holding up a finger as if to say “give me a minute.” You nod weakly in acknowledgement, letting your head lull back and eyes close again. The pressure in your stomach only builds with every thrust, Wally’s hand only adding to it.

“Is he watching?” Wally rasps.

A cross between a moan and a yes is all that you manage, but Wally seems to get the picture. He snaps his hips harder into yours, each thrust punctuated with a sort of showiness that only Wally himself could pull off. You cling to him tighter, holding on for dear life.

And then there’s a tap at your shoulder and Dick’s cock is next to your face. You don’t even think to question it, only opening your mouth to give him access.

He’s gentle to start, slowly pushing his length into your mouth and letting you get used to it. You hollow your cheeks, letting the saliva build up in your mouth as you bob your head up and down his length. Dick’s thumb rubs the area beneath your lips and brushes away any of the drool leaking out.

Wally shifts his grip on you, his hand almost completely resting on your tummy now. The sudden change has you crying out, arching your hips into his which only drives his cock deeper. You whimper onto Dick’s length, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Doing so well,” he says breathlessly. “Taking such good care of us.”

His praise is what keeps you going, clearing your fuzzy head just enough to keep bobbing on his cock. His salty, somewhat chlorinated taste keeps your tastebuds on their toes, each inch you take of him driving you further and further.

Wally’s thrusts start to get slower and sloppier and your pussy aches with your impending orgasm. Wally pushes a little harder—whether on purpose or not, you’re not sure—and then you’re coming undone beneath him. Wave after scorching wave of pleasure rolls over you, your pussy spasming around him.

Wally is hard pressed to pull out but somehow manages to tear himself away from you, cumming in spurts on your pussy and tummy. He watches you writhe beneath him, your mouth still full of Dick’s cock, and thinks he can cum again from the sight alone.

You pop your mouth off of his cock and finally catch your breath, opting to jerk him off instead. You only get a few strokes in before his hand is covering yours.

He looks at Wally. “Mind switching places?”

Even though he phrases it like a question, you all know he really isn’t asking. Wally’s up on shaky legs and taking Dick’s place at your head before you can even process what’s happening. And then Dick is crouching between your legs and sliding his cocks into your slick, overstimulated folds.

It’s hot and you ache, but Dick feels too good inside of you to stop now. He leans closer to you, pressing his lips against yours while he thrusts lazily inside of you. While Wally felt amazing, Dick just feels right.

The speedster stands beside you, mesmerised by the sight of you two. He can’t help but rub at his half-hard cock while he watches—the two of you are just too sexy. 

It doesn’t take long before Dick’s finishing, only pulling out enough to have his cum pooling at your entrance. He dips his sweaty forehead into your chest while he finishes, mumbling curses against your warm skin. 

“Fuck,” is all he says.

“Fuck,” Wally agrees.

Dick takes his sweet time getting off of you but when he does, Wally is waiting next to you with a towel. You smile and thank him, sitting up and wiping his drying cum off your stomach the best you can. 

Dick, dressed back in his swim shorts, grabs fresh water out of the cooler and sits at the end of the chair. “Here,” he passes it to you. “You’re dehydrated.”

You nod in agreement. Two orgasms in the summer sun would leave anyone dehydrated. You gulp down half the bottle in one go, surprised to see Wally waiting for you with your discarded bathing suit.

You frown at the sight of it. The thought of putting on something so restricting right now is enough to overstimulate you.

“You can wear my t-shirt if you’d prefer,” Wally offers when he sees your face. “Might be comfier.”

“I—” Your voice cracks. Yep, definitely dehydrated. “I’d like that, thanks.”

Dick rubs soothing circles on your back. “Do you need anything else?”

You shake your head. Honestly, what you need more than anything right now is some clarity on what just happened and some time to process.

You wait until Wally is out of earshot, rooting through his messy pile of stuff to find you his t-shirt, before you speak. “What happens now?”

“What do you want to happen?” Dick mimics your quiet tone.

“I want Wally.”

You don’t need to clarify any more—Dick knows exactly what you mean. He laces his fingers with yours just as Wally comes back with an old band t-shirt.

You expect him to hand it to you but instead he gestures for you to put your arms up, helping you tug it over your head. The cotton feels amazing on your feverish skin.

“So, uh,” he says awkwardly. “Should I go?”

You grab his wrist. “Stay, please.”

He offers you a half smile before turning his attention to Dick. The two lock eyes, partaking in one of their silent conversations that you’re not privy to.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll stay.”

You fight the urge to celebrate, instead springing to your feet and wrapping your arms around him. Wally’s shocked, for just a second, and then he’s pulling you closer to him, holding you the way he did in your living room.

He rests his chin on your head. “Not to ruin the moment or anything but,” he looks at Dick over your head, “do you guys wanna get something to eat? I’m starving.”

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !! thanks for reading & have a great day <3)

@4-ann1e since u wanted to be tagged >⩊<

masterlist | dc masterlist

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Honestly, I need a scene where Dick gives someone a heart attack because he decided not to take the stairs.

Just imagine the scene: Dick has been living with Bruce for a time now, so he's already used to Dick's tricks, but that doesn't mean everyone is just as used to them.

Bruce has a visit with someone from high society, call him a company employee, call him simply a millionaire who is there for x reason. Whatever.

Dick (like 10 years old maybe), leaving his room in a hurry: Hey B! I finished my homework, I'm going out to play now!

Bruce: Okay, chum. Have fun! Come back before dark!

Dick: I will!

Dick, literally being on the second floor, opens a hallway window, and simply jumps out of it.

And Bruce is totally cool with his son jumping off a second floor window while the man next to him runs to the window in absolute panic because oh God, Bruce Wayne's son just kill hims-

Dick performs a perfect somersault, stops by hanging from a tree branch, does an extra flip, and lands softly on the ground before running off into the woods to play.

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When big gruff Jason gets sleepy and needy- and a little delirious, he rubs his face against yours like a cat. Then immediately gets shy about it, his ears turn pink at the tips :(

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The clock read 3:17AM. Damian was sharpening his katana in the Batcave when he felt it — a shift in the air, the soft sound of bare feet on marble. He didn't have to look. He knew it was you.

You wore his shirt, oversized and off one shoulder. Your lip gloss was smudged. Sleep still lingered in your lashes.

“Couldn't sleep,” you mumbled, leaning on the edge of his table like you owned it — like you owned him.

He didn’t speak. Just stared. Then back at the blade.

You watched him for a moment. “You know, most boyfriends just cuddle their girlfriends at night. Not sharpen swords.”

“I’m not most boyfriends,” he said coldly, but his eyes betrayed him — flickering down your thighs, then quickly away.

You took a step closer. "No. You're worse. You keep acting like you don't care, but you're the one who calls me every time I don’t text back for two hours."

His jaw tensed.

"You’re the one who kissed me like you were starving, then disappeared for a week."

Now his grip on the blade was tighter.

You tilted your head. “Say it, Dami. Just once. Say you missed me.”

Silence.

Then, in a low voice, almost broken: “I missed you.”

You blinked.

He placed the blade down slowly. Walked to you. Rested his forehead against yours. And whispered:

“Don’t ever leave me again. I’d burn Gotham to find you.”

Your lips curved up. “Knew it.”

And when he kissed you — it was bruising, desperate, and hungry. The kind of kiss that meant war.

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Batfam Family Dinner except it's:

Bruce - Refuses to admit he needs glasses so can't refer to any of his children without the chance of getting the wrong name

Dick - Often goes nonverbal (I don't know whose headcanon this is but I love it)

Cass - Still learning to speak or also often nonverbal

Jason - Is upset with Bruce and is giving him, and by extension everyone else,the silent treatment

Tim - So locked in on figuring out a case that he has been fully out of it for 2 days

Duke - Thinks he's missing out on something, or that this is some weird sort of training and doesn’t want to be the first to speak

Damian - Is beta reading Tim's Bruce Wayne/Batman fic under the table (he's only doing it because Bruce said he wasn't allowed to adopt all the ducks at the park)

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Over the years, the batfam has slowly noticed, why exactly Dick's mom had nicknamed him robin. Ofcourse he was born on the first day of spring and is always flitting about, but there's more...robin-like traits that have long since cemented his original robin status

Bruce, rushing to check up on his newly adopted child, Dick, who just walked into a glass door with eyes wide open: Chum? Why did you just walk into glass?

Dick: What glass?

Bruce: I-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason, watching teen, newly discowing!Dick pack up his stuff to move out: Why do you have that hoard?

Dick, shoving his collection of shiny objects, including but not limited to, pins, buttons, spoons, forks, medals and trophies, into a bag: What hoard?

Jason:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tim, traumatized after having seen Dick dance in front of Barbara at a ball: Why would you willingly do that? Was that a mating dance?

Dick: A what? I'm not a bird, Tim

Tim: ok

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian, looking disgruntled as Dick spoonfeeds him some porridge: Why must you insist on this, Richard? I am 10, not 4

Dick: But you work so hard for patrol and school everyday!

Documentary playing in the background: And the Mama Bird will feed it's chick until it is big enough to hunt on it own....

Damian: ...

Damian: Tt. Fine, you may.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Duke, on a rare night patrol, batting Batman!Dick away after the fifth time he tried to cover him with his cape: Dude quit it

Dick: But you're vulnerable at night because of your suit!

Duke, suddenly remembering how birds will try to cover their chicks with their wings to keep them safe: I owe tim so many churros

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And also, ofcourse, the many, many times Bruce has seen them all huddling together around Dick like they actually are robin chicks huddling around a robin mama

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Hey there! How about another post!

Wally, Roy, Kon, and Jon: I’m so hungry I could eat a six foot, depressed, orphaned billionaire with daddy issues.

Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian: I’m flattered babe, but please no cannibalism at the dinner table.

Feel free to reblog/like!

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Happy Father’s Day here’s a little thought for you guys

One year, the batkids all decided to band together and make a photo album of their baby photos.

Some are easy. Duke has the easiest access because most of his parent’s possessions are accounted for in Gotham. It’s pretty easy to make copies of the ones they choose. The Thomas’s had a lot of pictures too. They have the classic first birthday where Duke is covered head to toe in blue icing from his Cookie Monster cake. They also have Duke screaming in Mall Santa’s arms followed by a picture of him with red wet cheeks gnawing on a candy cane.

Same with Tim, tho there’s not a lot in comparison. Not that his parents were absent, just that there’s a lot less candid ones. Just birthdays and studio photos kinda deal. There’s an especially cute photo of him in a teeny tiny tux.

Talia has a whole binder full of Damian’s baby pics including some art works he did and his baby teeth. Those she’s not willing to part with tho. There’s a cute one where he’s doing a finger painting and Talia captioned it “Damian exploring Abstract Expressionism” and frames the outcome beside the picture.

Cassandra’s are a little harder to track down, but there are a few. They are mostly taken to track her progress, and it’s a bit depressing to see chubby baby Cass who just learned to walk already learning martial arts. But there’s a few where she’s doing puzzles and that’s pretty cute.

Dick had to go to Haly’s Circus to look. Luckily they keep a little memorial wall for the Graysons and there’s some with Dick in them. There’s one where his mother his holding him while he’s dangling from a trapeze bar with a big gummy smile.

Jason’s is the hardest to find. But he manages to track down a preschool photo. He’s smiling big and awkwardly with his hair slicked down and a tidy polo shirt.

When Bruce opens it, he immediately get tears in his eyes. And like, he doesn’t cry a lot, but seeing his babies as babies. It just hits him like monster truck and a few tears drop but he never sobs or anything. It’s probably the best Father’s Day gift Bruce has ever gotten and it’s really hard to beat the following years