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vee-crytraps · 19 days

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Kiss Me More {Themes/TW's Masterlist}

Pairings: Dick Grayson/Reader, Jason Todd/Reader, Tim Drake/Reader, Damian Wayne/Reader Trigger Warnings: 18+, light yandere, graphic descriptions of sex, Fan-non personalities, reverse harem, unhealthy relationships, unhealthy pining, teenage hormones, (legal) age differences, fem!reader, violence, drug use, polyandry. General Themes: Sex positivity, sexual curiosity, sexual promiscuity, sexy sex sex sex, struggling with growing up, struggling with Naughty Feelings, trying to become a person, general feeling of being misunderstood, possibility of light angst in future, family death (mentioned).

Reference:

Ages: Dick 29 | Jason 23 | Tim 20 | Damian 18 | Reader 18 DICK is the ‘no man will compare to your charming big brother’ type. He is your knight in shining armor, always eager to put you first. He believes no one will be able to take care of you the way that he can, but doesn't view other men as competition- preferring to show you that he’s better. He's your childhood friend, your 'boy-(in-the-room-) next-door'. Dick's love language is...kind of all of them? But he loves spending time with you, lounging about your room while you choose outfits and recount high school drama. JASON is one of your more estranged siblings. He gets off knowing that Bruce views you as an innocent, and that your involvement with him in particular is taboo in all sorts of ways. Part of him is getting over the fact that you really aren’t as delicate as you used to be, far from the annoying brat he believed too weak for their nightly family adventures. He wants to protect you but also feels like he’s missed too many formative years to really boss you around like an older brother. Whenever he tries, it always comes out a little awkward. He’s the care-free fun sibling, letting you get away with whatever you want while simultaneously encouraging it. He is a pleasure seeker and an enabler, but will also recite some poetry after he finishes boning you on his couch. TIM is like a best friend. This relationship is more casual than truly lusty or romantic, at least at the start. Even your intimacy is playful and spontaneous. There's no pressure to be anything but yourself, in and out of the bedroom. Tim mostly adores your curiosity, a trait which you both share. You often go down wikipedia rabbit holes together, or people watch at the park outside of WayneTech during his lunch breaks. You've also started a snapchat series of him falling asleep in strange places. DAMIAN is a total dominant personality, if somewhat socially awkward. In some ways, he believes you belong to him. He views you as a pet or a toy sometimes, wishing to take care of you in his own way. His role in your life is essentially a sexual and romantic version of how Bruce sees you. Damian dresses you, enjoys bathing you and would rather watch you get off than be able to get himself off. Like Bruce, it's as much of a control thing as it is a 'I don't know how to interact with people in a genuine way' thing. He doesn’t always know what to do with reciprocation as he’s never had it, but he doesn’t need it with you. Much like the relationship between a pet and it’s human, it’s one sided care. This is important because Damian cherishes pets over humans, so the fact that he cares for you like a dog means that you’re highly valued in his mind.

Lil Notes: Feel free to suggest/request little scenarios! If they don't inspire anything for Kiss Me More, they might make a nice little one shot! No guarantee that I can get around to them, but I will try my best! I'll be re-posting my work from Ao3 onto Tumblr slowly so I don't flood the tags.

#Kiss Me More #v.fic #v.masterlist

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vee-crytraps · 12 days

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Kiss Me More | Ch 5 | {Krimson}

Chapter Summary: 🔞 You and Tim have an impromptu sleepover.

{Trigger warning/Themes Masterlist}

Shame burned in Tim’s chest as his hand crept low, to the waistband of his sweatpants.

His own lips parted, a barely audible shudder passing through him as he wrapped his fingers around his cock. He was way beyond half mast, the thing twitching at the faintest graze of his own touch like some kind of fucking beast. He sure felt like one, as he began to stroke himself underneath the blanket. The one he was sharing with you.

You were fast asleep. Your brow was furrowed, and your lips were parted- glistening with the moisturizer you’d rubbed onto them after carefully removing your gala makeup. His sheets, slung low around your waist, did nothing to hide the rise and fall of your chest under the thin cotton of your nightgown. The little bow above the top button had come undone due to your earlier tossing, giving him the barest hint of your cleavage from here.

Somehow, that wasn’t the worst thing. At least, not as bad as the way your hand had found purchase right above his heart, the heat of your palm seeping through the fabric of his t-shirt. Every now and again, you hand would move or your fingers would twitch- drawing him further and further away from his approaching sleep. This late in the night, there was only one surefire way to end his body’s reaction to your very existence.

“…Fuck.”

He tried to think of anything else. Anyone else. Stephanie. Bernard. Kon-El, for fucks sake- but the near inaudible hum you let out in your sleep sent a jolt through him, a shock that course-corrected his desire straight back towards you.

It was ironic, really- only hours ago he’d been moments away from passing out into his tomato bisque, and now that he was in bed, sleep refused to come. And to be honest, it was all your fault.

He had grown so used to your usual gala wardrobe- the ankle length dresses, doll like lace and silky frills. Every year, Bruce’s refusal to let you express your developing personality (and body) had become more obvious. And therefore, more hilarious. Tim hadn’t left the house with the rest of you that night, having to get changed in the executive bathroom attached to his office at WayneTech in order to arrive with everyone else. He’d been looking forward to seeing you there, most likely trying to glare a hole into Bruce’s head in between the flashes of red carpet cameras, dressed like an American Girl Doll.

What he hadn’t been expecting was a dress that had fit you like a skin. The hem fluttering with every step around your designer shoes- with an actual fucking heel in lieu of the usual flats and frills that made you look like Gotham’s own Shirley Temple.

You were far from the young girl who had bugged him to help you decorate your science fair volcanos, and nothing had done more to announce that, than the mere sight of you in that gorgeous fucking dress. You looked so…grown. Elegant. He found himself thinking that he’d have killed to see the red of your lipstick staining a ring around his flushed cock, or the fluttering of your fake lashes as he would pound you over the marble counter in the powder room- your delightfully mature dress pushed up around your waist.

Lost in his fantasy, the movement of his hand sped up, making him groan as he imagined how your breath would hitch. Just for him.

“Tim?” You called, disoriented as you began to stir. You hadn’t even bothered to open your eyes yet, your brow still furrowed as you sleepily continued. “Are you beating off right now?”

Tim freezes, his hero instincts going right out the fucking window as fear grips his heart. He’s hard as steel and halfway there, and his brain is absolutely refusing to work as his cock twitches for the lost friction.

“..Yes.” He admits, because what was he going to do? Lie, with an 8 inch boner literally pitching a tent beneath the thin sheet you shared? You might be sleepy, but you weren’t stupid.

Still, he tries to tamp the orgasm roiling in his belly with thoughts of the violence he was planning to inflict on Jason for causing this little bunking situation in the first place.

Why his older brother decided to pass out face first into your bed was anyone’s guess, but the members of the house just credited his confusion to the drinking contest he’d gotten into with the mayor’s eldest son. All of the linens in the guest rooms had been taken away for their usual mass-laundering, and Bruce would rather burn the manor down than let you sleep on the couch, so now you were here. In bed with Tim.

“Sorry, I just…I can’t sleep, and I didn’t want to wake you by getting out of bed so-“ Tim started, the walls of reality creeping in.

Despite his apology, he was expecting you to freak out, cringe, or at the very least laugh. He was expecting anything but the way you blinked awake, sitting up to rest against the antique headboard while you waited for your vision to adjust to the dark. He looks up at you from where he still lays on his back. You lick your lips in thought, your voice coming out in a sleepy rasp.

“…Can I watch?”

The silence is deafening. Tim was sure it was, despite not being able to hear anything but the sound of every ounce of blood in his body rushing south. You don’t stutter, you don’t apologize or try to suggest that you hadn’t understood what you were asking for. You just…waited. You waited, and you looked at him with such patience.

Needless to say, it left him a little speechless.

Somehow, he managed to find his voice but could only rasp out your name. Tim moved the sheets down just enough to free his aching cock, giving you a full view. Shifting, he sat up beside you, the wooden headboard cool against his back even though his shirt. He turned his gaze away as he resumed fisting his flushed erection, unable to look at you. How could he? This was against everything he believed in, up to and including the concept of letting his dick do the thinking for him. And just as he was about to come up with a way to shut this situation down before it escalated, you leaned over and spat on the head of his cock.

“Jesus fuck!” Tim cursed, his back arching at the warmth and wetness that mixed with his pre. Despite his shock, he continued to pump himself, wetting his cock with your spit. The back of his head knocked lightly against the headboard, his chest rising and falling both from the pleasure of beating off and your vulgar participation.

His eyes screw shut, breath hitching as he feels your head on his tense shoulder.

“What’re you thinking about?” You mumble curiously, watching him as he worked. Your fingers played with the fabric of his t-shirt, your thighs pressed together as you felt yourself beginning to grow wet between them.

“Right now?” He starts breathlessly. “How completely unhinged you are.”

It makes you laugh, but he’s not saying no, and you’re not saying no, and none of you are doing anything to untangle yourselves from this situation.

“Before,” Tim mumbled, continuing. “How your tits looked in that dress.”

Much like your time with Dick, you hadn’t been expecting the kinds of words Tim adopted when his eyes were glazed over with an unfamiliar desire. His measured breathing and broken groans are all the motivation you need to shimmy the hem of your nightgown up, just to dip your fingers beneath the waistband of your underwear.

“Did you wear those to the gala?” Tim asks, his gaze dropping to where your fingers stroked your throbbing clit.

“No,” You breathed honestly, reaching down just a bit more to cover your fingers with your own wetness. “I wore a thong. Panty lines.”

“Shit,” he panted. The small amount of moonlight that dipped into the room reflected off of your hair, your shoulders- and somewhat onto the wetness on your fingers as you worked them in and out of your body. His hand slowed a little to match your tempo. He groans out your name, his gaze turning to your face. “Fuck, you’re so pretty,”

“Mm, Tim…” You whimper as you curl your fingers into yourself. They’re not nearly as skilled or long as Dick’s, but you know you can get off without prodding the exact same spots he’d been able to reach within you.

“You sound pretty too,” Tim huffed, trying to ignore the coiling in his abdomen. He was determined to make you come first, but he had started a bit before you. And with the intention of being purely mechanical. Now, it was far more than some quick stress relief. His shoulders tense further as he groans your name, just about to spill over the edge when you replace his hand with your own. He wants to admonish you for breaking your unspoken no-touching rule, but instead leans into the way you stroke him. Your hand is warm, fingers still covered in your own slick and spreading it onto him.

Leaning your head into his shoulder, you angle it so that you can still watch the work of your hand as he slings an arm around you. Burying his face against your hair, Tim inhales the scent of your shampoo, too close to his climax to worry about just how much he’d been wanting to do that.

Tim manages to choke out a desperate “Coming-“ muffled by your hair before he’s absolutely unloading all over your soft hand. Everything about you is soft- your palms, your skin, the slope of your shoulders and the fullness of your lips.

For several moments, after the high of the act begins to clear, you both begin to wonder what to do. You’re sitting there, his nose brushing your temple and your hand covered in his cum. You move first, releasing his softening dick just before he removes his arm from around you.

Tim reaches over to his nightstand, grabbing a tissue to clean off your fingers as if you were a cat with paint on your paws. Neither of you know how to put words to what had happened, your hearts still racing. He refuses to do nothing, knowing that the wrong thing to do would be to spurn you or ignore what had just happened. So he brushes your hair away from your face, and presses his lips to your forehead.

And the very second you lean into it, allowing yourself to melt in his arms, he does that stupid big brother thing- where he ruins the moment by toppling onto you with his dead weight.

“God, you’re such a freakkkkk.” You whine, playfully attempting to push him off as he begins to pepper your face in kisses. You squirm in his arms, but can’t beat back the grin that breaks out as he pulls you down into the bed.

“I know,” Tim snorts, keeping you trapped between him and the mattress. He rests his head against your clothed chest, the drooping of his eyelids heralding sleep. You were still worked up, and despite your newfound proclivities, you’re still polite. And you selflessly withhold a plea for release. Tim closes his eyes and you decide to give up entirely, hoping this is one of those times you’d be able to will away your arousal.

“Want me to eat you out?”

His voice cuts through the quiet of the room after he lets you suffer in silence for about ten minutes. His voice is clear as a bell, free from the grogginess of sleep. How on earth was it possible for him to find a way to be annoying about getting you off?

“Oh, thank fuck.” You sigh, your hand sliding into his hair to help guide him downwards.

#v.fic #kiss me more #tim drake x reader #tim drake x you #nsft

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