#Nightwing x reader

[kenyummy]

✰ 03. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 03. each coin can be flipped twice.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: you guys don't know true pain until you have to copy and paste each individual paragraph into a new draft because you forgot how tumblr drafts work </3

n e ways getting into the batfams characterisation yipiieeeee . i tried to incorporate overthinking into tims part realistically bc that's lowkey how i overthink things but hey. im open to respectful criticism. ive also been consuming a lot of batfam media and i tried to my take on their guilt and how it plays into the crazy thing hagaashhaha im going insane fml

prev. ✰ masterlist ✰ next.

You'd always been far too normal. That's what had driven you, all these years, to such a bitter nature. It wasn't like you'd done anything wrong—you'd done everything a regular person would do, and that was the problem.

This kind—your kind—of normality was impossible for a family like yours.

Impossible for them to understand. Relate to. See. Always falling behind, watching as their costumes and capes flutter in the wind, blowing their vision of you. Too wrapped up in the latest villain to spot the regularity in their life.

You'd wake up at 8am, eat a slice of toast with yoghurt and mixed berries—do pilates, and go on with your day.

(Your family would stay up till 8, fighting the crime that riddled the Gotham streets with an iron fist—sneaking out of the house to play dress up with a bunch of mentally insane criminals.)

You'd spend your nights at home, having done everything you'd needed to that day—lazing around with a comic book in hand.

(Your family were far too busy most nights at Arkham—preventing their hundredth breakout and the spread of fear toxin.)

You'd watch, pupils dilated as your siblings, your father came home bruised, beat, and bloodied (with whose blood—you could only guess).

You'd watch in agonising silence as they'd shoo you off after you'd peek from behind their doorframe—saying this kind of work wasn't suitable for eyes like yours.

Those same eyes dimmed that day—staring blankly into nothing as the sight of that sickening crimson red became more common to you, with each passing day.

Dripping down onto the ground—you'd never be able to get rid of that blood. No matter how hard you scrubbed the floorboards, there would always be that stain of red.

You'd grip the sheets—nails digging into mesh fabric—with a steel-knuckled hold. You'd draw what it would be like to be one of them. That same blood-red suit—yet with a different kind of venom to a bat.

Crawling up a water spout—you, the spider—were washed out by the bitterness enrapturing your heart that was once full and blooming like the most beautiful of gardens.

Venom drips from your fangs and yet left unbitten. Never poisoning anything but your own tongue.

To be overlooked and unseen with the most brilliant mind a god could conjure; the world, your family—may never love a spider, but you will find somebody, someday, who will.

Tim Drake was not used to that expression on your face.

... Actually—he wasn't really used to any expression on your face. For a moment, it felt more like a blur to him than anything. Memories of you—they were few and far between.

Except that look of pity you'd always seem to give them. The image appeared in his mind suddenly, for whatever odd reason. That sad, almost puppy-ish, expression that he'd never really given a second thought.

(Though—it made you appear more of a baby to him.)

Perhaps he'd just gotten used to it. After all this time, what could've possibly changed?

He was wrapped up with something strange given to him by Bruce when he'd seen you. A strange, web-like substance—he was just getting ready to study it when it dissolved like nothing were ever there.

Like silk, it was soft. Like glue, it was sticky. Like fibers, it was stringey. Yet—after just a few hours, it was as if it never existed. Like it were nothing but a bad dream.

Bruce and Damian talked about it like it were a spiderweb—fitting, considering the hero that wielded it, they described as looking more arachnid than human.

Regardless—his mind was already frazzled and buzzing with all kinds of thoughts. Spider. Spider Web? Spider.

Where is that fucking web?

The stress crawls under his skin like bugs and he itches. The red left over is so familiar to him—but perhaps never the same at all.

(That same red you'd seen with those big, glassy eyes—unlike that motionless gaze you'd give him sparingly. If he bled again, would you look at him kindly like that once more?)

Then, a shoulder crashes into his. Hard. Enough to almost knock the vial out of his hands. The frustration is just about to bubble over—the words crawling up his throat like bile and his chest tightens with that familiar burst of rage.

(Tim, crash-out, Drake—Steph called him once.)

But he stops.

It's only you.

Why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be at school? He hadn't been to school in a while—being a vigilante leaves a guy's schedule pretty packed—but he's sure...

"[name]? What are you doing here? Isn't it school hours...?" He asks, curiously.

You blink, face blank. He can't get a read on that face. He simply can't decipher it. It bothers him more than it probably should've. "I felt sick, so I decided to come home. Still a bit frazzled from... you know."

His heart beats faster. What? You went to school? You really went to school?

(Even if he realised it beforehand, it's like the shock runs through him again. What's wrong with him?)

You went to school even though you were shot a few days ago? Did that really happen? Did he... not realise? He's supposed to know this stuff, isn't he? Isn't he the smart one? Doesn't he keep tabs on everybody? Doesn't he look at you?

A cold chill fills his body, and he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. Before he can stop himself, the words spill.

"...Bruce is going to be worried. You know how he feels when you and Damian skip."

You glance to the side, considering something. He wants to know. Will you tell him? He feels like he knows nothing about you anymore. It's dehibilitating.

Since when have you brushed them off so easily? You were never like this before. You used to preen at a simple headpat (not from him—but you seemed to especially love your two oldest brothers) and practically glow when somebody talked with you.

"I think I'll live. Bye." You shrug.

His heart nearly beats out of his chest. What? Why are you acting like this? Don't you care?

Why are you acting like you hate it? You hate them? You don't care? What's wrong with you?

Did you get a concussion when you were shot? Did you hit your head and forget everything? Did you lose your mind after getting lead poisoning? Is this even you? What happened when you were shot?

Every possible question excluding—what has he done?

The bullet he saw in your shoulder flashes in his mind. When Jason practically kicked the door down, carrying your heavily breathing body bridal style and yelling for Bruce to get his ass over here.

Why were you out in the first place? Why weren't you at home? What happened to you? Why were you shot? What could you have done?

He had no time to think about it before. Not when he was so busy, and Riddler was causing up a stir.

Now, he is crumbling.

You're walking away, but his vision shakes. He feels like he's going to crumble. He hates it. This feeling. The feeling of knowing he simply just can't figure this out. He's mad. At you, or himself—he isn't quite sure. Perhaps a mix of both.

Why have you changed? Why did he not realise? Had you even changed? Did he ever know you?

He nearly crushes the vial in his grip. His hand reaches out, to grasp you. Your shoulder. The bullet lodged deep within you. Maybe if he got rid of it, you'd go back. To normal. You'd be your normal self again.

He feels it so deeply.

That crippling, nihilating urge to—

He stops. Watching you walk away. Fast. So fast. He can't catch up. No amount of training could've allowed him to walk alongside his little sibling.

Perhaps he found himself caught in that spider's silky trap—bound and unmoving as he just couldn't seem to tear his eyes away.

The empty vial doesn't concern him much anymore. He stares at it with eyes as hollow as the glass is.

Tim wonders when everything changed.

Dick Grayson watched your convulsing body with shaking eyes. A bullet lodged in your shoulder and crimson dripping onto the ground in a sickening rhythm. He couldn't reach out. He couldn't have touched your face. Not when Jason held you like that. Like a guard dog. His bloody helmet slamming to the ground just for Dick to see the absolute fury on his little brother's face.

Pupils blown—Dick knows what's going on. Better than any of the rest of them, he'd even go as far as to say. He's manic. Absolutely manic. Shouting and yelling for anyone—asking what Bruce was doing, letting you out alone this late. What he was fucking expecting.

Nobody speaks. Nobody can. What could they possibly say? That they didn't notice? That nobody did?

Jason might have taken them all on in your honour if he had truly said those words out loud. He always would've, even if he never stayed for long.

Dick almost wants to sock Jason in the face for keeping you away, so close to his own heart.

(He would've done the same, if only he had you. If only you would let him.)

The only thing he can see in his brothers' arms is that child who used to hide in the most obvious of spots. Crouching behind that large TV with the tips of their hair peeking out. Who used to laugh so gleefully when everyone pretended they couldn't find them.

He sees you, and nearly falls over.

Dick Grayson isn't a stranger to blood. Blood had followed his footsteps wherever he goes. He is made of the blood of everyone he lost and fears to lose.

He didn't think you'd fit into the former so quickly.

(You never thought you were either—did you?)

He can't do anything when he sees Jason carry you out. Slipping into a car with Bruce and Alfred and driving off, far past the speed limit.

He is powerless to move. He is useless. As he was when he watched his parents fall. When he was held back by Bruce when he found that vile man.

He hadn't felt like this for a long, long time.

He was the perfect one. He was the best of them. The first. Everything Batman was supposed to be. Nightwing. Robin. Doing everything he could to be what Bruce wanted.

He was the perfect one.

What use was that when your blood stains the hardwood floors?

What use was him not remembering what you looked like until this moment? The only time he'd ever seen you was when a bullet was lodged in your shoulder, and your body was practically convulsing.

... This should never have happened.

You were always the normal one. The most regular. Never tainted by the horrors of Gotham. Bright. Kind. Your eyes were always so kind. Pitiful. You'd always pity them. Wanting to help, but how could he possibly let you?

How could he possibly let you see the shattered expression on his face each time he'd seen you hurting? (Even if it was you hurting for them.)

You never should've...

He stops his own train of thought.

Why were you out, anyway? Hadn't you known how awfully terrible Gotham is at night?

Hadn't he... warned you...?

Dick walks off, eyes following his retreating figure—he can't find it within himself to care. He storms upstairs—almost frantically.

Everything is so quiet. Nobody here. Nobody waiting here like there usually is.

Where you usually are. The end of the hallway. It's brighter over here. The windows more open. The floorboards more bleached by the sun than back where his childhood room used to be.

He almost kicks the door open when his sweaty hands can't get a good grip on the doorknob.

(He can't. He can't destroy the barrier between you both, no matter how hard he tries.)

It slips open, eventually. Dick takes in the sight, silently, eyes darting around.

There's dust littering the air, highlighted by glittering light. The glow of the sun pours into your room like molten honey. Shining down onto your carpet.

There is nothing else.

Your room is so empty. If he didn't know better, he'd thought this were a guest room. Scuffed—but suitable for a short visit nonetheless.

How long have you stayed here?

Dick tries to ignore the bleakness that fills his head when he tries to answer his own question.

He can't bring himself to step inside. Not without you there. He stands in the doorway, as lost as he felt when he world came crashing down with that tightrope.

He feels like a little kid all over again. As helpless as a little kid is in this world.

As helpless as you were.

As helpless as you are.

Your face looked like a blur for all these years. Lingering in the background, but never for long. His nails dig into the calloused flesh of his palm. Hardened from years of fighting, protecting all he cared about. All those he failed to protect before.

He didn't do anything, did he? Not for so long. For as long as Jason died, was it?

... How long was that?

He wasn't sure when you slipped from his mind. So caught up with those beside him—he hadn't seen you slip behind, silently.

That little kid, staring up with tearful eyes. Asking where Jason was. Asking when they could all play together again.

Behind the capes, the masks—behind him, there was you.

Dick would've fallen over if he hadn't caught himself on the doorframe.

How could he have possibly, ever let you out of his sight? How can he stand to look at you when he let this happen? The most regular thing in his life. Something he had never given a second glance.

His chest hurts with a white-hot pain that stings his entire nervous system.

The best of them all—it was never him. It was always you, wasn't it?

The one keeping him grounded was you—he feels like his heart can't beat properly. Clutching it hard, nothing works. The ache stings, but nothing feels worse than his mind spiralling with thoughts of you laying in a hospital gown with red seeping out your side.

He will never, ever let something like this happen to you again.

Dick will let you know you'll never need to worry about anything again as long as your favourite big brother is here.

taglist: @hello-bina @cosmosluckycharms @1abi @yhin-gg @insideoutjulie @bluepanda08 @omnivirgo @vanessa-boo @dind1n @welpthisisboring @lunaetiicsaystuff @marsmabe @atanukileaf @findingjaxx @4mrplumi @bunniotomia @lostsomewhereinthegarden @bat1212 @gaychaosgremlin @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @randomlyappearingartist @cxcilla @spidermanluvr444 @cruzerforce4256 @mybones537 @xjesterxjacksx @nirvanaxx1942 @djpuppy-kittens @br33zy-blizzardz @moon0goddess @0sunnyside01 @mei-simp @redsakura101 @the-dumber-scaramouche @wizzerreblogs @lovemiss-vale @deathbynarcisstick @allycat4458 @wonmyheart @luckyangelballoon @one-piecelover @hartwyrm @horror-lover-69 @maria-trisha @4rachn3 @galaxypurplerose @duskeras @coffeeaddictxd @lithiumval @kaz-playz

if you asked to be on the taglist but aren't there, make sure your account is able to be tagged and ask me again!!!

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤBLOODY LEGSㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Yandere Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : Would they ever force themselves on (r*pe) their darling?

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne.

☆⁠ WARNING : Pretty much obvious. No smut. This discussion involves non-consensual acts, coercion, and obsessive behavior. If you’re sensitive to such content, I’d advise against reading further.

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

Would he? No.

Bruce is the last person who would ever force himself on you. Despite his obsession, his rigid sense of morality, guilt, and deep-seated trauma make it impossible for him to cross that line. Bruce operates on control—self-control above all else. No matter how much he craves you, he will never take you by force.

However, Bruce’s obsession manifests differently—through extreme control. You aren’t allowed to leave, to date, to breathe without his permission. He isolates you, makes you dependent on him, ensures you feel like he’s your only option. He’ll gaslight you, manipulate you into staying, but physically taking you against your will? That’s a line he will not cross. He’d rather break himself than break you.

But if you try to escape? The punishment will be brutal. Not sexually, but physically restrained, locked away, stripped of any autonomy. He’ll remind you that you are his, that he is the only one who can protect you, and he’ll do anything to keep you in his grasp.

“I will never hurt you like that, but you’re not leaving me. Ever.”

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

Would he? No. But... it’s complicated.

Dick is a walking paradox of affection and control. He loves you—adores you—but his love is overwhelming, suffocating, all-consuming. He needs you to love him back, to crave him as much as he craves you. He won’t rape you outright, but his obsession manifests in ways that blur the line between coercion and consent.

Dick wants you to want him. He’ll manipulate, guilt-trip, and play the victim to make you feel like you’re the bad guy for denying him. He showers you with affection, attention, and when you pull away, he punishes you emotionally—not through force, but through withdrawal. Cold stares, quiet disappointment, an unbearable sadness in his voice that makes you feel like you’re the one hurting him.

However, if you push him too far—if you reject him outright, try to leave, break his heart—he might snap. In a moment of desperation, he’ll hold you down, kiss you too hard, grip your wrists with bruising force—never quite crossing the line, but so close it makes your skin crawl.

“Don’t do this to us, baby. You love me—I know you do.”

— JASON TODD ⋆

Would he? Yes, if pushed too far.

Jason is a storm of rage, love, and possessiveness, and once he has you, he’s never letting go. He tries to be good for you—tries so damn hard—but Jason is violent by nature. If you love him back? He worships you, would burn the world for you. But if you fight him? Try to run? Betray him?

That’s when he loses control.

Jason sees you as his, and if you deny him, if you reject his love after everything he’s done for you—he might snap in the worst way possible. It won’t be romantic, it won’t be tender—it’ll be about power, dominance, punishment. And worst of all? He’ll regret it after. He’ll break down, apologize, sob into your skin—but he’ll do it again, and again, because he can’t stop himself.

Jason would justify it in his mind—tell himself you belong to him, that he’s teaching you a lesson. And after? He’d be even more obsessive, treating you like a fragile doll, convinced you’ll leave if he doesn’t own every part of you.

“You think you can just leave me? After everything? No, princess. You don’t get to choose. You’re mine.”

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

Would he? Yes. Without hesitation because he believes it's his right.

Damian is the coldest, most possessive, and least remorseful of them all. Unlike Jason, who spirals in guilt, Damian doesn’t feel guilty—because in his mind, you already belong to him. There’s no moral dilemma, no hesitation. If you resist him, you’re wrong. If you say no, you don’t know what’s good for you.

Damian was raised by the League of Assassins, by Talia, by Bruce. He was never taught the concept of “no.” If he wants something, he takes it. If he wants you, he takes you. In his mind, it isn’t rape—it’s claiming what’s already his. You’re his wife, his queen, his possession.

Unlike Jason, who acts in rage, Damian is calculated, methodical, deliberate. He’ll drug you if he has to, bind you in silk restraints, keep you locked away in luxury until you accept your fate. You will love him, because you have no other option.

“You misunderstand, beloved. You were mine from the moment I saw you. Struggling is beneath you.”

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[yueebby]

meet cute — dick grayson

synopsis. dick finally meets his match.

contents. fluff, meet cute, banter!!, dick found someone that matched his freak, matchmaker haley, established relationship

notes. quick drabble. there’s nothing i love more than writing banter for dick

The first thing Dick registers is the smell of coffee, its scent curling through the morning air. The second thing is the warmth pressed against his side, a familiar weight shifting slightly as the bed dips.

"You make the coffee, or am I dreaming?" he mumbles, cracking an eye open.

"Dreaming," you tease, brushing your fingers through his hair. "But I got up first, so I figured I'd be nice."

Dick hums, pulling you back down beside him. "Mm. Marry me."

"Already did, remember?"

"Best decision of my life." He presses a lazy kiss to your temple. Dick softly grips your chin before slotting his mouth against yours. Outside the bedroom, Haley lets out an impatient whine, toenails clicking against the hardwood.

A smile curves against your lips as Dick deepens the kiss, his free hand trailing down your back, holding you close like he never wants to let go. His grip is firm, his warmth intoxicating and you already know exactly where this morning is heading.

But the insistent scratching and pitiful whines from outside the door refuse to be ignored.

You pull away just as Dick leans in, earning yourself a dramatic whine of protest. His lips chase yours, his grip tightening. "Babe," he murmurs, a little breathless, "she can wait."

"She’s been waiting," you counter, amused. "And she’s missed you."

"Well, I missed you," he huffs, leaning in again, only for you to dodge him, fixing him with a knowing look.

He sighs, defeated. "Alright, alright. Duty calls."

Grumbling, he rolls out of bed, and you laugh, tossing a pillow at his back as he trudges to the door.

“Be nice,” you tease as he lets Haley in.

The second the door cracks open, she barrels into him, tail wagging so hard she practically vibrates. Dick catches her effortlessly, laughing as she smothers him in licks, all lingering traces of sleep and reluctance melting away.

“She’s our little matchmaker, after all,” you remind him, watching the way his face softens.

Dick looks up at you, a smile tugging at his lips between Haley’s eager kisses. His laugh fills the room, warm and familiar. Your favorite sound.

"How could I ever forget?"

Dick hadn’t expected anything unusual that day. It had been a normal walk. Until it wasn’t.

Haley was a good dog. A well-trained, even-tempered pitbull who never pulled on the leash, never bolted, never strayed. So when she suddenly yanked forward with enough force to nearly dislocate Dick’s shoulder, he barely had time to react before she took off.

"What the–" He staggered after her, half-jogging, half-stumbling as she dragged him down the street. "Haley, slow down! What has gotten into you?"

She wasn’t listening. Her ears were perked, tail wagging like she’d just spotted the world's biggest stash of treats. Dick barely had a second to brace himself before she barreled straight into a woman standing at the corner, nearly knocking her over.

"I'm so sorry–Haley!" Dick gasped, yanking the leash back.

The woman let out a startled laugh, catching herself just in time. "Wow, okay. Not how I expected to start my morning."

Dick winced. "Yeah, sorry about that. She doesn’t usually– uh– body-check people. Are you okay?"

"I think so. Can’t say the same for my dignity, though."

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, if it helps, she only does this to people she likes. Which is a very exclusive club, by the way."

"Oh? So I should be honored?" you asked, arching a brow.

"Very." He smirked. "You’re in the same category as rotisserie chicken and that one mailman she has a crush on."

You snorted. "High praise. I’ll try to live up to it."

The two of you linger on the sidewalk, grinning at each other like idiots. The moment stretches just long enough for him to realize he had forgotten to introduce himself.

“Oh– uh, I’m Richard. But everyone calls me Dick.”

Your lips twitch as you nod slowly. “Nice to meet you, Dick.”

The way you say it is so smooth, effortless. It shouldn’t make his brain short-circuit, but damn if it doesn’t send a spark straight through him. He swears he can feel it in his fingertips.

Great. He’s a fully grown man, and somehow, you’ve got him feeling like a teenager with a crush.

Haley’s tail was going so fast her entire body wiggled with it, pure joy wrapped in fur. You crouched down, scratching behind her ears. “Well, aren’t you gorgeous?”

Dick cleared his throat, barely audible. “Yeah, you are.”

Your head snapped up. “What was that?”

“Must’ve been the wind.”

“Oh,” you mused, turning back to Haley. “Your dad’s got a pretty face, but I think he might be a little unhinged.” You don’t bother being discreet.

The pitbull tilted her head, eyes flicking between the two of you like she was weighing the evidence.

Dick huffed a laugh. “She’s deciding whether to defend my honor or side with you.”

“Smart girl, taking her time with the verdict.” You grinned, giving Haley an approving pat. “But seriously, I’ve never seen a dog so determined to tackle a stranger. Did you train her to be your wingman, or is she just naturally talented?"

Dick placed a hand over his heart. "I would never exploit my dog for romance."

"Uh-huh. So this is just a coincidence?"

"Purely."

"Right." You smirked. "And I’m supposed to believe this isn’t a well-rehearsed scheme?"

Dick grinned. "If it were, I’d like to think I’d have prepared better material. I’m usually much smoother."

"You’re really not."

"That’s the tragic part."

You laughed, standing up and dusting off your pants. "Well, Dick, I think your dog just got you a date."

He blinked. "Was that a yes? Or did Haley just finesse me into this?"

"Guess you’ll have to keep up and find out."

Dick opened his mouth, then paused, brow furrowing. "Wait, did I even get your name?"

You grinned. "Did I give it?"

"No, but I feel like I should have it before I let you con me into a date."

You tilted her head, considering. "I suppose that’s fair. But where’s the fun in just handing it over?"

Dick huffed a laugh. "So what, I have to earn it?"

"You’re catching on."

Haley barked once, tail thumping against the pavement like she was enjoying this far too much.

"Alright." Dick crouched, giving his dog a scratch behind the ears. "Haley, girl, looks like we’ve got a mystery to solve."

You laughed, shaking your head as you turned to walk away. "Try to keep up, Dick."

In that moment, he knew he was in trouble.

Dick didn’t have to be told twice.

comments n reblogs are appreciated!

[kenwio]

Joker's kid! reader : observations from the sidelines

Route: black fog

Warnings: grammar mistakes, bad writing, angst

Author's note: it was written in hectic conditions. Maybe in the future, I will rewrite it, but I struggle with finding time for anything aside from my studies right now. I'm sorry

Your days in manor went by slowly. All this time, you stayed away from the family of bats. Every time you tried to end up becoming another painful memory, and since it felt like you were the one messing things up, it was your responsibility to prevent things from becoming ugly.

The time of this intentional or not exclusion from made you give up all hope to try become part of them, the part of family. And as much as it was painful, you got used to it. It wasn't something you weren't used to. You had to deal with lots of pain before, maybe a different kind of pain, but still pain.

And you made peace with it. Well, that's what you were saying, trying to convince yourself that it's for the best, and yet the earning for belonging left deep ache in your heart, that sometimes was unbearable to handle. No matter how irrationally it was to expect something more from them, after they gave you a roof over your head, your room, safety and food, you still wanted the warmth that family share, that they all share. Why taking you in at all if they just placed you on a sideline? That question bothered you more than anything else. You couldn't understand that logic, the way they think, the way they act... function even. That's when you felt it, the curiosity, the willingness to learn. And if they placed you to the sideline, why not use it to your advantage. After all, the position you were in allowed you to observe. It would be a perfect position to study them, to find what made them tick, to see what they hold dear, to notice what they avoid. It could be your own since project, the study of almost dysfunctional family. In the meantime, you will also tend to a few of your own things...

One day, you just asked Alfred for a notebook and pen. It surprised me, but he brought them to you. You saw how sometimes while experimenting on you or with his venom your father took notes on various ripped pieces of paper, so you though note taking was essential for experimenting and observations, but since you had resources to use nit ripped papers but something nicer why not use it.

The first obstacle on your way was the fact that I struggled to write, which was essential for your note-taking. Well, you struggled to read, too. But you but knew words, quite a few actually, and you knew basics of writing and reading, you just wasn't trained enough. You decided to train yourself before you start observing everyone and keep an eye on Alfred in a mean time. He may be wary of you, and that's why he won't get close to you, but he helped you either way. He even showed you how to properly hold the pen. On one occasion, he saw you writing. You learned that Alfred was compassionate. He showed care even to you. You saw that even if he was in some sort like you, the character that stayed in the background, you noticed his role was much bigger than that. He had a really big role in this family. He was the one who did most care of the family. He kept track of everyone, their moods, their conditions. And, maybe because of this, he had so many skills that you couldn't keep track of them. He knew tastes and preferences of each and everyone, and it takes either professional or a really caring person for it. And you knew he was both. If only this care is applied to you.... on this, you ended your first observation notebook.

If Alfred was an emotional anchor that was essential for this family to function, Bruce was the sole reason why this family existed at all. But out of all of them, he was the most hard one to observe. He didn't give you time of his day at all. And it confused you. But given the history of taking unfortunate children in, you understood that maybe he took you in for this exact reason - you were unfortunate. And you knew another thing, your father was the bane of the Gotham existence. Given that Bruce was Batman, you figured that he took you in only to prevent you from going to darker path. He didn't need more villainas. He had too many to pay attention already. You don't know why, but taking notes about him was harder than anything.

Soon, your notebooks started filling up with your other notebooks. In each and everyone you wrote about their moral code, their desire for justice and their obsession. The obsession with crime fighting was in blood not only of Bruce but also each and every child of his.

Tim spends nights without sleep, solving cases nights on end. You noted in gray notebook.

Richard, soon you found out, was not only vigilante but a police officer in his city. You wrote in blue journal.

Jason was fighting everything that was wrong in his view. You noted in red notebook.

And Damian just fights everything, showing his despise for criminals. You mentioned in green one.

Ans as much as you hoped that you will only see that cold side of them, so that you could just move on. As much as you tried to concentrate on their crime fighting, while observing them, you knew it wasn't right. You saw other things.

"Alfred loved his family" - you wrote in a white notebook. It was the title for paragraph about things you noticed. Like little moments when he was alone in kitchen baking cookies that all family loved. The sound of light humming made the kitchen more welcoming

"Bruce kept his eye on his kids" - you observed. You noticed him taking some sort of note when he saw one morning that Damian didn't particularly enjoy his meal. You and him both took notes about family members... you wondered if he had notes about you.

"Dick was the one who was raising spirits up" - you concluded one day, when he came over, when Tim needed emotional support. You even caught him looking at you once, as if he was trying to gather strengths to talk to you

"Jason loves library" - you wrote in "Jason Tod likes". You were surprised to see how calm Jason can be when he was paying attention to his book and not something that aggravated him. This sight of him made you want to want to train read more

" TIm is helpful" - you scribbled in "Tim : personality". You also saw how Tim was quick to help others. Even if he went a few nights without a second of shut eye, he was willing to help others.

"Damian loves pets" - you noted one day when you saw Damian taking care of his pets, his dear Titus and Alfred the cat. You were so surprised to see him smiling

But these good sides of them, for you this side, were unreachable. You knew from previous experience that no matter how hard you tried, for you, it won't work. The pages of your plans on how to get along with them half written and covered in tear stains.

Their obsession with the criminal world made it impossible for you to be seen as an innocent human being.

But you also weren't as dangerous as a threat to be considered seriously.

After some time of thinking, you found a solution for your lonely situation... you began a new notebook.

-------------------- ♤ ♡ ◇ ◇ ♧ ---------------------

Thank you for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think about my work! Hope you have a good day

-------------------- ♤ ♡ ◇ ◇ ♧ ---------------------

♡ Tag list ♡

if i forgot someone or anyone want to be added please let me know

@dearlawdimasimp , @shirp-collector-of-fixations , @socially-embarrassing , @leovergurl , @deathbynarcisstick , @cryptic-arr0w , @lynns-cornerr , @cxcilla ,  @charlotteking23 , @ninihrtss , @lillycore , @pix-stuff , @tfamidoingwithmylife , @linoalwaysknows , @00hellohello00 , @lilithskywalker , @bagofrice , @lenaisaloser , @devilslittlehelper , @camilo-uwu , @l3v1us , @eyeless-kun , @stargazingbutgayer, @wpdarlingpan , @weirdothatreads , @maybea1 @mel-viper-wayne @amber-content @lizzyzzn @animadi888  @coldnightshark @anamiranda7383

[killerplink]

INFECTED

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader x Jason Todd

Plot: What was supposed to be a simple mission to stop Ivy takes an unexpected turn when her latest scheme leaves you, Jason, and Dick trapped, and at the mercy of some very potent pollen. With your minds hazy and bodies burning, boundaries blur, and well... things escalate fast.

CW: sex pollen, mutual pining, explicit sexual content, threesome, oral sex, overstimulation, unprotected sex, praise, cum swallowing, double penetration, creampie, slight pain/pleasure mix, lots of cum, soft aftercare, and overall just filthy degeneracy.

A/N: I don't know if this is what y'all had in mind with this sex pollen fic, but as you might've noticed, I'm a yapper. I don't do 'let's fuck and leave' type of shit. No, we're diving deep into the filth and the feelings. So yeah... this turned out way longer than expected, but your girl loves details 😭

The warehouse stinks of damp wood and fertilizer, the air thick with the scent of Ivy's latest eco-terrorist bullshit. You, Jason, and Dick move quickly through the dimly lit space, scanning for the so-called "pollen bombs" that intel suggested she was planting all over Gotham.

"God, it reeks in here," Jason grumbles, wrinkling his nose behind his helmet. "What the hell is she even tryin' to do? Make the city smell like a goddamn greenhouse?"

"Could be worse," Dick muses, flipping acrobatically over a crate before kneeling beside a sleek metal canister. "Could smell like Killer Croc's lair."

Jason makes a gagging noise, and you fight back a laugh as you crouch beside them, eyeing the canister. It looks pretty standard—small, about the size of a fire extinguisher, a simple pressurized trigger system on top.

"Think this is one of them?" you ask.

"Either that or the world's most industrial lookin' Febreze bottle," Jason mutters.

Dick scoffs, running his gloved fingers along the side of the canister. "Ivy's getting sloppy. This is—"

PFFT.

The release is instant. The three of you barely have time to react before a thick, pale green vapor hisses from the canister, spreading out around you in a slow, curling cloud.

"Shit," Jason curses, jerking back, but it's already too late.

Instinctively, he pulls you with him, yanking you closer to his chest as if that could shield you from whatever the hell is happening. His arm wraps tight around you, his body stiffening as the vapor swirls around all three of you.

The gas spreads, clinging to your clothes, sneaking past your masks. You inhale before you can stop yourself, and—

"Wait," you murmur. "Why does it... smell good?"

Jason and Dick freeze, both of them taking tentative sniffs. The air is thick with something warm and sweet—notes of honey and spice, deep and rich like fresh blooms in the summer sun. It's nice. So nice, in fact, that for a second, the three of you just... stare at each other, confused.

Jason exhales sharply, waving a hand in front of his face. "Okay. What the fuck?"

Dick coughs, looking around at the dissipating mist. "Maybe it's, uh... a trap? Some kind of knockout gas?"

"We'd be on the floor by now, Grayson," you point out.

There's a beat of silence. The three of you just stand there, letting the last wisps of the pollen drift away, waiting for some kind of reaction—dizziness, nausea, anything.

But nothing happens.

Jason huffs. "So lemme get this straight. Ivy had all these bombs set up, and instead of droppin' us where we stand, it just..." he gestures vaguely, "Makes Gotham smell better?"

The absurdity of it hits you all at once. A soft giggle bubbles up in your throat, and then another, until you're actually laughing, shaking your head.

"Damn," you say, breathless. "Deadliest eco-terrorist in Gotham, and she really just gave us a perfume sample."

Jason snorts. "The horror."

Dick rolls his eyes, standing up and dusting himself off. "Okay, well, if this was supposed to be some big master plan, I think we can call it a bust. Let's get back to the cave and let Bats know."

Jason claps a hand on your back, steering you toward the exit. "Yeah, yeah, before Ivy shows up and actually does somethin' dangerous."

None of you notice it yet. The subtle heat creeping into your limbs, the faint buzz just beneath your skin. By the time you're in the Batmobile, it's in you.

The car hums beneath you, the quiet rumble of the engine filling the space as Gotham blurs past the tinted windows. Jason's driving, one hand gripping the gear shift, the other draped lazily over the wheel. Dick's in the passenger seat, his mask still on, head tilted slightly like he's lost in thought.

And you? You're burning up, but not in a sick way. Not in an oh God, something's wrong way. It's just... heat. Low and thick, curling beneath your skin, settling deep between your thighs in a way that has you shifting uncomfortably in your seat. You tug at your collar, brows furrowing, but it doesn't help. Nothing does.

It's all there, wrong but right at the same time, pooling in the pit of your stomach, thrumming between your legs. Your thighs press together, the friction sending a sharp little spark up your spine.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stare out the window, pretending like you're not embarrassingly close to squirming in the backseat of the goddamn Batmobile like some desperate, needy mess.

Maybe it's just—God, maybe it's just them. Jason and Dick, sitting up front, broad shoulders filling out their suits, muscles flexing with every shift of the steering wheel, every casual movement.

That's it, you tell yourself. That has to be it.

This is just because you've been down bad lately, right? Because let's be honest, you've spent way too many nights with your hand or your toys between your thighs, gasping their names into your pillow. It's ridiculous how often it happens, how they've completely hijacked your brain.

Jason, with his sharp mouth, broad chest, big hands. That stupid smirk that makes your stomach flip. His voice, rough and lazy when he calls you "doll" like it's the easiest thing in the world.

And then there's Dick. All smooth charm and soft lips, stupidly pretty even when he's bleeding, the kind of guy who can talk anyone into anything. That boyish grin, those ridiculous acrobat's hips. The way he looks at you sometimes, all teasing and playful but just sharp enough to make you wonder.

Truth be told, you're painfully under-fucked. Gotham's dating scene is trash, and while you could technically take the edge off yourself, your current stash of sex toys is... underperforming. No matter what setting, what angle, it's just not enough. Not enough pressure, not enough stretch, not enough them.

Because the worst part? The part that keeps you up at night, panting into your pillow, legs shaking from overstimulation?

You don't think about some faceless, nameless fantasy. You think about them.

Jason, his big hands pinning your wrists down, his voice rough against your ear as he stretches you open. Dick, slick with sweat, his mouth everywhere, moaning into your skin as he fucks you deep.

Sometimes—fuck—sometimes, it's both. One of them eating you out while the other fucks your mouth, one stuffing you full while the other whispers the filthiest things in your ear.

Your fingers have been the next best thing, but they always leave you wanting. And now, sitting here, feeling hotter by the second, it's all rushing back—every desperate, aching thought.

No. You shake your head, pressing a hand to your cheek. Get a grip. You are not about to get horny in the goddamn Batmobile. Except... you already are. And you're not the only one.

Up front, Dick shifts in his seat, biting the inside of his cheek, his fingers curled into fists on his thighs. His suit is... well, not built for this. The material is thick, durable, but not forgiving. His cock is already half hard, twitching every time the car hits a bump in the road, the sensation sparking something hot and needy down his spine.

His jaw tightens. His thoughts have already turned against him, flashing back to every moment he's ever had to force himself not to look at you, not to stare too long at the way your suit hugs your curves, not to think about how sweet you probably sound when you moan.

But now? Now it's like those thoughts are pumping through his veins. He shifts again, pulling his hand over his lap, casually resting his elbow on the car door, tilting his head like he's just relaxing. But his fingers curl into his thigh, his cock throbbing against the fabric, and shit, he can't stop thinking about you.

He clenches his jaw. This is fine. He can just breathe through it, ignore it. Right?

Because it doesn't make sense. One second, he's fine, the next, his skin is tight, his pulse is loud, his body thrumming like it's been wired wrong. His mind flashes back to the warehouse, to the smoke. Shit. Okay. Okay, this is fine. Except it's not fine because he chances a glance in the rearview mirror.

And that is a mistake. Because there you are, brows furrowed, teeth sinking into your lip, looking so warm and soft and pretty.

He forces his gaze forward, but his dick throbs insistently against the fabric of his suit, demanding attention, aching in a way that has him pressing his thighs together and shifting in his seat, trying to be subtle about it.

But Jason notices, because of course he does. His grip tightens on the steering wheel, fingers flexing as he watches Dick shift uncomfortably in his seat. The way his chest rises and falls a little too fast. The way he adjusts himself as subtly as he can.

Jason grits his teeth. Goddammit. This is already bad enough. He's used to getting hard, and that's not really news, considering he's around you.

It's embarrassing at this point. He's used to this constant, low-level problem whenever you're near. The way his body responds to you like some fucking reflex. A glance, a laugh, a casual touch, and suddenly, he's half-hard in his jeans like a goddamn teenager.

But this? This is different. This is fucking brutal. The heat is unbearable, his whole body buzzing with tension, his dick pressing uncomfortably against his pants. And fine, maybe he shouldn't be thinking about you right now, but his brain isn't listening.

It's giving him vivid fucking images—your lips wrapped around his cock, your pussy stretched around his fingers, the little gasps you'd make if he spread you open, if he fucked you just right. He exhales through his nose, gripping the steering wheel tighter, focusing on the road. Not now. Not fucking now.

And then there's Dick. Sitting there. Shifting around. Acting all innocent, but Jason knows. He sees the way Dick's jaw is clenched, the way he's hiding behind his fucking hands, the way his shoulders keep tensing like he's fighting something off.

And that's a whole other problem. Because Jason does not get hard around Dick. But now? Now, his cock is aching, pressing insistently against the inside of his jeans, and it's fucking weird because Dick is right there.

No way in hell he's acknowledging this. He focuses on the road, breathing in through his nose, willing the heat to settle, willing the blood to go anywhere but his dick. It doesn't work. His suit is hot, the collar too tight, his whole body buzzing with restless, frustrated energy.

His fingers flex against the wheel. "Goddamn it," he mutters under his breath.

Neither of you hear him, and that is concerning. And then, Jason chances a glance in the rearview mirror, and you're squirming.

Not a lot, but enough. Shifting in your seat, pressing your thighs together, lips parted ever so slightly, brows still drawn like you don't even realize you're doing it. He forces his eyes forward, gripping the wheel tight enough to hurt.

Oh, this is so fucked. And he knows—knows—it's about to get worse.

The second the Batmobile rolls into the cave, you're out.

"Okay—" you blurt, voice higher than usual. "I think I'm gonna take a shower."

You don't even wait for their answers before you're practically sprinting toward the locker room.

Jason clears his throat. "I think there was somethin' in that fuckin' smoke bomb."

"Yep," Dick says, shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking like he wants to say more but physically cannot.

Jason glances away, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Y'know what, maybe she's right. A shower wouldn't hurt. Maybe wash these clothes, too, given whatever the fuck was in that shit is on us."

"Yep," Dick repeats, and then, without another word, both of them hurry toward the showers.

The locker room is sleek—clean lines, dark tiles, recessed lighting that casts a soft glow instead of that harsh, clinical brightness most locker rooms have. It's modern but comfortable, not cold or uninviting, just functional.

The walls are lined with neatly organized gear, each section personalized to its owner, creating a sense of quiet efficiency. Even the air has a faint hint of something metallic, like fresh tech waiting to be put to use. It's a space that serves its purpose, but it also feels like it's built for those who belong, making it almost... homey in its own way.

The showers are set up in a row, each with tinted glass dividers that fog up easily with the heat—not fully clear, but not enough to hide everything, either. No doors, no curtains, just a spacious, open layout that suddenly feels like the worst possible decision Bruce could've made.

Not that you're thinking about that. Nope. You're focused on the water cascading over your skin, the steam curling around you, the way your body still burns in a way that has nothing to do with the hot spray.

And okay, fine. You might be a little slow on the uptake, but even you have to admit now that this? This is not normal. You've never felt this desperate before. Not even after a dry spell, not even after the nights you spent aching between your sheets, body wired with need that just wouldn't settle. This is different. Worse.

You exhale sharply, pressing your palms against the cool tile as the water rushes down your back. Okay. Deep breaths. Just... get through this. It'll wear off.

Because your brain? Yeah, it's not helping.

But then you fucking hear it. Jason's low muttering as he steps under the spray, the deep groan he lets out when the hot water crashes over him. Dick exhaling hard, shifting around, the slap of water against skin as he pushes his hair back. And now, somehow, this is fucking worse.

It's giving you images. Images of Jason, big and broad and dripping, water sliding down his chest, over those stupidly defined abs, down to his cock, hanging thick and heavy between his legs.

And Dick, all lean muscle and smooth skin, his own cock probably flushed and aching, his face tipped back under the spray as he runs a hand over his body, slicking up every inch of himself.

You squeeze your eyes shut. No. Nope. Not doing this. Not right now.

But the heat between your legs is unbearable. Your fingers twitch at your sides, your clit throbbing, aching for relief, and fuck it, you slip your hand between your thighs.

Your breath stutters, thighs trembling as you press your fingers against your puffy, soaked clit, rubbing tight, desperate circles. And God, you're so fucking wet. Soaked. You can feel it, slicker than you've ever been, dripping down your thighs, mixing with the hot water as you rub yourself with quick, jerky movements.

This should do. Probably. Hopefully.

You bite your lip, forcing your moans down, listening, but the water covers any sound, the steady rush of the showers masking the way you whimper when your fingers slide lower, teasing at your entrance, dipping inside just enough to send a shudder up your spine.

This is fine. They can't hear you. They don't know. Right?

Dick exhales sharply, bracing one hand against the tile as the hot water rushes over him. His body is wired, his skin flushed, his cock still painfully, achingly hard even after scrubbing himself down, after doing everything in his power to focus on literally anything else.

But it's not working. It's. Not. Fucking. Working.

His jaw clenches as he glances down, swallowing hard at the sight of his cock—thick and heavy, desperate, the tip drooling precum as it twitches in the air. Okay, he can fix this.

It's just... the pollen. That's what this is. Not him, not you.

It's just a chemical reaction, and the fastest way to get this out of his system is to handle it. Quickly. Before it gets worse.

So he wraps his fingers around himself and gives a slow, experimental stroke. The relief is instant.

A shudder rolls down his spine as his breath hitches, his hand tightening just slightly as he jerks himself once, twice, watching the way his cock twitches, the way another thick bead of precum leaks from the tip, slicking up his palm.

Fuck, this is bad. Because now, now that he's touching himself, now that he's letting himself feel it—you're there. Well, not right next to him. Not really.

But in his head? You're everywhere. Your mouth on his, warm and desperate, your hands roaming down his chest, slipping lower, wrapping around his cock, pumping him with slow, teasing strokes.

Your breath, hot against his ear as you whisper his name, your tits pressed against him, soft and warm, your nipples dragging over his wet skin as you shift in his lap, grinding against his cock, your pussy so wet he can feel it even through the heat of the shower. His pace stutters, his breath turning ragged as his hips rock forward, fucking into his fist like a desperate, needy idiot.

Because fuck, he is needy. And the worst part? You're. Right. There.

A few feet away, just behind that glass divider, water rushing over your body, slicking up every inch of your skin, dripping down your tits, your stomach, your thighs.

And he wants you. Has for a long time.

But now? Now, it's not just want. It's need, and it's fucking unbearable. His hand moves faster, breath catching as his muscles tense, his balls pulling tight, his whole body thrumming with the need to cum.

Because he just needs to cum, and then this will be over. Right?

Jason has the exact same fucking thought.

Because his dick? Yeah, it's not going down. Not even slightly. His head tips back against the tile, a slow, heavy breath hissing through his teeth as he fists his cock, thick fingers wrapping tight around the swollen length. He's had plenty of inconvenient boners before.

That's just part of the package when he's got you in his life—skintight suits, little smirks, the way you fight like you own the city, like no one can touch you.

Yeah, he's used to being hard when you're around. But this? This is fucking ridiculous.

His whole body feels wired, too hot, like there's an electric current running under his skin. His dick hurts, heavy and flushed, leaking against his knuckles as he starts to stroke himself, slow and firm, the pressure making his breath hitch. This should help. This has to help.

He forces himself to think about other things—literally anything else—but his brain? Yeah, his brain is not cooperating.

Because all he can see is you. Your body under the spray, your tits glistening with water, your ass round and perfect, your thighs slick and parted just enough for him to see the way your pussy clenches, desperate and aching.

And fuck, you're right there. Right. Fucking. There.

So close he could just step over, press himself against your back, run his hands down your body, feel the way your slick little pussy drips against his fingers...

Fuck. His strokes get faster, hips bucking up into his own grip, stomach tightening as he groans under his breath, low and rough, trying to chase that sharp, bright edge of relief.

Because yeah, if he just gets this out of his system, if he just cums, then maybe he won't be thinking about how he wants to bury his cock inside you so fucking bad he's starting to lose his mind.

You rub your clit in tight little circles, slick and needy, but it's not enough. The ache between your thighs burns hotter with every second, but you can't tip over the edge. Not like this.

Not with Jason and Dick right there, close enough that your mind keeps conjuring them instead of whatever weak fantasy you were trying to focus on. You bite your lip, hips shifting slightly as your fingers work faster, but it's no use, because all you can think about is how good their hands would feel instead.

Jason's fingers, thick and rough, stretching you open. Dick's tongue, wet and eager, lapping at you until you're a trembling mess. Fuck. You let out a shaky breath and force yourself to stop, frustrated beyond belief, body pulsing with need that refuses to be satisfied.

Meanwhile, Jason is in his own personal nightmare. Fisting his cock was supposed to help. He thought if he just got off, the unbearable need would settle. But no, he's still rock hard, twitching in his grip, and he's gritting his teeth so hard it's a miracle his jaw hasn't snapped.

It's worse because you're right there. He knows you're showering only a few feet away, completely naked, slick water running down that perfect fucking body of yours, and it's driving him insane. His strokes slow, and he tips his head back against the tiled wall, a groan tearing from his throat before he can stop it.

And that's when Dick stiffens. Not just in the obvious way, though yeah, he's still rock hard, still throbbing, and still aching for more, even after cumming. His skin is flushed, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths, and his cock hasn't softened at all. He's still leaking, still desperate, and it takes everything in him not to wrap his fingers around himself again and just keep going.

Jason, who is definitely still jerking off. Heat rushes up Dick's spine, a mix of embarrassment and something else—something dangerous—curling deep in his gut. They're both fucked.

Then Jason groans again, and it clicks. Dick's movements still. His brows furrow slightly. And before he even thinks it through, his gaze shifts—just barely—toward Jason's stall.

Jason must feel the stare, because his grip falters. He huffs a breath, tilting his head to the side just enough that their eyes meet through the fogged-up glass, and—

Oh. Oh, fuck.

The realization is heavy between them, thick with unspoken tension. Dick's lips part slightly, his fingers twitching at his side, and Jason—still flushed, still panting—grits his teeth, dragging a hand down his face like this is somehow his fault.

"This shit is fucked," Jason mutters, voice rough and strained.

Dick sways awkwardly, still pulsing with unbearable heat, and nods. Jason swallows hard, and when his gaze flicks to Dick, he finds the same wide-eyed, panting, wrecked expression staring back at him. They're both so far gone it's pathetic. And if they're this fucked, then you must be even worse.

And then? You step out of the stall.

Wrapped in nothing but a towel, beads of water dripping from your skin, steam curling around you like a fucking wet dream. And when you lift your gaze and see them, your breath catches.

Jason is still gripping his cock, hand frozen mid-stroke, his whole body stiff. Dick is still hard, still flushed, his eyes wide and dark as he takes you in. The tension is suffocating.

You all know what's happening here at this point. You swallow hard, your body throbbing with heat, and realization slams into you: none of you are getting through this alone.

The silence is thick, the kind that clings, all steam and heat and unsaid words hanging heavy in the air. All three of you just stand there, dripping wet, but you're the only one still clinging to any semblance of modesty, wrapped in a towel that suddenly feels too tight, too hot against your skin.

Dick and Jason? They're just there. Naked.

And maybe you'd all just keep standing here, awkward and unbearably turned on, if Dick didn't clear his throat and break the silence.

"So, uhm..." His voice cracks a little, and he grimaces before trying again. "There was something in the—"

"I know," you cut him off, and your voice is not as steady as you'd like it to be.

Jason, ever the blunt one, just snorts. "Yeah, so jerkin' off isn't doing shit."

That gets a laugh out of you, sharp and a little breathless. "You don't say."

And you really shouldn't be looking. You shouldn't. But they're right there. And when you finally, really let yourself look, trailing your gaze over bare skin, all toned muscle and broad shoulders and glistening tattoos, your eyes flicker down to their laps.

Fuck.

Your eyes drop before you can stop yourself, trailing down to where they stand, cocks heavy and thick against their stomachs, hard and mouthwatering, flushed at the tip.

Jason's hands flex at his sides, itching to reach for you.

Dick sways forward slightly, like he's barely restraining himself, like he wants to drop to his knees right then and there. And you whimper. A soft, needy little sound you cannot take back, and it feels like the air gets sucked out of the room.

Jason notices first—of course he does, always the one to pick up on the filthiest shit—and his eyes darken as his fingers twitch like he's about to grab you.

"So," he starts, voice thick, rough, the kind that settles low in your gut. "Maybe we should, uh... try and help each other out?"

You snap your gaze up to his face so fast your neck nearly cracks, and when you glance at Dick, he's already looking at you.

There's no denying it. There never has been. The attraction between you three has always been there, simmering under the surface, never acted on, never spoken out loud. You've thought about it. Of course you have. Working alongside them, running into them on patrol, spending late nights at the manor or in Jason's safe house—how couldn't you?

You know they like you. They know you like them. But friendship has always come first.

You know you're all good; you get tested regularly, a necessity when you're constantly fighting Gotham's worst, and besides, you're on birth control. You could walk away, end this right here, but they're right there. Naked, wet, needy, dicks that have no business being that fucking big, let alone rock solid.

And you want them so bad. So you do the only thing that makes sense: you let the towel slip from your fingers and drop to the floor.

The second it hits the tiles, their eyes devour you. It starts at your face, flicking down over the curve of your neck, the soft swell of your tits, the dip of your waist, the plush of your thighs—until finally, finally, both of them are staring straight at your bare, aching pussy, slick already glistening between your thighs.

And they look wrecked just from seeing you. Jason's jaw clenches, a muscle jumping in his cheek, and Dick sways slightly on his feet, but neither of them speak, too caught up in the sight of you until Jason finally breaks the silence.

"Fuck," he rasps, voice rough and thick. "You're fuckin' gorgeous."

Your face burns hotter, if that's even possible, heat rushing to your cheeks as they reach out almost in sync, hands gripping the knobs on their respective showers, twisting the water off in one smooth motion before stepping out.

And shit, they're even bigger up close.

Not just big, but big. Tall, broad, all muscle, sleek and strong, shoulders wide, thighs thick, every part of them defined—from the solid lines of their chests to the way their abs flex as they move, glistening wet, drops of water trailing down their skin in slow, teasing paths.

But it's their dicks that have you aching, twitching hard, flushed, heavy, and when Dick's cock gives a sharp throb, you bite back a moan so desperate it nearly chokes you.

Jason steps in first, heat radiating off him as he cups your cheek with one big, calloused hand, tilting your head up, eyes dark and hungry as he leans in.

And then he's kissing you. Hard, deep, hungry. His lips move against yours, hot and insistent, tongue sliding into your mouth like he's been waiting for this, starving for it, and fuck, he kisses like he fights—possessive, dominant, all-consuming.

His other hand doesn't hesitate, palms smoothing over your skin, rough fingers sliding straight down to your ass, grabbing a handful, squeezing tight, yanking you up flush against him until his cock presses firm against your belly.

You moan into his mouth, body shuddering as heat coils in your gut, hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into muscle, every inch of him burning against you.

Behind you, Dick curses under his breath, and you can feel the heat of his stare, feel the way his breath comes out sharp, ragged, as he watches Jason kiss you like he owns you.

Dick steps up behind you, heat radiating off his body, slick skin pressing against your back, and you melt between them. Sandwiched, trapped, caught between two broad, solid bodies, both of them flushed and aching, cocks hard and hot against your skin. Jason groans when your tits press into his chest, and then Dick—fucking Dick—lets out the softest, neediest little exhale against your ear as his hands slide up your sides.

His fingers trace over your ribs, then higher, cupping your tits, thumbs rolling over your nipples, teasing, stroking, making you gasp as Jason leans in and kisses you again.

It's not like before. This kiss is slower, deeper, Jason taking his time to drink you in. His tongue licks into your mouth, lazy, hungry, and his hands roam, one gripping the back of your neck while the other settles on your waist, fingers flexing like he can't decide whether he wants to pull you closer or just hold you there and enjoy every shaky breath you make.

Behind you, Dick's mouth is everywhere—pressing open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, up your throat, teasing your ear as his hand dips lower. Fingertips ghosting down, past your belly, until they finally find your puffy, swollen clit.

You twitch at the contact, a sharp little gasp escaping against Jason's lips, and Dick groans, louder this time, pressing a little firmer, rubbing teasing little circles as he mutters, "You're so fucking wet."

Jason pulls back just enough to watch your face, brushing his thumb over your kiss-swollen lips.

His voice is strained, rough as he asks, "You okay with this? With whatever's about to happen?"

His eyes are dark, intense, filled with want but laced with concern, because they need this, need you, but not like this, not unless you want it just as badly. You nod quickly, already breathless, but Dick? Dick's not having it.

He dips his head lower, mouth brushing right against your ear as he whispers, "Use your words, love. We don't wanna push you into anything."

It's almost cruel, the way his fingers slow down, teasing, playing, rubbing lazy, barely there strokes over your clit when all you want is more.

"Yes," you gasp, pushing into his touch. "Please."

That's all it takes. Jason and Dick lock eyes, silent for a moment, and then? Dick nods once, sharp, decisive, and says, "Sauna. Now."

Jason groans. "Jesus fuck, Dickie-bird."

But he doesn't argue. He just watches as Dick takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, guiding you toward the sauna with Jason trailing behind, adjusting the settings so it's warm, comfortable—not stifling, just enough to chase away the cold still clinging to your damp skin.

And the sauna? Yeah, of course it's luxurious as hell. Bruce built it, after all. The benches are smooth, made from high-quality wood, wide enough to lie down comfortably, and the warm lighting overhead makes everything feel softer, deeper. It's the kind of place you usually use when you're sore and beaten up after patrols, when you need to relax and let the heat soothe your body.

But tonight? Yeah, you're about to use it for something very different.

Before you can even process what's happening, Jason spins you around, hands everywhere, and lifts you up like you weigh nothing.

You yelp, legs spreading instinctively as he hooks his arms beneath your thighs, locking you open, exposing you, presenting you, and Dick fucking drops to his knees.

"Oh, fuck," he breathes, eyes locked on your dripping pussy, hands already reaching, fingers brushing your inner thighs as his mouth parts in awe. "Look at you."

Jason groans behind you, rolling his hips up just enough to grind his cock against your ass, kissing the side of your head, whispering, "You should see what you do to him, baby. He's fuckin' mesmerized."

And Dick? He kind of is. His chest rises and falls in shallow, desperate breaths as he stares, like he's starving, like he can't decide if he wants to taste you or just kneel there and worship.

Dick's hands grip your thighs, fingers pressing firm, grounding himself as he leans in, eyes fixed on your swollen, dripping pussy. His breath stutters out, warm against your slick skin, and he groans, low and wrecked, because fuck, this is so much better than he ever imagined.

And he has imagined it. More times than he'd ever admit. Nights spent fisting his cock to the thought of you, to the way your suit hugs your curves, to the way you smell when you're close, the teasing, flirty little smiles you send his way. He'd always wondered if you'd taste as good as you look.

"Fuck," he breathes, his voice shaky.

With two fingers, he spreads you open, watching your slick drip, glistening in the dim heat of the sauna, and his tongue flicks out, hungry, catching a taste before he can stop himself.

And it wrecks him. His mouth seals over your cunt, tongue pushing deep, groaning as he devours you, hot and wet, lapping up every drop like he's been starving for it. His hands tighten on your thighs, holding you steady as he buries himself between your legs, tongue stroking, circling, pushing in deep before dragging back out, flicking against your clit in slow, teasing swipes.

And the sounds you make? Insane.

Breathless, needy, these little gasps and whimpers that make Jason groan behind you, arms flexing as he adjusts his grip, holding you up like you weigh nothing. Solid and so hot against your back, his cock pressing thick against your ass, twitching every time you moan.

"Fuck, Grayson," Jason mutters, voice strained. "She's gonna lose it."

And you are.

Because fuck, Dick knows how to eat pussy. He's skilled, dedicated, every lick and suck sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. He moans into you, the vibrations making you shudder, thighs trying to squeeze together, but Jason's grip doesn't let you move.

"Feels good, huh, baby?" Jason murmurs, lips brushing against your ear, his tone all smug and filthy, like he's enjoying this just as much as Dick is.

You can't even speak. Your fingers tangle in Dick's damp hair, clutching hard, back arching against Jason's chest as Dick flicks his tongue against your clit in quick, teasing strokes, like he knows exactly how to unravel you.

Jason groans behind you, his arms tightening around your legs. When your head falls against his shoulder and your eyes meet his, he kisses you.

Hard, deep, like he's claiming you, like he needs you just as much as Dick does. His tongue licks into your mouth, swallowing your moans, his hands gripping your thighs tighter, bruising.

You whimper against his lips, and he groans, rolling his hips against your ass, grinding his cock against you, needing friction, needing something, because fuck, this is too much.

And Dick? He just moans against your pussy, tongue fucking into you, making you shudder so hard Jason has to tighten his grip just to keep you steady.

"So fucking good," Dick mutters, pulling back just enough to flick his tongue over your clit before sucking it into his mouth, making you sob his name. "So sweet. Fuck, I could eat you for hours."

Jason breaks the kiss just to groan, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "Christ, Dickie, you're gonna kill her."

Dick grins against your skin, licking another slow, teasing stripe up your pussy, savoring the way you twitch, the way your fingers tighten in his hair, the way your little gasps turn into full whimpers, desperate and broken.

His fingers ghost over your entrance, teasing, barely there, making your pussy clench on nothing. You squirm in Jason's hold, breath hitching as anticipation coils tight in your stomach, but Dick takes his time. Watches the way you drip for him, spread open and helpless, Jason's arms locked under your thighs to keep you wide and vulnerable.

"Fuck," Dick rasps, his voice thick with arousal, his breath hot against your pussy. "You're soaked."

His thumbs part your folds, and he groans at the sight—slick, glistening, so fucking pretty. His tongue flicks over your clit again, and your whole body jerks, a whimper spilling from your lips.

Jason tightens his grip, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, his cock twitching against you as he murmurs, "Easy, baby. Let him take care of you."

And fuck, Dick does take care of you. His mouth works you over, tongue lapping at your swollen clit, lips wrapping around it to suck, firm and slow, drawing needy little noises from your throat. His hands grip your thighs, holding you steady, keeping you from writhing too much even though all you want to do is grind against his face, chase the pleasure that's building fast.

Then his fingers press at your entrance again, just the tips, teasing, and you moan, the need to be filled overwhelming. He chuckles against you, the vibration sending another pulse of heat through your core before he finally pushes a finger inside.

It's so much thicker than yours, so much longer, stretching you just enough to make your walls flutter around it. He eases it in, lets you adjust, then curls it up, searching, until—

"Fuck—" you gasp, back arching as he finds that spot, rubbing against it before sliding another finger in beside the first.

The stretch burns just a little, but the way he moves them—God, the way they scissor inside you, slick and warm, thrusting deep—has your mind blanking.

"Feel good, sweetheart?" Jason murmurs, brushing his lips along your jaw, hands adjusting their grip on your thighs as he holds you steady.

You nod frantically, but it's not enough. Not when you feel like you're unraveling from just this. "More," you breathe. "Please."

Dick groans like the plea physically pains him, but he doesn't stop, doesn't hesitate. His fingers thrust deeper, faster, stretching you open as his lips wrap around your clit again, sucking just right, tongue flicking against the swollen bud.

Your thighs tremble, pleasure tightening, the slick sounds of his fingers fucking into you obscene, messy, wet. You're dripping, leaking down his hand, onto his wrist, but he doesn't care. His cock is throbbing, leaking against his stomach, but he doesn't fucking care.

All he wants is to make you cum on his tongue. And God, you're close. You can feel it winding tighter and tighter, pleasure curling deep, building fast. Your mind is spinning, flooded with heat and hunger, desperate to feel them everywhere. Their mouths, their hands, their dicks stretching you wide—

Fuck, you're gonna cum.

It hits you fast. A sharp, electric snap of pleasure, burning through every nerve, sending you spiraling. Your whole body locks up, and then, you're cumming, and it's so much. Your cunt tightens around Dick's fingers, pulsing, fluttering, sucking him deeper as wave after wave of heat crashes through you.

It's almost too much. Your thighs tremble, your back arches, and a broken moan spills from your lips as your orgasm drags you under, pleasure rippling through every inch of you. You don't know if it's that fucking pollen messing with you or if Dick just knows how to make you come undone like this, but it feels insane. Shattering, like you're falling apart in Jason's arms, completely helpless to the pleasure tearing through you.

But Dick doesn't stop. He fucks you through it, thrusting his fingers deep, curling them just right, rubbing against that spot inside you that makes your vision white out. His mouth stays locked around your clit, sucking, flicking his tongue over it, dragging you higher, stretching out your orgasm until it's too much, too intense.

All you can do is choke out a breathless, "D-Dick, wait—"

But he doesn't.

Your body jerks, overwhelmed, but he doesn't stop. His fingers work you open, deep and relentless, his tongue still lapping at your clit, pushing, pushing—

And then you gush. A sharp, full body shudder racks through you as hot, slick arousal pours from your cunt, drenching his fingers, his wrist, his fucking face.

It splashes against the sauna floor, and heat flares in your chest, embarrassment creeping up your spine as you gasp, "S-shit, I'm s-sorry—"

Jason lets out a rough groan, voice thick with arousal. "Fuck. A squirter, huh? That's so fuckin' hot, doll."

Dick doesn't care. He doesn't stop. His mouth stays on you, licking up every drop, his fingers fucking you slow, coaxing another trembling aftershock out of your spent, twitching cunt.

Your body is wrecked, boneless in Jason's grip, but Dick soothes you. Soft kisses pressed to your puffy clit, to your inner thighs, murmured praises against your overheated skin.

Jason groans against your ear, nipping at your jaw as he murmurs, "So pretty when you lose it, baby."

Dick finally pulls his fingers from your soaked pussy, and you whimper at the emptiness, body still twitching in the aftermath. He stands up, lifting his hand between you, watching the way your slick drips from his fingers before he licks them clean, moaning like he just tasted the best thing in the world.

And then he's kissing you.

It's not like Jason's kisses—Jason devours you, rough and desperate, all teeth and tongue. Dick? Dick takes his time. His lips move slow over yours, teasing, coaxing, his tongue sliding into your mouth, letting you taste yourself on him.

His cock grinds against your swollen, soaked pussy, dragging thick and leaking between your folds, and you feel the heat of Jason against your back as he presses closer, lips finding your neck, licking and sucking at the sensitive skin, leaving marks.

Dick pulls back just enough to look at you, breathing hard, eyes dark with need.

"You still with us, love?" he murmurs, voice low, sweet, but so thick with hunger.

And you are. But you need more. Jason slowly lowers you to the ground, careful, like he knows your legs won't hold you up yet. And he's right. The second your feet touch the sauna floor, your knees almost buckle, but they're right there.

Jason's strong hands steady your waist, while Dick's arms wrap around you, letting you melt against his chest, your cheek pressed to his flushed, sweat-damp skin. His heartbeat is racing, just like yours.

They try to soothe you, even though they're still buzzing with need, cocks aching, pulsing, leaking against your skin. You can feel it, how hard they both are, how they're holding back, muscles tensed like they're barely keeping themselves together.

Dick's fingers brush against your jaw, tilting your head up as he murmurs, "You okay?"

His voice is strained, rough with hunger he's barely keeping in check.

You nod, breathless. "I need more. I want you both, I want—"

Jason groans, low and wrecked, because fuck, his dick hurts, throbbing, hot, swollen with need. He's usually not like this—he's got control, he can push past anything, but this?

That fucking pollen? His logic is gone. The only thing left is the raw, aching need clawing at his gut, the sight of you, flushed and needy, still dripping from what Dick did to you.

"You sure?" Dick asks, voice tight, hesitant, because they care, because you're friends, because this is everything all at once.

"Yes," you gasp. "Fuck, I can't—I need more."

They try to resist. Try to be good, to be the men who have held themselves back all these years, who have ignored the teasing, the tension, the way you've always looked at them.

But it's too much. You're naked, hot, trembling between them, still soaked with slick and sweat, so fucking desperate for them, just like they are for you.

They exchange a look, like they're about to actually say something, like they're going to make one last attempt at self-control.

But you're having none of it.

You grab both their hands, lacing your fingers with theirs as you guide them toward one of the benches, the air thick with tension, steam, and the undeniable pull of something you've all been trying to ignore for too long.

You stop in front of Dick, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes as you say, "Sit down."

And he does, because of course he does. Because he knows better than to fuck with you when you've made up your mind, and even though you're smaller than both of them, you've always had a way of getting what you want.

You grab a few towels, spreading them on the floor in front of him because, honestly? Your body is already gonna be wrecked when this is over—bruises, hickeys, everything—and you really don't need your knees all fucked up on top of it.

Then, slowly, you kneel between his legs.

Jason is still standing behind you, watching, stunned, because sure, you've always been bold. You've flirted, teased, laughed in their faces when they tried to resist you, but this? This is something else.

You turn your head, looking up at Jason through heavy lashes, and say, "I need you to fuck me while I suck Dick off."

They both go still. Like their brains just short-circuited. Like they can't quite believe what the fuck just came out of your mouth.

And you can see it happening, the exact moment something inside them snaps, because they've both fantasized about this, both thought about it more times than they'd ever admit, and now? Now you're on your knees, looking up at them, demanding it.

Dick swallows hard, his cock twitching, leaking against his stomach. His hands clench at his sides like he's trying so fucking hard to keep control. Jason? Jason just lets out a rough, breathless laugh, shaking his head, because fuck, you're gonna kill him.

Your ass wiggles as you shift into position, and behind you, Jason groans, deep and rough. "Fuck, look at you."

His big hands settle on your hips, hot and firm, fingers flexing like he's trying so hard to keep himself in check. And he can't help it, so he slaps your ass, the sharp sting sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your cunt.

"Oh—"

You gasp, thighs twitching, and Jason smirks, rubbing the mark he left behind, soothing the heat with his palm. "You like that shit, huh?"

You nod, looking over your shoulder at him with wide, glassy eyes, and his grip tightens.

"Got it, baby."

Then you turn back to Dick, gaze dropping to his cock. And God, he's just as long as Jason, maybe a little thinner, but just as pretty, thick and flushed, the veins along his shaft standing out against the hot, velvety skin. Precum beads at the tip, glistening, and when you lick your lips, Dick shudders, his breath hitching in his throat.

Behind you, Jason's hands slide lower, thumbs dragging over the curve of your ass before he spreads you open, groaning when he gets a good look at you.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mutters under his breath, almost dazed, like he can't believe what he's seeing.

You're so wet, swollen, your slick dripping down your thighs, smearing against the inside of his fingers. And your pussy? Fuck, it's the prettiest fucking thing he's ever seen—hot, flushed, clenching around nothing, like you're begging for something to fill you up.

His head tips back for a second, like he needs to pull himself together, but when he looks down again, when he sees your cunt flutter around nothing, aching to be fucked?

He's fucking gone.

Because he knows you're gonna squeeze his dick like a glove, knows you're gonna be so fucking tight, so hot and wet around him that he might actually lose his mind. You're perfect. And this? This can't be real.

But oh, it is.

You shift your weight onto your knees, looking up at Dick, and he looks like he's about to lose his fucking mind too. Especially when you wrap your fingers around his cock. He sucks in a breath, head falling back against the bench as your grip tightens, your palm gliding over his length, slow and teasing.

Then you lean in, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to the inside of his thigh, and Dick whimpers. The sound makes your cunt throb, pleasure sparking up your spine, because he looks so good like this—so flushed, so desperate, so pretty.

His cock pulses in your hand, leaking all over your fingers, and you purr, "Poor Grayson," before pressing a soft kiss to the tip, tongue flicking out to lap up his precum, tasting the salt and heat of him.

Behind you, Jason curses under his breath, and then you feel the hot, thick weight of his cock press against your dripping cunt.

You gasp, back arching as he rubs the wet head of his dick over your slit, dragging it up and down, teasing your swollen, puffy folds, mixing his precum with your slick until you're soaked in it.

And you? You're trembling. Because you need this. You need them. The second your lips part, taking Dick's cock into your mouth, his hand tangles in your hair. His fingers thread through the strands, tugging just enough to make your scalp tingle, a sharp contrast to the warmth of his other hand cradling your cheek.

You moan around him, the sound vibrating through your throat, and he hisses, his head tipping back against the bench. "Fuck—"

You take him deeper, inch by inch, your jaw stretching to accommodate his length. He's thick, hot, the weight of him pressing against your tongue as you hollow your cheeks and suck. His thighs tense under your palms, muscles jumping when you bob your head slow, teasing, testing how much of him you can take.

His fingers tighten in your hair, his hips twitching—just barely—but you feel it, the way he wants to thrust, to fuck himself down your throat, but he waits, panting, letting you set the pace.

Behind you, Jason is shaking. Shaking.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, his whole body tight, because fuck, your ass is wiggling, pushing back against him, grinding against his cock like you're trying to drive him insane.

And it's working. His dick throbs, thick and aching, leaking against your soaked, swollen cunt as you shift again, tilting your hips just right, and Jason snaps. He lines himself up and starts to push in, slow, deliberate, even though his whole body is telling him to fuck you, to take you, to split you open and wreck you.

But he waits. He has to wait. Because he knows he's big, and with how tight you are—so hot and wet, squeezing around just the tip—he can't move, not even if he wanted to.

His whole body trembles as he leans over you, pressing his chest to your back, grounding himself as much as he's grounding you. His big hands smooth up and down your sides, soothing, steadying, feeling the way your breath shudders as you try to relax, try to take him deeper.

But he waits, even though every muscle in his body is coiled tight, his jaw clenched so hard it aches, because even through the pollen haze, Jason cares. He needs you to feel good.

Your walls stretch around him, clutching at him, and he slides in so easily, your pussy welcoming him, pulling him in. He sinks in slow, inch by inch, splitting you open until he's fully sheathed inside you, buried to the hilt, and you can't help but moan. The vibration makes Dick's hips jerk, a curse tumbling from his lips as his fingers tighten in your hair.

And Jason?Jason groans, burying himself inside you, his forehead dropping against the back of your shoulder.

"Breathe, baby," he mutters against your skin, his lips trailing slow, soft kisses along your shoulder, his body trembling as he forces himself to stay still, to let you adjust, even though he wants to move so fucking bad.

He gives you time, even though his entire body is screaming at him to fuck you, to finally lose himself in the heat of your cunt.

"You're doin' so good," he rasps, voice strained, like the feel of your pussy wrapped around his cock is driving him straight to the fucking edge.

You slide off Dick's cock with a gasp, a line of spit still connecting your lips to his flushed tip. Your fingers tighten around the base, stroking him as your head dips forward, and Jason groans behind you, eyes clenching shut, breathing through it, fighting against the way your pussy is milking his cock.

You can't breathe. You can't think. The feeling is overwhelming, his cock pulsing deep inside you, stretching you so wide you feel full. Too full, almost, but Jason soothes you through it, his lips trailing soft, slow kisses along your skin.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mutters under his breath, his jaw clenched, his whole body so tight he thinks he might snap in half.

And then, finally, you shift against him. A tiny moan leaves your lips, and Jason can't wait any longer. Slowly, he pulls out, his cock dragging against your sensitive, fluttering walls, making your whole body tremble. Then he pushes back in, just as slow, filling you up again, stretching you, claiming every inch of your cunt.

It burns. It aches—just a little. Your whimper is soft, almost inaudible, but Jason hears it.

And he shushes you, kissing your shoulder again, whispering, "You're doin' so fuckin' good for me."

Jason's grip tightens on your waist, fingers digging into your soft skin as he starts to move, slow and deliberate, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back in, filling you up again, making you moan.

It's too slow, too teasing. You need more.

So you refocus, letting yourself drown in the heat of Dick's body, the way his cock twitches in your grip, thick and flushed and leaking all over your fingers. You slide your tongue over the tip, swirling around the slit, savoring the salty taste of his precum before taking him back into your mouth, sinking deeper this time.

The stretch is obscene, your lips stretched wide around him, your jaw aching as you push further, inch by inch, your throat tightening as he hits the back of your mouth. You gag, drool spilling from the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin, but you don't care.

You love it. It's better than every fantasy you've ever had, better than every late night thought of them, better than you could've ever imagined. Because they feel so good, sound so good, and you know you're not coming back from this.

Dick is gone. His fingers tangle in your hair again, watching the way you take him, the way you look up at him with glassy, desperate eyes, and fuck, you're so pretty like this, drooling all over his cock, taking him so fucking deep.

His whole body tenses, muscles tight, abs flexing, the veins in his forearms standing out as he tries to control himself, to hold back, but Jesus Christ, you're making it so fucking hard.

Jason is just as wrecked. His pace is still slow, but he's obsessed, his mind fuzzy with how good you feel, how tight you are, how fucking perfect your pussy is wrapped around his cock, gripping him like a vice.

He has to see it.

So he moves his hands from your waist, big palms spreading over the curve of your ass, gripping the flesh before pulling your cheeks apart, groaning when he gets a clear view of your soaked cunt stretched so tight around his dick.

His cock twitches, a groan slipping from his lips because fuck, you're swallowing him whole, your pussy gripping every inch of him, making a mess all over his cock, slick glistening along his length.

This is the best pussy he's ever had. But he knows it's you. It has nothing to do with that pollen. It's you.

And he's so fucking gone over you.

You whimper around Dick's cock, your eyes flicking up to meet his, watching the way his chest rises and falls in quick, desperate pants. And then, slowly, you let him slip from your mouth again, gasping for air, your hand tightening around the base as you pant.

"Fuck my mouth."

Dick freezes, his breath hitching, his lips parting as his brows furrow, like he's not sure he heard you right.

"W-what?"

You lick your lips, eyes heavy-lidded, spit glistening along your chin as you repeat, slow and clear. "Fuck. My. Mouth."

His whole body shudders, and he doesn't even think. Doesn't hesitate. He does it.

His grip tightens in your hair as he tilts your head back, and then he's pushing in, slow but firm, guiding his cock past your lips, groaning as the heat of your mouth wraps around him.

And behind you, Jason hisses, his fingers tightening on your ass before landing another sharp slap, making you jolt forward.

"Shit," he groans, his voice thick with arousal, dark with want. "You're freaky as fuck."

Dick's grip tightens in your hair as he starts to move, slow at first, thrusting shallowly, watching the way his cock glides over your slick tongue, the way your lips stretch around him, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

"God, baby," he groans, voice strained, wrecked, his abs flexing as he pushes deeper, testing your limits, his hips jerking when you moan around him. "You feel so good—fuck, you're perfect. So sweet for me, taking me so well."

His words make your pussy clench around Jason's cock, the praise making your head spin, making you drool more as you relax your throat, letting Dick push deeper, the head of his cock nudging the back of your mouth. Your eyes flutter, heat sparking in your core as he fucks your mouth in slow, deliberate strokes.

His breath is ragged, his voice thick as he murmurs, "Just like that, pretty girl. You're doing so good. Such a perfect little thing."

Behind you, Jason groans, his grip bruising as he watches you take it, eyes dark, hungry.

"Fuck," he rasps, his voice rough, thick with need. "Look at you. So fuckin' nasty, baby. Goddamn, you're gonna make me lose my shit."

His hands slide over your ass, squeezing, spreading you open so he can watch the way your pussy stretches around his cock, gripping him like a fucking vice, sucking him in, milking him.

"You're so tight," he groans, his cock twitching inside you, his jaw clenching. "So fuckin' wet. Jesus Christ, this is the best pussy I've ever had."

The words make your walls flutter, make your body throb, and you can't help yourself. You push back against him, grinding your ass into his hips, moaning around Dick's cock as Jason curses, his fingers tightening on your ass.

And then he snaps. His patience shatters, his control slipping as he slams into you, knocking the breath from your lungs, making your eyes roll back.

"Fuck, yeah," Jason growls, dragging you back onto his cock, setting a relentless rhythm, fucking you deeper, harder, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the steam-filled air. "That's what you wanted, huh? Wanted me to fuck you like this? Shit, you're so fuckin' needy, baby."

Your moans vibrate around Dick's cock, making him groan, his hips stuttering.

"Jesus Christ," he gasps, his fingers tugging on your hair, his head tipping back as he watches you, his cock throbbing as you swallow around him. "You're so fucking good, baby."

Jason groans, his cock dragging against your walls, each stroke sending sparks of pleasure skittering down your spine.

"Look at you," he rasps, voice low, dark, wrecked. "Gettin' your mouth fucked, gettin' your pussy fucked—shit, baby, you're drippin' all over my dick."

His words send a sharp throb through your core, making your walls squeeze around him, making him curse.

"Yeah, you like that? You like bein' a messy little thing?"

His words mix with Dick's soft, sweet praise, the contrast making your head spin, making your body ache for more, more, more. You're soaked, you're gone, and you're about to cum so hard.

Dick's fingers clench tighter in your hair, his whole body shaking as you take him deeper, swallowing him down until your nose brushes against the soft patch of hair at the base of his cock. His moans grow louder, ragged, his hips jerking forward, his self-control slipping between his fingers.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, his voice wrecked, shaking. "You're—shit, you're gonna make me—"

You hum around him, hollowing your cheeks, sucking him harder, and that's it. That's all it takes for him to lose it.

His cock twitches on your tongue, the thick veins pulsing against the heat of your mouth as his orgasm slams into him, ripping through him like a live wire.

"Oh, fuck—"

His breath catches, his whole body locking up as the first hot pulse of his cum spills onto your tongue, thick and heavy, coating your throat as he shudders, trembles, his head tipping back against the wall, his lips parting in a wrecked, shaking moan.

You swallow it all, every last drop, your throat working around him, and it's too much. His thighs tense, his abs flex, his breath coming in sharp gasps as his hips jerk, his cock throbbing, overstimulated, as you keep sucking, drawing out every last spurt of his release.

"Jesus Christ, baby," he whimpers, his grip tightening for a second before his hand slips from your hair, his body melting, shaking, spent.

You finally let him slide free with a soft, wet pop, licking the last traces of him from your lips, and when he finally cracks his eyes open, looking down at you with flushed cheeks and a dazed, blissed out expression, he groans.

"God," he breathes, still catching his breath, his thumb stroking along your bottom lip, cleaning up the mess he left behind. "You're so fucking good."

You only have a second to grin before Jason grabs you. His arm wraps around your waist, yanking you up, pulling you against his chest as he slams his cock back into your pussy, the force of it making you gasp, your body arching as he fills you up again, stretching you all over.

"Fuckin' shit," Jason growls, his voice low, desperate, his breath hot against your ear as he pounds into you, his cock hitting deep, slamming into that spot inside you that makes your whole body tremble.

His free hand slides down, finding your clit, rubbing in quick, tight circles, his fingers slippery with your arousal.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" he grits out, his voice dark, wrecked. "Gonna soak my fuckin' dick?"

You whimper, nodding desperately, your nails digging into his arms, your whole body coiling tight, every thrust, every press of his fingers sending you closer to the edge.

Your head tilts back, your lips parting, and Jason takes it as an invitation. His mouth crashes against yours, the kiss filthy, messy, his tongue sliding against yours as he fucks you harder, deeper, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the steam thick air.

It's too much. The way he's pounding into you, the way his fingers are rubbing your clit, the way his mouth is devouring yours—it's all too much.

You shatter. Your orgasm hits like a tidal wave, your body locking up as your walls clamp down around Jason's cock, your pussy spasming, milking him as you moan into his mouth, your whole body shaking from the force of it.

But he doesn't stop.

"Yeah," Jason groans, his pace relentless, his fingers still working your clit, pushing you higher, keeping you right there, shoving you into another orgasm before you can even catch your breath.

"Oh—fuck—"

Your whole body seizes, and then you gush, hot, wet, soaking his cock, the mess dripping down your thighs, pooling on the towels beneath you as your mind goes blank. Jason groans, his grip bruising, his voice full of awe and lust and pure fucking greed.

"Shit, baby," he growls, his hand sliding up your stomach to cup your tits, squeezing, his hips still slamming into you. "You're so fuckin' hot—goddamn, look at this mess you're makin'."

You're gone, trembling in his arms, panting, whimpering, still coming, your body wrecked, and he loves it.

But even after you've soaked his dick, even after you've cum so hard your legs shake and your body trembles, he just keeps going, fucking you through it, chasing his own high, refusing to let you catch your breath.

Your thoughts are a mess, a haze of heat and pleasure and pure, desperate need. Every time he thrusts back inside, it knocks the air from your lungs, sending another sharp jolt of electricity up your spine, making your toes curl.

His dick is so big, so hot, so thick, stretching you to your limit, the swollen head hitting your cervix with every deep, brutal stroke, the impact sending sparks of pain-laced pleasure licking up your spine.

Jason groans, his breath hot against your ear, his big hands sliding from your waist to your tits, squeezing, kneading, rolling your sensitive nipples between his fingers.

"Fuck, baby," he moans, voice wrecked, breathless. "You feel so good—tight little pussy's so fuckin' wet, takin' my dick like a fuckin' dream."

His voice is a growl, his breath ragged, filthy, and it makes you clench around him, your body reacting to the sheer, raw hunger in his voice.

"Drippin' down my fuckin' balls, makin' a mess all over me," he mutters, his pace getting faster, his hips snapping against your ass, the sound of wet skin slapping against wet skin filling the air. "Such a fuckin' good girl, lettin' me fuck you like this—shit—"

His moan is deep, gritty, his lips brushing against your neck, and it makes your brain melt.

You can feel Dick watching.

His heavy, ragged breathing, the way he groans softly under his breath every time your tits bounce from the sheer force of Jason's thrusts, the way he's still hard, his cock resting heavy against his abdomen as he watches Jason destroy you.

Jason buries his face in your shoulder, his pace stuttering, and then his voice turns urgent, desperate. "Shit," he pants. "Where do you want me to cum, doll?"

The words slip out before you even think.

"Inside," you whimper, the plea ragged, breathless. "Inside me, please."

Jason groans, his arms tightening around you, his body shaking. "Fuck."

He grabs your waist, slamming into you, fucking you like a man possessed, like he's starving for you, like he needs to be as deep as possible, stretching you wide, filling you to the fucking brim.

And it's like something in Dick snaps. He drops to his knees, his big hands sliding up your thighs, and then his fingers find your clit.

"Oh—fuck—"

Your whole body seizes—Jason's cock splitting you open, fucking you deep and hard, pounding into your soaking cunt while Dick's fingers rub your puffy, far-too-sensitive clit, quick and precise, pushing you higher, driving you insane.

Then Dick leans in, his lips brushing against yours, swallowing your moans, devouring them, and God, this has to be the hottest fuck of your life.

His tongue, hot, wet, messy against yours, kissing you like he needs you, like he's starving for the taste of your pleasure.

And shit, these two men—hot as fuck, sweaty, desperate, ruining you. They are going to wreck you for anyone else for sure.

Jason groans, his pace brutal, his cock pounding into your swollen, soaked pussy, stretching you so wide, splitting you open, filling you so deep you can feel him in your stomach.

He's right there, right on the edge, voice rough, breath ragged as he mutters, "C'mon, baby, I'm so close. Fuck, gimme one more, let me feel you."

And then, Dick starts slapping your clit slightly. It's sharp, the sting mixing with the unbearable pleasure of Jason's cock fucking you stupid, and that's it, you snap.

Your whole body locks up, your pussy clenching down hard around Jason's cock, milking him, your legs trembling as your orgasm crashes through you, drowning you in wave after wave of pure, burning pleasure.

Your mouth falls open in a wrecked, wordless moan, eyes rolling back, sweat dripping down your skin as you shake, your whole body on fire, pleasure exploding behind your eyelids, your clit throbbing, your walls spasming around Jason's thick cock.

And he loses it.

"Fuck—" His breath punches out of him, a deep, desperate groan rumbling through his chest, his grip on your hips turning bruising as your pussy chokes his cock, squeezing him so tight he can't hold back.

He buries himself to the hilt, grinding deep, grinding so fucking deep, and then, he cums. Thick, hot spurts of cum flood your pussy, painting your walls, filling you up so much you can feel it, dripping out around his cock, mixing with your slick as he lets out a deep, wrecked groan.

But he doesn't stop.

Even as his dick throbs, even as he pulses inside you, he grits his teeth and fucks it deeper, slow, deep rolls of his hips, making sure every last drop stays buried inside you, making sure you feel it.

Dick's fingers never stop, still rubbing your aching clit, making you whimper, making your whole body jolt, your thighs quivering, your nipples aching, your pussy so full and sensitive that every little movement makes you twitch.

And then Dick finally lets you breathe.

He breaks the kiss, his lips swollen, his breathing uneven, his eyes dark with lust as he soothes you, his hands smoothing up your back, down your arms, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your temple, whispering soft praises against your skin.

Your breath shudders out of you, your head dropping forward onto Dick's shoulder as Jason stills behind you, his chest rising and falling, sweat slicking his skin, his grip still tight on your waist, grounding you as you tremble in their hold.

Jason does the same, his big hands rubbing slow, warm circles into your waist, his lips brushing against your shoulder, his breath deep, calming, as he lets you come down.

But it's not enough. You still need more.

Your whole body buzzes with it, aching with it, and before you can stop yourself, before you can even think, the words tumble from your lips, breathless, desperate, "I need... I—w-want you both at the same time."

Jason freezes. "Fuckin' shit."

His arm tightens around your waist, his cock still buried inside you, twitching just at the thought of it.

And Dick? His breath catches, his fingers tightening against your skin, his lips parting as his brows furrow, something unreadable flickering across his face before he cups your cheek, pressing soft, sweet kisses all over your flushed skin.

"Love, maybe we should—"

"No," you shake your head, chest heaving. "I need it. I—fuck, I need more."

Dick hesitates. "But we'd need lube, and—"

"I have some," you gasp. "In—in my locker. In my bag."

They both freeze. Jason raises a brow, his lips twitching, while Dick blinks at you, head tilting slightly.

"...You what?"

Your face burns. "I just bought it—I was gonna take it home, but I kept forgetting—"

Jason smirks, shaking his head, while Dick huffs out a quiet laugh before turning on his heel.

"I'll get it."

Your thoughts swirl, still dazed, still high from pleasure. It's really just a coincidence, something you bought last week and forgot to leave at home, but now? Now, you're just grateful you have it.

The second Dick is gone, Jason leans in, his lips brushing against yours, slow, deep, his tongue dragging along your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth. You moan softly, body pressing into his, heat still pooling low in your stomach.

When he pulls away, his smirk is sharp, eyes dark.

"You just bought it, huh?"

Your eyes dart away, face burning, and he chuckles. Then Dick is back, the bottle of lube in hand, and he's grinning, but there's something in his eyes, something darker, something hungrier.

He tosses the bottle onto the bench, his gaze flickering between you and Jason before he murmurs, "That's real convenient, sweetheart."

Jason's lips brush against your neck, hot and damp with sweat, his breath still ragged as he drags his mouth along your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the flushed heat of your throat. His hands slide down your waist, holding you, still keeping you close, as if he doesn't want to pull away just yet.

But then he does. His cock slips free, and the loss makes you whine, your walls clenching around nothing, feeling so empty after being stretched and filled so deep.

Jason chuckles, low and rough, pressing another slow kiss to your shoulder before he straightens, his hands steady on your waist as he helps you up, keeping you from collapsing completely. And then, his cum starts dripping out of you.

Thick, warm, messy, streaking down your thighs, slick and obscene, mixing with your own wetness, making your skin glisten under the dim lights.

Jason groans, watching it, his fingers squeezing at your hips before he turns you around, cupping your face with both hands, tilting your chin up so you have to look at him.

He kisses you, deep, messy, wet.

His tongue pushes past your lips immediately, curling against yours, dragging along the roof of your mouth, swallowing the small gasp you let out as he dominates the kiss.

It's all spit and heat, his grip firm, his fingers digging into your jaw as he devours you, groaning into your mouth, his own hips twitching forward instinctively, as if he's not done with you yet.

And maybe he's not. When he finally pulls away, your lips are slick with spit, swollen and tingling, your breath coming in short, shaky gasps.

The praise sends a shiver down your spine, heat coiling in your belly, but you don't even have time to dwell on it because you're already turning to Dick, your whole body still thrumming with need.

But Jason just smirks, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip as he murmurs, "Took me so fuckin' well."

"Lay on the bench."

His brows lift, lips parting slightly, but he doesn't question it. He grabs some towels first, spreading them out so he can sit more comfortably, before laying back, his cock still hard, standing thick and flushed against his stomach, twitching slightly as he watches you, pupils blown.

You barely give him time to think. You climb on top of him, straddling his hips, and the moment your soaked pussy presses against his cock, dragging along his length, he groans, his head falling back slightly.

"Fuck," he breathes, his hands gripping your thighs, sliding up to cup your ass. "That pollen fucked us up badly."

You nod, whimpering, rubbing yourself against him, smearing Jason's cum and your own slick all over his cock, making it all slippery, all hot, and then, Dick grinds right back.

His hands tighten on your ass, his hips rolling up against yours, rubbing the thick, leaking head of his cock against your throbbing clit, making you moan, making your thighs tremble from the overstimulation.

Dick gasps, his fingers flexing against your ass, his chest rising sharply as his brows furrow, his mouth falling open in a soft, breathless moan. His thoughts are a mess.

But you need him inside. Now. Lifting yourself up, you barely hesitate before sinking down onto his cock, and it's so easy. You're soaked, dripping, stretched wide and ready from Jason, and Dick slides right in, filling you up in one smooth, wet motion, the thick length of him pressing against every sensitive spot inside you.

He's inside you. He's inside you, and you feel so fucking good. So tight, so warm, so fucking wet, and it's all for him.

Well, for him and Jason, all of you caught up in this fever, this unbearable need, and fuck, he never thought this would happen, never thought he'd get to feel you like this, but now... now he can't stop thinking about it.

Can't stop thinking about how you feel around him, how you're squeezing him, how your slick drips down his length, coating his cock, making it so easy to slide deeper, making it so fucking hot.

"Jesus," he groans, his head tipping back, his fingers gripping at you. "Baby, you feel... fuck, you feel so good."

Dick can't stop kissing you. It's like he's obsessed, like he needs his mouth on you just as much as he needs to fuck you.

Every time his hips drive up, his cock sinking deep inside your dripping cunt, he's pulling you down to meet him, his lips crashing against yours, groaning into your mouth like he's drunk on the heat of you, the taste of you, the way your walls grip him so tight every time he moves.

"God, baby," he pants against your lips, voice breathless, wrecked, his fingers digging into your hips as he thrusts up into you again, harder this time, his cock rubbing against every tender, sensitive spot inside you. "I can't stop, I can't—"

You moan, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, clinging to him, feeling every shift of his muscles, every snap of his hips as he fucks into you with slow, deep, needy strokes.

And across from you, Jason watches. His lips are slightly parted, his chest rising with each heavy breath, his eyes locked on the way Dick's cock sinks in and out of your soaked, used pussy, slick noises filling the sauna, making his jaw clench.

"Fuck," he mutters, his grip tightening around his cock, stroking himself slowly.

His breath catches as he watches the way your body takes it, how easy it is for Dick to slide into you after he already ruined you, stretching you out, leaving you so wet that it's effortless.

His free hand slides up your back, fingers tracing along the sweat-slick curve of your spine, following it down to your ass, where he grips the flesh and spreads you slightly. The moment he does, he groans at the sight of Dick's cock fucking into your pussy, your hole clinging to him, soaked and messy, your juices dripping down to your thighs, making the whole thing so fucking filthy.

You hear the slick pop of a bottle being opened, and then, his fingers, cool and slick with lube, gliding over the rim of your other hole. A soft, teasing touch.

Your breath hitches, a shiver running through you even as you grind down onto Dick's cock, making him groan, his hands flexing against your hips. Jason smirks, rubbing slow circles around your rim, massaging the tight muscle, teasing it, not pushing in just yet.

"Gotta stretch you open first, doll," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the dip of your spine. "Don't wanna hurt you."

You nod, panting, pressing back into his hand as he finally, slowly, pushes in the tip of his finger. Your body twitches at the stretch, a sharp inhale escaping you as your walls flutter around Dick's cock at the same time, making him groan, his brows furrowing as he tries to keep himself from losing it.

Jason waits a moment, watching the way you react, his other hand rubbing slow circles along your waist, his voice softer this time when he asks, "You okay, baby?"

You exhale shakily, nodding, your body adjusting to the new sensation, the slight pressure of his finger stretching you open.

And then he starts to move.

Slowly, teasingly, fucking you with the single finger, slipping it in and out in careful strokes, feeling the way your body responds, the way your walls tremble around him, your moans growing softer, more desperate as he adds another finger.

A low, drawn out out moan escapes you, your body twitching, your walls fluttering around Dick's cock again, making him groan, his fingers gripping your hips harder.

"You're so fuckin' tight," Jason mutters, his forehead pressing to your shoulder as he works his fingers in deeper, stretching you open, his cock twitching at the way you pulse around him.

His movements stay patient, calculated, letting you get used to every single sensation, letting you feel it, your body reacting to both him and Dick at the same time, your nerves lighting up from how much stimulation there is, how they're everywhere all at once.

By the time he slides in a third finger, you're trembling, panting, your nails digging into Dick's shoulders as he groans at the way you keep clenching around him.

"You're doin' so good, baby," Jason murmurs against your back, pressing a slow kiss between your shoulder blades, fingers curling inside you, stretching you wider.

Dick keeps kissing you. He can't stop.

His lips keep finding yours between every breathless moan, every shaky exhale, every soft noise that leaves your lips as Jason's fingers work you open, stretching you wider, preparing you for his dick.

You can barely think. Your body is trembling, nerves buzzing, your mind foggy with want, with need, your hands gripping Dick's shoulders as he pants against your lips, "You feel so good, sweetheart, I—fuck, I need to feel you."

Jason growls against your skin, his fingers sinking deeper, pushing past the tight ring of muscle until he's knuckle-deep, fucking them in and out in slow, filthy thrusts. He watches you shudder, listens to the way you gasp, the way your thighs tremble when he curls his fingers just right.

"Relax," he murmurs, dragging his teeth over your neck, his free hand gripping your hip to keep you still. "You're already takin' me so fuckin' well, baby—bet you'll stretch around my dick like a dream."

He spreads his fingers, stretching you wider, dragging them back just to push in again, deeper, rougher, wetter. The slick, obscene sounds of it make heat curl in your belly, make your whole body tighten, aching, desperate.

"Fuck, you feel this?" Jason grunts, his fingers twisting, pressing, stroking in slow, teasing circles. "So tight, so fuckin' perfect—gonna ruin you, baby."

Dick presses another kiss to your lips, then another, then another, each one deeper, more desperate, more needy, because he has to. He has to taste you, has to feel you, has to lose himself in you while Jason kneels behind you, his cock hard and aching, the tip glistening as he slowly, carefully pulls his fingers out of your ass.

A low groan rumbles in his chest at the sight, his hands gripping your ass, spreading you slightly, watching the way your body twitches, the way your ass clenches, still slightly open from how deep his fingers had been.

"Relax, doll," he murmurs, his breath warm against your spine as he slicks himself up with lube, rubbing the tip of his cock against your hole, teasing, pressing just slightly to gauge your reaction.

Your whole body shudders, and Dick cradles your face, kisses you slow, deep, as he whispers against your lips, "Breathe, pretty girl. I got you."

Jason presses in. Slowly. The stretch is immediate, intense, your body clenching around him as he sinks in, inch by inch, his jaw tight as he groans, hands gripping your hips, feeling the way you shake as you adjust to the sheer size of him, to the way he's filling you.

Dick can feel it too. Your walls clenching around his cock, getting tighter just from how Jason is stretching you open, making him groan, his hands flexing against your waist.

"Fuck, baby," Jason grits out, his breath coming out shaky as he finally bottoms out, his forehead pressing against your back, his chest rising and falling in deep, heavy breaths. "You feel so fuckin' good."

You're a mess. Your breath is shaky, your pulse racing, your body overwhelmed in the best way possible, stuffed full, stretched wide, both of them inside you, filling you to the absolute brim.

Still, it's not enough. You need more. And the moment you shift, rolling your hips slightly, feeling the way it makes Jason's cock nudge deeper, Dick lets out a sharp, wrecked sound and tightens his grip on your hips.

"Hold still, love," he breathes, his voice low, strained, adjusting his grip on you, making sure you don't have to move, don't have to do anything except take it.

And you will. You'll take all of it. Because they need this just as much as you do, and neither of them can hold back much longer.

Jason exhales hard through his nose, his grip steady on your hips, his cock pulsing, buried deep inside your ass as he presses his chest flush against your back.

His lips graze your shoulder, his breath warm, voice low and gruff when he murmurs, "Good? Still with us?"

You nod quickly, too quickly, your brain foggy, words barely forming as you pant, "M-Move, please..."

Dick is the first to obey. His fingers flex at your waist, his muscles tensing beneath you as he rolls his hips up, fucking into your soaked cunt slow and deep, dragging a moan from your throat as the thick length of him stretches you open all over again.

Jason groans at the sight, at the way your tight little hole clenches around Dick's cock, the way your body shudders when Dick fills you to the hilt, rubbing against the spots that make you gasp, make you shake.

And then, Jason moves. It's slow, deliberate, his hips grinding forward, easing himself out just to push back in, filling your ass just as Dick fills your pussy, the slow stretch making your breath catch, making your fingers curl against Dick's chest.

Your mind is blank. Absolutely fucking blank. You can barely register the words Dick is whispering, his voice soft, warm, each praise making you clench down tighter, "God, sweetheart, you feel so good—so tight, so perfect—taking both of us so well, baby, so fucking good—"

His words make your breath stutter, make your walls squeeze around him, make Jason groan, his hands gripping your hips, thumbs stroking your skin as he kisses your back, your shoulders, your neck, his lips soft, reverent, even as he fucks you.

And you can barely breathe. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, your body trembling as they thrust into you, stretching you, filling you, overwhelming you with the sheer amount of pleasure you're drowning in.

Jason's hand slides around you. Finds your puffy little clit. Presses down. You wail.

Your whole body jerks, your breath shattering as Jason grins against your skin, his fingers circling the sensitive bundle of nerves, slow and cruel, all while his cock grinds deep into your ass, making your walls clench around both of them.

Dick chokes on a moan, his hips jerking, his fingers digging into your waist, his cock stuffing your pussy, pushing deeper, hitting that spot that makes you keen.

Jason groans at the reaction, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, muttering, "Fuck, baby, that's it—take it—"

And you do. You take everything. The stretch, the pressure, the fullness, the filthy praise whispered into your ear, the heat of their bodies against yours. The way their cocks move inside you, making your vision swim, making your mind blank, making your whole body tremble as they keep fucking you.

And there's nothing—nothing—you want more.

Jason's fingers keep working your clit, slow and teasing one moment, rough and insistent the next, rubbing tight little circles that have your thighs trembling, your body caught between the steady drag of his cock in your ass and the deep, devastating thrusts of Dick's cock inside your pussy.

Your breath shatters, your body taut, stretched wide, so full, their cocks filling you over and over, slick and hot, the filthy sound of it echoing off the walls, slick wet noises mixing with your gasping moans, their groans, their praises.

Dick slides a hand up your waist, warm and firm, fingers trailing the sweat-slicked curves of your body, before moving higher, higher, until he cups your breast.

A strangled moan gets caught in your throat as he palms you, rolling your nipple between his fingers, his grip firm, possessive, desperate, his hips never slowing, cock driving deep, kissing your cervix with every thrust.

Jason groans behind you, his cock throbbing, pulsing inside your tight, hot ass, his grip almost bruising at your hip as he watches Dick squeeze your tits, watches how you whimper and twitch, body so fucking responsive.

"Fuckin' hell," Jason rasps, pressing his forehead against your back, panting, "You're so tight, baby—grippin' me so good—"

Dick is all needy and breathless as he mutters, "You're so perfect—so wet, so fucking soft—"

And fuck, fuck, it's too much.

Your whole body tenses, muscles coiling, pleasure spiking, your slick dripping down, coating Dick's cock, soaking his thighs, Jason's fingers still rubbing your clit, still teasing, still playing with you.

Your vision blurs, your mouth falls open in a silent moan, and then you snap. Your orgasm rips through you like a fucking supernova, a shuddering, gut-wrenching explosion of white-hot pleasure. Wave after wave crashes into you as your pussy clenches, gripping Dick's cock so tight he chokes on a groan, hips faltering, hands gripping your waist to hold you there, fuck you through it, hips rutting up in messy, desperate thrusts.

Jason curses loud and filthy, his free hand digging into your hip as your ass tightens around him, milking his cock, making him throb, his jaw clenched so tight it aches as he rubs your clit faster, dragging out your orgasm, making you whimper, tremble, shake.

"That's it, doll," Jason growls, voice rough, filled with lust, "Fuck—look at you, so fuckin' messy, so good—"

Dick is moaning beneath you, his grip on you tightening, his cock still buried deep inside your spasming cunt, still rutting up into you, and it's so much, too much, your whole body a trembling, sweaty, soaked mess.

"M-more—"

Your voice is a broken little whimper, barely a sound at all, your body hot between them, overstimulated and fucked senseless, but still, still, you beg for more.

"H-harder—fuck—p-please—"

And that's it. That's it. Jason curses under his breath, and Dick's fingers tighten on your hips as something inside them just snaps, and they ruin you.

Jason grips your waist, holding you steady as he slams into your ass, hips snapping forward with messy, needy thrusts, cock stretching you wide, stuffing you so full, his abs flexing, sweat dripping down his chest.

Dick isn't any better. He's never fucked like this before, never felt like this before, usually so careful, so sweet, because he likes making love, likes taking his time. He's usually all slow, sensual touches and soft whispers, but the pollen, the fucking pollen.

You're soaking his cock, clenching around him, your pussy hot and wet and so fucking tight, making these little whimpering sounds that make his brain short-circuit, that make him lose every single ounce of restraint.

He pounds into you, moaning, hips driving up to meet yours again and again, his mind blank, wrecked, obsessed with how you feel around him, how good you take it, how you keep begging for it.

"Yes—yes—yes—more—fuck—"

You can't stop babbling, pleading, brain melting under the push and pull of their cocks inside you, their hands gripping you, keeping you in place, using you, fucking you.

"More—more—more—"

You're whimpering, gasping, trembling, bouncing between him and Jason like you belong to them.

"F-fuck—"

Jason feels like he's burning alive, the heat of your body, the way your ass grips his cock, the way you tremble every time he fucks you deeper, the sweat dripping down his back, his chest, his hips slapping your ass, his free hand sliding up your spine, grabbing the back of your neck, squeezing just a little, just enough to make you gasp.

"Shit, baby, you're so fuckin' tight—"

And then—

"Fuck—fuck— fuck—"

Dick breaks.

His whole body tenses, back arching, muscles coiling as his cock jerks inside you, and then he's cumming, gasping, groaning, fucking his seed deep into your cunt, pumping you full, stuffing you so full, hot and thick. His arms lock around your waist, holding you down as he ruts up into you, still moving, still fucking you through it because he can't stop, can't fucking stop.

And you—

You feel it, feel the hot rush of it inside you, feel it leak out around his cock, smearing on your swollen folds, on Jason's fingers still working your clit, on his balls, sticky and messy, so fucking filthy. You love it, love the way it drips out of you, love the way Dick whimpers as he fucks through his orgasm, love the way Jason grunts behind you, voice rough, guttural.

"Christ, look at that—fuckin' drippin'—"

And he's still fucking you, still grinding against you, his cock still hard, still deep, still pounding your ass, and you whimper, still shaking, still so fucking sensitive.

Jason's fingers are merciless.

They press against your swollen, throbbing clit, slick with a mess of cum, circling it, teasing, rubbing just right.

"F-fuck, Jay, I—"

Your words break, barely more than a whimper, and Dick shifts beneath you, his hands tight on your hips, his cock still stuffed deep in your wrecked pussy, and he feels it.

He feels the way your walls are fluttering, spasming, gripping him, the way your whole body is starting to shake.

"That's it, baby, let go—"

Jason's voice is low, gravelly, and then it hits you.

A wave of white-hot pleasure, so intense, so overwhelming, your whole body tenses and breaks at the same time, back arching, mouth falling open in a silent, shattered sob as you clench around both of them, your pussy squeezing Dick so tight he groans, hips jerking, and your ass—

"Shit—fuck—"

Jason chokes on his own breath, the sudden tight, spasming grip around his cock making his rhythm stutter, making his fingers falter, making his whole body tense as heat coils low in his gut, hot and throbbing, his hips snapping forward in shallow, desperate thrusts.

"Fuck— baby—"

His hand locks onto your waist, fingers digging into your soft, sweat-slicked skin, and he buries himself deep, cock throbbing, pulsing, spilling inside you, thick and hot. He can't stop moving, can't stop grinding into you, fucking it deeper, groaning, shuddering against your back as his orgasm wrecks him.

You sob.

Not just because it's too much, not just because your body is shaking, not just because your clit is pulsing under Jason's fingers, because your pussy is still leaking cum, because your ass is stuffed with it, because the pleasure is endless.

You sob because you've never been fucked this good, because it's Dick and Jason, because your body is spent. Because you're so tired and still trembling, still whimpering as Jason finally stills behind you, followed by Dick, both of them still inside you, both of them breathing hard.

"Baby—"

Dick’s voice is so soft, and you barely register it before your body gives out, before you collapse against his chest. His arms catch you, wrap around you, hold you tight, his big, warm hands rubbing slow, soothing circles into your back as you keep sobbing, sniffling, your body twitching from the aftershocks.

"Shit—"

Jason's hands smooth down your back, his lips pressing against the curve of your spine, kissing your sweat-damp skin as he exchanges a look with Dick, something unspoken, something concerned.

"Breathe, sweetheart," Dick murmurs, tucking you closer, his lips pressing to your temple, your forehead, "You're okay. We got you."

Jason hums against your back, his hands gentle now, tracing slow, grounding touches down your waist, your sides, rubbing at your hips, pressing softer kisses against your skin.

"M'sorry—" you hiccup, voice hoarse, and Jason shakes his head, arms tightening around you.

"Nah, baby," he murmurs, "Nothin' to be sorry for."

"We got you," Dick echoes, voice still so soft, lips still brushing against your skin, still pressing slow, tender kisses over your face, "We got you, love."

And the haze of the pollen is fading, just slightly, just enough to let the exhaustion creep in, just enough to let you sink into their warmth, just enough to let you breathe.

A little sniffle escapes you, barely more than a breath, and Jason exhales, his fingers tightening on your waist before he slowly, gently pulls out. You whimper, hips twitching at the loss, and he shushes you, hands smoothing down your sides, his voice low and gruff—

"Sorry, sweetheart."

It's only then, as his head starts to clear, that he sees you, like... really sees you.

The red marks scattered across your skin, the deep, dark hickeys, the little bruises blooming where fingers had gripped too tight, where mouths had been too hungry.

And normally, Jason wouldn't care. Wouldn't think about it, wouldn't dwell. But this wasn't some random fuck. This was you. And he cares about you.

He exchanges a look with Dick, who seems to be thinking the exact same thing, but before either of them can say anything, you lift your head slightly, voice soft, drowsy, still so blissed out.

"That was... that was so..." you pause as you take a slow, heavy breath. "That was the best fuck of my life."

For a second, they're stunned. Then Jason snorts, shaking his head as his hands squeeze your hips.

"You're somethin' else, pretty girl."

You hum, then shift, sitting up on Dick, your hands steadying yourself on his chest, his cock finally softening inside you.

Dick's hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear, his gaze soft, fond, full of something warm and aching.

"You okay?"

You nod, but he tilts his head, eyes scanning your face. "You sure?"

"So fucking sure," you murmur, leaning into his palm, letting his touch ground you, soothe you.

Jason exhales, then reaches over, fingers brushing your damp, sweat-sticky hair from your shoulder before he leans in, pressing a soft, warm kiss to your skin.

They let you breathe, let you come down completely, their hands slow and gentle, smoothing over your back, your arms, grounding you with soft touches, murmured reassurances, little praises that make your stomach flip.

And then, you shift again, lifting yourself from Dick's lap, and—

Oh.

The mess is... everywhere. Your thighs are slick, cum dripping from your swollen pussy, smearing on Dick's softening cock, streaking down onto the bench beneath you, pooling on the towels.

And now that the pollen haze has lifted, now that your mind is clearer, the sight of it, the reality of it, makes your face go hot, embarrassment creeping up your spine.

They see it. They know you. Jason clicks his tongue, turns you to face him, and pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping tight around you, caging you against him.

"Don't do that shit," he murmurs, voice warm, rough, "It's fine. We'll clean up."

You bury your face in his chest, mumbling something unintelligible, and he huffs, hand smoothing down your back.

"Kinda late for that, doll."

You groan, lifting a weak arm to swat at his shoulder. "Shut up."

Dick chuckles, shaking his head as he stretches, standing from the bench, his legs shaky, his hands settling on his hips as he exhales.

"You two go ahead and clean up," he says, rolling his shoulders, "I'll handle things here."

And before you can argue, before you can say I can help or I should clean up too, he steps up behind you, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder.

"Okay?"

You nod, still tucked against Jason's chest, and Dick hums, brushing his fingers down your arm before stepping away.

But before you can step away, Jason's arms tighten.

"Wait—"

Your words die in your throat as Jason lifts you, carrying you towards the showers like you weigh nothing, and normally, you'd protest.

Would roll your eyes, would shove at his shoulder, would grumble about carrying yourself. But right now, you're too fucked out to care. So you just sigh, letting your body go boneless against him, arms loosely wrapping around his shoulders as he carries you away.

Jason sets you down and turns on the water, the warm steam curling around you, soaking into your aching muscles. And the second your feet touch the tile, your knees buckle. But he's there, his hands steady on your waist, keeping you upright, and you let him.

His chest rises and falls with a slow, steady breath before he lifts one hand, cupping your face, his calloused fingers warm against your damp skin.

"You sure you're okay?"

His voice is quiet, rough around the edges, something almost hesitant underneath it.

You swallow, blinking up at him, exhaustion pulling at your limbs, your bones, every part of you. "Yeah." Your voice is soft, barely above a breath. "I just... 'm tired."

He nods. "I know."

You pout, and God, it's that little pout that always made him wanna kiss you, that always made his chest tight, even when he'd told himself not to care, even when he swore he wouldn't let it get to him.

"I wanna go home," you murmur, voice small, pleading.

His fingers tighten just slightly on your waist. "We'll take you home in a bit."

He leans in. Just a little. Just enough to brush his lips over yours—hesitant, almost unsure, because apparently, the pollen's not fucking with your heads anymore, and maybe this is where it ends, maybe this is where it stops, where everything just goes back to the way it was.

But you kiss him back. Soft, gentle, nothing like the desperate, frantic kisses from before, and his breath catches against your lips.

You pull back, barely, just enough to whisper, "Will you stay tonight?"

His brows pull together, his fingers brushing along your cheek. "Yeah, baby."

Your stomach flutters at the rasp of his voice, and you swallow, biting your lip before murmuring, "Both of you?"

He exhales, tilting his head down, brushing his nose against yours as he whispers, "Yeah. Both of us."

You nod, barely there, barely anything at all, and Jason watches you for a second, something warm, something almost uncertain flickering behind his eyes.

And then, you kiss him again. Soft, sweet, exhausted. And something about the way his lips press to yours, about the way his hand cradles your face, about the way his body relaxes against yours, even now... it feels right.

Like it was always meant to be this way.

Like something shifts inside you, deep in your chest, something small and fragile and terrifying.

Because you've had only fucked up men in your life before. Men who hurt. Men who took. Men who left nothing but bruises and scars in their wake. And now you have them—Jason, Dick—and you're scared.

Scared of losing them, scared of ruining this, scared of the ache in your chest that tells you you want them, not just like this, not just like what happened tonight, but something tells you they feel the same. Something tells you Dick feels the same. Something about the way Jason holds you now, the way he kisses you like it's not just about the fuck, like it matters, like you matter.

After cleaning up and making sure there's no evidence of what went down in the Batcave, the three of you made your way back to your apartment, exhaustion settling deep in your bones, but something warmer, something unchanged lingering between you all.

You're sprawled across your couch, tucked between two very warm, very big bodies, soaking up their heat as you all demolish a large pepperoni pizza. Because after that? After the hours of fucking, the overstimulation, the pollen that had you all wrapped up in a desperate, needy haze?

You're starving. And for once, there's no tension. No awkwardness. No 'so... what now?' kind of moment.

Just pizza. Just warmth. Just them.

Dick sits to your right, long legs stretched out, one arm draped over the back of the couch, fingers idly brushing over your shoulder as he chews, completely at ease.

And Jason's on your left, reclined, socked feet propped up on your coffee table like he owns the place, one arm resting over your thighs while the other holds his slice, chewing with that half-lidded, relaxed expression that means he's content.

And the thing is, it's not weird. It should be, right?

You just got wrecked by both of them in the Batcave of all places, and now you're here, cuddled up between them like it's nothing, like this was normal, like this was just another night of the three of you hanging out.

Except, it wasn't just another night. It was the first time you'd crossed that boundary. The first time you let yourselves give in to the tension that had always been there, just beneath the surface, lingering, waiting for something—anything—to push you all over the edge.

And it should've changed everything. But it didn't. If anything, it felt like it enhanced it.

Like something had clicked into place. Like this was always meant to happen. Dick swallows his bite, licking a bit of sauce from his thumb as he watches you from the corner of his eye. And he knows you.

He knows that little crease between your brows means you're overthinking. That the way you press your lips together means you're trying to make sense of something, trying to name whatever the hell this is, trying to define it.

And for once, you don't have to. Because he gets it. He feels it.

He'd spent years wanting you, wanting this, but never acting on it, because you were one of his closest friends, because you were one of Jason's closest friend, because the idea of losing you over some reckless decision was too much, too dangerous.

Jason snorts as you grab another slice of pizza, shoving it into your mouth like you haven't eaten in days, and he bumps his knee against yours, mumbling, "Jesus, slow down, doll. You're gonna choke."

You roll your eyes, mouth full, and mumble back, "Whose fault is that?"

Dick laughs—a soft, breathy chuckle as he leans back against the couch, his arm draped casually behind you. "She's got a point."

Jason clicks his tongue, tearing off a bite of his own pizza. "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

And it's so normal. So easy. Dick can't stop thinking about it. Because this should feel different. He thought it would feel different.

That maybe things would be awkward, that maybe you'd pull away, that maybe Jason would crack some joke that would make it feel less than what it was, like it was just another fuck, another good time.

But it wasn't.

And this—this easy, quiet warmth, the way you're curled up against them like you've always belonged there, the way Jason hasn't made a single move to leave, the way he hasn't wanted to leave... it feels like something that was always meant to happen.

Because as he glances at Jason, sees the way he's watching you, the way his fingers absently trace circles into your thigh, the way he looks so calm, so sated—he knows Jason feels the same.

Jason, who for the first time in years, isn't holding himself back. Jason, who had spent the last two hours running through every memory of you in his head, trying to figure out how he went so fucking long without having you like that, how he ever convinced himself to not want you. Because he did.

And he won't fucking say it, won't admit it, won't even let the thought settle too deep in his chest, but yeah. Yeah, he feels it, too.

He watches as you swipe a thumb across your lips, catching a stray bit of sauce, your lashes fluttering with exhaustion as you sink deeper into Dick's side, and something inside him tightens.

Because this isn't just some random hookup. This isn't just some heat of the moment bullshit he can brush off and forget. This is you. And fuck, if that doesn't scare the shit out of him.

He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair before reaching for another slice, and Dick glances at him, something knowing flickering behind those bright blue eyes.

But neither of them say anything. Because there's nothing to say. Nothing needs to be said. This was the first time the three of you crossed the boundaries of your friendship.

But not the last.

[angelltheninth]

Hey you know that trope where (usually) friends have to hide from a suspecting enemy but there is nowhere to really hide so the next best thing as to not draw attention to themselves is “quick we have to kiss because they are onto us!” One example is that one kiss scene with Steve rogers and Natasha.

Can you please write Clark, Bruce, Dick and Jason being in that similar scenario with reader? Whoever initiated it is up to you :)

I've written multiple fics with that exact premise, I know the trope very well.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Clark Kent x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, undercover mission, kissing, catching feelings, flirting

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Would do this with Clark more than anyone tbh. He's so cute!

BRUCE WAYNE

Takes his mission very seriously, a lot serious than you actually. Not to say that you don't but as long as you're at a fancy party you might as well have fun with Bruce. He however wants to get in, get out and get the mission over with without the two of you getting discovered, which proves harder when people keep whispering about what a cute couple you are and looking at you all the time. When he tilts your chin and captures your lips in a kiss he notes the surprised sound that leaves your lips after which he tells you he's sorry for the quick decision, but he needed to sell the idea of the two of you actually being a couple now that that is the most popular narrative and the one that will help the two of you the most.

DICK GRAYSON

Is more than happy to go on a mission with you and be your pretend boyfriend for the evening, now if only he could gather up the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend for real. Maybe he will if this mission goes well, it would make him a lot less awkward around you at the very least. Dick keeps glancing at you and at the people around you, hearing them getting more and more suspicious of the two of you right before you pull him by the tie and take him to the dance floor, smirking the whole time. As he's blushing his body falls into a rhythm with yours, the movements natural, the music and the atmosphere getting to his head so much that he kisses you at the very end of the dance, eliciting cheers and claps from the crowd, no more doubt.

RED HOOD

Loved the fact that the two of you got picked for this mission because it gives him even more chance to tease you and make you blush. Jason knows he can be a bit of an ass sometimes, okay, a lot of the time, but that doesn't diminish the fact that he still enjoys your company a lot more than the company of others. The people around the two of you are constantly looking over, at you specifically and he hates that, he was supposed to look at you like that, not anyone else so he leans in close and asks you for a kiss, otherwise he fears someone might ask you instead and he will blow your cover. Blushing at his request you smash your lips against his to shut down any smug words he might say to you next.

CLARK KENT

Was flustered when you asked him to be your partner on this mission, but he did say yes, he wanted to go, he wanted to make sure you were safe. He was a little fidgety around you, nervously glancing at you, at your lips, at your pretty dress, then quickly back at the crowd when he'd get caught. You loves teasing Clark when he got like this, you knew he had a crush on you but didn't want to call him out on it, he should tell you that himself, which is what you hoped would happen on this mission. Instead he kisses you out of panic when someone asks if he was your boyfriend and then apologizes profusely afterwards, saying how he couldn't think of any other way to make the lie convincing, which is funny coming from a man like him.

[mintyys-blog]

RAIN CHECK — dick grayson x reader

WARNINGS: smut, interrupted sex

The universe was actively conspiring against you and Dick Grayson.

It had been an entire month since you had gotten your hands on him properly, and every single time you tried, something interrupted. At first, it was almost funny—a minor inconvenience, a little bad luck. But after the sixth time? It was personal.

Attempt one: A perfect date night. Wine, candles, your dress slipping off your shoulders as Dick kissed down your neck. Then—his comms buzzed. Emergency. Gotham needed Nightwing.

Attempt two: A weekend getaway. Just the two of you in a cozy cabin. No crime, no distractions. Just as things were heating up? Your best friend called in full-blown crisis mode. She’d just been dumped and showed up at your door, crying into your robe.

Attempt three: The worst one. You were actually naked this time, pinned under him on your bed, fingers tangled in his hair, both of you breathless. Then—Alfred called. And you both knew better than to ignore that call.

And on and on it went.

A car chase. A literal explosion. Jason barging into Dick’s apartment unannounced, flopping onto the couch with a “Don’t mind me.”

By week three, you were beyond frustrated. At week four, you were considering drastic measures.

So, tonight? It was happening. No interruptions. No excuses.

Dick had just finished patrol when you called, your voice dripping with honey.

“Hey, handsome. You busy?”

He smirked, already peeling off his domino mask as he entered his apartment. “Not anymore. What’s up?”

You bit your lip. “I’m home alone… and I was thinking about you.”

That got his attention.

“Yeah?” His voice dropped an octave.

“Mhm. And I may or may not be wearing a satin robe and absolutely nothing underneath it.”

Silence. Then a sharp exhale.

“Give me ten minutes,” he said, already grabbing his keys.

You grinned, twirling a piece of your hair. “I was hoping for five, but I’ll take it.”

“Brat,” he muttered affectionately before hanging up.

He was on his bike in seconds, weaving through the streets of Blüdhaven, hell-bent on getting to you.

And then, because fate had a twisted sense of humor, he saw the flashing lights.

A bank robbery.

“Son of a—”

Gritting his teeth, he veered toward the chaos, pulling on his mask mid-ride. He parked a block away and hit his comm.

“Babe, change of plans. Quick detour.”

You sighed, swirling your wine in your glass. “Should I even ask?”

“Bank robbery. Five guys. Shouldn’t take long.”

You took a sip. “Mmm, take your time. I’ll just be here… in my robe… all alone.”

Dick groaned. “You’re evil.”

Then you heard it—the unmistakable sounds of combat. Grunts, the crack of a punch landing, the sharp zing of his escrima sticks.

Then gunfire.

You tensed, gripping the stem of your glass. “Dick?”

“Still here, babe,” he gritted out, followed by a loud thud—probably a body hitting the floor.

You rolled your eyes, propping your feet up on the coffee table. “You better not be getting shot while I’m sitting here half-naked waiting for you.”

“Not a scratch, promise.”

More scuffling, then silence. A second later, his voice came through, breathless but victorious.

“Alright, I’m back on the bike. ETA four minutes.”

You smirked. “Mmm, you gonna make it up to me, Nightwing?”

“You have no idea.”

You bit your lip. “Hurry, baby.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You hung up, anticipation thrumming through you.

And, true to his word, exactly four minutes later, your living room window slid open.

Dick stepped inside, still in full Nightwing gear, his hair wind-swept and messy. His mask was on, but you could see the heat in his gaze as he looked at you—your satin robe loose around your body, wine glass still in hand.

“Hi,” you purred.

He exhaled, shaking his head with a grin. “God, I missed you.”

Then he was on you, his lips crashing against yours, lifting you effortlessly.This time, nothing was going to interrupt. His lips crashed against yours, hot and desperate, like he had been starving for this just as much as you had. His gloved hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, the cool material of his suit contrasting with the warmth of your bare skin beneath your robe.

You barely had a moment to breathe before he was walking you backward, his mouth never leaving yours. You let out a soft gasp as the backs of your knees hit the couch, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

“You’re still in your suit,” you murmured against his lips, fingers tracing the emblem on his chest.

“Couldn’t wait,” he admitted, voice husky. “Didn’t even take off my boots.”

You smirked, running your hands up his chest, feeling the hard lines of his armor. “Well, I do like a man in uniform.”

Dick groaned, dropping his head to your neck, kissing along your pulse point. “You are so lucky I love you.”

You grinned, tilting your head to give him better access. “Mm, I really am.”

His hands slid to the tie of your robe, his fingers brushing over the silky fabric. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his expression dark with want. “Can I?”

You exhaled slowly, nodding. “God, yes.”

He tugged the robe open, his hands skimming your sides as he pushed it off your shoulders. The cool air sent goosebumps across your skin, but his touch was burning hot, his gaze drinking you in like he was trying to memorize every inch of you.

“Jesus,” he breathed, his hands tightening on your hips. “You’re so—”

The ringing of his comm cut him off.

You both froze.

Your eyes widened in horror as Dick let out a slow, controlled exhale through his nose. He squeezed his eyes shut, muttering something under his breath before tapping the device in his ear.

“Grayson, we need you back at—”

He ripped the comm out of his ear and tossed it across the room.

Your eyes flicked from the now-silent device to his face.

“That’s it,” he said, voice dangerously low. “I am done being interrupted.”

Before you could even process, he grabbed you, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. A startled laugh left your lips as he carried you toward your bedroom, his lips crashing against yours again.

“Door locked, comms off, phones on silent,” he murmured between kisses.

“Agreed,” you breathed, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Good,” he growled. “Because you’re not getting rid of me until morning.”



Dick kicked the bedroom door shut behind him, his grip on you firm yet reverent, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he let go.

“You say that like I’d want to get rid of you,” you teased, your breath hitching as his fingers dug into your thighs, still holding you effortlessly.

“You better not after everything we’ve been through just to get here,” he murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw, then another down your neck. “I swear, if someone knocks on that door—”

“They won’t,” you promised, threading your fingers through his dark hair and tugging just enough to earn a delicious groan from him. “And even if they do, I’m not answering.”

“Good,” he murmured before finally lowering you onto the bed. He hovered over you, his masked gaze raking over your body, his gloved hands tracing slow, deliberate patterns on your skin.

You sighed contentedly, stretching beneath him, knowing full well the effect it had on him. His breath stuttered, his jaw tightening as you arched your back ever so slightly.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Not before you make it worth my while.”

That was all the encouragement he needed.

Dick rolled his shoulders, exhaling sharply before finally—finally—tugging off his gloves, then his domino mask, tossing them both to the side. His bright blue eyes met yours, intense and full of heat.

Then he was kissing you again—deeper, slower, more possessive. His hands slid over every inch of exposed skin, like he was making up for lost time, like he was claiming you.

And you? You had absolutely no objections.

You reached for the fastenings of his suit, but he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head with ease. “Uh-uh,” he murmured against your lips. “I go first.”

A shiver ran through you at the dark promise in his voice.

“You gonna take your time with me, Grayson?” you teased, your pulse quickening.

He smirked, his grip tightening just enough to send a thrill down your spine.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, lips ghosting over your ear. “You have no idea.”

The way he looked at you—like he’d been starving for you, like he was memorizing every inch of you—sent heat pooling low in your stomach.

“Dick,” you breathed, shifting beneath him, trying to free your wrists.

He just smirked, holding you there with ease. “Something you need?”

“Yeah,” you said, arching slightly to brush your body against his. “Less clothes.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Patience.”

You huffed, rolling your hips up against him in retaliation. That wiped the smirk off his face. His grip on your wrists faltered for half a second—just long enough for you to slip free and push at the seams of his suit.

“Not fair,” he muttered, though he was already helping you peel off the top half of his suit, shoving it down his arms and tossing it to the floor.

You sucked in a sharp breath. No matter how many times you’d seen him like this, it never got old—the way his muscles flexed under your touch, the scars that told stories of battles won, the way his chest rose and fell, his breaths growing heavier with every second.

Your fingers traced the defined ridges of his abdomen, then dragged up to his shoulders. “You’re so beautiful,” you murmured, just because you could.

A faint pink dusted his cheeks, but the look in his eyes darkened. “Sweetheart,” he warned, voice rough.

You grinned, pulling him down for another kiss. This one was slower, deeper, your hands threading into his hair as his weight pressed you into the mattress.

His lips trailed lower, down the column of your throat, to your collarbone, and lower still. Each kiss, each lingering touch, felt like an unspoken apology for every interrupted moment before this one.

And for the first time in weeks, there was nothing standing in your way. No comms buzzing in his ear, no phone ringing at the worst possible moment. Just the two of you, tangled together, making up for lost time.

And when he finally, finally gave you what you wanted, you were both in full agreement— No more rain checks.

The night unfolded in slow, deliberate movements—like the two of you were savoring every second, making up for every lost moment, every interruption that had kept you apart.

Dick worshipped you, his hands mapping your body like he was relearning every inch of you, his lips tracing paths of fire across your skin. He took his time, dragging out every touch, every kiss, making you feel the frustration of the past month melt away in waves of pleasure.

And when he finally, finally gave in, it was nothing short of desperate.

Your name spilled from his lips like a prayer, his voice hoarse as he groaned against your skin. His grip on your hips was firm but reverent, his body pressed against yours as he moved with slow, deep strokes that had you clinging to him, gasping his name between breathless moans. He slid in easily, your body aching for him.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered against your neck, his breath ragged, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. “You feel so good…”

Your fingers raked down his back, nails leaving faint red lines in their wake. “Don’t stop,” you pleaded, tilting your head back, letting him press open-mouthed kisses to your throat. Your legs locked around his waist, and he pulled your hips closer.

“Not a chance,” he groaned.

His movements were unrelenting, each thrust sending sparks of heat through you, winding you tighter and tighter until you were right there, gripping onto him for dear life.

“Dick—”

“I got you, sweetheart,” he murmured, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath hot against your lips. “Let go.”

And you did.

The pleasure crashed over you in waves, your body arching into him as he guided you through it, his lips murmuring soft praises against your skin. He followed soon after, a deep, shuddering groan leaving his lips as he buried himself deep, his body tensing before he finally collapsed against you, breathless and spent.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your mingled breaths, your fingers idly tracing patterns on his back as he pressed lazy kisses to your shoulder.

Then, finally, he chuckled—low and satisfied. “Worth the wait?”

You exhaled a soft laugh, threading your fingers through his messy hair. “Hell yes.”

He rolled onto his side, pulling you with him so you were tucked against his chest, his arm draped over your waist. “Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

You arched a brow, smirking. “Oh?”

His grip on you tightened slightly, his blue eyes dark with mischief. “Baby, I just spent a month pent up for you. I owe you at least three more rounds.”

You laughed, tangling your legs with his. “That so?”

“Oh, absolutely.” He kissed you again, slower this time, full of promises.

And this time, there was nothing standing in your way.

The second time was slower, almost lazy—like he was savoring every inch of you, making up for lost time. His lips traced along your jaw, down your neck, his hands mapping your body as he moved against you with deliberate, intoxicating precision.

The third time? Filthy.

By then, neither of you had anything left to prove. No teasing, no buildup—just pure, raw desperation. Dick had you pressed into the mattress, his name falling from your lips in breathless gasps as he drove into you like he was making up for every second you’d spent apart. Your legs were thrown over his shoulders, as he drove in as deeply as he could.

And when it was over, when you were both thoroughly spent and tangled together in the sheets, you lay there in the aftermath, your body still humming from him.

Dick sighed deeply, his fingers tracing absentminded circles on your bare back. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this relaxed in my entire life.”

You chuckled against his chest, pressing a lazy kiss over his heartbeat. “I told you all you needed was a night off.”

He hummed, tilting his head back against the pillow, his eyes slipping shut. “Yeah, well. Next time, we’re taking two nights off.”

You smirked, running your fingers through his messy hair. “Mm. You planning ahead, Grayson?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he muttered, shifting to pull you even closer. “I’m never going a month without this again.”

You exhaled a soft laugh, nuzzling into him. “Guess I should keep the satin robe handy then?”

He groaned, rolling onto his side so he could kiss you again, deep and slow. “Sweetheart, if you wear that robe again, I will cancel patrol.”

You grinned against his lips. “Promises, promises.”

He smirked, brushing his nose against yours. “You love when I break the rules.” You kissed his jaw, “so no more rain checks?” He laughed, pulling you closer, “No more rain checks, babe.”

[adddddiiii]

First Impressions

Contents: Dick Grayson x fem!reader

The first time you meet Dick Grayson, he’s upside down.

Literally. Hanging from a pull-up bar in the hallway, knees hooked over the metal, mid-rep like gravity is just a suggestion. His shirt is slipping, revealing absurdly defined abs, and his arms are folded like this is the most casual thing in the world. Like he wasn’t just doing aerial acrobatics right in the middle of Wayne Manor.

And you? You're just trying to find the training room.

Your bag is still slung over your shoulder from the flight in, your head’s still buzzing from the sheer insanity of all this — being chosen by Batman for training, stepping into Wayne Manor, knowing that the second you enter in that cave, you have to prove you’re worth it.

What you weren’t expecting was a guy defying physics like it’s a joke.

You freeze in the doorway, staring, because what kind of introduction is this?

Then he grins — full wattage, bright and easy — like he’s been expecting you. “Oh, hey! I'm Dick Grayson. You must be-”

And then he loses his grip.

It happens fast. A shift, a slip, and then a thud. Right onto his back, limbs sprawling across the hardwood.

There’s a long moment of silence. You don’t move. He doesn’t move.

Then, with an almost resigned groan, he drapes an arm over his face. “Okay,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Not my smoothest moment.”

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh. “Yeah. I figured.”

He shifts just enough to peek at you from under his arm, and somehow, despite literally falling at your feet, his grin is still completely intact. “So, do I get a redo on that first impression, or…?”

You cross your arms, pretending to consider it. “I don’t know. This is pretty unforgettable.”

He laughs at that, loud and unabashed, before finally pushing himself up onto his elbows. He doesn’t seem embarrassed, just amused, like this is just another part of the whole experience.

“Alright,” he says, brushing himself off as he stands. “If I can’t impress you with my acrobatics, maybe I’ll have to charm you the old-fashioned way.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And that would be?”

Another grin, just as dazzling as the first. “Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out. Welcome to Wayne Manor, y/n."

You roll your eyes but smile at the welcome, adjusting the strap of your bag. “Right. Because finding out how I'm going to be 'charmed' is what I came here for.”

Dick doesn’t miss a beat. “Exactly. Batman’s elite charm school. You’re the newest recruit.”

You snort. “Thought this was a training program for vigilantes, not future playboys.”

He gasps, pressing a hand to his chest like you’ve hurt him. “Wow. Stereotyping already? You wound me.”

You shake your head, but you’re fighting back another smile. You don’t know what you expected when you got here — stoic, terrifying Bat-people, maybe — but Dick Grayson? He’s a curveball.

Before he can get another quip in, a voice interrupts from down the hall.

“Dick, quit stalling and bring her to the Cave.”

It’s unmistakable; calm, authoritative, and just gravelly enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Batman.

Dick turns toward the voice, then glances back at you with an exaggerated wince. “Well. Time to throw you into the deep end.”

You exhale slowly, squaring your shoulders. “Good. That’s why I’m here.”

His expression shifts, amusement softening into something more considering. Like he’s taking stock of you for the first time.

Then, with an approving nod, he gestures for you to follow. “Alright, newbie. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

You follow Dick through the halls of Wayne Manor, your footsteps echoing against the polished floors. It’s almost surreal, walking through this place — this massive, ridiculous estate that feels more like a museum than a home. But you’re not here to admire the architecture.

You’re here to become something more.

Dick moves with an ease that tells you he’s done this a thousand times, like he belongs here in a way you can’t imagine yourself ever feeling. He doesn’t even hesitate when he reaches a seemingly normal grandfather clock. Instead, he reaches behind it, does something you can’t quite see, and-

The whole thing shifts.

Stone grinds against stone, gears clicking into place, and suddenly, a hidden entrance reveals itself. Cold air rushes out, carrying the scent of something metallic and sterile.

You swallow.

Dick gestures toward the entrance. “After you.”

You don’t hesitate. You step inside.

The descent into the Batcave is silent, save for the distant hum of computers and the faint dripping of water from somewhere unseen. The deeper you go, the more the realisation sinks in.

This is it. This is real.

At the bottom of the steps, the Cave opens up into something massive. Towering supercomputers, weapon caches, suits encased in glass — all of it a testament to the legend of Batman. And standing in the middle of it all, waiting, is the man himself.

Bruce Wayne.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just studies you with that unreadable expression, like he’s already dissecting everything about you. The weight of his gaze is almost suffocating, but you don’t look away.

Finally, he nods. “You’re late.”

You open your mouth, because seriously? You just got here! But Dick jumps in before you can say anything. “My fault. Had to give her the proper Gotham welcome.”

Bruce doesn’t even acknowledge that. He just turns and starts walking toward the training area. “Let’s begin.”

And just like that, you’re in it.

No warm-up, no easing into things. Within minutes, you’re sparring, first with Dick, then with Bruce himself. You’re good. You know you are. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. But they’re better.

Dick moves like he’s weightless, every dodge effortless, every counter calculated. And Bruce? He’s relentless. Precise. He doesn’t waste a single movement, and every strike lands exactly where it should.

By the time you finally get a break, your lungs are burning, your arms aching, and you’re pretty sure you’ve got at least one bruise forming. But despite all of it, there’s something electric in your veins.

This is what you came here for.

As you grab a water bottle from the side, Dick flops down next to you, barely even winded. “Not bad for your first day.”

You huff out a breath, shaking your head. “Not good enough.”

He chuckles and tosses you a towel. “Oh, you're gonna fit in great.”

[lizbix]

IMAGINE NIGHTWING!ISAGI waiit i might lose my mind

[notsodelirious]

I just read your knight dick grayson x royal gn reader and I’m absolutely inlove with the forbidden love between the two. I need the sequel so badddddd

Knight Grayson means so much to me💔

idk if this is what people mean when they say write a little every day but here you go!

Synopsis: Dick finds you in your room while you’re getting ready for a ball celebrating your engagement

notes: SFW, also reader is mentioned to do a couple of feminine things (wear earrings, being led in a dance, etc) but that’s just bc I’m a trans guy who likes wearing earrings (reader is still gn)

tags: forbidden romance, knight!Dick Grayson, Royalty AU, bittersweet ending, political engagements, just abt 1k words, no use of y/n

Previous part

“Your Highness? You called for me?” Dick called out through the door as he knocked before carefully pushing the door open. He stumbled when his eyes fell on you.

It was the night celebrating your engagement. Your father had thrown a ball in honour of it, and as much as you despised the idea, you didn’t kick a fuss: it was too late anyway. You would be married in 3 months time and it was too late for any tantrums to change the course of that. You’d received your orders and begrudgingly, reluctantly, you would fulfil them.

You stood in the middle of your room, absently neatening your attire—the maids had already helped you dress in all your royal regalia an hour before, before leaving you to collect yourself while they finished the preparations to welcome guests.

“Oh, Sir Grayson,” you said softly, feigned nonchalance as you turned away from the mirror to look at him. You tried not to blush under his gaze as his eyes roved over you, up and down before a gentle rose brushed over his cheeks too. “Come in. Close the door.”

He did so, shutting the door behind himself hastily, quietly.

“You look stunning,” he said as he approached. He rested his gloved hand on your waist, as he took to admiring you up close. He was also dressed in his finest, black and blue wrapped around his body, a heavy coat draped over his shoulders like a cape. It was customary of all knights in attendance to wear, but it was so distinctly him. He was gorgeous.

You held up a pair of earrings which he carefully took from you. He tilted your chin up before he opened the first earring to slip it into place. He tilted your head again to put the second earring in, holding your face as if admiring the jewellery and not the love of his life. “Ready?”

“Will I ever be?” you said softly as you turned to look back towards the mirror, where you could see the both of you stood side by side. Complimentary, paired like sword and shield, an image you knew in your heart to be true. But it was all just an illusion and soon you would separate again.

Dick didn’t say anything as his grip on your waist tightened just a little, and if you let yourself indulge in your delusions, you could almost imagine it was possessive. With the care he’d use to handle a delicate flower, he reached down for your hand as he stepped in front of you, holding your body close to his.

You couldn’t help but smile; you grasped his hand firmly in return, resting your other on his shoulder.

He guided you through the dance, shoes brushing against soft carpet as you stepped to silence of your room.

“Didn’t know you could dance,” you said teasingly, but not loud enough to disrupt the fragile quiet that had settled over the room.

“Ballroom lessons come included when being raised by Bruce Wayne,” he smiled back as he continued to lead the dance. “Why are you surprised?”

“Guess I didn’t expect the circus brat to know how to dance.” He laughed softly, dark locks falling in front of his face when he ducked down low. You couldn’t help but look up at him, the hand in his leaving so you can cup his face. Ocean eyes meet yours before his lips brush against yours. His hair was soft between your fingers as you tugged him down closer, mouth moving against his, as if he were your only source of oxygen.

By then your dance had slowed to a stand still. You pulled away, eventually in need of hair.

“Thank you.” Your words were soft, barely above a whisper while you wrapped your arms around his neck. He held you close in turn, holding your hips.

“It’s my honour, Your Highness.”

The sway that you resumed, a lazy shuffle more than anything, kept you close. You rested your head on his shoulder, while you let his hands roam where it never would be decent for any man to lay his hands. You hated the thought of moving away from this, from him, but the throne wasn’t yours to keep and your father’s knights not yours to keep.

“I’ll be here when you come back to visit,” Dick said, almost as if he were reading your mind. He placed his cheek against the top of your head as you continued to sway, nothing like the formal waltz before.

You shook your head. “Don’t wait for me,” you replied. “Find yourself a sweet girl who can give you the love and family you deserve.”

His hold on you tightened again, holding you against him.

“I fear even if I tried, it’ll always ever be you.”

You chuckled wetly as you pulled away from him. The pads of his fingers brushed away your tears and he smiled down at you softly.

“I love you.”

You tilted your head to kiss his palm.

“I love you too, Dick.”

You both startled at the sound of a knock at the door. It was time to go.

He held his arm out to you.

“Ready?”

You took hold of him, bitter acceptance and love blooming in your throat.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Hope you enjoyed! <3 so far, this series has been SFW but I’m ngl every other sequel I’ve thought of is NSFW and idk if that’s something people would be into for this AU—to be seen <3

[lovesickf-fics]

Something about that mask

tw : mask kink, quickie, dry humping, cumming inside, cum eating, sex in public (alleyway), light choking, mentions of biting, making out with cum in mouth

character(s) mentioned : Nightwing (Dick Grayson) x gn!reader

Reader pronouns : n/a but reader has a cock

Summary : Being a hero causes alot of pent up emotions, and something about him cumming releases that. Thank god you were there

All heroes have a way to relieve stress, Batman has his Brucey Wayne persona, acting stupid healing whatever stress on his mind in that moment. Superman had his family in smallville, his wife and his reporter job.

Nightwing had, well sex. He frequents bars and clubs out of costume, he has no issues pulling anyone he has interest in and in costume? lets just say people really enjoy how flexible he is

After a somewhat boring patrol of bludhaven Dick happened to find himself on top of a popular queer club soon after opening. Deciding fate had its eye out on him, he went inside.

The stark colours of the club, the thrum of music, and the dance floor filled with all sorts of people made him smile. Openly queer heroes commonly stopped here, so not many were shocked by his appearance

He found you in the crowd, drinking and enjoying yourself. You were hot, and you were looking at him, and he knew the eyes you were giving him all too well.

It didn't take long for him to get you both out of there and to a quiet alley.

He doesn't remove any of his suit, just grabbing you and holding you against the wall. He kisses at your neck and he presses his body against you, already having the blood rush downwards.

With a suit so tights you can easily see and feel what's happening, and you feel the same way, with the way nightwing has his mouth on your neck and the way his body is against yours no one could blame you

It isn't long before you're flipped, cold stone against your cheek, and your bottoms tugged down enough so that he can have his way with you.

His hand is on your cock while the other guides his cock against you, grinding against you suit to skin. The way he grips your cock making you dizzy.

He pulls his hand off of your cock to undo the front of suit, body hot and his cock hard, something about him, stood there behind you in next to nothing but his cowl makes you warm.

It doesnt take long for him to situate himself against you, cock sliding in slow and it burns in a way that makes you gasp. He bites your neck and grabs your cock again, the sensation of his hand masking the burn in a pleasure.

He thrusts, slow and short, as you both adjust. He huffs into your skin as he gets used to you, the tightness being everything he needs.

As you both settle, he grabs your neck, the other hand holding your waist, curving you as far as you'll go, and he thrusts, his care slowly melting away with every time his hips smack you from behind.

It doesn't take long for the rhythm to change, getting more and more needy, aggressive, and all around desperate. The grip on your neck gets tighter, and nightwing places his head on your shoulder, letting you hear his bitten back sounds.

He cums, groaning as his hips stutter to fuck him through the orgasm, the hand on your waist moving to your cock, haphazardly stroking you, the sensation of his hips and hands tipping you over the edge, cum landing on the wall.

He pulls out, the cum spilling with him, dripping out of you, and with what he'd say was no other option nightwing drops to his knees. Licking it up, swallowing some as it spills onto his tongue.

When he lifts himself up, he takes your bottoms with him. Whatever was left dampening the fabric, he makes you face him and kisses your tongue first. The unfamiliar taste of his cum filling your mouth as you both messily kiss.

Thats how he leaves you, with a smile, a lingering taste of cum and a promise he'll find you again

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤATTENTION BABYㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : When you're too busy for them.

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne.

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

Bruce was a busy man. A billionaire CEO, Gotham’s protector, and a single father to a hoard of emotionally volatile vigilantes. He understood the concept of being busy better than anyone.

That didn’t mean he liked it when it applied to you.

It had started simple. You’d been swamped with work, deadlines looming over you like a guillotine, and Bruce, ever the persistent shadow, had been hovering. At first, it was subtle. A lingering gaze as you typed. The occasional brush of fingers when he brought you coffee. A deep, expectant silence as he stood behind you, arms crossed, waiting.

But then—then—it became insufferable.

"I'm working, Bruce," you mumbled, not even looking up from your laptop.

"You need to rest." His voice was that signature Batman growl, but you waved him off.

"I will. After this."

Wrong answer.

Bruce, billionaire, genius, the goddamn Batman, closed your laptop with a single, slow motion. The weight of his gaze was almost suffocating.

"Hey!" You tried to reopen it, but he placed a large, firm hand over the top.

"You’re done for the night."

"No, I'm not—"

"Yes. You are."

You glared at him. He stared back, completely unaffected. It was a battle of wills.

But then—because he’s a manipulative bastard—his hands slid to your shoulders, massaging the tension away with frustrating expertise. You let out an involuntary sigh. Damn him.

Before you could protest, he leaned down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the top of your head.

"Take a break sweetheart."

"But—"

"I’ll make you a deal," he murmured, leaning down, lips brushing against your ear. "You take a break, come upstairs with me, and I won’t disable the WiFi for the rest of the night."

Your head snapped toward him. "You wouldn’t dare."

Bruce just raised a brow.

He absolutely would.

In the end, you found yourself naked in his arms on the bed, completely trapped as he murmured sweet nothing in your ear.

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

Dick is like a giant, overly muscular golden retriever with abandonment issues.

Which meant the moment you got busy and stopped giving him the attention he craved, he went through the five stages of grief.

Denial — "She’s just busy. It’s fine. I’m fine. We’re fine." (Narrator: He was not fine.)

Anger — "Okay, but I’m literally her boyfriend??? Hello??? Where is my affection???"

Bargaining — "If you look at me for five seconds, I’ll do that thing you like—"

Depression — soft sighing noises in the background

Acceptance (fake) — "It’s okay. I didn’t need love anyway. I’ll just wither away like a Victorian child—"

At first, he tried the cute approach. He flopped dramatically onto the couch beside you, big blue eyes blinking up at you as he scooted closer.

"Hey."

"Hi," you muttered, not looking up from your paperwork.

"You’re working hard," he said, smiling.

"Yep."

"So hard."

"Mhm."

"...you wanna take a break?" He grinned, nudging you. "Maybe cuddle? Or make out? Or stare into each other's eyes for an unhealthy amount of time?"

You patted his cheek absentmindedly. "Not now, babe."

He rested his chin on your shoulder, warm breath tickling your neck. "I miss you."

You huffed a laugh. "Dick, I’m right here."

"Are you, though?" He suddenly was Infront of you, forcing you to face him. His arms came around you, caging you in as he pouted. "This is how close we should be."

You rolled your eyes. "Dick, I need to finish this."

"Finish me first," he said with a wiggle of his brows.

"Get out."

And that was when Dick entered his menace era.

Suddenly, your papers were gone.

Like, vanished.

"Richard," you said slowly, "where are my papers?"

"Who’s Richard?" he said, all faux innocence as he stretched his long arms behind his head.

You narrowed your eyes. "Pretty boy."

"Yes, angel?"

"My papers."

"Ohhh. Those." He grinned. "Guess you'll have to catch me if you want them back."

And just like that, he bolted.

You didn’t even chase him. You just texted Alfred. Five minutes later, he walked back in, grumbling, and handed you your papers like a scolded child.

— JASON TODD ⋆

Jason liked to pretend he was above needing attention.

But the moment you started prioritizing anything else? He was intolerable.

At first, he played it cool. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching you work. Casual. Aloof. The picture of patience.

But then—then—you didn’t look up. Didn’t even glance his way.

And suddenly, Jason Todd, Red Hood, walking crime deterrent, was pouting.

"Whatcha doin’?"

"Work."

"How long you gonna be doin’ that?"

"A while."

"...so you’re just gonna sit there? Ignore me?"

"Jay," you sighed, rubbing your temples. "I love you, but please."

"Oh, please?" His eyes gleamed mischievously. "Damn. Didn’t know I was just a piece of meat to you, doll."

You groaned. "Jason."

"Jason," he mocked, deepening his voice dramatically. "God. You don’t even see me anymore. I could drop dead and you wouldn’t notice."

Without another word you just go back to work.

Just. Like. That.

He just watched you. Then he sighed loudly.

Nothing.

He groaned dramatically.

Still nothing.

Jason’s eye twitched.

Then, without warning, he snatched your laptop and slammed it shut.

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

Jason’s arms came around your chair, trapping you in place as he leaned in close, emerald eyes narrowed. "You forgot about me."

You blinked. "Jason—"

"Forgot. About. Me." He spoke slowly, as if the words physically pained him.

You gaped. "I was working!"

"You weren’t paying attention to me," he corrected.

You sighed. "Jason, you’re being dramatic—"

"Dramatic?!" He gasped, clutching his chest like you’d stabbed him. "Doll, you wound me."

You shot him a glare. "Do you need something?"

"Yeah," he said, grinning. "My bitch."

And then this giant of a man literally collapsed onto you, throwing himself across your lap like a spoiled cat.

"Jay—you're heavy!"

"Guess you’ll have to take a break, then."

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

Damian doesn’t ask for attention.

He demands it.

So when you started ignoring him, he didn’t pout like Dick, or whine like Jason.

No.

Damian stared.

Silently.

Unblinkingly.

For hours.

You had been working on something—completely oblivious to his growing impatience—when you finally glanced up… only to find him standing a few feet away, arms crossed, watching.

"…Damian."

"You are neglecting me."

Your eye twitched. "Neglecting?"

"Tt. I have been here for three hours."

That made you pause. "...you've been standing there the entire time?"

He didn't answer. He just stared.

"Okay, that’s creepy."

"Hn." He walked over, standing directly beside you. "You will cease working now."

You let out an exasperated sigh. "Or what?"

Silence.

Then—your laptop was gone.

Like, just gone.

"Damian—!"

"You have no choice now," he said simply, settling beside you with a pleased expression. "Now bless me with your lips beloved."

You later found your laptop in the bat cave. Behind five layers of security. It took you hours to get it back.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[mtcloudsworld]

Hol' on I'm tryna see something...

[elvinapandra]

POV : you have been scrolling for the past hour and all you see is SMUT

Please...life is lot more than fucking🙏🏻

[neontiger]

I can't even think of anything to say. That's how good this fucking is

SHIFT

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader

Plot: You spend the whole night teasing Dick—subtle touches, flirty whispers, pressing up against him just to watch him struggle. But the second you're alone? He snaps. You wanted to play? Now you're taking everything he's been holding back.

Words: 7,1k

CW: established relationship, 18+, smut, butt slapping, rough sex, vaginal fingering, edging, multiple orgasms, creampie

Dick fucking hates clubs. The loud music, the sweaty bodies pressing too close, the overpriced drinks, it's everything he actively avoids. But you wanted to go, and, well, there's nothing he won't do for you.

He keeps an arm around you the whole night, not because he's possessive—okay, maybe a little—but because you look too damn good in that tiny dress, and he's had to glare down more than one pair of wandering eyes. You're all over him: draped around his shoulders, whispering against his jaw, grinding against his thigh like you don't give a shit who's watching.

And maybe you don't.

Maybe it's the cocktails, or maybe you just love pushing him to the edge, seeing how much he can take before he snaps. Either way, his patience is running on fumes by the time he gets you in the car.

Now, as he drives home, his knuckles tight on the wheel, you're still at it—still teasing, still testing him.

"Dick," you hum, voice all soft and sweet, your head resting against his shoulder.

You drag your nails down his thigh, just barely brushing against his cock through his jeans.

He tenses, jaw clenching. "Baby."

His voice is warning, firm, but you don't give a shit.

You shift closer, lips ghosting against his neck, pressing a kiss to his pulse point. "You're so tense, baby..." Another kiss, this time against his sharp jawline. "Should let me help you relax."

Dick exhales through his nose. "You've had too much to drink."

"So?" you purr, shameless. Your fingers move higher, tracing the outline of his hard dick. "You're so hard, my love."

He curses under his breath, adjusting his grip on the wheel. "Of course I am," he mutters. "You spent all night rubbing your ass on me like a little brat."

You giggle, shifting in your seat, pressing your thighs together. You're soaked, your panties sticking to your cunt, and you know he knows. He can see it, smell it, feel the heat radiating off you.

"Can't help it," you murmur, lips brushing against his ear. "You're so fucking sexy, baby."

His grip tightens on the wheel, and you swear his foot presses just a little harder on the gas.

"We're almost home," he mutters. "Behave."

But you? Oh, you don't behave. You slip a hand between your thighs, pushing your dress up just enough for him to see. You let your fingers trail over your soaked panties, gasping softly at the contact, putting on a show just for him.

And when he glances down—just for a second, just to see what the fuck you're doing—he groans, deep and frustrated, gripping the wheel like it's the only thing keeping him from losing his mind.

You don't stop there. No, you drag your fingers up, pressing against the damp fabric, rubbing slow, lazy circles right where you know it'll make you shiver. Your other hand grips your thigh, spreading yourself open just a little more, just enough to drive him insane.

"Fuck," he grits out, knuckles turning white on the wheel. His jaw clenches so hard you think it might snap. "You're testing me, sweetheart."

"Mmm," you hum, teasing yourself right in front of him, letting out a soft whimper just to push him further. "You don't like it? Thought you liked watching me, my love."

His breath shudders, and his grip tightens, muscles flexing as he struggles to keep his focus on the road. His eyes flick between you and the street ahead, torn between staying in control and pulling over to ruin you.

"Baby," he sighs, his voice strained, dangerous. "You're really testing me tonight."

"Good," you pout, wide, pleading eyes locking onto his. "I need you."

And fuck, if that doesn't snap the last thread of his self-control. Dick knows you too well by now. Knows how you get when you've had one too many cocktails, how you love to test him sometimes, to push just to see how far you can go before he snaps. And usually? He doesn't let you get to him like this.

Usually, he's more composed. He can handle it because he expects it. Because he knows you. He sees the glint in your eyes before you even make a move, can read you like the back of his hand. But tonight?

Tonight, he's fucking struggling.

Maybe it's the dress—the one he loves, the one that hugs your curves just right and rides up dangerously high when you sit. Or maybe it's the way you look right now, flushed and giggling, a little tipsy, a little messy, so fucking breathtaking he can barely stand it.

Either way, the fifteen-minute drive home is pure torture.

His cock is throbbing, painfully hard, pressing tight against his jeans, and all he can think about is you. Your soft moans, the way you touch yourself just to tease him, the way your fingers trembled when they brushed over your soaked panties.

Fuck. He grips the wheel tighter, jaw clenched so hard it aches, forcing himself to focus on the road instead of the filthy thoughts running through his head.

Because if he thinks about it too much? He's definitely pulling over. Pulling you into his lap, yanking that little dress up around your waist, sinking into your dripping pussy and fucking you right here, right now.

But somehow—somehow—he makes it home without losing his goddamn mind.

The second he parks, he's out of the car, moving fast to open your door. But you're even faster, throwing yourself against him, pressing soft, sloppy kisses against his neck as he exhales sharply.

"Baby," he mutters, trying—trying—to sound stern, but you just hum, nuzzling against his jaw.

Then comes the elevator. You're quiet at first, a little sheepish, standing close but not too close. But the second the doors close? Oh, you're an absolute menace.

At the same time you press the button, you press back against him, your ass grinding against his hard cock like you need him to feel how wet you are, how much you want him. His hands snap to your hips, gripping tight, a weak attempt to stop you, but he can't fool you.

"You're so hard," you whisper, voice all sweet and teasing, rolling your hips just enough to make him groan.

He exhales sharply, fingers digging into your waist. "You're cruel, my love."

You moan, just to push him further, just to make him suffer, and fuck, he can feel how badly you want this, how hot and slick you are even through your panties.

But then, the elevator dings.

And like you weren't just grinding against his dick, like you weren't just whimpering for him, you peel yourself away, stepping out with a little sway in your hips, heels clacking against the floor as you walk toward your shared apartment.

He doesn't move for a second. Just stands there, hands clenched, dick aching, trying to comprehend the fact that you just left him like that. You fumble with your keys, giggling when you can't quite get the door open, and he sighs—trying to sound exasperated, but you know better. He's not fooling anyone.

His large hand lands over yours, steadying you just enough to push the key in the lock and open the door. And then? Then you step inside, looking back at him with that wicked, teasing little smile, like you know he's about to ruin you.

But before he can grab you, before he can even shut the door properly, you take full advantage of just how worked up he is. You press back against him, ass grinding right against his dick, slow and deliberate, feeling just how hard he is for you.

His breath punches out in a harsh growl, hands snapping to your hips so tight it's almost bruising. "You're playing a dangerous game."

"Am I?" you murmur, pushing back again, rolling your hips in a way that makes him curse under his breath. His cock twitches against you, and you grin, knowing just how much you're getting to him. "Doesn't feel like you mind."

"Fuck," he grits out, pressing you against the nearest wall, hips grinding right back into you, making you feel just how much you've been teasing him. "You really think you can pull this shit and not pay for it?"

Your only answer is another slow grind, dragging your ass right over the outline of his cock, feeling the heat of him through both layers of fabric. The way he shudders, the way his fingers dig into your hips—it's intoxicating.

His patience? Snapped. And you? You're about to find out exactly how he plans to handle you.

You step inside the hallway with a soft, breathy hum, throwing your keys into the little basket by the door before carelessly tossing your purse onto the coat rack. Then you kick off your heels, sighing as the ache in your feet fades.

Behind you, Dick moves slower. Slipping off his jacket, kicking off his shoes, rolling his shoulders like he's trying to shake off the tension. But the second that door finally clicks shut, the second the world outside disappears? He's on you.

Big hands grip your waist, spinning you around so fast it makes you gasp. And then he's crowding you against the wall, his chest pressed against yours, his breathing slow and deep, like he's trying, really trying, to control himself.

"You think that was funny?" he murmurs, voice low, dangerous.

Your breath catches as you ask in a soft, almost sheepish tone, "What, baby?"

He huffs out a quiet laugh, but there's no humor in it, just pure, raw frustration. "Grinding on me all night. Acting so sweet, so innocent, then leaving me hard as fuck in the club? In the car? In the damn elevator?" His fingers dig into your hips, his lips ghosting over yours. "That was cruel, sweetheart."

Your stomach flips, a rush of heat flooding between your legs. "I—"

Smack.

Your words cut off in a choked moan as his palm cracks against your ass, the sharp, stinging heat stealing the breath from your lungs.

Oh. Oh, he's never done that before. And fuck, you love it.

You make a soft, desperate sound, and Dick stills. You feel the tension in him, the hesitation, like he's waiting, watching, trying to see if he's crossed a line. But you arch into him, pressing your ass back against his hand, silently begging for more.

His breath shudders out of him, and then—

Smack.

The second one lands harder, sending another sharp, electric jolt straight to your aching cunt. You whimper, thighs clenching together, and fuck, Dick feels it. The way your body responds, the way you melt for him, eating it up like you were made for it.

He groans, his hand smoothing over the sting, then gripping hard. "Yeah?" he murmurs, his other hand tangling in your hair, tilting your head back so he can see your face. "You like that, don't you?"

You bite your lip, nodding quickly, breathless. "Yes. Fuck, yes."

He exhales harshly, his cock twitching against your stomach, throbbing. And then? Then he grins.

"Well, in that case..." he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw, his fingers kneading the soft flesh of your ass, teasing, promising. "Let's see just how much you like it."

He spins you around, pressing you up against the wall before you can even catch your breath. His grip is firm, unyielding—one hand on your hip, the other splayed over your lower back, guiding you exactly where he wants you.

And you? You don't hesitate. You know what he wants.

Your hands brace against the wall as you arch your back, pushing your ass up and out, grinding against his dick like you need to feel him. A deep, ragged breath leaves his lips, his fingers tightening on your hip as his cock twitches, aching for you, for relief.

Fuck.

He scrunches your dress up around your waist, shoving the fabric aside, only to be met with the sight of your little red panties, soaked straight through. Jesus Christ. He can see the shape of your pretty little pussy through the lace, the way your folds cling to the delicate fabric, drenched, so wet you've left a spot on his jeans.

And suddenly, he's fighting with himself.

Because fuck, he wants you. Wants to drop to his knees and bury his face between your legs, to fuck you with his tongue until you're begging, gasping, sobbing his name. That's what he usually does, after all. Dick Grayson never fucks before he tastes. It's his rule, his ritual, his religion.

But tonight? Tonight, you've been a brat.

Grinding on him all night, touching him like it was nothing, teasing him with those pretty, drunken smiles while he sat there, barely holding himself together. You knew what you were doing, and you didn't stop, not even in the car, not even when he warned you.

And maybe you thought you'd get away with it. Cute.

A third option slithers into his mind, sharp and wicked. He exhales slowly, dragging his palm over the swell of your ass, feeling the heat of your skin through the thin lace of your panties.

And then? He presses his fingers against your cunt, rubbing you through the slick fabric, slow, torturous, just the barest pressure over your clit, up and down, teasing.

The noise you make is sinful—a soft, needy moan as you roll your hips, seeking more, seeking him.

He doesn't give it to you. Instead, he slaps your ass, sharp and quick, watching the way you jolt, the way your thighs clench together like you felt it between your legs.

And he swears—swears—he sees your pussy flutter around nothing, even through the fabric.

Oh, you really like this.

He groans, low and deep, as he hooks a single finger into the band of your panties, dragging them to the side and exposing your soaked cunt to the cool air of the room. He watches, fascinated, as your folds glisten, all slick and swollen, so pretty, so needy. But he's not done teasing you.

He slides two fingers between your folds, trailing up and down, deliberately missing your entrance, barely brushing your clit. The way you tremble against him, the way your breath hitches every time he almost gives you what you want—it's driving him insane.

"Baby, please," you gasp, voice breathy, desperate.

He groans, slapping your ass again. Your walls clench around nothing, and his cock throbs, painfully hard, aching to be buried deep inside you. But no, not yet. Because he's curious to see how much you can take.

Your whimper is pathetic, desperate, when you try to grind down against his fingers, seeking more—seeking anything—and he pulls them away. You whine, high and needy, hips rolling, chasing after the touch he just denied you.

But Dick? Oh, he's enjoying this far too much.

His cock is aching, thick and heavy, straining against his clothes, the damp fabric sticking to him from how much precum he's leaking. His whole body feels hot, his blood thick in his veins, his self-control hanging by a thread.

And yet, he can hold himself back a little longer. And he will.

He hums, dragging a single finger down your folds, pressing lightly against your clit, circling it—slow, lazy, like he has all the time in the world. You shudder, your thighs trembling as you press your forehead against the wall, panting softly. Then, without warning, he slides one finger inside you.

You gasp, your slick heat sucking him in immediately, coating him in wetness.

He keeps the pace slow, deliberate, thrusting his finger in and out with steady precision, feeling the way your walls clench around him, already so fucking tight. You push back against his hand, desperate for more, needing more, only for his finger to slip out entirely.

"Fuck," you breathe, frustrated, needy, your cunt clenching around nothing.

Dick smirks because God, you're getting so frustrated, and he loves it. His free hand moves to your ass, spreading you open so he can see better, his breath catching at the way your glistening folds twitch, your arousal dripping down onto your thighs.

"Messy little thing," he murmurs, more to himself than you, but you hear it anyway.

Your breath stutters. Dick doesn't tease you like this. Not verbally, at least. But tonight? Tonight, he's feeling cruel. He resumes fingering you, adding a second finger, stretching you just a little, his thumb rolling over your clit in slow, tight circles.

"Look at you," he mutters, almost toying with the words, like he knows how much they affect you. "You wanted my attention so badly, and now? You can't even ask for it properly."

Your pussy clenches around his fingers, and he groans, dragging them out almost all the way before plunging them back inside.

"Come on," he goads, voice deep, smug. "Use your words, sweetheart. Tell me what you want."

Your nails scrape against the wall, frustration bubbling over, because you do—you do use your words. "Baby—"

And then... he pulls his fingers out. You sob, thighs shaking, your cunt clenching, unclenching, desperate, so close, so needy, so fucking ruined. But he's not done playing with you yet. Not even close.

Because just as your walls flutter around nothing, aching, desperate to be filled, he slides them back in—slowly, so fucking slowly, stretching you all over again, making you feel every inch, every knuckle as he sinks them deep inside your dripping, swollen cunt.

The wet, obscene squelch of your slick-soaked pussy makes his cock throb, and he groans, curling his fingers just right, rubbing against that spot that makes you jerk, makes you keen, makes you shudder.

"Ohhh, fuck, Dick—"

You're trembling, moaning, arms weak as they brace against the wall, legs barely holding you up. Your cunt is wrecked, aching, stretched wide around his fingers as they pump in and out of you.

He's fucking you with them, really fucking you with them now. Hard, fast, each thrust making your slick, messy pussy squelch obscenely. His palm is rubbing against your swollen clit with every movement, sending sharp spikes of pleasure through your already-overstimulated body.

You feel so close, so fucking close, your orgasm curling low in your belly, threatening to snap at any second. Your moans are getting higher, faster, desperate. You can feel it, feel it about to—

He stops and pulls his fingers out entirely.

Your cunt clenches and unclenches around nothing, a pathetic little sob escaping your lips as you whimper, "No, no, baby—please, please..."

"Tsk."

The sound is sharp, cutting through your desperation, making your breath hitch.

And then—

A crack. His large hand lands against your already-flushed ass, a sharp sting blooming across your skin, your walls fluttering from the impact. But before you can so much as moan, he soothes it instantly, grabbing, squeezing, kneading your sore flesh.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice deep, filthy, full of mock sympathy. "So wet, so fucking desperate, dripping all over my fingers like a needy little thing."

Your head is spinning. Your legs are shaking. You're dying. "Please—baby, I can't—"

"Oh, you can."

He shoves his fingers back inside you, hard, your body jolting forward with the sudden stretch. You wail, eyes squeezing shut, back arching as he fucks you hard and fast, his fingers scissoring inside you, stretching you wider as he pumps them deep.

Your walls clench tight, soaking him, making a mess down your thighs. His free hand grips your ass, spreading you open, letting him see the way your pussy flutters and squeezes around his fingers.

"Look at you," he rasps, voice thick, wrecked. "So fucking greedy. You wanted my attention all night, and now you have it. So take it."

Your whole body shudders, his filthy words making your clit throb, making you tighten around his fingers. Your breath catches, muscles locking up as the pleasure spikes too high, too fast, and you know—you know you're about to cum—

And then he stops. Again. Pulls his fingers out. Again. Leaves you a moaning, trembling, ruined fucking mess.

You sob, whining so fucking pathetically, tears pricking your eyes, "Dick, please, I—"

He leans in close. So close you feel his breath against your ear, warm and thick with control.

"You're cumming on my dick," he murmurs, voice low, dangerous, "or not at all."

Your breath catches. And then you hear it. The sound of his belt being undone. The slow zip of his jeans. The soft click of a button. Your heart pounds. You don't dare move. Don't dare breathe. And you fight the urge to glance over your shoulder.

But then you feel it.

Hot, thick, heavy, his dick, pressing between your soft thighs, grinding against your drenched, aching pussy. You whimper, your whole body twitching as he slides between your folds, coating himself in your arousal, his cock dragging slow, deep against your clit.

"God," he groans, voice strained, the swollen head of his cock bumping against your entrance, notching against you, teasing you. "You're dripping. Making a mess all over me, baby."

Your thighs clench around him, slick and warm, making his dick pulse, and you know he's barely holding on.

"Oh, f-fuck."

You're shaking. Whimpering. So soaked you can hear it, each slow, deliberate glide of his cock through your slick folds, each teasing drag of his heavy length over your swollen clit, each lazy, torturous grind against your aching entrance.

It's cruel, the way he does it—his dick throbbing, leaking precum that mixes with the mess between your thighs, the heat of him smearing against your folds, spreading you open just enough to feel it.

To feel him. But not inside. Not where you need him. He slides against your entrance, lets the thick head of his cock push just barely in, lets you feel the stretch, lets you tremble around the intrusion.

And then he pulls back. Slow. Purposeful. Your pussy clenches around nothing. And you sob, pushing back, trying to catch him, trying to make him slip in, but he's faster.

"Ah-ah, my love," he murmurs, strong fingers tightening around your hips, keeping you still as he drags his cock up again, slick and fever-hot, pressing against your clit until your breath catches and your thighs shake.

"So desperate, aren't you?"

He grins when you nod, when you whine, hips twitching, trying to get something, anything, but he denies you again, shoving your panties farther to the side so he can feel every last inch of your messy, aching cunt. His cock pulses, needy, heavy against your folds. And you are soaked.

So wet, it coats his length in a shiny, glistening sheen, his cock sliding effortlessly between your lips, so slick he can feel it drip down his balls, making a filthy mess of both of you. And yet, he still doesn't give it to you.

"Dick, please—"

Your voice is broken, breathless, needy, and it's exactly what he wanted. But instead of giving in, he just smirks. And then he slaps your ass. Hard. The sound echoes through the room, sharp, obscene, your body jolting, pussy clenching so tight he can feel it, even without being inside.

"Please, what?" he breathes, grinding against your slit again, the fat tip of his cock nudging your entrance, teasing your clenching hole.

You cry out, words slurring together as you moan his name, pushing back against him, desperate for him to fill you.

"You're so fucking messy," he rasps, his voice thick, rough. "Such a wet little thing."

Your walls clench around nothing, your body begging for him to finally just—

"Baby, please, I—"

The words die on your tongue the second you feel it. The hot, swollen head of his dick pressing against your aching entrance, thick and leaking, already so fucking hard it makes your thighs tremble. And then he pushes inside.

The stretch is instant, a slow, searing burn that has your lips parting, a gasp breaking free from your throat as your body struggles to take him. He's just so thick, so big, and no matter how many times he fucks you, no matter how many times his fingers work you open beforehand, it's never enough.

He always splits you open so fucking good, always fills you so deep, the blunt head of his cock dragging through your slick, squeezing walls, forcing you to take him, inch by aching inch.

Your pussy flutters, clenching around him, trying to adjust to the stretch, and he groans—a deep, gritted sound that rumbles through his chest as he grips your hips, holding you still, holding you open for him.

"Fuck, baby—"

His voice is wrecked, raw and shaking with restraint as your walls pulse around him, so tight, so wet he slides in almost effortlessly, your slick making a filthy mess of his cock, coating him, dripping down his balls as he sinks deep—

Deeper.

So fucking deep, stuffing you to the brim, his thick cock stretching you open, forcing you to take all of him, and your whole body shudders. And him? He loses it. His restraint—his precious, steady control—snaps like a goddamn rubber band.

Until he bottoms out with a harsh grind of his hips, until he's buried to the hilt, his heavy balls flush against your swollen clit, his cock filling you, stretching you, forcing your body to take him all. And fuck, he feels it.

How hot you are, how tight, how your pussy clings to him, sucking him in so deep he swears he can feel it in his bones, his teeth gritting as you pulse and squeeze around him like you never want to let him go.

And maybe you don't. Because nothing—nothing—feels better than this. Than him.

You're tight. Hot. Warm. Clenching around him. And the way you squeeze him—fuck—his head spins, his vision blurring. His fingers dig into your hips, the bruises already forming, but he can't help it. He pulls out, only to slam right back in.

"Baby—"

Your moan breaks, your body jolting against him as he starts fucking you. Hard. Deep. Fast. The slap of skin against skin echoes through the apartment, obscene, filthy, wet.

He drives into you, his hips snapping forward with a force that has your body rocking, has your thighs trembling, has your pussy clenching around his thick cock like you can't help it.

The way you squeeze him, the way your slick drips down his shaft, making a mess of his balls, making it easier for him to slam into you, deeper, rougher, making your pussy stretch and mold around him, like your body was made to take him.

And you're so fucking tight. So warm, so wet, so needy, your walls fluttering, gripping him like you don't want him to pull out, like you need him, need every inch, need every ruthless, punishing thrust that makes you whimper, that makes your knees threaten to buckle beneath you.

But he doesn't let you fall.

His grip on your hips is firm, unyielding, possessive, fingers digging into your soft skin, keeping you steady as he ruins you, as he forces you to take it, every brutal snap of his hips, every stroke of his cock dragging along your aching, swollen walls, pressing so deep it feels like he's in your fucking throat.

Your pussy clamps around him, and he grunts, the sound low and rough, his rhythm stuttering for just a second before he drives into you harder, making you gasp, making your eyes roll back, making a fresh wave of slick spill down your thighs.

And he loves it. Loves how messy you are, how fucking perfect you feel around him, how your cunt flutters and clenches every time he slams deep, every time his heavy balls slap against your slick, swollen clit, every time his cock stretches you to your limit, but you still take it. You still need it.

And he gives it to you.

Fucking you like he owns you. Like you belong to him. Like he's not stopping until you're falling apart around his dick, soaking him, creaming all over him, until your body is trembling, until you're so fucked out, so wrecked, you can't take another second.

"You wanted this, huh?" His voice is rough, ruined, breath ragged as he pounds into you. "Wanted to be fucked like this? Made me wait all night—fuck—all fucking night, just to be a dripping, needy mess for me as soon as we got home."

You whimper, your pussy tightening around his thick cock, making him groan.

"Oh, you love that, don't you?"

His hand cracks against your ass. You jerk, moaning so prettily, your walls fluttering around him. He kneads your flushed, sensitive flesh, soothing it for a moment before—

Crack. Another slap.

And fuck, your cunt clamps down on him.

"Fuck, there you go," he growls, voice dark, thick with filthy approval. "Squeezing my dick so fucking tight—shit—you love this, huh? Being fucked nice and rough, just how you fucking need it."

You sob, overwhelmed, the pleasure so much, so good, stealing the air from your lungs.

"God," he groans, fucking into you even deeper, your slick, tight heat making his head spin, his control crumbling with every thrust. "This pussy's fucking perfect. Taking me so fucking well, baby."

And you? You're losing your mind. You barely know your own name right now. Because what the fuck? He's never fucked you like this before. Sure, Dick always fucks you good, always knows exactly how to work your body, but this? The filthy words, the rough grip on your hips, the way he spanks you without a second thought—

This is something new.

And through the fog of pleasure, through the way he's slamming into your pussy, his thick cock stretching you wide, fucking you so deep you swear he's in your fucking throat, you love it. You love every second of it.

The sting of his palm against your ass. The sting of his cock stuffing you so full, pushing against that perfect, sweet spot inside you over and over. The sting of being used, of being fucked just how you need it.

And him? Dick is barely holding on. Your pussy is squeezing him so fucking tight, like you're trying to pull his soul straight out of his fucking cock.

"Oh, fuck—" he grits his teeth, his hips slamming against your ass, the impact making you jerk against the wall, making you fucking whimper. "This tight little pussy is fucking unreal—"

And then he does it again. Another hard slap to your already tender ass. And you gasp, your walls clenching down so hard around him he nearly fucking chokes.

"Fucking shit," he groans, his fingers digging into your hips, leaving bruises on your soft skin as he pounds into you, lost in the wet, filthy sounds of his dick driving in and out of your dripping cunt. "So fucking tight... gripping me like crazy."

Your pussy's so soaked, so slippery, your wetness leaking all over his cock, down his balls, your thighs, making an absolute mess of both of you.

"Shit—" His head tips back, sweat dripping down his temple as he wrecks you. "Gonna cum for me, pretty girl? Hmm? Gonna make a fucking mess on my dick?"

And fuck, you are. "God, baby, I—"

Your voice shatters, your whole body shuddering as the orgasm slams into you.

Hard. Fast. All at once. It steals the air from your lungs, makes your vision go white, your toes curling, your nails digging into the wall as you sob.

Your pussy pulses around him, clenching and fluttering, so tight he can barely fucking move, his dick struggling against the suffocating squeeze of your convulsing walls.

Your slick gushes out in hot, messy waves, coating his cock, his balls, dripping down your thighs in sticky, glistening streams. Every aftershock makes you jerk, makes your body spasm, your walls gripping him in tight, desperate pulses, milking him for all he's worth. And he feels it—every ripple, every shudder, every desperate, squeezing tremor that makes his cock throb inside your spasming cunt.

But he doesn't stop. He won't stop.

"Fuck, baby—"

He groans, his voice so thick, so fucked out as he keeps going, fucking you right through your orgasm, his thick cock dragging against your spasming walls, his hands everywhere, grabbing, kneading, spanking.

And your slick? It's fucking everywhere. Dripping out of your swollen cunt, coating his cock, his balls, your trembling thighs, making a sloppy, wet mess between your legs. You barely have time to breathe before you feel it—

The slow, teasing glide of his fingers down your belly, slipping lower, brushing over your sweat-damp skin before reaching your swollen, aching clit.

"Baby, n-no—"

You whimper, your body shuddering as his fingertips press against the throbbing bud, rubbing tight, slow circles. The touch is too much—you can barely fucking breathe from the overstimulation, from how hard he's fucking you, how deep, every thrust knocking the air out of your lungs.

And he laughs. A deep, dark chuckle, rumbling straight from his chest, so fucking smug as he rubs your clit harder.

"No?" he taunts, his voice thick with mockery—with lust—as he watches your legs tremble, watches your body jerk with every flick of his fingers, watches the way your swollen pussy clamps down around his cock, desperate for relief, even as you try to deny it.

"But you've been such a brat, pretty girl," he hums, his thrusts slowing—deep, shallow strokes that have you seeing fucking stars, the tip of his cock dragging against the soft, hot walls of your pussy, hitting your womb with every heavy grind of his hips. "You were so desperate, weren't you?"

He tuts, rubbing faster, making your whole body jolt, your knees buckling as your arms nearly give out, leaving you gasping, moaning, tears of pleasure blurring your vision.

"Now you're gonna take everything I give you."

His free hand slides up your body, rough and greedy, grabbing at your hips, your waist, your ribs—before reaching your tits.

And then he pulls your dress down. The fabric pools around your waist, leaving your soft, aching breasts bare, and they bounce with every sharp, hungry thrust of his hips.

"Fuck—"

His voice wavers, his movements stuttering for a fraction of a second as he watches, completely fucking mesmerized.

Your tits are perfect. Soft and sensitive, your nipples tight and pebbled, practically begging for his touch.

And he gives it to you. He palms one of them roughly, squeezing, kneading, his thumb teasing over your nipple before rolling it between his fingers, tugging just right, making your back arch, making your cunt pulse around him.

"Dick," you sob, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave, your body trembling as your orgasm builds again, sharp and intense, growing so fucking fast you can barely think.

He can feel it. The way your pussy flutters around him, the way your thighs shake, the way your moans turn into desperate, high-pitched whimpers. And he doesn't slow down. If anything, he fucks you harder.

"That's it, baby," His voice is thick, dripping with lust, with filth, his fingers still working your swollen clit, his hips snapping forward in that relentless, brutal pace. "Cum for me. Fuck, I need to feel you cum again—"

And then you break. You moan, your body convulsing, your back arching as pleasure rips through you. Your pussy clamps down hard, squeezing his cock so tight, so wet and hot, milking him in the most obscene way. And he groans, long and deep, his fingers digging into your skin as he keeps fucking you through it, drawing it out, making your body tremble with overstimulation.

"God, fuck," he grits, feeling your slick gush out, making a mess, dripping all over his cock, his balls, his thighs. "So fucking tight—"

And he doesn't stop. Not until you shudder under him, not until your body collapses, boneless and spent. He's so fucking close.

He can feel it. That sharp, unbearable heat coiling at the base of his spine, the tight pull in his gut, his whole body tense as he pounds into you, hard and deep, his dick soaked in your wetness. Every thrust pushes his cock against that perfect, spongy spot inside you that has you gasping, whimpering, legs shaking beneath him.

And you—God, you're so fucking tight, so wet, so warm, sucking him in so deep, so desperate.

"F-Fuck," he chokes out, voice ragged, his hand gripping your hip so fucking tight, like he's holding on for dear life.

And you clench around him. Tight, wet, perfect, and he breaks. His whole body jerks as he thrusts deep, hips snapping forward one last time, burying himself to the fucking hilt as his cock pulses inside you.

Thick, hot spurts of cum flood your cunt, filling you up until you feel it, sticky and wet, deep in your belly, so much it seeps out around his cock, leaking down your thighs, mixing with the mess of slick already dripping from your swollen, used pussy.

And it undoes you. The second you feel it—his hot cum spilling inside you, claiming you—you shatter. You sob, your whole body tensing, back arching as pleasure rips through you, as your pussy clenches around him, milking his cock for everything, sucking every last drop from his pulsing length.

Your walls squeeze him, gripping him, and he groans, long and low, his hips jerking, his cock throbbing, spitting more cum inside you, stuffing you so full it drips from your stretched little hole, trailing down in thick, filthy strings.

It's so fucking intense, so overwhelming, your orgasm slamming into you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless, helpless, your pussy spasming around his cock so fucking tight he chokes on a moan. His hands grip your waist so hard it burns as he forces himself deeper, grinding his dick into your wrecked, soaked cunt, pushing his cum deeper, making a fucking mess of you.

And you cream around him, your slick gushing, your cunt squeezing his still-hard length, milking him, coating him in your release, dripping down your inner thighs in slick, milky streaks.

You're so full, so fucking wrecked, your pussy fluttering, overstimulated, still clamping down around his spent cock like you don't want him to leave, like you want to keep every drop of his hot, thick load inside you.

And he fucks it into you. Even as he trembles, even as his body shudders with every aftershock, he keeps moving. Slow, deep, languid strokes, fucking his cum deeper, feeling the way your walls flutter around him, milking every last drop, until it's too much, until you're both shaking, until neither of you can breathe.

And then he stills. His dick still buried inside you, his body pressed against your back, both of you panting, trembling, moaning soft and breathless into the sweat-damp air.

And then he hears it. A sniffle. And just like that, he's back. The haze of lust fades, replaced with something softer, something tender, something so undeniably him.

"My love..."

His voice is soft, low, thick with concern as his arms slip around your waist, pulling you close, his nose nuzzling into your soft hair. "Are you okay?"

And you—God, you can't even speak. Because this was everything. The best fuck of your life. Because it's him. Your boyfriend. The love of your fucking life.

Because he's so perfect, so good to you, even after ruining you like this. And so you just nod, still breathless, your whole body limp against him, sinking into his warmth, his touch, into him.

And he... he can't believe he did that. Because this—this is new. He's always been gentle with you, careful, attentive. Because he adores you, because he wants you to feel safe, to feel cherished, to know that he loves you more than anything. But tonight, fuck, tonight you did something to him. And he liked it. Maybe a little too much.

His lips press against your shoulder—soft, lingering—like an apology, like a silent I've got you.

And he does.

Even as you tremble in his arms, even as you gasp, still shuddering, still fucked-out and overwhelmed, he holds you—one arm wrapped tight around you, his other hand slipping down, splaying wide over your soft, aching belly, grounding you in the aftermath of everything.

His touch is everything—soft, gentle, his.

Your breathing is still shaky, uneven, little exhales of pleasure spilling from your lips as you slowly come down—drunk, euphoric, and so fucking warm, floating somewhere between exhaustion and pure, blissful satisfaction.

And then—

"Baby..." Your voice is so soft, so breathless, and then you gasp out, "That was... God, I can't even explain it."

And his breath hitches. Because fuck—

He suddenly feels bad. Like maybe he pushed you too far, like maybe he should've held back, like maybe he should've stopped, should've made sure you were okay before ruining you like that.

Because you've never told him you like stuff like this. And truth be told, he didn't think he had it in him, either.

But God.

The way you melt into his touch, the way you sigh, blissed-out and so fucking content, the way you're smiling, lips parted, breath shallow and slow. Maybe he didn't push you too far. Maybe he gave you exactly what you wanted.

So he swallows, presses his lips to the top of your head, and then he pulls out—slow. Careful.

But still, you whimper, and he winces. "I'm sorry, baby, I—"

But before he can finish, you're turning in his arms, slow and lazy, and fuck—

Your face is flushed, your makeup smudged, lips swollen from how many times you bit them trying to hold back your moans. And still, you are the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

And then... you giggle. And it wrecks him.

Because you're fucking glowing, drunk and giddy, your arms looping around his neck, your body pressing flush against his, and he can feel it. Your warmth. Your breath. Your happiness. Your love.

And he's looking at you like you just rewrote the stars, like you just changed something in him, like he doesn't know what the fuck to do with himself anymore.

And then you murmur, "I mean it. That was... so fucking good, baby."

And he just laughs, pressing his lips to your forehead, wrapping his arms tight around you, pulling you in, holding you close like he'll never let you go.

"You're impossible, pretty girl."

And you pout, all soft and tired and adorable, and fuck—he needs to kiss you, but before he can, you whisper, "Maybe... but you still love me, don't you?"

And he doesn't even hesitate.

"More than anything."

[eternallyhauntingthehouseoflove]

Bruce Wayne fucked his partners through the mattress—and it depended on who and why. If you know he’s Batman, then he’d fuck for stress relief, to uncoil the sickening knot in his belly. However, if you’re unaware of his nighttime activities and believe you’d just lucked up meeting Bruce Wayne, then he’d fuck for ego. He’s got a point to prove: all those years as a recluse hadn’t dulled his ability to grant a lady a good time; that the stories of his youthful adventures are true. (Though his ego bleeds over into Batman as well since he wonders if he’s too old to still be the Dark Knight. If he’s lost his edge).

Bruce’s stamina is insane. He’d have you spread on your belly while he drove his cock into you. One hand enclosed around your throat, the other encircling your waist, and his lips grazing over your ear. Warm gusts of air caressing your cheek with each huff and grunt. The faint scent of his cologne lingering within the atmosphere, though it had been toppled by the aroma of sweat and sex. “Fuck,” he gritted out,” so tight f’me, doll. Only for me. Mine, aren’t you?” There was pride in being the one to undo Bruce Wayne, to make him cuss and grunt like a caveman, to draw out his Gotham accent. He was usually so put-together and driven.

Time warped and melted whenever Bruce had you beneath him. Despite his age, (don’t let him hear that) he could fuck for hours, content to drive his cum back into your hole until he came again. In fact, he enjoyed the slickness. There was something about keeping you beneath him that soothed the territorial monster caged within him like Mr. Hyde. Rarely could you lure the possessive, emerald eyed, envious beast out; Bruce was old and had dealt with his fair share of women seeking an emotional response. But with the perfect concoction of circumstances could you shatter the manacles binding the dominating, jealous, spiteful side of him—and it was wonderful.

Dick Grayson (Dixon’s version) preferred to let his lover work for it. There was a tantalizing element to gazing at his partner while she straddled him, and attempted to sink down into his cock. Dick wasn’t girth-y like Jason or Bruce (nor as unshaven). No, Dick was slim and long—and pretty. Dick was shaven and trimmed, smooth and hairless if he could help it. He never liked to offer up unshaven goods; he thought it was rude.

“God, you. . . you ride like a pro,” he breathed out, nigh gasping as though he’d run a race beside Usain Bolt. A sheen of sweated coated his toned physique, and a scarlet blush left a fiery trail from his cheeks down to his neck. “Don’t stop till I say.” Dick is more selfish in bed than Jason. Unlike Jason, Dick knows he’s cute—pretty, even. He’s confident both in himself and his ability to be selfish and still make you cum. . . hard. He won’t hesitate to assume control if he’s not liking your rhythm, or if he just wants to be a little shit and knock your orgasm off kilter. “Oh, were you going to cum? Sorry. Didn’t notice.”

Speaking of orgasms, Dick cums beautifully, even when he’d rather be described as ‘’manly’’ and handsome. He couldn’t restrain the tremble of his muscular thighs, or quell the furnace roaring inside his belly, or freeze the stars bursting behind the paleness of his eyelids. “I know, pretty baby. I know. Tight, aren’t I? Let it out for me,” you cooed, caressing his sweat-slick, inky black curls. Dick nodded quick and desperately, coal black lashes falling over his oceanic eyes. “Yes. Yes. That’s it. Gonna cum again. Just keep going.” The power he’d stolen returned with a vengeance. He’d gone limp beneath you. Fucked out, his breaths tremulous and stuttered. Naturally, Dick’s palms found purchase upon your breasts, pinching and flicking your nipples before he exerted the last of his strength to lean forward and suckle one into his mouth.

(There’s hints of a mommy kink if you squint hard enough).

Jason Todd loved to see his partner deep-throat his cock. It’s a personal pleasure of his, the one time he allows himself to be selfish during sex. He’s not sure why it’s fascinating to him. Perhaps the sheer primality of watching you struggle to swallow his thickness intrigues him, excites him, causes the hairs on his forearms to stand at attention and the nerves within his body to buzz like a million bees trapped beneath his skin.“That’s right, baby, keep going. Till I see tears,” he murmured, as his large hands slithered up into your nape and tightened in your hair.” Show me how much you love me, baby.”

“What a beauty.” Jason’s chocolate smeared irises tipped backward, his slender hips bucking upward into the warm cavern of your throat, his cock spewing viscous ropes of pearlescent cum. Jason’s frame fell slack against the sofa. Sated. Only you could loosen the tautness in his shoulders like a ball of yarn. Boy, did he adore you.” I hope you can go all night. Cuz I got some steam I been needin’ t’ blow off.”