#we're not here for that. silence. silence!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

killerplink · 4 hours ago

Text

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.

174 notes · View notes

wildpietro · 8 hours ago

Text

"When I left, sir?" you asked, helpless at the sight of the guns' barrels pointed at your squad, gulping down a glob of saliva that felt as thick as liquid metal and just as hard to swallow. "That doesn't make any sense- Respectfully sir, if we're six in this squad, of COURSE when I leave it's going to be five of 'em." The sentence grunted out of your lips, each word slipping out before you could bite them back in, turning into a retort against this evidently idiotical turn of events. The officer stammered back at the unexpected answer, clicking his tongue and looking down onto the lot of you on your knees, eyes narrowing in a moment of disdain and another second of thought, fingers shooting up to grip the bridge of his nose. A deep sigh rumbled out of his lungs and this moment of tense silence allowed your own gaze to take in his face- he was sweating, lots too. You could swear that at some point he'd surely have to take out a bucket to collect all of that to not soil the tents' clothy flooring. Another close look made you realise that not only HE was sweating, but also his clothes: thick droplets of brown and white descended from the thick leather jacket he draped over himself, while the medals that were supposed to be pinned there looked as if they were melted into the fabric. It took another second of these observations before he noticed your keen examination of his full figure, snapping him back to the current scene once more, a subtle hint of anxiety making his pupils contract as they met your gaze. "You. Soldier. Thing. What are you looking at now, mh? I'm sure you'd be the one to tell us you really were six and not five! You look too smart to be amongst these folks- too observant." He scoffed, training his gun to your forehead, letting the metal suck up the heat from your skin. "Dopplegangers are always too smart for their own good."

You looked at your companions for one last time- three expressions filled with concern, two more with fear, yet none that showed any understanding of the situation. Shit, did we ever ACTUALLY kill any dopplegangers here? It just seems so nonsensical now, to stand around this godforsaken forest for no reas- Now that you notice it, your companions are sweating too. But- alas, it's too late to connect the dots before they're splattered onto the ground behind you, gifting you the ignorance and oblivion that many had needed to work here in the first place.

You are a soldier in a team of six who have been sent to investigate shapeshifter sightings but return to base after finding nothing. On your return, however, all six of you are detained, and your commanding officer points out that there were only five members of your team when you left.

#writeblr #writing inspiration #writing prompts #writers on tumblr #writers

1K notes · View notes

sunkeji · 1 day ago

Text

Finding out you're a girl 🫵🏻👯‍♀️😱⁉️

A/N: idk guys I lost my train of thought(s) so you get this. I decided to do this differently than the other ones.

C/W: mentions of bra, hinting at your pp (it's nth bad I promise), yuu is reader

Heartslabyul Savanaclaw Octavinelle

Riddle, Trey, Cater

Sorry guys but the Adeuce duo can't keep a secret for shit 😭. They have good intentions I promise but their approach is questionable. You've sent them out to get more pads during one of your horrible cramps. Sam sells them to you so all they need to do is go there, get the right one and come back.

Nothing is easy with them though 😔. Currently, they're crouched on the floor in the store room having a whisper-shouting argument of what sized pads to buy you.

During their heated debate of what kind of pads to get for you, they don't hear their 3 seniors walking into the shop and have stopped an Isle away from the storage room behind them.

"I think Yuu wants the longer ones."

"nah, I think they'll fit the medium one better"

"what? What do you mean by that??"

"you know the..."

"the what???"

"don't make say it!"

After hearing the familiar voices as well as bits and pieces of their unusual conversation coming from the room, Cater opens the door.

"uh what are you guys doing?"

The Adeuce duo whip their heads back to see Cater with his hand still on the door knob, Trey with an eyebrow raised and Riddle having a suspicious look on his face with his arms crossed.

"Are you stealing?" Riddle asks with growing irritation.

The Adeuce duo freeze like deer caught in headlights, their hands still clutching two different-sized packs of pads like they were some kind of forbidden treasure(?).

Ace, ever the quick thinker (or so he thought), blurted out, "We’re not stealing! We’re just… uhh… conducting a very important research project!"

Deuce, even more panicked than Ace aggressively nods his head. "Yeah! For school!"

Riddle’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "Science. For school." His voice was flat, dripping with disbelief.

Trey, ever the peacemaker (but also unable to resist the chaos), leaned in and squinted at the pads in their hands. "Ah, I see. A comparative analysis of absorbency levels?"

Cater, barely holding in his laughter, pulled out his phone. "This is so going on Magicam. ‘Heartslabyul’s Finest: Pad Investigators.’ #NotAllHeroesWearCapes #ButTheyDoBuyPads."

Ace turning bright red. "DON’T YOU DARE—"

Deuce, in a desperate attempt to salvage the situation, held up both boxes like a shield and went on a word vomit;

"Lookwe’rejusttryingtohelpYuu!Shesentustogetthesebecauseshe'sonherperiodandwedon’twannamessitup,andwhilewe'reonthetopic,Yuu'sagirlifyouhaven'tfigureditoutyet"

[Look we’re just trying to help Yuu! She sent us to get these because she's on her period and we don't wanna mess it up, and while we're on the topic, Yuu's a girl if you haven't figured it out yet]

A beat of silence.

Then Riddle sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We'd be more surprised if more people didn't know Yuu was a girl with how loud you two idiots always are. We've known since months ago when we heard you guys talking in the corridor"

Trey chimes in bringing focus back to the matter at hand; "So instead of asking which one she needed, you decided to have a covert operation in the storage room?"

Ace cross' his arms defensively. "Well, it’s embarrassing! We didn’t wanna yell it across the store!"

Trey, now fully grinning, shook his head. "Well, it's much too late for that AND Yet here you two are, whisper-shouting about pad sizes loud enough for all of Sage’s Island to hear."

Cater wipes a tear from his eye while giggling. "ugh, I can’t. I just can’t. Yuu’s gonna die when they hear about this."

Deuce groaned, slamming his head into a shelf. "We’re never gonna live this down, are we?"

Riddle, after a long, suffering pause, finally uncrossed his arms. "Just get the overnight ones. And for goodness sake, next time, write it down."

As the seniors walked away (Cater already typing at lightning speed to fill you in on what's happened), Ace and Deuce stood there, defeated, holding the correct pads at last.

Ace: "…We’re never doing Yuu a favor again."**

Deuce: "Agreed..."

Meanwhile, you're back at Ramshackle, curled up in pain, wondering why it’s taking so long to get pads and if you should’ve just asked Grim to steal some instead.

Ace & Deuce

The story starts when these 2 Knuckleheads are hanging out after class with you at the Ramshackle dorm and become curious of your belongings. While you're away, they're in your room opening drawers and looking at your things.

When they eventually get to your wardrobe, they're opening drawers haphazardly and looking at what minimal belongings you have, expecting to see normal guy clothes and hoping to find something to laugh at you about but the first thing they see is a bra. Both of them stop in their tracks and just stare at it speechless.

Deuce picks it up and stares at it while Ace's eyes grow wide and smacks it out of his hands, sending the bra flying. "Don't touch it dummy! don't you know what that is?!".

Unexpectedly, you enter the room at the exact moment your bra lands on the floor, right in front of you.

Ace immediately points at Deuce and shouts; "IT WAS DEUCE! HE'S THE PERVERT!". Deuce immediately gets red at that while shouting that he's not a pervert and then the 2 of them have started slapping and shoving each other, completely forgetting the precarious situation they were caught in.

Grim grabs your pants leg and stares from behind you. "Welp, looks like the cat's out of the bag."

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #ace trapolla x reader #deuce spade x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #trey clover x reader #cater diamond x reader #heartslaybul x reader #ace x reader #deuce x reader #riddle x reader #trey x reader #cater x reader #twisted wonderland x yuu #twst x yuu

303 notes · View notes

noirscript · 3 days ago

Text

the lion's claim, pt. 3

PAIRING: King Callixto x Servant Reader

Warning/s: Yandere. Not-so-detailed Smut. Nothing else. 🫠

Description: After a fleeting taste of freedom, you were traded between kings—claimed, but never freed.

Note: This has around 10k words in it. Will divide it into parts. We're still here. See you next week... 🫠

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Commission | Tip Jar

The tension from the encounter lingered even after Callixto had pulled away, his parting words hanging in the air like a noose. Home.

You swallowed hard, pressing your palm against the cool marble pillar behind you, grounding yourself as you tried to steady the erratic rhythm of your pulse. The room was still, silent, save for the faint rustle of the heavy curtains as Callixto moved toward them.

Your body felt impossibly warm despite the chill of the evening air. His closeness had left behind something unseen, something you couldn’t shake.

You inhaled slowly, bracing yourself. “And where will I be staying for the night, Your Majesty?”

His footsteps halted just short of the curtains, his posture composed but rigid. He did not turn, but his voice carried across the room with effortless authority.

“Here.”

You stiffened.

He gestured subtly to the adjoining chamber—the private quarters prepared for his stay in Aurelian’s palace. The room beyond was dimly lit, the large bed draped in heavy silks, a basin of steaming water set near the hearth. Aurelian had been a gracious host, it seemed.

You wet your lips. “Your Majesty, surely—”

“Are you incapable of sleeping under the same roof as me?” he asked, finally turning his head just enough for you to catch the gleam of his golden eyes.

You swallowed. “That is not what I—”

“I have no intention of touching you,” he said, voice calm, controlled. “Not tonight.”

You didn’t miss the implication.

Your stomach twisted, but you knew better than to argue. Not here. Not when there was no real choice.

Slowly, deliberately, you stepped past him into the chamber.

The air inside was warm from the roaring fire, the scent of burning wood mingling with the faint trace of lavender oil—another courtesy from Aurelian’s attendants, no doubt. You stood stiffly near the center of the room, your fingers twitching at your sides.

Callixto entered after you, his movements slow, methodical. He did not look at you immediately. Instead, he removed his cloak, draping it over the back of the nearest chair before undoing the clasps at his sleeves. His rings caught the firelight as he rolled his cuffs to his elbows, revealing the lean, corded muscle of his forearms.

You tried not to watch.

Tried not to let yourself feel seen.

But then—

His gaze lifted.

And he did see you.

Not in the way Aurelian had, with amusement and indulgence, but with something deeper, heavier. His golden eyes swept over you—not as a ruler inspecting his prize, but as a man seeing the marks of time and distance on the thing he had been denied for too long.

And then, they drifted lower.

The fabric of your dress clung to your frame, and despite the layers, there was no mistaking the soft, unmistakable swell beneath it.

His expression did not change.

But something in the room did.

The air thickened, the weight of his silence pressing into your skin.

Your fingers curled against your palms, but you refused to look away.

It was Callixto who moved first.

Slowly—too slowly—he stepped closer, his boots soundless against the thick rug beneath him. He did not reach for you, did not demand anything. But when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before.

“How long?”

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly too dry. “Nearly six months.”

A pause.

A breath.

And then—

His fingers twitched.

You barely saw the movement, but it was there—subtle, restrained, like a man resisting the urge to reach for something just beyond his grasp.

His eyes flickered, darkening at the edges. “You should undress,” he said, the words slow, deliberate.

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks. “Excuse me?”

He tilted his head slightly. “You need to bathe. Or do you intend to lie awake in discomfort?”

You hesitated.

He was right, of course. The journey had left your body stiff and aching, and though you had grown used to ignoring your own exhaustion, your child had not.

Still, something about the way he said it, the way his gaze lingered on you—calculating, knowing—sent a prickle of unease up your spine.

“I can do it myself,” you murmured.

“I am aware.”

But he did not leave.

He stepped back just enough to give you space, his gaze still fixed on you.

Waiting.

You inhaled sharply before turning away, moving toward the basin of steaming water near the fire. The small table beside it held a neatly folded robe, along with a vial of oil and a comb.

Aurelian’s attendants had been thorough.

With careful fingers, you began undoing the ties of your dress. The fabric loosened, slipping from your shoulders, pooling at your feet in soft folds. The warmth of the fire licked at your exposed skin, but the awareness of Callixto’s presence was far worse.

You did not turn.

But you knew he was watching.

The sound of his breath, controlled and measured, was the only indication of his restraint.

You stepped into the basin, the water lapping at your thighs as you lowered yourself in. The heat soothed your aching muscles, the weight of the day melting into the steam.

And yet—

Your body remained tense, your mind far too aware of the golden gaze still lingering behind you.

Then, finally—

A rustle of fabric. The quiet creak of a chair.

Callixto had sat down.

Not beside you. Not looming over you.

But watching.

You closed your eyes, exhaling slowly. “I thought you said you had no intention of touching me tonight.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, low and amused—

“I don’t.”

You opened your eyes, shifting just enough to glance over your shoulder.

Callixto sat in the chair near the fire, his posture relaxed, but his gaze—his gaze was anything but.

His golden eyes, unreadable yet unrelenting, swept over your bare shoulders, the curve of your back, the way the water rippled around the swell of your stomach.

And then, softly—

“But that does not mean I will look away.”

A shiver curled down your spine, despite the warmth of the water.

You turned back to the basin, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Callixto did not move.

Did not speak again.

But the weight of his gaze remained.

Unyielding. Unforgiving.

And you knew, with absolute certainty—

That this would not be the last time he watched.

The steam curled around you like a veil, shielding everything but the weight of Callixto’s gaze.

You should have been used to the way he looked at you—like something his, like something inevitable—but this was different. He was not just looking. He was seeing.

The bare expanse of your back. The delicate curve of your shoulder. The water lapping at your stomach, rippling with every measured breath.

You swallowed, staring at the reflection of the fire against the surface of the water, willing yourself to ignore him. To ignore the way the heat prickled at your skin, not just from the bath but from the unwavering presence behind you.

For a moment, there was only the quiet crackling of the fire.

Then—

“Turn around.”

Your fingers gripped the edge of the basin.

His voice had been soft, but there was nothing gentle about the command.

You inhaled, steadying yourself. “I won’t entertain whatever this is, Your Majesty.”

A slow exhale. The creak of leather as he shifted in his seat. “This,” he murmured, “is me looking at what is mine.”

A shiver coiled down your spine, unbidden and unwelcome.

Your grip tightened. “I do not belong to you.”

Silence.

And then—

“You carry my child,” he said, voice dark and low, his words curling around you like a brand. “What part of you, exactly, do you think is still yours alone?”

Your breath caught.

Slowly, cautiously, you turned your head just enough to look at him over your shoulder.

Callixto sat where he had before, posture relaxed, one arm resting against the chair’s armrest. But his golden eyes—they burned. The flickering light of the fire danced across his sharp features, casting deep shadows beneath his lashes, along the line of his jaw.

His gaze did not waver.

And he did not look at your face.

His focus remained lower—on the gentle curve of your stomach, barely visible beneath the rippling water.

The sight of it—the quiet confirmation of what he already knew—drew something out of him that you could not name.

Something raw. Something possessive.

Your pulse pounded in your throat. “Say what you want, but you cannot claim something just because it exists, Callixto.”

His gaze lifted, meeting yours.

“Can’t I?”

Your stomach twisted.

You turned away quickly, as if that alone would sever whatever thread he had just tightened around you. The warm water felt suffocating now, the heat of the room too thick, too heavy.

You reached for the vial of oil beside the basin, pouring a few drops into your palm, focusing on the familiar motion—rubbing the fragrant liquid into your skin, letting the scent of lavender and chamomile soothe the pounding in your head.

But even then—

You could still feel him.

Watching.

Waiting.

You had never felt more exposed, more vulnerable than you did now. Not when he had taken you from your home, not when you had first stepped into his court.

Because then, you had been fighting.

And now—

Now, you weren’t sure what you were doing anymore.

After a long, unbearable silence, Callixto finally moved.

Not toward you. Not away.

Just enough that the chair creaked beneath him, just enough that you knew he was still there.

Still watching.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke again.

“You will leave the water before it cools.”

Another order.

You exhaled sharply. “Is there anything else you’d like to dictate, Your Majesty?”

A pause.

Then—

“Yes.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to see him from the corner of your eye. “And what would that be?”

Callixto leaned forward, his elbows resting against his knees, his gaze never leaving you.

“When we return,” he said, voice quiet but certain, “you will sleep in my chambers.”

Your chest tightened.

“I will not—”

He cut you off. “You will.”

The finality of it left no room for argument.

You clenched your jaw. “And if I refuse?”

His golden eyes gleamed, dark and unreadable.

“You won’t.”

The certainty in his voice sent a shudder through you, the weight of his claim sinking into your bones.

You hated that he was right.

Hated that no matter how much you resisted, you knew—

There was no escaping him.

Not now.

Not ever.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

The warmth of the bath had done little to soothe your nerves. If anything, the moment you stepped out of the water and into the cool air of the chamber, the weight of Callixto’s presence became even more unbearable.

He had not moved from his chair, had not looked away, had not once wavered in his silent possession of this moment. The robe left for you was soft, luxurious, but it felt too thin, too insubstantial under his gaze. Still, you wrapped it around yourself as tightly as possible, knotting the sash with firm fingers before forcing yourself to face him.

His golden eyes traced the lingering dampness of your skin, the way the fabric clung to the softened curve of your body. He did not reach for you, but his desire was evident, coiled tight beneath the surface, waiting.

Callixto exhaled through his nose, slow and measured, before rising to his feet. The firelight cast long shadows across his frame, sharpening the defined lines of his shoulders and chest. He had long since discarded his outer tunic, leaving only the soft linen of his undershirt clinging to his form. You tried not to watch, tried not to feel seen, but the moment his gaze lifted, you knew there was no avoiding it.

“Come,” he murmured.

You stiffened. “I can sleep elsewhere—”

“Come.”

It was not a demand laced with cruelty. It was something worse—a certainty, a promise.

You hesitated before stepping forward. The space between you and Callixto disappeared too quickly, and before you could pull away, his hand found your waist, his palm pressing warm and steady against the curve of your body. You stiffened, not in fear, not in resistance, but in something else entirely.

Something unexpected.

Something dangerous.

The press of his fingers, the solid warmth of him so close—it was unbearable. Not because you did not want it, but because you did.

Your breath caught as his other hand found the tie of your robe, tugging it just enough to loosen the knot. He did not remove it completely, only enough for his palm to slide against your stomach, for his fingers to brush over the soft skin stretched taut over the child you carried.

His child.

Callixto’s jaw clenched, his fingers flexing as he took in the sight of you up close—the reality of your body now, changed, swollen with him. His expression did not shift, but something in the room did.

The air thickened, the weight of his silence pressing into your skin. Your fingers curled against your palms, but you refused to look away. It was Callixto who moved first. Slowly—too slowly—he sank to his knees before you.

Your breath hitched, your fingers twitching at your sides as you stared down at him. He pressed his forehead against the curve of your belly, his hands smoothing over the swell of it, thumbs tracing slow, reverent circles.

Something inside you cracked.

You had spent months resisting him, months carrying the weight of his absence, of your own fear, of the unknown. But now, as his warmth seeped into your skin, as the steady weight of his hands pressed against your body, something inside you gave.

You barely registered the moment he rose to his feet, lifting you effortlessly before carrying you to the bed. The sheets were cool against your skin, but the moment he lay beside you, pulling you into the circle of his arms, the heat of him consumed you.

And then—something else took hold.

A slow, smoldering ache curled low in your belly, deep and primal, something that had been dormant for too long. You shifted, pressing your thighs together, but the movement only made it worse.

Callixto inhaled sharply, his grip on you tightening. You had not meant to move against him. But you had. And now—he knew.

His breath fanned against your throat, his hands steady on your waist, unmoving. Waiting.

Your body was no longer your own. It had recognized him, accepted him. And it wanted.

Your breath came faster, your skin too warm, too sensitive. The feel of his fingers splayed against your stomach, the slow rise and fall of his chest against your back—it was too much. Your hips shifted again, this time deliberately.

Callixto’s fingers dug into your skin. His breath stuttered against your neck, but still, he did not move, did not take.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “Callixto…”

A shudder ran through him.

His lips ghosted over the edge of your jaw, not quite a kiss, not quite a restraint. “Say it again,” he murmured.

Your stomach tightened. You turned in his hold just enough to meet his gaze. His golden eyes burned with restraint, dark and desperate, something waiting.

You had spent so long resisting him.

And now, you weren’t sure if you could anymore.

So, you said it again.

“Callixto.”

And then, the last of his control snapped.

The shift was immediate, as if the name alone had unlocked something inside him.

Callixto moved before you could think, before you could second-guess the inevitability of this moment. One hand cradled the back of your head, the other splayed over your hip, anchoring you beneath him. His breath, warm and uneven, fanned against your lips as he hovered close, his golden eyes dark with something that had been held back for far too long.

You should have pulled away.

You should have.

But when his lips finally brushed yours—soft, slow, almost reverent—you found yourself arching into him instead.

The first kiss was careful, restrained, but the second—gods—the second was devastating. He kissed you like a man who had been starving, like he had been denied something that was his, and now that he had it, he would not let go.

His fingers tightened in your hair as he deepened the kiss, and your body responded before your mind could catch up. A slow, desperate heat curled through you, blooming from the ache that had been lingering at the edge of your awareness for weeks.

Your hands moved, sliding up his arms, over the firm muscle of his shoulders. He was solid, warm, familiar. Your body knew him.

Callixto groaned low in his throat as you shifted, pressing closer. His grip on your hip flexed, fingers pressing into your skin as if reminding himself that you were real, that you were his.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with barely restrained need. “Your body knows exactly where it belongs.”

Your breath hitched as his hand slid down, tracing the curve of your belly before settling on your thigh, his thumb brushing over sensitive skin. It was maddening—the slow, deliberate way he touched you, like he was relearning every inch of you, like he was rediscovering something that had never truly been lost.

A small sound escaped you, something between frustration and desperation, and Callixto laughed—a deep, low sound that sent heat curling through your spine.

“Impatient?” he mused, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I thought you wanted to resist me a little longer.”

You hated that he was right. Hated that every ounce of resolve you had spent months building was unraveling beneath his touch. But the worst part?

You didn’t want to fight it anymore.

Not tonight.

Not with him pressed against you like this, his body solid and warm, his hands on you like he had never stopped touching you, like he never would stop.

Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging him back to you. “Shut up, Callixto,” you whispered against his lips.

His golden eyes darkened, his breath catching, and then—

Then, he ruined you.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

The morning sun had barely begun to crest over the horizon when you sat at the small writing desk near the window, your fingers hovering over the parchment. The ink on your quill threatened to drip onto the pristine page, a silent reflection of the hesitation tightening in your chest.

You had been awake for hours.

Or perhaps, you had never truly slept.

Callixto’s warmth still lingered against your skin, his presence overwhelming even in sleep. The remnants of last night were written into your body—the aching satisfaction, the way he had held you afterward, possessive even in rest, his arms wrapped tightly around you as if to prevent even the thought of escape.

But now, as the dawn broke and reality settled in, you knew there was one last thing you had to do before leaving Aurelian’s palace behind.

Your fingers tightened around the quill. Then, slowly, deliberately, you began to write.

✾

To the one who once stood at my doorstep,

I do not know what you have become in these halls, nor do I know if you are still the woman I met in the rain. But if there is any part of you that remains, then I leave you with only this—

May the gods grant you the strength to endure. And if not… then may they grant you a way out.

I hope you never need this letter. But if you do, then I hope it is not too late.

May fortune favor you, and may you never forget that once, for even a moment, you were free.

—Yours in fleeting kindness

✾

You stared at the words, your heartbeat steady but slow, as if your body understood the weight of this more than your mind did.

There was no certainty that she would ever see it. No guarantee that she would even care.

But you had done what you could.

Folding the parchment carefully, you sealed it, running your fingers over the smooth wax before tucking it into the folds of your robe.

It had to reach her.

And there was only one man who could ensure that.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

The kitchen was already alive with movement, the scent of fresh bread and roasting meat curling into the air. The warmth of the ovens chased away the lingering chill of morning, wrapping around you like something almost safe.

You found him near the hearth, arms crossed, barking orders at a younger cook who looked seconds away from dropping the tray he was carrying. The head chef had not noticed you yet, too occupied with ensuring that his staff did not make a mess of his kitchen.

When you finally stepped forward, he turned, brows already furrowed. “You again? Shouldn’t you be off riding into the sunset with your king?”

You exhaled sharply, handing him the folded parchment. “Give this to her.”

He eyed it, unimpressed. “You assume I deliver messages now?”

“She will read it if it comes from you.”

A pause.

Then, begrudgingly, he took the letter, tucking it into the pocket of his apron with a muttered curse. “Tch. Fine. But if I get thrown in the dungeons for this, I’ll be haunting your ass.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “I’ll take my chances.”

His expression softened just slightly, though he still huffed. “Hurry up and go. The last thing I need is more trouble in my kitchen.”

You hesitated. Then, quieter, “Thank you.”

He grunted, already turning back to his work. “Don’t thank me yet, girl. You’re still leaving one hell of a mess behind.”

You said nothing as you stepped back, letting the sounds of the kitchen swallow you whole.

By the time you reached the courtyard, Callixto was already waiting.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

The carriage rocked steadily, the rhythmic clatter of wheels against the road filling the silence between you. The drawn curtains plunged the space into near darkness, save for the dim flicker of the lantern swaying gently from the ceiling. The enclosed space felt suffocating, thick with something unspoken—something his.

You could not see Callixto, but you could feel him.

He had not spoken since the gates of Aurelian’s kingdom had disappeared behind you, but his presence consumed every breath you took. You had spent months away from him, months thinking you had escaped, months believing there was still a choice left to make.

You had been wrong.

Your fingers curled against your lap. “I left something behind.”

A pause. Then, low and unreadable, “What was it?”

“A letter.”

Another pause, this one heavier. “For whom?”

You inhaled. “For her.”

The carriage hit a small rut in the road, rocking slightly, but Callixto remained utterly still. You could not see his reaction, but the weight of it settled in the dark, stretching thick between you.

You forced yourself to continue. “I had to. She deserved to know—”

“I know exactly what she was to you.”

His voice was quiet, but there was nothing soft about it.

The carriage swayed again, and you heard the slow creak of leather as he shifted. Not forward. Not reaching for you. But something about the movement sent a sharp awareness through your spine.

You swallowed. “I only meant—”

“You meant to remind her that you still care,” he murmured, his voice slow, measured. “That you still think of her.”

A long silence.

Then, after a breath, he exhaled through his nose, a quiet sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You would have done the same for anyone, wouldn’t you?”

Your fingers clenched in your lap. “I don’t know.”

A quiet hum. “Yes, you do.”

Something about the certainty in his voice left no room for denial.

The seat beneath him creaked again, another slow shift, but this time, he did not stop himself.

You sucked in a breath as the darkness around you moved—a sudden shift in the air, a presence pressing forward.

Before you could react, before you could shrink away, Callixto was there.

The warmth of his body enveloped you before his hands ever touched you, a suffocating heat in the chilled space of the carriage. And then, just as you began to draw back, his hands found your waist, slow but unrelenting, fingers curling over the soft swell of your stomach.

You stiffened. “Callixto—”

“You think kindness is something that will protect you,” he murmured against your ear, his lips ghosting over your skin. “That it will save you. That if you leave enough of it behind, it will matter.”

Your breath stuttered.

His hands flexed against you. “But kindness will not save you from me.”

The words were spoken softly, a whisper in the dark, but they slammed into you harder than any cruelty ever could.

Your pulse thrummed wildly beneath your skin, your body betraying you as his grip tightened, drawing you flush against him.

“You may have left a letter behind,” he murmured, his breath fanning against your jaw, “but you will not leave anything else.”

One of his hands left your waist, rising to your throat, not squeezing, not restraining—just resting. His thumb brushed over your pulse, slow and deliberate, as if feeling the rapid beat beneath it.

“Not your words.” His fingers traced along the column of your throat. “Not your body.” A slow slide down, over your stomach, pressing possessively over the swell of his child. “And certainly not this.”

The finality in his voice left no room for argument.

This was not a threat.

It was a vow.

You exhaled, unsteady. “And if I tried?”

The leather of his gloves creaked as his grip tightened, slow and unyielding.

“You won’t.”

No rage. No cruelty.

Just absolute, unwavering certainty.

The carriage rocked forward, the road stretching endlessly ahead.

And in the suffocating dark, his arms wrapped around you, holding you firm, keeping you still.

This was only the first night.

There were still six more before you reached his kingdom.

Six nights where there would be no escape. No reprieve from his presence. No moment where you were not his.

As the road stretched long into the unknown, you realized the truth—the journey itself was just another cage.

One that you had already stepped into.

And one that you would never leave.

TBC.

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @kthehoeforfictionalmen @yamekocatt @fandangoballs @mel-vaz

← Previous | Next →

67 notes · View notes

trombonechurchill · 2 days ago

Text

Contact

BuckTommy, 1.2k words, rated T

Instead of doing my several sentences sunday (thanks for the tags @staciesometimeswrites, @ambernotember, and @leashybebes ❤️) I accidentally wrote a whole ass ficlet instead.

Many thanks to @jacki-daytona for the original lights anecdote/idea mwah

Tommy realizes pretty quickly that they'll need to be a bit more careful when flirting at work. It's easy to forget they're not the only ones who know Morse code. --- Or; 3 times Buck and Tommy used Morse Code for fun and 1 time it was serious.

It starts when Evan gets the lights.

"Look, look, Tommy, I can use the app change the brightness or- Or, even the color. See? Instant mood lighting," Evan says, plunging the room in a deep blue that makes Tommy feel like they're underwater.

Tommy's not sure he gets the appeal, he's never had any trouble with an old fashioned lightswitch, but Evan seems happy.

Read the rest here or on AO3

As it turns out, Evan mostly uses the app to annoy and pester him when he feels like Tommy's not giving him enough attention, the lights flashing dangerously when Tommy's spent too long in the den despite Evan calling dinner ready more than 10 minutes ago.

Personally, Tommy quietly likes it when Evan uses it when they're on separate shifts. The light flashing a friendly hello or good night as Tommy lies in bed, the gentle reminder that Evan knows his schedule and is thinking of him.

Though Evan's most resourceful use of the app might just be Tommy's favourite…

Tommy's been reading peacefully for more than an hour, undisturbed, just long enough to get suspicious about Evan's absence, when the lights start flashing.

Two quick flashes and a hold. Two more quick flashes and a hold. Then one quick flash, two longer, and a final quick flicker before the lights resettle. Tommy lowers his book.

The lights flash again, pattern repeating.

Tommy watches, puzzled and entranced as the pattern repeats insistently too more times before Tommy sets down his book, shaking his head with immeasurable fondness as he makes his way back to the bedroom where he has no doubt Evan has holed up.

"Evan. Did you learn Morse code so you could use our lights to ask "U UP"?"

It only escalates from there; becomes their own secret language, best used for things that feel too big for words.

Or for messing with their friends.

"They're doing it again," Chim stage whispers suspiciously from his perch behind Tommy.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Evan says loftily, shifting slightly in his chair across from Tommy, toe of his shoe trailing gently across Tommy's ankle where their feet are tangled under the dinner table.

"We're not doing anything, Howie," Tommy says, deeply serious even as his own foot slides up the curve of Evan's calf, pressing gently in warning. It's doing everything he has to keep this little game of footsie appropriate while he's at work but confusing Howie is definitely helping. "Evan's telling the truth, I really can read his mind."

Evan, the perfect partner in crime, nods enthusiastically. Tommy can see where he's biting his cheek not to laugh.

"Okay, okay, one more time, I need hard evidence here if I'm gonna believe Tommy's really going all Sixth Sense on me."

"I'm still alive, Howie," Tommy sighs, mentally chalking up another movie for movie night at Evan's confused expression.

"Shuhshushshh," Howie flaps a hand, clicking his tongue before raising his arms for silence. "Okay, Buck. I've drawn another card, here we go," Howie finally says grandly.

There's a pause, Evan narrows his eyes dramatically at whatever playing card Howie is currently hiding behind Tommy's head.

Tommy feels Evan's toes tap.

"Two of Clubs," he starts, cut off immediately by Howie's howl of disbelief.

Tommy realizes pretty quickly that they'll need to be a bit more careful when flirting at work.

It's easy to forget they're not the only ones who know Morse code.

"Right, fire's out, 118 will be staying at the scene to monitor for hot spots," Bobby announces as they regroup, the 217 and other units all quietly (or not so quietly) celebrating being dismissed from the scene as the 118 groans and readies themselves for several more hours of tedious baby sitting.

"Good work out there, Firefighter Buckley," Tommy says, palm thumping warmly on Evan's shoulder as the crews disperse, his fingers lingering just shy of what might be professional as Evan's hand comes up to cup his elbow, smile bright under his visor.

"You too, Firefighter Kinard," Evan says back, a little breathless, fingers tapping aggressively along the underside of Tommy's arm as their hands slide away. Tommy only gets half the message through his turnouts but it's enough to make his ears red.

"I'll see you at home," he promises, eyes heavy and hot on Evan's face.

"Y-yeah," Evan says with a hopeful swallow, watching as Tommy starts to step away. "Oh-" Evan starts, pauses. Keys his radio. Keys it again a few more times. It chirps several more eclectic beats as Tommy backwards frogmarches his way away from Evan, head spinning as he translates rapidly in his head.

"Yeah. Yeah we can definitely do that," he says thickly. "Jesus, Evan-"

"For the love of GOD, I can understand you," Eddie calls from back near the 118's engine. "I think I need to go rinse my ears out," he says, stomping around the other side of the water tanks. Tommy hopes he's not going for the hoses.

"Sorry Eddie!"

Tommy knows it's risky. Doesn't have a lot of time to think between the gun being shoved in his face and the chopper being forcefully boarded. His heart's in his throat as he field's the ATC hail, taking one last breath.

He rattles off a usual check in with dispatch and flight control, voice even and level as the nose of the helicopter as he takes the route his new passengers have so kindly and clearly laid out for him, along with what happens if he tries to deviate.

"Wait, Dispatch, can you also pass on a message for Evan? 118," he says, gripping the controls tight as the gun sways dangerously back into his field of vision. "Just-" Tommy nods in understanding to his kidnappers, taps the microphone a few times in burst of nervous energy. Repeats the motion. "Just, tell him that I'm gonna be late for dinner."

S.O.S

Buck barely waits for Athena to give the all clear as he bursts onto the helipad, chest still heaving from his sprint up the stairs. It helped to get his blood pumping again, heart still a frozen thing, barely pumping blood thick with dread since Josh had passed on Tommy's message.

They already have Tommy loaded onto a gurney as he mounts the pad, oxygen mask fixed in place as they set the rails in place. If Tommy's breathing that means he's alive. He's still here.

Buck can barely speak as he curls over Tommy's prone form on the gurney, grateful for Athena's presence to delay the paramedics as long as they dear. He's forehead to chest, the steady thump of Tommy's heart in his ears and Buck can finally breath again himself.

Tommy's hand comes up, gentle, trembling as it cups Buck's face, strokes the apple of his cheek.

"Hey," Buck says, softly, relief and misery and sheer elation bubbling in his throat at the sight of Tommy's blue eyes peeking at him through hooded lashes.

"Hey," Tommy mouths back, thumb still tracing soft circles in Buck's skin before he shifts it, taps out words too heavy, too important to be anywhere but pressed into Buck's skin.

I/LOVE/YOU

#kris writes #911 #911 spoilers #ish #this is very silly until it's not and then it's mostly cheesy #bucktommy #bucktommy fic #disclaimer I know very little about morse code #complete

66 notes · View notes

uhhhj13iguess · 2 days ago

Text

prepare yourself

avenger!peter parker x avenger! reader

summary: peter loses you on a mission, and it's worse than he could've imagined

wc: 3.5k

cw: body gore! mdni! i wanted to experiment with writing body horror, so it gets very graphic when detailing injuries/mutilation. there's no description of the actual events happening, just a lot of wording around the body designed to hopefully make you feel a bit squeamish!

if anyone wants, i'd love to do a part two with the medical-side juxtaposition as well, and give a sweet lil peter ending to turn this angst into fluff

masterlist

peter shot one last web towards the wall, concluding his mural of men webbed along the hallway outside the security room. he gave himself a proud smile, admiring his work.

"you're telling me these guys are hydra? for a decades-long terrorist organization, they sure don't know how to train their front line very well."

you snickered beside him, sliding another bloodied man along the tiled floor to where you'd piled the others.

"i don't get why tony has us on security watch, this is light work. why even have me train under nat if i can't use my skills in practice? i wanna get my hands dirty, i wanna know what they aren't telling us." you kicked the foot of the man below you, turning to peter and giving him a frown. he offered you a knowing smile in return.

"yeah, i get what you mean. come on, lets just get in there and disable the security measures. then we can go back to the jet and try that chocolate i bought at the sokovian 7-eleven."

you grinned at him, heart swelling at the thought of some alone time with peter before the rest of the team was done.

"alright. you head in, i'm going to do one more sweep of the first floor while you're in there."

peter felt his senses go off for a second, a weird feeling in his chest. "i don't know, maybe we shouldn't split up."

you gave him a look. "what, you don't think i can handle myself? come on, you know we've cleared this floor already. plus, you've got like, three buttons to hit and we're home free, it won't be that long."

"yeah, but—"

"but nothing, spidey. come on, work your tech magic and meet me out here."

he let out a breath, shaking off whatever bad feeling was sitting in his stomach. "yeah, you're probably right. one sec,"

peter ducked into the security room, a dissonant beep ringing through the air as he held the keycard to the lock. the light flashed green and let him in. he laughed, "thanks bad guys!"

he heard you chuckle from down the hall as he made his way into the room, a smile on his face. he would never admit it to you, but he liked that you two were handed the short stick on missions. you were in and out, leaving time alone before the rest of the team came back, and he relished those moments more than any chance of glory.

he reached the switchboard, glancing at the monitors as he saw the rest of the team on the cameras making their rounds on various floors. "god we're so badass."

(y/n) was right: it was a matter of exactly three commands before he had the systems disabled. he heard tony through his comms,

"thanks, kid. now, do us all a favor and get yourself to the jet. this shouldn't take long."

peter smiled to himself, a feeling of accomplishment coursing through him. did he press literally there buttons? yes. but he pressed three buttons as an avenger. man, that would never grow old.

he heard commotion from down the hall and called out towards you. "alright (y/n), we've had our fun. stop messing with them and let's fuck up some chocolate, shall we?"

he was met with silence, his chest feeling tight again. "(y/n)?"

he took one step out of the room before his head was met with a metal fist, the CRACK of his own skull ringing through his ears before he lost consciousness.

tony jerked back as his hand repulsor let out a blast, sending the guy on steve's back to the ground with a heavy thud.

"mr. stark, both peter and (y/n) have gone unconscious." FRIDAY echoed through the suit. his blood ran cold.

"what?"

"both of them are in the building and their vitals are stable, however, they've both just lost consciousness within one minute of each other."

he felt his breathing pick up, his heartbeat commanding in his chest. he looked to steve and nat. "you guys good?"

nat threw a nasty headbutt, sending the agent in front of her collapsing to the ground. "go, tony."

he flew out without another word.

"FRIDAY, get me their most recent location."

"head to the security room, sir. take a left now."

tony reached the room in a matter of a minute, missiles out and on guard. he announced himself before storming the room, standing down once met with peter on the ground, no one else around him. he rushed out of his suit and to his side, shaking the boy relentlessly.

"kid, come on. wake up."

a few more desperate shakes and peter was gasping for air, fists flying and ready to fight.

"woah woah woah, hey— you're alright, you're okay. same sides, just me."

peter stalled his movements, taking a deep breath and allowing himself to grab ahold of his surroundings. he sat up slowly before immediately regretting it. man, did his head hurt.

"kid, you alright? you're bleeding. take of the mask, i need to see it." tony reached towards him, only to be swatted at.

"mr. stark, someone'll see!"

"kid, the floor is clear. i'm pretty sure you're responsible for that. jesus, how hard did you hit your head?" he pressed the spider emblem on peter's chest, revealing his blood-stained curls.

"pete, what the hell happened? for fucks sake, we need to get you out of here. FRIDAY, admister morphine."

"what? no, mr. stark don't— OW! mr. stark, what the hell??"

"kid, you're going to thank me in ten minutes. where's (y/n)?"

peter felt his mouth go dry. "w-what do you mean 'where's (y/n)''?"

tony's face fell. "shit. okay kid, let's get you to the jet. sam?" he called into his comms.

"yeah tony, what's up?"

"get down here, i need you to get eyes on (y/n)."

peter shot up instantly, his mask climbing back up his face. "no, mr. stark, really. i'm fine. i can feel it healing already, honest. i have to find (y/n)."

"we aren't having a discussion on this."

"you're right, we're not."

peter took off, flying down the hallway and out of sight before tony could even get back in his suit.

"karen, show me heat signatures."

the team searched for a while, leaving no one in their way untouched. the fight to find you was growing tireless, and the more time that passed without a trace of you led to more panic spreading amongst the team — peter worst of all.

he'd grown feral in his search for you, bloodying any body he encountered.

"kid, we should head back to the jet. we need to gameplan this." tony rang through his suit.

"no. mr stark, her tracker is still in the compound and she's close enough to read vitals on."

"pete, we—"

"she's in pain, mr. stark. i'm not leaving this building without her."

peter continued to search for hours, detailing every single room in the building. he spent the most time in the room your tracker had led him to, but helpless as he couldn't find you anywhere nearby. he had screamed your name for the majority of the search, his throat raw as his own healing couldn't even keep up with his efforts. he felt the blood warm on the back of his throat, accompanying the warm flood of tears down his cheeks.

"this is all my fault." he let out a horse whimper, bouncing his head up against the brick wall in front of him.

he felt hopeless. he felt like the world was crashing around him, a wretched feeling in his chest ripping him apart from the inside. this was all his fault, he didn't—

the bricks against his forehead ground against one another before shifting backwards, causing peter to jerk his head up. he stared wide eyed to a portion of the wall having fallen back as though on hinges, a long hallway now standing in front of him.

"a secret door. you're kidding." he breathed to himself. "mr. stark?"

"yeah, kid?" tony rang through.

"i found a door hidden in the wall right where (y/n)'s location is. i'm going in."

"i'll be there in 30 seconds."

peter sighed to himself before stepping his foot over the threshold and down the concrete-lined hallway.

"this would've been way cooler 5 hours ago."

tony landed in the room, eyes on the hole in the wall as he made his way down. he spotted peter ahead of him, not quite to the room at the other end.

"mr. stark, i have (y/n)'s heat signature in the room about twenty yards ahead. she's alive, but her vital signs are unstable. i'll prepare the jet for medical intervention." FRIDAY alerted.

tony gave a deep sigh as he approached peter, a hand falling on his chest and preventing him from walking any further.

"mr. stark, what are you— we have to go, sir!"

"kid, just wait a second. i need you to be prepared for anything, okay? they had (y/n) for almost five hours, and you know what we came here for originally. just, prepare yourself."

peter scowled, a look of of uncertainty overtaking his features as though he was at war with himself. he met tony's gaze. "this is all my fault."

"hey, pete. you know that's not true. you're lucky we aren't finding you in this room too."

peter took a shakey inhale, turning back to the opening of the cold room before them. "i'll feel lucky when i have her out of here."

and with that, peter ran. he navigated the room, desperately following your heat signature as tony focused on the agents and scientists in the room. he hoped peter was entirely focused on getting to you because he sure as hell wasn't following the "no-kill" rule this time around.

with everyone else taken care of, peter ran to the other end of the room where karen had traced you. and while tony had done his best, there was nothing peter could've done to prepare himself for what he saw.

you were on the concrete floor, clothes ripped and shivering from the frigid temperature of the room. your eyes were closed as you flinched from the noises around you, but it wasn't your demeanor that stopped him dead in his tracks.

there you laid, at complete mercy of those around you. thick tubes entered your body through your arms and chest, a viscous, black sludge coursing into you. it leaked out around the edges, your torn skin wet from not only the liquid but from the amount of blood lost as well.

the tubes protruded two from each forearm and one on either side of your collarbones, each breath stretching the skin around them and causing more tearing on your chest. peter could see the outline of the tubing in your arms, your skin bulging as the tubes fished themselves up to your biceps. the sight made him lightheaded, beginning to panic as he fought to believe what his eyes were showing him.

the scent of everything brought tears to his eyes, a sickly sweet smell in the air as your body fought hard to reject everything that was happening. it was foul, a putrid scent similar to that of rotten fruit flooding his nose and raising bile in his throat. had it been from the stench alone, peter would've thought you'd been dead for hours.

he took a step closer to you and there was a crunch underneath his right foot. he lifted it and looked down, confusion coating his features. and then, there was nothing but terror.

he leaned down to pick up a tooth, skimming the area to notice another few molars scattered around your limp body. his eyes met with the bloodied pair of pillars on the ground, giving new and nightmarish reasoning to your blood-soaked mouth. peter looked back up to you and felt his knees give out.

he crawled closer, not daring to touch you to make anything worse. now, he got a better look at your face, and he almost wished he hadn't.

blood pooled down your chin and dripped onto your chest, notably from the missing teeth and whatever else they'd done to you that peter couldn't see evidence of. you let out a cough, but it came out more as a gag, blood filling your mouth at a higher rate than your body could handle. you choked, new waves of red liquid spilling from your lips and splattering across your torso as you fought to breathe.

somehow it wasn't your mouth that made peter feel faint, however. it was your eyes.

your eyelids had been crudely sewn shut, crusted over and bloody. your soft lids were torn to shreds, the flesh ripped raw — no doubt from unconscious efforts to open your eyes.

you let out a ragged breath. "hello? w-who's there?"

peter watched your eyes move underneath the lids frantically, the movement only proving his assumption correct as he watched the skin pull against the thread, flesh tearing apart at the struggle.

"hey hey hey, stop moving, please. calm down, it's just me. it's peter,"

he couldn't help the quiver in his voice, his body betraying him as tears flooded down his cheeks under the mask.

"i'm going to get you out of here, okay? i-i just need you to trust me, okay? i'm gonna get you out of here, i promise."

you nodded, the minimal movement enough to elicit a sharp cry from deep in your throat. peter winced, placing a hand on your head and running his fingers through your hair, careful not to get too close to your eyes.

"pete, i-i, please, i don't..."

karen's voice pierced through his mask, drowing out your pleas. "peter, we're losing her. you need to get her to the jet immediately."

he couldn't breathe. his vision was going dark around the edges, panic overtaking him as his eyes racked over your body, desperately hoping this was all just a horrible nightmare. at some point, the rest of the team had joined in on the fight, the sounds of gunshots and violence fading to the background as a ringing pierced his ears. he didn't know what to do, he didn't—

"p-peter? are you still there?" your trembling voice drew him out of his haze. he watched again as you fought to open your eyes, face controting in pain as you pulled against the thread. he grabbed your hand in his, giving it the faintest squeeze.

"hey, hey i'm sorry, i'm right here. please stop moving your eyes, try to relax them for me. i'm so sorry, (y/n), i'm so sorry." the last part a whisper.

you turned your head towards his voice, tears slipping through the loops in the thread. it rewet the blood crusted around your eyes, the tears running down your cheeks a pinkish-red.

"they told me i saw too much."

peter felt his stomach turn at your words, intrusive thoughts of them holding you down and stitching your eyes shut plaguing his mind.

"i'm so sorry, i...

"peter, you need to act quickly. start by removing the tubes from her arms." karen rang through his suit again.

he shook off the thought, bringing his attention back to you. "i need to get these tubes out, okay?"

you choked out an "okay", more blood spilling from your lips as you spoke.

"don't talk, okay? i'm going to get you out of here. just stay awake for me, please. i'm just gonna..." he placed his hand on one of the tubes, nauseous at their size in his hand.

he held tight, the movement alone from his grasp being enough to earn a whine from you, incoherent pleas to stop escaping your lips.

he felt panic bubble in his throat again. "karen, please. how do i do this, i... i don't... i don't know what i'm doing."

"it doesn't seem as though the tubes in her arms are intertwined with anything. the best course of action may be to pull as quickly as possible,"

peter could taste the bile in the back of his mouth.

"the tubing is about two feet long, peter. you're going to want to pull quickly and pull a lot further out than you think."

he took a deep breath, summoning all the willpower he had left. "okay, i'm going to take these out, alright? i need you to brave for me, this isn't going to feel great."

you choked out another "okay" as peter tightened his grasp on the tubing. he gave himself a mental countdown, closing his eyes and pulling as hard and as quickly as he could.

the sounds that filled his ears made him wish to never hear again. you let out a blood-curdling scream that forced an echo through the concrete room, the rasp in your voice telling peter you'd been crying out like this for hours. it broke his heart to hear you in so much pain, but somehow your deafening anguish wasn't the worst part.

he could hear as the tubing left your body. the squelching noises of the plastic running through your flesh burned to his memory, one he knew would haunt him at night. you let out another roar as the tubing left your body and peter opened his eyes, immediately looking at the now-open wound in your forearm. he no longer had to worry about the noises haunting him.

the tubing had left a gaping hole in your arm, a dark red mixture of various liquids splattering out of you. he was quick to throw a web on it, stopping the flow for now. he looked at you, tears blurring his vision.

"i'm sorry," he cried, out, nearly choking on his own sobs. "i need to keep going, i'm so sorry."

he grabbed the next one, wasting no time pulling as hard as he could. this time, however, he made the mistake of keeping his eyes open. he watched as the tubing moved from under your skin as though a snake was slithering inside of you, the bulging in your arms pulsing and raising as peter moved. the tubing hit the ground with a thud, and the next thing you could hear was peter dry heaving.

he continued with the other arm, apologies on his lips as though he was pleading for his own life. they were drowned out by your screams, the rasp in your tone growing stronger each time as you lost your ability to speak. you could feel your throat ripping apart as you cried, even more blood running down to your stomach than before. you heard the sounds of peter's webshooters and felt two more cool sensations on your left arm.

"okay, we just need to get the ones in your chest, okay? we're almost done, (y/n), i promise,"

he took a step back to examine the two tubes left before a voice cut through his ears.

"peter, you can't pull on these two, they're too close to her heart. you're going to need to sever them and leave them in so they can be taken out surgically."

the thought brought another gag to his throat. he nodded silently, reaching down to the boot on your left foot where he knew you always had a back up dagger hidden. he let out a sigh of relief as he felt the metal against his masked fingers, pulling out the knife and bringing it towards your chest. he noticed as your ragged breathing picked up.

"peter? w-what are you doing with that? what's going on, please?"

"it's okay. i have to leave these ones in here, okay? i'm going to cut them and then we're going to go," he held a firm hand on one of the tubes.

"you're going to feel some pressure, okay? you're going to feel me cutting it, and it's going—"

"—peter, she's losing consciousness. you need to make the cuts now."

"okay! okay, i— fuck, okay."

peter began to saw at the tubing, the back-and-forth movement ripping at the skin around the edges. it pulled, blood and dark liquid splashing out on your bare clavicle and turning everything he saw red. he braced for your scream, but felt even more panicked when he didn't hear one.

"hey hey, hey please no. please, stay with me, please i'm trying. just please stay alive."

he finished off the final tube, again using his webbing to seal the open ends and prevent anything else from going in (or coming out). he wrapped his arms around your limp frame, beginning to lift you. his whole body shook, the weight of the situation sitting on him like nothing he'd ever felt before. he let out a cry that hurt his chest, using everything he had left to get back to his feet.

he had you. he had you, and everything was going to be fine, he just needed to—

"kid, grab on!" tony yelled as he flew past, signaling peter to web himself onto his suit. he did so, holding you tight in his arms as tony flew them outside and towards the jet.

they landed outside, his arms shaking violently as he rushed you over to bruce who was waiting at the glider entrance.

"please, help her. please, you have to help her."

40 notes · View notes

coffeecat1983 · 2 days ago

Text

Stobotnik mini fic AU. "Brown eyes, Broken Heart."

Warning: Fic contains a brief moment of body mutilation that isn't very graphic, but could be distressing.

An assassination attempt. Something that wasn't unusual for the scientist to have to deal with. They were simple fools, these mindless peons of tech companies and foreign powers that wanted his secrets for their very own. Stone had taken over the job of dealing with them with, Robotnik noted, an aura of joy at the thought of defending the life of his dear doctor. Robotnik had to admit hearing the scuffles, the eventual firing of Stone's weapon, the silence afterwards, it was thrilling and gave him a rush unlike any other.

Except today.

He had been elbows deep in the chassis of his new prototype. A bang from the attached break room, a crash of glass, the deafening sound of a gun going off, and a pained groan. He waited for Stone to call all clear but the usual cheerful voice never came. "Stone?" Staying out of the potential line of fire, he opened the door to the break room and peered in. There was a body on the floor, the blood from the bullet wound in their head pooling on the floor and soaking into the rugs that had been put down. "Stone!" he called out, striding in. Another groan and something beside the body moved. Stone crawled out from behind the counter with a hand clasped over his eyes. "D-Doc…Doctor…." Robotnik had gotten him onto the couch and pulling away the other man's hand, felt his stomach lurch. The vial of acid the assassin had been carrying had been broken across Stone's face.

Those gentle, brown eyes that Robotnik secretly loved, had burst.

That had been an hour ago. Now Robotnik was ignoring the pounding on the lab door and the yelling of Walters. He had secretly installed a full lockdown mode in the lab, sealing off everything behind thick covers of steel. He could faintly make out Walters yelling 'He needs a hospital, a doctor!' He turned away, his scowl made the nearby Badnik float back in alarm. "I am a doctor." he snarled, checking the flow of the IV tube as it led into Stone's arm. The tabletop was no surgery, but it would do. He turned to the holo-screen and tapped a few things. It was time to test his nano-technology.

Three weeks later… "Your latte, doctor." The saucer clinked softly on the table. The doctor was silent for a moment. "Stone, how are you feeling?" The agent smiled, his hand reaching up to lightly touch at his face. "I'm all right, doctor. The discomfort around the scarring is going down, thanks to your care." "Good. Remember I need to check calibrations before we're done here tonight." "Yes, sir." With that, the agent returned to his desk, his new robotic eyes whirring softly as they 'blinked'. While proud of his work, Robotnik silently mourned the loss of the brown eyes he had fallen for.

END. By "CC"

#fanfic #mini fics #stobotnik #tw eye trauma #ivo robotnik #agent stone #alternate universe

36 notes · View notes

activesplooger · 2 days ago

Text

ʜᴇʟᴘ ᴍᴇ | ᴘᴀʀᴛ 7 | ᴠᴏx x ᴀꜱꜱɪꜱᴛᴀɴᴛ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: part 7 bitches!!! im so sorry for the theater scene I had to

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: vox takes reader out on a date business dinner! theater kid antics ensue in the car (among other things aha wink wink). reader skedaddles and avoids their issues.

ᴄᴡ: vox being dismissive of ur issues, nsfw

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3,593

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀᴘᴏꜱᴛ!

'What do you wear when your boss asks you to dinner?'

The question echoed in your mind as you stood before your closet, at a loss. Well, he didn't technically ask you to dinner; he asked investors and then you, but still— you have no clue what to wear.

A cute mini dress? Too slutty.

A suit? Too mundane.

You sigh and lean against the wall of your closet in frustration. Your eyes scan the hanging clothes until they land on a hidden black satin maxi dress tucked behind the others. Finally!

You slip on the dress and a pair of black heels, admiring your reflection in the mirror. The single draped strap and high slit on your upper thigh make it sexy yet sophisticated. "I should dress up more often," you mutter to yourself.

You're shaken out of your thoughts when your doorbell rings. You figured Vox sent a driver, but you still had a few minutes left before the agreed-upon time. You turn the knob and standing before you was the imposing figure of your boss clad in an all-black suit.

"Vox, what are you doing here?" you ask, surprise evident in your tone. He clears his throat, a wide but anxious smile plastered on his face. "For the dinner, of course!" he replies, his voice slightly strained. Your brows furrow as you examine his nervous expression. "Yeah, but why are you here? Don't you usually send someone to pick me up?" you question skeptically.

Vox starts to form digital sweat projections on his screen, his wide smile twitching at the corners, "Ah yes well-". Your eyes narrow as you study his unusual behavior intently, "And how did you know where I lived—". "Anyways!" he says with a nervous, forced chuckle, "we should really get going—don't wanna be late!"

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicion etched on your face. "Vox," you say, your voice stern and accusing "Have you been doing coke with Valentino again? How many times have I told you—no coke before meetings!" He straightens up, his suit jacket crinkling, and takes an audible, shaky breath. "What? No!" he protests, 'I'm not on coke. I'm just nervous!". You raise an eyebrow, suspicion clear in your expression. "You? Nervous?" you ask, a hint of disbelief coloring your tone.

He meets your gaze but can't quite hold it. "Yes, I'm nervous," he says curtly, trying to change the subject, "now let's go before we're late.". He gestures impatiently towards the door, but there's a slight tremor in his hand, betraying his true state. “Alright..." You comply, though, still skeptical of his weird behavior.

The two of you make a short, silent walk outside your apartment, where a car is parked by the curb— a polished obsidian black luxury vehicle with tinted windows, Vox's personal vehicle. You pause as Vox approaches the driver's side, "You're driving us? Don't we usually take a company car?". He exhales sharply by the car door, "Yes, I'm driving. We're... trying to be more careful with our finances. Don't be a brat.".

"Careful with your finances?" you scoff, "last week you got drunk with Val and ordered fifty inflatable sharks.". "Which is why we're being more cautious!" he snaps back defensively. Vox gets in the driver's seat, "Get in the damn car, Y/N.". You sigh and enter the passenger side. "Fine," you reply, dropping the suspicion... for now.

You settle into the plush leather seat of the passenger side, still eyeing Vox warily as he takes his place behind the wheel. The car hums to life, the engine purring smoothly. As he pulls away from the curb, you can't shake the feeling that something is off with him tonight.

As you both settle into the car, awkward silence stretches between you. You glance over at Vox, noticing how his hands grip the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. He seems lost in thought, his brows knitted in concentration.

You can't help but let your mind wander to the dinner ahead, wondering what the real reason behind this invitation is. Is this truly just a business meeting, or is there more to it?

Eventually, the air becomes too tense to bear. Vox is sweating bullets, and his eyes are transfixed on the road before him— not daring to meet your gaze. "Can I put on some music?" you ask, your voice breaking the heavy silence.

Vox glances at you briefly, his eyes flickering away as quickly as they meet yours. "Uh, sure," he says, his voice tight and distracted. He reaches over to grab his phone and practically throws it at you, "Just play whatever.". Unlocking his phone, you open up his "Voxify" app and press play on whatever he was previously listening to.

🎵A simple choice, nothing more. This or that, either or🎵

Vox's body stiffens, utterly mortified. Meanwhile, you stifle a laugh, "Is this- is this Thoroughly Modern Millie?". Swiftly, he releases the steering wheel and reaches over to snatch his phone from your grasp. You lift it over your head as you burst into laughter, "No way! You're a fucking theater kid!". "Shut up!" Vox yells, still trying to snatch the phone away, "I swear to God, Y/N if you don't hand over the goddamn phone-".

The sound of honking and headlights blaring into the windshield cuts you short. Since Vox was too busy fighting with you to pay attention to the road, the car had veered off into another lane. Vox grabs hold of the wheel and swerves back into the right side of the road.

He turns to you with a grimace, "See what you made me do?!". "What did I do?" you scoff, "not my fault your theater shit started playing!"

Vox exhales sharply, a light blush projecting across his features. "It's not... I just... I have eclectic tastes," he says, a hint of defensiveness in his voice. You roll your eyes and turn the volume up, "Drama nerd.". "Don't be such an asshole, y/n," Vox says.

"Hey, Vox?"

"What?"

"Do you know what I really want?"

Vox sighs, "What?". "LOOVEE!" you say, throwing your hands dramatically over your chest, mimicking the song's lyrics. A soft chuckle escapes his lips, "Your singing's a mess.". "Oh fuck you," you retort playfully, "I'd like to see you do better.". A soft smile creeps onto his lips, "Yeah, okay.". He clears his throat and belts out the song lyrics. "Pftt!" you nearly choke from laughter, "Oh my god, you're such a theater kid!".

Vox turns to you as you laugh, a rare, gentle smile crossing his features as he watches you laugh. "Hm?" you murmur, turning to meet his gaze, your eyes locking onto each other for a moment. "Nothing," he fixes his gaze back onto the road in front of him, "you laugh ugly.". You recoil at the sudden insult. "Asshole," you murmur under your breath.

The car comes to a stop by the valet. Two imps scurry to the car and open the door for you and Vox. The imp takes your hand to usher you out of the vehicle, "This way, ma'am.". Meanwhile, Vox approaches the front desk. The host immediately straightens her posture upon seeing Vox and flashes him a fearful smile. He looms over the demon and says something you can't quite make out.

She hastily grabs five menus and gestures towards the inside of the restaurant. Vox looks back at you and cocks his head, "Let's go.". You grab some cash out of your purse and tip the valet before scurrying to Vox.

"Right this way," the host guides you through the restaurant to your table. She leads you to a large table for 5 in a more secluded area of the restaurant.

Two workers follow behind you and pull out chairs for you and Vox. As you're seated across from Vox, his previous anxious demeanor returns. He starts pulling at the collar of his shirt and darting his eyes around the restaurant.

"Soo," you say, attempting to make conversation, "the investors should be here soon.". "Right! The investors!" he exclaims, "correct, they should uh be here very soon!". Vox briefly makes eye contact before snatching his menu in and throwing it over his face.

Exhaling softly, you follow suit and scan the menu items. "The seafood tower looks good," you say quietly. "We could order it if you'd like," he replies, lowering the menu. You nod and set the menu aside.

"Waiter!" he calls out snapping his fingers. A waiter scrambles over to the table and grabs out a pen and pad. "Yes Mr. Vox?" the waiter says, his voice shaky. "Put an order in for a seafood tower," he demands, "and make it quick.". The waiter scurries off and Vox turns back at you, meeting your judgemental glare. "Whats that look for?" he asks.

You give him a stern look, "A 'thank you' wouldn't hurt.". Vox drags a clawed hand down his face and beckons the waiter back okay. The nervous demon immediately comes back over, "How can I assist you, s-sir?". "Thank you... for placing that order," he says through gritted teeth.

"Oh!" the waiter's eyes widened, his surprised expression was followed by a smile, "No problem, it should be out shortly.". You chuckle softly at his pained expression, "You're such a drama queen.". "I'm not a drama queen!" he defends, "you don't gain respect by saying "thank you".". "Yeah well at least the waiter won't spit in your food," you comment, taking a sip of your water.

"He was not going to spit in my food," Vox rolls his eyes, "he could barely get a sentence out around me, no way would he have the balls to do that.". "Probably came in your lobster," you remark, a playful grin on your lips. "Jesus, y/n!" Vox laughs, "he did not!".

Vox smirks and leans in closer, his eyes scanning you up and down, "I could fire you for that kind of language, you know.". You wave a dismissive hand, "Yeah yeah.". Just then, the waiter comes back with the seafood tower and places it between the two of you.

Vox reaches out to grab from it but you slap his hand away "Wait for the investors!" you chide. At the mention of "investors", Vox begins to sweat, "Oh right! Uh- Oh would you look at that I'm getting a phone call!". "Your phones not even ringing-".

Vox springs up, his chair squeaking as it pushes out from behind him, "I should take this!". "Okay..?" you say as Vox rushes off into a secluded part of the restaurant.

A few minutes later, Vox strides back to the table. "I just got off the phone with the investors," he states. Your eyebrow raises, "Oh did you now?". "Yes, and unfortunately, they can't make it," he reports, his wide grin full of false confidence. "What?!" you exclaim, "we came all this way and they just- canceled out of the blue?".

Vox's grin falters slightly at your disconcertion, "I- well, yes. It happens sometimes.". He waves a dismissive hand, "We didn't need them anyways, VoxTech is thriving.". "But, you were so nervous- You were all worked up over this," your tone grows skeptical as Vox digs himself a hole. "Yes, well, it was premature. A momentary lapse of judgment," he shrugs off the concern.

"But-"

"Relax, it doesn't matter! Now let's dig in!"

You study his unusual behavior for a moment before exhaling sharply and grabbing some seafood. You both eat quietly for a while, the only sound being the utensils clanking and distant chatter from other tables.

Vox looks up from his plate and at you, "You're upset.". You lift your head and meet his gaze, "Yeah I'm kinda upset!". "Why?" Vox asks, his words cold and apathetic, "this doesn't even matter or affect you I'm the one who has to pay for the food and my time wasted—".

"Vox!" you interrupt, "I-I cleared my schedule! I got all dressed up! I had analytics memorized and reports reviewed! You're not the only one who lost something here!". Vox became stunned into silence at your words, his smile flat and eyebrows drawn down. You sigh and lean your head against your palm, poking at your food with your fork.

...

"I'm sorry," he mutters quietly. You lift your head, "What?". "I said I'm sorry," he apologizes louder. He notices your shocked expression, "Oh don't look so surprised!". "I am! You rarely apologize!" you defend.

Vox sighs and turns to the side, avoiding eye contact, "Well, there it is, I'm sorry.". There's a lengthy silence between you for a moment. Vox takes a deep breath, "It wasn't for nothing". "What was?" you question. "Getting all dressed up," he gestures to your dress, a light blue blush projecting on his cheeks, "I think... I think you look great, Doll.".

A smile crosses your features involuntarily, "You haven't called me that since-". "I know," he replies.

"It's nice.".

Vox smiles and looks into your eyes, "I know.".

You hold eye contact for a while. And strangely, you didn't mind it. It felt.. comfortable, even. Suddenly, Vox turns to the side and clears his throat, "I should take care of the bill.". "Oh, right," you say, snapping out of your daze.

Vox rises from his seat and marches up to the host to pay the bill. Once he leaves, you pull out your phone and turn your camera on. You see pink blush brightly displayed across your cheeks, your hand coming up to feel the heat emanating from your face. "Shit," you murmur, "what am I doing?".

You hear Vox clear his throat and snap your head up to see him standing over you, his arm extended out to you, "Let's go.". Hesitantly, you take his arm and he escorts you out of the restaurant, the air thick with tension and the silence of unspoken words.

The valet pulls up to the curb with Vox's car and an imp hops out of the car and returns Vox's keys, "Here you go, sir.". Vox nods and walks with you to the passenger door. You release his arm and he holds the door open for you. "Thanks," you say as you get in.

Vox gets into the driver seat and starts the car, beginning to drive off from the premises. As he drives, you can't help but wonder, was this all setup? Everything that had happened seemed way too convenient, suspiciously so. "Vox?" you say, turning your gaze to him.

"Yes?"

"There were never any "investors", were there?" you quietly ask, your words hanging heavily in the air. "No..." He responds, his expression unreadable. A long sigh escapes his lips and he pulls the car over into an empty parking lot.

You look out the window and see your surroundings, "Where are we going?". He doesn't respond and instead parks the car in a space away from prying eyes. "Doll, listen," he turns to the side to face you. "I just... wanted to spend time with you. Outside of work. Outside of everything that happened," he says, his voice slightly strained, "but, I knew that's not possible. We're too...".

"Complicated?" you finish his sentence. "Right," he confirms, "and so I made up this meeting.. so you'd have to go, get dressed up, and— Oh my God I can't believe I'm saying this— I wanted to see you, alright?!".

"A-And then I had it all under control for a minute!" he yells, "but then I see you, looking like THAT and I fucking lost it!". "Looking like what?!" you shout back. "Oh fuck off, y/n!" he rolls his eyes and points at your accusingly, "You know you look good! Don't play dumb!".

You shoot him an offended look and lean in, "So what if I look good?! That prompted this whole fucking ruse of a dinner?!". Vox's eyes widen, static filling his voice, "'So?!' ̮̪̈S̖̜͚̽O̪̟ͧͥ?!".

Without warning, Vox closes the distance between you and presses his lips against yours in a heated kiss. You instinctively lean against his soft, surprisingly non-screen-like, lips, kissing him back with an equally fervent intensity. His hands roam your back, pulling you close to him until you're suddenly out of your seat and perched in his lap.

You pull back, pushing his shoulders away from you, "No, wait, we shouldn't-". "Doll," he whispers, his hands coming up to cradle your face, "tell me to stop, and I will.". Your heart skipped a beat, and despite his words giving you a way out that your brain so desperately wanted, you didn't move. Instead, you leaned closer, connecting your lips once again.

Vox's hand drifts from your face and down your back, teasingly lingers around your ass. The other hand grabs your chin and coaxes you to pry your mouth open. Once your mouth falls slightly agape his lithe tongue slides against yours and probes your mouth. Your tongue gently flicks forward to meet his, a soft moan escaping your lips.

A bulge forms in his trousers, poking your core teasingly and leaving you soaking wet. Slowly, you slide his blazer off his shoulders and toss it in the back seat. You feel Vox smile against your lips as you start to unbutton his shirt. He pulls back from the kiss and pats your thigh, "Lift your hips for me, sweetheart.".

The nickname sends butterflies through your stomach. You comply, sitting up slightly so you're just hovering above him. He bunches your dress up to reveal your soaked panties. "Teal panties?" he cocks an eyebrow. You roll your eyes, "Unintentional.".

"Mhm, whatever you say.". A clawed finger pulls the fabric aside and slowly slides his finger across your drenched folds, the feeling sending shivers down your spine, "Fuck, Vox, don't do that-". "Do what?" he feigns ignorance. "Tease!" you answer, bucking your hips slightly as he rubs circles on your clit.

Vox holds his hands up in surrender, a smirk on his face, "Okay.". You whine at the loss but regain hope as Vox unzips his pants. His boxers were tented and strained against his erection, a small damp patch on the front.

He hooks his fingers under his boxers and pulls them down just enough to free his aching cock. His navy cock stands tall against his slender torso, his cyan tip leaking beads of precum. You look up from his dick and meet his hazy, lust-filled eyes.

"C'mon, Doll, now you're being a tease," he says, beckoning you closer. You adjust yourself closer to his lap and align your hips with his, your eyes searching his as you're suddenly filled with uncertainty.

Sensing your doubt, Vox's expression softens and rubs lazy circles on your hips comfortingly. You smile at him and slowly lower yourself onto him, his length stretching your walls and eliciting a moan from both of you. Vox groans and throws his head back, "Fuck...".

You begin to lightly bounce on his cock, throwing your arms over Vox's shoulders. "That's it, princess," he coos, "just like that.".

His claws dig into your exposed thighs, hard enough to draw a small amount of blood. The slight pain mixed with the immense pleasure brought you incredibly close.

Vox's fingers find your clit and continue rubbing the swollen bud. "V-Vox," you say breathily. "You're doing so well," he praises, "maybe you should work for Valentino.". You stop moving and glare at him, "Not funny.".

Vox laughs, "I'm kidding, you know I'd never trade you.". "You're just saying that so I keep fucking you," you say playfully, knowing full well you were just as needy as he was. He flashes a toothy grin, "Can you blame me? You're gorgeous.". "Hnf, okay, smooth," you continue riding his cock, a relieved groan escaping from Vox's throat.

Vox's cock starts to twitch inside of you, his eyes squeezed shut as he approaches his climax. You would tease him a bit if you weren't just as close. His hips buck into yours, begging for release.

"F-Fuck," you whimper, "I-I'm gonna-". "Shh," he brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, "Me too, sweetheart, let go for me.". His words send you over the edge, the pleasure built up finally releasing as you bounce on his cock as fast as you can.

Vox's claws dig into your thighs as he cums, his hips bucking wildly into yours as he climaxes, "FUCK!". You slowly ride out the waves of your shared orgasm and bounce slower and slower until you slump against his chest.

As the heat of the moment dissipates, anxiety floods your body.

Oh god. You just slept with your boss. The man who traumatized you. Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with you?? You've gotta get out of here.

Vox sits stiffly against the seat, unmoving as a familiar silence fills the car, "That was—". "I have to go!" you announce bluntly. "You what?" he says incredulously, "what do you mean you have to go.". "I-I can't be here- we shouldn't have- I'm sorry!" you smooth out your dress and grab your heels that were lost in the fray.

"Wait, y/n, what are you doing?" vox says, grabbing your hips to stop you from leaving. You face him with teary eyes, shame written all over your face, "I'm sorry, Vox.". You open the car and jump out running god knows where.

Anywhere but here

"Y/N!" Vox calls out from the open car door, covering his exposed area with his blazer, "WHAT THE FUCK?! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!".

The End

YAYYY I FINISHED EDITING!! UHHH I FORGOT A TAGLIST SO IM SORRY HERE

TAG LIST:

@lovelyemily, @preppyfellaa, @diffidentphantom, @lil-glum, @leonotlara,

@matpatsstuff, @rapunzelbro, @n0tmentallystable, @thisisthepartwhereishutup

@tommyjeffjeff, @user0715991108, @meowermeowing, @fru1tbatzz, @ldrst4n

@elegant-face-tree, @insaneintheemembranev2

ʟᴍᴋ ɪꜰ ᴜ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴀᴅᴅᴇᴅ

#reader x vox #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #vox #vox fanfiction #hazbin fanfic #hazbin x reader #slow burn #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin #hazbin fics #x reader #hazbin vox x reader #smut

38 notes · View notes