#to use them (he is running from the horrors)

[formosusiniquis]

public broadcast morticia, platinum record gomez

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson wc: 3.9k | T | @stevieweek day 3: horror/princess; transfem!stevie; post-canon; getting back together AO3

Stevie shuts the prop book in her lap slowly, allowing the scene to transition out of the story animation and back to real life. For the seconds it is in frame, the red cloth-bound cover of the prop stands out in stark contrast against the gold and black of her skirt. The camera pans slowly back up to her face.

“That would be scary, wouldn’t it?” she asks her future viewing audience. “To wake up one morning and not recognize who you are.”

Wings beat, and a grey tentacle wraps around her shoulder. Robin clicks and coos, moving the demobat puppet in time with the noises. She's probably asking a real question, but Sevie hasn’t picked up much of the language she’s invented for her puppet.

It’s all scripted anyway.

“I agree, Demi. Not having an adult to go to makes it scarier. But wasn’t it brave to keep going even though he was scared?”

Robin chirps and squeaks again. Flapping the puppet’s wings with the special pull cord, she maneuvers the bat around the stage to make it look like Demi is flying.

“Of course, Demi, I’ll always be someone safe for you to go to. I love you.”

Her eyes sting as she says it. God, she cries so much more easily these days. Fucking hormones.

The puppet shivers and shakes in a full-bodied chirp. I love you too.

A howl sounds from just outside the room. Signaling the end of this segment and the start of the next one. 

“Dart must hear someone at the door! Let’s see who’s come to visit.”

The pace is her favorite part of the show. Slow, easy. All done as much as possible in one smooth take. Stevie pushes herself up from the dark-patterned wingback chair, smoothing down her skirt, she walks from one room of the set to the other. The camera trails her, giving Robin a chance to move throughout the specially designed paths that keep her out of frame while she’s holding the Demi puppet.

Unlike Demi, Dart doesn’t that closely resemble his namesake. That was for the feds more than the children. Demi had some aesthetic changes to make her look more friendly, rounded body and visible eyes. Dart was changed fundamentally. Instead of the puckered fleshy face, Stevie can run a hand through sparse fur between two pointed ears. The animatronics Dustin helped their puppet master build let them move, giving the whole face more subtle movement than the other puppet is capable of. Good for the larger, German Shepherd-sized build. Even if the focus of the camera is usually on the face, the top jaw dog, wire-haired and angular, and beneath its pink nose, a split bottom jaw that opens in two wide, distinct joints. More cute than dangerous when a long forked tongue lolls out from it.

As Stevie’s thick rubber heels thunk against the floor of the set, Dart’s pit bull stump tail wags in its excitement at her approach. Back from college, Dustin is operating it today. He maneuvers the body so it faces her now that she’s come to get the door. The charmingly dumb look on its face gets her every time — a grin she has to school back to a more appropriately sized smirk. 

From off stage, someone cues Dart’s reminding bark.

“Has our guest arrived, Dart?”

Dart can nod when Dustin operates it. Always more sure than the rest of them about the intelligence that lurked beneath those demo creatures. Still, someone once again makes the appropriate answering cue.

Robin is standing outside the set, positioning Demi in a window. She chirps and flaps, Stevie’s cue to begin introducing who is behind the door.

“Today’s scary job will have us confronting our glossophobia, that’s our fear of public performance. If your palms get sweaty when you answer a question at school or you think about throwing up when you have a piano recital, we picked this job to give you a special scare.”

Never a theater kid, Robin teases her at how quickly she’s picked this up. Her cues, like this one to open the door, are always hit. She knows exactly what her face is doing, the way her dark lips hint at a smile, and the way the dark of her makeup makes something dangerous and anticipatory flash in her eyes. She’s yet to have a guest not spook just a little when the door swings open. The danger that she used to be humming under her skin was obvious to them when the sound and light cues hit, making the stage flash and sound with lightning and thunder.

It’s one of the joys of the job.

The outside of the “house” is dark, a dual-purpose choice to hide the sound lot that pairs with how nice it looks in post to have the first glimpse of their guest be in that horror movie strobe.

“Welcome home,” she says as always to the blackness outside her door. Thunder booms first, then lightning streaks, and she’s looking at someone who shouldn’t be here. “Eddie Munson, front man of the band Corroded Coffin.”

She steps numbly out of the way, letting Eddie through her door. 

Six years.

Dart rubs its head against her skirt, a move that would be accompanied by a whimper if it were able to make its own sound effects. As it is, she takes the comfort she can get from Dustin. Robin makes a trill; she's not a good enough actor to disguise the nerves in it.

It’s too much to deal with, so as with all things, she decides it’s better not to. There’s a procedure here, a routine. Stevie turns on her heel and starts walking to the set they’re supposed to be on. Eddie can fall into step behind her or, hell, maybe she’ll get lucky and he’ll run away. He’s always been good at that.

Stalking is what she’s doing; it might be what Eddie did too, to find his way over here. Hers means she’s moving too fast through the set for the pace they’re setting, the emotions she’s feeling moving her body like a rocket through the familiar frame of her pretend house. Eddie’s means he’s ruined her fragile peace.

It’s a real multifaceted word. Maybe they should use it for a show. Maybe they could get a zookeeper to bring a big cat on, too.

Eddie finds the guest’s seat at the table, sitting down across from her at the kitchen island, ruining the slight lift of her mood at the plans for a new episode with his continued presence.

He’s already got his hands in the spread on the table. Fingers smudged with the dyed red frosting, pinching a brownie carved into a coffin shape. It looks garish in the bright light of this set. The kitchen, the only set she refused to bow to the other aesthetics of the house. It unnerves instead in its rich, pastel, Stepford glory. Eddie looks just as out of place here -- even with the spiderweb detailing on the cabinets -- as he did in her kitchen in Hawkins.

“Good evening, Eddie,” she says what she’s supposed to say.

His mouth is full, his answer muffled in rich chocolate she baked herself before shooting.

“Why don’t you tell us about your band? I’m a big fan of your guitarist, Jeff Best.”

Jeff, the person who was supposed to be on the sound stage when she opened the door. The band member she had approved of, after being told by producers how enthusiastically the band had been supporting the show. How they wanted on, desperately.

She asks, “What’s the scariest part of your job?”

And asks, “Isn’t it frightening performing in front of thousands and thousands of people?”

And asks, “Are you ever afraid the stage will collapse?”

And asks, “Pyrotechnics are fires and fireworks that can be done inside, but aren’t you worried that something might go wrong?”

This segment has always been less of an interview and more of an exploration of worst-case scenarios. The things that frighten, the accidents that end up on the news, but rarely ever happen. A way to show the kids who tune in that the world can be scary, but it’s usually not. That fear of the coulds shouldn’t be the thing that keeps them from trying.

But she flings these worst cases at Eddie like knives, like saying they might manifest into coming true.

But each interview always ends the same way.

“What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever overcome?”

Eddie spins a chocolate eyeball around on the white china plate. It blurs with the movement until it’s just a white sphere moving around and around the border of fine, red blood splatter. Is he trying to figure out how to skirt his NDA? Is he inventing some stage diving accident or bar fight? Some story that will make him sound like the worldly rockstar the world knows him as?

Sure, he’s softened his aesthetic for this appearance. The only leather is his jacket. His wide-legged black pants, with the red and black brocade vest, straddle the line between professional and showman.

But he’s still Eddie, dungeon master drama queen to the last.

“The scariest thing I’ve ever done?” he repeats. Incorrectly to that point, done implies it’s scary because of his fuck up, overcome implies it’s the world. They’d workshopped the wording of that final question for days before her first interview.

Eddie continues, because if there’s one thing he’s going to do it’s continue whether she wants it or not. “The scariest thing I’ve ever done is go attempt to make amends with someone that I hurt very badly and hope that she’s good enough to forgive me.”

She’s supposed to ask a follow-up here, but she really doesn’t want to.

“Some of those were in the present tense, Mr. Munson.” She’s borrowing words from Robin now, stealing them from somewhere in her soulmate's brain because all Stevie knows is a blank rage that she hopes isn’t in her eyes.

That’s bad television.

“You’re right. The going has happened, the attempt is ongoing, and the fear is in both.”

A clock’s chime fills the room. Loud, sourceless, she’s taken to thinking of it like a school bell, and that’s better than remembering a grandfather clock and Max’s broken legs. Eddie flinches back, not that big a fan of the show apparently. Midnight ends every episode.

“Time sure flies, doesn’t it, Eddie?” A thump comes from behind them, a spot on the third wall out of the sight of the framing of their primary camera. Robin in position for her favorite job.

Stevie gives her her cue, “Gordon?” Robin, on her mark and her applebox, brings down the thick, fleshy, grey hand with the too-long fingers and the blackened nails onto Eddie’s shoulder. It’s weighted at the front, dislodges Eddie from his seat, and jostles him backward. “Introduce Eddie to the others? I know he’s just dying to stay for a while.”

Hand in place on Eddie’s shoulder, all Robin has to do is pull and he’s stumbling off stage like he’s on a vaudeville hook.

She blinks slowly, wills her blood pressure down. Her heart has been thumping in her ears since she laid eyes on Eddie, and even now that he’s technically off camera, she still can’t let go of her rage.

But there’s a show to finish, and she’s going to do her job. She can ignore Eddie’s big, brown eyes that somehow manage to haunt her even in the dark beyond the camera. She can turn down the camera, face it head-on.

She can. She does. “And don't forget: you're smarter than you think, braver than you feel, and you always have a friend right here. Until next time.”

She’s moving even before she can hear the director call, “Cut.”

“Whose fucking idea was this?”

“Not me,” Robin answers, gleeful at Stevie’s rage. She’s got Eddie still pinned in place with her long arm.

“Listen, Stevie, baby.”

“Nope,” Robin says, popping that P and giving Eddie a shake.

Not that anyone but Stevie would have heard that over the way she yells, “You don’t get to call me that.”

“Eddie, dude, not that it’s not good to see you, but I talked to Jeff,” Dustin comes out from the set with his hands already raised.

“And I saw that, Henderson, but don't fret, I wasn't offended. I figured you wouldn't mind if I remedied the situation myself.”

“Never let it be said you've ever learned a single lesson the easy way, Munson,” Robin says.

“Yes, and I'll be glad to catch up with you about that, Buckley. And with you, Henderson. But right now, I would love a moment with the talent. Stevie?”

It's on her tongue to say no again. To send him packing, the quest failed. Let him turn it into some ballad of spurned love and wretched harpies; she doesn't care.

But she doesn’t. She doesn’t. She says, “Five minutes.” And stalks off toward her dressing room.

He doesn't jingle anymore. That strikes her somewhere in the chest. The sound of his trailing behind her, the same melody as hers, told in a round: thick rubber heels on a concrete floor.

She sits down at her vanity and starts stripping off the thick paint of her on-camera makeup. As she slathers on cold cream, she can see Eddie find a seat on the coffee table. It throws her back to that last summer together, getting caught in her mother’s bathroom by a boy she liked in ways she didn’t know how to say yet.

The more things change.

“Listen, Stevie.” It’s funny how she can still tell when he’s started a sentence, not knowing how he plans to end it.

“You came all this way and you didn’t think about how you wanted to actually apologize? Did you get so lost in the drama of crashing my set that you didn’t think of what would happen when it was over?” She keeps her eyes on him in the mirror as she says it, moving through her routine like usual. With each condemnation, she takes her hand towel and wipes a little bit more of Stevie, Princess of the Dark, away until she’s bare-faced, annoyed, and just Stevie Henderson again.

“No,” he lies. “I mean, maybe. Look, Steph, for what it’s worth.”

She grabs her normal makeup, the lightweight stuff that doesn’t have to look good to the limited eye of the camera or sell a character that she’s only sometimes.

“It’s not worth a lot, Eddie. Let me try to save you some time. We finally gave in and gave the band the time of day, you leapt in ass first without a plan, because I’m Princess of the Dark, Princess Stevie, Lady Stevie of the Night, whatever the fucking branding has decided this week so I’ve got the image now. I’m not some baby freak borrowing wardrobe pieces from her socialite mom and her dyke best friend, I’m the right kind of metal that perpetual bachelor, frontman Eddie Munson can be seen with now. Does that about cover it?”

“No, no, Stevie, I swear.”

She can’t even slam down what’s in her hands. The stupid spongy applicator from her eyeshadow would get lost, and if she breaks another one of the eyeshadow colors, she’ll lose her mind. Setting it down gently does nothing to temper the absolute, white out emotion she’s feeling.

“You swear? You swear. The way you swore nothing would change. The way you swore you’d leave on tour and come back with nothing but stories and homesickness. That was the tour that you called me from Wichita to tell me you weren’t coming home, and you didn’t think it would work out if we tried to stay together. In case you forgot.”

“It’s not-”

“This was after you told me you didn’t want me to come when I offered. That it would be stupid of me to leave my -- easily abandoned -- job at the record store. But why would you want the idiot you’re about to leave playing merch girl as you wandered through the Midwest.”

“Are you finished?”

She’s got brown eyeshadow on one eye, her cheeks are pinked, and it’s not from blush. She’s pretty far from done. “That foot-in-mouth condition ended up being terminal, I guess.”

“Stevie.”

She can’t storm out if her eyes aren’t done. A half-done face is one thing, but it’s at least got to be even.

“Stevie, you’re getting mentioned in the same sentences as Elvira, R.L. Stine. You’re Sesame Street if the face was the Count and not Elmo. That’s you, that’s all you. It’s something you created from the ground up with nothing but your charm and vision, and yeah, stunning good looks and a little bit of black mailing the United States government.

“If you had come with us back then, you know what you’d be? My muse, sure. You’d be the merch girl that people whisper about, and wonder how many of the band members she’s sleeping with to get to play groupie. They’d find out things about you, and if you were lucky, they’d just make your life miserable.”

She can’t believe this. “Are you really trying to pull some ‘I left you to keep you safe,’ that is the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Her face is done, she could leave. She’s given him more than the five minutes she promised. 

But then Eddie’s standing. No, he’s collapsing, off the table to her feet. Hands clutched in her skirt, looking up at her from the floor. “You’re right, it wasn’t about you. It was about me being the same coward I‘ve always been. You know what I’m most afraid of, Steph? That one day you would wake up in our rank ass tour bus and you would resent me for trapping you and all of your potential.”

The vanity counter bites into the meat of her hands. “It took you six years to come here and say that.” 

“Yeah, yeah, it did. And it was too long and it wasn't long enough. I would wait forever, Steph. It’s about who you are, not what you’ve become.”

“You’re contradicting yourself, Teddy.” He’s trapped her here, kneeling on her skirt the way he is. “Either you left so I could fill my full potential, which is pretty fucking bold to assume that everyone had that itch to leave Hawkins the way you did and that I wouldn’t have been just fine waiting tables or rewinding video tapes for the rest of my life. But it’s that or you love me no matter what, and it wouldn’t matter if I hung up the witch's broom.”

She’s feeling generous, and she likes how big and wide his cow eyes get when he’s desperate. It reminds her of different times. Eddie’s hand pulls hers off the vanity, and she lets him keep it. Let him pull it close to his chest. He’s probably imagining he’s some knight pledging some oath, and fuck even imaginging what he’s thinking endears her just a little bit more to him.

Letting him in was always going to be a mistake.

She’s never held a grudge as well as Robin.

“There isn’t anything you could do that would make me want you less.”

Still, in the last six years, she’s learned that even though she loves too hard and too long, sometimes it’s more important that she protect her heart. Like her head, it can’t take too many more beatings.

“You want a burger. You want a new record. You want a quick fuck with someone who knows what they’re doing. Wants are quick and fleeting, and sometimes they aren’t even that good. I can’t be a want, Eddie.”

He clutches her hand tighter. He drops his hold on her skirt so his other hand can grab her at the elbow instead. “Stevie, I need you. And if you send me packing, I’m still gonna need you. You’re it. You’re just- you’re it.”

“And if I didn’t follow you on tour, like some love-sick groupie? If I stayed here with the show, you couldn’t see me for weeks and months. You’d still need me?”

“Like air. I’ll call, I’ll write, I’ll come in and compose. I can be your first recurring guest or handle a puppet. Anything at your order.”

She can feel herself caving. Like a sink hole in her chest, the ground giving way to nothing but a yawning starvation. It’s been years, and she’s sunk all of her love and her care and the desperate need she has always had to be seen into this show. It was good, but there has always been so much of her to give.

So she spits back the worst thing he ever said to her.

“And I’m not just some stand-in for Chrissy Cunningham.”

She expects him to drop her arm. To scurry away like some frightened mouse now that the claws of the cat have dropped in front of it. To remember that before the tits and the smirky face she patterned off of Elvira, she was still always a mean girl.

The quiet collapse of Eddie’s face is less satisfying than the rage, the sadness in his eyes more like a kicked dog than an international rockstar.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” He says.

She could echo it, but hers needed to be said.

“If I thought you hated me, it was easier to leave. I could make you just one more thing I fucked up. I don’t see her when I look at you.”

She scoffs, and he pulls her closer.

“I don’t, Steph, I don’t. You’re not some damsel I couldn’t save. You’re the knight who rescued me. Let me make my oath, let me prove myself.”

“I want a new theme song. Something catchy, not metal. And you’re going to come on and do a special segment on the show about dealing with scary things, in terrible corpse makeup. Stop smiling, it’s not going to be fun.”

“I’m sure you’ll make it wretched.”

“I’m going to make you confront all the stupid shit you’re scared of and if you don’t act scared enough I’m going to bring in the rest of the band and tell them you’re the reason this is happening to them.”

“Gareth hates spiders, and Freak is scared of clowns.”

“And I want Jeff on the show. I had to cut out half of our interview questions about the things he’s had to face being black in the scene because you think you’re charming.”

He has the nerve to stand up, stepping on her skirt before he’s shoving his way into her space on the bench seat of her vanity. His hands are warm, fingers long and familiar as they curl around the curves she’s developed since they last saw each other.

“Whatever you want forever, Steph.” He whispers it into the side of her neck like he thinks he’s Gomez Addams, and she’s too weak to not be delighted.

“In that case, you can also explain all of this to Robin.”

“And when she kills me for wronging you?”

She grabs his chin between her fingers, lets her coffin-shaped nails dig into the stubbly skin until she can see the bite of pink crescent moons. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring you back. Everyone knows Miss Stevie is a witch.”

[elzifelzi]

PHANTOM

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Chapter 19: Haunted Hallows Part 4.

After their little episode the group went back to their respective rooms for some well needed rest.They especially needed it for what they were soon to experience in the coming days. 

The night had passed by rather quickly and it was now morning Dan and Tucker got up early with Sam waking up much much later. She woke to find Dan and Tucker out at the front of the house in their sweats, Tucker made eye contact with her and waved her over to them. 

Sam:”What are you guys doing?”

Tucker:”Well as evident from your little ghost run in last night we know Dan is useless without his powers.”

The ghost boy shook his head in agreement.

Dan:”This is true…”

Tucker :”And we can't risk Danny going ghost and possibly giving away our location at least not until we know for sure that he can face whoever Skulker sends our way next.“

Dan:”This is also true..”

Tucker: “So I had an idea,What if Danny didn't have to go ghost to use his powers?“

Dan:”I've done it before 

Sam:”But won't Skulker still be able to track him?”

Dan:”I thought of that but we realized that skulker isn't tracking my powers just my ecto signature..” 

Sam:”ummm explain…”

Tucker:”After doing some research based on the ghosts Danny has fought before, I figured out that an ecto signature is something unique to each ghost's undead body.. It's essentially an energy that envelopes a ghost's body causing it to exist outside of the ghost zone.. “

Sam:”ahh I think I get it so since Danny can turn his ghost half on and off he can do the same with his ecto signature?”

Tucker:”exactly so all we need to do is get Danny used to using his powers in his human form and problem solved... He may never need to go ghost again!”

Dan:”Well you see, that won't help with the whole secret identity thing and what not..sooo.”

Sam:”Danny's right, but at least it'll give us the edge that we need out here. I can't always be saving your asses. “

She shoots him a smug grin.

Dan:”shutup”

Dan playfully nudges Sam

Tucker :”Speaking of which, what happened last night?”

Dan raises an eyebrow at tucker. 

Dan:”What do you mean?”

Tucker :”Well you guys were gone for a while and the phone call couldn't have lasted more than a few minutes.. So what were you doing after you guys escaped the ghost?”

Dan and Sam simultaneously recall the somewhat steamy exchange they had moments before Dan's phone went off and the two of their faces turned crimson red in embarrassment. 

Dan and Sam:”I-I-it W-was n-nothing!!!!”

Their embarrassed stammering didn't go unnoticed by Tucker who shot them a knowing glare.

Tucker :”It doesn't seem like nothing..”

Dan:”nah we just lost track of time is all... R-right Sam?? “

Sam:”yeah right... Well you guys should get started on training. I'm gonna grab something to eat since I kissed breakfast.....”

Tucker gave Sam a confused look and when it dawned upon her what she had said her face became redder than even humanly possible.

Sam :”I mean MISSED!!! I missed breakfast.”

Before she could make an even bigger fool of herself she left. Tucker finding the entire situation funny just chose to ignore it and refocused his attention on Dan.

Tucker:”Look man,we need to talk..”

Dan was in the process of stretching but stopped after seeing Tucker's rather serious expression.

Dan:”uh sure,about what?”

Tucker:”I'm sorry about yesterday man, I shouldn't have come at you like that,Just with Skulker and everything that happened I just…”

Immediately Dan waved his hand dismissively,in his mind Tucker hadn't said anything that wasn't true and maybe Dan needed to hear it.

Dan:”It's fine,besides you weren't wrong…I just didn’t want to hear it.”

He lets out a weak chuckle as a way to indicate to Tucker that he was fine with it but his friend wasn't fooled one bit.

Tucker:”No… listen…dude..you got hurt..you were damn near on the verge of death,the horror I felt seeing it couldn't even be comparable to what you must've felt and I know that but ... .being your friend knowing the kind of life you went through its …….”

Dan cuts him off.

Dan:”you don't have to say it dude,I know..but believe me when I say that it's because you know my past that I'm glad you said something.”

Tucker:”Really?”

Dan nods.

Dan:”Dude you're my best friend in the whole world.I need you, to be straight with me more than anyone else,I don't need you sugarcoating shit cuz you think I can't handle it…nor do I want you to.”

He extends his fist to Tucker.

Dan:”you got that?”

Tucker nods before bumping Dans Fist with his own. 

Tucker:”Bet!”

Tucker:”Speaking of your past,I know your folks called you last night,how're you feeling about that?”

As Dan recalls the intense feelings he experienced the prior night he begins rubbing the bridge Of his nose.

Dan:”not Good…”

Tucker:”Wanna talk about it?”

Dan:”not really, but I'm sure you're gonna make me.”

Tucker:”Then start talking.”

A sigh escapes Dans lips

Dan:”They told me that they're ready to bury The hatchet…that they're ready to move past everything that happened.”

Tucker:”Isn’t that a good thing?”

Dan:”It would be if it was for the right reasons.”

Tucker:”What do you mean?”

Dan:”Apparently Jazz is missing,and she's been missing for a while so…..”

Tucker cuts him off almost immediately, knowing what Dan was insinuating.

Tucker:”So you think they reached out to you because they don't wanna deal with the guilt of having both a missing daughter and an estranged son?”

Dan nods.

Tucker:”Look I understand your parents aren't really the best and I get why you would be apprehensive to let them back in, but…and this is just my opinion if it feels like they're trying to make a genuine effort..It wouldn't hurt to meet them halfway on it..”

Dan:”You don't seriously expect me to forgive them,do you?”

Tucker Shakes his head.

Tucker:”No,It wouldn't be fair to you.You don't have to forgive them,hell you don't even have to talk with them but I know you're hurting and I know that while you are angry at them,you don't want to be.So if you really do wanna make any kind of dent in that huge wall of trauma you got maybe try talking to them on your terms,and if they still choose to be thick headed then I'd say Screw them!”

And there it was,the famous Tucker Foley wisdom that Dan could never refute no matter how much he tried.It was moments like this that made him truly realize how lucky he was to have Tucker by his side,of course he'd never outrightly say it,but his friend was more than smart enough to figure it out.

Dan:”I think you're right…”

Tucker scoffs.

Tucker:”I mean I'm rarely ever wrong.”

Their conversation lulls to a close as Dan's training was about to commence.

Dan:”So how's this work?”

Tucker :”Well, we're gonna do tests that are specifically tailored to your ghost powers.. The 1st is intangibility.”

Dan:”So what, you're just gonna throw rocks at me until they pass through me?”

Tucker :”yup”

Without warning Tucker threw a barrage of rocks at Danny all of which hit him Dead on.. Leaving small rock shaped wounds on his body..

Dan:”What the hell Tucker!!!!” 

Tucker :”what?” 

Dan:”at least give a guy a heads up!!”

Tucker:”Sorry, heads up!”

Tucker threw a final rock at Dan and for a brief moment the ghost boy's eyes flashed green and he was able to turn intangible..with relative ease.He assumed he had just gotten much better at using his powers but,could it have been something more? Dan didn’t ponder the thought for very long he couldn't, they had a lot of ground to cover as far as his powers were concerned and an undetermined amount of time to do it.Trying to make the most of their time they spent the rest of the Day testing out Dan's other ghost powers and by the time they were done night had eventually fallen.Then feeling satisfied with the days events they retreated to their living room to discussed Dan's progress. 

Sam:”So what powers can Dan use?”

Tucker:”Well so far the only confirmed abilities are.. His basic ghostly strength, intangibility, invisibility and ghost ray..the catch is all these are at less than Half their full strength while in his human form.”

Dan:”Either way it's still some progress.”

Tucker nodded his head in agreement.

Tucker:”Also, I'm still working on it but I may have come up with something to help us fight off the ghosts!”

Sam:”That's amazing Tucker!

Dan:”Yeah how did you manage that?”

Tucker scrolls through his phone for a bit before showing Dan blueprints for a thermos like device.

Dan:”Hey I recognize this thing..”

Tucker:”It's one of your mom's old designs,It's supposed to be able to trap ghosts.”

Sam:”Sick! So this thing could seal away Skulker or something?”

Tucker:”Basically.”

Dan:”Then its completion is definitely on the top of our list of priorities.”

Tucker:”I couldn't agree more.”

They chatted idly for a while longer before they each retired to their respective rooms for that night,unbeknownst to them while they slept the most unholy of alliances was being formed against them. In the ghost zone the mysterious figure had done exactly as skulker ordered him to and brought him Vlad masters. They arrived at Skulkers Island where he was torturing the blind and defenseless box ghost under the guise of helping the ghost perfect his new ability but really he was mainly doing it for fun.

???? :”skulker?”

Skulker :”what is it now Technus? “

The ghost pulled over his hood to reveal green skin with white circuit-like markings along his face and body and long white hair tied in a ponytail and shaved at the sides; he wore large square framed tinted glasses and had jagged teeth. 

Skulker :”why have you disturbed me? I was just about to rip off his hand.”

Technus:”that can wait.. I got you the human you were looking for..” 

Technus points to Vlad who had been too busy admiring the ghost zone to pay attention. 

Skulker :”Finally ready to reveal your true Nature Vlad!?!”

Vlad flashes him a mischievous grin and In a Flash of light Vlads human appearance changed to a more ghostly mischievous appearance  his skin turned blue and his vampiric qualities were made apparent by his glowing red eyes,sharp fangs and his jet black hair and goatee which took the shape of horns. 

Skulker flashes him a grim

Technus :”So why did you keep it hidden?” 

Vlad:”A half ghost running a ghost hunting agency?If I had ever been found out then everything I worked hard to obtain all these years would’ve been wasted!”

Technus:”So you let Skulker and the other ghosts do your dirty work..gathering materials from the ghost zone to enhance your ghost hunting machinery and in turn make More money without ever having to Get your hands dirty.”

The halfa shrugged 

Vlad:”It's just business,I prefer to only use my ghostly abilities when the situation requires to.A While back I realized that you would probably need my direct help for this grand mission of yours.”

Technus:”Grand mission,how much has Skulker told you?”

Vlad scoffs 

Vlad:”Oh Skulker had managed to keep a very tight lip on most of the important information Especially after Daniel got his powers. All he let me know was that after his plans were completed and the boy was secured I'd be rewarded handsomely and I never pressed further.”

Technus:”So if Skulker never told you anything,what are you going on about?”

Vlad:”please, you really think i haven't figured out what you need young Daniel for?”

Technus :”how would you know what we need him for?”

A chuckle escapes from Vlads mouth.

Vlad:”You see, I'm a rather smart man and I love my research. The boy is the key to the Else Awareness isn't he?. I know how to take you there... “

 Technus Froze, He couldn't believe what he was hearing could this human have really figured out their plans?He looked over to Skulker who hadn't batted an eye,he was simply waiting to know more and Vlad,who was feeling confident that he had the high ground approached Skulker with full intent to give it to him.Eventually Technus recovered from his trance like state and spoke up.

Technus:”how do you know what the Else Awareness is? it's supposed to be a myth!!” 

Vlad grew increasingly amused by the ghost's floundering. Contrary to the polite and patient demeanor he had in his human form as a ghost he reviled In watching beings who he viewed as below him squirm under his influence and right now he was having the time of his life.

Vlad:”if a myth was able to produce such a reaction from you,I fear to see how You would behave when faced with the truth.”

He walks over to Skulker's empty throne and sits down feeling quite confident in his position. His ego was inflated even more when the Hunter did nothing to stop or oppose him; he just waited in anticipation of what Vlad had to say next.

Vlad:”A long time ago I realized that Skulker's partnership with me had to have had more benefits to him than simply turning A blind eye to his antics on earth..so I did some digging in both the human and ghost world and I eventually arrived at this conclusion. What is so valuable that the greatest hunter in the ghost zone would go through the lengths of allying himself with a known, ghost hunter to get?It would have to be something that wasn't easily attainable,something that you couldn't just find in the ghost zone.Then after that I wondered why you'd seek me out specifically.  Yes it could be for my wealth and influence,but after working with you for a while I knew it could never be that ,I understand that you sought me out because somehow, someway you managed to figure out that I was a halfa.”

Skulker simply grunted.

Vlad:”But you didn't hunt me,surely a ghost and human hybrid would've been the perfect prey but that wasn't it either so I dug a bit deeper and scoured through all the ancient texts I learned of the Else Awareness and that's when I knew for certain what you were after.”

Taken aback at what was excellent deductive reasoning on Vlads part, Technus quickly jumped on the defensive.

Technus:”You have no idea what you're talking about,The Else Awareness is nothing but a rumor!!”

Enraged at the Ghosts constant Denial Vlad lashed back.

Vlad:”Do you take me for a joke?”Why else would you seek me out!? Why else would a Hunter like Skulker pass up the ultimate prey not once but twice!!?? It's because You need a halfa to gain access to it. I'm guessing that's why you sought me out at first but you quickly realized my willingness to betray my human side for personal gain made me ineligible for the task. Then Daniel got his powers and began pursuing heroics, so you once again jumped at the cause.But young Daniel wouldn't be too keen on being your tool So you asked Me to jump in hoping that I could sway him. Am I right or Am I right?”

A grin grows on Skulkers face this human was clever and he respected that,this entire time Skulker thought he was stringing Vlad along,but he couldn't have been more wrong Vlad had been in control since the very beginning everything had just been Vlad feigning ignorance on his side until Skulker had no choice but to let him in on his plan.While he hated being used even Skulker had to admit it was very crafty.

Skulker :”how do you know the location of the Else Awareness?”

Vlad :”because I've seen it with my own eyes.”

Enraged by Vlads words, Technus seized him by his collar thinking that Vlad was mocking him.

Technus”:do you take us for fools!!? How could you have seen the Else awareness!!? Not even residents of the ghost zone have found it!”

With ease Vlad pushes the ghost off of him  and dusts himself off.

Vlad:”as I predicted you know very little of what you seek. Your higher ups would be very ashamed.” 

Technus: “what do you mean?” 

Vlad:”Think about it...the ghost zone Is a flipside of earth correct?”

Technus nodded.

Vlad:”And the Else awareness is in the ghost zone right?”

Skulker :”where are you going with this?”

Vlad:”I'm saying that surely the Else awareness has to have an equivalent in the human world.”

Skulker :”how do you know this?”

Vlad pulls out his phone and shows Skulker and technus pictures of a worn out looking book.. The book had a gold clasp on it and a picture of a skull with one eye. 

Skulker :”What is this?” 

Vlad :”more proof that you 2 are  fools. This is the Spectral Archive. Everything there is to know about the ghost zone is in this book..” 

Technus:”That book has been lost for ages. How'd you get it?”

Vlad:”In my many travels, whilst doing research on ghosts in the human and ghost worlds I stumbled upon it...it's missing a few pages now.. But it's intact enough that I've managed to locate the human world equivalent of the Else awareness.:

Skulker:”where is it?”

Vlad:”haunted Hallows....:

Meanwhile back at haunted hallows the trio were relaxing outside after a long day of training. 

Tucker :”So Sam , I've been meaning to ask you, why'd you pick this place as our hideout?”

Sam:”mmm?”

Tucker:”I mean you said that they have numerous other houses at different locations right, so why this one? Surely there had to be others further from where we lived right?”

Sam sat up from her lounge chair and turned to face the two boys.. 

Sam:”Part of the reason is because sure it's close but it's also uninhibited noone around to bother us.”

Dan:”That makes sense,and the other part?”

 Sam:”alright I'll tell you but promise you won't freak..”

Dan:”I'm literally a freak soo....”

Sam:”soo my parents used to bring me to this specific house a lot after we moved,i guess it was their favorite out of all of them or something But as a kid I noticed a lot of freaky shit happening.. People disappearing, creatures lurking around at night, animals floating all kinds of freaky shit. This was actually where I saw my first ghost and as I got older the shit I saw got freakier.”

Dan:”that is freaky”

Sam:”After my parents died I visited here a couple more times. I began doing some investigating as to why this place seemed like a haunting hotspot and I found out that this entire village is coated in the same energy that ghosts let out.”

Dan:”this place is lined with ecto energy?”

Tucker:”But that's not possible is it?”

Sam:”it shouldn't be, but after more research I found out that this place isn't even really on the map.. Like the spot on the map that would be haunted hallows is just an empty plot of Forrest.when I asked my Gran how my folks found this place and she said that they just stumbled on it one”

Tucker:”So it doesn't exist?”

Sam:”more like it shouldn't exist... In our realm that is?”

Dan and Tucker were awestruck. What could she mean by that? Where was she getting this information?And what did this mean for them?Luckily, they didn't have to wait long for an answer.Sam went into the house and soon reemerged holding pages that looked similar to the ones from the book Vlad talked about. 

Sam:”These pages are from some Ancient ghost book. I was looking through Dan's parents notes and I found them…at first glance they looked like random scribbles but when I looked over them again I found out that this place is actually in the ghost zone!”

Dan:”What do you mean ? How are we in the ghost zone?”

Tucker:”Danny I don't think she means we're literally in the ghosts zone, I think she means that this place belongs in the ghost zone..”

Sam nodded

Dan:”So what? it moved from the ghost zone to the human realm. How is that even possible?”

Sam:”I don't know? But according to these pages this place is the key to finding some place called the Else awareness..”

Dan:”So you brought us here to look for it?” 

She shakes her head

Sam:”if it is what the pages make it out to be then chances are he doesn't even know it exists,which means it's not likely that he'd find us here.”

Dan picks up the pages and glances over them.. 

Dan:”The Else awareness, I wonder what's in there.”

To be continued 

We back at it!! it's been a minute since the last one but i'm back!

nothing but lore dumps this chapter but i hope you guys enjoy. Also Technus is revealed he just looks like a dirty man

Also first official appearance of Vlad plasmius as well

READ the other released Chapters here.

[mistycomma]

TADC x Reader! SFW alphabet

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

♡~Jax~♡

Jax and affection? He's not the type to kiss or hug his partner in front of others. When Caine is on dangerous adventures, Jax will always stick by your side. Need to solve a puzzle? He'll help you, not forgetting to tell a couple of jokes. Are you in danger? He's already running to you. Need a team for an adventure? He'll silently approach you and wink. He didn't immediately accept his affection, considering it to be because you're just a good conversationalist, because what's the point of affection for a person? But... You won. Now you're his partner.

"What's a doll? What would you do without me? Maybe you should try another key to this puzzle?"

♡~Ragatha~♡

She will show her affection through kisses and hugs. She will give you cute toys in every possible way, sewn in her free time from adventures. During adventures, she will be next to you, protecting you and encouraging you if you lose in competitions. But if you need time to be alone, she will of course give it to you. She does not want you to think that she is so clingy. At the beginning of the relationship, before hugging you or kissing you, she will ask your permission. Do not refuse her! :D

♤~Kinger~♤

After losing his dear Queen, Kinger had a very difficult time communicating. Having become attached to you, he will often compliment you, let you into his pillow house, tell you about insects. She will support you in every possible way in all your endeavors, support is provided to you! If she wants to give you a nice gift, she will ask Ragatha, she will do everything to make you happy in this digital world. Do not lose this king!

◇~Pomni~◇

Having got to the circus, you and Ragatha helped Pomni get used to it, were always nearby if Ragata was busy with Gangle, or dealing with Jax. You often sat with Pomni and talked about various topics, trying to distract her from looking for a way out. Often protected her from Jax. When Caine arranges a stunning, amazing and in no way similar to a typical horror adventure, Pomni will walk next to you, hold a flashlight, help with the solution. When she is scared, she will take your hand, will walk with you (she will always do this)). When you are bored, she will try to start a conversation first, just so that it is not boring.

♡~Gangle~♡

This shy girl has become attached to you, which means you are definitely a good person! She will often offer to draw somewhere on the couch, or ask you to pose for your portrait. You will often sit in your room (because it is filled with pillows:D) and draw comics, come up with stories and implement them on paper, if you are bad at drawing, she will help you, give you all sorts of references. When you are lying on the couch, she will play with your hair, make cute hairstyles for you, tying your hair on a bow made from her spare ribbons.

☆~Zooble~☆

Wow, Zooble has become attached to you. You are a wizard, although I exaggerate. Often you just laze around, talk about the circus participants, or just watch the chaos happening in front of you. You will help her find her parts, offer her new ones, or chase Jax. You often refuse adventures and sit with Zooble. If you like to draw, she will draw with you, tell you more about her life. If Jax pesters you, she helps you and drives him away. Just sits with you on the couch, you talk and she just listens. If you chat non-stop, Zooble is the perfect conversationalist!

[dioslesbianwife]

Can i request a platonic team bucciarati with reader who came back as a zombie or a frankenstein's monster kinda thing? They just casually show up as if nothing happened.

sure, hope you enjoy and thank you for requesting <333

Bucciarati

He literally stops breathing.

“...No. No, that’s impossible. We buried you. I closed your eyes.”

Touches your face like he’s making sure you’re real- and flinches when he feels the unnatural cold of your undead skin.

“Who did this to you?” His tone sharpens. “Who brought you back?”

But once he sees you’re still you, still warm-hearted and kind beneath the whole “stitched together corpse” thing, he lets you stay near him again.

Makes sure you’re taken care of. Keeps your bandages clean. Buys you gloves so people don’t freak out.

Still scolds you like a mother hen. “Being undead doesn’t mean you can run headfirst into danger again, Y/N. Don’t make me zip your arm back on.”

Giorno

He senses it before he sees you. A ripple in nature. Something… off.

When you appear, shambling into the hideout with your patched-up limbs and dull eyes, Giorno immediately raises Gold Experience.

“That’s impossible. You died.”

You blink at him. “Yeah but like… I got better?”

Stares at you with that thoughtful mafia prince intensity before slowly lowering his Stand.

“Fascinating. Your soul has returned, but the body- who did this to you?”

Studies you like a scientist. Pokes your stitches. Has so many questions about necromancy and cellular resurrection.

But lowkey… is relieved you’re back. Really relieved. He just doesn’t show it.

Mista

SCREAMS.

“BRO- BRO- SOMEONE GET A GUN- ”

Literally hides behind Narancia. “IS THAT A GHOST?? IS THAT YOUR GHOST??”

When you roll your eyes and flip him off with your slightly-rotting hand, he loses it.

“OH MY GOD THEY ARE BACK. AND RUDE.”

Takes a WHILE to get used to it. He pokes your stitches constantly and asks a million inappropriate questions like “So like, do you still fart?” 

Eventually brags about you to strangers. “This is my bestie, they died and came back. No biggie.”

Narancia

FREEZES when he sees you.

“Wait… no way… no way…”

Runs over and hugs you so tight your arm pops off. 

“AHHHHHHHH I BROKE THEM- ”

Apologizes a hundred times and then refuses to let you out of his sight.

100% treats you the same as before, even if you have to sew your leg back on mid-conversation.

“So like, are you still hungry? Do you eat brains? Can I give you my pudding cup?”

If anyone stares at you funny in public, he yells “WHAT YOU LOOKIN’ AT, HUH?! THAT’S MY FRIEND YOU FREAK.”

Trish

At first: screaming. Then: silent horror.

“...This is a prank, right? A Stand illusion?”

When she realizes it’s really you, she bursts into angry tears. “You DIED. You DIED and no one could fix it.”

And now you’re just standing there. With stitches. With cold hands. But the same smile.

“You absolute idiot,” she sobs, hugging you.

Immediately becomes your undead stylist. “You might be a zombie but that doesn’t mean you can’t SERVE LOOKS.”

Buys you custom arm warmers and makeup to hide the decay. “If you’re gonna cheat death, you better do it fabulously.”

Abbacchio

“...You’re dead.”

“Yeah,” you say. “But I got better.”

“Tch.”

Refuses to believe you’re real for days.

“It’s a trick. It’s Moody Blues showing me something I want to see.”

Won’t talk to you. Won’t look at you. Then one day, when you patch up a wound of his and smile, he just sighs.

“Only you would come back from the dead and still boss me around.”

Quietly watches over you. You catch him looking every now and then, like he’s still waiting for you to vanish again.

Secretly grateful you came back. Will never say it. But he brings you hot cocoa sometimes and mutters “Don’t lose another limb.”

Fugo

PANIC.

“No. No, this isn’t right. This isn’t NATURAL.”

Tries to push you away at first- afraid you’re some twisted trap, or worse, a puppet.

“What if this is hurting you? What if your soul’s trapped?”

But when you touch his hand- cold and shaky- and say “I missed you,” he just crumbles.

“...You dumbass,” he whispers, eyes wet. “You shouldn’t be here. But I’m so glad you are.”

Becomes the one constantly reminding you to rest and take care of your gross undead body. Packs you little first-aid kits and spare thread “just in case.”

[awkwarddaryl]

Distraction

Daryl Dixon x FtM!Reader Pronoun used ➤ "You", a lot younger than Daryl. AO3 ➤ not posted yet.

NSFW ➤ graphic description of violence, piv, no protection.

Word count: 5.4k

TWD universe. Alexandria Era before Negan.

Posting later than usual but I couldn't work on it as much as I wanted! Anyway I had fun writing this. :) Let me know if you want more from them, or if you liked it! As usual please use protection in real life and contraceptive.

It had been a few weeks already since you realized, worried, your stock of testosterone was rapidly diminishing. You still remembered the post-Terminus time that left you with no possibility of taking any shot. You had suffered from the agony of the withdrawal, the tiredness, and the difficult mood that accompanied the group’s dire situation. In Alexandria, you didn’t want it to happen ever again, so when you heard that there was an organized run to fetch a few meds, you jumped on the occasion to go with Daryl. He had probably connected the dots, like the rest of your little group from Hershel’s farm, as they all knew your ‘special man’ status.

Considering how Aaron and Eric were sometimes treated, you weren’t ready to be open about that fact with the people of Alexandria. It added a reason to participate in this run. And there were other, quieter reasons: feeling stuck in Alexandria between oppressive walls, this normalcy, stuck among all of those people who had no idea of the world behind. Their naivety made you both hate and envy them.

Sometimes people ate other people. They would put them in containers like cattle to gut them and cook them like pigs. You still dreamt of it, vividly. Jumping out of your bed at any sound, wondering whether Alexandria was being attacked, distrusting your neighbors, not eating any served meat that wasn’t cooked in front of your eyes. Insomnias. This paranoia that the group, your family since the beginning of the events, completely understood: you had seen it from very close. As others, you had been on the verge of that precipice. You knew you could have ended up on the plate of one of those cannibals. Of course, one needed to live through it to truly grasp the horror of your memories.

Therefore, getting out, escaping, allowed you to get back to the root of a softer past, when you were more naïve, despite the struggle of death ever-present since the end of the former world. When you would go around getting bits and pieces in the houses around the prison, when you would steal from shops for essentials. And then... The presence of Daryl. After Terminus, your reunion had led to a hopeful and relieved embrace. You even had kissed his lips. An impulsive gesture, after all the adrenaline from the fights and losses, after having killed so many people to get out of there alive. And you had regretted it. You even felt shame. Without considering the fact you were a trans man, which undoubtedly made you romantically ineligible for the entire group, Daryl was a bit older than you. Shame led you to avoid him, embarrassed and disgusted by yourself. You never spoke of it again: the death of Beth, then Noah, as well as the survival of the group, had taken a hold over all kinds of shallow conversations. You couldn’t even remember whether he had responded to your kiss back then, but you remembered the way he had grasped onto your back, to the point he could have bruised you. This memory was comforting in the middle of your insomnias.

Obviously, calm came back into your lives. The fact that you didn’t have to struggle every day for your life, and the fact that you had found yourself in a run with Daryl again, rekindled some of those questions again. The priority was still the meds. At least, that what you told yourself as you looked outside the car’s window. You had borrowed it for the run, hoping to get back with a bunch of bags filled with anything valuable that you could find on top of the desired meds. Daryl was driving fast on the roads to get to a mall he had spotted a while ago. You stopped in a large parking lot at a random spot, not bothering to park correctly considering no one else would come. You each took a bag on your back, and you noticed him taking his crossbow in case there was anything to kill inside.

The building was very imposing. You realized you lost the habit of seeing such tall things as you lifted your head towards the sky. How things had changed so much. All grey and dirty from the weather, with two transparent and automatic sliding doors, allowing both of you to see inside. Despite the obscurity reining inside, the storefront of the pharmacy was visible from here, as were the numerous inert cadavers lying on the floor or against the walls. Nothing seemed to move. You watched Daryl go around the building to make sure there wasn’t any danger outside, as you went back to the car to get your crowbar. Placing it between the two doors, you used the lever arm so one door would slide, creating an opening. It was more silent than breaking the glass, and it allowed to close it back if needed.

You entered slowly, looking around and attentively listening for any moan from walkers. You smelled the rot and the dust in your nose, suppressing a sneeze while stepping over a cadaver in the main alley of the mall. Everything was dark because of the lack of electricity, and you lighted up a flashlight that you placed between your teeth, keeping your crowbar in your two hands. You looked behind you to see Daryl seeping in as well, evidently not bothered neither by the dust or the putrid smell. He removed a couple of strands of hair from his face before switching on his own light, also putting it between his teeth. He kept his crossbow in his two hands, ready to shoot. You looked at him walking like a predator, and he signed you he would go around the alley. You nodded, going to the unclosed pharmacy, waiting for you.

It seemed devoid of any walkers, but you couldn’t relax anyway. You gently tapped on one of the metallic shelf to make a bit of noise in the room, and you saw some movements behind the counter, informing you of at least one enemy. Stepping over a new cadaver, you watched the walker with his white coat animating itself, its rotting hands attempting to grasp you from behind the counter. You only needed a few seconds to lift your crowbar above your head and stick it inside the cadaver’s head. Its hands immediately went limp. You had brought him an eternal rest after all this time. You tapped on the counter to make more noise, but nothing else seemed to move anymore. You put one hand into your pockets to find a note listing all the meds you needed before going through the shelves to get the necessary products. You were lucky there were still some, even though you could see people probably had stolen a bunch of meds in the past. Jumping over the counter, you went towards the locked medicine cabinets containing all the good stuff, including your testosterone. With your crowbar, you found a way to open them, causing noise, and then you shoved everything you found into your bag.

And then finally, you found a significant amount of testosterone. All those little boxes piled up ended up in the front pocket of your bag to get them out fast once in Alexandria. With this, you had enough for at least a year, which was a relief. You found a bunch of syringes, disinfectants and needles you also put in that pocket, before going on your merry day, shoving everything you could find in the bag. After a while, you heard something entering the pharmacy, and you recognized Daryl’s gait. Still cautious, you switched off your light, preferring to sneak behind the counter so that you could look at him discreetly and confirm.

“Got what ya needed?” Daryl asked then, his gaze towards where you hid. He had probably heard you. You straightened up, putting your bag on the surface before getting out of the little space you were in behind the counter, switching your light on to observe Daryl by the entrance. “Yup. I got everything on the list too. Not many walkers here, did you find some?” “Nothin’.”

A bit strange there were so few walkers, considering it was a mall. You wondered if they were trapped in some place. “Maybe we should do a quick round, just to be sure, and take whatever we think might be needed.” You said, putting your bag on your shoulder. You came out of the pharmacy, took the vehicle’s keys from Daryl, and went towards the entrance. Getting out, you breathed in the clean air from outside in your lungs, before reaching the car and placing the bag in the trunk. You closed the car.

--

Night slowly fell as you were finishing your visit to the mall. You didn’t cover every ground you could find, but from what you could see, there was almost no active walker still around. You found the rotting corpse of a couple in a shop that seemed to have given themselves death with a bullet in the head, probably after living in the mall for a time. The majority of the food had disappeared or was actively rotting. The fact that the pharmacy had barely been touched was a miracle, in truth, but maybe past visitors’ priorities hadn’t been to find meds.

When you came back towards the car, the moon and stars seemed to glow in the sky. This too, you had missed. Lights from Alexandria hid the stars, preventing you from attending the stellar show each night like you used to see before. You would have liked spending the night out there, despite the danger, if only to enjoy the calm, the silence and the landscape’s beauty.

Your bags filled to the brim in the trunk, you sat on your respective seats, and you heard Daryl putting the key to start the car. Except... It didn’t start up. After a bit of frustration, you switched on your flashlight again to allow Daryl to find out what was going on with the vehicle. You knew nothing about cars, considering you lived all of your life in the city, and you barely knew how to drive one. Outside, you heard a few groans. You gave the flashlight to Daryl, to get out of the car with your faithful crowbar, to clean up a bit. It wasn’t a horde, but you could feel them more active and numerous. You smashed their head easily, one by one. The car, a bit noisy, seemed to attract them, and you wondered whether staying in the mall for the night wasn’t the best solution at this moment.

After a few more head smashes, you tapped on the car’s window so that Daryl would lower it. “Daryl, we should get inside for the night. We can fix the car tomorrow morning, it’s dangerous and I don’t wanna see a horde.” You saw Daryl thinking about it, then looking around, then the sky. He came out of the car, before getting towards the trunk to get all the bags out. It was indeed probably safer to keep them on both of you, even though it added a bit of weight. You came back inside the mall carrying them, and you pulled the sliding doors to keep them closed as much as you could. “I know a place.” Daryl said, and you followed him then, sighing from the weight of the bags and exhaustion.

--

After climbing escalators with your own feet, Daryl brought you to a mattress shop. It was a big space that offered a clear vision of the entire room. In the deepest part of the shop, there was an office with an emergency exit behind. Useful in case of struggles. You placed the bags in the office, and decided to bring one mattress inside the room to sleep on it. You felt your eyes and nose itch as you were watching the thick layer of dust on the mattress you planned to move. You sneezed loudly before taking the mattress in your hand to turn it over and hit it, hoping to mitigate the quantity of dust you would absorb in one night. You then moved the mattress into the room, putting it on the ground, then sat on it. You took a bag of chips and two beers each, finally taking an actual break in this run. Now that you were actually here, the idea of spending a night outside Alexandria’s walls gave you contradicting feelings: excitation in your belly with anxiety in the background, and you wondered whether this wasn’t two different sides of the same feelings, in the end.

“I can stay up for the first part of the night.” You offered then, despite the exhaustion on your shoulders. You took a tissue from your pants’ pockets to blow your itchy nose after that. There was little chance you could sleep in these conditions anyway. Between insomnias from nightmares, the unknown and dangerous place, the dust, and all those questions regarding what had happened with Daryl... You needed a bit of time to reorganize your thoughts and breathe. It was incompatible with sleep. You raised on your two feet and came closer to the door. It had a little window allowing to watch what was going on outside, which was perfect to watch over the shop and avoid being surprised by a dozen of walkers suddenly banging on the door. Daryl looked at you with strange eyes. “What?” You said then. “I know ya ain’t sleeping well since...” “Since Terminus, yeah.” You looked by the window, staring at the obscurity. Nothing seemed to move. You preferred to avoid his gaze during those kinds of topics. You heard Daryl placing his crossbow next to the mattress, seemingly relaxing a bit.

“Wanna talk about it?” He offered after a while. This wasn’t the first time. Back then, before Beth’s death, he had asked too. You remembered the shock and violence from her death. Daryl probably did, too. You weren’t ready. Maybe you would never be. You rubbed your eyes. “Sorry... I just... I can’t. Besides, we’ve all been through terrible shit, I’m not special.” “Ya ain’t the same since.” “And so what? You’re not the same since Merle. Since Beth.” You yapped then, defensive, casting a glance towards him, crossing your arms. The torchlight lighted up his face only so much, but you could still see the memories hurting him. He didn’t reply immediately, swallowing your words and his saliva.

“Ya never killed anyone before.” “I... I saw what they were doing. They almost fucking ate me.” You felt your voice tremble, you remembered that horrifying moment with that young lady you had seen, as you had been held prisoner by a group of cannibal, not far from Terminus. The way they had cut, cooked and eaten her limb, as if she had been a little snack on the way home. Their eyes filled with a monstrous hunger for human meat, tore skin from that woman trapped between their disgusting teeth as they were enjoying their disgusting meal. Just thinking about it made your body shake in fear, your thoughts escaping your grasp, and you shook your head to get rid of it with clenched fists. To get rid of these feelings, of these memories. It could have happened to your family too, they had been on the verge of getting killed when Carol had saved them. No matter what Rick had thought about her, you couldn’t help yourself but think, with a step back, that she had been right since the beginning. All those monsters needed to die, and if you could be the one that did it, you had no problem with that. Nobody would touch your family without consequences, without you doing everything in your power to destroy them. You had promised yourself that much. Did that change you? Yes, probably, and so what? You didn’t expect anyone else to do the dirty work in your place anymore.

You finally felt a hand on your forearm, allowing you to get out of this endless circle of thoughts. You realized Daryl had come towards you, bringing you back into the present, safe. Those cannibals no longer existed. You felt your heart beats faster, remembering Daryl’s hands on your back after Terminus. Your fist relaxed, you let your arms fall on the sides of your body. “What are you...” You began, as he placed a hand on your back again to get you inside his embrace. Then a hand on your head, sliding between locks of hair, massaging your scalp to comfort you. It asked every bit of self control to not sigh in pleasure from his touch. You felt your body tense a bit, scared to let yourself go, especially with two beers in the system. It had been a mistake to drink. But maybe you hoped something out of it too, in the end, an excuse. It wasn’t you, craving Daryl’s touch, it was the alcohol making you feel that way. Your eyes raised towards Daryl, flashlight not lighting his face enough to understand his expression. You could barely see his eyelashes lowered towards you, his parted lips. You couldn’t imagine seeing Daryl so soft, but yet, here he was. You accepted it, like you accepted his need for freedom and solitude. Maybe you even enjoyed that emotional distance he seemed to keep with you. Made things easier. Made dreams and fantasies less serious. Protected you from hoping anything.

This tension between you stayed for a long time. Daryl didn’t seem to move more than that, and for a while, neither did you. Your hands still automatically found their way on Daryl’s chest, tentatively, not sure of yourself, and you felt your heels raise to get a little higher. You didn’t want to speak or ask anything, because whatever this moment was, you didn’t want any sound to make it flee and disappear forever. Your fingers slid on his shoulders, noticing the texture of his T-shirt, a little wet from today’s sweat, as you felt his breath on your face. You felt his muscles slowly relax as you caressed the nape of his neck, your heart racing as you felt his lips so close to yours. He didn’t step back, and you even had the impression he was actually curious. Curious of this, of your actions. Of what could happen if he let you even closer. Did he think sometimes about what happened when you met back? You blamed your next actions on alcohol, as you delicately felt his lips against yours, chapped, bitter and salty, and this time you couldn’t help but sigh. Your body pressed against his, larger and bigger, giving you this sensation of safety that you craved. As if you weren’t in the middle of nowhere, as if you weren’t having car troubles potentially stranding you out of civilization for days.

You felt him answer to your kiss, deepening it like he was hungry for more, his hand on your hair running towards the hollow of your back. It was like you opened valves, as if his body released itself after a long restraint. He pushed you a bit strongly against the door and you felt pain at the top of your back, where you hit the door. Still, you didn’t care at all, your fingers gripping at his hair to keep his face against yours, licking his lips, welcoming his touch. You could taste the bitterness of the ale, a bit of lingering cigarette, salt from chips and saliva. Your pelvis against his, you rocked against him, feeling his cock getting harder. You felt heat invading your core, asking yourself what the fuck was happening right now. You were on the verge of stopping to make sure everything was alright, grasping at your self-control, but you heard a deep groan before you could do anything. “Stop fuckin’ thinkin’...” Daryl pressed against you even more, crushing you against the door, his fingers finding their way behind your thighs to grip them and raise you up. Without parting from your lips, you both moaned as he was frotting between your legs. Despite the clothes, you could feel his sex against yours, reminding you how much you missed sex. All that frustration that had built up within you… You wanted him.

You placed your arms around his neck, feeling your own breath escaping from your lips under the pressure and arousal, kissing his jaw, then his lips again, incapable of doing anything more. Overwhelmed, you couldn’t understand anything that was happening, but you loved it and you wanted more. So much more, your pelvis answered to his, looking for more friction. You wanted to tear off his pants to feel his cock against you, you wanted to kneel down in front of him to suck his dick. You wanted him to fuck you against this door and make you moan so loud a whole horde of walker would come. Maybe the same ideas were going through Daryl’s head, because he sped up, and his groans became more and more animalistic, as if he couldn’t control himself anymore. He finally moaned from pleasure against your neck, drooling and breathing hard. You understood then that he had come, and you confirmed it as he jerked away from another one of your pelvic thrust. His sensitivity was up through the roof after the orgasm. Not totally understanding everything that had transpired yet, you felt your feet back on the ground, Daryl’s head still in the crook of your neck to catch his breath. “Are... Are you okay?” You hesitated, your hand stroking his sweaty scalp, sticky strands of hair getting tangled with your fingers. You felt him nod against your neck, hot breath making you shiver.

You stayed that way for a little while until you heard a low moan from a walker. You pushed Daryl back softly, still in a weird state from whatever happened between you two, catching your own breath back. Then you picked up one of the flashlight to direct it towards the door’s window. One walker seemed to have noticed the strange sounds coming from the office, and slowly came towards your position. Getting your crowbar, putting aside your red cheeks from sexual pleasure, embarrassment and frustration, you got out of the room to get the walker to the ground, one hit in his head.

When you came back, you couldn’t help but notice the stain on Daryl’s pants with the light, as you placed it next to the mattress. He was sitting on the edge, and you did the same, placing a hand on his arm to stroke him. He seemed like he was avoiding your stare. One part of you was desperate for him to properly take care of you, with his lips and his fingers in you. Nevertheless, even with two beers, you could still control yourself.

“I didn’t know you... Liked me that way.” You even convinced yourself of the opposite. “Well, ya never asked. Avoided me since...” “... Since the kiss.” You finished. “Yeah.”

You watched him concentrate on the empty beer bottles, raising his knees against himself, arms surrounding them. Your body got closer to his automatically, your heart beating fast again at the idea he could touch you, and even liked touching you. “Would you do me a favor?” “What?” His question revealed his surprise. “Finish what you started.” You whispered, your own hands getting to your pants to unbutton and remove it. He observed you, probably with a bit of difficulty considering the amount of light in the room, but it made the scene even more intimate and secret. You took one of his hand to place it on your sex, resisting the urge to rub against it. “Haven’t cummed yet, ‘m still burning up ‘cause of you.” “‘Thought you hated me.” “I thought you hated me.” You answered, feeling the heat of his hand against your dick. His fingers flickered on it, tensing your body, a sigh of pleasure escaping from your lips.

“I thought you thought I was disgusting.” You said, avoiding his stare. He slowly lowered towards your entrance, rubbing your lips, going from top to bottom above your underwear.

After a few seconds, his body unfolded to get on his knees on the ground, in front of you, and you watched him lowering his face between your legs. Embarrassment invaded you as he placed a kiss on your dick, but you couldn’t help but want more. You felt disgusting, wrong, but you wanted him so badly too. Desiring him, wanting to feel more, you hurried yourself to remove your boxers, spreading your legs as he moved a hand on your thigh, massaging up to your ass. You felt his face against your skin, kissing your dick before getting it between his lips, sucking. Your body trembled and twisted in pleasure, your elbows barely supporting your weight. You felt his lips lowering towards your entrance, licking again, sliding his tongue in, kissing you more. You couldn’t imagine he desired you that way, and yet. Maybe he didn’t think you were so disgusting. “Fuck... Daryl...” You sighed, at his mercy.

His body straightened up after a while to remove his own pants, his cock so obviously hard again. You watched him, feeling your cheeks hot again, impressed by the size under his underwear, your mouth watering at the idea of touching him there. Never in a million years you would have thought being able to see that, to experience him that way. The light barely illuminated his face, shadows softening his features. You could see his lips shine, the area surrounding his mouth wet, and his black eyes staring at you like he was going to devour you. And you wanted him to do so. Daryl approached, seemingly less confident, and you placed your arms around his shoulders to kiss him with desire, your legs getting on his ass to bring him closer to you. You both fell against the mattress, and you felt his cock rubbing against you once again. This time, however, it was hot and wet, almost raw despite the fabric between you. You sighed together in pleasure, desperate to feel him even closer to you, inside of you. A few strands of his hair fell on your face, and you took the time to bring them back behind his ears, offering a shy smile.

Your hands slid towards Daryl’s flanks, lowering towards the elastic band of his boxers, signaling you wanted it out. He raised back up on his knees hastily, and you thought you recognized his expression from before. His hands trembled because of his desire, he struggled to control himself. You helped him to remove his underwear, watching his swollen cock, and you brought your hands around it to pump him. He closed his eyes under your attentions, his hips accompanying your movements in what looked like desperation for release. You let it go eventually, and Daryl looked at you, completely undone, his wet cock dripping from precum. You used your heels on his ass to encourage him to get closer to you again, which he did with no hesitation. Feeling his fat cock, so hot and hard against you, made you moan in pleasure. Everything was slippery between you two, from sweat and fluids. You rubbed against one another, sighing and whispering from pleasure, and you eventually felt him invading you. It had been so long, you had to slow down and breathe to relax your walls, especially considering the size. He looked at you with a mixture of concern and pleasure, but you could feel your body tremble from desire, almost overflowing. His hips thrusted even deeper, and you arched your back in response, from pain and pleasure. “Aaah... You’re fucking huge. Wait wait wait...”

He stopped, but you could feel his breath against your face, and you stroked his cheek. He seemed completely overwhelmed by sensations, pleasure, and his needs. “Ya feel... so tight..” He said, breathless, his hands grasping at the mattress to stay above you. Relaxing little by little, you moved your hips around to get used to the size, feeling Daryl’s body trembling. “Go...” You whispered, and you felt him thrusting even deeper within you, up to the deepest part, and your body shook from the extreme sensations. “Aaah...” He looked like he was wondering whether everything was okay, but your expression probably reassured him, as he started moving. He began slowly, probably to be sure you wouldn’t feel any pain. Little by little, however, he sped up, releasing control over his own body. He went faster, then thrusted harder, hitting the depth of your cunt, making you moan in pleasure, the pain subsiding to give room for ecstasy. You felt the walls of your intimacy squeeze his cock, making him growl like a beast. “Fuckin’ good...” A hand lowered towards your dick to stroke yourself at the same time. Your eyes closed, overwhelmed, feeling completely filled up by his penis, his loss of control over his own body like an animal in heat, making your head spin and tremble.

When he came this time, inside of you, you squeezed his cock inside you to milk his seed. He groaned from pleasure, his arms barely keeping him up, his head getting towards your neck once more. Maybe from shame, maybe from exhaustion. Keeping his large sex inside of you, you continued your masturbation, feeling wet kisses, his body burning against yours, his seed within you, his cock still filling you, your heart beating fast in your chest. You didn’t need much time before the orgasm, whimpering from pleasure and overstimulation. You finally let yourself relax and breathe, completely boneless. You couldn’t think anymore. It took some time before you could get your mind back, with the fear of having alerted all the walkers around towards your shelter for the night. But the sex had drained you physically, and you weren’t sure you could get back up and walk straight anymore.

The idea made you smile.

You stroked his hair slowly, and after a while, he finally raised back up. You saw he avoided your gaze again, as he slowly removed his cock from you with a sigh. He walked towards the door, still half naked, looking through the window with one flashlight. “So... Did we lure in every existing walker around?” You asked, cheeks still hot, lying on the side after putting your boxers back, embarrassed by your own body, but devouring his with your eyes. “Doesn’t seem so.” He replied, voice still hoarse from your activity. “So... We could have been louder. Maybe next time?” You smirked.

He pointed the light towards you, and you couldn’t see his expression. “I ain’t bringing you next time.” “Because I’m too distracting?” You wiggled your body around, joking, false confidence. He didn’t reply, bringing back the light towards the window to watch potential walkers.

--

Night went on with no issue. Daryl took watch for one part of the night, then you, but neither one of you could really sleep. It was a comfortable silence between you two, without the pressure of discussing anything, simply existing in the same space. You observed him watching by the window or lying down on the mattress to rest, and he didn’t mind you staring. You thought back on your sexual encounter, but also your discussion. Of the nightmares that were still here, even if Daryl had brought you some comfort.

You weren’t idiots. You knew that whatever you had wouldn’t last long. Because one of you would inevitably die. But, before that, you now knew you could count on one another for comfort at the heart of sleepless nights. A distraction.

Daryl managed to fix the car the next morning, and you went. You still couldn’t help but place a hand on his arm for a chunk of the travel back to Alexandria.

[qiu-yan]

mfw arranged marriage with the wrong person

(poll at the end)

[in a world where mpreg is possible and normal, and so the gender dynamics are different]

lan wangji is a good artist. he's not as good as nie huaisang, but it's pretty damn close. however, he's also completely allergic to sharing his art with others, so barely anyone knows about this ability.

meanwhile, after wei wuxian's expulsion from the cloud recesses lectures, lan wangji is initially relieved at the return of law and order. however, he soon finds himself missing wei wuxian. to deal with these emotions, lan wangji starts drawing portraits of wei wuxian in private (not a euphemism). since he actually spent a decent amount of time visually observing wei wuxian, these portraits are highly accurate.

lan wangji keeps these portraits hidden in his room. however, one day he realizes that his xiongzhang is visiting him today, and immediately becomes paranoid that xiongzhang will sus out the existence of the portraits somehow. so lan wangji grabs all of the portraits, stuffs them into a folder, and books it (speedwalks) out of his room to find a place to hide them.

unfortunately, lan wangji isn't looking where he's going, and so he bumps into jiang wanyin. he drops the folder; the portraits go flying. jiang wanyin grabs one off of the ground where it fell next to him.

jiang wanyin stares at the portrait. there is a long silence.

"you're in love with my shixiong," jiang wanyin says.

>oh_shit.jpeg

jiang wanyin immediately grabs a handful of the nearest portraits and darts away. evidently he plans on using these as evidence when he reports lan wangji's feelings to wei wuxian.

>oh_fuck.jpeg

abandoning all pretenses of refinement, lan wangji books it after jiang wanyin.

while jiang wanyin is fast, lan wangji knows several shortcuts in the cloud recesses and is thus able to cut off jiang wanyin's escape path. when jiang wanyin rounds a corner, lan wangji tackles him. to lan wangji's irritation, he finds that jiang wanyin has shoved the portraits into his robes. this does not stop lan wangji, who is now sitting on jiang wanyin to prevent him from running away, from trying to retrieve the portraits anyways.

at this moment, xiongzhang rounds the corner and sees them. he gets a strange look on his face, turns around, and leaves.

lan wangji takes all the portraits back from jiang wanyin. however, jiang cheng points out that this won't stop him from spilling the beans to wei wuxian, because even without evidence, wei wuxian will still believe jiang wanyin's (accurate) claims.

this.....is a good point. lan wangji realizes that, for the time being, he needs to completely prevent jiang wanyin from communicating with wei wuxian in lotus pier. initially, lan wangji believes this will be easy: he is also in charge of handling all the outbound mail from students at the cloud recesses to their family, so he can intercept jiang wanyin's mail. however, lan wangji then realizes that jiang wanyin could still write a letter and then send it from the post office in caiyi. moreover, jiang cheng is also friends with other students, including the slippery nie huaisang, who jiang wanyin could ask to post the letter for him.

therefore, lan wangji decides that the best way to prevent this sensitive information from leaking to wei wuxian via jiang wanyin is to follow jiang wanyin everywhere, in order to keep an eye on him and prevent him from sending any letters.

lan wangji keeps this up for a whole month. to jiang wanyin's horror, lan wangji follows him around everywhere, refusing to let jiang wanyin go out of his sight for even a moment. nie huaisang, as well as jiang wanyin's other friends, do not want to provoke the ire of the hall monitor, and so start avoiding jiang wanyin.

meanwhile, jiang wanyin tries telling his friends what he found. however, lan wangji had stolen back all the portraits, so jiang wanyin has no proof. thus, absolutely no one believes him.

but lan wangji has failed to realize one rather obvious fact. lan wangji returns to his own quarters at bedtime, leaving jiang wanyin to his own devices for the night; jiang wanyin has naturally taken this chance to pen a full account of what happened. jiang wanyin knows that lan wangji is in charge of sorting outbound mail from the cloud recesses, and that lan wangji will most likely intercept any mail from him and his circle of friends. however, in around three days, the students will be allowed to visit caiyi; during this time, jiang wanyin plans on giving lan wangji the slip and then posting his letter to wei wuxian through the caiyi post office.

then, the night before the students are to visit caiyi, lan wangji realizes his fatal mistake. so that night, he sneaks out and breaks into jiang wanyin room, where he finds the letter jiang wanyin wrote for wei wuxian. however, as he's sneaking out of jiang wanyin's room, he is caught by xiongzhang.

this time, xiongzhang is less forgiving. xiongzhang reports to shufu that, after a month of following jiang wanyin around everywhere, lan wangji was caught sneaking out of jiang wanyin's rooms in the middle of the night. xiongzhang then reports to shufu that, a month earlier, he had already caught lan wangji sitting on jiang wanyin and tearing his clothes off.

before lan wangji and jiang wanyin even realize what's happening, their parents have already agreed to a betrothal between the two, in order to protect their sullied virtue.

fuck_my_stupid_baka_life.jpeg

[nicki0kaye]

Route 2;)

This one went on WAY longer and a LOT happened so I'm gonna be summarizing way more and focusing more on the plot points.

Unit 4522 is respectful and eager to please the Spectres, especially Zeb, who they have a Huge crush on. Unfortunately, once they begin actualizing into A Real Person and that Person is nothing like the sardonic, confident bitch Kallus was, Zeb dumps babysitting duties on Rex, mostly out of fear that Zeb's interest in Kallus will force this new innocent being Just Figuring Themselves Out to try and squeeze themselves into a Kallus mold to make him happy. ESPECIALLY when he finds out that 452' is actively researching Kallus and found his decades old Space-Myspace page.

Rex and Unit 4522 immediately imprint on one another--the former an old hat at helping someone who looks full grown but is only Just Now learning autonomy adjust; the latter desperate for direction and comfort. 452' says they really like the name Kallus used to call himself (Sasha), but it isn't theirs to use. Rex suggests the name Ma'reycye, or Mareysha, meaning 'a discovery, something valuable you’ve been looking for a long time. A treasure'

452' thinks that might actually be too pretty of a name, but is quickly going by Reysha.

The new name and an ever increasingly solid personality makes Zeb comfy enough to start being around Reysha more, quickly becoming their other older brother figure. Super cute, everything is fine, Reysha's starting to get really close to Deacon, the Medtech in charge of rolling back restrictions and ensuring Reysha remains stable. Found family vibes all around.

obviously this is too much stability for my tastes, so next comes the curve-ball that is the 'defensive sub-routine'.

while out scouting around Yavin IV, Reysha is attacked by hostile wild life, triggering the sub-routine. Their conscious awareness basically goes offline while the sub-routine is running, leaving them to parse what happened by reviewing their internal logs.

Within that missing time chunk, all of their internal records change to Old Tongue--Kallus' first language--and begin to unravel into the extremely untidy thinking of a human who initially mistakes the trees for pillars and ultimately crashes as they realize that's the fucking sky above them.

They immediately return to base for Deacon to run some tests, where they all learn to their horror that the sub-routine is a fraction of Kallus' lived experience accidentally pruned and preserved in order to give the Unit combat abilities should its owners want it. With the restrictions already in place, the programmers had no idea this splinter would quickly stabilize into the facimaly of Kallus pre-Empire. Back when he was a gang-lord's son going by Sasha.

And Sasha fuuuuuucking haaaates thissssssss

Wakes up in the future to realize a) the future Sucks and b) he's forced to share a body with what he assumes is a droid. Worse; everyone likes the droid way more than him.

It's a Hot Minute before he's told outright that Reysha is not a droid or an AI or anything like that, and they are, in fact, his biggest advocate. They are protective of him.

The relationship--really anyone's relationship with Sasha--is super rocky, but slowly Sasha begins adjusting.

Zeb getting captured helped in its own way, too. Mareysha is not field ready and neither is Sasha, but together, they're about as deadly as Kallus has ever been. It's fucking Jeiger time, baby, and Deacon is scared for them. Thankfully Zeb is brought back safely and Hoth has like. Infinite Bacta to expend on his recovery, so everything can go back to normal, right?

Wrong. Mareysha is pissed. They are not normally pissed, it's more like them to worry and focus on problem solving, but Zeb? Being hurt? Unacceptable. And there is no one to take it out on but Zeb, and apparently they want to take it out on him physically too, threatening him with a duel.

Of course, once they leave that conversation, they realize all of that kark is from Kallus, not them.

Which, cool, great, Kallus, if you are in here, you aren't allowed to use them as a proxy, fucking actualize like a normal person instead of leaking all you maladaptive bullshit onto their side of the shared headspace.

This does not happen, at least not on base.

When it does happen, it's on what everyone thought was a milk-run one system over, and it's because Kallus can literally clock an ISB honeypot in his sleep--or in this case as a fractured dormant personality.

Not exactly wanting to be 'out', Kallus tries to pass himself off as Reysha, but Zeb sees right through that bantha shit. He doesn't out Kallus in front of the crew of greenhorns he's been sent to look after, but oh, when he gets Kallus alone, they are having Words.

Despite knowing since Sasha popping up that there was a possibility Kallus was still in there, somewhere, Zeb hasn't allowed himself to hope. And now that they're here, he's levelling all that grief and frustration onto Kallus. He is PISSED, because Ezra TRIED TO GET KALLUS OUT and KALLUS DID NOT TAKE THE OUT. And now they don't even know if he'll stay around or if it's 'more stable for everyone' for him to be reabsorbed into Reysha and Sasha. AND YES. HE DOES BLAME YOU FOR ALL OF THIS.

Kallus matches energy because uh FUCK YOU, he didn't get lobotorobotized on fucking purpose, you jackass, and is not in any way prepared for Zeb to grab him by the face and tug him close and whisper fervent insults in Lasana at him;

"You [miserable pond-scum, you wretch, you heartbreaker.]" Their anger goes sideways as Zeb takes hold of their face and starts slipping into anguished Lasana. They blink at him, one hand locked around the Lasat's wrist as reality rearranges itself for what feels like the third time today. Maybe--fuckit, say it. Now or never. "Stop complaining and kiss me while I'm still me."

Zeb says he can't bc the stupid headpiece is in the way. Kallus, not understanding that Lasat kisses involve scenting their lover's cheek, takes it upon himself to grab the back of his head and close the distance.

They don't get to honeymoon long; there's still like four other ppl on this ship and none of them need to know about this giant messy situationship rival thing they have going. Also the Empire will be tracking them since they stepped foot into the Honeypot and they need somewhere to lie low.

will add a part two bc there's still a lot that happens and this is already super long lol

have I posted Lobot!Kallus? I keep meaning to I genuinely can't remember

vacant, only speaks when spoken to, has to be guided by hand bc his spacial awareness has been intentionally fucked with, is either In There behind all the programming, unable to jailbreak himself without permission which no one has thought to give him OR has been fractured so severely, his identity may as well be gone or only exists as a subroutine that only triggers under certain circumstances and is so buried by restrictions it's unrecognizable.

just things I do to my favorite characters uwu

[containment23]

where are all the stranger things x south park or IT x south park

guys it's right there: 4 elementary kids discover the horrors

[charmfamily]

CORVUS CROSSING: A CHARM FAMILY STORY. CHAPTER II "REQUIEM FOR THE WOMAN IN RED." PART X. Transcript Beneath the Cut.

NIKOLAI: It is done, Master. The lady has been properly buried with a bloodstone placed atop the grave. All that is left is for you to finish the ritual.

VLADISLAUS: That is excellent news, isn't it Alexander? [He chuckles, tickling the baby's foot and making him gurgle happily.] In a few days' time, you'll be reunited with măma-tii, and you can see her after she's been fed well and is feeling more… herself. [He stands, carefully and slowly, nodding toward Nikolai.] Watch the boy while I tend to her — and when I return, you and I need to discuss an expansion of staff.

NIKOLAI: [He grimaces worriedly.] Master I assure you, you need no other staff. I might… I might have been useless against the raiders that ransacked the estate a couple centuries ago, but My Lord… with but a drop or two of your blood I could be strong again. I could take care of everything.

VLADISLAUS: [He scoffs, his expression completely deadpan.] While your eager willingness to serve earns you your keep, I highly doubt vitae holds the power to make you a suitable wet nurse, you buffoon.

NIKOLAI: Oh— Oh. [He laughs awkwardly.] Right. I shall um, I shall try searching among the Ravenwood peasantry! Surely there's a maiden who would be willing to part with her milk in exchange for her life?

VLADISLAUS: I make no promises to spare her; it is foolish to offer any sort of protection with a freshly risen Kindred wandering the house… Tell the girl otherwise, of course, there's no need to deviate from the script. I just want you to be prepared to dig more graves if necessary.

NIKOLAI: Yes Master, I understand.

[cyrantelnovapaleorayeeso]

"i dont see what ppl see in the lore its so boring"

shuffles my feet around, most ppl talking about the lore are exclusively talking about love nikki and shining nikki, the two games most ppl started the series with and have been around longer so theyve had time to explore their stories

now granted im assuming this person has only played infinity nikki, if not then hey not everyone is gonna like/care for the lore thats just how it is with video games

i havent spent too much time with infinity nikki bc i move at a snails pace and only play a little bit at a time so i cant say much on its lore

but these games tend to slowly move towards the more out there lore ok you gotta wait like a year before someone dies off

its also a gacha game so ur not getting all the lore at once ok they gotta have reason to keep ppl coming back and playing

[sketchygh0st]

I am actually gonna start a Constantine x Alastair x Sarah agenda and im gonna make it so messy

[gallusrostromegalus]

This morning I came downstairs to discover that the dogs have invented a New Crime.

My husband get up very early for his Real Adult Job, and feeds Charleston (Black-and-cream Sighthound mix, mostly leg) and Herschel (40lb cardigan welsh crime tube), then lets them out into the fenced yard before he leaves.

I get up at the same time but take longer to boot up, so the dogs frolick about and discourage the local tree rats from lingering about the property while I get dressed/brush my teeth/try to not be psychologically crushed by The Horrors (TM)

Now it's pretty normal for me to find Herschel doing a high-speed yet startlingly efficient MC Hammer Shuffle on his stubby little legs around the base of the large honey Locust tree we have in the middle of the yard so he could keep his face pointed directly up the trunk at something in the canopy, because this his how he tries to herd squirrels.

...but Charlie is usually nearby, cheerfully play-bowing and encouraging the squirrel to come down, nothing bad will happen-!

This time Charleston is nowhere in sight.

I go outside to investigate and Herschel pauses to tackle me about the kneecaps as a greeting before returning to the tree.

Charleston is not behind the garden bins, nor in the side yard.

I am growing concerned, when I hear a telltale guilty scrape of claws above me.

Charleston is on the roof.

I shuffle out to the middle of the yard, until I can make eye contact with him.

He looks down at me, cheerfully wagging his tail, clearly anticipating praise for being such a clever boy.

I at least know how he got up there.

My house has a deck built off the second floor with a set of stairs leading up to it, and a large honey locust tree grows next to it. Part of the roof is easily accessible with a small hop from the deck.

The deck has only a minimal amount of railing ad the roof has none, so I blocked off the stairs with a board that was too high for Herschel, an inveterate explorer and criminal, to jump, but not Charlie.

I didn't worry about this at the time because Charleston is, in fact, The Best Dog In The Universe, and understands that even though he *could* easily jump various barriers, it would be *impolite* of him to do so.

Charleston is Extremely Polite and thus almost never commits any crimes.

...Almost Never.

Charlie has exactly two vices, which aren't even vices because his ancestors were bred for millennia to do these two exact things.

The first is that he is HIGHLY leash aggressive when I'm present (We were both attacked by a St. Bernard the first day I had him and Charlie has decided Strange Dogs Are Not Allowed To Approach Me)

The Second is that he has the Prey Drive From Hell.

He has chased bears and bulls with full murderous intent.

He almost got me arrested because he cut his leash to chase a pronghorn antelope in front of a park ranger.

It is only for the sake of my saftey and pursuit of prey that he will break the rules.

Today, he has his nemesis cornered

Charleston isn't clever the way Herschel is. He's never really explored using his toys as tools, whereas Herschel speedran the early stages of hominid tool use as a puppy. Arwen was a logistical sort of genius who managed to terraform my parent's yard into Rabbit Thunderdome.

Charleston's genius is... psychological.

If the Squirrels see both dogs, they run for the fence, but if they only see Herschel, they run for the tree.

Charlie is much better at tracking and guessing the route his prey might go, so Charlie runs for their preferred escape route of the tree instead of chasing them.

The squirrels compensate by running for the fence, which is farther away in general, but they have a head start on the dogs.

At Some Point, charlie managed to work out that if he stays in the shadows under the deck, the squirrels won't see his mostly-black body, especially when Herschel charges into the sunlight and catches it on his white ruff.

Charleston realized, long before I did, that there is only the ONE branch that overhangs the roof, and therefore if a squirrel runs up the tree, it only has ONE way out of the yard.

The real genius was combining all of the above into the realization that he could let Herschel charge the squirrels, run through the under-deck shadows and up to the deck and roof while the squirrels are distracted, and plant himself on the roof where the squirrels HAVE to land without them seeing him until it was too late.

-And so we stand this morning.

Herschel at the foot of the tree, preventing the squirrel from running back down and heading for the fence

Charleston square in the landing zone on the roof, at the ready

The squirrel paralyzed on the branch between them

...and me, only sort of awake and realizing that I'm probably the dumbest mammal here.

I need to figure out how to disentangle these beasts without anyone getting maimed. Charleston has the blood of his ancestors baying for the flesh of his nemesis in his ears. Herschel is dangerously close to figuring out how to get on the roof himself. The squirrel is contemplating some truly dire Maneuvers, including dropping out of the tree and assaulting me to buy time.

I haven't even had my coffee yet.

"Charleston." I say with a very aggravated sigh. "That's not where dogs go."

Charleston whimpers.

He has Disappointed (TM) me.

A fate worse than death.

He starts to walk back to the deck, but as he takes a step to leave, so does the squirrel, and he is pulled back by millennia of instinct.

This will require. Delicacy.

or delicacies.

"Stay. I'll be right back." I tell the dogs.

I go back into the house, and retrieve The Best Treat.

The Cat's Wet Food.

Both dogs crave this Most Forbidden snack with an irrational passion, and it is usually both out of reach in the cat tree AND defended by Mochi, who rules the dogs with an Iron Paw.

I return to the yard, and open the can in full view of both dogs.

"Charlie?" I call. "Do you want Wet Food?"

He is halfway down the stairs before I can finish the question.

Herschel switches his orbit from the tree to my person, and I have to shuffle to avoid tripping over them as we go back inside and the squirrel flees.

None of this is the new crime.

I go out with them later to pull Yet More Thistles, and a few minutes in, I hear a little 'huff' from Charlie.

I look up, and he's standing on the stairs, paw up to indicate he's going to jump over the barrier board and go right back up there.

You know.

...Unless there is wet food to be had.

The children have figured out how to commit extortion. I text my husband.

They're so smart! Do you think we can set them on the jackasses across the street? My husband asks, ever the practical man.

I'm going back to bed.

---

I'm a disabled writier who makes my living tellng stories. if you liked this, please consider giving me a Ko-fi tip, or pre-ordering the Family Lore book of stories on my Patreon. Thank you!

[hauntingblue]

Today I dreamed that I was in a ship with Anne and Eleanor and Anne got killed by her and I went insane with grief ajdjaksjk

[goyardgoyangi]

inside street racer! sukuna's glove compartment

You’re just trying to find napkins.

After a greasy late-night taco run post-race, you’re sitting in the passenger seat of Sukuna’s car, licking salsa off your wrist and reaching for the glove compartment without thinking. He’s too busy complaining about the suspension—again—to notice.

But it’s not the napkins that catch your eye first.

It’s the small, crumpled photobooth strip tucked beneath a set of napkins and folded insurance documents. You recognize it instantly: the faded pink background, the warped corner you’d accidentally bent while shoving it in your purse that night.

But what you didn’t mean to find… was a collection.

It’s not organized—because of course it’s not, it’s Sukuna—but there’s a little pile of you there.

A crumpled receipt from the ramen place where you’d dropped your egg in his broth and he’d insisted it was his now. The fake Mofusand keychain you joked about winning at the arcade and then threw away because “it looked dumb on your bag.” A movie stub from a B-list horror flick he’d pretended to hate but secretly watched twice just to see your reactions.

And the polaroids.

A dozen of them, maybe more—ones you’re sure you threw away. Ones you remember looking at with a wince and groaning, “God, I look awful in this one.”

You’re squinting in the sun, laughing too hard, mid-bite of a donut. There’s one where your hair’s a mess from the wind and you’re scowling at him from the passenger seat like you want to kill him. One where you’re half-asleep in his hoodie, nose scrunched, cheeks flushed. You hated how puffy your face looked in that one. He must’ve picked it out of the trash the second you weren’t looking.

You don’t look up. Instead, you hold up the photobooth strip, then slowly flip through the rest.

“Why do you have this?”

He doesn’t answer. Just keeps pretending to scroll, way too focused on some article about car suspensions to be real.

You turn to actually look at him.

“Ryomen Sukuna. Did you dig these out of the trash?”

That gets him.

He freezes for a beat—the use of his full name clearly throwing him off—then shifts in his seat, trying to play it cool.

“You throw out good shit,” he says with a shrug, voice lazy. “In this economy? Film’s expensive.”

You narrow your eyes but soften your voice.

“Sukuna, baby. Be honest.”

He doesn’t even look at you when he mutters, “Yeah. So what if I did?”

And maybe he’s not blushing—but his ears? They’re definitely red.

You raise an eyebrow.

“They’re blurry.”

“Yeah.”

“I look bad.”

“You don’t.”

His voice is low. Stubborn. Like it’s not up for debate.

You’re not sure what to say, but your heart’s thudding in a weird, unfamiliar way.

[killerplink]

INFECTED

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader x Jason Todd

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

A/N: I don't know if this is what y'all had in mind with this spicy pollen fic, but as you might've noticed, I'm a yapper. I don't do 'let's get it 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.

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.

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

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.

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, 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.

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.

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

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.

"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.

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.

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.

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.

[inkandapex]

stream madness pt.3

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando Norris and his girlfriend, Y/N continue to grace the stream with tooth-achingly sweet moments, often caught on camera. But they’re not immune to some naughty slip-ups, much to Max F's dismay.

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: swearing, suggestive content

part 1 | part 2 | part 4

Mic On

It was already well into the night, and somehow, Max had convinced Lando to hop on his Twitch stream for a late-night Counter-Strike session. They were in between rounds when the door creaked open, and Y/N walked in.

Lando tugs off one side of his headset the moment he felt her hand rest on his shoulder, tilting his head back to look up at her.

“Oh, hey baby. How was dinner?” he murmured, catching her hand in his and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

Y/N smiled, running her fingers through his hair, making his eyes flutter shut for a brief second. “It was good. You’re on stream?”

“Mhmm.” He nodded, completely unbothered, yanking off his headset entirely.

Max’s voice suddenly boomed through the speakers. “Hey Y/N! Chat’s been looking for you.”

Y/N laughed, settling into the empty gaming chair beside Lando. “Sorry, chat. I was out with friends.”

Y/N’s eyes continued to scan the chat, answering a few questions every now and then, completely unaware of the way Lando was staring.

He hadn’t looked away since the moment she walked in. Not once.

Max was still talking, chat was flying, but Lando? Lando was somewhere else entirely.

Y/N finally glanced over, catching his intense gaze. She raised a brow, lips curving into a small smile. “What?”

Her soft voice snapped him out of his trance, but instead of looking flustered, Lando’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. He didn’t answer right away—just leaned in slightly, fingers reaching for his mic.

An attempt to mute himself.

Except—

He missed.

He tugs her chair a little closer, his hand sliding onto her lap as that familiar cheeky smirk plays on his lips.

“I was just thinking… you look really good right now, my love. Do you wanna—”

"MIC ON! MIC ON! YOUR MIC IS STILL ON!"

Max’s panicked scream blasted through the speakers.

Max’s panicked shouts made both of them jump, Y/N spinning her chair away in embarrassment while Lando nearly slid off his own chair from laughing.

Chat was going feral.

Lando, still wheezing, finally managed to get words out. “I just wanted to ask if she wanted to stay on the stream and play with us!”

Max, still skeptical, narrowed his eyes through the screen. “Sure, Lando. Sure.”

Lando shook his head, clicking his tongue. “Get your head out of the gutter, mate. Dirty bastard.”

Y/N, still red-faced, simply sighed. The damage was already done.

"max always having to come to their rescue will never not be funny" "LN was ready to risk it all" "cant blame bob, Y/N looks amazing" "MAX SHOUTING" "Please tell me someone clipped that"

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Fish are friends NOT food

"Baby, please. Your food is touching my food."

Lando’s whiny complaint made both Max and Y/N pause mid-chew, turning to look at him like he’d just announced he was retiring from racing to become a monk.

Max glanced over at Lando’s plate, unimpressed, before shaking his head with a chuckle. "You're unbelievable, mate."

"It's just sushi, Lan" Y/N muttered, barely sparing him a glance as she scrolled through her phone.

"It's fish!" Lando exclaimed, holding up his plate dramatically for the camera, zooming in to prove how his spring rolls were daring to brush against Y/N’s salmon nigiri.

Max snorted. “Grow up, Lando.”

Lando huffed, crossing his arms. "You grow up." He looks over at his girlfriend, pleading eyes "Baby please, I don't even want to touch it"

“Lan…” Y/N sighed in defeat, picking up the piece of sushi he was so dramatically complaining about and popping it into her mouth. “Happy?”

Lando watched in absolute horror, his face scrunching up like he’d just witnessed a crime. He shivered at the mere thought of it. “Don’t know how you can eat that… raw too.”

Y/N smirked, grabbing another piece. She held it up to him. “Try it. Come on.”

“No.”

“I promise you it’s good.”

“And I promise you I’m gonna be sick.” Lando leaned back, holding his arm out like she was trying to feed him actual poison.

Max, watching the whole thing unfold, burst out laughing. “This is the farthest I’ve ever seen Lando be from Y/N while being in the same room as her.”

Chat? Losing it.

"HE’S SO DRAMATIC I CAN’T" "MAX WITH THE LIVE COMMENTARY" "bro is scared of sushi"

“I’ll do a photoshoot for Quadrant merch if you eat one piece.”

Silence.

Both Max and Lando’s heads snapped toward Y/N so fast they could’ve gotten whiplash.

Y/N had denied every single request to model for Quadrant—begged, bribed, guilt-tripped—nothing had worked. Until now.

Max turned to the camera, mouth slightly agape. “Do you guys understand how long we’ve been asking Y/N to model for us? They weren’t even dating yet and we were already trying to convince her.”

Lando’s gaze flickered between the sushi and Y/N, eyes filled with pure despair and conflict.

“Two collections,” he blurted out.

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“You have to model for two collections” Lando negotiated, like this was a high-stakes F1 contract and not about eating a single piece of fish.

Max and Y/N exchanged glances before bursting into laughter.

“There you go, chat,” Max said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Now you know we’re working on two new collections, thanks to Lando’s terrible bargaining skills.”

Lando groaned, realizing he had just leaked their upcoming release in real time.

“Fine,” Y/N conceded, “but you have to actually chew and swallow it.”

Lando narrowed his eyes. “AND… you do a shoot with me for LN4 merch too.”

The room fell silent again.

Max watched in amusement as Lando and Y/N locked eyes, neither blinking, waiting to see who would fold first.

Max smirked. “This is the most intense negotiation I’ve ever witnessed, and I’ve seen Alpine and McLaren fight over Oscar Piastri.”

Finally, Y/N held out her hand. “Deal.”

Lando took it, but instead of shaking, he brought it up to his lips and kissed it. “Deal.”

Max exploded. “I can’t believe this is happening. Someone clip this, please, I’m begging—fuck it, I gotta film this.” He fumbled for his phone, nearly knocking over his drink in the process.

Lando let out a deep, dramatic breath, grabbing his water bottle like it was his lifeline.

Y/N’s smile stretched wide, almost devilish, as she slowly inched the piece of sushi closer to Lando’s mouth.

“Open up, cutie,” she cooed.

Lando shot her a look of betrayal, but he had already sealed his fate. With a deep breath, he took the piece into his mouth, chewing at full speed, eyes squeezed shut like he was enduring actual pain.

Max was already cackling.

Lando forced himself to swallow, then dramatically opened his mouth wide to prove it was gone before immediately chugging half his water bottle like his life depended on it.

Y/N and Max? Wheezing.

Max threw his hands up. “And history has been made!”

Still recovering, Lando grabbed a spring roll and took the biggest bite possible, desperately trying to erase the taste of fish from his mouth.

Y/N ruffled his hair, grinning proudly. “Proud of you, my love. I’m telling Carlos about your bravery today.”

Lando nearly choked on his spring roll. “No. You are not.”

"HE TOOK IT LIKE A CHAMP" "Lando vs. Sushi—Sushi wins" "CARLOS NEEDS TO HEAR ABOUT THIS ASAP"

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Australia GP

Max had woken up far too early, but the excitement for the Australia race had him buzzing. He’d set up his stream, ready to deliver some live commentary for his viewers as they watched the race unfold. Max had already talked about Lando's stellar performance from practice and qualifying, and of course, a handful of jabs about Y/N's debut on the big screen.

As the camera cut to Y/N chatting with Cisca, Lando’s mom, during the red flag pause, Max’s eyes lit up.

“Ah, there she is! WAG title stealer!” Max exclaimed, clapping his hands loudly as the broadcast showed Y/N mid-conversation, the words "Lando’s partner" flashing across the screen beneath her name.

The chat exploded with laughing emojis as Max quickly snapped a picture on his phone, an evil smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’m sending this straight to Lando. He’s gonna love this. Bro is down bad for her, it's actually sickening”

The race hadn’t exactly gone according to plan. Max was feeling empathetic for all the rookies, as well as Carlos and Fernando, who were all out of the race early, DNFing one by one. But what really sent everyone into a bit of a spiral was when both McLarens went off-track, and then Oscar slid off into the grass.

Max kept going with his commentary, his usual sharp observations now mixed with praise for Oscar’s effort to get his car back on track. He was doing his best to keep it light, but when the camera cut to a replay of the McLaren garage’s reaction, Max couldn’t help himself.

“Oh dear,” Max chuckled softly, eyes glued to the screen. “Look at Y/N. I think she aged 10 years and it’s only race 1 of 24.”

Y/N’s face was a mix of concern and pure stress, tightly holding hands with Cisca as she watched her partner’s car struggle. Her eyes went wide when Oscar’s car slipped, and the pressure was visible on her face.

Max, clearly enjoying himself, added, “Poor Y/N looks like she’s about to start a full-on grey hair collection.”

The chat was absolutely losing it.

"MAX IS SO SAVAGE LMAO" "Y/N'S FACE JUST AGES A DECADE" "she's just like us" "SOMEONE CHECK ON Y/N SHE'S ABOUT TO HAVE A MELTDOWN"

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Swirly Pistachi-OH!

Max and Lando sat side by side, setting up a lobby to play a new game, both of them already gearing up for the chaos that would ensue. The vibe was relaxed, but that quickly shifted when the door opened, and Y/N walked in, looking absolutely fuming.

"Lando! I can't believe you. I've—"

Max immediately reaches over and mutes his mic, the tension in the room rising as both he and Max exchanged brief glances. Y/N didn’t even acknowledge them, her hands waving around, clearly heated about whatever had just happened. Her eyes locked onto Lando,

Lando can be seen reaching out to her, both now in deep conversation while Max sat there like a child caught in the middle of his parents arguing.

Lando can be seen running his hands through his hair, immediately reaching for his phone as she stormed off, clearly done with the argument.

Max, ever the opportunist, unmuted himself with a small sigh. “Alright, so… that argument?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “It was about who ate her ice cream from the freezer”

Lando, still rubbing his temples in frustration, groaned. “Mate, keep your voice down, she has super hearing.”

Max burst into laughter, throwing his head back. “Chat’s probably thinking it’s something serious”

Before Lando could respond, the door slammed open again with a dramatic flair, and there stood Y/N, hands on her hips, eyes practically smoking with fury.

"It was swirly pistachi-oh— Fewtrell, you know how hard it is to get a hold of that!" she snapped, voice sharp as a knife.

Lando pursed his lips, doing his absolute best to hold back his laughter, but it was clear he was about to lose it. He could feel Max trying to hide his grin beside him, but Lando knew the minute Y/N saw him struggling, it was only going to make things worse.

Max, still processing, blinked a few times in disbelief. “Wait, like Lec’s swirly pistachio? Charles Leclerc’s?”

Y/N shot Max a look that could melt steel. “Yes, Max. Charles' ice cream. It sells out so fast around here, it’s like gold. And Lando—” she turned her glare to him, the look of death now firmly in place, “—decided to eat my stash. The whole thing. All of it.”

Lando couldn’t keep it in anymore and burst into laughter, clutching his stomach as the weight of the situation hit him. But the moment he saw Y/N's expression change—eyebrows raised, hands on her hips like she was ready to deliver an epic punishment—his laughter faltered.

Y/N squinted at him like he had just committed war crimes. “Oh, you think this is funny?”

Lando immediately stopped laughing and put his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry, baby, please… Come here.”

But Y/N stood firm, not budging an inch. Her arms stayed crossed, her expression still ice-cold.

Lando’s smile faltered as he stood up to walk towards her. “Come on, my love… I already texted Charles to see if he can get us some more,” he said, doing his best to sound sweet and sincere, though the grin trying to form on his face was absolutely betraying him.

Y/N eyed him suspiciously, her lips pursed in the tightest line. “You texted Charles? Before apologizing to me?”

Lando hesitated, then shrugged sheepishly. “Well, he’s the pistachio supplier, isn’t he? Just trying to get the best deal for us.”

Max, now full-on crying from laughing, added, “You know, I think Charles might just have one last scoop left in his freezer. You’ve got to pull out the big guns, mate.”

Lando pulls her into a tight hug while shooting Max a glare that could only be described as a silent plea for mercy. But as Y/N’s gaze softened slightly, he knew he might just be getting out of this one alive… for now.

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The Accidental Moan

Lando and Max were deep into a heated game of Tarkov, and Y/N walked in, casually leaning against the doorframe, watching the two of them play. She walks over behind Lando’s chair, arms folded as she observed their chaotic gameplay.

Lando glanced up at her, offering a playful grin. “Hi, my love. Wanna grab a chair and join us?”

Y/N smiled, shaking her head, her fingers threading through Lando’s messy curls. “I’m good. Just making food right now. Came to check on you two.”

Max groaned from the other side of the room. “Perfect timing. I’m starving.”

Y/N laughed. “I know, you’ve been playing for hours.”

Lando leaned back in his seat, humming contentedly as she ran her fingers through his hair. “Mmm, that feels nice, baby,” he sighed, half-losing focus on the game as he relaxed into her touch.

Y/N grinned, her fingers still running through his hair. “Your hair’s a bit tangled, you know.”

Max snorted from the other side. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he hasn’t seen a brush in weeks.”

Lando smirked, keeping his eyes on the screen but clearly enjoying the attention. “I like it like this.”

Y/N laughed lightly, “I’m sure you do.” She leaned down to give him a quick kiss on the top of his head as he leaned into her touch.

“Alright, I gotta go check on the food,” Y/N said, pulling her hands away from his hair. But as she did, something unexpected happened.

Her fingers got caught in the tangles of his curls, and as she moved away, it pulled harshly, making Lando let out a loud, unintentional moan.

Max, mid-game, froze. His eyes widened in shock. “What the fuck was that?!”

Y/N froze too, her face immediately turning a shade of red. She stood there, staring at Lando, unsure how to recover.

Lando, now realizing exactly what just happened, doubled over in laughter, his face bright red. “I swear, it wasn’t what it sounded like,” he managed to say between fits of giggles.

Max, still shocked, looked from Lando to Y/N, his face full of disbelief. “Oh no, it was exactly what it sounded like”

Lando, trying to stop laughing but failing miserably, looked at Y/N. “Oh baby...” He burst into laughter again, shaking his head.

Y/N, standing frozen with her hands still awkwardly in the air, just shook her head, biting back a laugh herself. “I didn’t mean to—” she started but was cut off by Lando’s giggles. "You know what, i'm leaving" Y/N shakes her head as she rushes out of the room

Max and Lando, still laughing at the absurdity of the situation, wiped tears from their eyes. “I can’t—I can’t even focus now,” Max gasped, trying to regain his composure.

Lando, still chuckling, shook his head, attempting to steady himself. “Yeah, alright, I’m good. I’m good.”

They both took deep breaths, trying their best to get back into the game.

Max, still grinning like a Cheshire cat, clicked his tongue and looked at Lando. “So... hair pulling, huh?”

“Shut up, Max.”

"LANDO IS INTO HAIR PULLING" "max's face!" "POOR Y/N" "LANDO CAUGHT ON LIVE AGAIN"

------------------------------------------------------

Make me pretty

Viewers slowly began to fill Max's stream, immediately flooding the chat with comments about the unusual setting. The camera was focused on Lando, who was sitting in a make-up chair, while Y/N stood off to the side, rummaging through a pouch.

Max clapped his hands and grinned. “Alright, chat, welcome!”

Lando flashed a smile and gave a small wave to the camera. “Bit of a different setup today, we managed to rent out a tiny studio for an impromptu shoot,” Max explained.

Y/N returned to stand between Lando’s legs, gently dabbing a make-up sponge on his face.

“Y/N’s the one making sure Lando looks presentable today,” Max added.

Lando tilted his head slightly, looking up at her with a soft smile. “Make me pretty, baby.”

Y/N chuckled, carefully applying concealer. “I can if you'd stop moving so much”

Max stood to the side, watching intently. “Can you make him look like Carlos?”

Y/N didn’t miss a beat, scoffing as she carefully worked on Lando’s face. “I said I can make him look pretty, Max, not like a Spanish model. I’m not God.”

Max choked back a laugh, and Lando’s jaw dropped as he stared at Y/N, utterly bewildered. “Are you saying Carlos looks so good you can’t even make me look remotely like him?”

Y/N shot him a playful smirk as she continued her work. “Took the words right out of my mouth, baby.”

Lando shakes his head, looking at the camera and pointing a finger at it. “My girlfriend, everybody…”

“I’m kidding, Lan, come on!” Y/N laughs, tilting his face back to look at her as she brushes powder onto his face. Lando scrunches up his nose. “That tickles.”

Y/N chuckles at his reaction, planting a quick peck on his nose. “All done. See? Gorgeous.”

Lando looks at himself in the mirror, nodding with satisfaction. “Damn, I look good.”

Y/N stops him from getting up. “I gotta do your hair, baby. Just a little longer.”

Lando glances at the clock and then back at her. “You gotta hurry up a bit, love. Need to do Max’s makeup too, and we both know that’s gonna take you nearly the whole day just to make him look half decent.”

Max, who’s been silently listening to the conversation, suddenly snaps. “Why the fuck am I catching strays? I haven’t said a word in the past five minutes!”

“Max, come on mate, look at you. You look ghastly. You feeling okay lately?” Lando grinned

Max shot him a glare, rolling his eyes. “You look ill, Lando. Have you seen yourself?”

Lando waved him off dramatically. “Seriously, Max. I’m getting worried here. You look like you need a bit more TLC. Maybe a nap... an exorcism?”

Max groaned. “I hate you. You’re so annoying.”

Lando smirked. “You’re annoying.”

Meanwhile, Y/N stood silently with a hairbrush in hand, staring at the camera. Her expression was a mix of exhaustion and quiet desperation, as if she was silently pleading for help from the viewers as the two continued to bicker like an old married couple. “Help me…” she muttered under her breath, eyes still locked on the camera.

------------------------------------------------------

2 Hands

Lando and Max were on their respective twitch streams, playing a rather relaxed game of UNO. It wasn't until Max decided to cheekily check Lando's stream to sneak a peak of his cards.

What surprised him, however, was his friend who had an annoyingly smug smirk on his face, his other hand no where in sight. And his girlfriend, suspisciously sat quietly beside him, wrapped in a blanket.

"You naughty little shit"

Lando’s whole body tenses. Y/N immediately looks away, suddenly very interested in the chat messages scrolling by at the speed of light.

Max’s smirk widens. "Hand check. Right now"

Lando, the master of deflection, tries to laugh it off as he shows his hand that was once set on the mouse. "Mate, what do you mean? My hands are—"

"Nah nah nah, show me both hands. Now!"

The chat goes feral.

"MAX IS ONTO THEM." 🕵️‍♂️"Lando’s sweating LMAO.""Y/N LOOKS GUILTY ASF."

After a long, agonizing pause, Lando finally raises his hands, one noticeably slower than the other. Max absolutely loses it.

"YOU NASTY LITTLE FUCK!" he cackles, pointing accusingly.

"Oh come on Max it was just on her bo—"

"Lando!" Y/N shouts and hides their face in her hoodie, and chat is now 100% convinced they just witnessed history.

Max: 1 | Lando: -100 | Y/N: Applying for Witness Protection

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Sim-sanity

Lando and Y/N glances behind them as Max walks into the room, a couple of bags of food in hand, his face a mix of annoyance and hunger.

"You two should just throw your phones away, I've been trying to call you for an hour" Max grumbles, shaking his head as he drops the bags onto the table.

Y/N smirks, grabbing one of the bags. "Hello to you too, grumpy." She starts pulling out boxes of food, her attention split between Max and the chaos on Lando's screen.

Lando, who’s completely absorbed in his game, glances up just long enough to acknowledge Max. "Oh you're here"

Max eyes the screen, raising an eyebrow. "Oh nice, Y/N, you're finally sharing your Sims with the stream?"

Y/N rolls her eyes but keeps pulling food out of the bag, clearly not impressed. "That's Lando's Sim. I was supposed to play, but he hogged it."

Max laughs as he leans in, squinting at the characters on the screen. "Mate, is that you and Y/N? Hold up, they actually look like you two. It's kinda freaky..."

Lando grins, still not taking his eyes off the game. "Yeah, I found a pre-made version of me and spent hours making Y/N."

Y/N shrugs as she digs into her food, rolling her eyes again. "He wouldn’t even let me play. Spent hours on it and wouldn't let me touch it."

Lando, not missing a beat, taps his mic as if it’s a casual question. "Chat—should we hire a nanny for Livie or should I quit my job and stay home?"

Max freezes. "Who the hell is Livie?"

"Our kid, Max," Lando says, looking at him as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "Keep up."

Y/N looks at Max, nodding seriously. "Yeah, we’ve got two kids now."

Lando, eyes glued to the screen, clicks furiously as he navigates through the Sims world, completely absorbed in his virtual family.

Y/N and Max exchange amused glances, trying not to laugh at how seriously he’s taking the game.

"Kind of concerning how invested he is in this," Max says, his voice low, as he watches Lando’s furrowed brow. "He doesn’t even play VR golf with this much concentration."

Y/N, chuckling under her breath, leans back in her chair, shaking her head. "Oh, Max, no. He’s really invested. Don’t let the quiet fool you—he’s planning their whole life. I'm pretty sure our Sims' kids are more organized than we are."

Lando leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head with a satisfied grin. "Alright, baby, Livie’s grown enough, and Sim me just quit his job. Time to woohoo for our third baby," he says nonchalantly, his fingers still hovering over the keyboard as if he’s casually discussing his grocery list.

"You're mental"