requested | by anon as part of dc to dos
cw | fem! reader. reader has curly hair. dick has a stalker, it's mostly kept lighthearted and implied, but the idea may be triggering. dick's stalker has mental health issues/erotomanic tendencies.
“Remind me again why I’m doing this?” You whisper, the smile on your face twitching minutely as you force yourself to gaze adoringly into Dick’s eyes.
Normally, you’d hardly have to act. You'd die before admitting it, but you'd reached the point months ago where you'd accepted you loved Dick as much more than a friend. But you were entering the second week of this facade, and your patience (and heart) had all but reached their limits.
The physical affection wasn't even the main problem; it was barely a step up from his usually touchy nature. Nor did the paparazzi, intent on digging into every aspect of your personal life, bother you too much; this was the price of being Dick Grayson's friend in Gotham that you'd long since learned to live with.
What bothered you was how fake it all was. How fake Dick was. It wasn't your dearest friend sitting across from you right now, a man who'd seen you through thick and thin; it was the mask. The one he put on for the public and paparazzi, saying, “Don’t look too closely, nothing to see here.”
“Because you love me enough to help me get rid of the crazy stalker glaring across the cafe?” He murmurs, smile never dropping as he leans across the table to brush a stray, rebellious curl behind your ear.
“Debatable at this point, if you touch me again, I think she’s going to flay me, then wear my skin.” You laughed, reaching across the table to hold his hand. To the onlooking eye, the gesture is tender, but to Dick, it's an indication of your extreme displeasure when he’s forced to hold back a wince at the pressure applied.
“Don’t look now, but she’s on her way over,” Dick whispered, before bursting into laughter like you’d just told the funniest joke in the world.
“Dick!” Crazy stalker exclaims, voice full of practised shock, “Who’s this?” The switch-up is intensely jarring, and though she tries to appear unaffected, there’s a manic energy in her too wide grin and eyes that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up in alarm.
“Who’re you?” You sniff, gaze frosty as you leer down your nose at her despite her current position above you. She’s shocked, stumbling over her words at your blatant hostility and even Dick shokes back a noise of surprised amusement.
“I—” she stammers her name, and you raise a brow with faux recognition.
“So you’re the delusional stalker harassing my boyfriend.” If she was stunned before, the girl is now outright shell-shocked, mouth agape as she rapidly cycles between denial and anger. Standing, you gain a small, sick sense of satisfaction when she stumbles back a little.
Tears well in her eyes, lower lip wobbling, and you’re struck with a brief pang of guilt. Brief, because you suddenly remember her legitimately concerning behaviour. If you and Dick weren’t who you were, the quivering thing trying to appear a victim would be dangerous.
A small voice reminds you that she’s sick, that she needs help, and it’s enough for you to ease up. “Now scram, before I call the cops on you for harassment.”
You won’t. You don’t trust the Bludhaven Police Department to deal with something this delicate, but apparently, you’re threatening enough that she believes it, turning tail and scampering away.
“You’re not actually going to—”
“No, I’ve already spoken with Babs; she’s already reached out to some people. Getting that girl the help she needs.”
“What?” He replies dumbly, and you lift your phone to show off the latest texts, “an anonymous source tipped off some people to her—” concerning, deeply disturbed, sad “—behaviour, they’ve got enough to hold her for now.”
Suddenly, Dick lurches to his feet, smashing his hip into the table in his haste, but he pays it no mind before pulling you into a kiss. Before you can decide to reciprocate or otherwise, he’s pulling back, one thumb caressing your cheek as you stare at him dazedly.
“Was that—real or fake?” You gasp, wide-eyed and painfully unsure.
“Real. So real.” His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and your eyes follow the movement before you look into his wanting eyes once more.
“Why?”
“Why?” He sounds bewildered, frowning a little, even, “because here I just wanted to get rid of her, but you actually thought to get her help. Because you’ve got such a big heart and I can’t stand pretending I don’t love it, don’t love you anymore.”
The second time you kiss, it’s not a question anymore, but a certainty that makes your heart sing as you sink into him, eagerly kissing him back like you wished you could days ago.
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But his apartment is small. One hallway. One bedroom. One very obvious door that was already halfway open.
And behind that door—
You stop. Your breath catches. Your eyes lock onto the wall.
Covered in photos. Hundreds. Maybe more. All of you.
You step closer.
And then—
…oh.
Oh no.
These are bad.
Like, really bad.
Wrong angles. Awkward lighting. Blurry shots where your face is half cut off. One where you’re mid-blink. Another where you look like you’re being hunted by a cryptid.
Your stomach drops—not from fear.
But from pure, devastated disbelief.
“…Do I really look like this?” you whisper to yourself.
Behind you, there’s a sharp inhale.
You turn.
He’s standing in the doorway.
Frozen. Pale.
Hands clenched at his sides.
He gulps. “I— I can explain.”
You don’t scream. You don’t lash out.
You just stare at him.
Then back at the photos.
Then back at him.
“…You’re really bad at this,” you say flatly.
He blinks. “W-What?”
“You had thousands of chances,” you continue, walking closer to the wall. “Thousands. And you never once learned how to take a decent photo?”
He looks like he’s about to pass out.
“I—I thought you’d be angry,” he stammers.
“Oh, I am,” you say. “But not for the reason you think.”
You point at one of the worst shots.
“Look at this. The lighting makes me look like I live in a cave. And that angle?” You scoff. “Criminal.”
He swallows hard. “You’re… not mad that I took them?”
You turn to him slowly.
“I mean,” you say, deadpan, “stalking is a weird hobby. You should probably find another one.”
His shoulders slump. “…I’m sorry.”
You sigh.
Then, out of nowhere: “Do you have a lighter?”
He freezes again. “W-What?”
“A lighter,” you repeat. “Do you have one?”
“Why would you need—”
“It’s for something,” you insist.
He hesitates. You can see the panic rising in his eyes.
“I—I don’t think that’s a good idea—”
You push past him. Straight into the kitchen.
It’s small. Easy to navigate.
You open drawers. Cabinets.
He follows you, nervous. “W-What are you doing?”
You find it. A lighter. You pick it up.
Then you open the fridge.
“…Alcohol?” you mutter.
You glance at him. “You don’t look like the type who drinks.”
“I—I don’t,” he says weakly.
You grab three bottles anyway.
Back to the bedroom. Back to the wall.
You start pouring.
Alcohol splashes over the photos. Soaking the paper. Dripping down the wall.
His eyes go wide. “Wait— wait— what are you doing?!”
You don’t answer.
You flick the lighter.
He finally moves, lunging forward. “Stop—!”
But you’re faster.
You light it.
The photos catch immediately.
Curling. Blackening. Burning.
“There,” you say calmly. “No one has to see those hideous shots ever again.”
He drops to his knees. Hands braced on the floor. Sobbing.
You watch him for a second.
Then you sigh and crouch in front of him.
“Relax,” you say. “The alcohol isn’t that much. Fire won’t spread. Just the pictures.”
You glance at the wall. “Plus your apartment looks pretty fire-resistant.”
He doesn’t answer. Just shakes.
You tilt your head, studying him. “…Okay. That’s enough crying.”
You stand and offer him your hand. “I’m taking you to a friend.”
He looks up, eyes red. “For… for what?”
You smile. Soft. Sharp. Dangerous.
“So you can finally learn how to take pictures properly.”
warnings : non-con, overstimulation, all that good stuff ♡
lazy nsfw headcannons 4 me & others ^_^
adam that wakes you up with his head between your thighs. licking and lapping at your sopping cunt. you writhe and try to kick him away, but he hooks your legs over his broad shoulders and holds your body down with his enormous, filthy hands that span the entirety of your waist.
adam that doesn’t stop after your first orgasm, when your words are incoherent and you’re sobbing and begging him to get off of you.
adam that destroys all of your dresses when he’s needy for you—which is almost all of the time.
I have a platform and I will use it. I have to. How else will we get things done?
Take care of each other. Melt ICE. Speak loud and scream proud. The masses can and will overpower the few.
I love you all. Stay safe and stay vigilant. Will find a post (or make one) of resources to support and watch. And if you can’t give money, you can give your voice. If you feel you don’t have one, speak to just one person. It’s okay. Things are scary. But I believe in you. I love you.
જ⁀➴ damian wayne is rude, egocentric, and disgustingly intelligent. you hate him. you...hate him, right?
✄┈┈ slowburn academic rivals to lovers, damian wayne x fem!reader
sadie says! " damian pov hehe, third person though bc writing him in first feels wrong, i PROMISE ill get back to reader and damian soon i just needed to get this out the way, it also isn't very good lol sorry, jay and dick r there bc i love them, tim n steph will be here later i promise, damian is HELLAAA confused, i liked writing dami so much i might do another from his pov, tysm for all the support! heed the music!! - feedback is always appreciated! "
this is chapter 3! previous parts are on my profile!
♪ ♫ - hold me down, daniel caesar
chapter 3 - we discover the uselessness of older brothers.
REALLY, DAMIAN HAD EXPECTED MORE BROKEN BONES BY NOW.
nightwing and red hood, the grown men that they were, had just finished a cartwheeling competition on the roof of damian’s favourite bakery. to their credit, one that came on the heels of a successful afternoon patrol. damian listened to their voices from behind him.
“dickiebird!” jason sings, splaying the arms of his brown leather jacket wide and strolling after the older boy, “i think you should jus’ consider-”
“i do wish you’d stop thinking, jay. you do way too much of it. could be a fuckin’ philospher-”
“hey! cmon, ‘s not cool to swear in front of the baby.”
"the baby? the baby’s eighteen this year.”
“you’re tainting his mind, with your dirty vocabulary and your vulgar-”
“well, not everyone got straight A’s in their english class.”
damian thinks of you. you’re good at english, naturally good. the kind of strong authorial voice thats beyond either of your years. he thinks of the essay of yours that he proofread this year, the flush that covered your face, the mess of emotions he felt that night as he reread To Kill A Mockingbird.
whatever that means.
“so you finally admit, im smarter than you!"
“so you admit- mimimimimimi!” dick mocks him in a high voice, making chatterbox symbols with his hands. he’s smiling, though. damian can hear it in his voice.
“ah hah! vindication!” jason grins and makes finger guns and in victory. damian thinks briefly of the irony of a man with 3 different firearms on his person making “pew-pew” noises with his mouth.
damian swings his legs over the side of the roof. he stares out onto the mildly busy streets, dusk shades painting gothamites below in deep russet strokes and soft indigo shadows. dark clouds drift across the sectioned sky, and the sounds of chatter and cars washes over the scene. the street itself is littered with sluggish canary-yellow taxis, stark against the minimalistic storefronts.
his eyes are drawn to twinkling fairy lights in a bookstore close by. they adorn a display of recent non-fiction; a collection of case studies and observations from an infamous murder case, written by harvey dent. you liked law, didn't you? maybe he should buy you it.
to say thank you.
to say goodbye.
he stares down at his own legs. dick nudges jay’s shoulder, shoots him a pointed look, and gestures towards damian with his chin.
“it’s truly unfathomable that you two are legal adults.” damian scoffs, smoothing his hair back.
jay grins and plants himself next to him. he stretches out his long legs, pointing and flexing his feet in turn. “couldn’t agree more, dames. but hey, don’t you think a family christmas uno game might be fun?”
damian looks over at his brother. he squints. “todd, you’re never even here for christmas.”
jason chuckles, small and quiet. “you’re not wrong there, bud.” he works his jaw and stares across the street.
“i’ll show up this year, swear. maybe not f’ the whole time.”
“five minutes would be a record.” damian doesn't mean to sound so bitter.
“how about six?”
“you might not survive.”
“you got jokes, huh?” jason’s grin is full of pride as he leans back on his elbows. “dickie, our baby brother’s got jokes!”
dick watches the two, fiddling with the fingers of his suit. he sighs, bends down and ruffles damian’s hair. if he had been anyone else but dick, damian would never have allowed it.
“i’ll buy a pack of uno.” he sits on the other side of damian. “don’t go killing each other bout it, though.” his voice is fond.
“you don’t have to worry. i won’t participate in such frivolous games.”
“aw dames, c’mon.” jason gently elbows damian’s shoulder.
“tt.”
damian absently wonders whether you like uno. you like yelling, as far as he’s aware. he thinks you like card games, judging by the way you ran a strict program on a spit bracket at school camp in tenth grade. he pictures you, eyebrows furrowed, placing down a colour change card with your manicured nails. you’d make it green. you’d laugh that infectious, loud laugh of yours. he’d get to hear it.
“so, damian…” dick starts, drawing out his words the way he does when he wants something.
“i dislike your tone.”
“tone!? nooo… what tone?” dick gives him a cheesy grin.
“you’re a horrible actor, grayson. what’s this about?”
“we wanted t’ ask ‘bout your school. it bein’ your last year, ‘n all that.” jason gestures to the chilled air in front of him. “you don’t talk to us much, what, with all your studying these days.”
damian feels a sting of guilt - senior year and vigilante duties are a hell of a lot to handle, but he (regrettably) loves his brothers. he sure as hell doesn’t want to neglect them, but he has to be excellent. his thoughts drift to you. his mind always goes to you. damian hardly has a moment when he’s not thinking of you. you understood that need, that coursing anxiousness, that single-minded drive. he wishes you two were friends, wishes you could stand being in the same room as him. he wants to walk with you to class, he wants to write that speech with you. he wants to carry your books, and sit next to you not just in award ceremonies. he wants to share the valedictorian award, share whatever’s his, with you.
he wants.
he’s not sure why.
damian rubs his temples with the bottom of his palm, trying to calm his mind. he thinks, distantly, that these feelings are needlessly complicated, and decidedly confusing.
that they are weak.
“my grades are…fine. im valedictorian.”
“that’s incredible! that’s like, signifcantly better than fine!”
“fuck yeah. congrats, dames. y’ deserve it more than anyone.”
damian grimaces. not because of what he’s about to say, but because of who he’s telling.
“i’m…sharing it…” damian feels like the words are too big for his throat. “with park.”
jason and dick give each other a knowing look, eyebrows raised. they know you as the source of many of damian's many rage-fueled rants, and the person in the seat next to damian at award ceremonies. they look like they’re holding back words.
“alright, i don’t completely lack peripheral vision, you oafs.” a beat passes, and no one says anything. rare, damian thinks. “let’s just…talk about something else.”
“sure, dames. got a girlfriend yet?”
damian coughs in shock. he feels like someone’s punched him in the chest (not for nothing, because it did happen about two hours ago).
his thoughts flicker to you. mortified, he promptly tries to rationalise it. you were the closest thing he had to a friend, in school, at least. and…you are a girl. you’re beautiful, and witty, and kind, and smart, and driven - all the things his father tells him to look for.
but you two hate each other. well, he was certain you hated him. he was less certain of his own feelings.
he turns his head and glares at jason through the domino mask.
“twas only a simple query.” jason raises his hands in surrender.
“i’d had, like, two girlfriends and three boyfriends by the time i turned 18.” dick points out. damian and jason turn simultaneously, frowning in confusion.
“wha- oh! i’m not bragging, guys. i’m just saying,” he places a hand on damians shoulder, “it would just be normal and totally cool to tell us if you did have a…lil shi’.”
damian wrinkles his nose. “a what?”
“what? is that bad!? isn’t that what kids say!?” dick exclaims.
“your age is showing, grayson.”
“can’t disagree there. but dames, y’know, you should definitely tell us if you’re going to get up to…ahem, frivolous activities.” jason nods.
damian buries his head in his hands. “make it stop, todd.” he pleads, completely monotone. "i’m not doing any of that, yet.” damian insists. his brothers mercifully don’t say anything else, content to gaze at the fast-setting sun.
damian draws his knees to his chest. well, they’re here. they’ve both been in relationships. might as well give them something to talk about, he thinks.
“how do you know when you’re in love?”
jason wheezes a little. “christ, dames. y’oughta be askin’ that so young?”
“do you not have an answer, todd?” damian feels slightly flushed. he’s not great at talking about emotions, or asking other people for…anything.
jason sniffs. “think dickie can handle this one. tap in?” he mutters.
dick squares his shoulders and inhales, steadying himself.
“the first time i ever saw koriand’r-”
“-okay, i‘ve got a hot date with my freshly washed sheets and ‘little women (2018)’ tonight, so hows’about you don’t take a calendar year for this one story?” jason interrupts.
damian snorts despite himself. dick frowns.
“fine.” he says pointedly at jason, then tilts down to look at damian.
“well, dami, kori makes me question myself, and she challenges me. she never blindly listens to anyone, least of all me. she makes me want to be better. she makes me want to be the best. and when i’m not the best - cause god knows that shit’s hard - she’s there to support me. i admire every single part of her, and i want to be more like her. that's how you know.”
oh.
shit.
damian feels something unfamiliar and tight in his chest. he nods once. he works his jaw, and stares down. jasons tough, worn steel-toe timberlands, his own heeled, leather shoes, and dick’s dark, flexible suit are what greet him.
“let’s go home.” he mumbles and grapples off the rooftop, to dick’s car below. his brothers follow suit, dropping him off at the manor. dick farewells him with a "sleep well!"
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pairing: Diana Prince x f! reader (has a pussy + fem pronouns) x Clark Kent x Bruce Wayne x Barry Allen x Hal Jordan (at the same damn time!!!)
summary: when you get infected with a mysterious substance on a mission, there are only two options: die, or fuck your coworkers
cw: 4k words, dubcon, mentions of blood, mentions of death, sex pollen/aphrodisiacs, gangbang/orgy, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, pussy eating, fingering, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, voyeurism, creampies, lots of cum, doggystyle, stand & carry, double penetration, praise/degradation, reader gets passed around like crazy
froggi yaps -> HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! i have been SO SO SO EXCITED FOR THIS ONE!!! from the start i knew i wanted to do a crazy gangbang & it was either gonna be the JLA or if I was feeling lazy, Dick/Roy/Reader/Wally. anyway please enjoy my JLA insanity <3
not ready for halloween to be over yet? come trick or treating!
Of all the stupid things you’ve done in your life, walking directly into the glowing purple room on a hostile spaceship definitely ranks first.
You’d just finished fighting your way through the horde of robots that occupied the ship when you spotted it. Bruce had been in a heated discussion with Hal, scanning something in the alien-robot helmets that you didn’t quite understand. Barry had scratched his neck, trying to play mediator.
No one but you seemed to notice the glowing, whispering room only a few short steps down the hall. No one seemed to notice the incredible scent—oddly reminiscent of Diana’s perfume—or the way it beckoned you in.
No one noticed as you shuffled your feet towards it in a trance, picked up an ID card from one of the deceased robots, and scanned yourself into the room.
It was Clark that noticed first, his superior hearing perking up the minute he heard the soft click of the door. “What are you doing?”
Barry’s on his feet in an instant, tearing away from the argument. It’s a millisecond, maybe two, before he gets to you. But he’s too late.
Dazed, you’d already stumbled into the purple mist, the door sealing shut behind you.
The minutes after that were a blur. The mist had wrapped around you, invaded every pore, filled every breath until you weren’t sure if you were breathing or drowning. The burning in your lungs snapped you out of your trance and you immediately spun around to pound on the glass door in front of you.
It didn’t give. Even through Clark and Diana’s joint efforts, through every construct Hal could build and every plan Bruce could think of, the door didn’t give. You were trapped. Utterly helpless, suffocating.
The room only got hotter from there, the perfumey scent that had once been enticing now made your stomach churn. Your muscles weakened and you let yourself slide against the door, resigning yourself to dying on an alien-robot spaceship.
You were unconscious by the time the door opened three minutes later. Diana had immediately grabbed you and dragged you out, scrunching up her nose at the scent coming from the room.
Bruce checked your pulse, Clark scanning over you with his xray vision to make sure you weren’t injured. For all intents and purposes, you were fine. Sure, your core temperature was a little elevated, and yeah, you were unconscious—but you were fine.
Which brings you to now: waking up on the cold metal floor, a horrible ache rattling the back of your skull. There’s a scratch in your throat, a new sort of heat pulsing through you.
You blink up at the five faces above you, forcing yourself to sit up. The pain in the back of your head sharpens to a point as you sit, a trickle of blood leaking from your nose and over your lips.
You wipe it on the back of your hand without thinking, looking groggily around the room. “What happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Bruce says gruffly.
Diana crouches down next to you, brushing a thumb over the steady stream of blood coming from your nose. “How are you feeling?”
“Dizzy,” you admit. “Everything hurts.”
You open your mouth to apologize for wandering off and to warn them about the trance-like state the gas from the room put you in, but freeze when a wave of warmth rolls over you. It starts in your chest, radiating out through your veins and pooling in your lower stomach.
And then it burns, like acid is eating through your organs. You double over, gagging from the pain, pulling your knees into your stomach. Short, gasping breaths leave your lips.
Barry crouches on your other side, laying a gentle hand on your back. “Easy now, easy.” He looks at Diana over your head, frowning, “she’s a thousand degrees.”
The Amazonian nods solemnly though she doesn’t dare open her mouth lest her words make you feel even more anxious.
Somewhere off to the side, while you’re trying to keep your stomach from flipping inside out, Hal and Bruce are trying to figure out just what exactly was in that room. The purple coloured smoke was unlike anything either of them had seen before, and though neither of them want to admit it, that doesn’t bode well for an antidote.
The pain in your stomach subsides, narrowing down to your core. Your eyes shoot wide at the all too familiar feeling. You swallow, casting your gaze down.
“How’s the pain?” Clark asks, lips pursed in a frown.
His eyes lock with Diana’s in a silent conversation, Clark assessing your vitals as subtly as he can. You’ve only grown hotter since you woke up, the pain you once felt all over localizing to your lower half.
You double over in pain again, your stomach cramping the way it would when you’re on your period. Heat pools in your underwear, leaking through to the inner seams of your suit. Your lungs ache for air but every breath feels warm and shallow.
Diana rubs a hand over your lower stomach and the minute her palm makes contact, the pain briefly subsides. The sweet relief of a deep breath expands your lungs.
You lean into her touch, tilting your head to rest on her broad shoulders. The closer you are to her, the more of her that fills your senses, the better you feel.
At the same time you make this revelation, Bruce and Hal are joining back with the group.
Though it’s rare to see Bruce smile in his Batman persona as it is, the deep frown on his face feels like a bad sign. “We’ve figured out what the toxin was.”
Next to Bruce, Hal is an equal mix of concerned and flustered. The pair of them only makes your anxiety spike, the pain you’d staved off coming back.
“What is it?” Barry asks, his own hand resting comfortingly on your knee.
“The good news is that it’s not exactly a poison.”
You look up at Hal through your lashes, waiting for him to say more, about how this could possibly be good news.
It’s Bruce that speaks up. “It’s a lab made chemical, meant to help with population regrowth on near-desolated planets.”
No matter how horribly, desperately you don't want it to be true, you know that it is. Before he even continues speaking, a part of you knows what he’s going to say next. Knows what’s coming to you.
“It inflicts damage on your body, staying in your system until you either satiate it or…” He trails off and you swear the frown lines on his face deepen.
No one dares ask what comes after ‘or’.
It’s Diana that breaks the silence. “How is it satiated?”
“Population regrowth,” your voice cracks on the word. “You fix it by reproducing.”
Bruce nods solemnly, confirming what you already knew.
You lay your palms flat on the floor, trying to push yourself to your knees. The minute Diana and Barry’s hands fall off of you, the pain comes back tenfold, radiating up your spine until you’re dizzy.
The blood drips faster from your nose now, a metallic taste filling your mouth. You swallow it back, “if I can just—if we get back to the ship, I can take care of it.”
Barry’s hand finds its way back into your palm, the other one wiping away the blood that spills over your lip. “She won’t make it that long,” he looks up at Bruce with desperate eyes, “will she?”
Again, he shakes his head.
The drop in morale at that moment is so severe you can feel it, tensions rising around you. It’s only now that the gravity of the situation really settles into your chest.
Fear rises to your throat like bile. You’re going to die here, you’re going to die because you made a stupid mistake. And the only way you can stop it, the only way you can fix yourself, is to strip down in front of your friends—your coworkers—and fuck yourself like an unfixed dog.
“How long does it last?” Your voice sounds weaker now.
“We don’t know,” Hal admits. “From the scan Clark did on you, it could be hours, it could be days.”
Hours. Though you’re practically soaked through with arousal, though your pussy flutters in anticipation, the thought of masturbating with them in the room for hours makes your heart drop.
“I can stay here and you guys go back to the ship and I can meet you there—”
Please, god, do not let me have to touch myself in front of my coworkers.
You’re surprised when it’s not Hal or Bruce that speaks next, it’s Barry. “It doesn’t work like that, does it?”
Spoken like a true scientist.
“It’s for repopulation,” Bruce reiterates. “If you stay here alone, you will die.”
Hal’s eyes find yours from behind his mask. “You feel it, don’t you?” He gestures to the way Barry’s holding you, “the way touch makes the pain go away. The way the pain triples when you try to pull away.”
He speaks on the experience so eloquently, you can’t help but wonder if he’s gone through this before. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t quite read, one beyond the concern. One that looks an awful lot like understanding.
“So…” Clark begins.
“I either have sex with someone, or I die.” You look around the room, at each of the people around you, “it’s not fair. I can’t ask any of you to do that.”
The chorus of voices surprises you, though it probably shouldn’t given who you’re with. “I’ll do it.”
Damn heroes, always trying to rectify situations at the cost of themselves.
“I’d be taking advantage,” you frown, the pain in your stomach starting to come back again. “It’s unfair.”
Diana cups your face, turning your head to face her. “How is it that you’re the one in danger, and yet you’re worried about us?”
The feeling of her fingertips on your skin ignites something in you, simultaneously soothing the pain that lingers at the back of your spine.
You shrug your shoulders. “I just…don’t want any of you to do something you don’t want to.”
Again, they begin to protest, heads shaking at your antics.
Leave it to Hal Jordan to ask the hard questions. “So, who do you want to do it?”
“I—” You suck in a breath, Diana and Barry’s touch not chasing away the pain as well as it was before. “I don’t care, I trust you all. Just don’t let me die. Please.”
Right now, you’re not sure there’s anyone you trust more than the people in the room. You’ve dealt with countless problems by their sides, confided in them about all of your problems, grabbed beers with them after saving the world.
Your trust in them is unshakeable, absolute.
Immediately, the room dissolves into discussion. There’s arguments on who does it, on what they need to do, how careful they need to be. They discuss the possibility of the chemical spreading, of someone else being inflicted. Barry rises to his feet, dropping your hand to join the discussion.
And while the men argue, Diana cups your jaw and pulls you in for a dizzying kiss. Her lips are soft on yours, and despite the blood that’s dried to your own lips, she doesn’t seem to mind.
Her other hand finds the small of your back, drawing shapes over your spine. Her grip on you is strong, reassuring, a total comfort. You fall into her completely, letting her guide you onto your back, the cold metal of the floor staving off some of your heat.
Her tongue swipes across the back of your teeth, that familiar taste of hers filling your mouth. Her other hand trails down to the seam of your pants, dipping inside to rub at your heat.
For a minute, she’s surprised at how wet you are, how swollen your clit already is. But then she pushes past her shock, her thumb rubbing circles with just enough pressure to have wave after wave of ecstasy rolling over you.
She pulls away—just for a second—to pull your pants down to your knees, giving herself easier access to you. Her mouth greedily swallows every moan before it can hit the air, muffling it from the men still arguing around you.
Every touch is intentional, every swish of her tongue in your mouth synchronized with her finger on your clit. You’re sure the drug must be heightening your senses, making you all too sensitive to her touch.
She’s barely slipped a finger inside of you when you’re already coming undone, electricity bolting up your spine as your walls pulse around her finger. The aftershocks of your orgasm chase away the pain, the fear—everything.
"Good girl," she praises. "I'll take care of you."
And then she’s kissing down your chest, lips sucking at your neck. She starts to slowly move her finger inside of you again, her other hand leaving your face to push the fabric of your shirt up. She kisses further down, lips getting closer and closer to where she’s fucking you with her finger.
Just as her mouth attaches to your clit, another finger pushes inside of you. A particularly loud moan slips from your lips and without Diana there to muffle it, the cacophonous arguing stops.
“Holy shit,” Hal breathes, and suddenly you’re way too aware of four sets of eyes watching the two of you.
Diana looks up at you, long lashes framing her eyes. “Let them watch,” she says, “maybe they could learn something.”
Her fingers curl inside of you and you moan again, the sound rattling the room. You arch your back, whining. Your eyes flutter shut, that knot in your stomach building up almost as fast as it did the first time.
Your thighs shake on either side of her head, nails digging into your palms. You try to close your legs but then they’re being forced apart by a pair of floating green hands.
You blink at Hal, who’s since discarded his mask. He grins in return.
And then you’re finishing again, slick coating Diana’s face and tongue as she eats you through it. You can feel their eyes on you even through your orgasm, even as your eyes flutter closed and your muscles all twitch.
Then Diana is pulling her mouth away, taking deep breaths as she gives you a minute of rest. It’s only a minute, but already the pain starts to come back as a dull ache.
“How are you feeling?” Clark asks.
“It’s starting to hurt again…”
He doesn’t ask another question before he’s replacing Diana on the floor in front of you, adjusting his suit until he can free his cock. He’s already somewhat hard—the two of you had put on quite the show.
Clark and Diana’s willingness to fuck you in front of everybody almost has you feeling guilty for your hesitance earlier. You trust these people, you love these people. How could you doubt that?
“Come here,” he opens his arms to you, “I got you.”
And then you’re crawling into his arms, letting him pick you off the floor. With his strength, he does it with ease, slowly lowering you down onto his cock. The minute his head pierces your entrance, you have to bite down on your lip to keep from being too loud.
You take him inch by inch, your body adjusting much more easily than it usually would. Despite your aching need, Clark’s gentle with you. He takes his time, watching every twitch of your body for a sign he should stop.
When you’ve finally taken all of him, the two of you gasp in sync. You wrap your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair. He tightens his grips around your thighs and then he’s lifting you up and dropping you back down on his cock.
With every motion, he pierces deeper inside of you. Your walls suck him in, beg him for more, beg him to go deeper. You’re so close to him, you can feel the beat of his heart, hear every tiny hitch in his breath.
He guides you up and down his cock like a toy, and you let him, going boneless in his arms. Lurid sounds leave your lips but you’re long past the point of caring. You drag your hands from his neck down to his back, scratching at his shoulders, though Clark doesn’t seem to mind.
“You’re so warm,” he groans. “So hot.”
Maybe it’s the toxin or your own overstimulation but it only takes a few minutes before you’re finishing again, muscles clenching up, pussy tightening around Clark’s cock like it’s trying to milk him dry. He fixes his lips against yours, bearing your weight completely while you orgasm.
“That’s it. Let it all out, sweetheart.”
It’s only a few more thrusts for Clark before he’s finishing too. Both the heat and the sudden tightness of your walls is too much for him. He presses his hips flush against yours, the head of his cock kissing your cervix as he comes. He fills you up, the warm fluid slowly leaking out of you.
He kisses you again, softly. “Do you need more?”
You feel horribly greedy as you nod your head yes, barely registering what’s happening as Clark passes you to Hal and Bruce.
The two men take you between them, holding you up despite the way your knees shake and threaten to buckle at any second.
Hal pulls you in for a tantalizing kiss. It’s needy and sloppy, punctuated with the desperation he feels after watching you get fucked by his teammates. Bruce’s hands make quick work of your uniform, finishing what Diana had started earlier.
Being free from the fabric cools you down only slightly, the heat from their bodies immediately making up for it. There’s a flash of green light and then there’s a bed only a few feet away from you.
Bruce grabs you, practically throwing you on top of it before the two men and Barry join you.
It’s a blur of hands and lips from there, the three of them somehow wrestling you onto your knees. Bruce is behind you, lining his cock up with your entrance, while Hal and Barry both sit on their knees in front.
Bruce taps your back, just once. "You're still okay?"
You weakly hum in agreement, arching your back to encourage him.
Bruce doesn’t waste a second before he pushes himself inside of you, Clark’s leftover cum acting as lube. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, Barry slipping his fingers inside. You don’t even think, your lips just close around them and you start sucking.
Bruce’s thrusts are aggressive, rocking both you and the bed, sending Barry’s fingers further down your throat. And then he’s replacing his fingers with his cock, your jaw aching at the sudden stretch.
You let your eyes flutter closed, letting the two men use you. Every thrust sends you further against the other, a perfectly choreographed dance between them. One goes deep and sends the other deeper, Bruce’s thick cock filling you so much that it’s hard to breathe.
Meanwhile, Hal rubs the hair away from your face and the sweat away from your forehead. “You’re like a pro,” he jokes. “You’re taking them so well.”
Barry gasps as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. “Fuck, Hal, you gotta try.”
And then they’re switching places, Hal’s cock replacing Barry’s in your mouth, Barry’s lips attacking the side of your neck instead.
Bruce digs his fingers deeper into your hips, fingertips sure to bruise you the next day. He slams himself deeper against you, every thrust punctuated with a cock muffled moan from you.
Barry’s teeth graze the side of your neck, his hand slipping down to rub circles on your clit and that’s all it takes for you to come undone all over again. Your arms shake violently, sending you pitching forward on the bed. Lucky for you, Barry catches your head, keeping you up the best he can while you get spitroasted on their cocks.
Bruce fucks you through your high and then he’s falling apart with you, his cock twitching in your walls. With one final, rough thrust, he pushes himself in balls deep and lets himself cum inside of you.
Hal pulls his cock out of your mouth, letting you breathe freely while you fight the aftershocks of your orgasm.
When you’ve finally come to enough, you blink up at the man. “Want you next,” you declare, “you and Barry.”
And after the show you’ve put on, neither man is in any place to argue. Barry holds you against his chest while Hal moves away, repositioning himself where Bruce was only a minute ago.
Hal helps you move your quivering thighs on either side of Barry’s, grabbing the man’s cock and slipping the head inside of you. Bruce and Clark’s cum drips out, sliding down his shaft and onto his thighs.
Barry’s tip slips inside of you easily, his arms wrapping around your back to hold you still while Hal positions himself. The Lantern grips your hip with one hand and slowly guides his cock to your entrance with the other.
There’s pressure, your aching hole struggling to accommodate both of them, but Hal Jordan is not one to give up.
He rubs a hand up your back, “breathe, baby. Deep breaths.”
You try to do as he says, letting yourself go limp against Barry. With your muscles relaxed, his cock slides inside of you easily. You’re full, so full you can barely move, but fuck it feels so good. That constant gnawing heat that’s been plaguing you dissipates into almost nothing, every thought in your head clears away.
Barry thrusts first and it’s such a tight fit that that alone has your eyes rolling back. Hal goes next, the friction of their cocks inside of you making your mind go blank. They continue in that rhythm, sloppy at first as they try to find a suitable pace.
"F-fuck, it's so tight." Barry curses.
Barry kisses at your cheek, your temple, the side of your head, trying to soothe you as both men fuck into you. Your pussy aches, your walls shaking sheerly from the fullness.
Hal digs his nails into your skin, crescent marks of his fingers matching Bruce’s from only a few minutes ago. His thrusts are frantic and fast and nearly violent, sending you further into Barry’s chest with every single one.
Barry is only slightly better, faster than Hal and just as punishing, but much less desperate.
"That's it, baby," Hal praises. "Let us take care of you."
You let yourself fall against them, let them fuck you while your mind goes entirely blank. That knot inside of you builds and builds and builds, heat radiating from your core until you finally snap and cum.
It’s already a tight fit with both of them inside of you but with your walls clenching up, it’s almost painful. Hal comes first, his cock twitching and filling you up pretty much the second you finish.
Barry’s next, the combined heat of your slick and Hal’s too much for him. He squeezes you tightly against his chest while he finishes inside of you, hot cum filling you to the brim.
You’re left sweaty and gasping, laying against Barry’s chest on the construct bed that Hal made.
Barry kisses the side of your head. “How are you feeling?”
“G-good, I think.”
It’s a few minutes before the three of you untangle from each other, both Hal and Barry climbing off of the bed. Barry offers you a hand, helping you onto your feet and keeping you up despite the exhaustion plaguing your body.
“I-I’m feeling better,” you announce to no one in particular. “Thank you guys for helping.”
“That’s good,” Bruce says, gesturing over his shoulder. “But we have another problem now.”
You squint, following the line his finger points to to see Diana, flushed and naked, and Clark, on his knees and eating her out.
Fuck, you think to yourself. It must have been contagious after all.
pairing: Diana Prince x f! reader (has a pussy + fem pronouns) x Clark Kent x Bruce Wayne x Barry Allen x Hal Jordan (at the same damn time!!!)
summary: when you get infected with a mysterious substance on a mission, there are only two options: die, or fuck your coworkers
cw: 4k words, dubcon, mentions of blood, mentions of death, sex pollen/aphrodisiacs, gangbang/orgy, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, pussy eating, fingering, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, voyeurism, creampies, lots of cum, doggystyle, stand & carry, double penetration, praise/degradation, reader gets passed around like crazy
froggi yaps -> HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! i have been SO SO SO EXCITED FOR THIS ONE!!! from the start i knew i wanted to do a crazy gangbang & it was either gonna be the JLA or if I was feeling lazy, Dick/Roy/Reader/Wally. anyway please enjoy my JLA insanity <3
not ready for halloween to be over yet? come trick or treating!
Of all the stupid things you’ve done in your life, walking directly into the glowing purple room on a hostile spaceship definitely ranks first.
You’d just finished fighting your way through the horde of robots that occupied the ship when you spotted it. Bruce had been in a heated discussion with Hal, scanning something in the alien-robot helmets that you didn’t quite understand. Barry had scratched his neck, trying to play mediator.
No one but you seemed to notice the glowing, whispering room only a few short steps down the hall. No one seemed to notice the incredible scent—oddly reminiscent of Diana’s perfume—or the way it beckoned you in.
No one noticed as you shuffled your feet towards it in a trance, picked up an ID card from one of the deceased robots, and scanned yourself into the room.
It was Clark that noticed first, his superior hearing perking up the minute he heard the soft click of the door. “What are you doing?”
Barry’s on his feet in an instant, tearing away from the argument. It’s a millisecond, maybe two, before he gets to you. But he’s too late.
Dazed, you’d already stumbled into the purple mist, the door sealing shut behind you.
The minutes after that were a blur. The mist had wrapped around you, invaded every pore, filled every breath until you weren’t sure if you were breathing or drowning. The burning in your lungs snapped you out of your trance and you immediately spun around to pound on the glass door in front of you.
It didn’t give. Even through Clark and Diana’s joint efforts, through every construct Hal could build and every plan Bruce could think of, the door didn’t give. You were trapped. Utterly helpless, suffocating.
The room only got hotter from there, the perfumey scent that had once been enticing now made your stomach churn. Your muscles weakened and you let yourself slide against the door, resigning yourself to dying on an alien-robot spaceship.
You were unconscious by the time the door opened three minutes later. Diana had immediately grabbed you and dragged you out, scrunching up her nose at the scent coming from the room.
Bruce checked your pulse, Clark scanning over you with his xray vision to make sure you weren’t injured. For all intents and purposes, you were fine. Sure, your core temperature was a little elevated, and yeah, you were unconscious—but you were fine.
Which brings you to now: waking up on the cold metal floor, a horrible ache rattling the back of your skull. There’s a scratch in your throat, a new sort of heat pulsing through you.
You blink up at the five faces above you, forcing yourself to sit up. The pain in the back of your head sharpens to a point as you sit, a trickle of blood leaking from your nose and over your lips.
You wipe it on the back of your hand without thinking, looking groggily around the room. “What happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Bruce says gruffly.
Diana crouches down next to you, brushing a thumb over the steady stream of blood coming from your nose. “How are you feeling?”
“Dizzy,” you admit. “Everything hurts.”
You open your mouth to apologize for wandering off and to warn them about the trance-like state the gas from the room put you in, but freeze when a wave of warmth rolls over you. It starts in your chest, radiating out through your veins and pooling in your lower stomach.
And then it burns, like acid is eating through your organs. You double over, gagging from the pain, pulling your knees into your stomach. Short, gasping breaths leave your lips.
Barry crouches on your other side, laying a gentle hand on your back. “Easy now, easy.” He looks at Diana over your head, frowning, “she’s a thousand degrees.”
The Amazonian nods solemnly though she doesn’t dare open her mouth lest her words make you feel even more anxious.
Somewhere off to the side, while you’re trying to keep your stomach from flipping inside out, Hal and Bruce are trying to figure out just what exactly was in that room. The purple coloured smoke was unlike anything either of them had seen before, and though neither of them want to admit it, that doesn’t bode well for an antidote.
The pain in your stomach subsides, narrowing down to your core. Your eyes shoot wide at the all too familiar feeling. You swallow, casting your gaze down.
“How’s the pain?” Clark asks, lips pursed in a frown.
His eyes lock with Diana’s in a silent conversation, Clark assessing your vitals as subtly as he can. You’ve only grown hotter since you woke up, the pain you once felt all over localizing to your lower half.
You double over in pain again, your stomach cramping the way it would when you’re on your period. Heat pools in your underwear, leaking through to the inner seams of your suit. Your lungs ache for air but every breath feels warm and shallow.
Diana rubs a hand over your lower stomach and the minute her palm makes contact, the pain briefly subsides. The sweet relief of a deep breath expands your lungs.
You lean into her touch, tilting your head to rest on her broad shoulders. The closer you are to her, the more of her that fills your senses, the better you feel.
At the same time you make this revelation, Bruce and Hal are joining back with the group.
Though it’s rare to see Bruce smile in his Batman persona as it is, the deep frown on his face feels like a bad sign. “We’ve figured out what the toxin was.”
Next to Bruce, Hal is an equal mix of concerned and flustered. The pair of them only makes your anxiety spike, the pain you’d staved off coming back.
“What is it?” Barry asks, his own hand resting comfortingly on your knee.
“The good news is that it’s not exactly a poison.”
You look up at Hal through your lashes, waiting for him to say more, about how this could possibly be good news.
It’s Bruce that speaks up. “It’s a lab made chemical, meant to help with population regrowth on near-desolated planets.”
No matter how horribly, desperately you don't want it to be true, you know that it is. Before he even continues speaking, a part of you knows what he’s going to say next. Knows what’s coming to you.
“It inflicts damage on your body, staying in your system until you either satiate it or…” He trails off and you swear the frown lines on his face deepen.
No one dares ask what comes after ‘or’.
It’s Diana that breaks the silence. “How is it satiated?”
“Population regrowth,” your voice cracks on the word. “You fix it by reproducing.”
Bruce nods solemnly, confirming what you already knew.
You lay your palms flat on the floor, trying to push yourself to your knees. The minute Diana and Barry’s hands fall off of you, the pain comes back tenfold, radiating up your spine until you’re dizzy.
The blood drips faster from your nose now, a metallic taste filling your mouth. You swallow it back, “if I can just—if we get back to the ship, I can take care of it.”
Barry’s hand finds its way back into your palm, the other one wiping away the blood that spills over your lip. “She won’t make it that long,” he looks up at Bruce with desperate eyes, “will she?”
Again, he shakes his head.
The drop in morale at that moment is so severe you can feel it, tensions rising around you. It’s only now that the gravity of the situation really settles into your chest.
Fear rises to your throat like bile. You’re going to die here, you’re going to die because you made a stupid mistake. And the only way you can stop it, the only way you can fix yourself, is to strip down in front of your friends—your coworkers—and fuck yourself like an unfixed dog.
“How long does it last?” Your voice sounds weaker now.
“We don’t know,” Hal admits. “From the scan Clark did on you, it could be hours, it could be days.”
Hours. Though you’re practically soaked through with arousal, though your pussy flutters in anticipation, the thought of masturbating with them in the room for hours makes your heart drop.
“I can stay here and you guys go back to the ship and I can meet you there—”
Please, god, do not let me have to touch myself in front of my coworkers.
You’re surprised when it’s not Hal or Bruce that speaks next, it’s Barry. “It doesn’t work like that, does it?”
Spoken like a true scientist.
“It’s for repopulation,” Bruce reiterates. “If you stay here alone, you will die.”
Hal’s eyes find yours from behind his mask. “You feel it, don’t you?” He gestures to the way Barry’s holding you, “the way touch makes the pain go away. The way the pain triples when you try to pull away.”
He speaks on the experience so eloquently, you can’t help but wonder if he’s gone through this before. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t quite read, one beyond the concern. One that looks an awful lot like understanding.
“So…” Clark begins.
“I either have sex with someone, or I die.” You look around the room, at each of the people around you, “it’s not fair. I can’t ask any of you to do that.”
The chorus of voices surprises you, though it probably shouldn’t given who you’re with. “I’ll do it.”
Damn heroes, always trying to rectify situations at the cost of themselves.
“I’d be taking advantage,” you frown, the pain in your stomach starting to come back again. “It’s unfair.”
Diana cups your face, turning your head to face her. “How is it that you’re the one in danger, and yet you’re worried about us?”
The feeling of her fingertips on your skin ignites something in you, simultaneously soothing the pain that lingers at the back of your spine.
You shrug your shoulders. “I just…don’t want any of you to do something you don’t want to.”
Again, they begin to protest, heads shaking at your antics.
Leave it to Hal Jordan to ask the hard questions. “So, who do you want to do it?”
“I—” You suck in a breath, Diana and Barry’s touch not chasing away the pain as well as it was before. “I don’t care, I trust you all. Just don’t let me die. Please.”
Right now, you’re not sure there’s anyone you trust more than the people in the room. You’ve dealt with countless problems by their sides, confided in them about all of your problems, grabbed beers with them after saving the world.
Your trust in them is unshakeable, absolute.
Immediately, the room dissolves into discussion. There’s arguments on who does it, on what they need to do, how careful they need to be. They discuss the possibility of the chemical spreading, of someone else being inflicted. Barry rises to his feet, dropping your hand to join the discussion.
And while the men argue, Diana cups your jaw and pulls you in for a dizzying kiss. Her lips are soft on yours, and despite the blood that’s dried to your own lips, she doesn’t seem to mind.
Her other hand finds the small of your back, drawing shapes over your spine. Her grip on you is strong, reassuring, a total comfort. You fall into her completely, letting her guide you onto your back, the cold metal of the floor staving off some of your heat.
Her tongue swipes across the back of your teeth, that familiar taste of hers filling your mouth. Her other hand trails down to the seam of your pants, dipping inside to rub at your heat.
For a minute, she’s surprised at how wet you are, how swollen your clit already is. But then she pushes past her shock, her thumb rubbing circles with just enough pressure to have wave after wave of ecstasy rolling over you.
She pulls away—just for a second—to pull your pants down to your knees, giving herself easier access to you. Her mouth greedily swallows every moan before it can hit the air, muffling it from the men still arguing around you.
Every touch is intentional, every swish of her tongue in your mouth synchronized with her finger on your clit. You’re sure the drug must be heightening your senses, making you all too sensitive to her touch.
She’s barely slipped a finger inside of you when you’re already coming undone, electricity bolting up your spine as your walls pulse around her finger. The aftershocks of your orgasm chase away the pain, the fear—everything.
"Good girl," she praises. "I'll take care of you."
And then she’s kissing down your chest, lips sucking at your neck. She starts to slowly move her finger inside of you again, her other hand leaving your face to push the fabric of your shirt up. She kisses further down, lips getting closer and closer to where she’s fucking you with her finger.
Just as her mouth attaches to your clit, another finger pushes inside of you. A particularly loud moan slips from your lips and without Diana there to muffle it, the cacophonous arguing stops.
“Holy shit,” Hal breathes, and suddenly you’re way too aware of four sets of eyes watching the two of you.
Diana looks up at you, long lashes framing her eyes. “Let them watch,” she says, “maybe they could learn something.”
Her fingers curl inside of you and you moan again, the sound rattling the room. You arch your back, whining. Your eyes flutter shut, that knot in your stomach building up almost as fast as it did the first time.
Your thighs shake on either side of her head, nails digging into your palms. You try to close your legs but then they’re being forced apart by a pair of floating green hands.
You blink at Hal, who’s since discarded his mask. He grins in return.
And then you’re finishing again, slick coating Diana’s face and tongue as she eats you through it. You can feel their eyes on you even through your orgasm, even as your eyes flutter closed and your muscles all twitch.
Then Diana is pulling her mouth away, taking deep breaths as she gives you a minute of rest. It’s only a minute, but already the pain starts to come back as a dull ache.
“How are you feeling?” Clark asks.
“It’s starting to hurt again…”
He doesn’t ask another question before he’s replacing Diana on the floor in front of you, adjusting his suit until he can free his cock. He’s already somewhat hard—the two of you had put on quite the show.
Clark and Diana’s willingness to fuck you in front of everybody almost has you feeling guilty for your hesitance earlier. You trust these people, you love these people. How could you doubt that?
“Come here,” he opens his arms to you, “I got you.”
And then you’re crawling into his arms, letting him pick you off the floor. With his strength, he does it with ease, slowly lowering you down onto his cock. The minute his head pierces your entrance, you have to bite down on your lip to keep from being too loud.
You take him inch by inch, your body adjusting much more easily than it usually would. Despite your aching need, Clark’s gentle with you. He takes his time, watching every twitch of your body for a sign he should stop.
When you’ve finally taken all of him, the two of you gasp in sync. You wrap your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair. He tightens his grips around your thighs and then he’s lifting you up and dropping you back down on his cock.
With every motion, he pierces deeper inside of you. Your walls suck him in, beg him for more, beg him to go deeper. You’re so close to him, you can feel the beat of his heart, hear every tiny hitch in his breath.
He guides you up and down his cock like a toy, and you let him, going boneless in his arms. Lurid sounds leave your lips but you’re long past the point of caring. You drag your hands from his neck down to his back, scratching at his shoulders, though Clark doesn’t seem to mind.
“You’re so warm,” he groans. “So hot.”
Maybe it’s the toxin or your own overstimulation but it only takes a few minutes before you’re finishing again, muscles clenching up, pussy tightening around Clark’s cock like it’s trying to milk him dry. He fixes his lips against yours, bearing your weight completely while you orgasm.
“That’s it. Let it all out, sweetheart.”
It’s only a few more thrusts for Clark before he’s finishing too. Both the heat and the sudden tightness of your walls is too much for him. He presses his hips flush against yours, the head of his cock kissing your cervix as he comes. He fills you up, the warm fluid slowly leaking out of you.
He kisses you again, softly. “Do you need more?”
You feel horribly greedy as you nod your head yes, barely registering what’s happening as Clark passes you to Hal and Bruce.
The two men take you between them, holding you up despite the way your knees shake and threaten to buckle at any second.
Hal pulls you in for a tantalizing kiss. It’s needy and sloppy, punctuated with the desperation he feels after watching you get fucked by his teammates. Bruce’s hands make quick work of your uniform, finishing what Diana had started earlier.
Being free from the fabric cools you down only slightly, the heat from their bodies immediately making up for it. There’s a flash of green light and then there’s a bed only a few feet away from you.
Bruce grabs you, practically throwing you on top of it before the two men and Barry join you.
It’s a blur of hands and lips from there, the three of them somehow wrestling you onto your knees. Bruce is behind you, lining his cock up with your entrance, while Hal and Barry both sit on their knees in front.
Bruce taps your back, just once. "You're still okay?"
You weakly hum in agreement, arching your back to encourage him.
Bruce doesn’t waste a second before he pushes himself inside of you, Clark’s leftover cum acting as lube. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, Barry slipping his fingers inside. You don’t even think, your lips just close around them and you start sucking.
Bruce’s thrusts are aggressive, rocking both you and the bed, sending Barry’s fingers further down your throat. And then he’s replacing his fingers with his cock, your jaw aching at the sudden stretch.
You let your eyes flutter closed, letting the two men use you. Every thrust sends you further against the other, a perfectly choreographed dance between them. One goes deep and sends the other deeper, Bruce’s thick cock filling you so much that it’s hard to breathe.
Meanwhile, Hal rubs the hair away from your face and the sweat away from your forehead. “You’re like a pro,” he jokes. “You’re taking them so well.”
Barry gasps as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. “Fuck, Hal, you gotta try.”
And then they’re switching places, Hal’s cock replacing Barry’s in your mouth, Barry’s lips attacking the side of your neck instead.
Bruce digs his fingers deeper into your hips, fingertips sure to bruise you the next day. He slams himself deeper against you, every thrust punctuated with a cock muffled moan from you.
Barry’s teeth graze the side of your neck, his hand slipping down to rub circles on your clit and that’s all it takes for you to come undone all over again. Your arms shake violently, sending you pitching forward on the bed. Lucky for you, Barry catches your head, keeping you up the best he can while you get spitroasted on their cocks.
Bruce fucks you through your high and then he’s falling apart with you, his cock twitching in your walls. With one final, rough thrust, he pushes himself in balls deep and lets himself cum inside of you.
Hal pulls his cock out of your mouth, letting you breathe freely while you fight the aftershocks of your orgasm.
When you’ve finally come to enough, you blink up at the man. “Want you next,” you declare, “you and Barry.”
And after the show you’ve put on, neither man is in any place to argue. Barry holds you against his chest while Hal moves away, repositioning himself where Bruce was only a minute ago.
Hal helps you move your quivering thighs on either side of Barry’s, grabbing the man’s cock and slipping the head inside of you. Bruce and Clark’s cum drips out, sliding down his shaft and onto his thighs.
Barry’s tip slips inside of you easily, his arms wrapping around your back to hold you still while Hal positions himself. The Lantern grips your hip with one hand and slowly guides his cock to your entrance with the other.
There’s pressure, your aching hole struggling to accommodate both of them, but Hal Jordan is not one to give up.
He rubs a hand up your back, “breathe, baby. Deep breaths.”
You try to do as he says, letting yourself go limp against Barry. With your muscles relaxed, his cock slides inside of you easily. You’re full, so full you can barely move, but fuck it feels so good. That constant gnawing heat that’s been plaguing you dissipates into almost nothing, every thought in your head clears away.
Barry thrusts first and it’s such a tight fit that that alone has your eyes rolling back. Hal goes next, the friction of their cocks inside of you making your mind go blank. They continue in that rhythm, sloppy at first as they try to find a suitable pace.
"F-fuck, it's so tight." Barry curses.
Barry kisses at your cheek, your temple, the side of your head, trying to soothe you as both men fuck into you. Your pussy aches, your walls shaking sheerly from the fullness.
Hal digs his nails into your skin, crescent marks of his fingers matching Bruce’s from only a few minutes ago. His thrusts are frantic and fast and nearly violent, sending you further into Barry’s chest with every single one.
Barry is only slightly better, faster than Hal and just as punishing, but much less desperate.
"That's it, baby," Hal praises. "Let us take care of you."
You let yourself fall against them, let them fuck you while your mind goes entirely blank. That knot inside of you builds and builds and builds, heat radiating from your core until you finally snap and cum.
It’s already a tight fit with both of them inside of you but with your walls clenching up, it’s almost painful. Hal comes first, his cock twitching and filling you up pretty much the second you finish.
Barry’s next, the combined heat of your slick and Hal’s too much for him. He squeezes you tightly against his chest while he finishes inside of you, hot cum filling you to the brim.
You’re left sweaty and gasping, laying against Barry’s chest on the construct bed that Hal made.
Barry kisses the side of your head. “How are you feeling?”
“G-good, I think.”
It’s a few minutes before the three of you untangle from each other, both Hal and Barry climbing off of the bed. Barry offers you a hand, helping you onto your feet and keeping you up despite the exhaustion plaguing your body.
“I-I’m feeling better,” you announce to no one in particular. “Thank you guys for helping.”
“That’s good,” Bruce says, gesturing over his shoulder. “But we have another problem now.”
You squint, following the line his finger points to to see Diana, flushed and naked, and Clark, on his knees and eating her out.
Fuck, you think to yourself. It must have been contagious after all.
pairing: Diana Prince x f! reader (has a pussy + fem pronouns) x Clark Kent x Bruce Wayne x Barry Allen x Hal Jordan (at the same damn time!!!)
summary: when you get infected with a mysterious substance on a mission, there are only two options: die, or fuck your coworkers
cw: 4k words, dubcon, mentions of blood, mentions of death, sex pollen/aphrodisiacs, gangbang/orgy, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, pussy eating, fingering, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, voyeurism, creampies, lots of cum, doggystyle, stand & carry, double penetration, praise/degradation, reader gets passed around like crazy
froggi yaps -> HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! i have been SO SO SO EXCITED FOR THIS ONE!!! from the start i knew i wanted to do a crazy gangbang & it was either gonna be the JLA or if I was feeling lazy, Dick/Roy/Reader/Wally. anyway please enjoy my JLA insanity <3
not ready for halloween to be over yet? come trick or treating!
Of all the stupid things you’ve done in your life, walking directly into the glowing purple room on a hostile spaceship definitely ranks first.
You’d just finished fighting your way through the horde of robots that occupied the ship when you spotted it. Bruce had been in a heated discussion with Hal, scanning something in the alien-robot helmets that you didn’t quite understand. Barry had scratched his neck, trying to play mediator.
No one but you seemed to notice the glowing, whispering room only a few short steps down the hall. No one seemed to notice the incredible scent—oddly reminiscent of Diana’s perfume—or the way it beckoned you in.
No one noticed as you shuffled your feet towards it in a trance, picked up an ID card from one of the deceased robots, and scanned yourself into the room.
It was Clark that noticed first, his superior hearing perking up the minute he heard the soft click of the door. “What are you doing?”
Barry’s on his feet in an instant, tearing away from the argument. It’s a millisecond, maybe two, before he gets to you. But he’s too late.
Dazed, you’d already stumbled into the purple mist, the door sealing shut behind you.
The minutes after that were a blur. The mist had wrapped around you, invaded every pore, filled every breath until you weren’t sure if you were breathing or drowning. The burning in your lungs snapped you out of your trance and you immediately spun around to pound on the glass door in front of you.
It didn’t give. Even through Clark and Diana’s joint efforts, through every construct Hal could build and every plan Bruce could think of, the door didn’t give. You were trapped. Utterly helpless, suffocating.
The room only got hotter from there, the perfumey scent that had once been enticing now made your stomach churn. Your muscles weakened and you let yourself slide against the door, resigning yourself to dying on an alien-robot spaceship.
You were unconscious by the time the door opened three minutes later. Diana had immediately grabbed you and dragged you out, scrunching up her nose at the scent coming from the room.
Bruce checked your pulse, Clark scanning over you with his xray vision to make sure you weren’t injured. For all intents and purposes, you were fine. Sure, your core temperature was a little elevated, and yeah, you were unconscious—but you were fine.
Which brings you to now: waking up on the cold metal floor, a horrible ache rattling the back of your skull. There’s a scratch in your throat, a new sort of heat pulsing through you.
You blink up at the five faces above you, forcing yourself to sit up. The pain in the back of your head sharpens to a point as you sit, a trickle of blood leaking from your nose and over your lips.
You wipe it on the back of your hand without thinking, looking groggily around the room. “What happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Bruce says gruffly.
Diana crouches down next to you, brushing a thumb over the steady stream of blood coming from your nose. “How are you feeling?”
“Dizzy,” you admit. “Everything hurts.”
You open your mouth to apologize for wandering off and to warn them about the trance-like state the gas from the room put you in, but freeze when a wave of warmth rolls over you. It starts in your chest, radiating out through your veins and pooling in your lower stomach.
And then it burns, like acid is eating through your organs. You double over, gagging from the pain, pulling your knees into your stomach. Short, gasping breaths leave your lips.
Barry crouches on your other side, laying a gentle hand on your back. “Easy now, easy.” He looks at Diana over your head, frowning, “she’s a thousand degrees.”
The Amazonian nods solemnly though she doesn’t dare open her mouth lest her words make you feel even more anxious.
Somewhere off to the side, while you’re trying to keep your stomach from flipping inside out, Hal and Bruce are trying to figure out just what exactly was in that room. The purple coloured smoke was unlike anything either of them had seen before, and though neither of them want to admit it, that doesn’t bode well for an antidote.
The pain in your stomach subsides, narrowing down to your core. Your eyes shoot wide at the all too familiar feeling. You swallow, casting your gaze down.
“How’s the pain?” Clark asks, lips pursed in a frown.
His eyes lock with Diana’s in a silent conversation, Clark assessing your vitals as subtly as he can. You’ve only grown hotter since you woke up, the pain you once felt all over localizing to your lower half.
You double over in pain again, your stomach cramping the way it would when you’re on your period. Heat pools in your underwear, leaking through to the inner seams of your suit. Your lungs ache for air but every breath feels warm and shallow.
Diana rubs a hand over your lower stomach and the minute her palm makes contact, the pain briefly subsides. The sweet relief of a deep breath expands your lungs.
You lean into her touch, tilting your head to rest on her broad shoulders. The closer you are to her, the more of her that fills your senses, the better you feel.
At the same time you make this revelation, Bruce and Hal are joining back with the group.
Though it’s rare to see Bruce smile in his Batman persona as it is, the deep frown on his face feels like a bad sign. “We’ve figured out what the toxin was.”
Next to Bruce, Hal is an equal mix of concerned and flustered. The pair of them only makes your anxiety spike, the pain you’d staved off coming back.
“What is it?” Barry asks, his own hand resting comfortingly on your knee.
“The good news is that it’s not exactly a poison.”
You look up at Hal through your lashes, waiting for him to say more, about how this could possibly be good news.
It’s Bruce that speaks up. “It’s a lab made chemical, meant to help with population regrowth on near-desolated planets.”
No matter how horribly, desperately you don't want it to be true, you know that it is. Before he even continues speaking, a part of you knows what he’s going to say next. Knows what’s coming to you.
“It inflicts damage on your body, staying in your system until you either satiate it or…” He trails off and you swear the frown lines on his face deepen.
No one dares ask what comes after ‘or’.
It’s Diana that breaks the silence. “How is it satiated?”
“Population regrowth,” your voice cracks on the word. “You fix it by reproducing.”
Bruce nods solemnly, confirming what you already knew.
You lay your palms flat on the floor, trying to push yourself to your knees. The minute Diana and Barry’s hands fall off of you, the pain comes back tenfold, radiating up your spine until you’re dizzy.
The blood drips faster from your nose now, a metallic taste filling your mouth. You swallow it back, “if I can just—if we get back to the ship, I can take care of it.”
Barry’s hand finds its way back into your palm, the other one wiping away the blood that spills over your lip. “She won’t make it that long,” he looks up at Bruce with desperate eyes, “will she?”
Again, he shakes his head.
The drop in morale at that moment is so severe you can feel it, tensions rising around you. It’s only now that the gravity of the situation really settles into your chest.
Fear rises to your throat like bile. You’re going to die here, you’re going to die because you made a stupid mistake. And the only way you can stop it, the only way you can fix yourself, is to strip down in front of your friends—your coworkers—and fuck yourself like an unfixed dog.
“How long does it last?” Your voice sounds weaker now.
“We don’t know,” Hal admits. “From the scan Clark did on you, it could be hours, it could be days.”
Hours. Though you’re practically soaked through with arousal, though your pussy flutters in anticipation, the thought of masturbating with them in the room for hours makes your heart drop.
“I can stay here and you guys go back to the ship and I can meet you there—”
Please, god, do not let me have to touch myself in front of my coworkers.
You’re surprised when it’s not Hal or Bruce that speaks next, it’s Barry. “It doesn’t work like that, does it?”
Spoken like a true scientist.
“It’s for repopulation,” Bruce reiterates. “If you stay here alone, you will die.”
Hal’s eyes find yours from behind his mask. “You feel it, don’t you?” He gestures to the way Barry’s holding you, “the way touch makes the pain go away. The way the pain triples when you try to pull away.”
He speaks on the experience so eloquently, you can’t help but wonder if he’s gone through this before. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t quite read, one beyond the concern. One that looks an awful lot like understanding.
“So…” Clark begins.
“I either have sex with someone, or I die.” You look around the room, at each of the people around you, “it’s not fair. I can’t ask any of you to do that.”
The chorus of voices surprises you, though it probably shouldn’t given who you’re with. “I’ll do it.”
Damn heroes, always trying to rectify situations at the cost of themselves.
“I’d be taking advantage,” you frown, the pain in your stomach starting to come back again. “It’s unfair.”
Diana cups your face, turning your head to face her. “How is it that you’re the one in danger, and yet you’re worried about us?”
The feeling of her fingertips on your skin ignites something in you, simultaneously soothing the pain that lingers at the back of your spine.
You shrug your shoulders. “I just…don’t want any of you to do something you don’t want to.”
Again, they begin to protest, heads shaking at your antics.
Leave it to Hal Jordan to ask the hard questions. “So, who do you want to do it?”
“I—” You suck in a breath, Diana and Barry’s touch not chasing away the pain as well as it was before. “I don’t care, I trust you all. Just don’t let me die. Please.”
Right now, you’re not sure there’s anyone you trust more than the people in the room. You’ve dealt with countless problems by their sides, confided in them about all of your problems, grabbed beers with them after saving the world.
Your trust in them is unshakeable, absolute.
Immediately, the room dissolves into discussion. There’s arguments on who does it, on what they need to do, how careful they need to be. They discuss the possibility of the chemical spreading, of someone else being inflicted. Barry rises to his feet, dropping your hand to join the discussion.
And while the men argue, Diana cups your jaw and pulls you in for a dizzying kiss. Her lips are soft on yours, and despite the blood that’s dried to your own lips, she doesn’t seem to mind.
Her other hand finds the small of your back, drawing shapes over your spine. Her grip on you is strong, reassuring, a total comfort. You fall into her completely, letting her guide you onto your back, the cold metal of the floor staving off some of your heat.
Her tongue swipes across the back of your teeth, that familiar taste of hers filling your mouth. Her other hand trails down to the seam of your pants, dipping inside to rub at your heat.
For a minute, she’s surprised at how wet you are, how swollen your clit already is. But then she pushes past her shock, her thumb rubbing circles with just enough pressure to have wave after wave of ecstasy rolling over you.
She pulls away—just for a second—to pull your pants down to your knees, giving herself easier access to you. Her mouth greedily swallows every moan before it can hit the air, muffling it from the men still arguing around you.
Every touch is intentional, every swish of her tongue in your mouth synchronized with her finger on your clit. You’re sure the drug must be heightening your senses, making you all too sensitive to her touch.
She’s barely slipped a finger inside of you when you’re already coming undone, electricity bolting up your spine as your walls pulse around her finger. The aftershocks of your orgasm chase away the pain, the fear—everything.
"Good girl," she praises. "I'll take care of you."
And then she’s kissing down your chest, lips sucking at your neck. She starts to slowly move her finger inside of you again, her other hand leaving your face to push the fabric of your shirt up. She kisses further down, lips getting closer and closer to where she’s fucking you with her finger.
Just as her mouth attaches to your clit, another finger pushes inside of you. A particularly loud moan slips from your lips and without Diana there to muffle it, the cacophonous arguing stops.
“Holy shit,” Hal breathes, and suddenly you’re way too aware of four sets of eyes watching the two of you.
Diana looks up at you, long lashes framing her eyes. “Let them watch,” she says, “maybe they could learn something.”
Her fingers curl inside of you and you moan again, the sound rattling the room. You arch your back, whining. Your eyes flutter shut, that knot in your stomach building up almost as fast as it did the first time.
Your thighs shake on either side of her head, nails digging into your palms. You try to close your legs but then they’re being forced apart by a pair of floating green hands.
You blink at Hal, who’s since discarded his mask. He grins in return.
And then you’re finishing again, slick coating Diana’s face and tongue as she eats you through it. You can feel their eyes on you even through your orgasm, even as your eyes flutter closed and your muscles all twitch.
Then Diana is pulling her mouth away, taking deep breaths as she gives you a minute of rest. It’s only a minute, but already the pain starts to come back as a dull ache.
“How are you feeling?” Clark asks.
“It’s starting to hurt again…”
He doesn’t ask another question before he’s replacing Diana on the floor in front of you, adjusting his suit until he can free his cock. He’s already somewhat hard—the two of you had put on quite the show.
Clark and Diana’s willingness to fuck you in front of everybody almost has you feeling guilty for your hesitance earlier. You trust these people, you love these people. How could you doubt that?
“Come here,” he opens his arms to you, “I got you.”
And then you’re crawling into his arms, letting him pick you off the floor. With his strength, he does it with ease, slowly lowering you down onto his cock. The minute his head pierces your entrance, you have to bite down on your lip to keep from being too loud.
You take him inch by inch, your body adjusting much more easily than it usually would. Despite your aching need, Clark’s gentle with you. He takes his time, watching every twitch of your body for a sign he should stop.
When you’ve finally taken all of him, the two of you gasp in sync. You wrap your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair. He tightens his grips around your thighs and then he’s lifting you up and dropping you back down on his cock.
With every motion, he pierces deeper inside of you. Your walls suck him in, beg him for more, beg him to go deeper. You’re so close to him, you can feel the beat of his heart, hear every tiny hitch in his breath.
He guides you up and down his cock like a toy, and you let him, going boneless in his arms. Lurid sounds leave your lips but you’re long past the point of caring. You drag your hands from his neck down to his back, scratching at his shoulders, though Clark doesn’t seem to mind.
“You’re so warm,” he groans. “So hot.”
Maybe it’s the toxin or your own overstimulation but it only takes a few minutes before you’re finishing again, muscles clenching up, pussy tightening around Clark’s cock like it’s trying to milk him dry. He fixes his lips against yours, bearing your weight completely while you orgasm.
“That’s it. Let it all out, sweetheart.”
It’s only a few more thrusts for Clark before he’s finishing too. Both the heat and the sudden tightness of your walls is too much for him. He presses his hips flush against yours, the head of his cock kissing your cervix as he comes. He fills you up, the warm fluid slowly leaking out of you.
He kisses you again, softly. “Do you need more?”
You feel horribly greedy as you nod your head yes, barely registering what’s happening as Clark passes you to Hal and Bruce.
The two men take you between them, holding you up despite the way your knees shake and threaten to buckle at any second.
Hal pulls you in for a tantalizing kiss. It’s needy and sloppy, punctuated with the desperation he feels after watching you get fucked by his teammates. Bruce’s hands make quick work of your uniform, finishing what Diana had started earlier.
Being free from the fabric cools you down only slightly, the heat from their bodies immediately making up for it. There’s a flash of green light and then there’s a bed only a few feet away from you.
Bruce grabs you, practically throwing you on top of it before the two men and Barry join you.
It’s a blur of hands and lips from there, the three of them somehow wrestling you onto your knees. Bruce is behind you, lining his cock up with your entrance, while Hal and Barry both sit on their knees in front.
Bruce taps your back, just once. "You're still okay?"
You weakly hum in agreement, arching your back to encourage him.
Bruce doesn’t waste a second before he pushes himself inside of you, Clark’s leftover cum acting as lube. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, Barry slipping his fingers inside. You don’t even think, your lips just close around them and you start sucking.
Bruce’s thrusts are aggressive, rocking both you and the bed, sending Barry’s fingers further down your throat. And then he’s replacing his fingers with his cock, your jaw aching at the sudden stretch.
You let your eyes flutter closed, letting the two men use you. Every thrust sends you further against the other, a perfectly choreographed dance between them. One goes deep and sends the other deeper, Bruce’s thick cock filling you so much that it’s hard to breathe.
Meanwhile, Hal rubs the hair away from your face and the sweat away from your forehead. “You’re like a pro,” he jokes. “You’re taking them so well.”
Barry gasps as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. “Fuck, Hal, you gotta try.”
And then they’re switching places, Hal’s cock replacing Barry’s in your mouth, Barry’s lips attacking the side of your neck instead.
Bruce digs his fingers deeper into your hips, fingertips sure to bruise you the next day. He slams himself deeper against you, every thrust punctuated with a cock muffled moan from you.
Barry’s teeth graze the side of your neck, his hand slipping down to rub circles on your clit and that’s all it takes for you to come undone all over again. Your arms shake violently, sending you pitching forward on the bed. Lucky for you, Barry catches your head, keeping you up the best he can while you get spitroasted on their cocks.
Bruce fucks you through your high and then he’s falling apart with you, his cock twitching in your walls. With one final, rough thrust, he pushes himself in balls deep and lets himself cum inside of you.
Hal pulls his cock out of your mouth, letting you breathe freely while you fight the aftershocks of your orgasm.
When you’ve finally come to enough, you blink up at the man. “Want you next,” you declare, “you and Barry.”
And after the show you’ve put on, neither man is in any place to argue. Barry holds you against his chest while Hal moves away, repositioning himself where Bruce was only a minute ago.
Hal helps you move your quivering thighs on either side of Barry’s, grabbing the man’s cock and slipping the head inside of you. Bruce and Clark’s cum drips out, sliding down his shaft and onto his thighs.
Barry’s tip slips inside of you easily, his arms wrapping around your back to hold you still while Hal positions himself. The Lantern grips your hip with one hand and slowly guides his cock to your entrance with the other.
There’s pressure, your aching hole struggling to accommodate both of them, but Hal Jordan is not one to give up.
He rubs a hand up your back, “breathe, baby. Deep breaths.”
You try to do as he says, letting yourself go limp against Barry. With your muscles relaxed, his cock slides inside of you easily. You’re full, so full you can barely move, but fuck it feels so good. That constant gnawing heat that’s been plaguing you dissipates into almost nothing, every thought in your head clears away.
Barry thrusts first and it’s such a tight fit that that alone has your eyes rolling back. Hal goes next, the friction of their cocks inside of you making your mind go blank. They continue in that rhythm, sloppy at first as they try to find a suitable pace.
"F-fuck, it's so tight." Barry curses.
Barry kisses at your cheek, your temple, the side of your head, trying to soothe you as both men fuck into you. Your pussy aches, your walls shaking sheerly from the fullness.
Hal digs his nails into your skin, crescent marks of his fingers matching Bruce’s from only a few minutes ago. His thrusts are frantic and fast and nearly violent, sending you further into Barry’s chest with every single one.
Barry is only slightly better, faster than Hal and just as punishing, but much less desperate.
"That's it, baby," Hal praises. "Let us take care of you."
You let yourself fall against them, let them fuck you while your mind goes entirely blank. That knot inside of you builds and builds and builds, heat radiating from your core until you finally snap and cum.
It’s already a tight fit with both of them inside of you but with your walls clenching up, it’s almost painful. Hal comes first, his cock twitching and filling you up pretty much the second you finish.
Barry’s next, the combined heat of your slick and Hal’s too much for him. He squeezes you tightly against his chest while he finishes inside of you, hot cum filling you to the brim.
You’re left sweaty and gasping, laying against Barry’s chest on the construct bed that Hal made.
Barry kisses the side of your head. “How are you feeling?”
“G-good, I think.”
It’s a few minutes before the three of you untangle from each other, both Hal and Barry climbing off of the bed. Barry offers you a hand, helping you onto your feet and keeping you up despite the exhaustion plaguing your body.
“I-I’m feeling better,” you announce to no one in particular. “Thank you guys for helping.”
“That’s good,” Bruce says, gesturing over his shoulder. “But we have another problem now.”
You squint, following the line his finger points to to see Diana, flushed and naked, and Clark, on his knees and eating her out.
Fuck, you think to yourself. It must have been contagious after all.
pairing: Diana Prince x f! reader (has a pussy + fem pronouns) x Clark Kent x Bruce Wayne x Barry Allen x Hal Jordan (at the same damn time!!!)
summary: when you get infected with a mysterious substance on a mission, there are only two options: die, or fuck your coworkers
cw: 4k words, dubcon, mentions of blood, mentions of death, sex pollen/aphrodisiacs, gangbang/orgy, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, pussy eating, fingering, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, voyeurism, creampies, lots of cum, doggystyle, stand & carry, double penetration, praise/degradation, reader gets passed around like crazy
froggi yaps -> HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! i have been SO SO SO EXCITED FOR THIS ONE!!! from the start i knew i wanted to do a crazy gangbang & it was either gonna be the JLA or if I was feeling lazy, Dick/Roy/Reader/Wally. anyway please enjoy my JLA insanity <3
not ready for halloween to be over yet? come trick or treating!
Of all the stupid things you’ve done in your life, walking directly into the glowing purple room on a hostile spaceship definitely ranks first.
You’d just finished fighting your way through the horde of robots that occupied the ship when you spotted it. Bruce had been in a heated discussion with Hal, scanning something in the alien-robot helmets that you didn’t quite understand. Barry had scratched his neck, trying to play mediator.
No one but you seemed to notice the glowing, whispering room only a few short steps down the hall. No one seemed to notice the incredible scent—oddly reminiscent of Diana’s perfume—or the way it beckoned you in.
No one noticed as you shuffled your feet towards it in a trance, picked up an ID card from one of the deceased robots, and scanned yourself into the room.
It was Clark that noticed first, his superior hearing perking up the minute he heard the soft click of the door. “What are you doing?”
Barry’s on his feet in an instant, tearing away from the argument. It’s a millisecond, maybe two, before he gets to you. But he’s too late.
Dazed, you’d already stumbled into the purple mist, the door sealing shut behind you.
The minutes after that were a blur. The mist had wrapped around you, invaded every pore, filled every breath until you weren’t sure if you were breathing or drowning. The burning in your lungs snapped you out of your trance and you immediately spun around to pound on the glass door in front of you.
It didn’t give. Even through Clark and Diana’s joint efforts, through every construct Hal could build and every plan Bruce could think of, the door didn’t give. You were trapped. Utterly helpless, suffocating.
The room only got hotter from there, the perfumey scent that had once been enticing now made your stomach churn. Your muscles weakened and you let yourself slide against the door, resigning yourself to dying on an alien-robot spaceship.
You were unconscious by the time the door opened three minutes later. Diana had immediately grabbed you and dragged you out, scrunching up her nose at the scent coming from the room.
Bruce checked your pulse, Clark scanning over you with his xray vision to make sure you weren’t injured. For all intents and purposes, you were fine. Sure, your core temperature was a little elevated, and yeah, you were unconscious—but you were fine.
Which brings you to now: waking up on the cold metal floor, a horrible ache rattling the back of your skull. There’s a scratch in your throat, a new sort of heat pulsing through you.
You blink up at the five faces above you, forcing yourself to sit up. The pain in the back of your head sharpens to a point as you sit, a trickle of blood leaking from your nose and over your lips.
You wipe it on the back of your hand without thinking, looking groggily around the room. “What happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Bruce says gruffly.
Diana crouches down next to you, brushing a thumb over the steady stream of blood coming from your nose. “How are you feeling?”
“Dizzy,” you admit. “Everything hurts.”
You open your mouth to apologize for wandering off and to warn them about the trance-like state the gas from the room put you in, but freeze when a wave of warmth rolls over you. It starts in your chest, radiating out through your veins and pooling in your lower stomach.
And then it burns, like acid is eating through your organs. You double over, gagging from the pain, pulling your knees into your stomach. Short, gasping breaths leave your lips.
Barry crouches on your other side, laying a gentle hand on your back. “Easy now, easy.” He looks at Diana over your head, frowning, “she’s a thousand degrees.”
The Amazonian nods solemnly though she doesn’t dare open her mouth lest her words make you feel even more anxious.
Somewhere off to the side, while you’re trying to keep your stomach from flipping inside out, Hal and Bruce are trying to figure out just what exactly was in that room. The purple coloured smoke was unlike anything either of them had seen before, and though neither of them want to admit it, that doesn’t bode well for an antidote.
The pain in your stomach subsides, narrowing down to your core. Your eyes shoot wide at the all too familiar feeling. You swallow, casting your gaze down.
“How’s the pain?” Clark asks, lips pursed in a frown.
His eyes lock with Diana’s in a silent conversation, Clark assessing your vitals as subtly as he can. You’ve only grown hotter since you woke up, the pain you once felt all over localizing to your lower half.
You double over in pain again, your stomach cramping the way it would when you’re on your period. Heat pools in your underwear, leaking through to the inner seams of your suit. Your lungs ache for air but every breath feels warm and shallow.
Diana rubs a hand over your lower stomach and the minute her palm makes contact, the pain briefly subsides. The sweet relief of a deep breath expands your lungs.
You lean into her touch, tilting your head to rest on her broad shoulders. The closer you are to her, the more of her that fills your senses, the better you feel.
At the same time you make this revelation, Bruce and Hal are joining back with the group.
Though it’s rare to see Bruce smile in his Batman persona as it is, the deep frown on his face feels like a bad sign. “We’ve figured out what the toxin was.”
Next to Bruce, Hal is an equal mix of concerned and flustered. The pair of them only makes your anxiety spike, the pain you’d staved off coming back.
“What is it?” Barry asks, his own hand resting comfortingly on your knee.
“The good news is that it’s not exactly a poison.”
You look up at Hal through your lashes, waiting for him to say more, about how this could possibly be good news.
It’s Bruce that speaks up. “It’s a lab made chemical, meant to help with population regrowth on near-desolated planets.”
No matter how horribly, desperately you don't want it to be true, you know that it is. Before he even continues speaking, a part of you knows what he’s going to say next. Knows what’s coming to you.
“It inflicts damage on your body, staying in your system until you either satiate it or…” He trails off and you swear the frown lines on his face deepen.
No one dares ask what comes after ‘or’.
It’s Diana that breaks the silence. “How is it satiated?”
“Population regrowth,” your voice cracks on the word. “You fix it by reproducing.”
Bruce nods solemnly, confirming what you already knew.
You lay your palms flat on the floor, trying to push yourself to your knees. The minute Diana and Barry’s hands fall off of you, the pain comes back tenfold, radiating up your spine until you’re dizzy.
The blood drips faster from your nose now, a metallic taste filling your mouth. You swallow it back, “if I can just—if we get back to the ship, I can take care of it.”
Barry’s hand finds its way back into your palm, the other one wiping away the blood that spills over your lip. “She won’t make it that long,” he looks up at Bruce with desperate eyes, “will she?”
Again, he shakes his head.
The drop in morale at that moment is so severe you can feel it, tensions rising around you. It’s only now that the gravity of the situation really settles into your chest.
Fear rises to your throat like bile. You’re going to die here, you’re going to die because you made a stupid mistake. And the only way you can stop it, the only way you can fix yourself, is to strip down in front of your friends—your coworkers—and fuck yourself like an unfixed dog.
“How long does it last?” Your voice sounds weaker now.
“We don’t know,” Hal admits. “From the scan Clark did on you, it could be hours, it could be days.”
Hours. Though you’re practically soaked through with arousal, though your pussy flutters in anticipation, the thought of masturbating with them in the room for hours makes your heart drop.
“I can stay here and you guys go back to the ship and I can meet you there—”
Please, god, do not let me have to touch myself in front of my coworkers.
You’re surprised when it’s not Hal or Bruce that speaks next, it’s Barry. “It doesn’t work like that, does it?”
Spoken like a true scientist.
“It’s for repopulation,” Bruce reiterates. “If you stay here alone, you will die.”
Hal’s eyes find yours from behind his mask. “You feel it, don’t you?” He gestures to the way Barry’s holding you, “the way touch makes the pain go away. The way the pain triples when you try to pull away.”
He speaks on the experience so eloquently, you can’t help but wonder if he’s gone through this before. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t quite read, one beyond the concern. One that looks an awful lot like understanding.
“So…” Clark begins.
“I either have sex with someone, or I die.” You look around the room, at each of the people around you, “it’s not fair. I can’t ask any of you to do that.”
The chorus of voices surprises you, though it probably shouldn’t given who you’re with. “I’ll do it.”
Damn heroes, always trying to rectify situations at the cost of themselves.
“I’d be taking advantage,” you frown, the pain in your stomach starting to come back again. “It’s unfair.”
Diana cups your face, turning your head to face her. “How is it that you’re the one in danger, and yet you’re worried about us?”
The feeling of her fingertips on your skin ignites something in you, simultaneously soothing the pain that lingers at the back of your spine.
You shrug your shoulders. “I just…don’t want any of you to do something you don’t want to.”
Again, they begin to protest, heads shaking at your antics.
Leave it to Hal Jordan to ask the hard questions. “So, who do you want to do it?”
“I—” You suck in a breath, Diana and Barry’s touch not chasing away the pain as well as it was before. “I don’t care, I trust you all. Just don’t let me die. Please.”
Right now, you’re not sure there’s anyone you trust more than the people in the room. You’ve dealt with countless problems by their sides, confided in them about all of your problems, grabbed beers with them after saving the world.
Your trust in them is unshakeable, absolute.
Immediately, the room dissolves into discussion. There’s arguments on who does it, on what they need to do, how careful they need to be. They discuss the possibility of the chemical spreading, of someone else being inflicted. Barry rises to his feet, dropping your hand to join the discussion.
And while the men argue, Diana cups your jaw and pulls you in for a dizzying kiss. Her lips are soft on yours, and despite the blood that’s dried to your own lips, she doesn’t seem to mind.
Her other hand finds the small of your back, drawing shapes over your spine. Her grip on you is strong, reassuring, a total comfort. You fall into her completely, letting her guide you onto your back, the cold metal of the floor staving off some of your heat.
Her tongue swipes across the back of your teeth, that familiar taste of hers filling your mouth. Her other hand trails down to the seam of your pants, dipping inside to rub at your heat.
For a minute, she’s surprised at how wet you are, how swollen your clit already is. But then she pushes past her shock, her thumb rubbing circles with just enough pressure to have wave after wave of ecstasy rolling over you.
She pulls away—just for a second—to pull your pants down to your knees, giving herself easier access to you. Her mouth greedily swallows every moan before it can hit the air, muffling it from the men still arguing around you.
Every touch is intentional, every swish of her tongue in your mouth synchronized with her finger on your clit. You’re sure the drug must be heightening your senses, making you all too sensitive to her touch.
She’s barely slipped a finger inside of you when you’re already coming undone, electricity bolting up your spine as your walls pulse around her finger. The aftershocks of your orgasm chase away the pain, the fear—everything.
"Good girl," she praises. "I'll take care of you."
And then she’s kissing down your chest, lips sucking at your neck. She starts to slowly move her finger inside of you again, her other hand leaving your face to push the fabric of your shirt up. She kisses further down, lips getting closer and closer to where she’s fucking you with her finger.
Just as her mouth attaches to your clit, another finger pushes inside of you. A particularly loud moan slips from your lips and without Diana there to muffle it, the cacophonous arguing stops.
“Holy shit,” Hal breathes, and suddenly you’re way too aware of four sets of eyes watching the two of you.
Diana looks up at you, long lashes framing her eyes. “Let them watch,” she says, “maybe they could learn something.”
Her fingers curl inside of you and you moan again, the sound rattling the room. You arch your back, whining. Your eyes flutter shut, that knot in your stomach building up almost as fast as it did the first time.
Your thighs shake on either side of her head, nails digging into your palms. You try to close your legs but then they’re being forced apart by a pair of floating green hands.
You blink at Hal, who’s since discarded his mask. He grins in return.
And then you’re finishing again, slick coating Diana’s face and tongue as she eats you through it. You can feel their eyes on you even through your orgasm, even as your eyes flutter closed and your muscles all twitch.
Then Diana is pulling her mouth away, taking deep breaths as she gives you a minute of rest. It’s only a minute, but already the pain starts to come back as a dull ache.
“How are you feeling?” Clark asks.
“It’s starting to hurt again…”
He doesn’t ask another question before he’s replacing Diana on the floor in front of you, adjusting his suit until he can free his cock. He’s already somewhat hard—the two of you had put on quite the show.
Clark and Diana’s willingness to fuck you in front of everybody almost has you feeling guilty for your hesitance earlier. You trust these people, you love these people. How could you doubt that?
“Come here,” he opens his arms to you, “I got you.”
And then you’re crawling into his arms, letting him pick you off the floor. With his strength, he does it with ease, slowly lowering you down onto his cock. The minute his head pierces your entrance, you have to bite down on your lip to keep from being too loud.
You take him inch by inch, your body adjusting much more easily than it usually would. Despite your aching need, Clark’s gentle with you. He takes his time, watching every twitch of your body for a sign he should stop.
When you’ve finally taken all of him, the two of you gasp in sync. You wrap your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair. He tightens his grips around your thighs and then he’s lifting you up and dropping you back down on his cock.
With every motion, he pierces deeper inside of you. Your walls suck him in, beg him for more, beg him to go deeper. You’re so close to him, you can feel the beat of his heart, hear every tiny hitch in his breath.
He guides you up and down his cock like a toy, and you let him, going boneless in his arms. Lurid sounds leave your lips but you’re long past the point of caring. You drag your hands from his neck down to his back, scratching at his shoulders, though Clark doesn’t seem to mind.
“You’re so warm,” he groans. “So hot.”
Maybe it’s the toxin or your own overstimulation but it only takes a few minutes before you’re finishing again, muscles clenching up, pussy tightening around Clark’s cock like it’s trying to milk him dry. He fixes his lips against yours, bearing your weight completely while you orgasm.
“That’s it. Let it all out, sweetheart.”
It’s only a few more thrusts for Clark before he’s finishing too. Both the heat and the sudden tightness of your walls is too much for him. He presses his hips flush against yours, the head of his cock kissing your cervix as he comes. He fills you up, the warm fluid slowly leaking out of you.
He kisses you again, softly. “Do you need more?”
You feel horribly greedy as you nod your head yes, barely registering what’s happening as Clark passes you to Hal and Bruce.
The two men take you between them, holding you up despite the way your knees shake and threaten to buckle at any second.
Hal pulls you in for a tantalizing kiss. It’s needy and sloppy, punctuated with the desperation he feels after watching you get fucked by his teammates. Bruce’s hands make quick work of your uniform, finishing what Diana had started earlier.
Being free from the fabric cools you down only slightly, the heat from their bodies immediately making up for it. There’s a flash of green light and then there’s a bed only a few feet away from you.
Bruce grabs you, practically throwing you on top of it before the two men and Barry join you.
It’s a blur of hands and lips from there, the three of them somehow wrestling you onto your knees. Bruce is behind you, lining his cock up with your entrance, while Hal and Barry both sit on their knees in front.
Bruce taps your back, just once. "You're still okay?"
You weakly hum in agreement, arching your back to encourage him.
Bruce doesn’t waste a second before he pushes himself inside of you, Clark’s leftover cum acting as lube. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, Barry slipping his fingers inside. You don’t even think, your lips just close around them and you start sucking.
Bruce’s thrusts are aggressive, rocking both you and the bed, sending Barry’s fingers further down your throat. And then he’s replacing his fingers with his cock, your jaw aching at the sudden stretch.
You let your eyes flutter closed, letting the two men use you. Every thrust sends you further against the other, a perfectly choreographed dance between them. One goes deep and sends the other deeper, Bruce’s thick cock filling you so much that it’s hard to breathe.
Meanwhile, Hal rubs the hair away from your face and the sweat away from your forehead. “You’re like a pro,” he jokes. “You’re taking them so well.”
Barry gasps as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. “Fuck, Hal, you gotta try.”
And then they’re switching places, Hal’s cock replacing Barry’s in your mouth, Barry’s lips attacking the side of your neck instead.
Bruce digs his fingers deeper into your hips, fingertips sure to bruise you the next day. He slams himself deeper against you, every thrust punctuated with a cock muffled moan from you.
Barry’s teeth graze the side of your neck, his hand slipping down to rub circles on your clit and that’s all it takes for you to come undone all over again. Your arms shake violently, sending you pitching forward on the bed. Lucky for you, Barry catches your head, keeping you up the best he can while you get spitroasted on their cocks.
Bruce fucks you through your high and then he’s falling apart with you, his cock twitching in your walls. With one final, rough thrust, he pushes himself in balls deep and lets himself cum inside of you.
Hal pulls his cock out of your mouth, letting you breathe freely while you fight the aftershocks of your orgasm.
When you’ve finally come to enough, you blink up at the man. “Want you next,” you declare, “you and Barry.”
And after the show you’ve put on, neither man is in any place to argue. Barry holds you against his chest while Hal moves away, repositioning himself where Bruce was only a minute ago.
Hal helps you move your quivering thighs on either side of Barry’s, grabbing the man’s cock and slipping the head inside of you. Bruce and Clark’s cum drips out, sliding down his shaft and onto his thighs.
Barry’s tip slips inside of you easily, his arms wrapping around your back to hold you still while Hal positions himself. The Lantern grips your hip with one hand and slowly guides his cock to your entrance with the other.
There’s pressure, your aching hole struggling to accommodate both of them, but Hal Jordan is not one to give up.
He rubs a hand up your back, “breathe, baby. Deep breaths.”
You try to do as he says, letting yourself go limp against Barry. With your muscles relaxed, his cock slides inside of you easily. You’re full, so full you can barely move, but fuck it feels so good. That constant gnawing heat that’s been plaguing you dissipates into almost nothing, every thought in your head clears away.
Barry thrusts first and it’s such a tight fit that that alone has your eyes rolling back. Hal goes next, the friction of their cocks inside of you making your mind go blank. They continue in that rhythm, sloppy at first as they try to find a suitable pace.
"F-fuck, it's so tight." Barry curses.
Barry kisses at your cheek, your temple, the side of your head, trying to soothe you as both men fuck into you. Your pussy aches, your walls shaking sheerly from the fullness.
Hal digs his nails into your skin, crescent marks of his fingers matching Bruce’s from only a few minutes ago. His thrusts are frantic and fast and nearly violent, sending you further into Barry’s chest with every single one.
Barry is only slightly better, faster than Hal and just as punishing, but much less desperate.
"That's it, baby," Hal praises. "Let us take care of you."
You let yourself fall against them, let them fuck you while your mind goes entirely blank. That knot inside of you builds and builds and builds, heat radiating from your core until you finally snap and cum.
It’s already a tight fit with both of them inside of you but with your walls clenching up, it’s almost painful. Hal comes first, his cock twitching and filling you up pretty much the second you finish.
Barry’s next, the combined heat of your slick and Hal’s too much for him. He squeezes you tightly against his chest while he finishes inside of you, hot cum filling you to the brim.
You’re left sweaty and gasping, laying against Barry’s chest on the construct bed that Hal made.
Barry kisses the side of your head. “How are you feeling?”
“G-good, I think.”
It’s a few minutes before the three of you untangle from each other, both Hal and Barry climbing off of the bed. Barry offers you a hand, helping you onto your feet and keeping you up despite the exhaustion plaguing your body.
“I-I’m feeling better,” you announce to no one in particular. “Thank you guys for helping.”
“That’s good,” Bruce says, gesturing over his shoulder. “But we have another problem now.”
You squint, following the line his finger points to to see Diana, flushed and naked, and Clark, on his knees and eating her out.
Fuck, you think to yourself. It must have been contagious after all.
pairing: Diana Prince x f! reader (has a pussy + fem pronouns) x Clark Kent x Bruce Wayne x Barry Allen x Hal Jordan (at the same damn time!!!)
summary: when you get infected with a mysterious substance on a mission, there are only two options: die, or fuck your coworkers
cw: 4k words, dubcon, mentions of blood, mentions of death, sex pollen/aphrodisiacs, gangbang/orgy, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, pussy eating, fingering, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, voyeurism, creampies, lots of cum, doggystyle, stand & carry, double penetration, praise/degradation, reader gets passed around like crazy
froggi yaps -> HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! i have been SO SO SO EXCITED FOR THIS ONE!!! from the start i knew i wanted to do a crazy gangbang & it was either gonna be the JLA or if I was feeling lazy, Dick/Roy/Reader/Wally. anyway please enjoy my JLA insanity <3
not ready for halloween to be over yet? come trick or treating!
Of all the stupid things you’ve done in your life, walking directly into the glowing purple room on a hostile spaceship definitely ranks first.
You’d just finished fighting your way through the horde of robots that occupied the ship when you spotted it. Bruce had been in a heated discussion with Hal, scanning something in the alien-robot helmets that you didn’t quite understand. Barry had scratched his neck, trying to play mediator.
No one but you seemed to notice the glowing, whispering room only a few short steps down the hall. No one seemed to notice the incredible scent—oddly reminiscent of Diana’s perfume—or the way it beckoned you in.
No one noticed as you shuffled your feet towards it in a trance, picked up an ID card from one of the deceased robots, and scanned yourself into the room.
It was Clark that noticed first, his superior hearing perking up the minute he heard the soft click of the door. “What are you doing?”
Barry’s on his feet in an instant, tearing away from the argument. It’s a millisecond, maybe two, before he gets to you. But he’s too late.
Dazed, you’d already stumbled into the purple mist, the door sealing shut behind you.
The minutes after that were a blur. The mist had wrapped around you, invaded every pore, filled every breath until you weren’t sure if you were breathing or drowning. The burning in your lungs snapped you out of your trance and you immediately spun around to pound on the glass door in front of you.
It didn’t give. Even through Clark and Diana’s joint efforts, through every construct Hal could build and every plan Bruce could think of, the door didn’t give. You were trapped. Utterly helpless, suffocating.
The room only got hotter from there, the perfumey scent that had once been enticing now made your stomach churn. Your muscles weakened and you let yourself slide against the door, resigning yourself to dying on an alien-robot spaceship.
You were unconscious by the time the door opened three minutes later. Diana had immediately grabbed you and dragged you out, scrunching up her nose at the scent coming from the room.
Bruce checked your pulse, Clark scanning over you with his xray vision to make sure you weren’t injured. For all intents and purposes, you were fine. Sure, your core temperature was a little elevated, and yeah, you were unconscious—but you were fine.
Which brings you to now: waking up on the cold metal floor, a horrible ache rattling the back of your skull. There’s a scratch in your throat, a new sort of heat pulsing through you.
You blink up at the five faces above you, forcing yourself to sit up. The pain in the back of your head sharpens to a point as you sit, a trickle of blood leaking from your nose and over your lips.
You wipe it on the back of your hand without thinking, looking groggily around the room. “What happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Bruce says gruffly.
Diana crouches down next to you, brushing a thumb over the steady stream of blood coming from your nose. “How are you feeling?”
“Dizzy,” you admit. “Everything hurts.”
You open your mouth to apologize for wandering off and to warn them about the trance-like state the gas from the room put you in, but freeze when a wave of warmth rolls over you. It starts in your chest, radiating out through your veins and pooling in your lower stomach.
And then it burns, like acid is eating through your organs. You double over, gagging from the pain, pulling your knees into your stomach. Short, gasping breaths leave your lips.
Barry crouches on your other side, laying a gentle hand on your back. “Easy now, easy.” He looks at Diana over your head, frowning, “she’s a thousand degrees.”
The Amazonian nods solemnly though she doesn’t dare open her mouth lest her words make you feel even more anxious.
Somewhere off to the side, while you’re trying to keep your stomach from flipping inside out, Hal and Bruce are trying to figure out just what exactly was in that room. The purple coloured smoke was unlike anything either of them had seen before, and though neither of them want to admit it, that doesn’t bode well for an antidote.
The pain in your stomach subsides, narrowing down to your core. Your eyes shoot wide at the all too familiar feeling. You swallow, casting your gaze down.
“How’s the pain?” Clark asks, lips pursed in a frown.
His eyes lock with Diana’s in a silent conversation, Clark assessing your vitals as subtly as he can. You’ve only grown hotter since you woke up, the pain you once felt all over localizing to your lower half.
You double over in pain again, your stomach cramping the way it would when you’re on your period. Heat pools in your underwear, leaking through to the inner seams of your suit. Your lungs ache for air but every breath feels warm and shallow.
Diana rubs a hand over your lower stomach and the minute her palm makes contact, the pain briefly subsides. The sweet relief of a deep breath expands your lungs.
You lean into her touch, tilting your head to rest on her broad shoulders. The closer you are to her, the more of her that fills your senses, the better you feel.
At the same time you make this revelation, Bruce and Hal are joining back with the group.
Though it’s rare to see Bruce smile in his Batman persona as it is, the deep frown on his face feels like a bad sign. “We’ve figured out what the toxin was.”
Next to Bruce, Hal is an equal mix of concerned and flustered. The pair of them only makes your anxiety spike, the pain you’d staved off coming back.
“What is it?” Barry asks, his own hand resting comfortingly on your knee.
“The good news is that it’s not exactly a poison.”
You look up at Hal through your lashes, waiting for him to say more, about how this could possibly be good news.
It’s Bruce that speaks up. “It’s a lab made chemical, meant to help with population regrowth on near-desolated planets.”
No matter how horribly, desperately you don't want it to be true, you know that it is. Before he even continues speaking, a part of you knows what he’s going to say next. Knows what’s coming to you.
“It inflicts damage on your body, staying in your system until you either satiate it or…” He trails off and you swear the frown lines on his face deepen.
No one dares ask what comes after ‘or’.
It’s Diana that breaks the silence. “How is it satiated?”
“Population regrowth,” your voice cracks on the word. “You fix it by reproducing.”
Bruce nods solemnly, confirming what you already knew.
You lay your palms flat on the floor, trying to push yourself to your knees. The minute Diana and Barry’s hands fall off of you, the pain comes back tenfold, radiating up your spine until you’re dizzy.
The blood drips faster from your nose now, a metallic taste filling your mouth. You swallow it back, “if I can just—if we get back to the ship, I can take care of it.”
Barry’s hand finds its way back into your palm, the other one wiping away the blood that spills over your lip. “She won’t make it that long,” he looks up at Bruce with desperate eyes, “will she?”
Again, he shakes his head.
The drop in morale at that moment is so severe you can feel it, tensions rising around you. It’s only now that the gravity of the situation really settles into your chest.
Fear rises to your throat like bile. You’re going to die here, you’re going to die because you made a stupid mistake. And the only way you can stop it, the only way you can fix yourself, is to strip down in front of your friends—your coworkers—and fuck yourself like an unfixed dog.
“How long does it last?” Your voice sounds weaker now.
“We don’t know,” Hal admits. “From the scan Clark did on you, it could be hours, it could be days.”
Hours. Though you’re practically soaked through with arousal, though your pussy flutters in anticipation, the thought of masturbating with them in the room for hours makes your heart drop.
“I can stay here and you guys go back to the ship and I can meet you there—”
Please, god, do not let me have to touch myself in front of my coworkers.
You’re surprised when it’s not Hal or Bruce that speaks next, it’s Barry. “It doesn’t work like that, does it?”
Spoken like a true scientist.
“It’s for repopulation,” Bruce reiterates. “If you stay here alone, you will die.”
Hal’s eyes find yours from behind his mask. “You feel it, don’t you?” He gestures to the way Barry’s holding you, “the way touch makes the pain go away. The way the pain triples when you try to pull away.”
He speaks on the experience so eloquently, you can’t help but wonder if he’s gone through this before. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t quite read, one beyond the concern. One that looks an awful lot like understanding.
“So…” Clark begins.
“I either have sex with someone, or I die.” You look around the room, at each of the people around you, “it’s not fair. I can’t ask any of you to do that.”
The chorus of voices surprises you, though it probably shouldn’t given who you’re with. “I’ll do it.”
Damn heroes, always trying to rectify situations at the cost of themselves.
“I’d be taking advantage,” you frown, the pain in your stomach starting to come back again. “It’s unfair.”
Diana cups your face, turning your head to face her. “How is it that you’re the one in danger, and yet you’re worried about us?”
The feeling of her fingertips on your skin ignites something in you, simultaneously soothing the pain that lingers at the back of your spine.
You shrug your shoulders. “I just…don’t want any of you to do something you don’t want to.”
Again, they begin to protest, heads shaking at your antics.
Leave it to Hal Jordan to ask the hard questions. “So, who do you want to do it?”
“I—” You suck in a breath, Diana and Barry’s touch not chasing away the pain as well as it was before. “I don’t care, I trust you all. Just don’t let me die. Please.”
Right now, you’re not sure there’s anyone you trust more than the people in the room. You’ve dealt with countless problems by their sides, confided in them about all of your problems, grabbed beers with them after saving the world.
Your trust in them is unshakeable, absolute.
Immediately, the room dissolves into discussion. There’s arguments on who does it, on what they need to do, how careful they need to be. They discuss the possibility of the chemical spreading, of someone else being inflicted. Barry rises to his feet, dropping your hand to join the discussion.
And while the men argue, Diana cups your jaw and pulls you in for a dizzying kiss. Her lips are soft on yours, and despite the blood that’s dried to your own lips, she doesn’t seem to mind.
Her other hand finds the small of your back, drawing shapes over your spine. Her grip on you is strong, reassuring, a total comfort. You fall into her completely, letting her guide you onto your back, the cold metal of the floor staving off some of your heat.
Her tongue swipes across the back of your teeth, that familiar taste of hers filling your mouth. Her other hand trails down to the seam of your pants, dipping inside to rub at your heat.
For a minute, she’s surprised at how wet you are, how swollen your clit already is. But then she pushes past her shock, her thumb rubbing circles with just enough pressure to have wave after wave of ecstasy rolling over you.
She pulls away—just for a second—to pull your pants down to your knees, giving herself easier access to you. Her mouth greedily swallows every moan before it can hit the air, muffling it from the men still arguing around you.
Every touch is intentional, every swish of her tongue in your mouth synchronized with her finger on your clit. You’re sure the drug must be heightening your senses, making you all too sensitive to her touch.
She’s barely slipped a finger inside of you when you’re already coming undone, electricity bolting up your spine as your walls pulse around her finger. The aftershocks of your orgasm chase away the pain, the fear—everything.
"Good girl," she praises. "I'll take care of you."
And then she’s kissing down your chest, lips sucking at your neck. She starts to slowly move her finger inside of you again, her other hand leaving your face to push the fabric of your shirt up. She kisses further down, lips getting closer and closer to where she’s fucking you with her finger.
Just as her mouth attaches to your clit, another finger pushes inside of you. A particularly loud moan slips from your lips and without Diana there to muffle it, the cacophonous arguing stops.
“Holy shit,” Hal breathes, and suddenly you’re way too aware of four sets of eyes watching the two of you.
Diana looks up at you, long lashes framing her eyes. “Let them watch,” she says, “maybe they could learn something.”
Her fingers curl inside of you and you moan again, the sound rattling the room. You arch your back, whining. Your eyes flutter shut, that knot in your stomach building up almost as fast as it did the first time.
Your thighs shake on either side of her head, nails digging into your palms. You try to close your legs but then they’re being forced apart by a pair of floating green hands.
You blink at Hal, who’s since discarded his mask. He grins in return.
And then you’re finishing again, slick coating Diana’s face and tongue as she eats you through it. You can feel their eyes on you even through your orgasm, even as your eyes flutter closed and your muscles all twitch.
Then Diana is pulling her mouth away, taking deep breaths as she gives you a minute of rest. It’s only a minute, but already the pain starts to come back as a dull ache.
“How are you feeling?” Clark asks.
“It’s starting to hurt again…”
He doesn’t ask another question before he’s replacing Diana on the floor in front of you, adjusting his suit until he can free his cock. He’s already somewhat hard—the two of you had put on quite the show.
Clark and Diana’s willingness to fuck you in front of everybody almost has you feeling guilty for your hesitance earlier. You trust these people, you love these people. How could you doubt that?
“Come here,” he opens his arms to you, “I got you.”
And then you’re crawling into his arms, letting him pick you off the floor. With his strength, he does it with ease, slowly lowering you down onto his cock. The minute his head pierces your entrance, you have to bite down on your lip to keep from being too loud.
You take him inch by inch, your body adjusting much more easily than it usually would. Despite your aching need, Clark’s gentle with you. He takes his time, watching every twitch of your body for a sign he should stop.
When you’ve finally taken all of him, the two of you gasp in sync. You wrap your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair. He tightens his grips around your thighs and then he’s lifting you up and dropping you back down on his cock.
With every motion, he pierces deeper inside of you. Your walls suck him in, beg him for more, beg him to go deeper. You’re so close to him, you can feel the beat of his heart, hear every tiny hitch in his breath.
He guides you up and down his cock like a toy, and you let him, going boneless in his arms. Lurid sounds leave your lips but you’re long past the point of caring. You drag your hands from his neck down to his back, scratching at his shoulders, though Clark doesn’t seem to mind.
“You’re so warm,” he groans. “So hot.”
Maybe it’s the toxin or your own overstimulation but it only takes a few minutes before you’re finishing again, muscles clenching up, pussy tightening around Clark’s cock like it’s trying to milk him dry. He fixes his lips against yours, bearing your weight completely while you orgasm.
“That’s it. Let it all out, sweetheart.”
It’s only a few more thrusts for Clark before he’s finishing too. Both the heat and the sudden tightness of your walls is too much for him. He presses his hips flush against yours, the head of his cock kissing your cervix as he comes. He fills you up, the warm fluid slowly leaking out of you.
He kisses you again, softly. “Do you need more?”
You feel horribly greedy as you nod your head yes, barely registering what’s happening as Clark passes you to Hal and Bruce.
The two men take you between them, holding you up despite the way your knees shake and threaten to buckle at any second.
Hal pulls you in for a tantalizing kiss. It’s needy and sloppy, punctuated with the desperation he feels after watching you get fucked by his teammates. Bruce’s hands make quick work of your uniform, finishing what Diana had started earlier.
Being free from the fabric cools you down only slightly, the heat from their bodies immediately making up for it. There’s a flash of green light and then there’s a bed only a few feet away from you.
Bruce grabs you, practically throwing you on top of it before the two men and Barry join you.
It’s a blur of hands and lips from there, the three of them somehow wrestling you onto your knees. Bruce is behind you, lining his cock up with your entrance, while Hal and Barry both sit on their knees in front.
Bruce taps your back, just once. "You're still okay?"
You weakly hum in agreement, arching your back to encourage him.
Bruce doesn’t waste a second before he pushes himself inside of you, Clark’s leftover cum acting as lube. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, Barry slipping his fingers inside. You don’t even think, your lips just close around them and you start sucking.
Bruce’s thrusts are aggressive, rocking both you and the bed, sending Barry’s fingers further down your throat. And then he’s replacing his fingers with his cock, your jaw aching at the sudden stretch.
You let your eyes flutter closed, letting the two men use you. Every thrust sends you further against the other, a perfectly choreographed dance between them. One goes deep and sends the other deeper, Bruce’s thick cock filling you so much that it’s hard to breathe.
Meanwhile, Hal rubs the hair away from your face and the sweat away from your forehead. “You’re like a pro,” he jokes. “You’re taking them so well.”
Barry gasps as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. “Fuck, Hal, you gotta try.”
And then they’re switching places, Hal’s cock replacing Barry’s in your mouth, Barry’s lips attacking the side of your neck instead.
Bruce digs his fingers deeper into your hips, fingertips sure to bruise you the next day. He slams himself deeper against you, every thrust punctuated with a cock muffled moan from you.
Barry’s teeth graze the side of your neck, his hand slipping down to rub circles on your clit and that’s all it takes for you to come undone all over again. Your arms shake violently, sending you pitching forward on the bed. Lucky for you, Barry catches your head, keeping you up the best he can while you get spitroasted on their cocks.
Bruce fucks you through your high and then he’s falling apart with you, his cock twitching in your walls. With one final, rough thrust, he pushes himself in balls deep and lets himself cum inside of you.
Hal pulls his cock out of your mouth, letting you breathe freely while you fight the aftershocks of your orgasm.
When you’ve finally come to enough, you blink up at the man. “Want you next,” you declare, “you and Barry.”
And after the show you’ve put on, neither man is in any place to argue. Barry holds you against his chest while Hal moves away, repositioning himself where Bruce was only a minute ago.
Hal helps you move your quivering thighs on either side of Barry’s, grabbing the man’s cock and slipping the head inside of you. Bruce and Clark’s cum drips out, sliding down his shaft and onto his thighs.
Barry’s tip slips inside of you easily, his arms wrapping around your back to hold you still while Hal positions himself. The Lantern grips your hip with one hand and slowly guides his cock to your entrance with the other.
There’s pressure, your aching hole struggling to accommodate both of them, but Hal Jordan is not one to give up.
He rubs a hand up your back, “breathe, baby. Deep breaths.”
You try to do as he says, letting yourself go limp against Barry. With your muscles relaxed, his cock slides inside of you easily. You’re full, so full you can barely move, but fuck it feels so good. That constant gnawing heat that’s been plaguing you dissipates into almost nothing, every thought in your head clears away.
Barry thrusts first and it’s such a tight fit that that alone has your eyes rolling back. Hal goes next, the friction of their cocks inside of you making your mind go blank. They continue in that rhythm, sloppy at first as they try to find a suitable pace.
"F-fuck, it's so tight." Barry curses.
Barry kisses at your cheek, your temple, the side of your head, trying to soothe you as both men fuck into you. Your pussy aches, your walls shaking sheerly from the fullness.
Hal digs his nails into your skin, crescent marks of his fingers matching Bruce’s from only a few minutes ago. His thrusts are frantic and fast and nearly violent, sending you further into Barry’s chest with every single one.
Barry is only slightly better, faster than Hal and just as punishing, but much less desperate.
"That's it, baby," Hal praises. "Let us take care of you."
You let yourself fall against them, let them fuck you while your mind goes entirely blank. That knot inside of you builds and builds and builds, heat radiating from your core until you finally snap and cum.
It’s already a tight fit with both of them inside of you but with your walls clenching up, it’s almost painful. Hal comes first, his cock twitching and filling you up pretty much the second you finish.
Barry’s next, the combined heat of your slick and Hal’s too much for him. He squeezes you tightly against his chest while he finishes inside of you, hot cum filling you to the brim.
You’re left sweaty and gasping, laying against Barry’s chest on the construct bed that Hal made.
Barry kisses the side of your head. “How are you feeling?”
“G-good, I think.”
It’s a few minutes before the three of you untangle from each other, both Hal and Barry climbing off of the bed. Barry offers you a hand, helping you onto your feet and keeping you up despite the exhaustion plaguing your body.
“I-I’m feeling better,” you announce to no one in particular. “Thank you guys for helping.”
“That’s good,” Bruce says, gesturing over his shoulder. “But we have another problem now.”
You squint, following the line his finger points to to see Diana, flushed and naked, and Clark, on his knees and eating her out.
Fuck, you think to yourself. It must have been contagious after all.
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pairing: Diana Prince x f! reader (has a pussy + fem pronouns) x Clark Kent x Bruce Wayne x Barry Allen x Hal Jordan (at the same damn time!!!)
summary: when you get infected with a mysterious substance on a mission, there are only two options: die, or fuck your coworkers
cw: 4k words, dubcon, mentions of blood, mentions of death, sex pollen/aphrodisiacs, gangbang/orgy, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, pussy eating, fingering, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, voyeurism, creampies, lots of cum, doggystyle, stand & carry, double penetration, praise/degradation, reader gets passed around like crazy
froggi yaps -> HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! i have been SO SO SO EXCITED FOR THIS ONE!!! from the start i knew i wanted to do a crazy gangbang & it was either gonna be the JLA or if I was feeling lazy, Dick/Roy/Reader/Wally. anyway please enjoy my JLA insanity <3
not ready for halloween to be over yet? come trick or treating!
Of all the stupid things you’ve done in your life, walking directly into the glowing purple room on a hostile spaceship definitely ranks first.
You’d just finished fighting your way through the horde of robots that occupied the ship when you spotted it. Bruce had been in a heated discussion with Hal, scanning something in the alien-robot helmets that you didn’t quite understand. Barry had scratched his neck, trying to play mediator.
No one but you seemed to notice the glowing, whispering room only a few short steps down the hall. No one seemed to notice the incredible scent—oddly reminiscent of Diana’s perfume—or the way it beckoned you in.
No one noticed as you shuffled your feet towards it in a trance, picked up an ID card from one of the deceased robots, and scanned yourself into the room.
It was Clark that noticed first, his superior hearing perking up the minute he heard the soft click of the door. “What are you doing?”
Barry’s on his feet in an instant, tearing away from the argument. It’s a millisecond, maybe two, before he gets to you. But he’s too late.
Dazed, you’d already stumbled into the purple mist, the door sealing shut behind you.
The minutes after that were a blur. The mist had wrapped around you, invaded every pore, filled every breath until you weren’t sure if you were breathing or drowning. The burning in your lungs snapped you out of your trance and you immediately spun around to pound on the glass door in front of you.
It didn’t give. Even through Clark and Diana’s joint efforts, through every construct Hal could build and every plan Bruce could think of, the door didn’t give. You were trapped. Utterly helpless, suffocating.
The room only got hotter from there, the perfumey scent that had once been enticing now made your stomach churn. Your muscles weakened and you let yourself slide against the door, resigning yourself to dying on an alien-robot spaceship.
You were unconscious by the time the door opened three minutes later. Diana had immediately grabbed you and dragged you out, scrunching up her nose at the scent coming from the room.
Bruce checked your pulse, Clark scanning over you with his xray vision to make sure you weren’t injured. For all intents and purposes, you were fine. Sure, your core temperature was a little elevated, and yeah, you were unconscious—but you were fine.
Which brings you to now: waking up on the cold metal floor, a horrible ache rattling the back of your skull. There’s a scratch in your throat, a new sort of heat pulsing through you.
You blink up at the five faces above you, forcing yourself to sit up. The pain in the back of your head sharpens to a point as you sit, a trickle of blood leaking from your nose and over your lips.
You wipe it on the back of your hand without thinking, looking groggily around the room. “What happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Bruce says gruffly.
Diana crouches down next to you, brushing a thumb over the steady stream of blood coming from your nose. “How are you feeling?”
“Dizzy,” you admit. “Everything hurts.”
You open your mouth to apologize for wandering off and to warn them about the trance-like state the gas from the room put you in, but freeze when a wave of warmth rolls over you. It starts in your chest, radiating out through your veins and pooling in your lower stomach.
And then it burns, like acid is eating through your organs. You double over, gagging from the pain, pulling your knees into your stomach. Short, gasping breaths leave your lips.
Barry crouches on your other side, laying a gentle hand on your back. “Easy now, easy.” He looks at Diana over your head, frowning, “she’s a thousand degrees.”
The Amazonian nods solemnly though she doesn’t dare open her mouth lest her words make you feel even more anxious.
Somewhere off to the side, while you’re trying to keep your stomach from flipping inside out, Hal and Bruce are trying to figure out just what exactly was in that room. The purple coloured smoke was unlike anything either of them had seen before, and though neither of them want to admit it, that doesn’t bode well for an antidote.
The pain in your stomach subsides, narrowing down to your core. Your eyes shoot wide at the all too familiar feeling. You swallow, casting your gaze down.
“How’s the pain?” Clark asks, lips pursed in a frown.
His eyes lock with Diana’s in a silent conversation, Clark assessing your vitals as subtly as he can. You’ve only grown hotter since you woke up, the pain you once felt all over localizing to your lower half.
You double over in pain again, your stomach cramping the way it would when you’re on your period. Heat pools in your underwear, leaking through to the inner seams of your suit. Your lungs ache for air but every breath feels warm and shallow.
Diana rubs a hand over your lower stomach and the minute her palm makes contact, the pain briefly subsides. The sweet relief of a deep breath expands your lungs.
You lean into her touch, tilting your head to rest on her broad shoulders. The closer you are to her, the more of her that fills your senses, the better you feel.
At the same time you make this revelation, Bruce and Hal are joining back with the group.
Though it’s rare to see Bruce smile in his Batman persona as it is, the deep frown on his face feels like a bad sign. “We’ve figured out what the toxin was.”
Next to Bruce, Hal is an equal mix of concerned and flustered. The pair of them only makes your anxiety spike, the pain you’d staved off coming back.
“What is it?” Barry asks, his own hand resting comfortingly on your knee.
“The good news is that it’s not exactly a poison.”
You look up at Hal through your lashes, waiting for him to say more, about how this could possibly be good news.
It’s Bruce that speaks up. “It’s a lab made chemical, meant to help with population regrowth on near-desolated planets.”
No matter how horribly, desperately you don't want it to be true, you know that it is. Before he even continues speaking, a part of you knows what he’s going to say next. Knows what’s coming to you.
“It inflicts damage on your body, staying in your system until you either satiate it or…” He trails off and you swear the frown lines on his face deepen.
No one dares ask what comes after ‘or’.
It’s Diana that breaks the silence. “How is it satiated?”
“Population regrowth,” your voice cracks on the word. “You fix it by reproducing.”
Bruce nods solemnly, confirming what you already knew.
You lay your palms flat on the floor, trying to push yourself to your knees. The minute Diana and Barry’s hands fall off of you, the pain comes back tenfold, radiating up your spine until you’re dizzy.
The blood drips faster from your nose now, a metallic taste filling your mouth. You swallow it back, “if I can just—if we get back to the ship, I can take care of it.”
Barry’s hand finds its way back into your palm, the other one wiping away the blood that spills over your lip. “She won’t make it that long,” he looks up at Bruce with desperate eyes, “will she?”
Again, he shakes his head.
The drop in morale at that moment is so severe you can feel it, tensions rising around you. It’s only now that the gravity of the situation really settles into your chest.
Fear rises to your throat like bile. You’re going to die here, you’re going to die because you made a stupid mistake. And the only way you can stop it, the only way you can fix yourself, is to strip down in front of your friends—your coworkers—and fuck yourself like an unfixed dog.
“How long does it last?” Your voice sounds weaker now.
“We don’t know,” Hal admits. “From the scan Clark did on you, it could be hours, it could be days.”
Hours. Though you’re practically soaked through with arousal, though your pussy flutters in anticipation, the thought of masturbating with them in the room for hours makes your heart drop.
“I can stay here and you guys go back to the ship and I can meet you there—”
Please, god, do not let me have to touch myself in front of my coworkers.
You’re surprised when it’s not Hal or Bruce that speaks next, it’s Barry. “It doesn’t work like that, does it?”
Spoken like a true scientist.
“It’s for repopulation,” Bruce reiterates. “If you stay here alone, you will die.”
Hal’s eyes find yours from behind his mask. “You feel it, don’t you?” He gestures to the way Barry’s holding you, “the way touch makes the pain go away. The way the pain triples when you try to pull away.”
He speaks on the experience so eloquently, you can’t help but wonder if he’s gone through this before. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t quite read, one beyond the concern. One that looks an awful lot like understanding.
“So…” Clark begins.
“I either have sex with someone, or I die.” You look around the room, at each of the people around you, “it’s not fair. I can’t ask any of you to do that.”
The chorus of voices surprises you, though it probably shouldn’t given who you’re with. “I’ll do it.”
Damn heroes, always trying to rectify situations at the cost of themselves.
“I’d be taking advantage,” you frown, the pain in your stomach starting to come back again. “It’s unfair.”
Diana cups your face, turning your head to face her. “How is it that you’re the one in danger, and yet you’re worried about us?”
The feeling of her fingertips on your skin ignites something in you, simultaneously soothing the pain that lingers at the back of your spine.
You shrug your shoulders. “I just…don’t want any of you to do something you don’t want to.”
Again, they begin to protest, heads shaking at your antics.
Leave it to Hal Jordan to ask the hard questions. “So, who do you want to do it?”
“I—” You suck in a breath, Diana and Barry’s touch not chasing away the pain as well as it was before. “I don’t care, I trust you all. Just don’t let me die. Please.”
Right now, you’re not sure there’s anyone you trust more than the people in the room. You’ve dealt with countless problems by their sides, confided in them about all of your problems, grabbed beers with them after saving the world.
Your trust in them is unshakeable, absolute.
Immediately, the room dissolves into discussion. There’s arguments on who does it, on what they need to do, how careful they need to be. They discuss the possibility of the chemical spreading, of someone else being inflicted. Barry rises to his feet, dropping your hand to join the discussion.
And while the men argue, Diana cups your jaw and pulls you in for a dizzying kiss. Her lips are soft on yours, and despite the blood that’s dried to your own lips, she doesn’t seem to mind.
Her other hand finds the small of your back, drawing shapes over your spine. Her grip on you is strong, reassuring, a total comfort. You fall into her completely, letting her guide you onto your back, the cold metal of the floor staving off some of your heat.
Her tongue swipes across the back of your teeth, that familiar taste of hers filling your mouth. Her other hand trails down to the seam of your pants, dipping inside to rub at your heat.
For a minute, she’s surprised at how wet you are, how swollen your clit already is. But then she pushes past her shock, her thumb rubbing circles with just enough pressure to have wave after wave of ecstasy rolling over you.
She pulls away—just for a second—to pull your pants down to your knees, giving herself easier access to you. Her mouth greedily swallows every moan before it can hit the air, muffling it from the men still arguing around you.
Every touch is intentional, every swish of her tongue in your mouth synchronized with her finger on your clit. You’re sure the drug must be heightening your senses, making you all too sensitive to her touch.
She’s barely slipped a finger inside of you when you’re already coming undone, electricity bolting up your spine as your walls pulse around her finger. The aftershocks of your orgasm chase away the pain, the fear—everything.
"Good girl," she praises. "I'll take care of you."
And then she’s kissing down your chest, lips sucking at your neck. She starts to slowly move her finger inside of you again, her other hand leaving your face to push the fabric of your shirt up. She kisses further down, lips getting closer and closer to where she’s fucking you with her finger.
Just as her mouth attaches to your clit, another finger pushes inside of you. A particularly loud moan slips from your lips and without Diana there to muffle it, the cacophonous arguing stops.
“Holy shit,” Hal breathes, and suddenly you’re way too aware of four sets of eyes watching the two of you.
Diana looks up at you, long lashes framing her eyes. “Let them watch,” she says, “maybe they could learn something.”
Her fingers curl inside of you and you moan again, the sound rattling the room. You arch your back, whining. Your eyes flutter shut, that knot in your stomach building up almost as fast as it did the first time.
Your thighs shake on either side of her head, nails digging into your palms. You try to close your legs but then they’re being forced apart by a pair of floating green hands.
You blink at Hal, who’s since discarded his mask. He grins in return.
And then you’re finishing again, slick coating Diana’s face and tongue as she eats you through it. You can feel their eyes on you even through your orgasm, even as your eyes flutter closed and your muscles all twitch.
Then Diana is pulling her mouth away, taking deep breaths as she gives you a minute of rest. It’s only a minute, but already the pain starts to come back as a dull ache.
“How are you feeling?” Clark asks.
“It’s starting to hurt again…”
He doesn’t ask another question before he’s replacing Diana on the floor in front of you, adjusting his suit until he can free his cock. He’s already somewhat hard—the two of you had put on quite the show.
Clark and Diana’s willingness to fuck you in front of everybody almost has you feeling guilty for your hesitance earlier. You trust these people, you love these people. How could you doubt that?
“Come here,” he opens his arms to you, “I got you.”
And then you’re crawling into his arms, letting him pick you off the floor. With his strength, he does it with ease, slowly lowering you down onto his cock. The minute his head pierces your entrance, you have to bite down on your lip to keep from being too loud.
You take him inch by inch, your body adjusting much more easily than it usually would. Despite your aching need, Clark’s gentle with you. He takes his time, watching every twitch of your body for a sign he should stop.
When you’ve finally taken all of him, the two of you gasp in sync. You wrap your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair. He tightens his grips around your thighs and then he’s lifting you up and dropping you back down on his cock.
With every motion, he pierces deeper inside of you. Your walls suck him in, beg him for more, beg him to go deeper. You’re so close to him, you can feel the beat of his heart, hear every tiny hitch in his breath.
He guides you up and down his cock like a toy, and you let him, going boneless in his arms. Lurid sounds leave your lips but you’re long past the point of caring. You drag your hands from his neck down to his back, scratching at his shoulders, though Clark doesn’t seem to mind.
“You’re so warm,” he groans. “So hot.”
Maybe it’s the toxin or your own overstimulation but it only takes a few minutes before you’re finishing again, muscles clenching up, pussy tightening around Clark’s cock like it’s trying to milk him dry. He fixes his lips against yours, bearing your weight completely while you orgasm.
“That’s it. Let it all out, sweetheart.”
It’s only a few more thrusts for Clark before he’s finishing too. Both the heat and the sudden tightness of your walls is too much for him. He presses his hips flush against yours, the head of his cock kissing your cervix as he comes. He fills you up, the warm fluid slowly leaking out of you.
He kisses you again, softly. “Do you need more?”
You feel horribly greedy as you nod your head yes, barely registering what’s happening as Clark passes you to Hal and Bruce.
The two men take you between them, holding you up despite the way your knees shake and threaten to buckle at any second.
Hal pulls you in for a tantalizing kiss. It’s needy and sloppy, punctuated with the desperation he feels after watching you get fucked by his teammates. Bruce’s hands make quick work of your uniform, finishing what Diana had started earlier.
Being free from the fabric cools you down only slightly, the heat from their bodies immediately making up for it. There’s a flash of green light and then there’s a bed only a few feet away from you.
Bruce grabs you, practically throwing you on top of it before the two men and Barry join you.
It’s a blur of hands and lips from there, the three of them somehow wrestling you onto your knees. Bruce is behind you, lining his cock up with your entrance, while Hal and Barry both sit on their knees in front.
Bruce taps your back, just once. "You're still okay?"
You weakly hum in agreement, arching your back to encourage him.
Bruce doesn’t waste a second before he pushes himself inside of you, Clark’s leftover cum acting as lube. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, Barry slipping his fingers inside. You don’t even think, your lips just close around them and you start sucking.
Bruce’s thrusts are aggressive, rocking both you and the bed, sending Barry’s fingers further down your throat. And then he’s replacing his fingers with his cock, your jaw aching at the sudden stretch.
You let your eyes flutter closed, letting the two men use you. Every thrust sends you further against the other, a perfectly choreographed dance between them. One goes deep and sends the other deeper, Bruce’s thick cock filling you so much that it’s hard to breathe.
Meanwhile, Hal rubs the hair away from your face and the sweat away from your forehead. “You’re like a pro,” he jokes. “You’re taking them so well.”
Barry gasps as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. “Fuck, Hal, you gotta try.”
And then they’re switching places, Hal’s cock replacing Barry’s in your mouth, Barry’s lips attacking the side of your neck instead.
Bruce digs his fingers deeper into your hips, fingertips sure to bruise you the next day. He slams himself deeper against you, every thrust punctuated with a cock muffled moan from you.
Barry’s teeth graze the side of your neck, his hand slipping down to rub circles on your clit and that’s all it takes for you to come undone all over again. Your arms shake violently, sending you pitching forward on the bed. Lucky for you, Barry catches your head, keeping you up the best he can while you get spitroasted on their cocks.
Bruce fucks you through your high and then he’s falling apart with you, his cock twitching in your walls. With one final, rough thrust, he pushes himself in balls deep and lets himself cum inside of you.
Hal pulls his cock out of your mouth, letting you breathe freely while you fight the aftershocks of your orgasm.
When you’ve finally come to enough, you blink up at the man. “Want you next,” you declare, “you and Barry.”
And after the show you’ve put on, neither man is in any place to argue. Barry holds you against his chest while Hal moves away, repositioning himself where Bruce was only a minute ago.
Hal helps you move your quivering thighs on either side of Barry’s, grabbing the man’s cock and slipping the head inside of you. Bruce and Clark’s cum drips out, sliding down his shaft and onto his thighs.
Barry’s tip slips inside of you easily, his arms wrapping around your back to hold you still while Hal positions himself. The Lantern grips your hip with one hand and slowly guides his cock to your entrance with the other.
There’s pressure, your aching hole struggling to accommodate both of them, but Hal Jordan is not one to give up.
He rubs a hand up your back, “breathe, baby. Deep breaths.”
You try to do as he says, letting yourself go limp against Barry. With your muscles relaxed, his cock slides inside of you easily. You’re full, so full you can barely move, but fuck it feels so good. That constant gnawing heat that’s been plaguing you dissipates into almost nothing, every thought in your head clears away.
Barry thrusts first and it’s such a tight fit that that alone has your eyes rolling back. Hal goes next, the friction of their cocks inside of you making your mind go blank. They continue in that rhythm, sloppy at first as they try to find a suitable pace.
"F-fuck, it's so tight." Barry curses.
Barry kisses at your cheek, your temple, the side of your head, trying to soothe you as both men fuck into you. Your pussy aches, your walls shaking sheerly from the fullness.
Hal digs his nails into your skin, crescent marks of his fingers matching Bruce’s from only a few minutes ago. His thrusts are frantic and fast and nearly violent, sending you further into Barry’s chest with every single one.
Barry is only slightly better, faster than Hal and just as punishing, but much less desperate.
"That's it, baby," Hal praises. "Let us take care of you."
You let yourself fall against them, let them fuck you while your mind goes entirely blank. That knot inside of you builds and builds and builds, heat radiating from your core until you finally snap and cum.
It’s already a tight fit with both of them inside of you but with your walls clenching up, it’s almost painful. Hal comes first, his cock twitching and filling you up pretty much the second you finish.
Barry’s next, the combined heat of your slick and Hal’s too much for him. He squeezes you tightly against his chest while he finishes inside of you, hot cum filling you to the brim.
You’re left sweaty and gasping, laying against Barry’s chest on the construct bed that Hal made.
Barry kisses the side of your head. “How are you feeling?”
“G-good, I think.”
It’s a few minutes before the three of you untangle from each other, both Hal and Barry climbing off of the bed. Barry offers you a hand, helping you onto your feet and keeping you up despite the exhaustion plaguing your body.
“I-I’m feeling better,” you announce to no one in particular. “Thank you guys for helping.”
“That’s good,” Bruce says, gesturing over his shoulder. “But we have another problem now.”
You squint, following the line his finger points to to see Diana, flushed and naked, and Clark, on his knees and eating her out.
Fuck, you think to yourself. It must have been contagious after all.
Also I’m thinkin of like babysitter! Reader (it’s just Bruce not wanting Damian to escape while he’s gone) and Jason bust through the front door and reader literally tackles him trying to protect Damian and Jason is like “what the fuck” then Damian pretends to be like “I have no idea who that man is. Kill him.”
CW: Fluff, husband!Bruce being a loser for his wife.
Summary: One of the baby bats is sick, and you're mother henning all over them. Bruce doesn't think he's ever been more in love.
A/N: Special Tim appearance with this! Enjoy!
"Oh, sweetie." You sighed, gently stroking Tim's hair as he coughed, his brain fogged and slow due to the illness. "Have you been taking your antibiotics?" You scolded him gently, holding up his pack of prescribed Levofloxacin, counting out the few meds he had taken. Tim had been sick for days now, his weak immune system having trouble fighting off the pneumonia in his lungs. You meticulously draped a blanket over Tim, fluffing up his pillows and helping him settle into the soft little nest you'd made for him to curl up in.
Bruce stood behind you, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the two of you as you fussed over a whining Tim. "You won't get better!" You sighed, your hand coming to cup Tim's cheek, feeling the warmth and claminess of his skin. Bruce fiddled with the wedding band around his ring finger anxiously, staring down at Tim's pale and sickly face, curled up on his bed. He coughed, wincing at the burning sensation it brought through his throat, you still fretting over him like he was an infant.
"Maybe we need to take you to a hospital, Tim." Bruce sighed with resignation, his large hand coming to rest on his wife's shoulder. You nodded in tandem. "I'll call Alfred and tell him to pack a little bag for Tim." You stood up, walking out of the room with confident strides, Bruce following closely behind, ignoring Tim's whines of protest. The large door shut behind you two, muffling Tim behind them.
Before you could wander off down the hall, Bruce caught your wrist and pulled you to his broad chest, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then, the tip of your nose. To your cheek, to your temple, then finally, one to your lips. Smearing the lipstick you wore onto his own lips and slightly across your soft skin. "You're such a mother hen." He chuckled, pressing his forehead to yours.
"I can't help it. He looks so miserable when sick." You sighed, your hand slipping into his much larger one, relishing in the warmth of his palm against yours. "He can't keep any food or liquid down, and he's got pneumonia. But he won't even take his meds, Bruce!" You blubbered on anxiously, finally being shut up by a pair of familiar lips on your own.
"You look so gorgeous." Bruce's mouth was moving faster than his brain. He noticed you were slightly breathless when he pulled back, happy to be the one to be able to do that to you. "I need to go find Alfred." You murmured, hesitantly pulling away from your husband.
"Be quick. I want you back in my arms as soon as possible." Bruce called out as you wandered down the hall, watching your figure disappear around the corner. God, he couldn't help the way his heart pounded each time you were near. Even watching you fret over his children was endearing. He was so gone for you, and he knew it. You knew it. His kids knew it. Alfred knew it. The whole of Gotham knew it. And he wouldn't change a damn thing if it meant that everybody knew you were his wife.
ৎׅ ׄ synopsis ⋮ your college is having a small market, and Damian finds a little taste of home.
word cnt. 3.8k
aka ›››› You put kohl on each other's eyes like tyrants in love
At your college, there existed a delightful little tradition known as the Student Fair. Each month, the courtyard would awaken into a bustling, sun-kissed sort of bazaar, where stalls sprouted like wildflowers, each one brimming with treasures crafted by hand. Some were the fruits of family businesses, steeped in tradition, while others bore the quiet love of work made in tiny dorms. Everything for sale was either a simple necessity or a tiny indulgence: delicate hair clips, homemade soaps, the faintly sweet scent of hand-stirred lipstick. It was a world of small wonders, and every month it called to those with curious eyes. Or people with horrible spending habbits.
Damian believed both could apply to you.
You and Damian had perched yourselves upon the cool, gleaming marble fence that marked the edge of the corridor, your books and notes laid carefully before you. And yet, no matter how diligently you tried to study, your eyes betrayed you, flitting every so often toward the colorful array of stalls below.
“If you want to buy something,” Damian murmured gently, never once lifting his gaze from the textbook in front of him, “you can go ahead.”
You paused, pencil hovering above your notes, heart a little tangled. You could, perhaps, afford one small indulgence—but what if, by some cruel twist of fate, it was beyond your means? The very idea of flailing around for change in front of Damian made your cheeks heat.
“No, it’s…” you said lightly, trying to sound casual as your pencil scrawled over the page, “…there’s probably nothing that suits my taste anyway.”
And yet, he noticed. He always noticed. Every few minutes, your gaze wandered, drawn irresistibly to the trinkets, the jewelry, the laughter of students leaving with little prizes in hand. He thought it quite endearing, really—like a little bunny peeking at a garden of treats.
“My brother is planning on proposing soon,” he murmured softly, as if to himself. “I need to get her an engagement gift. I was thinking… nail polish maybe. She always has different colors on her nails.” His tone was quiet, yet there was a trace of mischief, for Damian knew full well that Kori’s true indulgence would be nothing more than the finest ice cream mochi, a sweet she adored that he always privately ordered to keep in stock for her. Grayson has asked him numerous times for the brand so he could do it himself. And its not that Damian is trying to one-up him, truly he could care less, but by doing something for Kori he feels like he's doing something for Dick. That's enough of a reason not to tell him.
Your gaze snapped from the stalls, eyes widening with sudden clarity. “Ah! They might have some—”
But Damian was already rising, the marble beneath his hands cool against his palms, cool enough for him to snag his leather gloves from his pocket and put them on, “Come on, then.”
You shrugged into your winter gloves, tugged your scarf higher, and glanced back at him. He looked ready to laugh, a playful glint in his green eyes.
“What?” you huffed, though the question did little to curb his amusement.
The scarf was pulled past your nose, and your hair tumbled freely, framing your face like a soft, secretive mask. You looked, as he so quietly thought, like one of those winter dolls sold in quaint knickknack shops, silly and endearing.
“Are you truly that cold?” he asked, chuckling softly, gathering your scattered books into a neat little pile.
“You’re not??” you asked in bewilderment, noting his simple trench coat, unbuttoned and almost careless in its warmth.
“Ah, yes, I forgot—you’re anemic,” he hummed, taking careful strides beside you, matching his pace to yours with gentle attentiveness.
You refused to grant him the satisfaction of an answer. No matter how you responded you knew he'd just throw random medical terms at you. And frankly, you didn't feel like studying right now.
“What kind colors do you think will match her vibe?” you asked as the stalls drew nearer, your excitement brightening like sunlight on the marble.
The fair reminded Damian of childhood—of simpler days before duty and shadows and masks. He recalled buying a knife from a kindly old man, whose eyes had sparkled with pride as the young heir had marveled at his craftsmanship.
Now, his gaze drifted back to you, soft and slightly amused. “Just grab some staples. Dark red, black, white, pink.” he muttered. Damian knew it sounded like b.s. but he really only dragged you out for your sake so you'd have the enjoyment of looking around.
You however, sighed, certain he was hopeless, and came to a stop at the entrance. Students of every age passed by since the doors at this private institute was open just for this, laughing and chattering, their pockets heavy with little treasures.
“Well, show me a picture. I mean, Its kind of needed, I can’t just buy something that won’t suit her,” you said firmly.
“I can’t just buy something?” he parroted, raising an eyebrow.
“Isn’t that why I’m here?” you countered, exasperated.
Damian hesitated, realizing you hadn’t yet taken the opportunity to indulge in the very things your eyes had been lingering on. Wonderful. He would have to navigate this on his own.
With a careful hand, you drew one glove out of your pocket—a sacrifice, for the cold bit sharply at your fingers even with the glove still on—and gestured for him to show the picture.
He hummed, retrieving his phone from his back pocket, scrolling through until he found a modest account, barely a handful of followers. A post from their last date came into view, and when you peered at it, your breath caught.
“Fucking hell… she’s a goddess,” you whispered.
Damian merely shrugged, offering you the phone for inspection. You handed it back after a moment, hum, eyes still alight with awe.
“So… what’s the budget?” you asked, heart fluttering with the thrill of the hunt.
“None,” he said with a careless shrug.
You groaned, turning toward the maze of stalls. “Rich people,” you muttered under your breath, a faint smile tugging at your lips.
And so, the little fair stretched out before you—a winter wonderland of tiny marvels.
“Fresh sourdough bread! Buy one, get one!”
“Handmade toys—support a local children’s hospital!”
“Three for nine, five for fifteen!”
Damian’s voice came from just behind you, quiet but grumbling, “Now why are they heckling like that?” He stepped closer, just enough that his shoulder brushed yours occasionally as he subtly guided you through the throng of students. You didn’t answer—didn’t need to. You could feel his presence, solid and unobtrusive, and somehow it made the chaos around you fade into a kind of warm blur.
You wandered past the stalls with baked goods and pastries to the quieter corners where the small treasures and cosmetics had gathered. One stall caught your attention: an elderly lady, perhaps a classmate’s grandmother, stitching tiny birds onto felt with delicate, careful fingers.
Her eyes lifted at you as you approached, tentative hope glittering there. Damian bent slightly to peer at the tiny combs before muttering under his breath, “So… ugly.”
You jabbed him lightly with your elbow. He coughed to cover it, leaning just a little closer so only you could hear, “Her hearing aids are right next to her phone. She can’t hear me!”
“What if she can read lips?” you whispered back, smiling despite yourself, pretending to inspect the combs while stealing glances at him.
“Well… then I’ll tell her she’s overcharging,” he murmured, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
You offered the lady a gentle nod, stepping away quickly, and felt a pang at the disappointment flickering across her face.
“You’re such an asshole,” you muttered under your breath as you came to the next stall, brushing over the neat arrangement of clips and headbands.
“I saw superglue on those plastic gemstones,” Damian murmured behind you, stepping close, almost protective. The proximity was different—there was a warmth to it, a presence that felt like a shield without being imposing. The faint scent of pine clung to him, but beneath it, there was something uniquely Damian—intimate and grounding, familiar yet impossible to replicate. Your chest fluttered without permission.
“She tried her best!” you said softly, almost defensively, “You should be more attentive to them, I can't imagine how lonely it is at that age.”
“Thats pitying them, not being attentive.”
“It's better than nothing,” you huff before your gaze landed on something that made your heart lurch: a beautiful set of nail polish in a little white case, the colors so so perfect for her.
White mother-of-pearl, smooth and gleaming in the soft light, cradled the beautiful shades. You picked it up carefully, as though it might vanish if handled too roughly. When you turned to him, seeking approval, you found his dark eyes soft, just enough.
“That works,” he said, almost too simply—but there was weight in it, and you felt it like a secret gift.
“Only works?” you teased, though the edge of vulnerability in your tone betrayed your hope that he’d care to agree a little more.
He met your gaze, just for a flicker of a moment, and hummed. “It looks nice. The pearl case would suit a soon-to-be bride. And all the colors would compliment her skin and hair. My brothers going to hate that he didn't find it first.”
You nodded, a shy pride swelling in your chest. Carefully, reverently, you handed the box to him, your gloved fingers brushing against his leather clad ones.
When Damian moved to the old man at the corner of the stall, you couldn’t tear your eyes away. He bent down slightly, meeting the man eye to eye, saying a polite, “Sir,” and forcing that faint, tight-lipped smile that somehow made him look both serious and impossibly charming. You felt your chest tighten a little, even as you tried to look casual.
Then the old man’s gaze slid toward you. He was wrapping the mother of pearl box with the polishes into a small bag, and when he asked, “Ah… is this for your lady?” it was like someone had tossed a bucket of heat straight onto your cheeks.
You blinked, stunned. Damian blinked too. Your hands twitched in your pockets, almost about to correct him, almost to save yourself from embarrassment of Damian laughing—but Damian didn’t hesitate.
“Yes… she’s very picky, so I'm glad we found something so soon” he said smoothly, casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world to say.
Your stomach did a little flip. You didn’t remember what the old man said next—the teasing, the laughter, Damian nodding along to something in Tamil that you couldn't hear—but the memory of Damian’s words, spoken like it was some tiny, personal truth, stuck. Why had he said that? He could have said it was for his sister, or a friend, or anyone—but no. He had said that.
A few moments later, the two of you walked away. Damian followed behind, carrying the bag with the comb, calm as a shadow, like the world had never just tilted sideways for a second for you–for your idea of what he could be to you
You fidgeted with the holes in your jacket pocket, heart hammering. “Why did you lie?” you asked, barely louder than a whisper, trying not to sound like you were confessing to anything.
Damian didn’t answer right away. Then he murmured, “I didn’t. You are picky.”
“Not that part,” you mumbled, feeling your warmth rise all over again. Stepping through the sea of people and trying to keep your voice as steady as possible.
He gave you a slow, teasing shrug. “You were the one who said to be more attentive,” he said, voice low and almost mischievous. “I was just doing what you said, my lady.”
That has literally nothing to do with being attentive.
You groaned and buried your face deeper in your scarf, trying desperately to hide that your cheeks had betrayed you. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered.
“And yet you’re still friends with me,” he said lightly, humming under his breath like it was the simplest fact in the world.
“Only because you’d die without me.”
“Remind me who tutors who in chemistry?”
“Remind me who tutors who in social skills?” you retort, huffing, your long strides eating up the distance between stalls as you walk with purpose. Damian chuckles behind you, quiet and effortless, easily keeping pace with you, as always.
You pause for a moment, cooing softly at the little children who pass by with their older siblings. Tiny hands clutching bright toys, eyes wide with wonder, cheeks rosy from the winter air. Your gaze drifts to the delicate ceramic dolls in the windows, each one painted so finely it almost seems alive, and to the small hand mirrors polished to a perfect gleam. You know you’d never use them, but the artistry—the quiet care with which someone created something so small, so detailed—makes your heart ache with a tender sort of admiration.
Then, a tug at your sleeve. You glance down to see Damian silently guiding you toward a small, tucked-away stall.
“Damian?” you murmur, hesitant, curious.
He doesn’t answer immediately. His eyes, dark and impossibly expressive, shine with a strange excitement, lashes fluttering rapidly in that little habit of his that you’ve noticed in the past two months. Something in his gaze makes your chest tighten. You force yourself to look away, carefully, and then you notice what has captured him so completely.
A small shop brimming with fragments of home and places close to it: tiny pots of kohl and sticks of kajal, delicate incense sticks, oil lamps of every shape and hue, and embroidered handkerchiefs, soft as whispers, their threads woven with care. Bakhoor too. He can spot sambrani in the corner of his eye. A little taste of something familiar, a quiet echo of the world he once knew.
Damian doesn’t even realize he’s still holding your sleeve, anchored as he is by both the weight of the familiar and the intrigue of the unknown. His free hand moves carefully among the items, picking up a small gold pot of kohl. He twists the lid delicately, not to open it, but to admire the design—an almost reverent fascination in the way he studies it, as if touching it could disturb its familiarity to him.
“Do you want it?” you ask softly, your voice barely louder than a breath, and for a moment, he seems to snap out of his quiet reverie—so abruptly that you almost regret asking.
He blinks at you, then down at the tiny gold pot. “I haven’t worn any since I was small… my mother still wears hers daily,” he murmurs, his voice quiet, almost a whisper to himself.
“Why did you stop?” you ask, gentle now, unsure if this is a question you’re allowed to ask.
You know Damian. You know his habits, the way he blinks quickly when excited, the faint way he bites the inside of his cheek when holding back a smile. But you don’t know him. Not truly. Not the parts that are buried beneath layers of discipline, pride, and caution. And perhaps you never will—unless he chooses to let you.
“Well… it wasn’t something I felt the need to seek out.” His gaze drifts over the array of small treasures before him. Gotham is a place of many streets, many shops, many possible distractions. Yet when he came here, he assumed a role, as if stepping into the shadow of the Batman name, keeping parts of himself close, private, unwilling to explain what others might never understand, even if their intentions were pure.
While Damian remains absorbed, you quietly pick up another pot of kohl, slipping it into your pocket with a subtle motion, unnoticed by him. It isn’t until the shopkeeper murmurs, “Thank you for supporting my family,” that Damian finally registers what you’ve done. He blinks at the small wooden box in your hand, releasing the gold pot in his own grasp, and sets it gently back on the shelf.
“Do you know how to put it on?” he asks, eyes flitting to yours with a quiet vulnerability.
“I always had someone else do it for me, if I’m honest,” you reply, soft, the words hanging in the air like a confession. It could be a lie, or it could be the truth, but for once, it doesn’t matter whether he knows which.
A small, almost imperceptible smile begins to form on his face. “…You don’t have any other friends besides me,” he teases lightly, the corners of his mouth tilting up as he says it.
You kick his ankle in response, and he lets out a delighted laugh, sputtering as you pull him gently away from the market, muttering, “The nerve of this boy!” and “Like you have any friends!”
Eventually, you find your way back to your study spot, the secret corner where the world passes by beyond your view, and yet no one can see you. Everything is exactly as you left it—tidy, precise, organized in neat piles, Damian’s touch evident in every detail. You carefully move the tissue paper aside and retrieve the little velvet-lined wooden box, cradling the small pot of kohl in your hands.
Damian sits cross-legged in front of you after setting aside Kori’s gift, his frame leaning against the marble pillar with a rare, relaxed posture. His shoulders loosen, and he watches intently as you carefully lift the little gold pot from its velvet nest.
He blinks in surprise when you slide closer to him.
“Oh?” he chuckles softly. “On me?”
You huff, twisting the lid open and scraping the edges of the applicator so that the kohl is evenly distributed. “Well, obviously,” you say with a quiet certainty.
“I can do it myself,” he murmurs, rolling his eyes, though there’s a pause—a moment where your confidence seems to have unsettled him just slightly. The implication is clear: of course, you would do it for him.
“My Damian,” you say, mimicking his tone when calling you ‘my lady’ with a teasing lilt, “I fear I would have to ask you to do it for me, since we have no mirror. So in fairness, I’ll do it for you. That way, I won’t owe you later.”
“Ah, because I am so cruel,” he sighs, inching just slightly closer to make room for your presence.
“I’m glad you’re catching on,” you whisper, moving carefully to balance on your knees in front of him. One leg folded, the other dangling off the marble, making space for you.
From the corner of your eye, you notice his hand hovering near your waist—not touching, not even brushing—but close enough that it steadies you in a way that makes your heart stutter.
Such a good friend.
Could be a good something more.
Is a good something more.
Oh, he truly is so cruel.
Your gloved hand moves to rest against his cheekbone, tugging gently at the soft stretch of skin there. You know, if you weren’t wearing gloves, he wouldn’t have allowed this—he’d have turned away, or frozen, or found some reason to retreat into the armor of himself. But you can’t bring yourself to mind. Maybe you need the barrier too.
His eyes flicker up to meet yours, bright and steady beneath the golden light. You lean closer, holding your breath as you press the slender wand of kohl toward him, your movements careful, deliberate.
“Mm,” you murmur softly, almost barley audible, and Damian closes his eyes obediently. You trace the lower waterline in delicate strokes, the wand moving in small, tender motions. He can feel your breath ghosting against his face—faint, cool, and human. You’re so cold. He notes it absently, a quiet concern rising in the back of his mind. He’ll need to get you inside soon.
When you’re done, you pull away just slightly, inspecting your work with a small, satisfied smile.
You repeat the same process for his other eye, steady now, careful and reverent. The air between you feels thick, sacred. You silently thank every god who might be listening that you chose black gloves today. It hides the trembling of your hands as you rub the excess from the outer corners, smudging it just so.
“Like a prince,” you murmur, almost under your breath, the words falling out before you can catch them. Then, a little louder, softer still—“No, a king.”
Damian might have laughed at the irony if it weren’t for how truly pleased you look. Like a sly cat finding its favorite mouse. How lucky he is to be that mouse. Your eyes gleam with quiet pride, your mouth curved in a gentle, triumphant smile. Damian doesn’t dare ruin it.
One of his gloved hands moves to take the little pot from you, while the other finds your shoulder, urging you down so that you sit comfortably on your ankles. Now, you’re both at eye level—perfectly even, perfectly still.
His touch is surprisingly warm through the leather, the faintest pressure guiding your face toward him. You don’t think he breathes as he applies the kohl. You don’t, either. His concentration is absolute; every tiny motion deliberate, steady, reverent.
When he finishes, Damian sets the little pot back into the velvet-lined box, his movements slow and careful, as though any sudden motion might break the spell between you. Then, without a thought, he brings his gloved thumb to his lips, dampening it, and uses it to wipe away the faint smudge at the corners of your eyes.
You giggle, startled by the sudden intimacy of it, by the small furrow of his brows as he perfects his work. “Gross,” you laugh, wrinkling your nose.
Damian freezes, his thumb hovering midair as if realizing what he’s done. Did he actually just lick over his glove? Oh gods and then have the gall to touch you too. For a heartbeat, his expression flickers—caught between embarrassment and nostalgia. “That’s—” he starts, clearing his throat, the words falling quieter. “That’s how my mother would do it for me,” he explains, as if it’s a flimsy excuse he needs you to understand, just in case he’s crossed some invisible line.
You hum softly in response, not teasing this time. “Does it look okay?” you ask, voice gentle, eyes bright beneath his careful handiwork.
He leans back against the marble pillar, studying you in the stillness. Damian looks at you the way he looks at the oil paintings in the library—like something both familiar and far beyond reach. He looks at you the way he looks at the stray cats that wander into the courtyard—curious, reverent, impossibly fond.
His voice, when it comes, is quiet and sincere. “Like a queen.”
You open your mouth to speak, but he adds—without missing a beat—“A tyrant one.”
Your jaw drops in mock outrage before you lean forward and smack his arm. “Asshole!”
Damian laughs, the sound rich and soft, tugging the two ends of your scarf a little tighter just to spite you. The gesture earns him another weak slap to the shoulder, which he accepts with exaggerated dignity.
“ما زلتِ ملكة رغم ذلك,” Damian murmurs, knowing you cant hear him, his voice low and amused as he tries—not really—to fend off your flailing hands.
please please please let me know what you think it gives me so much motivation to write and you will be getting a new work sooner if you do ; (◞‸◟)
“اللمس هو آخر أشكال الأُلفة التي نعرفها” master list ! [this series]
summary ⊹₊ ⋆ Damian Wayne catches you watching him during a chemistry class, and instead of calling you out for it he draws you doing so.
aka ›››› how you two meet and how your "batman" (not)
word cnt. 3.3k
⤷ authors note .ᐟ.ᐟ two in one day who are they OMG. I hope you guys enjoy this one, for this series this is how they meet (might come back to change or make this non canon who knows). I really struggled with writing how a meet cute would play out without overly romanticizing his character but I hope it worked out.
If you’re being honest, your eyes find him more often than you’d like to admit. It’s not even intentional—they just seem to drift toward him, as though pulled by some quiet gravity. He doesn’t ask for attention, and yet it follows him—the way sunlight bends to the curve of a window, resting wherever he happens to be. He sits there, quietly composed, and somehow manages to do everything just so. When a professor tries to make a fool of him, he never flinches. He simply offers a smaller smile next time, a gentler tone, as if trimming away any excess warmth for safekeeping.
There’s a quiet confidence about him — the kind that hums rather than shouts, the kind you recognize before you can name it, and can’t help but admire once you do. Today, he’s wearing a black sweater, the kind that looks like it might cost more than your tuition, paired with dark slacks and leather shoes polished to a calm shine. Yesterday, it had been forest greens and deep browns, autumn colors that suited him too well, as though the season itself had chosen him as its muse.
His hair had been a little unruly on Tuesday, but his presentation in biology was anything but. For a moment, you and your friends were convinced he had memorized the textbook — page numbers and all. He sits two rows ahead, a precise two, as though he calculated the distance himself. No one sits between you, and yet you’ve never spoken. Perhaps you’re studying him, the way one studies a painting before deciding whether it’s truly beautiful — not for meaning, but for method.
He brings tea to class every other day — green most often, sometimes chamomile, occasionally chai. You’ve watched him long enough to notice the small things: the way he always carries a single packet of sugar and one of honey, folded neatly in his pocket. He never forgets them. It’s a ritual, a quiet one, as though sweetness must be earned in measured doses.
His pen is the same every day—a sleek, black fountain pen that glints faintly when the light hits it. It looks expensive, deliberate, and entirely out of place in a lecture hall filled with plastic pens and half-broken pencils. It’s the sort of pen your friends would post on their stories, captioned with something about “aesthetic mornings” or “study bliss”—all b.s. of course.
He never buys anything from the vending machines, nor does he eat in the mess hall ever, though once or twice you’ve glimpsed butter biscuits tucked inside a small Ziploc bag in his satchel—neat, efficient, portioned like everything else about him. He’s always two minutes early. Not one, not three. Two. As though his life runs on a rhythm invisible to anyone else. His cologne changes every few weeks, each scent subtle — like passing seasons marked by faint traces of cedar, citrus, or smoke. His hair grows too fast, and he always cuts it right when it starts to look perfect.
If you told anyone all this, they’d call you a stalker. But honestly, he’s just more interesting than whatever the lecturer is saying.
A month passes before you hear his name whispered by the boys behind you.
Damian Wayne.
They speak it with the same mixture of envy and fascination reserved for headlines. They scheme about ways to befriend him, to curry favor for the sake of their families’ businesses and reputations. Meanwhile, he seems far more concerned with conquering general chemistry than any of their social ambitions.
Later that evening, curiosity gets the better of you. You tell yourself it’s just research — harmless, academic curiosity — but you search him up anyway. His name fills the screen too quickly, too easily. Magazine covers, interviews where he says very little, charity events, gala photos in black and white. His life, documented like a story everyone else seems to think they already know. They write about his family, his lineage, his eyes, his posture — all the surface details that make a person sound like an heirloom. But you barely read the words. You’re too busy admiring the way the suit fits him, the clean lines of the tailoring, wondering if you could ever stitch your uniform to fall quite so neatly.
You’re reading a book one day during what can only be called a mercifully light workload. Your professor, in a rare act of generosity, has declared the hour a study hall — provided, of course, that your paper is complete. He knows half the class hasn’t even started.
But for once — and hopefully not the last time — productivity had found you early. You finished your paper the night before, over toast and jam and the quiet company of the old Italian man who visits the library to read yellowed Gotham history textbooks. He always hums softly when he reads, a tune you’ve never recognized, but somehow it makes the pages turn easier.
Now, with nothing weighing on your conscience, you decide to keep the streak going. You pull a book from your bag, the spine soft and slightly worn from too many late nights.
At the same time, he — Damian Wayne — opens a leather-bound sketchbook, smooth and dark, the kind that looks like it might hold secrets instead of sketches.
You uncap your old black pen, the one that sometimes leaks ink onto your fingers but writes beautifully all the same.
He, naturally, pulls out one of those sleek silver mechanical pencils — the kind that looks like it costs two good coffees and a bit of pride.
It makes you want to throw your Bic pen at him.
Time stretches quietly. Thirty minutes slip by — an impressive run of focus, if you do say so yourself — before your concentration starts to crumble. Inevitably, your eyes drift to him again. The light rests kindly on him, tracing the crisp line of his sweater, the slight angle of his jaw, the way his posture never falters even as he draws.
You tilt your head, trying to catch a glimpse of his page. You rise slightly from your seat — not enough to draw attention, or so you think. But when your eyes finally catch the image, your heart skips once, maybe twice.
He’s drawn himself — a loose outline, barely there strokes, the shape of him rendered gently and still effortlessly. But beside him… there you are. Peering over, caught mid-curiosity, immortalized in graphite.
For a heartbeat, you think you should be embarrassed. Maybe it’s meant to tease, to mock, to test how easily you fluster. But somehow, you can’t bring yourself to mind. The version of you on the page is softer, almost luminous — more beautiful than you ever believed you could be. The little sketch of you is more detailed than any of the others scattered across the paper.
He’s definitely trying to fluster you. That much is obvious. But you can’t look away.
A note in Arabic curls neatly beside the drawing: "القاتل جاهز للهجوم" — with a small arrow pointing directly to you.
You freeze. You don’t move, don’t apologize, don’t even pretend to look elsewhere. Three long minutes pass before Damian exhales quietly, a sound halfway between amusement and surrender. He sets his pencil down just long enough to write beneath the Arabic, his handwriting sharp and deliberate.
“Assassin ready to strike.”
A quiet laugh stirs in your chest. You hide it behind your sleeve, your smile barely contained. Your pulse feels light, as though it’s laughing too. And after a month of silence and stolen glances, you finally let him hear your voice.
“How long have you been staring at me,” you murmur, soft enough that the air might swallow the words, “to not need a reference?”
For a moment, you regret it — the boldness, the sound of your own voice, the sudden awareness that he could actually respond. The air thickens, still and waiting. His hand twitches once; the pencil hovers above the paper.
Then, without looking up, he says — evenly, but softer than you expect —
“You’re easy to draw.”
You hesitate, caught somewhere between flattery and disbelief.
“Is that a compliment or an insult?”
His mouth curves, barely. “Take it as you will.”
The silence that follows isn’t heavy; it’s warm, like a pause before a melody continues. You glance at his hand — calloused, faintly scarred — and wonder what stories live in those marks. He draws again, slower now, his strokes gentler, careful, as though sketching something that might vanish if he presses too hard.
Your voice returns, quiet but curious.
“Do my eyes really look like that?” you ask. On the page, they gleam — bright, soft, as if they’ve caught some secret light. “Because I think you should turn around and double-check.”
For the first time since you’ve known him — since you’ve watched him — his pencil stills completely, Damian stills completely.
Outside, the late afternoon light spills across the desks, golden and slow. The class hums with quiet sounds — turning pages, the tapping of shoes, the distant rustle of wind against the window. But in that tiny corner of the room, it feels like the world has tilted just slightly — as if everything, for one suspended breath, has turned to watch you both.
“I’m right. No need to check.”
You huff softly, the sound barely audible over the quiet rustle of pages in the room. But he seems to take it as permission — or maybe a challenge. He finally moves, pencil gliding again as though your exhale was the blessing he’d been waiting for.
He adds a few quick lines near your brows, the graphite whispering against paper. You lean forward slightly, pretending to read, though your eyes flicker to him with every breath.
“Must’ve looked at me a lot to be so confident,” you murmur, low and almost teasing.
Damian doesn’t even glance up. “We’ve established how simple you look.”
You raise a brow, a quiet spark tugging at your lips. “Clearly not, Mr. Wayne. This drawing is taking awfully long for someone of your speed.”
That gets him. His pencil pauses midair; his tone sharpens with curiosity. “Oh, so you do know who I am?” The words slip out before he can temper them. His voice rises — not loud, but clearer now, carrying just enough for you to hear, yet somehow the rest of the class remains oblivious. “Will I be graced with the pleasure of this blessing being returned?”
You blink, caught between amusement and disbelief. “That’s a roundabout way of asking for my name.”
“Well,” he hums lightly, a smirk threatening to form, “did it work?”
“I’ll tell you if you turn around,” you say, just above a whisper.
He pauses at that. The end of his pencil taps the sketchbook once, twice, as though thinking through the weight of your words. There’s a flicker of hesitation — rare for him — before he sets the pencil down and turns in his seat.
He moves with the quiet composure of someone who’s never had to rush for anyone. One arm rests along the back of the bench as he looks up at you. And that’s when you see them — his eyes.
Green. Not the bright kind, but deep, mossy, and startlingly alive. The sort of green you only find in hidden places — forest shadows, moss-covered stones after rain.
Up close, he’s both sharper and softer than you imagined. His lashes are dark, long, and unfairly thick. His brows frame his face like an artist’s careful brushstrokes. There’s a faint bump along his nose — an imperfection so human it almost feels sacred. You realize, with a quiet, irrational thought, that the magazines must have edited that away. You wish they hadn’t.
“So?” he says finally, tilting his head just slightly. One eye narrows in amusement — so subtly he might not even realize he’s doing it. “Name?”
You should tell him. You should say something normal. But instead, the words tumble out before you can catch them.
“Batman.”
His chest lifts, a short, caught breath that breaks into a stifled laugh. He blinks rapidly, eyes flicking downward as if willing himself to behave. But you see it — the corner of his mouth twitching, the faint, restrained smile threatening to escape.
“Oh?” he manages at last, voice steady but lined with quiet humor.
Too late to back out now.
You shake your head, sighing in either resignation or shame at your own poor sense of humor. “Mhm. That’s… that’s why I couldn’t tell you right away, you see.”
“I expected Batman to be taller,” he hums softly.
“I wear shoe inserts when I’m fighting crime,” you reply, keeping your tone perfectly solemn. “Helps intimidate the enemy.”
Damian bites the inside of his cheek again, his composure slipping for half a heartbeat before he reins it in. “Well, you don’t seem very intimidating.”
“It took you an awfully long time to talk to me, didn’t it?” you counter, feigning nonchalance. “I don’t think your words match your actions, Mr. Wayne.”
His smirk deepens — just slightly. “Maybe I was simply shocked to find Batman invading a fellow student’s privacy.”
That makes you flush, your confidence stumbling for the first time. So he has noticed you watching him. You fumble for a retort, huffing in your defense. “Well, maybe Batman was just making sure every citizen was well accounted for!”
“Oh?” Damian leans back, chin tilting upward in mock curiosity. “Isn’t public relations more Robin’s job?”
You groan quietly, finally letting go of the bit. “Oh please, he’s probably some failing English lit major who thinks his poetry is a gift from the gods.”
Damian raises an eyebrow, feigning offense on Robin’s behalf. “Robin?”
“He has that pretty-boy voice,” you say matter-of-factly. “I already know he’s annoying.”
“Pretty…” Damian echoes the word softly, as if turning it over in his mouth. Then he pauses, meeting your gaze, the faintest glint of amusement sparking in those forest-green eyes. He nods, slow and deliberate, going back to his normal state.
But his eyes. His eyes are smiling at you.
Damian’s gaze flickers to the book laid flat across your desk. The pages are a labyrinth of scribbles, notes, and marginalia so dense it’s astonishing anyone could read through it. His eyes narrow, curiosity piqued.
“Is that… a war strategy book?” he asks, dry and incredulous, as though expecting to uncover battle plans rather than prose.
“...Historical romance,” you mumble, pulling the book closer to you in a small, protective gesture.
He rolls his eyes, that subtle tilt of his head that somehow manages to both mock and amuse, and you immediately huff in defense. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”
“Really?” His voice holds a teasing lilt, the kind that makes it impossible to tell if he’s challenging you or just enjoying your discomfort. “What’s the book people like you actually read? Pride and Prejudice?"
You blink, caught somewhere between indignation and amusement. “Okay, Pride and Prejudice is not that good—”
Damian hums softly, tilting his head further, a mock scholar inspecting your taste in literature.
“This—” you cut in quickly, holding the cover up for him to see, “—is peak fiction. I said historical because it’s old, released in the 1800s or something. And for the record I think it’s brilliant.”
His gaze drifts to the cover illustration: a somber man with a tragic expression, perfectly messy hair, eyes staring into some invisible sorrow, and posture so stiff it seems to radiate gloom. Dark boring green eyes in his opinion. Damian squints, scrutinizing every line of the drawing.
“Why does he look like that?” he asks, genuinely perplexed.
You pause, meeting his gaze just long enough to defend the poor soul on the cover. “Oh, come on—he is not ugly.”
Damian tilts his head. “Does he… have the plague?”
Then, before you can catch yourself, the words tumble out:
“He looks like you!”
Your cheeks flare hot. It was meant to defend the man but could come across in your realization completely differently. It hits immediately — why on earth did you say that? — and you feel your face burning from the tip of your ears to your collarbone.
Damian, however, does not take the opportunity to mock or tease. Instead, he lets out a disgusted little huff, a noise somewhere between annoyance and reluctant amusement.
“How horrid for me,” he mutters, voice low and dry and you resist the urge to throw your pen at him a second time.
“It’s a mystery, too,” you mumble, eyes glued to the page as you continue annotating, hunting for clues hidden in the twists of the story. “They’re trying to solve a murder.”
Damian glances down at your book, his pencil stilling for a moment. “You’re well past the middle of the story, and they still haven’t solved it?” His tone is soft, mocking, clearly aimed first at the hapless characters. Then it shifts, a teasing lilt threading through it as his gaze flicks to you. “And… you haven’t solved it yet?”
You lift your eyes, narrowing them slightly. “Arrogant for someone who hasn’t even read the book,” you mutter, the words barely audible over the scratch of your pen.
He tilts his head, those impossibly sharp green eyes catching yours with a glimmer of mischief. “I thought Batman was a master detective?”
A tiny laugh escapes you, and you huff softly, embarrassed by the joke but unable to stop yourself. “What do you think I pay Robin for?”
His lips twitch, just the faintest corner of a smile threatening to break through. The memory of your earlier quip makes your chest heat, and you feel a flutter of something you’re fairly certain shouldn’t be happening.
“To stand there and look pretty,” Damian says, tilting his head in perfect mimicry of condescension, a single brow arched, eyes unwavering. “Duh.”
“That’s my job,” you hum back, voice light but brimming with mock authority.
Damian’s eyebrow lifts, infuriatingly precise and deliberate. “Batman is not pretty.”
“Not Batman!” you huff, hands flailing slightly in exasperation. “Me!”
He places a hand on his chest, feigning shock with an almost impressive flair, eyes glinting as if he’s trying not to laugh. “You lied to me about your double life?”
Oh god help you. It’s your first real conversation with this boy, and somehow he’s already driving you up a wall, threading irritation and amusement so tightly together that you feel dizzy. Your mouth opens, then closes, a few times as if words themselves are debating what’s safe to say. Finally, you mutter, almost inaudibly, “Go back to your drawing, Mr. Wayne.”
Damian hums, turning his head only to carefully grab his sketchbook and then ceremoniously places it next to your book.
You watch as he scribbles a little batman mask over the drawing of your face that he carved out with so much care and detail and you smile, moving to grab your purple pen.
You scribble the words, “for gotham!” next to the note he added earlier and finally Damian allows a small smile to break completely, biting the inside of his cheek.
Damian never did learn your name that day. If Tim teasingly asks him later if he's finally made any friends at school he'd still say no, believe it too. You're just one of the less insufferable citizens he runs into often.
Maybe draws in his spare time too, because maybe he's never seen something that embodies peace so well like you do. Damian would never develop any actual feelings for a long while, none that he can put a word to anyways.
All Damian knows is that when he gets home he sprays his good fixative over the drawing of you.
ᵈⁱᵛⁱᵈᵉʳ ᵇʸ ᶜᵘʳˢᵉᵈ⁻ᶜᵃʳᵐⁱⁿᵉ
“اللمس هو آخر أشكال الأُلفة التي نعرفها” master list ! [this series]
authors note! I hope you enjoy and if you want to be put on a tag list for this fandom/boy comment and I will add you! ദ്ദി˶ｰ̀֊ｰ́ ) my asks are always open for drabbles and just to talk please please please let me know what you think it gives me so much motivation to write and you will be getting a new work sooner if you do
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✶ you try a tiktok trend with your boyfriend, their reaction is not calm at all.
002. WARNINGS !
✶ use of pet names (my love, honey, baby, darling), suggestive language (bruce), married!reader (bruce), mention of ending lives (jason).
003. NOTE !
✶ i hope you guys like this and that the characters are not completely ooc. i tried my best but text fics are not something i usually do now, so i’m a bit rusty. also, are there any other text trends you’d like to see? if so, leave them in the comments or on my inbox 🫶
The ones who plead with you as you hide behind a locked bathroom door, begging for you to please let them back in. The ones that make you your favourite foods over and over until they can cook it perfectly, hiding all the burnt mistakes inside the bins. The ones who come home every day with gifts in and because they missed you so much during their eight-hour shift.
The ones who hold you so sweetly every night, hoping one day you'll aclimitise enough or become so touch starved that you eventually reciprocate their hugs. Maybe one day those hugs can evolve into more, into bare skin against bed sheets and breathlessness, but for now you allowing yourself to be held is a luxury they hold deeply against their hearts every night. Its progress from at first, when you first woke up in a home that wasn't yours, kept in a guest room until you were settled enough to move into the master bedroom.
Everything was taken at your pace, he is patient, and he wanted so hard to prove how patient he can be, thinking of you, knowing just how much he cares for you than perhaps you can stop being so terrified of him. Don't you know, sweet thing, that he would sooner burn off his own hands than ever lay them on you in anger? That he'd sooner cut off his tongue and feed it to himself before yelling at you or calling you something he would never dare say before his mother? How mother raised him right after all, raised him to be gentle and kind, he could never disgrace her memory and how hard she worked for his sake to ever harm you. He begs you to understand that no matter what you do, he would never dare to hurt you. He sits you down one night and makes a promise on his mother's well-kept grave that if he ever were to lay a finger on you in violence, then he will unlock the door and allow you to leave him. Because by the lord, he already doesn't deserve your sweetness in his life, and if he can't be grateful for you, he will not allow himself to have you. That was the first night you slept soundly beside him.
And he tries, you have to understand how hard he's trying for you, he doesn't expect you to be grateful. In fact, he expects you to hate him, to curse his name out and fight back like a cornered dog. He doesn't deserve any better than that treatment from you; he knows full well what a selfish, irredeemable man he is. How you were all set to live a beautiful life, but he stole you away from your rightful future because he could not stand that that future could never include him, as he wants to be included. Not as your friend, co-worker, or a stranger on the bus, he could never accept that role from the fates. So instead, he stole your fate from you.
You had so much promise, didn't you? So much potential? All that means nothing now as you lie down beside him on the couch, watching an old DVD copy of your favourite childhood film, the bright colours clouding together from behind your stifled tears.
