when a new girl comes to train with the hashira, mitsuri finds herself grappling with an attraction she's never experienced before
pairing: mitsuri x reader
warnings: gay panic, mentions of heteronormativity, self exploration
a/n: based on this request! i hope you enjoy :)
mitsuri kanroji who's always been very confident in her attraction to men. She's always fantasized about finding the man of her dreams to settle down and start a family with. She had never thought twice about it: she wanted love, women fall in love with men, and then they have families. A simplistic view of the world, but one she had internalized.
mitsuri kanroji who's always found that her favorite things about men were never their bodies. She'll like a personality or the way a guy talks or thinks, but she's always found herself shying away from the idea of mens' bodies. She's not disgusted, necessarily, and the people around her tease her for being so shy and easily flustered over seeing a peek of skin, so she just…internalizes that, too.
mitsuri kanroji who finds herself attracted to Iguro not for his manliness or ruggedness. No, he's decidely delicate compared to the other hashira, and that's precisely why he piques her interest. He doesn't have broad shoulders that taper into a trim waist; his strength is more subtle. He's quiet, too, with a soft voice. He's not overtly feminine, but he certainly stands out compared to the other hashira who are tall, broad, and loud.
mitsuri kanroji who finds her gaze lingering on you, a kinoe who's started training with the hashira. Mitsuri's easygoing, naturally friendly, and finds beauty in almost everything. Of course she wants to get to know you more! It's just that…the things she finds herself noticing about you aren't the things she usually focuses on when she's making friends.
mitsuri kanroji who finds herself up late at night, thinking about the way your hair looks under the sunlight, the way your skin glows after an intense sparring session, the way your chest heaves and you fan yourself to cool off and catch your breath. The way your thighs fill out your pants when you sit down to—that thought makes her pause.
mitsuri kanroji typically admires people for their strength or ability, not strictly for aesthetic value, but she finds herself getting lost in the way you look and the way you move. She's not thinking about how capable a slayer you must be. She's thinking about how it would feel to hug you. She's certain your steady hands would feel amazing combing through her hair…
mitsuri kanroji who manages to convince herself that her feelings are entirely friendly! It's normal to admire your friends. It's normal to want affection from your friends. It's…well, maybe it's less normal to think about how your friends' thighs would feel under your palms, but that little secret can stay locked away in her heard forever, right?
mitsuri kanroji who discovers that the truth really does always come out. You haven't been blind to her dilemma. While you may not realize the exact nature of her problem, you do see a pretty girl who's strong as hell and clearly interested in you in some capacity. You gravitate toward her naturally, drawn in by her enthusiasm, cheerful nature, and, of course, her beauty.
mitsuri kanroji who thinks she needs to start carrying around a fan because she's starting to feel so hot when she's around you. Maybe a trip to the Butterfly Mansion is more fitting, because she's got these awful knots in her stomach, too, and her mouth has been painfully dry every time she tries to talk to you! It's not like her at all, and yet…she still craves your presence.
mitsuri kanroji who finally breaks down and decides that she needs to talk this out with someone. Most of the hashira aren't exactly prime candidates for this kind of thing, so she decides she'll talk to Tengen. While the man may be indelicate, surely someone with three wives has to have some insight into the ways of the heart.
mitsuri kanroji who finds herself in a state of confused clarity after her talk with Tengen. All of the symptoms she'd been tracking—the ones that only showed up around you—were all indicative of a crush that she'd written away. Tengen had laughed when she asked if there was such a thing as a friend crush.
"Of course there is! But the way you look at her is too flashy for that."
mitsuri kanroji who slowly comes to terms with what these feelings mean. In hindsight, she supposes that it makes sense. She'd never been attracted to a man the way she's attracted to you. She's always loved love, but she's never felt the visceral kind of desire you ignite in her. She loves the way you fight, the intensity you bring, even the way you look when she's got you pinned under her with her thighs.
mitsuri kanroji who doesn't realize that while she's processing her feelings, she's also avoiding you. Daily sparring sessions and shared meals turn into complete silence on her end, and it's left you feeling bereft. Maybe you had misread her intentions. It's not like you to push so hard…in the end, you decide to give her space, no matter how much it makes your heart twist.
mitsuri kanroji who approaches you a few days later with four bento boxes in tow (one for you, three for her). She asks to share a meal with you, you eagerly agree, and the conversation flows like there had been no break at all. Mitsuri's never felt this kind of ease around another person before. Confident as she is, she's still acutely aware of other people's judgments about her. With you? She knows you wouldn't think less of her if she decided to throw herself in the fountain and proclaim herself goddess of the sea. You'd just laugh and help her dry off after.
mitsuri kanroji who, after you've finished eating, scoots closer to you. She doesn't say anything, but she rests her head on your shoulder. She smells like cherry blossoms, steel, and sugar. Her hair is soft where it brushes your shoulder.
mitsuri kanroji who doesn't move her hand away when your fingers close around it, no matter how hard her heart is beating in her chest. She steadies her breathing and turns her face toward your shoulder.
"Mitsuri, I've been thinking," you start, gently rubbing her knuckles. The woman in question hums in acknowledgment, and you continue on. "I've…truly enjoyed growing closer to you, and I feel as though we share similar desires for one another. I'd like to explore that with you. On a date, if you'll allow it."
mitsuri kanroji feels her heart explode in her chest. She can't say yes fast enough. Or enthusiastically enough, given the way she throws her arms around you and tackles you in a hug. She's always forgetting her own strength, but, even pinned to the dirt underneath her, you wouldn't have her any other way.
all written work and dividers belong to @ackpplepie!! do not plagiarize, feed my work into ai, or translate it. i do not own the characters or images used above.
Dick Grayson x crazygf! reader and Jason Todd x crazygf!reader
Summary: You find out that they still kind of talk to their ex. It's professional, but you're not over it.
TW: Kind of smutty, death mentioned (Jason's part)
DICK GRAYSON
"Just answer the fucking question, Dick! Did you sleep with her in the Batcave? Yes or no?”
"No!" Dick groaned, dragging his hands down his face, his voice cracking with frustration. His eyes were bloodshot. "We did not do it in the Batcave. Why the fuck are we talking about this right now? It is two in the morning!"
"Because I looked at your phone and her name is 'Babs 🌶️'!"
"That's a chili pepper! It means she handles the red-alert comms, you psychotic brat! It’s an emergency tag!"
"I don't care! It looks like a fucking sexting emoji!" You dropped to your knees on the mattress, crawling over to him and slamming your knees right into his thighs. You grabbed his jaw, fingers digging into his skin, forcing him to look at you. "Who’s the better kisser? Me or her? Don't lie to me. Did you guys used to make out on roofs? Did she use tongue? Does she do that little sigh thing I do when you touch her? Tell me!"
"Jesus Christ, Babe," Dick choked out, his chest heaving, looking genuinely stressed. "You are lightyears better. You're fucking incredible. Please, look at me, you're the only one I want. Can we please stop this?"
"No! Because I’m prettier than her, right? Obviously I’m prettier. Look at my fucking face." You shoved your face inches from his, your eyes wide. "But she’s so good with your dad! Ugh! It makes me want to vomit! She talks to Bruce, and he actually responds like a human being! I tried to talk to him last week and he treated me like I was gum on the bottom of his shoe! She has history with your fucked-up family, Dick! Did you guys fuck while you were living there? In his house?!"
"No! Never! I swear to God, never!" Dick’s hands came up, grabbing your wrists, his palms sweating. He looked completely panicked now. "Babe, please, you’re making shit up. I hate when Bruce does that to people, I literally moved to Blüdhaven to get away from him. I don't want her. I don't want any of them. I want you."
"Are you sure?" you whimpered, the anger turning desperate. You shifted, straddling his lap entirely, your bare thighs rubbing hard against his sweatpants, feeling how stiff he already was despite the stress. "Because she has that red hair. You like the red hair, don't you? Did you pull it? Did you bend her over the fucking desk in the cave?"
Dick’s grip tightened on your hips, an irritated groan escaping his lips. He was miserable that you were this upset, but the feeling of you grinding against his crotch was pushing him over the edge. "I didn't bend her over anything. Stop saying that shit, it’s making me sick. I don't give a fuck about her. Right now, I care about the fact that you’ve been screaming at me for forty minutes, your nipples are hard against my chest, and you’re tearing me apart."
"I'm upset babe, you’re friends with your fucking ex!" you snapped, tears of pure rage blurring your vision. "You talk to her every day! I feel like a fucking idiot!"
"Babe, you’re losing your fucking mind, please don't cry," Dick mumbled, his voice breaking as he pulled you down, burying his face in your neck, holding you so tight it bruised. He was completely desperate to fix it, terrified you were actually going to leave him. He nipped hard at the skin right over your collarbone. "You want to know what we did? Nothing like this. She never made me feel like this. She never made me want to rip my own hair out just to get her to shut up and take my dick."
"You're just saying that," you panted, your legs already wrapping around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, feeling him throbbing against your cunt through his pants. "You're just trying to manipulate me because you know your body is perfect."
"I'm not manipulating you, I’m fucking begging you," he hissed, flipping you under him so fast your head hit the pillow. He pinned your hands above your head, his face paler than usual "Look at me. Look at my eyes. I will block her number right now if you want me to. I'll do whatever the fuck you want. Just tell me you're mine."
"Prove it then," you choked out, pulling at his sweatpants "Put it in me right now and make me forget her fucking name."
"Shut up," he muttered, slamming his mouth down on yours, cutting off any other unhinged theories you had left as his hand ripped his sweats down.
JASON TODD
"Who the fuck is 'Artie'?" you shrieked. "Who the fuck is she, Jason? Because I just saw a message pop up on your secure line that said 'Rain check, Big Guy,' and I know for a goddamn fact it isn't one of your freak-show brothers!"
Jason froze, his knuckles turning white around the rifle barrel. He set it down with a heavy clatter and finally looked up, his green eyes flashing. "Are you fucking kidding me right now? You’re going through my secure comms? Are you out of your goddamn mind?"
"Answer the fucking question!" You stepped right into his chest, shoving him hard enough to make his boots slide an inch "Is that Artemis? The giant Amazon? The one you were playing house with in the desert? Are you still fucking her? Why’d she call you ‘big guy’!? Your dick’s not even that big!”
"We haven’t done shit since before I even knew you existed!" Jason argued, standing up to his full height, towering over you as his chest heaved. "She’s a teammate! What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Oh, a teammate? So you didn't bend her over that ancient shit in Egypt?" you screamed right back, getting entirely in his face, your chest heaving against his. "Did you taste her? Did she taste better than me? Did you love it when she pinned you down, you fucking manwhore? Tell me right now! Did you put your mouth on her?!"
"We didn't fuck in the desert! We were trying not to get killed, you crazy bitch!" Jason snapped, his eyes were glowing green. He grabbed your wrists with an iron-tight grip, his fingers digging into your skin as he shook you. "You are making up disgusting, toxic shit in your head because you're insecure! Stop fucking yelling at me about shit from six years ago!"
"Is it because I'm not as strong as her?!" you went off, completely pivoting into a breathless rant, the words tearing out of you like a flood. "Is that what it is? You want some giant warrior bitch who can toss you around? Or is it the red hair? Are you obsessed with redheads? Is that why you're always so fucking chummy with her and Roy?! Oh my god, do you want to fuck Roy too?! Are you into guys?! Because I'm not a fucking guy, Jason! I can't be a guy for you! What the fuck do you want from them, do you want a threesome or some shit?! Is that what you guys do when you're 'saving the world'?!"
"Are you fucking insane?!" his face twisting in pure, unadulterated disgust and fury. He yanked your wrists down so hard your balance broke.
"Then why are they always texting you?! Why are you always looking at your phone like you miss them?!" you screamed back, your face flushed, tears of absolute blind rage spilling over your eyelashes. "If you're still playing orgy with your little Outlaw club, then I guess it's fair game! I’m gonna fuck my ex!”
"Say that shit again," he snapped. "Say you’re going to go touch another man. Say you’re going to let someone else lay a hand on you. See what fucking happens to both of you. I will hunt him down and paint the fucking walls with him."
"Why do you care?!" you choked out, your heart hammering against your ribs "Go call your Amazon! Go tell Roy how crazy I am while you guys jerk each other off!"
"She was before you! And Roy is my fucking brother!" Jason groaned, you were getting so deep under his skin. "Do you not understand how time works, you idiot?! I haven’t touched her, I don't want to touch her, and I sure as hell don't want a goddamn man I consider my brother! But you want to go fuck your ex?”
"Yeah! Because you're driving me fucking insane!" you screamed back, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper into the apex of your thighs. You could feel how insanely hard he was through his sweatpants "You're a liar! You're a dirty, lying fuckboy!"
"Shut the fuck up!" Jason snarled, his hand flying from your throat to catch your jaw, his thumb digging brutally into your cheek to force your mouth open. "I am not a liar. I am fucking obsessed with you. I haven't looked at another woman since the day I went out with you, and you're being a loon”
"Prove it then," you panted, your teeth baring as you bit down lightly on his thumb "If they're nothing, text them right now telling them we broke up and if either of them offer you a pity fuck, just know you’re going to die a second time, Todd”
A/n: was this a ploy to get banged hard? yes, yes it was
this is a SMUT submission for jtoddsbaby’s fighting ring (congratulations on 1k @jtoddsbaby)
a jason todd x f!reader story
in this dessert…
reader is at the club to find a one night stand... and she finds just the right man, only it is Jason Todd, the same boy she had once been a mean girl to.
can she apologize to him properly?
flavor: smut, porn with a bit of plot
wc: 2.9+ k
contents: fem!reader. reader was a bully to Jason in high school. inspired by when did you get hot? by Sabrina Carpenter. nasty making out. Jason is mean in bed. degradation. clit slapping. ass spanking. p in v sex. unprotected sex. cowgirl position. blowjob.
baker's notes: felt sad, so I wrote pure filth lmao.
want more desserts? check out the menu
this fic contains smut, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
The floor hummed with the vibration of the bass, a reverberation you felt up to your eardrums. The music enveloped you and urged everyone to dance to it's high intensity rhythm, as the neon lights flashed around erratically.
It wasn't odd for you to find yourself in the middle of a dance floor in the weekends, sweating the stress of the week away, and if you were lucky enough, you would end up enticing a man right between your legs to relax you further.
That was your mission this week. Seduction. Hence why you were wearing your sluttiest dress, that barely covered your pretty little ass, and you'd done your make up with cutting edge precision. No man around you would be safe from your bedroom eyes, the generous cleavage accentuated with tasteful jewelry, and the most lethal smirk painted in a shade of glossy, maroon red.
And you had been approached by many, which meant part of your mission had been successful. Now all that was left to do was to find someone that was appealing to your eyes.
You had been pulled away from the dance floor by your friend, as she spoke about getting some much needed refreshments. You couldn't blame her: the stifling heat of the summer was only accentuated by the press of bodies against each other.
And so you found yourself in the bar, reunited again with the rest of your friend group. They were talking and laughing animatedly with some other group. One of your friend's caught your eye, and she grinned. "Hey, don't you know Jason?"
She gestured to a hunk of a man you failed to see how you'd failed to see. But when you did see him, it was impossible to notice anyone else, he occupied your entire field of vision, with his broad shoulders and big arms that strained against a simple black t-shirt, the cargo pants he wore that he was filling pretty nicely, and a face that seemed to be carved by the angels in heaven themselves. Target acquired.
It wasn't until you met his eyes, deep, intense, ever-consuming, that something tugged in the depths of your memory. High school days, that now seemed so far away, and those same eyes staring straight through you, at your very soul in the crowded hallways.
He had been a scrawny kid then, with his knobbly knees that always had scratches on them, and his quick wit in class that made everyone envious. And you? You'd been what some would call a mean girl (you would now call it being a pathetic kid that took out her own insecurities on others. Therapy did that to you). Not something you were proud of now, but you couldn't erase the past. But you could hope that Jason wouldn't remember your meanness towards him.
Except that intense way he looked at you, the flush of his cheeks in the pallor of his skin, the furrow of his thick brows… yeah, he definitely remembered.
White-hot shame filled your cheeks, flooded your being, and suddenly the summer felt even more unbearable.
The conversation around you shifted to other topics, something you weren't paying much attention to. Instead you were left to ponder on your mistakes ten years ago, materialized as a Greek god of a man. You watched as he took just two wide steps to collapse the distance between you.
You swallowed hard, hand finding purchase on the bar top to stabilize you now that Jason had entered your life. Re-entered. "I don't know if you remember me," you said in an uncharacteristically meek tone.
"Hard to forget you." His voice had changed. Once squeaky and filled with cracks, it was now deep, and rumbly. You didn't know if it was that sexy quality to his timbre or the words themselves, but you now felt all that heat that had presented itself as shame shifting inside your body, rushing, with the speed of dripping honey, down to your lower belly.
"Yeah, well… this would be easier if you had," you murmured. He seemed to hear, even over the music that played way too loud. You saw his lips curve into a smirk, lopsided and almost cruel in it's attractiveness. You supposed you deserved all that cruelty.
"What would be easier?" Fuck. He'd drawn closer, and the words were whispered straight to your ear, his full lips brushing the shell of your ear. You wondered were else you could lead those lips. If they would feel just as silky soft, or it he'd be rough with his mouth? How would his teeth feel, nipping at your own lips?
You swallowed hard, feeling as if you were swallowing on nails instead of air. "Apologizing."
"Now that's something I never thought I'd see in my life," he said, his eyes coming into view. Had they always been this sparkling green color? Or was memory playing tricks on you? "Thank god I got a second chance…"
Again you felt the uncomfortable heat of shame washing all over you. What did it say about you if it only served to make you wetter?
"I mean it," you said, shaking your head. "I was a lonely, stupid girl who thought she could be cool or some shit by being mean to people. Not something I'd like to be remembered as, and I know words mean squat in front of all the damage I did, but I still feel like it's my obligation to apologize. So, I'm sorry."
Jason considered you for a few seconds that stretched too long. At first it was his eyes boring into yours. And then his searing gaze shifted. To the bare skin of your decolletage, to the silken dress that draped delectably over your body, to your legs, almost entirely bare thanks to the length of the dress —or lack there off. Slowly, his gaze made the path back to your eyes, and you were sure that a different expression had entered his eyes. Something akin to hunger. You felt your mouth dry up, anticipation of his next words hang over you like a guillotine waiting to be dropped.
"You're right, words mean squat. But there is a way you could make up for it all…"
And that's how you ended up in his apartment. Your softness under his hardness as he pressed you against a wall. It was as if it had been his turn to be mean after all these years: his rough hands were demanding over your soft skin, his full mouth harsh against yours.
He was as greedy with his actions as he'd been with his gaze in the club. He took your mouth in quick swipes of his tongue, silken against your own. His teeth made delicious friction with your lower lip, gathering the gloss there and tasting it slowly.
His tempo varied: he started slow, got increasingly fast, and just when you'd start to moan and whine, the lack of oxygen making you dizzy, he'd slow down.
Everything combined… well it was making you feel woozy. You felt yourself melt against the wall, against his chest, as if you were made of nothing more that beeswax and he was the brightest flame.
His hands were just as restless. He pressed them against your waist, wide and warm even through the silk of your dress. He bunched the flimsy fabric, and the dress lifted to his whims. Not once did his mouth leave yours as his hand wandered down to feel the skin newly exposed. Rough callouses against the supple skin of your stomach made you shudder against his chest, a soft sigh escaping your mouth and slipping past his lips.
When his knuckles dipped lower and he noticed the lack of fabric, he pulled away. "No panties?" he spoke, his voice no more than a rough rasp. He smirked, his tongue peeking between his lips to swipe at the shared saliva that had gathered on his lower lip. You watched the movement, all to enticing in its simplicity. "Such a slut, hmm?" The degrading words only served to get you more hot and bothered.
His hand slipped between your leg, and he found exactly what he had been hoping for. You were dripping, a wetness that gathered and became borderline uncomfortable. He swiped the tips of his fingers through the wetness, humming in appreciation.
You bit your lower lip, the moan that rose in your throat muffled. He found your clit expertly, and flicked it once, then twice, observing you as if you were nothing more than a specimen under a microscope. He gathered your reaction, your little sounds that slipped against all resistance. The shame and arousal that came from his intense look.
When you tried to look away, overpowered by his gaze, his free hand came up to your jaw and angled your face so you kept looking at him. And as he maintained that eye contact, his fingers, now all wet and slippery thanks to your desire, slipped right into you.
You gasped, unprepared by the intrusion of two thick digits. He wasn't kind with it, even if he must've known that he wasn't slender by no means. He pushed them in completely, and without giving you time to adjust, he started to scissor you open.
You were rendered stupid: all you could do was moan out some variation of "oh, Jason…" over and over again.
His warm hand was still cupping your face, and he switched his gaze from your heavy-lidded eyes down to where his hand was working you without mercy. You were dripping even more wetness all over his fingers and palm, and you could see the reaction that it incited in Jason. You saw his pupils dilate and contract several times, the way his breath became in short, labored puffs against your own lips, and the way his pants seemed even more tight than they'd already been.
It didn't take much for you to get pushed down the edge, just a well placed swipe of his broad palm against your clit, with enough pressure, and an expert curl of his mean fingers. And the damn broke. It felt overpowering, the high that took over you. Waves of pleasure crashed over the shore of your body, and in their wake, you felt like a shell, wrung out of all energy. You had to grip Jason's beefy arms to keep yourself upright, a fact that didn't help his smugness.
He retracted his hand, covered with your essence, glinting in the warm light of his apartment. "Look at what I did to you… all this from scrawny little Jason, huh?"
You flushed even more than you already were. You shook your head, lowering the hem of your dress. "Not my fault you got so… hot." He probably didn't need the ego boost, but this was atonement, right?
And if you thought that this had been enough pay back for Jason… you soon realized you were sorely mistaken, because this had been nothing more than just the beginning. You watched as he licked his hand clean, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. You wondered when he'd gained all this sex appeal.
"Fuck, doll," he said, his lips glinting with some of your cum. He swiped it clean with a flick of his tongue. "You taste divine. I think you need to taste yourself, hmm?"
With none too gentle pulls of his hands, you found yourself being thrown on his bed, a small squeak escaping your lips. You watched as he loomed over you, watched as he shrugged his shirt off with a quick and graceful movement. Some day, you'd ask about all the scars that littered his muscular torso. Some day, because you knew this wasn't going to be a one time thing. Some day, because right now, your eyes were too busy taking him in. Too busy tracing the movement of his fingers as they nimbly undid his belt.
Your mouth dried up as he pushed his pants down, and with it went his boxers. And lord, were you blinded by the sheer size of him. His cock was heavy and hard, already flushed a pretty pink color at the tip and leaking. It was some forbidden fruit you were too eager to taste. So you reached for it. Only to be swatted lightly by him at the wrist.
You looked up at him with doe eyes, and his chest stuttered with his breath. "Relax doll, you'll have your go at it," he cooed. "But it's not reward mean girls day, is it? It's punish mean girls…"
He lowered himself over you, his mouth coming over yours demandingly. You responded with reciprocal fervor, your hand coming up to thread in his silk soft hair. His hand came down between your legs once again, as if he couldn't resist your pussy. You moaned against his mouth when he brushed against your folds.
"Still so eager," he murmured against the corner of your mouth. You panted in response. "Once isn't enough for this doll, hmm?"
You shook your head, chasing his mouth with yours. He pulled away, not very far, but far enough to be out of reach. Your hazy and muddled mind, silly with desire didn't register his lifting hand until it was too late. You felt a sharp slap against your clit, making you mewl and reach for him in desperation.
Your response must've pleased Jason greatly, because he didn't hesitate to flip your position and make you get on his cock. You struggled to take him, and he showed no mercy, his hands demanding at the plush flesh of your hips, pushing himself in with an expert thrust of his hips.
You whined and scratched at his chest, your sharp nails digging into the hard muscle there, leaving angry red marks. "Jay…" you protested against the fullness, the uncomfortable feeling.
You felt him press his lips against your cheek, a sneer curling them. "I know, doll. But you were so wet and eager for this cock, yeah? So you got to bounce on it."
You were still adjusting, blinking away the tears of pleasurable pain, so you didn't move just yet. His hand came down your ass, hard and fast, pushing a gasp out of your mouth.
"Baby, ride," his words were sweet, but his tone was anything but. So you complied, and the fast pace you set made him grip your hips tighter, his head thrown back in pleasure as you squeezed him inside you.
The angle, the girth of him, the length… it all made you hit a delectable spot inside you every time you bounced back down. It didn't take long before the uncomfortable feeling became pleasure, growing inside your body exponentially, threatening to break some limit inside you.
He watched greedily as you bounced, the ripples it made on your body, obscured by the dark fabric of the dress. So he took it off desperately, throwing it aside somewhere in his room.
When your pace started to slow down, he spanked your ass again, and his merciless ways only made your desire heighten.
He probably saw the way your body was starting to tense, so he slid his fingers between your bodies, finding purchase on your puffy clit. He drew relentless circles around the bundle of nerves, determined to wring out every drop of pleasure from inside you.
You let out a lewd moan of his name as the pleasure reached crescendo, and it all came crashing down, your hips stuttering as you came all over his cock, squeezing him greedily.
"Oh fuck, doll," he grunted, his brows furrowed in concentration. "If you squeeze me that hard, I'm going to come…"
You were deaf to his words, your limbs twisting with pleasure as he kept going at it on your clit. Until the euphoria burned you, and the pleasure melted into pain. You pushed at his chest and got off his cock, a feat made easy by the slippery mess you'd made.
Your breath was labored as you tried to come down from your high and down to earth. You let out a sigh, and knew that you were probably going to be ruined by him forever.
Jason still wasn’t done with you. “Here, have a taste of yourself.” He grabbed you by your hair and pulled your mouth down on his cock. You let out a surprised sound, not contraire at all.
You eagerly licked off all the mess you’d made over him, the sweet tartness of your own body mixed with the saltiness of his pre, before he pushed you down by the nape of your neck. Your jaw hurt as you tried to take him in entirely. He hit the back of your throat repeatedly, fucking your mouth with fervor. The tears in your eyes, smearing the mascara down to your cheeks didn’t deter him, only served to propel him more.
As your head bobbed and you struggled to take him, your throat contracting over his tip, he made a guttural sound. You knew he was close. And he’d been so mean to you all evening, so you decided to use your teeth too. Literally.
As soon as he felt the slight pain on his cock, he started to push you away by the hair.
You watched as he came, spurts of it hitting your chest. Watched as all his meanness melted away when he came, leaving only a deliciously flushed man who was tried to regain the upper hand.
You moved up his body, your mouth slanting over his. “Was that apology enough?”
He let out a chuckle. “I don’t know doll. I think you’ll have to start apologizing more frequently.”
Hii! I saw that your requests are open so may I request a Mitsuri Kanroji x reader where the reader is Mitsuri's gay awakening and she has a full on gay panic ending with the reader asking her out?
when a new girl comes to train with the hashira, mitsuri finds herself grappling with an attraction she's never experienced before
pairing: mitsuri x reader
warnings: gay panic, mentions of heteronormativity, self exploration
a/n: based on this request! i hope you enjoy :)
mitsuri kanroji who's always been very confident in her attraction to men. She's always fantasized about finding the man of her dreams to settle down and start a family with. She had never thought twice about it: she wanted love, women fall in love with men, and then they have families. A simplistic view of the world, but one she had internalized.
mitsuri kanroji who's always found that her favorite things about men were never their bodies. She'll like a personality or the way a guy talks or thinks, but she's always found herself shying away from the idea of mens' bodies. She's not disgusted, necessarily, and the people around her tease her for being so shy and easily flustered over seeing a peek of skin, so she just…internalizes that, too.
mitsuri kanroji who finds herself attracted to Iguro not for his manliness or ruggedness. No, he's decidely delicate compared to the other hashira, and that's precisely why he piques her interest. He doesn't have broad shoulders that taper into a trim waist; his strength is more subtle. He's quiet, too, with a soft voice. He's not overtly feminine, but he certainly stands out compared to the other hashira who are tall, broad, and loud.
mitsuri kanroji who finds her gaze lingering on you, a kinoe who's started training with the hashira. Mitsuri's easygoing, naturally friendly, and finds beauty in almost everything. Of course she wants to get to know you more! It's just that…the things she finds herself noticing about you aren't the things she usually focuses on when she's making friends.
mitsuri kanroji who finds herself up late at night, thinking about the way your hair looks under the sunlight, the way your skin glows after an intense sparring session, the way your chest heaves and you fan yourself to cool off and catch your breath. The way your thighs fill out your pants when you sit down to—that thought makes her pause.
mitsuri kanroji typically admires people for their strength or ability, not strictly for aesthetic value, but she finds herself getting lost in the way you look and the way you move. She's not thinking about how capable a slayer you must be. She's thinking about how it would feel to hug you. She's certain your steady hands would feel amazing combing through her hair…
mitsuri kanroji who manages to convince herself that her feelings are entirely friendly! It's normal to admire your friends. It's normal to want affection from your friends. It's…well, maybe it's less normal to think about how your friends' thighs would feel under your palms, but that little secret can stay locked away in her heard forever, right?
mitsuri kanroji who discovers that the truth really does always come out. You haven't been blind to her dilemma. While you may not realize the exact nature of her problem, you do see a pretty girl who's strong as hell and clearly interested in you in some capacity. You gravitate toward her naturally, drawn in by her enthusiasm, cheerful nature, and, of course, her beauty.
mitsuri kanroji who thinks she needs to start carrying around a fan because she's starting to feel so hot when she's around you. Maybe a trip to the Butterfly Mansion is more fitting, because she's got these awful knots in her stomach, too, and her mouth has been painfully dry every time she tries to talk to you! It's not like her at all, and yet…she still craves your presence.
mitsuri kanroji who finally breaks down and decides that she needs to talk this out with someone. Most of the hashira aren't exactly prime candidates for this kind of thing, so she decides she'll talk to Tengen. While the man may be indelicate, surely someone with three wives has to have some insight into the ways of the heart.
mitsuri kanroji who finds herself in a state of confused clarity after her talk with Tengen. All of the symptoms she'd been tracking—the ones that only showed up around you—were all indicative of a crush that she'd written away. Tengen had laughed when she asked if there was such a thing as a friend crush.
"Of course there is! But the way you look at her is too flashy for that."
mitsuri kanroji who slowly comes to terms with what these feelings mean. In hindsight, she supposes that it makes sense. She'd never been attracted to a man the way she's attracted to you. She's always loved love, but she's never felt the visceral kind of desire you ignite in her. She loves the way you fight, the intensity you bring, even the way you look when she's got you pinned under her with her thighs.
mitsuri kanroji who doesn't realize that while she's processing her feelings, she's also avoiding you. Daily sparring sessions and shared meals turn into complete silence on her end, and it's left you feeling bereft. Maybe you had misread her intentions. It's not like you to push so hard…in the end, you decide to give her space, no matter how much it makes your heart twist.
mitsuri kanroji who approaches you a few days later with four bento boxes in tow (one for you, three for her). She asks to share a meal with you, you eagerly agree, and the conversation flows like there had been no break at all. Mitsuri's never felt this kind of ease around another person before. Confident as she is, she's still acutely aware of other people's judgments about her. With you? She knows you wouldn't think less of her if she decided to throw herself in the fountain and proclaim herself goddess of the sea. You'd just laugh and help her dry off after.
mitsuri kanroji who, after you've finished eating, scoots closer to you. She doesn't say anything, but she rests her head on your shoulder. She smells like cherry blossoms, steel, and sugar. Her hair is soft where it brushes your shoulder.
mitsuri kanroji who doesn't move her hand away when your fingers close around it, no matter how hard her heart is beating in her chest. She steadies her breathing and turns her face toward your shoulder.
"Mitsuri, I've been thinking," you start, gently rubbing her knuckles. The woman in question hums in acknowledgment, and you continue on. "I've…truly enjoyed growing closer to you, and I feel as though we share similar desires for one another. I'd like to explore that with you. On a date, if you'll allow it."
mitsuri kanroji feels her heart explode in her chest. She can't say yes fast enough. Or enthusiastically enough, given the way she throws her arms around you and tackles you in a hug. She's always forgetting her own strength, but, even pinned to the dirt underneath her, you wouldn't have her any other way.
all written work and dividers belong to @ackpplepie!! do not plagiarize, feed my work into ai, or translate it. i do not own the characters or images used above.
bruce's been overworking himself recently and all you want to do is take care of him.
pairing: bruce wayne x reader
warnings: 18+, MDNI, fem!reader, dry humping (does it count as dry if it's in a bath?), making out, mentions of bruce's masochistic tendencies
a/n: another apology for disappearing, i've been busy with family stuff! i'm currently working on the requests i've gotten, and i'm hoping to get everything posted before i go on another trip next week :)
masterlist
Your husband has never hidden the fact that he's eager to have your hands on him.
Truthfully, it's all too easy to have Bruce Wayne on his knees, begging to be taken care of. It's just that to a man with such deeply masochistic tendencies, the concept of being taken care of can skew pretty far from what you would think up. And that—the version of care you offer so readily—is something that Bruce will almost never ask for directly.
He's been ramping up recently, asking you to pull his hair harder, bite his thighs until they bruise, and sit on his face until he's almost suffocating between your legs. The real warning sign came last night when you were riding him. You had slid your hand up his neck, and he had reached up and made you squeeze down harder than you ever have before. It scared you, honestly.
So, tonight, you're staging an intervention. Not a typical one full of tough love and well-wishes. No, this one is full of eucalyptus-scented massage oil, dim lighting, soft music, and a warm bath. The kids had promised to take over patrol tonight. Even they were tired of seeing Bruce acting so reckless.
He comes home from a long day of pointless meetings just as Alfred's starting to lay out dinner. If he's surprised to see Dick, Tim, Damian, and Cass all sitting at the table, he doesn't say anything. Your concern deepens the longer he sits in silence as dinner passes. He barely eats any of his meal, doesn't respond unless his name is called twice, and barely has the energy to roll his eyes when Dick makes one too many dumb quips.
Needless to say, you've never seen Bruce quite so run down.
Still, he waits until everyone's finished their meals and retreated into the manor to set his silverware down and push his plate away. You take that as your cue to put your plan into motion. It only takes a few steps to get from your chair to his. Bruce doesn't say anything when you step up behind him, nor does he when you wrap your arms around his shoulders.
"You're tired, aren't you?" you murmur in his ear.
Bruce doesn't respond verbally, but his eyes flutter shut, and his head droops down toward your arm.
"Let's go upstairs." One tug on Bruce's hand has him rising to his feet. Even exhausted, he still manages to stand tall; it's a quality you both hate and admire about him. Nothing ever takes him out for long, but he's always working himself into the ground and running through loops of obsessions that twist his mind into knots. You're usually the one who ends up having to untangle him when it gets to be too much.
Bruce didn't fight you when you led him to the bathroom. He didn't even try to resist when you stripped him down and pushed him toward the eucalyptus-scented bubble bath waiting for him. And he wasn't exactly complaining when you undressed yourself and climbed into the bath after him.
The water is warm, the room is dim, the bubbles rise up to your chest, and Bruce's body acts as a barrier between you and the porcelain tub. It's cozy, but, beyond that, it's grounding for Bruce. The combination of your weight pressing down on him and the calming steam floating through the air has his muscles relaxing for the first time in weeks. As a few minutes go by, you can physically feel him sinking into the tub and into your presence more and more.
Eventually, you turn around in his lap and reach behind him to get a pump of shampoo in your hands. After working it into a lather, you start massaging it into Bruce's scalp. The furrow in his eyebrows slowly fades away, and he's left staring up at you in a daze.
You're able to rinse out the shampoo and work in some conditioner before he pulls you into a kiss. He leads with hunger and desperation, you meet him with tenderness and love, and he melts against you like butter. You've always been his greatest indulgence, the only weakness he gladly lets himself succumb to.
Two big hands slide down the length of your spine before they start kneading and groping at your ass and thighs. The roughness of Bruce's calloused fingers feeling you up sends pleasure shooting through you. Your own hands have long since slipped out of Bruce's damp hair, instead drifting down the sides of his neck to rest on his broad shoulders.
Bruce tries to surge forward, to flip the script on you, but there's no room in your plans for him to try something like this. You press him back against the lip of the tub, and, while he grumbles against your mouth, he doesn't try to take over again.
"Just sit back for me, baby," you murmur, one hand lightly stroking the back of Bruce's neck.
Bruce's lips, however, have already migrated down the side of your neck. Try as you might to muster up resistance, it all fizzles out when his stubble scratches at your collarbone.
"I like being here, though," he counters.
And, really, who are you to deny him? Tonight is for him, to let him relax…a few kisses couldn't hurt anything, right?
Wrong, apparently! Bruce's mouth takes a quick diversion down your sternum, pressing kiss after kiss to your smooth skin before latching onto your right breast like he'd been starving for it. His fingers continue to knead at your thighs while his tongue flicks over your nipple, causing you to shiver. The involuntary movement has you shifting your weight over Bruce's lap, just to feel something hard pressing against your thigh.
"Bruce?"
"Hmm?" he hums around your nipple.
"What's that?"
"Dunno what you're talking about," he mumbles. Despite his words, though, he rolls his hips up against yours.
"You got hard because I was being nice to you?"
Bruce lifts his head up, ice blue eyes sparkling with warmth and hunger, "Sweetheart, your boobs are in my face right now. I'm not a monk."
"Really?" you ask dryly. "I hadn't noticed."
He opts to ignore you words and goes back to littering kisses over as much of your torso as he can reach, grinding his thick cock against your folds all the while. Eventually, you give into him. Your hand reaches down between the two of you, lining hip up so he's gliding against your clit with each motion.
Bruce's hands are back on your ass, guiding you to rock back and forth in time with him. The added friction makes him groan into your chest, and pleasure spikes low in your belly every time the head of his cock nudges up against your clit. The veins pulsing along his cock only add to your pleasure.
It feels silly, grinding against your husband like you're a couple of virgins all over again, but it feels too good to even think about stopping. The water surrounding you sloshes and gets closer and closer to splashing over the edge of the tub the faster you and Bruce grind against each other.
"Can you—" Bruce takes your right hand and guides it up to his hair. You know he's asking you to pull it. To tug on it until he keens. Instead, you card your fingers through his dark hair lovingly, scratching along his scalp gently. Bruce expected violence, always. He keeps himself braced for the worse, so when he feels you caressing him so tenderly…he doesn't expect it. He lets a low moan slip out, just loud enough to hear over the splashing water, and you know you've got him where you want him.
"There you go, Brucey. I love you so much. So much. Let me be sweet to you tonight. It'd make me feel so good." You've learned that sometimes reframing things that Bruce would never ask for as something you want gets him to give in a lot easier. Bruce nods against your chest, and you know that this is one of those nights. "Thank you, honey."
"Mmf…anything you want, Mrs. Wayne," he whispers in between kisses to your neck.
"Remember that later when I force you to sleep."
"Like I said, any—hah—thing you want," he groans, helping you keep your rhythm. Pleasure's pooling low in your gut, and you can feel Bruce's cock twitching against your clit. You're both close, both clinging onto each other desperately as your hips chase any friction they can find.
Bruce cums first, and the sight of his eyes rolling back in his head coupled with the feeling of his cock pulsing against your clit triggers your own orgasm. Your hips stutter against his, and you stifle a moan behind a bitten lip.
The two of you are left panting, chests heaving as water pools around the tub. You can already picture the look Alfred will give you when you tell him about the mess later, but all you're focused on now is getting rinsed off so you can give Bruce the massage he's been in such desperate need of.
The bath drains slowly, but the two of you manage to get rinsed off. You end up having to wash Bruce's hair again because the conditioner sat in his hair for way too long, but neither of you mind the prolonged closeness.
Bruce is surprisingly eager to sprawl out on your shared bed for you. The massage oil you set aside earlier is high quality and mixed with a bit of menthol, soothing away any small aches and pains he's been dealing with. You don't stop until he's pliant and half-asleep under you.
The second you climb off of him, your husband is crawling toward you and collapsing with his head on your chest. He usually insists on holding you, only ever breaking that rule when he's truly exhausted.
It's not like you're complaining, after all. He's safe, loved, and snoozing away as you comb through his clean hair. It's all you could ever ask for. He's all you could ever ask for, and you know you'll never stop showing him how much you love him until he knows that fact, too.
all written work and dividers belong to @ackpplepie!! do not plagiarize, feed my work into ai, or translate it. i do not own the characters or images used above.
bruce's been overworking himself recently and all you want to do is take care of him.
pairing: bruce wayne x reader
warnings: 18+, MDNI, fem!reader, dry humping (does it count as dry if it's in a bath?), making out, mentions of bruce's masochistic tendencies
a/n: another apology for disappearing, i've been busy with family stuff! i'm currently working on the requests i've gotten, and i'm hoping to get everything posted before i go on another trip next week :)
masterlist
Your husband has never hidden the fact that he's eager to have your hands on him.
Truthfully, it's all too easy to have Bruce Wayne on his knees, begging to be taken care of. It's just that to a man with such deeply masochistic tendencies, the concept of being taken care of can skew pretty far from what you would think up. And that—the version of care you offer so readily—is something that Bruce will almost never ask for directly.
He's been ramping up recently, asking you to pull his hair harder, bite his thighs until they bruise, and sit on his face until he's almost suffocating between your legs. The real warning sign came last night when you were riding him. You had slid your hand up his neck, and he had reached up and made you squeeze down harder than you ever have before. It scared you, honestly.
So, tonight, you're staging an intervention. Not a typical one full of tough love and well-wishes. No, this one is full of eucalyptus-scented massage oil, dim lighting, soft music, and a warm bath. The kids had promised to take over patrol tonight. Even they were tired of seeing Bruce acting so reckless.
He comes home from a long day of pointless meetings just as Alfred's starting to lay out dinner. If he's surprised to see Dick, Tim, Damian, and Cass all sitting at the table, he doesn't say anything. Your concern deepens the longer he sits in silence as dinner passes. He barely eats any of his meal, doesn't respond unless his name is called twice, and barely has the energy to roll his eyes when Dick makes one too many dumb quips.
Needless to say, you've never seen Bruce quite so run down.
Still, he waits until everyone's finished their meals and retreated into the manor to set his silverware down and push his plate away. You take that as your cue to put your plan into motion. It only takes a few steps to get from your chair to his. Bruce doesn't say anything when you step up behind him, nor does he when you wrap your arms around his shoulders.
"You're tired, aren't you?" you murmur in his ear.
Bruce doesn't respond verbally, but his eyes flutter shut, and his head droops down toward your arm.
"Let's go upstairs." One tug on Bruce's hand has him rising to his feet. Even exhausted, he still manages to stand tall; it's a quality you both hate and admire about him. Nothing ever takes him out for long, but he's always working himself into the ground and running through loops of obsessions that twist his mind into knots. You're usually the one who ends up having to untangle him when it gets to be too much.
Bruce didn't fight you when you led him to the bathroom. He didn't even try to resist when you stripped him down and pushed him toward the eucalyptus-scented bubble bath waiting for him. And he wasn't exactly complaining when you undressed yourself and climbed into the bath after him.
The water is warm, the room is dim, the bubbles rise up to your chest, and Bruce's body acts as a barrier between you and the porcelain tub. It's cozy, but, beyond that, it's grounding for Bruce. The combination of your weight pressing down on him and the calming steam floating through the air has his muscles relaxing for the first time in weeks. As a few minutes go by, you can physically feel him sinking into the tub and into your presence more and more.
Eventually, you turn around in his lap and reach behind him to get a pump of shampoo in your hands. After working it into a lather, you start massaging it into Bruce's scalp. The furrow in his eyebrows slowly fades away, and he's left staring up at you in a daze.
You're able to rinse out the shampoo and work in some conditioner before he pulls you into a kiss. He leads with hunger and desperation, you meet him with tenderness and love, and he melts against you like butter. You've always been his greatest indulgence, the only weakness he gladly lets himself succumb to.
Two big hands slide down the length of your spine before they start kneading and groping at your ass and thighs. The roughness of Bruce's calloused fingers feeling you up sends pleasure shooting through you. Your own hands have long since slipped out of Bruce's damp hair, instead drifting down the sides of his neck to rest on his broad shoulders.
Bruce tries to surge forward, to flip the script on you, but there's no room in your plans for him to try something like this. You press him back against the lip of the tub, and, while he grumbles against your mouth, he doesn't try to take over again.
"Just sit back for me, baby," you murmur, one hand lightly stroking the back of Bruce's neck.
Bruce's lips, however, have already migrated down the side of your neck. Try as you might to muster up resistance, it all fizzles out when his stubble scratches at your collarbone.
"I like being here, though," he counters.
And, really, who are you to deny him? Tonight is for him, to let him relax…a few kisses couldn't hurt anything, right?
Wrong, apparently! Bruce's mouth takes a quick diversion down your sternum, pressing kiss after kiss to your smooth skin before latching onto your right breast like he'd been starving for it. His fingers continue to knead at your thighs while his tongue flicks over your nipple, causing you to shiver. The involuntary movement has you shifting your weight over Bruce's lap, just to feel something hard pressing against your thigh.
"Bruce?"
"Hmm?" he hums around your nipple.
"What's that?"
"Dunno what you're talking about," he mumbles. Despite his words, though, he rolls his hips up against yours.
"You got hard because I was being nice to you?"
Bruce lifts his head up, ice blue eyes sparkling with warmth and hunger, "Sweetheart, your boobs are in my face right now. I'm not a monk."
"Really?" you ask dryly. "I hadn't noticed."
He opts to ignore you words and goes back to littering kisses over as much of your torso as he can reach, grinding his thick cock against your folds all the while. Eventually, you give into him. Your hand reaches down between the two of you, lining hip up so he's gliding against your clit with each motion.
Bruce's hands are back on your ass, guiding you to rock back and forth in time with him. The added friction makes him groan into your chest, and pleasure spikes low in your belly every time the head of his cock nudges up against your clit. The veins pulsing along his cock only add to your pleasure.
It feels silly, grinding against your husband like you're a couple of virgins all over again, but it feels too good to even think about stopping. The water surrounding you sloshes and gets closer and closer to splashing over the edge of the tub the faster you and Bruce grind against each other.
"Can you—" Bruce takes your right hand and guides it up to his hair. You know he's asking you to pull it. To tug on it until he keens. Instead, you card your fingers through his dark hair lovingly, scratching along his scalp gently. Bruce expected violence, always. He keeps himself braced for the worse, so when he feels you caressing him so tenderly…he doesn't expect it. He lets a low moan slip out, just loud enough to hear over the splashing water, and you know you've got him where you want him.
"There you go, Brucey. I love you so much. So much. Let me be sweet to you tonight. It'd make me feel so good." You've learned that sometimes reframing things that Bruce would never ask for as something you want gets him to give in a lot easier. Bruce nods against your chest, and you know that this is one of those nights. "Thank you, honey."
"Mmf…anything you want, Mrs. Wayne," he whispers in between kisses to your neck.
"Remember that later when I force you to sleep."
"Like I said, any—hah—thing you want," he groans, helping you keep your rhythm. Pleasure's pooling low in your gut, and you can feel Bruce's cock twitching against your clit. You're both close, both clinging onto each other desperately as your hips chase any friction they can find.
Bruce cums first, and the sight of his eyes rolling back in his head coupled with the feeling of his cock pulsing against your clit triggers your own orgasm. Your hips stutter against his, and you stifle a moan behind a bitten lip.
The two of you are left panting, chests heaving as water pools around the tub. You can already picture the look Alfred will give you when you tell him about the mess later, but all you're focused on now is getting rinsed off so you can give Bruce the massage he's been in such desperate need of.
The bath drains slowly, but the two of you manage to get rinsed off. You end up having to wash Bruce's hair again because the conditioner sat in his hair for way too long, but neither of you mind the prolonged closeness.
Bruce is surprisingly eager to sprawl out on your shared bed for you. The massage oil you set aside earlier is high quality and mixed with a bit of menthol, soothing away any small aches and pains he's been dealing with. You don't stop until he's pliant and half-asleep under you.
The second you climb off of him, your husband is crawling toward you and collapsing with his head on your chest. He usually insists on holding you, only ever breaking that rule when he's truly exhausted.
It's not like you're complaining, after all. He's safe, loved, and snoozing away as you comb through his clean hair. It's all you could ever ask for. He's all you could ever ask for, and you know you'll never stop showing him how much you love him until he knows that fact, too.
all written work and dividers belong to @ackpplepie!! do not plagiarize, feed my work into ai, or translate it. i do not own the characters or images used above.
bruce's been overworking himself recently and all you want to do is take care of him.
pairing: bruce wayne x reader
warnings: 18+, MDNI, fem!reader, dry humping (does it count as dry if it's in a bath?), making out, mentions of bruce's masochistic tendencies
a/n: another apology for disappearing, i've been busy with family stuff! i'm currently working on the requests i've gotten, and i'm hoping to get everything posted before i go on another trip next week :)
masterlist
Your husband has never hidden the fact that he's eager to have your hands on him.
Truthfully, it's all too easy to have Bruce Wayne on his knees, begging to be taken care of. It's just that to a man with such deeply masochistic tendencies, the concept of being taken care of can skew pretty far from what you would think up. And that—the version of care you offer so readily—is something that Bruce will almost never ask for directly.
He's been ramping up recently, asking you to pull his hair harder, bite his thighs until they bruise, and sit on his face until he's almost suffocating between your legs. The real warning sign came last night when you were riding him. You had slid your hand up his neck, and he had reached up and made you squeeze down harder than you ever have before. It scared you, honestly.
So, tonight, you're staging an intervention. Not a typical one full of tough love and well-wishes. No, this one is full of eucalyptus-scented massage oil, dim lighting, soft music, and a warm bath. The kids had promised to take over patrol tonight. Even they were tired of seeing Bruce acting so reckless.
He comes home from a long day of pointless meetings just as Alfred's starting to lay out dinner. If he's surprised to see Dick, Tim, Damian, and Cass all sitting at the table, he doesn't say anything. Your concern deepens the longer he sits in silence as dinner passes. He barely eats any of his meal, doesn't respond unless his name is called twice, and barely has the energy to roll his eyes when Dick makes one too many dumb quips.
Needless to say, you've never seen Bruce quite so run down.
Still, he waits until everyone's finished their meals and retreated into the manor to set his silverware down and push his plate away. You take that as your cue to put your plan into motion. It only takes a few steps to get from your chair to his. Bruce doesn't say anything when you step up behind him, nor does he when you wrap your arms around his shoulders.
"You're tired, aren't you?" you murmur in his ear.
Bruce doesn't respond verbally, but his eyes flutter shut, and his head droops down toward your arm.
"Let's go upstairs." One tug on Bruce's hand has him rising to his feet. Even exhausted, he still manages to stand tall; it's a quality you both hate and admire about him. Nothing ever takes him out for long, but he's always working himself into the ground and running through loops of obsessions that twist his mind into knots. You're usually the one who ends up having to untangle him when it gets to be too much.
Bruce didn't fight you when you led him to the bathroom. He didn't even try to resist when you stripped him down and pushed him toward the eucalyptus-scented bubble bath waiting for him. And he wasn't exactly complaining when you undressed yourself and climbed into the bath after him.
The water is warm, the room is dim, the bubbles rise up to your chest, and Bruce's body acts as a barrier between you and the porcelain tub. It's cozy, but, beyond that, it's grounding for Bruce. The combination of your weight pressing down on him and the calming steam floating through the air has his muscles relaxing for the first time in weeks. As a few minutes go by, you can physically feel him sinking into the tub and into your presence more and more.
Eventually, you turn around in his lap and reach behind him to get a pump of shampoo in your hands. After working it into a lather, you start massaging it into Bruce's scalp. The furrow in his eyebrows slowly fades away, and he's left staring up at you in a daze.
You're able to rinse out the shampoo and work in some conditioner before he pulls you into a kiss. He leads with hunger and desperation, you meet him with tenderness and love, and he melts against you like butter. You've always been his greatest indulgence, the only weakness he gladly lets himself succumb to.
Two big hands slide down the length of your spine before they start kneading and groping at your ass and thighs. The roughness of Bruce's calloused fingers feeling you up sends pleasure shooting through you. Your own hands have long since slipped out of Bruce's damp hair, instead drifting down the sides of his neck to rest on his broad shoulders.
Bruce tries to surge forward, to flip the script on you, but there's no room in your plans for him to try something like this. You press him back against the lip of the tub, and, while he grumbles against your mouth, he doesn't try to take over again.
"Just sit back for me, baby," you murmur, one hand lightly stroking the back of Bruce's neck.
Bruce's lips, however, have already migrated down the side of your neck. Try as you might to muster up resistance, it all fizzles out when his stubble scratches at your collarbone.
"I like being here, though," he counters.
And, really, who are you to deny him? Tonight is for him, to let him relax…a few kisses couldn't hurt anything, right?
Wrong, apparently! Bruce's mouth takes a quick diversion down your sternum, pressing kiss after kiss to your smooth skin before latching onto your right breast like he'd been starving for it. His fingers continue to knead at your thighs while his tongue flicks over your nipple, causing you to shiver. The involuntary movement has you shifting your weight over Bruce's lap, just to feel something hard pressing against your thigh.
"Bruce?"
"Hmm?" he hums around your nipple.
"What's that?"
"Dunno what you're talking about," he mumbles. Despite his words, though, he rolls his hips up against yours.
"You got hard because I was being nice to you?"
Bruce lifts his head up, ice blue eyes sparkling with warmth and hunger, "Sweetheart, your boobs are in my face right now. I'm not a monk."
"Really?" you ask dryly. "I hadn't noticed."
He opts to ignore you words and goes back to littering kisses over as much of your torso as he can reach, grinding his thick cock against your folds all the while. Eventually, you give into him. Your hand reaches down between the two of you, lining hip up so he's gliding against your clit with each motion.
Bruce's hands are back on your ass, guiding you to rock back and forth in time with him. The added friction makes him groan into your chest, and pleasure spikes low in your belly every time the head of his cock nudges up against your clit. The veins pulsing along his cock only add to your pleasure.
It feels silly, grinding against your husband like you're a couple of virgins all over again, but it feels too good to even think about stopping. The water surrounding you sloshes and gets closer and closer to splashing over the edge of the tub the faster you and Bruce grind against each other.
"Can you—" Bruce takes your right hand and guides it up to his hair. You know he's asking you to pull it. To tug on it until he keens. Instead, you card your fingers through his dark hair lovingly, scratching along his scalp gently. Bruce expected violence, always. He keeps himself braced for the worse, so when he feels you caressing him so tenderly…he doesn't expect it. He lets a low moan slip out, just loud enough to hear over the splashing water, and you know you've got him where you want him.
"There you go, Brucey. I love you so much. So much. Let me be sweet to you tonight. It'd make me feel so good." You've learned that sometimes reframing things that Bruce would never ask for as something you want gets him to give in a lot easier. Bruce nods against your chest, and you know that this is one of those nights. "Thank you, honey."
"Mmf…anything you want, Mrs. Wayne," he whispers in between kisses to your neck.
"Remember that later when I force you to sleep."
"Like I said, any—hah—thing you want," he groans, helping you keep your rhythm. Pleasure's pooling low in your gut, and you can feel Bruce's cock twitching against your clit. You're both close, both clinging onto each other desperately as your hips chase any friction they can find.
Bruce cums first, and the sight of his eyes rolling back in his head coupled with the feeling of his cock pulsing against your clit triggers your own orgasm. Your hips stutter against his, and you stifle a moan behind a bitten lip.
The two of you are left panting, chests heaving as water pools around the tub. You can already picture the look Alfred will give you when you tell him about the mess later, but all you're focused on now is getting rinsed off so you can give Bruce the massage he's been in such desperate need of.
The bath drains slowly, but the two of you manage to get rinsed off. You end up having to wash Bruce's hair again because the conditioner sat in his hair for way too long, but neither of you mind the prolonged closeness.
Bruce is surprisingly eager to sprawl out on your shared bed for you. The massage oil you set aside earlier is high quality and mixed with a bit of menthol, soothing away any small aches and pains he's been dealing with. You don't stop until he's pliant and half-asleep under you.
The second you climb off of him, your husband is crawling toward you and collapsing with his head on your chest. He usually insists on holding you, only ever breaking that rule when he's truly exhausted.
It's not like you're complaining, after all. He's safe, loved, and snoozing away as you comb through his clean hair. It's all you could ever ask for. He's all you could ever ask for, and you know you'll never stop showing him how much you love him until he knows that fact, too.
all written work and dividers belong to @ackpplepie!! do not plagiarize, feed my work into ai, or translate it. i do not own the characters or images used above.
clark's been overworking himself recently and all you want to do is take care of him.
pairing: clark kent x reader
warnings: 18+, MDNI, handjob, boobplay, reader gets off on the fact that clark is being vulnerable with her
a/n: HI GUYS so sorry that this one took so long to get out oml i've been working so much recently. thankfully, i have some time off, so i hope i can write a bit more here and there :) also rest assured that i see the requests i've been sent in!! i'll start writing those when i finish bruce's part.
Superman. The Man of Steel. Symbol of hope and strength.
Superman can carry any burden placed upon his shoulders with a smile on his face, gladly bearing the brunt of evil for humanity's sake.
Clark Kent, though? A whole different can of worms.
He's just a man, after all. A terribly kind, optimistic, loving man who craves somewhere soft to land at the end of the day. He's been very open about that side of him since the two of you started dating. It'd be hard to hide. Clark's a loverboy down to his core with such a big, soft heart.
And he's surprisingly one of the most open people you've ever dated. Y'know, after he came clean about the whole Superman thing. He's got his heart on his sleeve, overflowing empathy, and more love than he knows what to do with.
Unfortunately, boundless optimism and unshakable compassion come with unpleasant shadows that follow behind him, nipping at his heels while threatening to drag him down.
Righteous anger, the kind of feeling that, when given to the wrong person, can destroy all the good someone has deep inside and twist their morality into something unrecognizable. Clark doesn't wear this often, and he usually bears it alone.
Bone deep exhaustion is the shadow you see more often. As unbreakable as he can be, the weight of injustice can still overwhelm Clark. And, while he never bends, he does stumble. Usually right into your waiting arms.
So, tonight, when he barely has the strength to do anything beside lie down on the couch with his head in your lap, you meet him with a soft gaze and a delicate hand in his hair.
"Oh, Clarky. Are you tired, honey?"
His only response is a muffled "mmf" against your thigh. It'd make you laugh if you weren't so concerned for him.
"Poor baby…" Your hands slide down the sides of his neck. His pulse flutters under the gentle strokes from your fingers, and a slight smile plays at your lips. "Hmm? Do you like that? Do need your special treatment, honey?"
"Please," Clark mumbles into your thigh. The quiet plea hits you right in the chest and knocks loose all the mushy affection you usually try to keep under control.
"Lie on your back for me, then," you murmur.
Clark does as you ask and turns over in your lap. His head is still nestled in the dip of your thighs, his black hair soft and messy from your fingers. The second his handsome face is revealed to you, you lean down over him and press sweet little kisses to every bit of skin you can. Each kiss is soft as a petal falling to the ground, and the gentle treatment has a dopey grin forming on Clark's face: it's just what you were hoping to see.
The fact that he's smiling already tells you it'll be okay. That it's not one of the nights he questions his ability to protect people until the sun's rising in the sky. That Clark hasn't convinced himself that he needs to work himself to the brink of collapse, only to still believe he isn't doing enough.
Thankfully, it seems like your intervention's coming early enough in the night that his thoughts haven't had time to spiral that far out.
"I missed you," he whispers, the words a quiet offer of devotion. Three little words that say so much: 'I love you.' 'I think about you.' 'My heart yearns for you when you're not next to me.'
"It's only been a few hours," you smile, letting your hand slip up under the hem of Clark's loose t-shirt.
"A few hours without you," he grumbles. His head turns just enough for him to be able to nuzzle along a strip of exposed skin at your midriff.
"I think you've survived worse."
"Debatable. It's up there, for—hah, for sure." A gasp cuts through Clark's words when your hand finds his inner thigh. The thick muscle clenches under your touch, and you take your time feeling the contours of his leg through his soft pajama pants, only stopping when Clark's hips give an involuntary twitch up into the air.
"I guess I shouldn't tease you, huh?"
A cute pout appears on Clark's face, and you want to kiss it right off his ridiculously handsome face. If it wasn't for the glossiness in his big, blue eyes, you'd be even more tempted to drag this out. But, with Clark lying in your lap and staring up at you with such trust, you just can't bring yourself to do it.
"Lift your hips up for me, baby," you say calmly, untying his pants and dragging them and his boxers down his thighs when he complies. Everything about your boyfriend is larger than life: his heart, his hands, his shoulders…his cock—hard, thick, and beaded with precum—bobs in the air in front of you. "There you go."
Clark's hips shift in the air again as he tries to get comfortable, but his hands are gripping the edge of your shirt, and he's staring up at you like a wounded puppy. "Can I?"
"Of course."
Now with your permission, Clark's fingers slide under the fabric before tugging it off of you completely. His hands start at your belly before tracing their way up the dip of your waist…up to your ribs…and then up even higher to cup your breasts through your bra. Thumbs working your nipples into peaks through the cups, Clark's already in heaven at the sight in front of him.
And, god, it only gets better when you spit-slicked hand finally closes around his cock. Pleasure shoots through him instantly, intensifying with each stroke and twist of your wrist.
"Oh, ohhh, hnn," Clark's moaning like the sounds are being forcefully ripped out of his chest, and his brows are furrowed like they're surprising even to him. Eventually, one of his big hands slides into the cup of your bra, and he pulls down on the fabric until one of your breasts is exposed to him. The sudden feeling of cool air on your skin makes you gasp, but it's quickly replaced by the wet heat of his mouth. Your free hand slides under his shoulders, silently helping him curl closer, while your other hand slowly works his cock.
Despite his desperation to feel you, Clark still remains gentle. He sucks on your nipple slowly, tongue rubbing over the peaked flesh in soothing motions. His left arm stays curled around your waist while his right hand palms at your other breast.
"Clarky, that feels so good," you whisper. "Doing so good for me, baby. You're such a sweetheart."
Clark's whimpering against your skin now, and the vibration sends a pleasant buzz through your head. Of course, touching your boyfriend like this turns you on endlessly, but the satisfaction pulsing through you comes more from the fact that you're the one he comes to for comfort. You're the person who gets to see Superman curled up in your lap like this, hips bucking up into your hand while he acts like your chest is the best stress toy he could ever ask for.
And fuck if you don't love it.
You're not too shy to tell him, either. In fact, you know how much he craves the verbal affirmation of your feelings.
"I love seeing you so relaxed, honey. I love doing this with you." Clark's eyes flick up to your face, only to find you looking back at him already. His eyes are glazed, his cheeks are flushed, and his hair is falling into your eyes. There's a bit of drool at the corner of his mouth that you're all too happy to wipe away with your thumb. "Messy boy."
"Mmfmm…" Clark merely hums around you and closes his eyes again, more than happy to get swept up in the tide of pleasure your hands are coaxing out of him.
"Just like that…" The veins running up the sides of Clark's shaft are throbbing and twitching now, and you know he's getting closer and closer. "Don't hold back, Clarky. Just let go. You deserve it. You deserve to feel good."
While some men might bristle at the soft tone of voice you're using, Clark's brain just turns right to mush. It only takes a few more pumps of your fist to have his eyes rolling back in his head and his hips bucking up into your hand as he paints his own chest white. You work him through it slowly, savoring the way his cock pulses in your hand before finally releasing him.
The room falls into silence that's only broken by Clark's heavy breathing. He's vaguely aware of you wiping the cum off his chest, though he's not lucid enough to realize you're using your own shirt—he would have stopped you if he'd seen that. Once you've wiped him off, you wrap your arms right around his torso, and he just melts right into you.
Clark's always felt eternally grateful that he has you: soft, beautiful, kind-hearted, but always willing to get tough when necessary, even if it's against him. He likes that you're not intimidated by him. He likes that you respect him enough to give him space but love him enough to hold him through whatever storm he brings to you.
He just loves you. Your hands, your voice, the way you can wind him up and work him back down, he's so smitten it's kind of sickening, but you're right there with him. How could you know what makes him tick if you weren't equally as gone for him as he is for you?
That night, you have dinner together. You wash his hair in the shower while he washes your back. You rub lotion into each other's skin without complaint because that's just how you love.
His thoughts don't haunt him that night. Neither do his failures. The only things floating around his head are the softness of your skin and the scent of your perfume.
all written work and dividers belong to @ackpplepie!! do not plagiarize, feed my work into ai, or translate it. i do not own the characters or images used above.
dick grayson x fem!reader x koriand'r
they spot you across the bar, knowing damn well what they want to do with you
cw: mdni, fingering, oral sex, face sitting
“Hey, my boyfriend and I saw you across the bar and we loooved your vibe.”
You blink at the almost 6 foot woman and her slightly shorter (but still taller than you) boyfriend. They were pretty intimidating. The woman had big curly pink hair, she was wearing the lowest waisted jeans and a green crop top. The man had this perfect messy inky hair and a plain white shirt with baggy jeans, complemented with a gold chain and two rings.
Your drink was halfway to your mouth when she said it, you almost choked.
“Excuse me?” you managed, staring up at the towering woman in front of you.
She grinned, easy and bold, one hip cocked. “I said we loved your vibe. My boyfriend and I were wondering if you’d like to join us tonight.”
Your eyes flicked between the two of them. She was all heat and curves, curls bouncing as she tilted her head at you. He was quieter, watching you with sharp blue eyes that didn’t waver.
Your pulse kicked up hard in your throat. “Wait. Are you… are you asking me what I think you’re asking me?”
The man finally spoke, voice low and smooth. “We’re asking if you’d like to come home with us.” He let the word home hang there and then offered the faintest smirk.
You put your glass down a little too quickly. “You can’t just… walk up to people and—”
“Why not?” the woman interrupted, laughing, completely unapologetic. “We’re honest. You’re gorgeous. We think you’re gorgeous. And we like to share.” She glanced back at him, brushing her fingers against his shoulder.
Heat prickled at the back of your neck, they were magnetic together even more than apart. You couldn’t stop staring at their hands, the way his ring glinted when he touched her hip, the way she leaned toward him. And now their attention was squarely on you.
The man tilted his head. “You can say no,” he said, softer now. “We don’t want to make you uncomfortable. But if you’re interested…” His eyes swept you up and down, subtle but unmistakable. “…we’d make it worth your time.”
Your mouth went dry. “You two are insane.”
“Maybe,” she said with another laugh, curls bouncing as she leaned down closer. “But you’re not walking away, are you?”
And the truth was you weren’t. You shook your head a little. “I don’t even know your names.”
Her laughter spilled out of her as she leaned back just enough to look at you properly.
“Oh, you’re right.” She pressed a hand dramatically to her chest, eyes sparkling. “Where are my manners? I’m Koriand’r.” She rolled the name on her tongue before grinning wider. “But my friends just call me Kori.”
The man beside her leaned a little closer, resting his elbow on the bar casually, but his gaze didn’t waver from you. “Dick,” he said simply, offering his hand out to you like this was the most normal introduction in the world. His palm was warm, grip steady, like he was daring you to pull away.
Your eyes flicked between them, you suppress a laugh at how surreal this was.
“Now you do,” Kory said, tilting her head, curls brushing over her shoulder. “So? What’s yours, gorgeous?”
Your lips parted, heartbeat kicking hard as you gave them your name.
Dick smiled at the sound of it while Kory repeated it under her breath, tasting it like a secret. You swallowed, suddenly very aware of the fact that they were both leaning just a little too close.
“This is insane,” you whispered.
“Or,” Kory countered with a sly grin, “it’s the best decision you’ll make all week.”
Dick could see in your eyes a flicker of doubt, you weren’t confident on going home with two strangers that have been eyeing you the whole night.
“C’mon. Let us buy you a drink.” Dick said with a tiny smile, offering his hand.
Your throat felt dry, though not from the lack of alcohol. Their combined attention was dizzying. You let out a shaky little laugh, eyes flicking between them, searching for some crack in their confidence and finding none.
“I could use a drink.” You smiled shyly, accepting his hand guiding you towards the bar. You shivered at the touch of Kory’s hand in the small of your back.
The drinks arrived, cold glasses set down in front of the three of you. Dick slid yours closer with two fingers, his rings clinking softly against the glass.
“Cheers,” he said smoothly, raising his own. Kory followed, her grin sweet but wicked at the edges.
You hesitated, but lifted yours anyway. The first sip went down sharp, heat blooming in your chest. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the way both of them were looking at you.
Kory leaned in, elbow on the bar, curls brushing your bare arm. “You’re even prettier up close,” she murmured, eyes lingering.
You swallowed hard. “You two always pick people up in bars together?”
Dick laughed quietly. “Not always. Only when the vibe’s right.” His dark eyes found yours, daring you to look away. “And with you? The vibe’s very right.”
Kory’s hand slid just close enough to your knee that you felt the ghost of her touch. “We could stay here all night and keep talking.” Her voice dipped, teasing. “or we could take this somewhere more private.”
You blinked at her, pulse stuttering. “You mean…”
“We mean,” Dick cut in, smiling like he’d already read your thoughts. “No pressure. But you should come home with us tonight, you won’t regret it.”
Kory giggled softly, leaning in closer so her perfume wrapped around you. “And we’ll take very good care of you.”
Dick swirled what was left of his drink, eyes still fixed on you. There was a smile on his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time.
“You know,” he said slowly, “we don’t usually bother pushing this far.” He leaned a little closer, his arm brushing yours. “But I think you already know we’re not leaving this bar without you tonight.”
The statement landed heavy. Kory’s hand finally settled on your knee, she tilted her head as her mouth curved into that sultry smile. “Why would we? You’re exactly what we were looking for.”
Your throat went dry. “That’s… a lot of confidence.”
Dick chuckled, he set his empty glass down and angled toward you, his knee brushing yours under the bar. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel this too.”
You tried, but his gaze held you in place.
Kory leaned in so close you caught the sweetness of her drink on her breath. “We’ll be good to you,” she whispered, voice soft but full of heat. “But we’re not walking out that door without your hand in ours.”
Dick’s hand brushed your arm, light but purposeful. “So,” he asked quietly, “are we going to finish these drinks or are we leaving now?”
You were completely naked in the bed of their apartment, they never stopped looking at you while they also discarded their own clothes. They were both built like greek gods, both with perfectly toned stomachs, strong arms and legs that could easily suffocate you.
Kory sat on the edge of the bed first, her big curls falling around her shoulders, eyes roaming your body with a hunger that made your stomach flip. Dick followed with his gaze just as intense. You shifted nervously under their combined stare, pulling the sheet a little higher over yourself.
“Don’t hide,” Kory murmured, her hand reaching out to pull the sheet right back down. Her palm was warm brushing over your thigh. “You’re too beautiful to hide.”
Dick sat beside you, his hand landing on the other side of your hip, trapping you between them. “She’s right,” he said, voice low and smooth, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Look at you… spread out and waiting for us. You’re perfect.”
Your pulse thundered in your throat.
Kory’s grin softened, but her touch didn’t. Her hand slid up your stomach, fingers brushing over your breasts before cupping one, thumb flicking your nipple until you gasped. Dick leaned down, kissing your shoulder. His mouth trailed up to your neck, lips teasing the sensitive spot just beneath your jaw.
“Let us show you,” he whispered against your skin.
Kory climbed onto the bed fully, swinging one leg over so she was straddling you. She looked down at you with that same fearless smile, curls bouncing as she leaned forward just enough to press her breasts against your face.
“Can you taste me, gorgeous?” she teased, tugging her crop top over her head and tossing it aside.
Dick’s hand slid between your thighs, his rings cold against your burning skin. He teased your folds with deliberate strokes, never quite giving you what you needed.
“Already wet,” he whispered, smirking against your throat. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”
Kory giggled when you whimpered beneath her, rolling her hips just enough for you to feel the heat of her against your thigh.
“She likes it,” she said, “look at her squirm.”
Dick finally slid two fingers inside you, his pace controlled but firm, curling them just right. You moaned, and he bit your shoulder lightly, as if savoring the sound.
“Say it,” he demanded softly, his lips brushing your ear. “Say you’ve been waiting for us.”
Your voice broke. “I… I have.”
Kory gasped dramatically, leaning down to kiss you deeply, hot and hungry, her tongue claiming yours while Dick worked you open with his hand.
“Mmm,” she purred as she pulled back, licking her lips. “So sweet. I want her mouth, Dick.”
He chuckled low, pulling his fingers from you only to suck them clean before shoving them back inside. “Greedy,” he teased, eyes darkening as he watched your reaction.
Kory slid further down until she was straddling your face fully now, lowering herself with a wicked grin. “Be greedy with me,” she whispered. “Eat.”
The second your tongue touched her, she moaned, throwing her head back, her curls bouncing as her hips rolled against your mouth. Dick kissed your stomach, trailing down until he replaced his fingers with his tongue, lapping at you with slow, deliberate strokes that had you arching off the bed.
“Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined,” he groaned against you.
Kory leaned forward, tangling her fingers in your hair, guiding your mouth against her. “Don’t stop,” she begged, her voice high and breathless. “You’re so so good.”
You were shaking, every nerve lit on fire from their combined touch. His mouth devouring you, her heat pressing down against your tongue, their hands roaming, gripping, owning every inch of you.
Overwhelmed, overstimulated, you muffled a cry against Kori’s slick folds, and Dick laughed darkly, pulling back just enough to look up at you.
“Already?” he asked, lips glistening.
You didn’t answer him, you couldn’t with your mouth full, so you just tugged his hair and pulled him back between your folds. He went back working his two fingers knuckles deep and his tongue lapping over your clit while Kory rode your face.
“Fuck, D-Dick I’m—” you blurted out, bucking your hips up feeling the sting in your walls, only for him to put a hand on your stomach keeping you in place.
“Yeah, baby. C’mon. I’ll eat it all up.”
His voice rumbled against your core as his tongue flicked faster. His fingers curled, hitting that exact spot inside you that made your vision blur. Your hands clawed at the sheets, at his hair, at Kori’s thighs above you, but there was no escape from how they were devouring you.
Kory was gasping, grinding down onto your face with no shame. “She’s so good, Dick fuck her tongue is perfect.” Her nails dragged down your chest, leaving faint red trails over your skin. She tugged your hair to keep your mouth right where she wanted it. “Don’t stop, pretty thing.”
You tried to answer, to beg, but Dick pushed two more fingers inside you, stretching you until your cry vibrated against Kory’s clit. She shuddered hard, laughing breathlessly as her hips rolled faster.
“That’s it,” Dick growled, sucking your clit into his mouth so hard your back arched clean off the bed. “I want you dripping all over my face. I want Kory to taste you when she kisses me.”
Your thighs were trembling, shaking around his head. “I-I can’t… ah!”
“You can,” he interrupted, biting your inner thigh hard enough to sting.
“Listen to him, gorgeous. Make a mess for us.”
Your whole body convulsed, stars exploding behind your eyes as your orgasm ripped through you, wet and overwhelming. Dick groaned against your folds, drinking you in while his fingers fucked you through it.
Kori gasped when your moans sent shocks through her own climax. “Oh fuck yes!” she cried out, thighs clamping around your head as she shuddered above you.
When you went limp, trembling and gasping for air, Dick finally pulled back, lips and chin glistening. He crawled up your body, catching Kori’s mouth in a filthy kiss so she could taste you on his tongue as he promised before.
a/n: this is a repost of a fic a deleted a while ago
SUMMARY: you and bruce are alone this time (hal is on a trip in space!) and you discover something rather interesting about him
content warning: mdni, daddy kink, p in v
prev
The manor is dead quiet, it’s just you and Bruce tonight while Hal’s off-world for a few days and you’ve taken full advantage of it, no escape for Bruce. You have his wrists pinned above his head, his chest is flushed with bite and nail marks all over it. Your hips roll against him at a pace that borders on cruel. You lean down to lick a long strip on his throat and he arches into it, helpless.
“God,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Please, please!”
You drag your mouth up to his jaw. “Please what, baby? What do you want, huh?”
He shudders, his eyes are glassy with his mouth half-open. You can feel him getting close, tight with need, he’s twitching inside of you, one thick vein pulsing your walls perfectly. You fuck into him a little harder, making him choke on a breath.
You fuck into him a little harder, just once, and he chokes on a breath.
“Please, daddy!”
Bruce freezes.
You stop.
“Oh my god,” he says immediately, voice tight with panic. “No I didn’t mean that. I don’t um I don’t call people… shit.”
You blink once. “Wow.”
Bruce shuts his eyes. “Don’t look at me.”
He’s still inside of you, you’re still holding his wrists but your voice softens. You move your thumb softly in your grip. “You called me daddy, Bruce.”
He groans, full-body, head thunking against the pillow. “I didn’t plan to.”
“And that’s the problem?” You tilt your head. “Because it came out honestly?”
“I’ve never said that to anyone in my life. It’s... it’s weird.”
You watch him, he’s not breathing evenly and you can feel his pulse pounding under your hand.
“…Hal’s never said it either,” he mutters, almost like he’s trying to justify himself. “He makes jokes about getting stepped on, but that’s different.”
You can’t help it, you smile. “You think Hal would care?”
“Hal would never let me live it down.”
You lean down, dragging your mouth along his jaw. “Maybe not in public. But you think Hal would be anything but thrilled to see you like this?”
Bruce moans, quiet and sharp. You kiss him and then pull back, releasing his wrists, watching the flush climb his throat.
“You like it,” you say. “You wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t.”
Bruce swallows, hard. “I didn’t know I liked it.”
You kiss his temple. “But you do now.” Your voice stays low. "You wanna talk about it?"
“God, not while you’re still—” He gestures weakly between you. “When I'm still inside of you.”
You grin. “That’s exactly when we should talk about it.”
He makes a helpless noise. You shift beside him, sliding a hand along his jaw until he looks at you.
“I like that you want that,” you say. “I like that you feel safe enough to let it slip. You don’t call me daddy when you’re Bruce Wayne or Bats. You do it when you’re mine. When you’re soft and open and wrecked. And that’s why it works.”
Bruce licks his lips, he still hasn’t opened his eyes.
“It’s you,” he says finally. “It’s that I trust you that much. That you make me feel…” He struggles. “…safe enough to not be in charge. Other people have called me daddy, but I didn’t really enjoy it. It didn’t make me feel anything more, but calling you...”
You kiss him again. “I like that you said it,” you add softly. “It’s not about the word. It’s what it means to you. That you let go that far with me.”
Bruce finally opens his eyes. “I’m still embarrassed.”
“I know you are.” You stroke his hair gently. “But you really don’t have to be. I liked it, you see?” You lower your gaze a little, the space where both of your cores disappear dripping. “It made me wetter.”
He groans again, but this time there’s a laugh buried in it. “If Hal ever hears about this…”
“You think he’d make fun of you?”
“I think he’d never stop teasing me.”
You kiss the corner of his mouth. “You think he wouldn’t love this?”
That does it, Bruce turns his face and buries it in your neck with a sound that’s almost a whine. You shush him, soothing your fingers through his hair.
“This doesn’t change anything,” you whisper. “It only makes me want to take care of you even more.”
Bruce doesn’t answer. You pull back again, watch his face.
“You still want me?” you ask, quiet now. “After saying it?”
He nods immediately. “God, yes.”
“Then say it again.”
You can see the shyness in his face, but you don’t let him go. You need him to say it, you never thought a word could turn you on that much. You’re not even older than Bruce, but the title makes you feel so powerful and important over him.
“Daddy.”
Oh, and hearing him saying with his red face and embarrassing eyes. You smile, clenching around him
“There he is. My sweet boy.”
Bruce shudders beneath you and you start moving again, slower this time, more deliberate. The scene shifts from confession to reclamation and Bruce lets you take him apart all over again.
“You like it when I take care of you, don’t you?” you ask him, grabbing him by the hair and pushing down his chest.
Bruce breathes out, a whisper thick with need: “Yeah… I do.”
“You’re missing a word,” you warn him, digging your nails and slowing the pace.
“Fuck, I do, daddy.” He still shudders while making eye contact with you.
You kiss him full of pride, because he’s earned everything tonight. Your sweet baby, utterly yours. Still, you don’t let him come again right away. Not until his thighs tremble and his voice breaks and his breath catches every time you move. When you finally let him, it’s deep inside you, full-body and helpless, and the way he moans through it makes your stomach flutter. He’s panting when you pull off of him, boneless and flushed, still recovering. You don’t rush anything, just brush damp hair back from his face, kiss his cheek, his jaw, and his chest, soft little things that ground more than they tease.
“Still with me?” you whisper, fingers brushing the base of his throat.
Bruce nods slowly. “Really fucked out.”
You smile, kissing his shoulder. “You did so good for me.”
He groans like that shouldn’t make him squirm, but it does. His hips twitch even though they’ve got nothing left.
“Shhh,” you soothe. “I got you.”
You reach over for a warm towel you left by the nightstand, gentle as you clean him up, murmuring little things under your breath: good boy, daddy's here, so pretty like this, mine. And Bruce takes all of it. The minute you’re done, you slip under the covers beside him, pulling him into your chest. He grunts softly, arms coming around you after a moment like muscle memory, burying his nose in your collarbone.
Your fingers stroke lazily through his hair, a low hum in your chest. “You know what this means, right?”
He doesn’t lift his head. “No. What.”
You grin. “We have to change the group chat name.”
That gets him to groan, muffled against your skin. “Oh God. Please no.”
“I’m serious,” you say, mock stern. “I’m thinking of something classy. Like ‘Daddy and her little toys.’ Very mature.”
“I hate you.”
You laugh, and his lips twitch against your skin. “You’re just mad because now I have evidence.”
His voice is still a little hoarse. “You’ll tell him?”
“We'll tell him together,” you say, smug. “He will die, of horniness and jealousy for not being here when it happened.”
Bruce doesn’t respond, he breathes out, letting himself get pulled under the rhythm of your hands moving slowly through his hair, down his back, tracing old scars.
Eventually, he says, quietly: “I miss him.”
Your smile falters. You tilt his chin up gently until he’s looking at you again.
Bruce’s eyes are softer than you expect. “I know it’s only been a couple days. But I do.”
You nod slowly. “Of course you do. He’s Hal.”
“He’s annoying,” Bruce whispers. “He talks so much. He leaves his boots on the coffee table. He’s the worst cook ever.”
You raise a brow. “Sounds like love.”
Bruce huffs something like a laugh. “He doesn’t know how to shut up during sex.”
“Maybe you just need something to put in his mouth.”
That earns a real laugh.
“I’m being serious,” Bruce says after a beat. “I hate when he’s gone. Even when he’s driving me insane. It’s like…”
He falters, eyes flicking away from yours.
You nudge his knee with yours. “Like what?”
Bruce exhales. “Like part of me isn’t here. When it’s just us, it’s so good. But when it’s all three…” He searches for the words. “It’s more. Like breathing easier.”
You press a soft kiss to his cheek. “I know exactly what you mean.” You kiss him twice. “He’s loud and chaotic and distracts you at the worst times. But he also looks at you like you hung the stars.”
Bruce swallows, suddenly quieter. “Sometimes I think he only looks at you like that.”
You pause, surprised. “Bruce…”
“It’s okay,” he mutters quickly. “I don’t need him to. I don’t expect that. I just, sometimes I watch him with you, and I wonder how the hell I got this lucky.”
Your chest tightens. You reach for his hand and press it against your chest. “He adores you, Bruce. You have us both wrapped around your finger. You trusted us enough to stop pretending you didn’t want to be held like this, and that makes me absolutely obsessed with you. Because you’re mine. And Hal sees that. He sees it in both of us.”
Bruce is quiet for a long time. You can feel the weight of that conversation settle gently between you. Finally, he says, “I like knowing he sees me, too.”
“He does,” you whisper, kissing his hair. “He sees all of you.”
You lie like that for a while. Tangled. Quiet. Safe.
Eventually Bruce murmurs, “Can we FaceTime him tomorrow?”
You smile. “We can send him a goodnight photo if you want.”
He groans. “God no. He’ll ask questions.”
“And you’ll answer none of them, blush like a schoolgirl and pout while he teases you. It’s tradition.”
“I do not blush.”
You just look at him.
Bruce tries to scowl. “I don’t.”
You nuzzle into his cheek, grinning. “Oh, you absolutely do.”
Bruce mutters something unintelligible and buries his face deeper into your chest, but the tips of his ears are already pink.
“You know,” you tease softly, fingers tracing idle shapes along the bare skin of his back, “it’s only fair I keep calling you that now. Daddy’s sweet little boy. It has a nice ring to it.”
“Stop,” he groans into your sternum.
“Bruce,” you whisper, delight curling around every syllable, “you begged. You said please, all wrecked and needy and then you called me daddy. I’m going to be high off that for days.”
He mumbles something like never again, but he curls tighter into you, possessive and embarrassed all at once
You kiss his hair, gentle now. “You know, I keep teasing you about it, but we don’t have to tell Hal right away,” you say, voice softer, grounding the moment. “This doesn’t have to be some big, open thing if you don’t want it to be. It can be ours for a bit.”
“But it’s not just mine, is it?”
You lift your head slightly to look at him, your hand coming up to rest against his jaw. “It can be what you need it to be. We can test it together. Figure out what fits, what feels safe, what makes you feel held” you pause, stroking your thumb across his cheekbone.
He blinks up at you, eyes glassy again, but not from lust this time.
“Before we tell Hal?” you add gently. “We can take our time. Play with it. Try the word in different ways. With boundaries and rules.”
He doesn’t answer right away.
Then: “I want to tell him.”
You tilt your head. “Yeah?”
Bruce nods, slow but sure. “Not because I want him to laugh at me. Or tease me. But because…” His voice drops, unsure. “Because I want it to be mine with you. Only mine. I want him to know that. That I’m the only one who gets to call you that.”
Your breath catches, surprised by the intensity in his voice. You kiss slowly the top of his head and he settles back between your legs, his whole body dropping on you. You don’t move the hand from his hair and back when he positions his head in your chest, leaving a kiss near your breast. You take the real blanket and prop it on top of him and yourself too.
You huff a laugh. “You know how Hal is with names. It goes with hyperfixations. He stopped calling you Spooky one month into dating,” you say.
“I fucking hated that,” Bruce annotated, you could feel his eyebrow burrow.
“I know you did,” you commented in a whisper before coming back at what you were saying. “And did you already forget the phase when he said Sir, Yes Sir every time I tell him something in bed?”
Bruce groans again, dragging a hand over his face like he’s reliving a war crime. “Please don’t remind me.”
You can’t help but grin. “He saluted, Bruce.”
“He saluted while fully naked,” he mutters. “I thought I was going to die.”
You bite your lip, trying not to laugh out loud. “He was committed to the bit.”
“He’s always committed to the bit. That’s the problem.”
You tilt your head, affection curling in your chest. “He likes naming things. He likes giving moments little markers. Words he can cling to.”
“Words that’ll haunt me forever,” Bruce mutters into your collarbone.
“He’s just loud about what he loves,” you say softly, stroking his back. “And we both know he loves you.”
Bruce is quiet for a moment. Then: “Do you think he’d actually be okay with it? With me calling you that?”
You hum, thoughtful. “I think he’d pretend he’s not. But he’d be happy. And he'd let you keep that word just for you. You know how much it means to him when you let go.”
Bruce doesn’t say anything but he nestles closer, cheek pressed flat against your chest, arms tightening around you.
You kiss the top of his head. “So when we tell him, we’ll do it together, whenever you want. And he’ll still be his same annoying self, but now he’ll know what this means to you.”
Bruce mumbles, “And he’ll never shut up about it.”
“Nope.”
“He’ll come up with something stupid to call it.”
“Probably.”
“…Something like The Daddy Incident.”
You snort. “Or Operation: Who’s Your Daddy. He loves a codename.”
Bruce sighs, but it’s fond. “I hate how accurate that is.”
Your whole body shakes with laughter, Bruce just groans and buries his face deeper, regretting everything. He rolls his eyes but doesn’t move away. The two of you stay like this for a while, talking and laughing. You take care of Bruce, as always, running a bath for the both of you. He washes your hair gently and you clean him up perfectly. You slip in the silk pink pajamas he gifted to you some months ago while he just wears sweatpants and nothing else. You fall back in the same position, Bruce tucked in your chest, you curling his damp hair in your fingers and touching some of the scars in his back.
“You are such a pretty boy,” your voice thick with affection, not really sexual, but still making him squirm. “Call me daddy again,” you whisper, just for him.
And this time, no hesitation.
“Daddy," he stops a beat. "I love you."
Your smile is everything. “Such a good boy. I love you too, Bruce.”
horndog boyfriends jason todd && ck-prime (18+) ₊˚⊹
"guys, you will not believe what happened today—" clark stumbles as he rushes to toe his shoes off, probably eager to rant about the idiots he had to talk to at the comic store.
the couch's squeak gets cut off as jason freezes behind you. his cock manages a single, pathetic throb in your cunt before he grumbles, "can it wait until—i don't know—we're done here?"
you can practically see the way his face pinches, even though he's buried your face halfway into the cushions. clark's mouth opens, then closes, and opens again.
"uh...you're telling me to wait, but you started without me?" he asks, offense clear in his tone.
you flick your eyes up, gaze meeting your boyfriend's sharp, tensed jaw. yeah, you think to yourself, he was definitely about to come.
"well, get over here, genius," you say to your other boyfriend, pushing yourself up onto your forearms. jason takes it a step further and pulls you against his flushed, firm chest, effortlessly taking you with him as he sits up.
"don't waste your time," he teases, hooking your pliant legs over his knees and spreading you for your third to see how deep you're taking him.
you hold your arms out to him while shifting to chide, "don't provoke him, jay."
he presses soft lips to your shoulder, so unlike the way he'd been fucking you before the welcome interruption. "sorry."
clark steps closer, pulling off his shirt in one smooth motion. jason throbs in your pussy again at the shield burned into clark's chest, at the taunting grin on his face. "yeah, jay, stop being an instigator."
you give him an exasperated look and readjust yourself the best you can with seven inches in your pussy. with a grunt, jason's hand flashes out and drags clark to kneel at eyelevel with your joined sexes. your thighs are trembling when he settles between them without a complaint, like second nature.
"oh," clark swallows unsteadily, crystal-blue eyes transfixed on your pussy, "i guess i can pipe down for a little."
the stretch in your legs and the pleasure simmering under your skin makes your head hazy, and clark nudging his nose against your clit feels like an afterthought.
“so pretty like this.” his words are warm on your inner thigh, smarting along your tendons. jason hisses when you flutter around him, tipping his hips up in return. your sigh trembles at the nudge of his cockhead against that spot that makes your vision go blurry.
the calluses on jason's fingers trail up beneath your soft camisole, catch on your nipple, the pert bud hitching between his thumb and forefinger. your thighs twitch again, and clark settles his warm, warm hands on your skin. the heat stays even after he moves on.
“can you touch yourself for me, baby?” when clark says it, he laps at the ring of arousal pooling at jason's base, dripping down his balls. the man behind you mutters a quiet fuck into your neck, gripping your waist for dear life.
you’re still so sensitive when you press your fingers to your clit and trace small, jerky circles over it. clark watches you and jason squirm, drinking in every flex in jason’s fingers and every attempt to close your thighs.
you whine, breathy and low, and he must be having enough of it because he dips forward and laps at your fingers as they slide between your labia. you make another pitched noise, gasping in tandem with jason.
jason lets one of his hands inch down, down, down until his fingers twist in clark's curls, until he’s pulling the black haired man closer into where the two of you are joined, until—
“fuck—clark, y’re filthy,” he groans. jason doesn’t wait for his boyfriend to respond, nipping at the tender area under your ear that makes you jerk your fingers just a little faster and moan just a little louder.
clark matches your pace, tongue cleaning the slick off your skin, mouth suckling at your clit when you pull into the apex of the tight circles you’ve been drawing. jason's right; it is fucking filthy.
he can’t stop rutting his hips up into your cunt, chasing the flat of clark's tongue as he swipes it across your fingers again. you shudder when jason moans, and clark just goes straight back to mouthing all over your clit and the hilt of jason's cock.
your stomach is starting to knot up again, neck tightening, shoulder blade drawing together. jason's as wound-up as you are, too caught in the web of your fingers and clark's tongue and the way you’re clamping just right around his cockhead.
your free hand joins jason's in the nest of black curls making a home between both of your thighs; you tug, just a bit, at the base near clark's scalp.
the man makes a low, stomach-deep sound that comes out rumbling around your stretched-out slit. jason's strained fuck goes ricocheting between your ribs, pinging right into your heat.
you coil clark's hair around and pull again; he makes the same choked noise, burying himself deeper into you and jason. you aren’t even sure if he can breathe there or if the cream that’s leaking out of your cunt is all he needs to fucking sustain himself.
clark pulls back and lets his eyes hunt the movement of your fingers slipping in your own wetness and his saliva. jason reels him back in by the back of his neck, muttering dirty nothings into your ear.
and then you swear you see stars, because clark is pressing his touch to your clit too, grazing his teeth over both of your fingers. jason grinds up for the nth time, twitching in in the way he always does when his balls are touched into that spongy spot that has you whining: please, jay, clark, right there, don’t stop—
he cleans yours and jason’s mess; the gothamite’s hips thrust mindlessly when he cums, heat spilling from your spasming cunt as your digits freeze up. clark's fingers don’t, and he keeps tracing shapes that aren’t even circles anymore all over your twitching clit.
you moan, low and spent and fuck, you can’t help but try to slam your legs close again. “cee, s’too much, please, i can’t.”
he just tilts his head to the side, shallowly digging his teeth into the plush of your thigh. clark taps at the junction of jason’s softening cock and balls—he shudders against your back, whimpering.
the freckles on clark’s forehead follow the movement of his brows when they tilt up and his breath goes beady in the humidity at the peak of your sex when he begs:
“can i please, please talk about that dumb fuck at the store while you both suck it?”
｡𖦹°‧Content/summary — What starts as you taking up baking as a hobby quickly turns into a full-blown crisis. Jason goes from dutifully eating your rock-hard practice brownies to becoming addicted to your homemade pastries. He gains a little comfortable soft layer over his abs, smells like vanilla and cinnamon 24/7, and couldn't care less what his brothers have to say about it.
At this point, it was getting ridiculous.
When you first started baking, Jason was basically a hero just for swallowing the messes you made. Chocolate chip cookies that tasted like straight salt, loaves of sourdough dense enough to dent the wall, and strawberry cupcakes that tasted like garlic…!
He ate all of it anyway. Sitting on the counter in his sweatpants, jaw working overtime through a brick-hard brownie, crumbs flying everywhere. "Baby, it’s not bad…. you’re getting better. You should keep going.”
So you did. You learned how to brown butter, and mastered high-fat pastries.
And that's when Jason officially lost his mind.
Now, the apartment constantly smelled so sweet it was almost criminal. Warm yeast, caramelized sugar, browning butter, and that heavy, rich scent of real vanilla bean that hung in the air.
It got to the point where Jason smelled like it 24/7. It didn't matter if he'd just spent six hours fighting guys in a damp sewer—the second he pulled off the red helmet, he didn't smell like Gotham air or cordite anymore. He smelled ridiculously like warm vanilla bean and spicy cinnamon. It clung to his skin, his hair, his jacket, even his sweat. It was his natural scent at this point.
And he was completely, hopelessly feral for it.
The man was eating continuously. You’d wake up at three in the morning to the sound of plastic wrap rustling in the dark, finding him leaning against the fridge in his boxers, shoving a cold, glaze-covered cinnamon roll into his mouth before he’d even turned the light on. He’d come home from patrol covered in rain and soot, kick his boots off, and walk straight past you to grab a warm vanilla cupcake off the cooling rack.
Not one. Three. In about thirty seconds flat.
You’d sit on the counter and watch him eat like he’d been starving uin the desert, his eyes half-shut, frosting smeared across his thumb. He didn't even use plates anymore. Just stood there in his gear, breathing in the sweet bakery air of the kitchen, completely hooked.
Naturally, eating his weight in heavy cream, butter, and sugar every single day caught up with him.
He was still huge—the man was broad as a barn and could still throw a guy through a windshield—but the tight, shrink-wrapped abs were completely gone. In their place was a noticeably soft, solid layer. A cozy kind of soft. The kind where resting your head on his chest while watching TV felt ten times better because he actually had some padding over his ribs—and he smelled like a fresh tray of cinnamon buns while you cuddled him.
He didn't care. He was living in a sugar-induced bliss.
The rest of the family, unfortunately, had eyes (and noses).
It came to a head on a Tuesday in the Batcave. Jason was leaning back against the console, jacket half-unzipped, lazily listening to Bruce rant about precinct logs.
Dick walked past, stopped dead in his tracks, and sniffed the air like a hound dog before looking right at Jason’s middle. Before Jason could react, Dick darted a hand out and jabbed a finger right into his side.
"Dude," Dick said, his mouth twitching into a wide grin. "Are you getting... doughy? And why do you smell like a bakery?"
Tim didn't look up from his screen, but he snorted into his mug. "It's all he eats. Every time I radio him, I can hear him chewing a muffin. He literally smells like sweet vanilla from ten feet away. He's an addict."
"It's embarrassing," Damian muttered from across the room, scowling over a batarang. "You look like you're preparing to hibernate, Todd. And you smell like a confectioner's shop. Your conditioning is shot."
Jason didn't even blink. He reached out, slapped Dick’s hand away hard enough to leave a red mark, and reached straight into his inner jacket pocket.
He pulled out a soft, foil-wrapped vanilla bun you’d snuck into his gear before he left, peeled the foil back with his teeth, and shoved half of it into his mouth right in front of them.
"Cry about it," Jason mumbled around a mouthful of soft dough, icing sticking to the corner of his lip. "You guys are up here eating cardboard protein bars and drinking grass water. My girl makes these from scratch. Every day. I'm taking this to my grave."
Dick stared at the bun, the smug look instantly evaporating as the rich smell of cinnamon drifted across the cave. "...Is that cream cheese frosting?"
Jason zipped his jacket up over his soft stomach with zero shame, smelling like pure vanilla sugar, and took another huge bite.
"Don't even breathe near it, Dick. Get your own girl."
They should have left it at that. But Dick and Tim thought it would be funny to test the theory.
The next afternoon, while Jason was out doing a routine sweep of Crime Alley, Dick swiped the tin of fresh cinnamon rolls and the box of vanilla-bean cupcakes you’d sent Jason off with for the shift.
They realized their mistake within two hours.
Without his daily influx of sugar and butter, Jason didn't just get annoyed—he turned downright vicious.
By hour three of patrol, his radio comms were just a series of low, terrifying snarls. When Tim tried to check in on a lead, Jason cut him off by telling him to "shut your mouth before I cave your visor in." When a mugger in an alley hesitated to put his weapons down, Jason didn't negotiate; he threw the guy through a brick wall, kicked his gun across the street, and slammed the alley door so hard the hinges bent.
By the time everyone regrouped in the Batcave, the tension was suffocating.
Jason practically stomped down the glass stairs, helmet yanked off, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles were twitching. His hair was sticking up, his eyes were bloodshot, and he looked ready to murder a man with his bare hands.
"Where is it," Jason snapped, his voice dangerously quiet, stepping right into Dick's personal space.
Dick swallowed hard, suddenly realizing that a withdrawal-addicted Red Hood was not a joke. "Jay, calm down, we just—"
"I asked you a question, Dickhead," Jason barked, slamming a heavy tactical gauntlet onto the main console hard enough to rattle the monitors. "Where are the fucking cinnamon rolls."
You would’ve thought Dick killed someone by the way Jason was staring at him,
"We took them!" Tim blurted out, holding up hands in surrender from behind his chair. "We wanted to see if you were actually addicted! You've been a nightmare on comms all night, man, you're literally going through sugar withdrawal!"
"Give. Them. Back." Jason’s eyes narrowed into slit-like glares. "I have had a twelve-hour day, my head hurts, I smell like cheap exhaust, and I am five seconds away from beating both of you into the concrete if my girl's baking isn't back in my hands."
Dick frantically reached under the desk, pulling out the sealed tin and handing it over like a bomb squad tech disarming an explosive.
Jason snatched the tin, popped the lid off immediately, and took a massive, angry bite out of a roll. He stood there in the middle of the cave, breathing heavily, chewing aggressively while staring daggers at both of them.
Within thirty seconds, as the soft dough and heavy glaze hit his system, his shoulders slowly dropped. The vein pulsing in his temple calmed down. He let out a long, shuddering sigh, the scary edge melting away as that familiar, warm vanilla aroma washed over him again.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, gave Dick one last, lethal glare, and hugged the tin tightly against his chest, his softer stomach pressing into the metal lid.
"Don't ever," Jason grunted, walking back toward the Batmobile, "touch my food again."
Requested by @nightwingsbabydoll tysm! This was so fun to write.
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