Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Wally West
Content: MDNI! nsfw reader giving and receiving oral, but not overly explicit / descriptive, written with fem!reader in mind but can be read as gen!reader as well, competitive oral fixation, probably ooc?Â
Dick
on the way home from wherever, your arguing already starts
âbut you got to start last time, it's not fair!â is his argument ALWAYS
bc its true, when you're arguing about who gets to go down first, in the end he will let you go first, anticipation for his turn having him on edge anyways
when you finish tho, he will take his sweet time
where you were hungry and impatient, he has the selfrestraint necessary to tease you enough to make you regret not letting him win this timeÂ
in the end, you promise him he can go fist next time (the arguing will start again)
Jason
when you get home, you think you're sneaky
getting him to sit down comfortably, getting rid of his jacket and boots, telling him to relax after his exhausting day
he can see right through you tho
the moment you place a hand on his groin and about to settle between his legs, he grabs you by the waist and pulls you on his lab
he starts with kissing you and slowly creeping his fingers into your pants and underwear
he will work you open and ready before laying you down roughly and going at it like its his last mealÂ
you will get your turn, just maybe not tonight
Tim
you would have an actual race to see who gets the other one undressed first, you two are definitely fighting dirty as well
he will try to stop you physically from getting to his zipper, grabbing your wrist and pulling them away and you will try to distract him telling him all the things you're going to do to him if he just lets you go first
if you win: he will get weaker in the knees by just the thoughts of you on your knees, he will drop onto the bed or couch or wherever and hope he will last long enough to not totally embarrass himself, but the mental image alone gets him far
if Tim wins: he will sit or lay you down somewhere he seems fit and have the time of his life between your thighs, every squirm, every whine and every moan getting him closer and closer till he (often times) just comes untouchedÂ
he will need cuddles afterÂ
Wally
deeply offended when you wont let him go first
âwhyyy? why won't you let me? pleaseee!"
he whines in protest, like, a lot of whining, so much so that more often than not, you will let him have his way, mourning your chance of getting your turn already, knowing that once he starts, he will not stop
he eats out you like a starving man, making a lot of noise too
he has a very drunk expression on his face after eventually going up again to kiss you sloppily before just plopping onto you until he finds the energy to shower the two of you
Doggy style in a headlock while dami kisses all up on our neck and back hand me a cig
- - - I don't smoke so have this instead <3 It's technically prone not doggy oops.
You couldn't even hear his little "tt", too busy trying to muffle your moans in your pillow as he pressed a hand down on your lower back, pushing your stomach against the mattress and making you feel just how deep his cock could reach.
You let out another muffled whine, fingers digging into the sheets. The unfamiliar angle creating new sensations, reaching depths that had you soaking the sheets beneath you, sucking his cock in and out with lewd, slick sounds.
He curls his fingers between yours with his free hand, wrenching the sheets from your grip. His voice is haggard yet firm,
"Ya Rouhi, stop hiding from me."
You replied with a muffled groan and a shake of your head.
He brings his hand to your jaw, turning your head to easily slip his tongue past your lips. You're unable to hide a deep moan when he sucks your tongue like how your pussy sucks down on his cock.
It's too much. You're too loud and it feels too good and your moans sound ridiculous and he must think the spit running down your chin is gross and your neighbours can probably hear and you're so close again and it's too much.
You pull away and stuff your head right back into your pillow. Face hot and eyes wet, the cool sheets act as a refuge if only for a moment before becoming suffocating. You squeeze around him, arching your back, hoping he'll just let it go and let you cum in the stuffy comfort of your hiding place.
Instead he sighs, head nuzzling against yours before he readjusts himself, parting your ass cheeks slightly to bury himself as deep as possible in your soaked pussy, keeping his chest close to your back, sweaty skin sticking together.
He kisses up the back of your neck and then slinks his thick arm around your throat just under your jaw, bringing your face up and sliding your precious pillow down to settle under your hips creating a perfect little arch in your back. The other hand brushes some hair from your face and some tears from your cheeks before digging into the mattress for more leverage. He gives your cheek a sweet kiss before bullying his cock into you with new enthusiasm.
Your nails dig into his bicep and forearm as you struggle to keep down the chocked, "Ah ah ah," from your throat, perfectly in time with the wet slaps of his hips slamming down on your ass and the squeaking of the bedframe.
His arm is wet with your spit already so when a stupid, embarrassing squeal is forced from your dry throat, you immediately bite down on the bronzed skin with a force hard enough to muffle anymore ugly noises from crawling out of you.
He groans loudly, both from frustration and the pleasurable pain of your teeth sinking into his flesh. Hip hips only stutter for a moment.
His free hand cards through your sweaty hair and tugs on the roots at the base of your skull. When you don't release his arm, he bites down on your shoulder, forcing your jaw to loosen in a surprised yelp. He uses that moment to slink his other arm around your throat, securing you in a firm headlock.
You're completely surrounded by him now with nowhere to hide. You can feel every muscle in his arms flex to keep you right where you are, the heat radiating from his skin like warm, thick blanket. His own groans get louder as his pace increases, his sounds urge your teeth to let go of your lower lip, letting free eager moans as your body and mind become lost in the way he fucks you.
He's forcing you to lay bare everything you are for him like you both know you want to. The pillow under your hips forces you to feel every single inch of him inside you as more and more sounds are forced out and into the hot air and your mind is forced to care less and less as your high approaches.
Hot, wet kisses trail up your jaw, as your moans turn into full on cries and screams of pleasure-- Sounds you'd probably scoff and roll your eyes at had you heard them in a porno but your inhibitions have been almost complety fucked out of you at this point.
The louder you are, the harder he fucks you, trapped in a cycle of desperate pleasure that just keeps climbing higher.
Your bare clit rubs against the pillow with each thrust, your toes curl and legs kick against the bed as the intensity builds. Your nails dig dark crescents into his arms and his hold around you tightens when you writhe under him just as his hips start to stutter against the raw skin of your ass.
You both cum together, voices melding in a beautiful, lewd symphony, ebbing out into shared, laboured breaths as you slowly come down.
He shuffles so that you're both laying on your side and nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, your hot breaths mixing in the now quiet room. You kiss the bruising bite mark on his arm as he rubs a thumb on your lower back, somehow knowing exactly where to press to have you let out a croaked hum.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
You freeze up at the angry knocking from the other side of the wall your bed is currently up against and you curl into yourself, mortified whine muffled by your hands hiding your hot face.
His hushed laugh from behind you does nothing to soothe your embarrassment.
- - - Congrats anon, you successfully distracted me from working on literally any wips until I could finish this shit.
thereâs three people in your relationship. you, clark, and your bullet vibrator.
â
clark doesn't have the right to be upset.
from the very second the red soles of his boots touches your balcony tiles, he hears it. the dull pitched buzzing that comes directly from your bedroom.
he's away often. there's never telling when his attention is stolen from you. even then, you didn't complain â having learned how to share it with Metropolis herself with a simple proposition he offered.
it's something he encouraged you to get. put on his card, directly delivered to your doorstep without much argument. he needs his girl to be satiated when he can't do it himself.
so, he doesn't get to be upset.
but then there are times he is.
because why the hell was your bullet vibrator making you more wet than when it was his cock he had you crying on?
if he hadn't been this clouded by his own petty jealousy, this apparent voyeuristic stint would ring some worry in his mind. but he truly, couldn't help himself. with his back pressed to your door, he dials the frequency of his mind to focus solely on you.
loud, fucking squelches where you must've pressed the cylindrical object to your clit. he doesn't think you could ever fathom how mocking the microscopic vibrations were in his mind. all while you rewarded it with soft, desperate little mewls.
his cock's twitching insistently against his suit, though in neglect. clark couldn't bring himself to even entertain his own pleasure. especially not when you seemed to be having the time of your life.
decidedly, without him.
you hadn't noticed your door open. well, evidently not with how clark had gently pried it off its hinges, without making a single noise. it's not until you feel the press of a soft kiss to the side of your head, followed by an eerily calm â
"âŠm'home."
that freaked you out far more than if he'd decided to slam the door open. the toy briefly slips from your grip, only to be caught by clark's much bigger palms, guiding it back to where it was.
"cla! â hhhrkâŠ!"
you don't get to the end of his name, not with the spike of awareness that made your clit that much more sensitive.
"don't stop on my account."
creases instantly press between your brows at his flat tone. your hands find purchase on his forearms when he properly slides into bed behind you.
"you'reâŠhââŠahhâŠpoutin'âŠ" you point out, through a shuttered breath, the resistance to his insistent press is futile.
"i'm not." he tries, resting his cheek beside your head. your thighs had clamped up, between where he had your hand sandwiched against your clit. "justâŠdidn't realise there was three of us in this relationship."
the snort of laughter barely leaves you the second the second wave of pleasure builds. between clark's hard-on pressing up against your ass, and the damn-near overstimulating buzz of your vibrator, you couldn't keep your thoughts straight.
"d-dummy. you â"
"bought it. i know." he bites back, petulantly. his hand briefly surrenders, allowing you to slide the bullet between your folds, just to prolong the feeling.
"wouldn't have to use it if you were here, baby."
clark shakes his head against the back of your shoulder, unconvinced by your gentle reassurance. "soâŠfuckin' wet." he sighs. letting his digits drag past the sticky, slick that collected between your thighs.
you whimper at the all-wide, consuming touch that cradles your entire sex, squirming to his touch.
"was thinking about you the entire time, though."
his hands halt, and your lips twitch upward in a knowing smile. "thinking aboutâŠhow much you stretch me out, I much prefer the feeling of you."
you feel him shift behind you, rustling the waistband of his super suit downward, enough for his rigid length to press against his abdomen.
"really?" he says quietly, expectantly kneading at the fat of your hips.
"mhmmm." you blindly stretch your hand beneath your thighs, gripping around his length as best as you could've from the angle.
"want only him."
clark's nodding assuredly to himself, mumbling self-appraisals to his own bruised feelings as he aligns his cock directly at your entrance. the stretch of his cock is a welcome one. instinctively, your fingers curl around your vibrator, just combine the feeling of him filling you up so full â much to your boyfriends horror and betrayal.
"a-ahhhâŠshit. clark, i-i think im gonna â"
his fingers take hold over yours right then, and in a whoosh so quick, he careens your bullet vibrator out of your window.
summary: when rocky asks ryland if he has a mate, he doesnât expect his memories to be flooded with images of you
warning: ryland being stuck in space, angst! (gosh), fluff for the moments inbetween, not a happy ending, one use of mrs for describing reader, one flashback gets a little steamy
note: am i writing this when i have a request for scott miller in my drafts, but i canât get over project hail mary or ryland grace? absolutely
word count: 3.4k
ârocky ask question, question?â the computerised voice of rocky echoed throughout the hail mary. both rocky and ryland had been sat in silence for a while, rocky in his xenonite ball and ryland sprawled out on the metal bridge, watching the âworldâ go by through monitors that surrounded the room.
âgo for it, rock.â ryland replied, sitting up and turning around to face rocky properly. his arms rested on top of his bent knees, his hands clasping together in front of him. the computer that translated rockyâs music was balanced precariously in between them and waited patiently for his friend to speak.
âgrace have mate, question?â it came out soft, and, even lacking in facial features, ryland realised that rocky was asking this with the upmost care. of course, they had spoken about their crew members that they had lost along the way. rocky had spoken about his mate, but ryland had been quiet about himself.
âgrace hear rocky, question?â the automated voice called out again causing ryland to lift his head up from where it had dropped between his knees. without realising, his eyes had glossed over, tears forming without the right conscious feeling behind them.
that had happened a lot, especially after waking up from his coma, realising his crew mates were gone and going through their belongings. ryland felt things deeply. so deeply that whatever had happened in his coma had stopped them from coming to the surface, shying away from being reachable to his conscious, but there enough to cause reactions like this.
âyeh, rock, i heard you. i still have trouble with remembering things.â ryland replied, wringing his fingers together as he thought of what to say. there was nothing in his personal belongings that suggested there being a âmateâ, but he had had too many dreams of someone lately. someone talking to him after long days, someone taking care of him.
his head went foggy, the space behind he eyes began to hurt, and as ryland pulled his glasses away from his face, he closed his eyes and rubbed them harshly.
and suddenly, there was you. the grocery store lights were harsh around the corners of ryland vision, he saw the cart in front of you and the basket in his hands, but he didnât see the corner of the cart growing ever closer to him until the clashing of metal snapped him out of his daydream.
âoh, gosh, i am so sorry.â you gasped, turning around from looking at the shelves to pull your cart closer to you before walking around it to meet ryland.
âno, no, it was my fault, i wasnât looking-â he stumbled over his words, your eyes peering up at him as your hands covered your mouth. were you giggling?
âno, iâm sorry, i donât know why im laughing,â you apologised again, dropping your hands as you balanced them against the edge of your cart. âi canât believe i ran into you with my cart.â and your hands were over your face.
âhey, no, it was totally my fault!â ryland insisted, dropping his fairly empty basket to gently grab your wrists. he pulled them down to reveal your face once more before realising what he had just done. âoh, God, and now iâm sorry for just touching you, i donât know why i did that.â then it was his turn to cover his face.
âi think we need to stop apologising, this isnât going well.â you laughed again, this time more wholeheartedly as you mirrored his actions and pulled his wrists down with such care.
ryland let you hold onto his wrists for longer than what others would find appropriate for strangers. but there was something about you, something that he couldnât put his finger on, but it felt something like fate, like he was meant to be here with your warmth wrapped around him.
neither of you moved for a few moments, your hands still on his skin as you looked over each other. his sandy hair was messy, he hadnât bothered to do much to it that morning, but your eyes couldnât be drawn away from the strands, flitting between them and his eyes. by your account, they were the bluest eyes youâd ever seen, and this man was just walking around with them freely. it was totally unfair.
âiâm ryland.â he finally said, breaking the silence that had sat comfortably between you two. you gave him your own name in reply, smiling wider as he repeated it back to you. you were still holding his wrists.
âwell, ryland,â his name was sweet on your tongue, âi better get back to shopping. i donât want to take up more of your time apologising.â both of you laughed again at your joke, your hands dropping his as you moved back to the handle of your cart. ryland didnât pick up his basket.
âi donât mind,â he started. âiâm pretty sure it was my fault anyway.â
âi thought we were done taking blame?â
âmaybe i could try it once more?â you laughed at his words once again and smiled brightly, your chin dipping down to cover the blush that had started to warm your face.
âmaybe you could try over dinner? if thatâs something-â
âyes! yeh, i can do that.â ryland replied instantly, not letting you finish your sentence before eliciting another giggle from your lips. God, he wanted to do that until the end of time.
âtomorrow night?â
âyes, thatâs perfect,â he nodded, pulling out his phone open his contacts and pass it over to you. âjust not too late, itâs a school night.â
âoh, what are you studying?â you asked curiously, taking his phone and hoping to every external force that he wasnât a college student who happened to look older for his age.
âwell, i studied molecular biology, but im an eighth grade teacher now.â ryland explained, taking his phone back from you.
âwow, cute and good with kids? i think i hit the jackpot.â you smirked and watched as his face fell, a redness covering his cheeks as he looked down at his basket. pieces of words started to leave rylandâs lips before you said, âtext me. iâll see you tomorrow, mr ryland.â
he watched as you headed down the aisle, looking back over your shoulder for one last glance at the cute teacher who had somehow scored himself his first date since college. âyes, tomorrow!â he called after you, seeing you off with one final wave before walking in the opposite direction.
in that moment, ryland forgot all about his basket and the candy in it for his students in the coming weeks.
then he was back on the hail mary. rocky was in front of him tapping one of his hands onto the xenonite ball beneath him. the screens were still playing out a scene of an early spring day. ryland wiped away a stray tear that began to fall.
âi did have someone,â he started in a quiet voice, knowing no matter how much he whispered, rocky would hear him. he gave your name before continuing, âwe met in a grocery store - itâs where people buy food. i bumped into this cart and just started apologising before we actually started talking, and i suddenly had a date for the next day. that was it. that was the start of everything.â
rocky was quiet as he took in rylandâs words. there was a certain somber tone to his voice that rocky hadnât heard before, and he wasnât fully sure what it meant. he could see that rylandâs mate had meant a lot of him. rocky should know, he has his own, of course. but for someone who was meant to be seeing their mate again, ryland seemed too⊠sad.
âgrace still have mate, question?â rocky asked, tapping his hands again whilst moving forward in his ball.
âyeh. yeh, rock, at home.â ryland nodded, bracing his arms on his bent knees whilst looking at a very partially interesting spot on the floor.
âgrace go home to mate, question?â
you. home. he was back there instantly. the lights low as he hung up his bike helmet on the special hook you had put up one evening, your scribbled writing above it on a plaque signifying what it held. ârylandâs helmetâ with a smiley face underneath it. he never knew he needed that until he had it. until he had you.
there was soft music playing in the kitchen, floating through the small living space and filling rylandâs ears as he pulled off his bag and yellow rain coat. next, he toed off his shoes, placing them next to your own before following the delicious smell of your dinner.
as he rounded the corner, his vision was filled with you, the usually glow around the edges as it soften his memories. you were graceful going back and forth between the cooker and the sink, carefully washing dishes whilst checking on the pasta sauce you had simmering away.
ryland was always quiet getting home. you knew he would be late getting back from work tonight, but you didnât realise what time it was until you felt his arms circling your waist, his warmth perforating your clothes as you leaned back into his presence.
âhi, baby.â you whispered, smiling widely as you rested your head against his shoulder, your hands coming up to rest on his own on your stomach. âgood day?â
âeventful, as always.â he replied, leaning down slightly to press a soft kiss into your check.
âdid the kids like the mars model you made?â you asked, turning around in his hold to reach up and around his neck to play with the short hairs there.
âthe model we made,â he chastised gently, placing a kiss on your nose. âbut yes, they did. they asked if mrs grace had helped make it because it was too good for me to have done.â
âno they didnât.â you giggled, one hand coming down to cover your mouth as you tried to not sound so amused at the almost insult.
âoh, they did.â ryland nodded, pulling your wrist down to press a sweet kiss on your lips.
âi mean, it was a good model.â
âit was, because mrs grace helped me out.â
ânot yet, mr,â you reminded him, patting his chest lightly before pulling yourself out of his grasp and headed over to the cooker. âi donât remember being asked any question.â
âof course,â he agreed, a hand hitting his forehead before bouncing back off it and hanging in the air. âwhatâs your ring size?â
as you turned to look at him, he was stood with a huge grin on his face, his glasses slightly wonky on his nose which made him even more endearing. your head was tilted to the side at his joke, a small smile fighting its way to the surface as you lifted a playful finger at him.
âyouâre lucky i love you.â you reminded him, turning to quickly stir the sauce once more before looking back at ryland.
âi love you, too.â
and he did. he could feel it deep in his chest, like it had shimmied down from his heart and rooted itself in between his ribs as to not be forgotten. his chest hurt at that memory, thinking not only of you, but of his students and his classroom. that model had sat on his desk for months, proudly in place as he used it multiple times for different lessons.
he could taste your pasta sauce, feel how your hands felt in his hair, on his chest. he can feel the ache in his cheeks from how you made him smile, knowing you must have felt the same each night before going to bed.
ryland lifted his head back up briefly, his hands rubbing across his face in exasperation, and he was grateful that he wasnât wearing his glasses in that moment. you always reminded him to be carefully whilst wearing them. he always poked himself in the eye after your statement.
âhome is very far away at the moment.â ryland said, thinking about the warmth that came with the word, the slightly frayed and worn in couch that you both settled down on each night. the creaky floorboards that you both failed to miss each morning whilst trying to get ready.
ârocky go home to mate,â rocky stated, one hand coming up to tap on the opal stone embedded in his arm. âgrace go home to mate.â another statement, one that ryland couldnât bare to think about, let alone answer.
ryland never thought heâd have a place to feel like home. of course, he had a home, a small place in san francisco that held all his things and kept him safe and warm at night. until you, he didnât truly realise that home follows another person around before coming back to him.
instead of finding a new place together, you agreed to move in with him. six months after your first date, you quickly realised that you were it for each other, and didnât want to waste another minute apart. you couldnât go another night without seeing him come home from work, and ryland couldnât go another day without kissing you goodbye.
it took a couple of weeks to move all of your things over to his place. you didnât live too far from each other, and ryland had a lot of furniture already, but you found it difficult to pack everything you owned into boxes and move it whilst both of you were working full time.
regardless of that, you still stayed at his every night, some boxes there and some at your old place. the impending deadline of your lease ending did very little to encourage you to move things over when all you needed was in bed next to you, snoring away softly as he had both arms wrapped around your body.
âryland.â you whispered into the darkness. your face was close enough to his to feel his warm breath on your cheek. he had one arm tucked under your neck whilst the other rested as a comforting weight over your hip. your legs were tangled together as your hands rested on his chest, a science pun barely visible under your fingers, but you knew exactly which one it was.
âryland.â you tried again, your voice getting slightly louder as you brought a hand up to stroke his stubbled cheek.
âryland.â you said once more before you heard a grunt of a reply. his body moved closer to yours as you realised he was slowly waking up. âiâm going to move everything else in tomorrow.â your voice went back down to a whisper.
âhmm, thatâs great, honey.â he mumbled, pulling you closer to him so that your bodies were flushed against each other. his head fell into the gap between the pillows and your neck, his breathing shallowing out again and his snores started up once more.
âryland!â you still whispered, pulling back slightly to grab his face with both hands (and admire his sleepy state).
âis the house on fire?â he grumbled, just like moments ago, one eye opening slightly to look at your face and gauge what was going on.
âdid you hear me?â you asked, a soft smile on your face as you watched him start to open his other eye. all you got was another grumble in response. he definitely hadnât heard you.
âiâm going to move everything else in tomorrow, finally get it sorted.â you repeated, squeezing his cheeks as he processed your words and opened his eyes fully.
âsweetheart, thatâs great!â rylandâs voice was soft and full of sleep, but his excitement was evident, especially with how he pulled you close to him once again and placed kisses down your cheek, jawline and onto your neck.
âi mean, itâs been long enough.â you giggled as his stubble tickled you, knowing it was late at night, but still feeling giddy at the thought of the rest of your life with ryland.
he pulled back from your skin, looking at you in the dim lights of your shared bedroom before leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours. as always with ryland, it was soft, gentle, full of love and words that he said to you in person and seemed to perfectly translate into a kiss.
the arm that rested on your hip moved towards your back, pulling your chest flush with his as your hands found their way to the back of his head. the hairs on the nape of his neck had started to grow out a bit more lately, ryland having missed his hair cut the other week, but you werenât complaining.
it gave you the perfect opportunity to thread your fingers through the strands, pulling on them slightly as his lips parted and a small groan escaped them. you took that as a chance to deepen the kiss, finding warmth and comfort in the way his lips felt against your own, how his skin was hot against yours and his hands held you gently.
with his arms still around you and your legs still intertwined, one of your hands let go of his hair and came down to fist the material of his shirt. kissing ryland always left you breathless, and it always left you wanting more. but you were also very aware that he had work in a few hours, it was a school night after all.
âbaby.â you muttered against his lips. they were still gliding over your own, taking what was his and leaving nothing behind. âry.â you tried again, the hand on his chest pushing up to meet the sharp edge of his jaw.
âyes.â he replied quickly, taking a short breath before kissing you again softly.
âdr grace.â you said with every intention of getting his attention, but he seemed to take it another way.
âitâs too late for that, honey.â he mumbled, finally pulling away from your lips to press gentle kisses on your cheek and jawline once again.
âi know, we should get to sleep,â you gasped as he found his favourite spot and decided to bite the skin slightly. âi only wanted to tell you my plan.â
âand i think itâs a great plan.â ryland pressed one last kiss against your lips before moving you further down the bed to let your head rest against his chest. his arms were still tightly around your body, keeping you safe as if anything could happen at any time. as if anything could take you away from him.
you said a quiet âgoodnightâ into the room as ryland kissed the top of your head. all you could feel was the vibrations of his voice on your skin, but you knew what he had said. only after that did you finally close your eyes and start to drift to sleep, thinking about ryland and tomorrow and the day after that. you thought about the day after that as well, for good measure.
ryland thought about the same thing, too. he thought about you and your future home, somewhere away from the busy main streets, but still somewhere that collected the fog in the early morning. he pictured a large yard out back, a few kids and maybe a dog running around as he chased you down, doing whatever he could to hear that giggle another time.
the thought hit him hard, his hands running over his face and through his hair once more. it wasnât the same as how you used to do it. none of this was the same for what once was. he never would have left you on earth if this was what he would come home too. ryland was just grateful that his memories had finally come back.
âgrace sad about mate, question?â rocky perked up gently, sensing something wasnât right about his friend but not knowing what.
âyeh. we were together a long time-it was meant to be a long time.â ryland sniffled, his hands falling limp in front of his body as he looked back over to rocky.
ânot long enough.â
ryland agreed, ânot long enough.â
masterlist!
requests! please send me ryland grace thoughts bc i cannot get over this man
tagging people who might like this! @crystalzweig @heartburriedintauceti @lostinwildflowers @pagesfromthevoid @doctor-ryland-grace @redwinelewis @effloradox @deanssecretary @yearningforsolitude @icantthinkofafuckingnameatm @stargirl-meltdown @bibigo-lover @eridianhearts
summary: when rocky asks ryland if he has a mate, he doesnât expect his memories to be flooded with images of you
warning: ryland being stuck in space, angst! (gosh), fluff for the moments inbetween, not a happy ending, one use of mrs for describing reader, one flashback gets a little steamy
note: am i writing this when i have a request for scott miller in my drafts, but i canât get over project hail mary or ryland grace? absolutely
word count: 3.4k
ârocky ask question, question?â the computerised voice of rocky echoed throughout the hail mary. both rocky and ryland had been sat in silence for a while, rocky in his xenonite ball and ryland sprawled out on the metal bridge, watching the âworldâ go by through monitors that surrounded the room.
âgo for it, rock.â ryland replied, sitting up and turning around to face rocky properly. his arms rested on top of his bent knees, his hands clasping together in front of him. the computer that translated rockyâs music was balanced precariously in between them and waited patiently for his friend to speak.
âgrace have mate, question?â it came out soft, and, even lacking in facial features, ryland realised that rocky was asking this with the upmost care. of course, they had spoken about their crew members that they had lost along the way. rocky had spoken about his mate, but ryland had been quiet about himself.
âgrace hear rocky, question?â the automated voice called out again causing ryland to lift his head up from where it had dropped between his knees. without realising, his eyes had glossed over, tears forming without the right conscious feeling behind them.
that had happened a lot, especially after waking up from his coma, realising his crew mates were gone and going through their belongings. ryland felt things deeply. so deeply that whatever had happened in his coma had stopped them from coming to the surface, shying away from being reachable to his conscious, but there enough to cause reactions like this.
âyeh, rock, i heard you. i still have trouble with remembering things.â ryland replied, wringing his fingers together as he thought of what to say. there was nothing in his personal belongings that suggested there being a âmateâ, but he had had too many dreams of someone lately. someone talking to him after long days, someone taking care of him.
his head went foggy, the space behind he eyes began to hurt, and as ryland pulled his glasses away from his face, he closed his eyes and rubbed them harshly.
and suddenly, there was you. the grocery store lights were harsh around the corners of ryland vision, he saw the cart in front of you and the basket in his hands, but he didnât see the corner of the cart growing ever closer to him until the clashing of metal snapped him out of his daydream.
âoh, gosh, i am so sorry.â you gasped, turning around from looking at the shelves to pull your cart closer to you before walking around it to meet ryland.
âno, no, it was my fault, i wasnât looking-â he stumbled over his words, your eyes peering up at him as your hands covered your mouth. were you giggling?
âno, iâm sorry, i donât know why im laughing,â you apologised again, dropping your hands as you balanced them against the edge of your cart. âi canât believe i ran into you with my cart.â and your hands were over your face.
âhey, no, it was totally my fault!â ryland insisted, dropping his fairly empty basket to gently grab your wrists. he pulled them down to reveal your face once more before realising what he had just done. âoh, God, and now iâm sorry for just touching you, i donât know why i did that.â then it was his turn to cover his face.
âi think we need to stop apologising, this isnât going well.â you laughed again, this time more wholeheartedly as you mirrored his actions and pulled his wrists down with such care.
ryland let you hold onto his wrists for longer than what others would find appropriate for strangers. but there was something about you, something that he couldnât put his finger on, but it felt something like fate, like he was meant to be here with your warmth wrapped around him.
neither of you moved for a few moments, your hands still on his skin as you looked over each other. his sandy hair was messy, he hadnât bothered to do much to it that morning, but your eyes couldnât be drawn away from the strands, flitting between them and his eyes. by your account, they were the bluest eyes youâd ever seen, and this man was just walking around with them freely. it was totally unfair.
âiâm ryland.â he finally said, breaking the silence that had sat comfortably between you two. you gave him your own name in reply, smiling wider as he repeated it back to you. you were still holding his wrists.
âwell, ryland,â his name was sweet on your tongue, âi better get back to shopping. i donât want to take up more of your time apologising.â both of you laughed again at your joke, your hands dropping his as you moved back to the handle of your cart. ryland didnât pick up his basket.
âi donât mind,â he started. âiâm pretty sure it was my fault anyway.â
âi thought we were done taking blame?â
âmaybe i could try it once more?â you laughed at his words once again and smiled brightly, your chin dipping down to cover the blush that had started to warm your face.
âmaybe you could try over dinner? if thatâs something-â
âyes! yeh, i can do that.â ryland replied instantly, not letting you finish your sentence before eliciting another giggle from your lips. God, he wanted to do that until the end of time.
âtomorrow night?â
âyes, thatâs perfect,â he nodded, pulling out his phone open his contacts and pass it over to you. âjust not too late, itâs a school night.â
âoh, what are you studying?â you asked curiously, taking his phone and hoping to every external force that he wasnât a college student who happened to look older for his age.
âwell, i studied molecular biology, but im an eighth grade teacher now.â ryland explained, taking his phone back from you.
âwow, cute and good with kids? i think i hit the jackpot.â you smirked and watched as his face fell, a redness covering his cheeks as he looked down at his basket. pieces of words started to leave rylandâs lips before you said, âtext me. iâll see you tomorrow, mr ryland.â
he watched as you headed down the aisle, looking back over your shoulder for one last glance at the cute teacher who had somehow scored himself his first date since college. âyes, tomorrow!â he called after you, seeing you off with one final wave before walking in the opposite direction.
in that moment, ryland forgot all about his basket and the candy in it for his students in the coming weeks.
then he was back on the hail mary. rocky was in front of him tapping one of his hands onto the xenonite ball beneath him. the screens were still playing out a scene of an early spring day. ryland wiped away a stray tear that began to fall.
âi did have someone,â he started in a quiet voice, knowing no matter how much he whispered, rocky would hear him. he gave your name before continuing, âwe met in a grocery store - itâs where people buy food. i bumped into this cart and just started apologising before we actually started talking, and i suddenly had a date for the next day. that was it. that was the start of everything.â
rocky was quiet as he took in rylandâs words. there was a certain somber tone to his voice that rocky hadnât heard before, and he wasnât fully sure what it meant. he could see that rylandâs mate had meant a lot of him. rocky should know, he has his own, of course. but for someone who was meant to be seeing their mate again, ryland seemed too⊠sad.
âgrace still have mate, question?â rocky asked, tapping his hands again whilst moving forward in his ball.
âyeh. yeh, rock, at home.â ryland nodded, bracing his arms on his bent knees whilst looking at a very partially interesting spot on the floor.
âgrace go home to mate, question?â
you. home. he was back there instantly. the lights low as he hung up his bike helmet on the special hook you had put up one evening, your scribbled writing above it on a plaque signifying what it held. ârylandâs helmetâ with a smiley face underneath it. he never knew he needed that until he had it. until he had you.
there was soft music playing in the kitchen, floating through the small living space and filling rylandâs ears as he pulled off his bag and yellow rain coat. next, he toed off his shoes, placing them next to your own before following the delicious smell of your dinner.
as he rounded the corner, his vision was filled with you, the usually glow around the edges as it soften his memories. you were graceful going back and forth between the cooker and the sink, carefully washing dishes whilst checking on the pasta sauce you had simmering away.
ryland was always quiet getting home. you knew he would be late getting back from work tonight, but you didnât realise what time it was until you felt his arms circling your waist, his warmth perforating your clothes as you leaned back into his presence.
âhi, baby.â you whispered, smiling widely as you rested your head against his shoulder, your hands coming up to rest on his own on your stomach. âgood day?â
âeventful, as always.â he replied, leaning down slightly to press a soft kiss into your check.
âdid the kids like the mars model you made?â you asked, turning around in his hold to reach up and around his neck to play with the short hairs there.
âthe model we made,â he chastised gently, placing a kiss on your nose. âbut yes, they did. they asked if mrs grace had helped make it because it was too good for me to have done.â
âno they didnât.â you giggled, one hand coming down to cover your mouth as you tried to not sound so amused at the almost insult.
âoh, they did.â ryland nodded, pulling your wrist down to press a sweet kiss on your lips.
âi mean, it was a good model.â
âit was, because mrs grace helped me out.â
ânot yet, mr,â you reminded him, patting his chest lightly before pulling yourself out of his grasp and headed over to the cooker. âi donât remember being asked any question.â
âof course,â he agreed, a hand hitting his forehead before bouncing back off it and hanging in the air. âwhatâs your ring size?â
as you turned to look at him, he was stood with a huge grin on his face, his glasses slightly wonky on his nose which made him even more endearing. your head was tilted to the side at his joke, a small smile fighting its way to the surface as you lifted a playful finger at him.
âyouâre lucky i love you.â you reminded him, turning to quickly stir the sauce once more before looking back at ryland.
âi love you, too.â
and he did. he could feel it deep in his chest, like it had shimmied down from his heart and rooted itself in between his ribs as to not be forgotten. his chest hurt at that memory, thinking not only of you, but of his students and his classroom. that model had sat on his desk for months, proudly in place as he used it multiple times for different lessons.
he could taste your pasta sauce, feel how your hands felt in his hair, on his chest. he can feel the ache in his cheeks from how you made him smile, knowing you must have felt the same each night before going to bed.
ryland lifted his head back up briefly, his hands rubbing across his face in exasperation, and he was grateful that he wasnât wearing his glasses in that moment. you always reminded him to be carefully whilst wearing them. he always poked himself in the eye after your statement.
âhome is very far away at the moment.â ryland said, thinking about the warmth that came with the word, the slightly frayed and worn in couch that you both settled down on each night. the creaky floorboards that you both failed to miss each morning whilst trying to get ready.
ârocky go home to mate,â rocky stated, one hand coming up to tap on the opal stone embedded in his arm. âgrace go home to mate.â another statement, one that ryland couldnât bare to think about, let alone answer.
ryland never thought heâd have a place to feel like home. of course, he had a home, a small place in san francisco that held all his things and kept him safe and warm at night. until you, he didnât truly realise that home follows another person around before coming back to him.
instead of finding a new place together, you agreed to move in with him. six months after your first date, you quickly realised that you were it for each other, and didnât want to waste another minute apart. you couldnât go another night without seeing him come home from work, and ryland couldnât go another day without kissing you goodbye.
it took a couple of weeks to move all of your things over to his place. you didnât live too far from each other, and ryland had a lot of furniture already, but you found it difficult to pack everything you owned into boxes and move it whilst both of you were working full time.
regardless of that, you still stayed at his every night, some boxes there and some at your old place. the impending deadline of your lease ending did very little to encourage you to move things over when all you needed was in bed next to you, snoring away softly as he had both arms wrapped around your body.
âryland.â you whispered into the darkness. your face was close enough to his to feel his warm breath on your cheek. he had one arm tucked under your neck whilst the other rested as a comforting weight over your hip. your legs were tangled together as your hands rested on his chest, a science pun barely visible under your fingers, but you knew exactly which one it was.
âryland.â you tried again, your voice getting slightly louder as you brought a hand up to stroke his stubbled cheek.
âryland.â you said once more before you heard a grunt of a reply. his body moved closer to yours as you realised he was slowly waking up. âiâm going to move everything else in tomorrow.â your voice went back down to a whisper.
âhmm, thatâs great, honey.â he mumbled, pulling you closer to him so that your bodies were flushed against each other. his head fell into the gap between the pillows and your neck, his breathing shallowing out again and his snores started up once more.
âryland!â you still whispered, pulling back slightly to grab his face with both hands (and admire his sleepy state).
âis the house on fire?â he grumbled, just like moments ago, one eye opening slightly to look at your face and gauge what was going on.
âdid you hear me?â you asked, a soft smile on your face as you watched him start to open his other eye. all you got was another grumble in response. he definitely hadnât heard you.
âiâm going to move everything else in tomorrow, finally get it sorted.â you repeated, squeezing his cheeks as he processed your words and opened his eyes fully.
âsweetheart, thatâs great!â rylandâs voice was soft and full of sleep, but his excitement was evident, especially with how he pulled you close to him once again and placed kisses down your cheek, jawline and onto your neck.
âi mean, itâs been long enough.â you giggled as his stubble tickled you, knowing it was late at night, but still feeling giddy at the thought of the rest of your life with ryland.
he pulled back from your skin, looking at you in the dim lights of your shared bedroom before leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours. as always with ryland, it was soft, gentle, full of love and words that he said to you in person and seemed to perfectly translate into a kiss.
the arm that rested on your hip moved towards your back, pulling your chest flush with his as your hands found their way to the back of his head. the hairs on the nape of his neck had started to grow out a bit more lately, ryland having missed his hair cut the other week, but you werenât complaining.
it gave you the perfect opportunity to thread your fingers through the strands, pulling on them slightly as his lips parted and a small groan escaped them. you took that as a chance to deepen the kiss, finding warmth and comfort in the way his lips felt against your own, how his skin was hot against yours and his hands held you gently.
with his arms still around you and your legs still intertwined, one of your hands let go of his hair and came down to fist the material of his shirt. kissing ryland always left you breathless, and it always left you wanting more. but you were also very aware that he had work in a few hours, it was a school night after all.
âbaby.â you muttered against his lips. they were still gliding over your own, taking what was his and leaving nothing behind. âry.â you tried again, the hand on his chest pushing up to meet the sharp edge of his jaw.
âyes.â he replied quickly, taking a short breath before kissing you again softly.
âdr grace.â you said with every intention of getting his attention, but he seemed to take it another way.
âitâs too late for that, honey.â he mumbled, finally pulling away from your lips to press gentle kisses on your cheek and jawline once again.
âi know, we should get to sleep,â you gasped as he found his favourite spot and decided to bite the skin slightly. âi only wanted to tell you my plan.â
âand i think itâs a great plan.â ryland pressed one last kiss against your lips before moving you further down the bed to let your head rest against his chest. his arms were still tightly around your body, keeping you safe as if anything could happen at any time. as if anything could take you away from him.
you said a quiet âgoodnightâ into the room as ryland kissed the top of your head. all you could feel was the vibrations of his voice on your skin, but you knew what he had said. only after that did you finally close your eyes and start to drift to sleep, thinking about ryland and tomorrow and the day after that. you thought about the day after that as well, for good measure.
ryland thought about the same thing, too. he thought about you and your future home, somewhere away from the busy main streets, but still somewhere that collected the fog in the early morning. he pictured a large yard out back, a few kids and maybe a dog running around as he chased you down, doing whatever he could to hear that giggle another time.
the thought hit him hard, his hands running over his face and through his hair once more. it wasnât the same as how you used to do it. none of this was the same for what once was. he never would have left you on earth if this was what he would come home too. ryland was just grateful that his memories had finally come back.
âgrace sad about mate, question?â rocky perked up gently, sensing something wasnât right about his friend but not knowing what.
âyeh. we were together a long time-it was meant to be a long time.â ryland sniffled, his hands falling limp in front of his body as he looked back over to rocky.
ânot long enough.â
ryland agreed, ânot long enough.â
masterlist!
requests! please send me ryland grace thoughts bc i cannot get over this man
tagging people who might like this! @crystalzweig @heartburriedintauceti @lostinwildflowers @pagesfromthevoid @doctor-ryland-grace @redwinelewis @effloradox @deanssecretary @yearningforsolitude @icantthinkofafuckingnameatm @stargirl-meltdown @bibigo-lover @eridianhearts
Heavy Handed Science Lesson. ( Ryland Grace x Fem! Reader, NSFW, 18+ Oneshot )
*lays this at your feet because i have no where else to put it *
Title: Heavy Handed Science Lesson.
Pairing: Ryland Grace x Female!Reader.
Rating: M, 18+. ( MINORS DNI. Heavy mentions of anatomically correct phrasing, P in V, no condom ( let's make responsible choices here guys ), Ryland discovers a certain..... something really gets him going. )
Words: 2.6K.
Summary: Ryland Grace tries his hand at Dirty Talk. It works. Maybe a little too well.
Ryland Grace Masterlist.
The familiar stretch of Ryland as he shifted slightly under you was a perfect and grounding presence as you moved, trying to time your motions with his own to form a rhythm that made your toes curl. Your room is quiet, save for the soft pants between your mouths, the occasional tangling of the tongues and the hard sounds of bodies meeting.
Ryland moves his large hands from your back where he had been holding you against him, to your hips to let you rise and quite frankly - ride him into the mattress like your life depended on it. His grip was slightly sweaty, but endearing earnest as he tried to guide your erratic movements. He gets it just right, and a moment later, the poor scientist has his head thrown back against the plush pillows, his eyes falling shut and his mouth slightly open as he lost himself in the slick sensation you were giving his cock.
âRylandâŠâ You moaned and earned another shift from his hips rising to meet yours as your hands rested on his chest to keep yourself steady as you bounced, or more or less, grinded.Â
Heâs mumbling under his breath, a pretty common occurrence as he was very much trying to keep it together, but slowly, his eyelids flutter open and his blue eyes meet yours. Your breath hitched as Ryland tightened the grip on your hips and drove upwards, bruises on the horizon for your hip bones. There was barely any color left around his irises, they were completely pupil-blown and flickered with a clouded desire that you could feel your stomach clench in that sort of pre-orgasm ride you were seeking.
But⊠There was something else there, too. A gaze of⊠Analytical curiosity.Â
âYouâre just soâŠâ He panted, chest rising and falling rapidly as you drew your fingertips against his soft pecs, slightly perked from the attention they were suddenly receiving. Quickly, Ryland lost his train of thought when you rolled your hips, a particularly practice move you had skilled that made him whimper under you, his teeth sharp and biting down on his bottom lip to keep it mildly sedated.
âOhhh⊠Baby⊠ThatâsâŠâ He sucked a hard breath in through his teeth. It was painful, but it mixed with the pleasure of your hot walls hugging his swollen cock. âThe⊠friction⊠Variable⊠Less than I projected.âÂ
You groaned quietly, rolling your head back and letting his words really sink into you. Ryland was not⊠a dirty talker, but when he did, it came out in absolutes. Scientific phrasing. The things that made him comfortable and over the times you had been together, it became incredibly sought after and even sexier than other dirty talk you may have had.
âYour⊠ha---!â A sharp sound left Rylandâs mouth that tapered into a stagnant groan upon feeling you clench him purposefully. âYour natural lubrication is uh⊠exceptionally⊠efficient at⊠atâŠâ
The cute blonde under you trailed off, his hips bucking up involuntarily, making both of you gasp as you braced your hands against him a bit harder. The smile on your face couldnât be helped, it was slow and lazy and it made Ryland whimper again as you leaned down, changing the angle for just long enough to kiss him. All this, your movements never faltered and you relished in the absolute mess your boyfriend became at the new position and its offerings.Â
âIs that what y-youâre thinking about right now? Friction coefficients, Dr. Grace?â
That jilts him. Darkened eyes meet yours, wide and surprised at the use of his professional name and then dropped to your chest, bouncing delictably in front of him as a grin spread across his expression.Â
âOhâŠâ Rylandâs voice dropped an octave as rubbed your hips in his hands, feeling the skin react to his touch perfectly. âOh you s-shouldnât have don-done thatâŠâÂ
He was a mess, his blonde hair spread against the pillow, his mouth swollen from the makeout session that led to this situation, but the next words come out loud and clear, âThat activates my methodological rigor.â
A.K.A, that turns me on. A lot.Â
His hands tighten on your hips, trying to take control of your rhythm and leaving you to bite at your bottom lip to stifle the loud moan that threatened to come out. Ryland⊠Took that personally and now it was his mission to get you louder. "Okay. So. The stimulus-response relationship. For every... for every unit of force you apply... um..."
There is a moment of lapse in his words when you clench around him again, this time as you bounced up and the sensation was more focused around the head of his cock and then down the length as you came down, almost sitting. "F-force. Like... like that..."
The clever scientist tired to push up to meet your next downward stroke, but unfortunately, he was not very good at⊠Timing beats. There is a mid-judge in the situation and he slipped out, leaving you empty.Â
âSorry, sorry, sorryâŠâ He groaned as he reached down, grabbing himself and fumbling to guide. He could blame the dim lights, but he could very well blame the fact that he had his pretty girlfriend sitting on him, eager for more and he was just⊠Not smooth. âLet me⊠Gah⊠Re-calibrate trajectory here.â
That made you laugh, a soft blush playing at your cheeks as you reached down, cupping his hand and helping out as best you could. He teased you for a moment, letting the swollen head of his cock play against your clit before he slid right back in, filling you up and earning him another roar from you as you tossed your head back. âRylandâŠâ
He sputtered, trying to regain some of the authoritative demeanor, though his face is bright red and heâs once again staring at your bouncing chest. Not staring. Oggling.Â
âA-As I was saying⊠For ev-every unit of force appliedâŠâ You did just that, moving your hips forward and sliding down him, a bit rougher than before. âTh-... F⊠FlufferâŠâ He squeezed his eyes shut, âTher⊠MâŠâÂ
You felt so good, words seemed so far away but he forced them, âThereâs a corresponding⊠cascade of⊠Mh⊠Neurochemical stuff.â He hated that word. âStuffâ when you could just be specific.Â
âDopamine,â He raised his hips and your breath got caught in your throat in a violent motion as you came crashing back down on him, âOxytocinâŠâ Another raise of Rylandâs hips, this one got you to see stars, he was using incredible force, his knees coming up and it was clear that leverage was his best friend.
You came tumbling down, dropping your forearms by his head and instead of exerting intense bouncing, you resorted to hard grinding and occasional bounce when you got your hip to rise enough.
Ryland moaned at that, meeting you down and letting his mouth fall onto yours to swallow a few of your sounds without shame. Having your mouth landing on his already open, he was appreciative as his tongue swept against yours and you drew back, bringing Rylandâs bottom lip between your teeth for a second before letting go.Â
âGod⊠Your pupils babyâŠâ You bit your bottom lip this time, letting your nose bump against his, âTheyâre v-very dilated⊠Tex-textbook example of arousal.âÂ
You nodded, resting your forehead against his as Ryland took control, despite you still being on top of him. With his hands still on your hips, he drove into you with a very steady pace that told you that he wasnât over yet, he wanted to stave off as long as it took for this little⊠Spontaneous little science lesson to come to a natural close.Â
âAnd the anatomy?â He laughed breathlessly, but his voice was low and thick with lust, letting his eyes take pleasure in peeping at where you two were joined.Â
âGod, the anatomy. D-do you feel how your⊠internal muscles are contracting?â You barely managed a nod at that and moaned softly against Rylandâs mouth as you kissed him.
âIt-itâs called a peristaltic wave⊠Itâs an⊠involuntaryâŠâ You clenched him purposefully again, âHnâŠ. Spasm designed to⊠toâŠâ He twitched.
The words are lost to Ryland, his mind clearly short-circuiting from the abundance of pleasure. What better thing for science than an example, âTo do that to me.â He forced himself to finish, his voice strained at how tight you felt. âItâs s-so⊠perfectâŠâ
Ryland moved to guide your hips, eager to change the angle and hit that spot deep inside of you. He pushed you slightly forward, but overestimated the force needed and nearly sent you tumbling headfirst off the bed.
âWoah!â You yelp, unfortunately not out of pleasure. âEasy there, Dr. Grace. No need to give me a concussion in the middle of our experiment.â
He laughed under his breath. He liked that you were referring to it that way as he softened his hands as your hips. âSorry, sorry. Calculation was flawed. Letâs⊠Letâs tryâŠâ Ryland moved you more gently. Carefully, having taken those notes all scientists needed to in order to make adjustments. âAngling your pelvis⊠Posteriorly.âÂ
Your hips moved back a bit, angling a bit awkwardly at first but you caught his drift. Ryland though, demonstrated by wiggling his own hips which felt good as he was still inside of you, but it was almost a motion so absurdly cute that it made you giggle. You followed his clumsy instructions, shifting your hips ever so slightly and suddenly, his next thrust upwards hit that spot perfectly. You cry out loudly, your back arching in response as goosebumps flooded your skin. Rolling your head back, Ryland watched the tense nature of your neck as you let out almost inhuman sounds from the back of your throat.Â
âThere we go.âÂ
He seemed a bit more rampant, bringing his hips into yours as you came down on him, floating hard but sinking slowly. There was a breathless smile on his face as he watched your reaction with intensity. You were so⊠so⊠prettyâŠÂ
âThatâs the uhâŠâ Ryland struggled for the scientific term. âAnterior fornix. Or- I-I guess you know it by the G-spot.â Hearing him say something crudely tangled with the fact that he was abusing that body part with the force behind his thrusts from below sent you spiraling.Â
âI-I think based on yo-your reaction, babyâŠâ You moaned louder when Ryland went that much deeper. âThis is a highly e-effective stimulation point.â
Youâve had it. With his words still floating in the air, you take control back over and press your hands hard onto his chest, using your body weight against him to keep Ryland from moving and he was more than willing to comply as his knees came down and you happily moved one of the hands from his chest back to rest on his knee. You tilted above him just a bit.The pace that is set is frantic, chasing that feeling that only he gave you.
Ryland's lecture devolved at that point turning into breathless moans and extremely fragmented observations. âT-the pressure is⊠building,â He panted, tossing his head back before forcing himself to look at you as you rode him. âItâs a po-positive f-feedback loopâŠâ His words felt jumbled together as you tightened around him, âThe more you ride me, the more I feel and the more I want.âÂ
Ryland lost it there for a few moments. His hands roamed from their safe place against your hips upwards to your breasts where they grasped desperately, though he was hoping to go for⊠experimental. âTh-the secondary s-sexual characteristics like-like to be played with, huh?â He was getting dirtier. Losing what little control he had left. âYeah?â He squeezed them hard. âThey lik-like tactile stimulation.â
You nodded wildly, grinding your hipbones into your boyfriendâs hard. It was then that whatever was holding Ryland back just⊠Snapped. His babbling became just as erratic as your hips, a testament to how truly overwhelmed he was.Â
âI-Iâm so closeâŠâ He gasped, his voice a ragged whisper and eyes locked on your face as it was twisted in pure ecstasy. He liked the way you looked. So sickly entwined in the desire for his cock inside of you, begging with just your body and sounds that you wanted him to cum deep inside of you. âA-are you close? B-because I t-think Iâm g-go⊠My sy-sytem is⊠about to overload.â
You had to hand it to him. When he went into lesson mode, he went all in.
Those words are your metaphorical and physical undoing. Hearing Rylandâs voice so strained and so deep in his chest, rumbling and rough, combined with the absolutely relentless pleasure, sent you over that crested edge. You yelp out his name uncontrollably as your orgasm crashed through you, a blinding and searing wave that made you scream his name again. And then again when he lifted his hips to meet yours.
Your body convulsed against his, your back so arched and ridged as he squeezed your breasts harder than he meant but it seemed appreciated as you moved against him. Your inner muscles clamped Rylandâs hard cock, uncontrollably spasming against him and giving him only a sensation your pussy managed to exude in him.
âOh, god.â Rylandâs voice was hoarse from over excretion. The sound of his skin literally slamming into yours sounded in the room as you were more than willing to let the handsome scientist use you like a piece of lab equipment. His cock twitched, you could feel it against your walls as he moved rapidly. âI⊠F⊠Iâm c-cummingâŠâ
With a final, clumsy thrust upwards, Ryland felt relief to follow you over the edge, spilling into you with a series of shuddering, guttural moans as he tensed under you, hands sliding roughly down to grab your hips and keep you down on him. Your name was chanted over and over again, his head throwing itself back against the pillow once again as he thrashed it, eyelids squeezed shut that the corners of his eyes wrinkled from pressure.
Every pulse of his hot cock pumping you full, every spasm the organ gave as he emptied himself and helped ease your orgasm, you were able to feel to incredible precision.
âRyâŠâ You whined softly, rolling your hips in the seated position as Ryland held you to him like a magnet.
Without much energy left, you collapsed onto him, your chest crushing against his and in any other circumstance, youâd have readjusted for comfort but you just didn't have it in you and let Ryland wrap his arms around you, holding you to him as your breath exploded onto the side of his neck, pressing a hot kiss against his heavy jugular. In return, Ryland nuzzled his face into your hair and drew in a deep breath, trying to collect it in his series of pants.
Your hips were still making small circles, trying to ease both of you back down without completely crashing. The room now was silent, except for the sounds of your hard breaths against each other's skin. Ryland traced your scapula with the tip of his finger, sweat having built up in the energy used and you felt sticky against him. But it wasnât uncomfortable, and in fact, it was a deeply intimate moment.
After a long moment of you two trying to recollect some sense of self, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. âConclusion,â He murmured against your hair. âThe⊠hypothesis was⊠Correct. The results, in my professional opinion, are highly significant and we should uhâŠâ He raised his eyebrows, âWe should definitely run the experiment again⊠For⊠Data collection.â
You lifted yourself up against him a bit, Ryland giving you a bashful and goofy smile as if he did not just rail your brains out. âFor science?â
summary: ryland grace may be able to carry the weight of the world, but not without breaking somewhere. Luckily, he has someone who knows exactly how to bring him back.
warnings: 18+ smut, oral f receiving, p in v, submissive ryland!!, ryland has a hair pulling kink lowkey, needy! ryland, overworked! ryland, slight angst, soft ending, gentle and emotional smut, pornwith plot
The sound of the clock was impossible to ignore that night.Â
Now, thatâs not to say it was big. Objectively, it was small. An old white thing that had come from Rylandâs first flat, now sitting proudly above the kitchen door. It was cheap plastic and most definitely second-hand, offering a loud click as the seconds crept on. Each landing deliberately as it reminded you what you were trying so hard not to measure.Â
You checked it again.Â
22:47.Â
You exhaled through your nose, lips pressing together as you tried to soothe the ache in your stomach that had been pushing harder and harder as the weeks went on.Â
The flat was warmer tonight, blame it on the oven being on for too long and the windows not being open enough. The smell of roasted garlic still permeated the air, softened now that dinner was technically over. It now sat on the counter, carefully packed into mismatched Tupperware containers. It had once been plated, earlier, when you thought heâd be home by eight.Â
Youâd even lit a candle. You were optimistic.Â
The flame had travelled halfway down the wick, the wax pooling unevenly along one side, before you decided to blow it out.Â
He wasnât coming back.Â
You pulled your knees a little closer to your chest, where you sat curled into the corner of the sofa, a blanket half draped over your legs. The TV was on as it flickered a shifting light across the room. Something mindless played on the screen, not that you were actually watching; you zoned out around an hour ago.Â
You just wanted some noise at this point, or rather, the absence of silence.Â
There is a brief war in your mind as you debate whether to put the Tupperware away. It was still sitting on the counter. You decide that it is probably for the best to move from your sanctuary on the sofa, stretch your legs and whatnot.Â
You wander over to the kitchen, socks shuffling across the floor as you reach for the plastic containers to put away.Â
He may not be here, but there are traces of him everywhere.Â
Itâs what makes you so worried about him.Â
You turn towards the fridgeâit was the first thing anyone noticed when they walked in. Not because it was particularly nice, but because it was covered.Â
Layered in magnets and paper and colour. Crayon drawings, most of them, curling slightly at the corners where the magnets didnât quite hold them flat.
Stick figures with wildly disproportionate limbs. Planets coloured in purple and green. A sun with sunglasses. A lopsided rocket labelledâvery proudly, in uneven block letters.Â
MR GRACEâS ROCKET SHIP!!!
You smiled softly.Â
Heâd come home with that one months ago, careful not to let it crease too much on his bike ride home.
âLook at this,â heâd said, laughing. âThey think Iâm cool enough to go to space.â
Youâd laughed then too, teasing him gently, telling him he was cool enough, and heâd ducked his head.
There were more of them now.
More drawings. More little notes. One that just said âThank you Mr Grace :)â in pencil.
Heâd never had the heart to take any of them down.
Your chest tightened.
Because that was him, wasnât it?
That earnest kind of care. The way he gave himself to thingsâfully, without hesitation, without holding anything back. Whether it was his students, or a problem he couldnât quite solve, or you.
Especially you.
Your eyes flicked back to the clock as you put dinner away.Â
22:52.
You wondered, not for the first time, what he was actually doing.Â
His most recent job was vague, always described sheepishly. He said there were NDAs involved, said it was "research." Papers were always hidden away where you couldnât see them, let alone try to understand them.Â
You trusted him. That was enough for you not to pry. That paired with the way that heâd looked at youânot excited, but lit from within in a way youâd never seen before.Â
That had been enough.Â
You didnât need to know the details to know that something had shifted.
It had started small. A meeting here. A call there. Then longer hours. Then missed dinners. Then the creeping realisation that whatever heâd been pulled into, it wasnât temporary.
Most nights now, the flat felt too still without him in it.
It wasnât that you minded. If anything, you were glad heâd found something that lit him up like this. It was the way he gave himself to it, completely and without pause, that worried you. The sense that he was stretching himself thinner and thinner, and that one day there might not be enough left to hold him up.
You lingered for a moment in the kitchen, fingers brushing along the edge of the counter as your eyes drifted once more to the clock.Â
23:01
Later than youâd promised yourself youâd stay up.
You should go to bed.
Heâd understand.Â
With an exhale, you reached for the switch. The overhead light flickered softly, your hand hovering, as if you were hesitating, as if some part of you was still holding out hope.
The sound of the lock turning cut through the stillness.
You stilled.
Metal against metal. A stubborn click. The push of the door easing open.
Ryland.
You could hear he was trying to keep quiet. His shoes hardly made a sound as he kicked them off, nor did the door as it softly shut, trying not to disturb a space he already thought was asleep.Â
The flat stayed dim, the kitchen light still on behind you, casting a soft spill into the hallway, catching just the edge of his silhouette.
You could stand here and giggle as he fumbled around, trying to keep silent as he took off his bag and jacket, but the feeling in your chest stopped your thoughts immediately.Â
Before you could think better of it, you were already moving.Â
You rounded the corner quickly, too quickly for him to anticipate. He barely had time to look up before you were on him, arms wrapping around him and relief flooding your system.Â
âOofââ
He let out a startled sound as you collided with him, hands coming up instinctively to catch you, steady you.Â
And then, just as quickly, he melted into you.Â
His arms slipped around you, pulling you in close. His chin dipped toward your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.Â
He smelled the same. Coffee, soap, completely familiar and him.Â
âWhat are youââ he trailed off, voice lower than it usually was, tiredness hinting at the edges. âShould be in bed by now, sweetheart.â
You pulled back just enough to look at him, not taking his gentle scolding too seriously.Â
He should take his own damn advice.Â
You smiled, practically glowing in his embrace and the knowledge that youâd be able to say goodnight to him in person this time.Â
âI wasnât tired.â
It wasnât a lie.Â
Your eyes lingered on his face, fully taking him in, even if you hadnât quite clocked everything yet.Â
âPlus,â you continued, a little quieter. âI sleep better when youâre here.â
He huffed softly, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.
âThatâs not true,â he said, voice still gentle. âYouâre usually still snoring when I leave in the morning.â
You frowned immediately, offended.
âI do not snore.â
He gave you a look.Â
âMm,â he hummed. âOkay. Whatever you say.â
You barely had time to argue before he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. It was unhurried, something you let yourself smile into.
When you pulled back, you tilted your head slightly, still holding onto him.
âI made dinner.â
That got his attention.
He blinked at you, like the words took a second to land, his tired eyes softening just a fraction.
âYou did?â
You nodded, a little eager despite yourself.
âPasta. Your favourite.â
He let out a groan, dropping his head into the crook of your neck, his arms tightening around your waist just slightly.
âYou spoil me,â he mumbled.
You shrugged, smiling as your fingers brushed lightly against his back.
âItâs my job.â
He huffed softly against your skin.
âShould be mine.â
âWhat was that?â you asked, tilting your head just enough to try and catch it.
âNothing,â he said quickly, lifting his head again.
You studied him for a moment, then stepped back just enough to gesture vaguely toward the kitchen.
âDo you want me to heat it up?â
He hesitated.
You saw it, even before he answered.
âNahâno, no,â he said, a little too quickly. âYou go, get comfy, yeah? Iâve just got⊠Iâve just got some stuff I need to read. Then Iâll be right with you.â
You stilled.
âYouâre still working?â
The words came out soft, but they hit.
He stopped too.
In the brief pause between the two of you, it allowed you to really see him.Â
Even in the low light, it was all there. The shadows under his eyes were darker than they used to be. The strain on his expression that he was so obviously trying to hide. His glasses had slipped slightly down his nose, unnoticed by him, his hair a little more dishevelled than usual.Â
He looked exhausted.Â
âRyââ you murmur as your chest tightens, lifting your hands to his face. You drag your thumbs lightly along his jaw as you hold him there. âYou canât work all the time.â
âI know,â he said quietly.Â
âYou need rest.â
âIâm gonna,â he insisted, but there was no real conviction in it.Â
You searched his face, your mouth turning into a frown.Â
âBut you never get any.â
He hated to admit it, but you had a point.
Damn it.
He exhaled and it was heavy. His gaze dropping to the floor like he disappointed you. He didnât want to argue, but he also didnât want to deflect.Â
Because he knew. He knew you were right.Â
You brushed his hair back from his forehead gently, fingers slipping through the soft strands, and the effect was immediate.
He couldnât help himself when it came to you.Â
His shoulders dropped just slightly, his eyes closing for half a second as he leaned into the touch without thinking, like his body recognised something his mind hadnât had time to catch up with.
Like he needed it.
You let your fingers linger, nails dragging lightly across his scalp, and he let out a low groan, his grip on your waist tightening instinctively.
Your heart gave a small, startled thud.
When was the last timeâ
You didnât even finish the thought.
Too long. Far too long.
Your fingers curled slightly in his hair, just enough to guide his head back, and he followed easily, eyes opening again, a little unfocused now, a little softer.
You had an idea.
You looked up at him, your expression gentler now, something more deliberate settling in your gaze.
âRy,â you said quietly, almost coaxing. âAre you sure I canât help you relax?â
It took him no time to understand your insinuation.
He looked at you like the question physically pained him.
Torn.
He dragged a hand briefly over his face, exhaling under his breath.
âBaby, Iââ he started, cutting himself off quickly, like heâd caught the words just in time. He shook his head slightly, a faint, tired smile pulling at his mouth.
âOkay,â he said, softer now. âOkay. Yeah.â
His hands found your waist again.
âWe can do whatever you want.â
Something bright, almost giddy, flickered in your chest. Because finally, you could take care of him.
Your fingers slid down from his hair, tracing the line of his jaw one last time before you caught his hand in yours. His palm was warm, a little clammy from the long day, but the second your skin met his he laced your fingers together.Â
You gave a gentle tug and he followed, his steps heavy and dragging behind you, socks scuffing softly against the floorboards. He moved like a man whoâd forgotten how to want anything except the next thing you offered him, like a tired puppy trailing after the only light left in the flat.
You led him down the short hallway. The bedroom door was already ajar; you pushed it open with your hip, and the street lamps outside spilt in through the half-drawn blinds, painting everything in soft gold and cool silver.Â
The way he liked you best.
The glow caught on the rumpled sheets youâd left this morning, on the curve of his shoulder as he stepped in behind you, on the faint sheen of exhaustion that still clung to his face.
He stopped just inside the doorway, blue eyes locked on you. Even half-dead on his feet he looked hungryâstarved, reallyâdesperate with his pupils blow wide and his breath hitching every time you moved.Â
He perked up quickly.
Good.
Time to ease his thoughts away from work and solely on you.
You could still feel it rolling off him in waves: the weeks of late nights, the missed dinners, the way his body had forgotten what it felt like to be touched with anything but clinical efficiency.
You stepped closer, letting your hip cock to one side, head tilting as you looked up at him through your lashes. The movement made the hem of his old t-shirt ride up your thighs, and his gaze dropped there for half a second before snapping back to your face like heâd been caught.
âYou gonna let me take care of you, Ry?â you asked, voice low and sweet, the way you knew made his knees weak.
He swallowed hard, throat working.Â
âYou always take care of me,â he murmured, the words rough.
âYeahâŠâ You smiled, teasing. âBut I have a feeling youâre really gonna like this one.â
He opened his mouthâprobably to protest, to say he should be the one looking after you, to offer some tired half-jokeâbut you rose up on your toes and kissed him before the words could escape. He melted instantly. The sound he made was broken, almost embarrassed, like he hadnât meant to let it out.Â
His free hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, needing something solid to hold onto while the rest of him dissolved.
You kept kissing him as your hands found the top button of his cardiganâsoft green wool, the one heâd worn the day he first told you about the âresearch jobâ that was eating him alive.Â
One button, then another. You worked slowly, letting your knuckles brush the warm skin of his chest each time. He didnât move to help. He just stood there, eyes half-lidded and gentle. When the cardigan finally slid down his arms and pooled on the floor, he shivered, even though the room wasnât cold.
Next came the shirt underneath. You tugged it free from his jeans, palms skimming up the flat plane of his stomach, feeling the way his muscles jumped and twitched under your touch.Â
He was so pliant, so perfectly willingâarms lifting when you guided them, head ducking so you could pull the fabric over it.Â
The shirt joined the cardigan and he stood there bare-chested, breathing a little faster now, chest already tight from the weight of your stare.
Your fingers dropped to the buckle of his belt. Metal clicked. You looked up at him again, searching his face.Â
âIs this alright?â
His hands covered yours immediately, warm and steady despite the tremor in his voice.Â
âBaby,â he said, almost laughing but too wrecked for it, âyou can have me whenever you want. You know that.âÂ
The words came out hoarse and you couldnât help but think about every night heâd come home after midnight, every morning heâd slipped out before you woke.Â
Your chest squeezedâbut you shoved the ache aside.
Not tonight.Â
Tonight he was here, and he was yours.
You popped the button, dragged the zip down, and pushed his jeans and boxers off his hips in one. He stepped out of them clumsily, kicking them aside, and he was naked in front of youâcock already half-hard and curving up toward his stomach, flushed dark at the tip and beading at the slit.Â
He looked so vulnerable like this, eyes soft and a little glassy, waiting for whatever you wanted to do to him.
Before you could sink to your knees or touch him the way you were aching to, he reached for you with that same tired, adoring smile.Â
âYour turn?â
You giggledâcouldnât help itâand let him pull you in. His hands were eager, sliding under the hem of the oversized t-shirt youâd stolen from his drawer. He peeled it off you slowly, reverent.Â
God, you missed him.
When your breasts were bare he exhaled shakily, thumbs brushing the undersides like he couldnât quite believe he was allowed. The shirt hit the floor and then his fingers hooked into the waistband of your sleep shorts, dragging them down your thighs in one go.Â
You stepped out and suddenly you were both exposed, skin glowing in the light, the air between you thick with weeks of pent-up need.
He didnât waste time. He hauled you against him, mouth crashing into yours in a kiss that felt deeper than the last, like the exhaustion was finally cracking open.Â
One of his hands splayed across your lower back, the other slid between your legs without hesitation. Two fingers stroked through your folds, finding you already slick and aching, and he groaned into your mouth when he felt it.
âBabyâŠâ he rasped against your lips, voice wrecked. âSeems like Iâve been neglecting you, huh?â
His fingers circled your clit once, twice, slow and perfect, and you whimpered, hips jerking forward.
You grabbed a fistful of his hair and softly tuggedâjust hard enough to make him gaspâthen shoved at his chest playfully.Â
âTonight Iâm taking care of you, Dr Grace.â
Dr Grace.
The title landed like a live wire. You knew exactly what it did to him; he could see it in the way you said it.
His eyes fluttered, a broken little sound punched out of his chest, and he let you push him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. Let you move him where you wanted him.
He dropped down willingly, sprawled out on his back, cock now fully hard and leaking against his stomach. He looked pathetic in the best wayâchest heaving, cheeks flushed, arms already reaching for you like he couldnât stand another second without your weight on him.
You crawled over him, knees bracketing his ribs, ready to sink down and take him inside you the way youâd been dreaming about for weeks. But his hands caught your hips, stopping you. His blue eyes were hazy, pupils blown, yet somehow still so gentle.
âBaby⊠can you go a little higher?â
You blinked down at him, confused, thighs already trembling with want.Â
âArenât you tired?â The words came out soft, almost worried, and the sound of it made his expression melt even further. âTonight I was gonna be good to you.â
Not that you were complaining.
He shook his head, thumbs stroking soothing circles over your hipbones.Â
âI donât think Iâll last five seconds if we do that,â he admitted, bashful and honest and so fucking needy it made your stomach flip. âItâs been⊠Gosh, itâs been so long. Let me do my job first, yeah? Then you can have your way, okay, sweetheart?â
Your cheeks burned, but you nodded, heart hammering. He guided you higher, hands firm until your knees settled on either side of his head, and you were hovering over his face.Â
The light painted his features in silver and shadowâhis tired eyes still locked on yours, lips parted, breath already fanning hot against your soaked cunt.
Fuck, he was stunning.
You lowered yourself slowly, and the first drag of his tongue had your head falling back with a moan.Â
He was tired, yes, but he knew youâknew exactly how to flatten his tongue and lick a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, how to hum in satisfaction when your taste flooded his mouth.
How could he forget you?
His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks youâd treasure tomorrow, anchoring you to him like he never wanted you to leave.
He licked and sucked with lazy, devastating precision, built from months of learning every hitch of your breath, every roll of your hips.
When you started to rock against him he groaned, the vibration shooting straight to your core, and the sound was so desperateâso pathetically gratefulâthat it made you clench around nothing.
âThatâs it,â he mumbled against your pussy, voice muffled and wet, âride my face, baby. Use me. Let go for meââ
Please.
His fingers dug harder into the soft flesh of your thighs, pulling you down with a desperate strength that belied how exhausted he looked.Â
You could feel the tremble in your legs already starting, the way your muscles quivered around his head as he devoured you like a man whoâd been starving for monthsâand maybe he had.Â
Ryland Grace, brilliant and overworked and so fucking touch-starved that he couldnât get enough, kept dragging you back and forth over his tongue with low, needy sounds vibrating straight into your core.Â
He was rock-hard beneath you, cock straining and leaking against his stomach, but he didnât even seem to notice or care. All that mattered was youâyour taste, your weight, the way you ground down on his face like it was the only thing keeping him awake.
He cursed every single late night he had, every single hour overtime.
How on earth could he put work before this pure heaven?
You reached down blindly, fingers tangling in his messy hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan loud and broken against your soaked pussy. The sound was pathetic in the most beautiful way. Heâd let you use him until there was nothing left if thatâs what you wanted.Â
And you did.Â
You rode his face harder, hips rolling in messy circles, chasing that building heat while he licked and sucked and hummed like he was trying to memorise every single reaction you gave him.
He felt it when you started to tip over the edgeâyour thighs clamping tighter around his ears, your breath hitching into these sharp little gasps. His blue eyes flicked up to yours, glassy and adoring even through the fogged lenses of his glasses, and he doubled down, tongue flicking relentlessly over your clit until you tugged on his hair again and came with a broken cry that echoed off the bedroom walls.
It was overwhelming, the way he didnât stopâlicking you through every pulse and shiver, dragging you back down when your hips tried to pull away.
Oh no, you don't.
He cleaned you up with reverent strokes like he couldnât bear to let a single drop go to waste.Â
You were shaking, quivering above him, vision blurry with the aftershocks, and only when you were completely spent and whimpering did he finally loosen his grip on your thighs. His hands slid up your sides instead, soothing, like he was afraid heâd break you even though he was the one falling apart underneath you.
You lifted off him on unsteady knees, sliding down until you could look at his face properly. His glasses were completely fogged up, cheeks flushed crimson, lips swollen and glistening with your arousal. He blinked up at you, dazed and blissed-out, chest heaving like heâd just run a marathon.
âWas that⊠good?â he asked, voice hoarse and shy; he still needed the reassurance even after youâd just ridden his face into oblivion.
Tell him he was still good.
You let out a shaky sigh, brushing a thumb over his wet bottom lip.Â
âYou know it was, Ry.â
A sleepy smile spread across his faceâpure, unguarded bliss.
You shuffled lower, knees bracketing his hips now, and looked down at him with a teasing little tilt of your head.Â
Finally, it was his turn.
His cock was throbbing between you, flushed and leaking steadily against his stomach, and he was staring at you like you hung the moon.
âYou gonna let me ride you now, Dr Grace?â you asked, voice dripping with sweet mockery.
He groaned, head dropping back against the mattress with a soft thud.Â
Again with the titles?
âYouâre gonna kill me, I swear,â he mumbled, but his hands were already sliding up your thighs.
You chuckled, leaning down to nip at his jaw.Â
âGood. Maybe that way youâd finally get some rest.â
He huffed a breathless laugh that turned into another groan when you reached between you and wrapped your fingers around his cock. He was so hard it was almost painful to the touch and he jolted up with a sharp wince, hips bucking involuntarily.
âIâsorry, babyââ
Itâs been so long.Â
His cheeks burned even darker, eyes squeezing shut in embarrassment.
You looked at him. His flushed face still shiny with your slick, hair sticking up in every direction from your tugging, that tired but desperate expression that made him look so beautifully pathetic. He was the most gorgeous thing youâd ever seen, soft submission and needy love, and your chest ached with how much youâd missed this version of him.
âYouâre beautiful,â you murmured, meaning it with every part of you.
He whined, hips twitching again.Â
âStop teasing, please. I need you.â
You chuckled softly, finally taking pity on him. You grabbed his shaft properly, angling it so the thick length slid easily between your slick folds. The motion had his tip catching perfectly against your clit before popping free, and you both moaned at the wet glide.
Fuck, it's been too long.
He sighed against your mouth, which had fallen open in a silent âoâ, rolling his hips up in search of more friction, chasing the heat of you like he couldnât help it.
âPatience,â you began, but the last of the word was stolen by a gasp when you ground down to meet his next thrust. The blunt tip of him prodded at your entrance, gliding up again with just the right pressure to make sparks shoot up your spine.Â
You both moaned louder this time, the sound tangled together in the quiet room.
His arms circled the curve of your waist, pulling you closer, dragging you over the full length of him again. It made you shudder hard in his grasp, nails digging into his shoulders for balance.
He caught right where you needed him most, your walls fluttering greedily around his tip, trying to suck him in. A low growl rumbled from deep in his chest when he tried to push a little more. But it was your hips that rolled this time, taking just enough for him to finally slide all the way in with a slow, delicious stretch that had you both gasping.
âFuck,â you whined, feeling so full for the first time in way too long. Your walls clung to him tightly, trying to accommodate his size after all these weeks apart. You sat up straighter with a low huff through your nose, letting your nails drag down the centre of his chest. He shuddered hard under you, eyes rolling back for a second. âFuckâmissed you so muchââ
âLanguage, baby,â he managed to choke out, but the words dissolved into a broken moan as you rolled your hips again, taking him even deeper. âTaking it so wellâjust like thatââ
His praise hit you like a spark. You clenched around him involuntarily, and he twitched hard inside you, a fresh spurt of pre-cum leaking out. His big hands found the tops of your thighs, pads of his fingers leaving trails of fire as they slid up to grip your hips.
You started riding him properly thenâslow at first, savouring every inch as you lifted and sank back down, the sounds of your bodies meeting filling the room. Ryland turned into an absolute babbling mess beneath you, desperate, eyes glassy as he stared up at you like you were everything.
âMissed you so much,â he gasped, hips jerking up to meet yours. âMissed thisâmissed baby, Iâfeels so good, soââ
You let out a sharp whine when he hit that perfect spot inside you, and his eyes lit up with that familiar hunger.
âRight there? Thatâs it? Yeah, baby?â he panted, begging you to tell him he was doing it good. âLook so beautiful, youââ
You moaned, head tipping back as you kept moving, chasing that building pleasure while he fell apart under you. His hands roamed everywhereâyour hips, your waist, up to cup your breasts like he couldnât decide where he needed to touch you most.
âPlease, sweetheart, please,â he begged suddenly, voice wrecked and so fucking pathetic it made you throb around him. âLook at meâneed to see you. Itâs been so long, I need your eyes on meââ
It was hard to open your eyesâthe slow, dragging drag of his cock against your slick walls was almost too much, the feeling of being so perfectly connected to him after all this time. But you did, locking gazes with him as you rode him harder.
He was trembling now, fingers digging bruises into your hips, breath coming in short, desperate pants.Â
âNot gonna lastâIâm not gonna last much longerââ
âNeither am I,â you breathed out, leaning down to kiss him messy and deep, tasting yourself on his tongue again. âCum for me, Ry. Let go.â
That was all it took.
He didâhard. His whole body seized up, back arching off the bed as he came with a broken, guttural moan that sounded like it had been ripped out of his soul. He swore he saw stars, eyes squeezing shut, mouth open in silent ecstasy while he kept thrusting up into you through it, needy even in the middle of his orgasm.
You followed right after, clenching around him as the wave crashed over you, moaning his name like a prayer while your thighs shook and your vision whited out.
You both came down slowly, chests heaving, skin slick with sweat. His arms circled you immediately, pulling you down against his chest. You stayed there for a long moment, just breathing each other in, hearts hammering in sync.
For a while, neither of you moved. You lay half-draped over him, cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the way his heartbeat slowly began to steady beneath your ear. It was still a little fast, still a little uneven, but it was him again.
Not halfway lost in whatever equations or impossible problems had been pulling him away from you.
His hand rested at the small of your back, fingers tracing against your skin like he didnât quite know what to do with all this quiet. Like he was relearning it.
You felt him shift slightly beneath you, reaching again for the tissues on the bedside table.
âIâve gotcha,â he murmured, softer this time, more awake.
He's always got you.
You huffed a small breath against his chest, but you didnât move away. Let him fuss. Let him take care of you in the way he always did. He needed to feel close as much as you did.
He worked slowly, methodically, brows pulling together just slightly in concentration as he cleaned you up, determined to do it properly. You watched him through half-lidded eyes, the light catching on the slope of his nose, the faint flush still high on his cheeks, the way his glasses had slid crooked again without him noticing.
You reached up, nudging them back into place with a small smile.
âOccupational hazard,â you murmured.
He blinked down at you, a little dazed still.
Tease.
He finished cleaning you up, then his hand came back to you, settling at your hip, thumb brushing. You traced your fingers lightly along his chest, following the faint rise and fall of his breathing.
âYou know,â you said after a moment, voice softer now, âyou should take nights off like this more often.â
He huffed a breath, eyes flicking down to you, something a little brighter sparking there now.
âOh, trust me,â he said, a hint of humour creeping back in, âI will be adding that to my schedule immediately. Very high priority.â
You stilled slightly.
The smile didnât quite leave your face, but it shifted.
âRyâŠâ
He noticed.
Your fingers paused against his chest, your gaze lifting to meet his properly now.
Here we go.
âI know you canât tell me what youâre doing,â you said gently, not accusing, not pushing. âAnd Iâm not asking you to.â
He nodded slightly, something flickering in his expressionâgratitude, maybe. Relief.
âBut,â you continued, quieter now, more earnest, âI am serious.â
Your thumb brushed lightly along his collarbone, grounding yourself as much as him.
âYou need to take time like this. Not just for you.â
A small breath.
âFor me.â
That stuck. You could feel it.
You saw it in the way his expression shifted again, the humour softening. He looked at you, not just the comfort of you, but the person who had been waiting. Who had been worrying.
Who loved him.
His hand moved from your hip to your cheek.
âI know,â he said quietly.
He exhaled slowly, gaze dropping for just a second before coming back to you.
âI think I⊠yeah,â he admitted, softer still. âI think Iâve been⊠a littleââ
âObsessive?â you offered gently.
He huffed.
âThatâs a polite way of putting it.â
You smiled faintly.
âItâs one of the things I love about you.â
âYeah,â he said, a little sheepish. âItâs also one of the things that turns me into a complete disaster when I donât manage it properly.â
Your fingers threaded lightly through his hair again, softer this time.
âYouâre not a disaster.â
âMm,â he hummed. âDebatable.â
You nudged his shoulder.
âRy.â
He smiled at that.Â
âI hear you,â he said, more seriously now. âOkay? I do. I⊠I can take a night. Orââ he paused, recalculating, already trying to be better, âa couple. I can make that happen.â
You searched his face for a second, like you were checking if he meant it.
âOkay,â you said softly.
His thumb brushed your cheek again, lingering there.
âOkay,â he echoed.
There was a quiet between you. That was until you saw the cogs in his head turning once again.Â
ââŠwe should probably shower.â
You couldnât help but laugh.
Typical Ryland.
âProbably.â
He glanced down at himself, like he was doing a very quick, very scientific assessment.
âYeah,â he added. âDefinitely.â
You pushed yourself up slightly, offering him your hand this time. He took it without hesitation. You tugged him gently toward the bathroom, and he followed, steps still a little heavy but no longer dragging.Â
The light flicked on with a click, filling the small space with warm yellow, as steam already began to gather as you reached for the shower.
He leaned against the counter, watching you, something gentle in his expression.
âWhat?â you asked, glancing back at him.
He shook his head slightly, a small smile pulling at his mouth.
âNothing.â
He gave a small shrug as his cheeks heated again.Â
âI just⊠missed this.â
Your chest tightened, but in the best way.
âYeah,â you said, stepping back toward him, brushing your hand against his as the water started to run. âMe too.â
He squeezed your fingers before stepping in with you, pulling you under the warm spray.
For the first time in weeks, it felt like he was finally back with you. Where he belonged.
a/n: first ever post on this blog wooo!!! not new to writing, just new to ryland and couldn't help myself.
just testing the waters to see if there is anyone interested in more of ryland, lowkey want to do a series on him for the movie/book (it will be angsty though but with a happy ending) if people were into that?
anyway let me know what you all think and if you want more of ryland x reader!!
AnxiousAttachment!Jason who needed to constantly have his hands on you, even when you need space
"Can you stop? I just need a minute." You'd ask after a long day. And while he cared he didn't care. "What, I can't touch you now? It's a crime to want to touch you and be close to you?" He'd argue back before dipping his head into the juncture of your shoulder from behind, his arms wrapping around your middle
AnxiousAttachment!Jason who texts you at two am for your reassurance when he's on patrol and those pesky thoughts get too loud. His mind won't stop racing until you answer him
"hey i know you're sleeping but you still love me right? you're not going to leave?" "i just feel like i can be doing more. am i doing enough?" "please stop ignoring me" "baby i just need to know i'm doing right by you"
He rushes to your apartment when you don't reply, gently waking you up just to talk to you
AnxiousAttachment!Jason who picks up on your moods instantly. He blames it on being raised by Bruce, he's an expert on reading body language. So if you seem even just a little bit off, he's spiraling
"Why'd you turn away from me? What did I do?" when you shift in the car. When you come home tired from work he's asking, "is it because I forgot to take the trash out? I'll do it right now. And don't worry about the dishes, I'll get those too." God forbid you don't laugh at his jokes the way you usually do, "hey, you're not mad at me are you?"
AnxiousAttachment!Jason who watches you out of the corner of his eye when you're on your phone. His mood instantly sours when he catches you laughing at the screen
"What's so funny, baby?" He asks as casually as possible. "Just my friend from work." You answer truthfully with an air of nonchalance that sets off alarms in Jason's mind. "Oh. Okay, that's cool... What's they're name?" He's ready to do an extensive background check to make sure they're not a threat to you or your relationship
AnxiousAttachment!Jason who lays awake at night when you're not with him, his thoughts spiraling
"They're gonna leave. I know it. Why would they stay? I have nothing to offer them. What, a once dead ex crime lord turned vigilante? Fuckin' stupid to think they see any future with me - shit there is no future with me."
He throws up from anxiety and finds his way to your apartment, breaking in through your bedroom window like he always did. He just needs to hold you, needs the proof that you're real and his
AnxiousAttachment!Jason who feels like his heart has been ripped out of his chest cavity when you spend your free time with your friends and not him
He knows, deep down, that there's nothing wrong with it. He loved that you have friends and he likes your friends well enough. But he always finds himself texting you against his better judgment. "Hey, having fun?" "When will you be back?" "Coming back anytime soon?" "Let me know when you're on your way and I'll order take out for us"
AnxiousAttachment!Jason who would rather die all over again than make himself look like a burden. His pesky little brain telling him that you'll leave if he does
"Jay, you gotta relax baby, you're injured. I got it taken care of." You try to tell him. But he insists "No, it's fine. I can still get up and help. I gotta get up and help" "because if I don't, you'll leave"
AnxiousAttachment!Jason who cries to you in bed in the dead of night where no one else can hear his anguish or ghosts from his past
"Just don't leave me, please. I know I'm not perfect, hell - I'm not even good - but please. You're my everything. I love you more than anything else in my worthless life." He sobs into your lap as you hold him when his anxiety gets the better of him. You've learned that what he needs is soft reassurances, gentle touches.
"I'm not going anywhere, Jay, I promise. I'm still here, aren't I?"
AnxiousAttachment!Jason who is just so emotionally draining to be with
continuation of my previous post
masterlist of all dami/batfam posts here
starting commissions for batfam content you'd like but haven't seen yet.. DM me if you're interested !!!
warning depictions of violence & major character death. please DNI if these are potential triggers
dami's pov !!
"Dame, that's enough for tonight," Tim says.
"No."
"It's been hours," Dick adds. "Nothing's changed."
Damian's next inhale is sharp. Like a blade piercing through.
Nothing's changed.
"You don't know that," he says. Trying to believe it. Will it to be true.
Eyes strained from staring at the computer. Going over the little evidence he had. Unable to stop replaying their last conversation in his headâ
Just stay with me.
I can't do this without you.
Please don't go.
Most days were like this. Tim and Dick spinning his vigil into obsession. His father dragging him away from criminals on patrol. Stopping him before he can cross the line. Jason telling him to consider the worst. Cass's silent solidarity and Steph's optimism.
All of it too much.
Then he'd drag himself back to the apartment in the mornings. Walk past the "Still Missing" posters taped at every intersection. Torn now. Dirty. Most of them covered by more recent news.
Inside the apartment, plastic is taped where the windows should be. Shards of glass and wood still on the floor. Only her belongings kept tidy. Everything in place for when she came back.
He'd curl on their bed for a few hours. Sometimes to sleep. Most days, to smell her scent come up from the sheets. Fading now. The imprint of her body next to him.
"Damian," Dick puts a hand on his shoulder, "I understand this is hardâ"
"Shut up," he slaps his hand away. "You don't understand a thing. None of you do."
"The entire Justice League put out a search for her," Tim says. "That included outer space and the bottom of the ocean. Damian, maybe..." He can't seem to finish that sentence.
"She's out there," Damian insists. Fists clenched. Knuckles white. "It's my responsibility to find her."
Tim surrenders first. Leaves. Then Dick.
Alone in the dark cave. Wasting away. A punishment he feels deserving of. For failing his grandfather and mother. Failing her.
Then, the computer flickers with its own volition. Black for a second, before a set of numbers type themselves out.
Coordinates.
"Qalbi?" he whispers to an empty room.
Copies the coordinates rapidly into the GPS. Somewhere along the southern border of Australia. Buried within the forests.
Suddenly, he's on one of the Batplanes, unable to recall how he got into his suit, how he took off into the air. Only one thing on his mindâ
I'm coming, Qalbi.
I'll be there this time.
"Damian?" His father's face appears on the control panel monitor. Tired. Grayer. "The coordinates were sent directly to the Batcave. They're in our systems. Rushing towards them headfirst is exactly what they wâ"
"I don't care," Damian says, gripping the yoke. Voice uneven. "I don't care, Father. I have to try."
"We can rendezvous with you three clicks from the border," Bruce says. "You don't have to face them alone."
"Don't you understand we can't wait any longer?" Damian argues. Then his voices quiets. The desperation slips through. "Even to see her for just a second...."
"Will mean nothing if you can't bring her home." Bruce sighs. "Son... whether she's alive or not, you're walking into a trap. Let us help you."
He considers it for a brief moment. Softens himself to the idea of accepting help. Of saving her with his family at his side.
But the thought is fleeting. The rational forgotten as Damian turns the call off and sets the plane for radio silence.
I'm coming, Qalbi.
Everything is oddly quiet within the forest. No security systems or hidden assassins to bypass. No traps or locked doors.
Thirty miles of greenery and freshly swept pathways. The Null base spiraling down into the dirt using cobblestone. An old temple or fortress hollowed out for their own purposes.
Doors open when he arrives. Welcoming, even.
The long hallway at the entrance is covered in crimson silk. Candlesticks lit. Shadows lining themselves up along the walls. Unmoving as Damian passesânot so much the turn of a single head.
The hall opens up to a stone cylinder of a room. Doors closing behind himâthud of a lock.
They stand on a platform against the back wall. Three of his mother's former proteges. Traitors. Psychopaths. Demons. Whatever you want to call it, Damian didn't care.
All he wanted was to rip them apart with his bare hands. Deep, seething anger bubbling through his veins, untilâ
A wooden side door cracks open. The last of the fourâtaller than Damian, forehead covered in a greasy sheen of sweatâis ushering her forward.
No apparent shackles or restraints. No obvious injuries on her face or otherwise. She looked healthy, strong. Above all else, she was alive.
Damian hears himself gasp. Like breathing air for the first time in a year.
Her head shifts, wanting to look up, but stops when her captor whispers, "Not yet."
Neck bent. Facing the floor.
"Sit," he says, as if speaking to a dog.
And she listens. Kneeling down at the center of the room. Legs tucked neatly beneath herself.
"Good," he says. Sets down a thin sword and a gun before her. "Remember who you are. What you're capable of."
He leaves her. Joins the others on the platform.
"Impressed?" The brunette woman remarks. Not the youngest of the bunch, but the smallest. "Our League will make hundreds like her. Followers, who believe in an equal world."
"Since when are belief and coercion the same thing?" Damian says, teeth grit. Eyes still on her. The hands she holds in her lap. The gaze she won't lift from the floor.
Docile.
"They won't all be like her," she answers. "For there to be choice, there can no longer be you." A wicked grin grows on her face. "She will make sure of that."
Damian watches as she takes the sword into her hand. Slips the gun into her belt.
Tries to call out to her, "âYou don't have to do this. We can go home." But even her name doesn't seem to register.
She's unrecognizable when she moves. Faster than the typical trainees the League spat out. Stronger. An amalgamation of Cass's technique and something less graceful, more ferocious.
Damian remains evasive. Redirecting her kicks and punches. Backing away until he nearly hits the door.
The Null's plan is clear. Train her to the point that she can't be subdued. Not without hurting her. Something Damian would never do.
She obviously doesn't feel the same way.
The first strike she lands radiates needles along Damian's jaw. Taints his tongue with the taste of metal. The second tears the leg of his uniform open. A long cut dripping down into the floor, deep enough to sting.
The fight lasts an hour at least. Damian letting her back him into different corners. Rip his uniform to shreds. Hit him each time he's in reach.
It's cathartic almost. Makes him feel like he's paying even a percentage of the price for what he's put her through.
It feels like love in the Al Ghul's own twisted image.
Her sword shoots forward, close to his ear. Like a reflex, he seizes her wrist and disarms her. The sword clatters to the ground, and that's when one of the Null leaders shouts, "Quit toying with him!"
She steps back and rips the gun out from her belt. Steady between her hands. Barrel aiming between his eyes.
Damian exhales. Lifts his hands up slowly. "Qalbi."
Her brows furrow. The word familiar, but the meaning seemingly lost.
Carefully, he peels his mask off. "If this is what you really want then I won't stop you."
The others are talking amongst themselves on the platform. The brunette woman saying, "It's not going to work."
The greasy man responding, "Just give her a second."
Damian takes a step closer. Sees her grip readjust on the handle. Legs and breath not as steady as before.
"It's okay," Damian says.
She's frowning now.
He takes another step.
"Don't," she shudders. Gripping down on the gun. Warning him. "I waited for you."
Damian thinks of all the excuses. The year of sleepless nights and turning the world upside down trying to find her.
None of it means a thing. "I know."
One last step.
The metal of the barrel connects with Damian's forehead.
He inhales. Closes his eyes. Accepts death so long as it comes from her hand.
His father is already on the way. His brothers too, most likely. They'll take care of her. Atone for all the ways he's failed.
"Damian."
His eyes peel open. See the tears streaming down her beautiful face.
She whispers, "I wouldn't have done anything differently."
Words don't come fast enough. Screams and cries for her to stay still. To not rip the barrel away from his forehead.
She turns on her heel. A single hand firing two precise shots. One into the greasy forehead of the Null who walked her inside. Another through the leg of the brunette woman.
The remaining man on the platformâthe biggest of the group, the one he remembers his mother boasting ofâthrows a knife before she can fire the third shot.
He knows it's too late. Knows that when it slips into her chest, it's struck the center of her heart.
She's gone before she can even hit the floor.
Before her blood can fill the cracks between the cobblestone.
RE BLOGGING AGAIN BECAUSE I WAS RE READING THE SERIES AND I GOT TO DAMINA AND READERS FIRST AND READER TELLS HIM â I wouldnât have done anything differentlyâ OHHHHHHHH MYYYYYFUUUUU KKINGGOODDDDDDD kill me
continuation of my previous post
masterlist of all dami/batfam posts here
starting commissions for batfam content you'd like but haven't seen yet.. DM me if you're interested !!!
warning depictions of violence & major character death. please DNI if these are potential triggers
dami's pov !!
"Dame, that's enough for tonight," Tim says.
"No."
"It's been hours," Dick adds. "Nothing's changed."
Damian's next inhale is sharp. Like a blade piercing through.
Nothing's changed.
"You don't know that," he says. Trying to believe it. Will it to be true.
Eyes strained from staring at the computer. Going over the little evidence he had. Unable to stop replaying their last conversation in his headâ
Just stay with me.
I can't do this without you.
Please don't go.
Most days were like this. Tim and Dick spinning his vigil into obsession. His father dragging him away from criminals on patrol. Stopping him before he can cross the line. Jason telling him to consider the worst. Cass's silent solidarity and Steph's optimism.
All of it too much.
Then he'd drag himself back to the apartment in the mornings. Walk past the "Still Missing" posters taped at every intersection. Torn now. Dirty. Most of them covered by more recent news.
Inside the apartment, plastic is taped where the windows should be. Shards of glass and wood still on the floor. Only her belongings kept tidy. Everything in place for when she came back.
He'd curl on their bed for a few hours. Sometimes to sleep. Most days, to smell her scent come up from the sheets. Fading now. The imprint of her body next to him.
"Damian," Dick puts a hand on his shoulder, "I understand this is hardâ"
"Shut up," he slaps his hand away. "You don't understand a thing. None of you do."
"The entire Justice League put out a search for her," Tim says. "That included outer space and the bottom of the ocean. Damian, maybe..." He can't seem to finish that sentence.
"She's out there," Damian insists. Fists clenched. Knuckles white. "It's my responsibility to find her."
Tim surrenders first. Leaves. Then Dick.
Alone in the dark cave. Wasting away. A punishment he feels deserving of. For failing his grandfather and mother. Failing her.
Then, the computer flickers with its own volition. Black for a second, before a set of numbers type themselves out.
Coordinates.
"Qalbi?" he whispers to an empty room.
Copies the coordinates rapidly into the GPS. Somewhere along the southern border of Australia. Buried within the forests.
Suddenly, he's on one of the Batplanes, unable to recall how he got into his suit, how he took off into the air. Only one thing on his mindâ
I'm coming, Qalbi.
I'll be there this time.
"Damian?" His father's face appears on the control panel monitor. Tired. Grayer. "The coordinates were sent directly to the Batcave. They're in our systems. Rushing towards them headfirst is exactly what they wâ"
"I don't care," Damian says, gripping the yoke. Voice uneven. "I don't care, Father. I have to try."
"We can rendezvous with you three clicks from the border," Bruce says. "You don't have to face them alone."
"Don't you understand we can't wait any longer?" Damian argues. Then his voices quiets. The desperation slips through. "Even to see her for just a second...."
"Will mean nothing if you can't bring her home." Bruce sighs. "Son... whether she's alive or not, you're walking into a trap. Let us help you."
He considers it for a brief moment. Softens himself to the idea of accepting help. Of saving her with his family at his side.
But the thought is fleeting. The rational forgotten as Damian turns the call off and sets the plane for radio silence.
I'm coming, Qalbi.
Everything is oddly quiet within the forest. No security systems or hidden assassins to bypass. No traps or locked doors.
Thirty miles of greenery and freshly swept pathways. The Null base spiraling down into the dirt using cobblestone. An old temple or fortress hollowed out for their own purposes.
Doors open when he arrives. Welcoming, even.
The long hallway at the entrance is covered in crimson silk. Candlesticks lit. Shadows lining themselves up along the walls. Unmoving as Damian passesânot so much the turn of a single head.
The hall opens up to a stone cylinder of a room. Doors closing behind himâthud of a lock.
They stand on a platform against the back wall. Three of his mother's former proteges. Traitors. Psychopaths. Demons. Whatever you want to call it, Damian didn't care.
All he wanted was to rip them apart with his bare hands. Deep, seething anger bubbling through his veins, untilâ
A wooden side door cracks open. The last of the fourâtaller than Damian, forehead covered in a greasy sheen of sweatâis ushering her forward.
No apparent shackles or restraints. No obvious injuries on her face or otherwise. She looked healthy, strong. Above all else, she was alive.
Damian hears himself gasp. Like breathing air for the first time in a year.
Her head shifts, wanting to look up, but stops when her captor whispers, "Not yet."
Neck bent. Facing the floor.
"Sit," he says, as if speaking to a dog.
And she listens. Kneeling down at the center of the room. Legs tucked neatly beneath herself.
"Good," he says. Sets down a thin sword and a gun before her. "Remember who you are. What you're capable of."
He leaves her. Joins the others on the platform.
"Impressed?" The brunette woman remarks. Not the youngest of the bunch, but the smallest. "Our League will make hundreds like her. Followers, who believe in an equal world."
"Since when are belief and coercion the same thing?" Damian says, teeth grit. Eyes still on her. The hands she holds in her lap. The gaze she won't lift from the floor.
Docile.
"They won't all be like her," she answers. "For there to be choice, there can no longer be you." A wicked grin grows on her face. "She will make sure of that."
Damian watches as she takes the sword into her hand. Slips the gun into her belt.
Tries to call out to her, "âYou don't have to do this. We can go home." But even her name doesn't seem to register.
She's unrecognizable when she moves. Faster than the typical trainees the League spat out. Stronger. An amalgamation of Cass's technique and something less graceful, more ferocious.
Damian remains evasive. Redirecting her kicks and punches. Backing away until he nearly hits the door.
The Null's plan is clear. Train her to the point that she can't be subdued. Not without hurting her. Something Damian would never do.
She obviously doesn't feel the same way.
The first strike she lands radiates needles along Damian's jaw. Taints his tongue with the taste of metal. The second tears the leg of his uniform open. A long cut dripping down into the floor, deep enough to sting.
The fight lasts an hour at least. Damian letting her back him into different corners. Rip his uniform to shreds. Hit him each time he's in reach.
It's cathartic almost. Makes him feel like he's paying even a percentage of the price for what he's put her through.
It feels like love in the Al Ghul's own twisted image.
Her sword shoots forward, close to his ear. Like a reflex, he seizes her wrist and disarms her. The sword clatters to the ground, and that's when one of the Null leaders shouts, "Quit toying with him!"
She steps back and rips the gun out from her belt. Steady between her hands. Barrel aiming between his eyes.
Damian exhales. Lifts his hands up slowly. "Qalbi."
Her brows furrow. The word familiar, but the meaning seemingly lost.
Carefully, he peels his mask off. "If this is what you really want then I won't stop you."
The others are talking amongst themselves on the platform. The brunette woman saying, "It's not going to work."
The greasy man responding, "Just give her a second."
Damian takes a step closer. Sees her grip readjust on the handle. Legs and breath not as steady as before.
"It's okay," Damian says.
She's frowning now.
He takes another step.
"Don't," she shudders. Gripping down on the gun. Warning him. "I waited for you."
Damian thinks of all the excuses. The year of sleepless nights and turning the world upside down trying to find her.
None of it means a thing. "I know."
One last step.
The metal of the barrel connects with Damian's forehead.
He inhales. Closes his eyes. Accepts death so long as it comes from her hand.
His father is already on the way. His brothers too, most likely. They'll take care of her. Atone for all the ways he's failed.
"Damian."
His eyes peel open. See the tears streaming down her beautiful face.
She whispers, "I wouldn't have done anything differently."
Words don't come fast enough. Screams and cries for her to stay still. To not rip the barrel away from his forehead.
She turns on her heel. A single hand firing two precise shots. One into the greasy forehead of the Null who walked her inside. Another through the leg of the brunette woman.
The remaining man on the platformâthe biggest of the group, the one he remembers his mother boasting ofâthrows a knife before she can fire the third shot.
He knows it's too late. Knows that when it slips into her chest, it's struck the center of her heart.
She's gone before she can even hit the floor.
Before her blood can fill the cracks between the cobblestone.
ê°âĄê±ââžâž how deep is your love? ( part one )
ft. hal jordan + green lantern!reader (?) ; you bury whatever feelings you have for Hal â your mentor and colleague in the Corps â not wanting to destroy the fragile relationship you've longed for for so many months. But when a battle that could be your last takes place, and your willpower doesn't seem enough, what do you have left?
bunny thoughts. i listened to "How Deep Is Your Love" (Mitski cover) and "For Her (reprise)" on loop while writing this, also, thanks to @cinnamon-girl-writes and @lechelovestoyap for listening to my rambles about this fic, love you guys <3
It was consuming you whole; devouring your insides like a starving animal, salivating over the delights of your flesh. Desire â burning, eternal, endless. The sheets wrapped around you do little to soothe the aftermath of your reverie â thump-thump, your heart stumbles, staggers beneath your ribs. It's agonizing, loud, painful to feel and to hear. A pathetic remnant of the man your dreams pursue.
Thump-thump, thump-thump, it's a thunder in your eardrums, a bell of tragedies announcing the inescapable memories you have every night, when both moons are at their peak above Oa â the first time Hal Jordan, the one who torments your lucid dreams, spoke to you.
Among countless emerald rays, constructions born from pure imagination; an airplane. Another construct â as they call these, you've discovered â like the others, but which, in a way, captivated you (for its simplicity? For the familiar amidst so many strange ones?). Perhaps, if not for the thrilling green, you would have thought it was a real plane. Cool, right? Hal's teasing echoes through memories, think you can do better? And you remember, through the haze, the pearly smile you came to desire, part of his face hidden by a domino mask that became an object of hatred as soon as you realized you would never see his eyes â not without Hal taking off his uniform, something that, even after months, he hasn't done yet.
Were those really his first words to you? Perhaps not, but they were the ones you engraved in your reveries of him â of your mentor. You toss and turn on the makeshift bed, the ring flickering for an instant in your finger before fading again; willpower spent on restrain your own longing for something more â more than future fellow Corps members.
The feeling leaves you nauseous â and nausea turns into disgust, and disgust turns into anguish â and you're left with no choice but to choke on your own desire, feel it run down your throat like bile until your voice is lost in the flesh. And you do it â it's better than admitting whatever this is.
"What the hell is this?" You let the ring fall from your hand, the clink muffled by Hal's abrupt steps toward you. "Guy Gardner? Seriously? Him?!"
You're lost in his sudden arrival, lips slightly parted waiting for something to come out, to escape them and appease whatever accusations Hal is throwing at you. "Excuse me?" is all you manage to mumble, your little eyes searching for some answer around the room â at the makeshift bed against the wall, at the empty walls of an opaque, depressing white; at your own feet, which seemed far more interesting than the clenched scowl on the face of the man before you.
"Pfft. Don't give me that. Just tell me: am I really that bad of a professor that you want to trade me in?" It's bitter, heavy against your ears; frothed from his lips and, definitely, abrupt.
You didn't expect him to find out so soon, for the still untold news to spread so fast. It happened suns ago; in a stray thought, let loose in some casual conversation with your fellow trainees, nothing certain. Nothing decided if it were up to your desire, your obsession with remaining under Hal's wing.
Your gaze rises, wide, aiming straight for his â still hidden behind the white lenses of that cursed mask. "Halâ"
"Don't start." Your plea is cut off, discarded before it can even be uttered in tears. "I don't get it; why? What did I do?"
Nothing â and that, perhaps, was worse than if he had done something.
"It's not youâ" wrong words.
Hal huffs, burning rage visible in his restless muscles, pulsing along with the uniform that seemed inherent to his skin. "Don't give me that 'it's not you, it's me' bullshit. That crap doesn't work with me."
"But it's the truth!" echoes through the empty living room, empty save for the two of you and the undone bed; the words seem to impact him for a moment, jaw unclenching before your eyes â until he runs his fingers through his hair, contained frustration as Hal presses his own tongue against grinding teeth.
"Yeah? If it's so true then tell me: what's your fucking problem?" It hurts. Maybe it hurts him too, by the break in his breath as he asks, regret seeming to paint over his features. But not enough for him to drop that guarded posture; arms crossed over his chest, shoulders tense, lips constantly pressed together.
Not enough for him to take back his own words.
You take a deep breath, searching for softer ones. "I⊠need things you can't teach me." Your favorite team, the kind of jokes you like, a childhood memory. You. I want to learn you.
"And Guy can?!" He barks, right in your face, closer than before without you noticing. "I taught you everything! I gave you everything!" He confesses; raw, true â hands reaching for you, for any part he can hold, making sure you can feel the desperation dripping from his shout.
"Don't." It's broken, fleeting on your tongue, sharp. You take a single half-step back, hands raised beside your head as if a mere touch could burn you â leave an eternal wound wherever he might touch. "Don't touch me." It comes out more pained than intended, more honest than calculated.
Nothing comes back, nothing spat in your face like before. Hal remains with his hands in the air, path cut off to their destination â your arms; what once filled the room, barking in fury, raw, naked truths hurled at each other, dissolves, and only the weight of the words seems to reverberate between you, along with Hal's rapid, breathless gasps.
You hear your name, murmured, small from him; from the man with slumped shoulders, head low, dry lips bitten in guilt; from a Hal you had never seen, not even in the most whimsical midnight dreams. But before you can let your hands fall to your sides, before his name can be cried from your lips, someone else does it first.
"Jordan." Gardner appears in the doorway, face wrinkled in curiosity â the bad kind, the one that caught the middle of a talk and hopes to find out the rest by itself. "The Guardians want a meeting with you, better get going."
Hal hesitates, fingers trembling whether to rest on your shoulder or retreat; but when you do nothing, gaze lost on the symbol on his chest, he withdraws â and it seems like something dislodge in your throat, finally entering, perhaps a cry, perhaps the truth.
"This isn't over." He whispers over his shoulder, back already turned to you. It wasn't said as a threat, nor a warning â it was spoken in a melancholic promise, fated not to be forgotten.
The bile returns to your throat, and you hope this vow takes a long time to be fulfilled.
it's in the same format as my headcanons from before, enjoy !
continuation of my last post
masterlist of all dami/batfam posts here
Your first trip to the grocery store took three hours.
You almost didn't believe him when he said he's never physically shopped for groceries before. He's been forwarding a list to a personal grocer since he moved in with his dad, groceries just arriving at his doorstep. So when you go to the market down the street from your new place, he takes his time.
Too much time.
At least twenty minutes comparing olive oils. Another five when he lectures you for wanting plums when they're not in season.
When you finally get to the register, the poor kid asks Damian if he has a loyalty card.
"No, I don't participate in data harvesting schemes."
Ten minutes of you sheepishly smiling at the line you're holding up. Damian going on about how they're not locally sourcing their products or optimizing the layout of the aisles.
When he finally finishes his piece, you take the loyalty card out of your purse. Ashamed as you hand it over.
"Sell out," Damian mutters.
Our furniture
"Dami, what is all of this?"
You weave between the massive chests and shelves crowding the living room. Titus doing the same as he scrambles to greet you.
Damian crouched in the middle of it all, scribbling along multiple pieces of paper. A tape measure in his free hand.
"Furniture."
"I can see that," you say, scratching Titus' ear. Surrounded by heavy hunks of dark stained wood. Each piece probably worth hundreds, maybe thousands, of dollars. "I mean where is all of this going to go?"
Not looking up as he continues his penciling, "The chest will go in the studio. The armoire, our bedroom. The shelves, your library. The rest will stay out here."
"My library?" you laugh lightly. "You understand I borrow all my books, right?"
"You're saving an extra $700 with our current arrangement," he says. "You don't have to stop yourself from buying books anymore."
You hum thoughtfully, taking it into consideration. Attention shifting quickly, "Wait, I never told you my income."
"You think I would agree to you paying one third of the rent if I didn't know your income?"
A Batman-esque type of investigation, you're sure. One you're not in the mood to ask more questions about.
You sit with him on the floor, hinge forward to see he's drawn out at least ten different layouts for the living room. Titus rests his head on your lap.
"Would you prefer your board games in the living room or in your library?"
"Our library."
His pencil stills. A short glance at you before he's suddenly rising to his feet.
"Damian?"
He disappears into his studio, returning a moment later with his leather-bound Pride and Prejudice in hand. The very copy you've seen him read four times. One for every year together.
He sets it carefully on one of the shelves. "This is yours too, now."
The great laundry debate
How many times have you guys argued over color coding? Fabric softeners?
"Did you really just wash my Robin suit with your bras?"
"They're delicates. Is your suit not delicate?"
And for some reason, Titus has formed the habit of taking socks from the basket and hiding them between couch cushions.
"You've made my dog soft," Damian says reaching deep into the couch, unearthing a gray sock.
"You trained him."
How many times have you made fun of him for the hours he spends folding?
"You know, I never folded my underwear in my old apartment," you tell him.
He grimaces, hunched over a pile of cotton panties. Meticulously creasing each and every one. "I know."
Speaking of Titus, it's starting to become unclear who his original owner is.
Greeting you first when you guys return from an outing.
Barking when Damian hugs you for too long.
Wedging himself between you two on the couch.
"Titus, time for a walk," Damian will say. Utterly betrayed when Titus trots over to you, leash between his teeth.
The apology flowchart
Two inciting incidents: you were told you made a mistake, or you realized you made a mistake. Arrows stemming out from those two bubbles in multiple directions.
Minor versus major offenses.
Time needed for quiet self reflection.
A list of possible solutions. Ice cream and backrubs. Getting down on his hands and knees, pleading for forgiveness.
He asks for a walkthrough when you first taped it to the fridge. Raises his hand early on, "Notebook."
"What?"
Paces into the studio, returning with a notebook and freshly sharpened pencil.
"...Okay."
You continue, pointing at boxes. Throwing out some more ideas you couldn't fit on the chart. Listening to him frantically scribble behind you.
Sometimes, you wonder if the chart was a mistake. Like when you came home from a crappy 8 hour shift, pelvis screaming with period cramps.
You slump onto the couch, scowling at nothing in particular.
Damian watching you from the doorway. "You're displeased."
"Obviously."
He walks over to the fridge. Finger tracing a flurry of arrows. Muttering to himself. "Step one: admit fault... back rubs... additional consolation." Turning around triumphantly, "You require additional consolation."
"Please tell me you're not consulting the fridge right now."
You guys broke the bed.
It's your fault really.
Telling him, "Don't hold back," as he slipped the condom on.
Goading him even after he's inside.
"Harder, Dami."
"Use me."
"Please. I need this."
Before you know it, his hands are pinning your wrists. Squeezing until the blood flow to your fingers slows. Thrusting into you in this new, animalistic way.
Giving it his absolute allâ
When a massive CRACK echoes in the room.
Damian freezes, grip loosening on your wrist. He glances over the edge of the mattress, "It... it broke."
"What?" you say, chest heaving.
"The bedframe broke," he says, inspecting the edge again. Muttering to himself, "...Unacceptable. This is supposed to reinforced oak. It shouldn'tâ"
"Damian," you interrupt his thoughts. Glance down to where your hips are still connected. "Really? Now?"
"It'll affect our weight distribution."
"I can feel where your weight is distributed."
"Fine," he exhales, doing his best to regain his bearings. "But the second this is over, I'm calling in the warranty."
You grimace, "Very sexy."
Coffee in the morning
Damian pauses his post-patrol rest to make a quick breakfast and coffee while you get ready. Simpleâeggs and toast or a little bowl of brown sugar oatmeal. An insulated cup of coffee with half and half (exactly as you like it) to bring to work.
Rainy day
Damian isn't pleased at all when unforecasted rain ruins his plan for a picnic at the park.
You walk into the living room, every blanket you own in hand. He's hovering by the windows, glowering.
"Come help me when you're done pouting."
"I don't pout."
You toss every couch cushion and throw pillow onto the floor. Surround them with the dining table chairs, pinning blankets to the backs until they form a small dome.
"What are you doing?"
"Building a fort."
You're by yourself for a few minutes inside the fort. But eventually he crawls in. Lies down next to you.
Quiet for some time, listening to the quiet patter of the rain. Dark inside the fort. Faint light coming in from the windows, slipping between the thread of the blankets.
You take your time to form a full thought. "Didn't you tell me before that Arabic was your first language?"
"It is."
"Why do you never use it?"
"I suppose I phased it out once I got to Gotham," he says thoughtfully. "But I find myself thinking in the language often."
"Do you call me anything in your head?"
"Only your name."
You frown, wondering if he can see it in the low light. "If you had to, though."
He considers it for a moment. "Qalbi?"
Immediately, you love the sound of it. How it slips past his tongue. "What does that mean?"
"My heart."
You reach out for him, palm against his chest. Steady thrum into your veins. "This one?"
He finds your wrist, tracing up the length of your arm. Past your shoulder until his palm cups your cheek. "This one."
Damian and his secret love for reality TV
You sit him down for the new season of Love is Blind.
"The premise of this show is absurd," he mutters. Critiquing every sappy confession and abrupt proposal.
And yet, when he catches you watching the newest episode, "Why are you continuing without me?"
"Irregardless"
A very heated, very stupid argument about you moving his keys off the counter. How you've "disrupted his system" and "it's not a system if something is just laying there."
Waving your arms, "...Irregardless of whether you meantâ"
"Regardless."
Your lips still parted. Breath heavy. Eyes narrowing slowly at him.
He tries to form words, but can't. Simply shuffles over to the fridge, tracing bubbles and arrows with his finger. "...Aggravated offenses..." he mutters.
Teeth grit, "You've got to be kidding me."
He turns around, posture straightened. "I should not have corrected you like that, I'm sorry."
Glances back at the fridge once to confirm,
"There's ice cream in the freezer," he says carefully. "Would you like some?"
Dami rules (pulled from my og headcanons)
He's the only one allowed to put art on the walls of your place. It's just a rule. He's the artist after all so you let him.
This man hates, I mean HATES, when you don't use a coaster. It's never been your style. If anything you like the rings on the tables, the proof that your place is lived in. Damian isn't having any of that though. He'll forcefully shove coasters under your drinks and mutter under his breath while he scrubs the table, "Always making a mess...Doesn't even care... Rings all over my nice table..."
Spidey senses
You're not sure when it began, but the two of you have become unusually coordinated.
Knowing to shift your legs so he can pass.
Hands reaching out without looking. The other's hand meeting it with exactly what you were about to ask for.
You open a cabinet. He closes it behind you before it can creak.
Him pulling every chair out slightly before you sit.
You tilt your head back. His hand already there to cushion your crown.
He shifts on the bed after a long night on patrol. You pull the blanket higher before you're fully awake.
Sick day (very slight emet warning)
Damian remembers you getting up early in the morning. Hearing the echo of you getting sick in the bathroom.
When you come back into bed, you're shivering. Hugging yourself in a fetal position at the edge of the mattress.
He pulls you in, scalding back to his chest. "Qalbi, you're burning up."
You sound scared, small as you tremble in his arms. "I don't know what's wrong with me."
You fall asleep not long after. Dead to the world, sweat soaking through the sheets.
Damian has to call your work for you, say your temperature was at 100.4 the last time he checked. Then his father to say he won't come to patrolâwon't leave you.
Sitting at your side for hours. Fussing over every slight twitch or sharp breath. Not eating or sleeping. Only moving occasionally to tuck the blanket closer to your neck.
He never lets Titus on the bed, but he does this time. Curled at your feet, probably equally as worried. Hopefully providing you some extra comfort.
After sleeping for nearly twenty hours you wake, groggy and stomach sour. Damian insists on feeding you broth, then holds you. A movie playing in the background as you drift off again.
Tasm Peter Parker x Reader where your boyfriend makes it up to you for leaving you high and dry for Spider-Man duties
cw: smut 18+, no y/n, afab reader, praise, touching over clothing, clit play, sickly sweet petnames, dirty talk, teasing, soft!dom peter if you squint
an: havenât posted in months guys sorry! Iâve got so many drafts but I lose interest quick lmao
àš :â : à§
It was a risky decision to entertain, knowing that your boyfriend could swing by your fire scape at any moment. Coming up on finishing with his friendly Spiderman duties for the night, never at a specific time but always near the same hour. Unless some monsterly being wreaks havoc upon the city, of course.
But you just couldn't wait. Peter, being the mean, teasing, cruel boyfriend he is (he adores you and can't help but work you up anytime he gets the chance coz he loves) was kissing you so sweetly just hours ago. Crowded under his frame on the softness of your mattress, strong knee knocked up against your covered cunt and rocking you down in teasing drags. That is until his radio went off and he kissed your parted mouth sweetly in quick apology. With quick dashes around the room he was suited up and slipping out the window in a flash.
He left you panting and sticky, hot ache coiled up tight and your stomach and an incessant thumping of a second heartbeat between your thighs.
At first you felt sour, disgruntled at his quick exit, and then it turned to guilt, knowing he was needed elsewhere to save some civilians who gotten dragged into unessecary danger. You tried distraction, reading a short novel you had picked up recently, and then when your mind wouldn't quiet you turned to the television in the living room. But no matter what you tried and as the hours passed you couldn't get that stupid hot ache to leave you alone.
It was a dire situation, you decided. You were drawn back to your bed, laid on your front with your hand quickly settled between your thighs. Brows furrowed, eyes scrunched tight you stuffed your face into the pillow, muffling soft gasps of pleasure, thinking of Peter and his stupid pretty face all the while.
Then the sound of the window creaking open and soft footsteps dropping against the hardwood. You freeze, hand still trapped between your thighs. The position of your body laid on your front was innocent enough, if he didn't go looking Peter would probably assume sleep dragged you under.
You could hear the sound of him unzipping and dropping his suit to the floor, left in just his boxers. "Bub? You asleep?" Peter whispered, moving to crouch down beside the bed, brushing his hand across the back of your hair. And then his senses hone in, the sound of your erratic heartbeat catching his attention.
You swallow thickly, turning your head on your pillow to face him with hot cheeks. You can't decide if it'd be better to try and move your hand from between your legs now, or just leave it there lest he catches the movement.
He observes your for a second, gaze dragging over you. He spots your arm tucked under your front and his eyes spark, mouth quirking up at the corner. "Oh, baby. Still haven't calmed down yet, huh?' He coos. To the normal ear it would sound affectionate, but you know better. Heâs finding your needy state funny.
With an embarrassed huff you turn on your side to face him, hand still trapped between your legs. "S'your fault," you insist, a frown pulling at your mouth. You push your palm into your clit, staring him down to show your upset
His eyes dart at your actions, flashing dark at the unusual show of confidence from you. Smirk softening, his throat bobs as he reaches out to pet your cheek. "I know. I know, baby. Iâm so sorry. Iâm so mean. Just left you all alone after I wound you up, hmm?" He rises and presses his knee to the bed to climb over you, urging you on your back with a nudge to your hip. He sits back on his heels between your spread legs, rubbing soothing lines up and down your thighs.
You let out a huff of air, chest stuttering and heat coiling renewed at his easy handling of you. Your hand falls to the side of the bed. Though, you continue to pout, determined to convey your disapproval of his quick exit earlier. "M'yeah. You wereâ you just left me. Iâm mad at you."
"Mad, huh? That's alright, sweetness. You can be mad. Know you're upset with me. M'gonna make it up to you, okay?" His eyebrows dip in a way that should look sympathetic, but the patronizing grin tugging ever so at his lips gives away his amusement with your peeved state.
Big hands scoop under your thighs and he drags you towards him until they can rest propped up on his own. He keeps you spread like that while thumb makes quick work of drawing lines up and down your soaked front.
The unexpected burst of pleasure makes your breath quiver and your thighs shake. You want to protest, maybe pat his hands away and insist he's not allowed to touch after leaving you so easily earlier. But, god, do his fingers feel like heaven after hours without anything.
"It's notâ" you gasp, "not gonna work."
He leans down to smush open mouthed kisses up your jaw, leading up to your frown and delicately pressing his smile to your lips. Even under your petulance you canât resist his kisses, allowing him to part your mouth and deepen the kiss in a goal to make you more pliant and relaxed.
Spoiler alert. It works. Like always.
He pulls back to respond to your previous comment. "That's okay, honey. Think what you like. Just gonna make you come quick and like this. Get you stretched out for my cock, yeah? We'll see how you feel then, how about that?" Peter murmurs easily.
You hiccup an embarrassing sound, thighs threatening to twitch closed if it wasn't for his strong palm gripping your thigh to keep you spread open. His thumb starts to work tight circles over you bud, an unrelenting toying that makes your brain fog.
Itâs honestly humiliating how easy he can work you up. Before Peter you were never able to come so quick, a few romps here and there left you wanting but too drained and disappointed to even ask for a return of your own pleasure. Even by your own hand youâve never been able to reach that peak in mere minutes like he can.
Your breath starts to pick up, fast little hitches of air punch from your chest, keen little whining noises you try to suppress if only to try your revenge on Peterâs abandonment.
He eyes you up like youâre something sweet, plainly enjoying the pinch of your brow and slight frown on your lips that keeps slipping into open mouthed pants. Pleasured little noises that has his cock kicking up in his tight boxers.
âOh, baby,â He coos.
The soaked fabric of your underwear rubbing against your your clit with every swipe and swirl of his deft fingers creates a delicious friction that has you digging your hands into the sheets.
His eyes light up, hungry grin widening. Recognition.âYouâre close arenât you, bug? You gonna come for me, make a little mess?â
That molten ache in your belly tightens. You shake your head no, lips pinched. Embarassed as always about your quickly rising pleasure.
He nods his head in counter, looking awfully pleased. âYeah you are. You can be mad and still come for me, canât you? I wonât take it as surrender, promise, baby.â
And then he does something evil. He pinches your clit between his knuckles, punching a breath out of your chest and then rubs the tightest little circles and youâre done for.
The sudden switch in tactic has you tipping over the edge, hard. You come with a sob, a whiny pitchy thing and shudder as that pulsing ache snaps. âFuckâPeter.â You feel a humming warmth spread down your hips and to the tips of your toes. Body wound so tight and basking in the onslaught of pleasure.
âOh, pretty baby. So gorgeous coming for me, arenât you? So good for me.â He murmurs sweet praises. You can feel his adoring gaze traveling over your pleasured expression.
He leans down to press soft kisses to your parted mouth as he continues to rub at your sticky panties, forcing you to ride out your high until your legs twitch and thighs force inwards from overstimulation. Only then does he give you reprieve. His hands come up to cup your cheeks, kissing sweetly over your hot face.
âGod youâre fucking unreal, you know that? Iâll never get enough of seeing you like this, bub. Never. Iâm damned when it comes to you, little gremlin.â
You canât help but let out a weak giggle. âSo I get sweetness for two seconds and then Iâm gremlin? Best boyfriend ever,â you deadpan.
Peter pulls back an inch to meet your gaze, eyes eclipse by black, rubbing the tip of his nose against your own. âYeah, well your best boyfriend got you all nice and sticky for his fingers. Gonna stretch you open and get you ready for my cock. What do you think about that?â
âYeah.â Your answer is immediate, breathy with want.
He chuckles, kissing the tip of your nose. âYeah, thatâs what I thought, gremlin.â
Broooooo Iâm so high idek what to say but this is so epic it took me like so long to read I re read every paragraph like three times bc it was so good to imagine and just like idek wow this is rlly good
Jason Todd who is just absolutely huge, in every sense of the word (nsfw at the end)
Jason Todd who no matter your height, always towers over you. Youâd be standing in your kitchen, waiting for your coffee or tea to brew, and you feel him before you see him. The large looming presence of Jason. As he comes up behind you, his chin rests on the top of your head. A perfect fit.
Jason Todd who isnât just tall, heâs insanely brawny and muscular. You notice it when his shirt strains against his chest and his biceps as he reaches to grab a book from the top shelf of your bookcase for you. Speaking of booksâŠ
Jason Todd who makes everything he holds seem smaller than it is. The book he grabbed for you looks so small and delicate in his hands as he gives it to you. His hand practically engulfs yours as he grasps it while walking down the street. Jason who makes you seem so incredibly small and delicate, just like the book he was holding, when he hugs you, or even when youâre sitting in his lap on your shared couch. Â
Jason Todd who has undoubtedly the biggest dick youâve ever seen. No matter how many times you have sex, it always burns in the best way possible. It doesnât matter how long or how much heâs prepped you. He spent hours spreading you out and making you cum on his thick fingers and tongue. His cock finally pushes in before you whimper and whine at the stretch. But Jasonâs always there to assure you that youâll take it, you always do. Before he bottoms out all the way, he mutters, âbig stretch, sweetheart,â and then the pain subsides into pleasure.Â
Jason Todd who is absolutely huge, in every sense of the word.
credit to @enchanthings for the divider!
please be nice this was my first time writing anything for tumblr
heâs so fucking big. thatâs the first thing you always think when heâs on top of you like this, straddling your hips, thighs bracketing your waist while his huge body hunches over you, trembling, mouth locked around your nipple like itâs the only thing keeping him alive.
heâs so fucking big but heâs shaking. so needy heâs dripping on your stomach, smearing slick across your belly as he jerks himself with one big, desperate fist, moaning into your tits like theyâre the ones making him cum.
âfuckâfuck, baby, please,â he gasps, voice muffled, nose smushed against the swell of your breast as he sucks messily at the peak, tongue laving, greedy little licks between slurps that make your toes curl. âneed it, need you, gonnaâshitâgonna fuckinâ lose it, i canâtââ
you hum low, dragging your fingers through his hair just the way he likesânails scratching soft, tugging just enough to make him twitch. he whines. literally whines. hips stuttering as he thrusts into his own fist like heâs imagining itâs your pussy clenching around him instead, wet and hot and needy as he is.
âfeels good, baby?â you croon, thumb brushing the sweat-damp hair from his forehead, watching him melt like youâre feeding him straight from your chest.
he nods, frenzied, mouth never leaving your tit, slurping around it like heâs starving, like heâs never tasted anything better. every sound he makes is soaked in wet heatâslick spit, labored panting, the obscene slap of his cock against your stomach when his grip slips and he whimpers into your skin.
heâs so messy. so far gone. his chest is heaving and heâs still trying to suck harder, still trying to rut faster, chasing his high like heâs been edged for days and your tits are the only reward he wants.
âjust like that,â you whisper, hand cradling the back of his head. âyouâre doing so good, baby.â
he lets out the prettiest noise youâve ever heard. almost a sob. and then he cums, just like thatâhips jerking, cock throbbing in his fist, hot ropes painting your stomach and tits and even his own abs as he shudders through it, mouth never leaving your skin, still mouthing at your nipple while he moans and whines and leaks all over both of you.
when itâs over, he collapses forward. still holding your tit in his mouth like a pacifier. you keep stroking his hair. press a kiss to the crown of his head.
The only sounds in the room are Nancy Sinatra drifting from the vinyl player in the corner and the occasional whisper of a turning page from whatever book Jason's absorbed in. Youâre sat pretty in his lap, his cock nestled deep inside you, filling you whole. There's no movement, no rhythm besides the steady throb of his length and the reassuring beat of his heart against your ear where you rest against his chest. His thick arms are wrapped securely around you, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety, his chin resting on your shoulder as he attempts to continue reading over it.
The idea was pretty simple: he'd stay stuffed inside you, just resting there while you both relaxed. But you can feel his restraint beginning to crack. His hips buck involuntarily, just a small movement accompanied by a quiet whimper that vibrates through his chest. The sound makes you let out a soft sigh of your own, and the gentle exhale causes your body to shift just enough that his cock twitches inside you with unmistakable need.
"'m sorry sweetheart," he mumbles, his voice rough and whiny. The bookâs forgotten now, pages falling closed as he fully wraps both arms around you and buries his face into the space between your neck and shoulder. His hips rut into you again, another needy sound escaping his mouth, muffled by the fabric of your sweater. âSâwarm...â
His hold on you tightens as he starts to move more deliberately now, though his movements are still small, almost pathetic in their desperation as he chases any friction, any sensation. The wet sounds of your gushing cunt make his eyes flutter closed, his whines getting more constant.
"Love having you wrapped 'round me," he mumbles between flustered noises, his words barely coherent. He's barely moving inside of you, just those small, needy ruts, but you can tell from the tension in his body and the pitch of his sounds that he's already close. He's so frustrated it makes you hum in contentment, satisfaction blooming in your chest. The sound and the feeling make your cunt flutter around him in arousal, your walls clenching his cock.
That's all it takes.
His release crashes over him suddenly. It would be humiliating if he didn't feel so fucking right now. Hot spurts of cum fill your pussy as his arms hold you even tighter, pulling you impossibly closer as his hips still desperately rut upwards, trying to ride out every wave of his high. The sounds of his whimpers and pants fill the room, mixing with mumbled repetitions of thank you.
You didn't even do anything. Just sat there, let him feel you. But he's thanking you like you've given him everything.
once he gets you settled on a surfaceâa bed, a settee, steinway piano, whateverâhe drops to one knee and lifts your leg gently with both hands, before pressing his mouth to the curve of your ankle. from there, he measures the length of your leg with kisses, all while his hands work your heels off one by one, smooth as a sleight of hand. he sets them aside with care. theyâve earned it, having framed you so beautifully.
that small ritual plays out like one of those staged black-and-white photoshoots you see on pinterest, where a man is ostensibly worshipping his goddess. but unlike those images, youâre not coveting it. youâre living it.
bruce also harbours a sadistic streak, one that surfaces at the most inconvenient moments, like casually mentioning an upcoming gala while your legs are spread, your clit throbbing his name. he makes amends in his own way, with earth-shattering orgasmsâsometimes two, sometimes threeâdepending on the severity of his guilt.
sometimes, all that in-his-own-good-time teasing winds you up so bad, you get all hot and crazy, more than ready to fuck nasty like a pair of lions in heat.
luckily for you, he doesnât pretend heâs above that.
