Dark Soap but make it tender because of love? Teehee…
Also your suburbia series is a stroke of comedic genius. Who are you? I love you.
For everyone asking for more Dark!Soap AU content:
Part one ; part two ; part three
The medics should have been doing this, but they weren’t. You’d freaked out, your feverish mind twisting their professional touches into something invasive, threatening. Hands that meant to help became hands that grabbed, that held, that wouldn’t let go. You’d thrashed hard enough to tear an IV, your breath coming in panicked, animal gasps.
It had taken Soap stepping in- his presence somehow both heavy and grounding- to keep you from spiraling further.
“Out,” he’d said, voice flat and final. Not a request.
The medics had hesitated, but one look at his face and they’d gone.
And now here you were, half naked and trembling, your fevered body limp in his lap as he carefully wiped you down with a cool, damp sponge.
The room was too quiet. The kind of quiet that pressed in at the edges, thick and heavy like the air before a storm. Somewhere beyond the canvas walls of the tent, voices drifted; low, clipped exchanges between soldiers rotating watch. The distant hum of a generator. The occasional metallic clink of gear being checked and rechecked.
But in here, in this small pocket of space, it was just you and him.
And the slow, steady drip of water wrung from the sponge.
Soap’s hands moved with surprising gentleness, the sponge gliding over your arms, your shoulders, down the curve of your back. The coolness of it pulled faint sighs from your lips, small sounds you weren’t conscious enough to control. His touch wasn’t clinical, Soap was no medic, but it was careful. Deliberate. Like he was handling something breakable.
He wasn’t sure if it was working to lower your temperature, but you’d stopped fighting him. Your head lolled against his chest, your breath coming in faint, uneven puffs that stirred the fabric of his shirt.
“Ye still wi’ me, hen?” he murmured, his accent thicker in the quiet, his voice low and rough as gravel.
You mumbled something incoherent, your lips barely moving. Your brow furrowed like you were trying to surface, trying to find him through the haze, but the fever dragged you back under before you could.
He made a soft sound, somewhere between a sigh and a hum, and adjusted his hold on you, one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you steady while the other worked. Your fever warmed skin was sticky with days of sweat, and the damp cloth wasn’t doing nearly enough. But he wasn’t going to stop.
Not when this was the only thing keeping you calm.
The lantern hanging from the tent’s support beam cast everything in amber and shadow. It swayed slightly in the draft, making the light shift, making his hands look gentler than they were. Making this moment feel like something out of time, something that didn’t belong to the blood and gunpowder and violence that usually defined them.
Soap’s jaw was tight, his mouth a hard line, but his hands told a different story.
They moved over you with a kind of reverence he’d never admit to. Over the curve of your shoulder. The slope of your neck. Down your spine, each vertebra a small mountain range beneath his palm. He wrung out the sponge, the water running clear and cold into the bowl at his side, and started again.
Your skin was too hot. Flushed and damp and trembling.
He hated it.
Hated seeing you like this; small and shaking and so far from the sharp edged thing that usually met him blow for blow. The version of you that bit back. That looked at him and saw the dark underneath and still dared it to come closer.
This version of you- the one that could barely breathe without whimpering- made something in his chest twist so hard it hurt.
As he worked, his mind wandered despite himself.
Three days ago...
The blade had come from nowhere; a desperate gambit from a dying insurgent. Soap hadn’t even seen it, his focus locked on the enemy pouring through the breach, his rifle barking sharp and efficient as he dropped them one by one.
But you had seen it.
You’d thrown yourself between him and the strike, taking the poisoned edge across your ribs instead of letting it sink into his throat. He’d heard your sharp intake of breath first, like all the air had been punched out of you at once, and then watched you stumble, watched the strange, dark sheen on the blade as it clattered to the ground.
Watched the way your hand went to your side and came away red.
“The fuck did ye do that for?” he’d snarled, catching you before you hit the deck, his hands rough with panic he didn’t know how to voice. Panic that came out as anger because that was easier. Safer.
“You’re welcome,” you’d gasped, already pale, already shaking. Your smile had been weak, lopsided. Like you thought it was funny.
It wasn’t fucking funny.
The poison had worked fast. Too fast. By the time they’d extracted, you were barely conscious, and by the time they’d gotten you back to base, the fever had set in like wildfire.
He’d stayed close. Closer than he should’ve. Watching the medics work, watching your body fight something it couldn’t see, couldn’t shoot, couldn’t kill.
And when you’d started thrashing, when you’d looked at the medics with eyes gone wide and terrified and wrong, he’d stepped in without thinking.
Because no one else was allowed to touch you like that.
No one but him.
Now, in the dim amber glow of the tent, Soap dragged the sponge across your collarbone, your throat, watching the way your pulse fluttered beneath your skin. Fragile. Vulnerable.
It made something twist in his chest; something he didn’t have a name for and didn’t want to examine too closely.
“Always throwin’ yerself intae danger,” he muttered, his voice rough, almost accusing. But there was no heat in it. Just something raw. Something tired. “Cannae just let a man take his licks, can ye?”
You stirred faintly, your head shifting against his chest, your cheek pressing over his heartbeat. “Not… your turn,” you mumbled, voice barely a thread of sound.
His hand stilled for just a moment, the sponge dripping cool water onto your shoulder, trailing down the curve of your arm in thin rivulets. Then he huffed, a sound that might’ve been a laugh if it wasn’t so tight, so strangled. “Aye. Suppose it wasnae.”
He wrung out the sponge again, the motion slow and methodical, and brought it back to your skin. This time his other hand followed, fingertips tracing the path the water took, smoothing it over your shoulder, your back, the nape of your neck. Gentle. Almost reverent.
“Daft girl,” he murmured, so quiet it was barely sound. Just breath. Just confession. “What am I supposed tae do wi’ ye?”
You sighed, soft and small, and leaned further into him. Like you trusted him. Like you felt safe.
It broke something in him.
His hands moved to your face, the cloth brushing lightly over your cheeks, your jaw, the curve of your neck. Your lashes fluttered but didn’t open. Your lips parted on a shallow exhale, and he watched the way your chest rose and fell, counting each breath like it was precious.
He smoothed damp hair back from your forehead, his thumb lingering at your temple, feeling the heat radiating from your skin. Then he dipped the cloth back into the bowl, wrung it out, and started again. Patient. Steady.
Like he had all the time in the world.
Like there was nothing else that mattered.
Soap let out a slow breath, his focus entirely on you. On the rise and fall of your chest. On the way your fingers twitched against his thigh, like you were trying to reach for something even in your delirium.
Trying to reach for him.
“Ye daft, self-sacrificin’ idiot,” he murmured, so quiet the others couldn’t hear. His thumb traced a slow line along your temple, pushing back the damp strands of hair clinging to your skin. “Shouldnae’ve done that. No’ fer me.”
But you had.
He kept going, the steady rhythm of his movements a small, grounding comfort in the chaos. The water cool. His hands warm. The space between you so small it didn’t exist at all.
The lantern swayed.
The shadows shifted.
And Johnny MacTavish held you like you were the only thing in the world worth saving.
Part three of Reader having a dog named Ghost [part one] [part two]
“How did you get into my house.”
You just stand there in the doorway, keys still in your hand, staring.
Because there is absolutely, unequivocally, no reason that three fully grown men should be scattered around your goddamn living room like they live here.
The guy in the boonie hat (Price you had learned the other night when this whole thing began) is by your bookshelf like he’s evaluating your taste in literature- you don't even know what he thinks of it and somehow you're already a little offended. Gaz is half sunk into your armchair, looking suspiciously comfortable. Soap is in your kitchen holding a mug that very much did not belong to him five minutes ago.
All three of them freeze.
“We just wanted to see how your dog was doing,” Gaz says smoothly, with the confidence of a man who thinks he’s charming enough to get away with it.
You blink. “…That didn’t answer my question.”
Price tips his head in your direction, an infuriating little almost smile in his beard. “Thought we’d come check in after he had a rough go at it the other night.”
“Still not an answer,” you say flatly, already sliding your bag off your shoulder. Your fingers find the can of mace in the front pocket and curl around it. Just in case.
Soap takes a sip from your mug. “Bonnie wee lad, that dog. Cracked a smile out of Lt, even. That’s a bloody miracle, that is.”
“You are all very good at saying words that aren’t ‘we broke into your house,’” you say, narrowing your eyes. You casually set your keys down on the entryway table and, with equal casualness, hook your fingers around the handle of the baseball bat propped beside it, dragging it just a little closer. “I’m not saying I’m calling the cops, but I’m also not not saying it.”
Price looks at the bat, then at you. “No need for all that, love.”
“Then answer the question.”
Silence.
Price clears his throat. “We just wanted to see how your dog was doing.”
You stare at him.
You very pointedly click the safety cap off your mace.
Soap calls from the kitchen, “I like the little magnets on yer fridge. Very homey.”
“You” you say, very slowly, never breaking eye contact with Price, “are not going to distract me with compliments about my magnets.”
Price’s gaze flicks to the bat now resting within your hand. Gaz raises both palms like you’re a skittish animal. “Look, yeah, we’re not here to hurt you, alright? We just… dropped by. No harm done.”
“Again,” you say sweetly, “not an answer.”
There’s a muffled thump from the living room. A low rumble, almost like…
You squint past Price, edging further into the hallway. “Wait, where’s my dog?”
Soap, unhelpful as ever, chirps, “Living room.”
You take a step forward, dragging the bat along the floor with a soft scrape, mace still clutched in your other hand. “If you hurt him, I swear to God-”
“Nobody hurt him,” Gaz insists quickly, moving aside to let you pass. His eyes flick pointedly toward the couch. “He’s, uh. He’s grand, actually.”
You round the corner of the sofa-
-and stop dead.
Because sprawled on your living room rug is a pile.
On the bottom: one (1) Ghost-the-human, massive, flat on his back, mask on, arms loosely banded around-
On top: one (1) Ghost-the-dog, draped across his chest like a weighted blanket, head tucked under the man’s jaw, tail giving a slow, contented wag.
You blink once.
Twice.
Slowly lift your bat a little higher.
“…Did you drug him?”
“What? No!”Soap says reflexively. "Were drug tested at work, hen!"
You level a scowl at him, then jab the end of the bat in the direction of the canine Ghost, who does not even bother to lift his head. “Not him. My dog. Did you drug my dog?”
He realizes his mistake an winces. “Right. Not the point.”
“Did. You. Drug. My. Dog.”
“No,” Price cuts in, hands spread placatingly. “Nobody gave him anything. He came over on his own.”
“After about ten minutes of starin’ at Lt from across the room,” Gaz adds under his breath. “Like he knew where the treats were.”
Your grip loosens a fraction around the bat. Your eyes flick back to the heap on the floor.
Ghost-the-dog has officially clocked your presence. His tail starts wagging harder. He doesn’t move off Ghost-the-human, but his ears perk and he lets out a low, pleased little huff, snuggling in closer like this is the best day of his life.
Your heart does something embarrassing in your chest.
“Ohhh,” you sigh, bat dropping as your shoulders sag in relief. “Oh, what a good boy.”
You’re on your knees beside them before any of them can blink, the bat clattering harmlessly to the floor.
“There’s my baby,” you coo, immediately burying your hands into your dog’s fur. You shove your face into the side of his stomach, inhaling the familiar warm, doggy smell, kissing at his ribs. “Ohh, look at you, being so brave and friendly with new people, I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Such a big, strong boy. Oh, mommy’s big brave man, huh?”
Ghost-the-human makes a sound.
It’s quiet. It’s strangled. It’s somewhere between a hiccup and a whine, punched out of him like someone knocked the wind from his lungs.
Your dog wiggles happily under your praise, pressing his full weight down onto Ghost’s chest. His fingers spasm in the dog’s fur, breathing one shallow, ragged under the mask; every inhale hitches like he’s trying (and failing) not to chase the sound of your voice. The praise isn’t even directed at him, but it doesn’t matter. Each “good boy” sinks teeth first into the place behind his ribs where control usually lives.
Soap and Gaz watch from the sidelines like they’re courtside at the most unhinged sporting event of their lives.
“Look at him,” Soap whispers, eyes wide, grin feral. “He’s away with the fairies.”
Gaz deadpans, “This is actually the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Price just exhales like a man who has smoked too many cigarettes and seen too much war.
You are oblivious.
Because you have your hands under your dog’s chin now, scritching his neck while he melts into a puddle atop one very large, very silent lieutenant.
“Ohh, are you makin’ friends?” you babble, tilting your head, nose scrunching as you smile down at him. “Are you showin’ mommy who’s a good judge of character? Huh? You like them, baby? Yeah? You like the nice soldiers?”
Ghost’s breathing picks up.
He stares at you from behind the mask, eyes blown wide, every muscle in his body drawn tight. You’re so close he can smell your shampoo, feel the warmth of your breath when you laugh.
You press a kiss right between your dog’s eyebrows, cheek smushed into his fluff, and murmur, “That’s my good boy. My bestest boy. Mommy trusts your judgment so much, you know that? You did such a good job lettin’ people love you. I’m so proud of you, Ghost.”
Ghost-the-human has to dig the back of his head into the carpet to keep from making another noise. His hips twitch entirely against his will; one sharp, helpless jerk upward that everyone sees. His whole body has gone liquid under the weight of the dog and the weight of your words.
You finally peel yourself away from your dog long enough to glance up at the three intruders.
“Okay,” you say, a little breathless, our hand stays buried in fur, stroking slow, soothing lines down the pup’s spine- lines that end up ghosting over Ghost-the-human's ribs. “I guess you can stay since Ghost vouches for you.”
Soap brightens. “Aye? That easy, then?”
You shrug, turning your attention right back to your pup, scratching behind his ears. “I trust Ghost’s judgment.”
Ghost-the-human makes another microscopic full body flinch under the dog that only trained soldiers would notice, his eyes slamming shut, another tiny, desperate whine slipping free.
You nuzzle your dog’s nose, voice slipping straight back into baby talk. “Yeah, mommy trusts you so much, doesn’t she? My sweet, smart boy. If you like ‘em, they can stay, huh? Such a good boy, sharin’ your home. Mommy’s so, so proud of you.”
Ghost-the-human swallows hard enough they can practically hear it. His fingers curl in your dog’s fur like a lifeline. Heat throbs through his gut, heavy and insistent, every word you say worming under his skin, straight into the parts of him that have never been soft for anyone.
His head lolls to the side. His breathing evens out into something slow, hazy, trance like. The tension bleeds from his shoulders, his thighs, everywhere. He’s still under the dog, still trembling faintly, but the fight is gone. He’s deep, deep in that floaty, warm, obedient place where nothing exists except your voice and the approval pouring out of it.
Price watches his lieutenant, then looks at you, still cheerfully smushing your face into your dog’s tummy like this isn’t absolutely wrecking a highly trained special forces operator on your living room floor.
He exhales slowly.
“Right then,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “Tea, anyone?”
𝟏𝟖+ 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢 | he sends you a voice message while he’s away.
“hey sweet thing. missing ya’.”
his voice erupted, you could only hear the sound of his breathing, imagining the slow rise and fall of his chest.
“how have you been, mm? eating well? hydrating? you best be taking care of yourself while ’m gone.” he laughed, that squeaky one where you could tell his throat was tight from holding something in.
“wish you could feel how much i’m missing you.” you heard his breath shake at the last syllable, then the tell-tale sound of his zipper slipping down rang out. a loud zzziipp like he wasn’t even trying to hide it.
a moment of silence then a harsh hiss came from his side as he wrapped a hand around his aching member, stroking it to full mast. “shit baby, i’m so hard just thinkin’ about you.” he groaned, then a rustle of clothes came as he shoved his pants down to his ankles.
he shifted his phone so that it was placed right beneath his cock, you could hear it slap against his phone screen, hot and heavy. “listen to it. listen to what you do to me.” he panted, beginning to pump himself, every tug of his length drawing a throaty sigh from him.
“wish you were here. y’know, sucking me off.” he paused to breath, stifling a whine as he imagined the scene in his head. “gosh, you’d look so pretty, mouth full of me. choking on me.” he continued.
“or you could just sit on it. let me hump you ‘til you pass out, all dumbed out on my dick.” he rasped, voice dropping a milky octave. you could hear him spit down on his cock, smearing the glob of saliva over his length.
“if you were here, i’d bend you right over this desk and fuck—” he sped up his strokes, you could tell he was close with how whiny he got. “i’d do so much to you darling, but you’re just not here. and it’s killing me.”
“miss you, so fuckin’ bad.” his voice cracked, you could hear the lewd fap-fap-fap of him fisting his cock ruthlessly, teetering on the edge of release.
“bet you’re touching yourself too, huh?” you could hear his smirk through the phone, “bet you’re getting off at seeing me so desperate and needy. you’re evil.” he grunted.
“shit, i’m close.” he cursed through gritted teeth, you could hear his chair creak under his weight as he pumped his cock, chasing his orgasm.
“this one’s for you.” he panted, the sounds of his fist becoming slicker. after a couple more strokes, he came all over himself with a muffled groan, making a mess everywhere.
“it’s so much.” he grumbled, already regretting what he did knowing he would have to get up and clean off. “and i blame it on you.” he chuckled, you could hear him tucking himself back into his pants.
“anyway. i’ll be back soon. love you, byee.” he spoke before blowing an obnoxious kiss to the phone and cutting the voice message.
Imagine joining an online chatroom because you struggle meeting people in real life, but god do you want to lose your virginity, right?
Most of the men you meet aren't all that interesting, but there's this one guy...fucking hilarious, witty, a bit dry. His chat name might be "deadmeat" but by the pictures he sends it's anything but.
Deadmeat: thought of you again, bloody mess. Can't wait to have you.
The picture attached is his usual, hard cock covered in at least two previous loads, tip flushed pink and wanting. The calloused, tattooed hand it's cradled in is what drew you in initially. Most folk in the chat room were...well...gifted in size, and as fun as it is to imagine you can hardly manage two fingers on a good long day.
But this man? Perfect fit. About the width of his palm, fingers easily wrapping around. Not small by any means, but definitely not heart-stopping in a bad way.
You: just a few more days. Got the motel booked?
You make sure it's safe, of course you do. Swapping photos together in anticipation for the day.
Deadmeat, or ghost as he requested you call him now, is...a little different than you expected. Tall, for one, nearly brushing his head on the top of the doorframe when you nervously unlock the motel room.
You don't quite realize the breath of your mistake until you and ghost are half undressed in bed and you slip a hand under his waistband. You slide you hand along the soft hair at his base, wrap your hand over it and—
...no. no way.
The amusement on ghosts face as you frantically shove his pants down and pull out his dick is palpable. Holy shit, he's massive. You're a few centimeters shy of wrapping your hand around him, not to mention the length.
You swallow thickly, glance up at him.
The fucker has the audacity to chuckle, reaching down to wrap his impossibly large hands around his dick, give himself a few pumps "well? Everything you were expecting? Don't worry, i can make it fit."
✦ Pairing: Curtis Everett/fem!Reader
✦ Word count: ~4k
✦ Rating: Explicit
✦ Warnings/tags: plus size!reader, demon king!Curtis, Curtis is like 250 cm/8,2 feet, Curtis has horns, kidnapping, oral (fem receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, unprotected sex, belly bulge, dirty talk, cum marking, pet names (lamb).
✦ Summary: For Lloyd, that meant more work and less play, and he was not happy about that at all. So he devised a plan to ease the king's temper.
✦ Note: Is this among the dirtiest things I've written? Probably... but it was so much fun! If you like it please reblog it. Comments and asks are always welcome!
✦ I don't keep a taglist, but you can follow @veltanawrites and turn on notifications to get notified when I post something new.
Masterlist | AO3
The demon named Lloyd looked on with dismay as the Demon King threw yet another of the lesser demons into the abyss of no return. It wasn't that Lloyd disliked the king’s actions. No, it was just that over the course of a thousand years, since the king had been betrayed by his then betrothed, his patience with mistakes had grown shorter, and the number of lesser demons in the realm had started to dwindle.
For Lloyd, that meant more work and less play, and he was not happy about that at all. So he devised a plan to ease the king's temper. If there was one thing Lloyd knew, it was that the king needed to get laid and to have someone to care about. Despite being the ruthless king of the demon realm, Lloyd had been there when the king and his betrothed were together, and the king showed a softer side, and a more even temper, back then.
But another problem was also that, since the betrayal, the king had refused to consider an alliance with any of the other factions that inhabited the demon realm. So Lloyd had done the only thing he could, and looked to other realms, close to the demon one.
No demon alive today had been there when the veil between the realms had been thin enough to pass through regularly, but many attributed that to the demon's humanoid bodies. The fact that humans and demons could mate and produce viable offspring both Lloyd and the demon king were living proof of.
And as such, the demon Lloyd looked to the human world. And he found you.
You stand still just inside the door to the apartment you share with two other people. The air is suffocatingly hot outside, and you looked forward to the cool air inside as you walked home. Except your roommates are having a party, with the windows wide open for people to smoke from. It's as hot inside as outside. You're already sweating through your shirt, blazer, and skirt, and you want to take a long, cool shower, but not when there are twenty other people in the apartment.
You make your way through the throng towards your door, happy that you locked it before going to work. Some of your things have started to disappear lately. Inside, with the door locked once again, you breathe a sigh of relief. It’s a tad cooler in your room with the blinds pulled and the window closed. You turn on the fan and stand in the breeze while taking off your clothes and throwing them in the hamper. No reusing those for another day. You need to do laundry too, if you want to have something to wear to work at the end of the week. Exhausted, you lay on the bed in just your underwear, limbs spread, waiting for the fan to cool your heated skin.
Everything seems to crash into you all at once. Your shitty work day, your stealing roommates, the never-ending tirade of chores, the unbearable heat you won’t be able to escape until winter, and then the apartment will be freezing cold instead. Tears run down the side of your face. Also, there is a gaping hole in your chest from feeling lonely. There are only so many romance books a girl can read before starting to long for that kind of connection of her own, and you really want a connection like that. You just want someone who cares about you and wants you, despite all your flaws.
“Is that really too much to ask?” you say out loud to no one in particular.
“Of course it’s not,” a voice answers, startling you up from your bed. Standing by your desk is a man, dressed smartly in well-fitting clothes with a mustache that could be from an eighties porno, with his hair combed back. He doesn’t look like the kind of guy your roommates would hang out with.
“Who are you?” you ask, voice trembling with fear, throwing your arms up to cover your exposed chest as you back as far away from him as you can, but in the small room, you don’t get far. You’re sure you locked the door behind you. The man must have been in your room before you entered, hiding somewhere, and now he’s going to rape and kill you. The music is blaring from the party. No one is going to hear you scream. You eye the door, but you have to pass him to get to it. The window is not a quick escape since it’s closed.
“I’m Lloyd,” the man answers, and you realize just then how tall he is, a good bit over two meters. “And I’m here to take you somewhere better.”
You’re frozen stiff. “No,” you manage to press out.
“I can assure you that no harm will come to you, if that eases your mind,” he says, and you notice that his eyes seem to be unnaturally blue, almost glowing.
“What?”
“You will not be harmed, you have my word.”
“I don’t understand,” you say, more tears are running down your face now. The man is clearly insane.
“There is no need to cry, you will have a much better life than whatever this is,” he says, looking around your room with clear distaste. “I guess humans like their earthly belongings, so if it makes you feel any better, we can take all of it with us.”
Then he holds out his hand, “Come on, let’s go.”
But you don’t move, you can’t, fear is gripping your chest so hard you can barely breathe.
When he takes a step closer to you, your body suddenly switches to flight mode. With a burst of adrenaline, you go for the door, needing to try at least to save yourself. You feel an arm band around your waist, and the world turns upside down and somehow also inside out. It’s like you're on a roller coaster for zero point one second, screaming as you drop down into nothing, before you’re suddenly in a room again, except it’s completely different from before.
“What in the actual fuck,” you say, before throwing up.
Demon king Curtis stalks through the winding corridors of the ever-changing castle on his way back to his room. He needs a drink and to not see anyone else for a good long while. All day, he’s spent dealing with emissaries from the nearby realms, trying to negotiate trade deals so his people can continue to thrive, but all their offers involve some kind of marriage, and he is not doing that. He shouldn’t even be in those meetings. It’s Lloyd’s task to manage that, but Lloyd claimed he was busy. Whatever the fuck that means.
Think of the demon, and he shall appear, Curtis thinks as he nears his room, because waiting outside is Lloyd, with one of those shit-eating grins that can only mean trouble.
“What have you done now?” Curtis asks, irritation thick in his tone.
“Only what I deemed necessary.”
“That can’t be good, then.”
“We’ll see,” Lloyd’s smile widens, and then continues, “There is a present waiting for you in your room, and I hope it will bring you much joy.”
After staring at Lloyd a moment longer, Curtis opens the door with some trepidation. A present from Lloyd could mean anything, literally, and he isn’t sure he would like any of it. To his surprise, he finds a woman standing in the middle of the floor. A red band covers your eyes, while a soft robe drapes your body, tied at the waist. Curtis can feel the nervousness radiating off of you, and you jump when he closes the door.
Walking up to you, he takes you in more carefully, noticing that without a doubt, you are human. It’s an odd present coming from Lloyd. A human woman. But he also can’t help but notice how the robe hangs off your voluptuous body in a way that makes his mouth water. Even if it’s Lloyd’s doing, Curtis is king for a reason, and a present never comes without an ulterior motive.
“Who are you?” Curtis asks, and you jump again, before stuttering out your name.
“What are you doing here?” is his next question.
“Your… friend, Lloyd, was in my apartment. He brought me here. He said you needed a… companion.”
“And what’s in it for you, human?”
You swallow.
“I don’t know. No work? No chores? I won’t be lonely anymore.” Curtis can sense no lies in your words. “And Lloyd said that… that you’d bring me pleasure.”
Curtis can’t help but give a small laugh.
“And what if I just kill you instead, human?”
You stiffen even more, if possible.
“Lloyd said I wouldn’t be harmed,” you manage to answer, voice tight with fear.
“Did he now. You’re under his protection?”
Curtis glances back at the door, and for a second, thinks of calling for the other demon to make him explain, but if he knows Lloyd right, the demon is already gone.
“I guess,” you confirm.
Curtis muses on that for a moment. It’s not that he wants to hurt you or kill you, but he is big even by demon standards, taller than Lloyd, and his touch could break your bones.
“He gave me a ring,” you hold up your hand and show Curtis a black band around your middle finger. “He said it would protect my body, make it strong enough to withstand whatever you’d want to do with me.”
Now, the faint smell of arousal rises from you. You clearly don’t know what's good for you, but that only makes Curtis want you more.
“And what else did Lloyd tell you about me?”
“That you’re the demon king, ruler over this realm, and that you’ve been alone for a very long time. And that you won’t hurt me.”
Curtis hums and reaches for your face, dragging his finger over your cheek, but you don’t flinch or pull back. The fear coming from you actually lessens.
“No, I won’t hurt you,” he promises. “Remove your robe for me, my sacrificial lamb.”
With surprisingly steady fingers, you undo the knot and let the robe fall open, revealing your body that he’d only guessed at, and it’s far from disappointing. As the robe floats to the floor, Curtis takes you in, now only covered in a bra and underwear. Your breasts will fit perfectly in his hands, he knows right away, and his face will fit just as well between your plush thighs. With all your soft curves on display, there is no keeping Curtis’s cock from hardening.
That a human would undo him is hard to believe, but you seem to be removed from the politics of the demon realm, and therefore, he decides to take a chance and accept the offering given to him. You’re here because you don’t want to be lonely, and Curtis is quite fed up with that himself. It’s been a long time since he felt lust as he does now.
He lets his finger go up to your blindfold.
“Let’s get this off so you can see what the king of the demon realm looks like, before I take you to bed, lamb.”
He slips it off your face, but your eyes are squeezed shut.
“Are you sure my face won’t melt off when I see you?”
Curtis chuckles, “I’m quite sure.”
The light in the room is not bright, but your eyes still take some time to adjust from being closed. When you finally see the demon king, you have a hard time taking it all in.
He looks human-ish, except for his height and the horns on his head. They sprout from his forehead, curving back over his skull and the short buzz, before curving back up and slightly forward again, sharp points pointing upwards. It just adds to his height, and he is the tallest person you’ve ever seen, and you thought Lloyd was big. He is best described as massive, with thick, broad shoulders and a wide torso left bare to reveal hard muscle beneath a scattering of dark hair.
After you took a bath and got new clothes, Lloyd had been kind enough to conjure a picture of the demon king while he explained everything, and you thought Curtis looked good then. But up close, he's gorgeous, and so big your knees feel weak from both nerves and arousal. So what if the majority of your romance books on the shelves had monsters in them?
“Hi,” you manage to croak out.
He smiles, and you're relieved that he doesn't have sharp teeth; neither does he have claws or cloven hoofs.
“Hello, my sacrificial lamb,” he reaches out his hand, and you take it. His skin is much warmer than a human's, but not uncomfortably. With a yank, he pulls you into his body, right into his bare upper body.
You look up into his face, and his eyes glow with the same eerie blue that Lloyd’s did. Power and strength radiate from him, but you're not afraid. This whole thing is crazy and fucked up, but if you don't take it at its word, you're going to drive yourself insane.
Therefore, to calm your mind, you place a chaste kiss against Curtis' skin and tell yourself it's going to be alright. Strong hands close around your waist, and you're suddenly lifted. A shriek escapes you because you've never been lifted before. Sure, some dudes have tried, but it mostly ended with them grunting with failure and you feeling miserable. Curtis does it effortlessly. He only says, “Come up here and do that instead,” with a wicked grin.
As you're face-to-face with him, you realize he is even more gorgeous up close. You wrap your legs around his body, and he holds you with one hand on your ass, while the other grips the back of your neck.
A low rumble seems to come from Curtis' chest.
“Your ass fits perfectly in my hand, it's like you were made for me, my lamb.”
You stroke your hands over his face, feeling the scruff of his beard, making his rumble louder, which you think means he likes it. The grip on your neck hardens, and a second later, he's pressing your mouth against his.
He's not shy about kissing you in any way; he knows what he wants, and he takes it, opening your mouth, exploring with his tongue, which is human-like, if a bit more pointed. You wind your arms around his neck, holding on as he starts walking towards a bed that is bigger than any you’ve seen before. But you're not surprised since Curtis is so big. He sits down on the edge with you in his lap, straddling him, and the unmistakable feeling of his bulge presses right into your cunt.
You want to blame the fact that it's been a long time since a man touched you, and that's the reason why you're already so horny and wet. But it's not. It's everything about Curtis. The way he feels, smells, and tastes. And the way he handles you like you weigh nothing.
Experimentally, you grind down, and when Curtis moans into the kiss, the whole room seems to vibrate with it. You find you need to ask an important question, though, before this goes any further.
“How…,” but you feel a little embarrassed at asking. He raises an eyebrow.
“How is it gonna fit?“
A slow smile creeps up his face, his thumb caressing your cheek.
“Don't worry, my lamb. I will make it fit.”
That shouldn't turn you on even more, but it does. Your eyes flutter for a moment as a moan unbidden falls from your lips. With a growl, Curtis flips you onto the bed, then tears the bra and panties from your body, leaving you naked and exposed.
“Does my lamb like that idea?” he asks as he kneels between your spread legs. But he's not looking at your cunt, he's keeping eye contact with you as he picks up your foot, kissing your ankle. You have a hard time forming words, even thoughts, so you just nod as he moves higher up your leg with kisses and licks.
“Do you want me to force my demon cock into your human cunt? Want me to watch as you struggle to take it?”
Ashamed, you hide your face in your hands before nodding again.
“I'll have to thank Lloyd for finding the filthiest little lamb in the human realm for me,” he chuckles. His kisses stop in the middle of your thigh, and you peek from your fingers to see why.
Now his gaze is glued to your exposed cunt, his chest heaving heavily, the grip on your leg hardening. Without looking away, he commands, “Clench.”
For a second, you're confused, and then you do what he wants, clenching the muscles in your vagina. As you do, more wetness leaks out.
“I'm going to enjoy ruining that wet cunt after I've feasted on it,” he says, letting go of your leg and lying down on the bed.
His massive hands spread you open, but he's not hurting you; he's careful with his touch, you can tell that, despite your mind being overrun by lust. The moment his mouth lands on you, all thoughts go out of your head, though. There is only the feel of his tongue and lips, exploring all the most sensitive parts of you. His eyes are closed, and there is a content, constant hum coming from him. You try to keep your eyes on him, because he looks divine nestled between your full thighs, but he's doing things you've longed for, and it's hard not to sink back into the bed and just let him do what he wants until you break.
He suckles on your clit, using his tongue to play with it, before sliding his mouth down and pressing his thick, long tongue into your channel, over and over again, driving you insane with pleasure.
You're scrambling for something to hold onto. The sheets on the bed aren't enough, and you want to touch him, but you're not sure you're allowed to touch his horns, and you're not coherent enough to ask. But still, your hands creep down your body, itching to feel him, and before you know it, your hands close around the ribbed surface of the horns, right as he does something devilish with his mouth, and you use the grip to pull him even closer and grind against his mouth.
He looks up at you, and your eyes meet for a second. Your chest rises and falls, but he doesn't look mad.
“It feels so good,” you say, almost pleading, even though he's giving you everything.
He hums in response, because he can't talk with his mouth so closely pressed to you, before continuing like before.
When a thick finger slides into you, searching, then finding, there is no way for you to hinder the orgasm crashing into you. With a strangled cry, you come around Curtis' finger and against his mouth. Wave after wave of blinding pleasure envelopes you until the only thing you feel is the point of contact, where his finger is still working you over, and his tongue plays with your bundle of sensitive nerves. And he doesn't stop, even when it starts to become too much, and you whimper instead. When you try to push at his head and move away, he simply pulls you back.
For every orgasm after that he pulls from you; you get more delirious, but something is missing. Even with two fingers in you now, fucking you in times with his tongue, you want more.
“Curtis,” you plead, again, “I need more!“
He pulls back, kissing your cunt one last time, before sitting back on his knees. His mouth and chin are wet with you, and he licks his lips as he undoes his pants.
Curtis’ cock is, well, it's a monster, bigger than anything you've had before, bigger than your toys, and fucking gorgeous. You're scared and aroused at the same time. His massive hand closes around it, stroking it a few times, and precum leaks freely from the tip. At least it's one; you've read books where the main male characters have had two, and you're not ready for that yet.
“The ring will protect you,” Curtis says, his voice tight, clearly holding himself back. “It will only be good for you. Now turn over, on your knees, head down.”
You do as he says, nervous energy fluttering in your chest despite your previous orgasms.
Curtis places a steadying hand on your ass, and you take a deep breath as you feel the nudge of the big cockhead against your opening.
The ring might protect you from splitting in two, but it doesn't take away the feel of the delicious stretch as Curtis pushes into you. Your body somehow gives, and there is no pain, only pleasure. He takes his time. You can hear him breathing heavily behind you, and if you look over your shoulder, his eyes are fixed at the point of connection, watching your body swallow inch after inch of his cock, until he bottoms out with an almost painful groan.
He leans forward and grabs one of your hands, guiding it in under your body and pressing it up against your soft stomach, until you feel what he wants you to feel—the bulge of him.
“It fits perfectly, my lamb. You're filled to the brim with me now.”
“I- I love it!” you confess, and you keep your hand there as he starts fucking you, feeling the bulge in your belly over and over again. His heavy balls slap against your exposed cunt with every thrust, and it's so sensitive from previous orgasms that you're quickly on the brink of another again.
“I feel you, lamb, pulsing around me. Are you going to come with a demon's cock in your tight cunt?”
“Yes, Curtis!” you answer with a moan.
Suddenly, you hear him spit, and cool saliva hits your skin, right against your asshole. A moment later, Curtis' big thumb enters you there, too.
It's simply too much for you. You come like you've never come before, cursing and screaming, losing all strength in your body. Your arms and upper body lie limply against the sheets, drool seeps from your mouth, as Curtis continues to fuck you. It's a miracle you can stay on your knees, but you do it for him, because it continues even after, the pleasure he brings you over and over again never stops. It could be the fact that you're in a whole other realm, or it could be because of Curtis, or maybe both. He's unstoppable, pulling many more orgasms from you, until your head is empty of any other thoughts than that of his touch. But finally, it's his time too.
The walls of the chamber rattle and shake the louder his moans get, things fall from shelves, and you hear glass breaking somewhere. With an inhuman growl, he flips you onto your back, and then he comes inside you with a roar until it overflows, and he pulls out to continue coming over your stomach and tits, painting you and marking you with his seed.
“Mine,” he says, over and over again.
Curtis' eyelids feel heavy, but he doesn't want to sleep. Even though you're already snoring softly in his arms, he doesn't want to look away from you, his lamb. His chest has felt so hollow for such a long time, so it's a strange feeling to now have it filled with contentment and a bit of happiness.
He sent Lloyd a message that he won't be available for anything, for the foreseeable future. Curtis might have made you come multiple times tonight, but he also needs to take time to show you the realm, or more importantly, show the realm you. They need to know what their new queen looks like after all.
Soap x Reader x Simon who, in some combination, have all made out while sucking dick.
cw: 18+ mdni, oràl (m + f receiving), ass eating, threesome, squirting.
Johnny is a show off, knows his throat is a black hole because of his gag reflex has gone MIA ever since he and Simon started dating. So he lets Simon use his throat, taking every inch of his large cock down his esophagus, bulge forming in his throat with every thrust. And then theres you who simply has good technique, after Simon taught you, tucking your hair behind your ear as you bop your head up and down the Brit’s length. Letting him slap his dick against your tongue.
And Simon can’t get enough of it, the way you suck his balls while Johnny hollows his mouth out, till you both know he’s coming, the vein on his cock throbbing.
Swapping tongues as you both run your pink organs down his shaft, his cum and both of your salvia getting his length thing sloppy, foam forming at the ends of both of your lips till Simon is cums, right on the both of your faces. Both licking the white substance off each other.
And then when you and Simon go down on the Scottish man, Johnny gets so fucking sensitive. The man can’t stop cumming, from the sensations you both give him sucking and licking him up, to how you both look up at him while you slurp and lick his sensitive tip over and over, your lips connecting with every kiss you give his cockhead. And yeah, Johnny has squirted many of times in both of your mouths. Both of you drinking it up and then making out.
Then the kicker, how Simon and Soap both eat you out till you pass out. Simon who can’t get enough of your poor cunt and Soap who loves playing your ass, sticking his face between your cheeks and getting so fucking filthy with your puckered hole while Simon runs his tongue through your pussy lips. Lapping everything your leaking out and then running his tongue back up to suck your pulsing clit. You can’t help but grip their both of their hair, legs shaking while they let you buck back and forth against their faces.
And Johnny and Soap always meet halfway in the middle, intertwining their pink tongues, both of their noses soaked in your cum, and then getting back making you cum over and over and over again. Even swapping places the days Simon has smacked your ass in that pretty dress he likes.
a/n: how he eat it from the back? Thrrrrrr. (Do y’all know that audio?)
Hairstylist!Simon who got into the trade because he wanted to be a barber after getting out the military. His teacher told him he’d make even more money as a hairstylist, so he went for it. Was top of his class.
Hairstylist!Simon who had it hard when he first got out of cosmetology school because of his large and slightly scary demeanor. Customers wouldn’t come to him because they were sure he didn’t know what he was doing, until a teenage girl came to him, claiming she wanted to dye her hair red with a blonde skunk stripe. It’s his first client and he completely murders it in a good way. Got a lot of clients from then on, even records himself sometimes and gets online fans.
Hairstylist!Simon who does it all, cuts, French braids to cornrows, twists, trims, straightens, dyes, curls. And he does all hair types too. Nothing can withhold him.
Hairstylist!Simon who is a good listener, and makes all his customers feel comfortable. He may do two ladies hair at the same time, letting them talk and talk until it’s time for them to spin towards the mirror, with a fresh trim out blowout, combing their fingers through their beautiful locks and absolutely adoring it.
Hairstylist!Simon who’s had his fair share of men and women moan at how good he washes their hair and scrubs their scalp. He’s not new to this, hes true to it, a man good at his job. Now having you moan at him accidentally pulling a bit of your hair during a wash?
That’s new.
You slapped you hand over your mouth, profusely apologizing, almost getting out the chair to leave. But you’re so adorable embarrassed Hairstylist!Simon can’t help but indulge you. Tells you it’s perfectly alright, it’s normal and it just means he’s doing his job right.
You’re sure he’s lying so he doesn’t lose a client. But try to relax as best as you can.
After a blow dry of course, he’s bending you over the vanity, slowly easing his mushroom tip in your gushing walls, his scarred hand wrapped around your perfect and freshly trimmed locks. Stuffs you to the brim as your hands grip the vanity, chocking on a whimper from the massive stretch of his veiny cock on every single ridge of you gummy walls. The blonde drawls his hips into yours till he’s flush against your ass, balls deep in your tight pussy then slowly drags himself out then rams it back in. Taking his sweet time, but hard enough for you to feel it, every bit of pre being pressed against your cervix.
You sob out, bottom lip trembling, shimmying your globes back on him, “More- fuck Ghost- more!” and Simon hisses. Pulling your hair to create the sluttiest arch in your back imaginable.
He grunts, “Eassy now love, just washed your hair, can’t ‘ave ya sweatin it out.”
And he fucks you just like that, slow, deep, the ‘clap, clap, clap’ of his balls whacking against your drooling pussy lips filling the small room till tears are streaking down your face. Babbles of moans coming out your mouth as your wither around his dick. He slips out, smacking his still hard cock on your ass,
His Adam Apple bops, catching your eyes in the mirror, as he catches his breath, “Should we style your hair like this, give it the messy look?”
He’s hell.
a/n: a draft that has been sitting since October. I think y’all just let me yap.
content: angst | fear of infidelity (?) | pope and reader are married | reader is pregnant with pope’s baby
🟡 author’s note: blurb i came up with while watching animal kingdom. it’s based on the animal kingdom plot from season two, but i tweaked it.
part one. part two.
—
you had finally hit the second trimester of carrying your baby. you thought you’d be thrilled… in fact, you should’ve been over the moon that you were finally living out the life you’ve always wanted with your husband, but instead, you’d spent the past few weeks stewing in bitterness, jealousy, and a deep, gnawing insecurity you couldn’t quite shake.
you’ve always been well aware of who pope cody was. you knew about the jobs, the lies, the things the codys did to survive. and despite pope’s deep entanglement in a life of crime and violence, none of that had ever scared you away from him. especially not when your sweet pope practically worshiped you. throughout your time with him, he never once hesitated to spoil you, to keep you fed and comfortable, to make sure that you were utterly fulfilled. what you hadn’t expected however, was having to watch your husband play house with another woman.
amy wheeler was the target.
amy was soft-spoken, effortlessly pretty, with shoulder-length blonde hair and bright blue eyes. god, you could go on and on about all the great and wonderful attributes this woman had, but it felt like she was the complete opposite of you in every conceivable way. she led a bible study group at the megachurch the codys were planning to hit, and from the beginning, you had hated the idea. you couldn’t stand the thought of pope being used to manipulate someone, even when manipulation was practically second nature to his family.
at first, pope hated it too. he resisted the assignment longer than anyone expected. he’d get all stiff and visibly uncomfortable anytime craig or deran teased him about “wooing the church lady.” but eventually, like he always did, he folded under pressure from his brothers along with the promise that it was only temporary.
temporary somehow turned into weeks.
you endured weeks of your husband getting too close to amy. endured them going on dates, holding hands, even kissing, all because he had to sell it. it also meant that you’d have to tolerate him staying over at her apartment because that was what the job required. he always promised you the same thing afterward, “none of it is real. i’m doing this for you. for us, okay?” but lately the reassurance felt thin and worn-out, like something repeated too many times to still mean anything.
it felt like a slap to the face when you started noticing the change in him. and you hated yourself for noticing.
in the beginning, he would come home tense after seeing amy, irritated and restless, like he couldn’t wait for the whole thing to be over. but now he lingered before answering questions. stayed quieter. less defensive. like somewhere along the line he stopped forcing himself to spend time with amy, and started tolerating it a little too well.
the pregnancy only made everything sharper. or maybe it had made everything messier. you couldn’t tell anymore. but every emotion sat too close to the surface now, raw and impossible to contain. it was hard not to let your mind wander down a rabbit hole as you contemplated just how far he’d gone with her.
there were days when you’d catch your reflection in the mirror. a fuller face, more swollen chest, the growing bump beginning to round out your stomach. it should’ve made you happy seeing the physical evidence of the love you and pope created, but all you could think about was how different you were from amy. you were softer, moodier, exhausted all the time. while amy was easy, gentle, and painstakingly understanding.
to top it off, pope barely touched you anymore. it wasn’t intentional, and that made you feel even worse. he still hovered around you constantly, made you food, checked the locks at night, watched you with that same intense concern he always carried, but the intimacy between you two had become strained and fragile. as if the both of you were waiting for the other to snap first.
the prenatal appointment only made the tension more obvious. pope sat stiffly beside you in the exam room, knees spread apart, arms folded tightly over his chest while the doctor reviewed charts on a tablet. you stayed quiet next to him, absently rubbing your palm over your stomach.
“everything looks healthy so far,” the doctor said with a reassuring smile. “baby’s measuring right on track.”
you gave her a small nod, but the doctor’s eyes flicked between the two of you for a moment too long, picking up on the silence hanging in the room.
the doctor continued carefully, unaware of the exact bruise she’d pressed on. “you know, stress hormones can affect both mom and baby long-term, so emotional support, consistency, reassurance… all of that matters just as much as physical health right now.”
you could practically feel pope withdrawing into himself, the same way he always did when someone implied he was failing at something he cared about.
after you two left the clinic, the drive back home was filled with uncomfortable silence. he didn’t even spare you a glance until he was helping you out the passenger seat.
“i—i gotta stop at amy’s place… but i’ll be back and we can have dinner together. just tell me what you want and i’ll get it,” pope said, his voice soft and careful.
your face immediately tensed at his words, an ugly wave of jealousy threatening to spill over. “okay,” you replied plainly, quickly turning toward the front door to hide your disappointment.
“hey,” he called out, “i’ll be back soon, okay? i love you.”
you gave him a nod as you glanced back to look at him. because even now, after amy, after the lies, the distance, the sleepless nights, pope still looked at you like losing you would destroy him.
older!joel is back! joel is a complete pervert in this, but the reader likes it. +18
older!joel was so lonely (and needy) that he fixed his attention on you: the young, sweet neighborhood mail carrier. yes, it was creepy, but at his age, no decent young woman would notice him unless he had to pay them.
joel waited for you every morning, sitting on his porch with a cup of hot coffee. his gaze was fixed on the street corner, and as soon as he heard the sound of your bicycle bell, a smile would form on his lips.
you pedaled along peacefully, tossing newspapers into the neighbors' yards, unaware of joel's intense gaze upon you. he admired your legs, the way your hair moved in the wind, and your subtle expression of concentration.
joel stroked his erection through his nightgown, imagining that it was your hands giving him such pleasure. sometimes, if he was lucky, you wore light dresses that, on more than one occasion, allowed him a glimpse of your delicate underwear.
soon, you began to notice joel's presence, and a ritual began between you. you would ride by on your bicycle, and he would greet you amicably with a wave, to which you would respond with a subtle smile. once you look back to the front, joel would slip his hand into his underwear and masturbate, thinking of your sweet face.
gradually, he began to take more risks. on one occasion, he came out to greet you as usual, only this time he was wearing just his robe. when you looked to greet him, part of his thick, seeded dick protruded from his robe, throbbing as if it were returning your greeting. your cheeks flushed instantly, and you almost fell off your bicycle at the sight. for a moment, joel thought he had scared you, but the next day you rode by again, acting as if nothing had happened, even glancing down to look for that surprise.
that motivated joel even more, who woke up every morning with an erection at the thought of seeing you walk down his street.
you walked past his street as usual, only this time joel didn't greet you. instead, he gestured for you to come closer, which you did.
"sweetheart, i'm sorry to bother you. my glasses fell under the sofa, and as you can see, my back is not like it used to be. could you help me?"
"of course, mr. miller."
you left your bike in his yard and walked into his house, right into the lion's den. with his hand on your bare shoulder, he guided you to the living room, where the sofa was.
"it must be under there, sweetheart..."
without a second thought, you knelt on the floor and stretched out to look under the sofa. your shorts rode up, revealing the curves of your buttocks and the beginning of your pink underwear. all this happened right in front of Jjoel, who couldn't resist placing his hand on your buttocks and squeezing them firmly.
you jumped, a gasp of surprise escaping your throat. turning around, you saw joel. even more imposing in front of you as you remained on the floor, a mischievous smile accentuating his wrinkles and the gray streaks in his hair.
"i'm sorry, i couldn't resist. you've been tempting me for weeks, and an old man like me can't pass up an opportunity like this. who knows, maybe this is my last week."
his dark eyes sparkled, and his words moved you so much that you didn't notice him slipping one hand inside his robe.
"it's alright, mr. miller. don't worry."
"attagirl. let me show you to the door. i don't want you getting into trouble because of this old man."
before leaving, you noticed his glasses perched perfectly on the entryway table.
For someone whose life has always been ruptured by the hostility of his past, all he wanted was tranquility in his home.
And he couldn’t even get that.
Not when a girl half his age would pester him around the cheap trailer park whenever he went out for fresh air or for anything else that required him to leave the house.
“What’cha doin’?” This, “Can I come?” That. You were basically like a puppy trailing after him, no matter what he was busy with. Leon wasn’t dumb. He knew you had a crush on him.
He was afraid someone might’ve believed that he was making you follow him around and spend time with an older man like him, but he’d never wanted anyone off his ass like he wanted you to give him some peace.
Well, at least that’s what everyone thinks.
Your secret affair began when he was fixing his pickup truck. He would sometimes allow you to kiss his cheek between breaks just to get you to shut up, but with time, those small pecks turned into more intimate kisses and later more than just kisses.
Maybe he wasn’t good with words, but what he lacked verbally, he made up for physically.
Tonight, Leon drove out of town to run some basic errands. Of course, you tagged along, because he had accepted the fact that you going wherever he went had become a routine.
“You didn’t buy the strawberries! Did you forget them?” You whined at him, resulting in Leon tutting and shaking his head.
“I already have strawberries at home, you don’t need more.”
“But they’re not fresh ones.”
Leon sighed with the furrow of his brow that followed. Did he have to explain everything to you?
“Kid, ripe or not, they’re strawberries. And I have them, alright? No more fussing, I like you better when you’re grinning stupid.”
“Fineee.. grinning, right. Only grinning? Or do you… like-like me?”
Oh, he knew where this was going. “I do like-like you, but don’t go around making a big deal out of it, alright doll?”
The corners of his lips turned up when he glanced at your grinning face while pulling over next to a corn field. Usually, when he pulled over, it meant that you could crawl into his lap safely.
Trailer homes had thin walls. As much as he’d love to fuck you against his cheap mattress, the consequence of what would happen after— including complaints— was an obvious dealbreaker to him.
The moment he felt your weight on his lap, his rough palms found your hips to hold you against him. His tongue sought after yours while he pushed your underwear aside under the flimsy and cheap cotton dress you were wearing.
“Already so wet for me? So pretty.”
He shuffled beneath you to open his belt and let his hard dick spring out of the jeans that were restricting him a minute ago. As much as you loved dry-humping and foreplay, he needed you now. And according to how wet your pussy looked to him, so did you.
His lips brushed against yours, mirroring the way his tip was rubbing against your soft cunt before you sank onto his length. Leon’s moans, along with yours, were harmonious and a clear sign of mutual satisfaction. At least you knew he tolerated you through moments like these.
“That’s it, dollface. Fuck yourself on my cock.”
One of his hands tugged your dress higher, letting you rock your hips against him. With every thrust, his soft-pink tip would hit your cervix repeatedly.
Leon lifted his free hand to deliver a loud spank, hard enough to sting until tomorrow, but not too painful either. Your reactions always fascinated him, because even with every spank he gave, you were still determined to ride his cock through the stinging sensation. He expected you at least to stop for a second to let the sharp burn pass, but you didn’t.
“You keep bouncing on my cock like that, and I might just cum if you keep it up, sugar pie.” His words immediately motivated you to hump him quicker, your fingers tracing over the exposed skin of his chest near his neckline.
“C’monnn- cum w’me-“ You babbled breathlessly right before he obliged to your wishes. Your walls clenched around his ejaculating dick, feeling every part of your womb getting filled up by his warm seed.
He kept you glued to him like this, just to keep you full of him for a while longer, rather than driving back home. It’s late, though. You should be home, but the content smile on your face reassured him that maybe you genuinely enjoyed his presence, even if he used to push you away constantly.
And for a moment longer, he just sat with you wrapped around him in the driver’s seat while crickets and windy crops filled the atmosphere around you.
reader who is, unfortunately, a “too honest for their own good” kind of drunk who gets dragged to the bar with tf141.
“kyyyle,” you slur, leaning over the table to which Gaz cracks a smile. “so pretty…anyone ever tell you you’re pretty? like ‘men should be buying you dinner’ pretty.”
soap snorts, an amused smile on his lips. “Ya don’ even get a handsome, just fuckin’ pretty.”
“oi, piss off, soap,” replies gaz with no real heat behind it. “and you,” he starts, bringing his attention backed to your slumped form, “are a shitty drinker.”
you giggle, barely lifting up your head from the table.
price shakes his head, taking a large swing from the pint. “kids these days.”
the laughter dies down, everyone enjoying the relaxing ambiance that’s been so hard to enjoy with missions on end these days. that is until-
“ugh- I’m so horny.”
the table stills, all eyes landing on your slumped form before soap bursts into uncontrollable laughter. his fist slams the table as gaz tries to still the man who’s slightly tipsy and leaning back in his chair.
“bloody hell,” ghost mumbles, crossing his arms. “you’re one them, huh? those honest-to-god-drunks.”
“you shouldn’t be saying those things out loud,” advises price, knowing full well that it’s going to go unheard seeing as you’re shit-faced drunk right now.
you groan, forehead connected with the table again. “you don’t get it. you’re old- probably have the sex drive of a tumble weed.”
gaz and soap have a poor attempt at stifling a laugh and even ghost cracks a small and an unseen smirk at your comment. price doesn’t bother with a retort, knowing you’ll have your regrets when they tell you about this conversation in the morning.
soap puts an encouraging pat on your back. “aye, cmon lass, if ya wanted to get laid, all ye gotta do is ask.” it’s clearly a joke but your head perks up anyways.
“don’t tempt me, cause I’ve thought about it.”
“you don’t say…” his eyes light up with interest.
ghost interrupts with a warning tone. “don’t encourage her, Johnny.”
“too late, LT.” soap stalks around your chair, sliding his arms ‘round back. he leans in close till you pick up the scent of beer on his lips. “tell me, what d’ya think of?”
you match his lean with one of your own, eyes blown wide and curious. “are you rough in bed? tell me you’re rough in bed.”
soap smirks, flashing a charming wink. “aye, lass. why? want my handprint on your ass?” ghost flashes him a stern look but soap merely shrugs unapologetically.
you groan at his answer, “god, I hope I remember that in the morning.”
“we get it. we get it. you’re horny for soap. let’s stop before I hurl.” gaz puts his hand on your shoulders, urging you to drink more water.
“dont be jealous, gaz. you’re in there too.”
and suddenly, the angel on his shoulder disappears. “oh yeah?”
“god, you have no idea how hard it is to work with hot men all day long. takes everything in me to not just give up on the mats and let you just pin me down.”
by now, soap has his phone out, recording this for evidence when you’re inevitably going to try to walk back on your words in the morning.
“would love to be bent over a desk, don’t even care who’s behind me. or who’s the biggest? LT? probably not you then- at least not first.”
you ramble on and on… about how you could get off to the gruff sound of your captains voice alone, or how sometimes you’d be soaking wet through your panties if they praised you enough.
and it’s not until you go into an explicit and ultra-specific scenario that involves all four men, some rope, vibrators, and a blindfold, going to ultra-specific detail about soap in your pussy, price in your mouth, and how maybe you’d even let someone in your ass, does someone do the sensible thing of slapping a hand around your mouth.
“I’m gonna take my hand off’ya, and you’re gon’ be quiet, yeah?”
your eyes glance up to a stone cold stare behind a mask, meeting his gaze before you nod. “good girl.”
his hand slowly withdraws and you’re silent. it stays that was for a moment, everyone unsure how to break the tension left in the air after your revelation…that is until-
“aye, what’s that LT?”
and that, would be the stiffy that’s hardly concealed behind his jeans- perhaps he needs to buy baggier clothes from now on.
you stare at it. then you stare at him. “god, I knew you were big.”
I saw a Twitter post that said “purposefully gave my boyfriend a boner last night and then rolled over and acted like i was asleep so i could listen to him beat off LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO” and all I can think about is dex dex dex dex
self help (ben poindexter x reader)
oh god this is so sexy i inaudibly moaned when i read this.
warnings?: ddba dex masturbating.
it was late at night, you had one too many wine glasses. and a beautiful boyfriend to tease.
dex was laying on his stomach, hands tucked under the pillow. he was facing you and his eyes tracked your movements while you applied lotion to your legs and arms next to him.
he watched your bare legs and exposed thighs and his eyes almost rolled back into his head.
“god, the cold is drying up my skin!” you say with fake concern.
dex’s eyes peer up at your face and down your chest, the bra not doing much covering.
your robe was open and falling off your shoulder and leaving the expanse of your stomach and panties exposed.
the robe begins to overstimulate you so you shrug it off completely throwing it aside.
dex rolls over onto his back, his lips are pressed together and he tries to level his breathing. he takes in the bruises on your waist and hickeys between your legs that he’s left behind from previous encounters.
you rise from the bed, run a hand though your hair while swaying to the bathroom. on the bed, dex begins to grow hard at the sight of you. the need for you increases the more he smells your signature lotion in the air.
dex rolls his head against the pillow in anguish. out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of you standing infront of your mirror, your hands fidgeting with the clasp of your bra.
“too tight” you whine.
dex feels blood rush to his dick at your voice, he watches the bra fall to the floor and fuck.
you were massaging your perfect pretty tits, while directly looking at dex through the reflection of the mirror.
dex had enough and called out your name. his dick painfully twitching in his pants.
“yeah?” you ask innocently while also suppressing a smile.
“i miss you” which usually means he wants to have sex and you know that, but tonight that meant he just missed you while he was away.
you slip on a t-shirt of his and walk back into the bedroom still in your underwear. “aw, i missed you too baby” giving him a smile.
after switching off the lights, you slipped into bed. jutting your ass out while your back faced dex, you snuggled into the blanket.
dex furrowed his eyebrows at the whole ordeal, he inched towards you and snakes a hand around your stomach but you slap his arm away.
“good night dex” you said biting back a smile, god his warm hand felt so good and fuck, all this teasing made you want him too.
dex mumbled a good night and laid on his back once again. his dick was throbbing at this point and any friction made dex clench his teeth.
“baby” he whispered.
then again, a little louder. “baby?”
he peered down at you, eyes shut and mouth slightly opened. you were perfect.
he resumed his position and slipped a hand down his pants, he sighed into the air as he pumped his dick.
all the thoughts circling in his mind were you, your lips, your eyes, your soft hands, your perfect tits and wet pussy.
dex let out a deep guttural moan. his hand worked faster, dex knew he wouldn’t last long. thats the type of hold you had on him.
he whispered your name in a whiny tone that had you pant softly as you listened to him jerk off.
you were regretting all your decisions but still wanted to go through with the plan. “fuck sweetheart” dex groaned.
his eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy and head tilted up.
he spilled in his hand with your name in his mouth. you hear him catch his breath and the sound of him getting up from the bed.
moments later he comes back and pulls you into his embrace after cleaning up.
“i know you’re awake…and you will pay for whatever this was, sweetheart” he carefully taunted into your ear.
you felt goosebumps all over your body at his warm breath against your neck.
his hold was tight on your waist, and he didn’t let go until the next morning after pumping you full of him.
———————————————————————————
oh my god i need to experience dex whining and groaning next to me 😫😫
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Warnings: MAJOR ANGST, hurt, a little comfort, betrayal, confessions, crime families, lies, daddy issues, family issues, issues in general, mentions of death, emotional constipation, insecurity etc.
A/N: Been so excited to finish this series cause i want to start another one, but i know if i do i will not finish this one and i really want to finish this one. sorry for any typos, mistakes, i proofread it like twice before i gave up lol, this was supposed to be a much longer chapter, but i was so excited to post i decided to divide it up. i also donated blood today, also i got a new laptop yayyyy. also happy independence day to all my fellow indians reading this, i hope you enjoy. All feedbacks, likes, comments, reblogs, are forever appreciated.
Word Count: 5.4k (Approx)
Pairing: Jason Todd x Chubby!reader
Summary: “We were wrong.. About everything.” he began, and Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked at him, “Jason, what do you mean?”
“I mean that Robert Castillo is dying, in less than a month. Cancer.” he tells them, and Dick crosses his arms over his chest, “Okay.. so he passes away, but then his son gets the entire business and it continues as it is, we need to completely stop it.”
Jason shook his head, his head leaning down and his eyes never wavered from the folder in his hands, “No,” he swallowed thickly, “No, he..um,” he chuckled humorlessly, “He hates this, her and James, they’ve been planning to reform their dad’s business, for years.” he tells them, and throws the file on the table, Tim reaches forward, but Steph grabs it before he could and they both grapple for the file for a while, before Steph opens it and places it between the two of them so they both could read together.
“My name is Jason Todd," he began, "and I work in security consulting, but not the kind I told you about."
Your eyebrows had furrowed at his words, and your heart started beating a little faster but you didn’t want to jump to any conclusions before he elaborated.
“Okay..?”
Jason sighed, and closed his eyes, pausing for a couple of seconds either to think things through or gather the courage to say what he wanted to you.
He took your hands in his before guiding you to the couch and sitting you down and kneeling in front of you, his eyes filled with an emotion you’d rarely ever seen in his eyes and panic began building in your chest, he was scared.
“Jay, you’re scaring me, what’s going on?” You asked, squeezing his hand gently to reassure him, hoping to calm him down, whatever it was, you both could work through it.
His eyes met yours and you could see the unshed tears in his eyes, it broke your heart to see him that way, your panic escalating as you grabbed his face between your hands and he put his hands on top of yours as he softly whispered, “You..”
He took a deep breath before he continued, “You gotta promise me, that.. we’ll work through this, okay? Please.. Just promise me that.”
“Baby, hey,” you said, your thumb reaching out to wipe a lone tear that’d snuck out of his eye and you were getting more scared by the second, you’d never seen him cry.
“Whatever it is, we’ll work through it, okay? I got you.” His heart warmed at your words, God, you really did care about him, when was he gonna feel love and care like this again?
“I..” he started, but paused again, what was the best way to tell your girlfriend that you only started to date her to get information about her family.
You remained silent, trying to give Jason time to process whatever he was feeling, cause this was clearly something big.
“I knew who you were when we met.” he said, and your eyebrows furrowed again, but you didn’t interrupt.
“I..knew you were Robert Castillo’s daughter,” he continued.
Your face slowly shifted to one of realization at his words. Your grip on his jaw loosened, and you sat there with a blank expression on your face as he began to elaborate,
"The coffee shop," Jason continued, and his voice sounded like it was coming from very far away. "I'd been watching you for three days before I approached you. I knew your routine—when you got your coffee, where you sat, what you ordered.”
Somewhere between his words, your hands had fallen limp into your lap, and your eyes kept blurring Jason every few seconds.
You couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. The room felt like it was spinning around you, and Jason's face kept blurring in and out of focus.
Your chest was getting tight, like someone was squeezing your lungs. Each breath felt insufficient, like you were drowning in air.
"Sweetheart—" Jason reached for you, but you recoiled like his touch burned.
"Don't," you gasped, the word torn from your throat between desperate attempts to breathe. "Don't call me that. Don't—"
But you couldn't get enough air to finish the sentence. Your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might burst, and your hands were shaking uncontrollably.
"Hey, hey, look at me," Jason said, his voice switching into a different mode; calm, controlled, like he'd dealt with panic attacks before. "You need to breathe with me, okay? In for four, hold for four, out for four."
You wanted to tell him not to touch you, not to help you, but you were drowning in your own panic, and his voice was the only anchor you had.
"That's it," he murmured as you managed one shaky breath that actually filled your lungs. "Just like that. You're safe, you're okay."
But you weren't okay. Nothing was okay. The man you'd fallen in love with, the man you'd trusted with your family's secrets just hours ago, had been lying to you from the very beginning.
"I don't understand," you whispered once you could speak again, your voice raw and broken. "I don't... why?"
Jason's face crumpled. "I work with Batman."
The words hit you like a physical blow. Batman. The vigilante who'd been systematically dismantling criminal organizations across Gotham for years. The one your father's associates whispered about in fearful tones.
"You're..." you couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't wrap your mind around it.
“I..” Jason started, his shoulders slumped like he had the weight of the world on it, but it was just the weight of his lies to his world.
“Six months ago, we started investigating the Castillo family.” He started and you stared at him with tears streaming down your face, hyperventilating a bit.
“We thought it was just James and your dad, but then we heard something and we figured out that Robert had a daughter, they thought..” he closed as he corrected himself, “We thought.. You’d know things, and that you might be able to tell us about some of the internal workings.. But I-I swear, everything I’ve felt for you, every moment I spent with you, it hasn’t been a lie.”
You stare at him in disbelief, your brows furrowing as you lean forward slightly and your voice cracks as you whisper, “No, no.. you-you..” You hiccup.
“You can’t stand there and tell me that when you’ve told every fucking thing I’ve ever told you about myself to Batman!” You yelled.
“God!” You turn around and hold your head in your hands as your mind starts to race, you’d trusted him, with everything.
“Sweetheart, please..” Jason’s voice came out from behind you and you shook your head,
“No!” you turned back around, “You stood there tonight, telling me you loved me! How could you do that?! How could you do that when everything between us has been a lie?!”
“Sweetheart, trust me, it wa–” he started, but you didn’t even hear him, every moment from the past six months started flashing behind your eyes, every mention, of your brother, your family, the way you probably fucked everything up by trusting him.
“You.. I… trusted you.. With everything..” you whispered softly, as your chest began to heave again, “I told you things I never told anyone, and-and all this time, you’ve been using me?” your slight sobs broke Jason’s heart, he couldn’t even defend himself, he knew he was wrong, but everything he felt for you had been real.
“I know, sweetheart, I’m sorry, I’m such an idiot.. I’m so sorry.” he whispered, attempting to reach for you, but you moved out of his reach as he came closer, your eyes starting to hurt from all the tears you’d shed, but nothing hurt more than your chest at the moment. Your heart felt like it was about to come out of your throat and attack Jason at any moment, your throat felt raw and dry, and your knees felt like they were about to give in and you’d just fall over and become a pile of heaping mess on the floor.
The worst part was that you actually thought someone like Jason could actually love someone like you, you weren’t perfect, not by any means, but you thought he saw past all that, saw past something other people couldn’t see, saw something in you that only he could see, but all he saw was a tool, someone to bring down your family, and now you in your heart knew, you didn’t deserve love.
You dragged yourself to the couch, and slumped on the floor in front of it, bringing your knees to your chest, as you stared blankly in the space and tears streamed down your eyes, “You made me believe, someone like you could love someone like me..” you sniffled, “And I actually believed you..” you let out a deep breath, trying to control your voice, but you couldn’t help the way it cracked, you didn’t want to be vulnerable in front of the guy who probably sat with his friends and laughed about how whipped the fat girl was for him, how he had been playing you like a violin for six months, while you had no clue.
"What do you mean someone like me?"
You laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Come on, Jason. Look at you. You're gorgeous and charming and confident and you could have literally anyone you wanted. And look at me."
"I am looking at you—"
"I'm not stupid," you cut him off. "I know what I look like. I know that men like you don't usually go for girls like me. But I thought... God, I actually thought maybe you saw something in me that other people missed."
Jason looked stricken. "I did. I do."
"No, you saw someone vulnerable who would be easy to manipulate. Someone who'd be so grateful for the attention that she wouldn't ask too many questions." The pieces were falling into place now, and each one cut deeper than the last. "Someone who'd be so amazed that someone like you wanted her that she'd tell him anything he wanted to know."
"It wasn't supposed to go on this long," Jason admitted, and immediately regretted it when you flinched like he'd slapped you.
"Of course it wasn't." You laughed again, that same bitter sound. "I bet your friends got a real kick out of watching you pretend to be interested in the fat girl whose daddy is a criminal."
"Stop." Jason's voice was sharp now. "Don't you dare talk about yourself like that. And nobody was laughing at anything."
"No? Then what were they doing while you were playing house with me? Keeping score of how much information you could get? Taking bets on how long before I figured it out?"
"They don't know," Jason said quietly. "They don't know how I feel about you."
"How you feel about me?" Your voice pitched higher, incredulous. "Jason, you don't even know me. You-you know a mark. You know someone you were assigned to manipulate."
"That's not true—"
"Isn't it?" Tears were streaming down your face again, but your voice was steady. "Tell me, what was the plan? Were you going to disappear one day? Make me think you'd just gotten tired of me? Or were you going to string me along until you got what you needed and then ghost me?"
Jason's silence was damning, and tears had started to silently escape his eyes too.
"Both, either, it didn’t really matter as long as you had your information, did it?" you realized.
"Please," Jason said, stepping toward you. "Please just listen to me. Yes, it started as a mission. But everything I feel for you, everything between us, that's real. I love you."
"You love who you think I am," you corrected. "Some version of me that fits into your mission parameters."
"I love YOU," Jason insisted. "The woman who makes terrible coffee and sings in the shower. The woman who lights up when she finds a vintage sweater at a thrift store. The woman who brings me ice cream when I've had a bad day even though I never told you I was having a bad day."
"Stop," you whispered.
"The woman who looks at me like I'm worth something, like I'm not just the screwed-up kid who grew up in Crime Alley and—"
"STOP." Your voice cracked. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to use the things I told you, the things I shared with you when I thought you cared about me, as proof that this was real."
Jason felt like you'd ripped his heart out of his chest. "It IS real—"
"No, it's not." You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand. "Real relationships are built on honesty, Jason. On trust. On actually knowing each other. What we had was built on lies."
"Not all of it was lies—"
"Enough of it was." You took a shaky breath. "Was any of it real? When you held me, when you told me I was beautiful, when you said you wanted a future with me, was any of that actually you, or was it all just part of the job?"
The question hung between you, and Jason realized that he didn't know how to answer it in a way that wouldn't hurt you more. Because the truth was complicated, it had started as a job, but somewhere along the way, it had become the most real thing in his life.
But how could you believe that now?
"The feelings were real," he said finally. "Everything I felt for you, everything I told you about how you made me feel, that was all real."
"But the reasons were fake," you said quietly. "The foundation was fake. You were only there because Batman told you to be."
"But I stayed because I wanted to," Jason said desperately. "I stayed because I fell in love with you."
"You stayed because it was your job."
"No—"
"If Batman hadn't assigned you to watch me, would you have ever approached me in that coffee shop?"
The question hit like a punch to the gut because you both knew the answer.
"I thought so," you said when his silence stretched too long. "So whatever feelings developed, they developed under false pretenses. How am I supposed to trust that any of it was real when the entire foundation was a lie?"
Jason opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. Because you were right, and he knew it. No matter how real his feelings had become, they'd grown from poisoned soil.
The silence stretched between you, and his lack of an immediate answer was all the confirmation you needed.
"I thought so," you said quietly.
Jason's face was a mask of anguish, and despite everything, part of you wanted to comfort him. But you couldn't. You couldn't comfort the man who had just admitted to orchestrating the most elaborate deception of your life.
"There's something else," he said, and you almost laughed at the absurdity of it.
"Of course there is."
"Batman is planning to move against your family within the week. If he does, before you and James can implement your plan..."
"We'll lose everything," you finished, the reality of it settling over you like a weight. "The immunity deal, the community projects, James and I will go to prison..."
You sank back onto the couch, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what you were facing. Your relationship was a lie. Your family was about to be destroyed. Everything you'd worked for was about to be torn apart.
"I can help," Jason said quietly. "I can arrange a meeting with Batman, let you explain your plan. Maybe if he understands what you're really trying to do—"
"Why would you do that?" you asked.
"Because I love you," he said again, and this time his voice broke completely on the words. "Because even if you can never forgive me, even if you never want to see me again after tonight, I can't let you become collateral damage in Batman's war."
You stared at him, this man who claimed to love you, and realized you had no idea who he really was. The Jason you'd fallen in love with had been carefully constructed to appeal to you. But who was he when he wasn't playing a part?
"I don't know if I can ever trust you again," you said finally.
Jason nodded, tears still streaming down his face. "I know."
You looked away from, your eyes hauntingly hollow, “But I can’t let my brother go down because of my mistakes.”
It took a second for Jason to register that thought, to realise that the mistake you’d made was trusting him, and that trusting him may just lead to your downfall.
“Arrange the meet up,” you said, coldly looking up at him, “I want Detective Harvey or Commissioner Gordon there, but after that, I never want to see you again.” you tell him, getting up moving to your room and slamming the door shut as Jason stood behind in your living room, alone, left behind in the aftermath of the destruction he had caused and wondered if this is what he deserved.
Jason had been sitting in his car for over an hour at this point, he shook his head and a humourless chuckle left his lips as he realised just a couple of hours ago, he had been sitting here on the phone with Roy, talking about what to do, and now he had just gotten off the phone with Bruce to tell him that he had something important to tell them, and that he’d be home in an hour or two.
He was tired of lying, about everything, to everyone, he was tired about lying about his feelings about you to his family, and he was tired about lying about himself to you, even though he was still lying to you about being the Red Hood, God, how would you have reacted to that? Probably worse. Definitely worse.
Telling you about his vigilante life could’ve been dangerous, and he couldn’t put his brothers and sisters in danger, but God did he want to, he wanted to tell you everything about himself, cut himself open and lay all parts of himself on the table and let you dissect every part of his being, so he could turn his brain off when he was with you and he didn’t have to calculate and think about what he could and couldn’t say in front of you.
He let out a sigh and leaned his head against the car seat as he closed his eyes, you were right to react the way that you did, he fucked up, big time, and in that he had made you believe that you weren’t worthy of love, you — kind, sexy, absolutely lovable, sweet and the one person who deserved love, unconditional love, weren’t capable of love, and he wanted to shake your shoulders and whisper at your face, not scream, no, you never deserved to be screamed at, you deserved all the softness of life, sometimes he thought it was why God had given you all that softness, he wanted to whisper and tell you all of this, but he couldn’t because you wouldn’t believe him, because if everything he’d said in the past six months had been a lie, why would this be the truth?
He started to drive to the Wayne manor, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he thought about what he was supposed to tell his family. He glanced at the architectural plans he had swiped from the apartment while leaving, but that wasn’t something he felt guilty about, this was about saving yours and James’ life, and he would die a thousand times over before he let anything else hurt you.
Forty minutes later, he stood inside the batcave, all of his family standing around the table in the center as a circle and stared at him expectantly, Bruce, Dick, Barbara, Stephanie, Cass, Tim and Damian. They were relying on him for this intel, and whatever personal reasons he had, they knew he would always get the job done, except for now. Because his personal life had blended into his vigilante one, and he stared at them and the folder in his hands and took a deep breath.
“We were wrong.. About everything.” he began, and Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked at him, “Jason, what do you mean?”
“I mean that Robert Castillo is dying, in less than a month. Cancer.” he tells them, and Dick crosses his arms over his chest, “Okay.. so he passes away, but then his son gets the entire business and it continues as it is, we need to completely stop it.”
Jason shook his head, his head leaning down and his eyes never wavered from the folder in his hands, “No,” he swallowed thickly, “No, he..um,” he chuckled humorlessly, “He hates this, her and James, they’ve been planning to reform their dad’s business, for years.” he tells them, and throws the file on the table, Tim reaches forward, but Steph grabs it before he could and they both grapple for the file for a while, before Steph opens it and places it between the two of them so they both could read together.
Tim's eyes scanned the documents quickly, his expression shifting from skeptical to surprised to something approaching awe. "These are... comprehensive," he said quietly.
"What exactly are we looking at here?" Bruce asked, his voice carefully controlled.
Stephanie looked up from the papers, her eyes wide. "It's a complete restructuring plan. They want to turn the entire operation into legitimate businesses. Community development projects, affordable housing, job training programs..." She flipped through more pages. "Jason, this is... this is actually brilliant."
"And you got this how?" Damian asked, his voice sharp with suspicion.
Jason's jaw tightened. "From her."
"Right," Dick said slowly, "the daughter you've been surveilling for six months. The one who just happened to have detailed reformation plans lying around."
"It wasn't lying around," Jason snapped. "She trusted me with it."
The cave fell silent at the raw pain in his voice.
Barbara wheeled closer to the table, studying Jason's face rather than the documents. "Jason... what exactly happened tonight?"
Jason's hands clenched at his sides. "I told her the truth. About the mission."
"How much of the truth?" Bruce asked sharply.
"That I knew who she was when we met. That I was working with Batman. That we'd been investigating her family." Jason's voice was hollow. "She... she didn't take it well."
Tim looked between Jason and the documents. "So she just... gave you these? After finding out you'd been lying to her for months?"
"She didn't give them to me," Jason admitted. "I took them when I left."
Jason flinched at how loud the silence felt at that.
"This is about saving her life. And James's. If we move against them before they can implement this plan—"
"They go to prison instead of their father," Bruce finished grimly.
"Or worse," Jason said. "Robert doesn't know about any of this. If he finds out his kids are planning to dismantle everything he built..."
The implication hung heavy in the air.
Dick studied his brother's face carefully. "Jason, how do you know she's telling the truth? How do you know this isn't just an elaborate cover story she fed you when she figured out who you were?"
"No, she told me all of this before I could tell her anything about me," Jason retorted fiercely. "I know—"
"You know what she wanted you to know," Damian interrupted. "She could have been playing you just as much as you were playing her."
"She wasn't." Jason's voice was deadly quiet. "She wasn't playing anything. She trusted me completely, and I destroyed that."
"Jason..." Stephanie said gently, and something in her tone made everyone look at her. She was staring at Jason with a dawning realization. "Oh my god. You're in love with her."
The words hit the cave like a physical blow. Jason's face went white, then red, and he looked away sharply.
"That's not—this isn't about—" he stuttered.
"Holy shit," Tim breathed. "You actually fell for your mark."
"She's not a mark," Jason snarled, whirling on him. "Don't you dare call her that."
"Then what is she?" Dick asked quietly.
Jason opened his mouth, then closed it, his shoulders sagging. "She's... she was everything."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. "Jason, your emotional attachment to this woman is compromising your judgment."
"My emotional attachment is the only reason I can see clearly," Jason shot back. "You want to tear apart a family that's actually trying to do the right thing."
"We don't know that they're trying to do the right thing," Barbara said gently. "These could be forgeries, Jason. Or contingency plans they never intended to use."
"They're not."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because she told me about the community center," Jason said quietly. "Months ago. She mentioned wanting to convert one of her father's old warehouses into a place for kids in the neighborhood. I thought she was just... dreaming. But it's all here." He gestured to the documents. "Every detail she mentioned, it's all here."
Tim frowned. "She told you about illegal activities? Just... casually?"
"She never talked about illegal activities," Jason said sharply. "She talked about wanting to help people. About feeling trapped by her father's reputation. About wanting to make a difference." His voice cracked slightly. "She trusted me with her dreams, and I used them against her."
Cass moved closer to Jason, her dark eyes searching his face. "You love her," she said simply.
It wasn't a question.
Jason met her gaze and nodded once, sharply.
"Does she love you?" Cass asked.
Jason's face crumpled. "She did. Before she knew who I really was."
Everyone felt silent at the implication again, that Jason, who after years had finally met someone who cared about him, just him, who trusted him completely, and their crusade had destroyed it, destroyed everything.
"I don't know where the act ended and where I began."
The admission hung in the air, raw and painful.
Bruce studied the documents spread across the table. "Even if these plans are genuine, we can't just take the word of criminals that they intend to reform."
"They're not criminals," Jason said flatly. "She's not—"
"Her father is Robert Castillo," Damian pointed out. "Her brother is his heir apparent. You think they're completely clean?"
Jason's silence was telling.
"What does she do?" Tim asked. "For the family business, I mean."
“Nothing officially, she told me before the gala that she stayed away as much as she could and that her brother made a deal to save her, that he wouldn’t resist, be the perfect heir, if he let her go. She got away with occasional appearances during public events, but other than that she doesn’t speak to her father, and I know she would do anything to protect James.”
"They’re trying to get out," Jason began again, "Both of them. That's what this whole plan is about."
"People say a lot of things," Barbara said quietly. "Especially when they're trying to save themselves."
"She wasn't trying to save herself when she told me," Jason said. "She was just... sharing her hopes with someone she thought cared about her."
The guilt in his voice was thick enough to cut.
Stephanie cleared her throat. "So what's the plan here? Because we can't just pretend we don't know what we know about the Castillo family."
"We meet with them," Bruce said finally. "Under controlled circumstances. We evaluate their claims and these documents."
“She asked me to set up a meet.” he tells them, “Apparently, James and her have been coordinating with Detective Harvey, and if he knows, then –” he was cut off by Bruce looking at him with realisation in his eyes, “Then so does, Commissioner Gordon.” he says.
"Gordon doesn't know about our investigation," Tim pointed out.
"Then we tell him enough to get him on board," Bruce decided. "If these people are genuinely trying to reform, having GCPD support would be beneficial for everyone involved."
"And if they're not?" Damian asked.
Bruce's expression was grim. "Then we proceed as planned."
Jason nodded stiffly. "I'll contact Gordon. Set up a meeting."
"Jason," Dick called as his brother turned to leave. When Jason looked back, Dick's expression was carefully neutral. "We'll figure this out."
It was as close to emotional support as the family ever got in front of each other, but Jason heard what Dick wasn't saying: We'll protect her if we can.
Dick found Jason in the garage two hours later, mechanically cleaning his motorcycle for the third time.
"You know that bike is already spotless, right?" Dick said, settling onto a workbench.
Jason didn't look up. "It's relaxing."
"Uh-huh." Dick watched his brother's tense movements. "You want to talk about it?"
"Nothing to talk about."
"Right. That's why you look like you're about to murder that rag."
Jason finally stopped, his hands gripping the cloth tightly. "I fucked up, Dick. I fucked up so bad."
"Yeah," Dick agreed quietly. "You did."
Jason looked up sharply, clearly expecting argument or comfort, not agreement.
Dick shrugged. "You lied to someone who trusted you, manipulated her feelings, and broke her heart. That's pretty much the definition of fucking up."
"Thanks for the pep talk," Jason said bitterly.
"I'm not done," Dick said calmly. "You also might have uncovered a genuine attempt at reform from a major criminal organization. You might have found a way to save lives and reduce crime in Gotham without putting anyone in prison. And you did it because you fell in love."
Jason stared at him.
"Look, Jay, what you did was wrong. But your feelings for her? Those are real, right? They're not part of the mission anymore?"
"They never were part of the mission," Jason said fiercely. "I mean, at first, maybe, but... no. What I feel for her has nothing to do with Batman or the investigation."
Dick nodded. "Then we'll figure out a way to make this right. For her, for her brother, and for you."
"She never wants to see me again."
"She's hurt and angry. That doesn't mean never."
"Dick—"
"I'm not saying she'll forgive you tomorrow, or even next year. But if you really love her, and if she really loved you, then there's something there worth fighting for."
Jason looked away. "You didn't see her face when I told her. I destroyed her."
"Then you fix it," Dick said simply. "However long it takes, whatever it costs, you fix it."
Meanwhile, in the main cave, Tim approached Bruce at the computer.
"The documents check out," Tim said without preamble. "I ran the financial projections, cross-referenced the legal frameworks, even checked the architectural plans against city zoning requirements. This is legitimate, Bruce. They've been working on this for years."
Bruce didn't look away from the screen. "That doesn't mean they intend to implement it."
"Why create something this detailed if they don't intend to use it?" Tim challenged. "The amount of work that went into this... Bruce, they've accounted for everything. Employee retraining, community impact assessments, transition timelines. This isn't a cover story. This is a genuine business plan."
"Criminals have fooled us before."
"Jason's not wrong about her," Tim continued quietly. "I did some digging into her background. Education, employment history, personal associations. She doesn't fit the profile of someone involved in organized crime."
Bruce finally turned to look at him. "What do you mean?"
"I mean she's clean, Bruce. Squeaky clean. No arrests, no questionable associations outside her family, no unexplained income sources. If she's involved in her father's business, she's either the best criminal I've ever seen, or..."
"Or she's not involved at all," Bruce finished.
"Or she's trying to stay as uninvolved as possible while working to change things from the inside."
Bruce was quiet for a long moment. "And Jason?"
Tim sighed. "He's a mess. But he's not wrong about this. We've all seen him on missions before, Bruce. This isn't mission-focused Jason. This is Jason-in-love Jason. There's a difference."
"That difference could get him killed."
"Or it could save lives," Tim countered. "Including hers."
Barbara wheeled up to Cass, who was sitting quietly in the corner, watching everyone with her usual perceptive intensity.
"What do you think?" Barbara asked softly.
"Jason is scared," Cass said simply. "Of losing her."
"And her? Can you tell anything from the way Jason talks about her?"
Cass considered this. "Jason... sees her clearly. Not just the good parts. All of her. That's real love."
Barbara nodded thoughtfully. "You think we should trust this?"
"I think we should trust Jason," Cass said. "He knows the difference between lies and truth better than any of us."
Summary: The first time you sleep over at the manor, and the first time Bruce steps foot in your tiny one bed room apartment.
Asks/requests are open!! Masterlist
The first night you stayed at Wayne Manor felt strangely intimate in a way you hadn’t expected. Not because of the mansion itself. If anything, the manor should’ve felt impersonal. Too large. Too polished. The kind of place where you were afraid to touch things because they probably cost more than your rent. Instead, it felt… lived in.
Warm.
There were books left open on side tables. Half-finished mugs of tea abandoned in sitting rooms. A sweater tossed over the back of a chair that was very obviously Dick’s because no human being besides Dick owned that many neon hoodies. And Bruce—
Bruce somehow made the entire massive place feel smaller just by existing in it. You were standing in the kitchen nursing a cup of tea when he walked in wearing the robe. You physically had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.
Bruce paused immediately. “What?”
“Oh my god,” you breathed. His brow furrowed slightly. “That robe is pink.”
“It is not pink.”
“It’s satin.”
“It’s silk.”
“That somehow makes it worse.”
Bruce looked down at himself with a tiny frown like he was reconsidering the robe for the first time in his life. The robe was absolutely pink. Not bright pink. But definitely some rich wine-colored silk situation that looked unbelievably soft and expensive and absurdly domestic on a man built like Bruce Wayne.
Your laughter finally slipped out. Bruce sighed the long-suffering sigh of a man who’d apparently dealt with this before. “Damian bought it.”
You gasped dramatically. “Damian picked this out?”
“He said it looked distinguished.”
“That child thinks you’re a divorced millionaire in a Nancy Meyers movie.”
Bruce’s mouth twitched. And there it was. That tiny almost-smile he tried so hard to suppress sometimes. You pointed at him immediately. “Don’t you do that.”
“Do what?”
“That little smile thing where you pretend you’re not smiling.”
“I’m not.”
“You literally are right now.”
Bruce took another sip of tea to hide it. Coward. You wandered closer, unable to help yourself, fingers brushing lightly against the silk sleeve of his robe.
Your eyes widened instantly. “Wait, this is actually insane.”
Bruce looked down at you quietly. “What?”
“It’s so soft.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I thought rich people fabric was all for aesthetics. This feels illegal.”
A quiet laugh escaped him then. Actual laughter. Low and warm and rough with sleep. It startled you enough that you looked up immediately. Bruce rarely laughed fully. Not like that. Usually it was restrained amusement. A quiet exhale through his nose. Tiny smiles hidden behind coffee mugs. But this?
This was softer. Sleepier. Real. And maybe because it was late, maybe because the kitchen lights were dim, maybe because Bruce looked so comfortable standing there in his ridiculous robe with messy hair and reading glasses halfway down his nose, you suddenly felt unbearably fond of him.
Your hand stayed resting lightly on his sleeve. Bruce glanced down at it before looking back at you. Neither of you moved for a second. Then Bruce quietly asked, “You tired?”
“A little.”
“You’ve been trying not to yawn for twenty minutes.”
“I was being polite.”
“You fell asleep during the documentary earlier.”
“In my defense, it was about architecture.”
“It was about sustainable city planning.”
You stared at him flatly. “Bruce, that’s worse.”
Another tiny smile. God, you loved making him smile. Bruce set his mug down before reaching out gently, fingers catching your wrist. Not forceful. Just guiding. He pulled you closer until your hip bumped lightly against his. And then, because apparently this terrifying man was secretly affectionate beyond belief in private, he simply wrapped both arms around you and tucked you against his chest.
Your brain short-circuited immediately. “…Oh.”
Bruce hummed softly above your head. “What?”
“You’re clingy.”
“I am not clingy.”
“You literally just bear-trapped me in a kitchen.”
“You walked into range.”
You laughed against his chest, and Bruce’s arms tightened slightly in response like the sound itself relaxed something in him. That was another thing you were learning. Bruce touched constantly when he loved someone. Not publicly. Never publicly.
But in private? A hand at your waist while passing behind you. Fingers brushing your knee during conversations. Pulling you absentmindedly against his side while reading. Small things. Quiet things. Like he was always reassuring himself you were still there.
You tilted your head back slightly to look at him. “You’re really different at home.”
Bruce’s expression softened almost immediately. “Is that bad?”
“No,” you said quietly. “I think it’s my favorite version of you.”
Something vulnerable flickered across his face so quickly most people probably would’ve missed it. But you didn’t. Bruce leaned down slightly, pressing a slow kiss against your forehead. Not rushed. Not heated. Just tender. The kind of kiss that felt like being cared for. “You should sleep,” he murmured softly.
“Mmm. Don’t wanna.”
“You said you were tired.”
“I am.”
“Then come to bed.”
The words were simple. Casual, even. But warmth still flooded your chest embarrassingly fast. Bruce must’ve noticed because the corner of his mouth lifted slightly before he brushed his thumb along your cheek. “C’mon.”
He took your hand then. And despite the size of Wayne Manor, despite the endless halls and towering ceilings and all the wealth surrounding you, walking through the quiet manor half-asleep with Bruce’s hand wrapped around yours somehow felt more like home than anything else.
The first time Bruce came to your apartment, you nearly canceled three separate times. Not because you didn’t want him there. That was the problem. You wanted him there too much. Which meant suddenly you were painfully aware of everything. The old radiator that hissed like it was possessed. The tiny kitchen with exactly three feet of counter space. The fact that your couch cushions sank weirdly in the middle.
You spent an embarrassing amount of time cleaning despite the apartment already being clean. Fluffing pillows. Lighting candles. Hiding the one chair that had become The Laundry Chair. And still, by the time Bruce knocked on the door, your stomach was in knots. Because Bruce lived in Wayne Manor.
Wayne fucking Manor.
Meanwhile your apartment building had a flickering hallway light and a neighbor who blasted music every Thursday night. You opened the door still wearing one sock because you’d lost the other one halfway through panic-cleaning. Bruce immediately noticed. “…You’re missing a sock.”
You stared at him. “Hello to you too.”
His mouth twitched slightly. And just like that, some of the tension eased. Bruce stood there dressed down in dark jeans and a black henley, one hand holding takeout bags from your favorite little noodle place across town. Not chauffeured-driver Bruce Wayne. Not billionaire gala Bruce Wayne. Just Bruce.
Your Bruce.
“You brought food?”
“You forgot dinner yesterday.”
“You remember my meals now?”
“You forget them often enough for it to qualify as a pattern.”
“Wow. Judgmental.”
Bruce leaned down slightly as he stepped inside, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead as he passed. “You’re nervous,” he murmured quietly.
Your eye twitched. “No I’m not.”
“You reorganized your bookshelf alphabetically.”
You froze. “…How did you know it wasn’t already like that?”
Bruce slowly looked at the stack of books beside the couch. “…Because those are still piled by color.”
You stared at him in horror. Bruce kissed the side of your head to hide his amusement. “You missed one,” he informed you gently.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Unfortunately, he sounded very sure about that. Bruce moved deeper into the apartment while you shut the door behind him, and you couldn’t stop watching him. Not because he looked out of place. But because he didn’t. That was somehow worse. Bruce Wayne should’ve looked ridiculous standing in your tiny kitchen setting takeout containers on the counter. Instead, he looked… comfortable. Like he’d already decided this place mattered because it mattered to you.
His gaze wandered quietly around the apartment, not critical, not assessing financially, just observing. The string lights around the windows. The tiny framed movie posters. The books overflowing from shelves because you’d run out of room months ago. The blanket draped over the couch. He noticed everything. Of course he did. “You have more mugs than dishes,” Bruce observed after a moment.
“That’s because mugs are important.”
“Hm.”
“That was judgment in rich person.”
“That was observation.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Same thing.”
Bruce’s smile deepened slightly. God. That smile was unfair in normal lighting, but in your apartment with the warm lamps on and rain tapping softly against the windows? Lethal. You turned away before he noticed the effect he was having on you. Too late. Bruce’s hand slid lightly against your waist as you passed him. Effortless. Automatic. Like touching you had already become instinct for him.
“What?” you muttered suspiciously.
“You’re pacing.”
“I am not.”
“You’ve walked in a circle around the kitchen three times.”
“…This kitchen is like four feet wide.”
Bruce hummed thoughtfully. “Still counts.”
You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I’m being perceived.”
“You invited me over.”
“I regret allowing you to have observational skills.”
Bruce laughed quietly then. Actually laughed. Low and warm and fond. And suddenly your tiny apartment felt warmer for it. Bruce leaned back against your counter afterward, watching you plate noodles while soft jazz played faintly from your speaker. There was something deeply surreal about the image.
Bruce Wayne.
In your apartment.
Looking absurdly handsome while holding chopsticks.
You pointed at him suddenly. “You’re too relaxed.”
One brow lifted slightly. “Meaning?”
“You’re acting like you do this all the time.”
“I spend time at your apartment often.”
“You have been here for six minutes.”
“And yet.” You narrowed your eyes harder. Bruce only looked amused. Then, because apparently the universe enjoyed humiliating you, the shitty apartment radiator suddenly let out a loud metallic BANG. You flinched. Bruce didn’t even blink. “…Did it just do that naturally?” he asked calmly.
“Yes.”
“And you live like this willingly?”
“It builds character.”
“I think it builds tetanus.”
You laughed so suddenly you almost dropped your bowl. Bruce looked disproportionately pleased with himself for causing it. A little later, after dinner, you found Bruce sprawled across your couch like he belonged there. Which was insane. Truly insane. Because this was Bruce Wayne.
Billionaire CEO.
And he was currently wearing one of your fuzzy gray blankets over his lap with a green face mask spread across his face. You stood frozen in the hallway staring at him. Bruce glanced up from his phone. “…What?”
“You look ridiculous.”
“You put this on me.”
“I didn’t think you’d actually wear it!”
“You said it helps with dry skin.”
“You’re Bruce Wayne.”
“And?”
“And you look like a sleepy TikTok boyfriend.” Bruce looked entirely unashamed. Worse, he looked comfortable. Feet propped on your coffee table. One arm stretched along the back of the couch. The face mask somehow failing to make him look any less intimidating. You collapsed beside him laughing into your hands. “This is the weirdest moment of my life.”
Bruce looked over at you quietly then. Really looked at you. His expression softened in that private way he reserved only for the people he loved most. “I like it here,” he said softly.
Your laughter faded a little. “You do?”
Bruce nodded once. “It’s yours.”
The simplicity of it hit embarrassingly hard. Because he meant it. The apartment wasn’t impressive. It wasn’t glamorous. But Bruce looked around at your tiny living room like it was something precious because it belonged to you.
You shifted closer without thinking. Bruce immediately opened one arm for you on instinct alone. You curled against his side while rain tapped softly outside and the face mask on his stupidly handsome face cracked slightly when he smiled down at you. “You know,” you murmured, “if Gotham could see you right now, your reputation would be destroyed.”
Bruce kissed the top of your head lazily. “They’d survive.
