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Welcome, thanks for stopping by! I go by the pen-name mtchee, though feel free to call me as you like. I am a 19 y/o writer-for-fun and aspiring editor and publisher currently furthering my studies and skills in University.
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Summary: TF141 haunts your new apartment, how will you react to their presence?
Word count: 3K
Warnings: paranormal activity, ghost being scary by accident.
Masterlist ->
Note: kinda random but it was fun to write :)
The feeling inside your new apartment wasn't exacty unsettling, it was just more of a...lingering energy that you can't quite pinpoint. Sitting there, in the dark when you're watching tv on the couch, or when you are at your desk working in your room, or simply laying down to go to bed. Its always there. You caught yourself turning your head towards a empty corner in the room, expecting someone to be standing there, only to find it empty. There was four specific feelings you'd get when you were home. All of them being slightly different, but just as intense, you've never felt anything like it before.
Its been two weeks since you moved into the apartment. You haven't noticed anything super out of the ordinary, other then the immediate change in the air when you stepped through the threshold every day. And how you always felt like someone was watching you from over your shoulder. You learned from the owner that the building was built on top of a torn down military base, which made you question in your mind if the building was potentially haunted, and thats why you felt the way you did. But there wasn't enough evidence to prove that theory correct, so you let the thought of ghosts and ghouls fade to the back of your mind while life caught up to you.
"Mmm" you softly groan, slowly waking up from your sleep. You shift under the covers, pulling them up to your chin when you feel how cold it was in the room. You stare up at the ceiling for a moment, thinking about how you have to work in the morning as you take in the darkness of the room. Its unbearably cold. Right as you were about to get up out of bed to turn the air conditioning down, you hear a small consistent tapping sound.
You look to the side of the room in question, confused on what could be making such a noise. When it stops. After a moment of silence, you assume it was nothing, so you sit up and swing your legs off the side of the bed. Suddenly, a stack of books crashes to the ground, startling you at the loud sound it produced. The silence was deafening as you looked into the darkness where the books were littered on the floor. Hesitantly, you flick on the lamp next to your bed, the room lights up in a warm glow.
You huff, irritated at the scare it caused. You stand and walk over to the books. Crouching down to pick them up. When a soft sound of a voice is spoken distantly behind you
"fuckin idiot"
It startles you more then the books falling did. You shoot up from your crouched position and whip around to face the direction you heard the deep voice in. The voice was so quiet you almost thought you imagined it. Especially when you find no one in the room with you. You simply stand there for a moment, trying to figure out what just happened. Until you shake your head and rub your eyes with your hand, you need to go back to bed.
Walking out of your bedroom, you make your way to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Chugging it and putting the glass in the sink. As you set the glass in the sink you hear a faint chatter.
"they heard you-"
Only catching small bits of it. But quickly passing it off as your next door neighbor having the tv on. For your own sake. Before walking into your room where the lamp still is lighting up the room. Getting into bed, ignoring the scattered books on the ground, you switch off the lamp and turn over in the covers. Ignoring whatever the fuck just happened because you have to work in five hours.
You also ignored how the next morning, the once scattered books were now neatly put back in their rightful place.
~♡~
A week later. After thinking alot about that night, you decided to just let it go. You will never know if what you heard was real or not, so why get caught up on it. You sigh, setting down your bag on the kitchen counter. It had been a long day, your bones ached as they longed for a steamy shower. Leaving your bag on the counter, you head towards your bathroom.
Closing the door behind you, you begin to lift your shirt. But right as you do, the bathroom lights flicker aggressively, Making you stop in your tracks. Pausing, you now hear heavy footsteps outside of the bathroom door walking away, like someone was being dragged away. two muffled voices are heard through the door. Both sounding male, one being gruff and stern, while the other one has a giddy undertone to his voice. Its hard to make anything out due to how fast the moment went by. But it scared the daylights out of you.
You freeze, staring at the closed bathroom door in awe. Its now quiet, like you imagined it. But you know what you heard. Hesitantly, you take quiet steps towards the door, before cracking it open. Half expecting two fully grown men to be on the other side. But you find absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Peaking your head out of the door, taking a look into the hallway, before letting out a shaky breath and closing the door.
You stand there for awhile, not sure if you should take a shower anymore. But you decided you had to wash the day away. You lock the door for safe measures before getting undressed and stepping into the shower.
As you stood under the pouring water, you could once again hear from somewhere in your apartment the faint chatter of whatever was out there.
"You scared em-"
You sigh, knowing not to pass that off as your neighbor's tv this time. Without a doubt, this building is definitely haunted.
~♡~
A few days later, you couldn't get the interactions out of your head. It whirls around in your mind non stop. You've come to the conclusion that your apartment is haunted, as crazy as that sounds. You feel insane even considering that, but all evidence points to that. After doing some research online about some personal experiences with ghosts being in their homes, you now feel curious and slightly frightened by the new knowledge that your place is potentially haunted.
You haven't felt a single bad energy since you've been living here. the internet says that means its a good spirit and doesn't intend to harm you, and the internet is always right! You run your hand down your face in exasperation as you close your laptop, shutting off the blinding light as you rub your eyes to fully adjust to the dark kitchen. The light above the stove being the only light source, as it had gotten dark a few hours prior.
Running your hands up your arms, the coldness of the room sinks into you as you look around the kitchen. Now thinking about how ghosts could be potentially watching you right now. The thought sends a chill down your spine. You shake your head with a slight laugh at how ridiculous you sound, you are going insane. You get up from your seat and grab a glass from the cabinet, filling it with water before taking a sip. You shake your head again at your previous thoughts of ghosts. Before turning around to begin the walk back to your room.
When a large dark figure looming in the doorway of the kitchen stops you dead in your tracks. Fear hits you in your chest hard as you stare at the 6'4 figure. The glass in your hands slips from your grasp and hits the floor, shattering across the floor. But you don't care as you continue to be frozen. He simply stands there, staring back at you. In full military gear and a skull mask covering his face. He looks like death itself.
A moment passes of deafening silence, before a gentle hand caress your shoulder in a caring way. Making you whip around quickly, to find no one there. Turning back towards the figure, you find he is no longer there. Letting out a sharp breath, it feels like you took a breath for the first time in multiple minutes. You unfreeze as you look down to the shattered glass on the floor, then back up the where the man once was.
"Fuck this" you quickly make your way to the front door, grabbing your keys from the glass bowl by the door, grabbing your shoes and jacket, before exiting the apartment. You rush down the stairwell and walk to your car in the dark. Theres no way in hell you are staying here tonight.
~♡~
Later that day. You finally gain the courage to go back to your apartment. After hyping yourself up, you finally open the front door, finding it in silence. Like there wasn't multiple presences looming near the door, sitting in shame as they wait for you to get back. You couldn't see the way their heads peak up in interest when you step through the door.
Closing the door behind you, you take in the room. Letting the sounds speak for themselves. Only to find it incredibly quiet. You sigh out in relief as you walk through the house, wishing to find comfort in being home again. Taking a peak in the kitchen, you notice how theres not a single shard of glass on the floor.
A few hours later, you sit down on your bed. Freshly out of the shower and in your pjs. Having the time to think about what had happened over and over again, you realised the things that reside here didn't make you feel like they would hurt you. Not once was there a feeling of evil or malice. The realization makes you question if maybe that ghost really didn't mean to fighten you.
You brush off the thought, You just want to go to bed and call it a night. You hesitate for awhile before turning off the side lamp, hoping there would be no more scares for tonight.
While drifting to sleep, you remain a tiny amount of consciousness as the world fades to dreams. Through your foggy mind, you can make out multiple male voices. Along with a gentle touch once again running across your arm.
"You scared the absolutely shite out of the poor hen" his Scottish accent is very prominent as he talks. Before another voice chips in "I didn't mean to" his british voice is deep as it rumbles through his chest, it sounds slightly guilty as he sighs. The scott chuckles "why did they have to see you first of all people. Id shite myself as well" Another male speaks, he sounds very close to you, you assume he's the one caressing your arm "well they know we are here for sure now" his voice lowers as he turns his head towards your face, taking in your sleeping form with a soft expression "we need to back off for awhile" he says.
Making the Scottish man scoff "then stop touching them" it makes the other man glare at him "then stop trying to knock shit over to get their attention" the scott has a offended look on his face before pointing to skull masked figure in the corner "then tell Simon to stop hovering behind them like a dog every second" Simon's eyebrows frown as he lifts his arms in confusion, why is he getting slander all the sudden?
"Can all three of you shut the hell up" a fourth voice speaks up for the first time "they are trying to sleep" footsteps are heard coming closer to the bed. Even through the haze you could feel how intense his energy is as he stands over you. Mumbling is heard through out the room "sorry cap" the so called caption sighs as he gazes down at you. Soundly sleeping "sweet thing" he mumbles under his breath before turning to the other men "everyone out" footsteps shuffle out the room, along with a small protest from the scott.
You now fully drift to sleep as you continue to hear footsteps throughout your home.
~♡~
Thinking about the voices you heard last night, you weren't gullible enough to pass them off as a dream. Especially after all the things that happened before hand. You lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling once again, sunlight beams through the curtains into your bedroom. Making the room glow. You sit up, its your day off. You stretch your arms out with a small groan.
You couldn't get the mystery men's conversation out of your head. The things that you know is that there is four of them, one of them is named Simon, and one of them is a captain. A likely guess is that they are military. Due to the tactical gear the figure from the other night was wearing, the captain title, and the history of the building. You can't believe you heard all four of their voices crystal clear. Its unbelievable. But unmistakable.
Pulling the covers back, your feet sink to the floor as you stand. Before walking to your bedroom door. Making your way down the hallway, you hear shuffling coming from the kitchen, making you pause. You feel weirdly calm, you can't find it in you to care anymore. You knew they were there, and they haven't hurt you yet. So why let fear take over your life? Sighing, you continue your way down the hallway to reach the kitchen.
When entering the kitchen, you immediately spot the four fully visible men in tactical gear standing casually in your kitchen like they belonged there. A man with a mowhawk causally greets you "morning bonnie!" As he sits on top of your counter, glancing at you but not paying to much mind to you. The darker skinned man who is leaning against fridge greets you as well "Hello" he says politely as he offers you a sweet smile, until it drops suddenly as he takes you in. Noticing how you arent looking through him, but looking directly at him with shock on your face.
"Cap..." he mumbles, eyes still locked on yours. A older man who supposedly is the captain, raises his head to look at him "yeah?" He glances your way with a small smile as a form of acknowledgement, even tho he thinks you can't see him. Before looking back "what do you need?" The silence makes him raise a eyebrow, before realising the way gaz was looking at you. He turns to look at you, taking in the way you glance between the two, frozen in place. "Oh boy..." price mumbles out. Knowing the damage this might cause.
You let your eyes wonder to the man with a mowhawk, who hasn't caught on to the situation at hand. he swings his feet absentmindedly as he looks lost in thought.
You turn your attention to the other man in the room. To find him already looking at you through the skull mask that covers his face. You slightly tense up at the sight of him, he was the figure you saw in the kitchen the other day. Hes stands tall in the corner, looking just as terrifying as before, but now his energy feels almost small. Like he was purposely trying to make himself seem smaller then his large self.
"Darling?" The soft voice of the captain breaks you away from the eye contact. You look towards him, finding him taking steady steps towards you with his hands out, as to not spook a small animal. "You okay?" He questions. As if this situation was perfectly normal. The man with the mowhawk attention is now on you, theres a look of hopefulness on his face as he hops down from the counter.
You don't respond, simply taking them in. The captain reaches you, standing tall as he tries to grab hold of the situation. "Sweetheart?" That snaps you out of your frozen state. Slightly shaking your head away from the shock, before looking at him in the eyes and asking "are you a ghost?" You don't know why you asked that, but I mean what else are you gonna ask. Theres a pause, before a loud cackle is heard through the room from behind him. Price chuckles at the innocent question, he glances back at ghost, finding him adjusting his tactical vest unnecessarily due to you unknowingly saying his call sign.
Price turns back to you "Well... I suppose so? Yes" he answers with a soft smile. The man with a mowhawk shoves his captain out of the way to stand in front of you "'ello bonnie! Names Johnny" he introduces himself like he wasn't a full on ghost standing in your kitchen "ive been absolutely beggin to talk to you since you got 'ere" he expresses loudly, making gaz pull him back from you by the shoulder "alright calm down johnny" he has a small smile on his face.
This is absolutely bizarre. You have to be dreaming right now. From the corner of the room, Simon can sense how overstimulated you are from the four men, making him stalk closer to where you stand. He towers over you as he closes in, making you slightly shrink into yourself on instinct. "They need time to process us" he states. Making the other men go quiet, knowing hes right. Crowding isnt a great idea. Johnny's shoulders slump in disappointment. Simon looks at you, making eye contact "we'll be here dove" and with a blink of a eye, they are gone.
You blink rapidly, they vanished from sight within a second. Leaving you alone in the kitchen like they were never there in the first place.
Ox!hybrid!Simon Riley x Farmer!reader (18+ MDNI) (poll winner)
CW - smut, monsterfucking tbh, unprotected sex, yay. There’s kind of a plot but really it’s just bs. I just write bullshit guys sorry. Just put me down if you hate it. I’m kidding. Love u
Say it with me now, Isle doesn’t do beta read!!! If you see any typos, no you didn’t.
—
“Yea Beth, yea I can take him,” you muttered, phone pressed between your ear and shoulder, sat on the dusty barn floor. You had a bottle in one hand, and a feisty lamb in the other, trying to squirm out of your hold towards the milk.
“Thank you, I’ve called everywhere, not many people are interested in an ox hybrid that hasn’t been socialized…”
The lamb bleated while you situated yourself, allowing it to suckle on the bottle as strands of your hair found their way into your mouth. You spit a few times, attempting to clear them.
“I’ll be at yours in maybe.. an hour?”
You furrowed your brows, nearly dropping your phone as you replied to your friend.
“An hour!? Beth, I thought I’d at least have a couple more? I’ve still got to take the old hay out of the stall is I’m taking this hybrid,” you groaned, standing up after the lamb eagerly finished his breakfast.
Brushing your hands on your pants and quickening your pace towards the older stall at the end of the barn, you finally grabbed your phone to hold it near your ear.
“Yea, well, rescues aren’t convenient. See you shortly.”
The line cut, leaving you to stand in front of the stall, sighing. Goats bleated from the pasture, and a few of the older horses sounded from their trough. The dust seemed to never settle, swirling in the air as you rolled your sleeves up.
Fingers wrapping around the pitchfork, you begun to empty the room of the older hay. You’d used that stall for a sheep that recently given birth, not having the time to clean it since. She’d been back with the flock a few hours later. It’d only been dirty two days, but you felt a little ashamed.
You knew this wouldn’t be the size an ox hybrid usually needed, but it would have to do for now. It wasn’t uncommon for you to accept rescues, especially hybrids. While you didn’t keep hybrids on the farm long-term like you did other animals, you had developed quite the reputation as the last hope for emergency situations.
When Beth had called you, begging you to take an ox hybrid from a repossessed farm, you agreed instantly. Your biggest rescue to date, for hybrids at least.
Once you’d cleared out the stall, you set it up with fresh hay, and a few good scoops of feed. It smelled like straw, smelled clean.
Beth would be getting there any moment, prompting your brisk walk to the driveway as you heard rocks from the long road crunching under tires.
You brimmed your eyes with your hand, recognizing Beth’s white truck, muddy and nearly brown, with a large trailer in tow.
A cloud of dirt kicked up behind the truck as she pulled up to where you were standing, and switching off the engine. Beth hopped out of the drivers seat, slamming the door as she walked up to you, squinting her eyes a bit.
“I know it was short notice hun, but this one was bad,” she spoke as she hugged you, pulling away and setting her weight on her left hip, “not really sure what they had this guy doing, but he won’t speak, and he snorts whenever we get too close. Big boy, too. Probably 250lbs, well over 6 feet.”
You followed Beth to the trailer, crossing your arms as she unlatched the door. Birds sang around you, warm heat shining down at the hinges groaned at the movement.
Shit, she wasn’t kidding.
A hybrid larger than any you’d ever seen, standing in the center of the trailer, hands bound, and a collar with two chains attached to the sides of the car to keep him stabilized during travel.
His eyes were low lidded, instantly trained and tracking both of your movements. His body was covered in a thin, yet solid layer of hair. It was blonde, matching the top of his head. Loose, tan trousers hung from his hips, dirty and torn. His thighs were large, strengthened from years of labor, as well as his biceps and forearms. His nose was slightly rectangular, emphasizing his bullish roots.
But what really caught your eye were his horns. Long and smooth, about a foot each, curving forward at the tips.
Beth stepped up into the trailer, moving slowly as she unhooked the chains connected to his collar, and started to walk him out.
“He hasn’t tried to hurt anyone, only huffing when we get too close to him. About three feet is as close as we’ve gotten. Not terrible,” she called to you, eyes trained on his movements as he exited the trailer.
Beth spoke as if he couldn’t understand her. A lot of people did that around hybrids, people who didn’t understand.
His hooves clacked against the metal until they met dirt, changing to a muffled thump. You were rather intrigued by his hooves, as he still had human hands. Hybrids never failed to surprise you, as they really had no specific look outside of characteristics.
“You’re big, aren’t you?” You asked him, tilting your head as he snorted quickly when Beth moved up to try to remove his collar. He didn’t respond.
Beth sighed, walking over and handing you the chains attached to the poor bulls collar.
“Look, I got shit to do, and none of it involves getting the collar off this brute. Thanks again for taking him, I’ll see ya,” she says all too quickly, packing up her trailer and hopping in her truck.
You grumble and wave her off before your eyes meet the his, which haven’t left your form since you took the chains.
“Do you know why you’re here?” You asked, half expecting not to get an answer, before a gruff voice sounded.
“Hot.”
You paused for a moment, before blinking and nodding your head.
“Right, it is hot out here. I’ve got a stall fresh and ready for you, water too,” you replied, gesturing to the stable with your head, maintaining eye contact.
Though he still looked as tense as before, he grunted, taking a step forward, but not another until you did. The chains rattled quietly, and you eyed his neck.
“Would you let me take that off of you? It’s inhumane,” you said, turning to face him before you would walk to the stable.
He seemed to ponder for a moment, before taking a knee, and then fully kneeling. His eyes, blue and apprehensive, bore directly into your soul despite his obvious cooperation.
You carefully approached him, keeping your hands visible. You held one out, allowing him to get your scent before touching him.
His face and body were littered with scars. Some were shallow, some were deep, and one cleared his upper lip to his eye, giving him a cleft. It almost looked like he was sneering.
You battled with the thick leather for a moment, listening to it drop to the ground once it gave. You made quick work of the bindings on his hands, trusting that he wouldn’t get crazy.
When you stepped away, he stood again. He didn’t thank you, but rather gestured to the stable with his chin as he looked at you.
“Water.”
You nodded, offering a gentle smile while you led him to the stables. His heavy hooves sounded behind you despite his calm pace.
As you entered the stables, he ducked his head, attempting not to hit his horns on the wooden beams. You held your hand out to present the small stall, swallowing thickly.
“I know it’s not much, far too small than you’d like, but I’ll get you situated in a bigger stall in the main barn soon. This is temporary,” you explained, watching his cautious entry into the building, and the stall. He glanced at fresh hay, and then the water.
He moved slightly quicker than he had before, dropping to his knees and dipping his head to the container. He slurped up the lukewarm water in gulps, his eyes fluttering closed.
You watched for a moment, noticing how his long, floppy ears would flick as a fly landed, or how his fur ran up the flat bridge of his nose.
“Do you have a name?”
The hybrid stopped drinking, his hands holding the sides of the bucket as he looked up at you.
“Simon.”
You nodded, introducing yourself to him. When he didn’t say much else, you took that as your cue. You imagined he was tired, and wasn’t exactly in the mood for a chat.
“Well, Simon, I’m going to tend to my chores, but I’ll be back in a few hours to check on you. Please, familiarize yourself with the stables, I’ll be out in the pasture, if you need me.”
He just stared at you, not moving from his kneeling position.
You’d give him some space.
—
You had been fixing a couple posts in the far corner of the pastures for the last two hours, barbed wire snagging your thick gloves every now and again. You’d gotten pricked twice on the forearm, the small cuts dried up by this point.
Sweat beaded down your forehead, and you grumbled softly to yourself as you yanked out a rusted nail from the post, putting the object in your toolkit so none of the sheet got into it.
Normally, the sheep would be coming up behind you and trying to see what you were getting up to by now, but they hadn’t come. You were a little confused, hammering in a replacement nail before turning to see your flock, only to be met with him.
He was standing a few yards from you, staring you down. You weren’t sure how long he’d been there, but a lamb grazed near his hooves, meaning he didn’t just get there.
You wiped your forearm across your forehead, standing up fully and packing up your toolkit. You carried the box over to where he stood, your hand covering the sun from your eyes as the lamb bleating in excitement to your feet.
“Found your way into the pastures, did you Simon?” You asked, offering a light grin as he blinked at you.
Hybrids were a mixed bag. Some spoke as humans did, others spoke sparingly, and some not at all. But they all understood.
“Many sheep.”
You hummed, chuckling softly as you knelt down to pick up the lamb, cradling her to your chest.
“You know why you’re here, right Simon?” You questioned, wanting to make sure he wasn’t confused with his situation.
“Yes,” he replied, glancing down for a moment before his eyes met yours again, “owners before, did not pay. Lost land.”
You nodded, setting the lamb back down and grabbing your toolbox once more while beginning to walk down the hill towards your farmhouse.
Simon followed.
“You know, I’ve rescued a lot of hybrids, Simon. But none have been as big as you,” you complimented, fanning your face slightly from the heat, “did your previous owners work you?”
He didn’t respond for a moment, still following you over the grass.
“Something like work,” he replied, clearly not looking to speak about it any further.
—
It had been a few weeks since you’d gotten Simon. You’d moved him into a larger stall in the main barn, to which he seemed pleased. He didn’t speak much unless prompted, and enjoyed watching you work. He would stand for hours, keeping an eye as you fixed up areas around the pasture.
One afternoon, you stood in front of a rather large hay bale, too exhausted to move it into the barn. You’d already done 10, the smaller kind that were easy to transport. You needed the large bale after a deep clean, it was the stall straw.
Simon had been watching, his ears flicking slightly in interested when you had stared at the bald for over ten minutes.
The hybrid walked up behind you, you could hear his hooves, and smell his musky scent. You turned your head slightly, noticing he was closer than he ever had been.
“I can move it,” he offered, looking at you with neutral eyes, though something in his tone hinted that he wanted to.
You shrugged, stepping aside and gesturing to the bale.
“That’d be a great help, Simon. I need it in that stall,” you spoke, your finger pointing to the stall near the end of the barn.
Simon just huffed. It wasn’t a warning, but an acknowledgment. Like he was proud to do it.
You expected the bull to push it, as that was the easiest way, yet he didn’t. Simon made his way around the large bale, eyeing it for a moment before turning his back, kneeling, and hooking his hands into the twine that held the bale together.
Suddenly, he stood, exhaling loudly, and picking up the bale with ease. His muscles flexed through his skin, showing even through the layer of hair. His hooves thudded against the barn floor, his thighs magnificent as they carried Simon to do what he was built for.
In less than two minutes, the bale was settled in the hay stall, something that would’ve taken you at least half an hour.
You followed behind him, a large grin plastered on your face.
“Simon, that was amazing! You lifted that like it was nothing!” You gushed, watching has he shook his head, dislocating the straw him his hair as he stepped closer to you.
He didn’t reply immediately, just peering down at you for a moment before he knelt, looking up at you.
“Touch..” he said softly, blinking at you with long, thick lashes.
You were a bit speechless for a moment, tilting your head as you cleared your throat. You couldn’t deny the hybrid was attractive, his body nearly fully human aside from his hooves, horns, ears, small tail, and hair. He looked like the burly ranch hands you’d employ for seasonal work, just hybrid.
You reached out, carefully touching his head before he pushed upwards, his eyes closing as a whisper of a smile graced his lips.
He groaned softly, enjoying your fingers now confidently threading through his hair, drifting down to scratch behind his ear.
“This what you want?” You ask softly, kneeling to be at his level.
His eyes opened slightly, still leaned fully into your hand.
“Want you,” he mumbled, barely concentrating on words with your fingers so delicately scratching him, “mate..”
He suddenly moved closer to you, knocking you backwards from your knees onto the floor. You caught yourself with your elbows as Simon’s nose began to press against your neck, mindfully keeping his horns away from your face.
He took a deep breath, his thick arms wrapping around your waist as his tongue gently lapped at the sensitive skin.
“S-Simon!” You squeaked, unsure how you felt about the situation, despite knowing you were surprised.
“Nice to me.. let me help.. want you for mate..” he muttered as he scented you again, nearly drunk off of your scent. But just as quickly as it happened, he pulled back, shaking his head slightly.
He huffed slightly, the warning snort he first made when Beth was getting him out of the trailer.
“What..? What was that?” You asked, scrambling to your feet.
You looked down at him, and he huffed again, looking almost scared.
“Stop snorting, I’m not going away. What was that about?” You asked, this time taking a step closer to him.
Simon clenched his teeth slightly, blinking a few times before a low groan came from his throat.
“Need mate.. want you.. but..” he trailed off, glancing down at your body, and then at his, “I think too fragile..”
Your brows furrowed for a moment before your heart nearly stopped, and you swallowed thickly.
You had heard that bulls often got kickstarted into their rut from random things, especially showing off to a potential mate. That was exactly what the hybrid was doing, showing off his strength to impress you.
But now, Simon was fully restraining himself, especially after he’d gotten a whiff of your scent. Warm, sweaty, straw. You smelled good, you smelled like what he had grown to become fond of in the last few weeks.
He had to pull himself off of you, a moment longer and he wouldn’t have stopped.
He was grinding his molars, panting a bit as he looks towards his stall, and back to you. He stood, chest heaving as his nose twitched.
“I’m not fragile,” you replied, taking a deep breath, “I agreed to rescue you… and that means taking care of you.”
That was all he needed to hear, quickly hoisting you up over his shoulder with a surprised yelp from your lips. Simon carried you to his stall as if you weighed nothing, and set you down on the packed up straw in the corner.
His nose was pressing into your neck again, with surprising awareness of his horns in relation to yourself. His hands ran along your body, pointed black nails dragging against your clothing. Simon huffed in your ear, his tongue lapping at you again. The taste of your sweat on his tongue was driving him mad, the salt satiating his desires for just a few moments every lick.
He groaned and grunted, fat bulge already grinding against your core through your jeans and his trousers. The smell of straw was intense, but his musky scent was even more so. Simon couldn’t help himself any longer, but whimpered slightly, not wanting to rip your clothing. He didn’t want his mate to be angry.
“Clothes.. please.. need them off..” he groaned, nudging your jaw with his nose as he began to pepper kisses to it, his tongue running along the angle.
Your fingers quickly begun to undo the buttons, gasps and soft moans being pulled from your lips as his hips rut against yours. You finally managed to slip off your shirt, and hastily unbuttoned your jeans, shoving them off.
He immediately began to nip and lick at your chest, your hands curling into his hair. He groaned in satisfaction as you gripped, feeling his tongue swirl around your nipple while his hands fumbled with his pants.
You knew this wasn’t about you, you knew not to expect anything crazy. But when his large hands secured themselves to your hips, pulling cunt up to his mouth, you realized you were wrong.
Simons nose nestled into your folds, breathing you in deeply. His eyes were fluttering closed as his fingers dig into your skin. His mouth opened, tongue immediately plunging inside you to lap up everything he wanted.
He didn’t care that you weren’t showered, didn’t care about the unshaven hair on your mount, in fact he wanted it. He needed it. His needy moans sounded as he ate you out, his nose bumping your clit as you whined.
Your hands gripped his hand, hips bucking as he made out with your cunt sloppily. Spit and arousal began to drip down his chin, landing on the straw beneath.
You’d felt yourself getting close quickly, but when his eyes opened again, looking down at you as he ate you out like a beast starved, you knew you were done for.
Orgasm ripping through you, your thighs clenched around him, and one of his hands left your hips. You felt your womb contracting, while his tongue still wriggled inside you. His free hand began to stroke himself dryly, the cock you hadn’t even seen.
As you panted and whimpered, he gently set you back down, moving to press his forehead to yours, and kissing you. His lips were soaked, and his tongue tasted like your sweet cunt. His tip suddenly bumped your folds, and he huffed softly, nuzzling you.
“Want to.. want to.. need to..please need to..” he whined, his thumb brushing over your hip. Simon nipped at your jaw, begging for the okay.
You nodded, spreading your legs to accommodate his as he began to press in, hip head easily slipping through due to your arousal.
Simon was immediately stretching you, his teeth baring as you gasped, gripping onto his hair. His fat tip nudged into you more, begging for your walls to open up without struggle.
“Mmmmf…mate.. my.. mate..” he huffed out before his hips snapped forward, burying his cock up to his knot, which bumped at your entrance.
His hips began to rut wildly, intense, controlled thrusts filling you up each time. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you up like a ragdoll as his cock rammed into your womb over and over.
All you could smell was his musk, the way he smelled of everything barn. Growling and grunting he kept up his pace, pulling soft mewls from your throat. You wanted to moan, you did, but each sound kept getting caught in your throat.
He pulled away for a moment as he thrusted, looking down at you as your eyes rolled back into your head, your tits bouncing in time with your body. Each time your hips connected he grunted. Simon’s eyes raked over you in what looked like adoration, and protectiveness.
His head dipped back down to lap at your neck, huffing as the straw scratched at your back.
“Gonna knot you.. knot my mate,” he groaned out, his thrusts becoming harder as he pulled out farther each time.
You began to moan now, somehow finding your voice again as your fingers moved to your clit, his fat tip rubbing against your walls perfectly. You rubbed the small bundle of nerves before his hand reached over yours, and rubbed with you, guiding your fingers to go faster.
You felt his thrust stutter for a moment as he pushed something thick against your cunt despite already tapping your womb. He did this a few more times, grunting and whimpering before his hips snapped forward, forcing his thick knot into your squelching entrance.
You gasped loudly, your legs twitching as you came again, the bulbous portion of his cock throbbing inside of you as he came, spurting thick white ropes against your cervix, locking the two of you.
His groaned, panting slightly as he nuzzled against you, whimpering as you clenched rhythmically. Your body collapsed, but he was eager to hold you.
He lapped affectionately at your neck and jaw, before rolling over and allowing himself to lay back on the straw, keeping you firmly situated against his chest.
His knot wouldn’t go down for a while, keeping you connected as he hummed in content, huffing proudly.
“Mate happy?” He asked softly, nudging your face with his nose.
You mumbled tiredly, curling up a bit closer to him as your eyelids drooped.
Ghost with demons!
TF 141 with dogs🐶
It's been a while painting full rendered pieces, enjoyed a lot!
Inspired from awesome @yourfaithfulauthor's request.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jason todd x reader ( + dick, steph and damian )
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you and jason are absolute nerds for literature. his siblings finds it hilarious.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: fluff, domestic, crack, makeout, teasing, 1.2k words (short), NERD JASON FOR THE WIN, anyways yeah I just need him, words cannot explain, not edited sorry gang
THE snow had fallen overnight, icing the grounds of Wayne Manor with a cake like quality; white, glistening and thick.
The manor itself felt like it was holding onto winter in its ancient bones. Even here, warmth arrived late and left early, slipping through old stone and tall windows that never quite sealed out the world.
You were in your full winter regalia; a thick, knitted sweater as heavy as a wet jumper and fuzzy socks, one curled up to half of your leg and the other just around your ankle. Of course, long flannel pants and a long shirt under your jumper.
Jason on the other hand was in a usual long pajama. Your back was resting against the couch while Jason was on the other side, but both of your legs were stretched out and constantly rubbing against each other.
Jason doesn’t even have to look down at his battered copy of the poem book; some pages— particularly the Tyger— have their edges curled in some places and ink streaks.
“Yes, but the themes of the poem are the duality of good and evil,” he says. “The tiger is only evil because God made it that way— it isn’t its fault.”
You stretch your legs. “But the poem doesn’t clearly present the tiger as simply evil or excuse its nature. Blake never labels the tiger as evil; instead, he describes it with ‘fearful symmetry,’ suggesting both beauty and danger. The poem is more about why it exists rather than justifying it.”
Jason blinks slowly and in a blink he’s on top of you; pressing kisses to under your jaw while you laugh. The couch dips sharply under his sudden movement, cushions shifting and reshaping around him as his weight replaces empty space. The air changes immediately, infused with something warmer, all the particles drawing together around you two.
“Jay!”
“You’re so goddamn pretty,” he murmurs against your pulse. “And so smart.”
Your copy slips out of your fingers but you don’t even bother trying to grab it. It lands softly on the rug, the sound swallowed by the thick fabric underfoot.
His hand found your waist like it belonged there (because really, it did), steady and warm through the thick knit of your sweater. His head dipped, not quite kissing you again, not yet—just there, his breath ghosting along your jaw, your pulse.
Your eyelids fluttered and your lips parted not even half an inch, but just enough for Jason to capture them in a slow, all consuming, kiss. It’s almost like the logs Alfred uses to light up the marble chimneys, slowly, lick by lick, taking possession of the wood until the warmth is the only thing you can feel, hear or see. Whenever Jason Todd kisses you, you turn a little silly.
“I do not comprehend why they would initiate coitus in the middle of a literary discussion.”
Jason is off you in record time, like he’s been hit with a stun round. One second he’s warm and solid and everywhere, the next he’s back on his side of the couch, book in hand like it’s a shield.
You sit up so fast your head nearly knocks into his shoulder, fumbling for composure as heat floods your face.
In the doorway, there are three pairs of eyes staring at you two; Steph, Dick, and… Damian.
Steph’s grin is immediate and lethal. “Oh my god,” she says, dragging the words out, “this is it. This is how it happens. Foreplay for nerds.”
“Shut up,” Jason snaps automatically, not even looking at her, already flipping a page like he’s been reading this whole time. “We were having a conversation.”
“Yeah,” Steph nods, stepping further in, “I heard. Fearful symmetry really sets the mood, doesn’t it?”
You make a strangled noise and hide your face behind the book.
Dick leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking absolutely delighted.
“Wow,” he says, “I leave for one evening and Little Wing’s quoting poetry and making out on the couch? Growth. We love to see it.”
Jason glares. “You’re one sentence away from getting thrown out a window.”
Dick ignores him completely. “Do you think they rehearse that? Because that did not sound off-the-cuff.”
“They absolutely rehearse every night before bed,” Steph cuts in. “There’s no way the duality of good and evil just slips out during a makeout session.”
“It wasn’t—” Jason starts, then stops, jaw tightening. “That’s not what was happening.”
Damian, meanwhile, is still staring— critically.
“This behavior is inefficient,” he says flatly. “If the objective is physical intimacy, there is no logical reason to begin with poetry analysis.”
“Thank you,” Jason mutters. “Finally, someone—”
“—however,” Damian continues, cutting him off, “given Todd’s well-documented emotional repression, I suppose he requires excessive preamble.”
Steph chokes.
Dick actually has to turn away, shoulders shaking.
Jason looks like he’s deciding between murder and arson. And you’re two seconds away from jumping out of the window and face planting into the snow. With how much your cheeks are burning, the snow would probably melt a perfect circle around your face.
“I’m going to kill all of you.” Jason states, sensing your absolute mortification.
“You say that,” Dick replies lightly, “but you’re the one who got caught mid–Blake seduction.”
“It was not seduction—”
Steph claps her hands once. “Oh my god, it has a name now. Blake seduction.”
Jason grabs the nearest pillow and launches it. Dick dodges easily; Steph takes the hit and just laughs harder.
“You’re insufferable,” Jason growls.
“And you’re blushing,” Steph shoots back.
“I am not—”
“You are,” Dick says, way too pleased. “It’s actually kind of impressive. I didn’t think you could still do that.”
Jason points at the door. “Out. Get out.”
Dick gives you a sympathetic look—completely fake and a hundred percent teasing. “We’ll leave you two to discuss all the exciting details of the poem.”
Steph wiggles her fingers. “Have fun dissecting symbolism.”
Damian pauses at the threshold, still frowning.
“I expect a more efficient approach next time,” he says.
Jason throws the second pillow.
The door slams shut just in time.
You pull the book up over your face.
“We can’t go to dinner,” you mumble. “I’m never leaving this couch again.”
There’s a pause.
Then the couch dips again beside you, familiar weight returning. Warmth follows it, slow and steady, like it had only flickered for a moment.
Then Jason groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m changing my name.”
You grin at him. “You’re going to take my last name?”
“Only if you’ll be Mrs. Hood.”
This time it’s you who leaves the crook of warmth on the couch, and sit on top of him. Jason grins like he doesn’t know what he’s done good enough to be where he is.
You run your fingers through his hair, and this time, it's him who looks all blissed out.
“What were you saying about lambs,” you say. Jason lets out a low exhale. A kiss on his under jaw. “And tigers?”
You remove your lips while Jason is trying to get you back. You place a finger on his lips. “Words.”
He lets out a little grumble and makes out a sentence.
You smile and go down to kiss him again, but this time biting ever so slightly.
summary ☆ kori and donna fuck you in the common room of the titans tower
warnings ☆ mdni, sapphic, pwp, threesome, marathon sex (they literally don't stop), dom!donna, soft dom!kori, loser!reader, oral sex, vaginal sex, anal sex, sex toys, public sex (sorta?), cnc (if you squint your eyes), petnames, degradation kink, praising kink, scissoring, power imbalance, overstimulation
a/n ☆ to the beautiful anon who requested this, THANK YOU. i don't think i'll ever had so much fun writing something
main masterlist | letterboxd
You push the door open and nearly walk into it again because your nerves are so bad. The Tower’s common room is quiet except for the hum of the TV, and there they are: Koriand’r sprawled across the couch like she owns the place, her long legs bare, her hair spilling like fire over her shoulders; Donna sitting upright beside her, posture perfect, one eyebrow raised the moment her eyes land on you.
“You're late,” Donna says smoothly, tilting her head. “What, were you hiding in your room rehearsing how to walk?”
Your face heats up immediately. “I— no,” you stammer, trying to shut the door without tripping. “I just— uh, my shirt—”
“You are flushed,” Kori interrupts, floating gracefully to her feet. She closes the distance in two strides, the heat of her body radiating into you. Her finger traces your jaw, and her eyes gleam. “And trembling. She is so cute when she is nervous.”
Donna smirks. “Cute’s one word. Pathetic’s another.”
You swallow hard, torn between wanting to melt into the floor and wanting to throw yourself into their arms. But before you can move, Kori is tugging at the hem of your shirt. Her touch is reverent, almost worshipful.
“Let us see you,” she murmurs, pulling your shirt over your head in one swift motion. Of course, your arms get caught halfway and you nearly strangle yourself. "Ugh, fuck!" Donna actually laughs out loud.
“Hopeless,” she says, pulling the fabric the rest of the way. But her eyes linger on your bare skin, and there’s no mistaking the hunger there.
Kori’s hands slide down your sides, fingers brushing your waist, your hips. “She is beautiful,” Kori breathes, and the sincerity in her voice makes your knees weak.
Then Donna grabs your wrist and tugs you onto the couch, straddling her lap before you can think. Her mouth crashes against yours hot and demanding. You yelp into the kiss, clumsy and overeager. She bites your bottom lip until you whimper, then smirks.
“God, you’re such a mess,” she says, breath hot against your cheek. “I love it.”
While Donna kisses you again, Kori sinks behind you on the couch, pressing her body against your back. Her lips trail along your neck, slow and burning, while her hands slip under your bra, cupping your breasts. You moan, muffled into Donna’s mouth, as Kori teases your nipples between her fingers.
“Such sweet sounds,” Kori whispers. “She shivers for us.”
Your hips grind forward without meaning to, rubbing against Donna’s thigh. She notices instantly, smirking against your mouth.
“Desperate already?” she teases. She shifts her leg deliberately, pressing harder against you, and you gasp.
Kori unclasps your bra effortlessly, sliding it down your arms, while Donna kisses down your throat, sucking marks into your skin. You’re sandwiched between them—Kori stroking your breasts from behind, Donna gripping your thighs, both of them making you feel so small and clumsy and yet completely adored.
When Donna finally slides her hand into your shorts, you nearly jerk off her lap.
“She’s soaked,” Donna says, her fingers pressing against your panties, smirking up at you. “Kori, feel this.”
Kori’s hand replaces hers, slipping inside and stroking you through the damp fabric. Your eyes roll back, a broken moan tearing from your throat.
“She is perfect,” Kori says, her accent thick with lust. “So wet for us.”
Donna captures your lips again, swallowing your sounds as Kori pushes your panties aside and finally slides a finger inside you. You cry out, clinging to Donna’s shoulders, trembling with every movement.
“Look at you fall apart,” Donna whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Such a good girl, such a sloppy little thing.”
Kori adds another finger, curling them just right, her other hand still teasing your breast. You’re already shaking, panting, grinding down helplessly against her touch while Donna holds your chin and makes you keep your eyes on her.
“You’re ours,” Donna says firmly, almost growling, before biting your lip again. “Understand?”
You nod frantically, whining as Kori works you harder.
Kori’s lips press to your ear. “Shall we make her scream, Donna?”
Donna grins. “Oh, definitely. She’s too cute when she loses control.”
Kori’s fingers are working you open, Donna kissing you so deep you can’t breathe, when you finally come apart the first time—loud, messy, shaking against them. You try to hide your face in Donna’s shoulder, embarrassed, but she laughs low and pulls your hair to make you look up.
“Already?” she teases. “God, you’re easy.”
Kori kisses along your back, murmuring, “She is perfect like this. So sensitive. I want more.”
Before you can recover, they’re stripping you completely. You trip trying to kick your shorts off and nearly fall face-first onto the carpet, but Kori catches you effortlessly, setting you down on the couch like you’re weightless. You mumble, “I’m such an idiot—”
Donna cuts you off with a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. “Shut up. We like you exactly like this.”
Kori kneels between your thighs, her hands spreading you open, her glowing eyes drinking you in like you’re a feast. She leans down without hesitation, her tongue sliding over you in long, slow strokes that make your back arch off the cushions.
You squeak —actually squeak— and slap a hand over your mouth in horror. Donna yanks it away immediately.
“No,” she says, voice dark and commanding. “We want to hear you. Every pathetic little sound.”
Kori hums against you, the vibration sending shivers up your spine. She’s thorough, almost worshipful, lapping at you while her fingers dig into your thighs to hold you still. You’re squirming, whining, trying not to kick because your legs jerk uncontrollably every time her tongue flicks your clit.
Donna straddles your chest, her knees on either side of you. She pulls her top down, baring her breasts, and grabs a fistful of your hair. “Mouth,” she orders, pulling you toward her.
"I'm not— not really good—"
"Oh, shut up," Donna rolls her eyes and lowers herself on your face. "You'll do fine, pretty thing."
You’re clumsy, too eager, teeth scraping before you can adjust. Donna hisses but then laughs, stroking your cheek. “God, you really are hopeless. But sweet. So sweet.” She guides you better, helping you suck and lick, until you get the rhythm, all while Kori eats you out like she’s starving.
You’re overwhelmed, stuffed full of sensation, tears pricking your eyes because it’s too much and you love it. Your own moans vibrate against Donna’s skin, making her sigh in pleasure.
Kori doesn’t stop until you’re shaking again, spilling over her mouth with a cry. She licks you clean, eyes half-lidded, and murmurs, “I could taste her forever.”
Donna pulls off you and climbs down, tugging you upright by the arm. “On your knees, loser.”
You drop clumsily, but they both laugh, not cruelly though. Kori sits back on the couch and spreads her legs, glowing and perfect, and Donna pushes your head gently forward.
“Go on,” Donna says. “Make her feel good. She’s been spoiling you.”
You nod, nervous, and dive in too fast. You’re messy, licking everywhere, your nose bumping her thigh, and you can hear Donna laughing softly above you. But Kori gasps, her hands tangling in your hair, her voice breaking in Tamaranean as you suck and lick at her clit.
“She is… clumsy, but… ohh so devoted,” Kori pants. “I adore her.”
Donna kneels behind you, slipping three fingers inside you without warning. You choke on a moan against Kori’s heat, thighs shaking, body bowing forward. Donna’s breath is hot on your ear as she works you hard.
“You’re dripping all over my hand,” she growls, biting your shoulder. “Such a needy little mess.”
You try to focus on Kori, desperate to make her come, even as Donna fucks you with her fingers rough from behind. You’re sloppy, too eager, but Kori’s body trembles, her cries rising higher until she finally comes undone against your mouth, flooding you with warmth.
She pulls you up into her lap, kissing you deep, tasting herself on your lips, murmuring, “My sweet, messy girl.”
Donna doesn’t let go, she pushes you forward onto Kori, bending you over her lap, spreading you open. “She’s still not done,” Donna says, voice low, almost cruel in its certainty. “She’s going to come again."
Your whole body is buzzing, trembling in their arms, but Donna doesn’t give you time to recover. She tugs you off Kori’s lap, spreading you across the carpet like you’re nothing but pliant clay for her hands.
“Look at her,” Donna says, smirking down at you. “She’s ruined already. We should stop, huh?”
“Please don’t,” you blurt, voice wrecked, cheeks hot. “I— I can still—”
Kori smiles softly, stroking your hair. “She is eager for more. Our precious one.”
Donna grabs your chin, forcing you to look at her. “More, huh? Good, Because we’re not done with you.”
She disappears for a moment and comes back with a strap, black and intimidating. Your stomach flips, you’re already shaking, and the sight of it makes your thighs press together. Donna notices instantly, laughing.
“You’re drooling just looking at it,” she says, buckling it around her hips. “Pathetic little slut.”
Kori slides behind you, pulling you into her lap again, her strong arms pinning your wrists as Donna lines up. You squeal, trying to wriggle away on instinct, but Kori holds you firmly, murmuring against your neck, “Relax, my love. We will take care of you.”
When Donna pushes in in one rough thrust, you gasp, clinging to Kori’s arms, overwhelmed by the stretch. Your body jerks, clumsy and uncoordinated, and you nearly knock your head back into Kori’s chin. She just laughs softly, kissing your temple, while Donna starts moving.
“Gods, look at you,” Donna growls, gripping your hips hard. “Fumbling, whining, and so damn tight. You were made for being fucked stupid.”
You moan shamelessly, rocking helplessly between Donna’s thrusts and Kori’s soothing kisses, your own sounds echoing embarrassingly loud in the Tower’s common room.
When you come again, it’s messy and loud, your legs kicking out like you can’t control them. Donna collapses on top of you, smirking, sweaty strands of hair stuck to her forehead.
You’re panting, ruined, when the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them: “I… I wanna try scissors.”
Silence. Then Donna bursts out laughing, full and sharp, while Kori tilts her head curiously.
“Scissors?” she repeats. “Like the cutting tool?”
Your face burns. “No, no! I mean… with like… girls… scissoring.” You make a vague gesture with your hands that looks more like you’re smashing action figures together.
Donna is laughing so hard she nearly falls over. “You’re unbelievable.”
But Kori smiles, glowing, and strokes your cheek. “If that is what our sweet girl desires… then yes. We will show her.”
They guide you down onto the carpet, Donna positioning herself across from you, legs interlaced with yours. She smirks, eyes glinting. “This what you wanted, loser?”
You nod frantically, already blushing. When your hips roll together, the friction makes you cry out. It’s messy, clumsy, your movements awkward and desperate, but Donna doesn’t tease now. She moans, head falling back, her body grinding hard against yours.
Kori kneels beside you, watching intently, her hand between her thighs as she touches herself to the sight. “So beautiful,” she whispers. “Both of you.”
You’re panting, whining, body jerking with every thrust of Donna’s hips against yours. You lose the rhythm, fumbling, and Donna grabs your ankle, forcing you back into place. “Keep going,” she orders. “Don’t stop until you come all over me again.”
And you do, loud, messy, trembling, your whole body collapsing under the intensity. Donna follows right after, her nails digging into the carpet as she groans through her release.
Kori leans down, kissing both your foreheads, glowing with affection. “Our messy little one,” she says, gathering you into her arms as you collapse. “Always giving us everything.”
Donna chuckles breathlessly, stroking your hair. “She’s still got another round in her. Don’t you, sweetheart?”
You whimper, exhausted but needy. “Y-yeah… please…”
They laugh together, already plotting how to use you again until you’re nothing but a clumsy, ruined mess between them, worshipped and loved even in all your awkwardness.
Kori kisses your cheek softly. “She is brave. And foolish. I adore it.”
They don’t give you time to think. Donna drags you onto the couch, strapping the toy back on, and pushes you onto your knees. “On all fours, loser. Show us that ass.”
You scramble awkwardly, almost faceplanting against the cushions, and mumble, “S-sorry, sorry!” But Donna just grips your hips and slams into you from behind, forcing a scream out of your throat.
“Oh my god ohhh— wait, wait— no, don’t wait, keep going—” you babble, your voice high and pathetic as Donna pounds you, the strap hitting deep in your stomach.
“Listen to her,” Donna growls, fucking you harder. “She’s already gone. Just a stupid little mess.”
Kori lays in front of you, guiding your face into her thighs. “Taste me, my love,” she whispers. “Use your mouth.”
You try, you really do, but you’re clumsy, tongue sloppy, drooling all over yourself. Kori moans anyway, holding your head gently, stroking your hair. “So eager… even when she trembles.”
Donna smacks your ass, making you yelp against Kori’s pussy. “Focus, loser. You wanted this.”
You moan, muffled, trying to lick and suck at Kori while Donna wrecks you from behind. Your own words tumble out between gasps: “I’m—I’m so bad at this— oh god, I’m trying.”
Kori shudders above you, her thighs tightening around your head. “She thinks she is bad, but she makes me burn,” she gasps. “Do not stop, sweet one.”
When she comes, it’s messy, her juices dripping down your chin, your face buried in her heat as you whimper desperately. Donna doesn’t slow down, slamming into you until you collapse forward, still half-licking Kori while you come screaming around the toy.
You slump, ruined. But they’re not finished. Their stamina is stronger than yours, but you are so willing to give them every last drop of you. You'd be happy to die buried between Kori's thick thighs and with Donna stuffing your little hole.
Donna flips you onto your back like a ragdoll, tugging the strap off. She grabs a thick double-ended toy instead, slick with lube. She smirks as she straddles you, sliding one end into herself before shoving the other inside you.
“Ever been fucked like this, loser?” she taunts, grinding down until your hips jerk.
“I don’t think so— oh my god, Donna!” you wail, your voice breaking.
She rides you hard, your bodies clashing clumsily, and you’re already whining, your words coming out in useless bursts: “It’s too much— I can’t— ohhh it feels—”
Kori watches, touching herself furiously, glowing brighter as the sight drives her wild. “So beautiful,” she moans. “So messy. Our sweet one.”
Donna’s weight is pressing you into the couch, the double-ended toy buried inside you both, when you feel something strange building low in your stomach. Not the usual tightening. It’s sharper, heavier, pressure that makes your legs twitch uncontrollably.
You panic immediately. “Wait— wait, stop. Something’s wrong—”
Donna slows the pace, panting, sweat slicking her chest. “Wrong?”
You’re already flailing your hands, cheeks burning. “I think I’m gonna— oh god—” You can’t even say it, you’re so mortified. “I’ve never— what if I pee?!”
Donna bursts out laughing, loud and merciless. “Oh my god. She’s scared of squirting.”
Kori tilts her head, curious, stroking your cheek with a calmness that makes you melt even in your panic. “Is that what you fear? That it is urine? No, sweet one. It is pleasure. Your body is giving itself to us.”
You shake your head frantically, whining, “No, I can’t— what if it’s gross? What if I look stupid?”
Donna grips your chin, forcing your eyes up to hers. Her smirk is sharp, but her voice is steady. “You already look stupid. That’s the whole point. We love you for it.”
Kori presses a gentle kiss to your temple, whispering, “Do not fight it, sweetie.”
Donna starts moving again, grinding down hard, and Kori’s hand slides between your thighs to rub your clit. You yelp, thrashing weakly, “No, no— I’m serious— I’m— oh god—”
The pressure crests, and you scream, body jerking violently as liquid gushes out of you, soaking both your thighs and the couch cushions beneath you. You cover your face in horror, sobbing, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I couldn’t stop—”
Donna is laughing so hard she falls onto her back, toy slipping out of you both. “She is actually apologizing. You’re unbelievable.”
But Kori cups your wet cheek, her eyes glowing with tenderness. “Do not be ashamed. You are glorious.” She lifts her hand, slick with your release, and licks it slowly, humming with delight. “So sweet.”
You gape at her, mortified. “Kori!”
Donna wipes her wet stomach with her hand and deliberately smears it across your chest, grinning. “Yeah, loser. This is you. Soaked and ruined. And it’s hot as hell.”
You’re trembling, embarrassed to death, but the way they’re both looking at you —still hungry and proud— makes something inside you melt.
“See?” Donna says, kissing your forehead roughly. “Not gross. Perfect.”
You’re still catching your breath, face hidden in Kori’s chest, when Donna’s laugh cuts through the air.
“Oh, no. Don’t you dare think we’re stopping here.”
You groan, muffled. “Donna, I can’t, seriously. I didn’t even mean to do that.”
Kori strokes your hair gently. “She is frightened. We must show her there is nothing to fear.”
Donna smirks, strapping the toy back on with quick, practiced hands. “Exactly. Practice makes perfect.”
Your eyes widen. “Practice?! You’re gonna— no, I can’t— what if it happens again?”
Donna crouches over you, her face inches from yours. “That’s the idea, sweetheart.” She kisses you hard, biting your lip until you whimper. “We’re gonna make you gush until you stop whining about it.”
Kori shifts you onto the carpet, lying on your back, your thighs spread open. Her hands are soft as they pin you down, glowing eyes warm. “Relax for us, my love. Trust us.”
But you’re squirming, nervous, babbling nonsense: “What if the couch smells forever, what if the Tower smells forever, oh god this is so embarrassi—”
Donna doesn’t let you finish. She thrusts in deep, the strap hitting you hard enough that your words dissolve into a scream. Kori leans down immediately, kissing the sounds from your mouth, swallowing every frantic moan.
“Let go,” Kori whispers against your lips. “We want it. All of it.”
Donna pounds you ruthlessly, hips slamming into yours, and her hand sneaks down to rub your clit with brutal precision. The pressure builds fast and you panic again, thrashing.
“No, no, no. It’s happening again! I can’t— stop— please!” you wail, tears in your eyes.
Donna growls, her voice rough. “Don’t you dare hold back. You’re gonna soak me, loser.”
And then it hits, your body jerks violently, a gush flooding between your thighs, splattering Donna’s stomach and dripping onto the carpet. You scream, collapsing, trembling uncontrollably.
Kori is glowing brighter now, moaning softly just from the sight. “Beautiful. So beautiful.”
But Donna doesn’t pull out. She keeps moving, grinning wickedly. “Again.”
You sob, shaking your head, trying to crawl away, but Kori holds your arms firmly against the floor, her voice soft but commanding. “Stay, sweet one. Give us more.”
You’re babbling, incoherent “I can’t, I’m empty, you broke me, you turned me into a sprinkler. Oh my god.” But your body betrays you. Donna angles the toy just right, grinding your clit, and within minutes you’re screaming again, another gush spilling everywhere.
They cheer this time. Literally cheer.
“Yes!” Donna shouts, laughing breathlessly. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”
“She is radiant,” Kori moans, pressing her glowing forehead to yours. “A star exploding in my arms.”
Donna slips the toy out of you, leaving a trail of kisses in your soaked thighs.
Your chest heaving, body sticky with every last drop. Kori’s hands are stroking your sides, glowing eyes soft, while Donna smirks down at your shaking form.
“You’re such a mess,” Donna murmurs, tracing a finger along your spine. “And yet… I think you could handle something new.”
“Something… new?” you stammer, voice high and trembling. “I— what do you mean?”
Kori tilts her head, gaze piercing yet warm. “We mean… from behind, sweet one. Anal.”
Your face goes red, legs trembling immediately. “W-what?! I’ve never— oh my god, I don’t know if I can—”
Donna laughs low, wicked, and pushes a strand of hair from your face. “That’s exactly why it’s perfect. You’re scared, trembling… and so damn tight. Made for this.”
Kori steps closer, cupping your cheek. “Do not be afraid. We will guide you. You are ours. Completely.”
Donna leaves the room once again while Kori presses your back to her chest and loops her arms behind your knees, lifting them and leaving you with both of your holes visible. She keeps kissing your neck and cheeks, releasing one knee to tease your clit and then your other tight hole.
"Donna is going to treat you so nice, sweet one. Like all this time," Kori reassures you. "You've came so many times already, you can handle a couple more."
You swallow and you snap your head at the sight of Donna coming back with a different, smaller strap and lube.
You’re shaking, babbling incoherently: “I— I’m scared, I don’t know if it’ll hurt."
"We never want to hurt you, you know that, babe." Donna says, opening the bottle. "You remember your safe word, right?"
"Mmh-hmm." you manage to say, gasping when you feel the coldness of the lube down your asshole.
Kori keeps one of your legs lifted and hooked, while the other lays open at one side of the couch. She is teasing your clit, not really focusing because the view of Donna starting to work in your butthole is amazing.
"You want us to talk you through it, little one?" Donna asks, voice filled with velvet while you see how she wets her fingers with the lube.
"Y-yes, please."
Donna and Kori exchange a short gaze.
Donna smirks, slow and deliberate. “Good girl. We’ll go nice and easy. Nothing to panic about.”
You tremble, hips jerking awkwardly as Donna presses a finger gently against your tight entrance. “O-ohhh it’s so… weird… I’ve never— ohhh!” you babble, voice high and squeaky, knees wobbling against Kori’s strong arms.
Kori hums softly behind you, pressing her chest to your back and cupping your cheeks. “Relax… you are ours. Every shiver, every squeak, perfect.”
Donna wiggles her finger slowly, testing your tightness. “That’s it… yes… so good, so tight,” she murmurs, voice low and velvet. “You’re doing perfectly, sweet one. I promise it won’t hurt long, just… let go.”
You squeak again, clumsy and uncoordinated, hips jerking against the finger. “I-I’m scared, I don’t know if I can— ohhh Kori ohhh!”
Kori presses her lips to your ear, her breath hot and teasing. “Shh… you can. We will guide you. Just trust us. All of you belongs to us.” She teases your clit gently, making you whimper uncontrollably, grinding forward slightly into Donna’s touch.
"Gods, you have no idea how perfect you look," Donna mutters. scissoring her fingers deeper into you. You scream for a moment and you really can't believe that you'd be cumming just for that, but Donna takes her fingers out of you right before with a little smirk. "I'm going to use the strap now, alright, sweet thing?"
You nodd exasperatedly, licking your lips and dropping your head in Kori's shoulder when feeling the tip of the strap in your hole.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" you manage to say for every inch Donna slips into you.
Donna presses you down gently against Kori, who’s holding your legs firmly, and starts moving slowly, letting you adjust to every inch.
“Ohhh— oh my god. I feel so full, ohhhh!” you babble, your voice trembling, hips jerking clumsily as Donna sets a careful rhythm. Kori hums behind you, lips pressing against your neck and ear, teasing your clit in slow, deliberate circles.
“You’re doing so well, sweet one,” Kori murmurs, her hands stroking your thighs, keeping you steady. “Every squeak, every tremble… we love it. Completely yours.”
You try to focus, but the sensations are overwhelming. “I—I’m… I’m gonna— ohhh! It feels tight— ohhhh!” you cry, voice high and squeaky, thighs shaking. Your hips jerk uncontrollably with each push, and Donna chuckles low, amused and hungry. You feel tears forming in the corner of your eyes, Kori kissing them at the moment they fall down your cheek
“That’s it… yes… perfect,” Donna says, thrusting just enough to make you squeak and arch. “Such a messy, clumsy little thing… and so wet. You’re amazing.”
You try to ground yourself, whining, “I can’t… Ahh, Kori! Fuckfuckfuck, Donna!"
Kori laughs softly, pressing her chest against your back. “So perfect... Let go, my love.”
Donna’s thrusts get a little faster, but still careful, and Kori’s fingers slide between your legs, teasing your clit with precision. You gasp, cry, squeal, words tumbling out of your mouth in a frantic, high-pitched mess: “Oh my— Donna, please! Please, don't stop.”
“You’re glorious,” Kori whispers, cupping your face. “Completely ours. So, so perfect”
You moan loudly, hips bucking and trembling with overstimulation. “Ohhhh! I’m cumming! I’m cumming. Ohhh, Donna, please! Ohhh Kori!”
They both murmur praises, stroking, holding, guiding you through it, letting your body quake and gush. You arch your back from the pleasure. Your mind goes fuzzy, overwhelmed by the intensity, clumsy and helpless, utterly ruined.
After what feels like hours, they finally let you collapsed into a heap on the couch, trembling, sticky, and completely spent. Kori drapes an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close so your head rests on her chest, while Donna props herself on the armrest beside you, her hand brushing absently through your hair.
You can barely lift your gaze, blinking through the haze of overstimulation. “I… I think I just saw God,” you mumble, voice high and ridiculous, barely coherent. Your limbs twitch slightly every time they shift or stroke you gently, and you feel like melted chocolate that just happens to squeak and giggle when touched.
They both chuckle at the view. Donna shakes her head slightly. "You're too cute for your own good. You know we just made a mess in the common room, right?"
Kori and you both lift your head for a moment, eyeing the wet spots on the carpet and couch, the clothes discarded in the ground and the terrible sex smell in the room.
"They'll probably dry out," you say shrugging and going back to rest on Kori's chest and taunt your arm over the armrest trying to catch Donna's hand.
"We should go to bed before someone comes to the room," Kori murmurs, with a little pout.
"Yeah, baby we should," Donna nods with a smile.
They don't really let you answer. Kori lifts you effortlessly while Donna gathers all your belongings and they take you to your room, where the three of you squish together in your bed, falling asleep so easily after such an amazing sex.
roy harper and donna troy fucking virgin!reader for the first time ╱ mdni, soft dom!donna and soft dom!roy, fingering, p in v ˚.✦
You’re trembling before the two of them even touch you, standing in the soft glow of the loft lamp in Roy’s apartment, heart hammering so loud you swear they can hear it. Donna’s smile is all warmth and quiet power, her dark curls framing her face like a crown, while Roy leans against the bedpost with that lazy archer’s grin, green eyes soft but hungry.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Donna murmurs, stepping close enough that you can smell the faint lavender of her shampoo. She cups your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip. “You’re safe, yeah? If anything feels wrong, you say the word and we stop. No rush. We want this to feel good for you.”
Roy chuckles low, the sound vibrating through you. “She’s right, baby. Look at you, already blushing so pretty. Makes me want to kiss every inch of that nervous little smile off your face.”
You let out a shaky giggle, the sound escaping before you can stop it. “I—I just… I’ve never… with anyone, let alone both of you…”
Donna’s eyes sparkle. “That’s what makes it perfect. We’re your firsts. And we’re going to be so, so gentle. C'mere.”
She guides you to the bed, sitting you down between them. Roy’s hand slides up your thigh, slow and reverent, while Donna leans in to kiss you first, her tongue teasing yours until you’re melting. When she pulls back, Roy’s there, claiming your mouth next, tasting like mint and mischief.
“God, you’re sweet,” he whispers against your lips. “So fucking sweet. We’re gonna take such good care of you.”
Donna’s fingers hook under the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly. “Arms up, beautiful.” You obey, giggling again when the cool air hits your skin and your nipples tighten instantly. “Look at these pretty tits. Already so responsive for us.”
Roy groans appreciatively. “Fuck, Donna, she’s perfect. Gonna make her feel so full.”
They undress you together, hands everywhere but never rushing, kisses dropped on your shoulders, your collarbone, the soft curve of your belly. By the time you’re naked between them, you’re a nervous, giggly mess, thighs pressed together.
Donna eases you back against the pillows, settling between your legs. “Spread for me, baby. Just a little. That’s it, good girl.” Her praise hits you like warm honey, making you whimper and hide your face in Roy’s shoulder.
Roy laughs softly, stroking your hair. “No hiding, princess. We want to see every pretty reaction. You’re doing so well already.”
Donna’s fingers, slick with lube she warmed between her palms, trace your folds first, feather-light.
“So wet already,” she coos. “Is that all for us? Such a good, eager little virgin.”
You whine, hips twitching. “Donna… it’s embarrassing!”
“Shh, none of that.” She circles your clit slowly, once, twice, until your breath hitches into a giggle. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. This pussy is gorgeous. And it’s ours tonight.”
Roy nuzzles your neck, nipping gently. “Listen to her, baby. She knows what she’s doing. Relax into it.”
Donna presses one finger in—slow, so slow—curling just right. The stretch is new, strange, but her thumb keeps rubbing your clit in lazy circles and the praise never stops. “Feel that? Just one finger and you’re already clenching so sweetly. Imagine how good it’ll feel when Roy’s inside you. You’re going to take him so well.”
You’re panting now, little nervous giggles bubbling out between moans. “It—oh god—it feels weird but… good? Really good.”
“That’s my girl,” Donna praises, adding a second finger after long minutes of gentle scissoring. She pumps them in and out with aching care, curling against that spot inside you until your toes curl. “You’re opening up so beautifully, taking my fingers like you were made for it.”
Roy’s hand slides down to play with your breast, pinching your nipple just enough to make you squeak. “Hear that little sound? Fuck, she’s so responsive. Gonna make her come on your fingers first, Donna? Get her all soft and dreamy before I slide in?”
Donna nods, eyes locked on yours. “Yes. Come for me, sweetheart. You’re safe. We’ve got you.”
The orgasm crashes over you gentle but overwhelming. Your back arches, a high, giggly moan spilling out as you pulse around her fingers.
Donna keeps moving slowly, drawing it out, murmuring, “That’s it, beautiful. You’re glowing.”
You’re still trembling when Roy shifts, shedding his boxers. His cock is thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip. He strokes himself once, eyes soft on you. “See this? It’s all for you, baby. But we’re going slow. Inch by inch. You tell me if it’s too much.”
Donna leans over you, mouth closing around one of your nipples while her fingers keep teasing your clit. “I’ve got your tits, love. Focus on how good they feel. Roy’s going to fill you up now.”
Roy notches the head of his cock against you, rubbing it through your folds. “Breathe for me, princess. In… out. That’s my good girl.”
You whine the second he starts pushing just the tip, but it’s already a stretch. “Roy, fuck it’s big—”
“I know, baby, I know.” His voice is pure soothing gravel, one hand on your hip, the other stroking your hair. “Just the tip right now. Feel how wet you are? Donna got you so ready. You’re taking me so fucking well already.”
Donna switches to your other nipple, sucking harder while her free hand pinches the first. “So filthy and so sweet at the same time.”
Another inch slides in. You whimper, nails digging into Roy’s arms, but the sound turns into a breathy giggle when Donna swirls her tongue just right. “It burns a little… but oh keep going?”
Roy groans, forehead pressed to yours. “That’s my brave girl. You’re clenching around me like you never want me to leave. So tight, so hot—fuck, you feel perfect.”
Donna lifts her head just enough to kiss your cheek. “You’re doing amazing, sweetheart. Half his cock is already buried in you. Feel how full you are? That’s Roy taking your virginity, god, I love you like this.”
You’re a mess of nerves and heat, laughing softly even as tears prick your eyes from the stretch. “It’s so much… I want all of it. Please?”
Roy’s smile is soft and filthy. “Yeah? Want every inch, baby? Okay—deep breath.”
He sinks the rest of the way in one careful glide, bottoming out with a shared moan. You feel impossibly full, split open in the best way, and Donna’s mouth is back on your tits, sucking and biting gently while Roy stays perfectly still inside you.
“Full,” you gasp, giggling again because the nerves won’t stop. “Roy, I—I can feel you everywhere.”
“I know, princess. I’m so deep in this pretty virgin cunt.” His voice drops, filthy now. “Gonna stay right here until you’re used to me. Then I’m gonna fuck you slow and sweet until you come around my cock.”
Donna’s fingers find your clit again, rubbing in tiny circles. “You’re going to come so hard for us, beautiful. Our good girl.”
Roy starts moving, tiny thrusts at first, barely pulling out before sliding back in. Each one drags against that spot Donna found earlier, and the stretch turns from burn to liquid heat. You’re moaning, giggling, whining all at once.
Donna nips your nipple. “Told you she’d love it. Listen to those pretty sounds. You’re taking him so well, baby. Look down, see how your pussy stretches around his cock? So slick and perfect.”
Roy’s pace builds, still gentle but deeper now. “That’s it fuck grip me just like that. This cunt was made for us. Gonna fill you up with so much praise and so much cum tonight.”
You’re lost in it, the slow drag of Roy’s cock, Donna’s hot mouth on your breasts, their voices wrapping around you like silk.
“G-gonna come again,” you whimper, nervous giggle slipping out. “I—I feel like I’m gonna—”
“Do it,” Donna orders softly, pinching both nipples at once. “Come on Roy’s cock for your first time. Let us feel you.”
Roy kisses you deep, swallowing your cry as the orgasm rips through you, harder than the first, your walls fluttering and squeezing him until he groans your name like a prayer.
“Fuuuuck. Good girl, good fucking girl. Milk me just like that. You’re perfect. So perfect.”
They don’t stop until you’re boneless and glowing, Roy spilling deep inside you with a low, praising moan, Donna’s lips never leaving your skin.
After, they pull you between them, Roy’s cock still softening inside you, Donna stroking your hair, both of them murmuring endless praise.
“You were incredible, baby,” Roy whispers, kissing your temple.
Donna smiles against your neck. “Our sweet girl, we’re keeping you forever.”
You giggle again, sleepy and sated, nestled between your two partners, safe, full, and utterly theirs.
summary: damian wayne, in your memories, was the child assassin prodigy who had a horribly obvious crush on you in your shared childhood. years later, your return to wayne manor shocks you when the kid you once teased relentlessly has grown taller, meaner, into his looks... and is determined to make you regret ever tormenting him.
pairing: damian wayne x fem!reader
content: fluff, damian wayne yearns and time has only amplified his intensity, childhood attachment combined with emotional suppression, little mix of jealousy
"That is not Damian."
"I believe you are referring to the growth spurt." Alfred answers, unsurprised at your reaction. "All the masters have gone through quite a change while you were away."
That couldn’t be it. Growth spurt didn't answer for the unfair angles that make up his face, or the way his lashes framed the captivating green of his eyes, or the way his sleeves fit tight around his arms.
You harshly avert your gaze, feeling something hot burn at the back of your neck. Was this a form of punishment, for all your teasing years ago? You sure hoped he didn't remember that.
His looks may have become a weapon of its own, but you didn't need a clear reminder on his temper. The way his glare used to pierce through you, ears reddened in shame when you had pointed out that he was staring for too long, before hurling threats that contained illegal methods of torture and certain death, then storming off in a hurry.
Spying Damian from the corner of your eye, he must've certainly forgotten about you by now. He's probably used to the mass attention from The Gotham Times, enough to forget the mess that happened between you and him. That you made horrible, ruthless fun out of his feelings, taking every chance you could to piss him off, using the fact that his heartbeat would race around you against him.
"Master Damian and you have fond childhood memories together." Alfred comments. "I'm sure he will be delighted to see you."
Is that what it looked like to the adults? The strange push-and-pull you once had with the only blood heir in Wayne Manor?
"Hi." Your voice comes out brash—awkward, not at all the confident persona you wanted to portray. Damian was even more intimidating up close, with his gaze narrowed down on you, emotions completely hidden behind a perfect blank, towering over you in a way he never did before.
"How are you, Damian?" You try again when he doesn't answer. You might as well ask for the foundation of Wayne Manor to swallow you whole. You'll find better use supporting the infrastructure than in this dead-end of a conversation.
He blinks slowly, at least a suggestion that he's somewhat human. His scowl deepens, arms crossed. "You've somehow become more unimpressive, if that's even feasible."
Your jaw drops. Out of everything, forced curtesy, straight-up ignorance, you didn't expect that. It takes you a second to recover, and it only makes you feel more foolish. "That's uncalled for."
"I don't recall you taking consideration of what others think before spouting nonsense." His assault lands roughly, despite his tongue never quickening in its pace or abrasiveness. In fact, his coolness as he directly insults you only buries you deeper in shame.
It's a strong sense of alert, to abort this mission of reconciliation. "This is making me nolstagic already." Your grin splits too wide, desperation seared into your tone. "Good to see you haven't changed either."
His expression darkens, and you've somehow pissed him off with your harmless comment.
"I have changed." He answers briskly. "And I can guarantee that this new version of me... won't tolerate you so easily."
Before you can even blink or process his outright threat, you feel his shoulder brush harshly against yours, bumping you to the side as he walks off.
Yeah... he definitely remembers you.
Damian proves to be relentless in his promise to be intolerable of your presence.
When you had wandered your way down to the West Wing’s kitchen in your Superman pajamas, you’re greeted with a glare from Death himself when you find Damian sitting across the counter.
"Hi." You greet, almost afraid your voice will shatter the pin-dropping silence the atmosphere has suddenly descended into. You really have to stop with that horrible greeting.
His expression sours further at the sound of your voice, as if you've confirmed his worst nightmare really exists at eight in the morning, standing in his kitchen decked out in Superman merch. His gaze drops pointedly to your attire and grimaces, before shoving another spoonful of his breakfast down his throat.
"No trimming Alfred's hedges included in your morning routine?"
Your joke in an attempt of familiarity clearly strikes the wrong nerve, as the only response you receive is the harsh creak of his chair. He stands abruptly with a point to look on forward as he makes his exit, as if you didn't even exist in the very room.
It's fine. It's only been your first day back. He'll warm up to you... eventually. You just have to prove that you're not that annoying kid anymore, who thought poking fun at a child assassin prodigy who harboured grudges like no tomorrow was a smart move.
You’ve still managed to harness some luck. When you open the cabinets, you find it fully stocked with all your favourite tea brands and flavours. Bless Alfred, his kind soul.
Damian does not warm up to you. When you found him resting in the study, laid out on the leather couch, you barely make it past the barrier of the wooden doors before he slams his book shut. The loud echo vibrates through the entire room along the oak bookshelves, freezing the atmosphere before you even have a chance to say a word.
When you take a seat beside him for dinner, he makes it a mission to have a pointed remark for every attempt of yours at small talk. That slithered tongue of his somehow turns every conversation into a violent game of chess, with his strategy as outright assault, leaving you on the defense.
It's tiring, infuriating. This wasn't even punishment; this was hatred.
You’re at your wits end when you find yourself in a moment of surrender, perched at your balcony, watching the starless sky above you. Sleep doesn’t find you easily when the person roomed beside you hates your guts.
You don’t deny that stationing out here in the cold didn’t serve a purpose. At least there was one thing you could still predict about Damian, and that was his habit of lingering on his balcony, only a few feet away from yours, for a moment of reprieve after his patrols.
He’s just come out from the shower, water droplets catching at the ends of his dark locks, dripping small streams down to the towel around his neck. His eyes are closed, head pressed against the brick stone, but a furrow deepens between his brows. He knows that you’re watching him.
Your fingers tighten around the railing, and for once, you keep your mouth shut. The silence stretches, taut and timed with each vivid heartbeat that hammered against your rib cage.
“Are you going to keep staring?” His voice, raw and tired from patrol, finally breaks through the tension. Yet, you can’t conjure a semblance of hope, even if this was the first time he started a conversation since you arrived at the Manor.
“Depends on how long you plan on avoiding me.” You answer truthfully.
He scoffs, a low unamused rumble in the back of his throat. “You are unbelievable.”
Your frown deepens, irritation flaring at his tone. “You’re seriously the one to say that? You’ve been—”
His green eyes peer open, meeting yours. There’s a challenge in his gaze, daring you to address his behaviour.
Swallowing back your insults, you force yourself to look away. “If I'm making you that uncomfortable, fine. I’ll keep my distance. I wasn’t planning on staying long anyways.”
Eyeing his reaction from your peripheral vision, you expect him to be relieved, ecstatic even that you’re leaving after all the effort he's gone through to be a horrible host. You don’t expect to see the rare look of hurt displayed on his face.
Your head twists fully to face him, convinced you must have hallucinated, but he’s already turned his back. His imprudent leave ends with the harsh slam of his door, leaving you alone to the freezing wind whipping at your face. Yet, you feel that being on the receiving end of his hatred is much colder than being out here alone in the dark.
When Tim returns from his mission, you’re practically in tears in the light of your saviour. You love Alfred, but even he is beginning to tend to the gardens more, in an attempt to avoid your distractive antics from his never-ending tasks around the manor. Bruce is a terrible converser outside of the cameras, too tired to put on his charm or his patience when he’s busy sleeping till noon, and off on another patrol by sundown.
Tim, the second closest person you have to your age, and often too insomniac to garner the needed strength to send you away—is your closest chance of normal bantering without feeling like you’re one step away from becoming a murder victim.
"He hates me." You rant, hands resting over Tim's armrest, watching Tim sort through his cases using a system he calls 'chaotic orderliness'. "I’m not kidding. Damian genuinely despises me."
Tim snickers, placing another unceremonious stack on the desk. You doubt there was much improvement from his sorting, but he's convinced it works. "Trust me. Damian does not hate you."
"What will you call it then, Wonder Genius?" You groan. "Annoyance? Irritation? Loathing?"
"Did you know he personally restocked the kitchen with all your favourite tea packets?" Tim blurts out.
Your frown dissipates, his words slowly sinking in. "I—thought that was Alfred's doing."
Tim shakes his head. "He claimed that you would only be more of a nuisance if it wasn't done right."
He continues on, suggesting that he was paying attention more than he led on. "The bookshelves were completely revamped by genre too, even when he finds it distasteful. He also lets you tackle Titus, which he has never allowed any of us to do."
"He has a hard time communicating how he feels." Tim mutters. "Trust me. I’m well aware of that. So, don't take it too personally. He's just processing your presence and what you mean to him."
"Processing?” Your brows furrow. “What could he possibly need to process on such a level?"
Tim tosses you a ‘Are you seriously asking me that question?’ look, but the sound of a loud revving of an engine cuts off his further explanation. You spot the Batmobile entering the cave, its lights blinding your sight as the giant machine stops in its tracks.
The wing door lifts, and out steps Damian, home from his patrol. His domino mask is nowhere to be found, and that's how you witness firsthand that he's glaring daggers into your soul. His gaze doesn't leave you when he shuts the door with a solid slam, even when it flickers between you and Tim, assessing the situation.
For some reason, seeing Damian in his suit makes your mouth dry, eradicating all line of thought from your conscience, leaving you to stare at him speechlessly like a gaping fish. Gone were the silly tights and hooded cape. You don’t recall Robin ever looking that sinfully good, it was almost unfair.
You’re distracted—and the fact that he was coming towards you in a rapid, terrifying pace as if he's found his next victim, steals away precious time for a proper escape. Realising you’re still leaning over the armrest in contact with Tim's arm, who's watching the entire exchange with unhidden amusement, you inch away with your hands raised.
"Damian, if you're mad I snuck into the cave—"
He doesn’t deign you a second more to explain, grabbing your wrist and tugging you harshly towards the exit.
He's definitely mad. His entire body is tense, forming harsh movements as he drags you across the hallway. It takes you a moment to guess where he's heading, when he passes the study, the kitchen, up the stairs—to his bedroom.
He was going to murder you, and no one would be any wiser of his crime. Except for Tim, who betrayed you seamlessly, still typing away at the Bat-Computer after giving you a sarcastic wave when you had twisted your neck, silently begging him for non-discreet assistance.
Damian’s hands never part from you when he slams the door closed with you pinned against the wood. His glower alone is enough to incinerate you.
"What did I do this time?" Your sigh is honest, a tired numbness of this pretense of trying to be amiable with him. Your ability to read his deflecting moods has long gone dormant.
"Did you seriously think it wouldn't affect me?" He sneers. "You've made a big show of making Drake the next victim of your tiring schemes."
Your lips part, brows creased in frustration. "What are you talking about?"
"Isn't it enough?" He snaps. "Driving me insane with your presence. Now, you must attack Drake as well?"
"I am not doing anything!"
"Really?" He scoffs. "So, you laughing over his jokes during dinner, finding him in the Cave, asking him to show you around the city as if you didn't live in it yourself once—it's all just you naturally being insufferable?"
Your brows furrow in utter confusion. This sounds maniacal, and... seething with jealousy?
"It's not like I can ask you.” You retort. "You'll probably blow up the city before you would even consider the suggestion of showing me around."
"I would never consider taking you anywhere." He hisses.
"Exactly—"
"You'll just wrap me around your finger, and render me incapable of all sense."
"...What?"
"You're a weakness." He mutters. "Being around you only amplifies this fact. But—"
"I refuse to let you parade around Drake." Inching closer to you, you can’t tell if his desperate refusal is pointed at you… or himself. "That will only ruin me more."
Your lips part and close, shock visible in every nerve pulled from your facial expression. "You sound... jealous."
His jaw ticks, and he stares down at you, lips pursed.
"So, what if I am?"
His hands come up to either side of your face, trapping you with nowhere to face but his cold expression. His eyes have darkened to an almost-black, swarmed by his pupils that are focused on you.
"What will you do then?" He mocks. "Will you terrorise me? Laugh in my face? Trample my heart and smile as if you didn't do anything?"
"I'm curious." His voice grows bitter, almost resentful. "Just how will you torture me this time?"
His question sucks all the oxygen out of your lungs. There's something all-consuming about his gaze, staring at you with such vivid conflict, a desperation swirled with frustration... and longing.
"I thought your crush on me was over." You whisper.
His jaw flexes, annoyance on full display. "Of course, you would still use that infuriating term."
You don't even have time to process it. His lips meet yours in a harsh clash, but it's only fitting that a kiss broken out between the two of you would be a fight of push-and-pull. You've long driven each other mad, and now this tension, dragged to its peak, has finally crashed—and it feels akin to tectonic plates shifting off-course.
You expect him to push you off when he realises his impulsive mistake—or pull you closer, you don't know. In his strength, he can easily do it. Break this kiss and berate you as he once did, cheeks flushed and rage consuming his vision.
Yet, you find your hands tangling into his hair, releasing a series of groans that sound inhuman coming from his mouth. He chases your every movement, consumes, and you're left with nothing to hold onto, to think of—but him.
His hands find their way through your hair, maneuvering you easily to slot your lips however he wanted against him. You've never felt him so unrestrained, so destroyed and desire-driven.
"Damian." You gasp, twisting your head when you realise just how intense the session was getting. You still didn't know his intentions, the reason why he dragged you into his room. "Wait, we need to talk."
He's half-conscious, kisses peppering your jaw from the access you've given, and when he finally stops, parting just enough for you to face him again without him attacking you—you sense his impatience, his detested longing bridling right below his mask.
“Did you ever think about me?” His question comes out softer than you expected, weak and hoarse from his lips that are bitten.
“What?" You breathe out, chest still heaving from the intensity only he could create. "Of course I did.”
Suspicion clouds his gaze, because for some reason, he can’t seem to fathom that you’re wrapped around his finger just as much as he claims to be around yours.
“Why did you think I teased you so much?” You confess. “I was a silly kid, who had a big crush on a boy who refused to admit he has a heart! I wanted to get a reaction out of you... because it proved to me that you liked me even half as much.”
His frown deepens, unsatisfied. "Yet, you don't even remember."
Your brows furrow. "Remember?"
"The—" The rarest shame coats his features. "Promise you made. Before you left."
You try to recall a promise, anything you must've said that remained in his memory for as long as it did. Before you left—yes, Damian had bid you farewell. If you could call it that.
"You're leaving." Damian states. It's a fact, not a question.
Honestly, you thought he'd be more pleased. He was always going on about how you were a distraction, a nuisance, and some other colourful vocabulary you've added to your adjectives list for your English homework, which you'd proudly shown him in retaliation.
Yet, here he was, standing at the front door like a barrier to the outside world, staring holes into your luggage as if it had done a personal crime against him. Knowing how easily offended he could get, maybe the wheels ran over his polished shoes once.
"I'm not leaving forever." You tease. "Promise I won't let you be free of me so easily.
"Who says I want you back?" He scoffs, ears reddening as he averts his gaze. "You'll just cause more problems, as you always do."
You grin, hand parting from your luggage handle and tackling him into a hug. He lets out a string of curses, all Arabic and undecodable to you. Still, he doesn't push you off like you expect. Maybe he's deigning you some honour, because this will be the last you'll see him in a really long time.
"I'll come back soon." You promise. Casually. In an after-thought. Unknowing of its effects on a boy who took each promise as a solemn vow. "So you won't be alone in this big, lonely manor all by yourself. Who else will you threaten to kill at six in the morning?"
You feel the stutter of his voice, the huffs in his breath as he tries to restrain himself. Cute.
You part from him, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek just to tease him further. His cheeks blossom that signature red and you see the sizzling in his gaze, like he's ready to blow from shame and rage.
"Don't change, Dami." You murmur. "I want everything just the way it is now when I come back."
You never expected him to hold you to a ten years old promise. You wouldn't have remembered it, if it weren't for the look he was giving you now. Your vision was fracturing, multiplying with the Damian of your past and the one right in front of you.
Right. Back then—hadn't he looked at you in this same way? With a quiet, desperate plea to not leave him alone? It had stuck with you, as the car turned away from the Manor, watching his silhouette disappear into a smaller frame at the door, unmoving till you were out of reach.
"You waited." Realisation creeps in with an unexpected guilt. He held you to that promise. That’s why he kept the arrangement of the books the same way in the study, and the tea packets, and your room.
"And you came back." He huffs. "Carelessly smiling as if you had forgotten. I should've guessed that you did. You handled promises as easily as you handled my heart."
"We were kids—" You splutter.
His gaze narrows. "I was four when my grandfather handed me the expectations he had of his heir. Six when I understood what an assassination attempt meant. Eight when I learnt not to flinch when ending a life. How much do you think promises are worth to a boy who went down that path?"
"...Everything." You whisper.
"Everything." He mutters. "You had always been different. Light, free of burdens. I despised you for it, and… I craved your normalcy. You made me feel human, and I had mistaken that for weakness. When you left, I realised then that your absence felt worse than keeping any weaknesses near."
"Dami..."
His body shudders involuntarily at your call, arms still caged around you. He grits his teeth, glare enough to pierce through your skin. "Don't do that."
"I'm not pitying you." You answer, even if he hasn't uttered his accusation. You can see it in his vulnerability, how it aches for him to even admit this to you. That you matter, and your promises matter.
"I'm sorry I didn't keep my promise." Your hand comes up to cup his cheek, and his lashes flutter, shock registering at your warm touch. He doesn't pull away, even when conflict arises in his gaze. "I really am. I know you think I'm some trickster, and that you can't depend on my words."
"But truthfully, I was most excited to see you." You admit. "I had been away for so long, but whenever I thought of Gotham, of home, I thought of you. I wondered about how you must've become so much stronger, smarter, and still carried that heart you tried so desperately to keep hidden. That you were the most capable, and striking boy I ever laid my eyes on."
"Now, I see who you've grown up to be." You exhale, eyes tracing over his features, and you can't help but smile. "Even all of my dreams couldn't have pictured who you are now. You're amazing, Dami, and I'm sorry if I ever made you feel small, or unworthy of promises."
Pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, as you once did when you were children, you think it's time you made a proper promise. One you'll remember, and one you hope he'll give you a chance to keep. "I've fallen for you, Dami. Whatever crush I had on you when we were kids? It pales in comparison to this—snowballed into something even I can't control."
"I'm here now." You remind him. "With a promise to stay. I'm no longer that silly kid, who runs her mouth without thinking. I keep my promises, especially if it's for the one right in front of me, who's taken my heart from the first moment I laid my eyes on him."
A low rumble escapes his chest, satisfaction hidden within his features. In moments like this, he really reminds you of a feline. Hard to please, and yet, you find yourself in awe of that soft glow in his eyes.
“You’re mistaken.” He murmurs, and your heart drops. “What I feel for you is not even close to half.”
"I waited, even when I knew the chances of you remembering was close to zero." He admits. "Because I chose you. From the moment you entered my life, my heart already sealed its fate to yours, even if you hadn't known."
"I would've kept waiting—and if you took too long." He leans in, nose brushing against yours. "I would find you. And make you live up to that promise."
"And now?" He smirks, turning his head as his lips brush against your palm. Even a soft touch like that was enough to make your heart combust, and the trace of his lips makes you hyperaware of your own, still swollen from the kiss earlier. It's the intimacy, the way he's completely unraveled in your hands that reminds you of just how much power you have over him.
"I'm holding you to your new promise." He mutters. "You'll stay. In Gotham, with me."
You nod breathlessly. "I'm staying."
"Good." Even in his composure, you sense the drop of his shoulders, his relief in hearing you say it again. "You have a lot of wasted time to make up for."
"How should I make up for lost time?" You tease, lashes fluttering as your gaze diverts between his lips and his darkened gaze.
"I'm sure you've invented all sorts of new ways to terrorise me." His voice deepens into a dangerous lure, rendering you speechless. "I'll give you some freedom to explore that."
Your hand still lingering on his cheek traces past the corner of his mouth, right over his lip. His gaze lowers to your touch, and you sense the impatience that slips through his restraint.
You tilt his head to face you, and he's waiting. You never realised how patient he was when it came to you.
Leaning closer, your lips brush over his again, and you feel his fingers still tangled in your hair tighten, inching you closer.
"Is this allowed?" You tease, gaze flickering back up to his.
He huffs out a low breath, and when he descends, you get your answer. Damian Wayne has always held restraint like a perfected soldier, but when it came to you... he finds that control is an overrated concept.
Now that you're finally here, in his arms, all his, he's making you live up to your promise.
extra:
timmybird: have you guys worked on processing his feelings? ;)
likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333
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Summary: You and Jason have been dating for five months now and you still haven’t had sex. Of course he’s been nothing if not respectful about it but you’re starting to wonder whether he’s actually okay with it. So you ask him.
Warnings and A/N: smut smut smut!! fem reader, established relationship. porn with SOME plot. basically reader is afraid of intercourse. they have had oral sex but no penetration! whether you consider reader a virgin in this case is up to you. smut tags/tw: A LOT of oral sex (fem receiving), outercourse, NO intercourse, groping (??) and above the clothes action. Jason MAY cum in his pants👀. also a bit of body worship? and you’re kinda freaky in the middle of this but meh. also, humping and face riding:)
Words: 2.4k
You keep flexing the paperback in your hands, rubbing the already worn-out pages between your fingertips. Over and over again you read the same paragraph, your mind simply won’t focus on what you want it to. Still trying not to be too obvious with your uneasiness you look up at Jason.
He’s sitting across from you on the sofa, legs bent in front of him and linked with yours. His arm is resting on the headrest while he holds a copy of Wuthering Heights with his free hand. For a moment you get lost in his scrunched up features, in his gaze that softly caresses the pages and in the ups-and-downs of his chest.
He turns the page and you remember where you are. You’re in his apartment. It’s Friday night. Date night. Your sweetheart of a boyfriend invited you into his home, cooked you dinner and suggested a quiet evening reading together. It’s not anything new; you read your books separately and every once in a while you interrupt each other to make a comment or to share a thought.
Yet you hadn’t said a word since you sat down. Jason must have noticed by now. Mr Batman-Is-My-Father-And-Mentor must have noticed you haven’t turned a page all evening.
Your initial intentions really were of reading but lately there’s only been one thought on your mind: sex. Okay, well, not like that. More like the lack thereof. You’ve been dating for little over five months now and it’s not like you haven’t done anything. Some fooling around, some oral on both sides but nothing more than that and honestly, you can’t but wonder if he’s getting bored of that. He’s been nothing if not patient and understanding (as one should be of course) but that doesn’t mean he can’t have desires.
Logically you know he won’t lose interest because you’re not ready for “traditional sex” but that little voice inside your head haunts you. It feels like you’re just waiting for him to get tired of you and your issues.
You should talk to him about it, you know you should.
You look up, his eyes are still fixated on his book. You bite your lip and take a trembling breath. You nudge his foot with yours. “Jay?”
His eyes immediately shoot up and that incessant gaze now lingers on you. “Mh?”
“Does it bother you that we haven’t had sex yet?”
He closes his book and arches an eyebrow. “I don’t know where you’ve been babe but we’ve been having sex.”
You huff and a faint smile tugs at your lips but you quickly suppress it.
“No, I mean- yes, we have been having sex. But I mean like, traditional sex. Intercourse.”
His eyebrows pinch slightly and he hums in acknowledgement. “Does that bother you?”
Not expecting your question to be repeated back you just stare at him wordless, thinking. Then he scoots over closer to you and his hand starts caressing your knee.
“I mean, no, but aren’t you bothered? Don’t you want to?”
“I want to do whatever you’re comfortable with.”
Now you feel bad because no matter how sweet he’s being you can’t help but get frustrated.
“But aren’t you fed up by now?” Your voice starts to raise without wanting to and your eyes sting with self-doubt. “Having to wait for me, hearing no from me over and over again? Getting rejected every time? I know you’d never do something I didn’t want but-”.
His hands come up to cup your face and his gaze is the only thing that makes you stop talking.
“Now, I want you to listen to me carefully, okay?” You nod. “I love you. Not because of what you do for me but because you’re you,” he pauses and licks his lips as if to help him find the words, “I’m grateful every time you say no to me because that means you trust me to respect your no.”
Worry pours from his eyes as he looks over your face, trying to decipher what you’re thinking. Your teary and distressed expression really isn’t helping his state of mind.
“Fuck sweetheart, I don’t even know how to begin to explain to you how wrong you are,” you chuckle and he feels a weight being lifted from his chest, “You could tell me right now that you’ll never want to have traditional sex, as you put it, and that’d be a hundred percent okay.”
You look at him in doubt. “Babe that’s-”
“Ah! You’re not allowed to disagree with me.” He says pressing his index finger to your lips. Through your sniffles you bite back a grin at his theatrics and you push his side playfully.
“Come on, I’m being serious Jay. I don’t want you to miss out on anything because of me.”
Jason huffs at you but his calloused hands never leave yours. “Fine, I’ll entertain you,” he rolls his eyes playfully, “let’s say I’m devastated about getting to eat you out for the rest of my days,” you snort, “I’ll still be the luckiest motherfucker around. You wanna know why?”
You nod.
“Because I’ve got you.” He then lowers to kiss your knuckles while his eyes never leave yours; and just like that you feel as giddy as you did five months ago when you first started dating.
“Ugh God, you’re so corny.” You laugh and Jason falls for you all over again.
You both start laughing now and the air feels light again. Gently you smile and come to rest against him, head in the crook of his neck and your hands playing with his.
“Thank you,” you say, “for, you know… being here.”
“Thank you for sharing your feelings with me. Please tell me if you ever feel like that again.”
You nod softly against his skin and he kisses the top of your head. Minutes of comfortable silence pass by, one of Jason’s hands is caressing your spine and playing with your hair.
“Jay?”
“Yeah sweetheart?”
“How wrong is it that I’m horny right now?”
He stills and then huffs a chuckle. “Well it does mildly concern me that you’re turned on by your boundaries being respected but I certainly won’t leave my girl wanting.” He grins.
His fingertips reach for your waistband and he looks back up at you.
“May I?”
“Yes please.” You start to rub your thighs together in anticipation. He groans.
“It’s insane how you still think you have to beg me to touch you.” With that Jason pulls your pants down, leaving you in your panties and (his) t-shirt. He plays with the hem of your top as he leaves wet kisses on your neck.
“Can I take this off sweets?” You nod and mumble some approving words. The t-shirt comes off swiftly and along does Jason’s.
A trail of longing kisses is left on your collarbones and just above your tits, Jason’s hands move by your sides and shivers take over you.
“I swear to fucking God you get prettier and prettier every goddam day.”
He dips lower and kisses down your stomach, moving ever-so-slowly; reaching your panties he leaves a kiss on them. Without any warning he moves downward and starts licking your panty-clad pussy, leaving his saliva everywhere. You gasp in pleasure and yank his hair in surprise.
“Fuck- Jason! A fucking warning next time?” He responds with a grin and you feel your pussy throb. He moves back onto you, sliding himself off the sofa and on his knees in front of you. Before you know it he’s soaking your underwear with his spit, his tongue putting extra pressure right on your clit. You buck your hips against his face and he groans into your pussy and you swear you see him hump the air.
His hands hold your hips still as he devours you like a man starved.
Your hands now reach for your panties, trying uselessly to slide them off.
“Not yet.” He states and you whine at him.
“Fuckin’ hell you taste amazing even with your panties on lovely.”
Your hands reach to hold onto the blanket underneath you as Jason wets your underwear even more. His index now slips under the soaked cloth and in a torturous slow motion he takes it off you.
He then latches his lips on your clit and sucks gently. By now your sight is going blank and your legs have gone numb meanwhile Jason still isn’t relenting. His fingers now reach your core; with his thumb he teases your clit so his tongue can focus on sucking the juices directly out of you.
“Jay- mh, Jay please Jay I’m so close ugh please-”
Nothing other than a broken string of moans and whines comes out of you. Your pussy is throbbing and clenching on nothing as Jason’s tongue works endlessly to get you over the edge.
“You can cum baby, please cum on my face, please-” his words come out muffled but his message gets across because not five seconds later you’re cumming with your hands still pulling at Jason’s hair.
Your mind’s gone blank and you’re seeing spots. Jason’s hands are softly caressing your sides and with his lips he leaves open-mouthed kisses on your inner thighs. After some moments his head comes to rest on your leg; looking down you can see him looking back with what could only be described as love in his eyes.
“How are you feeling?” His words slip out of his mouth like honey.
You adjust yourself on the sofa wincing. “Like you just sucked the brain out of my pussy.”
He barks a laugh. “I try.”
You smile at him. “Your turn now, come on!”
You start moving towards the floor to take his place but his hands at your hips stop you.
“Nuh uh! This was about you!”
“But babe-”
“Nope!”
You pause to look at him with an eyebrow raised.
“You came in your pants didn’t you?”
He gapes indignantly, “Excuse me? How dare you! I- I-” your gaze remains unfazed, “-maybe.”
Your lips break into a smile. “Aaww you’re so cute, let me see!”
“Let you- you must be mad-” you giggle at him and he flushes, “I am not showing you my soft damp dick babe.”
Still smiling, you huff an okay. Now that you’ve settled you invite him back onto the sofa with you; as he sits he yanks you on top of him. At your yelp he smiles and drags you closer.
“I love you.” He says before catching your lower lip between his. You smile into the kiss.
“I love you too.”
More kisses are shared, his right hand resting on the back of your head and his left is placed kindly on your thigh. Your lips start to chase each other, minds foggy with love. Without even noticing your hips start to buck against his and his against yours. You can feel the wet patch from his cum underneath you and it only serves as a reminder of your previous endeavours.
“Fuck gorgeous.” His hips sync up with yours, movements calculated to stimulate you just where you need it. Your whines just incite him. Jason now holds you by your lower back, helping you move with him. You can’t help but feel his length grow beneath you.
You place your palms onto his chest and start grinding harder onto him.
“Christ love, I- I’m so sensitive fuck- nhg-” Jason’s pants are going straight to your brain. It’s then that he stops you.
“Wait- wait.” His hands hold you still and he scrunches his eyes up, panting.
“What’s wrong, are you okay? Did I do something? We can st-”
“No, no gorgeous, you’re fine. Absolutely fine. I’m just… I don’t think I can cum anymore.”
“Oh- oh, that’s alright. We can just keep cuddling.”
“That’s- yeah, yeah but not exactly what I had in mind.” You pinch your eyebrows.
“How do you feel about riding my face?”
That stills you. You’ve only ever done it once with Jason and while one could say it went certainly well you’re still somewhat new to it.
“Yes. I mean, yeah, that sounds great. Are you up to it though?” He smiles at you.
“You don’t have to worry about me pretty, I’ll be fine.” And just like that he lifts you up and sliding down he places you on top of his chest.
“Whenever you’re ready babe.”
Holding yourself up with the armrest you move on top of his face, then you steadily lower yourself. Jason feels like a kid in a candy store. As soon as you get close enough he spreads his tongue flat and licks you over. You involuntarily buck your hips and nearly lose your balance; you matter a small apology but he completely ignores it, rather he grasps you by the ass and pushes you closer to his mouth.
You start whining once he starts drinking the juices from you as his nose bridge stimulates your clit just right.
“Fuck fuck mmh Jay I’m so sensitiv-” without warning Jason’s fingers reach for your tits and start teasing your nipples. Your previous orgasm united with the intensity of Jason’s stimulation drives you over the edge and you quickly come again.
As you come down from your high Jason lays you down on the sofa and grabbing a tissue nearby he cleans you up from any and all bodily fluids. As you catch your breath your boyfriend places sweet ticklish kisses all over your face.
“You alright? You need anything? Food, shower, cuddles?”
You nod sleepily. “Cuddles.”
Jason chuckles fondly. “Cuddles it is.” He maneuvers you guys to both fit on the sofa and hugs you tight to his chest. His free hand cradles your face, his thumb caressing your skin. He can see your eyes flutter with sleep.
“How about a nap, mh?” Again you nod.
“Good, good. I’ll wake you up in a bit, alright sweetheart? You don’t need to worry about anything right now.” He then leaves a kiss on your forehead. You nod.
“Jay?”
“Mh?”
“I love you.”
Jason bites back a smile. “I love you too lovely. So fucking much.”
shoutout to telly, they’ve got potential for some freak shit but nobody ever writes it for them. their one like being “attention” is all i need to know — down for anything if you’re into it + praise kink through the roof
(plus the “spread those thighs” line from his realized dialogue and the conveniently placed bunch of long cables in his back? baby that’s a power top. i was gagged when i found that out lemme tell ya)
Telly is an absolute doll! They're the type of man to have an incredibly thick tongue, and he runs it the same way he runs his mouth (and channels); hard and fast!
(+ Sorry for the longer wait, I was completely drained. :') This isn't edited bc of that but please enjoy)
Telly W/ Cunnlingus Ft. Praise!
warnings; nsfw/18+, praise, cunnilingus (obviously), tongue, lots of tongue, unedited, a bit of somnophilia?
The last thing you remember was coming home from a long day’s work, trudging through the door and staying upright just long enough to drop your bag, get a cold cup of juice from the fridge, plop on the couch, and turn on the T.V.
You were planning on being productive, you promise, however… You were but a mindless slave when it came to the cool siren’s call of the couch and the T.V.!
Before falling asleep, you vaguely remember sleepily putting on the dateviators to ask Telly to turn the volume down, seeing as the remote was far too much of a hassle to get for your liking (on the other side of the couch) before passing out again. You had no actual clue how long you’ve been asleep for before being woken up again, a strange coldness on your thighs.
“Mh- Oh, shit..!” It doesn’t take much longer than a second to come to your senses, to feel bold, broad, wet strokes being pressed to your clit, with hands resting on the outer parts of your thighs as if trying to choke themselves out with your legs.
You make eye contact with Telly, kneeling between your thighs as if he belongs there, bobbing his head up and down subtly to match the clumsy rolls of your hips, tongue occasionally catching the fabric of your cute, soddened panties—although he pays them little mind, nor does he pay attention to the way you . His thick lips remain attached, slurping sharply at your bloated, throbbing clit enough to make your hands shoot out to grab his hair with a gasp, a protest at the onslaught of pleasure, however—he doesn’t seem the least bit interested in moving, at all.
“Ah,” with a wet pop, Telly finally comes free, his mouth shining with a mix of slick and his own spit, “S’just me.” Is all he says breathily, as if that answers any of the questions weighted on your tongue. Before you can answer or ask, he continues, still groping your thighs.
“You’ve been working hard, haven’t you, mama? S’Okay,” He sounds completely fucked out—pussy drunk, even, “Yeah, yeah- I know you have. Lemme take care of you, K?” Telly mumbles, not giving you a proper chance to answer before dragging you closer to the edge of the couch, lifting you up to his mouth before spitting a thick wad of saliva down onto your twitching hole.
“Eek!-” Telly ignores the surprised cry, wasting no time in dipping his tongue back down against you, spreading the spit all over you until you can feel it practically drooling down your thighs, undoubtedly dripping onto the couch, or even the floor. The pit in your stomach grows, the knot becoming tighter and hotter with every roll and flick.
It doesn’t help that when Telly gets like this, gets mesmerized, he gets talkative—
“No- nonono,” He breathes against your skin, practically whining as you try to shift away to alleviate yourself from some of the overwhelming pleasure,”You’re good, your pretty cunt tastes good- you can’t run-” He presses an ironically chaste kiss to your bloated clit with a sloppy mwah! Before pressing his thick tongue inside.
“Oh, look’it how fuckin’ pretty she is, messy as hell,” Telly mumbles, sex-crazed, panting as he finally gives himself a second to breath. He licks a thick stripe against your inner thigh, causing you to twitch—although you know it’s useless to even pretend you can go anywhere, “You’ve been working too long, couldn’t wait another second to get my hands on her.”
She and her being your pussy, loud and twitching around nothing every time Telly happened to pull back, clenching every time they blabbered out praise—your pussy, you, or anything, really. It didn’t matter to him, just that you kept your hands clutching the fabric of the pillows under you and your thighs hooked around his neck to pull him closer, deeper into you… Not that that was possible at this point, but Telly didn’t want to take any chances, and moaned loudly into your cunt in encouragement.
More. More. More-
“I- God, oh, shit!” You struggle to get anything coherent out between plump, spittle covered lips as the knot in your stomach tightens, the already bottomless pit in your stomach growing as you buck like an animal against Telly’s quick, greedy mouth. Squeezing harder around his neck, thighs tickled by his hair as he keeps swabbing his tongue sloppily between your pretty, delicious, gorgeous cunt, “Ah, ah, guh-”
As if Telly can sense you getting closer, his grip on your thighs slides up to grip at the fats of your ass cheeks, keeping you lifted and preventing you from squirming away, “Tha’s right, mama-” he hisses, slurred, completely gone as he bucks his own hips against nothing while tasting your pussy, “Give it to me- Cum all over my tongue, beautiful. Fuck, you’re so pretty.” He smushes his lips clumsily against your hole, shoving his tongue inside before quickly exiting and slurping, not even trying to keep it clean as he makes out with your pussy, spitting and licking you up in quick succession.
A burning feeling and a white flash take over as you squeeze your eyes shut with a sharp cry, animalistic at best—completely whorish and desperate at worst. You can feel the fiery feeling of hot tears pricking your eyes, threatening to spill over as Telly shows no mercy, no signs of stopping anytime soon as you ride and ride his tongue. Poorly, from this position, but still riding—even as you feel the breath in your lungs being stolen from you, used up to blabber incoherent, nonsensical pleas.
“Ah! Ah- uh, ngh!”
Telly nods encouragingly, moaning against you as he feels the first addictive droplets land on his tongue, lapping up your sweetness greedily. Shamelessly. His grip on you tightens, refusing to let go while swirling his tongue over your clit, humming out satisfied noises that sounded a lot like ‘yes, yes, yes’—
“Hold on- I, Telly!” You whine, trying to spread your thighs, hands scrambling wildly to just hold the man still, to relieve the shots of electricity buzzing through your pussy with every flick of his eager tongue, shooting through your entire body in one sensitive zap.
“Hold on?” Telly slurs, copying your words, “Hold on?” They don’t listen, gritting their teeth for a short moment before hissing and latching back on, completely feral as they continue going down on your poor clit, “Nuh-uh- no, y’not taking this sweet pussy away,” The words don’t sound particularly angry, as if they’re stating a fact—a pussydrunk, sex-driven fact, but a fact nonetheless, “Waited all those days for you to come back ‘n spend some time with lil’ old me-”
He spits directly on your pussy yet again before diving back in, completely unaffected by your attempts at slowing him down, “Now you’re telling me I have to wait longer? No, m’gonna die, need her to squirt all over my face, I know she can, mama-” Lewd whispers fill your ears, replacing your thoughts as Telly presses big, fat, juicy kisses along your pussy lips repeatedly, “E- Every day you came home from work, all I wanted was to help you relieve some stress, and what do you tell me?”
“Telly, I’m-” Your words don’t seem to matter, though, muddled and covered by your own broken, high-pitched whines.
“To wait- Not happening, mama-” The words make your already sensitive stomach churn as you come down from your high fully, exhaustion rolling over your body in waves. The tears spill out fully, fat blobs rolling down the fats of your cheeks.
He’s never, ever going to get enough of you when you go so long without letting him eat your pretty cunt out, and like hell he’s letting you go with one measly orgasm—Telly needs you to drench them with your cum, like they were starved in a desert.
I always forget there are maga people on tumblr, this doesn’t feel like a website you’d find them on, so to keep them away:
Reblog if your blog is a maga free zone because if it wasn’t clear enough fuck ice, fuck maga, fuck Trump, Fuck Rowling, and fuck all the other bigots I missed
ᓚᘏ𑄝 nanami hates when you push on his hips slightly cause of the overstimulation he’s fucking you into . . mdni!
nanami’s already so deep when it starts getting too much for you.
his cock’s thick and hot, stretching you open with every slow, deliberate roll of his hips, and you’re shaking underneath him, thighs trembling, breath hitching into little broken sobs. he’s been fucking you steady for what feels like forever, patient, controlled, whispering soft praises against your temple even while he’s splitting you apart.
but the second your hands slip down to his hips and push—just a tiny, desperate nudge to get a break from how intense it feels—he freezes.
his whole body locks up.
then that low, dangerous voice right against your ear.
“hah… fuck.” he exhales hard through his nose. “where do you think you’re going?”
before you can even stammer out an answer his weight drops.
full. heavy and pinning. chest crushing your tits flat to the mattress, thick arms caging your head, forearms bracketing your face so you can’t turn away. his hips snap forward harder than before, burying every last inch so deep your eyes roll and your mouth falls open on a silent scream.
“you don’t get to run from this,” he murmurs, voice rougher now, still soft in that awful, loving way that makes your cunt flutter around him. “you take it. all of it.”
one big hand slides up, covers your mouth completely. palm warm, fingers splayed wide so your muffled whimpers vibrate right into his skin. he doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t hurt—just holds. keeps every needy little sound locked behind his hand while he starts fucking you in long, punishing strokes.
the wet slap of his hips meeting your ass fills the room. loud. obscene. you can feel how soaked you are, how your slick’s dripping down your thighs, coating his balls every time he bottoms out.
his other hand snakes between your bodies.
two fingers find your clit immediately: swollen, oversensitive, throbbing and he doesn’t tease you, just rubs firm, tight circles.
your man is mean.
your whole body jerks under him, back arching uselessly because there’s nowhere to go. he’s too heavy, too deep, too everywhere. the overstimulation hits like a freight train and you’re crying into his palm, tears slipping down your temples, thighs trying to snap shut but his knees keep you spread wide.
“there she is,” he breathes against your cheek. “that’s it. let it happen.”
he grinds in deep, pubic bone crushing right against your clit while his fingers keep working merciless little circles. your cunt clamps down so hard he groans—low, wrecked—and his rhythm stutters for half a second before he fucks you even harder.
“gonna cum again for me?” his voice is velvet dragged over gravel. “even though it’s too much? even though you’re shaking?”
you can only sob into his hand. nod frantically. thighs quivering, toes curling, whole body wound so tight you think you might break.
he presses his forehead to yours. eyes dark, pupils blown. watching every twitch of your face while he ruins you.
“good girl,” he whispers. “cum on my cock. soak me. make a fucking mess.”
his fingers speed up. relentless, and you do.
you shatter so hard your vision whites out, back bowing, cunt spasming violently around his length while you scream into his palm. he doesn’t stop fucking you through it—keeps that same brutal pace, drawing it out until you’re limp and twitching and drooling against his hand.
only then does he finally slow.
still buried to the hilt.
still heavy on top of you.
he lifts his palm just enough to let you gasp wet, shaky breaths.
then he kisses the corner of your mouth, soft and almost tender.
“you’re not going anywhere,” he murmurs. “not until i say so.”
and he rolls his hips again—just once. slow and deep.
"Wait, I'm shy," Mark says, before getting rid of his pants.
It was your idea to have a bath together, you even prepared the whole thing with salts, bubbles and two candles. It was perfect, and now your superhero boyfriend gets attacked by sudden shyness.
"Mark. Really?" you ask, crossing your arms in your chest. You've gotten rid of your pants, keeping only Mark's borrowed t-shirt.
The bathroom smells like eucalyptus and lavender, steam curling lazily up from the tub, little mountains of bubbles shifting every time the hot water gurgles from the faucet you left running just a minute longer.
Mark’s standing there in his black boxers, one hand frozen halfway to the waistband like he’s suddenly forgotten how zippers work. His cheeks are pink—not full-on blush, but definitely the “I’ve just been caught doing something embarrassing” variety. The same cheeks that were perfectly fine taking a punch from an alien last week.
“Really,” he repeats, quieter, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know. It feels… different when it’s just us. Just… me. In my underwear. In candlelight. With you looking like that.”
“Like what?” you ask, deliberately letting your voice dip into mock-offense.
He gestures vaguely at you. “Like you planned a whole romantic ambush and I’m the deer caught in the headlights. Also you’re wearing my shirt. That’s cheating.”
You snort, stepping closer until you’re right in front of him. Close enough that you have to tilt your head up a little. “It’s not an ambush if I told you three days ago ‘hey, Friday night, bubble bath, you, me, no phone, no superhero shit.’ You said, and I quote, ‘Hell yes.’”
“I did say hell yes,” he admits, mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smile. “I stand by hell yes. I’m just… processing the execution phase.”
You reach out and hook two fingers into the elastic of his boxers, not pulling, just resting there. His stomach jumps under your knuckles.
“Processing,” you repeat, deadpan. “Is that what we’re calling it now when Mark Grayson, Invincible, gets performance anxiety over bubble bath nudity?”
He groans, dropping his forehead against yours. “You’re the worst.”
“You looove me.”
“I do. That’s the problem.” His hands finally land on your hips, warm through the thin cotton of his own shirt. “You make me feel like a normal nervous idiot instead of… you know.”
You slide your palms up his chest, slow, feeling the steady thump of his heart under your fingers. “I like the nervous idiot version. He’s cute. He blushes. He forgets how zippers work.”
Mark huffs a laugh against your temple. “I did not forget how zippers work.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” You tug lightly at the waistband, playful. “These are still on, hero.”
He exhales through his nose, long-suffering. “You’re gonna tease me the whole time, aren’t you?”
“Only until you relax.” You tip your head, brushing your lips against the corner of his jaw. “Or until I get bored and just yank them down myself.”
“That’s a threat I’m weirdly okay with.”
You grin, stepping back just enough to grab the hem of his t-shirt you’re wearing and peel it off in one smooth motion. His eyes flick down, then back up to your face so fast you almost miss the double-take. Almost.
“There,” you say, tossing the shirt onto the closed toilet lid. “Now we’re even. No more borrowed-clothes advantage.”
Mark swallows once. Twice. “That… did not make me less nervous. If anything—”
“Mark.”
“Yeah?”
“Get in the damn tub before the water gets cold and I make you sleep on the couch.”
He laughs and finally shoves his boxers down, kicking them toward the pile of clothes already on the tile. He’s still a little flushed, still moving like he’s not entirely sure where to put his hands, but he’s doing it.
You step into the tub first, sinking into the heat with a involuntary sigh. The bubbles part around your legs, fragrant steam rising. You hold out a hand.
“C’mere, shy guy.”
He takes it, carefully climbing in like he’s worried he’ll capsize the whole thing (which, given his strength, is not an unreasonable concern). Water sloshes. Bubbles stick to his thighs, his stomach, one rogue clump landing on the tip of his nose. He doesn’t notice.
You reach up and flick it off with your finger.
He catches your wrist before you can pull back, eyes warm in the candlelight. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“I’m enjoying you,” you correct, tugging him closer until he’s settled between your legs, back to your chest.
His shoulders are tense for about three seconds before he lets out a long breath and melts against you, head tipping back to rest on your shoulder.
“Hi,” he murmurs.
“Hi.” You wrap your arms around him from behind, palms flat on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall. “See? Not so bad.”
He turns his head just enough to press a kiss to the underside of your jaw. “You’re still gonna tease me later, aren’t you?”
“Oh, absolutely.” You slide one hand up to card through his damp hair. “But right now I’m just gonna sit here and enjoy my very brave, very naked superhero boyfriend who’s letting me hold him in a bubble bath.”
Mark groans again, but it’s fond. “You’re so annoying.”
“You love it.”
He twists, water sloshing, until he can kiss you properly—slow, warm, tasting faintly of mint toothpaste and the faint salt of skin. When he pulls back his eyes are half-lidded, softer than usual.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I really do.”
You smile against his mouth. “Good. Now stop being dramatic and hand me the loofah. Your back’s been begging for it since Tuesday’s fight.”
Finished! This took way longer than I thought, also I should keep working on me fanfic...
I like to think that Flambae walked in and got super offended for not getting invited 🥴 Or you know he just sets the closet on fire because he needs to bleach his eyes after walking in on that.
sometimes, you don't even know why mihawk bothers dating someone as ordinary as you. but the thing is that, for him, you're everything - but not ordinary.
A/N: based on this request, ty i love writing for mihawk. the title is a ref to thermal reservoir in quantum physics, it was fitting the fic pretty well. have a good meal.☆
CW: f!reader, established relationship, virgin!reader, body worship, dirty talk (kinda), praises, oral sex, v sex, loss of virginity, slight mirror sex, soft dom, slight spanking, mihawk hates when you're cursing.
WC: 3,8k
one piece masterlists. ☆ my ko-fi
You never felt so ordinary. Standing awkwardly near the door, fidgeting with the dress, you don’t even dare to enter the bedroom, ready to sneak away and hide in the bathroom, but Mihawk’s voice echoes against the walls. “I can see you. Would you stop hiding?” You thought he was musing, too engrossed in his reading to notice your presence, but you were wrong.
Of course, you were wrong.
He takes a sip of his red wine, watching you from over the rim of his glass, taking in your nervous fidgeting. Lowering his glass softly, he uncrosses his legs and closes the newspaper, analyzing how you handle the expensive silk dress like it might burn you, how you keep your distance, like you’re scared to dirty it.
Defeated, you bite your lips, pushing the door of the bedroom. Calmly, face unreadable as always, Mihawk takes a look at your figure. The tailor-made dress is a masterpiece of dark, romantic elegance, crafted in sumptuous black velvet, with deep burgundy undertones. His eyes appreciate how the bodice is sculpted like a corset, adorned with intricate lace appliqués and delicate embroidery that bloom like crimson roses across the fabric. You feel his gaze flickering on the off-the-shoulder lace sleeves, extend into sheer gloves, black filigree embracing your arms with gothic grace. If only you could disappear into yourself. He doesn’t talk, it makes you feel even more awkward. As you play with the floor-length skirt and dramatic slit, velvet petals cascading down the gowns, all you want is to run away.
That dress was woven from midnight and passion itself. It’s opulent. Beautiful. Refined. Of course, Mihawk picked it. You're not good enough for such a dress, nor for Mihawk. “It looks bad, right?” You ask nervously.
“Bad?” He repeats, setting his wine glass down, eyes never leaving you as he rises from the armchair. “Bad?” He echoes again, this time with a hint of something deeper - disbelief. “You look like you stepped out of a dream.” His eyes never leave yours as you stand there, looking nervous yet so elegant, timeless, in that expensive dress. Mihawk examines how the fabric falls over your curves, like liquid shadow.
“A dream? Not so sure about this…” You mutter, crossing your arms to cover yourself. Mihawk walks closer, his expensive shoes clicking against the cold floor, closing the distance with silent, lethal grace. When he reaches out, he grabs your wrists firmly, pulling your arms away from crossing over your chest.
“Stop that,” he speaks, voice low and velvety like the silk of your dress. His hands then move to your shoulders, guiding you inside the bedroom, until you’re facing the full-length mirror. “Look,” he commands softly. “Look at yourself.” Mihawk’s reflection appears behind you, tall frame and sharp features contrasting with your smaller figure draped in luxurious tissues. “This dress was made for you. Do you really see an ordinary lady?”
“I… don’t know.” You admit quietly, embarrassed by Mihawk’s intense eyes admiring how the black and burgundy velvet blended with lace hugs your curves like it was made for you - which it was. The way your breasts push against the corset-style top, the lace sleeves framing your arms, how the skirt flows down your legs, high slit hinting at your thigh…
“This is not an ordinary dress. I ordered it just for you, I picked the fabrics, the colors, and your measurements. It was made for you. It’s not an ordinary dress because you’re not an ordinary lady.” Embarrassed, you clear your throat.
“You really like wasting money.”
His lips brush against your neck, kissing it, reaching your shoulder. “It’s not a waste. When you look this breathtaking in it, how could it be a waste?” He continues to press delicate kisses along your shoulders, his hands slowly sliding from your hips to your collarbone. The way he touches you makes you feel so weak. “You know what the best part is?” Teasingly, his fingers slip inside the top to trace the curve of your breasts, his gaze watching your eyes fluttering close, lips painted with burgundy lipsticks parting slightly. “The best part is that I get to take it off you later,” His voice is filled with unspoken promises and desires. “And underneath, you’ll be wearing nothing but silk stockings and those black lace gloves.” Shivers run down your spine as he keeps talking against your ear, one hand cupping your breast softly through the velvet fabric. “You know what else isn’t ordinary? The view right here…” His thumb brushes over your nipple briefly.
Brain half-mush, you lean against Mihawk’s chest, your knees buckling under both his touch and words. “Stop talking like this… it makes me feel… weak… just keep touching me…”
“I don’t know. If I touch again, will you admit it fits you?” With one thumb, he hovers millimeters away from your nipple. “Does it fit you?” The challenge in his tone is clear - but carries an order hidden behind a gentle question. You gasp, Mihawk’s hand tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at him in the mirror. “Say this dress fits you perfectly. And say it like you mean it if you want more of my touch.” His voice drops an octave.
Holding back a gasp, you challenge your own reflection in the mirror - the fabric and colors perfectly match your makeup, the tissues are perfectly tailored, enhancing the curves of your body. “It fits me,” you murmur, cheeks slightly flushed.
“Perfectly,” Mihawk corrects, voice firm.
“It fits me perfectly.”
“Good girl,” Mihawk turns your face towards him completely, capturing your mouth in a languid, slow kiss. The mirror reflects your shocked expression turning into pleasure as his tongue delicately pushes past your lips - the taste of his refined wine rolls on your tongue, it’s almost a torture when he breaks the kiss, talking close to your ear again. “If it fits you perfectly… maybe I shouldn’t take it off.” He teases, voice low, predatory, soft as silk.
Breathless, it takes you a moment to process what he just said. Mouth dry, mind hazy, you press your back against his chest. “Take it off. Please…” Against your neck, Mihawk inhales your scent, pleased with how you’re reacting - how the dress is filling its purpose, making you bolder, more confident.
“Such a pretty picture you make,” he murmurs, “Asking me to take it off like you actually want me to see you naked… Usually you’re hiding under blankets, too shy to let me look, always asking me to close my eyes.” His hands moves to the laces of your corset-style top, beginning to untie them slowly, deliberately teasing you with each tug of the lace. The fabric loosens gradually, revealing more and more of your skin inch by inch.
“It’s just that… I don’t feel worth the deal for you,” You confess, cheeks burning with desire and nervousness. “And you’re intimidating.”
Mihawk pauses in his untying, fingers stilling on the laces. He looks at your reflection in the mirror, hawk-eyes noticing everything - how your eyes are downcast, how you’re biting your lips nervously, how your shoulders are slightly hunched… how you’re trying to make yourself smaller, basically. “Intimidating. You think I’m intimidating? Or do you think you’re not good enough for me?”
“Both… your eyes are stressing me out. And I just feel too normal in front of you.” You admit quietly, heart thumping as Mihawk’s plays with the last set of lace.
“My eyes are intimidating?” He questions, locking his gaze to yours. With a controlled slowness, he pulls the last lace free, letting the corset fall open completely. The top half of the dress pools around your waist, leaving you completely exposed. “Can you really blame me for using my eyes to look at you when you’re that beautiful?”
“N-no…” You shutter, Mihawk’s thumbs pressing against your collarbones to keep you still. “Then stop calling my gaze intimidating and start seeing it for what it is,” He whispers, leaning in closer, lips almost touching your ear. “It’s admiration. It’s desire.” His fingers brush over your lower stomach. “And it’s hungry to see more of you.”
Someone needs to check your pulse right now. You don’t even know if you’re alive - your heart is missing so many beats. You drift slowly into Mihawk’s embrace, totally under his spell. Not a scary one, it’s soothing, ethereal, yet so sensual. His fingers caress the underside of your breasts and just linger there. “Still think you’re ordinary?”
Unable to take more of his edging, you shake your head ‘no’ in answer. “Touch me… please?” At last, his hands cup your breasts, your soft flesh filling his palms perfectly, his thumbs curling over your hard nipples, long fingers spreading out to fondle every single inch perfectly. “Always so shy, always hiding, but look at you now.” One hand moves up to wrap around your throat, tilting your head back against his shoulder to press a kiss on your temple and then to your exposed shoulder.
“More,” You beg and Mihawk’s hands become more adventurous, hand leaving your throat to trail down your stomach, reaching your navel, before moving lower, much lower. He breaks the contact with your shoulder to kiss a line down your neck, his breath ghosting over your skin as he starts to gather the fabric of the dress pooling around your waist, ready to unveil you. Overwhelmed, your eyes flutter close, the dress slowly falling on the ground. Mihawk’s hands follow the path of the falling fabric, caressing your hips, your thighs, until you’re almost naked except for your gloves, stockings and black lace panties. “Eyes open,”
His piercing gaze meets yours in the mirror, looking at you like if you were a masterpiece, a rare and precious being to be admired and savored. “So that’s what you were hiding. A work of art.” His words are reverent, but the setting overwhelming. Weakly, you turn around to nuzzle against Mihawk, running away from your own reflection. At this sight, Mihawk breath hitches - the mirror is giving him a magnificent view of your bottom barely covered by the black lace panties. One palm slides down to cup your ass cheeks through the lace, squeezing lightly. “You know what I see?”
“Tell me?”
“I see a masterpiece,” he says, his thumb pressing into the crease where your ass meets your thigh. “A body that was made to be worshiped, to be touched…” Feather-light touch tracing the waistband of your panties. “Thighs made for wrapping around my hips. And a lovely bottom that deserves to be spanked and then kissed better. I see curves that were designed for my hands…”
His words sink slowly into you, your panties so damp yet he barely touched you - his velvet tone whispering obscenity is lethal. A surprised gasp falls from your lips when he turns you around until you face your own reflection once more, his hands gripping your hips. “Look at me. I’m going to be gentle. But I’m also going to be… thorough.” Nothing can escape his hawk-eyes, he notices the dampness of your panties, his fingers brushes over the wet lace. “I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”
In the quiet bedroom, all you can hear is Mihawk’s soft breaths and your heart thumping so loud it echoes in your skull. “So… it’s the moment you lie me in the bed?” You ask, impatient to stop facing this mirror. It makes every breath hard to take.
Mihawk’s eyes smolder with desire, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Darling, I’m not going to just lie you down in the bed, I’m going to do much more.” Breathless, you barely have the time to blink, Mihawk’s hands slide down to your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly and carrying you towards the bed, laying you down on the silk sheets. Not in a hurry, he takes off his shoes, his hands then work on unbuttoning his shirt. You drink in the sight of his chiseled chest, toned abs, his necklace caressing your skin as he climbs on the bed, one hand above your head, his presence looming over yours.
“I’ll start there,” his voice is a low purr against your skin, his face hovering above your stomach. And then, his lips trail lower, your thighs instinctively spreading, your body eager for more of him. “You feel it?” He speaks against your lower stomach, his fingers playing with the lace edge of your panties. “How wet you are.”
Hypnotized, you arch your back, shivering when his fingers linger over your panties, feeling the heat and the damp through the fabric. Mihawk looks up at you from between your spread thighs. Without breaking eye contact, he leans in and presses an open-mouthed kiss, tongue pressing against your slit through the soaked fabric. He takes his time, inhaling your scent, savoring your taste. “Fuck,” you hiss. “Language,” Mihawk scowls disapprovingly against your panties. “Say please,” he adds, his hand coming up to press against your stomach, holding you down.
“Please…” You breathe out, cheeks burning red, desperate for more. You can’t think straight anymore, sinking into a steamy, hot ocean of desire, endless degree of freedom - renewal - soothing waters washing away your insecurities, giving you the right to be you, truly, totally, entirely you.
He rewards you with a slow, deliberate lick along your slit through your panties. “Good girl,” Mihawk continues his torturous licking and sucking, his tongue pressing against your clit, his fingers finally starting to pull at the edge of your panties, ready to peel them away from your skin. “Lift.”
You comply in a blink and he pulls your panties down, his movements deliberate and teasing letting the lace drag against your sensitive skin. Once they’re off, without breaking eye contact, he licks the damp spot of your panties, making you blush so hard you might explode. “Don’t do this!” You wail, totally flustered.
“Don’t do what?” He asks innocently, licking your panties again. “You mean this?” He licks again, savoring your taste as if it was the finest wine. “Or this?” He inhales your scent deeply.
“By the… fuck!” His hand comes down your ass. “Language.” The spank is not hard enough to truly hurt, but still strong enough to sting. Breathing heavily, you have no choice but to watch this obscene show of Mihawk licking your panties clean before tossing them aside.
“Use that mouth of yours and ask nicely. Without cursing.” He commands, his hands playing with the hem of your black silk stocking. “Sorry…. Please…” You breathe out, dying to melt through the feeling of his divine mouth eating you out.
At your words, automatically, his tongue licks your slit, his eyes filled with lust and hunger never leaving yours as he presses a soft clit on your clit, his tongue flicking around. “F-So good…” A soft hum of approval sends a vibration of pleasure through your own body. “Good. No cursing.” Shamelessly, mouth full of you, he looks up at you again, tongue working your clit. “You taste so sweet.”
Blushing from neck to ears, you grip the sheets tightly. “More… please…”
“So impatient…” Mihawk teases, his fingers spreading your folds apart, exposing you to his piercing gaze. “Let me enjoy this first.” He wants to admire how your legs shake as his tongue presses flat against your clit, before flicking around, sucking lightly, his fingers holding you open as he feasts on your pussy. The fancy bedroom is filled with the wet sound of his mouth working between your legs. “Look at me,” he commands, lifting his head to meet your gaze - he sees the shock and arousal in your eyes, taking in the sight of his impeccable face now messy with your wetness.
“Don’t look away.” It’s so hard to maintain eye contact when his fingers trace patterns on your wet folds, not allowing you to relieve the building tension. “Tell me what you want. Use your words.” Fighting against your shyness, you sink deeper into those infinite baths. “I want… your fingers.” Your voice is so weak, so shaky, but Mihawk is merciless. “Where?”
“Fuck, you-‘re a-sorry! Inside me…”
“How many? One? Two? Three?” His voice is low and gentle, coaxing you shy desires out into the open even though he literally just spanked you again, heating the flesh of your ass. “I don’t know… stop playing with me!”
Mihawk studies you for a few seconds before finally pushing one finger into you slowly, one phalanx at first. “I’m not playing,” he replies sternly, looking up at you. “I’m just helping you to explore what you want.” His finger pushes deeper, curving up slightly to find your sweet spot. “Fuck… it feels g_-,” your whole body jolt when his palm spanks your ass again. But he doesn’t stop the slow, deliberate motion of his finger. “I think we’ve found something you like.” He adds a second finger, stretching you wider, his thumb finding your clit, circling lightly.
It’s like drowning and diving in an endless infinite bath of desire, radiant heat, and lust - transformation, transfiguration. Soothing water cleans all your insecurities like a purifying rain. Mihawk savors how you drown in sensation. “I… need…” You start, trailing off. His eyes gleam with intensity, knowing exactly what you’re trying to say. “You.”
His lips curve slightly. “I know.” His voice is smooth as silk, eyes dark with desire and something softer, more tender. Not in a hurry - never - he pulls out his fingers, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness. “Are you sure?”
“If it’s with you… I’m sure.” The kiss on your forehead is so soft you could melt and die right now, right there. Metal tingles as he unbuckles his belt, never breaking eye contact, undressing with a calculated softness, the bedroom filled with the soft sounds of fabric rustling until he unveils himself fully, his long, hard cock springing free. He gives it slow pumps, admiring how your body looks even more appealing, wearing nothing but stockings and lace gloves. Mihawk kisses and bites along your collarbone and shoulder, his hand gripping your hair, tilting your head to the side to allow him better access to your neck, he nibbles on the flesh, leaving delicate hickeys, digging his teeth lightly to leave a gentle mark. “Spread your legs wider,” he instructs against your skin, lifting up to reach for the nightstand.
Everything feels so real, you don’t know if you’re sinking, drowning, or floating.
Mihawk doesn’t miss any single detail - shivering thighs, closed eyes, slightly parted lips, body spread out on his silk sheets, breasts rising and falling with your nervous breaths. How stressed out you are right now. “You’re overthinking,” he tears open the condom wrapper. “You’re not supposed to be scared. Not with me.” His voice drops softer and you force your eyes open.
“I know… I’m fine. Not scared. Just… nervous.”
Flushed, you watch him rolling the condom onto his hard length, his eyes never leaving yours.
“Look at me,” he commands the second your gaze flickers downwards. “Keep looking at me,” He spreads lube on his cock. “Eyes on me.” Trembling, you feel him positioning himself between your thighs, one hand reaching for your wrists, pinning them above your head, reaching for your fingers, anchoring you as if it could save you from drowning. “Breathe,” he whispers against your mouth before slowly pushing forward with a gentle but firm thrust. You gasp into his kiss, nails digging into his hand. Mihawk captures all your moans, holding you close as he buries himself to the hilt inside you in one smooth, steady, long motion.
For a second, you think you’re drowning.
But the waves aren’t dragging you down. It’s warm and soothing, not as painful as what you were thinking. Mihawk stays completely still inside you, in control, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks, your nose, your lips - anywhere he can reach without moving his hips. “See? I’ve got you. You’re always safe with me.”
The way he’s looking at you… Raw passion, tenderness, desire, love. He grounds you, giving you shallow thrusts matching the trust in your gaze. “You’re finally looking at me for real,” he comments calmly, voice thick with restrained lust, his strokes slow, measured, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in a controlled motion.
“I just noticed your gaze wasn’t that intimidating.”
“What is it then?” He asks, hips rolling gently yet intentional, filling you completely, his tip brushing your sweet spot so nicely your eyes roll back. “You’re looking at me… like if I was anything but not ordinary.”
In his gaze, you see your reflection - you see how he sees you. As a whole, heavenly divine, criminally fine. His look could kill, but right now, the spiral pattern as hypnotic as the sound of waves crushing against the rocks. His fingers are holding you tight, diving you into his embrace without letting you drown.
Infinite baths melting the particle of your heart, dissolving you, transfiguring you - continuum, endless, a perfect diving into bliss.
“Fuck… making me feel so good,” You moan against his lips as his hops move faster but still controlled. “Language,” Mihawk scolds, but he knows you’re lost in pleasure, so he just bites your lower lips slowly before pulling back to look into your eyes again - especially now that you’re not breaking eye contact. Each thrust is reaching your sweet spot so nicely you gasp, legs trembling around his waist, more curses spilling out your mouth.
“I’ll forgive your language this time. But only because you’re too confused to speak properly.” You barely listen to what he’s saying, he’s driving you closer to the edge. You look at him through half-lidded eyes, hissing, cheeks flushed. “Fuck… right there.”
“There?” He asks softly, hitting your sweet spot again. “Or there?” He hits it even deeper, making you arch your back off the bed. Clenching around him like a vice, rising tide spreading through your whole body, your eyes keep rolling back, mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure.
Mihawk was right. He’s so… thorough. Making your brain melt, turning you into an incoherent, moaning mess, drowning in an overwhelming heat. “You’re getting there,” he murmurs encouragingly, chasing your own orgasm. “Let go.”
Weakly, you stutter, eyes fluttering close, consumed by the pleasure exploding in your stomach. Pure ecstasy written all over your face, you hold Mihawk as if he was your anchor and he rides out your orgasm, fucking you through it. “That’s it, darling, take what you need from me.”
Your body continues to shake, draining out all your energy, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes until your dizzy mind gives up, your limbs going totally limp. Your heart beats so slowly - you never felt so real, yourself.
Calmness wash over you.
Infinite baths.
⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ please, reblog, like, comment if you like my work.
summary ༺๑ˊ- robert likes your eyes. you don't like eye contact.
pairing(s) ༺๑ˊ- robert robertson x female!reader (gender-neutral)
cws ༺๑ˊ- established relationship, lots of kisses, oral f!recieving, edging themes, lots of coaxing
requested? ༺๑ˊ- yes/no
a/n: my autistic ass ate this rq right up. it got long
"why do you keep doing that?" robert leaned back against the counter of his kitchen, crossing his arms expectantly as he eyes you up.
"doing what...?" you murmured, gazing into his eyes for a split second before looking back at what you were doing. you didn't even realize how little you looked into his eyes.
"that."
you quickly glanced back up at up, before tearing your gaze away. robert chuckled, shaking his head fondly. god, you were so cute.
"look at me," he purred, tilting your chin up with his pointer-finger. you didn't, just looked down at his forearm. he smiled.
"you keep looking away." robert analyzed, his voice particularly gentle, his hand moving to brush his thumb over your cheek, which was warm to touch.
"just... i don't know. it's weird." you muttered, still looking away. "looking into my eyes is weird?" he inquired playfully, kissing the corner of your mouth. "am i that ugly?"
a small giggle emitted from you at his question, shaking your head as you gently 'hit' his arm.
"i guess i just... can't." a sigh spilled from your mouth, looking to the other side now. robert let out a hum, moving to kiss your cheek.
"you can. let me help?"
"okay, y- yeah. fine."
you were sure you were going to die. this was going to kill you. and he's barely done anything yet.
"c'mon look at me, baby." he whispered against your skin as he kissed down your sternum and onto your soft stomach, looking up into those hesitating eyes of yours.
you reluctantly peeked down at him, feeling your cheeks grow hotter as he was already looking right at you. "there you are, pretty." he cooed, slowly travelling lower.
he finally reached the waistband of your underwear, hooking his fingers underneath.
you got excited, tilting your head to the side.
you looked away.
"nuh-uh," robert hummed, releasing your underwear with a small snap, chuckling as it made you twitch and huff at him. "why'd you stop?" you grumbled, furrowing your eyebrows slightly at him.
"is it a crime to want to see your pretty eyes?" he sassed, pressing a kiss beneath your navel, mouthing against the elastic, nosing at your skin.
"i hate you." you murmured, but managed to gaze down at him again, your breath hitching as he finally hooked his fingers into your underwear and slid it down your legs, tossing it somewhere on the floor. a problem for future him.
"yeah? do you, now?" he smiled, kissing at your inner knee and kissing up your inner thigh as he moved to get closer to you, eventually ending up on his stomach between your legs. his favorite place.
as his kisses grew closer to the apex of your thighs, you subconsciously closed your eyes, like how you normally would do.
he stopped. again.
"fuck, robert!" you groaned in frustration, only to be met with his wide grin. you were going to kill him. "it's not my fault, pretty. you knew the rules." he kissed right above where you needed him, an almost apologetic gesture.
he reached up, intertwining his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand comfortingly. "c'mon, you can do it," he coaxed softly.
you obliged, meeting those big brown eyes, pupils blown out with lust. lust for you. you whined, your hips twitching.
robert chuckled softly, holding your gaze as his lips moved down. he pressed the flat of his tongue against your wetness, before licking up. he moaned. fuck, he'd be happy if this is how he died. buried in your thighs.
you stared at him with wide eyes as his half-lidded gaze lazily stared right back, the tip of his tongue massaging circles into your clit.
his freehand rested on your lower stomach, gently pressing into the skin. you whimpered, throwing your head back.
again, he paused.
"robert, please! i can't do it!" you complained, begging for some sort of reprieve. some mercy from his cruelness—when in reality his only rule was for you simply to look at him. well, "simply looking at him" wasn't very simple for you.
he planted kisses into the patch of sensitive skin where your pelvis met your thigh, humming. "do you want to cum?"
"well, y- yeah, bu—"
"then you gotta look at me, sweetheart." robert chuckled, nosing at you affectionately.
it took a few long seconds for you to hype yourself up, finally leering down at him yet again.
"hi, sweetie," he smiled, his mouth quick to resume his ministrations, wanting to reward you for being so good for him.
you held his eyes in your gaze as he lapped at you, his brown eyes twinkling in the dim light as he lost himself in you.
he looked so perfect. felt so perfect.
he squeezed your hand as he took your clit into his mouth, suckling gently as his tongue flicked against it, watching as your eyes rolled back.
he didn't mind this time. he knew you couldn't control it when he made you feel as good as he always did.
he went back to massaging your lower stomach with his freehand, little circles amplifying the growing heat.
"i- i think i'm close," you gasped out, thighs beginning to tremble over his shoulders. robert's eyes crinkled slightly in satisfaction.
without much warning, you came into robert's mouth. robert groaned, not letting up as he kept lapping at you needily. like he was the one getting pleasure from this instead.
the post-orgasmic sensitivity began to wrack your body as he kept sucking at you, pushing at his head. he laughed, finally pulling off.
"do you like eye contact now?" he asked, nuzzling into your thigh, looking up at you half-lidded eyes, his lips wet and slightly puffy.
"no." you huffed. robert bit your thigh playfully, making you swat at him.
"one day." he whispered, planting a final kiss to your thigh.
