about the baker: PREETY. she/her. 2006. love's love. reader. occasional writer. red velvet. med student. dick (grayson) enjoyer.
🎼 how to disappear -Lana del Rey
what gets baked (fics I write): DC comics, reader fics.
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SUCH a boobs man i’ll literally fight to the ends of the earth to prove you wrong.
bruce is sooo old fashioned that whenever you’re wearing a push up dress for a gala, his gaze would shamelessly lower to your boobs with his hands practically itching to cup and fondle them. to his defense, they were staring at him first
like i swearrrrrr his hands would be where your ribs were so he can press his thumbs on the lower part of your boobs
im also a firm believer that whenever this man would fuck you via doggy, the first thing his hands would be grabbing onto would be your boobs. his large hands would be groping them and pushing your body back on his over and over by your boobs, his thrusts rougher and burying his cock deeper in you
it would do nothing but make you gape your lips more and arch your back more into his cock with a moan. bruce let out a groan from your pussy walls clenching more as a response to his hands, his blue eyes darkened with desire and pinned on how his hips snapped at your ass repeatedly
bruce’s lips would trail kisses on your neck until he reached the back of your ear, lightly biting it before whispering filthy things in your ear
“fuck, look at my girls go” yes, he was talking about your boobs. “so warm—" thrust. “and soft--" thrust. “all for me”
—
DICK GRAYSON — both
dick grayson is a greedy man, he wants anything that he could grab
and YES, his hands would grip on your ass and push your pussy more to his length while you’re riding him, burying his face in your cleavage and letting out muffled moans absorbed by your skin from how good you were taking him
“attagirl” dick panted on your chest, his lips glistening with saliva and smeared all over your skin. “just like that— fuuuck, make this dick yours”
you couldn’t say anything. all you could do was mindlessly moan with your head knocked back and lips fully parted, your head dizzy from how his cock was hitting all the right angles in you and how big he was in you
you arched your back and buried his face even more to your chest, making dick moan and push another deep thrust in you. the depth made your hips jerk a bit, but his grip on your ass made sure you stayed on his lap as he slowly took over
your boobs were bouncing in dick’s face from how fast and deep he was dragging you in and out of his twitching cock.
“cmon gorgeous” dick murmured, licking a clean stripe on your cleavage before moaning from your pussy clamping around him. “let me see you make a mess f' me”
—
JASON TODD — ass
now dont get me wrong, jason todd loves every part and curve of your body. but if he had to choose, it would be your ass a million percent— bonus point for thighs too
honestly, he loves when there is something for him to grab on. yes, his hands would slither down your ass whenever you were sitting on his lap and talking to him about your day. yes, his hands would just rest between your thighs when sleeping
and yes, he would bend you anywhere just to see that back of yours arch and press your ass to his hips
a moan of jason’s name left your lips when you felt his cock give you another slow yet deep thrust, your walls fluttering from his size and arching your back to press your ass more for his length
when i meant he would bend you anywhere, i meant anywhere— including the kitchen counter
he would purposely send slow yet deep thrusts just to admire your ass, mesmerized by the way it kept making contact with his hips. it was enough for him to let out sounds of his own
“that’s it, sweetheart” jason grunted with another roll of his hips to send to your pussy, gripping your thighs to keep them spread and pinning his eyes on your ass. “just keep that ass up for me”
—
TIM DRAKE — boobs
timothy jackson wayne-drake is a boobs man, no argument needed
i mean, let’s be for real. it’s no stranger that tim was a workaholic and was often stressed from juggling his two secret lives as tim drake and red robin
but all it took to relieve himself off that stress was to have you sit on his lap and fondle your boob with one hand like a stress toy while the other was mindlessly clicking his mouse
“tim” you whined to get his attention, making him hum back a response without looking away from the monitor and still fondling your boob. the fact that he’s not paying attention to you made the heat between your legs unbearable
so unbearable you would start to slowly grind your clothed cunt on his thigh, biting your bottom lip to conceal your sounds as your eyes stayed focused on tim— blue eyes concentrated on the monitors, blue light reflecting the features of his face and lips pressed into a thin line from how focused he was
“tim please” you panted before a small moan left your lips, arching your back to press your boob more into his hand and trying everything you can to satisfy the aching heat in your core. “need you so bad”
you realized you finally caught his attention when his hand squeezed your boob a bit more, making you let out a whimper and place a hand on his cheek, wanting him to look at you and do something about your urge
“i know, love. i know” tim murmured softly, clicking another piece of evidence with his mouse and circling your nipple with his thumb. “im almost done with work. slide a finger in for me in the meantime, yeah?”
—
CLARK KENT — ass
guys, he’s a farmer’s boy. what else did you expect?
everytime you walked away from him to get or do something, clark’s eyes would always and i mean always trail down to your ass and how it swayed with your walk. and everytime, he would immediately fluster under his glasses and look away, pushing his glasses up as a nervous habit
but when you two were in bed and you were sitting on his face, the last thing this man would be was nervous
“more” clark blabbered on your cunt, gripping and squeezing your ass with your large hands as his mouth. only to bury your cunt more into his mouth and suffocate his face in the best way possible. “moremoremoremore—“
clark could be asking more for two things. more for your delicious pussy that he could never get over or more for his hands to continue fondling and squeezing your ass— knowing him, its both
you moaned from his nose now nudging your clit, tightening your grip on his hair and arching your back more on his mouth. “c-clark… oh my god”
your ass was spread more by clark’s hands that refused to let go and the angle his tongue reached in you made a loud moan of his name leave your lips, now grinding your clit on his nose for more
poor man couldn’t get enough that his hands on your ass kept pushing your soaked pussy more into his mouth, so much so that you thought he was gonna suffocate between your thighs
“taste so good, honey” this man was so pussy drunk it was pathetic. “wanna stay here forever”
—
SUPERBOY PRIME — boobs
clark kent may be superboy but he was still a loser at heart, which was why he almost never let go of your boobs when he could.
when clark came back home after his shift at the comic store? he let out a tired sigh and immediately walked towards you, already lifting your shirt up and murmuring about his tired day with his face shoved in your boobs
when he would hug you from behind? his hands would slide under your shirt and trail up to cup your boobs. and he’d let out a small whine whenever you’d take his hands off
it’s safe to say that clark kent was obsessed with your boobs. so much so that when your legs were around his waist and his cock was disappearing in and out of you, his hands were groping your boobs. gripping them and playing with your nipples between his fingers as your soft sounds were entering his ears like a melody
“you’re so hot, babe” clark moaned with another thrust to keep up with his pace and depth. “feelin’ amazing, in and out” he gave your boobs another squeeze to make his point
the sounds were quick ‘clap!clap!clap!’ sounds repeating over and over and over in the room
his touch, his words, it was sending you into a frenzy. all you could do was moan and pant endlessly, arching your back and pressing your boobs more into his hands with a whine of his name leaving your lips, throwing your head back into the pillows with a pornographic expression on your pretty face
the new angle made him whimper out “shitshitshitshiiiit” and thrust his cock deeper in your pussy, feeling your pussy suck him in more and his cock already twitching. “im gonna cum already, baby”
—
ROY HARPER — ass
abosutely LOVES your ass its almost unhealthy
roy tries to keep his hands to himself whenever lian is in the same room as him (because he doesn’t play with his babygirl).
but when he looks over her shoulder during their pretend tea time and sees you bending down while rummaging through a cabinet… don’t get me started on that
his eyes would go to your ass and he quietly bites his bottom lip to hold back a grin and those dirty thoughts of his— before lian would make him snap out of it by reminding him to finish his ‘tea’, innocently oblivious from how distracted her dad was
but the minute lian left for a sleepover, the first thing roy made sure to do was to drag you in the bedroom and have you do reverse cowgirl
“uh huh, just like that” he panted, hands gripping on your waist t and watching your ass bouncing back and forth on his cock. a groan slipped out of his lips. “fuuuck, i love this ass. could stare at her all day”
the drag roy’s cock was giving you felt so good it was making you arch your back and moan for more, the wet sounds so filthy and loud it made you thank god lian wasn’t home
“royyy” you whined, feeling the pace of your hips falter despite your orgam just starting to build up in you. “c-cant… need you to t-take over”
you didn’t have to ask him twice. immediately, roy’s hands on your waist took over by dragging your warm walls more onto his length. you felt so warm that he couldn’t help but move his hips back on your ass and knock his head back onto the headboard with a moan
“attagirl” he let out a breathless chuckle from your sounds, lowering his head to admire the view one more time. “just sit there with that pretty ass and let roy do the work, yeah?”
—
WALLY WEST — boobs
if there wasn’t a day where wally west didn’t show love to your boobs, i can assure you that is not him
he loved your boobs. the warmth, the softness, the size, everything. burying his face in your chest with a lopsided grin was wally’s favorite thing to do in the world; nothing sensual, just him absorbing your body warmth and keeping you close to him
can we say he loved them too much? .. maybe
“w-wally! fuck!” you moaned, knocking your head back and burying your hands more into his ginger locks. wally’s mouth was full with the swell of your boob, sucking it while using his super speed to flick your hard nipple with his tongue. his hand gave your other boob attention by fondling it
you can feel your boob practically drenched with his saliva, the sensation of his warm tongue going at such a fast pace driving you crazy.
wally let out a muffled moan when you arched your back and pressed your boob more into his mouth, sliding another hand down to rub a slow circle on your clit with his thumb and hearing a breathless gasp leave you.
“fuck, you’re soaked” he said on your boob. “and i didn’t even touch you properly.” the vibrations of his voice making your clit throb in anticipation. and of course, wally just had to grin from that
“wally…” you panted, bringing your head up to look down at him with pleading eyes. “please.. i need you...”
“shh i know, beautiful” his fingers was tracing your entrance, feeling your folds pulse from how you need him in you. “let me finish giving my girls more attention and ill get back to her later”
—
—————————————————————————
(@patientofarkhamasylum enjoy <3) okay why tf did this take me three days to write bruh.. bring back the olden days where i would have finished this in one go
❥ Dick Grayson likes to make you cum because you're adorable when you do ── .✦ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
꒰ written quickly & for fun◞ lightly proofread◞ MDNI◞ wc 800 ✦ cw: piv◞ no protection mentioned ꒱
୨୧ admittedly, he was a bit of a nervous wreck when you finally let him in. there had been so much tension between the two of you for months (much to the eyerolling and teasing from your friends), but it hit a boiling point after you had invited him over for a late night wine and paint session. just the two of you
the bed frame creaks underneath each rock of his hips, his damp hair stuck to his forehead, beads of sweat racing like bullets down his flushed cheeks. your mewling and heavy pants fills his ears like his favorite melody as he watches your face screw up in pure hedonism underneath him. your soaked, lacey, baby blue panties are held hostage between his clenched teeth while he cages your head between his down-turned palms pressed into the sheets
"i'm cummin', i-i'm cumm-mm-mm," you babble quietly with drool trickling out of the corner of your mouth. you turn your head to the side, attempting to bury it in the pillow your head is propped up on ノ
he reaches up to pull the fabric out of his mouth and says "yeah? you gonna be good 'n cum for me? you're gonna be so so sooo good for me, baby? hm?"
"yes fuck yes yes yes," you hiss with desperation breathlessly, and he takes that as his cue to sink deeper, slowly, into your wet heat. you still for a moment. both of you do. he lets out a deep groan, his body buckling as you writhe beneath him, your eyes rolling so hard you can almost damn near see your brain. he leans up to push your knees to your chest, adjusting comfortably inside of you as you pulse and clench around his length. your hands shoot up and your nails dig into his shoulders as he begins to grind, rolling his hips painfully slow. he throws his head back, moaning and gripping onto your legs for support
you feel the pressure blooming in sporadic waves and you begin to wiggle erratically, pure little giggles escaping between breathy moans and swears. one of his hands strokes the plush of your hip as he grinds into you faster, a sloppy grin stretching across his face. "come on, angelface," he rasps, "gimme some more of those adorable sounds while i fuck the shit out of you." he peppers kisses allll over your face — not a single bit of surface left un-affectioned. "you're so pretty, baby, i'm losing my fucking mind, i can't believe i get to make you cum like this, you have no idea how long, baby, please cum please cum please pretty baby —"
his stern dirty-talk dissolves into heady whines as you tighten around him
"i can't take it 'nymore, 's toom - 's too muh —"
"fuck. fuck —" he adjusts your bodies so that you're flush up against each other, your leg hooked over his waist, arms linked around his neck, your foreheads and breaths touching and intermingling. he catches your chin between his thumb and knuckle of his pointer finger, firmly swiping away at the trail of spit. "look at me. look at me when you cum. don't stop. remember who made you fuckin' cum like this"
"dick .... nn —" you feel absolutely weightless as your body gives in, hands and feet clenching almost painfully as his thrusts become more shallow with his release that follows shortly after. you feel his fingertips delicately trailing up and down the middle of your stomach, and you can't help but giggle and shake your head
"hm?" he coos, exhaling quite laboriously from his nostrils as he tilts his head and guides a lock of hair out of your face. "no? no what, goofball?"
he doesn't quite get an answer, just your head snuggling up into the crook under his chin as you come down from your orgasm after a while. the room falls silent, and he starts to pull away to start the aftercare
"no —" you fuss, snatching him back towards you while another drunken giggle bubbles out of you
he laughs, his blissful smile pressing dimples into the brackets of his lips. "alright, alright. little while longer. just 'cause you're so fucking cute right now. then i'm gonna clean you up, wait 'til the room stops spinning like this and prepare for round two because i just gotta make you giggle like that again"
you shush him then mumble something that sounds like "not cute" or "cuddle me". something like that, he supposes
after he makes you take a couple of sips of cool water, you feel the tips of his fingers lightly rake over your scalp as he holds you close in your soft bed, sheets long abandoned on the hardwood floor. you close your eyes momentarily, letting your breath regulate as you absentmindedly trace loops onto his heaving, muscular back
Summary:
Prince Richard “Dick” Grayson has spent years trying to make his solemn knight smile.
When he finally finds the woman hidden beneath the armor, he decides one laugh is not nearly enough.
Author’s Note:
inspired by this ask
Prince Richard “Dick” Grayson had been attempting to make you laugh for six years.
You knew this because he reminded you of it at every possible opportunity, usually while you were trapped somewhere etiquette prevented you from escaping. Council meetings were his favorite hunting ground. Diplomatic receptions came a close second, followed by religious ceremonies, military briefings, and any formal dinner at which he had been seated beside a nobleman who believed grain tariffs were an appropriate subject for prolonged conversation.
Today, it was a council meeting.
You stood behind Dick’s chair with one hand resting near the pommel of your sword, your armor polished, your expression composed, and your attention divided between the men arguing around the table and the prince whose shoulders had begun to slump beneath the weight of fiscal policy.
Lord Halyard had been speaking for nearly eleven minutes.
Dick leaned back just far enough that the carved wood pressed against the front of your breastplate. He did not turn his head.
“If I throw myself from the western tower,” he whispered, “would you be obligated to catch me?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Even if I specifically asked you not to?”
“Yes.”
“What if I made it an official command?”
“I would disregard it.”
A pause followed.
“Disobedience,” Dick murmured. “How exciting.”
You kept your attention on Lord Halyard, whose description of the southern wheat stores had somehow become more detailed.
Dick’s hand slipped beneath the table. A moment later, a folded piece of parchment appeared beside his elbow.
You stared at it.
He pushed it toward the edge of the table with one finger.
There were twelve councilors present, as well as King Bruce at the head of the table, the royal secretary, two scribes, four guards at the doors, and you. None of them appeared to notice that the heir to the throne was attempting to pass secret correspondence to his personal knight.
That only meant they had all learned not to acknowledge it.
You took the note.
Dick sat straighter as you unfolded it.
Lord Halyard’s mustache resembles an exhausted squirrel.
You folded the parchment again and placed it beside his hand.
Dick glanced back at you expectantly.
Your face remained still.
His expression fell with such theatrical disappointment that the royal secretary paused in her writing to hide a smile.
“You know,” Dick whispered, “most people would consider that funny.”
“Most people are not responsible for keeping you alive, Your Highness.”
“I fail to see how those matters are connected.”
“Your survival requires my concentration.”
“Surely you can concentrate while appreciating my wit.”
“I have never been presented with the opportunity.”
His eyes widened.
The secretary’s pen scratched sharply across the parchment. Across the table, Lord Foxworth coughed into his fist.
Dick turned fully in his chair, council meeting forgotten. His blue eyes were bright with triumph.
“That was a joke.”
“It was an observation.”
“You insulted me.”
“Your Highness, I would never.”
“You did. I heard you.”
King Bruce lifted his gaze from the report before him.
“Richard.”
Dick faced the table again. “Yes, Father.”
“If your knight has finally threatened you, I suggest you deserve it.”
A few of the councilors smiled. Dick looked wounded by the betrayal.
You remained motionless behind him, although satisfaction warmed beneath your breastplate.
Lord Halyard resumed his report. Dick lasted almost three minutes before passing you another note.
This one bore a poorly drawn squirrel with an enormous mustache.
You did not laugh.
You did keep the parchment.
Dick never noticed you slide it beneath the edge of your vambrace.
The truth was that you laughed often.
You laughed with the women who worked in the kitchens when they smuggled you honey cakes before dawn patrol. You laughed with the squires when one of them stumbled into the wash trough after claiming he could defeat you blindfolded. You laughed when the stable master complained that the palace’s most expensive warhorse had developed a personal grudge against decorative ribbons, and when the laundress’s youngest daughter followed you around the courtyard with a wooden spoon tucked into her belt as a sword.
You laughed loudly enough that Captain Gordon had once crossed the entire training yard to ask whether someone had been injured.
It was only around Dick that you seemed to lose the ability.
The problem was not that he failed to amuse you. The problem was that he succeeded far too easily.
Dick Grayson had been charming people since he was old enough to understand the effect of his own smile. Courtiers adored him. Soldiers would follow him into impossible battles. Visiting royals forgave him for ignoring protocol because he could make an insult sound affectionate and a diplomatic concession feel like a shared secret.
You had watched him dance with princesses, flirt with ambassadors, and kiss the hands of noblewomen whose fathers possessed useful armies. He offered warmth as naturally as breathing, and most people mistook it for intimacy.
You knew better.
Or you had tried to.
You had been appointed to his personal guard six years earlier, after distinguishing yourself during an attack on the northern road. Dick had been twenty, newly returned from his first military campaign and furious that his father intended to assign someone to follow him everywhere.
He had disliked the restriction.
He had liked you almost immediately.
By the end of your first week, he had learned your patrol schedule, your preferred sword, and exactly how close he could stand before you became visibly annoyed. By the end of the first month, he had begun leaving pastries beside your gauntlets before morning training. Within a year, he had confided in you about everything from the burden of the crown to the fact that he hated the ceremonial shoes required for state occasions.
You knew the names of the servants who had raised him. You knew which scars ached before rain and that he slept poorly after battles even when he claimed otherwise. You knew he checked every room for its exits without thinking and softened his voice around frightened children.
You also knew the precise shape of his mouth when he was attempting not to smile.
So you kept your own mouth firmly under control.
Affection encouraged carelessness. Desire encouraged worse. You had sworn to place Dick’s life before your own, and you could not afford to forget what he was simply because he insisted on making himself impossible not to love.
Your restraint had worked admirably.
Until the night he found you in the stables wearing an old linen shirt, feeding stolen apples to a foal while explaining to a barn cat why Lord Halyard’s mustache had become a matter of national concern.
“His Highness drew it himself,” you told the cat, who sat on an overturned bucket with a blue ribbon tied loosely around his neck. “The likeness was poor, but the spirit was accurate.”
The cat blinked.
“You are right. I should not encourage him.”
The foal nosed impatiently at your shoulder.
“You have already had three pieces.”
She nudged you again.
“You are becoming entitled.”
Her ears flicked forward.
“That was not praise.”
You surrendered another slice of apple.
The foal took it delicately from your palm, then sneezed so forcefully that warm breath and flecks of fruit struck your face.
You stared at her.
She stared back.
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. It grew when the cat, apparently offended on your behalf, leaped down from the bucket and swatted at the foal’s front leg. The foal jumped sideways. The cat fled beneath a wooden bench, blue ribbon trailing like the pennant of a retreating army.
“You are both ridiculous,” you said, still laughing as you wiped your cheek with your sleeve.
“I have spent six years trying to make that sound.”
Every trace of amusement vanished.
Dick stood at the stable entrance.
He was dressed in dark trousers, soft boots, and a loose white shirt open at the throat. His hair was disordered in a way that suggested he had been running his hands through it, and the candle he held painted gold along the edge of his face.
You rose too quickly.
The basket tipped beside your knee, sending apples rolling through the hay.
“Your Highness.”
Dick looked behind you, then beneath the nearby stall divider.
“Where did she go?”
Your heart was still beating too quickly from surprise. “Who?”
“The woman who was here a moment ago.” He stepped into the stable. “She looked exactly like you, but she smiled.”
“I do smile.”
“Not at me.”
“That is not true.”
He stopped beside an apple and nudged it with the toe of his boot. “Name one occasion.”
You searched your memory.
Dick watched you struggle.
“Precisely,” he said.
The barn cat emerged from beneath the bench. Dick looked down as the animal wound around his ankle, the blue ribbon still tied around his neck.
“What happened to him?”
“Nothing.”
“He has a ribbon.”
“It is decorative.”
“Does he often decorate himself?”
You folded your arms.
Dick crouched, offering the cat his hand. The animal sniffed his fingers, then permitted Dick to scratch beneath his chin.
“What is his name?”
“He does not have one.”
Dick glanced at you.
The cat purred.
You looked away. “Sir Whiskers.”
Dick’s hand stopped.
“He was named by one of the kitchen children.”
“Of course.”
“I did not choose it.”
“Then why is he wearing your ribbon?”
You looked at the cat. The cat regarded you without loyalty or shame.
“He has sensitive ears,” you said. “He requires ornamentation.”
Dick laughed.
The sound filled the quiet stable, warm and startled and far too pleased. He rose, still grinning at you.
“You have been hiding an entire person from me.”
“I have done nothing of the kind.”
“You sneak into the stables after midnight, tell scandalous stories to animals, and knight cats.”
“I did not knight him.”
“He has a title.”
“It is part of his name.”
Dick stepped over the scattered apples. “Do the horses have names too?”
“Their names are written above the stalls.”
“I mean other names.”
You said nothing.
His grin widened. “They do.”
“Go back to bed, Your Highness.”
“I will not.”
“You have a diplomatic breakfast at sunrise.”
“I’m aware.”
“You require sleep.”
“What I require is an explanation.”
You bent to collect the apples. Dick knelt before you could stop him and reached for one at the same time you did. His fingers brushed yours.
You withdrew your hand.
The movement was small, but he noticed.
Dick’s expression changed.
The amusement remained, though it softened at the edges. He picked up the apple and placed it in the basket.
“Do you dislike me?”
The question was so unexpected that you stared at him.
He collected another piece of fruit, his gaze lowered. “You laugh with everyone else.”
“Your Highness—”
“I have heard you in the training yard. I didn’t realize it was you until now, but I remember the sound.” He placed another apple in the basket. “You speak freely with the squires. The kitchen staff know more about your life than I do, and I spend nearly every day with you.”
“You are my prince.”
“That does not answer the question.”
“It answers all of it.”
Dick rose. You did the same, holding the basket between you like a shield.
He studied your face with an intensity you usually saw reserved for battle maps and political negotiations.
“Have I ever made you believe you cannot speak freely around me?”
“No.”
“Has anyone in my household treated you poorly for your position?”
“Never.”
“Then is it the title?”
You tightened your grip on the basket. “The title is not something that can be separated from you merely because you dislike its inconvenience.”
“I don’t want it separated from me. I want you to look at me and see something other than a responsibility.”
“That is precisely what I cannot afford to do.”
Dick went quiet.
Beyond the stable walls, the castle grounds were still. Rain had begun sometime after midnight, whispering against the roof and gathering in the gutters. The horses shifted in their stalls, accustomed to your presence and unconcerned by the prince who had entered their sanctuary.
Dick took the basket from your hands.
You let him, mainly because resisting would have required touching him again.
He set it on the bench.
“You think caring about me would make you worse at your duty.”
You stared at the hay near his boots.
“I already care about you,” you said. “That is part of the duty.”
“That isn’t what you meant.”
“You should return to your chambers.”
“You have faced armed men without retreating.”
“Armed men are generally less persistent.”
“You say the sweetest things.”
Despite yourself, you almost smiled.
Dick saw it.
He stepped closer.
The movement placed him within reach, close enough that you could smell rain on his shirt and the faint cedar oil used in his rooms. Your training measured the distance automatically. A half step to intercept an attack. One movement to draw your sword. Less than a second to put yourself between him and danger.
There was no danger here except the one you had carried quietly for years.
Dick lifted his hand.
He paused before touching you.
When you did not move away, he plucked a piece of hay from your hair.
“You are allowed to be a person in my presence,” he said.
“Being a person is the problem.”
His fingers remained near your temple.
You could see the moment understanding began to form. Dick was clever enough that it did not take long, although disbelief arrived before certainty.
“All this time,” he said slowly, “I thought I was failing to charm you.”
You wished for an enemy to emerge from the rafters. You would have accepted an assassin, a fire, or the sudden collapse of the eastern wall.
Instead, you had Dick looking at you as though the entire night had rearranged itself.
“You succeeded years ago,” you admitted.
His lips parted.
Once the words existed, you could not force them back behind your teeth. Your composure, so carefully maintained for so long, seemed suddenly as fragile as a cracked shield.
“I took an oath to protect you,” you continued. “I stand outside your chambers. I accompany you to war. I watch you dance with women who may one day become your wife, and I remain close enough to hear every charming thing you say to them.”
“I don’t say the same things to them.”
“You told Princess Koriand’r that the stars had envied her entrance.”
“She had arrived during a meteor shower. It was contextually appropriate.”
“You compared Lady Helena’s eyes to moonlight.”
“She had a knife beneath her skirt. I was distracting her while you moved closer.”
“You sent flowers to Ambassador Bea.”
“Her nation controls the eastern shipping route.”
You stared at him.
Dick frowned. “Those examples are less compelling than I expected.”
A laugh threatened at the back of your throat. You swallowed it.
His eyes narrowed.
“Do not.”
“Do not what?”
“Laugh now.”
“That seems contrary to everything you have ever wanted.”
“You are confessing your love for me while presenting evidence that I am an indiscriminate flirt. I am trying to defend my honor.”
“I did not confess love.”
“You said I charmed you years ago.”
“That could mean anything.”
“Could it?”
He moved closer until only inches separated you. The softness in his face did not diminish the satisfaction in his eyes.
You had watched Dick negotiate with warlords. He was relentless once he discovered an advantage.
“Perhaps I find you mildly pleasant,” you said.
“Mildly.”
“When you are quiet.”
“You love me.”
“You are remarkably confident for a man who spent six years losing an argument with my face.”
His smile became brilliant.
There it was again, the expression that had won over kingdoms and soothed frightened soldiers. You had always resisted it in public. Here, with hay beneath your boots and Sir Whiskers cleaning one paw nearby, resistance felt less like discipline and more like cowardice.
Dick’s hand came to your waist.
He gave you time to stop him.
“Does your oath forbid you from kissing the prince?” he asked.
“It does not specifically address the matter.”
“An oversight.”
“A catastrophic one, apparently.”
His thumb pressed lightly into your side. “You could tell me to leave.”
“You would not listen.”
“I would if you meant it.”
The answer stripped the game from the moment.
Dick could be reckless, demanding, and infuriatingly amused by rules designed to protect him from himself, but he had never made light of your boundaries. Even now, when he had finally uncovered the affection you had concealed from him, his grip remained gentle.
You set your hand against his chest.
His heart beat hard beneath your palm.
Dick looked down at it, then back at you.
“I do not want you to leave,” you said.
He kissed you.
For all his confidence, the first touch of his mouth was careful. His lips brushed yours softly, testing whether you might change your mind. You had imagined kissing him often enough that the reality should not have surprised you, but imagination had never included the warmth of his hand at your waist or the quiet sound he made when you leaned closer.
You kissed him again before he could pull away.
Dick’s restraint broke.
He caught your face between his hands and kissed you with years of unanswered flirtation behind it. You gripped the front of his shirt, dragging him nearer, and his back struck the wooden divider beside the nearest stall.
One of the horses snorted.
Dick smiled against your mouth. “Scandalized.”
“Quiet.”
“You are kissing me in front of the royal cavalry.”
“You kissed me.”
“You kissed back.”
You pressed your mouth to his again to stop him speaking.
His hands slid from your face to your waist, then around your back. There was strength beneath the elegance the court expected from him, built through years of swordsmanship, climbing, riding, and the acrobatic training he still practiced whenever the master-at-arms was not watching.
He turned you smoothly, guiding you backward until your thighs met the edge of a heavy tack trunk.
You sat.
Dick stepped between your knees.
Without your armor, there was little separating you from him. Your linen shirt had been borrowed years ago from the knights’ laundry and worn soft through use. His hands settled on your thighs above your pants, warm and broad, while he kissed the corner of your mouth and then your jaw.
“You are very different off duty,” he murmured.
“I am never off duty.”
“You are feeding apples to a horse in the middle of the night.”
“I remain capable of drawing my sword.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It may become one.”
His lips moved beneath your ear. “That sounds familiar.”
You shivered.
Dick felt it. His mouth curved against your skin, but when he kissed your throat, the teasing gentled into something slower. He seemed determined to learn every reaction you had denied him, and you had spent too long hiding to know how to survive the attention.
Your fingers slid into his hair.
He exhaled against your neck.
“That,” he said, “was worth six years.”
“You have had women touch your hair before.”
“I have never wanted them to be you.”
The simplicity of it hurt more than any practiced declaration could have.
You tightened your grip and drew his mouth back to yours.
Dick kissed you until breathing became difficult. His tongue swept across your lower lip, and you opened beneath him, tasting the faint sweetness of the wine he must have drunk at dinner. His hands moved higher along your thighs, thumbs brushing the crease where your legs met your hips.
Heat gathered between them.
You became aware of every place your bodies touched. The press of him against your knee. The lean strength of his waist beneath your hands. The growing hardness beneath his trousers when you pulled him closer.
Dick broke the kiss with a ragged breath.
“Tell me to stop if this is too much.”
“You are still speaking.”
“I need you to understand.”
“I understand.”
His gaze searched yours. “Say it.”
The prince could command armies, but this was not an order. You heard the vulnerability beneath it, the need to know that the woman who guarded him was choosing this without duty, rank, or years of loyalty clouding the answer.
“I want you,” you said.
Dick’s eyes darkened.
“Good.”
He kissed you once, hard enough to leave you breathless, then lowered himself to his knees.
Your thoughts scattered.
“Dick.”
His head lifted.
It was the first time you had spoken his name that night. Perhaps the first time you had ever said it without a title while looking directly at him.
The expression on his face nearly undid you.
“Again,” he said.
“You are kneeling in the stable.”
“I am aware.”
“You are the crown prince.”
“I’m also very comfortable down here.”
“Someone could come in.”
“That is unlikely.”
“You came in.”
“I was searching for you.”
“You were wandering after midnight.”
“Semantics.”
His hands found the fastening of your pants.
Your grip tightened on the edge of the trunk.
Dick paused. “May I?”
Every sensible thought you possessed urged you to stand, restore your clothing, and escort him back to the safety of the castle before either of you destroyed the careful order of your lives.
You lifted your hips.
Dick smiled as he opened the fastening.
“You look far too pleased.”
“I have been imagining what it would take to make you lose your composure.”
“You could have simply asked.”
“I did. Repeatedly.”
He tugged your pants down over your hips, taking your undergarments with them. The cool stable air met heated skin. You shifted instinctively, but Dick’s hands settled on your knees before you could close them.
His teasing faded.
For a moment, he only looked at you.
You had faced enemy forces with fewer nerves than you felt beneath his gaze.
“Say something,” you muttered.
“You are beautiful.”
“That was predictable.”
“I can be more specific.”
“You should not.”
His thumb moved along the inside of your knee. “You are already wet.”
“Dick.”
“There. That expression.” His smile returned, slow and wicked. “I have been trying to see it for years.”
“You have never been close enough to earn it.”
“I intend to earn several.”
He pushed your knees farther apart.
The position left you exposed to him, trousers gathered around one boot, shirt rumpled around your hips. Dick leaned forward and kissed the inside of your thigh.
Your breath caught.
He kissed you again, higher this time.
The rough grain of the trunk pressed through your shirt beneath you. Hay rustled under Dick’s knees. Somewhere beyond the stable walls, rain continued to fall, concealing the quiet sounds neither of you could entirely control.
Dick’s mouth brushed the crease of your thigh.
You pulled lightly at his hair. “Do you know what you are doing?”
He looked up.
The question had been intended as provocation. His expression suggested he understood that.
“Would you like a list of references?”
You tightened your grip.
He laughed softly. “Jealous.”
“I am reconsidering the wisdom of leaving you armed.”
“My sword is in my chambers.”
“That is not what I meant.”
His grin flashed before he lowered his mouth to you.
The first stroke of his tongue stole the rest of your threat.
Your thighs tensed around his shoulders. Dick held them open, firm enough to keep you where he wanted you without forcing the position. His tongue moved through your wetness, unhurried at first, learning the shape of you and the reactions you could not hide.
You pressed your lips together.
He looked up without lifting his mouth.
The challenge in his eyes was unmistakable.
You glared at him.
Dick licked slowly over your clit.
Your head tipped back.
A quiet sound escaped you, little more than a breath, but he heard it. His hands tightened on your thighs, and he repeated the motion with greater pressure.
Pleasure unfurled low in your stomach.
You had expected him to tease. Dick treated nearly everything as an invitation to play, and he had spent years provoking you simply to see whether you would respond. Between your thighs, however, his attention sharpened into something almost ruthless.
He watched you.
Every change in your breathing taught him something. When his tongue circled your clit and your hips lifted, he held you closer. When he drew back enough to press two fingers against your entrance, he waited until you looked down at him.
“Still want me?” he asked.
You could have struck him.
Instead, you said, “Yes.”
He slid one finger inside you.
The intrusion was easy, your body already slick from his mouth. Dick’s gaze remained on your face as he worked it deeper, curling experimentally until your grip in his hair became painful.
His eyes lit with discovery.
“You are unbearable,” you whispered.
“You like me.”
“Against my better judgment.”
He added a second finger.
Your legs opened wider.
Dick leaned in again, sealing his mouth over your clit while his fingers moved inside you. The combination tore through the last of your restraint. Your hips rocked toward him, seeking more, and he gave it willingly, following every movement with practiced precision.
You had been quiet in pain before. You had endured arrows pulled from flesh, bruised ribs beneath armor, and wounds stitched beside campfires without allowing Dick to hear more than a hiss between your teeth.
Pleasure proved harder to withstand.
A moan slipped into the stable.
Dick answered with a groan against you.
The vibration made you jerk. Your heel struck the side of the trunk, and one of the horses shifted uneasily in its stall.
“Quiet,” you gasped.
Dick lifted his head. His lips were wet, his hair disordered by your hands, and his eyes held enough satisfaction to be infuriating.
“You’re the one frightening the horses.”
“You are doing it deliberately.”
“Doing what?”
His fingers curled inside you.
Your answer dissolved into another broken sound.
Dick’s smile softened into something hungry.
“That.”
He returned his mouth to you.
You clapped one hand over your lips.
He objected immediately, catching your wrist and pulling it away. He laced his fingers through yours and pressed your joined hands against your thigh while his other hand continued to work between your legs.
“Dick,” you warned.
“I spent six years trying to hear you laugh.” His mouth brushed your inner thigh as he spoke. “I am not letting you hide every other sound from me.”
“We are in a stable.”
“Then you should be quiet.”
You stared at him.
He grinned.
Before you could answer, his tongue returned to your clit, and his fingers found the place inside you that sent heat blazing through your body.
Your hand crushed his.
Dick did not slow. He drove his fingers into you with an increasing rhythm, each stroke drawing you tighter. His mouth alternated between slow, broad licks and concentrated pressure that made your vision blur at the edges.
You tried to keep your voice contained.
The effort lasted until he sucked gently.
Pleasure snapped through you.
Your thighs closed around his head as your body tightened, hips lifting from the trunk. Dick held you through it, fingers continuing their steady motion while your release broke over you in waves.
You said his name.
Louder this time.
He drew out every tremor until you pushed weakly at his shoulder. Only then did he slow, pressing one final kiss to the inside of your thigh before withdrawing his fingers.
Your breathing sounded impossibly loud.
Dick remained kneeling between your legs.
His cheek rested against your knee. The sight of him there—the future king, flushed and smiling, his lips shining with evidence of what he had done—sent a fresh pulse of heat through you.
He lifted your joined hands and kissed your knuckles.
“You are very expressive,” he said.
You covered his mouth with your free hand.
His laughter warmed your palm.
“I should throw you into the horse trough.”
Dick kissed the center of your hand.
“You would catch me before I hit the water.”
“I might reconsider my oath.”
“You love me too much.”
You lowered your hand.
His expression had become softer again, the teasing unable to hide what lay beneath it.
You touched his face.
Dick leaned into your palm.
“I do love you,” you said.
The admission felt different now. There was no armor between you, no council table or formal title behind which to retreat. You sat half undressed on a tack trunk while Dick knelt in the hay, and somehow the indignity made honesty easier.
His eyes closed for a moment.
When they opened, the prince had disappeared. There was only the man who had left pastries beside your gauntlets, trusted you with his nightmares, and spent six years trying to hear you laugh because he wanted some part of you that belonged to neither the crown nor your duty.
“I love you too,” he said.
You drew him up and kissed him.
The taste of yourself lingered on his mouth. Heat rushed through you at the realization, but the kiss remained tender, almost reverent. Dick settled between your knees again, one hand cupping the back of your neck.
His erection pressed against you through his trousers.
You reached for the fastening.
He caught your wrist.
“You don’t have to.”
“I am aware.”
His breath hitched when your palm moved over him.
“Someone may come in,” he reminded you.
“That did not concern you earlier.”
“I’m attempting to be responsible.”
“You are doing it poorly.”
“I’ve had little practice.”
You squeezed lightly.
Dick’s forehead dropped against yours.
“That,” he said hoarsely, “was unkind.”
“You like me.”
“Against my better judgment.”
You laughed.
It burst from you before you could stop it, bright and breathless and still tangled with the pleasure he had given you.
Dick went still.
He drew back just enough to look at you.
You became self-conscious beneath the wonder in his face. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You are staring.”
“I know.”
“Stop.”
“I don’t think I can.”
You reached for your trousers.
Dick caught your hand again and kissed it.
“Do that again.”
“I cannot laugh on command.”
“I’m the prince.”
“That authority does not extend to laughter.”
“It should.”
“It does not.”
He kissed your palm. “I’ll petition the council.”
“You will do no such thing.”
“Lord Halyard will support me if I promise never to draw his mustache again.”
“You would break that promise before midday.”
“Probably.”
You smiled.
Dick looked as though you had handed him the crown willingly.
The affection in his face threatened to overwhelm you more thoroughly than his mouth had. You tugged your clothing back into place, and he helped without complaint, smoothing the linen of your shirt over your hips once you were covered.
When you stood, your legs felt less steady than you would have preferred.
Dick noticed.
He offered you his arm.
You stared at it.
“I can walk.”
“I have no doubt.”
“You are enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
You took his arm anyway.
Sir Whiskers waited beside the stable entrance, ribbon crooked around his neck. Dick bent to scratch behind the cat’s ears.
“I expect discretion from an officer of the Crown.”
“He is not an officer.”
“He has a title.”
“That is not how military appointments work.”
“I’ll correct the oversight tomorrow.”
You guided Dick toward the castle before he could begin drafting official honors for the cat.
Rain had softened to a mist. The stone courtyard shone beneath the lanterns, and the windows of the palace were mostly dark. Dick remained close beside you, his hand covering yours where it rested on his arm.
At the entrance to the private wing, you stopped.
His chambers lay beyond the guarded corridor. Yours were in the opposite direction, near the barracks.
Dick looked toward the stairs, then back at you.
“You could come with me.”
The invitation warmed you, but the night had already changed enough.
“You have a diplomatic breakfast at sunrise.”
“I was hoping you had forgotten.”
“I never forget.”
“Tomorrow night?”
You studied him.
The hopeful uncertainty in his face was so unlike his usual confidence that you could not resist leaning closer.
“Perhaps,” you said.
Dick narrowed his eyes. “You are doing this intentionally.”
“Good night, Your Highness.”
You kissed his cheek and walked away.
His quiet laughter followed you down the corridor.
The following morning, Lord Halyard resumed his report on the southern wheat stores.
Dick sat at the council table dressed in royal blue, his posture attentive and his expression composed. Anyone who did not know him might have believed he was listening.
You stood behind his chair in full armor.
Your face revealed nothing.
Five minutes into the meeting, Dick slid a folded note toward the edge of the table.
You waited until King Bruce looked down at the agricultural records before taking it.
Sir Whiskers requests a formal audience regarding his appointment as Minister of Stable Affairs.
Beneath the words, Dick had drawn the cat wearing a tiny crown.
Your mouth twitched.
Dick turned his head.
“Face forward, Your Highness,” you whispered.
His smile was insufferably pleased.
He obeyed, though only after catching your smile, the one you could no longer quite hide from him.
credit to @uzmacchiato for the cherry divider and @toxisyddy for the Nightwing divider ❤️💛
in this dessert...
Wally and his girlfriend are foodies, both in different ways. Unless they're in bed.
flavor: smut, porn without plot
wc: 1.3k +
contents: established relationship. oral sex (fem and male receiving), edging, overstimulation. not proofread (is it ever?)
baker's notes: in my active era, or just procrastinating write love (?)... you decide. spain won the world cup (yay), so here's some filth. enjoy!
want more desserts? check out the menu
this fic contains smut, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Wally had always been a fast eater. It was something that came with his abilities, a hunger that threatened to weaken, so Wally would rush to the nearest convenience store and stuff his face with junk food all in the space of a few seconds.
And even when he wasn't using his speed, he still ate unnaturally fast. Much to your displeasure.
You were a certified foodie. And one of your core principles was to eat food and enjoy it like it was your last meal. Every bite an exploration of the rich flavors that combined made the perfect dish. Letting the differing textures melt against your teeth, and enjoying the aftertaste lingering on your tongue.
And as Wally West's girlfriend, it was hell seeing him eat. How could he be appreciating all the nuance of a well-made dish if he ate it in point three nano seconds?
Until you got to bed…
Wally liked to take his time when he situated himself between your legs. He gave you the most lethal puppy eyes, just before he nosed at the hem of your pretty panties. And just when you'd thought he will push them aside and finally soothe the ache of your needy pussy… he would settle for mouthing at the pink bow adorning your panties.
He was a fatal seducer as he pulled down the fabric with his teeth, smirking around it like the cat who got the cream. His eyes still fixed on yours, gauging out how much desperation was swirling inside you. The answer was a lot.
His lips puckered as he leaned in once again, and he blew a cold breath right over your wetness. The feeling made you mewl, and you grabbed his auburn curls to make him finally delve in. He resisted, giving a cruel chuckle as he placed his mouth on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.
His tongue traced the path of a tense tendon there, slowly moving up to the apex of your thighs. You bit your lip as you saw the beautiful sight of your magnificent boyfriend on your knees for you, his attention wholly fixed on you glistening cunt.
"God, baby," he murmured, and by his voice, you'd think he was completely ruined. "You smell like heaven."
You let out a breath, your chest heaving in heavy anticipation. Watched as he tongue peeked out from his pretty pink lips just to give a kitten lick right on your clit. The stimulation wasn't nearly enough and yet the barest contact made you shudder violently.
Wally's strong arms wrapped around your thighs to hold you still, his palms coming over to rest on your lower belly. "Easy, baby. I want to taste you slowly, just how you deserve it."
His torturous ministrations on the bundle of nerves —switching between licks of varying pressure and sucks that sometimes involved the added edge of teeth,— only served to made your pussy wetter, arousal dripping down you to your bed sheets.
When his gaze clocked that, his own breath hitched. "Oh god, look at her… she's so desperate for me, isn't she?" You knew him well enough by now to know that he wasn't talking to you, but rather to your pussy. Still, you nodded pitifully.
He cooed and leaned in to lick the wetness, to have it coat his tongue. At the taste of it, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, painting the most obscene picture. You swore you had a mini orgasm at the sight.
"Fuck—," was all Wally managed, before he dove in hungrily. His tongue in your pussy was insistent, trying to coax out more of your essence, drinking it like nectar. His nose nudged your clit just right, making your legs tremble with an incoming orgasm.
Wally seemed to sense it too, because he pulled away suddenly. The loss of contact made you whine, your fists bunching in the sheets with frustration. "Wally, baby please…"
The begging made no difference. Wally was determined to take you apart, second by aching second. You couldn't even discern how much time had passed since he started his cruel ritual of making out with your cunt and moving away just when you were about to come. Even the clock ticking right in front of you seemed blurry with the tears that were pooling in your eyes. All you knew was that you head was dizzy, your legs shaking, begging words slipping your lips and your pussy was puffy.
You couldn't take it anymore. Wally seemed to take pleasure in your frustration, his hips grinding on the side of your bed to somehow alleviate his angry boner.
"Wally, I swear to god," you muttered, and your shaky voice didn't carry a single threat despite your words.
He laughed. "Well, since you asked so nicely."
This time, when you felt the pleasure starting to coil ever so tightly, vibrating withing your body, threatening to spill at every second in the most intense way, Wally didn't stop. If anything, he doubled down. Ate you out like a man starved, his movements gaining speed until the were just a blur.
Finally, you came. It was a pleasure so vividly intense your sight blacked out. All you could do was feel. Wally still insistent on your pussy. His arms wrapping even more firmly around you. His moans that followed his own release triggered by yours. Everything that was muffled by your screams of his name, over and over.
Of course, when Wally ate, and he finished eating, the appetite would still remain there. He couldn't help the pang of hunger that was still lighting him on fire, the desire for you that made him go up in flames. So he kept going even when you had collapsed on bed. It was your insistent nudging that finally made him stop lapping at you.
When you got down on your knees for him, you didn't take time to get to business. You couldn't help it: this hot and sexy man was the sweetest soul on earth, and he was all yours. So you just had to suck his sweet soul out of his dick.
He had barely managed to lowers his pants when you were grabbing for him. Your eagerness manged to make him impossibly harder, his pretty cock leaking at the tip.
The sight of it made you murmur a soft curse, before you latched your glossy lips on the crown of it, gazing up at him with dangerous eyes. He moaned at the feel, at the lewdness of his girlfriend kneeling before him.
Your tongue gently ran under the sensitive spot under his tip and Wally's knees almost buckled, his hand shooting out to grab the desk behind him for dear life.
And that was the limit of your slowness. You couldn't take it no more, you had to drive him crazy out of his mind.
Your head moved fast, bobbing up and down his dick in a crazed manner. You couldn't tell who was getting more pleasure from this, you or him? You certainly were rivaling him in moaning, your sounds damped by the big dick in your mouth.
You purposefully chocked on it, drawing tears from your eyes, not even stopping when he told you to slow down. How could you? You just wanted more and more and more. Ans so when he came right in your mouth, you swallowed it down eagerly, but didn't move away from him.
Instead of taking his whole cock, you fixed your mouth on his tip, rubbing your lips on the sensitive flesh. You watched as he whined, the overstimulation hitting him hard. His chest caved in with breath as he let out a broken groan, his eyes gleaming with tears.
You giggled around his dick, your tongue running over the slit a couple of times.
Wally's hand shot out to grab your shoulder, firmly but not harsh, never harsh.
"Baby, stop, you're killing me here."
You gave him your sweetest doe eyes, pleading with him wordlessly, your mouth still attached to his cock. And if you knew anything about your boyfriend, it was that he couldn't resist your eyes.
"Fuck, fine," he groaned. "I guess one more won't hurt."
Turned out Wally and you weren't so different after all. Just two people enjoying the pleasures eating (each other out) together.
Summary: Your girlfriend is fed up of you always teasing her, and not putting in much work during sex.
tags: Fingering, oral, scissoring, fingers down your throat, hair pulling, overstimulation, etc.
A/n: Not doing a men ver :p Pillow princess is a queer term. I can do a part 2 with more women though.
DIANA PRINCE
Would play into what you want, she'd never refuse you
"You're moving a little slow tonight, Princess. Don't tell me you’re intimidated by me," you teased, sticking your tongue out
Diana laughed, her lips parting to capture your tongue making you gag as she pulled at it with her teeth. She crawled closer over you.
"Intimidated?" Diana purred, pulling away, her voice dropping into something dark and dangerously sweet. She leaned down, planting her forearms on either side of your head, pinning you beneath her warm weight. "My sweet, arrogant girl. You truly think you're testing me?"
"I'm just saying," you whispered, nipping playfully at her lower lip. "I have no intention of putting in any work tonight. If you want me, you have to do everything."
A smile spread across her lips. "You want to be completely useless for me? You want to lie there like the spoiled thing you are while I worship every inch of your body?"
She slid a hand down your stomach, her calloused palm warming up your skin, before her fingers sank effortlessly into the drenched heat between your thighs. You gasped, your eyes fighting the urge to roll back. Fuck. She knew exactly what she was doing as she curled her fingers.
"Look at you," Diana coaxed dirty against your ear, her thumb grinding hard into your clit while two fingers stroked deep inside you. "You talk such a big game, but your pussy is already dripping all over my hand. You’re practically begging me to take over."
"Diana—"
"Shh, no," Diana interrupted smoothly, "Don't lift a finger, darling. You said you wanted to be lazy, didn't you? So just lie back and let me turn you into an absolute mess."
She dropped her head between your legs without another word. Her tongue flattened against your clit, taking long, slick, filthy strokes while her fingers worked inside you at a ruthless rhythm.
You tried to arch your hips up to meet her, but Diana casually planted a heavy hand on your thigh, pinning you flat against the bed.
"Ah-ah," Diana tutted against your pussy "Stay still. You don’t like to put in the work, right? So you take what I give you”
She picked up the pace, her tongue lashing your clit with harsher precision while her fingers drove deep, hooking against your sweet spot until you were squirming beneath her grip.
"That's it," Diana encouraged, looking up at you through her dark lashes, her chin glistening with your slick. "Look at me while I make you come. Lie there looking pretty and cum all over my mouth, you filthy little tease."
You gripped the sheets, your head lolling back as you screamed “Diana! Diana, please! Babe!” as you came all over her mouth. Diana rode out every wave, sucking your clit hard into her mouth and lapping up every drop of your release until you were overstimulated and teary-eyed and thoroughly subdued.
Slowly, Diana sat back on her heels. She casually dragged two fingers across her wet lips, licking them clean with a dark, triumphant smirk.
She leaned up, pressing a tender, sweet kiss to your flushed forehead while you lay there panting.
"There now," Diana whispered playfully, her thumb gently tracing your lower lip. "Was that lazy enough for you, my sweet brat? Or do I need to serve you again?"
“That’s how it always should be,” you hummed, despite yourself.
SELINA KYLE
Absolutely not having it, she'll make you work for it
Selina stood at the foot of the bed, slowly peeling off her leather gloves. Her green eyes tracked the pretty black lace set, a dangerous smile playing on her lips.
"You look stunning, darling girl," Selina purred, as she crawled onto the mattress, moving with the grace of a predator. She hovered over you, her cool fingertips tracing the delicate lace over your hip, snapping the waistband of your thong against your skin. "A pretty picture of luxury."
"I know," you drawled. You kept your hands resting lazily behind your head, making no effort to touch her. "And since I put so much effort into looking this pretty for you, I think I've done my part for the night. The rest is up to you, Kyle."
Selina let out a breathless laugh against your neck, her hand sliding up your thigh to slip beneath the damp lace of your thong. Her long nails scraped lightly over your sensitive skin, making you gasp softly, your thighs parting wider in eager invitation.
"Is that so?" Selina whispered, her thumb brushing over your swollen clit. She sank two fingers deep inside you in one swift, agonizingly slick motion, making your hips twitch helplessly against the mattress. "You just want to lie there like a little trophy while I do all the dirty work?"
"Mmm, exactly," you gasped out, a smug smile tugging at your lips even as her fingers started a slow rhythm that had your breath hitching. "You love—ah~ taking what's yours, don't—nngh~you? So take it."
"Oh, sweetheart," Selina chuckled, her eyes flashing with malice. "You've got me all wrong. I love stealing things, but I never give handouts."
Before you could process her words, Selina’s fingers pulled completely out of your pussy with a wet, squelching sound. You let out an embarrassed, desperate whine at the sudden loss, your hands instantly flying down to grab her wrist. "Hey! What are you—"
In one swift movement, Selina grabbed you by the waist and flipped you onto your hands and knees. You barely had time to register the sudden shift before she seized your hips from behind, hauling you backward until your dripping cunt was pressed right against her thigh, your lace panties shoved recklessly to the side.
"Selina!" you gasped, your face flushing bright red from humiliation and the sudden new pulse of arousal between your legs. "I said I wanted to lie down!"
"And I said no handouts," Selina purred darkly, sucking a hickey onto the curve where your neck met your shoulder. She slid her fingers back inside you from behind, driving them in deep while her thumb ground mercilessly into your clit. "Look at you. Absolutely drenched, squirming like a little worm, and you still think you get to dictate terms?"
"You're a —mmm— jerk," you choked out, your hands clutching the tangled sheets in front of you. The angle was delicious, every thrust of her fingers hitting your sweet spot so directly that your knees felt like they were going to buckle. "I was –ahh~ comfortable!"
"You were being a spoiled brat," Selina corrected smoothly, her hot breath fanning over your burning ear as she sped up her rhythm, dragging her nails lightly down your spine. "If you want that pussy ruined tonight, you're going to have to work for it. Ride my hand, baby. Take what you want, or I stop right now."
"You wouldn't dare," you snapped, turning your head to glare at her despite being desperate.
Selina simply stopped moving her hand entirely, leaving her fingers buried deep inside your pussy. She flashed you a quick smirk. "Try me."
A furious whimper escaped your lips. "God, I hate you," you huffed, your cheeks burning hotter than ever. Driven by need, you rolled your hips back against her hand, forcing her fingers deeper into yourself.
"That's it," Selina cooed dirty, her tone dripping with playful triumph as she met your needy rolls with relentless counter-pressure. "Look at my pretty princess, working so hard for her pleasure. Good girl.”
This was humiliating. You’d never put in this much work your whole life. But fuck, you were so close. You ground your hips back against her with frantic speed, your screams muffled by Selina as she used her spare hand to shove two fingers into your mouth as you came.
Selina held you tight through it, laughing softly against your ear as she finally let you collapse back flat onto your stomach, completely spent and flushed.
"See?" Selina whispered tenderly, pressing a soft kiss to your sweat-slicked shoulder as she slowly slid her shiny fingers free, licking them while locking eyes with you "Isn't it so much more satisfying when you actually earn it?"
“Not really,” you shook your head “Now that I worked hard can I have a free handout?” you started, earning a slap to your ass.
TALIA AL GHUL
you're punished for it
"You look very pleased with yourself," Talia noted, her voice calm. She unfastened her silk robe, letting it pool around her ankles as she braided her hair to the side.
"I'm comfortable," you purred, "And I don't feel like moving tonight, Talia. So if you want me, you'll just have to do all the work."
Talia let out an imperceptible scoff. "You mistake my indulgence for weakness, my love. I am no servant to be commanded by a spoiled girl who refuses to move."
She stepped onto the divan, straddling your left thigh, her weight pinning you down. Before you could even process her posture, she gripped your right leg by the knee and hauled it wide, hiking it up over her shoulder. She aligned her cunt directly over yours.
"Talia wait, what are you—"
"Darling, Silence," Talia commanded firmly, her tone leaving zero room for argument. "You wish to lie on your back and do nothing? Then you will lie there and take every second of what I give you."
She brought her hips down hard, grinding her slick pussy directly against yours. The friction was immediate.
"Oh, fuck," you choked out, your confident facade instantly crumbling, arms immediately wrapping around her neck. You tried to shift your hips, to find a rhythm, but Talia’s hand clamped down hard on your hipbone, locking you completely flush against the mattress.
"Do not move," Talia ordered, she moaned right into your ear as she established a relentless pace. She moved her hips in punishing circles, grinding her dripping pussy over yours. "You said you wanted to lie still. So lie still and let me take you."
"Talia, please! it's too fast!" you gasped, your fingers digging helplessly into the warm skin of her back.
"You will stay right here," she declared, her eyes burning with intensity as she picked up the speed, her breath hitching rhythmically while she rode your cunt without mercy for what felt like an hour "Look at me. Look at what happens when you attempt to play games with me."
The wet slapping sound of your bodies clashing filled the room. The pleasure was so sharp that you could barely form words. You screamed as an orgasm tore through you, your hips shuddering uselessly against her unyielding weight. But Talia didn't stop.
As the first wave of your release crested, she continued to grind her pussy directly into your hyper-sensitive clit, driving straight through your orgasm into agonizing overstimulation.
"Talia! Stop, stop!I'm done, I came!" you sobbed out, tears springing to your eyes as the pleasure turned painful. You tried to pull away, but her grip on your hip was a vice, holding you pinned beneath her.
"I did not say you were finished," Talia whispered harshly, moaning as she pressed harder, her own orgasm building rapidly. "You will lie there, and take every drop of my pleasure, just as you demanded."
"It's too much!" you argued, squirming desperately beneath her.
"Stay still," she commanded, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tugging it up to meet your teary eyes. She drove her hips down with one final roll, her body locking up as she came all over your cunt and hips.
When she finally pulled back, resting her weight on her elbows above you, you were a mess on the cushions. Thoroughly wrecked and hyperventilating.
Talia looked down at your ruined face, an utterly dark smile curving her lips as she lightly traced your lower lip with her thumb.
"There," Talia cooed softly, her voice returning to its usual tone. "You didn't have to lift a finger. Was that to your liking, my sweet?"
“I’m mad at you,” you huffed, flicking her forehead.
I can see Wally needing the reassurance that you like him a lot.
Not because he's actually insecure in your relationship or about you loving him, you do, he knows that. But because it gets him going. Knowing how much you love him and hearing you say it makes him either very clingy and all soft or horny.
So when you lay in bed, him pressing soft, quick kisses all over your face, listing all the things about you that he loves and you finally get the chance to tell him how much you love him too, he´ll either pull you closer to him and keep kissing your face or press you into the mattress and start moving his hands lower.
He´ll keep kissing you, first your face, then neck then chest. He´ll take his time making his way lower, though you can feel how impatient he is, fiddling his hands over your thighs and hips.
When he finally gets his face between your thighs, he'll keep teasing, only giving you the touch you need after assuring him multiple times how much he means to you and how much you love him.
After getting you off with his mouth and fingers, he´ll fuck you and probably wont shut up. He'll keep blabbering and slurring his words. Almost incomprehensible between all the moans and whines but you know he's telling you how much he needs and loves you.
Wally will make sure you have everything you need after, clean up, get you something to drink and crawl back into bed to cuddle until you both fall asleep.
You’re sitting on the side-edge of the bed, still ruthlessly fumbling with the thin ankle strap of your left stiletto heel when the familiar spider-man themed ringer goes off.
You lean across to grab his phone. And right before you, on the screen is a rather turbulent, flashlight flooded picture of jason wearing a hot pink rendition of the bat suit with ridiculously tiny fairy wings that are being swallowed by his entire frame, you barely make out the wings tips sticking out from behind his shoulders.
Paired with a “jayfairy” contact label.
You seriously know better than to ask at this point.
Standing, and careful not to faceplant with your half-worn heel, you start penguin shuffling towards the ensuite. And low in behold, Richard John Grayson in all his glory.
The warm glow of bathroom light practically swarms towards his model-esque, greek-god-sculpted, sun-kissed body and face. Your god of a husband, who looks like he's just stepped out of Lloyd's Mamma Mia or a Hugo Boss men's cologne commercial hovers, by the sink in a loose white button up, tending to the hems at his wrists and the buttons on his blouse.
“It’s Jason,” you say, holding out his phone, smiling and peering into the ensuite.
He halts buttoning, leaving part of his chest exposed in an easy loose V at the open collar, tanned chest catching the light.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” Dick says softly, eyes tracking the screen on your hands as he takes the phone from you and answers it.
"Yeah,” he addresses jason casually skipping the niceties.
“Sure thing, I’ll be there…
Meanwhile, you attempt to multitask. One hand, braced on the ensuite door frame to steady yourself, as you resume fighting your ankle strap. Your (literal) achilles heel every date night. You bring your knee up, try to reach at your ankles but struggle the one-hand manoeuvre with this ribbon-thin, flimsy buckle. You shift, try leaning your back against the bathroom's door frame... nope, your shoulder against the door frame? your try lifting your knee higher, but your mini black dress hikes up, pulling tight and you swear you hear fabric groan. You stop immediately because ripping this dress would make you put the devil in devil wears prada. Then consider shuffling back to the bed… Mmm, no. Bending down maybe?—
As you start to lower down, Dick’s hand meets your shoulder halting you. Your eyes flick up and you see Dick suddenly next to you, one hand steadying you for a brief second as he gently waves off your commotions. He mouths an I’ve got it, already tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder.
And he lowers himself to one knee before you.
“Bruce doesn’t need to—” he continues into the call, the cell clipped between his cheek and right shoulder. His face practically plush against your bare leg, breath faint and warm against your shin as he talks.
“Uh huh, yeah… an hour early, I got it. You’re one to talk since you’re always the late one, Jay,” he says playfully taunting at Jason through the line all the while focused on your strap.
Your hand grips the door frame, while the other holds onto his shoulder for balance (yes, the shoulder of the Greek God knelt before you) and between the wooden frame and Dick's deltoids, the doorframe never stood a chance.
His fingers caresses your ankle and he slots the teeny, tiny, metallic piece through the strap holes. And trust your husband to know exactly which hole! The strap of the velvet heel remains snug enough to support your ankle but not choke off your entire leg’s circulation.
For a man with big fingers and a thread-thin strap in said fingers, he's good with those hands. Probably, too good you think. Your probably jealous you think.
And when the pad of his finger touches the inside of your ankle and the cool metal of his gold wedding ring also slightly brushes your skin, all the nerves in your leg light on fire. You realise then as you tighten your grip on the doorframe that even 10 years of marriage couldn't diffuse the effect he had on you.
As Dick finishes, he doesn’t rise. With a knuckle to the tiled floor and still on one knee, he remains half-immersed in whatever Jason is saying when his attention shifts.
Up.
To you.
From where he’s kneeling, his gaze finds you as if he’s only just seeing you for the first time. You mouth a quiet thank you, and he only watches your lips with such focus like he's counting the syllables of your gratitude.
Looks like you held your charm for 10 pretty well too.
“Mhm…” he breathes into the phone.
“Look, I’ll meet you by the manor and we can sort this out later. I gotta go.”
He ends the call before the last vowel leaves his lips.
“Hi,” you say.
“Why, hi there,” he teases, looking up at you with literally shards of glitter in his cobalt eyes. “Who’s this beauty sneaking into my shower?”
“Please,” you giggle.
“Who’s the Greek statue in Tom Ford on my tiles?”
Dick beams and his dimples appear beneath the warm overhead light.
His hand trails over your calf as he looks up at you. Slowly, he lifts the leg he’d just finished tending to, resting your foot and heel gently against his raised knee. Yeah, disregard the heel from puncturing the Wayne-tailored trousers.
His softness makes you chuckle, until his head dips and presses a gentle kiss to your calf.
And for a second, or minute, you forget why you even have lungs.
The sight of him on one knee, with the warmth of his lips against your skin, nearly makes your knees give out.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, looking up at you again, chin resting on your bent knee.
“Oh, get up here,” you murmur, reaching for the undone tie hanging loosely over his chest.
He rises slowly, letting you pull him closer by the tie until he’s right in front of you.
And then you remember how to breathe when you kiss him.
His lips meet yours, pressing softly against your Charlotte Tilbury pillow talk–coated lips. He guides you back slowly until your spine connects with the edge of the doorframe, his arm braced against the wall beside you. You hold onto him, breathing in the familiar scent of mint from his shampoo mixed with the pang of wood and fresh, airy trace of his cologne, but pull back in case he missed it the first time.
“Thank you,” you whisper against his lips.
“For?” he says airily.
“The past 10 years?" you smile, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.
"Oh, and the strap.”
He flashes that gorgeous smile. The thing about you is you never take anything for granted when it comes to Dick Grayson. And maybe that's the 10 year secret.
And the thing about him? Is he'll do anything for you, even if it means being on his knees 'bout it.
“Anytime, sweetheart," he says kissing the side of your temple.
"If you want, I’ll undo it too. You know..." he bites at your earlobe
"The 10 year anniversary special way.”
You laugh, leaning your head back on the frame, a fleeting memory of your wedding night garter washing over you. You kiss him just as deep as you did right after that I do. Then another feather-light peck stamping his jaw.
“Later.”
@ karaaeps
slice-of-life, plotless cutesy shit from my drafts!!!!!! lowkey scrap description practice i did on the train but i pinky promise there's so much more stories with plot and substance to come from me!
my darlings, i haven't been writing too much lately because yes, the university and work baggage is overflowing (get me outta here, bruce, i beg ✈️)
but! oo big but! i do have a series brewing...
so until i get a moment to polish those, you can get my unedited scraps as proof of my living breathing happy (but busy) body. and maybe, some sneaks soon ;)
in this dessert...
Wally and his girlfriend are foodies, both in different ways. Unless they're in bed.
flavor: smut, porn without plot
wc: 1.3k +
contents: established relationship. oral sex (fem and male receiving), edging, overstimulation. not proofread (is it ever?)
baker's notes: in my active era, or just procrastinating write love (?)... you decide. spain won the world cup (yay), so here's some filth. enjoy!
want more desserts? check out the menu
this fic contains smut, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Wally had always been a fast eater. It was something that came with his abilities, a hunger that threatened to weaken, so Wally would rush to the nearest convenience store and stuff his face with junk food all in the space of a few seconds.
And even when he wasn't using his speed, he still ate unnaturally fast. Much to your displeasure.
You were a certified foodie. And one of your core principles was to eat food and enjoy it like it was your last meal. Every bite an exploration of the rich flavors that combined made the perfect dish. Letting the differing textures melt against your teeth, and enjoying the aftertaste lingering on your tongue.
And as Wally West's girlfriend, it was hell seeing him eat. How could he be appreciating all the nuance of a well-made dish if he ate it in point three nano seconds?
Until you got to bed…
Wally liked to take his time when he situated himself between your legs. He gave you the most lethal puppy eyes, just before he nosed at the hem of your pretty panties. And just when you'd thought he will push them aside and finally soothe the ache of your needy pussy… he would settle for mouthing at the pink bow adorning your panties.
He was a fatal seducer as he pulled down the fabric with his teeth, smirking around it like the cat who got the cream. His eyes still fixed on yours, gauging out how much desperation was swirling inside you. The answer was a lot.
His lips puckered as he leaned in once again, and he blew a cold breath right over your wetness. The feeling made you mewl, and you grabbed his auburn curls to make him finally delve in. He resisted, giving a cruel chuckle as he placed his mouth on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.
His tongue traced the path of a tense tendon there, slowly moving up to the apex of your thighs. You bit your lip as you saw the beautiful sight of your magnificent boyfriend on your knees for you, his attention wholly fixed on you glistening cunt.
"God, baby," he murmured, and by his voice, you'd think he was completely ruined. "You smell like heaven."
You let out a breath, your chest heaving in heavy anticipation. Watched as he tongue peeked out from his pretty pink lips just to give a kitten lick right on your clit. The stimulation wasn't nearly enough and yet the barest contact made you shudder violently.
Wally's strong arms wrapped around your thighs to hold you still, his palms coming over to rest on your lower belly. "Easy, baby. I want to taste you slowly, just how you deserve it."
His torturous ministrations on the bundle of nerves —switching between licks of varying pressure and sucks that sometimes involved the added edge of teeth,— only served to made your pussy wetter, arousal dripping down you to your bed sheets.
When his gaze clocked that, his own breath hitched. "Oh god, look at her… she's so desperate for me, isn't she?" You knew him well enough by now to know that he wasn't talking to you, but rather to your pussy. Still, you nodded pitifully.
He cooed and leaned in to lick the wetness, to have it coat his tongue. At the taste of it, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, painting the most obscene picture. You swore you had a mini orgasm at the sight.
"Fuck—," was all Wally managed, before he dove in hungrily. His tongue in your pussy was insistent, trying to coax out more of your essence, drinking it like nectar. His nose nudged your clit just right, making your legs tremble with an incoming orgasm.
Wally seemed to sense it too, because he pulled away suddenly. The loss of contact made you whine, your fists bunching in the sheets with frustration. "Wally, baby please…"
The begging made no difference. Wally was determined to take you apart, second by aching second. You couldn't even discern how much time had passed since he started his cruel ritual of making out with your cunt and moving away just when you were about to come. Even the clock ticking right in front of you seemed blurry with the tears that were pooling in your eyes. All you knew was that you head was dizzy, your legs shaking, begging words slipping your lips and your pussy was puffy.
You couldn't take it anymore. Wally seemed to take pleasure in your frustration, his hips grinding on the side of your bed to somehow alleviate his angry boner.
"Wally, I swear to god," you muttered, and your shaky voice didn't carry a single threat despite your words.
He laughed. "Well, since you asked so nicely."
This time, when you felt the pleasure starting to coil ever so tightly, vibrating withing your body, threatening to spill at every second in the most intense way, Wally didn't stop. If anything, he doubled down. Ate you out like a man starved, his movements gaining speed until the were just a blur.
Finally, you came. It was a pleasure so vividly intense your sight blacked out. All you could do was feel. Wally still insistent on your pussy. His arms wrapping even more firmly around you. His moans that followed his own release triggered by yours. Everything that was muffled by your screams of his name, over and over.
Of course, when Wally ate, and he finished eating, the appetite would still remain there. He couldn't help the pang of hunger that was still lighting him on fire, the desire for you that made him go up in flames. So he kept going even when you had collapsed on bed. It was your insistent nudging that finally made him stop lapping at you.
When you got down on your knees for him, you didn't take time to get to business. You couldn't help it: this hot and sexy man was the sweetest soul on earth, and he was all yours. So you just had to suck his sweet soul out of his dick.
He had barely managed to lowers his pants when you were grabbing for him. Your eagerness manged to make him impossibly harder, his pretty cock leaking at the tip.
The sight of it made you murmur a soft curse, before you latched your glossy lips on the crown of it, gazing up at him with dangerous eyes. He moaned at the feel, at the lewdness of his girlfriend kneeling before him.
Your tongue gently ran under the sensitive spot under his tip and Wally's knees almost buckled, his hand shooting out to grab the desk behind him for dear life.
And that was the limit of your slowness. You couldn't take it no more, you had to drive him crazy out of his mind.
Your head moved fast, bobbing up and down his dick in a crazed manner. You couldn't tell who was getting more pleasure from this, you or him? You certainly were rivaling him in moaning, your sounds damped by the big dick in your mouth.
You purposefully chocked on it, drawing tears from your eyes, not even stopping when he told you to slow down. How could you? You just wanted more and more and more. Ans so when he came right in your mouth, you swallowed it down eagerly, but didn't move away from him.
Instead of taking his whole cock, you fixed your mouth on his tip, rubbing your lips on the sensitive flesh. You watched as he whined, the overstimulation hitting him hard. His chest caved in with breath as he let out a broken groan, his eyes gleaming with tears.
You giggled around his dick, your tongue running over the slit a couple of times.
Wally's hand shot out to grab your shoulder, firmly but not harsh, never harsh.
"Baby, stop, you're killing me here."
You gave him your sweetest doe eyes, pleading with him wordlessly, your mouth still attached to his cock. And if you knew anything about your boyfriend, it was that he couldn't resist your eyes.
"Fuck, fine," he groaned. "I guess one more won't hurt."
Turned out Wally and you weren't so different after all. Just two people enjoying the pleasures eating (each other out) together.
bruce's been overworking himself recently and all you want to do is take care of him.
pairing: bruce wayne x reader
warnings: 18+, MDNI, fem!reader, dry humping (does it count as dry if it's in a bath?), making out, mentions of bruce's masochistic tendencies
a/n: another apology for disappearing, i've been busy with family stuff! i'm currently working on the requests i've gotten, and i'm hoping to get everything posted before i go on another trip next week :)
masterlist
Your husband has never hidden the fact that he's eager to have your hands on him.
Truthfully, it's all too easy to have Bruce Wayne on his knees, begging to be taken care of. It's just that to a man with such deeply masochistic tendencies, the concept of being taken care of can skew pretty far from what you would think up. And that—the version of care you offer so readily—is something that Bruce will almost never ask for directly.
He's been ramping up recently, asking you to pull his hair harder, bite his thighs until they bruise, and sit on his face until he's almost suffocating between your legs. The real warning sign came last night when you were riding him. You had slid your hand up his neck, and he had reached up and made you squeeze down harder than you ever have before. It scared you, honestly.
So, tonight, you're staging an intervention. Not a typical one full of tough love and well-wishes. No, this one is full of eucalyptus-scented massage oil, dim lighting, soft music, and a warm bath. The kids had promised to take over patrol tonight. Even they were tired of seeing Bruce acting so reckless.
He comes home from a long day of pointless meetings just as Alfred's starting to lay out dinner. If he's surprised to see Dick, Tim, Damian, and Cass all sitting at the table, he doesn't say anything. Your concern deepens the longer he sits in silence as dinner passes. He barely eats any of his meal, doesn't respond unless his name is called twice, and barely has the energy to roll his eyes when Dick makes one too many dumb quips.
Needless to say, you've never seen Bruce quite so run down.
Still, he waits until everyone's finished their meals and retreated into the manor to set his silverware down and push his plate away. You take that as your cue to put your plan into motion. It only takes a few steps to get from your chair to his. Bruce doesn't say anything when you step up behind him, nor does he when you wrap your arms around his shoulders.
"You're tired, aren't you?" you murmur in his ear.
Bruce doesn't respond verbally, but his eyes flutter shut, and his head droops down toward your arm.
"Let's go upstairs." One tug on Bruce's hand has him rising to his feet. Even exhausted, he still manages to stand tall; it's a quality you both hate and admire about him. Nothing ever takes him out for long, but he's always working himself into the ground and running through loops of obsessions that twist his mind into knots. You're usually the one who ends up having to untangle him when it gets to be too much.
Bruce didn't fight you when you led him to the bathroom. He didn't even try to resist when you stripped him down and pushed him toward the eucalyptus-scented bubble bath waiting for him. And he wasn't exactly complaining when you undressed yourself and climbed into the bath after him.
The water is warm, the room is dim, the bubbles rise up to your chest, and Bruce's body acts as a barrier between you and the porcelain tub. It's cozy, but, beyond that, it's grounding for Bruce. The combination of your weight pressing down on him and the calming steam floating through the air has his muscles relaxing for the first time in weeks. As a few minutes go by, you can physically feel him sinking into the tub and into your presence more and more.
Eventually, you turn around in his lap and reach behind him to get a pump of shampoo in your hands. After working it into a lather, you start massaging it into Bruce's scalp. The furrow in his eyebrows slowly fades away, and he's left staring up at you in a daze.
You're able to rinse out the shampoo and work in some conditioner before he pulls you into a kiss. He leads with hunger and desperation, you meet him with tenderness and love, and he melts against you like butter. You've always been his greatest indulgence, the only weakness he gladly lets himself succumb to.
Two big hands slide down the length of your spine before they start kneading and groping at your ass and thighs. The roughness of Bruce's calloused fingers feeling you up sends pleasure shooting through you. Your own hands have long since slipped out of Bruce's damp hair, instead drifting down the sides of his neck to rest on his broad shoulders.
Bruce tries to surge forward, to flip the script on you, but there's no room in your plans for him to try something like this. You press him back against the lip of the tub, and, while he grumbles against your mouth, he doesn't try to take over again.
"Just sit back for me, baby," you murmur, one hand lightly stroking the back of Bruce's neck.
Bruce's lips, however, have already migrated down the side of your neck. Try as you might to muster up resistance, it all fizzles out when his stubble scratches at your collarbone.
"I like being here, though," he counters.
And, really, who are you to deny him? Tonight is for him, to let him relax…a few kisses couldn't hurt anything, right?
Wrong, apparently! Bruce's mouth takes a quick diversion down your sternum, pressing kiss after kiss to your smooth skin before latching onto your right breast like he'd been starving for it. His fingers continue to knead at your thighs while his tongue flicks over your nipple, causing you to shiver. The involuntary movement has you shifting your weight over Bruce's lap, just to feel something hard pressing against your thigh.
"Bruce?"
"Hmm?" he hums around your nipple.
"What's that?"
"Dunno what you're talking about," he mumbles. Despite his words, though, he rolls his hips up against yours.
"You got hard because I was being nice to you?"
Bruce lifts his head up, ice blue eyes sparkling with warmth and hunger, "Sweetheart, your boobs are in my face right now. I'm not a monk."
"Really?" you ask dryly. "I hadn't noticed."
He opts to ignore you words and goes back to littering kisses over as much of your torso as he can reach, grinding his thick cock against your folds all the while. Eventually, you give into him. Your hand reaches down between the two of you, lining hip up so he's gliding against your clit with each motion.
Bruce's hands are back on your ass, guiding you to rock back and forth in time with him. The added friction makes him groan into your chest, and pleasure spikes low in your belly every time the head of his cock nudges up against your clit. The veins pulsing along his cock only add to your pleasure.
It feels silly, grinding against your husband like you're a couple of virgins all over again, but it feels too good to even think about stopping. The water surrounding you sloshes and gets closer and closer to splashing over the edge of the tub the faster you and Bruce grind against each other.
"Can you—" Bruce takes your right hand and guides it up to his hair. You know he's asking you to pull it. To tug on it until he keens. Instead, you card your fingers through his dark hair lovingly, scratching along his scalp gently. Bruce expected violence, always. He keeps himself braced for the worse, so when he feels you caressing him so tenderly…he doesn't expect it. He lets a low moan slip out, just loud enough to hear over the splashing water, and you know you've got him where you want him.
"There you go, Brucey. I love you so much. So much. Let me be sweet to you tonight. It'd make me feel so good." You've learned that sometimes reframing things that Bruce would never ask for as something you want gets him to give in a lot easier. Bruce nods against your chest, and you know that this is one of those nights. "Thank you, honey."
"Mmf…anything you want, Mrs. Wayne," he whispers in between kisses to your neck.
"Remember that later when I force you to sleep."
"Like I said, any—hah—thing you want," he groans, helping you keep your rhythm. Pleasure's pooling low in your gut, and you can feel Bruce's cock twitching against your clit. You're both close, both clinging onto each other desperately as your hips chase any friction they can find.
Bruce cums first, and the sight of his eyes rolling back in his head coupled with the feeling of his cock pulsing against your clit triggers your own orgasm. Your hips stutter against his, and you stifle a moan behind a bitten lip.
The two of you are left panting, chests heaving as water pools around the tub. You can already picture the look Alfred will give you when you tell him about the mess later, but all you're focused on now is getting rinsed off so you can give Bruce the massage he's been in such desperate need of.
The bath drains slowly, but the two of you manage to get rinsed off. You end up having to wash Bruce's hair again because the conditioner sat in his hair for way too long, but neither of you mind the prolonged closeness.
Bruce is surprisingly eager to sprawl out on your shared bed for you. The massage oil you set aside earlier is high quality and mixed with a bit of menthol, soothing away any small aches and pains he's been dealing with. You don't stop until he's pliant and half-asleep under you.
The second you climb off of him, your husband is crawling toward you and collapsing with his head on your chest. He usually insists on holding you, only ever breaking that rule when he's truly exhausted.
It's not like you're complaining, after all. He's safe, loved, and snoozing away as you comb through his clean hair. It's all you could ever ask for. He's all you could ever ask for, and you know you'll never stop showing him how much you love him until he knows that fact, too.
all written work and dividers belong to @ackpplepie!! do not plagiarize, feed my work into ai, or translate it. i do not own the characters or images used above.
in this dessert…
your lover Bruce is a light in your life, even through the darkest storms
flavor: fluff, mentions of sadness, comfort
wc: 300+
contents: sadness, Bruce taking care of reader
baker’s notes: not my finest or most thought out work, but I wrote this when I was feeling a bit under the weather. I might as well have ripped a page of my journal and pasted it here, so I had half a mind not to post this, but I hope it reaches someone who is struggling and it may offer some semblance of comfort. remember, you are very loved and not alone at all, even if it may seem like it sometimes ♥️
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The mood came over you like an unannounced storm. Unpredictable weather that wasn't foretold by any meteorologist.
And now the dark clouds hung over your world, the air turning suffocating. It was tiring, being sad. It took away your spirit, crushed your soul. But there wasn't anything that you could do to ward away the tears.
The came too easily, you knew. The first drop only paved way for others, and they slid freely down your cheeks in a steady stream.
You felt as if your heart was taking the most brunt out of it: it felt as if it were melting like a wax statue, leaking out your melhancoly from every inch of your skin down to the floor.
Deep down you knew that whatever it was that was making you feel so blue, it would pass. Every cloud was carried away by the wind, after all. You'd watch it be chased away. But now it felt as if it were an impenetrable wall, and it was difficult seeing the light shine through the greyness.
Of course even in such drab conditions, there was light. Shining over you like your own personal knight, you sometimes wondered how you would've fared without Bruce.
You couldn't tell him how grateful you were just yet, the heaviness in your chest only translating as tears, but you knew that when these dark days passed, you'd have to thank him profusely.
Thank him for the way he knew what you needed without having to speak a word out loud. It was as if you emitted radio waves in a frequency only he understood.
In his arms, you felt protected. They were strong and firm as they wrapped around your limp body, and they held fast even when you pushed him away half heartedly.
You knew then, that even through the darkness, you'd never be alone. That through the immense sea of sadness that separated you from the whole world, isolated you like a stranded island, there was still Bruce Wayne, would swim the treacherous seas only to bring a smile on your face.
