synopsis: Jason Todd has a reputation for being Gotham’s tough, sharp tongued vigilante who takes no crap from anyone. But with his boyfriend, it’s a different story. He melts in their arms, perfectly content in being the little spoon and be cuddled. His brothers find the sight a mix of disturbing and amusing.
Jason Todd had a reputation. The kind of man who made Gotham’s scum cross the street, who told even Batman to shove it when he felt like it. He was iron and fire, blunt edges and bullets.
But with you, it was different.
It was almost comical, really. Jason standing broad shouldered in the doorway, still wearing his Red Hood jacket, jaw tight from another night of blood and crime. And then there was you. Bigger, taller, pulling him in by the collar until he practically collapsed against your chest.
Jason didn’t even resist. He grumbled under his breath, sure, but he let you fold him into your arms like you were the one keeping the weight of Gotham off his shoulders. “You’re so damn clingy.” Yet his fingers hooked into your belt loops, keeping you there.
That night Bruce invited you both to dinner, with Jason swearing it’d end in a fight. But what his brothers weren’t prepared for was walking into the living room and seeing you stretched out on the couch, Jason sprawled on top of you, head pillowed against your chest while your hand absently played with his hair.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Dick muttered from the doorway.
Jason’s eyes cracked open just enough to catch him. “Say one word, Grayson, and I’ll shove your escrima sticks somewhere you won’t like.”
Damian blinked slowly, then scowled. “Disgusting. I didn’t need to see Todd reduced to a cuddle pillow.”
Jason started to push himself up, muscles coiling like a spring, but your palm slid down from his shoulder to his waist, fingers curling just enough to anchor him. You leaned down, your lips close to his ear, and whispered something low enough for only him to hear:
“Don’t waste your breath. They’re just jealous.”
Jason’s scowl faltered, his jaw flexing once before softening. For a heartbeat, the entire room went still as the Red Hood, the guy who fought tooth and nail to never look weak, melted under your touch.
He exhaled, let his weight settle back onto you, and buried his face against your chest.
Tim nearly dropped his phone. “Did you just tame him?!"
Jason groaned into your chest. “You people are insufferable.”
“Insufferable?” Tim echoed, half laughing, half horrified. “You’re the one purring like a cat—”
Jason’s head snapped up. “Replacement—”
“Shhh,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over the back of his neck. “Don’t give them the satisfaction.” Jason muttered something profane under his breath but stayed put, chest rising and falling against yours.
Dick leaned on the doorframe, eyes wide. “I think I just watched Jason Todd obey a command. Like, actual obedience. From a person who’s not Bruce.”
Jason flipped him off without lifting his head. “Keep talking, Golden Boy. See what happens.”
Bruce’s voice floated in from the kitchen, sounding suspiciously amused. “Dinner’s getting cold.”
You gave Jason’s hip a squeeze. “C’mon. Let’s go eat before it really does.” Jason sighed like a man being asked to scale Everest, but when you shifted, he followed. Still pressed to your side, still shooting glares at his brothers.
Tim shook his head slowly. “I’m telling you, we need to get photographic evidence of this.”
Jason growled. “I swear to God, Drake—” But he never finished the threat, because you leaned down and kissed his hair again, and just like that, Gotham’s toughest vigilante melted back into your hold.
The bedroom is dim, the only light coming from the streetlamp bleeding through the half-closed blinds.
Mark is sprawled face-down on your bed, ass raised high, his back arched in a way all he could manage while you rail him from behind with deep, unrelenting strokes.
His dark hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, strands sticking to his flushed skin. His hands gave out minutes ago — fingers weakly clutching the sheets as his arms tremble and collapse under him. All he can do now is take it, cheek pressed into the pillow, mouth open as broken sounds spill out with every thrust.
It started when he got back from space.He’d looked at you with bright eyes and that cocky grin, new power still buzzing through his veins, and bragged, “I can take you now. All of you. Don’t hold back this time.”
Shit wasn't sweet. You hadn’t held back. Your thick cock is buried so deep inside him that he was sure you’re rearranging his guts. Every brutal snap of your hips stretches his hole wide, the wet, filthy plap-plap-plap of skin on skin filling the quiet room.
His hole is puffy and sloppy, leaking around your cock as you pound into him without mercy.Each time the head of your dick drags across his prostate, Mark lets out a sound that starts as an embarrassing whimper and quickly turns into a loud, desperate moan.“F-fuck—!” he cries into the pillow, voice cracking and raw. “It’s too much— shit, it’s too fucking much—!”
You don’t slow down. You lean over his back, chest pressed against his sweat-slick skin, and sink your teeth into the back of his neck. Mark gasps sharply, hole clenching tight around you.
You grab a fistful of his damp hair and yank his head back just enough to growl against his ear.“What’s wrong, Mark?” you pant, hips still slamming forward in short, punishing strokes. “Thought you said you could take it. After all you’re…"
The royal hot springs nestled in the shadowed foothills beyond the Fire Nation capital, far enough from the palace that the weight of the throne and its endless demands felt like something left behind on another continent. You and Zuko had slipped away under the cover of dusk, the two of you stealing the rare night alone after weeks that had stretched into months of separation. Court sessions had swallowed him whole—long hours mediating between restless nobles, smoothing over old grudges that refused to die with the war. Your own days had been claimed by the delicate negotiations with the Water Tribe delegations, forging new trade routes and alliances that kept you away from the palace more often than not. Letters and brief, exhausted kisses in passing corridors had been all you managed for far too long. The yearning had built like steam under pressure, mutual and aching, until neither of you could stand another night apart.
The carved stone path to the largest pool glowed faintly under low torchlight as you arrived. Zuko shed his formal robes first, letting the heavy layers fall away until he stood bare in the cool night air. You followed, stepping down into the steaming water behind him. The heat rose around your bodies, enveloping you both as you sank in together. Zuko settled against your chest without hesitation, his back to your front, head resting back on your shoulder. The water lapped gently at your collarbones, and for the first time in weeks the rigid line of his shoulders softened.
Your arms circled him, one hand resting low on his stomach while the other traced slow, idle paths along his arm. “I’ve missed this,” you murmured against the side of his head, voice low in the quiet. “Missed you. The way you feel right here.”
Zuko exhaled, long and slow, his fingers threading through yours underwater. “Every damn meeting I sat through, all I could think about was getting back to you. The court feels like it’s designed to keep us apart these days.” His voice carried that familiar edge of frustration, but it melted into something quieter, more vulnerable. “I hate how little time we’ve had. You with the Water Tribe talks, me buried in scrolls and arguments… I need this. Need you.”
You pressed a kiss to his temple, then another to the corner of his jaw, lingering there. The steam curled around you both, making the air thick and intimate. “We’re here now. No councils. No delegations. Just us.” Your hand slid up his chest, palm flat over his heart, feeling the steady beat that had become the rhythm you measured your own life by. He turned his head enough to catch your mouth in a kiss—slow at first, then deeper, tongues sliding together with the kind of unhurried hunger that came from too many nights spent apart. When you broke apart, his breathing had already changed, a little quicker, a little warmer against your lips.
You stayed like that for a long while, trading soft kisses and quiet words between them. He told you about the latest pointless debate in court, how he’d wished you were there to steady him with a single look across the room. You shared stories from the Water Tribe negotiations, the way the southern delegates had finally started to trust the Fire Nation again because of the work you’d put in. Each shared detail drew you closer, bodies shifting in the water until he was straddling your lap, knees braced on the submerged stone ledge on either side of your hips.The water made everything slick and weightless, his cock brushing against your stomach as he rocked once, experimental.
The kiss deepened again, mutual and yearning, hands roaming with the kind of familiarity that came from years of marriage. Your palms mapped the planes of his back, the dip of his spine, pulling him flush so there was no space left between you. Zuko’s fingers dug into your shoulders, hips rolling again, slower this time, deliberate. “I’ve wanted you like this for weeks,” he breathed against your mouth, the words rough but honest. “Just you. No interruptions.”
You answered by gripping his hips, guiding the next roll so your cock slid against the cleft of his ass, hot and insistent in the water. The oil you’d brought from the palace sat on the stone edge; you reached for it, slicking your fingers and then yourself while he watched, eyes dark with the same need that had kept you both awake on too many separate nights. When you pressed two fingers to his entrance, he sank down onto them without hesitation, a low sound escaping him as the water rippled around your wrist. You worked him open carefully, curling and stretching until he was rocking back onto your hand, chasing the feeling.
The transition into more came naturally, the way it always did when the yearning finally broke. You withdrew your fingers and guided your cock to his hole, the thick head breaching him slow and steady as he lowered himself. The water helped, making the slide smoother, but the heat of him was still overwhelming—tight, velvet, clenching around every inch as he took you deeper. Zuko’s head tipped back, lips parted, a quiet groan slipping free when he bottomed out, ass flush against your thighs. You were buried to the hilt inside him, the water lapping at your joined bodies.
He started riding you then, slow rolls of his hips at first, hands braced on your chest for balance. Each downward motion dragged your cock along his inner walls, the angle perfect in the buoyant water. You met him with upward thrusts, gentle but deep, hands steady on his waist to keep him grounded. Kisses came between the movements—messy and open-mouthed, tongues sliding together as the pace built. Steam rose thicker around you, the torches casting flickering light across his flushed skin and the way his chest rose and fell faster with every grind.
“Feels so good,” Zuko muttered against your lips, voice wrecked but steady, the words pulled from somewhere deep. “Missed having you inside me like this. Missed feeling full.” He rolled his hips harder, taking you deeper, the water splashing softly with the motion. You answered by pulling him down into another kiss, tongues curling together while one of your hands slid between you to stroke his cock in time with his riding. The mutual need poured out in every touch—his desperation to be close after so many weeks apart matching your own ache to have him like this, connected and yours.
The rhythm quickened naturally, his ass bouncing in the water with each drop and rise, the wet sounds mixing with the soft lap of the spring. You thrust up harder, hitting that spot inside him that made his breath hitch and his fingers tighten on your shoulders. Kisses broke only for air, then returned, deeper and more urgent. Zuko’s moans spilled into your mouth, low and raw, his body moving with the kind of focused hunger that came from too much time spent wanting.
You felt him start to tremble, muscles tightening around your cock as pleasure coiled tight. His cock pulsed in your fist, leaking steadily into the water. “Close,” he gasped against your lips, hips grinding down in short, desperate circles. You kept stroking him, kept thrusting up to meet every roll, until he came with a shuddering breath—thick pulses spilling over your fingers and into the spring while his hole clenched rhythmically around you, milking your length.
The squeeze dragged you over the edge right after. You buried yourself deep and came inside him, pulsing hot and heavy, filling him until it leaked out around your cock into the water. Zuko kept riding you through it, slow and languid now, drawing out every last tremor until you both stilled, chests pressed together, breathing hard in the steam-filled air.
He stayed in your lap for a long time after, forehead resting against yours, the water still warm around you. Your hands stroked up and down his back in lazy passes, and he pressed soft kisses to your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—small, lingering things that spoke of the same deep relief you felt. “We should do this more,” he said quietly, voice still a little rough. “Steal nights like this. The court and the delegations can wait a few hours. I need you more than any of it.”
You kissed him again, slow and sure, arms tightening around him. “We will. Every chance we get. You’re my husband. That comes first.” The words settled between you, simple and true, the same promise you’d made on your wedding day years ago. The hot spring kept you wrapped in its warmth long into the night, the two of you trading quiet touches and softer kisses while the steam continued to rise, the rest of the world held at bay for just a little longer.
Summary: There’s something depressing about being single on Valentine’s Day. Fortunately for you, there’s a former rodeo boy looking for company at the local bar too.
Word Count: 3.3K
Reader: Male (no genitalia referenced, can be read as cis or trans), implied autistic
Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY, minors DNI)
Warnings: Foul language and sexual content including: sexting, semi-public blowjobs, and sexual suggestions
Notes: Well, lads, we're back with another horny one. And this one is so out-of-character for me as the reader because you will not find me going to bars or blowing men in public bathrooms ever. Glen Powell, the hold you have on me is criminal. As always, no beta, we die like men.
***
You hate bars. Always have. They’re too loud and too crowded. Everyone is either unbearably blissed out or drunken themselves into a fury. If they’re not looking to fuck, they’re looking to fight.
And you?
Well, you’re looking to feel something other than the crushing weight of loneliness on Valentine’s Day. Which—thinking about it now—maybe coming to a dive bar where you’re not actually going to talk to anybody but the bartender isn’t the best cure for loneliness. It’s no better than trying to cover a gaping wound with a Hello Kitty bandaid.
At least the cocktails taste good.
And the bartender’s hot. Straight, no doubt, but easy on the eyes in a way that makes him dangerously good at earning tips. And tip him well you shall because that man is heavy handed with his mixers. You’re only two drinks down and you are feeling it.
“Hey there.”
A man in a maroon, denim button-up slides onto the barstool next to you. With sleeves rolled up to his elbows, worn-out jeans clinging snugly to his thighs, and a white cowboy hat nestled atop his brunet hair, he looks exactly like the kind of guy you’d find nursing a Budweiser at your local rodeo. The longhorn belt buckle at his waist does nothing but solidify that stereotype.
You give the man a small grin. “Hey.”
“Hope you don’t mind me comin’ over. My buddies tapped out early tonight.” He gestures to the doorway as if you can somehow picture these unknown companions departing. “And listen, I’m normally a beer guy but, uh, whatever it is you’re drinking looks mighty good.”
“It’s just a Long Island iced tea,” you explain to the newcomer. “At least, that’s what I ordered. But, I’ll be honest, the bartender might’ve taken some artistic liberties ‘cause there’s definitely an extra kick to this thing.”
He smiles. And, oh God, is it a beautiful smile. It’s the kind of pearly white grin that dentists dream of maintaining in all their patients. Combine the sheer perfection of his actual teeth with that confident gleam in his green eyes and you’ve got yourself a charming prince straight out of every child’s favorite fairytale.
“You may have just sold me on the idea even more. I’m Tyler, by the way,” he says with an outstretched hand.
You introduce yourself, making sure to grip his hand firmly as you shake it. He’s undoubtedly the kind of guy who grew up in the part of America where a weak handshake is a sign of frail masculinity. Last thing you want is to have him see you as a sheep in wolf’s clothing.
“So, what’s your story then?” He asks while he waits for the bartender to make him a drink of his own. “Drinking to forget or drinking to find something new?”
You shrug. “Little bit of both maybe? I don’t know. I’m not really into all the Valentine’s Day bullshit. Maybe it’s just ‘cause I’m one of those jaded guys who’s never actually had a valentine.”
“Nothing wrong with that. Though, I gotta admit, I find it hard to believe a guy like you has never had a valentine.”
You scoff. “Why do you say that?”
“Handsome fellas like you don’t stay single for very long.”
Maybe it’s the alcohol seeping into your system, but time seems to slow in that moment. And thank God it does because you need more than a singular breath to process that statement.
Is he…flirting with you?
No. That can’t be right. A cowboy casanova with a picture-perfect smile doesn’t just plop down at a bar and flirt with another man. At least not when that man is you.
“Bold words coming from you,” you clap back without first considering your words. “You look like you walked off the cover of Southern Living! There’s no way you’re in here ordering a cocktail because you couldn’t score a girlfriend.”
Thankfully, he isn’t offended by your rebuttal. In fact, he laughs as he stirs the drink that’s just been placed in front of him with the straw.
“Well, I’ll tell you what: you’re right about that. But unfortunately for the lovely ladies that have made passes at me recently, I’m not in the market for a girlfriend right now.”
Now, even when you’re completely sober, you are often clueless when it comes to subtext and subtleties. There’s a certain skillset required to pick up on these micro interactions and—unfortunately for you—you were thrown into this world with a partially empty toolbox. Add alcohol to the mix and the few tools that were gifted to you become as useless as a butter knife on a T-bone steak.
“Oh, I see,” you reply naively, “You’re in your happily single era. Congrats. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
He cocks his brow. “I’ll be honest, I’m having a hard time figuring out whether you’re tryna to tell me you don’t play for my team or if you genuinely don’t know which team I’m playing for.”
Your cheeks immediately flush a deep shade of red as the puzzle pieces click into place. Better late than never.
“Oh. Fuck. I’m sorry,” you apologize. “I didn’t think—I mean, no offense, you’re not exactly the kind of guy I’d expect to be…Y’know.”
“Queer?”
“Well, yeah. But that’s on me for basically stereotyping you! Which is awful, by the way, and I’m very sorry for doing so.”
He shrugs it off. “I get it. Nothing about this get up really gives the impression that I’m looking to get down with other guys.“
He takes a long chug of his drink before continuing, “Not to put you on the spot or anything, but are you into men at all? ‘Cause if not, I’ll get out of your hair right now.”
“No!” You exclaim far too quickly.
He blinks back his surprise.
The embarrassment that you feel in that moment is devastating. Even with the soothing song of alcohol playing in your head to ease your anxieties, you know that you’re not handling this anywhere near as smoothly as you would’ve liked.
You sigh, “Sorry that was much louder than I thought…I’m not saying no to your question. I meant it in the sense of ‘no, please don’t get out of my hair.’ I am definitely into men. Actually, I am very into men.”
Especially men like you, a voice in your head murmurs.
Tyler flashes a crooked smirk. “Good. Let me buy you another drink and we’ll see where wind takes us, shall we?”
***
You spend the next hour or so getting to know one another. The picture you had in your head of him chugging beers at a rodeo wasn’t too far off; as it turns out he actually was a rodeo boy a couple years back. One too many kicks in the head had forced him out of the game and refocused him on his passion for storm chasing. From one rodeo to another, really.
It becomes very clear, very quickly that Tyler is an adrenaline junkie who lives for the thrill. If there’s no risk, how can there be a reward? And while plenty of people would find that kind of lifestyle dangerous, you find it extremely attractive.
“Man, I wish I could’ve seen you ride,” you admit. “Were you good?”
“Decent enough. I wasn’t setting any records but I pulled my weight at shows.”
You look down at his thighs. The way they’re stretching the denim of his jeans as if trying to break free is evidence that he’s got the muscles of a rider.
“And it kept you in shape, that’s for sure,” you muse.
He chuckles. “Sure did. It takes a lot of muscle to avoid being thrown skyward by a thousand pound animal. I was never really a gym rat in college so I didn’t exactly set out to get a six pack but the broncos didn’t give me much of a choice.”
There’s a new picture in your head now: shirtless, tanned Tyler Owens expertly clinging to the back of a bucking horse. The curve of his chiseled arms grows more pronounced with each wild movement of the stubborn animal. His firm pecs flex along with his core muscles as he fights to keep himself glued to the saddle. He’s sweaty and focused and unbearably sexy.
Your tongue darts out to wet your suddenly dry lips. You can tell by the way his eyes dip down to your mouth that he’s seen it too but he opts out of commenting on it.
“You ever go to the rodeo?” He asks.
“Once or twice. I don’t know, it was never really my thing.”
“Well, maybe you should try it again. I’d love to take you,” he says suggestively.
You raise your brow, unable to keep yourself from perking up at the implication. “You asking me out, cowboy?”
“I suppose I am.”
“Then I suppose I’m saying yes.”
The corner of his mouth curves upward into a lopsided smile. Every time he looks at you like that, a lump forms in your throat. It should be illegal, that smile of his. It’s a weapon, a form of well-placed propaganda that can make you believe anything and everything he says. If he tells you to run away with him while he’s got that smirk on his face, you will.
Some little voice inside of you says that it hopes he does.
***
That night, you leave the bar with his number and the promise that he’ll take you to the rodeo that’s coming to town the following weekend. According to him, it’ll be a big event with some of the best bull and bronco riders in the state.
Over the next several days, the two of you consistently exchange messages. You learn more about one another: where you grew up, your favorite restaurants, your relationships with family and friends.
There is also, of course, loads of flirting going on in between the cordial information exchange. One morning, you send him pictures of the formal suit and tie that you’ve donned for the work meeting that afternoon. He responds with a tasteful shot of him wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt just so you can have a peek at his bare torso.
Yup, he’s just as ripped as you thought he’d be.
You: Put those away, you slut!
Tyler: That’s nothing. I’d send you a dick pic right now, if you wanted.
Tyler: Probably not a good way to start the work day though.
Your heart skips a beat at the suggestion. Jesus Christ. You’ve had the feeling that he isn’t the kind of guy to shy away from showing you his junk, but having him actually drop the suggestion doesn’t take away from the surprise of knowing he wants to show you.
And boy, do you want to see it.
You: How about when I get home tonight?
Tyler: Sure thing, handsome.
You: Promise?
Tyler: Promise ;)
The entire meeting—and the rest of the time spent working in the office—all you can think about is how badly you want to go home. Normally, you’re a top-tier employee who wants nothing more than to excel at your job. Cranking out e-mails, answering calls, and reorganizing files is hardly a complicated list of things to do on a day such as this. But, as it turns out, having the prospect of seeing Tyler Owens’s dick when you clock out is enough to turn you into a jaded man going through the motions.
As soon as you get back to your apartment, you kick off your shoes, undo your tie and plop down on the couch to text him. Never in your life have you been so excited to actually receive a dick pic.
You: Finally home. Offer still on the table?
Tyler: For you, anytime.
The picture is delivered almost immediately. The second it loads, your mouth drops.
He’s huge. Despite not even being hard in the photo, the cock hanging out from his unbuttoned jeans looks thick and heavy in his hand. And yes, it’s uncut. The little bit of tip sticking out from the foreskin is deliciously pink.
You want to suck on it so badly.
You: Holy fuck!
Tyler: Like what you see, big boy?
You: God yeah… My mouth is practically watering.
You: I can’t wait to see you this weekend.
Tyler: Agreed. I’ve been thinking about you so much, it ticks me off.
Tyler: I should’ve kissed you before we left.
You: You can kiss me as much as you want when we meet up.
You: And maybe we can do a little more than kiss…
Tyler: Don’t tempt me with a good time.
***
It comes as no surprise to either of you on Saturday that your interest in actually watching the rodeo events pales in comparison to your desire to get your hands on one another. You’re thankful he’s brought you, of course, and you do your best to enjoy the entertainment in front of you while you can. But, as your watching man after man get tossed around like a packaged salad, all you can think about is the fact that such wild riding has given the man beside you the finest body you’ve ever been sent nudes of.
“Your hand’s wandering a little high there, champ,” Tyler says in the middle of another bucking bronco round.
You pry your eyes from the arena ahead and look down to see your hand has mindlessly strayed from his knee up to his inner thigh. It’s not north enough to brush his crotch—thank god—but it’s definitely tiptoeing along “inappropriate public behavior” territory.
You laugh nervously. “Sorry.”
You start to slide your hand away, but he guides it right back to where it had been resting. There’s a cocky grin on his face as he does so.
“No, no, I ain’t tellin’ you to move it.” He leans in to murmur, “I just want you to be mindful ‘cause I’m starting to get a little excited thinking about that hand wrapped around my dick.”
It’s impossible to keep the color from rushing to your cheeks. The image of your fingers curled around his thick, uncut cock sends sparks southbound in your own body. And the sound of his voice whispering things like that… Yeah, you want him to run his mouth more.
“Well, maybe we should run to the bathroom so you can relieve yourself,” you suggest with a raised brow.
The crowd suddenly erupts into a chorus of cheers that you assume is in response to a rider hitting their record. But rather than look back at the arena, you take advantage of the distraction and press your palm to Tyler’s crotch. A little squeeze gets him to bite his lip.
***
The two of you end up crammed in a stall in the bathroom farthest away from all the action. It’s not very clean, of course, but it doesn’t smell completely like shit and there’s country music blasting in from the entry door to stifle any noises that might draw attention to what you both are up to.
Tyler’s sitting on the toilet, pants around his ankles and eyes sparkling with excitement as you kneel in front of him. You waste no time with teasing him about the situation, opting instead to pull back his foreskin and suck on the tip like it’s a delicious, pink popsicle. He exhales contently, spreading his knees apart to give you more access.
As you suck on the head and slowly stroke his cock with one hand, your tongue occasionally prods playfully at the delicate little hole at the tip. Every time you do, his cock twitches eagerly and his eyes flutter. Clearly, he enjoys that.
After a few more exploratory swipes of the tongue, you start to bob your head. With each movement, you take more and more of his length into your mouth until your nose is being tickled by his happy trail and you’ve got drool leaking from the corner of your lips. He truly is a mouthful. One wrong move and you’ll choke on that swollen head at the back of your throat.
You blow him like you mean it. And really, you do. You want to make him cum. It’s something you’ve fantasized about ever since he sent you that dick pic a few days ago. So, you suck on him hard and fast, hand fondling his balls to coax him closer to the edge. His pleasant sighs and hums are gradually mutating into ragged breaths and helpless groans. There’s even a hand on the top of your head now that’s fighting the urge to shove your face into his groin. Instinct is clearly telling him to fuck your mouth but he’s a gentleman who favors watching you work your magic.
“Oh fuck…I’m close,” he gasps after another swipe of your tongue across his tip, “I’m really fucking close.”
You respond to his warning with a deep hum and up your game again. Hollowing your cheeks, you deep throat him a few more times. It doesn’t take much for him to reach his limit. When you feel the first spurt of cum hit your throat, you ease up to suckle on his tip while your hand strokes him through his orgasm. You swallow every last drop as if his cum will magically quench your thirst.
When you finish sucking him clean, you pull off his cock with a soft pop. You seal the deal with a playful kiss to the tip before letting your hands rub his thick muscular thighs.
“Thanks for the snack,” you joke with a cocky grin, “Much better than concession stand nachos.”
“Hey now, there’s no need to rag on the nachos.”
“Okay, the chips themselves aren’t a problem. It’s that nasty liquid cheese they put on ‘em. Tastes like…I don’t even know.”
“Like American ingenuity,” he says sarcastically.
“Right. Well, I prefer your all-American jizz.”
He laughs. The smile on his face is so big and bright, it’s almost blinding. You can’t wait to snap a picture of that beautiful face so you can look at it every single time you need a pick-me-up.
“Lemme kiss you.”
You’re surprised by the innocence of his words. There’s so much adoration behind it, like he doesn’t feel like he’s earned the ability to share a kiss with you whenever he pleases. Ironic, considering the fact that you just let him nut in your mouth moments before.
Rising to your feet, you lean down to kiss him. There’s no doubt that he can taste himself on your lips and tongue but he doesn’t seem at all bothered. With his hands cupped over the sides of your neck, he kisses you slowly, gently. The reverence behind the movement of his mouth is something akin to a man of faith whispering prayer at the foot of his idol. And when he pulls back to gaze at you, you feel like you might melt under the warmth of his smile.
“Look, I don’t wanna ruin whatever we got goin’ on right now,” you say with a sheepish smile, “But I feel like we should move this someplace where your balls aren’t hanging over a public toilet.”
He looks down at his exposed genitals which are, like you pointed out, one forward lean away from dipping into recycled water. “You've got a point.”
Once he’s got his pants back on and the two of you manage to sneak out of the stall without being noticed together, you grab him by the hand and let him lead you back to his truck. Part of you is tempted to suggest you both hop in the back so you can ride him right then and there. But the part that’s actually incredibly sane and hyperaware of the fact that two men fucking at a public rodeo would not be received well wins out. So instead, the two of you climb into your respective seats while he turns the engine on.
“Whataya thinking?” He asks once the AC is blowing.
“I’m thinking…Take me back to your place and let’s keep this rodeo going.” You throw him a devilish smile. “Besides, I’ve been wondering what it’d be like to ride a cowboy.”
who is sick of pornstart tommy bc im certainly not lmao. this was suppose to be a small fic and has turned into a multi chapter beast of a thing. anyway!!! here is a teeny tiny snippet of the ending chapter and it has a callback to a previous snippet I’ve posted before.
np tags @bisexualbrainrots @beefcakekinard @aringofsalt @corporatebanana @sad-girl-hours23 and anyone else who wants to share!!
“What’s this?” Tommy asks as he walks into Buck’s bedroom. He throws his suit jacket on the back of the chair and moves to stand at the bottom of the bed; eyes travelling up Buck’s tanned body.
Buck has been waiting for this night all week, planning it down to the finest detail. Door unlocked, Tommy dressed in a suit after a night at a charity gala, Buck laying waiting in the tiniest underwear he could find; cock half hard and straining against the cotton.
He smirks at Tommy as he rolls his hips into his hand, gasping at the delicious friction against his cock. “You said you wanted to watch.” Buck replies simply. He nods towards the chair and Tommy chuckles.
“You want to put on a show for me baby?” He replies as he takes a seat, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. His eyes are fixated on Buck, right where he is slowly jerking himself off through his underwear.
Quiet moans stream out of Buck’s mouth. “I just want to give you everything that you want.” He says breathlessly.
“Ev, you are my dream. You are everything I want .”
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : You Had just woken up, seeing Scott laying there on his stomach just did something to you. You couldn't resist the urge that hit you—wanting to start the day waking him in the most intimate way possible. | drabble + porn without plot
𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 + 𝐅𝐃𝐍𝐈 mature content below.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : Smut, Dom!Male!Reader, Fluff, Sub!Scott Moaning, Praising, ass eating, oral, Scott (receiving), swearing, Explicit Content, Cum, Dirty Talk.
𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭
You stirred awake beside Scott, his body sprawled out on his stomach, the sheets tangled around his waist. His broad back rose and fell with each steady breath, his dark hair against the pillow. The sight of him like this—stirred something primal in you. You couldn't resist the urge to wake him in the best way possible. Sliding down the bed quietly, you positioned yourself behind him. Your hands gently gripped his hips, pulling the sheet lower to expose the firm curves of his ass. Scott mumbled something incoherent in his sleep, shifting slightly but not waking. You leaned in, your breath warm against his skin, and pressed a soft kiss to one cheek before parting them with your thumbs.
Scott let out a low groan, still half-asleep, his hips twitching upward. You started slow, your tongue flicking out to trace the rim. The taste of him filled your senses as you licked a long. You lapped at him hungrily, the wet sounds of your mouth working against his ass echoing softly in the quiet room. "Fuck... what..." Scott mumbled, his voice rasped with sleep, eyes fluttering open. He lifted his head slightly, looking down at you between his legs. A lazy grin spread across his face as realization dawned. "Morning to you too, babe. Starting the day right, huh?" You hummed against him, the vibration making him shudder.
You didn't stop, your hands kneading the muscles of his thighs as you thrust your tongue in and out, fucking his hole with it. Saliva dripped down, slicking his crack, and you added a finger to tease alongside your licks, pressing just the tip inside to stretch him open. Scott's breaths came faster now, his face buried back into the pillow as he moaned. “Oh shit, right there... yeah, eat my ass like that. Don't fuckin' stop.” His cock hardened beneath him, trapped against the mattress, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body. You sucked gently on the rim before plunging your tongue back in, swirling it to hit every sensitive spot. Scott arched his back, pushing himself onto you, his voice breaking into a growl. “God, your mouth feels so good. Deeper—fuck, make me cum just from this.”
His body trembled, muscles clenching around your probing tongue as you worked him relentlessly, determined to push him over the edge. "Oh fuck, yes—right there," he growled, arching off the bed. "I'm close... don't you dare stop." His words dissolved into a guttural moan as his orgasm hit, cock pulsing untouched, spurting ropes of cum across the sheets. His hole twitched around your tongue, drawing out the pleasure until he collapsed back, chest heaving. You licked him clean with gentle swipes, savoring the aftershocks that made him twitch. Finally, you crawled up beside him, pressing a kiss to his lips. Scott tasted himself on your mouth and pulled you closer, murmuring, "Best fucking wake-up call ever."
