tags — 18+ minors dni | f!reader, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), teasing, begging, slight choking, kinda rough sex, pet names (doll), creampie (0.7k wc)
jason has you spread open beneath him, legs hooked over his thighs as his free hand grips your hip. his thumb presses into the soft flesh, holding you open while he rocks his swollen head against your throbbing clit.
his cock is thick and heavy between your folds, gliding through the mess of his precum mixing with your slick. jason drags the flushed head of his cock up through your glistening arousal, coating every thick inch until he’s covered.
you whimper pitifully, hips twitching uselessly as you try to chase him. jason chuckles shakily, slapping your clit with his cock. your whole body jerks, a high, needy moan ripping from your throat as the heavy weight of it lands against your sensitive bundle of nerves.
he continues to drag his cock through the mess between the both of you and the lewd sound of it causes another whine to tumble from your lips.
“such pretty noises,” he rasps.
“jay…” your voice cracks.
his hips jerk involuntarily and his tip catches at your entrance, stretching you open before he pulls back again. he rolls his hips slowly, sliding the swollen head inside you once more and stilling. jason’s eyes flutter shut as he relishes in the sensation of your warm cunt fluttering around him and trying to pull him in deeper.
its absolute torture as he drags his hips back, pulling out and pressing only the tip back inside. over and over. you reach down, fingers brushing through the slick between your bodies and circle your clit to try and dim the deep, empty ache of wanting him.
your thighs tremble, voice turning hoarse from begging for just a little more and only when you’re nearly sobbing his name does jason finally give in. his hand slides up from your thigh, up your side until it's wrapped around your throat.
“so impatient,” he tuts, surging forward in one long, relentless thrust, burying himself to the hilt.
“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, your whole body going rigid as he splits you open, stretching you wide, forcing you to take every thick, pulsing inch.
his hand tightens around your throat, tilting your head up and forcing you to look into his eyes as you take him. a filthy squelch merges with jason’s guttural groan as he bottoms out, his hips flush against yours.
“happy now, doll?” he grunts, pulling back only to roll his hips back into you again, harder.
he sets a punishing rhythm, hips driving deep and knocking the air from your lungs. jason groans under his breath, watching the way you struggle to take him. each thrust is loud and wet, the slap of skin on skin filling your bedroom.
your mouth falls open, a silent, helpless whimper slipping past your lips. you can’t speak, can’t breathe, can’t think—any chance of a coherent thought disappears as your mind goes blank.
your moans break into choked off whimpers as he angles his hips to hit that spot that makes you see stars. your head spins, your whole body trembling as heat coils tight in your belly. your nails sink into his shoulders, legs trembling around his waist, as your orgasm crashes over you.
it’s overwhelming as wave after wave of white-hot pleasure ripples through you. jason groans, his hand dropping from your throat and landing on your thigh as he fucks you through it—dragging out every last drop of your release until your cunt is twitching around him.
jason isn’t far behind you. he can feel his release approaching, his cock throbbing and straining inside you with every little clench of your overstimulated cunt making his hips stutter.
his rhythm turns desperate, frantic, as he chases his own release. with a sharp, wrecked groan, the pressure hits him all at once. his hips jerk, snapping forward one last time as he drives his cock deep—pulsing thick ropes of cum inside you, painting your walls and filling you up until you’re dripping all over the mattress.
jason’s fingers are bruising against your skin as he continues to slowly rock his hips until you’re both a wrecked, sweaty mess. one of your hands reaches up into his hair, curling into the sweat-dampened strands.
“just the tip, huh?” you tease breathlessly.
“shut up,” jason chuckles, hiding his face in the crook of your neck and gently nipping your skin.
note — post #2 for my 1k celebration!
(req) — can you write something for jason todd… literally anything (i need him)
Summary | You show up to work wearing something he’s never seen on you before and, because of his reaction, decide to tease him for the entire day.
Warnings | Smut, 18+, sexual content, kissing, lowkey public sex?, thigh fucking, groping, grinding, misogyny?, a tiny bit of angst, sexual tension, creampie hehe, humiliation, praise, overstimulation, orgasm delay/denial, Neil is down bad for reader lowkey (highkey).
Words | 6.1 k
Notes | idk I just like horny simp Neil.
Ao3 link | <3
Masterlist
“W-what are you wearing?” He choked out, almost dropping the stack of tapes in his arms.
“What?” You asked. He glanced at your legs as you walked closer, then turned around as you passed him to go clock in.
“What the hell are you wearing?” He tried again, firmer this time. You turned around, your brows furrowed in confusion, and his eyes kept going from your legs to your face.
“What? Neil, they're called shorts. It’s literally the middle of summer.”
“Those,” he held the tapes in one arm and gestured wildly at your legs with the other, “are not shorts. Those are practically underwear for fucks sake.” The door suddenly opened and you both turned to the customer walking in.
“Hi, welcome!” You called out, giving him a warm smile. He murmured out a response then started browsing the shelves. “We can talk about you and your fragile masculinity later.” You whispered to Neil, making his mouth fall open.
“Me being concerned about my girlfriend showing off her ass does not mean I have fragile masculinity.” He hissed back.
“It’s not even out and you don’t decide what I fucking wear, Neil. Get over yourself.” You spat.
“Yes it is!” He yelled, but quickly lowered his voice when the customer looked over.
“No, it’s not.” You seethed, then reached for the waistband of your jeans and pulled them up even more, giving yourself a minor wedgie just to spite him. “But now it is!” You said with a saccharine smile as you flipped him off and turned back around to continue what you were originally trying to do. You heard him choke behind you and you knew his whole face was red from anger and arousal. The thought made you smirk.
You didn’t intend for him to react this way. You just woke up late and threw on the first pair of shorts you could find. Sure these were from a few years ago… but they didn’t fit that much differently. Or so you thought. But it’s more fun to tease him like this.
After setting down your bag and clocking in, you walked to the back to grab a box and start shelving the returned tapes. Neil manned the register, sometimes clearing his throat and stuttering if you were in his eyeline. The store was empty again and he grabbed a few tapes to start putting away. Once you knew he was about to be behind you, you bent over to put a tape on a lower shelf, then almost immediately heard a loud crash. You stood up and turned around, finding him clutching one of the racks to keep it from tipping over as the tapes in his hands laid scattered at his feet.
“Are you okay, Neil?” You asked innocently, making him look at you again with a scowl. “Let me help you with those.” You walked over and dropped to your knees in front of him, then got down on your hands to stick your ass out as you collected the tapes. You grabbed a few and leaned back up, holding them out for him, but he was frozen, staring at you with wide eyes and parted lips. His gaze wasn’t even on your face, it was on your low cut tank top that had slipped down a little and exposed the top part of your bra.
“I’m not going to sit here forever, do you want them or not?” Almost as if he was in a trance, he raised his arms, letting you set the tapes in his hands. You leaned back down, sticking your ass up farther this time, and collected the rest of the tapes. You stayed on your knees as you handed them to him, but got back up once the door opened again. You greeted the person and Neil continued gawking at your body. Honestly you almost started to feel bad for him, but this was too amusing for you to stop now.
The day dragged on slowly. You ended up cleaning the floors and the couches a little, collecting all of the trash and pieces of popcorn lodged in the sides and between the cushions. You leaned down to look under the couch and spotted more trash, but it was too far back for you to reach it.
“Hey, Neil?” You called out, sticking your ass up and arching your back more. You heard a loud stomp, as if he had tripped, then he muttered curses to himself, making you smirk. You looked over your shoulder at him, still staying in that position, and his eyes were practically glued to your ass.
“Y-yeah?” He asked, voice cracking embarrassingly. He cleared his throat and forced his gaze to your eyes.
“Can you just move the couch back a little? I can’t reach the trash under here and I’m not strong enough to move it myself.” You are. He probably knows that. But he agreed anyway.
He stepped forward and pushed one arm of the couch back, then walked over to the other side to do the same thing. You shuffled closer on your knees and arched your back even more to press your chest flat on the ground so part of your shoulder could get under the couch— You weren’t lying when you said you couldn’t reach it, but you could’ve used a broom or something.
“Almost.. got it…” You groaned, reaching farther. “Fuck— c’mon… I’m so close.” You muttered, but in your bedroom voice. Your fingers brushed the trash, but you didn’t grab it yet, wanting to drag this out a little more. You let out a whine of discomfort at your position and tried to reach further under the couch. “Almost there… so close— so fucking close.” You all but moaned, wiggling your ass a bit. You were being pretty obvious by now so he had to have known what you were doing, but he still didn’t say anything.
Deciding to be done now, mostly because your knees were actually starting to hurt like this, you moaned quietly and pretended to reach further. Once you grabbed the trash, you let out the noise you usually make when you lay down after you finish riding him— a mixture of a huff and a groan. You scooched back out, shaking your ass a bit as you did so, then leaned up with a heavy breath. You held up the trash with a proud smile.
“I got it!” He was completely frozen, lips parted, eyes wide, entire face and neck flushed, and you could see the large bulge in the pants now. You stood up finally and placed a hand on his bicep. “What would I do without my big, strong boyfriend to move couches for me?” You said teasingly, giving him unnecessary praise just to fuck with him more.
“I— You… That..”
“Hm?” You tilted your head a little, giving him a chance to try again. The door opened again and you greeted the customer before taking a step away from him.
“But— you…” He all but whined, giving you puppy dog eyes as you started backing away.
“Neil, we can’t just stand here all day. We actually have to work.” You said with a quiet laugh and a warm smile.
“Excuse me?” A man called out, so you walked over to him. “I was just wondering what action movies you’d recommend?” You could feel Neil’s eyes on you as you walked over to that section and pointed out different films that you liked until he picked one. “What about comedies?” You walked over to that section, him trailing along behind you as you started listing out different titles and descriptions.
The only response you were getting was “uh huh” or “yeah” so you turned back around just in time to see his eyes snap up to your face. You brushed it off and kept talking until he picked one.
“Will that be all for today?” You asked.
“No… I have one more question actually. What adult films do you recommend?” Your eyes widened as you stared at him, thinking he was joking, but he was completely serious.
“I-I’m not really sure I’m qualified to give you a good recommendation for that.” You said awkwardly.
“I’m not interested in watching something a man likes. I’m asking you so I can learn what women like— maybe pick up a thing or two.” It was hard to tell whether he was smiling or smirking.
“Oh. Then uh… I guess I can help.” You glanced at Neil, who was already watching you, then cleared your throat and led him to that section. “If you want something that accurately portrays female pleasure, I’d recommend this one.” You pointed to it and the man nodded, waiting for you to continue. “That’ll probably be your best bet for learning new stuff.” You shrugged.
“What’s your favorite though?” Now he was definitely smirking.
“Um…” You cleared your throat with a blush and turned toward the shelves. “I’ve seen this one once or twice.”
“That’s not what I asked, sweetheart.” He chuckled. You were suddenly really regretting wearing the clothes you chose today.
“Need some help?” Neil asked and you all but breathed a sigh of relief. The man’s expression dropped as he turned to face him.
“What, you don’t trust a woman to help me pick out a decent film?” He tried turning the situation into something it’s not, but Neil didn’t budge.
“Not because she’s a woman. She’s new, barely been here a week. As the owner, I’m sure I’m more than qualified to help you though.” He gave the man a fake smile, making him scoff and roll his eyes.
“Whatever. This store is weird as shit and you’re a fucking tease.” He spat, dropping the films to the floor and walking out. You quickly pulled your shorts down as far as you could and crossed your arms over your body. God— you felt so stupid. In what universe would dressing like this in public ever end well for you? This could’ve easily been done on a day off, spent at home where no one can see.
“What a fucking creep.” He muttered, breathing a sigh of relief.
“I- I think I’m gonna look in the back for something to change into.” You said quietly, feeling like you were about to cry. Honestly you just wanted to go home, but it’s only you and Neil today. You can’t leave him on his own. You kept your head down as you walked past him, but he gently grabbed your wrist to stop you.
“Hey— wait, baby.” You took a deep breath and bit your trembling lip as he turned you around to face him. When he cupped your cheek, you couldn’t hold the emotions in anymore.
“I’m sorry, Neil. I- I didn’t… I was just trying to have fun but,” A choked sob cut you off and he shushed you as he pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around your body tightly.
“It’s not your fault. If it were your fault then every customer would have acted the same way. That guy was just a dick.” He cradled the back of your head as you buried your face in his chest.
“If you really want to change, I’m not going to stop you. But if you want, I’ll give you my shirt and you can stay behind the counter for the rest of the day.” You still.. technically wanted to continue whatever game you were playing. But you just felt so unattractive and gross and stupid and turned off. “Or you can go home, baby. There’s only a couple hours left and weekdays are usually slow anyway.”
“No. No I can’t… I can’t leave you here alone.” You croaked, lifting your head up to look at him. “I- I’ll just wear your shirt.” Honestly you wanted to wear sweatpants and a hoodie right now, but his scent was already starting to calm you. Maybe it could calm you even more while you finished working.
“Are you sure?” You nodded and stepped back, sniffling as you subconsciously covered your body again. He only hesitated for a moment before unbuttoning it and taking it off, leaving him in just a t-shirt. He helped you into it then gave you a soft kiss on your forehead, making you blush.
The rest of the day went by slowly. Only two other people came in, one of which was a man, but you felt safe hidden behind the counter and in his shirt. Neil finally locked the door and turned the sign to say ‘closed’ while letting out a heavy breath. He walked back over to you and stood on the other side of the counter, leaning his elbows on it to get closer to you.
“Can I help you?” You giggled, getting flustered by the proximity.
“Why yes actually. My girlfriend had a rough day today and I want to bring home a film to cheer her up. What would you recommend?” Despite the reminder of what had happened today, a small smile creeped up on your lips.
“Are you sure she wants a movie? There are plenty of other ways a guy could cheer a girl up.” You said suggestively, trying not to laugh.
“Really? Well, do you have any recommendations for that?” He continued playing along, doing much better at containing his laughter than you.
“She might like a kiss. That’s always a good start…” You said quietly as you glanced at his lips.
“And what should I do after that?” He rasped, leaning even further across the counter.
“I have a few ideas… but she might want you to surprise her instead.” Your voice was getting embarrassingly breathless now.
“She hates surprises.” He whispered.
“Not this kind.” You said, just as quiet. You were subconsciously leaning closer until you could feel his breath fanning your lips. Your eyes fluttered shut and your nose brushed his for only a moment before he finally connected your lips. Letting out a quiet sigh, you leaned even closer to him and brought a hand up to run through his hair. He pulled back far too soon and you whined as you tried to pull him closer by his hair, but he just let out a breathy chuckle in response.
“Let’s go to the couch.”
“We should go home, Neil… People can still see inside and it feels wrong to fuck on a public couch.” You said with a quiet laugh, even though you wanted him now.
“Who said anything about fucking?” He didn’t let you get another word in before walking over and plopping down onto the couch. You followed, but he stopped you as you started to sit. “No. Continue your little game from earlier.” You blushed and averted your gaze, suddenly getting shy.
“Neil…” But you didn’t know what to say.
“I think there’s a tape stuck in the VHS player. Can you try getting it out?” There was no tape, his tone made that obvious, but so did the bulge in his pants— he wouldn’t ever have you do something work related after hours, especially while he’s horny. “Or it can wait until tomorrow and we can head home.” He was giving you an out, letting you stop the scene if you were uncomfortable, without feeling awkward about it.
“No, I’ll give it a try.” You smiled, then shuffled over to the tv on your knees. Putting one hand on the ground, you stuck your ass out just the slightest amount while your other hand pretended to do stuff on the device. “Any suggestions?” You looked over your shoulder and his eyes snapped up to your face from your ass.
“Maybe there’s a cord unplugged or a cable loose or something.” He gestured to the floor, so you lowered your chest down and pretended to look at all the wires down there. “Anything?”
“Not that I can see.”
“Try getting a little closer maybe.” You shuffled closer, then wiggled your hips a bit as you ‘searched.’
“I don’t know, Neil… Everything looks normal.”
“I’ll call someone about it then. Thank you for trying, baby.” You leaned back up and turned to face him, still on your knees.
“Anything else you need me to do?” You asked innocently, making him chuckle.
“I’m not gonna overwork my best employee. Come up here.” He patted his thigh and you scrambled to your feet to go straddle him. Your hands settled on his shoulders and his grabbed your hips. “You should wear my clothes more often. They look good on you.” He murmured, leaning forward to trail kisses over your neck.
“Better than my own clothes?” You smirked, making him laugh breathily against you.
“Definitely not.” He kissed up to your ear, then down your jaw until his lips brushed yours. This time you leaned forward. When he squeezed your hips tighter, you moaned quietly and brought your hands up to tug on his hair. The kiss was messy and desperate, releasing hours worth of pent up sexual tension in just that one simple action.
His hands snaked around to your ass and he groped you almost painfully, making you gasp out a moan. He took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside your now open mouth and licked into the kiss. You were panting as much as you could while being kissed and he started pulling your hips to grind on his covered cock. You whimpered and tightened your grip on his hair, making him let out a low groan and pull back enough to speak.
“These fucking shorts…” He gruffed, pulling you harder against him. “Were you trying to kill me? Honestly I should have you arrested for attempted murder.” You giggled at that— his humor during moments like this were your favorite. When he suddenly pulled his hand back and brought it down hard on your ass, you yelped embarrassingly in surprise. He was back to groping you, using his grip to help you grind on his bulge.
His hands snaked up to the waistband of your shorts and he pulled them up even further, making you whine and bury your face in the crook of his neck. The motion gave him a better view so he grabbed your ass again and tilted it up more, arching your back almost uncomfortably to get a good look. Even if you weren’t currently grinding on him, the seam of your shorts would’ve been enough to leave you panting and moaning, desperate for more. He slid his fingers under the leg holes and pulled them up even more, then started moving your hips even faster.
“Let me see your tits, baby.” He whispered, making you whine, but lift yourself up anyway. He never stopped moving your hips as you reached for the top button on his shirt and slowly worked your way down. “I can’t fucking take this anymore, please let me see.” He whined, his hips bucking up into you now. Once his shirt was unbuttoned, you shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor. You were practically spilling out of your bra and he removed one hand to tug down the front of your tank top and expose even more of you.
“Fuck…” He groaned, leaning forward and kissing across your chest. He started mouthing at your nipple through the bra, making you whine at the lack of real stimulation.
“Neil…” You tried to beg.
“You did this to yourself, baby. Dressing like this.. bending over for me and sticking your ass out… kneeling and giving me a perfect view of your tits.” He landed a rough smack on your ass, making you jolt. “That was all you. Now it’s time to accept the consequences of your actions.”
“Please!”
“No. Get up.” You pouted, but stood on shaky legs, watching him lay down. “On my lap facing away from me.” He ordered. You tentatively crawled onto him and straddled his hips, looking back at him over your shoulder as you waited for the next command.
“Give me a show, baby.” You whined once you understood what he wanted. Placing your hands on his thighs to brace yourself, you started rocking your hips, grinding on his bulge. He groaned quietly behind you.
“Stop.” Your hips slowed to a stop and you waited in anticipation. “Pull them up more,”
“But I already basically have a wedgie, Neil!” You pouted, moaning when he slapped your ass again.
“Up.” He growled. You huffed, but moved your hands to the waist and pulled them up more. “Now hold them there and keep going. Faster.” You whined as you adjusted your position to start grinding on him without being able to steady yourself. “Higher.” He spanked you again, forcing a whimper out of you. You lifted them even more until it was almost starting to hurt.
“Good girl.” He groaned. Your thighs were starting to burn, but every time you slowed, you got another spank, each one harder than the last. After a while he huffed— and probably rolled his eyes. “Lay down.” You finally let go of your shorts and leaned forward so you were laying between his legs. He groped your ass, pulling your cheeks apart and pushing the shorts up to expose more skin. When his thumb ran over your mound, you jolted with a startled moan.
“Holy fucking shit.” He chuckled, making you stiffen. What the hell was so funny? “You soaked through the fucking jeans!” He laughed loudly and your whole face flushed in embarrassment. “Oh my god this is priceless. You’re really that horny?”
“Stop teasing me, Neil.” You whined with a frown.
“I’m sorry, baby.” You could tell by his tone that he wasn’t.
“You’re being mean.” You pouted and he rubbed over your clit a little harder now, making your hips flinch back toward the pleasure.
“I’m being mean… It’s not like you spent the entire day teasing me…”
“I’m sorry.” You whimpered, hips squirming. He shushed you and removed his hands from your body, making you whine quietly. When you heard his belt, you paused. “Neil?” You asked quietly, but he ignored you. Clothes were rustling and he was shifting under you until he grabbed your thighs, pushed him together.
“Thighs together. Feet over my shoulders.” He demanded and you finally realized what was happening.
“Neil, no. I’m sorry— please fuck me.” He smacked your thigh this time, making you cry out. You dropped your head onto the couch with a whine, but moved into the position he wanted. His cock was pressed firmly between both thighs and against your covered heat, and you left out a long, bratty whine to protest. It cut off into a yelp though when he slapped you again.
“Stop it.” You felt like a child with the way he reprimanded you. His hands settled on your hips and he lifted you a little, giving himself just enough room to thrust up into you. “Squeeze my cock, baby.” You whined, but squeezed your legs together and he started bucking his hips, fucking your thighs.
When you tried to slip a hand between your bodies to rub your covered clit, he slapped your thigh again, much harder this time.
“Hands behind your back.” He demanded, making you whine.
“Neil, please! I said I’m sorry— please just fuck me…” Your voice trailed off into a pathetic whimper toward the end of your begging.
“Hands behind your back or I’ll come like this and we’ll be done.” He warned. You sobbed out a moan, but put your hands behind your back. “Good girl. While you’re at it, pull those shorts up more.” With a quiet whine, you moved your hands down to grab the waistband of your shorts and pull a little. They were already up so high, there wasn’t really anywhere for them to go, but Neil wasn’t satisfied.
“You wanted to parade around and show off your ass so fucking show me.” He growled and you tried pulling again.
“Can’t, Neil.” You whined.
“If you want me to fuck you then you need to figure it out.” You wanted to cry out and kick your feet— throw a tantrum basically. But that wouldn’t get you what you wanted.
You reached down a little more and grabbed each leg hole, then pulled. The fabric was digging into your cunt in a way that was pleasurable for a while, but was quickly becoming painful with the more force you used. It was also just uncomfortable having a wedgie with something so thick.
“Better.” You knew he meant ‘better, but not good enough’ so you pulled them up more.
“Hurts..” You whined with a pout.
“Poor baby.” He cooed condescendingly. “If only you hadn't been a tease all day.” He started bucking his hips up faster and grunting quietly as he panted. It sounded like he was close and you frowned at the realization. “More.” He ordered breathlessly. “Pull them up until your eyes get as wet as your cunt and you’re begging me for mercy.”
You cursed under your breath and bit your lip as you pulled even harder. It was so hard doing this to yourself. If he had done it, then you probably could’ve endured the pain, but you were having a hard time doing it to yourself.
“I don’t hear any crying or begging.” He hinted. With a quiet whine, you yanked the shorts hard enough to make the sound turn into a pained cry. More than half of your ass was exposed now and even though this was painful and degrading, it was making you needier. Needy for his touch, his praise… needy for him. So you kept pulling, letting out a strangled sob and burying your face in the cushion, trying not to think about the fact that this is a public couch.
“Good girl.” He groaned, tightening his grip on your hips and bucking up even faster now. “God these shorts are so fucking hot…” He moaned breathlessly. “Maybe I’ll start enforcing a work uniform…” You didn’t have to look at him to know he was smirking. “Since you seem to love showing off your ass so much.” He removed one hand from your hip to spank your ass, then immediately put it back. You let out a startled moan and instinctively squeezed your thighs tighter together when your body tensed up, making him choke on a moan as his thrusts faltered.
“Holy shit… Keep squeezing me like that, baby.” His voice was even more breathy now. You kept your thighs firmly pressed together, even as he cursed and moaned loudly when his orgasm finally hit. Most of his come landed on your thighs but some of it covered your ass and shorts as well. His sounds quieted and he loosened his grip on your hips, letting you lay on him as you relaxed your thighs.
“Neil…” You whined, on the verge of tears.
“I know, baby.” He said through a breath as he continued panting, trying to calm down. “Lean back up.” You let go of your shorts and moved your legs forward so you were kneeling again. “I’m not done looking at your ass in those shorts and I need a minute before we can continue so ride my thigh.”
“Neil, please.” You sobbed out, trying to turn around but he grabbed your hips again.
“Stop fucking complaining and just do it.” He gruffed, making you whine.
“Please! Please just fuck me already— I can’t take this!” You cried, vision going blurry with tears.
“Fine.” He huffed, pushing you off of him as he sat up, but remained facing the center of the couch. He grabbed one of the pillows and threw it on the couch beside you. “Ride that instead.” Once he saw your expression, he continued. “Ride it or we’re done for today.” Your gaze shifted between him and the pillow as your bottom lip started trembling. He sighed and scooched closer to cup your cheek.
“I know you’re needy, baby. You’ve been such a good girl for me. Can you keep being good just a little longer? Then I’ll give you what you want.” He said softly, making you practically melt. Hesitantly, you gave a small nod, biting your lip. “That’s my girl.” He whispered before leaning closer and giving you a gentle kiss. You tried not to frown when he pulled away then moved back to his position on the far end of the couch.
With a quiet sigh, you turned around and straddled the pillow. His come was already staining it— you’ll have to remember to take it home to wash. You closed your legs a bit to keep it in place, then slowly started grinding on it, spreading the mess. Honestly, the jeans were doing more for you than the pillow was, but you had to be good. You wanted to be good for him. He cursed under his breath, so you sped up a little, trying to put on a show for him.
“Fuck, baby…” He groaned, making you blush. You were whining now, speeding up and letting out quiet whimpers and moans each time you rocked your hips. You needed more so badly.
“Neil,” You murmured, still trying to be good while vocalizing how you were feeling.
“Is it not enough?” He cooed, almost sympathetically, and you shook your head with a quiet sob. “Okay, baby. Take them off now.” You could’ve cried in relief when he finally gave you permission. You removed the shorts quickly and discarded them and the pillow on the floor. “Underwear too.” You complied eagerly, then you were facing him, staring at him with wide, pleading eyes.
“Please fuck me.” You whimpered.
“Lay down.” He said softly, moving off of the couch to give you more room. He stroked his cock a little, bringing himself back to full hardness. Once you were laying down, he crawled over you, forcing your legs open as his body settled between them.
“You’re such a good girl.” He whispered, giving you another kiss. This one was longer and a little more passionate than the last. He pulled back but kept his face close, his nose brushing yours as you both panted. When he lined his cock up with your drooling hole, your breath hitched. He pushed in slowly, forcing you to feel every inch as he filled you. “Fuck you’re so wet.” He said through a breath, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against yours. He took a moment to compose himself, only moving when you started whining and squirming. “Okay, okay. I know.” He chuckled quietly, making you pout. But the expression left instantly when he slowly dragged out before pushing back in at the same speed.
“Neil,” You gasped out, clinging to his shoulders and digging your nails into his skin as you whimpered. He hissed and his hips stuttered before he sped up a little.
“So good for me…” He whispered, voice barely audible. “Take my cock so fucking good.” You whined loudly and pulled him down to bury your face in the crook of his neck, trailing sloppy kisses over it since you could barely focus. He kept the pace slow and sensual for a while, panting lightly and caressing you softly.
“Please.” You whimpered, feeling your orgasm quickly approaching. “Neil, please.”
“I know, baby.” He said through a breath, speeding up a little more. “Your little pussy’s just aching to come on my cock, huh?” He snaked a hand down and started rubbing your clit. That action, along with his words, had you mewling and arching your back up into him, desperately trying to get closer to the edge.
“Please,” Was the only response you could give.
“Be a good girl and beg for it.” He said teasingly, making you let out a long, bratty whine.
“Please make me come, Neil. I need it.” You whimpered, giving him puppy dog eyes. “Please— it hurts.”
“Oh, it hurts? You poor thing.” He cooed mockingly, holding back a smirk.
“Please! I’m sorry for teasing, Neil. Please let me come.” His fingers sped up on your clit, forcing a choked moan out of you. “I’m so close… I’m so close— please,” You started babbling out senseless pleas, getting closer to the edge.
“Okay, baby. You can come now.” You almost cried in relief.
“Thank you! Fuck.. thank you,” You moaned. By now your hips couldn’t stop moving, trying to get more pleasure out of his thrusts and his hand on your clit. He didn’t reprimand you for it though. When he leaned down and started kissing your neck, the knot of arousal in your stomach finally snapped.
You cried out, clinging to him desperately as hours worth of pent up arousal finally exploded. Tears were brimming in your eyes from the intensity and you could just barely hear his moans through how loud your own were.
“Good girl.” He murmured, kissing your neck just below your ear. Your body trembled as he worked you through it, only moving his hand away from your clit when you finally sagged into the couch. You whined when he started thrusting faster and he shushed you. “I know, baby. I know it hurts, but just hold on for a little longer.” He begged and you couldn’t help the strangled sob that escaped you. It was too much.
“Neil,” You whimpered.
“You’re okay. Just a little longer, I promise.” His voice was getting breathier and more desperate as his thrusts became frantic, chasing his second orgasm. He pressed his lips to yours and he sped up even more somehow, making you cry out into the kiss.
“It hurts,” You sobbed quietly, making him pull away from your lips, but not stop thrusting.
“I’m so close, baby. Just let me come— let me come and I promise I’ll be done.” Even though he was technically “asking” you to let him do that, you knew he wasn’t really asking. “Fuck— fuck, I’m…” He choked out, cutting off into a whine as his hips stuttered, then finally slammed all the way in. Your whimper wasn’t heard over his loud groan each time he bucked his hips, trying to go impossibly deeper. You could feel the heat of it inside you, making your clit just barely start throbbing again. His movements finally stopped and he panted against your neck as he recovered.
“Fuck…” He breathed, laughing quietly. You couldn’t help but laugh a little too. “Are you okay?” He finally leaned up to look at you, getting concerned by the tears still in your eyes. Instead of responding, you pulled him down into a kiss, feeling his cock give a little twitch inside you. When you pulled back, there was a love-struck smile on your face.
“Mhm.” You hummed and he chuckled at your response.
“We shouldn’t have done this here because now you’re sleepy and you’re gonna complain the whole time when I make you get up so we can go home.” He said amusedly.
“I absolutely am gonna complain the whole time.” You smirked, making him scoff teasingly. He slowly pulled out and both of you hissed because of how sensitive you were. He pushed your legs open more to watch his come trickle out of you. Letting out a low groan, he bit his lip and shook his head in disbelief.
“I will never fucking get tired of this sight, I swear.” You blushed in embarrassment and looked away from him. When his fingers swiped through your folds, you jolted. He didn’t do much else other than keep his come from dripping onto the couch, but he quickly grabbed your shorts and put them back on.
“Wait— Neil, I kind of need underwear.” He was undeterred and continued until they were around your hips, making you cringe at the feeling.
“We’re gonna go home and you’re gonna stay covered in my fucking come until we get there and I can give you another load.” His voice was low and somehow still thick with arousal, making your stomach flutter.
“Too much of a coward to do it before we get there?” You smirked, daring him. It’s dark out now and there are plenty of places you could stop on the short walk home.
“That’s cute.” He deadpanned, making your smirk widen. “Stand up.” He put his length back in his pants and buckled his belt as you got to your feet. As soon as he was standing next to you, he grabbed the back of the jeans and pulled them up, making you let out an embarrassing yelp. Once a decent amount of your ass was hanging out of the bottom, he let go and put his shirt back on, leaving you in what you came in with so you couldn’t cover yourself.
“After you.” He smirked, smacking your ass when you turned around to head for the door.
synopsis - tommy receives a phone call in the middle of having sex with his wife.
pairing - tommy shelby x reader / thomas shelby x reader
warnings - SMUT +18, rough sex, use of foul language, breeding kink, praising kink, creampie, just full of porn, unprotected sex, p in v
notes - short (w.c <850), gif and picture isn't mine, divider is mine
main masterlist | peaky blinders masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist
His hands explored every inch of your sensitive body with a satisfying touch that sent shivers down your spine. There was an irresistible affection between the two of you that was endless. Your breath caught as his dominant, wild hip thrusts into yours, causing hectic, unrestrained moans with every thrust.
"Oh my God- yes, Thomas!"
As he pushed you farther into the mattress, his weight and heat surrounded you as you lay beneath him, your bodies linked. He drew closer as your legs coiled around his hips, stretching you in the most delicious way as he slid deeper with each thrust. Tommy started to breathe hard, his chest heaving as sweat collected on his forehead and trickled down to mix with the heat from your smooth skin. He met your gaze with lust and something deeper than that.
"Yes, baby.. fuck- you take me so well.. so fucking well," he praised on your ear as he rested his head on your neck, his deep thrusts not stopping.
The telephone on top of the nightstand beside your shared bed rang loudly. Your husband stopped, looking at the phone near him.
Who the fuck is calling at this hour?
Tommy picked the phone up, not leaving the bed.
"Thomas Shelby." he answered.
You expected him that he would draw away and stop, especially when the phone rang. He stopped and reached for it, and you felt upset. Tommy, though, chose to stay still and answered the phone with one hand while tightening his grip on your waist with the other and suddenly thrusting his hips forward once more.
His thrusts continued to shock you, causing your body to tense in surprise, but before you could respond, pleasure took over. His cock sank farther, each malicious movement finding that exact spot. You ended up speechless by both of his soothing phone voice and the way he caused your body to react to him.
"What ha-happened?" Tommy asked over the phone, his breathing heavily telling each question with a struggled and unsteady voice. He attempted to keep his composure, but the force of his motions made it almost impossible as his chest rose and fell quickly. As he tried to concentrate on the talk, you could feel his heart thumping against your body and his breath rapid and hot against your skin.
Tommy looked at you, a smirk painted on his face. With his free hand, his fingers toyed with your hardened nipples, brushing them and squeezing it.
"Tomm-" you covered your mouth immediately as you nearly moaned his name out loud, afraid of whoever is on the phone hearing that Tommy is fucking his wife at the moment.
"Yeah, I'll handle that tomorrow morning," his voice was deep making you feel wetter and wetter. A familiar feeling coiled down through your stomach.
"Tommy, I'm so close," you quietly moaned. Your fingers gripped the silk bedsheets tightly as you felt your high coming.
The room was filled with the constant sound of your bodies meeting, the heat between you growing with each slap of flesh on skin. Your thoughts were taken over by the intense pleasure that was shooting through your entire body as your eyelids fluttered closed, buried in a fog of ecstasy. You vaguely heard Tommy drop the phone somewhere in the distance, but it didn't really matter. The way he grabbed you closer and pounded your hips with such merciless pace that every thrust sent shivers of pleasure through your entire body was all that mattered. Heavy intakes of breath from him, merging with your groans as he pushed you both to the edge.
"Good girl, yes, yes.. Finish on my cock."
Tommy experienced the same closeness as your cock clenched all over it. With a deep moan, he raised your right leg to his shoulders. He treated you like the most precious gemstones that thieves like him could take. Tommy groaned and praised as his head rolled back.
"D'you want me to cum inside you? Breed you? Make you mine?"
"Yes, yes! Fill me up, sir! Please!"
His back was scratched by your nails, and in a few hours, scars will definitely begin to appear. You groaned, breasts bouncing and the bed creaking with every pound.
And then, after a few more thrusts, he smashed deep inside of you until he poured all of his seed into your abused and tight walls. It was warm and filled. Tommy groaned loudly and pleased, then rested his head on the side of your neck to inhale yourself. He waited until every last drop of his cum filled you before pulling out.
As soon as he pulled out, a mixture of his and your load leaked outside your throbbing pussy. Tommy got up, grabbing a box of tissue and cleaned the both of you up.
"Who was that?" you asked.
"Just the betting shop asking for me to check on something."
"You think they.. heard me?"
"I'm sure they did and I'm glad so that they know how much I fucking please my lovely wife." he chuckled before planting another kiss to your lips.
You gladly kissed him back but the kiss deepened and the both of you know what that means.
summary: you are due to be married to the leader of an enemy gang to the peaky blinders. the night before your wedding, you make thomas shelby an offer he can’t refuse.
wc: 5k
tags: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, Canon typical gang/violence talk, Tommy is Mr. Steal Your Girl, Cheating/scandal, Virginity loss, Age gap (Reader is early 20s, Tommy is late 40s), Tommy uses reader to get to his enemies, Smut (v fingering, fem receiving oral, unprotected p in v), Choking, Finger sucking, Possessive!Tommy, Dom!Tommy, Reader is a lil depraved, Reader wants that cookie so fucking bad, Spot the Twin Peaks reference, Dirty talk, Spitting, Biting, Bits of Soft!Tommy, Degradation, Overstimulation, Innocence kink? Bit of violence at the end
read on ao3
-
There wasn’t a soul in Birmingham that had not heard of Thomas Shelby.
Hearing whispers of his name throughout your mid to late teens made him seem, in your mind, like some sort of boogeyman.
Even now, you heard his name uttered through whispered breaths as though saying it too loud would summon him.
Like his name was a curse.
The first time you caught sight of him, the first time you put a face to the name, there was a momentary shift in the way you viewed the man.
In your mind, Thomas Shelby was a monster. He took, he killed, he robbed. Mercy was not something he entertained.
In reality, Thomas Shelby was just a man.
A cold, violent man.
But a man nonetheless.
He commanded the entire room as soon as he entered it. An unlit cigarette between his lips, flat cap pulled low on his head. You almost could not see his eyes. His trench coat flowed behind him as he walked, surrounded by his cronies.
Heading straight towards you.
And yet, for some reason, you did not fear him at all.
He came to a stop beside the table you sat at. His brothers loomed behind him, but he took the lead.
“May I?” Thomas asked, nodding once towards the seat opposite you.
You nodded curtly. “Please,” you welcomed.
He took the seat before you gave your answer.
“You’re Fischer’s wife.”
He posed it as a statement, not a question.
Your jaw flexed at the mention of your soon-to-be husband. “Not yet. He’s yet to tie me down in loveless matrimony, if you must know, Mr. Shelby.”
Thomas seemed impressed by your defiance, if just for a moment. His icy exterior was not broken for long.
“You seem smart enough. I’m sure you’re aware your fiancé wants me dead.”
“You want him dead too,” you reminded him.
“It’s nothing personal.”
“If only it was.”
Something changed in Thomas’ eyes. His lip twitched, like he was itching to smirk, but he resisted, remaining personal. Instead, he reached into his pocket.
In the presence of Thomas Shelby, anyone else would have flinched if he reached into his pocket, expecting to be met with the cold steel of a gun.
You did not.
And he noticed that.
You could see his eyes now.
He was nothing like the stories you’d heard as a teen.
These weren’t the eyes of a boogeyman.
Wordlessly, his piercing blue eyes never leaving yours, he extended a cigarette towards you.
You wondered if he did this often with future wives of rival gang members.
You took the cigarette regardless. Your fingers brushed against his.
You leaned forward, and with a flick of his lighter, Thomas lit your cigarette for you.
You took a long drag, exhaling deeply, as Thomas lit up his own.
“I don’t often share cigarettes with gangsters.”
He hummed in amusement, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Your fiancé lets you plan every move his little gang makes. But he won’t let you smoke.”
Again, it was not a question. Like he already knew just how cowardly your future husband was.
You exhaled another puff of smoke, holding his gaze. “Men are strange creatures, Mr. Shelby.”
He smirked. “Indeed they are.”
You raised the cigarette to your lips again. “So you know.”
Thomas continued to stare.
His gaze made you feel X-rayed.
You didn’t mind it.
“Yes. I know.”
“That why you’re here, Mr Shelby?” you queried. “Here to kill me? Teach my fiancé a lesson?”
He seemed genuinely amused at the suggestion. “Being a gangster isn’t all about killing people, love. It’s about negotiation. It’s about fear.”
You paused. “Well, I’m not afraid of you.”
Thomas did not seem fazed. Like this was all part of his plan. “I’m not asking you to be.”
“Then what are you asking, Mr Shelby?” you challenged him.
“Nothing.” He said it honestly. You believed him. “Just need it to get back to your fiancé that I was here. Talking to his woman. Make his mind spiral. Then the fear starts.”
“So we’re just… talking.”
It was absurd. If you told the teenaged you that you would be sitting in a bar, sharing a cigarette with Thomas Shelby - feared mobster and leader of the Peaky Blinders - she would have said you were fucking stupid.
“Just talking,” Thomas reaffirmed.
“I heard stories of you, growing up,” you confessed, tapping your cigarette into the ash tray before you. “You struck the fear of God into me, Thomas Shelby.”
His chest seemed to swell a little at that. As though striking the fear of God into a young woman was something to be proud of.
Or maybe it was the fact you had heard of him.
“And look at you now. You’re not afraid at all, are you?”
There was a feeling - deep within your chest, nestled in the base of your stomach. It was warm, burning like a fire. It did not feel like fear.
No. You weren’t afraid. You were intrigued.
“You’re not asking me to be afraid,” you reminded him.
“No. I’m not.”
Your cigarette fizzled out between your fingers, a symbol of your meeting coming to an end. “You’re not what I expected,” you admitted.
Thomas stubbed out his cigarette in the ash tray. He stood, his chair scraping against the wood floor, echoing louder than it should have.
Everything he did left an impression.
Thomas took your hand, bent slightly, and kissed it politely.
His lips brushing against the skin of your hand sent a chill through your body.
“Neither are you,” said Thomas.
His gang began to retreat towards the doors of the pub. Their eyes raked over you as though you were something intriguing.
You did not look at them.
You just looked at Thomas.
He tipped his cap towards you, a gesture of farewell. “Good day, Miss.”
And like a beast disappearing into the night, he was gone.
-
You thought often of Thomas Shelby, even though you knew you shouldn’t. Should had never stopped you before. It was an odd word. You shouldn’t be involved in planning attacks for your fiancé’s gang.
You shouldn’t feel cold or unseen, laying next to the man you were supposed to marry.
And you shouldn’t be fantasising about your future husband’s mortal enemy. About his piercing blue eyes, the deep rumble of his voice, the calloused skin of his fingers brushing against your own.
That singular touch - one that lasted not even two seconds - ignited a fire within you that your husband never had. Never would.
The day of your wedding - your entrapment - crept up on you. One month. One week. Tomorrow.
Your groom had not been happy when word reached him that his woman had been sitting in a bar, sharing a cigarette with Thomas Shelby of the Peaky Blinders. Insults had been exchanged aplenty. Names flew out of his mouth that bounced off your skin. An opinion of a man like him did not matter to you.
“Are you Thomas Shelby’s fucking whore now?” he had demanded, spit flying from his mouth.
Your response was meant to anger him. You wanted him to feel the words burrowing underneath his skin, feel them festering there.
But your tone revealed the truth in the words.
“I’d rather be his whore than your wife.”
It was dark when you said it. The words travelled out into the moonless night, floating down the street as if leading you somewhere. Luckily, your pathetic excuse of a fiancé did not follow you out into the cold evening air.
Down the street. Towards an address you had seen scrawled on the back of threatening letters to your fiancé - inviting him to come and try his luck on the life of Thomas Shelby.
Or maybe it was an invite to you.
The knock on his door reverberated into the night.
There was that word again: should. You shouldn’t be here. You should hope that he doesn’t answer.
But you are. And you don’t.
You hope he answers - and he does.
His usual stoic expression did not soften when he saw you. Despite it being deep into the night, Thomas was still dressed to work. His vest, trousers and shoes pristine as ever, the sleeves of his white undershirt rolled up to his elbows. A part of you was expecting him to be stained with the blood of his enemies.
Preferably the blood of your husband-to-be.
“Your man know you’re here?” Thomas asked.
You laughed, the idea ridiculous to you. “He doesn’t know anything about what I do.”
Thomas smirked. Like that was the answer he wanted. “And what is it you’re here to do?”
You. No, too vulgar.
“I’d like to ask you something. If you can find the time, of course.” You added the last part almost scathingly. As though sizing him up, letting him know that you were equals. That you were not to be toyed with.
Thomas looked at you with an expression that suggested he was not used to being talked to like anything other than a leader, a boss.
But it didn’t look like he hated it. Not coming from you.
“Well,” Thomas clicked his tongue, and then he finally opened the door fully, stepping back and allowing you the space to cross the threshold into his home. “Come in and ask it in the warm, at least.”
It was almost like he cared.
Thomas lead you through his hallway into a room at the back of the house, where a fire was crackling welcomingly. The warmth of the room filled your whole body. A desk stood before the fireplace, half-written letters strewn across its surface.
Thomas did not invite you to sit. He resumed his position at his desk, the one you assumed he had been in before your knock derailed his work. You stood in front of his desk with your hands clasped in front of you, as though you were a choir singer about to serenade him, or a salesman about to con him.
“Your dear fiancé fears what I might do to you. That’s why you’re here, eh?” He did not look up from whatever important words he was writing when he spoke.
You tilted your head. “Partly,” you answered honestly. “What’s he got to fear? What might you do to me? Tommy?”
The use of his nickname made him raise his head. Those eyes met yours. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip. Tommy leaned back in his chair, placing his pen down on his papers. “What do you want me to do to you?”
You shuddered at his words. “It would be sinful of me to say it.”
He quirked an eyebrow, as if he already knew what you were about to say. He welcomed it without batting an eyelid. “I’m a killer. I know all about sin. You’re in good company to be sinful.”
Tommy looked like sin. He smelled like it. Maybe he was your sin. And this time, you weren’t looking to repent.
“So go on,” he ordered. “Ask away.”
You stared into his eyes for a moment. They were the colour of a lake you could happily drown in. Thomas Shelby was captivating.
Really, you were just another of his victims. A victim of his words.
A victim of his gaze.
A victim of your own desire.
The words left you calmly. There was no more room within you for shame.
Just for him.
“I want you to fuck me, Tommy.”
Like him, you did not ask. You demanded.
Tommy raised his eyebrows inquisitively. He leaned forward, the proposition intriguing. “You want me to fuck you?” he repeated.
He wanted to hear you say it again.
“I want you. To fuck me.”
He chuckled. “Fiancé not satisfying you?”
“He never has. And he never will. I will not let him own that part of me. I want it to be you.”
Something glinted in Tommy’s eyes.
Excitement.
Intrigue.
Desire.
Tommy stood, his eyes never leaving yours. He moved slowly around the desk, as if taunting you with the proximity between you both growing smaller and smaller. “You came here to ask me to fuck you. Pathetic, really.”
“I’m to be married tomorrow,” you informed him calmly, trying desperately to ignore the hammering of your heart against your ribcage and the growing pool of desire between your legs. “Tonight I make my own decisions.”
“And your last decision before you marry your husband is to fuck the man who wants to kill him.” Despite his degrading words, Tommy’s tone was not judgemental. It was almost impressed. Like he admired your honesty.
Like he wanted this as much as you did.
Tommy dared to touch you first. His large, manly hand caressed the side of your face, thumb running delicately along your jawline. “Why is it you’re not afraid of me?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, low and gravelly in his throat.
There were a million ways you could answer that question. But you went with the one that flipped your stomach whenever you thought it. The one that felt like a crown of thorns wrapping around your heart. The one that was being whispered into your ear by the Devil on your shoulder.
“You’re not the only one who wants my husband dead.”
A proud smirk made its way onto Tommy’s infuriatingly handsome face. His whole hand fit around your face. He could cover your mouth if he wanted to. The way you were sure your fiancé would do.
But Tommy Shelby was not him. He was everything the man you were set to marry would never be. To your future husband, he was the man he hated the most. To you, he was the object of all your desires.
Tommy did not cover your mouth. He heard you. He worked with you. Instead, he gently squeezed your soft cheeks between his hand. Gentler than you had ever thought Tommy was capable of being.
“You’re his from tomorrow. So you’re mine for tonight.”
You would never belong to your husband. But you would take being Tommy’s. So you nodded. Opened your mouth enough to whisper, “Kiss me.”
He did. His lips were rough against yours, moving with passion. The same lips that threatened and cursed, that humiliated and insulted the man who was supposed to kiss you like this.
The hand that had been cupping your jaw moved down to your throat, wrapping around with no effort. Tommy squeezed gently, eliciting a desperate gasp from your mouth. He smirked against your lips, like that was the reaction he wanted.
With his other hand, Tommy touched every part of you he could. His fingers combed through your hair. He cupped your breast. He squeezed your ass. His hand roamed as though he wanted to mark every part of you he could, taint your soft skin with the sin the two of you were about to commit.
“Get on the desk.” Tommy moaned the words into your mouth, one possessive hand still wrapped around your throat, the other grasping your lower back, pulling your body as close to his as possible.
“What for?” you gasped.
“So I can kneel.”
Tommy practically shoved you into a sitting position on a free space of his wooden desk. Even now, he was anything but gentle - and you weren’t complaining a bit.
You weren’t here to be handled gently.
You were here to get fucked by the gangster you’d grown up hearing stories about. To feel his blood-stained hands all over your body.
Tommy wasted no time, kneeling before you like a man at a confessional about to confess his deepest of sins. This definitely wasn’t his worst of discretions. It was just another addition to his growing list.
And you were happy to be that, just for tonight.
“Those letters over there are to your fiancé,” Tommy murmured into the tender skin of your thigh, nodding towards the papers beside you on the desk. With one hand, his fingertips pressed into your thigh so hard you were sure you would be bruised in a matter of minutes. With the other, he tore off your underwear like they were a hinderance, ripping them clean in two. He tossed the fabric over his shoulder like it was nothing. “Shall I put this in writing?” he asked darkly, pushing apart your legs, revealing your already dripping pussy to his hungry eyes.
You had no time to respond, because Tommy seemingly could not hold himself back any longer. He licked a long, singular stripe along your folds, the sound of your loud moan music to his ears.
“If he could fucking see this.” Tommy groaned, moving his lips from your pussy to pepper sweet, tempting kisses along your inner thigh. “His woman, spread open on my desk.”
“Not his woman,” you breathed, your hands tangling in Tommy’s hair. “Yours tonight.”
Tommy smirked at you from between your legs, moving your legs so they were draped over his shoulders. The scratchy fabric of his vest irritated the back of your thighs but you were beyond caring about discomfort at this point.
“Good fucking girl,” Tommy practically growled, before reconnecting his tongue to your aching pussy, licking and sucking and nipping from your folds to your clit.
Your head hung backwards, eyes squeezed shut. You were certain at one point you could see stars bursting across your vision as Tommy continued his relentless lapping at your pussy. One hand pulled and tugged at his dark hair with every move his tongue made on your cunt, the other gripped the edge of his desk so hard your hand was aching already.
“Fuck yes, Thomas… Keep going, please,” your whines and moans spurred him on, sucking and licking at your clit like his life depended on it. You had never felt pleasure like this before and you were certain you never would again.
You let out a strangled gasp when Tommy shoved his index finger inside of you, continuing to suck on your clit like a man starved. He slipped a second finger inside of you, his fingers working in tandem with his mouth. With his fingers pumping rhythmically and his mouth sucking determinedly, your orgasm ripped through you. Incoherent words and gasps and moans spilled from your mouth as you came all over Tommy’s tongue. He lapped up every last drop, coaxing you through it with praises and groans that sent vibrations through your entire body.
Eventually, Tommy stood, his mouth slick from your juices and his eyes almost feral for you. Your chest heaved, your entire body trembled from the force of the orgasm he had just brought you to.
But Tommy was nowhere near done with you.
And Tommy Shelby got what he wanted.
Almost towering over you now, staring down at you with lust-filled eyes, Tommy continued to pump his two fingers inside of you, curling them just right to reach that sweet spot inside of you once more. “You can handle another one, can’t you?” Tommy murmured into your skin, pressing soft kisses up your neck and across your jawline.
“Tommy,” you whined, clutching at the shoulders of his vest now, the scratchy material bunching up in your fists from the sheer force of how hard you were holding onto him. “It hurts.”
“But it feels good, doesn’t it, love?” Tommy sighed into your ear, his free hand clutching your face.
You nodded. Because fuck, it felt good. Your entire body shook and you felt like you were on fire, but that sensation building up in your lower stomach was Heavenly.
“You’re a good girl, you’re gonna take it,” Tommy shushed you, teasing a third finger at your entrance. “You look so pretty when you cum for me.”
His words, combined with his fingers and their relentless work inside of you was enough to tip you over the edge. You clutched his shirt and let out a strangled moan, feeling yourself about to fall apart once more.
Tommy had one more request to make before you did.
“Look at me,” Tommy ordered, fingers knuckles deep inside of you. You did, lips parted and eyes heavy with desire. His ocean blue eyes met yours, his expression deadly serious, like this was an art form to him.
Your second orgasm in five minutes came rushing, every inch of your body shaking as you chanted Tommy’s name like a forgotten prayer. He continued to finger you through your orgasm, eyes watching you intently, almost intrigued by you and how your body reacted to him.
When the feeling of immense pleasure subsided, Tommy smirked satisfactorily and removed his fingers from your soaked pussy. His fingers were wet with your slick. “Taste yourself,” he ordered. “Taste how fucking sweet you are.”
You took his fingers in your mouth without question, swirling your tongue around them and tasting your own juices. Tommy’s breath actually trembled as he watched you. He used it to his advantage that he had you wrapped around his finger, but in reality, you had him exactly the same way.
“Good girl,” Tommy praised you, removing his fingers from your mouth. “All sweet and innocent. Just for me, isn’t it?”
You nodded, too overwhelmed and overstimulated from his mouth and his fingers to form a coherent sentence.
“Words, sweetheart,” Tommy commanded. “Use your words or I won’t fuck you.”
“Just for you, Tommy,” you breathed, barely louder than a whisper.
“He’s never gonna make you feel like this, is he?” Tommy growled possessively, lips ghosting over yours. “Never gonna make your pretty pussy cum like I do.”
You shook your head. Completely at his mercy.
“Open your mouth,” Tommy ordered, pulling your bottom lip down with his thumb before you even processed the request. You stuck your tongue out before he even asked you to, and when he spat onto your tongue, you gladly closed your mouth. “Swallow,” he told you, still clutching your jaw in his hand. You did as he asked, opening your mouth and showing him the smooth surface of your tongue once more to show him you’d complied.
Tommy groaned. “Such a good little plaything for me, aren’t you, sweetheart? Makes me want to keep you. He doesn’t deserve to have you like this.”
“Tommy, please,” you whimpered, tugging at his shirt, bringing his body closer to yours. You wrapped your still shaking legs around his waist, grinding your naked pussy against his clothed, hard cock. “Need you to fuck me.”
Tommy raised his eyebrows, smirking as he began to undo the buttons of his vest, tossing it away and then beginning to work on his shirt. “Want me to ruin you now, hm?”
“Think you want it just as much,” you argued, eyes raking over Tommy’s now bare chest. Even the faded ink of his tattoos enthralled you.
Your index finger ran over the tattoo on his pec. He watched you admiring him, his eyes still hungry, but something else shimmered behind his blue irises now. Something almost sweet, practically affectionate.
Tommy Shelby was not sweet.
But maybe for you he was willing to be.
You leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss over his chest tattoo. Your mouth acted before your mind did, your teeth softly grazing the skin just above his nipple. You bit him.
Tommy hissed through his teeth in surprise at your action. Though when you looked up at him, he was actually smiling.
You had never seen Thomas Shelby smile before.
Smirk, yes. But never smile.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you liked me, Mr. Shelby,” you smiled sweetly back at him.
“I do like you,” Tommy murmured, resting his forehead against yours, his nose brushing against your cheek. Your hand once again came up to rest on the back of his head, bringing him closer to you. “I like how innocent you are even with all the blood on your hands. I like that you’re about to give this sweet little virgin pussy up to me.”
You heard the clinking of his belt and the rustling of the material of his trousers as Tommy freed his hard cock from his briefs. You stole a glimpse at his length, watching as his strong hand pumped his cock a few times. You were pleasantly surprised. You had no idea a dick could be so pretty.
Tommy’s lips feathered a soft kiss upon your jawline. “I’ll be gentle if you want me to.”
You shook your head. Tommy raised his head from your neck, his traditional Shelby smirk back on his face. “You don’t want me to be gentle?”
“If I wanted gentle, I wouldn’t have come to Tommy Shelby.”
You’d heard stories of the Boogeyman.
And you wanted the fucking Boogeyman.
Tommy tilted his head to the side, his hooded lust-filled eyes never leaving yours. “Whatever you like.”
One of Tommy’s hands gripped your lower back, pulling you as close to him as possible. The other rested on the smooth surface of the wooden desk so hard his knuckles were already turning white, giving himself balance as he shoved himself into you inch by inch.
Your head tilted backwards, mouth open in a breathy moan. You felt lightheaded at the length and the thickness of him, like you could fall backwards, but Tommy was supporting you and wouldn’t let that happen. Your eyes watered, a combination of the pain and the pleasure.
Tommy didn’t move for a moment, allowing you time to adjust to the new sensation of his cock buried inside of you. His eyes met yours, tone deadly serious as he asked, “Feel okay, sweetheart?”
“Feels- Feels good,” you breathed heavily. “Please move.”
Tommy tutted, giving a single shake of his head. He pressed light kisses along your tear-stained cheeks, whispering against your skin, “You’re gonna need to beg better than that.”
“Please,” you whined, pulling his lips down onto yours, moaning against his mouth. “Please fuck me, Thomas.”
Either he was satisfied with just your few seconds of begging, or he was just too impatient to wait. Tommy snapped his hips against yours, reaching an unforgiving, brutal pace, his cock hitting spots inside of you that you didn’t even know existed. His movements drew out every moan, every whimper, every guttural sound from your very soul.
Something animalistic glinted in Tommy’s eyes with every hard thrust. His arm wrapped around your back, supporting you as each roll of his hips forced you further back onto the desk until you were led on your back, splayed across Tommy’s important letters, the savvy businessman side of him overtaken by the primal beast of a man now hovering over you, pounding harder and harder with each passing second.
Your legs were still wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, pushing him as far inside of you as possible. With his now free hands, Tommy pushed your thighs back to allow himself deeper access inside of you. His cock stretched you out painfully, but the pain was delicious. He slotted inside of you perfectly, like you were made to be fucked by him.
Every moan and shriek that left your mouth spurred him on, feeling himself getting closer and closer with each pretty sound you made.
“You feel - fucking - perfect,” Tommy groaned, each word punctuated by another brutal thrust that caused tears to prick at the corners of your eyes.
Tommy’s hand curled around your neck once more, his pace never faltering. “Look at me, pretty girl,” he growled.
When you did, you saw him. Thomas Shelby - leader of the Peaky Blinders - the monster you’d heard stories about.
The monster you used to fear.
The monster stealing your innocence on the desk at which he had drafted countless death threats - smearing your lipstick all over a letter addressed to the man you were set to marry in a few hours.
He had officially fucked every ounce of fear out of you, and replaced it with an inhumane, Unholy dedication.
“Don’t take your eyes off me,” Tommy ordered in what you were sure was his gangster voice - it was hot as fuck. The muscles in his chest and arms flexed with each thrust, he bit down on his bottom lip gently, his brow furrowed with concentration, a bead of sweat running down his temple.
He was fucking gorgeous. You couldn’t even resent him for it.
Your nails scratched at Tommy’s biceps as his thrusts became more sporadic. You could tell he was close based on his movements and the desperate pants leaving his mouth, his hot breath fanning on your cheek.
“I’m close, Tommy,” you cried. “Gonna cum again.”
“Cum for me then, pretty girl. Let me feel it.”
Whatever Tommy wanted, Tommy got.
Your pussy clenched around his cock as you reached your climax. White spots burst across your vision. Your entire body felt like it was on fire and your legs shook. Your third orgasm crashed over you like the sea onto rocks, and with a string of exclcamatorys from his filthy mouth, Tommy’s orgasm followed yours, spilling his cum into your newly fucked-out pussy.
There was silence as the two of you caught your breath. Tommy helped you into a sitting position, his arm around your waist supporting your trembling body.
Tommy opened his mouth to speak.
You got there first.
“Kill him.”
Tommy froze, eyes locked on yours. “Who?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
There was that word again. Should.
You should not have just allowed the man who lusted after your future husband’s blood to lust after you.
You should not have just let Thomas Shelby fill you up with his cum.
You should not have a deadly gangster wrapped around your little finger.
But you did. And you do.
And that’s what made you decide it.
“My husband. Kill him.”
Whatever Tommy wanted, Tommy got.
What he wanted now, more than anything, was you.
And he was going to get it. With just one bullet, a bloodstain on your wedding dress and a glimpse at the merciless monster you’d heard tales of growing up.
miss me? (requested! + nsfw)
tim drake x fem!reader
mentions: porn with plot, cyber criminal!reader, tensionn, tim sliiightly being obsessive? can we say that idk, handjob in public, sorta but not rlly phone sex??, innuendos, sexual fantasies, pathetic!tim my beloved, reader watching this thru cameras, this was lowkey kinda messy, idk what else, NO PT 2
(thank yewwwww asia for helping me come up with this plot ugh ly mama)
—————————————————————————
one month and 26 days— that’s how long it’s been since tim drake had heard of you
you were one of the most notorious cybercriminals he has ever faced, often hacking into banks, private corporations, even government servers, and transferring every single cent into your own offshore accounts.
it wasn’t just robbing you were fond of; it was also red robin— or rather, making his life significantly harder. every secure communications network tim built somehow ended up compromised, a ‘GAME OVER’ popping up on his monitor and reminding him exactly why you were considered one of the most dangerous hackers in the world. and every time tim upgraded his systems, you couldn’t resist seeing how long it would take before you found another weakness
for you, getting under his nerves was entertainment
sure, the money was nice. but the challenge was better. and nothing could compare to the satisfaction of red robin’s face when he discovered you’d gotten in again
he built, you broke, he fixed, you found another way in— an endless cycle that should’ve grown boring years ago. yet somehow, it didn’t
for tim, it was irritating. but he can’t help but play along with this game you always established with him
maybe it was the thrill, the adrenaline that tim felt whenever he faced you. because he was finally facing someone whose intelligence was on par with his, whose mind worked just as quickly as his own. you were someone who could keep with him, who could challenge him— and vice versa
that’s why he knew the details of your crimes better than anyone else in gotham. and that’s why when he finally broke through one of your encryptions and opened your files, his eyes slightly widened from a mugshot he managed to get from the gcpd dated back to a few years ago
it was a standard police photo— harsh lighting, plain background. but even with all that, you were holding the sign and looking straight at the camera like you were bored of it already, with a faint tilt to your head and a small smirk on your lips, a quiet and knowing expression in your eyes. but god, you were beautiful.
so beautiful tim couldn’t keep his eyes off you. so beautiful that when the thought arrived in his head, he immediately looked away for a second before looking back, not able to control himself.
but ever since your last fiasco of tapping into wayne enterprises last month, you’ve been gone since. no digital footprints, no mysterious breaches, nothing— and tim hated it, more than he should
because the silence felt wrong, you weren’t the type to disappear for nearly two months, that gotham’s most elusive cybercriminal randomly dropped off the face of the earth. your disappearence was the one thing tim drake kept thinking about, more than he should
from there, he created a file curated completely for you, every single piece of data and information he has about you all stored in one. and the first image popping up every time he would click on the desktop file would be your old mugshot
and soon, tim became obsessed with you— so obsessed that your voice would ring in his mind daily, so obsessed that he would open your file out of habit. so obsessed he would secretly jerk off to your mugshot, quiet moans leaving his lips and eyes stuck on your picture, his hand going up and down his length and whimpers of your name leaving him. anything to get rid of his stress
he knew it was wrong— having an interest in a criminal and having these thoughts of you— and that was the part that didn’t change. it was disgusting, perverted and shameful. yet every few nights, tim drake would be seated in front of his monitor, one hand gripping the armrest of his chair while the other fucked his cock into his fist
so just imagine his surprise when he heard a voice in his comms that wasn’t barbara’s as he was patrolling around the east end
“miss me, red robin?”
a voice too smooth, too amused, too hypnotic. a voice tim drake would recognize anywhere
he landed on a rooftop before freezing from the sound of your voice in his ear, thinking his mind was playing tricks on him. “you’re shitting me...” tim murmured under his breath in disbelief, but you still heard it as you chuckled, almost confirming that this wasn’t a dream for him.
tim could basically hear that infuriating, amused smirk from your voice— the same one that he couldn’t help but imagine in his thoughts
“aww, so you have”
“i didn’t say that”
“no, but the file on your computer says otherwise”
yeah, tim’s thoughts definitely weren’t playing tricks on him.
you bit your bottom lip to hide your grin, watching his face turn into silent panic from the security cameras you hacked from nearby buildings. “its cute” you hummed. “didn’t know you had a crush on me. but hey, at least they got my good side in that mugsho-“
“how did you get in there?” tim cut in, his voice slightly sharper than he intended. “it— it should be impossible, you shouldn’t be able to bypass this level of encryption”
a small laugh was heard from your end of the comms, a melody that tim secretly missed hearing. “baby, did you forget who you’re talking to?” you purred. god, the pet name rolled from you tongue with such ease it made tim’s breath hitch and his pants feeling slightly tighter— no, no.
“look” he sharply exhaled, wanting to sound more professional and trying to ignore the forming boner in his pants. “what are you doing in the comms? this is a private channel”
“just missed talking to my favorite vigilante”
“that’s not an answer”
“it is if it’s the truth”
“how should i know you’re telling the truth?”
“same way you already know i am telling the truth”
that’s because tim knew you were telling the truth, and you knew. throughout all the time you spent with tim, the two of you knew when the other was lying. it wasn’t that hard
enough was enough. tim landed in an alley not too far from his patrol spot as he immediately began typing on his wrist monitor, trying to pinpoint your location. “im tracking your signal”
you switched to another camera nearby. “mm good luck with that”
that hum sent shivers down tim’s spine, squinting his eyes shut for a minute to compose himself before opening them to continue tracking you on his wrist monitor. but of course, you were right as many locations started to pop up everywhere not just in gotham, but in other cities, even countries
through the security cameras, your eyes noticed a very very visible tent in his pants. and to confirm your suspicions, you saw tim turn off his wrist monitor and immediately dart his head down to the painful boner, hearing how his breathing was slowly becoming heavier
the sight of red robin having a boner just from your voice alone made a full grin form on your lips. oh this was going to be so much fun
“should i ask why you have my mugshot in your files?” you asked, acting completely oblivious as you turned in your chair before facing back your monitors. “didn’t know you were able to crack through my encryptions”
his eyes under his mask were now fully blown, the boner too hard to ignore— pun not intended. “now you know how it feels” tim responded, darting his head back and forth to see if the coast was clear before taking off a glove and slowly sliding a hand in his pants
your jaw slightly dropped as you watched him take his cock out of his pants. you couldn’t see much due to the quality of the camera, but it was enough for you to see how painful his boner must be, not to mention the size— enough for you to almost drool on your keyboard and for a small heat to form between your legs
tim wrapped his hand around his cock and bit his bottom lip to hold back a groan, gulping as his thumb slowly rubbed a circle around his leaking tip. your mugshot flashed in his thoughts, imagining how it would be your tongue instead of his thumb, how it would be your mouth instead of his hand, how your eyes would look up at him all wide with that dangerous look
“fuck” he mouthed to himself with slightly parted lips, fisting his cock as his eyes stayed completely stuck on his hand from under the mask, imagining it was your mouth doing the work instead
“you know that doesn’t answer my question” you commented, closing your thighs to satisfy the ache that was forming. “why you have my mugshot” your eyes stayed fixed on the screen with a darkened gaze
“because you’re a — criminal.” tim exhaled a puff of air, holding back a sound as the pace of his hand started to go faster from your voice as he leaned his head back onto the brick wall with lips fully parted, eyes half lidded under the mask
“just say you missed me, no big deal”
“i— hah— did not, fuck”
liar
“huh… wonder what you used it for, then” you wondered, tapping on your chin as you tilted your head with a small smirk. “my face, plastered on your screen…” tim heard your voice drop with a whisper and god, did it make his cock twitch in his hands. all the memories of jerking off to the thought of you, the soft sounds he'd let out and the faces he'd make when he came--
deep and heavy pants kept leaving his lips, his head lowering to continue staring at his cock and continuing his fantasies of you— on your knees, that mouth of yours he hates filled with his cock and gripping onto his thighs, muffled sounds from you and eyes rolled to the back of your head
“you know” you spoke, leaning on your chair with eyes focused on the sight in your monitor. “that mugshot was taken when i was still new to this…. i was stupid enough to leave a trail” a small laugh left your lips, seeing how tim’s cock visibly twitched from your sound
he let out a sigh, gulping down a whimper as his hips started to buckle into his fist. this time, a gasp left his lips and it trailed into a small whine— a sound loud enough for you to hear it
“and here i am, in your comms”
god, he genuinely couldn’t focus on what you were talking about. the only thing that man was focused on was your voice and how you would look so good under him, legs around his waist and pussy taking him so well. fuck, you would be so warm and tight
his hips picked up the pace in his fist, a broken moan leaving his lips as whimpers were heard from him, eyes fully closed and just imagining it was you that he was pounding in. his cock started to twitch like crazy, feeling that familiar knot of pleasure on the brink of snapping. the slaps sounds were now in earshot for you to hear, lewd and wet skin slapping in his fist
you licked your lips. “that’s a lot of noises, red robin”
“mm— what noises?”
“wait, am i… making you nervous?”
“oh god— oh god, no. fuck no”
“you sure? i wouldn’t want to…. distract you from your boring patrols”
“shit, shitshitshit— hah— "
too much, it was all too much for him to handle. your voice, the lewd thoughts, all assisting to push him off the edge for his pleasure-- a selfish yet carnal assist
cum started to fill his tight fist, leaking from his knuckles and dripping on his pants, the pavement and the tip of his boots with shameless whimpers leaving tim’s fully parted lips.
he slowed down his pace, his closed eyes imagining it was your mouth instead of his hand with cum leaking from the corners of your mouth and swallowing it
his eyes slowly fluttered open, panting as he took in the mess he made. his hand left his cock and opening his palm, cum covering both his cock and hands as a shaky exhale of air left his lips— a sight that made you grin from behind the cameras
“as much as i would love to bother you like the good old times, im afraid i have to go” you leaned forward, already typing on your keyboard to save the entire camera footage from one screen while gaining access to both gotham national bank and an international bank in germany in another
“don’t miss me too much, red.” one last click of a key and every single euro and dollar was now successfully transferred to your account. “oh, and there’s a bathroom stall in a club two blocks away from you” you mentioned with an all-knowing smirk in your voice
tim’s eyes widened in realization and horror. but before he could say anything, it was too late the moment he heard static in his ear piece, your voice nowhere to be heard
“—robin? red robin? tim, do you hear me?”
the connection with the original channels was back. barbara’s voice ringed through, making tim clear his throat. “yeah, was handling something. lost signal” he lied, quickly pulling his pants up with his clean hand
barbara was silent, obviously seeing through tim’s excuse but saving it for another day. “well, we have a situation.” barbara’s voice was sharp. “she’s back. and she hacked in both gotham national bank and the KFW bank in germany”
your words rang in tim’s head: “don’t miss me too much, red”
this wasn’t a random attack, nor was it about the money and the banks. this was a message— an announcement of your return
you were back. and if tim knew you at all, this was only the beginning
—————————————————————————
masterlist! ⤷ 2k event !
(a/n: got super scared for this but hey, this is not bad ig.. lowkey could have been better... anyway omg guys we're almost done, three more orders left!!)
roald dahl was antisemitic and misogynistic. george orwell was openly homophobic. edgar allan poe married his 13 year old cousin. dr seuss cheated on his wife (and was racist as well as antisemitic!). hp lovecraft was racist as fuck.
anyways they’re fucking dead it’s not like you’re enabling their behaviors in the afterlife or something. then again I think they bleed into the books so uh keep an eye out for that
the difference between these old white guys and jk rowling is that the former group is all dead. jk rowling is alive and using your money to oppress trans people
the after party (requested! + nsfw)
bruce wayne x fem!reader
mentions: socialite!reader, friends with benefits, TENSIONNNNN OH MY GOD SO MUCH TENSION, unprotected p in v, creampie, public sex (bathroom help), petnames, praises, dirty talk, groping, boob sucking, eye contact!!, jerking off, reader doesnt know bruce is batman, i think thats all?
(brain is lowkey a bit fried after eid but we ball because WE GOT SIX MORE ORDERS TO FINISH!!! grind never stops)
—————————————————————————
everyone knows that deep down the playboy persona, bruce wayne hated galas
i mean, sure. most of them are for fundraisers and charities— which he doesn’t mind at all. but its more specifically at the galas where its nothing but music and gossip that made bruce have this feeling.
he can choose not to go, but not going would ruin the playboy persona of a billionaire ‘who has nothing to do but drink and talk to ladies’ that he had crafted for years
that is, until he met you— the beautiful, mysterious socialite that has been present in the galas these past few months
bruce knew you, the socialite heir to your family’s fortune and a family that the waynes were acquainted with before the death of thomas and martha wayne. you were well known for not showing up to galas like this and letting another family member go in your favor, which explained why your sudden appearances made bruce slightly surprised-- not just because of your sudden interest at galas, but because of your beauty
everytime he was in a gala and he would spot you, his eyes would never leave you, often trailing his gaze down to admire the v neckline of your dress and the rest of it.
but it wasn’t just your attire that bruce would lay eyes on, he would also hold eye contact with you— even from across the room, even if he was talking with someone, his eyes wouldn’t leave yours
your eyes were mesmerizing to him— seductive, amused and many emotions all at once. once bruce looked, he couldn’t look away. you and him could be in a room filled with people and his eyes would always meet with yours, only to find out that you were already looking
you would break eye contact by walking away from the crowd and into a dark corner of the gala, temptation trailing behind you that not even the great bruce wayne— who prided himself on self restraint- could resist
that was why whenever he was at a gala, the first person he’d look for would be you. and the first thing he would be looking for was a secluded place in the gala to bend you over
yes, bruce wayne only came to galas just for you-- to meet your lips with his with hunger and push your dress up to rub his clothed boner on your panties. would you say you two were fuck buddies? yes and no… mostly yes
but god, he couldn’t resist. not when you were trying so hard to silence yourself by biting your bottom lip or muffling them with bruce’s large hand covering your mouth, feeling how good his fat cock felt in your tight pussy. not when your lip stick was smudged all over your lips— and even catching on bruce— and looking at him with pleading, blown out eyes— all because of one simple eye contact between you two
tonight was an example. the golden lights shone from the chandelier with music playing and people chatting, a flute in their hands that was filled up to the brim with champagne.
bruce was like no other, talking and politely laughing at some random boring joke from an investor while trying not to yawn of boredom. but his attention was soon caught when he saw you looking across at him, leaning on a wall with your own glass of champagne at hand and the look on your eyes that he couldn’t refuse
once you held eye contact, you smiled at him with an all knowing look before pushing yourself off the wall and slowly walking out of the party to another part of the venue
bruce turned back and politely excused himself with a smile, taking one last sip of his champagne before placing it on a waiter’s tray without looking back, his sights and attention all on you as he adjusted the cuff of his tuxedo
both of you were away from the dazzling atmosphere of the gala, the laughs and voices now muffled and faint. you two were far enough that no one would hear, but close enough that either of you could slip back inside, looking perfectly composed
bruce caught up with you, now walking alongside you. “mr wayne” you greeted, your voice velvet. bruce greeted you back, his eyes on the path yet his mind was already dizzy from your perfume
he knew how this game worked— how you would slow your pace just enough for him to notice the slit of your dress against your tight, how the subtle tilt of your smile meant trouble, how you enjoyed watching his restraing unravel piece by piece— and god, did it unravel fast around you
“you disappeared on me last week” bruce spoke, his voice low as he remembered last week’s gala— where he only came just for you, only to find out you left before he could even meet up with you privately
you just hummed. “did i?” you asked with slight amusement and a small tilt of your head, eyes on the marble path beneath you and bruce.
“you left before i could find you”
“that sounds dramatic; i didn’t realize bruce wayne was looking so hard”
that was when he finally looked at you, only to see your amused eyes already on his and feeling that familiar heat settling heavily in his chest— immediate and consuming. it was ridiculous how quickly you affected him, how he could spend hours getting shot and stabbed as batman without losing focus— yet one look from you and his thoughts turned filthy
“you wore this dress for me” bruce murmured, stepping closer while he walked— enough for his knuckles to brush yours. that made a soft laugh leave your lips.
“you think everything’s about you”
“yet you make it very hard not to think that”
he was right, you did wear this dress for him. and lying to him did nothing but confirm his suspicions
both of you reached the end of the corridor as your heels slowed down before finally stopping outside an ornate private restroom reserved for vip guests-- weird thing to reserve but this is the rich we’re talking about
but it was secluded and hidden in a corridor where no one would think to come. it was perfect, of course you’d picked it already
you turned, eyes flickering toward him. “coming, mr wayne?” a simple invitation that bruce nearly lost his mind at the sound of it as both of you slipped inside the bathroom, bruce locking the door without hesitation the second it closed behind him with the click echoing sharply through the marble bathroom
you set your champagne down beside the sink, turning to the mirror and pretending to be calm while checking your mirror. all while bruce watched you from behind.
god, were you a sight
the curve of your back, the slit of your dress exposing your leg, the jewerly glittering against your throat, the lipstick neatly swiped on your lips— this man was looking at you the way starving men looked at food
from the reflection, your eyes darted to his as you held back a smirk from his gaze. “you’ve been staring at me all night” you commented quietly
“you’ve been staring back” bruce’s response sounded low, almost restrained. it was hard to hold a simple conversation with you when all he wanted to do right now was press your body against his
your smile deepened, making you slowly turn around to properly face him as you leaned back on the sink. “maybe i wanted attention” your voice dropped to an all-knowing octave, making bruce exahle slowly through his nose.
you were a dangerous woman and he knew what would happen if he meddled with someone like you. did it stop him though? fuck no
bruce stepped forward until there was barely space between you, making your back press against the sink as you didn’t let go of eye contact. if he thought your perfume was tantalizing before, it was worse upclose— sweet, expensive and intoxicating enough to fog his head even more
your eyes flickered briefly from his gaze to his lips before returning them back to his eyes. his hand settled beside your waist against the edge of the sink. “its funny” he spoke softly. “in there, people think im charming”
“they’re wrong?”
“they dont realize how close i am to dragging you somewhere private everytime you look at me”
that made your breath hitch almost silently. and of course, bruce noticed— he noticed everything about you— the way your fingers tightened around the railing, the slight press of your thighs together, the pulse fluttering in your throat
and as if the cherry on top, you smiled innocently from his words. “then what’s stopping you?”
that was his last straw, because bruce’s hand that was originally beside your waist slid there instantly to pull you flush against. a quiet gasp escaped your lips as his other hand came up beneath your chin
“you keep testing me”
“maybe i like seeing you lose control”
from there, that was enough for bruce wayne to snap as you barely had time to inhale before his lips crashed against yours— hungry, possessive, weeks of tension and stolen looks poured into the kiss all at once
you immediately kissed him back, lipstick smearing against his mouth as your hands gripped the lapels of his suit. his lips were deep and rough, enough to leave you breathless within seconds. and the worst part? he still had restraint— even now
even when your body was pressed against his, even when your soft soft sounds were disappearing into his mouth, bruce was still controlling himself with frightening precision
you felt his thumb brush against your jaw. “tell me to stop” he whispered against your lips, making you whisper back. “don’t you dare” you kissed him back harder, making bruce let out a low sound that was mixed with both a groan and a curse
he bit your bottom lip, immediately sliding his tongue in between your lips and taking the lead. it made you sigh, closing your eyes and feeling your stomach turn in anticipation
you could feel how the self-restraint was slipping little by little from underneath his armani tux. it was funny, really— how you were the reason why bruce wayne would disappear from galas and leave everyone wondering where he was
oh well, they can stay wondering
his hand slid to fully hold your waist, picking you up and sitting you down on the sink without breaking apart from your lips, knocking the your champagne glass out and swallowing the small gasp you let out. he felt your hand place itself in the back of his head while the other was lazily wrapped around his arm
“you have no idea what you do to me“ bruce murmured on your lips, one hand trailing low to push up the ends of your skirt up to your waist while the other went to unbuckle his belt. “the only person valuable of my time in these galas”
he broke the kiss, only to trail down a path of kisses down your chest and push the fabric aside with his teeth. the faint color of your lipstick was everywhere on your chest.
the moment he noticed you weren’t wearing a bra and saw your boobs immediately made him sharply inhale before placing his mouth on one of your boobs
a moan left your lips, smeared with lipstick and saliva as you knocked your head back and lay it on the mirror behind you. his tongue was circling around your hardened nipples before immediately sucking them.
“bruce, o-oh” your breath hitched, feeling one hand coming to give attention to your other boob by squeezing and fondling with it. you were about to close your thighs together to satisfy the increasing heat in between your legs before bruce’s other hand took ahold
“keep them open for me”
his mouth let go of your boob with a pop, your nipples now red as he came back to get one more taste of your lips like an addiction. both of your hands came up to cup his face, kissing him sloppily before lowering your hands to the collar of his suit as they untied the bow and unbuttoned the collars
noticing how your hands were pushing his jacket away, bruce took it off without breaking the kiss, throwing it somewhere on the marbled bathroom floors and feeling your hands unbutton more and more of his buttons
it was funny. a venue as prestigious and elegant now being the host for an act of sin
once you unbuttoned the fourth button and got a good view of his toned and scarred chest, you trailed your lips down to his neck, a low groan leaving bruce as lipstick marks were now being planted not just on his neck, but on his chest
he squeezed your boob, making you moan on his chest. you let your lips go from his chest, admiring your pigmented mess before bruce’s hand let go of your boob to tilt your chin up to face him— a gentle gesture despite his passionate start of the night
ironic because his blue eyes darkened the moment he took you in— lipstick smeared all over your lips, cheeks slightly flushed, eyes half lidded with lust. god, you were beautiful in the most devastating way— and he couldn’t get enough
bruce brought your lips to his, his free hand springing his cock out— big, painfully hard and already leaking with pre-cum. you moaned his name when you felt him slide your panties down and throw them to the side, the fabric already wet from your arousal
once he lined up his cock with your pussy and felt your arousal just by tracing your entrance with his tip, a groan left his lips. “fuck” his adam’s apple bobbed and his eyes darkened even more
both of his hands spread your legs apart and pinned them on the edges of the skin, steadily gripping your thighs.
when bruce went to meet your lips, it was soft compared to the rough ones he previously gave you, his own way of reassuring you and telling you if you need him to stop, tell him
and the moment he started to push his length in, both you and bruce swallowed moans from each other due to the stretch. “fuck, i missed her” bruce whispered, breaking the kiss to lay his forehead on yours. he wanted to see you take every inch of him perfectly, just as you always did
“b-big… oh shit” you bit your bottom lip to hold back your moans, eyes slightly widening and eyebrows furrowed. “you can take it” he murmured. “you always have”
the more his cock filled up the space in your pussy, the more your back arched and your breath was hitched. everytime you took him, it always felt like the first time from how big he was
“that’s it, sweetheart” bruce whispered, pecking kisses in the crook of your neck to muffle his groans under your skin as his full length was almost in. “thaaat’s it, squeezin’ me cause you’re made for it” this man felt dizzy from how tight and eager your pussy was in taking him, clenching him in and refusing to let go
god, your pussy felt absolutely divine. so divine that his fist can’t live up to the real deal whenever he’d jerk off from the thought of you
once he was fully in, your warm walls was squeezing every inch anf every vein of his cock, making him bite your neck to keep himself from letting out loud sounds that anyone might hear
“bruce” you whispered with a whine, wanting him to move. and you didn’t have to hint at it twice
one slow, deep drag of his cock and it made your hands under his shirt claw his back with a silent gasp. another drag made your hips almost jerk back. and another made you let out a loud moan bruce had to close your lips with his to swallow your heavenly sounds
“careful” he reminded you with a murmur before slowly breaking the kiss and leaning his forehead back onto yours, both of you panting and eyes locked with one another, unraveling the gazes you two gave each other
his thrusts started to speed up without losing its depth, filling up your pussy and feeling his balls slap on your cunt. you couldn’t hold back your sounds as it got harder and harder to do so when bruce fucking wayne was pounding you into oblivion
pulling him by the collar, you pressed your lips on his to make sure your sounds were muffled, arching your back so that it touched the faucet. bruce let out a deep grunt as his unbuckled belt hanging from his pants kept hitting the lower rim of the sink, small clinking sounds being heard. but god, you two couldn’t care less
“she missed me so much, i can— shit— feel how tight she is”
“that’s my girl, thaaaat’s it”
“gonna leave you walkin’ out with cum stuffed in that cunt”
“yeah? you want that? let me hear you, baby”
you couldn’t take it anymore. the way he was whispering filthy things to your lips, the way his large, strong hands were effortlessly keeping your legs and hiips still, the way each thrust of his cock was just as good as the other, it made that familiar knot slowly form
“im gonna— oh fuck, bruce im gonna cum” you whispered on his lips, his mushroom tip repeatedly hitting your cervix at such a pace it made your walls slowly clench up and throb all over him again like butterflies.
“i’ve got you” he broke the kiss, one hand coming up to hold your jaw in place so your eyes wont leave his. “give it to me, sweetheart. wanna feel you clench all over my cock when you cum”
since he asked so nicely, he shall receive. because your orgasm was so intense it hit you like a freight train, your eyes rolling to the back of your head and lips fully parted, ready to let out sounds before bruce clasped them with his and immediately sliding his tongue in
“oh god, fuck— oh my god” you kept murmuring on his lips, his thrusts now sounding lewd and wet as the sounds bounced all over the elegant tiles. but bruce was too focused on how your walls were sucking him in tight that he couldn’t give a shit anymore if people heard you two
one last deep thrust of his hips and cum started shooting out from his cock, a deep groan leaving bruce’s lips as his hips slowed down its pace but was still deep enough to stuff his thick cum in you. “take it all” he grunted “every drop— fuck”
the warm, thick feeling of bruce’s cum coating your puffy walls made your jaw slightly drop, small pants leaving your lips as you broke the kiss and knocked your head back, pushing your hips more to his with a small hum
small drops of your mixed cums started to fall on the edges of sink, dripping down to the floor from the sheer amount of cum bruce let out during his orgasm as he kept rocking his hips back and forth with yours
one last thrust of his hips and bruce finally stopped, both of you meeting each other’s eyes with satisfied pleasure and a look that none of you can’t describe
slowly, bruce pulls his cock out with a sigh as it was coated with both his cum and yours.
but right where he thought it was down, your hand went down to his cock and slowly moved it up its slick length. just by feeling your soft and manicured hand made bruce let out a moan, feeling his cock slowly get hard again as he watched you get down from the sink
his half lidded eyes watched you get on your knees and take your hand off, bringing it to your mouth and licking the residue off. that alone made bruce take a hand to your chin to open it while the other held your head still. “gonna clean me up right, aren’t you?”
meanwhile, some of the guests at the gala noticed bruce’s long absence were confused as to where he went.
“have you seen bruce wayne?”
“no i haven’t. in fact, he’s been disappearing these past few months”
“i heard after his visit to ibiza, he caught a stomach bug”
“oh dear, i hope he’s alright”
if only they knew
—————————————————————————
masterlist! ⤷ 2k event !
(a/n: iwanthimiwanthimiwanthimiwanthimmmmmmmm <33333 im also dreading finals ugh)
it’s that love they talk about on a sunday afternoon.
adoration practically leaks from jason todd’s pores, shining like rays of light on your skin, rejuvenating at every turn.
the kind of love that makes your heart feel warm and fluttery and it just radiates off of him easily. knowing what temperature you liked the house to be at or how you always toss your balled up socks in one corner of the room than the other.
jason is not the type to hide that he loves you and will remind you constantly.
he’s not passive about it and keeps it abundantly clear that the two of you are written in the stars for him. he’s like the embodiment of devotion because it’s fundamentally rooted in him to communicate and try to understand you more daily. he doesn’t assume anything, but he learns more and more.
he’s also the type of man to bring you flowers just because. at first it really is sweet. he brings them over on every date. then every time he makes an excuse to see you, he’s got flowers tucked away somewhere on his person even when you told him he didn’t have to bring it on every outing.
sometimes it’s just flowers he picks up on his way to get you, intricately picked and tied with a stem, like he really took his time choosing them. other times, it’s when he picks you up from work with a massive bouquet of snapdragons cause you said you liked them once. he’ll wait outside patiently, one hand in his pocket and the other gripping the flowers, biting the inside of cheek until you come outside.
it’s always to see the smile on your face and the hint of surprise even when you knew it was coming.
he lives for that look.
when you call him drunk for the first time, having a friend phone him for you at a party you didn’t even want to go to, even then he brought a dozen roses. arriving to pick you up in under five minutes with a thin layer of sweat over his brow. he even apologized while he held your hair back when you threw up and continued while you drifted off asleep after he tucked you in.
“—seriously though, i would’ve brought a bigger bouquet but the store was closing and it was all they had so i just put the good flowers from the remaining together and—”
when you woke up in the morning with the flowers in a mason jar because all of the other vases you had were currently being used, you tried to tell him they were getting to be too much. the man claimed that’s nonsense and that there’s no such thing while continuing to softly sing whatever he was playing while cooking breakfast for when you woke.
then, he danced with you in the kitchen to distract you from protesting. but when he spun you and you groaned all groggy and hungover, he kept you close to his chest instead, humming the soothing tune. rocking the two of you back and forth in your dingy kitchen, shifting from either leg until you melted right into him. cheek pressed to his hard chest.
the music plays softly from the kitchen and he coos by your ear while he steadily dances you over to the couch with him, lyrics pouring from his love stricken lips.
“she looks just like an angel.” tucking your head into the crook of his neck while you bask in his warmth. still humming the same tune as he softly sings, “—when she walks across the room.”
it’s so easy to fall into him when he’s like this.
later in the week he thrifts you a dozen more vases that went with the decor of your house along with a couple extra trinkets he thought you’d like.
he keeps a photo of you from that morning in his wallet, tucked in his arms and mouth parted in sleep. he’s smiling with his head tilted just barely in the frame, though the focus is on you resting on his chest. next to it is a kiss you left when he pulled out his wallet to show you. lipstick mark staining his cheek in the photo.
he actually got it laminated so your kiss never fades away.
when he slowly moves his life into your home from all the late nights he stays over, he insists on paying the rent and utilities just because he can. your name is on the lease but he doesn’t give a shit because he meant what he said when he told you what’s mine is yours.
he starts buying mundane things in pairs too because, “i couldn’t just buy one, they come in pairs, you can’t just split them up.”
he’s made any excuse to buy you things that remind him of you, and that meant a lot since he turned out to be more sentimental than you thought. jason would buy you pastries and chocolate with the cheesiest line like i thought of you because it’s sweet like you.
that’s how you knew i love you came in many forms with him.
at first he struggled with saying it so instead you see it in his actions. though the man is sentimental and the first time he says it and you repeat it right back, the hearts in his eyes expand and he slots your hand into his. jason never struggles to remind you after that time. the love that he drowns you in is the only kind you’d want to receive, and that’s just the kind of man he is. and jason todd is that type of man to do acts of service for you solely because he is capable without ever being told to.
you hate washing the dishes? that’s okay with him! jason has no problem wiping them down and scrubbing them clean.
“you know the saying, if life is a loop full of dirty dishes and laundry, all that means is it’s a lifetime full of home cooked food and clean clothes.” humming gruffly while he scrubs, turning his head back to find you still staring like you’d fallen for him all over again and grin, “or something like that ma.”
and physical contact? he’s like velcro to your skin.
while you cook, his head is tucked between your neck and your shoulder while he’s pressed against your back. occasionally touching your hand and stirring for you.
even after having a long night and getting in after you, he’ll wake up with you for work and watch you get ready for the day. he’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed and his hair disheveled. watching you with eager eyes as you do your skincare or dress yourself. it didn’t make you feel embarrassed because it wasn’t exactly lustful. it felt like he was burning the memory and ingraining you as the sole purpose of everything good in his life because that’s exactly what he’d tell you that you are.
or you could be sitting on the couch and watching television when jason decides it’s time to strike. just moments after coming home, he plops his full weight ontop of you and groans. you make a sound that resembled a cushion losing air but he just settles a leg between yours to take some weight off of you. he pulls your shirt up just enough for him to slot his head underneath and steal some of your warmth from your skin.
you complained that he’s gotta at least wash his face. told him he’s stretching the collar of your shirt out with his head when his hair pokes out to touch your chin. but slowly, you press a kiss against his lips, watching him deepen it before it gets sloppy and he starts to trail his way back down your neck. lower and lower before disappearing beneath the fabric. he groans cause you’ve got no bra on. when he rubs his face between your breasts and nuzzles until he’s comfortable, you gasp softly. the stubble on his chin rubbing against the sensitive skin, side to side until he stops to take a bite of the plush flesh.
you laugh when he settles. “did you just motorboat me?”
jason blows against your skin while he huffs and does it again to get you to squeal and shove him away just for him to grip onto you tighter.
“can’t a man just appreciate a work of art?”
a/n: idrk what this is but i love jason and he’s the cheesiest, loverboy to ever exist idc
IT’S YOU, HAPPY ALL THE TIME ─── jonathan breech ✧☾𖦹
ೃ⁀➷ “I ask Jessica what drowning feels like and she says not everything feels like something else." — ‘Jessica gives me a chill pill’, Angie Sijun Lou.
pairing. jonathan breech x reader
summary. you’ve bared your heart to your bestfriend, jonathan, more times than you can count, whilst knowing practically nothing at all about him. what is friendship if it is not equal… what is love if it is not returned? can your relationship survive such one-sidedness?
warnings. swearing, TW mention & description of suicide/attempts & depression, very introspective/kind of a character study???, alcohol & drug use, pining, ANGST!!!!, crying, fluff, smut with feelings, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f), SMUT UNDER THE CUT!
word count. 10k (WTF??!?!!??)
a/n. the title is from “she won’t go away” by faye webster:) btw this is… rly angsty (and SO long omg im still in shock) so beware🫡 ALSO IM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN WHILE!! SCHOOL IS KICKING MY BUTT & THIS FIC WAS AN ABSOLUTE MONSTER TO WRITE LMAO
i.
There are very few words in your vocabulary you can use to accurately describe Jonathan Breech.
The boy is an enigma, a matryoshka doll that never ends: he is witty and lighthearted and sarcastic, but you’ll always catch that edge, the air of malaise he carries around himself, the unspoken elephant in the room that screams WHO ARE YOU REALLY?
He had always been more of a figure, a landscape; something to witness, observe-- experience without letting it do the same to you. You don’t know if that’s something you want, either: there’s an imbalance in his hilarity, and he always takes things a step too far. Jonathan lights matches and lets them burn all the way down to his fingertips; he shaves and lets the blade leave stinging little nicks, rivulets of blood running down his neck; he chainsmokes cigarettes in his room and only opens the window when he feels his heart hammering in his chest, desperate for air.
You meet him — or, first experience him in a similar fashion: he had been in the university library, standing on top of a creaky, old bookshelf, shouting something you couldn’t understand over the music blasting through your headphones. You could certainly see him though, gesturing animatedly, dressed eccentrically in his signature winter trapper hat and a velvet blazer. That thin, effeminate figure of his was making winding, marionette-ish steps along the wood, an action that had everyone readying themselves to catch his inevitable fall.
Then, seemingly out of nowhere and catching you completely off guard, you caught his eye. He began stepping from one shaky shelf to the next, a complete miracle none of them toppled over, before stopping on one close enough for you to read his lips.
“Hi,” he mouthed, shifting uneasily on his left foot before regaining a steady balance, “you’re in my class, right?”
You nodded, hesitantly— yes, truthfully, you’d seen him in your Introduction to Literary Studies course a couple of weeks ago, sporting the same outfit as he did now, but you thought nothing of him. He’d been generally well-behaved then, asking slightly odd but in-tune questions that more or less answered all your inquiries, so you didn’t think the guy would have a penchant for, well… book-shelf hopping.
He grinned, about to say something else, before something — or someone, made him flinch. A professor, probably, considering the unintelligibly muffled, booming voice behind you. However, Jonathan made quick work of the situation, sneakily climbing down and escaping out the door.
The next time you see him, he’s sidled up beside you in your shared class. “Mind if I sit here?” a familiar voice had asked, to which you murmured a non-committal knock y’self out, before realizing with wide eyes. His presence had caught you off-guard, as he so often did, and you sensed a pattern blooming.
Jonathan certainly made for an odd desk-partner; his personality warped the environment around you, and it was suddenly so much easier to tear your eyes away from the lecture and land on Jonathan’s own. It’s something you never thought you’d ever do, because you adore the material being taught.
At the end of class, he asks you out for a drink: he’s just found the best Irish stout in the entire city, and what better way to make it known than to take anyone and everyone he knows there?
Rejection is written on your face clear as day— you have class tomorrow, an essay that needs to be finished, and honestly, pubs just aren’t really your scene.
But in the end… you still bite. You can’t help it: he’s disarming and warm and looks like he should smell like a bonfire. Somehow, that just does it for your brain; it’s here you learn of the charm that is Jonathan Breech.
That night goes everything and nothing like you expected: you expected not to be able to predict his actions, and that’s exactly what happens. When you meet Jonathan at the aforementioned pub, it’s not actually the one he’s meaning to take you to— it’s just the closest public place to the on-campus dorm, which is where he says he’s rooming.
“‘ve got a neighbor m’pretty sure is trying to sleep with me,” he says absently, ushering you onto the back of his bike, which had been leaning against a NO PARKING sign. “He’s always toget’er wit’ our dorm advisor, so I should l reject him before I get kicked out, if y’get what I mean.”
Now, you honestly should’ve expected this from a guy who jumped from six-foot book shelves, but Jonathan’s biking is all swift turns and jilted stops, mere milliseconds from repeatedly running red lights. You want to ask if he just learned how to ride the thing yesterday, but can’t, not with how utterly reckless and shameless he is about it, his terrible steering making you instinctively wrap your arms around his chest.
You clutch him tightly, making him hum in approval, and you feel your ears burn flusteredly. You would’ve pulled away, but then he cut from the right lane to the left in one swift move, barely missing several cars, and you practically shrieked instead. “Oh my god!”
“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly. You can’t see his face, having shut your eyes in fear, but after hearing the blatant cheekiness in his tone, you can imagine clear as day how gleefully it contorts. You want to slap him somewhere, anywhere, but that’d defeat the point of being mad at his recklessness, so you squeeze him tighter instead, and he chokes on his breath. “Jesus-- m’sorry, really!”
When the two of you make it to the pub — alive and uninjured! — annoyingly all the way across town, your first few steps off his bike are stuttered, dizzy: “We are-- not going by bike next time,” you gasp, leaning against a random brick wall.
“Next time, eh?” He grins, and this time you really do slap him— just on the arm, bless your self-control and niceties not to beat this oddly comfortable-to-be-around near-stranger to death.
The pub, with its forgettable name and dingy stools, has a minimal, lackluster crowd. A kitschy neon sign flickers and dies as you walk in, making you raise a brow, but Jonathan merely drags you by the arm to a cozy corner table, then disappearing deeper within the venue before returning moments later with two pints of black beer in tow.
“Go on, then,” he gestures, setting the tall glass on the table, sitting down in the chair in front of you and taking a hearty sip of his own drink.
You let out a little hesitant sigh at his words, before relenting and taking in a long gulp of the liquid. “…Huh,” you remark, impressed. Jonathan smiled knowingly behind his glass, letting out a smug little ah, you see?
“Worth the long ride?” he inquired innocently, as if that was the only thing wrong with the night.
“Worth the ride, but not worth almost dying for,” you rolled your eyes goodheartedly, knocking back the rest of the bitter drink and making him whistle.
The rest of the night goes like this: Jonathan orders two more rounds of the quality Irish stout before the two’ve you are stumbling out of the pub, exploring all the nightlife there is to offer, like the crowd surrounding an out-door live comedy group performing down the street that has you and Jonathan giggling for hours after, or the underground speakeasy you accidentally find yourselves shoved into, a nasally guitarist singing on a smoky stage, several more drinks finding themselves in your system despite how nauseous you already feel.
“You-- d’you fancy him?” Jonathan slurs behind you, steadying himself by pressing his hands to your waist.
“F-fancy who?” you blink blearily, leaning into his warm touch.
“Who else m’I talkin’ about, girl? The singer!”
You shake your head no numbly, practically collapsing into his arms now, your head lulling on his chest. You’re so close you can smell the distinct scent of his skin, that unique musk everyone has, and it’s strangely familiar, like those smells that evoke old, nostalgic memories. It’s like how sunscreen summons the smell of the sun after a childhood beach day, or how vanilla extract takes you back to the smell of your mother’s baked goods on a specific winter evening.
“Reckoned you wouldn’t,” he assumes, hands coming away from your waist to wrap his arms around your shoulders, swaying to the music slightly in the crowded club, “looks like a -- right bleedin’ dope… wit’ that mop of hair.”
You giggle, alcohol riddled beyond belief, unable to formulate a response with the conflicting blurry thoughts in your head: it’s telling you Jonathan Breech isn’t the crowd you want, that you need to go home and work, that you let loose too easily— but it also tells you that you can see yourself becoming friends with him very, very quickly.
It’s there, in that club, Jonathan Breech moves into your life and fills a gaping hole you didn’t know existed, like a hole in your stockings you only notice when you get home. You have friends, certainly, more than you can count on both hands, but they never get as close as Jonathan does. After that night, an unknown force pulls the two of you together, making you run into him everywhere, and a tight friendship blooms like a lilypad in a raging storm; beauty within the chaos. In the multitude of close friendships you’ve harbored, he is the first to see so many sides of you. The last thing that did was your mother; it had only ever been your mother.
He is an endearing, amazing friend, both the intent listener and the charismatic speaker all at once; he knows his friends like the back of his hand, can recount their life like he can count the number of moles on his face-- but you, and everyone else, know absolutely nothing about him.
At least, close to nothing-- you know he likes ice cream and hanging out and going to the pub; you know he likes biking and doing drugs and women; you know he hates the sea and his brother and his father, but you don’t know him. All you’ve ever seen him do is smile or laugh or shout in mock anger; there is a carefully glued mask on his face he takes meticulous caution in preserving-- he is terrified to let go, despite the blasé persona he lets on.
Or maybe the mysterious matter of your bestfriend is tripping you up for no reason; maybe you’re psychoanalyzing something that doesn’t need to be psychoanalyzed, reading between lines that don’t exist. But if you were asked to answer honestly, there’s just something about Jonathan you don’t get. There is a split seam in the tapestry of his life, missing pieces in the story he pretends to tell with utmost accuracy. There are things that he never talks about, that he recoils when asked like you’ve poked a tender wound.
“So, what were you doing before… all this?” You ask him once, laying on his messy bed in his dorm-room and scanning the water-damage constellations dotted along his popcorn ceiling. By all this you mean going to university, being the resident party boy, aimlessly pursuing a degree you’re 99% sure he picked blindfolded (culinary science) and standing here, with you, snorting a line of something on his creaky wooden desk.
Jonathan freezes, still hunched over. “What d’you-- what d’you mean?” he says, tone breezy but, uncharacteristically tense… jilted and preoccupied. You could’ve brushed it off as him being seriously focussed on his drugs, but the way he shifts, how his shoulders curl in like he wants to disappear, tells you otherwise.
“I mean, before going to school here… y’know, what were you like as a dumb teenager?”
You two’re twenty, barely not-teenagers, but it still makes a world of a difference: you’re living away from home, doing what you want, experiencing (a juvenile, naive version of) freedom and adulthood.
“I dunno… kind of a tool, that's f’sure,” he chuckled, rubbing his nose roughly. He’s being funny on purpose, a jester’s distraction: he doesn’t want you to realize his answers’ not really one at all.
You shifted on his bed, now leaning against his headboard. His answer strikes you as odd and uncharacteristic despite his attempts to evade suspicion: usually, Jonathan pounces at the chance to yap on and on. “What, the great Jonathan Breech doesn’t have any wild stories to tell? No bones broken, girls dumped, houses trashed?”
He snorted at that, like some inside joke you weren’t privy to was brought up in your words, and he descended back down on a carefully partitioned line of white. “I broke my baby finger once,” he relented vaguely when he finished, dusting off the table and licking the remains off his hand. “I cried and I cried and I cried.”
“Did it hurt that much?” you grinned, mind trailing off to imagine a baby-faced Jonathan Breech, a juvenile highschool boy, doing something silly to break that finger. Maybe he accidentally flung off his bike, broke it because of a dare, or maybe it happened just by slipping and falling.
“It - uh… didn’t hurt enough,” Jonathan smiled, tight-lipped and paltry. All at once the air in the room had changed, like someone attached a vacuum to the window and sucked everything out.
Your grin fell, and you watched him carefully: perhaps, had you not been as close to him as you were, he’d have let something show. A twitch in the smile, a break in the facade. But you were, and his face stayed the same, and your thoughts ran circles around themselves. This was… something else, something belonging to the part of his life he didn’t talk about.
The atmosphere had grown tense, taut, a rubber band twisted ‘round and round, threatening to burst, so you leave the matter of his injury alone; of his life alone. You go back to staring at his ceiling, he goes back to his drugs; Jonathan collapses within himself, and you don’t notice how badly he suffocates… how suffering in silence is also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found.
ii.
Sometimes, despite his self-imposed distance, Jonathan lets someone look inside his head.
You are both the sometimes and the someone; you don’t know why it’s always you, but you chalk it up to the fact that beneath his unpredictable demeanor, the murky and unreadable feelings he holds for others, is this uncharacteristic constant: he holds a softness for you. It’s what lets you know there’s something haunted lurking beneath his happy-go-lucky surface.
You don’t know where this softness comes from, either. But you know you see it, in lingering touches, tender duchenne smiles unlike the devilish tilt his lips usually hold, how he clasps his hand around yours after a night at the pub and walks you home because he knows you get paranoid. You see it in how he comes over to your apartment when you don’t answer anyone's calls during exam season, how he remembers what your mother’s name is and what your childhood pet was and what your favorite flowers are. How his lips brush past your cheek when he pulls away from hugs, his hands shuddering around your shoulders, like he’s afraid he’ll crush you.
You only wish you could do the same. You want to sit by his side and mend his heart, lend an ear to his most mundane fears, you want to take his hand into your own and kiss it softly, return all that he has done for you, take the same as you have given to him: what is friendship if it is not equal, what is love if it is not returned? It is something broken, unable; split halves of one heart, an imbalance in the scale, Bonnie without her Clyde, a fish out of water.
Jonathan pours his heart into your own, filling holes you know you don’t have, and you think he may be overcompensating for something else, seeing things in you that really belong to him. It is maddening, and you just want to beg and plead he lets you in.
But you settle for the gentle pokes, the prodding, and try to decipher the vague answers he gives you. Most days, you can’t really make sense of it.
“Sorry,” you apologize, about to leave the outing you planned with Jonathan — studying, or, trying to study, at an intimate coffeebar the two of you frequented — “my dad’s gotten drunk with his lads and my mum needs help dragging him home.”
“Hey, hey, don’t worry. I get it: my dad used to do that all the time,” he waves your words off casually, but you don’t miss how jilted he says used to and the pain in his tone at all the time.
“Oh, surely she was fit to go to the madhouse?” you laughed once, responding to Jonathan’s complaints about an eccentric classmate in his agricultural studies. He laughs back, he always does, but this one is hollow, forced; barely stopping a grimace from coloring his tone.
You notice these things like it’s a shadow following someone in the sun. He is lying, hiding; about something you don’t know but it is happening. It is happening, and you are so very curious: you pick up on the littlest tendrils of him, fed wholly on any information you can squeeze out. He is a mystery you want to delve within completely; answer that question of WHO ARE YOU REALLY? and leave no room for error.
You’d give yourself to him the very same if he merely asked; you’d whisper childhood fears and tell the origin stories of faded scars on your knees and why you check under your bed before sleeping. You’d detail your entire life from sunset birth to starry night end if he even made a passing comment about knowing; you would trust your love, your heart, your entire life in his beautiful, shaky hands. This is the relationship you have built around yourselves, and it is beginning to feel terribly one-sided.
Alas, your curiosity overwhelms him, and you take it too far, just once. Only once.
“Where’d this come from?” you murmur, brushing your fingers over a scar above his eyebrow. It’s something you see only now, his hair mussed and wild from the various blankets and pillows on your dinky couch.
He’s crashing at your apartment tonight, an invited event, because you often miss him like you miss home; the boy is sneaky— he slinks away like a street cat and only comes back for food. It’s only fair he lets you wrangle him back like this, making him stay by your side at least once a week.
Your words make him freeze, like he often does; it reminds you of hikers, who freeze when they see mountain lions— he thinks if he stops and stares and pretends to disappear you’ll look the other way, drop the question, forget him completely.
But you don’t. You don’t know what’s affecting him -- not that he wants you to -- so you just stare back into his cornflower blue eyes. You stop and stare and see right through him; you hold the question like a knife to his neck, and commit him to memory.
“The scar?” Jonathan pales, shuddering despite it having long since been healed over. The aftershocks of an earthquake.
You simply nod, fingers pulling away. You’re still closer than ever though, the two of you being the only things in your cramped concrete apartment, the chosen movie on your telly still running and long forgotten.
Your attention remains on him, brandished into something dangerous, like you’ll carve the answer out of him if you have to— but the moment passes. He doesn’t say anything and you accept that as the answer. Gone is your razor-sharp focus, and there is nothing more to the matter.
But Jonathan doesn’t register this, no, he’s thinking, gears in his head turning and creaking. His tongue grazes against the backs of his teeth, jaw chattering like it was as cold as it was when… as cold as it was back then, and he doesn’t want to tell anyone— but it’s you. You’re not just anyone.
You’re the one he holds a certain softness for. The one he equally bares his heart to and holds the most secrets from. The one he’s most terrified to know. The only one he wants to know.
So, he decides to tell a partial truth— something digestible. People adore that which can easily slide down the gullet: news headlines don’t detail the goriness of a murder, they give the “insider” scoop of the scared neighbor. To be able to digest information is what makes the world go round, and he does not think you could digest the full truth-- he does not think he wants you to.
He feels ill at the thought of anything between you changing— oh, how ruined he’d feel if you began treating him like fucking glass.
This abhorrent social pressure is what makes Jonathan grit this sentence through his teeth: “I got into a car accident,” he gulps dry, “when I was nineteen. Was drunk… went fer a spin. I skidded off a -- um, an empty highway. The tall sorts; high up, y’know. Fell.”
His voice makes you look back up at him, and your eyes are beautiful and tense— it breaks his heart. He knows you’re probably thinking it was in-character, how expected that is of Jonathan Breech, how you’ll easily take this partial truth, how you’ll never know the full one until it comes in a letter under your door and he’s long gone.
“Tell me,” you ask him, lips falling into a near-frown instead of laughing or grinning wider. It’s hushed, whispered like a secret, “What did it feel like? Falling, I mean.”
Jonathan licks his lips, bores his shaking gaze into your own, and tells you not everything feels like something else. That the word connotes all you need to know. Falling meant he was falling; his arms raised and the air took him and that was it.
It makes your brows twist and your lips press into a thin line: his nonchalance is worrying, no more his signature characteristic— there is something wrong about this apathy toward injury, toward the potential death.
“Is that how you broke your finger?” You murmur, and it startles him. How you pieced the two things together, how you weaved a web from what little you knew about him; how futile his attempts to hide could be.
“What?” he responds, hoarse. There is a lurking shadow in his bones telling him he’ll taint you, telling him to be ashamed, telling him how badly you will never be his. It is such a damning reality, that no matter how much he may yearn for you, he is too incomplete to meet your needs; he is too hurt not to hurt you too.
“The car accident. Is that how you broke your pinkie?” you repeat, and you gripped his hand resting at your side, bringing it up to present the finger to him like he forgot where his pinkie was.
Jonathan’s gaze darts from you to the finger, and he feels his insides quiver; so badly does he want to spill his entire soul to you. But that internal reminder -- hurt people hurt people hurt people -- makes him settle for nodding, parted lips locking closed.
Nothing special happens that night, no shocking revelation or bombarded confession; Jonathan nods, keeps his lips sealed, and gets up from the couch, figure dreary and fatigued. He murmurs an incomplete excuse, something half-baked and blatantly unconvincing that he has to leave, and you let him go. You think you’re imagining the shudder in his shoulders, the shake in his voice as he says goodbye, and you let him go.
It’s there, like that club so long ago, you discover another thing about Jonathan Breech: push too far and he shuts down, closes shop and puts up his guard forever. It’s the mere fact of how attentive you are to his words; you remember how he broke his finger, and he realizes he cannot hide from you any longer.
You’re reaching a point in your friendship -- your relationship, no matter platonic or romantic for all lines have been crossed; nobody is so raw to one another with love not involved -- where you’ll bare your hearts on your sleeves, share your every thought and dream and fear. But Jonathan won’t be able to reciprocate, and the very thought of rejecting you, betraying you, makes his stomach twist in knots. That crestfallen face of yours would haunt him for all time, your every melancholy feature burning into his memory like the scars left by cigarettes on skin.
So he leaves, hurt people hurt people hurt people echoes in his ears all the way home; he turns into an alleyway shortcut and prays death swoops down and takes him right there. He leaves his consciousness curled lovingly in your arms; his shell walks home and prays you’re none the wiser. But you’ve already reached that point in your relationship; you already know.
When people die, or friendships do, sometimes they end with just a goodbye, a mild, casual goodbye because you think there’ll be dozens, hundreds more-- but there won’t be. Suddenly, alone in that cramped apartment, the buzzing from the tv filling your ears, your couch still warm from someone long gone, you know.
You know you startled him, that he’s left your apartment and he’ll never come back. Your heart cools, and she whispers that you took it too far, that you crossed a line you were never made aware of, that when you see him in class tomorrow he might not sit next to you, he might not talk to you, that you might lose him forever because he is too stubborn to open up and you are too stubborn to let him go.
Well, you were too stubborn to let him go.
It’s three weeks before you speak to Jonathan again. Three long, dragging weeks, moments in time where he avoided your gaze, evaded your presence, slipped past you before you got too close. You certainly try, of course— you seek him out every chance you get, trying to get an I’m sorry, please talk to me out before he runs off, but it’s virtually impossible.
Once, after class, you’d caught him in the middle of a flurry of exiting students by the velvet blazer, your hands curled around the lapel. “Jonathan,” you panted, trying to drag him off to the side to escape the bustling activity around you, “please, we need to talk--“
But then Jonathan had faced you, eyes widened and spooked like he’d seen a ghost, a never-before-seen-by-you fear covering his gracefully cut features, before he tugged off the black blazer and escaped into the crowd. He had seen you, widened his eyes, left. Such a simple action tore your heart in two; it had confirmed your suspicions— you’d gone too far, he was never coming back, and you were all alone. There you stood, fingers wrapped around one of his favorite articles of clothing starkly without its beloved owner, completely alone.
In three measly weeks, he has put up a biting winter of distance between you two.
Your feelings are unable to comprehend themselves— they fight and sob and run circles around your mind, they make you doubt, crumble, devour yourself from the inside out; they make you ask yourself what you can do to salvage this, what can you do to fix this? What is there to make of him, of his behavior; what do you do with yourself and this guilt?
If you could imagine time was a construct, you were certain you could convince yourself this stretch of time was nothing… propel yourself into a present where Jonathan does not afflict your mind, take over your every thought— does not ruin you like so. If only you could do that, you could close your eyes and reopen them when you’ve let go. But you were always too stubborn to let him go, weren’t you?
It’s three weeks to the day before you speak to Jonathan again, and it happens through the crack of his dorm door, your arm wedged through it because you know he is not cruel; he will let you in without a doubt.
“Please,” you plead to Jonathan, “just— I just want to talk. Please?”
He stares at you straight, expression cold and reserved, before he breaks and pulls away; bites his lip, lets you in his room, doesn’t look you in the eye. Looking around, you sense something in his dorm has changed; it had gained a bereft quality, like it was attuned to Jonathan’s state of mind and felt depressed beyond your comprehension. There was a cold air to the place, an utmost frigid demeanor to a room incredibly warm just weeks prior. In your absence, the dorm had been neglected, gutted, abandoned.
“I’m sorry,” are the first words that tumble out of your mouth. “I- I know you don’t like… talking about -- about your life before here, and I’m sorry. But please, Jonathan, just talk to me. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”
He sits down on the edge of his weak bedframe, pulling his knees up and pressing his face into them. “You don’t need to-- don’t… don’t apologize. You don’t need t’make it better, either. All’s grand.” he promises, words muffled and shaky. It’s a weeping kind of tone; you could just as easily imagine him sobbing with that voice.
Your brows knit. Your emotions are wavering, treading brutally between disbelief, despair and rancor. “Then -- then why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you avoid me? Why did you - why did we spend these last three weeks playing cat and mouse, if you weren’t mad at me? Is this your sick idea of a joke?”
“No! I-- jesus christ,” Jonathan looked up from his hands before immediately pressing two fingers between his eyes, “I wasn’t … avoiding you.”
“I haven’t seen you in weeks!” you point out painfully, exasperated. “You know, you’ve been avoiding me for longer than this. You— you push me away any chance you get. You’re afraid. I don’t know of what, but you’re- so fucking secretive, and it’s tearing me apart.”
“I’m not - afraid of anything. I’m just a private person— you know this. Would you, if I ‘pushed you away?!’”
At his denying deflection, something within you snaps: “Why won’t you - fucking let me in? I’ve — I’ve bared my soul to you; you know me from the inside out. I trust you with my life— why, why can’t you do the same?”
“I didn’t ask you to do that! And I didn’t — I didn’t mean t’get so close to you, okay?!” He bursts, and you flinch. His hands shakily come up to his face once more; he wipes roughly but it’s no use— you’ve already seen his delicate tears threatening to spill, and it burns more holes in your heart than you thought his suffering would.
“What are you talking about?” you pry, now without any cautious reservations about his demeanor.
“I didn’t mean to get so fucking attached, because - ‘cause I…” Jonathan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, “fuck.”
“What?” you repeat, but it’s softer, concerned; how quickly his body language shifted from irritated to terrified has you scrambling to support him. “Talk to me,” you ask, taking nervous steps closer, like you were approaching a wounded animal.
He sucks in a sharp breath, and holds it, like he did cigarette smoke, before exhaling heavily. “Okay- okay. When I was - nineteen, I drove a car… I drove off a cliff and tried t’kill myself. I was-- admitted to a psychiatric hospital for a year, and when I got out I moved here f’school. I- I… promised m’self I wouldn’t let anyone get too close.”
The confession hangs in the air, a lonely little thing; it’s a bleeding piece of his own heart he’s plucked and placed in your palms. He shudders, and you want to nurture it like nothing else. This is a culmination of a year’s worth of evasion coming to a close; you’re seeing him completely, rawly, for the first time.
“But- but why? You don’t have to— Jonathan, you don’t need to do that just because you - you… y’know.”
“I’m- I know that,” he starts brashly, defensively. “It’s b’cause I am very, very aware of my - of m’own self destructiveness…” His words taper off into something of grief; the Sisyphean struggle of wanting to live, while that depressive boulder pushes him back, colors him completely. “I just… I didn’t want to - t’hurt anyone in case I -- in case next time I succeeded.”
“Next time?” you repeat, and your voice broke in a way you wish was less vulnerable, less blatantly miserable.
“This is why I didn’t want to—“ Jonathan sighs, deflates, “I’m not telling you this because I want you to - t’fucking save me, okay? I’m telling you this because you wanted to know, and I couldn’t hide from you anymore. Because you asked.”
“You didn’t need t’hide it in the first place!” you exclaimed, coming closer to him. “You’ve never had to hide a fucking ‘ting from me.”
“You wouldn’t have understood!” He said back, volume nearing a shout. “You’ll treat me differently now, you see, you’ll look at me fuckin’ different—“
It made your heart sink-- how sure his words were, how certain he was of your rejection. How little trust did he have in you?
(You remember he wanted to sink, too-- lose himself in the baby blue sea; let it swallow him whole and never be seen again.)
“You - you really think I’ll treat y’differently because of this? You know my every crevice, my every thought-- I have never once doubted that you’ll accept me.”
“I-I… why should I - expect any of this to stay the same?”
Suddenly, you took his face into your hands. “Because I-- I fucking love you, okay? And it’s not just friendly, or romantic, even if it’s both— I’m… I love you like nothing I’ve ever loved before. I accept and adore your every skill and flaw and antic; you wormed your way into my heart and I want to worm my way into yours.”
“That doesn’t mean—“ Jonathan tried to interject, a noise all utter disbelief. You cut him off, though, continuing your sudden confession; you hadn’t been privy to these own romantic feelings of yours till moments prior, but everything being said just felt right.
“Jonathan, I don’t care if you drove a car off a cliff or cyanide-poisoned our professor or blew something up, because I love you. You, with all your problems and great, big, beautiful life. All I want is for you to want that life; I want you to want me in it. I feel it in my bones that I’m meant to love you; you are meant to be my home, you are everything I am supposed to know. It won’t fix you or fix anything at all but I just need you to know-- I need you to know the why to my every action. It’s because I love you.”
He looked up at you, wide-eyed, head resting in your gentle hold. “I - don’t know what to say… are you - for real?”
“As real as can be,” you smiled back at him, tracing circles along his smooth skin; you could’ve drank in that attentive stare of his for hours upon hours. “I love you, and nothing and no-one, not even you, can change that.” An aching grip had clenched around your heart at his words, that blatant disbelief: are you for real? God, had you ever been-- had you ever fucking been.
Jonathan’s mouth opened to speak, but instead, he let out an agonizing sort of cry; an exclamation of utter surprise at the loving acceptance. Then, he hesitantly leaned into your touch, as if he’d never hugged before, wrapping his arms around your waist to snatch you as close to him as possible. He held you tighter and tighter as the seconds went by, like this was all a mocking dream his yearning mind had made up; that if he closed his eyes now he’d wake up desolate, alone, without you for eternity. His worst nightmare.
“…God, I’m so - fucking stupid,” he grumbled, sounding angry, but you could feel vulnerable, hot tears soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “To assume you, of all people, would act that way… you of all people.” He said that tenderly; you of all people certainly meant miles more things you weren’t explicitly aware of, but you still felt the sentiment. “I’m not -- poetic or anything like that… but I love you, too.”
You chuckled a beautiful, wet laugh. “You don’t hafta’ say anything sweet or special. You’re everything to me.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, before wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling you onto the mattress with him. He flipped you beneath him, and held himself up by the forearms laying on either side of your head. “Fuck, I love you. I love you.” Jonathan repeated the words several more times, strange and foreign but right at home being said to you. Like his mouth was made to only ever say I love you to you.
Suddenly, you pressed your lips to his, shutting him up momentarily. You could still feel the vibrations of I love you rumbling in his throat as you kissed him. Your tongues danced along one another, an all consuming waltz; you wanted to know everything about him, down to the taste of his tongue, memorize how sweet his mouth felt on yours. Oh, how you longed for this moment; how could you ever think about love again, and yearn for it, without thinking of Jonathan?
You reckoned that’s what this had been the whole time; your love started as a little flame, something under the guise of friendship, but the two of you had fanned it, nurtured it-- all of a sudden the miniature warmth of platonic love burst into a raging, adoring fire. You’d fed this flame with tenderness, and it responded in kind; you could never again look at Jonathan without a certain intimate reverie. Perhaps that’d been why Jonathan found it so hard to cut off this relationship as he had dozens others: something primal and unconscious within him had begged him not to let you go— some higher being knew his home was only ever in your arms.
Jonathan deepened the kiss hungrily, pressing his weight onto you and pushing you into the mattress. Your head was spinning from the lack of air, and one of your hands had to sneak beneath his hat and tug at his hair to get him to stop. “Hey,” you panted, looking worriedly into his eyes, “what’s up?”
“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, hanging his head lowly for a moment before meeting your gaze once more, batting his long lashes. “Jus’ missed you. Thas’ all.”
“Missed y’too,” you murmured, pulling him back down to kiss you again. Your hands left the crown of his head and trailed down his backside, tracing over the curves and bumps of his frumpy yellow v-neck sweater.
That touch of yours seemed to spur him on even more, and his kisses began to travel; along your jaw, to your pulse, down the long ravine of your neck, tongue darting out to lick the hollow of your collarbone, making you squeal. He chuckled against your skin, a genuine amusement rather than the mocking one you two so frequently practiced, and it all went downhill from there. His hands skillfully tugged off your tank top, knee between your clenched thighs, more teasing kisses being planted along your now bare -- save for your bra -- chest.
You didn’t mean to come over, profess your love and suddenly jump into a steamy, yearning makeout session (which, you were pretty sure was venturing off into sex…) but you supposed that apologizing— arguing, whatever —meant your relationship went back on track to wherever it was heading… which may have been set to end with an ardor romance anyway. This love of yours would’ve bursted at the seams of friendship; it could not be confined by such mere things as labels.
“Fuck,” you groaned, arching into his teasing kisses along the peaks of your breasts, his hands ghosting around your clothed chest but never touching. “Please, Jon.”
You could feel his cheeky grin on your skin, “Tell me what you want, love.”
“…Take this off,” you demanded gently, referring to Jonathan’s sweater.
“Your wish is my command.” he snickered, obliging and removing the yellow knit-- as well as his white undershirt and pajama bottoms. He was left in a pair of boxer-shorts and that silly, silly winter-trapper hat, his fingers sneaking up to your supple thighs and tickling the edges of your jean-shorts; a silent plea.
“Eager,” you mumbled, noticing his over-compliance in completely stripping, smiling and guiding his hands to the waistband of your shorts to tug the tight article off.
When he did so, you shivered, both at the feeling of being only in your underwear, as well as Jonathan’s sharp, attentive gaze. “You’re so beautiful,” he panted, eyes exploring your every sweet feature.
He was enamored with your bare body, not in a sexual way despite the blatantly sexual situation, but rather in a worshiping, religiously devoted way. It may’ve been blasphemous to think so, but Jonathan’s sudden chaste kisses along the curve of waist only seemed to prove you right; his mouth on you was gentle, like he’d held you before, except now without any guilt or hesitation. It was a holy way of loving you; something all-consuming, becoming the epicenter of a life, becoming the purpose, motivation, and belief all at once.
That familiar broiling in your gut occurred as he made his way closer to the pulsing, lace-covered place between your legs; your hands were gripping the sheets tightly in pure anticipation, his hot breath on your sensitive skin. “Don’t be such a tease,” you pouted, legs fumbling for purchase along his body, trying to pull him closer to you.
“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he hummed, but his fingers still curled into the band of your baby-blue panties and dragged them down in one desperate go, “but I do wanna taste you….”
Jonathan’s veiny hands pried your quivering thighs apart, murmuring an offhand already stole y’panties, don’t get all shy on me now when you whimpered flusteredly, before he descended on your dripping lips, licking a flat-tongued stripe up to your clit.
You gasped at the sudden action, but it quickly morphed into a choked moan when he pressed himself further and parted your lips, nose to your pelvic bone; he made quick work of you, artfully curling his long tongue into your hole and slurping your slick.
“So sweet,” he praised, the vibrations of his voice making your thighs clench around his head. He hummed in amusement at your reaction, lapping you up quicker; he kitten-licked and slobbered, feeding on your sticky cunt, tongue darting in every direction, feeling your walls and prying deeper into your hot hole, which ached for the cock straining against the mattress now. The bottom half of Jonathan’s face was now positively soaked, glistening with his own drool and your needy wetness, all of it mixing dirtily and sliding down the length of his neck.
“Jon!” you mewled, hands tearing off his trapper hat and flinging it elsewhere before curling your hands into his mousy brown hair and pushing his face deeper into your pussy, desperate to come. You were riding his face now — or, attempting to, more accurately bucking up into him — adoring his unceasing ministrations. He was basically fucking you with his tongue, overstimulating your clit with teasing licks then pulling away, feeling along the ridges of your walls.
“Pick m’hat up later, love,” he tutted, pulling away slightly to see where you’d haphazardly thrown it, and your desperate whine neared a sob. He breathed in sharply, taking in how quickly he’d undone you: in a matter of minutes, your expression had grown wanton, eyes blown out, drooling, hair askew, bra riding up your tits and revealing your sweet, puffy nipples.
Jonathan quickly forgot about the state of his beloved hat, and went back down on you, mouth devouring in full force once again. You rolled your hips forward, and when he pulled his tongue out of your wet hole to suckle softly on your fleshy nub, your eyes rolled back into your head and your legs shook around his face, toes curling tightly. A choked moan left you alongside the sudden climax, sounding a hundred percent pornographic and all for him.
You panted, silent and unmoving for a moment, and Jonathan began moving to get up and let you take a breather before continuing, absolutely terrified to push you too far or do anything you didn’t want to do— he was the spontaneous one, and you were the responsible one, but that didn’t mean he ever wanted to force anything upon you. His simultaneous decisions were made mostly in part with your interests in mind; he made the decisions you were too nervous and over-thinking to choose quicker.
However, you took a long breath, then trailed your hand over the painfully noticeable bulge within his soft boxers. “Wan’… make you feel good,” you murmured, flattening your hand against his erection.
Jonathan inhaled sharply, pitifully affected by the minor touch but holding back with an incredible amount of self restraint. “I can wait,” he offered sweetly, one of his hands coming up to your flattened hand’s forearm to rub the skin.
You shook your head foggily, cupping him through the fabric, slowly adding friction by sliding your hand up and down.
“S-shit,” he bit his lip, “you want this now, baby?”
You nodded vehemently with a whimper, and to make more of a point, you reached behind and unclasped your bra, tossing it elsewhere on his dirty dorm floor, before beginning to slip off his underwear.
The hand on your arm stopped you, though, in favor of doing it himself and pressing his weight further onto you, your chests flush with one another. You were only able to take in thin breaths, making your head spin, but it also amplified the arousal blooming in your cunt when Jonathan slotted himself at your soaking entrance, collecting his saliva and your slick on his tip.
Before he pushed in, however, his head dipped into the hollow of your neck, plush lips brushing past the shell of your ear. “Is this okay?” he murmured, pressing a wet kiss to your temple.
“Please,” you whined, hands pushing flat on his back to bring him closer to you.
With that, Jonathan slowly buried his length within your cunt, making your breath hitch. “I love you,” he groaned, entering you inch by inch, relishing how your warmth swallowed him whole. “Fuck, I love you so much.”
Your hole was stuffed beyond belief, but Jonathan was gentle with you, caressing your waist with the rough pads of his fingers and massaging you, trying to ease his entrance into something painless. Obviously, with that length and thickness it couldn’t be painless at all, but his attempts helped your mind drift off elsewhere and take some of the attention off the stinging stretch.
After a long moment of ragged breathing, Jonathan cooing words of praise into your neck as he kissed you without moving, you dug your fingers into the skin of his back: “More,” you choked out, the fullness in your cunt now feeling delicious rather than cringeworthy.
He smirked against your skin, “Looks like you’re t’eager one now.”
“Oh, get on with it,” you rasped and he let out a low chuckle, sliding out of your hole before thrusting back in. That first movement already made your hips jerk up into him, back arching. It was like all the warmth in your body had collected in your cunt, leaving you freezing from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, but still with a needy, burning fire in your insides.
Jonathan’s pace was affectionate and rhythmic: you could feel the tenderness in his each and every gentle roll of the hips. It made you feel like the sun, how attentive he was, but he was also so fucking slow. If anything, that had your walls clenching onto him harder than if he hammered into you— that slow build-up of friction was dizzying. You squirmed, cunt clenching and contracting around his smooth thrusts— you wanted to take him within you completely, cause more friction for you were going stir-crazy with this lazy speed.
“F-fuck! Faster, please,” you cried out, unable to take his sensual movements any longer. Your legs were twitching with his patient movements, and you could’ve sworn you saw a cheeky grin on his lips. The bastard— even in sex was he teasing you, wanting to torture you until you gave in to the pleasure and begged him to ruin you.
Sure, this was your first time together, and was going extremely pleasantly and sweetly, but you were actually pretty fond of the idea of letting him pound into you like there was no tomorrow…
At the lewd thought, your walls pulsed around his cock, making him buck up unintentionally, hitting that sweet spot within you. He grunted at the feeling of your tightened cunt, while you cried out his name, pleasure running like a current through your body. Your face was on fire, reminiscent of a raging fever, and your insides were coiling— god, how did his cock just feel so perfect within you?
“Oh,” he grinned in a pant, “found y’spot, didn’t I?”
Jonathan didn’t give you a chance to speak before he pulled out so far his tip was the only thing in your hole, before slamming back in and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Props to him-- he hit your g-spot with utmost accuracy, and you let out a long, stuttered mewl, scratching at his freckled back, legs twitching. Your wail was almost catatonic, loud and cock-drunk, dripping unabashed, filthy pleasure.
“Makin’ such sweet noises f’me,” he praised huskily, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, “fuck, ‘ve gotta hear that again.”
He must’ve noticed your neediness earlier, when he was slow and languid, for the new speed he set was double- no, triple that: his hips were snapping against yours, balls smacking filthily against your lips, left hand pinning your hips down and letting him sink into you faster. Shocks of pleasure tore through you at the sudden increase in speed- he’d inured you so well to the torturously slow pace from earlier that this new frenzied one felt like getting hit by a bullet train. You were overstimulated and needing more of him all at once, practically vibrating with need under his touch.
“I’ve- hnngh- wanted this…” you gasped between moans, “f-for so long…”
“Wanted m’cock?” Jonathan questioned in a hiss, feeling with his every inch how your walls absolutely soaked him. His tone was, obviously, sarcastic, but it still made you feel incredibly lewd.
You shook your head numbly, “Wanted you… I love you, Jon!”
“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he purred, fucking you faster and making you writhe beneath him, “love you s’much.”
Jonathan targeted the spongy, swollen spot deep within your cunt, suddenly filled with a renewed vigor and motivation to make you come as quickly as possible, and he pounded into that one, specific spot, watching how you twitched and squirmed, heavy moans exiting you. He was relentless, hands reaching to hook under your knees and spread you wider.
At the new angle, his cock penetrated you even deeper, fuller, which you thought wasn’t possible with how goddamn full you already felt, but when his thick cockhead brushed up against your cervix you thought you were going to burst. Then, one of his hands came up to your tits to knead the flesh, and you squeaked when he tweaked your soft nipples. He was pawing at your sweet tits, fondling you in a needy, boyish way, like yours were the first pair of boobs he’d ever felt.
“M’close!” you gasped, mind going fuzzy with pure ecstacy. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, cold sweat running down your spine, a terribly stark in contrast feeling to the warmth buzzing under your skin.
“C-can’t last much longer either,” he choked, still pumping in and out of your sticky hole and savoring the feeling of your tight warmness on his long length. He looked absolutely exquisite above you, and you lost yourself in the ethereal picture. Maybe you were in love, or maybe he really was just an empyrean beauty; you took in the sight of his focussed iceberg blue eyes, the cute flush spreading along his pale cheeks and bare chest, how he bit his pink lips to muffle his needy grunts and moans.
Then, you mewled and convulsed around him, your walls spasming and contracting as you came undone, reaching the precipice of your pleasure. That made him fall off the edge— you had tensed all over- all over, and Jonathan couldn’t help how his hips stuttered, knees buckled, cock twitched; he only gave one last, powerful thrust into you before spilling himself inside of you. He painted your soft walls white, and you felt that familiar heat spreading within you; you welcomed it completely, and wanted such warmth to be there forever.
You milked him for every last drop, cunt like a vice grip, and Jonathan gave you another wet kiss, this time on your lips, and your hands wrapped around his neck, allowing you to kiss him back. Your brows knitted at the sour taste of yourself on his lips, but it just made everything feel so real— Jonathan and you had “made love”. It was a phrase you always wrinkled your nose at, feeling uncomfortable and juvenile at the intimacy it entailed, but now you understood it completely.
“I love you,” you repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, unable to say anything else that conveyed what you felt for him.
Honestly, you weren’t sure anything could accurately do so— you felt infinitely about him, your love touching all edges of your mind, heart and soul, filling you completely. You supposed you felt about Jonathan how the sun felt about the moon— without one, there could not be the other.
“I love you-- too,” he responded, pausing in the middle at the aftershocks of your orgasm, which had caused you to tighten around his softening, sensitive cock for a second.
You peered deep into his baby-blue eyes, watching the utter love that coloured them; it was like submerging yourself in a great blue ocean, except you didn’t want to come out, because you knew you wouldn’t drown in those eyes. No, you knew Jonathan would always be there to pull you out.
Speaking of pulling out… Jonathan slipped himself out of you softly, careful not to agitate that first stretch any more than necessary, before collapsing back into your arms. The two of you tangled yourselves in a messy flurry of limbs on his cushy mattress, sweaty and breathy, something that should’ve been terribly uncomfortable but just wasn’t— you swore you could fall asleep anywhere, no matter your own state or the circumstance, as long as you were with him.
Blearily, both your eyes began to droop, until you gave into the familiar presence of deep, dark sleep. It was a dreamless sleep for you, but you had an ever present comfort at his weight on yours, something you could feel even in unconsciousness.
Hours later, in a brisk, shuddering early-morning that you felt all over due to Jonathan’s unruly habit of opening his window at the peak of the day’s hottest weather and forgetting to close it before cold nightfall fell, you awoke to Jonathan watching you carefully, so close you could feel his warm exhales of breath on your cheek.
There was no goodmorning or anything like that, just pure, uninhibited being, reveling in the space you two occupied together. Like you two were the only things left in the world.
When Jonathan noticed you woke up, he shifted, presumably to extract himself from your grip. You stopped him, though, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and bringing him closer to you.
“What did it feel like?” you asked instead, for the last time. You brushed your fingers over his scar, and, knowing exactly what you were asking, this time Jonathan doesn’t flinch away. This time, he leans into your touch: it doesn’t burn, not anymore, and he wants your tenderness to swallow him whole.
You didn’t mean what it actually felt like, of course. You meant, what were you thinking? What have you done, and what will you do to yourself? You meant, I love you.
“It felt like,” falling; not everything feels like something else; I raised my arms and the air took me and that was it-- “it felt like… giving in. Letting my desperation find its purpose. It felt like I’d reached a point of peace… gained clarity after a long stretching, wounded moment came to an end. It felt like becoming something only meant to be talked about in past tense.”
You don’t say anything to that; you know he doesn’t want you to. There’s no need for you to hush or plead or make better, you just need to listen, and love him. He knows you accept him for everything he is, all his flaws and his strengths; he knows your love is all accepting- it veers on saintly.
At your silence, he melts into your arms and you can finally relax; there is an admission in the action, a release, an acknowledgement -- is suffering in silence not also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found? -- you have found him, at last, and you will never, ever let go.
You take it too far, just once. Only once. And you let him go just once, only once; never again.
when people age, they normally become less attractive than they were. but jason? oh, your husband aged like fine wine
“attagirl” he grunted, meeting his hips with yours thanks to his slightly calloused grip on your hips. “suckin’ me in like she doesn’t wanna let go.” his large cock was practically drilling in your tight pussy, the thrusts so lewd it could be considered sinful to hear
truth be told, you didn’t want to let go— hell, you even orchestrated the entire situation. it’s been a long long time since jason fucked you mean, and all you had to do was place everything together for him to take the bait
some people called it crazy, you called it priorities. and that meant having it from the back
“j-jay- mmph!” your moans and whines were muffled due to your face being buried in the pillows, feeling your saliva spread the pillowcase and the sheets wrinkle under you and jason’s bodies. “big… so big”
“you asked for this, sweetheart.” you could practically hear the dazed smirk from his lips. “you can take it, yeah? you always—have” a moan left both from him and yours when he brushes a spot in your walls that made you clench over him tighter than you already were
he leaned forward to whisper in your ear, his large chest now pressed against your back. “don’t give up on me now, gorgeous” he kissed the back of your ear before burying his face in the crook of your neck, a muffled groan of your name leaving his lips. “jesus, this never gets old”
yup, fineeeeee wine
—————————————————————————
masterlist!
(a/n: when i realized that i never wrote for dilf jason, i had to get to work. this took me like 5-10 mins to write lol so not proofread)
⋆.𐙚 ̊ frat party fiasco - beer pong turns into strip pong, and things get way out of hand when you end up in the upstairs bathroom with the president, dick grayson. this scandal is far from over, and honestly…the bathroom may never recover. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @vanillanite
↪︎ more fratboy!dick grayson
𑁤 kappa party - feeling left out at a college costume party, you meet a guy dressed as Nightwing. His costume is so authentic you felt drawn by him, not knowing he’s Dick Grayson himself. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @rskdoll
𑁤 possessive - possessive frat boy dick grayson getting increasingly more deranged about how he lays his claim on you as the semester wears on. / @uc1wa
𑁤 I got your number - dick grayson always had a chronic case of golden boy-ism for which there was no cure. everyone ever literally loved him, his floor a graveyard of bras left behind by various hookups - until he met you that is. and to his complete and utter dismay, his condition has evolved into something far worse - far more embarrassing. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @juicykvnture
𑁤 lowk a male manipulator - fratboy!dick, a man of many… talents. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @killakalx
⋆.𐙚 ̊ crave - the locals in the village had long told that the count and his family who were living in the dark castle on the hill are vampires. so you only had yourself to blame for not heeding their warning. / @cherryite
↪︎ more vampire!dick grayson
𑁤 the teeth you know - the war between the humans and the vampires has lasted for a year now. when you fled gotham, you thought that would be the last time you'd see the vampire king and the love of your life, dick grayson. You were wrong. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @sanguineterrain
𑁤 tear me open - your vampire boyfriend is feeling a bit… peckish. It’s not his fault his girlfriend is lying there looking delicious! 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @juicykvnture
𑁤 bite me (pretty please) - your best friend dick grayson is a vampire & being the stubborn individual he is he refuses to feed from you... well until now! / @nocturnellee
ghostface!dick grayson
𑁤 scream for me - the mask was his secret. but you were always his obsession. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @iydiamartinx
𑁤 just like the movies ft. wally west - when the adrenaline after fighting crime gets too much, you offer yourself up to your boyfriends for some stress relief 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @froggibus
⋆.𐙚 ̊ cherry red - you weren’t sure when dick had become part of your getting ready routine — but somehow, you couldn’t imagine it without him anymore. / @fromrory
⋆.𐙚 ̊ bite me! - having dated you for two years and known you since childhood, Dick was already used to you being somewhat obsessed with biting him. / @snorinqfawn
⋆.𐙚 ̊ scary? my god you’re divine - the vessel of enchantress is now part of the team, the league thought it was better like that, better having her on their side than against them and someone has to teach her how to control the witch. they all know who you are, or what you are, but robin is the only one who doesn't see you as a monster, he sees through you in that persistent way of his and you can't ignore him even though you want to. / @njghtiee
⋆.𐙚 ̊ bsf!dick grayson - bsf!dick grayson and his wonderful obsession with you. / @slvthrs
↪︎ bonus! more bsf!dick grayson 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @killakalx
↪︎ bonus! lowk similar dynamic 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @killakalx
⋆.𐙚 ̊ coming back to - in which, dick grayson can't stand the idea of being your ex any longer. dick grayson x ex-gf!reader 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @pluvoia
⋆.𐙚 ̊ n’ for dessert, I’ll suck ur teeth! - making out with dick grayson is like a partynextdoor song — slow, intoxicating, soaked in rhythm and heat. / @navyhaze
⋆.𐙚 ̊ ignorance is bliss - you know your boyfriend, dick is mad, purposely ignoring him isn't always the best idea... especially when your boyfriend loves to take his frustration out sexually... and you knew you were in for a long night when you came home after ignoring him all day... 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @murdock-slvt
⋆.𐙚 ̊ optimization needed - when dick grayson finds out he's not eating you out in the way he thinks you deserve, he wants to change that. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @cloudscars
↪︎ pt2! dick grayson is a munch 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @cloudscars
⋆.𐙚 ̊ sweetheart - maybe sometimes sweetheart does depend on dick too much 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @blondekisses
⋆.𐙚 ̊ nintendhoe ft.wally west - when dick & wally have a little… competition 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @juicykvnture
⋆.𐙚 ̊ help out a good friend - dick grayson is your good friend (not best, but good friend), and what kind of good friend would he be if he let you be so sexually frustrated because of your loser boyfriend? 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @murdock-slvt
⋆.𐙚 ̊ camboy!dick grayson - whose notorious for being a walking sex appeal; his pretty face fanned with long, girly lashes, paired with his toned body that would make even greek gods feel ashamed. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @navyhaze
↪︎ bonus! more camboy!dick grayson • pt2! 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @juicykvnture
↪︎ double whammy! more camboy!dick grayson 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @celestigasm
⋆.𐙚 ̊ risky temptations - you knew you should have left more space when tailing nightwing. while he might have been in his civies, that didn’t make him any less aware, which is why you’re not tied up 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @softhandz
⋆.𐙚 ̊ jealous roommate - you are Dick’s roommate and have been asked to go on a date with a guy. What you didn’t expect was for him to show up at the restaurant unannounced. / @kizubow
↪︎ bonus! more jealous!dick grayson / @noodlie-reads
⋆.𐙚 ̊ one of the girls - when you and your girlfriend go to a strip club things get heated 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @loonatears
⋆.𐙚 I could stare at your back all day - aka when you and your ex had a messy breakup… / @cheymidnights
↪︎ part 2!
⋆.𐙚 accidents happen - technically, you couldn't be blamed for thinking dick wouldn't get just a tad angry at you for touching his escrima sticks, right? I mean, you'd just been curious, you waved them around a little and now - 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @flashroid
⋆.𐙚 I need a minute - hockey just became your favourite sport after #10 Dick Grayson would not stop flirting with you the whole time. / @pookalicious-hq
⋆.𐙚 congratulations on your new improvements - You knew Dick Grayson when you were kids, back when he was Robin and you were the journalist’s daughter sneaking after stories you weren’t supposed to. He was awkward, gangly, more earnest than smooth, and you had a crush anyway. Then you left Gotham, and life moved on. Years later, you’re back in the city with a press badge of your own, chasing leads and running headfirst into trouble. Except this time, it’s not Robin who finds you, It’s Nightwing. Taller. Broader. Unfairly charming. / @cursedheartsclub
⋆.𐙚 round whatever - Dick Grayson is a chronic head tilter. It's especially bad when you're underneath him, naked and sweaty from the way he's worked you up and over the edge so many times. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @compersion
⋆.𐙚 summer roommate - you’d never met him before he moved in. your friend mentioned her brother needed a place to crash, swore he was chill, quiet, harmless. harmless was a lie. / @celestigasm
⋆.𐙚 ̊ academic rivals series! - you and dick grayson started as rivals, the kind everyone whispered about in class. top students, top of your year, neck and neck in every assignment. you couldn’t stand him: the perfect smile, the natural ease, the way he never seemed to struggle. and he found your sharp retorts and stubbornness endlessly entertaining. when a teacher paired you together for a major research project, it was war. he teased, you rolled your eyes. he smiled through everything, you matched him with pure determination. but somewhere between late-night notes and quiet library corners, things began to shift. / @njghtiee
⋆.𐙚 ̊ deprivation - in which, dick grayson has got a new-found ego; so of course, you decide to fuck it out of him. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @pluvoia
⋆.𐙚 ̊ worth the risk - Being the Police Chief’s daughter means every cop in the precinct treats you like you’re made of glass—except Officer Dick Grayson. He’s smart, charming, infuriatingly handsome…and completely off-limits. / @angiegotham
⋆.𐙚 ̊ when fan fiction comes to life - dick finds your dirty little fanfic and brings it to life 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @celestigasm
⋆.𐙚 ̊ already? - “i’m close.” “already?” — ft. dick grayson, aka 'nightwing' 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @kkai-zen
⋆.𐙚 ̊ chemicals hit like a drug - aka dick takes matters into his own hands 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @mostly-imagines
⋆.𐙚 ̊ date crasher - dick grayson swears he’s not in love with you. he just happens to find an unreasonable amount of joy in ruining your dates. purely for entertainment, of course. / @kthologue
⋆.𐙚 ̊ lightning strikes twice - The data indicating the average person experiences 3.4 attacks annually is misleading. You- who seem to find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time several times a month- represents a significant deviation from the norm and should not be counted in the dataset. Or; in which Nightwing accidentally develops feelings for the anxious woman whose rescue has become part of his regular nightly routine by this point. / @silverlullabies
as you can tell a lotttt of this is just pure smut but I mean, god forbid a girl creates a list while she’s ovulating
⋆.𐙚 ̊ lover boy - jason todd really really likes you. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @cloudscars
⋆.𐙚 ̊ the “informant” - you mark up one of Jason's case files, and it slips both of your minds the next day. So, when Jason brings the file with him to the cave, everyone quickly catches on to the fact that Jason is working with someone. / @forresttfirre
⋆.𐙚 ̊ amidst the fading sunlight - when Jason finds a pair of handcuffs hanging from your bed, you never expect it to turn into the two of you tangled in the fading sunlight 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @froggibus
⋆.𐙚 ̊ kisses - jason kisses his way out of every argument / @njghtiee
⋆.𐙚 ̊ trouble in heels - when a mechanic meets a real life barbie! jason todd x bimbo!reader / @starlitfables
↪︎ bonus! mechanic jason todd x ditzy!reader u drive me crazy 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @juicykvnture
⋆.𐙚 ̊ in every universe - jason todd reunites with much more than an old friend. jason todd x high school sweetheart!reader / @pluvoia
⋆.𐙚 ̊ get back up here f’me - somno face-sitting with jason todd! 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @flockoff-featherface
⋆.𐙚 ̊ phone calls and heartaches - jason has a habit of calling you randomly. the only problem? you guys broke up weeks ago. / @the-midnight-duck
⋆.𐙚 ̊ old habits die hard - jason todd can't turn you away after you've had a shitty date; especially when all you want is to get fucked right. jason todd x ex-gf!reader 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @pluvoia
⋆.𐙚 ̊ truth and consequence - jason forgets about plans you made and you stumble across a secret. / @stresslessbaaby
⋆.𐙚 ̊ jealous, jealous, boy - jason todd gets jealous easily. it’s not your fault you attract attention, but you should have known better than to entertain some drunk idiot at the bar by accepting the drink he bought you. actions, you’ll learn, have consequences. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @martiniluvr
↪︎bonus! more jealous jason todd x ex-gf!reader 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @blondekisses
+ evennnn more jealous jason todd x ex-gf!reader 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @juicykvnture
⋆.𐙚 ̊ stuck with me - even after your breakup with jason, he’d been showing up at your apartment every night without fail. when a heated confrontation turned physical, things revealed to be more complicated than you’d ever expected. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @ficmenrhot
⋆.𐙚 ̊ protective!jason todd - aka jason knows better than to let anyone get away with hurting you / @squipa
⋆.𐙚 ̊ fwb!jason todd - he likes to get on your nerves; get you riled up, rolling your eyes at him and flipping him off and calling him names, because it's funny to see you mad! 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @pluvoia
⋆.𐙚 ̊ luv at first bite ft.dick grayson - in which you’re dragged to the annual gotham masquerade ball by a friend, promised a night to die for. but the party, hosted in the grand wayne manor by two brothers, is far from ordinary. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @amourphoria
⋆.𐙚 ̊ I wanna hear you scream - a quiet town is thrown into chaos when a masked killer emerges from the shadows, leaving fear and bodies in their wake. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @m00nxst0ne
⋆.𐙚 ̊ spring breakers ft. roy harper - challengers but it’s jason todd and roy harper 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @juicykvnture
⋆.𐙚 ̊ teach me how to scream - visiting your boyfriend’s house while he’s out, you’re surprised when his older brother answers the door. when he invites you in to wait, what starts as awkward small talk turns into something else entirely: questions you’ve never been asked, feelings you’ve never explored, and a slow unraveling of your innocence by someone who knows exactly what he’s doing. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @amourphoria
⋆.𐙚 ̊ the plus side of the male ego - big hands, bigger temptation (and an even bigger dick). jason doesn't want to hold back anymore. he wants to break you. can you survive? 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @prettyngeto
⋆.𐙚 ̊ born to ride or whatever - you’d ride just about anything when it comes to your boyfriend. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @cybermindz
⋆.𐙚 ̊ reflection - mirror sex with jason todd! 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @stargrltara
⋆.𐙚 ̊ selfish - jason todd really wants to get you pregnant. again. or what happens when jason gets needy. jason todd x wife!reader 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @burniingblue
⋆.𐙚 ̊ russian roulette - !DARK CONTENT! Jason ends up tied to a chair after chasing Gotham's newest villain. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @rskdoll
⋆.𐙚 ̊ the arkham knight - when jason comes back and the only thing on his mind is you. alludes to the game Arkham Knight. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @cursedheartsclub
⋆.𐙚 ̊ you make me a little desperate - where jason gets a new roommate and he can’t tell if he wants to kick her out or kiss her 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @luvztodd
I’m such a slut for him ohhh my god. lmk if u want a part 2!!