would loveee some baran x reader where the reader is feverish and flirty (before they’re even together🤭)
Stay With Me
〚 Notes - Hello! Apologies this is a bit of a short one please excuse any errors - my housemate spiked me so I wrote this while exhausted and too paranoid to sleep :,) 〛
〚 Pairing - Baran Al-Hashimi x Reader 〛
〚 Summary - You’re feverish and flirting with Baran but she doesn’t seem to mind. 〛
〚 Wordcount - 1000 〛
〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙
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The first thing Baran noticed was how quiet you were.
Not just the absence of your usual chatter or the soft hum you tended to fill the room with when you were focused - but a heavy, unnatural silence. The kind that pressed against the walls and made something in her chest tighten.
She could see in your eyes that you were tired. This was your seventh shift in a row, and it was showing. You’d meant to have a day off, but Trinity had called you in the middle of the night sounding awful and desperate for someone to cover her shift the following morning. You didn’t have it in you to decline.
So here you were, head in your hands as you attempted to catch up on your charts. Sat in an oversized hospital branded hoodie jacket that had clearly been stolen from the supply closet. That wasn’t exactly unusual on any other day, but not today. It had been the warmest summer on record so far and today was hot. Too hot.
Nearly everyone in the department had stripped down to the bare essentials, rickety fans in every corner of the floor. You should have been sweating, not shivering beneath a jacket.
You hadn’t noticed Baran approaching until you felt her hand on your shoulder.
“How are you doing?” She asked quietly, trying not to comment on the long, repeating string of the letter ‘z’ blinking on the chart screen from when you’d clearly leaned on the key without noticing.
You snapped out of it and quickly cleared the chart before looking up, “I’m okay, just tired.” Something about the way she was looking at you made butterflies flutter in your stomach.
Her eyes were impossibly soft. Her gaze fixed worried as she scanned over you. “You sure thats all?” The attending’s voice was quieter now, as she resisted the urge to kneel beside you.
A small little grin tugged at the corners of your mouth, words spilling out before you really had a chance to think about them, “You’re cute when you’re worried.”
Baran paused, her mouth opening and then closing then. She raised an eyebrow, hands landing on her hips as she leaned in closer, “Is that so?”
Ever so gently, her hand came to rest on the side of your cheek before slowly moving up to your forehead, brushing away the sweat-soaked baby hairs that clung to your clammy skin. Baran sighed softly, she wasn’t surprised.
Night shift had been passing a bug around and it had just began creeping its way into day shift. Still, she hadn’t expected it to hit you so early.
“We need to get this hoodie off, you’re overheating.” Baran said quietly, kneeling down to be at your level, already beginning to unzip the thick fabric.
“Are you telling me to take my clothes off?” You grinned dizzily. She didn’t respond but from the way Baran bit the corner of her lip, she was clearly trying not to laugh.
You rubbed your eyes with a balled fist, attempting to get your vision to focus before fumbling with clumsy hands to undo the jacket. Eventually your hand landed on top of Baran’s, following her movement as you ‘helped’ undo the zipper.
She carefully tugged it off your shoulders, draping it over the back of your chair. Dana, who had definitely not witnessed the whole thing, reached over to slide a digital thermometer across the console before being pulled away by one of her nurses.
The attending slipped the thermometer into your ear with ease, humming slowly as she waited for the beep to confirm what she already knew.
Baran’s thumb brushed lightly against your temple as she read the number, her expression tightening just slightly.
“Yeah,” She murmured, more to herself than to you, “That explains it. You’re way too hot.”
“Thank you.”
The attending drew in a long breath, folding her arms across her chest but her expression was sympathetic, “What am I gonna do with you, hm?” Baran murmured, a quiet amusement threading through her tone as she reached for the spare hair-tie around her wrist. She gently pulled your hair away from your eyes and into a small bobble. It looked a little stupid but at least it kept it out of your face.
She tilted her head slightly to inspect her work. “There, that’ll feel much better.” To her, there was something oddly adorable about the way you looked in this moment.
You made a quiet noise of protest when her fingers brushed your scalp, but you didn’t pull away. If anything, you leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut for half a second too long before you forced them open again.
“Hey - nope, stay with me Romeo.” Baran’s voice softened further, her hand shifting from your hair to your cheek, giving it a gentle tap. She checked her watch, trying to figure out what to do. She didn’t exactly like the idea of you driving home in this condition.
Without much more consideration, she withdrew her phone and quickly tapped on the screen, sending a text. Baran looked up and across the department to where Robby was checking his phone. He stared down at the screen for a moment before looking up to meet her gaze. He nodded, giving a small thumbs up to match.
“Come on, let’s get you home.” Baran spoke gently, her hand on your back as she nudged you to stand, “You’ll feel far better when we’ve got you lying in bed.”
“Doctor Al-Hashimi taking me to bed,” You stood with a sway, her hand instantly shooting around your waist to steady you. You gave a wobbly smile, as she kept her hand around your waist, “So Doctor, will you be staying the night?”
Baran finally smiled, shaking her head with a fond expression, “You know what, maybe I will.”
Summary: You got into a car accident, not major. Only for Robby to find you in the waiting room, threatening to tell your dad. You caught your eye on a certain nurse, old enough to be your mom. Only for her to be your nurse as well, everything leading to a flirty conversation, eye fucking, and subtle touches. You are being needy like always, to your surprise she was pleased to help you, taking away all the frustration you've built up.
Words: 2.8k
Content warning: This is my first fic, sorry if it's rough! age gap, mommy kink, brat kink, fingering, mommy issues, praising.
"Wow, look what the cat dragged in."
Dr. Robby exclaimed as he found you in the waiting room scrolling on your phone, you had got into a car accident. Someone rear ended you, but you aren't too injured. You just recently started feeling lower back pains and went to the hospital just to check it out after you got off of work.
You scoffed, Robby has been a family friend since you were in 9th grade. You basically grew up with him around, he was always at the cookouts and family events.
"The last place I wanted to be was here.''
You say, as he stands in front of you like a judging dad.
"Well, you are. so, what happened? You're never here.''
He says, he's worried because you always ignore injuries denying hospital visits, and now your here? You rub you face in frustration, you did not want to be at this hospital especially after working. You are a tattoo artist and did at least 5 clients today. So, you woke up at 7 in the fucking morning, now it's 4pm and you are exhausted.
"Got into a stupid fucking accident, some guy rear ended me yesterday and ran off."
You huffed, so annoyed by the whole situation.
"First of all, language. And why did you not text me or your dad? You think you're so independent all time."
He says, basically interrogating you. You stayed quiet, eyes on your shoes. Your messy converse you had since 12th grade, you remember all of the hikes you did with your friends. And how you would run away from home with them too, only to get at least 30 missed calls from your dad and Robby. You slip your phone in your back pocket of your jeans and then slipped your hands in the pockets of your gray hoodie, you knew you should've texted one of them. But you thought you would be fine without help, like always.
He tilt's his head waiting for your response, but you always shut down so fast. He sighs, knowing he's not going to get much out of you.
"Does your dad at least know your here?"
He asks, your silence answered the question for him. You didn't text your dad after it happened and definitely didn't tell him you're at the hospital. Gosh, you wish you would've just gone to a different hospital, but this one was the closest. You didn't dare look up at him, as he stands at least 3 feet from where you're sitting. You knew he was disappointed, it radiated off of him. He was too much like your dad, its infuriating.
"Get up."
He says, walking away. your eyes darted up watching him, but you quickly got up following him without any words. As your following him you admired the workspace he worked in, you would always hear stories about his hospital (the Pitt). While you were admiring, a certain nurse caught your eye. She has short blond hair that's up in a low bun, she's definitely older, old enough to be your mother. In her dark blue scrubs, sitting so gracefully in her chair at the nurse's station. Gosh why did you have mommy issues? (because your mom was a fuck face).
She caught your stare as you walk by with Robby, your much younger than her. In your early twenties, but you had a dream. Making eye contact, her dark blue eyes meeting yours. You looked away quickly when she caught your stare, face slightly red now, of course she looked over at this exact time.
Her head tilted, a soft low "huh." slipped from her mouth as she studied the back of you, her eyes landing on your ass in those jeans, but you didn't hear her already too far down the hall. She turned to Cassie who is sitting right next to her, on her break scrolling on her phone.
"Cass, who's that?"
She asked, wondering who you are trailing so innocently behind Robby. She's never seen you around before, and you definitely caught her eye now.
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You and Robby reach an empty hospital room down the south wing, he holds the glass door open for you and points to the bed obviously still annoyed by you. You enter the room, sitting on the bed that's in the middle of the small room. He closes the door standing in front of it, looking at you with him arms crossed.
"So, are you going to tell me why you didn't text me or your dad? Or am I going to have to call your dad and tell him your here, because I won't hesitate to do it."
He says, glaring at you with that stupid beard he has. You felt so seen and not in a good way, like he can see right through you. You hated when he did that, remembering him pulling out the truth from you, when you first got high with your friends in 10th grade. Your dad was fuming when Robby told him.
"I don't know, I just... I want the world to be on my side for once, I feel like such a burden."
I quietly say, I felt like the world was so against me. The accident I got into, my mom leaving me and my dad when I was young, falling into a smoking habit when I was in 10th grade, never sober. But luckily, it's been a month already from the last time I smoked, only because my dealer is busy. Gosh I felt like such a fuck up, regarding me being a tattoo artist, with a nice small apartment, and a cat. I had peace, well had. I was so mentally drained.
He sighed, knowing you didn't mean for this to happen. And now he felt like a dick for pressuring you to talk, when all you needed was guidance.
"Look kid, I know you feel like everything is against you. And honestly, that's how I felt when I first started working in this hospital more than 10 years ago. You will grow, and things will get better. Only if you let someone in, your so closed off all the time thinking you don't need any help. And that's not going to get you anywhere."
He rubs his beard, trying to figure out how to at least make you feel better. Because you looking over at him like a kicked cat sitting on the hospital bed, it wasn't helping. He folded.
"Your dad loves you, hell I even love you. We are here to help, only if you let us, and no your never a burden."
He said, this was a big change of words since you first walked into this hospital. He's never been a deep guy, never a man of words. Hearing him tell you these things, it made you realize. Maybe I do need to let people in, not everyone but at least your dad and him. Hopefully it will help, to get some weight off your shoulders. Then you realized the lower back pain, and damn maybe the accident did hurt you.
Robby saw you wince, because he totally forgot why you were in here in the first place. Because he was too busy interrogating you.
"Right, where does it hurt?"
he asks stepping closer now.
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Soon enough Robby had said you had a compression fracture on your lower back, so it was more serious that you had thought it was. You brushed it off for a whole day, thinking it was just lower back strain. But you being so stubborn made it worse than it was, so Robby had admitted you as a patient. You had refused, but Robby is more stubborn than you. You finally filled out some paperwork, now laying in the hospital bed playing on your phone. Finally texted your dad what happened, after Robby had told you too.
You waited for the nurse he said he would send in to check your vitals, as he had to do other things in the hospital.
You heard your door open, only to be appointed to the older woman you had just been staring at like she held all the words for your problems. She tilted her head at you, she was rather fond to be your nurse this evening. Little did you know, she volunteered to be your nurse before Robby gave it to someone else.
"Well, ____. I heard you got into an accident. Names dana by the way."
She said, oh... she knew my name? Probably from the paperwork I just filled out, but still. Hearing it come from her lips, with her Pittsburgh accent. What did that accent sound like when you were knuckles deep in her- ____ stop.
"Y-Yeah, rear ended by a dumbass"
I muttered out, I cursed myself for stuttering at the beginning. She caught the stutter but didn't mention it.
"Well, I'm glad the accident wasn't as bad. Not that it wasn't, just can't have this beauty get more hurt, right?"
She says, with a little smile. Stepping closer to you on the bed, setting her clipboard on the slide table. your eyes following her. Gosh she didn't know the things she did to you even though you guys just met. But oh, she knew by that little pink that crossed your cheeks, she could just ruin you.
"Beauty? Your one to talk."
I managed out all of a sudden, her presence had made it so much harder to form sentences. She smelt like vanilla, and the hospital soap.
She raised her eyebrow, I was so blunt. She liked it, I saw her little reaction it just made me more confident.
"I'm going to check some vitals so I can write it down, that alright?"
she asks, pulling out blood pressure monitor. I liked how she asked if it was okay, even though she had too either way.
"Yeah, it's all good"
I say, she flashed me a little smile again. So, caring already. I smile shyly at her.
I take off my gray hoodie, I have a black tank top underneath. Because I just got off of work when I made my way over here. I placed my hoodie on the bed, sitting up straight for her. Her eyes glanced at my cleavage, though I didn't have much breast to look at, she still appreciated.
"Good girl."
I heard slip from her lips, the heat between my legs suddenly became hot. I looked at her, she was staring at me with those dark blue eyes, basically eye fucking each other. This woman was something.
She wrapped the blood pleasure monitor around my upper arm, clicking a few buttons on the monitor. It squeezed my arm, and soon it beeped. She nodded, good.
"So _____, where do you work? Got a boyfriend, siblings?"
She asks looking at me for a moment, then unwrapping it around my arm, placing it back. She rubbed my upper arm where the monitor had just squeezed, before she pulled out another item. Gosh her touch? I wonder what those fingers could do to my needy cunt.
I talked to her about my work, how I didn't have a boyfriend, no siblings. And somehow, I started spilling out my emotions, how I felt so exhausted all the time, how I smoked weed to run away from reality, everything came out like spew.
She just continued working, listening to me talk and open up. Wow that was fast, was I that worked up for her? After a while I stopped talking, frustrated about everything so emotional.
"Sounds like you need to get laid, when's the last time someone touched you sweet girl?"
She asked, so blunt. I was literally throbbing, she knew what she was doing to me. But she liked it, when my eyes would widen, my breath hitched, the pink fluttering against my nose and cheeks.
"I-uhm."
I stuttered, I haven't gotten touched since art school. A lame relationship with my ex girlfriend, she wasn't even good with her fingers. I lied to her and told her I came, but I didn't. I've always master baited though, watching lame lesbian porn to get me off. I've never really cared for relationships, always too busy in my art.
"Use your words, for me."
She encourages, gosh it was so hot. She says tilting her head, looking at me waiting for me.
"Not... In a long time, dana."
I manage out of my lips, looking at her. She looked like she was ready to risk it all, like I was something worth risking. My quiet voice saying her name in such a soft whisper, yeah... She wants to hear that in bed, moaning, screaming, whimpering. So much sexual tension, she hadn't realized how needy she was too.
"Can I change that, baby?"
She whispers, in a hushed voice. Not too loud to startle you, but enough for it to feel like more. Way more.
I bite my lip, hesitant.
"Right here? What if someone walks in, what if someone sees us?"
I say, anxious. What if Robby out of all people walk in, what the hell would I tell him? The head nurse knuckles deep in my drenched pussy, me whimpering and squirming like an uncomfortable kitten. Definitely not uncomfortable though, seeing stars? Yeah.
"Shh, shh."
She hushes me before stepping away from the bed, closing the curtains to the glass of the door, and big window that out looks into the hospital.
"Such a nervous brat, huh? Won't let mommy pleasure you without something being wrong."
She exclaims, obviously not in a mean way. More teasing on her side and damn it made me soaked. I just fantasized her finger engulfing my spongy walls, so clenched around her, but it still being easy to ram her fingers in me from how wet I am. The mommy and brat nickname though, my gosh please....
I look at her with big doe eyes as she turns back to me, I can't believe she really looks at me like this. I would've thought maybe it would be one sided, but no she wants this just as much as me.
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I whimper in pleasure, suppressing any moans that almost fail to not fall. my black lacey panties pulled to my ankles as well as my jeans. my converse off somewhere on the floor, as she leans over the bed long fingers pounding against my cervix. Her thumb lazily brushing my clit, adding to the pleasure. My hand grips her wrist, just for some stability. Wet noises filling the room, as well as her praises and hospital noises outside the room.
"Yeah, that's it. Take mommy's fingers like a good girl, mhm... so good for her mommy."
She whispers, tipping me over the edge just like I want it.
"mmm...Mommy, I-I'm so close."
I whine out, as she quickens her pace. Rubbing my clit more brutally, trying to make my pleasure come faster.
"Yeah baby? Going to cum for your mommy?"
She says, encouraging my peak. Her words just adding to everything, the knot in my stomach becoming more spontaneous. I couldn't ignore it, my walls clenching around her fingers tighter. She can tell I'm almost there, her other hand going under my tank top cupping my small breast. Squeezing, and pinching on the sensitive bud. I arched my back lightly, everything was so fucking good.
You watch her face as she focused on fucking my guts, her gold cross necklace laying over her chest. Great for the act full sins she committing to me, absolutely plunging my pussy. My mouth falls open as I cover it, suppressing any moans that almost slipped. Very soon I felt the overwhelming pressure in my gut, oh I'm there.
"Gonna cum- Mommy"
I mutter out, it came out more a whine.
"Yes, please. Cum for me, give it to me baby."
She whines back as she feels herself dripping just from the sight, soon the pleasure floods over me. I came hard on her fingers, my head leaning back against the pillows, while my free hand grips the sheets. I whimper and whine, arching my back. My thighs clenching her arm that's between them, she slows her pace riding out my orgasm.
"Such a good doll, so whiny and pretty for her mommy."
She says, watching my face in such pleasure.
Soon I fell from my high, sweating slightly and obviously flustered. She slowly pulls her fingers from my dripping cunt, placing them in her mouth. Tasting the fluids gushing out of me, I've never been touched like that before. She helped me pull my panties and jeans back on and kissing me gently. Hard difference from how hard she just fucked the shit out of me, but it felt nice.
I cupped her face, tasting me on her tongue. Before she pulled back, caressing my jaw.
"Such a pretty baby, you did so good for me."
Her words didn't hit you yet, you realized maybe you just let someone in.
Ballerina!Reader who met Jack and Robby for the first time in the ER after taking a fall during rehearsals for Swan Lake.
Ballerina!Reader who has no idea that she’s got an eating disorder until Jack and Robby sit her down to talk about why she won’t let them take her out to eat (or, really, let them feed her at all).
Ballerina!Reader who always searches out her two boyfriends in the audience during her shows.
Ballerina!Reader who walks around Jack and Robby’s house in just a tiny vest and panties after rehearsals because anything else touching her skin makes her feel uncomfortable.
Ballerina!Reader who spent her entire childhood trying to get a scrap of her parents’ attention and has to get used to being spoiled rotten (with attention and other things) by her new boyfriends.
Ballerina!Reader who volunteers at a children’s ballet school on the weekends and comes home covered in stickers and glitter.
Ballerina!Reader who is so light on her feet that she learns to hum as she walks around the house to avoid triggering Jack.
Ballerina!Reader who starts using the front porch in the summer to break in her shoes and do her stretches—so Robby installs a ballet barre for her.
Ballerina!Reader who likes to read but can’t sit still long enough to enjoy more than a few pages at a time, so she’s always got an audiobook playing from her AirPods as she dances around the house.
Ballerina!Reader who rushes to the Pitt after rehearsals after Dana texts her about Robby not acting like himself, still in her leotard and tights, and refuses to cover herself up with his zip-up hoodie until he tells her what’s wrong.
Ballerina!Reader who’s submissive in the bedroom but not outside of it. She’s surprisingly good at barking orders at her boyfriend’s (for somebody so soft-spoken).
Ballerina!Reader who learns how to bake during recovery from her eating disorder and isn’t good at all; but Robby and Jack still insist on trying everything she makes.
Ballerina!Reader who liked to tease them and call them her sugar daddies after they insist on buying her all of her dancing gear (and they’ll only buy the best of the best for her).
Ballerina!Reader who loves her boyfriends so much that instead of telling them that she’s ready to settle down and stop dancing professionally, she just stops taking her birth control and finally lets them get her pregnant instead (surprise!).
✧･ﾟ:you're face down in the mattress, the wet, lustful sound of Dean’s hips snapping against your ass fill the room. He’s fucking you like an animal, holding your ass in the air with rough hands, massaging your hips and thighs as his balls slap against your clit. He bends over with a groan, kissing up your spine over your shoulders, rolling his hips with every brutal, bed creaking thrust. You cry out, as he drills into that one gooey spot deep inside of you, and he groans, squeezing your waist tight.
✧･ﾟ:he pants in your ear, low moans rumbling from his chest and vibrating through your body. His fingers drift down to toy with your clit, and you clench around him with a weak, breathy whine. Dean grunts and hauls you up against him. One hand wraps around your throat, the other splayed over your stomach, pressing down and forcing you to take his cock even deeper. Your lashes flutter, your vision blurred and mouth hanging open. Dean kisses and bites over your neck, fucking you with shallow, rough thrusts. You’re caged, your back to his chest, nothing for you do but take it.
“Fuckin’ look at you, baby,” Dean grabs your jaw, angling it exactly where he wants. “Prettiest girl in the fuckin’ world. My girl.”
You moan, head lolling. Dean smirks and taps your cheek.
“Look.”
It takes all the praise and coaxing in the world, but you manage. It’s the most sinful thing you’ve ever seen. You, glowing and drooling in Dean’s arms, your eyes lidded and lips swollen from his countless kisses. There isn’t a part of your body he hasn’t marked, an inch of skin that he isn’t teasing or groping. His face is twisted in concentration, his muscles flexing and bulging around you, the shaft of his massive cock slipping in and out of your pussy like a machine.
“See how fuckin’ gorgeous you are?” Dean mutters in your ear. “Prettiest fuckin’ girl in the world, makin’ a mess on my cock.”
And you are. You really are. You can’t look away from the slick, creamy mess where your bodies meet. Dean squeezes your cheeks again, your eyes meet, and it crashes into you like a storm.
He looks at you like you’re a goddess. In his arms, you feel like one.
“Watch,” he hisses, dragging your gaze back to the mirror, right as he starts to rub your clit in furious tight circles.
You can’t help it. Your transfixed by the sight of you, more beautiful that you ever thought you could be, unraveling in Dean’s arms. He’s quick behind you, slamming home and stuffing you up with hot ropes of cum, fucking you through it with shallow thrusts.
Neither of you move for a while after. You don’t want to. You’re afraid the spell will break.
“Look at you, baby,” Dean murmurs, kissing over your neck. “Never seen anythin’ fucking better.”
And it’s so easy, to believe him. You know it won’t last. But you’re sure that, if you ask him, he’ll be happy to show you over and over again. Until it really, truly sticks.
✦Dean Masterlist - Main Masterlist - read on AO3!✦
She almost never gets drunk, basically because it takes too many bottles to make her feel something, but after winning an important battle, she decided that it was the time to buy enough beers for her.
There were more people in the room than both of you, but for Diana, it felt like you were the only one there. She was sure that she could see a glowing pink halo around your body that attracted her to you. Did you cast a spell on her or something? No, that's not your type of power.
And then it comes the worst part, she opens her mouth.
“You,” she says, voice lower than usual, a little slurred at the edges, “are unfairly beautiful.”
You blink, laugh softly. “Diana, you’re drunk.”
She waves a hand, nearly knocking over her bottle. “I am aware. It is rare. And annoying. But necessary.” She shifts closer, thigh pressing against yours. “I have… a confession.”
The room is loud, but her words cut through everything. Your heart stutters.
“Okay,” you say, careful. “I’m listening.”
She stares at you for a long moment, like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. Then she just… says it.
“I am in love with you.”
The words are simple. Direct. No flowery speech, no metaphor. Just Diana, drunk and honest.
You freeze. She doesn’t.
“I have been for… a while,” she continues, frowning like she’s trying to do math. “Months? Years? Time is stupid.” She pokes your arm lightly. “You are kind. And brave. And when you smile, I feel...” She gestures vaguely at her chest. “warm. Here. All the time.”
You’re staring now, mouth slightly open. She notices, tilts her head.
“You are not saying anything.”
You swallow. “Diana, you're—”
She leans in closer, eyes wide and earnest. “I do not say this because of the alcohol. The alcohol is just… making me brave. Stupidly brave.” She pauses. “Like Achilles, but with feelings.”
You laugh, soft and surprised. She smiles radiantly, a little wobbly.
“I want to court you,” she says. “Properly. With… dates. And flowers. And no battles interrupting. Though battles are romantic sometimes.”
You reach out, tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Your hand lingers.
“I’d like that,” you say quietly.
Her whole face lights up. “Truly?”
You nod. “Truly.”
“Good,” she whispers. “Because I am very bad at keeping secrets when I am in love.”
You kiss her cheek. She sighs, content, and slumps against your shoulder.
KARA ZOR EL (suggestive)
The apartment is quiet tonight, just the soft hum of the fridge and the distant rumble of Metropolis traffic outside.
You’re sprawled on the couch in one of Kara’s old hoodies (it smells like her, sunlight and vanilla), legs kicked up, scrolling absently on your phone.
Kara’s been out with the League celebrating a win and she texted you an hour ago: on my way home. might be a little tipsy. love youuuu with about twenty heart emojis.
The door opens with a dramatic whoosh, and Kara floats in, hair windswept, cheeks flushed an adorable pink, eyes glassy and sparkling.
She’s still in her Supersuit, cape slightly crooked, boots left at the door in a messy pile.
“Baby!” she announces to the room, voice louder than necessary, arms wide like she’s about to hug the entire apartment. “I’m home!”
You laugh, setting your phone aside. “Hey, you. Come here.”
She doesn’t walk, she glides over, wobbling just a little, and flops face-first onto your lap with a happy sigh. Her head lands right between your breasts, cheek squished against the soft fabric of the hoodie. She nuzzles in immediately, arms wrapping around your waist like you’re her personal pillow.
“Mmm,” she mumbles, voice muffled against your chest. “You’re so soft. And you smell like… like home. And cookies. Do we have cookies? No, wait—you’re the cookie.”
You snort, threading your fingers through her hair. “You’re ridiculous when you’re drunk.”
She tilts her head up, chin resting on your sternum, eyes huge and shiny.
“I love you,” she says, simple and earnest, like she’s just discovered gravity. “Like… a lot. A lot lot. Did I tell you that today? I should tell you every day. Every hour. Every minute.”
You smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You did. Multiple times. Via text. Voice memo. And that very loud phone call while you were flying home.”
She giggles and buries her face back in your chest.
“Good. Because it’s true. And also—”
She pulls back again, eyes dropping to your breasts with sudden, intense focus.
“These. These are… amazing.”
She cups them gently through the hoodie, thumbs brushing your nipples like she’s handling something sacred.
“They’re so soft. And perfect. And… they’re mine, right? I can say that? I’m allowed?”
You laugh. “Yeah, you’re allowed.”
She leans in, nuzzling between them like she’s trying to climb inside you.
“I love them. I love how they feel. I love when you let me sleep on them. I love when they’re all… squishy and warm. And when you’re on top and they’re right here.” She presses her face deeper, voice muffled. “I can hear your heartbeat. It’s my favorite sound.”
You stroke her hair, letting her ramble. She’s still drunk, words tumbling out in a sweet stream.
“I think about them all the time,” she confesses, voice dropping to a whisper. “On patrol. During meetings. When I’m trying to be serious. I just… think about burying my face in them and never leaving. Is that weird? It’s probably weird. But I love you. And I love these. And I love you.”
You tilt her chin up, kiss her softly. She melts into it, kissing back slow and sloppy, tasting like cheap beer and happiness. When you pull back, she’s smiling utterly smitten.
“I love you too,” you whisper. “All of you. Even the drunk, boob-obsessed parts.”
She sighs, content, and flops back down, face smushed between your breasts again.
“Good,” she mumbles. “Because I’m never moving.”
You laugh quietly, holding her close as she drifts toward sleep, still mumbling sweet, slurred nonsense against your skin.
KORIAND'R
She’s glowing, literally, a soft orange aura around her skin, hair floating like there’s no gravity. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes bright and glassy, and she’s been glued to your side all night, arm looped through yours, head on your shoulder more often than not.
Now the others have drifted to the dartboard or the bar, and it’s just you two in the booth. She’s halfway through her… seventh? eighth? drink, staring at you like you hung the stars.
“You,” she says suddenly. “You are… so pretty. Like really pretty. Did you know that? I think about it all the time.”
You laugh, soft. “You’re drunk, Kori.”
She waves a hand, nearly knocking over her glass. “Drunk is good! Drunk is honest! And I am very honest right now.”
She leans in, too close, warm breath on your cheek. “I love you.”
The words tumble out like they’ve been waiting forever.
You blink. She doesn’t stop.
“I love you so much it’s stupid. Like dumb stupid. I think about you when I fly. I think about you when I fight. I think about you when I’m supposed to be listening to Dick’s plans and I’m just like… ‘she has such nice hands.’”
She grabs your hand, holds it up like evidence. “See? Nice hands. I want them on me all the time.”
You’re trying not to laugh, but your heart is pounding. “Kori—”
“No, wait, I’m not done!” She’s babbling now, words spilling fast and messy. “I love your laugh. And your eyes. And how you always know when I’m sad even when I smile. And your hair. I want to braid it. And kiss you. And—oh—your boobs. They’re perfect. I dream about them. I want to put my face in them and never leave.”
She demonstrates by dramatically dropping her head to your chest, nuzzling with a happy sigh. “Like this. Perfect.”
You’re flushed, laughing quietly, fingers threading through her hair. “You’re ridiculous.”
She lifts her head, eyes wide and earnest.
“I’m serious! I love you. I want to be your girlfriend. For real. No more ‘just friends who kiss sometimes.’ I want to hold your hand in public and tell everyone you’re mine. And cook for you, badly, probably, but try! And fly you to the moon if you want!”
She pauses, frowning. “Do you want to go to the moon? We could. I’m strong enough.”
You cup her face, thumb brushing her cheek. “Kori. I don't need the moon. I love you too.”
Her whole face lights up, her glow brightens. “Really?!”
“Really.”
She squeals and launches herself at you, wrapping arms and legs around you like a koala.
“I’m never letting go! You’re mine now! Officially! I’m going to kiss you so much!”
You laugh into her hair, holding her tight. She pulls back just enough to kiss you, messy, eager, tasting like tequila and joy. When she finally lets you breathe, she’s smiling so wide it’s blinding.
“Best night ever,” she declares. “Even better than the time I punched a robot in the face.”
You kiss her again. “Yeah. Best night ever.”
(She falls asleep on your shoulder on the cab ride home, drooling in your top, you'll tease her about it tomorrow.
DONNA TROY
The Titans Tower common room is a mess of empty bottles and laughter after a hard-won victory. Most of the team has tapped out, but Donna?
Donna’s drunk.
She’s on the couch beside you, thigh pressed to yours, cheeks flushed a deep rose that makes her look softer than usual. Her dark hair is loose, a little tangled from her head tossing back drinks. Her eyes are glassy, fixed on you with that intense Amazon stare, but it’s wobbly now, frustrated.
She’s been quieter than usual all night, nursing her drinks and stealing glances at you. Now the alcohol has loosened her tongue and her temper. She turns suddenly, nearly sloshing her drink on your lap.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she says, voice sharp but slurred at the edges. “I’m in love with you, and it’s stupid, and I hate it.”
You blink. She keeps going, words tumbling out like she’s been holding them back for months.
“I’ve been in love with you for—forever! And you’re going to say no, I know you are, because why would you want me? I’m just the spare Amazon, the second-string Wonder Girl, and you’re—you’re perfect, and funny, and you make me feel things I don’t even have words for in Greek!”
She’s on her feet now, pacing, hands gesturing wildly.
“I tried to ignore it! I tried to be your friend! But every time you smile at me, or laugh at my dumb stories, or just fucking exist I want to kiss you! And hold you! And tell everyone you’re mine! But you’ll say no, and then it’ll be awkward, and I’ll have to pretend I’m fine when I’m dying inside!”
Her voice cracks on the last word. She stops pacing, stares at you, chest heaving, eyes wet and angry.
“So just say it,” she snaps. “Say no and I'll move on.”
“Donna.”
She flinches like she’s bracing for a hit.
“I love you too.”
She freezes. Her mouth opens. Closes.
“What?”
You smile, reach for her hand. “I love you. Have for a while. I was waiting for you to say something.”
She stares, blinking fast. “What? No—what? You—you love me? Like… love love?”
You nod.
She makes a strangled sound and then she’s on you, arms wrapping tight around your waist, face buried in your neck.
“You absolute idiot,” she mumbles, voice muffled and wobbly. “I was ready to fight a god over this.”
You laugh, hold her close. “No need. You’ve got me.”
She pulls back, eyes shining, and kisses you.
“I’m never drinking again,” she declares. “Or maybe I am. This worked out pretty well.”
You kiss her again. The team pretends not to notice from the corner but they’re all grinning. Donna doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the night.
BARBARA GORDON
Your phone buzzes on the nightstand at 2:17 a.m., the screen lighting up with Barbara’s name. You fumble for it, half-asleep, heart already picking up because Babs never calls this late unless it’s an emergency.
You answer. “Babs? You okay?”
There’s a long pause, then a shaky breath and a voice that’s definitely not sober.
“Heyyy,” she draws out, soft and slurred. “Hi. It’s me. Barbara. Your Barbara. Wait—no, not your Barbara. That’s… that’s the problem.”
You sit up, rubbing sleep from your eyes. “Are you drunk?”
A wet little laugh. “I opened the good whiskey. The one Dick got me for my birthday. And then I finished it. Alone. Like a loser.”
You’re already pulling on a hoodie. “Where are you? Your place?”
“Clocktower,” she sniffles. “Couldn’t make it home. Too… spinny.”
You’re out the door in thirty seconds. “Stay put. I’m coming.”
She keeps talking the whole cab ride.
“I didn’t mean to call,” she says at one point, voice thick. “But I was looking at pictures of us. And you were smiling at me in all of them. And I just… I miss you. All the time. Even when you’re right there.”
Your chest aches. You’ve been dancing around this for years—best friends, partners on cases, late-night rooftop talks, the kind of closeness that feels like more but neither of you ever named.
“I miss you too,” you say quietly.
“Nooo,” she drags out, starting to cry. “You don’t get it. I love you. Like love love you. The stupid kind. The kind where I want to hold your hand and kiss you when you’re not looking and wake up next to you and—ugh—why is this so hard?”
You’re at the Clocktower now, racing up the stairs. “Babs, open the door.”
Her hair’s a mess, eyes red and glassy, wearing an oversized GCPD shirt and pajama shorts. She looks small, leaning on the doorframe.
“You came,” she whispers, like she didn’t believe you would.
You step inside, close the door, pull her into your arms. She clings to you, face buried in your neck, crying quietly.
“I’m so in love with you it hurts,” she mumbles against your skin. “And I was scared you’d never—hic—feel the same. And I’m drunk and stupid and—”
You pull back, cup her face. Wipe her tears with your thumbs.
“I love you too.”
She freezes. Blinks. Tears still falling.
“What?”
“I love you,” you say again, clearer. “I was scared too.”
She stares at you, mouth open.
Then she starts crying harder (happy tears this time) and launches herself at you, arms around your neck, legs wrapping around your waist like she’s trying to climb inside you.
“You love me?” she sobs into your shoulder. “Really?”
“Really.”
She taste like whiskey and salt when you kiss her, but you can't stop, it's kind of addictive. You stay with her in bed. She doesn’t let go the whole night.
She wakes up mortified the next morning. You kiss her quiet. She stops being mortified real fast.
DINAH LANCE (suggestive)
The bar is a blur of neon and laughter, the kind of place where vigilantes go to pretend they’re normal for a night. You’re younger, still riding the high of your first big win with the Birds, and Dinah (the Black Canary, your mentor, your crush, your everything) dragged you out to celebrate.
You meant to pace yourself. You really did.
But the shots kept coming, and Dinah’s laugh is like velvet, and her hand on your back when she leans in to talk over the music makes your brain short-circuit. So you drink. A lot.
Now you’re stumbling out into the cool night air, Dinah’s arm around your waist, holding you up like you weigh nothing. Her leather jacket smells like her, smoke and vanilla.
“You’re a mess,” she says, amused, steering you toward her bike. Her voice is low, warm, a little rough from singing earlier.
You giggle, leaning into her heavily. “You’re pretty.”
She snorts. “Oh god, you’re so drunk.”
“Drunk and honest,” you mumble, face pressed to her shoulder.
She gets you onto the bike behind her, makes sure your arms are tight around her waist. The ride to her place is a blur of wind and city lights. You cling to her, cheek against her back, breathing her in.
Inside her apartment, she half-carries you to the couch. You flop down, world spinning. She kneels, pulls your boots off slow.
“You’re gonna hate yourself tomorrow,” she says, but there’s no judgment, just fond exasperation.
You grab her wrist before she can stand. “Stay.”
She pauses, blue eyes soft. “I’m just getting water.”
“No, I don't want water.” You tug harder, pulling her down until she’s sitting beside you. “I want you.”
She sighs, but doesn’t pull away. You shift, clumsy, until you’re curled against her side, head on her chest. She’s warm. Strong. Her heartbeat is steady under your ear.
You’re quiet for a minute, then the words spill out.
“I love you.”
She goes still.
You keep going, voice thick with alcohol and want.
“Not like friend love. Like… love love. Want-to-kiss-you love. Want-you-to-hold-me-down-and—” You hiccup. “make me scream your name love.”
Your hand slides under her shirt, fingers tracing the hard lines of her abs. She catches your wrist, gentle but firm.
“Hey,” she says, voice low. “You’re drunk.”
“I know,” you mumble, nuzzling closer, lips brushing her collarbone. “But it’s true. Always wanted you. You’re so strong and hot and” You press a sloppy kiss to her neck. “I think about you when I touch myself.”
She exhales, shaky. Her hand cups the back of your head, holding you close but not encouraging.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” she says, soft but firm. “When you’re sober.”
You whine, cling tighter. “Nooo. Sleep with me. Just cuddling. Please.”
She hesitates. You feel it—the way her thumb strokes your hair, the way her body doesn’t pull away.
“Okay,” she whispers finally. “Just cuddling.”
She helps you to bed, strips you down to your underwear with careful, clinical hands that still make you shiver. She changes into a tank and shorts, slides in behind you.
You curl into her immediately, back to her chest, her arm draped over you. Her hand rests on your stomach, warm and steady.
You’re asleep in minutes, breathing her in. She stays awake longer, fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin, lips brushing your shoulder.
Tomorrow, you’ll talk. Tonight, she holds you like you’re already hers.
You wake up hungover. She’s still there, arm tight around you, smiling when you groan.
“Morning, lightweight.”
You hide your face in her neck. “I don't regret anything I said.”
She kisses your temple. “Good. We’ll talk now.”
TALIA AL GHUL (+18)
The mission debrief was supposed to be quick. Go over the extraction points, confirm no tails, file the report. But Talia had other ideas. She locked the door of the Paris safehouse with a soft click, kicked off her boots, and disappeared into the kitchenette without a word. You heard glass clinking, the creak of an old cabinet, and then she came back holding a dusty green bottle like it was treasure.
“Absinthe,” she said, voice low and amused. “Real stuff. You ever try it?”
You shook your head, already feeling the adrenaline from the op bleeding into something looser. “Thought it makes you hallucinate.”
“It makes you honest,” she corrected, popping the cork.
The scent hit you first—anise, sharp and sweet, dangerous. She poured two generous glasses, the liquid turning milky as she added water from a chipped carafe.
“To clean extractions,” she toasted, clinking her glass against yours.
One glass turned into two. Two turned into three. The room got softer around the edges, the old velvet curtains glowing in the lamplight, the Eiffel Tower a faint sparkle through the rain-streaked window.
You both ended up on the wide bed, shoes long gone, mission gear traded for something comfortable. Talia had slipped into a black silk robe that barely tied at the waist, the fabric clinging to her curves, slipping open just enough to tease. You’d stolen one of her oversized button-down shirts, nothing underneath, because why bother in a safehouse?
You were laughing at something stupid now, some near-miss from the op that felt hilarious in hindsight. Your legs had tangled somewhere between the second and third glass, her bare thigh warm against yours, her foot sliding idly along your calf. Every time she shifted, the silk robe gaped a little more, revealing the swell of her breast, the dark shadow between her thighs.
“God, you’re beautiful when you laugh like that,” she said suddenly, voice husky from the drink. Her eyes were glassy, dark, fixed on your mouth.
You felt heat crawl up your neck. “You’re one to talk. That robe should be illegal.”
She smirked, leaning closer, the scent of absinthe on her breath. “You complaining?”
“Never,” you whispered.
Your hand found her knee, tracing slow circles on her skin. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she let out a soft hum, her own fingers brushing your thigh under the hem of the shirt.
“You know,” she murmured, “I’ve thought about this. Too many times. On stakeouts. In safehouses exactly like this. Watching you across the room, pretending I wasn’t imagining what you’d feel like.”
Your breath caught. “Talia…”
“I’d touch myself thinking about you,” she went on, voice dropping lower, filthier. “Quiet, so you wouldn’t hear. Fingers sliding inside, pretending it was your tongue. Your hands pinning me down. Fuck, I’d come so hard biting my own arm to stay silent.”
The confession hit you like a shot of the absinthe. You shifted closer, your thigh pressing between hers now.
“I did the same,” you admitted. “Every time you wore that tight gear on ops. Imagining peeling it off you. Tasting how wet you’d be for me.”
Her eyes fluttered. “Show me,”
You didn’t need to be told twice.
Your lips crashed into hers, hungry and desperate, the taste of absinthe sharp and sweet between your tongues. She kissed like she fought—controlled, precise, but with an edge that made your pulse race. Her hand slid up your thigh, fingers digging into your hip as she pulled you closer, guiding you until you were straddling one of her legs.
She broke the kiss just long enough to tug the shirt over your head, tossing it aside. Cool air hit your skin, but her gaze was hotter, raking over you like she was memorizing every inch.
“On your back,” she ordered, the kind that made your stomach flip.
You obeyed instantly, sinking into the pillows as she shrugged off the silk robe. Naked now, she was breathtaking; strong shoulders, full breasts, the curve of her waist leading to hips you wanted to bruise with your grip. She crawled over you, predatory, settling between your thighs.
But she didn’t stay there long. With a wicked smile, she shifted, turning until her knees bracketed your hips. She lowered herself slowly, deliberately, until her slick heat pressed against yours. The first contact made you both gasp.
“Like this,” she murmured, rocking forward once, testing. “I want to feel you come apart under me.”
You moaned, hands flying to her thighs, gripping tight as she started to move. Slow at first, grinding in deliberate circles, her clit dragging against yours with every roll of her hips. The friction was electric, building fast and relentless. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on either side of your head, dark hair falling around your face like a curtain.
“Look at me,” she commanded, and your eyes locked on hers.
She sped up, thighs flexing, breath hitching as she chased her pleasure. Every grind sent sparks through you, your own hips bucking up to meet her, desperate for more. The room filled with the sounds of it, wet skin sliding together, your shared gasps and moans, the creak of the bed under her rhythm.
“T-talia—hah—please—”
“That’s it,” she growled, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh, pulling you harder against her. “Give it to me. I want to feel you lose it.”
You were close, so close, but she was closer. Her movements grew erratic, sharper, her breath coming in ragged pants against your lips. You could feel her swelling against you, throbbing, slicker with every thrust.
“Come for me first,” you begged, voice breaking. “I want to feel you—”
She slammed down harder, once, twice and then she shattered.
Her whole body tensed, thighs clamping around your hips as she cried out, a low, guttural sound that went straight through you. Her clit pulsed against yours, hot and wet, and in the middle of it, eyes locked on yours, she whispered it.
“I love you.”
The words hit harder than her orgasm, raw and breathless, like they’d been ripped out of her. She kept moving through the aftershocks, grinding slow now, drawing it out, until she collapsed forward, forehead pressed to yours, still trembling.
You wrapped your arms around her, holding tight, heart pounding so hard you were sure she could feel it.
“I love you too,” you whispered back, voice shaking.
She smiled against your lips and kissed you slow and deep, like the mission was finally over.
She's so sweet when you tell her you've never had sex. There isn't a drop of judgment in her eyes, she just looks down at you, cups your faces with her hands and kisses the tip of your nose.
"You're so precious, my love," she says, her face so close to yours that you can see the different shades in her eyes. "We can take it as slow as you want, I promise my only goal is to make you feel good."
Your jaw falls a little, Diana just keeps proving you how an incredible lover she is.
"O-okay," you say, nodding.
She smiles, caressing your cheeks with her thumbs before pulling you into her lap. She makes you straddle her legs and her hands fall to your waist.
"Such a pretty thing," she mutters, you don't know if you are even meant to hear that.
"I don't know what to do," you admit, bringing your hand to your mouth, to bite your nails.
Diana lowers it at the moment. "We can start by sharing a kiss, how does that sound?"
KARA ZOR EL
“You’re what?”
Kara blinks at you like you just told her you’re secretly an alien.
“What do you mean ‘what’?” you ask, flustered now. “I mean I’ve never… done it. With anyone.”
She tilts her head, brow furrowing. “But… we’ve been doing stuff. Like… a lot of stuff. For months.”
“Yeah, but not… that.” You gesture vaguely between your bodies. “The full… thing. Sex. Sleeping together. Whatever you want to call it.”
She stares at you for another long second, processing. Then her eyes go huge.
“Wait. So you’ve never had someone’s—” She makes a very Kryptonian gesture with her hand, fingers together like she’s trying to mime something delicate. “—inside you?”
You groan, covering your face with both hands. “Yes. That’s what virgin means. I’ve never had sex. Like… penetrative sex.”
Kara’s mouth forms a perfect little ‘o’. She looks genuinely baffled.
“But you’re so good at everything else! The kissing, the touching, the things with your mouth—” She cuts herself off, blushing bright red. “I just assumed… I mean, you’re you. You’re confident. And hot. And you always know what you’re doing!”
You peek through your fingers. “I read a lot of books. And watched… videos. And practiced on my own. But no one’s ever been inside me.”
She stares at you like.
“That’s…” She swallows. “That’s actually really hot.”
You drop your hands, staring at her. “It is?”
She nods fast, eyes wide and earnest. “Yeah! It means you’re saving that part for someone special. And I get to be that person?” Her voice goes soft, almost shy. “I get to be the first?”
You feel your face heat up even more. “If you want.”
adoring. She leans down, kisses you slow and gentle, like you’re something fragile and precious.
“Of course I want,” she whispers against your lips. “I want everything with you. But especially this. Especially being your first.”
She pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes shining.
“Don’t worry, okay?” Her hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking your skin. “I’ll treat you so good. I promise. Slow. Gentle. Whatever you need. We can stop anytime. You just say the word.”
You swallow, heart racing. “I trust you.”
She smiles. “Good. Because I love you. And I’m going to make this perfect.”
She kisses you again, deeper this time, but still careful. Her hands slide down your sides, slow and reverent. She whispers against your mouth: “We’ll go at your pace. And if it hurts, we stop. And if it’s amazing, we keep going.”
You nod, breathless.
She smiles against your lips. “My perfect girl.”
KORIAND'R
"That's okay, I'll just eat you out! I promise you are going to loooove it," she says after your confession.
Your whole face heats up, already feeling embarrassed about it. Kori notices it and tilts her head a little. She sees you fidgeting with your thumbs and looking everywhere except from her.
She takes your chin between her fingers, making you look at her. "You're freaking out."
"'M not," you deny fast, still not meeting her eyes.
"You so are, do I make you nervous?" Kori asks with her big green eyes staring into your soul.
"No! I promise it's not you... It's just, the idea of having something inside of me, um, I don't know how to explain it..." you ramble, finally meeting her kind eyes and beautiful smile.
"Hey, c'mon. It's okay, I am not going to do anything you don't want to do, yeah? We'll go slow, and I promise I'll keep you warm," she pulls you into a soft kiss. "I don't have to finger you yet, just let me taste you a little. I bet your clit is aching for me."
And she was so right.
DONNA TROY (a little angsty)
"So what?" Donna says. "It's not like I'm going to pound into you with a 23 centimeters strap. It's just my fingers, yeah? I'm sure you've fingered yourself so many times."
When you don't say anything back at that, that's when Donna leaves the attitude behind. You're only in your underwear, looking as vulnerable as ever, and hearing your girlfriend talk like that after confessing her something that embarrassing didn't make you feel more comfortable.
“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath, voice cracking just a little.
A second later she’s moving: pulling you into her arms, strong and careful, like you’re something fragile she’s terrified of breaking.
She tucks your head under her chin, one hand cradling the back of your neck, the other rubbing slow circles on your back. Your cheek presses against her collarbone, you can feel her heartbeat
“I’m sorry,” she says, right into your hair. “I didn’t mean it like that. I was being stupid. Trying to be cool, or funny, or—fuck, I don’t know. I panicked. I’m so sorry, baby.”
You don’t say anything. You’re still processing, still feeling that sharp sting of embarrassment.
She pulls back just enough to look at you, hands framing your face.
Her eyes are wide, earnest, a little wet at the edges.
“Hey. Look at me.”
You do, reluctantly.
“I was an asshole,” she says, voice steady now. “I should’ve listened. I should’ve asked how you felt. Instead I just… talked over you. That wasn’t okay. I’m sorry.”
Her thumbs brush your cheeks, wiping away tears you didn’t realize were there.
“I love you,” she says, soft but fierce. “I love every part of you. And I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to rush you, or push you, or make you feel small. I promise.”
You swallow, throat tight. “I was scared,” you admit, voice small. “That you’d think I was… I don’t know. Immature. Or boring.”
Donna’s expression crumples, pain flashing across her face. She pulls you closer again, arms wrapping tight around you.
“You’re not immature,” she whispers. “You’re not boring. You’re brave. You told me something vulnerable, something that matters to you, and I almost fucked it up. That’s on me. Not you.”
She kisses your forehead, lingering. “I want to take care of you. Always. And that means listening. That means going slow. That means making sure you feel safe and wanted and loved every step of the way.”
She pulls back, eyes locked on yours.
“I’ll worship you,” she says, voice low and serious. “Forever. I’ll kiss every inch of you. I’ll learn every sound you make. I’ll make you feel so good you forget your own name. But only when you’re ready. Only when you want it. And if I ever make you feel like that again, you can hit me. Very hard. In the face. With your fist. Or a book. Or whatever you want.”
You laugh despite yourself. “I don’t want to hit you.”
She smiles, small and relieved. “Good. Because I’d rather you kiss me instead.”
You lean in, kiss her softly. She kisses back like you’re something precious. When you pull away, she rests her forehead against yours.
“We’ll go slow,” she whispers. “As slow as you need. And when you’re ready… I’ll make it perfect. I promise.”
You nod, curling into her chest. “I trust you.”
“I love you,” she says again, like a vow. “I love you so much.”
You fall asleep like that: wrapped in her arms, safe and warm, the weight of her promise settling over you like a blanket.
DINAH LANCE
"Alright, I can talk you through it," she resolves, already kneading your ass again. "The first time can always be a little uncomfortable, but you are with me, and I'll use just my fingers."
"But…" you start,barely above a whisper, cheeks burning so hot you’re sure they’re glowing in the dim light of her bedroom.
Dinah pauses, her hands stilling on your hips. She doesn’t pull away. Instead she leans in closer, until her lips brush the shell of your ear and her breath feels like a secret just for you.
“Hey,” she murmurs, low and steady. “Look at me.”
Her blue eyes are dark with want but impossibly soft at the same time, the kind of look that makes your stomach do that funny flip even while your nerves are screaming.
“There’s no ‘but’ here that I can’t handle,” she says, thumb stroking a slow, soothing circle over the curve of your ass. “You think I’d ever hurt you? Push you somewhere you’re not ready to go?” She shakes her head once, firm. “Never.”
You swallow. “It’s just… I don’t know what I’m doing. At all. And you’re you. And I’m… me.”
The corner of her mouth quirks, not mocking—fond. Almost proud.
“That’s exactly why this is gonna be perfect,” she tells you. “Because you don’t have to know anything. You just have to let me take care of you.” Her voice drops even lower, velvet-edged. “And trust me when I say I’m very, very good at taking care of sweet, nervous girls who let me touch them like this.”
She punctuates the last words by sliding one hand up the small of your back, pressing you gently down against the mattress so you’re lying flat on your back, face turned toward her. The position feels vulnerable, exposed, but the weight of her palm between your shoulder blades is grounding.
“First rule,” she says, straddling your thighs without putting her full weight down. “You breathe. Deep and slow. If you start holding your breath, I stop. Got it?”
You nod into the pillow.
“Good girl.” The praise lands warm and heavy in your chest. Her fingers trail down again, slow, deliberate, mapping every inch like she’s memorizing you. “Second rule: you tell me everything. If it’s too much, if it’s not enough, if it feels weird, if it feels good. I want to hear it. Even the embarrassing stuff. Especially the embarrassing stuff.”
She leans over you, lips grazing your neck.
“Third rule…” Her voice is almost a growl now. “You let yourself feel it. No fighting it. No thinking you’re supposed to be quiet or still or anything other than exactly what you are right now: wet, needy, and mine for the next hour or three.”
A shaky laugh escapes you despite yourself. “Three?”
Dinah hums against your skin. “I’m thorough.”
Her hand slips lower, fingers teasing just under the waistband of your underwear, not pushing inside yet, just resting there, warm and patient.
“So here’s what’s gonna happen,” she continues, tone sweet but absolutely unyielding. “I’m gonna take these off. Nice and slow. Then I’m gonna touch you everywhere I want, however soft or firm I want until you’re shaking and dripping for me. Only then will I slide one finger inside. Just one. We’ll stay there until you’re begging for more. And when you do?”
She presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your neck.
“I’ll give it to you. All of it. But only when you’re ready. Only when you’re so gone you can’t even remember why you were nervous in the first place.”
She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again when you turn your head.
“You still with me, baby?”
Your heart is hammering so hard you’re sure she can feel it.
But you nod.
And when she finally hooks her fingers under the fabric and starts to tug your underwear down, you don’t tense.
☆ SUMMARY: You accidentally ruin a peaceful evening with your boyfriend by pissing him off. After all, how could you have known that he’d be upset over the fact that your new waxer was a guy?
☆ CONTAINS: Fem!reader, and suggestive content
☆AUTHORS NOTE: Got another request for Park the Shark! I’m gonna be so honest, he was on screen for like 2 minutes so it might not feel too accurate. I’m going to have to look him up some more, but this was so fun to write. Based on this request, and I hope you guys enjoy it!
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“I’m home!”
The front door slams shut behind you as you stumble to take your shoes off, the overload of shopping bags in your hand weighing you down even further.
Brendon, who’s standing by the stove, looks over his shoulder at the sound, and drops whatever he’s doing to come take the bags from you.
You give him a smile, breathlessly thanking him and following him into the bedroom.
“Christ– what’d you get, the entire store?” He mutters gruffly, but sets the bags down as gently as he can on the dressers.
You pout, wrapping your arms around him from behind, and it only takes him a second to turn around so that he’s facing you. His own hands land on your face, cupping your cheeks as his thumb brushes the pout on your lips.
“You told me to get whatever I wanted,” you say shyly, suddenly embarrassed over how much you got– perhaps you had mistaken his generosity and really gotten too many things after all.
“Did you get those tiny things you sent me a photo of?” His low voice breaks you out of your spiraling thoughts, your face warming up in sudden shyness.
You nod wordlessly and watch as his smile sharpens into a smirk, before he leans down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.
“Good girl,” he mumbles against your lips, and you can hear the smile in his voice.
You squirm out of his grip, shoving him gently.
“You’re messing with me!”
“Of course I am. You know you get anything you want with me. Don’t be stupid,” he grunts, his thumb and index finger holding your face in place by your chin,
You nod, feeling your breathing grow heavier the longer he keeps looking at you like that, touching you like that– speaking to you like that.
Brendon hums in satisfaction at your nod, before letting go, and walking back towards the kitchen.
“I made steak. Wash up and come eat,”
He doesn’t bother sticking around for an answer.
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After dinner you've finished eating dinner, you stand next to Brendon as he washes the last plate, handing it to you to dry. You hum under your breath as you wipe the water of the dishes.
It’s not before long until his arms wrap around your waist, head landing on your shoulder.
”You smell good,” he murmurs, before his large hands run down the expanse of your bare thigh, “So smooth too,”
You hum, biting your lip as you hold back a smile, before setting your plan in motion.
“Got a wax today,” you answer, trying not to shiver at the feeling of his hands travelling across your body– not grabbing, just touching.
“Yeah?” Brendon mutters absentmindedly, nose pressing to the underside of your jaw as he presses soft kisses here and there. You knew he wasn’t listening, not really anyway.
“Yeah,” you confirm, then continue drying the plates. “At this new place too, they’re so attentive there—“
“That’s great, pretty,” it comes out as a mechanic response to whatever you’re saying. You’d be offended if you didn’t know it was because he was distracted by you.
“They always give oil massages after they wax, you know,“
“Do they?”
“That's probably what smells so good," you continue, slowing down on purpose.
"Maybe," he sighs, growing increasingly frustrated the longer you're spending drying dishes, rather than being pressed against him in your shared bed.
"My waxer was really amazing too, he’s got like magic hands or something–“
Brendon’s hands stop moving. You feel his body tense behind you, kisses faltering as your words register in his mind.
“He?” Brendon echoes, voice still disbelieving.
“Yep!” you retort, popping the ‘p’ as you continue speaking like you can’t feel his inner turmoil. “Gosh, I might just keep requesting him, I swear he was just so hands-on, you know?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Suddenly, you’re whirled around and met with his face far too close to yours, dark eyes narrowed in suspicion.
You blink up at him innocently, shrugging.
“What?”
“What do you mean, what– another man saw you vagi–”
“Brendon!” you gasp, supposedly appalled at his crude wording and swatting his chest lightly, “It’s normal these days, it’s like having a male gynecologist,"
“You have a male gynecologist too?”
“No!” you nearly let out a laugh, almost ruining the entire thing, “No– there’s a shortage of jobs, don’t be ignorant– anyone can be a beauty esthetician, not only women,”
“Don’t even go there, you know I don’t give a shit who does what, but you just said he massaged you– what’s this place called?” he barks, letting go of you and going to grab his phone.
You splutter, quickly following him into the living room and grabbing his phone, pulling it behind your back.
“Brendon, don’t–”
“Give it back” he snaps, then snatches it out of your hands, glaring down at the screen. “What’s the name?
You dissolve into giggles again as he starts aggressively typing into his phone, muttering under his breath. At the sound of your laughter his typing falters, eyes narrowing as they meet yours.
“Tell me his name,”
“You really want to know?” you snort, already backing up and preparing to get the hell out of there.
“Does it look like I'm kidding?” he scoffs, following you as you try to create distance between the two of you.
“Fine then, ask for Lucy!” you manage to wheeze out, already sprinting down the hallway, as laughter echoes through the apartment, nearly tripping over your own feet trying to escape.
“Lucy? Why the hell would I ask for–” he frowns, then realization dawns upon him when he sees you book it across the room.
Oh fuck no.
You barely make it three more steps before strong arms hook around your waist from behind, lifting you clean off your feet with a startled squeal.
“Brendon!”
“You think you’re funny?” he growls, though his voice is already betraying him with amusement at the sound of your giggles.
Brendon knew he should be pissed– you, messing with him after an already crappy enough day at work. Yet when he’s holding you while you lean into him, clearly not truly afraid of his reaction, he softens.
You always make him weak.
You’re laughing too hard to defend yourself properly by now, clutching at his forearms as he carries you back toward the bedroom like you weigh nothing.
Brendon drops you onto the mattress with a bounce, immediately caging you in before you can escape again.
You yelp, laughter fading away when he hovers above you– with his hair messy from chasing you, chest rising a little heavier, dark eyes narrowed down at you.
“You’re ridiculous,” you whisper, going for teasing, though it comes out breathier than intended.
“I’m ridiculous?” he repeats, pushing your shirt up your midriff, as his eyes take in your bare skin “You’re the one thinking because I let you get away with things, you can keep pushing me,”
A soft gasp slips past your lips at his actions, unable to do anything but say his name again– weaker this time, not sure what you’re asking for.
“Don’t worry,” he murmurs against your neck, hands already tugging on the waistband of your shorts, “I’ll show you real magic hands,”
This might be the most far out shit I’ve ever written. And that says a lot. Soooo many warnings. Heavy BDSM. Daddy kink. Pussy Inspection. Spanking. Free use. Loss of autonomy? But she freely gives it over. Unprotected sex. Kinda dark Brendon? Kinda fucked in the head Brendon? Idk. Reader knows she can safe word out at any time.
Your husband was a good husband. A great husband. No one has ever loved you quite like him. He provides, he protects, he adores. He’s so affectionate, kissing you constantly and hugging you ass much as your very, very clingy self needs. He lifts you up, and holds you down. He just had some… non traditional methods.
Pussy inspections. Whenever he felt they were necessary. Which was usually when you got home for the day. First off, it’s important to know how Brendon feels about panties. Which is unfavorable. When you’re home, he wants them off. So your inspection, and his feeling about it, depend a lot on how your inspection goes. Brendon doesn’t especially like you in pants, either. But he’s not a barbarian. You can wear whatever you want! He’s not crazy. If you’re in a skirt, like a good girl, your inspection starts one of two ways. Either A) you just got home, so he demands you take your panties off to give to him, or B) he confirms weather you were good already did so already. And why would you ever be bad for your daddy? He’d never catch you disappointing him, you’re his good girl. His best girl. If you’re in pants from being outside? Oh, you can just strip all the way down for him. That’s fine.
Either way. Once you pass the first step, you know how he wants you to present. Hands behind your back, legs shoulder length apart. Sometimes, usually, that’s not enough for him, and he’ll kick your legs apart with one of his feet. It’s deeply humiliating, the way it knocks you down.
He then bends you over with a gentle hand between your shoulder blades and no words. You know by now what he wants. And he’s not cruel, he usually does it over something go you to rest on. The table, the counter, the couch, rarely the bed or your dresser- but usually this happens on the first floor of your house.
Then he takes his time. Staring at your sensitive, fluttering little hole. Checking your reflex’s to made sure you respond to his touch right, stroking your lips, pinching your clit, expanding it and rubbing it to make you cry out and shake, begging your daddy. Pushing a finger in to make sure you’re tight, that no one else has been in his pussy. Pushing that wet finger against your little hole, to check, just incase. Sometimes he toys with you longer than you expected, you don’t question it. Let him pinch and stroke and fondle. But you know that this isn’t for your pleasure.
He doesn’t like bras at home, either. And daddy’s inspections are through, so usually he checks for tits too. But that’s just for your health, of corse. When he orders you to turn around so he can squeeze them, thumb your nipples. The way he states in your eyes as he gently tugs on your nipples at his leisure, groping the heavy weights on your chest.
Then comes your mouth. Ordering it open, and brushing his thumb over your teeth, ensuring your oral health. Ensuring your gag reflex is intact- after all, that exists for a reason, it’s important, baby.
And then he makes a distant sound of satisfaction, nodding that your inspection is over. He approves. You’ve been chaste, and kept yourself for your husband. You redress if you must like nothing happened, usually jumping to happily finally greet your hubby home from work, kissing his cheek and hugging him tight, or talking him though your mall haul. And he smiles in pure bliss. “I missed you too, kitten. Tell me everything about your day.”, he asked, carrying you over to the couch so you can snuggle up while you fill him in.
Inspections are a daily occurrence. You can set your clock to it. Even in those rare miserable instances Brendon travels for a conference, best believe he’ll have you on face time, stripped down and fallowing his orders to present to him.
Spankings. There were two kinds of spankings. Maintenance and punishment.
Maintenance was for your own good, he reminded you. They happened twice a week, before bed. You knew the routine by now. It had never changed. At 9 pm you stripped bare, and bent over Brendon’s knee where he sat on the edge of the bed. He started with his hand. He reminded you that he loved you more than all the stars in the sky, and that this was to remind you of that. That daddy was grounding you, helping you release your stress and anxiety through the pain.
First came his hand, alternating between each cheek. Some spanks soft and firm, some hard and fast. 10 to each cheek. And then, five to your pussy. And you were usually so good about it, lacking ego and shame as you opened your legs for him, allowing him access to the sensitive flesh even if it hurt, even if it humiliated you and stung.
Then he moved onto his paddle, a special one of wood and leather you’d picked out together, five hits to each cheek and one blow between your legs to finish you off for the night. Short and fast. And he’d be so proud of you when you were done.
Unless.
Unless you acted up.
Oh, then things are different. See, you know to take your spanking like a good girl. To stay calm on his knee, to breath in and out slowly and steady, you know to ask daddy for his other hand to hold if you’re feeling too overwhelmed (because he’ll always give you it, you’re his fucking wife, he loves you, of corse he’ll hold your hand. He’ll take a break to stroke your hair, to kiss your head and remind you he loves you and you’re a good girl.). You know how to be good and take it. And you know if you do, if you are, when he looks between your legs and sees you got wet like his perfect girl, he’ll reward you for taking it so well.
So because you know better, if you act up there’s consequences.
His spankings are so short. He’s too soft on you, really. So there’s no excuse for insolence.
But if you squirm, and wiggle, and jump away, and fight it? You will be punished.
Those soft and firm spanks from before are gone once he has to get mean with you. And when you’re acting up like this, you both know, it’s because you’re craving that firmer hand. You need the discipline and structure. So he’ll give it.
He holds your back down hard as he adds firm slaps to your ass. And breaks out his horse whip for your pussy. Usually on these nights he has to hold you down with one hand as he spanks you hard, has to force your legs open to abuse your little holes. He’s only satisfied once he breaks you back into being his good girl, tears and sobs and apologies for being bad. That’s when he knows he’s done his job, and he can pull you into his arms, shush and rock you as he insists it’s all okay, all forgiven, and daddy loves you. When you act out, he knows, maybe even subconsciously, you need extra to get the release and rebirth this gives you. Need him to break you down to build you back up.
Punishment spankings are different. Not just on Wednesday and Sunday nights, but when they’re needed. They’re not as soft as maintenance spankings are. They’re intense. There’s different paddles and rules.
Rule one. No moving. No asking daddy to hold your hand, no subtly rubbing against his leg and him pretending to ignore it. This isn’t for anyone pleasure. It’s a punishment. You don’t get the comfort of daddy’s lap for these.
They vary depending on how angry he is and his mood.
Of corse, he knows how to calm down. He wouldn’t actually risk really hurting you in a blond rage.
Brendon’s a good man. And a good husband. You know he’d never hit you anywhere but your bottom. He’s expressed his loud and firm disgust at the idea of any man raising his hand to their wife. He’d never lay a finger on your face that wasn’t gentle and full of adoration. He’d never hurt you. But spanking is different.
Punishment is necessary.
Sometimes he’ll tie your hands behind your back with one of his belts.
Sometimes he’ll tie you to the 4 corners of the bed if you’ve been really bad.
Sometimes he can just expect you to stay in place and take it, those sessions where you know you ere bad.
And your misdeeds vary. And they affect how you’re punished. As does your remorse.
Not wearing panties out of the house, lying by omission, back talk, not taking proper care of yourself, being unkind to him, being unkind to yourself, making bad decisions, forgetting your wedding ring at home. Teasing him at work, touching yourself without permission, pushing stupid fights because you’re hormonal or stressed. All these things have different punishments.
But punishment spankings are hard. They’re can involve his hand, far harsher than normal. They can involve one of his expensive leather belts, making clean lines across your rear. It can be your paddle, harder than usual. Your horse whip, focused on your ass instead of your pussy, painful and mean to the puckered hole.
And satisfied last until he’s satisfied. He can count the amount of times on one hand, but you’ve bled. You’ve cried yourself horse. He’s done when he’s done, or you safe word. And you never have. He needs to be confident he’s broken the rebellious spirit.
He’ll take care of you after, of corse. Lotion and bandages and kisses better and honey green tea.
But only after you’ve gotten the message, and apologized for being a bad girl.
It’s not the only punishment you use. But it’s common.
Another rule in your home is that you sleep naked. It’s pretty obvious isn’t it? After your spankings, you generally went right into bed, so why would you re dress? You never wore pajamas. Maybe if you were traveling Brendon made exceptions, but not at home.
You took your shower, came out in your towel, and put it in the hamper before climbing into bed with your husband. At first the idea was intimidating and embarrassing. Now it was just normal.
Seldom a night goes by where you go to bed without having sex, anyway, so why would you waste the energy on clothes you don’t need?
Brendon bought you two the most amazing marital home. So you have the freedom and privacy for all these kinds of free displays of your body.
Besides from sleeping naked, you also are free to swaim in your swimming pool perfectly bare, too, with the massive trees surrounding your lawn. No tan lines for this girl.
Brendon fucking loves it, coming home to your nude form dozing by the pool tanning (soooo lucky he can see the high SPF beside you) or swimming laps the way god intended.
That privacy also means you two can do whatever you’d like in and beside that pool. And believe me. You have.
You have sex when and where and how Brendon wants. Free use. It’s a negotiated part of your relationship, one which always brings you a little rush. Becuase it’s so fucking nice to feel wanted, especially by your sexy husband. He just can’t keep his hands off of you. How lucky are you?
Brendon’s not greedy. It’s not like he’s interrupting your housework for a blowjob, or bending you over every surface. But sex happens on his terms. You’ve never even imagined having to initiate before. When you get horny before Brendon does, usually a desperate look and some fluttered eyelashes are enough to get him to take you.
Brendon sat on the couch, lazily reading though a case study when he watched you walk across the room in a little sundress. And he stopped you, making a beckoning gesture with his hand wordlessly, placing his iPad down. “What’s up, baby?” You asked, seeming innocent to the effect you were having on him. Heavy ties free in the dresses, nipples pushing the fabric. Skirt so short when you bent down to pick up a fallen piece of paper he saw your glistening folds. You realized quickly what he wanted, as he firmly held your waist, maneuvering you and man handling do you were now laying on the plush, large sectional couch. He pushed your dress up your hips and down your chest, straps falling down your arms to put your goodies on display for him. He unzipped his jeans, pulling out his rock hard cock. He brushed his fingers along your lips to see how wet you were, and of corse you were. You always got so worked up by his strength. He actually enjoyed foreplay a lot. Pleasing you. Making you cum on his fingers and tongue, playing with you. But you didn’t need that right now. He pushed in fast, enjoying the sounds you made in shock. You held your legs open for him before he took over, keeping you in a makeshift mating press. And he kissed as he fucked you, too. Always did, the romantic. Rubbed your clit softly, bringing you to peak before he emptied inside you. Watched his cum drip from you before he helped you up, righting your dress and slapping your ass as you walked away happy and mindless.
Half asleep, you felt his lips on your shoulder. “Sorry, Princess. I’ll be quick” he grunted. And then he was easing into you. You gasped, reaching behind you for him. You just went. And he needed you again. “Relax, relax. Good girl” he muttered. You fell asleep before you could see how the story ended. You woke up with Brendon still inside you.
You’ll settle into bed for the night, and Brendon will roll over to position himself on top of you, stroking your cheeks, saying how much he loves you, caressing and fondling and taking whatever he’d like. He’ll fuck you romantically like a good husband, rating you out, licking you clit, and fuck you steady, slow and deep.
And yes. Of corse, cliche as it is, bending you over the kitchen counter and taking.
And your ass belongs to him, too. Don’t try to fight it. Accept it. He’ll prep you, of corse, but if he wants your ass he’s gonna take it. Using lube to finger you while your bent over his knee, ignoring whines and moans and protests. Sometimes that’s all he wants, to play with your ass. Sometimes, he’ll full on fuck it. Or maybe put a toy in it. He likes to play with how wet you get while he’s in your ass.
Toys are for him, not you. He’ll use them however he wants. Harsh vibrators to make you cum over and over again until your sobbing pulling at the ropes that bind you desperately, but plugs nuzzled in your tiny little princess hole to keep you ready for him. He likes to make you suck on them before he puts them inside you.
Oh. And obviously he cums inside you. Every time. He’s your husband. That’s where his cum belongs, deep in his wife’s pussy. Sometimes he’ll shyly- a shock for Brendon- ask you to pretend you don want it. Only sometimes, rarely. He gets very into it. And so do you, because you love making him happy. “Please, please daddy don’t, don’t cum inside me, please. I don’t want it.” He knows what’s best for you. And what’s best for you it to carry his load every day.
There really isn’t any privacy between you two. Why would you need it?
Brendon loves your bathroom, and the crystal clear glass shower walls. Comes in just to watch you clean yourself sometimes. Often. Only joins on rare occasion. Usually he just likes the show. He tracks your location, all the time. For your safety of corse. Checks your phone. Watches you change. Come to all your doctors appointments. That’s all his right.
And the lack of “privacy”, or boundaries between you is actually a good thing. Seriously! It’s so helpful. For example, when you’re completely exhausted, Brendon can come into the shower, scrub you down, and carry you to bed like the princess you are. And when you get a flat tire, and are scared and lost, he knows exactly where to come save you. And a doctors ear at every appointment you admitted, and your doting husband advocating for you, is truly for the best.
Brendon fully sees you, and fully knows you, so he can always take the best care of you.
On vacation with Brendon you stop at a drug store, having both forgotten sunscreen like idiots. It’s no big deal. You just pop into the CVS on the way to the hotel. While there, you remember something else.
You step down the hair removal isle and Brendon doesn’t question anything at first, because why would he? Maybe you forgot a razor or something. But then you reach for wax strips.
Which is odd. He knows you don’t wax.
“What’s that for?”
You look at him like he’s an idiot.
“I get razor bumps.”
Oh. Okay. So he was right.
“No.”
“No?”
Since when does your boyfriend tell you no?
“You don’t need that” he self corrects.
“My bathing suits pretty high cut, Bren” you remind him, face heating with embarrassment.
You can’t be on the beach with a full fucking bush.
“You. Don’t. Need. That.”
He takes the box clean out of your hands.
“Baby-“
“Who paid for your flight here? Business class.”
The question catches you off guard. “Huh? You?”
“And who’s paying for your luxury hotel suite?”
“You?”
“And who bought that skimpy, sexy high cut bikini you’re so worried about?”
“You did.”
“So who the fuck cares what anyone else thinks?” He hissed.
Oh.
“Who. Cares. What anyone else thinks about your body hair? Because clearly, no one’s opinion but mine matters but mine, and I don’t give a shit.”
perv! cassie with a big clit and a breeding kink… stuffing you with it and swearing you will have her babiesss
OH! Okay I’m cumming how did that happen
Perv!Cassie who has you in the most insane mating press. Holding the back of your thighs, straddling your pelvis to rut her big clit into your sopping hole and she doesn’t stop when you guys start to chafe
Perv!Cassie who is so pathetically whiny while she does it.
“Mm-mh.. hm—please, please—“
Perv!Cassie who continues to bunny-hump into you despite already cumming. She just NEEDS to make sure her babies are really not going to waste :((
Perv!Cassie who has you take prenatals and gives you all the babymama treatment—foot massages, kissing your belly— despite not even being pregnant.
“…You’re glowing, huh? How did that happen?”
Perv!Cassie who is so cocky about it too. Gets home from work or wherever and smirks into your shoulder, hands smoothing over your belly over your shirt.
“My beautiful girl…. Wanna give you my babies— need you…”
Damian Wayne is the clingiest sleepy boyfriend imaginable. though, he'd never admit that. every night he is practically your body guard.
The manor was quiet in the way only deep nights could be — the kind of silence that made every creak of the old floorboards feel louder than it should. You woke up slowly, blinking against the darkness, your throat dry and your mind fuzzy from a half-remembered dream. The clock on the nightstand read 3:42am. You’d only been asleep for a few hours, but your body was already demanding water.
You tried to slip out of bed quietly, careful not to wake Damian. He was curled up beside you, one arm draped possessively over your waist even in sleep, his breathing deep and even. His dark hair was messy against the pillow, his face relaxed in a way it rarely was during the day. You smiled softly, brushing a stray strand from his forehead before easing out from under his arm.
The second your feet touched the floor, he stirred.
“Mm… where are you going?” His voice was thick with sleep, rough and low, but his hand reached out immediately, fingers brushing your wrist.
“Just getting water,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be right back.”
He made a small, discontented sound, but his eyes stayed closed. You padded to the bathroom, the cool tile under your feet a relief. You filled a glass from the sink, sipping slowly, listening to the quiet drip of the faucet. When you turned to leave, Damian was standing in the doorway, hair even messier, eyes half-open, wearing his sleeping shorts and an old t-shirt.
You nearly jumped. “Damian? What are you doing up?”
He shrugged, stepping closer. “Making sure you don’t hurt yourself." fall in the toilet.”
You stared at him, trying not to laugh. “I’m not going to hurt myself getting water. I’m a grown woman.”
He crossed his arms, looking adorably stubborn even half-asleep. “The floor is slippery at night. And you’re tired. I’m just… being cautious.”
You smiled, setting the glass down and stepping into his space. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. His chin rested on your head, warm and solid.
“You’re clingy when you’re sleepy,” you teased softly, fingers tracing patterns on his back.
“I am not clingy,” he muttered, but his arms tightened around you. “I’m… protective. There’s a difference.”
You laughed quietly, nuzzling into his neck. “Sure. Protective of me falling into the toilet or something at 3am.”
He huffed, but didn’t let go. Instead, he walked you back to the bed, still holding you close, and pulled you down with him. You ended up curled against his chest, his arm draped over your waist, leg tangled with yours. He pressed a soft kiss to your hair, already drifting back to sleep.
“Stay,” he mumbled. “Please.”
You smiled against his skin. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He made a small, contented sound and held you tighter.
The next night, it happened again.
You woke up around 2am, needing the bathroom. The second your feet hit the floor, once again; Damian stirred beside you. This time he didn’t even pretend to be asleep. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, hair sticking up in every direction.
“I’ll come with you,” he said, voice gravelly.
You turned, smiling in the dark. “Damian, I can go to the bathroom by myself. I’ve been doing it for years.”
He frowned, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “The hallway is dark. And cold. You might trip.”
You laughed softly, but let him follow you anyway. He walked beside you the whole way, one hand on your lower back like he was ready to catch you if you stumbled. When you reached the bathroom door, he waited outside, leaning against the wall until you came out. Then he took your hand, leading you back to bed without a word.
Once you were both under the covers, he pulled you against his chest again, arms wrapping around you like a shield. His chin rested on your head, breath warm against your hair.
“I'll say it again. you're clingy,” you whispered, smiling.
“I am not,” he muttered, but his hold tightened. “I’m… ensuring your safety. That’s all.”
You kissed his collarbone. “Well I love your version of safety.”
He made a small, pleased sound and fell back asleep almost immediately, holding you like you might vanish if he let go.
It became a pattern.
Every night, no matter how deeply he slept, the second you moved, Damian was awake. If you got up for water, he followed, standing in the doorway like a silent guardian. If you had a nightmare and sat up gasping, he was there instantly, pulling you into his arms, murmuring soft reassurances in Arabic until you calmed down. If you simply rolled over, he’d reach out, hand finding yours under the covers, lacing your fingers together like he needed the connection to stay asleep.
During the day, he was the same reserved, slightly arrogant Damian Wayne the world knew — blunt, focused, keeping everyone at arm’s length. But at night, in the quiet dark of your shared room, he was soft. Clingy. Needy in a way he’d never admit.
One particularly cold night, you woke up shivering. Before you could even reach for the extra blanket, Damian was already moving. He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms and legs around you like a human blanket, his body heat seeping into yours. His face pressed against your neck, breath warm and steady.
“Cold?” he mumbled, half-asleep.
“A little,” you whispered, smiling as you snuggled into him. “You’re warm though.”
He made a small, contented sound, nuzzling closer. “Stay close then. I’ve got you.”
You fell back asleep like that — wrapped up in Damian Wayne, his arms around you, his leg thrown over yours, like he couldn’t bear even an inch of space between you.
In the morning, he’d wake up first, as always. He’d slip out of bed quietly, pretending the clingy boy from the night before had never existed. He’d make coffee, set out your favourite mug, and act like nothing had changed. But you’d catch him watching you with that soft look when he thought you weren’t looking. And when you’d smile at him across the table, he’d blush faintly and look away, ears pink.
But at night, he’d reach for you again. Every single time.
Because no matter how much he denied it during the day, Damian Wayne was the clingiest sleepy boyfriend in the world. And you wouldn’t have him any other way.
A/N: lil guy so cute I love him sm. sorry for constantly disappearing im lowkey setting up a queue rn
thinking about how he's such a concise texter that you have to train him out of it. it's not because he's not interested in you, but the fact that he talks like he types. full sentences, completed thoughts, accurate punctuation, all of it.
the day you message him, "bren?? can you please stop sending me periods? it makes me feel like you're mad at me 🥺," he's genuinely appalled. periods? the thing that you're supposed to end a sentence with? you're upset about that?
and his thoughts might sound like they're dismissing you, but they're not. sure, the man is confused about why your sensitive heart (that he loves) can't handle proper punctuation, but who is he to question it?
so yes, brendon park still types with proper capitalization and writes in full sentences, but he no longer ends his texts with a period. and occasionally, he'll even surprise you with an emoji, which is always way more exciting to you than it should be.
tags: NSFW . minors dni . mostly a crack fic . piv . fem!reader . pure filthy smut . blowjobs/pussyeating . getting caught . etc
w.c. 3.7k
a/n: no comments. anyway, this fic was requested by this ask here! ( @solalol you have the greatest mind ever<3)
Sae Itoshi — caught by shidou
sae had you pinned against the wall, cock buried deep inside you as he fucked you with rough, punishing strokes.
it had been far too long. the second he came home and saw you, he didn't waste a single second on words. he simply shoved your shorts down, freed his aching cock and sank into you in one brutal thrust.
now he was drilling into you hard, hips snapping forward with a steady, merciless rhythm that had your back sliding against the wall with every thrust.
"fuck...sae—" you moaned, legs locked tight around his waist. your nails dug into his shoulders as he drove deeper. "you're so deep...ahh!"
he growled against your neck, teeth scraping your skin. "been waiting weeks for this cunt," hus voice was low, strained with lust. "so fucking wet for me already."
one of his hands gripped your ass tighter, the other braced on the wall as he angled his hips and started hitting that perfect spot with every thrust. your moans grew louder, shameless, echoing in the small bedroom. the wet, filthy sound of his cock sliding in and out of you filled the air.
"gonna cum—sae..."
"then cum," he ordered, voice dark. let me feel you,"
he slammed into you harder, grinding against your clit on every deep thrust. the coil in your stomach snapped without warning. you cried out, walls clenching violently around his thick cock as your orgasm crashed through you. your whole body shook, thighs trembling around him while you moaned his name like a prayer.
sae kept fucking you through it, jaw clenched, eyes burning as he felt you pulsing and gushing around him. he was close, very close—but he was holding back, savoring the way your cunt squeezed him.
that's when suddenly the door swung open without a knock.
"oi, itoshi! you got any—" shidou's voice stopped dead.
ge stood there in the doorway, eyes widening before that wild, predatory grin spread across his face. he took in the scene: you pressed against the wall, legs wrapped around sae, his cock still buried inside your twitching pussy, your face flushed from your recent orgasm.
sae froze mid-thrust, buried to the hilt. the sudden shock of being caught hit sae like a freight train.
"dude shit—!" he grunts through gritted teeth.
his hips jerked once, involuntarily. a groan tore from his throat as he came hard, thick ropes of cum spilling deep inside you while shidou watched shamelessly. sae's face dropped to your neck, biting down hard to muffle the sound as his cock pulsed again and again, emptying everything he had.
you whimpered at the feeling of him filling you up right in front of his roommate.
sae's breathing was ragged against your skin. his cock was still twitching inside you, sensitive and spent, as he slowly lifted his head.
"get the fuck out," he hissed, voice hoarse and dangerous.
shidou only smirked wider, tongue poking at the corner of his mouth. "you sure I cant a piece of that?"
"touch her and I'll kill you," sae said, holding you close to him.
shidou smirked, "fine. i'll just touch you then."
Nagi Seishiro — caught by his bff
nagi was fucking you like he'd die if he stopped. it wasnt his fault really. it'd been six whole months since he last saw you. you've been traveling thanks to being a model and well...he missed you.
he had you lifted completely off the ground, your back pressed tight against his chest as he stood behind you. his strong arms hooked under your knees, spreading your legs wide open in a full nelson hold. every needy thrust drove his long, thick cock deep into your dripping pussy, the wet sounds echoing obscenely in the room.
"fuck...missed you so much," he groaned into your ear, voice rough and desperate—nothing like his usual lazy drawl. his hips snapped up harder, burying himself to the hilt with every stroke. "been thinking about this pussy nonstop...couldn't wait anymore."
you moaned loudly, head falling back against his shoulder as he manhandled you effortlessly. the position left you completely exposed—tits bouncing, cunt stretched wide around his cock, his balls slapping against you with every deep thrust. his grip on your legs was iron tight, lifting you up and down on his length like you weighed nothing.
"nagi—! ahh, too deep—!" you cried out, pleasure bordering on overwhelming.
"mmm..can't help it," he panted, lips brushing your neck as he fucked you harder. "need you...need to feel you cum on me." his voice cracked with raw need, hips losing their rhythm as he chased the feeling of your tight heat.
one of his hands shifted slightly so he could rub fast circles over your swollen clit while still bouncing you on his cock. the combination was lethal.
"i-i..i'm cumming, nagi!" you screamed, body seizing up as your orgasm slammed into you. your cunt clenched violently around his thrusting cock, gushing wetly as waves of pleasure tore through you. your legs shook in his grip, juices dripping down his balls.
"you're squeezing me so tight," nagi whined, voice needy and broken. he kept fucking you through your orgasm, desperate and relentless, his own release building fast.
the door suddenly burst open.
"nagi? i got the new—oh my god."
reo stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide in pure shock. the scene hit him like a truck: nagi holding you up in a full nelson, your legs spread obscenely wide, cunt stretched around nagi's thick cock, your cum still dripping down his balls, everything completely bare and on full display.
nagi's hips stuttered. the sudden mortifying realization that reo was seeing everything — your dripping cunt, the way his cock was buried inside you, the way you were still twitching from your orgasm—sent him spiraling.
"reo—?!" nagi gasped, voice strained.
he couldn't hold back. with a needy groan, he slammed up into you one last time and came hard. thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pussy as his cock pulsed violently inside you. his arms trembled slightly as he kept holding your legs up, forcing you to take every last drop while reo watched in stunned silence.
you whimpered at the overwhelming feeling of being filled while completely exposed.
reo's face turned bright red, all the way to his ears. his mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally managed to speak.
"i didn't...fuck, im so sorry!" he slapped a hand over his eyes, clearly flustered beyond belief, but not before you both saw how red his cheeks were. "i should've knocked—i didn't know she came back!"
reo peeked through his fingers for half a second, saw the way nagi cum was leaking out around his cock and immediately covered his eyes again.
"you know what..im leaving! i'mm leaving right now! sorry!" he turned on his heel, nearly tripping over himself as he rushed out and slammed the door shut behind him.
the room fell silent for a moment except for both of you panting.
nagi slowly lowered your legs, but didn't pull out yet. he wrapped his arms around your waist instead, hugging you from behind as he buried his face in your neck, still catching his breath.
"...that was embarrassing," he muttered, though his cock gave a lazy twitch inside you. "but you felt really good when he walked in. did you like being watched?"
you let out a breathless laugh. "you're such a pervert."
he hummed, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. "only for you."
Rin Itoshi — caught by his bro
rin had you completely folded underneath him in a ruthless mating press, knees pressed tight to your shoulders as he fucked you with deep, punishing strokes.
his hips snapped forward with brutal precision, driving every thick inch of his cock into your soaked pussy until his heavy balls slapped loudly against your ass. the wet, obscene squelching of your cunt filled the room with every thrust, your juices dripping down your ass and soaking the sheets beneath you.
his arm was locked around the back of your neck in a tight headlock, forcing you to stare up at his intense, flushed face while he railed you. sweat glistened on his forehead, his eyes burning with possessive hunger as he watched every flicker of pleasure and desperation cross your face.
"fuck—you're squeezing me so tight," he growled, voice low and mean, punctuating his words with a particularly vicious grind of his hips that made his cockhead bully against your cervix. "this sloppy cunt is mine. say it."
"it's all yours—rin..nghhh! 'm yours!" you moaned, voice breaking as he hammered that perfect spot inside you over and over. your walls fluttered and clenched greedily around his girth, trying to pull him even deeper.
he smirked darkly, tightening the headlock just enough to make your breath hitch.
"louder. i want everyone to know who you belong to." he pulled back almost all the way, letting just the fat tip stretch your entrance, then slammed back in with a savage thrust that made your tits bounce and your eyes roll back.
you cried out, nails digging into his back as he set a punishing rhythm—long, dragging strokes that made you feel every vein and ridge of his cock, followed by short, rapid punches that left you gasping. "rin—! please—fuck, it's too deep—!"
"too deep?" he laughed, low and cruel, leaning down to bite at your exposed neck. "you were begging for this earlier. now take it like the greedy little slut you are." one of his hands slid down to grip your ass hard, spreading you wider so he could watch his cock disappear inside your puffy, dripping folds.
the lewd sight made him groan, his pace growing even more erratic and forceful.
your body was burning, every nerve singing as he fucked you senseless. the pressure built higher and higher, your thighs trembling violently against his shoulders. you could feel another orgasm coiling tight in your core, even stronger than the last.
"rin—! im gonna cum..! please don't stop—!" you sobbed, tears already pricking at the corners of your eyes.
"then cum," he snarled, crushing his mouth to yours in a messy, dominating kiss before pulling back. "cum on my cock like you were made for it. milk me, baby."
your orgasm hit you like a freight train. your walls clamped down hard around his thick cock as you cried out, gushing wetly all over him while your whole body shook violently in his grasp. tears of pleasure slipped down your cheeks as you came hard, pussy spasming and squirting around him in messy pulses.
right in the middle of your climax, your eyes flew open and locked onto the figure standing in the doorway.
"sae..?" you gasped in horror.
rin froze mid thrust, buried balls deep inside your spasming cunt. his head snapped toward the door, eyes widening in genuine surprise for a split second.
sae stood there with his arms crossed, watching the scene with a cold, slightly disgusted expression.
for a moment, the room was dead silent except for your heavy breathing and the wet sounds of your pussy still fluttering around rin's cock.
then sae spoke, voice flat and unimpressed.
"you both disgust me. at least have some shame."
he turned and left, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
"what the hell..?" rin stayed frozen for another second, still deep inside you, processing what just happened. then his lips curled into a dangerous, mean smirk. he looked back down at your flushed, embarrassed face and tightened the headlock again.
"anyway, where were we?" he asked, voice low and venomous.
without waiting for an answer, he slammed back into you with a brutal thrust, picking up right where he left off, even harder than before.
"cumming on my cock while my brother watched? you're such a fucking whore,” he snarled, pounding you mercilessly into the mattress. "don't worry...ill make sure you remember who you really belong to."
Isagi Yoichi — caught by bachira
isagi's head was thrown back against the couch, mouth open in a silent moan as you knelt between his spread legs. his chest heaved with every shaky breath, the usually confident striker completely undone by the wet heat of your mouth.
this was his first blowjob and it was overwhelming him completely. your lips stretched around his thick cock, sliding slowly up and down while your tongue pressed flat against the underside. your hand stroked the base in perfect rhythm with your mouth, twisting gently on the way up.
his thighs trembled violently on either side of you, fingers digging so hard into the couch cushions that his knuckles turned white.
"ahh—fuck… baby, that feels so good," he panted, voice hoarse and cracking. "i-i can't—nghh!"
you hummed around his length, the vibration making his cock twitch hard against your tongue. you took him deeper, relaxing your throat until the head bumped the back of it. isagi’s hips jerked up instinctively, a broken whimper escaping his throat as saliva dripped down his shaft and over your fingers.
you pulled back slowly, letting your tongue swirl around the sensitive head, teasing the slit where precum was steadily leaking. his cock was flushed dark and glistening, veins pulsing visibly under the wet sheen. you looked up at him through your lashes, loving how wrecked he already looked—flushed cheeks, messy hair, half-lidded eyes glazed with pleasure.
"slow down a little… 'm gonna—" he gasped, trying to warn you, but his words dissolved into another needy moan as you sucked harder, hollowing your cheeks.
you pulled off with a wet pop, a thick string of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his throbbing tip. "you're doing so well, isagi," you purred, voice low and sweet. your hand kept lazily pumping him, thumb brushing over the slick head.
"just relax and let me take care of you, hm? i want to make your first time feel amazing."
isagi nodded frantically, biting his lip as you dove back down. you took him even deeper this time, nose brushing against his trimmed pubic hair as you swallowed around him. his hand flew to your hair, not pushing, just gripping desperately like he needed something to hold onto while you worked him.
"oh shit—yes, just like that," he groaned, the words tumbling out broken and desperate. you bobbed faster, sucking noisily, letting messy slurping sounds fill the room. one of your hands slid up to gently roll his balls, massaging them as your mouth worshipped every inch of his cock.
isagi's moans grew louder, more shameless. his abs clenched visibly with every deep suck, thighs shaking harder as he fought the urge to thrust into your throat.
"you're so fucking good at this… i'm—i’m really close," he warned, voice cracking. his cock throbbed heavily on your tongue, the veins pulsing faster as his orgasm built.
you whined around him in encouragement, doubling your efforts. you took him as deep as you could, throat contracting around him while your hand stroked the rest in tight, twisting motions. isagi's breathing turned ragged, his head tipping back again as broken whimpers and curses spilled from his lips.
his thighs started shaking harder, muscles jumping under your palms. his grip in your hair tightened, hips stuttering as he teetered right on the edge.
"baby—fuck, i'm gonna cum—"
right as isagi’s moans turned into broken, high-pitched whimpers and his cock started pulsing wildly on your tongue, the door to the shared room swung open.
"heya isagi! wanna go—WHOA!"
bachira stood in the doorway, eyes wide as saucers. he took in the full scene: you on your knees with isagi's cock buried in your mouth, isagi's flushed face and messy hair, his pants around his ankles.
isagi's eyes snapped open in panic. "bachira?"
bachira's cheeks instantly turned bright red. his usual energy vanished, replaced by pure flustered embarrassment. he slapped both hands over his mouth.
"oh i didn't see anything... i did...but uhm, sorry!!"
he spun around so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet and bolted out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
the room fell silent for a second.
isagi was still rock hard in your mouth, throbbing desperately. his face was burning crimson with embarrassment, but the sudden shock and adrenaline seemed to push him right to the edge.
"oh god..fuck," his voice broke off into a desperate moan as his hips jerked.
you started again, cutting him off. you sucked him deeper and isagi came instantly with a loud, broken groan. thick spurts of cum flooded your mouth as he trembled and panted through his orgasm, overwhelmed from both the pleasure and the mortifying interruption.
you swallowed everything, gently pulling off with a soft pop and wiping the corner of your mouth with a blush. isagi slumped back on the couch, chest heaving, looking completely dazed.
"...i think we sacred him.." he mumbled, covering his red face with both hands.
you climbed onto his lap and kissed his cheek with a grin.
"at least you finally got your first blowjob."
isagi peeked at you through his fingers, still flushed. "yeah..it was amazing."
Hyoma Chigiri — caught by his sis
chigiri had your thighs spread wide on his bed, his long red hair tickling the insides of your legs as he ate you out like a man starved.
his tongue moved with elegant precision. slow, teasing licks followed by firm, hungry strokes that had you gripping the sheets tightly.
"hyo..that feels so good," you moaned, one hand tangled in his silky hair.
he hummed against your cunt, the vibration making your hips twitch. his hands held your thighs open as he licked deeper, sucking gently on your clit before flicking his tongue over it rapidly. he was a natural—attentive, passionate, and devastatingly good with his mouth.
"you taste so sweet," he murmured, voice slightly husky. he looked up at you with those sharp, beautiful eyes, lips glistening with your arousal. "i could do this for hours.."
he leaned back in, sucking your clit into his mouth while sliding two long fingers inside you, curling them perfectly against your g-spot. your back arched off the bed, moans growing louder and needier.
"hyoo! hah—im so close, please,"
he doubled down, tongue working faster, fingers pumping steadily. your thighs started trembling around his head as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter.
just as your orgasm was about to crash over you, the door to his bedroom opened.
"hyoma? have you seen my..." chigiri's sister paused mid sentence, eyes widening.
she was holding a towel around her wet hair, clearly fresh out of the shower. "i wanted to borrow your conditioner, but..oh."
you let out a mortified squeak and tried to close your legs, but chigiri's grip kept them open for another second before he finally lifted his head.
his sister's face turned bright red. "i-i didn't know you had someone over, my bad!"
chigiri wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, surprisingly calm despite the situation, though a faint blush dusted his cheeks.
"it's fine..just leave, please?"
his sister nodded quickly, clearly flustered. "right! sorry again! carry on or whatever.."
she rushed out and closed the door behind her.
you covered your face with both hands, dying from embarrassment. "oh my god..your sister just saw you eating me out i wanna die."
chigiri let out a soft chuckle and gently pulled your hands away from your face. his eyes were still dark with lust.
"she'll survive,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. "let's continue?"
he lowered his head again, tongue sliding back through your folds as if nothing happened. " no dying yet, i still haven't made you cum and 'm not stopping until i do three times."
"hah—hyo!"
Megruru Bachira — caught by rin
bachira had you bent over the desk in his room, pounding into you from behind.
he was in one of his feral moods—fucking you hard and fast, hands gripping your hips tightly. his cock stretched you open perfectly with every deep stroke.
"so tight and warm," he says breathlessly, leaning over your back. "i love how you squeeze me when i go deep like this.."
"meg..ahh! slow down a little!" you moaned, gripping the edge of the desk as he railed you. the desk creaked loudly under the force of his thrusts.
"aw baby, but you feel so good!" he pouts playfully, before suddenly changed angles and started hitting that spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyes. "i wanna to hear more of those cute sounds..yeah, good girl."
his pace turned relentless, hips snapping against your ass as he fucked you. one of his hands snaked around to rub your clit, making your legs shake.
"gonna cum meg, 'm gonna cum!" you cried out.
"hah—shit, cum for me baby," he groans, thrusting harder.
your orgasm hit hard. you cried out, cun clenching around his cock as pleasure ripped through you. bachira groaned at the feeling, still pounding into you without slowing down, chasing his own high with that signature wild energy.
then the door slammed open.
"what the hell is this noise—?" rin stopped dead in the doorway, eyes widening in pure disgust.
bachira's hips stuttered for a second as he looked over at rin, still buried deep inside your twitching cunt. a big, mischievous grin spread across his flushed face.
"oh rin! wanna join?" he said cheerfully, giving one lazy thrust into you just to make you whimper.
rin's face twisted in horror and annoyance. "ew. you're disgusting. both of you. i can hear you from down the hall."
you buried your face in your arms on the desk, mortified, still full of bachira's cock and dripping from your orgasm.
bachira only grins, clearly unbothered. "we were? aw..my bad,"
"shut up," rin snapped, cheeks slightly red. "lock the damn door next time, idiot."
he turned around sharply and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
the second the door closed, bachira looked down at you. "hm..make more noise for me okay? let them all here."
ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
John Price
“Come here. Stop running.”
You giggle as John scoops you up, falling onto the sofa with you in his arms. Playfully pushing at him, you squirm, attempting to escape, to force him to chase you. John knows this, which is why his arms lock, forcing the two of you into a spooning position.
Perhaps escape is impossible. Once John pins you down, it’s over. You face the back cushions. Even if you did manage to escape John, you’d have to launch yourself over him, and that’ll give him an opportunity to nab you again. You stop fussing, allowing John to think he’s won, that’s he in control.
You know better.
“That’s it. Good,” he murmurs, settling in as if he’s relaxed except his hold on you tells a different story.
You deliberately rub your ass against his crotch until you feel a hardness that isn’t coming from his jeans.
“Stop,” he mutters. “Won’t work.”
Sure, John. Like you ever refuse.
Adding a breathy moan, you repeat the movement, and John’s hands shift to your hips. The man can’t resist, using his hold on you to meet your grinding with light thrusts. John’s breathing increases, and you know you have him.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
The air stinks of sex. You and Kyle are sticky with drying sweat, breathing heavier than normal, a bit strung out on the rough, passion sex you just had. Kyle’s at your back, one arm thrown over your side, his hand splayed wide just below your breast. He shifts toward you, cradling you against him, your bodies melting together as you cuddle.
“I missed you,” he murmurs, kissing your throat, your ear, your head.
“That why you pounced on me when you walked in the door?” you ask with a smile, eyelids drifting shut, the space between your thighs sticky with Kyle’s cum.
Kyle’s hand drifts up, squeezes, fingers playfully pinching your nipple. “Don’t even need to ask.”
You make a hmph sound, relaxing into him as he gently explores your body, touching everywhere, eventually finding his mess on your thighs. Kyle slips a hand under your thigh and lifts your leg enough that your ankle falls over his shin, leaving you open but not stretched. Fingers part your pussy, tease your clit, trace lines through the cum.
“Kyle,” you whimper as he returns to your clit, circling.
His cock replaces his fingers, hips rocking, shaft rubbing against your pussy.
John "Soap" MacTavish
On the edge of sleep, curled up on your side, a warm presence at your back draws you away from dreamland. Turning into the embrace, you seek Johnny, knowing it’s him by his cologne.
“None of that, lass,” he coos softly, halting your movement, returning you to your previous position. “Come here.”
Surrendering to him, you ease back onto your side, sighing happily as his large, muscled arms sweep over and under you, drawing you flush against him. Johnny’s face nuzzles your neck. He inhales deeply, his exhale almost a moan. Through your clothes, you feel his hardness pressing into your ass.
A big spoon, yet a horny one.
Reaching back, you slot your hand between your bodies, palming his erection. Johnny hiss between his teeth, lightly nipping at your throat.
“Thought we were having a cuddle,” he laughs, lips tracing up to your ear, tongue and teeth teasing.
“It’s never just a cuddle with you, Johnny,” you reply, slipping your hand beneath the band of his briefs, finding him hard and throbbing. You draw him out, open your legs a little, push back to rub the head of his cock against your pussy. “This what you want?”
“Fuck, yes.”
Simon "Ghost" Riley
A small whimper escapes you as Simon turns you onto your side, keeping you close, his hard cock inside you. The man isn’t thrusting, though you’re begging him, pleading him to fuck you. Simon isn’t having any of it. He’d rather your pussy keep his dick warm, every orgasm he gives you slickening the friction, every spasm squeezing. The man is a tease but most of all, cruel. Cruel, for doing this, for making you wait, for stringing sex out until you’re a blubbering mess and only then will he properly fuck you.
“Simon,” you moan. “Please. Fuck, please.”
Acting as big spoon, Simon tucks you against his body, cuddling even while his hand moves between your legs, a small handheld vibrator in his fist, swirling the damn thing over your clit. Your thighs shudder, your pussy clenches, and Simon ups the speed, holding the vibrator hard against your clit until the orgasm punches you in the stomach.
Even as you shake and your toes curl, Simon holds position, acting as big spoon, like this isn’t torture but a cute snuggle session.
“You goddamn asshole,” you sob, pussy squeezing harder as he continues to hold the vibrator to your clit.
— summary: how the pitt characters would react to readers baby daddy being mad because their son wanted to dress up as a doctor for halloween.
— characters involved: baran al-hashimi, cassie mckay, dennis whitaker, frank langdon, jack abbot, mel king, michael robinavitch, samira mohan, trinity santos, and victoria javadi
— content warnings: fluff, smau, established relationships, mom! reader, no specific age for reader, reader's son is named leo, no specific age for readers son, mention of readers babydaddy/ex, not proofread, set near around halloween, not set in a specific season, excessive use of emojis, characters might be ooc(?), no use of y/n, nicknames/petnames used (babe; baby; honey; my love), etc.
— authors note: i am so sorry i haven't posted anything substantial in a week or two. so please enjoy this as a make-up for my writing absence.ᐟ
dividers by @/pixopix and @/saradika-graphics . . .
