#it should be good practice :) and fun to boot

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @i-doutt-it @beth-isnt-home @darylandbethfanforever9 @brianna-merlim @pumpkinkpieandtomato @smashleywow @imadisneyprincessiswear @clementineslawyer @pandaofsilentdeath @dixonsbridexx @imadisneyprincessiswear @staley83

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TW: cussing, Merle is well ... Merle, angst, walkers (Zombies), lecherous behavior, discussions of sexual history, homphobia, weed, depictions of being stoned and Marijuana use.

Part 4

Between Brothers - Part 5

The abandoned house sat like a forgotten memory among the overgrown Georgia pines, its weathered siding barely holding back the wilderness that threatened to reclaim it. You'd been walking for what felt like forever, your feet aching in boots that had cost more than most people's monthly rent back home, when Merle spotted it through the trees.

"Well, well," he drawled, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. "Looks like Christmas came early, sugar."

You watched nervously as he kicked in the front door, the wood splintering easily under his boot. A week of traveling with Merle had taught you that subtlety wasn't in his vocabulary. The house groaned around you both as you followed him inside, dust motes dancing in the afternoon light filtering through broken windows.

"Merle, we shouldn't be—"

"Relax, darlin'. Ain't nobody been here in years." He was already rifling through cabinets with his good hand, overturning cushions with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd done this before. The stump where his hand used to be didn't seem to slow him down much. "Besides, finders keepers in this world."

It was when he started checking the bedroom that you heard his low whistle of appreciation.

"Well, I'll be goddamned." Merle emerged holding a small wooden box awkwardly against his chest, grinning like he'd struck oil. "Looks like the previous tenant had some real interesting hobbies."

The sweet, earthy smell hit you before you even saw what was inside. Your nose wrinkled slightly at the unfamiliar scent.

"What is that?"

Merle's grin widened as he held up a small baggie with his left hand. "This here's what we call God's gift to mankind, sweetheart. Premium Georgia green."

You took a step back, shaking your head. "Oh no. No, absolutely not."

"Aw, come on, lil doe." The nickname rolled off his tongue like honey, though you still weren't sure why he'd started calling you that. "Live a little. World's gone to shit anyway."

"I don't... I've never..." You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling very out of place in this crumbling house with this dangerous man.

"'Course you ain't." He was already gathering kindling for a fire in the stone fireplace, struggling slightly with the one-handed task but too proud to ask for help. "Bet you never done a lot of things, sugar. That fancy upbringing of yours probably didn't include much fun."

"It's not about that," you protested, but your voice lacked conviction.

"No? Then what's it about, darlin'? You scared you might actually enjoy yourself?"

You bit your lip, watching him work. The past week had been a constant battle between your better judgment and the strange pull you felt toward him. Everything about Merle should have sent you running, but something kept you there, following him through the Georgia wilderness.

"I just... what if something happens? What if we need to run?"

Merle paused in his kindling gathering to look at you, and for a moment his expression was almost gentle. "Sweetheart, we been walkin' for a week straight. You look like you're about to drop dead on your feet. Little bit of this might actually do you some good."

He had a point. You were exhausted, emotionally and physically drained from everything that had happened, especially after the van had died on you. Maybe...

"I don't know how," you admitted quietly.

His grin returned, softer this time. "That's what I'm here for, lil doe."

An hour later, you found yourself sitting cross-legged by the crackling fire, watching Merle awkwardly attempt to roll a joint with one hand. Papers kept tearing, weed kept spilling, and his cursing was getting increasingly creative.

"Goddamn piece of shit..." he muttered, trying to hold the paper steady with his stump while sprinkling the green herb with his left hand.

"Do you need help?" you offered tentatively.

"I got it," he snapped, then immediately softened his tone. "Just takes a little longer is all."

You watched him struggle for another few minutes before finally scooting closer. "Here, let me..."

"You don't know how to roll, sugar."

"No, but I have two hands." You reached for the supplies. "You can talk me through it."

Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe even gratitude—before the familiar smirk returned. "Well now, look at you being all helpful. Careful, darlin', or I might start thinking you actually want to try this."

"Maybe I do... A little."

"Atta girl." His voice dropped to that low rumble that did strange things to your stomach. "Now, take a paper..."

It took three attempts and a lot of guidance from Merle's rough voice over your shoulder before you managed something that vaguely resembled a joint. It was lumpy and crooked, but Merle pronounced it "perfect" with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for masterpieces.

"Now comes the fun part," he said, lighting it with a match from the fireplace.

The first hit made you cough so hard you thought you might die. Your eyes streamed, your throat burned, and Merle's rough laughter didn't help your embarrassment.

"Fuck, Merle!" you gasped between coughs.

"Easy there, honey. Ain't supposed to inhale it like you're drowning. Here, watch me."

He demonstrated with practiced ease, holding the smoke in his lungs before exhaling slowly. "Your turn. Smaller this time."

The second attempt was better, though you still coughed. The third made your head feel light and strange.

"There we go," he said, studying your face with those pale blue eyes. "How you feeling, darlin'?"

"Weird," you admitted, surprised by how the word seemed to float out of your mouth. "Kind of... floaty?"

"That's the idea." He passed it back to you. "Take another."

By the time you'd shared half the joint, the world had taken on a softer quality. The edges of everything seemed less sharp, including Merle's usual abrasiveness. You found yourself actually relaxing for the first time since you'd found him on that rooftop, giggling at nothing in particular.

"There we go," he said, leaning back against the wall. "Now you look less like you're about to jump out of your own skin."

"Is this how you always felt before... everything?" you asked, waving vaguely at the world outside.

"Nah, this is better. Used to need a whole lot more than this to feel good." His expression darkened for a moment before the lazy grin returned. "But enough about me, lil doe. I got questions."

Something in his tone made you wary, but the warm buzz in your head made it hard to care. "What kind of questions?"

"Oh, just curious about you, sugar. Week of traveling together and you're still a mystery to me." He took another hit, eyes never leaving your face. "Like, you ever let a boy get to second base?"

Despite his constant Innuendos the question still caught you off guard, and you felt heat creep up your neck. "Merle..."

"What? Just wonderin' if those pretty tits of yours have ever seen any action."

"God, you're so crude," you muttered.

"That ain't an answer, darlin'." His grin turned predatory. "Come on, we're just talking here. You ever let a boy touch you?"

Maybe it was the weed, or maybe it was the way the firelight made everything feel dreamlike, but you found yourself answering. "Some."

"Some?" He leaned forward, interested. "What's 'some' mean, sweetheart?"

"I mean... yes, okay? I've been touched before." Your cheeks were burning now.

"Where?"

"Merle!"

"Come on, lil doe. We're sharing here. Where'd he touch you?"

You rolled your eyes, the gesture more dramatic than usual thanks to the weed. "Jeez, Merle, your acting like I'm a nun or something."

His eyebrows shot up, and you immediately realized your mistake. That grin of his turned absolutely wicked.

"Well now, that's real interesting. So you ain't completely innocent, are you, darlin'?"

The way he was looking at you made your stomach flutter nervously. "I didn't say that."

"Goddamn." Merle's voice was rougher now. "You ever suck a dick, sweetheart?"

You nearly choked on the smoke. "Give me strength"

"That a yes or a no?"

"I'm not answering that."

"That's a yes." His grin was absolutely filthy now. "Bet you were real good at it too, weren't you, sugar? Bet you got that sweet little mouth wrapped around—"

"How many have you sucked, Merle?" you shot back, your cheeks burning but determined to flip this back on him.

The words hit him like a slap. His cocky grin vanished instantly, replaced by pure horror. "What the hell—no! Jesus Christ, what kinda question is that?"

He actually recoiled, nearly dropping the joint. "I ain't no goddamn fairy! That's disgusting!"

His reaction was so over-the-top that you couldn't help but smirk a little, even through your embarrassment. "Just asking. You seem awfully interested in the mechanics."

"That's different! I'm a man, and you're a—" He gestured wildly at you, his face flushed red now too, but for entirely different reasons. "Hell no, I don't do that sick shit!"

"Hey man, Love is Love." You held up your hands in mock surrender. "Seemed fair to ask."

Merle took a long, aggressive drag from the joint when you passed it back, like he was trying to burn the very suggestion out of his brain. But after a moment, that familiar gleam crept back into his eyes.

"Nice try, sugar, but you ain't gonna distract me that easy." His voice was still a little strained, but the predatory edge was returning.

"We were talkin' about you and that pretty little mouth of yours. What about the main event, darlin'? You ever go all the way?"

You took another hit, buying yourself time. "Maybe."

"Maybe ain't an answer."

"A few times," you said finally. "But it wasn't... it didn't mean ... what I thought."

"How many times is a few?"

"Merle..."

"Come on, lil doe. We're being honest here."

"Three," you whispered. "Three times... same person."

"Three times." He seemed to be turning this over in his mind. "That it? Just three times in your whole life?"

You nodded, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable.

"Damn, sugar. For someone who ain't a nun, you sure are selective." His tone wasn't mocking, though. If anything, he sounded almost... impressed? "See, I'm just trying to figure out how innocent you really are, lil doe. What kind of experience you got—"

"What, you planning on getting me a hooker now that the world's gone to shit?" The words came out sharper than you intended, fueled by the weed and the memory of what he'd told you about his brother.

Merle's grin faltered slightly. "Now that ain't fair—"

"Isn't it?" You sat up straighter, suddenly feeling more clearheaded despite the buzz. "Because that's your solution to everything, isn't it? Just throw money or liquor at it and make it go away?"

"That ain't what that was about."

"No? Then what was it about, Merle? Taking away your baby brother's choice? Getting him so messed up he couldn't think straight and then shoving him into bed with some girl he'd never met?"

Merle's jaw tightened. "You don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly. You thought you were doing him some kind of favor, but really you were just being a selfish asshole who couldn't stand the thought of his little brother being different from you."

The silence stretched between you, heavy and charged. Merle's eyes had gone cold, that familiar wall slamming back into place.

"You done?" he asked quietly.

"Are you? Done trying to figure out my sexual history so you can what—corrupt me? Add another notch to your belt?" You laughed, but there was no humor in it.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not some innocent little flower you can manipulate."

"That what you think I'm doing?"

"I don't know what you're doing." You took another hit, using it to buy yourself time to think. "But I know what you did to him was wrong."

Merle was quiet for a long moment, staring into the fire. When he spoke again, his voice was rougher than usual. "This boy from back home?"

"We dated for a while, but..." you state looking away, some of the fight going out of you.

"But what?"

"It wasn't right. I don't know... I figured I'd wait for feelings, you know? Real feelings. Not just... physical stuff." You looked at him pointedly. "Not just scratching an itch."

Something flickered across Merle's expression, too quick to catch. "Feelings, huh? That's real sweet, darlin'. Real sweet and naive."

"There's that word again." You shook your head. "Just because I don't screw around doesn't make me naive, Merle. It makes me selective."

"Same thing, ain't it?"

"No, it's not." You turned to face him fully. "Naive would be thinking everyone's good deep down. Naive would be trusting people just because they're nice to me. I'm not naive—I'm careful. There's a difference."

"If you say so, sugar."

"I do say so." You studied his face in the firelight. "So what about you? How many women have you been with?"

Merle's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. If we're sharing, let's really share. How many?"

"That's different—"

"How is it different? Because you're a big tough man?" You laughed, but it wasn't entirely pleasant. "Come on, Merle. You've been prying into my sex life for the past hour. Turn about's fair play."

He was quiet for a moment, clearly not used to being on the receiving end of such questions. "I don't know. Didn't exactly keep count."

"Ballpark."

"More than three," he said dryly.

"More than thirty?"

Another pause. "Yeah."

"More than fifty? A hundred ?"

"Jesus, what are you, taking inventory?"

"Just trying to understand the man I'm traveling with." You took another hit, feeling bolder. "Were any of them... special? Or were they all just—"

"Just what?"

"Just transactions." You met his eyes.

Merle's face went hard. "You got something you want to say, lil doe?"

"I already said it." You shrugged. "I just think it's sad, that's all."

"What's sad?"

"That you think sex is just something you do to someone instead of something you share with someone." You pulled your knees up to your chest.

"You think you're better than me?" His voice was dangerous now, low and rough.

"I think we're different," you said carefully. "I think we were raised different, taught different things about what intimacy means."

"Intimacy." He said the word like it tasted bad. "That some fancy word they taught you at your fancy school?"

"It's just a word, Merle. It means closeness. Connection. Something real."

"Real." He laughed, but it was bitter. "Nothing real about it, sweetheart. It's just biology. Scratching an itch, like you said."

"Is it? Then why do you care so much about whether I've done it or not?"

That shut him up. He stared at you for a long moment, something working behind his eyes.

"I mean it," you pressed. "If it's just biology, just scratching an itch, why does it matter to you whether I'm experienced or not? Why do you care?"

"I don't—"

"You do. You've been asking me about it. You walked in on me in the shower and you've been thinking about it ever since." You saw him flinch slightly and knew you'd hit home. "So why? What's it to you?"

Merle was quiet for so long you thought he might not answer.

"'Could just be planning your corruption," he said, but his heart wasn't in it.

"Are you?"

"What?"

The admission hung between you like a fragile thing, and for a moment you saw past all his walls to something raw and wounded underneath.

"Planning my corruption?"

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and you saw something in his eyes that you couldn't decipher. "Maybe I am, lil doe. Maybe I am."

"I'm not naive," you protested, but the moment had shifted something between you.

"'Course not." His tone was different now, less teasing and more thoughtful. "Bet you went to some fancy private school too, didn't you, sugar? All proper and shit?"

"Actually, no." You pulled your knees up to your chest, suddenly feeling the weight of the conversation. " But ... We had money ... lived pretty well."

"No shit?" He seemed genuinely surprised. "What kind of money we talking about here?"

"Enough." You shifted uncomfortably. "My father was in shipping. Import, export. We had a nice house, nice things..." You paused, looking at him. "What about your parents? What did they do?"

Merle's laugh was harsh. "They didn't do much of anything, sugar. Unless you count drinking and fighting as professions."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Made me who I am." He shrugged, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. "Your daddy probably had more money in his wallet than mine made in a year."

"Money isn't everything."

"Easy to say when you got it."

You studied his profile in the firelight. "Is that why you hate me sometimes? Because of where I come from?"

"I don't hate you."

"Sometimes you do. I can see it in your eyes. Like you want to punish me for something I didn't choose."

Merle was quiet for a long moment. "Maybe I do," he admitted finally. "Maybe it pisses me off that someone like you is slumming it with someone like me."

"Someone like me?"

"Clean. Good." He said the last word like it was foreign to him. "Everything I ain't."

"You think I'm good?"

"I think you're better than this. Better than following my sorry ass through the woods looking for a brother who might already be dead."

The honesty in his voice caught you off guard. "Then why do you let me?"

"Because I'm a selfish bastard who dont wanna be out hear with no one to talk too."

You reached out then, your fingers brushing against his hand. He didn't pull away.

"You're not as bad as you think you are," you said softly.

"Yeah? What makes you so sure?"

"Because someone who was truly bad wouldn't care about finding his brother. Wouldn't feel guilty about what he did to him."

Merle's jaw tightened. "I don't feel guilty."

"Don't you? Isn't that why we're really out here? Not just to find him, but to make it right somehow?"

He didn't answer, but he didn't deny it either.

"A nice house where, exactly?" he asked instead, clearly wanting to change the subject.

You hesitated, then figured what was the harm. "Island in the pacific."

Merle's eyebrows shot up. "An island? Like, surrounded by water and everything?"

"That's generally how islands work," you said dryly, and he barked out a laugh.

"Smart mouth on you when you're high, ain't there?" He shook his head. "So you're telling me you went from living on some fancy island to following my sorry ass through the Georgia backwoods?"

"When you put it like that, it sounds pretty stupid."

"Nah, not stupid. Just..." He studied you for a long moment. "Just makes me wonder what kind of life you're running from."

The observation was too perceptive, and you felt heat creep up your neck. "Wasn't running"

"Everyone's running from something, lil doe. Question is what."

"Who says I'm running?"

"What you decided to follow a one-handed redneck through walker-infested Georgia?"

"As opposed to leaving you on that roof ?"

Merle looked at you with something that might have been respect. "Yeah, Fair point."

"So what happens when we find him? Your little brother?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what happens to me? Do I just... disappear? Find somewhere else to go?"

The question seemed to catch him off guard. "You worried about that?"

"Maybe. I don't exactly have a lot of other options."

"You could go back. To your island."

"Could I? Airport schedules are a bit hard too pull up these days."

The fire crackled between you, and you found yourself studying his face in the dancing light. The harsh lines, the pale eyes, the way his mouth twisted when he was thinking.

"Can I ask you something?" you said finally.

"Shoot."

"Do you ever regret it? What you did to him?"

Merle was quiet for so long you thought he wouldn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible.

"Every damn day."

"Then why did you do it?"

"Because I was young and stupid and thought I was helping." He ran his hand through his hair. "Because I didn't want him to be... different. Didn't want him to get picked on more than he already was."

"Different how?"

"Shy. Sensitive. Too damn kind for his own good." Merle's voice was rough with something that might have been pain. "Kid never hurt a fly, never said a harsh word to nobody. In our neighborhood, that made him a target."

"So you thought... what? That sleeping with a prostitute would toughen him up?"

"I thought it would make him more like me." The admission seemed to cost him something. "Thought if he got some experience, he'd be able to handle himself better."

"But instead you just hurt him."

"Yeah. Yeah, I did."

You could see the guilt eating at him, could hear it in every word. "Is that why you're so determined to find him? To make up for it?"

"Maybe I just miss my baby brother." He looked up at you, and for a moment his mask slipped completely. "He's the only good thing I ever had in my life, and I'm thinking I fucked it up."

The raw honesty in his voice made your chest tight. Without thinking, you reached out and covered his hand with yours.

"You'll find him," you said softly. "And when you do, you'll make it right."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because despite everything you've done, everything you think you are, you love him. And love... love finds a way."

Merle stared at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. "You really believe that?"

"I have to. Otherwise, what's the point of any of this?"

He turned his hand palm up, his fingers curling around yours. "You're something else, you know that, lil doe?"

The nickname made your chest warm in a way that had nothing to do with the weed. "Why do you call me that?"

"Call you what?"

"Lil doe. You call me that the most."

Merle was quiet for a moment, his fingers twitched once. "You remind me of one, I guess. All big eyes and skittish, but..." He trailed off.

"But what?"

"But stubborn as hell when you need to be." He looked up at you, and there was something in his expression you'd never seen before. Something almost tender. "Deer are tougher than people think. Survivors."

Outside, the Georgia night pressed against the windows, full of dangers both known and unknown. But inside, by the dying fire, the most dangerous thing might just be the way Merle kept looking at you now like he was afraid to break you.

"We should get some rest," he said finally. "Got a long way to go tomorrow if we're gonna find my baby brother."

You nodded, but made no move to get up. Neither did he. The fire crackled between you, and somewhere in the distance, a night bird called out into the darkness.

"Merle?" you said quietly.

"Yeah, darlin'?"

"Thanks. For... this. For making me try something new."

His smile was softer than you'd ever seen it. "Anytime, lil doe. Anytime."

[dazzelmethat]

Here is my side for a Miku themed art trade with @ichiijelly Where I drew Miku's fairy module for the trade! I put in some tulips and butterflies too.

Art trades are always open! Even fanart/miku ones. This was fun to do!

[prozach27]

Unnaturally excited for my transition to writing slow burn tragic gay romance. I wrote the first chapter today and tbh I think it’s a gem. There could be literally zero people on earth who care about this couple but I will stan them for eternity. That being said, I pray people actually read and like it lmao

[calypso-rt]

the other side

corporate!reader x bluecollar!rafe

You don’t notice him at first.

You’re too busy swearing at your flat tire and digging through your bag with growing frustration, nails clicking against your phone as the screen flashes no signal for the third time. Your blazer’s too warm, your heels are killing you, and the corner you’re stranded on smells faintly of motor oil and something vaguely fried.

The city has never felt so uninterested in your existence.

You sigh, stepping back from your car with your arms crossed and your patience unraveling thread by thread.

That’s when you hear it, boots on pavement. The low hum of a country song bleeding from someone’s parked truck. And then a voice, casual and rough-edged, like gravel under honey:

“Looks like your Beemer didn’t get the memo she’s not built for potholes.”

You glance up.

He’s leaning against a rusted pickup parked across the street, arms folded, expression unreadable. T-shirt stained with oil, work gloves shoved in the back pocket of his jeans. Blonde hair messy, sunlit at the tips. A smear of something dark across one pretty cheekbone. Tan, toned forearms. Smirking like he knows something you don’t.

You look him over. Slowly.

Then back to your tire.

“I’m fine,” you say, like it’s a full sentence.

He doesn’t move. Just raises a brow. “Sure you are. Just figured I’d offer. But hey, maybe she’ll fix herself outta sheer respect.”

You narrow your eyes. “You work at that garage over there?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I’m just loitering, intimidating rich girls for fun.”

Your mouth twitches before you can help it. “How charming.”

He shrugs. “That’s what they say.”

There’s a pause. The wind picks up, ruffling the collar of your crisp, white shirt and his dirtied t-shirt in opposite directions.

Finally, you cave. Just a little.

“You know how to change a tire?”

Rafe grins like he’s been waiting for you to ask. He doesn’t ask for permission. Just tosses his rag onto the sidewalk, drops into a crouch beside your tire, and whistles low under his breath.

“Well, well. You really did a number on her.”

“She hit a pothole.”

“She hit a crater,” he says, fingers brushing the rim. “That wheel’s crying for its mother.”

You hover beside him, unsure of where to stand. You’ve never been this close to grease before, real grease. The kind that stains fingernails and smells like summer heat and sweat and long hours. The kind that doesn’t wash off easy.

He glances up at you once, just once, and grins. “Relax, corporate. I won’t bill you for breathing the same air.”

Your mouth opens. Then shuts again.

“I don’t work for you,” he adds. “I work around you. Big difference.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Your silence makes him chuckle. He returns to the tire, tools out, movements fast and practiced. Like he’s done this a thousand times and could do it blindfolded with a cigarette in his mouth and still make it look easy.

You shift, arms crossed again, watching as his t-shirt rides up just a little when he reaches for the jack. His back muscles flex beneath sun-bleached cotton. His knuckles are scraped. There's a thin scar on his forearm, like a brushstroke of silver across the tan.

“You’re staring,” he says without looking.

You bristle. “I’m observing.”

“Same thing, sweetheart.”

“I don’t appreciate being called that.”

“Noted.”

A beat.

Then, softly, “You don’t stop me, though.”

You pretend you didn’t hear that.

He finishes fast. You blink and suddenly the car’s lowered, the spare tire’s on, and he’s wiping his hands on that tragic-looking rag again, standing upright and stretching until you hear something in his back crack.

“All good,” he says, stepping back. “Should get you home fine. Maybe don’t go joyridin' over sinkholes next time.”

You exhale. You didn’t realize you’d been holding your breath.

“Thank you,” you say, quieter now.

He looks at you then, really looks. And for the first time, the teasing fades. Just a flicker. Just long enough for something else to settle in its place.

“You’re welcome.”

You reach into your bag automatically, but he lifts a hand.

“Don’t.”

“It’s just—”

“No charge,” he says. “Wasn’t work. Just help.”

You pause. “Still. I’d like to do something.”

He tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he hasn’t quite figured out. Then, with a lopsided grin, “Then do somethin��. Surprise me.”

...

You don’t even know why you’re doing it.

You tell yourself it’s gratitude. Courtesy. Basic manners. The way you were raised.

You tell yourself you’re not doing anything special when you order two sandwiches from that café your coworkers love, the one with the flaky bread and too-many adjectives on the menu. You even get lemonade. The good kind, fresh-squeezed and slightly overpriced.

It’s just a thank you. That’s all.

You keep telling yourself that as you drive fifteen minutes out of the glass-and-steel part of town (the financial district where you work), past the manicured sidewalks and into something rougher. Older. Sun-beaten and rusted. Potholes and chain link fences. Cigarette smoke curling lazily from a stoop. A teenage boy tosses a basketball toward a hoop that’s missing its net.

Your heels clack against the uneven pavement as you walk. Every step sounds too loud. Your dress is all clean lines and quiet wealth, and you feel it, the contrast. You’re a silk ribbon in a world of grit.

You find the garage easy enough. You recognize the truck parked out front. His truck. And he’s there.

Half under a car, all grease-smudged arms and rolled-up sleeves, one boot planted on the ground, the other leg bent as he slides further under.

“Rafe?” you call, voice a little uncertain.

A pause. The sound of a socket wrench stopping mid-turn.

And then, from beneath the car, a familiar voice, lazy and warm, like sunlight through old blinds.

“Well, look who’s wandered down from Olympus.”

You cross your arms. “I brought you lunch.”

A metallic clatter. Then he’s sliding out on the creeper, blinking up at you like he’s not sure you’re real. And for a second, he doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you, your hair pulled back, your heels dusted from the walk, your fingers curled around a brown paper bag like it’s something holy. Like you’re something holy.

“You get lost on the way to brunch, sweetheart?” he drawls finally, lips twitching.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “I thought you might want a sandwich.”

“You thought right.”

He sits up, wiping his hands on a rag that looks even worse than the last one. You hand him the bag, and when his fingers brush yours, warm, rough, real, you pretend your stomach doesn’t flip.

He peeks inside. “This from one of your fancy spots?”

“God forbid,” you say dryly. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your street cred.”

Rafe grins, all teeth and trouble. “You’re startin’ to sound like me, corporate. I’m a bad influence.”

“I’m aware.”

He eats sitting on the bumper of the truck, feet planted wide, watching you through his lashes between bites. You sit beside him carefully. The heat of the metal seeps through your dress. His shoulder is warm next to yours, sun-baked and solid.

“You didn’t have to come all the way out here,” he says after a moment, voice lower now.

“I know.”

He glances sideways. “But you did.”

You don’t look at him. Instead, you trace the edge of your lemonade cup with one perfectly manicured nail. “You helped me. I was trying to be decent.”

“Mm. That what this is?” His gaze lingers, a little too long.

You finally look back. There’s something different in his eyes now...not amusement. Not laziness. Just…interest. Direct and undistracted.

“You sure ’s not curiosity?” he adds, voice barely above a hum. “Maybe you wanted to see what kinda place a guy like me crawls back to.”

You hold his gaze. “And what kind of place is that?”

He shrugs. “One where you don’t belong.”

You raise your chin, defiant. “Maybe I do.”

He laughs, low and disbelieving. “You’re wearin’ thousand-dollar shoes and talk like you’ve got an assistant named Margot.”

“She’s called Alexa, actually.”

“Of course she is.” He finishes the last bite of his sandwich. “You’re somethin’ else.”

“So are you,” you say, before you can stop yourself.

And he freezes.

Not visibly. Not dramatically.

But enough. A hitch in his breath. A flicker in his expression. Like maybe he’s been called a lot of things, but not that. You stand up, brushing nonexistent dust from your skirt. The moment breaks like glass under a heel.

“I should get back,” you say.

He nods once, slowly.

“Hey,” he calls just as you’re walking back to your car.

You pause, turn.

Rafe’s leaning against the truck again, arms crossed, head tilted. That same half-smile playing on his lips, but softer this time. Thoughtful.

“You ever get tired of boardrooms and bullshit, you know where to find me.”

You arch a brow. “And what would I find, exactly?”

He grins. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

A/N: they're my new obsession

[flowersforbucky]

devil's in the backseat

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3.7k

summary/prompt: a night at coney island with your friends turns out much differently than expected.

or getting fucked in front of a mirror

author's note: this is my first halloween fic!! this was so much fun to write. if you've read haunting adeline, then you know exactly what inspired the mirror maze scene! also disclaimer i have never been to coney island so if any of this is inaccurate then just pretend ok it's fiction :))

warnings/tags: smut, 18+ only content, sex in a public setting, mirror sex, oral (female receiving), unprotected p in v, friends to lovers, romanogers makes an appearance! kind of grumpy!reader, protective bucky, random men being creepy, language, reader is afab, she/her pronouns, reader pov, no use of y/n, porn with a little plot, fluff

my masterlist

“I can't fucking believe I let you talk me into wearing this.”

You tug the tight, cherry red colored velvet fabric of the babydoll dress in place for the dozenth time since arriving at Coney Island.

“What? You look hot. Plus, our costumes go great together.”

Natasha's costume mirrors your own - except hers is a pearlescent white and instead of a pitchfork and horns, she dons angel wings and a halo.

“I don't feel hot. I feel cold. It's fifty degrees and the sun hasn't even set yet.” If it wasn't for the black thigh high boots that cover the majority of your legs, you'd be shivering in the chilly late October weather.

“It's not my fault that you put off getting a costume until the last minute and had to pick through what little was left at Spirit Halloween,” she mumbles, passing you one of the cups of apple cider that the cashier hands to her. You gladly accept, sucking down the hot liquid in hopes that it will warm you from the inside.

Her phone dings as the two of you walk towards the rides. “It's Steve,” she informs you as she reads the text message. “They just got here,” she looks back up at you with a smirk on her face and a mischievous gleam in her eye. “Bucky decided to come with them.”

You roll your eyes, suddenly hating your borderline provocative costume even more.

“I thought he was leaving for a job in Denver this evening?”

It's not that you didn't want to see Bucky. It's that you didn't want to see Bucky dressed like this. As if you don't already get flustered around him when you're dressed in normal, everyday clothing. The hem of your dress barely conceals the curve of your ass and your tits are practically spilling over the low neckline.

“Guess it's been postponed,” she shrugs, nudging you with her shoulder.

The two of you turn to look in the opposite direction when a familiar voice calls your names. You see Steve, Sam, and Bucky walking towards you. Steve is dressed as a pirate, eyepatch and all. Sam wears a cowboy costume with an oversized hat, concealing the upper half of his face entirely.

And Bucky? Bucky wears jeans and a navy blue Henley.

Yeah, you're regretting any of your life choices that lead up to this moment.

“Well, well, well,” Sam drawls as he tips his hat back enough to take in yours and Natasha’s outfits. “Look what we have here. An angel and a devil. Have you two already entered the costume contest for best duo or should I go add your names?”

“You wouldn't dare,” you scold him. Natasha just laughs, falling into Steve’s embrace as he plants a kiss to her forehead.

“We should, you know,” Natasha agrees. “I think we'd have a pretty good shot at winning.”

“Yeah, right,” you retort, looking around at some of the more elaborate, creative costumes that many of the strangers around you are sporting. You notice a man and woman dressed as Beetlejuice and Lydia Deetz and know that you and Nat wouldn't stand a chance in a costume contest. “And what about you?” You acknowledge Bucky, your eyes skimming up and down his civilian clothes. “Didn't have time to pull together a costume?”

He smirks, his eyes trailing up your figure for a heated moment before he responds. “I'll have you know that I am in costume, actually.”

Steve and Sam both snort in laughter.

“Oh yeah? And what are you supposed to be, exactly?”

He tugs up the sleeve of his shirt, showing off the shiny vibranium that is his left arm.

“I'm the Winter Soldier,” he says with a smug grin. “Obviously.”

“How creative,” you praise sarcastically.

“Cut me some slack,” he feigns insult. “I was supposed to be halfway to Colorado right now. I didn't have time to pull together anything too cute.” His eyes flicker to your dress and boots at the word cute. If anyone else notices, they say nothing.

“What are we doing just standing around here?” Natasha exclaims, tugging Steve in the direction of the rides and games. “I want to ride every ride and eat funnel cake.”

They race ahead of the rest of you, with Sam close behind, leaving you and Bucky to fall into step beside each other.

“So, why did your mission get postponed?” You ask casually, trying to fight down the nerves that threaten to bubble over every time you're alone with him.

“Beats me,” he shrugs. “Fury didn't give much of an explanation. I got the text as I was loading my bags into the car to head out.”

“That's annoying,” you mumble, swallowing the remnants of your hot apple cider. “I'm sorry,” you tell him with a glance in his direction. “I'm sure it was for a good reason.”

He shrugs. “I'm here, so I can't be too mad about it.”

Before you can overthink exactly what he means by that, you're both brought to a halt when a jolly looking man in a Ghostbusters costume steps directly in front of you, blocking your path.

“This little devil looks like she needs a giant sloth!” He exclaims, gesturing towards the prizes hanging above the balloon darts station next to you.

“Oh, no,” you start. “That’s okay–”

“Come on!” The red-faced vendor insists, looking at Bucky. “Don't you want to win your girl a giant sloth? Perhaps a giant giraffe? If she was mine, I'd be winning her any prize she wants. I'll give you five throws for ten doll–”

“Fine, fine,” Bucky relents, digging into his back pocket for his wallet. You notice a faint hint of pink blooms along the apples of his cheeks, but he doesn't correct the man when he calls you his girl. “You've worn me down,” he sighs as he shoves a crumpled ten dollar bill into the man's hand.

The man accepts the money with a satisfied, toothy grin and hands Bucky five darts.

“If you get three out of the five throws, you can choose a prize from here,” the man gestures towards a section of smaller prizes. “And if you get all five throws, you can choose–”

The man is cut off by the sharp popping sound of a balloon, and then a second, and a third, until all five darts have been impaled on the board in a consecutive line in a matter of seconds.

“She'll take the bunny,” Bucky tells him before he can erase the stunned look off of his face. He points to a large, flop-eared purple bunny hanging from the upper row of prizes.

Unlike the vendor, you aren't shocked by his perfect aim at all. Anyone who knows Bucky would have known that he wouldn't miss a single shot. You are shocked, however, that he chose the bunny without even asking which prize you want.

The man in the Ghostbusters costume grabs the bunny and hands it to you, surprise still etched on his face. He mumbles a quick goodnight before he's moving onto the next people approaching the stand.

“How did you know I'd want the bunny?” You ask Bucky, trying to juggle the stuffed animal, your empty cup of cider, and your pitchfork all in your arms.

“You like bunnies, right? It was an educated guess.” He shrugs, moving through a thick crowd of people away from the game stations. “Here, let me carry it for you,” he offers when he notices the large stuffed animal is obstructing your vision. You hand it over to him and he tucks it underneath his metal arm.

“Thank you,” you tell him, your cheeks heating at the realization that he'd remembered such an inconsequential piece of information about you. You do like bunnies. The cold night air suddenly feels a lot more balmy.

“I'm - uh - I'm going to find a trash can real quick,” you say as you wiggle the empty cup in your hand. Truthfully, you just need a moment to collect yourself.

You begin walking in the opposite direction before he can reply, your eyes scanning the throng of people for a garbage can.

So what if he knows that you like bunnies? It's a pretty trivial fact that probably means nothing. You know that Natasha’s favorite animal is flamingos - because she's your friend. It's normal for friends to know things that their friends like.

Right? Right.

“I like that outfit a whole lot, baby. But I think you'd look even cuter in just the boots and those horns.”

You're so lost in your internal monologue that you don't even notice two men closing in on you as you toss the empty cup into a trash can. Unlike most of the people here tonight, neither of them are in costumes. They stand so close to you that you can smell booze on their breath.

“Oh, fuck off,” you groan as you attempt to walk away, but they've effectively blocked you between their bodies and the large garbage can behind you. Wicked grins grow on their faces as you realize that you can't get by them.

“Look, I don’t have the patience for this tonight. Get out of my fucking way.”

“Or what?” One of them taunts. “You'll use that little pitchfork on us? Jokes on you, because we're into that.”

“What if I used it on you?” A familiar voice comes from behind them. “Would you still like that?”

Before they can even turn around to identify the voice, Bucky is pulling him back by the hood of his sweatshirt and throwing him on the ground with little to no effort. The other one attempts to stumble away as Bucky turns his attention to him.

He still has your bunny clutched in his flesh hand - despite the seriousness of the situation, you have to bite your lip to keep from smirking at the sight. You don't know of anyone who could be quite as intimidating while holding a stuffed purple bunny.

“What about you?” Bucky asks, towering over the guy by half a foot. “You got anything you wanna say?”

“I - no - we didn't know she was with someone,” he half slurs, half stutters out. His gaze flickers to Bucky's vibranium hand. The man on the ground manages to stand back up, following after his friend.

“Now you know,” Bucky calls after them as they quickly hobble away.

“I had that handled, you know,” you tell Bucky with a nod towards your pitchfork. “But thank you, anyway. Really.”

He places a gentle but firm grasp on the top of your arms and begins to tug you in the opposite direction, guiding you through the small crowd that had stopped to witness the altercation.

“I have no doubt about that,” he sighs, releasing his grip on you when the two of you are a reasonable distance away. “But I also don't doubt that you handling it would have drawn even more attention.”

He's right. If he hadn't stepped in, your method of handling it would have been even more dramatic.

“They would have deserved it,” you mumble. “I knew I shouldn't have worn this stupid costume.”

“They definitely would have deserved it,” he agrees. “And your costume isn't stupid. You should be able to wear any costume you like without getting harassed by drunk assholes.”

The two of you approach the ferris wheel as it comes to a slow stop, a couple getting out of one of the cars. You and Bucky flash your wristbands to the operator, who offers to hold your pitchfork for you while you’re on the ride.

“Besides,” he continues as you sit down next to each other in the car, the operator locking the gate in place. “I happen to like your costume. A lot.” He turns his head to you, his gaze trailing from the tops of your thigh high boots and up to the felt horns that adorn your head.

There's a shift in energy as the ferris wheel suddenly comes to life, sending you sliding across the limited space of the metal bench seat and right up against him.

“Oh, yeah?” You tease with your face a few inches from his. Close enough to see your reflection in his irises. “Is that why two different people have implied that I'm yours tonight and you haven't corrected either of them?”

“Your costume had nothing to do with that. I wouldn't have corrected them even if you were dressed as a giant banana,” he says, his tone and face both serious. “Does it bother you that I didn't correct them?”

“No,” you answer automatically - eagerly. You should feel embarrassed, but with the way he's looking at you, and how good it feels to be pressed so snug against him, you can't find it within yourself to care. “I didn't correct them either,” you point out.

The ferris wheel comes to a stop to let new people get on when your cart reaches the peak.

“And why is that?” he asks lowly. If you weren't sitting so close to him, you wouldn't have been able to hear him over the obnoxiously loud carnival music that pours from speakers in between the ferris wheel's carts.

He wraps his metal arm around your shoulders, pulling you further into him.

“Because I liked the sound of it,” you answer honestly. Your voice quivers - from nerves, or from a gust of wind that sways the pod still perching at the top of the wheel.

“Is that right?” he murmurs. He places his flesh hand on the exposed skin of your thigh - just above the top of your boot and just under the hem of your dress. His fingertips rest near the crack between your thighs. Instinctively, you spread your legs apart - not much, but enough for him to smirk at your body's automatic response to his touch.

“You like the sound of being my girl?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I do. Is that okay with you?”

He chuckles, his fingers inching further up your thigh. You spread your legs open further, giving him the go ahead to go as high as he wants. He stops when he reaches the apex of your thighs, just an inch away from the cloth of your panties. He applies pressure with his fingertips, his short nails digging into the sensitive flesh and making you clench your legs around his hand.

“That depends,” he contemplates. “Are you my girl?”

You open your mouth to answer when the sensation of his index finger grazing the fabric that covers your cunt makes you forget how to speak. You sit there with your mouth agape as he hooks a finger into the cotton panties.

He eases a finger through your folds, lubricating it in your slick before adding a second finger and massaging the pads of them over your sensitive clit.

“Feels like you're my girl.”

You become vaguely aware of the fact that the ride is now in motion once more, heading back down to the ground, when Bucky places the stuffed bunny on your lap in an effort to conceal what is happening in the cart that you and him share.

He alternates between slow, languid circles and quick strokes against your clit as the ferris wheel makes its way down and then back up again. You can feel yourself soaking your underwear as the world dizzies around you. You hide your face in Bucky's neck to conceal the pleasure written across your face.

You're seconds away from coming against his fingers, the pressure in your belly building to a climax, when he pulls away and tugs your dress into place. Your gaze snaps up to his, shooting daggers, as the ride comes to a slow stop. He looks back at you with an amused smirk as the operator approaches the cart to unlock the gate.

“Sorry about that, sweetheart,” he tells you in a strained voice as he snatches the bunny back from you. “After you,” he motions with his head as the operator holds the gate open for you.

Stunned and speechless at what just happened, you stumble out of the cart and down the stairs to the ride's exit with Bucky behind you - both of you completely forgetting about your pitchfork. You can't help but snort a laugh at the position of the large stuffed animal - directly over Bucky’s crotch.

“Real discreet,” you tell him, glancing down at the bunny and then back up to the semi-pained expression on his face.

“I have to admit, right now this thing is worth every penny that I spent on it,” he sighs, and then removes one hand from the bunny to place it on your lower back. “Follow me,” he instructs with a smirk.

He guides you through the crowd and you follow him without question, just trying to ignore the wet ache between your legs.

You shoot him a quizzical look when you arrive at the house of mirrors. You haven't been in a mirror maze since you'd gotten lost in one at ten years old.

There's an attendant sitting in a chair outside of the entrance who unenthusiastically greets the two of you. Bucky reaches into his pocket, digging out his wallet for the second time that evening. He pulls out a hundred dollar bill and flashes it at the elderly man smoking a Pall Mall.

“Take this and don't let anyone else in until we come out,” Bucky tells him before dragging you into the attraction. You and the gray haired man both go wide eyed.

“What was that?” you cackle as the door slams to a close behind you. Bucky doesn't answer, just grabs one of your hands in his and begins guiding you through the maze of mirrors as if he's been here a hundred times.

The entire place is lit by bright, neon red lights that only aid in further confusing your sense of direction. Bucky doesn’t seem phased in the slightest, finally coming to a stop after a few minutes of maneuvering through the endless mirrors.

“You never answered me, you know,” he says as he drops your bunny to the floor. “When I asked if you're my girl.” He smirks at you, stepping closer to you and backing you against the mirror behind you.

“You just paid that man a hundred dollars to get me alone,” you jab as you pull him to you by the front of his Henley. “I think it's safe to say that I am.”

He smiles as you pull him down to you, crushing your lips to his. His hands trail down your back until they land where your thighs meet the curve of your ass cheeks. You release months worth of tension into the kiss, sweeping your tongue along the swell of his bottom lip before slipping it into his mouth the second that he parts his lips for you. He groans into the kiss, kneading the globes of your ass with his fingers. You can feel a prominent bulge through his jeans against your stomach.

Adrenaline begins to kick in when he pulls away, looking down at you with lust blown pupils. He sinks to the floor below you, kneeling in front of your cunt as he raises your dress around your waist and tugs your panties down your legs and over your boots. He slips them into his back pocket before hiking one of your legs across his shoulder.

You can already feel your juices leaking down your inner thighs before his mouth makes contact with you. When he does, you lean your head back against the glass behind you in pleasure.

He sucks your clit between his kiss-swollen lips with an obscene pop before running his tongue down your folds. He plunges his tongue inside you and you grind yourself against his face, chasing the release that you were seconds away from on the ferris wheel.

He moans at the taste of you and the vibration has your walls clenching around his tongue. You ride out your orgasm on his face, the neon red lights blurring and spinning around you.

Despite the fact that your legs feel like jelly, you pull him up to you as soon as you're able to form a coherent thought. You clumsily paw at the button of his pants and his zipper, and he shoves both his jeans and boxers down over his ass, just far enough to free his cock.

He places both of his hands just under your armpits and lifts you as you instinctively lock your legs around his hips.

The head of his cock nudges your wet folds, your juices coating his length before he nudges it inside you.

You feel full before he's even halfway in you. Your walls constrict around him and he digs his teeth into his bottom lip as he adjusts to the sensation of you.

“Fuck, that's tight. You're perfect,” he grunts as he sheaths the rest of his length into you. You let out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a gasp.

He has total control as he cradles you between his body and the cold, hard mirror behind you. He sets a harsh pace, his head ramming against your cervix at the sweetest angle from his position beneath you.

He manages to support you with the strength of only his vibranium arm as he brings his flesh hand between your bodies, once again massaging your clit in rapid circles as he fucks up into you.

You cum around his length in a shockingly short amount of time, digging your teeth into the flesh of his neck as he follows after you, filling you up with hot ropes of his cum.

You stay in the same position after you've both reached your climax, panting against one another in the claustrophobic feeling space.

“We should probably go find our friends,” you say breathlessly with a kiss to the side of his face. “Sam's probably getting sick of being a third wheel.”

He pulls out of you, his cum running down your thighs and ass cheeks. He gently lowers you back down to the ground as he begins to tuck himself back into his pants.

He laughs, cupping your face in his hands as he pulls your lips to his once again.

“If he hates being a third wheel, just imagine how much he's going to hate being a fifth wheel.”

[dollishmehrayan]

BATBOYS WITH A STYLISH READER ── .✦

a/n: so I tried to base this off of me because I like genuinely LOVE fashion and creativity (my closet is seriously so full rn but I keep buying and buying but soon I’m gonna donate some pieces I never wore/ won’t wear again when i’m like moving in 5/6 months (in April) but anyways yeahh this is requested by the wonderful @luvly_writer (I GENUINELY DONT KNOW WHY MY MENITONS ARENT WORKING TODAY!?!?

tags: (batboys x stylish reader ᥫ᭡)

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Dick’s always had a decent sense of fashion, but after meeting you, he realized his wardrobe could use some spicing up.

“Okay, I need help,” he says, holding up his closet of endless leather jackets and dark jeans. “It’s starting to feel like I’m a character in a some main character show..” (this tiktok HELPP here)

You pull together a sleek but casual look for him, fitted trousers, a patterned button-up, and a blazer. When he sees himself in the mirror, he whistles.

“Are you sure I’m not about to walk the runway?”

He loves when you add your flair to his outfits, often saying, “This is why I’m with you.”

Eventually, Dick starts mimicking your style in small ways—accessories, boots, and bolder colors. He’ll even joke, “You’re rubbing off on me in more ways than one.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Jason scoffs at the idea at first. “I don’t need to be styled. My leather jacket and boots are timeless, I don’t need like bags and purses like you.”

But then he starts noticing the way you turn heads wherever you go and how people always stop you to ask where you got your hat or etc from, and he gets curious.

One day, he half-jokingly says, “Alright, fashionista. Make me look less like I just rolled out of a biker gang.”

You have so much fun dressing him in a sharp, dark button-up, fitted jeans, and Chelsea boots. When you suggest a leather trench coat instead of his usual jacket, he raises an eyebrow but ends up loving it.

“I look like a villain trying blow up something in broad daylight,” he says, smirking. “But, like, a hot one.”

Jason doesn’t fully change his wardrobe, but he starts incorporating your suggestions—better fits, fewer holes in his shirts, and maybe a sweater or two. He always claims it’s to “shut you up,” but deep down, he loves how confident it makes him feel when his s/o chooses stuff for him.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Tim’s wardrobe is functional. It’s not bad because there’s a DIFFERENCE, Timothy drake wayne dresses in suits and is high end and chic but regular tim well… tim Is tim but he DOES care about what he wears just not like that serious about it, but it’s very much “guy who spends more time in front of a computer than a mirror.”

One day, he asks, “Do you think I should update my wardrobe? You know, to look… presentable?”

You practically light up, dragging him out for a shopping spree.

He’s a little overwhelmed by how excited you are, but he secretly loves the attention.

You pick out layered outfits—hoodies with tailored jackets, clean sneakers, and pants that actually fit. When he tries them on, he’s surprised at how good he looks.

“So this is what it feels like to be stylish,” he muses.

Over time, Tim starts borrowing pieces of your style. He’ll wear scarves, experiment with glasses frames, and even tuck his shirts in occasionally. You catch him researching minimalist fashion on Pinterest once, and he sheepishly admits, “You’re a bad influence.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Damian has a sharp sense of style already (thanks, Talia and Bruce), but he finds himself intrigued by your unique flair.

“You have a good eye for aesthetics,” he says one day, almost shyly. “Perhaps you could lend me some… insight.”

Styling Damian is like working with a blank canvas—he’s open to trying new things as long as it doesn’t compromise his dignified image.

You help him experiment with layered textures, sleek boots, and subtle patterns. He refuses anything too colorful but surprises you by agreeing to a deep emerald green blazer.

“I look… distinguished,” he admits, staring at his reflection.

He starts taking inspiration from your wardrobe, incorporating more modern and creative touches into his outfits. Every now and then, he’ll ask, “What do you think of this?” before leaving for an event.

Damian also becomes oddly protective of your style. If someone tries to copy you, he’ll say something like, “Flattery may be the sincerest form of imitation, but it’s wasted when done poorly.”

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Bruce is already a style icon, but when he starts noticing the effortless way you put together outfits, he gets curious.

“What would you do with this suit?” he asks, gesturing to one of his many black ensembles.

You tease him for being so predictable but suggest a few changes—adding a pocket square, switching up his tie, and choosing a dark navy instead of black.

When he steps out in the new look, even Alfred raises an approving eyebrow.

“Now I’ll have to think about my outfits.”

He begins to take subtle cues from your style, occasionally asking for your opinion before galas. You catch him sneaking glances at your Pinterest boards once, and he pretends it’s for “business purposes” (you had to private your pin board after because he keeps buying 10 of each of what you put on your Pinterest board.)

[as-sweet-as-a]

can't rid myself of jealously - d.w.

summary; dean tried to make you jealous cos he thinks its hot, but it doesn't exactly go to plan warnings; drinking, kind of insecure!reader words; 940

It was late. Too late. You were tired and just wanted to crash back at the motel. But, since the job had been a success, Dean insisted you all went to the bar. So, here you were. Sam was nursing a singular beer, complaining about how he should be back in the room. Castiel was stood awkwardly by the bar. Dean, of course, had already had two beers, trying to get everyone more awake.

“Look, see, they’re having fun.” Dean grinned and nodded at a group of girls that were hanging around by the jukebox. You rolled your eyes and sipped your drink.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you mumble. After you’d finished your business and splashed cold water on your face, you left. However, when you went to rejoin the group, you only saw Sam and Cas. Dean was gone. You looked around and your eyes landed on the girls by the jukebox. One of them transferred their bright pink cowboy hat to his head, making him chuckle. He caught your eye and winked at you. You felt your stomach boil.

“You’re discontent.” You jumped, not realising Castiel had appeared next to you.

“Uhm, I guess.” You shrugged and took your drink back off of him, sipping it. “It’s Dean. He’s trying to make me jealous?”

Castiel tilted his head and shot you his confused puppy look. “Hm? But you’re not jealous.”

You nodded. “Mhm…”

Sam approached you and Castiel, glancing at Dean and rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, I’m about to head back. Dean said we’re good to take the car, something about not thinking he’d even be able to drive back later.”

You nodded and left the bar with Sam and Castiel, Sam placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

You loved Dean, of course you did. His old habits? Not so much. Usually, you’d laugh it off. Or, if you were in a more confident mood, you’d go over and show yourself off to whoever Dean was flirting with while Dean grinned and wrapped an arm around your waist proudly.

He returned an hour or so later. You could tell because of the hushed voices of Sam and Dean in the hall. The lights were off in your motel room. You were under the sheets, swallowed by one of Dean’s hoodies and a pair of sleep shorts. Your eyes were fixed on some trash TV show about fishing.

The door creaked open and you heard Dean kick off his boots. He slid into the bed behind you. You could smell the beer on his breath and the sickeningly sweet perfume the girls were slathered in. You could also practically hear his grin. His arm fell over your waist as he began to pepper your neck in kisses. You shrugged him off, unamused.

Dean let out a low laugh. “Woah, hey. What’s this about, hm?” He joked, assuming you were playing hard to get or just messing around.

“Headache.” You mumbled.

He huffed a laugh. “Oh, really?” He leaned back in to kiss your jaw. You shrugged him off again. His eyebrows furrowed this time. “Sweetheart? What’s going on?” His hand began to softly run up and down your side and his tone turned gentler.

You stayed silent, curling up more.

“This is about those girls, isn’t it?” He asked. He took your silence as confirmation. “You know I only want you, right?” He nudged his nose against your shoulder.

“Mhm…” You couldn’t really help feeling insecure because of the bar. You were in dire need of a shower after runnng through the woods all day, your hair was dishevelled, eyes tired, and clothes dirty. Those girl were put together, nice dresses, well-groomed, pretty. Dean liked pretty. And right now, you didn’t feel pretty.

Dean sighed, mumbling your name softly with a sigh. He gently turned you onto your back, still rubbing your side. You didn’t realise you were about to cry until Dean was brushing your waterline with his thumb. “Talk to me.” He urged gently.

You sighed, unable to hide anything from the man you loved. “Dunno… just those girls from the bar.” You were almost whispering, hating how small you sounded.

“It’s never bothered you before. Besides, I think it’s hot as hell when you come over and show yourself all off and shit.”

You gave a weak amused smile at that. It was quick to fall. “It was different this time. I think I’m just tired from the hunt nd those girls were like… crazy pretty. I guess I was just feeling a bit off.”

Dean looked almost offended. “Pretty? Baby, they’re gremlins compared to you.” He explained. You shot him a ‘watch it’ look. “Okay, sorry, not gremlins, feminism and all. But, what I’m trying to say is that you don’t have to worry. I only have eyes for you. You’re the most beautiful girl in the world to me, okay?”

Despite feeling more convinced, you couldn’t help but tease. “But you have to say that, you’re my boyfriend.” You grinned.

“Hm, well, could those girls kill a wendigo in 2 minutes and 57 seconds?” He teased right back, leaning further above you, almost on top of you.

You rolled your eyes playfully and chuckled. “Probably not…”

“Damn right.” He grinned and leaned in to kiss you. You kissed back, of course,

The kiss got deeper until Dean was over you, trailing his lips down your jaw and neck. You noticed that he seemed distracted. “Dean, you okay?”

He paused lifting his head. You noticed that his eyes were fixed on the TV, squinting slightly. “That fish is fucking massive…”

[sswed]

take me home, babe

alexia putellas x parkranger!reader

A/N: pure unadulterated smut, thus minors DNI, thanks

wc 2.7k

You normally like to keep a very professional distance from anyone you're guiding around the park but this time is different because you don't think you've seen a more attractive woman in your life.

It's like she's been sent by the Gods to tempt you and you'd say yes to anything she asked of you if a pack of devils weren't following her like lost puppies.

"Look! It's a squirrel-" Cata points and somehow everyone turns to look at it as if it were an endangered animal.

"It's so cute!" Jana coos at it, immediately pulling out her phone and a few others follow while you wait.

This could be worse. They could stop and look at different rocks or trees or maybe walk super slowly.

You shove your hands into the pockets of your cargos and kick about a rock with your boots, completely missing a very obvious conversation about you.

"You have the hots for the cowboy, Ale!" Mapi giggles and nudges Alexia who is very clearly staring at you.

"María," Alexia hisses and immediately steps away from her counterpart.

You look hot, so hot that you might just burn her if she were to touch you. Your shirt sticks to you and is covered in a few oil stains but it doesn't make you seem dirty, actually she's even more turned on by it. The fact that your muscles practically bulge out of the shirt helps as well.

"What? Am I lying?" Mapi wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and Alexia scoffs.

Mapi's reading is accurate. You're the hottest woman Alexia has ever seen and she'd let you have her in the middle of a forest if that's what you wanted... but, that doesn't mean she wants it to be public knowledge.

"I'd worry about Ingrid ditching you for her, actually..." Alexia laughs and points at you.

Ingrid is standing close by and talking to you, it's far from sexual and all friendly but practically everything sets Mapi off, so it's an easy way out and Alexia gets a sigh of relief when Mapi stomps over and slips an arm around Ingrid's waist.

You smile politely. You're taller than Ingrid by an inch or two, which means that Mapi looks like a teenager next to you and Alexia can't help but giggle at your shocked expression when she drags Ingrid away to join the squirrel crowd.

The period of relief doesn't last long though because you're suddenly right next to Alexia and she feels her heart race in her chest. You, on the other hand, feel your palms clam up with sweat and so you wipe them on your trousers before giving her a friendly smile.

"Hi, Alexia, right?" You ask while cringing internally at your half blank tone.

"Yeah- but Ale is good too..."

You watch as Alexia stumbles over her words slightly. You don't know much about anyone here but you've seen the odd interview on the television and you know that she's normally quite collected. At least on camera that is.

"Cool, cool... So... You like hiking?" You smile, trying to ignite the conversation.

Alexia nods a few times but you aren't very convinced, "Yeah! It's so much fun."

Your laugh catches her off guard and makes her blush furiously for a moment.

"You prefer football, right? Hiking isn't for everyone."

Alexia looks away and tries to hide her red face, "Yeah... I'm not a big fan of bugs."

You laugh again and grin. Alexia manages to see it this time and you look beautiful to her. Your cropped hair neatly tucked behind you ears and sunglasses, smiles lines made apparent by your grin and she gets a peek of your tan lines when your shirt drops a little.

"I think we should carry on. Do you want to round them up, capitana?" You smirk and wander a little down the trail.

Alexia bites the inside of her cheek as she watches you walk away, then a hot flush runs up her neck when you make a show of tucking your shirt in again.

Right, focus, around everyone up.

"Vamos! We need to go now."

The crowd forming around the small part of the trail breaks up into pairs and threes and then you're all off again.

You stand at the front while Alexia rounds up stragglers from the back so you don't get to see much of each other but you don't need to turn around to know that it's Alexia's eyes that you feel burning into the back of your skull. You don't mind, actually, you encourage it by untucking your shirt and lifting it to wipe the sweat off your forehead whilst on a short break.

"Ale, you okay?" Vicky asks, slightly concerned when Alexia chokes on her water.

She coughs deeply, turning bright red but thankfully, she can blame it on the water and not your glistening abs.

"Yeah, I'm fine, don't worry," Alexia waves her concerns away and tries to avoid looking at you when you pour a handful of water over your face.

The rest of the hike is pretty uneventful, no more creatures distract the team and there are no more long breaks. So eventually, you guide the group back to a large clearing that acts as the car park and say goodbyes to them all.

"Thank you so much!" Mapi grins as she grips your hand and you give her a firm shake.

"No problem," You say politely to both her, and Ingrid who stands next to her.

Then a couple of other goodbyes and thank yous are said before there is only one car left in your parking lot and an Alexia stands in front of you.

"Thank you for coming, hope it was adequate."

Alexia smiles and you feel your heart skip a beat, she is beyond perfect. It's kind of crazy how she makes your heart beat at a thousand miles an hour.

"No, no, thank you for dealing with all of us..."

You wave a hand in the air as you laugh, "Really, this is probably my best group tour so far- It was far better than an office group."

"I'd actually be happy for you all to come back... If that's what you want!" You quickly add on with a faint blush on your cheeks.

"I'm sure we'd love to"

You pat your pockets, searching for your business cards but the small stack of cards are nowhere to be found. Then you remember that you had emptied out your pockets yesterday.

"I would offer you my card but they're in my cabin..." You say sheepishly.

Alexia smiles sweetly, "I would be happy to wait or come with you?"

You swear you catch her lips lifting in a slight smirk at the end of the question and you can't help but let the want pool in your stomach.

"Err... Yeah- Sure, come on."

The two of you walk in silence, closely together towards your little hut that's not too far from the car park. You wouldn't say that you were hoping for anything more than a friendly exchange of pleasantries but you definitely wouldn't say no.

Your cabin is small and sometimes even tiny if things are thrown in random places but luckily, you had cleaned the place out yesterday. You welcome Alexia in, slip off your boots while she takes off her own shoes and then look around for your cards.

You feel Alexia's gaze again, just like in the woods previously and resist the urge to turn around, to catch her red handed, in the act. You manage focus and find the business cards after a minute or two and then turn around with them in hand to give to Alexia.

"Here they are-" You start but are cut off by Alexia's lips being pressed to yours.

You melt immediately. Drop the cards and let them scatter all over the floor. Your now free hand makes its way to her waist as you kiss her back hard, your tongue travelling around in her mouth freely.

The kiss tastes sweet and you wonder what chapstick she's wearing as you lick her lips.

"Fuck," You gasp out as she pulls away.

Alexia's hands shoot out to grasp the bottom of your shirt and she pauses for a moment to look up at you. Your eyes go wide when they meet hers, she looks wonderful and you can't believe this is actually happening.

You nod desperately and she takes the go ahead to tug your shirt over your head quickly. It leaves you panting in your sports bra and Alexia takes the liberty to run a hand down your abs, making you flex under her touch.

"You're so hot, fuck, I've wanted this all day-" Alexia moans into your ear and you can't help but groan back when her nails scratch down your torso.

Your own hands find her t-shirt and you tug it up and take it off her. When she finally matches your own state of undress, you push her back until she meets the dining table. You prompt her to sit on it and take to kissing her as your hands roam around her body.

Your fingers crawl across Alexia’s hard stomach then down to her ass which is still covered by the coarse material of her trousers. You dig your fingers in anyway and revel at the gasp you get in return, you know she's just as turned on as you are. There is no denying it, not when she's practically grinding into the table.

"Shit- Please, take them off," Alexia groans out, squeezing her eyes shut and you smirk in return.

Your nimble fingers let go of her ass and instead go to undo her buttons and unzip the fly. Then you get her to sit up a bit while you tug them down, leaving Alexia in her underwear.

You let your hands drop to her strong thighs while you lean forwards again to kiss her, this time softly. It's more subdued and controlled than the previous kisses, mostly because you don't want this to end and maybe because you love to see Alexia get wound up with each passing second.

You keep your hands firmly placed on her thighs and ignore the fact that she's practically grinding into the table. You like to tease and you absolutely love the reactions you're getting.

Alexia takes one of her arms and loops it around your neck, pulling you closer and letting her deepen the kiss until she can trace your canines with her tongue. Her other hand comes to rest on top of one of yours. She grabs it and guides it to her pussy and you can immediately feel the damp material of her underwear against your hand.

You groan into her mouth, "Fuck, who's that for?"

Alexia pulls back but doesn't take away the arm that is wrapped around your neck, instead she presses her palm harder into yours which makes you moan at the wetness and her sigh at the touch.

"All for you," She purrs and you see stars for a moment.

"Shit, maybe you need a reward?"

Alexia grins and you kiss it from her. This time, the kiss is all teeth and no softness, you bite your way into her mouth just like you rip your way into her underwear. Alexia enjoys this thoroughly, arching her back as you trace her clit with a long finger.

"This what you wanted?" You ask roughly, allowing another finger to join the first as you play with her.

"Shit, Ah, yes, yes!" Alexia moans out but it's half stifled when she bites her lip in an attempt to quieten down.

You smirk and let the two fingers dip further down her wetness before traveling back up.

"No need to be quiet, babe," You remind her with a smile.

Then you take your hand out of her underwear and smirk when she growls in frustration before unlooping her hand from your neck. You then lower yourself to your knees and look up at her.

You feel giddy from down on the floor and the way Alexia looks at you, with impossibly deep lust only makes the want bubble in your stomach.

You allow yourself to lick and bite the insides of her thighs, revelling in the creamy skin there. You explore each plain of skin before making your way to her core that is still covered by now soiled underwear. You decide to bite into the waistband and tug it down to the floor with your mouth before returning to her pussy.

You lick your lips, "May I?"

You see Alexia nod frantically and you take it as a good to go and so you lick a large strip up her cunt. She tastes better than you though she would and you swallow the wetness on your tongue.

Alexia's hands shoot to grip onto your hair but your own hands quickly find hers and you bring them down from your head to the table. You look up at her and smirk darkly.

"Now, now. No touching, let me take care of this, huh?"

You pin her hands down to the table and dive back in. You immediately twirl your tongue around her clit and she yelps out a moan in surprise. You smirk against her but continue your assault without a care in the world.

"Oh my- Fuck!" Alexia groans out loudly and thrashes her hands against your larger ones.

In return, you suck on her clit hard and she grinds her hips into your face. You chuckle as you flatten your hot tongue against her then grab her wrists and press them to her hips in order to stilt the movement.

You pause for a moment to look at her, "You get to come when I say."

Alexia in response moans softly but doesn't refute anything. So you take the opportunity to trace your tongue down her cunt before dipping into her for the first time.

"God," You hear Alexia mewl above you.

You thrust your tongue in and out a few times before going back to suckle on her clit with a smile. You know she's close, you can tell by the way she's trying to roll her hips in your grip or the way her stomach is tightening.

"I'm going to come, fuck, I'm so close." Alexia rambles above you on the table.

You pull back, "Not until I say, understand?"

You see Alexia nod faintly and your smile sweetly, "Good girl, just a little more."

You put your head down again to suck on her some more. She's intoxicating and you never want this to end, the way she tastes is perfect and the small whimpers above you are music to your ears.

You let yourself have two more full strokes before you go back to focusing on her clit again, giving it your full attention but twirling your tongue around it expertly.

"I need to come, come on!" Alexia cries out above you and you can't help but find it so satisfying.

You pull back and smirk, "What do you say?"

"P-please!"

You give her clit a kiss, "Go on then, come for me."

With the permission granted, Alexia lets go and moans loudly as her orgasm passes through her. She thrashes in your grip so you let go completely and let her ride it out as you kiss the inside of her thigh.

"Shit- That..." She begins breathlessly.

"Was it good?" You ask and begin to stand.

Alexia nods and blushes, "Very good."

You smile and nod, then pick up her clothes to help her get dressed and slip off the table. You tug your own shirt on after Alexia is fully dressed, much to her dismay and place a kiss on her cheek.

You look at the cards that are scattered all over the floor and pick one up.

"Would you still like one?" You gesture to the card with a sheepish smile and Alexia laughs.

"How about your real number?" Alexia asks and you raise your brows in surprise.

"Y-yeah, okay, sure."

You scribble your personal number on the back of the card with a little heart and give it to Alexia who smiles as you do.

"Thank you, cariño."

Alexia steps up to you and places a soft kiss on your lips before smirking and strutting out the door, leaving you standing in your little cabin wondering what just happened. 

[moon-ttokki-x]

hello 😁 i hope u are good 🫶 can i req something pls? 🙏 i saw ur post abt protective skz with their maknae reader but what abt a protective reader? 😏 who is usually shy, but loses her temper when angry: doesn't take hate lightly, makes sure they eat and rest, unafraid of talking back, ready to fight off anyone, glaring at everyone (it would be cute, but it gets scary when she is mad mad), etc. 🤔

hi this is a cool request~ i bet the boys would have a lot of fun with a scary member who's also really cute >< here you go !!

₊✩‧₊˚౨ ot8!skz x protective fem!reader ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

pairing: ot8!skz x protective fem!reader

summary: how skz would be around a protective ninth member <3

genre: idol!au, 9th member!au, mentions of eating and drinking, chan shaking in his boots lmao

a/n: this aesthetic is so cute . . . div by @huraxy

skz masterlist

usually you're super chill

like kind of shy, really; not the type to shout or mess around like the guys do

most of the time, you're by felix or minho's side

because they're the least chaotic members of the group (most of the time anyway)

and it's just nice to be all quiet and observant from behind their shoulders

they know you're kind of shy, but oh man, wait til you get mad

even the maknaes shut up instantly when you raise your voice

bc you mean BUSINESS

doesn't matter how short you are you'll fight anyone within a certain distance

including chan (crazy right?)

who is also scared of your temper, even if it doesn't show up that often

which is why it's so terrifying when your voice booms through the studio or recording room, louder than thunder

everyone just keeps their head down and listens to you

hyung line is secretly so jealous of your commanding aura

after you're done shouting you just kind of go back to your normal shy demeanour, or leave the room

and everyone's just left shaking in their boots like

what the fuck??

you don't get angry often, and it's always for a valid reason, so they get it

stay knows that too; you've told interviewers and tv show hosts and even mnet staff to back off or stop being rude

you can make anyone listen; no one expects the shy little member to have the strongest voice

same with rude 'fans'

they don't always listen but most of them have a very healthy respect for your emotions

you're always making sure skz takes care of themselves too

especially the members who tend to overwork or get distressed easily

you always make sure to chase them up and give them something to eat

or tell them to go and drink water

or you just hold a fistful of their hair firmly (without hurting them) and watch them actually ingest food

they always give you pouty eyes but you never give in

you're just hardcore like that

and you don't let them go until they've swallowed the last mouthful

when you guys go out to eat, you're the person always heaping food on their plates

'eat eat you EAT'

bc i know these mfs forget to nourish themselves properly

so it's nice to have you take care of them

especially the younger ones

they do the same for you too, but they wouldn't dare touch your hair

they're too scared to in fear of messing it up and irritating you

the sassier ones like minho and seungmin are amazed at how much you talk back

like it's insane

chan schedules extra practice? "i don't want to, we already have so much to do"

hyunjin wants to have his vocal lesson before yours? "i scheduled mine earlier so you should have done the same"

you're just an absolute lion

sometimes you have to get told off because you're getting too sassy

but the boys can't help but take it easy on you

you're just so cute

even if you act like a demon from the underworld

oh well

but

even your gaze is scary

the boys often find themselves jumpscared

like they'll walk into a room and you're just sitting there like >:|

like an owl

you know how they have big wide eyes that stare into your soul?

your gaze is like that

felix jokes that you could burn lasers with how intense your stare is

it even looks intense when you're just sitting having a great time

in dead silence

the members don't mind though, whatever makes you happy makes them happy too !!

they get used to your little habits, and they all work around your demeanour

you're all one big happy group <3

a/n: okay maybe i wrote headcanons because i don't have the motivation nor the energy to write a full fic . . . oh well

ttokki's taglist: @emilywhyyy @galaxy4489 @hyuneskkami @justsomekpopstuff @wavetohannie @strayingawayy @its-stayville-forever @sillyseob @wickedbutlovely @headfirstfortoro @lov3yv4mps @possum-playground @bear8585 @astraystayyh @m-325 @gnabnahcbby @mbioooo0000 @akindaflora @tsunderelino @hhwangsmoon @crazyforthatbangchandude @bluebellsringinghereandthere @ladylexis @tillaboo @geni-627 @jsngprk-vhs @de-uns-tempos-pra-ca

send a dm, comment under the taglist post, or send an ask to be added !

[enhaflixer]

nightwing!Riki x catwoman!reader - purrrreee porn lol

cw: this is probably too filthy for a few ppl, there is ass splay, not penetration but quite a bit, a lot of spit, a lot of leather. so proceed with caution but this is quite good wank material im ngl tried and tested lol

-

Gotham City pulsed beneath you like a living, breathing beast. Neon lights flickered against rain-slick rooftops, the streets below teeming with life despite the late hour. But up here, on the rooftops, it was just you—sleek, silent, and untouchable.

Your catsuit was painted onto your curves, the black leather stretching taut over every dip and arch of your body. The fabric gleamed under the pale moonlight, hugging you like a second skin, molded to perfection. A high collar framed your throat, the zipper teasingly half-drawn down your chest, exposing just enough to keep wandering eyes entertained. Your mask fit seamlessly over your face, leaving your lips painted in a deep, sultry red—the only burst of color against the shadow you had become.

And then, of course, there was the tail.

A sleek black whip, curled around your waist when idle, attached to the small of your back, swinging ever so slightly as you moved. The perfect little touch of feline grace, a mockery of the hero who constantly tried—and failed—to catch you.

Tonight’s prize was nestled securely between your fingers: a rare, deep crimson diamond, one that shimmered even in the dark. Priceless. Enchanting. And, most importantly, stolen.

“That’s a pretty little trinket you’ve got there, Cat.”

His voice cut through the night like a blade, smooth and sharp. Nightwing.

You didn’t have to turn around to know he was there—perched somewhere just out of sight, watching, waiting, always one step behind. You smirked, holding the diamond up to the sky, letting the city’s dim glow refract off its flawless surface.

“I know, right? Thought it’d match my claws,” you purred, admiring it for a moment longer before tucking it safely into the hidden pocket at your hip. “You’d look good in red too, you know. Maybe you should try it sometime, Birdie.”

A gust of wind whispered across the rooftop, and in a blink, he moved.

He was fast—faster than you’d given him credit for. The air shifted as he flipped from the adjacent rooftop, the sound of his boots landing cleanly against the concrete just behind you. Your body reacted on instinct, spinning into a defensive stance, legs slightly spread, one hand reaching for the whip curled at your waist. His silhouette towered over you, clad in obsidian armor, muscles taut beneath the signature ‘V’ etched across his chest.

“Now, now,” you teased, flicking the whip loose with a practiced snap, the tail of it curling dangerously at your feet. “Didn’t your mentor teach you not to sneak up on a lady?”

Nightwing chuckled, but it was low, dark, something unreadable simmering beneath the surface. “And didn’t anyone ever teach you not to steal?”

You grinned. “Where’s the fun in that?”

And then, like the striking of a match, the fight began.

He lunged, and you countered. A dance of shadows and speed.

Your whip cracked through the air, but he dodged, twisting mid-air with that infuriating acrobatic grace he always seemed to have. His escrima sticks flashed under the moonlight, one swinging toward your midsection. You twisted, barely avoiding the hit, the leather of your suit creaking as you arched your back like a feline in motion.

He was precise. Focused. Calculated.

But so were you.

A well-aimed kick sent him stumbling back, his boots scuffing against the ledge. You grinned, licking your lips. “Getting slow, Birdie?”

He responded with a smirk that sent a chill straight down your spine.

“Just luring you in, kitten.”

Before you could blink, he struck.

A feint—a damn good one. Your wrist was caught mid-swing, his grip tightening just enough to pin your arm behind your back. In one smooth motion, he spun you, pressing your front against the cold brick wall of the rooftop.

You gasped, but not from pain. No, this was something else entirely. Something hot and heavy that curled deep in your belly.

“You never learn,” he muttered, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. His body was flush against yours, the hard lines of his armor pressing into the soft curves of your suit.

You let out a breathy chuckle, shifting slightly, just enough to make your ass brush against the front of his thighs. “Oh, but if I did… you wouldn’t be having this much fun, would you?”

His grip on your wrist tightened.

And just like that, the real game began.

The air was thick with Gotham’s night chill, but none of it reached you—not with him pressed so firmly against your back, not with his fingers digging into your hips, forcing you to feel every hard, unyielding inch of his body through the taut leather of your suit.

“You’re quiet,” Nightwing mused, his breath ghosting against the shell of your ear. His voice was pure sin—low, smug, amused. “Not like you at all. Don’t tell me I finally caught the little kitty with her tongue tied?”

You let out a slow, deliberate exhale, pushing back just slightly against the solid heat of his chest. His grip tightened instantly—his fingers curling possessively around your waist, dragging you flush against him, pinning you to the rooftop’s ledge.

“You’re gonna have to do more than this to shut me up,” you purred, voice laced with mock boredom, even as heat coiled low in your stomach.

The chuckle he let out sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh, I plan to.”

His hands moved lower, slow and deliberate, until his fingers cupped the heat between your thighs. Leather on leather. A frustrating barrier.

“Oh?” His tone dripped amusement, but there was an edge beneath it, something dark, something mean. “What’s this, kitten? Squirming already?”

You rolled your hips forward slightly, teasing, taunting. “Not squirming. Just wondering if the big, bad hero has the guts to do more than talk.”

A sharp slap landed right between your legs, the sound obscene against the leather. You gasped, your body jolting from the impact, a delicious sting blooming between your thighs.

“Oh, trust me,” he murmured, dragging his fingers slowly over the spot where he’d just struck. “I don’t just talk.”

Another smack—sharper this time, more deliberate. Then another.

Each one sent sparks of pleasure and pain twisting up your spine, but it wasn’t enough. Not enough to truly hurt, not enough to satisfy. Just enough to tease.

“You can’t even feel me properly, can you?” he mused, his voice filled with faux sympathy. His fingers traced slow, taunting circles over the leather, applying just enough pressure to make your thighs clench. “Bet that’s killing you, huh? Knowing I’m right here, knowing I could ruin you, but all you’re getting is friction.”

You whimpered before you could stop yourself, the sound humiliatingly needy. Your hips rolled forward instinctively, searching for more, but he held you still, pressing you even harder against the ledge.

“Tch,” he clicked his tongue, full of mockery. “Gotham’s biggest slut, and look at you. Desperate.”

You huffed, gripping the concrete edge in front of you. “And yet I’m still the one in control,” you shot back, twisting your head slightly to glance at him. “All this effort, and I’m still laughing.”

A dangerous smirk curled his lips. “Yeah?”

His gloved fingers curled around your throat, wrenching you back against his chest. “You sure about that?”

Your next breath hitched, and he felt it. The way your body tensed, the way your thighs instinctively pressed together. His grip didn’t squeeze—not yet. Just a warning. A silent threat.

His other hand, still between your thighs, moved in slow, lazy circles over the leather of your suit, barely pressing down, just enough to make you suffer.

“Tell me,” he murmured, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “How bad do you want me to take this off?”

You swallowed hard, your pulse thrumming beneath his fingers. “Who says I do?”

His chuckle was wicked. Dark. A promise.

“You think I don’t see it?” He squeezed your throat just enough to steal your next breath, just enough to make your lashes flutter. “The way your body fucking begs for it?”

You let out a breathy moan before you could stop yourself, and he rewarded you with another sharp slap between your legs—this one harsher, making your knees buckle. Still, not enough.

“You wanna be ruined, don’t you?” he taunted, his fingers pressing down harder, rubbing you through the suit, knowing damn well it wasn’t enough.

You hated him for it.

Hated how he made you crave it, hated how you were already soaking through the leather despite not having felt his bare fingers once. Hated how badly you needed him to break you.

You tilted your head slightly, smirking as best you could despite the wave of frustration coursing through you. “You talk a lot, Birdie. Maybe you’re the one who needs to prove something.”

Something in his demeanor shifted.

And then, he dropped to his knees.

A rush of air left your lungs, a shockwave of anticipation shooting through you. “Oh?” you purred, trying to sound smug, but your voice betrayed you—breathy, eager, too damn willing.

He spread your legs wider with a firm grip, his breath hot against the leather now slick with your own arousal. He could smell it.

“Look at you,” he murmured, so fucking condescending. “Dripping. And for what?”

You bit back a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

He exhaled slowly before tilting his head, eyes locked onto yours as he did something so unspeakably filthy you nearly choked on air.

He licked you.

Right through the suit. Slow, deliberate, all tongue.

The heat of it bled through the material, and even though you couldn’t feel his mouth fully, the pressure, the friction—it sent a violent shudder up your spine.

“Oh,” you gasped, knuckles going white against the ledge.

He did it again, slower this time, tasting the leather, tasting the need trapped beneath it.

It was unbearable.

“I could make you cum just like this,” he mused, dragging his tongue along the seam where the suit clung to you the tightest.

You whimpered, head dropping forward, panting against the rooftop air.

And then, he laughed. Mocking. Dark. Knowing.

“I don’t even have to touch you to break you, do I?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, cursing under your breath.

He sat back on his heels slightly, tilting his head. “You wanna beg yet?”

You sucked in a sharp breath, forcing yourself to keep your composure. Barely.

Instead, you gathered every ounce of pride left in your body, and with a smirk, you purred, “Make me.”

Something dark flashed behind his eyes. Something wicked. Something cruel.

His fingers dug into your hips, and you knew, in that moment, he was about to ruin you.

Nightwing’s fingers were still gripping your hips, his mouth hovering over your soaked leather, his breath hot and heavy against the unforgiving material. You were already a mess—panting, quivering, dripping despite him barely touching you.

And he knew it.

“Knew you were a filthy little thing,” he murmured, dragging his tongue over the seam of your suit again, this time slower, wetter, filthier. His spit smeared against the leather, mixing with the arousal he couldn’t even reach, his breath coming out low and taunting when he saw the way your thighs trembled.

“Oh?” he cooed mockingly, tilting his head as he licked you again, pressing harder this time, rubbing his face against the wetness. “Are you shaking, kitten? Thought you were the one in control.”

You barely heard him over the sound of your own ragged breathing. Your knuckles were white against the concrete ledge, nails digging into the surface as you clenched your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg.

But you needed more.

And you weren’t above taking it.

You reached back, gripping his hair roughly, forcing him closer. “If you’re going to make a mess,” you panted, grinding against his tongue, “then make it worth my time.”

His low, dark chuckle vibrated through you.

“Oh, you wanna be fucking used?” His voice was drenched in something dangerous, something cruel.

You didn’t even have time to answer before his hand came down hard between your legs—a wet, smacking slap.

Your moan came out broken, needy, filthy.

“Yeah,” he muttered, dragging his tongue along the slick surface again, making sure you heard every wet, messy stroke. “You do.”

His gloved fingers hooked into the tight fabric at your hips, tugging hard—not enough to tear, but enough to make the leather stretch. “Bet you taste just as fucking good as you look.”

He spit onto your cunt right through the suit.

The wetness seeped into the fabric, mixing with everything else, soaking you in a way that made you groan in frustration. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

You needed more.

You twisted your head to look at him, your lips curving into a smirk despite the desperation clawing through you. “Pathetic,” you teased breathlessly. “All that talk and you’re still scared to take what you want.”

His hand wrapped around your throat before you could even process it, yanking you backward into him.

The sudden force of it made your back arch, your ass pressing right against the hard length in his suit. His grip tightened, his chest heaving against your back as he let out a low, ragged exhale, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“You have no fucking idea what you just started.”

You barely had a second to react before he spit into your mouth.

Hot, messy, degrading—his grip on your jaw keeping your lips open just wide enough to take it.

Your moan was instant. Your thighs clenched, your entire body lighting up from the sheer filth of it.

And he saw.

“Ohh,” he laughed, mocking, low, drenched in satisfaction. “You really are Gotham’s filthiest little slut.”

Before you could retort, his mouth was on you—

Sloppy, messy, spit-slicked kisses down your throat, his teeth grazing, his tongue licking up the mess he’d made.

He turned you around in one swift motion, forcing you back against the ledge, his hand gripping your jaw, prying your mouth open again.

“You wanna be fucking used?” he murmured against your lips, his own mouth wet, his breath fanning over your face.

Then—another spit.

Right onto your tongue.

“Swallow.”

Your legs nearly gave out.

You obeyed without thinking, without hesitation, without anything but the sheer need consuming your body.

And he lost it.

His mouth crashed against yours, the kiss wet, filthy, tongues tangling with no sense of control. His gloved fingers found your waist, yanking you flush against him, grinding the hard length between his legs against you.

“This fucking suit,” he growled against your lips, biting down on your bottom lip before pulling away. “Gonna fucking ruin you right through it.”

He dropped back to his knees again, this time not teasing, not taunting, just fucking devouring you.

Spitting. Licking. Sucking. Biting.

The leather was soaked.

You were a mess.

And he was just getting started.

His grip was relentless—fingers bruising your hips, his breath hot and ragged against your cheek, your suit slick with his spit. You were a mess, bent over the rooftop ledge, trembling, grinding against the frustration of leather against leather, caught in his cruel game.

And the worst part? He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Look at you,” he groaned, grinding his hips against yours in slow, agonizing rolls. Teasing. Mocking. Dragging it out.“So fucking needy. Gotham’s filthiest little slut, dripping all over my tongue, and I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

Your teeth clenched. Again.

That fucking nickname. Again.

He’d been throwing it at you all night—taunting you, pushing you, like he knew it would break you eventually.

And oh, it did.

Your entire body tensed, your hands pushing back against his chest as you suddenly turned, facing him with a slow, sultry smirk that had danger written all over it.

“Gotham’s filthiest slut, huh?” you repeated, voice sickly sweet, dripping in menace.

Nightwing’s smirk barely faltered. “That’s what I said.”

Your fingers reached for the zipper at your chest.

“Then I guess it’s time I show you what that actually fucking means.”

His eyes darkened instantly.

You didn’t just unzip the suit. You ripped it open, shoving the leather down your arms, rolling your hips as you tugged it off completely, leaving yourself standing in the cold Gotham air—wearing nothing but a tiny black leather G-string.

The look on his face?

Priceless.

His breath hitched. His fingers twitched. His pupils blew wide as he took in every bare, glistening inch of you, illuminated only by the city lights.

And then, the cocky bastard smirked.

“Shit,” he murmured, licking his lips, his voice turning hoarse, greedy. “Guess you really are a whore.”

You laughed. Low. Dangerous.

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it, Birdie.”

Then, deliberately slow, you turned around.

You bent at the waist, spreading your cheeks with both hands, letting him see exactly where that tiny strip of leather disappeared between your folds—where it rubbed against your asshole, soaked with your arousal.

A low, guttural groan ripped from his throat. The sound of a man barely holding himself together.

You wiggled your hips just slightly, grinding against the empty air, arching your back just enough to give him the perfect view.

Then, without a word, you crawled away.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Letting your hips sway, knowing damn well he was watching every inch of your body move.

He let out a shaky exhale, his restraint hanging by a thread.

“You…” he swallowed hard, his voice wrecked. “You are so fucking evil.”

You only grinned, settling onto your back at the center of the rooftop.

Then, you spread your legs.

Your fingers traced along the thin strip of leather, teasing, barely touching yourself, making a mess just for him.

His entire body locked up.

You smirked, rolling your hips lazily, teasing, watching the way his jaw clenched, the way his gloved fingers flexed at his sides like he was holding himself back from grabbing you.

Then, in the filthiest, most sinful voice you could muster, you pouted and cooed:

“What’s wrong, baby? Pussy got your tongue?”

His groan was guttural.

You weren’t done.

Tilting your head, you made a slow, come-hither motion with your finger, voice dropping into something dark, dripping in depravity.

“C’mere, Birdie. Wanna let this pussy teach you about the birds and the bees?”

His breath shuddered. His entire body twitched.

Then—he fucking snapped.

One second, he was standing there, panting like he’d lost his goddamn mind.

The next?

You were on your back, spread out on the rooftop, Nightwing between your legs, his hands everywhere, his mouth crashing into yours—hot, wet, filthy.

And for the first time all night, he was the one begging.

“Say it again,” he panted, grinding against you, licking into your mouth like he was starved for it. “Say it again, baby, I fucking dare you.”

You moaned into his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck, dragging him closer, arching up into him.

“What’s wrong, Birdie?” you panted, voice dripping in mock innocence. “Pussy got your—”

His hand clamped over your mouth, his palm pressing down hard.

“Ohh, no, no,” he chuckled darkly, his hips pressing down, making you feel every thick, hard inch of him through his suit. “You don’t get to fucking talk anymore.”

Then, with no hesitation—he spit right into your mouth.

Messy. Wet. Dominating.

“Swallow.”

Your body shuddered violently.

You swallowed without thinking. Without hesitation. Without anything but the overwhelming, suffocating need between your thighs.

And then? He fucking lost it.

His hands were everywhere—gripping your jaw, pressing your legs open wider, teasing, taunting, making a mess of you.

His mouth was on you, licking, sucking, biting, drowning in your filth, spitting between your legs just to watch it drip down your skin.

“You wanna talk about Gotham’s filthiest slut?” he groaned, dragging his tongue over the soaked fabric barely covering you.

He spit again.

This time, right onto your bare, swollen clit.

Then he licked it up, slow and obscene, making sure you heard every single filthy stroke of his tongue.

“Then let me fucking worship her properly.”

And with that, he dove in

You were sprawled out beneath him, your legs wide open, your body on full display, wearing nothing but that tiny strip of leather that was already soaked through.

And he was kneeling there, staring at you like you were something holy.

Like something he was about to worship.

His gloved fingers slid down, hooking under the thin string of your G-string, tugging it back just enough to 

Snap.

The sting of the leather snapping against your clit sent a sharp jolt of pain-pleasure through your body.

And all you did. Was moan.

Loud, broken, filthy—a sound so obscene it made his breath catch.

His hands froze for a second, his lips parting slightly as he let out a low, wrecked chuckle. “Holy shit,” he muttered, his voice wrecked with something dark, something unhinged.

He did it again.

Snap.

And you moaned again.

His pupils blew wide. His fingers dug into your thighs as he let out a low, shaky groan, staring at you like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he rasped.

But then, finally, he gave you what you needed.

His mouth.

His hot, wet, wicked fucking mouth.

He devoured you.

His tongue licked a long, leisurely stripe over the soaked fabric, pressing down, teasing. His lips wrapped around the thin strip of leather, sucking on it like he was tasting you through it.

It was good—too good.

But it wasn’t enough.

You let out a breathless whimper, rolling your hips up against his face, chasing more friction, more pressure, more fucking anything.

He chuckled against you, the vibration sending a fresh wave of arousal dripping into the fabric.

“What’s wrong, kitten?” His voice was mocking, his tongue darting out to flick against the fabric too lightly, too soft, too slow. “Not enough?”

You whined. Actually fucking whined.

“No,” you panted, voice raw, desperate, completely ruined. “More.”

He smirked against your inner thigh, his fingers trailing up to press just barely against your entrance, spreading your slick over the leather.

“More?” he repeated, his tone dangerously amused.

You glared down at him, panting, shaking, your hands fisting into the rooftop. “More.”

He hummed, dragging his tongue lower, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the inside of your thighs, avoiding where you needed him most.

His mouth was everywhere but there.

You groaned in frustration, rolling your hips up again, trying to make him touch you, do anything real.

But he just laughed, watching you suffer.

“Oh, poor thing,” he cooed, dragging his teeth lightly over your skin. “So desperate. So fucking greedy.”

Then, another flick of his tongue—light, too light—and your patience snapped.

“Riki,” you whined, your voice breaking, your entire body trembling. “I said more.”

His smirk disappeared.

He snapped.

His gloved fingers grabbed your wrist, yanking it down, forcing your hand between your legs.

“Then fucking touch yourself.”

Your breath caught.

Before you could react, before you could even process what he just said, he spit.

Right onto your fingers.

Hot, wet, filthy.

“Rub yourself,” he ordered, his voice dangerously low. “Since nothing I do is enough.”

Your entire body shuddered.

And you did it.

You slid your fingers over the soaked fabric, spreading his spit, spreading yourself, moaning at the sheer depravity of it.

His gaze darkened, his chest rising and falling in heavy, ragged breaths.

“Holy fuck,” he groaned, his voice wrecked. “You’re actually—”

Then he lost it.

His mouth was back on you, devouring you, licking into your fingers, sucking them into his mouth, tasting you off your own skin.

He yanked the soaked leather aside, spitting onto your bare skin this time.

His fingers were inside you.

Deep, rough, curling just right, fucking you open with no hesitation.

“Still not enough?” he panted, licking, sucking, spitting, fingering you all at once.

Your eyes rolled back.

Your moans shattered into nothing.

He was everywhere.

His spit was dripping down your skin, his mouth was wrecking you, his fingers were filling you, his voice was taunting you, breaking you, ruining you.

“Yeah?” he growled, fucking his fingers into you harder. “That enough for you now, kitten?”

You couldn’t even answer.

You could only moan, sob, beg, take it.

And he just kept going.

More. More. More.

Your body was wrecked, trembling, covered in spit and slick and sweat, your legs still spread wide open as you panted against the cold Gotham air.

Nightwing’s breath was heavy as he hovered over you, his gloved fingers still buried deep inside you, dripping with everything he had coaxed out of you. His other hand was wrapped tight around your wrist, keeping your fingers right where he wanted them—pressing into yourself, rubbing slow, messy circles soaked in his spit.

His voice was low, taunting.

“You think I’m done with you?” he murmured, dragging his fingers out, just to slap them back against your clit.

You whimpered, your body jerking from the impact.

“No,” he growled, watching the way you twitched, the way your body craved more. “You’re not done. Not even close.”

Then, with one hand still on your jaw, prying your mouth open, he reached down with his free hand—

And grabbed the stolen jewel.

Your breath hitched. Your body froze.

He lifted it slowly, rolling the smooth, perfectly rounded crimson diamond between his fingers. The same diamond you had risked everything to steal tonight.

And then—

His gloved fingers spread you apart, lower this time.

Your breath caught in your throat.

“W—wait,” you gasped, your voice trembling, your fingers clenching against his arm.

But Nightwing just smirked.

“Oh, what’s wrong?” he murmured, pressing the cool gemstone right against your tight, untouched asshole.

You squeaked.

“You were so cocky earlier,” he continued, voice dripping in mockery, rubbing the gemstone right there, pressing, teasing, making you gasp at the contrast of heat and cold. “What happened to all that attitude, kitten?”

Your thighs clenched, your whole body shaking as he pushed—

And the jewel disappeared inside you.

A wrecked, broken scream ripped from your throat.

Your back arched violently, your body convulsing, a sharp wave of pleasure unlike anything you’d ever felt crashing into you.

“Ohhh,” Nightwing groaned, watching the way your asshole fluttered around the jewel, clenching, squeezing, trying to adjust to the perfect, filthy weight of it.

Your fingers clawed at the rooftop, your entire body trembling.

He was stunned.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed. “You like that?”

You whimpered, shaking, nodding so hard it made him laugh.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair, watching you lose your fucking mind. “Didn’t realize you were this much of a slut for it.”

Your only answer was a wrecked, gasping moan.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his gloved fingers tracing over the jewel, pressing it deeper, twisting it, watching you shudder.“Look at you, baby. Completely ruined just from having your ass filled.”

You were gone.

Shaking, dripping, lost in pleasure.

He wasn’t finished.

You barely had time to process it before he reached for his baton.

Your breath hitched violently.

He noticed. And he smirked.

“You’re looking at me like you’re scared,” he murmured, twirling it between his fingers with ease. “Thought you liked surprises, kitten.”

Your eyes widened as you shook your head, breathless, still adjusting to the fucking jewel sitting inside you.

“Riki,” you stammered.

But he just hushed you, dragging the smooth, cold length of the baton down your stomach, lower, right against your dripping folds.

Then—he turned it on.

A low vibration rumbled through your core, sending a shockwave of pleasure straight up your spine.

You screamed.

“Ohhh,” he groaned, grinding the vibrating baton against your clit, watching you convulse beneath him. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

The double stimulation was unbearable—the jewel keeping you stretched, your walls clenching around it, while the steady, pulsing vibration of the baton pushed you closer and closer to insanity.

It was too much.

Too much.

Too fucking good.

Your body arched off the rooftop, your back bowing, hands gripping his arm like you were about to break.

“Ohh, I think she likes it,” he teased, his voice breathless, watching you come undone beneath him. “Look at you, taking it so well.”

You could barely fucking breathe.

“Tell me how it feels,” he panted, pressing the baton harder against you.

You whimpered, unable to form words, your head spinning, drowning.

But that wasn’t good enough for him.

He pressed the baton against your clit again—

And turned the vibration up.

Your scream cracked.

“That’s it, kitten,” he growled, his fingers digging into your thighs, holding you open, forcing you to take it. “Fucking lose it for me.”

And you did.

Completely. Utterly.

Your orgasm slammed through you, ripping you apart, drenching the rooftop beneath you, your thighs shaking violently as you sobbed through the overwhelming, unbearable pleasure.

You were gone.

Ruined.

And he was just getting started.

The night air clung to your sweat-slick skin, every nerve in your body alive, overstimulated, twitching from the filth Nightwing had already dragged you through.

Still. He wasn’t done.

Not until he’d ruined you completely.

His breath was hot against your ear as he lined himself up, dragging the thick, leaking tip of his cock through your soaked, messy folds.

“Look at you,” he groaned, his voice wrecked, dripping in filth. “Fucking dripping, baby. You that desperate for me?”

Your whimper was answer enough.

He smirked against your skin, his gloved fingers tracing your slit, feeling the way you clenched around nothing, soaking his cock before he even pushed in.

“So wet,” he muttered, dragging himself slowly over your entrance. So messy.

He pressed the jewel deeper.

Your entire body lurched forward, your mouth falling open in a silent scream as the cold, unyielding stone inside your ass shifted, stretching you further, pressing against something that sent shockwaves up your spine.

“Ohhh,” he groaned, watching your reaction, his cock twitching from just the way you shook.

“Still cold, huh?” he teased, smirking against your ear. “Guess I’ll have to warm it up for you.”

Then, in one slow, filthy slide—he sank into you.

Your walls stretched around him, sucking him in, clenching down like your body didn’t want to let him go.

The sound was obscene.

Wet, sticky, a loud, filthy squelch echoing through the Gotham night.

Nightwing let out a choked laugh, his fingers gripping your hips, stilling deep inside you for a second.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Did you hear that?”

Your face burned. You tried to say something, but all that came out was a helpless moan.

He just chuckled darkly.

“Ohhh,” he mocked, pulling back just a bit before sliding in again, deliberately slow, making sure you both heard the filthy sounds your pussy made.

Another loud, wet squelch.

He groaned, laughing. “Oh, baby—it’s talking dirty to me.”

Your eyes rolled back.

Another thrust—sharp, deep, pushing the jewel further inside you.

Another loud, disgustingly wet sound.

“Fuck,” he gasped, completely lost in it. “She’s filthy.”

Your breath hitched.

“Ohh, you like that, don’t you?” he murmured, nipping at your jaw, rolling his hips deeper, grinding against the cold pressure of the jewel.

Your entire body convulsed.

“Ohhh, fuck,” he rasped. “She likes it. She likes when I press it.”

That was when something shifted.

A slow grin curled at your lips.

Your fingers dug into his arms, your body rolling into his thrusts, meeting him, matching him, overtaking him.

“Yeah,” you gasped, moaning like a slut, rocking against him. “She likes it, Birdie. She fucking loves it.”

His eyes snapped to yours.

“Ohh,” you mocked, your voice thick, teasing, wrapping around his cock like a vice. “What’s wrong, baby? She too much for you?”

He let out a wrecked groan, his grip on your hips tightening.

“Holy fuck,” he muttered, his pace stuttering for half a second before he lost it.

“Yeah?” he growled, thrusting into you harder, meaner, pressing the jewel deeper, his cock grinding against it from inside.

Your moans shattered.

“Ohhh, she loves that,” you panted, rolling your hips, smirking through the absolute filth.

“She’s greedy, baby,” you taunted, gripping his wrist, guiding his hand lower. “She wants it all—your cock, your fingers, your cum.”

His breath shuddered.

“Jesus fuck,” he gasped, grinding harder, chasing the wet, squelching sounds. “You’re actually a fucking menace.”

“Ohhh, is Birdie struggling?” you pouted, tilting your head mockingly. “Can’t handle how fucking dirty she is?”

His jaw clenched, his eyes wild, desperate.

“Say it again,” he gritted, grabbing your throat, holding you still while he wrecked you. “Say it again, kitten.”

Your smirk widened.

“She wants your cum,” you gasped, rolling your hips to meet his every snap. “She needs it, baby—fuck, she needs it so bad. She’s sucking you in, begging for it, stretching just to take all your fucking cock.”

His groan cracked. His body shook.

But then, you arched your back further, pushing your ass against him, forcing him deeper, forcing him to feel the way the jewel shifted inside you.

“Press it,” you whispered, your voice dripping with sin. “Play with it. Show everyone what you’re doing to me.”

His breath hitched.

“What?” he rasped, his cock twitching inside you.

You smirked, looking back over your shoulder, eyes dark and full of wicked intent. “You heard me. Make her put on a fucking show.”

His hands gripped your hips brutally hard, his fingers spreading you apart, exposing the way the jewel sat inside you.

“Ohhh, fuck,” he groaned, his voice wrecked.

“Press it, Birdie,” you purred, wiggling your hips. “Show them how deep she can take it.”

His control snapped.

He slammed deep, forcing the jewel against your walls, twisting it, watching the way your body convulsed from the sheer filth of it.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, completely lost, completely obsessed.

And as your moans turned to helpless, desperate cries, you knew—

He was going to give you exactly what you begged for

Your body was wrecked.

Your face was pressed against the rooftop, your breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps as you shook, convulsing, drowning in the filth he had forced you into.

And the jewel?

Still inside you.

Still cold, still stretching you, still pressing against every nerve ending, keeping you wide open, making sure you never forgot who put it there.

Nightwing wasn’t any better.

His chest was heaving against your back, his grip still brutal on your hips, his cock twitching inside you as he pulsed, throbbing, leaking, completely fucking wrecked.

“Oh, baby,” you giggled breathlessly, rolling your hips against him, making him groan, shaking from overstimulation.“She’s still so full.”

His head dropped to your shoulder, his laugh wrecked, breathless, completely broken.

“You are fucking insane,” he muttered, dragging his lips over your neck, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark.

“And yet,” you panted, rocking back, making him feel every aftershock, every squeeze of your body still holding onto him, still milking him. “You loved every second of it.”

He exhaled shakily, his hands trailing over your body, gripping your ass, pressing on the jewel just enough to make you twitch.

“You’re keeping it in,” he murmured, voice laced with amusement, dragging his fingers over where the gem sat snug inside you.

“Maybe I like the way it feels,” you purred, tilting your head, lips brushing against his. “Maybe I want you to take me home and keep me plugged up all night.”

His groan was filthy.

“You are a fucking problem,” he muttered, biting your bottom lip, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes.

He smirked.

“Fine,” he murmured, dragging his thumb over your swollen, wrecked clit, making you jolt. “But if that jewel stays in all night, I get to fuck you with it still inside.”

Your grin widened.

“Baby,” you purred, cupping his jaw, pulling him into a slow, messy kiss.

“You can do whatever the fuck you want.”

And as the night stretched before you, one thing was certain.

This wasn’t over.

[spaded-ace]

thought of this idea for a while (JJK Drabble)

© made by spaded-ace. Repost, like, request, and follow! (Do not copy or modify)

DrillSergentToji! who has had his eye on you since the moment he found out that you were going to be in his unit. As one of the few girls, he already had committed you to memory.

DrillSergentToji! pushed you past your limits during training. “Is that all ya’ got, princess? Get ya’ chest on the ground, this isn’t gym class!” He barked while pressing the tip of his boot into your back. It never stopped there; he’s command you run an extra lap, bark at you any chance he got, and he watched as you pulled yourself on the bars despite being worn out. Your drive and stamina was Toji’s biggest turn on peeve when it came to you.

DrillSergentToji! couldn’t help but let you catch his eyes all hours of the day — during roll call, drills, lunch, break time — whenever. He swore to himself it was nothing, yet he caught himself staring at you more times when he should’ve been doing anything else.

DrillSergentToji! nearly loses himself when he sees you in your official uniform during duties. You’re outside, sweating while working on a repair. Your moss green uniform shirt stuck to your skin, making the outline of your sports bra visible while the camouflage pants cling to you like a second skin in the heat. The way the material encased you was enough to nearly make Toji lose the small semblance of self-control he kept for this long.

DrillSergentToji! insists on escorting you to the medical ward upon hearing reports that you’ve injured yourself during one of your duties. After all, it’s the least he can do for such a driven rookie of his.

DrillSergentToji! makes sure to check in with you over the next few days upon learning you tore a small muscle in your shoulder during one of your duties. “I take it your almost well enough to get back to morning drill, yeah?” He still maintains the same stoic posture and “don’t-give-a-fuck-about-you” attitude in an attempt to seem like he doesn’t care, but he can’t it when he has a “small” interest in you.

DrillSergentToji! who insists on you coming to his room after drills the following morning to ensure that “your shoulder is still holding up” from the intensity. “Just a little precaution. Can’t have ya’ ending up in the medical ward again” Little do you realize, he has other plans.

DrillSergentToji! has you come to his room to “practice” the drills again from that morning only for you to end up with a mouthful of his cock while he corrects you in your push-up form. “Fuck…Loosen those shoulders, princess, just like ya’ —fuck— loosened ya’ mouth…” His hands weaved into your hair, signaling you when to move up and down. Your shoulder was burning like fire but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop when he tasted this good.

DrillSergentToji! made sure to make a mess all over your face when he finished. It wouldn’t be a training session without a little humiliation, wouldn’t it? “Look at you, rookie; all pretty when ya’ painted with my cum. This should be a fun story to tell the commanders.” His hands pulled your face closer to his cock, making sure you got every spurt on your skin before he pulled away.

DrillSergentToji! knows that you’re aching. His hand was already at your waist the moment you dropped the push up position and he made you sit in his lap. “She needs me, doesn’t she?” He smirked, undoing the belt to your pants before slipping his hand underneath the waistband to feel the growing wetness. He couldn’t help but smirk when he felt you on his fingers. “She’s standing at attention.”. He couldn’t wait any longer before sinking you onto his “private”. Boy, was he about to have some fun. By the end of the night, he was going to make sure you were screaming “Yes, Sergeant!” at the top of your lungs…

[kyuuppi]

private server (1/?)

Pairing: Kenma x reader (she/her)

Tags: slow burn (?), internet friends to lovers, reader is a corporate slave with social anxiety, Kenma is a bit sassy and bad with feelings, lots of game references (Minecraft, DBD, Marvel Rivals, etc.), vtuber stereotypes, modern au

Words: 2.7k

Every 7pm after work, you boot up your old laptop and log onto Discord, where you begin a voice call in the private server only the two of you share. Kenma seems to have a natural sense for what you want to play just by hearing your tone when you greet him.

On your good nights, he allows you to practice duoing in the FPS games he’s known for playing. He takes on the role of support without a single complaint while you play DPS, regardless of how badly you feed. If anyone on the enemy team calls out your poor performance, Kenma makes it a point to repeatedly kill them in the most triggering ways.

On the nights you come on exhausted from a rough day at work, Kenma wordlessly boots up Stardew Valley or Minecraft, allowing the two of you to relax to the soundtrack in a comfortable silence.

Something about his quiet presence always eases your mind, and more often than not, you find yourself rambling about the things on your mind while the two of you play. The annoying habits of your coworkers, your biggest fears, the new dressing you tried on your salad at lunch–you end up eventually spilling everything to him while he quietly listens, occasionally making a soft hum or comment that lets you know he’s still there. 

In the beginning, you always worried that you were talking too much and boring this famous internet celebrity with the inconsequential details of your boring life. The moment you realized you were ranting, you’d suddenly cut yourself off with an embarrassed apology.

But that’s when Kenma would surprise you the most–rather than allowing the call to fall into the silence he seemed so comfortable with, he would ask a question so specific, and often related to a past bit of information you forgot you even told him, that it becomes clear he was listening to every word from the beginning. 

It was one of the things that made you realize you liked him more than you should. 

Kenma’s calm disposition had you confiding in him about thoughts you hadn’t even told your best friends, and he never made you feel judged or insignificant for them. Although he almost never started conversations, he always answered any questions you asked with a level of openness that surprised you, like he trusted you just as much as you trusted him. 

Even if–per the extensive searches you did on Twitter, Reddit, and even 4chan–you were 97% sure Kenma was single, you doubted he was interested in dating anyone, let alone dating someone like you who seemed to live in a completely different reality from him.

As your feelings developed, you spent more time than you’d like to admit imagining what type of partner would suit Kenma.

Of course, they would have to be someone with extensive video game knowledge who could match his own. Probably a professional gamer or maybe someone who worked in the industry. The long-haired gamer girls with high-pitched voices and hyper-pink bedrooms who frequently appear in your feed came to mind. All of them had dedicated fan bases full of men and women alike praising their good looks and fun personalities. Many were more than just pretty faces but also great gamers–certainly much better than you in nearly every metric. 

But somehow you struggled to picture Kenma–who spoke in soft low tones and wore the same black hoodie nearly every stream–dating any of them. 

You had considered some VTubers as well – you knew Kenma was mutuals with several big names and occasionally retweeted their merch drops. But that theory died after one particular conversation you had with Kenma over a casual Minecraft session. Feeling particularly insecure, you asked him about his thoughts on a trending busty bunny VTuber all your male coworkers had been chattering about over lunch, to which he responded with a deadpan, “she’s probably just another middle-aged man catfishing simps like most of them are.”  

The only remaining option you could see was some mystery person he knew in real life–perhaps a childhood friend or another streamer who mutually agreed to keep the relationship private.

In one of the rare times Kenma spoke to you about the people he knows in real life, he mentioned an “annoying” childhood friend who is always coming over to his house uninvited and an old rival from high school who now plays professional volleyball in Brazil. While you questioned the likeliness of such a long distance relationship between a professional athlete and a famous streamer, the fondness with which Kenma spoke of him made your chest feel hot with envy. For your own sake, you stopped contemplating Kenma’s romantic life after that and resigned yourself to just savoring the few hours of his time you get every night. 

The first shift in your friendship began in late April.

As a result of one of your coworkers falling sick with the flu, your supervisor assigned you to a cross-country business trip at the last minute. The abrupt shift in responsibilities from you background role in information management to direct client contact overwhelmed you and your usual routine with your internet crush was the last thing on your mind as you raced to pack an overnight suitcase and research clients you had never dealt with before. 

For the first time since you began talking to Kenma three months ago, you missed a gaming session without so much as a message. 

The trip ended up being busier than you had expected even with the support of your coworker who patiently led you through some of the more complicated business etiquette.

By the time you reached your hotel room late that first night, you were exhausted. Still, you had attempted to install the Discord app on your phone to at least give Kenma an apology for your absence. Discord was the only way contact information the two of you had of each other and up until now you had even preferred it that way, You were very intentional in keeping your Twitter where you retweet rather spicy anime fanart and K-pop idol abs top secret from him–not that his verified account with 300k followers would ever follow you back in the first place. 

However, the spotty hotel WiFi proved incompatible with Discord’s large file size, and you gave up after half an hour, stuck at 3% downloaded.  As you closed your heavy eyelids for the night, you mentally assured yourself that Kenma would understand your sudden absence–he is incredibly busy most of the day with his own business and recently complained about an upcoming collaboration with a famous clothing brand that has been demanding a large chunk of his time. He might be so busy himself that he doesn’t even notice you’re gone.

With that thought in mind, you drift out of consciousness to get a few hours of rest before your morning meetings. 

Three days later–two days longer than planned due to a misplaced thumbdrive and storm weather delaying flights–you find yourself finally on the familiar last train back to your apartment.

You twist your ankle restlessly in your work shoes, heels aching from being on your feet for the better part of the week. You utilize the half hour of freetime to finally check your socials. Several unopened emails from online shop subscriptions sat at the top of your personal email inbox, a few life updates from your friends in your texts, and an upcoming world tour from your favorite idols on Twitter. You make a mental note to respond to a group chat about everyone’s availability for the next “charcuterie board night” tomorrow morning. 

The last app you check is Instagram, expecting the usual posts from your college friends on vacations abroad or getting engaged that usually fill you with a sense of envy you don’t like to dwell on. You’re slightly surprised to see the note of a follow request and subsequent new message request in your DMs. You expect the usual influencer scam or sugar daddy bot expressing “interest in your page”. Instead, you see a very brief set of messages from a profile with no picture.

19:42 @ kodzu_ken2: hey this is kenma from discord

Your heart flutters despite yourself as you keep reading.

19:43 @ kodzu_ken2: u havent been online in a while…r u ok?

20:01 @ kodzu_ken2: we dont have to play ofc, we can just talk if ur tired

20:06 @ kodzu_ken2: or if u dnt wanna talk we can just b quiet in call

Kodzuken does not have an official Instagram–you know that for a fact because it was one of the first places you tried to follow him when a clip of his streams first came across your feed. And even if he did, you never shared your own Instagram handle with him so there was no way for him to follow you as your Discord name was completely different.

You tap on the default grey profile picture to his page and it is empty as expected. His bio and name are both left blank with 0 posts, 0 followers, and 0 following–evidence of a brand new profile.

In any other circumstance you would think it was a scam–perhaps one of the thousands of unofficial “kodzuken” pages on Instagram posting fanart and meme edits of the man. But the way of typing–from the shorthand to the word choice are so clearly the Kenma you’ve spent the past 3 months talking to. Moreover, your absence from your regular game sessions is something only Kenma would know about–not even your closest friends know that you’ve secretly been hanging out with a famous steamer. 

You’re typing back a reply before you realize it. 

22:46 @ yn_tofu: Hi Ken!! Sorry I didn’t message you sooner, I got forced into a business trip last minute at work 😵‍💫 I just got back to Tokyo a few hours ago

You nearly drop your phone when the message status immediately changes to “Read.”

@ kodzu_ken2 is typing…

22:47 @ kodzu_ken2: its ok 

You chuckle quietly at how Kenma his brief response is. An elderly man seated across from you shoots you an odd look before going back to his novel. 

22:47 @ kodzu_ken2: do u wanna play tonight?

Startled, you glance up at the information panel above the train door.  Five more stops until your station–then the trek to your apartment with a suitcase–even if you speed walk it’ll take at least another half hour until you’re seated in front of your computer. Your sessions with Kenma are usually well over by then–you finishing your night routine to prepare for bed then work the next day and Kenma starting his regular nighttime streaming session. Your chest clenches in preemptive disappointment.

22:49 @ yn_tofu: I would love to but I won’t be home for another 30 min 😭 

22:49 @ kodzu_ken2: thats ok. ill wait for u

You barely muffle a frustrated screech at how your heart skips a beat over the last sentence. The old man pointedly shoots you a glare before standing as the train comes to a stop. He shuffles off and the train doors shutter closed behind him as you clumsily type your reply. 

22:50 @ yn_tofu: Are you sure??? Don’t you start streaming around that time? I don’t wanna make you late or anything… ;;

22:51 @ kodzu_ken2: my stream is cancelled today

Cancelled? You feel your brows knit in concern as the train jolts to a start. It is rare that Kodzuken cancels a stream–in fact you can’t recall a single instance since you’ve known him. He generally plans his schedules several weeks in advance, posting the upcoming month’s schedule on the last Friday of the month without fail. When he takes vacations–like the time he told you he was going to Brazil to see his friend’s volleyball tournament, your brain mercilessly reminds you–he still streams for at least an hour from his temporary lodging.

22:51 @ yn_tofu: Oh no, did something happen? :( 

22:52 @ yn_tofu: I thought this week you’re playing that new Marvel Rivals game everyone requested…

As the train rolls to another stop you absently realize he’s taking a little longer to reply now. That’s fine of course–you’re just one of his many fans, maybe a casual Discord friend at best. He’s under no obligation to reply right away. 

22:56 @ kodzu_ken2: no, just dnt feel like it today. ill make up for it tomorrow

22:57 @ yn_tofu: Oh yeah? How do you plan to do that?

22:57 @ yn_tofu: Are you gonna finally do that Nagi from Blue Lock cosplay all your fans have been begging for? :p 

22:57 @ kodzu_ken2: ew no way in hell

22:58 @ kodzu_ken2: ill just spam that venom twerking emote in lobby. pretty sure thts the only reason ppl wanted me to stream tht game anyway 😐

You laugh out loud at both Kenma’s rare use of emoji and the mental image of him, blank-faced, spamming the infamous twerking emote in a stream while his chat goes crazy. 

22:58 @ yn_tofu: Idk kinda sus that was your first thought, Ken 🤨

22:58 @ yn_tofu: Its okay to admit you like Venom’s ass, this is a safe space 🫶

22:59 @ kodzu_ken2: i just gagged

22:59 @ kodzu_ken2: im not like u, i dont buy dlc just to stare at charas asses all game

23:00 @ yn_tofu: Omg I told you I did NOT buy Pyramid Head for his ass!! He is actually a really good killer…

23:00 @ kodzu_ken2: idk kinda sus that he was your first thought 🤨

23:00 @ yn_tofu: I hope you remember this convo when I’m kicking your ass in Smash in 20 min >:(

“Now arriving at Asakusabashi Station. The doors on the right side will open.”

The call of your station on the speakers jolts you out of your conversation and you scramble to gather your bags as the train doors open. 

Even rolling a stuffed suitcase and wearing heels you reach your apartment in record time, eager to hear Kenma’s voice for the first time in three days. Stripping off the top layers of your business suit, you don’t bother unpacking anything and just leave your bags, blazer, and shoes in a pile at the front door before taking the three steps to get to the desk next to your bed. 

You tap your bare foot impatiently while the fans of your ancient laptop loudly whirl to life. For once Discord seems not to require an update to open and you click the call button next to Kenma’s name without hesitation. 

He picks up in the first ring. 

“Hi,” you greet into your headset. You aren’t sure if it's from the excitement of talking to Kenma or the three flights of stairs you just hiked up but your voice sounds embarrassingly breathy to your own ears. 

“Hey,” he replies as coolly as usual. The familiar sounds of buttons click faintly in his background. Your chest feels warm and a tension you didn’t know you had leaves your shoulders as you relax into your swivel chair. 

“On my trip I saw some really cool architecture–Kyushu kinda looks like how I imagine Germany–anyway, I was thinking we can make a little cathedral for that empty space in our minecraft world we were talking about last week–”

“We can do that later.”

You bite your tongue, caught off guard by the abrupt dismissal. Wasn’t he the one who asked you to play with him tonight? Did you misunderstand something?

“Is your Switch charged?” He asks.

Said device sits conveniently plugged in at the corner of your desk when you glance over. 

“Uh, yeah.”

“Hurry up and log on then. I heard someone is planning to ‘kick my ass in Smash’ tonight and there’s a new Robin combo I’ve been wanting to test out,” Kenma drawls.

You can practically feel the smirk in his voice and you loudly groan as you reach for your Switch and mentally prepare for the inevitable slaughter.

a/n: Thank you for reading!! This is the first thing I've written in like a year ?? so ik its prob not great. :,,) When I start writing I usually just start with one scene and see where it goes then think of what character would fit the writing best but it almost always ends up being Kenma LOL. I fear he is truly my default.

[cursedyuri]

a lil summertime blurb for y'all <3

18+ only! minors dni.

Summer is easily your favorite time of year in Jackson. The sky is a constant, brilliant blue, stretching out for miles in every direction, only interrupted by the craggy peaks of the still-snowcapped mountains in the distance. The air is sweet with the scent of wildflowers and drifting pollen, and the trees and hip-high grass in the fields is the prettiest shade of green, leaves whooshing with every gust of wind. This kind of weather makes you look forward to going out on patrol - it’s a task you dread in the winter, a permanent scowl fixed on your face when you’re forced to brave the bitter cold. But when it’s warm outside like today? You’re practically itching to mount your horse and bathe in the endless sunrays.

And, even better, Ellie’s your patrol partner today. 

You’re clad in a faded pair of jeans and a cutoff tank top, your scuffed boots knocking gently against the sides of your horse as you follow Ellie through the woods. Your skin is warm from the sun, and each time there’s a break in the trees, you tilt your head toward the sky to let the sunshine melt over you. 

Ellie catches you in the act, eyes shut, facial expression likely one of pure ecstasy - she can’t help the laugh that bursts from her lips. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Ellie asks, biting at the inside of her cheek to hold back a grin. She watches you open your eyes, dazed for a second before you process what she’d said. You let out a laugh of your own.

“Can you tell?” 

“A little,” Ellie says, shrugging. “You’re like a lizard on a warm rock right now.”

You snort. “A lizard?”

The path broadens out enough for you to bring your horse up beside Ellie’s, the soft padding of the hooves on the soil a constant, calming background noise. 

“Hey, lizards are cute,” Ellie says with a faint smile. “And they like the sun. You’re cute and you like the sun, so…”

“You trying to flirt with me?” You mean to give her a hard time, to poke fun at her strange way of complimenting you, but it’s working. Your heart flutters in your chest. 

Ellie catches your eye, still smiling. “Maybe. What if I am?”

You turn your gaze back to the path ahead, fingers toying with the reigns in your hands. You can’t even pretend the suggestive tone of Ellie’s voice isn’t doing something to you.

“I’d say we should stop for a minute,” you tell her, “I think we could use a break - you know, to enjoy the weather.”

“Right,” Ellie affirms. She looks over at you, and your eyes are already on her, your gaze heavy with want. Something similar flashes in her eyes. “To enjoy the weather.”

Ellie can’t fucking believe the lizard comment worked.

It only takes a few moments to find a good place to stop - the forest is full of meadows and grassy alcoves, perfect places to let the horses graze while you and Ellie wander through the vegetation for a spot to, er, enjoy the weather. When you finally do, Ellie’s hands are on you as if drawn in by some kind of magnetic force. Her calloused palms find every inch of exposed skin she can touch: your arms, your hips, your satin-smooth neck. She slips her hands under your tank top, fingertips sending shivers up your spine as she leans in to bring her lips to yours.

You could never get tired of the way Ellie tastes - she’s addictive. Her lips are soft and smooth against yours, her taste just as tantalizing as every time before this; there’s remnants of coffee and maple syrup from this morning’s breakfast, but beneath that is a flavor distinctly her. You couldn’t put it into words even if you tried… And you’ve tried.

With only Ellie’s flannel spread out on the grass as a blanket, you lie down beneath her - but not before you’ve undressed one another, peeling layers of sweat-damp clothing from your skin, breaking between hungry kisses and shuddering breaths. Ellie’s cheeks are even more freckled in the summer, and you find freckles elsewhere, too, scattered over her shoulders and arms from long days spent in the sun. She breaks out into goosebumps when you trail kisses over her sunkissed skin, your hand slipping between her legs to find the wetness soaking her bush.

“So wet,” you murmur in awe, fingers venturing further. Ellie just moans, soft and sweet, hips canting forward as if to beg for more.

She straddles your waist to spread herself further apart for your wandering hands, your fingers dragging through her slick - you can smell her like this, sweet as honeysuckle in the summer breeze. Ellie murmurs your name like it’s a plea, and you shush her before you slip your middle finger into her silken walls. Here’s another sensation you’ll never get over: the way Ellie feels from the inside. Warm, soft, tight, and absolutely soaked. She throbs around your finger as you slide in up to the knuckle, curling your finger to brush against her sweet spot. She takes in a ragged breath and nearly collapses over you, catching herself with both palms against the grass. 

“Fuck,” she hisses. “That’s - you’re so good…”

Your palm grazes against her clit as you sink another finger into Ellie’s heat, and though her bangs have fallen to obscure some of her face, you can still see the way her eyes roll back at every sensation; the way her brows knit together when your fingers graze her insides just right.

“Doing so well for me,” you coo, voice syrupy. “Such a good girl, Ellie.”

Your voice only pushes her closer to an orgasm, her hips thrusting to rub her clit against your palm. You’re sure your fingers are pruning by now from how wet she is - you can’t wait to lick off the remnants. In the meantime, you focus on pumping your fingers inside her, fingers crooked just right. Ellie’s moans become more fervent, more breathy, until you’re sure she’s going to burst - and she does. Your name leaves her lips amidst a string of incoherent curses, her cunt clamping around your fingers as she rides out her orgasm. When she throws her head back and moans, the sunlight glints on her exposed skin, which glows with a thin layer of sweat - a sight that takes your fucking breath away.

When the post-orgasm haze fades, Ellie latches her lips to yours, and you kiss until her hands start to wander your body again - the wetness at your center is hard to ignore. 

Ellie lets you bask in the sun with your thighs around her head, her mouth slick between your legs. You’re warm and dizzy with lust as you ride her face until you reach your own peak, letting her grip your hips and ass so strongly she’ll surely leave marks.

Another reason you love summer? You couldn’t have done this on a winter patrol.

[pneumaticshift]

i have been plagued by thoughts of star sapphire hal and by god it kills me and would absolutely kill bruce to see him in the outfit carol wears in most runs she's in

Ooooh, this is a fun request. Thank you for the wonderful mental image.

———

For a very long moment, Bruce just stared. 

There were a great many things he had prepared himself to encounter tonight. A high-speed chase across Gothams rooftops. Explosions in the streets he’d somehow end up getting blamed for. A concussion he’d insist wasn’t a concussion while Alfred stared at him like he was the biggest disappointment to ever wear body armor. All scenarios that were perfectly reasonable for a man like him to expect. 

This, however, was new. 

Bruce prided himself on his ability to remain unshaken in the face of the bizarre. He had shared into the abyss, stood beside gods and monsters alike, and had endured all the spectacular shit the universe had thrown at him. He’d even suffered through Green Arrow’s attempts at philosophy while stranded on a mission together, and that alone had to count for something.

Now he was standing in the Watchtower, taking in the full reality of what was standing before him, and he knew with absolute certainty that his life had gone completely and irrevocably off the rails. Really, he should have seen it coming the moment he decided to devote his nights to dressing as a bat.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t noticed that Hal Jordan was attractive. He was one of the most infuriating men Bruce had ever worked with, but he was also objectively good-looking. When a man flounced around in a skintight suit with an ass like that, even Bruce was bound to notice. It was a completely manageable distraction in his day-to-day experiences with the League. One of those minor observations you’d acknowledge, catalogue and then brush aside. The sky was blue, grass was green, Hal had a great ass. 

But now he was making a very solid effort at testing the limits of Bruce’s restraint, and it had everything to do with how Hal was currently standing there in a Star Sapphire uniform.

Or, to be specific, a Green Lantern construct of the uniform. And, because apparently this was a test from the Gods to specifically screw Bruce over, the ring had chosen accuracy over modesty.

Bruce knew this because the boots were there. Knee-high, heeled, and glossy in that very specific way that suggested Hal’s ring had spent far too much time on the details. 

The rest of the outfit clung to him indecently. Obscenely. The intricate filigree was vacuum-packed to his tanned skin, high-cut at the hips, plunging at the chest, with goddamn gloves that went up and past his elbows. It should have been impossible for anything to be both skintight and flowing, but the ring sure did make a good go of it.

The tiara really brought the whole thing together nicely. Or insanely. Bruce hadn’t decided yet. 

For the longest moment, Hal didn’t even notice Bruce was there. 

He was too busy flailing his hand around to notice. The ring was glowing in fits and starts as he tried, and ultimately failed, to dismiss the uniform. The man was practically bordering on desperate as his own willpower betrayed him. 

Bruce, for his part, wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

He could enjoy the show, he supposed. Hal was stumbling gracefully in those ridiculous heels, cursing under his breath and trying to lock his knees in place for balance. He had been to alien planets, fought cosmic horrors, survived all the shit of the universe, but apparently walking in heels was where he met his match. 

Alternatively, Bruce could walk away and pretend he wasn’t going to think about the image for a very long time. Because unfortunately, he was.

He had appreciated Hal’s ass in the usual Lantern uniform many times before. (After all, he wasn’t blind.) But the Star Sapphire costume didn’t just highlight his assets, it was parading them. Utterly salacious, utterly unfair. Definitely a matter that warranted further rumination later.

Unfortunately, Bruce didn’t have time to decide which course of action to take, because right as he was mentally filing away this entire moment for later analysis, Hal’s entire scantily clad body froze.

Bruce saw the exact moment his instincts kicked in. His back snapped ramrod straight. The energy of his flailing vanished, replaced by something almost eerily still, and slowly, so painfully slowly, he turned his head.

He looked confused at first, like some part of him knew something was wrong but hadn't fully processed what yet. His brow furrowed, his mouth parted slightly, and for a brief, glorious second, Bruce could see the gears in his head struggling to turn. Then his gaze met Bruce’s. And his brain caught up.

Bruce had never seen a man visibly lose the will to live so fast.

Hal’s face went through three separate stages of emotional devastation. Shock, realisation, and existential despair. His pupils dilated. His breath hitched. His entire body seemed to shrink into itself like he was experiencing ego death in real time.

“It’s not what it looks like!” he spluttered.

Bruce tilted his head ever so slightly, letting the silence stretch. He could see Hal floundering, the sheer panic in his eyes as his mouth opened and closed, his brain scrambling for some kind of explanation that didn’t immediately collapse under scrutiny.

“Oh?” Bruce finally said. Partly to be a dick. Partly because he was truly at a loss for words. 

Hal’s hands flew up in immediate defense, then just as quickly shot back down when he remembered he was barely wearing anything. “No—shut up!” he snapped. “I swear to God, this is not what it looks like—”

“It looks like you’re wearing the Star Sapphire uniform.”

Interestingly, Hal made a noise that could’ve been a whine if it wasn’t also fifty percent death rattle. “I— No, wait—” He looked down at himself and cringed. “I can explain!”

“I’d love to hear it.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You’d love to laugh at me. There’s a difference.”

Bruce couldn’t deny it. He’d also love to do a few more things too, but that probably wasn’t entirely helpful. He let his gaze drag deliberately from the top of Hal’s ridiculous head down to the heeled boots and back up again. He tilted his head, taking in the very specific details of the construct. It really was a very well made piece. 

“God, you’re an absolute—” Hal cut himself off to drag a hand over his face. “God. Okay. Look.”

“I’m looking.”

“Not like that, you asshole. I got hit with some weird energy surge and it scrambled my ring's templates. I was thinking ‘armor’, this is what came out!" Hal gestured to himself in exasperation, the movement making the construct shimmer. Good Lord. There was a sheen. "I am working on fixing it!"

Bruce hummed again, completely unhelpful, entirely entertained.

“It’s not like I chose this, alright? This is just some kind of ring feedback. It’s not, like—"

“Subconscious?" Bruce supplied.

Hal scowled at him “No.”

“So your ring just happened to manifest this design, with those proportions, entirely by chance?”

“Yes,” Hal hissed. “Obviously.”

He crossed his arms, which did nothing to make the situation better for him. Or Bruce. It called attention to the way the construct moved with him, emphasising every flex and shift of his muscles. At this point, Bruce was fighting the deeply unprofessional urge to drag him closer and haul him over his shoulder like a caveman

He didn’t. Because he was a professional.

But goddamn.

Hal shifted. The boots squeaked when he did. “This is the worst day of my life.”

“I don’t know. I think it has potential.”

“I’m gonna fix this, you’re going to be very discreet about what you definitely didn’t see here today, and we’re both going to just go ahead and pretend this never happened. Got it?”

“Hm. Shame.”

“Don’t test me, Spooky, I am so close to committing a crime.”

Bruce tilted his head slightly. “In that outfit?”

Hal lunged for the throat.

Unfortunately for him, the boots were still heels and Hal was still incapable of walking on them. The moment he put too much weight forward, his ankles twisted, his balance wobbled, and for one wonderful Bruce watched him go down. 

He really didn’t have any intentions of catching him because he always took great pleasure in the Green Lantern eating shit, but that outfit must have triggered some kind of neolithic instinct in him, because before he could think better of it, Bruce’s hands shot out and caught him by the waist.

Hal crashed into him gracelessly, all flailing limbs and deep personal shame. He scrambled for purchase and ended up gripping the font of Bruce’s suit, and for a second, Bruce was treated to the utterly incredible experience of Hal Jordan, fully wrapped up in his own humiliation, realising that he was now draped across Batman. 

It was beautiful. 

Bruce could feel the exact moment Hal’s soul left his body. His entire frame went rigid, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a dying wheeze, and his hands twitched against Bruce’s chest like he wanted to push himself away but had lost all motor function. Bruce, meanwhile, was noting things.

Specific things. Like how Hal’s waist was bare thanks to the cut-outs, and how it fit suspiciously well in his grip. Or how his bare thighs, lovely, tanned and toned, had pretty much tangled themselves up in Bruce’s cape. Or the way Hal’s entire expression had gone somewhere beyond horror, like he was experiencing a deeply spiritual crisis.

Hal froze.

Bruce froze. 

The tiara glinted in the light.

Bruce wasn’t sure if it was because Hal had ascended to a higher plane of mortification or because his own brain had completely short-circuited, but neither of them moved. He could feel the tension locked up in his muscle, could see the deer-in-the headlights look Hal had, and, worst of all, could feel some primitive part of his own brain straight up celebrating these turn of events. 

The part of his brain that still thought in terms like mine.

The part of his brain that had already acknowledged Hal’s body against his.

The part that was now, alarmingly, imagining many, many, many things.

Bruce forcibly shut that particularly thought process down.

But then Hal exhaled. Not just any exhale. A shaky, uncertain, what-have-I-done-to-deserve-this kind of exhale. The kind accompanied by one of those thousand-yard stare typically reserved for people who had just walked in on their own funerals.

There was barely time to dissect that before Hal was speaking.

“... So, uh. You come here often?”

Bruce decided to drop him.

[starconstruction]

Skipping Class

Jinsoul x Male Reader (smut)

smut tags: face painting, blowjob, pussy eating, riding

happy belated jinsoul day, I don't have anything for this specific date though. Another fic dragged out

Word Count: 2069

The five girls walked down the corridor, students parted like the red sea as they let the clique past. They went by the name of ARTMS, everyone knew them, everyone wanted to be them or be with them.

Jinsoul stood in the middle, chewing bubblegum obnoxiously loud as she blew a large bubble, it popped as her tongue left her mouth to lap it up. She was a proper bad bitch, the way she carried herself. Cropped blazer slung around her shoulders, wearing a leather crop top that only covered her boobs, exposing her delicate stomach. Short shorts held up by a belt, popping out her bubbly butt and showcasing her milky thighs. Capping it out with her black boots.

She knew she was hot.

You were also in awe of her, jaw dropped as you quickly turned away. You didn't realize what they were doing at the time, but you quickly found out.

They were girls who liked to have fun, making a fellow student their entertainment for the day. Dragging them out of their lesson for the time of their life. They had no interest in the dominant type, taking the lead as they whored out whoever ended up in their web.

Then they would never talk about you again. You've heard all the tales, being a loser meant most of your friends had plenty to tell.

Jinsoul needed to unwind, a stressful day bringing her to the last straw. "Gosh, I'll see you guys later." She said to her group, departing from the pack as she walked towards you.

You were surprised when Jinsoul's hand appeared on your locker, shoving you into the locker as she towered over your frame. Blowing a bubble into your face, her presence made you warm. Breath hitching under her.

"Hey hottie." She said casually, "What you doing?" Her hand pressed into your head, her sweet breath filling your nostrils.

"Uh, I-I'm. Going to class" You gulped, Jinsoul smiled at your nervousness, getting even closer to you. Closing the non existent gap.

"You sure? I think a hottie like you should be around my place. You know, getting fucked." Her bluntness turned you red as a tomato, Jinsoul took her chance, pecking you on your lips. Her soft, plump lips making contact, all thoughts of your class being replaced by Jinsoul. Her hotness throwing all logic out the window.

" I, uhhhhhhh." You short circuited, brain going empty.

"No need for words, let's have some fun." She grabbed your hand as she dragged you out of the school, she was indestructible in the eyes of the faculty.

--

Jinsoul's lips were smashed against yours, tongue firmly in your mouth as she won the battle for dominance. Her hands laid firmly around your neck as she guided you into her living-room, pushing you against the couch as her body straddled your lap.

Her mouth tasted strongly of her gum, a pleasant taste as you two made out. Your hands wrapped around the back of her neck, draped over her shoulders as you pushed her deeper inwards.

Your body was desperate for oxygen and your mind was desperate to make out with Jinsoul, fighting against each other as her hands caressed your exposed skin.

Eventually your need for oxygen won, Jinsoul's lips pulled away from yours. A thin wisp of saliva connecting you together, breathing heavily as you admired her beauty in front of you.

"You gonna be good for me?" She asked innocently, her soft hand gripping chin, pushed slightly upwards.

Of course you would.

You nodded and she smiled, releasing your chin from her grasp. "Good boy." She praised.

Her body moved elegantly, with a practiced flair. Sitting back against the arm of her couch, legs spreading open just enough to invite you in. Forcing you to do the rest, she shifted upwards for easier access. Licking her lips as she beckoned you inwards.

She spoke after a short moment, "Go on then, get what you want baby."

You moved instantly, lunging between her legs as she giggled at your eagerness. Hands grabbing at her shorts, coming down her milky long thighs alongside her underwear. Damp folds exposed to the elements and your beady eyes as your heart rate increased, pounding against your chest, blood rushing to your cock.

"Go on boy, I see your hunger." She gave you the permission you begged for, diving in tongue first. Starting with long strokes up and down and down her flesh, her unique taste flooded your mouth. She gasped, but that was about it.

You didn't want to disappoint the girl who chose you of everyone in the school, the thought sending a cold shiver down to the base of your spine.

Your fingers found her labia, spreading it open as your tongue pushed inwards, moving around as she released affirmative whines of pleasure. Her legs found your shoulders, boots comfortably pointed to the air as you ate her out.

"Ugh, that's nice... Fuck" She whimpered, growing a touch impatient as her hands found your hair, roughly grabbing strands of it. Grinding her wet pussy into your awaiting face, going up and down as she defiled your face with her arousal. Forcing you to breathe her scent in, which you did happily.

"Fuck, that's.. Err, fuck that's good!" She started to break under your actions, head thrown back in pleasure. Lapping her juices up with a vitalized vigor, a sole finger taking responsibility of rubbing her clit, moans piling up as they raised in volume.

You lick circles, lines, anything you can muster inside her hole. Slurping up her intoxicating, divine, delicious essence as you let out obscene sounds. Jinsoul was equally as loud, moaning and whimpering.

"Oh god, oh fuck! Fuck Y/N, keep going I'm so fucking close!" A string of swears pouring much similar to her arousal, your eyes watched her clothed body. Slick with the sweat of the warm room, there was something so arousing about seeing her in her clothes, leaving just enough to the imagination.

" I'm cumming! God, fuck that's a good boy." Your face was even more wet now, releasing a torrent of squirt all over you. Wiping it off your face as you licked it clean off.

She laid there, struggling to catch her breath. Chest lifting up and down as you lifted your head out of her legs.

"Good boy, you did well..." She praised.

"What do you want next, use your words for me." She gave you infinite possibilities, but there was only one thing on your mind.

"Need, need you to suck my dick.. Please Jinsoul" The words slipped off your tongue, getting a beaming smile from her.

"Okay, prepare yourself... I get very very good reviews." You believed it with the way her lips were plump and swollen from your earlier making out. Perfect to wrap around your length.

"Lay back for me, get nice and comfy." She emphasized every word, watching your body push itself into a familiar position as her a few minutes prior.

You were also about to get a very similar experience, the way she got closer. Hands crawling towards you as she made short work out of your bottom clothes, cock exposed to the air.

"Not a bad cock, I really struck gold this time." She spoke.

Her dainty hand gripped your cock's base, pointy nails save for her two middle ones enshrouding it. Swirling her tongue below your cockhead with a hunger that matched you earlier.

"Hm, smells good... Tastes good, maybe I should keep you..." She didn't expect an answer, kissing your tip a few times before she grew tired of teasing.

Her mouth wrapped around your tip, bobbing up and down as her plush lips wrapped around, eyes focused intently on your shaft with very little regard for you.

Her mouth felt divine, a heavenly sensation trapping you inwards. Making you crave more and more. Unfortunately she pulled away, dropping a thick glob of saliva onto your cock that trailed down, her hand jerking you off as she rubbed it in.

"God, Jinsoul that's so good... Fuck." You had few words for how nice it felt, keeping a fast pace with no time to tease.

"I know, I'm in love with this fucking dick. Gonna show my affection." She took you right back into her sloppy mouth. Taking as many inches as she could, which was only about half. But she was determined to pleasure you, pushing past her gag relax as her throat constricted, desperate to fight against Jinsoul's will.

Jinsoul succeeded, taking your entire thickness into her mouth. Nose pressing firmly against your crotch, scrunching against your skin as she breathed in your musk.

"Hmm, Jinsoul.." You whimpered, this was unfathomable. No wonder so many of your students skipped class to sleep with ARTMS.

Jinsoul's hand found your balls, giving them gentle rubs as she bobbed up and down. A blob of black hair flying everywhere in an unstable mess.

A loud gasp ripped from her mouth as she came up for air, hand resuming her strokes as she spat more onto it.

"God, so fucking good." Her face was utterly defiled, spit pooled in the corners of her lips. Mascara running very slightly from her deepthroating, lips red and even more swollen.

She looked so good, suddenly taking your cock back in. Swallowing you whole in her hole, slurping on the meat. Her "please cum" eyes locked in on you, after a particularly powerful suck brought you closer.

"Fuck, fuck Jinsoul! I'm, er. Cumming!" You struggled to get out, her mouth lifting up as she pressed into your length. Jerking you off at max speed.

"Cum! Cum for me, paint my face!" She demanded, you complied. Dissolving into pleasure as you exploded on her face, white puddles of cum pooling onto her cheeks in thick dollops. She jerked it onto her forehead as well. Completely soaked in your seed as she smiled.

"Not gonna clean it off, not yet... Take a second. You'll need it." She said, giving you a show.

Her trimmed fingers pressed into her cunt, going in and out of her leaking hole. The noises revitalizing your cock, slowly hardening inch by inch.

"Gonna ride you, ride your cock. Fuck!" She said, face dripping still with your semen. Pooling downwards onto her chin.

Jinsoul straddled you, forcing you back against the couch arm. Cock rigid against her awaiting cunt, rubbing against as your tip got smeared in her juices.

The first inch went in, gripping onto what entered with a greedy grasp. Her body slowly accommodating you as it made way for your hardness. Fuck.

Your tongue licked her top, kissing the clothed breast like there was no barrier. Tasting the fabric imagining that you had Jinsoul's nipple in your lips.

Her walls eventually pushed all the way down. Soft, wet and greedy. They committed your cock to memory, moulding itself around you. "Oh fuck Jinsoul, your pussy is perfect!" You moaned against her top.

"And your so big! Splitting me open, god damn!"

She got herself into a delightful rhythm, bouncing up and down on you as she siphoned pleasure. Using your cock as a dildo, recklessly going to town as she penetrated herself.

Her eyes were completely closed, screwed shut as to avoid any potential load dripping into them. She looked so pretty like this, being nearly fully dressed and still looking so vulnerable, despite being in control.

"I don't think I'm going to last much longer!" You called, her body having such an effect on you, driving you nuts as she kept bouncing.

Jinsoul pulled herself off your cock, getting into a familiar position as she stroked a fresh load of paint to add to her previous cum, covering everything crevice that wasn't covered already. Watching it drip down her neck.

"Wow, fuck... That was intense" You sighed.

"I still haven't came a second time, don't be greedy..." She replied.

"I don't know if I have another round in me."

"Thats okay, I got an idea baby."

She pulled back, legs flying into the air as she pushed you between her meaty asscheeks.

"Go on, embrace your punishment."

Or maybe this was a reward.

[sunnie-angel]

A Fever You Can't Sweat Out

Part 3: Surprise Guests

fem!jason todd x fem!reader summary: an unexpected gift from poison ivy leads to a very fun evening tags: teasing, sexual tension, groping, biting, semi-sentient plant based sex toy, size kink rated explicit (mdni)| wc: 2.8k a/n: uhhh probably the closest i've ever gotten to writing tentacle porn. if harley and ivy feel a bit ooc, that's because it's my first time writing them so please be nice.

series masterlist

Jay’s heart is in her throat. She doesn’t think she’s been this scared since Ethiopia, since Joker. But it’s not for herself this time, no this time her nerves are shredded for you.

Harley and Ivy had broken out of Arkham again. Usually Jay wouldn’t care; they’re usually pretty targeted in their rage these days, Joker and massive conglomerates exclusively, and they’re occasionally down for a team up. No, its where they were sighted that has icy fear clawing up her spine and bile churning in her stomach.

Breaking every traffic law – and a few laws of physics – she races over to your apartment, barely does the minimum of parking her bike before she’s tearing up to your doorstep. The door bangs open and there’s not the carnage she was expecting. Instead you look up at her from your cozy seat on the couch, hands wrapped around a mug, eyes wide with surprise. There’s no screaming or blood on the walls, just the sudden silence of a conversation interrupted. Ivy regards Jay cooly while Harley practically thrums with excitement.

“Shoes, Jay” you remind her, and then she’s toeing off her boots to join the strangest tea party she’s ever been to.

Wary, she sits down next to you, curls a protective arm around your shoulders that you lean into. Steals your cup to sip from it. Never lets her eyes wander from the two most unpredictable elements in the room.

“We’re sorry for dropping by unannounced,” Ivy starts, not sounding very sorry at all. “But–”

“ – but we heard all about Hood’s new puddin’ and just had to come say hello!” interrupts Harley, all sweet giggles and wide smiles.

“Uhuh,” Jay smiles tightly. “Heard from who?”

“Here and there,” Ivy evades. “A guard that’s doing much more good as fertilizer in the gardens.”

You shudder under Jay’s arm, but the welcoming smile on your face never slips.

“Well,” you say, trying to cover up the social faux pas of bringing up murder, “that sounds like a very kind gesture Dr. Isley.”

“Oh Pamela, please,” she insists, primly setting down her empty coffee cup. “It was no trouble at all, some of my darlings were starting to look a little peaky.” Harley giggles.

“So what’s Hoodsy like in bed?” she interjects. “Bet she’s a real firecracker under all that leather!”

Grabbing Jay’s hand in warning before she can do anything rash – like oh, try and bodily haul Harley out the door – you demure.

“Oh she treats me just fine, but I don’t like to kiss and tell.” Gratefully Jay presses a kiss to the top of your head, glaring at Harley all the while.

“Fine? Fine!” She shrieks. “Sugar she should be treatin’ you a lot better than fine! Why if Red didn’t have me screami–”

“Harleen,” Ivy warns her, hand landing heavy on her shoulder.

“I’m happy! Honest, no one’s treated me so good,” you backpedal, suddenly terrified to have put a target on Jay’s back for the perceived crime of not fucking you well enough. Jay bares her teeth and snarls at the insult.

“Really?” Harley perks up. “Well you come let your Auntie Harls know if that ever changes sugar.” Grinning she slurps down the rest of her drink. You squeeze Jay’s thigh in relief. “C’mon Red, present time! Wanna see their faces when they open it,” she says, rubbing her hands together with glee.

With a heavy sigh, Ivy uncrosses her legs and pulls a box out from under the couch. Jay twitches at the detail she didn’t notice.

“A small gift, a congratulations to you both,” she says.

With trepidation, you open the lid of the box, terrified something is going to snap at your fingers. Inside you find another box, this one a clear plastic half-filled with water. What looks like a fat green vine, curved gently like a c-shape, bobs in the water. Confused, you look back up at Dr. Isley – no Pamela – and force a smile.

“It’s– um it’s a lovely gift,” you tell her. “What is it exactly?”

“A cutting from one of my darlings,” she says easily and Jay’s back goes ramrod straight. “Nothing deadly, just– curious. It likes dark, wet places the best, will do anything to ensure optimal conditions.” 

“You shove it up your cunt and it fucks you by itself,” Harley interjects at your blank looks, still smiling sunnily.

Wide eyed you choke on your own spit. Jay closes the lid of the box and places it on the coffee table.

“Really? You break out of Arkham to deliver a sex toy that I have to water and take care of?” she grumbles.

“Awww honey, we just wanted you to be happy,” Harley coos, and it might be the most genuine thing she’s said all evening.

“Besides, it’s only a cutting and it doesn’t do well in overly acidic environments,” Ivy adds. “It should die off after being doused in a significant amount of vaginal secretions.”

“Okay, yep, that’s not helping.” Jay says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“We really do have to get going, the Bats can be so annoyingly dogged in their pursuit,” Ivy says, getting up to leave and herding Harley to the door.

“Be seein’ you Hoodsy!” Harley calls just as the door closes.

Shell-shocked by the unexpected visitors and their horribly personal gift, the two of you just stare at each other in silence.

“D’you think we should–” you start to ask.

“Nope,” Jay interjects, immediately fleeing the room.

Jay doesn’t see the two Rogues again for weeks, their little gift hidden at the back of the closet. Sometimes in the dark of the night Jay swears she can hear faint splashing sounds but the weird plant is always still when she checks on it. Obviously it’s not just a fun little toy because it’s been specifically designed to make her question her sanity.

When she does run into them next, Ivy’s in the middle of using her plants to destroy the company that had just won the city’s latest infrastructure bid, Harley squealing and swinging her hammer with a joyful fury. Rolling her eyes, Jay dodges another one of Harley’s blows as she cackles.

“Hiya Hoodsy! Long time no see,” Harley quips. Jay groans and rolls away just as the hammer smashes the pavement where she had been standing.

“Harley. Not satisfied with just tearing up the streets, you had to stop them from getting repaired too?” Jay yells back.

“Sorry sugar, this one’s all Red’s.” Harley shrugs, then dodges Jay’s fist. “Hey! Speakin’ of sugar, did yours like the present?”

Dick finally has the good sense to show up and electrocutes her with one of his escrima sticks.

“Dunno,” Jay says as Dick starts to handcuff her. “Hasn’t been high on my list of my priorities.”

“Aww,” Harley pouts, seemingly unbothered by her incarceration. “Red’s gonna be so sad.”

“Fine! Fine!” Jay shouts, realizing that having a pissed-off Ivy gunning for her over a sex toy is not how she wants to go out a second time. “We’ll give you guys a yelp review or something. Happy?”

Harley nods happily as Dick drags her away and oh Jay’s not gonna like having to explain to everyone what ‘gift’ she’d been babbling about.

Bruce approaches Jay as soon as they get back to the batcave and Jay can’t even look him in the eyes as she spits out, “Yes, Ivy gave me a gift. No, I’m not telling you what it is but it’s not malicious and can’t be used in the commission of a crime. That’s all I’m saying and for both of our sanities, do not go digging.”

He grunts, and Jay chooses to interpret it as agreement. For her own sanity. Because the thought of her pseudo father finding out that a couple of his sworn enemies had gifted her a semi-sentient sex toy and that Jay had just agreed to use it on her girlfriend to prevent a grudge with said enemies? Yeah, Jay’d prefer to be dead and buried before entertaining that thought and its ramifications.

Jay’s weirdly nervous when she gets home. It’s not that she thinks you’d be against trying something new, more that she’d agreed without talking to you first. And while she’d be happy to try it out solo and lie through her teeth to Ivy and Harley, she’s also kind of shocked to find out just how much she wants to watch you get fucked. Intimately.

So it’s with a dry mouth that she climbs into bed with you and slips an arm around your middle. Covers the back of your neck and the hinge of your jaw in kisses to rouse you from your slumber. You blink sleep thick eyes back at her, press the lines of your body back into her solid warmth.

“Hey baby girl,” she whispers in between kisses. “You up for me?” You nod and take her fingers into your mouth. Suckle at them and get her knuckles all wet. Jay groans and rests her head against your spine. “Ran into Harley today,” she tells you and you stiffen. “Wanted to know how Ivy’s present was.” Your mouth parts and Jay lets her fingers fall from it.

“Does that– does that mean we can try it out now?” you ask in a small voice, still not looking her in the eye.

“Do you want to?” Jay asks, arm tightening around your waist. You nod, body curling into her. “I’ll go find the box then.”

She said it like she hasn’t known exactly where it’s been hiding with laser precision. Like she hasn’t woken up to half melted dreams of your coming around it as she holds your hand and soothes you. Carefully, she sets the box on the bedside table, turns to see you on top of the covers and already undressed, nervous in your excitement.

She leans down and kisses you, licks into your mouth until you’re panting and whining under her. Nips at your lip and withdraws with a grin. Makes you wait as she sheds her own clothes before climbing into bed with you. Smoothes a hand down your bare side as she kisses at your throat, has you grabbing at her hair to bring her mouth down lower. Jay bites a bruise into the soft swell of your breast as you whine, sneaks a hand down between your legs and finds you already dripping. Laves at a nipple with broad flat of her tongue as she starts teasing you with her fingers. It’s only when you’re clenching down around her, hips chasing after her hand does she stop. Reaches with a blind hand for the box and grasps the wet vine in her fist. Kisses your bitten lips before resting her forehead against yours to watch.

Asks, “You ready?” while you babble your agreement. Notches the wet, slimy head of it to your entrance and pushes. Swallows your gasps and moans as your cunt devours it, hard knots and clipped off shoots scraping at your tender walls. You shudder as she slides more in, stopping just before the turning curve of the c. You clench down and the vine protruding out of your hole jerks at the movement. Jay grins and grabs the curve of it, uses it as a handle to pull it out of you and ram it back in, has you slumping over her shoulder and whining weakly as she fucks you with it. Every single bump and bit of texture scrapes you raw, pushes up against those hidden spots inside you that light your nerves on fire. Gasping you come as Jay cruelly hooks the vine into your guts and pulls.

“How was that baby? D’you have fun?” She asks, still fucking into you.

“Feels– feels weird,” you stutter out between heaving breaths, pleasure still thrumming through you. Something’s changed. The vine feels bigger, somehow. It’s not unpleasant, the solid weight of it heavy in your gut. Just...strange.

“Yeah baby? How about I make you feel better then,” she says.

Jay gives your breast an affectionate squeeze before rising up on her knees and settling the other end of the vine at her slick entrance. She grins at you before plummeting down, spearing herself open in a practiced motion. You moan as her movement jostles the fake cock inside of you. Wrap your arms around her waist and hold on for dear life as she starts to fuck herself.

Jay’s a goddamn picture as she rides, neck arched back, eyes screwed up tight. Her tits jiggle as she bounces and you can’t help but give in to the urge to mark them up as they do. Breathily, she moans at the first touch of your mouth. Her back arches with a flexibility you envy, hips swivelling as she grinds down meanly. The long lines of her body shadowed and golden. Every time she bears down, the vine jolts inside of you and you moan, clit pinned beneath the hard surface of it. She groans as she comes, mean and messy in the pursuit of her pleasure. Slowly you limp along behind her in an orgasm of your own as you clench down weakly around the vine.

She’s soft in the aftermath, miles of warm skin holding you close as her breathing starts to even out. Slides a large, calloused hand down your sweaty flank in a soothing gesture. Jay goes to kiss you but her lips never find her target as you jerk back and moan at the sudden sensation of the vine moving on its own inside you.

“Hey– hey what’s wrong,” she asks as she cups your face, fear streaking through her voice. 

“It’s– oooh!” you squeal as it starts to fucking writhe inside of you, gut churning in time with the stretching fullness of it in your cunt. “You don’t– you don’t feel that?” Your hands go vice-like around Jay’s arms. 

“What are you– oh.” You can tell by the way her voice goes thin and breathy that it’s fucking her too now. She bites at the plush of her bottom lip and suddenly you’re jealous of her teeth for getting to dig in there. Surging forward, you clumsily slot your mouth over hers, swallow her little gasping sighs as the vine starts thrusting in you both. The stretch is so unbearably thick now, wider than anything you’d taken before. You can feel your cunt struggling to take it all, the way the vine curls in and around on itself as it tries to get deeper and fails, your wet walls straining and clenching uselessly around it. 

Jay licks and bites at your throat and you know there’ll be a fresh necklace waiting for you tomorrow. Her questing hands find your breasts and you whimper as a callous catches on your nipple. With a hand that no longer feels attached to your body with how clumsy it is, you try to reach between you for your clit. Your hand brushes against the jut of your lower belly and you freeze up before scrambling to pull Jay’s hand to feel too. She groans into your ear at the sensation and you can feel yourself getting wetter around the intruder as she cups your belly. Her hands grope you as the skin under her palms warps, the soft swell of your belly distorted by the vine as it writhes and thrusts, so large you struggle to accommodate it.

She presses your hand to her own belly and you can feel the swell of it too. Smaller than yours, but moving faster, fucking in deeper. Jay’s jaw goes slack and she starts to let out throaty little whines that have you clenching down. Her body is shaking from the force of the vine thrusting in her gut, thighs trembling and eyes bright. She pushes down on your bulging womb just as the vine writhes against your cervix, and that’s all it takes to grab your by your hair and drag you screaming through another orgasm, pleasure blinding and burning bright. You can’t feel your legs when you start to come down, vision spotty and skin so sensitive even the lightest touch feels like being flayed alive. Moaning out garbled sentences, you almost miss Jay as she comes, abs clenching and body lean and long. You do feel her hands scrabbling at your waist as she goes over the edge, anchoring herself to you.

The two of you collapse onto the pillows, chests still heaving. Blindly you reach for her, desperate for the burning heat of her skin on yours. Jay lets you snuggle into her, sticky with sweat and other fluids, as she reaches between you and slowly starts to pull the vine out of you both. It feels smaller than you expected as it slides out wetly, coated in the evidence of your pleasure. You bury your face in her shoulder as she grins down at you, hand sodden around the now brown vine, dead and starting to rot.

“Somebody enjoyed themselves,” she teases you and you swat at her hand in embarrassment.

“Oh, don’t say that like you didn’t have a good time too,” you grumble.